A Very Postal Christmas 

It’s Christmas time everywhere,

The post office too.

Here’s some of what I’ve seen

When we deliver for Yule.

Thrills and chills, maybe a death-defying stunt, 

Never a dull moment, if I can be blunt. 

Tupperware and QVC stacked floor to ceiling, 

There’s nothing like “As Seen On TV” for that holiday feeling.

Loading docks are full of mail to-ing and fro-ing, 

And only the mail handlers know where it’s all going. 

If viewed from above, they’re in a synchronized dance, 

But really everyone’s flying by the seat of their pants. 

“Stack it and pack it” is the name of the game, 

If it fits, it ships - every year it’s the same.

The clerks get it sorted by hand and machine, 

Custodians struggle to keep it all clean. 

Mechanics and maintenance make the working parts run,

Believe me when I tell you it ain’t always fun.

Carriers, of course, are the face of the service,

Burdened, as it were, with extraordinary purpose.

Deliver it all - on time with a smile, every piece, every day for the very last mile.

An army of thousands dedicated to a cause:

One quasi-governmental Santa Claus.

For six weeks or so, it’s all hustle and bustle, 

So a far away loved one can hear tissue rustle. 

The pressure builds daily til you think it’ll blow,

As anyone who’s been through it will already know.

It’s crowded and hectic, and sometimes there’s cussin’,

but in the end we all know there’s no point in fussin’ 

Because the holidays aren’t special for some of us here. 

After all, we’ve been doing this every day now for years. 

Somehow it all happens - in an imperfect way,

The special postal magic to make your Christmas Day.

So, you’ve finished Christmas shopping,

For folks like dear Aunt Myrtle

(For her, a chia pet that looks just like a turtle).

Put it in the mailbox, or hit send on your cart.

You can be sure we’ll do our part.

To me the evidence is nothing but empirical:

The Christmas season at the Post Office is a modern day miracle.

 I had a weird melatonin dream in which I was held in contempt of court and sentenced to jail. I managed to escape but wound up naked in the process. 

After scurrying down dark alleys and back streets of some unknown city, I hid in a booth at a sports bar near a plate of chicken wings. 

“Reap The Wild Wind” by Ultravox was playing on the jukebox, and I wanted to hear a song by Blondie but I didn’t have a quarter because I didn’t have any pockets. 

Seated across from me was an old friend of mine (who happens to be an attorney in real life), and we exchanged awkward pleasantries. I hoped they would help me stay out of jail but I was distracted by the music and wings and they left without saying goodbye. Can’t imagine why.

 The year 2020 was unquestionably a hard year for everyone, to the extent it’s becoming cliche to acknowledge it. Not that I had a particularly bad year myself. I, along with 3 billion plus others, quickly came to accept 2020 as a year of unprecedented change - often painful. 

When calamity struck, it was “Because...2020.” Sickness, politics, the economy, you name it... if it was bad and happened in 2020, the whole dang YEAR caught the blame. Finally, I (along with 3 billion plus others) bid an overdue farewell to the “year that was” and turned bleary eyes toward 2021.

But now...three weeks into a new year once slopping over with promise, it’s beginning to feel as if the “Year That Shall Not Be Named” wasn’t quite finished with me, personally. 

Thankfully, my family and I have our health, I have a job, bills are paid and mouths are fed. I can’t lose sight of those fundamentals since, with them in control, I can devote my energy to addressing the crazy little things that seem to come from nowhere. Things like in the past three weeks of my life.

If I were a superstitious person, I might be inclined to accuse the gods of toying with me. Or, perhaps worry I had tipped the balance of some great karmic scale. Maybe I mumbled some arcane metaphysical incantation by accident, cursing myself to punishment.

Okay, maybe that’s a bit much.

Still, 2021 is out of the gate with some fist-shaking fatuity. For your consideration:

1) Ceiling leak

2) Check engine light on in truck. Twice.

3) Washing machine broken down (out of warranty) 

4) Microwave Vent Hood Fan began making unusual noise. Out of warranty. Still works, for now though. (This one really bugs me, but I’m not cooking a holiday meal in there. I just want to warm up my coffee. Squeak on with your bad self, Mike.)

5) Dishwasher down. Has been for a while now, but hand washing dishes instead is so soothing and therapeutic I just couldn’t...

6) Hit a dog on my way to work: truck fog lights broken. Dog fine.

7) Hit a tree in my own yard while backing my truck: license plate light broken. Tree fine. 

8) ...and finally, driver’s side door handle of my truck broke. Actually, snapped off. Have to open through the passenger side. 

In just under three weeks. 

Thanks 2020. I know it’s you. You’re ugly and you’re momma dresses you funny.

When I show grace and forgiveness when I am wronged, I am not responding to that person.  J. D. Greear says, "Ultimately, I am responding to Jesus, not to the person in front of me. The person wronging me may not deserve a response of grace, but the Jesus who bled and died for me does."
And expecting them to change is often unrealistic. Think about the time you first heard the gospel...was there an immediate response? Jesus extended His grace to me long before I changed.

"Even if showing grace never changes those we forgive, it changes us, and that is God's primary purpose in all that is happening to us in this life." For the sake of His overwhelming grace and mercy on me, for the sake of those around me, and for the sake of my own personal sanctification, may I be approach today with the spirit of one who has been "forgiven much" so that I may love like God does.

"It was a dark and stormy night"

"Since 1982 the English Department at San Jose State University has sponsored the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, a whimsical literary competition that challenges entrants to compose the opening sentence to the worst of all possible novels."  - www.bulwer-lytton.com

Thoroughly intrigued at the possibility of creating a winning piece of crap, I toiled over a sentence the way a sculptor molds clay, turning and shaping it, adding material and subtracting. Ultimately, I created a line so bad, so ridiculously crafted that it must surely be a winner, er, loser - uh - well...see for yourself:

"Fully armed with sharpened blades and a steely resolve he usually reserved for the most distasteful of duties, Tom cranked the ignition key of an aging garden tractor, the belching, billowing exhaust causing him to smile first at the prospect of reclaiming his property from the unrelenting forces of nature and, secondly, at the irony of filling the dinosaur of a mower with fossil fuel."

Now if that doesn't stink to high heavens, I don't know what does.

I made a comment the other night that I feel needs to be clarified. At best, I should flesh out my idea a little more. The discussion at the time revolved around guarding our minds, putting on the helmet of salvation and picking up the sword of truth (Eph. 6:17) and, as churchy discussions often do, wound its way to the question: "What do you do to renew your mind?" - a reference to Romans12:2 -

"Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is--his good, pleasing and perfect will."

Over time, through trial and error, I have been able to identify certain truths about myself (isn't that a point of trials?). Chief among them is what some may call a character flaw -  that being I have found myself to be easily distracted and lazy.

I love God. And as a result of my life being forever changed by Him and through Him, my heart seeks to know Him, His word, and His will for my life. That being said, here I am on the computer, typing to no one in particular. My point is while my heart may cry out to discover Him in invigorating ways and apply His principles to my life, I struggle with all the other noise vying for my time and attention.

Knowing this about myself, I sought ways to discipline myself to study and pray. Some may suggest that the Spirit compels us in an undeniable way to seek the Lord (In fact, this was the response to a confession I made. More about that in a minute.) I agree. The desire exists in my heart to learn and (more importantly) apply the Word. I just know from experience that I'm not gonna deliberately carve out a block of time to get into a prayer closet. Nor am I inclined to settle into a regular devotion...even though these things are useful and important in the life of every believer. It may sound incredibly immature, but given the choice between quiet meditation or Netflixing a season of "Breaking Bad"...well...

In school, I found that I worked best under pressure. Since I was such a procrastinator, this was suitable and, while I never hit the honor roll, I did ok and managed to graduate. Fast forward to my adult life and find the same condition to be true. If I'm to be honest with myself, I have to admit it's not a desirable trait. I have, however, learned to work with it, treating it in much the same way as someone with a learning disability might. Acknowledge. Adapt. Overcome.

Procrastination, distraction, laziness. These are my vices. What I found that worked for me, in terms of studying and prayer, was the same principle I used to get through school. I had to create a sense of obligation or responsibility and accountability to someone else. The only "bad" things in my heart bigger than my laziness (and the only things which would overcome it) are guilt and embarrassment.

Thus, I obligated myself to a group of friends that would rely on me to provide some cogent thoughts on scripture and application. My aim is to simply facilitate constructive discussion and practical application of Scripture. I'm a Sunday School teacher.

So, this is all I was trying to say...the way I renew my mind is by engaging the Word in preparation and examination. For a purpose beyond myself. Yes, the desire to study and meditate are a natural response to the Spirit on the throne of my heart. But, to defeat the cacophony of distractions I have to make it a responsibility.

A while back, I began to get these sharp pains in my left leg; specifically, pain in the region where the leg joins the torso - which immediately made me think hernia. In 2006, I had a repair on that side and because I'm incredibly foolish in terms of what I do to my body, it seemed likely I had re-injured myself. On the other hand, there were some noticeable differences that caused me to wonder if there was more going on. For instance, and most notably, there was no external evidence as before.

Harnessing the full power of the internet, I began to explore other possibilities.

Access to vast amounts of information is equally good and bad for me. I'm reasonable enough to conclude that because I am an otherwise healthy and active man with no familial history of the big scary stuff, what ever is paining me should be fairly pedestrian. Scrolling the WebMD site, though, can create enough lingering doubt that little beads of cold sweat begin to form while considering the smorgasbord of debilitating and /or deadly conditions.  For instance:

• Avascular Necrosis - the death of bone tissue due to poor blood supply
• Lumbar Spinal Stenosis - narrowing of the spinal canal in the lower back
• Lupus
• Septic Arthritis - an infection of the joint, leading to bone damage and loss

Newly armed with countless minutes of online medical education, I decided to confer with an orthopedic doctor.  Imagine my relief when, after X-ray, the doctor concluded that my discomfort was a result of nothing more than osteoarthritis of the hip. "Whew!"

 Not so fast. It seemed that bone shape and damage had removed most of the cushioning cartilage God put there. Leaving it in the hands of Aleve or Bayer was not going to fix anything. Two years of cortisone shots later, and even those weren't alleviating the pain. On the upside, though, this news caused me to take a serious look at my overall health, beginning with my weight.

 I was about 30 pounds over my ideal weight. For every one pound of additional weight, there is about three pounds additional pressure on weight-bearing limbs and joints. Every step I took slammed 90 pounds on my femoral head and socket. I take a lot of steps per night. It started to suck. 

So I decided to watch my diet (not like a zealot, either. I still ate whatever I wanted - just not as much.) and drink more water. When I was a child, I remember asking my Grandma for Little Debbie cakes when I felt hungry. Often, her response was something like, "You're not hungry. You just think you are. Drink some water." This was an incredibly frustrating answer for a pudgy 8 year old. 

I decided to apply that wisdom to my life and began drinking just over a gallon of water per night. It was true. My body was often just dehydrated and complained about it in the form of hunger pangs. I wasn't hungry, I just thought I was. I started to count some calories and make some better choices, the end result being a loss of 40 pounds in about six months. I became a lean, not-so-mean, middle aged machine. With a limp. 

Finally, the time for choices came. I needed to do something about my hip. While losing weight, shots, and rest helped manage the discomfort, damage and disease were narrowing the options. Ultimately, I chose a resurfacing procedure that does just what it sounds like - removes damaged bone tissue and caps the area with a metal implant. Google the videos for a treat.

 So far, so good. I'm almost three weeks out from surgery now and have made a lot of progress. I'm still struggling a little, but I think it's just me being a little paranoid. I mean, you know, what if this thing "pops out?" More than any physical struggle, my ego is still rebounding. I guess that sounds a bit silly, and I've never thought of myself as an overly prideful person, but nothing humbles like being forced to rely on others. 

Managing things like stairs, and putting on socks, and anything else you can imagine that you need to bend to do...become mountains. I have had to ask my kids to help me with my socks and shoes, moments where I am both grateful that I helped raise beautiful, loving children and ashamed that I can't be stronger right now. I hate they have to see me like this. 

The flip side of this is that we are having a little fun with some of the assistive devices I was issued. The cane has proven to be most useful at both child retrieval and comedic prop. Anslee had made an escape attempt at the store one day when, instinctively, I flipped my cane around and used it like a shepherd's hook to reel her back in. That was awesome. And then, the other two get tickled when I do my "Grumpy Old Man" impression by raising it up over my head and yelling at them to get off my lawn.