Re-News-ed Habit

Update: The cancellation of my newspaper subscription coincided with a week-long vacation. When I returned, the newspaper's sales staff called and offered me another year at the same price I'd been paying. So, I'm back in print, so to speak, which is a good thing, because while I love the Internet, there's nothing like flipping real pages.

End of a News Habit?

Image by Scott Adams via FlickrI'm a newspaper guy. It's in my blood. My family owned a weekly newspaper for many years. My dad was a journalist. His dad was a journalist. And his dad was a journalist. Much of my adult life has been spent working for newspapers. But I've always believed the news business is about delivering information, and not so much about the delivery method (paper, teevee, internet, et al). That makes my current dilemma no less difficult: I'm about to drop my subscription to the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette.

I love getting the newspaper from the driveway each morning, drinking my coffee while reading In the News, the front page, the editorial pages, the Sports section, the comics ... I love the feel of newsprint in my hands. But when my subscription ran out, the renewal notice arrived with some sticker shock. Old price: $109 p/year. New price: $150 p/year. Not only that, I've moved from Fayetteville to Fort Smith, which means my ADG subscription no longer includes a "local" newspaper (the NWA Times in Fayetteville). So they want me to pay a lot more to get a lot less of something I can get for free online. Hmmmm.

I've gotten two renewal notices and four phone calls from customer service agents. One agent called on a Saturday and said she could get me my previous rate; I said I'd do that if she'd call back on Monday when I wasn't driving up I-540. She never called back. Now my carrier has called and he's going to see if he can get my old rate. We'll see. If not, I'll let my subscription lapse and see how long I can go without something that's been part of my life for, oh, forever.

Random Convictions

Be the love you want to receive.
The Holy Spirit doesn't abide in us so that we can convict others. Neither is Scripture a weapon for assaulting the faults of others.
If we allow God to change us, He'll find ways to use that to influence others.

Said better ...
I must be the love I want to receive.
The Holy Spirit doesn't abide in me so that I can convict others. Neither is Scripture a weapon for assaulting the faults of others.
If I allow God to change me, He'll find ways to use that to influence others.

Poe's Bells

Image by Rdoke via FlickrFrom "The Bells" by Poe with thanks to my wife for teaching me the word "tintinnabulation" ...

Hear the sledges with the bells -
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells -
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

Angels for the tree

The Christmas tree looks wonderful, but something was missing and, at first, I didn't even know it.

There are ornaments and ribbons and bows, and I like the simple elegance of white lights with gold and purple trim on the green tree. There's not much history in this tree, however. Not for me. On the old tree, the one I hated putting together every year, and more each year as the branches wore out, there was a story years in the making. There were old ornaments passed down from generations past, and new ones each year that reminded us of something about our family. Now they are gone, physically gone.

The new tree has its memories for my wife and her kids, and she and I bought an ornament, our first together. It makes me smile and think about the future with great anticipation. And today I can add two angels--small, white crochet angels made by the small, tender hands of my grandmother. My mom sent them to me. Somehow she knew something might be missing.

Seeing the Light

Image by Sheffield Tiger via FlickrIt's a challenge at times to understand what God means when His Word tells us to rejoice "always"; then, often in small, unexpected ways, He gives us a glimpse.

Such a glimpse came my way this morning when I took my bike for a ride through Fayetteville. The sun climbed slowly toward the day, so it provided just enough light for the ride. But sky was more white than blue and wisps of gray clouds sat on the horizon. This made it too dark to see well with my prescription sunglasses, so I took off on my journey with them propped atop my head, thinking that the sun soon would make its way over the tree line.

My eyesight is, in a word, awful, so I don't do much of anything without wearing my glasses. I'm not much better than blind. But the streets were empty and so I rode forth with a limited view of the world——everything more than a foot away from me was out of focus——and that's when God allowed me to see through His eyes.

You see, I don't like the fact that I don't see well. I consider it an ailment, an affliction. And I don't think I've ever praised God for making me so nearly blind. I am thankful that I'm not fully blind and thankful for the technology of prescription lens, but I don't "rejoice always" when it comes to my eyesight.

On this morning, however, I found myself stunned by the lights as I rode through neighborhoods and parks. There were street lights and yard lamps and porch lights and tail lights on trucks. And they all took on something special when I looked at them in the dawn without the help of my glasses. They sparkled like stars and the single bulbs unfolded like blooming flowers into eight to twelve lights that formed a circle, much like a ball that might hang as an ornament on a Christmas tree. There was beauty in those lights, a radiance that came from these new layers that I saw only because of my physical imperfection.

So I looked at them and a thought overwhelmed me: Thank you God for making me nearly blind.

It was a small thing, if any gift from God can be considered small, but it's the sort of thing I hope I remember when other troubles come my way. Troubles that seem much bigger. There are layers I don't see. There is a God of the universe who knows our imperfections and our trials and our pain. And when I take the time to trust Him and see things His way, the light——the Light!——is always wonderful. Wonderful.

Ode to Spoiled Milk

Oh, bowl of cereal
Dry and flaky
Raisins staring up
With wrinkled faces
Longing for a bath

The spoon, the spoon
Ready and waiting
Waiting, waiting
To dive in and out
With expectations

And there I stand,
Hunger brewing
Breakfast calling
Waiting, waiting
For each sweet bite

Not this morning,
No, not today
Sniffing gently at the cap
Soured lightly
The cold milk’s wrath

—Stephen Caldwell