There's something about a room—any room—whose name begins with the word, “Treasure.”  In a visit to Istanbul’s Topkap Palace Museum, I was obliged to spend time in the Treasure room of the Sultans.

Personally, I'm not much for jewelry, especially the gaudy kind.  And Sultans—like so many rich folks in history—had a penchant for serious bling.  Yet I was stopped in my tracks at the window showcasing the Kasicki Diamond.  At 86 carats, this diamond is considered to be one of the largest in the world.  Set in silver, it is surrounded by a double row of 49 cut diamonds.

The sight of the pear-shaped gem grabbed my attention, but the story behind it kept me lingering.  According to “reliable” accounts, a poor fisherman walking the shores of Istanbul looked down and saw something shimmering in the sun.  Stooping down for a closer look, he scooped up the shiny thing which appeared to him as a piece of glass (either this man was more ignorant of jewelry than even me, or there must have been a boat load of sea weed wrapped around the thing!).

Any way, he took it to a jeweler who feigned disinterest insisting it was merely a piece of common glass. Yet—out of the “goodness of his heart” the jeweler offered the ignorant fisherman three spoons in exchange for his find. Eventually a vizier, doing business on behalf of the sultan, purchased the diamond and it made its way to the palace.

The story you may find unlikely.  But what is certain is that you and I may be engaging in the same kind of foolish trades every day.

We trade the diamond of God's indwelling power for three spoons of our own puny effort.

We trade the diamond of Christ's rest for three spoons of anxiety.

We trade the diamond of the Spirit's guidance for three spoons of self-centeredness.

2Co 4:7  But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.

Today there will come your way—and mine—a thousand opportunities to trade away the treasure God has already given us.  But spoons are a poor trade.  For ignorant fishermen—or those bound for streets of gold.

It was an odd sensation. The cool breeze tumbling through the open window, carrying along on its invisible current a sound.  Vague at first.  Indistinct.   Then it stirred me out of my last attempts at sleep.

Even in the stupor born of time zones and travel, I quickly assessed the noise--an Arabic chant sounding from a distant speaker calling ancient Istanbul to piety for Allah.  The morning Muslim call to prayer.

But the more I listened, the more difficult it became to discern the imam's voice.  There were echoes everywhere, it seemed.  That “solo” was now a chorus.  Or perhaps, more accurately, a wall of sound.  Different voices from different mosques all over the city were chanting back and forth (in Istanbul there is a mosque on virtually every city block).  This wall of sound, this “gentle roar” was like nothing I'd ever heard before.

It continued on for perhaps 10 or 15 minutes before finally dying away again.  Assaulted by a sudden silence, the question popped into my brain, “Why don't followers of Jesus pray so boldly?  Where is our “gentle roar?”  Why shouldn't the world hear us calling on Almighty God?  Shouldn't the whole world sense our communion with our Heavenly Father in prayer?

In the book of Acts, we read that after the disciples met and prayed, 'the place was shaken where they were assembled together” (Acts 4:31).   Silent prayers--personal prayers–surely have their place.  Even the Holy Spirit prays for us “with groanings which cannot be uttered” (Romans 8:26).

Still, I wonder. What if followers of Christ were really and truly dedicated to prayer?   What if we stopped what we were doing five or six or ten times a day and prayed, not ritualistic prayers, but true heart language?    What if our prayer meetings were filled to overflowing? And what if on Sunday mornings, outsiders attending our services described their experience as “being in a house of prayer?

Indeed, what if when the whole world attempted to define Christianity it would be impossible to separate our faith...from the gentle roar of our combined prayers?

Businesses are funny. They all speak their own dialect—a sort of modified English.  Have you noticed?   In the rail business, that thing a locomotive pulls down the tracks--it's not a train.  Instead, they call it a “consist.”  Funeral directors don't refer to dead bodies.  They refer to them as “cases.”  But the food industry has an expression that has always impressed me as being downright odd.

Look at the label on a package of gum and it will likely say, “Please dispose of ‘after use.'”

“After use?”  Who actually “uses” gum?  We chew it.

Imagine being with a group of friends and you whip out a pack of Dentyne and say, “Hey, anyone here care to USE a stick of gum?”

Now...look at a box of macaroni or a cake mix.  Or a can of tuna.  Chances are there's a label or a stamp somewhere that says, “Use by....”  But...who “uses” food?   Who runs around saying, “Boy, I'm so hungry I think I'll sit down and USE a big plate of macaroni?”   We don't USE macaroni....we eat it!

I'm also intrigued by the other thing you see on food labels, “Best if used by.....”....and then there's a date.  Rather ambiguous, don't you think?  What I want to know is, just HOW bad is it after that date?  Is it merely “not quite as good” or will one bite likely put you in the emergency room?

All kidding aside, this “use by” expression brings two sobering questions to mind:

First...what IS my personal “use by” date?  Or put  more bluntly, what's my expiration date?  (Only God knows). But be assured, He has one. For me—for you—for all of us.

The second question: Can I be used?  Just how useful am I to the Savior?  Am I stale and out of date?  Or am I fresh from having spent time with Jesus and His Word?

How useful are we to the Savior?

Loyalty programs--seems like everybody's got one.  From airlines, to restaurants... supermarkets to car rental places.  Businesses everywhere want more of your business.  That's why they offer these so-called “loyalty programs.”  You know—it's the plastic card that gets you a 15% discount at your next hotel stay...or the grocery store that offers special pricing—if—you use your reward card.   Or maybe you're into collecting miles with your favorite airline's frequent flier club. 

A recent study from FanXchange and COLLOQUY shows that 54% of Americans are unhappy with loyalty program rewards.   Part of the dissatisfaction is that customers find the rewards themselves unappealing!  Another problem is the redemption process, with 43% frustrated over expired points.  39% claim it is too difficult to get enough points and 37% are ticked off that the rewards promised are somehow not available.

I wonder if Christ followers today feel the same way about the rewards that God has offered us.  So many of us express so little interest in eternal rewards. We're into life here...rather than there.  And why is that?

Do we feel it's simply too difficult to earn the eternal rewards that Christ has promised?  Or is the problem much worse—that we are simply not interested in the rewards He offers?

It's time we got our loyalty figured out.

Time we started living for rewards that will never fade away.

Hear the words of Jesus in Revelation 22:12:

          “Look I am coming soon!  My reward is with me and I will

           give to each person according to what they have done.”

Me?  I'm pondering those eternal rewards—and my “want” to want them more.  What about you?

The candy bar industry is on a roll lately.  And I'm not sure I like it.  The trend for the last few years is to offer much smaller versions of full-sized candy bars.  As if that isn't bad enough (hey, if I want a Snickers bar, I'm expecting a Snickers bar, not some shrunken alternative), they're trying to make our getting something less...sound like something better.  In a marketing hubris that only ad executives could speak with a straight face, these less-than-satisfying candy bars are said to be “fun-sized.”

Now, I get that folks watching their weight might welcome such a move.  And surely there's a place for smaller candy bars. My complaint is that something that is less than the real deal is boldly touted as “fun sized.”    But what does that make my full-sized Three Musketeers Bar-- “Boring-sized”?

I wonder if some of us aren't borrowing a concept from the candy industry in the way we live out our Christian faith. Example: personal Bible study.

Our devotional books are getting smaller and smaller. Have you noticed? Just one or two verses a day, perhaps.   And very little application to ponder along with the reading.

Is it possible that our growing satisfaction with “fun sized” devotionals—smaller readings—is largely to blame for our living so much of life disconnected from truly biblical teachings?

Hear me clearly.  I'm not throwing rocks at every devotional book out there.  There's a place for quick reads.  But if that's all we're doing—fun-sized Bible devotions—we're cheating ourselves.

What about our time spent in prayer?  Is that fun-sized, too?

The Bible strongly urges us, “Pray without ceasing.”   You wouldn't know that by showing up at a typical church prayer meeting.  Or by doing an honest spiritual inventory of most Christians.  So where do we get off feeling satisfied with “fun-sized” sentence prayers?  Again, there's a place for those—but if that's all we're praying, that's a problem.

Jesus said, “Without me you can do nothing.”   Given our high level of busyness, we're apparently doing a whole lot of something that amounts to nothing.

Let's stop cheating ourselves when it comes to personal Bible study and prayer. Let's go FULL sized...not fun-sized.