Why I Choose “Happy Holidays” over “Merry Christmas”

Shocking, I know. A good ‘ole Christian boy like me choosing Happy Holidays over Merry Christmas.

I can’t even woo you with pleas of ” I don’t want to offend people in hopes of evangelizing them.”

But, if you’ll listen, I can explain.

Christmas is still two weeks away, at this writing. I guarantee that you won’t find any normal person wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving two weeks before the fourth Thursday in November.

Neither will you find anyone wishing you a Happy Birthday two weeks before your birthday.

Neither will you wish someone a Happy Valentine’s Day on February first.

Also, have you ever counted how many holidays there are in December alone? My brief search shows eight holidays.

I have a simple suggestion: Remember the attack at Pearl Harbour on Dec. 7.

Say, “Happy New Years!” on January 1.

Acknowledge that people of other religions and cultural backgrounds celebrate holidays, such as Kawanzaa.

Say, “Happy Thanksgiving” on the fourth Thursday of November.

Say, “Merry Christmas” on the 25th of December.

And if you want to wish people “Happy Thanksgiving” or “Merry Christmas” during the week leading up to each of them, do so

Otherwise, let people say it how they will and spend your time focusing on what the holidays are about — not on how people choose to acknowledge them.

A Moment of Intimacy

A couple weeks ago I read Everybody Wants to go to Heaven but Nobody Wants to Die, or (the Eschatology of Bluegrass) by David Crowder and Mike Hogan (also in DCB). The author’s wrote it after a series of deaths in their lives. During the research of the book (or perhaps before the book began — I’m not sure) a pastor friend of theirs died by electrocution — while in a baptismal. Perhaps you read about it?

Somewhere about the middle of the book I took the time to write the friend who gave it to me. The note got much more personal and raw than I expected. Nearly two weeks ago it crossed my mind that I could post that note here. Maybe it will connect with a reader; maybe it will connect with no one. Either way, I post it below in all its rawness.

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I am just now 100 pages into the book, and thought I’d share a few thoughts (probably superficial, leading to something more authentic).

it feels like the same thing told in three different ways. First, the historical. Second, the IM. Third, the narrative (columns). i came to the column that first told of Virginia’s stroke and realized that the stories were about to meld. I like this idea. I think I see the connection with the tears, dying birds and rest of the story, but am not sure yet.

i’m enticed by the fact that DC and MH can be so comical at times (I’ve laughed a lot) and yet very deep and genuine at others.

more importantly, i wonder what my take is on death and mourning. for example, i remember when my grandfather died. One memory stands out more than any other. I’m sitting in my van. I’ve just pulled into our driveway but Air 1 is playing “Stand in the rain” by barlow girl (superchick? — doesn’t matter). At first I want to say that this is good. That I’m freely grieving through the works and tunes of this music.

but am i?

perhaps i wasn’t. i didn’t let anyone in. i was alone. no community. even tho I may have been expressing, who was I expressing to? who was I confiding in?

Anyway…I’m still not entirely sure what the book is about. I know it’s all going to tie in, and that it will probably take me much longer to process and think through it, but I’m enjoying it. immensely.

look forward to your thoughts. hope you don’t mind that this sounds more like a journal entry. I think I just pick up on the tone and style of the book and run with it a bit…maybe.

The Scientist and the Assistant

I’ve heard people often say, “I’m the hands and feet of Jesus.” Or, “I owe all of this to Jesus. It wasn’t me, but him working through me.” It’s not a concept I easily grasp. For those of us who have trouble understanding, or emotionally connecting, I’ve written this story.

The Scientists and the Assistant

The scientist sits in the middle of his lab on a old, wooden chair. His son built it for him many years before. He crouches forward and rests his chin on a cane, deep in thought.

The scientist’s assistant waits, silently and attentively, near a workbench. His master can hardly walk, much less perform experiments. His hands are his master’s hands; His feet are his master’s feet. What his master directs, he does.

This day is different, although neither scientists nor assistant knows it, yet.

“Johann,” the scientist says, “mix the third vial with the fifth. Shake this time. Do not stir.” Johann complies.

“Now heat it to a temperature of 237 degrees.”

Johann hesitates. The chemicals they work with are highly flammable. He wonders if his master has lost his mind, has forgotten this critical piece of information, or if he’s so close to death he’ll try anything.

“But master–”

“I’ve run the calculations. I know the risk.” The master pauses, sits up straighter. “Hold it at that temperature for 2 hours and 6 minutes.”

Johann holds the master’s gaze for a few extra seconds, then drops his head and sighs. If he hadn’t loved the master so much he might have left, might have turned around and walked out the door. Leaving held no consequences for him. But he had already promised to grant this last wish to his master.

Johann complied.

In the days and weeks to follow, an amazing thing happened: Cancer became the victim.  It lost its place at the top of the food chain. The master’s concoction — miraculously — destroyed the disease without harming the host. Scientists later determined that the cure had a 97 percent rate of effectiveness. The cure was named after Johann’s master.

The next year Johann’s master was nominated for and won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry.

The master didn’t live long enough to accept the prize. The committee asked Johann to accept the award on his master’s behalf, and he agreed.

Johann walked on stage to the clap of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of viewers. He smiled, although sadness still hung in his eyes, and waited for the clapping to subside and the audience to sit.

“My master,” he said, “Was a brilliant man. Even at the end of his life — in the throes of death, one might say — he struggled to find a cure, knowing he would never benefit. I’m honored to accept this award on his behalf. But I want to take care that it is just that — on his behalf. I did much of the work. I poured and mixed vials, turned on machines. I walked from place to place in the lab while my master sat, mostly motionless. I heated the final solution. I took it out of the machine and presented it to the world.”

Johann paused for a long moment. Those in the front row could see tears forming. Johann breathed deeply, and continued.

“But I was no more than my master’s instrument. Before I performed any task, he had already thought it through a hundred times. Every approach we took came from a carefully crafted plan. I had but to execute it. While I did much of the physical work, this is not my creation. My master is the impetus behind this life-saving cure. It is his and his alone. When I walk off this stage, when your friends and family win their fight with cancer because of this cure, whenever you encounter another individual who is alive because of this cure — remember my master.”

Johann looked down at the lectern, picked up his notes and left the stage. The crowd continued to clap for many minutes after he had disappeared. In the weeks and months that followed Johann had many interviews. In each and every interview he was extremely clear about one thing.

“I consider myself the most honored man in the world.” He would say. “Nobody is as lucky as me — to be used by someone so brilliant, so caring, so compassionate for such a noble purpose.”

Jesus Didn’t Have to Die

An email circulated years ago that evolved into a popular Christian metaphor. It tells the store of a drawbridge keeper who faced the choice between locking the bridge (saving a train of people and killing he son who had wondered onto the bridge) or not locking the bridge (killing the people but saving his son). Many likened this to the choice God made when he sent Jesus to earth. You can read the full story here if you’ve never heard it.

I understand that all metaphors have certain limitations. They give wight to certain qualities and diminish others. But this metaphor sends some very dangerous signals.

If you’ve often thought about Jesus’ death this way…well, maybe you shouldn’t. Here’s why:

The drawbridge keeper (man in the story) has exactly two decisions and no control to change the situation. God, on the other hand, isn’t a man. He can make whatever decision he wants, whenever he wants. Nothing isn’t in his control (or, rather, everything is in his control).

What God/Jesus did is a beautiful thing. But too often I fall into the trap of believing that God had to do it that way. I too often believe that God had no other choice: Send Jesus to die or be forever separated from his people. But he didn’t have two choices. He could have simply forgiven our sins (if you are now finding yourself saying “No, someone had to atone for it” then please remember: He is God and can do whatever he wants).

I have a problem accepting this. If Jesus didn’t have to send his son, then why did he?

Ehhhhh…*scratches head with blank stare*

Yea. That’s all I’ve got.

But here’s what I do know: God didn’t have to, but he did. God didn’t choose to sacrifice his son because he had to choose between Jesus and us. He did it because he knew it was the best way not just to save us but to reconcile his relationship with us.

That, to me, is incredibly cool. And humbling. That God was not required to die for me. But he did.

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Connect with me on Twitter or Facebook. Email me at colbystream@gmail.com

Six Fun Ideas for When You’re not Working

Most weeks I work about 50 hours, not counting my writing. I only mention this to say that, like many of the people around me, I have just as much right to focus on my work in exclusion to all else.

Still, I believe that life should be about more than work. I believe that people should take time to learn new activities and try new things.

Many people’s  argument against trying new things is that there isn’t enough time in each day. Now I don’t know about you, but I personally watch about 10 hours of TV a week.  I know that if I ever have to choose between this TV time and trying to hobbies or forming new relationships I’ll cut my TV time in half any day. If you feel pinched for time, I encourage you to do the same. Take that extra time and implement one (or more!) of these six ideas.

1) Learn a marginal sport. These are sports people don’t consider “sports.” Last semester my brother-in-law took a billiards class. He’s taught me a ton of new pool-table games. We try to play weekly. Other marginal sports include chess, bowling, rugby and climbing.

2) Volunteer somewhere. I’ve put a ton of time into the Epilepsy Foundation because my wife has epilepsy. I also volunteer extensively at our church. Find a cause that motivates you and then an organisation that fits that cause. Many organizations need skills (design, writing, programming) as much as they need bodies in the office.

3) Study a subject you love (that’s not related to your job). Think back to what you enjoyed in high school or college. I would like to learn Spanish, and possibly brush up on my Latin.

4) Do stuff with other people. My wife and I regularly host dinner with other couples at our house, or eat at another couple’s place. Our favorite experience was showing our wedding video after dinner. And it’s OK if you’re not the “eating with friends” type. Go bowling or play cards together.

5) Collect something out-of-the-ordinary. I’m partial to fedoras. I wear a black fedora almost everywhere during the seasons of Fall and Winter. I recently decided to collect antique and vintage fedoras.

6) Never feel guilty. Growing up, my dad worked 40+ hours a week and then came home at nights and worked in the garden or garage until dark. Our family spent Saturdays cleaning house and doing yard work. I adopted a work ethic so strong that I felt guilty if I was doing something constructive (no — I don’t blame my parents). I had to learn to tone down my work ethic. This is why I play pool. It teaches me no life skills. It won’t make me money one day. But that’s OK. It relaxes me and gives me time with my brother.

For me, that’s a win. And I don’t feel guilty one bit.

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Got tips of your own? Post in the comment section below.

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Connect with me on Twitter, or email me at colbystream@gmail.com

Introduction Niceties

One day I’d like to be a published writer. And I’d like to support my family, at least in part, through those publishings.

I recently discovered that writers and to-be writers should build a platform and a following. This blog is my attempt at doing so, and I’d like to introduce myself. Before that, you should know where my inspiration comes from. If you like what you see here, give Robert Brewer some love. The specific posts I read are Platform Building 101 for Writers: Planning, and Blogging Tips for Writers. If, however, you wish I’d never even started this space: Well, I guess you can still blame “not Bob.”

So, a little about me:

I write both fiction and non-fiction. I’m better at one than the other, but I don’t know which. I live in Boise, which means I’m a Bronco fan. During my freshman year at BSU I gave tours of the campus, part of which included the blue turf. You have to admit that it’s a neat color, even if you’re a bronco-hater.

My wife and I married in Aug. 2011. She has controlled epilepsy, so I know a lot about seizures. We attend a church called The Pursuit (stop by if you’re ever in town), but will soon leave to help launch another church (more on that in the future).

This blog, initially, has one very simple goal:

Post once a week (on Monday)

I first want to build consistency. After the new year I plan to re-evaluate this goal.

I know a little about music and a lot about movies. My two favorite actors are Gerard Butler (“300″ and “The Ugly Truth”) and Zachary Levi (“Chuck” and “Tangled”).

My (currently) favorite song is “Make a Move” by Royal Tailor. I love all of Tauren’s outfits in the music video. I’ve posted it below for your viwing. Enjoy!

The Drawbridge Keeper (for another post)

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There was once a bridge that spanned a large river.  During most of the day, the bridge sat with its length running up and down the river paralleled with the banks, allowing ships to pass through freely on both sides of the bridge.  But at certain times each day, a train would come along and the bridge would be turned sideways across the river, allowing the train to cross it.

A switchman sat in a shack on one side of the river where he operated the controls to turn the bridge and lock into place as the train crossed.

One evening as the switchman was waiting for the last train of the day to come, he looked off into the distance through the dimming twilight and cause sight of the train lights.  He stepped onto the control and waited until the train was within a prescribed distance.  Then he was to turn the bridge.  He turned the bridge into position, but, to his horror, he found the locking control did not work.  If the bridge was not securely in position, it would cause the train to jump the track and go crashing into the river.  This would be a passenger train with many people aboard.

He left the bridge turned across the river and hurried across the bridge to the other side of the river, where there was a lever switch he could hold to operate the lock manually.

He would have to hold the lever back firmly as the train crossed.  He could hear the rumble of the train now, and he took hold of the lever and leaned backwards to apply his weight to it, locking the bridge.  He kept applying the pressure to keep the mechanism locked.  Many lives depended on this man’s strength.

Then, coming across the bridge from the direction of his control shack, he heard a sound that made his blood run cold.

“Daddy, where are you?”  His four-year-old son was crossing the bridge to look for him.  His first impulse was to cry out to the child, “Run!  Run!”  But the train was too close; the tiny legs would never make it across the bridge in time.

The man almost left his lever to snatch up his son and carry him to safety.  But he realized that he could not get back to the lever in time if he saved his son.

Either many people on the train or his own son — must die.

He took but a moment to make his decision.  The train sped safely and swiftly on its way; and no one aboard was even aware of the tiny broken body thrown mercilessly into the river by the on rushing train.  Nor were they aware of the pitiful figure of the sobbing man, still clinging to the locking lever long after the train had passed.  They did not see him walking home more slowly that he had ever walked; to tell his wife how their son had brutally died.

Now, if you comprehend the emotions that wen through this man’s heart, you can begin to understand the feelings of Our Father in Heaven when He sacrificed His Son to bridge the gap between us and eternal life.

Can there be any wonder that He caused the earth to tremble and the skies to darken when His Son died?  How does He feel when we speed along through life without giving a thought to what was done for us through Jesus Christ?

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