In a frenzy of cleaning last night, I asked my sons to take their baseball trophies up to their rooms. Prominently displayed on the kitchen hutch, it was time to move the trophies out to get ready for the Christmas decorations that are to follow shortly.
Funny thing about trophies today. Kids get them for everything. Once reserved only for those who won the league championship, kids get trophies for merely participating. There are trophies for best defensive player, best offensive player, best dressed . . . okay I may be exagerating a bit, but just a bit.
I grew up in a 4-H family. My dad won only one trophy during his 4-H years. My sister and I, thanks in large part to our dad, won considerably more. Where are they now? In the attic and the basement, largely discarded. Yesterday's trophies aren't nearly as significant as I thought they would be when I hoisted them in triumph twenty years ago.
The fact is, we're all going to discard our trophies. The hymn writer George Bennard wrote:
So I'll cherish the old rugged cross,
'Til my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it one day for a crown.
Sensing his death was imminent, the Apostle Paul wrote ". . . there is in store for me a crown of righteousness which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day - and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing."
Trading my dusty trophies for a resplendant crown? Sounds like a good idea to me.