So far, the New Year and I have gotten along quite famously. If the rest of the year goes as well as the first week, it will be a wonderful year. I love it when a plan comes together. Especially when it is mine.

Then the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage disrupted my amicable muse. She emerged from my office and said most defiantly, “You need to be more organized. I don’t know how you find anything in that office?”

What she does not know is that I rarely look for “anything.” Usually, I’m searching for “something.” That is a problem with women… wives… mine in particular. They do not know the difference between “anything” and “something.”

When I’m searching for something I never find anything but often I find nothing.

My wife was making two assumptions. She was assuming that I was not organized. Maybe I’m not organized according to her definition of the word, but I assure you I am organized.

Another assumption she made was that I cannot find anything in my office. This also is not true. I go by the motto: if I can’t find what I need I probably don’t need it. This has greatly simplified my life. Where does it say that you have to find everything you are looking for?

Have you ever noticed that no matter what you are searching for it is always in the last place you look? Why don’t we look in that place first?

Every pile of my desk has meaning. Sometimes it takes a little while for me to remember the meaning of a certain pile on my desk, but that makes life exciting. Who wants to go through life knowing exactly where everything is at any moment of the day? Certainly not me.

I will grant you that some things need to be organized. For example, my lunch needs to be well organized. Nothing is quite as disturbing to me as facing a lunch that is absolutely disorganized. Everything about my lunch has its own place and when something is not in its preordained place, I am frustrated.

The plate needs to be in front of me. My spoon, fork and knife needs to be where I can access it directly. And my coffee cup where I will not spill it on myself. This I know from painful experience. All the food dishes need to be within easy arm-reach.

I refuse to begin my lunchtime repast until everything is organized in front of me. I do not want to get up from my chair to fetch something in the middle of my meal. When I sit down to eat that is exactly what I intend to do.

Nothing is more satisfying than a well-organized lunch where I know what to eat first. There is a beautiful harmony associated with a well-organized lunch that cannot be duplicated anywhere else.

Once I get up from the table and mosey over to my office, such silly ritualism is left on the table. My desk is something else. It is where I truly live. On and around my desk are piles, levels and floor space occupied by more piles. To me it is one of the most sacred places on planet earth.

Once my wife organized my office and I could not find anything. For instance, she had my files filed alphabetically! Who ever heard of such imbecile nonsense? I could not find anything I was working on.

One woman’s organization is her husband’s nightmare.

My wife spends all day organizing my office and it takes me six months to find something… anything. Once it took me all week to find my desk. There it was in the middle of the room stark naked. Oh, the shame of it all.

Organization is not all it is cracked up to be. Often, when I am searching for something I find something else I forgot I had. Sometimes it is an overdue bill. My philosophy is, if I cannot find a bill I do not have to pay it. Unfortunately, the electric company does not share in my philosophical viewpoint. Once I get organized, I no longer have any excuses. And boy, do I love my excuses. Man shall not live by bread alone he needs plenty of excuses along the way.

A good excuse is like peanut butter, it helps to hold the bread in place.

I do not plan to organize my office any time soon. But I do plan to keep my wife from organizing it for me.

Sometimes a person can be all caught up in an organization frenzy and really forget the important things of life. And then there are those times when a person thinks that everything depends upon them. The Bible tells us otherwise.

“The preparations of the heart in man, and the answer of the tongue, is from the LORD. All the ways of a man are clean in his own eyes; but the LORD weigheth the spirits. Commit thy works unto the LORD, and thy thoughts shall be established.” (Proverbs 16:1-3 KJV).

And also, “There are many devices in a man’s heart; nevertheless the counsel of the LORD, that shall stand.” (Proverbs 19:21 KJV).

For me it is a personal matter. The more organized I become the more I depend upon myself. The more I depend upon myself the more glory I take from the Lord who deserves it all.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

A New Year has dawned and I am still trying to recover from my New Year’s Eve activities. I never stay up to see the infamous ball drop at Times Square in New York City. I see enough people dropping the ball all year long I do not need to watch somebody do it on purpose. Actually, I would like to see more people on the ball this coming year.

For many people New Year’s means New Year’s resolutions. I would like to know whoever started this New Year’s resolution nonsense. Didn’t they have anything else to do?

Perhaps, and I am only guessing here, the first person who made a New Year’s resolution was Adam in the Garden of Eden. He looked at Eve thoughtfully and said, “I think I’ll turn over a new leaf.”

Thus began the annual ritual imposed on all human beings.

Last year my New Year’s resolution was that I would try not to be as humble as I was the previous year. I would like to say I achieved my goal but I am too humble to boast about my accomplishments.

Perhaps, on the top of most people’s list of New Year’s resolutions has something to do with diets. I admire those who stick to a diet and lose 1,000,000 pounds. I say I admire them; I’m just not going to join their ranks, thank you. The only pounds I ever lose are British sterling.

If I ever go on a diet, the one I will use will be to see how many pounds I can gain. After all, whenever I try to lose pounds I always end up gaining pounds. So I am thinking, if I try to gain pounds I will end up losing pounds. It makes perfect sense to me.

The last diet I stuck to the only thing that happened to me was my hair got thin. Of course, who really wants fat hair? Actually, I’m grateful for what hair I have, fat or thin. Every morning I tease it into place and it in return teases me into thinking it really cares. We soon shall part ways.

But I need to buckle up and get serious about my diet resolution for this coming year. The reason I know I need to do this is because the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage said to Yours Truly, “You need to buckle up and get serious about your diet.” And she is never wrong, at least not in any way that I could document and hold it over her as some bargaining chip. So, I will let the chips fall where they may.

I am not sure how this whole diet business is going to end up or down as the case may be, but I shall give it a whirl.

I know I will have some difficulties because of several contrary things.

I have come to that stage in life where my body acts as if it does not know me. And it certainly deserves a well-earned Emmy. My body and I are not in harmony on anything.

For example. If I want to take a nap in the afternoon, my body resists. No matter how drowsy I may be at the time, as soon as I situate myself to indulge in an afternoon nap my body is fully aroused to complete awakeness. And if that was not bad enough, my brain is racing with so many things I need to do.

If I decide I am not going to take a nap and pick up a book to read, my body immediately goes into slumber mode. I barely turn to the first chapter when my eyes roll back into my head and everything turns dark and all quiet on the Western front.

Another difficulty I will have to face with my diet has to do with my friends. My so-called friends. Ha!

I believe there is a diabolical conspiracy among these friends of mine. Whenever I’m around them, they are always coercing me into eating things I really do not need to eat.

“Aw, come on,” they chide me,” one more piece of pie isn’t going to kill you.”

Then, once I eat it, they make me feel guilty for eating.

There is one remark, if I hear it one more time I will not be responsible for my actions. It is, “Are you going to eat that or wear it?” I do have a snappy retort but I am saving that for a really special occasion.

Between my body and my friends, I am going to have a terrible time this coming year with a diet. I can’t do too much with my body but I think before I start my new diet I will get me some new friends. Friends that are fatter than I am.

Even the great apostle Paul struggled with this matter of resolutions. Finally he wrote, “Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:13-14 KJV).

I can’t change the past. I’m not sure about the future. But, like the apostle Paul, “I press toward the mark…” As long as Christ is before me, nothing can discourage me.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

The Christmas season is over, finally. The only aide memoire is the Christmas tree mutely standing in the corner of our living room. The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and Yours Truly were sitting in the living room drinking our morning cup of coffee and silently staring at the ghost of Christmas recently passed.

Silence tiptoed down the hall. Almost out of nowhere, I heard a deep sigh from the only other occupant of the room. Then she said, “I’m glad Christmas is over.”

I often agree with her and this was one of those delightful occasions. Is it me or does the Christmas season start earlier every year? Pretty soon, it will be a year-round occupation. As it stands now, by the time Christmas day arrives everybody is completely exhausted from all the holiday events not the least being shopping.

Then there are all those obligatory Christmas parties. During the holiday season, wherever two or three are gathered together you have a Christmas party.

I am thinking for my New Year’s resolution this year that I will give up going to Christmas parties. However, if you do not go to some Christmas party you are soon labeled Mr. Scrooge, and they’re not thinking the end of the book Mr. Scrooge. Why is it the only way we can celebrate something is to throw a party? If it was up to me, and it isn’t, I would throw all parties overboard.

As I was deeply involved in this little brown bag study of mine my wife startled me with a question.

“Do you have any Christmas cheer left?”

Usually we are not reading the same book let alone on the same page. But this time was not one of those times. I knew exactly what she was talking about. I was not quite sure if I did have any Christmas cheer left but if I did, it was on the rather thin side.

For months, or so it seems, I have been encouraged by everybody around me to join the Christmas spirit. Christmas is the time to spread cheer. Right now, all I think I can spread is a little bit of Cheerios.

“Why are you smiling?” my wife said somewhat absentmindedly.

“I’m not smiling.”

“Yes you are. I can see it from here.”

Upon investigation, I discovered that I had a smile frozen on my face. I have been smiling so much that my face froze that way. My mother said this would happen to me and I never believed it. My problem now is, how do I unfreeze this icy smile from my face?

There is a time to smile. Then there is a time to put all of those smiles away and get on with life.

As I thought of my frozen smile and began to think of how much of my life is simply automatic without any reality to it? Am I just going through the motions? Or, is there something really behind that smile of mine?

“You know, I was just thinking,” my wife said.

Of course, if it were not Christmas I would have answered her by saying, “With what?” There is a time to speak and then there is the time to sport a frozen smile.

“I was thinking how fast time goes around Christmas. It seems that just a day or so ago I was beginning the Christmas shopping. Now Christmas is over.”

I knew exactly how she felt. The day after Christmas is a time to reflect on how fast the time has gone. There was once a time when I was very interested in what Christmas gifts I was going to receive.

Then I graduated to that phase when I was only interested in watching the children react to their Christmas presents on Christmas morning.

Now things are different. Now I look forward to the day after Christmas when I can catch my breath and listen intently to the sounds of silence. It has only been lately that I have learned to appreciate that harmonious sound, and it is all it is trumped up to be.

As much as I look forward to Christmas each year, the day after Christmas has a romantic charm all its own. Although, the Christmas cheer in my cup may be a little low, there is always one more sip. And, it is amazing how it refills itself in due time.

It must have been like that for Mary and Joseph that first Christmas. All the excitement leading up to that day and the day itself was beyond anything they could ever have imagined.

What with angels singing, shepherds worshiping and wise men bringing their gifts, it was an exciting time. Then the day after Christmas dawned bright and quiet. For them, as with all of us today, Christmas is one day of celebration and then life goes on.

It is after all the excitement dissipates that the real story of Christmas takes root. The Bible says, “But when the fulness of the time was come, God sent forth his Son, made of a woman, made under the law, To redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons.” (Galatians 4:4-5 KJV).

The purpose of Christmas is not the excitement or the gifts or the parties but rather salvation. My cup of cheer may run low at times, but God is always faithful in filling it to overflowing.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

Every family has those traditions and days that help define their family. I personally know some families (although I shall not divulge any names unless there is enough cash offered) that are adequately defined by April 1.

For me, Christmas Eve clearly defines me. Christmas Eve means many things to me. For one, it means shopping. Yes, it is true; I do all my Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve. It cuts down on the stress. Some people spend weeks shopping and their life is full of stress.

Personally, I focus all that stress of shopping into one 24-hour period.

The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage begins her Christmas shopping in January and by August, she is in full shopping mode. (There should be a law that any present bought before December cannot be considered a Christmas present.) When the children were still at home, I was just as eager as they were on Christmas morning to see what I had bought them for Christmas.

There have been times, and you did not hear it from me, when my wife bought a Christmas present and forgot about it by the time December rolled around. Once, and I will never repeat this, we discovered a cache of Christmas presents in the corner of our garage when we were packing to move. Only Santa really knows how long they were there.

My Christmas Eve ritual starts bright and early in the morning at the “Slurp ‘N Burp Café” for a big breakfast. Every good day begins with a hearty breakfast and especially when I am about to embark on a day of Christmas shopping.

Then it is off to the mall for my Christmas Eve ritual of shopping. My philosophy is, the more torturous the shopping experience the more the recipient will appreciate the gift. Nothing is more torturous than a visit at the local shopping mall.

Some go to the mall for pleasure and recreation; some go and are never seen again. I go for penitence.

The average mall is so anti-man that every man enters its doors at his own peril. Many insurance companies have in fine print a disclosure in their policies to men making all insurance claims invalid when an accident happens in a shopping mall.

Shopping malls are deliberately designed to frustrate the male equation of the marital state of mind. Let me list a few observations in this regard.

Is it just me, or do they move the mall stores around from year to year just to confuse the average man? And, to confuse me further, why is it, no matter what door I enter the mall it is never there when I want to leave?

Once inside the mall it only takes me three hours to acclimate myself to the hostile environment. By that time, I am hopelessly lost. As I wander aimlessly around the mall, I try to remember why I am there. One of the things on my shopping agenda is a Christmas present for my wife. Although I have had over 30 years experience in this, I am no better off than our first Christmas.

In all those years, I have given her everything from jewelry to perfume to bubble bath. At this stage in my life, I do not know what to get her.

Last year I was tempted to wrap myself and put the box under the tree, but I was afraid I would suffocate by Christmas morning.

Wandering from store to store, I could not find anything to buy for her. I could get her a card with money in it but I am afraid the check would bounce - and then would I.

If I bought her a dress, I would only be putting my life on the line. If the dress I bought was too small, she would be offended to think I thought she was gaining weight. If the dress I bought was too large… well, you know what that would mean.

If I did not get her something I would look pretty silly come Christmas morning - I mean sillier than usual.

Wandering in and out of store after store brought me no closer to that gift of all gifts that would say, “I think you’re terrific.”

I was exhausted and about to give up and go home in shameful disgrace. And then, when I was about to give up, there it was. The perfect gift. I could not believe my eyes. I rubbed them in disbelief and loudly exclaimed, “There is a Santa Claus after all.”

I wept, I laughed, I burped (Musta been the soda). Right before my eyes was the perfect gift for my wife. A gift that said, “Honey, you’re the greatest.” Watching the salesperson carefully wrap my Christmas trophy, I could not help thinking about the real meaning of Christmas.

God searched all of heaven to find that one special gift to tell mankind, “I think you’re terrific.” Finding nothing better, He settled on that Gift of all gifts, the Lord Jesus Christ.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16 KJV).

My Christmas prayer is that this year you will celebrate with me God’s gift of eternal life in Jesus Christ.

What was my Christmas trophy for my beloved? I will never tell.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

While many are absorbed with the trifling news of the weakening economy, bailing out the all but defunct auto industry, and the emergence of a new Britney Spears, news that is more important is not being heard. Believe it or not, there are some things more important than these. At least to some people.

The most troubling news of the day comes from the North Pole. In a few weeks, the jolly man from the North will make his visit. However, some difficulties may prevent his usual prompt appearance this year. I know many people take comfort in the fact that you can always count on jolly good old St. Nick. But trouble is brewing in his North Pole residence like a bad cup of coffee.

Just as the rest of the world is having some economic difficulties, so the North Pole. For example, The Elf Union has given the Santa Claus Enterprise some difficulty this past year. They want twice the pay for only half the work.

Santa was overheard saying, “Who do these elves think they are? Politicians?” However, in order to keep to some semblance of a schedule that Jolly Ole Soul acceded to their request.

That was not the only problem he faced this past year. The North Pole office of the ACLU filed a complaint against Santa. The gist of their complaint had to do with Santa categorizing children as either “naughty” or “nice.” This, according to the ACLU spokesperson was not in keeping with the holiday spirit and caused some children to think bad about themselves.

They also stated very emphatically that giving lumps of coal to those who are naughty is not environmentally friendly.

While were on the subject of being environmentally friendly, Santa’s eight tiny reindeer have been linked to global warming. Consequently, there is an unusual melting of the glaciers around the North Pole. This year Santa has to reduce his reindeer force to only four.

“It’s a tough decision,” Santa said rather sadly, “but I guess I’ll have to conform to regulations.”

Another tough decision that had to be faced was due to cutbacks, Santa could only check the list once. Of course, not being able to determine who is naughty or nice that was not necessary.

At the last minute, Santa discovered that in compliance with the more traditional airlines there will now be a new charge per bag on the old sleigh. Mr. Claus fought this one to the very end. He has never had to pay for luggage but due to the world economic situation things are changing. Either, he has to put twice as much in each bag or reduce the gifts in half. His face a lot of hard decisions in his lifetime, but this one ranks as the most difficult.

A more delicate situation developed. It had to do with Santa Claus himself. Although the word “obesity,” was not used, it certainly was suggested. Due to Santa’s size, this year he will have to pay for two seats on the sleigh.

Although the ticket agent did not think it was fair, he told Santa there was nothing he could do about it. “Rules are rules,” he said rather glumly.

Being the Jolly Ole Soul that he is, Santa pulled out his credit card to make the purchase.

Without even looking up, the ticket agent said, “I can only accept cash from you.”

On this matter of his obesity, Santa said it was not his fault. “It’s all those cookies the children leave behind that I must eat. It’s my job. It’s the price I pay for being jolly.”

Santa promised to eat only half the cookies set out this year while giving the other half to poor children.

One last bit of sad news for our friend from the North. Due to the strict laws of political correctness he is not allowed to say, “Ho, ho, ho.” There is a lot of misunderstanding as to what Santa means when he says, “Ho, ho, ho.”

Santa has promised to say, “Ha, Ha, Ha.” Although, he does not promise to say it quite as jolly.

It seems that traditions are not the same anymore. Things seem to be changing to such an extent that they no longer resemble their original intention.

So many people want to be what is termed “agents of change.” Whenever I hear this, I am reminded of what Solomon, the wisest man in the world, said on the subject. “My son, fear thou the LORD and the king: and meddle not with them that are given to change:” (Proverbs 24:21 KJV).

Sometimes the more things change the more they remain the same. But there are some things that are not subject to change.

It is comforting to know that no matter how much things around us change, God never does. “For I am the LORD, I change not;” (Malachi 3:6a KJV).

At Christmas, we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ over 2000 years ago. And as much as things have changed, the important things have not changed.

The most important thing that has not changed is given to us in the Scriptures. “Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever.” (Hebrews 13:8 KJV).

Troubled times have always been here and will never change. Jesus Christ as the solution has not changed, either.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

Now that Thanksgiving is over, I can sigh a deep, well-deserved sigh of relief. Being thankful for everything is very hard work. During the Thanksgiving season, I pasted a gratuitous smile on my face claiming to be thankful for everything, but deep down inside somewhere there is a streak of rebellion that struggles with this concept of being thankful.

I must admit that I am working on it because the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage keeps telling me, “You had better be working on that attitude of yours.”

And so, I work on my attitude, but I must confess it is rather hard. I admire people, such as my wife, who claim to be thankful for everything that happens in life. I would never want to question her sincerity (at least not in some venue that she could hear me), but I do harbor some doubts about this whole matter of being thankful for everything.

I will grant that there are many things to be thankful for in life. I will be the first to acknowledge that many things that happened to me have created a deep sense of gratitude in my heart.

The list could go on forever, but there are a few things that I am really thankful for.

I am thankful to live in a country such as ours. I am thankful to be married to someone who puts up with my idiosyncrasies. (Grant me, that is a big item for thanks.) I am thankful that I have my health. And regardless of what other people say, I am thankful for a level of sanity enabling me to operate day-to-day.

And then there is that infamous list of things I am not thankful for… no matter what anybody says. I have a sneaking suspicion everybody has this list but do not have the courage to let anybody know about it.

Let me list a few things I am really not thankful for… no matter what anyone says.

I am really not thankful for the time change that happens every six months. Spring forward, fall backward. All this nonsense only serves to confuse me. I have a hard time remembering where I am let alone what time of day it is. Am I an hour ahead or am I an hour behind?

Another thing I am not really thankful for is music on the telephone when I’m put on hold. This is the most irritating thing I can think of, at least right now. Why do they think I want to hear music of their choosing? This is America, after all, and everybody has the right to choose things. And I like to choose my own music, thank you.

I do not like to be put on hold in the first place, and then tortured with some music defying the meaning of music. If they want to play music, they should have somewhere where I can choose what kind of music I want to listen to while I am on hold. I could be thankful for that.

And while I am on the subject, I really am not thankful for all of those telephone calls soliciting money from me. If I wanted to give them money, I would be the first one to contact them. Unless I contact them and offer to give money, I do not want harassed by a telephone call.

Along with this would go those political calls that are soliciting my vote. If a politician is so desperate that he needs to call me for one last vote, he better be calling me in person and not some recorded message.

As I look over this list of things, I am not thankful for; there is one that I cannot omit. No list of mine, no matter how incomplete it might be, could ever overlook one item.

Regardless of the time of the year, I am never thankful for broccoli. In my opinion, God created the New York cheesecake and then to be nasty about the whole thing, the devil threw in a sprig of broccoli.

I do not like broccoli because it looks like a cross between a vertically challenged tree and a toadstool, and we all know what a toadstool is used for. I have every reason to believe that broccoli is a member of the fungus family. Thankfully, it is not a member of my family, which is the only thanks I can offer on the subject.

I do not mind if people eat broccoli as long as they do not eat in front of me or insist that I, “just try a bite and you’ll like it.” The next time someone says that to me, I just may bite them and see if they like it.

This is only a partial list of things I am not thankful but I am trying to work on my “attitude of gratitude.” It is not easy and requires a lot of intestinal fortitude on my part.

Maybe an important part of an “attitude of gratitude” has to do with just being content. That could be what Paul was thinking of when he wrote to the Philippians. “Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.” (Philippians 4:11 KJV).

I am learning gratitude has nothing at all to do with things but rather with personal contentment.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

The day following Thanksgiving is similar to the day after a national election. The question on everyone’s mind is, now what do we do with this turkey?

The big difference between these two days is simply the distinction between roasting and roosting, although, at times I am tempted to roast the roosting turkey. One turkey goes into the refrigerator while the other goes into a deep freeze. Our founding fathers, or whoever made the decision, did us all a favor by establishing Washington, D.C. as the roosting place for national politicians. After all, who wants to live next door to one?

I really do not mind all those politicians living in Washington. In fact, I much prefer it. I only wish there could be a law enacted to keep them there and maybe allow them out once a year for a good, old fashion “turkey shoot.” This could replace football as the national sport.

The difference between the two turkeys is one gobbles while the other one garbles.

Have you ever listened to a political speech that really made sense? When a politician says, “I feel your pain,” it is the same as a husband saying to his eight and a half month pregnant wife, “I know what you are going through.” Both have no idea what they are saying and hope nobody will ask for clarification.

If only the political turkey would really talk turkey, maybe, just maybe, something would really get done in our country. The only language a political turkey speaks is double talk. This is the only way the American people can get more for their money. Personally, I would be willing to pay more and get less. A lot less!

It is my opinion, and I may be alone here, that the hole in the ozone is directly related to all the political hot air during a national election year. This year there has been no shortage of gas, especially laughing gas. There must be somewhere for all that gas to escape. For everybody’s sake, do not close that hole!

Another difference between these two turkeys is, one is stuffed while the other is rather stuffy.

Something metaphysical takes place when a person announces his candidacy for a national political office. It is in this area that I am a firm believer in evolution. A normal person suddenly evolves into a turkey. Too much evidence exists to think anything to the contrary.

For example. A Thanksgiving turkey eventually makes a great stew. A political turkey is always in a stew.

It usually does not take too long. If nothing is stewing in our country, this All-American turkey will whip one up in no time. The ingredients are: innuendo and rumor mixed with lots of imagination and illuminated by gas light. A politician hates nothing more than calm waters. If everything is going well in our country the political turkey panics. He fears the average person will begin thinking that politicians are unnecessary in our country. They probably are, but no politician wants anyone to think that.
There is another difference between these two turkeys worth mentioning. The Thanksgiving turkey looks good on the table. The political turkey looks for something under the table.

Whenever I hear some undercooked politician talk about political reform, I wonder what he is expecting under the table. It is just a natural reflex from being overexposed to underdeveloped political thinking. Actually, our political system is not defective. Many politicians abuse the system to their advantage instead of helping the people they serve.

Some recent studies I have read suggest there is some chemical in turkey making people drowsy. (I know what it is, I just can’t spell it.) I also know what it does to me. Nobody has to play “Turkey in The Straw” for the old Sandman to start dancing in my head.

Who hasn’t, after a big Thanksgiving dinner given way to the notorious sandman? I do not know exactly how this works, but any amount of turkey pushes the snooze button with me. No matter how stimulating the after dinner conversation happens to be, the urge to doze is beyond human resistance. In my opinion, there is nothing quite like a few quick winks and several nods following the turkey.

I do owe the recent presidential campaign a big THANKYOU. I had been suffering from a bout of insomnia. Five minutes into the first presidential debate and I was miraculously cured.

Whenever a politician attempts to convince me that he understands “my pain,” I immediately dismiss him. How can he really understand me when he has never talked to me? How can he know my pain when he has never walked in my shoes? The truth is, he can’t.

Someone does know my pain. In the Bible, an important verse brings comfort to anyone truly seeking it. “For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin” (Hebrews 4:15 KJV). That “high priest” is none other than Jesus Christ and he knows me better than I know myself.

When Jesus says he knows my pain I can believe it. The one thing we can really count on is a sympathizing hand from the Lord Jesus Christ. No recount necessary! And, he is the ultimate bailout for all my problems.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

For about a week, I have had this nagging feeling that I was supposed to be doing something but I could not put my finger on it. It was the kind of feeling I have when I know the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage wants me to do something and I cannot remember what she told me to do. All I remember is her saying, “If you don’t do it you’ll be sorry.”

Well, I’m sorry, and I still cannot remember it.

This went on for over a week and then it finally dawned on me. Hemingway was right. No matter how dark it might look the Sun Also Rises.

It was suppertime and my wife and I were just beginning our evening repast. It was a relaxing time of celebrating the day with some delectable home cooking. Grace had been said, and I had just picked up my fork to attack the scrupulous meal when I noticed it. At first, I could not believe what I was hearing.

For months now (or has it been years, I cannot remember), every time we sit down to eat the telephone rang. There for a while it did not even wait for us to sit down to eat it just rang. All the calls were political and most of them were pre-recorded calls. I hate pre-recorded calls. I do not like talking to someone who is not there. If some politician wants to call me, just call me. Do not record a call and then play it back, because I can tell the difference.

I just wonder how dumb these politicians think we are? Do they think we really cannot tell between a live person on the other end of the line and a pre-recorded message? On second thought, they do not elect themselves.

At the time, I did not know if my wife had understood that the phone was not ringing or not, so I put my fork down and said to her, “Do you hear that?”

She stopped eating, listened very intently and then said, “Hear what?”

“Don’t you hear that?”

“Either, you’re dafter than usual tonight or there is some buzzing in your head,” she said rather sarcastically.

“No, that’s not it.” I said, “don’t you hear that?”

By this time, I knew she did not understand what I meant. So I had to explain it to her.

“Listen, the phone is not ringing.”

Then she got it. “Oh, now I don’t hear it.”

For the rest of the evening we enjoyed our own private episode of Silence of the Phones. Do not let this out but we even made a wager as to when the phone would ring and who would be calling. If the President-elect calls, I win. I hope it is not a pre-recorded call.

The Silence of the Phones meant that the presidential election had ended, finally. As they say, all good things must come to an end. I guess that also goes with bad things. I know one thing; I am going to miss good old Joe the plumber.

Now that the elections are over I have to deal with post election blues, or PEB for short, and there is nothing short about an election cycle.

For instance, what am I going to do to keep my blood pressure up?

For the past two years, the news has been 24/7 covering this “historical” political race. Every four years we have the “most important election of our lifetime.” I guess lifetimes are not as long as they used to be. They covered everything no matter how small it might seem on the surface. Every time a politician hiccupped, and politicians do that a lot, there was a camera to record it for posterity. I have no idea what posterity is ever going to do with all of these videos. I’m thinking eBay.

The debates… oh, the debates, how they got my blood running through my veins. You know the old saying, “Wherever two or three politicians are gathered, there my blood pressure goes up.” Actually, we should not call them debates out of deep respect for those high school debate teams who know what they are talking about and actually win a debate.

The political debate is more like a “high level, everybody knows you’re lying, shouting match.” At times, I did not know if I was watching a political debate or a WWE event. I think Hulk Hogan would make an awesome president.

One politician kept saying, “I feel your pain.” I could never figure out what he was talking about because at the time I was feeling no pain. Of course, after hearing it a million times it did become painful.

My grandfather was right when he said, “Ain’t nothing perfect.” And yet there is something within me that says perfection should be our aim in life. However, the crumbling society around us betrays this idea of perfection. It is enough to give anybody a real case of the blues.

I only found one place where perfection still rules. I discovered it in the Bible. “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.” (James 1:17 KJV).

When I look around me, I get a real case of the blues. However, when I look up things begin to look brighter.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

We were making last-minute preparations when we heard a loud knock at the front door. Another interruption, we thought as we trudged toward the door. When we opened the door, we were greeted by two delivery men from Sears.

“Will you sign for this?” one of the men asked as he shoved a clipboard my way.

“Sure, what is it?”

“A freezer,” he answered.

“We didn’t order a freezer.”

“Someone did,” he said. With that, he and his burly partner pushed past me and wheeled a full-length deep freeze up the steep steps and into our church.

As we studied the invoice, we discovered a sister church had purchased the appliance for us. That’s strange, we thought. They never told us it was coming.

Our minds returned to the Thanksgiving dinner. Within a few hours, the first flakes of snow started coming down. In Minnesota in late November, that can mean anything from a dusting to three-foot snow drifts. On this particular day, it meant the worst. By 4:00 p.m., the flakes had turned into a major-league blizzard. The timing couldn’t have been worse. By that late hour, all the food for our dinner had been prepared—a dozen turkeys, nearly a hundred pounds of mashed potatoes, and scores of piping-hot pies.

But we had no one to eat any of it. All our food and effort was about to go to waste.

That’s when we remembered the gift we had received only hours earlier. We wrapped the food and carried it upstairs to our new storage freezer. One week later we held the postponed dinner and served a hot Thanksgiving meal to a church packed with grateful neighbors and needy friends.

Looking back, we realize we received more than an appliance from a department store that day. We received a postcard from God.

What’s a postcard from God? It’s one of those providential, serendipitous events that appear in our lives, marriage and family—a reminder that God has not forgotten us. For us, it’s like receiving a short note that reads, “Dear Cheryl and Bob, I was thinking of you today. Just thought I’d let you know. Love, Your heavenly Father.”

The ways in which he sends these timely postcards are as unpredictable as they are amazing. The net effect seems always the same: to encourage and strengthen us, often when we need it the most.

POSTSCRIPTS
Piles of unwanted junk mail are delivered daily.  As catalogs, sales brochures, newspapers, and a host of other materials accumulate on our desks, our goal is to dispose of the piles as quickly as possible. In the same way, our lives and schedules can become cluttered with carpools, shopping, taking care of kids, committee meetings, weekly deadlines, and urgent calls to make. Our goal can become simply to get through the day.

In the midst of sorting through such clutter, it’s easy to overlook the simple notes our heavenly Father sends to remind us of his love. When we take the time to sort through “coincidences” of my life, we discover simple but much-needed messages reminding us, “I love you. I haven’t forgotten you.”

Signed, Your God.

About the Authors:
Bob and Cheryl Moeller are marriage conference speakers and authors (as well as columnists for cwahd and cwahd). Learn more at www.marriagevine.com
Cheryl’s latest book is Baby Saves Christmas, written with daughter Melissa,
http://www.currclick.com/product_info.php?products_id=25973&it=1

I have always suspected it but, being the gentleman that I am, I have never made an issue of it. Now, I have scientific evidence to support my long-held suspicions.

I’m not one to gloat but this does call for some kind of celebration. After all, it is not every day things go my way. And, it’s not every day that I can pull one over on the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage, and have scientific evidence to back me up.

I cannot tell how many years she has harassed me about washing my hands, especially before dinner. “Have you washed your hands yet?” “Go wash your hands before dinner.” “I hope you washed your hands.”

Moreover, I cannot tell you how much this has irritated me through the years. Anyone with such a phobia about washing their hands should keep it to themselves and not inflict this phobia on other people, especially me. After all, I’m people.

One time while I was complaining about this she said to me, “Don’t you know that cleanliness is next to godliness?”

Up to this point, I have never challenged this wee bit of folk wisdom. Personally, I have never believed it but I am not the kind of person that pushes his beliefs on other people, especially if they live under the same roof that I do.

I have always lived by this little bit of folk wisdom, “He who makes his wife happy lives to see another day.” As I am addicted to living, I have never challenged this nonsense of washing your hands every time you turn around. It got so bad I was seriously considering giving up turning around.

Then by chance, I read a newspaper article that changed my whole outlook on this matter. The headline was, “No such thing as a clean handshake.” Boy, did this title capture my attention.

According to this article, which quoted some scientists that delved into this matter quite extensively, “… everybody has more types of bacteria than the researchers expected to find.”

They never said what they expected to find but they found more than they expected. I remember one time I looked into my wallet and found two dollars more than I expected. Boy was I excited. I am sure the scientists were excited to find more than what they expected to find.

As I read the article further, I found a nugget of truth that simply exhilarated me to no end. Every once in a while, you find something you always knew to be true but now you have scientific evidence to back up your claim.

Such treasure should be guarded by a highly secret handshake.

To put it very simply, in their highly sophisticated research they found women have more bacteria on their hands than men do. The article explained, “A new study found that women have a greater variety of bacteria on their hands than men do.”

Amen! Raise your hands and praise the Lord.

The quandary I found myself in was this. Should I tell my wife about this recent discovery? And, should I gloat about it?

Life is full of decisions such as this.

According to the article, they tried to figure out why it was that women had more bacteria in their hands than men did. And I should like to offer a few suggestions that might light up this investigation.

For one, women have their hands in just about everything that comes along. For example, have you ever been in a store and watched women do some shopping? They have to touch and look at everything in that store, which is why they take all day to go shopping.

Then, around the house, women are always sorting through things and organizing them. Men, on the other hand, who according to scientific research are cleaner, are content in allowing things to pile up. Men only clean out the garage once a year but women are cleaning the house every week if not every other day.

I was sharing this, along with other choice observations of mine and noticed that my wife gave me a very dirty look. Another area of research for these scientists with time on their hands is to study how dirty women’s eyes are in comparison with men’s.

Then she said to me, “Let me tell you why women have dirty your hands than men… if that is true at all. First of all, women’s work is never done. No matter how much we do today we know that we’re going to have to do it again tomorrow.”

It was here I was tempted to interject an opinion of mine that ran along these lines; if you did the work right the first time you would not have to do it again. Since I love living, I did not mention it.

“And furthermore,” she said, “we get no help whatsoever from the man in the house.”

As hard as it was for me, I refrained from the comments about the king in his castle.

“But basically, the reason women’s hands are dirtier then men’s is that we always have to clean up their mess after them.”

I ran out of arguments, turned to my Bible and found this verse. “The righteous also shall hold on his way, and he that hath clean hands shall be stronger and stronger.” (Job 17:9 KJV).

Only clean hands can accomplish the real work of God.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

Now that the 100-year race for the Oval Office is completed… or so it seems… we can all get back to what we were doing prior to this event. The problem is, I cannot remember what I was doing before all of this nonsense began.

Oh, yes. I remember now. We were all complaining about how stupid our government leaders were and how the politicians were making a mess of things.

For those of you who think a presidential election changes all of this, I have some wonderful swampland that I can let you have at a good price. And if you can’t afford the price, there are some amazing bailout programs coming from Washington DC.

Every four years we go through the motions of electing a president thinking a new president brings a magical spell to our country called “change.” It is amazing that the more things change in Washington DC, the more they remain the same.

The next time around I am going to put all of my support behind any politician (rat or fat-cat) who has as its motto, “No More Changes.” I have had about as many changes as I possibly can handle in one lifetime. The next change I want to be from this “vale of tears” to the “Pearly Gates.”

The only real change that will happen in Washington DC is that a new presidential portrait will join the gallery of all the past presidents. Someone will change the name on the Oval Office door.

Many people do not know this but the reason they always address the president as, “Mr. President,” is because the names change so frequently it is hard to keep up. That is why I like titles so much. You do not have to remember a person’s name. This is why so many husbands call their wives, “Honey.”

The thing that bothers me about the presidential race is the cost factor. Everyone running for president boasts about how they can save money and yet between the two top runners of the presidential race they have spent $1 billion. I sure would like to see somebody spread a little bit of that wealth around, especially in my direction.

As far as I am concerned, we could cut out all of this nonsense and expense by choosing our president the old-fashioned way. You get the two main contenders standing face-to-face. Someone pulls out a $.50 piece. Then throw it up in the air and ask one of them to call heads or tails. That way we would save an awful lot of time not to mention money.

Now that we have a new president, there is not much more we can do about the issue. Oh, except for, complaining, which is the American way.

Half of our country is happy about the election, half of our country is sad about the election and half of our country has no idea who the new president of the United States is. In fact, some people will not know who the new president is until he runs for reelection in four years. No, make that two years.

The new president takes one year to get moved and settled in to his new “digs.” New wallpaper needs to be put up. The bathroom needs to be repainted. And some of the sofas in the living room need replaced.

The second year the new president will begin making speeches explaining why he cannot keep the promises he made when he was running for election. And that he really did not mean what many of the people thought he said.

That is exactly why men make better presidents than women. Men can never remember what they promised and women can never forget.

Then the all-important third year when he announces he is running for reelection. I think there are approximately 3 days between the second and the third year that the president actually gets something done. He decides the location of his presidential library.

But now that we have a new president, we need to do what somebody suggested a week or so ago, “suck it up.”

With all of the political rhetoric behind us, we need to get down to the serious business of praying for our new president. This will be easier for some people than others but it is a responsibility we all must share in. Let’s face it. Anyone sitting in the Oval office desperately needs all the prayer he can get.

As a Christian, I take what the apostle Paul said quite seriously. “I exhort therefore, that, first of all, supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks, be made for all men; For kings, and for all that are in authority; that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty.” (1 Timothy 2:1-2 KJV).

Prayer is the most undervalued weapon in the Christian’s arsenal. No matter who sits in the White House, they are vulnerable to the effectual, fervent prayers of God’s people.

It was King Solomon, the wisest man in the world, who gave us this advice. “When the righteous are in authority, the people rejoice: but when the wicked beareth rule, the people mourn.” (Proverbs 29:2 KJV).

At the top of our prayer list for the president of our country, we must pray that he be a righteous man. After all, miracles do happen.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

I do not often get under the weather; after all, as tall as I am my head is usually in the clouds. At least, the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage thinks this is the case. And who is to argue with her. But this time I was under the weather.

My head was stuffed and every other breath I took I had a sneezing fit. I felt miserable. I looked miserable. I know this because my wife said, “You looked miserable.” And, I was miserable.

Being in such a delicate condition, I had completely forgotten what time of the year it was. In fact, I did not even know what time of the day it was.

I vaguely remember my wife saying something to the effect that she was going somewhere and to be ready for something or other. In my condition, I could not have cared less. She could have taken a trip to the moon and I would not have cared. All I wanted was to be left alone to wallow in my ocean of misery.

I was dressed in my old raggedy bathrobe, a sort of comfort piece of clothing when I am not feeling well. I have had it for 197 years and it looks like it. When I am sick is the one piece of clothing that I can wrap around myself and feel some semblance of comfort.

Taking refuge in my easy chair, I pampered myself with a nice hot cup of tea with honey. I had a slight fever and my head was thumping like a marching band at a football game. Trying to ease my pain, I wrap my head in a wet towel. My eyes were bulging and watery as if I had just swallowed a hot spicy Mexican taco in one gulp. To monitor my temperature I sucked a thermometer. I must have looked a sight but I was not anticipating being a contestant at a beauty pageant.

The only thing I was anticipating was a quiet evening where I could recuperate from whatever deadly disease I had contracted. At least, I wanted the last few hours of my life to be in some semblance of peace because I knew I would not last the evening.

The only thing that brought comfort to me at the time was that my death would probably be painless. I hate pain. It would be a terrible thing to die a painful death. But in my delicate condition, any death would be a welcomed friend.

Just as I was about to embrace my old friend, I was aroused by a terrible explosion. It seemed like the noise rocked the very foundation of the house. The noise shook me completely to a point of semi-consciousness.

Just as I opened my bleary eyes, there was another explosion, this time louder than before. My thoughts lead me to believe some terrorist was attacking my house with the ferocity of a nuclear bomb.

Should I or should I not go to the door to see what all the clamor was about? I was in no condition to make any rational decision so I decided to go to the front door to check on the noise.

It took several moments for me to extract myself from my chair and stand up. Once up, every step I took reverberated in my head like the tom-toms of thousand war drums

I painfully shuffled to the front door. I slowly opened the door and through bleary watery eyes, I could make out the shadowy forms of six miniature aliens. As soon as the door was wide open all six of them shrieked, dropped their bags and ran up the street screaming at the top of their lungs, “a monster, a monster.”

It so frightened me that I did a little shouting myself. I slammed the door and ran as fast as I could to my chair. As soon as my breathing became somewhat normal, I convinced myself that I had a bad nightmare.

Later on, I heard some mumbling rumbling sound. It has a familiar ring to it but I really could not place it at the time. I slowly opened my eyes and there was my wife looking at me and saying, “You remembered that tonight was trick-or-treat night for the children?”

Not wanting to start up the tom-toms in my head again, I whispered very delicately, “Huh.” Then I fell back into my chair into a deep sleep dreaming of six aliens dancing and taunting me in my head.

The next morning I felt somewhat better and around the breakfast table my wife casually mentioned, “Did we have any trick-or-treaters last night?”

I stop to think for a moment and then said, “I don’t think anybody came to our door last night.”

“Then,” she asked, “where did these six bags of candy come from I found at our front door when I come home last night?”

Things are not always as they seem. When the whole picture is not in view it is easy to jump to the wrong conclusion. The Bible says, “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” (1 Corinthians 13:12 KJV).

Things look blurry now but one day we have the assurance that we will see things clearly and know things perfectly.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

It was one of those weeks when I was not feeling up to par. Even though I do not play golf I felt a few strokes less than normal, and every little thing teed me off.

I just was feeling rather poorly and wandered around the house in a listless manner. It seemed like I had some kind of nervous jitters. I would sit for a few minutes and then get up and walk around and then I would sit again, all the while speaking incoherently.

It got so bad the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage noticed I was acting stranger than normal. She is an authority on the various levels of strangeness in our house, especially those associated with Yours Truly.

There is the normal level of strangeness of me just walking around with a goofy look on my face.

Then, there is the strangeness that pervades my person when I have done something wrong or have forgotten to do something I was emphatically told to do. This ranks a close second to the first one.

Of course, when I am acting strange there is someone in our house, which shall remain nameless, insists that I am not acting.

There is one strangeness I long to reach that is the strange feeling of doing something right that everybody knows about. My Better Half suggests that this is above my pay grade.

But the strangeness of this week was not associated with any of these things. It was something I had not been accustomed to before.

Finally, my wife had enough of my stranger than normal activities and took things into her hands. Usually, the thing she takes in hand is me.

“What in the world is wrong with you?”

I knew the question demanded an answer, but for the life of me, I could not think of anything. Of course, that is not unusual. I have trouble thinking of anything at anytime.

“I don’t know,” I said, “I just feel all jittery inside.”

She looked at me for a few moments and then she made her startling announcement.

“I know what’s wrong with you. You have a bad case of poly-ticks.”

I really did not know what a poly-tick was and furthermore the way she said it I did not think anyone could have a good case of poly-ticks.

I indulged her with one of my famous blank stares and articulated my thinking at the time by saying, “Huh?”

Then she explained to me what a poly-tick was. According to her definition, the word is broken down into two parts.

“Poly,” is a word meaning many or more than one.

“Tick,” is a word that means a bloodsucking varmint that gets under a person’s skin.

So when you put the words together, “poly-ticks” is a lot of bloodsucking varmints that gets under a person’s skin causing an itch that defies scratching.

I immediately wanted to know how I contacted such a dreadful disease.

“Have you been watching TV lately, especially news programs?” she queried.

I nodded in the affirmative.

“Have you listened to any debate programs lately?”

Again, I gave her the good old affirmation.

“Have you been talking about parties, other than birthday or surprise parties?”

Boy, does she have me figured out. In thinking what she was saying I realized that I have been exposing myself to certain conditions that would indeed lead to a bad case of poly-ticks.

According to her, there is no known case of anybody having a good case of poly-ticks. This caused me great alarm and concern. What was I to do?

Immediately I wanted to know how I could get rid of this bad case of poly-ticks. What is the cure? And, how long have I to live?

She assured me that I would get over it but it would not be easy. In fact, she said a few more weeks many of the things causing this would of itself go away. That was reassuring.

Until then, I needed to exercise a great deal of discipline.

The first aspect of the discipline was simply not to watch television for more than three minutes at a time. After each three-minute segment of watching, I get up from my chair, go outside and beat my head against the cement wall for three minutes. Then, go back and watch another three minutes of television and repeat the process.

The second part of the discipline was simply this. If they say it on TV, it is probably not true. After all, everybody on TV is simply an actor reading a script and playing a character. This part of the discipline was much more productive the first part. If you believe everything on TV, my wife insists, you are just as stupid as they are.

I took a couple of aspirins for my headache, sit down in my chair with the television off and opened my Bible. I read some wonderful words. “Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.” (Philippians 4:8 KJV).

When you have a bad case of poly-ticks, it is hard to think clear. It is amazing how after a few minutes of reading the Bible my thinking becomes clear.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

Unwinding from a very busy day, the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and Yours Truly, were trying to find something to watch on TV. Have you ever noticed when you do have some time and want to watch a little TV all they have are reruns? However, this night was a little different. The only thing showing were award programs.

It seems everybody has some kind of award program for everything and everybody.

Sighing deeply my wife said, “There’s never anything good to watch on TV anymore. Just these award programs.”

I sympathized with her, but what could I do?

“I think,” she said, “there ought to be some kind of Knucklehead award for all those knuckleheads out there.”

We laughed together. But when the laughter subsided, I got to thinking. Maybe there should be a National Knucklehead Award program. After all, there are award programs for everything else and there are no shortages of knuckleheads in our country.

Right off the bat, several categories came to mind.

The first category of Knuckleheads would have to be those national news reporters. After all, they put a lot of energy into becoming knuckleheads.

For example. During the last hurricane in Texas one TV news reporter did his entire two-hour program standing waist deep in water. Where are those alligators when you really need them? What kind of person stands waist deep in water while it is still raining and the hurricane is in full force? I’ll tell you what kind of person, a knucklehead. Plain and simple anybody who does not know enough to come in out of the rain when it is raining has to be a knucklehead.

Of course, there was a moment of comic relief, when one of the national TV reporters (who shall remain nameless) was standing in the ocean while the hurricane was raging all around and in a moment, the wind blew this reporter into the water. Do not tell me Mother Nature does not have a sense of humor. I wonder if this reporter has ever found Al Capone’s treasure?

The second category of Knucklehead Awards would have to go to all those politicians. After all, none knows how to make money or manage money but they all know how to spend money as long as it is other people’s money. They all have one solution template for every problem in the world. That is money. The rest of us know that “Love makes the world go round,” but politicians sing a different song. According to them, “Money makes the world go round.” They sing it in two-party harmony.

All of them are for “change,” which means they will leave a little bit of change in everybody’s pocket so that nobody knows the dollars have disappeared… into the politician’s pockets.

I was thinking of a plan to solve the problem at Washington DC. My idea was to surround Washington and shoot everything that moves. The flaw in this plan is that 97% of the politicians would still be standing because most have not moved in decades.

Of course, it is not entirely their fault. In order to be elected today politicians need to use up every bit of brainpower they might have. Once elected, there is nothing left upstairs, if you know what I mean? The only thing they have left from the neck up is a greasy smile that will not come off no matter how many times you might slap them.

I had to think a long time about the third category of Knuckleheads. Then I read a newspaper article, the gist of which was, God is using our financial crisis to judge America’s sins.

Therefore, the third category of Knucklehead Awards goes to American preachers. Not all preachers, mind you, just those ones who work hard at becoming a Knucklehead. The reason those preachers spend up to eight years in college and seminary is it takes that long to reach the level of imbecility they all strive for.

Every time something happens in this country, some preacher sees it as an opportunity to flaunt his stupidity. Anybody who has ever read his or her Bible knows that God is not judging the nations of the world now. There will come a time when he will, but that time has yet to come. For someone to say that God is judging America for her sins implies that every American is a Christian. To believe that, a person has to have had his head in a burlap sack for the last ten years.

The current financial crisis in our country is a result of reaping what we have sown. “Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting.” (Galatians 6:7-8 KJV).

As for judgment on this nation, has this preacher never read what the Bible says? “For the time is come that judgment must begin at the house of God: and if it first begin at us, what shall the end be of them that obey not the gospel of God? And if the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?” (1 Peter 4:17-18 KJV).

As it stands, there is a three-way tie for the Annual Knucklehead Award.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

In our house, we have a saying. “A penny saved is a borderline miracle.” Like most people, we find it very difficult to save when it comes to money. We have in the dark recesses of our back bedroom closet a little piggy bank designated for emergencies.

Unfortunately, we have come to the point in our financial situation that our piggy bank needs to come out of the closet. The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and Yours Truly had hoped this time would never come. It is rather embarrassing when something like this happens.

When we first put the Piggy Bank in the closet, it was supposed to be for some rainy day occasion. Or, to save up for a little vacation time. All throughout the years, we have talked about that little “nest egg” lying in the back of our bedroom closet. Oh, the plans we were hatching for that growing little pot of gold. It was comforting to know that it was there if we needed it.

It was never our intention to use this little cache of money for something as mundane and boring as paying bills. But, a little bit of reality has hit the parsonage lately.

There are times when I hate reality. It would be nice to go through life dreaming those dreams that have no roots whatsoever in the reality of day-to-day living. But, such is not the case.

Family financial planning is a very important topic. I once started writing a book on the subject but only got as far as Chapter 11.

I must say that my wife does her little bit when it comes to this matter of saving in order to balance the family budget. Although it has developed into an obsession, my wife clips coupons in order to reduce the weekly grocery bill. I will often come home and find the kitchen table piled high with newspapers and behind the pile is my wife, scissors in her hand clipping away.

She especially likes those “two-for-one coupons.” However, her favorite I think is that one that says, “Buy one get three.”

Often after grocery shopping she will bring the receipt and say in a very excited voice, “Look at what I saved this week.”

One of these weeks I am tempted to say, “Yeah, but look what it caused me to save you that much money.” Like the old hymn, “Yield not to temptation,” I won’t.

According to her, I am actually no help in this matter of clipping coupons. I stay out of her way. After all, she who welds the scissors is to be avoided. But I try to do my part.

On one occasion, I remember I saw all a coupon for my favorite ice cream. It was one of those “two-for-one” coupons. My eyes lit up. My mouth watered. I reach for those coupons.

“Don’t touch that coupon, if you know what’s good for you.”

The irony of it is, I did know what was good for me and it was that ice cream. But, being the gentleman that I am and loving life as I now know it, I conceded to her demand.

Our marriage is a partnership and I must say that I tried to hold up my end in this area of saving. Sure, I’m not as adept at it is my good wife, but I do my best.

For example, take my socks. Please!

I am very meticulous when it comes to my socks as far as saving energy. I can wear one pair of socks for four days in a row. On the first day, of course I wear them as normal. On the second day, I put my left sock on my right foot and my right sock on my left foot. Then on the third day, I turn my socks inside out and wear them. Then comes that magical fourth day when I switch the socks again.

The genius of this plan is on the fifth day. By this time, my socks can walk themselves to the laundry basket, thus saving energy.

I have the same plan for my undergarments but I do not think you want to hear about it.

I am all for saving energy and I try to do my part but sometimes it does get me into trouble.

One day this past week, I was taking a nap in the middle of the afternoon. My wife was not home. I had the whole house to myself. And so, as king of my castle for a moment I decreed a nap in order. It sure was a royal experience, that is until somebody came home.

“What in the world are you doing in the middle of the afternoon?” She queried in a rather sarcastic tone if I might add. Then she asked one of those stupid questions. “You’re not taking a nap are you?”

“I’m just doing my little bit to save energy. Mine.”

Sometimes in the midst of an emergency, I fail to remember the real source in my life. The apostle Paul touched on it when he said, “But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:19 KJV).

The economy may hit a snag. My family finances may drag. But God’s grace is simply amazing, and he never fails to meet my needs.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

Occasionally the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and Yours Truly has one of those months where it is hard to squeeze the month into the money at hand. We often have more month left over then money. Why doesn’t somebody come up with a budget that can stretch with the month? Is that such a hard thing to ask for?

It was a late night but not one of those romantic nights with a candlelit dinner and soft music. Rather, the coffee pot was in full steam, not to mention our tempers.

The agenda for this late night fiesta was the end of the month bill-paying marathon. Paying bills in our house is a balancing act. On one hand, we have all the bills due and on the other hand a checkbook. As is often the case, the hand with the bills is heavier than the hand with the checkbook.

I must confess that our bookkeeping expertise is limited to, “Where did we put the checkbook?” Our basic financial philosophy is, when we run out of checks we must have run out of money. As long as we have one check left, our assumption is there must be money in the bank.

I really do not have time to balance our checkbook. Isn’t that what the bank is supposed to do? After all, this is their business and why I pay all those bank fees?

In our house, paying bills is a tough choice. For example, do we pay the electric bill or the property taxes that are due this month? Actually, if we do not pay the taxes we will not have to pay the electric bill.

Speaking about the electric bill. We have lived in our home for 13 years and during that time we have paid our electric bill every month. Do we ever get a thank you note from the electric company? Not once.

We do not even get a Christmas card from them at the end of the year. How rude. It is not as if I have not included personal notes when paying our bill. In fact, several times I have written a 10-page letter bringing the electric company up to date with what was happening in our life. Since they supply the electric to our home, I only assume they are interested in what was going on in the home and how we were using the electric.

Did we ever get a response to that personal letter? Not once.

The only response we get from the electric company is a notice that they are going to raise our rates. One of these days I am tempted to send a little note with my payment informing them that I have just lowered their rates, and see how they like that.

I am deeply concerned about my relationship with the electric company. It seems to me to be one-way. Not only have they never responded to any personal letters I have written but not once have they come calling just to see how things were going and if the electricity they were selling me was satisfactory.

If I had a good mind (which, unfortunately I don’t), I would give them a piece of it.

Well, in the middle of our night of paying bills we had come to the end of our money and still had a bill to be paid. What do we do?

I said to my wife, “Do we have any assets to liquidate?”

She looked at me, shook her head absentmindedly and said, “We sold that young donkey last month.”

Thinking for a moment and wanting to interject some levity into the gloominess of our evening I said, “I could sell my body.”

Without even thinking the wife that I love, responded in a monotone, “Whale blubber has very little market value these days.”

I am not exactly sure whether that was a Freudian slip or what in the world it was. The evening was a little too tense for me to inquire about that comment. I just chalked it up as a result of the tensions of paying bills.

“Why don’t we see if the government will bail us out,” I said. “After all, they are in the habit of bailing out people with financial trouble.”

She thought for a moment and then said, “The only people the government bails out are highfalutin expert’s who don’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain.”

Thinking about that for a moment it made sense. And we came to one solemn conclusion. As long as we have common sense (which means at least two little grey cells still operating) and know when to come in when it is raining, we do not qualify for government bailout.

The book of Proverbs, in the Bible, has a lot of wisdom for everyday living. One prayer I particularly like says, “Two things have I required of thee; deny me them not before I die: Remove far from me vanity and lies: give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me with food convenient for me: Lest I be full, and deny thee, and say, Who is the LORD? or lest I be poor, and steal, and take the name of my God in vain.” (Proverbs 30:7-9 KJV).

It is a proven fact that when greed grips the heart all reason departs the mind.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

I was moping around the house this past week a little more than usual. I was feeling really depressed and I really could not put my finger on the reason. Sure, it was the last of summer and fall has begun, but this happens every year so I had ruled this one out. Something was desperately wrong with me.

It was then that the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage stepped in with her diagnostic skills. She took a long look at me and said, “I know what’s wrong with you. You have PFS.”

I was shocked by her diagnosis and vehemently denied it and said to her, “That’s impossible. I’m not a woman.”

She laughed good heartedly and said, “Silly, I didn’t say PMS, I said PFS.”

Well, I must admit she had me there. I had never heard of PFS and had no idea what she was talking about. I knew how devastating PMS was and was hoping it was not related in any way.

Finally, she saw that I was not getting it and said, “PFS is simply Political Fatigue Syndrome. Most people get it about this time of the election year.”

As she explained PFS, I had to admit that she was making sense. Just don’t let her know that I said it. The question I developed in my mind was how many other people were suffering from the same syndrome? And, who is working on a cure?

The more I thought about this the more I was determined to come up with ways to deal with PFS. It must be, by now, a national epidemic, more devastating than the recent meltdown on Wall Street. And I think I came up with several ways to deal with this malady. Sometimes homemade remedies work the best.

The first thing that came to my mind was simply this. As soon as a political ad comes on TV, immediately bang your head against the nearest wall until the ad is over. In the long run, (and believe me these politicians know how to run long) this will be less painful than actually listening to the ad. And the thumping in your head afterward will probably make more sense than the political ad itself.

Whoever came up with the idea of political ads should be hung on the nearest tree at least three times, just to make sure. The inspiration for these things came from the other place than heaven. I was under the impression that torture was against the law in this country but I guess it is okay if politicians are doing the torturing.

Being a protestant I do not believe in purgatory, but all these political ads have given me pause to reconsider. These political ads are probably as close to purgatory is a Protestant can get.

Another thing that came to me was I could cancel my TV service until the end of the political campaign. But this brought to mind several problems. First off, how would I ever know who wins America’s Got Talent? Secondly, I do not want to miss the next time Geraldo Rivera falls into the ocean. That in itself is worth one year’s subscription to cable.

Another solution would be to join the Amish who do not have electricity. That means they have neither radio nor television and have no idea what is going on out in the political world. Ah, such bliss must be heavenly. There is a downside to this. Who wants to wear funny clothes and get up at 4 AM to milk cows?

I had another idea. When a political ad comes on, put fingers in both ears and sing, “La-la-la-la-la,” until it was over. However, this only aggravated my wife resulting in a 45-minute lecture of not torturing people, her in particular, with my singing, which in her opinion was not actual singing.

While I was musing on some solutions to PFS, the telephone rang. Lo and behold it was a political pollster (kin to a polecat) wanting to know who I was going to vote for in the upcoming election.

I took a deep breath, counted to 10, three times and then told him I was going to vote for Calvin Coolidge. There was an awkward silence on the other end of the telephone and finally the person said, “Is he a Democrat or Republican?”

“He’s a Demopublican.”

Again, the awkward silence, and then a resounding “click,” as he hung up the telephone. I will not say I enjoyed that. I did, but I do not want it to get out.

About this time, I was beginning to understand Popeye, who said, “I’ve stands all I can stands and I can’t stands no more.”

I guess there is no real cure for PFS. The only consolation we have is that it will soon be over. The downside to this is, as soon as it is over, it starts again.

My responsibility to the government is outlined in the Bible. “I exhort therefore, that, first of all, supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks, be made for all men; For kings, and for all that are in authority; that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty.” (1 Timothy 2:1-2 KJV).

The only real solace available is prayer. I take comfort in the fact that my well-being does not come from Washington DC or Wall Street. My comfort and security comes from God.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

I am, by no stretch of the imagination, a world-class traveler. Air travel is my least favorite mode of transportation but it sure beats walking.

Recently, I flew to Michigan to speak at a conference. I am not saying the airlines do not know what they are doing, they don’t, I am just not going to say it. My experience is that they regularly book the flights just a little bit too close to each other. I had to fly from Muskegon to Detroit in order to go to Orlando.

I arrived at the Muskegon airport early enough and everything seemed to go just fine. I inquired about the timetable and was assured everything was on schedule, despite the rainy weather condition.

We all were assembled to get onto the plane when we received word that the flight had been canceled due to weather. This little bit of news set up a real ruckus among my fellow travelers.

We lined up at the ticket counter and every one was groaning and complaining and as if in one orchestrated moment all the cell phones clicked open and people were desperately trying to solve their problem. So many around me were grouching and complaining that I decided my cranky disposition was not needed. I reserved it for some more convenient time.

I was the last one in line and when I got to the woman behind the counter I cheerfully said, “Do whatever you have to to get me to Orlando. I don’t mind.” Then I said as an afterthought, “You’re doing a great job under these circumstances.” And flashed one of my famous smiles.

She sighed rather deeply, volleyed my smile back to me, then mouthed the words, “I’ll put you in first class.”

I smiled back not realizing what she had done for me. I had seen the first class section in airplanes but I had never actually experienced first-class. I always wondered what goes on behind those curtains in first-class but never knew personally.

The airport in Muskegon bussed us to the Grand Rapids Airport where we caught the plane taking us to Minneapolis-St. Paul airport. It was there that I was to discover the excellencies of first-class flying.

I boarded the airplane and was directed to my seat in first class. I was in for the treat of my life.

When I sat down I found my seat and discovered much to my amazement that the seat was wider than my posterior. I could actually sit down in the seat with room enough to relax. But the time the plane took off nobody had taken the seat next to me. I had the whole row to myself.

I did what anybody else would have done in similar circumstances. I took off my shoes, stretched out my feet and wiggled my toes. Aaah, the luxury of first-class.

When the plane reached its flying altitude the flight attendant with a cart stopped by my seat and said, “Ravioli or chicken?”

I was not sure what the attendant was talking about and assumed it was one of those newfangled games they play in first class. Not knowing what to say, I said the first intelligent thing that came to my mind. “Huh?”

“Would you like a ravioli or a chicken dinner?”

I was delightfully shocked. They served dinner in first class. Who would have thought of it?

Being on the safe side I responded by indicating I wanted the chicken dinner. You never can go wrong with chicken. Ravioli, on the other hand, is a different story.

The flight attendant began to prepare my chicken dinner right in front of me. I was amazed. What he set before me was unexpected. There was a real plate and a real glass and, you are not going to believe this, but a real napkin. Wrapped in that real napkin was a set of real silverware. Not some of the plastic stuff they got back in the regular section.

However, my dilemma was beginning to show itself. Evidently, in first class dining there is a different utensil for each food group. For example, there was a fork for the salad, another fork for the meat, and still another fork for the vegetables. I did not know which fork was which but I was much too delighted with the whole affair to ponder the culinary etiquette of first-class dining.

I tried very hard not to use the vegetable fork in my salad. I did not know what would happen if I did, but who wants to take such a chance when you are a first-time flyer in first class.

And the dessert…

I will not say that the chocolate delight on my dessert plate was heavenly but I’m sure I was the envy of every angel in heaven.

For a smidgen of a second, I did feel sorry for those flying regular class.

As I leaned back in my luxurious first-class seat, a verse Scripture came to my mind. “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.” (James 1:17 KJV).

I did not deserve first-class. I didn’t even need it. But my Heavenly Father just gave it to me as a surprise. Reveling in my experience, I mused to myself, next to His “only begotten son,” I must be his favorite son.

About The Author:
The Rev. James L. Snyder is pastor of the Family of God Fellowship, 1471 Pine Road, Ocala, FL 34472. He lives with his wife, Martha, in Silver Springs Shores. Call him at 352-687-4240 or e-mail jamessnyder2@att.net. The church web site is www.whatafellowship.com.

Normally, I’m not a superstitious sort of a person. But then again there is a good case to be made that I am really not normal. If you stop to think about it, (and I have), the average person is a composite of everybody and the description ends up to be that of nobody. That is exactly what I think about being normal.

I must confess, I do have a sliver of superstition running through me somewhere. Often I have the feeling that someone is looking over my shoulder and smiling rather sarcastically. I cannot prove it, of course, but I know it is there.

Several things happened this past week emphasizing this feeling of mine, and I am not at all convinced that it is simply coincidental.

It all started when the computer at the church was viciously attacked by a computer virus. Who do you call when your computer has a virus? And, what in the world is a virus doing inside my computer? Doesn’t it have something better to do?

I do not know all that is associated with this computer business but I do know the outcome of a computer virus. I was quite merrily working along on my keyboard when all of a sudden; out of nowhere (what is cyberspace anyway) my computer screen began to disintegrate before my eyes. By the time I had closed my mouth the whole business was over.

The computer had been attacked from somewhere, and there was not anything I could do to prevent it. There I sat with a ton of work to do and my computer had come down with a virus. I did not know what to do but I did know what I was tempted to do.

Nothing on my computer worked anymore. The best I could hope for was to take it into some computer repair shop and let them work on at for a week or two; meanwhile I’m not able to finish my work.

Then I had a brilliant idea. Actually, I am not sure it was a brilliant idea because I get so few ideas they all seem to be brilliant. I remembered something on the computer called the “restore point.” If I could find this I could restore the computer to before the virus hit it. It was a long shot, but it was the only shot I had at the time.

After some finagling with the thingamajig (pardon the technical terms) I managed to find the Restore Point and in a few minutes, voilà (pardon my French), the computer was back to where it was before the virus hit it. I do not know how it works, all I know is it worked and I was elated.

I was so proud of myself, which as everybody knows is the first step down. And I was about to go down.

I now was back to my work schedule and was quite pleased with myself and was riding pretty high when all of a sudden the lights flickered and then went out completely. There was no electricity in the church building.

The first thing to do when something goes wrong is to PANIC. Through the years, I have become an expert in this area of panic. I have had plenty of practice.

Once I have thoroughly worked my way through the panic stage, I thought that perhaps the church did not pay the electric bill. Upon checking, I discovered the bill had been paid. But still no electr