Home for Christmas

This phrase has taken on a wide range of meanings for me this year. The first Christmas didn't even take place in a home, or an inn--happened in a manger . . . .

For the last decade, "Home for the Holidays" has aired on TV the week leading up to Christmas, and highlights the importance of adoption--giving children a "home" not just for Christmas, but for life. As someone who was adopted as an infant, this type of program hits pretty close to home.

Last Friday night, my friend Chris invited me to join him at a homeless shelter in Redlands. For three hours I basically helped set up cots, pass out blankets and fellowshiped with about 15 people who had become pretty down on their luck. For that night, at least, what used to be a Smart and Final warehouse was their "home".

A few nights before Christmas, I was driving around town listening to KSGN, and a Steven Curtis Chapman song came on I had never heard before--"Home for Christmas". It started out pretty sappily (is that a word?!?)--typical "feel good" Christmas tune. But the second verse had a twist--it was about an elderly person in the hospital who was seeking to be "home" for Christmas--home with Jesus--in heaven. Wow. That stopped me in my tracks. This year, I literally spent Christmas Day in the hospital with my 87-year-old father. One day we, as believers, will all be "HOME" for Christmas--forever.

lunch

A spirited discussion over lunch yesterday with my "on air" buddy, Jason Dean. We were all over the place, talking about politics, the economy, and somehow we got into people's rights. Not sure about Jason, but it was one of those conversations that I was still having in my mind as I drove away from Citrus Plaza--and it's still percolating.

One one level, the history of mankind has to do with rights. Starting with Adam and Eve--they, at some point, decided they should have the "right" to live their lives without the interference of their Creator--"free" from His authority. We all know how that one ended up . . . .

Since then, it's just been one battle after another. When America was founded, the settlers believed Britain no longer had the right to rule over its new colonies. The settlers also felt they had the right to wrestle whatever land and livestock they needed away from the native Indians.

Then came the slavery issue--they felt they should have the right to be free. At some point, women stood up for the right to vote. In the 60s, the civil rights movement would begin to bring equal rights to blacks. More recently, a battle over immigrant rights has been brewing, and currently, the question of who has the right to legally marry is taking center stage.

Several years ago, the rights of the unborn seemed to be center stage. During the eighties and nineties, I remember intense debates, picketing and even violent protests defending the right of babies still in the womb to see the light of day. Lately, it seems as if the war in Iraq, the economy, gay rights, etc, have stolen the spotlight. How tragic.

Furthermore, I'm no longer convinced that all we need to do is elect a "pro-life" president and that will take care of the issue. Roe v. Wade is nearly 40 years old, and we have had plenty of pro-life presidents. Perhaps God would have His people adopt a different "strategy"; perhaps the political solution may not be the right solution. Not by might, not by power, saith the Lord. Of all people, as someone who was adopted at birth, I have a very personal stake in this issue. And I am as guilty as the next person to be getting all caught up with these other more "loud and urgent" issues over this past election year. The voice of the unborn is a still, small voice--a silent voice.

I stand convicted for not continuously, fervently praying. I stand convicted for not more consistently supporting my community's pro-life pregnancy counseling center. I stand convicted for worrying more about my rights than about the rights of those who have no rights, no voice, no hope.

A Blended President

No, I'm not talking about some new smoothie concoction. I'm referring to Barack Obama. And I'm not really comfortable with the way the media (and just about everyone else) has chosen to label him: black, african-american, etc.

Isn't he also white? Wasn't the mother who raised him white? And her parents who also helped raise him--both white (caucasian). He spent a couple months with his dad in Kenya--that's it! So, biologically, he's half white and half black. I will argue, however, that because he was RAISED by his white mother and grandparents, that makes him about 75% white.

Ok, take Tiger Woods. Dad is black, mom is Asian. So, he is equally 50-50. But isn't it true that whenever you hear someone describe his background, he is almost always referred to as black or African American? Wonder how that makes Mom feel? Wonder what Tiger feels about it . . . .

Now, does the media lean towards that half of one's DNA because it is the father's side in both cases? If so, that's pretty sexist, no? In any case, America is becoming more and more "blended", and we certainly need to start coming up with some more accurate terms to describe "what" people are. Because to call Barack or Tiger "black" simply does not tell the whole story.

What a year . . .

So I finish the school year and head to Catalina in June for a few days of relaxation. It might not be Hawaii, but pretty amazing for a little island just an hour's boat ride off the coast of Long Beach.

Brought along some reading material (HIGHLY RECOMMENDED: James Blake's autobiography, "Breaking Back"). Browsing through the island's only bookstore (Sugarloaf Books) and came across a title I'd never heard of until then: "This I Believe". Bought the paperback, and found inside short (extremely brief) statements from people famous and otherwise about where they stand on the deeper issues of life. One of my favorite chapters--"Be Cool to the Pizza Guy". Some light-hearted stuff, some really thought-provoking stuff.

At the back, I learn that This I Believe is actually a non-profit organization with a website: www.ThisIBelieve.org. The "movement" got off the ground as a radio program on NPR back in the 1950s where people would submit essays and if they're accepted, they would record them for airplay on the program (this practice has actually just recently been resurrected).

Online, people are invited to submit essays. So, I started writing one afternoon while on the island. Long story short, it is now in the website archives (enter USA, SMEBY and it will come up). But if you get that far, I encourage you to browse other people's essays. Inspiring, motivational, moving are just a few words that come to mind. Have fun . . . .

Jesus Take the Wheel . . .PLEASE!

Every once in awhile, someone will say something like "you don't have kids--why can't you at least get a dog or something??". Well, in all honesty, I can barely keep my houseplants alive, given the rollercoaster ride I've been on lately.

Take, for instance, these last four days:

Friday morning, get up at 5:30, go to work, leave work at 3:00
Drive to Pasadena to see Dad, have dinner
Saturday, have lunch with my sister, drive back to Yucaipa
Repack and head up to Big Bear Saturday afternoon
(That's the nice part--beautiful up there right now--lots of snow on the ground still)
Monday morning get up and drive back to San Bernardino for work
3:00 leave school and go to Cal State SB for tennis practice from 3:30-5:30
Stop at Trader Joes on the way home, arrive around 7:00

Why do I feel like a hamster on a wheel--life can just be one big roller coaster ride sometimes, you know? Is this the way it's supposed to be? If it weren't for Jesus in my life, there is simply no way. I would be an absolute basket case. Take the wheel. Please.