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A - F G - M N - S T - Z Etc. A Little Bit Closer Education Finding That Out Myself A Little Bit Closer 11/12/99 When I was little, I saw the Christmas tree as a great mountain to be climbed only with my eyes. Every little light was a sunrise or a sunset, every ornament a fascinating creature. The angel at the top: God. There with open arms, waiting for me. I looked at that angel, and to my frail little mind, God was real. By red, green, blue and yellow light we wove an entirely new Christmas from the fabric of every old Christmas. I always marveled at the glory that shone from old but not tired carols. (I still do.) And the carols never grew tiresome. We raised our makeshift homespun voices, and God seemed a little bit closer. If the snow condescended to spend a few days with us, we all felt a little bit more protected. The world was wrapped in a quiet cocoon, and God seemed just a little bit closer. The sun set and we found ourselves lighting a candle or two and sitting down to eat. And the Christmas story always seemed more real when seen by the light of a candle. It seemed less a story and more a living breathing stack of glory, joy, and redemption. Maybe it was. Or maybe we just never paid attention. The candle glowed and the candle cast shadows, and God seemed a little bit closer. We leafed through pages of memories, all having a different tune but all fitting the same words. It grew late and we grew tired, but no one stood to drain his bed of all its sleep. Here was comfort, here was home, here was love. The tree lights burned, the angel waited patiently. And God seemed a little bit closer. Coming into the picture is the eighteenth Christmas of my growing life. The angel with the open arms, the angel who played God to my hungry mind, the angel who made it all real – it’s so far back. And it was all so long ago, but it’s all so clear. Perhaps because this eighteenth Christmas will be woven from seventeen previous Christmases, including the Christmas the angel on the tree played God and God became real to me. For the eighteenth time, the carols will be glorious, the candlelight will make the story real, and the snow will drown out the world and protect us. And for yet another Christmas, the angel will take his place on the tree. He’ll wait patiently, arms open, and I’ll remember that once long ago in my frail little mind, that very angel was God. And God will seem just a little bit closer. Education 12/15/98 the tales of yore are less, not more, when dumbing down a student's noun because it holds in low regard the feeling of a record marred by truth-be-told from teachers old who little know what fruits they grow when feelings rise and truth's demise is coming forth and ever more is self-esteem the highest mean--"us, educate? that's such a waste!" our johnny's mind we still can't find, he'll have no wealth, but it's okay--he likes himself. Finding That Out Myself 2/12/00 you shouldn't ask me what i'm doing here. i'm still finding that out myself. it's a wonderful ride, with the top down and exhilaration standing my hair on end, and i have to squint because there's so much more than i can take in at one time. so much is escaping my outstretched hands, but that's okay. i have everything i need, and the rest is only what i've found i don't need to grasp in order to know. i can see for miles but i can't see past now. it's remarkable, isn't it? the world at my fingertips, and all i can think is that my fingertips are too far from home. what a fantastic dialogue, running from one end to the other while i'm in one piece in one place on one simple promise. desperation lives no more than an hour from here, but he called and told me with all due regrets that he couldn't make it. i suppose it must be a pity, but those regrets aren't due me. i'm alive with one foot in the grave, but the fact of the matter is that i just took the other foot out of that grave. here i am, and you shouldn't ask me why. i'm still finding that out myself, and when i do find that out, i'll be the last person on my mind.