Thinking Out Loud, Volume CCCXXV

This article may not be without controversy. It has to do with my thoughts on hunting. Now, before you get your feathers all ruffled, let me make it clear that I don't have even the slightest objection to hunting as a sport, especially when it's done to help put food on the table. Although as a teenager I would hunt squirrels, rabbits and ducks, probably the main reason that I only kept it up for a short time is because I never really acquired a taste for wild game. Another reason may be that for many years I had a job that left me no time for any type of extracurricular activities. I barely had time for my family, much less for anything else. So now that I've reached age sixty, I can't foresee me developing a taste for wild game or becoming a hunter. I realize that many of my family and friends, including many who are regular readers of my blog, are avid hunters, so let me re-emphasize that I have no problem with that whatsoever. I also understand that with fewer predators, there has been a population explosion of deer. I'm amazed at how many deer I see just down the street from my house, in the middle of a large residential area, and I live in the heart of town, only a block away from the city hall. For the general health and survival of the species, the herds need to be thinned in many areas, and hunting is a good way of helping to accomplish that goal. Hunting also provides some perfect bonding opportunities, especially for fathers and sons. Dads who spend quality time, such as hunting, with their sons will be much more likely to see those boys turn into quality, responsible men. So where's the controversy? There's one type of hunting that I think is just plain wrong. It's referred to by many as "high fence" hunting. It is a situation where wild game is kept in fairly small areas, surrounded by a fence that is too high for a deer to jump over, and hunters are charged some pretty high fees for the privilege of "hunting" in those pens where the game has no chance. In my opinion, there is no sport in high fence hunting. As I was discussing last week, it wouldn't be considered a sport without the possibility of failure. When the hunter is guaranteed a kill, then the sport is gone and the hunter is out there simply for the joy of killing an animal. I just don't understand how people find pleasure in that type of hunting. I'll make my point one more time--if you enjoy the sport of hunting, I'm wishing you success and I hope you have a good time. If you have a son who would like to go with you, please take him and teach him how to be a real sportsman, which includes hunting animals who at least have a chance of survival. Please don't teach him to kill just for the fun of killing. Where's the sport in that? Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume CCCXXIV

One of my friends was telling me that she has been reading about a Native American tribe in the Dakotas who has one of the highest suicide rates in the country. When the experts were brought in to evaluate the problem, one of the things they noted was that the members of this tribe are totally dependent on the government for their livelihood. How can that be? Here's a group of people who should have no worries, no pressure, or no insecurity. They never have to worry where their next meal will come from, because all their needs are being met by you and me...the taxpayers. I'm sure that when Congress made the decision to totally support this group of people, they were doing what they thought was fair and proper, especially after the way they had been treated by our country a hundred years ago. I don't think anyone would disagree with the fact that they got a raw deal as their land and way of life was taken from them when they were rounded up and forced to live on reservations. Now, however, we must ask ourselves if we are still giving them a raw deal by removing their reason for living. Sometimes when I come home from work at the end of a long day or a long week, I think about how nice it would be to just be able to sit back and relax all day without a care in the world. I could sleep until I decide I want to get up, I could leave when I like and not come home until I'm ready. I wouldn't have to worry about my kids, because they would be living the same lifestyle. What a life! Then I take a look at reality. I've observed people who've reached retirement age and that's exactly the life they live. The problem is, they don't live long. I've noticed other of my elders who have retired, but they find something to keep them busy, something to challenge them, and they live a long life. There must be some connection there, and I think I may know what it is. Since I'm a runner, please allow me to use a running analogy to try to describe what I'm talking about. Running is my passion, but if you see me at the eight-mile point of a thirteen mile run and you ask me if I'm having fun, the answer will most likely be a resounding, "No!" If that's the case, then why do I continue to run? I believe there's an inherent need in all of us for a challenge. Although during the run I can't honestly say that I'm having a good time, the joy comes when I'm able to say, "Mission accomplished." No sports fan wants to see his team lose, but he would not enjoy the games if losing was not a possibility. The chance of failure keeps us going, and as we get better at what we're doing and failure becomes less likely, we then have a tendency to up the odds. No one wants to fail, but I don't think we can feel like our lives have value if the chance of failure is removed. The time will come in all our lives when we'll be forced to slow down...it's just a fact of life...but we must not stop. Let me refer you to Isaiah 40:31: "They who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will mount on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." Notice the order of events in that scripture. First you fly, then you run, then you walk, but stopping is not even mentioned as an option. If we want to be successful, we must keep striving with the possibility of failure continually in front of us. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume CCCXXIII

I heard one man say that when he bought a rectal thermometer, he saw a note on the box saying that "each one has been individually tested," and that made him wonder how that testing had been done. When I heard that, the first thought that came to my mind was, "and sometimes I complain about MY job." My next thought was how proud Little Johnny must feel when his teacher asks him to tell the class what his daddy does for a living. "He's a rectal thermometer tester." When times are tough, you take what you can find, but, I believe for a person to be truly happy, he or she must find work in which they can be proud. That brings us to my next point. There are some positions where the duties are not all that glamorous, but the job title makes it sound like a dream job. There's one profession, however, that has yet to change its name....but what should the new name be? The job title? Critic. Yes, that's right...critic. And apparently there are a few individuals who are making a lot of money in that field. I'm sure there are some who think that being a critic would be the ideal job...you just watch a movie when it first comes out and write what you think about it. I look at it a little differently. First of all, I wasn't properly trained for that position, because my mom taught me that if I didn't have something nice to say, then I should just keep my mouth shut. Secondly, and maybe this also goes back to my improper training for this line of work, I think I would be ashamed to tell people that my job requires that I criticize people who are performing tasks that I can't even do. Thirdly, although I'm a pretty good salesman, I think I would have a problem asking people to pay me to tell them whether or not I liked a movie. And last of all, since I'm not a big fan of movies, I would hate for my job to require that I sit and watch movies all day long. I'd rather shovel manure all day or test thermometers....well, maybe not that. I do take issue with the fact that so many people who can't sing are criticizing the singer, people who can't play ball are criticizing the quarterback, and people who can't run are criticizing the runner. If you can do a job better than I can, you are qualified to criticize....otherwise, wait until you DO qualify. The credit belongs to the one who performs, not the critic. I'm sure if some actual critics end up reading this article, they may not be happy with what I've had to say, and my response will be, "If you can dish it out, you should be able to take it." I'm going against what my momma taught me and criticizing the critics. Someone should pay me for this. The people I'm NOT criticizing are the thermometer testers....because I'm perfectly happy with the job they're doing. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume CCCXXII

When our daughter, Valerie, was about three years old, we were living in the southern Louisiana town of Morgan City. One Sunday afternoon as we were just finishing our grocery shopping, we made our way to the check-out and began unloading the items from our cart onto the conveyor belt. Valerie had been riding in the child seat in the cart, but when we got to the register, we took her out and let her stand as we stood behind the cart to remove our groceries. Somehow, without us realizing it, she maneuvered herself around the cart and began running toward the front of the store. We yelled for her to stop, but she paid no heed and kept moving at full speed to the doors which automatically opened for her. Angie was in front of me, and she tried to get to her, but with the cart serving as a barrier, it slowed her down, and we watched helplessly as our child sprinted toward the parking lot. Just as she reached the sidewalk, we saw a car full of teenagers approaching at a high rate of speed, completely oblivious to the fact that a toddler was about to run out in front of them. Angie screamed so loudly that it attracted the attention of every person in the store. Miraculously, Valerie stopped just in time as the car came speeding by, missing her by mere inches. It took us all afternoon to calm back down. Although it was an incident with a happy ending, we still remember it like it was yesterday, even considering the fact that it happened quite a few years ago. As we talked about it in those first few days afterward, we came to the conclusion that the entire episode was our fault because of what we had unintentionally been teaching our daughter. You see, in the weeks and months prior, in less stressful situations, when we would instruct her to "stop" or "come here," we were much too lenient when she would ignore us the first couple times we said it. There were times when we would get in "teach mode" and explain right and wrong to her, totally unaware that we were in "teach mode" twenty-four seven, whether we intended to be or not. By allowing her to get away with disobeying our first and second commands, we were teaching her that the initial instructions didn't count...and our laxness almost cost us our daughter! That's when the realization hit us that when we used the counting method to get her to obey us, we were not being the kind of parents we needed to be. When we would say, "I'm gonna count to three, and when I do, you'd better be doing what I told you to do. One, two, two and a half...," all we were doing was telling her that one and two didn't really matter. Thankfully we saw the error of our ways in time to make the necessary changes. I'm convinced that no matter how old our kids may be, we will continue to teach them until our dying day. I've told you this before, but it bears repeating, my mom taught me how to live, and in the end, she taught me how to die. I just pray that when my time comes, I will have the courage and confidence to face death the way she taught me. The methods by which she taught my siblings and me are the same ones all of us now use to teach our own kids. The words we use to instruct our children are of utmost importance, but they aren't nearly as powerful as our actions, because "actions speak louder than words." Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume CCCXXI

It happened near Natchitoches, LA back in the late 1800s. An old man, who lived alone, kept having some spells where he would pass out, basically lapsing into a temporary coma. At first, they were rare and would last only a short period, but with the passage of time, they became more frequent and each spell lasted longer until that last time when he apparently had that final one. In those days, many of the less affluent citizens were buried without being embalmed, as was the case with this man. He was placed in a cheap pine box and buried on his property with only a small wooden headstone erected at the head of his grave. Before many years had passed, the headstone became a victim of the elements, and just went back to the earth from whence it came, leaving nothing there to mark the spot. In the early 1940s a construction crew was doing some work in the area where the old man's home once stood, and while they were digging, they accidentally made contact with the coffin, which they dug up and opened. What they found horrified them. The old man's skeleton was lying face down in the coffin, and there was evidence that he had tried to get out. Apparently he had unwittingly been buried alive! Someone made a terrible mistake, but as I think back over my life, I realize that I've made the same mistake myself....several times. Well, I've never actually buried anyone alive, but I've done something similar. What I've done is proclaim myself the coroner, and pronounce them dead while there's still plenty of life left in them. Have you ever done that? Let me give you an example: I'm thinking of a certain young man who, as a teenager, was a total renegade, and after I had been around him just a few times, I wrote him off as hopeless. I wish you could see him today....a hardworking family man, a great dad, and a devout Christian who is doing his best to raise his kids in the way they should go. You see, what I did was judge him before God was through forming him. It was stupid of me to make such a harsh condemnation of such a young individual. That would be like tasting a potato that has just been placed in the oven to bake, and immediately dismissing it as too crunchy. How smart would it be for me to go see your new house that's under construction and decide right away that it's too drafty, even though its walls haven't yet been put up? So, is there an age that an individual reaches when it's okay to write him off as hopeless? Actually, it's not so much the age as it is the stage of life, because my teenage years are now just a distant memory, yet I'm still under construction. There's only one way to tell: Check his pulse, and if he still has one, there's still hope. The only time it's okay to bury someone is when he's dead. Preston