A Face Like New Jersey

At the crack of dawn, I shuffled into the hotel bathroom and fumbled for the light switch. My eyes were half-closed sandbags from the weight of a long trip. But when I peered into the mirror, I was startled awake by the hideous face staring back at me.  Clearly I was staying in a hotel where the ultra-fluorescent, über-obnoxious bathroom lighting was designed by a man.

If a woman had her choice, every mirror in the world would be surrounded by the flattering frame of lambent candlelight.  Typical lighting, the fluorescent fiend, highlights every flaw in our skin from wrinkles to things we can’t wait to question God about someday, such as nose hair.  But we have no need or desire to see the subcutaneous layer of our skin.  We tend to shriek when our pores appear larger than craters.  No one wants to stick a Q-Tip where it may have to be retrieved by a Moon Rover.

As I searched the hotel bathroom for a dimmer, I remembered the vain queen from Snow White.  Every day she asked her magical mirror, “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who in the land is fairest of all?”  to which the mirror always replied: “You, my queen, are fairest of all.” But one day when the queen asked her mirror, it responded: “Snow White is the fairest of them all.”  This is what happens when you allow the king to install new lighting.

While I was trying to recover from my scary reflection, my daughter Grace entered the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and stated, “Mommy, your face is so beautiful.”  I felt better until later when we were travelling through an ugly construction scene on I-95 and Grace piped up from the back seat, “Mommy, New Jersey is so beautiful.”   I quickly analyzed the syllogism:

A.  My face is beautiful.

B.  New Jersey is beautiful.

C.  Therefore, my face looks like New Jersey.

My mind flashed back to high school English class, when our teacher asked us to explain the meaning behind the last line of “Ode on a Grecian Urn” by John Keats:

“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,” – that is all

Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know

At that age, we couldn’t understand why this man was so moved by pottery. He might as well have written “Ode on a Greasy Tupperware.”  We struggled to summarize the meaning behind this cryptic phrase, each of us providing lengthy, philosophical essays.  Even today, scholars still dig so far with the mega-drill of their words that they may reach the earth’s mantle.

If I could find my English teacher now, I would skim the answer right from the surface in two sentences:

When something is made by God, you simply cannot deny its beauty.  And nothing is more beautiful than His Truth.

James 1:23-25

Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror

and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like.

But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it–he will be blessed in what he does.

Even though we know exactly what we look like, we still have to check ourselves in the mirror several times a day.  It would be difficult  to tolerate bathrooms without mirrors, but people did it for centuries, and some cultures still do it today.

God is not concerned with whatever we are checking out in the mirror.  He doesn’t worry about smudged eyeliner or spinach stuck in the teeth.  In the mirror of His Word, nothing can show us more quickly how ugly or attractive we are.

1 Samuel 16:7

…The LORD does not look at the things man looks at.  Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.

There have been times when I have read a verse and shrieked from the fluorescent light revealing the flaws in my heart.  But when I change my heart, no matter what I look like physically, I know that God thinks I’m beautiful.  Even with a face like New Jersey.

The Days of Whine and Noses

Certain things are just meant to be together.  Peanut butter and jelly. Kermit and Miss Piggy. Back seats and whining.  I am convinced that car manufacturers actually install a device in the back seats to induce whining and route it through the surround sound system.  For activation, all it takes is the pressure of about thirty pounds.  Amazingly, the vehicle doesn’t even have to be moving to trigger this phenomenon.  If only the imaginary brake in the passenger seat could work as well.

Nothing raises my hackles as quickly as a good whine.  In fact, I didn’t even know I had hackles until I had children.  I thought they were reserved for dogs and chickens, but now I know better.  God designed hackles on the back of a parent’s neck so that we could know when we have reached our limit and need to come to Him for help before we implode.

God first realized the need for hackles when the children of Israel were wandering through the wilderness.  At first, the trip probably seemed like an exciting adventure.  But then they backed out of the driveway and for forty years the vast, barren wasteland echoed with the ancient equivalent of “Are we there yet?” and “Stop touching me!”

When the Israelites complained about the food and begged for some sort of fast food treat, God provided His children with a snack called manna, also known as “the grain of heaven” and “the bread of angels.”  But were they thankful? N-o-o-o-o-o.  They complained like a bunch of disappointed children on Christmas morning.

“What’s this?  A wafer?  Pfffff!  Where’s the beef?”

Suddenly the car came to a grinding halt and God threatened to “come back there.”

Numbers 11:18-20

 ¹⁸ …’The LORD heard you when you wailed, “If only we had meat to eat! We were better off in Egypt!” Now the LORD will give you meat, and you will eat it.

¹⁹ You will not eat it for just one day, or two days, or five, ten or twenty days,

 ²⁰ but for a whole month– until it comes out of your nostrils and you loathe it– because you have rejected the LORD, who is among you, and have wailed before him, saying, “Why did we ever leave Egypt?” ‘”

The threat of quail coming out of their nostrils probably brought some radio silence for a few moments.

God truly understands what a parent is going through when a child is whining and complaining.  I witnessed this truth when my kids were recently sick with a cold.  With this illness, my normally happy children gave birth to some sort of internal beast that made Oscar the Grouch seem downright jovial.

Maybe they didn’t have quail coming out of their nostrils, but their noses morphed into faucets of gunk that even the formidable team of Hans Brinker and the Kleenex company couldn’t plug.  The level of whining reached epic proportions and raised my hackles as though hundreds of miniature soldiers were standing at attention on the back of my neck.

At one point I buried my head under my pillow and tried to squelch the toxic combination of constant nose-wiping and whining.  Acting like an ostrich didn’t help, so I tried begging instead.

“God, please.  I can’t deal with this.  I’m going crazy.  Why do they have to be sick like this?  I’m so tired of wiping noses. This whining is unbearable…”

Like the sudden scrape of a needle across a vinyl record, my speech was interrupted when I got smacked in the middle of the forehead by the hand of irony.

Yes, I was whining.  I must have sounded to God exactly how my children sounded to me. The angels were buying their heads under pillows. Worse, I was probably even raising their hackles.

I put up with this for forty years, remember? 

I certainly did not want to be responsible for causing God’s head to implode.  As I bowed my head, I suddenly remembered my wedding vows.

in sickness and in health, for better or for worse…

I had pledged these words to my husband, but what about my children?  When everything was going smoothly, it was so easy to focus on my overwhelming love for them.  But add a little tribulation, and I was transported back to the whining wilderness with the children of Israel.

Opening yet another box of Kleenex, I took a deep breath, gathered my little ones, and resumed my position as Royal Nose-Wiper and Whine-Taster.  As I held them close to me, a painful lump formed in my throat, but I knew it wasn’t the beginning of illness.  It was simply the realization that these kids are growing so quickly, and someday I will long for the Days of Whine and Noses.

A Conversation With Celery

No matter how you try to dress up a piece of celery, it’s just plain boring.  You could fill it with caviar and garnish it with gold, but anybody with an I.Q. greater than an amoeba  could see through the disguise.  When you pick up a limp piece of celery, it flops over like an arthritic old man on a rainy Monday morning. Celery is depressing; it’s the Eeyore of vegetables.

The other day I was speaking with someone who reminded me of celery.  I was fighting to pay attention, but all I could imagine was a limp piece of celery with hair and a face.  When it was my turn to respond, I was suddenly in an episode of Veggie Tales, and I had to refrain myself from bursting into a rousing rendition of  “The Dance of the Cucumber.”  On the drive home, it dawned on me that one of my primary duties as a parent is to ensure that my children develop personalities greater than a stalk of celery.

Of all the interesting personalities in the Bible, David is my favorite.  Maybe that’s because he was a “man after God’s own heart,” which would certainly add flavor to anyone’s personality.  David was the life of the party, a man who could play the harp, fight off giants, and run a kingdom in his spare time.

When Samuel had to select the next king over Israel, he invited Jesse and his sons to the sacrifice to choose the Lord’s anointed one.  One by one, Jesse’s sons walked the runway, but Samuel couldn’t find the right guy.  I love the fact that David wasn’t there.  He was off tending the sheep, so Samuel had to send for him.  Casual and unassuming, ruddy and handsome, David showed up late to the party and made his appearance all the more dramatic.  A green pepper in the midst of celery.

DAVID: (humming) La la la la la…huh? Hey, everybody!  What are you doing here?  (Samuel pours oil over his head) Whoa!

SAMUEL:  I anoint you in the name of the Lord.  The power of the Lord is now upon you.

DAVID:  Cool!  Let’s go kill some giants!

David had the X factor, and he even played the harp.  That’s kind of like that moment on American Idol when you love someone’s voice, and then one week they suddenly whip out a guitar and show a whole new talent.  Saul had an evil spirit tormenting him, and his attendants knew that music would heal his soul.  I can only imagine the initial suggestions.

ATTENDANT 1:  I’m learning how to play the pan flute.

ATTENDANT 2:  My four-year-old can play the glockenspiel.

SAUL:  You’re both fired.  Anyone else have a less idiotic suggestion?

1 Samuel 16:18

One of the servants answered, “I have seen a son of Jesse of Bethlehem who knows how to play the harp.  He is a brave man and a warrior. He speaks well and is a fine-looking man.  And the LORD is with him.” 

From this one suggestion, we learn many great qualities of David.  He was so likeable that Saul chose him to be one of his armor-bearers.  When Goliath, the Philistine giant, was terrorizing the Israelites, David was the only one willing to fight him.  Goliath had a little too much personality; he was more like a jalapeño pepper.  Sure, anyone could have killed Goliath with a 12-gauge shotgun.  David did it with a stone and a sling.  One shot to the forehead. Goodbye.  Apparently just killing Goliath was too ordinary, so David sliced off his head and carried it around with him for a while.  Maybe used it in a ventriloquist act.

My favorite “David moment” is when he returned with the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem.

2 Samuel 6:14

David, wearing a linen ephod, danced before the LORD with all his might.

David made this move popular way before Tom Cruise danced in his underwear.  But his wife Michal was disgusted by his public display of unbridled joy.  David’s response shows the origin of his zeal.

2 Samuel 6:21

It was before the LORD, who chose me rather than your father or anyone from his house when he appointed me ruler over the LORD’s people Israel –

I will celebrate before the LORD.

David had such a fervor for God that it bubbled up and boiled over into an ebullient display of elation.  His love was not hindered by ritualistic worship or a phony display of passion for the Lord.  He did not have to try too hard to be funny or interesting; his personality evolved from genuine love and enthusiasm.

The other night my kids were getting ready for bed when a song on the radio made them start to dance.

“Hey, this song is about JESUS!” my four-year-old announced.

Throwing hands up in the air and dancing around the room in their underwear,  they had no idea how silly they looked, nor did they care.  It had been a rough day, the kind where I second-guessed my abilities as a parent.  But as I watched their spontaneous, uninhibited dance of joy, I thought of David’s celebration and smiled.

Somewhere in between celery and a jalapeño is all I ask.

Insurance for Job

After dealing with various insurance agents all week, I have now come to the conclusion that we should just sell all of our belongings and go live in a tent on a deserted island.  Apparently there are 20,000 to 30,000 islands in the South Pacific, and that’s only because some poor guy got tired of counting.  We could just pick an uninhabited island and show up, although we might land on shore only to be greeted by the Aflac duck, seeking to insure us from the hazards of falling coconuts.

Insurance agents are always concerned about risks, but they never seem to be too worried about the fact that I have three young kids, including two boys who make a team more formidable than a cyclone.  I risk my life every time I turn a corner in our house and delve into an unknown landmine field of toys.

Just last night I was cooking dinner at the stove, when I stepped back onto my four-year-old’s train set.  Even while I feared for my life, I was briefly impressed that PlaySkool trains have even better velocity than Amtrak.  Then again, Amtrak trains don’t rappel you towards the top of a flight of stairs while holding a scalding pot of meatball soup.

Insurance agents are far too worried about an ACT OF GOD, when they should be  more concerned with an ACT OF CHILD.  They are more anxious about the improbability of a random asteroid hitting my house than they are with the very real probability that I could break my leg on a Matchbox car at any moment.

People who lived during biblical times did not have to worry about insurance.  No premiums, no deductibles, no claims.  We know this because there’s no way they would have let Mary, a nine-month pregnant woman, ride on a donkey.

I can just hear the insurance agent harassing Noah for attempting to build the ark.

AGENT:  Let me get this straight; it’s going to rain for forty days and nights, and you have no flood insurance?  You’re in a flood zone, for crying out loud.

NOAH:  Actually, the whole earth is a flood zone right now.

AGENT:  You realize you won’t be able to file a claim when this is all over.

NOAH:  When this is over, you won’t be able to file a claim either.

AGENT:  What’s that supposed to mean?

NOAH:  Oh, nothing.  Was that a raindrop?  Gotta go!

And how about David, about to attack Goliath without any personal liability insurance?

AGENT:  You’re going to attack HIM?  You could get sued!  A crazy guy like that could totally lose his head.

DAVID:  Hey, now there’s an idea…

Then there are some people, like Job, who just seem uninsurable.

Job was a righteous man who once had it all.  He had a huge number of servants and livestock.  His house could have been destroyed by the thousands of sheep and oxen, but he also had ten children, including seven boys.  Not even State Farm would have been there for Job.  Especially not after Satan started inflicting one disaster after another, causing Job to lose his family, his house, and his health.

During this time, Job’s three “friends” came to commiserate and offer their sage advice.  Unfortunately, their advice was about as useful as an umbrella in a hurricane.

Bummer, Job.  Guess you should have bought that insurance after all, hahaha.

The only one who was really there for Job through it all was God.

Job 42:10,12

the LORD made him prosperous again and gave him twice as much as he had  before…The LORD blessed the latter part of Job’s life more than the first.

Excuse me?  Who would take a chance on someone who has already lost everything?

That’s exactly what God did when He decided to sacrifice His son for us.  He gave us free will, knowing the risks involved with our human nature.  Being omniscient, God saw the potential for disaster and wisely set up the very first insurance policy of his own.  Even if everything possible went wrong and every person in the world gave up on us, God has already purchased us through the blood of Jesus Christ.  A true umbrella policy.

Yesterday my four-year-old came to me looking for the “big scissors.”  I didn’t want him to get hurt, so I refused, but he persisted until he wore me down.  After being reminded  never to run with scissors, he agreed and then promptly ran up the stairs, sharp scissors in hand.  In an instant I saw what we must all look like to God.  A bunch of children running with scissors and constantly putting ourselves at risk.

Thankfully, the same God who insured the uninsurable Job has got us all covered.

Hanging By a Thread

The Prodigal Son may be a story of forgiveness, but to some people it is also a story about a loose tooth.  Okay, only to me, but with good reason. 

Luke, my six-year-old, had his front tooth loose and hanging by a thread for months, with no end in sight.  Every day brought more certainty that this tooth was with us for the long haul.  Through graduations, weddings, and funerals, The Tooth would be there as an inextricable part of our family. I’ve seen bull dogs with less tenacity. 

Every time Luke smiled at me, I saw his future before me in a flash.  In every scene, he still sported a dangling, loose front tooth.  Every milestone picture captured it:  driver’s license, prom, even holding his first child.

Then there was my recurring nightmare of his wedding.  In front of friends and family, Luke stood at the altar, exceedingly handsome with his surfer-blond hair and strapping physique.  He turned to greet his lovely bride and smiled.  The crowd gasped in horror at the sight of his dangling, bloody tooth.  He lisped, “I, Luke Hanthon, take thee…”

I felt a terrible sense of guilt as a mother.  When Luke got his first tooth at one year,  my heart gushed over how adorable he looked. Now I just wanted to grab a pair of pliers and yank.

When a child has a loose tooth, the rest of the family hangs in the balance.  In the middle of all this dental madness, I happened to be reading the story of the Prodigal Son.  Of course, this name was just assigned to him over time; it wasn’t actually his nickname.  It’s not like his father referred to him this way in the Christmas newsletter.  This year our Prodigal Son decided that my hard-earned money really must grow on trees so why not waste it all and have nothing to show for it.  We’re so proud.

The Prodigal Son demanded all of his inheritance at once and then led a more scandalous lifestyle than a Hollywood bad boy.  Once he hit rock bottom, he had to take a job as a pig feeder.  The only thing worse than getting a job as the Director of Pig Slop is the poor guy who didn’t get the job.

One day when the pig slop started looking tasty, the son came to his senses.  Filled with guilt and remorse, he returned to his father.  By this point he must have been looking quite gaunt and scraggly, not to mention in desperate need of a shower.  On the journey home,  he probably imagined his neighbors and family lined along the village streets and taunting him.  Hey, Bones!  Here’s some slop–you want some fries with that? Hahahahaha! Oink, oink! 

The only thing that could save this wretched man was redemption by his father.  His father had every right to be angry and hold a grudge against his son.  Instead, being filled with compassion, he ran to his son and buried the sin with his love and forgiveness.  When the son’s life was hanging by a thread, the father was able to cut the cord that tied him to his pain. 

Sometimes we just need Daddy to save us.

We were eating lunch when I noticed Luke’s loose tooth was starting to bleed.  Against Luke’s wishes, it was time for Daddy to intervene.  Dave had no choice but to end everyone’s agony and cut the cord…er, thread, that held us all in bondage.  It was a bloody scene, but one that brought great deliverance for us all, especially our son.  He now had a huge gap in his mouth, but he smiled with relief from the pain.

It reminded me of all the times in my life when I’ve been hanging on to something painful, and all I needed was the loving touch of my Father to help me let go.  God is ready with his trusty pliers; all we need to do is let Him do His work.

The day after the impromptu tooth surgery, I heard Luke crying in his room. 

“What’s the matter?” I asked. 

Nothing could have prepared me for the squeaky answer from the other side of the door:

“My other front tooth is loose!”

 

A Movie to Make Men Flee

Samson was the strongest man in the Bible, which is impressive considering the fact that he didn’t even have a gym membership.  He makes the air-conditioned health club look like a playground.  Nowadays most guys pump iron while admiring themselves in a mirror, but Samson ripped his muscles the old-fashioned way, by tearing apart lions with his bare hands.  I’ve never seen that move at the gym, although once I saw a guy viciously tear apart the wrapper of a protein bar. 

Samson also happened to have long hair, a look that normally can only be pulled off by Conan the Barbarian or Fabio.  Put simply, Samson had what every Hollywood casting agent desires. The story of his life should be the greatest blockbuster hit of all time. But when you examine his story more closely, a woman would have to really convince her man to see this movie. 

WIFE:  Let’s go see that new movie, Samson.

HUSBAND:  What’s it about?

WIFE:  Um, I’m guessing by the title, a guy named Samson?

HUSBAND:  Thank you, Captain Obvious.  I mean is there action?  And does the action outweigh the dialogue by a ratio of 5 to 1?

WIFE:  The movie trailer showed lots of blood and violence. 

That’s because the movie trailer could never include the shocking truth of the story of Samson.  No guy in his right mind would ever want to hear it.

Imagine the voice; you know the one – the booming, familiar voice of the movie trailer narrator.  It’s always the same voice, which explains why there are so many starving actors out there.

MELODRAMATIC VOICE:  One man….with strength like none other… Only one thing could bring him down…One. Nagging. Woman.

Samson’s ruin came when he put his trust in a woman named Delilah, which might be the Hebrew name for “shrew.”  Delilah constantly tried to persuade Samson to tell her the source of his strength so that the Philistines could capture him.  That’s the kind way of saying it. 

Judges 16:16

With such nagging she prodded him day after day until he was tired to death.

Samson eventually caved and told her that his strength was in his hair.  Confiding in a woman was one mistake.  But telling a woman that he had superior hair was the kiss of death. 

If there was true justice in this world, Samson should have been given his own line of luxury hair products.  Instead, he was betrayed by the woman he loved and then suffered a humiliating death after having his eyes gouged out.  I can just hear the male population fleeing in horror from the movie cinema.

Even though the story of Samson resembles a soap opera plot, it serves as a reminder that we should always put our trust in God, not people.  A painful lesson that my family learned the hard way this week.

Someone actually betrayed our trust, and the worst part was having to tell my children that the exciting plans we had promised them were coming to a grinding halt.  With tears streaming down my face, I prayed and agonized over how to break the news.  I just couldn’t bear to break their hearts, so I decided to lovingly hand the job over to my husband.  I’m expecting a “thank you” card any moment now.

Dave sat the children down and began by explaining that there are evil people in this world.  Mean people who will even hurt innocent children without remorse.  The kids listened attentively while their Daddy lowered the bad-news boom.  As I braced myself for screaming and crying,  I barely heard Grace’s sweet voice tinkling like wind chimes through the storminess of my mind.

“Oh well, I guess God must have a better plan for us.” 

Hurt, denial, grief, rage.  A myriad of unpleasant emotions had washed over me that day, but Grace chose to drown in God’s love and faithfulness.  I had been wallowing in anger, yet my seven-year-old knew exactly where to place her focus. 

Psalm 146:5-6

Do not put your trust in princes, in mortal men, who cannot save…Blessed is he… whose hope is in the LORD his God, the maker of heaven and earth, the sea, and everything in them – the LORD, who remains faithful forever.

The world is full of Delilahs.  They crack open our hearts with the guise of sincerity and leave us with the empty shells of their meaningless words.  Thankfully, we do not have to accept the same sad fate as Samson.  Through Jesus, we have been given strength not only in our hair, but in every fragment of our being, and all we have to do is trust in the Almighty.  I always love a movie with a happy ending.

The Art of Not Listening

Many good quality videos are available to help us learn the art of canning, knitting, and gardening.  I might watch one if I wasn’t struggling just to find time to mop the kitchen floor.  If I do have time someday to watch an instructional video, I know I’ll never find one about the art of not listening.  That’s because society has pretty much mastered that one already. 

While out walking with my kids, our greetings and salutations meet their untimely death in the round, black earbud-coffins of our neighbors’ ears. So many people have these tiny headphones stuck in their ears, that I have seen the alarming future of teaching anatomy and physiology.  In a diagram of the ear, we will see the ear drum, cochlea, stirrup, and little black circles labeled “earbuds.”

Embarrassing moments can occur when you hear someone, but you don’t really listen to what they are saying.  I’ve had my share of cringe-worthy scenes.

HAIRDRESSER:     Enjoy your new haircut!

ME:     You too! (cringe)

Sometimes when my kids talk to me, I’m not really listening.  My perceptive children can figure out when I’m overtired, and I’m sure they hold secret meetings to determine the best ways to get what they want.  By the time they approach me, it’s a done deal.

– Mommy, can we skip bedtime tonight and just go hang gliding in the Himalayas? 

–Sure, honey, whatever you want.  Here, take my car keys.  

They finally got their revenge when we gave them all personal CD players for Christmas.  At first when the three of them sat on the couch and listened to music through their headphones, I congratulated myself for the brilliant gift idea.  As they drifted off into musical reveries, I basked in the unfamiliar paradise of tranquility.  But when I had to speak to them, they were able to completely ignore me.  With music streaming into their ears, I had become the indistinct voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher.

Mwa-mwa-mwa, mwa-mwa-mwa.

Then they all began to talk loudly to each other without listening.  Nothing they said made any sense, but what does that really matter when you’re not listening anyway.

“CAN YOU HEAR ME?” Luke yelled to his brother.

 ”NO!” Nate screamed back.

“YOU TOO!” Grace shrieked.

As my children sat there practicing the art of not listening, I thought about the times Jesus would say to his disciples, “Are you still so dull of hearing?”  Jesus had to present his lessons in parables, causing them to really think about what they were hearing.  What else can you do when your students act as though they forgot to remove the Q-Tips from their ears? I think if they had been wearing headphones, he would have flung them right over the side of the boat. 

Maybe they were visual learners.  Jesus didn’t have the option of giving a Power Point presentation.  The closest thing he had was drawing in the sand with a stick.  His students quickly learned that listening is a skill that needs to be practiced. 

Sometimes God has to speak to us many times before we hear him.  It would have been easier if He set us up like a giant Whac-a-Mole game, where he could just bop us on the head with a large mallet whenever we weren’t listening.  But He is really into this LOVE thing, so instead He does everything He can to get our attention, even when we just sit there with our headphones on, clueless in our own little world.

The Bible tells the record of young Samuel continually waking up his mentor, Eli the priest.  After hearing his name, Samuel kept popping out of bed and appearing at the side of Eli’s bed.  To Eli’s credit, he never lost his cool, but simply responded,  “I did not call; go back and lie down.”

After the third time, Eli finally realized that God had been calling the boy.  By this time, God must have been deliberating between writing on the wall with a laser beam or installing a P.A. system in Samuel’s bedroom.  Eli finally gave Samuel the advice he needed, and then rolled over and got some shut-eye.

It turns out that the key was that art form called listening.  The next time God called, Samuel was ready.

1 Samuel 3:10

Then Samuel said, “Speak, for your servant is listening.”

Instantly, God was able to give Samuel an ear-tingling revelation.  But it was only when Samuel was ready to truly listen. 

My four-year-old got upset with me this week when he was trying to tell me a story, and I listened while cleaning the kitchen.

“Mommy,” Nate fumed, “You are not LISTENING to me.”

“Yes, I am,” I replied, “I heard you.” 

“No, you need to LOOK at me and listen.”

He quickly taught me the difference between hearing and listening.  People who are hard of hearing do not choose to be that way.  Being “hard of listening” is a choice.

In Psalm 81, God laments, “If my people would but listen to me…”

Imagine if everyone would but listen to each other.  Earbuds would be thrown to the wayside, right next to the dying art of not listening.

Non-Profit Caterpillars and the No. 2 Pencil

With each passing year, my New Year’s Resolutions become less lofty.  When I was six, my goal was to change the world.  Now that I’m forty, I’m happy if I can change the sheets.   

I don’t just toss last year’s calendar into the trash;  I fling it with panache.  With a flick of the wrist, I toss any failures and disappointments of the past year right where they belong – in with the toilet paper rolls.  Then I place a new calendar on the wall and stare at the blinding possibilities of all those blank white squares. 

Each January we all cling to the hope that this year will be different.  We sharpen our No. 2 pencils and smooth out clean sheets of paper.  The intoxicating smell of graphite convinces us that surely this year our resolutions will hold.  With a steady hand, we carefully print out our first goal.

1.  I WILL ONLY EAT HEALTHFUL FOODS.

Without warning, Life unequivocally charges into the room like a toddler on Christmas morning.

            –Wanna donut?

            — Sure, thanks.

And just like that, we settle back into our comfortable ways, as effortlessly as slipping into our favorite pair of jeans. 

It’s funny how perspectives change after you live life a little.  The hubris of the young deflates into the practicality of the old.  Our parents, the ones we were embarrassed to have drop us off in a station wagon at the Middle School door, suddenly skyrocket in status once we graduate into the real world.   Sometimes we just need wisdom, even if it does come in the form of someone who eats dinner at 4:00 in the afternoon.

A rich young man seeking wisdom once approached Jesus, fell on his knees, and asked him what he must do to inherit eternal life.  I’m assuming that he fell on his own knees, not Jesus’, because the therapy session would have ended abruptly. I fall on my knees a lot, especially since my kids’ toys come with some sort of special GPS to locate the trajectory of my path.  But when we fall on our knees before Jesus, we demonstrate a meekness and willingness to do whatever it takes to accomplish a goal. 

Jesus saw that this rich young man was earnest in his desire to change.  He also recognized that despite the man’s adherence to the Ten Commandments, he was also missing something.

Mark 10:21

“One thing you lack,” he (Jesus) said.

Knee pads?                

“Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven.  Then come, follow me.”

At this the man’s face fell.  He went away sad, because he had great wealth.

Of course the man was sad.  Now he had sore knees, a fallen face, and he had to give up his wealth. 

But at least Jesus gave a practical answer, something tangible that the man could do right away, if he so desired.  Notice that Jesus did not whip out a blank sheet of paper and No. 2 pencil and advise the man to write down his goal and hang it on the refrigerator. 

1.  GET ETERNAL LIFE.

Sometimes kids may have unattainable dreams, such as my son’s desire to become the first astronaut-mailman.  It would be fun to deliver mail from a spaceship, and yes, the Sears Christmas catalog would be much lighter to carry in outer space.  But has he really considered the challenge of factoring gravity in with the cost of postage?  Still, I admire the determination of a child to make dreams come true.

God help the poor donkey who ever challenges my daughter Grace to a Battle of the Wills.  At the age of seven, she announced that she was going to start her own business.  That afternoon.

True to her word, later that day she was down by the road, open for business.  Those fortunate enough to pass by our house were invited to view her twin black and orange caterpillars, Jacob and Esau.  She didn’t make any money, but believed in her heart that she was providing a great service to our community.  When I explained to my little entrepreneur that she was running a non-profit business, she tossed back her golden curls, and yelled to the world:

“Non-profit caterpillars!  Come see my non-profit caterpillars!”

Several hours later, Grace made a difficult but sage decision for the good of her company.

“I think I have to close my business,” she explained.  “Not enough interest.” 

Last week Grace announced that she was going to become an author.  That afternoon.  Her plan was to write her own books and sell them at the bottom of the driveway.  Before I could even respond, she was writing furiously, as though the fate of the world depended on her pencil.  Her No. 2 pencil.

As I stared at the pencil, I realized that Grace was not using it to write down her dreams, but rather to turn her dreams into reality.  And if that didn’t work, she would move to the next plan.  Most likely something down by the side of the road, where her non-profit caterpillars eventually stopped dreaming about being butterflies, and just flew away.

Dolls Without Heads

In a world with seven billion people, where is everybody?  Between ATM’s, automated customer service, and online shopping, I’m beginning to wonder if the most recent census included computers.   My laptop thinks we’re so chummy it can send me suggestions such as, Oops!  Did you mean… when I misspell something.  I just don’t know if I’m ready for such an intrusive friendship with my HP yet.

I recently had to call our power company to report an outage.  Of course, there was no human on the other end of the phone, just a robotic voice that needed to “ask a few simple questions in order to help.”  Don’t they realize how annoying that is in an emergency?  You reach out to someone for help and comfort, and all you get is a Voice that is about as excited as a professional golf commentator. 

As I answered questions about flickering lights and downed power lines, I realized that regardless of the topic, I had to listen to this detached, unemotional voice.

Is the roof caving in on you right now? Press 1 for yes, 2 for no.

 <yes>

I’m sorry to hear that. Are squirrels getting electrocuted in full view of your innocent children?  Press 1 for yes, 2 for no.

<yes>

 I’m sorry to hear that.

We seem to have lost the example of Jesus.  He was a man of the people, a man who thrived on relationship.  I imagine that his eyes must have been intense and compelling, the kind that could pierce a person’s soul with love.  Jesus loved without discrimination, and he could even touch lepers without repulsion. Sometimes I don’t even want to touch the ratty dollar bills I get for change at the store.

After learning of John the Baptist’s death, Jesus withdrew to a solitary place.  Like a relentless band of paparazzi, the massive crowds followed their superstar.  This would have been the ideal time for him to set up automated customer service. 

Is your skin falling off?  Press 1 for yes, 2 for no. 

<yes>

 I’m sorry to hear that.

Even when Jesus was sad, tired, or hungry, he never disconnected himself from his fellow man.

Matthew 14:14

When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick.

This week our family decided to take a leisurely stroll downtown to see the Christmas window displays.  To my surprise, most stores had decorated with class and restraint, avoiding the usual appearance of Christmas in a high-speed blender with no lid.

Everyone was in a hurry, stressed, and ignoring one another.  People were texting and talking on cell phones instead of engaging with those around them. I wondered what happened to that Christmas carol, Children laughing, people passing, meeting smile after smile, and on every street corner you’ll hear…silver bells, silver bells…  

Instead, it was Children fighting, people stressing, meeting growl after growl, and on every street corner you’ll hear…angry moms, angry moms…

My reverie was suddenly interrupted by my children’s exclamations:

“Dolls without heads!  Dolls without heads!”

My first thought was how that would be the perfect name for a rock group.  Dolls Without Heads is now headlining at Madison Square Garden.  Opening Act will be  Teddy Bears Without Eyes.   When I turned to discover the source of their despair, I saw headless mannequins in the store window.  I shuddered at the thought that somewhere there must be a giant warehouse full of mannequin heads.  A scary place, where an angry supervisor might actually roar, “Heads are gonna roll!”

My kids were right to be disturbed by this cold, impersonal display.  The faceless representation of the human body provided fitting symbolism for our modern world.  As people hurried by us on the street, I realized that we were being ignored.  To them, we were just more dolls without heads.

It reminded me of the time two men once knocked on my door and wanted to introduce me to Jesus.  “I already know him, and I love him very much,” I responded.  Ignoring my answer, they continued to read from a prepared script.

A couple of days later, I bumped into the same two men on a walk in our neighborhood.  Excited to see fellow Christians, I greeted them warmly.  Out came the script.

“I want to introduce you to Jesus.”  As he continued to read from the script, I knew that he didn’t really see me. He was looking right through me.

And there I stood, a doll without a head.

God formed us to have connections.  Not pseudo-relationships, where we connect via the internet in an attempt to feel popular and accepted.  Real relationships involve genuine caring and sacrifice from the heart. 

It would be impossible for us to give all decapitated mannequins their heads back.  The best thing we can do is to use them as a reminder.  Every time we see one, we can remember Jesus, a man who knew how to connect with people.  A man who could look people in the eyes and give them the integrity and respect they deserved. 

 

The Gift of the Not-Gingerbread Man

There’s nothing quite like receiving visitors after giving birth.  Once the adrenaline fades, you feel like you’ve been abducted by aliens and had your body used for scientific experiments.  After surviving the probing and torturing, you are brutally dropped fifty-thousand feet from their spaceship into a hospital bed, just in time for company to arrive.  No tea and scones to offer, just stale Saltines and water from a pink plastic pitcher.

Mary must have experienced this sensation after she gave birth to Jesus.  First of all, she survived childbirth without an epidural or ice chips.  If someone had asked me to give birth to my children in such primitive conditions, I would have laughed them out of Bethlehem.  After surviving this ordeal, Mary was faced with a visiting group of excited shepherds.  I can remember fearing the arrival of the night janitor.

What was going through Mary’s mind as these strange men arrived at the scene?  I know what I would be thinking.

Ding!  Ding!  Ding! Congratulations!  You just won the Most Awkward Visitor Award!  Can I offer you something to eat? Here, chew on some hay. 

I like to imagine that this is when the tradition of making Christmas cookies began.  Mary was mortified at being unable to prepare food for her guests, so she had Joseph do it.  What would happen if you put a guy in charge of refreshments?  You’d get cookies that look like they were made by children.  Although they wouldn’t have been in the shape of reindeer and Santa.  Maybe donkeys and Moses.

Despite being insanely busy, I decided to make Christmas cookies with my kids this year.  I mostly caved because rumor has it that if you skip this tradition, you may suffer nightmares involving the Gingerbread Man freaking out because he has no thumbs to make Thumbprint cookies. I’ve always been afraid of the Gingerbread Man.  If dessert can come to life and taunt you, just imagine what a bad batch of eggs might do.

With Christmas carols blasting, we got to work. The kids picked out their favorite cookie shapes:  trees, reindeer, and stars. The bell and wreath are kind of like Monopoly’s shoe and thimble; no one ever wants them.  I found myself forcing the kids to include these pariah-shapes, as if they would end up in therapy for self-esteem issues. 

I tried to roll out the dough, but the gluten-free goo was so sticky, it would have been easier to just shove our cookie cutters into a honeycomb.  The final results were more frightening than any potential Gingerbread Man nightmares.  Instead of visions of sugar-plums dancing in their heads, my children would see decapitated reindeer and diseased Christmas trees.  The kids soon ran off to play, leaving me to bake the cookies.

When the cookies were finished,  I removed them from the oven and popped in a batch of pumpkin seeds to roast while the children were still playing.  Just as I was opening the oven to remove the seeds, my four-year-old rounded the corner.  He took one look at those tiny seeds and screamed.

 ”What happened to our COOKIES!!!  Aaaghhh!” 

I never intended to traumatize my children with baking Christmas cookies.  I was only trying to build memories with a bonding tradition.  Instead I had given them unwanted cookie shapes, mutilated those shapes beyond recognition, and scared them into thinking the cookies had morphed into seeds.  Charlie Brown was looking like a Christmas hero compared to me.

Suddenly I was in a Christmas special of my own, as I heard my children singing Christmas carols in the living room.  I peeked around the corner and saw them holding hands and singing “Silent Night” to the baby Jesus doll they had placed in a “manger” under the tree. Poor Jesus was dressed in a pink dress, but at least my kids were living the real meaning of Christmas.

After the shepherds’ visit to baby Jesus, they set the gold standard for celebrating Christmas.

Luke 2:17-18, 20

When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them.  

The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen…

As my kids lovingly caressed the baby doll, I was reminded that Christmas is not about cookies or the Gingerbread Man.  It’s about THE MAN.  The Not-Gingerbread Man, who arrived as a precious baby.  He was born to a woman who had no Christmas cookies to offer.  Humbly, she gave the world the most priceless gift of all: a Savior.