November 7 – “Nicknames”

Nicknames.  Aren’t they fun?  Except of course when they aren’t.  As in such classics as Goofball or Dummy.  Some of those evil monikers attempt to reflect on physical characteristics, like Miss Piggy or Fatso or Skinnybones.  Others speak to certain external deficits, such as Four-eyes or Baldy.  Some make an effort to explain stand-out behaviors, like Slowpoke or Slug or Couch Potato.  Others attack personal names by turning them into rhymes, like Kelley-jelly-belly (not that I’ve ever been called that, mind you) or Prissy Chrissy.  Still others appear to be random on the surface, but might reflect some hidden meaning, like Turk or Moon Dog or Whizzer (Hey, he was a supreme court justice).  On the positive side, many nicknames reflect endearment.  You have the usual Honey and Dear, along with the occasional Baby or Babe.  I suppose you can communicate depth of emotion by upping the intensity of intimacy.  You know, Darling or Dearest.

I am impressed with Chris’ ability to come up with pet names for our grandkids.  She never did come up with one for me, so I’ve always been kind of bitter.  She started out with Jachin-bacon.  Then she added Micah-rooni and Cailyn-sweetpea.  I detect some king of food connection there. 

The grandkids have nicknames of their own for Chris.  She started out as Nana with Jachin and Micah.  Then Zakary and Caleb came along and decided that she should be Nani.  Josiah seems partial to Nani as well.  But now Cailyn has started with the creative approach.  Her grandmother name of choice for a long time was Nani.  After a year or so, she apparently got bored and was proud to announce that she was now calling her Nana.  Interesting.  Then she reached the ripe old age of three-going-on-fourteen, and, like a teenager, she slipped in an occasional Nan.  But my favorite came out just the other day when she and I were talking.  I asked her directly which name was her favorite of the different things she called Chris.  She scrunched up her brow, pursed her lips, and thought long and hard.  And then the lightbulb went on.  She obviously had the answer.  I felt myself leaning forward, anxious to hear the final decision.  That’s when I noticed the slowly creeping grin beginning to appear on her face.  Slowly she turned toward me, dropped her head ever so slightly to one side, and announced, “I like to call her … Boogerina.”  OK, then.    

Psalms 37:7 says, “Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him; do not fret when men succeed in their ways, when they carry out their wicked schemes.”

Father, thank you for being Great Initiator, Awesome One, One Who Loves.  Great nicknames.  Amen.

November 6 – “A little tighter”

Well, today is voting day.  One of the best days of the year for people watching, if you have an excuse to hang around the polling site beyond your own personal voting experience.  It is a lot of fun to determine all the “us vs. them” pockets.  And then when they go into campaign mode it can get hilarious.  I have yet to see an actual voter who really looks forward to having someone hawk for a last minute decision.  Most people are racking their brains for possible routes to the door that avoid as many of the campaigners as possible.  It’s also a veritable tourist attraction at some sites just to see the different costumes people can come up with to draw attention to their candidate.  I for one am all for that.  I think it should be a rule that you can’t politick on voting day unless you are dressed up in a full costume of some kind.  How hard can it be?  After all, Halloween was just a few days ago, wasn’t it?  I can see it now … “Look, there’s Darth Vader, and he’s a Democrat.  I wonder where Luke Skywalker is.  He’s bound to be Republican.”   Or “Hey, isn’t that Big Bird?  Democrat, for sure.  I heard Mickey Mouse was going Republican.”  Now that would be a fun day.  Bet voter turnout would shoot up considerably.  Well, I am all set … I already voted last week. 

Seaside is hosting a polling site this year, so if you haven’t had a chance to vote yet, come on out there.  You can vote at any site you want to this year.  It doesn’t matter what precinct you registered in.  And Seaside is going all out this year.  We plan to put a big pot of coffee on.  Several folks are going to be at the church, at least in the morning, making some cookies, so the aroma should be quite inviting.  Others are bringing up cookies throughout the day.  We are also planning to buy lunch from Subway for the workers if that works out for them.  I’m also going to bring a case of bottled water so we can share it with the folks who usually stand around doing last minute politicking.  It’s really cool outside today, so that’s a plus for them, but we’ll offer the water anyway.  Hopefully the voting experience will be a positive one for all concerned.

I know I quoted this one yesterday, but it’s just so appropriate.  Proverbs 21:1 says, “The king's heart is in the hand of the Lord; he directs it like a watercourse wherever he pleases.”

Father, could you squeeze your hand a little tighter on whoever wins this election?  Amen.

November 5 – “My political statement”

I had one of those experiences yesterday where I was right in the middle of preaching and I suddenly realized something really cool that God was speaking to me about.  It’s always fun when that happens, because I get very excited about it.  And trying to incorporate the new insight into what I’m already teaching can be a real challenge.  I was talking about the prayer of Nehemiah in the first chapter when it hit me that the  reason the Bible pray-ers always “reminded” God of what he had done in the past was that God has initiated a “perspective of faithfulness.”  He promised and then he kept his promise.  He is faithful.  We can trust him.  So when we crawl inside that corral of faithfulness, when we pray out of that perspective – being aware enough of the Word of God to know what he has promised and followed through on in the past – we are not requesting something new.  We are simply operating within what is already God’s will and praying “thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.”  Sounds kind of Jesus-y, doesn’t it?

I also made my political statement for the year.  Ready for it?  Proverbs 21:1 says, “The king's heart is in the hand of the Lord; he directs it like a watercourse wherever he pleases.”  There it is, folks.  Do what you can do – vote.  Then pray for whoever wins, even if it’s the “other” guy, because God holds his heart and can use him to fulfill his purposes. 

Father, keep folks safe at the polls tomorrow, and hold whoever wins tightly in your grasp.  Amen.

 

November 4 – “Enough said”

We had a house guest last night.  A friend from my oldest of old Seaside days was back in town overnight to visit with a friend of his who just got married.  Ken came down to meet the new bride.  They didn’t enough room for him to stay with them, so we got the honors.  And Cindy was with him.  That’s his thirteen-year-old dog.  Ken’s a long-time bachelor, so Cindy is pretty special to him as a companion.  She had the joy of hanging out with Fritz and Heidi.  All Heidi did was bark at her, but Fritz did everything he could to get her to play.  I think she’ll be glad to get home tomorrow.

Cailyn spent the night with us Friday.  When she woke up she cried out for me to come tickle her, so I complied.  She wasn’t completely awake yet, though.  That often makes for some optimal intelligence gathering opportunities.  This time, however, she didn’t need any prompting whatsoever.  Through bleary eyes she freely offered one particularly revealing comment. 

Cailyn: Yawning.  “My mommy got her eyebrows waxed-ed last night.”

Me: “She did?  Now why did she do that?”

Cailyn: Yawning again.  “‘Cause they were too hairy.”

 

I … I … I have nothing further to say.

Psalms 37:5-6 says, “Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him and he will do this: He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun.”

Father, make yourself known to someone today.  Amen.

November 3 – “On dentists”

I found out that three of my grandkids had to see the dentist the other day.  Not that unusual an occurrence, I guess.  It was just the timing that got me.  The day before Halloween.  Right before Mega-candy Day, Dentist Dream Day.  Now that’s hard.  At least they could get a clean bill of health to start with.

I had to go to the dentist the other day.  Notice how carefully crafted that sentence was?  And it was all by design, believe me.  I had to go.  See, some six or eight years ago, when last I found myself in the dreaded chair, he scraped out and filled a bad tooth and actually managed to save me from whatever horrors exist in a root canal.  Horrors beyond the shock of seeing how much it costs, that is.  We don’t have dental insurance.  And after he finished the job, he informed me that I still needed to have a cap installed over the filling.  He also, however, made the mistake of telling me that the filling would hold just fine.  The cap was just an additional safety measure.  That’s as good a saying, “See you in about eight years,” as far as I’m concerned.  So I simply took him at his word and stayed away for eight years. 

I was not having any pain in the tooth area.  The filling was just beginning to make its way out of the confines of the remains of the tooth itself, and had left behind a tower of enamel that was acting as a spike on the underside of my tongue.  Quite uncomfortable, to say the least.  The office representative came in and went through the same review of how much root canals and tooth caps cost.  My dreams of technological advancements that lead to more affordable products were shattered.  Still costs … a lot.  I texted Chris with the range – somewhere between $1200 and $1500.  Ouch.  I definitely considered taking an action I once did as a struggling college student with a chipped tooth from a pickup football game – getting an emery board and filing down the sharp edge.  Yep, I really did that.  Anything to stay out of that chair.  I finally approved – well, agreed to - the work, and he dug in.  Hmm.  Not a great image when talking about dentistry, I guess.  And to his credit, he was once again able to simply refill the tooth.  No root canal.  He still wants me to come back for a cap, though.  In his words, “Sometime after Thanksgiving, or maybe early next year, after this has a chance to really set good.”  I love this guy.  He knows good and well that there is little chance that I will be back for another eight or ten years, unless, of course, Chris happens to read this and makes a mental note to make an appointment without my knowledge.  She knows if the appointment is there I will go.  I’m still a sucker for respecting authority that way.  Her authority.

Now I have to say, though, that I really do like my dentist.  He is my second favorite dentist of all time.  When I was a kid, my dentist was the spawn of Satan, I’m sure.  I have managed to block out most of the evil, but there are still flashbacks of extreme pain.  As a result, I had an extreme aversion to even the thought of going to the dentist until I met the very first no-pain dentist in my career, Dr. Blair Jones of Mansfield.  To be able to use the words “dentist” and “no pain” in the same sentence was a major breakthrough for me.  He even yanked out one of my wisdom teeth and I never felt a thing.  No residual after-effects, either.  It was amazing.  My only complaint after that experience was that he didn’t give me the tooth so I could put it under my pillow.  Sigh.  But no pain … he could tell me to pretty much anything and I would comply.  This present guy is a lot like that.  Dr. Robby Parker is all about no pain, and as I have said, he is not into inflicting expensive procedures when he can perform miraculous rescues.  It’s great to have a dentist you can trust.  It’s even greater when you only have to trust him once every eight years or so. 

Psalms 37:4 says, “Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.”

Father, thank you for guys like Blair and Robby.  Make them happy.  Amen.

November 2 – “Great timing”

Once again I have been advised that my grasp of shades of meaning disparity among words is considerably lacking.  By way of background I must begin by explaining that on Halloween night there were hundreds of people walking around our neighborhood.  Many walked on the sidewalks.  Some walked down the middle of the street.  And others took shortcuts through the yards.  Therein lies the source of a serious problem.  See, I hate stickerburs.  Always have.  I work hard to keep the evil interlopers from taking hold in my yard.  That usually means pulling them up by hand so I can get at the roots.  The problem is that my neighbors aren’t so enthusiastic about dealing with the situation.  Now, I understand their problem.  One side is a lady who depends on a mowing service to keep her yard presentable.  Not her fault.  And on the other side is … well … no one.  We are at the mercy there of the bank who has an interest in the property and the city, which demands they meet code.  So we are surrounded by stickerburs.  And the children who made their way through those yards and onto our driveway brought the intruders with them on their shoes, on their costumes, in their fingers.  And for some reason our driveway became the haven for stickerbur removal. 

So with all those unwanted castaways just lying in wait in our driveway, it became inevitable that Cailyn should find a few.  And that she did.  In fact, since she doesn’t particularly care to wear shoes (hey, she’s a true Galveston girl), she found quite a few.  Most of them she was able to dispatch with ease proud of the fact that she was a big girl and could handle such minor intrusions.  A “sticker” then, came to be defined in terms of distraction, inconvenience, brief interruption.  All in all, it was not really a problem.  Not for a “big girl.” 

Alas, however, there came a time – twice to be exact – that the sticker played a dirty trick.  Oh, come out it did when Cailyn bravely grasped it in her fingers, but somehow it managed to leave behind one of its tiny prongs.  One small spike remained.  Shouldn’t be a problem, though, right?  Should come right out and the whole thing will be over, right?  Not so much.  See that’s where the lesson on word distinctions came into play.  Indeed a big girl can handle pulling out a sticker.  No problem.  Annoyance.  But when the sticker is gone and one prong remains, it is no longer a sticker.  Oh, no.  Now it has become … a “splinter.”  And splinters are among ultimate evils.  Right up there with “time outs” and “eat all your vegetables” and “say you’re sorry” and the horrifying, “no.”  Splinters are not easy to remove like stickers.  They require focus and patience and, usually, adult assistance.  Aargh.  If an adult is needed, then it must be something serious, something terrible.  And of it’s that bad, then … then … there are only two people in the entire universe who can handle it.  Only two people who are uniquely qualified to conquer the evil splinter.  And those two superheroes – Mommy and Daddy, of course – are not around, of course.  That makes for a tense time in the life of a three-year-old.  “Good old DadDad can make it feel better, but honestly, all he’s doing is making me laugh.  Nani knows all things medical, and she can probably do this, but … but … she’s still not Mommy.” 

Chris convinced her to hold a paper towel laced with an ice cube, telling her that maybe we could freeze it out.  I got her to giggle a time or two by talking to the splinter, and to her hand, and to the ice cube giving its life for this crucial procedure to come.  Finally the two of us managed, with a combination of distraction and a firm grip on her wrist, to perform the extraction procedure.  Success.  Tears dried up instantly and replaced by joyous laughter.  And … what’s that noise?  The front door is opening.  And now, after all that distress, who should walk in but … Mommy.  Thanks, Mom.  Great timing.

Psalms 37:3 says, “Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.”

Father, we are to give thanks in all things, so as hard as it is to say it, thank you for the stickerburs … and the splinters … that we have to deal with every day.  Help us to learn something from them.  Amen.

November 1 – “Halloween madness”

Well, we made it through another Halloween.  Our party was quite successful this year.  Chris counted thirty people who made their way into our house at some point or other during the night.  That includes the Stone Clan who stopped by right after we turned out the lights.  We ended up giving away two hundred really cool-looking, camouflage-covered New Testaments and two hundred Scripture-based encouragement cards in addition to the bags and bags of candy folks brought over.  We had a lot of pizza left over, though.  We now have quite a stash in the freezer for future grandchildren consumption (them of the pizza, not us of them). 

Costumes were once again colorful and varied.  Lots of princesses and superheroes, of course.  More, in fact, than the traditional scary witches and zombies and the like.  We were visited by a Star Trek crew member carrying a Tribble that actually purred and vibrated.  The Sta-puff marshmallow man was here.  Among the more frightening (to me) apparitions was a very large teenager who had some kind of pillowcase with ears attached to his head.  He looked kind of like a washed-out Winnie the Pooh with a bad case of the flu.  There was one young mother who stopped by with two children.  Actually I don’t know if the kids were hers or not.  I know she was a young mother because she was incredibly pregnant.  And I know she was actually incredibly and not in a costume because (hold onto your hat) the costume she wore bared her stomach area, so it stuck out – way out.  Not to be deterred, however, she had added to her depiction of the festive season by painting a jack-o-lantern on said stomach.  It looked, well, amazing, but as I said, frightening. 

I think one of the most creative costumes was the lady who dressed all in pink and wore a plastic bag around her shoulders.  On her head she had affixed an old tennis shoe.  Have you guessed it yet?  She was an old wad of gum stuck to the bottom of someone’s shoe.  The plastic bag indicated someone’s attempt to wrap it up before it was smushed.  Nice.  And then there was the little fireman who won my personal award.  Every year I pick out a costume theme ahead of time, and the first child to show up in that costume wins a grand prize.  The last two years the award has gone to firemen, simply because they are so rare as a costume, but not totally absent.  I saw two three firemen this year.  One was my son Nathan, who is an actual fire fighter, but he wasn’t in uniform.  The second was an adult walking around with his kids.  To his credit, the costume was made for a child, so he looked quite funny in it.  But the award is for a kid.  Finally a little boy fireman arrived.  I jumped up, scaring him a bit, I think, and had him stand to the side of the crowd.  He was somewhat confused, but complied.  I ran in the house where I had stashed the grand prize for this year, a tin box stuffed full with one of the New Testaments and loads of candy.  I think he was pleased with his costume choice.  While I was making the presentation, another child sadly commented to one of our Seasiders, “I’m Kermit the Frog, what do I get?”  He assured her she would still get some candy.  Better than one of the other responses suggested later when he told us about it.  Someone said, “You could have told her we’d get her some flies.”  Ah, I get it.  Kermit the FROG.  Frogs eat flies.  OK. 

One grandmother shared that her granddaughter remembered two houses from last year.  One was the highly decorated-with-animation place at the end of the block.  The other?  The house that gives away Bibles.  Wow.  We rank right up there with skeletons in the ground and bats in the trees and ghosts hanging from the eaves.  And all because of the Word of God. 

One kid saw the New Testament dropped in his bag and commented, “Look, that the biggest piece of candy I have ever seen in my bag.”  Hope he’s not too disappointed, but he’s not wrong.  That candy is sweeter than a honeycomb and it will never lose its flavor. 

Psalms 19:9-10 says, “The fear of the Lord is pure, enduring forever.  The ordinances of the Lord are sure and altogether righteous.  They are more precious than gold, than much pure gold; they are sweeter than honey, than honey from the comb.”

Father, use your word to touch some folks this year.  Amen.