He was an 80 year old child. In four decades of ministry I would have to say that he was one of my favorite people. I absolutely loved all my interactions with him.

          James lived with his brother William in an old apartment building across the street from our church in Ohio. William was the older by three years and he watched over James like a hawk. James was very simple minded, mentally around six or seven years old. The problem was, William himself only had the mind of a ten year old. I never got all the back story on the two. There had been an older sister who had married and had children, but no one, including James and William, had any idea where she was. To them, she was still a young mother over in the big town. They didn’t know the name of the ‘big town.’ Considering the size of our town, the ‘big town’ could have been most any place. She was likely dead by the time I met the brothers. William claimed he remembered her changing James’ diaper. When William told me that, James blushed so much I thought his head would explode. So, James and William lived together and no one knew much about them. They were just two old men who wandered around town together.

          William had a crippled leg and could hardly walk. He used a cane and James always helped him, although James hobbled when he walked, as well.. Right around the corner from the apartment building was a convenience store that they ‘shopped’ at. They would go in and get what they needed and go up to pay, putting their money on the counter. The women that worked there would count out a little and ring them up, giving them change back. After the brothers would shuffle out whichever of the women working that day would reach into a little jar under the counter labeled ‘WJ Fund’ and make up the difference on how much they actually owed. Quite a few of us gave to the William and James Fund. They both had Social Security, but by the time their landlord was done ripping them off and they had paid for their utilities and all, there wasn’t much left. And then William refused any kind of help from any agencies. He was going to take care of James and no one was going to interfere.

          William didn’t want to go to church and wouldn’t let James go, either. Too many people there wanting to know your business, he’d say. So, I worked it out with the convenience store to call me when they left and I would hustle down to the corner about the time they got there. I would talk to them a bit and then, since I was going their way, offer to carry their groceries. I wasn’t the only one in our church to reach out to them in a covert manner. If we had a carry-in, and we had them often, someone would always take a lot of food over and tell them either they took it or it might get thrown out. If they needed to go to the doctor, one of our men would take them in his car for a fare. A quarter a piece was the going rate.  All kinds of things like that. Like most churches on Sunday morning before the service begins, ours was a noisy place with folks visiting back and forth. One morning as I was talking to our organist, the whole place got quiet. Nick and I both looked up to see William and James hobbling in and heading for a pew. Nick said, Wow, under his breath and I just nodded my head.

          When you entered that church, you had to go upstairs to get to my office. We were handicapped accessible, but neither William or James could operate the equipment. So it was, less than a week after that surprise visit in church, that I heard the door open and a frightened voice call out. “HELP ME! HELP ME!” I was out of my chair and to the top of the stairs in a couple of heartbeats. James was standing there with tears on his face. “Something is wrong with William! He won’t wake up!” I ran past James and across the street and into the apartment. William, indeed, would not wake up, nor would he ever wake up in this life again. He had passed in his sleep leaving his crushed younger brother behind.

          Our ladies’ group, called the WMU (Women’s Missionary Union) paid for the funeral with the help of donations from the church at large. The brothers were such a fixture in town that it was just about the largest funeral I saw in my time there. The funeral dinner had more people than we could handle, but there was still a lot of food to send home for James. It was as though the community and the church couldn’t do enough for the little guy. He told me a few days later that he couldn’t keep on taking their help, William would not have liked it. “James,” I said. “William took care of you. Everyone wants to help William out now.” That was enough for James. He became the personal project of the WMU.

          And he thrived. He had never eaten so good. It got so his clothes wouldn’t fit, so one of the men took him shopping. He could come to church all the time, which he had never been allowed to do, and he had a church family, which became his family to him. He opened up to people. At one Wednesday morning Bible Study, someone asked him how he was getting along. He said he thought about William a lot, just sitting up there on the clouds strumming his harp and wearing that long white dress (by which he meant the robe and harp and clouds we see in comics depicting heaven). Wistfully he said, “Someday I’ll be there with old William, sitting on a cloud and playing that harp thingy. I don’t think I’ll wear the dress, though.”

The county eventually came in and threatened the owner of the apartments with closure until he brought every thing up to code. It was pretty easy to convince James to leave there and go live at an assisted living place. When he did that his life really opened up. He became a social butterfly. Any activity they were having, he was in the middle of it. Different folks in the church, including Marsha and myself, would stop in to take him for drives. He had lived less than two miles from Lake Erie for as long as he could remember, but had never seen the Lake. We took him to see the Lake. He just stared, his mouth hanging open. “All that there is water?” He just couldn’t believe so much water you couldn’t see the other side. To him, it had to seem like the land ended right there and water stretched on forever. He loved to watch the Cleveland Indians. They had a player at the time named Jim Thome, who eventually wound up in the Hall of Fame. James loved Thome. They even had the same name. For his birthday one year I had contacted the Indians and explained about James and asked for a signed photograph of James’ hero. What I got back was the photo actually signed by Thome and a note on the back telling James how cool it was that they had the same name and how much it meant to Thome to have such dedicated fans as James. Marsha got it framed and we went over to give it to James. He was beside himself. He went from calling him ‘Thome’ to calling him ‘my good buddy Jimmy.’ It was very, very neat.

His favorite song was ‘Jesus Loves Me.’ A child’s song to most of us, but James was a child. He always wanted me to sing it with him. “Jesus loves me, this I know,” both of his hands would go to his heart. “For the Bible tells me so,” tears would begin to well up in his eyes. “Little ones to him belong,” that old and craggy face would soften and the years would drop away. “They are weak and He is strong,” a smile would begin. “Yes, Jesus loves me!” His eyes would turn to heaven and you just knew he was thinking of Jesus and William. “Yes, Jesus loves me! Yes, Jesus loves me! The Bible tells me so!” Such a look of joy and satisfaction on a wrinkled and lined face.

Have you ever considered what we need to have? The newest vehicle. The nicer house. The spectacular entertainment. The well ordered church service. If these things are missing from our lives then we feel our lives are missing something. But what if we could appreciate a ride in someone’s old car? What if a bed and a chair and a small 12 inch screen TV was a joy beyond words? What if looking at an endless stretch of water took our breath away every time? What if ‘Jesus Loves Me’ brought us to tears every time we heard it? One of our ladies once said to me that she felt sorry for James because he had missed so much. I told her that if she spent a lot of time with him, she would start feeling sorry for herself because she was missing so much wonder and joy.

James believed in Christ with the simple and pure faith of a child. Some day I am absolutely certain I will stand in Glory, stunned by the majesty and thrilled by the presence of God. A man will walk up to me on strong and sure legs. Even though he will be young, I will know it is James. “This is it, Pastor. This is what I saw and felt every day. Enjoy!”

Jesus loves me!
This I know,
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong;
They are weak but He is strong.

Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me!
Yes, Jesus loves me!
The Bible tells me so.

          In the Fall of 2016 I ran a series through our church prayer chain called Forty Days of Prayer. The series, which ran for forty days, was given to me by Melissa Wilcox. I timed it to end on Thanksgiving Day and each day, along with the prepared prayer devotional, I added my own thoughts on that day’s theme. As the Forty Days of Prayer neared an end I found myself in a group of several of our ladies and the conversation came around to the Prayer emphasis ending. They wondered if it might be possible for me to keep e-mailing my thoughts on things. Hey, I’m a preacher! I can always think of something to say. It’s kinda like it’s my job.

          I didn’t like the e-mail format for some reason. Mary Earle, of Mary’s Moments fame, has her own blog. (for those of you who are not a part of the church, that link is https://mary-marysmoments.blogspot.com/) I asked her for help and she explained how I, too, could become a blogger just like her. Christmas was soon upon us and I was quite busy, so I didn’t get started until January.

          And so, on January 11, 2017 was my first blog. Exactly two years ago today.

          It really wasn’t going to be much. I figured it would start with a couple of dozen readers and then dwindle. I was going to have triple by-pass in April of that year, so I figured that if it lasted that long I would chronicle my recovery and then be done with it. Really, more something for me to do.

          I started out three days a week. Hard to keep that up and actually be a pastor, so I dropped to twice a week. That really was a chore, too, so now it is mostly once a week with an occasional second one coming out. But, why am I still at it?

          Blogspot, the organization that provides the free blog space, keeps track of how often you are read, what countries you are read in and various other things that interest geek type people. I knew that going in, but I really expected 30 people in Wabash County, Indiana. Dropping it when interest waned would be no real loss.

          As of today, January 11, 2019, my blog has been read 14,027 times. That is a cumulative number, but the next one really surprises me. This blog is read in 62 countries. This I really do not understand. Obviously, there are English speakers in every country, but what could be so interesting here that people in 61 other countries other than the USA would care to read the blog? There have been almost a thousand reads in Russia alone. Russia? I am almost afraid I am going to be named as a person of interest in the current Russian probe against the President. But the blog is read in places like Afghanistan and Bangladesh and South Korea and Taiwan and mainland China, as well. This has caused me great wonder. Americans are everywhere. They work in embassies, they are soldiers stationed far from home or they might work for multinational companies. Also, in some countries there are people tasked with reading anything that comes out of other countries as they seek for hidden messages and the like. I am sure that for those people, they find my blog a treasure trove of clandestine information. All of this would account for some of those readers in overseas countries, but surely not all?

          At any rate, I intend to keep writing, at least for a while. The internet circles the globe, accept for North Korea. Maybe I am just an assignment to some bored out of their mind political officer in the basement of some ugly block building in some country somewhere. But they are there. They may be staring at a flickering screen with blurry eyes trying to grasp what some nut in Indiana s trying to say, but they are there reading the blog. And, if as they are combing for hidden messages, they happen to read that Jesus Christ died on the Cross as a sacrifice for their sins and if they accept Him as their Savior, they will have an eternity in heaven, well, what is wrong with that? If, as they are reading, they find out that this country isn’t as decadent as the news media seems to think it is, what is wrong with that? And, if some US soldier who has been in the field for weeks, returns to his base camp and accesses the internet just to touch base with home, and he stumbles upon a blog that reinforces the things he was taught growing up, what is wrong with that?

The fact is, every one of us has a unique opportunity to share some aspect of Jesus. All too often we pass on it. We don’t want people to laugh at us or think we are weird or blow us off. But you take the chances as you get them.

So, for a while yet, we will continue to put out the blog.

Blessings.

          It is never easy to admit you are wrong.

          In November I resigned from the Urbana Yoke Parish as pastor because of the fact that my wife of 43 years had left me. The reason? Well, I am still not sure except that she said the ministry had finally just become too much for her. Unless you have been in ministry for all of your married life, you cannot understand that thinking. The ministry looks like a pretty cushy job. But there have been many vacations canceled or cut short because of the ministry, many get togethers with family or friends disrupted, many dinners that have gone uneaten, many times the pastor has come home not wanting to talk or visit. Imagine being married to someone who has an interest more compelling than you. You can be involved, as well, but not to the level your spouse is involved. It can wear on you until it gets to be to much. It is not all that unusual to see an older couple in ministry, but usually they came into it a little later in life. Marsha married a man committed to the ministry. Less than two months after we were married, I was called to my first ministry endeavor, Youth Pastor at a church in Tennessee. Our whole married life has been in the ministry. It is unusual to see a couple in fulltime ministry for over 40 years.

          We often learn things when we are younger that we hold onto later in life, even though if we were to study it out, we would find that what we had learned was wrong. When I first accepted Christ, 45 years ago, I got involved in a very legalistic church which led to going to a very legalistic college. The educational portion was fine, but the belief system was very strict and, in many cases, created by man. As the years have gone by, I have worked to unlearn a lot of what I learned in college as pertains to the harshly strict thinking we were exposed to. That ‘unlearning’ process was mostly spurred by circumstances that demanded more study. I had never encountered my wife leaving me, though.

          When this happened, I fell back on what I had learned when I was an impressionable young man. Specifically, in this case, 1 Timothy 3:1-7. Keep in mind, I learned this at a school that said moustaches were a sin. The school had people called campus checkers (always male) who went around writing down names of people violating the rules. They could make a female kneel before them on the sidewalk to see if their skirt or dress touched the ground. Anyway, 1 Timothy 3:1-7 says;

1 The saying is trustworthy: If anyone aspires to the office of overseer (in this case the overseer is the pastor, as is clear in the passage), he desires a noble task.

2 Therefore an overseer must be above reproach, the husband of one wife, sober-minded, self-controlled, respectable, hospitable, able to teach, 3 not a drunkard, not violent but gentle, not quarrelsome, not a lover of money. 4 He must manage his own household well, with all dignity keeping his children submissive, 5 for if someone does not know how to manage his own household, how will he care for God's church? 6 He must not be a recent convert, or he may become puffed up with conceit and fall into the condemnation of the devil. 7 Moreover, he must be well thought of by outsiders, so that he may not fall into disgrace, into a snare of the devil.
          To me, given the teaching I had received at that college (not my seminary training, that was not legalistic) I had no choice but to resign. Once my wife left me, I was no longer the husband of one wife, nor was my household in order. I was no longer qualified to pastor. Now, I had two agonies to deal with, both of which were simply breaking my heart. My wife had left and I could no longer pastor.

At no time, however, did I have peace about resigning. People tried to convince me otherwise, mostly using the example of Hosea in the Old Testament who was told repeatedly by the Lord to continue on even though his marriage was forfeit. As I explained to my son, though, a prophet and a pastor are two different callings and they were required to live under two different set of rules. Similar, but different. Still, I was struggling with this decision. I just felt it was wrong. The Lord was working on me and I soon began to fully explore the passage.

First, I examined it in the original language, that being Greek. Their sentence structure is different from ours, but the above is a faithful translation. In their sentence structure they often have really long sentences because they put an entire thought into one sentence, where we tend to break that thought down a little into two or three sentences and create a paragraph. Verses 2 and 3 make one sentence. We would easily make it 2 or even 3 sentences. Because it is one sentence it is one thought. It has to do with how one presents oneself to the world as concerning their self control and actions. I have always taken out the portion that says "husband of one wife" and applied it solely to marital status. Marsha leaving me essentially removes my wife and thus disqualifies me as a pastor. However, this segment is part of a larger thought. Since the whole thought is concerned with how one controls oneself, that segment is as well. I then looked it up in various commentaries. I seldom use commentaries and when I do, they are the old commentaries, such as Matthew Henry. These were written by real men of God. Not to say the newer writers are not people of God, I just trust the older writers. Every writer I read said that it was legal then for a man to have multiple wives. The Greek wording is actually "a one woman man." This was so the pastor, or overseer, in this passage, would just have one wife at a time. One writer pointed out that if you take this passage in our way of thinking then an unmarried man, or a man whose wife had died, would be ineligible to pastor.

          The next thought is in verses 4 and 5. This is pointed at keeping your kids in line, because if you cannot do that you cannot manage a church body. The word 'household' is used, but laid into that thought is the idea of children, so it is about the children. One writer addressed the issue of a marriage breaking up. He said that it totally depends on the circumstances of the break up. If the man is at fault, as in the sense of adultery or abuse or some negative, then he is unqualified. If, however, it is because of the actions of the wife, the husband may still continue as a pastor.

I believe, Biblically speaking, that I may continue as Pastor of the Urbana Yoke Parish. My decision to resign was poorly thought out and due, at least in part, to a broken heart.

I presented this to the church yesterday at a specially called business meeting following the service. I asked the church to consider allowing me to rescind my resignation. In a seriously overwhelming majority, the church voted to retain me as pastor.

It is still a struggle. I believe I can effectively pastor. If I see that I cannot, I will not be a burden to the church. But, whether or not I can effectively pastor, the fact remains that at the end of the day, I am alone without my best buddy. That is hard. However, Philippians 4:13 says, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. I have claimed this verse many times in my life and I have never been let down. This time looks to be much harder on me than ever before, but He is my Lord, so it is good.

          It is a chilly day in Ohio. I stand by the front door of the funeral home, waiting for the family to arrive. The funeral director handling this funeral will be there in a bit, but because I know this family, I meet them and get them settled. I had been in their home at 1:30 that morning. The aged mother had passed away at home under Hospice care and I had gone with one of our men to retrieve her body. As my partner prepared the lady for transport, I sat down with the two daughters and son and made an appointment for them to come to the funeral home in the morning to make final arrangements. I prayed with them and then we transported their Mom to the funeral home.

          So, now I watch three cars pull up. The two daughters and their husbands, the son and his wife and assorted grandkids, all adults. One of our staff hurries to get more chairs. As they enter there are hugs and handshakes and introductions. Another of our staff takes coffee and tea orders and hurries off to prepare the drinks. I walk the folks to the table and we sit down. The family is quiet, feeling their grief. I pull out a notebook and start to ask questions. Some of these things will be in the obituary, but my real purpose is to cut through grief and fatigue and get them to talk.

          It starts slowly. What was Mom’s maiden name? Siblings’ names? I ask about family events, not because it will wind up in the obit, but because I want them to talk. The son, the oldest, tells a story about a long ago family reunion. That leads to a story from one of the sisters. One of the grandchildren speaks up and shares a tale about how grandma covered up his misdeed so he wouldn’t get in trouble. The older adults stare; it was something they didn’t know. Another grandchild tells her own story about gram’s complicity. Pretty soon there is laughter and stories and smiles. The lady who made the coffee and tea also brought cookies, and in a short while coffee and cookies are gone. Finally, the son of the deceased lady sits his cup down and looks at me. “OK, now what do we do?”

          He was talking about the funeral proceedings, but it could also have been a question about their family’s lives. It was a question that had to be asked. There is comfort, even peace, in the stories. The memories flow and those memories tend to be good memories. In this case, the long months of watching a loved one slowly slip away was, for a brief time, supplanted by the memories of her life. They were reminded that while they were fighting with an enemy called grief, that fight was preceded with a friend called love and love was greater than grief. Still, the question had to be asked. Now what do we do?

          The church I pastor is entering into a new phase. Literally, a monumental change. One that, even though it has always been recognized as necessary, will also be accompanied by grief. Stories of past times have been coming forth, and they are good tales. But the question is out there. Now what do we do? We have taken this great step of faith, but what lies beyond? There are many who read this blog who are not affiliate with our church here in Indiana. However, your life is still changing. Maybe a death, maybe a coming birth, maybe a move or a new direction in life. If nothing else, there is a new year to deal with starting in just a few days. It is not natural for any life to stop and become stagnant. There is always something that is presenting a challenge. Sometimes there is overwhelming sadness linked with the challenge, sometimes joy and happiness, sometimes uncertainty and maybe even a little fear. Every challenge brings change and every change brings the question. Now what do we do?

          What did Adam and Eve do when they made their devastating mistake and ushered sin into the world? After the dust had settled and their lives had been totally changed, they went on with the mission the Lord had given them. What did David do when he failed and became guilty of adultery and murder? After the dust settled and his heart was crushed, he went on with the mission the Lord had given him. What did Peter do after he denied Christ in a feeble attempt to avoid problems for himself? He dealt with his shame and grief and went on with the mission the Lord had given him. The Bible is full of stories of men and women who faced the same kind of issues we all will face this year. The ones who had even a little strength in the Lord rose above it all and went about the mission the Lord given them. In contrast, there are also stories of people who hit the hard place and they abandoned the mission the Lord set before them. For people like Lot and Saul and Ahaz and Ananias and Sapphira, it did not end well.

          What do we do now? Is our challenge insurmountable? Are all we have left to us is fond memories? What is marriage going to mean, or a baby? How can I see beyond the crisis that now floods my life? How do we deal with missing Mom or Dad or child or husband or wife? How can I set about finding the mission that God has for me in the midst of all this chaos?

          What do we do now? We start each day with prayer. No, you don’t feel like praying, but you must. If you have accepted Christ as Savior you have to understand He has the answer. You have to set some time aside each day to read the Bible. That is where the answers lie. Don’t try to find verses that specifically speak to your situation, but read and explore the mind of God. And, we must continue to serve. Isaiah 40:28-31 says this; Have you not known? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait on the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint. We like that idea of waiting for God to renew us and strengthen us, but word ‘wait’ is used in almost all English translations, yet it doesn’t mean ‘wait’ as in ‘waiting for a ride.’ It means ‘wait’ as in a waiter of waitress who serves us in a restaurant. The Hebrew word is ‘qavah’ and means to actively serve. This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t rest or back away. Even Jesus tried to find solitude. But when the time came to get back at it, Jesus was there, calming the sea.

          What do we do now? I look at the man who had just asked the question. “Well, Chris, now we need to put this thing together in a way that will honor your mother.” And we get down to the business of why we are together at the funeral home.

          What do you do now? Remember the past, but don’t live there. Move forward in the Lord. Be led, be guided, be faithful.

          What do we do now? I think we know.

          One of the truly great hymn writers in American history was Philip Bliss. American church music was mostly English church music in the 1700s and 1800s. Then, some writers came along and began writing music that reflected the American Christian experience. Fanny Crosby and Philip Bliss were two of the best and these two collaborated many times. Crosby wasn’t much at writing the actual music, but was wonderful at writing the words. Bliss wrote the music for many of her songs. But he was also very good with words. One of his lesser known works is one of my favorites.

The Light of the World is Jesus

The whole world was lost in the darkness of sin,
The Light of the world is Jesus!
Like sunshine at noonday, His glory shone in;
The Light of the world is Jesus!

Chorus
Come to the light, ’tis shining for thee;
Sweetly the light has dawned upon me;
Once I was blind, but now I can see:
The Light of the world is Jesus!

No darkness have we who in Jesus abide;
The Light of the world is Jesus!
We walk in the light when we follow our Guide!
The Light of the world is Jesus!

Ye dwellers in darkness with sin-blinded eyes,
The Light of the world is Jesus!
Go, wash at His bidding, and light will arise;
The Light of the world is Jesus!

No need of the sunlight in Heaven we’re told;
The Light of the world is Jesus!
The Lamb is the Light in the city of gold,
The Light of the world is Jesus!

          Now a lot of people would look at that and say, “What is the big deal?” A worthy question, and in that is our story.

          A week before Christmas, 1984. Do you remember where you were or what you were doing? I do. Seminary. Pastoring a small country church in the Panhandle of Florida. Working full time at a Firestone just off I-10. The third Tuesday evening of each month our local association of our denomination had a pastor’s meeting. So, the week before Christmas, 1984 found me at the biggest church in our association for a meeting we didn’t need to have. I seriously did not want to go to this thing. What free time I did have I wanted to spend with my family, but the wife of the pastor of the biggest church in our association had baked a lot of cookies and had prepared a huge plate for each pastor. Of course, I wanted my wife and son to have some cookies for Christmas (I don’t care for them myself). So, I went to the meeting. As a bonus, the pastor gave each of us a nice fruit basket, too. All in all, a nice haul.

          I recall it as a chilly night for Florida. No snow, of course, but in the 30s. The meeting was short but it was still fully dark as we walked out to our cars. We all bid each other a Merry Christmas and off we went. I lived over forty miles away in the deep country, so I fortified myself with a couple of cookies. Nice night for a drive. Big plate of cookies and a fruit basket. I had a smile on my face.

          I had just got on the country road that led home when I met another car. The old cars had the dimmer switch on the floor and you dimmed your bright lights by pressing the switch with your left foot. I did so and the two cars passed. When I pressed the switch again for the brights, the switch went through the rusted floor and broke the wires and clattered to the road. (I drove old cars because that is what I could afford) When that happened, all my lights went out. Headlights, taillights, running lights. Gone. A very dark night on a twisting and turning country road. I couldn’t see a thing.

          I got off to the side of the road. There was no way I could continue. It was cloudy so the moon was only out occasionally. I didn’t travel that road much. Of course, I had no phone. (no cellphones yet) Marsha was going to be worried and I had the cookies and fruit to get home. I helped myself to a cookie and pondered my situation.

          After a bit, car came up behind me. I saw him coming from a long way behind, and when he passed, I could see well down the road because of his headlights. Of course! I would wait for another car, then fall in behind that car and drive with their lights. Piece of cake. Which I did when the next car came along.

          When the car passed me, I could see it was a woman in the glow of her cigarette. It was really pretty easy to follow her if I stayed close enough. But, about a mile into this, she realized there was a car close behind her with no lights on. She picked up speed. I had to pick up speed, too. She went faster. I went faster. Pretty soon she was flying down that road. Having bald tires, I decided to back off and wait for another car. I pulled off, got a cookie and waited.

          It took about ten minutes and a truck came along. Couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman since the driver was not smoking, but I pulled in behind them. Again, it was fine for about a mile, but then the driver realized there was a car there with no lights. Again, we went through the whole speed up thing until I felt I needed to slow down. 70 mph was the limit of that car. At 70 it was shaking so hard the cookies were rattling. I pulled over and waited again.

          There were about eight vehicles that night that had the snot scared out of them. When the moon would come out from the clouds, I would proceed by moonlight. Otherwise, I waited for a passing motorist. It took a long time to get home. When I finally got to the house, every light was on as well as the porch light. I got my plate of cookies and the fruit basket together and trudged to the front door. It had scared Marsha when she saw a darkened car pull in, but then she saw it was me and she was waiting at the front door. “Where have you been? I have been so worried!” So, I set my burdens down and explained. She listened. Her only comment during the story was, “You must have scared those people to death!” When I was finished, she shook her head and sat back. “So, tell me. Why did she give you such a big plate with so few cookies?”

          A week before Christmas in 1984 I needed light. I was looking for light anywhere I could. It was just a fleeting thing, then it was gone. Life was very, very hard on that drive home. In the larger sense, the whole world was in darkness. There needed to be a light in the darkness. Humanity was looking for a light. Wise men to the far east were searching. Old people in their house of worship were searching. Shepherds on a hillside were searching. People everywhere were searching desperately for a light in their own way.

          Then, in a small town crammed with people, a lonely and near panicked couple stumbled into a barn. She was heavy with child. The man walked her to a pile of straw and made her as comfortable as he could. His heart pounding, he had to be wondering how he would pull this delivery off. It really was not his specialty. But they managed. And suddenly, there was a Light born into the world, and everything changed.

The whole world was lost in the darkness of sin,
The Light of the world is Jesus!
Like sunshine at noonday, His glory shone in;
The Light of the world is Jesus!

Chorus
Come to the light, ’tis shining for thee;
Sweetly the light has dawned upon me;
Once I was blind, but now I can see:
The Light of the world is Jesus!

          Merry Christmas to each and every one of you.

          It was the perfect Christmas. All I really wanted was a dog. A big dog. A dog you could go into the woods with or wrestle with out in the yard. Oh, we had always had dogs. My father’s favorite pastime was coon hunting. He raised his own and also trained dogs for other hunters. I interacted with as many as a dozen dogs a day, depending on how many were chained up out back to dog houses at the time due to training. Since I was the one who brought them food and water, they were always happy to see me. And when I was a very little boy, we had a pet dog named Tiger. He was a little yappy dog that was a family pet. We all loved the little mutt. When he died we were all heartbroken. But he was ours, not mine. Now, I was in sixth grade and I wanted my own dog.

          So, on Christmas morning, there he was. Already big, he was only half grown. A big, happy cur pup. He zeroed in on me and was all over me. We wrestled in the living room, rolled into the dining room and then back into the living room. I took off upstairs to my room to get something and the big goof raced up the steps with me. We wrestled in the hallway, into my sister’s room, back into the hallway and then into my room. Finally, we trooped downstairs and ate breakfast. Then boots, heavy coat, gloves and knit cap, and the dog and I were ready for our first tramp in the woods. My father tossed me a leash and told me that he was still a pup. He needed to learn who was boss. Keep him on a leash for now. Yeah, yeah, OK. I clipped the leash on and as I walked out the door, I grabbed my gun. “Hey, boy!” (My father never called me by name until I was an adult.) “There’s no open season right now.” “Just for protection!” And then we raced out the door. Who knew? Maybe I would have to protect myself against a gang of killer squirrels.

          As soon as we hit the woods, I unleashed the dog. Boom, he was gone. I called for him and called for him, but to no avail. So I tracked him in the snow. After a half hour of that he showed up again, having circled around and coming up behind me. I sat down on a log and took his face in my hands and explained that he had to stick with me until I told him he could go. It was about a five minute lecture and he sat there, his head in my hands and listened to me with the intensity of a young scholar in college drawing knowledge from his professor. When I had finally made my point, I released his head and he turned and bolted through the woods again. Out of sight in seconds. I was eleven years old and disappointed. What does an eleven year old boy who is disappointed and sitting on a log in the woods in the snow with a gun do? Well, he target practices. I couldn’t do that, because it would be a waste of bullets and my father would not be happy. But so what? I spotted a tree some distance away, picked a point on the tree and started banging away. I was breaking all sorts of rules. I had taken my gun for no good reason, I had unleashed the dog, I was wasting bullets, I was shooting a tree (which was a real no-no) and I was shooting at an up angle. We did target practice some, but there was either a hill we were shooting into or we were shooting down. You didn’t shoot up with no backstop. Even a .22 can carry for a mile. But I didn’t care about any of that at the moment. I was an angry boy with a gun and I thought I knew all the answers.

          To my surprise, the shooting brought the dog back. He was extremely interested in the noise. I had a couple of rounds left and as I fired them off I watched the dog. Just a slight, tiny little jerk each time the gun fired. Well, there was hope for the dog yet. Certainly not gun shy. I quickly clipped the leash and headed back toward the house.

          The dog had burned off a lot of energy, so he was content to walk on the leash. As we walked along, I tried to concoct a story to explain my actions. If I hadn’t decided to go to war with that tree and hadn’t fired a single shot, I would be golden. But I had and my father would have heard. Telling the whole story would be disastrous. I know I was thinking pretty hard as we got to the yard.

          We had at least two dozen barn cats. That number went up and down with litters and cats trying to cross the road and all. But as a rule, we had around two dozen. My father didn’t like cats, but he put up with them because they had a purpose around the barns. We were pretty much rodent free. He didn’t even let us name them. (They all had names, of course. I have two sisters.) There was, however, one cat he was quite partial too. On his way out every morning he would feed the little creature and stand there to keep the others away. Suzy-Q. None of the other cats liked her because she got special treatment. If my father was sitting in a lawn chair in the back yard, Suzy-Q was in his lap. No other cats would be around for fear of the man, but Suzy-Q had her place.

          All of a sudden the dog bolted, pulling the leash from my hand. He had spotted Suzy-Q. He was new to the neighborhood, just there since that morning. He had no idea of the cat’s place in the order of things. He just knew that he hated cats. Between Suzy-Q’s screaming and the dog’s barking and growling and my yelling, there was quite a commotion. My father burst through the backdoor and took it all in. He leaped over an embankment that ran along the backdoor to where I stood yelling at the dog. The cat was already in the dog’s mouth and, probably, dead. But my father grabbed my gun and raised it and pulled the trigger. Of course, it was empty. He reversed it, grabbing the barrel, and started beating the dog until the gun broke in half at the point of the chamber. My father was a drinker, to put it lightly, and I had seen violence in him before, but never with this intensity. And, just like that, on a cold Christmas morning, my father lost his cat and I lost my dog and my gun. The fresh snow was a deep red. The perfect Christmas was no more.

          My father taught me many lessons. Most of them were lessons on how not to act, how not to treat people and animals. How not to treat your kids, your son. He also taught me to not like Christmas. The drinking increased starting just after Thanksgiving and escalated all the way through February. Every year, just after Christmas, he would leave for some other woman and would be gone till it was time to get ready to plant. And my mother would let him come home. I never really understood. But many kids grow up that way.

          I have two older sisters. By Christmas my senior year in high school they were both married. The oldest, Cathy, had a baby boy. The next, Debbie, was pregnant. They had their own places and their own lives that Christmas. A couple of years earlier the farm had failed. Even though the failure was due to my father’s drinking, he saw no reason to stop. My mother’s life was miserable and I was not helping, I suppose. A month before I had stepped in to protect my mother, something I hadn’t done before, and I had hurt my father pretty bad. I had accepted Christ the previous summer and I had a hard time dealing with fighting with my father and hurting him. I protected my mother, so that was reason enough to stop him. But I had felt a surge of anger and even hate that I didn’t know had existed. If my mother hadn’t stopped me, I really don’t know what I would have done. He left that night and this Christmas he was not home. I was wrapped in my own guilt and shame. It was going to be the worst Christmas ever.

          Morning came. I woke around 5 AM. Not for the anticipation of gifts. I just wake up at 5 AM. My bed was next to the window. I rolled over and gazed outside. So much on my mind. I wanted to go to college next Fall. But how? I was being recruited for football, so that was my way, but I didn’t want to leave my mother alone. There were lots of jobs to be had, I didn’t have to go to college. The great bust hadn’t hit yet. That is the area of Ohio/Pennsylvania now mockingly called the Rust Belt. Then it was called the Steel Belt. All kinds of jobs. We didn’t know that in a few years they would start leaving. But I was conflicted about a lot of things that Christmas morning. Guilt, confusion, responsibility. As a new Christian I had no real understanding of giving it all over to Him.

          However, looking out that window at a landscape covered in snow, the Lord put into my mind the words I had just heard two days earlier in Church. Surely my eyes were playing tricks, or was it just my imagination? I saw a hillside covered in grass where there had just been a hillside covered in snow. I saw men sitting on the hill and flocks settling down around them. A light from a fire sprang up and I felt strangely peaceful. Then a light surrounded them. A voice! An angel! Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.  Amazing really. In my mind the angel spoke in King James English, just like I had heard in church. Anyway, the men leaped up and raced down the hill toward the town. Then, in my imagination, my perspective changed. I was looking down on a small barn. Oddly, the barn looked just like the barn that really was outside my window, except that the snow covered lane was a dusty dirt road and there were buildings and shops there in my mind. The shepherds slid the big door open (Well, the actual barn had a sliding door. How was I supposed to know that they probably had swinging doors?) They raced in and then my perspective changed once more. I was inside the barn, upstairs where baskets and small equipment usually clutter the place. But now, in my imagination, there was loose hay. I was looking down upon a scene that was amazing. A man and a woman and a Baby. Usually, in that barn, there was a tractor and a plow and a disk, but now it was just the man and the woman and the Baby, and then the shepherds.

          My mother called to me and asked me if I was awake. Coffee was on. I called back and told her I would be down in a minute. I tried to recapture the moment, but outside it was just snow and cold. Inside though, in my head, it really was Christmas. The. Best. Christmas. Ever.

          I know. You doubt it was really like that. But for the first time in my life I was looking at the holiday with hope that had nothing to do with gifts. The Lord was new in me and it was incredible. Believe me, it was like that.

          Blessings to you all during this season.

                    “Baby, its Cold Outside.” Written by Frank Loesser in 1944. Loesser was well known as a writer of music for Broadway type musicals. “Baby, it’s Cold Outside” wasn’t for a production at the time it was written. He and his wife sat down on a very cold winter’s night and put the song together. It had popularity for a while, and then it faded. A few years back it was featured in the movie “Elf” and not only regained popularity, but became a Christmas song.

          This year it is gaining more fame because a radio station in Cleveland has pulled it from their Christmas play list because of the suggestive nature of its words. Considering it was written in 1944, the words are really pretty racy. The man has had the young woman (who still lives with Mom and Dad) out on a date and has somehow talked her into coming to his place for a nightcap. She really does want to stay over, but is making all the excuses she can as to why she has to leave. Meanwhile, a winter storm is raging outside. In the end, it is implied that the man won the evening.

          In its way, I suppose, it is kind of a cute song. I never liked it, though. Listening to music is hard enough for me, but when two people are singing at the same time and singing different words, I just can’t take it. I never really thought about it, other than I don’t like it.

          And then, about ten years ago, a friend asked me to listen to a radio station in Cleveland that played Christmas music for 24 hours a day, from midnight Thanksgiving night to midnight Christmas night. There was a short break at the top of each hour for a news capsule and a quick blurb to tell you what local company was sponsoring that hour, and then it was another solid hour of Christmas themed music. My friend had discovered that during the hours of 6 AM to 10 PM, when the stationed played a sacred, or religious, song, it was only music. No words, just music. After 10 and until 6 they would play the songs with the words. It was during this time that I really listened to the words to “Baby, it’s Cold Outside.”

          Two things struck me. One, the words are suggestive. Certainly not like the music that is heard up and down the radio in the present time. Explicit sex, violence, killing, racism and so on. But still, the words don’t evoke a pleasant Christmas holiday. The second thing, the song has nothing to do with Christmas. Why was it included in a 24 hour Christmas play list? I had never seen ‘Elf,’ so I didn’t know of that connection. I was puzzled. (And my friend was right about the sacred music. No words until later at night.)

          So, the current ban of the song on that Cleveland radio station doesn’t really bother me. Except, if there is no real limit on rap music or any other music that gets down right explicit, how can you single out “Baby, it’s Cold Outside?”

          One reason, of course. Someone has had their little feelings hurt. Someone is offended. I know of a group of Christians scattered across the country who have been protesting with cards and letters to stations around the nation about certain rap songs. That has done no good. The stations’ management know that these people will not buy the products they advertise with their music, so they ignore the protests. But, give a station an opportunity to ban something they think might increase sales, they are on it.

          This morning on the FOX online news, I read about a principle of an elementary school in Nebraska who has banned her teachers from decorating their classrooms with Christmas themed ornaments. Her thinking is that it will offend the students who do not celebrate Christmas. Apparently, the school does not share her zeal. She has been placed on leave. But before that, she sent out notification that said themes like sledding and warm clothes and the character ‘Olaf’ from the movie “Frozen” (another movie I have missed) are OK. But, decorations and themes that included Santa, Christmas trees, reindeer, green and red colored items and even candy canes. The reason sacred stuff wasn’t included was because the Supreme Court and the ACLU took care of that years ago. However, her thinking on candy canes is religious, albeit a little skewed. The principle says that the cane is shaped like a ‘J’ and that stands for Jesus, and the red stands for His blood and the white for His resurrection. The school says that Santa, Christmas trees, reindeer, green and red colored items and even candy canes are secular emblems and can be used for teaching. That sounds like someone straddling the fence. Can be used for teaching.

          When I was growing up, we had a Jewish family in our town. Very small town. Urbana’s Post Office is much bigger than our Post Office was then. We had more churches. Two Baptist, one Methodist, one Christian and one Catholic. Of course, our Jewish family did not attend any of those. They would leave Saturday morning and come back on Saturday afternoon. I have no idea where they went to synagogue. When the Jewish holidays came around the mother would send in holiday appropriate treats with her kids, and we all enjoyed. When it was Christmas time and there were treats for the kids, the Jewish kids also enjoyed. No one’s feelings were hurt, no child felt threatened, no one’s little minds were corrupted. It was all fine. Now the concern is offending someone.

          So, they have banned “Baby, it’s Cold Outside” from the airways. Can “Silent Night” be far behind? Or even “Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer?” “Silent Night” talks about Jesus, and you can’t have that. “Rudolf” talks about bullying, and we can’t have that. Mercy, “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” pushes elderly abuse, and we can’t have that. Bit by bit, our right to even have a traditional, enjoyable holiday is going away.

            82,000,000 people (give or take a dozen either way) in the United States identify themselves as Evangelical Christians. Should that great hoard of people organize and seek to overturn the oppressors? There are another 65,500,000 Roman Catholics (give or take a dozen either way) in the country. They would join with us! We could end this! Except, we are still outnumbered. And, to be honest, this is our fault. As Christians, we are to share the Story. Prophesied 4,000 years before His birth. Born of a virgin. Lived a perfect and sinless life. Died as our sacrifice on a bloody Cross on a hot hill in a dusty city. Buried in a tomb and sealed up against someone stealing His body. Rising again and going to live at the Father’s dwelling place, giving us a plan of salvation. Do we tell the story? If we had been telling the story, prayer would not be out of school. Nativities would be part of the decorations in third grade classrooms. Our rights would be secure. But we quit telling the story. We find it more exciting to march on Washington to oppose abortion. It is more satisfying to get upset at “Happy Holidays.” We want to be up front with everything, except for sharing the great Gospel of Christ.

          82,000,000 on a picket line would be an impressive TV clip. 82,000,000, in their churches and in their homes, on their knees seeking God in every aspect of their lives and 82,000,000 sharing the Gospel of Christ would change the world.

          “Baby, it’s Cold Outside” is a silly song. People are standing up for it, though. Here, though, is a song and an attitude worth the effort of living up too.

Stand up, stand up for Jesus, Ye soldiers of the cross;
Lift high his royal banner, It must not suffer loss.
From victory unto victory His army shall he lead,
Till every foe is vanquished, And Christ is Lord indeed.

Stand up, stand up for Jesus, Stand in his strength alone;
The arm of flesh will fail you, Ye dare not trust your own.
Put on the gospel armor, Each piece put on with prayer;
Where duty calls or danger, Be never wanting there.

                     Stand up, stand up for Jesus, The strife will not be long;
                      This day the noise of battle, The next the victor's song.
                        To those who vanquish evil A crown of life shall be;
                          They with the King of Glory Shall reign eternally.