Children

Misty Monday Morning Musings

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Random thoughts running through my head…

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Though we’ve flirted with it in the past, this is the first year that I can say without hesitation that we Americans bypassed Thanksgiving entirely and went straight to Christmas. Boy, doesn’t that say it all.

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I don’t see many leftover Obama/Biden signs. You’d think the pair lost considering how quickly their signs vanished. On the other hand, McCain/Palin signs remain rooted in yards like oaks. I guess some people still believe.

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I predicted this years ago, but few heeded the call. What does it say that we are caught flatfooted again?

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My indulgent snack of choice are Frito Lay Cheetos. I got the last two 10-ounce bags at my local grocery store. The new bags are 8.5 ounces.  Sigh.

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The truly countercultural Christians? Those who are making a vow to pray daily for the new president-elect rather than grind their teeth over his election while plotting his overthrow.

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Charismatics—a group with which I am closely associated, if only as being seen by some as an insider contrarian and quintessential wet blanket—blew it on Lakeland. Then they blew it on the 2008 election. Somewhere on this planet, rational, God-fearing charismatics still exist. I’m beginning to think they are an endangered species, though. Blame it on a reckless inability to test prophetic revelation against Scripture and a misunderstanding of the basic message of those same Scriptures. Add in a complete fascination with using politics to usher in the Kingdom of Heaven while ignoring the Great Commission altogether and you’ve summarized the entire state of far too many charismatic leaders, churches, and followers. God help us if we don’t wise up.

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I simply don’t understand why the online prices of some retail stores are  often lower than their own brick-and-mortar incarnations. Case in point, why does it cost so much more to buy a book at a physical Barnes & Noble location than from their online store? I mean, how dumb does it sound for me to ask a store clerk, “Uh, your price online is 20 percent less for this. Will you match your own online price?”

Another killer:  I need a digital voice recorder for my work now that my old microcassette recorder flaked out on me at an inopportune time. And I need it now. So I walk into a half dozen brick-and-mortar stores; they all have the same price on the model I was considering, $100. What kills me is the average online store is selling the same model for $20-25 less. I’m sorry, but that’s a big, deal-breaking difference. You feel robbed if you buy it from the brick-and-mortar. So I didn’t. I guess I’ll have to make do with flaky and pray really hard. I find it inexplicable that the big box brick-and-mortars, all things considered, can’t get within $10 of the online price at Joe Bob’s Gizmo Shack.

The fact that I’m worrying about the cost of a digital voice recorder when people are living in squalor in much of the world troubles me. I just don’t know what to do about it.

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Children do grow up fast. Especially when you don’t see a particular kid day in and day out. One day they’re teething and the next they’re texting.

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Spotted: $1.69/gal. for gas. It’s like 2005 all over again—except without the hurricanes.

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Am I the only one who thinks that Russia is looking scarier and more unhinged every day?

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I heard on a radio program discussing the economy that China needs to create 24 million new jobs each year to prevent its economy from collapsing. Get this: Employment in China is in a freefall. Say it with me: “Uh-oh.”

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My son asked for one toy for Christmas. One. This weekend only, every discount store cut the price of that toy from $25 to $10. And you guessed it, every store I visited had a gaping hole on its shelf where that toy would have sat. As much as I really hate consumerism, there’s something about that gaping hole that makes one feel like a lousy parent.

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Is it just me or are Lego construction kits the greatest toys ever created for boys?

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Apart from Lego, my son doesn’t seem to like any of the toys I liked as a kid. That would send most dads into a shopping black hole, I think. It’s worse for my wife; she grew up with two sisters and no brothers.

On that same note, my son just started Cub Scouts and my wife drew me aside to ask if the level of mayhem that often ensues at meetings is common with boys under the age of 10—to which I gave the classic “Jack Benny stares into the camera knowingly” pose.

BTW, thank you to all who contributed their comments to my “About a Boy” post. I appreciate the insights.

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One of the greatest American success stories of the last 50 years: Frozen pizzas are W-A-A-A-Y better than they used to be.

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Hey, I know some of you have your own businesses. A few weeks back, I offered to help you promote your business free of charge by increasing your links through my Employ the Body! page. Since Google loves backlinks, here’s your chance to ramp up the visibility of your business’s site, so check out the link.

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My church held its annual Thanksgiving feast yesterday.  Due to enormous containers of food stretching over a dozen full-length folding tables, no one left hungry. The hall was warm and filled with healthy people. No state police broke in and arrested anyone while we prayed. Father God, thank you so very much.


About a Boy

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Of course, many possible topics exist after the events of this week, but I want to ask readers for a parenting tip. This is a great chance for you to help my family.

My son is eight. He’s a very smart boy with an enormous vocabulary. He reads at the grade level of kids nearly twice his age. His math skills are way above his peers. He reasons differently than most peers, too. Think “little professor” and you get the idea.

Other children notice this. He often gets labeled “Brain.” Boys his age treat him differently. He winds up in a group of one when other kids play. He’s an only child, which only compounds the issue.

We put him in public school to try to alleviate some of this problem, and it has helped from a socialization standpoint. He’s much better at being part of a group.

Still, he’s the odd man out in too many activities. Sadly, this is even evident at church. Other children simply do not include him in their groups. Often, they purposefully exclude him. Our son has no problem interacting with other children, though. He’s not shy at all and approaches peers easily.

My wife is concerned that our son doesn’t have friends. It’s sad for both of us to see him left out, eventually drifting off to do his own thing or attempting to remain part of the group when others don’t want him to be. We’re also concerned that the rare, spontaneous groups that do allow him to join are often comprised of maladjusted boys who look for trouble.

Anyone out there have advice on what we can do to help our son make solid friendships?

No Shield Big Enough

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We can't always shelter, can we?Though we serve a big God, no shield is large enough to keep out the world.

Tuesday literally burst with life. We had a day that epitomized gorgeous here (mid-70s, dry, slight breeze, and sunny with cotton candy clouds), so I bagged work. My son and I went geocaching instead. We hunted caches down by the Ohio River in Kentucky, the shoreline scenery adding to the picturesque day.

But before we got to our destination, I had to deal with the radio.

I don’t listen to kid-friendly radio. In other words, my listenership of Christian radio borders on the non-existent. I stopped listening when they refused to play a single one of the artists I listen to on a regular basis. You know, artists who talk about Jesus, sin, and repentance.

Instead, I tend to listen to classical music, which is primarily on Public Radio. Same for my news. And as I flipped to the news station, it just so happened to be discussing gay marriage as we drifted down the highway on that stunning June afternoon.

Where’s the force field when you need it?

My son was largely oblivious because he doesn’t know that gay means anything other than happy. You know, the way I understood it as a kid, too. Sadly, it just doesn’t mean that alone anymore.

My parents didn’t talk to me about “The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name.” When I was in college in the early 1980s, a few men tried to hit on me. Clueless, I just thought they were overtly friendly in an odd sort of way. I didn’t know that there were men out there having sex with other men. I was in my mid-20s before I finally understood what homosexuality was. Even then, it made no sense to me. How was such a thing even possible?

My son won’t get that same shielding. None of our children will.

So I had to talk about homosexuality with my son. In the end, his reaction was much the same as mine: “I wish we could get the word gay back, Dad. It’s a good word.”

I wish we could get a lot of things back.

When I was a kid, things were different:

  • You could leave your house unlocked.
  • Adults were trustworthy, not potential molesters.
  • People looked out for each other and their neighborhoods.
  • The rules everyone knew actually worked and most people weren’t fighting to change them.
  • A boy might take a gun to school and the principal would admire it, not declare a lockdown.
  • Civic pride meant something.
  • You got the sense that people lived for some aspiration or belief greater than themselves.
  • People didn’t go out of their way to avoid someone in need or in trouble.
  • Social groups that hold our society together saw increases in membership, not precipitous declines.
  • A collective trust existed that each of us knew we were a part of a great nation, the best that had ever been.

All those good things (and more) seem to have vanished. Our children will never personally experience how it was for us to grow up in that environment. Instead, they’ll have to deal with the fallout of the jihad we declared on our own values.

In geocaching, you search for little treasure containers scattered all over the planet. I think that in many ways, our society has gone searching for similar containers, each a box with Pandora’s name carved on the front. And when we find one, we fail to ask whether it should be opened. Instead, we forge ahead, unable to contain our glee over what we might find inside.

There’s nothing I would like more than for “The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name” to shut the heck up already. I’d love for us to close a few of those Pandora’s boxes and know that what Pandora could not repair, we could. But I know better.

The second law of thermodynamics applies beyond the laws of physics, doesn’t it?