It all began with Xmas.
“Christ” got replaced with that infamous “X.”
Now, it’s not even “Merry Xmas!” It’s just “Happy Holidays!”
In an attempt to be “inclusive,” many retailers are taking Christmas out of the commercial world. Some national chains not only use “Happy Holidays” in advertising, but their employees are advised to greet customers with “Happy Holidays!” rather than “Merry Christmas!”
As expected, many Christians and especially family values groups aren’t happy.
The Traditional Values Coalition wants people to boycott Federated Department Stores, which owns chains such as Macys and Bloomingdales.
The American Family Association is pledging to boycott Target stores where the “Happy Holidays” greeting is used. “If Target doesn’t want to wish me a Merry Christmas, that’s fine. I’ll do my part to make sure they don’t have a profitable one,” said Randy Sharp, director of AFA special projects.

The IRONY of this is:
1. For years, many Christians have lamented the commercialization of Christmas. Christmas should focus on the birth of the Lord and Savior and not consumerism gone mad, they have said. Well, now here is their wish. Christmas is leaving the retail mantra. So maybe more of us Christians will quit spending so much money on frivolous things and get back to celebrating the gift of Christ in more meaningful ways.
2. I wonder if the retailers know the meaning of “Happy Holidays?” Check the dictionary. Right there by #1 on the list is “holy day.” So when employees wish you “Happy Holidays!” they are really saying “Happy Holy Days!”

Merry Christmas and Happy Holy Days to you!

HISTORIC NEWS written as if the Pilgrims had a newspaper
(Revised and Considerably Shortened to Suit the Wikipedia Generation!)

PLYMOUTH COLONY (October, 1621) -- Pilgrims and Indians thanked God together this week in what Governor William Bradford declared to be a Day of Thanksgiving.

One day was extended to three as colonists and the Wampanoag tribe feasted on deer and turkey, vegetables and hoecake, as well as a new corn dish that popped! Games, including wrestling matches, were also played.

The Pilgrims bestowed Squanto with high honors for his devoted service as teacher and mentor. As most readers know, this fearless young Indian saved our lives and colony! He was brought to us by Samoset -- speaking good English and practicing the Christian faith!

A recent interview reveals his story.

Six months before we Pilgrims landed, Squanto had every reason to be down and out. He had lost everything – his home, his tribe, his family, his friends. But rather than retreating to the nearest teepee, Squanto became a selfless friend and mentor to strangers from a foreign land.

Briefly, he was reared as a Patuxet, a most hostile tribe as there ever was, and he was captured -- not once, but twice -- and taken to Europe. First, he landed in England and learned our language, then was required to tell everything he knew about Indian tribes and available colony sites. He returned to America nine years later by the goodness of Captain John Smith of Virginia. But soon, a trader promised him and 19 other Indians fish for beaver skins. They were tricked. The captain bound them on his ship, took them to Spain and sold them into slavery. The Lord providentially rescued Squanto when he was purchased by monks and taken a monastery where he was introduced to Christianity. Eventually, this hero found his way back to England and sailed home with Captain Thomas Dermer.

Upon arrival at his old home (the very spot where we Pilgrims landed!), Squanto was greeted by nothing! His entire tribe had died. Only bones remained. So he found refuge with Chief Massasoit and the Wampanoags. When Samoset discovered us last March, he soon brought Squanto along. Squanto has spent the past seven months telling us in English and showing us how to catch and eat eel and cod, how to plant corn and fertilize it with dead fish, how to protect the fertilizer from wolves, how to hunt, use herbs for medicine, find berries, trap beavers and trade.

When he arrived, we had just suffered a most difficult winter. Half our number died, and this strange land was most inhospitable. But Squanto selflessly became our missionary. He gave us hope when hope was all but gone, and he renewed our faith in the Almighty. Without Squanto, this Thanksgiving would not have been possible.

Reference:
"The Light and the Glory," by Peter Marshall and David Manuel
Published by Fleming H. Revell, a division of Baker Book House Co.

NEWS FLASH!

President Bush today pardoned a Thanksgiving turkey.

Rather than being slaughtered, cooked and carved, the 35-pound bird received mercy from the highest government official in America. Not only did the turkey escape certain death, but the president was gracious enough to prevent Tom Turkey’s return to the farm.

Instead, the turkey, who was born to a life of fattening for a meal, entered the gates of The White House where he gobbled a profuse, “Thanks for a second chance!” then was escorted to an airport where he was flown to Los Angeles. He will be honored as grand marshal of Disneyland’s Thanksgiving parade, then settle into a home prepared especially for him at a Disneyland ranch.

It is rumored that Tom Turkey’s feathered friends wonder what he did to earn such mercy and grace. “After all,” said Tammy Turkey, “he’s just like us – no better, no worse.”

The president’s press secretary said the turkey had done nothing to earn his pardon. It was a gift of the commander-in-chief.

Similarly, we humans are forgiven of our sins and pardoned by God's gracious gift of salvation.
"For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life." John 3:16

Not only did Jesus die for our sins, He promised to prepare a place for us in Heaven so that we might spend eternity with Him. When believers' souls leave their earthly bodies, I wonder if angels escort them to the pearly gates. What a joy that will be!

When my eldest son was just two years old, he felt the pain of Dumbo. As he watched the movie, the ostracism the little circus elephant received empowered my child to rise from his rocking chair, step up to the TV, spread his arms wide and empathize, "Hold you, Dumbo, hold you!"

The plight of the big-eared elephant was probably one of my son's first lessons about oppression. It was heart-wrenching for a toddler. Yet the plight of elephants and other animals (even fish) appears even more heart-wrenching for PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals). While I certainly don't approve of animal crueltry, this group's view of "cruelty" is, well, mind bending. Read on.

A big, blue "fish" named Freda greeted students at a Montgomery, Alabama junior high school Nov. 15 as they left for the day. The "fish" was really a PETA person dressed up as part of a demonstration to emphasize that "Fish are friends, not food," according to Karin Robertson. Robertson manages PETA'S Fish Empathy Project, and the group is visiting schools (rather, they are staging demonstrations on sidewalks near the schools) around the country.

Students are encouraged not to eat fish, because doing so, PETA people say, is support of cruelty to animals. Robertson commented that fish feel pain, too, "just like cats and dogs." PETA has even published comic books on the "evils" of hunting and fishing. One is titled, "Your Daddy Kills Animals."

Are these folks really serious? Oh yes. Check out Fishing Hurts

Well, okay, I guess children can forget those fishing trips with grandpa...and no more all-you-can-eat catfish dinner fundraisers...no more Omega 3 fatty acids from salmon croquettes...or protein from chicken or beef...and oh, no more hamburgers! How about pet goldfish in a bowl?

But getting back to elephants, several years ago, a local community received a request from PETA that it draft a law banning all elephants. At the time, the group was working to end the shackling of and "cruelty" to elephants in circuses that travel around the country. The thing is, the town didn't have any elephants or zoos or circuses then and doesn't have any now.

Such a law was never passed, but I have to wonder "What If?" Would such a law eliminate any potential, future zoos or circuses that had elephants? Would it prohibit circus convoys from transporting elephants through the city? If local Democrats sued local Republicans for display of their party symbol, the elephant, would some Democratic judge interpret the law to also apply to symbolic elephants? Then, would they also ban donkeys?

November’s leaves spiral to the ground; yet another Caribbean storm reinforces the year’s record tropical season…In New England, a study declares its winters are warmer. Spring’s ice-outs come sooner, but it’s too soon to credit global warming. ..Tornadoes –unusually severe for autumn-- chase football fans from a stadium. They leave death and debris in Iowa, Indiana and Kentucky…That’s the weather –often unpredictable-- and lately, it’s been a hot topic.

But the weather was never so hot in my region as the summer of 2000. We rural folks spent much of Y2K down on our knees. We were praying for rain, and the dustier the ground, the dirtier our jeans. The Great Drought began April 1 (That day, we planted new grass, and it didn’t grow a good cover for three years).

The drought became more than just a passing dry spell. It outlived its usefulness as the main topic of conversation at the coffee shop. It lingered beyond a phenomenon that the townspeople could sigh about and the farmers could cry about. It likely was the worst drought of the 20th Century, and we no longer looked to the Weather Channel for relief but for miracles from above.

By October, the National Weather Service estimated precipitation was 10 to 20 inches below normal in most locations of our state. But gauges at the local agricultural substation showed the deficit well above 20 inches. Rain was even scarcer a few miles down the road. Normal annual rainfall is 45 inches, and with an 18-inch deficit from 1999, well, we were in a Dust Bowl.

Cattle crunched their way across parched pastures, and eventually the grass gave way to nothing but dirt. Some cattlemen began their “winter” feeding schedule in July. Many only made one cutting of hay. Usually, there are at least two. Soybean farmers sold their stunted beans –not to the grain elevator—but to cattlemen who used them for extra feed.

On the homefront, the grass died, the shrubs died, and even some trees succumbed. Dogwoods, normally a deep crimson in autumn, wrinkled their leaves in surrender.

What could cause such a long, dry, hot summer? We had never experienced such a weather event. Hot breezes blew, and the thermometer was often around the century mark. Older folks recalled such a drought back in the early 1950s, so we reasoned this must be the 50-Year Curse.

Meteorologists blamed it on the lack of El Nino or some stubborn high-pressure system that I suppose the great Rainmaker in the Sky stuffed into an ironclad lockbox and threw away the key. Environmentalists blamed it on global warming. There was supposed to be a buildup of carbon dioxide or a big hole in the atmosphere somewhere over Anarctica. Either the planet didn’t exhale right anymore, or ultraviolet rays were having a heyday. Maybe even both. Trouble is, at the same time, the Northeast was getting deluged with rain and cool weather.

Some of the church folks said God might be judging His people by way of the weather. Instead of just praying for rain, we should be repenting and returning to holier living. God would heal the land when His people returned to Him. So, I repented for my part, then cautiously suggested to the farmers in the family that perhaps they should return to keeping the Sabbath holy by quitting work in the pasture on Sunday afternoons.

“Say what?” they replied. “Then who’s gonna feed the cows? The pasture is nothing but dirt, and somebody has to make sure no stock is stuck in the muck of what is left of the ponds!” So I relented. After all, Jesus healed on the Sabbath, and I’m sure He wouldn’t want cows left to suffer on Sunday. Besides, one of the farmers reminded me that The Bible also declares that it will rain on both the just and the unjust (rain as in bad times, not real raindrops)!

In the meantime, we ran up county water bills trying to keep the dogwoods alive and trying to get that new grass to grow a little. Several months later, we decided that water was better saved for cooking and drinking. Besides, my father-in-law said the Farmers’ Almanac didn’t predict rain until November 22, and even that wouldn’t break the drought! So I bought new jeans. After all, it looked like I might be praying a while longer, and holes were about worn in the knees of the ones I had.

Then, on November 1, raindrops fell. More rain fell. Still more rain came, and by the end of the month, nearly six inches of the rarest commodity of Y2K had soaked into our scorched earth. I put on my new jeans, got down on my knees and prayed:
“Thank you God for the rain. May we never take water for granted. May we never complain about rain. May the grass grow green, the cattle grow fat, and may the cattlemen return to their families on Sunday afternoons. Amen.”

By December, we were dramatically reassured that God was still in control. While some pine and oak trees were lost, and leaves on the gingkoes and pecans fell too soon, others revived. Dogwoods, hickories, sweetgums and maples slowly unfurled. The autumn we thought we had missed treated us to spectacular colors just before the Christmas holidays, then gave way to rain, sleet, snow flurries and the coldest temperatures in years. I didn’t even ask the scientists what they thought about that!