Ok, I can't believe I'm doing this, because I hardly ever even open forwards and if I do, I certainly never SEND them to anyone else. Much less use one as my blog entry. This one came at a time when I needed to read it though. (See more about that after the story.) If you've already gotten this from a friend, forgive me. If not, read on. . .


A few months before I was born, my Dad met a stranger who was new to our small Arkansas town. From the beginning, Dad was fascinated with this enchanting newcomer and soon invited him to live with our family.

The stranger was quickly accepted and was around to welcome me into the world a few months later.

As I grew up, I never questioned his place in my family. In my young mind, he had a special niche. My parents were complementary instructors: Mom taught me the word of God, and Dad taught me to obey it.

But the stranger? He was our storyteller. He would keep us spellbound for hours on end with adventures, mysteries and comedies. If I wanted to know anything about politics, history or science, he always knew the answers about the past, understood the present and even seemed able to predict the future! He took my family to the first major league ball game. He made me laugh, and he made me cry. The stranger never stopped talking, but Dad didn't seem to mind.

Sometimes Mom would get up quietly while the rest of us were shushing each other to listen to what he had to say, and she would go to her room and read her books. (I wonder now if she ever prayed for the stranger to leave.)

Dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions, but the stranger never felt obligated to honor them. Profanity, for example, was not allowed in our home .. not from us, our friends or any visitors. Our longtime visitor, however, got away with four-letter words that burned my ears and made my dad squirm and my mother blush.

My Dad was a teetotaler who didn't permit alcohol in the home, not even for cooking. But the stranger encouraged us to try it on a regular basis. He made cigarettes look cool, cigars manly and pipes distinguished. He talked freely about sex. His comments were sometimes blatant, sometimes suggestive, and generally embarrassing. I now know that my early concepts about relationships were influenced strongly by the stranger. Time after time, he opposed the values of my parents, yet he was seldom rebuked ... and NEVER asked to leave.

More than fifty years have passed since the stranger moved in with our family. He has blended right in and is not nearly as fascinating as he was at first.

Still, if you were to walk into my parents' living room today you would still find him sitting over in his corner, waiting for someone to listen to him.

His name?

We just call him TV.


Author Unknown

It's me again. :) Here's the weird thing. Some of you know that we didn't have any television channels in our house for many years. The area we live in is unable to pick up any local channels and we didn't want cable. We would watch videos or DVDs but no TV shows. This year around Thanksgiving we decided to get DISH. We had it in the office for awhile a couple of years ago, but never had time to get up there and watch anything at night. So this time we had it moved to our living room, and the kids never have time to do anything BUT watch it!

I woke up this morning with this problem on my mind. I hate to get rid of DISH because we spent quite a bit getting the programming set up. I could simply turn the TV off and be more selective about viewing hours. After going back and forth on the issue this morning, I found an email in my inbox with the subject line Stranger in the House. I knew it was a forward but I opened it anyway having no idea what it referred to. And there this was.

I'm going to keep DISH the rest of this month and then get rid of it. Even though I keep the parental controls set pretty strict, it's just not worth it for me. (Emphasis on ME, because what's right for me may not be for you.)

Isn't God wonderful to guide us each one when we ask him?