Uncategorized
But for Bethlehem…
Bethlehem. A small obscure town from antiquity chosen to play a starring role in God’s masterpiece: Peace on Earth.
Christmas means different things to different people. Not a new thought, nor original. Our nation has granted us this privilege of difference, or as some would insist, the right. The conflict between sacred and commercialized Christmas has been a mainstay in our culture. I have witnessed each side insisting on their viewpoint, often demanding they be heard like a child insists on getting their own way. This “shouting in the rain” is part of our heritage as a nation. We get to choose. We get to be heard. It’s almost as if the cessation of conflict would be abhorrent to us, undemocratic in some measure. We have the right to be different so we insist on it almost naturally.
We all have seen abuses on both sides. Things done in the name of “rights” and things done in the name of “Christ”. Just because we say it is in the name of something doesn’t make it so. And just because we say it louder doesn’t make it more true. I think we justify ourselves by doing this. We enable ourselves through this deception to actually do harm. Then… we play the democracy card to put the final stamp of approval on it
This is who we are as a people. We fight. We insist. We claim our rights. We push our agendas. We scramble to make a way to live our lives the way we see fit. We hurt others who disagree or get in the way We make laws to force people to comply. We shout down the opposition. We make things “politically correct” by way of the masses to ensure our dominance. We neglect, belittle and bully. We hate. We say, “This is our right.” We even do all of this over Christmas.
It’s sad to me, but not unexpected. After all we are people. This is what we do. We shouldn’t be surprised that when left to our own devices this is the best we can come up with to function. Left to ourselves we will only be as good as “we” can be. We have nothing else other than ourselves as a resource.
As a nation we are a mere two hundred something years old. In the vast span of man’s history this is nothing more than a blink of the eye. We are powerful. We are self-sufficient. We are self-governing. We are self-based. It’s in the constitution. I get my way. I have my rights. I am my own master. It’s what we do and who we are as a people.
As a family who does celebrate Christmas, we have never separated the sacred from the secular. We have enjoyed both sides of this event. There is nothing like watching the kid’s faces as they come into the room and see the presents around the tree on Christmas morning. We love gathering together on Christmas Eve and reading the Christmas story from the Bible. There is both a Christmas tree and manger scene in our home. We use wrapping paper that has Santa and the Three Wise Men on it.
I think about all our divisions and rights to things as people. I think about our abuses. I think about us being “self-made” It would really make me sad, and hopeless…but for Bethlehem. The answer to the questions, “Is this all there really is to life?”, and “Are we really alone in the universe?” have already been answered before we asked them. This is not all there is….there is: Peace on Earth. There is Bethlehem, and we have never been alone.
Merry Christmas to all of you and your families.
Share this:
The Best Secret Code Ever!
I loved secret codes! As a kid in school I would go to great lengths to remake the entire alphabet into something new and original. Just the idea that I had unknown knowledge was intoxicating to me. Sometimes the new code would be so sophisticated it was rendered useless. It was too much fun, and I would make them over and over again.
People use codes all the time. Parents use them to keep their children in the dark about certain things. Simple codes like spelling the words out now that Junior knows what they mean, or talking in a foreign language to keep them from knowing what we are saying. We have looks in our eyes that convey secret messages; gestures that keep things hidden from the uninitiated. Codes have their place and purpose. They can be extremely practical.
I remember putting my code making skills to use while our kids were still young. This particular code wasn’t like the codes I mentioned before. Nope! This code was different. It was uncommonly simple. It had but one meaning to it. It could never be misunderstood, and it was subtle. So subtle that even the few who knew its meaning might miss it when it was given. Until now only a few have known of its existence.
I first taught the code to Marm. After that I taught it to each of the kids one-by-one once they were old enough to understand. To this day we still use the code as a reminder of something very important. When the time comes I will teach it to all our grandkids if their parents haven’t done so by then.
Want to know what it is? Well…
It was a nice day outside and Annie and I were holding hands while we walked across the Wal-Mart parking lot toward the store entrance. We were maybe 20-30 feet from going in when I introduced Annie to the code. Once I had done it she looked up at me puzzled. “Why did you do that Daddy” she asked me. We stopped where we were and I explained to her what it meant.
“Sweetheart, when I take my middle finger and scratch it against the palm of the hand I’m holding, I’m telling you I love you.” She beamed with understanding.
Just as we were entering the store I felt a little finger scratching against the palm of my hand. I looked down to see her bright face looking up into my eyes. Had I been struck dead at that moment, I’d have died a happy man.
And so it went, Aaron was taught the code. Abbey was taught the code. Amber and Amy were both taught the code. At any given time, anywhere, anyone in our family could be secreting telling each other that they were loved and no one else around would know the difference. I always loved it when unannounced I would scratch a palm and within a second or two feel the little finger scratching me back. Not a word was spoken, but worlds of meaning had been successfully communicated. “I love you!”
Now you know the code. It’s simple. Be encouraged to use it, abuse it, and share it with the ones you love. It truly is the best secret code ever!
Share this:
The Wonder Pup – Part Two
We went outside and started lining up the stolen goods on the curb. The least we could do was to try to arrange it so they were recognizable. While we were displaying the various bits and pieces our lady neighbor from across the street came over and said, “That’s my potted plant. Can I have it back?” We were mortified. Our explanation to her sounded a bit like a student saying to his teacher, “My dog ate my homework.” We were glad when all the mess was in a nice line and we could go inside and hide like reasonable adults. Except for the potted plant nothing else was ever claimed. We bagged up the remnants after a few days and with more than a little guilt tossed them in the trash.
Later in the spring it happened again, but we were quicker that time to hide the mess. There was no lining up of the stolen goods. Once was enough for us. At this point we were baffled about what to do with our dog.
Time passed, summer was in full swing, and the 4th of July was at hand. Celebrations were going on all over town and barbecues everywhere were wafting delicious smoke-filled scent into the air. I was standing outside in our yard when I looked down the hill and saw Chet trotting up the road toward me. As he was getting closer I noticed he had something in his mouth.
“Where did you get that?” I asked him as I wrestled a half-baked chicken leg and thigh combo dripping in barbecue sauce from his mouth. I was aghast. He had stolen this right off of someone’s grill. It was still warm. I sternly scolded him and then watched him turn right around and head back down the hill. I just knew he was going back for another piece.
That was it! Chet had to have a new home. We quickly put an ad in the local paper about a wonderful dog who needed a new place to live outside of town. Nothing happened for a couple of weeks when finally I got a call from an interested person. Chet sounded perfect to him and we made arrangements for him to be picked up the next day. I was so excited to see Chet go I never bothered to get the man’s name or phone number. All I could think about was it’s over. He’s gone. Hallelujah!
A week or so had passed since his departure. I drove up to the house after work and once again saw Chet sitting in his hole in the front yard. “NO!” I yelled out loud while I was still in the car. This wasn’t possible. He couldn’t be back. Sure enough it was Chet. He had returned. Then it hit me, I had no information on the man who had picked him up. I had no way to tell him we had his dog. Grrrr….
Marm and I agreed to put another ad in the paper. This time it was directed to Chet’s new owner. It went something like this: To the man who owns Chet, he came back to his old home. Please come pick him up. Thank you.
It was only a few days or so later and we never saw Chet again. In fact we never saw the man either. Chet simply wasn’t here anymore. I wince when I say this now, but back then I didn’t care at all about not knowing why he was gone again. He was gone. That’s all that mattered.
Our best guess on how he got back to our house was that he was in the back of his new owner’s pick-up truck which was in town for some reason. Chet remembered where he was, hopped out, and followed his nose back to the ole’ hole in the ground.
I’ve never had any other animal experience that rivals this one. I guess all that’s left to say is this, “To the man who owns him: thank you and I hope you’ve had amazingly good success with Chet the wonder pup. Found anything new in your yard lately?”
Share this:
The Wonder Pup – Part One
“Why do we have all… these… animals?” A real question flung out into space by parents just like us all across the face of America.
All of our children were raised with pets in the home. For the most part this was a good thing. There were those days however, when I wondered.
Over the years we have racked up quite the array of species who have called our house home. Let’s see: dogs, cats, fish, birds, a rabbit, hamsters, gerbils, mice (in a cage), guinea pigs, and turtles. Some of these have left indelible marks on us because of their love and devotion to us. Others simply lived here, ate the food, and either moved-on or passed-on. For me, however, there is one pet so infamous I am scarred for life. His name was Chet.
We purchased Chet for a reasonable price and were very excited to get this basset hound for our family. We loved the look of him from the start and all of us took to him immediately. He had the usual basset hound coloring, and a mild-mannered personality to go with it. It was a home run for us and he was the center of attention. He loved all the kids, both our kids and the rent-a-kids Marm watched in daycare. One small problem cropped up though. In his exuberance he would jump up with his front paws and knock them flat. Bassetts are low to the ground, but are hefty. When they jump up they have some girth behind them. The kids went sailing when this happened.
Chet was now an outside dog during the day. We made a comfy spot for him off the edge of our front porch and tethered him there. All seemed well. WRONG! He was a hound dog. Bassetts howl…loudly. No amount of encouraging, threatening, promising, or the like curbed his noise. He wanted off the tether and that was final! We caved and let him off. Big Mistake! Huge!
To top things off it was now autumn and the rain began to fall. We weren’t worried about him getting wet since he had the entire covered porch to lay on. Again WRONG! He chose the mud. He lay there like a pot-belly pig in heaven. He had dug out a shallow hole in the flower bed the size of his body and lay there in the rain. Dumb dog. After some encouragement from Marm, I built him a doghouse. I proudly placed it on the porch out of the weather and introduced him to it. I showed him the nice construction, dry comfy blankets inside and the roof overhead. I pushed (forced) him inside so he could get the true feeling of its warmth. Minutes later I found him in the wet muddy hole again. He never used the doghouse, ever.
This was our winter. We worked hard trying to keep him warm, dry, and feed. Curbing his howling was top of the list. We were hopeful that once spring arrived things would be easier. Again WRONG!
Spring did arrive and we let Chet roam. It was the only way to keep him quiet. One morning we awoke to a horrifying sight. Looking out at our front yard we saw it covered with the oddest items: a coat, a boot (just one), a shoe (again just one), a potted plant, a plastic bag filled with garbage, a baseball mitt, and a random sock or two. Chet had raided the neighborhood during the night. He was a canine kleptomaniac. I looked at Marm and said. “What are we supposed to do with this stuff now? We can’t take it back, we don’t even know where he got it.”
(To be continued…)
Share this:
A Klingon Christmas
It’s true. I’m a recovered TOS Trekkie. The proverbial “old school” Star Trek fan.
My ridiculous love affair with this pop-culture phenomenon finds it roots back in the late 70’s of the previous century. That being said… I shall say no more about it. This is about a little girl. A baby girl. A girl who loves to be close to the ones she loves.
Amber is our fourth child and third daughter. She is the evidence of God’s grace to us. After rocketing into our world at birth, she settled into a nice nuzzling routine of being physically close to us. She loved to be held. She never wanted to be far from either of us. It was obvious from the beginning that her love language was touch. She was always comforted the most when held.
Bedtime was no exception. Actually, bedtime was my domain. Marm had the kids all day long while I was gone. The night belonged to me, and I loved it, for the most part.
I don’t remember how it all started and that’s frustrating to me. Looking back I wish I had paid closer attention, but when you’re in the moment you just don’t think like that. What I do recall is the long-standing memory it created. When it was time to put Amber to bed I would take her to our room and walk her. Her crib was beside our bed. I would gently pace with her and then lay her down. She would promptly cry wanting to be held again. I would pick her up and walk her some more. She would fuss a little and I would start to sing to her. She would fuss and I would change the song. She would fuss again and I would change the song again, and you get the point.
It must have been around the beginning of the Christmas season when I stumbled onto the winning combination that would become the tradition. One night I started to sing White Christmas to her. She loved it! No, seriously, she L-O-V-E-D it! Who knew that a “wee babe in arms” would know the difference between song melodies, but she did. I would walk back and forth singing this song over and over and over again to her. If I changed the song, she fussed and refused to fall asleep. It was White Christmas and only White Christmas.
This was our ritual for the next year or so. Every night I would walk her and sing White Christmas. I would spend upwards of an hour each night holding her, singing to her, at times being frustrated with her because I was tired and she wouldn’t fall asleep as fast as I wanted her to. If she wasn’t fully asleep in my arms, I couldn’t lay her down. It was exhausting at times, and it was hard to do every day. It was also one of those magically special times that only comes around once. I would never have an opportunity like this with her again. I was able to hold, cuddle, talk, pray, and sing to my daughter every night for an hour. She was the proverbial captive audience. I don’t regret any of it, except my moments of impatience, and would jump at the opportunity to do it again.
It comes as no shock that to this day White Christmas is Amber’s favorite Christmas song. I don’t know when it was first stated , but its fair to say I was the one to appropriately coin the phrase, “She’s a Klingon.This was a term of endearment of course tossed her way because of the obvious. It was a long time before I would sing White Christmas again. I pretty much had my fill for a while. Now years later when I do hear it I smile and remember our Klingon Christmas bedtime. It was totally worth it!
Curls & Capes 