Trophies

“What kind of award took so long to choose?” I asked Lila, who owns a trophy shop in the back of our office supply store. “That couple stood here deliberating for nearly an hour!”

“They needed trophies for their family reunion, where they’re having a garden tractor pull,” she answered.

“That’s all?”

“That’s nothing. I can order trophies for the hottest chili, the ugliest outfit, even the poorest sport--it’s a tantrum-throwing baby! You name it; there’s an award for it.”

I would enjoy awarding a few trophies of my own: Dumbest Movie in History (the screenplay writer was the cousin of the producer’s dog groomer, or they never would have made it); Worst Record Idea (Ethel Merman Goes Disco); Poorest Excuse for a Governor (take your pick)…

My husband and I once sang for some friends’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. Although the man was not what you’d call ornery, he was definitely “high-maintenance.” The couple’s children presented each parent with a trophy, accompanied by a lovely speech, saying how proud they were that they had stayed married so long. The husband’s trophy was barely six inches high and fit in his breast pocket. The wife’s had to ride home in the back of their pickup!

Jesus wasn’t big on trophies. He liked to heal, feed and deliver people, then warn them not to broadcast it. In Matthew 6: 1-18, He instructed His followers not to show off for the praise of people, but for God’s applause. That’s the best kind of trophy.

At the Marriage Supper of the Lamb, I hope to see Ethel, and the screenplay writer who bombed. I even have a prayer for my fallen governor. But when the Father steps to the podium, His trophy and applause will go to only one Recipient.
--- Jen