'53 Chevy

Today we attended the world famous Apple Scrapple Festival in Bridgeville, DE.  While there are too many awesome things to mention about our day, one in particular deserves mention.  We stumbled upon this car, which is a cleaner version of the car we had in mind for Katherine's first (see "First Car", August 7, 2011 post).  We don't care for the baby crap color.

We also found this car, which we like much better.  It appears to be a '51, but has basically the same body style.

Much to our disappointment, neither car was for sale.

Scrapple Diplomacy

In a discussion about the appropriate conduct in a questionable situation, I accused a friend of being a legalist.  It was in jest, of course.  But nevertheless, the friend claimed to be insulted.  A few days later, I sent a text to the friend.  "What do I have to do to be forgiven for calling you a legalist?

Rapa Scrapple

"How about a scrapple sandwich" the friend replied.

"Done".  Well, that was easy enough.  A short time later, the friend texted back "when can I expect payment?"

I posted a potential date on a shared Google calendar for our families to have breakfast together.  I followed up later with the text "The fact that scrapple made the Google calendar speaks of its great importance in life.  It has become a tool of diplomacy."

"I think its diplomacy would only be effective for a select group of discerning palates" was the response I received.

Later, a brilliant idea struck.  I wondered if Sussex County was ready for a Scrapple cart.  We would sell one thing... scrapple sandwiches and coffee.  O.K.... two things.  I needed a new venture into which I could pour my heart.

A few days later, I asked another friend what they wanted for their birthday.  "More time, and world peace" was the request.

I informed the friend of my new and evolving theory that if you were to serve scrapple sandwiches in the United Nations, I'm pretty sure the entire group would be put in a frame of mind in which world peace would follow.  But sorry,  I can't do much about the issue of time.

Breakfast

We were being harassed by a fly at breakfast while trying to eat our baked oatmeal.  Asher had gotten up from the table, and was watching his mother swat at the fly.  Finally it landed, and with the swift hand of my wife and her swatter, it lay dead on the edge of Asher's cereal bowl.

"I'm finished", he declared.

Christine Shenali Print

The Rubber Band Boat

Our oldest son is the definition of a budding scientist.  Even at the age of eight, he had a natural grasp of the scientific process:  develop a hypothesis, devise a means to test it, fail, regroup, repeat. 

Elias’s latest work was a rubber band powered boat.  Well, not really a boat, but a tube with a rubber band running through it and a stick on one end, acting as a propeller.  He was very excited about his invention, and eager to do put his prototype to the test.

Unfortunately, his plans were interrupted, as we were having company over before he could finish.  Part way through the evening, my wife called for our boys, who had both retreated to the bathroom sink, where Elias was busy playing in the water with his creation.  Tina called for the boys to stop and come out to join us.  No response.

Repeated calls produced one of the boys, but Elias remained in the bathroom, apparently ignoring his mother.  I do not like the boys ignoring their mother.  So I joined Elias in the bathroom and closed the door.  I gave him a very stern talking to, repeating for the hundredth time the necessity of responding to his mother.  He began to cry.  He cried because he saw the anger in my demeanor.  He eventually pulled himself together, and we rejoined our company.

The next morning while taking a shower, this incident came back to my mind.  It was a Monday, admittedly not my favorite day of the week, and I was already in a melancholic mood.  As I recalled the incident in my mind, the impact of it hit me full force.  What had I done? 

My son was immersed in something that drives him.  He was in his own little world, as he often is.  While I am sure the sound entered his ears, he may not have even heard his mother calling.  That little world will serve him well one day, and the fruit of it will probably serve others as well.  He will use that little world to create, to invent, to think of things others have not yet considered. 

I was not thinking of any of this when I lectured Elias about the virtues of listening to his mother.  I was only thinking of what I wanted of him. As I stood in the shower, I thought of how I had walked all over his little experimental world and verbally punished him for being lost in it.  And as I pondered on this, I began to sob. 

I believe that moment in the shower was brought about by The Lord Himself.  It was a flash of intense clarity out of nowhere.  I was reminded of how little control I have of my anger in certain circumstances, and how it totally blinds me to the real situation at hand, as anger always does.

That lack of control is the reason I have so much trouble with those who claim that the way to follow God is simply to be obedient.  There are some situations, such as this one, when the problem begins to manifest itself before you have time to even make a choice.  There is no time to choose to “obey” in such circumstances.  It would seem that in some situations, we are practically powerless to “obey”.  While it is true that I am no longer bound to sin by Adam, there is a refining that definitely has not taken place in this area.

As I stood in the shower, in just a few moments, I was made acutely aware of that lack of refinement.  But I saw much more than guilt from failure.  Guilt alone serves little purpose.  I saw a hope for the future.  I was struck by how the only way for me to behave any differently is for The Lord to do a work in my heart BEFORE the opportunity to stumble occurs again.  Once He does that work, I will respond much differently to my son, and without apparent effort.

So I fall before Him and lay all this out there -  “God, if you don’t do a work in my heart, I am sunk.  My “best” just isn’t working here.  Thanks for reminding me of how totally dependent I am on You to do this work.”  Now, I stand on the ground that indeed, this is a work He wants to do.

First appeared in the July 2009 edition of the Manna. http://readthemanna.org

Windows

Five years ago, my grandmother and I began discussing the replacing of the windows in her house.  Then she had an automobile accident, and the project went on hold.

This past spring, she approached me again, and we began planning a course of action for the job.  The question that must be determined in a window job is whether to use replacement windows or to replace the complete unit with new construction windows.  Replacement windows are cheaper and easier to install.  Replacing the entire window unit is laborious, more costly, but usually results in a better looking job.

I knew my grandmother would lean on me to make the decision for her.  While cost was not a great concern, nevertheless I did estimates based on both options, pricing 4 different brands of windows.  There were many factors to consider.  If we used replacement windows, the outsides of the old frames would need to be wrapped in aluminum.  Some of the wood would even need to be replaced before that could take place.  The nice thing about replacement windows is that you get them made to the exact dimensions of your opening.  With new construction windows, you must choose the closest sized window which will fit your existing opening.  Then there was the issue of one big window which was currently stained wood on the inside.  We preferred to have a wood colored window in its place, which is problematic with vinyl replacement windows.  A wood-look vinyl is available, but not the most gorgeous thing.  Oh, and then there was the issue that chaos and disruption to her home may drive my grandmother to a nervous breakdown.  Replacement windows would be infinitely easier on her nerves.

After considering these issues for a few weeks, or months, I recommended that we use new construction windows.  She elected to take my advice, and mid summer, I placed the order.

By about the second day of working, I was wondering about the wisdom of my decision.  I had guessed that the job would take about nine days.  By the twelfth day, I was still not completely convinced I had done the right thing.

Then one morning I read Our Daily Bread.  Julie Ackerman Link wrote "Whenever we set out to do something good, even when we're certain that God wants us to do it, we shouldn't be surprised when the situation gets worse before it gets better.  This doesn't prove that we're doing the wrong thing:  it just reminds us that we need God to accomplish everything." 

Now I'm not claiming that God told me to use new construction windows. But this encouragement was what I needed to hear.  I was judging the wisdom of my decision based on the ease of the job.  I knew better that this, but apparently needed to be reminded.  From that point on, all the way to the completion of the job on the 14th day, I rested in the decision I had made.  There was so much more God wanted to do than put new windows in my grandmother's house.

My grandmother was happy.  And I learned something, again.

Being Nice

I have a friend who likes to rant and rave with me (in a civil sort of way) about various problems we see in our world.  We were exchanging texts, and began to dabble in a familiar topic which annoys us.  I sent the text "We are going to be nice today" in an attempt to re-direct our conversation.

There was a hesitation.  The friend texted back "Tomorrow, can I be myself again?"

Classic.

Picking Out a Shirt

Probably everyone knows at least one man who can’t dress himself well.  These men have no sense of color coordination, and their wives tell stories of mismatched socks, stripes paired with plaids, and ugly ties.  I am not one of those men.

I have excellent color coordinating skills.  However, I do love routine.  A couple of pairs of pants with matching shirts is all the wardrobe I need.  I had been wearing the same short sleeved buttoned shirts for a long time, and finally asked my wife to pick up a few new ones from the thrift store for me.  She came home with fifteen.  I picked out a dozen that I liked, and gave the rest away.

It is hard to make a routine out of a dozen shirts.  The trick is to pick out a couple of favorites, and ignore the fact the rest are there.  But one Sunday morning, the oddest feeling came over me.  I looked at my dozen shirts and thought “I don’t want to be in a rut of wearing the same shirts all the time”.  So I asked my wife to pick out a shirt for me to wear.

I wore my shirt to our Sunday gathering with the satisfaction I was not it a rut that day.  The good part about it was that I actually liked the shirt she selected.  I felt no loss from having relinquished the decision of how to dress that day.  It actually freed me from the nuisance of standing in front of my twelve shirts debating which one to wear.

If only I had someone to lead me in routine decisions throughout the week, someone who would keep me out of a rut, someone who would free my mind up from tedious choices that bog down my day.

If only I had someone who would always make the perfect choice, someone who knew how those around me would respond to the choice I had made. 

If only I could relinquish those choices as quickly and easily as I did that Sunday morning. 

If only I could come to the place where I really didn’t have a burning preference as to which choice was made, but would be deeply content with that someone’s choice in the matter.

If only my preferences and the preferences of this other someone could become so intertwined that I wasn’t sure if we were talking about my preference, or this other someone’s preference.

If only I had someone who would make decisions of life as simple as deferring to my wife the decision about which shirt to wear. 

Oh, but wait.  We do have that Someone.  There is in fact One who dwells within us, Who can do all of those things.  Perhaps He isn’t so much interested in which shirt we wear, but there is much He is interested in, probably more than we know.

Now, if only I had twelve pairs of pants.