My Claim to Fame

After moving to a new town and looking for a way to make new friends, I was delighted when my neighborhood decided to start a Bunko group.  I had been a part of my previous Bunko group for fourteen years before we moved.  Though some of the faces in the group changed throughout the years, the core group stayed the same.  One of the gals even moved away for two years and then came back in when she moved back.

My previous Bunko group gave showers to those having babies, took care of each other’s toddlers when we had doctor appointments, threw my 40th surprise birthday party for me, prayed for a member going through a divorce, listened as a mother told of her daughter’s recent bi-polar diagnosis or son’s ADHD issues, prayed for a husband to get a new job, brought dinner when I broke my wrist, was at the funeral of my son and cried when I played my last game with them before moving away.  We talked of life’s joys and sorrows.  We met at the park with our children. We met for Mexican dinner.  We snuck away for a late night movie after the kids and hubbys were tucked in bed. We played a simple dice game every month.

My enthusiastic response to wanting to get a group started somehow nominated me as leader of the group.  Since it was a new group, we invited the entire neighborhood to participate and were a bit overwhelmed when thirty-five people responded positively.  I bought dice and hole punchers.  I made scores cards –
simple cards numbered one through forty to help us keep track of the score as we talked and passed the dice around the table. I laminated the cards.  I admired the new cards. But, I didn’t proof the
cards so when we played the first game I was a bit embarrassed when someone realized the number eleven was missing. I was extremely embarrassed when someone shouted out that I also failed to include the numbers 22 and 38!

I had typed the cards on my laptop late, late the night before and then hit print without proofing the cards.  My old Bunko group knew me well enough to know that my talents were many J and that my life is hectic and they would have laughed with me. This group didn’t know whetherI completed the sixth grade or not – and I’m sure most of them thought I didn’t.

I live in the town of a major university so the room was full of professors, professor’s wives, engineers, doctors, micro-biologists, statisticians and me. I made light of the mistake the best I could – with humor.

While making small talk during one round of the game, the lady on my left said that she was a civil engineer and that her “claim to fame” was the huge press box for A&M’s stadium that has a capacity of
85,000.  For twenty-six years, that press box has provided me with afternoon shade as we watched the boys on the gridiron below. I knew that it housed the rooms and suites for the wealthy and credentialed.

I didn’t know that it was designed by a woman. A woman that plays Bunko. It was her claim to fame.  And I couldn’t even type the numbers 1-40 accurately.  It got me thinking, “What was my claim to fame?”

Was it my children? My home? My successful and fulfilling marriage to my best friend for the past twenty-five years?  Was it the groups I had lead throughout the years?  Was my claim to fame my faith? My humor? My tenacity?  What was MY claim to fame?

As I was mulling this over, it hit me.  Life isn’t about MY claim to fame.  My life should be about my Heavenly Father’s fame.

In Joshua 9:9, the Gideons say that they have heard of the fame of the Lord and all He did
for the Israelites in Egypt.

Isaiah 66:19 refers to the fame of the Lord and His glory.

In Habakkuk 3:2, Habbakkuk prays, “Lord, I have heard of your fame; I stand in awe of your deeds,
O Lord.”