Gifts

Mom holding me my first Christmas 1957

Mom holding my son John his first Christmas 1985

I was thinking about gifts today. I still have some to purchase before Christmas. Somehow I started thinking about gifts I have already received and did nothing to merit. I thought about what I was born with and what has happened to me over the years. Some people might call it luck, others may see it as fate, I think of it as the grace of God. What follows is a short list of gifts I have received in my 46 years of life.

• Born in the USA



• Grew up in a good family. I was taught right from wrong and how to get along with people.



• Sense of humor



• Education



• Good mind



• Love to learn



• Blessed with good friends over the years



• Good wife who is a saint - but a lucky saint, ha.



• A relationship with God



• A great son and all the experiences he has brought me



• A job that is interesting, challenging, and pays the bills



• Dominant feelings of gratitude, joy, and fascination



• Content

I think the best gifts have been my relationships. People I have known have, for the most part, encouraged me and acknowledged me. They made me feel loved, accepted, and important. When a person feels these things they can flourish. I have had a few critics and folks I could not get on with, but they have been vastly outnumbered by the former group.



Now, since I know these things are valuable and important, and since I know they have largely shaped me, I should do my best to pass them on to others. I try to live that way - to pass on joy and laughter. If someone feels down, help lift them up. If someone feels inadequate give them encouragement. By giving those gifts, one also receives - namely the gift of friendship. Once you get into this sort of pattern, you are giving and receiving gifts all the time. It becomes a habit and it is contagious.



So when you are giving the material gifts this year, throw in a little lagniappe, a piece of yourself. Give a compliment, listen intently to someone, give a hug or a touch on the arm. Give some of your time - you will receive much more than you give.



The Gift at Christmas of course is Jesus. When we act like Jesus and treat others as He did, we are spreading the ultimate Christmas gift, and what a gift it is.



Until the next time

John Strain

The Heart Warming Story of Brandon Teel

Wednesday afternoon on ESPN Radio, I heard Dan Patrick talk about this heart warming story that took place in Omaha, Nebraska.



Trevor Howe is a 15 year old high school freshman who has Down Syndrome. He is on his high school's wrestling team in a symbolic way. Due to mental retardation and poor motor skills, wrestling is a struggle for Trevor and he cannot compete under normal circumstances.



Prior to a wrestling meet, one of Trevor's coaches emailed the opposing coach asking him if one of his wrestlers would agree to wrestle Trevor. Seventeen year old Brandon Teel volunteered for the match. Brandon was to put up some resistance and not hurt Trevor. He was also expected not to pin Trevor until the third round.



To everyone's surprise, Brandon allowed Trevor to pin him. To Brandon's surprise, he has received a lot of attention for this selfless act of kindness. Check out the full story.



After winning the match, Trevor was jumping up and down, hugging his coach, and hugging his dad. The crowd was giving both wrestlers a standing ovation. Brandon gave Trevor something priceless, he gave of himself, he sacrificed his way for that of another.



Brandon Teel lost on purpose so a mentally retarded boy could experience winning a wrestling match. I am guessing Brandon was raised right. He knows that winning isn't everything. He knows that winning is not always winning. Though Brandon lost the match, I doubt anyone would call him a loser.



Brandon also gave Trevor's parents a gift. Those of you who have had children in organized anything know the tension of watching your son / daughter compete. We all want OUR kid to be the best, the fastest, the brightest - somehow it is a reflection on us. It is not really, but it sure feels that way. Trevor's parents were treated to seeing their son win the match. I know the feeling of pride Mr. Howe felt that night. His son was the winner, the victor. The crowd was cheering his son. I know his heart was so full of pride it spilled out his eyes in the form of tears. I doubt if he could muster words because of the lump in his throat. No amount of money can make you feel that way, but the actions of a selfless seventeen year old gave Trevor's parents just that.



What a contrast to our professional athletes. I heard Bryan Cox on the same radio program. When asked his opinion on athletes as role models, he launched into a rant. "I am paid to be the best football player. It is not my responsibility to raise your kids. I only have to raise my kids. Why do I have to adjust to the standards of middle class America? Blah, blah, blah." Needless to say, he did not think he should be a role model so he had no responsibility to act any certain way. Right now the NFL is dealing with players who go out of their way to pull contrived stunts aimed at self promotion. The most recent case involves Joe Horn, who made a cell phone call from the end zone after scoring a touchdown. The NFL handed down a thirty thousand dollar fine. I could list player after player who is a poor example for our young people. They are rude, ungrateful, irresponsible, and selfish. Brandon Teel should be their role model. Think of the good they could do with their celebrity. Instead they use their influence on themselves. They are squandering opportunities to be true winners - winners like Brandon Teel.



The best thing is we are all capable of doing great things like Brandon Teel. It is easy to see the opportunities once you are able to look past yourself.



Here's to you Brandon Teel - your story makes me want to be a better man.



Until the next time

John Strain

Trains

I do not see trains much anymore, but at one time in my life they were quite common. I loved trains. I guess it was the power of them and that wonderful noise. Have you ever stood by a train track and felt the power of the passing train? From a distance a low rumble and the brassy sound of the train whistle is heard. As the train approaches the rumble becomes a roar. Closing quickly, the engineer sounds the whistle and the train sound is both heard and felt. The rumbling diesels pass and the ground shakes. The noise abates slightly giving way to the rhythmic clatter clatter clackity clack of the individual cars as they are pulled along. Don't forget to wave at the man in the caboose. The clatter clatter gets quieter and quieter and eventually disappears. Once again the sounds of birds and grasshoppers fill the air until the 315 comes through.



Did you put pennies on the track like we did? No matter how many times we did it, if anyone had a penny and the train was coming, it was placed on the rail. After the train passed we would find it and marvel at how smooth and flat it was. A flattened penny was another manifestation of the train's power.



Railroad crossings are not too plentiful anymore. Progress has spared us from waiting on a train to pass. But when we did wait we occupied ourselves by counting the cars and seeing if the caboose man would wave back. Sometimes at night, the strobe affect from the car headlights on the other side of the train would hypnotize me and the wait seemed shorter.



My grandma and grandpa lived in a small Missouri town. Their little house was about 18 inches from the busiest train track in the country. At least it seemed this way when we visited. I loved it. It was a real treat to have a front row seat to so many passing trains. I slept on a cot in the front room. When trains passed, the big light would illuminate the room as if the sun were shining. The shaking house and accompanying noise made sleeping possible only for the most weary. My grandparents barely noticed the trains. Funny how one can get used to anything.



My favorite train reference in a song is in Brook Benton's, Rainy Night in Georgia

The distant moaning of a train seems to play a sad refrain to the night,

a rainy night in Georgia, such a rainy night in Georgia,

Lord I believe it's raining all over the world.

I can't think of a more lonely sound than to hear a distant train at night.



The picture at the top of this post is Union Station in Kansas City, Missouri. This structure was built in 1914. As train travel diminished in the 1950's Union Station (the country's third largest) passed its heyday. Falling into complete disrepair in the late 70's and 80's, a rebuilding campaign resulted in a complete restoration and it is a beautiful building today housing museums, restaurants, and the Amtrak terminal.



There is a lot of history with Union Station. In 1933 Pretty Boy Floyd attempted to free a friend of his from federal custody. His friend and four FBI agents were killed in the attack now known as the Kansas City Massacre. Each time we go there, we locate the bullet holes in the building that are still there.



The big clock in the main waiting room was a landmark. People would say, "meet me under the clock," and Kansas Citians would know exactly what was meant. My dad worked there in the 1950's with the US Mail. He told me stories about riding the trains, sorting mail, and going to exotic destinations such as Liberal, Kansas.



Once i rode the train with my family to Milwaukee for my uncle's wedding. On the way back we had a hard time getting a seat. In the sixth grade our class took a field trip to Chicago on the train. I have a lot of memory fragments about trains.



I remember meeting family members there when they came for visits. I remember taking them back to the station and feeling sad to say goodbye. My grandfather would always give me, my brother and sister a nickel. He would tell us "don't take any wooden nickels," then he would laugh, turn, and get on the train bound for southern Missouri.



Servicemen departed Kansas City for World War II from Union Station. Not all of them came back. Can you imagine some of the reunions that took place under the clock? I am sure more than one young man asked a girl to marry him at that spot. Real love stories acted out in the lives of common folk began there and probably still do today thanks to the rebuilding effort.



I marvel how a hunk of iron can summon such thoughts and feelings of nostalgia. It has been an exercise in reliving fertile memories of family and past trips. I feel some regret about change and the diminishment of trains, but i also feel grateful I have been able to experience them in the ways I have. Can you guess what is under my Christmas tree?



Until the next time

John Strain

Red Beans & Rice

Kim over at Kimmotion asked for a recipe for red beans and rice. While Emril probably has a better recipe, I doubt if it is this easy.



First you need some Zatarain's Red Beans and Rice Mix.

1 lb of dry red beans

1 can of Blue Runner Beans,

1 lb smoked sausage.



Soak the red beans over night in a pot on the stove. In the morning put the beans, the red beans mix, and the sausage in the crock pot. Go to work. Come home.



Add the can of Blue Runner beans. This thickens it up just right. Once it reheats, it is time to eat.



Individuals can use Tobasco Sauce to make their individual portions just the right amount of hot.



The Zatarain's site also has recipes. There are a lot of them and they are all good. Red beans and rice is like chili in that it can be done many ways.



Monday is the traditional day for red beans and rice. The reason, Monday was also wash day and women needed a no fuss meal. So, while the washing was being deal with, a pot of red beans was cooking on the stove.



If you make some, let me know how they turned out.



John Strain

One Million Voices Silenced, Now Will Be Heard

I have heard estimates that Saddam Hussein is responsible for the murder of one million people. Take a moment to let that sink in. Have you ever lost a loved one? Do you remember the pain of the loss? Do you feel it still? Now multiply the pain 1000 times 1000 and you arrive at one million. The lives affected by one million deaths is a much greater number still. So much pain and hurt all by the hand of one evil man. Sure he had help, but he was the leader. He did not stop there. Rape and torture were other characteristics of his regime. In contrast, we complain about tailgaters, rude people, and weather.



When he was captured, he looked like a homeless man. He looked weak, certainly not someone who killed one million people. He is a laughing stock for our late night talk shows. We must not forget those voices he silenced or those faces he eliminated. Saddam should not be the focus. He should not be treated like a head of state, but a common murder who is now a prisoner.



I have heard elaborate suggestions for his torture, but he could not suffer enough to pay for his crimes. Torturing him would only lower the civilized world to his level.



I want a trial. I want to see him face his accusers. I want the world to hear the names of those he murdered, raped, and terrorized. The victims are owed that. We cannot comprehend the pain he has caused. A trial would honor those silenced voices. They must be heard. I expect him to deny everything. He will not apologize or admit any wrong doing. That is OK. After the trial, he will be found guilty, hopefully he is given a sentence of death and it is carried out quickly and without fanfare. I would cremate his body and flush the remains. There should be no marker to memorialize him.



For a moment, think about your family. Envision your parents, siblings, children, and extended family. Think of how unique they are, how much you enjoy and love them. Remember all they have done, their accomplishments, and all of your interactions with them. Now imagine them gone because of a man like Saddam Hussein. Millions of people have lost their family and they do not have to imagine it - it is their reality.



As we enter into the debate about what to do with Saddam, let us keep focus on a million silenced voices. I care very little about his rights and how he is treated. The sooner he is killed the better. Not for revenge or to get even, but to silence his voice and to begin the destruction of his memory. As a rabid dog would be killed so must Saddam Hussein, but not until his victims have been honored on a world stage.



Until the next time

John Strain