You will find no quirky Christmas traditions here ...

It was nearly a half century ago, but I remember. My, do I remember. It was the first time I had real money to spend on Christmas gifts.

In those days people didn't just give money to their kids. In fact, my brother and I would walk along the highway to collect soda bottles and return them for the three cent deposit. It was a handy way to collect enough money for a box of Pucker Pellets from the red vending machine at the local gas station. Life was different then.

It was in that cultural mindset that I found myself at the local Winns Five and Dime looking for the perfect gifts for my parents. It was a tormenting experience with all the options that were pennies out of my price range. The toy section offered the best selection of options, but try as I might, I could not remember my parents playing with toys.

The decision was inevitable, I had to look in another department for gifts. Ultimately, I found my way into the personal hygiene section. There were some interesting looking items in my budget range. But one by one, items were systematically dismissed because I didn't know what they were. After a painstaking hour of deliberating, I finally settled on the perfect Christmas gifts for my parents. I have good reason to believe that the Supreme Court has probably never put as much thought into a decision as I did that day.

After what seemed an interminable wait … it was finally Christmas day! All the excitement that is wrapped up in a kid's mind was doubled for me that day. I had purchased and wrapped real presents that were under the tree. I was practically a man. When it came time, I believe my parents were actually surprised. Then they opened the presents and were surprised yet again.

Now my budget was a whopping dollar and a half. You can imagine what was not available in that range. I also really wanted to have a gift each for Dad and Mom. So when they unwrapped their gifts and found a new toothbrush and a roll of Certs breath mints, they seemed less than ecstatic. In fact, they seemed confused and a bit self-conscious. They asked if there was a deeper reason I chose those particular items.

I was confused by their confusion. It was cool stuff and they were looking for the deeper meaning. I was nine. There is no deeper meaning at nine. I just thought they would be happy to not have to share a toothbrush. The colors were cool too.

Eventually they realized that I was not hinting at any hygiene problem. It probably took them a few minutes to know I could not possibly have been thinking that hard. I eventually realized what made them so confused. That probably took much longer.

Years later, my wife and I put toothbrushes in the stockings for our kids. Now that the kids are all grown, we still do. It may not sound like a lot of fun, but who doesn't like a fresh toothbrush?

Two Unforgettable Christmas Gifts

Some Christmas gifts mean more to me than others, simply because they touch me deeply. The two gifts that resonate the deepest into my soul are actually the same. Oddly enough they were not gifts at all ... they were my dad.

I have always held my dad in high esteem. Probably too high at times, but that speaks to a different part of the human condition. I used to refer to him as the Iron Man, which had nothing to do with a comic character and everything to do with his determination, will, and strength.

The first time my dad was "the gift" of Christmas, he had a near-fatal work accident. Dad was an iron worker and a ladder gave way, plummeting him thirty-five feet. That was 1970 if memory serves me correctly. He still bears many of the scars from that accident. I was in grade school. The great joy was that Dad came home from a protracted hospital stay, on Christmas Eve! In retrospect, that was probably too early, but I think he was ready to be out of that place as well.

Yes, that is etched into my memory. It's probably etched into my DNA.

The second was quite different. I live nearly two thousand miles from my parents, and a few years back, my dad suffered a stroke. The reality of aging is not lost on me. I have no delusions that I or any of my family will dodge the maladies that are common with getting old. I know we each have a finite number of days and that is that. But a stroke is mysterious. It can leave invisible scars and long lasting effects without warning. And, as if that was not enough, it can be abruptly fatal.

So that December, as my dad lay in a hospital bed in Duluth, Minnesota, partially paralyzed and unable to speak, I frantically scrambled to make emergency travel plans. One of my sisters intercepted me before I made the trip and suggested that Dad seemed to be stable with signs of pending improvement. Her advice was that if I showed up, Dad might give himself up.

If you do not understand what a conundrum is, re-read that last paragraph.

I stayed home. I put on a confident facade for my wife and kids. And I died a little inside.

I resented Dad's condition of helplessness, and I resented my own. I am a boat builder by trade. I have no idea how to fix stroke victims. The image if my dad, Iron Man, in such a condition really got to me. Then I heard a song on the radio. It was a familiar Christmas song that had been one of my favorites from the first time I heard it. You may be familiar with it: Mary Did You Know.

One of the lines in the song says:
The lame will leap,
the dumb will speak
the praises of the Lamb.

I can't say I had any Divine Revelation or assurance of my dad's recovery. It was that it spoke to me at a very deep level and I drew comfort from it. He did recover very well, and Dad was once again home before Christmas.

Consequently, every time I visit with Dad I am reminded of that song. And every time I hear that song, I am reminded of that uncertain time with my dad.

Here is a brilliantly done a cappella version of the song by a group called Pentatonix.

Mary, Did You Know? - Pentatonix

Christmas "spirit" spill on aisle four!

The marketing of Christmas is as amusing as it is disturbing. The disturbing part is obvious, to me anyway. It is amusing, because I am a people watcher.

There are shelves lined with products that have been invented and packaged exclusively for this marketing season. No one wanted one in September. No one needed one, ever. But people are frantic, even desperate, to get their hands on one in December! Sometimes they will stand in long lines to do so. An emerging trend is to purchase "gifts" for oneself. You have to admit that is brilliant marketing.

In the children's toy department alone, there are unimaginable varieties of toys that do all kinds of things as long as you feed them batteries. The overall marketing message is: Good parents/grandparents buy their kids lots of stuff. I guess I would be considered a delinquent dad for buying my kids books when they were little.

What makes it amusing is the way people respond to this marketing blitz. Many, I have no idea how many, fall for it. They purchase all kinds of things that would not stand up to rational scrutiny regarding value, life-expectancy, or ability to satisfy any need. These people can often be identified at the door of the store. I know that is stereotyping, and thus bad, but it's pretty obvious much of the time.

Others eschew the marketing racket and find alternate shops at which to purchase gifts for their loved ones. This group is the most amusing to watch when they are in a major retail establishment with a list from the Angel Tree or similar charity. The poorly-cloaked disdain etched on their faces is priceless. They are conflicted, torn between the yearning to bless some needy child with the desired toy, yet convicted that what is going into the basket is a bunch of useless junk. I have been in this club myself. But I digress.

While it seems the Christmas spirit is not actually available in stores, it certainly can be. It will never be for sale. It never has been. You and I have to take it in with us. If we think otherwise, we're looking at the store through the wrong window. Look through the window at the people, not the stuff, and you will see this Christmas in a whole different way.

Hot Adventures in the Snow

I love to travel. It is not that I dislike home, in fact, I love to be home as well. But, my roots do not dig deep anywhere I go. Consequently, I am always curiously peeking over the horizon and looking for something amazing. In a way I am somewhat of a modified Gypsy. It is probably a terrible character flaw, but I thrive on adventure.

That said, on our recent visit to a snow-covered state, we encountered something amazing, all right. I'm pretty sure we experienced a rift in the laws of physics. Now, I don't fall for marketing gimmickry about products that boast too-good-to-be-true claims. I never share those Facebook scams that promise a new car if a person gets enough “Likes.” I am pragmatic to a fault, even cynical at times, so you will not catch me making unrealistic claims about anything.

So what is this remarkable physics-bending event, you wonder? It is a blanket! We found a blanket that generates heat out of cold air! Not possible, you say? I have slept under said blanket. We're talking Upstate New York here. It is cold! Yet, within a few minutes under the mystery blanket, I felt like the little red button would pop out of my side like the one on the turkey!

The blanket itself seems innocuous. It appears to be of the fleece variety and has a picture of elephants on it. Nothing special to report there. Yet somehow it cooks me. Maybe it has fibers of woven uranium, but I suspect that would be seriously regulated by some agency.

I doubt it has any “special” powers. It does not fly around or anything like that. Good thing too, because that might freak me out.

It may have to remain a mystery, but, after living in the South for eleven years, I am a little jealous. I rarely get that warm in the winter in North Carolina, and it feels nice to be warm all the way through. It just strikes me as unfair that I must travel almost to Canada to really warm up at night.

I wonder if my hosts will miss that blanket …

Dangerous Jobs and Thanksgiving

As a general rule, being an author is not considered a particularly risky profession or hobby. The number of risk factors involved seems low. A writer seldom has to deal with toxic chemicals, whirling blades, crushing hydraulics, high voltage electricity, or tall ladders. In fact, if viewed specifically from a safety point of view, it seems like a very innocuous profession.

However, there is a startling statistic that every single author that was born by 1910 has died. William Shakespeare, JRR Tolkien, and CS Lewis to name a few, are gone. Throughout history, every single author has eventually passed on. That is a 100% mortality rate with no expectation of improvement. Maybe it is not such a safe field after all.

Obviously, I am juxtaposing a lighthearted tone on a serious subject. That subject, of course, is mortality. My mortality to be more specific.

You see, I am aware that my days are numbered and that I have no control over how or when my ultimate demise will be delivered. I am not fatalistic at all. Nor am I cavalier with safety. I wear my seatbelt, drive conscientiously, eat lots of green leafy vegetables, and in general have a healthy lifestyle free from vice and addictions. But, my days are still numbered and will eventually run out.

While that may seem like a somber subject the week before Thanksgiving, it really is not so bad. In fact it is a great place for a thankful attitude to be nurtured.

First, for me, I consider every day to be a gift from God's hand. It's hard to not be thankful with that as a foundation. I have had several events in my life where I knew I was going to die, and did not. This would be a very different post otherwise.

Second, recognizing my own mortality causes me to live with a purpose. There are many aspects of my life that could be postponed, but I do not know the future any better than anyone else. It is my ambition in life to encourage, nurture, and inspire others to reach their full Divinely-appointed potential. At best, I imperfectly attempt to fulfill that ambition a number of ways, but always today. To quote John Cooper, "Today, 'cause tomorrow may be one day too late."

Third, I realize that I am no more important than anyone else. We all share the same condition, and all must be prepared for our final call. We are pilgrims in this life-journey preparing for our eternal home. That may sound morbid, or a bit pie-in-the-sky-ish to some, but it sets me free. I am free to be satisfied with whatever I have, because it is all quite temporary. That is a really good feeling, by the way. My observation is that self-indulgent living is relentlessly exhausting.

So, embracing my mortality allows me to be thankful for today, live with purpose, and love my neighbor. I think that is a win all the way around.