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Disciplines of the Glad Heart: The Gift of Giving #4
The Day The Donald Got Lost, and the Dillons Got Lucky
So Donald Trump and his cohort Marla Maples are flying to Atlanta, see, on their way to Marla’s home in Dalton, Georgia. The year is 1992, and it’s three days before Christmas. In Atlanta they board a small commuter plane bound for Chattanooga, Tennessee. As they sit down in the front seat the man already sitting in the next seat back greets them: “Mr. Trump, Merry Christmas!”
“No,” he mutters, “today I’m somebody else.” He wants to be left alone, see. Soon he’s engrossed with Marla.
So they arrive at Chattanooga, and “The Donald” discovers that the airline has lost his luggage. They can’t find it. They offer to bring it to him as soon as it arrives. The Donald is not pleased.
So they make their way to the car rental agency and pick up their Lexus, and they’re off. The traffic is heavy, and a light drizzle is falling, and, well, today the good luck gods are just not smiling. Somehow the Donald gets lost on winding streets. The houses seem to be petering out into farmland. He winds up in a rural neighborhood where he didn’t intend to go, and then he runs over something and soon here’s a heart-sickening “whump, whump, . . whump, . . . whump, . . . . whump.” ” He pulls over to check out the flat tire. When he opens the trunk he discovers that the spare is missing. He conjures up a few choice words for the situation, which, however, provide no lasting relief. Now what?
Mr. Trump is up the creek without a cell phone. Remember, this is 1992. He assesses his situation and surveys the territory. He notices a small house only a few hundred feet away. It’s a humble dwelling, not the palatial kind to which he is accustomed. “Wait here,” he says. So as Marla watches from the warmth of the Lexus, Donald and his elegant white cashmere topcoat get out of the car and trudge up the driveway and knock on the door. Soon the door opens, and a frumpy lady stands framed in a shaft of yellow light.
“Hello, ma'am. I'm afraid I'm in a bit of trouble,” says The Donald. “My name is Donald Trump, and that's my car over there, and I've run over a nail or something and there is no spare in the trunk. I don't want to impose on you, but I have to be in Dalton in the next hour, and, well, I know it's asking a lot, but I wonder if I might borrow your car. When I arrive I'll call and have someone come out and fix the tire and leave the car with you for your convenience until I get back. I promise I'll take good care of your vehicle. Would you let me do that?”
The lady’s eyes narrow into a skeptical squint. She goes to call her couch potato husband out of his television trance. [use a woman’s voice, lower-class diction] “Harry, there’s a guy here who says he has a flat and wants to borrow our car.”
“What’d’ya mean borrow our car? I just got it fixed. Tell him to do the same with his.”
“But he says he’ll let us borrow his rental car when he gets it fixed. . . . He claims his name is Donald, uh, somebody . . . Trump.”
[Archie Bunker tone of voice] “Oh right—and I’m da queen o’ England! What would Donal’ Trump want with the likes o’ us? Tell da man to get lost!”
So she does.
So Trump trudges back to the car and plots his next move. There is another house in sight, but it’s some distance away. But he has no choice, so off he goes. Before long he steps onto the porch of another humble dwelling and knocks on the door. It opens to a frumpy lady framed in a shaft of yellow light.
“Hello, ma'am. I'm afraid I'm in a bit of trouble,” says the Donald, with just a little more desperation in his voice this time. “My name is Donald Trump, and that's my car way over there—can you see it?—and I've run over a nail or something and there is no spare in the trunk. And I’ve lost my luggage. I don't want to impose on you, but I’ve just got to get to Dalton as soon as possible and, well, I know it's asking a lot, but I wonder if I might borrow your car.”
“Oh you poor man. Come in! I’m sure there’s some way we can help you. Who did you say you were? Let me call my husband.”
Soon Trump sees the lady and her husband through the door in another room engaged in earnest whispering. He can’t quite hear what they’re saying but we can.
“Mabel, do you know who that is? That really is Donald Trump!”
“Who’s that?”
“A man who owns skyscrapers.”
“Oh my!” said Mabel.
“But, Mabel, what’s he doing here?”
“Well, he wants to borrow our car. His broke down.”
“Now let me get this straight,” said Mr. Dillon. “Donald Trump . . .wants to borrow OUR car. . . . The Donald wants OUR CAR!” And with that a huge smile spreads over the man’s face. “Mabel, this is incredible. Do you realize what this means?”
“Well, . . . no.”
“Mabel, Mabel, think! Look, where are the car keys?”
“But do you really think we ought to . . .”
“JUST GO GET THE CAR KEYS! And the pie!”
“Wha . . .”
“You know, the pie you just made for Christmas dinner. Get it too.”
“Which one? I made two. I made a blueberry and, and, and a . . .”
“Get ‘em both!”
So while Mabel is getting the pies and the car keys, her husband enters the room. “Mr. Trump! We’re honored to have you as our guest. What can we do to help you?”
“Well, I wonder if I might borrow your car. You see, my friend is waiting outside in my rental. It has no spare tire, so I’m stuck here, and I have to get to Dalton as soon as possible. I’ll get someone to fix it and then let you drive it.”
“Of course you can borrow our car. But you can’t leave your friend out there on a night like this. Here, let’s jump in the car and go get your friend and bring her into the warm.” So they did. After they get back the man persuades the Donald to accept some pie and ice cream from his wife, whose pies have won awards. Then he says, “Look, Mr. Trump, I’m warming up the car for you, but are you sure you want to drive tonight? The weather’s kinda nasty and Dalton is almost an hour away. Why don’t you just spend the night at our house? We were going over to visit our daughter tonight anyway; we’ll just stay there and you can have the run of the house!”
“That’s very gracious of you, but I’ve got to get to Dalton tonight.”
“Okay, but didn’t you say you lost your luggage?”
“Yes.”
“Well, is there anything you need?”
“Well, you know, this is so embarrassing, but all my spare cash was in my valise. I really could use a twenty just to tide me over.”
“Twenty? Well, twenty’s not nearly enough. Here’s four twenties. Now I want you to take this other pie here—if you liked the blueberry, you’ll love the coconut—I want you to take this pie home to Marla’s mother in Dalton as a gift from us for all the trouble you’ve had.
“You’re very generous, Mr Dillon. Very generous. Here, let me give you my card. And please give me your address and telephone number. I promise I'll take good care of your vehicle. I’ll have the keys to my Lexus delivered to your door. You’ll be hearing from me.”
Well, that’s the story. Now I want to ask you a question. Which of these two couples did the prudent thing?
Well, the first couple played it safe, took no risks. But was that the prudent thing? It’s obvious they were not very generous, were they? And we are commanded in Scripture to entertain strangers. And they must have been unfamiliar with a little bit of advice Jesus gave in Luke 6:38: “Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.” So maybe they didn’t do the prudent thing after all.
But now here’s an even more interesting question. If you were Donald Trump, what would you do for the second couple?
Think it over. What would you have done for them? Sent them flowers? No, that’s chintzy. Remember, you’re Donald Trump! Wouldn’t you offer them the same generosity in your realm that they gave you in their realm? Sure you would! Why, if you were Donald Trump, you’d buy them a whole new car! Rich people know how to be generous.
Now here is the lesson I want you get from this story. I want you to burn it into your memory and never forget it. Here it is: Never be stingy with a generous rich man. Did you get that? Never. It’s stupid to be stingy.
You may be wondering if this story is true. Well, the part about Donald Trump getting lost—that's made up. But the first part of the story is true. I know because my friend Dr. Tim Crosby was the guy sitting in the seat behind Mr. Trump on the commuter plane that day, and they lost his luggage too. What really happened, though, was that someone was waiting there in Chattanooga to take Donald and Marla to Dalton. The airline had to deliver his luggage later.
Now listen carefully, Friend. Your heavenly Father is much richer than Donald Trump. He owns all the cattle on a thousand hills, and all the hills under the cattle, and all the stars over the hills. And God is very generous. He gave His own son to die for you. So, friend, never be stingy with God! He can outgive you even on an off day. When God knocks on your door and asks for your help, you should jump up and down for joy and say, “Hallelujah! This is my lucky day!”
Now here’s the important question of all: Are you more like the first couple or the second? Think it over. You know, sometime Jesus comes to us in disguise. Sometimes He stands behind the pulpit and asks for money. Sometimes He knocks in baggy pants and dirty shirt and asks for a meal. Sometimes He comes in an offering appeal from a radio ministry. But however He comes, He always gives better than He gets. Never forget that. So never be stingy with God.
Tomorrow we’re going to talk about priming the pump. And we’ll start out with
something that happened after Donald Trump told Sam Salovey, “You’re fired!”
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