Letters to my Stepdaughter IV

Christmas time was special when I was growing up.  I loved the decorated tree, the lights, the fire in the fire place, the presents under that tree, the Christmas specials on television.  Of course, one had to watch everything live because there were no VCRs or DVD players.  And, of course, we played the scratchy, vinyl Christmas records that we got out each year. Goodyear produced a “Best Songs of Christmas” album each year.  Choirs, soloists, and orchestras would perform all the favorites:  “Silent Night”, “Sleigh Ride”, “O Holy Night”, and “Here Comes Santa Claus”.  I took it all in. I felt “good” about it.  It was like what they now call comfort food.

My mom reminds me how I loved to sing. On the day of the Christmas program in elementary school – the Christmas program was always the day before Christmas vacation – I was going into the bathroom when a boy pulled on the hood of my coat.  I tumbled down and landed hard enough to get a shiner over one of my eyes, as well as blood on my shirt.  My mom just reminded me of that the other day, and how I still belted out the Christmas songs that the combined choir sang in the auditorium.  I walked home from school afterward (we just lived a few blocks away from school) and my mom could hear me singing as I was turning into the yard, “We three kings of Orrie and tar” – that’s how I pronounced it.  She said she met me at the door laughing.

 

The other side of the holidays is not really surprising.  Christmas can be a very melancholy time.  I loved the holidays and I hated when they came to an end.  It would be years later that I would begin to see the trap.  I was trying to make earthly experiences, even good ones, my idols.  If life was just the way I wanted it to be then, well, life would be wonderful.  It wasn’t until the Lord invaded my life, renewed my heart, and gave me the faith to believe that Jesus Christ was a savior worthy of worship that I began to see the emptiness of my personal dreams.  Not empty because dreams themselves are bad.  It’s simply that the story of my life was intended to be written and directed by Him, not the whim of my immediate emotional desires.  God himself is “the author and finisher of our faith” as the scripture says.  When He makes a human being into a new person – born again is the biblical term – then that person knows the truth.  The truth is this.  Life worth living is found in the One who offered Himself on the cross, willingly and intentionally suffering for undeserving sinners that He had loved from before the foundation of the earth.  Those who turn to Him by faith and put their faith in the Gospel – the good news that eternal life is given to those who are broken-hearted because they realize they have sinned against a holy God – have true life, life that will go on eternally.  A once-a-year celebration of Christmas, no matter how enjoyable, is nothing compared to that. 

So I’ll sing the songs, and I’ll laugh, and I’ll enjoy some holiday chocolate fudge.  But I won’t quit thinking about and meditating joyfully on that Baby who grew to adulthood, shed His Royal blood for me, and has prepared an eternal home for me.  That is a real Christmas celebration that never turns melancholy. 

Letters to my Stepdaughter III

I wrote this in December of 2012.  If you know football schedules, you’ll notice the reference to the Army-Navy game, which is traditionally played in December.

High school.  I still believed in magic.  I went to a school where football was practically a life or death matter.  Since I liked football and hoped to do great things, it was right up my alley.  And a lot of it was good.  But I was learning that much of it was dark.  Life, I mean.

 We had a sophomore team, and I started the season as the backup quarterback.  And I hated the starting quarterback.  It seems ridiculous now, but it’s the way it was.  I would like to think that I was above that sort of thing – jealousy, despising people—but, yeah, that was me.  It would be much later before I would learn the depth of my depravity.  That was not my concern at the time.

 We played 7 games that year.  Halfway through the 4^th game, against or rival Capital High School, the starting quarterback broke his collarbone.  So I got my chance.  It was not an impressive start. I threw an interception and fumbled twice.  One of the fumbles was recovered for a touchdown – for the other team.  But, we went on to win 14-12.  In fact we won all of our games that year.  I threw 4 touchdown passes during the season and the other quarterback didn’t throw any.  Take that, Bob Nowierski!

 So it was competition all the time, it seems, in one way another.  I had my first date that sophomore year.  I don’t think she spoke one full sentence to me the whole night, and I was too terrified to start a conversation.   It was a not a great way to start my dating life, but it least it started.  Interestingly, I discovered something else in high school.  Winter depressed me, especially after Christmas.  Truthfully, I was pretty moody.

 Another side trip. When I flipped on the Army-Navy game yesterday it reminded me that 50 years ago I watched Roger Staubach lead Navy to victory over Army. Roger became my hero as a quarterback at the time.

 Back to the “moody” thing.  It’s no use trying to compare myself with others. I thought I was the center of the universe.  And that, sadly, is normal.  I had not come to understand yet why that was.  I did not understand or even care about the seriousness of the fall, the rebellion of our parents Adam and Eve.  To openly defy God is a horrendous act, but that’s what they did.  And it affected every human being who came after them.  We all are rebels against God, coming into this world with the desire to submit to nothing buy our own desires.  So my real problem was not that I was moody.  It was that I was a rebel.  Life was not a mess because things didn’t go my way.  Life was a mess because I was willingly and shamelessly ignoring the God who created me, who is also the God who rightly claims authority over my life and commands that I place nothing before Him.  You know what? How important was that when girls, football fame, and popularity were desires (really, idols) to pursue?

So what else went on in high school?  I will be back. 

Letters to my Stepdaughter II

This letter to my stepdaughter was written in late November of 2012.

Where was I?  Oh, I remember.  The ninth grade.  But first I must ramble.  You will indulge me because I’m at the age where I can get away with rambling.  I was just putting together some things to send to my kids for Christmas.  Old stuff.  Sports programs, newspaper articles (the sports kind, of course), stuff like that. I have programs from games I went to 50 years ago. It’s time to share them.  I have a number of things like that from my dad, including a preseason college football magazine from the 1930’s.  Back then college teams had offensive linemen who weighed less than 200 pounds. 

The ninth grade was much better.  By the fall of my ninth grade year (I was in a junior high so high school didn’t start until grade 10) I could almost talk to girls.  Almost.  I had discovered my maleness (and that is as much as I shall say about it, not that I am ashamed of human sexuality, it’s just that some things are appropriate and some things are not, depending on the circumstances) in the spring of the 7th grade,  and I liked girls.  Not enough to take the steps to try to have a girl friend (boy was I shy and goofy around girls), but I could dream, couldn’t I?  And there was football, which was becoming a big part of my life. I was 3rd string quarterback at the beginning of the season.  In the second game of the year, I got in the game at the end and carried the ball for a first down.  I can still remember the “high” that gave me.  The next week I got in at quarterback in a losing game and scored a touchdown.  From that point on I was the starting quarterback.  I threw two touchdown passes in my first start in the next game.  No holding back now.  From then on my goal was to be the starting quarterback at my high school in my senior year.  

A few years ago I was thinking back on my early years and I discovered something interesting.  My favorite years in growing up time were the 3rd grade, the 6th grade, the 9th grade, and the 12th grade.  I’m not going to try to come up with some weird reason why, it’s just the way it was. The worst thing about growing up for me was that I didn’t like the idea that this was not such a perfect world, the world of my dreams.  

I remember sitting on the bleachers in the gym during lunch on November 11, 1963. That was the thing to do in our junior high.  I was in the 7th grade.  All of a sudden I started hearing that President Kennedy had been shot.  I remember – this is one of those things that stuck with me – hearing a couple of kids saying “Hey, did you hear?  Kennedy kicked the bucket.”  It was something silly, something to be laughed at.  I didn’t believe it. I just thought it was some kind of junior high humor.  When I got to my first class after lunch, radio news was being piped in to each classroom via the public address system. Kennedy had been shot and the report said he had died. For the next three hours we listened to the news.  I don’t remember any of it, but it all seemed surreal.  The president was dead.  Even though my family was a Republican family, this was shocking.  It was a Friday so for the next three days I was pretty much glued to the television.  They said the assassin was Lee Harvey Oswald.  I was watching on tv on Sunday morning when a man named Jack Ruby shot and killed Oswald on live tv. I watched the funeral on television on Monday.  School was out for the day.  

The reality of a fallen world. The murder of the President of the United States.  The interesting thing is that even events like that are soon forgotten. Christmas soon came, and a few weeks after that, the Beatles were on the Ed Sullivan show singing “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” and “She Loves You, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah” and the “British Invasion” was on.  MUCH better than any of YOUR generation’s music, of course.  LOL.  And not long after that I got my first ten-speed bicycle.  Life went on. Yet I had much to learn about its realities.