Following in the Footsteps of my Heroes

I was jostled awake by a firm nudge to my left leg.  “Pretz, you’re snoring again.” (Pretz is short for Pretzel, which sounds a bit like Russell, hence the nickname. The fact that pretzels are generally twisted has nothing to do with it---I’m almost certain.)  This mid-night awakening resulted in a familiar mumbled apology and a shuffling off to the spare bedroom.

The subject was revived in the light of day. “Not only are you snoring, but it's as if you stop breathing for a while, and then start up again.”

“That’s disconcerting,” I said. “For a long-suffering wife, it must be like receiving a pardon from the governor, only to have it snatched away thirty seconds later.”

Donna replied, “Thou hast said.”

Actually, my lovely wife was sympathetic, and she urged me to go forthwith to a sleep clinic---to have my head examined.

One night a few weeks later I was in a cozy room with a bazillion wires attached to my head.

“Try to just relax and sleep as you normally do," the technician said.

“I don’t normally sleep with a bazillion wires attached to my head.”

“I suspect you don’t normally sleep normally at all---that’s why you’re here.”

I politely explained to her that in my stories I prefer to ascribe to myself any remarks that could be construed as clever.

After a few days I was told the results were in, and I went to see the doctor.  Those of you with a medical background may know him as a Sleepologist, Dreamician, Nocturnist or Snornithologist, but to me he was just the sleep doctor.  An older gentleman hailing from the Hudson River Valley, Dr. Van Winkle, told me that on the night I was tested I had “only danced on the edges of deep sleep.”  This came as a complete shock to me. 

“So, I can dance?” 

The Dr. was not amused.  He said, “This is a serious condition. You have Sleep Apnea."

The Tax-Paying Fish

The late Ravi Zacharias liked to tell the story of two brothers, known throughout their town as crooked and ruthless in their business dealings. When one of them died, the surviving brother sought out a minister who would be willing to say good things about the dear departed at the funeral.  He told one pastor:

“I will pay you a great sum…if in eulogizing my brother, you will refer to him as ‘a saint.’”

This minister was a man of principle, so he could not speak falsely for carnal gain; but he also knew that he could do some good with the promised funds, so he consented.  With the sanctuary full of those who had been swindled by the brothers and were hoping for some public vindication, the pastor rose to speak:

“The man you see in the coffin was a vile and debauched individual.  He was a liar, a thief, a deceiver, a manipulator, a reprobate, and a hedonist.  He destroyed the fortunes, careers, and lives of countless people in this city, some of whom are here today.  The man did every dirty, rotten, unconscionable thing you can think of.  But compared to his brother here, he was a saint.”               [Can Man Live Without God? pp.136-137, Word Publishing]

Something tells me that the minister in that little anecdote never received a dime from the surviving brother. Ravi's humorous story reminds us that men of principle cannot always do what others desire or expect of them.  

On one occasion, Jesus was asked to pay the temple tax, an amount that each Jewish man was expected to give to support the great Temple of Jerusalem. Here's the way the incident is recounted by Matthew, who, you may recall, was himself a tax collector for the Roman occupiers of Palestine before Jesus called him.

When they had come to Capernaum, those who received the temple tax came to Peter and said, “Does your teacher not pay the temple tax?”  He said, “Yes.” And when he had come into the house, Jesus anticipated him, saying, “What do you think, Simon?  From whom do the kings of the earth take customs or taxes, from their sons or from strangers?” Peter said to Him, “From strangers.”  Jesus said to him, “Then the sons are free. [Matthew 17:24-26]

Jesus' point was, since the temple was for the worship of God, our sovereign king, it would not be appropriate to expect the Son of God---God in the flesh, to pay such a tax.

Hair Wars

Before I came to faith in Christ, or to be more precise, before I was brought by God’s grace to faith in Christ, I was not too particular about keeping rules, especially if the rule in question made no sense to me. Our high school had a rule that the hair on the back of a male student’s head should not reach beyond the top of the collar of his shirt.  (Back in the twentieth century, we were not given the option of choosing our gender. It was assigned to us before birth.) As you can guess, the hair on the collar rule was one I resisted.

When my hair began to extend over my collar (as it inevitably did, and still tends to do, albeit in smaller quantities) I was summoned to Principal Henley’s office. A fly on the wall of that office would have heard-------unintelligible noises coming from the giants in the room.

But suppose that fly had been trained to distinguish and comprehend human speech, and suppose it could recall it word for word decades later?  You’re right---it’s a huge stretch.  Why don’t we just forget about the fly?  How about this: Suppose Principal Henley kept a tape recorder in his office and suppose the sound on the recording was still audible today.  Perhaps we would hear:

PH: "Please take a seat, Young Man. Do you know why you’re here, Mr. Sukhia?"

Me: "I have a general idea."

PH: "Enlighten me."

Me: "Well according to Mr. Todd and the Science Department, I’m here as a result of something my parents did in the privacy of their own home 16 years ago now."

PH: "Do you know why you’re in my office?" 

Me: "I was in French Class and a student aide came…"

PH: (rather loudly interrupting) "You are here because you need a haircut."

Me: "Why do I need a haircut?"

PH: "Your hair is too long."

Me: "I don’t think it’s too long."

PH: "That has nothing to do with it."

Me: "How can that be? It’s my hair…Wait---look at that fly." 

PH: "What about it?"

Me: "I think it may be listening to us."