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To choose or not to choose, that is the Thanksgiving quandary (standard:humor, 918 words)
Author: GodspenmanAdded: Nov 22 2009Views/Reads: 1298/696Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The door to my office exploded as hundreds, at least it seemed that many to me, of children surrounded my desk. My defenses were down and the merry mob held me captive. Wisely, I decided to surrender and throw myself on the mercy of the gang.
 



To choose or not to choose, that is the Thanksgiving quandary By Rev.
James L. Snyder 

The door to my office exploded as hundreds, at least it seemed that many
to me, of children surrounded my desk. My defenses were down and the 
merry mob held me captive. Wisely, I decided to surrender and throw 
myself on the mercy of the gang. 

Simultaneously, and in hi-fi stereophonic sound, the children assaulted
me with questions. 

"Pastor, what's ya doin'? 

"Pastor, is that your computer? 

"Pastor, who's that in the picture? 

"Pastor, why? ... why? ... why? 

As soon as I answered one question, three more emerged and it seemed as
though the supply was endless. Should the little crowd run out of 
questions, they could always begin all over again. Moreover, I believe 
they did  several times. 

Admittedly, to hear and answer each question would have required a
Moses-proportion miracle of parting the Red Sea. I chuckled to myself 
when I realized they did not need me, or even want me to answer all 
their questions, as strange as it seemed. The little pack really wanted 
to know if I had an ear for them. And I did  two, as a matter of fact. 


We see the tragedy of life in the fact that as people grow older they
seem to lose their sense of inquiry. Answers replace questions. My 
friend used to say, "Beware of the person who has more answers than 
questions. Life must truly be a bore to them. I know they're a bore to 
me." 

I think he knew what he was talking about. No person is poorer than the
man who has ceased approaching life with a question. Or, better yet, 
the man who has an answer for everything. The man who has all the 
answers has not heard all the questions, yet. 

Throughout the years, I have been plagued with many questions.
Theologians have an overwhelming desire to explain everything and put 
everything into a nice, neat little package. The less they know, it 
seems, the more dogmatic they are on what they know. 

Questions are an essential ingredient of life. During my short career as
a human being, and it has been a full-time job, I have pondered many 
questions. 

Questions such as: 

"Can God make a rock so big He can't lift it?" 

"How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?" 

Some questions seem to be silly and do not deserve an answer. A
question, as I see it, requires an answer, and answers lead inevitably 
to choosing. 

I do not know about other people, but choosing is a little difficult
with me. When I choose something, it means I must forfeit the other. 

The discouraging aspect of this whole mess is, it usually boils down to
an either/or kind of situation. Either I choose the one, or I must 
choose the other. I much rather prefer both, if there is really a 
choice about the matter. 

This week at Thanksgiving, it all came to a head  mine. The culprit
behind the whole issue was none other than the Gracious Mistress of the 
Parsonage. Just when I think I have my beloved all figured out, I am 
forced to go back to the drawing board and start all over. 

My wife, knowing my addiction to theology, posed a query to me. The


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