Dave Zuchelli's Blog, page 8

Endorphin Junkies

You may not know this, but the average adult laughs seventeen times per day. When I first read that, I thought it was a bit overestimated. Frankly, I can’t envision myself laughing that many times in one twenty-four-hour period (unless I’m checking out my favorite comedian), but I suppose I do.

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An interesting juxtaposition of that statistic
is the accompanying stat about children. The little tykes laugh over three
hundred times a day. That, I can imagine. When you don’t pay bills, work for a
living, or drive in city traffic, there’s definitely more room for laughter.

The Giggle Theory

Laughing is a thing most of us enjoy, I
suppose. I know I do. There’s something about a good chortle that makes me feel
better. There’s actually scientific evidence that supports my giggle theory. I
found this little missive on the internet (which, as we all know, makes it
true).

Laughter decreases stress hormones and increases immune cells and
infection-fighting antibodies, thus improving your resistance to disease. Laughter triggers the release of
endorphins, the body’s natural feel-good
chemicals. Endorphins promote an overall sense of well-being and can even
temporarily relieve pain.

These facts, of course, lead to the old
saying, “Laughter is the best medicine.” The old Reader’s Digest magazine used to have a monthly feature with that
title. My Mom was a faithful subscriber to that mag, and I would grab it out of
the mailbox simply to read that periodic article. I left the rest to my Mother.
I was a kid, of course, so I had to use it to help me get my three hundred
laughs. (By the way, it’s also Biblical—Proverbs 17:22.)

All this talk about laughter being a healthy business makes me wonder. How did we ever come up with the old phrase, “I laughed so hard I split a gut.” Nothing about that sounds healthy. Well, maybe the laughing hard part… Splitting a gut is definitely less than desirable. It reminds me of when my appendix burst—not fun. (But I digress…)

Dr. Feelgood

I’m really surprised that no one has come up
with endorphins in pill form. On second thought, if they did, someone would
start selling them on the black market. Everyone would want them, the
government would regulate them, and the pushers would make out like bandits. I
think that even I would seek out my local Dr. Feelgood to get my daily fix. Who
wouldn’t?

The problem, of course, is there are two good ways to get the “feel-good” endorphin. One, as we’ve been saying, is by laughing a lot. But, since we’re adults and don’t laugh all that much, we’ve got to resort to the second way—exercise. Most of us are not interested in the latter, so we have to revert to finding things to make us laugh. Some of us watch videos of endless numbers of people falling down. I’m not sure why this makes us laugh, but the people in the videos certainly aren’t. They all need Dr. Feelgood.

[Dave Zuchelli is a graduate of Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and
currently resides in Aldie, VA.]

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Let’s Coddiwomple

Coddiwomple–“To travel in a purposeful manner towards a vague destination.” I had never heard this word until I ran across it a couple of days ago. It’s one of those words that immediately attracts attention. It sounds like you should know what it is—like a creature out of Star Wars or something. As it turns out, it’s totally unfamiliar (at least it was to me). As we head into a new year, it’s a good term to learn and hang onto.

In a sense, most of us coddiwomple a lot.
There are many things in life that seem to be a vague destination. Still, our
journey toward them is often less than purposeful. If we get there, great; if
we don’t, so be it…

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In a day or two, we will head into a new
year. 2019 holds challenges, pitfalls, and maybe (at least for most of us)
promise. We don’t know what it will bring with it. We just know it’s here and
we have to (at the very least) plod through.

Meeting it Head On

Plodding through, however, is not
coddiwompling—at least, not as best I can understand it. If we’re going to
coddiwomple, the description of our journey will necessarily be more like a
march or a venture. We might not know exactly where we’re headed, but we can
set goals, create plan B’s, and meet life’s trials head on.

One of the great coddiwomplers of all time
was a guy by the name of Abram (later to become Abraham). Out of the blue, God
called on him to leave his homeland and go to a place, “I will show you.” (Genesis
12:1-9) That’s a bit like jumping into your car and flipping a coin each
time you get to a fork in the road. You don’t know where you’ll end up, but you
anticipate that it will be a good place (or an interesting one, you hope).

It Sounded Bad on Paper

For Abram, this was a big deal. He was
wealthy. He had servants, cattle, grazing land, and wells. He pulled up stakes
and took everyone (including his nephew Lot and his family) to a place that
became known as the Promised Land. When you live in an area where there are
lots of arid deserts, rocky soil, and rugged terrain, life can be quite
uncertain. As the old saying goes, “Better the devil you know than the devil
you don’t…” On paper, it sounds like a foolish move.

Nonetheless, Abram followed the voice of God on a simple promise of something better. If I had been there, I would have tried to sell him this bridge I own in Brooklyn. He must have seemed like one of those suckers who happens to be born every minute.

Abram became even more successful, happier,
and more fulfilled because he coddiwompled. He didn’t know exactly where he was
going, but he went there with a purpose. He didn’t let anything stop him. We
need to head into 2019 like that. It’s the only way to fly.

[Dave
Zuchelli is a graduate of Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and currently resides
in Aldie, VA.]

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Did You Get What You Wanted?

I’m guessing a lot of you received a present
or two recently. Some of you probably got quite a few. I’m wondering, though,
did you get what you wanted?

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Gift giving can be such a chore. For the most
part, we seldom know what to buy for someone else. For several years, my kids
hounded me about what I wanted for Christmas. I never really knew what to tell
them, because I didn’t really need anything.

Finally, I got the bright idea to search the
web for unique gifts for men. When I found a few that I thought might be worth
having, I created a list and emailed it to them (links and all). I did that for
a few years, and lo and behold, I received some unique gifts. Now, I not only
have everything I need, I have some extras as well.

Not Just Any Underwear

This year, I turned a new leaf. I didn’t make a list. Well, I take that back. I made a list, but it only had one thing on it—underwear. This was not just any underwear, mind you. This underwear is the cream of the crop—the top of the line—the best of the best. While Dad’s dainties are a rather unusual (and maybe awkward) gift to pass along to your Father, I knew this would be the gift that keeps on giving (at least until they wear out).

You may think this whole thing is a bit odd, but I’m really happy. I got
what I wanted this year. It’s something I can use, it’s REALLY comfortable, and
it won’t simply sit in a drawer all next year, unthought of and untried.

Right now, some of you who initially laughed
at my underwear request are beginning to become jealous. The envy is rising in
your psyche because you got another tie and a pack of golf tees (or something
else you neither needed nor wanted). My underwear idea wasn’t so bad after all,
was it? No returns for me this year.

Next Year’s List

I suggest you start thinking now about your
list for next year. If you’re really successful (like me), you might end up
with exactly what you want. It takes a bit of talent, but I’m sure you’re up to
the task.

If you need a few suggestions, I can point
you in the right direction. I ran across this gem recently that would make you
the talk of your neighborhood. It’s the commemorative Pope Toaster.
Every morning, your toast would pop out with the image of His Holiness right on
it (the opposite side says, “Spread the love”). How cool is that? It’s not as
good as expensive underwear, but it’s unique as all get out. You can get almost
anything on Amazon—even a “Jesus shaves disappearing coffee mug”
(seriously).

A few unique gifts like that and you’ll be
ready for underwear. Not everyone gets gold, frankincense, and myrrh the first
time around. Of course, not many of us have wise gift givers either.

[Dave Zuchelli is a graduate of Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and
currently resides in Aldie, VA.]

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The Lost Art of Treeing

When I was a kid, most of our family lived
within a fifteen-mile radius. Almost all of my first cousins were a short ride
away. On Christmas Day, my parents would pack us all into the car and head out
to do some treeing (after the gifts were opened, of course).

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Treeing, in case you’ve never heard the term,
was simple. We would drop in on all my aunts and uncles to “see their tree.” Most
of the time, we didn’t even call ahead. We just stopped in (and they seemed to
expect us). Seeing their tree also involved eating their food, drinking their
drinks, and visiting—mostly visiting. This also included the pleasantries of being
shown all the gifts everyone in that household had received.

Our treeing usually lasted a couple of days
and was then reciprocated by most of the relatives who would come over to our
house to see our tree (and our presents). What it really amounted to was a
great excuse for everyone to visit each other. Between Christmas day and New
Years, we pretty much saw everybody we knew. (That might be an exaggeration, but
not much of one.)

Getting Together

Treeing was something we looked forward to each
year along with the Fourth of July family get togethers and the occasional
ballgames. There’s nothing quite like family and nothing quite like treeing to
bring them together. At least, that’s how it was in the old days.

Some of you may remember participating in the
whole treeing thing. If you do, you probably grew up in a small town or a rural
area. At least, that’s my guess. It’s also my guess that you don’t do it anymore.
Our society is so mobile these days, many of us live in faraway places with
wide spaces between our families and us. We don’t go treeing at our neighbors’
homes because we just don’t neighbor the way we used to either.

Facebook Treeing

Anymore, the only treeing we do is on
Facebook. It’s just not the same as the real thing. Social media is good for a
lot of things, but there’s no real substitute for face-to-face give-and-take when
building relationships. Skype and Facetime are helpful, but they just can’t
replace what we used to do. We honed the artform of treeing to perfection. Now,
it seems to be a lost art.

I’m not sure if we’ll ever get back to that
kind of practice again, but it would be a really good move in my opinion. Of
course, the place this should be happening in absence of nearby kin is the
church. In his first epistle, John flat out told us (the church) that “if we
walk in the light” (which we’re supposed to be doing), we’ll be having “fellowship
with one another.” (1 John 1:7) Unfortunately, treeing
seems to be a lost art there as well.

I guess we’re too societally disjointed to
make a good attempt at it. Once we’ve lost it in the church, we’ve got problems.

[Dave Zuchelli is a graduate of Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and
currently resides in Aldie, VA.]

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The Mudroom Project

Just
over a year ago, my lovely Bride and I moved into a new house. It was not
merely new to us; it was new to everyone. No one had ever lived here before. No
one had slept here (not even George Washington). There wasn’t a stick of
furniture in here before our sticks arrived. It was new in every way.

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I
suppose this is going to sound crazy, but ever since the day we moved in, we’ve
been fixing it up. Initially, we spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to get
the house we wanted (well, the bank did). That wasn’t enough, of course,
because it was just an ordinary house. It didn’t look like “our house.” Our
house has certain features that make it look like…well, our house.

You know
what I mean. Your house has certain pictures hanging on the wall that no one
else’s house has. Your house has certain colors in each room that sets it apart
from every other person’s home. Your dwelling has a certain odor from the type
of food you cook or the style of potpourri you set out. All these little things
(and more) make it “your house.”

Living in a Cell

When I
went to college, I lived in a dorm. All the rooms were identical. They were
like little, cement block cells. They had two single beds, two closets, and two
study stations. Yet, you could blindfold one of us, lead us to someone’s room,
and we could tell you whose room it was because everyone personalized their
room (even if it was just the odor—it was a guys’ dorm after all). I guess it’s
just a human thing. God made us all to be at least slightly different than the
next guy or gal, and it shows.

So, back to our house… Our current project is the mudroom. Up until a few years ago, I had never even heard of a mudroom. Now, Mudrooms–R-Us. It’s a nifty little project, but I don’t quite get it. It’s located off the garage. If you walk into the mudroom through the garage, chances are good you won’t have the least bit of mud on you by the time you get there. In fact, there’s not an entrance to our home that would qualify as a muddy entrance with the possible exception of the sun porch. The sun porch, however, is way too nice to be a mudroom.

When We’re Through…

These
are things that boggle the mind. Still, the journey continues to make this
house “our home.” When we’re finished (and I use the term loosely), people
will, undoubtedly, be able to walk into this place and say, “This is definitely
Dave and Denise’s place.” Then, as an aside, they’ll probably say stuff like,
“But the mudroom should really be over here.” To each his own…

I’m not
sure why the Lord made us this way, but He can quit anytime now. Actually, the
way my back feels, I’m probably the one who should quit.

[Dave Zuchelli is a graduate of Pittsburgh
Theological Seminary and currently resides in Aldie, VA.]

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Six Months at Red Lights

I just read an amazing statistic. The average person spends six months sitting at red lights. Few things are more irritating to me than gunning toward a yellow light only to have it turn red just as I get there. I know… I shouldn’t do that, but I’m sure I’m not alone. Where I live, I’ve observed a lot of folks running red lights. I wonder if they do that to lower the average from six months. I would say, “Kudos to them,” but I’m guessing that wouldn’t be kosher. Still, less is more.

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Many
years ago, a friend of mine inadvertently lowered the average on this banal
statistic. He was trekking home from college during the Christmas holiday and
traversed a small town he had driven through dozens of times. As he headed down
Main Street, a local gendarme pulled him over because he had gone through a red
traffic signal. My friend was flabbergasted. He hadn’t realized his
malfeasance.

Lowering the Average  

Then he
noticed that the town, with its holiday decorations, had strung a series of
Christmas lights across the street that coincided with the traffic signal. The
red light in the center simply blended in with the rest of them, and he just
didn’t notice.  It was an expensive way
to lower the human average, but lower it he did.

There are a lot of other mundane things in life that take up much of our time. For instance, we spend a third of our lives sleeping. Just think of the things we could accomplish if we didn’t have to do that. There are those, of course, who find this to be their favorite pastime, but the rest of us simply look at it as a necessity. If I live to be seventy-five years of age, I’ll have spent twenty-five years asleep. It’s not a total loss, I suppose. I’ve become pretty good at it.

Then
there’s eating and drinking. On average, we Americans spend sixty-seven minutes
per day chowing down. If you’re like me, you actually enjoy this time—a bit too
much, actually. If you total up our time munching and imbibing, you’ll find
that (on average) we spend 32,098 hours in the pursuit of food and drink.

The Unmentionables

Of
course, there are the unmentionables (one of which I will mention here). We
spend one hour and forty-two minutes per week “on the toilet.” That’s only an
average, of course. Some of us are much more leisurely about it. It ain’t called
“the library” for nothing. Ninety-two days of an average lifetime are spent on
this activity.

I could go on, but you get the picture. One wonders how we find time for any enjoyment in life after we’ve accomplished all the routine inevitabilities. I guess that’s why it’s a plus to be one of those folks who is easily amused. This might be why the author of Ecclesiastes said, “Everything is meaningless” (Ecclesiastes 1:2). Lifespans were much shorter in those days—no extra time for fun.

[Dave Zuchelli is a graduate of
Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and currently resides in Aldie, VA.]

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And So It Begins…(Part II)

In case you haven’t read part one of this
saga, you may want to go back and check it out (if for no other reason than to
set the stage for this amazing ride). If you haven’t got the time, let me just
say, “When last we saw our heroes (my lovely Bride and I), they were attending our
granddaughter’s day-school Christmas program.”

As I mentioned last time, the program was
billed as a musical. I’ll take their word for it. Between the crying babies,
overexuberant parents, and complaining grandparents, I couldn’t hear anything
that was happening up front. The presenters seemed to be in complete control of
their faculties. The audience was an entirely different story, however. The
word, “chaos,” comes to mind.

The Grand Finale

When we got to the point of the grand finale,
a miracle occurred. First of all, I discovered it was the grand finale only
because all entertainment ceased after it ended—all entertainment, that is,
aside from watching the audience—which, alone, was worth the price of admission
($0.00). Said miracle happened when a crease in the crowd opened up before me.
It was like God parting the Red Sea for the Hebrews. And there was my teeny
Gracie in all her mercurial splendor.

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Actually, she wasn’t mercurial at all (I just like using that word). She was, in fact, just the opposite. She had a blank look on her expressionless face that I could read from 100 feet away. She was thinking, WTB! (For all you texting illiterates, that means, “What the blazes?”We ARE a Christian family after all.)

For the climax of the musical, they handed
Gracie (and all the other kids) a set of jingle bells. At that point, she
became animated enough to move her right arm. I’ll let you guess what song they
were performing. It was an amazing end to an even more amazing revue.

Still, we weren’t finished. As in every good theatrical endeavor, the director was presented with a token of ourappreciation for a job well done. The pastor rose to thank her and grabbed ascrub bucket from behind a table that was stage rear center (if there had beena stage). In the bucket was a beautiful bouquet of flowers. As he moved in herdirection, I began to think to myself, “NO, don’t do it!” But he did. He handedher the flowers, bucket and all. She had the wherewithal to remove the flowers,set the bucket aside, and thank everyone for attending.

It Was His Duty

I assumed at this point that it was all over
but the shouting (which had been continual). But no… The pastor felt it his
duty to pray. I know this because I have been in his shoes. To his credit, he
was able to shout out a fine prayer over the din of the spectators, and all was
well.

At some point, the program actually ended. I
could tell this because the few adults who weren’t already standing took to
their feet. Our oldest daughter was seated behind me, and as I turned around,
she smiled and said, “And so it begins…” I immediately realized what she meant
and did some quick calculations in my head. If I live long enough, I’ll
probably have about fifteen more of these to attend over the years.

Oddly enough, I’m looking forward to it.

[Dave Zuchelli is a graduate of Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and currently resides in Aldie, VA.]

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And So It Begins…(Part I)

My lovely Bride was on a business trip to California this past week, so on Friday evening, it was my husbandly duty to pick her up at the airport. Fortunately for me, we only live about twenty or so minutes from Dulles International (IAD as we frequent flyers like to call her—the airport, not my wife).

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Normally on such an occasion, she would rush
home, throw on her jammies, and chill. Not so this Friday. Our 2 ½ year old
granddaughter was in her first Christmas program at seven o’clock pm. So, we
went home long enough to drop off my spouse’s luggage, take a fast potty break,
do a quick wardrobe change, and head off to the school.

The school building (a Lutheran Church) had just been completed recently, so this was their first year. Consequently, it was also their first Christmas program. From what I can discern (and read in the bulletin), it was a musical. I really couldn’t tell from what occurred, but I’m quite certain I heard some music in there somewhere.

Pandemonium Began

It was in an area that appeared to be some sort of multipurpose room. There was no stage, but there were enough chairs arranged in a theater-like style that we all knew something was going to happen in the general direction in which our faces were pointed. Sure enough, some tiny humans emerged from a side door led by several young teachers. Everyone was dressed in red and green (as you might expect) and the pandemonium began.

One enterprising young woman attempted to
introduce the event, but I have no clue what she said. It’s not merely that I’m
half deaf (too much rock and roll they tell me), but the parents and the little
siblings of the performers were making too much noise to make out the emcee’s
lilting voice (even though she was shouting). I’m pretty sure this is why they
invented microphones, but she didn’t have one.

Typical Church-Goer

The first thing that happened was that everyone in the room with a camera (which, thanks to cell phones, was just about everyone) stood to their feet and began flitting about to get the best shot. Since there was no stage, the wee ones up front were impossible to see.I, like any typical church goer, was seated in the back, so it was even worse for me than most.

They tell me my granddaughter was up there, but you couldn’t prove it by me. In addition to the photographers, half the adults in the audience felt it important to frequently wave to their own special performer (who, in most cases, took the opportunity to violently wave back). Frankly, I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. It was funny and disconcerting all at the same time.

I began to think about the halcyon days of my
own early parenthood. I must have been to one or two of these when my boys were
little, but I couldn’t dredge up any specific memories of such events. Either I
blocked them out of my mind, or we actually treated the events like any other
normal audience would—you know…sanely. (To
be Continued…)

[Dave Zuchelli is a graduate of Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and currently residesin Aldie, VA.]

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The God Hypothesis

When the fathers of modern science began toestablish the kind of learning we now build upon, they had an inherent beliefin a Creator God. Even the ones who weren’t Christians believed there was some sortof vast intelligence behind what we see in the universe.

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This all began to change in the nineteenth
century with people like Laplace and Darwin who decided that God was a mere
hypothesis—and not a very good one at that.

A Direct Contrast

This was in direct contrast to scientists
like Newton who felt that the only plausible First Cause had to be a supremely
intelligent Being. Their explanations had God woven into their hypothesis.
Laplace and Darwin attempted to explain everything absent from such an
intellect and rejected the “God Hypothesis” outright.

From that point onward, things in science
snowballed to the point where we ended up with people like the ones we came to
know as “the New Atheists.” These were thinkers such as Richard Dawkins, Sam
Harris, and Christopher Hitchens. Whereas the early scientists believed human beings
could “think God’s thought after Him,” the new atheists came to the conclusion
that science renders a belief in any god to be untenable, implausible, and even
delusional. In fact, Dawkins wrote a book over a decade ago (The God Delusion) in which he tells us
that the universe only presents the “appearance” of design. His explanation of
the order we see in the galaxies is they have come into being by unguided and
undirected mechanisms.

I certainly don’t have an intellect that can scientifically
answer the claims of the new atheists, but it seems to be a huge leap to say that
such order came without any guidance or direction. It actually takes less faith
to believe in God. The odds of the accidental formation of matter as we know it
are astronomical. Yet, this has become the dominant, underlying thought of
intellectuals in our time.

Two Worlds in Conflict  

It’s a conflict of two world views. One says
that all things come from God—a preexistent, intelligent Being. The other holds
that all things come from particles—preexistent from eternity past. We usually
don’t give it much thought, but these two world views are the basis for a lot
of the polarization we see in our world today. They are fundamentally divergent
and antithetical philosophies. To simplify things, it all boils down to this—God
vs. scientific materialism.

I’m not sure which side you’re on, but it’s
really hard to straddle the fence on this one—impossible, in fact. There are
those who attempt to amalgamate the two. Years ago, I used to be one of them. I,
eventually, landed on the side of God, but not without some thoughtful struggles.

The first sentence of the Bible clearly
states, “In the beginning God…” You either buy that or you don’t. I do. And
because I do, it informs and directs the rest of my life. Reject it, and
materialism will be your god—like it or not.

[Dave Zuchelli is a graduate of Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and
currently resides in Aldie, VA.]

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My Annual Physical

I went for my annual physical exam today. Truth
be told, I was about 2 ½ years late. My doctor cajoled me to make a better
effort at showing up every year. (Hey! I’m a busy man! Retirement can be
overwhelming at times.)

After much poking, prodding, and…well…other things, I left with a clean bill of health—sort of. At least he verified that I’m still breathing and I’m not getting any younger.

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Besides being quite personal and intrusive,
these things can be rather scary. At my age, who knows what evil is lurking
deep within. Because of this, we golden-agers subject ourselves to physicals,
shots, supplements, rectal exams (excuse my language), and the ever-dreaded
colonoscopies. As Mick Jagger once sang, “What a drag it is getting old.” Of course, if
you’re old enough to remember that song, you’re old enough to schedule regular
colonoscopies.

At First Swig

One hasn’t lived until one experiences the
joy of a colonoscopy. Actually, the procedure is a breeze (so to speak). The
prep for these babies is the killer. It used to be, you had to drink about
thirty-seven gallons of foul-tasting, metabolic mixture that was truly a
gastronomic adventure. At first swig, you might guess that it came from a toxic
waste dump. It’s actually prescribed by your attending physician, so you know
it has to be good for you.

You then spend the next several hours displacing any unwanted particles of food (or whatever else you like to digest) from your colon. This amounts to living in the bathroom for what seems like a day and a half with your ankle chained to the toilet. This is not something I would recommend for the first few days of your vacation. Do this on your employer’s time if you can. If you’re retired like me… Well, if you’re retired like me, you may want to avoid the entire experience. You might die sooner, but at least you’ll die happy.

Fortunately, things have improved. I just
checked WebMD and they recommend picking up the following items a few days prior
to your big event:

Prescription for an over-the-counter laxative specified by your MDLow-fiber foodSports drinks, juices, and brothsMoist wipes(and last but not least) Diaper cream

This sounded like so much fun, I immediately
called my friendly, neighborhood gastroenterologist to schedule one. Can’t wait…

Please, Pray for Me

I hope this all goes well. If I’ve got to do
this every year, I might not last to the ripe old age of seventy-five. I’m not
sure my innards can take it. As we in the church like to say in times like these,
“Pray for me.”

The Jews of the Old Testament used to make
annual sacrifices to atone for their sin. In Christianity, we believe that the
sacrifice of Jesus cleansed us from our sin, once and for all, eliminating the
need for the yearly thing. I believe that with all my heart. But apparently it doesn’t
cover colons. We still need to cleanse those regularly.

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