Black Friday Races are Here


Today is known as Black Friday or as I like to refer to it as, Black and Blue Friday. This is the day Americans perform the equivalent of the “Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, Spain. Get out of the way at the mall or risk getting gored, trampled or foolishly injured. Black Friday earned it’s name because this is the day when retailers after a long arduous year finally make money.

Have you ever braved the crowds to participate in this event? I only wish churches would have members that possessed a smidgen of the crowds enthusiasm. Back in Kentucky in our little town, the only real stores we had were Walmart and Big Lots (hillbilly Macy’s).

Our family bundled up in sub-freezing temperatures to be at the front door before the 5 am opening. We went even earlier than that, only to find the crowds had camped out long before our 4 am arrival.

Reminiscent of lemmings, we all stood in a long line and awaited the fate of our frightful march forward. As the doors opened and the throng crushed forward, people realized their buggies (carts) were to cumbersome so they left them strewn all over the store like a war torn battlefield. This was all done to beat a mad rush to electronics. The carnage of empty carts, crying, exhausted, and lost children, as well as the sounds of wailing and gnashing of teeth, (appropriate apocalyptic language) was too much. I dashed back out to my car, cowered in the back seat, covered my head in a blanket, and sucked my thumb. The stress was too overwhelming.

A friend of mine told me about her own frightful incident. Being petite, she was standing at a center station where sweaters were being sold cheap. A big woman behind her was so impatient that she couldn’t gain access to the sweater bin too, picked up my petite friend by her elbows, swung her around, and promptly deposited her directly behind her so she could take her place. That was beyond determination.

The real kicker for me on this particular Black Friday was I had only come for one item, a low priced DVD player. The next week when I entered the same store, they had so many of them left, they were selling them at the Black Friday price. Talk about duped. I was dragged out of my warm bed earlier than owls awaken only to learn later it was all for nothing.

Nope, this man will not be party to any more chaotic holiday shopping lines, it’s too insane. If I’m going to wait in line with a bunch of desperate and depraved lunatics, it better be for water in a FEMA disaster line.

My suggestion? Order everything online, let the UPS man do all the running around. He’s in better shape, and he’s paid to do it. As for me, I’m sleeping in! Maybe I’ll dream about the home shopping network!

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My Thanksgiving Perspective


As I reflect on Thanksgiving I will share with you what makes me grateful:

I am thankful for the errant Lego I stepped on, because it bears witness that I have been blessed with children.

I’m thankful for my laugh lines, it’s proof that God let me find humor in life.

I’m thankful for my girth, for it reminds me I’ve never really gone hungry.

I am grateful for a beautiful wife who makes me pinch myself often wondering if she is really a dream.

I’m thankful for my last deposited $10 bill because it kept me from paying a bounced check fee of $40.

I am thankful for the rain because it’s nice to dance in it sometimes.

I’m thankful my parents helped me with my drug problem. They drug me to church, prayer meeting, and school.

I’m thankful for boring conversations at the feet of my grandparents. What I wouldn’t do to be in their presence one more time.

I am grateful for a small bank account, it keeps me humble.

I’m thankful for my Bible, it teaches me how to refocus my life.

I’m thankful for a full tank of gas, it means I can exercise freedom to go anywhere.

I am most grateful that God has made a home for me. I’m so homesick and I want to move into it.

I’m thankful for good friends who make life’s journey a little more enjoyable.

What are you thankful for this year?

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Thanksgiving Comparisons


Growing up, our family didn’t have a lot of money. We had a lot of love, but little money. Thriftiness was the buzzword in our house. Yet as bad as I thought we had it, it didn’t compare to what my grandparents faced. When my grandparents married in the 1920’s, money was scarce. My grandfather told me they used fruit crates as chairs for their dining room table. My parents told me that for them, a weeks worth of pay was only $80. It seems each generation struggles a little less than the previous generation. I can prove my point. I’ve heard multiple times children saying, “we were so poor, we didn’t have a Playstation”. Another gem was, we were so poor, I had to cross the room and turn the channel because we couldn’t afford a remote. Do you think our country has become a little soft in comparison to our forefathers?

The first American Thanksgiving was not as some historians brag, held in Plymouth, Massachusetts in 1621. The first Thanksgiving was actually held eleven years earlier in 1610 in the small settlement of Jamestown, Virginia. The previous winter season of 1609-1610 was so harsh that of the 409 settlers alive the previous fall, only 60 remained. The survivors prayed for help, without knowing when or where it might come. When help finally did arrive, they were so grateful for the food and provisions, they held a prayer meeting to offer thanks to God. A true spirit of Thanksgiving occurred.

Fast forward 400 years to our present millennium and make your own assessment of the gratefulness of our present generation. Some time ago a young boy was walking down the street with his mother. They met a neighbor on the street, returning home with a bag of groceries. The neighbor gave the little boy an orange and the mother said to her son: “And what do you say to the nice man?” Looking at the man, he shoved it back into the man’s hand and said: “Peel it!”

Did you ever know a child like that? Or perhaps an adult like that? Or maybe you feel your country is beginning to look a lot like that? We already have so much and yet we still want more. The worse part, our desire for more is being done without giving thanks for what we’ve already been given.

The story is told of a disheveled couple who strolled down the street. The fellow said to his traveling companion: “I am going over to pick up my unemployment check. Then I’ll drop in at the university to see what’s holding up my check for my federal education grant. After that I’ll pick up our food stamps. Meanwhile, you go over to the free clinic and check your tests, pick up my new glasses at the health center, then go to the Welfare Department and apply for an increase in our eligibility limit. Then I’ll meet you at 5 o’clock at the Federal Building for the mass demonstration against the rotten Establishment.”

The Good Book tells us that we need to be vigilant and alert, “watch”. The point is, don’t take your greatest mercies and undeserved gifts for granted. Never forget to offer your thanks for each and every good thing that is given to you.

I think this Thanksgiving I’ll skip the hype and instead thank the Good Lord for His grace. I’ll also thank my lucky stars that I live in the greatest country in the world. And, I’ll also choose to be content.

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Interpretive Ballet not for Everyone


Recently in an effort to make our children appreciate the fine arts, my wife had us attend a New York Ballet performance. If you’ve never attended a ballet, the only way to describe it is choreographed jaywalking. You wouldn’t see this much running around if Hillary Clinton made a surprise visit to the Oval Office when her husband was president. The fact that not one of the dancers became enmeshed in the others path says something about their agility. However, I found myself comparing the first half of the ballet performance to an Olympic Curling event. I didn’t get it.

This performance was my first introduction into interpretive ballet. From the precise moment they started until the very end, each man quizzed their date by asking, “What are they doing now?” Forgive me, but my interpretation of this ballet was Gumby playing the game Twister to Gershwin.

The most difficult part of the evening was convincing my eldest 12-year-old son that I was moved by the performance. My wife insisted before we went that, “I must not poison our children to the finer works of art.” Dabbing my eyes occasionally to simulate being overcome with emotion with the beauty of it all, I should have netted an Oscar for my performance. Now I can’t tell if I made my wife happy or my son thinks I’m a wimp.

The men wore the usual ballet costumes, shrink-wrapped colored cellophane. My wife casually mentioned the reason I find ballet so boring is that I am jealous of the men in their tight outfits and how well they dance. This is a total untruth! If I were to fit into one of those same outfits with my size, I would look like a kielbasa ready to explode. Second of all, if I could raise my legs as high as my head, you’d better bring a dust pan and broom, because parts are going to fall off.

The final scene had a very good looking blond being passionately held and kissed by her handsome partner. My wife leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Why don’t you ever do something like that?” I replied, “Don’t be silly, I don’t even know that girl.”
Next time there’s a fine arts event, my wife says she’s going alone.

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