Opinions

My husband, Peter, and I are headed out to Mexico again, and before we do, I thought it was a good time of year to check in with some folks I care about, to see how 2024 had been treating them so far. First, I had dinner with my oldest friend, Andrew. He told me about his mother, who lives alone and has been feeling her 92 years. Her activities are becoming more limited, and she may move into a smaller place. She’s figuring out what she is still able to do, and how much is enough.

If you ask enough people you can find those who believe the earth is flat, that the moon landing was fake, that Sasquatch is a distant relative, that Elvis was seen last month at a Waffle House Newsweek and that news on American TV is truthful. To aid in purporting these illusions, man creates polls. When the polling shows belief in the media’s biased views, they report them as valid. When they reveal the opposite, the said tally of opinions are not to be trusted.

I had the privilege of checking something of my bucket list a couple of years ago when I had the privilege of worshipping at Carey Baptist Church in Moulton, England. The church is where William Carey ministered before he answered God’s call to go be a missionary in India.

The spelling bee’s sweetest moment swept me off my feet before any letters were exchanged.

For Christmas, I was the recipient of a pineapple planter. It is a decorative ceramic piece--all white--which looks like the round part of a pineapple with an open top for whatever plant you choose to add, and a drainage hole in the bottom. It is lovely. For many years and for various reasons, I have collected pineapples. Initially I was intrigued when I learned the fruits took center stage as Christmas decorations for the American colonies, earning them the title of “The Colonial Symbol of Hospitality.” But I liked them, too, because my college roommate was from a small town in Alabama called, of course, Pine Apple: population 132. I have fond memories of this town which is now only a small collection of charming houses. Gone is the school, and the general store, and the bank. But the two-block main street still intrigues me, bearing a name that belongs in Hawaii.

Our regular readers know this column is about the Christian life, but you certainly do not need to be a Christian or even a religious person to at least consider the content as thoughtprovoking. Everyone has their own philosophies and interpretations about spiritual topics, and this is understandable since we all have a choice to believe whatever we want. Only God knows everything and He is perfect in all His ways. I will add that no theologian or Bible scholar is correct about every doctrine or exegesis of scripture as we are all in a daily process of learning. What’s more important, arguing or evangelizing? Jesus promised, “Seek and you will find.”

“Perfection is the enemy of progress,” according to Winston Churchill. It’s the time of year when we try to do too much, change too quickly. Already expectations are lowering, and reality is setting in. The sky is gray, the temperatures cold, and I am coming to grips with the fact that I cannot eat toffee every day. (At least, not a lot of toffee every day.) It’s the mid-January new year letdown. More people die this time of year than on average. I imagine they make it through the holidays, finish off the toffee, take down the tree, look out at the gray weather, decide the New Year is not looking significantly better than the previous one and give up the effort to keep on living. I spoke with my grouchy friend yesterday. This is the same grouchy friend who has cursed my cheerfulness in the past -- and is a source of unflagging pessimism -- so I should have known what was coming. He says there is no cause for rejoicing in the new year. He says the days are growing longer, and that means intolerable heat is around the corner. He says any promises he makes to himself will be broken. “I gave up goals and dreams in the summer of 1971,” he says. He thinks I am a fool. I think he’s right. And I believe this may be one of my best qualities. Because the older I get, the less seriously I take myself. I used to obsess over not looking my best, walking around with spinach in my teeth or toilet paper on my shoe or a tag hanging out the back of my shirt. I used to beat myself up (usually hours later, while doing the dishes or trying to fall asleep) for some dumb thing I said -- something that someone could have taken the wrong way.

We talked about taking a stand for Christ last week, but being a Christian is also a walk which in the light of scripture refers to conduct. Ephesians the second chapter mentions how we once walked with the world fulfilling the lust of our flesh, and Romans the sixth chapter talks about how once we are transformed by His saving power we now walk in a new spiritually transformed identity. While these passages help explain our salvation experience, what about how we are to walk after we are saved?

While the rest of heaven and nature was singing about the glad tidings of Christmas, my backyard cardinals went on strike. Here they are, dressed like Christmas for 12 months of the year and when the days on the calendar draw ever closer to the 25th of December, the cardinals and their red suits take a leave of absence.

My nephew, Beau, keeps me on my toes. Keeping on my toes is a good way to develop balance and agility. It is also a good way to fall on my face and embarrass myself. But since I don’t spend a lot of time with teenagers -- and not nearly enough with Beau -- I am trying. Right now, he’s trying to convince me that I need a mechanical keyboard for my computer. I am old enough to remember typing class in high school. The “thunk, thunk, thunk!” sound of hitting keys is not a pleasant memory. My parents gave me a state-of-the-art typewriter when I left for college, and it had (wonder of wonders!) a self-correcting function, which was a huge improvement over the machines from high school, but it was still messy and time-consuming. Then I didn’t write anything for years and, by the time I wrote again, I was using a wireless keyboard and wireless mouse with a great big monitor. Now, when I see typewriters, rather than experiencing a pleasant nostalgia, I feel something closer to dread. But Beau is trying to tell me that a mechanical keyboard is the way to go, and I am trying to keep an open mind. “It’s really easy to use,” he assures me. “And it will last much longer than a membrane keyboard.”