Mack Ames Books and Maine Moose Patrol

I had a conversation today with a man that wants to learn how to code the scripting he already knows how to do. At least, I think that’s what he was saying.

He was saying that when he entered middle school, he was very anti-Macintosh computer, so he always insisted on doing all his work with pen-and-paper. I laughed at him, and he took it good-naturedly, understanding that he was from a generation of computer privilege compared to mine, and that the right to refuse classroom laptops was a luxury I never had to confront.

Once PC laptops became available, he changed his tune. From that point on, he lived, breathed, and developed his interest in all things computers. He learned scripting, and now, many years later, he wants to learn coding. He recognizes the opportunities for his life beyond what he’s known thus far, and sees dollar signs in the future if he earns some credentials in the cyber world.

His knowledge of the technical surpasses mine, and I got lost several times as the conversation wore on. The title of this little piece seemed fitting, therefore, especially since I’m never far from a pun.

Where do your childhood interests take you in life? What pursuits have you put on hold for a time and then returned to when your circumstances changed and made their pursuit more palatable or profitable? Are there unfulfilled dreams in your life that could realistically be awakened to fruition? What steps could you take to make it a reality?

I’m a sinner living a righteous man’s life. 

It would be identity theft, except for the fact that the man gave me his identity on purpose, willingly, intentionally. I never even planned on asking him for it. In fact, I didn’t know he existed, or that I needed his identity, but he knew. He woke me up from a death sleep, and then I knew, too. I asked him for his identity. I told him mine was worthless–I had nothing to give him in return for his, but somehow it seemed he realized that already. 

Whatever I had done before–education, volunteering, charitable giving, working hard, good deeds, wealth–looked like manure and ashes compared to the beauty of my new identity. There wasn’t a single blemish of envy, anger, lust, discontentment, sorrow, impatience, greed, pride, arrogance, gluttony, sloth, laziness, or idolatry anywhere. 

It is the Truth of Christmas. It is the Gift of God that I, sinner that I am, can receive the righteousness of Jesus my Savior, so that when God the Father looks upon me He sees His Son’s righteousness and not my sin. I live in the righteousness of God, forgiven, justified by grace through faith. It would be identity theft if God were not the giver, by his Spirit.

“And you were dead in the trespasses and sins ² in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience— ³ among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind. ⁴ But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, ⁵ even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved— ⁶ and raised us up with him and seated us with him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, ⁷ so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. ⁸ For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, ⁹ not a result of works, so that no one may boast. ¹⁰ For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” ~Ephesians 2:1-10 (ESV) http://www.biblegateway.com 

I don’t know about you, but I like to be warm. I don’t like to be sweaty and hot, but I do like comfortable warmth–coziness, if you will. Living in Maine, cozy warmth is something I spend eight months of the year searching for because of the damp and chill, and four months waiting for because of the heat and humidity.

When I was a younger man, I tolerated the chills of life and environment with a greater measure of grace than I do now. At least, that’s what I tell myself these days. In reality, I probably complained as much then, too, but I do remember withstanding the cold better when I was a kid. No heat in my bedroom, no heat in the car. No heat in the classroom, most days. We wore our winter jackets, our hats, and sometimes, our mittens or gloves, but there was something about it as kids that made it fun, and we laughed it off.

As an adult in my middle ages, I don’t find it very amusing that my employer doesn’t heat my work spaces, and that I have to wear two layers of pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a full sweater just to maintain enough warmth to work. I use a small electric heater in my office, and then take it to my classroom. It barely suffices for my personal work space, but somehow manages to take the edge off the shivers in the classroom. “Better than nothing,” we all mutter. And that is very, literally, true. Yet, by the end of the day in that setting, I am longing, yearning, for warmth. And a nap.

I think it’s time for warmth. And a nap.

How about you?

It’s one of those nights. It’s one thing to get home from work early, but quite another to have supper an hour and a half earlier than usual while thinking that it’s the normal time for the evening meal. 

I got off early today to meet my wife and kids at the orthodontist. My older boy was due to get his first braces today, and he wanted me there for it. I ran into a former coworker when I got to the dental office; she was having her final appointment for the invisible alignments that we adults can use. I wish my kid could have those, but he has to have the wires and all that.

At any rate, things progressed pretty well until the wire and rubber band had to be installed, and then the brackets began popping off his teeth. The lad had been pretty brave up until that point, but his patience and good humor was wearing thin, and the tears and frustration began to break through. Instead of “working on the front four” as “Dr Brad” intended, they decided they’d just have the front two be the point of this visit, with follow-up in about 7 weeks. 

We left, he with his mother, and his brother with me. As it turned out, they had to go back to the orthodontist, because as soon as they got their drive-thru supper, the remaining brackets popped off his teeth. I mean, really, people. Everything he underwent today failed to take hold. He went through all of that and got no further along with his dental treatment than he was six months ago. Poor kid. Next appointment Jan 8. At least he gets to enjoy Christmas.

But home early, supper early–all that has left me discombobulated. Then again, this whole work week has been like that. The National Day of Mourning for George H.W. Bush yesterday contributed to the disjointed feel of the usual rhythm of the week, although I was grateful for the day off. Now, it’s just after nine-thirty in the evening, and I feel like I should be in bed already. 

“Proud of her, aren’t you?” he commented, as I paused in my description.

“To the point of tears, yes,” I replied. “So proud. I just amazes me how much she does, how much she has accomplished already in her life, and the paths she has taken. More young people should be like her. She’s not going into debt to earn her degree, she’s getting great work experience while she chips away at her studies, and she handles all of these responsibilities while dealing with health issues with grace. Yes, I’m proud.”

I’ve told her this directly, but sometimes I can’t help bragging to others. What can I say? I’m a proud uncle. 

I found this in my newsfeed recently, but didn’t like the punctuation that was presented; it seemed unlikely to be the way the author would have written it, so I searched for a better version. I discovered a better version, and also that it was “in the public domain.”

Don't Quit

When things go wrong as they sometimes will,

When the road you're trudging seems all up hill,

When the funds are low and the debts are high

And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,

When care is pressing you down a bit,

Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is strange with its twists and turns

As every one of us sometimes learns

And many a failure comes about

When he might have won had he stuck it out;

Don't give up though the pace seems slow—

You may succeed with another blow.

Success is failure turned inside out—

The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,

And you never can tell just how close you are,

It may be near when it seems so far;

So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit—

It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.

~ John Greenleaf Whittier

 

There are so many days when I don’t know where to begin. I can rationalize and justify one point of view over/against another with the best or worst of the world, and just trying to think through everything paralyzes my emotions and thoughts.

Do criminals deserve punishment for their crimes? Yes. For how long? Ah, there’s the question that it’s impossible to answer objectively.

Every day I see penalty and pain. Some of it seems justified. Some of it does not. I throw myself on the mercy of God and ask him to sort it out, for I am too weak and simple-minded to know how to handle the twists and turns of humanity’s wickedness and sorrows. Lord have mercy!

Winter is coming early to Central Maine, and i don’t have time to write about it. I’m supposed to be on my way in about five minutes to a dental cleaning, so I’ll keep this short. Yes, I keep forgetting about this site, but no, I’m not done sharing my thoughts. Work hours have been keeping me going apace and family life has been no different. Those “stop and write” times are inadequate for adding to the MaineMoosePatrol blog, so blah, blah, blah.

A moderately big storm is heading our way tonight and tomorrow, so I’ve got work to do to be ready for it. It’s already been cold enough this week to harden the ground in preparation for the snowplows. Ugh. The week before Thanksgiving is just a weeeee bit early for 10″ of snow here in New England.