Regaining My Childhood Love Of Christmas

This Christmas season, I've suffered from a severe case of nostalgia. Most of it has to do with the fact that I will be spending Christmas morning alone. My wife has to work Christmas morning, and my children are all spending Christmas somewhere else. It's been a long time since I've left Harrison, Arkansas to go share Christmas with any of my family, so I don't have any room to complain. My children have all moved on to bigger, and busier cities where they could find employment or to live near their spouse's family. Being a self-employed handyman, it is extremely difficult to break away at this time of year because business is extremely slow, money is tight, and it is all we can do to buy gifts. Needless to say, I'd been in a little bit of a funk.

Actually, I have everything to be thankful for. At 58 years-old, I'm in good health, my strength is good, and my mind is reasonably sharp. I have a home, good vehicles, and all the toys I can play with. My wife is a joy, and her love for me is more precious than anything on earth. I attend a wonderful faith fellowship, have a fantastic pastor, and have fellowship with some of the most amazing men I've ever known. I am blessed to be gainfully employed by a prince of a man who treats me with the respect, and honor I've always longed for. My days are spent working with a young man who loves Christ with all his heart, and who helps to keep me young. I am grateful to God for all I have, and the people who surround my life. Still, knowing that Christmas morning I would be alone had kind of tinted my enthusiasm.

It was in this mood, that I had a profound moment of being tenderly touched by the Holy Spirit. It was in the middle of the last snow storm we had, and I'd headed into town early so I could use my computer at the church. It was about 5 in the morning, the roads were slick with ice, and the 10 inches of snow hadn't even begun to melt. I'd already passed a few homes decked out in lights, and had thought to myself how much I used to enjoy taking our children to see the lights when they were young. As I stopped at the four-way in our town square, I began to weep uncontrollably. I was so overcome, I had to pull over. Somehow, the Christmas decorations in our courthouse square took me back to my childhood. I suddenly felt the awe, and wonder of Christmas once again. All around me the lights glistened off the icy road, off of store fronts, and lit up the massive snow drifts with a wash of color. Suddenly I was a kid again enraptured with the Christmas lights.

I found myself remembering going through Enid, Oklahoma as a young boy of seven or eight. My Mom, and Dad were on their way home to Ponca City for Christmas, long before I-35 had ever been built. I was laying in the back seat of the car looking out the rear window at the lights strung from light post to light post. At one point I remember it being like a tunnel of lights as we drove through downtown. They formed swirls of light on the frosty rear window and through the side windows. Then the most gi-normous Christmas tree I'd ever seen made me sit up. It was so tall, I couldn't see the top of it. The ornaments were like three times the size of any I'd ever seen. I remember feeling that Enid had to be the best place to live. To make the moment even better, it began to snow. Not little bitty flakes, but giant enormous flakes that seemed to be amplified in the cars headlights. We drove from Enid to Ponca City through this amazing snow storm that wouldn't stop. I was too young to know that my Mom, and Dad were scared witless. All I remember is driving up to my grandma's house, and her leaning out the front door with a brightly lit aluminum Christmas tree behind her. I'd never seen one before, and I dashed into the house completely ignoring my grandma's advance for a hug. That image of her leaning out her front door framed by the glow of the porch light, and Christmas tree lights is one of my favorite memories. I'm sure she'd been worried sick about us, but when you're seven years old, you don't know these things.

Christmas time for me is always about lights. I remember the childhood trips to downtown El Paso, Texas where the huge Christmas tree stood in the fountain in San Jacinto plaza. Lights were draped in elegant strands from buildings down to the plaza and from street light to street light, making the square appear to be a canopy of lights. The backdrop to this amazing display of lights was the Mariachi Bands doing Christmas music beside the tree. Let me tell you, there are many times I miss hearing Feliz Navidad, and the traditional exchanging of tamales.

I remember the Christmas we went to Aztec, New Mexico. The small towns in the four corners area were alive with Christmas decorations. As we drove nearer to Aztec, the snow began to fall, and there was a light dusting of snow over the red sandstone boulders that lined the road.

Now that I'm older, I understand the meaning of Christmas lights. Still for me, the lights are the myriad of angels in joyous song exclaiming God's love for man through the birth of Jesus. Christmas will always be a time of light, joyous music, and delightful food, but it is so much more. It is a magical (yes, magical) time when we light up our daily routine with the gift of light, love and laughter.

As I wiped the last of my tears from my eyes, I wondered what had brought me to tears. Our town's seasonal decorations aren't Christian oriented, and there wasn't mariachi music in the square. Strands of lights didn't form a tunnel of light to drive through, and my mind wasn't focused on any of it. The tears had come from something I'd lost, and was given back to me. . . . A childlike love of the season.

So, I'll leave you with this thought; There is nothing offensive in the lights of Christmas, there is nothing wrong with celebrating the birth of a man who came to rescue us. Whether you are Jew, Gentile, Muslim, Buddhist, Atheist or just don't care, what harm is there in remembering a little baby who brought so much hope to the world. Have we become so cynical we can't even enjoy that much? Are we so politically correct we can't recognize that a little child needs to believe in something more than themselves. A jolly old elf can't harm anyone. What's the big deal if some fighter pilot gets the joy of strapping on his fighter jet and escorts Santa across the nation? I guarantee you, that pilot wants to fly that jet and is willing to let Santa go to the White House. 

I'm thankful I got my childhood back, I'll wake up Wednesday morning, eagerly await the phone calls from my dispersed children, I'll call my lovely wife, my brothers, as well as my Mom and Dad.  Once I've talked my head off, I'll put Miracle on 34^th street in the DVD player. I may even do the Grinch, simply because I love the music, and wait for Glenda to come home.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Of Skunks, Shields, and Beatrice Bandersnatch

Have I mentioned yet, I hate skunks.  I know, I’ll probably get nasty terse comments from those of you who have had your pet skunk neutralized, sanitized, and , made house compatible, but it won’t change my opinion one bit.  I live out in rural northwest Arkansas, amidst cow pastures, deer runs, squirrels, armadillos, roadrunners, ground hogs, and other wildlife.  I enjoy them all, except for the skunks. 

When we first moved here in 1995, I didn’t know how prolific, nor did I have a clue as to how determined the little creatures are to take up residence underneath your home.  After about the twelfth ‘skunking’ in less than a year, I finally succeeded in securing my home from their attacks.  These attacks usually came on Saturday nights just before church, so I began calling them the skunks from hell.  Every once in a while, I’ll let down my defenses, and one of the little buggers will slip in through some impossible hole.  This has gone on for nearly eighteen years now, until Beatrice Bandersnatch came along.

Beatrice Bandersnatch is a jet black miniature . . . .something.  We were told she is a ‘pidoodle’ but I don’t know what that is.  All I do know is that when she first came to our home as a small puppy, she left her pidoodle puddles everywhere.  This tendency forced me to put her out on our enclosed patio on the back of our home.  We put her out at night, and leave her there during the day while we are at work.  One of the unintended benefits of her being on the patio is a rapid decline in skunk attacks.  “Bea”, as we call her, is a yapper.  Her sense of smell is terrible, but she can hear birds in the back yard, squirrels in the pecan tree, and . . . other dogs barking everywhere.  SHE IS TERRITORIAL!  She loves people, but can’t stand critters, especially birds.  (This is one of the reasons I go to the Church office to enjoy the sparrows.)  Did I mention that Bea is not my dog?  She belongs to my wife, but that is another story. 

Anyway, for the last four years, we’ve enjoyed relative freedom from skunks, until two nights ago. After four years of potty training, and battling with her to keep her off of our bed, I finally relented to allowing Bea into the house on cold nights.  The first two nights went remarkably good, she slept in her bed, didn’t yap, and she didn’t leave any surprises.  Sunday night, the temperature was surprisingly warm for December, so Bea wanted to stay out on the patio.  Out she went.

Then it happened. 

I have a few questions for the Lord when we get to heaven, and one of them will be about skunks.  The unmistakable aroma of skunk began to waft through our bedroom, and Glenda moaned “There’s skunks under the house.”  

“There can’t be.”  I replied while desperately hoping it was all a bad dream.  Then I heard Bea barking her head off.  I got up, turned on the porch light, and looked out the back door.   The door to the patio was closed, I opened the door just a crack , and was assaulted by the most violent odor on earth.  In all my time on this earth, I’ve never smelled such a high concentration of skunk smell.  I quickly closed the door, and retreated into our ‘stinky’ house.  Bea continued to do her territorial bark for nearly two hours, while I tossed and turned in the pit of skunk hell. 

Discovering what happened would have to wait till that afternoon, as my wife, and I both leave before daybreak for work. 

When I got home yesterday evening, I began my walk around the usual places where the skunks have gone in before.  Everything was good.  Then I came around the backyard.  Needless to say, it was not good.  The smell was deadly to say the least.  There, at the bottom of the glass door leading to our patio was this dinner plate sized greasy splotch of skunk spray.  The picture of what happened, became  clear to me in an instant.  Bea, who’d been in the house for the last few days, had ‘surprised’ a skunk as it made its way around our home.  In terror at the sight of this ferocious black creature barking at it, the skunk let go.  SPLAT all over the glass.  

I began to laugh as I realized how remarkably funny this must have been.  If it hadn’t been for the glass door, Bea would be a stinky ball of fur in a kitchen sink being washed with tomato juice.  She had a shield, but she didn’t know it.  For her, the glass is a boundary to her freedom.  It keeps her from running the yard as she likes to do.  (She has never run away in the four years we’ve owned her.)  We actually keep her in the patio to protect her from the many coyotes that infest the area.  She isn’t afraid of anything except for my brother’s white Labrador that passed away just recently.  Without fear, we knew she was no match for the pack of coyotes that roam the area.  Therefore, she is in her glass cage, free to bark, free to live, but not free to run at night.  It was at this moment that I had a Spiritual insight.

Christ is our shield.  He is there, transparent, but strong.  From the outside, to those looking in, it may appear as if Christians are imprisoned within a glass cage of silly rules that have no apparent purpose.  Beyond our transparent shield, there are so many harmless pleasures that can be enjoyed.  Outside of the confines of the ‘patio’ is a world just waiting to be discovered.  To outsiders, the patio of our faith must appear to be a cruel, rigid prison.  The glass ‘rules’ of kindness, compassion, love, and forgiveness, are not conducive to success in this modern world.  The posts of prayer and bible study are a waste of time to those who’ve never experienced the strength they provide in times of trial.  The shield of faith goes unseen, until the enemy comes at us.  Then we realize how valuable it is.  Those things that would destroy us, splatter harmlessly against it, while we continue to yap at the enemy from the other side.  We find shelter in the Lord of Hosts.  We still see the evil around us, but it doesn’t come nigh our tent.  Does the stench of sin still waft all around us?  Yes, but we are untouched by it.  Does the enemy still prowl around at night seeking to devour?  Yes, but he is repelled by the power of Christ’s love for us. 

As my days on this earth become fewer, I’ve learned to trust the shield of faith.  Psalm 91 has become a mantra for me.  I’m like the little sparrow that nests within the framework of the tabernacle, my shield, my fortress, my residence is within the presence of God.  I only keep my eyes open to see the surprise on the face of the wicked when their best efforts splatter against the shield of faith.  I meditate upon the transparent glass of faith, able to see out, but not desiring to ‘be’ out.  That is the new creation I’ve become in Christ Jesus. 

It cost me a night of sleep, but it was a good lesson.  

The Warrior in Me

Veteran’s Day is always a mixed bag for me.  Having served fifteen years in the United States Air Force, from 1980 to 1995, I am always honored when people recognize my service to the country.  Having served through the Cold War, Panama, and Desert Storm, I’ve seen the value of having a strong defense firsthand.  At the same time, as a Christian I’ve often wrestled with the warrior in me.  Don’t get me wrong, I would love to believe in a utopian ideal of mutual tolerance, respect, honor, and love for one another.  These things are a part of my Christian ethos.  Sadly, at this late stage of my life, I am not naïve enough to believe we will ever see it this side of the Lord’s return. 

I’m weary of our ability as a species to find horrendous ways to kill one another.  With one accidental slip of a test tube, we could unleash monstrous viral diseases that know no boundaries.  Radical, and fearful peoples are now able to construct nuclear weapons without concern for what they are unleashing upon themselves.  We’ve created chemical weapons so toxic, one drop could poison thousands. The reasons for creating these weapons are lost on me.  There is no justification.  With each new weapon, there is a new defense, with each new defense, there is a greater weapon, the cycle goes on and on.  Within our military, there are brave men and women who’ve decided to be at the front lines of defending us from these horrific weapons.  I love these people, but at the same time, my heart goes out to them. 

When I was stationed at Mountain Home Air Force Base in Idaho, I met a wonderful man of God who helped me deal with my inner conflict.  One night as my family and I were having dinner with him, he said; “God creates people to do all kinds of different things.  He creates healers, thinkers, tinkerers, policeman, firefighters, and warriors.  The man who God said was after His own heart, was a warrior king, named David. David was not a bully, he was not a tyrant, but he knew these people existed.  God makes warriors to defend those who can’t or won’t defend themselves from the cruel, and wicked.”

The king David I love, was a shepherd, and a musician before he was a warrior.  David didn’t like being a warrior, and that is why 30 men of valor protected him. They knew he was an honorable man, anointed by God to defend Israel.  Later in his life, David was weary of fighting, and let his son take the kingdom from him.  It was the worst thing a warrior could do.  An angry son trampled upon the peace purchased with the blood of his mighty men, and David was powerless to stop him.  When David desired to build a house of worship for the God he loved, God couldn’t let it happen. There is always the issue of blood spilled in battle, and in the course of our lives.

We ask our young men, and women to do terrible things, and we expect them to come back home to us unchanged.  While the weapons of warfare have changed, the same thing is true from generation to generation, killing another human being is a frightful thing.  I’ve seen the faraway look in a warrior’s eyes as the memory of his actions replay over, and over again. These are things I wish upon no one. My own son-in-law, David, is in the Army Reserves, and he is in an extremely dangerous job.  About a year ago, he was supposed to go to Afghanistan, and I had to pray that God’s will for his life would be done.  I didn’t fear for his life, I feared for his soul.  I didn’t want him going there, and coming back with the ghosts of war.   A warrior loves peace, but rarely finds it.  There are too many cruel, and wicked people out there. The things we have to do to stand up against them leaves men broken, and empty. I can’t say I wasn’t relieved when they cancelled his deployment.  I know he wanted to go, but obviously God knew better. 

So, for David, and those like him who have a warrior’s heart, I pray for you that you will live long enough to be weary with war.  I pray that our men and women who have placed their first  class citizenship on hold, and become 2^nd class citizens, will find a moment to be proud of being human, more than being warriors. The warrior in me knows the exhilaration of being part of a vast army, while the Christ/man in me knows the joy of being meek.  Still, I know that outside of this bright beacon of hope, and liberty, are despots, evil minded, and yes, even the mentally ill in positions of power, which do not hold to my ideal of a Utopian world where killing, and malice are banished.  God has made you warriors to stand against them for us. I salute you, as once others saluted me.  I wore my uniform with pride, and can point to the successes of my time in service, but I would rather point to the successes of the savior’s love at work within me.  I would rather go to Nicaragua, and hand a child a soccer ball than to lob a grenade at a young boy who only a few years ago would have gladly taken the ball from my hand.  I would rather fill a shoebox with trinkets, little toys, and necessary items and send them off through Operation Christmas Child, than to see one more bomb dropped from an aircraft. 

Therefore, I’ll pray for all of you who serve, that you come home safe, unchanged, and whole. 

God bless all of you who are now, who have been, and those who will someday be warriors. 

Happy Veteran’s Day.   

Awe and Wonder

I can still remember that magical (yes, it was magical) moment when I experienced awe, and wonder for the first time.  It was a mild fall evening in El Paso, Texas, in 1966.  I was lying on the grass looking at the moon through a 20x telescope I’d received as a gift that year.  For an eleven-year-old boy, that telescope was the invitation to worlds unknown.  Never mind that it wasn’t any better than a good pair of binoculars, or that it was almost impossible to hold it still without a tripod.  It was my ticket to the stars.  On that fateful October evening, my arms grew tired, forcing me to lay the telescope down to let the blood return to my arms once more.  The moon was just a sliver in the crisp desert night sky, and there were more stars that night than I’d ever seen before.  As I stared into the depths of space, I wondered where it all ended?  Where was the end to the vast field of stars that beckoned me?  What was beyond the end of the universe?. 

I couldn’t imagine an end.

As I peered upward, and outward, I experienced awe for the first time in my life. My heart rate went up, and seemed to suddenly stop.  The air left my lungs in a long slow breath as my infantile, finite mind tried to cope with the infinite.  The harder I tried to comprehend the vastness of the universe, the more awestruck I became.  In that instant, I became fascinated with all things ‘space’.  It was a good time for it.  The ‘space race’ was at its peak, and it seemed every day was a new leap forward to the cosmos.  I had tons of questions, and an insatiable curiosity.  Even as I became enthralled with science, astronomy, and rockets, I was also coming to know the creator of the universe in a much smaller space, my heart.  At first, the two seemed to be worlds apart.  It seemed as if science was trying to dispel the notion of God, while at the same time, religion as I experienced it, was at odds with science.  I wrestled many long nights with doubt, and disbelief. I knew within my heart, and spirit, that I was experiencing the presence of God through faith in Christ, but at the same time I knew what I was learning in the classroom didn’t allow for the idea of God.  The awe, and wonder of that magical fall evening slipped into a dull ache for the truth.  For a few years, I enjoyed the rapture of science as I became increasingly interested in visiting worlds beyond this rock we call home.  Science Fiction novels were a daily diet. Scientific American magazines littered my room.  My favorite atomic particle was the neutrino, and a paper I wrote in the 9^th grade on it, won me a trip to a science symposium at the University of New Mexico.  This was heady stuff for a wide-eyed teenager.  The tug of war between science, and faith went back and forth  throughout my school years.

I couldn’t imagine an end to the conflict. 

 A great sadness followed me for many years as I wrestled with my faith in God, and my love of science.  After High School, I became less concerned with science, and followed my faith.  When I was amongst Christians, I would never discuss science for fear of being revealed as a closet scientist.  I wouldn’t talk with anyone about the way I’d come to peace with both aspects of my being.  I didn’t want to be labeled a heretic, or unbeliever, when actually the opposite was the truth.  I’d raged war with myself, the tough stuff was over, and I was  believer in more than a savior.  I’d fallen in love with more than a cold, judgmental God.  I’d pushed past the dogma of both science, and faith,  into an intensely personal relationship with the One I know created the infinite.  It didn’t matter what others thought about my beliefs, I knew I loved the savior of my soul, His creation, and even the people on both sides who demanded absolute obeisance to their dogma.  I could talk with, walk with, touch, and feel the creator of this physical vale. 

I couldn’t imagine an end to this relationship with the Creator. 

Fast forward forty-seven years to a cold October morning where I came face to face with that same feeling of awe and wonder, and it came from the strangest of places.  I was reading an article on the internet concerning the Higgs-Boson, and its implications for the universe.  The article was this vast exploration of the different theories surrounding this elusive particle.  Almost every model created for studying the existence of the Higgs, ended in a catastrophic end to the universe.  The vast reaches of the universe had an end to it.  The Big Bang would end in a big entropic collapse.  Bummer!  Most particle physicists, and those who report on them embrace the end of the universe with the same religious fervor of fundamentalist Christians.  It becomes all they can talk about.  Particle physics becomes like the book of Revelation, a foretelling of impending doom.  Unified theories are just as elusive as proof of God’s existence.  String theory, superstrings, dark matter, gravity lensing,  everything we can think of comes to an eventual end.  Suddenly as I thought of all the struggle these scientists were facing in dealing with ‘how’ this universe works, I came face to face with my own struggle once more.  The men and women who obsess over what makes this universe work, and those who obsess over the One who makes it work, all have bills to pay, families to support, spouses to love, and children to nurture.  This universe goes on as it has for eons, and will go on for more time than we will live.  The profound things of the spiritual, or scientific are only profound to those who share in its intricacies.  At either end of the spectrum of faith, the zealots will beat their drums, and call for the death of the non-believers.  Somewhere in the middle of this silly debate, people like me, see the beauty of the Creator written in a little child’s giggle, or in the dance of sunbeams over orange, and fire laced clouds.  Life is more than what you can see in an equation, or in a spiritual icon.  This moment, this instant is infinitely more precious than infinity.   Whether you believe in God, or not, the question isn’t ‘what’ you loved, but ‘who’ you loved.  Throughout the world, cemeteries are filled with heretics, agnostics, fanatics, and scientists.  Parked next door to them are evangelists, pastors, prophets, and lay people of all creeds.  These things seem to get lost when the fires of passion rage among the faithful in either camp.  As I sat there considering the forecasted lifespan of our universe, it happened again, nearly forty-seven years after that fateful October night, I had another moment where my heart took off like a rocket, and my lungs emptied themselves in a slow exhale.  I know the answer to the problem, but it isn’t something I can put to numbers.  In the word of God, it says that in the end, God will roll up the universe like a scroll.  The prophets are right, and the scientists are right.  Both sides say it will all end, someday.  

Problem is, I still can’t imagine an end.   Therefore, I lean back in my chair, close my eyes, put my hands behind my head, and smile smugly. I experience the awe, and wonder once more, feeling the familiar presence of God more than ever before.  

The Illusion of Power

Let me preface this blog, by saying that I've been studying Psalms 37 for inclusion into our Men's study on Sundays.  For over a month, I've been reading it, and rehearsing it.  I know it well, because many years ago, (too many) I put it to song as a lullaby for my children. Those many years ago, I didn't know what I know now.  Yet, it is nice to have the melody to rehearse the passage.  

I hope my Christian friends, and family will take the time to read this blog, and understand where I'm coming from, because in this present day, I sense hopelessness within the Church. I am not speaking to the wicked, because that is the job of the Holy Spirit.  I'm not warning the evildoers, for they have already been warned.  I want to talk to my Christian brothers, and sisters.  We have to be very careful about how we (Christians) carry ourselves in the face of dissent, and even outright aggression.  It is too easy to allow the hostility towards all things Christian to be viewed as criticism of ourselves.  God's admonishment through the Psalmist David is just as true today, as it was then.  Power is an illusion.  

The wicked, and the evildoer expend their energy, and resources on those things that will fade upon their deaths.  Even if they try to leave an inheritance to their children, it is quickly consumed, or stolen. If we take a stroll through history, we find those who had real power, never took it's mantle upon them. Real power is not measured in what you can take to yourself, but in what you can give away.  If at the end of this life you are empty of all that you possessed, you've exercised ultimate power.  The promise of Psalms 37 is implied and hidden within the obvious.  The wicked, and evildoers are grass, and herbs.  They get mowed down and wither.  There is another scripture, Isaiah 61:3 that tells us that those who trust in God shall be 'trees of righteousness.'  It is a vivid comparison.  The wicked may have their day in the sun, the powerful may breathe their hatred for life, but the righteous will endure.  Our greatest concern for the wicked, and the powerful should be prayerful concern.  Our greatest evil toward them should be to love their souls while they are yet breathing, and able to repent.  

Sadly, it is all too easy to become impassioned at the things we see the wicked getting by with.  We can be tricked into feeling that God doesn't see the things they do, nor is He just in letting them prosper while we suffer. We can be trapped into breathing out hatred, slander, and innuendo, which have nothing to do with being Christ like at all.  Do the powerful do dumb things?  YES!  Do the wicked live out lives of happiness while here on this earth?  YES!  Do the evildoers escape temporal judgement?  YES!  

BUT, they don't escape eternal judgment.  Eternity awaits!  

King David is remembered far more than the evil kings who surrounded him.  He has left an eternal mark upon the history of mankind.  Even more, he has left his mark upon the eternal course of life through his Son Jesus.

Psalms 37:3 puts it in the same light as Jesus did Matthew chapter six.  All of the sermon on the mount is about trusting God even in the midst of powerlessness.  It is about believing and trusting in what God said.  Then comes the admonishment:  "and do good."   It is that simple.  Trust God, and do good.  Jesus said that we have to 'do the things He said.'   If in our moral, or righteous indignation, we begin to hate, we are no better than the powerful who rely on themselves.  Our fire, and desire for judgment become a trap.  I don't agree with all that is done in government, business, and in society as a whole, but if I wish evil upon those who I perceive as wicked, I become trapped in wickedness myself.  I prefer to let God be the judge.  I prefer Him, because I know He is more merciful than I could ever be.  I prefer God to judge because I know he judged me worthy of His Son, and made a way for me to be redeemed when I was more wicked than any of those I judge.  

This last week, our church packed over 900 boxes for Operation Christmas Child, in a small corner of those boxes, in some small way, my heart will be carried to a small child who has never known the love of Christ. I believe in the small things.  I believe in the tender touches that have no way to be returned.  I believe in doing things for which there is no way for me to realize monetary gain, or to be applauded for what I did.  I prefer for my left hand not to know what the right hand is doing, lest my mind begin to be puffed up.  Somewhere in this world a little child will open a shoebox filled with love, and I will have realized the greatest power of all, the power to make a child smile.  That is the power of love.

Power is an illusion, LOVE is real.    

The Grace I Walk In

The Sparrow’s Perch seems like a distant memory to me now.  The winter months, combined with a hectic work schedule made it difficult to spend time in the Perch.  Actually, so much has changed over the winter, I’m eager to begin spending time up here once again.  As the Men’s pastor of our faith fellowship, I’ve been leading  a study into the Kingdom of God, and our part in it.    As we’ve gone through our study, I’ve come to realize how much I didn’t know about the Kingdom.  I’ve always been more concerned with living in the Presence of God than with the day-to-day exercise of the Kingdom.  It didn’t take long in our study for me to realize I wasn’t the only one. 

I don’t want to use this blog to talk about what we’re learning in our men’s group, because I already have another blog for that purpose.  Actually, I’d like to share how this study is affecting me personally.  Probably the biggest change is my focus.  I’m not talking about my priorities, but the focus of my attention.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve begun to look forward to the moment in my life when I can slow down.  To wax biblical, I’d always dreamed of the day when I could sit in the city gate, and bore younger men with what I’ve learned.  This does not seem to be how it is happening.  I’m actually busier at my ‘secular’  job than I’ve ever been before, while at the same time, my ministry has moved away from the Church into the daily work-a-day life.  I find myself encouraging, admonishing, praying, and even teaching in informal settings that challenge me to be more aware of what others are going through, and to listen to what others say.  This isn’t a natural position for me.  I’ve always been a leader in the body of Christ first, and a ‘worker’ second.  There was a time when I resented the intrusion of the physical into my hunger for the spiritual.  Serving, ministering, and giving my time to the ‘body of Christ’ came naturally to me, until of late.  Now, I’m beginning to see a greater family than our local fellowship.  I’ve discovered how to be a vessel for God’s grace to be shown to those outside of our fellowship. It’s an unusual position for me to be in.  I’m still learning how to move this way.   Which brings me back to what we’re learning in our Men’s group. 

As I said earlier, we’ve spent about seven weeks (actually more,) delving into the deep waters of ‘grace.’   I’ve enjoyed the rapport between our men, and the discussion of grace being more than just forgiveness.  My opinion is, that  God would have used the word ‘forgiveness’ if that was all that grace is.  Instead, we’ve discovered a dynamic, powerful, and thrilling definition of grace that makes what God is doing in me understandable. 

My simple definition for ‘grace’ is: The ability to do God’s stuff. 

Now, don’t go crazy on me and start sending me nasty comments. I didn’t say ‘do God stuff’, but to do HIS will, you know. . . God’s stuff.  What God created us to do, what Christ came to earth to show us how we can do it.  Through the abiding presence of the Holy Spirit, men can do what God wants done.  We can do HIS stuff.  Maybe I see it too simplistic, but I do see it.  It isn’t what you, or others can do, it’s what he wants me to do.  He’s not only given me the authority, but also given the power to accomplish those things that God wants done on this earth.  2^nd Peter, chapter 1 and John chapter 17 are the two most clear cut scriptures that support this idea.  Through the power of the Holy Spirit, He has given us everything we need for life and godliness.  The power He has given us, is for more than sitting in the city gate and arguing the details of the Christian life, it is for the advancement of the Kingdom.  

First, and foremost, he wants to redeem all mankind, so he gives me the words, knowledge, and ability to share the gospel of Jesus Christ.  I CAN DO THAT.   We’ve learned that salvation is more than just the redemption of our soul, it is for us to do the kind of God stuff that blesses people in THIS life.  He wants to bless all mankind physically through healing, deliverance, and blessing.  Through the power of the Holy Spirit dwelling in me, I CAN DO THAT. 

“WHAT?”  You ask. 

Like the parable in Luke 19: 11-27, Christ has gone away to receive His Kingdom, leaving us gifts to witness of Him.  Those gifts are His grace (favor).  He’s left us with the means to accomplish His will. He left us with the order to do ‘His stuff.’  Our rebirth into His Kingdom has empowered us, and authorized us to share the benefits of His Kingdom with all men.  Therefore, when I go out into the ‘world’ every day, I’m going out as an ambassador of His Kingdom, empowered and authorized to do anything that will advance His Kingdom.  Maybe it’s too simplistic to say He’s left us the ability to do HIS stuff, but what else can we say? Why are we left here on this earth after giving ourselves over to the Lord?  Wouldn’t it be wiser to simply take us home the minute we profess our faith in Him?  The answer has to be that there is stuff we have to do.  We have to follow his example, yield ourselves to the power of the Holy Spirit, and become children of God. As His dear children, we are given the same Holy Spirit which raised Christ from the dead.  He has empowered, and authorized us to act as sons of God.   We can even forgive sins, (ooooohhhhh that one got Christ in trouble with the religious leaders of the day,) and it is what he wants us to do today.  Yet it goes farther than that.  God’s grace gives us the authority, and power to do the miraculous through the name of Jesus.

The other morning I texted the men in our group and encouraged them to find an opportunity to show God’s grace.  It wasn’t long before one of the men asked me to define Grace again.   I guess I should’ve just said:  Look for an opportunity to do God’s stuff today.  What is God’s stuff. 

Simple; LOVE.

His love makes the suffering of others insufferable.  His love makes the afflictions of others intolerable.  His love makes oppression, and injustice, distasteful.  His love demands action, and we, His children are the ones He has entrusted with his grace to do it.   It is in this alone that the presence of God is manifest.

Man, this Kingdom stuff is so difficult.  

My Review of Jesus Culture's "Live From New York"

My lovely daughter, Amy, gave me  some “iTunes” gift cards for my birthday, and I’ve carried them around with me for more than a month. I’ve been waiting for the chance to redeem them, but it’s a complicated process when you don’t have high speed internet at your home.  I do all of my ‘internet’ stuff in my office at the church, and lately it’s just been too cold to go there in the mornings.  Yesterday, I finally took the time to download some music, and I’ve been listening to it ever since.  

If you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time, you know I’m big on the Presence of God.  My office here at the church is one of my favorite places to slip into the lap of the Savior, and let Him soothe my soul.  My second favorite place is in the embrace of awesome praise, and worship music.  We are blessed in our church to have an abundance of talented musicians, which makes our praise, and worship dynamic beyond explanation, but I can’t take them with me to work.  So, I was thankful to download the latest from my favorite worship band ‘Jesus Culture,’  titled “Live from New York.” 

WOW!  Don’t you hate it when three letters are all you can utter about something so good?   Wow!

I have followed this dynamic group of young people for over three years, and have been moved through every emotion you can imagine as I’ve listened to their sincere heart for Christ.  Each album has thrilled me with their unique blend of driving rhythms, superb guitar work, and soul wrenching vocals.  In my opinion, (I know I’m in trouble when I say this) they took the mantle of Hillsong, and smote the waters with it.  Each album has a different flavor, driven by what they are experiencing in their spiritual growth.  “Live from New York” is right on par with my favorite album “Love Never Fails.”   

What can you say about Kim Walker/Smith?  Her amazing range, power, and anointing move the live audience to a point of worshipful rapture.  If you’ve never seen a video of her in concert, you’ve missed seeing the spirit of King David in a waif of a child.  When I hear her sing, I know the Father of all creation had her in mind when he created vocal chords.  I’m sure he put them in us, so they would be there for her to praise Him.  Her rendition of ‘Pursuit,’ and ‘Walk with me,’  caused me to have to stop what I was doing today, fall to my knees, and weep.  She took both songs into a place I wasn’t expecting.  What is fun about her, is that she’s just as comfortable rocking out at the top of her lungs.  There is a passion in her that infects everyone. 

Christ Quilala is beyond description.  He is a consummate worship leader, vocalist, and musician.  When he pairs with Kim, the music moves beyond simple formula into a powerful expression of adoration, and worship.  Chris obviously loves Jesus with his entire being, and it shows in his passion for worship.  Every time I hear him sing, I wish I could sing with the purity of voice he has.  I just turn the music up louder and pretend I do.   HA!  

An unusual, but welcome addition to this album was Martin Smith of  Delirious.   I’ve never been a huge fan of Delirious, probably because my hearing isn’t what it used to be, and I have to work hard to understand what he’s saying when he sings. (I am all about the lyrics.)  He is a worship leader, and anointed vocalist.  You can tell his influence upon the mood of the album, as it moves from anthem, to driving praise, to anthem, to adoration. 

I’ve only listened to the album four times today, so I haven’t found all my favorites yet.  I usually have to listen to an album about twenty times to know what I like and don’t like.  I’m like a kid in a candy store.  I want to taste it all, and then chew on it a while. 

Right now, I am completely in love with  “Pursuit,” “Walk With Me,” “I am in Love With You,” “Show Me Your Glory/Majesty.”   The cover of “I am in Love With You,” is flawless, I’m sure Darrell would be proud.  

If you are into rocking worship, driven praise, and passionate adoration, this album is a must have.  

My Wife, My Home

It’s cold up here in the sparrow’s perch.  Lately, we've had some wonderful days of sunshine, temps in the 60’s and 50’s and much needed rain. So, it was a little bit of a shock to wake up to temps in the 20’s this morning.  I haven’t been coming to the church to do my writing lately, simply because it is much more difficult, and expensive to warm my office than it is to open the window and let a cool breeze blow through during the summer.  Besides, the sparrows that bring me so much joy, are hunkered down somewhere else, hopefully warmer, and well fed. 

These things wouldn't have bothered me in the past.  I wouldn't have cared about the 'stinking little sparrows.'  As the course of my life draws closer to it’s inevitable conclusion, I find myself less concerned with what I possess, what people do to me, and what I get out of a situation.  Suddenly, sparrows matter to me. Grandchildren, babies, and little ones make me giggle. I didn't used to care about these things, but now I do. At the same time, my body is less able to do those things that my heart would like to do.  I used to be able to stay up till midnight, wake up at five, and work endlessly in between.  Now, I am happy to lay my head down at 8, wake at 4, and lay in bed till five.  My wife’s job forces her to be up at 3 in the morning so she can prepare to be at work by five, and when she leaves at 4:30, the house is quiet, lonely, and actually the last place I want to be.  Which brings me to what I want to talk about, my wife.

Home is my wife.  (No, I’m not trying to talk like Yoda.)  My wife is literally, my home. Throughout the years of our marriage, we've lived in six different States, twelve different cities, and about that many different abodes.  Everywhere we've lived, one thing has remained constant, HER. She is my home. Her raucous laughter, sparkling eyes, and gentle touch are what drive me during the rest of the day.  There is a Proverb that says; ‘happy is the man who finds a wife, for he has found the favor of God.’   I've lived in the favor of God for over 37 years now.  Seeing her, knowing she is ‘here’, is all I need.  She is my home. 

I build houses, remodel, and repair houses for a living.  I know what houses look like from the dirt, on up.  I can show you the difference between a home, and a house.  I've seen way too many houses in my lifetime.  I've seen gorgeous gilded boxes, that have no more life in them than an empty candy box.  I've seen tiny shotgun homes with so much warmth, and love, you wouldn't ever need to turn on the heater.  I’ve seen houses crammed to the rafters with the stuff money buys, and yet they are nothing more than museums for the lunacy of our materialistic lifestyles. Things don’t make us happy, they are substitutes for the real happiness of intimacy with someone who loves you. 

I know my wife is the breath, aroma, and home in my life.  Not long ago, I was reminded of how crucial she is to me.  She’d been called upon to sub for another worker who worked midnight shift. This went on for nearly two weeks.  I didn't sleep while she was gone. You see, we've been married for so long now, her breathing is what gives me my sleep pattern.  Without her there, I would toss, turn, punch pillows, read, pray, and do everything I knew to sleep.  Without her there, I wasn't home.  My own house was a strange place to me.  I heard noises I don’t usually hear.  I thought thoughts that I don’t usually think, and I . . . .missed her. 

Now, before you start thinking all kinds of wrong thoughts, we’re not a perfect couple.  I’m sure she wishes I were more attentive, more interested in what she is interested in, and I wish the same thing.  We take each other for granted. That is more to do with the circumstances of life than a desire of the heart. We've been blessed by God to weather this financial mess our Nation is in, but then isn't that what a home is.  It is a place to keep you safe, warm, and make living bearable.  She is all that to me, and more.  She is just one more assurance of the provision of God in my life. 

Glenda, I've found the favor of God in you.  You are my home, and will always be.   

Not Feeling So Well Myself

Good Ol' Mark Twain.  So many of his witticisms have wound up in my cranial cavity, I'm almost embarrassed to admit it.  Yes, I enjoyed the master story teller, and his penchant for captivating what most of us feel at one time or another.  The quote came from a speech he gave upon hearing that he'd been mentioned in a long line of great, but dead authors. Let me give you the quote. “I was sorry to have my name mentioned as one of the great authors, because they have a sad habit of dying off. Chaucer is dead, Spencer is dead, so is Milton, so is Shakespeare, and I’m not feeling so well myself.”
Actually, when the quote came to me, I was thinking of the song "Feeling Alright" by Joe Cocker.  Joe is one of my favorite musicians of all time. The reason I was even thinking of the song, is because I've been fighting a cold for the last week.  The simple chorus goes: "feeling al'right?  I'm not feeling too good myself."  I'm sure Joe got his inspiration from Mark, though.  If not, my apologies Mr. Cocker.  
You see, this morning I was grousing to the Lord about how long it was taking for me to get over this stinking cold. (Actually, I was whining.)  I get colds about twice a year.  I usually get one in early November, and get a summer cold sometime around July or early August.  I consider them (colds) to be a natural rhythm to my life.  I've never known a year when I didn't get one.  When I didn't get one in November, I considered myself to be living in the favor of God.  My wife Glenda, had already fought one nasty bout of the flu around the Christmas season, and it never touched me.  YEAH, FEELING ALRIGHT! As the flu season erupted and our local hospital filled to capacity, I moved in and through the mess with relative ease.  Must be living right!  Then came my birthday.  You know, the first day of February.  A FRIDAY!  Nothing went my way.  Glenda was already beginning to fight off another bout of flu, I had to work the entire day, my kids didn't come visit me, no one called from the church family, and it was just an ordinary day to everyone else, but me.  To add insult to injury, my wife makes my favorite cake, and then decides to give half of it away to her co-workers. AUUUUUGGGHHHH!  For some reason, which is not in my character, (my family can testify) I had made this birthday important.  It wasn't all bad. Throughout the day, all three of my children called me and wished me a Happy Birthday.  I got a cute e-card from my oldest daughter, but even my mother forgot it was my birthday.  MY MOTHER NEVER FORGETS MY BIRTHDAY! What in the world is going on here? Where are the men from the church?  Where's my mom, and dad?  Even my Dad forgot.  What in the world?  Needless to say, I went to bed that night in a serious blue funk.  Joe Cocker, and I could have done a great duet on 'Feelin alright'.   
Saturday morning I awoke with a slightly scratchy throat.  
Sunday morning, I was beginning to show the tell-tale signs of sinus drainage.  DARN!  Crappy birthday, and now I'm getting a cold.  The Superbowl didn't have either of my favorite teams playing (I have a favorite team in each league.)  Glenda had to work the next day, so we left the Church Superbowl party well before the fantastic second half.  By this time, I'm gritting my teeth.  Not one person even wished me a Happy Birthday, except Chris! (Thank you Chris.)  
I couldn't figure it out.  Why was this birthday so important to me?  It'd never been important to me. As the week progressed, so did the cold.  My wife's bout with the flu, morphed into bronchitis, and now has become sinusitis. Tissue balls litter night stands, tables, and even the floor around chairs.  We're both too tired to do anything.  
I'm waiting. . . . .
The answer is yes, I've prayed.  Something is hindering it.
A lack of faith.  
I'm not afraid to admit it.  It isn't a lack of faith in God's ability to heal, it was a lack of faith in God's ability to provide.  I let my doubt become a moral failure.  
I refuse to blame my lack of faith, moral failure, or plain old ignorance, on God's willingness or ability to heal. I am a firm believer in God's ability, willingness, and ongoing ability to heal.  I don't believe we have to beg, have prayer vigils, fast, or do any number of other things the Patriarchs did, because Jesus paid it all.  Is this body gonna die?  Yes, it has to in order for me to inherit the Kingdom of God. Will sickness be the cause of my death?  Yes, old age is sickness. Old age is the deterioration of the bodies ability to repair, and renew itself. Certain glands in my body stopped functioning years ago, and my body can only repair itself, now.  I don't know what I will look like in heaven, but I sure don't want the body I've got now.  I want that body that sported sensational abs, cut thighs, and. . .well I never did have an exceptional upper body.  I would be content with a body that doesn't hurt in the morning as I roll out of bed.  
I believe the reason I got slammed in the dirt with this stinking 'cold,' is because I let my heart become offended over my lack of a birthday. (My mother forgot me!) Somehow, I'd let the enemy sneak in, and rob me of my joy.  Joy (not happiness) is the number one defender against illness. I was angry, and my body was busy working on my anger. Testosterone was raging, adrenaline was surging, and my spiritual defense system was offline.  I don't think the enemy of my soul dumped it on me, I did a perfectly good job all by myself.  I let a simple birthday get me down, my body reacted to the bitterness, and the stinking rhino-virus did it's job.  
I don't believe God puts sickness on anyone.  I believe when we are overcome with cancers, infirmities, and other issues of the body, we should immediately go to the one who bought our healing.  Do I believe in medicine? ABSOLUTELY!  God gave us this amazing cranial mass to create, invent, heal, restore, build, name, discover, and most of all, BELIEVE!  It's the other crap we do with it, that messes us up.  Please don't assume that I believe all sickness, diseases, or afflictions are because of bad feelings.  I don't believe God puts them on you because you messed up.  I believe you mess up, and then stumble into them.  If you didn't mess up, if it's genetic, or just a process of living in this messed up world, there is still an answer in the blood, of Jesus.  
Last Sunday we had Communion, and I failed to realize the anger working in me. When we partake of the Communion it is a two edged sword, at one side, if we recognize our sin, and accept the broken body of Jesus as our healing, then we can in true faith expect the healing.  If we've allowed our selfish desires to overcome us, (as I had) then the cup, and the cracker avail us nothing.  We eat unworthily, and our diseases move with us, some even to the point of killing us. (This is all very scriptural, look in the book of James, and the book of Corinthians.)  
As a final word:  Throughout this week, I've been surrounded with people who are suffering through sickness, diseases, tumors, and other health issues.  It hasn't caused me to doubt in the healing power of Jesus name.  All I have to do is reach up, and take what has already been purchased for me.  I have to believe it is there.  Believing is the release agent for healing.  I just had to repent of my stupid thinking.  I'm already feeling better.             

If I Were God

If I were God, I would wipe out every evil despicable person on the earth.  I would not allow them to inflict their evil on other innocent people, I would not allow them to be sweet little children who warmed their mother’s heart, while knowing they would later break it.  I would choke the life out of them in their mother’s womb, so that they would never breathe, or breed.  If I were God. . .

If I were God, I would obliterate stupid people who choose to live in the most dangerous places on earth.   I would send famines to completely wipe out stupidity.  I would laugh, and say; “You will never be able to breathe, or breed stupidity again.”  I would send flood, earthquake, unending ice and snow, torrential rain, and unyielding sun.  Stupid people don’t deserve to live! That’s what I would do, If I were God. . . . .

If I were God, I would cause you unbearable pain every time you had a wicked thought.  I would put a control collar on you at birth, and punish you every time you didn't acknowledge me as God.  I would burn your eyes out the first time you looked at something you shouldn't.  I would make you bow down and worship me for my greatness.  You wouldn't have a choice in the matter.  No one would dare question my greatness, or wonder if I even exist. I wouldn't allow one person to doubt me,  if I were God. . . . . . .

I would destroy every thought that wasn't my thought, I would make you think what I want you to think.  You would never have a creative thought, a singular insight, or be inspired by anything but me. . .you wouldn't love anyone else but me. . . .If I were God. . . .

THANKFULLY, I am not God. 

This is for the sweet widow woman, struggling to understand how God could allow the murder of the sweet little children at Sandy Hook Elementary. The reason men still exist at all, is because God is love. If any of us were God, we would have wiped the whole stinking mess out and started over. Doing that, would be unthinkable. 

I am not God, and neither are you.  I don’t want a God who executes us based on what we’ll do in the future.  When does he stop it?  When would he intervene?  Would He have suffocated Adam Lanza in his mother’s womb, never allowing her to know the joy of holding him in her arms?  Would he control who is conceived by choosing to close a woman’s womb?  Would you rob a father of the little girl pretending to be a ballerina, knowing full well she will eventually become a drug addict?  When would you intervene if you were God?  Is there ever hope for redemption?  Surely, at your age, you know that evil men lurk in shadows the innocent avoid.  Surely, you know men, and women both have moments when hate or anger becomes murderous.  As for natural disasters, people will choose to live in the shadow of volcanoes, the edge of our restless oceans, beneath man-made dams, and at the top of spires of steel and stone.  We choose to bob upon the waters in wood, and steel.  We place ourselves in cylinders of steel and aluminum, nestled between metal wings, or piercing the ocean’s depths.  We speed along in inventions of our own creation, moving faster, higher, and in greater masses than at any time in our history. Men create the engines of their own destruction. I don't doubt God's love or his goodness based upon man's cruelty or stupidity.  As I sit here in the sparrow's perch aching over the inhumanity with which we treat one another, I watch the sparrows puffed out against the winter chill. God provides for them, and they neither fret nor worry.  Their short lives are meaningful to the creator, He sees when even one falls to the ground. He cares for us much more than he does the sparrow.  It's us, his creation, who don't care for one another. We don't have the capacity to be God.   

How would you protect society from the men who steal little girls, and boys to satisfy their lustful pleasures?  How do you stamp out evil when it is in every one of us. Evil is everywhere moving through darkened streets, and in broad daylight, killing with wanton abandon.  God didn't create death. To stop this madness, to end the wickedness we thrust upon one another, this planet would have to be completely obliterated.   He would have to kill every man, woman, and child, but HE DIDN'T CREATE DEATH.  These are not God's doing.  He didn't make us cruel, wanton, or evil, we did it to ourselves. Our own destruction is the result of our choices.  We can choose to live as murders, molesters, and monsters, or, we can choose to live as the creator showed us how to live, loving him, and loving one another BETTER than ourselves.  It’s not hard, but I’m glad he doesn't wipe us out when we don’t.  In preventing evil, and injustice, you become monstrous to someone else’s eyes. Our wisdom is so limited, our scope so small.  You see, just in thinking of all the things I would do if I were God, is the seed of doing evil.  I am glad I’m not God.  If I were, I would have choked the life out of every little child who teased me relentlessly when I was a child.  I would have crushed the pervert who tried to abduct me when I was just eight years old.  I would. . . not be God.  Be glad none of us are.  Be content to live in the shadow of His wings, and know that He is good to ALL men.

SADNESS AND SORROW

These two words have hit close to home this week, in a very personal way. My Aunt on my father's side, is in the hospital recovering from hip surgery, and her husband is in another hospital in ICU fighting for his life.  They both have been special people in my life, but as I grew older, and had children of my own, the ability to visit them, and even maintain a long distance relationship with them dwindled.  Most of my fondest childhood memories are of summer vacations to visit her, and my grandmother.  Their home was always full of love. My brothers and cousins were the children they never had, and believe me, we knew it.
Now in their seventies, I watch with great sadness as old age begins to encroach on their once active lives. My aunt was once a powerhouse of a woman, moving effortlessly in the halls of education, the state capital, and actively involved in the politics of the state.  Now, her body is betraying her, as all of our bodies do.  The bright, and brilliant mind that challenged so many lives to be better than they could be, is locked in a battle with pain.
The question is; Do I mourn?   Do I allow myself to succumb to hopelessness and fear?  Will her husband live long enough for the two of them to hold hands once more before they pass this vale?  Will she gently kiss his lips once more, and reassure him of her love before he breathes a last breath?  These are the questions that race through my mind as I offer up prayers for the both of them.  "Father God, don't let them pass this life this way."
The strange part of all of this, is that I don't feel sadness about my Uncle passing.  His lived a long, rich, and rewarding life.  He's done things I could only dream of doing.  What does cause me sorrow, is the thought of  him dying while my aunt is unable to be by his side.  Somehow this is unacceptable to me.  It is the only thing that causes me to be sad.
You see, what this moment has caused me to see, is that I wouldn't want to die alone.  We all deserve to die with someone holding our hand, and comforting us as we enter into eternity.  My Uncle was there at my grandmother's bedside as she passed away.  My grandfather was at my grandmother's side when she passed. For some reason, this is important to me.  I wouldn't want to take my last breath without my wife being by my side, and I wouldn't want her to go without my being there.  We come into this life surrounded by a host of people rejoicing at our moment of birth.  We are handed around to family like a prize.  Happy smiling faces surround us as we enter this vale, loving faces should usher us home.  That thought alone causes my lower lip to tremble and tears to roll down my cheeks.  It is why a soldiers death, or brutal senseless murders, cause me to cry.  No one should pass alone.
I am a man possessed of hope, and I hate for anyone to be alone, especially as they breathe their last.