The voice on the radio sounded a little weird. Still, it seemed so familiar. I know I’ve heard that guy’s voice before, I thought. But where? It was six o’clock in the morning. The news report had just finished, and my local Christian radio station was playing a little clip from someone who’d called in to thank them for their ministry. But just who was the person?
And suddenly I knew why the voice sounded familiar. It was mine!
Several months before, radio station WCRH had invited listeners to call in and share what the station meant in their lives. So I did, and now I was hearing my own recorded voice being broadcast throughout the listening area.
It sorta made me want to have a voice box transplant. I keep hoping my voice will change to a nice, rich baritone or bass, but at my age the odds aren’t looking too good. Still, wouldn’t my having a powerful speaking voice somehow impress you?
There I go again—worrying about what others think about me.
A while back I was in J. C. Penney looking for a new shirt. (I probably would have bought a used shirt, but they didn’t have any for sale.) As I scanned the rows of cubbyholes stuffed full of shirts, an attractive female customer walked up to me.
“Can you answer a question for me?” she asked.
Aha—my new hairstyle was already making an impression! She probably wanted the name of my stylist!
“Sure,” I responded knowingly. “Ask away.”
“Well,” she said, “I need to buy a man’s shirt as a gift.”
I thought about telling her to look no further for a man to give the shirt to, but I figured she already had someone in mind. I just nodded and she continued.
“The problem is, I don’t know anything about men’s shirt sizes.” She paused, then spoke again. “It would help me if you could tell me what size shirt you take. Then I can probably judge what my friend would take.”
“Oh, well, sure. No problem.” I told her my shirt size and then added, “But there are different cuts of men’s shirts. For example, I’m looking for an ‘athletic fit.’”
I give the attractive woman some credit for her attempts to control herself, but it was not to be.
“I thought—he-he—that sort of fit—ha-ha—would be for someone with—har-har—well, you know, well, that had more . . . I mean, I don’t mean—”
The attractive woman seemed rather repulsive-looking to me at this point. Still, I figured I should bail her out. After all, my physique bears little resemblance to that of an Olympic weight lifter. I just happen to like narrow-waisted shirts.
“It’s OK, I know what you mean.” I smiled at the woman, realizing that if I acted on my feelings and punched her attractive nose I would lose my job at Guide. (Well, OK, I guess it’s not something Jesus would do either.)
None of us is perfect. Slowly but surely I am coming to accept that reality. And that brings me peace. Because if somebody is going to think more of me because I have a bass voice or washboard abs, well, that person probably doesn’t quite understand the real meaning of the word “friendship.”
Jesus was accused of being a friend to sinners. That includes you and me. We’re imperfect inside and out. But He loves us. Now that’s what I call true friendship.