Choices

Well, gentle reader, after a two-week hiatus, caused largely by my own inability to manage time effectively (Yes, it's true. I know you're thinking "But Mr. Frederick, sir, how is it possible that you are not magnificent at everything to which you put your mind?" Of course, the answer to that is that I am great at everything to which I put my mind. I simply did not adequately bring that tremendous ability to bear in the recent situation...), I am back. "At last," I can hear you saying. "I don't know how my life could have continued without being able to waste hours of my time reading Frederick's drivel. So, what does he have for me this week?" I'm glad you asked that question.

Every day, we all make countless choices that impact our days (and sometimes our lives) to a greater or lesser extent. Clearly, some of these choices are completely irrelevant to most of the people around us, while others are not. A prime example of the former is the choice most of us must make relatively early in the morning--for some, before we break the night's fast, while for others it is after that breaking. Of course, I am referring to whether or not we take a shower on a given day. Obviously, this choice affects no one but ourselves. This is clearly exemplified by the "gentleman" who decided to sit two seats behind me on the city bus the other day. He was dressed in a suit and tie and was carrying a briefcase; further he was reading the Wall Street Journal. A businessman? Most likely. Apparently, this particular individual was a member of that social strata that feels it is historically, culturally, legally, and biblically required to think less of anyone not so stratified. Equally apparently, the particular social strata to which he belonged--and, perhaps more importantly, his job--required that he not shower in the morning. What was it that enabled me to deduce this particular truth, you ask? Well, apart from the fact that he was so...odiferous that he nearly blew my socks off my feet when he walked past...nothing. Oh, wait. There was something else, although I didn't realize it until I had once again regained consciousness. When my mental faculties were once again working at something vaguely resembling normal (by which I mean that I was mentally capable of once again doing anything, provided the anything in question was focusing on the powerful stench emanating from some as yet "unidentified source" in some "vague locale" behind me), I became aware of a periodically repeating sound that reminded me for some weird (It's more than strange...it's weeeeiiiiird.) reason of someone fighting a doomed battle to keep his (or, in this case, her) last meal in a place where it could at least pretend to nourish the body. So I guess there were two reasons for my deductions regarding the gentleman's morning routine.

Well, as I'm sure you'd like to know, my tremendous mental capabilities finally arrived at the conclusion that, in addition to earning incalculable infrequent shower miles, this gentleman must also enjoy frequently inviting the oh-so-scrumptious caloric companion that I like to call sauerkraut to his repasts. I mean, really, who wouldn't love adding mostly rotten cabbage to one's meals? In a stroke of sheer genius, I grounded this deduction upon the fact that the toxic fumes which were so close to repeatedly robbing me of conscious thought--not to mention the minor luxury generally dubbed "breathable air"--were remarkably similar in their odiferous characteristics to that stagnant pile of rotting vegetable. Indeed, I believe the United States military could have employed this individual as a WMD (or "Weapon of Mass Destruction" for those of you who have been living in a dark and lonely cave for the last few years). I happen to know for a personal fact that the currently reigning king of the flies regards this gentleman as a national treasure, since he and his immediate environment--that is, any place within a three-and-one-half mile radius of him--provides his people with bountiful housing and economic opportunities. And these opportunities show no signs of evaporating any time soon. Clearly, showering is a choice which affects only the individual in question.

What is the point of all of this, you ask? Why do you care about a random individual to whose presence I have been subjected on only one occasion? Well, at least why do you care other than the fact that it was I who was affected? The point is, quite simply, this: the choices we make very often both shape and define who we are; what is more, the choices we make very often have a lasting impact, whether positive or negative, on others, and especially on those who are near and dear to our hearts. How often do I catch myself making hubristically selfish choices about how to spend my time--even choices that are ostensibly for the well-being of my family? How often am I "too tired" or "too busy" to spend time with my kids? How often do I begrudge the time I spend with my family, frustrated that I am not during that time working towards occupational advancement (ostensibly to benefit my family)? How often is that time spent with only half of my mind on the "here-and-now" (o.k., o.k.--a quarter of it, since only half is in general use anyway)? How often do I do these things, and then say that they are done "for the good of the family"? How often "must" and do I justify what I am currently doing, when it steals more time from my family than I will ever be able to redeem? Far more often than I would care to admit. At what point do the activities of daily life--even the necessary and good activities--at what point do these activities need to be put aside in order to do what is truly important? Why can I not get it through my fat-coated brain that family is more important than anything but God, even if it means that certain aspects of my "real" life suffer? Why is it that I so often seem to think that I am the most important being in the universe? Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death? (Rom. 7:24 [NASB])

With my penchant for screwing things up...and overreacting to minor situations...and being an all-around poophead, perhaps it is better that my kids don't see me any more than they do. Regardless, it doesn't change the fact that I have few regrets so great as the fact that I have yet to see a first step, I have yet to hear a first word, I have yet to...well, I have yet to experience much of what makes life with young children that time of life that is among the best we can ever experience. And, God help me, all of which I sometimes seem capable is to screw up their young selves. Oh, wretched man, indeed. Where is the hope? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! (Rom. 7:25 [NASB]) Thanks be to Him, both for the salvation He has wrought for and in me and for His care for my children and my wife. There is no one more capable.