Window Shopping

Window Shopping

It all came back to me like a blast from the past. I was walking down Main Street here in Bozeman with my family at the annual Christmas Stroll. The street closed to traffic was filled with food stalls, Christmas lights and people. Passing by a clothing store, I happened to look at the display windows. Two American Flyer model trains were chugging around their oval tracks.

In my mind I was immediately transported back some sixty-five years to my childhood. My father had erected an eight by four platform four feet off the ground in the furnace room. I think what motivated him was my mother who in no uncertain terms told him he needed to do a project with his boys.

On this plywood platform, my dad laid out a plan for a standard scale railroad track. He brought home all the stuff needed to build a railroad: tracks, an American Flyer steam engine and freight cars (Santa Fe engine and passenger cars were added later), track switches, transformer and a train station.

My brother and I did the rest. We laid out the track, build a mountain with a tunnel from chicken wire and paper mâché, set up a town with people, buildings, wired telephone poles and green grass made from coloring coffee grounds. It was a wonder to behold. What fun the two of us had getting it all together, learning how a train works. Our steam engine even had real smoke coming out of the stack.

I spent the rest of the Christmas Stroll thinking about our American Flyer adventure. Before I started to write this blog, I called my brother and asked, “Do you remember when Dad set up that platform in the furnace room so we could build our model railroad?” Well, the next forty five minutes were spent reminiscing.

Funny what can happen when you window shop.

Hope

Hope 

‘Tis the season! Already the Holidays are upon us and the rush is on. In a little over two weeks the frenzy of carols and tinsel will be over. For us in the northern climate snow and cold are with us for another four months. Too bad Christmas isn’t at the end of winter. Then we could move right into spring.

Hope is one of the hallmarks of the season. It is sung in the music, printed on cards and preached from the pulpits. For all the hype of hope, I sense a lot of hopelessness in the air. Our political, cultural and economic climate wants to dampen any attempt to hope for something better.

This is not something new. Throughout human history whenever hope is heralded promising a greater future for humankind, there is a counter force to squelch it. Could it be that there is an increased fear abroad that to hope is an exercise in futility? Why be disappointed again?

The Bible is rich in its encouragement to hope. Over and over God encourages  people to step out of fear and put their trust in him. Biblical hope is the confident expectation that He is in charge; in charge of world events and my life. Sound scary? No scarier than going it alone and floundering in failures and disappointments. Learning to trust the Lord that he knows what’s best for me and the world is the secret of hope.

I am reminded of Abraham, the father of all believers. When he realized that he couldn’t do what God promised him, a son, because he was too old, the Bible says, 

“when everything was hopeless, Abraham believed anyway, deciding to live not on the basis of what he saw he couldn’t do but on what God said he would do. And so he was made a multitude of peoples.”

Could this be the real reason for the season: to be challenged to hope against hope and trust God?

Dentist

Dentist

My first visit to the dentist was traumatic. At six years old my mother thought it was time for a checkup. With little information about what was to happen, I entered the dentist’s office. I remember like it was yesterday. The antiseptic smell hit my olfactory receptors like punch in the nose. I sat in a huge chair that titled backwards like magic. The dentist stuck a needle in my mouth to numb my gums. That was the last straw. Then and there I vowed I would avoid the dentist like the plague.

Obviously, that wasn’t the last time in the dentist chair. Over the years I begrudgingly learned to accept my annual dental exam. Because I am a confessed sugarholic, I spent more than my fair share there. Most of my dentists were nice people who were sensitive to my fear and pain. I’ve discovered that some dental hygienists are a little rough though. Several years ago, I went to one who I swear got her training on You Tube. She not only made my gums burn but loosened a filling as well.

I have had enough dental procedures to last a lifetime. Root canals, crowns, wisdom teeth pulled as well as two molars, a bridge replacement, and chipped teeth glued back in place. I think about all I have left is having my teeth pulled and wear dentures – God forbid!

Max is my dentist now. I really like the guy. He has a great sense of humor and genuinely cares about this old man’s choppers. He’s a Minnesota boy so we have a lot to talk about as he explores my next cavity. He is gracious to Judy who likes him even more than me.

I have a separate expense column in my budget for the dentist. On an annual basis it is almost as much as my house payments. Well, I figure by the time I die I will have spent enough on dental care to pay for my funeral a dozen times over. I should not be surprised. This is what I get for having a sweet tooth.

Forgive

Forgive

A wonderful idea but not easy to do. The very word conjures up emotions that are hard to keep under wraps. Even though “to forgive” is a fundamental precept of the Christian faith, the practical implications can be terrifying to anyone who has been deeply hurt by the actions or words of another.

When Jesus was asked by his disciples to teach them how to pray, part of his answer was “… forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” Did Jesus really mean that in order for us to be forgiven we must be willing to forgive others? I often find myself sliding over that part of the Lord’s Prayer.

To forgive means I am willing to release any claim on the person who has hurt me.

Any grudge, revenge, or ill will of any kind is thrown in the waste bin. I freely let go of that pain so that Jesus can release me from all the hurts and offenses I caused others. How is that possible? By an act of my will, my saying yes to God,  I release all claim on that person. Sometimes I have to say it over and over until I finally release it.

The reason forgiveness is important is that in order to be thankful, I must  forgive. I cannot harbor a hard heart and give thanks.  The Bible says “…in everything give thanks for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.” My willingness to forgive is the doorway to a thankful heart. Without it there is no thanksgiving.

 This week is set aside to give thanks. As we celebrate the season, let us do so with a clean heart. “Be kind to one another, tender hearted, forgiving each other, just as God in Christ also has forgiven you.”

Of Mice and Me

Of Mice and Me

Not the famous novella written by John Steinbeck in 1937 that tells the story of two migrant workers who move from place to place looking for work during the Great Depression. No, this is the real life story of my battle with mice.

While digging through the plastic bins stored in our garage looking for winter clothes, Judy discovered that mice were there first. Apparently, all summer mice were moving in and out of our garage looking for a new home. Without our knowing they found a nice place in a storage bin with a loose cover.

What a mess. Mice poop all over the coats, sweaters, scarfs and jackets. How such small creatures can make such a big mess is beyond me. There wasn’t much that was salvageable. Judy was heartbroken that some of her fake fur vests were ruined. I lost a nice overcoat and my cherished safari jacket that I wore on my Africa trips.

I immediately declared war on the menacing mice. I went to the hardware store and bought old fashioned mouse traps. I set the bait with a small slice of Swiss cheese on each trap. I strategically placed three traps in the garage and another one under the patio deck. Then I waited.

It didn’t take long. Mice can be destructive, but they aren’t very smart. By the next morning I got two of them; one in the garage and one by the patio. I replaced the bait with Adams Peanut Butter and killed three more. As of this writing the battle continues. This is a war I plan to win.

Mice may look cute and cuddly but anyone who remembers the nursery rhyme knows that they can’t win. “Three blind mice. See how they run. They ran after the farmer’s wife who cut off their tails with a carving knife. Did you ever see such a sight in your life?”

So much for animal cruelty.

Ninety Three Percent

Ninety Three Percent

Opinion polls and statistics are a turn off for me. Whenever I hear someone quote them my mind goes into rejection mode. The news is full of numbers. If not the figures for candidates running for political office, it’s the stock market report or the latest on the national debt. I have not been good at numbers.

There is one exception. Recently I came across a statistic that caught my eye. Believe it or not I read it on Facebook where a blogger quoted from a survey taken from the Christian periodical Leadership Journal. Paraphrasing the article, it said that when a dad comes into a personal relationship with Jesus there is a 93% chance the rest of the family will follow his lead.

Unfortunately, we live in a culture that demeans the role of fathers. Rarely, do I find dads portrayed as healthy leaders of their families. It is no secret that with the breakdown of marriages, men assume a secondary role in the raising of children. God gave fathers the responsibility of modeling the character and care He gives to all humanity.

I remember my own father who was often absent from my growing up years because of his work. Although he, like all dads, had shortcomings, I believe he modeled the love and care of our Heavenly Father. He worked hard to make sure we had a roof over our head, food on the table and clothes on our back. This came from his conviction that God is important in family life.

It is the responsibility of fathers to care for and train their children. This is done as much by example as by words. No one can do it alone. He needs that relationship with Jesus to show the way. I am reminded of these words from the Bible: “Train up a child in the way he should go, even when he is old, he will not depart from it.”

Come on dads, let’s make it 100%.

Snowblower

Snowblower

I grew up in a climate with four seasons: spring, summer, autumn and winter. Winter being the longest. I remember when snow was piled up to the top of our garage door. Of course, this was way before global warming/climate change. That is how I learned how to shovel snow.

Years later came the invention of the snowblower. We didn’t have one, but our neighbor did. Laboring through a large drift with my shovel, I watched the man next door shoot snow geysers in the air with his gas powered snowblower. It took him little time or effort to demolish those drifts.

I bought my first snowblower from Sears. It was an extravagant purchase. I felt it was a justifiable expense because my kids had grown up and left home. I was left with the snow shovel and a long driveway. What a joy it was to fire up that Briggs and Stratton engine and let the machine do the work.

Montana gets lots of snow. One day while shoveling the church sidewalks the light bulb went on. Why was I doing this by hand? After a few phone calls to the elders, I drove down to the local hardware store and bought a Toro snowblower. Now my winter work was a lot easier.

This past September my son Nick and family moved from Bozeman to Portland, Oregon. You doesn’t need a snowblower in Portland. So, as a parting gift he gave me his Toro 21 inch, four cycle snowblower with an electric start. What more can an aging snow shoveler want?

Never mind that our homeowner’s association hires a snow removal company to clear my driveway and sidewalk. I like to get out there first thing after a storm and put my snowblower to work. My neighbors think I am a little compulsive if not crazy. Now that I got a great machine, I can let the shovel rest.

It looks like we are in for a long winter here in Bozeman. Already we have eight inches of the white stuff on the ground and its only early November. I am prepared so “let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.”