Home For Christmas

I was a student at Hesston College--a million miles from home. Being in my second and final year did not make the distance any less. Already four weeks before Christmas I was counting the days until vacation and being at home. I was also editor of the Hesston College Journal and had one more edition to put to bed before heading East.

My mind was in no frame to write an editorial but I was backed up against a deadline and something had to fill that space. In desperation a pulled down a volumn of quotations. Maybe I could copy something that would satsify my word count. Under "Christmas" and under "Dickens" one line stood out like a string of blinking lights, "And I do go home at Christmas."

Don't ask me what work it is from or what followed that line. I didn't see any more than that. I could have gone on for a whole chapter on that idea. I had my editorial in twenty minutes. It hardly fit in a college periodical. Certainly not scholarly nor researched. It was simply the heartfelt ache of a homesick kid.

I guess every year since I have gone home at Christmas. Treasuring the memory of 60 Christmases. Beging with the one at 508 N. Elm, Nappanee to eight different homes. But wherever, finding there the beauty of family, the joy of being together, the richness of tradition, the secuity of faith, the wonder of love. Beginning with just two of us in a honeymoon cottage in Vineland, Ontario where our gifts were cautiously calculated because our resources were so limited. Later in Lombard, Illinois where the house was bulging with children home from school and the paper from our gifts would have filled a bale. In each place there is the warmth and delight of experiencing what all the cards wish for and portray as meaningful.

I do go home for Christmas and relive or rather live anew everything from the awesome quiet of a star filled night to the happy clamor of a family exulting in the joy of being toether at home for Christmas.

Words That Come and Go

I've noticed that some words are like clothing fads, they come in style and in five years they are all but forgotten. Remember during the eighties when everyone was fascinated by the new phenomena of satelites and electronic communication. Suddenly everyone was "down loading" and "up linking " or "off loading." It seemed rather ostentatious. One employer had his fill and posted this notice: "I will be down coming on the next person I hear saying down load and they will soon be out going." History doesn't record the result of that threat but those terms, in most circles, are only a memory.



More recently we were hearing a constant barrage of "robust." As I remember it was one of Don Rumsfeld's favorite terms. He had robust troop build-ups and robust offensives going all the time. Another phrase becoming threadbare and needing to be replaced is "at the end of the day." Apparently it is one of the rules of the United States Senate that no speech will be be on the floor or interview made on television that does not include "at the end of the day." What's wrong with "finally"? I sincerely hope that we are close to the end of the road with "at the end of the day."



"The bottom line" is a related phrase that made it big with the politicians and was sometimes picked up by the locals as indicating being knowledgable. Actually, it meant that you couldn't think of the phrase "in summary."



Finally, there is "going forward." This one is heard primarily among politicians. It seems to mean "in the future" but then I suppose "going forward" indicates that you know all about the future and are fearlessly progressing toward the solving of all problems.



These words too, will no doubt have their day and then receed into the bin of former catchy fads that have lost their appeal. May they rest in peace along with "spiffy" and "cool." Oops. You mean "cool" is alive and well? I guess the bottom line is that some words take longer to die than others.

Don't Trust the Crowd

I spend very little time in the financial pages of the newspaper but a heading caught my eye in the Nov. 22 edition of the Washington Post. It was by Bob Frick, Kiplinger writer on "Personal Finance." The heading read, "Don't trust the crowd if you value the truth."



Frick was commenting on the tendency of investment clubs to concentrate on one method of choosing their investments and not tolerate dissent in the group. Challenges to the prevailing opinion are often met with deep skepticism if not hostility. That phenomenon is called "group think" in which he explains, people seem to adandon reason and simply follow the crowd." Psychologists through experiments have concluded that humans seem to be hard-wired to believe what the crowd tells us. Further, tests show that disagreeing with a group stimulates the pain centers of the brain.



That may explain why the prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures spoke of themselves being in agony. Their lonely voices raised against the group think of their day gave them a perpetual headache. And, of course, their criticism of the policies and action of people in high places gave them the reputation of being a headache to those who wouldn't tolerate dissent.



The model for going against the stream of public opinion is Jesus. Following his daring act of cleansing the temple the were a number who observed this demonstration of discernment and authority and as well as other dramatic signs and decided that here was where there was excitment. After describing the event and the crowds reaction the gospel writer, John, concludes, "But Jesus on his part, would not entrust himself to them, because he knew all people and need no one to testify about anyone; for he himself knew what was in everyone." John 2:23ff.



It was clear that the crowd is fickle, responding to unreliable whims and appetites. In short an unreliable guide. Especially is this true of a population for whom self-preservation and nationalistic pride is their ultimate concern. It seems this concern develops into a demonic spirit that is extremely difficult to resist or break. Inevitably it is wrong and leads to sorrow and loss.

What's a Budget Buster

David Broder is a serious pundit for the Washington Post and waxes as serious as he ever gets in the Sunday, Nov. 22 edition when he analyses the health care plan before the Congress. He takes the pessimistic view quoting studies that show there will be no savings and that it will be more costly in the long run, shot run, or in any run at all.



I doubt if Broder wrote the title to his piece at least the words do not appear anywhere in the column. The column is headed, "A budget-buster in the making." The title takes the piece to the extreme to create the maximum amount of skepticism and fear.



But it is curious to me that in the matter of health care for the nation's population that lacks there is this effort to claim it is too costly, dangerous, and disasterous. The nation has been dealing with budget busters for decades without a whimper. Bridges to nowhere have stretched to the horizon for years and the states smimply clammord for more. Subsidies have been doled out to various idustries and farmers like sugar cookies without one tear for the poor budget. And all wars win the instant status of "holy" and are funded willy-nilly without consideration for budgets or the future generations. The tack of the previous administration was to keep the cost of war out of the budget lest it been seen for what it is--a budget buster.



Meanwhile, out of sight is a "black budget," reported by Chalmers Johnson. Officially known as "Special Access Programs" which are devoted to secret millitary and intelligence spending. Unsupervised, and unreported, this budget is really a black hole into which billions of dollars disappear. There can be only an estimate of the total devoted to the secret projects which the GAO places at $30 to $35 billion per year. Where are the pundits, the congress people, the editors who lament the misuse of so much money that could be applied to the health and welfare of the nation?



But the funding of the military becomes a deep, dark secret that defies any effort to bring to light or bring to accountability. Again it is Chalmers Johnson who reveals that the deputy inspector general at the Pentagon "admitted that $4.4 trillion in adjustments to the Pentagon's books had to be cooked to compile...required financial statements and that $1.1 trillion...was simply gone and no one can be sure of when, where or to whom the money went."

It makes absolutely no sense to me that there are those who have a hissy fit every time a suggestion is made that health care will cost something and turn a blind eye to the ways in which the present way of spending money drives the nation into deep and dangerous debt. The national priorities are clearly set by powerful interests that benefit a priviledged class, primarily the indutrial/military complex rather than the desperate needs of people.

An Unrecognized Cost of War

I've always believed that war isn't good for anyone. The true cost is never known, at least never considered, especially when preparing for the next one. And the winner doesn't bother to consider the cost they have paid, except for the soldiers that didn't come back or the amount the nation has gone into debt financially. But in this present war there are costs that are especially obvious that goes beyond body count and billions of dollars.

The cost that seems to be for the first time recognized by the nation that considers itself the winner are the thousands of soldiers that are suffering mental and emotional disability. I have heard one third as the percentage of combat troops who are disabled or crippled by mental trauma. And another figure I heard today is that last year 140 military personnel commited suicide. This year they project the number to exceed that. This number does not include veterans, only those presently still in the armed forces. Plus each one of these casualties represents families, mothers, fathers, spouses, children, and others who whose lives are damaged or devastated by the agony of grief and added burden.

The armed forces admit that they do not have enough trained counselors to handle the number who need help. Further, one counselor who was interviewd on PBS said the purpose of their counseling was to return them to their unit as soon as possible. If being in their unit is the source of their problem how can they hope to regain mental health by returning?

It seems to me that clear thinking people who are considering the use of war as an effective instrument of dealing with problems would say that perhaps war has a cost that makes it too expensive to use, at least when there is another option available. The manufacturer whose equipment seriously injured one third of its employees would be forced to devise another way of making its product or close down.

I would be ready to help paint the sign: War Closed Until It Becomes Safe.

I got hooked on history before I could read. In an upstairs closet which served as our attic I found several shelves of books. Among them were some old history text books. Being an avid picture reader I studied them carefully and found them intriguing.

There were portraits of men whose main purpose seemed to be to raise whiskers. There were battle scenes blazing with smoke and fire. Great ships were in the pocess of sinking and buildings in the process of rising up. I wondered, what were the stories that went with those pictures?

The time came when I could read the stories that lay behind the pictures and, indeed, they were fascinating. In spite of a history teacher or two who did their best, or worst, to make history a crushing bore I still find it to be an inviting door to insight and understanding of the human scene.

Recently through the suggestion of a friend I have jumped into the world of the Middle Ages, an era I have rarely explored. Through the pen of Barbara Tuckman I have gone through A Distant Mirror, which like Through the Look Glass, takes one into a an incredible place of intrigue and complex characters.

It is "thick" history. Far from the superficial, surface readings of events it exposes the layers, connections and interconnections of people, places and systems that form the events that as, myriads of threads, get woven into the complex patterns we call history. It is all told with the pathos and hilarity of real people dealing with life with all the courage, blindness, confusion, hopefulness, desperation, faith that we may observe among us six centures later.

That was followed by The Spanish Armada by Mattingly and then The Guns of August, also by Tuchman. Both equally well written and interesting. Now I am about to plunge into The Autumn of the Middle Ages by Johan Huizinga and then into Out of Control by Zbigniew Brzezinski.

The Apostle Paul was once warned, "Too much learning is driving you insane." The warning was issued by a bureaucrat who I suspect was fearing that Paul just might catch on to the secret and lift the heavy curtain of complex human machinations behind which power is exercised. In reality what Paul found and I catch a glimpse of is the way in which the affairs of the human race forms the backdrop or even the setting where God brings new life and transformation. Although, I must admit that much of the story is so sordid that one might decide that it is all beyond reclaimation and all that is left is the firey conclusion of the second epistle of Peter.

But, what a story! More than once one finds oneself pausing to say, "so that's what was really happening."

House Guests

Taking care of creation or being green can have some pretty weighty implications as well as debatable issues that get people all emotional. But from a novel by Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams, came a metaphor that is simple enough to be easily understood. Probably for that reason it appeals to me and yet is a real challenge.



It is simply this, that we have been invited to spend some time on this earth that we don't own. The Host has instructed us as guests to feel at home, use what's here, enjoy all the benefits, hopes that we will be comfortable and stay a long time. We have been told that we should take care of things since there are other guests that will also be coming .



This sojourn as a house guest deserves a note to the Host as one would leave on the kitchen table of a home where we had a pleasant stay. Mine might read like this: "Thanks for letting me sleep on your couch. I loved the view. The furnishings fit me just right. The food I found in the fridge was delicious. I'm sorry I broke a coffee mug--I hope it isn't irreplacable. I tried to put everything back the way I found it. You truly did make this a 'good' place. I can understand why you love it."

I'm grateful to Kingsolver for this perspective that brings my status as a guest to a most personal level.

Approaching 80

Approaching the 80 year point in life seems a bit like coming on a turn off on the Sky Line Drive or a sign "Beautiful Views" near the crest of a mountain. Having the time its a good place to stop and take in what's there.

From that vantage point one might even be able to see where one's been and then to inspire one to marvel at the circuitous route that brought one to this time and place. Fortunately my memory is no worse off than most people at this stage of life and I don't even need a birthday to set me off on a path of recollection that finds a plethora of treasures near and far. I am about as good as anyone at forgetting the unpleasant events and those I remember I try to pitch in my recycle bin.

It is the memories of "home" I treasure most. From my boyhood home to where home has been replanted again and again come those images of secure love and warm accptance that are soul sustaining. On warm summer evenings after baths were taken mother and I would sit on the front porch swing watching the shadows legthen and listening to the neighborhood sounds of comfortable family living. When it was nearly dark Mother would say "I think its time for ice cream." From the kitchen she brought bowls well filled with scoops of orange pineapple ice cream. Dad joined us from the study and tucked between the two I had the delicious experience of knowing all was well.

Forty five years later a Saturday night found me in a family room surrounded by a wife and six children watching Petticoat Junction on a black and white television and experiencing the same feelings of well-being and security.

Another forty years and I am looking over the landscape of a life that in some ways appears less secure and a body that reveals the wear and tear of every one of those years. And yet keenly aware that there is so much more that might be experienced. So many more books to read, music to hear, loaves of bread to bake, conversations to have, prayers to pray, relationships to be enriched by, places to explore. I may not go much farther, mother died at 69, or I may go on a while, Grandfather died at 96, Dad at 95. Either way 80 years provides an opportunity to remember a journey that has been profoundly meaningful and leaves me eternally grateful.

And That's the Way it Was--Is--Might Have Been

Northererners who get stuck in the South sometimes feel out of place enough to let others know of their puzzlement at being a "stranger in (so called) paradise." As a misplaced North I also reflect from time to time on what has become the joyful exestence of being a pilgrim in every location I have lodged and shortsightedly have called home. The result is a mix of the mundane, the morose, the mindless and the merry all stated in 12 point Georgia awaiting review, rebuttal, always revision, and even, if rarely, affirmation. I commend whatever might follow to you fellow sojourners with the hope that your gentle hearts and minds will rejoice with me in the journey. After all, for now, the journey is our home.