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!
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, November 6, 2009
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.
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.
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