A sus­pi­cious mind is a ter­ri­ble thing to waste

Record Observer - - Religion -

I have dis­cov­ered over the years sev­eral types of minds. The “open mind” which catches every­thing ex­cept the truth. The “an­a­lyt­i­cal mind” which or­ga­nizes every­thing to the point of steril­ity. The “closed mind” which you can bounce ideas and they never stick.

For ev­ery man, there is the “wo­man’s mind.” Ev­ery hus­band knows if he wants to change his wife’s mind, all he has to do is agree with her. Fi­nally, the “po­lit­i­cal mind,” which for all prac­ti­cal pur­poses is an oxy­moron. Politi­cians ob­vi­ously do not have a mind of their own. They change their mind so of­ten you hardly know who they are.

I find most peo­ple’s minds are like beds — all made up and tucked neatly away. Many of these peo­ple have sound minds — sound asleep, that is.

The most valu­able mind is the sus­pi­cious mind. It is in this frame of mind that the real picture has de­vel­oped for me. An in­ci­dent sev­eral years ago il­lus­trated this to me.

We re­ceived one of those calls ev­ery Amer­i­can gets at least once a month. An in­vi­ta­tion to come to Day­tona Beach and spend two nights at a mo­tel on the beach. The spon­sor even of­fered to throw in break­fast, which we promptly threw out (or was it “up?”).

It all sounded won­der­ful. My wife and I had never stayed on the beach and thought it would be an ex­cel­lent op­por­tu­nity. Ea­gerly we said “yes” thrilled with the prospect.

“Oh, by the way,” the young wo­man on the tele­phone said, “you will be re­quired to lis­ten to a 90-minute pre­sen­ta­tion.”

It was then my sus­pi­cious mind kicked in. To be more hon­est, the kick came from my wife, who had the sus­pi­cious mind.

“Is there any­thing we have to buy?” my wife made me ask the de­light­ful wo­man on the tele­phone.

“Ab­so­lutely noth­ing,” she said so cheer­ily, I be­lieved her. My wife, “Miss Sus­pi­cion,” did not buy it for a sec­ond.

Fi­nally, I con­vinced her to go and I ar­ranged with the wo­man on the tele­phone for the two nights on the beach.

Look­ing back on this in­ci­dent, I re­al­ize a sus­pi­cious mind does come in handy.

I must con­fess (which is hard for me to do) my wife’s sus­pi­cious mind has saved us from a few po­ten­tially dis­as­trous sit­u­a­tions. (But you didn’t hear it from me.)

When we ar­rived at the Day­tona Beach of­fice, they greeted us most gra­ciously. I was smil­ing a smile that said, “See, I told you this was go­ing to be great.”

The cor­dial re­cep­tion­ist gave us a key to our room and easy-to-fol­low di­rec­tions to our mo­tel on the beach and, best of all, coupons for sup­per for two at a fancy res­tau­rant.

So far, every­thing promised to be a mag­nif­i­cent ad­ven­ture.

Just as I picked up the key, the lady re­minded us of the 90-minute pre­sen­ta­tion. We had to sign up for a time that was “con­ve­nient for y’all.”

All I could see was that gre­gar­i­ous smile and the beach. As the glaze thick­ened over my eyes, I signed up. Then we were off.

While I was smil­ing, my wife was mum­bling some­thing like, “This is a mis­take. I know there is a catch some­where. Noth­ing is free.”

Be­ing the so­phis­ti­cated hus­band I am with a vast, cul­ti­vated vo­cab­u­lary at my dis­posal, I said noth­ing.

There is a time to speak, but ev­ery hus­band knows it is usu­ally not when in the pres­ence of his wife.

We had a great time. The beach was won­der­ful and late that night we en­joyed a marvelous sup­per. Every­thing was go­ing along quite nicely and we drifted off to sleep lis­ten­ing to the waves rhyth­mi­cally mas­sage the beach out­side our win­dow.

Then the time came for the 90-minute pre­sen­ta­tion. It was quite ed­u­ca­tional. I learned my wife was right all along.

The “catch” she wor­ried about was called a “time­share.”

Time­share is an in­ter­est­ing con­cept. First, you must buy a week (or two if you like). At that point, I was ready to sign up. My pen was drip­ping ink ready to sign any­thing, any­where.

Then my wife be­gan ask­ing ques­tions. It’s a good thing she did.

That is when we learned an­other thing about time­shares. Af­ter one buys a week, the cost has just be­gun. Of course, they told us, we must pay prop­erty taxes on “our prop­erty.” Then there are monthly main­te­nance fees and in­surance pre­mi­ums. We learned the word “share” in time­share means we share all our money with them.

By the time she fin­ished her pre­sen­ta­tion, there were more fees on our time­share than fleas on a West Vir­ginia hound dog.

That was not the worst of it though. When our week came, we were ex­pected to “rent” our own room to stay in it. When the wo­man got through with her 90-minute pre­sen­ta­tion (which ac­tu­ally took three hours), time­share made as much sense to me as rent­ing un­der­wear.

There are times when a sus­pi­cious mind does come in handy, but not al­ways. Some­times I ap­pre­ci­ate trust­ing some­one with­out any fear. But, who?

The an­ti­dote for a sus­pi­cious mind is found in the Bi­ble. The Old Tes­ta­ment prophet un­der­stood this when he wrote, “Thou wilt keep him in per­fect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: be­cause he trusteth in thee” (Isa­iah 26:3).

There are many things to be sus­pi­cious about, but when I come to Je­sus Christ, I can re­lax. He gives me peace of mind be­cause He is easy to trust.

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