“Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.”
Matthew 13:45-46

Here’s a real-life parable to brighten your day:

The kid in my doorway reached into his pocket and withdrew an envelope. Inside was a $50 bill.

This 7-year-old boy wanted to buy my drum set. Let me just say, he got a good one.

And no, I didn’t sell it for $50. His dad paid the rest. But this kid was invested.

This was a gorgeous, brilliant yellow-gold set, only used one year. A Ludwig, just like Ringo Starr plays.

It came with Zildjian cymbals, plus several more I had purchased. I threw in the throne, mat, sticks, brushes, a little tambourine attachment.

This was a set for serious musicians! (Or at least amateur praise band drummers.)

Dad produced his share, and the boy added his in, and they talked through all the responsibilities he had agreed to. The care and feeding of a rhythm instrument.

This was not an impulse buy. They’d been searching for a deal like this, and were both clearly thrilled at what they had found. (I said a silent prayer that mom knew what her guys were bringing home.)

I had one more item to give him. A set of chimes–dangled metal rods in a row. Once he ran his hand down it and heard the ethereal sound, he couldn’t stop. He was already making music.

He rang those chimes all the way up from the basement, through the house, and out to his dad’s car while we loaded the set into the car.

He never stopped, even as we shook hands and they drove off.

You know, some 30 year-old drummer looking for a replacement kit would not have exhibited half as much joy. I felt the joy, too. It made saying goodbye to my rock and roll fantasy a little easier.

I don’t think you could put a price on such glee. His or mine.

Maybe the Kingdom of Heaven is a little bit like that. He knew what he’d found was worth everything he had.

By the way, Ludwig is the second most popular maker of drums.

The first…

is Pearl.

Have a great week,

Mitch