THE HABIT OF CONSIDERING "YOUR PATH"

I've alluded to this before, but if you lived in Southampton like me and you wanted to go to Toronto, you would not head northeast to Barrie or Huntsville. No matter your intentions, no matter how fast or carefully you drove, you would not reach Toronto by driving away from it.

The reason for this, of course, is that your destination has nothing to do with your intentions, and everything to do with your direction.

It’s a common-sense principle we abide by whenever we use a map, but it’s also a principle found in Scripture. Take Proverbs 7 which we reviewed not long ago in a post on Wrights Lane. In this passage, Solomon describes a young man who steps into the house of an adulteress. Because the young man is short-sighted and naive, he sees the encounter as a stroke of luck. After all, the woman’s husband is away—no chance of getting caught—and she has an intoxicating night of love planned for the two of them.

So, the man walks through the door. He goes inside under the false notion that there will be no consequences for his actions. He thinks can have his cake and eat it too.

But Solomon knows better. He knows this man is not exempt from all God’s warnings about sin and folly. This man is not the exception to the rule; he is the rule.

And rather than walk a unique path in which the rules do not apply, this man is on a crowded highway. Countless men and women have gone before him, under the exact same illusion.

This young man believes he is on a path to pleasure and bliss, but he is instead on a path to destruction. Solomon describes it this way: “As an ox goes to the slaughter, or as a stag is caught fast till an arrow pierces its liver; as a bird rushes into a snare; he does not know that it will cost him his life.” (7:22-23)

The story is the principle of the path at work. His fate reminds us that we cannot attain the abundant life by choosing the path to a destination of no return. The path of sin, of corruption, of laziness, or ethical compromise will only lead to one place. Because direction determines destination.

I have always remembered the principle of the path because it has countless applications for our lives. For instance:

a) You cannot reach spiritual maturity on a path of spiritual neglect.

b) You cannot reach spiritual and physical health on a path of complacency and unaddressed issues.

This final point is, if we manipulate people, hedge on the truth, trample those with less power than us, or compromise our integrity in any way, we have effectively abandoned the path of godly leadership for a path of personal destruction.

Of course, we all make mistakes. Every one of us. In our faith, marriage, parenting, finances, and leadership, we will make bad choices. And when we do, there is more than enough grace to cover and redeem our brokenness. This is the good news.

But the principle of the path should chasten us. It reminds us to be wise and clear-eyed about our daily habits.

The principle of the path means that none of our choices take place in a vacuum. Every single one determines who we are becoming. Every single step is in a particular direction on a particular path, so the question we must ask ourselves every day is this: Where do I want to go, and am I on a path that will take me there?

Sadly, I have come to this conviction almost too-little-too-late to do much good in what is left of my life. At best most days, I simply pause momentarily on an old-age path that is assuredly downhill.

During those increasingly-frequent and necessary pauses, however, I still think about the inevitable and how I want to arrive at it.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!...WE DESERVE IT!!!

 

A CHRISTMAS MESSAGE...

 *be sure to watch fullscreen.

Ho,
    Ho,

        Ho,

            Ho!

PASSING THOUGHTS ABOUT LONG WALKS

If you are a parent or a grandparent there is no doubt that you have experienced some long walks in life.

I had a long walk last week when my car broke down two miles from home, but that is not the kind of walk I'm talking about. I'll explain:

Every Christmas, the parents of three grown children divided their holiday celebrations among the three different families. But with the difficulties involved in holiday preparation and extensive travel, sometimes they were tempted to throw up their hands and say, "It's too much! It's just not worth the effort." 

Whenever either of the parents got that feeling of exasperation, they would give the other a wink and say, "Long walk, dear, long walk," and laugh as they continued their holiday plans.

You see, "Long walk" was a code phrase. They began using it after hearing an old story about a young native boy who gave his missionary teacher an exquisite seashell as a Christmas gift. The boy had to walk exhausting miles to a particular bay which was the only place where such shells existed. 

"How wonderful of you to have traveled so far for this present," the teacher said. The boy's eyes lit up as he replied, "Long walk is part of the gift." For the missionary teacher, this was a gift of infinite value that no other could ever surpass.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
LONG WALK THAT NEVER HAPPENED:
A FUNNY (?) STORY

One day after a nasty streak of bad weather, a man asked his teenage son to take their dog for a long walk after school.

When he came home from work, the father found his son stretched out on the recliner in the living room, watching television.

The boy had the leash in his hand while the dog trotted happily away on the treadmill beside him.

BIBLE STORIES AS TOLD BY AUNT CHARLOTTE

If only we had more Aunt Charlottes in the world today!

Let me explain, in a rather roundabout way.

I often regret that children today, blessed with great potential, are being deprived of the precious truths contained in many of the pages of the Holy Scriptures. The Bible is the source of all our right thinking and right doing, as well as the guide to religious life, a blueprint for living, as it were.

That same Bible contains the entire history of one of the greatest races in the world, one that produced a Blessed Saviour two thousand years ago. It tells of great men and women from the time they were born to the time that they left an everlasting imprint for Christians to follow. 

Of course, the Bible was written and interpreted in beautiful language for grown-ups to read over the centuries, but in many instances it is almost impossible for children to understand. This is where dear souls like Aunt Charlottes of my memory used to come into the picture. She knew all the stories in the Bible by heart and every Sunday she told some of them to her small and impressionable nieces and nephews.

Sometimes Charlotte would tell a story after breakfast, one after dinner and another after supper, and after she finished each story she would ask the children questions to see if they had listened and understood what she had told them. And you could be sure that they remembered everything because their Auntie had been telling stories for so long that she knew the most interesting way to explain difficult Biblical text to them and to hold their attention while doing it.

Not done yet, after the children had answered her questions and given a chance to express natural thoughts that were on their minds, Aunt Charlotte would follow up by giving them a page of pictures and words, which she called "Bible symbols", to help reinforce all the stories she had related.

In typically concluding one of her story sessions, Aunt Charlotte was heard to say: "And so it was that our blessed Lord Jesus once again ascended up to His home in heaven, after He had lived and died, so that we might be saved."

Prompting this reply from little Sara who had been attentively sitting on her lap, clinging to every word: "...and Jesus is there in Heaven now, watching over us and laying our prayers before His Father in heaven, and getting ready our home there for each of us?"

"Right, my darling," assured Aunt Charlotte. "Jesus said, 'I go to prepare a place for you, that where I am you may be also,' and He promised to come again and receive all those who love Him and make them His brothers and sisters in heaven."

"I'm so sorry that Jesus had to go away," added Sara. "Weren't the disciples very lonesome, Auntie?"

"Yes, they were very lonely; but Jesus will not leave His followers unhappy for very long...And next Sunday I will tell you what He sent to make them glad and joyous," Aunt Charlotte replied with a smile and a hug for each little one on her ample lap.

Scenes like that just do not happen anymore. That's what concerns me. Too bad!

THE CHRISTMAS TALE OF TOM DOUBT

I thought that today I would produce a CHRISTMAS video just for kids, but it can be for parents and grandparents as well...Heck, even aunts and uncles can listen, if they promise to be very quiet! The story of "Litle Tom Doubt" is one of my favorites and I hope you enjoy it too. As I say, the video can be shared, but if there is enough interest I will post the text and you can play the role of storyteller at an appropriate time and place. (Be sure to watch full screen.)

A PASSING THOUGHT ABOUT GIVING -- AND RECEIVING

Many years ago Mark Twain wrote the following Christmas Holiday message in a New York City daily newspaper:

"It is my heart-warm and world-embracing Christmas hope and aspiration that all of us -- the high, the low, the rich, the poor, the admired, the despised, the loved, the hated, the civilized, the savage -- may eventually be gathered together in a heaven of everlasting rest and peace and bliss -- except the inventor of the telephone."

I daresay if Twain were alive today, he might instead deny "everlasting rest and peace and bliss" to the inventors of Twitter, Facebook, and TikTok! Of course, the Good News of the Christmas Event is that there are no exceptions to God's Love for His human creatures -- not even the inventors of social media. 

Christmas was not just a starlit night in Bethlehem; it in essence, has existed from the beginning of time.

*There was Christmas in the heart of God when He made the earth and then gave it away to mankind.

*There was Christmas in the heart of God when He sent us His prophets.

*There was Christmas in the heart of God when He sent His Son to earth and gave Him to the world.

As Jesus grew up, there was Christmas wherever He went -- in his giving sight, giving food, giving life -- for Christmas is "giving.

But, here's the catcher. Christmas is also for receiving. In John's Gospel, it is written, "... to all who received Him ... He gave power to become children of God." (John 1:12).

"To all who received Him": When we take those words seriously, we begin to understand that receiving can be just as important as giving. It is when we genuinely receive the gift of Christ that we truly experience the gift that is Christmas and, ideally, we share that gift with others.

There is a little Nativity story that says, "On Christmas Day an enchantment falls upon the earth -- a time when the Spirit of a newborn Child whose Name is Love possesses the world." The way to Christmas, says the story, "lies through an ancient gate, guarded by angels, with stardust in their hair. It is a little gate, child-high, and there is a password: 'Peace on earth to all women and men of goodwill.'"

NOTE:  I hope I do not come across as being preachy with "Passing Thoughts." My intention is that these posts, often with a twist, serve only as reinforcement -- yours and mine.

THE STORY OF THE CHRISTMAS POTATO IN MY FAMILY

For a lot of people the world over, the common ordinary potato has special and differing meanings this time of year.

St. Mikulas Day in the Czech Republic, for instance, is when trios of people dressed as an angel, a devil, and St. Nicholas walk around handing out candy to children who sing a song or recite a poem. Later, when people have house parties, the devil covered in coal dust will show up in Santa’s place, thus terrifying little children. The children must sing a song for the devil to prove they’ve been good, otherwise they get a potato and the devil threatens to take them back to hell in his potato sack. Kind of a mean-spirited tradition, in my mind.

I’m not sure what potatoes have to do with sin, but no "normal" kid (me excluded) wants a potato for Christmas, all of which reminds me of a rather unique story just between me, my grandfather and my youngest daughter Cindy.

My grandfather Nelson Perry grew up in an impoverished large family in the 1860s. He was the youngest of eight siblings raised virtually singlehandedly by his widowed mother. He frequently enthralled me with stories of life on a humble Upper Canada homestead in rural Middlesex (near Ingersoll).

My childish heart would ache every time he repeated his "Christmas potato" story.

It seems that one Christmas when Nelson was only four or five years of age, his mother had no money to spend on gifts for her kids so she broke a stick of candy into eight pieces and placed each one into a stocking along with a potato, the only other edible she had left in the house.

The eight stocking-stuffer potatoes, of course, subsequently went into a pot of broth for that evening's Christmas dinner.

Hence, a tradition was born.

Thanks to the fun nature of my granddad and mother, every Christmas that I can remember I too received a potato, always in the toe of my stocking, hung by the fireplace with care. The only difference being that I would also receive an orange, along with a half dozen other play trinkets and, naturally, the customary candy cane. Family laughter and applause always ensued when the last thing I pulled out of my stocking was the anticipated potato, in all its glorious splendor.

Debbie and Cindy mailing their
letters to the North Pole.

It seemed fitting, that I would continue the potato tradition with my daughters when they came along. The oldest girl, Debbie, accepted it in good fun but it was a different story for my youngest Cindy who was not in the least impressed.

Justifiably convinced that she had been a good girl all year, she simply could not understand why she was getting a potato in her stocking and promptly cast it aside with disgust. The scowl on her three-year-old face and the assumed insult that went along with it, expressed it all. Tradition does not always compute in a small mind.

Needless to say, discretion dictated that we thereafter put an end to the Christmas potato tradition in the Wright household.

Funny, but I miss the old pock-marked spud in my stocking, even to this day! As I was setting up the stocking photo at the top of this post, I thought to myself, "Hey, that potato can be my gift to myself this year!" A meaningful symbol of Christmases past.

Then I'll have it for Christmas dinner...A gift that keeps giving!

LET THE SUNHINE IN AND YOUR LIGHT SHINE OUT

Skip the ads and Let the Sunshine In, a classic version.

You may have read about the small Norwegian town of Rjukan (pronounced roo-kahn) which was in the news a few years ago.

Situated between steep mountains, for six months every year the little town is shrouded in semi-darkness as the great peaks cast their shadows over the terrain below. And during the winter months, the only way the residents of the town can get a dose of sunlight is to take a cable car ride to the top of a nearby ridge. That is, until one cold October day when the entire village assembled to witness a miraculous event -- for the first time ever faint rays from the winter sun reached the town’s market square!

But how did it happen? What brought the town out of the shadows and into the light? 

Believe it or not, a local artist devised a plan to install three giant mirrors high on the mountain. The solar-powered, computer-controlled mirrors steadily track the movement of the sun across the sky, reflecting its rays down onto the square and bathing it in bright sunlight. And now, finally, Rjukan has found its place in the sun!

On that October day, to mark the occasion of the mirrors' dazzling debut, a band performed the popular song, “Let the Sunshine In.” The cheering town's people -- some on beach chairs and donning sunglasses -- watched that first moment as the sun crept from behind a cloud to hit the mirrors and reflect down onto their families, neighbors, and friends below.

Said one woman who witnessed that first light, “Before when it was a fine day, you knew that the sky was blue, and you knew that the sun was shining. But you couldn’t quite see it. It was very frustrating. And now this feels warm," she beamed. "It will be lovely to come out for an hour and feel this warmth on my face.”

Very soon we will be celebrating the birth of Jesus -- the moment of passage from the Old Testament Tradition to the New. And as we hear the Lord Jesus proclaimed as the "Light of the World," we remember that all through our religious history the symbol of light has been used to symbolize the Divine.

We anticipate with joy the coming of Christmas. When the Christmas Season comes around, we are attracted to the Light of Christ. We find comfort in the sunshine of Christmas goodwill. But when the holy day is over, we tend to put the Christmas Spirit back on "hold" again. And in so doing, we thwart the very purpose of Christmas. In giving His Son as the Light of the World, God's purpose is to transform us into children of light, giving us the power to radiate His Love from moment-to-moment, and for a lifetime.

At the conclusion of a seminar conducted by the Greek Philosopher, Doctor Alexander Papaderos, someone asked: “Doctor Papaderos, what is the meaning of life?” The usual laughter followed, and people started to leave. Papaderos held up his hand and stilled the room. “I will answer your question,” he said. Then, he brought out a very small round mirror, about the size of a quarter, saying ...

Are we prepared to search for the Light of the World through the darkness of tears, fears, heartaches and disappointments? Are we prepared to let the Light flow into every crevice of our soul so intensely that it will radiate into our households, and beyond into the neighborhood and the world? 

A little girl was visiting a beautiful cathedral with her aunt. It was late afternoon and the sun’s rays were streaming through a stained-glass window that featured the figures of several saints. The little girl pointed to one of the figures standing out in the strong light and asked, “Who is that?” “That’s Saint Peter,” the aunt replied. Then pointing to another, the girl asked who that one was. “That’s Saint John,” was the reply.

When she pointed to still another she was told, “That’s Saint James.” Then, with a sigh of satisfaction, the little girl said, “Well, now I know what a saint is. A saint is somebody the light shines through.”

Christmas is just a few days away. We can begin today to let the light of the Lord shine through as we offer the peace of the Christ Child to our families and neighbors -- wherever they may be? Why not begin today to journey step-by-step to where the Light of the World is leading us? Why not begin today to light up the world with the love that is flowing into every crevice of our souls!

I'm sure you know the feeling. Don't hold it back!

ALL THE PLACES I DO NOT GO TO ANYMORE

Where to go in my world now that I've eliminated so many places?

Do you have places you don't go to anymore? I have lots of 'em!

In no special order:

I am no longer concerned that generally, I sense that I am not liked as much as I like...You can't go around making people like you. It is phoney to try...I just do not go there anymore.

I have given up the naive notion that I can save the world...I do not go there anymore.

I used to fret over the fact that I am not as smart as I would like to be and that I have never fully excelled at any one thing, as hard as I may have tried...I simply do not go there anymore.

I used to be nostalgically attached to the place of my birth, but after 65 years a lot of water has passed under the (Sydenham) bridge. There is nothing nor anyone to draw me back and memories can only take you so far...I literally do not go there anymore.

With the passing of time and life unfolding the way it has, I have struggled with being deprived of a special soul mate -- that someone to love and to share tender moments with...Sadly, I choose not to go there anymore. 

Similarly, I accept the fact that I'm not as good as I used to be, physically speaking. As a matter of fact, I am convinced that I would not even be as good once as I ever was...Discretion wisely tells me that there is no use even trying to go there anymore. 

Unlike in the past, I do not sweat the small stuff...I do not go there anymore.

I refuse to let unreasonable people get under my skin. It is hopeless...I do not go there anymore.

I have given up advocating against bigotry and discrimination. I had little influence anyway...I do not go there anymore.

As a voice in the wilderness, I refuse to get worked up about politics and the state of the world, pro or con...For the good of my emotional well-being, I do not go there anymore.

To no particular avail, I have beaten social horses to death...There is nothing to be gained by going there anymore.

While conscious of the kind of food I eat, I no longer feel it necessary to follow a strict diet. Life is just too short.  The writing is already on the wall for me...Meantime, I'd rather not go there anymore.

With coronavirus hanging over us, I'd dearly love to go to church, drop into Tim Horton's for a coffee, shake hands with a friend, give someone a hug, or celebrate Christmas with my family -- all the things heretofore taken for granted -- but the imposition of distancing, coupled with discretion and common sense, dictate otherwise...Better I just not go there, at least for the time being.

I am not concerned about dying...I'm not ready to go there yet either!

I suppose too that I should give up trying to write the great Canadian novel, but that's another place I'm not ready to go yet...After all, what else would I do with all the time I have left on my hands now that I don't go many places anymore?

REFLECTIONS OF GROWING UP IN THE HAIR BUSINESS

Ken's tools of the trade.

My father Ken Wright was both a barber and a hairdresser. He apprenticed with a Dresden, ON barber by the name of Fay Craig in 1917 and moved on to Detroit, Mi where he barbered at the Detroiter Hotel and later the J. L. Hudson Company department store where my mother Grace just happened to work in the hosiery section. The Wrights moved back to Chatham, ON in 1936 where they opened a downtown Beauty Salon. My folks eventually sold the business and moved back to the Wright homestead in Dresden shortly after I was born, and Ken resumed barbering in the town from whence he came.

I

KEN WRIGHT

have always taken more than a passing interest in hair, due primarily I guess, to the fact that my father Ken was a lifetime barber and hairstylist. He operated Wrights Beauty Salon on King Street West in Chatham, ON for a 10-year period, and commuted daily from our home in nearby Dresden. For much of that time it was a matter of routine that my mother Grace and I would travel to work with him on Saturdays.

While my mother did her weekly grocery shopping at the Loblaws store just below my dad's shop and attended to other matters, I was left to put in time looking at magazines, sorting out brushes, combs, clips, curlers and sweeping up hair from the floor around four hair-dressing stations. My day was broken up with a highlight visit to the Blue Bird Restaurant for lunch where I developed an addiction for liver and bacon.

With an average of a half dozen customers at any given time on a busy Saturday, the beauty shop was a beehive of activity as four attendants, in addition to my dad, hustled from chair to chair and hairdryer to hairdryer. The hum of constant chitchat and the smell of hairdressing chemicals linger with me to this day.

It'll only be another 50 minutes girls!

My dad developed a number of permanent styles and specialized in hair cutting and finger waves. He was especially known for his neat and tapered neckline cuts at a time when shorter hair was becoming popular. He also introduced manicuring, marcelling, scalp treatment and tinting to the fair ladies of Chatham.

The "permanent" was big business in the late 30's and early 40's and its importance can be gauged if one considers that the majority of middle-class women, at a rough estimate, had their hair set once a week and permed perhaps once every three months as new hair replaced the waved hair. Meanwhile, hairdressers sought to improve the process and reduce the work involved; this meant savings at the lower end of the market and yet more women getting their hair permed. This was also stimulated by pictures of the rich and famous, particularly film stars, who all had their hair permed.

It was kind of a glamorous era, no question.

I seemed to pick up a lot about the business through the process of osmosis during those formative years. But heaven help me if I ever entertained thoughts of going into the field myself...Both my parents would have killed me! LOL

A finger wave was a method of setting hair into waves (curls) that was popular in the 1920s and 1930s and again in the late 1990s in North America and Europe. Silver screen actresses such as Bette Davis and Anita Page are credited with the original popularity of finger waves. In their return in the 1990s, the style was popularized by pop stars like Madonna, and Hip Hop stars of the time, such as Missy Elliott. The popularity of finger waves in the 1990s was aided by a movement toward shorter, more natural hair in the African-American community.

A complimentary cardboard fan
given to all Wrights Beauty Salon
customers having to sit under the
heat of hairdryers.

The process involved pinching the hair between the fingers and combing the hair in alternating directions to make an "S" shape wave. A waving lotion was applied to the hair to help it retain its shape. The lotion was traditionally made using karaya gum, but more modern styles often use liquid styling gels or hairspray. Over the years, the use of clips (and later tape) also became popular to hold the heavy damp waves until the gel dried.

The Chatham business was severely impacted toward the end of WW2 with the introduction of the Toni Home Permanent that offered women an inexpensive alternative to the cost of professional hairdressing. For Ken, the writing was soon on the wall and he sold the business to private interests in 1945.

He then resumed cutting men's hair back in Dresden by joining an old friend by the name of Jim Ford who also operated a billiard hall in conjunction with his establishment (combined barbershops and pool rooms were not uncommon in those days). 

Still, it was not unusual to see a woman, draped with a towel in my dad's barber chair while having a trademark neck trim, or several town "toughs" sitting with curlers in their hair and unperturbed by curious onlookers, courtesy of a finger wave that had suddenly become popular with fashion-conscious young males -- perhaps due to Ken Wright's persuasion. Uni-sex hairstyling in the early stages, you say?

My dad always claimed that he "cut my hair curly", although I too was subjected to more than one of his finger wave and booster tonic sets -- always in the back kitchen of our home.

Ken had to give up barbering in 1951 as a result of a heart condition. He died a year later in his 53rd year. 

At 14-years-of-age, I got my hair cut for the first time outside of my home by the aforementioned Jim Ford who could not stop crying, start to finish...Poor Jim, it was the worst haircut I ever had! He charged me full price though...Again, the first time I ever paid for a haircut.

I never went back to that shop. Nothing about haircuts was ever the same!

A NOTE BY MY MOTHER APPEARING IN "OUR BABY BOOK".

I can truly say that my life has been a hair-raising experience!

A TRUE VISIONARY: POW MAJOR SPENT SEVEN YEARS MENTALLY PREPARING HIS GOLF GAME

Major James Nesmith was a man who had a vision for improving his golf game.

Just an average player, he developed a unique method of transforming his vision into reality. But for seven years he didn't play even a single hole of golf. He didn't touch a golf club or step onto a course. Ironically, it was during this seven-year break that Major Nesmith came up with his amazingly effective technique for improving his game — an approach we can all learn from. And the first time he set foot on a golf course after his seven-year layoff, he shot an astonishing round of 74. 

Using only his mind, he slashed 20 strokes off his previous best score of 94.

While that accomplishment alone would pique the interest of any golfer today, the truly remarkable part of the story is that Major Nesmith spent those seven years as a prisoner of war in North Vietnam. During those seven years, he saw no one, spoke to no one, experienced no physical contact with anyone. And during those dark, dark days he realized he needed to occupy his mind or he would lose it. So he learned how to visualize.

In his mind, he had a vision of a splendid golf course and began playing a full 18 holes every day -- right down to the smallest detail. He mentally dressed, smelled the grass, and surveyed the trees. He experienced different weather conditions, and, in this creative mode, he followed the course from hole-to-hole. He felt the grip of the club. He practiced his downswing and his follow-through. It was as though he was physically on the course. And, it took him just as long to play the virtual course as it would in reality. Seven days a week, four hours a day, 18 holes, for seven years! In a very real sense, we can say Major Nesmith was a true visionary who spent seven years as a prisoner of war preparing for the day he would be released from captivity.

Shifting gears slightly, perhaps for some of us, one way to have prepared appropriately for the current Advent Season would have been to spend some time in the "penitentiary." I use the word "penitentiary" in its original sense, not in the sense Major Nesmith experienced it. 

For a long time in certain churches, there was a strong emphasis on the need for repentance. A person working on repentance in his or her life was given some form of penance to perform. It might have been fasting for two or three days or a lengthy period of prayer. It was understood that it would be difficult for the person to perform the penance amid his or her usual routine and consequently, the Church was equipped with a room where penitents could be apart from their busy lives and concentrate on the work of repentance. The place provided for this purpose was called the "penitentiary." It is obvious how our modern use of the word evolved. 

Perhaps we could use a penitentiary in today's Church.

Ordinarily, we think of the Lenten Season as the time to concentrate on repentance, but if we are true to the Gospels' spirit, we can see that it actually begins with Advent. 

It has been said that nothing in the entire Biblical Message is more thoroughly resisted and rejected by modern man than its insistence on the need for repentance. All the Biblical authors agree that repentance is the first step into the fullness of our humanity. 

Unfortunately, we have trouble accepting the need to repent because we have taken the bait of some contemporary psychiatrists and others who tell us that repentance is a form of illness or weakness. As a result we become adept in the art of burying the past before we actually claim it and come to terms with it.

All of which takes us back to my previous post on Wrights Lane, "You Can't Move Forward While Fixated on the Past" (see below).

YOU CAN'T MOVE FORWARD WHILE FIXATED ON THE PAST

While some of it does not knit all that well together, this post was an internal rationale in claiming the past in order to move forward with the future.

I think about the past a lot.

In truth, I have a lot of the past to think about!

To make matters worse, I am a nostalgist of the highest order and I deal with history in much of my writing.

But in all seriousness, it does not hurt to look back on our lives from time to time as a reminder of where we came from, and how far we have traveled to get to where we are today. I do so philosophically and careful not to beat myself up over some of the things that went wrong, or that might have been done differently if I had a chance to do some of it over again.

I once heard about a gifted doctor who talked about an operation he had performed on a young boy to remove a tumor from his eye. He said the tumor turned out to be an undeveloped embryo of the boy's twin. Apparently, as unusual as it may seem, that occurrence is not too uncommon and is a graphic example of the fact that each one of us, metaphorically speaking, may well carry a tumor inside of us that is part of the past.

It is interesting to note that the inventor of penicillin never revealed his findings until a colleague came upon them many years later and released the well-kept secret to the world. It seems that the father of the gifted Scottish research scientist Alexander Fleming kept telling him as a boy to "keep still!" and this so influenced the youngster that he found it almost impossible to speak out, even when he had discovered one of the great healing drugs of all time.

Had Flemming felt free to release his discovery when he first made it, many more lives could have been saved and I am sure in retrospect that must have weighed heavily on him.

Anyone who has engaged in an adventure of self-discovery will come to realize that nowhere will you find a better resource than in your past. There is a vast treasure there and it can be mined and made to work in one's favor.

It is so easy, however, to get caught up in our successes and achievements and memories of happy(er) times. But we ere if we rest too much on our laurels. In fact, it is also a mistake to label the past as either good or bad...All of our past can be useful to us. We learn especially from the things we have done to, and for, other people. We do not need to be condemned by such old memories, but we can explore them in building our lives as they are meant to be.

In my mind, the shape of our present and our future does indeed lie in claiming the past. In so doing, we may somehow let go of those things from the past that are both painful and oddly enough -- dear to us. The late Karl Olsson frequently said that one of the great acts of faith in the Bible is found in Genesis where Abraham buried Sarah. There we hear Abraham saying, "give me property among you for a burying place that I may bury my dead out of sight."

So often we do not bury the dead "out of sight." We keep them alive in our memory in an unhealthy way. We keep living with the dead to our own detriment.

Abraham was able to place his beloved Sarah in the cave of Machpelah and to say "our life together is over," and move on. This was how he honored Sarah. The past was claimed by allowing it to go.

As difficult as it was at the time, I have been there and done that...More than once!

And I am left with memories, neither good nor bad. Just memories.

They do not define me.