Life is precious

Doctors told them their fetus would not make it, maybe they should consider "terminating" the pregnancy?

They chose not to kill their unborn child.

She lives...

http://giftsfromgrace.blogspot.com/

... so does the presence of suffering warrant the death of the sufferer?

...if a child is in pain, should the parents kill their child?

... we do it with our pets, right?

No?

April's Fool, Orlando-style

It's Friday evening; I'm sitting in my lab trying to muster one last push to finish grading biology tests after a 12-day week. So tired. Why?...

Last week I was blessed to chaperon the HCHS band trip to Orlando--that's right, Disney World. There was a competition on the front-end of the trip and our kids did great (Yay Ms Redmon), but the zaniest part of the trip was going around on the rides with "the girls".

My escorts through NeverNever Land were so ridiculously fun, and because most of them were young & married, there really was no awkwardness to it for me-- thank you, JESUS.

So I have to start with describing Tinkerbell, my "guide-to-rediscovering-my-lost-childhood" escort. She grew up around Orlando, FLA, so immediately had a game-plan on how to do each park, starting with the FastPass. The strategy is pure: go immediately to your favorite ride and use your ticket to get its FastPass ticket, then wait in line and ride any nearby amusement. When done with that ride, go use the FastPass ticket; repeat. Beautiful. What's fun about Tinkerbell is she loves to laugh and is...well... crazy. Her idea of Heaven looks a lot like a slumber party in the top of Magic Kingdom's palace with a banquet room lined with princess apparel and unicorns. And there's this fresh sense that all the good things life has to offer are hers to enjoy, and for us oldest-child types-- it's a freedom magnificent to witness.

My second guide, Sleepy, is much like Tinker with the exception that she doesn't let anyone know she's zany until it's too late and you are socially committed with her in a situation. The best-case scenario is to have Sleepy and Tinker together, so they can feed off each other into a vortex of laughter (why is hanging up a phone so funny?).

My last guide I shall call Screamer, not because she's loud, though she can be, but because she can instill fear in co-passengers on a shuttle bus with her, "OMG, OMG, this is gonna be so scary"-- which is very confusing when riding next to her on roller coasters. This is because she gets so worked up and anxious, and starts to go through this pre-ride mental checklist ("ok, I will be needing to use this hand-hold, so you, Jim, will need to find something else to grab onto..this ride is so scary..."), which lulls you into thinking, "Sheesh, what an over-reaction," and then the Tower of Terror throws you around like a human yo-yo at 3-Gs and you realize that "the girls" have already stepped out of the now-stopped box of death and you're still holding onto the allotted side hand-hold with a death-grip that could probably pinch a python in half.

I've never been a roller-coaster rider; I don't like being afraid, and Lord knows I already have enough genetically-bestowed anxiety in my life. So when friends like The Paddle-Partner (aka Snorting Loon) dare me to ride Six Flag's "Batman", it's with great personal angst that I accept. But with this year's Orlando Trip with "the girls", something different happened. It's like I didn't have to be the older, responsible brother-- I could try out rides I would NEVER have ridden solo-- and on the other side, realize that perhaps I'm a bit hardier than I thought going into the thing.

And I wonder if God is like that?

I wonder if God gives us fellow pilgrims along our way, so that when we face the horrors and fears that life's challenges may bring, we can just get a grip--hold on-- scream if able-- and make it through that ride?

I wonder if there is a freedom that awaits beyond the pretentious cloak raised by the demons of fear, a cloak that amounts to little more than vapors in passing through, but in approaching seems more like an impenetrable barricade.

I wonder what it would be like to start seeing all the [crud] that life throws my way as an amusement ride?

That would be very cool.

Note to self

On my desk I wrote a note to myself.
I see it everyday I sit at my classroom desk.
I forget what I see the moment I look away. It says:
"I have an important job to do for God; my time on earth is limited, but probably longer than I imagine. God give me the courage to recklessly obey you!"

I'm not dead yet, but I have less years ahead of me than behind me.
In talking to a close friend about the pros/cons of dating women in their 30's (who I had a ridiculous crush on), this time frame was painfully brought to my attention." It would be 'unfair' to.." the younger woman (assuming if she were even interested! LOL!), because she's still starting life and I'm.. well.. I'm not dead yet.
It was the truth, and it sucks.

I'm staring at a half-century of life: what do I have to show for it?
I've loved people and I've tried to be faithful to my life's calling to reach high school students with the Love of Christ Jesus.
I've failed to be perfect; terribly.
I've hurt some folks with my words or behaviors; been hurt by others, too. I hate both realities.
It seems like I've only just started learning about Jesus' love for Jim; only just started learning how to love others.
I AM Bill Cosby's video "49"... except for the marital part... that's now gone.

I've enjoyed talking with others my age, but most have kids going off to college or starting families of their own; most of the folks I know are from work or in ministry with me, and most of them are younger. Much younger.

Some say I'm wise; I think maybe I'm just an old dog that knows a bit more about chasing cats than those who still have more years ahead of them. Maybe I'm just a cynical old fart. I like to think of it as pragmatic, but there is sometimes an edge to my words... definitely needs to be filed down... keeps snagging on things, like sensitive people. I don't like that about myself, but usually don't see it until later or when being confronted (though sometimes unfairly---aka, don't ask me something and then get mad when I tell you what you asked for... that's not right).

So Jesus, I'm not dead yet. What can you do with a fairly well-used white man who has a passion for Nature, a childlike curiosity, a hunger for knowledge, a love of laughter and sushi; who has a respect for your written word, but not enough to be so committed that I die trying to reach the lost in places nobody else dares go. Yet you tell us all: "go", right?
So is there hope for us?

I think I'll ride out to Tully and watch Northbrook's soccer game now.
Grading is almost done; there's always tomorrow. Or it doesn't matter.

I'm not dead yet. But I'm not convinced I'm fully alive.
Jesus, I wanna live.
love,
Jim

Day 354

From DivorceCare daily encouragements:

Can God Use Divorced People?
Day 354

Some people feel that because they have been divorced or because they have made so many mistakes in their past, God cannot use them to be godly leaders, teachers, role models, or a help to other people. This is not true. Your past does not determine your future. Read the Bible to discover examples of God using people with unexpected pasts to do great and mighty works for Him.

In Hebrews chapter eleven God lists heroes and heroines of faith. This list includes a murderer (Moses), an adulterer (David), and a womanizer (Samson). These people moved on beyond their failures and followed God. They were used to accomplish God's purpose in their generations.

Before Kay Arthur had a saving relationship with Christ, she was divorced, and she did many things that did not honor God. Today, she is a respected Christian speaker, author, and teacher through the grace of God.

She says: "God chooses the base things, the foolish things, the things that are despised, the things that are nothing, so that no flesh can glory in His presence. He knew what was going to happen to me before I came to know Christ, and He has used that as a platform for ministry. You can step forward into any service that the Lord has called you to."

God has chosen you for a specific service—take the challenge to walk forward in that!

"The base things of the world and the things which are despised God has chosen, and the things which are not, to bring to nothing the things that are, that no flesh should glory in His presence" (1 Corinthians 1:28-29 NKJV).

Holy God, I am willing to be used by You. I want to be a part of Your glorious plan in this world. I know I can be victorious through You. Amen.

P. taeda

Needles of twinkling gold
Glistening in post-crepuscular breath,
The glow descends my eastern guardian
To remind me...
Today is a new day.

Happy New Year to Me

It's a New Year. It's been weird but good.

We started this year with birds dropping out of the sky dead and dying, in 3 different states, plus in other nations... mainly icterids, and they said it happens all the time? Um no.

They say the only difference is that technology this year makes it more obvious when it happens, because we share this information with each other--I do believe we all had blogs and email last year, and the year before that... and before that.

So when one checks the online chat-stream, we don't hear: "oh yeah this happens all the time" from all these different citizens from around the world... we cry out, "What the hell is going on? Birds are dropping out of the sky dead and dying.. not sick under a tree or at a water hole... flying-and-now-dead... dropping out of the sky... they were healthy enough to fly as a flock and now they're scattered across our lawns like black crabgrass!"

That's what we are saying to each other.

Crazy.

It's a fresh new year, and I'm pumped about what God has for us!

KSBJ now has NGENradio; Verizon is getting the IPhone; electric cars are now a reality... pretty cool moment.

I am thankful for a clean start.

I am so thankful for what I'm learning about who I am in Christ.

I am so thankful for friends who show me how to love and trust.

I am so thankful for an amazing place to earn a living.

I am so hungry to experience the Power of the Holy Spirit, whether in humility (scary) or victory. Jesus, broaden my knowledge of who I am.

It's a New Year, but it's a good one.

birdfeeder, update

18Dec2010
Let me first exclaim that today I saw my first verified male goldfinch in the backyard, feeding on the thistle sock! That just blesses me to my core (to know me is to love me).

So in last episode there was proposal to switch feeders around to test hypothesis that proximity to home was issue. Feeders switched.

No difference.

It's the week before Christmas, 55 deg.F, little wind and sunny.

The most utilized feeder in my back yard is:

The square, multi-port feeder with spring squirrel-guard.

Most every bird will use it, but the house-sparrows mob it like boys at an available X-box controller at a video store demo.

The second-most used feeder is the large cylindrical feeder

w/squirrel-deterrent portals.

The Carolina chickadees and red-bellied woodpecker love this one,

plus an unidentified/ grey mystery warbler w/ double wing bands that looks similar to young yellow-rumped

warbler..?

The orange limb-spike is a near-third.

I am impressed with the diversity of

birds that enjoy eating oranges, cut in half and impaled on a nail.

The most common visitor is the red-bellied woodpecker, followed by the mystery-warbler.

The least used feeder is the small tube feeder near the tree. Initially I put thistles in it t

hinking a goldfinch may show up, but was sitting unused for weeks so I rotated the ports to open feeding and started refilling with birdseed mix. Initially the whitewings were using it, but perhaps it's proximity to the tree puts them off, or the thistle sock which hangs 8 inches away (my idea was that perhaps a bird feeding at the tube may realize there are thistles in the sock and maybe learn to feed there-- that was before the goldfinch showed up today: obviously needs no lessons on how to feed on the sock!)

It's a very good day.

Christmas activities are stirring, including dusting off seasonal props.

God Bless and Merry Christmas to all.

Jim

A Tale of Two...birdfeeders?

It's Thanksgiving week in Houston, 75 degrees and rainy, though the sun somehow casts a shadow through it all. Confusing. In my backyard is a buffet of different bird feeders, 6 in all, yet not any two are the same. Two are for goldfinches, two are for fruit eaters, but two are loaded with seeds. This story is about seed-eaters. I am about to run an experiment of the utmost concern for the local Realtor: does location matter, or is it the structure that has the most bearing in appeal.
Consider the birds of the field, specifically the house sparrows in my back yard.
They are mobbing my feeder farthest away from my dwelling; they seem to not even know the other feeder exists.
Is that because they can quickly duck into the shrubbery (spoken like the Knights of Ni)? Or is it that the local squirrel-teenagers use the nearby feeder wire as a zip line, dropping suddenly into the dinner scene of any feeding bird like invaders in an old ninja movie? The nearby feeder has more seeds in it, but perhaps that is less important. Perhaps it's like the scripture that elevates eating up on the roof in peace, over all the trappings yet in the midst of tension.
Perhaps that is the call of Christ, to forsake the pressures and distractions of this world for the simple fulfillment of living at His feet? A call to simplicity, not for self-abasement but for personal fulfillment, choosing the better while seeming to participating in cultural irresponsibility?
I think I'll swap feeders around, just to see...

The Closing of a Chapter; Well Done Good and Faithful Servant

Today at Houston Christian's faculty meeting, my boss, Suzette Estes announced the exciting news that she plans to retire at the end of May, 2011. She is very excited to join her wonderful husband, Tom, and spend time with her children and grandbabies.
As our community moves forward, we will finish the year strongly and truly enjoy how God is going to bring in a new Principal to lead us into the next chapter of our HCHS community.
God is good, all the time.
Thank you, Lord Jesus, for sending us Suzette for this last decade.
Amen.

Vectors

"Mr. Kelley, I need to leave your class at 11--here's my slip."
"OK, thanks; are you OK?"
"Not really; mom thinks it's some contagious virus but it may be Strep."
O good; thanks for telling me...from 2 feet away... right toward my face.

As a teacher this exercise is weekly, sometimes daily, so is it any wonder we may be 'a little congested' [teacher-denial-speak for "I'm sick but don't want to admit it"].
So goes the cycle of denial-borne, air-borne contagion.

I got my flu-shot last week.

Too bad there's no cure for the common cold (cough, hack, cough, sniff...ache).

Happy Labor Day Weekend

It's Sunday morning.
Having missed morning worship, I turned on the local Christian station, sat in my favorite chair, and have been listening to praise and worship music while peacefully reading and truly enjoying the flurry of bird life flocking around my now-filled feeder. I even gave the hummingbird feeder it's first autumnal transfusion of sweetness and have already already witnessed a micro-migrator leaving this new ornament on the arboreal landscape! As I type, a swarm of hummers have just mobbed this feeder-- life suddenly is even happier from this chair.
The One-Year Bible's offerings find us in Ecclesiastes and 2 Corinthians, books strangely congruent aside from overarching theological bases: both seem to be specifically addressing the profound limitations of living solely for oneself, written in a voice that leaves me wishing I was farther along my Jesus Journey.
Paul lovingly writes to his Children in Corinth another letter, and says, "do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common?...'Therefore come out from them and be separate,' says the Lord. 'Touch no unclean thing, and I will receive you. I will be a Father to you, and you will be My sons and daughters'..." Paul then pleads: "Since we have these promises, dear friends, let us purify ourselves from everything that contaminates body and spirit, perfecting holiness out of reverence for God." (2 Cor.6:14,17-8; 7:1)
I know that nobody can be perfectly holy, but that is not what is going on here-- it's about orientation: what am I focused on? What is the most important thing in my life? Since I immediately am aware of my imperfections, what are those idols I proudly hold onto, idols God is gently asking me to give up so I might receive something profoundly better?
God is good.
People have a profound ability to rationalize our pig slop.
Jesus, help us to surrender that we might truly experience life. Jesus, for those who have never taken this step, give them the courage to give over their lives to your Love/Life.
In becoming my LORD, you become my Savior.
Thank you for the cross; bear with me as I stumble in following you-- I really don't like being hurt, but I'm learning that may not be relevant.
I thank you for the amazing gifts you give me, including that amazing peach-colored bird sipping from the hummingbird feeder: I love you, Jesus.

DeQuarvain's Update: post-surgery

Shortly after my last entry, finding some relief from an ultrasonic wand, my thumb/wrist returned to its previous painful status. Due to the timing of a week-long backpacking trip in the Colorado wilderness, I scheduled my surgery with Dr. Carl Palumbo to release the sheath that was grabbing my tendon (similar to carpal tunnel).
My surgery was August 4, 2010.
I had immediate relief from the chronic pain of this condition, and have begun to experience soreness now only a couple weeks after surgery, though mobility of the joint has been restored.
(see image of injured right hand, compare to previous image; both are mirror images).
I expect through gentle stretching and exercise the soreness, too, will abate.
Then again, I'm getting old...
But I'm not dead yet,...
... and have a life to live, thank you Jesus.

De Quervain's tenosynovitis-

It's the middle of July.
I've battled De Quervain's tenosynovitis (click title for more info) since early November of last year.
I get a little relief through massage, or hot treatment, or cold treatment, or stretching... but it always comes back to this baseline of painful thumb/wrist action. The worst is when my thumb tendon gets "caught" in my wrist, and then "pops" free.
Last week my mom got an ultrasound wand for consumer use; she couldn't use it so I borrowed it.
It started improving my mobility in 2 minutes.
This does not mean that I kept my mobility, but I am typing this with the use of my thumb 3o minutes after the treatment.
So here is my attempt at documentation of my first use of this at my own home tonight (trying to replicate the results from earlier this week): [The images are mirrored from PhotoBooth]
First, my healthy left thumb, flexed as far as possible:








Next my problem right thumb, flexed as far as possible:









Treatment #1. Now after the first 5 minutes of treatment: flexed as far as possible--improved flex with less pain (ultrasound wand shown):





Treatment #2. Now after an additional 5 minute treatment (10 min. total): flexed as far as possible--more improved flex with less pain:





So what does this mean? Not sure. Will need to do further tests, including controls (unplugged wand w/out gel; unplugged wand w/ gel).

Life and July 2010

The nice thing about returning to a place of memories is that it fosters a sense of continuity. Refugio, Texas, is like that for me.
Though I see something new every time I return here, I also am grounded in the familiarity of the smells and sounds of Creation that abound in this part of the world. Last year was bone-dry drought; this week is lush, soggy greeness.
Oak trees here... giant sentinals of time... are part of that continuity, that innate sense of primal endurance that welcome me back like an old great-uncle, when I once again encounter them in the pasture or prominent station near the roadway. And it is with similar sadness when I see some of these centurions brown with death, a contrast to the life around them, especially the giant post oaks of Kelley Road. Some say the drought took its toll; others- an oomycete that selects against Q.stellata. The live oaks do not share the same vulnerability and continue to push out green shade amongst these scattered deceased giants. It's almost like there was a generation of post oaks planted a hundred years ago, and all have become nesting sites and termite fodder today.
Nevertheless, life goes on.
It says so in the performance-art of relatives visiting a local cemetary, or citizens taking photos of some relic left over from the age of windmills and cattle drives; what was is not as it was, yet is for those who look a reminder of what was and might possibly be.
Life goes on; God, I thank you for that reminder.
I love you, Lord.
Thanks for putting up with me.

John 21

In reading my OYB today I am struck by the words Jesus used to reinstate "Simon son of John" (no longer Peter) back into fellowship-- it is a charge for Christian leadership over a community of faith:
1) "...feed my lambs...": initially focus on the younger generation and those who are new to faith, teaching them the Holy Scriptures and guiding them in discipleship for righteous living. Once you have that started...
2) "...pastor my sheep...": now learn the entire flock, tending their needs and concerns, creating opportunities for fellowship and pastoral care; then...
3) "...feed my sheep...": now broaden the discipleship process, building on the strength of the "lambs" and expand the importance of biblical obedience and training toward righteousness to all generations in that community.

It's a thought.

The insanity of it all

As I sit here in my vacant lab watching the courtyard grow gray with anticrepusculance, I am reminded of the insanity of my life. People are digging out swollen corpses from the wreckage of an island both shaken and stirred; a dear colleague has recently buried her child, brutally cut down in an act of cowardice; a civil dispute about money that will probably deplete the prize fought over; a score of friends and acquaintances who going through various forms of saying 'goodbye'...
...and I'm thinking about maybe fishsticks for supper.

Click here for a powerful message!

Howdy yall,
I awoke to this message this morning.
It was a very challenging talk, but I think my friends will benefit from it.
For those who have ears to hear...
click on the title above to access the link.

Father God, thank you

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for the hope we have in your Son.

Thank You for the love we share in true fellowship with friends and in Your family.

Thank You for the Scriptures, the prophetic accounts of our crazy relationship with you through time, a form of insanity where we rebel against Your love, You punish us with war, drought and pestilence but only to draw us back to You. You are the ultimate source of our completeness, so for You to NOT have us seek You or come back completely surrendered to Your Presence would mean that You do not really have our best interests in heart.

Thank You for not giving us what we want.

Thank You for giving us what we truly need.

Thank You for tearing down our idols, stripping us down to that place where we desperately cling to You, not because You are cruel like our earthly relationships, but because You really ARE the ultimate source of Joy and fulfillment.

Thank You, Father, for the gift of your Son.

Jesus, thank you for loving us so much that you CHOSE to die in our place; you did nothing wrong, but loved us so much you traded places on that cross... you could have fled the garden; instead you walked into the hands of fallen mankind.

Please show us how to surrender in Love this new year to the will of the Father, dying to ourselves.

Please show us how to introduce others to the love of the Father without judging others, but by living out of His Love so much that it overflows into a lonely, distracted world that has been seduced into thinking its greatest source of pleasure is within itself.

Thank You for the holy Scriptures, the plumb-line of Your Will.

You are so good... so very good.

Thank you for all the events of this last year. Your Name be glorified, Father.

Jim 2009

Why HP should pay for it's crimes against humanity

So I was writing an email to a friend while waiting on hold with HP, and thought it would be fun to record the process; though short-lived in real time, it was humorous in retrospect, so I tweeked it for Blogdom. My friend and I exchange thoughts in a manner that fully embraces our distractability with the acronym: ADDPDE-- Attention Deficit Disorder Progressive Distraction Events. The reader has been warned. Here goes:

Twenty-Two minutes and fifty--nope, wait: Twenty-three minutes! and counting, as I listen to the HP call center blast th-- [sudden disruption of writing process] My previous rant is interrupted by "Mike"-- Mike works for HP. A pox on HP; Lord, protect Mike.

Oooohhhh...UUuuugh.... YAHAAHHH! CRrrrrrrrrRRRAAAAP!

My following exclamation came after my conversation with Mike, who it just so happens answered after over 23 minutes of listening to painful... painful advertising by HP by a lady who was probably pretty as a teenager but started smoking cigarettes at a young age to get that announcer voice to help create a vocation. And she said-- wait: I shall name her Betty: Betty said, repeatedly, that if I wanted all the problems I could possibly want solved with the HP products, then I should go to HP dot com slash go slash support. And I did.
Twice I followed Betty's advice entering information before I could pass through the next portal. Both times finally getting to the link that invites me to click here to chat with a support person: thank heavens. Click: "server unavailable blah blah cheap-butt excuse thingy"! YAAHHH!
So after 23 minutes of waiting on my cell-phone, stymied by the HP servers not working (I thought they made servers?), Mike saves me.
(A pox on HP; Lord, protect Mike.)
So Mike comes to my rescue except I think he's playing video games or something because there were a couple of times where he did that Doug-the-dog: "Squirrel!!"--listen thing? but there was nothing said... just this open space and so I ask if he's still there, and he says yes, but he seems annoyed because I asked, except maybe i was hoping he would ask me what he could do for me or something? right?

WAIT-- you don't know why I yelled "crap", which is not a great word, but I know a lot worse ones that I don't use, except for shock value from close friends who would never expect it from me, but it's naughty either way, ... I digress.
So I'm unpacking my HP Deskjet4480 that I bought the other day thinking that one day I actually might need to print out something at home. It was the cheapest thing they had at Office Depot that didn't look like it was already broken.
I get everything out, including the happy little instruction fold-out/paint by the numbers/page and I'm following these steps because I'm thinking: I might want to print out some stuff for Ecuador-- afterall, I'm going there tomorrow.
Step one is easy enough: take off the blue tape that's holding the paper tray up like the hand of a child in the back of the line who is trying to ask permission to go potty but is afraid if they interrupt or yell they will embarrass themselves worse than drooling cheese on a keyboard [inside joke].
Step two is related, for when the powerful blue tape is removed, the tray reveals some cardboard cutout that is jammed up in the poor machine, and the cartoon shows clearly through the transitional pictures that this piece of cardboard does not belong.
I will not go through each step. I will say that there is within my heart this little boy who is sometimes afraid of breaking something if he's not careful, which is why sometimes it takes me a little longer to assemble things-- like this wonderful, inexpensive printer/scanner/copier.
So I'm putting it all together, and it really is a simple process: the cartoons have not lied, nor have they been hard to understand. So I get the ink loaded, the power cord assembled and plugged in, the paper loaded, the "alignment page" printed and then rescanned back into the machine so that the print heads can self-align themselves based on the self-scan of the alignment page.
Sweet. I can do this. No plastic fragments falling off. I've not broken it, nay verily, I'm feeling more Master than toad, and then you get to the part about Mac or PC, and since I have a Mac, I skip down to the picture that shows you where the USB cable is connected from the printer to the USB port on the Mac: I find the plug port, though it is black on black and would have been a little challenging had not the cartoon been so well done. So all I need to do is plug the cable in.
Now where did I set that cable?
Looking.
Looking in box... nooo?; looking all over table-top, under papers, behind stuff that could only hide a cable if I accidently threw it... noooo?.
I look on the floor; maybe it dropped out of the box... noooo?.
I check the box again, this time palpating every crack that might hide the cable in some cool Chinese-designed packaging foam compartment... noooo?.
Dang it!! They forgot to pack the stupid cable in my box!!
So I call Mike.
So I'm waiting in cyber-limbo-hell listening to Betty lie to poor fools who would do anything rather than listen to the overdriven saxophone belt out simple jazz to a captive audience, lying to them by saying they should go online because it's faster, people who would do just that, but who probably couldn't because they, like me bought an HP product, and unlike me--they probably bought a PC and thereby showing Betty to be the Uber-cruel witch that she really must be. website... pshaw.
So Mike actually asks me how he can help me, and I come right to it and tell him HP forgot to pack the USB cable in the printer box.
"I understand. I hear that a lot," says Mike, who now is no longer playing Peggle but actually listening to a customer. And I'm thinking if he hears this alot, maybe the Chinese factory thats using the slave labor should maybe chop some fingers or something to get some action going on stopping that pattern when Mike continues, "HP doesn't provide the cables for their printers."
WHAT??!!!
WHATT??!!!!
"So Mike, You're telling me that HP sells printers to people so that when they buy them, they can't use them?"
"Well, they sell the cables at stores," says Mike. "Besides, it says so right on the box that they don't have cables."
"Where!?", I demand.
"I dunno, but I know it says so on the box."
"Where? I can't find it... not on this side; not on this side; ope! here it says 'certified USB HighSpeed'; nothing I can see that says 'no cable'."
"Well I know it's there somewhere. It's gotta be..."
"Nothing on this side; nor this last side. Let's look at the bottom... nope not there, either."
"Well if they forgot to put it on the box", says Mikey, "they screwed up because HP's don't come with cables."
"What if it's hidden on top by a sticker from shipping?"
"WAIT--THERE it is, next to the shipping tag." [A little note the size of a fortune cookie script right next to a small picture of a USB cable saying "(not included)" though it's there with all the other pictures in the part that says "Contents or Contenu de l'emballage"].
"So Mike, I've been on the cell phone for half an hour waiting on HP to tell me they don't pack printer cables with their printers because it's hard to see on top of the box? I gotta go."
And that's when I wrote "crap".
The end.

Before Christ, retro blog

So a while back I thought I had posted my Advent cry, my shaking-of-the-fists at the misuse of Rudolf and Charlie Brown and Frosty to seduce us into hedonistic consumerism. I was wrong. So here is a piece I wrote a few years ago; not perfect, but it speaks to me like a timeless echo:

“BC- Before Christ?” *

This time of year whispers premonitions, forthcoming shadows of seasons to come.

It starts in parking lots. That sort of makes sense, considering that erecting seven-foot Mylar globes (festooned with appropriate props to elucidate the thought, “ornament”) is a space-intensive process in a venue that will soon be crammed with frantic frenzy-feeders, omnivores not likely appreciative of the pragmatics of preparation when it impacts THEIR steed’s stall.

Parking lots during the holidays remind me of the “canyonlands” of Western lore, those secretive coves from which the guys in the black hats take shots at you, or perhaps offer a hidden valley around the next corner… a place you go not knowing what to expect, yet wearing a robe of visceral apprehension that hopes to cry out, “Don’t hit my car,” or “Hey- I’m on my way to that parking space for which I’ve been waiting for five minutes.”

Or maybe parking lots are the metaphor of lost-ness our culture proudly displays, thinking we’ve arrived while not even beginning, a starting point for a quest to seek, nay verily, to capture that sacred object and transport said trinket back to our storehouses (perhaps stopping first at gift wrap, of course).

Or maybe it represents the chaos of chasing wind, a myopic madness that perpetuates itself into the GNP only to be later assessed as taxes for the new land-fill. Chaos that knows that something should happen, and happen quickly, and if it doesn’t happen, well you’re just…. just… not good, or something! Chaos that feels the tug of things still undone, couples it with a due date, and frames it with Precious Memories.

Chaos and lost-ness are not new to me. I remember a time of my own, a time of fear and shame, a time when I did not know if I were truly loved or just “handy” for parental-peer accolades; a time of depressive darkness that hung so thickly that I could not differentiate my despair from my childhood asthma. I remember the pumped up pressure to perform or better yet, pretend. I remember what it was to be lost amongst a crowd, not in a mall, but in a church congregation. I remember the hungering question, not unlike a boy getting socks instead of a pocketknife, “Is this it?”

Enter: the donkey. Not a stallion, not a burley mule; just the donkey of a Palestinian tradesman in the occupied territories of Israel, a scene right out of the pages of Life magazine or some other photo-journalistic record. I remember the story since childhood, how this girl got pregnant with God, and decanted Hope from the dregs of daily life. The scene was not cute; it was cruel. There were no bathrobes, just impoverished people lost in the chaos of trying to find a space… and most of them missed it. Too busy trying to find their own place to park.

I praise God for the memories of what it was like before Christ: the loneliness, the despair, the empty searching. It reminds me I don’t ever want to go back to Egypt, and it garners for me the hope for others who do not yet understand what is so Good about the news that a child was born in Bethlehem. Come Lord Jesus.

* Jim K. Kelley, November 15, 2004