At 40, he was dead—and nobody knew.

For several days, his body slumped, then stiffened in the Lazy-boy chair—his favorite. Finally, someone called the police, suggesting a wellness check.

Just hours after his body was hauled away, my son Tim was asked to help clean out the house. “We’ll pay ya,” he was told. The money sounded good, as Tim was on the hunt for a pair of high-quality speakers. But a casket full of cash would not be worth what he encountered there next.

Knee-high garbage proved this guy was well on his way to becoming a hoarder. There was a path to his chair—which was adjacent to two-gallon jugs full of (forgive me) urine. 

The place smelled like a mixture of sewer odor, dead mice, and general decomposition. The entire home was covered in mouse poop, and spider egg sacks covered the legs of the furniture. Dead flies and fly larvae were so thick, they covered the entire windowsill.

Boxes from more than a thousand bottles of hard liquor made mountains of cardboard (it took Tim’s friend two hours just to flatten the cartons). Working more than two days, they finally emptied the house, filling two large dumpsters.

Ironically, buried in the rubble, was a pair of speakers. But not just any speakers, these were the very speakers Tim was wanting to buy. And the owner said he was free to take what he wanted. With a bit of elbow grease, they cleaned up beautifully—and they sound awesome.

Tim told me, “I really didn’t want to clean out that house. It was hideous. But God seemed to bless me for the effort.” Then he added, “I’m not suggesting that’s how God operates every time we obey Him. Still, once in a while, He just blesses us.”

Tim's right, of course. It's always right to point to the kindness of God.

There are a thousand reasons I’m proud of my son, Tim. Now you know a couple of them.

Every good thing given, and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow.

-James 1:17