Treasure

I've been thinking lately about what exactly Jesus meant when referred to "treasures in heaven" in Matthew 6:19-24. The obvious answer that jumps out to me is that the only thing you take from this earth to heaven is people, so the treasure would be people.

But are the treasures only people? Over the years, I've met Christians who take that so literally that they "evangelize" everyone they see, passing out tracts, witnessing to every unsuspecting waiter, waitress, cashier and banker they come in contact with, focusing on "converts" as treasures. It draws to mind the image of Scrooge McDuck from the old Donald Duck Cartoons. Whenever he'd see money, he'd get dollar signs in his eyes. These people, in my overactive imagination, get diamonds and rubies in their eyes when they see people. Instead of corporate greed, we get to see gospel greed.

At the same time, as we spent time in my daughter's orphanages, I became overwhelmed with the sense that those little children were treasures-in-heaven. I mean you can spend your money on a lot of things, but how often can you spend money on something (an adoption) and it lead to something eternal? Investing in missionaries, homeless shelters, food pantries, mentoring clubs -- they all have the potential to yield eternal treasures. Of course, treasures would still be people...

So, I want to store up these treasures in heaven and I don't want to spend my money on things that will be destroyed by moths and dust, or stolen by thieves. At the same time, I know that I can't sink every penny I have into adopting orphans, though we've done a pretty good job at that so far. Outside of the physical needs of me and my family, there are other desires as well. If all we do is sacrifice everything, then I know that, eventually, we'd become bitter angry old souls who feel isolated from life. I, personally, think that was the cause of Mother Theresa's controversial spiritual struggle. She sacrificed to the point where she actually denied herself even glimpses of God's treasures from here on earth.

So, I was thinking about what I should spend my "discretionary" income on. For my children, I can blow it all on silly things like Webkinz, dvds, trips to McDonalds, big birthday parties and big wardrobes, or I can use it to give them glimpses of God's treasures. I can take them on trips to places where we can see God's majesty, like the mountains or the oceans. I can purchase curriculum that not only develops their intellect but also stimulates their imagination, and helps them to develop intimacy with God and compassion for their fellow humans. I can also invest in lessons and activities that will give them skills to last their lifetime, giving them an outlet of joy as they minister in a world full of suffering.

For myself, wouldn't it be the same? I should invest in only the things that will bring me closer to God, give me an understanding of majesty and bring me lasting joy as I minister in a world full of suffering.

What I'm wondering, though, is if we confuse the tools we can use to get to God's treasures as God's treasure. Soccer, piano, scouting, duck farming, swimming -- these aren't God's treasures, but the joy that they can produce in us, and the relationships they can bring into our lives are. So, in confusion, we give too much time money and attention to them (we even expand them to things as silly as Circus Camp), and engage in far too many of them for our own good. Or we take something that would be good on a local level, and then extend it to the "select" level, spending our weekends travelling to other cities to compete, or spending thousands of dollars on the "perfect" instrument. Not that those things are always bad, or always bad choices, but that those things start to own us and our schedules, and then we miss the actual treasure that God had for us, the eternal part that can come from those things. We see the gift as the blessing, rather than the relationship with the Giver as the blessing. After all, when we get a gift, the real blessing is in that the giver loved us enough to give the gift.

Well, I have many more thoughts on this idea, but my 11 year old (Lawyer/Social Advocate Boy) is trying to make spaghetti sauce and my kitchen may not recover from his attempt if I don't go help him now.

4-H: Raising Ducks in a Great American Suburb

Spring is here, and my children are, once again, thrilled for a new year of 4H. I like 4H because all my kids can go to one place for an activity. They like 4H because the meetings usually have cookies, and 4H projects mean getting new animals.

This year my oldest is raising Pekin ducks, studying archery, photography and learning how to bake quick breads. My oldest daughter is studying dog obedience, dog care, dog showmanship, raising pekin ducks, and also doing a project aptly entitled "the Horseless Horse". My middle son, the one of the green bottle, well... 4H is like a little bit of heaven for him.

Last year, we did the great Pekin duck experiment and it went so well, that we're doing it again this year. His second project, muskrat trapping, didn't go off too well. In fact, when I looked at the pictures on how to skin a muskrat, I decided he might need to "lose" the project book. As you might guess from my other writings, it's not difficult to get him to "lose" something, since most days he doesn't know where anything is.

So, this year he is doing: Market Ducks, Market Chickens, Dog care, showmanship and obedience, Exploring the Insect World, woodworking and some project on making nutritious breakfasts.

Now, I'm sure you're wondering how in the world did such a nice respectable suburban family end up allowing their 10-year-old son to raise a chicken and then go on to allow all three of our older children to raise ducks? This summer we'll have a total of 6 pekin ducks and 1 roasting chicken (doesn't that just sound yummy?) staying in our nice rectangular back yard.

Let me start this by saying that most of our neighbors really like us. At least we think they do. Our neighbor on the left likes the ducks and thinks they're funny. The neighbors on the right spend the summer in Florida, and I really don't think our ducks were the reason they bought a condo and put their house on the market.

We gave in to our youngest son last year for several reasons.

1) Raising duckies sounded better than skinning muskrats
2) I'm a sucker for cute animals
3) He loves hands-on science and agriculture, and he just thrives when we let him do stuff like this.
4) Our kids always love small animals for about 3 months and then tire of them -- perfect for a meat project because they get auctioned at the fair at about 2 1/2 months old.

Last year was a blast! Ducklings are cute! And, we watched them grow up. We watched the down change to feathers, got to see their ear holes when the down was gone and the feathers not full. We were able to watch the first time they figured out how to dive under water, and the kids loved to sit at the edge of the wading pool and let the ducks swim around their feet. I had no idea, until last year, that ducks go through "puberty" and their voices change! Over the course of one week they went from "peep peep" to "peep-quack peep-quack" to "quack!"

After they were gone, I did miss their quacking. It provided a unique soundtrack to my day, especially since it sounds kind of like maniacal laughter.

"Children, today," from outside you hear "wahh...qauck....whaa...wahhh", "you will do all your chores and do them well." (more maniacal laughter).

Also, suburban duck farming leads to other interesting situations. Like, for instance, driving with ducks. In our back yard, they don't really stink. We quickly learned that, when enclosed in a minivan with us, they stink. The easy solution, of course, is to open the van windows.

So, there we were, driving down busy old Galbraith road, windows open and 4 ducks quacking on the top of their lungs. The best times were when we stopped at stop lights. We all faced forward, not cracking a smile, as the people in the cars around us pointed and looked for the source of all the quacking.

I also learned that ducks get car sick in the heat. (That's what "don't travel well in heat" means). My son learned a few things about duck digestion, namely that a cricket eaten at home won't be digested by the time it's puked out at the Hamilton County Fairgrounds.

"Look!" He said, pointing at the cricket, "That must be Sunshine's puke. She's loves it when I feed her crickets."


Everyone assumed that it would be hard the day the ducks left. After a long discussion about what "processed" meant, it was difficult. I found my son in the back yard, hugging a duck and crying.

"I hate that everything has to die! It's just not fair!" He said.

However, several months later, he had a different perspective.

"Roasted duck is delicious."

I guess how fair life is might just depend upon what species you are.