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.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
It's Here!
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!
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!
Saturday, December 24, 2011
The Empty Season 3
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.
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.
Friday, December 23, 2011
The Empty Season 2
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 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
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:
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 ...
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 ...
Monday, December 12, 2011
Status Report
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:
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.
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.
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.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Glorious Inconvience
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?
Saturday, December 10, 2011
The Mismatch at Michmash
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.
What unlikely odds lay before you this Christmas season?
Friday, November 25, 2011
Merry Mayhem
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
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
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Theatre of the Mind on Halloween
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/
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.
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!
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/
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Switching Teams
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.
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.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
\ä-kyə-pī\
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:
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.
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
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Awkward
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.
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.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
"Stonewall Jackson's Verse": a 9/11 Perspective
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.
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
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/
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/
Monday, September 5, 2011
Conquering 'Surprise Hill'
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.
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.
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.
It was one of the most enjoyable events of the summer for me.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Silas Marner
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.
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
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.
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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)
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...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.
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- And that was the adults!
5,000 Frisbees, that's about how many we distributed....
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...by the time we reached the halfway point of the parade, we thought our names were "Frisbee!".
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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 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.
5,000 Frisbees, that's about how many we distributed....
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
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.
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"
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.
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...
"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...
Saturday, June 25, 2011
A Family Dispersed
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.
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.
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