Last week, Terrie and I decided to go see a movie. I never really bought into the whole social distancing, mask thing during Covid. It almost killed the movie theater industry and they are still trying to figure out how to get back to where they were before the bloody pandemic hit. I am relatively sure, when historians write this chapter in the books it will be looked back on as one of the biggest frauds ever forced on the public. Enough about that stuff though – what really inspired me to write today is the movie we went to see. “The Jesus Revolution” is all about revival and how powerful it can be – not only from a wide scale perspective but also on a personal basis.

The Jesus Revolution started in the early 70s. Thinking back on that time in my life, I was very immature, thought I was hot stuff, believed the garage band I played in was someday going to share the stage with Led Zeppelin and had no idea what I would be doing next week let alone next month or next year. I also, ignorantly, rejected most anything to do with faith because I was way too self-righteous and smart to need God. Talk about needing revival in my life!

Around the time I graduated high school word was beginning to get out about a bunch of hippies from California and what was being called the “Jesus Freak” movement. Like most of my buddies I thought the “Jesus Freaks”, were a bunch of losers. In my under-developed thought process I thought they were hippies who finally figured out that Haight Ashbury (the home of the hippy/drug culture) wasn’t quite the nirvana they wanted so they were looking for the next big thing. That next big thing for them turned out to be Jesus. I could not have been more wrong. And yet, the Jesus Freaks were an easy target for ridicule, particularly for those of us who didn’t take time to understand what was really going on. The revival that was starting was looked down on by “religious” people because those long haired, dope smoking hippies couldn’t possibly know who Jesus is and they don’t fit well in the rows of pews and polished floors of our churches. Besides, they might have bugs living in their hair! Despite the attempts by traditional churches to turn them away, the Jesus Freaks movement truly was revival that resulted in untold numbers of young and old people going through a rebirth and giving their lives to Christ.

There were three central characters in the “Jesus Revolution” movie. First, Chuck Smith who is credited with starting the Calvary Chapel church. Chuck was an older pastor, preaching an uninspired message to a lethargic, dwindling congregation when along came the second important figure in the story – Lonnie Frisbee. Lonnie was a participant in the hippy drug culture fostered in the Haight Asbury neighborhood in San Francisco. In the late 60s and throughout the 70s Haight was the recognized incubator for almost anything that was seen as counter-culture in the U.S. Like many of us, Lonnie was searching for nirvana and finally discovered he was never going to fill that void in his soul until he found Jesus. Talk about a revival! After learning the truth Lonnie was so excited about it, he knew he had to share it with as many people as possible. Finally there was Greg Laurie, a young man whose shirt sleeve kept getting longer and longer as God kept tugging on it. Greg did everything he could to ignore that constant pull but also thought if he pretended to accept God it would help him with the girl he was pursuing. After getting kicked to the curb due to his obvious faking, Greg went through a revival of his own, accepted the only real solution to his struggles was to give his life to Jesus and eventually accepted Chuck Smith’s invitation to pastor a Calvary Chapel in southern California. Greg actually had a real influence on my life – long before I learned more about him in The Jesus Revolution. He was a speaker at the Promise Keepers conference I attended in Boulder, Colorado in 1992. I was a little bit like the younger Greg at the time because despite the constant pull I felt I did my best to ignore God and thought I could handle everything on my own. After hearing Greg’s testimony in addition to others that evening I knew it was time to get on my knees, ask for God’s forgiveness, embrace the truth and freedom of the Gospel and begin my own revival. In a more tangential way, Greg also influenced me later in my faith walk. We attended a Calvary Chapel church for several years and the Pastor, Gino Geraci, was a contemporary of Greg Laurie. Gino was one of the long haired hippies who became part of the Jesus Revolution and would baptize people in the ocean along with Chuck Smith and Greg Laurie. Today, Gino is one of the best Bible teachers I have ever heard.

By now you are asking, so what’s his point this time? I am not going to go through all the social and political stuff we all know about. Anyone who had been on this planet for any length of time can identify so many areas where our “great society” has deteriorated and totally lost its way. But this post isn’t an indictment of how we got to where we are at today. Instead, we should be excited that there is a path out – it’s called “revival.” In an article published on June 1, 2021 in the magazine, “Decision, the Evangelical Voice for Today,” Billy Graham talked about the need for revival and he asked the question, “Will revival come in our time?” He goes on to say, “We may not be in the midst of what theologians term a revival. But still, the fires of revival are everywhere. The promise of revival is definite. The need of revival is obvious. From the sincere hearts of Christians everywhere this prayer ascends to the throne of God: “Will You not revive us again, that Your people may rejoice in You?” (Psalm 85:6). 

What will a revival result in? According to Billy Graham, the following: “A spiritual awakening will create moral stamina and consciousness, bring back the sanctity of the home, make marriage an institution instead of an experiment, strengthen the bulwarks of freedom and bring integrity back to people.” How good does that sound? Confirm the need to conduct ourselves in a moral fashion? Re-establish and strengthen the institution of marriage between a man and a woman? Renew and enforce the principals of freedom established by our country’s founding fathers, and reminding us of the human equity created through integrity? Wow, sign me up.

The revival I envision will not come from us sitting around, looking at each other, waiting for someone else to take the lead. The revival I envision does not need to be complicated, onerous or sacrificial. The revival I envision must begin with each of us committing to a course of action, action that is realistic, action that is rooted in past success rather than speculation about the future, action that is encouraging, action that sets an example for others, action that does not compromise Biblical principals, action that is based on the premise that the only solution to the degradation we are experiencing is a complete submittal to God without restrictions or qualifications. The revival we need will be exciting, it will be energizing, it will bring trust and stability back into our lives.

Are you a Lonnie Frisbee? Are you ready for revival? Are you a Chuck Smith who can ignore the criticism of The Pharisees in your life? Or maybe you are a Greg Laurie with a void in your gut that can only be filled by turning your life over to Christ and trusting he is supporting you every step of the way. It is time to stop sitting on our hands. We have allowed ourselves to be pressured to abandon what we believe and adopt a new, false narrative generated by a very vocal minority of lost people. Join me. We have nothing to fear and God, in His word, continually reminds us of that. It is time. We need it. We can start it. It will spread. Revival!

Today in The Denver Post there was an article about the “Newsies” of the past. Newsies were newspaper delivery kids and I was one of them.

Growing up, my musical instrument of choice was the organ. You rarely see them anymore outside of traditional churches, classic rock bands or some ballparks. Back in the day, lots of homes would have one in the living room. There were also several brands such as Wurlitzer, Hammond, Baldwin and Lowry. If you went to a home show, each of those brands would have large displays with very well dressed salespeople hawking the qualities of their brand. Organs were popular and were featured on televised music shows. I can remember going to my grandparents house on Saturday night and watching Bob Ralston play the organ on the weekly Lawrence Welk music and dancing show.

My interest in music began to wane when I reached 8th grade. There were other things that demanded my time and attention: sports, hanging out at the park with buddies and of course girls. Recognizing my declining interest in taking my musical abilities further and not wanting to waste all the money he had spent on weekly organ lessons my Dad decided to try to pump a little energy back into my musical interests. He had heard a new band named The Doors and their break out hit, “Light My Fire.” The song featured the organ played by a guy named Ray Manzarek. My Dad liked it and actually suggested I should look into joining a rock band. There were two problems. First, I was only 13 years old. Second, to be an organist in a rock band one needed a portable organ complete with an amplifier. There weren’t a lot of portable organs on the market at the time – they were just becoming a “thing.” Thanks to groups like The Doors and Iron Butterfly, bands were starting to add the organ to the normal mix of guitars. For someone who played the organ, being able to execute the organ solos in “Light My Fire” and “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” (Iron Butterfly) was a requirement to join any “garage band” at the time. I learned both those solos by listening to them repeatedly and then trying to duplicate them on my console Baldwin organ, in my parents living room. That qualified me to audition for a place in a band but I still had the issue of not having a portable organ. Again, my Dad stepped to the rescue and suggested I should get a paper route to start earning the money to buy the Farfisa compact organ I had my eye on.

Being a “Newsie” was a commitment. There were two papers in Albuquerque at the time. The “Journal” was the morning paper and was always on the door step by 7:00 AM. The “Tribune” was the afternoon paper and arrived around 4:00 PM. There was a third option, The Sunday Denver Post. I have no idea why that paper had a large following in Albuquerque, New Mexico – maybe because Denver was the closest “big” city. The home delivery cost was something like 50 cents per week. Being a Denver Post carrier involved three primary job requirements. First, once per month, the distribution manager would pick you up, usually early in the evening, and drive you and a few other carriers to a neighborhood where he would drop you off after assigning you a few blocks of houses to go door to door in an attempt to sell more subscriptions. 8:00 PM was the normally accepted time when you had to stop knocking on peoples doors. If you went much later then that you could expect more scornful responses than normal. The manager would pick you up at an assigned place and take you home. The carrier who sold the most subscriptions that evening would get a little bonus – usually a couple of dollars. Can you imagine letting one of your kids do that kind of thing in today’s world? You would be in jail for child abuse.

The second job requirement was making the actual deliveries on Sunday morning. I had been “given” two routes totaling 75 papers. The routine was, the papers would be dropped by my parents front door around 4:30 in the morning, every Sunday. There would be two stacks – one was the newspaper itself and the other was the inserts complete with the “Funnies” section. I would have to stuff the inserts into the center of the paper and then restack them. The finished paper was too thick to roll so we would pile them in the back seat of my Dad’s Volkswagen beetle and be on the road by 5:30 AM. The Denver Post would not allow the carriers to throw the papers on the driveway, the way the Journal and Tribune were delivered. Instead we were required to run the paper up to the front door and drop it there. My Dad would drive slowly down the street with a list of the subscriber addresses, as I ran down the street. He would stop in front of the designated address, I would reach in, grab a paper out of the back seat, make the drop and race to the next house. Our goal was to be finished no later than 7:00 AM so we could get home, wash the newsprint off our hands, have some breakfast and make it to church for the 8:00 service.

The final piece of the job was “collections.” In 1967 there were no on-line payment options. No one used credit cards and you never prepaid for goods or services. The Denver Post billed me monthly for the number of papers I was responsible for and it was up to me to collect the monthly subscription fee from my customers. Again – my father was there to help. On a couple of nights each month we would again drive my route so I could knock on doors in an effort to collect what they owed me for their paper. Everything was cash so I carried a small bank bag with a couple of dollars and some coins so I could make change if necessary. We tried to do collections on the same night every month so people would expect me, just like you expect your public service bills around the same time each month. There were always a few homes where people were gone or maybe knew it was me and wouldn’t answer the door. We would make a second trip to those homes in hopes of making those collections and in most cases it worked out. Collections were really important because my “profit” was the difference between the cost of my papers and what I collected each month. That profit was going to buy me that Farfisa organ I saw at Ridley Music in downtown Albuquerque. I could then quit the paper route and start working on becoming the rock star I knew I was destined to be.

Looking back on it now, becoming a Newsie isn’t the real story. The real story is about the dedication of my father and the life lessons he taught me. First, he taught me responsibility by encouraging me to take on the paper route. I was accountable to my distribution manager and to my customers. Failure to take responsibility for all phases of the job would result in me losing the route and the dream of the Farfisa compact organ would go crashing down. Second, my Dad was teaching me about dealing with people. It wasn’t easy to be a 13 year old, knocking on strangers doors, trying to sell them something they didn’t know they needed and then going back to their door each month to ask them to pay for it. Of course there were some very kind people, some of which would actually tip me an extra 25 cents. There were ladies who would greet me at the door with a warm homemade cookie or on a cold evening invite me in for a cup of hot chocolate. There were also a lot or doors slammed in my face, scary dogs that started barking at my approach, and a few big kids out to bully “the paper boy.” The next thing my Father was teaching me was trust. He trusted me to work hard, take care of my customers and be responsible to my boss. Through his trust of me he also taught me how to deal with people of all sorts. Those people included the ones that slammed the door in my face and the ones that would not answer the door because they didn’t want to pay me the $2.00 they owed me. Fortunately I also learned to appreciate the customers who paid every month, without making it hard for me. They were the people who would answer the door with a smile on their face and thank me for my good service. He also taught me how to enjoy the personal satisfaction and rewards of working hard and doing the job right. I will always remember the feeling of accomplishment I had when I plunked down a wad of cash on the counter at the Ridley Music Store and walked out the door lugging that new Farfisa compact organ and my new amplifier.

The most important thing my Dad taught me though wasn’t about earning money or how to deal with people. The most important thing my Dad taught me was about being a Dad. He showed me his love for me by being a gentle but stern guide. He would have let me fail but showed so much confidence in me he knew I could never allow myself to let him down. I never felt like he was forcing me to do anything. He trusted me and strengthened and matured me through his trust. He was guiding me, he was teaching me, he was allowing me to learn by watching him and he was pointing me toward becoming a man. He was doing everything he could to set me up for success as an adult.

I had a lot of fun with that Farifisa organ, playing in various rock groups all the way through high school and into my first couple of years of college. The various bands I was in played at high school proms, community center dances, 3.2 beer halls, the NCO club at the Air Force base and an occasional bar. We also performed at small town grange halls, and at raves in farmers barns where we would sleep outside in tents after the gig. It wasn’t exactly the thing rock stars did. The closest I ever got to stardom was the jobs we would play with a Colorado band named “Sugar Loaf.” They were a one hit wonder with a song named “Green Eyed Lady” (it still gets some air time on classic rock stations.) They liked playing with us because we made them look really good!

Much to Terrie’s chagrin that Farfisa organ still sits in our basement – it hasn’t been played in almost 50 years but is an important reminder of my father and what he did for me. Is it time to ask yourself, will my children have a Farfisa in their basement 50 years from now? If we do our job as fathers right – the answer will be yes.

Fred Astaire, an iconic American entertainer once said, “the hardest job kids face today is learning good manners without seeing any.”

Wikipedia defines etiquette as follows: Etiquette (/ˈɛtikɛt, -kɪt/) is the set of conventional rules of personal behaviour in polite society, usually in the form of an ethical code that delineates the expected and accepted social behaviours that accord with the conventions and normsobserved by a society, a social class, or a social group. In modern English usage, the French word étiquette(French: [etikɛt]; lit. ’label, tag, memo, etc.’) dates from the year 1750.^[2]

The Cambridge Dictionary defines manners as: ways of behaving toward people, especially ways that are socially correct and show respect for their comfort and their feelings: 

It’s 1967, I am 13 years old, living in Albuquerque, New Mexico, anticipating my next big jump toward adulthood when I become a stud 9th grader at Jefferson Junior High. The big event is only a few short months away. Life is good. I survived seventh and eighth grades, I have the perfect California style “sosh” haircut, I am making a solid showing at third base for my little league baseball team, I have one of the fastest slot cars on the track (look it up, a lot funner than video games) and I just gave my engraved ID bracelet (big thing back then) to my first steady girlfriend – Pam. Man, I am killing it! And then an announcement that brought everything crashing down, all at the same time. From my mother, “It is time you go to cotillion.” Wait, what? Cotillion? Isn’t that something girls go to? Whoa, whoa, whoa, cotillion? You mean those classes that turn you into a sissy? Why do I need to learn how to set a table properly or how to dance a waltz or how to use proper terms like, “yes ma’am”, “no sir”, “please pass the pepper”, or why does any man need to know how to hold the door for a lady? I already know my manners, sort of. I watch how John Wayne, Eddie Haskell and Ben Cartwright do things on TV – that’s all I need isn’t it? Pleading my case did absolutely no good. She had already signed me up for the classes at my dad’s country club and I was going, like it or not. It would be six weeks of complete embarrassment, death two hours at a time. I was told learning proper etiquette and manners would serve me well when I enter adulthood and start a career and a family. All I could think about was if my buddies found out I would be sitting the bench in baseball, probably get kicked off the football team, they would make fun of me in front of Pam and I would be deemed unworthy to wear my black Converse Chuck Taylors. This was a true disaster movie and I am playing the lead role!

That was over 50 years ago and the experience is still seared into my brain like someone used a “cotillion” branding iron on me. I will never forget the first time I had to ask one of the girls to dance with me. I surveyed the room in a effort to assess the level of talent in attendance. Naturally, given the circumstances there were three times as many girls as there were boys. Finally picking out the one that appeared to be the cutest of the group I approached her with all the charm and sachet a 13 year old big man on campus could muster and asked her if she wanted to dance. As I stood in front of her chair, hands stuffed as deep as possible in my trouser pockets she began to rise out of her seat. She arose and then she continued to rise, you see, she was a good 6″ taller than me. Oops, I had become enamored with the cute face and hair and forgot to check out anything else – like the length of her legs. So there we were, “long tall Sally” and “Doug the fire plug” (as I had come to be known), facing each other up and down, trying to figure out the least awkward way to assume the proper dance hold and then execute a 3:4 waltz. I had scouted out potential escape routes in case things got really bad and it was about time to test one of them out. The first one was an emergency trip to the restroom. It seemed like a reasonable way out – declare the emergency just as the music begins, make sure the music has stopped, indicating the dance is over before returning, then nonchalantly make my way back to my chair having escaped the dance. The only problem was, when the instructor noticed me leaving the room, she stopped the music and used the time as a teaching moment, explaining how to properly ask permission to excuse one’s self from an activity and how to properly re-enter a room and re-engage one’s dance partner. Talking about “failure to launch.” Not only did I not avoid the dancing but I had also become an example used for a teaching moment!

I could go on and on about the six weeks of hell that was cotillion classes but the truth be told, the long term impact has been nothing but positive. I am a firm believer that manners and etiquette are a required component for the establishment and maintenance of a civilized society. My mother’s insistence that I attend cotillion classes was an important step toward insuring my success as an adult. Learning proper etiquette and manners set me up to conduct myself properly in both business and social environments. It sounds trivial, but just knowing the correct way to work your way through the silverware surrounding your plate and which bread plate and water glass are yours at a business dinner can be a big deal. Standing for a lady when she leaves the table or knowing how to help her be seated, which direction to pass plates, how to break and butter a dinner roll and knowing it is not mannerly to wave across a room to acknowledge an acquaintance are all examples of rules of etiquette that can set you up for success or failure.

In today’s world, etiquette and manners have been run over by the imagined need to be brash and self-promoting. The “it’s all about me” movement, largely promoted through social media, overshadows any consideration of etiquette and manners. “Politeness” is a forgotten virtue. There are small indications of this, everywhere you look. When I walk into a nice restaurant and see a guy sitting at a table with his golf cap on, my first thought is, he must be either an arrogant slob or completely ignorant of proper manners. Hey, I know not everyone had the benefit of going to cotillion, but just having the moxie to make a few observations about proper behavior can help you figure out the basics. Being a good an example for our kids also has a lot to do with it. I can tell you from experience, when I went out with my parents, my hat stayed in the car. I never was allowed to wear a hat indoors, it was simply bad manners. I once heard Jack Vickers, the founder and owner of The Golf Club at Castle Pines admonish a member who had his hat on in the club house saying, “I have yet to experience rain in this clubhouse. Hats are not necessary. Please remove yours or go back outside.” If I was wearing a hat when introduced to a lady, no matter where I was at, and I did not remove it before acknowledging her, I could expect a nice firm slap on the back of my head delivered intentionally by my dad. Opening the car door for a date or holding the door at the store so a lady could enter first were other expected behaviors. Good manners also necessitated the use of good language. Slang words were forbidden and the use of any swear words would result in indefinite “grounding.” I was always told my choice of words was a clear indicator of character. Dropping an f-bomb would be observed as low class, dirty minded and in some circles result in classifying the offender as a deviant for life. Today, some men and women use the word two or three times in a sentence without apologies. Using the Lord’s name in vain was also a big no no. That slip up could actually result in one’s mouth being washed out (literally) with soap. At the very least a few hours isolated in my bedroom, missing some fun with my friends, was the punishment for lack of discretion in my choice of words.

Etiquette and manners are also indicative of your relationship with God. It is very simple, how can you display love for your spouse, love for your children, love for your friends, love for your country and most importantly love for your Lord if you are self indulging, disrespectful, unethical, or impolite? In Colossians 1:10 The Bible instructs us “to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him.” In Titus 3:2 it says, “to speak evil of no one and to avoid quarreling, to be gentle and to show perfect courtesy of all people.” You see, to ignore manners and etiquette is offensive to God.

So on this Thanksgiving Day, 2022, my prayer for you and for our world is that we all show our friends, our business associates, people we have never met and our families the courtesy of good etiquette and manners. I am confident you will spend part of today telling people you care about how thankful you are for them. Show them your thankfulness by affording them the opportunity to observe your reliance on etiquette and manners in everything you do, not just on holidays but every day. Set an example for your children and grandchildren. I promise you they pay attention to the way you conduct yourself around others and showing them the importance of etiquette and manners will set them up for future success. It’s all in your hands and by-the-way, your bread plate is always on the left!

My Dad and Mom had a small, oval screen (19″ diagonal if I remember right), black and white TV. My father had always wanted to buy one of those new, color TVs. It would be a 25″ diagonal set, heck, you had to have one so you could watch the Rose Bowl Parade in color. They came in a cabinet the size of a sofa. Every time he was ready to pull the trigger on that new TV “set”, something would happen that would divert those saved TV set funds to a more immediate need. So we made the black and white box work. Rabbit ears antenna on top, two black dials on the front. One was for the volume of that little, tiny speaker behind the gold mesh fabric and the other was the tuner knob; 13 channels to be exact. About once every six months you would make a trip to the grocery store or local Rexall drugstore to check the vacuum tubes because the “TV set” wasn’t working properly so it had to be one of those tubes. You would take all the tubes out of the TV, take them to be tested, one at a time, replace the ones that were blown and hope everything worked again. Heaven forbid the problem was the “picture tube.” Families actually dissolved over failed picture tubes. Having your picture tube go out was a disaster of Biblical proportions.

I got a little off track there but it is important for you to have a visual idea of what technology in the 60s was like and how families would gather around their TV set in the evenings. Everyone had their favorite shows. Sunday night of course was The Ed Sullivan show, direct from the Ed Sullivan theater in New York City. It was an hour long variety show featuring the best of the entertainment world from that era. Comedians like Shecky Greene and Buddy Hackett, singers such as Tony Bennett, Nat King Cole and Gisele MacKenzie, musicians like Al Hurt and Buddy Rich. Hey, I know you aren’t old enough to remember those names but look them up, they were the entertainment icons of that era. The Ed Sullivan show also featured the introduction of The Fab Four, aka The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Paul Revere and The Raiders and The Mommas and The Papas among numerous other musical groups that went on to world wide fame. The other staple in our house was Wide World of Sports. Saturday afternoons were all about listening to the likes of Jim McKay, Howard Cosell, Keith Jackson, Chris Schenkel and Frank Gifford talk about “spanning the globe to bring you the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.”

The “tube” was one of two ways we got the news. First was through newspapers but as technology improved more people relied on television. Families would gather around the TV in the evenings, after supper, after homework was completed, after any daily chores were finished up and approved, then it was ok to watch a little TV. From time to time there might be a little stress over who’s favorite program everyone had to watch because for us, there was only one television in the house. Looking back on it, that was a good thing. Families actually spent time together, gathered around that “tube.” There were times when that family time around the TV was spent watching tense, historical events. I can remember the hours we spent in the evenings watching as the Cuban Missile Crisis unfolded in front of us. Also in the 60s we witnessed the assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King. Fortunately the 60s finished off on a positive note when Neil Armstrong uttered the famous words, “that’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind” as he was the first human to step foot on the moon. Yes, technology had advanced enough to allow video to be beamed back from the moon and we watched in black and white as the lunar lander blasted off to begin the journey back to earth.

Oh, and one more thing about video technology of yesteryear. We had 5 channels to chose from. 3 were the major networks, ABC, NBC and CBS. Then there was one local station and PBS which we knew as the education channel so we didn’t watch it! The channel dial on the tv set had 13 positions on it – that was it. In the late 60s and early 70s TVs started coming out with UHF channel dials. The problem was, most cities had no UHF stations and if there was one you needed a separate antenna to capture the signal. Cable TV was a rumor until the mid 70s and because the infrastructure didn’t exist only new neighborhoods were getting it.

So I’m sure you are wondering why I am dragging you through all this yesteryear stuff. Things have changed, aren’t we lucky. Our phones and iPads serve as mini televisions, we can watch them any time we want. No negotiating over what shows to watch needed. We get news every minute of every day. Heck, we can even chose our source of news making sure it aligns with our ideology. Televisions themselves are wafer thin, have no tubes and rarely break down. Rabbit ear antennas? Believe it or not you can still buy them on Amazon but today’s versions collect HD signals.

Let me see if I can tie all this together. When I was growing up, video technology was a limited resource that for most American families was a central rallying point. TV time by yourself was controlled and pretty limited. If the school grades weren’t up to expectations, the TV was off limits. If home chores weren’t done on time and satisfactorily, no TV time for you. If my sister and I got into an argument, TV time might be used to encourage a truce. Things are so different today. I don’t believe it is all bad but our methods of consuming video entertainment have change dramatically. Families rarely sit down and have a meal together, let alone scheduling designated time together around the television. News, weather, social content and financial news are all available at our finger tips, 24hours a day, seven days a week. The real danger, as I see it, is parents don’t know what their kids are watching which means they also do not have the opportunity to talk about the information they are absorbing. I am not advocating total censorship but I do believe parents should use their personal life experience to help their children discern what is true and what is garbage. Children need their parents to help shape their moral compass and more importantly to open their minds to the truth about the one living God. So much of the information they get from the media, social and traditional, is built on agendas that support untruths and are designed to draw their attention away from the saving grace of Jesus.

My encouragement to you – if you aren’t already doing it, start having at least one family night a week. It really doesn’t matter what you do, just be intentional about making it a complete family event. Make it routine so everyone knows to schedule around it. Use the time to find out what is going on in your kids lives – away from home. Let them ask you the same sort of questions. Use your life experience to influence what they are listening to, who they are paying attention to, what is shaping their view of life in general. Whatever you do, don’t leave Jesus out of the dialogue. So much of our moral decay and the problems we see in our society today can be tied directly to abandoning God and our reluctance to share our faith, not only with our family but also with our friends. So much of what we see on “the tube” these days is structured to take our focus off of him.

My parents were great at guiding me and my sister through the information we consumed. Granted, the family TV set was the primary source but the time we spent around it as a family was invaluable and so important to our growth and development into the adults we are today. You get only one chance – each passing year is either time lost or will result in real gains that will last a lifetime and hopefully for generations. Don’t tube it when it comes to your kids.

Sunday June 19, 2022 was an epic day for me. First, I celebrated the 46th anniversary of my marriage to an incredible woman. In today’s world of throw away marriages, 46 years is very unusual and I get asked all the time, “what is your secret?” Well, when looking for an anniversary card I may have stumbled across the secret – mind you, 46 years down the road. The card I selected speaks about “looking in the same direction.” Sounds simple enough but how many times have I really thought about the success of our marriage in those terms? Oh, I know I have made statements about the two of us “being on the same page” or being “joined at the hip” but I have never considered the need to be “looking in the same direction.” That is what we have done for 46 years without really thinking about it and it is what we continue to do as we aim to finish well. It isn’t easy and cannot be done without first looking to the Father for guidance. Without God’s blessing we are in for a rough time of it. For those of you who have followed this blog for any amount of time you know my theme for it is “God, Love, Life, Lessons” and it is my desire to share my life experiences with you to hopefully help you avoid the mistakes I have made and to maybe share some wisdom gleaned from stubbing my toe repeatedly during my 68 years on this earth. So here is my first piece of wisdom for this post, if you are married, no matter how long you have been married, stop for a minute and ask yourself a very simple question. “Are we looking in the same direction and if not how can we correct it?” Looking back on our 46 years together, we weren’t always looking in the same direction, almost always due to my stubbornness, my refusal to listen, my selfishness, my self-importance. Those were the times when we struggled. Those were the times I was not a good husband, father or leader of my business. It wasn’t until I gave my life to the Lord that I began to realize how the mistakes I made, primarily from looking in a different direction than Terrie, impacted the people I loved the most, specifically my wife and sons. When I finally realized the need to humble myself and align my vision with Terrie, it was almost too late. Without her love, patience and guidance I would have never opened my eyes to see how I was failing her and our family. Don’t let that happen to you. Always, always, take time to ask yourself, “are we looking in the same direction?” Then ask your wife or husband the same question. If you aren’t aligned, it’s time to figure out why and start making some mid-course corrections. I want to emphasize the “looking in the same direction” is not a fail safe plan. What I have learned over 46 years is, unless you first look to God to learn the proper direction to look toward, you might be looking together down the wrong path

But there is another reason why June 19th was an “epic” day for me. It was Father’s Day and I had the privilege of watching my sons celebrate Father’s Day with their children. Part of our celebration involved attending church. Our church works through themed series based on specific subjects and the service was the last in a series titled “When You Know You Know” and of course the emphasis was on fathers. One of the members of the Pastoral staff, Jesse DeYoung, delivered the message and knocked it out of the park. In today’s world, it is popular to blame just about every problem associated with culture, economics, politics, religion, etc., etc., on men. We are villinized, probably for good reason in many cases. Many times we have ignored our duty to lead and encourage our children. Instead, when we do take time to be with them, we frustrate them and fail to lift them up. In Ephesians 6:4 the Bible says, “Fathers, do not exasperate your children, instead bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.”

Some of the criticism aimed at men and Fathers in particular is self-fulfilling. We have heard it so many times we believe it ourselves. Well it’s time we change the narrative and it begins with how we father our children. Pastor DeYoung laid it all out by admonishing fathers to bless their children constantly. His road map for doing that involves four steps. First is Action. Do something with your children. Show them you care by giving them your time. It doesn’t always need to be hours and hours of time. In the Podcast, “Dad Tired’, Jarred Lopez talks about how these times of action can be snippets of 15 seconds or less. It can be a pat on the shoulder, simply saying something positive in support of them, a nod of approval. Next is affirmation. Tell them you are proud of them. Show them you support them. Affirmation is followed by vision. Paint a picture for them of what their life can be like based on what you see in them and what you see God has created them to be. Encourage them to find their passion and pursue it. Focus on their attributes and what you see is possible for them. The last step is prayer. Prayer to thank God for your children and for their mother. Prayer to ask God to show you the path to being the father He wants you to be. Prayer that your children will accept your blessings and that they get their identity from what you say is true about how God has created them. Blessing your children in this way will have an incredible, positive impact as they grow into adults. Blessing your children this way will have generational impact as you set the table for them to recognize the need to do the same with their children.

As I have mentioned several times in this blog, I was blessed with a wonderful, loving father. Yes, he spent the majority of the day at work and yes, he spent time with his buddies on the golf course on the weekends. However, he always found time to bless us even though he probably didn’t think about it in those terms. Being a great father was in his nature and 62 years of marriage to my mother proved it. He provided a enviable model for me to follow and even though I didn’t see it when I first became a Dad, thanks to a patient, nurturing wife I finally began to realize what being a father is really all about. I can only hope that despite my early failures, at the end of my time here on earth my sons will say I blessed them the way my father blessed me and in the way Jesse laid out in his address.

So it’s time men. It’s time to change the narrative. It’s time to shut down the dribble coming out of the mouths of those who would denigrate the role God created men to fill. It’s time to make sure you are looking in the same direction as your wife. It’s time to follow those four steps and make blessing your children a priority. It’s time to show the world that Godly, strong, manly men still exist and that those men are great fathers. Despite what the world would have you believe, being a real man and more importantly a real father and husband is honorable, it is admirable and it is what God created you to be. We are warriors, we are sustainers, we are defenders, we are hunters, we are fathers, we are Promise Keepers, we are men and that is good!

Looking back on my life there are so many instances where a little patience on my part could have gone a long way. I can tell you so many stories where a little patience would have served me much better than the way I handled certain situations. Part of my problem stems from my tendency to live in the future instead of staying patient and staying in the moment. My first request of you, don’t live in the future, stay in the present and enjoy every moment of it. Being inpatient and jumping ahead can only leave a void in your life experience that you can never fill – you missed the opportunity.

The Bible talks about virtues in terms of how they intertwine with sin. It identifies the seven deadly sins as pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath and sloth (laziness.) It then contrasts those sins with the seven Biblical virtues, humility, charity, chastity, gratitude, temperance, patience and diligence. It is easy to see how they counteract each other. You can’t be proud and humble at the same time. Gluttony deflects gratitude. Charity will always triumph over greed and practicing temperance will prevent gluttony.

Today I want to explore patience. The whole idea for this post came to me as I waited on the phone, for what seemed like an unreasonable amount of time, to get an answer about a situation revolving around my health insurance. I had made two calls to the customer service department, both of which ended with a quick, short, out of the book answer to my question. It seemed as though the customer service representatives were inpatient and simply wanted to get rid of me. Being the inpatient person I am and not being satisfied with the answer I was given, I called again. This time the call was answered by a man I guessed was older than the two previous representatives, a man who would earnestly work on my behalf. After explaining the situation, the gentleman went to work, trying to negotiate his way through the labyrinth of administration at the insurance company. After the first 30 minutes my patience was running thin. I could not believe it was taking so long but that was just the start of things. An hour into the phone call, “Dennis”, told me he would need to put me on hold for a few minutes while he contacted another department in the company to get a clarification. After three attempts to reach the needed department, over about 30 minutes, Dennis returned to the phone, apologized for the lengthy delay and said he would need to place me on hold again. At this point the call was going past two hours! The temperature in the room was rising with the heat coming out of the top of my head. I was ready to explode. It was one of those situations when I had a little devil sitting on my right shoulder telling me to seize the moment, take control, show them who is important and who they answer to. Don’t put up with these delays. Make your demands now, regardless of how you make the customer service rep feel. However, sitting on my left shoulder was a little angel. She kept whispering in my ear, “patience, patience, patience, he is working hard to try to help you. Tell the customer service rep you appreciate everything he is doing to resolve your issue.” Funny thing, as I considered her plea for patience, the top of my head started to cool off, I released the strangle grip I had on my phone, and I realized that blowing up would not get me an answer. This guy probably gets blasted all day long by inpatient people and jumping on the pile would serve absolutely no purpose. Losing patience rarely pays dividends.

Now, looking back at the whole series of events leading up to that phone call I am convinced God is leading me through a lesson on patience. It’s not like He is picking on me or being mean to me. God isn’t mean, He isn’t vengeful and despite what some churches preach He doesn’t hate us for our screwups. Why on earth would he send His son, Jesus, to save us if he hated us? He will however use our self-created circumstances to show us the way back to the life He wants for us rather than allowing us to stay on a path that will not end well. He wants us to lead a really full life, a life filled with adventure, love, freedom, relationships, beauty and with the knowledge that He loves us more than we can possibly understand. I now realize, this whole injury thing is going to give me time to re-evaluate what I have been doing and where I am going from here. It is all about patience because given the recovery period I am facing becoming inpatient, not rehabilitating earnestly and not following the doctors orders will only lead to an even longer and more difficult recovery period. When I was younger I would not have done well because everything was about being in control, never slowing down, literally foaming at the mouth in my desire to reach the next rung on the ladder. This time I have no choice but to be patient, there is no option for fast forwarding through the recovery period. If I don’t learn about patience through this experience I am hopeless. I have no choice but to live in the moment and make the best of the opportunity it will present.

In Proverbs 15:18 the Bible says, A hot-tempered man stirs up strife, but he who is slow to anger (patient) quiets contention. St. Cyprian of Carthage, an important early Christian writer said it this way, “Patience makes men humble in prosperity, brave in adversity, meek in the face of injuries and insults.” Patience is a virtue worth pursuing and learning the value of patience will serve you in every pursuit you embrace. Don’t be like me, make patience a part of your countenance. It will strengthen your family relationships, improve your performance in the work place, positively impact your friends, improve your health and outlook on life and most importantly it will draw you closer to God because you will be able to patiently listen to what He wants your life to be. There are no losers in the pursuit and practice of patience.

One of the outcomes of the Covid pandemic has been the explosion of “binge watching” streaming television series. The format of most of these shows evolved from day time “soap operas” combined with the structure of more recently conceived “reality shows” all rolled into themes running from the drug peddling sub-culture of “Breaking Bad” and “El Chapo” to the cringe worthy disfunction of the family in “Ozark” and whacky weirdness of “Tiger King.” For me, one of the most intriguing of these shows has been “Yellowstone.” It takes me back to when I was really young and wanted in the worst way to be a cowboy with my own ranch. Cowboys were my heroes. Guys like Wyatt Earp, The Rifleman (Chuck Connors), Matt Dillon in Gunsmoke (James Arness) , Ben Cartwright (Lorne Green in Bonanza), Dan Blocker with his “10 gallon cowboy hat” (aka Hoss), Gene Autry (known as Hollywoods singing cowboy) and of course the iconic Roy Rodgers. You have probably noticed a pattern here – they are all “TV” cowboys, not the real thing. I had no idea the work, dedication and sacrifice it takes to be a real cowboy or a real rancher. One of the best places to see real cowboys is at the state fair, rodeo or stock show and every time I went it increased that inner desire.

Growing up in Albuquerque, New Mexico was what most would call a “mixed bag” of experiences. I can remember people asking my Dad if he ever considered moving back to the United States. They honestly didn’t know that New Mexico was a state! It became a state on January 6, 1912 but somehow people had missed that. New Mexico had a lot of pluses including being a cultural melting pot. There was a strong Native American influence along with an equally important Hispanic element. Then there was everyone else, all the “immigrants” to New Mexico. The state nickname is “Land of Enchantment” and it is a perfect description for a state that is rich in cultural history and diversity along with an ever-changing landscape as one travels across it from north to south and east to west.

Part of that cultural history revolved around the annual New Mexico State Fair which was held in Albuquerque every September. I loved the fair and anticipating opening day was not unlike the days leading up to Christmas or a birthday. The fair was held on dedicated grounds on the east side of the city. I knew the start of the fair was close when I could see the midway rides going up on the south side of the grounds and the banners started flying on top of the walls surrounding the grounds. It was a large property and included a thoroughbred horse racing track, an enclosed rodeo arena, the livestock pens and streets lined with buildings where competitions of all sorts were displayed. Those competitions included baked goods, intricate bead and needle work, leather work and a wide assortment of arts and crafts. They represented the pastimes and passions of people who lived on ranches and farms throughout the state. The winning entries were adorned with red, white or blue ribbons (I always wondered how a guy could be so lucky as to be a judge of the cookie, cake and pie competitions.) Main Street which ran north to south was lined with small permanent structures that during fair time served as kiosks for vendors of homemade food treats that represented the various cultures that make up New Mexico. You could walk along the four or five blocks and enjoy local treats like Indian fry bread, Frito pie, red or green chile, ice cream made from whole milk straight from a farm, roasted corn on the cob, it went on and on. Chile Ristras (strings and wreaths made from dried chile pods) hung everywhere, emitting their incredible aroma. The fair had a taste, it had a smell and it had a sound that were all distinct and all said it was “fair time.”

The fair was considered so important that schools actually had “fair days” when they would bus classes to the fairgrounds to spend an entire day there. Somehow, I would always figure out a way to get to the fair two or three times during its run. I would go once with my school, try to talk my grandparents into taking me once and then at least one time with my parents. A really good “fair year” included tickets to a rodeo performance at Tingley Colosseum. I could not get enough of the rodeo. From the opening national anthem, usually sung by “The Sons of the Pioneers,” to the final bull ride, I would be on the edge of my seat cheering on the bucking horse and bull riders, ropers, barrel racers, and the brave and funny rodeo clowns who were responsible for facing down the Brahma Bulls after they had thrown their rider. The best year ever was the year the Grand Marshall of the rodeo was Roy Rodgers accompanied by his wife, Dale Evans. He was there with his palomino horse Trigger and his trusty side kick Gabby Hayes who brought his famous jeep, Nellybelle. I will never forget standing on the rail above the arena floor with hundreds of other kids, and shaking Roy Rodgers and Dale Evans hands as they circled the arena on their horses to the sound of the Sons of the Pioneers singing “Ghost Riders in the Sky” and “Tumbling Tumbleweeds.” Roy was decked out in all his western finery including his intricately tooled leather chaps, spurs, yoked shirt, silver belly hat and holstered six shooters on each side. He sat atop Trigger in a beautifully crafted saddle, lined with silver, matching the bridle framing the horses head. Could there be anything more American? A state fair, rodeo and Roy Rodgers! Sadly today, if you named your horse “Trigger” you would be labeled a gangster and ostracized by society. Trust me, Roy Rodgers was as far from being a gangster as Mother Theresa. Roy Rodgers was wholesome, as American as apple pie and best of all, he was a cowboy!

Fast forward a few decades and I am now a retired guy living in the Denver, Colorado area. I have never come close to realizing my dream of being a cowboy and owning a ranch but deep down it is still there. Every January the National Western Stock Show takes place in Denver. It is a huge, two-week event that attracts people from all over the world. It is not a state fair, the Colorado state fair takes place every August in Pueblo, Colorado, but it has the feel of a fair. As the name implies it is all about the live stock, cattle, horses, sheep, hogs and cowboys, lots of cowboys and cowgirls. Knowing my rekindled (by Yellowstone) love of ranching and the idea of being a cowboy, Terrie for my Christmas present bought tickets to the National Western and to the rodeo that is such a big part of it. So on Saturday morning, dressed up in my best western shirt and favorite black Cayman boots off we went for a day at the stock show. When you arrive at the stock show grounds your are immediately impressed by the size of the facility, centered by the old Denver Colosseum. The parking lots are a sea of pickups and the air is filled with the distinct smell of cattle and horses. Cowboy hats of every description sit atop the heads of a majority of the people walking around the property and cowboy boots made of everything from snake skin to plain cowhide are on most of the feet. Horse trailers of various magnitude and opulence are lined up in neat rows. There are displays of new tractors, ranch and farm implements, western themed clothing and if you don’t have boots or a hat you can buy them from dozens of different vendors. We arrived early so we would have time to walk through the various live-stock displays, watching while kids of all ages and adults groomed their animals for competition to see who had the top steer, lamb, horse or hog. There are cattle of virtually every breed including Angus, French Charolais, Brahman, Hereford and the iconic Texas Longhorn. It was amazing to watch the amount of care and detail going into grooming the animals so when their time came they would look perfect for the judges. The competitors included small family operations and large, professional ranch operations. Competitions are ongoing throughout the day so no matter where you are, children and adults are escorting their animals to and from their pens. It is constant motion, constant sound and constant “ranch aroma.”

The rodeo was an afternoon, matinee performance. The activities began with a very respectful, very traditional performance of The Star Spangled Banner. There was no variation of the original tune or grandstanding by the performer – things we have come to expect at the start of major sporting events. Men removed their hats, almost everyone had their hand over their heart, cell phones were put away and conversations were paused during the singing and out of respect for the horse mounted color guard. Then, as should always be the case, a prayer was offered, asking for God’s protection over the athletes and thanksgiving for the great country we live in. The prayer was concluded in the name of Jesus Christ – not something you hear much in today’s world. Then the announcer began talking about the importance of faith and loyalty to country that goes along with the lifestyle displayed at the National Western. He talked about the simplicity of the western way of life, the role of family, the traditions and the multi-generational history of most of the rodeo participants. The crowd listened respectfully – there were no catcalls, whistling or shout outs and the poignant address by the rodeo announcer was followed by sincere applause. Then it was game on as the first event, the bare back bucking horse competition exploded from the stalls at one end of the arena. Throughout the competitions the announcer continued to weave in stories about the families, and the multiple generations of participants in the rodeo events.

My conclusion from all this? First, deep down, I still want to be a cowboy. More importantly the experience of going to the National Western Stock Show helped me realize that the entire world hasn’t gone off its’ axis. There are still people out there who although they have chosen a difficult, challenging way of life, aren’t looking for handouts or someone to blame when things get tough. These are people who have integrity, who know what hard work is, and who love the Lord. They wear dusty Wrangler jeans, w toe boots, pearl snap shirts and Stetsons.

On the “Success the Cowboy Way” website they describe it this way, “The Cowboy Way” has stood the test of time. It’s about being honest, hardworking, dependable, energetic, loving, kind, disciplined, appreciative, durable, exacting, thorough, proud without being arrogant, and committed to doing what works for yourself and others. It is about planning, consistency, being conscious, responsible, and worthy. It’s about being a Promise Keeper. The Cowboy Way asks that the folks working for the brand take pride in earning their paycheck every day and not bad-mouthing the outfit.

Cowboys are respectful of others. They work the land and the livestock as if they own them—accountability. A cowboy goes the extra mile for his pards or for the brand when needed without blame or copping an attitude.”

Wow, this entry has me a little fired up. I’m going to put on my boots, one of my yoked western shirts, and re-watch a few episodes of Yellowstone.

Most of you who know me and read this blog know that I am not a preachy kind of guy. I started this blog to share life experiences, not to impose my expectations on anyone, not to judge anyone and certainly not to imply that I know more than you do. No – it is quite the opposite, hoping that sharing some of my experiences might help my readers avoid the mistakes I have made and learn from the successes and great experiences I have had through the course of my life. Well, today is a little different because I am going to get a little preachy. Please understand it is only because I care about what happens to you.

Part of my daily routine involves reading the morning newspaper. I know it sounds contradictory but I really dislike the newspaper. Back in the day, papers were a legitimate way of getting current news and information – most of it local, non-biased reporting of “news.” I remember when even a small city like Albuquerque, New Mexico had two newspapers, one was published in the morning, the other in the afternoon. The Albuquerque Journal was the morning paper and covered the news from the previous afternoon and evening and the Albuquerque Tribune was delivered in the early evening and continued everything the Journal couldn’t catch in time to write about. Today the “local” paper, if there is one, is filled with syndicated articles written by people who are from news agencies all over the country, maybe all over the world. Unless the news is about a natural disaster or some other event that has resulted in human suffering the “reporting” in todays papers is usually ideologically biased, meaning it really isn’t reporting at all but leans toward comment, not reporting. I am a little off track here but it is important you know how I approach “news.”

A few days ago, in the Denver Post, there was an article titled “Nones Continue to Grow in U.S.” True to form this article came from The Associated Press and was collaborated on by three writers. The foundation of “noneness” is a rejection of Christian faith, rejection of the person God created you to be and creation of one’s own god. Some nones go as far as inventing their own god by taking pieces of the “god” from various religions, pieces that fit their need, and combining them to create their vision of what god should be like. It is estimated by Pew Research Center that 29% of American adults are now “nones.” From what I have read, for the most part, “nones” cite some sort of damage or unbearable restrictions from religion as a reason for rejecting the Christian faith and for going it alone. Those reasons run the gamut from sexual identity to being banged over the knuckles by a nuns ruler, to race. Hey, I catch myself talking cynically about my religious upbringing and how it impacted my relationship with God. I sometimes go out of my way to identify with “damaged Catholics” and “suppressed” Lutherans like myself just to feel like I’m part of their crowd. I believe that too is part of “noneness” – it is popular to set yourself up as different, to be part of the group that rejects anything “normal.” They want to be identified as being “out there.” In my case wanting to be part of the religiously damaged group is another way of giving myself an out if I come across something in my faith walk that does not exactly meet “my” expectations. What a trap! We are exceptionally good at finding scapegoats to justify our self-righteous behaviors. As I continued reading the article, all I could think about was when I was a “none.” I didn’t call myself a “none” like people today do. I was simply a non-believer who like the “nones” was self-reliant, self-righteous and very, very empty spiritually. Like the “nones” of today I attempted to design my own “higher power.” Over the years I came to realize the path I was on had no real end. Every time I thought I had the answer to all the questions I would realize that I had made up more stuff to meet my needs at the moment and all I was doing was hurting myself and my family. Think of it in these terms, I rejected millenniums of human experience with the one true, living God, in favor of me! Because I convinced myself I had been held down by religion I rejected the message of the Gospel of Jesus Christ in favor of me!

So where does the “none” way of life end up? It ends up in frustration, never ending searching and complete loss of identity. Nones might attempt to build community through organizations like the one cited in the Denver Post article, Secular Student Alliance, but what bonds them together? The embracement of none? I know from personal experience how empty and alone it is. In addition, being a “none” is a scary existence. We have all experienced the fear of being alone but I am not sure there can be any fear greater than being separated from the one who created you? Separated from the one who has offered you everlasting life in a paradise He has created for you.

Look, you can reject religion – I totally get that. As I have said many times in this blog religion is a man created thing but far too often our rejection of the man-made rules and bindings of religion translate into a rejection of faith. Don’t let that happen to you. Going back to my experience, when I ran away from the shackles of religion, I didn’t know enough or care enough to search for faith. Instead I embarked on a search for myself that ignored the truth and became silly in its futility. Thankfully, God never gave up on me even though I did my best to ignore that grinding in the pit of my stomach, that ever present yearning to be reconnected to a loving, patient father.

We have all heard or seen the Bible verse, John 3:16 – “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” Verse 17 goes on to speak to the plight of the “nones.” It says, “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.” The “nones” want to believe in the condemnation and reject the freely given gift that answers all questions and relieves all uncertainty.

It is Christmas time. I’m not going to bore you with cliches or plead with you to go to the candle light Christmas Eve service. What I will request is that you consider the plight of the “nones.” Consider the load they put themselves under by trying to invent their own God. They are enslaved by the self-created futility of their refusal to believe true freedom can only be achieved by giving their life to Christ. Galatians 5:1 says, For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.

Take time to examine your own heart. By accepting the freely given gift of Jesus, what can you possibly have to lose?

There, I got a little preachy and no one got hurt!

1 Timothy 4:4 – For everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving.

Growing up, Thanksgiving was a trifecta holiday. First, I loved all the food that was traditional to the day. My maternal Grandmother would usually cook a goose – not my favorite. My paternal Grandmother always baked a ham, sometimes made her world famous chicken and spaghetti and there was always the anticipation of her warm, home made cinnamon rolls with the thick, gooey frosting. My Mother was always in charge of the turkey with all the trimmings. True confession, it was usually my father who actually produced the turkey and the gravy. The Thanksgiving table was a smorgasbord of seasonal foods that for the most part came around once per year. Over-consumption was the rule. Tryptophan induced late afternoon naps were expected. Bundles of foil wrapped leftovers were stacked in the frig, waiting to be the target of someone’s midnight snack or next day cold turkey sandwich. Cold pumpkin pie was a perfect substitute for the Cocoa Krispies or Cream of Wheat we usually had for breakfast. Yes, Thanksgiving was all about the food.

The second thing Thanksgiving was for me – it was a gateway of sorts. When I went to school there was no “fall break.” School started the day after Labor Day and went straight through, five days a week, without a break until Thanksgiving weekend. Thanksgiving ushered in the holidays and the holidays meant time off from school. First, Thanksgiving weekend was a four day “holiday.” More importantly, the arrival of Thanksgiving weekend also signaled we only had about 3 weeks before Christmas and New Years break! Twelve glorious days of sleeping in. Of course reality would set in when depending on what day of the week January 1st was on, we were back in school a day or two after. That Christmas break was one of the things I missed most when I graduated college and went to work. What? No extended time off during Christmas and New Years? How was a guy supposed to catch up on his sleep?

The final leg of my Thanksgiving stool was the giving part. There were countless opportunities to give thanks by giving and my parents wanted me to know how important giving was to them. I looked forward to the canned food drives and putting together food baskets for people who needed them. In elementary school we would collect donated canned food, ask everyone to contribute 25 cents so we could buy some turkeys and then draw names of families to deliver the baskets to. Several parents would volunteer to drive us around while we delivered those baskets and the day would usually end with a cup of hot chocolate and a couple cookies. It really was the first time that I understood there were people who didn’t have what my family had and it felt so good to be able to help them. We would do the same thing through our church, through Boy Scouts and through my Dad’s company. I never heard he or my mom say no to participating in those food baskets – they were part of our Thanksgiving tradition. In many ways those simple but significant food baskets shaped how I have looked at sharing and giving. As I have matured in my giving I have also come to understand that giving is not always about economic need. You can give by being a close friend. You can give by sharing your experience and knowledge with someone who needs it. You can give by being a great husband and father, a father who stands up for his family, for his faith, and constantly shows how thankful he is through his giving.

It is interesting that giving is such an important way of saying thanks. We normally associate being thankful with receiving something but being thankful is so much more than “getting.” Giving can fill your heart, satisfy your soul, it can help you rise above the clutter of your daily life. Giving from a grateful, humble, thankful heart is one of the best ways to witness about God’s love and the way He provides for us. Showing our gratitude by giving is how we can thank God for His ultimate gift to us, Jesus.

If you don’t already do it, give giving a try. I have found the more I give, the more I understand if we have a grateful, giving heart God will provide us with endless opportunities to show our thanks through giving. Yes, Thanksgiving Day is a joyful holiday but real joy comes from celebrating “Days of Thanksgiving.” Seven days a week, 365 days a year, all filled with giving and filled with thanks.