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“And the winner is…”

Winning isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. For instance, do you remember everyone’s favorite Grammy-winners, “The New Vaudeville Band”?

Anyone?

Well, they won 1967’s Best Contemporary Rock and Roll recording, beating out two unquestionable masterpieces, “Eleanor Rigby” by the Beatles, and “Good Vibrations” by the Beach Boys.

Got the name of New Vaudeville Band’s hit song yet? Drum roll, please…

“Winchester Cathedral”.

Yeah, that’s it. A song on absolutely no one’s “best of” list. But technically, it’s a winner. And those other two bands…who the heck remembers them anyway? I wonder if they ever had any other hits?

And don’t forget those two gentlemen who took the Grammy’s by storm in 1989. You know…Milli Vanilli! At least they were winners for a while, until their producer admitted they sang none of their own vocals and their Grammy was stripped away.

Finally, there’s everyone’s favorite film HOW GREEN WAS MY VALLEY. Not ringing any bells? Well, it won the Best Picture Oscar in 1941.

“What else was in the running that year”, you may ask? How about CITIZEN KANE? You know, that Orson Welles film widely considered the greatest American film of all time!

The backstory on that Oscar-loser is interesting. You see, Welles’ film was a thinly-veiled indictment of media mogul William Randolph Hearst. And since most everyone in the Academy was beholden to Hearst’s empire in one form or other, word got around fast that NO ONE had better vote for Kane.

Who the winner is depends a lot on who’s handing out the awards. Because in this world, the trophies are usually hollow and dent quite easily. And the judges have blind spots, as well as ulterior motives.

If you haven’t learned that yet, you should have. If you haven’t learned the most qualified person doesn’t always get job, and the hardest worker may be passed over for the greatest reward, you haven’t been paying attention to life in this world.

The lovely house, the promotion, the office with a view – those regularly go to the person who kisses the bosses, um…ring. But the people who sacrifice for a greater good, the ones who give up their own dreams to help others succeed – those are the ones whose shadows never darken a red carpet event.

But that’s just how God told us it would be. So why are we surprised when we obey Him and miss out on this world’s rewards?

As it is written, “For your sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.” No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us”  Romans 8:36-37

In this world, God says we’re the sheep, the victims, the “suckers” ripe for the picking. But in God’s world – His “Kingdom” – we’re conquerors. In fact, we are MORE than conquerors.

So in God’s awards ceremony, the “losers” are usually the winners.

Many Christians are so addicted to the idea of success that we’ve often incorporated a “winner mythology” into the church. Every year, pastors go to seminars led by popular preachers to learn how to turn their small church into a big church. And it’s all for the glory of God, we tell ourselves.

But the Gospel never promised we’d win now, but later. In fact, now is the time we’re supposed to lose. This life is the time to give up our lives, to lay them on the altar. Earth is the downpayment for eternity. The real trophies are handed out only in Heaven and the hereafter.

To fix this messed up world, it’s going to take someone who’ll sacrifice, who’ll give themselves away, who’ll let themselves be taken advantage of.

It’s going to take some world-class losers.

One of my favorite humans is Cori Salchert, though I’ve never met her. She’s a former parental bereavement nurse with eight biological kids of her own. Her job is to care for infants who are terminally ill, with zero chance of survival. That in itself sounds like a sacrificial job.

But Cori noticed  a reoccurring problem: many of the families of these babies would simply walk away after receiving the terminal diagnosis. With their joyful expectations dashed, the mothers simply couldn’t take the thought of watching their baby die. 

So they did the unthinkable – they abandoned their dying babies at the hospital.

I can only imagine the mixture of emotions Cori felt as she tried to do her job. Surely there was anger at these parents who’d leave their own children to die alone. Then there was the grief of watching the babies struggle on with no one left to caress them but her.

Emmalynn was one such baby. Since birth she’d been in a vegetative state, unable to see or hear. The one thing she could do was feel, but most of those feeling were the physical pain brought on by her condition. At the hospital, she was left in a blanket on her feeding pump and put aside to die. But in that hopeless situation, Cori saw an opportunity to love irrationally.

That’s when Cori made a sacrifice some might think pointless. In 2012, Cori adopted Emmalynn into her own family.

At that moment, she became the youngest of 9 siblings and was no longer alone. Each of the Salchert children would take turns holding her throughout the day. They would kiss her repeatedly, and the family took her everywhere they went.

But after about 50 days of life, Cori could tell Emmalynn was fading. So she gathered her family together so each of them could take one last turn holding and kissing her. 

Finally, Cori snuggled with Emmalynn, holding her close while singing “Jesus Loves Me” gently over her. After a few minutes, Cori realized Emmalynn hadn’t breathed for several minutes. 

Emmalynn was gone now, but she had never been alone.

I realize our good works don’t get us into heaven. But if I were Cori Salchert, I wouldn’t be too worried about what’s waiting for me after this life is over. She’s made an investment, through Emmalynn and all the other children she’s continued to adopt and give love in their final days of life.

It’s not hard for me to imagine the day Cori finally walks into heaven’s throne room. One by one, I see little children walking – no, running up to meet her.  the last loving touch they felt on earth. I see their little hands, now healthy and whole, reaching up to hers. Cori was their last loving touch on earth, and now they are her first in heaven.

I can see them all holding her hands, walking her triumphantly into the throne room of God. And there the Father of the fatherless who promised to bless those who help “the least of these” will look up at her and smile widely:

“Well done, my good and faithful servant”. 

Blessed are those who love the losers and lost causes. Because in the next life, the hopeless ones to whom you showed love on this earth may be the very ones who usher you through heaven’s door.

So I’ll happily take my place along with the losers in this life. I’m happy to wait for my reward until that day I finally hear my name called. 

That’s when we’ll hear Him say, “And the winner is…” And when it comes to winning, what matters most is just Who is passing out the awards.

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Copyright © 2024 by David Gipson. All rights reserved.

Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.

Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.