The Random Thoughts of Henry Holloway
You’ll be glad to know that the flitting is over, though we’re not really into our new home yet. I’m enjoying the sunshine and the sea breezes in camp with the Boy Scouts. It’s a wonderful life and we are all healthy and happy. One of the boys writing home said; ‘The food’s not bad.’ At least it’s eatable.’ Well, we don’t have the frills and fancies but we get on very well. What we say about each other’s attempts at cooking had better not appear in print.
There were two women once who met when they were down town shopping. And as is the way of women they stopped to have a chat. Mrs. A. Said: ‘Tell me, Mrs. B., where do you buy your tea? “Oh,’ said Mrs. B., ‘I buy it from Mr. Smith. “And how do you make your tea?’ asked Mrs. A. Then there followed a round by round description of the art of making good tea. Anyway they discovered that they both bought the same tea at the same shop and they both made it the same way.
‘That’s strange,’ said Mrs. A. ‘My husband always says that you make the most wonderful cup of tea.’ Said Mrs. B., It’s funny you saying that because my husband says the same about your tea.’ They had a quiet chuckle together and went on their way wondering at the peculiarities of husbands.
Then there was a man once who wanted to sell his property, so he put it into the hands of an estate agent. Next day in the local press there was an advertisement which described the property in the glowing terms beloved of estate agents. The owner, when he saw the advertisement, went to the agent and said to him: ‘Is that my property you described in the paper?’ The agent assured him that it was. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I’ve decided not to sell it. I’ve been looking for a place like that all my life.’
My last story is about a minister who had decided, to the great joy of his people, to retire. He had had a long innings. His people decided that they would have to make him a presentation on his retirement and on the evening of the ceremony one after another got up and spoke in glowing terms of the good pastor. Then they made their presentation. When he replied he thanked them for all they had said. ‘I didn’t realize,’ he said, ‘that you loved me so much and I feel now that I can’t possibly retire after all you have said.’
It’s a funny thing, but we seldom really appreciate what we have. What we haven’t got seems so much more exciting. The tea in somebody else’s house is better than the tea we get at home. We often hang a framed motto in our homes: ‘Home, the place where we are treated the best and grumble the most.’
Maybe these lads in camp will appreciate home more when they get back and maybe they will have learned to put a little bit more into making the home a happy place.
Jesus told a story once about a home. There were two boys in it. One of them stuck by the old home. The other one took his share and went off to enjoy it selfishly. In the end he found that he had friends only so long as he had money. But he always had a father and a home to go back to. When he went back, at the end of his tether, his father received him. The brother thought it wasn’t fair. But he forgot that the prodigal son had wasted many years. He’d had his fling and was back home, but he carried always a bitter memory.
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