Life and Taxes

     They thought they were coming to pay taxes. Mary and Joseph. As they journeyed to Bethlehem. Taxes. And what an inconvenient time, too. Mary's baby was almost due. They had not read the prophecy and schemed to make it come true. They just lived their lives and let God lead them. Prophecy is important and beautiful, it is a light for us in dark places. It is a verification that God's word is true. But some Christians drive themselves, and others, crazy straining to see fulfillment, dissecting every news article for hints, picking the passages apart letter by letter. They have turned the blessing of prophecy into a burden.
     Our job is to read and study it, not make it happen. In the gospels we see prophecies about Christ spoken by unbelievers determined to kill him.  We should share prophecy, but not as if it is some secret, Gnostic knowledge only a few are clever enough to understand. Or as a way to scare unbelievers into heaven. The problem is, we are naturally biased to see life through the lens of our own time, nation and self importance. With prophecy, as in so many other areas, we tend to see what we want to see. False proclamations of dates and identifications of Antichrists, make Christians, and Christ Himself, look foolish. Maybe we should just be like Mary and Joseph, live our lives, pay our taxes, and let God's sovereignty work out the events that will fulfill His Story.
    

The Manufacturer's Specifications

     My husband is an aircraft mechanic. He has thick books of instructions for the use and maintenance of each aircraft. The pilots also have manuals and go to school for certification before they can fly the plane. The manufacturer determines when components must be examined, repaired or replaced and how their aircraft is to be used. There are no manuals stating "Do whatever feels best to you." We, too, have a manufacturer. He is called God. And He has specifications for how his creation and creatures are to function. The animals and galaxy do not seem to have trouble with those rules. We humans do. In spite of that, He has the right, as our manufacturer, to make those decisions. And He has the right motive because He loves us and desires what is best for us.
     My husband's manuals are continually updating. God's does not. It is called the Bible. It records many times His expertly crafted people decided to fly by the seat of their pants, as we do now. No one wants to ride in an airplane maintained to standards the mechanic merely feels good about, we want to know it is safe to fly. If airplanes were crashing due to lax standards, the solution would not be a media campaign to lower our expectations about safety. Trying to normalize plane crashes by showing them as part of everyday life in television episodes or advertising would not make them acceptable.
     Abuse of God's standards is seldom as public or dramatic as a plane crash, but also results in wrecked relationships, lives and even death. Of course, many today deny the existence of a Manufacturer, much less His right to determine our standards. So who does have that right? Certainly not the majority, because our whole culture is being hijacked by the demands of the few in the name of social justice or political correctness. So if the majority is not, and the minority should not, set standards for the rest of us, who has that authority? Even the supposed Big Bang does not have the power to bang out moral standards for its by-product beings. Governments are corrupt, individuals are selfish and lazy. We have thrown out the maintenance manual, traded our compassionate captain for an aimlessness autopilot, and we wonder why our journey no longer feels safe. The problem is, when we reject the Manufacturer's specifications, there are no suitable replacements. We are flying blind.

After My Own

     Our family gave up on cutting our own Christmas tree years ago after a few disastrous attempts spending hours trying to locate that great tree the guys spotted while hunting, only to discover that while it looked good when being used as a restroom, it was not suitable for the living room. After spending hours on our futile family search, we would wind up buying a tree from a local lot a few minutes from our house. Those experiences helped us build memories as a family--but not good ones. So I suggested we skip the memorable misery and buy a tree like the city dwellers we actually are instead of wilderness family wannabes. Because my husband and son have been working weekends, I went after the tree on my own this year. All the trees were beautifully shaped and full branched, but most of them were no taller than my meager 5'4" height. It just seems wrong to be eye to eye with the angel on the treetop. Then I discovered  a taller one tucked away in the back without any obvious defects.
    What I did not notice before bringing it home, was its severe scoliosis of the trunk. My husband managed to make it rest mostly straight in the tree stand and secured it to the ceiling with fishing line, so we did not have to counterbalance the sway by hanging heavy ornaments on one side. From the living room it looks symmetrical, from the kitchen it looks like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Not that I'm complaining, I have scoliosis too. David was a man after God's own heart, this is a tree after my own spine.
    What touched my heart was that, as I was hanging the ornaments, Tracy remembered that we always played Christmas carols on decorating night. So he chose some of his music, groups he liked, but arrangements he thought I would like, those with more guitar work and less screaming. I was surprised to discover, when I was raising teenagers, that they want you to appreciate their music. Not enjoy it--that would ruin the whole independent/rebel thing--just appreciate it. I tried to then. I do now. But most of all, I appreciated that he remembered our tradition. And, perhaps, this son after my own heart will carry it on, after my own years of trimming the tree are gone.