It’s polite to say please, but I don’t think it’s the “magic word,” as I was often told. Actually, my sisters always change the “magic word,” and it was rarely please. I don’t think they even knew what it was when they told me to say the magic word. They hadn’t decided. They just wanted to torment me.

But the main reason I don’t believe please is the magic word is because I realized when I was young that please was not a free pass to yes. It’s a courteous word, but it’s not magic.

My mom wouldn’t let us have food in our rooms. It was for a good reason. I don’t blame her. No amount of “pleases” would have been enough to give me permission to eat in my bed. But Grandpa let me. Grandpa had a TV in his bedroom before it was common to have more than one TV in the house. He’d often let my cousin and I crawl into his bed to watch TV at night. And he would even let us eat…saltine crackers! Of all things we could eat in bed, saltines had to be one of the messiest. He never complained. I sometimes wonder if he wanted quiet time so badly that it was worth the sacrifice of sleeping in a crumb-infested bed.

He also taught me how to play Rummy. I always felt behind my family members in card (and other) games. I guess it’s because I was behind. I was the youngest, so I was the last to know and understand the rules. But Grandpa taught me. And he was a good player.

It’s not that Grandpa was an amazingly patient man. I don’t know that many would describe him as a patient man without the “amazingly” in front of it. Yet I only remember one time he was really angry with me.

He did carpentry work and was working on our roof with some of his crew. I enjoyed hanging out when people were working. I’m not sure why, since I didn’t pay much attention or learn much. One of the guys who worked with him starting to joke about sticking me in a barrel of tar. The jokes escalated until this man actually picked me up, turned me upside down and held my head within inches of that tar. I knew he was kidding. Grandpa knew he was kidding. But it was more than he would take that afternoon. He yelled at his worker for not helping. He yelled at me for distracting his workers. I was sent inside, shocked and devastated. No amount of “pleases” would have helped that day.

What situation have you been in where “please” just wasn’t enough?

What do you want the most? If you had a limited number of “pleases” to use, how would you spend them?

But I pray to you, Lord, for favor. God, because of your great love, answer me. You are truly able to save. Psalm 69:13