What Can A Snowman Say?

 Seven and one-half years ago, when we moved into our house, our neighbor across the street was a young man in his twenties.  Three other young men lived with him.  He met a girl.  We had them over for dinner. They fell in love and became engaged.  The other three young men moved out.  The only public gathering we attended during Covid in 2020 was the wedding of our young neighbor and his bride.

 A year later, she gave birth to their first child, Charlie.  Yesterday we watched from our window as two-year-old Charlie and his father built a snowman in their yard.  As we expected, knowing our neighbors, it was a huge snowman, over 5 feet tall, with a wide grin, a carrot nose, button eyes,  and stick arms extended as if waiting for a hug!

 It reminded me of a poem I wrote about snowmen when we lived in Minnesota. 

He stands outside

smiling through the night

smiling though the day

with a wide-eyed gaze from coal black eyes

punctuated by the point of a carrot nose.

 

A blue-stocking cap warms his frozen head

while a red and white scarf flutters in the breeze,

tickling his tummy

softly patted into place by small hands

scooping great scoops of snow

and fashioning his form,

till he stood where he stands,

stick arms spread in a welcome greeting

to family and friend and passerby

signifying by his constant cheer

that a child lives here.

 Last week, when a rare winter storm swept the South, snowmen made their appearances in New Orleans, Houston and Galveston.  They are a universal breed, transcending generations, the product of creative imaginations, uniting generations from ages past, a non-digital race that binds our human hearts to one another.  They reach across language, ethnicity, culture and time, created amid giggles, squeals and laughter.  In Minnesota, a snowman can last for months.  In the South, a few days at best. Some of them have already returned to puddles in the yard.  But while they last, they cheer us up and give us hope. 

 It took the birth of a child named Charlie to create our snowman across the street.  Like other snowmen in our neighborhood, he reminds me of one of Jesus’ profound object lessons to his disciples, “Jesus called a little child over to him. He had the child stand among them. ³ Jesus said, “What I’m about to tell you is true. You need to change and become like little children. If you don’t, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven,” (Matthew 18:2-3).

Remembering Buddy

 About the time I started writing this column in 2009, my wife and I adopted a tri-color Pembroke Corgi that we named Buddy.  We had pets over the years when raising our children, but I wanted my own dog and my wife finally gave in.  We found him at Corgi rescue.  He was picked up by animal control on the streets of Fort Worth, skinny and sick.  How a dog like Buddy could be lost for that long was a mystery to me until he told me his story.  I wrote it down just the way he told it to me and published it as a children’s book, Buddy the Floppy Ear Corgi.  

 I wrote my first column about Buddy on October 29, 2009.  Each year I wrote at least one column about Buddy and what he was teaching me.  We traveled to many places together: Texas, Montana, Wyoming, Minnesota, Colorado and places in between.  We walked hundreds of miles. 

 Once we left him with our daughter who lived 2 miles from our house.  He escaped their backyard and tied up traffic on a busy intersection trying to make his way home.  I was on the road in Nebraska when I got the call from a stranger who rescued him from the frantic drivers who were trying to avoid hitting him.

 When we went fishing Buddy sat in the front of my fishing boat, sniffing the wind, trying to locate the fish.  He fell in once.  We discovered Corgi’s can’t swim.  Fortunately, I was able to pull him b. ack in the boat.

 Several times he went with me to sit by the graveside of my college roommate who was buried in Farmersville, Texas in 1999.  Afterward we would go for long walks in the open fields where he could run free, leaping through the long grass (as much as Corgi’s can leap). We explored the beaches in Galveston.

  Buddy didn’t do any work.   He couldn’t open doors, couldn’t carry anything or hold anything with his paws (beyond a bone or a chew toy).  He wasn’t Buck like Call of the Wild. He couldn’t pull a sled.  But he worked his way into our hearts just by being there, jumping in my lap when I was sad, jumping between us on the couch to make us glad, following me from room to room, introducing me to strangers who wanted to pet him, playing with my grandchildren.

 But Buddy grew old.  His muzzle turned gray.  He couldn’t take long walks anymore. After 14 years, Buddy developed spinal myelopathy.  He lost the use of his legs, and we lost Buddy in January 2022.   We grieved his death as much as we grieved a friend or family member.  We still miss him.

 We loved Buddy, not for what he could do for us, but just because he “was.” 

 Maybe that was his final lesson about God. Maybe that is the way God looks at me.  I can’t do anything for God.  He doesn’t really need me, but He loves me just the same, just because He made me; just because He is and I am.  “Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that He loved us” (1 John 1:10).  God has declared His love for me, “I have loved you with an everlasting love” (Jeremiah 31:3).  God loves you.

Mortality and Eternity

 Much of last week was spent eulogizing and laying to rest President Jimmy Carter.  Some of us remember when he was elected during the bi-centennial celebration of our nation, a crucial moment when we were trying to find our way past Watergate.  Our nation was searching for someone who could restore our confidence in the honesty and character of our highest office. Jimmy Carter stepped forward to give us hope.

 He lived to see his 100^th birthday, the oldest surviving President in our nation’s history. He had embraced his own mortality long ago, submitting to hospice care almost two years before his death, facing the inevitable with confident faith and peace.

 We are all mortal.  We will all die.  The Bible says, “For the Lord God himself knows our estate, that we are but dust.  For man is like the grass of the field that flourishes as a flower.  After the wind passes, it is no more, and its place remembers it no longer, but the lovingkindness of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear Him.” (Psalm 103).  We all want to be remembered.  I suppose that is part of the reason we engage in funerals and obituaries.  But obituaries soon fade and funerals are soon forgotten.  For some, like former Presidents, we engage in lengthy ceremonies.  For a few decades, maybe even a few centuries, historical records and books will bear testimony to their lives.  But eventually.  They will all be forgotten.

 There is something better than being remembered.  According to the Bible we can actually live after our mortal bodies cease. The eulogies for Jimmy Carter were filled with references to his faith.  His grandson read extensively from the Scripture regarding God’s promises.  There is a place where we are never forgotten, a place where we can live, another dimension that Jesus reference repeatedly as “life into the age,”   (eis aionos).   

 The Bible’s promises are clear.  “He will swallow up death for all time. And the Lord will wipe tears away from all faces. And He will remove the disgrace of His people from all the earth.  For the Lord has spoken.  And it will be said on that day, ‘Behold, this is our God for whom we have waited that He might save us.  This is the Lord for whom we have waited.  Let us rejoice and be glad in His salvation,” (Isaiah 25:8-9). 

 Daniel wrote, “Now at that time Michael, the great prince who stands guard over the sons of your people, will arise. And there will be a time of distress such as never occurred since there was a nation until that time; and at that time your people, everyone who is found written in the book, will be rescued. Many of those who sleep in the dust of the ground will awake, these to everlasting life, but the others to disgrace and everlasting contempt. Those who have insight will shine brightly like the brightness of the expanse of heaven, and those who lead the many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever,” (Daniel 12:1-3).

Raising Children Celebrating Family

 We just returned from a 4-day Bahama cruise with all our children and grandchildren, seventeen of us, a gift from our children on my wife’s 75^th birthday. The joy of multiple generations who treasure and value one another is inexpressible. In all generations and cultures, it is the family that forms the foundation for fulfillment. My wife and I were overwhelmed, not just that our children wanted to express their love for us, but that they love each other and want to be together.

 Over the years we learned that nothing is as challenging as being a parent.  Children have no off button.  They cannot be put in the closet like clothes, turned off and parked like cars or placed in a kennel like pets.  They are on a constant quest: poking, prodding, pushing, pulling and climbing. 

 When our children were little, we didn’t know you could strap them down in the back seat. No one told us about car seats. As soon as they got in the car, they looked for buttons to push and knobs to twist.  When I turned on the key the blinkers blinked, windshield wipers wiped, and the radio blared.

 They grew up to be responsible adults.  But the path wasn’t easy.  Every passage brought new challenges: the first day of school, a move from familiar neighborhoods to a new city, puberty, a driver’s license, dating, computer games, technology, college and a career.  Parenting requires a constant learning curve that never stops, even after children are grown and on their own.  Relationships constantly change and adjust. As a parent, you are always entering new and unfamiliar territory.

 I found across the years that there is no “fix it” book for parenting, no “cure-all,” “read this,” or “do this” simple solution.  Every child is different, and every parenting situation has its unique challenges.  But there are some essential tools that make the difference: patience, consistency, authenticity, trust, love, faith, and a listening ear.  Most of us don’t come naturally equipped with these essential tools.  Most of us must learn them and acquire them while we are on the job. And all of us have room for improvement.

 The Bible says that John the Baptist introduced Jesus to the world by “turning the hearts of the fathers to their children,” (Luke 1:17).  Every generation must struggle against the natural desires of the flesh: envy, jealousy, resentment, anger and self indulgence. These attitudes destroy the family. The fruits of the spirit, on the other hand, establish the family: “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control,” (Galatians 5:22-23).

 When our hearts are right with God so that we are producing these fruits, we will be good parents.  Then we will be able to fulfill the Scripture’s instruction, “Do not exasperate your children, instead, bring them up in the teaching and instruction of the Lord.” (Ephesians 6:4).