are you YOU?

“To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting.”

–e. e. cumming

Tree

I sort of have a…well, a thing…about Christmas trees.  [No, I don't have issues.]  Growing up, my family had FAKE trees.  (You know.  Christmas tree by the colors.  Blue branches at the bottom.  Orange, next.  Green…Yellow…black.)  I am not going to really attempt to formulate a complaint about those formative years, here–because my growing-up Christmases were always happy.   I’ll simply say that I love A REAL TREE exponentially better than an ARTIFICIAL one.  (Even if it can come “pre-lit.”)

Maybe it’s the George Bailey in me, but things at Christmas are supposed to be REAL. The Christmas-decorating experience should induce a completely human response.  It’s doubtful that something that dustily comes out of a box once-a-year can compete with the real human, emotional response that arises from a tree that was just obtained from the forest–especially when you can smell that it did!   I love a  tree that you’ve got to religiously water or take the very realistic chance of rendering your house “pre-lit” because it went up in flames.  I love the fact that it takes two or three days for me to wash off that sappy substance that gets all over my hands and hair when I have to set my real Christmas tree up.  I love watching my wife have to sweep up all of those needles.  (She’s cute when she sweeps.  THERE’S NO CUTENESS LIKE THAT WHEN A GUY’S GOT A FAKE TREE.)

Since college, I have obtained live trees in December from all kinds of places:  [1] Side of the road ma-and-pa vendors who haul them in themselves from Michigan (the one good thing that comes out of that place).  [2] Chopping them down personally at a tree farm.  [3] Stores that sell live trees by volume.  For goodness’ sake, I’ll even confess to [4] three straight years of chopping down (under cover of darkness) and stealing evergreens from a place that was really, really wrong to steal from.  (This regrettably happened during college.  I’m leaving names, dates, and places out to continue to be one step ahead of 15-year-old consequences.  Think of the irony:  STEALING a Christmas tree to celebrate the World’s Greatest FREE GIFT–Jesus!  Sheesh.  Note to self:  We’re all brain-dead until we have kids.)

While determined to still acquire our REAL tree, this year we decided to purchase one at a cost that displays more steward-like responsibility.  (Thinking of the many different ways we could use the money we saved for more virtuous purposes.)  Unfortunately, we drove down the road and found NO trees that met our height requirements or expectations.  Almost every one was a glorified Charlie-Brown-adventure waiting for a family.  But we stumbled upon one that was certainly of a height that would make it appropriate in our home.  The only catch:  this tree was so skinny and bare, it would have made Kate Moss feel like she needed to step up her dieting.  This thing was scrawny.  Anemic.  So all 5 of us stood there in the light flurries and frozen tundra–staring at it.  I’m holding it up, and my wife looks at it and starts to laugh.  (But, the un-suppressible bean-counter in her looked at the price tag of $24.99 and said, “Get it.”)  I just couldn’t pull the trigger, though.  I mean, come on.  If you’re fatter than your own tree…you’ve got a problem…and so does your tree.

So, I leaned it back in with its cousins and took off for another tree vendor.  My wife warned me, “Somebody’s going to take that tree.  I saw a guy eyeing it when you were holding it up.” I said something smart back at her…seriously doubting that anyone would want THAT tree.  Of course, the tree huckster down the road wanted me to hand over my first-born and establish a 2nd mortgage to buy a tree there, so I ran back to obtain our cute little Kate Moss Christmas tree for under $25.

She was gone.  [That guy!]

Christmas karma biting me in the sugar-plum, I guess, for ripping off those other three back in the day. Something inside of me felt terribly disappointed, though.  I actually had started to look forward to dressing up that bony little twig.  (Think of the money we would have saved in electricity alone…only having to use one strand of Christmas lights instead of 6.  Plus, I realized I could use it as a 2×4 after Christmas was over or something.)  Seriously though, some raw nostalgia triggered in me.

Well, we ended up getting another scrubby REAL TREE, turned on the tunes, set it up, drank our egg nog, and turned off all the lights in the house to see it illuminated.  The usual pleasures arose in me.

But, I believe a lot of people BY-PASS THEIR OWN “TREE” BECAUSE THEY SURMISE IT JUST DOESN’T MEASURE UP TO THEIR STATUS QUO EXPECTATIONS.  Of course, as I speak about this other kind of “Tree,” I don’t mean the spindly green one we set up in our living rooms in December.  I mean the “Tree” of the final moments of the Christmas Child.  The Tree of the Sacrificial Jesus.  The TOTAL CHRISTMAS MESSAGE.  The Tree of the Cross Jesus intended to go to–the reason He allowed Himself to be born into this broken world, in the first place.

Jesus’ gift to the world wasn’t a holiday–for the obtaining of free stuff and days off in December.  It was THE Tree. That truth may be raw, but it’s REAL. Friends and loved ones, the best thing we can do is by-pass the artificial and superficial decor in which we dress our current Christmases.

And search for the REAL TREE. When we do, it will trigger more than nostalgia.  Don’t pass HIM up.  He’s the One.

“I, Jesus, have sent my angel to give you this testimony. I am THE ROOT and the Offspring of David, and THE BRIGHT Morning STAR … Come!”  Whoever is thirsty, let him come; and whoever wishes, let him take the free gift” (in the final thoughts of the Bible–niv).

TIME: ‘Tear Down This Wall’: Reagan’s Speech That Ended the Cold War

Our words definitely do make a difference.  In the face of the impossible, what do you SPEAK INTO IT?

Go to the Time article here.

for all my friends who are single Christians

A friend of mine hooked me up with this video clip.  If you have ever been to a Christian singles event–a.k.a. meat market–this video will make a lot of sense to you.

Kansas Tops Preseason Coaches’ Poll – ESPN Video

“Dislike”

Since formats for the on-line “community” of people on Facebook seems to change every other week, the frequent-users always seem to get annoyed with whatever change has happened to interupt their digital fantasyland.  (This is a classic sign that they have WAY TOO MUCH TIME ON THEIR HANDS.  Instead of complaining about THE LOOK OF A WEBSITE, they could go to a homeless shelter, clean out their closet, read a book, PRAY [imagine!]…or a host of a million and one things.)

One of the things that has really cracked me up recently is a growing demand of hundreds of thousands of Facebook users for a “DISLIKE” BUTTON.  If you don’t use this online social network, Facebook’s platform is to make digital space for people to make comments that all of their friends (and the world for that matter) may see.  From posting pictures of things, making political statements, inviting someone to something, or just saying something stupid.

As someone who sees all of these comments or this activity, we have the FB option to click a button that simply says, “Like.”  I can tell someone that I like something they said or did.  The growing complaint among some Facebook users is they don’t have a “Dislike” button to convey the obnoxious reaction that should stay in their heads.  Not only do they waste all that time surfing the web–killing time looking for things to dislike–now they want to go around and leave digital disappointment here-and-there and everywhere. 

Why would anyone want to even expend the scintilla of energy to click on something that doesn’t convey love?  Where does all this crabbiness come from in our society?  Maybe it’s because the online world–when it’s all said and done–is not very human.  When “community” comes more from mouse clicks and less from hugs and human face-to-face kindness, I guess I’d be crabby, too.

If you realize you have a growing urge to want to DISLIKE something, you know that it’s time that you turn your computer off, get out of your house, walk next door to your neighbor and say something nice.  Go to your town’s train station or coffee house or McDonald’s and hold the door open for somebody.  Wash your car.  Your spouse’s car.  (Or mine.  It’s filthy.)

Is there anything more UN-likeable than unhappy people?  I officially dislike the “dislike” button idea.  I “like” nice people, though.  Will you join my crusade to change crabby people? 

Click like or dislike.