18

Yesterday my oldest daughter celebrated her 18^th birthday. I, on the other hand, spent my time mourning the loss of her childhood…as well my own.  As a gift, I purchased one of her favorite children’s books, the literary classic, Raindrop Plop, and gave it to her, along with gifts themed from the book; umbrella, raincoat, rain boots…but not the bright blue boat, that would have been out of the budget. I took some time and wrote a meaningful message on the inside of the front cover.  I closed the book, and then I sobbed.  I was fortunate to be the only one in the house at the time, except for the dog, but due to our strained relationship, all he did was smile and relish his kingship over me during my hour of grief. I sobbed uncontrollably as I reflected that now half of the humans in my home were now adults.  At this, my sobbing abruptly stopped. “She is an adult now…that means that she can begin to do adult jobs around the house…like plunging the toilet, rotating the tires…hmmm….I wonder how she is at doing taxes?” I thought.

It seems like it was just 18 years ago, yesterday, when Hannah was born.  I remember the day in such detail. In fact, I remember a great deal of the days and months leading up to day of her birth.  One of the most life changing moments of the gestational period was the moment that Nurse Denise placed the ultrasound paddle onto the belly of my wife and revealed the machine gun rapid fire of the unborn heartbeat cranking out a techno rave beat at 165 bpm.

That day reveals one of the greatest and most accurate pictures of true biblical hope that I have encountered. From the day that Sarah and I learned that we were “expecting” we began to …well…expect.  From that moment, a hope had been generated.  The hope of the day when this child would arrive had been promised.  Our lives went from, “I hope that we will have a child someday,” to the hope of the day “when our child will arrive.”

This is a picture of the hope of Jesus, as would be the engagement period of a young couple, or even the anticipation leading up to Christmas…they all point to a hope that is tangible.  God spoke of His redeeming work from the very beginning.  His promise was a promise of hope, a hope that was not an “if”, but rather a “would.”  Then, Jesus came! We continue in hope. Today we can have that same confident hope that Jesus IS coming back.  With that kind of hope, what else do we need…except maybe some help on my taxes?

The Guarantee

“I guarantee it!” These were the words of the great Jets quarterback Joe Namath before Super Bowl III in 1969.  Though the odds were stacked against him, his guarantee was indeed fulfilled.

In the financial realm the guarantee ensures that there will be no loss of resources to the guaranteed party.  The implementation of a guarantee does not linger in just the financial institutions…but also among brothers and sisters of all ages. For instance, when a younger brother says to his older brother of 14 months, “Hey Ross, Mom says that she saved the last cookie for you,” the older brother may respond, “Sweet! Where?”

To which…you…being the younger brother may interject, “She left it in the Tupperware on the counter.”

“But the Tupperware is empty,” he might rebut.

“Yeah…I know.”

“Why is it empty?”

“Because, I ate it.”

“What! What do you mean you ate it? Why did you eat it? I thought you said mom saved it for me?”

“I said “Mom” saved it for you…I didn’t say that “I” saved it for you.”

It could be that at this time the younger brother should inform the older brother, how next time he should get a “guarantee” to ensure that he will indeed receive the cookie.  But since he did not…then he gets no cookie. This has perhaps been a wonderful learning opportunity for the older brother, and he will be a better person for having learned it.  So much so…that in some cases this said older brother happens to become much more financially secure that that of the deceptive younger brother.

It could also be at this time that the younger brother, in order to avoid older brother retaliation, should consider employing his own guarantee of sorts… “Mom! Ross just threatened to kick me in the throat!!”

There have been many life events where I too regretted not having employed the guarantee.

When Rory (the obstinate and obnoxious little brother of the imaginary family previously referred to), promised that he would NOT tell mother about the broken plate and his bleeding head…I soon learned that I should have pursued a guarantee…a paper shredder and his Barry Sanders rookie card would have worked nicely.

Recently, one of my own imaginary daughters asked me to purchase a set of ear buds from a shady black market website. 

“How do you know that this is a legitimate site?”

“Because dad…they have several positive reviews.”

“Anyone can write those reviews…they don’t mean anything.”

“Please Dad! I will pay for them!”

“Are you sure that this is what you want to spend your money on?”

“Yes Daddy! Please! Please!” (Note: eyes were imaginarily fluttering at this point).

“Fine…What is the website?”

“It is a place called www.cheatyououtofyourmoney.com. They sell everything from ear buds to human kidneys…plus their website says “Satisfaction Guaranteed.”

I should have had her sign a guarantee.  I lost $42…didn’t get the ear buds…nor a kidney…and I never collected an imaginary dime from that imaginary daughter.

There are very few guarantees in life. We are not guaranteed another day of living, stock market success, illness or injury free bodies, job security, low gas, and grocery store prices, Caribou Coffee drinks being made correctly…the list is endless.

We are however, given a guarantee by Jesus Christ himself.  He promises that he WILL come again and he gives to us a guarantee, of that promise…he gives to us…His Spirit.  We may not know it but that is the best guarantee ever offered in the history of mankind.  Ephesians 1:13-14, tells us that this Spirit will mark the believers and is a “guarantee.” 

May we come to see that all followers of Christ can enjoy that guarantee!

 Reawaken

Teenagers are mythical creatures that often lurk for a time in the home of middle age couples. However, proof of their existence lingers only in rumors and the evidences that they leave behind; messy rooms, empty fuel tanks, dirty clothes, inexplicable odors, filthy dishes and sparse refrigerators.  If you ever come across a teenager, you should approach with caution.  Do not attempt to feed a teenager or bribe it with food.  If you offer a teenager a cookie…that teenager is likely to never leave your home again.  If you offer the teenager something “healthy” to eat, you will inevitably face a plethora of mocking cackles and confusing words that you have never heard before, or are used in a context that any normal person would find senseless, such as; “cap,” “lit,” “straight bussin,” and, perhaps, many others.  Please note: this IS, in fact, considered “normal” teenage behavior.  Teenage words will mean nothing to you; therefore when a conversation is engaged, avoid showing signs of fear and confusion.  Do not run, rather, wait patiently and smile.  There is no use trying to understand what was just said, perhaps just offer them a carrot. 

Teenagers can be very unpredictable and have been the cause of great stress for many adults.  It has been said that these mysterious beings can be moody and volatile.  I once heard of one man who came across 3 teenage girls living in his basement. He was completely caught off guard as all three simultaneously began giggling, laughing, cackling, singing, shouting, crying and blubbering...all in a matter of 30 seconds.  He was so shaken that he immediately fled the home to the safety and quiet of the local dog kennel. 

I met one woman who found a male teenager coming out of a room on the upper floor of her home.  She was convinced that the being was a zombie…as only something dead could cause the smell that was wafting out of the space behind him.  Even after the zombie left the home, the odor remained.  The woman entered the room and found a green sock stuffed inside a water bottle.  Her husband eventually found her passed out on the floor when he arrived home from work. When she revived, all she could say was…“It used to be white.” “It used to be white.”  To this day, no one knows exactly what she meant.

Perhaps the most dangerous situation that you may stumble upon is that of a sleeping teenager.  If you happen to find yourself living in a home with one or more teenagers here are 15 simple steps to rid yourself of a sleeping teenager.

Step 1: Counter the awakening. It is extremely beneficial if you can engage the teenager before they fall asleep in your home.  Prevention is 95% of the success. It may, at first glance, seem reasonable to not allow the teenager highly caffeinated drinks like coffee or Mountain Dew.  However, if you can keep the caffeine flowing, any sleep may not occur until the teenager is at school…in which case then, the sleeping teenager is someone else’s problem.

Step 2: Empower the teenager. If caffeine is not an option, I would suggest that you calmly, (note: teenagers can sense fear), suggest having the teenager set an alarm for themselves.  Caution: this may result in an irrational response from the teenager. “Ah! You always do this to me! You don’t know what it’s like! You just don’t understand what it is like to be a teenager! Why are you so mean to me?”

Step 3: Refrain from reacting: Do not attempt to rationalize with an irrational teenager. This will do nothing but raise your blood pressure, and you will potentially find yourself hospitalized for heart palpitations, eye twitches, or perhaps, even a broken tooth or filling caused from aggressive teeth grinding.

Step 4: Ask the teenager what time they need to be awake. You should record their answer, as you may need it when you are accused of wrong doing. (You will be accused of wrong doing).

Step 5: Affirm the teenager: State, “I will try and make sure you are up by then.” Note: if the time is 6:00…the wake up process should either begin 30 or more minutes before the necessary time, or 30 minutes after the suggested time, but never right at the time.  If you should choose the 30 minute early option go to step 6.  If you choose the 30 minutes after option…then this is not your first encounter with teenagers and you are likely trying to teach the teenager a lesson.  Decent idea, but it is not going to work…go to step 6.

Steps 6-12 should be performed at, roughly, 5 minute intervals.

Step 6: 30 minutes before the time of the awakening: Gently knock on the door and say, “Hannah, (the name is totally random and should not be thought to be referring to anyone in particular…especially not referring to my first born,) time to get up.”

Step 7: Gently open the door and say, “Hannah…you really need to get up now.”

Step 8: Open the door and speak loudly, “Hannah…get up!”

Step 9: Throw the door open, flip on the bright ceiling light and yell, “Get up!” At this point names are no longer necessary as anyone in the house should be aroused by the occurrences in the home.

Step 10: Approach the blob that is beneath the comforter and shake it, “Get up! You are going to be late”

Step 11: Jump on the blob.

Step 12:  Shake the blob. Jump on the blob. Then, rip the comforter free from the blob.

Step 13: 15 minutes AFTER the needed wake up time.  Throw the door open…again.  Turn on the light…again.  Shake the blob…again. Jump on the blob…again. Pull off the comforter…again.  Yell, “Get out of bed! You fell asleep again! You only have 15 minutes left to get ready.”

Step 14: Cold water. Nothing more needs to be said…except, “School starts in 5 minutes.”

Step 15: Endure the next 5 minutes and listen to the teenager’s inevitable words, “Dad! I am going to be late for school! Why didn’t you get me up!”

It is inevitable, that if you happen to have a teenager living in your home, you will likely need to engage in some steps to wake…and reawake them on at least one, if not every, school day morning. Let’s be honest with ourselves…we all follow similar patterns in our own lives.  We often ebb and flow in our choices, our commitments and in our relationships.  Sometimes we need to be “reawakened,” especially in our spiritual journeys. We need to be reawakened to the goodness of God.  We need to be reawakened to the beauty of His Gospel.  Thankfully He is standing near us…ready to help…and if necessary…He may have a bucket of cold water. 

Luke 13:6-9 gives us an amazing picture of a loving God, leading the way to reawaken our hearts toward Him.  He cares, He digs, He fertilizes.  He takes the initiative to reawaken us to bear fruit, to bear goodness, kindness, love, peace, joy, patience and self control.

 The Basement 

A Christmas Story

I was in the basement of my childhood home. It was dark…very dark.  I had been sent to the basement to get a Tupperware container full of some of the most delicious Christmas cookies known to mankind.  A cacophony of lady fingers, rosettes, frosted sugar cookies, molasses crinkles and more.  I couldn’t help but salivate as my 7 year old tummy rumbled at the thought of these frozen treasures. 

My childhood home was old…perhaps a century or more.  The basement had no windows and the rough cut floor joists were exposed on the ceiling.  I opened the door at the top of the descending stairs and flipped the light switch on.  I could see the glow of the single incandescent bulb as it barely illuminated the creepy space below.  The bulb was a mere 60 watts, which did little more than offer a yellow hue and leave plenty of shadows for the evils of basement creatures to linger in hiding.  I made my way down the creaky staircase.  Solid pine planks spanned across the stringers...many of them cracked along the dried grain.  There was brown paint that lingered on the edge of each tread but had worn away to bare wood where the feet of thousands of journeys had diminished the protective coat. The front edge of the stairs had rounded over from countless shoes and the falling of boys’ shins making tearful impact to the wooden corners.

I finished my descent and set foot on the concrete floor, in the North-East corner.  I walked toward the South-West corner and entered the short narrow hallway where the freezer stood humming.  I pulled the string to a second incandescent bulb that lit up the hallway…doubling the amount of light, giving less space for the evils of darkness to linger.

As I opened the freezer and pulled out the Tupperware of cookies…the 60 watt bulb of the main space went dark.  My heart jumped in my chest…someone had turned off the light switch at the top of the stairs…there was no other switch for that light. “This was going to be a problem,” was all I could think.  Sure I still had the light of the hallway…but that wouldn’t last.  I considered leaving the hallway light on to allow me to see my way back to the staircase in the opposite corner.  But I knew that was not an option.  My father was known to be the “Burning Light Totalitarian.”

“Who left the lights on in the basement?” he would demand. “Do you know how much electricity costs?”

I took this as a rhetorical questions…and so I said nothing…wondering…”How would I know how much electricity costs?”

One night we were all waiting in the car for my dad to drive us to grandma’s house for Christmas Eve.  After what seemed to be 15 minutes and a few honks from my mother…my angry father threw himself into the driver’s seat and proclaimed, “I just turned off 14 lights that were left burning…do you know how much electricity costs?”

“I didn’t know that light bulbs were on fire.” I responded.

That was a mistake. His eyes lit like burning light bulbs and he growled, “Do you want to walk home?”

“We are home.” I blurted.  I couldn’t help it. It just slipped out. Me and my big mouth.  His eyes went from 60 watts to 100 watts like lightning.  My mother’s hand touched his knee.  He calmed down and gritted, “You are lucky it’s Christmas Eve.”

It was shortly after this moment that he sat me down and gave me a lesson as to how many watts a 60 watt bulb draws.  My guess was 60…but somehow I was wrong.  Something about how watts converts to kilowatt hours.  He then began a long monologue on how much we pay per kilowatt hour and how much 14 burning lights cost and that we should turn the lights off.

I listened carefully as I stood with the refrigerator door open the entire time…until he finished because I didn’t want to be rude and interrupt him.  “Can I have some orange juice?” I asked.

“What!?...No!...Orange Juice is for dipping, (don’t ask…long story), close the refrigerator!”

I am sure that my father would be pleased to know that I still remember having that conversation…though I still have no idea how to calculate kilowatt hours.

Despite that, I did turn off 13 burning lights in my own home just this morning…I counted them…and told my children what I had just done…and proceeded to ask if they knew how much electricity costs...then…I went and drank some orange juice.

As I remained near paralyzed in the basement, consequently, I concluded that I could not leave the light on and instead I geared up for the journey ahead.  Just before I pulled the string to turn off the light I committed to memory the path that I must take.  I estimated 12 strides…6 slightly to the left to avoid the supporting post in the middle of the room…then 6 steps back to the right to hopefully find the corner and the beginning of the staircase.

I pulled the string…turned off the light…and I ran…through the complete blackness.  As soon as the light went out, I could feel the in-numerable vile creatures dispatch from their shadowy lairs.  The demons, snakes and creatures of death rose up and began chasing me…ready to devour me in the sulfuric darkness.

I sprinted from one end of the basement to the other as fast as I could.  As I reached the stairs, my heart was slamming into my chest and the creatures drew nearer.  I couldn’t catch my breath…not from exhaustion, but rather from the building terror.  I drove my arms as I climbed the creaky staircase and burst forth out of the door leaving the deadly gloom of darkness and the evil that pursued me behind.  I slammed the door shut.  I leaned by back against it and panted…sweaty and shaky.

Having reached the light…I was safe…I was secure.

In the light I had peace.

“What are you doing?” my mother would ask.

“Just conserving electricity” I said…”And running for my life against the powers of darkness of this world.” I thought.

Christmas.  It is the day when the Light of the World…came into the world.  The Light of the World…that destroyed sin, death and darkness, came and changed everything.  The light has come…and the darkness cannot overcome it.

May you find the Light of the World this Christmas.

The Gift

We are less than one week from Christmas.  The packages beneath our tree continue to multiply…which is odd…considering that they have no mind for basic mathematics.  Yet, in any case the growing number of packages creates a marvelous sense of wonder and excitement in our home.  It was just this morning that my ears heard the squeals of glee and the high pitched words, “I am so excited, I can’t wait ‘til Christmas!”  Imagine my surprise to find that everyone was still asleep in bed…and I so rarely squeal!

I remember one Christmas Eve as a child. I lay awake in bed, wishing without end, that I could just fall asleep so that morning could all the sooner arrive.  Despite my efforts, sleep eluded me. As I remained prone and awake staring at the exposed rough cut floor joists of the unfinished ceiling in my basement bedroom, I could hear my parents filling the stockings that were hung by the weight bench with care.  Excitement built all the more…which did not help settle me into any sort of slumber. 

There was one gift above all else that I hoped for that Christmas…a keyboard.  Not the keyboard of an Apple IIe…or the Tandy 1000 that sat cumbersomely on the oversized computer desk in the dining room…but rather a keyboard that would launch me into stardom.  Ever since “Video Killed the Radio Star”, and Duran Duran graced the screen of channel 34 on my grandmother’s television, I had envisioned myself behind a keyboard pounding out the synthetic sounds of glory with my right hand and running my left hand through my thickly gelled spiked hair.

Nearing the end of the morning…there was one gift that waited to be discovered.  It was the right size…it was the right shape…and as I tore into it and found the words Yamaha, I was ecstatic!  My career was launched.  However, due to my lack of any music knowledge…training…and talent…my career ended about 45 minutes later.  Despite my abbreviated career, that gift resonates in my memory, as do many other gifts of Christmases past…although all musical memories thereafter consisted of magnetic tape and digital discs.

I came to a realization this year, as I was preparing gifts for my children to anticipate, as I had.  For thousands of years mankind anticipated that first Christmas.  Since the creation of the world…God promised a gift…a savior and then…He GAVE IT! He really gave it!

It is a gift that could never be earned…deserved…or reciprocated! It is the gift of gifts!

It is Jesus! 

Paul even says so in Ephesians 2:1-8.  “For it is by grace that you are saved, not by works…it is the gift of God!”

May you come to receive the gift of gifts this Christmas…may you come to see the Gift of God for what…and WHO it is…JESUS!

 Grace Grace

I tend to enjoy surprises, as do my parents especially at Christmas.  Year after year new efforts were made keep gifts and packages secret until the day of the great festivities.  As my siblings and I grew older…new creative ways to keep the secrets needed to be developed.  No longer could my parents simply write the names of their children on the packages, because we would spend so much time handling each item…shaking it…making guesses…asking questions.  The two James Bond wannabes began disguising packages by adding weight, a bag of rice in this one…a 2.5lb Olympic weight in another one.  Small items were wrapped in huge boxes…and huge gifts were crammed in small packages…don’t ask me how…it must have been magic. 

This still wasn’t enough, and the two childlike adults resorted to creating an elaborate secret code to confuse “would be recipients” of whose package was whose.  During one particular Christmas morning, the climax of gift opening was delayed until the misplaced cipher key was found.

In 1991, my 11 year old little sister couldn’t stand not knowing which gifts were hers, and what was in those packages.  She secretly began carefully peeling away the tape and peeking behind the paper looking for her gifts.  By doing so, she successfully cracked the code and was able to discover what was in each of her gifts.

However…in a family of aspiring secret agents, things like this do not go un-noticed.  My mother went to work accusing each of us boys first.  She confronted me hard, studying my face as I denied any involvement, looking for any signs of a lie or dishonesty.  This continued with my two brothers as well and then my sister…why was she always the last to be blamed?  Probably because she was a girl and was always treated favorably…yet, in this case…she was found to be the guilty party.

In effort to deliver a punishment that fit the crime, my dad sat my sister down…still 2 weeks before Christmas…handed her one of her gifts and said, “Open it.”

“Huh?”

“Open it.” He repeated.

She opened up a new telephone…a corded one…this is 1991…cordless phones were high technology at the time and cell phones were only on Star Trek.

“Give it to your mother, so she can return it.” He directed.

Her lip curled and her eyes moistened…and I smiled as I relished the suffering of my annoying little sister.

She handed the phone to our mother. My mother, who only had one daughter, began to cry and my smile quickly faded, as I saw the hurt in her eyes that reflected her bleeding heart.

My dad handed her another gift, “Open it,” he demanded.

She opened a new Paula Abdul CD.

“Give it to your mother…”

She obeyed and the tears continued…except dad…he had no tears…he was either made of stone or just “cold hearted.”

One after another, the gifts were opened and handed over to be returned.  When it was over…so was her Christmas.

Two weeks later when Christmas day arrived, we all sat down with our gifts in front of us…as distributed by our parents.  Three piles sat in the room, one in front of each of my two brothers and one stood before me.  Nothing sat in front of my sister.

She sat, looking sad and forlorn.  Everyone was sitting and waiting for my dad to come into the room so that we could begin.

“Dad! Hurry up!” my impatient little brother called.  He was so immature. 

“Dad! Get the lead out!” I insisted.

When dad finally entered the room, he had in his arms a large number of beautifully wrapped packages and set them before my sister. She looked at him questioningly. “Merry Christmas,” is all he said.

Grace.

Grace.

Grace.

Grace is all that we don’t deserve.  On that first Christmas, the world was offered grace…from a God who has always and already been…gracious.

John 1:16 says it this way. “Out of his fullness we have all received grace...in place of grace…that had already been given.”

Jesus is grace…on top of grace that had already been given.

Grace upon grace…it seems redundant.  Redundant?...or amazing?

May we come to know the amazing grace upon grace this Christmas.

 The Day Will Come

 

It is inevitable…the day will come.

The day will come when I will slip on the ice and crack my head on the hard frozen ground, at which point everyone will gasp in astonishment and be concerned for my well being…except my wife…she will double in laughter. 

The day will come when my first child, who was just under 8 lbs and 21.5” inches long, will graduate from high school and head off to college…leaving me as an emotional wreck to secretly weep alone in the bathroom.

The day will come when some arrogant college boy, will lay his dirty little eyes on her beauty and ask her out on a date…at which time I will come out of my weeping stupor and threaten his very life with a spanking spoon used to making “roni and cheese.”

The day will come when he will ask for her hand in marriage…at which time I will pretend my hearing aid batteries are dead.

The day will come when I will escort this former bubble blowing princess down an aisle wearing a white dress that is more expensive than my first automobile, and yet cannot hold a candle to her beauty let alone her value.

The day will come when I will become a grandfather to a little 8lb, 21.5” newborn, at which time I will confront this former college boy and now non blood relative…“How dare you?” My heart will then soften once again when I make eye contact with this new life in my arms.

The day will come.  That is unless I am first hit by a bus.

The day will come when my son gets his driver’s license and my automobile insurance increases exponentially. Oh wait! That day took place a few weeks ago.

The day will come…when I get old….Oh wait!...Never mind.

There are days that lay in wait for us…days that are in the distant or not so distant future.  These days will be significant life changing days.  When they arrive, our lives will never be the same…our lives will be changed forever.  I have experienced many of these inevitable days in my life…days like my wedding day or the day when my first child was born…or like the day when my second…third…and fourth children were born. These are days of change.  These are days of anticipation.

There is a day…a single day…that changed everything.  It is the day that God came in the flesh…the day that Jesus was born. It was a day that had been promised thousands of years before. Then…at just the right time…Jesus was born…Jesus came…and offered us EVERYTHING!

Peter reminds us of this in 2 Peter 3:1 and Paul points to it in Galatians 4:1-7.  This event was the major event in human history.  This event was promised thousands of years before.  It had been anticipated for generations. The day came.  It really happened.  Let’s always remember…Jesus really came!