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There are places in the world where you can view several states or countries from a single spot. I’ve been to some of them, but I have only the haziest of memories to show for my visits. To me, tourist attractions like that are never very remarkable. I can’t understand the fuss about one side of a map line versus another. I’ve been on so many sides of so many map lines that one place has become pretty much the same as the next.
But I do know of one special place. Once upon a time, on a small farm where I once lived, I could watch persimmons grow from my front yard. I can’t remember my code for the money machine, but that view has earned a place in my memory. Those persimmons grew on a large, independent tree. Planted alone among countless Fescue blades pushing through a loamy soil near the crest of a hill, that tree was the only landmark in a field of green. It marked the edge of our property.
Cattle seemed to appreciate this gift as much as I. A symbiotic relationship ensued as cows and tree traded shade and snacks for camaraderie and closeness. If it was summer and the cattle were lowing, you could be sure they were lowing under their persimmon tree. Offering shade, all the persimmons a cow could eat, and a sturdy trunk for scratching persimmon squirts from cowhide, that tree was central to a bovine nirvana of sorts.
Persimmon trees are generally tall and leafy, and this one was no exception. By placing this tree in the middle of a field and surrounding it with good bovine brethren, God produced a scene bordering on the majestic. As far as I know, the tree still stands, but I think the cows were evicted when they put the place up for sale this last time. The cows can’t afford it, and neither can I.
Perhaps cows and hippos were not meant to own farms, but I hope that tree is allowed to stand for a while longer—even though it saddens me to think of it standing there with no cows for company.
As you may know, persimmons provide motivation for those who would pucker up, but their taste rarely fosters a mood of amour, so the effect is generally wasted. If I could, though, I would eat a persimmon right now. I’d close my eyes and hear once again the sound of my uncle’s cows. I’d see the tree swaying in the breeze of a humid summer day. And as I felt my lips begin to pucker, I’d whisper a soft, low whistle at the beauty of our world. I think I might take a ride this spring to see my tree once more before the hay comes in. I hope there are some cows nearby.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
I know I created an escalation of our cold war when I disabled comments on your favorite SPAM target, but I think your scatter gun barrage of 44 SPAMs in 1 day was way over the top! Don’t you understand the concept of incremental escalation?! I take a small step, you are supposed to take A SMALL STEP! Now, you’ve forced me to disable all comments on all articles after 14 days. This of course, will restrict you to a few newer targets. Let’s see how you like that? Also, I can lower that number if I need to do so. Trust me…If you hit me 44 more times tomorrow, the ratcheting sounds you hear will the ruination of all posting without logging in. Now, you wouldn’t want that would you? Please. Don’t ruin it for everybody!
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
I have recently been reading and meditating about Jesus’ temptation in the desert, so I was intrigued to hear those same verses read in church this morning. Luke 4:1-13 formed the foundation for the sermon. It was as if God was working through my pastor and the church service to help me understand the questions I’ve been pondering. What a blessing this morning’s service was for me!
As you may know, Jesus was tempted in the Desert. This is important because it is yet another proof of Jesus’ divinity. We know Jesus was divine, at least in part, because of his temptations in the desert. A mortal man could never completely resist temptation the way Jesus did—not just in the desert, but throughout the course of his life—so Jesus was clearly much more than a mortal man. His victories over sin, temptation, nature, and death all point to his divinity just as my inability to triumph over those elements in my life proves my own fundamental “hipponess.”
They say Depeche Mode’s “personal Jesus” is supposed to be a metaphor for whatever makes you happy. I suppose I’ve foiled the metaphor because my own personal Jesus is Jesus. The guy who showed us how to live all those years ago gives me strength and makes me happy today. He showed us that it is possible to inhabit a physical shell and still focus on a divine purpose. Jesus resisted Satan’s temptations, and so can we. It isn’t easy, but Jesus showed us it can be done.
- In a vast emptiness, Satan sought to satisfy Jesus’ need for sustenance. Jesus declined his aide.
- In a great wilderness, Satan sought to provide self actualization. Again, Jesus said, “no.”
- And in a barren desert, when Satan sought to make a deal, Jesus refused to exalt himself.
Through a rather keen understanding of Maslow, Satan appeals to a full spectrum of very human “needs,” but when we turn our eyes to Jesus, we often see those “needs” exposed as “wants.” And why do we want them? A big reason for so many wants in my life is the barrage of suggestions from Satan. He understands what I want and he brings that knowledge to bear on me all the time.
I drive around town and I see billboards of scantily clad people in great shape. Don’t I want to be in great shape? Don’t I want to be with a scantily clad person who is in great shape? It is hard to think about anything else when temptation is staring me in the face. And what better use could there be for my time than to focus on myself. Surely I deserve these things!
I watch television and at commercial time, they often suggest I need a new car. Don’t I want a fancy new car?! What better use for my money could there possibly be than to indulge myself? Besides, my truck has something wrong with it. It is embarrassing! When I start it, a big puff of smoke comes out of the tailpipe, and the repair place was unable to fix it. Doesn’t Jesus want me to appear prosperous?
I see so many opportunities to take the easy path, the personally gratifying lane, the self-centered approach. Every one of my temptations seems to share a common theme: Keep yourself at the center of things and keep Jesus on the periphery. But Jesus kept his eyes on the things that mattered! He did not think about himself. He thought about His Father in Heaven, and he thought about all of us. If I can follow His example, perhaps I can resist a few of the temptations Satan will place in my path.
This week, I think I’ll try something a little different: I will keep my eyes on Jesus, and I will “reach out and touch faith.”
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
Congratulations, Russian Spammers! I give up! Uncle!
If your continuous onslaught of SPAM was intended to get a response, here you have it. I have just disabled comments on the venerable Hippo Bone Hair Sticks article. I know how you have loved attaching your advertisements to it, so this must be a sad day in Russia. You have attempted to hawk all manner of offensive products, using the power of the comment button, but the ride is over. I cannot continue to sort through your drivel every day. I am a busy hippo!
When a post’s comments begin to approach a dozen a day from random Russian IP addresses, I suppose it must be time to do something about it. It has not been all bad, though. The degree of gibberish in those “comments” has provided me with hours of entertainment. While I click the “mark as SPAM” button, I have often thought of the machine that must certainly be behind so many poorly written vehicles for Cialis ads.
I’m nearly certain my HBHS post is on some Russian SPAM-this-site page. I have looked for the source, but it is more elusive than the Holy Grail. I found the home of world peace, Atlantis, and the fountain of youth along the way, but I never did find the source of all that SPAM. I don’t know how they do it, but do it they do. They are committed to hitting that page. Well, they were. Not any more!
No longer will our Hippo Bone Hair Sticks post be beleaguered by Russian and Russian-English platitudes with the objective of finding a platform for a hidden link. Hippo Bone Hair Sticks is officially closed to new comments. It saddens me to think of all of you honest readers out there, who have been carefully crafting responses to that post, lo these many months. No doubt, you were just about ready to finally post your perfectly crafted, insightful comments on that classic posting. I am sorry, but this will not be possible. The Russians have ruined it for everyone.
I wonder which post will become the new SPAM target.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
If I were in charge of the Olympics, things would be different!
For one thing, figure skating would be a head-to-head competition. Olympians would skate against each other and the clock. They could each set their own music and tempo, but both songs would blare against each other as they skated. Fans could buy special Mister Hippo earplugs to watch the event, which would otherwise be unbearable due to the ever increasing volumes between the teams. Allowing them to skate on the same ice, at the same time, using the exact same routine would speed things up wonderfully, but there would still be artistic/style points because everyone knows fast art is good art.
Some events would be forced participation from the population at large. None of this hand picking volunteers for no-skill events. For example, the bobsled and the luge would be for untrained amateurs. Each international team would get to pick the competitors for one other team, drawn at random. A few weeks before the event, they’d find a pack of fat slobs, drag them to the top of the hills, and push them down. First one down wins! Tell me you wouldn’t watch that!
I sort of like the biathalon as it is, but I’d give the skiers paintball guns instead of those things they have now. This would free them up to shoot each other in the face. Once a competitor can no longer see, it becomes much more challenging for him to ski and shoot straight. Tell me you wouldn’t watch.
What about that sweeping the ice thing? Shouldn’t that just be random recruits from the stands? I think that would be a lot better and more fun to watch. Just get someone who looks like he knows how to mop a floor and stick him out there. Again, the other team gets to pick your competitors, so it might make sense to include a few plants in the audience. I like the idea of a bunch of Spy-Vs.-Spy activity where each side is trying to guess what the other side is going to do.
I might add a few other competitions, as well. In times like these, where the snow is mostly slush, I’d have slush stomping, which would most certainly be a crowd pleaser. I’d leave the speed skaters alone—except I’d eliminate all the interference rules. I’d also leave mogul skiing alone. That seems just about perfect to me already. Those girls sure can make their knees jump, can’t they?
The Olympics are pretty good, but I would have to make a few of these changes if I were in charge.
Sincerely,
Mister Hippo
