Are you going to "die with your boots on?"

 

  What does "die with your boots on" mean? It means to work, fight, or be involved till you die. As it relates to Christians, keep serving the Lord and bringing disciples till the moment you die.
   I tell people that I retired to go to work. Today, working is more fun because I'm doing what I love - serving the Lord. I'm not holier than thou. It's just that I have a lot of bad time to make up for. My God does not chastise me for all my bad behavior nor expect me to make up for it all (that would be impossible), but your desire to serve Him increases exponentially as you gain in faith. Therefore, dying with my boots off is out of the question. My service may be light, slow, and hazy at times, but still, it's serving. Too many retired people sit around watching Judge Judy and dying. Get up and do something that makes a difference. And don't give me that my tiny pinch of service won't make a difference. That is the same argument that non-voters give for not voting. When you get 10 thousand people saying that - well, you get the picture.
   I heard someone say, "You Christians need to pick up your cross and die for Jesus. You're gonna die anyway." Wrong - our Lord Jesus defeated death. Sure you don't want to take a chance and join us? Take a chance is not the correct word to use. What chance is involved - die, and that's it, or extend your life eternally. Not much of a choice or a chance in my book.  
    Want to join the party? Jesus made it really simple - faith, and, after that, the Holy Spirit will take over from there and remodel you into a saint. You'll hardly be aware of the subtle changes until you do something like cursing your neighbor for not mowing his lawn one day. You walk into the house, and the Holy Spirit says, "Was that the way to project yourself as a living, loving example of Jesus Christ?" You turn around and walk right back out to your neighbor to say, "Sorry about what I said. Can you forgive me?" That's how it happened to me. The next thing you know, you're determined to die with your boots on.

Short End of the Stick

 

 

 

 This happened to me one Christmas many years ago, but applies to all seasons.

I hurried with the crowd of People as they bumped into one another and grumbled quietly. Impatiently, we made our way toward the Walmart entrance. Next to that entry stood a gentleman dressed in red and topped with a Santa Claus hat ringing a bell, while beside him was the traditional Salvation Army Christmas Pot. The man's facial expressions were in stark contrast to the frazzled shoppers. He smiled and sang Christmas songs as the vapors from his mouth in the cold air made him appear to be a steam-powered machine. The people passing usually kept their heads down to hide the act of not noticing his presence and what that meant. Not seeing, in their minds, made not giving okay. The brazen made rude comments such as, "You can't go anywhere without these pests asking for your money."

As I grumbled with the surrounding crowd, I noticed someone parting the crowd, like Moses the Red Sea. He emerged from the car-packed parking lot. This Moses character was a young boy hobbling on a pair of those steel crutches with arm rings to support his arms. His gait was a tortured sight of shaking and wobbling side to side. The boy's tongue hanging out added to the picture of strain on his face as he made his way across the hectic roadway toward the bell ringer.

 The bell ringer noticed the boy's perilous journey and deserted his bell ringing to offer aid. This act of kindness caused added irritation to our impatient crowd. The boy was adding to the destruction of everyone's life.  

 The bell ringer helped the young man complete his crossing and was about to help him through the busy doorway when the boy began to pull away, saying, "No, I want to ga...ooo to you pot." His head teetered back and forth as he turned to look at the bell ringer with an infectious smile.

I thought, "This kid has to be careful, or he's gonna wind up ruining this crowd's bad day."

 Understanding, the bell ringer smiled, allowing the boy to hobble to the pot. Keeping the smile, the boy stared at the bell ringer and dipped his head toward him several times. Finally, the bell ringer got it. The boy wanted him to ring the bell...and ring he did.

 After a minute or two of the bell ringing, the boy somehow contorted his arm in such a way as to allow him to get his right hand into his coat pocket. He withdrew a roll of dollars perfectly rolled to fit into the round hole in the pot's lid. After the deposit, he demanded, "Ka-keep pa-laying the bell...pa-leese."

 As the bell ringer restarted the bell ringing, the boy worked his hand back into his pocket and pulled out another perfect roll of dollar bills depositing them through the hole. He smiled at the bell ringer after each trip, who reciprocated, and the hands to pocket to hole continued through seven trips. The boy topped off his outstanding performance with an "Ah-I wanted ta ga-ive a da-dollar f-for every ba-blessing I have, ba-but that is a-all I have. Isn't Jesus' ga-giffft won-er-ful? Ah-I love ha-im sa-oh ma-uch. Ha-e's ba-less me sa-oh ma-uch." Then he waved goodbye and turned slowly and painstakingly to leave. He left no dry eyes in this mob around me, not even mine, while I tried to act like I was removing something in my eye.

 Leaving was more complicated than the coming for the young man due to the tremendous increase in the crowd. The entering and exiting at the door had come to a standstill. All eyes were on the young boy with Cerebral Palsy and that aggravating bell ringer. Jesus was heavy upon all present. Their day and mine had done a 180 turn about...all due to a previously annoying bell ringer and a crowd-slowing crippled boy and his simple act of giving all he had. The crowd's attitude toward giving was changing due to one person's simple act of giving to thank God for the many blessings he had bestowed upon him, a person most would think had received the short end of the stick. Maybe we should examine our lives more closely for blessings before we complain. I surely did.