Just another manic Thursday

My, oh my, no time for sweet potato pie this Thanksgiving. We've got to rush out and catch the sales at Walmart, Toys R Us, and Sears by 8 p.m., Target by 9 p.m., then Macy’s, Kohl’s, and Best Buy at midnight. And oh yes, thank you Kmart for that breather between 4 p.m. and 8 p.m., Thanksgiving Day, giving us just enough time to scarf down the turkey and dressing before full-throttling ahead on our shopping tour  until 11 p.m. Friday.

The inevitable has happened: Black Friday has invaded Turkey Thursday.

Granted, retailers have legitimate reasons for extending their hours to Thursday. “Holiday shopping can be very stressful,” says Meijer chief operating officer, J.K. Symancyk. “By offering our special deals beginning at 6 a.m. on both Thanksgiving and Black Friday, our customers won’t have to worry about waking up in the middle of the night to stand in line and can choose how early or late they want to shop for the hottest holiday gifts.” Meijer has traditionally been open on Thanksgiving Day.

To entice people to their stores on Thanksgiving, Toys R Us is offering the first 200 customers at each location a free “Great Big Goody Bag” filled with stocking-stuffers valued at $30. Store executive Troy Rice says shoppers can have dinner and then shop. “We all know everybody gets burned out on turkey and football.” Rice expects to have lines from 500 to more than 1,000 people by the time the doors open.

Extending shopping hours to Thursday will make it easier for shoppers to grab the bargains; and it will be a boost for retailers.

But not everyone is on board.

Some Target employees, led by Casey St. Clair, have petitioned the company to save Thanksgiving Day from Black Friday creep. But wait, don’t other people, like hospital and health care employees, have to work on Thanksgiving Day? “Retail is not a necessary service that needs to be open,” St. Clair reminds us.

St. Clair is joined by another Target employee, Jennifer Ann, who is also calling on Target to save Thanksgiving from becoming Black Thursday. “Family has always been important to me and Thanksgiving is all about family,” she wrote to Target. “I love seeing family that we haven’t seen in years and spending time with each other on the only day when we can all get together. Last year it became clear to me that for some large retailers, this holiday isn't about family or being grateful at all”

And Charlotte Hill, communications manager at Change.org, which bills itself at the world’s petition site, wrote in an email to Upstart Business Journal, “Employees want to spend the holiday with family, and consumers don’t want to have to rush out the door on Thanksgiving in order to get the hottest deals.”

Is Thanksgiving Day, like Sundays, becoming just another day to do business? If so, it becomes no more than another day to buy and sell, shop and trade. And of course, that’s just another work day.

Maybe you feel like my friend who admits she will go shopping Thanksgiving evening, although she wishes the stores would stay closed so she wouldn't be drawn there for the best deals. We are, after all, naturally inclined to take the easiest, fastest path possible to purchase items for the lowest price and best value. 

But are we paying another price besides the one on the sale item? I think of the 80s song with the words, “I wish it was Sunday/’Cause that’s my funday/My I don’t have to runday/It’s just another manic Monday.”

So, are we letting let Thanksgiving Day become just another manic Thursday?

That depends on our choice, does it not?

We are not forced to be first in line for the best bargain. Ask yourself what you have to give up for that early bird special. Time with family? Taking a rare nap after an early afternoon dinner? Perhaps an evening movie with someone you love?

Maybe going shopping Thursday night will prove to be an excellent way of sharing family values and saying thanks. Perhaps it will do you good to skip the desert, get off the couch, and head to the mall.

If not, I hope you will stay home. How often do you get to make a social statement by sitting in your easy chair and enjoying a second helping of turkey? Successful retailers are smart; they won’t stay open without customers.

As for me: My, oh my, I see some sweet potato pie! I’m heading to the kitchen before I take my annual Thanksgiving Day snooze.

Grace-Givers Anonymous?

I’m thinking about starting a non-profit organization for all the people who perform acts of kindness and don’t want to be thanked for doing them. Maybe I’ll name it, “Grace-Givers Anonymous.”

I could set up a website, www.gracegivers.org, where people like you could donate to this non-profit. Billboards promoting deliberate acts of kindness could be set up. Together we could run TV commercials for the cause. Communities would be encouraged to start a Grace-Giver Anonymous program in their area. And every year, we could have an annual convention where the grace-givers could meet one another, and those they’ve helped could meet and thank their grace-giver. We could even establish an annual Grace-Giver Anonymous of the Year Award.

Okay, maybe it is a crazy idea.

But what is incredibly sane is what these people---call them grace-givers, kindness-distributors, gratitude-sharers---do by helping others.

What motivates them to do it? As far as I can tell, nothing more than the decision to be kind and compassionate.

Recipients of their kindness usually feel a bit humbled by their generosity.

Just ask my dad. I called him the other morning, as I do most every morning, to find out how he’s doing. “Great,” he said with excitement in his voice. “You won’t believe what happened yesterday.”

I sensed a story coming on.

“Your mom and I went with Mark and Joy (my brother and sister-in-law) to eat at the Olive Garden. When we asked for the bill, the waiter told us someone had already paid for all four of us. The waiter gave me a card that said, ‘Thanks for serving. God bless you.’ When I asked where the people were who paid for our meal, the waiter said they’d already left.”

Dad went on to explain that he had been wearing his “WWII  Korea Veteran” cap.

“They saw that I was a veteran and wanted to thank me,” Dad said with a tone of humility.

Much more important than receiving the free meal was the act of being thanked for serving.

Whoever paid for the meal had a plan. They had cards printed that expressed their gratitude. Then they looked for veterans and followed through with specific acts of kindness.

They didn’t hang around to be thanked, either.

It reminded me of something I received in the mail the other day. It was a small package with no return address. I curiously opened it and found---lo and behold, my long-lost Day-Timer. Inside was a note, “Found in U-Haul at Centerville, Al.”

Back in August we had moved our son, Dave, to Starkville, Mississippi, where he is in graduate school at Mississippi State University. I got everything out of the U-Haul except my Day-Timer. Not only did I have important future events noted in it, but I had my laminated Thomas Merton prayer in there, as well as a few Scriptures. I missed my Day-Timer, and had long ago given up on ever seeing it again. Who would care, even though I had written my return address inside it?

Whoever mailed it to me had to buy the mailing package, address it, pay postage, and mail it. That didn't take a lot of time, but it would have been much easier to have left it in the U-Haul, as others had apparently done.

So again, what motivates this unique breed of people, these grace-givers, to do what they do?

Did that person read the Scriptures in my Day-Timer and think that whoever owns it must be some kind of spiritual person and for that reason returned it? Did the person who bought Dad’s meal have a son or daughter, brother, sister, or parent who died in the military and for that reason felt compelled to buy a meal for a veteran?

Who can know?

And really, does it matter?

These kind souls are just that: people who express their feelings of compassion with specific actions. Not wanting to be recognized, they anonymously spread kindness through our world, which makes their exploits all the more admirable.

Whatever their exact motivation, they inspire others to do the same, to perform the little deeds during the day that go unnoticed by most everyone but the recipients of those who receive them.

And they make the world a better place.

But that really scuttles my plan for a non-profit. No, a non-profit for these folks is exactly what they wouldn't want. Even if I received the funding for the project, put up the billboards, ran the commercials, and rented a convention hall---who would come?

The anonymous grace-givers would be smiling outside, in the streets somewhere, moving incognito among the crowds, spreading acts of kindness to those who need them. 

Me and My Old Car

This year between 30 and 40 million Americans will sell a used car. I’m one of them; I just parted with my old car.

I bought the 1996 T-Bird mainly out of desperation; Lori and I had grown weary of car-pooling in our one vehicle. She would need to go home when I had the car somewhere else; I had to have it when she was on an errand. We felt like the frustrated cab driver who is supposed to take two passengers in different directions at the same time.

And so I came into the possession of the T-Bird, proud of the fact that I had found what I believed was a decent enough bargain on a vehicle that was at that point in its lifespan, primarily equipped to get its driver (me) from point A to point B.

I rather proudly drove it into our drive way, honked the horn, and waited for the fam to join me in exultation at the sight my new purchase. Instead, after running to see what the commotion was all about, they stopped cold in their tracks and began cautiously encircling the T-Bird like children on a field trip who have been told not to touch an ancient artifact for fear that it might self destruct.

No one wanted to go for a drive in my old car. “What if someone sees us?” they asked, almost in unison.

A few moments later it was just me and my old car. I patted the hood: “It’s okay, buddy,” I whispered, glancing around to make sure no one could hear me. “They just don’t know what you've got on the inside.”

Admittedly, my old car badly needed a face lift  The paint on its right front looked like flowing lava melting down the side of a mountain. And its faded paint gave it an old and worn out look.

My old car did have a chronic creaking problem, too. Sometimes---usually when I drove up when a group of people were standing around---it acted up, like the crowd had made it nervous, causing it to have a croaking fit. It creaked when I sat down in the driver’s seat, when I turned the wheel, or when I had a thought of any kind. People could hear me coming a block before I got there.

But my old car did give me some advantages. I never had to worry about where I parked; it didn't much matter if someone dinged my door. And there’s something about driving an old car that evokes sympathy from some people. “Well preacher,” a lady commented to me in the church parking lot as she stared at my old car, “I can tell you’re not in it for the money.” 

“I’d be doing a lousy job if I were,” I thought to myself.

Another lady studied my old car and asked, “Now, how many kids do you have in college?” 

Once a man followed me out of the grocery store, pontificating about the evil state of political affairs in our on-the-road-to-hell country, preaching to me about why his brand of religion was the best bet to save us from it all, when my old car came to my rescue. “You drive that?” he incredulously asked. “ Doesn't your church pay you?” he continued, slowly pushing his shopping cart away from me as if someone who drove an old car like mine wasn't a worthy recipient of his wisdom.

 I winked at my old car, patting it on its back hip in gratitude as I put my groceries in the trunk.

In a humanely absurd way, (how can you have feelings for a hunk of metal?) I felt sorry for my old car. When I offered to help my daughter come home from college for the summer, she asked if I would bring Lori’s car. “My friends might think we’re really poor if you come in yours,” she said in a hushed tone.

“My old car never gets to go anywhere exciting,” I thought to myself.

I sold my old car yesterday to someone who could rehabilitate it. It’s been close to intensive care as of late.

As I drove away in my new car, I realized my old car had done more than simply get me from point A to point B.

My old car had been my faithful companion to all points in between.

How to Make a Difference on November 6

With every flyer I placed on the doorknob, I felt a surge of energy: I was actually making a difference, and for an 11 year old kid, that’s a big deal. I had taken Judge Loys Criswell’s request to help him in his reelection campaign for Associate District Judge of Jackson County, Oklahoma as seriously as if I had been asked to be the campaign manager for the President of the United States. And when mom knocked on my bedroom door, informing me that the Judge had won, I put down my comic book, glanced at the judge’s campaign poster hanging on my wall, swelled with pride, feeling like I had been a player in the world of politics.

Was that world a small one? Yes.

 Did I exaggerate my role in the venerable judge’s reelection campaign? Of course.

 Was I wrong to think I had actually made a difference? Absolutely not.

Perhaps the false belief that when it comes to the enormous arena of politics our involvement makes little or no difference is one of the reasons for low voter participation. (In the 2008 presidential election, 42% of eligible voters didn’t bother to vote.) That world of politics seems so big, and we in comparison, so little. Then when we read that the presidential candidates this year will spend a combined $2 billion to get elected, whatever contribution we can make seems miniscule. And what of our vote? Should we even bother to vote? Does it really matter, anyway? And even if we do vote, can it change anything, really?

Yes, yes, and yes! Your vote does matter, and you have the potential to initiate change by casting your ballot.

 Perhaps all the political wrangling has made us cynical; maybe we’ve heard so much negative campaigning that we simply want to cover our ears, mute the volume and hope it will all go away; or maybe we’ve grown lazy, mentally slack, willing to delegate our future to the decisions of others, for after all, we mistakenly assume, “You can’t change Washington anyway.”

I think of the story about the preacher who was aggravated about his congregation’s lack of participation in church activities. Turning to one of his trusted deacons, the pastor asked, “Is it ignorance or apathy?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” the deacon blandly responded.

Knowledge of the issues we face these next four years and the impact they will have on us and our children replaces ignorance and gives rise to action. If you think one vote doesn’t make any difference, ponder these facts complied by church historian, Leonard I. Sweet: In 1645,one vote gave Oliver Cromwell control of England; in 1649, one vote caused  Charles I of England to be executed; in 1845, one vote brought Texas into the Union; in 1868, one vote saved President Andrew Johnson from impeachment; in 1875 one vote changed France from a monarchy to a republic; in 1876, one vote gave Rutherford B. Hayes the presidency of the United States; in 1923, one vote gave Adolf Hitler leadership of the Nazi party; in 1941, one vote put the draft into effect; in 1960, one vote per precinct in four states gave John F. Kennedy the presidency of the United States.

This November 6 I’m going to drive to the polling place, get out of my car, thank the good Lord that people I don’t know fought and even died so I can freely walk into that voting booth with no military regime or religious group standing in my way, that I can vote for my candidate of choice without fear of losing my job or facing physical torture, and that the Lord has given me a mind capable of perceiving the issues as best as I can.

And having cast my vote, I’ll proudly place one of those little “I voted” stickers on my shirt, look to the heavens and wink at Judge Loys Criswell for reminding me that as small as I may appear to be, I can be a part of an exciting process that makes tremendous differences.