It Cometh...

There is something incredibly majestic about snow. And at the same time... something about it that is humble and scorned. The first snow of the winter is rarely a raging storm... more often it takes the form of a flurry or little puff of the winter that is to come. It is scorned... melts quickly and is soon purposefully forgotten by us human-folk. Weeks go by and most every falls into that position were they believe the snow never happened... it was all just a figment of our collective imagination.

Then Thanksgiving approaches, the snow readies its horses and chariot and rides as it has not ridden before. Suddenly the world is silent; it can say nothing in the face of such honor and splendor. Of course there are some desenters, but they are soon shushed by the onlooking crowd.

'Hush...' they seemm to say, 'the king cometh...'

The Theater

I'm alone in the theater. Dim lights shine on the stage, illuminating a single stool, convenient for stand up comedy, holding a glass of water, or supporting a guitar player. The electric hum of generators and halogen bulbs provide a pleasant white noise as I look around. Blue, the theater is very blue. Not metaphorically, literally... like an interior designer ran amok with too much sky blue paint and floral print.

But I can hear myself think. I haven't been able to for the longest time. The pubs, the coffee houses, the apartments, the very streets twist and sway, keeping a beat, singing a song, debating some question or arguing with passersby. I've found the one building in town that, maybe, just maybe, is content keeping itself to itself. He's in his golden years... wearing on into the years where gray hairs start sprouting out of unsightly places. He bears it well though... he's been painted blue after all.

Horrid cracks have formed in the roof of the cave-like auditorium; white plywood holds it in place. Stitches to hold a massive cut on one's head in place, keeping it from growing any larger.

A sprightly young man walks in to the theater, toting a beaten guitar. He grins at me like a boy who's just found 20 dollars on the street. "Wanna hear a song?" his whiley face lights up when he sees me. Preferring to keep the silence I've just found, I reply: "No thanks."

He grins wider, if such a thing were even possible. "Well, I'm gonna play anyway." He rushes to the stage: "Man, it's been so long since I've been on a stage." He's a kid on Christmas, smiling through the botched cords. He apologizes for his rusty fingers, I tell him not to worry. I discouraged him once, I'll be more genial from now on.

With each new song he tries, his confidence grows and his fingers start to fly. Maybe the theater will remember this story too. Maybe it will tell it to others. Or maybe... maybe it only shared it with me.

Learning to Keep Our Mouths Shut

I will readily admit that I do not do this enough myself, but I am changing that. And I thought I would just let everyone know a little bit about cultural differences, false assumptions and how they can both lead to miscommunication and hurt feelings.

First off, I'd like to clarify something with all my American readers: people from other countries like being from other countries. No, by and large, they do not want to be Americans. I am specifically talking about Canadians here. They are very content in their Canadianness, and do not need to be convinced otherwise. Telling a Canadian that they are practically an American for whatever reason is rather offensive.

One thing that we should remember is that our bias is showing. Often I speak out of ignorance, because I never bothered to learn about a different culture or event, etc. Only afterward do I realize that what I said was just because I am an American and should have known better. We need to keep this firmly in mind: as Americans, we are kind of oafish, and much of this comes from the vocal seculars and from our leaders. A good picture of this is Israel and their decline throughout the last half of the Old Testament. If the king was bad, the nation as a whole started to decay rapidly. This seems to be true of any nation, just look at Nero or Constantine. I know that those are extreme examples, but the point remains the same.

As Americans, we ought to realize that we often have a negative stigma, and come off a certain way to people of other nationalities. As Christians, we should be fighting that. We should be like the faithful few in Israel and be kind and considerate hosts and helpers. We should be looking for opportunities to display our better qualities.

I was at a wedding a few days ago, a Irish/French/American wedding, with a French and an American pastor officiating. And during the toasts at the reception, both pastors gave a brief toast. The American pastor's was quickly forgotten when the French pastor stood up and gave his blessing:

"The Irish are known for their loyalty, the French are known for their love of life, and Americans are known for their generosity. May you both be blessed with all three."

I chewed on his words for a long while. "Americans? Generous? Could it be?" But it's true, American CHRISTIANS are some of the most open-hearted, generous people I have ever met. May this truly be said of more of us. May we let our generosity speak more often than our mouths do.