A couple’s financial difficulties had dampened their normally high spirits, but what the husband did on the morning of their wedding anniversary lifted the gloom for both of them. When he awakened his wife, he presented her with a beautiful breakfast tray. Then he handed her a single rose and a hand-drawn card that read, “Happy anniversary, darling! In lieu of a gift, contributions have been made in your name to the electric company, the phone company, and three department stores.”

We’ve just come through a season of solicitations. As we’re able, most of us enjoy giving to good causes. But finding the right way to give can sometimes be a challenge.

I know of a ministry to low-income families that’s swamped every Christmas with offers of decorated trees, holiday meals, and loads of presents. Each year the children and their parents are so overwhelmed by the glut of toys, clothing, and personal-care items that the ministry finally imposed a dollar limit on what the donors could give to each designated family.

One enthusiastic group didn’t pay attention to the fine print and applied the dollar limit to each individual instead of the entire family. The gift pile was so enormous that their adopted family’s small apartment ran out of room. The donors probably meant well, but their actions set up expectations that the parents wouldn’t be able to maintain after graduating from the subsidized program.

What was the real reason for over-the-top giving? Was it to help the needy, or did it simply make donors feel good? Perhaps the desire to receive recognition was also a factor. During his hillside sermon, Jesus explained to the disciples how God wants us to carry out our good deeds:

Be especially careful when you are trying to be good so that you don’t make a performance out of it. It might be good theater, but the God who made you won’t be applauding . . . When you help someone out, don’t think about how it looks. Just do it—quietly and unobtrusively. That is the way your God, who conceived you in love, working behind the scenes, helps you out.

Matthew 6:1, 3–4 (MSG)

I think it’s human nature to want a little recognition. But as Jesus pointed out, the godly way to perform good deeds is to do them in a quiet and unobtrusive manner. I know what it feels like when someone does me a favor in order to be recognized instead of because he or she is truly concerned about my situation. I don’t want to cause anyone else to feel the same way and end up resenting my help.

So the next time I have opportunity to help someone out, I’ll try to follow the example of the clever and compassionate bill-paying husband—although I’m pretty certain my response won’t include serving anyone breakfast in bed.

Heavenly Father, help us discern our motives for giving. We don’t want to be swayed by the desire for applause. Instead, help us become mature enough to care only about your approval. Amen.

© 2012 by Diana Savage

As the story goes, three guys are fishing on a lake when Jesus appears in the boat with them. The first guy gets over his shock and says humbly, “I’ve suffered from back pain for years. Would you please heal me?” Jesus touches the man’s back, and instantly the pain is gone.

The second guy removes his Coke-bottle glasses and asks Jesus to cure his poor eyesight. Jesus flings the man’s glasses overboard. As soon as they hit the water, the man’s vision clears, and he can see everything perfectly.

Jesus now turns to the third guy, who throws up his hands in alarm. “Don’t touch me!” he cries. “I’m on disability!”

While it’s normal to want to be well, perhaps you know those who choose to remain in a victim mode. Instead of using difficult life experiences as stepping stones to greater maturity and wisdom, they prefer to wallow in their losses, draining energy and sympathy from those around them. The crutch of impairment allows them to avoid taking responsibility for their own lives.

The Gospel of Matthew tells us about two men who eagerly sought deliverance. On the side of a road leaving Jericho, they cried out for Jesus to have mercy on them. Jesus responded by asking specifically what they wanted him to do. “We want our sight,” they said. He touched their eyes, and they were healed immediately.

I love the five-word comment Matthew tucks into the narrative: “Jesus had compassion on them.” The men asked for mercy, and that’s just what they got. Jesus didn’t heal them because they’d earned it. He simply chose to be merciful.

Most people coming out of abusive situations can’t see clearly right away. Accustomed to viewing the world in a skewed manner, they sometimes prefer to remain partially blind instead of making the effort to adjust their perceptions.

In Scripture, freedom and restored sight are often mentioned together:

­ “He upholds the cause of the oppressed . . .The Lord sets prisoners free, the Lord gives sight to the blind, the Lord lifts up those who are bowed down” (Psalm 146: 7–8).

­“The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (Luke 4:18–19).

God never desires us to be shackled by a victim mentality or trapped in distorted thinking. Focusing on Christ’s compassion can give us the same boldness that the blind men exhibited when they asked for mercy.

You don’t even have to wait for Jesus to appear in your fishing boat before you ask him to touch you. You can choose now: healing or disability. Which will it be?

Merciful Lord, thank you for healing us and setting us free when we call on you. Amen.

©  2012 by Diana Savage

At his 103^rd birthday party, the guest of honor was asked if he thought that he’d be around for his 104^th. “I certainly do,” he replied. “Statistics show that very few people die between the ages of 103 and 104.”

I love being around positive people, especially this time of year. You see, January is a month of bereavement for me. Every time it rolls around, I must endure the anniversaries of the deaths of my father, mother-in-law, grandfather, grandmother, and a long-term relationship. Coupled with January’s long, cold nights and short days, sometimes I struggle with depression. The more I dwell on my losses, the sadder I become.

However, the book of Deuteronomy always turns me around. After reading what might seem like a mind-numbing list of obscure regulations, I come to the passage where the Israelites are given power to choose either life and prosperity or death and adversity. The choice was totally up to them. We have the same option today. While curses and death are always before us, God urges us to reject them in favor of blessings and life.

When Jesus confronted the Pharisees for opposing him at every turn, he used a metaphor that he knew his agrarian listeners could identify with:

I am the Gate for the sheep. All those others are up to no good—sheep stealers, every one of them. But the sheep didn’t listen to them. I am the Gate. Anyone who goes through me will be cared for—will freely go in and out, and find pasture. A thief is only there to steal and kill and destroy. I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of.

John 10:7–10 (MSG)

The thief Death comes to steal, kill, and destroy. Our Redeemer, Jesus Christ, comes to give us life, both now and forever. That life is so much better in both quality and quantity, we can’t even begin to imagine it.

I love serving a God who wants us always to choose life. When I make the conscious decision to do so, death anniversaries fade in my mind, and I remember some of my January blessings, such as the birthdays of my mother and my niece—both wonderful occasions to celebrate.

January is also when God spreads before us twelve new months to enjoy his blessings. Since the choice is up to us, let’s select wisely. I’m sure people who do so live longer, happier lives.

At the very least, statistics show that few of those people will die between the ages of 103 and 104.

Lord, thank you for the wonderful gifts of blessings and life. We choose them with gratitude. Amen.

©  2012 by Diana Savage

Preschoolers gathered for the library’s story time. After the librarian finished the first page of There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly, she asked the children, “Do you think she’ll die?”

“Nope,” said a little girl in the back. “I saw this last night on Fear Factor.”

It seems most people are afraid of something. For instance, trepidatious friends of mine worry every time I climb on the roof to hang Christmas lights. But I figure that nearing retirement age is no reason to keep me on the ground as long as I wear sturdy work boots and carry a cell phone in my pocket.

It’s also fun waving to startled neighbors while I drape icicle lights from the eaves. I’m never in a hurry to take the lights down, so my house twinkles with Christmas cheer well into the first week of January, even though store displays of holiday decorations have been replaced by valentines.

Epiphany, the church festival on January 6, is sandwiched between Christmas and Valentine’s Day. As I climb the ladder that day to unhook light strands, I ponder the message of Epiphany—our loving God taking on human form to redeem us from the clutches of the enemy. Specifically, the festival celebrates the coming of the gift-bearing Wise Men who worshiped the Baby Jesus as King. It occurs to me that the day is a perfect blending of the two holiday themes that bookend it—celebrating God’s amazing gift and celebrating God’s amazing love.

As I stand on the roof, neighbors across the street see me and wave. In their native Mexico, they customarily celebrated Epiphany, or Three Kings’ Day, with rosca de reyes, a sweetbread with candied fruit decorating the outside and a plastic figurine of the baby Jesus hidden on the inside. The figure symbolizes the infant’s need to hide from jealous King Herod who wanted to kill him.

Jesus was the target of prejudice and irrational fear from the moment of his birth until the day he died. If government rulers weren’t trying to do him harm, religious leaders were out to get him. No wonder he has such great compassion for everyone who suffers today from mistreatment.

After Jesus ascended into heaven, the apostle Peter’s epiphanous rooftop vision helped Peter overcome prejudice by understanding that God’s great gift is open to everyone. In fact,

Peter fairly exploded with his good news: “It’s God’s own truth, nothing could be plainer: God plays no favorites! It makes no difference who you are or where you’re from—if you want God and are ready to do as he says, the door is open.”

Acts 10:34–35 (MSG)

I’m glad the door is wide open, no matter what our social status, bank balance, or nationality may be. This equal footing before God means we can pray with confidence, knowing that our heavenly Father is eager to listen to us. That knowledge can also give us courage to face all kinds of difficulties.

Even if we’re on Fear Factor.

Lord Jesus, grant us the epiphany of realizing that you don’t play favorites. Instead, you love us all—equally and unconditionally. We are deeply grateful. Amen.

© 2012 by Diana Savage

Some people believe that if you bury a statue of St. Joseph on a piece of property for sale, the property will sell more quickly. So when Katherine was ready to move, she took the St. Joseph figure from her Nativity set and buried it near her front door.

A few days later, Rachel, a prospective buyer, made an offer. Since Rachel had to sell her home in order to buy a new one, Katherine suggested that she also enlist the saint’s help.

After burying the statue all over her lawn for a month, Rachel had no nibbles on her house. Disgusted, she put the statue in her garbage can by the curb. The following week headlines in her local paper read, “Town Sells Landfill to Private Developer.”

Perhaps Joseph should have remained with the Nativity set.

My daughter has always loved Nativity sets. She’s also had lifelong fascination with nesting dolls. One year I came up with the perfect Christmas gift for her—decorating a blank set of nesting dolls with a Nativity theme. I’m no artist, and transferring outlines to wooden forms took a lot of time. After I wrestled flat patterns over the curved blanks, I laboriously penciled in lines until I had a fair approximation of each Nativity character.

One of the largest dolls was a camel. I must have retraced and repainted his face three times before I was satisfied. That gave me a lot of time to think about the animal’s significance. Scripture doesn’t specifically mention camels in the events surrounding Christ’s birth, but we assume the Magi rode them on their trek from the East. In any event, the camel’s purpose was to bear burdens.

While I painted, I thought about how that camel burden bearer has become a traditional part of the birth story of the ultimate Burden Bearer. Camels are notoriously cranky about carrying their loads. However, not only did Jesus willingly bear the burden of our sins on the cross so we could have eternal life, but he also lifts our burdens in daily life. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened,” he said, assuring us of his gentleness and humility, “and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28–30 NIV).

During this Advent season, traditionally a hectic time for many people, I can think of few blessings more valuable than finding rest and having our burdens lifted. The good news is, we don’t have to bury any Christ-child statue to receive those blessings. Jesus himself was buried and rose again to give us life to the full. So, while some may think that St. Joseph helps when negotiating successful real-estate deals, the most important figure in the Nativity account truly is Jesus.

That’s enough to make us rejoice any time of the year, even if we’re as cranky as camels.

Jesus, thank you that you are always ready to lift us up when we’re bowed down by heavy loads. Amen.

© 2011 by Diana Savage

As Victoria drove down the freeway one morning headed for work, she noticed a car weaving slightly in the next lane. Pulling even with it, Victoria was alarmed see the female driver lean so far forward to look into the review mirror that her head almost touched the windshield as she applied mascara.

Suddenly the car veered in Victoria’s direction. It scared Victoria so much, she dropped her own lipstick right into her cup of coffee.

Here in the Seattle area, we know all about driving distractions. Around the time of the winter solstice, our short days are usually overcast, and our nights are depressingly long. You’d think we’d be thrilled every time the sun emerges, but that’s not always the case, especially when we’re driving. During its short arc across the sky, the sun remains so low on the horizon that rays hit our eyes directly or bounce off approaching windshields in blinding solar flashes. Television traffic gurus alert us to roadways congested by the glare. Fender-benders litter highways.

Under those conditions, our primary concern is how to get rid of glaring distractions. That’s probably one reason more sunglasses are sold per capita in cloudy Seattle than in any other major US city.

No matter how much progress we’ve made on the road to healing from spiritual, emotional, or other kinds of mistreatment, we can never stop being vigilant against life’s distractions. In this economy, just making ends meet preoccupies many people. Working extra hours and spending more time in money-saving endeavors can leave few discretionary hours. Add ongoing care-giving responsibilities, unexpected emergencies, and the extra demands of even joyful occasions such as weddings, holidays, graduations, or vacation trips, and it can be very difficult to sustain any kind of regular spiritual maintenance.

Those struggles don’t make us bad people. They just render us more vulnerable to emotional collisions. God understands. That’s why he posts this loving warning:

Keep vigilant watch over your heart; that’s where life starts . . . Keep your eyes straight ahead; ignore all sideshow distractions. Watch your step, and the road will stretch out smooth before you. Look neither right nor left; leave evil in the dust.

Proverbs 4:23 (MSG)

In addition to regretting the wounds we’ve suffered, many hurting people also regret the years lost to the situations that inflicted the damage. Those “if onlys” can become major distractions

But they needn’t. Not only does God remind us to keep watch over our hearts and our eyes straight ahead, but he also promises to restore what we’ve lost. “I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten,” he says in Joel 2:25 (NIV).

The repayment currency is seldom what we expect, but as we guard our hearts against the glare of worry, resentment, bitterness, and other “sideshow distractions,” our lives fill with blessings greater than we ever could have imagined.

Now we’re less likely to create distractions for our fellow drivers—whether or not they have both hands on the wheel.

Heavenly Father, thank you for guiding us along the best routes, guarding us against further distractions, and restoring what we have lost. We are deeply grateful. Amen.

© 2011 by Diana Savage

“Ewww!” My daughter backed away from the corner of the storage room where she’d just picked up a box. Under the carton was undeniable evidence of a rodent invasion. She had reason to recoil. Mice can carry hantavirus—and she was pregnant.

I ran for the shop vac. While the machine did the dirty work, I carefully guided the hose so unintended items weren’t inhaled along with mouse droppings.

Vacuum cleaners don’t differentiate. They’ll suck up anything they get close to, whether it’s doo-doo, dirt, or diamonds. If not emptied soon, the contents hibernate together inside the bag or canister, a perfect growing medium for bacteria, mold, and other nasty organisms.

People can be like vacuum cleaners. Whatever we absorb takes up residence inside us. Our minds can fill with goopy resentment and shards of broken intentions. But the good news is, we can ask God to dump it all out and make us clean again.

Centuries before vacuum cleaners, King David prayed:

~ Psalm 139:23–24 (NIV)

David didn’t want to fill up with anxious worries or offensive ways. He also knew it was futile to try to hide secret thoughts from the Omniscient One. Amazingly, knowing everything about us doesn’t prevent God from loving us anyway:

O Lord, you have examined my heart
and know everything about me.
You know when I sit down or stand up.
You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
You see me when I travel
and when I rest at home.
You know everything I do.
You know what I am going to say
even before I say it, Lord . . .
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too great for me to understand!

How precious are your thoughts about me, O God.
They cannot be numbered!
I can’t even count them;
they outnumber the grains of sand!

Psalm 139:1–4, 6, 17–18 (NLT)

If you grew up believing that God watches for every infraction so he can slap you down, David’s statements may seem too good to be true. As I’ve emerged from that former mindset, I’ve discovered the joy of serving a God who knows all about me yet loves me anyway—and even more important, likes me anyway.

The enemy of our souls would like us to think that contamination by the doo-doo of this world automatically disqualifies us from being worthy of God’s loving attention. That belief not only keeps us from fulfilling our God-given potential, but it also devalues the cleansing power of Christ.

Remember, we can safely trust God’s probing and cleansing in our lives, and our loving heavenly Father gives us the task of guiding the vacuum’s hose by confessing our trespasses. In carrying out that discipline, I can think of no greater blessing than having my sins removed while God assures me that my worth is far greater than diamonds—no matter where they’re scattered.

Lord Jesus, owner and operator of the Divine Supervac, thank you for being willing and able to cleanse us from all our sins when we trust in you as Savior. Amen.

© 2011 by Diana Savage

While browsing in a crafts store, a couple noticed a number of country-style musical instruments, including flutes, dulcimers, and recorders. The husband picked up a one-stringed instrument he assumed to be a mouth harp, put it to his lips, and twanged a few notes.

His wife, who had wandered to another aisle, hurried past several amused shoppers to reach her husband. “I’m sorry to tell you this, honey,” she whispered, “but you’re trying to play a cheese slicer.”

Since this man shared his embarrassing moment in a national magazine, it’s clear he could laugh at himself. I, on the other hand, grew up believing that admitting mistakes was never a good idea.

Many of my spiritual mentors must have been baptized in pickle juice. They’d memorized every Bible verse that mentioned foolishness, and if anyone doubted the importance of a serious outlook on life, those mentors referred to 1 Peter 5:8 that talks about being sober and vigilant, and they quoted Isaiah 53:3, which said that Jesus was “despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.” Of course, everyone knew we were supposed to be like Jesus (see Romans 8:29, 2 Corinthians 3:18, and Galatians 4:19). Obviously we should focus on sorrow and ignore all the Bible verses that speak of rejoicing. (In my circles, the term Christian comedian was an oxymoron.)

A few weeks ago, I had an opportunity to work on my ability to laugh at myself. I turned the key on my “new” 1992 Toyota Corolla to drive it home. The rear-window wiper came on. It was a clear night.

During the entire trip, I twisted, pulled, and jiggled the wiper wand until my wrist was sore, but the mechanism continued to swipe away, flagging every vehicle behind me: “Yoo hoo! Watch out for the clueless driver.”

I remained calm only by focusing on how soon I could duck into my garage and turn off the vehicle’s power. Then, two miles from my house, an accident up ahead forced me to take a long detour through the south part of town. The wiper blade scraped dry glass the entire way.

Throughout my childhood, I rarely saw people close to me laugh at personal mistakes, but there was plenty of criticism when others faltered. That set me up to believe I needed to get an A+ on every commandment and rule.

Fortunately, as a recovering perfectionist, I am able now to laugh at myself a whole lot more than I used to. So by the time I got the Corolla home and contacted the car’s former owner to find out how to operate the recalcitrant wiper, I’d almost convinced myself it didn’t really matter what other drivers thought. Maybe I’ve even provided some amusement at dinner-tables around town, I thought. Moms and dads, home from a grueling workday, could entertain their children: “You wouldn’t believe the dumb blonde I followed tonight.”

While I have no desire to supply that kind of entertainment on a regular basis, I do love how God brings glory to himself as the result of our failures. Paul explained: “The Message that points to Christ on the Cross seems like sheer silliness to those hellbent on destruction, but for those on the way of salvation it makes perfect sense. This is the way God works, and most powerfully as it turns out” (1 Corinthians 1:18 MSG).

Yes, sometimes I struggle to believe that God could use my quirks and frailties in any positive way. But God’s Word trumps early training. As my thoughts line up with the truth, I focus on my new freedom instead of dwelling on years lost to emotional bondage.

Paul continued:

Take a good look, friends, at who you were when you got called into this life. I don’t see many of “the brightest and the best” among you, not many influential, not many from high-society families. Isn’t it obvious that God deliberately chose men and women that the culture overlooks and exploits and abuses, chose these “nobodies” to expose the hollow pretensions of the “somebodies”?

1 Corinthians 1:26–28

Though he was a vibrant believer, an older relative of mine never joined the church. After his death, I learned he’d been divorced twice before coming to Christ. Divorced people were marginalized in his denomination, so he kept his background a Deep Dark Secret. Even though his third marriage lasted for over 50 years, he couldn’t bring himself to fill out the membership application that inquired about former spouses. Most likely the church would have accepted him into membership, but his opportunities for ministry would have been severely restricted. So, he found an outlet for service through a parachurch ministry that didn’t pry into his past.

Regardless of our loved one’s previous mistakes, he touched many lives through his love and faithfulness. Our family “nobody” did indeed put to shame the hollow pretensions of the “somebodies” who would have judged him.

I’m grateful that God has the power to change the pretensions I was taught in my formative years. I’m even getting a little better at admitting my own imperfections. The fact that I’m going public with the wiper-blade story reveals how far I’ve come.

Keep that in mind if you ever see me trying to play a cheese slicer.

Gracious God, thank you for setting us free from unbiblical mindsets about humor, our frailties, and your forgiving nature. Amen.

© 2011 by Diana Savage

Before the benefit concert began, a woman walked up to a man wearing military fatigues and said, “I just want to thank you for your service to our country.” He looked thoroughly confused, but she walked away knowing she’d done the right thing. Later, when her soldier took the stage along with a construction worker, a police officer, and a Native American, it dawned on her why he’d been puzzled. She had thanked a member of the Village People.*

At least she’d been specific when stating the reason for her gratitude.

I once received a note on wedding stationery that said, “Thanks for the gift. It will come in very handy.” The message was so vague, I wondered if it had been prewritten prior to opening my gift. I tried to think charitably. At least I’d received a thank-you. Still, a personal touch would have been nice.

Even as I felt guilty for being so picky, the incident caused me consider how God must feel whenever I offer perfunctory, generic thanks “for blessings that come from Thy hand.” I wonder if he turns to Gabriel and asks, “Does she even know which blessings she’s talking about?”

The chorus of a classic gospel song many of us grew up with talks about being specific in our gratitude:

The first three verses mention specific times when counting our blessings is especially valuable:

1. When tossed on life’s stormy billows, we become discouraged and think all is lost,
2. When we’re burdened with care and the cross we’re called to carry is heavy,
3. When we see others who are rich in earthly goods, but we are not.

I especially like how the final verse sums up the benefits of blessing-counting:

The apostle Paul reminds us to be clear when we thank God so that those around us will be built up in their faith. Otherwise, how can someone ^“say ‘amen’ to your thanksgiving, since he does not know what you are saying? You may be giving thanks well enough, but the other man is not edified” (1 Corinthians 14:16–17).

When we give thanks, we can name everything we’re grateful for. Or at least what we have time to mention. Most believers’ lives overflow with so many blessings, we’ll probably never come to an end of the list. But we should at least try. Being specific in our thanks will encourage everyone around us.

Including all the people in our village.

Lord, thank you for all the blessings I’m about to enumerate . . .  Amen.

______________________________

* When some of my Christian friends—from sheltered backgrounds similar to mine—first read this devotion, they didn’t know who the Village People were. So I’ll mention that the pop musical group, formed in 1977, is known for its members’ on-stage costumes depicting American cultural stereotypes.

** “Count Your Blessings,” by Johnson Oatman, Jr., 1856–1922, and Edwin O. Excell, 1851–1921. © Public domain.

© 2011 by Diana Savage

When concert pianist Wladimir Jan Kochanski was asked, “Who’s your favorite rock group?” he answered, “Mount Rushmore.” That sounds like a response I could have given, except I’ve never been to South Dakota.

My strict upbringing did its best to protect me from rock music—as well as from country music, crooners, big-band tunes, Motown . . . In fact, according to my spiritual leaders, unless music was classical or conservatively Christian, it had no redeeming value.

Even mentioning the name of Elvis wasn’t allowed. Not only did it rhyme with pelvis, but true Christians also knew that rock ‘n’ roll’s evil beat was “straight from the heart of darkest Africa.” (That view of Africa is a topic for another day.)

When I played an augmented-fourth piano chord for a Christian music teacher, she scolded me. “Never use that chord in sacred music!” It was years before I learned that the tritone interval it contained, popular in American blues and jazz, was considered by some to be satanic.

It seemed as if my mentors’ theme verse was, “I will stop the music of your songs,” (Ezekiel 26:13 NLT). I realize now that their goal was to limit the sinful enticements of dubious lyrics, sensual rhythms, and negative role models. Nevertheless, the selective blackout left huge gaps in my cultural knowledge. One of those gaps involved Paul Anka’s tune, “Diana.” I had no idea that when I was seven years old, the song bearing my name skyrocketed to number one on Canadian and US music charts. It brought Anka instant stardom and remains one of the best-selling singles ever released by a Canadian recording artist.

Two years ago, a friend teasingly sent these lyrics in a birthday greeting: “I’m so young and you’re so old / This, Diana, I’ve been told.”*

At first, I took offense. “I’m not old!” I fumed. “I’m upper middle-aged. I have a lot of good years left!” My friend couldn’t believe I’d never heard of the song. An Internet search let me know I needn’t be offended. The “Diana” in the song was decades younger than I.

Another cultural-knowledge blackout took place on Sunday, February 9, 1964, when the Beatles made their American TV debut on the Ed Sullivan Show. That evening, a record 73 million people tuned in. I wasn’t one of them. Our TV set remained off every Sabbath. Even if by some miracle I had been allowed to watch the “ungodly” show, I wouldn’t have been home at 8:00 p.m. to see it. We were always at church then.

On Monday morning I learned about the British invasion. Every swooning girl in my eighth-grade class had chosen her favorite member of the Fab Four. Under peer pressure, I picked Ringo Starr at random, knowing nothing about him except his cool name.

Watching news reports about the Beatles was also forbidden, so I strained to decipher songs that blared over my school-bus’s staticky radio in an attempt to discover what all the excitement was about. My insulation from popular music continued when I entered Bible college, and after graduation, I remained heavily influenced by very conservative family and church members.

In recent years, I’ve closed some of my popular-music knowledge gaps by watching PBS specials and reading Internet articles. Imagine my shock when I discovered that Elvis Presley had recorded several gospel albums.

I’m not advocating that we fill our minds with degrading lyrics, nor should we idolize recording artists. However, if we impose heavy restrictions on people without explaining the solid biblical reasons and principles of holiness behind those restrictions, human nature usually rebels. I’ve seen many overprotected young people indulge in forbidden fruit at their first opportunity and end up more damaged than if they’d been given a measure of guided freedom.

Although by God’s grace I didn’t rebel, my life has nonetheless been affected by my ignorance of mainstream cultural elements. I know others in the same boat. We overprotected Christians can’t change the past, but we can experience peace and contentment by letting go of grudges against overly strict mentors. For anyone who still bears the print of an iron thumb, these three steps may be helpful:

1. Acknowledge that most of our spiritual mentors wanted to protect us, not ruin our lives.
2. Be grateful for whatever benefits did result from the restrictions.
3. Apply the lessons we have learned. At the very least, we can identify more effective ways to help protect those under our care.

When all is said and done, perhaps I’m better off not knowing what Ozzy Osbourne barks at, why Madonna doesn’t want Papa to preach, or the nature of Mick Jagger’s dissatisfaction.

I’ve come to accept the fact I’ll never catch every cultural reference to the popular songs of my lifetime. But who knows? Maybe being unaware of the band Aerosmith until two decades after they formed is an idiosyncrasy that will endear me to my true friends.

Now, I think I’ll turn on the stereo and listen to Elvis sing “Just a Closer Walk with Thee.”

Lord Jesus, thank you for healing us from life’s wounds and for enabling us to let go of any resentment we have toward overzealous spiritual mentors. Amen.

*My friend took a few liberties in the birthday greeting. Anka’s actual lyrics are, “I’m so young and you’re so old / This, my darling, I’ve been told . . . / Oh, please stay by me, Diana.”

© 2011 by Diana Savage. All rights reserved.