Pastor Dan preached from Psalm 120 last Sunday night, and brought to light how hostile is this surrounding culture. And, of course, according to the Bible we are aliens living in a pagan culture until we get to glory. I guess we all know that, but the problem is that when a semblance of what Francis Schaeffer called a "Christian memory" lingers in our culture, we easily get lulled into thinking we are among friends. Then every once in a while we are shocked by our American culture's easy adoption of blatant immorality (abortion or fornication, for example). Then it is time to let theology inform our alien walk here below.
My friend, Chuck McIlhenny recently experienced just that. Of all people, he knows this experience all too personally. (Read his book, "When the Wicked Seize a City".) He has been working as a hospital chaplain. Isn't it great that our society still sanctions chaplains? Whether it is in war or at a hospital bedside, what is more important than offering the hope that only comes from our Savior and His promises? But wait a minute, that is the one thing a chaplain in our pagan culture is not allowed to do! If you happen to be ministering to someone who already believes in Jesus Christ, and if he wants you to do this, only then is the gospel sanctioned by the powers that be. Chuck is a little bold for Jesus, and doesn't mind stepping over the lines of sanction in order to save a soul from eternal damnation. But the chaplain's office has actually called him on the carpet for this very thing! He has been severely restricted for this. Like cold water in the face, we realize once again, this is not a Christian country. As Isaac Watts said in one of his great hymns: "Is this vile world a friend to grace, to help me on to God?"
Didn't our Savior warn us that this world hated Him, and it would hate us too? Isn't it still the culture of the world, the same one that killed our Master? When they smile and agree with us over the rising price of gasoline, or the shame of politicians on the take, we forget that it is a mask they are wearing. They hate our Jesus, and when we identify with the gospel, they hate us too. They are masked killers. Jesus said we must love them and pray for them, but he also warned us to beware of wolves in sheep's' clothing.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
High tension day
Okay, here's another one from the archives of our family memories. In fact is was New Year's eve, 1975 when I took the young people to the mountains for fun in the snow. I brought my belly sled, and when we climbed the hill for a whack at the sledding path, I volunteered to take the first trial run just to make sure it was safe for the kids. Actually it was my sled and I was the sponsoring adult and felt responsible for the safety of these kids. So my word was law. The sled path had a bend, and we were not able to see the bottom of the hill from where we stood at the top. What we had not calculated was the fact that this was a frosty morning which followed a slushy evening the night before. It seems that someone had used this run for tobogganing the day ahead of us, and in the slushy snow, the rounded front of a toboggan had left several scooped indentations in the slush, which had now turned to solid ice. So when I flopped onto my sled and began to fly down the hill, I was just beginning to enjoy my breakneck speed when I turned the bend only to see these walls of ice the toboggan had created. The last thing I remember was pondering whether or not I could make it between a wall of ice and the trees just to the left of it.
Later one of the kids said I looked like Evel Knievel sailing high over the icy walls of ice. I woke up with a circle of young heads staring down at me. Someone was asking me, "Mr. Keller, are you alright?" I gasped out the honest answer, "I don't know." In a little while I began to struggle to my feet with the help of several strong, young hands. I immediately knew I had broken my collar bone. It felt as though my shoulder was going to slide right off my body and fall on the ground.
The nurse at the ski ER gave me a shot of Demerol and told me to come back for a second one before I left for home. I got the distinct impression that this tough old nurse dispensed drugs as she saw best and whenever the doctor makes his visit to this station he signed approval for those prescriptions.
When I found they were calling an ambulance from Stockton, I told them to call my wife in Modesto. She can make the trip just as quickly from Modesto. So that is what we did. Poor Barbara was preparing for a sleepover for Donna's birthday, which also happens to fall on New Years Eve. The trip was an hour plus, and before we left we stopped at the infirmary for my second shot of Demerol. I need to tell you that I was feeling no pain! My sweet wife, fearing I was blacking out from concussion, kept interrupting her driving to wake me up. I'm sure the ambulance driver would have not been as quick in getting me down from the mountain. At the hospital they asked me why I was there,and I told them I had a broken collar bone. After the x-ray they simply confirmed my own diagnosis, "Yep, you have a broken collar bone." Walking toward the door with a prescription in my hand, the nurse advised me to fill it in their pharmacy before I left. When I told her that I was feeling no pain, she simply asked me, "How many shots of Demerol did you have?" When I told her, she said, "I think you'd better get it filled." As unnecessary as I thought it might be, I had to humor her.
In God's inscrutable plan, that was not yet enough stress for one day. So Jonathan, our youngest, began to show spots on his belly that began to spread over the rest of his body. Chicken pox had also invaded our house. So Barbara had to watch her injured husband, monitor her daughter's sleepover and nurse her first grader with chicken pox all on New Year's Eve. We've had many a memorable New Years Eve to recount, but this one is head and shoulders above the rest.
That night after 11 p.m. all of my elders came to the house to pray with me, and as it turned out, we were praying when the new year arrived. What nobody knew until the next week is that I also fractured and displaced four of my ribs. Little wonder that I felt like I was tearing my back apart every time I tried to raise my body from the bed. One doctor even briefly thought I had punctured a lung. So about the time that our prayer meeting ended, I was VERY glad the nurse had bullied me into filling my prescription.
Later one of the kids said I looked like Evel Knievel sailing high over the icy walls of ice. I woke up with a circle of young heads staring down at me. Someone was asking me, "Mr. Keller, are you alright?" I gasped out the honest answer, "I don't know." In a little while I began to struggle to my feet with the help of several strong, young hands. I immediately knew I had broken my collar bone. It felt as though my shoulder was going to slide right off my body and fall on the ground.
The nurse at the ski ER gave me a shot of Demerol and told me to come back for a second one before I left for home. I got the distinct impression that this tough old nurse dispensed drugs as she saw best and whenever the doctor makes his visit to this station he signed approval for those prescriptions.
When I found they were calling an ambulance from Stockton, I told them to call my wife in Modesto. She can make the trip just as quickly from Modesto. So that is what we did. Poor Barbara was preparing for a sleepover for Donna's birthday, which also happens to fall on New Years Eve. The trip was an hour plus, and before we left we stopped at the infirmary for my second shot of Demerol. I need to tell you that I was feeling no pain! My sweet wife, fearing I was blacking out from concussion, kept interrupting her driving to wake me up. I'm sure the ambulance driver would have not been as quick in getting me down from the mountain. At the hospital they asked me why I was there,and I told them I had a broken collar bone. After the x-ray they simply confirmed my own diagnosis, "Yep, you have a broken collar bone." Walking toward the door with a prescription in my hand, the nurse advised me to fill it in their pharmacy before I left. When I told her that I was feeling no pain, she simply asked me, "How many shots of Demerol did you have?" When I told her, she said, "I think you'd better get it filled." As unnecessary as I thought it might be, I had to humor her.
In God's inscrutable plan, that was not yet enough stress for one day. So Jonathan, our youngest, began to show spots on his belly that began to spread over the rest of his body. Chicken pox had also invaded our house. So Barbara had to watch her injured husband, monitor her daughter's sleepover and nurse her first grader with chicken pox all on New Year's Eve. We've had many a memorable New Years Eve to recount, but this one is head and shoulders above the rest.
That night after 11 p.m. all of my elders came to the house to pray with me, and as it turned out, we were praying when the new year arrived. What nobody knew until the next week is that I also fractured and displaced four of my ribs. Little wonder that I felt like I was tearing my back apart every time I tried to raise my body from the bed. One doctor even briefly thought I had punctured a lung. So about the time that our prayer meeting ended, I was VERY glad the nurse had bullied me into filling my prescription.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Something for nothing
My Dad taught me that nobody gets something for nothing unless someone somewhere is getting nothing for something. In Las Vegas this means the house never loses. Gambling games are calculated to guarantee this. Odds are designed to make it impossible for a casino to pay out more money than it takes in. Because human nature is warped as it is, we only want to remember the stories of big winners. They are the ones that brag. Losers go home broke and do not get interviewed by the media. This makes great advertising for the casinos who never claim bankruptcy, but simply keep building bigger and better hotels. When you come away from Vegas with more money than when you arrived, it is simply because several other people lost enough money to pay for your winnings and the casino's enormous profits as well.
I am guessing that you already know this. But my point in bringing it up is to make an analogy to the way government works. The federal government has no money except that which has been collected from each of the states in the union. Without a strong militia, for example, we cannot long exist. This is a national expense, and a legitimate one at that. According to Romans 13:6 this is the very reason we pay taxes.
But when politicians have as their primary goal to be re-elected, queer things begin to happen in congress. They print flyers boasting of their effectiveness to their constituents by claiming that they are able to bring more money into the state than has been taken out. We got more federal funds than that other state out there, and therefore we ought to re-elect senator Jane Moneygrab. She can do more for us than Joe Goodheart. You see where I am going with this. While we are getting something for nothing, someone else is getting nothing for something. They may have poor congressional representation, or they may have morally superior senators. It just might be that they vote for bills that send disproportionate funds to another state because in the nature of the case it is the right thing to do.
How much money can our struggling economy save if we cut out the "earmarks" and "porkbarrel riders" from our legislating process? I am not an economist, nor have I studied political science, but this doesn't take genius to see. I am as sure as I am sitting at this console that no one gets something for nothing unless someone somewhere is getting nothing for something. Am I missing something?
I am guessing that you already know this. But my point in bringing it up is to make an analogy to the way government works. The federal government has no money except that which has been collected from each of the states in the union. Without a strong militia, for example, we cannot long exist. This is a national expense, and a legitimate one at that. According to Romans 13:6 this is the very reason we pay taxes.
But when politicians have as their primary goal to be re-elected, queer things begin to happen in congress. They print flyers boasting of their effectiveness to their constituents by claiming that they are able to bring more money into the state than has been taken out. We got more federal funds than that other state out there, and therefore we ought to re-elect senator Jane Moneygrab. She can do more for us than Joe Goodheart. You see where I am going with this. While we are getting something for nothing, someone else is getting nothing for something. They may have poor congressional representation, or they may have morally superior senators. It just might be that they vote for bills that send disproportionate funds to another state because in the nature of the case it is the right thing to do.
How much money can our struggling economy save if we cut out the "earmarks" and "porkbarrel riders" from our legislating process? I am not an economist, nor have I studied political science, but this doesn't take genius to see. I am as sure as I am sitting at this console that no one gets something for nothing unless someone somewhere is getting nothing for something. Am I missing something?
Monday, January 31, 2011
Speaking Truth
I'm remembering a dear brother in Christ from about 50 years ago. Let me introduce you to my friend by first doing a little preaching. Ephesians 4:15 exhorts us to be "speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in all aspects into Him who is the head, even Christ." In it's context those words are telling us how we contribute to each other's spiritual growth. The body is a unit, but each of us has his or her own contribution to the good of all the rest. And at least one way this is done is by the way we talk to each other. Here the apostle tells us to speak truth to each other.
I can imagine at least three ways in which speaking the truth in love can be understood as designed to build up one another. First, of course, is the sense in which untruths will only lead us astray. And that never helps us grow. Vital, helpful relationships are characterized by honesty. My wife always asks me how she looks in a particular combination of clothing or jewelery. I never allow myself to be cruel about it, but I know she expects the truth from me. I'll tell her why I like something else better. The lesson here is that a wife should never ask her husband questions like this and then get miffed when she is told the truth. In the long run, the honesty is appreciated as helpful and contributes to the intimacy a couple enjoys.
The second sense in which speaking the truth can be understood, is found in verse 29 where the apostle insists that we never speak corrosive words, but only words that build up and minister grace. This is akin to the old adage that if you can't say something nice about a person, don't say anything at all. That may not be a bible quotation, but it is biblical in its sentiment.
But I can't shake the notion that the phrase "speaking the truth in love" carries an even more profound sense. I think we need to speak THE truth to one another. Not necessarily just quoting bible verses to each other, but reminding each other of bible truths will certainly be edifying.
I think I have experienced this. When I was in seminary (many years ago) we attended a little OPC in Philadelphia called "Mediator". Barbara and I worked with the Jr. Hi kids in this church, and there was an elder there whose name was Charles Mayson. I love that man. He had the most uncanny ability to stimulate my thinking in godly ways. In natural conversation he would ask questions like, "Do you think Jesus knew our names?" Then we would talk through who Jesus is, and see the obvious conclusion together. "Does God change His plans in order to answer our prayers?" We both knew better than that, but chatting about the answer took my mind in good spiritual pathways. I wish I could identify a friend today who stimulated me the way Charles Mayson did.
A few years ago we found Barbara's baptismal certificate in our archives, and were taken aback to find it was signed by elder Charles Mayson. It seems that Barbara's father, the Rev. Russell D. Piper, also attended Westminster Seminary, and knew that same elder when his first child was born and was presented for baptism.
I think I'll pray that God will give me a friend like that. Better yet, I need to pray that I might be that kind of friend to someone else.
I can imagine at least three ways in which speaking the truth in love can be understood as designed to build up one another. First, of course, is the sense in which untruths will only lead us astray. And that never helps us grow. Vital, helpful relationships are characterized by honesty. My wife always asks me how she looks in a particular combination of clothing or jewelery. I never allow myself to be cruel about it, but I know she expects the truth from me. I'll tell her why I like something else better. The lesson here is that a wife should never ask her husband questions like this and then get miffed when she is told the truth. In the long run, the honesty is appreciated as helpful and contributes to the intimacy a couple enjoys.
The second sense in which speaking the truth can be understood, is found in verse 29 where the apostle insists that we never speak corrosive words, but only words that build up and minister grace. This is akin to the old adage that if you can't say something nice about a person, don't say anything at all. That may not be a bible quotation, but it is biblical in its sentiment.
But I can't shake the notion that the phrase "speaking the truth in love" carries an even more profound sense. I think we need to speak THE truth to one another. Not necessarily just quoting bible verses to each other, but reminding each other of bible truths will certainly be edifying.
I think I have experienced this. When I was in seminary (many years ago) we attended a little OPC in Philadelphia called "Mediator". Barbara and I worked with the Jr. Hi kids in this church, and there was an elder there whose name was Charles Mayson. I love that man. He had the most uncanny ability to stimulate my thinking in godly ways. In natural conversation he would ask questions like, "Do you think Jesus knew our names?" Then we would talk through who Jesus is, and see the obvious conclusion together. "Does God change His plans in order to answer our prayers?" We both knew better than that, but chatting about the answer took my mind in good spiritual pathways. I wish I could identify a friend today who stimulated me the way Charles Mayson did.
A few years ago we found Barbara's baptismal certificate in our archives, and were taken aback to find it was signed by elder Charles Mayson. It seems that Barbara's father, the Rev. Russell D. Piper, also attended Westminster Seminary, and knew that same elder when his first child was born and was presented for baptism.
I think I'll pray that God will give me a friend like that. Better yet, I need to pray that I might be that kind of friend to someone else.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
"Healing Power of Jesus"
Those were the words that caught my attention. They were in a 4 page advertising flyer that came into our home. Actually I used the coupon on the other page to get a cheap haircut. But now I am confronted with another cheap ad that takes my Lord's name in vain. It's just a cheap, copper, bracelet with magnetic therapy with the name "Jesus" molded into it. It claims to provide the penetrating power of magnets and also the soothing power of copper. If you wear this bracelet, and believe in the miracles of Jesus you will be combining "the most powerful forces of heaven and earth!"
The blasphemy makes me want to scream.
The only thing that makes it worse is the picture of some dude with shoulder length hair that I have learned by experiencing my culture is supposed to be Jesus. They didn't have cameras two thousand years ago. No portrait artists asked Him to sit for them. But I think I recognize this guy. We had several guys who looked almost exactly like this back in the sixties. Only then we called them "hippies". This guy looks far too western to be the middle eastern Jew that Jesus must have resembled. The Bible specifically says he has no form or comeliness that we should desire him. Teenagers did not nudge one another and call him "hot". He was no rock star with frenzied crowds following.
The draw that Jesus had was found in his words and deeds that came from heaven. His words are the words of life, and his deeds pointed to Him as the Lord of glory who can heal and save.
This bracelet that can be bought for less than 10 bucks makes Jesus so cheap!
I haven't even touched upon the breach of the second commandment. This is certainly intended to be a graven image of Someone in heaven. If God is jealous for the glory of His Son, He must be angry at such degradation of our Savior represented by this newsprint hawking of His blessed name.
The blasphemy makes me want to scream.
The only thing that makes it worse is the picture of some dude with shoulder length hair that I have learned by experiencing my culture is supposed to be Jesus. They didn't have cameras two thousand years ago. No portrait artists asked Him to sit for them. But I think I recognize this guy. We had several guys who looked almost exactly like this back in the sixties. Only then we called them "hippies". This guy looks far too western to be the middle eastern Jew that Jesus must have resembled. The Bible specifically says he has no form or comeliness that we should desire him. Teenagers did not nudge one another and call him "hot". He was no rock star with frenzied crowds following.
The draw that Jesus had was found in his words and deeds that came from heaven. His words are the words of life, and his deeds pointed to Him as the Lord of glory who can heal and save.
This bracelet that can be bought for less than 10 bucks makes Jesus so cheap!
I haven't even touched upon the breach of the second commandment. This is certainly intended to be a graven image of Someone in heaven. If God is jealous for the glory of His Son, He must be angry at such degradation of our Savior represented by this newsprint hawking of His blessed name.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Ugly Anniversary
No, no, not my anniversary. The anniversary of Roe v. Wade in 1973. One of the very few times our denomination ever addressed the president of the United States was the occasion of anticipating the legalization of abortion. I was there at that General Assembly. The Orthodox Presbyterian Church is extremely reluctant to communicate with any representatives of our government. Others do so with such frequency and relative frivolities that we shy away from any appearance of church interfering with the state.
I attended the premier viewing of Frances Schaeffer's film series: "How Shall We Then Live?" in the Oakland auditorium. C. Everett Koop, who served the USA as Surgeon General, was there, telling us that the thinking of our medical and academic liberals were demonstrating intellectual schizophrenia by declaring that a fetus is not a human an hour before it is born, but actually is a human as soon as he is born. We learned that human life is actually determined not by objective scientific determination, but by the whim of the mother. If she doesn't want the fetus to become a child, it doesn't. On the other hand, if an expectant mother is abused, resulting in a spontaneous abortion, the abuser can be charged with the murder of a human being.
We've come a long way since 1973. The unconscionable slaughter of one and a half million babies a year for almost 40 years creates an appalling debt of national sin. It is hard not to believe that God's patience will soon come to an end and break forth with judgment against us.
More recently I remember carrying a sign on the side of the road on the anniversary of Roe v. Wade a few years ago. These Christian protesters had signs like, "Equal rights for unborn women" or simply "Abortion Kills". A pedestrian passed me with a frown, saying, "And what are we going to do with all the extra children?" Of course I was able to say, "Well we adopted two of them. How about you?" But he kept walking and grumbling.
Is it possible that abortion advocates actually believe they are not killing innocent human beings? Is it possible that they really believe that five minutes before birth she is not a true human life? Is this the kind of warp that develops in human thinking when we are determined to sin? It must be so or else why in the world would "civilized" human beings perform or defend partial birth abortions?
At least Norma McCorvey (the real name of Jane Roe) has been forgiven and received by Christ. Now she crusades against the infamous court decision that bears her name. But nobody listens. When a culture becomes hell-bent on justified slaughter of innocents, there is no reasoning with it. The Ammonites did the same with their sacrificed babies in the red hot arms of Moloch. But God's judgement finally broke loose on them.
I attended the premier viewing of Frances Schaeffer's film series: "How Shall We Then Live?" in the Oakland auditorium. C. Everett Koop, who served the USA as Surgeon General, was there, telling us that the thinking of our medical and academic liberals were demonstrating intellectual schizophrenia by declaring that a fetus is not a human an hour before it is born, but actually is a human as soon as he is born. We learned that human life is actually determined not by objective scientific determination, but by the whim of the mother. If she doesn't want the fetus to become a child, it doesn't. On the other hand, if an expectant mother is abused, resulting in a spontaneous abortion, the abuser can be charged with the murder of a human being.
We've come a long way since 1973. The unconscionable slaughter of one and a half million babies a year for almost 40 years creates an appalling debt of national sin. It is hard not to believe that God's patience will soon come to an end and break forth with judgment against us.
More recently I remember carrying a sign on the side of the road on the anniversary of Roe v. Wade a few years ago. These Christian protesters had signs like, "Equal rights for unborn women" or simply "Abortion Kills". A pedestrian passed me with a frown, saying, "And what are we going to do with all the extra children?" Of course I was able to say, "Well we adopted two of them. How about you?" But he kept walking and grumbling.
Is it possible that abortion advocates actually believe they are not killing innocent human beings? Is it possible that they really believe that five minutes before birth she is not a true human life? Is this the kind of warp that develops in human thinking when we are determined to sin? It must be so or else why in the world would "civilized" human beings perform or defend partial birth abortions?
At least Norma McCorvey (the real name of Jane Roe) has been forgiven and received by Christ. Now she crusades against the infamous court decision that bears her name. But nobody listens. When a culture becomes hell-bent on justified slaughter of innocents, there is no reasoning with it. The Ammonites did the same with their sacrificed babies in the red hot arms of Moloch. But God's judgement finally broke loose on them.
Friday, January 21, 2011
The Rat
Modesto Christian School encouraged the students to be engaged in the pursuit of science, and it seemed that hands on experience was a good way to do that. Accordingly, Bobby's 6th grade class had a live rat in a cage in their room. Perhaps everyone has had a similar time in their schooling. We found out about this project the day Bobby came home with a large cardboard box containing this white rodent. "What's this for?" "Each kid in our class is taking a turn to bring him home for the weekend to make sure he gets fed." Well, of course, all six of our kids appreciated this cute deviation from family routine. He got plenty of attention. I don't remember if we gave him a name, or if he already had a name, but if I accurately remember what kids are like, it is likely we called him something other than "rat".
I'm guessing that every weekend was a grand gastronomic vacation for Mr. Rat, as kids tend to be overly kind to these beasts. At any rate we had the room and the curious inclination to host him for the weekend. What we foolishly ignored was the fact that Mr. Rat came to our home in a cardboard box. We had no wire cage. It usually does not require inductive experiments to realize that rats gnaw. And cardboard is very easily gnawed by a rat. And therein lies the tale (tail?).
During the night Mr. Rat discovered the emotion of loneliness. He missed the attention that six adoring young humans had been lavishing on this rodent all day long. Now it was dark and quiet. Are rats nocturnal creatures anyway? Seeking human companionship, he quickly gnawed a hole in his box, and began to explore the house. We put him on the service porch where the vacuum was stored, but nobody even thought to shut the door. It was a sprawling ranch house. He passed through the kitchen and the family room and down the hall. He passed the bathroom, Donna's room and two other rooms that served as boys dormitories. We found no evidence that he explored these rooms, but he certainly may have done that. He turned the corner and scampered down the hall directly into the master bedroom.
Now our king sized bed was situated in a way that Barbara's side was the longest distance from the service porch, and yet this is where he made himself known. In the middle of the night she screamed my name: "Rollie!" and threw the rat on me. It seems that she woke up with the rat walking through her hair. I guess it was worth screaming, but when she screamed my name, it made me feel that it was all my fault. Heads of household tend to get that feeling anyway. I think the kids were awakened, so I gathered the rat and returned him to his sleeping quarters, only to discover the huge hole in the corner of his box. But this time we had the sense to simply shut the door for the remainder of the night.
Barbara reminds me that in the morning Bobby was looking very guilty for the incident, since he had brought this guest into our home.
I'm guessing that every weekend was a grand gastronomic vacation for Mr. Rat, as kids tend to be overly kind to these beasts. At any rate we had the room and the curious inclination to host him for the weekend. What we foolishly ignored was the fact that Mr. Rat came to our home in a cardboard box. We had no wire cage. It usually does not require inductive experiments to realize that rats gnaw. And cardboard is very easily gnawed by a rat. And therein lies the tale (tail?).
During the night Mr. Rat discovered the emotion of loneliness. He missed the attention that six adoring young humans had been lavishing on this rodent all day long. Now it was dark and quiet. Are rats nocturnal creatures anyway? Seeking human companionship, he quickly gnawed a hole in his box, and began to explore the house. We put him on the service porch where the vacuum was stored, but nobody even thought to shut the door. It was a sprawling ranch house. He passed through the kitchen and the family room and down the hall. He passed the bathroom, Donna's room and two other rooms that served as boys dormitories. We found no evidence that he explored these rooms, but he certainly may have done that. He turned the corner and scampered down the hall directly into the master bedroom.
Now our king sized bed was situated in a way that Barbara's side was the longest distance from the service porch, and yet this is where he made himself known. In the middle of the night she screamed my name: "Rollie!" and threw the rat on me. It seems that she woke up with the rat walking through her hair. I guess it was worth screaming, but when she screamed my name, it made me feel that it was all my fault. Heads of household tend to get that feeling anyway. I think the kids were awakened, so I gathered the rat and returned him to his sleeping quarters, only to discover the huge hole in the corner of his box. But this time we had the sense to simply shut the door for the remainder of the night.
Barbara reminds me that in the morning Bobby was looking very guilty for the incident, since he had brought this guest into our home.
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