By faith Moses, when he had grown up, refused to be known as the son of Pharaoh’s daughter. He chose to be mistreated along with the people of God rather than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. He regarded disgrace for the sake of Christ as of greater value than the treasures of Egypt, because he was looking ahead to his reward.
Hebrews 11:24-26 (NIV)
The Name He Handed Back
The doors open at seven, and the line outside is people who came early so the rest of Saturday would still be theirs. The boy came with his father and he isn’t giving anything, because at twelve nobody will take it. He has his father’s keys and his father’s phone and a paperback he hasn’t opened.
A folding table just inside has a stack of twenty-dollar gift cards and a spinner with one slice for a movie pass. Almost everybody gives it a turn on the way past. The boy has watched twenty-three people spin it, and he’s the only one in the room who knows the pointer has come up on the movie pass once all morning, for a man who’d already gone out to his car. When they hand his father the card at the end his father says thank you, folds it into his shirt pocket without a word about it, and it’ll go on groceries the way everything goes on groceries.
By faith Moses, when he had grown up, refused to be known as the son of Pharaoh’s daughter. He had grown up inside that name first, and he must have known by then what it gave him, and he handed it back anyway.
He chose to be mistreated along with the people of God rather than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. The pleasures were real and they were going to run out, and he chose against them while they were still his to enjoy. He regarded disgrace for the sake of Christ as of greater value than the treasures of Egypt, because he was looking ahead to his reward. He chose one over the other for a reason, and the reason came down in writing along with the choice: he was looking ahead to his reward.
Out in the line nobody says any of that. His father chose his Saturday the same way and said nothing about choosing, and the one person sitting close enough to ask him doesn’t know yet that there’s a question.
In the car his father drops the card in the console without looking at it. The boy asks whether he gets one every time. He says they didn’t use to do cards at all, and then he’s watching for a break in the traffic, and the morning doesn’t come up again. What would his father have told him if he’d asked why he comes?
A Prayer to Remember
Father, I’ve taken the thank-you and said nothing about what it took to get there, and I’ve let that pass for modesty. Teach me to say which thing I’m choosing, and why, while there’s still a choice in it. Give me one thing I picked on purpose to bring you this week.
In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.
