2:30 AM–The dragon is sleeping.  Not dead, just sleeping.

It doesn’t look much like a dragon, does it?  Yet, I’m sure that’s what it is.  For weeks, I’ve done battle with it.  Oh, not continuously.  I don’t have the strength for that.

I fight with the dragon until I’m tired and then I retreat from the field.  Not in defeat, just a brief reprieve from the back-and-forth of blows and counter blows between combatants.

What’s that?  A guitar can’t strike any blows?  You’ve obviously never met this guitar.  I once thought this an easy conquest, too.

No more.

A few moments before midnight tonight, I sent a message to the Lovely Lady.  Tersely, I claimed victory, suggesting that I would be home soon.  The battle was won, the dragon defeated.

If only.

No sooner had I turned from my smart phone than the battle erupted anew.  A new tuning machine piece must be found, cover-plate screws were missing and had to be located, the volume potentiometer was scratchy and should be cleaned.  All those tasks were completed, but the potentiometer would not be defeated.  A new one had to be installed.  Oh.  And the tone potentiometer had the same idea and would not be denied.  Holes are the wrong size and must be drilled.  The knobs won’t fit on the new pots.

I have been badly burned by the dragon fire on this night.  This time, I have retreated from the field in defeat.  I will finish the fight another day.

But, something else is bothering me.  Yes, I’m feeling sorry for myself.  I’m sure I have earned the right to do that.

But, still…

Ah!  Now it comes back to me.  There are more important battles being fought, aren’t there?  My guitar is hardly in the running for any of the vicious dragons which must be slain in your mind, is it?  The guitar does provide food for thought, though.

I don’t claim to know what battles all of my readers are involved in.  I do know that an old friend lost her dad to cancer a couple of days ago, and another is struggling with the impending death of a beloved pet.  I talked with my Mom tonight.  She didn’t know who I was–couldn’t remember that she had any children at all.  Her loss of cognizance is a dragon my Dad fights daily (and the rest of us do from afar).  My sister is still facing chemo, her husband, the darkness of losing his sight.  I know people losing jobs, and a young man who faces hunger on a daily basis.  The list of dragons goes on and on.

What do we do?  How do we live?  How can we go on fighting dragons that won’t be killed?

I don’t know about you, but I’m going to go to bed in a little while.  After I rest a few hours, I’m going to awaken again, realizing that God has given me one more day to fight the battle which is in front of me.  It’s not just about a guitar, but that dragon is one thing I’ll do battle with again.  It is still in front of me and the only way to the other side is through.

A friend, who has ample experience with dragons, posted an article tonight that questioned whether God allows us to face more than we can handle.  Most believers would say that the answer is no.  This person says yes.

I agree with her.

I have been overwhelmed more times than I can count.  But, that’s not where I am today.

The thing we have to remember is that God’s promise to us is His strength is made perfect in our weakness.  Do you get that?  His strength.  Of course, we’re overwhelmed!

But, He’s not!

The sleeping dragon of a guitar will be waiting when I come in tomorrow.  I’m not excited about facing it again.  My mom will still be unaware of who I am and who my father is.  Funerals will be conducted and chemo regimens will be followed.

I took this picture while out for a walk one evening last spring.  I wanted to remember what a dead dragon looks like.

You see, just moments before the photo was taken, a tornado had blown overhead and the dragon had breathed its fire.

After fear comes new courage.

After destruction, new hope.

Dragons don’t live forever.

We will.

Are you locked in battle right now?  Fight on!

You’re not alone and the battle is not futile.  It may go on for longer than you had hoped.  The result may not be just as you expected.

God won’t be surprised.  He won’t be unprepared.  He promises you that His grace will be enough to get you through.

It’s enough.

Even as the dragon sleeps.  It’s enough.

“So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their ending.”
(from “The Hobbit” ~ J.R.R. Tolkien ~ English educator/author ~ 1892-1973)

“‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the lord, ‘Plans to prosper you and not to harm you–plans to give you hope and a future.'”
(Jeremiah 29:11 ~ NIV)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2014. All Rights Reserved.

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“Failure to plan on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part.”

The sign hung over the instrument repairman’s work bench.  He had another sign which hung nearby. It stated tersely, “Good work takes time,” making it apparent that our friend behind the counter had little patience with folks who failed to plan ahead.

I used to admire him.

That was before.

Before I lived enough years to realize that emergencies do indeed occur.  Before I learned that the pride that one feels in being prepared in a world filled with unprepared people can disappear in an instant, dissolving like a sandcastle at full tide.  Before I discovered that the ability to plan is not the same as having twenty-twenty foresight.

“Extreme cold and very low wind chills,” is what the weatherman said a day or two ago.  “Better make sure that your pets are warm and the water pipes can’t freeze.”  I looked over at the Lovely Lady, sitting in our warm den and smiled, perhaps a little too smugly.  She smiled back at me, making me feel more proud than I had before.

The new doghouse arrived in the fall, a long heavily insulated thing, capable of housing the two black monsters in our backyard without crowding at all.  It seemed to make sense to winterize the house, so I had spent most of one afternoon closing up the gaps.  I experimented with a heating method or two before settling on a small space heater (placed safely out of their reach) which had a thermostat that could be set at an appropriate temperature.  It wouldn’t be as warm as being in the house with their owners, but the canines spend most of their time outside anyway, so it was important that there not be such an extreme variance in temperature.  A durable mat on the floor insured that they would be comfy on the coldest of nights.

I had planned.

And the water pipes?  Not to worry.  The only place where I knew the pipes could be exposed to the cold was the kitchen sink.  It stands near the north wall and there is access to the supply line on that wall.  I checked to be sure that there was a thick layer of styrofoam insulation in the cavity of the wall and a heavy block covering it to ensure that no frigid air could even begin to ice up the water inside.  Just in case, I left the cabinet doors open to the warm inside air, a precaution which I was sure was unnecessary.

I was ready!

The smug smile would be wiped completely off within hours.

Late last night, with the temperature outside hovering around zero, I heard the dogs whining.  Outside.  Outside?  Surely they were in their warm house. I had checked the operation of the heater just an hour or so before.  No, they were outside.  I walked out to where they lay atop the snow.  On their durable mat.  Which they had dragged out of the warm house. It was wet and covered with ice, so it couldn’t be used again without a good bit of work.  They would not go back in their house again–not without the mat on the floor–which they had dragged out into the snow and rendered unusable.

I found the remainder of the original roll of matting and carried it out to their house, folding it to fit and tossing it inside to lie on the floor.

The cold pooches scrambled to get inside the warm doghouse, the two of them almost getting stuck as they tried to enter at the same time.  I didn’t see them again until late this morning.

I checked the water in the kitchen early today.  I knew what I would find.  Well?  I had prepared.  It ran just fine, with no sign of a problem.  I allowed myself another smug smile–for just a minute, you understand.  Then I headed for work, leaving the Lovely Lady home since she wasn’t feeling well today.  She sat in front of the warm heater all day.  It ran all day with the outside temperature never rising above ten degrees.  About 4:30 PM, I got a text from her.

“Is there supposed to be a sizzling sound when the heater goes off?”

There wasn’t.

I locked up the music store and headed for the house.  When I arrived, I heard the sizzling sound.  It had nothing to do with the heater, but it couldn’t be heard when the fan was running.  No, it had nothing to do with the heater.  It did, however, have something to do with the wet spot I saw in the carpet along the wall behind the heater.

Pipes.  Broken in the wall.  A wall where I didn’t remember any pipes being located.  I wracked my brain.  Why would there be pipes in a wall of a room which had no sink, no faucet, and no toilet?   This room had been a carport before we remodeled the house.  Before that?  Oh yes–it was coming back to me now.  I remember the former owner talking.  Something about a little beauty parlor in the room.  One chair–one sink–in which to wash hair.

A sink.  Plumbing in the wall.  I called my brother-in-law.

“Hey, do you know where the shut-off is for the plumbing in this wall that we closed in?”

He didn’t.  I explained my problem and then told him that I didn’t want it to be his problem and that I’d figure out what needed to be done.

Disconnecting the heater and pulling it out, I began to cut into the sheet rock behind it.  The first hole I made gave me a clear picture of what was going on.  Feeling around, I could tell that there were actually two pipes which had burst and were spewing water behind the wall.  I turned off the water to the whole house and prepared to go to the hardware store for some supplies.  As I started for the door to go to my car, there was a knock on it.  My brother-in-law stood there, tool kit in hand.

“I thought maybe I could help.”

The job was finished in a few minutes, the water turned back on and the heater re-installed.

All is well in my world once more.

Three things:

1.  Those you care for make stupid decisions.  Care for them anyway.  The dogs needed me to fix things for them.  They would have laid in the yard and frozen.  Yes, they’re that dumb.  It doesn’t matter.

2.  You can’t plan for everything.  Plan anyway.  Deal with the unforeseen problems which will come when they come.

3.  Be grateful for the people in your life who make your problems their problems.  True friends understand that failure to think of every possibility on your part doesn’t excuse them from helping in your emergency.

It’s time for me to quit writing now and return home.  The thermometer outside is standing at zero once more.  I think I better check on the dogs again to make sure they’re not lying out in the yard.

Oh!  I’m going to open the cupboard doors, too.  I hope there are no more hidden pipes in the wall.

If there are, will you come and help?

“A friend in need is a friend indeed.”
(English proverb ~ origin ca. late 1400’s)

“Are you upset little friend?  Have you been lying awake worrying?  Well, don’t worry…I’m here.  The flood waters will recede, the famine will end, the sun will shine tomorrow, and I will always be here to take care of you.”
(Charlie Brown to Snoopy ~ Charles M. Schulz ~ American cartoonist ~ 1922-2000)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2014. All Rights Reserved.

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January the first started out sunny.  The temperature climbed into the low fifties, and I found myself thinking, in between muttering under my breath about having to count this guitar in my inventory again and that trumpet costing way too much to still be sitting on the shelf, that it would be a good day to take a group bicycle ride.

The note had come the week prior and was encouraging in its wording.

“January 1, 2014 at noon…all riders welcome.  We will start out with an easy 8 mile loop…”

There was more, about riding at whatever speed you wanted and going only as far as you wanted.  It seemed an attractive invitation.

Eight miles?  I can do that. Everyone was welcome.  I want to be part of everyone.

I’ll be there!

Sunny and fifty-two degrees.  Nearly thirty brave souls showed up.  The first half mile was great.  We took up the whole westbound lane of the main avenue out of the downtown area.  I remember wondering momentarily if there were any cars behind us.  Only momentarily.

We had the right of way.

We did.  It says so.  Right there in the Arkansas Code, Annotated (whatever that means).

“Every person riding a bicycle…upon a highway, shall have all the rights and all of the duties applicable to the driver of a vehicle…”

The lane was ours for the taking.  No one could force us to give it up.  Nearly thirty strong, we stood up for ourselves and didn’t even look back.  I couldn’t tell you if there were any angry drivers back there or not.

I didn’t care.  Well–we didn’t care–and I was part of we.

After that ecstatic, power-infused half-mile, we came to the first major hill in the “easy 8 mile loop”.  It wasn’t that big of a deal, only about 65 feet of elevation gain in a block.  I got up the hill just fine, thank you.

Then we turned to the south.

Did I say it was sunny and in the fifties that afternoon?  I may have forgotten to mention the sixteen mile-per-hour wind blowing from the south.  And, the road keeps going uphill.

Already a bit winded from climbing the hill, the blustery breeze in our faces soon separated the real riders from the amateurs.  The riders in the front began to pull away from me (and a number of others behind me).  Before I knew it, I was virtually by myself in the middle of the lane struggling to catch up with the front-runners in this easy 8 mile loop.

I heard a vehicle approaching from the rear.  Remembering my Arkansas Code, Annotated (of course), I stayed where I was.  For about five seconds.

Right of way!  I have the right of way!

The horn honked once.

I moved over.

It’s easier to stand your ground when you have twenty-eight or nine other zealots around you, isn’t it?

The huge diesel pickup blasted past me, its driver gesturing with his hand as if wondering what in the world these stupid little people were thinking of, riding on his road.

“I have all the rights applicable to any vehicle!”  I said the words aloud.

I feel sure he didn’t hear.  I think perhaps, he didn’t care.  He didn’t even slow at all.

I glanced ahead to the larger group, about fifteen cyclists strong, still just over a block or so ahead of me, and wondered what they would do.  He sped up behind them and honked his horn.  Perhaps he assumed they would do the same thing each of the single riders, such as I, had done.

No one moved over.

He honked again.  And, then again.  Repeatedly laying on his horn, to no avail, the frustrated driver rode behind the bikes going fifteen miles per hour.  Finally, the angry man pulled into the other lane of traffic and went around them, still gesturing angrily.  I don’t think those gestures meant the same thing the earlier one had.

As the sun went behind a cloud, the easy eight miles turned into a torturous seventeen for me, but that’s not really part of this conversation.

I do have a few questions, though.

I’m not sure if there really are any right answers.

Why is it easier to insist on our rights when we’re in a large group?  Well, perhaps that’s not such a hard question to answer.  The more salient side of that question may be: Why is it so hard to do the same thing when we’re the lone dissenter?

Mr. Shakespeare suggests that the better part of valor is discretion.  He is not wrong, although the original quote in context reveals a coward in battle.  In our more common speech, we would say we need to pick our battles.  There is truth to that thought also.  But…

But–I wonder if I haven’t used the word discretion to excuse cowardice in myself more than a few times.  And I’m not talking about my little ride down the middle of the lane on New Year’s Day anymore, either.  You probably already guessed that, didn’t you?

I want to stand up for the right things at the right times.  And, not just when I’m surrounded by allies.

I want to defend the defenseless even when there is no one around to defend me.

I would like to be the brave knight who rescues the damsel in distress.  I want to do that even when my horse has thrown me before running off and my suit of armor is at the cleaners.  On foot and unprotected, I want to be a protector.

Oh.  And, one more thing.  I want to know the difference between a fight for justice and a brawl for selfish pride.  I have a long history of picking the wrong fights and living to regret them.

I think that I am slowly learning these things.  There are times when I wish I could have had the advantage of age when I was much younger.  My path would surely have been easier.  Or perhaps, I would have been just as stubborn.  We’ll never know, will we?

I do remember my father telling of the man who was run over at the street corner as he walked in front of an oncoming car.  In the hospital, he was still insisting that pedestrians always have the right of way.

It turns out you can still get run over when you have the right of way.  Even if you can quote the Arkansas Code, Annotated.

Who knew?

“Father, give us courage to change what must be altered, serenity to accept what cannot be helped, and the insight to know the one from the other.”
(Reinhold Niebuhr ~ American theologian ~ 1892-1971)

“The better part of Valour, is Discretion; in the which better part, I have saved my life.”
(Falstaff from Henry IV ~ William Shakespeare ~ English poet/playwright ~ 1564-1616)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2014. All Rights Reserved.

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The white page before me is terrifying.

The drive to write is a fierce fire that burns, but it cannot banish the fear of failure.  Failure and I–we go back quite a way.  I am not anxious to renew the acquaintance.

Still, every time I sit down to write, the blank page mocks and teases.

“You have nothing to say!  The empty page is nicer than anything you can come up with!”

Some nights I listen to the mockery and walk away.  It only makes the next time that much harder.

Tonight, I sat and looked at the blank space once more.  This time, the realization hit me with power and urgency.

The empty page is a picture of life.  More to the point, today, it is especially salient as we stand on the verge of a new year.

The story is already written for the year we’ve just lived.  It is now a completed book of history.  Oh, edits will be made.  The intellectuals and politicians will debate the wording for many of the events, and what results will be something completely different than the actual occurrence, but it won’t change the fact that the book is closed and ended.
_____________________

Listen!

I hear the fireworks outside my office walls as I type.

The moment has come.  The old year is dead and gone.  Scribbled pages, strike-throughs, erasures, and footnotes–all of that is complete.  There will be a time to look back and decipher it later.

It is time now to step onto the new, clean page.

Blank, like the page you’re reading here was moments ago, it may terrify us.  The fear of failure, of loss, of pain may keep us frozen, but it’s a sure bet that the page will be marked up very soon anyway.

Life moves on, whether we will or no.

What will you write?  What will I write?

Will the message be coherent?  Will the lines run true?  Will the communication be plain?

“These are the times that try men’s souls.”  Thomas Paine, that great American patriot, was speaking of the terrifying early days of the Revolutionary War.  He was speaking of military resolve, of political concerns.

No matter.  The words ring true for us.

What we do next will show our mettle.  What we say today will prove who we are at our very core.  What we face right now, this minute, is a test of our faith and our resolve.

The test begins now.

Pencils ready?

Write!

“When I am afraid, I will put my trust in You.”
(Psalm 56:3 ~ NASB)

“…Knowing what must be done does away with fear.”
(Rosa Parks ~ American civil-rights activist ~ 1913-2005)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2014. All Rights Reserved.

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Overwhelmed.

“You’ve got that look in your eyes again,” she says, with a worried look in her own.  She doesn’t have to tell me.

Over the last few years, the look has come to my eyes more and more often.  I want to blame it on getting older.  I want to say it is the result of caring too much, of being too conscientious.  

I want to.  I can’t.

I like historical perspective.  I want to think it makes the future more predictable.  I’m beginning to believe, rather than providing focus, that the past often makes the path ahead more blurry.
______________________________________________

Are you a collector?  Do you have things that you gather up and hoard?  

I do.  Old shoes.  

No, really.

In my closet, there is a pile of black leather shoes.  Each pair looks just like the other.  Size ten and a half.  D width.  There are probably six pairs of Rockwell Pro-Walker shoes sitting on the floor.  Well, they may be piled up someplace else, too.  I really don’t recall.  

You see, I buy a new pair of the same shoes each year.  The old ones get worn and don’t look so good, nor do they feel as comfortable as they first did.  I don’t buy lots of shoes, don’t need a different shoe for every occasion, just the Rockwell Pro-Walkers.  And, I do realize that old, worn-out shoes have limited uses.  One of the reasons I keep them around is for when I need to do dirty work: digging in the mud, mowing the lawn, or other such tasks.  But, I suppose one pair would suffice for that.

Why then, do I have six pairs of old shoes in my closet?  (There would be more, but I’m pretty sure the Lovely Lady sneaks them out to the trash when I’m not looking.)  I really can’t explain it.  There might be a lot of dirty jobs to do and I’ll have to have more than just one pair of old worn-out shoes.  I don’t want to need them and not have them.  What if the ones I use for mowing get torn up?  What then?
_______________________________________________

“Be still my soul; thy God doth undertake 
To guide the future, as He has the past.”
(from the hymn “Be Still My Soul” ~ Katharina Von Schegel)



“Charity gives itself rich; Covetousness hoards itself poor.”
(Old German proverb)

“Oh Great God, be small enough to hear me now.”

The words of the song by a popular Christian singer ease through the grill fabric of my desktop speakers, like thousands of others which have squeezed out of the little electromagnetic devices in nights past.  Most of those nights have been spent in hours of thought, and moments of prayer, and fleeting instants of inspiration.

This time, the words seem to fall from the little off-white plastic towers and land right-side-up on my desktop, looking for all the world like inspiration to me.

I have been contemplating Christmas this evening.  It is now, after all, the eve of that holy day–the day when all of the world pauses, if only for a moment, to acknowledge the Infant King lying in the manger.  That manger, meant to hold fodder for the beasts of the field, for just this single moment in time, holds the King of all Creation.

I look at the words, lined up on my desk, awaiting my instructions.

“Be small enough…“

In my mind, I saw our family gathering earlier in the evening.  My great-niece, not yet two months old, was the center of attention as she was passed from the loving arms of one person after another.  Even the little children had their turn at holding the helpless child.  She can do nothing for herself, but is dependent on those who care for her–for food, for warmth, for comfort.

I couldn’t help but turn my eyes to the other children present and think of a time when they also were as helpless.  No more.

Our Christmas gatherings have seen the ebb and flow of babies and children, grown to adolescents and adults.  With the new babies now from those who were babies in my arms just a few years ago, the process has come full circle, and promises to go around again soon.  It seems that they grow so fast.

It has always been so.

I stroke the little tyke on her face and speak in baby talk.  I care not one whit that I am surrounded by others who are adults and even children.  They do the same, completely at ease with the sweet girl.  How easy it is to crowd around her and show her love.

“Oh Great God…“

The words begin to take hold and I begin to understand anew the King who became a helpless baby.

In the famous children’s tale, “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz”, L. Frank Baum brings together his fantastic crew of characters, all needing a life-changing touch, and he moves them through a series of adventures to the Emerald City.  When they finally come into the throne room where the Great and Powerful Oz supposedly will see them, they are in awe and terror of this fearful ruler.  He does nothing to assuage their fears, with his illusions and fakery.  They leave in despair, having received no hope–only a futile assignment.

How discouraging.  And tragic.  But that is the image many of us have of the King of all the universe.  To us, He is a distant, powerful, and unreasonable despot.  We couldn’t be more wrong.

I sat beside my grandson, already so tall, this evening, and brushed the unruly blond hair away from his eyes.  He is growing up faster than I want him to, but no faster than he should.  It seems only months ago, he was a baby in my arms to be held and quieted as his mother and father had some much needed time to finish their meal in peace.  Now, he is explaining the purpose of the maneuver we call the pass in several sports.

“Not that I know everything about all sports, you know…”  I hide my smile of pride, so he will not be embarrassed.  His vocabulary is extensive and the grasp he has on his world is expanding exponentially.  It is a process I have lived through myself, and then experienced with his mother and uncle before him.

“…be small enough to hear me now.”

The great and powerful King became one of us.  Not full grown and regal, to rule over us, but He came–a helpless baby–dependent on those who loved and cared for Him.  He grew to be an intelligent child, explaining things to the adults in His world.  When He had matured into the stature of a man, other men readily followed Him.

He came as a baby–giving up absolute power in order to accomplish the ultimate feat of love and redemption.

He came as a baby.

Is He small enough to hear me?

What a Great God we have.

Worship Christ, the Newborn King.

“I am Oz, the Great and Terrible,”
spoke the beast, in a voice that was one great roar.
“Who are you, and why do you seek me?”
(From “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” ~ L Frank Baum ~ American author ~ 1856-1919)

“The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us.  We have seen His glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.”
(John 1:14 ~ NIV)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2013. All Rights Reserved.

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“I saw this and thought of you, Paul.”

The words accompanied a post on my Facebook wall.  It happens frequently these days.  One would expect, wouldn’t one?, that the post would be some piece of insightful wisdom or some profound truth tailor-made for exegesis in these essays.

Well?  That is what I should find, is it not?

Alas, the answer to that question is inevitably negative.  Again and again, the post I see is a pun, or a photographic play on words, perhaps even a page full of pun-fully (and possibly, painfully) silly witticisms, suitable for short quips and insertion into conversation at odd times.  I am, it seems, well-known for such drolleries, having made a habit of posting many for the amusement (or disgust) of my friends.

It occurred to me the other day that some things never change.  I know I have told you that all of life is one change after another, suggesting that we should give in to the inescapable fact that nothing stays the same.  In some sense, it seems, I may have led you astray.

I have spent a lifetime as the class clown, my claim to fame seeing to the entertainment of those around me.  I haven’t always been successful at the task, but I keep trying.  I’m aware that more than a few of my attempts at humor have been more annoying than amusing, but that hasn’t stopped me from making the effort.

It is only in the last few years that I have begun to recognize where this desire to make people laugh comes from.  It’s not something I like to think about.  I’m even a little reticent to speak of it.

Even so, I have confessed before to this need that I have–this desire to be noticed by others.  I don’t like for the parade to be passing me by; I want to be a clown in it.  Funny thing, we all have this same need built into us, from the most extroverted right on down to the most shrinking of violets that exists.

We need to know that we matter, that other people see us.  I mean, really see us.

I was walking across the parking lot at church one day recently.  A friend approached, her face lighting up as she walked toward me.  I smiled in return, gratified that she was happy to see me.  As I began to voice a greeting, she spoke excitedly to the lady walking behind me.

“I’m so sorry I missed you the other afternoon!  I hoped you would be here today.”  My face must have given away my chagrin at thinking the welcome was for me.  “Oh, I’m sorry, Paul.  I didn’t see you there.  How are you today?”

I recovered and greeted her, moving off quickly to allow the two ladies time to visit.  It also gave me time to tend to my bruised ego.

I want to be seen!  I want to be the person being greeted effusively, the one for whom the welcome bubbles up from the heart.  Oh, don’t get me wrong.  Often, it is.  I don’t think I’m invisible, nor do I want for people who enjoy my company.  It’s simply that–well,I always hope for more–just a little bit more.

I could go on.  There are people who feel invisible.  I know of folks who actually are invisible to most of us.  They want to be seen, too.  They want to be seen as humans, not as homeless or poor.  They want to be seen as loved, not as castoffs in a nursing home waiting to die.  They want to be seen as important, not as ignorant and uneducated.

We all, every one of us, want–no, more than that–we need to be seen.

Funny.  This time of year, this season of anticipation, is about exactly that.  The whole of humanity has spent all their lives being clowns, acting out in order to be noticed by a Creator who actually never stopped noticing them.

Christmas is about a God who sees us.

He didn’t look past the homeless, the poor, the aged, and the handicapped to the wealthy and beautiful, or the powerful and brilliant.  He looked at each one of us.

Right directly at me.  At you.

And, He said, “I’ve got news for you!  It’s great news of incredible joy for every single one of you!”  I’m pretty sure that it was no accident that those words were said to the poor sheep tenders who had the night shift.  These people were used to being overlooked.  They expected it.  They were not educated.  They were not wealthy.  They had no power.  They were the lowest of the low in Jewish society, not even recognized as responsible legal witnesses in their court system.

But, on that night they knew, beyond a doubt, that He saw them.  With no jumping up and down, no screaming fits, and no comedy routines He looked at them, and at us, and said,  “For you–the gift of a Savior–because I see you, and I love you.”

He sees me!  He sees you!  How great our joy!

I’ll continue to pepper my friends with puns; they’re nothing to sneeze at.  But, I’ll no longer do it to be sure I’m seen.  I know that we’re made to laugh and enjoy life and it’s my contribution to the process.

Perhaps, just once in awhile, someone could send me a thoughtful and intellectual quote, too.

Even clowns have feelings, you know.

The Little Boy and the Old Man

Said the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon.”
Said the old man, “I do that too.”
The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants.”
“I do that too,” laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, “I often cry.”
The old man nodded, “So do I.”
“But worst of all,” said the boy, “It seems
Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me.”
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
“I know what you mean,” said the little old man.”
(Shel Silverstein ~ American poet ~ 1930-1999)

“And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.  For unto you is born this day, in the city of David, a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”
(Luke 2:10,11 ~ ESV)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2013. All Rights Reserved.

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He asked me to give him a hug.

Me.  A non-hugger if ever there was one.

Hadn’t I already given him enough?  Could I not even be spared this last and greatest indignity?   

A hug.

Well, if it was going to happen, I wasn’t going to be halfhearted about it.  I reached out and pulled him to me, sweat, stale cigarettes, and all, in a huge bear-hug.  I’m not sure, but I think he may have had tears in his eyes as he headed out the door and up the street to get his supper.  I was left standing there, still wondering what had just happened.

What had just happened?  Well, for starters, I think that part of it was just God, letting me know that He too has a sense of humor.  Back some time, I told of missing a chance to help a man and then later, another fellow coming in who was hungry and in need of food.  I said then that in my relief to be able to redeem myself, I “could have hugged him”.  Perhaps, the Lord thought that there was still unfinished business, because the man who insisted on a hug today was that same fellow who provided my second chance back then.  I guess I should learn not to use idle words when I describe events, shouldn’t I? 

Actually, though, my encounter with the young man didn’t go all that smoothly today.  Mark came in asking for help once more and I almost sent him away without doing anything for him.  It’s easy to become jaded by all the contrived stories and the contortions being performed by people who are developing their skills in a marketplace which is rapidly becoming saturated by men and women, all doing the same thing.  His story needed work, but it was plain that Mark was hungry and had no way to get food until the local food bank reopened tomorrow.  He wouldn’t starve.  Perhaps, I could get away with refusing to help him this time.  Others already had today.  He was prepared to hear another rejection and would try at the next place down the road.

I’m glad that I didn’t refuse him.  I would have missed out on the hug.  And in missing out on that, I would have missed out on the bigger lesson, a lesson I desperately needed.

It is Christmas time…the time when we celebrate the coming of a Savior…the time when we reflect on a God who would leave His glory to live as a servant to men, knowing that He would die at the hands of the very people to whom He came to show love.  I read the words again last week, written by the Apostle to his friends at Philippi.

“You should have His kind of heart, the kind that leaves behind its riches, its authority, and its glory, and reaches down to become just like the dirty, smelly slaves that populate the world He created.  That’s exactly how you should think, and live, and be.”

The paraphrase is my own, but it seems to sum up what is written there.  It certainly describes what happened on that first Christmas, so many years ago.  This was no romantic tale, no beautiful scene; there was no pomp, and certainly no regal birth.  He was born to be a servant, and by His example and His words–and His death, He showed us the way to live and serve, and to believe in Him.

Preti: Adoration of the Shepherds

Imagine, if you will, the Royalty of Heaven…touching and smelling and embracing, the dirty and the sick and the dying.

As I consider it, the stale smoke and the sweat on my young friend today would hardly be noticed in the world which the Baby King stepped into, would it?  Why, even the stench of the self-righteous filthy rags the religious people of this world are dressed in would make my friend’s condition feel like the freshness of a spring day in comparison.

And yet, we think nothing of demanding His touch, His caress, His embrace, as our right.

I have to wonder: how do we smell to Him?

I hugged that man today and I am serious when I tell you that as I walked back to my desk, I imagined that the odor emanating from my clothes was like a bouquet of flowers.  To the King of Christmas, I think it might have been so.

Obedience is surely a sweet aroma rising up to heaven.

And, for a moment today, I think I understood just the tiniest bit of what He did for me.  That understanding may be gone tomorrow, but I’ll keep plugging away at this obedience thing.  There will be more chances in the days to come.  Of that, I’m sure.

I’m also going to need more practice before I’ve got the hugging part down though.

Perhaps, if you come to visit, a firm handshake will suffice.

“Men greet each other with a sock on the arm; women, with a hug.  The hug wears better in the long run.”
(Edward Hoaglund~American nature writer~born 1932)

“They (your gifts) are a fragrant offering, an acceptable sacrifice, pleasing to God”
(Philippians 4:18b~NIV)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2013. All Rights Reserved.

Edited and reprinted from a post on 12/14/12.