Recent soccer game of 10 year olds…there was no winner…or loser. Only juice boxes.
My daughters would have boyfriends and inevitably I would end up giving them a nickname.
Ben was Big Ben (that kid was maybe 4 feet tall).
Lucas was Jorge. Because he loved Star Wars…George Lucas. Never mind.
Ben number 2 was Been There Done That.
Kyler was Kylo Ren.
Luke was…well that one is a current one so I better not say since he might read this.
Then there was Juice Box. That kid…man…he just looked like someone who had lost a soccer game. And needed a juice box.
Lately I’ve noticed that a lot of businesses that are out of things or can’t do what their business does (lumber yard doesn’t have lumber, gas station doesn’t have gas, propane station doesn’t have propane and Starbucks…well they are out of everything it seems), they all seem to want me to make them feel better about their failure. It may or not be their own fault, it doesn’t really matter, but it’s a failure nonetheless when a gas station doesn’t have gas. But that seems to bother people to even say that.
So instead of getting upset, I decided to start carrying a bunch of juice boxes around and when they aren’t apologetic or worse, they want me to make them feel better…I hand them a juice box and a participation ribbon.
I know, I’m mean. I’m harsh. I’m a hater. I’m not woke. (I don’t even know what that last one means but I’m sure I’m not that either)
But here’s what I do know. I’m going in tomorrow for some surgery and it’s quite minor but for me…it’s like asking a claustrophobic to get in a stuck elevator.
Here’s another thing I know. They will have some crazy requirement. They will treat me like a piece of meat and not a person that is hospitalaphobic. They won’t care about that. And it will be up to me to make them feel better. It’s the way it’s always been. Every time. Every hospital. Everywhere (except one…the Mayo Clinic).
And so tonight I pray…that I have the grace that God provides me. And that I bring a lot of juice boxes.
Brint's Blog 