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Rev. James L. Snyder

If anybody believes in “do-over,” it is Yours Truly. This stems back to my pre-adult days littered with carefreeness and fun of all sizes and shapes. At that time, my whole life revolved around games. I was part of that unfortunate generation that had to make up their own games, as we were not privileged to have video games, iPods and Blueberries. Although I did enjoy a freshly baked blueberry pie with two scoops of ice cream whenever the opportunity presented itself.

One rule we had in our made-to-order games was quite simple and practical. If anybody fouled up in some way, he had 3 seconds to yell “Do-over.” If the person was able to yell this before anybody else discovered the foul, they had the privilege of doing it all over again. I always thought this a very nice rule and used it quite generously.

Unfortunately, when I became a man (whenever that sad day happened, and my wife is still trying to find out when) I did not put away all of my boyish pranks. The one I carried over into adulthood was this attitude of “do-over.”

It is my personal belief that this philosophy of “do-over” should be incorporated in adult life. I have found many times when I messed up that I wanted to yell “do-over” and fix a problem. If only this could be used in practical everyday living, what a difference it would make.

I remember as a child that whenever this “do-over” was applied to a situation at hand it solved a multitude of problems. Everyone agreed to the terms of “do-over,” which made things go rather smoothly and everybody was happy.

Personally, I think this would solve many problems in our world today. Whoever came up with the idea that you should have just one shot at something? It just does not seem fair to me. As soon as a person knows he has done something wrong, he should be able to yell “do-over,” and correct the problem right there on the spot.

Just the other day I was driving down a very busy street when I happened to get in the wrong lane. It would have been wonderful if I could have just said loudly enough for everybody to hear, “do-over,” then correct the problem. That was an option I did not have at the time.

What actually happened was, the offended driver shouted at me and it was not, “do-over.” For a moment, we were coming at each other head on. Then in all the excitement, he got a little befuddled. He must have been a very religious man because with both hands he pointed towards heaven. In the excitement and the confusion of the moment, he used the wrong fingers. He could have used a “do-over.”

An incident happened to me not too long ago at the grocery store having a large sale on cans of soft drink. There was a pyramid pile up front with the advertised soda. The can I wanted was about halfway up the pyramid and without thinking, which is my modus operandi, I pulled several cans from the middle. As soon as I pulled the cans from the middle it dawned on me what I had done and, more importantly, what was about to happen. If only I could have cried, “do-over,” I could have saved the day.

Needless to say, the day was not saved, and for that matter, neither was I.

One afternoon I came home and much to my delight, I found a freshly baked apple pie on the counter. I have many weaknesses, not the least is a freshly baked apple pie. I am not quite sure what happens when I see a freshly baked pie, but something sinister takes over the reins of my body and I am not responsible for my actions.

The next conscious thing I knew I had just eaten a slice of the marvelously delicious pie topped with two scoops of ice cream. No sooner had I finished that scrumptious slice then who should walk in but the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage. One look at her giving me one of her looks and all I wanted to say was, “do-over.”

“You did not eat a piece of that apple pie, did you?”

All I could think of at the moment was, “Do-over.”

“I baked that pie for our neighbor who is sick.”

“Do-over.”

I tried explaining to her that not everything was my fault. If she, so my reasoning mind raved, would not make such delicious apple pies I would not be tempted to eat them.

It was then that she looked at me quite sternly and said, “do-over.”

I was invited to go to my room and think things over. As I turned this over in my mind, it finally dawned on me that God is the creator of the “do-over.” I should have known anything as good as this originated with God. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9 KJV).

As I gave further thought on this, I begin to realize how wonderful a “do-over” is when God is at the center of it. No matter how big my problem or mistake might be it is never bigger than God’s ability to call out for me “do-over.”
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.

Rev. James L. Snyder

From a practical standpoint, and if I am anything I am practical, well, practically, this year has gone by rather quickly. The fact I have survived this past year has to count for something.

I was musing on this with the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage just the other day. I was feeling rather comfortable with myself and was congratulating myself on making it through another year. After all, the facts speak for themselves.

“Well,” my wife began rather deliberately, “I guess you did survive the year.”

“What in the world is that supposed to mean,” I queried. I must say I was a little agitated by the tone of her voice. After all, I did survive the year.

It was quiet for a few moments and then she said, “What about your New Year’s resolutions?”

I informed her I was working on a brand-new set of New Year’s resolutions for the coming year. I think it’s rather important to jot down a few things you would like to do, maybe some improvements you would like to make or maybe something I should like to give up for the New Year.

“That’s not what I mean.”

I looked at her quizzically not really understanding what she was talking about.

“What about the New Year’s resolutions for this year.” And she looked at me with one of those looks.

You do not have to hit me with a baseball bat for me to understand what’s going on, although sometimes it does help. To be quite truthful I had not thought of those New Year’s resolutions, well, for the whole year.

“Would you like me to recite the New Year’s resolutions you made last year?”

Oh boy. I saw a news story the other day about people who could remember every day of their life in minute detail. I do not know how that feels, but I do know how it feels to live with someone who can remember every detail of my life.

I have a photographic memory; the problem is I have been out of film for three decades.

It got me to thinking about my New Year’s resolutions for this year. I must say that after looking at this list I did not fare too well.

I had resolved to improve my diet and lose some weight. Fortunately, I did not put down how much weight I proposed to lose. I did lose 1 pound 974 times but it always found its way home. I spent some time in Michigan this past summer and just as I was leaving, I threw a pound out the window and hurried on. By the time I got home to Florida that pound was waiting for me at the front door munching on an Apple fritter. What’s a person to do?

Also, another item on my New Year’s resolution list was, “I resolve not to work harder but smarter this coming year.” At the time, I thought it was a very brilliant thing to say. And, don’t get me wrong, it is.

I have mastered the part of not working harder, but the smarter aspect of that resolution eluded me. Whose definition of smarter should apply here? Certainly, I will not appeal to my wife’s idea about smarter. She has an altogether different concept of this whole area of working smarter.

My only consolation is that my definition of the subject is, it is always smarter not to work harder. If we apply that definition to my New Year’s resolution, I passed with flying colors.

Then my good wife reminded me of another part of my New Year’s resolution. According to her memory, and I am in no position to challenge it, I had resolved to exercise more during the year. At the moment, I exercised my right to object to her memory. But, I lost that one.

The only actual exercise I got this past year was several times I had a runny nose. Believe me, that exercised me to no end, but it was not on track with my wife’s idea of exercise.

At this point of life, I think exercise is blown way out of proportion. I tried to persuade my wife that working my elbow at breakfast and lunchtime as well as suppertime was all the exercise I really needed. She said to me, “When was the last time you saw your feet?”

At the moment, I exercised my right to shut up!

Then it dawned on me. I actually did get my share of exercise in this past year.

I exercised my right to be wrong when confronted by my wife.

I exercised my right to keep quiet when my wife was giving me instructions.

All that exercise may not have helped me lose weight but it helped me gain in my relationship with my wife.

I pondered this for some time and realized that many times it is better to admit you are wrong and save your relationship. Those who have to be right all the time are those who end up never being right. I thought of what the apostle Paul said. “Now therefore there is utterly a fault among you, because ye go to law one with another. Why do ye not rather take wrong? why do ye not rather suffer yourselves to be defrauded?” (1 Corinthians 6:7 KJV).

Sometimes it is better to suffer wrongfully for a good purpose.

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.

Rev. James L. Snyder

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 present) 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. I know some people who spend weeks shopping and their life is full of stress.

Unlike me in many ways, the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage begins her Christmas shopping in January and by August, she is in full shopping spree. 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. They always appreciated the thought that went into their gift. You did not hear this from me, but sometimes my wife was surprised at the gift as well.

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.

Up to this year, I have successfully eluded such Christmas faux pas. My Christmas Eve starts bright and early in the morning. My first stop is the “Slurp ‘N Burp Café” for a big breakfast. After an early breakfast, it is off to the mall for my Christmas Eve ritual of shopping. I only go to the mall once a year.

It is a tradition with me. My philosophy is, the more torturous the shopping experience the more the recipient will appreciate the gift. For me, nothing is more torturous than a visit at the local shopping mall.

Some go to the mall for pleasure and recreation. 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 a disclosure, in fine print, in their policies to men making all insurance claims invalid when 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? 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 hopeless 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 38 years experience in this, I am no better off then 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. As I wandered 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’m afraid the check would bounce – and then I would.

If I bought her a dress, I would only be putting my life on the line. If the dress I bought were 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. 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, “Yes, Virginia, 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 how much He really loved them. 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.

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 Post Thanksgiving Wishbone

Rev. James L. Snyder

Now that Thanksgiving is over, I am able to sit back and recoup from the activity. I’m not sure about anybody else, but a holiday such as Thanksgiving takes a lot out of me. Of course, it puts a lot in me, but that’s another story.

The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and Yours Truly were catching our breath right after our Thanksgiving fiesta. I was enjoying the quiet moment when my wife said to me, “Do you know what time it is?”

I glanced at my wrist watch and said, “It’s 8:30 right on the dot.”

My wife threw one of those looks at me I was tempted not to catch and said, “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

This is the problem I have. My wife assumes I know exactly what she’s talking about every time she speaks. To be quite honest, it is a rare day when Yours Truly knows exactly what the wife is talking about whenever she speaks. This might be the reason I get into a little bit of trouble with her every now and then.

She then continued. “What I mean is, do you know what time it is now?”

I was tempted to say, “It’s 8:32,” but I learned my lesson, so I casually asked, “No, what time is it?”

She sighed very deeply and said, “It’s time to get the Christmas decorations down out of the attic and decorate our house for Christmas.”

Upon hearing those words, I immediately froze in my chair. I was hoping this year there would be an appreciative pause between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I must say I’m quite a fan of both holidays and all they represent. However, I certainly would like to get over one before I get into the other.

“You’ll have to go up to the attic and bring down all of our Christmas decoration boxes.”

I do not relish this job. I go into the attic twice a year; once to bring the Christmas decorations down, and once to take them back when Christmas is over. If anybody were to seek my opinion about this whole matter, I would immediately opine that twice a year is two times too many for me.

I don’t like the attic. It is dark and spooky up there. I’m not quite sure who or what inhabits the attic, but I hear some awfully strange noises coming from there on a regular basis, especially in the middle of the night. I’m not suggesting a ghost may be living in our attic, but it hasn’t been proven otherwise.

I do not believe in ghosts, but a person cannot be too careful these days.

If I could have a wish for this time of the year, I think it would be that the next holiday should not begin before the last holiday has sufficiently worn off. I’m not sure if it is my age or what, but these holidays are coming fast and furious. No sooner do you get into the spirit of one holiday when the next holiday is knocking at your door.

I do not think this is too unreasonable a wish. After all, there is a period of three weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas, which I think should be used rather wisely.

Even around our Thanksgiving Day table, everybody was chattering about what they were looking forward to for Christmas. Everybody seemed to be playing old St. Nick and checking his or her Christmas list twice.

I remember as a child we would set up the Christmas tree and all of the decorations on Christmas Eve. Then, New Year’s Day it would all be packed away for another year. That gave us approximately one week to enjoy the Christmas decorations.

I’m almost at the point of saying, Happy Holiday, for the simple reason I’m not quite sure which holiday we are celebrating. Is it Thanksgiving? Or, maybe it’s Christmas? Or, then again, it may be New Year’s Day. Whoever designed these holidays so closely together needs to rethink the strategy here.

Another wish I might have. Holidays should not be an excuse to go shopping. Somebody should pass some kind of congressional bill stating that on holidays people should stay at home. Holidays should be a family affair. It should not be a contest to see who can spend the most money on one day. I know I stand alone on this issue, but I do not mind. It’s my opinion and I’ll keep it to myself, thank you.

The day after Thanksgiving, I heard somebody on the radio singing, “We wish you a Merry Christmas.” I don’t mind being wished a Merry Christmas, but I sure do wish they would wait until Christmas to wish me such pleasantries.

Even Jesus recognized the importance of resting. “And he said unto them, Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while: for there were many coming and going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat.” (Mark 6:31 KJV).

Then I heard a certain store in our community was not permitting any of their employees to say to any customer, “Merry Christmas.” To which I, seeing the challenge before me, promptly went to that store, not to buy anything, but to wish everybody I saw “Merry Christmas.” After all, under such circumstances, you can’t start too soon to wish people Merry Christmas.

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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 sitting in my overstuffed chair and if I never get up it will be a day too soon. Even if I did, I do not know what I would do. Right now, breathing is zapping me of any energy I have left. It is so bad I have to coordinate thinking between breathing.

Thanksgiving dinner at the Parsonage was a tremendous success. If by success, you mean stuffing yourself so much that you can barely move.

The Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage outdid herself with the cooking and I outdid myself in the fine art of consumption. That is why we are such a great team. We complement ourselves so very well. She is good in one thing and I am equally good in the thing related to that one thing.

As I sit here in my chair alternating between breathing and thinking, I am thinking on how much energy leads up to that one spectacular Thanksgiving Day dinner. And the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage spared no energy in the production of this year’s extravaganza. In the middle of the table was a finely roasted turkey surrounded by all the condiments. If anything was missing on the table, nobody missed it.

Being the marital partner in this food frenzy, I spared no energy in consuming as much of the dinner fare as I possibly could. I must admit, even after sufficiently filled, my eating momentum carried me on to several more rounds of turkey. I know that third piece of pumpkin pie was not absolutely necessary. But oh, was it delicious.

Not one of those store bought pies that tastes more like cardboard then anything else, this was one of those homemade pies. Therefore, as not to insult the chef, I indulged in that third piece of pumpkin pie with as much relish as the first piece.

I really don’t know how she does it, but the third piece tasted just as delicious as the first piece.

For 364 days out of the year, my wife oversees the diet program she thinks I’m on. It does me no harm for her to think so, and so I let her. She does not need to know how many Apple fritters I eat. But on this one day of the year, all dietary restrictions and oversight are thrown out the kitchen window. This is why they call it Thanksgiving day.

Some people refer to it as Turkey Day. I certainly do not give thanks to any old Tom Turkey and I’m suspicious of people who talk to turkeys anyway.

Getting back to my overstuffed condition, I’m trying to find someone to blame. I sure would like to blame my wife for being such the terrific cook she is. I made such a suggestion and she retorted with, “Well, you didn’t have to eat everything on the table.”

In a way, there is a small bit of truth in what she says. I did not have to eat everything on the table. In my own defense, I herewith confess that I did not eat everything on the table. What I did eat, however, I did so with exceptional gusto. Like the old saying, you only go around once in life. And after Thanksgiving dinner, I am more round than I was before.

Since I cannot blame my good wife for my overindulgence on Thanksgiving Day, I have decided the blame rests upon the other family members around the table. They certainly share a certain culpability. If we were not having so much fun around the table, I might have paid more attention to how much I was eating.

Also, and this is no small matter, someone either to my right or to my left was always asking to pass the turkey. Since I am such a man of manners, it would be bad manners on my part not to take a piece of turkey as it passed my way. If only they would not have passed it so much I may not have eaten so much.

I mumbled something like this to my wife who said, “Didn’t you ever hear of self-discipline?”

I have heard of it but have never really applied it to the dinner table. Her inference, if I understood her correctly, was I need to use a little more self-discipline when it came to eating.

In going my rounds of blaming people for my present condition, I have struck out in every area. There does not seem to be any person for me to blame.

It was at this point when my wife came to my aid.

“Instead of trying to find someone to blame for overeating, why not go to the bathroom and look in the mirror.”

Ha, there was something I did not think of. The mirror is responsible for all my overeating. What a relief to find someone, or something, to blame for my present condition. I never would have thought of the mirror, myself. But then, my wife should know.

I then thought of some Scripture. “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 6:8 (KJV).

A little thought nudged me, if I was as indulgent in my spiritual life as I was in my physical life, I probably would be a much better person.
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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.

Rev. James L. Snyder

My father used to tell me that anything worth doing was worth doing right the first time. If you have time to do it the second time, you should have time to do it right the first time.

As fathers go, he was right. It seems most people have not learned this lesson, least of all politicians who are supposedly serving the interests of their constituency. I know there are good politicians in America today. Nobody seems to know who they are, though.

The reason I have been thinking about this is, I’m sitting here indulging in the delicate scent floating in from the kitchen where the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage has begun her ritual of roasting the Thanksgiving turkey. I say turkey but really, she is roasting three turkeys. One is for our family Thanksgiving dinner and the other two are for the church Thanksgiving dinner.

Somewhere along the line, probably years before she met me, she learned the magnificent secret of doing things right the first time. Not like some people we hear of these days who don’t have time to do it right the first time but seem to have plenty of time to do it over and over again, sometimes four times.

Anything worth doing right the first time demands planning. If anyone knows planning, it certainly is my wife. If things were left up to me, nothing would ever get done. I plan to learn how to plan someday but my plans seem to have fallen apart.

At our home, it begins about the middle of October when my wife says rather pensively, “Let’s see. Thanksgiving is about five weeks away. Should we have a turkey this year?”

I could not tell if this was a real question, a rhetorical question or if she is trying to set me up for something. Believe me; I’ve been set up so many times I have a hard time lying down. For the first hundred years of our marriage I always said, turkey. After all, what else do you have at Thanksgiving time?

However, this year was a little different. When I responded with my usual answer she said, “But we’ve had turkey for years. Aren’t you getting tired of turkey?”

If there’s one thing I don’t ever get tired of it’s turkey. You can do so many things with turkey. There is roast turkey, sliced turkey sandwiches, turkey salad and turkey soup just to name a few.

The only problem at our house is, the turkey rarely survives the first day, which is a tribute, not so much to our consumption as a family as to the genius of the family chef. I have often wondered what turkey soup really tastes like.

This expertise in the direction of the Thanksgiving roast turkey did not come without cost. It took years for my wife to master the art of roasting a turkey. Unfortunately, much of this practice was on Yours Truly. She has been roasting me for years and still complains that I’m not quite done yet. That really burns me up.

Only last week she complained I was a little hard on the outside and rather soft on the inside. I was tempted to shift the blame on her but when it comes to this area; I am more of a lame duck then a finely roasted turkey. My philosophy is along these lines, I’d rather let things happen and then try to adjust to the consequences.

My good wife is of the opinion that you create your own consequences. Moreover, when she says this she is usually looking at me a little askew.

“Don’t you know that the Thanksgiving Turkey does not roast itself?”

Being the lame duck I am, that thought never played with my mind. I have always enjoyed the results of the roasted turkey without a thought about how it got to my table.

While I was enjoying the aroma of the turkey roasting in the kitchen, I came up with several suggestions along these lines.

First, I need to find things that are worth doing in the first place. How much time I have wasted on things not really worth my time or effort is beyond my computation. Like my wife, I need to be a little more picky about the things I choose to do. Not everything is worth my time.

Second, those things worth doing certainly deserve my best efforts. If I have to redo something, it means I’m not putting my best effort into the project. And at my age, I don’t have time to waste on things that are not worth my best effort.

Third, there is no finer satisfaction than a job well done.

I never understood this until recently. In the middle of our Thanksgiving dinner when everybody is enjoying the food and complementing the chef, my wife is sitting in her chair smiling. I never knew why until now.

This must be how our heavenly Father felt with Jesus at his baptism. “And the Holy Ghost descended in a bodily shape like a dove upon him, and a voice came from heaven, which said, Thou art my beloved Son; in thee I am well pleased.” (Luke 3:22 KJV).

The best way to celebrate Thanksgiving is to recognize the wonderful work God has done for our salvation, which did not come without the ultimate cost, the sacrifice of His Son.

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.

Nobody hates change more than Yours Truly. I do not even like change jingling in my trouser pocket. After all, I lived long enough and have seen enough change that I do not care to see anymore. Some may accuse me of living in a rut, but it is my rut and I am quite comfortable, thank you.

Well, most of the time.

Even though I am on a strict diet, I still find on occasion that I must eat my words. And such is the case of the aforementioned statement. However, there is some change that I, even I, can believe in.

For weeks, or has it been years, the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage has been complaining about her stove. I did not enter in to this complaining about the stove, even though it was a very delicious temptation. After all, she is the one who bought this stove in the first place. And, it took her months to quit raving about how wonderful her new stove was.

But things have a way of changing.

Every now and then, I would hear, “This stove drives me crazy. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it.”

Being the astute professional husband that I am, I declined entering into this banter about the stove. After all, the less I have to do with the kitchen area of our domicile the happier I am.

Then it happened, as all things are wont to happen. For some reason my wife could not turn off the stove. Common courtesy prevents me from repeating the lively conversation my wife had with the stove in question. What I can repeat is, she had run out of patience with this old stove. Consequently, she threatened the stove that if it did not shape up and work properly, she would replace it with something newer and better. She emphasized the word “better.”

Now, I was concerned. Changing out the old stove with a new stove represented a lot of work and inconvenience on all parties. Not to mention lots of dough. I convinced her to give the stove one more chance.

Scowling at the stove she said, “OK, but this is the last straw.”

A few days later, I came home and things had changed… for the worst. Contrary to the abovementioned warning, the stove did no such thing as shaping up. It still sat there refusing to turn itself off or allowing someone else to turn it off. In fact, my wife had pulled the stove completely out of its place and unplugged it.

“I’m done with the old stove and I’m getting a new one,” she said with a tone of finality.

There is a time and place to discuss everything but this was neither the time nor the place to discuss a new stove. In fact, the new stove had already been ordered and was on its way. Discussion ended.

Later that week the new stove had arrived and my wife was trying it out. I was in my chair reading a book when I smelled something from the kitchen. Then my wife appeared with a cookie on a napkin and said to me, “Here, try this cookie to see if it’s all right.”

You are familiar with looking a gift horse in the mouth? I eagerly consumed the cookie and remarked that it tasted quite delicious.

“I burned that batch of cookies. I’m trying to find out how this convection oven works.”

A few minutes later she came in with another cookie and requested, “Try this one and see if it’s any better.”

I do not mean to brag, and I sure do not want to pat myself on the back, but I could see a theme developing. I knew that my wife would not stop making cookies until she had it just right.

“This cookie,” I said rather thoughtfully, “is a little better than the last one.”

She whirled around and headed back to the kitchen and her new convection oven to try out a new batch of cookies.

“This is okay but there does seem to be something missing,” I mused with the next batch of cookies.

All afternoon the cookies flowed in my direction and I, being the cookie aficionado that I am, gave her my best advice. I curiously enough, detected the least little problem with each one. She was getting so close to perfection.

My wife being so interested and committed to mastering her brand-new convection oven had forgotten the house rules, the one that she made up namely, one cookie per month for me. I had just consumed enough cookies for the next 10 years. I was willing to break the rules just to help her in her new project. That’s the kind of guy I am.

Later that evening, I am glad to say, she had mastered her new convection oven as well as her cookie recipe. I, on the other hand, had a new appreciation of all things new. Sometimes change can be beneficial.

The Bible speaks of change. “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” (2 Corinthians 5:17 KJV).

Many people like to hang on to the old, even though it is not working and is actually dragging them down. Christ offers change. Real change. Change you can really believe in.

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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.

By Rev. James L. Snyder

Every now and then, a thought enters my mind. Once inside my mind, it endures a lonely existence and rattles around long enough to morph into something quite different when it comes out than what went in.

I am not quite sure when this thought entered my mind, but when it came out of my mind it induced me to surprise my wife with a barbecue supper. When this thought first raised its head, I was pleasantly surprised that I, on my very own, could come up with such a good idea.

The key to this surprised barbecue supper was not letting my wife know about it. I must admit that I am not very successful when it comes to covert operations. I do not think my wife is psychic, but she seems to know what I am going to do before I actually do it. This has helped me out of many embarrassing situations.

The more I thought about this, the more the idea please me. My wife has been working hard lately and I thought she about needed a nice little surprise from Yours Truly. I was the man for the job.

I had to plan this operation down to the last second. I knew at the outset this would be difficult, but the payoff would be well worth it.

I knew my wife was going to be out of town for most of the day, which gave me plenty of time to put my plan into action.

The first thing on my agenda was to go to the grocery store and buy all the necessary ingredients for my barbecue. This was going to be a barbecue to end all barbecues. I love it when a plan comes together.

I bought some wonderful looking steaks, sweet potatoes for roasting (my wife loves sweet potatoes), and equal portions of potato salad and coleslaw.

“Having a barbecue?” the cashier said with a smile that almost touched behind her head.

“Yea, I am surprising my wife with a barbecue supper.”

“You have any charcoal for your grill?”

Whoops, that was not on my list, but I am sure glad she mentioned it. I went back, got a bag of charcoal and brought it up to the cashier. As she was ringing it up she said, “Do you have enough lighter fluid to get all of the charcoal burning?”

Whoops, that was not on my list either. I ran back and got a can of lighter fluid for the charcoal.

Everything seemed to be in order, I paid the cashier and as I headed for the door, I was whistling a familiar tune.

It was a long time since I had done anything like this, and I was rather proud of myself for thinking it up all by myself. It only goes to show what a person can do when they think about something.

It took some doing, but I finally extracted the barbecue grill from the back corner of the garage and set it up on the back patio. The steaks are really going to be good tonight, I thought to myself. Is my wife ever going to be surprised.

Another key to this whole surprise element was time. I wanted to time it so that when my wife came through the door she would smell the barbecue burning. The first thing I needed to do was get the barbecue grill working in fine order. I assembled what I consider to proper amount of charcoal on the grill set the bag down and picked up the can of lighter fluid.

While I was working, I begin to muse within myself and thought that barbecue grilling comes natural to a man. Many things we may not be able to do, but when it comes to a barbecue grill, a man is a man. I splashed a little lighter fluid on the charcoal and commenced to strike a match. Nothing.

I struck another match and had the same results. With a little bit of panic I looked at my watch and knew that my wife would be coming home soon. I struck another match and still the charcoal did not light. I sprinkled a little more lighter fluid on the charcoal and struck another match. Nothing.

I was beginning to run out of time. I took the lighter fluid and emptied the entire can on my charcoal and as I did it, I heard my wife’s car come into the driveway. I knew I had to fly into action now.

I struck the match and touched it to the charcoal and the last thing I remember was a flash of light and a terrible exploding noise in my ears. Then I felt pain. Pain in my right hand.

I looked at my right hand and saw that it was aflame and burning rather nicely. Then my wife came through the back door onto the patio just in time to see me dance and yell like a banshee.

The charcoal in the grill was all ablaze and my right hand burning out-of-control my wife had the audacity to look at me and say, “Whatcha you doing?”

As we were eating our potato salad and coleslaw, I thought of a Bible verse.

“Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.” (1 Corinthians 10:12 KJV).

My problem is I think too much.
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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.

By Rev. James L. Snyder

As of late, I have been fighting an insufferable barrage of intruders into that area commonly referred to as, “My Castle.” Normally I’m not a pessimist, but I have a feeling I am losing this battle.

I’m the kind of person that tries to get along with everybody but I must say I do have my limit. Regardless of what else I may have, I have a limit to intrusion into my Castle.

This all came to a head one day this week when the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage spent the afternoon shopping with her daughters. I always look forward to these times because then I can be King of the Castle. Don’t tell anyone, but I have a special hat I wear on such occasions.

My wife came home from her shopping only to find that her beloved husband had turned into a blubbering, raging maniac of the first-order. She is the kind of woman that deserves the first in everything, and brother, did she get it this day.

When she got her bearing, she looked at me and said, “What in the world is wrong with you? I go shopping and return and find you in this awful state of mind. What has happened?”

It took a few moments for me to collect anything that resembled sanity and a few more moments for me to regain volume in the speech department. Even so, I stuttered terribly. Finally, after some deep breathing exercises, I was able to talk.

“While you were gone,” I stammered, “that telephone has not stopped ringing for a moment.”

“Who’s been calling you?” She asked trying to calm me.

“It’s been one phone call right after another, and I don’t think I can stand any more of it.” Read the rest of this entry »