I think it was our son's first official date with a girl - actually, just a couple of hours at the mall, really. The next day he ran into some of the guys from school who only wanted to know one thing about his Friday night. "So how much did you get off her?" They weren't talking about money. They were talking about conquest. He came home pretty disgusted, frankly. He said, "Man, those guys; they're messed up!"
Well, we've been wrong. Yeah, our science books tell us that there are 100 billion galaxies. We look at our Milky Way, and we see the one galaxy we're in. We're all excited because we've been able to get an unmanned spacecraft to the edge of our solar system! Wow. Our solar system is just one small part of our one galaxy - and they're telling us now that there are 100 billion more. Well, actually, not 100 billion more. We've been misled. See, the Hubble telescope has supplied new information. No, there aren't 100 billion galaxies, after all. There are 125 billion galaxies! Don't even try to comprehend it.
When three American soldiers were held as prisoners in Yugoslavia during the Kosovo crisis, their loved ones in the United States tied yellow ribbons around the trees in front of their homes. We've seen yellow ribbons before when loved ones are being held prisoner. I think my first recollection of seeing them was during the Iran hostage crisis when the American embassy staff in Iran was held hostage for many months. Now, the people who loved those being held hostage tied these yellow ribbons around the trees in their yards - and they wouldn't take them down. The yellow ribbons were a symbol of their hope that the one they loved would be back home. And when those hostages finally did come home, man, there were yellow ribbons everywhere!
It was Christmas Eve - our family was acting out the Christmas Story in our living room. Our daughter was in her bathrobe, portraying Mary. Our five-year-old son was Joseph, also appearing in bathrobe. His little brother was, of course, Baby Jesus, lying in a laundry basket. And I was, appropriately, an angel - sitting on the back of the couch. My wife - well, she was under a sheepskin, crawling around the floor saying, "Baaa." And the doorbell rang. It was two teenagers we worked with in our outreach program. They had left home because everyone there was acting weird due to too much alcohol. And they weren't sure that we were any better off! But we invited them to come on in and join us in the Christmas Story.
Boomer. That was the name of the bully in my neighborhood when I was just a little feller. This terrorist "wannabe" would pick on us, intimidate us, even steal my White Sox stuff. And we never stood a chance - he was big, at least compared to us. But one day I'd had enough. I went where none of us ever dared go - right to Boomer's door to get my stuff back. You say, "What a brave little guy you were." Well - there's one little detail I left out. My father went with me. And that made all the difference! Boomer was bigger than I was - but my father was bigger than Boomer was!
Parade time in our town, it's always a fun time, comes several times a year - and it's especially fun when you go with two young grandsons, which I have the privilege of doing. They love the fire engines and the siren going off. They love the marching bands and the floats, the candy ... especially the candy. A lot of the folks on the floats, on the trucks and in the cars throw out these big handfuls of candy. As it skips across the pavement, children descend on it like locusts descending on a wheat field. It disappears fast! I've learned to go to the parade with empty pockets. The boys scoop up the candy and I am their personal candy bank. And, of course, I do collect a small tax in the process!
The last time I was at a theme park, I ended up on one of the longest lines they had. It was the line for those little "Grand Prix" racing cars. All of us, I mean all of those kids wanted to get on that little race track and pretend we, uh, they were a race car driver. It's fun, but it's fantasy. Oh yes, there's an accelerator, but your speed is pretty much limited no matter how much your floor it. Oh yes, there's a steering wheel - you can turn it - but your turning is totally limited to the track they have your car on. Sure, you can hug that wheel and stomp that accelerator, but the sorry truth is this: you don't have control of that thing!
Marathon man! That's me when we're driving a long trip. I want to get there, and I like to drive, so we just keep barreling. Just ask my kids about when they were little. They knew we only stopped when the gas tank was nearly empty. They might say, "No, he wasn't marathon man. He was psycho man!" Well, I have to wonder if I would stop at all if the car didn't have to. You know, cars are like that. They just have to stop for refueling. Cars don't run forever. Neither do we.
If there was one symbol of the Cold War years and a world divided between Communist and free, it had to be the Berlin Wall. Some of the most dramatic images of the last half of the 20th Century involve that wall - the wall that the Communists built to divide East Berlin from democratic West Berlin. There are pictures of the barbed wire along the top of the wall, the armed guards, the people who risked everything to escape from behind the wall, and the people who died trying. I think I was like most of the people on this planet to be honest. I mean, we pretty much expected the Berlin Wall to always be there. We couldn't imagine how it would ever be taken down. But go to Berlin today - the wall is gone. And it came down almost overnight. The wall we thought would always be there is gone.
It was a scene that was re-enacted a number of times when our daughter was a little girl. Okay, here's Daddy, in his chair in the living room, immersed in his newspaper. In comes my little girl, asking for a little attention from Dad. Dad says, "Oh, in a while, honey." The request is repeated, and the same response. Then, after a few minutes, a little girl comes crashing through the newspaper onto her father's lap. Before I could say anything, she would wrap her arms around my neck and just say, "Daddy, it's cuddle time!" Melted Daddy, all over the floor.
My childhood church has shown their love for our family in some very special ways, including sending a work crew to help make some repairs on our house - totally unsolicited. Joe was one of those "angels" that God sent. The first challenge for Joe came long before he got to our house. In fact, it was on the drive out from Chicago. He was sleeping behind the driver's seat in the truck while someone else was driving, and suddenly he was hit with one of his recurring asthma attacks. Now, usually, he's able to get through that real quickly, but this one got a little scary for a while because he had trouble using his inhaler which he carries all the time. Here's what Joe told me. He said, "When you panic, you can't breathe, and I panicked. And you have to breathe to use the inhaler! The only way I can get what will stabilize me is to relax!"
There were seasons in the life of our family when I thought we were running our own personal emergency room. Like the time our youngest son dislocated his ankle in football. The doctor put this air cast on his ankle for about two weeks, and then I guess they, uh, located it. At about that same time, our oldest son had surgery for a knee injury he got in sports, so they recommended that he wear a knee brace whenever he played a game where he had to pivot very much. An ankle cast, a knee brace - it's a good idea to support the weak spot so you can prevent further injury.
Probably the most exciting American auto race of the year is the Indianapolis 500. Several have suggested that I should drive in it, but I think I'll hold off on that. Now, on the days before the race, anticipation grows as the drivers compete in the time trials and qualifying events that lead up to the big race. Then on the day itself, those powerful engines start revving, the fans and promoters are cheering, and the cars make their first drive around that legendary track. But there's no race that first lap. In fact, all the cars are going the same speed, led by some guy with flags flying out his window. Who is this guy? Well, he's the driver of the pace car, and everyone starts the race at the pace he sets!
Years ago when I went on my first international ministry trip, I went just about as far as you can go - 10,000 miles to Singapore, Australia, New Zealand. I was going to be away for three weeks, which was the longest I had ever left my wife and our three young children. My wife mobilized the kids to put little love notes all over and all through my luggage. We had a nice meal together on the way to the airport and then some special hugs and kisses at the airport. But I did have to leave. And I'm not kidding you, it was a sad moment. My wife was trying to look like she was fine. The children were obviously hurting. And I managed to hold myself together until I rounded the bend in the concourse, then I started wiping tears from my eyes. It was really hard, but one thing made it OK. It was only temporary. We would be reunited.
If I'm ever on an airplane flight where the flight attendant becomes incapacitated, I think I can do the safety instructions. Yep, I've heard them so many times. Actually, these days, they've pretty much videoized the presentation. I like that part where the little yellow oxygen masks drop down from above your seat in the demonstration. In the video, everyone is wonderfully calm in this simulated oxygen problem - very true-to-life, I'm sure! Anyway, the video shows a mother putting the mask on herself, and then on her little girl. The instructions go like this: "If the cabin pressure drops, get the oxygen to your face first, and then to your child's."
I had just returned from an exciting but exhausting ministry trip. I was, as I think the British say, "cabbaged" kind of described me. Two of our staff picked up my remains at the airport, and I settled deep into the passenger side of the front seat. As we were approaching my home, one of my co-workers said, "I can tell you're really tired." I asked how. The answer: "You didn't ask to drive." Now that's amazing. I always want to drive, and this time the thought hadn't even occurred to me!
It was a sign of hope in the awful despair at Ground Zero. There's a good chance you've seen a picture of it. In the horrific collapse of the World Trade Center towers, two cast iron beams, forming the shape of a cross, apparently were driven through the roof of the 6 World Trade Center building. Later, in the shell of 6 World Trade, rescue workers found that cross, amazingly, standing upright in a sea of rubble, with insulation hanging on one arm of the cross. Ironworkers eventually removed it from the rubble and they mounted it on a concrete slab, a remnant from a collapsed bridge between two World Trade Center buildings. One Brooklyn firefighter said the cross was a symbol of some hope to his heroic "brothers." He said, "It reinforces their faith in God - that God's here for them."
It's one of life's great "mixed emotions" moments for most fathers - when it's your daughter's wedding day and you give away your precious little girl to the man she's marrying. The usual Daddy sentiment is, "Nobody's good enough for my little girl - but here she is." I have a friend who expressed many a father's wedding day feelings in an especially graphic way. He loved the man that his daughter was marrying. He was very happy to receive him as a son. But still, he said, "When I placed my daughter's hand in his hand, there was this feeling I couldn't get over - that I was taking this rare Stradivarius violin and placing it in the hands of a gorilla!"
My wife and I have always enjoyed going to a county fair together. But when we went to our most recent local county fair, we had an extra reason - a personal reason to enjoy it. There's one exhibit hall that is filled every year with various entries that have received awards; cooking entries, produce, sewing, art, photographs. Of course, they only display the ones that have been judged the best. But there was one unique display in that hall and that's the one we wanted most to see. Our daughter and son-in-law's church had a display of pictures that had been drawn by their four-year-old Sunday School kids. Each one had been asked to draw a picture of their family. And they displayed every one of those pictures, no matter how much of a Rembrandt or an un-Rembrandt they were. Our grandson is in that class. So, needless to say, we went looking for his picture in particular. And his picture had a blue ribbon on it. But, then, so did all the other pictures.
It's still okay for grownups to read the comics in the newspaper. I mean, sometimes you actually stumble upon one of those "hmmm" kind of insights in a comic strip. Last week I had one of those "hmmm" moments. It was a "Family Circus" cartoon where the Dad and the little boy were in a cemetery looking at Grandpa's gravestone. Pointing to the epitaph on the tombstone, Dad says, "Those two dates are the year Granddad was born and the year he died." Then, pointing to the mark between his grandfather's date of birth and date of death, the little guy says, "That means that little dash between the years is Granddad's lifetime!" Hmmm.
