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Maybe it's because my father-in-law was a corrections officer for a while, and I've heard his stories about the wasted lives behind prison bars. Whatever the reason, I've always admired the men who minister as prison chaplains. That's a tough ministry, but it's a ministry so desperately needed.
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Princess Diana was what they called the People's Princess. I think that's a fair name for her. She fascinated the masses. Her life with the Royal Family was well documented and well followed; still talked about. It began with the fairy tale romance where they didn't live happily ever after. And then her struggles being a Royal, and then the awful night in a tunnel in Paris when the princess died. And then there was the unexpected, unprecedented outpouring of love and respect for her.
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My wife is like a human camera. She's able to record in her mind life experiences in living color and in full detail. I wish I could do it! And growing up on a little farm in the hills gave her a childhood full of memorable memories.
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It used to be a lot simpler to take out the garbage. The only decision we had to make that day was to take it to the curb. Not so much anymore! Now you've got to make sure you don't put out any grass clippings or limbs with your regular trash. We recycle everything! And those items are supposed to be separated. When we lived in the Metropolitan New York area their rules about garbage disposal were even more complicated. My friend Craig had recently moved there and wasn't familiar with the regulations. He let his garbage pile up for the first few weeks with odoriferous results. He finally found the instructions on handling trash and he told me, "It wasn't that I didn't want to get rid of that garbage, I just didn't know how to."
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I've had the privilege to being on a lot of Native American reservations. And somewhere along the way, I heard the story of that little boy. A missionary was visiting a series of villages and he came on this little boy who was actually taking care of a large flock of sheep. The missionary learned that the boy's dad had died and left him and his mother with the care of the sheep. The little guy was doing his best to be a lot more grown up than you'd expect a boy his age to be.
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We had three kids. They were all in the junior high band at different times over a seven year period of time. So I got to go to seven straight years of junior high band concerts. I enjoyed watching our kids develop musically, but I cannot say it was a memorable music experience. Fortunately, they stuck to pieces that were at their level. But what if they had attempted, say Beethoven, the musical genius.
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I used to sing this little song in Sunday school. Actually, all of the kids sang it: "Be Careful Little Eyes What You See." That was the first verse. And then we went on to "Be careful little ears what you hear." And then "Be careful little hands what you do." Of course, "Be careful little feet where you go," and so on. Actually, there is a practical truth hidden in that little song. It's about this thing called sin, which isn't just a church word or a preacher's word. I mean, it's real. I mean, your hands sin, your eyes sin, your ears sin; it's not just a concept.
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I was sitting in the van we drove back then, idling at a red light, when suddenly this cloud of dark, acrid smoke starts belching out of my exhaust pipe. It was disgusting! Apparently, the motorists behind me felt the same way because they started honking at me! That helped a lot! I just wish honking would have solved the problem. It didn't. One mechanic told me, "I wouldn't leave town with that van if I were you." And he was right. Guess what? The smoke wasn't the problem. The problem was the engine, and it didn't need to be fixed. It was too far gone for that. It had to be replaced!
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In our treasury of family videos - now DVDs - we have a few moments that are considered classics. Most folks outside the family wouldn't think so, but you had to be there. The classics are usually either very touching or give us a chance to laugh very loudly at one of the five Hutchcrafts; such as the one from our Alaska trip. Our oldest son (we will call him son number one for the purpose of this illustration), was about 14, the youngest son, (we'll call him son number two) was about 12; at the age where a boy's voice isn't quite sure where it will go on the next word. You know? Now, we're filming some dog team races, and we trusted the camera to our least-technical family member - son number one. Like Father, like son. Now, son number two, being more technically oriented, was providing unsolicited coaching on video filming.
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I have no official statistics on what I'm about to say; just a personal impression. But I believe the State of Pennsylvania might be the road kill capitol of the Northeast; especially for deer population. I have seen many more dead deer by the side of the road there than any state in that region. Of course, there's a lot more of Pennsylvania, too. But I read an article about the outraged mayor of a small town in Pennsylvania. The Interstate runs through his community. This is a true story! The reason for his outrage? A paving crew was working on that road one summer, and they came upon a dead deer with much of its carcass lying on the road. Want to try to guess what they did next? They went right ahead and paved right over the deer! "Honey, I just hit a bump in the road. I think it's a deer!"
