This morning I found myself pondering the sidewalk beneath my feet. Actually at the time there was no sidewalk beneath my feet because I was taking the direct route. What drew my attention to it was a lady who was out for a jog. She reached a place where she could have run around a corner along the road or she could have followed the sidewalk as it turned an ran straight away from the road only to return to it on the other side of the corner after traveling nearly twice as far. The jogger chose to follow the sidewalk.
This got me thinking about how arbitrary the sidewalk can be, and yet people still tend to follow it like it was a cattle chute. Maybe the jogger knew how far she was running and wanted to cover a specific distance or maybe she did not want to go through the grass for fear of twisting an ankle. Fine. But when I am walking around throwing papers at porches does it really matter if I walk where the side walk is? Suppose I walk three feet to the right, or perhaps two feet and eight and one quarter inches to the left? I might have to go around the occasional porch, but otherwise I think I will be alright.
I once stuck to the sidewalk religiously. I figured people may not want me to walk through their yards in the early morning hours. I have since concluded that I can safely assume the ground is where I am supposed to walk unless there is a "Keep Off the Grass" sign up. I now take the direct route pretty much everywhere.
It is a good thing, too. If I stuck to the sidewalk I would be stuck walking past a window every morning where there is a larger gentleman who always walks around with his lights on and curtains open completely naked. When it is dark at three or four in the morning it is hard not to look where there is light and movement. If I don't stick to the sidewalk I can completely avoid that house. Thankfully he is not a subscriber.
So if the placement of the sidewalk is so arbitrary then that means it could also have been placed differently. Perhaps a sidewalk was built over a colony of the little ants that pinch people, destroying the colony. Now maybe thanks to that sidewalk a child who is playing in that yard won't get those ants crawling all over him and start squirming and walk into traffic while he is distracted with the itching and the pinching. Sidewalks save lives! On the other hand maybe that same sidewalk was built over a seedling of a hybrid plant that we have never seen before, and maybe the nectar of that plant was going to be the cure for cancer, AIDS, or even liberalism. Sure that sidewalk saved that kid's life, but how many people has it condemned.
That might be a little extreme, but you will find I rather enjoy applying the butterfly effect to many things.
I would be interested sometime to sit and watch a corner like the one I described earlier just to tally how many people follow the road, how many follow the sidewalk, and how many really take the direct route straight through the grass. It is fascinating how people always walk on the cement rather than the strip of grass right beside it where the grass grows and the ground feels much more comfortable. It is almost like religion--you grow up walking on the Muslim sidewalk it is hard to get off. If you grow up walking on the Christian sidewalk it is hard to get off, and on and on. That would actually be rather encouraging if only more people were bringing their children up to be born-again, Bible-believing Christians. So now we have established that sidewalks are a cult. Once you join you almost always stay, and when you see someone just gleefully walking straight across the grass you probably look down you sidewalk-cult nose at him and wonder what is wrong with him. I am that guy you are looking at and when you reach our destination a quarter hour after I get there maybe I can explain it to you.
As the sun came up this morning I wondered one last wonder about the sidewalk: Why do they have to be made of a material that reflects every bit of sunlight directly into my eyes?
Day Job
I am identifying myself as a paperboy, but it is really not my day job.
By day I am a Southern Baptist who has grown increasingly unapologetic when it comes to apologetics. Having just checked on the definition of apologetics on dictionary.com, I realize that apologetics is not quite the right word as I have gradually become somewhat aggressive. Apparently apologetics is concerned with the defense of Christianity. Yeah, I will probably post some of that here, too. My blog, my opinions, but if anyone really wants a good debate and is willing to keep it civil I will see you in the comments section.
Delivering the paper is not my second job. After I am a servant to Jesus I am a servant to my wife. I have to be because otherwise she gets her whip out. Actually we believe in a traiditional family structure so she pretty well does anything I ask within reason, but in return I am bound to love her like Christ loved the church. I could write pages upon pages about the dynamics of that, but the short version is that a traditional male-dominated household is not necessarily mysogynistic. They certainly can be, but not if they are done the way the Word teaches.
Delivering the paper is not my third job. After I serve Jesus and my wife I am accountable for the well being of two much smaller people. Their eyes are always on me. I don't need my PSP in front of me for my preschool age daughter to walk up to me and say, "Daddy you press the square, the triangle, the circle, and don't forget the X." I am actually somewhat proud of her ability to remember the buttons on the PSP, but I am even more proud that I can make a sign for each and she can recite nine out of the ten commandments, in order, perfectly almost every time. She somehow always tries to skip the ninth one. My son is even smaller yet. He is usually well behaved and when he isn't he throws the cutest little tantrums. I'll never tell him that though or I might be stuck with those tantrums.
Delivering the paper is not even my fourth job. Delivering the paper is way down near the bottom of the list, but I identify myself as a paperboy here because it is a job that gives me time to think about things like this. Walking around town at 3:00 in the morning with no one but the newspapers to keep you company is something we should all try at least once in our lives. Lately I have not even been turning the car radio on. I have been spending that time talking with God or with the voices in my head. The quiet allows one to ruminate on a deeper level than is possible any other time of the day. Sometimes it is a little bit scary, but more often it is entertaining or even useful. Most of it leaves me with the feeling later that I should have been writing stuff down. Another word for think is muse and so this shall be the place for the musings of the paperboy.
By day I am a Southern Baptist who has grown increasingly unapologetic when it comes to apologetics. Having just checked on the definition of apologetics on dictionary.com, I realize that apologetics is not quite the right word as I have gradually become somewhat aggressive. Apparently apologetics is concerned with the defense of Christianity. Yeah, I will probably post some of that here, too. My blog, my opinions, but if anyone really wants a good debate and is willing to keep it civil I will see you in the comments section.
Delivering the paper is not my second job. After I am a servant to Jesus I am a servant to my wife. I have to be because otherwise she gets her whip out. Actually we believe in a traiditional family structure so she pretty well does anything I ask within reason, but in return I am bound to love her like Christ loved the church. I could write pages upon pages about the dynamics of that, but the short version is that a traditional male-dominated household is not necessarily mysogynistic. They certainly can be, but not if they are done the way the Word teaches.
Delivering the paper is not my third job. After I serve Jesus and my wife I am accountable for the well being of two much smaller people. Their eyes are always on me. I don't need my PSP in front of me for my preschool age daughter to walk up to me and say, "Daddy you press the square, the triangle, the circle, and don't forget the X." I am actually somewhat proud of her ability to remember the buttons on the PSP, but I am even more proud that I can make a sign for each and she can recite nine out of the ten commandments, in order, perfectly almost every time. She somehow always tries to skip the ninth one. My son is even smaller yet. He is usually well behaved and when he isn't he throws the cutest little tantrums. I'll never tell him that though or I might be stuck with those tantrums.
Delivering the paper is not even my fourth job. Delivering the paper is way down near the bottom of the list, but I identify myself as a paperboy here because it is a job that gives me time to think about things like this. Walking around town at 3:00 in the morning with no one but the newspapers to keep you company is something we should all try at least once in our lives. Lately I have not even been turning the car radio on. I have been spending that time talking with God or with the voices in my head. The quiet allows one to ruminate on a deeper level than is possible any other time of the day. Sometimes it is a little bit scary, but more often it is entertaining or even useful. Most of it leaves me with the feeling later that I should have been writing stuff down. Another word for think is muse and so this shall be the place for the musings of the paperboy.
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