Talk to Homer (cont., still)

As a kid we used to play the If You Were Stranded On a Island What One [Blank] Would You Take game.  The [Blank] could be anything - food, books, music.  When my friends and I played this game the food question was fairly easy - pizza, nature's perfect food.  Books got a little tricky.  I remember once at church camp our counselor asked us what book we wanted with us.  Everyone thought we were supposed to say the Bible, which we did, even though none of us had actually read most or all of it.  Music ended up being whatever was the flavor of the month.  Sadly for one young man that was Air Supply.  No, I was not that foolish and I don't think the poor kid ever regained his standing with the rest of us boys.  Hollywood turned that game into a movie called Cast Away (did you ever think you would say ripped and Tom Hanks in the same sentence.  Weird.) 
So, just for old times sake, let's play.  You are stranded on an island and you can have one person with you.  Just one.  Oh, and they have to be alive right now.  None of this picking Jesus so he can turn all the water into wine business.  Is it going to be your spouse (so romantic) or, if you have them, one of your children (and you kept telling them you did not have a favorite.  Well the gig is up).  A best friend (thus sticking the knife in the back of a spouse and/or children)?  Parent? Sibling? Boss (really, there is no need to suck up anymore, you are on an island)?  Or will you opt for someone famous whom you don't know on the off chance that they really are as cool in real life as in the media?  Take a few moments and think it over.  I'll wait...
My guess is that for most of us choosing just one person out of all of our friends, family or celebrities is not easy.  Each person and/or media creation brings something to our lives.  So how do you pick?  Who gets left and who gets to go?  And why is it that we tend to value people and celebrities more when we think we won't get to see them again (think Elvis or Michael Jackson, both left on the curb of pop culture until they died)?
The other night I finally sat down to watch a movie called The Road.  A very disturbing post-apocalyptic flick about a man and his son trying to survive.  At one point the father rummages through an old vending machine and finds a can of Coke.  His son has never had one and the father takes great delight in watching him drink it.  The scene works because soft drinks are so common in our culture we take them for granted.  Can you imagine a day when Cokes, or pizza or TMZ no longer exist?  When they are not commonplace but rare and valuable (I know, TMZ being valuable is a bit of a stretch, but just go with me for now).
Our dismissive culture is rooted in abundance.  We can dismiss people or things because we have so much.  There is always another product to buy, place to go, movie to see.  If I don't like this brand of dish soap no problem, there are a dozen other brands to choose from.  And with billions of people in the world we can dismiss each other all we want.  There are simply too many people to care about and there will always be someone else entering our world. If scarcity brings value abundance brings indifference. 
I suppose we could try and play mind games and imagine that everything around us is scarce.  Yes, our days on this earth are numbered, but most of us don't really think of them as finite, especially when the average American gets around 30,000 of them.  People are all around us.  TV and radio stations keep growing in number.  Grocery stores are not scaling back in size.  It would be a tough trick to play on our mind.
No, the answer lies, I think, in our approach to abundance.  People are a gift.  I will concede that other people are not always what I would consider the perfect gift, but then again, neither am I.  What we, people, are to each other are blessings.  See, I believe that each person who enters my life has some gift that I need.  And I have something that they are looking for.  Often our giftedness is not immediately apparent.  And not infrequently the gift is wrapped up in a person who has, shall we say, flaws.  My task is not to dismiss the person because of their imperfections, but to embrace them and cherish them because I need them in my life.  And they need me.
Think of it this way.  It is Christmas or your birthday.  Do you tell people that you have too many presents?  No!  At least not if you are sane.  You keep unwrapping until the last gift.  And then, if you are like me, you take a good look around all of the boxes and paper to make sure you did not miss anything.  That, dear reader, is how God calls us to treat each other.
I am glad my wife the minister said "NO!" to my Homer sign.  Perhaps she should have suggested I make another one - "Homer was a gift.  So are you."