[The Beginning of] the Beginning of the Story

The whole "baby in the manger" thing has me thinking. What in the world are we supposed to do with an infant whose birth was heralded by angels, visited by sheep herders, lauded by wise travelers? It makes for a great story, except there's no closure at the end of our Christmas holiday. That Baby, no matter how special and holy, can't do anything. It's great that He came, but...

My dad used to travel for business, and he'd sometimes bring special gifts home. When he went to Alaska, he returned with photos and explanations of a large retaining wall for which his company had supplied the interlocking pieces. Oh, and jade necklaces for my mom and me. One of his early trips to the east side of the state, he witnessed tumbleweeds blowing across the highway. I was thrilled to take a real tumbleweed to school for show-and-tell! (Side note: I had to wrap it in newspaper so my classmates wouldn't guess what it was. Ha!) Looking back, I enjoyed the stories as much as the presents.

my completed moccasins were something like this

And then, on a jaunt to Arizona, he picked up a moccasin kit so I could stitch up my own slippers. No story, but something representative of the place. I loved the idea of having my own moccasins. But the kit, by itself, was only a beginning. It was what came after, the process of putting them together, that would make them useful. Only after that would I be able to wear them.

The baby in the manger is kind of like the moccasin kit. In order to really get something out of it -- Jesus, that is -- you have to involve yourself in a process. There's the first part of His story, understanding that His birth and His very existence is amazing. As an adult, He did things and told stories and taught lessons that should have our attention. But then... then there was the whole "end of story" part when He was killed -- but He could have gotten out of it. What? Yes, Jesus could have opted out, but He let them put Him to death as a religious criminal. And then, after He was proven to be dead, He was resurrected and reunited with His followers before returning to the right hand of God the Father. The point of all of this was to pay the penalties for all of our misdeeds, so that we could also be with Him forever.

So, celebrating the miraculous birth of the Baby is like opening that moccasin kit. It's exciting just to see this beginning, but there's much more to come if you carry it out to the end. Read and follow the instructions, as it were, to receive the real joy and fulfillment.

But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, even to those who believe in His name, who were born not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.

Sights Seen in Seattle

Half the fun of photography is finding new ways to look at stuff. Here are some different views of Seattle. Enjoy!

This tower seems a little off-kilter... but the next one is supposed to be that way? Go figure. Not sure my dad the carpenter would have appreciated the effect.

I guess wooden dragons aren't too scary.

My Brother Watches Ax Men

Please try to keep this under wraps. He probably doesn't need this news to be leaked to his professional colleagues. I mean, have you heard the language on that show? It's full of bleeps, up one side and down the other! I heard a great quote last night, however, that I may turn into my signature catchphrase:

"Okey-dokey, let's get started!"

It was beautiful -- a whole sentence without a single bleep. Even better, it was delivered in a sing-song, dopey voice. The speaker intended this to be a silly comment. All the more reason to make it my catchphrase.

Our dad often used his chainsaw. We had 20 acres of forest, a large semi-wooded beachfront lot, and neighbors with the same AND who were members of the family. It was a wood-cutter's paradise.

When I watch Ax Men, I can almost smell the fresh-cut wood and the chainsaw exhaust and the raw earth. I try not to think about my father's disdain for OSHA regulations -- he always figured he was safe enough.

There was one time when Dad's disregard for safety precautions came back to bite him. He went to the property alone, intending to cut firewood for the day. Somehow, in taking down a tree or freeing a snag, he got pinned beneath a big log. No one knew exactly where he was, no one was watching out for him, and we weren't expecting him to return home for several hours.

Dad would've enjoyed Ax Men. He would've loved romping through the forest with a big, sharp saw. He might've been a little more careful than usual. He would have been thankful all over again to have made it home that one afternoon.