SoJourn

What are They Teaching These Kids? - Daunting Questions from the Seventh Grade

2012-01-29T16:02:00.001-05:00

Like Dorothy, who mused to her dust-mop-like mutt: "this isn't Kansas anymore, Toto!" - I realized that our kids were definitely not in the public school system anymore when my daughter posed a question:

"Are we Predestination or Free Will?"

She posed the question to me after intercepting a call to her mother's cell phone.

A few years back, I think I could have given my daughter - who incidentally just became a teenager last week - a very good answer to that question. However, I am fifty years old and I find that I am less sure of anything these days.

I was reared in a free-will theology, a great deal of my grandfather's preaching centered on the free-moral agency of man. But, he was also a throw-back from the older era of Wesleyan circuit riders, in which it was not uncommon for the audience of a differing theological persuasion than the preacher. He didn't seem to mind speaking to groups that might buck some of his doctrinal notions.

One of the few sermons that I remember him preaching was from the 6th chapter of the book of Esther: "On that night could not the king sleep...". As he worked through the story of Esther that night in the small church in LaFayette, Georgia, he stopped the sermon and announced that if anyone there was of the Predestination persuasion they were welcome at that point to dismiss themselves.

It was a joke, but the handful of people in that little church just sat there in stunned silence. In his long history of preaching to non-traditional crowds Grand-dad had often ministered to groups that were well-decided about the origins of their faith. In this case, he was about to agree with the predestination folks as he explained how God neatly brought all of the loose ends of that story into a neat knot.

I recorded that sermon and listened to it many times through the years. The book of Esther became one of my favorites. I really think that that sermon had a strong influence on my thinking, causing me to develop a deep appreciation for the sovereignty of God.

That deeply held awareness of the sovereignty of God over every situation was one of the things that drew me to a Presbyterian church based in the Reformed Theology just a few years ago.

My age, my long-held history in a free will Pentecostal church, and a felt need to be transparent with my family about where I am in this transition - all left me with no simple answers for my daughter.

Since entering the Presbyterian church, I have spent over three years mostly listening. It helps that Presbyterians are very intentional about their worship (nothing is done without purpose) and that we have a pastor who takes the time to explain most every aspect about our worship that may be unique.

It also helps that last year my daughter completed a somewhat grueling Communicants program in the church. It was designed to develop critical thinking and a clear understanding of the foundations of faith as this group of sixth-graders study and apply each of the 107 questions and answers of the Westminster Shorter Catechism.

I am so thankful that my daughter would ask such a question - that she is thinking along those lines; and also that her teachers care enough about her relationship with the Redeemer that they would plant it in her mind.

Uncle Roy

2011-12-25T01:00:00.000-05:00

I cannot go through a Christmas season without thinking of Uncle Roy. Though only brothers-in-law, he and my Dad were best buddies. Roy was part preacher and part gypsy. He loved to buy, sell and trade and his favorite item was the thing he just bought.

He gave the appearance of tending to love "trading" churches too, since Roy didn't tend to stay very long at most places he pastored. However, that was the "appearance" - in fact, he was quite a hand at step into troubled situations and turning them around. When the operations were running smoothly again - Roy would move on.

He and Dad were always the hub of the commotion that was our family holiday gatherings. They loved to discuss and debate and "carry on" as we would say; those two had a tremendous effect on the volume and hilarity of any celebration.

Roy had grown up in a rough environment and when he came to Christ, the change was overwhelming! He used to joke that he knew so little about the Bible that some of his early sermons came from the book of "PALMS" (instead of Psalms).

At some point Roy completed the Dale Carnegie Course and that, too had a huge effect on his future.

Roy was also an accomplished speaker, addressing banquets and other dinner gatherings. So he always had a ready supply of amusing stories and didn't mind repeating them. Many of those stories still come up every Christmas when my family gets together.

Speaking of Christmas, my memories of Roy have a special attachment to this season. Our families regularly spent a few days together at my grandparents' home during Christmas.

Roy was always a little mischievous and would sometimes sneak outside late on Christmas eve to pretend to be Santa Claus. Dad would work the inside expressing alarm that the noises we heard could very well be Santa, Roy on the outside would be going "bump in the night".

I probably owe two of my prominent character traits to Uncle Roy: I always thought it was cool that he drank coffee all the time. Today, I am probably most comfortable when I have a cup of the dark brew in my hand.
Roy also got excited about old television shows and old movies... he loved a "cowboy-shoot-'em-up-picture". He introduced me to Jimmy Stewart, John Wayne and "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance". I owe much of my devotion to the wonderful world of black and white - to Uncle Roy.

Roy passed away a few years ago and Christmas - and the world for that matter - just hasn't been the same.

But he still shows up in our family gatherings- through the influence of the life he lived and the memories he made.

I don't really think that heaven is much like things around here . . . but if it were, I suspect that about now he and Dad are leaning back in some cushy LAZY-Boy. It is likely they are discussing politics - national, state and church, or football or people in general. If they get too loud, the other saints have but to wait around awhile; sometime after dinner, they will find the both with feet up, eyes closed and mouths open - enjoying a nap.

It's Here!

2011-12-25T00:21:00.000-05:00

Wow.
It is that special time - Christmas Eve!
Everyone - even R. - is bedded down and I am listening to Christmas music and basking in the afterglow of this evening.

We attended a very special Christmas Eve service at church. A fresh, simple, no nonsense look at the old, old story. There was singing, reading ( I got a little over zealous with the responsive reading and "helped" the leader out by continuing to read after the "ALL" portion was completed), Advent candles and a brief challenge to recognize Christ, the light of the world - and then to be light ourselves as we go out into the world.

Our Christmas eve dinner with some of R.'s family was again warm - yet simple.

We topped the evening off with our own family's Advent Candle - lighting the Christ Candle.

Everyone seemed to be on their best behavior - maybe it's like the old poem from one of the Childcraft books that said -"jist for Christmas - I'm as good as I can be". Ab and Mom read the Christmas story from Luke's gospel (it's okay that we heard it earlier tonight). And AA regaled us with what has become the annual reading of Ogden Nash's Christmas poem, "Jabez Dawes".

Christmas tends to leave me sort of wistful as I realize that our children are growing up; but there are some definite advantages. I see Christmas holding a deeper meaning with them and it makes me so proud; they are excited but not that wild kind of uncontrollable excited.

I've really been moved by the entire evening.

What a wonderful thing God did, when He came down to be with us. ..
...came down to be like us.
...came down to show us the way...
... came down to die - for us ...
and rise again ... because He could!

Merry Christmas!

The Empty Season 3

2011-12-24T07:00:00.000-05:00

I have submitted a couple of posts relating to the "emptiness" of the season; here is another:

Because the focus of our Christmas Celebrations seem to be so centered on people: get-togethers, Caroling choirs, mobs of shoppers and the like - those who are lonely may find their loneliness compounded by the season.
In this post, let's look at an article that may be present in many homes this year reflecting that poignant thought . . . an empty chair.

The Empty Chair

Our Christmas will be a little different this year. For the first time in a long time, we will have an empty chair at our family gathering.
For the first time, my Dad will not be there. Now Mom has always truly been the hub of our family gatherings - she has been the memory-maker. Always making certain that folks were fed good, felt welcomed and always supportive of anything that anyone did to contribute to the special nature of the event.
Dad was more of a catalyst - he could make or break the event. Most years Dad could be counted on to develop a case of the "Christmas Spirit" and do something wildly impractical. In recent years around Christmas you would find there were talking doormats, a singing trout and a parrot that repeated everything you said.

Dad was the leader of our family's "anything for a laugh" mentality. Sometimes he went too far - sometimes he sacrificed himself and became the butt of the joke.

Dad made Christmas noisy and Dad made it fun.

At some point there went out a decree from Dad that every Christmas gathering would contain a reading of the Biblical Christmas account. Sometimes Dad would read it, sometimes a grandchild - we all took our turn I think - it is always a solemn and moving time.

So Dad's presence meant that there would be some deep-seated respect and devotion for Christmas. Along with some irreverence and revelry.

We will all be very conscious of his empty chair this Christmas.

Other families will have similar voids; but death is not the only culprit.

For some divorce or separation has seeped in and left its black and icy mark on the family.

For others, duty has called away a military son or daughter, and for those families there is a sadness mixed with deep pride for their noble devotion.

Others still, are separated for reasons not so plain and clear cut: an unforgotten wound, failures unforgiven ... for those the empty chair sits as a cold and silent reminder.

It is pure conjecture - but go with me on this: God, the Father, understands an empty chair.

While it may be assigning Him too many human limitations -I would like to suggest that perhaps the Father once felt the sting of an empty chair when His own Son left heaven for a time.

Leaving to encounter weakness, humiliation, scarcity and a cruel and hideous death - that first Christmas must have been a sad one. All of heaven perhaps missed His presence.

The ironic fact is that His "empty chair" would mean that His presence would soon be available to provide healing for all the empty places that filled the world:

For the wounded - His wounds would provide healing.
For the embattled - He would become the "Captain of their Salvation".
For those the unloved, He would come to bind up their broken hearts.
For those who mourn - He would crush the power of death.

When the angel proclaimed His Christmas birth announcement, they reminded the shepherds - and today they remind us - that "good news" of "great joy", "peace" and "good will" accompany Him.

This Christmas, if you allow Him, He will fill the empty seat at your table.

The Empty Season 2

2011-12-23T22:09:00.000-05:00

In my previous post, I related what I saw as the empty nature of our society's celebration of Christmas these days.
The good thing about emptiness is that it reflects an insatiable hunger that is built into the species. . . a hunger for God. Emptiness can be a wonderful thing; if that hunger drives us to the Bread of Life.

This post will explore the "Emptiness" of the Christmas season from another perspective:

The Empty Manger
I am amazed at how God's immense sovereignty is revealed in so many small and detailed ways in the Christmas Story. The tome is filled with instances of people doing common stuff that they do every day, because they have to or because it is what their family does or because they want to - and God weaves their work into His story.

No better is this illustrated in the manger.

Some time ago, I was allowed to explore something of a fantasy I had to become a farmer. So we bought two goats. I did not realize what tremendous eating machines these animals can be, so I had to devise some way of keeping hay available at all times. I constructed a kind of "hay rack"of wire fencing and scrap wood and attached it to the side of their pen. It was not pretty and it didn't work very efficiently, but it did provide some service.

I wonder if the "hay rack" in which the Savior was nestled, came about in a similar fashion. Whether it came about as an after thought or was designed with great care -someone constructed it or took part in getting it into place.
What an amazing thing, that God would fill the empty work of man's hands - and make it meaningful.
Meaningful work is a gift from God.

The Empty Manger also reminds us of a phrase familiar in the Christmas story - "it came to pass..." ; things change and we need go no further than the Christmas account in The Gospel of Matthew to see that by the time the Wise Men came to visit - Jesus was no longer occupying that manger. He was now a "young Child" and living in a "house".

We tend to want to keep Christ in the manger, meek, mild ... tiny. However, there came a time for Him to abandon it. That doesn't diminish the qualities of the role the manger played; it only reminds us that "to every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven".

The Empty Season 1

2011-12-23T12:16:00.001-05:00

Once again I have been impressed with the vacuum that has evolved from our society's celebration of the Christmas Season. As many will note - I like my Christmas celebrations with a walloping helping of sentimentality along with a generous portion of corn. Color me schmaltzy.

But even one who lacks my passion for all things sappy, couldn't help but notice that something is missing.

Having exhausted our family supply of classic Christmas Movies and shows on DVD, along with the pittance of truly good Holiday movies offered on Netflix Instant, we resorted to a program of half-hour holiday offerings from PIXAR studios last night.

The two we watched tried to drum up some kind of holiday sentiment - but it was without heart (practically without Christmas) ...it lacked anything compelling. They trotted out the same tired "we're all different but we're a family" line that has become the constant fallback for any "family" movie these days.

Early this season, my Bible reading for the Bethel Bible Series in which R. and I are involved, took me to 1 Samuel 12: 20b-21; the aged Samuel - the last Judge of Israel was being replaced by a King. Samuel didn't like the idea but God told him to do as the people desired. So at the end of the coronation ceremony for King Saul (which Samuel led) he reminded the people of their penchant for choosing evil over good. He also reminded them of God's love and patience with them. Then he said this:

...do not turn aside from following the LORD, but serve the LORD with all your heart. And do not turn aside; for then you would go after empty things which cannot profit or deliver, for they are nothing. (NKJV underlining mine)

It is that simple: People will always following something or someone; when people turn aside from following God, the only other options are empty things.

A Christmas celebration - or anything for that matter- that ignores God and His story and influence becomes void and empty.

You can see it in the one-dimensional entertainment options that are out there this season. You can hear it in the "Holiday" music that is often catchy or cute to begin with, but certainly has no staying power. Finally, if you can get anyone to make eye contact these days in a Walmart - you can see it in the weary emptiness of their countenances.

I suspect that same crestfallen visage of emptiness would have been commonly reflected on the faces of most people in Bethlehem that first Christmas night. The entire village was full - the whole world was full ... full of empty; there was no room.

Then He came ...
Filling first a small manger ...
In a small corner ...
In a small stable ...
In the little town ...

Status Report

2011-12-12T06:00:00.000-05:00

Change is difficult at any age, but more so when one reaches one's fifties.

That being said, I have found myself in a process of change for the last three years or so. I haven't written much about it because part of the flux of the situation has resulted in my being less certain about a lot of things.

About three years ago, our family moved from a denomination steeped in the pentecostal and Arminian tradition in which R. and I both grew up, to a Reformed tradition, Presbyterian church.

Big change.

I think both of us have spent the past three years mostly listening; and that's been good.
I have had my thinking challenged almost constantly; and though that has not been fun - it has been good as well.

I like a "big-tent" mentality and find myself always searching for ways to join what I have held dear in the past with the truths I am presented with presently. I am discovering that it may just be impossible for Calvin and Arminius to exist in the same room; my attempts at wedding the two belief structures are mostly futile.

Awhile back I lunched with one of our pastors. As we talked about how we each got to where we were at the time, he used a phrase that seemed to fit: he said that at some point he "discovered that he was Reformed theology....". It was as if the belief structure had been their all along - even when he was not in a Reformed church.

In some sense, that has been the case with me: many of the tenants of Reformed theology and many of the attributes of Presbyterian worship have been things that I have longed for for many years.

Because we are no longer a part of a group among whom we shared such a long history - and have joined a congregation with whom we share almost no history, it is sometimes difficult. However, the discomfort that this situation may impart often has contributed to my ability to listen more.

I am very pleased with many things in this place God has led us:

I have a deep appreciation for the adherence to the traditions of church history this congregation embraces.
For a number of years we observed Advent in our home - now we also observe the lighting of Advent Candles in church as well.
I have come to see worship more as a deliberate display of the gospel of Christ; and more about what we offer up, than about what we received.
I appreciate the fact that most everything is done with intentionality - everything is for a stated purpose related to the gospel.
Our children have been immersed into a culture of disciplined study and reflection on the Word of God and its application to their lives.

I think it is good to have our thinking - and our faith challenged. The result is that those things grounded in truth will remain and those things that can be shaken should be abandoned anyway.

The Christmas season is a reflective season for me (which is why I am so repelled by the distraction and busy-ness of it all), and I thought I would record some of these thoughts just in case you were wondering.

Glorious Inconvience

2011-12-11T14:49:00.001-05:00

I don't think I have left much to the imagination regarding my political allegiences and my strong beliefs regarding American Exceptionalism, capitalism, America's Christian Foundation and the need for a smaller government.

Like many of you, I have felt oppressed and somewhat alienated in recent years because of these beliefs and our society's apparent turn from them.

From that perspective, I took a different view of the Christmas story this year.

"And all went to be taxed, everyone into his own city. . . "

Laying aside the idea that this "taxing" may have actually been a census - it was still a great inconvenience that was imposed upon the Christmas Couple. They, recently married, pregnant, and dealing with the whispers and finger-pointing that accompanied a couple in their state, would now also endure the hardship of complying with the demands of an oppressive despot.

Yet they went; apparently without complaint.

The inconveniences increased as they arrived in the crowded little town of their heritage.

No room.

No support.

Labor pains.

Surprisingly, all these things that the "government" and "life" in general had piled onto them were planned for in advance by a loving, yet sovereign God.

His plan was fulfilled immaculately amid their inconveniences.

What oppressive inconveniences have been handed to you this season?

The Mismatch at Michmash

2011-12-10T14:11:00.001-05:00

I sat down in a friend's home last night and listened to the final points of a boy's bible study going on in the next room, as I arrived early to pick up AA.

They were talking about relationships and "sticking up for your buddies" - also about being able to rejoice when your friend gets a boost and you didn't.

The dad leading the discussion brought up Jonathan and David; and how Jonathan gave up his shot at the throne in preference to his friend, David.

This morning my reading in preparation for our Bethel Bible series at church took me to 1 Samuel 13 & 14. I think this may be the first place Jonathan - the son of King Saul and heir-apparent to the throne of Israel is mentioned.

Saul, it seems, put together 3 platoons (?) of troops, one-thousand each. He took charge of two-thirds and appointed Jonathan over the other thousand. Relations were "chilly" (to say the least) with their vastly equipped enemy - the Philistines. These troops would try to keep the peace.

Be it wise or no - I can't say - but Jonathan went on the offensive and attacked the garrison of Philistines. I just like that he did something; it is one of the things I admire and long to see among leaders in a rightful cause.

This attack angered the Philistines, which resulted in calamity among the Israelites, who were subservient to the Philistines and possessed little or no weaponry. So they scattered. Some hid, some defected, many went home.

Saul tried to muster the people to take a stand should the Philistines attack - he could now only put together 600.

I love "against the odds" stories. I have probably blogged about this very one before; but this story just appeals to my affinity for the underdog.

It seems that among this army of 600, only Jonathan and his father were properly armed - the rest were not even allowed to have sharp farming instruments without the permission of the Philistines. So Jonathan, again, decided that he could no longer just sit around; he must do something.

He and his armour-bearer contrived a plan and even included God in the plan, by laying out a "sign" without which the plan would be aborted.

They would give themselves up. If the enemy troopers told them to be still and wait until they sent soldiers to take them into custody - then God was NOT going to grant a victory to Jonathan that day. However, if the soldiers beckoned them to come into the camp... well that would be the "sign" that this tandem would be empowered to fight like poet-warriors... to borrow from Braveheart.

God allowed Jonathan and this nameless armour-bearer to join Him in the fray that day as they took on and emaciated a squad of about twenty. That's when God's partnership in the plan really became apparent!

Verse 15 of Chapter 14 says something I don't remember noticing before: one translation says the Philistine army "trembled" and there was an earthquake ; another says "panic struck" the enemy and the "ground shook". The enemy began to "melt away" before Jonathan and his armour-bearer. God was showing up.

Impossible odds.

Simply put, Jonathan was a man of great heart (not unlike that of his friend, David); he saw that something needed to be done; he willingly joined God in what He had already planned to do. In so doing, Jonathan got to be God's linchpin.

God exploded on the scene.

What unlikely odds lay before you this Christmas season?

Merry Mayhem

2011-11-25T11:07:00.001-05:00

Because I am older (1/2 Century) and grouchier now, more has been made around my house this year, of my strict allegiance to THANKSGIVING .

As I listened to Johnny Mathis sing "... they know that Sa-a-a-a-a-anta's on his way! ..." overhead in Walmart about TWO WEEKS ago, I lamented the great hunger that is reflected by our society's desperate reach for some magic -any magic - to anesthetize the emptiness of a season that has lost its way. This hunger is -in my opinion- the symptomatic result of a deliberate effort to remove the Central Focus of these holidays: a recognition of God's providence and the gift of Jesus Christ; and to replace the ensuing void with something else.

Thanksgiving - the holiday that best seems to join the elements of God and Country- has been the victim of this mad rush into Christmas.
Now as "Black Friday" has bled into "Black Thursday and Friday", Thanksgiving Day is - at best - void of its original nature; at worst - totally ignored.

Retailers bear a lot of the blame; but the retail industry is amoral. Despite the willing ignorance of the "Occupy - whatever" people, most retailers are just trying to stay alive, not stockpile extreme profits.
In this Great Recession, for many of them - their existence is down to the wire and unfortunately they have chosen to cast off the restraints of tradition and -despite the strain on employees - open at ridiculous times on Thanksgiving Day.

Today as I returned to the culture after my one day sabbatical, I was saddened by the headlines with which I was greeted. Here are a couple of the stories that exemplify the chaos that ensues when a people lose sight of the "Pearl of Great Price" and pursue cheap bobbles instead:

http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-501363_162-57331142/woman-pepper-sprays-other-black-friday-shoppers/

http://www.twitvid.com/QM7T7

Theatre of the Mind on Halloween

2011-11-01T22:39:00.001-04:00

As parents there are some milestones in the experiences of our children that we choose to either lock-out or to lock-in: observances that you choose to ignore or embrace and that eventually become ingrained into the family tradition.

One item we chose to more or less "lock-out" was Halloween. When the kids were small, we opted out of the whole "trick or treat" thing. It was a little more common among evangelicals at the time and we just decided that the fear and the extortion-like practice of hitting up the neighbors for candy set the wrong expectations.

Not judging; we just made that decision.

That's a decision I haven't regretted, although our kids might say something different.

We haven't let it dim the awesome magic that Autumn instills in us all; we haven't missed the annual viewing of "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" very often; we'll even take in a "scary" movie at times... "The Ghost and Mr. Chicken", "Arsenic and Old Lace", or "Abbott and Costello Meet the Mummy".

For Halloween night this year, we stepped back in time a little and enjoyed a page from the more innocent days when radio was king.

On the evening before Halloween in 1938, the most popular evening radio show was the "Chase and Sanborn Hour" with Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy. On another station, a young Orson Welles and his Mercury Theatre vied for some pittance of attention during the same time block.

As the first Great Depression loomed heavy over America, the nation often sought distraction from the desperation through the radio. On that night, they got distraction alright- and the result for many was widespread panic!

Orson Welles presented an adaptation of H.G. Wells' book, "The War of the Worlds". He chose to bring the tale into the 20th century by presenting the story as if it were being reported on the radio. Apparently, it wasn't his aim to trick people - the play began with a very straightforward introduction; then it faded into a program of ballroom dance music.

By some accounts, many of the people listening to the "Chase and Sanborn Hour" tuned out when one guest - an operatic tenor - began to sing a number. That was when they tuned into the "War of the Worlds" broadcast - just in time to hear a "reporter" interrupt the program with a special news bulletin.

People listened in rapt attention as the story of a martian invasion unfolded. As the plot developed, many reportedly fell into a panic - assuming the news reports were real.

I first learned of this event as a young teenager, our school library had a set of those Time-Life Books in which each volume gives an account of a specific decade. My favorites were the 1930's and the 1940's. Having an interest in radio - the story about the "War of the Worlds" broadcast captured my attention.

Last night for dinner we all gathered around the laptop, where I had found a site streaming a recording of the broadcast. I was rather surprised that AA and Ab mounted little protest and for quite awhile it retained their attention. Eventually, AA had to move on so he quietly grabbed his Mom's Ipad to play some games.

For a few moments, Welles was able to reach through the decades and nab that boy's attention again; screams emitted through the speakers as the martians decimated a crowd en masse with their searing heat ray. As I said, AA's attention was arrested but only briefly, from that point on his activity level just increased.

With about ten minutes left in the program, we lost Mom and AA. . . actually, it was pretty good that they stayed as long as they did.
Ab stayed with me though. She stuck it out to the end and - I think - was glad she did.

I think she has something of her father's love for nostalgia in her.

For me, it was a good night. In recent days, it has seemed more and more difficult for our little family to get together in one place at the same time, all focused on the same thing. I think it is probably the nature of things; maybe partly due to the fact that the kids are getting older. . . or we are.

But this "all hallows eve" provided the best treat of all - time with the folks we love.

Resources include: http://www.radiolab.org/2008/mar/24/

Switching Teams

2011-10-30T15:24:00.000-04:00

I like God's sense of humor.
Sometimes I find humor in places in which it was not intended.

Our Bethel Bible Study is looking at the nation of Israel in its infancy; one reading came from Joshua 5. Joshua, who was learning that he would be the new leader of the budding nation, encountered a "man" with a drawn sword.

The "man" was obviously not ordinary (my opinion is that this was a pre-incarnate encounter with Christ) and so Joshua wisely asked: "are you for us or for our adversaries?".

This is where I like God's humor.

The "man" replied, "No."

I can just see Joshua looking all confused and askance - as if to say... "wait, that wasn't one of the choices".

I believe it was Tony Evans that I heard say once in a Promise keepers meeting that when God shows up, He doesn't come to pick sides . . . He comes to take over.

I like that.

The implication to Joshua was that the question was phrased incorrectly. As the "man" continued, He pointed out that He was come as the "Commander of the Lord's army"; so clearly Joshua should have asked - "whose side am I on?"

God is steadfast. He doesn't switch teams. So if there is any changing to be done - we have to be the one's to do it.

In Matthew 16, Simon Peter appears to have "switched teams" within about 8 verses. In verse 16 he confessed that Jesus was "the Christ" and Jesus affirmed him and his statement, and called it "the Rock" on which He would build His kingdom and Peter's stock appeared to be on the rise.
However, about a paragraph down the page, at verse 23, we find Peter rebuking Jesus - to which the Saviour replies "get behind me, Satan!".

From "the Rock" to "Satan"; Peter, just whose side are you on?

That's me, more often than I would like to admit - like Joshua and Peter - I fail to see how I should quit trying to get Jesus to join my team. Instead I should be figuring out how to be on His.

\ä-kyə-pī\

2011-10-29T15:31:00.001-04:00

Okay so this is just too rich to pass up.

I was doing a little reading on the "Occupy Wall Street" crowd and how the cold weather is bringing them a very real lesson on capitalism and what it is really all about.

The AP article I was reading pointed out how people from the Boston OWS group have "raised about $35,000.00 which could help buy winter supplies". American capitalism is simply about making products available that people need or want and earning a profit from that transaction. Hopefully, some clever entrepreneur will leap on this opportunity.

Anyway - here's the "rich" part ...ooooh ... probably shouldn't use that word in relating a story about the OWS crowd... Anyway, here is the extremely-humorous-and-wonderfully-fulfilling- on-behalf-of the-greed-driven-capitalists' - part; it is taken directly from the site - www.occupywallst.org and is heralding all the groups endorsing the OWS movement (?). The NAACP is among all the many labor unions in that group of endorsers ... note the statement from their president:

Earlier this week the NAACP put out a statement in support of the Occupy Wall Street / 99% movement:

“For over 102 years the NAACP has supported, and continues to support, policies which create, preserve and expand living wage jobs, increase economic opportunity and protect the desire of every American to build and retain wealth and equity,” said Ben Jealous, NAACP President and CEO. President Jealous went on to say that the largely peaceful protests are true to “the non-violent traditions and philosophies upon which the NAACP is based and has operated under for our entire existence.”

Not only is his statement about protecting the desire of every American to build and retain wealth ridiculously ironic when juxtaposed with the fact that this is exactly what OWS is moaning and crying about.

But his name ... his NAME ... that's what is so rich - er funny ...Ben Jealous ... how well that name correlates to the entire thrust behind this class-envy movement.
Have you, Ben Jealous, been jealous?

bahahahahaha

I am sure this is offensive to a number of people in so many ways, but really ... has this group (OWS) done anything that would prompt anyone to take them serious?

When they protest Wall Street but fail to make the very obvious link between Wall Street and White House policies... should they be taken serious?

When they do strange things like the off-shoot group from "Occupy Atlanta" that formed a circle around a building and chanted in an attempt to levitate the building?!? (I kid you not) ... should they be taken seriously?

When they decry having to pay back student loans that they - in good faith - asked for... should they be taken serious?

When they give those hilarious speeches in 3 syllable chunks, repeated by the crowd so that "every voice can be heard" ...should they be taken seriously?... "should - they - be ...." "...tak - en - serious - ly ...?"

When they moan about government bail-outs for "Wall Street" types but then ask for one for themselves... is there any room for serious reasoning with such a group?

Their message - if and when it is ever coherent - is very simply one of jealously and envy. It is clearly meant, not to foster a national discussion, but rather to fuel the fires of discontent among the dupes that will listen to their jaded tales.

Clear thinking Americans must be careful to avoid accepting the original premise of the arguments espoused by this crowd (something the Republican leadership has failed to learn). Capitalism is an amazing concept and it is good. However it is sometimes tough and for one to succeed there are at times, winners and losers. Capitalism allows losers the opportunity to get back up and try again. . . it doesn't feed their victim-hood.

Do not answer a fool according to his folly, Lest you also be like him. Proverbs 26:4 NKJV

Awkward

2011-10-11T22:30:00.000-04:00

I think that is the word that best describes my pre-adolescent and teen years: awkward.

I write this post for my daughter who finds herself on the threshold of those years and has just commented to me on how awful her hair looks.

During those years, every misstep, every flaw, every blemish seems to play over and over on a huge mega tron screen in your head. Everything has an exclamation point. If it's good - it's TREMENDOUS! If it's bad - it's horrendous.

There is very little room for middle ground in the middle school.

Recently, as I thought about her - I remembered me and I could still feel the sting of embarrassment from those days.

Here's a little story from my past, for what it's worth.

In the eighth grade at LaFayette Junior High School everyone was Baptist. They all seemed to go to the largest church in town - LaFayette First Baptist. It was a good church and had a strong youth program. When they had youth events the whole school seemed to buzz. Most of my friends went there.

The "buzz" in late January - early February of 1975, was about a "Valentine's Day Dance" at First Baptist, and all the guys were planning to "get dates".

I didn't attend the First Baptist Church . . . that felt awkward. Instead, I attended a small Pentecostal church with some strict teachings: we didn't go to dances. It was a kind of sad church for a young teenager, honestly they just didn't have much to offer.
But there was something like a buzz that was beginning to stir at our little church; the church had hired an assistant pastor who focused on getting something going for the young people. Our youth group was a sparse one with an age range from maybe 8 or 9 years old to one guy who had a mustache and may have been 20.

We had begun to have some social events and were planning a "Valentine's Day Banquet" at the Chattanooga Choo-Choo. If all the guys at school were getting dates for the dance - maybe I would just get a date for that banquet.

Betsy was by no means a ravishing beauty, but she had that "girl next door" quality about her. Chestnut hair and just the right amount of freckles. We sat near each other in class and I set my sights on her.

I had already caught wind that a friend of mine was thinking about asking her to the dance - so that fear of missing out, provided the right motivation for me to move quickly. I usually remember details pretty vividly (whether or not they actually happened) but I can't for the life of me remember how I asked her. What matters is that somehow I asked - and somehow she accepted! Betsy would be going with me to the banquet.

To understand my glee, you have to know, as far as I was concerned: Betsy was not only out of my league - we weren't even playing the same sport.

In 1975 nostalgia was big. With movies like Paper Moon, and the popularity of television shows like The Waltons: folks were dressing like the 1930's. In preparation for the big date, I had gone shopping and purchased hounds tooth pants, a blazer and a polka-dot bow tie ... all stacked on the closest thing to 3-inch heels I could find.

The night of the big date arrived and we all loaded onto the church bus and made the drive to Chattanooga, Tennessee and the Chattanooga Choo-Choo. The grand station had been converted into a fancy restaurant. I remember that we had some sort of glazed chicken and rice dish. With my sweaty palms I had tried to hold my silverware properly and slice up that chicken, but he put up a good fight. When we left there was a ring of rice that surrounded my plate. I tried to cover some of it with my napkin.

We rode a trolley and walked around a bit, but I couldn't tell you a thing we talked about - or if we talked at all.

Finally, we made the trip back home. When we arrived at church, we all went to the preacher's house next to the church and gathered in the living room to call our parents to come take us home.

That was when the big AWKWARD really hit.

I had no ambition -oddly enough - for a good night kiss. Didn't even expect to shake her hand. In fact, I had given very little thought to how the night would end.

So when my parents arrived first - I darted out the door, bidding everyone a goodnight.

It was not until I sat safely in the back seat of Dad's Oldsmobile - that I realized that I had left that poor little girl there among complete strangers - just left her there to fend for herself. It was my parents that pointed out the flaw in my actions and bade me return to wait with her until her parents arrived. I argued the point - feeling much more inclined to crawl under the seat and hide for a couple of months. Finally, I submitted and returned.

By now, at the ripe old age of fifty, I have had enough "egg on my face" to start a McMuffin Franchise - but then, at that tender ... awkward age - it was a hard thing to go back and face Betsy and all those people.

Lest anyone mistook my actions for anything closely resembling chivalry or honor - I quickly explained to those in the living room - and Betsy - that "my parents" thought I should return and wait with her.

At almost that very moment, Betsy's mother arrived and we waived a friendly good-bye in the front yard.

I remember that the rest of that weekend, I was smarting from the hangover of that awkward night - almost to tears a few times. To this day, that event still carries the twinge of embarrassment for me.

Betsy and I remained friends but never "dated" again. In fact, my dating career -which I envisioned as having a glorious launch - would go on sabbatical for another five years.

The bumps and bruises my heart suffered during those pre-teen and teen years may have been "just a part of growing up"; but they were bumps and bruises just the same. They are very real; but very few people make to adulthood without them.

"Stonewall Jackson's Verse": a 9/11 Perspective

2011-09-11T14:19:00.000-04:00

I have liked the Confederate General, Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson since watching the movie, "Gods and Generals". I admire his piety and the respect it garnered from his men.

Recently, I was encouraged by a well-read Jackson-aficionado, to read "Stonewall Jackson's Verse" by southern author, H. Rondel Ramburg, D.Min. as a means of beginning a study on Jackson's life.

Jackson's life-verse was Romans 8:28 "And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose."

The book is a simple relation of that verse and how Jackson's life is displayed its details through the statements of friends, family and colleagues, and through history' own account.

Jackson - when barely in his prime - had already lost his father and his mother, saw the dissolution of his family as the children were distributed among relatives, and had lost his young wife. In every instance of loss, he returned to this reassuring verse.

Jackson did not use the verse as an assurance that if one would just "hang on - things would get better". Instead he recognized that God's definition of "good" and his own definition of "good" were sometimes on seperate ends of the spectrum and the purpose to which God called him was that he would be changed - not God - nor His plan.

This mind-set resulted in a resolute calmness on the battlefield for Jackson (which helped him earn the "Stonewall" nickname); he was assured that God had already "fixed" the day of his death and until that day came, he was as safe when the bullets were flying on the battlefield, as he was in "his bed".

Romans 8:28 has long been a favorite of mind, but often because of its positive appeal. Now I see it a little differently - now it says to me -God works things according to His purpose; and we know His purpose is good.

The events that occured on September 11, 2001, were not "good".
However within His economy, God could take the tragedy of that despicable act and "work" it toward the good of His purpose.

If we learned the lessons that this event taught us - we could line up our definition of "good" with His own definition of "good".

There were "good" acts that day and the days that followed.
There were "good" people, doing good from a heart of compassion.
There was even a "good" sort of grief that drew us all together around our shared sorrow.

But ultimately, one decade later, can we say that we have changed?
Have our thoughts, as a nation, become less fearful?
Are we more mindful of our neighbors?

Perhaps these are questions we should ponder on this day.

Staying Creative

2011-09-11T13:05:00.001-04:00

One of my favorite blogs is Jon Acuff's Stuff Christians Like, Jon started his blog a little over month before I started mine. That is pretty much where the similarity ends.

Jon joined Dave Ramsey's organization last year and has recently released his third book ("Quitter"). The SCL blog is not only still the home of classic sarcasm, but now it is an excellent resource bringing together talents from across the web.

I visited the site yesterday - first time in awhile - and discovered this video Jon posted from TO-FU ... I hope it inspires you as it did me.

http://www.to-fu.tv/

Conquering 'Surprise Hill'

2011-09-05T13:43:00.001-04:00

Some of you may remember a post about "Surprise Hill" a long while back; the hill stands as a seemingly insurmountable obstacle on the Silver Comet Trail between Rockmart and Cedartown.

An early evening bike ride ended badly there for AA.

That was Then.

This summer was extremely busy for Ab - what with The Great Escape in Colorado and a plethora of other camps to attend - it left me feeling that AA needed some adventure.

He and I have been semi-plotting and weighing the options of an Homeric quest to travel the Silver Comet Trail from Rockmart, Georgia to Oxford, Alabama. This trip would probably require an overnight camp along the trail and the arrangement for some transportation back home.

As a first step toward this monumental task, we decided to take a late Sunday afternoon ride from Rockmart to Cedartown just to test our mettle.

We stocked up on some supplies - sunflower seeds, apples, water and the like; arranged with R. for a pick up in Cedartown, and headed for the trail.

Face Your Fears.

That is a lesson I have hoped to demonstrate - and eventually teach - our children. AA and I both knew that there were some tremendous climbs ahead of us. And we knew that on the other side of one of those climbs was a pretty steep downgrade. He still bore some scars from the last encounter with that downgrade.

I could sense a little angst in my son, but to his credit he stayed the course.

Too Much Time to Think.

Like a timeout called by the opposing team to give the rookie field-goal kicker time to think: we hit a delay.

We waited out a small summer thunderstorm in a tunnel.

The thunder and lightning passed and (we thought) the rain as well.

So we headed back on the trail only to be drenched by a deluge.

We decided that it wasn't so cold once you got completely wet, so we embraced our struggle and pressed on through the rain.

We counted rabbits, turkeys and deer and the numbers climbed as the trail edges away from the main roads at a community called "Fish Creek".

We had never traveled some of this stretch so it was an interesting ride. The rain finally subsided and we soon found ourselves in the throes of an ascent to about 1,000 feet above sea level. . . "Surprise Hill".

We had been there before, we knew what to expect only this time, AA was determined to pedal up the hill without pausing to walk his bike as he had done the other time we traveled this path.

We approached every hair-pin curve with caution - not knowing if it would be the one that would suddenly "surprise" us.

Finally, we made it to the pinnacle. I was in the lead and turned back to call to AA to brake and proceed with caution. My call was met with a responding yell, "Dad! Stop! STOP!".

I complied and waited for him to catch up.

"let me go first" he said.

I bowed to his courage. I knew just why; he needed to defeat that hill without my clearing the path and showing him it was safe.

He made it.

And eventually we completed the approximately 14 mile ride in Cedartown.

We celebrated with some sunflower seeds and basked in the glory of having proven something to ourselves.

It was one of the most enjoyable events of the summer for me.

Silas Marner

2011-07-09T18:47:00.000-04:00

Miss Shields, Ralphie's teacher on A Christmas Story was partly responsible for my reading the book I have just completed. I don't know why, but seeds of inspiration often come to me unwittingly and from sources I wouldn't expect.

A Christmas Story is one of those movies R. and I watch almost every Christmas. As one classroom scene fades, Miss Shields begins to talk with the class about their latest literary quest - Silas Marner!

Having seldom graced the presence of any literary circles and by a combination of choice and fate, I seldom found myself in the "challenging" classes in high school - I am just now coming to appreciate and even know the least about some classics. So I don't remember ever hearing of this tome except from the movie, but the title intrigued me... I like colorful names.

When I got my Kindle2 earlier this year and was perusing the "FREE" books I could download, I ran across the book and naturally added it to my archives.

Even more recently someone mentioned the book - probably on Moody Radio and quite possibly it was Chuck Colson - anyway, they referenced the Biblical Worldview perspective of the book. So I took it up on my next opportunity.

The story is quaint, which immediately drew me in. I found companionship with several of the characters since I share similar emotions:

Silas, who often found it easier to be a loner than to try and reach out to the townspeople of Raveloe.
Godfrey Cass, who had a good heart but was constantly badgered by an inability to make a decision.
Nancy Lammeter, who spent her life imposing rules and restraints upon herself in order to do what she thought pleased others.

Silas was the underdog, a man driven from his home and all that he knew and held dear - rejected by the love of his life and betrayed by his best friend. He arrived in Raveloe and could not or would not seem to fit in. Silas was angry with God and no other relationships would take root.

The story traces his life through highs and lows of becoming a miser and then having his riches - the only thing he let himself love - taken from him.

When he finds Eppie - a child abandoned after the death of her mother - his whole world is altered. And through raising this golden-haired little treasure - he gets his treasure back. He also becomes well loved by the community.

I was a little disturbed about halfway through the book, when I learned that George Elliott - the author - was actually a woman of ill-repute, named Mary Ann Evans. This 19th century author chose a masculine pen name in hopes of being taken seriously.
She lived with a philosopher named George Henry Lewes for over twenty years - without the benefit of marriage. Apparently he and his legal wife had an "open marriage".

She questioned and apparently denied her Christian faith and after her death was refused burial in Westminster Abbey.

Despite her agnostic views, her books apparently reflected the same Christian worldview seen in Silas Marner. At one point, according to Wikipedia, before she owned up to her pen named, it was assumed that her books were written by a "country parson".

In the book, Silas just couldn't make out how God could possibly have been working good in his life through all the betrayal and mishaps he faced. Yet somehow, it came out right. Each dark event seemed to eventually lead him toward something brighter. Though unsaid, the reader can put down the book reaffirmed in the knowledge that God is at work in the world.

Independence Day - Here's What We Did

2011-07-09T18:05:00.000-04:00

True to the wishes of John Adams, we solemnized the 4th of July with ". . . .Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more." or at least portion of those festivities.

It was yard work for Saturday as our highly socialized daughter had some activities to attend. Then sensing my ever-growing need for family adventure, Mom proposed a surprise event.

My outlook being so low, I was given the privilege of being "in the dark" on the plans and destination, just like the other kids - the anticipation is 80% of the fun!

When our family truckster pointed toward Cave Spring, a small town near us that held a small fireworks event each year, the kids and I were pretty certain that we had discerned the plans and were fairly confident in our surmising. That is until we turned right toward Alabama and left behind the small mass of gathering people perspiring in the evening sun.

The secret was almost revealed when the Google Map R. had printed (we are not utilizing GPS technology at this point - primarily because I cannot stand one more voice telling me what to do when I'm driving) was unclear in its directions. R. called in reinforcements from someone who had been to our unknown destination and we got back on track.

About dusk we arrived at the 411 Twin Drive-In in Centre, Alabama.

Until I saw the plywood screen looming on the horizon, I hadn't figured it out. This was a great adventure, since it marked my first visit to a drive-in movie. As you may recall, my upbringing was sheltered and within the confines of some fairly strict religious codes. We didn't attend movies (except on two occasions when my school went and my teacher who attended church with us said it was probably okay) - but that didn't stop me from straining every ocular muscle I had to view the screens and read the lips of the actors when we occasioned to drive past one.

Anyway, we were please at the laid back family atmosphere of the place and the busy snack bar (with a "96" score on their Health Dept. inspection). With Mom and I seated comfortably in our outdoor chairs, and the kids nestled cozily in their bean-bag chairs in the back of the SUV, we enjoyed Cars 2 - despite the political implications.

Sunday evening, AA and I made good on one of those plans we had for a couple of summers... to attend a race at a local 1/2 mile dirt track.
Another father and son tandem - friends of ours- were going and knew their way around, so when they asked us to go, we agreed.

I liked the free-wheeling nature of the race track - we brought in our own snacks, refreshments, chairs etc. That "free-wheeling" attitude also extended to tobacco products. While I think it is very disingenuous for legislation upon legislation to be passed restricting tobacco use in public - while it is still a legal substance and while tobacco products are also the source of an enormous amount of tax revenue; I also enjoy not having to breathe the smoke and not having to watch my step for fear that my flip-flops may bog down into a puddle of Red Man.
We also were witness to a nice assortment of tattoos.

There was something thrilling though about the races, being that close and literally feeling the roar of the engines. It was quite an experience.
Because of the growing roster of participants and delays due to accidents, the night ran a little long. AA was quite a sport when he agreed to leave early even though there was at least one more race to go. It was after midnight, by the time we got home and showered the red Georgia clay off our sweaty bodies.

The actual 4th of July saw us making a trek to West Georgia to walk in an annual "Peoples Parade".

After a "Patriotic Breakfast" (note the Red, White and Blue)

...we hit the road.
We weren't certain about transportation arrangements, so I began to prepare the troops for the possibility of our having to retrace our steps back over the parade route after it was over. This would be approximately 6.36 miles we would have to walk in total.

Mom found that her typically demure nature was overridden by her sense of urgency toward sacrifice avoidance. With the same zeal that she displayed when she inquired about her epidural of every hospital employee that darkened the door of our first delivery room when Ab was getting ready to arrive - she seemed to feel little discomfort in approaching various individuals to ask about providing us transportation back to our car.

When the parade began, we were issued Frisbees and candy mints to distribute. . . .

...and the crowd didn't mind asking for them... in fact they became a little demanding at times.

- And that was the adults!
5,000 Frisbees, that's about how many we distributed....

...by the time we reached the halfway point of the parade, we thought our names were "Frisbee!".

It really was an exciting morning and a proper way to celebrate this nation!

Other weekend hours were spent in yard work, sitting by the pool, bicycling, eating, worshipping and visiting.

We managed to get my Mom over for some grilling on the night of the 4th.

So I think we almost ran the gamut toward satisfying the respectable Mr. Adams wishes.

I hope your 4th of July weekend was equally memorable.

RepreZENT-ehn

2011-07-09T14:14:00.011-04:00

My senator is a gang member wannabe.

Maybe he heard that the Bloods and the Crips had formed their own constituency group.

For years it seems he has had a yearning to slick back his duck tail and don the trappings of one or another Senate Gang.

You've heard of the various senate gangs. Being apparently void of any imagination, they tend to call them by numbers: Gang of 14, Gang of 12, Gang of 10, Gang of 6 ....

Those last two, they are the ones my senator - Saxby Chambliss - has been involved with; in fact, word on the street is that he possibly now runs the Gang of Six.

And just what is that these gangs do?

Well we don't really know, but it appears that they meet somewhere in the cavernous catacombs of Washington establishment and wield power. Senator Jeff Sessions of Alabama, once referred to one of these gangs as the "Masters of the Universe".

I think they are supposed to be revered as a somehow more elite microcosm of the entire senate. Select statesmen endued with a more immense portion of that Senatorial magic dust known as compromise.

In reality, they are often a roadblock to any real progress. It was Senator McCain's Gang of 14 that stymied what appeared to be the semblance of manhood among the Republican 109th Senate.

Then Senate Majority Leader, Bill Frist (R-Tenn) was poised to actually make a stand against Democrat filibuster threats that were holding up Presidential judicial appointees in an unprecedented way. Then came the Gang of 14 and mired up the works.
The frailty of that majority and their unwillingness to stand and fight for right principles led to their dissolution in the following election cycle.

That's what senate gangs do: unlike street gangs- they stop fights. They muddy up the waters and add additional confusing layers to an already leviathan-like process.

Sometimes people in leadership should make a principled stand for what's right.

I have expressed that sentiment in communications with my senator. His Gang of 10 pretty much stalemated action on drilling for oil that last time gas prices got up around $4. The crisis abated briefly and now we are back to higher and higher gas prices, because no one made a stand for the right.

Frankly, I don't know what his current gang is doing, but you can bet it wreaks of compromise and at best it's result will be futile.

Before he "fell in with the wrong crowd" I was really proud of my senator from Georgia. He was a strong voice in favor of President Bush's military policy and tax cuts.

But he began to slip, in my estimation, when he hesitated far too long before coming out against the Comprehensive Immigration Reform Act of 2007. Then he really "tore his britches" with me when both he and Johnny Isaakson (our other Georgia Senator) voted for TARP I.

It was the Republican version of nationalizing industries.

He defended his actions then - owing to his own private knowledge as a Senator of just how bad the crisis might have been. To my knowledge, he has never recanted.

Now it seems he is lost to the mob; doomed to a political career of initiations and rumbles. However, the only fatalities in this brand of gang-bang war tend to be progress toward a brighter future for America. At least they are not a violent bunch... they don't pack heat or employ switchblades - they just talk things to death.

Yes, my senator is a gangster.

I guess we can't really blame him for going astray... it's not all his fault; it's the company he keeps.
Why in our capitol it has become perfectly acceptable - even fashionable- to gang up in small groups ...away from the public eye ... and make a lot of decisions based on compromise and "one hand washing the other", then to emerge and inflict your decisions on the republic.

We used to have folks that would stand up for "we the people"... in fact our system was designed that way. The Judicial system would check the power of the other two branches if they didn't police one another. That failing, we had the Republicans or even some Democrats (long, long ago) who would stand up for common sense and truth. Finally, we had the press - the "guardians of the public trust" - but no more.

I guess its just easier to go along with the crowd, but we need someone up there to speak for us. We don't need any more gangs in the Senate because apparently the Washington crowd is a gang all their own. Unfortunately, many of the folks we sent there to represent us against "all enemies foreign and domestic" ...have sided with the enemies.

"Land of the Bland"

2011-07-09T13:29:00.000-04:00

As I think about the malaise in which our nation currently finds itself, this phrase keeps rolling around in my head:

"The land of the bland"

That seems to be the result - whether intentional or not - of liberal leadership. In fact if you examine any socialist regime, you will always find less - not more - creativity; inspiration; beauty;hope for a future; thrift; work and less willingness to do that work.

Diminishing liberty devolves a nation from "the land of the free and the home of the brave!" to "the land of the bland".

This is evident in political-correctness-run-amok which has virtually eliminated reason and emasculated our conversations, rendering them colorless and. . . . bland.

The beauty of art has been reduced to a gray ghetto of self-expression in which political statements - and liberal ones at that - are the only ones acceptable. So art can be "shocking", "controversial", "cutting edge" ... but seldom "beautiful".

Because so much emphasis is placed on the "funding" of art by the state, we have begun to believe that to be authentic, art must be government sponsored. This allows "separation of church and state" arguments to remove the source of most art that is considered timeless - that art that reveals or expresses worship of God.

Have you viewed any contemporary art - considered acceptable to the masses - that has moved you toward anything . . . . but repulsion?

The best we can get from the liberal-socialist direction we are headed, is blandness.

Even economically, theirs is a goal of achieving only equality. So a socialist regime proposes to reach a happy state only by confiscating the wealth of those who achieve - angering them; and by stirring up the anger and envy of those that have not achieved and transferring that wealth to them. The problem being that having played no part in building that wealth - they have not learned the lessons necessary to sustaining and growing that wealth. So in the end the "have nots" are still miserable and learn to see their only means of survival as getting more of what someone else has. They are not inspired to achieve more and grow their own wealth; why should they?

The wealthy, on the other hand, stop doing the things that they have done in the past to build their wealth. Why should they? There is no use to expending energy and sacrifice toward a goal - only to have the rewards of success taken from your hands.

So everyone folds his hands and sits.

A little sleep, a little slumber,
A little folding of the hands to rest;
So shall your poverty come like a prowler,
And your need like an armed man. Proverbs 24:33-34 NKJV

At it's very best the blandness of liberal economics results in equal MISERY. . . not the"pursuit of happiness" that Jefferson prescribed.

No where is the monotone blandness of the liberal mindset more evident than in political discourse.

Convinced that they have no substantive arguments on which to build their case - liberals have left off trying to sway people with logic. Instead they have resorted to just saying the same thing over and over and over and over - even if it is illogical and wrong.

They find a phrase that they feel will evoke the proper emotion and they just say it again and again. Draconian - that's the word that liberals always attach to any spending cut proposed by a conservative. It sounds sort of like "Dracula" and thus it stirs up the fear and negative emotions one associates with having their very life's blood sucked out of them. So back in the 1990's when they shut down the government - it was said to be due to draconian cuts proposed then by Newt Gingrich and the Republican congress. They said it over and over.

Another phrase used over and over by Bill Clinton and his ilk, was "the rich paying their fair share" - this despite the fact that, at the time, the top wage earners in our nation were paying way over the majority of the taxes being collected.

In the present budget battles, Obama, Reid and the like have taken to attaching the phrase "millionaires and billionaires" to their statements bolstering the argument for raising taxes. Apparently, they think that will evoke the class envy they will need for people to buy into more ridiculous spending.

Here is a video compilation from the Huff Post - no less - that illustrates the monotony of their specious argument:

Isn't that tiring and bland?

Can you find the least amount of inspiration in it?

To further illustrate the vacuous nature of their arguments, you should know that the video was put together to be associated with an article about Obama's "lurch rightward". It was a time in which our President was defending his action of allowing the Bush tax cuts to remain in effect another two years. He poo-pooed tax cuts during his campaign but then defended them for a brief time - or at least portrayed them as necessary.

Now he is back to vilifying them again.

yada-yada-yada-yada-yada-yada-yada...

A Family Dispersed

2011-06-25T11:02:00.001-04:00

Here's what's been happening lately...

Over one week ago, my little girl boarded a BIG bus....

... withOUT her family...

...and rode away into a BIG world...

Her destination?

Gunnison, Colorado and "The Great Escape".

Ab, for some reason, has yearned to go to Colorado for a couple of years now (I think it has something to do with the fact that she goes to sleep most nights listening to Focus on the Family's "Adventures in Odyssey", with studios in Colorado).

The Great Escape is a huge annual event at our church - the Director of Student Ministries attended when he was in middle school. It is something of a rite of passage. It promised to be a truly great adventure of both spiritual and life-building significance.

I am very proud of the passion and sense of adventure that Ab possesses, and think it is neat to see her setting and achieving goals. This is a trait that I so admire in her Mom as well.

But I miss my little girl and am looking forward to her return this weekend!

AA has also missed his sister (though he doesn't admit it), so in an effort to "kill multiple birds with one stone", Mom suggested that he and I start a Father's Day Camping tradition.

R. knows that I am a sucker for traditions.

We have bumped our vacation plans to later in the year and I need a get-a-way of some sort now. I had been rolling some plans around in my head that included camping. I think R. saw her proposal as a means of satisfying - temporarily- my wanderlust; providing a distraction for me on the first Father's Day after losing Dad; an opportunity for AA to enjoy some adventure in his sister's absence; and most importantly - it was an opportunity for her to once again avoid getting roped into a camping trip.

As I see it, R. figures I have one camping experience - two at the most - in me, annually. Her goal (and she's pretty good about meeting them) is to just determine out how best to avoid them.

So after clumsily planning and packing and preparing, AA and I finally ended up at "Sloppy" Floyd State Park for a one night excursion.

The kick off to our Camping Adventure was hampered by several factors:

deciding where we would go (it is not easy to find a spot in the middle of a summer weekend without reservations)
navigating the labyrinth of bureaucratic procedures for just figuring out if a spot is available and then obtaining it. For instance, at one facility we were under the impression that we had to purchase a Parking Pass in order to enter the park to find out if they had a spot. They had an automated system for purchasing the passes but the machine did not give change. So we had to find a "trading post" where I purchased an onion with a twenty dollar bill in order to get change. From there we proceeded to pay our five dollars only to learn afterward that there were no desirable vacancies (there was one spot next to the restroom - convenient but not peaceful).
After much prayer - and frustration - we made it to "Sloppy" Floyd State Park where I was pleasantly surprised to find an attendant with a servant attitude and a welath of information.
We arrived at our spot - about the time a thunderstorm struck.
After the storm and two trips into the nearby town to pick up supplies we forgot (or left in the refrigerator at home) we were finally ready to build a fire and start supper.

Like the first day of any excursion we have every made as a family - our first evening was rather tense.

All the aggravation and stress can sometimes be a part of the adventure itself and our weekend turned out to be a very good one.
So now we find ourselves in another weekend - this time we are anticipating Ab's return and the gathering together again of our scattered little family.

A Stark Difference

2011-06-07T07:01:00.000-04:00

One of the foundational principles I have tried to adhere to with this blog is to avoid posting things I would not want my children to read. I want it to be safe.

For that reason, I will not be very explicit in the details surrounding all the recent news of Democrat Representative, Anthony Wiener. Suffice it to say, he admitted to privately sending a number of inappropriate photos to women other than his wife over social media; and further admitted lying about when he accidentally posted one of those photos publicly.

Surprisingly, after his tearful admission yesterday Weiner announced that he would not be stepping down.

My point for even bringing this up is for those that constantly bemoan our political system and say that there is "not a dime's worth of difference between Republicans and Democrats".

There is.

And this case perfectly illustrates it.

How many Republicans can you think of that have been embroiled in scandal and finally admitted that allegations against them were true ... are still in office?

I can't think of any.

Republicans - while being at times fallible like the rest of us - tend to do the honorable thing. They follow the concepts laid out by the founders and let go of power.

Democrats it seems - just can't let go.

When it comes down to it. They will admit their failures and deceit, but they won't step down.

It is not because they are public servants; it is because - I'm afraid - they love the power.

Biking Sensations

2011-06-01T23:01:00.000-04:00

Biking is fun again this year.

I think it was last summer that my enjoyment for riding my bicycle seemed to wane.

This year I have a new bike... it's a mountain bike. It has a little more suspension than my old bike and balloonier tires.

I am enjoying the ride - off and on the rode. As I mentioned in other posts, my approach to biking is different from a lot of folks: I enjoy the speed of down hill coasting, but I am really in it to take in all the sights and sounds around me.

For this post, I thought I would list some of the sensations I have enjoyed lately:

The thrill of spotting a Red-Winged Blackbird lighting on a pasture fence post; surrounded by the scent of freshly mowed hay and the fading sunlight of a warm Spring day....
On that same day, in the same pasture that is bordered by a little country road, I looked across the pasture, just in time to see a half dozen deer bounding across the crest of the field. Like waves rolling backwards - their raised white fluffy tails forming the trailing whitecaps.
At the end of a very hot day, where two roads intersected, I caught the faint scent of hot tar: the kind that used to form little gooey gelatin-like puddles, on a similar intersection near my childhood home in Cedartown. That fleeting aroma brought to mind hot summer afternoons riding our bikes in criss-crossing figure eight patterns and sifting through the finely ground pebbles at that sleepy intersection in search of the mysterious "rock-glass". I also remember a blue bathing suit I had that forever bore the tell-tale sign of my having sat in one of those hot tar puddles.
One evening recently, I rounded the corner of a wooded trail at a fast pace - just in time to scare up a wad of unsuspecting turkeys. Their wings can sound monstrous in such a situation.
I believe it was the same evening as I sped through a spot where the trail presents a somewhat smooth downhill grade through the woods and then out onto a meadow trail, my horizon was suddenly darkened by the figure of a fleeing deer as she leaped across the path clearing a fence and springing out of sight. They seem a lot bigger when they are that close and moving that fast!
The stale smell of grass that has been cut and left to dry out in the sun can quickly send me back to our neighborhood football games in Morristown, Tennessee. There was a vacant lot across the street from my house, pretty much the entire neighborhood would gather there often. Apparently it belonged to the couple that lived in an adjoining home. I suppose they kept the grass cut regularly, but I never remember them telling us to get off their property.

For some folks, bicycling is serious business: they have the proper gear. But for me - just think what I would have missed if all I heard was my latest downloads on my MP3 player, or all I saw was my odometer or just the road ahead of me.

Gospel Summer

2011-06-01T22:04:00.000-04:00

We are trying something new with our family devotions this summer.

We started these Sunday nite events about 5 1/2 years ago. We are not always consistent. Sometimes devotions have quickly gone South with terse words or abrupt endings. Sometimes they have been on the mark!

Last year went through the" Westminster Shorter Catechism" ... because of my clumsy way of presenting it - I think it became stale at times but we got through it.

This summer, we hit upon the idea of having a "Gospel Summer". This was partly inspired by the Emmaus Project Sunday school class R. and I attended earlier this year. In it we learned some new ways to approach the study and the teaching process. It involves consideration of the audience, the scene changes, the repetition of terms or concepts and the like.

Our plan is to each take a Gospel with a plan for reading a few chapters each week and then explaining what we've read on Sunday nites.

Matthew was written primarily to a Jewish audience and he tied most everything to the Law or to Jewish history. Ab, who is very concrete in her view of things - its either black or white with her... very little room for grey; she was assigned this book.

Mark was possibly written by John-Mark the youth that accompanied Paul and Barnabas on their first missionary journey (apparently he also abandoned the party mid trip). This book was written to a Roman audience, so it is direct and to the point. There is a lot of action in this book and he doesn't sweat the details; so it went to AA. He, too is not big on details and if we are watching a movie and there is not a lot of continual action... AA is up pacing or talking or out of the room.

Mom got Luke, because more so than any other book, he seems to include the human side. You can feel the emotions of this writing. Some say that Luke got some of his information from interviews with Mary, the mother of Jesus.

I took the Gospel of John - which sometimes seems to come from an ethereal perspective. The beginning Hymn ... "In the beginning was the Word..." it's just poetic and beautiful.

We made assignments the first week and talked a little about how these books differed. Then we made our first attempt at a "Gospel Summer" family discussion on this past Monday night (AA who had been to camp over the weekend was suddenly overcome by sleep before we could get to the devotion on Sunday night... see what I mean?

We have some work to do but I look forward to seeing growth in our appreciation for the Scriptures this summer. My prayer is that both Ab and AA will come to find a great love for the Word of God this summer as the Holy Spirit brings the pages to life... in so doing, we pray that they will also come to find a greater love for the Christ of the Word.

Never Forget

2011-05-30T12:38:00.000-04:00

... today, we remember....

With Grateful Hearts!

Spring Break March 2011 at OneTrueMedia.com

2011-05-30T12:03:00.001-04:00

It's late but it was a busy Spring... Here is a brief overview of our trip to Gulf Shores in March

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Making a Splash for Christ

2011-05-30T11:19:00.000-04:00

When it comes to the subject of baptism, I came from a long line of dunkers: we always held with full immersion.

That was one major difference I saw when we moved from a Pentecostal / Arminian-based church to a Presbyterian / Calvinist-Reformed church - the baptismal font in the front of our church was barely big enough to support a good foot-washing, much less a total body submersion!

Our church also encourages infant baptism; which is given as a sign of the covenant relationship with Christ's family - not as a sign of salvation.

When our children, ages 12 and 9, recently expressed their desire to be baptized, it prompted some discussions and further study.

It is one of the things I really like about our church: everything is done in a very intentional way and for an expressed purpose. For Ab, who had just completed an intense semester in a Communicant's class - her baptism was more of a natural progression. It was the next logical step. Great pains had been taken as a part of the class, for her to gain a full understanding of what the step of baptism represented.

AA's decision, on the other hand, posed a bit of a concern. There were questions as to whether he really understood the meaning of baptism or if he was merely following on his older sister's coattails.

That's when our Family Pastor stepped in. Before the event, we met with him as a family, and he asked Ab and AA pointed questions about their relationship with Christ and just why they thought they should be baptized.

R. and I were asked to talked about what we remembered about our own baptism.

For me, I recalled that baptism was the next step after I became a Christian. It was a time in which I - as a child of about seven - wanted to do anything that was expected of a Christian.

I also talked about how one of the most significant memories about my own baptism, was that we rushed back from visiting my brother in college in order to arrive at church in time for the evening service. Keith - the mischievous teen aged son of our preacher - met me at the door of the church and proclaimed that the water in the baptismal pool was over my head!

In that meeting with our Family Pastor, he also took great pains to explain scripture references to baptism and even provided an encouraging illustration on faith for AA. It was an unrushed, special time.

He went on to encourage R. and I as parents, to take pains to memorialize this time in order to fix it in the minds of our children: this step marked their public start for Christ.

The kids would be talking briefly at the ceremony - explaining why they were getting baptized or talking about how they came to believe on Jesus as their Savior. They wrote out their talks.

They chose to be immersed rather than "sprinkled" so the First Baptist church up the street offered the use of their baptismal pool on a Sunday afternoon.

R. went to work inviting family members, Sunday School and school teachers and special friends to the event.

Ab and AA were the only two getting baptized so the audience consisted of our Family Pastor, an Elder from our church (who also happens to be a cousin), our family, teachers and friends and a kind couple from the First Baptist Church that sacrificed their Sunday afternoon to open the church and help with the preparations.

It was a beautiful, deliberate service. Every step was explained. Every step had meaning.

I was very proud of both kids as they gave their talks, each in a brief but sober manner.

There were thoughts from the Pastor and the Elder and I was able to speak with Ab and AA in front of the group.

The atmosphere was warm and tender... Ab's friends from school hovered around her, AA's very special Sunday School teacher offered her support and encouragement, the love from our families was prevalent.

Then came the actual time for the baptismal.

In both instances the Family Pastor added something to the mix - a phrase that perhaps I had heard before but it was particularly striking for me on this occasion. As he pressed each child underneath the cool water, he proclaimed: "dead to the sin!" ....

...then as he pulled them up he declared - "ALIVE to Christ!".

Maybe that is commonly done, but it inspired me on that day.

What a perfect demonstration of the meaning of this Sacrament! It is a public declaration of one's new life in Christ. A new step in following Christ - a launching into a life lived publicly for Him!

It also perfectly illustrated how that just as Christ was dead, buried and resurrected - we too die to sin... are buried with Him in baptism ... that we may be raised to new life in Christ.

Alive to Christ!

The Rock

2011-05-14T10:59:00.001-04:00

Last Sunday was Mother's Day and I had some thoughts brewing about the day but -as is the case a lot lately - our activity level around was such that I could not seem to sit down quietly to put them down.

As you know, my Dad recently passed away after a somewhat debilitating three years. My Dad always seemed like the strong one in our family: tall, physically strong and stout.
Mom on the other hand, has always seemed more vulnerable - verbal about feelings of doubt or worry; almost fawning over others in fear of displeasing them; and Mom is the only member of my family that I have actually seen faint.

Yet, I realize more and more that she was actually the strong one.

My mother was directly involved -daily- in the care of her own mother for about ten years. This meant that Mom, who lives to spoil people, made sure that she was always as comfortable as possible and that she pretty much had all of her wishes fulfilled.

Almost on the heels of Granny's funeral, my Dad began to display signs of dementia. Soon it seemed that Mom was back in the cycle of providing constant care.

I don't think she has ever begrudged a single moment, has no regrets... and probably would not have done anything differently had she the opportunity to do it over.

My Mom is a rock.

Not only that, she has constantly shown her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren what it means to live.

Mom has always found time to play.

I have a vague memory of being a small child - bored because my brother and sister were both in school - and Mom coming up with some creative project for me to do.

For months - maybe years -she carried a large bruise on one of her legs... I don't know why the bruise didn't fully go away for so long.... but it was a trophy from a line drive, a direct hit from softball, earned during a back yard game with the grandchildren.

Even now, she is always up for a game of Scrabble, in fact when AA and Ab spent the night with her recently, they buzzed with plans of a Scrabble Tournament with Grandmama.

Mom has also taught her family how to pray. Much has been said recently about my father's role in leading his family in prayer every night and Dad did well to instill in us the importance of prayer; but it was Mom that made prayer real.

Because she has always been so open about her own worries and fears, she has also been very open about where she takes those cares. We have always known she takes them to the feet of Jesus.

Mom taught us the relational value of prayer. She taught us - by example - to rely on God instantly and in every situation small or large. As I write this I am remembering two instances recently in which Mom and Dad came to the end of their resources and abilities and turned to prayer: once when they found themselves locked out of the house (if memory serves). After trying unsuccessfully to find some means of entrance they finally prayed -shortly my brother just showed up for a visit and was able to get them back in.
On another occasion, Dad found that he was unable to get out of the bathtub. Dad was heavy and Mom could not lift him. After struggling for some time, they prayed and Dad suddenly had the idea of working his body into a different position which allowed him to leverage himself better and in so doing, escaped the cauldron.

My siblings and I have worried about Mom - if she could hold up under the strain of losing her husband of 62 years. But along with those concerns we have known that Mom is a "rock" - not because she is so feisty and strong on her own but - because she displays a constant willingness to lean on the Rock - Christ Jesus.

And He has consistently shown His own willingness to be a "present help" in every circumstance.

A Letter to the AARP

2011-05-14T09:06:00.001-04:00

Still smarting from the trauma of having moved to the "dark side" of a century here on earth... I recently received a sort of mocking greeting from the American Association of Retired Persons.

Yeah, can you believe that?

I have never been a big fan of the AARP: back in the 80's when the organization was first coming into prominence, I happened to be in the life insurance business. My company also sold Medicare Supplement insurance for seniors to cover the expenses Medicare didn't pay.

At the time, Medicare Supplement Insurance was AARP's claim to fame and people were opting for theirs over the more expensive product I had to offer.

Now I am not really still angry over that, I just said it to point out that I have never felt real chummy with the AARP.

This has been compounded by the fact that they have become more and more political in recent years - to the point that they could almost be lumped in with labor unions. The organization seeks to make dependent victims of all its members and presents a very one-sided view with its website articles.

All of that bad blood between myself and the AARP came to a head when I got their invitation to join. So I fired off a letter.

I pretty much made my family listen to the contents of my letter (under the pretense of having them help "proof read" it). Since it is unlikely that anyone at AARP will read it, I am inserting it here for your approval:

Addison Barry Rand
AARP
P.O. Box 93237
Long Beach, CA 90809

Dear Mr. Rand:

I am in receipt of your most recent offer of membership in the AARP. Let me first say that I was somewhat surprised to receive your greeting this soon after my fiftieth birthday.

I will be respectfully declining your offer of membership and would like to point out a few of my reasons for doing so.

The American Association of Retired Persons has apparently evolved into a very large organization. It seems that the organization has used the power of its large membership to assert a claim of representing a large block of voters and thus to garner more political power with elected officials. Yet the organization continually espouses causes that run counter to the wishes of a great majority of its members.

I will not be a party to such insolence by contributing in any way.

This dichotomy of values was most evident during the recent national healthcare reform debate. Your organization supported the legislation and counseled its members to do likewise – knowing that part of the proposed changes would be very costly to Medicare recipients.

Even now your website continues to rally support for what most Americans realize was very poor legislation passed in a very underhanded way.

As I grow older, I do not want to be looking to an organization for advice whose values are so very opposite my own.

Politically, I am conservative. Yet as I perused your website recently, it seems that AARP is all about fighting against conservative values. The articles do not present a balanced view but are rather couched in terms designed to promote fear and inflame the passions.

Our nation was founded on biblical principles recognizing the intrinsic value of individuals and how the freedom we now enjoy was “endowed” by our “Creator”.
Groups like yours that seek to build power and effect change by rallying people around their own discontent, fail to understand the worth of individuals. People become only numbers to strengthen the volume of a group’s voice. It is a selfish and short-sighted view and one that is ultimately bad for our country and counter to the cause of freedom.
Ironically, this mind-set eventually cripples an organization because there is no free flow of ideas – new ideas are stifled. Only those ideas that fit the format of the group’s message are heeded.

Thank you, but no-thank you. I will not be contributing even the small $16 for an annual subscription. Further, I request that you no longer send me such offers.

Sincerely

Dad

2011-05-03T23:12:00.000-04:00

Many of you will already know that my Dad passed away almost two weeks ago.

During his final days, thoughts flooded my mind of things I would like to write about him.

The days of solid and intense busy-ness and distraction that followed, seemed to drain those thoughts right out of me.

Dad had open heart surgery in 2008 and never returned to his former state; dementia, that had already set in prior to that, worsened.
I told my sister that when they rolled him off to surgery that day -smiling to keep from crying- it was the last time we really had seen Dad.

The nearly three years that followed, allowed my siblings and I to try and say those things that we needed to say.

Dad was very tenderhearted but he seldom let it show. He avoided drama at all cost and used humor to divert attempts at tender conversation. So we didn't have those tearful good-byes. Instead we laughed.

Laughing is how my family deals with things.

The day before Dad died, he appeared to be sleeping soundly most of the day. Family and friends gathered around his bed most of that day and laughed.
They joked (he was the brunt of much of the humor but it was wielded in a loving way), they told stories, they laughed.

I talked with my sister about her husband's parents. When his father was dying and they were both in different hospital rooms at the same time. They wheeled his bed into her room where this lifelong couple shared a tender good-bye.
I told my sister that such a scene just wouldn't happen with our Dad.

But I do remember some tender moments:

When I was very small, maybe five or six, Dad and I had traveled to Social Circle, Georgia one evening. His brother from California was in town and many of Dad's nine siblings were all there. During the course of the night I was cutting up with a much older cousin and ran into the jagged edge of a chain link fence. It cut a little gash over my eye and I was distraught. I can remember the safety I felt in Dad's protective arms. I also remember the comfort of sleeping in the back seat on the ride home.

On another occasion, Dad must have been rotating the tires one Saturday. I asked, and he let me help him. When it was time, he would let me know and I was to "jack-down" the car.
Soon it was time and when I began my duty, the handle on that old bumper-jack got away from me. I found myself being repeatedly smacked in the mouth by that jack handle.
Again, I remember Dad - quickly and tenderly taking me up in his arms as blood poured from my lips. It wasn't a very bad injury - a busted lip. After I was cleaned up and lay recuperating on the couch, I can still remember feeling something like pity for Dad - because of his own sense of regret.

There was a Saturday that Dad took me on something like a hike. I'm sure that some of my Cub Scout friends must have been talking about hiking and I must have begged Dad to take me somewhere.
We ended up walking up through some woods behind the construction site for a new school in our town. I remember we found some kind of skeletal remains - a cow or a deer - what an adventure.

Not too many years before he died. I remember Dad -in a rare moment - commending me on not raising my voice to my children. He talked about how well they behaved and then spoke with some regret about getting angry sometimes when he and Mom were rearing us. For me - that has been a very affirming memory.

I can't begin to know the lessons that will come from this man's life and our last few years with him. I don't want to be too quick to wrap it all up and summarize it.

I can say that he loved his family. He couldn't say it much - it wasn't his way - and besides he would cry if he did. But he loved all of us.

He loved God. From his childhood, he wanted to serve God. He led us children into an appreciation for God's Word.

He loved to laugh and to make others laugh. Sometimes his humor was - as my uncle said - "rough around the edges" - but he liked laughter.
You see, laughter is how my family deals with things.

On Fifty

2011-05-03T22:15:00.000-04:00

In response to the resounding question that seems to be on every one's lips today:

"no"

"...fifty is NOT nifty...

There. I've said it and I'm not taking it back.

Since I don't play very well with children my own age - I haven't really experienced the strange association of these two sing-song words... nifty ... fifty.

Arent' there other words that rhyme with fifty?

What about "thrifty" - now I like that - it sounds Benjamin Franklin - ish - I guess someone of my age would.
Maybe someone could ask me if fifty was thrifty.

Perhaps someone could flatter me by giving me credit for possessing the energy to by flamboyant by asking if "fifty is shifty?"

Ten years ago, I was surprised by how good forty felt. I really felt that it was possibly the best time of my life. That's why I am so perplexed by this new decade... I don't feel like I did when I was forty.

Needless to say, I am not warming to this new age very well.

"Fifty" just seems old - it sounds old.

Heck, it is old!

When my Dad was my age, all his children were out of high school and only one late arrival was still at home... he had four grandchildren already.

Lately, I have come to the realization that I probably will not be around on this earth as long as I have been around already.

It's like the third day of a week's vacation: The first day paces along amazingly slow. You rise early and keep checking to be sure the time is right - you can't believe that time is moving so slowly.

Day two is closer to normal, but you keep saying "oh I've got almost a whole week here after today".

Then you wake up for the third day and the day passes like one of those stop-action-photo films.... the sun just glides across the sky.
You wake up the next morning realizing that technically, it is your last full day of vacation... then it's over.

Life's brevity is becoming more apparent to me.

There certainly are some good things about getting older. Old guys can get away with a lot of things.
Fred over there can pee his pants and folks will just say ... "oh he's just an old guy"

You can belch ... or do a lot worse ... in public and when little children point and laugh, their Mommies will say, "shhhhh dear... he's just old".

Maybe that's what worries me about getting old... I don't want that to become an excuse.
Dad used to lament about an old guy in the Bible by the name of Barzillai (2 Samuel 19) he had been good to King David during one of his times of distress and when it was over, David invited him to come to Jerusalem, to live under his care for awhile. The octogenarian used his age as an excuse, pointing out that he could discern very well, he couldn't taste what he ate or drank and he couldn't hear the good singing that filled the king's palace. Barzillia seemed to stop living before he died.

I don't want to do that.

Even if life doesn't always leave me feeling "nifty" - I pray that God will help me to drain all the goodness out of every day He grants me.

Dismantling Memories

2011-04-03T16:41:00.000-04:00

As I began the work of dismantling the children's swing set/playhouse/fort combo yesterday, I found myself self waxing strangely sentimental.

We purchased the set when Ab was very small. It was made of good quality, heavy duty materials. The local company from whom we purchased the monstrosity constructed it on site at our old house.

She was too small for both the slide and the swings when we bought it.

Ab is now twelve years old and almost as tall as her Mom. AA is just nearly three years behind her and only a couple of growth spurts away from seeing eye to eye with his Dad.

Throughout their lives the old faithful play set has sat there in the yard, beckoning. . . "c'mon take a run or two down the smooth green slide"... or ... "how about one last turbo-push on the swings just before dark?"

Underneath the "tree-house" decking was the perfect place for a little picnic or a sandbox. It was always filled with an eclectic collection of weathered toys, digging implements and various leaves, stick and rocks. It wasn't unusual to find a spare lizard, frog or grasshopper under there either.

The bannistered walls of the tree house had survived numerous coatings of sidewalk chalk; and the pounding of playground balls and make-believe swords.

We have only attempted the monumental task of moving the behemoth a few times: I remember a band of guys from our Sunday School class (including some family) that showed up one evening to move it over so we could have some landscaping done; and then when we moved to our present location R.'s Mom and Dad took it apart while we were at work and moved it piecemeal.

A couple of years ago, after the swings sat idle for quite awhile we removed that portion of the set along with the slide and the tarp roof. The tree house was now something of a "deck" to go beside the above ground pool in the summer.

It's weathered look had become something of an eyesore and it competed in size with the trampoline, so it was time to take it down.

I found a date painted on the side - most likely put there by Ab who has often had an interest in noting items for posterity - it was last June and it recorded the names of those present.

A similar notation was on the inside of the tree house this time in pencil. It was either from two years earlier or 10 years earlier - I couldn't make out the date that well.

At the base of the edifice, one is always sure to find interesting articles....

... a "hair-thingy" as I call it ... these turn up everywhere... they hold tales of by-gone summers when a busy little girl felt the need to cast off her restraints....

... a slightly mangled, wooden alligator. . . this was a souvenir from some place. AA applied his own creative decorative capabilities to give the gator a unique visage. The alligator joins an entire army of action figures and "Happy Meal" promotions that future archaeologists will likely be digging up around here for ages to come.

In addition to the colorful items that surround the base of the structure, there are stories literally attached....

...The small rope, a reminder of last summer's goat adventure. This bespeaks the evening that I tried to tie them to the play set.

All these memories flooded my mind yesterday as I dismantled this fixture in our lives... little curmudgeons leaning out of the side of the tree house with smiling, dirty faces ... cries of "Higher!" ... "Higher!" from a catapulting swing and the gentle sing-song squeaks that yielded a comforting "all is well".

I know that new adventures await us, but none will replace the sweet innocence of childhood.

Of Bicycle Chains and Bell Bottoms

2011-04-03T15:13:00.000-04:00

For the first time in a long time, I took my bicycle out for an extended ride yesterday evening. A spring break trip, a cool snap, a good bit of Spring rain and general busy-ness have resulted in my being fairly inactive the past few weeks.

I have a goal in mind (which I won't share right now, since I don't want to be held accountable) so beginning with April I need to be more active.

My brother-in-law and I were riding bicycles fairly regularly until about a year ago. We broke up the tandem due to the time change - I think. My brother-in-law and I take two very different approaches to bicycling: for him, speed is important and getting the task done is the aim; for me, I prefer to take a more leisurely pace, and enjoy the ride. Also there is that thing about not being able to breathe when we travel fast - I find that somewhat disconcerting.

Because of this different mindset, and the fact that he has one of those scaled down, really fast bikes ... and possibly because he is in better shape than me - he is often left biding his time at the top of most hills, waiting for me to catch up.

My brother-in-law also dresses the part. He has the helmet, the wind resistant sunglasses, and those panty-hose-looking shorts. I sometimes wear the reflective safety vest my wife gave me one Christmas and some of those blousy, long basketball shorts. I think my wardrobe choices might be a little embarrassing to him - not to mention the fact that they slow me down a little more.

Yesterday when I re-entered the biker's world - I was certainly not dressed for the part.
Sometime ago, R. bought me some of the "guy-version" skinny jeans. They ride a little too low for my taste and they're bell-bottomed. So that was what I was wearing since it was Saturday and I was working outside a lot.

Right away I noticed a problem: first my left trouser leg began hanging up on the portable bicycle pump attachment on my bike. Next the other trouser leg began -first flirting with- and then catching onto the large chain drive near my pedals.

There are few worse predicaments than getting the cuff of one's pants hung in one's chain.

1974.

I think 1974 was about the last time I had the cuff of my pants caught in my bicycle chain. Wearing bell-bottoms greatly intensifies the likelihood that one will find one's self strangely drawn in by the ankle into the grinding teeth of the bicycle chain.

Anyway, on the chance that my brother-in-law might happen by and see me and die from sheer embarrassment - I decided not to apply the age-old, tried and true remedy - of rolling up one's pants to the knee.

Instead, I just made a mental note to myself to avoid bell-bottoms on future bike treks.

We live in "the country" - a very rural area. I like that, but it means that people often let their dogs run loose. Some of those dogs find it quite sporting to terrorize small children and old people who toddle by on their bicycles. I like to know the dog situation before I ride into unknown territory. If you haven't ridden in area in over a year - you can't know the dog situation. This added a level of fear to my journey.

I was happy to see that one house that I used approach with trepidation because of the snarling, slobbering bulldog of some kind that lived there and was sometimes unrestrained - now was home to two yapping little dogs. Annoying but not threatening.

I chose a route different from the one I had customarily taken when riding in the past. It was a road with two long, high hills. On the one other time I had taken that route, I was almost to the top of the second hill when I was greeted my a gang of three canine carnivores ... one was a Great Dane.

As I approached the area, I tried to remember which house to avoid. Somehow I cheated death... I passed the house and heard some distant barks after I was well over the hill top and enjoying my ride downward.

A small, puppy-looking dog came after me a short time later but he proved to be all bark and no bite.

Finally, I reached the farthest point of my ride, and rather than just turning back and retracing my trip, I took another route down a little country road that I had traversed only once on bicycle and going in the opposite direction.

Is it possible that there can be MORE hills when going the opposite direction on the same road? That certainly seemed the case as I struggled slowly up every precipice.

This was where I faced my first real dog threat. I happened up on two resting dogs on a front porch. As I reached their house they awoke in a huff - realizing that they were already behind in the chase, they both bounded off the porch in a barking cacophony. Only one made it to me, a spotted mutt with brindle markings -like he had been sleeping in motor oil.

I think if I ever had a guard dog, I would dip him in motor oil. There is something very threatening about a dirty-looking dog.

He made two or three attempts at biting my back tire... I was glad that he preferred tires over ankles. He soon gave up the chase and returned to dream about tasy tire treads and what might have been.

I began to relax, I knew that I was nearing the end of that unknown territory and would soon be back on familiar roads. I also figured somehow that I had faced the worst threat of the day. Like the soldier in the old war movies who says, "piece of cake!" just before a snipers bullet takes him out... I had that "piece of cake!" feeling.

I began a long descent into a valley which was followed by an equally long hill. At the top of that hill - a farm house.

At the farmhouse - two good sized dogs became aware of my approach and announced their displeasure.

My first thought was to turn back. However, I remembered the brindly- tire-biter that awaited me along with his slow-footed partner. So I proceeded down the hill cautiously.

The dogs employed a strategy of barking at one spot and then having established their ownership of that portion of the field, they moved forward a few more paces and again established their dominance of the territory.

I tried to remember if this was a good sign or a bad sign. I watched for any sign of friendliness - the least bit of motion that might resemble tail-wagging....

...nothing.

By now they had proceeded down the hill toward me. I surmised that I would be most vulnerable at about the spot they were standing, after having pumped that far up the hill to meet them.

Having attended a Reformed Theology church now for almost three years, I am more attuned to the sovereignty of God than ever before. But at this point, I reverted to some of my Arminian roots - and began to pray in a slightly manipulative fashion.

I must admit that it wasn't my hope that God would choose to somehow glorify Himself through a dog-mauling . . . I just wanted deliverance.

"JesusJesusJesusJesusJesusJesus..."

There were two of them before me. The first one had bright blue eyes... I tried to speak calmly to the first one.

Were his eyes glowing?

I rebuked the second!

.... and rode past.

They never offered to even follow.

From there it was "downhill all the way" - though not literally.

After almost an hour, I returned home - though fatigued I was no worse for wear... except of course for the oily chain marks on my bell-bottoms.

Spring Break Mini Get Away: Alabama's Gulf Coast -Day One

2011-03-19T23:15:00.004-04:00

It's Day One of our Spring Break Mini-Vacation and I am still basking in the momentary leisure of a first day in the Central Time Zone - it's almost like a just recompense for the hour stolen from me last weekend.

I say that I am enjoying a leisurely moment - despite the fact that my quiet time has already been disrupted once since starting this post. Perhaps I will get to complete my thoughts before the next event.

For us, the first day of a trip is always somewhat traumatic... it is as if the world in which we are tightly ensconced is not willing to let us go without a fight. For that reason, our road trips usually include some tense moments; but somewhere along the way -after arrival - we find something like that "click in our head" that Paul Newman's character referred to in the movie Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. For him the "click" was induced by excessive amounts of alcohol applied liberally - and the "click" was a sense of peace that was more numbness than tranquility.

For us the "click" just means that we all move into a shared vacation mindset and we just relax a bit.

Well, our tension began with us being fairly unprepared to leave yesterday after R. and I came home from work; and expecting to get prepared and packed and away from home at a time that would allow us to arrive some time before the wee hours of the morning.

Because we were tagging up with another family (R.'s boss) who were using the condo the first part of the week and turning it over to us for the remainder, we didn't have to worry about checking in or any of the other hassles associated with the typical arrival at a vacation spot. That was good.

I drove and because I had risen early that morning - I was extremely drowsy along the way. My plight was fraught with self-pity since it seemed that each individual in my family was equally occupied by his or her own electronic device and I was left to be the victim of the dissonant convergence of all of the noise of those devices.

Translated: no one was talking to me and I couldn't listen to what I wanted to listen to on the radio.... and I needed a cup of coffee real bad.

We finally made it ... in the said "wee hours" ... (Ab - ever the optimist- reverted quickly to Central Time and reported that it was not all that late). . . . for people nearing their 50's, 2:30 AM is late in any time zone! We went straight to bed.

We were awakened this morning by a fire alarm. Since the clock by my side had not been adjusted for daylight savings time, I don't know what time it was - trust me - it wasn't late enough for me to have slept the allotted 8 hours required -er strongly suggested by the Wellness Department where I work. I made the subconscious decision to go ahead and get burned up rather than to disturb my slumber.

Ab - who was the fire captain of her class in school last year - soon appeared in our room. Her brother was in tow. They both pointed out that it was a fire alarm.

I must say that I had to apologize to her later for my response. In my semi-sedated state, I was thinking - "she is just in here to mess up my sleep - she is making too much of this! - It's just a fire alarm - it doesn't mean anything!" ... I did not say those words but whatever I did say included me rolling my eyes .... I'm sure I would not respond well should she roll her eyes at me.

We all dressed and went outside momentarily... learning from a neighbor that this is the sixth fire alarm this month - probably a symptom of spring break - we went back inside our condo.

R. and I returned to bed, it was about nine o'clock ...somewhere.

The kids did not go back to bed - in fact they had been up before the fire alarm ever sounded. AA was pacing the ever-shrinking condo like a caged animal. Both he and Ab displayed a giddy sort of nervous energy that had to result from excitement and lack of sleep. I knew that they probably needed food more than I needed sleep and the snacks that we brought with us would only sugar them up more; so I got up.

We embarked on our first adventure ...

...on foot ...

... in search of food.

Maybe a half mile - maybe more, we discovered it: WAFFLE HOUSE

Oh, nirvana!

In order not to further disturb R.'s sleep (the "keeper of the purse"), I had borrowed ten dollars from AA and so I started calculating in my head whether we could afford a WAFFLE HOUSE breakfast. In my typically fallible arithmatic style - I miscalculated - but this time it was to our advantage. I set a four dollar per person limit as we waited for our table and I am happy to say that collectively we made that goal.

I should confess that it was me that went beyond the $4 limit - I needed to have coffee.

Before we made it back to our condo, we noticed a congregating mass of green near a local dive ... then we heard the bagpipes - it was a Saint Patrick's Day Parade!
So the kids and I made a quick detour and joined in (as spectators).

It was a new experience for us - especially the green beer.

Okay - I'm just kidding - none of us imbibed, but it was a new experience, although I think I was more impacted than Ab and AA. They quickly wanted to know when we were going to the beach.

There you have it ... all this excitement on our first day and it's barely lunch time.
As I tap away, R. has graciously greased everybody up but me and has taken the troops to the beach for some R and R. Leaving me to just a few more moments of solitude.

I realize this has been a long and somewhat pointless blog post but I have learned that I need to record those first day tensions because they are quickly forgotten when the vacation mindset becomes fully engaged.

Did I just hear a click ?

Old Man Still Got It?

2011-03-12T14:07:00.000-05:00

Even though the title is fitting, this post is not about me.

Tanner is our chocolate Lab, he's been with us for about six years now and was probably much older than the 3 year old we guessed he was when we got him.

R. and I have speculated as to whether this might be his last winter with us.
He gets around - but it is a struggle and he can't stand up for very long at a time.
On cool mornings his teeth chatter. He has more grey hair than I do.

I don't know what kind of watch dog he would be, he treats most visitors - FedEx guys, Jehovah's Witnesses and Census takers - all with the same disregard.

When we got Tanner, I had a talk with him. I told him two things:

I cupped his face in my hands and stared him in the eye and said "I am the Alpha-Dog!"
I told him that I wanted him to watch out for my kids.

He was pretty receptive to the Alpha-dog thing, but I haven't been real certain about the "watching over my kids" part.

As I have mentioned, last year my father-in-law purchased some land near us that we call "Pop's Farm". Like bees in a new hive, he went right to work - restoring a large garden spot and bringing in a pretty impressive crop last year; he also had a dry pond dug out in hopes of restoring that.

To this point the pond has been a very large and smooth hole in the ground - with only an occasional puddle at the bottom.

Due to some impressive rains last week and the clearing of some channels feeding the would be pond, it is suddenly full.

Ab and AA have already developed an appreciation for skipping rocks and that appreciation has grown over the last few days.

Tanner may not be a bodyguard, but he seldom lets the kids make a trek to "The Farm" without him.

Despite all the commotion his tentative steps and laborious breathing stirred up on the walk over - Tanner seemed to have his youth somewhat revived when he got to the pond.

One of the reasons we were given Tanner, was because his previous owner couldn't use him - he had become gun shy; but I suspect that he was reliving some of his glory days, go after birds in his imagination.

He circled to the other side of the pond, watching our flat stones skipping and splashing across its surface.

Then it happened.

I heard a splash . . .

...there he was

...paddling across.

My first thoughts were of worry. The pond is pretty deep, and it was getting pretty cold ... I admit that if he had started going down - ... well, I wasn't sure what I would do. I think I prayed a quick little, silent panic-prayer.

Ab and AA coaxed to an earlier exit to the side.

And he made it.

The old man had proven that - in a pinch, he still had the goods. He emerged to a celebratory welcome to which he responded by a crowd-dispensing shake (could have used him in Madison last week).

As the sun settled behind the horizon and the temperatures cooled even more, we headed back home. Tanner made the walk back with a little less struggle, a little more tail-wagging and a sense of confidence regained.

It spoke to me as I approach my first half-century mark in life. I think sometimes there is great value to be gained from an old man just plunging in.

Standing Up in the Commonwealth of Virginia

2011-02-26T09:27:00.000-05:00

I often get quite exercised when folks want to protect me or my family by legislation. I our government is far too intrusive and not only have removed the fun out of a better part of our lives - but also have managed to remove a great deal of our freedom.

That's why I was a little surprised to read about the reaction of Virginia liberals to a new state law to make abortion clinics safer. The article is linked here.

The law requires abortion clinics to meet the same safety standards as hospitals.

That sounds pretty reasonable.

Democrats and pro-abortion groups are all up in arms because they say that the bill will result in the closure of some 17 of the state's 21 clinics.

Does that mean that 17 of the states 21 abortion clinics are operating under less than safe conditions?

I thought that was the big motivation behind "abortion rights": to end "back alley" abortions and other unsafe abortive practices supposedly suffered during the "archaic" days before Roe v. Wade.

Shouldn't these Republicans (and a couple of Democrats) be hailed as great crusaders of the public good for demanding that abortions be safe?

I contend that there is little regard for patient safety in this industry - and the liberals who present such public posturing supposedly in support of this "right" care very little for the people involved.

It is why I believe that there are at least two victims to every abortion: the baby and the mother. It seems to me that abortion rights are such a sacred cow for liberal politicians that they are willing to throw away the very protections they claim to espouse.

They cannot have it both ways: either the abortion industry is in great need of regulation (implying that there has been a dereliction of duty for a number of decades now), or the myriad of regulations that currently ensnare the rest of the health care industry are just to restricting.

I find it quite refreshing that lawmakers can expose hypocrisy, point out the destructive economical effects of government regulations, expose the true motivation of liberals and strike a blow against an industry of death - all with a single piece of legislation.

How about the rest of the Union ... are you listening?

Petty in Wisconsin

2011-02-21T23:54:00.001-05:00

I am going to say something controversial here.

The fact that I don't rail on and on about political matters very often in this forum is a testimony to my restraint. Tonight I will loosen a little so reader beware.

I believe that there are some very good teachers in our nation - I am even related to some of them. I believe that teaching is actually a calling. That people are gifted with abilities or compassion that allows them to instruct others.

I also believe that in many of our public school systems, the once honorable profession of teaching has been sold into servitude and is in real danger of losing any semblence of dignity and honor.

Take for example, the teachers in Wisconsin:

Doesn't it seem awfully small of teachers to call in "sick", in order to sabatoge the school system because they are not getting their way?

Isn't it very shallow to stop the all-important education of our children over money? That is what this is all about after all, isn't it?

And what about the pettiness of the arguments they present? Most of what I have heard have been envious little slurs about corporations getting tax cuts or the governor's friends(?) not getting any cutbacks.

I think it is obvious to most of the thinking world that the Wisconsin debacle is nothing but a power grab for the all-too-powerful teacher's union.

It is a shame that we have to lump all of those teachers together under one umbrella - but that's what unions do - they take away the voice of the individual.

Collective-bargaining means that people give up their right to defend themselves - give up their right to excel and shine on their own - to be exceptional. Instead they give that right to others who defend them in the manner they deem necessary.

The constituents are reduced to becoming perennial victims who are trotted out and made to look pitiful every time the union needs a headline.

I don't always know the whole story; but I possess at least a smattering of common sense - enough to know that education is not at the epicenter of the storm in Wisconsin.

This time, it is not all about the children.

At times I think I want Governor Walker to wax Reaganesque and fire them all - but I don't know what's best.

I think how refreshing and wonderful it would be to see a few - just a handful of teachers - stand up. To face their union brothers and sisters and say "this is not what I am put here to do - I am going back to work!"
To hear them say to the union bosses - "you don't speak for me ... and what's more, you don't speak for my students!"

But maybe my perspective is all wrong:

You see, our kids attend a private Christian school. We pay for their education and then we also pay property taxes to help fund the public schools in our area.
I would say that the majority of families that send their kids to our school do so at a great sacrifice.

Most of the teachers are there because of their passion for teaching and their devotion to the students; certainly not for the money or the benefits. Some have taught for decades in the public school system and yet they come to our little school and teach for much less money and many of them plow a great deal of the money they earn right back into their classrooms.

Moms and Dads volunteer, assisting teachers and coach sporting teams. Other parents give of their resources whether money or talent, to improve the facilities.

In recent years, families have sometimes had to pay more, teachers have faced cutbacks and budgets have been tight... . .

...but they all just keep quietly pressing on.

And why?

To be a part of something bigger than themselves.

Many of them grasp the big picture. They see the value of producing graduates equipped with the ability to thrive academically and from the foundation of a strong Biblical worldview.

They are teaching children that God is the source of all knowledge, He is truth and that He invented math. That's why 2 and 2 always - always - equals 4. It is an absolute truth. And that absolute truth reflects the complete and infallible nature of our God.

Armed with that powerful perspective. These children might just be instruments God will use to change the world.

Changing the world .... verses ... changing my health benefits....

...maybe my perspective isn't so wrong after all.

Lose Some, Winsome

2011-02-21T22:38:00.006-05:00

Many of you have already read my wife's rant of a month or so back - regarding the brutality of youth wrestling.
On that fated day, she posed a question to me: what was I going to do when AA had to go up against a girl - yeah! what was I going to do then?!?!? She didn't say that last part but I inferred it.

I did not know what I would do. I would certainly be very uncomfortable with the prospect - as would AA, I'm sure.

By now the news has spread round the continental United States of just such a match up in the first match of the Iowa State Wrestling Tournament. Joel Northrup, a home-schooler, forfeited the match rather than wrestling 14 year old female, Cassy Herkelman. Here was his statement:

"Wrestling is a combat sport and it can get violent at times, as a matter of conscience and my faith I do not believe that it is appropriate for a boy to engage a girl in this manner. It is unfortunate that I have been placed in a situation not seen in most other high school sports in Iowa."

(from Associated Press story 02/17/2011, "Rather than Face Girl, Wrestler Defaults" http://sports.espn.go.com/ncaa/highschool/news/story?id=6131909 )

Wow! Many people have remarked about the class displayed by this young man.
It illustrates the importance of a word I have heard bandied about a great deal lately:

Winsome.

Joel Northrup stood up for his convictions in a winsome way. It won over a lot of commentators and bloggers; Cassy, herself indicated that she did not feel disrespected by him; and her father also seemed to feel that Northrup acted with honor.

It is how we are supposed to share the Light of Jesus Christ - in a winsome manner.

I have known some "persecuted" Christians that were not rejected because of their relationship with Christ - but rather - they were rejected because they were annoying.

You can see winsome in the Bible when you read about the "excellent spirit" of Daniel and when the detractors could not counter the arguments raised by Stephen in the book of Acts, whose countenance was said to be "like the face of an angel".

Oh that I might learn to always be winsome in the way the gospel is presented through my life. I hope that we are rearing our son and daughter in such a manner that they would always respond to big questions in a winsome way.

Thank you Joel, for showing us how to lose - and win.

In "Those" Days

2011-02-02T10:13:00.000-05:00

When we look back over our twenty-two years of marriage, R. and I will often remark that some of those times seem like another life and we seemed like different people.
In fact the tens years of marriage B.C. (Before Children) just hangs in our history like a distant haze.

Much of that period, I would not want to relive. Struggles in our relationship seemed to come to a head in the mid-90's and - while it led to something of a resurrection for us - it was not a happy time. In fact, things were downright gloomy in those days.

In revisiting those days while preparing for this post, I realized that my life and our marriage were being affected by a multitude of diverse stimuli; many I viewed as negative turned out to influence me in a positive way.

2 Kings 20 begins with the phrase, "In those days...."
I'm still hanging out with King Hezekiah in the Old Testament book of 2 Kings, as I continue my slow walk through the Bible. After the events I discussed in two earlier posts (here and here), I arrived at chapter 20 which details the episode for which Hezekiah is most remembered:

Hezekiah was sick and the prophet Isaiah came to see him. Now prophets and "men of God" were not always welcomed visitors in those days... in fact, I think they were met with the same apprehension one would have had when a famous gunfighter rode into town in the old West. Things happened when they came around. Everything surrounding them was deliberate and definite. This is clearly illustrated in the occasion of Isaiah's visit to the ailing King . . . Isaiah's words were not comforting; on the contrary, they were riveting! He simply told Hezekiah to put things in order, he would die from his present sickness. . . he then turned and walked away.

Hezekiah turned his face to the wall and wept as he cried out to God for mercy. He pointed out that he had been an advocate for righteousness and justice, and how his walk had reflected godliness.

God heard and answered. In fact, God caught up with Isaiah before he ever left the grounds - sent him back in to pronounce that, in answer to the King's prayer, He would not only heal him; He would add 15 years to his life and deliver him from the evil Assyrians.

The sign that God granted to Hezekiah was that the shadow on the sundial actually went backward 10 degrees. God turned back the clock.

Finis J. Dake's Commentary helped me to realize something very significant about the timing of these events and promises. Just because this chapter follows the previous two, it doesn't mean that the events took place in that order. In fact, if you do the math, this near-death experience and subsequent answer to prayer, took place about the same time as the escalation of the threat from the King of Assyria sited in my earlier posts. Hezekiah reigned a total of 29 years; God added 15 years to his life following this sickness; so this had to take place around the 14th year of his administration [29 - 15 = 14] according to 2 Kings 18:13.

To Hezekiah, the mention of those days probably brought to mind a lot of painful memories . . . after a rewarding career - he suddenly faced devastating military defeats . . . he was humiliated now by a people he once scoffed at . . . his nation - and his own household faced severe economic conditions . . . and he was sick - he was dying!
Almost lost in the mix was God's promise - early on- of deliverance from the Assyrians.

In thinking about our "those days" I remembered so many influences that were coming to bear on our marriage. I was very active in the Promisekeepers movement; R. and I went through a vibrant small group study on marriage; people would come up to R. or me - out of the blue - and say they were praying for us.

Though things seemed to be rapidly falling apart, sovereign God was working throughout the situation. Even in the negative circumstances, He was shaping and re-shaping our thinking - changing us.

Hezekiah's story reminds us that our those days can be very oppressive and confusing, they can leave us disheartened and without hope; but God has a plan and often uses all of those factors to bring about the new day He has waiting for us..

God Loves Bad Guys

2011-01-23T14:15:00.000-05:00

When our kids were smaller and I was busily trying to indoctrinate them into a lifestyle of love for old movies, AA - my youngest- quickly picked up on the way to identify bad guys: the music changes.

It is very noticeable in the Star Wars saga. Darth Vader's presence could be sensed long before he ever arrived on the scene, simply by listening for his dirge-like theme music. We began to notice it even more in old movies; from the outset the bad guy would be pegged by a change in the tone of the background music.

In real life I think we sometimes size people up almost as quickly. Some people walk around seemingly accompanied by an ever-present bad guy theme. Perhaps we cannot literally hear the music but we sense it - sense it by the attitude of their posture, the tone of their voice, the way they accessorize or the way they smell. In our head, flags go up and red lights flash:

Warning! Warning!

This morning, my wife and I had police duty during the Children's Bible Time at our church. Our job was to help the capable teacher maintain peace among these children ranging from the ages of about 4 to 10 years old. As she taught the story of Jacob, I thought about bad guys. Even some of those innocent children seemed to carry around those foreboding tones. Some were more difficult to like, despite their innocence, some may have seemed bent on making things difficult.

I listened as the teacher enumerated the major events in Jacob's early life:

He tricked his twin brother out of his birthright (a right of the firstborn son that afforded him some awesome privileges).
He tricked his father into passing the Blessing on to him rather than his twin, the rightful recipient (the Blessing was a legacy-building proclamation essential to the Hebrew culture).
He was ousted by his family and hunted by his brother - and rightfully so.

Jacob's life was replete with bad guy music.

Then it happened. I thought about God and how He haunted Jacob's every step; constantly pursuing him - as unlikeable as he was.

God loves bad guys.

He pursues them - stays with them - waiting; orchestrating opportunities to step in and save the day and bring the bad guys into the full potential that God planned for them.

That realization changed my view of some of those "troublemakers". Jesus loves the unlikeable, even the troublemakers. He pursues them in a determined fashion until, like Jacob, He can bring them to their Bethel; or like the apostle Paul, to their Damascus Road. That's where He changes their tune; trading their apparent destiny for the one He has chosen for them.

If I live with that realization in my heart every day, I will not be able to look at people the same way. I will not hear the dissonant strains in the background; instead I will see someone God is pursuing. I will see someone that was worth His time and trouble . . .
even someone that was worth the life of His only Son, Jesus.

Fear- a Path to God? Well, Sort of....

2011-01-22T18:50:00.000-05:00

One of the things I like about reading small passages in the Bible, over and over again - is the way that new things effervesce to the surface.

As I was mulling over that Hezekiah post from last week and the subsequent verses that surround that story, something new occurred to me. Or rather - something occurred to me in a fresh way:

God often reshapes the very weapons that are manufactured specifically for the purpose of destroying us - into tools for teaching us.

When I wrote that post - the thing that I intended to stress was how fear works against us and how when it is about to be defeated - it will boast and swagger even more demonstratively. However, as I have been reading the story in 2 Kings 18 & 19 over a few times, I realized that there is a direct correlation between the way fear escalates its fury and the way the object of that fury is reduced down solely to a dependence on God.

As Hezekiah's enemies dialed up their terror, Hezekiah appeased and groveled and practically begged for deliverance. Finally, as if at a last resort - he directly asked God for help.

As you read through those two chapters, you will notice that Hezekiah's trouble began when he stopped making his periodic extortion payments to the king of Assyria. Eventually, the Assyrian army finished off Israel; that's when they turned to Judah and destroyed many of her cities.

That got Hezekiah's attention and he became fearful - look at how he responds - he tried to appease the Assyrians: told them to name their price and he would pay.

They did and he did, but then they decided it wasn't enough. That's when the king of Assyrian tried to notch up the terror by sending some military leaders with scary titles like "The Tartan", "The Rabsaris" and "The Rabshekah".

They taunted Hezekiah, taunted his entourage, taunted the people of Judah and taunted the God of Judah.

At this point, Hezekiah was reduced. He had foolishly hoped for mercy at the hands of tyrants.

As often is the case -even with us today- he turned to God when all of his own devices failed. He sent for the prophet Isaiah and asked him to pray for them.
Have you encountered people who are at that stage? They ask for prayer but aren't quite ready to pray themselves. Perhaps fear has just beaten them down so, that they don't feel their own prayers would be effective.

Isaiah prayed and sent an encouraging word to Hezekiah - the "Rabshekah"et al would hear a rumor and leave.
That's what they did. They heard the king was having trouble with some neighbors in their own land so they pulled out.

It is often at the point of defeat that fear will become even more threatening - like the snarling of some wild animal backed into a corner.

The Assyrians seemed to sense the relief their leaving brought to the people of Judah - and they seemed to know what God had said. So through clenched teeth they pointedly advised Hezekiah not to think this was the end . . . he shouldn't believe that this "coincidence" meant that God was saving this people.

The threats had their intended effect. I imagine it resulted in a cold chill down Hezekiah's spine.

Someone has said that Satan, God's enemy, always goes too far.

This last menacing advice drove Hezekiah right to the place God intended.
He went directly to God - himself. Hezekiah poured out his problems to God and quickly, God responded.

God's promise was certain ... the Assyrians would leave they way they came, they would not shoot one arrow toward the city, they would not even begin to build a siege mound on the city's wall; they would return they same way they came and never bother Hezekiah again.

And that's just what happened.

As someone who has been many times beaten up by fear, I am learning to recognize it.
And I know (in my head at least) that the best solution when I encounter fear is to run to Christ first.

I am still working on getting that knowledge from my head down into my heart . . .

. . .and even further down into my feet.

Back on the Wheel

2011-01-22T13:37:00.000-05:00

*Programming Note*

My posts have suddenly become sluggish in regard to the speed with which they are being processed, manufactured and distributed.

This is due to the fact that I am officially "back on the wheel"...

The activity level and the pace do not show signs of letting up until some time around mid February.

Someone's Been Reading My Mail!

2011-01-13T23:34:00.001-05:00

Did you ever feel that way?
Say you're sitting in church, minding your own business and suddenly the minister begins talking as if he's been reading your mail?

Or your wife anticipates your next move and offers a full analysis of your motive for that move ... and she's right!

That's kind of eerie when it comes from friendly forces - it's really scary when it comes from an enemy.

I am slowly reading through the Bible - really, really slowly ... on purpose.

I started a few years back and just decided to take each chapter and chew on it awhile - read it over a few times during a week - maybe contemplate on it during my drive to work. It's been fun and enlightening; and I have to admit that it is also a little grueling at times. Recently I discovered that one accidental benefit to this process is that it puts me more in the place of the character in the story. By spending several days on one portion of the story, while being unaware of the outcome that awaits in the next chapter - I find that I experience a little more realism. It puts me in touch with the fact that God doesn't often tell us the whole story at one time.

Over the past week or so, I have arrived at the story of Hezekiah, a king of Judah (2 Kings 18), this guy really had reason to believe someone had been reading his mail.

The Pastoral staff at my church like to emphasize the fact the the Gospel of Jesus Christ can be found almost anywhere in scripture - Old and New Testaments - and so of late, I have been trying to read the Old Testament with that in mind - searching for Jesus and the Gospel. I find, however, that I am not really wired that way so it goes against the grain. Stories are what I am passionate about and I love the texture and authenticity of Biblical characters - Hezekiah is one such character.

Hezekiah was a righteous king - a king of reform. He swept into office on a wave of change. He destroyed idol worship left and right. He even destroyed a monument held over from the Hebrew's Wilderness days - the bronze serpent that Moses had mounted on a long pole. Idol worship had amassed such a grip on the people that they began to worship the bronze serpent. Well, Hezekiah put a stop to that.

He also went in and made repairs and improvements to the temple, restoring a proper worship of Jehovah God.

The reforms Hezekiah put in place began to reap rewards. The nation began to rise economically and militarily. Hezekiah had done mighty things on God's behalf and God was rewarding him.

But suddenly, things seemed to turn: another country was also on the rise militarily - Assyria - and Judah was paying protection money to them in the form of tributes. The money kept Assyria at bay. Hezekiah stopped paying them tribute.

Over about a three year period, Assyria besieged the nation of Israel (at that time a separate government from Judah) and eventually led the whole nation away into exile.

So when Israel fell, Assyria came calling and Hezekiah was afraid and began to try and pay them off. He was so afraid that he performed some very literal cutbacks on the House of God - he had the golden plates cut off the doors in order to raise a tribute for Assyria.

But, Assyria wasn't satisfied - they wanted to be sure Judah and Hezekiah learned a lesson so they sent a team to threaten them.

At one of the crowded gates of the city of Jerusalem, three high-mucky-mucks from Assyria's military showed up one day and spoke to members of Hezekiah's cabinet.

In the hearing of all the people milling around the gate - and in the Hebrew language - these military moguls spewed their terrorizing talk.

"Please!" one of the cabinet members spoke up, "speak to us in your own language - we understand it; but not in Hebrew ... in the hearing of all these people!"

But that was their purpose - to strike fear and doubt in the hearts of the people - so they went on and talked as if they had been reading Hezekiah's mail. They spoke of how the people should not be fooled into believing that their God was any stronger than the gods of all the nations Assyria had already destroyed. They told the people not to let Hezekiah trick them into resisting the irresistible force of Assyria. They said that Hezekiah's way would reduce them to being forced to eat and drink human waste.

It was despicable what they said... and it sounded as if they knew what they were talking about. For Hezekiah it must have seemed that his brief run of success was over and that ultimately following God wasn't such a great idea.

I got caught up in the emotion of this moment. I found myself asking why things would happen that way when it seemed Hezekiah was doing the right things.

Then it dawned on me - no I think God dawned it on me - this wasn't the end of the story. I remembered why I liked this story so much the other times I've passed through. Though things would even seem to loom darker for Hezekiah God had a major turnaround in store. God was going to set things right.

I will let you do your own investigation of the rest of the story; but today, does this post find you at one of those "enemies in the gate" moments? Does it seem that the enemy knows all your secrets and is just waiting to move in for the kill?

Take heart. Sovereign God is watching and He has a plan to set things right. . . it could be just around the next chapter....

A Job for You

2011-01-11T09:26:00.000-05:00

"Let me see if I can find you a job"

Those words used to cross my mom's lips occasionally and it meant that I was idle and annoying her or someone else in the immediate vicinity.

I resort to that line quite often with my own children. As a shrewd marketing technique, I like to adjust the phraseology somewhat and call it a "project" rather than a "job" but the response it invokes is nearly always the same.

Do you remember the time-lapsed photography films of flowers bursting into bloom that we saw in grade school? Well, imagine watching that film in reverse and you can get a mental picture of AA's immediate reaction upon hearing those words. That's right, his knees quickly lose their stamina as he folds into a whimpering fetal position.

On the other hand, his sister, Ab - who has gained the wisdom of her advanced years - has learned to vanish into thin air. Before I can even complete my sentence (which- upon reflection- does often take quite a bit of time), she's gone ... leaving behind nothing but maybe a wisp of smoke and some ethereal music.

It wasn't always that way. In fact I have often prided myself in the work ethic of my children. There was a time that I could just say "would you like to help Daddy?" and they would immediately pounce on the idea; and in the interest of full disclosure, I should say that they still do help out around the house - even if it is sometimes under protest.

My hope is that they will know that there is intrinsic value to work; and human beings are just better off when they are working. Even in the beginning, when God created a beautiful garden in which His creatures would dwell - he provided responsibility for the man.

We sometimes get confused into believing that when Adam sinned, part of the curse earned by his sin was that he had to work. Actually he was working before sin entered the picture: naming the animals, tending the garden. No, the curse was that work would become difficult. There would be thorns and thistles that would abound and disrupt the process of growing food.

Today work is still difficult at times. The thorns and thistles of workplace conflict have to be untangled; there are the stumps and stones of regulations, taxes and legal compliance that have to be cleared, we deal with the draught of a poor economy or low productivity.

Despite its tribulation, work is still good and it is a blessing from God. There is something wonderful about being fatigued after a hard day of doing productive work. Folks used to call it a good kind of "tired".

You may have noticed a new button for the High Calling community which I recently jointed. The High Calling promotes "everyday conversations about work, life and God". Like me, you may have heard their radio spots talking about the High Calling of work in our daily lives. This is a growing community of bloggers that recognize God's regard for work.

For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them. Ephesians 2:10 NKJV

Work is a gift from God. Whether it takes place in a factory, a retail establishment, on a construction site, at a hospital bedside, on a laptop or even at a baby's changing table - good work is honorable and yours has been specifically planned in advance by the Creator Himself! It is part of our Walk and the way we approach it can reflect our relationship with Christ.

Not only that, but since God was deliberate in His actions involving work, we can know that He is still involved in the process - the daily grind: directing, teaching, shining through us!

Maybe He is saying to you, "Let Me see if I can find you a job".

There'S-NO Day Like a SNOW Day

2011-01-10T18:43:00.000-05:00

In the southeastern United States, we regard snow as very fragile and fleeting.

Okay, so I don't really know how everyone else in the Southeast feels - that's the way I feel.

There is always a tendency with me to be very careful not to grasp the idea of a snowfall too tightly - lest it slip away. This comes after years of hard lessons ... the weather forecaster, the "slight chances of precipitation", the "possibility" of school closings - those will all let you down if you count on them too much.

When I was still in school, I distinctly remember going to bed one night with predictions of a "winterstorm" still ringing in my ears and the fresh evidence of snow flurries and a howling wind outside my window. Unfortunately, I invested too much hope in that snow event and it let me down; I awoke the next day to a cold, but dry, day.

So I think that we Southerners tend to keep the hopes of a significant snowfall at arms length.

That's probably why, when I was sleeping in the "snooze" zone this morning, I had one of those "going to work in your underwear" kind of dreams. I dreamed that after sleeping through my normal getting up time and despite all the snow on the ground when I went to bed - I awoke to find that almost all of the snow was gone!

And I was late for work!

When I really awoke, the snow was still there - and in greater measure than when I left it last night.

The 4 to six inches that fell here last night is more than we have seen in a long time. It was one of those all encompassing blankets that makes everything clean and white and quiet. When AA jumped into his clothes anxious to be the first out in the snow - I almost cautioned him to be careful and leave some areas free from footprints. I just didn't want it to get messed up as if messing it up might make the snow angry and it would go away. Instead I opted to throw caution to the wind and let him go to trounce about where ever he pleased. The snow was deep enough that the cover remained complete despite his rambling footsteps.

So I am enjoying another holiday (another Southern tradition).

Those of you that reside north of the Bible-Belt, may not understand all this fuss about snow. I suppose if I saw it every day and in huge gray piles alongside the roads - I would gain a new perspective. I would see snow for the nuisance it is!

But for today, I am happy to live in the bliss of ignorance, as I tentatively and cautiously grasp the tender moment that is - a snow day.

My Top 4 Books for 2010

2011-01-03T22:09:00.004-05:00

Whether officially or unofficially, I have -for the past 15 years or so- always set a reading goal in January.

I am not an "avid" reader, but I was influenced to read more by a quote which I think was uttered my Elmer Towns ("Mr. Sunday School"). It went something like this:

"If you want to know what kind of person you will be five years from now, look at the books you are reading and the people with whom you associate."

So, if for no other reason, I began deliberately trying to read more to improve my future prospects. That statement also affects the types of books I choose. My goal is usually to read 20 books each year . . . typically I read considerably less.

This past year, I think I read eight.

So if the foregoing does not ruin my credibility altogether, I would like to offer you my four favorites.

I should preface this by pointing out that I usually do not read "trendy" books until all the hoopla has fizzled. It seems that I run up on these once-trendy books in the library or at a used book sale and think - "oh, I remember hearing about that book years ago - now it costs fifty cents?!? - I'll take it".

The list is in no particular order:

The Forgotten Man by Amity Shlaes - this was a loan from my brother-in-law and I probably wouldn't have purchased it because (a) it was too newly published and (b) not anything I had even heard of. It was an eye-opener! I always felt FDR was overrated and a Socialist to boot - but this book left me with the impression that he may have been somewhat sinister. I will give him credit for establishing a political mode of operation that has lasted for over 60 years ... hopefully it will soon wane.
The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien - on something of a whim, AA and I went to the library one day while Ab was at piano practice and I decided to check out this book along with the Lord of the Rings trilogy. The Hobbit had me right away. I thoroughly enjoyed this book and found it captivating to me - very much like C.S. Lewis' Narnia series.
The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman - shortly after R. and I married, we went to a church marriage retreat surrounding this book. It was one of those "trendy" books at that time (about 20 years ago). I picked up a used copy years ago and picked the book up to read several times but it never took. For some reason this year, I was ripe for reading it! Unfortunately, my relationship with the book is a "love-hate" one: it was filled with good stuff - enriching stuff; but it made me very dissatisfied with the communication that was taking place in my marriage. This is a book that is still working its influence on me. I think God had something to do with the timing of my reading it.
1776 by David McCullough - someone on talk radio was raving about this book several years ago. I have an insatiable thirst for knowledge of the Founders. I just happened upon it at the library and checked it out. The pitiful state of George Washington's leadership and his little ragamuffin army as portrayed by McCullough made be even more amazed at the miraculous founding of this country. It also made the realization of God's providence undeniable!

So there you have it. I am sure sales won't suddenly sky-rocket for any of these tomes based on my recommendation - but perhaps someone will read one and that will become the basis of a conversation.

Judge Not?

2011-01-03T21:11:00.000-05:00

In all our endless efforts to become "non-judgmental", are we losing our judgment?

Have we, as a society, thrown away our ability to discern?

Bringing an End to 2010

2010-12-31T22:59:00.002-05:00

Before he retired, Dad was in the life insurance sales business; for about five years, I worked under his management in the same industry.
Motivation was key in the business of sales and while I never really "fit" into that industry - I loved the motivation part ... still do.

A new year was always a time for goal setting and a great opportunity to "motivate the troops". Dad always liked to add a motivational "hook" to the new year: "We need to sell MORE in 1984!" .... "Let's COME ALIVE in '85!" ...and such.

Hence the title to this post ...

As I compose this, we are spending a rather quiet evening at home - R. is setting up her new Ipad and AA and is standing over her shoulder ... asking a myriad of questions and offering a plethora of suggestions.
Ab is working on a project - she is our family's requisite project manager - I'm not sure what she is doing, but I think it is some sort of New Year's Celebration.

The plan was that we would play a year-end, ultimate Foosball/Air Hockey Tournament.
We watched our latest Netflix movie "Friendly Persuasion" with Gary Cooper during and after dinner. So the tournament's fate remains in question.

In some ways, it will be good to bid a fond farewell to 2010. I stay entrenched in politics and in that realm, this year has been ugly. The rise of the "Tea Party" and a renewed interest in the Constitution and America's heritage have been among the few bright spots.

Economically, things are tough. We count ourselves as doubly blessed to still be among the employed - and are at the same time, sensitive to those who have found themselves displaced this year.
As prices continue to rise and businesses are forced to tighten up or close, it is disappointing.

The year end finds the church-life of our family, still in transition. A couple of years ago, we made a decision to not only leave the church we had attended for over twenty years; but also to move to one with some doctrinal differences and some very different worship style (we moved from a Charismatic- Pentecostal congregation to a Reformed Presbyterian church).
It is a very welcoming fellowship but we have spent this period listening, learning - and therefore still feel a little like outsiders at times.

Finally, I think R. and I are physically and mentally tired We realize the disadvantages of having children a little later in life - especially when it comes to the energy required to taxi said kids to various activities in diverse parts of town. I think both of us find ourselves sacrificing the things we would like to do for the things we have to do. Maybe that's just part of being a parent - if so, I wouldn't trade it!

Wow! From the foregoing assessment - it appears this year has been a real downer!

It actually is not all that negative - it's just different. . . and change is part of growing.

Back in his insurance days ... my assessment would probably have prompted my Dad to say something like ...

"Don't tell me about the labor pains ... just show me the BABY!"

See ya' 2010 ... it was nice knowing ya'

Putting Away Christmas

2010-12-30T07:02:00.000-05:00

"Christmas is OVER!"

That's a catch-phrase that -though harsh sounding- has been cast around often in my family. When I was little, Dad would say that kind of thing just to get a rise out of the kids as they mounted their protest.

I always did hate to see the holiday end.

Still do.

But, now there is something refreshing about putting away all the decorations and getting back to something-like-normal. As a family, we try to hold Christmas at bay until Thanksgiving - then we plunge into the celebrating headlong. We watch practically nothing but Christmas movies, we listen only to Christmas music, we observe advent, and numerous other things related exclusively to Christmas.

After that month of frenzied rejoicing and revelling, the return to the mundane is okay.

I remember though, how sad I could get as a boy when we had to take down the decorations. I saw that sadness recently in my own son, as we discussed the fact that we would be using one of my off-days to do just that. Our daughter doesn't seem to have as much difficulty with that - she is very involved and active - she can't wait to get back to school with her friends.

As I returned to work yesterday, I thought about putting away Christmas.

Perhaps we do need to put away the "trappings" of Christmas - but not the spirit. It would do us good to keep the focus of Christmas - God's Gift of His only Son for our redemption - always on display before our thoughts.

Jesus, Himself, along with the Christmas Couple had to "move on" after that first Christmas . . . and as I recall, rather abruptly. "Normal" came knocking at their door rather quickly as they fled from a squad of soldiers dispatched for destruction.

They got about the business of putting the Gift of that first Christmas to work. A work that would not be completed until Jesus uttered the words... "it is finished."

His subsequent death and resurrection sealed the deal and our adoption into God's family became a reality.

What a dysfunctions story it would have been, had that family said "let's just stay here in the stable - drinking spiced cider with the shepherds and singing Chrismas Carols!".

No, they moved on to the REAL work of Christmas.

So, like Dickens' Ebenezer Scrooge we must decide to always "keep Christmas in our hearts" and get about the work of providing evidence to the world around us that God's original Christmas Gift really does make a difference.

The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass - Epilogue

2010-12-26T22:34:00.001-05:00

We all stayed with the Preacher and his wife that night and heard a retelling of the true Christmas story.

Later, we boys and Dillweed bedded down on the floor in the warm glow of the wood heater.

Ever since that Christmas, things have been a little different for me. I stopped worrying about superstitions and scary stories. Instead I just remember the angel’s words to the shepherds.

“Do not be afraid, for I bring you glad tidings of great joy which shall be unto all people!”

Even now, when I hear a certain Christmas Carol, it reminds me of that night and how the Christmas story taught me to live free of fear’s chains; the song goes . . .

God rest you merry gentlemen let nothing you dismay;

Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day ….

O tidings of comfort and joy….

The End

The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass - Part 6

2010-12-26T22:31:00.001-05:00

Realizing that our time may be short before the Ghost made another pass up the ridge – we scrambled, dragging “Mudcat” who was still carrying on incoherently.

We arrived at Preacher and Mrs. Weems little room in the back of the community church about ten minutes later. “Patch and I were out of breath from having dragged his big brother most of the way. So as we caught our breath, “Mudcat” began to tell our tale:

“Bee dank bee daw duh kissmuddose! Bee dank bee daw duh kissmuddose! EE dried doh keebee!...”

Preacher Weems looked befuddled.

“Patch” and I set in to telling him the story in English.

When we finished, the Preacher looked at us sadly.

“Fear takes on a life of its own, boys. When you deal in fear, your mind will provide the evidence of what you are afraid of” he said.

We looked at each other. We thought he would want to contact the Slightville Newspaper to tell our story. Instead he was talking gibberish about fear.

“You don’t believe we saw the Christmas Ghost?!” I asked.

“Son, I believe you think you saw it. When you get all wrapped up in fear, your imagination runs away with you” the Preacher countered.

“-Oh and I duess dis busted lip I dot dust happened aye!?” added “Mudcat” the swelling beginning to diminish.

“If you are afraid of something, your mind makes it become bigger and scarier than it really is!”

Mrs. Weems entered the room with some hot cocoa and some dry blankets.

“Boys,” Preacher Weems began again, “yours is the second story I have heard about this so-called Christmas Ghost tonight. And tomorrow the whole mountainside will likely be buzzing with these tales. That’s why I aim to put a stop to this here and now!”

“Did you boys ever hear of Charles Dickens?”

We stared blankly.

“-Ever hear of ‘A Christmas Carol’?”

More blank stares.

“What about you Dillweed?” and with that, Preacher Weems turned to the door where we saw none other than Dillweed Cloves entering from the other room.

Dillweed looked awful – more awful than usual. He looked like he had seen a ghost. He looked like he had been beaten up by a ghost!

Dillweed joined us as the Preacher continued.

“Dillweed, that story you tell about the Christmas Ghost: what is the man’s name – his full name?”

Dillweed replied “Ben – Ben Rooge. Oh his full name… lessee it’s EBONY …. um … something like a Bible name…. um Xer.. Xerx-that’s it! EBONY- Xerx-Rooge!”

The Preacher corrected him, “Not Ebony Xerx Rooge – it’s Ebenezer Scrooge. He’s the character in Charles Dickens’ classic ‘A Christmas Carol’ and the point of that story is not the ghosts; it’s a story about redemption!”

“That story didn’t occur around here – it was in England. Someone heard that story long ago and retold and it became a legend around here. But it simply isn’t true.”

“Folks around here are so quick to believe every little scary tale or superstition that they lose touch with the beauty of things like art and literature. Instead they quickly turn them into something foreboding and fearful.”

You boys are just like most folks along this Pass who live in more chains that Scrooge or his partner ever had – that’s what fear does to people – it ties them up. It’s like running around in the dark.

The old Prophet said ‘the people that lived in darkness – have seen a great Light!’ when he foretold about the first Christmas.

The angels came to those shepherds on a lonely hillside, in the dark and the shepherds were so afraid . . . but the angel said ‘fear not, for I bring you good news!”

Christmas is not about ghosts – it’s about good news! God’s gift to us; His only Son came as a Baby to live like us and then die for our sins and rise again.

Isn’t that a better story for Christmas time?”

“Patch” spoke up “Yeah, but what about the Ghost – we saw him!”

“That’s what fear does “Patch”, it makes you see things that aren’t there and causes you to miss things that are there. The Christmas story’s message is “do not be afraid’” Preacher Weems continued “you didn’t see the Christmas Ghost – you saw . . . Dillweed.”

Dillweed hung his head sheepishly.

Not five minutes before the boys had burst into the Preachers quarters, Dillweed had arrived with a similar story of seeing the Christmas Ghost.

Dillweed had been coming down the Pass late in the evening when he heard all the commotion with “Mudcat’s” caper and the blazing barrel. Dillweed only heard the screams and saw the blazing fireball rolling down the mountain.

Too scared to move, Dillweed huddled down beside a tree, afraid to approach the path of the Christmas Ghost. It happened that the tree he was hiding beside was the same tree that “Mudcat’s” buddies had tied the rope and bucket of coals to. The rain of fire and the exploding bucket was all Dillweed could stand and in a panic he had grabbed his lantern and took off across the mountain crying for dear life.

When “Mudcat’s” friends heard Dillweed, they got scared and took off. Their cries frightened Dillweed even further and he got confused. He ran right into a bed sheet Mrs. Garrett had left hanging on the clothesline.

Then Mrs. Garrett mistook him for a prowler and clubbed him with a stick of stove wood.

It was that bed sheet with Dillweed and his lantern inside that the boys thought was the Christmas Ghost with its eerie glow.

The boys looked at each other and smiled in disbelief.

“Mudcat” piped up: “Dat dost was Dillbeed duh whole tibe!”

“You said it!” Dillweed added.

The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass - Part 5

2010-12-26T21:27:00.002-05:00

From far off to our left, the scream and the light made a turn and started coming down the Pass in our direction. There was a loud crash and the sound of a cat whose tail had been suddenly stomped!

The sound was coming from old Mrs. Garrett’s house. We heard another shriek – probably Mrs. Garrett. That was followed by a dancing light and the mournful cry moving ever closer to us.

That’s when it came into view! By the time we saw it, it was too late to run.

I don’t know how to describe the apparition. At times it had a human shape but then it would undulate and change to a round shape and then back to a human form.

In the lantern light, I could see that all of “Mudcat’s” color had drained from his face.

The visage seemed to float and fly about three feet above the ground as it soared toward us – it was white and had an eerie glow emanating from its center.

This was no trick and the shriek of the Ghost was suddenly joined by a trio of screams – one coming from me!

“Patch” waxed heroic! He was determined he would not go down without a fight! He reached frantically for the first thing his hand could find to fling at the phantom and all the time it was bearing down, screaming, crying, bellowing – closer … closer!

“Patch” remembered the apples in his basket and reached down but saw two baskets – finally in his frustration, he used both hands to thrust them into to both baskets. His fingers found their purchase and he produced an apple!

“Patch” - despite his affliction – had always been a good one for chunking things. He could fling a rock from a good fifty feet away and knock a squirrel out of a tree. Unfortunately, he wasn’t that good at close range – and without one eye covered.

I found myself on the ground, clawing scratching and kicking – desperately trying to get out of the path of what was clearly the Christmas Ghost!

“Mudcat” and “Patch” were on either side of the trail just ahead of me, the ghost was going to pass between them! “Patch” reared back and let the apple fly!

It seemed to pass right through him – amazing!

It seemed to pass right through him!

Meanwhile, the apple having missed its intended target, instead landed smack on the spot where hair doesn’t grow on “Mudcat’s” top lip! The apple shattered into a thousand shards and “Mudcat” dropped to his knees in agony.

Not having seen his smaller brother load up the apple and fire away, “Mudcat” assumed that the blow to his upper lip was the impact of the Christmas Ghost beginning to wreak havoc on his once youthful and promising life!

“Mudcat” commenced to pleading for his life:

“Plee-ase! Plee-ase don’t kill me!!! Plee-ase don’t kill me!”

Then as the swelling began to set in on his lip, it impaired his speech somewhat:

“Beeze dode keebee!! Bee-eeze dodekeeBee!!”

Were we not in danger of instant and terrific death, we might have found it quite comical.

As “Patch’s” eyes began to uncross, we looked at each other and realized that we had cheated death one more time. It was likely that we three were the only people that ever survived a visit from the Christmas Ghost! That is – if we could get out of those woods!

The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass - Part 4

2010-12-26T19:23:00.002-05:00

Everything seemed to spin for a moment and “Patch” and I sat there on the ground shaking our heads.

Then from the other side of the door, we heard the loudest cackling we had ever heard. You’d think someone had started up a tickle factory right in “Patch’s” kitchen. The door flew open and inside we could see “Patch’s” older brother, “Mudcat” rolling on the floor, red-faced with tears streaming down his face. He was the source of all the wild laughter.

“Mudcat” Evans was an older brother to “Patch”, people called him “Mudcat” because he had to farm a piece of ground that was flat and often held water, so “Mudcat” spent a lot of time in the mud and his complexion bore a continual ruddy appearance. Also because he wore a mustache that had a bare spot right in the middle of his upper lip, but grew thick on the sides, that resembled the whiskers on a catfish.

“Mudcat” was full of mischief and liked to pour that mischief in generous helpings onto his vulnerable little brother.

“Mudcat” was in attendance at school that day (being about sixteen) and had seen the effect that Dillweed Cloves’ story had had on “Patch”. So when he got home and found that he had caught a baby raccoon in one of his rabbit traps, he hatched a wicked plan.

“Mudcat” – knowing his brothers penchant for baby raccoons – had tied and tangled the coon up in butcher’s twine as bait to hold the boy’s attention. Then on a steep incline above, he placed an old wooden barrel he had found in the woods – probably left behind by moonshiners. He had soaked the barrel in kerosene and waited for his brother’s return. When the boys freed the coon from the strings, he struck a match and fired off the barrel and gave it a kick to roll it down the hill.

The ”fireball” the boys had envisioned as the Christmas Ghost, was that very barrel rolling down Snagbottom Pass.

Over and over, “Mudcat” haw-hawed as he railed on the boys for their cowardice – “yew screamed like a little ole’ gal!” hew would say as he told the story over and over.

By now night had fully set in and I began to realize that - fresh on the heels of this shocking event – I was going to have to make that walk back again to my own home through those dark woods.

“Patch’s” Pa – noticed my discomfort and volunteered his two sons – “Patch” and “Mudcat” to walk me home. I deeply admired him for that and I looked at “Mudcat” to see if that news had removed his grin, but he smiled evermore as if he was quite satisfied.

But first Mr. Evans had an errand for us. The General Store in Slightville had sent three baskets of apples to be given to the children along Snagbottom Pass for Christmas. When he was in town earlier that day the store’s owner had asked him to see that the apples got to the community church down the Pass a ways. There Preacher Weems would take them and hand them out at the Christmas Eve service.

Mrs. Evans handed us each a piece of streaked meat and a cold biscuit; Mr. Evans gave us one lantern and we headed out.

We quickly finished off our biscuits and we had not traveled far before “Mudcat” started acting strangely: he kept stepping away from the light of the lantern and making bird calls up in the woods.

It wasn’t long before we realized the reason for all this strange activity. “Mudcat” had another trick up his sleeve. Knowing that he and “Patch” would have to take the apples to Preacher Weems, he had dispatched a couple of his buddies to go up the ridge about a mile. There they had tied a long rope to a tall oak tree and took the other end of the rope up the ridge to a point higher than the tree. Then the boys attached a bucket of fresh, red-hot coals from the stove to that rope.

The plan was that on “Mudcat’s” signal, they were to fire off a shotgun and then swing that bucket down the Pass. He figured it would be enough to send his little brother into fits.

It happened just as they planned only “Patch” and me were not taken in by the trick. The shotgun startled us only a little and then we watched as the fiery coals rained down through the Pass and exploded into a small fireworks display when the bucket smashed into that old oak tree.

We clapped with glee as if we had seen a good musical show.

“Mudcat” was a little put off by our reception and muttered something about us not being so brave if the real Christmas Ghost came trotting through.

Suddenly we heard a horrendous scream.

“Patch” and me looked at “Mudcat” – he was visibly shaken and obviously did not know what the scream was all about.

We heard it again. It was a long, mournful bellowing that unsettled us right down to our socks.

Way up the ridge, we could see a faint flickering light passing through the trees across the mountain; then we heard another ruckus and saw more flickering lights passing across the mountain in the other direction.

“Mudcat” gulped and I thought I saw sweat glistening on his partly bare top lip.

“Patch” gulped and covered one eye.

The scream continued its screeching call – it was moving in the direction of the first light we saw.

From far off to our left, the scream and the light made a turn and started coming down the Pass in our direction. There was a loud crash and the sound of a cat whose tail had been suddenly stomped!

The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass Part 3

2010-12-26T17:12:00.002-05:00

Continued from Part 2 ... Dillweed, the substitute teacher is telling the story of "Ben Rooge and the Christmas Ghost ....

Then finally Ben Rooge got HIS!

On a Christmas Eve ole’ Ben worked into the night and then made the trip from Slightville up Snagbottom Pass to his cold damp house. On the way, his old mule what was carrying him slipped a time or two and ole’ Ben just hit her with his old crookedy stick!

With that Dillweed slapped “Patch’s” desk with his ruler and he must’ve jumped two feet high!

‘At’s when it happunned . . . the old mule stopped and tried to get a drink out of a half-frozen puddle. Ben reared back like he was goin’ to whup the fire outta’ that mule but she shifted a little and Ben went a crashing to the ground breaking the ice that was beginning to form with his very head!

The old mule went back to drinking from the puddle and Ben just stared at her reflection in the water – when all of a sudden hit changed! The old mule face turned into the face of Ben’s old partner!!

Only his eyes was a glowing like two hot cinders and his teeth was bared like a mad dog!

That night when Ben was home in his bed, his old partner crept into his room only he was all wrapped in chains and he said when Ben died he would be a-wearin’ even more chains on account of he was so stingy and mean.

He said three Christmas Ghostes would haunt him that night…

And the story goes that the last one was a fiery ghost with empty eyes that rode on a flaming horse. His scream was like the howl of a thousand lost souls! And He chased Ben Rooge all the way down Snagbottom Pass.

And they say that right around Christmas. . . .

I heard “Patch” gulp.

If you ain’t been good…

The Christmas Ghostes will come for YOU!!

With that he put his sharp nose right up against “Patch’s” squinting face. “Patch” having removed his hand from his eye felt double the shock with two noses coming right at him and thus he bolted out of the desk and right into the floor.

“Patch” came to my house after school – mainly because he was afraid to go into the woods by himself – and he even stayed and helped me with my chores. Dillweed had been so enthralled with his story that he forgot to assign us any homework for the Christmas Holiday so by evening, we had nothing to do.

“Patch” looked up and the churning grey clouds in the sky above and realized that dark would come early. I knew what he was up to. He didn’t want to make that trip through the woods across the Pass by himself.

“Jeremiah, why don’t you come with me to my house. We could look for baby raccoons.” He said.

“Patch” was forever talking about catching a few baby raccoons and starting himself a coon farm so he cold sell the pelts for hats, coats and mittens for the city-folks. I wasn’t nearly as interested in the idea as he was.

I knew he really just didn’t want to go alone so I agreed to go.

By the time we neared his house, the sun had set and it was getting colder by the minute. “Patch” who was walking ahead of me stopped cold, I nearly bumped into him.

Before I could yell at him, I noticed why he had stopped: there at his feet, tangled in some butcher’s twine, was a baby raccoon.

“Patch” was ecstatic! He immediately began to try and untangle the little animal but in his excitement, his vision went double and he could not figure out which raccoon to grab. When he covered his eye, he didn’t have a free hand to untie the knots and tangles in the string.

I realized his dilemma and pulled out my Barlow pocket-knife and soon we had our first member of the Coon Ranch herd. “Patch” held him close and stroked him kindly.

That’s when it happened.

We heard it before we saw it.

It began with an unearthly bellowing that raised the hairs on the backs of our necks! Then we heard what sounded like an army on horseback on the craggy hill above us…ready to ride down right on top of us!

We first stared at one another – afraid to turn and see our impending doom.

Everything slowed down as I watched “Patch’s” eyes cross! That’s when we turned to see it a flaming fireball – as big as a house – racing down the Pass right at us!

I thought I heard the snort of the fiery horse! That is when I leaped out of the way skinning both of my elbows!

Upon landing, I checked all my parts to be sure the Christmas Ghost hadn’t bitten off an arm or a leg, then realizing I was still in one piece and fairly unharmed, I turned to see if “Patch” was still alive.

“Patch” was catatonic. He stood there in the face of mass destruction and held up the little raccoon toward the evil phantom – as if it’s cuteness my break his heart and turn him into a goody-goody. Apparently “Patch” was frozen in fear.

What had really happened was that “Patch’s” agony was doubled by his double vision; seeing two sinister, flaming goblins he thought his best defense was to stay put in hopes that each would pass on either side of him.

I don’t know why I did it – it certainly wasn’t courage – but I lunged toward “Patch” to knock him out of the way. I think I must have figured that I didn’t want to see what would be left of him after the Christmas Ghost made a barbecue out of him!

About the time I leaped toward “Patch”, he decided that he just couldn’t bear to watch all the devastation. So he closed his eyes and naturally assumed that the impact of my body knocking him out of the way- was actually the hammer of that Christmas Ghost.

We both rolled in between some trees and the fireball sped past us, at which point “Patch” let out the most fiendish, girlish scream I had ever heard. It made icicles form on the hairs that were already raised on the back of my neck! About that time, the baby raccoon took flight, and landing safely scampered home to his mother.

Just then we saw the blessed lights of “Patch’s” little woodland home and clawed the ground desperately to try and make it to safety.

“Patch”, still seeing double, ran squarely into a giant oak tree. Only slightly daunted by the blow, he jumped up and purpose to dive through his back door. However, having seen two doors – he selected the wrong one to jump through and soundly crashed into the wall of his house.

I watched all this take place and would have laughed had I not felt the hot breath of that villain on my neck! I also made a dive for the door but was equally turned back as the door did not give when I hit it!

The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass - Part 2

2010-12-26T15:07:00.001-05:00

Continued from Part 1

As I mentioned earlier, folks around Snagbottom were fearful anyway – and superstitious. I had long heard the tale of my Pa’s uncle that was riding in a wagon with some other men. They were going out to walk some land on which they hoped to sow a crop. As they traveled on the narrow “S” shaped road, a black cat darted across the path.

Instantly all the men on the wagon – except Pa’s uncle – twisted their hats around faster than you could say “spindle-top”. Pa’s uncle just laughed at them for being so superstitious. The story goes though that Pa’s uncle got separated from the group and he fell in an unmarked well. He called and called but no one could hear him.

He’d be there today - Pa said - if he hadn’t had the good sense to take out his Barlow pocket-knife and dig some hand-holds in the slick sides of the well. With that he inched his way out.

Well, at Christmas time in Snagbottom there always floated a tale about the Christmas Ghost that haunted those hills and a man named Ben Rooge. I didn’t like those stories because the days were very short around Christmas and I was always having to go out to the woodshed at night … in the dark … to bring in more stove wood.

My best friend, “Patch” Evans sat right in front of me at school. “Patch” was a good friend but he was awful skiddish. We called him “Patch” because he had been kicked in the head by a mule when he was a little boy and every time he got excited or nervous he would start seeing double. That’s right – two of everything! To remedy the situation, he would cover one eye or sometimes he might tie a handkerchief around his head and drape one corner over his eye like a patch.

Dillweed announced that he would set the record straight about Ben Rooge and the Christmas Ghost. The room fell silent – I think I heard “Patch” gasp.

Dillweed told the story in a dialect we hill-folks would understand and when he described Ben Rooge, he would over-emphasize every adjective. He also portrayed a sort of disgust for the poor man by holding his mouth open when he talked – as if he had just bitten into a rotten egg and was afraid that if his mouth closed even slightly he would taste that awful bitterness.

This is Dillweed’s tale:

Not too many years ago, Ben Rooge lived right up here in Snagbottom and he was as tight as Dick’s-hatband with his money and as mean-as-a- striped-snake!

With that, he paused for affect and glared at us. I saw “Patch” reach up and cover one of his eyes.

Ben wasn’t his whole name, it was short for EBONY! EBONY means black and that just what his heart looked like . . . black as soot! His middle name was something like one o’them evil kings in scripture.

Everybody was skeered of Ben Rooge – everybody ‘cept his partner who folks said was just as stingy and cold hearted as Ben. Ever day they would figure on ways to get hold o’ more money and every night theyed count it out and bag it up and drag it up Snagbottom Pass.

They say his old partner died one Christmas Eve and Ben Rooge just got meaner and meaner – specially round Christmas… he’d go around growling “Bedbugs!” all the time and being cruel to the folks he bossed.

Then finally Ben Rooge got HIS!

The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass - a Christmas Story - Part 1

2010-12-26T12:06:00.001-05:00

Every year . . . or so, I try to create a Christmas Story for our kids. I hoped this would be an annual tradition we could share and it worked well ... for two Christmases - then we had our second child.

I have managed to churn out a few stories - many are not especially memorable. I did not get one together this year; I have an idea that's working around in my head but it's too big to pull together yet.

What follows is last year's story. It is one of those less memorable stories - so don't over expect:

The Christmas Ghost of Snagbottom Pass

When I was in about the fourth grade at the President Andrew Johnson School the events of this story occurred. I suppose I should explain the President Andrew Johnson School: Though this was only a little one room school house, someone had traveled to Knoxville, Tennessee, and learned that some big towns name their schools after Presidents. The people of Snagbottom were not to be outdone by any big city folks, so they named their school after the only President ever hailing from the Great Volunteer state of Tennessee.

As Christmas Holidays neared during the time I am going to tell you about, our teacher – Mrs. Pickle – was unable to teach due to a bout with the influenza. Mrs. Pickle was the only teacher at President Andrew Johnson School, she taught all grades. Well, all the folks along Snagbottom Pass began taking turns to try and nurse Mrs. Pickle back to health. One by one, families arrived with chicken soup and their own tried and true remedies. The neighbors also began to try and find a substitute teacher to fill in for Mrs. Pickle while she was out.

Eventually they settled on Dillweed Cloves. Dillweed was a gangly, oafish sort of a character; he seemed to always be hanging around but never really doing anything. He didn’t do much farming, like most folks on the Pass, and he never bothered to get married and have a family. Dillweed loved to talk. Anywhere a bunch of men were gathered around a fire, whittling sticks and talking – you’d find Dillweed standing around gawking and talking.

I think it was because he was the only one with nothing to do, that the folks decided to appoint him as the official substitute teacher for Mrs. Pickle. He did have a pretty good education, why he had graduated from the eighth grade right there at President Andrew Johnson School! Dillweed always bragged that they liked him so much at the school that they wouldn’t let him have his diploma until he agreed to come back to the eighth grade for a “repeat performance”.

Dillweed assumed office as our official substitute teacher three days before Christmas holidays.

By lunch time on the first day, he had pretty much taught us all he knew.

So Dillweed decided we all needed lots of fresh air and he declared recess for the rest of the afternoon.

That plan worked very well the first day, but on the second day of recess, the boys became tired of just playing and waxed mischievous and stole some of Ma’ O’Donnell’s blackberry pies she had cooling on the window sill.

When Ma’ O’Donnell caught them, she came after them with the business end of her sage broom.

On the third day, cold weather had moved in and some folks said a storm was brewing so the children all refused to go outside for recess that morning.

That’s when Dillweed took to doing what he did best – he weaved a yarn. And because he was feeling a little perturbed with the entire class body, he decided to make it as scary as possible.
...continued ...

My Montage 12/25/10 at OneTrueMedia.com

2010-12-25T17:02:00.001-05:00

The first "Official" White Christmas left us with less places to go and a beautiful memorable Christmas.

The video is a little long ... 'Hope you enjoy!!
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year
AMOCS

Make an on-line slideshow at www.OneTrueMedia.com

One Who Stands Among You

2010-12-25T01:02:00.000-05:00

It's Christmas Morning but everyone in my household is in bed - except me.

There were only a few last minute preparations remaining for us and my wife took care of most of those details.

I took the day off (not something I usually do Christmas Eve) and we managed to take in the early Christmas Eve service at our church. It was a capacity crowd - as always a beautiful experience.

After dinner with R.'s family, we made it home. The kids and I squeezed in a distracted "Martin Luther Walk" in the woods after nine o'clock.

We read some stories, lit the Christ Candle and read Dr. Luke's account of Christ's birth.

As I look toward the day ahead (hopefully AFTER a long winter's nap) I am mindful of John Baptist. I have thought about him a lot this Advent season. Rough, straightforward and eccentric as he was - he was at heart, a teacher.

When his dad was proclaiming the mission of this boy he pointed out his calling as a teacher (Luke 1:77-79):

To Prepare
To Give Knowledge
To Give Light
To Guide

As John Baptist was getting ready to introduce Jesus Christ to the world, his description puts me in mind of the Emmanuel title for Christ that we remember at Christmas.

John said, "...there stands One among you, whom you do not know..." (John 1:26)

Jesus was that One standing among them ... "God with us".
He came to be among us, the be like us ... and to liberate us with His very life.

With the Advent season, we celebrate that Someone is coming . . . John Baptist reminds us - He has already come ...

... He stood among us.

Merry Christmas!

Some Assembly Required! 12/23/10 at OneTrueMedia.com

2010-12-24T12:41:00.001-05:00

This has been our year of "assembly" for Christmas! I can't really talk about it much at this point . . .

However, the kids received an early gift of a trampoline from Grandparents. Despite my best efforts to convince them that we would all enjoy it more in the Spring - they wanted the trampoline assembled right away.
Here's how the project came about...

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Softly

2010-12-22T06:53:00.003-05:00

I love mornings during the Christmas Season! There is something about the cold, the frost and the soft, warm glow of an awakening day that just inspires and excites me. Other times of the year, my response is different - cold and frost serve as a great incentive to roll over for a couple more minutes of blissful slumber.

It seems that mornings during the Christmas Season are a great time for listening.

This morning I discovered a blog I had not visited before. Apparently R. came upon it and added it to the list on her blog, God's Design Not Mine. Its called Getting Down With Jesus and the founder is Jennifer Dukes Lee. I embedded a video from her site because the song and the sights inspired me . . .

A Dad's Guide for How to Raise Kids - From the Christmas Story

2010-12-21T06:33:00.000-05:00

There are at least two examples of proper fatherhood displayed prominently in the Christmas Story:

Zacharias and Joseph

Both were handed the unexpected challenge of rearing a boy under less than normal conditions. Zacharias' son - John Baptist - was born to a specific mission in life, he was born in Zach and Elizabeth's old age, and his calling would require a unique combination of toughness and humble character.

Joseph was called to raise the Son of God. Need I say more?
In addition to preparing the proper education and example for this once-in-an eternity Child, he would also have to deal with the fact that the Child was not his own.

Both gentlemen leave us an extremely simple example of how to be a good father.

The secret to godly fatherhood can possibly be summed up in one hyphenated word:

Shut - up.

If you will recall, Zacharias found the response to his questioning disbelief of the angel's original proclamation to him to be - that he was stricken with silence. A God-given period of introspective silence . . . to proper weigh the great task that lay before him.

Joseph seemed to live under a self-imposed silence. The Biblical account records no quotes from Joseph. The closest we can get to seeing anything he said is to infer that he spoke when he "called the Baby, Jesus".

So Dad's, that's it - be quiet.

Because I have not yet mastered this concept. I must chatter on just a bit and add to more clarifying steps that I have noticed in their examples:

Listen. Obey.

Zacharias' declaration and praise that poured forth upon his release from the "dome of silence" reveals that he had been ruminating on the words the angel had spoken to him and he was one with the God's mission of J.B.

Joseph, while not heard, displayed his obedience through quick unquestioning action: accepting Mary and believing her story, finding a place for them in Bethlehem, moving to rescue the Family when warned of Herod's plot in a dream.

So that's it:

1. Hush (that's nicer to say than "shut-up")
2. Listen
3. Obey

Wayfaring Strangers

2010-12-19T09:07:00.000-05:00

In the South (USA), I have observed that there are a couple of hot-button topics for which nearly everyone has a story, and they will gladly tell it -when prompted - with passion and zeal: snakes and snow.

If you don't believe it, the next time you are in Georgia, in any random conversation, find a way to insert a quick tale about a snake you encountered last summer. They will in turn, tell you their own story of an incident involving a much larger, deadlier snake.

It's the same with snow. Where I live in northwest Georgia, we may get one or two "dustings" of snow each year and a major snow (more than one inch) every two or three years. So snow is a big deal.

Big snow events affect everyone and serve as a benchmark for timing other events: one of my uncles on my Dad's side was born during the Ice storm of 19_?_ . Nearly anyone can tell you about the Blizzard of '93 and when I moved back to Georgia after a whirlwind tour of Alabama and Tennessee back in the seventies, people had tales of the Ice storm of 1973. In that particular instance, there were tales of transformers exploding and trees falling.

This past Wednesday, we had a brief cold weather snap that resulted in some icing. Since that time, I have already heard several stories. Here's mine:

Knowing the weather forecaster's penchant for sensationalism, I was not overly concerned about the prospect of icing on the roads on my drive home. I became a little concerned when I found my car coated with ice.

I noticed right away that cars were moving much slower than normal. I made a few "test" stops when no one was near, jamming my brakes to see if there was any skidding - but experienced none.

I was redirected onto a different route down Dugdown Mountain - apparently there was trouble down the slope. My typical trip home from the location I worked that day is less than one hour, the last twenty minutes takes me along secondary roads. By the time I reached the less traveled secondary roads, it was dark and temperatures were dropping faster.

I noticed a few slick patches but I had not gone very far until I encountered an old truck stopped in the oncoming lane, the flashers were activated.

I do not have much trouble talking to a perfect stranger. I have a great deal of trouble carrying on a conversation of any depth or meaning with most anyone, but I can talk briefly with a stranger.

So I stopped and asked the fellow if he was alright.

"Yeah, I'm okay, how 'bout you, brother?" he replied. See how this shared circumstance resulted in an unusual familiarity?

I soon sensed that he was experiencing some fear and was sort of paralyzed there.

He asked me about the condition of the road ahead (where I had just come from). Being the proverbial "Pollyanna" that I am, I answered with a particularly Rosy forecast of the prosperous road that lay before him - why to hear me tell it - you would have thought the road was a veritable tropical paradise (I exaggerate, but my opinion was at least cautiously optimistic)!

He, in turn, painted for me a grim picture of the road I would encounter ... I felt like Frodo Baggins about to take on Mount Doom and the fires of Isildur!

Then he said, "I'm sliding right now,man; I'm about to slide off the side of this cliff-"

I was a little puzzled, I sensed some panic in his voice. The portion of the road on which we had stopped to have our little gleeful chat, was fairly level; there was an embankment on the side, but nothing near what I would call a cliff. I looked at his tires - he was not moving - not sliding at all.

I decided he was on drugs.

Since there were cars now behind me, I just rode on slowly; but some of that guy's fear climbed into the car with me and I found myself becoming much more cautious.

The roads were indeed getting worse. Occasionally I was alerted to slick spots by cars in the ditch . . . someone else had gone before me and their trouble served as a warning to me.

At some point there was something of a pile up ahead of me with cars all but completely blocking my path. As I approached with great caution, a young man - adolescent - walked to my car.

"We got a bad patch of black ice up here!" he said and proceeded to tell me how to turn around. When I began to explain that I didn't know an alternate route, he paused briefly to spit the juice from his tobacco product . . . the aroma caused me to hearken back to my high school days in Alabama - memory didn't serve me too well, I couldn't tell if it was Skoal or Copenhagen . . . at that point, the other fellows standing around the tie up began to try and push one of the vehicles out of the way.

I offered to help push -

"We (re) Yarborough's" he said " we can handle it!"

As I got out of my vehicle and took a step toward them, I discovered that my little slick-bottomed Bass dress shoes and me were definitely NOT Yarborough's and I got back in my car.

The Yarborough boys directed me very slowly through the mess. From that point on, I didn't exceed twenty miles per hour very much.

After a time of very slow progress I made it to the final leg of my journey. A quick cell phone with my father-in-law, who had only recently made the trek convinced me to alter my route. It was the last half mile that concerned me the most: this route would take me on a road with undulating hills, just next to a large lake - I was pretty sure that would be treacherous.

I made it to the lake and found the roads indeed very dangerous. At the first hill, there was a vehicle in front of me that was in the process of backing up - giving up on the prospects of surmounting the little knoll. There was also a car behind me.

I pulled off to let the car behind me pass and to think (and pray) strategically.
It appeared that the guy in the car that passed me was also backing out of the idea of attempting the hill. So I got out and cautiously walked to his car.

He explained that the road was too icy and too narrow for him to attempt it - in his company vehicle.

We learned that we were neighbors- of sorts. He said he would go back and try a different route (there are numerous little country back roads through that area. He got my cell phone number and said he would let me know if he could make it.

I toyed with the idea of walking home, but thought better and decided to try another route as well.

Though my new-found neighbor and I ended up taking different roads, when he called to say he had made it through the worst part with little trouble - I had as well.

As we talked and I thanked him, we introduced ourselves. I learned that his children go to the same school as mine - and my sister-in-law is a para-pro for one of them.

I soon made it home. I did not say so - but prayer had been my constant practice on that trip and I was truly thankful to have made it without incident. I was also thankful for the folks I met along the way and the folksy conversations I had had.

As we go through the "hard times" of economic recession or any other hardship that affects large groups of people - may we remember to look up in prayer, and then out to others that are in the same circumstance.

Keepsakes

2010-12-18T09:06:00.001-05:00

On the day after Thanksgiving, the kids and I - along with other family members gathered at my Mom and Dad's house to kick off their holiday house decorating. Christmas decorations at Mom and Dad's have become simpler and more understated as they have gotten older; but it helps for some of the children and grandchildren to do some sorting and to bring them up from the basement.

This year, someone uncovered a renegade bronze baby shoe while digging through stuff. Some of you won't remember this but, bronzing baby shoes was a fad or trend years ago. This errant shoe was -I think- a sample from the set of shoes (two boys' and one girls') that hung on our wall of our home, each on their own individual pedestal-plaques.

When a child, it was a big deal for me to see that bronze shoe with my name engraved beneath its' stand and to note how much my foot had grown!

I think holding on to keepsakes is a western tradition. For us - being very sentimental - Christmas is always a great time to drag out our own family keepsakes. Our tree is often decorated with them ... tiny shoes, magical pacifiers that once held the key to peaceful rest for both child and parents, and little handmade decorations - heavy with Elmer's Glue and glitter.

For some reason I thought about this practice earlier this week when I read about the early visit of the "wise men from the East" to the Christmas Couple and Jesus, the Christ Child. My thoughts led to this question:

If you interviewed Mary - years after Jesus had died, rose from the dead and ascended into heaven - would she have taken you to a special place in her home where she kept the chunk of gold the wise men brought that night?

Would she take you down to the cellar and with great care pull our the myrrh they gave her - still in it's original container?

What of the frankincense - could you catch a hint of it's exotic aroma as she displayed the yet unsealed container?

Of course not.

In fact, it seems to me that people of the Bible didn't hold much with keeping things for their memory's sake. As a nation, Israel held onto a few tangible items: the rod of Aaron that budded proving that he was God's chosen man for the high priesthood, the tablets of the commandments and a container of manna; but families did not seem to do this as much. Instead, I think they passed on traditions - all observed deliberately so as to keep their history in tact.

Let's go back to Mary and her mantel void of Jesus memorabilia. The reason that Mary would not show you those keepsakes from the magi visit was likely because she and Joseph had quickly liquidated those items and utilized the proceeds to fund their narrow escape into the exile of Egypt.

To a person like me, who secretly hopes that some day all these trivial items of the life of my children will be needed to stock some museum or to grace the corridors of the Presidential Library - the idea of so quickly releasing them seems foolish.

It seems that God, however, has a very practical side. I don't think He wastes anything.
If you remember the parable Jesus told about the wealthy man that left portions of his wealth in the hands of three of his managers; the manager that was sharply rebuked was the one that had preserved the portion assigned to him. In fact in one version of this story he talked about placing the items "on a shelf".

What Gifts has God granted to you that seem of too much value to spend?

I ask it of myself as well: What am I hanging onto - afraid to spend it because I am fearful that I will let it go too cheaply?

Like the manna God provided in the wilderness - grace is daily; there may be costly consequences from trying to hoard it.

This Christmas we are very mindful and careful about spending. In some ways though, perhaps God intends for us to become spendthrifts.

Burdensome experiences, chance encounters, odd and unplanned circumstances, costly delays . . . . all of these - when examined more closely and in light of God's perspectives . . .

may indeed turn out to be your gold, frankincense and myrrh.

On Bethlehem Road Part III

2010-12-12T22:06:00.000-05:00

I have never been too far away from home for any length of time - especially over the holidays. I can't imagine the plight of our brave troops throughout the Middle East and other parts of the world during this time of year. In his writings, Stephen Ambrose described the loneliest spot in the world, when he wrote about a new replacement trooper in a foxhole, in Bastogne on Christmas Day, 1944.

I am sure that Mary and Joseph must have felt some sort of connection to Bethlehem, it was after all, for Joseph, the birthplace of his family. I think we can safely assume that they longed for their arrival at Bethlehem. If, for no other reason, they could finally complete the journey and rest.

Maybe they found solace in the story of a shepherd-king - the great-great-grandson of Naomi - who had a deep longing for that same little town - Bethlehem ... his home town. David found himself cut off from his village and a band of Philistines-perennial nemesis to David and the Israelites- had apparently taken control of the burg.

David longed - I think - for some connection with his roots; if he could only somehow touch something of his past - his people. He remembered the well just inside the gate, maybe he had stopped there often as a lad, when his father sent him into town.

He remembered the refreshing taste of its cool waters and he said something about that longing out loud.

Three of David's mighty men heard him. Their devotion to David was so great that they didn't seem to bother to stop and calculate the risks; they simple bounded headlong toward Bethlehem.

Apparently the audacity of their mission so shocked the Philistines that they were unable to mount a defense. The brave warriors broke through the line and returned back through the line with a dipper full of Bethlehem well water.

David's loyalty to his men was such that he could not lightly partake of this gift for which they had hazarded their very lives. Because he could offer the gift to none greater - he poured out the water as an offering to God Almighty.

Maybe all this noble devotion and heartfelt loyalty provided some courage to that Christmas Couple as they made their way along to Bethlehem Road. At any rate, they stayed the course and made their destination - where many more hardships awaited them.

Just as all those other stories along the Road, fed into their story - their story feeds into ours. For the Child Mary would bear and Joseph would help to rear, would make all of our stories possible.

Bringing Out the Decorations 2010 at OneTrueMedia.com

2010-12-11T17:45:00.001-05:00

Shortly after Thanksgiving, we always bring out the decorations at our house, this year we also had the privilege of helping with Grandmamma and Granddaddy's decorations.

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

On the Bethlehem Road Part II

2010-12-11T16:53:00.001-05:00

Perhaps Mary found distraction from the difficulties of her journey as she and her new husband made their way along the Bethlehem Road, by reflecting on the stories that the surrounding rocks and occasional trees would tell if they could talk.

Many years passed since that first story of Jacob and Rachel along the road. Another couple - two women - trudged along possibly that same road. The younger, was there out of sheer love and dedication to the older. Naomi, the older of the two, was on a miserable journey back to her home in Bethlehem. As she would announce to her kins- people upon her arrival - she was returning empty and bitter.

Naomi, her husband and two boys had left there years before with high hopes, they were leaving the economic depression of Bethlehem for the prospective opportunity in Moab. Perhaps for a time, they did see the prosperity they hoped to find - the family grew as her two sons found wives. Then fortunes disappeared as Naomi lost her husband and eventually both her sons. In that day, it was nearly impossible to survive as a single woman - especially in a foreign land. So Naomi headed back down the Bethlehem Road . . . empty.

She was now returning without her husband or two sons, only Ruth - one of her daughters-in-law. Both of the former wives of her sons had begun the journey with her, but Naomi convinced one to return; relentlessly, Ruth hung on.

As they walked the road in silence, everything must have mocked her: the hard surface of the road that resisted her steps and pained her feet, the howling wind that sang a jeering song and punished her with stinging sand. Perhaps the old women would eye her with a knowing smirk - "we knew you'd be back".

Despite her shame there was one bright spot in the midst of her misery - Ruth. Ruth would be her constant companion, her support - she was not alone.

Ruth held to hope in the same steadfast manner with which she clung to her mother-in-law. That hope was contagious, it encouraged Naomi and it caught the attention of Boaz, a great landowner.

Through a tender turn of events, Ruth captured the heart of Boaz and the sun rose afresh on Naomi. Not only would her husband's lineage survive - but it would some day become part of the Royal bloodline that would precede Messiah.

Maybe Mary and Joseph found in that tale, the hope that their cold desert nights would sometime warm to the brightness of the day.

On Bethlehem Road Part I

2010-12-11T14:28:00.001-05:00

Perhaps the night was especially dark and the arid desert wind blew cold as the Christmas Couple worked their way along the road to Bethlehem. I suspect that their conversation was sparse; my guess is that the clatter that 21st century westerners' call conversation would not fit well among the early middle-easterners.

With the extreme conditions and the harshness of the journey, I suppose it would do one good to redirect their thoughts away from the surroundings. Like the pilgrims in The Canterbury Tales, Mary and Joseph possibly focused on stories.

The road to Bethlehem certainly was a place of origin for many stories; in fact, it was likely along that very road, on just such a moonless night, another woman traveled with her husband - she too was in the throes of an imminent delivery.

Her story was somewhat different from Mary's, in that she had borne children . . . well she had one child . . . and many years of conflict stood between that boy and the one she hoped to soon deliver. The woman had spent her days struggling for the attention and affection of the man with whom she traveled. From the time that she had met him at a well near her home, he owned her heart. When he learned they were distant relatives, this wayfaring stranger wept as he kissed her.

Jacob had loved her so much that in spite of the constant intrigue of her father, he patiently indentured himself for fourteen years of hard work - just to win her hand in marriage.

In a polygamist society, she found herself in constant competition with her sister -who was also married to Jacob - in a duel to bear children. The feat had taken it's toll on her and though she felt triumphant in the fact that she was again pregnant, but the Bethlehem Road was revealing just how fragile her life was.

On just such a night, Rachel died at Bethlehem. As grace would have it, her child was born safely and Jacob named the boy Benjamin. . . a bittersweet night for Jacob along the Bethlehem Road.

What a poignant moment for Jacob, a man that was returning from a journey of renewal - rediscovering his bond with Almighty God - now he must embrace the shovel to dig a grave for the woman he truly loved, and also begin the responsibility of rearing a new baby boy.

An old prophet would bring the realization of a similar bitter sweetness to Mary as he foretold that her very soul that was enraptured at by this Child's birth, would be pierced through someday as He died.

Comfort and Joy - Mary's Gift

2010-12-10T09:39:00.000-05:00

This second week of the Advent Season, I have been focusing my reading on Mary and Joseph and how they were brought into God's Christmas Story (Matthew 1 and Luke 1).

I noticed that God saw fit to build and edify Mary's faith through several confirming occurrences.

This is juxtaposed to the plight of Joseph and Zacharius, who both also received angelic visits. Once the announcement of God's plan was made, it seems that God saw fit to provide nothing further to strengthen their faith. Zacharius spent nearly a year in silence; Joseph received no other heavenly messages until after Jesus was born.

Mary, on the other hand, found grace and help all along the way.

After Gabriel rocked her world by making his remarkable announcement, he let her know that the miracle season was already well underway and her aunt - who was known for being childless - was six months pregnant.

Mary must have found immediate comfort in that revelation! Someone else is in a similar predicament, someone is in on the secret. Almost immediately she went to her.

Since I think Jesus birth was especially human - though He was also wholly God - I believe that the pregnancy bore resemblance to all other such plights. I think Mary probably had "morning sickness". If so, the trip to the hills of Judea must have been exceptionally harrowing.

It seems that while she was yet in the driveway at the home of Uncle Zach and Aunt Liz, she could hear the old woman calling out to her with more comforting confirmation!

"Blessed is the Fruit of your womb!"

"she knows!" Mary must have whispered!

Yet unborn, John Baptist began his work of preparing the way for the Savior (not a small task for what some would refer to as "randomly gathered protoplasm") by bounding within the confines of Elizabeth's womb.

All of these incidents served to support and build the faith of this timid girl with a daunting task ahead of her. Her emotions erupted into a glorious praise song that is sometimes called the Magnificat...

"My soul does magnify the LORD! And my spirit does rejoice in God, my Saviour!. . . "

At some point in time - either before her journey to Judea or just after - Joseph further added to her joy. God had spoken to him and confirmed what Mary had told him: this Child would be the Christ!

I marvel at God's kindness toward Mary, how He went out of His way to provide her with support and confirm her faith.
While Mary's task was certainly monumental - God's love and kindness toward us is no different. He lavishes His love upon us through the His Word and through our relationships with others.

O tidings Comfort and Joy!

What Do You WANT for Christmas?

2010-12-10T09:05:00.001-05:00

Before I leave Zacharius and the preamble to the Christmas Story, I want to point out one more thing that was prominent to me in this story of the miraculous in the midst of the mundane.

That first Christmas God gave Zacharius what he wanted.

I think Christians sometimes fall into the wrong-headed belief that God is all about us being denied the things we want. As you may know, I grew up in a family that followed a fairly strict "holiness" pattern. Many of my peers would describe what they believed by telling you what they did not believe in... "we don't believe in dancing... we don't believe in wearing jewelry ... we don't....". With that lifestyle it is easy to think that if something is fun or desirable - it must be wrong.

I don't bear a grudge toward that teaching. I don't think it warped my psyche to any great degree (although many might say that something warped it). In fact I understand the motivation behind it and think that at it's foundation that kind of thinking was okay.

I do, however, have some difficulty at times with the idea that God would give us what we want - not just what we need but - what we want.

That's just what God did for Zacharius, the old priest that would sire John Baptist. In Luke 1, the angel, Gabriel, told Zacharius that his "prayers have been heard" and his wife would have a son.

A boy!

What a blessing for this old guy - he and his wife, Elizabeth, well past child-bearing years.

Now, hear is why I think God gave Zach exactly what he wanted and was praying for: Zach had come to a place of being in sync with heaven. God didn't alter His plan in order to fulfill Zacharius' request. No, instead as Zach drew closer to God - he desired the things God desired.

God did not change His plan - He changed Zach.

"Delight yourself also in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart" - Psalm 37:4

It works for us too. As we focus more and more on Him, His desires become our own. Then we began to seek after and desire the things God wants us to desire.

His plan becomes our delight, and that makes for a delightful situation of having what you want and knowing it is within God's Plan.

Two Christmas Questions

2010-12-04T08:15:00.002-05:00

"What do you want for Christmas, young man?"

That's the question I used to get from the big guy in Red; that question, I was prepared for.

It was the follow up question that gave me great anxiety and probably kept my Santa Lap Visits to a bare minimum:

"Have you been a good boy?"

The question bothered me because I think that at an early age, I was well aware of my fallen nature. I was also equipped with an overactive guilt-gland that could always provide an ample supply of contrition whether it was needed or not.

But those aren't the two questions I want to address in this post, instead, they are:

How can I know?
How can this be?

Here is how I am approaching the Christmas season this year - I am sticking to a molasses-style Bible study that I adopted a couple (3?) years ago. That style is to move deliberately slow. My hope is to read a passage or chapter, then read it again the next day, and the next; sometimes when taking this course, I will begin to notice items that I didn't notice the first time. So this year, I am spending this first week of Advent with Zacharius and Elizabeth from the hills of Judea, as they learn of the miraculous coming of the last Messianic Prophet, John Baptist.

I like this older couple! They are a perfect example of the "one-flesh" relationship God established through marriage to display His own relationship with His people.

They are always working in tandem and both are said to be "righteous", both had a consistent "walk" and both were "blameless".

Most folks familiar with the story in Luke 1 - the prequel to the Christmas Story - know that Zacharius was met by the angel Gabriel while performing his duties as a member of the priesthood.

The angel laid out the basic strategy for upcoming events to old Zach and prescribed the proper tenants for rearing this prophet.

That's when Zacharius asked the first question:

How shall I know this?

If you don't know what followed, stop right here and take a few moments to read it.

Because Mary's visit from the same angel is mingled inside the John Baptist story, I read that account this week as well. I noticed that Mary also had a question for Gabriel:

How can this be?

Gabriel's responses to these two questions may appear on the surface to be a case for reverse discrimination. Zacharius gets what seems to be a punishing rebuke, while Mary received a "thank you for that wonderful question!" - teacher's pet- response.
While Zacharius was told that he would be unable to speak because of his unbelief; Gabriel used the opportunity of Mary's question to explain God's plan for the incarnation of Christ in more detail. This dichotomy of reactions caught my eye this week. I think the story has "marked" Zacharius -much like Thomas- as the consummate doubter.

I had jotted down some notes from my Pastor's sermon on this passage last year, he called the nine months of silence that Zacharius suffered - a gift! He pointed out how boldly Zacharius proclaimed praise to God when John Baptist was born and how staunchly he defended God's plan of action when the village people questioned the choice for the child's name.

Nine months of being unable to speak, had provided Zacharius with an excellent opportunity to listen.

He emerged a different man.
What an apparent change! Zacharius chattered like a school girl - okay probably not but I just wanted to say that - his words clearly revealed that God had developed in him an understanding of the mission for this bold new born prophet.
So while we clearly see Zacharius as being rebuked and punished by God - Gabriel actually was providing an answer to the question.

"How shall I know this?"
Gabriel implied - "Here's how - God is granting you the gift of silence for a time...so you can know."

This Christmas, a little more silence would seem to be desirable. I arose a little early this morning and built a fire in the fireplace with just that in mind - a little time of quiet. Conversely, it doesn't appear that Zach's surroundings grew any quieter - he did.

He listened.

And God changed him.

Christmas Shopping (Stories About Me)

2010-11-26T13:27:00.001-05:00

It's a major shopping day for most retailers and - I suppose - the first official shopping day of the Christmas Season. Time was, I liked to get out in all the "bustle" and mingle with the crowd and pick up a few gifts. That adventure doesn't hold much value with me any more, people are not especially jovial any more.

This "Story About Me" would often come about as we approached the holiday season....

When I was a kid, living in Cedartown, Georgia, our family always seemed to manage to fit in one or two trips to Atlanta for Christmas Shopping each year. These occasions were pretty memorable, sometimes they might include some "pre-gift" purchases like a fancy pair of cowboy boots (the pointy toes of which exactly matched the indentations in my big sister's shins), a coat or maybe a book.

On a typical shopping day, we would split up with a plan to meet back at a certain time. At some point early on I wanted to be with Dad because he would typically work his way over to the "Nut Center" and buy a bag of chocolate covered peanuts.

These visits would aways include a visit to the pinnacle of retail department stores in the south: Rich's. Many times the one at the Greenbriar Mall in Marietta...

...but in the early days, it was always the downtown Rich's in Atlanta (think "Macy's" on Miracle on 34th Street). It was a mecca of multi-story shopping, but most of all, it was the home of The Pink Pig ...

...I am pretty sure I remember riding the Pink Pig at least once when it soared (soared?) above the heads of shoppers in the toy department. I know I rode it at least once when it was stationed outside on the roof of Rich's (for another -more detailed- description of the experience read Chris Queen's post from last year).

On some of these trips, I might end up hanging around with my much older brother and sister - I was under the impression that they didn't want me around, but perhaps that wasn't really the case. They liked to pick on me and of course, I enjoyed being obnoxious; but they also served as a buffer between me and the disappointments of growing up.

On one particular trip while I was in the company of my siblings, I saw my Dad taking a scooter across the parking lot. I knew it was mine, my brother and sister were too old for scooters, they tried to convince me that Dad was probably just helping the people at the store. Despite my childish naivete, I didn't buy it. I think I began to doubt Santa Claus at that point.

My scooter was not quite this vintage - picture a trimmed
down 1960's version in powder blue without the fins

Fortunately, I received the scooter as a gift from Mom and Dad - before Christmas.

Those shopping trips would usually run late into the evening and if I played my cards right, I could go to sleep in the back seat (sometimes in the floorboard - an unheard of luxury today) and if I remained asleep when we got home (or was able to mount a convincing performance) - I could get carried into the house.

I remember one weeknight trip, my sister and I took with Mom after school, we did some quick shopping in Cobb County. On our return trip, I remember how thrilled I was to see snowflakes - LARGE, fluffy snowflakes - peppering the windshield in a mesmerizing fashion. As the glorious white substance accumulated, we barely made it over the arching railroad bridge on East Avenue. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I later learned that school was cancelled for the next day.

What a magical Season, indeed!

Almost Done With ... Walmart

2010-11-24T07:30:00.000-05:00

This will not be a hate-Walmart post.

I am of the opinion that most people that go on and on complaining about Walmart probably dislike the organization simply because it is an icon of American capitalism. Therefore it is capitalism - not Walmart - that they truly hate.

I am not one of those - in fact I find myself vigorously defending Walmart (albeit quietly and within small circles) for the most part because of its testimony to the powerful effects of the free market.

However, due to recent incidents, I am considering limiting my purchases from the retail giant. I am - at least for awhile - done with buy wheat straw from Walmart.

Before I recently pawned off my two hay-consuming quadra-peds, it was necessary for me to occasionally supplement their diet with hay. On my last attempt to purchase hay from the Garden Center at Walmart, I arrived with my son on a Saturday morning, before the crowds arrived. AA and I walked around in the Garden Center for a time - there was no cashier there yet so we worked our way up front.

Hesitantly, I went to the open register - I was hesitant because I had done the same thing on an earlier trip to Walmart and the cashier could not ring up wheat straw...

I will give them this much - they are consistent.

As we made our request ..."would like to buy some wheat straw" she did not seem to know how to reply (no ChicFilA "My PLEASURE!" here). Soon she brought in the apparent Lead cashier who informed us that we could make that purchase in the Garden Center.

Upon learning that no one was back there, she proceeded to try and find a price they could charge me.

Eventually she called and apparently found a cashier back in the Garden center who gave a price and a code. The lead cashier told the regular cashier and the regular cashier told me ... then she began to complete the transaction however....

...the little lights on the screen facing me all worked together to form the words "Pine Straw".

"Wait, that says 'pine straw' - I wanted 'WHEAT straw'" - I protested.

The regular cashier told the lead cashier - "that was 'pine straw'"
"Isn't that what you said?" replied the lead cashier to me.
Now I had listened real closely to everything I said and I am certain I said "wheat straw".
When I assured her that I needed WHEAT straw she asked me if I could just go back to the Garden Center.

That's when I felt my inner Big Daddy rise up.

My Dad, Big Daddy, would have used this occasion to say something like - "this would be a good place to build a retail store!" and then speak loudly to the embarrassed boy at his side "Remind me not to come here anymore!" as he pointedly walked out.

I curbed my instincts - but only slightly - smiled and said thank you. AA and I headed for the door.

"Sir, you can go this way" the lead cashier called... assuming that I was so bewildered by the exchange that I couldn't find my way through the store to the Garden Center.

"No Thank you"

And AA and I departed triumphant and frustrated.

I won't be "done with Walmart" at this point but there are some serious cracks in our relationship.

I still believe in this icon of capitalism - simply because that's what it is. But capitalism doesn't answer all things and losing touch with the life's blood of business - customers is a serious error.

Worst Spanking (Stories About Me)

2010-11-20T12:13:00.003-05:00

I am not sure why this story happens to be the first in my new "Stories About Me" category, but it is.

In thinking about these stories, I realized that the telling of these stories may sometimes be different from their original rendering simply because they were sometimes told in conjunction with something we were discussing at the time.

For instance, I used the word "spanking" in my title - mainly because I thought it did not sound as harsh as the word we always used to describe corporal punishment: "whipping" or in the vernacular - "WHOOPING". . .

It always seemed important for my brother and sister ( who were much older than me) to point out that they received far more whippings than I did as a child. For some strange reason, this always made me feel guilty - as if I should have demanded spankings at the hands of our parents. I did, in fact, receive fewer spankings, but now I like to point out that it was because I was a much better behaved child.

Being a compliant child, I probably was a little easier to manage - but the fact is, by the time I arrived, my parents were a little more mellow.

I do remember the worst whipping I ever received - in fact if memory serves me correctly - I received TWO whippings on this particular occasion.

Jim and Ruth Barnette lived next door to us when I was a kid in Cedartown, Georgia. Next to them, lived my best friend, Steve.

Steve and I were the same age and had been fast friends since before Kindergarten. I think sometimes, that it may have been a friendship of convenience but we really did have other kids in the neighborhood. Unfortunately one was erratic and unpredictable in his behavior and the other was a girl.

Jim and Ruth kept a beautiful yard. There were shrubs, green grass, and flowers - in fact during the early summer we had to move to the far side of the road when walking in front of their house, just to avoid all the "June Bugs".

I don't know why but on one particular day, Steve and I targeted Jim and Ruth for mischief.
My family had grilled out some time earlier and Steve and I had come upon the idea of mixing the used ashes and charcoal with water to form some sort of brew. We were always finding reasons to mix stuff with water: on several occasions we concocted "Ant Cures" and proceeded to pour the compound on ant hills in my yard; another time we discovered that when you briskly stir a charcoal and water mixture, it will produce a foam - like soap - which is why we tried to scrub my patio with it.

So we ended up with a bucket of water and charcoal and nothing to do.

To this day, I do not know who came up with the idea - mischief happens that way, it just kind of evolves- but somehow we noticed that Jim and Ruth were not at home. So we took our bucket of gray matter over to their carport. There we commenced to pouring the mixture into just about anything that would hold liquid: an unoccupied flower pot, a pair of Ruth's outdoor slippers, the indention in the seat of Jim's riding lawn mower.

I seem to remember something deliciously satisfying about darting around from evil deed to evil deed - almost like opening gifts at Christmas.

My memory is fuzzy on details at this point but I do recall running to hide when I heard my Mom calling me. I think we had already finished our work, but like Adam and Eve - it only took the sound of a voice to snap me back into reality and to allow conviction to seize me.

I remember hiding behind a shrub at the corner of our house.

I think that was when I got my first whipping.
The second one came after Jim talked to my parents - he came to our back door and I remember hearing him say something about not wanting to get us boys in trouble.

To add insult to injury, I later learned that Steve's parents had received a similar call from Jim and -get this - Steve received "a good talking to" from his Dad . . .

... a good talking to!?!?!

He tried to raise the ante by saying that his Dad could talk pretty hard at times . . . yeah tell that to my behind.

There were all kinds of lessons for me in this little episode. I learned about conviction, guilt; I learned about how sin can bring momentary pleasure; I think I even learned a little about redemption - once the price was paid for my sin (in this case, my punishment) my relationship to my parents was restored as well as my relationship with the neighbors.

In my life today, redemption still works that way only I trust in One who has ultimately taken the punishment for all of my evil deeds (as well as the evil deeds of Steve and everybody else in the world) - that having been done, corrects my relationship with my heavenly Father and with everything else in His creation.

A Perspective on Gifts

2010-11-20T10:51:00.001-05:00

Over the past year I have not done what most bloggers say that bloggers should do - and that is to read other blogs and post comments. I usually go to my better half's blog to see if she said anything about me and then on occasion I will use her links to visit a couple of the several "mommy-blogs" in her favorites list.

Today I found a very interesting post on the Lot's of Scotts blog. JMom's posts are always heartfelt and each one provides an excellent learning opportunity.

Earlier this week, she linked to a great post from a site called Rethinking Christmas, which I think presents a proper perspective with which we should launch the upcoming Christmas Season ( which, of course, comes after we have given that understated holiday - Thanksgiving - it's due).

Here's the link to the post:
http://www.rethinkingchristmas.com/?q=node/192

I like the idea that Christmas Gifts should remind us of the Reason we celebrate; the heart with which we give should reflect Christ.

Read it when you have a few quiet moments.

It's Not Them .... Its Us

2010-11-19T10:35:00.000-05:00

We just finished a "fine-tooth-comb" study on the book of Jonah in our Wednesday night Family Gathering at church. Pastor Bill placed a strong emphasis on the fact that the book of Jonah provides a MIRROR in which we can view ourselves - if we dare; it also provides a WINDOW through which we can see God's amazing patience and grace!

Here's a link if you want to read or listen to the study: http://www.thegreatwhale.blogspot.com/

With that study as a back drop in my mind and my contemplation of just what should occur in our country after the recent history-making elections . . . I heard a Chuck Colson Breakpoint program on "Repentance".

I highly recommend it.

Stories About Me

2010-11-19T09:56:00.001-05:00

I'm launching a new category today.
It will sound a little narcissistic but the category title is "Stories About Me".

When Ab and AA were very small, they liked stories; and one of our mutually favorite past times in the car or at home before bed was for me to tell a "Story About Me".

Confidentially, I probably liked this mostly because it allowed me to talk about myself in an uninterrupted fashion (I'm just that shallow). On the other hand, I truly did view it as a means of preserving the family heritage.

Now these were not deep stories and there were no amazing adventures (we didn't sail the Mississippi with Huck Finn) - they were just quaint little tales about memories that stood out for me.. often for no particular reason.

My kids are getting older and have entered a new era, Ab - my middle schooler and AA - nearly nine, they fill any otherwise quiet time with their DSI's or - on better days - with reading. They hardly ever ask for stories about me anymore.

Once recently, we talked about some of these stories and it occurred to me that they were seeping away from their memories.

One of the intentional purposes of this blog is to provide some written record that our kids can enjoy.
So from time to time, I will try and throw in one of these "Stories About Me". Perhaps you will find something there that will trigger a memory or two for you.

My Quest to Save Thanksgiving

2010-11-15T22:06:00.001-05:00

My annual quest to save Thanksgiving has begun in earnest in my humble abode.

My kids feigned disgust when they saw all the Christmas decorations going up at the local Walmart, just after Halloween. Yet now Ab has already uprooted a defenseless little cedar tree from our woods and planted it in a pot of sawdust in her room. It has been decorated with an aluminum foil covered star and a construction paper chain.

Mind you - this is right down my alley (some of you will remember my caper with a Rustic Christmas Tree last year)- I like old fashion remnants of Christmas . . . but NOT until the proper time. I argue that to begin the Christmas celebration too early is to invite Christmas fatigue and besides, doing so negates one of our most important holidays - Thanksgiving Day.

I mean what better way to enter the Yuletide season, than to inaugurate it with a season of thankfulness.

It doesn't help that our local "positive" music station (used to be code for "Christian", but can now mean any music that doesn't entail cussing and - up until recently - anything sung by Miley Cyrus) is now wall to wall Christmas music ... now in the middle of November!

It reminds me of one year that every television station known to man was playing "It's a Wonderful Life" (possibly the best Christmas movie ever made and in my top five all time favorite movies). I think the movie rights must have expired that year or gone into public domain - anyway it was overkill and "familiarity bred contempt".

So our rides together now often turn into a battle of the radio knob. Ab diving to the radio to fill the vehicle with the sounds of the Brenda Lee "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" - while I try to manage the wheel and fend her off at the same time. All this as I lay out my systematic defense of keeping things in their proper timing and place.

I am persuaded that anticipation is one of the true joys of the Christmas Season - and perhaps understatement is one of the true characteristics of that preceding season...

Here's to a happy thanksgiving day...

1776

2010-11-07T16:14:00.001-05:00

I jumped ahead of my normal schedule of reading trendy books a decade or so after they were popular, when I recently read David McCullough's "1776". I am only about five years behind on it.

The book was quite impressive. It is a detailed description of George Washington and his "rabble" as they spent the first year of the War of Independence. I found the book to be very eye opening as it pointed out the dramatic weaknesses of the Americans. In fact most of the "victories" this ragtag militia enjoyed during those early days were not victories at all.

They felt triumphant because they had made a valiant stand against the greatest military force on earth, or because they had successfully retreated from just under the noses of the British.

The book paints a picture of the illustrious George Washington that is, I think, accurate but not flattering. Washington believed that he should lead by example and so acted often in ways that would today seem pretentious or hypocritical. Washington apparently failed miserably over and over again during that first year in terms of strategy.

After he waited and waited during the siege of Boston, he lacked the powder to mount an attack. Finally, he gained the high ground after Henry Knox led a daring expedition to obtain the Guns of Ticonderoga and transport them to Boston.

The British fled but the tables were turned when they met again in New York. Washington's troops retreated from Manhattan, Brooklyn and Fort Washington, and near the end of the year, found themselves scampering to try and evacuate and then defend the capital at Philadelphia.

McCullough pulls no punches when he points out how inept the Americans were.
Yet they stood. They fought - often valiantly.
While McCullough stops short of giving credit to God for the admittedly miraculous events that surrounded this army, he does at least acknowledge that some of the patriots were quick to credit the Almighty with any success they found.
Things like General Washington sitting tall (and quite peaceably) in the saddle all along the front lines as musket balls zinged back and forth around him - he was there to encourage the troops and he dared not show any fear.
There were countless examples of amazing retreats. In one instance, a night time evacuation took place without the notice of the British troops. As dawn approached and the evacuation wasn't nearly complete, an uncanny fog settled into the area and provided cover until the operation was complete.

I was overwhelmingly impressed with the evidence of God's sovereign overseeing of the birth of this nation.

As I neared the end of the book, I was reminded of an American Trait that I had not thought of in quite awhile: The tendency of Americans to stand strong when the odds are against them.

We haven't seen much of that since the apparent establishment of our world dominance after WWII. There has been a trend among liberals since that time for us to fawn over other nations just to prove that we are not the "ugly Americans" they think we are.

But there exists in the hearts of freedom-loving people, a strong constitution to stand even though the cards are stacked against us - event though it seems apparent that we are beaten.

It is a trait that was displayed prominently over the recent mid-term elections by members of the Tea Party. Those who won and those who lost. Those who found little support among the party they were running with and those who ran in the face of petty and ugly personal attack, all stood - they fought the good fight and some won ... others will live to fight another day.

And fight they will, because like those early Americans who realized that 1776 was not the end - it was only the beginning, many Americans are awakening to the same realization.

Washington closed out that year with a tremendous Christmas season victory at both Trenton and Princeton. Yet there were many more battles to face ahead. So they continued resolutely into the next year and the others that followed.
Just as we must do today . . . . it is the American way.

Farewell Farmer Bill

2010-11-07T15:23:00.001-05:00

Well I have hung up my bib overalls (figuratively speaking) and have thus retired my "farmer Bill" persona.

History may reveal this brief chapter in my life as being just a symptom of a brewing mid-life crisis - nevertheless yesterday, we said goodbye to the kids...

...not the children....

...but our two goats that have been a part of our family - albeit a distant part - for the past few months.

Thunder and Floyd bleated their baaaah- baaah's ("bye-bye's") from the back of a pickup truck around dusk last night as they pulled out of our driveway en route to their new home.

The duo added a taste of adventure to our family over the summer and early fall. Alas, now R. can give her eyeballs a rest from their continual rolling at the latest news of all their shenanigans.

Only yesterday -before their fate had been sealed for certain - they had been tied out in separate locations near the back yard. They seemed to be enjoying the last remaining morsels of liriopa and the munching of newly fallen acorns. As AA and I were stacking some firewood, along with my brother-in-law and nephew, the two came bounding around the house - prancing gaily in their pride of having obtained liberty on their own.

Floyd had finally broken the dog lead that was once used occasionally for Tanner, our chocolate Lab; Thunder had somehow untied the Cub Scout inspired knots I had used for his tether.

I will say that they are very entertaining animals and - I believe- quite valuable. They completed -fairly successfully - their mission: clearing portions of our woods of undergrowth.

Lately as the days have grown cooler - and shorter, it has interfered with their grazing ability. Typically, I had been able to let them out for a couple hours each evening to graze. However, of late they had turned to our landscaping for nutrition. Darkness and the fullness of our after-school schedules often conspired together to eliminate that grazing opportunity.

I will say that they are very relaxing animals. I don't know if it is their constant munching or the tender way they softly bleat to one another while grazing, but it serves to set one's mind at ease.

I think most appealing is their single-mindedness.

These animals seem to live for nothing else but to eat. They are eating machines. They are quickly drawn to anything that sounds like grain or that is green - and they plunge toward said items with reckless abandon.

Maybe there is a lesson I can learn from my time with the goats (don't laugh - everyone seemed to take Jane Goodall serious). There is something very positive and right about having only a few, well-defined priorities and going after those with all that is within us.

The Apostle Paul said "This ONE thing I do" and for him that ONE thing was to press forward toward the mark for the prize of the high calling that is in Christ Jesus.

Even though I am now a "goatless wonder", perhaps that lesson will stay with me awhile. . .

.... at least for as long as the smell lasts.

Relevance and Truth

2010-11-04T20:58:00.002-04:00

For a time it seemed that the trend in new churches was to achieve "relevance".
It may still be the trend.

Relevance means "we are hip to what's happening today .... man".

In the seventies, Christians adopted terms from the drug culture and invited sinners to get "hooked on Jesus"...
In the eighties, I distinctly remember lobbying for our church to get with it and bring in Pac Man and other video games.
All in the name of relevance.
Even then, it seemed a little hollow.

Today, churches are struggling to discover where the culture is going and adapt, adjust - become relevant.

I have no problem with churches serving their congregants better and I like fresh perspectives; but sometimes I am afraid that we focus too closely on being relevant. We adjust so much that we forget who we are and lose sight of who God has called us to be.

We who make up the universal church are called to be "lights".
The compelling thing about light is that it stands out. It provides a stark contrast to the darkness.

I have been thinking a lot about truth lately. There is a standard that says that All Truth is God's Truth, and I buy into that whole heartedly. In fact Jesus said " I am the Way, the Truth, . . . ".

And because God is Truth, we can trust that Truth will always triumph in the end.

Have you ever thought about how constantly relevant the Truth is?

Truths never change, and though cultures change, fashions change, people change - the Truth is always relevant - it is always "hip to the jive".

Quickly rattle off some truths that you know:

You always reap what you sow
if you play with fire you'll get burned
Give and it shall be given unto you
the idle mind is the Devil's workshop
many hands make light work

They are always relevant; they always work. Now rattle off some relevant catch phrases:

The earth is flat
Love means never having to say you're sorry
Drop out, turn on, tune in
Never trust anyone over thirty

.... phrases that were quite relevant in their day but today they are trite.

These thoughts have given me some solace over the past couple of years as I watched our political landscape. . . the truth is always relevant - the truth always wins in the end.

When our founding fathers decided to put down their reasoning for seeking independence from Britain, they did so with a written document. One that could easily be used against them, but one they could also use as a standard, a benchmark in case they grew weak.

It is fitting I think that they began that document with a reference to the Truth. . . .

"We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness...."

...Truth that is still relevant today.
Keep standing, America.

The Year of the Angry Woman?

2010-10-28T19:35:00.000-04:00

Since my turns at the computer are fewer these days and seldom seem to correspond with my energy and inspiration level, I am going to indulge myself in a little political analysis.

I live in Georgia, and our gubernatorial (not "goobernatorial") race pits a former congressman against a former governor. It has not garnered a lot of interest - due in part to the fact that national politics have been on the forefront. Besides, Georgia governors tend to be uninspiring.
Don't get me wrong, I have liked some of them - liked them a lot. I even liked the governor that is now leaving office (the first Republican governor of Georgia since Reconstruction).

Anyway, being that I am something of a conservative policital junkie, I am surprised that I have apparently missed something this year.

It appears - judging from the ads put out by former governor Roy Barnes, Democrat, - that I was completely oblivious to a hotly trending constituency.

One year some time back, it was the "Year of the Soccer-Mom", remember that? Another time it was the "Reagan Democrats" or the perpetually illusive (and fickle) "Independents" that seemed to be the groups to market toward.

Roy Barnes, Democrat, -adroit political avante-guard that he is -has apparently jumped on a burgeoning NEW trend!

He is marketing his ads to "angry, bitter, women".

I must confess that I have not seen any television ads (except portions of a questionable TV ad that included some doctored video) - all of my experience with Roy Barnes, Democrat, ads have been on the radio.

In one a frustrated woman talks about some bill that Nathan Deal had voted against that was supposed to protect rape victims. She ends by declaring that she can "never forgive him" for that.

Another ad features yet another woman - a STRONG woman - that is barking orders to mousy men in her office, she decries Nathan Deal's business acumen in very demanding tones. For a moment, I felt I needed to apologized for something ... being a man, I guess... then I teetered between the idea of sending flowers or getting her a cup of coffee.

In another ad two women whisper about their votes and then how one will manipulate her unsuspecting husband into voting for Roy Barnes, Democrat.

At best, these ads have left me ...uninspired. At worst, they prompt me to become uninvolved, to stay home with my vote.

As I was going over these thoughts, I heard an ad from a campaign in Florida, our neighbors to the south.

Refreshingly, it said, and did - what ads should do.

It inspired me. It almost made me want to move to Florida - just so I could vote.

See what you think.

Vote.

Please Buy My Kid's Popcorn

2010-10-09T22:29:00.008-04:00

It's that time of year again.
Not unlike the Girl Scouts and their ubiquitous cookies - the Cub Scouts are putting on their annual fundraiser - Popcorn!

Since I believe the Judeo-Christian work ethic is one thing that makes this country great, I like the fact that the boys are required to do the lion's share of the work with this fundraising effort.

AA has jumped whole-heartedly into the sales effort; he has boldly gone door to door in a couple of neighborhoods as I stood just behind him. Further, he has displayed a sales savvy that would make my Dad quite proud (as it does me).

In spite of all this effort and a pretty strong sells record, he is still short of his goal of winning a cool crossbow that shoots marshmallows ( no young lad should be without).

So I am responding in typical American capitalist parent fashion -by asking you to consider buying some popcorn from the boy.

A large percentage of the sales go into local scouting and a portion to his particular Pack.

If you'd like, go to AA's link and look around.

If, for no other reason, consider the great annoyance he could wreak on our household with that marshmallow pelting crossbow!

On Multi-Tasking

2010-10-08T18:03:00.000-04:00

I don't multi-task.

Ask anyone. Ask the myriad of women that I work around (multi-tasking seems to be a trait of particular interest to women for some reason). Ask my wife. Even ask my middle school teachers ... they would have told you - like they told my parents during the parent-teacher conference - "he doesn't budget his time well".

Since I already know that doing multiple things at one time is, for me, a hopeless endeavor - I have decided to embrace my single-mindedness.

In recent months I have even seen some endorsements of the low-productivity, low effeciency lifestyle.

At one point I attended a work-life balance type of class at work. It was aimed specifically at multi-tasking.
That's where I learned that I am right and the other 98.3% of the population are wrong: the instructor demonstrated how that "multi-tasking" is actually "Switch-tasking". He said that we actually have to stop thinking about one duty in order to start the other.

Most people to whom I have attempted to explain this - remain in their state of frenzied unbelief.

I'm not surprised that I do not produce many converts. I guess the same skills that go into making one a successful multi-tasker, would also be required to make one a successful evangelist.

Ironically, I am learning that my children have great confidence in my ability to do many things at once (probably got this from hanging around their mother). They have an amazing ability to find me the moment I sit down for a quiet moment of activity that requires my total concentration - and throw in new tasks for me to complete.

It is as if they feel sorry for me for having nothing particularly active to do.

Like right now for instance, as I have stolen away for a quick visit to blogland - I have heard numerous requests and comments and instructions.

I would go into detail about what they said ...

...unfortunately I don't multi-task.

Here's a Keeper!

2010-10-03T16:54:00.000-04:00

Judging from the new Stats button that Blogger provides, a lot of you start there anyway, but just in case you haven't read R.'s latest post on God's Design Not Mine, you need to see it.

It features my boy and like him, its a keeper.

http://godsdesignnotmine.blogspot.com/2010/10/my-little-comedian.html

Some Political Intellectual Honesty

2010-10-03T16:49:00.000-04:00

It was "Spirit Week" last week at the kid's school, in preparation for homecoming. Monday was to be 80's Day and the students could dress "like they did way back in the 1980's".

After reeling from the effects of having my personal sensitivities insulted - I joined in the brainstorming to help Ab and AA decide what to wear.

This coupled with the fact that I was mentally fatigued from a couple of weeks of non-stop activity - led me to spend my Saturday morning on the couch in front of the television. As you know we don't get real TV but now have Netflix on our television and I ran across a PBS Documentary on Ronald Reagan. I thought it might serve as a refresher course on 80's fashion - it was also an excuse to relive some of what I consider to be our "glory days" as a country.

The segment that I watched ran through until the point of Reagan's first term that parallels with our present administration's first term . . .and thus evoked some political intellectual honesty.

I remember 1982 and 1983. I was beginning to believe in our country again and had a new sense that just maybe our best days weren't behind us; but things had actually gotten worse. President Reagan's popularity had waned and he was poised to lose the gains he had made in the Senate during the previous election.

The documentary pointed out that about this time Reagan, who had enjoyed an enormous surge in popularity after a failed assassination attempt, quipped that maybe he should go out and get himself shot again.

I remember

that real estate still wasn't moving, interest rates and gas prices were still high and jobs weren't that plentiful. Reagan kept saying we had to wait, it would take time for the fixes he had put in place to take effect. Sure enough - in time they did and we enjoyed the greatest peace time economic boom in U.S. history.

This is where the political intellectual honesty comes in: our current president has enacted a whole bunch of legislation aimed at fixing our economy and at this juncture they appear to have only made things worse. So -being intellectually honest - I have to admit that this administration appears to mirror Reagan's.

That frightens me a little because I believe that most everything thing this president and the Democrat majority in congress has done has been anathema to the Constitution and to good judgement. What if, like Reagan, Obama found a resurgence in the polls and was able to stick around another term?

It all boils down to the things I know as truth - the policies of this administration have run counter to the inspired traditions or our founders and the Constitution they put in place. Those policies may continue to remain in force and succeed politically - but I know that they will ultimately fail and with them our nation.

That is why I think the November 2nd election is so pivotal. It should be first addressed with great prayer - for ultimately God will rule the day - but it should also be addressed with our participation. Beyond that, if major changes come about after that first Tuesday in November, it must only be the beginning.

Oh by the way, 80's Day turned out just fine.