Right on Time, Here Comes Punxsutawney Phil

When I start writing about the weather, my readers might logically suppose that I’m feeling uninspired, dull and unimaginative, and short of things to write about. They would be right. My apologies.

Strange. I just looked back at a few old columns (I’ve got well over a thousand of them), and I see that on several occasions, about this time of year, I’ve written about the weather. So maybe I’m on track. And so is the year. Right on track.

Christmas is over. That’s depressing. The decorations are down. That’s depressing. I’m working on taxes. That’s depressing. It’s been January for almost a whole month. Aside from a few birthday bright spots, January is, to me, depressing—except for the theoretical possibility of snow, the most beautiful weather-wonder our Creator ever creates.

Full disclosure: I’m the grandson of a rancher, but I do not have cattle, or I might be less excited about the white stuff.

It has, thus far, and yet again, been a wimpy winter in my neck of the woods. I’m not qualified to discuss the reasons why. I’m not terribly conversant about La Niña or El Niño. I have some opinions about climate change and weather patterns and how much we humans affect such, but I’m not religious about those opinions. I can, however, smell climate politics. 

Convocations of very religious folks (most of whom wouldn’t admit their religion is a religion) remind me, as I’ve mentioned before, of gnats congregating on an elephant’s posterior debating how to best save the elephant. I doubt if he knows or cares. I could be wrong.

I remember when many experts were wringing their hands over the population crisis, by which they meant, too many folks. Now we’re hearing scary stuff about the opposite. I don’t doubt that climate patterns change. But what to do? I don’t know, and I figure that by the time they come up with an electric pickup I’d want to buy, my kids will have confiscated my driving license. I am, however, concerned that the more real danger is that, busy sanctimoniously “saving the world,” we allow real enemies to make a bigger mess of it while we’re worried that our popsicles might melt. I could be quite wrong.    

I am not a meteorologist or the son of a meteorologist. My only qualification to have an opinion at all is that I like seasons, and I like them best when they behave like the seasons they are. If I wanted perpetual spring, I would live . . . elsewhere.

Each season has just claim to fame but winter may be my favorite. Of course, it’s working at an unfair advantage: it’s got Christmas. And, at least when my wife and I go to the mountains to get it, winter has that snow I mentioned. And roaring fireplaces. And skiing. And hot chocolate. And books by fireplaces.

But in my opinion, this winter, despite a few very, very cold days (we’re in the midst of some as I write) has been wimpy and windy. Almost—and I find this chilling—springlike. Not “springlike” as in birdies singing, trees budding out, new life bursting forth from the ground. No. Picture rodents and small children flying around in the atmosphere as acres of parched land rise up to switch counties. Springlike. And the real thing will be here soon enough.

We surely don’t need “Goliath” type blizzards (December 2015), but I’m always a bit disappointed when winter in these parts consists of about 62 flakes of dry snow. Wimpy.

So I’ll be watching with interest as the redoubtable rodent, Punxsutawney Phil, emerges on February 2, Groundhog Day. I hope he sees his shadow. If we can get the real thing, a little more winter is fine with me. By the way, those who keep track of such things say that Phil’s prediction is reliably unreliable. But it’s fun.

If you’re a beach person, we’re still friends. If you worry about cow flatulence, I’m sorry that you have to deal with such anxiety. Our faith—the kind that really matters—is not dependent upon our climate agreement. We might disagree on how best to do so, but folks with faith in our Creator all agree that he did an amazing job spinning this globe, and we should do our best not to mess it up.

I hope our trust is in the Author of life and all seasons. Whatever the weather (forgive me if I’m tempted to cross my fingers here regarding blowing dust and wind), our Creator makes “everything beautiful in its time” (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2023 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

January 20: Penguin Awareness Day

I may need to apologize to a penguin.

Are you aware that Friday, January 20, 2023, was Penguin Awareness Day? I wasn’t, either, until I ran across a “news” blurb flashing across one of my screens late that day, and by then it was too late to do anything very practical about it. (And I just assumed that most likely the event was designed to help people to be more aware of penguins and not for penguins to be more aware of their surroundings lest they step into traffic or something.)

Greeting card companies probably have some (overpriced) cards for that day. Black and white. Maybe tuxedos with black tie ribbons? I could have bought one had I not been so callously unaware of the special day. Better yet, I could have spent the entire day in heightened awareness of the particular difficulties faced by penguins in our modern world. At least, I could have posted well wishes on Facebook. Maybe “liked” or “loved” some awareness-provoking pictures of penguins. Alas, too late.

I figured I had two good options. I could make it a point to apologize in person to the very next penguin I bumped into, or I could just wait until next year’s Penguin Awareness Day and do something really special. Whichever comes first.

My oversight was nothing personal. As far back as I can recall, I’ve had nothing but the warmest feelings toward penguins and, indeed, the whole penguin community.

I assume they have one. A community, I mean. We all seem to have a “community” these days. The right-handed community. The left-handed community. The right-handed and green-eyed people who like chocolate community.

Anyway, I’ve made a special note on my phone’s calendar marking January 20 for those specially-beloved waddlers lest I blow right past their official day yet again.

Ah, but my callous oversight has made me think. Wondering what other special days I might be sauntering past with nary a thought regarding their specialness, I did some Internet searching. Turns out that there’s not a day in the year that’s not been designated as a special day. If you don’t believe it, navigate over to HolidaySmart.com and browse a bit.

The folks at that website somehow neglected to mention that January 11 is my birthday, but they did tip their hat to that auspicious calendar square as being, among other claims to fame, Hot Toddy Day. Good to know.

Just for fun, I looked up my younger brother’s birthday. Cheddar Day. I’ll send him cheese if he’ll send me . . .

As exhaustive (and exhausting) as that website is (I mean, you can’t take a breath on any day and not be trampling on top of somebody’s “day”), it’s quite thorough. I did notice, though, that they completely overlooked Hobbit Day, Sept. 22. (You can look it up.)

With apologies again to penguins, I give up. I plan to try to act like my littlest grandkids and recognize every day as a special day, a day given to them by God to use to run and laugh and play and hug and learn. A day from which to squeeze out every last bit of joy before getting some great sleep so you can do the same to the next one. After all, it was just the other day—a day I’d already mentally pronounced as windy, dusty, and generally unpleasant—when I heard one of those little snaggle-toothed princesses remark, “It really is kind of a beautiful day.” And in her company, ya know, it really kinda was.

I know now that the day Kendall dubbed “kind of beautiful” was also World Quark Day, and Tin Can Day, and Good Memory Day. That last was right on target. But she’s already told me a bunch of times on more than a few days, “Today’s my best day.”

Come to think of it, that’s not at all a bad thing to note on a calendar. I think it even overshadows Penguin Awareness Day. No offense meant to the penguin community.

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2023 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

Toothpaste, Toilet Paper, and Marriage

Toothpaste, Toilet Paper, and Marriage

By Curtis K. Shelburne

Forty-seven years. That’s how long my wife and I have been married. It probably seems longer to her.

I’m counting pretty heavily on the fact that breaking in a new husband would likely be for her, at this point, more trouble than it’s worth.

These days, the statistics for folks who get married as young as we did are pretty grim. And I will admit, if one of my grandkids expressed a desire to get married at age 18, I’d likely need some sort of sedation.

But for those who marry young and survive to grow up together and grow old together with their first spouse, blessings abound. Of course, all married couples face some challenges. Fewer challenges, I think, than folks who choose to live together without vows and can cut and run at any moment, but challenges nonetheless.

Early on, my wife and I faced and dealt with the toilet paper challenge. She explained to me an advantage or two of the “under” rather than “over” approach to hanging TP. It still seemed rather uncivilized to me, and we went with “over.”

Couples also bump quickly into practical decisions regarding everyday household chores. I am not a great dishwasher, but I am fairly proficient at gathering and carrying out trash. Since my beloved doesn’t like the way I load dishwashers, and since I’m not sure she knows where the dumpster is, the “division of labor” solution we came up with in this regard seemed easy and obvious.

Moving on, we came to the potential contention regarding toothpaste. More specifically, toothpaste tubes. In our marital alliance, I discovered very quickly that my wife takes it as a personal affront if any tube of toothpaste fails to surrender its last molecule of product. I’ve watched in amazement as she tortures toothpaste tubes until they give up every bit of their tooth goop and beg for mercy. She is not happy if I, in frustration, toss a tube into the trash too soon. So now I work my personal toothpaste tube down to a reasonable level, and then I surreptitiously switch out my dwindling tube for her fuller one. Win win.

By the way, her particular talent extends to anything that comes in a plastic bottle. I was a bit concerned (my heart skipped a beat or two) when I first discovered a large butcher knife stored in a drawer on her side of the bathroom. (Does the surname Bobbitt ring any bells?) Turns out she uses that rather frightening instrument to saw lotion-dwindling bottles in two so she can—you guessed it—retrieve any recalcitrant hand lotion molecules out of the containers.

We are somewhat similar in our “chronotypes.” Neither of us is a lark (a morning person), and neither is an extreme owl (a night person), though we (particularly me) definitely tend to be “owl-ish.” Neither of us arises merrily to chase the dawn, and one of us can get along just fine with limited light and speech until quite a good while after dawn and copious amounts of coffee.

The way two streams can come together to form one marital river is rather amazing. Why would we expect to have no occasional turbulence at their convergence? But—and this is also deeply true—who could ever have dreamed of the marvelous beauty and unique blessing their flowing together as one, unselfishly un-dammed, could become?

God. That’s who.

In our society, many self-righteous—and loud—folks may babble incessantly about diversity and equity. Strange, how often they seem to mean, in practicality, forcing lock-step conformity and a dreary sameness. “Equity” tends to mean cutting everyone off at the knees lest anyone grow taller than anyone else.

I think God’s way is better. We’re each and all valued and loved and given varied gifts that we unselfishly use to bless each other, and, to switch to the Apostle Paul’s favorite metaphor, when each “member” of the body functions well, the whole body reaps the amazing benefit.

All of this, I suppose, to say that “better together” and “more than we could ever be apart” are wonderfully true concepts for those who really do love their Lord and each other more than they love themselves.

Mark my words. A young couple able to deal unselfishly with toothpaste and toilet paper issues is off to a great start.

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2023 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

Selling the Moments of Our Lives

A new year. In the dance of the universe, the annual calendar flip always seems to me to be mostly a non-event, plastic hype, modern media “News Alert” news. I never notice much difference between 11:59 p.m. on Dec. 31 and 12:01 a.m. on Jan. 1.

And yet . . . I’ll admit that the dawning of a new year might not be a bad time to check our smoke alarms and our priorities. Regarding the latter, the sharp-pointed question is actually this: For what price are we selling the moments of our lives?

Because there is a price.

A friend, a man I respect immensely, recalled a conversation he had with a superior in his company. My friend was being offered a significant opportunity for advancement—and a lot more money. But he turned it down. Why? Because, as he told his boss after considering the hours, the time away from home, the travel: “Happiness is worth a lot to me.”

“Well,” the boss replied, “isn’t it to everyone?”

The answer is No. More than a few people are willing to trade their happiness, and that of those closest to them, for any “advancement,” “success,” and more money. They’ll rationalize the decision and hope their own souls and their families won’t notice. But they are willing to put happiness on the auction block.

I’ve been blessed with a number of friends wise enough to know when such was the actual choice, and who made the best decision. I’ve never known one who later regretted making the selfless choice.

The choice is not always that stark. Some very fine folks advance and reap the benefits of their hard work even as they remain happy, content, and continually pray to be a blessing wherever they work and serve. But they are never the ones who equate “more” with “happier” or who spend time saying or thinking, “I’ll be happy if . . .” They know that “if” never really comes.

They know that selling their integrity for success is deep loss. They know that to become strangers to their spouses and kids is terrible failure, no matter their financial “net worth.” They know genuine truths about real worth. (Remember Harry Chapin’s classic “The Cat’s in the Cradle”? It’s worth a listen.)

A wise person whose name I don’t recall once remarked, “Has it ever occurred to you that most of the worst things most people ever do are done to please people they don’t even really like?”

How many people sell their lives to “reach the top” and find that the “top” is cheap and tawdry, though slithering to the summit cost them dearly. And then the moments fly by, dust returns to dust, and their “place knows them not” (Psalm 103). They got a watch or a plaque. Then another climber climbed into their spot. And the process repeats.

Just a few days ago, a well-known politician in our land got the high position he coveted. But more than a few folks across the political spectrum are left wondering if, after all the bowing, scraping, and groveling he’s been willing to do to some very slimy human beings, what he finally got is really worth having or is now so demeaned that it will become dust and ashes in his mouth. I don’t know. When our two national political parties seem mostly characterized by craziness, cowardice, or, at any given moment, some combination thereof, and do their best to expel anyone with much character or wisdom, I don’t expect much. I guess time will tell. But, just from the reports I’ve heard, I hope I’d not have been willing to pay that price.  

Don’t let me sidetrack this with politics. The principle holds true in every arena of our lives and at every level. I’ve seen religious “rock stars” sell their integrity for mega-church fame and neon glitz. I’ve also seen large churches led by folks who were selfless and humble. I’ve seen churches, little and large, split by tyrants, and churches, little and large, blessed by wise and selfless leaders who would “give their lives for the sheep” and were invariably true to the Shepherd. We all know that greedy rich folks and greedy poor folks are easy to find. As are some folks at all levels of income who know what it means to be truly rich.  

Name a business. Name an endeavor. Name a church, or a school, or any organization. Name a family.

And then name some names. Think about the people you remember, and will always honor, who have blessed you by loving you and the people around them so much that they “sold” the moments of their lives wisely to be a blessing wherever they worked and served.

Thank God for them. And pray to partake deeply of that same wisdom and blessing. If God gives you the talents and abilities to be a great CEO, use them, and ask for humility, realizing that the janitor mopping the hallway of the company and humming “Amazing Grace” may be a very rich man indeed if he knows happiness, contentment, and the love of his family.

This is sure: One day, sooner than we think, we’ll each reach a moment when we know—we really know—that, though we’ve made many mistakes and taken some missteps along the way, we’ve journeyed in the right direction. We followed the right Leader. And we sold our moments well.

You’re invited to visit my website, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2023 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.

January Is a Good Time for Looking Both Directions

Well, here we find ourselves again in January, and maybe some reflection is in order.

On the one hand, author Thomas Mann is right: “Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols.” So a new year? January? Big deal.

On the other hand, I’m always a little surprised when 12:01 a.m. of the new year rolls around and there’s not even any perceptible “bump” indicating that our wheels have run over a chronological curb. Even so, the seasons of the year each do have a discernible character, and I like that.

I like seasons, and I like living in a place where weather-wise, they are pretty obvious. It’s strange. I don’t tend to like change, but I like the changing seasons. I particularly like the fact that there is so very little change each year in the way that they invariably change. I like the particular character with which the Creator has endowed each season, and winter just might be my favorite.

I know nothing about Edith Sitwell, but I think she captures for me winter’s winsomeness: “Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home.”

There it is: “the time for home.” I like that.

One of my sons recently reflected on the time our family had together at Christmas, and what he said delighted me and may well have been the best Christmas gift I received. He said, “You know, it was really nice to be home. You and Mom have made it a really enjoyable place to be, and that’s true for all of us, from the little ones to all the rest.” I love that, and am immensely thankful for it!

Home matters to me, and there is no place I’d rather be.  Maybe that’s why I can think of nothing better (as long as the cupboard is full and there are some good books, old movies, and firewood available), than being snowed in for a few wonderful days. The only way, it seems to me, that we ever have anything much worthwhile to offer to the loud and bustling world outside is when we spend enough quiet and rich time inside, being gently reminded of who we are and Whose we are. That’s true of our homes, I think, and I believe it’s also true of our minds and our spirits.

Perhaps it’s never more true than in January. I always tend to find January depressing, scrunched up as it is right alongside of December. Granted, it starts off with a few of the twelve days of the Christmas season. It can certainly use the color. It includes my birthday and the birthdays of several family and friends I deeply love. Nonetheless, I hate it when the Christmas stuff comes down and the tax forms come in. Christmas holds so much beauty, hope, joy, and magic. Then comes January, a month that seems, unless we can get some beautiful snow (real snows are always magic), mostly designed for bloodless bureaucrats whose imaginations flat-lined sometime very early in elementary school.

But, I admit, that’s not entirely fair to January. The first month really does have some very good points and some unique wisdom. January gets its name from the Roman god Janus who was depicted on Roman coins as two-headed, looking both ways, backward and forward.  He was the keeper of gates and doors.

Wisdom lies in spending the right amount of time looking in both directions. God is still the Lord of both our “coming in” and our “going out.” He is the God of all times, all seasons, both “now and for evermore” (Psalm 121:8).

You’re invited to visit my website at http://www.CurtisShelburne.com, and I hope you’ll take a look there at my new “Focus on Faith” Podcast. At the website, just click on “Podcast.” Blessings!

Copyright 2023 by Curtis K. Shelburne. Permission to copy without altering text or for monetary gain is hereby granted subject to inclusion of this copyright notice.