By Rick Moore, Communications Pastor, Destiny Worship Center
Living on the Emerald Coast, one may see license plates from as many as a dozen different states in one day. We will not mention any state by name, but there is a particular group of visitors who drive, shall we say, a bit more aggressively than the others. It is not always fair to judge a person based on the state they are from, but if the license plate fits…
During the winter months, snowbirds from all over make the drive to Florida. Sometimes their license plates give us a glimpse into their culture. Folks from Ohio are different from folks from Wisconsin. A person from Kansas may live a totally different lifestyle than someone from Minnesota. Missouri’s plates say “Show Me” on them, and Kentucky plates say “Unbridled Spirit.” Whenever I see a license plate from Canada, I ask myself two questions: Did they really drive all the way down, and have they ever heard of airplanes? The most puzzling license plate I have ever seen here on the Emerald Coast was from Iceland: “You tell me.”
While in the 4th grade, I asked my parents for a license plate for Christmas. No, I didn’t have a car. It was for my bicycle. The plate was about 3” long, attached to the front of the bike’s handle bars, and had my name “Ricky” on it. On Christmas morning I opened up many presents, but the little license plate was by far my favorite gift. After attaching the plate to my bike, I rode around the block with the greatest of pride. Other kids may have gotten a brand-new bike that Christmas, but I had my own personalized license plate. That bicycle was a big part of my identity.
On my 16th birthday, I inherited my mom’s station wagon. My oldest brother got a new T-top Trans Am when he turned sixteen, and my other brother got a new Z-28 when he turned 16. But the year I turned sixteen my dad fell into some financial difficulties. Just the same, I was happy to get the station wagon. My big challenge was what to put on a custom license plate for the front of the car. That same year God had turned my life around and I started going to church. You might not think someone so young could have much of a past to turn from, but I did. I wanted to show the world I was a changed person. A local gift shop had an airbrush artist that could customize a plate for the front of a vehicle. I thought about putting John 3:16 on it, but that seemed a bit overdone. Instead I had the letters T-G-B-T-G airbrushed on the plate. More than a few people asked me what those letters stood for. The answer: To God Be The Glory. I tried to drop my identity and let everyone who crossed my path know that any good found in my life is because of God. I was more proud to drive that station wagon around town than I would be if I was driving a new corvette.
Recently my sister was cleaning our mom’s old house and she sent me a letter I had written to Mom when I was in college. The letter ended with the words, “To God Be The Glory.” Somewhere along the way I quit using those words. Maybe it seemed too churchy, or maybe I had drifted back to the prideful days when I had my name front and center. All of us have a proverbial license plate. When we walk into a room, others see it even though it is invisible. None of us are perfect, but perhaps on this very day we can all pause, take a look at the good in our lives, and say… T-G-B-T-G.
