Thanksgiving

I love my grandparents.

That was good to get off my chest.

See, it hasn't always been the case. I have the most normal, uneventful family in the world. My ancestry has its alcoholics and servicemen, but no horse-thiefs or moonshine runners or underground railroad rebels. It's just a normal family. So, this post might seem to be boring to some. But to me, it's a revelation.

I remember as a kid everyone at school and church would speak fondly of their grandparents. They would go over to their house and be treated to strange and extravagant meals and have gifts lavished upon them. It was weird to me that this only happened at one grandparents' house. The other grandparents' house had a stifling air of intolerance. I was never beaten by my grandparents, nor molested. I was never physically abused by any stretch of the imagination. But there were comments that I heard. Once, I had split my head open and received 28 stitches. I had to have peroxide poured over the wound every night so the scabs would allow the skin to heal. While I was receiving the treatment from my mother, my grandmother poked my gut and said, "Josh, you're fat." My mom tried to soothe the remark, but to a twelve-year-old, this was devastating.

Other memories included my mother sobbing because the same grandparents said they didn't feel welcome in our house. I didn't understand this; everyone else, on both sides of the family felt as if our house was as comfortable as theirs (the exception, of course, being the blow-up beds).

I heard my dad tell me the story of how he and my mother were engaged. He asked her to marry him in the back of her dad's car as they went to a gospel concert some miles away. His token of love was a pendant that she still wears. It was a pendant and not a ring because they had to keep the engagement from his parents. The story goes: my dad had been dating their pastor's daughter and everyone was excited at the prospect of their marriage. Well, everyone except my dad. So, he quietly broke things off with her and noticed my mom in February of their senior year of high school. The engagement was in the late spring of 1969 and the wedding on November 21 of that same year. So, the enmity between my mother and grandmother goes back over 36 years.

These anecdotes and more, which were pushed to the back of my memory, were brought to the surface on Thanksgiving evening as I sat beside my grandmother's bed and watched a machine pushed oxygen through her body. I remembered the comments and the feelings and the confusion as my dad spoke fondly of his mother. Also, I remembered that I hadn't been the best grandson. Since my grandmother had been ill, I had been the grandchild that visited her the least and called her even less. I remembered that God doesn't call us to like what people do, but to love them and forgive them. I sat there and told her that I forgave her for what had happened to me. I asked for forgiveness for the bitter feelings that I kept in order to excuse myself from feeling anything. I realized at her bedside that I didn't want to hold any grudges. I realized that she was about to pass away and I didn't want to know that things were not resolved. I got resolution in my heart that night. I prayed that God would help her forgive me and that God would take my forgiveness and reassure her if she needed it. I am thankful for that opportunity.

A couple hours later, Myrtle Marie Mattix breathed her last breath a few short weeks shy of December 19, 2005 which would have been her 83rd birthday. Her entire family, minus a daughter that died in 1992, was there to visit her before she died. The memorial service was Saturday in order for everyone to be able to attend and get back to various appointments and responsibilities on Sunday.

If you could remember my dad and my grandfather in your thoughts and/or prayers, I would appreciate it. They miss her a lot.

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You say you want a Revolution

Once upon a time, I wanted to use this blog as a means to hone some skills. In my graduate work, I have to write several book reviews and other assorted papers. So, this summer, for instance, I wanted to read some fiction and write about the strengths/weaknesses and breadth/limitations of those books. Well, since summer has gently sweated its way into fall I see no reason of starting, or returning to that now. And, trust me, you don't want to hear about what I'm reading, now. The most interesting book has been: The Life and Thoughts of Hanzo Uchimura.

Of course, there is Exegetical Fallacies which is a candle burner. I can't tell you how many nights I have stayed up just to get through to the end. And, of course, everyone's bedside companion The Dictionary of Later New Testament and It's Developments.

The list goes on and so do the hours I put into reading these books. The redeeming part is that the end is in sight. At least, the end of this stage. Then, I can return to fiction. In all of this school work, I'm learning a lot about dissenting viewpoints that, in effect, didn't win the debate. Of course, all of the viewpoints that are discussed in my classes are held within the realm of "Christianity." This term encompasses all the divergent movements such as Protestantism, etc. Historically, there was one Church. The Catholic Church (as it has come to be known). Around 500 years ago, this guy got it into his head that there was something wrong with this Church that had been around for 1500 years or so. So, he made a big deal and wrote a series of arguments and nailed it up on a door. Well, the world has never been the same. This is severely abbreviating 2,000 years of Christian history, but that's a real turning point. All of a sudden everybody can think for themselves and the Catholic guys are just pissed because they have to support their traditions with something other than tradition! Talk about a lot of work!

What I think is really hard to grasp for us in the twenty-first century is that when this guy disgreed (and made it public that he disagreed) he upset the entire social order. In those days, there was one Church and pretty much everybody belonged to it; being European was being Catholic. It was a part of your identity. Individualism or existentialism would have landed you in the funny farm, or worse at the stake via the Inquisition. There were Muslims, Buddhists, pagans, etc. But most of the world held the same fundamental beliefs. Can you imagine, for those of you in America, that if you were to, oh, I don't know, publish a dissenting opinion, maybe on a blog site or something, and someone of any authority read it and, immediately, demanded you recant or you would lose your ability to peacabley live in the United States? In the Medieval world, this is kind of how it worked. If there was a disagreement with the church, you were excommunicated and it affected everything in your existence. Your friends would no longer hang out with you. Your business was going to be limited to whoever you could find that wasn't a part of the Church and that was extremely difficult to do.

It's easy to talk about moving away and starting over when all you have to do is move a few miles away and get another job, but what if we couldn't do that? What if the only way to make our opinions heard is by turning society on its head?

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