The Call of Winter

Up at 5:30 this morning to witness the bittersweet end of a long snow...  (Well, maybe not long by New England standards, but more than 24 hours of snow is pretty long by Philadelphia's watch.)
I hate the end of a snow storm -- watching the last snow flakes drift to earth, stragglers left behind by the rest of the storm as it moves on to blanket some other town with snowy stillness.  Inside I cry, "Stay!  It's not enough yet.  Cars are still moving, people are still digging."  As a kid, I remember pouring over pages of Ideals magazine, longing for the quiet of a snowy night, the thick cotton of snow drifts keeping entire towns cozy and comfy within their homes, windows glowing with warm light that defies the dark and the cold.  No one in those scenes felt a driving urge to head to the local Wawa for smokes, or had the necessity to dig out so they could work the late shift at the local hospital.  Everyone lay wrapped in the security of their homes, the world stood still, and there was no fire brighter or warmer than the fires in their hearts when surrounded by family.  If the snow would just stay, maybe we would be forced to call a timeout to our busy lives (especially at this time of year) and focus on the things that are worth enjoying.

I love the end of a snow storm -- watching the last snow flakes drift to earth, tenacious "holdouts" determined to get to their intended destination, despite the forward locomotion of their collaborators.  The neighborhood is still, the snow glistens like a field of diamonds in the moonlight, thick frosty batting deadens the crackle of humanity and its progress.  In just a few hours, the town will awaken and its inhabitants will spring from its bowels, shovels and brooms in hand, alive with the cold and chattering about things like record snowfall and future predictions.  Conjecture abounds as to just "how much" we got and whether this is the onset of the "snowiest winter" in years.  Neighbors help neighbors and new friends are made as conversation turns from the weather to local sports teams or home improvements made by the new neighbors at "that old house down the street."  The air is frigid but the comraderie is warm.  Small children play at their parents' feet, and older children form new allies in a war of snowballs that eventually breaks out; young and old alike work together on forts and snowmen across the town -- the evidence of their efforts remains long after the heat of the sun has driven the husk of snowflakes from the rest of the landscape.

Well, happy to write some more, but shoveling and snowfort building beckon alike!

Angry Ranting, Amazing Grace

I'm normal -- or at least I think so.  Then again, don't most abnormal people think they are fine and it's the rest of the world that's messed up?  Or maybe, somewhere deep down inside they know they are crazy, but fear, or ignorance, or something else keeps them from making the changes they need.  A counselor once told me, "Normal is being able to recognize the abnormal," or something like that.  The point is this, I don't think I am superhuman, most times I feel like a "very bad Christian" and I wish I'd handled things better than I did, but when it comes to some pretty basic things, I think I can tell truth from horse manure, and I don't think it takes Super Christian to do it.  Sometimes I witness some pretty blatant wrongs and hear some pretty blatant lies, and I want to ask, "Are you sure that's the story you wanna go with?"  I am amazed that people think they are "getting over," that they believe others will fall for this crap!  I am amazed there was a day when I was so lost that I would have.

For instance, I cannot imagine asking someone to share a loan with you, eventually turning said loan over to that person in default, and holding it against him for the rest of his life, much less his widow's.  I cannot imagine being a middle-aged family man, having your retired mother pay car insurance on her vehicle (which you are now driving), and refusing to speak to her when she tells you she wants her car back.  I cannot imagine having a child who needs help from legal authorities and from medical profesionals, and refusing your child that help because...?  (I still have no rationale for that one).  I cannot fathom a man who is given everything, ruthlessly stealing from someone he loves because he had a difficult childhood at the hands of someone completely removed from the situation!

I'm not trying to "out" anyone or make public any dirty laundry, but these are people I have known and loved for years!  These are people who, some of them, profess a faith in our Lord Jesus Christ.  These are people, some of which, I have stood shoulder to shoulder with in protesting similar unjustices done to others.  These are people who claim to love.  Now they are making harrassing phone calls, writing vile letters, "unfriending on Facebook" -- what is this?  Middle School?  A spade is a spade, folks!  I'm not saying I'm perfect; I'm not saying I am always on cue, but when it comes to the obvious, can we stop blaming anyone but ourselves for one minute.  I am amazed these people actually think someone is going to side with them or think they are the wounded in all of this.  Do they really believe the lies they tell?  Are they that lost?  The blindest of men can tell truth from lies.

For many years I had a warped sense of who I was, what was right and wrong, and who I served.  Quite honestly, the jury is still out on whether I would have fallen for too much of this nonsense, but thanks to my gracious Lord and Savior I can view things through His eyes and measure things against His Standard.  I no longer have to be lost in the solutions and reasons of man.  I no longer need to be alone and unsure.  I can put Jesus first, others second, and wait on what God has for me; I can serve without fear of being wrongfully used.  These are things God has so graciously given to me -- that's not to say I always accept them, always utilize them or always keep them as my first thought, but they are gifts I most certainly possess and have at my disposal for as long as I walk in God's grace.  Thanks to God for providing a way out of the human condition; I pray I always bring my every decision before Him for His Wisdom and His examination.  I pray those I love seek His Counsel as well.

The Elephant in the Room

     I've mentioned before that my son, S and I had fallen out of touch for some time, and had reunited in July this year.  Truth is, we had lost touch during his rebellion and commission of God-knows how many or what variety of criminal acts, and his ensuing incarceration for at least one or more of said crimes.  When we saw one another in July I wished for the best, but was not very hopeful -- he had made no effort to contact any of us, had not gotten a job, and had been seen rolling about town with his "usual cronies" as my mother chauffeured.  Given appearances, a few things had changed, the majority had not.  My instincts were correct; from the time he first spoke to me on the phone (after someone had reached out to him) it was a litany of intentions and excuses, half-truths and embellishments typical of the S that was always "on the hook" for something or another.  I never thought less of him -- I know my son's potential -- but the disappointment I felt at his continued lack of character even after such a harsh dose of reality, was surpassed only by the fear that struck him standing in my kitchen that day.  Despite my joy at seeing him, despite my respectfulness and responsiveness as he made baseless claims or careless promises, he knew I had looked right through him, and he was not ready to be honest with himself, much less me.

     Fast forward four months -- my son is once again in jail.  This time, for crimes against the one person who, in the past two years or so, has impoverished herself that S might have.  Now, I think less of him.  Now I am disgusted by the sight of him.  That being said, he is my son however, and I want a joyful, incredibly positive outcome to this situation, but his behavior is vulgar and repulsive, and I can't bare to look at his face.  I want my son to sit in jail until his heart has turned.  I want my son to dwell day after day in the realization that his deeds were vile, and to glory in the Truth there is only one avenue out -- not money, not sex, not popularity, not all the ridiculous, minacious, pretentious tattoos he has plastered all over himself, but the Way he was taught from the time he was small.  I want him to realize what a sucker he has been -- not a baller, not a player, but a sucker -- to believe the lies of an angel fallen from God's Grace who wants nothing more than S's soul and the souls of each of us, condemned the same fiery, agonizing eternal destruction he will one day suffer (misery loves company, S).  I want him to know that those who have put him in jail want only for him to live up to the potential he was given by His Creator Who loves him so, Whom he has rejected.  I wany my son to fight for his destiny the way I know my son can fight.  I want my son to work for true success the way I know my son can work.  The path S chose is the punks' way, the way of the weak and cowardly, those who are unable or unwilling to walk heavily the challenging, sometimes punishing path of propriety.  I want him to know the fulfillment, the gratitude, the happiness that comes from growing up and walking with God, forging his destiny with God in the lead, marrying the one He has picked for him, working at the career He chose for him, experiencing the joy He has for him.  Any other choice leads to heartache and frustration, and I want him to know that.  It's not easy to do the right thing -- it hasn't been easy for those involved in this decision -- but S is no wimp.  Why he's chosen to be, is for him to answer; why he doesn't have to be, is Christ.

Insert Coins Then Make Your Selection

        More than two weeks since I've posted...  Really, I tried yesterday, but my online service was not cooperating.  As for the period before... well, let's just say there's an elephant in the room I'm not prepared to address publicly just yet.  As for what was on my mind yesterday...  Behold the simple vending machine:

...lots of options, simple principle -- you get what you want when you give it what it wants.  Works everytime -- right?

        We have a couple of vending machines at work that work on the "slot machine principle" -- lots of coin in, just enough payout to keep you coming back.  From time to time I will pack some sort of snack or sandwich just to get around the frustration of dealing with those manipulative machines.  Eventually though, I am compelled to return, dropping in more money than I would pay for a family-size bag of some artery-clogging mess and paying twice the price for a warm, slightly expired soda, only to have the machine jam and dangle my Bugles before me like one of those stupid cat teaser toys.  I bang and fume and kick.  I turn as if some hidden camera crew is waiting to jump from hiding and joyfully reveal to me their ruse.  Satisfied no one is watching, or annoyed to the point at which I will not be beaten by an inanimate object regardless of an audience, I exhale, shrug my jacket sleeves up, position my trademark stilettos on the floor, and slam the top of the machine for all I am worth.  It rocks back, and I catch it on the return, rocking it back even harder.  In the end, I win -- forcing the machine to drop its dislodged bounty into the tray.  I open the door and retrieve it with a smirk of satisfaction, straightening my suddenly fabulous attire, and standing just a little taller, pleased with myself for putting the kibosh on that malevolent machine's unscrupulous practice.

        It occurred to me yesterday, that sometimes we treat God like the vending machine.  We put our money, our time, our faith in, and we expect to get just what we want right back.  "Have it your way."  "I want it all and I want it now."  "...right at your fingertips."  (Insert your instant gratification, self-serving, entitlement cliche' here.)

        How many times have we fumed and raged because we gave of ourselves and our precious dollars and "nothing came out."  We are still struggling to pay our bills, we are still pressed for time between carpools and clean-ups.  "When does God payback what He owes?"  Our sinful, ego-bound hearts seethe with perceived privilege; we are determined not to be taken advantage of!

        Or how often do we live "good, faithful, righteous" lives only to get those things we do not want?  "I never asked for MS!"  "I earned the good parents."  We all want to give that vending machine a kick or a shake just to get what we think we deserve.

        And the immediacy with which we expect results?  Feed the homeless here, get a bonus at work there.  We look at each potential windfall as God working to finally dispense the good fortune we desire, the reward we deserve, the paycheck we've earned in His service.  When our bounty doesn't fall, our frustration builds.  We become disenchanted with our very Savior, the One who gave His Life that we might live.

        I've received the "bounty at the bottom of the machine," and I've learned it was my arrogance and my foolishness that dropped it there and allowed me to walk away satisfied.  In the light of God's abundance and grace, it was offal for which I fought so long and hard -- a bag of six stale, broken chips and a warm, flat, dented can of ginger ale with something growing over the opening at the top.  God had so much more planned for me; how could I have been so pompous as to think anything I could squeeze from His hand would be better than what He could graciously give?