The place was a zoo!  The Lovely Lady had said she would be back to help me open up, but she was running late.  As I unlocked, the customers began streaming in the door, each one with a reason to need my attention.  And, the phone was ringing…Two lines at a time, over and over.  With my usual aplomb, which is to say, nearly none at all, the customer’s needs were dealt with, the peals of the ignored telephone frequently eclipsing the conversations.  Since the customers were patient, each one was finally served and the Lovely Lady arrived, just in time to help the last of the rush.  We had a short reprieve and then did it all again, several times.  It was, after all, the last Saturday before Christmas.

Immediately following the third or fourth rush of the day, I noticed a bill lying on the floor directly in front of the counter.  It was a twenty dollar bill, so we assumed that someone would be missing it soon.  The bill went into a container we keep behind the counter to await its rightful owner, but no one came back or called.  After awhile, we thought that perhaps it would make sense to phone a few of the morning’s customers with whom we were familiar, so we started through the ones we could recollect.  Those we could reach responded in about the same way.  “No, we didn’t lose it.  Hope you find who it belongs to.  Christmas isn’t a good time to lose money.” 

I did think of one customer whose name I couldn’t recall, but we had done business with her before and I knew we had a number somewhere.  The Lovely Lady found it after a lengthy search, and we left her a message to call us, without giving a reason.  Within a few minutes the phone rang.  “You wanted me to call?”, the curious voice on the phone asked.  When I explained that some money had been found, she took a minute, ostensibly to check her pocket.  Coming back on the phone, she said, “Yes, I lost some money.  Can you just mail it to me?”  A little surprised, I asked her the amount she had lost and she said, “Well, five dollars.”  I replied that this wasn’t the amount we had found, so she called to her husband (obviously in the next room), “Did you lose any money at the music store?”  When she returned to the phone, she was sure this time.  “Yes, he lost the change she gave him.”  Turning to the Lovely Lady, I asked about the change, finding out that he had given her a twenty and received about six dollars in return.  “No,” I said.  “That wasn’t it.  It was a bigger bill.”  I assumed that our conversation was over, but she yelled at her husband again,  “Did you lose a big bill?”  This time, I could hear him talking, but couldn’t understand what he said. Nevertheless, she was back shortly.  “He lost a hundred dollar bill!”

I have to confess that each of these exchanges had made me a little more angry, since it was obvious that this woman had no claim whatsoever to the cash.  However, keeping my cool, I said calmly, “It’s pretty clear that this isn’t your money.  We’ll keep looking.”  The audacious woman wasn’t finished yet!  She readily admitted that the money wasn’t hers, but now she wanted to help me be virtuous!  “If you can’t find who it belongs to, you should donate it to a group that helps poor people…”

Absolutely stunned, I hung up the telephone.  I think I’ve just spoken to the Grinch who stole Christmas!  At least she’s done that for me.  I have written before, that I find most people to be honest in their dealings with me.  I want to believe that.  I’ll believe it again someday.  But right now, this one person has shaken my faith in humans.  Here I was, trying earnestly to find the owner of this money.  But this woman was willing to throw her morals aside for the sake of five, then six dollars, and then one hundred dollars.  And, if lying and attempted fraud weren’t bad enough, she decided that it would be appropriate to add hypocrisy to the mix.

It hit me today, as I fussed at the Lovely Lady while we prepared dinner;  I in turn was rapidly becoming a Grinch.  I was unhappy yesterday, as we visited a friend who had graduated from college.  This morning’s worship services (including communion) had been grudgingly participated in. And, the joyful anticipation I always have of family arriving for Sunday Dinner was mysteriously absent.  Amazing how one encounter with a liar, would-be thief, and hypocrite could affect me so.  But as I considered the cause, it became clear to me.  The true issue isn’t the woman, it’s me.  I’m the liar.  I’m the thief.  I’m even the hypocrite.  And, I desperately need forgiveness.  And, I deserve it no more than she.  It’s sad that I have to be reminded so frequently that forgiveness is offered to all who come, regardless of merit.

This week we celebrate Christmas.  The spirit of Christmas is forgiveness.  It’s love.  God’s free gift to us is redemption.  And, we get to respond in kind.  After all, the Baby in the manger grew up and taught us to pray, “Forgive us our transgressions, as we forgive those who transgress against us.” 

The Grinch after all, is just pretend.  But this Christmas thing…This is as real as it gets!

“Christmas began in the heart of God. It is complete only when it reaches the heart of man.”

There’s an article circulating in the social media these days that speculates about how many classic books most people have read.  Apparently, or so goes the text, the BBC believes the average English speaking person (I wonder if I qualify?) will only have read 6 of the 100 books on the list.  Aside from the fact that a number of the books could hardly be called mainstream or classic, it’s an interesting exercise.

Do you read?  What kind of book do you pick up when (and if) you do read?  I find myself intrigued by the question and its ramifications.  My friends are a diverse lot, so when we talk about their reading habits, the answers run the gamut, from science fiction to Christian fiction, from the classics (Melville, Kipling, etc.) to romance novels, and even from self-help books to Christian non-fiction.  I have been astonished to learn what books some people read and I have nodded my head and said, “I thought so,” when I discovered what others peruse.  I can honestly tell you that ,contrary to what we’ve been led to believe, I have been able to draw no conclusion whatsoever about one’s maturity level or spiritual journey from the books they read.

Personally, I love to read.  I’ve been castigated by some friends for the lack of spiritual depth of reading material, and by others for my disinterest in the so called “Best Sellers List”.  At one time, our store sold Christian books, and I was amazed at how easily people were sucked into fads and crazes.  In the 90’s, the self-help books were all about “codependency” and our customers bought them by the scores and even used them as discussion guides for small groups.  Why was codependency such a problem then, but of no concern now?  Was is a real problem which was written (and read) out of existence?  Or, has it just morphed into a different form and now is being repackaged into new self-help books about, say….love addiction?  The problem with most best sellers is that they have no durability or staying power.  That’s why they’re called best sellers and that’s the reason I shun them.

I even tend to sneer at the latest Christian non-fiction, although I’m not uninterested in becoming the man God intends me to be or having my church be everything that the functioning Body of Christ should be.  I just know that the “best seller” that matters here has been the best seller for the better part of  the last 400 years in the English language, in the book we call the “Holy Bible”.  That one, I own.  That one, I read.  I’m baffled that somehow believers are willing to get more excited about what a man or woman can write and have edited for them and put into a slick cover before being sold with slick marketing campaigns, than they do about what they claim to believe is Absolute Truth straight from God.

When I want to read something a little lighter, these days, I pull down one of my old favorites.  I’ve read and reread Tolkien’s “Lord Of The Rings” and “The Hobbit” countless times as an adult, with new lessons learned about human nature and courage each time.  “Watership Down” by Richard Adams is one of my favorites too, with the same type of lessons to be learned, this time from the perspective of …talking rabbits?  Yeah, I know.  Kind of strange, but if you’ve read the book, you’ll understand.  “Pilgrim’s Progress” offers great wisdom for the journey. Of course, many of my choices are simply for entertainment:  “The Adventures Of Tom Sawyer” and “Huckleberry Finn”, as well as “The Jungle Book”  (the one by Kipling, not the Disney version)  are old friends, too.  Oh, and if you get jaded by life, there’s no substitute for “Winnie The Pooh” and “The House At Pooh Corner” by A.A. Milne for simple lessons on how to get along with others and a wonderful pun or two thrown in along the way.

I love to read and I thank my parents for giving me that chance as a young boy.  No television in my home growing up!  “If I want trash in my living room,” my Dad would say, “I’ll bring in the trashcans and upend them myself.”  We had hours to enjoy books and the great outdoors.  Many days saw me up an orange tree with a book in one hand and a ripe orange in the other, happy as any young boy ever was with expensive toys and raucous entertainment.

If you’ve got children still in your care, give them the gift of reading!  Television and computer games are addictions which they will have every chance to develop later in life.  Read aloud to your children and let them see you enjoying books.  Get them their own good books and encourage them to spend time developing a love for the art of reading.  It’s an amazing gift that will last all of their life.  And, I promise you, they will thank you for it.  I have yet to hear anyone gripe that their parents “made” them read when they were young (unlike taking piano lessons!).

Oh, and it wasn’t 6 for me…I’ve read 23 on the list.  I’m not sure that there are many others there which I would choose to read, but maybe I’ll make the effort and hopefully, find some new friends along the way.  There are worse ways to spend a cold winter evening.

“The more that you read, the more things you will know.  The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go.”
(Dr. Seuss)

“Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend.  Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.”
(Groucho Marx)

Last Friday, the call came while I was at work.  “Paul, when can we pick up that cornet mouthpiece?  The concert is Sunday afternoon, you know.”  I searched my suddenly blank memory and then was reminded that I had received a text the preceding Sunday afternoon.  Unfortunately, the connection between the text received on my cell phone and the stock orders placed that week hadn’t been made.  Once again, the curse of the chaotic, hectic schedule that rules my life during most days has claimed another victim.  At least, that’s what I want to believe.  I prefer not to think that my brain is aging at the same pace as my body.

I find that I’m often faced with the reality that is a forgetful mind.  It’s probable that I’ve always been forgetful of some things, going back to my teenage years, maybe even earlier than that.  I admit, my absentmindedness can be selective, with those items which are important to me having a much better chance of sticking in the gray matter.  I also find that most people I know are faced with the same problem.

I listened with gratification as a friend of mine related a conversation he had some time ago with a student of his.  “Dr. P, do you remember…”, began the student, only to be summarily interrupted by my friend.  “Stop right there!  Was it more than 20 minutes ago?”  The student nodded his head.  “Was it less than 20 years ago?”  Again, the student replied in the affirmative.  The judgment came, “I don’t remember.”  I can so identify with his conclusion!

My short term memory is often limited to a very short term, but I remember events and people from 20 years ago as if it were yesterday.  A customer may have spent a couple of thousand dollars in my store within the last 4 or 5 months, and I can’t remember who they are, but let a patron who purchased a fifty dollar amplifier  twenty-five years ago walk through the front door, and I can remember not only his name, but often the brand of amplifier he bought from me.  It would be nicer if I could remember the more recent events, since my business is sometimes affected by the lack of recollection.  Let’s face it; everyone wants to feel important, and if an individual makes a significant purchase in my business, they want to be remembered.

When I talk about my lack of cognitive skills in this area, most of my friends want to offer advice.  I’ve been given a profusion of suggestions for remembering people and events, from memorizing facial features to mnemonic devices, all of which have proved useless to me.  My undisciplined brain can’t remember to employ the devices for the same reason that I forget things in the first place; The events come at me too fast.  Before I can hang up the phone and complete the task requested by the caller, someone is talking in my ear from beside me, while an email arrives, also demanding attention.  I’ve decided that the laissez faire approach to life serves well here.  The French colloquialism means, literally, “let them get on with it”.  So that’s what I’m doing.  I’m peddling as fast as I can!  Let the chips fall where they may.  We’ll probably all get by.

Once in awhile, I do have to apologize for my selective amnesia.  Although I don’t intend it, some folks may think I do it on purpose and be offended.  I don’t remember who they are and hope none of them is reading this today, but just in case…I’m still sorry! 

I know I started out to make a point with this blog, but right now, I just don’t recall what it was.  Tomorrow, I’ll talk about when I was a kid.  That, I can remember!

“Men are men.  The best sometimes forget.”
(William Shakespeare)

Sometimes I sit at the keyboard, move my fingers and the words just flow.  Other times, like tonight, there’s a struggle.  Oh, I have no shortage of stories; those go on forever.  I have lived over a half century, you know.  The problem is that I’m not ready to tell some of the stories for different reasons.  Some entail a lot more embarrassment than I’m ready to reveal, others seem too trivial to waste time with.  They’ll probably all come in time, but I need to be ready for them to come.

What to do?  Do I just close the program and go home?  It seems to me that it would be simpler to just write less often.  The Lovely Lady has given her permission.  “You don’t have to write everyday, you know,” she told me as I left the house earlier.  The day will come when I’ll take that advice, but for now, I want to persevere.  It took me such a long time to get up the courage to start that I’m worried I’ll falter soon and quit for lack of motivation or in discouragement.

I have been a quitter, you know…When I was quite young, our neighbors would invite us to go to the tomato fields and pick with them.  I agreed one day and rode the big flat bed truck out to the field…only to ride it back the first time it returned to the processing plant.  I had assumed that the day would be a lark, nothing more than an easy few hours of picking in the garden.  Boy, was I mistaken!  Suffice it to say that I was embarrassed by kids half my age and adults who looked so old that decrepit wouldn’t be a stretch to describe their physical prowess.  When I heard that the truck was coming back to town, I was climbing on in a minute, without a second thought.  Let them say whatever they wanted to…I was done!

A few years later, this time at about 13 or 14 years old, these same neighbors (who must have been a little forgetful) invited me to work with them in their concrete finishing business.  I made it a little longer this time, actually sticking out the job for 4 days.  Setting forms, cleaning concrete-covered tools, and digging trenches by hand in the nearly 100 degree heat and through the dry, sun-blasted soil, was incredibly tiring work, but by the third day, the sunburn I had started accumulating the first day was blistered and the motion necessary to do my work was not only exhausting, but also excruciating. So, once again I quit, walking home this time.

The list of things I have tried and quit abruptly includes not only a job or two, but various clubs, sports, and even a correspondence school.  I’m good at leaving things unfinished. A close examination of my workbench today will reveal at least 4 unfinished jobs, which may never be resumed.  Sometimes when we start things, we don’t count the cost, we don’t consider what the task really entails.  Then when we hit the brick walls, and it happens invariably, we “reassess”.  That’s what I like to call it anyway.  It sounds better than “waffle” or “renege”.  My mom had a colorful name for people like me, probably a bit politically incorrect.  She would say, “Oh, don’t be such a pantywaist!”  Well, when the going gets tough, the wimpy get going…the other way!

I will tell you proudly of my triumphs, although a closer examination of  them will demonstrate the influence of someone other than myself, a blessed marriage made easy by an amazing partner, a long term involvement in the same church, facilitated by fellowship with some of the best people I know, and my business, in which I have been motivated by enjoyment as much as by necessity.  God has been good and well I know it!  When I find myself disappointed by my shortcomings and failures, and they are many, I have only to look at His goodness and faithfulness to find encouragement and the stimulus to keep pushing forward.

The past is our school, providing us the tools to struggle back to our feet and get it right the next time.  Our whole life is a picture of grace and redemption, with second chances being the rule rather than the exception.  So, quit being a pantywaist and get going…in the right direction!  You’re surrounded by failures who kept at it until they achieved success.  Your turn is next!

“Age wrinkles the body.  Quitting wrinkles the soul.”
(Douglas MacArthur)

Up until sixth grade, I loved math.  I’ve since figured out that the reason is that math until then was actually basic arithmetic, with numbers which made sense to me and functions which were fairly consistent, such as addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division.  I actually remember a time when I thought that math was my favorite subject.  That all changed as we moved into the more theoretical fields and I rapidly lost interest.  Algebra was just okay and Geometry was one step beyond okay.  I basically blew off Geometry class due to a complete lack of interest in the subject.  It no longer was black and white, right and wrong.  We didn’t speak of adding and subtracting, but now had theorems and postulates, and questions such as: “State the theorem or postulate you would use to prove the following statement.”  I wanted to find the correct answer, not discuss why it was correct.

I should tell you from the start, that I’ll not be exploring any of the intricacies of the foreign language which is mathematics here.  I merely wish to set the stage for my little tale, to be assured of your understanding of my position, when I say that I had no interest in the subject.  You mathematicians (the Lovely Lady included) will gasp in horror, and the intellectuals among you will be convinced that your original impression of my lack of cerebral ability was correct.  You won’t change my stance.  I have no intention of becoming a “nuculer scientist”, and therefore will not be resuming my education in mathematics ever again.

For the college prep level of classes I chose to complete in High School, Geometry was a minimum requirement, so it had to be passed.  We had a two semester, four quarter system, with nine weeks in each quarter.  As I sat through my first nine-weeks of classes, my eyes rapidly glazed over as Mrs. Klinck discussed the basics of the class and my mind went into neutral for the duration of the first quarter, giving me a final grade for the nine-weeks of 68.  In those days, 70 was considered passing for the class, but you only had to pass the semester to move ahead, so the two nine-weeks grades were averaged together.  Mrs. Klinck was a good teacher, with a desire to see her students do well, so she arranged for me to come in for extra help before school.  I wasn’t alone in those early morning sessions, since there were other students who were of a kindred spirit with me.  At the end of the semester, with a little effort on my part, I achieved exactly the necessary minimum passing grade of 72.  My mind, which does simple division quite well, told me that the resulting averaged semester grade of 70 was completely acceptable.

For the third quarter, the eyes glazed over again, resulting in an abysmal grade of 62, the worst I ever had on a report card.  Mrs. Klinck was not amused at all.  “If you think I’m going to pass you with a 78 for the final nine-weeks, you’re sadly mistaken!”, were her exact words.  “If I don’t think you tried to do any more than just get by, I will make you take this entire class again next year!”  Now, Mrs. Klinck was one of the best looking teachers in high school and I think most of the boys in her classes had a crush on her, but another whole year of her Geometry class?  No, thank you!  I came in for the early tutoring sessions, applied myself to the hated postulates and theorems and finished the final quarter with a respectable 89 in the class.  I even came within a hair’s breadth of acing the final exam, missing only one question to achieve a very impressive 96.

I’d like to be able to tell you that this was a turning point, that I never again did the minimum necessary to fulfill a goal.  I’d even love to tell you that I always give one-hundred percent in everything I do.  I can’t tell you either of those.  Many times since that day I have waited for the last minute to finish a project, “phoning it in”, as the saying goes.  I have failed to remember the lesson of that hard year in Geometry on any number of occasions.  But, I can also say that over and over, I’ve thought of that year when faced with a task which I detest. On almost a daily basis, I see duties and responsibilities on which I would like to get a pass.  I have come to understand (even if not actually mastered) the need to achieve excellence all along the way.  I’m going to keep trying to make that one-hundred percent.  Mrs. Klinck couldn’t make me love Geometry, but she helped me to learn a valuable lesson which has stuck in my mind and heart for many years. 

Always do your best, even when it’s more than is required.  Whatever you do, do it with zeal.  We don’t work for ourselves, or even our favorite math teacher.  If we are followers of God, we owe Him our best efforts, even in the most menial of tasks.

“The difference between what we do and what we are capable of doing would suffice to solve most of the world’s problems.”
(Mahatma Ghandi)