Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXXXIV

The number one song on the top forty charts on this day forty-four years ago was called "Brandy (You're a Fine Girl)" by Looking Glass.  Yeah, I knew the song, but on that particular day, my mind wasn't on Brandy.....the song, the girl, or the drink.  However, the next few words of that hit song WERE on my mind:  "You're a fine girl, What a good wife you would be."  You see, that day, August 26, 1972 was the day Angie and I were married, and somehow, by the grace of God, we still are.

There aren't that many couples who make it that long.  How can two people who live in the same house together for almost four and a half decades still enjoy each other's company?  I don't know how psychologists would answer that question, but I can tell you what we've done, and it has apparently been working.

First of all, we forgive each other.  A friend told me a few days ago, "We have a rule in our house.  When we forgive, it's never mentioned again."  That's a rule in our house too, because if we continue talking about it, we haven't truly forgiven, and I've learned that if we stop talking about it, we stop thinking about it, and eventually we forget about it.  Any disagreements we have, and there will be quite a few of them, are personal, private matters, and we never mention them to anyone else.  And that brings me to another point:  We never run each other down to any other person.  Actually, as I list these rules, I'm beginning to see a pattern....the first three rules have to do with controlling our tongues, and while we ARE controlling our tongues, we ARE NOT controlling each other.  For example, if she wants to take a girl trip to Salt Lake City with a group of friends, I tell her to go and have a good time. She does the same with me when I want to go on a running trip with friends.  We never attempt to hide anything from each other, and the way we do that is by never doing anything we would want to hide.  She knows who my friends are and I know hers, and we're fine with it.  With that said, we also have friends together, and we love getting together and visiting with other couples.  She and I take trips together, and we even frequently go grocery shopping together.  I know couples who work together, which I think is great, but I just don't think that would work for us.  We love to go to North Alabama to visit our daughter and son in law and their family, and sometimes we'll have non stop conversation the entire trip, while other times we may go forty miles without saying a word. We never hit or kick each other, and we never use profanity when we're angry with each other (still controlling our tongues).  Experience has taught us not to make a big deal out of trivial issues....if it's not gonna matter next week, it doesn't make sense for us to get worked up over it today.  Without a doubt I'm leaving out several habits we've developed that have been instrumental in keeping us together so long, but there are two more I want to mention. We've learned that when we disagree, if we'll just make an attempt to understand why the other one has his/her opinion, it's much easier to come to a resolution. The other point is, we go to church together.  Worshipping together is the glue that keeps us from splitting apart.  

It would be foolish for me to try to make you think we have it made.  This marriage thing requires work, and that will still be true when we celebrate our fiftieth and sixtieth anniversaries.  She and I don't typically make a big deal out of birthdays and anniversaries, and we won't today, other than maybe a nice meal together; instead we make a big deal out of each other on a daily basis.  It's easier for us to cling together when we give each other space.  Any other sweet, sugary thing I have to say to her today, well....we keep that private too.  So far, what we're doing seems to be working.

Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXXXIII

"Somebody's knocking,

Should I let him in?

Lord, it's the devil,

Would you look at him!

I've heard about him, but I never dreamed

He'd have blue eyes and blue jeans."  Terri Gibbs

You see, the devil is a chameleon.  He will change colors so he can look whatever way would be most appealing to us.  Terri Gibbs' point in that song is that she has a weakness for blue eyes and blue jeans, so that's what her devil looks like. MY point is if we're expecting the devil to always have a pointed tail and a pitchfork, we're in for a rude awakening. If you're a person who is constantly having to watch your weight, as I do, your devil may look like cherry pie.  Yesterday I was scrolling through Facebook and I saw where a friend was lamenting about how hard it is for her to get up on time in the mornings, so her devil looks like a snooze button.  If overspending is your weakness, your devil may look like a sale paper.  If someone has done you wrong, he may look like revenge. (Note:  I'm not necessarily talking about Lucifer.)

As a long time runner, I've often heard and often said, "If running was easy, everybody would be doing it."  Sometimes running is a struggle and we're faced with temptation to just stop.  Back in 2008, a group of us went to Pennsylvania to run the Philadelphia Marathon (26.2 miles).  In that race, at exactly the halfway point, 13.1 miles, our route took us to the finish line, where we had to circle around it and then start another 13.1.  There was the big refreshment tent.  Our car was nearby; the car that could take us back to the hotel for a nice, warm shower.  What do you do when you're already feeling exhausted from running a half marathon, and you pass close enough to the finish line you could reach out and touch it?  It would have been so easy right then to just stop and forget about the last half of that run.  My devil that day was the finish line, but I'm happy to say I ignored him and finished my course.  

The problem with the devil is he is so good looking.  He always looks so tempting and so inviting, but when we give in to him, we hate what he does to us.  Another line in that song by Terri Gibbs says,

"I'm getting weaker and he's coming on strong,

But I don't want to go wrong!"

If he presents himself as cherry pie, we love the taste but despise the way he makes us look later, even though he tells us it's made from fresh fruit. If he's disguised as a snooze button, we cherish the extra sleep, but get in trouble when we're late for work.  When I circled around that finish line in Philly, I could've stopped right then and not run another step, but if I had, I'd still be hating myself for it now, eight years later.  Some of us are old enough to remember "The Flip Wilson Show" from the early 70s.  His favorite line was "The devil made me do it."  Today, however, I choose to be smart and strong; smart enough to know when I'm being tempted to take the easy way out, and strong enough to overcome that temptation. And that means no cherry pie for me today, I'm gonna get up on time in the morning, and when I have to circle around that finish line, I'm just gonna wave and say, "See ya' later!"

Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXXXII

Last week, my good friend, Kelly Jaubert, challenged me on Facebook to post a picture of my spouse and me for seven consecutive days.  Today is the seventh day, so I decided to tell you a little about us and our family, while tying it in with the seven day challenge, and this will serve as my weekly blog.  I have been so richly blessed in so many ways, although we've faced some rough spots along the way, just like everyone else.  In my younger days I looked ahead and tried to picture who I would marry, and what kind of kids we would have.  I had a plan for our lives, and I actually saw parts of it come to fruition, but I have now come to the conclusion that there was a divine plan that far superseded any plans I had made.  In a way, though, I feel like King David, who wanted to build a temple, but that honor was reserved for his son.  I believe God's plan for Angie & me involved our kids in a more direct way, while we may have helped set the foundation, primarily by the way we raised our children. No doubt this plan will still be in play after Angie and I are no longer in the picture.

Everything was going according to plan....MY plan.  I was able to find someone who would love me and wanted to spend her life with me, and she was, and still is, beautiful.  Then my plan called for kids; two of them.  One boy and one girl.  They were both supposed to be good looking and incredibly smart.  Yep, it happened just like that.  Well, naturally there would be grandchildren, and my first requirement was that my son would have another son so it would give us one more step in carrying on the family name.  BOOM!  Here came that little sandy haired boy, who was good looking and incredibly smart....and he was a BOY!  Then God stepped in and said, "Okay, I've given you your heart's desire up to this point, but now it's time for ME to take over and show you what MY plan looks like.  Ladies and gentlemen, I never dreamed that our family would see what would start happening after that.  It's a good thing God didn't reveal his plan to us, because we would have rejected it right from the start, because there were some things we just didn't understand, and sometimes at first glance, God's plan looks more like a curse, though today I have to say thank you Lord for choosing us for this plan.

The next grandchild was a girl.  They let us see her briefly, then took her straight to NICU.  Moments later, we received word that she had all the signs of a child with Down Syndrome. We went from "deer in the headlights" to total denial, to finding a love like we never knew existed.  She has changed us and the way we view life.  There were challenges, like open heart surgery at five weeks old, but there's no way to describe the joy she brings us.  I am so proud of my son and daughter in law for accepting and embracing God's plan the way they have.  They have become very active in the Down Syndrome community, which has some notable people as members.  As you may know, Sarah Palin is a part of that community, and when she and Lennon finally got to meet, Sarah had her picture made with her and posted it on her Facebook page.

Those are my son's kids, but my daughter was certainly not left out of God's plan, and again, if I had known in advance, my first inclination would've been negative. God chose my daughter and son in law to be foster parents, and currently they have two girls and a boy, ranging in age from seven months to three years.  My first question was, "Can I love a foster child like a child born into my family?"  Well, the answer to that question is a resounding "YES!"  Will we have to see them go back to their birth families some day?  Probably. Will it hurt?  You'd better believe it!  But, you see, this is God's plan for our family, and we've learned if we just TRUST HIM, things will work out better than we ever imagined.

Angie and I are now in our sixties, and  we've been married for forty-four years, yet we are embracing life like newly weds. Yes, we know we don't have as long left on this earth as we once did, but even for that, God has a plan, and it's wonderful.  Thank you, Kelly, for nominating me for this challenge.  I don't normally do things like this, but I have to admit, I have really enjoyed it.

Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXXXII

Last week, my good friend, Kelly Jaubert, challenged me on Facebook to post a picture of my spouse and me for seven consecutive days.  Today is the seventh day, so I decided to tell you a little about us and our family, while tying it in with the seven day challenge, and this will serve as my weekly blog.  I have been so richly blessed in so many ways, although we've faced some rough spots along the way, just like everyone else.  In my younger days I looked ahead and tried to picture who I would marry, and what kind of kids we would have.  I had a plan for our lives, and I actually saw parts of it come to fruition, but I have now come to the conclusion that there was a divine plan that far superseded any plans I had made.  In a way, though, I feel like King David, who wanted to build a temple, but that honor was reserved for his son.  I believe God's plan for Angie & me involved our kids in a more direct way, while we may have helped set the foundation, primarily by the way we raised our children. No doubt this plan will still be in play after Angie and I are no longer in the picture.

Everything was going according to plan....MY plan.  I was able to find someone who would love me and wanted to spend her life with me, and she was, and still is, beautiful.  Then my plan called for kids; two of them.  One boy and one girl.  They were both supposed to be good looking and incredibly smart.  Yep, it happened just like that.  Well, naturally there would be grandchildren, and my first requirement was that my son would have another son so it would give us one more step in carrying on the family name.  BOOM!  Here came that little sandy haired boy, who was good looking and incredibly smart....and he was a BOY!  Then God stepped in and said, "Okay, I've given you your heart's desire up to this point, but now it's time for ME to take over and show you what MY plan looks like.  Ladies and gentlemen, I never dreamed that our family would see what would start happening after that.  It's a good thing God didn't reveal his plan to us, because we would have rejected it right from the start, because there were some things we just didn't understand, and sometimes at first glance, God's plan looks more like a curse, though today I have to say thank you Lord for choosing us for this plan.

The next grandchild was a girl.  They let us see her briefly, then took her straight to NICU.  Moments later, we received word that she had all the signs of a child with Down Syndrome. We went from "deer in the headlights" to total denial, to finding a love like we never knew existed.  She has changed us and the way we view life.  There were challenges, like open heart surgery at five weeks old, but there's no way to describe the joy she brings us.  I am so proud of my son and daughter in law for accepting and embracing God's plan the way they have.  They have become very active in the Down Syndrome community, which has some notable people as members.  As you may know, Sarah Palin is a part of that community, and when she and Lennon finally got to meet, Sarah had her picture made with her and posted it on her Facebook page.

Those are my son's kids, but my daughter was certainly not left out of God's plan, and again, if I had known in advance, my first inclination would've been negative. God chose my daughter and son in law to be foster parents, and currently they have two girls and a boy, ranging in age from seven months to three years.  My first question was, "Can I love a foster child like a child born into my family?"  Well, the answer to that question is a resounding "YES!"  Will we have to see them go back to their birth families some day?  Probably. Will it hurt?  You'd better believe it!  But, you see, this is God's plan for our family, and we've learned if we just TRUST HIM, things will work out better than we ever imagined.

Angie and I are now in our sixties, and  we've been married for forty-four years, yet we are embracing life like newly weds. Yes, we know we don't have as long left on this earth as we once did, but even for that, God has a plan, and it's wonderful.  Thank you, Kelly, for nominating me for this challenge.  I don't normally do things like this, but I have to admit, I have really enjoyed it.

Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXXXI

Everything seems to be okay now, but there was a short period of time when it wasn't. Without realizing what I was doing, I said something that upset a good friend. When this friend brought it to my attention, I felt HORRIBLE!! I wasted no time in offering a sincere, from the bottom of my heart apology, and just as quickly, forgiveness was granted. I honestly believe that from my friend's perspective, it's all now in the past, but as for me, I feel a great deal of relief, but I'm not quite yet completely over it, even though it has been several months. I'll explain what I mean shortly, but first let me tell you how I ended up on this topic today. A couple weeks ago, one of our pastors was speaking, and in his lesson he mentioned a survey he had seen. A popular ladies magazine had asked its readers to send in the words they most want to hear. No doubt most of the respondents were women, but I feel certain with men the results would have been much the same. Most all of us would likely be able to guess the number one answer: "I love you." What do you think the number two response would be for the words people most want to hear? It's "I forgive you." If that's the number two response, right behind "I love you," that tells me every one of us will mess up from time to time and find ourselves in need of forgiveness. That's a fact we need to keep in mind as we move through the rest of this article. I have good friends. True friends. Friends who love me like I love them, and that explains why forgiveness for my transgression was so quick in coming. Now to the question of why I'm only feeling partial relief from the words "I forgive you." True repentance requires real sorrow, which means that my repentance was genuine, because my sorrow was authentic. The entire matter is now behind us, except for one thing...I still have feelings of regret because I wish I wouldn't have said what I said. Hurtful words can't be unsaid. Here's my point: If I'm still feeling bad over this issue, how much worse would I be feeling if I hadn't heard those three powerful words, "I forgive you!" The top two responses for the words people most want to hear: "I love you" and "I forgive you!" Think about it. Can I say the most desired words, "I love you," and yet withhold the second set of words, "I forgive you?" I think not. If I refuse to forgive you, that means I must not care about how you're feeling about your mistake, which means I can't honestly say "I love you." One more thing: Can I expect others to forgive me when I refuse to forgive others? Matthew 6:15 can give you a good perspective on that question. Now, as for MY friends, we forgive each other because we love each other. We say to each other the words we all want to hear most: "I love you" and "I forgive you." Yep, I have good friends. The best!! Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXXX

"Okay, so I made a bad decision and I regret it, but you have to understand....I was mad at the time." Notice I have that statement in quotation marks, but I didn't list the person's name who said it. Well, it was me. And chances are, you have made the same kind of statement in the past as well. One hard lesson I've learned is not to make rash decisions during periods when my emotions are running high. As a general rule, I'm a fairly low key guy, and I usually am able to keep my temper in check, even though on the inside I may be seething and want to completely walk away from some people forever. I assure you, though, if I did that every time I was tempted to do so while in a state of anger, my friend list would be much smaller today....and it would be all my fault for making a regrettable decision during a time when I didn't need to be making decisions. The only decision that should be made at such a time is the decision to put off making decisions until I've had a chance to cool down. Yes, on rare occasions, my best bet might be to walk away and put my relationship with that person completely in my past, but that decision would need to be based on a consistent pattern of behavior and not on a one time occurrence. As I think about this topic, I have to wonder how many times I've angered a friend, and at that moment, that person wanted to be completely done with me. Thankfully, on most occasions, those people have waited until their emotions were calmer before writing me off. Here's the kicker: It's not just in times of anger when we need to make sure we put off making big decisions. I remember when I was a youth, a man who was a friend of my parents told me about a time when he met a gorgeous young woman and fell head over heels in love with her instantly. They decided to go get married immediately. Each of them called a friend who could serve as best man and maid of honor, and they headed toward a meeting with the Justice of the Peace. Suddenly a severe storm blew in, making travel practically impossible, so they decided to put off their wedding till the next weekend. By that time, both of their emotions had cooled down, resulting in another postponement of the nuptials. That was many years ago, and the two of them have never even seen each other since. If their love affair was so shallow they never even bothered to call each other to discuss their wedding, thank God for the storm that slowed them down until cooler heads prevailed. There are good, well intentioned people who will play on our emotions when they want us to donate money, or obligate ourselves to a monthly pledge for a cause they are promoting. It's good to do that. I give to charitable causes, but I still believe we should wait until we are not caught up in the emotion of the moment before making that decision so we can choose how much we want to donate based on logic rather than on emotions. My main point is when we are caught up in the emotion, any kind of emotion, of the moment, it may not be the best time to make decisions that will have long term consequences for our lives or the lives of the people we care about. The fact of the matter is the effects of our decisions will continue to be with us long after the emotions of the moment have passed. I remember hearing a man tell me, "You may one day meet a girl who is so pretty you will want to eat her up, and then after you marry her, you will wish you would have." Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXXIX

A nation divided. A home divided. Can either survive? At a cemetery, a crowd has gathered for a somber occasion, hoping to hear something that will bring them some peace of mind. It's about 3:00 pm and the slight hum of soft conversation becomes silent as a man by the name of Edward Everett steps to the podium and for two solid hours delivers a rousing 13,000 word speech that is well received by by practically everyone in attendance; and he's just the first speaker. The next one to speak is a man of significant importance. In a mere ten sentences he addresses the question that is on everyone's mind: "Can we as a nation withstand such division and hatred?" Things aren't going well at home. There's tension between Mom and Dad. They're putting on a front when the kids are watching, but in the darkness of the night, behind closed doors, there's mostly silence. Each one of them believes the other one has fallen out of love, when the truth is they are both deeply in love, and the pain each one is feeling is very real. The nation I'm speaking of is yours and mine, and that event took place almost 153 years ago as President Abraham Lincoln followed a well received two hour speech with ten sentences that even to this day many students have to memorize. It's known as "The Gettysburg Address" and it came about during a time when our citizens were killing each other, even to the point that it pitted brother against brother. Never before or since has our country been so divided. The home I'm talking about is yours and yes, even mine. I have to admit that early in our marriage we went through a period when we weren't sure whether or not we would make it, and if you've been married any length of time, you can likely recall those same kinds of situations in your own home. Here's the truth: More than a century and a half after President Lincoln uttered those immortal words in a Gettysburg cemetery that afternoon, we're still standing, even through all the government corruption that followed "Honest Abe's" term in office. Here's another truth: In just a few short weeks, Angie and I will be celebrating our 44th wedding anniversary, and we're more in love now than we've ever been. President Lincoln addressed the question of "whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure." Can we endure? Well, here we are. Just look at us! One hundred fifty-three years after that famous speech and two hundred forty years after our inception, I think we can. Can my home endure? Well, after forty-four years of marriage, we're still going strong! As I type this, under my breath I'm singing the words to a song by Elton John: "I'm still standing better than I ever did. Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid." Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXXVIII

Every gentleman is a man, but not every man is a gentleman. Every lady is a woman, but not every woman is a lady. The good thing about it is, the rules for qualifying to be a lady or gentleman allow for mistakes, as long as the attitude and intentions are pure. What are some of those rules? I think the primary thing that has to be considered is how we treat other people. Is it always "my way or the highway?" Do we demand respect while failing to show others the same kind of respect we want shown to us? Are we tolerant of the mistakes made by our peers? A lady or a gentleman will not take advantage of someone else's weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Being a lady or gentleman doesn't just happen automatically...it has to be taught and learned. In most cases when we see a lady or a gentleman, we can point to some good parents who put forth the time and effort to create ladies and gentlemen out of their offspring. A few days ago my wife mentioned one of my best friends, and in my opinion, gave him a tremendous compliment when she said, "He is a gentleman." The event that put my mind on this topic happened just a few weeks ago. At a work related function, I met two young women the same day, and fortunately, they both qualify to be called ladies. One of the standards good parents try to instill into their kids is respect for their elders, and since I am quite a bit older than either of those ladies, I sensed that both of them respected me. It's just that they did it differently. Obviously among everyone who reads this post, there will be varying opinions as to which way is best, and while I'm not here to say one way is right and the other is wrong, I will explain which way I like best and why. Maybe the ten year age difference between the two ladies explains the difference in the way they showed their respect toward me, or maybe it's just a difference in their personalities. The younger of the two always put the word "Mister" before my name, and she answered my questions with "yes sir" and "no sir." The other young lady was less formal, yet there was just something about our conversations that made me feel respected. (I hope both of them could also sense the respect I have for them.) While my dialogue with the first one was more formal, the conversations with the second one were more comfortable. Okay, let me just be brutally honest. We teach our kids to respect their elders by using terms like "Mister" and "Sir," and I believe that's a good thing. It's a part of guiding them to the path of becoming ladies and gentlemen, but I have to tell you, I don't really want every younger adult I meet to call me by those titles. I prefer a friendship that is LESS formal and MORE relaxed. I honestly do appreciate the respect shown to me by the one lady, but I really feel more at ease with the other one. As an illustration of what I mean, let me give you an example of two ministers I know and the type of prayers they give when they are asked to pray publicly. The best way I know how to describe it is one of them puts on his "praying voice" and prays a beautiful, yet formal prayer, while the other one sounds like he is talking to his best friend. Yes, we have the example to follow in "The Lord's Prayer," but I also have to believe that sometimes God prefers casual conversations with us as his children and his friends. When it was time to leave that event, I left feeling richer due to the fact that I had made new friends. However, the truth of the matter is that four months from now I will have forgotten one of the lady's names, and she won't remember mine. The other one is a friendship that will last, and I'll bet you know which one it is....and why. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXXVII

I don't remember much about the lady who checked me in to the Holiday Inn; not that she wasn't attractive, but it's just that the other woman behind the desk was so stunningly beautiful I couldn't take my eyes off her. No, I'm not a dirty old man, and it's not that I'm not accustomed to seeing beautiful women. In fact, I'm married to one that I want to keep, so I'm certainly not on the prowl, especially for one young enough to be my granddaughter. It's just that this one was so......so...DIFFERENT...from any others I've seen in a long, long time. She was probably in her early twenties, modestly dressed, yet there was something about her clothes, her glasses, and her hair that looked so strangely familiar, but I just couldn't identify it. What WAS it? About forty-five minutes later I was in my room, at work on my computer, when the perfect word to describe her appearance suddenly popped into my head.....SIXTIES!!! She looked like the 1960s!! After that sudden revelation, the first question that came to my mind was, "Are the sixties coming back?" I graduated high school in 1969, so that was the decade of most of my teenage years. That's what I found so attractive about that young lady. I'm fully aware that fashions for apparel and hair are cyclical, but the thing that worries me about that is I wonder if the attitudes and moral standards of those eras accompany the fashion trends. It seems to me that morality peaked in the fifties, and then took a nosedive in the sixties. If you want to pick out TV shows you can feel comfortable letting your kids watch, you can choose just about anything from the fifties without fear of any improper language, sexual themes, or subliminal messages. "I Love Lucy" and "Leave it to Beaver" are safe. The sixties brought us the hippie movement, while many of our college campuses experienced riots and social unrest. The sixties introduced us to free love and hallucinating drugs. As much as I dislike all those things I just described, I must also mention an attitude that was prevalent in that decade, and as much as I hate to admit it, I believe I can see it coming back. I call it by one word: Mediocrity. It concerns me when I see college students literally by the millions supporting a man who preaches a message that ridicules exceptionalism and praises mediocrity. He says you shouldn't have to work your way through college, because you deserve to have a government that will supply all your needs. It's an attitude that says we should all be cookie cutter citizens with all of us being equal, and if someone does work hard and gets ahead, we will take his excess earnings and divide them among those who don't. Let me pause here to say that, as a product of the sixties, I never was never a hippie, I never did drugs, and I worked hard to get myself through college. The reason I'm saying this is to make sure you understand that I'm not lumping everyone from the decade of the sixties into the same category, nor am I putting everyone from today's generation into the same boat. I also know that not everyone in the fifties had high moral standards. I'm talking about general attitudes of an era. In a recent phone conversation with my daughter, who regularly goes to the gym to work out, she told me that the people who are working out hardest are in their mid thirties and older. As I was saying earlier, the fifties was a decade of higher moral standards and more conservative thought patterns, a direct contrast from the "Roaring Twenties," which came into being during the socialistic era of Woodrow Wilson. The Fifties was the more conservative decade of the Eisenhower years. The sixties were the more liberal years of Kennedy and Johnson. Moral standards made a noticeable rebound in the eighties, the decade of Reagan. I know that our political attitudes in this country work like a pendulum, swinging back and forth, so here are my questions: Do our leaders guide us back onto the path of higher morality, or vice versa, or do we elect certain leaders to match changes in our attitudes? Do our styles of fashion go hand in hand with our political attitudes? Is work ethic cyclical? Are mediocrity and exceptionalism generational? One thing for sure, whatever situation we're facing today, it will change. Are the sixties returning? Probably so, and that, like all eras, will have a mixture of both good and bad. Whatever we face, we'll get past it just like we did before, and one thing will make it all worthwhile....Our girls sure are pretty!' Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXXVI

There's just something that makes me feel good when people remember my name. People love to hear their own names, so it's important when we meet someone new, we should make every effort to remember his/her name. It seems like here lately I've been introduced to so many people in a short period of time, I'm having a hard time remembering all their names, and it makes me feel bad, so if you see me take a quick look at your name badge and then your face, please understand I'm working on connecting the two so it will be easier for me to remember it next time. There are some people, however, who know my name well, yet rarely use it, and I have to admit, I like it that way. For instance, two of the ones who know me best call me "Dad." I prefer they call me Dad instead of my name. My grandkids call me Poppa, and even a few of my good friends call me "Poppa P," while there are still others from my inner circle of friends who simply refer to me as "P." Yes, I like that, too. Terms like "Dad" and "Poppa" are not names; they are titles, or terms of endearment. When we stop to think about it, we realize that sometimes our titles say more about us than our names. Here are some examples of what I mean. If you're a football fan, you may be familiar with the name "Mean Joe Greene." His mom didn't name him "Mean." Other people gave him that title to describe the intensity with which he played the game. It's actually a term of respect. In the 80s movie, "Dragnet," there was a character who was referred to as "The Virgin Connie Swail." That title gives us a better description of her than just her name could ever give. Abraham Lincoln was often called "Honest Abe." Terms like that are given by other people to describe a pattern of behavior by the person wearing that title. It doesn't have the same effect when a person gives himself that title. In fact, if a man opens a used car lot and calls it "Honest Al's," it makes me a little suspicious of Ole Al. Occasionally, people are given titles as a sign of disrespect. Donald Trump seems to be a master at it, with names like "Lying Ted," and "Crooked Hillary." He is insinuating a pattern of behavior which may or may not be deserved. There's one person, however, who has been wearing a disrespectful title down through the centuries, and I doubt any of us know for sure whether it accurately depicts a pattern of behavior, because to be honest, he was given his title due to one mistake. I'm referring to a man known as "Doubting Thomas." Judging by the company he kept and the position he held, I get the opinion that he must've been a pretty good guy, yet the title he wears gives us a negative impression of him. I'm not sure he deserves to have a title that has given him a bad reputation down through history. How unfortunate it would be for any of us to have to walk in his shoes. I certainly hope my identity is not based on a single error of judgment. There's a big difference between a one time mistake and a pattern of behavior, or lifestyle, yet how many times have we seen someone else mess up, and that one infraction causes us to make that a part of that person's identity. Yes, I've been guilty, and yes, I've also been guilty of being a little skeptical of stories that seem hard to believe, but please don't start calling me "Doubting Preston." All of us should offer the same kind of grace we've been offered. "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXXV

Today the sun is setting in the west. I've learned that it does that quite often, and since my back porch faces east, it's an awesome place to sit late in the evening. As I write this, it's about sundown on a beautiful Sunday evening, with a soft southerly breeze blowing, and guess where I am. You got it! I should be enjoying myself, and I would be except for one factor....there's a disagreement occurring in my back yard. As the man of the house, I guess it's my place to interfere and restore peace, and if there's no resolution to this conflict soon, I intend to do just that. In the meantime, however, I'm learning some life lessons from the standoff, so let me hurry and share them with you so I can get this matter resolved. Here's what's going on. Angie had to run to Brookshire's, and when she returned, she brought Nellie and Fontenot, our two Schnauzers, each a rubber ball. At first they were running and playing with their new toys, having a wonderful time, until Fontenot carelessly walked away from his for a minute. Nellie quickly laid claim to his ball, and she is now standing over it, as well as her own, daring Fontenot to try to get either one of them. Fontenot is standing there barking, wanting his ball back, while Nellie is standing there glaring at him, as if to say, "You try to take this ball and you're dead meat." I'm learning two lessons from this latest episode of "Nellie and Fontenot." Here's the first one: Fontenot is not able to enjoy his new toy, but neither is Nellie. I don't believe greedy people are enjoying life, or even their possessions. They're too busy trying to make sure no one gets what belongs to them while trying to acquire what does not belong to them. Instead of enjoying what they have, they spend all their time and effort trying to accumulate more and more. I knew an older couple who hoarded canned food, much more than they could ever eat, and when they died, they had canned food stacked in every room in their house, to the extreme that it was even on the furniture. They never received any benefit from any of it. I'm of the opinion that generous people enjoy life much more than the greedy. The second thing I've learned: Although the way I've told this story makes Fontenot sound like an innocent victim while Nellie is evil, in reality, I may be giving a false impression of both of them. Nellie is one of the most affectionate dogs I know, and she loves her family, Fontenot included. Fontenot, on the other hand, is an escape artist, to the point to where I'm thinking of hiring experienced prison guards to keep him from getting out of the yard. Both of them are gentle, loving creatures, with flaws. I am a gentle, loving creature with flaws. You are a gentle, loving creature with flaws. If I hate Nellie because of her greed, then it's only fair that you hate me because of my flaws, and someone else hates you because of yours. I tolerate Nellie's greed, while there are flaws in my character that my good friends have to tolerate. Thank God they do!! WHOA!! Fontenot just made his move!!! He grabbed his ball and ran!! Situation resolved. Wait!! The ball he grabbed was Nellie's! I wonder how this is gonna turn out! Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXXIV

My dad never made it past the sixth grade, yet he was an intelligent man. I dare say he knew as much as most high school graduates of his time. Let me tell you a little about him. For quite some time in his childhood, they lived in a box car....one that sat on tracks and stayed connected with other box cars that were homes to other families. I don't remember hearing for sure just what my grandpa did for a living in those days, but I assume it was in the logging industry. When they were finished working the area they were in, a locomotive would hook up with the boxcars where the workers were living and they would transfer to their next location. Dad told me the story about one time when it was moving day, and all the adults were busy getting everything ready for the move. He said he was outside playing, knowing that it was almost time to head out, but as kids will do, he became absorbed in his game, and looked up to see the train was starting to move. He said he started screaming and running as fast as he could, but soon realized he would never make it to their car, so he sprinted to the last car on the train and was able to grab ahold and get on board. That would not have been a good situation if he hadn't made it, because the families in the cars had no way of getting the attention of the engineer. Living that kind of life didn't mix well with going to school. When he reached the sixth grade, they ended up having to move, and he had to drop out. The next year, he went back to the sixth grade, and the same thing happened again. Finally, after having to drop out a third time, he never went back. However, like I told you, my dad was a smart man. Here's why: He had several things going for him. Number one, he had an inquisitive mind. He always wanted to know how things worked, and as a result, he was a Mr. Fix It. I remember many times when a neighbor had a problem with a car, a washer, a dryer, or anything else mechanical, they would call Dad to come repair it. Secondly, he was a conversationalist. He had figured out a fact that still holds true today: Every person we talk to knows things we don't. He learned that if he would listen more than he talked, he would leave with some knowledge he didn't have when he came. Thirdly, he could read, and that was a skill he continued to cultivate for the rest of his life. I wish I knew just how many books he read. I remember when I was a kid, my parents subscribed to "Reader's Digest," and they had a bookshelf at home that held every issue of that magazine from several years. He read them cover to cover. Dad passed away in August, 1986 after a lengthy illness, but he read his Bible every day up through mid June of that year in his effort to read the Bible through in one year for the umpteenth time. July 17th of this year will be my dad's 99th birthday, so naturally the world has changed a lot since he was a boy, and the Information Age has really come into being since his death. A formal education is much more vital today than it was when he was a youth, yet if we only rely on our "schooling" to get us through, we're still missing out on a wealth of knowledge that our institutions of learning can't provide. At the time of this writing, I'm only four years shy of the age he was when he died. Even to this day, I still look to him as a role model, which means that although my graduation from college is well into my past, the learning must never stop. I will continue to read, to listen, and to inquire as long as my health allows. That's what he did, and when I grow up, I want to be like my daddy. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXXIII

My son recently shared a story with me, and since then I've given it a lot of thought. Please allow me to give you a brief summary to see if you get the same message I did. A young woman had about reached her breaking point due to some struggles she had been facing, so she went to her mother for advice. The older lady listened intently, then asked her daughter to step into the kitchen with her. She placed three pots of water on the stove and turned the fire on high. In one pot she placed carrots, in the next one she placed eggs, and in the third one she placed ground coffee beans. Without saying a word, she let each of them boil for twenty minutes. When she turned off the heat, she asked her daughter to look in each pot and tell her what she saw. "I see carrots, eggs, and coffee," the young woman replied. Her mom then instructed her to feel the carrots, which had become soft and mushy. Next she extracted an egg and removed the shell to find an egg that had become hard. Then she ladled each of them a cup of coffee as they sat down to enjoy it's rich aroma and bold taste. "What are you trying to tell me, Mom?," the daughter asked. Mom explained, "The carrots, the eggs and the coffee each faced identical struggles; the same kind of heat. The carrots went in strong and rigid, yet they emerged soft and weak. The eggs faced the fire with soft, liquid hearts, yet came out hardened. In both of those situations, the water that changed the carrots and the eggs so drastically, emerged basically unchanged. The coffee beans, however, changed the water and made it into something pleasant." You see, we can allow our environment to change us, or we can change our environment. Our world can change us, or we can change our world. The struggles we face can harden us, they can weaken us, or we can use those struggles to create something good. I told you this story a few months ago, but I once used the incident of losing my job to place me in a position to get a much better job. Instead of having a pity party, I held my head up and landed a job that I couldn't have gotten if I hadn't first gone through the turmoil of losing the one I had. Whether I be broken, depressed, joyful, or on the mountain top, it's not the things I've faced that put me here....it's how I dealt with the things I've faced. Am I carrots, eggs or coffee? The choice is mine. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXXII

When you're ten years old and it's a hot summer afternoon, you say yes when your uncle asks if you'd like to go swimming. That was the situation for me one particular afternoon. My Uncle O.D. Haymon asked me that question as he and a group of teenage boys from his church were planning to head down to the Calcasieu River near his home in Indian Village, Louisiana, for a couple hours of fun. The location they had picked out for the trip had a sandy beach, which made it a perfect spot for a kid to play in the water, but the trouble was, it was on the other side of the river. On our side, there was a drop off at the river's edge and the water was very deep at that point. As we approached the water, all the boys, my uncle included, started running and jumped in. I stopped at the bank, and Uncle O.D. said, "Come on in." "How deep is it?" I asked, which was really a useless question since anything over four feet was too much for me. His reply, "Oh, about thirty feet." "I can't swim," I answered. He then said, "I'm right here. I will not let you drown." That's all I needed to hear, so I jumped in feet first. It was an experience like I had never had before. A vertical, feet-first jump takes you deep, and I have no idea how far down I went; all I know is I went down, down, down, but not far enough to touch bottom. I think some natural instincts took over as I began pushing downward with my arms, and I could feel myself beginning to rise, but it seemed like an eternity before my head popped up out of the water. As promised, Uncle O.D. was right beside me as I frantically fought the water, heading across the river. Eventually, it dawned on me that I was actually swimming, and I gradually began to calm down a little, until I finally felt something that was one of the most awesome things I had ever felt....my foot touched the bottom, and I realized I could actually safely stand in the water. For me, it was an unforgettable afternoon of fun, and when it was time to go home, I started back across that river, with my uncle right beside me, as a much more confident young man than I had been just a couple hours earlier. Oh, and the neat thing about it was, although he was beside me the entire afternoon, he never had to even touch me the whole day. That's how I learned to swim. A few weeks ago as I was attending a big gathering of Christian men from all across Northeast Louisiana, I heard a statement that reminded me of that day at the river more than a half century ago. The speaker said, "If you've hit bottom, be thankful, because that's as far down as you can go, and the only way from there is up." My mind immediately went back to that moment as I was learning to swim and how relieved I felt when my foot finally touched the bottom. Another thing I remembered was how it seemed like an eternity before I got my head back above the water, when actually it really only took a few seconds. If I had not completely trusted Uncle O.D., there's no way I would've jumped in that day, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared. In fact, I was terrified. As I struggled with the water that afternoon, I kept looking to my right to make sure my uncle was still there, and though he never had to actually lift me up, just his presence was a calming influence. He helped me prove to myself that I had what it took to get across that river. I was a typical kid that day, and I played in that water for two hours without ever stopping to think I was gonna have to recross that river, but when that time came, getting back to the other side was much less traumatic, because I KNEW I could make it. I had already done it. I learned so much that day, although it would be years later before I would realize just how much. I learned how to swim through water that summer day, and though I didn't understand it then, I also learned how to swim through life. I now know that as frightful as hitting bottom sounds, it can also give me a base from which to spring up. I also learned that when I start to doubt whether or not I can make it, all I have to do is look to my right and there is Someone there, right beside me, who will not let me go under. Today I understand that the struggles I've faced in my past give me the confidence that the next time they come around, I've defeated them before, and I can and will defeat them again. Yes, I am now aware that although it seems like it's taking forever to get my head above water, it really doesn't take as long as it feels. You see, I'm more confident now. I've learned how to swim. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXXI

Every. Single. Day. I don't get a break. My land line rings off the wall all the time. I don't answer it. Both my email inbox and my snail mail box are loaded every day with notices like, "Preston, you've got a birthday coming and it's only a couple months away. You will have some big decisions to make, and we can help you!" If truth in advertising laws were fully enforced, the notices I receive would sound more like this, "Preston, what little bit of money you have, we want it!" You see, I'm less than two months away from birthday number sixty-five, and it's time for Medicare and Medicare Supplements. Here's the truth. I know how old I am, and I don't like being reminded about it non-stop. Yes, I know I have to face reality and sign up for Medicare, and I need to get a supplement policy. I'm taking care of all that. But really, I don't feel sixty-five, and to be honest, I really don't think I'm your typical sixty-five year old man. I'm still working and I have no plans, or even a desire, to retire any time soon. I still get up early about four mornings a week to go running, although I have changed to more of a run/walk routine, and it's still common for me to get in eight or nine miles at a time. I have no plans to stop doing that either. I like most all of the new songs we sing at church, and I still sing along with every one of them. And speaking of church, Angie and I are still very active and have leadership roles at church. Most of my friends are significantly younger than I am. One of my good friends is a pharmacist who jokingly acts frustrated with me sometimes because I so rarely ever need a prescription filled. I'm often asked just what is it that keeps me so active at my age, and I have given some thought to that question. I think it may just simply be a sense of duty, or maybe it's that I still have a purpose. I'm of the opinion that I taught my kids well, and a big part of that teaching was how to make it on their own, yet I choose to believe they and their families still need me. On those really cold mornings, or on the days when the weather may be questionable, if any other person in our running group decides to get out of bed and go for a run, I want to be someone they can depend on to be there to join them, even if they're faster than me. At church I want to be seen as a person who is dependable, faithful, and enthusiastic about my duties, a person who WANTS to be there. At work, I want those I work with to rest assured that I'm still out there making the calls, and I'm always looking to increase sales by opening new accounts. If I ever get to the point to where I'm no longer useful, I hope no one tells me, because it's that sense of duty and purpose that keeps me chugging along. I'll try to remember to update you in about ten years and let you know how it's going. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXX

Imagine this scenario: You applied for a job, and you have been called in for an interview. Since you've done this before, you have a good idea what to expect, and what kind of questions you'll be asked. When you walk in to the waiting room to await your appointment, you see other applicants for the same position also awaiting their turns, so you make a quick assessment as to just what your competition looks like. Since there's still a little time before you will be summoned, you step outside to call a friend, and you tell him who your competitors are going to be. Then you give him his instructions, "See what kind of dirt you can dig up on each one of them and get back to me ASAP." When your name is called for your interview, you go back loaded for bear. You're ready for that inevitable question when it's asked, "Tell us a little bit about yourself. Why should we hire YOU for this job?" This is how you respond: "Well, I'm not like all those other candidates you are interviewing. Melissa Wescott, the one you just interviewed, was known to have experimented with marijuana when she first started college. The guy coming in after me, Skip Flintman, is too religious for this job and will likely let his beliefs affect the decisions he makes. And Cal Evans, the one who just left about an hour ago, would rather climb a tree to tell a lie when he could stand on the ground and tell the truth." Can you imagine how likely you would be to get the job when you tried to build yourself up by tearing everyone else down? Actually, I had something like that happen to me a few years ago. I told a "friend" about a job I was going after, so he went and applied for the same job, and told them what a mistake it would be to hire me. I was the one who got the job. All my life I've been taught that it shows a lack of character when a person tries to make himself look good by making everyone else look bad. It leads me to believe there must not be all that much good he can say about himself. Who would hire someone who did that in his interview? Actually, I know a couple people who would: You and me, because every single candidate seeking the job of President of the United States is doing just that, and we have to decide on one of them. To be honest, all the mudslinging and false accusations are not new to politics....I've heard it all my life, but it seems to me we've reached a new low, and it's not just the candidates. It's also many of the supporters of each of these candidates. Have we as a nation reached the point to where we only feed off of negativity and hate? I wonder what Jesus would do if he was walking the streets of America today. Would he be involved in all the character assassination that we are hearing every single day? Would he give up on his call for us to "love our neighbors as ourselves?" What if he was running for office? Could he get elected? I'm not here to push for any particular candidate. When Election Day comes around, I will vote and I urge you to do the same. I guess it doesn't hurt to dream, though, about a day when the people decide to reject all the name calling and slander, and instead will support candidates because of their character, ability, and honesty. I would love to see that day, but I'm not sure if I will. I'm getting kinda old. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXIX

While browsing through a book fair more than twenty years ago, I stumbled across a novel I had never heard of, but for some reason, it grabbed my attention, so I bought it. It just so happened that it was the first of a series about pre-historic people written by Jean Auel, called "The Clan of the Cave Bear." As I began to talk about it to friends, I was amazed at just how many of them had read it. Among many of the tribes or "clans" depicted in this book, there were no spoken languages, but there was a universal sign language used by the people as their way of communicating. Many years later, there were numerous tribes of people living in what is now known as America, who had spoken languages, but the language of each tribe was different. Therefore, when it became necessary for different tribes to communicate with each other, they once again utilized that universal sign language. Over time, as The United States came into being, English became the national language, and many people also became fluent in multiple tongues, so that sign language I was speaking of was no longer taught. Today there is a small percentage of the population who is able to communicate with signs, and they are primarily either the hearing impaired or those trained to communicate with them, when just a few centuries before, everyone knew how to speak by signing. Over the millenniums, as spoken languages began to be perfected, systems began to be developed to put the spoken languages on paper, resulting in even fewer people needing to use sign language. Technology then began to explode, resulting in telephones, radio, and television, all of which utilized the spoken language. Then came email and text. How could any of us have foreseen the magnitude of which those two forms of dialogue would revolutionize the ways we communicate? So our point to ponder today is this, "Is written language beginning to replace the spoken word?" I honestly can't imagine our spoken language completely dying, but I CAN visualize individuals losing the art of verbal conversation. May that prediction never come true! Those of you who know me well are aware of the fact that I'm a regular patron of the Corner Coffee House, where I meet my "coffee buddies" to just sit and talk while sipping on our favorite types of coffee. It's a place where friendships are born that will hopefully last through eternity. We laugh together, we cry together, we discuss life, we dream together, we can name each others' spouses and kids, and we owe it all to the art of verbal conversation. I saw a cartoon a few days ago showing an invitation to a party that said, "You are invited to come to my place this Saturday night so we can all sit and stare at our phones together." I grew up without ever viewing conversation as an art, because I thought it just came naturally, but I've come to realize that it requires a skill that has to be practiced and fine tuned on a regular basis. I feel quite sure I won't live long enough to see it die, and though I pray for long, healthy lives for my grandchildren, it is also my prayer they never witness the death of spoken conversation. I prefer hearing your voice over just reading what you type. Preston NOTE: I actually wrote this article on April 27, 2016. Since then, on May 10, I saw a news story saying that school systems are reporting that elementary school children are lacking in conversational skills as compared to previous generations.

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXVIII

If a hill has a name, respect that hill. I encountered such a hill recently on Monte Sano Mountain in Huntsville, Alabama. Its name is Heartbreak Hill, and it is encountered at about the 2.5 mile mark of a big 10K race they have every year in Huntsville. When I had to climb it, I was just out for an early morning walk with my son in law, but let me tell you, getting up that hill had my heart beating out of my chest, and my breathing sounded like a horse that had just finished The Preakness. The pavement on that street has deep grooves designed to help cars get enough traction to keep them from sliding down. It was a tough hill, I tell you. Did I enjoy it? Absolutely not!! Well, maybe there's just one part about it I've enjoyed.....telling people about it, which I couldn't do had I not first experienced it. Back in late spring and early summer of 1986, my dad was down to his last few weeks of life. He knew it, and I knew it. Dad was a WWII veteran, and I was aware of the fact that he saw a lot of action during his days in the war, but I had heard none of the stories of his experiences. One day during that period of his final days, I was visiting him, and we were the only ones there, so I asked him to fill me in on some of the details of what he saw and experienced in Europe and Northern Africa. As he began to talk, my mouth was open in horror as it began to sink in just what all my own dad had witnessed. Then it dawned on me just why he had never spoken to us of these events that were still so vivid in his mind. Today, however, I'm so glad I asked about it and for the fact that he shared it with me. It's a part of my heritage and it would've been a shame if I had gone through my entire life without knowing the stories. Ladies and gentlemen, every one of us has experienced very trying, unpleasant circumstances; some of which were just hard trials, like Heartbreak Hill, while others, such as my dad's war experiences, may have left deep scars. While we were going through those difficult trials and tribulations, we may have even talked to others who had experienced almost identical situations in their lives, and it was good for us to know that we had friends who knew what we were dealing with. That was only possible because someone was willing to share what they had been through, even though it may have been painful to bring it up. Trust me, no matter how horrific your experiences may have been, there are others who either have gone through the same thing before, or may even be going through it now. People you don't even suspect. I'm not suggesting that we should broadcast the details of those events to the world, I'm just saying we should not withhold that information from those who would benefit from hearing our stories. There have been times while writing this blog when I've cringed as I relayed events of my life that previously I thought no one else would ever know about, and trust me, it wasn't done simply as an effort to air my dirty laundry; it's just that I knew there were others who could identify with my stories, if only for the comfort of knowing they weren't alone in their struggles. We all have stories, and as hard as it may seem, there are those out there who need to hear them. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXVII

The man was in dire straits. He found himself stranded on a tiny remote desert island with no hope for survival without a miracle. The only thing he could do was pray, and pray he did. That wasn't hard for him, because he was a believer and he trusted God, knowing the Almighty would come through for him. In just a short while, he heard a familiar sound and he looked up to see two men in a boat coming straight toward him. They told him they had plenty of room for him and welcomed him aboard, only to hear him decline the invitation. "WHAT?!?!!," they yelled in wonder. "Man, you won't survive a week on this island!" The man calmly responded, "You don't understand. I'm gonna be fine. I've prayed for God to save me, so I'll just wait for him to come through for me." The two bewildered men in the boat left without him. Just to make sure his prayers for help were getting through, he prayed one more time. Not long afterward, he looked up to see a helicopter hovering overhead. Then he heard a voice booming over a loud speaker on the helicopter, telling him they were lowering a basket, and all he had to do was climb in, and they would lift him to safety. Again, he declined the offer, using the same line of reasoning he had used with the men in the boat. The helicopter left without him. Then, sure enough, just as the first two men had warned, within five days, he was dead. When he reached Heaven, he questioned God about the outcome of his situation. "God, you let me down. I asked you to save me and you didn't answer my prayer." God replied, "What do you mean I let you down? I sent a boat and a helicopter to save you and you refused the help I sent you both times!" Yes, that story sounds a little ridiculous, and I guess it is, but doesn't that guy sound a lot like we do sometimes? I remember one unemployed man several years ago who was constantly requesting prayer about his financial situation, yet when he was offered a good paying job, he turned it down because the company was non union. Huh!?! I guess maybe he was expecting a check in the mail in an envelope that said, "To Brent, From God." I like the King James Version of Luke 6:38: "Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over shall men give into your bosom." The part that grabs my attention is the part that says, "shall men give into your bosom." If I pray for a promotion on my job, shouldn't my boss have a part to play in the deal? That reminds me of a story my uncle told me one time about when he was working for a car dealership. They had a new van sitting on the showroom floor, and a church group had prayed for God to give them that van. Then, on the day they all showed up to receive their gift, there was a slight problem, since God had not instructed the dealership to let them have that van, and the result was when they insisted on taking the van, they were ordered to leave the showroom. Although he can, God rarely just supernaturally propels us forward. He will answer our prayers, but he most often uses people to do his work, and he also expects us to do our part. I saw a quote a while back that I loved: "What we can't do, God will do; what we can do, he won't do." We have to do our part. If I pray for a job, I must look for a job. If I pray for food, God may supply me with seeds to plant a garden. If I pray for healing, I need to also do what the doctor tells me to do. If I pray for good sales this season, I need to call on my customers and show them my products. If I pray for God to save my kids, I need to take them to church. Failure to do any of these things is like expecting to win the lottery without buying a ticket. Although there is no Bible verse that says, "God helps those who help themselves," there is one that says "....Those who refuse to work will not eat." (2 Thessalonians 3:10) When we pray for help, God will send help....using people in the process. And he doesn't reward laziness. Preston

Thinking Out Loud, Volume DXVI

A few things I've learned from my dogs: *We can grow and thrive on a lot less food than we think. We have two miniature Schnauzers, both weighing less than seventeen pounds, and I think they would eat all day if we kept supplying them with food, but that's not what the veterinarian said to do. One half cup in the morning and a half cup in the evening, and no more. I can't say that we humans would be that much different from the dogs, yet we have access to all the food we want, resulting in us consuming much more than what we really need; and trust me, I'm talking to myself as much as anyone. I also feel that we sometimes try to force our kids to eat more than they need, when we're really just teaching them to overeat. *Life goes so much more smoothly when we learn to forgive and forget. My dogs don't always get their way. For instance, when they get a bath, you can rest assured it is completely against their will. We have learned to give Fontenot his bath first, because when Nellie gets hers first, Fontenot knows he will be next, so he goes and hides under the bed, refusing to come out. Then, as soon as the baths are done and they've had a chance to roll around for a while on the carpet or the sofa, they're both ready to sit in my lap and let me scratch behind their ears for a while. They may not even understand why when they lick me I don't lick them back, but they never give up on me. When Nellie wants a little pinch of my banana and I don't give it to her, I know she's disappointed, but she's always willing to show me some love, whereas we humans may hold a grudge for days or even weeks. *When I'm happy to see someone, I should make sure I let them know. When I have been gone for only a few minutes, my dogs hear the garage door opening when I drive up, and they are waiting at the door when I walk in, making no effort to conceal their pleasure at being in my presence again. There are friends and family I love spending time with, but sometimes I'm afraid that in my effort to be cool, I may neglect letting them know just how thrilled I am to get to spend time with them. What a shame it would be if they left thinking I wasn't too happy to see them. Our dogs haven't learned the art of hiding their feelings, so we know when they act happy to see us, it's for real. Actually, come to think of it, the ONLY time Fontenot is NOT happy to be with me is when he's getting a bath or when we're taking him to the groomer. And even then, when I go to pick him up from the groomer, he's thrilled to see me again. *It doesn't matter how big or how nice my home is. Nellie and Fontenot would be happy living with me in a three story mansion, but they would be equally happy to be living with me in a two room shack down by the river. The size of my bank account or how much I paid for my car means absolutely nothing to them. Just having the assurance that they are loved by us and we are loved by them is all they ask. They are not trying to impress the other dogs at the park with just how fancy their collars or leashes may be, or even what color they are. I feel sure those thoughts never enter their minds; they just want to have fun and when they leave, they want to go home with me. To be honest, we have it made. We've grasped the concept of communicating with written or spoken words; we have the option of becoming highly educated, which gives us the possibility of putting a lot of money into our bank accounts; and we have opposable thumbs, giving us the ability to pick up objects off the ground without using our mouths. However, the real question is, "Are we happier than our dogs?" I'm not too sure about that. Preston