I’ve found I really enjoy teaching the kids on Wednesday nights. I really feel like I am getting through to them. Tonight they were great. They seemed to be listening, or at least being quiet. Hopefully I taught them something they’ll be able to use later in life. Matthew 9 was the text tonight. I tried to emphasize the part about Jesus picking Matthew, a tax collector to follow him. The Gospel is for everyone, not just those with glamorous jobs or rich lifestyles. And the kids seemed to be interested in how wineskins were made.
We have a tradition in class of asking for prayer requests; writing them on the board; and then getting one of the boys to lead us in a prayer. Since we have so few boys in the class, we tend to ask the same boys to pray over and over again. I’m trying to get the ones who haven’t ever prayed, to do it. I think I’m getting through. I never really twist their arms, but I’m pretty obvious with them that they are going to have to lead us in prayer before the end of the year, or I’ll be disappointed.
Sometimes I get discouraged with the teaching aspect. Somehow I’ve got to shrug off others opinions and keep going. Teaching class is possibly the most important thing I do all week – the thing with the most long lasting results, if done correctly.
Car Alarms
When I was at Lipscomb I lived on the 2nd floor of High Rise dormitory during my Freshmen year. It was convenient in that you didn’t have to climb stairs the whole time, however it did have its drawbacks. My room was right next door to the dorm’s computer lab, and very near the lobby area. Late night blaring televisions seemed to be the norm or sorts.
Then there were the car alarms. They’d go off ever so often. You could easily hear them from cars parked beside the dorm. One alarm in particular I remember to this day. It was on a red Chevy with Nebraska tags. If there was ever so much of a slight breeze, the car alarm would go off, which usually meant it went off at 2AM during rainstorms. It got bad enough that I thumbed through the dorm’s directory to see if there were anyone from Nebraska staying there. I never got around to doing anything about it. Maybe I should have left a note.
Speaking of notes, I did get a note on my car once. I had parked in this somewhat small parking space near Sewell Hall (another men’s dorm). The next time I drove my car I found a note on the windshield. It had Mickey Mouse giving me an obscene gesture stating something about me parking too close to their car. Ok whatever. The mere fact that someone would take the time to photocopy these notes and having them available in their car for distribution makes me wonder how much of a life this person had.
Streetsweepers
“If a man is called to be a streetsweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, here lived a great streetsweeper who did his job well.”
–Martin Luther King, Jr.
“Who Wants to Go Home?”
I had another dream last night. I usually remember them easier if I wake up immediately after having them. This was one of those.
The dream goes like this. We’re in Iraq. Soldiers are sitting around a room with some connected tables and cots. I don’t know if I am a soldier in this dream or a journalist or just a casual observer, as if I’m watching some sort of military documentary. I’m pretty sure I’m not a soldier. I could never be a soldier.
The soldiers have just had some kind of defeat…either military or just a physical defeat from being there so long. Our squad leader, a woman, probably of Hispanic decent poses the question, “Alright, who wants to go home?” At first we all look at each other. One person pipes up and then another soldier says “yes” also. Our of 25 or so soldiers, only 2 want to go home. I’m not sure if the option to go home was scheduled or if it is a special option just for this squad. So then they call out a Hummer to get the 2 that want to go home.
I don’t know what the dream is supposed to mean. Am I being given the option to give up on the battles of life and “just go home?” I have got to fight. We’ve all got to fight when life throws us curve balls. And from what I’ve seen about life for a soldier in Iraq, it can get pretty difficult.
Heart of Gold
Heart of Gold
by Neil Young
I want to live,
I want to give
I’ve been a miner for a heart of gold.
It’s these expressions I never give
That keep me searching for a heart of gold
And I’m getting old.
Keeps me searching for a heart of gold
And I’m getting old.
I’ve been to hollywood
I’ve been to redwood
I crossed the ocean for a heart of gold
I’ve been in my mind, it’s such a fine line
That keeps me searching for a heart of gold
And I’m getting old.
Keeps me searching for a heart of gold
And I’m getting old.
Keep me searching for a heart of gold
You keep me searching for a heart of gold
And I’m getting old.
I’ve been a miner for a heart of gold.
Lost America
Lost America: Nighttime photography of abandonded vehicles.
Santa
Christmas was always more special when you’re a kid. You’d always get more presents. There was much more excitement with the anticipation of Santa’s arrival and his subsequent leaving presents. It was something magical in my youthful mind. I never could figure out exactly how and when the presents were left. Sometimes I’d get up in the middle of the night and see if Santa had come. Most of the time he hadn’t yet. And I didn’t want to jinx it by even looking, figuring Santa would know if I had gotten out of bed to look. Insomina on Christmas Eve was a global phenomenon among Christian youth. I could never sleep. And sometimes I’d get up at 5:30AM to see what Santa had left. Then it was up to my dad to put the toys together.
Santa always left 2 stacks of toys…one for me and one for my sister. It usually wasn’t hard to tell the difference, even without nametags. And I always wondered how my friends…with multiple same-sex siblings, figured out who’s Santa gifts were who’s. I guess that’s where nametags come in…vital for large families.
My mom kept many of my letters to Santa. She stores them in scrapbooks somewhere, along with any of them that were printed in the local paper. Which reminds me, I completely missed any letters written to Santa which were printed in the Lebanon Democrat. Do they still do this anymore?
Christmas as a Cultural Holiday
When exactly did Christmas become the big holiday among the Christians? Seems to me that Easter is more important than Christmas. Which is more important in the grand scheme of things? That my Savior was born or that He died for my sins? Yet somehow in many cultures…news outlets….etc….Easter barely gets much of a mention…only during the weekend between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. Yet Christmas is constantly put in our minds for the entire month of December and part of November. Is it the gift giving phenomenon? Why are we constantly pestered to find the best deals and to shop until we drop.
I don’t consider December 25th as the birth of Christ. There is no evidence to show this. Why do we as humans try to pinpoint the day at a specific date? Each and every calendar day is a gift from God. So why shouldn’t we remember His birth, life, and death 365 days a year?
I consider Christmas as more of a cultural holiday….not necessarily national since it has spread over many nations. I hate to downgrade it to the same status of Halloween or Valentine’s Day, but in my mind it probably is, yet with much more importance since we associate it with annual family visits.
I have heard of people making a birthday cake for Jesus this time of year. This is completely foreign to me. And I’m not even sure it’s what Jesus would want. And I’ve also heard of people attending midnight worship services. This never happened to me growing up. Never did I attend church on Christmas, unless it happened to fall on a Sunday or Wednesday. A while back Christmas did fall on Sunday, and many churches were canceling their worship services. Their reasoning was that church members family gatherings were more important than the church services. This runs completely foreign to what is explained in the Bible.
“If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters�yes, even his own life�he cannot be my disciple.”
Luke 14:26
“Hate” in this context is relative to a Christian’s required love of God. Our love for God should be so strong, then compared to our love for our family should look like hate. Hence service and devotion to God should be first and foremost in our mind, with devotion to family should run a close second.
Yet I do believe that sometimes the church group I belong to is afraid to study the birth of Christ. We somewhat downgrade it, not really wanting to talk about it much, especially around December for fear that someone might get the wrong idea. We should be enraptured with it. We should be amazed that God would send His Son to earth and to be born in such a lowly manner. In a horse barn. Not some glorious entrance as one would expect.
It’s a Wonderful Life, Jeff
“It’s a Wonderful Life” tries to answer the question that we’ve been asking for so long. Exactly how much of a difference is one individual making here? They seem to ask it at funerals. A listing of accomplishments in order to show how much a person will be missed. I know I’ve asked it before of myself. And sometimes I’ve been so frustrated at life I have wished I had never been born.
Clarence, the novice (wing-less) angel, yet ironically… a worthy teacher to the downtrodden, shows George exactly how Beford Falls would have changed if George had never been born.
“One man’s life touches so many others, when he’s not there it leaves an awfully big hole.”
–Clarence
We do find out that George has touched a great many lives…who have touched other lives. What a difference a person makes. And sometimes I wonder if I really am making a difference. Especially when others speak negatively of me. I have to shrug it off and move on. It’s their problem. Mine is not to try to please them. Mine is to live the very best I can live. I’ll admit that I’ve failed to live up to my own and God’s expectations.
And I do feel like I am making the world a better place. Anytime the kids at church tell me that they learned something in Bible class. Or when a kid tells me they wouldn’t have come to Bible camp if I hadn’t invited them. Or when I receive those goodies kids give their Bible school teachers…. Somebody is listening and if they are listening perhaps they will make the world a better place. Part of my drive toward life is trying to make the world better. Trying to do good each and every day.
I took a college personality test for job prospects one time. The test results showed that I should be a caregiver…doctor…nurse….or a minister. Any job involving blood is just way too gross for me. So I look to the ministrial role…and think I’m not good enough to be a full fledged minister. So I try my best in a limited role, yet in somewhat of a leadership position….performing ministral duties.
Potential discouragement comes with the territory. When someone is seen as somewhat of a leader, they have a larger target on them then those who are transparent or stay in the background. I found that out this year.
“Remember George, No man is a failure who has friends.”
–Clarence
Friends keep you going. It is true about failure and friends. Just by having friendships makes you an influence on someone’s life. And that’s what makes someone accomplish positive things in life, if they choose to.
“So this is Christmas, and what have you done? Another year over. A new one just begun.”
–John Lennon, “Happy Christmas”
Perhaps Lennon was asking the same question George Bailey was asking. Its the end of the year and what goodness have you provided to the world. Perhaps it is to take stock on what have we done.