At Year's End

That time of year is upon us again – the end of one set of twelve months and the beginning of another. In this particular instance, we call the former “2009” and the latter “2010”. Just what is it about this thing called New Year’s?
For some people, it’s an excuse to have a wild party, complete with more food, beverages, and people than one can stand. And if you doubt the third item on that short list, simply watch the Times Square New Year’s event. If that to you does not look like more people packed into one small area than one person could or should be able to stand, than you are much more of a social butterfly than I.
But in all of my 25 years, I have never gone to a New Year’s party, and I do not plan to break with tradition for the sake of change – or anything else – as 2009 rolls over into 2010. Granted, I may eat more than my share of food tonight, but other than that it will be a more or less solitary observation of the changing of the times and seasons. That is, unless you count as a regular shindig my watching of an occasional neighborhood firework – which, I would have you know, is getting around here to be as risky as flying these days, what with the better-than-even shot (whether due to the ignorance of the shooter or the shabbiness of the design, it is left to the reader to decide) of a firework going astray and aiming for your house.
For almost everyone in our culture, a new year is quite a symbolic event. It affords us the opportunity to look back on the twelve months that have just passed into history and seek to discern the meaning of those things that have transpired therein and to reflect on how our lives have during that time trended to the better or to the worse. At the same time, we take a moment to look forward to the coming year. Some of us undertake the impossible task of trying to divine what the next year will bring for us, for our nation, and for the world. Beyond that, there are the regular “New Year’s resolutions” – decisions (firm in our own minds for at least a week) that we SHALL improve ourselves in this or that area of our personal lives, whether it be in the area of weight, or attitude, or education, or romance, or what-not.
Every so often a new year brings with it a new decade, and such is the case tonight. We’ll say goodbye to the 2000s and say hello to the 2010s. What will the 2000s eventually be known for? Clearly, world-changing events like 9/11 made their mark on the decade and will rightly be seen as one of its hallmarks. So too, is the startlingly rapid advance in technology. Human nature didn’t change, and it never has, but we must acknowledge that this was a rather more dangerous and complex decade than many complacently and optimistically believed it would be as the “new millennium” dawned (but at least the computers didn’t all shut down on January 1, 2000, as a few people I know – and perhaps myself to some degree – thought would or at least feared might happen). But there were bright spots, too, both individually and corporately. You know what they were for you. And you know the not-so-bright moments that also helped make the 2000s what they were for you. It varies from person to person.
The 2010s will be like that, only in a different way. None of us can tell what will be a minute from now, much less what will be the great events of the next decade. History will be made in politics, business, sports, war, and peace. People will look back on the 2010s, as they will soon begin to do on the 2000s, and point out (and perhaps even laugh at) the unique fashions, hairstyles, fads, expressions, events and inventions that make each decade special.
There is much we can’t control or predict about time. The only thing we can control, even though imperfectly, is what we do with the time God allows us. The foremost thing we must do with our time, if we have not already, is to respond to God’s gift of salvation by trusting what Jesus has done on our behalf in dying for our sins so that we might be made right with God. Once that is done, we must each endeavor to live lives that are as pleasing to our Heavenly Father as possible. All the other resolutions may fall by the wayside, but if in 2010 we strive to please and honor the One who gives us life and all good things on this earth, then our new year will not fail to be a fruitful one. Happy New Year!

Christmas is All About Easter

The title of this article may seem a little confusing. After all, why combine or confuse two distinct holidays? Granted, Christmas and Easter are similar in that they are both religious holidays and that it could be said of both that “Jesus is the Reason for the Season”. But isn’t it really too much to say that Christmas is all about Easter? I would submit to you that it isn’t too much to say that. In fact, just as it is obvious that Easter would not be possible without Christmas, it is just as true that Christmas would have no meaning without Easter. Let me explain.
Now, in writing this, I am not denying that Christmas has a wonderful quality all its own, without regard to other holidays. What could be more miraculous and breathtaking than the Christmas story? We rightly celebrate, with awe-filled hearts, the fact that God became man and dwelt among us, that He left His throne in heaven to become a human, vulnerable to all the flaws, weaknesses, and sorrows (yet without sin) that we all experience. And not only did God become man, but He first became a helpless baby, born to the most humble of families, in the most humble of circumstances, in a stable of all places and not a palace (the greatest of which in this entire world would have been an unimaginable act of self-humiliation for the Almighty Creator of the universe!).
There are even more amazing Christmas miracles – the birth of the Son of God from the womb of a virgin (thus avoiding Adam’s sin-filled lineage), the star that stood over Bethlehem, the angels who appeared bearing the wonderful news to, of all the people in the world, a few lowly shepherds in Israel. That the Almighty would choose to dwell among men as one of them is perhaps the most wonderful story of all!
I say “perhaps”, because there is an even more wonderful story than that. There must be, if Christmas is to have any meaning. Of course, if the Christmas story ended right at this point, it would be enough. We humans, undeserving of God’s very attention, would be forced to humbly bow at God’s mighty act of self-revelation to the world. But what purpose would that ultimately serve? Would it have changed anything?
No, it wouldn’t have. You see, we still would have been lost in our sins, even though Jesus grew to be a mighty Worker of miracles and a great Teacher of the truth. The reason is that we are unable to please God in our sinful condition, and as such deserve His just punishment, which is death (Romans 6:23). If Jesus, God in the flesh, only came to make an awesome but brief appearance on earth, we would all still have been doomed.
But Jesus didn’t come just to be a mighty Worker of Miracles and a great Teacher of the truth. The jarring reality of the situation is that that baby in the manger came to die – and not just because death is a common human destiny. Jesus Himself said of His life, “No man takes it from Me, but I lay it down of Myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again” (John 10:18).
Jesus’ very purpose on this earth was to die, not for Himself, but for you and me. If we are to be saved from our sin that separates us from a right relationship with God, we must have a Savior. We cannot save ourselves, but neither can God gloss over our sin and let us into His kingdom anyway. Our sin has to be paid for, and God was not content to simply see us pay for it – and so He sent His Son to pay for it. He did so by dying a cruel, violent death by execution on a Roman cross – not for anything wrong that He had done, but for everything wrong that you and I have ever done. Jesus became our Substitute, and all the wrath the God should have poured out on us He instead poured out on His only Son. Thus our sin was transferred to Jesus’ account so that His perfect righteousness could be transferred to the account of those who trust in Him.
And so you might say, “Ah, I see – then Christmas is all about Good Friday, not Easter.” However, even that is not entirely true. You see, in light of Jesus’ many remarkable claims – that He is the Way, the Truth and the Life; that He is able to give eternal life to as many as believe on Him; and that He would rise again the third day after His death, just to name three – His death cannot be the end of the story, for that would make Him a liar, and His death (though pitifully unjust) just another death like all the other ones. It would prove that Jesus was just another person – and also, most horribly, that we are still doomed in our sins.
But that was NOT the end of the story, for three days later, Jesus rose from the dead! And this is the Event of all events, the one we celebrate every year on Easter (and hopefully every other day as well!). The Resurrection of Jesus proved that God accepted the sacrifice of His Son on behalf of sinful man and validated Jesus’ life and ministry, all the remarkable claims He made, and the statement He made just before He died – “It is finished! – which signified that His redemptive work was complete, and not to be added to or subtracted from.
This is why Christmas is all about Easter. On Christmas we celebrate the great Coming of the Savior of the world. But it is a Coming that derives its very meaning from what happened three decades or so after that lowly birth – the death and resurrection of Jesus. Easter is what makes Christmas worth celebrating and saves it from being a story full of miraculous wonder that nonetheless rings hollow and falls short of ultimate meaning in the end. Praise God that He came to earth as a baby and grew up to pay for yours and my sin!
Even so, that is not where the story ends – or at least, it is not where it has to end. Jesus bids all of us who hear His words – and you are reading of them even now – to come to Him in faith, to realize that our sin has hopelessly cut us off from our Creator, and to place all of our hope and trust in the finished work that He accomplished for our salvation. This is the only way to a right relationship with God and to eternal life with Him.
Jesus is bidding you to come to Him even now, but at the same time He forces no one to come to Him. You must make a decision to trust what the Lord has done for you, and I pray you would do so now, and not waste a minute. After all, as it is written in the book of James, our life is but a vapor, and we do not know what will be tomorrow. We all have a meeting with death someday, and after this comes a meeting with Almighty God, who will be our Judge. He will judge us on the basis of what we have done with His Son – did we trust in Him alone for our salvation, or did we count His death and resurrection as worthless when it comes to our eternal destiny? We must make that choice now, because then it will be too late. And don’t forget – the One that came as a baby 2,000 years ago will one day come again to this earth as King of Kings and Lord of Lords! Will you be ready?

Santa Claus is a Big Fat Hoax; or, Virginia Was Lied To

There was a time I used to believe in Santa Claus, and I am sure that you can say the same. The book I had about Santa was one of my favorites growing up. In fact, the short piece “Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus” is even now one of my favorite pieces of Christmas literature. But I am here today to tell Virginia that she was lied to. No, there is a not a Santa Claus – for Santa Claus is one big fat hoax.
The only thing that puzzles me is why more children do not smell a rat from the very beginning. Maybe they do, and just play along for the sake of their elders. I know that I was rather taken aback when I was told by my father that there is no Santa. I am sure I had my reservations about some parts of the Santa Claus story – but as for dismissing the entire tale, that was something I never independently did. The fact remains that there are so many holes in the story of Santa Claus – why, so many bold-faced improprieties, incongruities, and impossibilities – that you could drive a whole sleigh pulled by eight or nine reindeer through one of ‘em, and do it easily.
The first whopper I see is rather startling. Who was that first parent who told his child about Santa Claus, and what was he or she thinking? The parents already know that they will be the ones buying the little tot’s favorite toys and things to enjoy for Christmas Day. The logical thing to do would be to tell Junior that Mommy and Daddy are buying gifts for Junior for Christmas because they love him so much. But no – that would make too much sense. Instead, we’re going to tell Junior that some fat old man in a red suit is going to drive down here in a sleigh all the way from the North Pole, climb down our chimney, and deposit all of those presents under our Christmas tree. Why that idea alone is not enough to freak most children out is one of the mysteries of our time.
Nor is that all, for we have much more to observe in this comedy of errors we call the Santa Claus story. Take, for instance, the notion that Santa lives at the North Pole. Why, no person could safely or comfortably live at the top of the world. Have you ever looked for the North Pole on a map or a globe? It’s nothing but ice, because it’s smack-dab in the middle of the Arctic Ocean. Nobody lives there (much less Santa Claus), and many who have attempted to get there have perished or barely made it back. It hardly ever gets above freezing at the North Pole, and there are times in the year where there is either sunshine all the time or no sunlight at all. I think they made up Santa living at the North Pole because they don’t want anyone to go looking for him and find that he isn’t there.
Note also the claim that Santa is able, in one night, to deliver Christmas presents to all of the girls and boys in the world. Some even say Santa makes these presents himself with the help of his helpers, who are all elves (and how such tiny personages could be better help in manufacturing than big, strong men is beyond me). He puts all of the presents into a bag in his sleigh and then takes off into the air (with the aid of his flying reindeer – who incidentally can’t fly and don’t live at the North Pole, but in Scandinavia). If Santa is both rich enough and efficient enough to undertake this massive mission in one night and succeed, then he needs to be working as a consultant for the U.S. government ASAP. For my part, I don’t believe a word of it.
And if Santa is making all of these toys for the children, then why is he spotted at the mall every December? Does he need the help of big corporations to make his holiday project happen? Is he on a purchasing assignment? If so, then Santa is just another symbol of Christmas commercialism, and not, as they claim, a symbol of the purity and child-like innocence of Christmas.
That reminds me – every December, children go to the mall to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what they want for Christmas. I myself sat on Santa’s lap once (I asked for, among other things, a real Indian tomahawk; I was a dangerous and violent youngster). But when you see the merry old man perched on his throne in the middle of the concourse, with long lines of impatient families before him, what, pray tell, are nine out of ten children doing when they finally get to sit on his lap? Why, they are wailing so loudly that you would have thought Freddy Krueger just came into their bedroom at midnight. The fact is that children are afraid of Santa Claus when it comes right down to it. And he’s supposed to be the jolliest, kindest, most generous old man of them all. Fiddlesticks.
We are also told that Santa is keeping track of all the boys and girls in the world to see whether they are good or bad in the course of the long year – and if they are not good boys and girls, they won’t get any of the presents he plans to bring them. If this isn’t the biggest piece of hogwash ever perpetrated on the populace since the last act of Congress, tell me a bigger one and I’ll consider it. We all know that if Santa truly kept such a score, he’d be sitting home Christmas Eve night watching “The Biggest Loser”. This is because none of the little boys and girls are really that good the rest of the year. We all know Johnny bit and scratched and hit his little sister more times than we would like to admit, and that Sarah Sue fussed and cried and pouted to get her way and stole here little brother’s Legos and army-men and hid them in the bathtub drain at least twice. If those things aren’t enough to get crossed off Santa’s wonderful list, then Santa is just blowing smoke about the “good little boys and girls” routine. They claim that his gift to the bad children comes in the form of coal in their stockings, but I never once knew anybody that really got coal. And I know quite a few deserving candidates.
Now let us consider a few more elements of this elaborate holiday hoax. We all have heard that children are supposed to be in bed very early on Christmas Eve night so as not to be up when Santa arrives. No explanation is given as to why jolly old Saint Nick wouldn’t want to actually see the people to whom he is being so kind in bringing presents for Christmas (and they also don’t admit that the parents don’t want to be caught off-guard as they are assembling that shiny new bicycle they bought, either).
However, imagine with me (it’s easy if you try). Santa Claus comes, shouting with his trademark laughter, with a big sleigh drawn by eight or nine reindeer (who, incidentally, are not small beasts), and lands upon the roof. How is this not supposed to wake the entire neighborhood, much less the supposedly sleeping children? But it gets better. Santa is now supposed to come down the chimney. Santa is already, according to the story, quite rotund. On top of that, he has been eating quite a bit already, what with all the cookies and milk the children of the world have set out for him before retiring to bed, making him all that much more rotund (what if he gets indigestion?). What if the entirely plausible scenario that Santa gets stuck comes true? Is Roto-Rooter on standby to get him out? And what if the house has no chimney (as has been true with all but one of the houses I have lived in)? Is Santa supposed to just come in the front or back door? How about the window? What about the laws concerning breaking and entering? Do they not apply on Christmas Eve night?
Go along, if you like, with this farce called Santa. Enjoy the warm, fuzzy, nostalgic feelings he brings every 25th of December. I just can’t join you. There are simply too many glaring inconsistencies in the story to even make it fun anymore. In fact, should I have children, I will seriously consider not even bothering to tell them that Santa Claus is real. As they say, telling the truth is easier than lying because at least you can remember it more easily.
And with that, a merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

"But Who Do You Say That I Am?"

“And on the road He asked His disciples, saying to them, “Who do men say that I am?” So they answered, “John the Baptist; but some say, Elijah; and others, one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?”
Mark 8:27-29

Life poses to us many important questions – questions that demand a decision. They come in many forms and are asked of us at different points in our lives. What career will I pursue? Where will I go to school? Will I marry, and if so, whom? Where will I live? How will I choose my friends? What church will I attend, if any? Will I have children, and if so, how many and how am I to raise them? How am I to manage my money? And what is the meaning of life – what is my overall philosophy?
We all have our different approaches to answering these questions, and we may order them differently in importance. Some of us are more philosophical, and others are more practical in nature. Some put family and friends first, and others put careers and achievement before all else. Some of us actually sit down and ponder the answers to these questions, while others answer them by the way they live their lives, and not consciously. But all of these questions, in the long run, do get answered in some way – they must by their very nature. But what would you think if I told you that none of these questions, however basic they may be to our human experience, is the most important that any of us will ever answer?
The most important question we will ever answer is, “Who is Jesus of Nazareth?” In the verse that opens this discussion, Jesus posed just that question to the people who followed Him. He first asked what other people said about Him, which the disciples answered. But Jesus did not stop there, for that was not His main point. He went on to ask them a very personal question – “But who do you say that I am?”
It may puzzle you when I say that we, in the year 2009, will never answer a more important question than that regarding a man who lived 2,000 years ago. The reason I say this is that the question is far from equivalent to asking who we think George Washington or John F. Kennedy or Aristotle were. We can read history books to find that out, and even then, it hardly matters who we think they were. Notable men and women, and even great ones, have shaped history (sometimes to a large extent), but they hardly have a direct influence on our personal lives. Some say that Jesus fits this category. Some say that He was a great religious teacher, a Jewish rabbi who came and taught us the right way to live – a man of peace and good works. If this were so, Jesus would be another notable historical figure, perhaps one worth admiring. But I tell you it is not so. For no one who has read what Jesus Himself actually said can come away thinking that He was a great religious teacher.
In John 7:46, there are recorded the words of officers sent by religious leaders to arrest Jesus – “No man ever spoke like this man!” Take a sampling of the things that Jesus Himself said about Himself, and test whether this is true. In John 4:26, in response to a woman who spoke of the coming of the Messiah, Jesus said “I who speak to you am He.” Jesus repeatedly called God His Father, which to the Jews was blasphemy since in so doing He was making Himself equal with God Himself (John 5:18).
Jesus said of Himself, “Most assuredly, he who hears My word and believes on Him who sent Me has everlasting life” (John 5:24). He also claimed, “I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me shall never hunger, and he who believes in Me shall never thirst” (John 6:35). Jesus said, “I am the light of the world; he who follows Me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life” (John 8:12). Jesus lived thousands of years after the time of Abraham, yet He claimed, “Before Abraham was, I AM” (John 8:58), invoking the name that God gave Himself when he appeared to Moses in the burning bush.
Jesus said, “No one can come to Me unless the Father Who sent Me draws him; and I will raise him up at the last day” (John 6:44). Most astoundingly, especially to our ears in this day of moral relativism, Jesus claimed of Himself, “I AM the WAY, the TRUTH, and the LIFE – no man comes to the Father except through Me” (John 14:6).
More than once, Jesus predicted not only that He would die, but where and how He would die – and in the same prediction He claimed that three days after His death He would rise from the dead. And He did.
Read the gospel of John, and the three gospels that come before it in the Bible. There you will find Jesus’ statements just as I have laid them out here, and you will find many others like it. After just this brief sampling of Jesus’ own claims, can the assertion that Jesus was only a great religious teacher be intellectually honest? Jesus did not claim to show the way – He claimed to BE the way. Jesus did not claim to show us how to live – He claimed to BE life itself, and to be able to give eternal life to anyone who believed in Him. Jesus did not claim to help us learn truth – He claimed to BE truth. Jesus claimed, without batting an eye, to be equal with God, Whom He called His Father. If I came to you and made these same claims to you about myself, you would no doubt think I was on a tremendous ego trip (at the very least). You most certainly would not believe me. These kinds of claims are remarkable claims indeed!
The claims of Jesus, you must admit, are remarkable if they are to be taken at face value. Indeed, no man ever spoke like this man. As one man (I believe it was C.S. Lewis) wrote once not so long ago, there are only three conclusions one may come to concerning Jesus of Nazareth – He is a liar, He is a lunatic, or He is Lord.
Jesus is a liar if He made those claims and yet knew that they were patently false. If indeed He was only a normal human being like you and me, and knew it, and yet claimed to be so much more, would that not make Him a flat-out liar? Tell me, would a pathological liar make a suitable great religious teacher in your opinion? Would a liar be someone you would be willing to trust in matters of spirituality – or anything else?
Jesus is a lunatic if He made those claims and seriously believed them though they were false. Only a mentally unstable person would have such a “God-complex” or a “Messianic delusion” concerning his own identity. We would call such a person narcissistic if he or she claimed such things even once or twice. But what about a person who repeatedly makes such claims? Who do you know that does or has ever made such claims so repeatedly? What would you think of them? Would you not regard them as a little crazy? Would a lunatic be worthy of your faith and trust when it comes to the biggest questions of life and eternal destiny? For my part, I think not.
Either way – if Jesus is a deliberate liar or a pathetic lunatic – He is not worthy of our time. Nothing He said could be trusted as true or viewed as sane. And so Jesus would not really be great in any way – He would only be notable for the wrong reasons.
But what if Jesus of Nazareth was correct in His claims? What if He really is the Son of God? What if He really was sent by His Father to pay for your sin and my sin? What if He really is the Way, the Truth, and the Life – the only path to God? What if He really did rise again from His tomb? This is what Jesus said. If He was right, what then?
The only conclusion then would be that Jesus is Lord, and that we had better believe what He said. If we do not, then what He said would be true of us – “Most assuredly, I say to you, unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God” (John 3:3). John the Baptist testified of Jesus, “He who believes in the Son has everlasting life; and he who does not believe in the Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God abides on him” (John 3:36).
Jesus’ question to His disciples – “Who do YOU say that I am?” – echoes down to us many centuries later. It is a question we must answer, and as I have attempted to show, there are not many different ways to answer it. We must dismiss Jesus as historically notable but insignificant as far as it concerns the pursuit of truth; or we must fall on our knees and acknowledge Him as Lord and as the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world, our sin. The choice is up to each one of us. Just as with the disciples, Jesus is not satisfied with our answer as to what everyone else thinks of Him. He wants to know what WE think of Him individually. He will not force us to answer a certain way. But He does demand an answer. As for me, I confess that Jesus of Nazareth is my Lord, and the One Who, as my Savior, bore my sins in His own body on the cross, that I may have eternal life and be declared righteous in God’s sight. Who do you say that Jesus is?

The Twelve Days of Christmas

Everybody knows this song, because everybody has heard it at least twelve hundred times. This is because everyone who imagines they have a viable music career has felt the need to record this song at least once (along with every other imaginable Christmas song), as if their rendition will not be more than half as annoying as that of the last person that recorded it. This is a song on which there is no neutrality – you either love it or you hate it (and I have never yet heard anyone say that it is their favorite Christmas song).
The song of which I speak, and about which I am going to write, is “The Twelve Days of Christmas”, which is undoubtedly the most annoying song of its kind ever written. It also makes no sense. In fact, if John Lennon and Paul McCartney had taken the time to read its lyrics (and it is very doubtful that this could have happened), even they would not have been able to make any sense out of it, and in frustration would have tossed it in the wastebasket and continued writing about being a walrus or an egg-man, or riding in a yellow submarine with everyone else (for apparently we all live there), or saying hello when the rest of the civilized world says good-bye.
Then again, if the Fab Four had written “The Twelve Days of Christmas”, they might at least have given it a tune that would have made it catchy. But because they didn’t, we are stuck with a monotonous melody that is exactly the same for twelve incomprehensible stanzas. You would think the world would have washed its hands of a song that has no clearly discernible meaning or use. But no. In a valiant effort to redeem the irredeemable, economists have harnessed all the power of their dismal science and made a price index out of the items in this song, and every year they present to us exactly what these items would cost all together should we be insane enough to purchase them. But this only goes to show the utter uselessness of economists and why I would never in a million years want to be one of them. Since we still must listen to this song during this otherwise glorious season, the least we can do is analyze it to make sure that we can’t make any sense of it. And this I shall attempt to help us do.
The beginning is often the best place to start, although in this case I can’t see that it makes much of a difference. It must seem strange to most thoughtful people that, in a culture that celebrates only one day of Christmas, we have a song that speaks of twelve of them. Apparently, in old England, they celebrated twelve days of Christmas beginning the day after Christmas itself.* And since this is a very old song, we must allow for the carry-over of very old traditions.
Now then, the song itself is a story-song, and a very bad one at that.** It speaks of a gift that the singer’s “true love” gave to them on each day of Christmas. The song does not specify whether the singer is a man or a woman, and thus whether the true love is a man or a woman; this we shall attempt to determine. Each day, then, has a different gift, and the number of the gift corresponds with the particular number of that day of Christmas. Not only that, but the singer also has to repeat, at each stanza, what he or she got on each of the previous days of Christmas. Herein lies the origin of the song’s annoying effect, and the cumulative nature of the stanzas leaves all but the best singers completely out of breath by song’s end.
We shall now study each gift in its turn. On the first day of Christmas, the true love sent the object of their affection a partridge in a pear tree. Why the bird couldn’t have been in a cage and had to be in his own tree is beyond me. But what is done is done. However, I like birds, and as long as the partridge stayed in its pear tree and didn’t break out into singing “I Think I Love You”, I suppose we could get along. If he did, he would not be around long (for, you know, getting that song stuck in your head means suicide barring an intervention; and I would get him before he got me).
The second day’s gift from the true love consists of two turtle doves, and the third day only adds to our bird collection with three French hens. Nor does it stop there, for on the fourth day of Christmas the true love is back with four calling birds. So, even if the turtle doves are kind of cute and the partridge is not singing “I Think I Love You”, we now have the problem of hens with whom we have a language barrier and four birds who are indeed making noise (the nature of which is unknown – they may be calling to one another or calling me names or constantly using my telephone, but in any event, they are bound to be a noisy lot if such activity is truly their calling).
The true love now attempts to relieve some of the pressure of the situation by giving something of some value. The fifth gift is five gold rings – and have you seen the price of gold lately? At least it would give me enough purchasing power to acquire enough duct tape to shut up the birds.
With the gifts given on the sixth and seventh days of Christmas, our truly loving giver proves himself or herself to be, in the best case, either a birdwatcher or some kind of avian enthusiast. In the worst case, he or she has an unhealthy and frankly disturbing obsession with birds and perhaps may be Alfred Hitchcock himself come to drive us from our seaside village. For, you see, on the sixth and seventh days of Christmas we are to receive six geese a-laying and seven swans a-swimming. Even though these new animals may not be any noisier than the others, our problems still multiply. Now we have eggs all over the place from three French hens and six geese (which eggs are hopefully not fertilized by any male birds, in which case we may be stuck with many scary-looking hybrid hatchlings), and on top of that we have to keep our seven swans in some source of water (hopefully not our bathtub) so that they may continue to a-swim.
Fortunately, after the seventh day our true love stops with the birds already – but in exchange for that respite he or she plunges headlong into sheer insanity. On the eighth day of Christmas the gift happens to be eight maids a-milking. Now, this proves, at least to me, that the true love is not a woman. What woman would give her man, as a gift, eight females doing anything? The potential for destructive jealousy is simply too great. And so we know that the true love is a man and the singer is a woman (unless you live in California; but we won’t go there). But this gift is fraught with problems. If the eight maids are a-milking, they must be a-milking something. Are they milking cows? Goats? Yaks? Whatever the case, we must make room for yet more animals, and large ones at that.
The ninth day’s gift is nine ladies dancing. Again, this is proof that the true love cannot be a woman; however, it also does not conclusively prove that the reverse is true, for what female recipient would have any use for other ladies dancing? It also introduces yet more trouble. You see, nine ladies must have room to dance if they are to dance, and of this they have precious little, what with all of the other ladies and beasts of burden and birds taking up our space. Furthermore, if they are to dance, they must have music to dance to (unless they are mimes), whether it be “Swan Lake”, a Strauss waltz, a Polish mazurka, the jitterbug, or the Bee Gees. Thus we have more noise to throw on top of cackling hens, quacking geese, mooing cows, calling birds, and a partridge singing “I Think I Love You”. This makes for quite a cacophony indeed. But we are not done by a long shot.
On the tenth day of Christmas, the true love is back with his most insane gift yet – ten lords a-leaping. It is not clear to me (or to any other person with a functioning brain) what the use of ten leaping men is, but I do know that leaping men must have room to leap. Thus they will be competing with the dancing ladies, unless our house or yard is big enough to separate the Dance Marathon from the Pole Vault event. Not only that, but we also now have 27 new persons to board and feed. I suppose that is where the five gold rings come in.
But there are more people – 23 more people, to be precise – coming to our party. On the eleventh day of Christmas, the true love sends over eleven pipers piping. Great – more noise. And the next day – fortunately for us, the last day of Christmas – we get more noise in the form of twelve drummers drumming. I don’t know about you, but I have noticed that most drummers in bands are on the mentally unstable side. But even if they are not like “Animal” on the Muppets, they are at least very noisy and full of limitless energy – not something we need more of at this point.
Now can you see what our residence would be like with eggs all over the place, 40 people leaping, dancing, drumming, piping, and milking, and a whole flock of many kinds of birds, including one partridge singing “I Think I Love You”? It would mean utter chaos, and unless the receiver of gifts is one of those rare people who can endure any circumstance, it would be enough to drive most of us out of our minds. In fact, I am firmly convinced that the true love does not love the recipient of his gifts at all – he only wants to torture them.
And to top all of this off, we have to hear people sing about such a mindless scenario to a tune that goes on and on and doesn’t change even once over the course of twelve verses! I hope you will now agree with me that the song “The Twelve Days of Christmas” is indeed the most annoying and implausible Christmas song ever written.

*Author’s Note: There is some conjecture that this song is French in origin. This alone may offer all the explanation we need.

**Author’s Note: The author has learned by experience to beware of story-songs. They tend to be very sappy and almost invariably come with a forgettable tune, even if they are sung instead of spoken over soft music.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

The Christmas Season is undoubtedly, undisputedly, unquestionably, and undeniably my favorite time of the year – and that statement is uncontested, unqualified, unwavering, and unassailable. For the follower of Christ, the simple fact that we get to celebrate the unspeakable Gift of the greatest Giver of them all should fill our hearts with overflowing joy all year round. What could be better than God sending His only Son to earth to pay for our sins so that we could be His children and righteous in His sight? There’s no other gift possible on this earth that can match that. And without that Gift, all earthly celebrations lose their meaning.
Christmas has been my favorite time of year for as long as I can remember. Of course, for a small child the main draw of Christmas is that he or she gets to open a huge pile of presents on Christmas morning – and all other matters yuletide are but a mere sideshow. However, as we get older, we learn to appreciate all of the great things that make up Christmas; and the more we appreciate those things, the more the presents become the sideshow. Let me take you on a tour of the things that make Christmas so special.
I love Christmas music. There is no other kind of music that is so unique and so seasonal. In fact, it is so unique and seasonal that if we catch someone playing it in July we tend to suspect that something is the matter with their mental condition. For many years, my sister and I have been under the influence of the firm belief that the holiday season officially starts the night of Thanksgiving. On that night of nights, many stations begin to play Christmas music around the clock, and we have often tuned in to catch the first strains. It may not surprise you that the author is listening to Christmas music as he types.
Who doesn’t like the great carols – “Silent Night”, “O Holy Night”, “We Three Kings”, “O Come All Ye Faithful”, “What Child is This”, among so many, many others? Then there are the songs like “Deck the Halls”, “Jingle Bells”, and “We Wish You a Merry Christmas”. Of course, there are the modern ballads that we swear, if the radio station plays them ONE more time, we will physically throw the radio out into the cold yard. You know the ones of which I speak – “White Christmas”, “Winter Wonderland”, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year”, “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas”, “Silver Bells”, “Frosty the Snowman”, “Jingle Bell Rock”, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”, “Here Comes Santa Claus”, “Blue Christmas”, “Feliz Navidad” and (how could we forget) “Happy Christmas (War is Over)”? And we all know that it’s the gentle influence of the Season that keeps us from carrying out our threat, because, deep in our hearts, we really like those songs (just in moderation).
One of my fond early childhood memories comes from when I was in first grade and first learned about the story behind the carol “Silent Night”. For days I was humming the song around the house (I had a bad habit of humming many things around the house); it lent a certain added Christmasy air to the season.
Speaking of being a child, I, like all of you, once believed in Santa Claus.* I even sat on his lap at the mall once, but being a shy kid, I was not enthusiastic about making it a regular occurrence. Of course, my sharp, inquiring mind detected a few inconsistencies in the story along the way. The biggest of these was that only once in my life has our family ever lived in a house with a chimney (and that for only about half a year). How was Santa going to get in if we had no chimney? Was he going to just come in the door? However, the cookies I left on the table always kept getting eaten, and the presents always came on Christmas Eve night, so I kept my questioning to a minimum. As I am sure you do, I still remember where I was and what I was doing when I first heard that there was no Santa Claus. Dad sat me down, looked me straight in the eye, and broke the shocking news. You could have knocked me down with a feather. Why, you could have told me that President Reagan’s naturally brown hair was really a dye job and not have shocked me more. But I took it in stride. Dad’s only request was that I not tell my sister about the awful truth. To this day, I am not sure if she and Father have had that little talk yet.
I also love Christmas specials and movies. In my book, you’re never too old to watch Charlie Brown and Frosty and Rudolph specials. Our family’s holiday favorites are “White Christmas” and “It’s a Wonderful Life”. In fact, I have probably memorized every scene and line George Bailey and his friends ever acted out or uttered. These kinds of movies aren’t great for their plot (and I’m not even the type that re-watch movies as a rule) or even for their actors (although Jimmy Stewart is one of my favorites). They’re simply a part of an American Christmas.
Christmas is a time for traditions, and since I am a man of traditions, I have plenty of Christmas traditions. This is the third year that I will have listened to old-time radio show episodes with Christmas themes every night through the month of December. I like to enjoy hot chocolate on cold nights during the season. I love to join family members on treks to the busy stores for a little Christmas shopping. I love when Mom makes her famous Christmas cookies. And I try every year to read Charles Dickens’ incomparable Christmas classic, “A Christmas Carol” (as well as watch any movie versions that may come on).
We used to put up a fake Christmas tree every year, and I used to love to look at the lights and the ornaments. However, we ended this tradition for various reasons and have not resumed it. Of course, this was a big disappointment that I still deal with. It didn’t help that one year we put a few ornaments on the fig tree that we brought inside for the winter. That just wasn’t the same. However, we still have a small ceramic Christmas tree made by my great-grandmother, and we are going to put it up this year for the first time in a very long time. I am determined, when I have a home of my own, I will put up a Christmas tree every single year, with all of the good Christmas cheer that is within me!
When I was small, I had a handful of Christmas books that I got out every year. There was one about Rudolph (I also had a stuffed Rudolph that played Christmas music), one about the Grinch, and one with the long poem “The Night Before Christmas”. But my very favorite was one about Santa. What held my interest about the book was its rich illustrations. I still fondly remember the colorful, realistic pictures of the elves and the North Pole. In fact, I still wish I had that book.
You may notice that I haven’t said much about presents. Of course, I like these as much as anybody else. I find it amusing (in a very depressing sort of way) to compare the mountains of presents I had when I was about seven or eight to the few packages I get when I’m 25. But the older I get, the more I realize that Christmas is not about materialism or getting “stuff”. It’s more about the family, the friends, the giving, the memories, and the spirit and meaning of the entire season. I have found that the Christmases when I have been engaged in special giving – for example, in caroling at a nursing home, passing out gospel tracts in the neighborhood, or visiting someone in the hospital – have been some of the most meaningful Christmases.
You may get the feeling that I can be a sentimental person, especially when it comes to Christmas time. Well, I am, and I won’t deny it. I love getting into the spirit of the season. I love the lights and the atmosphere in the stores and the neighborhoods. I love the giving (and yes, even the receiving). I love thinking of God’s love toward us and of what is supposed to be our love toward our fellow man – all of which Christmas is supposed to remind us of.
In fact, I love all of these things so much that I actually have had nightmares that the Christmas season passed and I was unaware of it! And every year I worry that I haven’t celebrated the season enough. The truth is, however, that some of our greatest Christmas feelings and memories are only made after the fact, in retrospect. This Christmas isn’t supposed to be like last Christmas or the one in 1998 or 1987. You can’t force great Christmases, and you’re not supposed to. All you can do is enjoy each one and appreciate it as the unique blessing from God that it is.
I can happily say that this Christmas, at least so far, I am quite firmly in the spirit. In fact, I have more than once remarked that I remind myself of Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Present, spreading his Christmas jollity by way of his torch on every person he sees. And so, I sprinkle some of my torch on you right now, dear reader, and wish you the merriest of Christmas seasons!

*Author’s Note: If you still believe in Santa Claus, I urge you – calmly, yet sincerely – to stop reading this blog entry – now. Trust me, it is for your own good.

Give Thanks

In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.
I Thessalonians 5:18

Ah, Thanksgiving Day – the day when we in the United States stuff ourselves full of food of all kinds, whether it be turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, bread, biscuits, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, or anything else you care to name. It’s the day most of us (at least us men) stop to watch a couple football games from start to finish even if we don’t like either team. For many, it’s also a day to get together with a group –sometimes big and sometimes small – of family and friends, some of whom may have come a long way just for the occasion.
At its very heart, though, we partake of all of this joy on Thanksgiving Day for one basic reason – to give thanks. And to whom do we give thanks? We give thanks to God, who is ultimately the One who gives us all things to enjoy.
God is quite pleased when we thank Him, and as we see in the verse above, giving of thanks is one thing He desires His children to do. We certainly do have so much to be thankful for, and it is a good thing to set aside one day in the year to remember that fact. If we didn’t, we may run the risk of forgetting to be thankful. Still, that doesn’t give us an excuse to not be as thankful as we should be every day of the year.
What do we have to be thankful for? We need only to look around for a few seconds. My family has, upon several Thanksgivings, had a custom of going through the alphabet and naming things that we are thankful for that start with each letter. Of course, it’s a little hard to think of X and Q and Y and Z words, but without exception, we need more than one trip around the alphabet because just one is not enough to name everything we are thankful for.
We can be thankful for food, of which we have probably an overabundance on this day. We can be thankful for shelter and clothing, for family and friends around us to keep us company and to give us much love. We can be thankful that we live in a country that is still free and, compared to every other place in the world, prosperous and even relatively wealthy. We can be thankful for our jobs, our education, our abilities, our talents, and our health. Most of all, we must thank God that he graciously provided a way to be made righteous in His sight, by sending His Son to die for our sins and make us His children when we trust Him with all of our heart. We thank God for giving us His Word, the Bible, to instruct us in how He wants us to live here on earth.
As you can see, it takes just a little thought to come up with just a few of the things we have to be thankful for. All of us can take these general things and make them more specific, substituting in their place the name of a loved one or a specific blessing from the past year. God is so good to us, and if we all gave a little more frequent thought to this, we would probably smile a bit more often.
But what about the things we are not quite so thankful for? Each one of us surely has at least one thing that we can say we wish was not in our lives. And besides that, we often would like to be thankful for some thing or other that is not in our lives at the moment but which we wish was. Our verse tells us to be thankful “in everything”. You see, if we can thank God even in the midst of unpleasant things, we are showing the depth of our faith – and God is pleased by that. The book of Hebrews says that it is impossible to please God without faith. When we keep a thankful attitude even when parts of our lives are not going as we would like them to go, we are showing that we trust God and take Him at His Word when He says “all things work together for good to them that love God and are called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28).
And so, as we enjoy today and all of its festive details, let us remember to give thanks to the One who richly gives us all things to enjoy. And let us remember that Thanksgiving is not just a holiday at the end of November – it’s also a frame of mind that we should keep with us all the year through. Thank you, Jesus!

Facebook: A Fable

The younger generation among us – and the author must admit that he is among its ranks – has become rather smug, complacent, and may I be so bold as to say conceited when it comes to their place in world history. There can be no doubt that our Age of Information and Technology is profoundly unlike any other age in world history. More technological capabilities are at our fingertips than ever before, and a wealth of nearly unlimited information is now fairly easily accessible. Thanks to social networking sites, communication among humans can be ongoing, if desired, twenty-four hours a day.
Because some of these things are unprecedented in world history, we of this generation pride ourselves in thinking that we invented the concepts themselves. Such thinking could not be more mistaken. We may have, in fact, invented Facebook and the iPod, but the concepts that are the foundations of these grand institutions are not new. They are quite old.
The concept I am thinking of right now is social networking (particularly on the website “Facebook”, although Twitter also comes to mind). None of our forefathers ever wrote a status update, or “tweeted”. But did they socially network, as we do? You had better believe they did. Sure, we’re a little more advanced, but I dare say they did it in not a very different way from the way we do it now – and for that reason we have no reason to boast as if we had reached some never-before-reached pinnacle of achievement.
I will tell you a story that illustrates my point that we are no more elevated in advancement than our forebears, that we have nothing to brag about over them. They matched us in every way. The following tale may, for all I know, be absolutely true in its every detail. Even if some of the names are changed, I can vouch for the fact that the underlying concepts are as true as any that have ever been discussed. And so I tell it to you now exactly as it was told to me.
The town was a sleepy one – Ox’s Head, Wisconsin. The town may have been sleepy, but the people were astir with activity – every one of them – on one fine sunny spring morning. For instance, if we were to stop outside Mr. and Mrs. Sam Brunner’s house, we would only have to wait a few moments to see signs of this activity.
We would only have to wait, I say, a few moments before the door opens, and out bursts Mrs. Brunner’s venerable old head. The rest of her is still inside, but she stretches her neck outside the door, scrunches up her already-wrinkled face, and screams for the whole street to hear,
“I’m makin’ peanut-brittle today! WOO-HOO! I hope the new recipe works! HA-HA-HA!”
With that, Mrs. Brunner re-enters her house and slams her door closed with energetic force. But we shall not leave Mr. and Mrs. Sam Brunner’s house quite yet. We only have to wait a few moments – nay, seconds – more before a sound catches our ear and we instinctively look up to the second-floor window directly above us. The window is opening. Out pops a very sleepy white head. It must be Mr. Sam Brunner!
“Good morning world!” he shouts hoarsely. “I had a pretty good night’s sleep – I needed it! Now time to go milk the cow!”
We smile, shake our head in amusement, and begin to walk on down the road. It matters not where we are headed, for there are many sights and sounds to experience in Ox’s Head, Wisconsin.
Let us proceed a few houses down – say three or four. Let us stop in front of the Waltons’ house (not the television show, mind you, although they may be direct ancestors of John Boy) and go around to the back yard. Don’t be timid – it’s quite all right. You see, we’re visitors from the future, and none of the Waltons (or any of the other Ox’s Headians) can see us. We’re not disturbing anyone at the moment. Let us take in the view.
Ah! Mr. Walton is kneeling with his son in the green grass. They are both intently looking at several pieces of wood. What are they doing? Listen!
“Will it really sail?” asks the young boy, who is dressed in blue overalls.
“You bet it will, John Boy” – I told you they might have been related to the television family – “and we’re going to find out as soon as I put the two pieces of the hull together, attach this stick, which is the mast, and then go get a handkerchief for the sail. After that, we’ll go down to Wilshire’s Pond and see what it does!”
“Oh boy! Wait till Timmy and Bobby hear about this! Can you wait a minute, Pop! I need to go tell them!”
“Okay, son, I’ll be right here! And when you come back, I’ll let you put the sail on top!”
Let us follow the young boy – quickly, now, he’s a fast one – as he dashes out of the back yard, around the house, and toward the road out in front. When he gets on the road, he stops in the middle of the pavement, cups both hands around his mouth, and shouts in his youthful little voice,
“Hey! Me and Pop are makin’ a wooden sail boat, and we’re gonna sail it on the Pond in a little while! I’m so excited! I’ll tell ya all about it later!”
John Boy smiles as he remains standing in the road, hands on his hips. We find that he is staring intently at the door of the house across the way. And it’s not in vain, either, for the front door of that house now opens and out comes another small boy. We can see him come out a little farther into his yard and stand and cup his hands over his mouth as we saw John Boy do. The boy shouts – and we can hear him clearly –
“Hey, John Boy, that’s swell! Tell me how it goes so we can both play with it later!”
John Boy, still standing at attention next to us, smiles. He again makes his makeshift megaphone and cries out,
“Okay, Timmy! I’ll do that! I might even draw a picture of it and show everybody!”
Now John Boy turns his attention to another house across the way, but to his left. He stares intently – as do we along with him – for a few moments, but eventually he shakes his head and turns back toward his house. “I guess Bobby’s not up yet,” we hear him mutter.
But let’s not bother the Waltons any longer. There are more things to see in Ox’s Head, Wisconsin. A short trip down the road will take us right into the business section of town. I wonder what is waiting for us there?
We won’t have long to wait, for we’re practically there now. Look, over there, next to Milton’s General Store! There’s a man getting into his buggy. He just grabbed the reins, but before he tells his horse to “Giddyap!”, he leans halfway out of his seat and shouts into the air with a grumpy growl,
“That Milton’s General Store just ripped me off again! I’ll never shop there again!”
This exclamation gets very little reaction from the townsfolk, who are all milling about quietly on their business. One man looked up just at the buggy driver made his statement, and he cupped his hands to his mouth as if to say something in reply; however, he seems to have thought better of it and now walks on.
Here, let’s walk across the street toward the bank. It looks as if a well-dressed man is at the door with keys – he must be unlocking it. That must be it, because the sign says the bank opens at 9:30, and it’s nearly that time right now. The man has just turned the key in the lock, but as he has one hand on the doorknob, he cups his mouth with the other and shouts out toward the street with a fairly audible sigh,
“I’m off to work again! I can’t wait for the weekend!”
A younger man across the way, the one who’s carrying a load of wood on his shoulder, stops and calls back,
“I’m with you, Mert! It can’t come soon enough for me! Ha-ha-ha!”
If we were to stay around town for the rest of the day, watching the sights and listening to the sounds, we’d hear lots of things just like this, and on a fairly regular basis. It’s a fairly busy and quite interesting place, that Ox’s Head, Wisconsin.
But now let’s go forward to the evening (we can do that since we are visitors from the future). It’s getting quite dark, and the activity has noticeably quieted down. The banker left his office a while ago, but he didn’t say anything; he must have had a rough day. Maybe John Boy Walton’s boat sank – or did it? We may be about to find out as we sit on the road outside the Waltons’ house. The upstairs window is opening! Why, it’s the boy himself!
“I had a GREAT time today with my boat! It sailed real well, and I can’t wait to do it again tomorrow! Maybe all of you can join me! HA-HA! Good night!”
John Boy shuts the window. Across the way, another window opens, then another. Why, it’s Timmy again, from earlier today, and the other boy at the other window must be Bobby. They’re about to shout something…
“That’s swell, John Boy! We’ll meet up in the morning!” shouts Timmy.
“Hey, I didn’t know you were sailing a boat! You’ll have to show me tomorrow!” That one must be Bobby. We can faintly hear both windows close.
All is quiet for a moment. Hark! Is that a noise over at Mr. and Mrs. Sam Brunner’s? Yes! It’s the door opening. Listen…
“Peanut brittle turned out REAL good today! I almost ate it all! Sorry I can’t offer anyone any of it! Maybe next time! HAHAHAHA!!!! I’m off to bed!”
It sounds like the Brunners’ second-story window is opening again. Yes, it is, because I can just make out a white head emerging out into the cool air. Can you?
“Got a lot done today!” Old Man Brunner shouts hoarsely with a slight raspy cough. “Now I think I’ll take a bath before bed! Or maybe I’ll just go to bed – too tired to take a bath! HAR-HAR-HAR-*COUGH*! Good night, all!”
With that, the window closes. Night is fast falling on Ox’s Head, Wisconsin. It may nearly be time for us to be leaving, because it doesn’t look like there will be much going on for a while. The sky is getting so dark I can barely see the Waltons’ house. Hark! Is that a door opening at the house next to the Waltons’? I think it must be…
“You in bed yet, John Boy?” asks a shrill, young female voice. In reply, the same upstairs window at the Waltons’ opens up.
“Not quite yet, but almost!” shouts John Boy.
“Oh, well, I’ll talk to you in the morning! I’m tired!”
“Okay! G’Night, Mary Ellen!”
“G’Night, John Boy!”
Ah, yes. Pleasant town, that Ox’s Head, Wisconsin. I just had to stifle a slight yawn there. I think it’s time we both headed home to bed ourselves.

And that was the tale as ‘twas first told me not so long ago. I hope you understood the moral of this tale. Next time you think that we in the Digital Age have it made, that we do things so much better than our forefathers did, take note. They were no slouches, either. We may have the technology to do it better and faster, but they still did it. Why, I would say their social networking skills back then, though simpler, were in a way better – or at least more sincere, more pure, more free from the hustle and bustle of today. So remember that next time you type a status update – and remember the good old days, when Grandpa had to do it all by himself, with just two cupped hands and strong lungs, not a computer and Internet, which just makes everything so easy that we’ve almost become too lazy these days. But maybe I’m just old-fashioned.

Thoughts on Being Pulled Over

A few days ago, something happened that I naively believed would never happen to me, even though it happens to just about everybody, whether they admit it or not. I was just hoping I’d be able to cheat the system and never go through it, not realizing that they always get you sooner or later, even if they’re mistaken. My sister even remarked that she was glad that it happened to me before it happened to her so that I could experience it first. But don’t worry – she’ll have her turn in the sun.
What am I rambling about in so vague a fashion? Well, let me start from the beginning. I was driving the roughly hour-long journey to my college for my Friday afternoon writing class. I was perhaps a quarter of the way along when I happened to glance in my rear-view mirror, only to see what I had long dreaded but hoped never to see in real life. Like I said, I was naïve.
It was a police car directly behind me with its lights on. In my shocked state of denial, I figured that SURELY the officer was attempting to get past me and onto the trail of some perpetrator of some dastardly deed. So I figured I should pull over and let him through. The only problem with this proposition is that the officer did not go through. He slowed down when I slowed down, and he pulled over to the shoulder of the road when I did so. It was, apparently, me that had done some dastardly deed.
Let me say emphatically that I do not speed. I always try to do exactly the speed limit, and never very far above it. In any event, I never go faster than the cars around me. And in this particular case, nothing could be more firm in my mind than that I had not at all been speeding.
Many things go through one’s mind in the startlingly long time between the moment you are stopped and the moment the officer walks to your car window. Do you just come out immediately with, “Officer, I didn’t shoot him! I don’t even have a gun, and you can search my car if you want, but you gotta believe I didn’t shoot anybody!” Or, conversely, do you just wait patiently for the officer to have his say first, and then respond to the charges?
I decided to do that latter. The officer looked a bit stern as he informed me that I had improperly passed an emergency vehicle (in this case, another police car) as it was parked on the side of the road with its lights on. He said I failed to slow down or move over one lane as I passed. I told him that in all honesty I was not aware of that law. Still stern but softening up a bit, he said that I definitely knew it now, and that if he let me go with a warning, I would never, EVER, do something like that again, right? To which, of course, I said yes. I would most certainly never, EVER entertain the thought again. And I assure I have not and will not.
Then the officer went back into his car to, I suppose, do the paperwork. This took a disturbingly long length of time. As I sat and watched everybody and their third cousin three times removed pass a parked emergency vehicle with its lights on at speeds of over fifty miles per hour, I began to worry about the time the officer was taking. And several thoughts swam through my head.
Was he on the radio to headquarters discussing my case? Was he secretly looking up my record (I was not aware that I even had a record)? Was the guy on the other end telling him, “Yep, Gus…you just got our man…that was the guy not one but three eyewitnesses fingered as the guy they saw with an elephant gun on the overpass across the way…”?
Or maybe he was just grabbing a donut. Whatever the case was, he took a very long time, and when he came back he just handed me the warning slip, repeated the law, and, in a reassuringly friendly manner, told me to have a nice day and drive safely. And so I was off, thankful that I had escaped a ticket. But when it hasn’t happened to you – yet – getting pulled over can be an unsettling experience. I’d like to think I’ve settled down from it, but I can assure you I will be a paranoid driver for some time to come.
But the experience, as interesting as it may have been, got me to thinking about something far, far more serious, even more serious than getting pulled over for a traffic violation. Does God let us go with a warning when we disobey Him? After all, God loves us and wants to forgive us. It may surprise you that, according to the Bible, the answer to that question is no.
Romans 3:23 tells us that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” That means sin is a universal ingredient of the human condition, and it causes everyone, regardless of who they are or what they have done or not done, to fall short of the goal that God has set. What is more, the Bible teaches that all sin, regardless of severity, leads to one outcome. Romans 6:23 says “the wages of sin is death”, and Habakkuk 1:13 says of our Creator, “You are of purer eyes than to behold evil, and cannot look on wickedness.”
The terrible reality is that sin separates us from God. He has one standard for His creatures, and that is holiness. When we fall short of that, He cannot let us into His presence. This means that sin keeps us from a right relationship with God, and it also means that God cannot allow us to be with Him forever after we die. In God’s kingdom, sin must be dealt with. It cannot be excused or let off with a warning pending good intentions and behavior. God dearly loves His creations, but He cannot let pass the sin we have committed – it must be paid for.
The greatest news in the world is that God has given us a choice – we can pay for our sin ourselves, or we can trust in God’s provision to pay for it Himself. How can He do this? He didn’t have to do anything to help us out, and He could have started all over again with new people who would obey Him. However, God chose a way to make us new creatures, ones whose sin is erased – but not because God chose to overlook it, but because He paid the penalty for it so we would not have to.
John 3:16 – perhaps the most familiar verse in the Bible – says that “God so loved the world that He gave His only Son (Jesus), that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” Jesus, Who is one with the Father, came to earth as a human, lived a sinless life, and then died on the Cross for all of our sins. He became a perfect Substitute for us, taking on our sin and paying the death penalty that we deserve. God accepted the sacrifice of His Son, raising Him from the dead on the third day after He died. Thus, when Jesus cried out, “It is finished!” our sin was forever paid for, and we could legitimately be forgiven and freed from it.
As I said, this is the most wonderful news in the world – and there is only one part remaining. God made a way for us to be forgiven of our offenses against Him, and for it to be effective, He calls on each and every one of us to come to Him and accept His provision by faith. 2 Corinthians 6:2 says, “Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation.” Acts 4:12 also says, “Neither is there salvation in any other, for there is no other Name (besides Jesus) under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.”
God is calling to each and every one of us to come to Him, confess that we have sinned against Him, turn away from our sin, and accept in faith Jesus’ payment for our sins. This is the way that God has made for us to be reconciled to Him. He has truly done all that He can do for us to be rightfully forgiven and made righteous in His sight. The only question now is, will we trust and believe what He has so graciously provided?
And those are the things that I thought of as I continued my drive to school after being pulled over for the first – and, I hope, only – time ever.

On This Date

On this day 46 years ago – Friday, November 22, 1963 – something happened in America that had not happened since the turn of the century, has only happened four times since 1776, and has never happened since. An American president was murdered at the hands of an assassin. The first time this happened was in 1865, when Abraham Lincoln was killed in the days after the tumultuous Civil War. Then in 1881, James Garfield (who was president for less than one year) was shot and died some time afterward. President William McKinley was the third president to die a violent death while still in office, in 1901.
But 46 years ago today, an event shattered the nation’s sense of well-being unlike any other presidential death, with the possible exception of Lincoln’s. Not since December 7, 1941, the “day which shall live in infamy” had the United States been so suddenly shocked. And in the 46 years since then, only the terrible events of September 11, 2001, were able to leave a similarly indelible mark on our psyche as a people.
Around 12:30 in the afternoon on a sunny autumn day in Dallas, Texas, and in full view of many cheering, waving people, President John Fitzgerald Kennedy – young, charismatic, popular, and in office for not even three years – was shot and critically wounded as he rode in an open limousine at the head of a motorcade on a brief journey through downtown Dallas. Also seriously wounded by the shots that rang out was Governor John B. Connally, who sat with his wife one seat ahead of Mr. and Mrs. Kennedy in the car.
The two leaders were rushed to a nearby hospital, where only one of them survived. Only a half hour after the first reports of gunshots being fired, the world learned that President Kennedy was dead. Never before in the new Age of Television had the country witnessed such a dramatic scene. Regular television and radio shows were interrupted by suit-wearing news anchors breaking the horrible news. Early reports were sketchy and uncertain, but as the afternoon and evening wore on, the situation became tragically clear. America had, in one brief moment, lost its president. Much like those of my generation on 9-11, everyone remembers where they were and what they were doing when they first heard the news.
Vice President Lyndon Baines Johnson was quickly sworn in as the new president. In Dallas, a suspect, Lee Harvey Oswald, was caught and questioned in connection with the murder of a police officer and later of the president himself. The 24-year-old, who worked at the Texas School Book Depository (a building along the motorcade route and believed to be the source of the shots), was soon officially accused as Kennedy’s assassin. The story became even more clouded and dramatic when, on Sunday morning, November 24, Oswald himself was shot and mortally wounded by one Jack Ruby as he was being transferred from police headquarters – thus forever silencing the only accused gunman and depriving him of what would certainly have been a dramatic and historic trial. Then, as the new week dawned, the nation mourned as it watched the late president’s state funeral in Washington, D.C.
Many people have said that America was never quite the same after that day a week before Thanksgiving in 1963, that a certain sense of innocence and calm was broken forever. I was born 21 years afterward, and yet this event has held for me a certain air of fascinating mystery ever since I first saw the “Who Shot JFK?” documentaries on television as a young boy. I can only imagine the unforgettable shock and sadness that all Americans felt on that day as they watched events unfold. Unfortunately, I can in some ways relate, because I felt some of the same emotions on September 11, 2001, when our nation was blindsided as never before by catastrophic terrorist attacks in New York and Washington.
With any gigantic historical event, those who witnessed it and even those who have come afterward often try to explain it and to account for exactly why and how it could have happened the way it did. The Kennedy Assassination is without doubt one of the most written-about, read-about, and diligently-studied events in history. Several bystanders who unexpectedly became eyewitnesses to history that day made amateur film recordings of what they saw (no doubt expecting only to record for posterity a little piece of the day they got to see the President up close). Some of these films are more valuable than others, but the one made by Abraham Zapruder – grainy, soundless, and barely half a minute long – has become probably the most closely scrutinized piece of film ever made.
Those do study the event come to different conclusions. Many accept the findings of the Warren Commission, appointed by President Johnson to investigate the assassination. The Commission came to the conclusion that Lee Harvey Oswald, the accused assassin, was indeed the only one responsible for the death of John F. Kennedy. But probably just as many people cast serious doubts on those findings, believing that such a history-altering event could not have been the work of one “lone nut”. And it is this debate that drives – for younger people like me and for those old enough to recall – the ongoing interest in this tragic chapter in American history.
In many ways, depending upon how you look at it, the Kennedy Assassination remains one of America’s greatest “unsolved mysteries”. This may not have become the case had Oswald survived and gotten a fair trial. However, his strange death only heightens the heated disagreements that many have about what exactly happened in Dealey Plaza.
The questions in this debate are numerous and varied, but let us list a few. How many shots were fired at the motorcade – three, four, or more? How likely was it for one shooter to be able fire that many accurate shots in the specified time frame of less than 10 seconds? Did the first shot hit both Kennedy and Connally in succession, and was it even possible for it to do so? From which direction did the final shot (the one that killed the president) come? Perhaps most famously, was there anyone situated, with a gun, at the “grassy knoll” by the road? What about other locations?
Clearly, the main issue at the heart of the debate is whether the assassination was the objective of a larger plot or whether it was the crazed act of one delusional man. Some believe the communist Soviets, America’s Cold War enemy, had something to do with it; others think it was the Mafia. Still others claim that it was a far more shockingly nefarious conspiracy with the approval or even participation of groups inside the government of the United States. On the other side stand those who take at face value the chain of events that point to Oswald alone. Both sides accuse the other of ignoring, explaining away, or even covering up important facts. Neither side ever seems to get anywhere when it comes to convincing the other.
And that is the way it will probably always be. As for me, I have not researched the subject enough to have a firm, educated opinion on it; however, my current view is that it is not at all hard, at least for me, to believe that a lone gunman was responsible. Still, I acknowledge that there are just enough questions, uncertainties, and “what-if’s” to make the subject endlessly interesting and quintessentially mysterious. That, along with the sheer magnitude of the event, is why we still talk about it 46 years later.
And so, today, in the year 2009, John Kennedy, our 35th President, has been gone for exactly as long as he lived – 46 years. Perhaps the greatest lesson we can take out of the tragedy is not an answer to the question “Who did it?” It may be that the biggest lessons are that God is ultimately the One in control of human events (and the One who knows their ultimate explanation, meaning, and purpose); that none of our leaders are ever gods – immortal or indestructible; and that no human, whether great and powerful or of humble position, knows his or her time – which is why we must always be ready to stand before our Creator.

Text Messaging

You might say I have something in common with “the Greatest Generation”. No, I have never joined the military and risked my life to save the world from tyranny and evil. My connection with that generation (at least the one I am thinking of) is much less dramatic. You see, up until recently, I had not ever sent a text message.
I will graciously allow my readers to pick themselves up off the floor whence they have just now fallen in a dead faint (this is one of the great things about a written format; it never needs to be rushed and can even be paused and put aside at the reader’s pleasure). And once they have done so, I shall repeat my firm, astounding, and true assertion that I have, for the vast majority of my 25 years, never sent a text message.
You may wonder how in the world it could be that a person born in the 1980s, who is part of a generation that has not only seen but participated in the exponential rise of the use of all manner of technology, could not have ever sent a text message. Behold – and believe. It is possible. The simple fact is that I have never had the need to send a text message – and if necessity is the mother of invention, it is also the father of technological innovation. For most of my life, I have not been a particularly avid user of phones, being content to communicate with friends and family through writing or direct speaking. Moreover, I have not had a lot of friends who also communicate through text messaging and demand that I do as well. Thus it is possible to have escaped the entire decade of the 1990s and all but two months of the 2000s without ever having sent a text message.
But this has just now changed. My sister got married and moved away, and in the process she came into the possession of a brand new “iPhone”. This in turn caused her to think it a good idea to bequeath upon her poor relation (her brother) her old and not quite as technologically-advanced cell phone. Now, it is not a little relevant to this discussion that her cell phone plan included a certain allotment of text messages per billing cycle. Since she has moved to another city, she pressed upon me to keep that part of the plan so we could communicate via text message (for this is one of her favorite ways to communicate).
And so I find myself in need of learning a new skill. A reader may ask me if I feel left behind in the race of technology. My answer would be yes, and no. “Yes” because I realize that almost everyone but me knows how to send text messages, and does it quite well by now. “No” because I am also an extremely practical person. If I see no need for something at the moment or in the foreseeable future, I am not in a hurry to acquire it. And if what I do have at the moment suits whatever my purpose might be, I make do with it. And thus I have not been in a rush to acquire the skill of text messaging. And so I am content to be left behind by the frenzied crowd.
But now I find myself (albeit very awkwardly and somewhat shyly) in the company of text-messengers. Now, despite the fact that I have never sent a text message, it remains that I have indeed seen one sent, which gives me a rough idea of how the thing is to be done. First, I know that it must be “all in the thumbs”.* Pick out any young master of the art of text messaging, and you will see this borne out with clarity – their back is hunched at just the right angle, their gaze is fixed to the square centimeter upon a small device they clutch in both hands, and both thumbs are moving so fast that you can only see two small blurs. This is one of the things I aspire to, but have not yet achieved.
Second, I realize that text messages are composed using the small keypad of the cell phone. Each key represents a variety of different letters of the alphabet, as well as numbers and punctuation marks. All one must do is keep pressing a particular key until the desired character represented by that key shows up on the screen. I have so far gotten fairly comfortable with this layout, though it took me a while to figure out how to capitalize, punctuate, and delete errors.
Third, I have noticed, mainly through the text messaging art of my sister, that many practitioners like to abbreviate their language. They use shortened phrases like “ I will B there soon” or “Give me ur #” or “LOL” (laugh out loud) or even “M going 2 bed”. I have also noticed these kinds of abbreviations on social networking sites as well as email, and I hardly ever use them. Don’t get me wrong – I of all people know what it means to be economical. However, I also know the value of being precise when it comes to language, and I fear that an entire generation is being brought up that has lost the ability to communicate correctly with the full, unabbreviated English language. Such abbreviated communication may be very helpful in emergencies or situations in which time is of the essence, but it is not a method which I either prefer or endorse for most purposes.
Anyone who has text messaged or watched it being done knows, as I painfully do, the need for speed. Many of our better text-messengers have likely fired off the equivalent of “War and Peace” in text messages, and all in the past month. I have not so far attained to this level of proficiency. In fact, when my sister sends me a text, she has more often than not developed a completely new thought and message before I have responded properly to the first one. It is not that I am a slow thinker (for I may humbly say that I can think of and write something very quickly if I so choose); it is, rather, that I have a very small canvas on which to paint. A normal cell phone’s keypad is not nearly as large as a computer keyboard, and one who is unused to typing on a cell phone’s keypad often finds it difficult to get a message composed in a flash. And thus I warn all who would send me a text message now and in the future to never text me during an emergency. If you do, you may find that the emergency has spiraled out of control once I have responded. Some of you text-messengers may assure me that the speed will come in time. I will take your word for it, but I have a hard time believing that I will ever be as fast on a cell phone’s keypad as I am on a keyboard (or perhaps even with a pen).
And so, with this article I welcome myself (and invite my readers to join me in welcoming myself) into the twenty-first century. I suppose it is better to do so late than to never do it at all.

*Author’s Note: My left thumb does not bend all the way as my right thumb does. Thus my text messaging skills may be somewhat hampered by this handicap. I have not sent enough of them to know this with any certainty yet.

Thoughts on Humor; or, A Laugh is a Funny Thing

Almost anything – especially if it’s commonplace – can become almost odd and totally foreign if thought about long enough. For instance, my sister has always remarked what strange things ears and noses are. I suppose such an effect on the mind comes from asking the question “Why?”. Yes, we know what ears and noses are, and on most days they are perfectly normal. But on our more thoughtful, questioning days, we (or at least people like me and my family) may ask why a nose has to be a rather long appendage sticking straight out of the middle of our face, or why we have two ears shaped the way they are sticking out of the sides of our heads.
The same can be said about a laugh (What? Did you think this was going to be about funny-looking parts of the human body?). A laugh is a funny thing. Why is it, in the grand scheme of things, that humans express their appreciation of something they find humorous with a series of audible (but not necessarily verbal or intelligible) bursts from their vocal chambers? Such bursts can take many forms. Some are not audible at all, but visible, as in the case of a person whose shoulders, chest, and sides shake with laughter and his face broadens into a big smile, but not a sound does he make. Others laugh loud and long, long and loud, till the very building shakes with the sound of it and makes everyone who hears it want to laugh out loud, too. Other laughers snort their laugh out their noses. Some people never laugh at all, but such people are beyond the help that this article ever pretends to offer. Whatever laughs laughers laugh with, the fact remains – a laugh is a funny thing.
What makes a person laugh? Why, humor does, you may reply. And you would be right. But such a reply would not be sufficient to fit the inquisitive nature of our inspection. What we really want to know is, what is humor? What makes something funny? After all, if we laugh when nothing is funny, we should get our heads checked.
Some people have sophisticated senses of humor. They like a complex, drawn-out joke, the subtleties of which you have to intellectually grasp in order to enjoy it to the fullest. Still others have a very simple sense of humor – a mere knock-knock joke, a play on words, or a funny face makes them giggle with glee. Other senses of humor are dry and sarcastic, the kind that doesn’t even seem like humor unless you know the person who possesses it. There are a few people in this world who take their humor from the misfortunes of others, as in the case of a person who laughs when their friend trips over a banana peel (a subset of this category would be the people who actually put the banana peel there in the first place). And then there are my sister and Uncle John (on my mother’s side) who are humorously-challenged. Some jokes are hard for them to fully “get”. And, as I always say, when you have to explain a joke too much, it loses its zing.
But what I am trying to get at is this – what is the nature of humor? I believe much of what makes humor humorous is incongruity. That is, it takes advantage of the “out-of-place-ness” of a situation. If anything is disproportionate, exaggerated, does not fit in, or grossly misses the mark of what we usually call “normal”, it is a candidate to be humorous.* People laugh at a clown with huge shoes or a bulbous nose. They laugh at the zany antics of Abbott and Costello or Bugs Bunny or the Three Stooges. But they most certainly do not laugh at the fact that a man crossed the road because he wanted to get to the other side because that’s where his house is. If they do, then there is something the matter with them. We expect the man to cross the road to get to his house, and we find nothing in this scenario that fits into the realm of “What is wrong with this picture?” And if you laughed at the thought of laughing at such a scenario, it’s because it would be out of place, strange, incongruous to be seriously laughing at it.
Even if humorous things share the same general element of incongruity, there are many different kinds of jokes. There are inside jokes, which only a select few people who know each other get. Closely allied with these are running jokes, which are funniest if you were there when the joke first started running (and all good running jokes tend to grow funnier the farther they run). There are puns, which are simply jokes that play on the meanings and sounds of different words. Knock-knock jokes are similar, although they have the detraction of being some of the lamest jokes ever told. I have witnessed – as I’m sure many of you have if you have been around small children long enough – a small child tell endless knock-knock jokes that made no sense whatsoever, to his own endless delight. I am not sure what made him laugh, but the sheer incongruity of the scene was what made it so funny. There are also parodies, which are jokes that exaggerate a situation or a person so that the absurdities of the situation or person may be highlighted so as to be properly laughed at. There are jokes for just about every season, situation, and condition of human life – jokes about school, jokes about work, jokes about marriage, jokes about age, jokes about the President, jokes about looks, jokes about money. The list is as varied as we are.**
And this brings me to the most salient point that I shall discuss here (not that any of my points here are salient; but this just happens to be the most so of any of them that may have been salient). Humor tells us a lot about ourselves as humans. The observation that humor comes out of incongruity tells us that we as humans tend to laugh at things we believe are out of the ordinary. It may be our way of dealing with the unknown or the unfamiliar, of holding those kinds of things up to the light of the things we do know and are familiar with so as to understand them better.
Unfortunately, humor is also our way as a species of coming to terms with the tragedies of our existence. The Biblical book of Proverbs says, “Even in laughter the heart may sorrow, and the end of mirth may be grief” (Proverbs 14:13). I believe someone once said (and I forget who did say it) something to the effect of “The reason I laugh so much is to keep from crying.” The fact is that life can sometimes be painful, and humor helps us deflect some of that pain. This is not a bad thing, for the same book of Proverbs tells us, “A merry heart does good, like medicine, but a broken spirit dries the bones” (Proverbs 17:22). Even doctors today tell us that having a belly-laugh or two each day helps our health – and it’s certainly better for us than being depressed all day. Why do you think all the great comedians – Bob Hope, George Burns, Jack Benny – lived into their 80s and even to 100? Could there be some connection between a merry heart, laughing, and making others laugh and longevity? It’s certainly something to ponder.
And so ends this brief look at humor and what makes it tick. I’m sure more things could be said. But let’s not just write, think, and talk about humor – let’s actually do it. I’m sure you have already found one good thing to laugh about today, and I’m sure you will be able find one more thing to laugh about before today is over. And there’s nothing wrong with that at all – enjoy it!
But there’s one more thing that strikes me as incongruous and continues to gnaw at my curiosity. Why does “laugh” have an “f” sound on the end even though it’s spelled with a “gh”?

*Author’s Note: It should be noted – and anyone who has taken a course in logic (with its maxim of “all A is B does not imply that all B is A”) will agree – that not all incongruous things are funny. For instance, you may find it uproariously incongruous that this article, by its very title, is about humor and funny things, but never made you laugh even once. I agree. That is quite incongruous. It also isn’t funny at all. Which only strengthens my point that not all incongruous things are funny.

**Author’s Note: I have purposely left off mentioning ethnic jokes. This is not primarily out of concern for any of my friends who may be ethnic (although I love all of you as I would brothers and sisters). My main reason for doing this is that one of the most popular kinds of ethnic jokes is the Polish joke. I am part Polish on my mother’s side, and I did not want to risk offending myself.

Random Ramblings, Volume III

This evening I find myself in an astonishing situation. I have no schoolwork that I am required to do, and none that I desire to do. Having this much free time on my hands could be dangerous to myself and others, so I decided to do what I often used to do when I had this much time on my hands – write.
There are many things I could write about. For instance, many of my readers may be aware that my sister got married just two weeks ago and that I was a groomsman in that wedding. I could share my observations about that momentous, historic event, and I plan to. But the fact remains that I have yet to even write about it in my personal journal, and I am not ready yet to write an official history of that weekend here on this blog. And so I have decided to write about nothing in particular and many things in general, in the rich tradition of my “Random Ramblings” series, of which this happens to be the third volume.
My current situation (besides being notable for the astonishing amount of free time it contains at the moment) is one which I had not experienced in 20 years. To be more specific (for it is essential for accountants-in-training to be as specific as they can), I have not been in this position since April 3, 1989, when I was all of five years old. No, I am not sitting at the dining room table coloring in my ALF coloring book. Nor can the reader deduce from my statement that I am currently watching “Sesame Street” reruns and singing along with Cookie Monster (although I will probably have a similar ode to his in my heart for the chocolate I will in all likelihood be consuming tonight in front of the television).
On the contrary. What I mean is that, for the first time since April 3, 1989, I am a member of a three-person household. The next day my sister was born, transforming the residence into a four-person version of its former self. This condition persisted for more than two decades until November 1 of this year, when my afore-mentioned married sister found it painfully necessary to accompany a certain man to San Antonio – an inconvenient three hours away.
And so, ever since then, I sit for the most part alone, pursuing the weary, misunderstood life of an artist. Okay, so maybe it’s not connected with my being any kind of an artist, but that’s beside the point. It’s just not the same around here anymore, and I thought I was going to have a hard time with that. The first day was, honestly, pretty hard, but since then it hasn’t been so bad.
You see, I’ve learned a few things in my quarter-century here. Life has a funny way of not staying the same for long. Just when you start to get comfortable, it shifts on you, forcing you to look at it a little differently than you did yesterday. I used to struggle with this, but now I realize it’s part of life. But just because circumstances change, that doesn’t mean the greatest things in life have to change with them. Loved ones don’t leave your heart when they leave your home; the bond remains as secure as ever, and no amount of miles can stretch it beyond its power to hold. Love, friendship, and family, along with all the rich memories that go with them, never fade.
And there are advantages to life changes. If my sister never got married, there would never be the possibility of experiencing the joy of watching her and David’s relationship grow ever richer, or the thrill of seeing her one day give birth to my little nephew or niece (who, if they’re lucky, will look just like their uncle). This kind of change is, in the long run, for the better. That stage was only supposed to last about as long as it did, and I am thankful for it. My job as a big brother at home is now over, as is my job as a “chaperone” to my sister and her chosen mate (their subsequent marriage, as my fellow former chaperones would no doubt agree, leaves it to conjecture as to whether my job was actually successful or not). I will miss those times, but I can do nothing to bring them back, and eventually I will realize that I don’t really want to. My job now is to still be a good brother to my sister, a brother-in-law to her husband, a son to my parents, a friend to others. Those are important jobs, just as important as the ones I don’t have to fulfill any longer.
But there’s another angle. What about me, here, the older brother who’s still living at home with his parents after a quarter-century? My parents often joke that I will still be here at forty, like a deadbeat redneck in Arkansas. Still others, after my sister got married, said that it was “my turn”.
Neither is quite the case at the moment. For one thing, I am not even close to being forty yet, and if I play my cards like Jack Benny (who stopped counting birthdays after his 39th), I never will be. And for another, I am still a few semesters away from graduating college and getting, hopefully, my first job. And so I feel as if I’m hanging in a strange balance. I feel almost as I something weird happened at some point to make it so that I am still at home at 25 while my little sister is already married and moved out of town. And I also feel as if life is in the process of shifting for me as well as for her. This may be the time that I begin to branch out on my own and do things I’ve never done before, exploring new horizons I’ve never before ventured toward.
We all face such times in our lives. Do we embrace the change, whether it be slight or dramatic, trusting God to bring us His best? Or do we fail to see the opportunity inherent in life’s shifting landscape? It’s a hard thing sometimes. Change is certainly not my middle name (it’s actually Andrew if you were wondering). But it’s also no fun being miserable, and it’s far more worth it to try to find the good in everything. After all, God knows what He’s doing.
And so this weary, misunderstood artist sits at another crossroads. Where will the road lead? Who knows. But I have to admit – it still feels a little weird being a freeloader in an empty nest.