Trophies in the Attic
While cleaning out the attic recently, I came across a box filled with basketball trophies from my high school and college days. I was surprised to see how tarnished and broken they had become with the passing years. Once tall soldiers holding miniature basketballs aloft in outstretched arms, now most of the figures have been broken off at their bases. The shiny gold and silver gloss of the awards has dulled and an ugly patina with some rust spots has started to appear on most of them.
What a metaphor of life, I thought to myself. Here I was thirty-plus years later, carefully working at a task that demanded that I protect my fragile back and gimpy knees. I couldn’t help but find my mind wandering back to an earlier day when I had raced up and down the basketball court with reckless abandon, giving little thought or worry to bodily concerns. In those days, I literally threw myself into the fray, diving for loose basketballs and running into thinly-padded brick walls. Now, quite gingerly, I went about a much less demanding task, worrying if I would be able to get out of bed the next morning.
Even more, though, I found myself thinking of how quickly the years from youth to middle age have passed. It seems like only yesterday that I was a kid bouncing a basketball down the floor at the old Prichard gym, listening as Coach Dace and Mr. G called out instructions. Now I anxiously await each month’s arrival of AARP’s newsletter. I need that information!
What’s the point? Simply this. Life is short regardless of how many years God blesses us with in this world. This is why it is absolutely imperative that we seize each day and live it to the fullest for Him. Have you been thinking about doing some good deed? Ending some bad habit? Telling someone you love about Jesus? Do it today! (from PHILosophically Speaking, p. 226-228)
Thursday, July 08, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
How Not to Parent!
One of my favorite topics to address, either from the pulpit or in the classroom, is the subject of discipline and children. As a psychologist as well as a minister, I have a very thorough understanding of the war going on between fundamental Christianity and childhood development specialists on this issue. To say that the two groups are at polar opposites on what constitutes good discipline is probably a fair statement.
My purpose here is not to give my personal primer on the subject, although I will be quick to point out that Teresa and I had a red fly swatter that had a prominent place in our kitchen closet and that this “neutral object” was never used to swat flies!
I generally conclude my strong recommendations about childrearing and discipline by letting people know that this preacher-psychologist and his wife were not always good at the job! I do so by telling them of the time we really blew it with our older daughter, Mandi.
It was after dark on a late fall evening and we were returning as a family from visiting Teresa’s folks in Olive Hill, Kentucky. The return trip to Ironton, Ohio, from Olive Hill is about fifty miles. You travel the interstate highway for about thirty-five miles, then exit and take state routes to complete the journey.
Mandi was twelve years old at the time, quickly heading into her adolescent years. Always a strong-willed young lady, she had recently developed a mouth to match her age. (If you don’t understand that last sentence, you either have no children or your children have not reached pubescence yet!) She and her mother became involved in a heated conversation about something that increased in intensity as we drove the thirty-five miles on the interstate.
The discussion reached the boiling point just as we exited I-64 onto Route 60 near Summit, KY. Mandi finally half-yelled, “I want out of this car!”
To my utter surprise, my mild-mannered wife retorted, “Okay! Phil, stop the car and let her out!”
It is at this point in the story that I would like to say that with calmness in my voice, I was able to defuse the situation and return our family to our usual state of bliss. I would like to say that, but I can’t! Totally fed up myself, I stopped the car alongside Route 60 and told Mandi to get out. And she did! And then we drove off!!
Please understand that it was about 9 p.m., a moonless night, and we are in the middle of nowhere! As you are probably hoping, it only took about one-half mile of travel for sanity to return to the occupants in our car. We made a quick U-turn, retraced our steps and found our daughter sitting on the hillside, hands folded and a frown creasing her face. In spite of her displeasure with her parents, Mandi readily got back in the car and we traveled the last fifteen miles of our trip in almost total silence.
Since I believe that the statute of limitations on such child cruelty has expired, I now feel free to share this story in print for the first time. Truthfully, the lesson to be learned on that night was for Dad and Mom. For a home to function well, there always has to be at least one person acting like an adult. Unfortunately, for about five minutes on that particular night, we were all children. (from PHILosophically Speaking, p. 45)
One of my favorite topics to address, either from the pulpit or in the classroom, is the subject of discipline and children. As a psychologist as well as a minister, I have a very thorough understanding of the war going on between fundamental Christianity and childhood development specialists on this issue. To say that the two groups are at polar opposites on what constitutes good discipline is probably a fair statement.
My purpose here is not to give my personal primer on the subject, although I will be quick to point out that Teresa and I had a red fly swatter that had a prominent place in our kitchen closet and that this “neutral object” was never used to swat flies!
I generally conclude my strong recommendations about childrearing and discipline by letting people know that this preacher-psychologist and his wife were not always good at the job! I do so by telling them of the time we really blew it with our older daughter, Mandi.
It was after dark on a late fall evening and we were returning as a family from visiting Teresa’s folks in Olive Hill, Kentucky. The return trip to Ironton, Ohio, from Olive Hill is about fifty miles. You travel the interstate highway for about thirty-five miles, then exit and take state routes to complete the journey.
Mandi was twelve years old at the time, quickly heading into her adolescent years. Always a strong-willed young lady, she had recently developed a mouth to match her age. (If you don’t understand that last sentence, you either have no children or your children have not reached pubescence yet!) She and her mother became involved in a heated conversation about something that increased in intensity as we drove the thirty-five miles on the interstate.
The discussion reached the boiling point just as we exited I-64 onto Route 60 near Summit, KY. Mandi finally half-yelled, “I want out of this car!”
To my utter surprise, my mild-mannered wife retorted, “Okay! Phil, stop the car and let her out!”
It is at this point in the story that I would like to say that with calmness in my voice, I was able to defuse the situation and return our family to our usual state of bliss. I would like to say that, but I can’t! Totally fed up myself, I stopped the car alongside Route 60 and told Mandi to get out. And she did! And then we drove off!!
Please understand that it was about 9 p.m., a moonless night, and we are in the middle of nowhere! As you are probably hoping, it only took about one-half mile of travel for sanity to return to the occupants in our car. We made a quick U-turn, retraced our steps and found our daughter sitting on the hillside, hands folded and a frown creasing her face. In spite of her displeasure with her parents, Mandi readily got back in the car and we traveled the last fifteen miles of our trip in almost total silence.
Since I believe that the statute of limitations on such child cruelty has expired, I now feel free to share this story in print for the first time. Truthfully, the lesson to be learned on that night was for Dad and Mom. For a home to function well, there always has to be at least one person acting like an adult. Unfortunately, for about five minutes on that particular night, we were all children. (from PHILosophically Speaking, p. 45)
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