Christmas "spirit" spill on aisle four!

The marketing of Christmas is as amusing as it is disturbing. The disturbing part is obvious, to me anyway. It is amusing, because I am a people watcher.

There are shelves lined with products that have been invented and packaged exclusively for this marketing season. No one wanted one in September. No one needed one, ever. But people are frantic, even desperate, to get their hands on one in December! Sometimes they will stand in long lines to do so. An emerging trend is to purchase "gifts" for oneself. You have to admit that is brilliant marketing.

In the children's toy department alone, there are unimaginable varieties of toys that do all kinds of things as long as you feed them batteries. The overall marketing message is: Good parents/grandparents buy their kids lots of stuff. I guess I would be considered a delinquent dad for buying my kids books when they were little.

What makes it amusing is the way people respond to this marketing blitz. Many, I have no idea how many, fall for it. They purchase all kinds of things that would not stand up to rational scrutiny regarding value, life-expectancy, or ability to satisfy any need. These people can often be identified at the door of the store. I know that is stereotyping, and thus bad, but it's pretty obvious much of the time.

Others eschew the marketing racket and find alternate shops at which to purchase gifts for their loved ones. This group is the most amusing to watch when they are in a major retail establishment with a list from the Angel Tree or similar charity. The poorly-cloaked disdain etched on their faces is priceless. They are conflicted, torn between the yearning to bless some needy child with the desired toy, yet convicted that what is going into the basket is a bunch of useless junk. I have been in this club myself. But I digress.

While it seems the Christmas spirit is not actually available in stores, it certainly can be. It will never be for sale. It never has been. You and I have to take it in with us. If we think otherwise, we're looking at the store through the wrong window. Look through the window at the people, not the stuff, and you will see this Christmas in a whole different way.

Hot Adventures in the Snow

I love to travel. It is not that I dislike home, in fact, I love to be home as well. But, my roots do not dig deep anywhere I go. Consequently, I am always curiously peeking over the horizon and looking for something amazing. In a way I am somewhat of a modified Gypsy. It is probably a terrible character flaw, but I thrive on adventure.

That said, on our recent visit to a snow-covered state, we encountered something amazing, all right. I'm pretty sure we experienced a rift in the laws of physics. Now, I don't fall for marketing gimmickry about products that boast too-good-to-be-true claims. I never share those Facebook scams that promise a new car if a person gets enough “Likes.” I am pragmatic to a fault, even cynical at times, so you will not catch me making unrealistic claims about anything.

So what is this remarkable physics-bending event, you wonder? It is a blanket! We found a blanket that generates heat out of cold air! Not possible, you say? I have slept under said blanket. We're talking Upstate New York here. It is cold! Yet, within a few minutes under the mystery blanket, I felt like the little red button would pop out of my side like the one on the turkey!

The blanket itself seems innocuous. It appears to be of the fleece variety and has a picture of elephants on it. Nothing special to report there. Yet somehow it cooks me. Maybe it has fibers of woven uranium, but I suspect that would be seriously regulated by some agency.

I doubt it has any “special” powers. It does not fly around or anything like that. Good thing too, because that might freak me out.

It may have to remain a mystery, but, after living in the South for eleven years, I am a little jealous. I rarely get that warm in the winter in North Carolina, and it feels nice to be warm all the way through. It just strikes me as unfair that I must travel almost to Canada to really warm up at night.

I wonder if my hosts will miss that blanket …

Dangerous Jobs and Thanksgiving

As a general rule, being an author is not considered a particularly risky profession or hobby. The number of risk factors involved seems low. A writer seldom has to deal with toxic chemicals, whirling blades, crushing hydraulics, high voltage electricity, or tall ladders. In fact, if viewed specifically from a safety point of view, it seems like a very innocuous profession.

However, there is a startling statistic that every single author that was born by 1910 has died. William Shakespeare, JRR Tolkien, and CS Lewis to name a few, are gone. Throughout history, every single author has eventually passed on. That is a 100% mortality rate with no expectation of improvement. Maybe it is not such a safe field after all.

Obviously, I am juxtaposing a lighthearted tone on a serious subject. That subject, of course, is mortality. My mortality to be more specific.

You see, I am aware that my days are numbered and that I have no control over how or when my ultimate demise will be delivered. I am not fatalistic at all. Nor am I cavalier with safety. I wear my seatbelt, drive conscientiously, eat lots of green leafy vegetables, and in general have a healthy lifestyle free from vice and addictions. But, my days are still numbered and will eventually run out.

While that may seem like a somber subject the week before Thanksgiving, it really is not so bad. In fact it is a great place for a thankful attitude to be nurtured.

First, for me, I consider every day to be a gift from God's hand. It's hard to not be thankful with that as a foundation. I have had several events in my life where I knew I was going to die, and did not. This would be a very different post otherwise.

Second, recognizing my own mortality causes me to live with a purpose. There are many aspects of my life that could be postponed, but I do not know the future any better than anyone else. It is my ambition in life to encourage, nurture, and inspire others to reach their full Divinely-appointed potential. At best, I imperfectly attempt to fulfill that ambition a number of ways, but always today. To quote John Cooper, "Today, 'cause tomorrow may be one day too late."

Third, I realize that I am no more important than anyone else. We all share the same condition, and all must be prepared for our final call. We are pilgrims in this life-journey preparing for our eternal home. That may sound morbid, or a bit pie-in-the-sky-ish to some, but it sets me free. I am free to be satisfied with whatever I have, because it is all quite temporary. That is a really good feeling, by the way. My observation is that self-indulgent living is relentlessly exhausting.

So, embracing my mortality allows me to be thankful for today, live with purpose, and love my neighbor. I think that is a win all the way around.

In the Forge

A bar of iron is thrust, unceremoniously, into a bed of glowing coals. Then, at the precise moment, it is pulled free and shaped with many blows from a hammer. The showers of sparks elicit no sympathy. With strong hands, the smith repeats the process until the blade is properly formed. Then the steel is abruptly quenched. When the edge is ground to a perfectly sharpened weapon, it is polished. Then, and only then, is it presented. There are no shortcuts in the creation of a perfect blade.

Likewise, there are no shortcuts in the creation of a hero.

Book 2 in the Kingdom of the Falcon series is now available!
Just in time for that favorite chair by the fireplace and being transported to a distant place.

Check it out here! Ascent of the Falcon

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Ascent of the Falcon

Their origins were humble. But their paths were anything but ordinary, for heroes are not born, they are forged in the flames of adversity, and whetted on the stone of endurance.

Ascent of the Falcon is set in the 14th century and tracks the lives and adventures of those who became the heroes of the kingdom. 

Tact, Genes, and a New Website

It seems that my kids have inherited all their tact from me. In my defense, my mother used to say I was as subtle as the back side of an ax. I guess that's pretty blunt. I wonder where I got it from.

For my recent birthday they, my kids, gifted me with a website to replace the masterpiece that I had made. Their assessment of my original site was that it looked like a seven-year-old made it. My defense was, it was simply a platform of communication. They maintained it was in need of professional help.

I gave in with the expectation that it would take some time and that I would be able to head off any overt flashiness or corny animations. The joke was on me, however, as they were already working on it. In fact … it was all but finished.

So with trepidation, I asked how to view it. I almost fell out when they replied: thervhodge.com!

Me: What!? Does that not sound a bit pretentious to anyone?

They: Nope, Dad, it's just cool. That's how many artists identify their officially-sanctioned websites.

Me: … But …

When I nervously typed in the domain name, thervhodge.com, I was greeted with a fantastic surprise. The site is classic, easy to use, and not so serious as to be stuffy. I'm still a bit self-conscious about the name, but you should see it for yourself.

I'm tickled silly about it.

PS. Any pictures that are amazing were taken by my daughter, srochellephotography.com