Life Flies When You're Having Fun: More Wit and Wisdom from Jerry B. Jenkins
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About this ebook
“It seems like only yesterday...” Filling Photo albums, dresser tops, attic boxes, and our own minds, memories can keep us young at heart as the years pass by. Jerry Jenkins has been chronicling his most cherished moments much of his adult life. In this collection of memories from grammar school to the present, you’ll relive occasions both hilarious and heartwarming and meet people who touch and shape the soul. Anticipating a new bicycle. A run-in with the school bully. Growing times in the faith. Marriage vows. The joys of raising children. A bittersweet visit with an aging grandparent. And much more. Join Jerry in his reminiscences. And let him encourage you to rekindle your own, as well as to make wonderful future memories by living your life and cultivating your relationships with new vitality.
Jerry B. Jenkins
Jerry B. Jenkins is the author of more than 180 books, including the 63,000,000-selling Left Behind series. His non-fiction books include many as-told-to autobiographies, including those of Hank Aaron, Bill Gaither, Orel Hershiser, Luis Palau, Walter Payton, Meadowlark Lemon, Nolan Ryan, and Mike Singletary. Jenkins also assisted Dr. Billy Graham with his memoirs, Just As I Am. He also owns the Jerry Jenkins Writers Guild, which aims to train tomorrow’s professional Christian writers.
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Life Flies When You're Having Fun - Jerry B. Jenkins
© 2012 by Jerry B. Jenkins
Originally Published in the US, 1993, by Victor Books
Smashwords Edition
DEDICATION
In loving memory of Fred Quade
CONTENTS
Copyright
Preface
A Better Story … And True
A Few More Days
And to All a Good Night
With Wings As Chickens
Without a Clue
To Tell the Truth
Of Bullies and Brothers
Weather or Not
Grateful for Grace
Just Do It
Vance Havner Late
Ye Olde Moderne Translationeth
Mom’s Old Bible
Don’t Keep the Faith
Low-Key Angel
Don’t Go Down There
Life Traces
Lessons Learned Early
Summer in Dallas
Kinder Than Kind
Fatal Choice
Of Stickers and Gates of Splendor
Here It Is September
On the Front Lines
TV: An Epitaph for Values
From the Mouths of Babes
Angela Unaware
The Magic That Doesn’t Deliver
Hedges
First Class Grace
Stop on a Dime
Love on a Winter’s Night
A Dad by Any Other Name
Parenting 101
The Lesson in the Shells
Dear Grandpa:
For Baby
Michael
The Stirrer of the Soul
Ages and Stages
Waging the Weight War
Dear Son:
Tempus Certainly Does Fugit
Addicted to Anticipation
Memorial Memories
The Arm in the Night
artPREFACE
No new messages?
I have been collecting snatches of things I’ve heard — from my youngest, Michael, asking if Shut up
is one of the Ten Commandments (you’ll be pleased to know I told him the truth) — to the Voice Mailbox greeting I get frequently.
Voice Mailbox is the name of our office’s electronic system for sending and receiving messages, an answering machine with a fascinating array of features. I love the system, but here’s my problem. After I have listened to my messages, a pleasant female voice comes on and informs me, You have no more new messages.
The first few times it happened, I thought, How interesting. How handy. I appreciate knowing that I have come to the end of my messages.
Yet something niggled at my brain and depressed me. I wondered if it was that I was lonely or felt rejected because I had no more new messages.
Then it hit me. What bothered me was that my brain translated the word messages as things to say,
rather than things to hear.
Therefore, several times a day, I’m bombarded with an unintentionally negative bit of news. It mocks me, taunts me, threatens me. Is it possible? I have no more new messages. I have nothing more to say.
Pity the poor pastor who installs one of these machines. At least twice on Sunday and once in the middle of the week, he must have a new message.
I wonder if these machines can be reprogrammed to have the pleasant voice say, You have no more new telephone messages, but, boy, do you have a lot to say! Get to work and say it!
I don’t sing or dance or preach. But at the risk of writing a lot without saying much, I leave what I have to say to your judgment. Thanks for taking the time.
Jerry B. Jenkins
A BETTER STORY …AND TRUE
artDon’t let your children see this—not if you are letting them enjoy the Santa Claus myth.
I was one who bought the Santa story hook, line, and sack full of goodies. That wasn’t my parents’ fault. They couldn’t know how serious it was to me. My older brothers grew out of believing in Santa, no one realizing that I still carried the torch for the story.
And what a story! Be good and you get stuff from a guy who seemed somewhat like God. Blasphemous? Not if the story was true. This guy could deliver toys to the house of every good kid in the world in twenty-four hours!
I not only believed Santa would visit my house, but I was also convinced that he would not come until I was sound asleep. And there was no fooling Santa. Once I lay perfectly still with my eyes shut for several minutes, only to peek when I thought I heard footsteps on the roof. Of course, Santa immediately left, busy in some other neighborhood until the Jenkins kid was really out.
In kindergarten, other Santa believers looked up to me because when consulted, I took their side. The fact that more and more peers wavered in their faith might have rattled me, had it not been for a chat I had with the jolly elf himself.
I sat on his lap in a department store, awed and scared, knowing he was the true Santa. All the others I had seen on street corners and in other stores were his helpers. He asked what I wanted, and I told him. He asked if I had been good, and I nodded.
Then he said his elves had told him that I didn’t always finish my green beans. I nearly died. It was true — I was guilty. (But I have loved green beans ever since. Honest.)
How could I know that my dad had whispered this news to Santa
when I was distracted? And how could Dad have known that this conversation locked into my soul the belief that it was all true?
The day finally came, much later in my life than it should have (around age seven), when the evidence was too great to ignore. When I put the question to my dad, he said, You don’t honestly still believe in Santa Claus, do you?
Yes,
I said, and argued the point for a while, profoundly disappointed. I was too young at the time to articulate my greater fear — that I would soon hear that the Jesus story wasn’t true either.
Eventually, of course, I learned. Santa was like Mother Goose or the Easter Bunny. I never believed in them.
Jesus is unique. He is God, Son of God, the Savior of mankind, and one day became my Savior.
In my early teens, my pastor chatted with the youth group and told us it was time we understood more about the mystery. He explained what it meant that Mary had been a virgin. He explained that though Jesus was just one Man, His divinity allowed His death to pay the sin penalty for all who would believe and receive.
The best part of the Jesus story, the Gospel, was that it was available to all — the naughty as well as the nice. Even if the Santa story had been true, it didn’t compare to God’s idea.
Angels, a miraculous birth, a star, dreams, warnings, sinlessness. Death, burial, resurrection, life eternal. Ah, that would be a great story even if it were made up. Even better than Santa.
How much better that it’s true.
With our own children, Dianna and I weren’t killjoys. Our kids were free to enjoy all the magic and fun and excitement of Christmas, including the legends and myths. But we made it clear from day one that Santa was make-believe. Santa was like the Easter Bunny or Mother Goose.
And while we coached them not to spoil the fun of believing in Santa for other kids (which in truth protected us from their parents), we took every opportunity to remind them: Jesus is real. His is the best story of all.
A FEW MORE DAYS
artAt times I wish I looked forward to the return of Christ with as much excitement as I looked forward to a delivery when I was seven years old.
What is it about that most wondrous of all promises that makes some hope it doesn’t happen until after next week’s ball game or until they are married, have children, get promoted, accomplish something?
Scripture is clear that to be with Christ is far better,
but that remains a mystery. Even with all the scholars in Christendom, we know little about heaven. We know what will be there (light and splendor) and what will not (darkness), and we know we will have glorified minds and bodies (I can get excited about that). I’m confident we won’t be bored, but try explaining that to a six-year-old who doesn’t want to go to heaven because I like my bed.
I admire those who genuinely look forward to the return of Christ or their own home goings because they long to be with their Savior. They look forward with eager anticipation, waiting, watching for that great day.
I have waited for good things in my life, sometimes