The Honda Mad Dash, Free Tote Bags, and Treasures in Heaven

July 17, 2026 

Every Friday morning I leave my Coosa River Bridge home at exactly 4:56 to catch the men’s breakfast in Pell City. Not 4:55 and not 5:00. It is 4:56. I cannot point to a particular verse establishing 4:56 as the biblical hour for men’s breakfast, but Ecclesiastes does say there is “a time to every purpose under the heaven,” so until somebody produces a better interpretation, I am sticking with 4:56. This morning I pulled out and discovered the Honda mad dash already in full flight. Cars were flying south on Highway 77 like somebody had just announced the last biscuit in Pell City would be awarded on a first-come, first-served basis. Hondas, Toyotas, pickups, and everything else with four wheels were headed south with tremendous conviction. If Moses had parted the Coosa River instead of the Red Sea, I believe some of these drivers would have passed the Israelites before they reached the other side.

Everybody is racing the same clock because sometime after 5:30 the traffic finally begins to thin. Until then, Highway 77 becomes Alabama’s unofficial early-morning qualifying round for Talladega. Meanwhile, the river and lakes are glowing in the early morning light. God has painted the sky, the water is calm, the sun is beginning to rise, and creation is putting on a show that requires no admission, no password, no reservation, and no monthly subscription. Hardly anybody notices. Psalm 118:24 says, “This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.” Yet judging by Highway 77, some people have apparently translated that verse as, “This is the day which the Lord hath made; now get out of the left lane.” They are in survival mode, not stewardship mode. I understand. People have jobs. They have families. They have mortgages, electric bills, insurance payments, and probably a check-engine light they have been ignoring since Easter. Proverbs 14:23 reminds us that “in all labour there is profit,” so there is certainly nothing wrong with getting up early and making a living. The danger comes when we get so busy making a living that we forget to live.

Sometimes God’s peace is sitting right outside the window, and we are doing 70 trying to get somewhere else. Yesterday at the Bessemer Veterans Fair, I saw the same hurried spirit, except this time everybody was on foot. People were circling the tables collecting pamphlets, brochures, pens, cups, bags, and giveaways. Some were not even veterans. If it was free and would fit inside a tote bag, somebody wanted it. I watched bags getting stuffed with enough literature to qualify as carry-on luggage, and I wondered how much of it would ever be opened again. Probably very little. Those bags will go home. First they will sit on the kitchen table because somebody intends to “go through all this later.” Then they will migrate to a chair. From the chair they will move to a spare bedroom. Eventually they will reach their final earthly destination, the closet. Five years from now somebody will find them and ask, “Where did all this stuff come from?” Nobody will remember. Luke 12:15 tells us that “a man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.” I am going to take the liberty of believing the Lord’s principle also applies to complimentary tote bags.

Corey from Still Serving Veterans had the table right next to mine. He watched the same parade and finally described it in a way that sounded like Rod Serling introducing an episode of The Twilight Zone. Imagine a place where people wander around gathering endless amounts of stuff, put it into bags, take those bags home, and place them beside all the other bags of stuff they gathered somewhere else and never looked at again. Welcome to America. That line landed like a quiet thunderclap. Suddenly I realized that the Honda mad dash and the Bessemer Veterans Fair were two versions of the same thing. On Highway 77, everybody was rushing to get somewhere. At the fair, everybody was rushing to get something. Everybody was moving, everybody was collecting, everybody was occupied, and maybe everybody was missing something. Ecclesiastes 3:6 says there is “a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away.” Most Americans have gotten pretty good at the first half. We could use a revival concerning the second.

Corey understands the difference between collecting information and actually helping somebody. He started as a medic saving lives on the battlefield, then shifted to artillery calling in fire. That is adaptability. Most people have trouble changing departments at Walmart. Corey went from patching people up to calling in artillery. Today he uses that same ability to adapt at Still Serving Veterans. Instead of simply giving a veteran another pamphlet to put into another bag, he asks a direct question: “Are you looking for work?” Now we are getting somewhere. James 2:17 says, “Faith, if it hath not works, is dead, being alone.” A brochure can tell somebody there is help, but a conversation can actually help him. Corey connects veterans to training and jobs that fit their abilities. Suddenly that veteran leaves with something more useful than another pen with somebody’s telephone number printed on the side. He leaves with direction, maybe an opportunity, and maybe eventually a paycheck. That is the difference between information and action. But this is also a Lettermen of the USA story.

Our classic question is simple: “Are you familiar with the Lettermen of the USA?” Usually the answer is no, and that is when curiosity becomes connection. We explain that Lettermen of the USA is a national 501(c)(3) charitable organization originally founded by former Alabama and Auburn players and coaches who decided to put their rivalry aside to help veterans. Think about that. Alabama and Auburn people voluntarily working together. Matthew 19:26 says, “With God all things are possible.” Case closed. If the Lord can get Alabama and Auburn men on the same team, I am convinced there is hope for the rest of us. Today that circle extends far beyond Alabama and Auburn, with men connected to Georgia, Nebraska, Ole Miss, Stanford, and beyond. Different schools, different traditions, and different colors on Saturday, but one purpose every day: serve the people who served us. Philippians 2:4 tells us, “Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.” That sounds a lot like the mission.

Lettermen of the USA helps military personnel transition into civilian life through practical programs including Autographs for Heroes, Laptops for Heroes, Homes for Heroes, Utilities for Heroes, Shelters for Heroes, Food for Heroes, Rent for Heroes, and Heroes Village. Those are not just program names. A laptop can help a veteran apply for a job. Food can help a family through a difficult week. Utility assistance can keep the lights on. Rent assistance can keep a family from losing its home. Housing can give somebody a place from which to rebuild a life. Proverbs 19:17 says, “He that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord.” That is considerably better than collecting another refrigerator magnet. The people who stop long enough to hear what Lettermen of the USA actually does walk away with something useful. And somewhere during all this observing of other people’s collecting habits, the Lord decided to turn the sermon around on me. I wish He would quit doing that. It is much easier to recognize excessive collecting when the collection belongs to somebody else.

Then I started thinking about my own house. Texaco airplane banks, Miller’s G.I. Joe collection, Star Wars figures, lots of Star Wars figures, cleaning manuals, professional guides, and boxes filled with pieces of my life. I realized I had spent an entire morning wondering why people were stuffing free things into tote bags while apparently operating my own Smithsonian annex at home. Matthew 7:3 asks why we behold the mote in our brother’s eye but fail to consider the beam in our own. Apparently my beam comes in cardboard boxes. Those professional guides go back to my years as a contractor selling items for clean rooms and wet labs, including work associated with the microgravity laboratory on the space shuttle and the International Space Station. The same kinds of supplies went into programs connected with the National Missile Defense System and THAAD, where the idea is essentially to hit a bullet with another bullet. That is an engineering description I can understand.

There were also NASA projects that never made it beyond experimental stages, including the X-33, X-34, X-38, early Orion work that helped lead toward Artemis, and the Delta IV that launched military satellites. Some of those supplies and instruments were literally floating around inside the American Destiny Laboratory aboard the International Space Station. Something I helped provide made it into orbit. Meanwhile, I can walk into a room here on Earth and forget why I went in there. The Lord keeps us humble. That work earned me the NASA VIP award for the contractor who did the best job keeping costs down. It also allowed me to stand on the ground and watch STS-104 launch on its mission to the International Space Station. Those experiences mattered to me then, and they still matter now. Colossians 3:23 tells us, “Whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men.” I am grateful God gave me the opportunity to have even a small part in something so much larger than myself. But time keeps moving. NASA moved forward. Technology changed. Programs ended. Information moved online. The manuals became outdated. The beautiful technical guides that once represented the latest information now sit inside boxes gathering dust. Isaiah 40:8 says, “The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand for ever.” Apparently the Lord knew something about technical manuals. So it is time to clean it out.

Time to let some of it go. Time to allow somebody else to enjoy things that are doing nobody any good sitting inside boxes. Ecclesiastes says there is “a time to keep, and a time to cast away.” I have completed an advanced degree in keeping. Now I am beginning remedial work in casting away. Because there is one fact none of us can negotiate with. If I do not give this stuff away, eventually somebody else will. You never see a Wells Fargo truck following a hearse. Job expressed the same truth more elegantly when he said, “Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return thither.” First Timothy 6:7 makes it impossible to misunderstand: “For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.” Not the Texaco airplanes, not the G.I. Joes, not the Star Wars figures, not the NASA manuals, not the award, not the bank account, and not even the tote bags. There is no baggage claim in heaven. Jesus told us in Matthew 6 not to lay up treasures on earth “where moth and rust doth corrupt,” but to lay up treasures in heaven, because “where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” That gets to the heart of this whole story. God is not merely asking what is in our closets. He is asking what is in our hearts. Maybe that is the connection between the Honda mad dash, the Bessemer Veterans Fair, Corey’s observation, the veterans looking for work, Lettermen of the USA, NASA, my Star Wars figures, and all those boxes. We spend a remarkable amount of our lives trying to get somewhere and get something. We want to get to work, get ahead, get another paycheck, get another possession, get another award, and get another free tote bag because apparently the seven at home are lonely. Meanwhile, God keeps putting eternal things right in front of us: a sunrise, a river, a veteran who needs help, a family that needs food, a person who needs work, a friend who needs encouragement, or someone who simply needs to know that he has not been forgotten. Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still, and know that I am God.” For some of us, that may require pulling over. Look at the river. Talk to the veteran instead of merely handing him another brochure. Open the closet and give something away.

Use what God has placed in your hands while you still have the opportunity, and when its purpose has been fulfilled, have enough faith to release it. The real treasure is not what we collect. It is what we give, who we help, the burdens we carry for someone else, the veteran who finds work, the family whose lights stay on, and the person who realizes somebody cares. Jesus said in Matthew 25:40, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” That is something worth collecting. So next Friday morning I will probably pull out at 4:56 again. The Honda mad dash will probably already be underway. Somebody will pass me like the last trumpet has sounded and Pell City is the gathering place.

The Coosa River will still be there, the sun will still rise, and God will still be putting on a show. Somewhere else, somebody will pick up another free tote bag, and somewhere in my house, another box will be waiting for me to finally let it go. Psalm 90:12 gives us the prayer we probably need most: “So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.” Our days are numbered, our possessions are temporary, and our opportunities to serve are precious. The river keeps flowing, the boxes keep aging, and the clock keeps moving. And through all of it, God keeps reminding us to slow down, look around, help somebody, give something away, and remember what is actually worth taking with us. Because when this life is over, the question will not be how much we managed to collect. The question will be what we did with what God gave us while we were here.

The Pell City men’s breakfast crew, finally finishing Andy Stanley’s Enemies of the Heart. It only took us a little over a year. We don’t just read the book—we let it marinate.

Jefferson County Commissioner Sheila Tyson, a U.S. Army veteran, stopped by the Lettermen of the USA table at the Bessemer Veterans Fair to show her support. She told me she was “ten toes down” for Lettermen of the USA. Corey from Still Serving Veterans is in the background on his phone—proof that even the helpers sometimes need a moment to scroll.

The Lettermen of the USA table at the Bessemer Veterans Fair, featuring the brand-new red tablecloth and the classic ‘old logo’ take-one stands with QR codes. The blue football helmet now represents our growing partnership with the Concussion and CTE Foundation. In the background, the Heroes Village project points to the future, while candy sits ready for the kids and anyone with a sweet tooth.”

The Honda Mad Dash, Free Tote Bags, and Treasures in Heaven.” This illustration captures the heart of the essay, weaving together the Coosa River sunrise, the Highway 77 morning rush, the Bessemer Veterans Fair, and the quiet wisdom of Corey’s Twilight Zone observation. It also features the new Lettermen of the USA logo alongside the practical programs that turn collecting into real service.