I was rummaging through my belongings today while cleaning out the backseat of my car, and I happened upon a box I had sealed and marked IMPORTANT.
I must have Alzheimer’s disease, because I forgot why exactly I labeled that box as such…so I opened it up and found every citation for every medal I received during my time in the military. Needless to say, the medals themselves were also in the boxes and I began perusing each item, and read it over.
In my mind, the images of each medal ceremony played through my mind like it was yesterday. I remember receiving my first medal, the Air Force Achievement Medal, at Lajes Field in 2004. Then I was awarded the Joint Service Achievement Medal and Iraqi Campaign Medal upon completion of my tour in Iraq last year. And to top it all off, my highest award was the Air Force Commendation Medal when I separated on November 15, 2006.
I put everything away nice and neat, and something dawned on me. You see, these medals and the pieces of paper that accompany them are personal achievements. My awards for something I did.
My prayer over the past week has been for God to make me more humble and to be more unselfish. I want to be more willing to give, and help those in need.
So as I kept cleaning my car, I wondered: I received these awards, but for what? Did anyone benefit anything by them? Did I lead someone to Christ? Did I give to the poor?
The answers to all those questions is nothing, no, no and no.
Jesus commanded us in Matthew 6, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven.”
These awards — these finely cut pieces of metal affixed to ribbons — will someday deteriorate and go away. Can’t take those with me to heaven. But I sure can take somebody with me.
Wouldn’t it be nice if our time was better spent reaching the lost where they’re at, instead of always striving for self-advancement?
Awards are nice, but in the grand scheme of things, they never helped one person.
It’s time for me to do the real work assigned to me in this life — work that carries no earthly reward. But the eternal reward sure rocks.
A man worked hard and saved all his life to amass an entire briefcase full of gold bars. On his death bed, he pleaded with God to let him take his life’s work to heaven. When he got there, Peter asked him what was in his briefcase, so the man opened it. Peter asked him, “Why did you bring street pavement?”