Peppermint Patty

 "Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." (1 Thess. 5:18)

I am such a sucker for classic holiday films, especially, Charlie Brown. It's like a trilogy of holiday expectations. "The Great Pumpkin." "A Charlie Brown Christmas" - my favorite. And of course, in the middle, "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving." 

"Hey, Chuck! Do you kind of miss me, Chuck?" Oh my goodness...you just have to love Peppermint Patty or not. I think she was the first female animated bully. 

Peppermint Patty invites herself over for Thanksgiving dinner...not knowing that Charlie and his little sister are heading out to "grandmother's house we go." Before long she invites Marcie, and then Franklin. 

The ping-pong table comes out of the garage. A myriad of different chairs are brought out. The table is set. And the most scrumptious Thanksgiving meal was created: buttered toast, popcorn, pretzels, and jelly beans. 

"We have to say a prayer, Chuck? It's Thanksgiving after all. Aren't we going to say, 'grace'"? Of course, he doesn't know what to do but trusty Linus jumps in and gives us a short historical account of the first Thanksgiving before quoting the supposed prayer given on that day.

Regarding the meal, Peppermint Patty was not amused. "What blockhead cooked this? Where's the turkey? Where's the mashed potatoes? Where's the cranberries and the pumpkin pie?" 

Marcie intervenes. "Peppermint Patty didn't mean to hurt you, Charlie Brown. Thanksgiving is more than eating. It's about remembering what the Pilgrims went through and what we have gone through. I think its about being thankful that we are together." 

Apologies accepted all around. In fact, everyone "went over the river and through the woods to grandmother's house we go." 

The older I get this simple truth becomes more clear. It's not about the turkey, the mashed potatoes, cranberries, or pumpkin pie. It's about being together and being thankful for what the Lord has brought us through - especially this past year. 

A Disney movie at the local theatre. An evening walk at Spencer Park to see the holiday lights. Maybe a round of s'mores on the back porch fire pit. Who knows. Just together. 

But I'm still going to pass on the toast, popcorn, and jelly beans. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

A Pilgrim's Progress

 "And Jacob said to Pharaoh, 'The years of my pilgrimage are a hundred and thirty. My years have been few and difficult, and they do not equal the years of the pilgrimage of my fathers.'" (Ex. 47:9)

Some one hundred or so individuals, some seeking fortune, some escaping slavery, some seeking religious freedom, left Holland in September of 1620. Or as we would say today, "Discounted cruise ship weather." Almost two months later (November/December) they would land in Plymouth Bay, Massachusetts. I believe this is called "poor planning" as New England in the winter is a challenge even for modern day dwellers. To their defense they did think they were heading to sunny Virginia.

Imagine having no lodging. Very little food. No protection from predators (man or animal). Discord among your fellow passengers. More than half of you will die that winter. Not a good advertisement for the cruise line. 

I've been thinking about the mass migration of people over the last ten years. Africans trying to get into Europe. Icelandic people trying to get into Greenland not really understanding that its not really green. Everyone trying to get into the United States. 

It's like the Pilgrims. Everyone has their reason and they are willing to risk everything to get somewhere...somewhere else than where they currently are. And for many, the destination is just another version of the hell they tried to escape. The weather just might be a bit better. Which begs the question, "Why aren't more people trying to illegally get into Jamaica or Aruba or Costa Rica?"

Deb and I have moved a number of times. Mostly for job assignments. We never left because we felt our lives in danger. We never left because we were starving or persecuted. We never left because we weren't free to worship as God has directed us to worship. We never felt the internal angst that would cause us to sell everything except the clothes on our backs with a few changes of underwear and some photos of family...to subject our children to the unknown future because it was better than the known present. I can't be empathetic. The Bekins Van Line receipts bear witness against us. But I should be a lot more compassionate. 

The early Pilgrims were actually called such by their first governor, William Bradford: Pilgrims or Saints. Individuals and families making a sacrificial journey to a new land, to the Promised Land. Struggle. Sacrifice. Stalwart. I'm sure some back home said, "Stupid." But all such pilgrimages are in reality a bit unexplainable to those who are content. Unexplainable urges for something more, something new, something transformative. And all come with some form of a cost. 

I wish we would teach school children about these things more often. Perhaps we would be better off as subsequent generations appreciate and emulate those "S" qualities. Perhaps less biased indoctrination about unhistorical "White Privilege" and glorified Norman Rockwell paintings. 

I am reminded of this as I think about glued Pilgrim hats, Indian headbands, and turkeys in the shape of my hand. All fun for the holidays. I guess it beats teaching them about dysentery, lice, and hypothermia. I mean...how would you draw that anyway?

A Pilgrims Progress. 

Neighbor

 "But when the Pharisees heard that [Jesus] silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together. Then one of them, a lawyer, asked Him a question, testing Him, and saying, 'Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the law?'" 

"Jesus said to him, 'You shall love the LORD you God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself." (Matthew 22:34-40)

I was out visiting one of my dear senior saints in an assisted living facility a few weeks back and we were talking about the "good old days." She's 91 so I had to nod and fake agree with her on most things because I had no idea what she was talking about. She grew up on a farm so a lot of her memories were things that had to do with raising and putting up garden produce and slaughtering animals, of trading the local grocer this for that, and laundry. Not sure why any of that was "good." Perhaps a better word would be "simpler" or..."hard." 

But one thing struck a chord. It just happens to be something I also enjoy in the realm of the English language - when one takes a noun and uses it as a verb. She said, "Pastor, we just don't neighbor like we used to." Well said. 

I was thinking about my neighbor Ron who knows all things neighbory. I walked over to his house after church one Sunday with a little bag of Halloween candy. He's probably in his late 70's +/-.  "Hey, Ron, I know that your wife wouldn't let you dress up and go out for Trick or Treat this year and all I could think of is you sitting in here looking at all the kids having fun...you here without any candy...with tears in your eyes. So...Happy Halloween, Ron. And by the way, you can put all your tree branches in my pile. No sense of you killing your lawn when mine is already dead and will probably not be resurrected in that particular place." He confidentially conveyed to me that he has a little problem with sweets and went out and bought a bag of one hundred pieces. I said, "It's between you and me, my friend." I now have some leverage on the guy. 

It was a time of male bonding. Two men sharing life at a deep and meaningful level. I'm tearing up as I write this. We then moved into how often he has True Green come and fertilizer his lawn and a recent water leak that he had above his garage door. Precious moments. We were neighboring. I like to go over and neighbor with Ron. 

I neighbored with my friend Clifford this week. He lives behind me. I neighbored with his dog, Kia, as well. She was just fixed. Cliff is planning on doing some remodeling. He thinks I should level off my back yard a bit more so it slopes and gets rid of that pond that forms in my backyard during a good rain. "It's drowning your newly planted lilac bushes. You should think about some good American Holly bushes." He's a patriot and a lover of privacy horticulture. Neighbors neighboring. And women say we don't share. Non-sense. We bare our souls as men. 

"Love your neighbor as yourself." Maybe it's as simple as a short visit with some candy or a lean on the fence when you've got other things to do. Petting someone's dog. Maybe "love your neighbor as yourself" is just taking the time to be...to neighbor. Maybe it's giving what I want. Someone to care, to befriend me. Someone to listen to me when what I'm talking about is of very little interest to them. Someone to just be interested in me. 

A cup of sugar...when none is needed. 

Blotmonath

 " The fat belongs to the LORD." Leviticus 3:16

November. From Old French, Novembre. Directly from the Latin, November or Novembris. Novem meaning, "nine." Ninth month with the Roman calendar beginning in March. But not being French or Roman of heritage I decided to look at my mother tongue, Old English, (I am a Saxon on the Cains/Davis maternal side; there may be evidence that I am a distant relative to King Richard, the Lionheart...or castle slave or something...it doesn't really matter). I landed upon something quite interesting.

The month of November in English is called, "Blotmonath." Of course it is! You can see November clearly in the word. If you take the "Bl" out and replace it with an "N," remove the "t" and add a "ve," and cut out the "nath," replacing it with a "ber," - there you have it. "November." The miraculous development of the English language. 

"Blotmonath" is a combination of two words, "Blot" meaning, "Blood," and "monath" meaning, "month." It was also called, "The Month of Sacrifice." It was the time of year when most of the butchering was done heading into the winter months. It was cold enough that the meat could drain out the blood while not being prone to natural decay before the salt could be applied. 

There are those who believe that this was part of some post-All Hallows Eve pagan god worship that originally included human sacrifice. It may have been, but even non-Christian historians noted that it was primarily domestic livestock. Pagan worship accompanied all aspect of life, so it is no surprise that prayers to the "gods" to get them through a long English winter would accompany the practical action. 

I find it interesting and a bit reflective that as we head into Thanksgiving and the miracle of the Incarnation - where God so love us that He became one of us - that in this season "blood," "sacrifice" and "sustenance" through a cold season of life would be the focus of the average person. God does not leave himself without a witness - a reminder. 

As a side note, in the early days of America (of which many migrated from England), they used every part of the animal. Brains, tongue, tail, bone marrow, intestines, and fat were all used.  

An Old English story describes a family sitting down in the cold winter for a healfne cuppan cloenes gemyltes swices - "a half a cup of melted bacon fat." Mmmmm...good. 

Deb has been trying to think of something unique for our Thanksgiving family dinner. I think we may have found a winner. 

Happy Blotmonath! Winter is coming!

And so is my annual cholesterol blood work. 

"The fat belongs to the LORD."