A-MUSING

Flattery

2012-02-27T14:07:00.000-06:00

Flattery gets you nowhere. Who said that? What were they thinking? My guess is that they felt flattery will take us in the wrong direction. I certainly am not dispensing such a thought, I'm just adding on to a great presentation.

Psalm 36:2 says:
For in his own eyes he flatters himself too much to detect or hate his sin.

At times I get pretty proud of myself. I meddle with my conscience enough so I don't feel bad doing things God wouldn't approve of. I'm a learned man who can decipher God's word incredibly to allow most anything. And, even if I'm not comfortable with my actions now give me some time and I'll come around.

How far have I fallen? I know I don't hate sin like I should, but have I flattered myself so much that I can't even detect sin anymore? Great spiritual men and women have taken steps backward in their godly lives because flattery has become much too convincing. So what kind of a chance do I have? I work at a grocery store, my Greek is Greek to me and I don't seek the creator for mercy near enough.

Help my pride to falter, my knees to bend and my heart to break because I'm afraid flattery will take me where I don't want to go.

Percentages

2012-02-17T13:28:00.001-06:00

Why am I uncomfortable with this occupy wallstreet craze? Do I feel sad for people down on their luck? Maybe I have a hard time seeing successful businesses and entrepreneurs being beaten down when they provide opportunity for people like me. Could I be having a pride issue problem? Hopefully three negatives make a positive!

How could I be part of this ninety nine percent? There must be a problem with the percentages. No, I have to be a ninety nine percenter, but I think there may be a definition problem. If I heard it right, the ninety nine percent are all of us who have been demeaned by the rich and terrible one percent. Isn't it nice to be a part of the majority? Why occupy wallstreet? Why not pound the pavement? It may be true, the calculations are off because the wrong factors were defined.

Desperation changes us. We lose our jobs, the bills continue. We divorce, responsibility still lingers. We abort, what could have been still gnaws at us. We change jobs, there are still people to deal with. Instead of allowing myself to grow through trials, I miss the opportunity and climb down the stairs into the pit of discouragement. Soon the heat gets colder, the lights get dimmer and the food becomes tasteless. Down in my heart I know my surroundings haven't changed so much but my ability to function has disappeared. If I don't check myself, I begin to blame others and feel mistreated. Surely I'm not that much different than anyone else. We all strive to do better, to move to the next level, to press on to greater things...don't we?

There is the defining factor! I'm part of the one percenters who are actually the ninety nine percent. The very few 99% who are actually the 1% are in more trouble then they think. They have given up and want someone to rescue them. Their gifts and abilities are being cut short because the pit of discouragement is swallowing them. Our wonderful country has provided a helping hand to pull me up the stairs and get me going again. Lately, however, the hand no longer helps, instead it holds me back to feed on its morsels and lures me into dependence.

The one percent spends it's time complaining and dragging us down. They have nothing to offer. Don't quit. You've got what it takes. Come with me up the stairs, out of discouragement. Sharpen your abilities and help this country be great. Be part of the ninety nine percent who strive to do better, move to the next level and press on to greater things.

Commitment

2012-02-12T19:14:00.001-06:00

Do you remember back in grade school when all the kids get together to play a game and "picked" sides? I wasn't horrible at games or sports but I was a bit chubby. Chubby didn't translate well into team sports in my day. My feet would kick quite a bit of dirt while the captains decided who had to take me. But you know what; I would show 'em I'd stick around till they picked me. I'd show them I was a good choice.
Don't let it be unstated...I am a wonderful Swede. I can be somewhat stubborn. Not that I mean to be. I don't think it's because I love to be right as much as it's no fun to be wrong. Maybe that's why Valentine's Day is my least favorite day...I'm stubborn. Hallmark continues to make my life uncomfortable. Why do I have to convince someone who is incredibly special to me that she is incredibly special? Does that mean that she doesn't think that I think she's special anymore? If that's the case a box of chocolates won't solve anything. Don't panic, I'm not a complete loser. I get the whole coochy, coochy, cooh, lovey, dovey, doeh stuff but it's just one more day for me to remember...and forget. These special days bring much expectation putting a spotlight on my inability to accomplish such perfection.
I may not be good at this Valentine's stuff but I will continue to be stubborn and show you I was a good choice. I may never make your coffee strong enough or buy the right flowers for your bouquet, and the chocolates I give you will most likely be waxy, but my commitment to you will always be strong till death drags me from you.
Happy Valentine's Day

Curacious

2012-01-25T10:40:00.000-06:00

Many years ago a university ran a contest. The contestant had to recreate a new word for handicapped. The idea behind this, I presumed, was to eliminate the negative perspective conjured up by such a word. I sat down to develop a new option and realized that words mean things. If you have a word for something, it is what it is. People looked at the word handicapped and saw hardship, struggle and difficulty. Was it possible to create this new word and issue a positive point of view? Or, would the new word soon reference the same old meaning?

In my line of work, I spent a considerable amount of time in downtown Minneapolis. I saw many handicapped people take on situations I couldn't have imagined were possible, people traversing through snowy city sidewalks in their wheelchairs directed by their mouth, blind people maneuvering noisy city intersections using their ears to "see" a green light. They were incredibly courageous! They never expected a door to be opened, a conversation to be started or a problem to be solved for them. But if such things occurred, they were nothing but gracious.

If I could create a word depicting the heart of the handicapped, perhaps I could change the meaning of what people thought. Curacious! That's the word! Change handicapped to curacious. People would think courageous and gracious, instead of hardship, struggle and difficulty.

No, I abandoned my idea and the contest. It was not long after that handicapped was replaced by physically and mentally challenged. Was that better?

Isn't that just like us? Change a word and everything is better. I thought that if I could change a word to depict the heart of a handicapped person, the perception would change. Maybe it's not what we think about their heart that matters. Maybe it's how we think with our heart that makes the difference. What is my heart like? How do I perceive people? Maybe it really isn't the word at all. It's the heart of the wordsmith.

The words I say: "Oh, what a nice house."
What I feel in my heart: "Jerk, he always gets the breaks."

The words I say: "Here, let me help you."
What I feel in my heart: "What a loser, I have to do his job again."

The words I say: "Here's a car for your Charity."
What I feel in my heart: "Now I can get a deduction for more than this piece of junk is worth."

Do I just say things to get the vote, the promotion or the next gig? Do I feel I can't say what I mean? Maybe I need to change what I mean so I can say what I feel.

Wicked?

2012-01-12T16:21:00.000-06:00

I hope you realize by now, I have no answers. I write with my struggles to cause thought not condemnation.

A few things intersected with me today. A verse, Psalms 12:8, singed me somewhat as I thought about a question I had been asked. The question went something like this; How can I feel something as unfit for my children to watch or take part in and then participate and feel justified just because I am older? Certainly there may be reasons and situations that may warrant such behavior but......when I turn eighteen , do only good thoughts exist? As an adult, do I suddenly establish a virtuous filter, eliminating all corruption? Am I warping my perspective with things that will tear at my character? It seems that we "old" people have much trouble making good decisions...abuse, affairs, divorce, murder.....Does "oldness" bring us justification.....rationalization? Here is Psalms 12:8,

The wicked freely strut about when what is vile is honored among men.

Sometimes I feel too carefree in this freedom Christ sacrificed for. His honor should not be trivialized because I twist His word to find permission to do what I know in my heart to be less then what he desires.

Darn Socks

2011-12-30T12:52:00.000-06:00

A few years ago the psychological state of "get a grip" became somewhat of a physical reality. Holding onto things became quite a challenge. One of my most daunting feats was putting on my socks. This task became quite lengthy and brought me to tears more than once. However, I think some unique insight was gained.

Socks seem to have certain areas that wear out first. Are these worn spots created by me or something else? Is it a crooked toe, goofy heel or some other malady? Maybe it's bad stitching or a rock under the insole. Whatever the situation...do I ever do anything to fix the sock? Unfortunately, I believe I have bought into the new reality, throw away the old and get a new pair.

Here was my revelation. I never threw anything away until there was a hole. It seemed, though, that at every "thin" spot a callous was already beginning. Calluses are very hard to get rid of and create their own set of problems. Maybe I should darn my socks before a callus begins.

Could this be my problem with new years resolutions? Have all my failures worn holes in my life creating such thick calluses that they have become insurmountable? Has sadness grown into bitterness? Does loneliness grown into disillusionment? Could misunderstanding change into anger? Must I wait till a certain time in my life to whittle away my calluses? Would it not be better for me to darn my socks before the calluses begin?

Has the falseness of bitterness begun to grow? Maybe I need to be thankful for all I don't deserve. Has disillusionment overtaken me? Maybe I should surround my life with good thoughts, great people and a sufficient God. Have I created my own anger? Maybe I need to listen and understand.

Maybe I need to be resolute and keep my socks darned all year long.

Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas!

2011-12-20T12:41:00.000-06:00

This Old House

I like an old house.
One within whose walls
Happy children oft have sung
And soldiered through the halls.

Under the eaves a wren has found
A haven for her nest.
And furry rabbits, chased by dogs
Under the porch, a rest.

Up in the attic, though dusty and dark,
The treasures it holds are not few;
A trunk full of heirlooms, a football and games
And a memory wrapped in a shoe.

Through windows now stained with the passage of time,
With lead clasping the prism edged glass,
Sunlight is humbled to simple hues
A rainbow can't surpass.

The newel post extends its arm
Up the stairway and through the hall,
To guide the laborer from his toil,
To rest, strength to recall.

And even the walls seem mellowed with time
Having soaked up a fragrance or two;
Of cinnamon rolls and pungent rye bread
And a rosebud once glistening with dew.

And the lamp on the table, sending its glow
Through the window and out on the lawn,
Seems to welcome a friend to sit by the hearth,
Away from the hustle of town.

In an old house that's lived in, somebodies home,
There's death, and anxiety, hardship in birth;
But you can return from wherever you roam
For peace and for pardon; for love and for mirth
John O. Benson

The early morning chill will find me warming myself with an extra special cup of Christmas coffee. A flip of a switch will burst the room into Christmas flavor. The twinkling lights will seduce me into my chair by the tree. It will be time to settle in for a day filled with wonder.
In a sense, this year is not much unlike that very first Christmas; so much undeserving and so much receiving. I have a wonderful wife who puts up and cares for me. My kids who go so far as to laugh at my wonderful jokes, again. And what about the treasures held captive under the tree waiting to be set free....Though I don't deserve such things, they are there for me to receive and cherish. So many years ago a boy child was offered to me. Again, I surly didn't deserve the gift I was offered, but not unlike the treasures under the twinkling lights, I unwrapped the gift and received the offering.
Where better to spend Christmas but at home. A season surrounded by family and comfort. May this Christmas find you at home for the holidays. If you can't make it, maybe your dreams will take you this Christmas!

May your hope increase.
May your joy be full.
May your peace be secure and
May you relish in the love that surrounds you.

Merry Christmas!

Mary, Christmas?

2011-12-12T11:23:00.000-06:00

What have we done? Have we truly given our lives to Christ? Are we all in? Have we given our consent for God to use us at any cost? Was Mary all in? "May it be to me as you have said." It sure sound like it. Do we look at Mary like we look at ourselves?
"Poor Mary!"
"All those hard times....how could she do it?"
"Go away you stupid shepherds, she wants to be alone!"
Do we focus on Mary as the main part of this story? Of course, Christ is the main part of Christmas but who was His main focus? Mary seemed to have it figured out. "May it be to me as you have said." She knew God was working. She knew she was being used for something special. Do you think that maybe she knew that something special was not her? What did she ponder and treasure up in her heart? Maybe it wasn't about her journey at all. Maybe the something special was the visiting shepherds.
What did she ponder?
"I have nothing to offer!"
What did she treasure?
"God used me to bring Jesus to the world!"
Who are the shepherds in your world? Maybe my all isn't much, but maybe I need to quit worrying and groveling and start pondering and treasuring.
Joy and peace are here for the taking.
Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas?

2011-12-07T21:36:00.000-06:00

There seems to be so much irony in the Christmas season. A season that should bring peace, joy and happiness often brings sadness, loneliness and guilt of what should have been, what isn't and what may never be.
Do you feel that the Christmas story paints us a great picture of this very special time of year? The artists rendering of this story usually shows us a cozy manger with sedate animals all snug in warm, clean straw. Isn't the reality so much different? A trip taken in the worst of circumstances.....a political redistricting forces a man and his very pregnant wife on a long journey aboard an ornery donkey. Of course, no reservations were made and the only accommodation was a dirty, putrid barn. As for sedate, the animals, I bet, were noisy and restless with the invasion of their space. Rats and bats.....I'm sure they were there too. Oh, I forgot to mention about a birth with no sanitation, running water or nurses. Could it get any worse? Possibly.
I know I don't like visitors when I am out of sorts. And who decides to visit but a bunch of smelly, surly shepherds. How long do you think it was until Mary remembered that she had told the angel, "May it be to me as you have said"? There sure didn't seem to be much "put-outness" in Mary's countenance. In fact, it was after the shepherds had left, "Mary treasured all of these things and pondered them in her heart".
When the special time of Christmas comes, our expectations blossom into cozy wonderment. But soon the wolves of deceit pee on our snow and the brightness becomes dingy. The heartaches of the past year become overwhelming. Our nice warm homes become drafty. Our jobs become boring and dissatisfying. Do we lose sight of the hope, the joy and the peace a small boy child has offered us? Can the uncertainty in our lives be treasured up in our hearts and be allowed to be worked and molded into something wonderful? Can we keep our hands out of the pot and "let it be to me as you have said"? Can this special season let us understand a little more about the Savior of the world?
Hope has come! Merry Christmas!