T-Shirts

The other day as I was leaving the gym I passed a woman who was wearing a T-shirt with a scenic graphic picture on the front and the simple words "South Carolina" emblazoned across the bottom. Clearly on her way to work out, I guessed this shirt (like the sweaty one rolled up in the bottom of my gym bag) was a "cull" from the "soon to be rag" category of her wardrobe.

When it comes to work out clothes it generally seems like there are two kinds of "gym types." There are those sporting the high dollar, scientifically developed, pro athlete endorsed, sweat wicking togs and then there are what I would call the "S.L.O.B's" (Shirt Left Over Bunch) who grab whatever may be laying on the floor when the motivation to hit the gym strikes. I'll confess, I'm more the "slob" variety. But this has little to do with my point.

Seeing this woman's shirt got me to wondering what life was like before silkscreen shirts. Can we even remember back that far? I remember the "early days" of silk screens when they were basically iron-on emblems that in time pealed off the shirt like old paint off the side of a barn.

Now, that type of technology is so good, you can print your own iron-on transfers from your own laptop and have a "custom" shirt in minutes and they last nearly as long as commercially produced shirts.

Commercially produced silk screen shirts in our culture today is big business (I actually was aggressively challenged by a silk-screen salesperson last week on "why in the world would you not want screened shirts advertising your church?") and the more attention I've paid to it the last few days, I can safely say screened shirts are "everywhere." Even the label in the T-shirt I'm wearing today is screened in, not sewn in.

What has really got me thinking is "why" do we wear screened clothing? Going back to the lady at the gym early this week... why "South Carolina" anyway? Is she a native? Did she visit and like it so much she had to tell the world about it? Did someone else visit and "all she got was this stupid T-shirt?" What is it with our fascination with advertising places and products, anyway?

To my knowledge I've never received a single penny from one of the "big three" sports clothing manufacturers for wearing one of their shirts, yet I have a shelf in my closet full of them. Weird! Is it our desire to look like pro athletes that makes us buy these things? Are we so impressed with a particular vacation spot that we want the world to know we've been there, done that?

What are we proclaiming with our shirts? Are we encouraging others to buy "our" brand? Surely it is more than letting others know what brand we're wearing. If that's it, then why don't we just rip our labels out and sew them on the front of our shirts? Problem solved!

Is the woman at the gym proud of South Carolina? Is wearing the shirt a way of recalling a memory? If so, does the affection of the memory fade as the shirt reaches "workout" status? I now own shirts I won't wear anymore simply because the memory attached to the place is so strong. I don't want to ruin the shirt and then not have the symbol of my affection. Again, quite weird if you're asking me!

And what of all those religious shirts? Are they a proclamation of faith? Are they testimonial? Are they simply a reminder to benefit the wearer? Are they judgment for all others who don't agree with the wearer's brand of faith?

It is a curious thing why we wear our allegiances so boldly. I have to wonder if we really believe what we wear, or are we merely wearing our convictions on our sleeves?

If I Counted Correctly...

If I counted correctly, I could have attended as many as six gift-exchange parties this Christmas season! That means I could have given/received more gifts than I will likely receive on Christmas morning! While some of these events are a little more serious (nice gifts expected -- some now with a price tag of $25 or more), some are cheap ($.99 or less -- this year the BAG cost more than the gift I gave in that exchange) and some are utterly and completely silly (just ask my good friend, "SpongeBob SquarePreacher" -- he was "framed" I'm telling you, "framed!").

Why we keep doing these things, I don't know. It all seems so predictable and yet, there we go, gift in hand, laugh a little, get ticked that someone else stole the gift we really wanted (especially in those $25 exchanges), try to figure out a way to let people know what gift we brought (if we are proud of it and it was a "hit") and hope no one finds out what we brought (if the general consensus is that the gift was a dud). Then we go home and mutter something about how tired we are of "those things" and ask why do we keep going to them.

Now don't get me wrong. It's not that I'm against these festive little gatherings. In fact, in some ways having them may poke fun at how commercially "profane" we've made the season of Christ's birth in the first place. Actually, I'm good with all that now and then and frankly believe we need to poke a finger into our collective sides on occasion and query why we do what we do.

I guess what bugs me about this whole "gift exchange game" is the fact that I must now "count" how many I could have attended one of them (remember I could have attended SIX of these things this season) and question the general lack of apparent creativity on the part of us as hosts (just earlier tonight I hosted a high school drama department version of the exact same thing in our home -- so I admit I'm as much a part of the problem as the solution). Seriously thinking, other than the retailers of silly (or not so silly) gift items, is anyone just chomping at the bit for us to have another one of these things? I'm just wondering to myself here...

It isn't that I don't completely enjoy these exchanges or that I'm not willing to attend another one ever again (though I'm done for this year)... I'm just wondering if there is something else "out there" for us human beings to do as friends at Christmas time! Maybe caroling, maybe sharing Christmas stories, perhaps decorating a tree... I don't know -- let's come up with something different. I'd even go for a hay ride, but I'd wind up sneezing myself into oblivion!

I'm just thinking out loud and wondering if anyone else shares my complications with the whole "need for counting..." thing. One gift exchange would be enough, wouldn't it? If we were really honest with ourselves... aren't we maybe a little bored with the whole concept, anyway? I mean, I've been going to these things for years!!!

This next year I am going to commit some time to thinking of something new to do with my friends next Christmas. Who knows? Maybe you'll consider joining us and then you'll have to "count" and see if our gig will make your list of things to do!

A Thumb-full of Patience

Lately I’ve been learning a lesson in patience (funny how “the more we learn, the less we know!”). My right thumb has now been splinted 24/7 for nearly 28 consecutive days. That is only half-way through a minimum 8 weeks two months required to “compensate” for a ruptured extensor tendon. Torn beyond the repair that surgery might have provided, medical advise suggests simply keeping it immobilized to let scar tissue form and create what is essentially a new “tendon” (in function) that will (hopefully) provide up to 90% of the movement I once took for granted. It is amazing what the human body is capable of doing to compensate for injury.

While old dogs may have difficulty learning new tricks, clearly old thumbs don’t heal as quickly as they once did and while the days on the calendar seem to evaporate like water in a hot skillet the older we get, they don’t when it comes to have a bandaged up thumb. In the world of my right hand the days and weeks are only creeping by. Which is slower the healing or the calendar? I don’t know. What I do know is I wish that the time zone in my left hand would catch up with the rest of the world speeding by!

As with most things in human existence when occurring out of the norm, there is typically close by a lesson waiting to be found . This morning I found one in Israel’s old hymnal (Psalm 24). This song proclaims a welcome for God into the temple. David uses a phrase that I particularly like, “Open up, you gates. Open wide, you aged doors and the glorious King will come in. Who is this glorious King? The Lord, strong and mighty. The Lord, the powerful warrior…” (Ps. 24:7-9). With bound thumb in splint, seemingly slower to heal each day and challenging my patience in ever-increasing ways, the “aged door” phrase has captured my attention.

Aged doors don’t open easily, do they? Decades of use, abuse, rust and wear make hinges squeak, grind and not easily open. There are occasions when we may even give up on ever even opening the door again. We becoming merely content to stay on the side we are on or perhaps we may seek an alternative way in. But here, at David’s exhortation, there is reason to pull on those old hinges and open the door, again. “Who is this glorious King?”

When I consider patience, I have to be amazed at the patience God has for me as I live in my earthly “temple.” Wholly dedicated to Him sometimes, there are also periods where I allow my hinges to rust and the door simply doesn’t open as easily for Him as it once did. Yet He remains, “The Lord, strong and mighty… the powerful warrior.”

Though it might be a bit more difficult than usual with my injured thumb, I'm learning something about patience and about the Lord and me as well. There is a good reason to grab the latch on the gate of my heart and give a good hard tug. I am confident an open gate is an invitation to meet with the King of glory, strong and mighty! It is there I may find a thumb-full more patience, too.