I loved the National Lampoon when I was in college / the wilderness. It was funny, irreverent, profane, and staffed by very talented humorists including P J O’Rourke. I’m sure I’d find much of what I laughed at uproariously back then pretty offensive now, but good humor has truth at its heart.
This year I’m reading through the Bible in chronological order. Today as I read in the Gospel of John, Chapter 9 the Pharisees were investigating the healing of a man who had been born blind. They couldn’t decide whether to condemn Jesus for healing a man on the Sabbath or to condemn him for having the power to bring sight to the blind just on general principle.
Their world-view made it impossible for them to think outside the box of their own religious traditions. They could not comprehend His role as The Good Shepherd. Some of them thought he was mad and possessed by demons, while some argued that a demon could not open the eyes of a blind man. The Pharisees despised Christ’s challenge to the status quo. His very existence was, to them, an act of rebellion.
I find that not to live as a free man is to live in spiritual blindness.
Like Amish Velcro, government solutions are all oxymorons. Whatever the so-called problem our permanent political class tries to solve, the end result is always the same– a new and worse problem created by the one size fits all “remedy”, along with diminished freedom and human dignity.
They say that there are so many laws on the books now– local, state, and federal– that each one of us commits about three felonies every day.
When the government is so huge that it can toss you in the slammer just for going about your daily life, they have you just where they want you.
I found this while going through a box of old photographs from my Dad’s apartment. He recently moved from his retirement home to a Nursing Home.It’s a handmade card that I gave him in the early 1960s. Drawn on cardboard, based on one of his favorite comic strips, B.C., by Johnny Hart. I found it touching that he kept it tucked away for all these decades. It also gave me a bit more understanding of why I still have all sorts of little gifts that my sons, Spencer and Hudson made for me over the years.
I have a small round cardboard box with little seashells glued to the top in my desk drawer. I use it to hold paper clips. In our bathroom there’s an assorted collection of crude little sculptures and bowls crafted in art class and fired in kilns, not to mention the handmade Christmas tree ornaments that appear from dusty boxes dragged out of the attic every year.
Hopefully, when the boys are cleaning out my house they’ll stumble upon these tiny hidden treasures that they had forgotten about, and have the same warm wash of happy memories that I experienced when I found this old memento drawn on a scrap of shirt cardboard.
Those small gifts from sons to fathers got me thinking about the circle of life and the ultimate gift. If you’re unsure what that gift is, maybe Johnny Hart’s comic strip below can clear things up for you.
No wonder B.C. was one of Dad’s favorites.