In Honor of a Humble Man

 My dad died yesterday evening. He was 84 years old, tired, broken and much in need of a new body. 

He was a great man, not by the world's standards, but by how he lived his simple life with great care. He wasn't a sharp dresser and he absolutely wasn't a neat freak. He frustrated me with how he cared for his tools, and any project or repair I undertook while at his house was fraught with frustration as the search for any screwdriver, wrench or screw would take an eternity. 

In spite of his flaws, he was a man capable of uncommon love. He loved my brother and I. He once told us that one of the accomplishments he was most proud of was how we turned out. He and my mother divorced after I was married, and some years afterward, he remarried. His wife was a woman I had known growing up as I had gone to school and to church with some of her kids. He adopted her family as his own and raised the kids remaining at home as he had his own two sons. My brother and I lived away from home and were living our own lives, so this adopted family in many ways became closer to him than we were. 

When my stepbrother died an untimely death due to cancer and when his ex-wife proved to be an unfit mother for their two daughters, my dad and stepmom stepped in to give these girls a home and raise them. 

When Dad remarried, I was able to see something that I hadn't often seen in my parents' broken marriage. He loved my stepmother and she loved him. For both of them, their broken marriages had given them their children, but marrying each other finally gave them unconditional love and acceptance. If for no other reason, I loved my stepmother because she loved my dad. 

When my stepmother died nearly 4 years ago, I saw a side to my father that I had never seen with clarity before: loneliness. I don't know if I hadn't seen it before or if it never previously existed, but Dad became lonely and hungry for someone to talk to. I did my best to call him as often as possible, but it wasn't enough and should have been more often. 

Dad was also silly and goofy. He had made up exclamations and names that he would always use, or would make up other silly sayings or names on the fly. His sense of humor was sometimes lost on me, but others found him funny. A friend of his, who was our former insurance agent, told me a story about Dad last night. 

Dad was in the office, working out the details for a homeowner's policy. The office assistant was busy telling him that if he insured his house for $10,000 more, the premium would be less. Dad, in his normal dry-witted fashion said, "Well, let's go ahead and insure it for $1,000,000 and see how low that can go." 

There are many times in my own selfishness and pride that I didn't pay him the respect he deserved. I hate myself in that memory, yet I know he didn't hold it against me. He wasn't that kind of man. 

Dad came to faith as an adult--in his thirties. He didn't become a theologian, but was always fond of good, Bible-based preaching. In my years in funeral service, I heard a million times: "He was a man of quiet faith" or "His faith was very personal" or "He was a very spiritual man." Those descriptors are a way of describing someone whose faith wasn't important--descriptors that were likely never used for this person in life. When Dad got saved, he didn't become a missionary or surrender his life to vocational ministry, but it did change him. 

As already mentioned, Dad and I spent most of my adult life at a distance from one another, so I suppose I'm not the authority on how he conducted himself in living out his life as a Christian. One of the things I received after he died was his Bible, which had been given to him years ago by his pastor. It was well marked up and showed signs of use, not abuse. 

In having reflected on his passing after living what I consider to be a long life, I consider him to be a success. He weathered a lot of heartache and pain. He survived cancer twice, a broken back once and a myriad of other ailments and injuries too lengthy to recall. Ultimately, he succumbed to an injury that many senior adults succumb to: a fall, or more accurately, several falls. Two surgeries to repair brain bleeds couldn't fix him and when unplugged from the respirator, his body said, "Enough is enough." 

It's a great blessing to know your father is in Heaven. This confidence is borne out of how his life changed when he finally met Jesus in his thirties. Granted, our opinion of who is or should be in God's Heaven always lacks certainty. God is the judge, and our opinions are tainted. Yet I find myself comforted. Ultimately, all we have available to help us judge the veracity of a person's faith is the fruit evident in the way they lived. That is what I use in making this judgement. I'm OK with that. 

Enjoy your well-deserved rest, Dad. See you later. 

Quantum Leap

Writer's Note: This post references subjects addressed in an earlier post. Here's the link to that.

 Some time ago, likely in the early Oughts, I was considering building a computer for the first time. My first PC had been a Gateway 2000. Back in the day, while Gateway still had "2000" tacked to its moniker, they were a mail-order computer company that shipped everything to your home in Holstein cow-print boxes. Anyway, I had owned this Gateway 2000 computer for 6-7 years and it was time for a change. 

I built a computer with the aim of using it to learn video editing. I researched what was needed and built a machine that was up to the task. The specs I don't remember, but what I do remember is Sony Movie Studio. This was one of the first versions of this product, called "Screenblast Movie Studio", Version 1. 

I was in hog heaven. It did so much, and I was determined to learn it all. In the following years, I would upgrade regularly, not wanting to miss out on any mind-blowing new features. The final version I had was Movie Studio 13 Platinum. 

Fast forward about 5 years...

I have gotten a GoPro or two and I'm getting back into the world of video editing. I still had my Version 13 of Movie Studio, but it was no longer up to the task of editing these videos. Version 13 wouldn't even load MP4 files, which is what my GoPro was delivering. So what were my options? 

The go-to for many YouTube content creators was DaVinci Resolve. This attracted me in a big way, but my computer couldn't handle the demands DaVinci placed on it. Granted, my computers are all older. They all have SSD system drives, so they continue to work, doing the same tasks faithfully, year after year. However, like an old person who has been sitting in the same church pew for decades, my computers neither welcome or respond well to change. 

I checked into other options, eventually ending up at Magix. Magix bought Movie Studio from Sony and as a long-time supporter of the product, I qualified for an upgrade at only $20. 

Movie Studio has changed between Version 13 and 2025 Platinum. Not as many features are available, and in many ways, it doesn't even resemble the original. This was likely part of a deal between Magix and Sony to distance Movie Studio from it's parent product, Vegas Pro. Whatever the reason, I'm having to learn it all over again. However, it seems to work. Rendering times are exponentially higher for hi-res video. I made a video that is just under 30 minutes and the rendering time will be approximately 3:45. Not sure what the file size will be yet, but it will certainly be in the gig-plus range. 

It's nice to get back into editing. Learning it all again is a bit discouraging, but I'm up to the task. Creating content is an exciting project, perhaps one I'm a bit naive in beginning. We shall see. 

Survival Guide for the Great Tribulation

The Great Tribulation. It has been the subject of bad Christian movies and television preachers that obsess over interpreting the messages of Bible prophecy. Do bad movies and zealous preachers make it unreal? I do not think so. It is mentioned a lot in the Bible. I believe the Bible, so I believe it will eventually happen just as is predicted. There are a lot of uncertainties. What we know that is predicted by the Bible purposely doesn't speak in clear words on every aspect of the matter, but some of the things it talks about are clear enough to understand and should be believed.

Given my belief of what scriptures teach, I do not think I will be present for the Great Tribulation, assuming it were to happen within the span of my natural life. I believe the Bible teaches that the Church proper, that being all of those whose faith is real and biblical and is a saving faith, will be removed from the face of the earth prior to the Tribulation. This is commonly referred to as The Rapture. My beliefs, and therefore this post, will be from the pre-tributlation pre-millenial point of view. What this means in simple terms is that the church (as defined above) will be taken away before the tribulation, the tribulation will follow and after the tribulation, Christ will return to earth for a thousand-year reign. There is a lot of disagreement as to what all of these end-times scriptures mean, but people I respect interpret it this way, so I'm sticking with it. I would not mind being proven wrong by actual events, and there is a good chance it will happen after I've already been long gone. People have been looking for the return of Christ for the last 2,000 years, so what is one more lifetime to see it fulfilled?

My intention in writing this is not to inform in the sense of explaining about the Tribulation as a whole, or the Great Tribulation as a subset of the Tribulation. My intention is to give hope to anyone who was not raptured and has been left behind to endure the Tribulation.  I believe God has not closed the book yet, and although it will be difficult, those that repent and believe in faith can still be saved during the Tribulation. "Saved" in this sense means brought into God's family and saved from eternal punishment, which is the post-death post-judgement existence for all outside God's salvation.

What I will now do is list some statements about the Tribulation, not in any firm or fast order and support those with verses from the Bible, my authority and foundation for all I will say.

Matthew 24:36-41:

 “But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.  As it was in the days of Noah, so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man.  For in the days before the flood, people were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, up to the day Noah entered the ark;  and they knew nothing about what would happen until the flood came and took them all away. That is how it will be at the coming of the Son of Man.  Two men will be in the field; one will be taken and the other left.  Two women will be grinding with a hand mill; one will be taken and the other left.

 This is from a passage, commonly known as "The Olivet Discourse" in which Jesus tells of things that will happen in the end times. Read the entire chapter. It gives a good picture of some of the things that will happen then and will begin with the Rapture.

My first suggestion is that you humble yourself, realizing that it is your sin and your rebellion against God that separates you from Him in the first place. Realizing and admitting you are a sinner, you should also acknowledge that God, wishing that none should perish without Him, made a way of forgiveness. This is through his son, Jesus, who paid the price required for our forgiveness when he died on the cross. This is the only way. God has said so. Jesus was...

...made in human likeness.And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself
by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross!

Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name,that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth,and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. (Philippians 2:7-11)

 This--all of this--is true. Amidst the events of the Tribulation, when many of the prophecies of the Bible will become real events, you can hopefully see the evidences that prove it. Those who refuse to see the truth will pay the same penalty God has set aside for Satan and his followers. So, assuming you believe and seek for God's deliverance of the things to come, here are some suggestions for surviving the Tribulation:

1.  Get right with God - Deal with what separates you from God, your Creator: your sin. Confess your sins and your rebellion and beg for God's forgiveness and mercy. The Bible tells us:

"...If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved. For the Scripture says, “Everyone who believes in him will not be put to shame.” For there is no distinction between Jew and Greek; for the same Lord is Lord of all, bestowing his riches on all who call on him. For “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”

 Don't wait. Every moment you wait--every second you put it off--takes you closer to a time when you will no longer have the opportunity and your judgement for living a life of rebellion and disbelief will be at hand. 

2.  Separate yourself from everyone else. - The Tribulation, aside from a time during which God will pour out his judgement and wrath on the unbelieving world,  is ultimately a time in which God will redeem his chosen ones from the nation of Israel. They will acknowledge the Messiah, or at least some of them will, and will turn to Jesus and embrace him as their salvation. Many of them will survive by seeking refuge in the deserts outside Jerusalem (read Revelation 12:13-17. The "woman" here symbolizes those Israelites, the "male child" is Jesus, born out of the Jewish nation). There will be such a refuge that will save a number of Israelites, plus perhaps other such refuges that will do the same for others converted during the Tribulation. Find yourself such a refuge, wherever you are, and prepare to remain there. Pray that God will guide you to such a place. 

3.  Refuse to take the "Mark of the Beast". - This all sounds very science-fictiony, but is also prophesied in Revelation 13. 

Then I saw a second beast, coming out of the earth. It had two horns like a lamb, but it spoke like a dragon. It exercised all the authority of the first beast on its behalf, and made the earth and its inhabitants worship the first beast, whose fatal wound had been healed. And it performed great signs, even causing fire to come down from heaven to the earth in full view of the people. Because of the signs it was given power to perform on behalf of the first beast, it deceived the inhabitants of the earth. It ordered them to set up an image in honor of the beast who was wounded by the sword and yet lived. The second beast was given power to give breath to the image of the first beast, so that the image could speak and cause all who refused to worship the image to be killed. It also forced all people, great and small, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on their right hands or on their foreheads, so that they could not buy or sell unless they had the mark, which is the name of the beast or the number of its name.This calls for wisdom. Let the person who has insight calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man. That number is 666. (Revelation 13:11-18)

The Mark of the Beast will identify those aligned with the Antichrist (the "Beast"), those who have bended their knee to worship and follow him. These people will be judged for this and will not be saved from the wrath that is to come further into the last half of the Tribulation, that is "The Great Tribulation". The actual mark could take any form, but will most likely be a modern form that will both identify loyalty to the Antichrist and will be necessary to make any kind of financial transactions. It has been theorized that it may be in the form of a universal identifier that will link to your accounts and replace cash, checks, credit cards, debit cards and any other form of receiving or making payments for services or products. Think a tattooed bar code, an embedded chip or some other unique identifier on the forehead or right hand. Refusing the mark will put a person in a very small minority, a minority certain to be maligned and vilified, perhaps even put to death, which is also a good reason to be separated from the rest of society in some type of refuge.
4.  Listen carefully to voices claiming to represent God or Christ. - False Christs will abound. They will serve no other purpose other than to lead people astray. However, God will send two supernatural witnesses (Revelation 11), plus three angelic witnesses (Revelation 14:6-13).  The third angel has a message of specific importance to those wanting to survive the Tribulation:  "A third angel followed them and said in a loud voice: “If anyone worships the beast and its image and receives its mark on their forehead or on their hand, they, too, will drink the wine of God’s fury, which has been poured full strength into the cup of his wrath. They will be tormented with burning sulfur in the presence of the holy angels and of the Lamb. And the smoke of their torment will rise for ever and ever. There will be no rest day or night for those who worship the beast and its image, or for anyone who receives the mark of its name.” This calls for patient endurance on the part of the people of God who keep his commands and remain faithful to Jesus."
5.  Remain patient and endure until the end. - God has promised to save those who endure until the end, as it says in verse 13 above: "This calls for patient endurance on the part of the people of God who keep his commands and remain faithful to Jesus." I guarantee you it will be hard, perhaps more difficult than anything any human has experienced. Yet it is far better to suffer for a season--even if the suffering leads to death--than to suffer an unending torment for all eternity. 

So there you are. God has prepared a way for those who remain into the Tribulation. It won't be an easy way, but it is a way He has prepared. It is also the last chance you will have. Read the Bible. It is God's word, sent to communicate His will to us. You have ignored it up until now, but don't ignore it any longer. 

Watching the World Burn

 It was one of the more memorable quotes from "The Dark Knight". Alfred Pennyworth, after telling Bruce a story about his days as a mercenary in Burma, wraps it up by saying: "..Some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn." His words were pithy and meme-worthy, but echo sentiments often seen in the world today. 

There are people walking the earth with us today who cause trouble, not to better their life or to further an agenda or to gain anything positive. They just want to cause trouble and watch the aftermath. It's like an arsonist who sets a fire, then joins the gathering crowd to watch the efforts to put it out. 

It's my opinion that there is no better playground for these cultural arsonists than the internet, more specifically, social media. You don't have to be a longtime Twitter user or be wholly invested in the world of Facebook to know this. The same types exist on every platform that they can use to spread the flames of hatred. Personally, I don't use Twitter or Facebook, but I use YouTube like everyone else in the world. The comments section is a frontier where anything is allowed in the name of free speech. 

Common decency is not so common anymore. People don't recognize the need to exercise common decency or common respect. If you hold the door for someone, it is right for you to expect a "thank you". Get angry when you don't receive it and you are withholding decency in your own way. My pet peeve of late is the withheld thank-you wave. If someone lets me into traffic in front of them when I didn't deserve to be there, I offer a thank-you wave. I expect it, too, but seldom see it these days, so much so that I'm filled with joy when I see someone offer the wave. Common decency isn't quite dead yet, I say to myself. Not dead, but definitely in the throes of death. 

Back to YouTube comments...

If someone creates content for YouTube, they find value in what they are doing or showing or exhibiting or saying. If you don't necessarily agree, or if you don't find value in the content, that's OK. No content creator in their right mind could think that their creations should appeal to everyone. If YouTube has 2.3 billion users worldwide like they say they do, then even a small portion of that can find value in almost anything. 

Right now, I support, through my viewing, liking and comments, a number of woodworkers. There is a nice community of woodworking content creators on YouTube, and they work to support one another. There are, after all, enough views and viewers to go around and a rising tide does indeed lift all boats. Every now and again, someone will slip in and criticize a lapse in safety here or a method there. While I'm sure it was supposedly offered in a spirit of goodwill, it doesn't often have the same effect in was intended to have. In a line of positive comments, the negative stands out. 

One of my favorite woodworkers was creating an item that had a particular motif incorporated, a three-dimensional star with 6 points. The host called it the "Texas star" design. I quickly took issue, if only within my own thoughts. As a lifelong Texan, I knew that the Texas star--a symbol widely used in the Lone Star State--has only 5 points. The State Seal of Texas incorporates the 5-pointed 3d star, as do many other official and unofficial symbols of Texasness. What I ultimately decided is that nothing positive would be served by correcting his harmless mistake. There are times in the past that I haven't been so gracious in not correcting mistakes of little consequence. I usually regret saying anything at all. 

Assuming that my own little observations here will make any difference...well, I know better. I know that American society is on an irreversible slide toward something less than it has ever been. I know that freedom of speech, long a hallmark of American foundational freedom, is disappearing. One only has freedom of speech if no one disagrees with what is said. This isn't freedom though, is it? 

To me, it seems to have began when the notion of "hate speech" was created. If certain speech can be labeled as "hate speech", then it can be labeled as wrong. If you disagree with what is said, label it as "hate speech", and you've won a victory. Speech may be hateful, but outlawing it doesn't remove hate. It just transforms it into a more dangerous form. 

It is also easy to see how our present society that is propelled along by easy communication and free access to social media--where opinions are freely shared and restraint is a "boomer" virtue--how this fuels the fires of this present hatred. 

Ultimately, I blame the Godlessness of society. Worship, specifically the worship of the God of the Bible, is the worship of the source of virtue, goodness and everything positive in this world, and those who worship this God have supported and encouraged virtue in this world for generations. The absence of Godliness and Godly virtue has created a vacuum into which everything unsavory has flowed. 

Call me hopeless, but I see no return to these golden days of Godly virtue, whether rooted in worship or in tradition. Our present trend spirals toward the bottom, where no good thing dwells and where all hope for goodness and love are snuffed out. 

But, being a worshipper of the One True God, I know He exists and sees over all things. He watches men destroy decency and is not surprised. He's known it would happen all along. 

The ages-old question of the faithless has always been, "If there is a God, why is there evil in this world?" Well, it's because the world is populated with people like you, and honestly, like me, too. The good things in this world are covered with God's fingerprints. As we work feverishly to wipe down this world and remove all evidence of it's creator's touch, how is it that we expect Him to overpower us and miraculously save us from ourselves? 

 For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth. For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse. For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling mortal man and birds and animals and creeping things.

Therefore God gave them up in the lusts of their hearts to impurity, to the dishonoring of their bodies among themselves, because they exchanged the truth about God for a lie and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator, who is blessed forever! Amen.

Read the rest of Romans 1. It's all good. 

So, rather than trying to save the world, try to save yourselves. Turning back to God, or turning toward him for the first time, is the only thing that will turn things around. One person at a time. 

Being Hopeful in Hopeless Times

As I write this, the coronavirus pandemic of 2020 is in full swing. No one knows if it has peaked yet or where we are on either the slope up or down.

In reflecting on being in the midst of such times, I am drawn to wonder just how terrible this will ultimately be. There is an inherent arrogance in every generation when everyone perceives their times as the best or the worst, the smartest, the most enlightened, and so on. This view is, at best, drastically short-sighted. After all, how can one person judge the best of times or the worst of times not knowing how the times affect every other person on earth in every other time?

These times also cause me to reflect on my part--my purpose--in these times. I don't expect to have a fast answer to this question, as such answers usually only come when reviewing the events in retrospect. So, not knowing my part in any detail yet, I'm forced to speculate with what is at hand at this moment.

I was listening to a podcast on the way home today. The host was interviewing a man who was infected and symptomatic, as was his wife, living in a 500 sq. ft. apartment in New York with their two-year-old daughter. His wife had it worse and spent her days and nights in bed, only coming out to use the restroom. He was only slightly better, yet the work of raising the two-year old fell primarily to him.

As the host interviewed him via a phone call, the man's desperation and despair bubbled to the surface. He was upset to the point of tears a few times. It was sad because he, drawn to think about worse-case scenarios, envisioned dying and leaving his daughter alone. He thought about his daughter contracting the illness from himself or his wife. He didn't seem to see this virus as a momentary diversion. Instead he saw it as the beginning of the end.

What was most sad to me was that I do not feel that. Granted, I am healthy thus far, but the hopelessness was so thoroughly foreign to me. Why?

The only thing I could come up with was that I look beyond this life, considering the best and the worst it has to offer, and I see a better world that has been promised to me. How much better? 1 Corinthians 2:9 tells us that, “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him.” That's what I'm talking about.

Considering where I am and where this other man was, him awash in a sea of hopelessness and myself buoyed by hope, I was awakened to a sense of the dichotomy. Many consider life, specifically the spiritual life, as being relativistic, defined by individual values. The idea that multiple realities, most of which contrast with one another and could not coexist on the same plane, can not only coexist but must coexist.

It has always been comfortable for me to believe in a singular truth. That seems to be the only way a truth can exist. Narrowly defined, anything that deviates from it no longer is it. Truth corrupted becomes a half truth, and I've always believed that a half truth is a whole lie.

So what does hopefulness look like? It looks like a future placed in the hands of a benevolent Creator, a Creator that has promised to meet our needs, to watch over us and care for us. Consider this:

Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? So if you who are evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good things to those who ask Him! (Matthew 7:9-11)

Not knowing or not regarding of the existence of a Creator, specifically one that is not indifferent yet is warm, loving and looks after his children, is the most hopeless of places to exist. It is sadder still to know that people will enter and exit this crisis of hopelessness without pausing to consider who God is. To me, it's like being trapped in a building, wanting to get out, yet refusing to open one door--the one that would lead you out.

 Hope is waiting. Open the door. Let it in.

Tribute to an Old Friend

The year is 1977. I was a member of the RCA Music Club. For those of you that remember the

Columbia House Music Club, it was basically the same thing. Your membership accorded you a number of free albums, the stipulation being that you would buy a number of additional albums over the course of the next few years at their slightly inflated "club" prices. By albums, I mean 12" vinyl LP records, or whatever they are called today.

My initial selections included "A Farewell to Kings", the fifth studio album by Rush. Rush was a Canadian band--just a trio--that I was wholly unfamiliar with at the time. I chose the album based on reasons I cannot remember, assuming there were such reasons at the time. The album blew my mind. 

"A Farewell to Kings" was my entrance to an enduring friendship with Rush. One of my next Rush purchases was in 1981, the year I graduated from high school. "Moving Pictures" is what I consider Rush's magnum opus. It remains one of my favorite albums of all time.

I also had the privilege to see Rush live four different times over the years: 1988, 1990, 2007 and 2010. Twice at Reunion Arena, twice at the venue formerly known as Starplex. 

The great thing about Rush was what they were able to do with just 3 men on the stage. This meant they needed to stretch out to fill more sonic space, so the bass and drums, normally buried under or behind the guitars and other instruments, were right out front. I soon discovered that Neil Peart, the drummer, was one of a kind. He did wonderful and amazing things with his kit. 

Neil died this week on January 7, 2020, reportedly the result of a 3-year battle with a brain tumor. 

Anybody that knows me knows my worldview to be unequivocally Christian. One of the problems with being a devout Christian in our times is that you often have heroes that are unbelievers. You know them for what they give to you, not often thinking about how their lives are much more than the parts you know and love. You wish, ever so fervently, that your heroes were believers, too--that you could share more than the things you admire about them. Yet reality demands you accept the chances that there will likely not ever be such commonality.

Believers of a more Fundamental ilk solve this dilemma by not being fan-boys of secular entertainers or personalities, primarily those who have a worldview that is not identical to theirs. Music, for them, isn't good unless it's indisputably Christian. Movies are patently secular and therefore are evil. In my Christian life, I've slipped into and out of such thought patterns. There have been several times I've gotten rid of all my secular music. At one point in time, I decided to enjoy secular music, yet to be discerning about what kind I listened to. I could enjoy music, yet I strove to not allow it to weaken me morally or force me to compromise my principles. 

Neil was, what he called, a "linear thinking agnostic". He had a disdain for Christianity, feeling he had the ability to be good enough without any threats of judgement. In the lyrics for the song "Freewill", Peart wrote:

There are those who think,That life has nothing left to chance, A host of holy horrors, To direct our aimless dance

A planet of playthings, We dance on the strings, Of powers we cannot perceive, The stars aren't aligned, Or the gods are maligned, Blame is better to give than receive

In other words, he seemed to believe that he had the capacity, through his own moralized choices, to make better decisions than someone whose will was subjected through their submission to a supreme being.

One of the greatest and one of the darkest aspects of how God created us is that He gave us free will. We choose right or wrong, usually hoping that we know the difference. Wrong choices have consequences. Right choices have rewards. That's the price of free will. You are given a choice, yet your choice is not without cost. Also, as Neil wrote in the same song above, "If you choose not to decide, You still have made a choice."

Believing that people make a choice to worship God only because they fear His retribution is not to understand belief or faith at all. It causes me to assume that he either never knew anyone who had a real or meaningful biblical faith or that he never thought it possible that such could be valid. There are people whose faith comes from a place of fear, an attempt to avoid the fires of Hell. The faith I know however comes more from a place of love--a love for a God that I know loves me. Obedience, in this case, is willing and mindful.

It's a strange thing to feel sadness at the death of someone you didn't know. We think we know the celebrities we enjoy. More close to the truth, I think, is the fact that we want to know them, therefore we assume a familiarity that isn't warranted. When they die, we feel a sense of loss that is a little peculiar, yet is real as well.

I feel a sense of loss at the death of Neil Peart. More so, I feel a sense of sorrow. His life, lived not only separate from God, but also in defiance of Him, is over. He has stood before his Maker and now knows the truth. In this loss, I can choose to celebrate the good parts of his life, yet my worldview doesn't allow me to forget the eternal part.

We pave the way for that part in this life, yet not with our skills or our abilities. These are, as the scripture states, burned up like hay and stubble. Those of us who count on our abilities, accomplishments and even our good deeds to gain us entrance into Heaven will find that those things have no weight as we stand before our Maker.

Ultimately, I don't know where Neil Peart will spend eternity. Only God knows the heart, and the fruit we have to judge may not accurately represent what happened with him since he wrote and said all these things. To feel a sense of loss acknowledges that there was a value in that thing (or person) now gone. As many did, I valued what Neil brought into this world. Even if only in a purely secular sense, it made my life a little better.

Thanks, Neil. I hope you to be in a better place.

Why I Vote

Another voting season is upon us, with the usual passions and fervor, people thinking that they (and those that vote with them) can change the course of society. I have always voted, not in every election, but more often than not. If I miss an off-year or mid-term election, it's usually because I forgot about it. With my votes, I, too, hope to change the course of society. We'll see if that happens.

I admit to being a normal straight-ticket voter. I offer no apologies. Some die-hards claim that straight-ticket voters are stupid and uninformed, blindly choosing this party or that one. I feel pretty well informed, at least on the issues that matter to me. What issues matter to me? To be honest, there's just one.

Abortion.

Abortion became legal in 1973 with the Roe v. Wade decision of the Supreme Court, if you didn't already know that. For a good portion of the intervening years, people have fought to support or overturn that decision. I could drone on and on about history, decisions, and the ongoing fight on the Pro-Life/Pro-Choice battlefront, but this isn't about abortion, per se. It's about why I'm, for the most part, a single-issue voter.

The way I see it, nothing else matters. When you know what abortion really is, you are either struck cold so you can look away, or you are sickened. That we Americans have allowed it since 1973 can only be explained by the fact that I think most that support abortion just don't understand what it is. I cannot imagine that people support this knowing what it is. That possibility frightens me more than school shootings or terrorism.

I've handled the remains of countless babies throughout all stages of gestation. What I want you to know is this: these babies have hands; they have feet. It's not just a blob of bloody tissue. It's not a metaphorical "mass of cells" or "product of conception". It's a baby. It could be your son, your granddaughter, your nephew or niece. Know that when you make your decisions to support abortion. It's ultimately not about a mother's health or her freedom to choose. It's about killing a baby. Regardless of why a woman wants to do it, in the end, a baby dies.

If you still remain on the fence, or if you just want to be challenged, I want you to read something. It's from Abby Johnson's book, "The Walls Are Talking." Here's the link. Scroll down to Chapter 7: "Frequent Fliers". I warn you in advance: when I read it, it hit me like a punch in the gut. And I'm a pretty cold-hearted guy that has seen a lot of hard things.

So, in choosing to see abortion for what it is, I cannot, in good conscience, support a candidate that is not against it. It doesn't matter what their stand is on immigration, health care or the economy. While those are all important issues, they pale when compared to abortion. It also doesn't matter that most Americans are deaf to the issue and think it's no longer germane to enlightened discussion. Until we do away with abortion in America, nothing else matters.

The Reluctant Gear Head

There's something strange that infects a number of young men, somewhere around the age of 16. Occasionally, it gets them a little sooner, but rarely later. It's a love of cars, trucks or anything automotive.

Within this group is a smaller subset. It's the gear heads. These guys repair and tinker with their cars.
While the rest of the group is content to just like cars or to enjoy driving cars (and for the sake of this discussion, this includes trucks and motorcycles), the gear heads like to get their hands dirty in the literallest of senses. It's something about the mystique of the internal combustion engine or how all those parts work together in harmony that attracts guys to do their own work on their own cars, perhaps even venturing out to work on cars for others, personally or professionally. Right now, I'm thinking about the classic shade-tree mechanic, not the ASE-certified fellow. Actually, I'm thinking, more precisely, about myself.

My father was a do-it-yourselfer. He did his own repairs. I remember assisting on brake jobs and oil changes more than I can tabulate. His motivation ended up being my own motivation eventually: he could repair his own cars, so he did it to save lots of money. When you consider the cost of parts and don't  have to add in the cost of labor, repairs are much less, and if you own a car for any period of time after the pay-off date, you will have repairs. Another motivation is that you develop a relationship with your car. You learn things you didn't necessarily need to know about it through fixing it and every repair better equips you for future repairs. It's experience that you're gaining in addition to just the repair itself.

Project cars are the best for young mechanics. I started with a project car. Actually, it was a 1964 Dodge pickup of dubious heritage. My dad bought it from a friend of his. Where his friend got it, I do not know for sure, but I believe it's origin is shrouded in mystery and perhaps a little dishonesty. It was well-used. It had been an Air Force vehicle in its original life, discarded after too many miles of hard use had befallen it. The first thing I did with this truck is I had it painted. Midnight blue, to be exact. Eventually, I put new wheels and tires on it, put a new transmission on it, and other minor cosmetic things here and there.

I learned to work on a carburetor with this truck, for the one on it had was plagued with chronic problems. I worked on its brakes, brakes being probably one of the easiest things to learn and the repair I've done the most over the years. I worked on the brake systems, i.e., wheel cylinders and the master cylinder. I repaired a heater that didn't work by blowing a wad of rusty gunk out of the heater core. I replaced the transmission with a very heavy 4-speed. Pour a little blood, sweat and tears into any vehicle and it becomes a friend.

Every car I've owned since the late '70s, I've worked on. Some jobs have been big, but most small. In addition to lots of brake jobs, there's replacing alternators and starters, water pumps, radiators, front end work (ball joints, tie rods, control arms, etc.), U-joints, CV-joints, clutches and the occasional O2 sensor. As I advanced in my skills and confidence, I tackled bigger jobs. I put a long block in a Nissan I owned. I put a new head and head gasket on a Honda.

With these repairs, I learned some things to avoid future repairs. Keep your oil clean and keep it filled. Don't let your engine overheat. Don't disregard leaks for too long. Remember to surface or replace the rotors on a brake job and the brakes will last longer. Don't believe what the manufacturer tells you about service intervals. Learn to drive a clutch properly and you may never have to replace it.

There are few vehicles I've owned that I've actually loved. Your first love sticks with you, so I still have fond memories of the Dodge. Also, I recently owned a MINI Cooper, and that little car enchanted me. I replaced a head and head gasket on it only to have a connecting rod start knocking. Found a used engine with 55K miles and put it in. That would have to be my most daunting automotive challenge so far. Then one day when I'm driving to work, a fellow rear-ends me hard enough that I see Jesus in the clouds. No more MINI.

What I've also learned is that cars are fickle mistresses. You can love it with all your heart, treat it like a lady, and it will still let you down when you least expect it. You can do all of the right things and baby it in such a way as to never give it a reason to fail, and it will do just that: fail. Cars are almost completely mechanical beasts. Mechanical things--things moving about at 3000+ RPMs--are prone to wear out, break, melt, stop up, unstop, leak, overheat, and even explode, often when you least expect it and at the most inconvenient of locations. I've had cars break down in parking lots, in my driveway and in the middle of a busy freeway. Gear heads take into account this fickleness and aren't undone by the surprises of such mechanical frailty. Earlier this year, when my MINI developed a terminal knocking rod condition, I was disappointed, but not really surprised. Cars will let you down and cars you love will break you heart. You have to develop an attitude that says, "Well, I guess it's time to get my hands dirty again", and on some days, "Well, I guess it's time to get a new car."

I'm often filled with gratitude when I hear auto repair tales from friends and associates. I'm thankful for my abilities and my knowledge that allows me to work on my own cars. Many of these folks find themselves at the mercy of mechanics. Most of the mechanics are honest and are just trying to make a living. Mechanical work is dirty and difficult and requires experience and knowledge in the field to perform effective repairs, so labor costs seem outrageous but are usually pretty fair. Also, cars are complicated things, so much mechanic work is guessing. This aspect makes it a lot like the work of doctors who look at symptoms, consider which of the systems is causing the problem and treat the problem using their own education and experience. This means there's often some guessing involved, and guessing never yields results that are 100% correct. Even the best mechanic guesses wrong from time to time, but experience tempers this and makes it rarer and rarer.

What I've found is that, at some level, I enjoy working on cars. What I don't enjoy is being forced to work on my cars. I suppose it's too much to expect them to fail when I'm willing or able to work on them, so I try to have a good attitude and remain grateful that I have the ability that gives me a choice to do it myself.

Latter Day Tales of a Wannabee

Being a music lover never equips you to be a music maker. As I now know, they are separate, as far as the east from the west. In my early to mid-teen years, I had that all-too-common aspiration of teen boys to "play in a band". I put this phrase in quotes because it has always been a cliche. For me and most, there are the classic obstacles that keep it from happening. First, there's the lack of desire and the absence of drive to make it happen. I was like most, thinking it would fall into my lap without either blood, sweat or tears. Second, there's the notion that the lineup can be filled with friends, family or peers. There were few or none of my family, friends or peers that were qualified for this position. I wanted to play in a band with drums, guitars, bass vocals and anything else that would make music girls would love. My friends did, too, yet all my friends were worse musicians that I was, and I pretty much sucked.

My parents bought me a guitar, and I played it, learning a few major chords here and there, with an occasional minor chord thrown in for good measure. Other friends had guitars, too. I would learn a few chords here and there, or how to mimic a lick from this song or that. They would learn to go "twang, twang, twang" then say, "Hey, that was Smoke on the Water." The next time we would get together, I wouldn't hear Highway Star. I'd hear "twang, twang, twang...twang, twang, twang, twang". Nothing else happened. Nothing could have happened. Where I was at that time, there was no fertile ground from which music could grow.

So years would pass. Adulthood arrived. Children arrived. Adult children arrived. Finally, I decided I'd waited long enough and set out to purchase a bass guitar. I had an electric guitar. I had owned acoustic guitars. This was my first bass, and it meant something for me. I had always been a bass player at heart. My heroes in music were bass players. Paul McCartney was then first. Geddy Lee and Sting followed. Finally, as an adult, I started playing with a friend, he on guitar, myself on bass. He was a good guitarist. Finally, to have someone good to play with would mean that I needed to up my game. I was forced to learn how to play by being forced to practice.

Year after year, this friend and I would find a small amount of satisfaction playing together. We'd learn new songs. We'd record something in my home studio. We'd have dry spells when we wouldn't do anything at all. We'd share ideas and aspirations of "getting something together", whatever that meant. Then the cares of life, more weightier than our musical aspirations, would push it all to the side where it withered and desiccated.

What it took for me was a major life change. After decades of being active in conservative, traditional churches, we started going to a younger, more contemporary church. Whereas our previous churches had either just a piano, or piano and violins, or perhaps a piano and an organ, this church had guitars--several of them--and a bass and drums and keys, in addition to several vocalists. In other words, it had a real band, not simply accompanists.

I paid close attention. I studied. I was friends with the bass players. The first-string bassist was encouraging, telling me I ought to volunteer to play. I longed to play, yet I wanted to be asked, not because of any kind of vanity, but because I wanted it to be purposeful and divinely guided and not an entirely self-centered venture. Finally, after a year or more, I broke through. I was scheduled to play my bass in my first service. My first-string friend coached me, giving me inside information, saying over and over that it was no big deal. I wanted to believe him, but my anxiety told me it was a big deal. This was as close to pro-level playing as I had ever been.

I show up, plug in my 5-string and after sound check, get going on the run-through before the service. I had the charts beforehand and had practiced, and I suppose I did passably well. The experience was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. I don't know how that's possible, yet it is. It was the kind of experience that you're petrified in the midst of yet you can't wait to repeat.

So here I am, a year-and-a half after that initial experience. I've gotten to play an average of once every month or two. My first-string friend has stepped aside, creating a consistent opportunity for me and one other bassist. I play one week, he plays the next. The experience remains terrifying and exhilarating, yet as my confidence grows, the terrifying part decreases. What the experience has taught me seems complex, so I'll list some of the foremost ideas:

1. Worship music is--and should be--a different type of performance. - Everyone I've played with has been perfectly encouraging. They realize this is worship music and not a professional performance with all its pressures of perfection. They realize it's all in the attitude and that we, as musicians, are leading those in attendance in worship and should have a worshipful spirit as well. We are doing this because we want to, not because we're paid to. 
2. You are your own worst critic. - I notice every mistake I make, and if I allow myself to dwell on these mistakes, it poisons everything that follows. What I've learned is that I should notice my mistakes only enough to learn from them and then quickly move on. 
3. It's not all about me. - No one is there to see me, so more accurately, it would be said, It's not about me at all. Dwell too much on my performance and I've robbed God of each and every bit of glory He deserves.
4. If I'm paying so much attention to what I'm doing, I can't pay attention to what others are doing. I need to be in the moment and paying attention so I can encourage others in the way I've been encouraged. - One of the greatest parts of playing with the guys I play with is that we all enjoy doing it so much and are able to share this with each other. The more I make it just about me the more I don't make it about us as a group. 
5. You need to play to the song. - I'm a member of a group, not a soloist. Nothing I do should take away from the song. Just enough notes, please. Not too many. Not too loud. Not too flashy or fancy. No overplaying. If anyone notices me without trying to, I've done something wrong. Music in this sense is synergistic, greater than the sum of its parts. 
6. Live music is, by nature, an uncertain beast. - If one person makes a mistake, others may be thrown off as well. Also, imperfect communication of plans throws off concrete thinkers such as myself. Imagine this: if ten people linked arms and tried to run across a field, one person falling might take others with him.Accepting that this beast may turn and bite you at any moment makes it exciting because when you're up close, your chances of being bitten are greatest. All of these metaphorical ideas are meant to say the same thing: do your best, and when your best falls short of perfection, shake it off and go it again. 

Worship musicians are, in certain circles, not considered "real musicians" in perhaps the same sense that an unpublished writer isn't a real writer. Tell someone you're a writer and they'll automatically ask, "Have you had anything published?" What that means is, Ok. You say you're a writer? Here's the real test. Because worship musicians are almost universally unpaid volunteers, they're second class in a way. Whatever. Worship musicians enjoy what they are doing, paid or not. 

At this writing, I'm gearing up for my next performance. I intend on practicing and knowing the songs. I want to pay more attention to what's going on. I want to get better because I see that everything musically I've done over my lifetime has prepared me for this moment. Whether there are bigger moments in the future, I cannot say. For now, this is the big times for me. In this moment, it doesn't get any better, any bigger. I'm not playing for a full house, an arena or a stadium. The promoter for this gig happens to be the Creator of the Universe. In that light,  this is the best gig there is.

The Crucible, Part II

(Part I, published July 2011,  can be found here, should you be interested)

I am part of a men's bible study that meets bi-weekly. Attendees are usually my boys, my son-in-law, and two or three other fellows from our church. We recently concluded a good study on prayer, based on R. C. Sproul's booklet, "Does Prayer Change Things?". It was a great study, finished over the course of about 6 weeks. Preparing to move to our next study, we agreed to do a real Bible study, focusing on a book of the Bible. Asking the group what they wanted to study, there weren't any ready and quick answers. Mark finally offered, "How about the Book of James?"

This was a great idea, or so I thought. I've always liked James. Aside from the fact that I share a name with the Lord's younger brother, it is a no-nonsense epistle, full of meat, yet not so deep and theologically miry as to be difficult. It speaks of Christian discipline and true faith in terms that are tangible and applicable for most levels of Christian maturity. So we embarked on the Book of James.

Bad idea.

If you are familiar with James, you know the first chapter, even the first verses, punch you right in the nose.

2 My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, 3 knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. 4 But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing. 5 If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him. 6 But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for he who doubts is like a wave of the sea driven and tossed by the wind. 7 For let not that man suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord; 8 he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways. (James 1:2-8, NKJV)

Verse 2 uses the word "when" intentionally. It is not an "if". It's a "when", so it's not a matter of "if" but "when". Trials are a given in the life of the believer, and they have a very real and good purpose, often bearing fruit we cannot see. They are there by God's design and purpose to bring about the work of testing our faith.

I'm not a stranger to having my faith tested. I'm also not ignorant to the higher purpose in all of it. Yet when I find myself in the crucible, I still find it hard to be joyful. I don't fall into the Pit of Despair, but I'm also not walking around with a smile on my face. Where I am is somewhere in between.

God's purpose is evident. I see in my life what my namesake referred to here in Chapter 1. My faith is being tested in order that God might see me grow in patience. He wants me to perfect and complete, and a believer is neither perfect nor complete if they don't possess abiding joy, an abiding joy present in all circumstances. It's there when times are hard and when they are good. It's most noticeable in the former, because everyone can either be joyful or appear joyful when times are good.

So here at the beginning of our study of James is a goal of mine--character traits that I seek to make my own. Patience. Perseverance. In the good times. In the bad times. Knowing the truth and not making it mine is double minded. Knowing the truth and making it mine...well, that seems to be God's plan from the get-go.

Showers of Blessing

This morning, I spent some time meditating on how blessed my life has been. It doesn't take much musing on my part to be overwhelmed.

At the time, I happened to be taking a shower (TMI?), so the metaphorical connection was obvious. I
recalled the hymn, "Showers of Blessing". I began to realize that each drop out of the showerhead could symbolize a blessing in my life. The shower dumps out a healthy amount of water during the course of its usage. The metaphorical expression seems to refer to abundance--a quantity beyond counting, beyond recording. It's a great picture, if you think about it. Understanding helps if you have an "attitude of gratitude", a thankful heart that realizes that the goodness of God in your life is undeserved and unmerited and hinges on His goodness alone and nothing we've done.

It's all good. And lest you believe I live in some idyllic world, I do not. I've had my share of heartache, difficulty and pain. Yet, as Job told his wife, “You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” True, Job. True, that. I accept the trouble, knowing that the good far outweighs it. 

There's no good place to start. It's all around me. My life, my wife, my children, my new granddaughter. It's all good. It's all blessing. The bad stuff? It's still there, but it reminds me of the world I live in, not the God I serve. It reminds me of what I could be, not what I am. It shows me what life could be like without God's hand of blessing in my life. 

Know this: If I die today, I die a contented man. I die a thankful man. I die a blessed man. If I live for 20 or 30 more years, all the more. Blessed now means more blessed then. I have no regrets in my life. It's been good.

I casually said hello to a stranger some days back, throwing in the casual, "How are you doing?"

"Blessed and highly favored," she said. 

Amen, sister. Amen.

You Couldn't Do What I Do

"I couldn't do what you do."

Oh, how many times I've heard that one.

When I began working as a funeral home employee, I quickly realized that this profession was shrouded in mystery. Somewhere was a curtain, drawn between the stateroom and the Control Room where the Wizard moved levers, pulled chains and spoke into a microphone. Being allowed to pass back and forth through this curtain gave me a perspective that few people have.

We in the profession see dark things. We will often find ourselves literally up to our elbows in unimaginable situations, our goal in this gruesomeness being to create a situation or a picture of a loved one that is more positive than a previous image of pain, suffering, discomfort or loss of health and/or wits. It's not a perfect art nor a perfect science, but it is a little of both. In doing what we do, we fight against the Created Order. Most often, we win, but sometimes we lose. The human body, as it turns out, rebels against preservation after death.

Usually those who say those words assume every case, every family, is an emotional investment. If that were true, then who would want to do this job? Not me, for sure. Truthfully, there is virtually no emotional wear-and-tear in my life, profession-wise. It's a job. Some might think I'm cold and unfeeling, but these aren't my family members and are almost always strangers. I believe the truly weird thing would be feeling such a connection with humanity that you were grieved in each and every one of these situations.

Babies, children, young adults, young married people, mothers and fathers of all ages, then of course the senior adults, having lived their lives completely--all types come across our tables or see our fires. Another common assumption is that I find myself undone when the "injustice" of a child's death or the death of a baby becomes business. Frankly, this is still just business. I may take a little extra care when I handle a baby. It is thankfully a rarer situation, and I know somewhere there are suffering parents, so I take a little more care than if it were an octogenarian whose death was wholly expected. A little more care, I say, as the attention I give those with full lives is also complete. I wouldn't be truthful though if I didn't admit to being a bit more deliberate with children.

As a Christian, my job gives me much to think about in relation to my beliefs as well. I assume that a majority of the deceased are indeed not going to a better place. After all, "the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many." (Matthew 7:13) God is the judge, though, and I will not profess to know the redeemed from the unrepentant. When you hear the testimony of family and friends during the course of the services, you will occasionally hear evidence that seems to support one or the other, yet I will ultimately not know. 

Yet as a Christian, I have an enduring confidence that, for whatever reason, God's will is done. The flaw in human thinking is in believing that we have the capacity or right to understand that will. I don't know why little babies die, or even if there is a "why". I do know that God is in charge and that what He wants will be done, and that this will is perfect and good, regardless if I understand or not. Therefore, thoughts of injustice rarely enter my thinking on the job.

It's true that what I do, regardless of my personal philosophy, is weird. I stand behind that curtain, pulling levers. I step out in my suit of nice clothes and hope that people are comforted. Sometimes, I want to say, "Hey, I embalmed your mother. Doesn't she look nice?", but I don't say that. Still, there are often times I stand next to a loved one on a stainless steel table, muse on my profession and think, "What a weird job I have." I could tell you stories. You would agree. 

Also, you could do what I do. I'm no saint and I'm no weirdo.  It's just a job.
 

My Collapse into Debauchery

This is quite a dramatic title for what will most likely be a lackluster account of my latter-day appreciation of adult drink, so I apologize if you later feel mislead.

My childhood and formative years weren't necessarily spent sheltered from the worldly side of life.

My father, for many years, drank recreationally. He was, for the most part, a beer drinker, who like most of his peers, appreciated a cool, sudsy one every now and then. I never saw him inebriated, though I heard stories of rare occasions when he had a bit too much after a night of dancing. There were some years when he and my mother would go out dancing with friends, most likely at clubs that ringed our particular county precinct, which was dry.

At times, we would also find bottles of stiffer stuff around the house, usually whiskies, bourbons or brandies, however, this was very rare. I remember an occasion where my father, my brother and I (both juveniles), and one of my father's co-workers were all crowded into the cab of a dump truck. As we drove down the roads, a bottle of cheap wine was passed down the line, my brother and I taking our share as well. Juvenile drinking and flaunting the open container law. Heady days...

My father's drinking days ended when he became a Christian. We were members of a Southern Baptist church, somewhat old-fashioned, and if the members of this church drank at all, they kept it well-hidden. Smoking was accepted, and the men of the church were known to sprint to the door after the closing prayer to fire one up. Gluttony was accepted as well, as the ample bellies around the sanctuary would evidence, but drinking was not to be accepted. The Fundamentalist belief that all alcohol was evil somehow took hold there in that conservative, yet reasonable, church.

Growing up in that environment, I bought into the party line as well. I was an unabashed teetotaler in my teen years, sanctimonious and proud, knowing that my way was the right way. I remember discussions with my Sunday School teacher in my late-teen years. She was a Presbyterian, so was liberated concerning drink. I would argue the dry perspective, using worn-out arguments that I had heard from others, few that could be reasonably supported by scripture or the normal rules of reason. She was kindhearted though, and didn't slam me in my ignorance as I should have been slammed.

Fast forward about 4-5 years: a recent college graduate and newly married, we would gather with our peers from our Newly Married Couples Sunday School class. There were a select number of our group that felt more liberated, but were most likely rebels against the party line. We would have small fellowships where wine or wine coolers flowed, and we felt edgy and real and untouchable. We remained in hiding, which also means we were ashamed to a degree. It wasn't a frequent practice, yet proved that I either doubted my earlier dogmatic position of dryness or I was sinning against my own conscience.

My dryness continued for some time. Some years later, I eased up on my convictions, having a glass of wine here or there, occasionally a little more. I rarely bought it for myself though. On the rare and few occasions that I went into liquor stores to buy something special for this or that, I felt like I was somewhere I didn't belong.

I'm not really sure when my total liberation took place, but now I find myself doing things that I would have never imagined 30 years ago. I go into liquor stores regularly. I am a member of the frequent shoppers club at one particular store that I favor. I still have no fondness for beer, but have found that I like some single-malt scotches, irish whiskies, vodka, rum and tequila. Vodka, rum and tequila are usually for cocktails and are rarely used straight-up. Whiskies are sipped and appreciated for their complexity, though I don't have the discerning palate in that area that I would desire. I've tried to perfect certain cocktails that I favor, usually using the tequila, rum or vodka, so I'm an amateur barkeep.

My adult children are "liberated", too, and their formation has been interesting to witness. One is like her mother, preferring the sweetly palatable girly drinks. Another likes beers, proving such tastes aren't inherited from parents. Another drinks drier wines and whiskies and other things more in line with my tastes, yet has attenuated her imbibing in her latter years by her own will power, choosing more often now to abstain. I respect this a lot. Self control is a rare virtue.

I still have a goodly number of friends that wouldn't understand where I am now. They are still in bondage to the notion that all drink is wrong. My belief on the matter is not without support or reason. I am where I am now because I came to realize that drinking is not wrong per se, and is only wrong or bad when used to excess. This puts it in the same class of every other acceptable activity on this earth. When we do not exercise self-control in our liberties, we are lawbreakers just the same. Being controlled by our appetites and using them to excess is the sin, not the general exercise. Granted, there are some things that are wrong in any application, yet drinking is not one of them.

In years past, I heard sermons, voiced by desperate pastors who sought to frighten the congregation into understanding that alcohol was the Devil's device. They would go to great lengths, stretching scriptural supporting texts to the breaking point in order to support their dogma. Biblical wine wasn't wine, they said, but was grape juice. Jesus turned water into Welch's. Greek vocabulary was often bandied about to give the sermons the authority of the original languages, which none of the rest of us knew. We believed them. We never drank.

It has always been a worry of mine that if I drank, I'd be excessive and therefore, a drunkard. Now that I do drink, I don't believe I'm excessive. I've never, in my entire life, been what I would consider drunk. Buzzed perhaps, and there are some that would say this is just the same, but never drunk. When even buzzed, I don't want to drive, which may prove non-drunkedness as few drunks have enough good judgement to say no to driving.

Why do I do it now when I did without for so many years? I enjoy it, for one. It's a common bond I share with my son-in-law, as well as with some new friends and my older children. None of us are presently over-users, and the ones that have been excessive in the past have learned their lessons from those events. All said, I have no regrets. It may yet prove to be that my drinking will give me common ground with certain people and open certain doors that would have remained closed. That may be wishful thinking, borne from a desire to validate my newfound hobby. I think not, but we shall see.