That Lonesome Valley...
We have a neighbor who is forever trying to share her religious views with me. She would love for me to come to "Bible Study" with her and her friends. It seems that nearly every other word out of her mouth is either "Jesus" or "pray". Now, don't get me wrong, I don't doubt her sincerity for one second--she seems absolutely devout. Quite frankly, I probably believe many of the same things she believes. But my own limited knowledge of the "word of God" seems to be telling me to be cautious. It seems to actually warn me against allowing others to interpret the real message for me. It tells me to seek. It tells me be careful to pray to God--and not for the benefit of human ears.

I told her the story of my Grandfather. He lived well into his 90's--a very active life right up till the end. I had the great fortune to live near him as a child, and spent a great deal of time around him. I was already grown, married, and raising a family of my own when he neared the end of his life. Of course, I was around him much less by then (given the demands of making a living). But, during the time I did get to spend with him, he started making references to Jesus. They weren't pushy references--telling me how I should believe. Rather, they were small inclusions in his conversations--like speaking occasionally of an old friend.

We had always enjoyed such a close relationship, that I felt comfortable in asking him about it. "Paw", I said "why is it that I've been around you all my life, but never heard you speak of Jesus or religion? Now that you're nearing the end of your life, you speak more of Jesus and Mary? Why now, and not then?" His reply was pure Paw. "Mr Cherry, (he had always called me Mr Cherry, just to pick at me) "did you ever know me to steal anything?" "No", I replied, taken off guard by his question. He continued, "Did you ever hear me swear?" Again, I answered "no". "Did you ever know me to mistreat my children?" Once again, I simply answered an honest "no". "Did you ever know me to say anything that wasn't true?" Again, "no". He summed it all up with this statement: "I always thought it was more important to act like a Christian than to go around professing to be one".

That conversation has stayed with me for more than 30 years now. I'm encouraged by neighbors to come to their churches and listen to their pastors' interpretation of the word of God. Some of my relatives have "found their way" recently, and they all offer their churches' version of what it means to be Christian. I tell them that the Bible is a powerful book, but it still was interpreted by men (with their own sets of feelings, flaws, and prejudices) and therefore possibly not quite said exactly the way that God meant to say it. At that, they shudder and think I'm being blasphemous. I can see them mentally backing away, and looking up for the lightning bolts.

We eventually hit the point where they are quoting different scriptures in support of what they are telling me--you know, where God took his handy quill and wrote it all down for us. When my neighbor started that, I asked her if she totally believed and followed every word of the Bible. Her answer was, of course, yes! She is a young, very outgoing, vocal woman, so I simply asked her if she'd read the part where Paul tells one of the churches (my knowledge is not nearly as great as hers, so I can't even remember which church it was) that women were not to talk in church. To that she replied that yes she had read it, but that wasn't what Paul really meant--that it was a matter of interpretation. My point exactly--different people, different pastors, and different denominations had provided their own interpretations all along.

Believe me, I wasn't trying to tell her that as a woman she should "be quiet". What I was trying to convey was that I believe that a relationship between a human and God is very private. No matter how much one attends church. No matter how much one gives to the church. No matter how much one tries to sell the views of their particular church. It is still a very private matter, and in the end, God judges on what He knows. And, I happen to believe He knows it all.

It seems extremely arrogant and presumptuous of me to say, without a doubt, "I know God's mind--I know exactly what he told me in the Bible". I think, instead, that God does want me to seek His true message. And, quite frankly, for a mere human mind, that is an extremely difficult endeavor. The messages of the Bible often seem very conflicted to me. So, the very first thing I pray for is the wisdom to interpret His message as He wants me to know it. And as far as I can tell, it is just like the old Kingston Trio song says: "You gotta walk that lonesome valley--you gotta walk it by yourself--nobody else can walk it for you--you gotta walk it by yourself".

Run toward the light!

The Season Should be Fun
A little while ago, I watched my wife meticulously stack home-made Christmas cookies in tin canisters. Most people would simply have placed them (maybe carefully) into a container, to keep them fresh, until someone ate them. After all, people will be biting their little heads off eventually. But my wife, stacked them, no sides touching, in separated layers--divided by cardboard circles, held off the layer below by little plastic risers--just so none of the decorations were compressed. And that was the easy part.

She had spent the entire day (and part of last night) making these cookies. She mixed the dough last night, baked the cookies this morning, then elaborately decorated each cookie over the course of the rest of the day. And I do mean decorated. It was certainly not enough to merely sprinkle them with colorful sweet bits--she also drew on each individual cookie with the kind of cake decoration you find in a "Cheese Whiz" type of can. Each cookie has a flawless border of icing, and a perfectly drawn face. Her Christmas cookies are veritable works of art. You'd think this was a labor of love, with a happy outcome. Not so!

What was once a happy tradition has become sheer drudgery for her. Her back aches from cooking them, then leaning over the table to decorate them. Her eyes hurt from straining to get every border just right. Her hands ache from holding the cake decorator cans. Her head hurts from the concentration. She isn't above biting off a head or two herself, if anyone (pets included) happens to cross her during this tedious process.

You might ask what is wrong with all of this. As far as I'm concerned, nothing really. But added to the rest of the holiday preparations she goes through, it has all simply become too much. Don't get me wrong--the cookies are good. The decorations are pretty. The gifts are wrapped perfectly (ribbons and bows must match not only in color, but design). The lights are bright. The mistletoe is hung just so (but never used, I might add).

The problem is that she can't seem to enjoy any of it. She is so busy getting ready for Christmas that she doesn't observe it. She observes the trappings, not the real holiday. She merely becomes "sick" from all the non-stop preparation. And I do mean physically sick. Her immune system goes on holiday vacation. It is sad. I just wish she could remember what Christmas is really all about.

I wonder if Jesus likes Christmas cookies?

"You can be right, or you can be happy"
Thirty one years is a long time to be married--believe me I know. I spent the first ten or so of those years being right. Then I either heard or read somewhere this "right or happy" phrase. I might have coined it, but I don't think so--I don't feel that smart. If I knew its real source, I would give credit here to whomever deserves it--but I don't. You must agree, however, that whatever the source, there is much wisdom in the thought. Surely, in some relationship you've either had or now have, it could have applied. Just think if you'd allowed your partner to win more "arguments". Would that have improved your relationship? Without a doubt, it would have helped mine.

To my everlasting regret, I learned it too late. And I've spent most of the past two decades paying dearly for it. Since I spent so long "in the right" I probably damaged my own marriage beyond repair. Don't let that happen to you. Some hurts simply don't heal. They may fade, but the scar is still there. And not all scars show, but they are there just the same. So, I try hard now to let her be right. At this late stage, however, the "happy" part is hard to achieve. I share this with you in hopes of helping other relationships that are still growing.

Think about it.

To my kids…
Why would I want to write such a piece? Better yet, why would you care to read it? Well, I guess raising children is never finished. We'’re now past the childhood part for all of you. But, we'’re not yet (I hope) beyond the learning. There is so much I would have you know— about life'’s lessons, about our family, and about me.

As you know, my own father died just as I was becoming an adult. I was 19, and so preoccupied with my own life, I never got the chance to ask Daddy what he thought about things. He'’s been gone for more than 30 years now, and to this day, I still often wish I could talk with him. I’d like to hear his advice on just about anything.

I now think I know (having learned the hard way) how he might have handled many situations. Maybe through this journal and blog, I can share my opinions with you, without forcing my views upon you. I certainly hope so.

Musings on blogging..
Seems that millions of others have the same random thought pattern I've suffered lately. And while there is a slight comfort in that fact, there is also more than a fair share of discomfort. I've never wanted to be like the crowd. Individuality has always been very important to me. At least in the blogosphere I can be different from the majority, simply because I am at this stage in my life.

It seems that most bloggers are younger. That is probably a fairly safe assumption, given the very nature of computer use. My generation had to learn it as an add-on, while the generation that followed grew up with it. They learned it as just another form of communication. Where we have it on them is probably in true writing (you know, where you actually put pen to paper). We had to use that ancient form to get through school, and to demonstrate that we had learned what was required. Conversely, where they have it on us is the free flowing style brought on by the more instantaneous tool of the keyboard.

Nevertheless, we all share the desire to express ourselves. And I personally find the world of blogging simply fascinating. Sometimes, I feel a little voyeuristic when reading such personal thoughts. The angst of youth is a recurring theme, and usually expressed in rough language. (Too bad we let our children be led in that direction. Correction: too bad I let my children be led in that direction--I must be careful not to generalize that way.) But even given the fouler language, the thoughts are ones with which even I can identify. Many of them still mirror my own, while many more simply stir old memories. And with those memories come the old feelings. Maybe that is why I like reading blogs--to rekindle some of the dormant feelings.

Of course not all the younger bloggers are prone to the harsh language. Many of the pieces I've read over the last few days show wonderful wit (frequently edged with sarcasm) as well as a great deal of insight. I especially admire those who poke fun at the world, and yet manage to laugh with it, while laughing at it. And there are some bloggers that amaze with their writing skills. Their punctuation might not be perfect, but their thoughts and points are often splendid.

Use it or lose it!

With this Blog, I've decided to try and blow the dust off by brain. The old saying that the title implies is certainly true for our muscles (some of which I won't mention, but trust me--them too). And, I'm beginning to feel it is just as true for our mental capacities.

The routine of my life has, I believe, allowed my brain to atrophe. Maybe by writing for this blog, I can exercise it back into usefulness. I'm certainly going to give it a shot. Look out! Work in progress.