Whistling Badger Blog

I often hear people say that God answers prayers one of four ways:  Yes; No; Wait; and I've got something better. That sounds nice, and contains some truth, but scripture doesn't really articulate it that way. A while back, while struggling with the fact that so many sincere prayers seem to go unanswered, I did some very deep study on what the New Testament actually promises about prayer.  I did a lot of digging i nto the Greek, and found some very important nuances I had not noticed before. I did not find what I wanted to find, but I did come to a much more difficult yet more satisfying understanding that I believe might just be worth sharing. This is just a quick survey, not a full-blown study; I am just going to share some conclusions without really going into how I reached those conclusions, because I know how busy you are. To greatly oversimplify, the New Testament teaches that God answers prayer one of three ways: 1.  Yes.  I'll give this to yo...

His name was Lon.  Looking back, he was a rather pathetic fifth grader with a big mouth who got a feeling of power by terrorizing younger kids.  But at the time, he was the Lord of the Neighborhood.  His word was law, and usually, his word was something frightening and humiliating.  He was a Big Kid.  And he had two big, dumb buddies to back him up. My dad didn't know about Lon when we made Jack O' Lantern Man.  It was just a fun thing to do:  Stuff a set of his coveralls, set the resulting body in a lawn chair, and put a pumpkin on top for a head.  It was my dad's creativity and love of taking things a step further that made him prop the old car speaker up behind Jack's head, with a wire hooked in that led up to a microphone in our upstairs window.  We could sit up there, in the dark, and give Jack a voice.  To the little ones, his voice was friendly and happy.  To the bigger kids, the ones who enjoy being scared just a bit, his ...

Today, I complete my forty-fifth trip around the sun.  If the numbers pan out, I should be about halfway to the finish line of this race we call life.  I'm happy to announce that some of the aid stations in this race have bacon.  And I'm pretty sure I'm on my way to a PR.  I've tried to keep my eyes open and pay attention along the way, and I have picked up a few lessons that I try to live by.   Here are 45 of them--just one per year, because that's about as fast as life-lessons can penetrate my skull. 1.  Determining the right thing is seldom complicated.  Doing the right thing is seldom easy. 2.  A person who will not ask for help in time of need is just as morally screwed-up as a person who will not offer it. 3. If you ever hear yourself saying, "God wants me to be happy," beware.  God wants you to be faithful.  The happiness will follow. 4.  Here's the cure for boredom:  Find something that needs don...

Setting:   An empty cafeteria, with a large window looking out upon a starry sky. Two armored Imperial Storm Troopers walk into the room, chatting amicably, carrying lunch boxes.  They sit down and remove their helmets.  NC-217 is a young, blond man in his late teens.  PG-8115 is a few years older, with dark hair.  They open their lunch boxes and begin to eat. 217:  [Around mouthfuls of food] So, I had the craziest dream last night. 8115:  Yeah? 217:  Yeah.  You were in it, too.  There was this big rebellion against the Empire... 8115:  [Snorts loudly] Like that's gonna happen.  I'm telling you, kid, this Death Star is the key to peace in this galaxy.  Once we finish welding those blast grates over the thermal exhaust ports...Nobody's gonna make trouble now. 217:  Yeah, but in this dream, there was a rebellion, and get this--you and me were in it.  I think we were even some kind of leader...

Those who claim to know say today is the first day of Winter.  Those of us who live in northern climates, who have been bundling up and plugging in our block heaters for a couple months now, often get a good laugh out of that. I went outside early this morning to do a couple quick chores.  Early:  Still dark, the stars still burning, the blue-silver just starting to touch the eastern horizon.  And I could smell magic crackling in the cold air. Not goofy, Harry-Potterish, turn-kittens-into-mushrooms magic, nor fluffy, New-Ageish, dance-barefoot-in--the-rain magic, but the kind of magic grounded in hard science and certain hope:  Today is four seconds longer than yesterday .  Today, the sun begins its journey back north. First day of Winter?  Heck no.  Today, Spring starts coming.  It takes a long time, and there are still storms to endure, but it's coming, and nothing will stop it. Happy solstice, my friends.

Sometimes it’s painful to turn on the news this time of year.  It seems like there is something about the Christmas season that brings out the worst in people.  Or maybe the selfishness that is endemic to humanity is thrown into sharper contrast against the ideals of “Peace on earth, good will toward men.”  Sometimes it seems as if the whole season is nothing but greed and guilt, disillusionment and broken dreams, wrapped up with a pretty ribbon. But sometimes, things work out just like they should.  Sometimes, the simple kindness of a complete stranger reminds you that the Christmas spirit is alive and well, in ways that can’t be bought with money.  This story, told in the emails below, is about Christmas.  Enjoy. ______________________________ Thomas Wilson November 17, 2014 To zoo info Dear Denver Zoo, I have a request with a story behind it.  If you aren’t in the mood for a story, feel free to skip to the last paragraph for t...

One of my most treasured posessions is a set of hand and foot prints. Four years ago today, when we lost our son , the beautiful nurses at P/SL Hospital made an impression of David's feet and hands in plaster--a keepsake to remind us that he was a real, flesh-and-blood person. This plaster oval sits on the piano, largely forgotten in the business and beauty of getting through the day. Once in a while, though, the prints catch my eye, and I run my fingers over them. They are so tiny. Footprints are the perfect symbol for loss. The print itself is not an object, but a lack of one--an empty space left by something that was here, and is no longer here.   Occasionally I indulge the urge to think about what life would be like if he hadn't died.  I imagine what it would be like to raise a son, to teach him how to be a man, even as I continue to learn myself.  I watch Katie taking such meticulous care of her dolls, and wonder what she would have been like as a big sis...