Nov. 29, 2007

Today's Picture:

Picture Caption: Okay, I'll admit it: I'm having a bad day. But that soup just made it a lot worse. 

From "101 Amazing Truths About Jesus That You Probably Didn't Know"

Jesus's family tree included murderers, sexual deviants, and genocidal maniacs.

It must have embarrassed Jesus on occasion. What, you ask? His forebears. Some of them were real hellions. Few were saints. A couple were genocidal maniacs.

     How would you like those skeletons in your closet?

     Probably all of us, at one time or another, have discovered an unsavory secret or two in our genealogical attics. I have only one that I know of. My family rarely talks about it. When my dad casually asked the person involved about a certain relationship he had with another woman, Dad later told me, "He looked at me with such hatred in his eyes that I decided then and there never to bring it up again."

     But really, this wasn't much. Perhaps my relative only engaged in a strange relationship. At worst, adultery. Compare that with the deeds done in some families, and it's almost laughable.      Next to the fellow who has murder, lying, cheating, abuse, adultery, incest, and even genocide in his family tree, it's pretty mild.

     But Jesus did have those things in his familial past. His genealogy in Matthew 1:1-17 gives us an astonishing insight into a Savior who had a lot to hide-if he had wanted to. But he didn't. He laid it all out for us-all the sinners, saints, and ain'ts of his family history.

There's Abraham, the ancient patriarch who lied twice to potentates to protect himself-and in so doing almost caused his wife to commit adultery against her will. His son Isaac did the same thing. And then there's Jacob, whose name essentially means "cheat"-which he did to nearly everyone dear to him without flinching.

     Judah and his daughter-in-law Tamar committed incest. Ruth the Moabite, who was descended from the sexual union of Lot and his daughter, was a product of incest.

     Next we find David, who committed adultery with Bathsheba and later had her husband murdered to cover it up. Solomon, the wisest, richest man who ever lived, in his last years deserted the God who made him wise and rich and became a pagan idolater. And Manasseh, later in the messianic lineage, gained the reputation of the bloodiest king in all Israel, murdering people left and right in his awful reign of terror. In fact, if you take a hard look at it, the sinners in Jesus's genealogy far outweigh the do-gooders by a wide margin.

     Why is this? Why would the Savior of the world and King of heaven be burdened with such a tainted lineage? Perhaps for only one reason: Jesus was one of us. Perhaps God gave Jesus these forebears to remind him what he was sent to do: to save sinners. Another beautiful truth is that many of those sinners in Jesus's family history also went down in history as some of God's greatest saints: Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, David . . . even Manasseh turned back to God at the end of his life.

     Write it on a billboard if that what it takes to really get it: all saints started out as sinners, and any sinner can become a saint-by simply entrusting himself or herself to the one in charge of the "Transformation Express."

From "Daddyhood"

The Diaper Disaster

     I learned to change diapers my first-time-around as a father. Just grab a leg, whisk up one of those wet towel things, pull the baby skyward, refuse the impulse to vomit, and wipe away the green stuff. It'll take several wipes, maybe seven or eight, but you'll get it sooner or later. Then lay down a new diaper. Open it, and lie the baby on top, her tushy in the middle of the diaper. Okay, she's wiggling. That's solved by setting your hand on her stomach and holding her in place. Not too heavily now, you don't want to suffocate her. Finally, peel those two tabs on either side of the diaper. Oh, they're on the top? You'll have to shift the diaper around. That's it. Good. You've got it. What's the big deal? 

     With Elizabeth, the latest baby, my usual problem wasn't changing her. It was after  dispensing with the used diaper, I had to find a new one. My wife informed me she kept them in a special place - in a cute cloth diaper thingy hanging from the front of Elizabeth's crib. But naturally, I forgot that at that moment because I didn't listen to my wife in the first place, being a self-centered male who didn't think it important at the time, so I careened about for ten minutes, muttering under my breath, "Why don't we keep them in a regular place?"

     Of course, the day finally came when the diaper thingie was out. Flat out of diapers. Not a single one even lying on the floor, or under the crib. Nowhere to be been, and I was home alone with the baby. I couldn't call out to my wife, "Oh, dear, aren't there any extra diapers somewhere?" Because I think she had told me the night before to get some when I went to Wal-Mart. But once again I'd forgotten, because I had only gone to the electronics department, being a self-involved male lout. 

     Of course, I had to find something, so my typical male mind thought, Ah, maybe there's a slightly used diaper lying in the dirty diaper bin that can serve until we get a new pack. 

     I hurried to the stinking bin where the used diapers had piled up. Thinking I should put on rubber gloves but none were available, I just held my nose and rummaged in the pile with my right hand. In the process, I learned the true meaning of the word, "disgusting." 

     I soon came to the realization that all the diapers there were so soaked and saturated that nothing would work. Why? Because I never changed a diaper till it was so heavy it hung down around the baby's knees. 

     Then real inspiration hit: I could wad up some Kleenexes, use that for a diaper and bind it to the kid while we went off to Wal-Mart to buy some real diapers. 

     I got Elizabeth ready, duct-taped some Kleenexes around her waist and tushy, then rushed to Wal-Mart where I hurtled around in a fever trying to remember where the diaper aisle was, praying the baby wouldn't go until we'd found it. 

     Of course, that was not to be. As I zoomed past the electronics department I suddenly felt wetness on my arm. The baby, safely tucked in my right armpit, smiled up at me as pee dripped down my forearm. Liberal pee. Gusher pee. I wondered if the kid had imbibed a six-pack when I wasn't looking. 

     Finding a sympathetic attendant, she told me where to find the diapers. I darted off while she called after me, "Hey, what's this?" 

     "The baby drools bad," I called back, hurrying out of earshot. But guilt set in and I staggered back. "My baby . . . went." 

     "Isn't she wearing a diaper?" 

     "Not exactly." 

     "What is she wearing?" 

     "Kleenex." 

     "That doesn't work, sir, as you can see." 

     "I'm sorry. Can I go find a diaper before she goes again?" 

     "Do us all a favor." 

     Arriving in the right aisle with Elizabeth now in a cart, I stared at a long row featuring every kind of diaper ever created by mankind. There were 1's and 2's, 3's, 4's and 5's. There were Pampers and Huggies and multiple other brands. I didn't know what kind my wife preferred. Frankly, I didn't care. Pee was again dripping onto the floor under the cart. 

     I soon discovered the numbering system had to do with weight of the baby. But how much did she weigh? 

     Having been at one time a Physics major, my mind zipped through the possibilities.  "Elizabeth was a little more than one. So maybe ones was it." But ones were for babies, weren't they, little babies, tiny babies, the cuddly kind that everyone cooed at and made faces at and loved. Elizabeth was beyond that stage. She spit into people's faces when they baby-talked, "Oo, da widdle liddle babee girlie is so cutie-poo!"

     I hefted her like a bag of oranges. I knew she was less than a fifty-pound bag of dog food, which I regularly had to heave home because we had an eighty-pound Dalmatian galumping down wads of the stuff every day.

     A twenty-pound bag of potatoes? She was less lumpy, but that sounded close. 

     I left Elizabeth and walked down the long aisle, reading the sparse information on the sides of the bags of diapers. I settled on 2's. Meanwhile, another man with a baby arrived looking for diapers. I prayed he wouldn't ask me for any kind of diaper information, but naturally he did. 

     "Do you know what size a baby like mine would take?" 

     "How much does she weigh?" 

     "He." 

     I stared at the baby. Long hair. Pink shirt. Green pants. Red sneakers. Even I knew this guy  had dressed his kid without the mother around. No woman would have let her kid go out like that. So now I knew I was dealing with somebody about the same as me. 

     "The numbers on the packages relate to size of the baby," I said. "Figure that out and you've got it." 

     "Great." He turned to the long row and squinted. I walked away, laughing to myself. Men are such idiots, I thought.

     And then suddenly, with that searing white-hot lightning of realization when you know you've majorly messed up, I remembered I left the baby sitting in the cart in the aisle. What aisle? 

     My heart went to my throat. I thought, What am I going to do? If she's missing, my wife will kill me. My parents will kill me. Wal-Mart will kill me immediately. They'd go to the gun department, get a shotgun and shells and execute me on the spot.

     Then I saw the trail of pee. Ah, nothing like a little pee to lead you back to your prey.

     My eyes followed the little yellow stream down to a whole clothes rack quivering ten feet away.  Ah, that idiot male must have pushed her out of the way to get his cart down the aisle. What a jerk. I glanced back to see him holding a package of diapers and quizzically looking around for help.  Just desserts, as far as I was concerned. 

     I found Elizabeth wailing under the clothes still in the cart, soaked but whole.

     I tore open the 2's pack, pulled out a fresh new diaper, and changed her there on the spot. She cooed with pleasure.

     I spotted the attendant from before walking down toward me with a mop.  "I hear your Kleenex contraption didn't work down here, either." 

     "Sorry. But I got on a new diaper." 

     "Before you paid for it?" 

     "Well, I thought . . . " 

     "Men," she muttered and began mopping.  "What idiots!" 

     I considered pointing out the moron still in the diaper aisle, but I didn't want to cast aspersions. 

     At that point, I walked back and bought sixteen more packs of 2's, 3's, and 4's. I vowed never to run out of diapers again. 

     Mark's Comment: Before you get married, you should sign a prenup agreement that states your agreement or non-agreement about changing diapers. Get it in print, notarized, etc. Because if you don't, you will be changing diapers. A lot. And just as it's true that "all's fair in love and war," so it is when changing a diaper. Also, my best advice about changing a diaper for fathers, it's not the stench, it's not the mess, it's not having to wipe it all up. What will really help you is how your wife will look at your finished job, cluck her tongue, shake her head, and say, "Where on earth did you learn to change diapers?" This is your best chance of never having to do it again. 

     Elizabeth's Comment: I don't remember any of this. 

Prayer and The Political Debate

     I have been praying for sometime that the main-stream media and especially CNN and their ilk would be exposed for the partisan stance they take on politics. I'm not endorsing any candidate, Democratic or Republican, but I have noted that the MSM consistently supports left-leaning causes and leaders. 

     Last night, and of course many times in the past, I had a prayer answered. I didn't see the Republican's YouTube debate, but I have read much about the "planted questions" from various Democratic candidates. CNN claims they didn't know about these, but it seems remarkable that of thousands of entries they would pick these among others, especially when much of the information about the questioners was available right on the Internet. Either CNN is totally incompetent, or partial to the point of trying to make any Republican candidate look bad. Either way, it's not good. 

     I believe that God is in charge, whoever gets elected. We have survived bad administrations in the past, from both ends of the political spectrum, so it's in God I trust, not the MSM or any single candidate. What floors me is how little Americans seem to care about this problem. I suggest we as Christians pray that:

     1. God will continue to hammer the MSM with exposures of their bias. 

     2. That Christians will vote, even if the leading candidates don't line up on every issue the way they may want.

     3. That God will continue to assure us of his control and guidance, even if things do not turn out the way we wish. 

Website: marklittleton.com

Our writer's network website:

heartofamericachristianwriters.com

My literary agency website: winsunliterary.com

My blog: life-ology.townhall.com

Latest books:

101 Amazing Truths About Jesus You Probably Didn't Know(Howard Books, 2007)

The Ten-Second Prayer Principle: Powerful Prayer As You Go(Howard Books, 2007)

Books to come:

What's In the Bible for Teens? (Bethany House, January 2008)

BIble Bathroom Book(Howard Books, April 2008)

The Big Bad God of the Bible(AMG, August, 2008)

The Real Life Kid's Devotional Bible For Boys(Zonderkidz, September, 2008) 

The Real Life Kid's Devotional Bible For Girls(Zonderkidz, September, 2008)