Category Archives: miracles

On a hypothetical snow day

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It is the eternal dream of all children, old and young, to get a day off from work and school because of bad winter weather. No, I don’t expect a foot of snow tomorrow, but it could ice up really good overnight which would make driving prohibitive, or at least very dangerous. Driving in snow isn’t easy, and you can slide around a bit, but driving on ice, well, just isn’t possible. If you have no friction between wheel and road, you don’t have any driving either–you just have lots of sliding, and sliding is bad in a two ton vehicle. The dream of a day off from the regular grind is more tantalizing than finding free money because even if you find free money, you still have to do something to enjoy it. A snow day is enjoyed by doing nothing more than staying home. You don’t have to get dressed, you can drink a second cup of coffee, you might take a nap or even read a book–watch an old movie, maybe. The hustle and bustle of December is stressful, but a snow day is a de-stressor, if such a thing exists. You can be completely passive to enjoy a snow day. No meetings, no classes, no problems, nothing to turn in, and since tomorrow is Friday, we would get a long weekend. This is way too good to be true. The freezing rain just hangs off to the west, shutting everything down in its path, but the truth is, nothing is falling in Waco. Oh, there’s a fine mist out there, but the ground is warm and the roads are still passable, so I suspect that my dream will not come true. Yet, wouldn’t it be lovely to get an extra day of vacation right when you most need it?

On a hypothetical snow day

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It is the eternal dream of all children, old and young, to get a day off from work and school because of bad winter weather. No, I don’t expect a foot of snow tomorrow, but it could ice up really good overnight which would make driving prohibitive, or at least very dangerous. Driving in snow isn’t easy, and you can slide around a bit, but driving on ice, well, just isn’t possible. If you have no friction between wheel and road, you don’t have any driving either–you just have lots of sliding, and sliding is bad in a two ton vehicle. The dream of a day off from the regular grind is more tantalizing than finding free money because even if you find free money, you still have to do something to enjoy it. A snow day is enjoyed by doing nothing more than staying home. You don’t have to get dressed, you can drink a second cup of coffee, you might take a nap or even read a book–watch an old movie, maybe. The hustle and bustle of December is stressful, but a snow day is a de-stressor, if such a thing exists. You can be completely passive to enjoy a snow day. No meetings, no classes, no problems, nothing to turn in, and since tomorrow is Friday, we would get a long weekend. This is way too good to be true. The freezing rain just hangs off to the west, shutting everything down in its path, but the truth is, nothing is falling in Waco. Oh, there’s a fine mist out there, but the ground is warm and the roads are still passable, so I suspect that my dream will not come true. Yet, wouldn’t it be lovely to get an extra day of vacation right when you most need it?

On the chance of rain

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There is a 40 per cent chance of rain this weekend. Living in Texas, however, has made me skeptical. Rain keeps the planet green, but in Texas rain is scarce and comes at a premium. I know that predicting rain is a rough business, especially when you are dealing with the weather two, three, or four days out. The further out you go, the more accuracy goes down. Talking about the weather a week from today is just pure fantasy. I have often thought that predicting rain during a drought is bad luck. I love rain, but living in Central Texas or Madrid means that I seldom see rain. My summers are full of plenty of sunshine and warm weather. When the weather man or woman comes on the television with promises of liquid precipitation I almost always respond with a great deal cynicism, you see, because it so seldom rains where I am. Umbrellas go to my house and office to die of boredom. Mother Nature scoffs at me and taunts me by dropping a half dozen drops on my car while I drive to work–just enough to mess up my clean car, but not enough keep the grass alive. Or I drive through a downpour on the way home only to find that at my house it never rained at all. In Texas, a chance of rain might mean that the searing climate might moderate for a couple of days, that the cracks in the ground might disappear for a few days, that you won’t have to water the grass for awhile. The chance of rain is only too often a mirage, a dream, a hope unfulfilled. Day after day of 95 and sunny, though pleasant, is also boring in the extreme. The smell of wet earth floating in the air is a primitive smell that provokes all sorts of childhood memories of dark warm late-summer thunderstorms. A chance of rain might ruin your picnic, or make driving difficult. A chance of rain could mess up your hair, or cause you to cancel your tennis match. Funny, but I can’t remember the last time rain made me change my plans.

On the chance of rain

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There is a 40 per cent chance of rain this weekend. Living in Texas, however, has made me skeptical. Rain keeps the planet green, but in Texas rain is scarce and comes at a premium. I know that predicting rain is a rough business, especially when you are dealing with the weather two, three, or four days out. The further out you go, the more accuracy goes down. Talking about the weather a week from today is just pure fantasy. I have often thought that predicting rain during a drought is bad luck. I love rain, but living in Central Texas or Madrid means that I seldom see rain. My summers are full of plenty of sunshine and warm weather. When the weather man or woman comes on the television with promises of liquid precipitation I almost always respond with a great deal cynicism, you see, because it so seldom rains where I am. Umbrellas go to my house and office to die of boredom. Mother Nature scoffs at me and taunts me by dropping a half dozen drops on my car while I drive to work–just enough to mess up my clean car, but not enough keep the grass alive. Or I drive through a downpour on the way home only to find that at my house it never rained at all. In Texas, a chance of rain might mean that the searing climate might moderate for a couple of days, that the cracks in the ground might disappear for a few days, that you won’t have to water the grass for awhile. The chance of rain is only too often a mirage, a dream, a hope unfulfilled. Day after day of 95 and sunny, though pleasant, is also boring in the extreme. The smell of wet earth floating in the air is a primitive smell that provokes all sorts of childhood memories of dark warm late-summer thunderstorms. A chance of rain might ruin your picnic, or make driving difficult. A chance of rain could mess up your hair, or cause you to cancel your tennis match. Funny, but I can’t remember the last time rain made me change my plans.

On leaving Amarillo

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This story is about a miracle–you may decide for yourself, rational empiricist, if it actually was. So after the Texas Medieval Association conference, which was held in Canyon, Texas, this year (2013), was over, I had to head back home to Waco. I had arrived on the high plains of west Texas to give my paper on miracles (interesting coincidence, no?) via the Amarillo airport, so once the last paper was over on Saturday, I hopped in my rental car, and I headed north. After stopping for gas, I dropped the car off at the rental office and headed to the terminal. Once there, I found out that there was bad weather in Dallas, that the 3:30 flight was still waiting to leave (it was 4:30 pm by now), and that the agent did not want me to check in for my flight yet because she didn’t know if it would ever leave at all. The prospects of getting out of Amarillo on this particular Saturday night were somewhere between zero and none. I headed to the airport bar to drown my travel sorrows in a cold beverage. Minutes later, my phone dinged to let me know that my 6:30 pm flight was now leaving at a little past seven–an old story. I ordered another beverage, but decided that since dinner time was looming, I would also buy a burger. I made the order. About five minutes later, my phoned dinged again, and my heart sank–now I would be delayed until tomorrow. Yet, to my great astonishment, I was now bumped up to the ill-fated 3:30 pm flight which was still sitting at the gate like a beached whale. I rushed over to check-in, and the clerk wanted my bag, and she had my ticket in her hand–“Run,” she said, “the flight is leaving in less than ten minutes.” I had inquired as to the availability of seats on that flight earlier, and there were none. Shaking my head at my good fortune, I headed to the bar to pay for my drinks and burger. The burger wasn’t ready yet, so told the waitress to give it away. She shrugged, and I left. There was no one at security except the bored security guards, so I put everything in the bins, the bins on the belt, and stepped into the security scanner machine. No waiting. As I was putting my shoes on, the security guard told me to wait–my food was coming through. A little dumb-struck, I took my food and backpack and headed for the gate. Ginger handed me a new baggage tag receipt, and I got on the plane, which promptly pulled away from the gate and headed for Dallas with me and my burger and fries. How I ever got on that flight with my food can only be termed a miracle. I left before I was even required to be at the airport. I have never been “moved up” without asking for it. Call me crazy, claim that it was just coincidence, but I honestly think God put my return together. I was at the airport early, a seat on a full flight was given to me without asking for it, the server at the bar had the kind foresight and generosity to carry my food to security, and the security agent gave it to me. Well-rested, and well-fed, I arrived in Dallas where my car was waiting for me–I didn’t miss my connection because on this odd trip, I had driven the two hours to the airport. If it were just one thing, I would dismiss it as random, but too many things had to coalesce at once to bring me home safely on Saturday night. Leaving Amarillo was a wonderful lesson in God’s power to give us what we need and perhaps less of what we want.

On leaving Amarillo

Posted on by

This story is about a miracle–you may decide for yourself, rational empiricist, if it actually was. So after the Texas Medieval Association conference, which was held in Canyon, Texas, this year (2013), was over, I had to head back home to Waco. I had arrived on the high plains of west Texas to give my paper on miracles (interesting coincidence, no?) via the Amarillo airport, so once the last paper was over on Saturday, I hopped in my rental car, and I headed north. After stopping for gas, I dropped the car off at the rental office and headed to the terminal. Once there, I found out that there was bad weather in Dallas, that the 3:30 flight was still waiting to leave (it was 4:30 pm by now), and that the agent did not want me to check in for my flight yet because she didn’t know if it would ever leave at all. The prospects of getting out of Amarillo on this particular Saturday night were somewhere between zero and none. I headed to the airport bar to drown my travel sorrows in a cold beverage. Minutes later, my phone dinged to let me know that my 6:30 pm flight was now leaving at a little past seven–an old story. I ordered another beverage, but decided that since dinner time was looming, I would also buy a burger. I made the order. About five minutes later, my phoned dinged again, and my heart sank–now I would be delayed until tomorrow. Yet, to my great astonishment, I was now bumped up to the ill-fated 3:30 pm flight which was still sitting at the gate like a beached whale. I rushed over to check-in, and the clerk wanted my bag, and she had my ticket in her hand–“Run,” she said, “the flight is leaving in less than ten minutes.” I had inquired as to the availability of seats on that flight earlier, and there were none. Shaking my head at my good fortune, I headed to the bar to pay for my drinks and burger. The burger wasn’t ready yet, so told the waitress to give it away. She shrugged, and I left. There was no one at security except the bored security guards, so I put everything in the bins, the bins on the belt, and stepped into the security scanner machine. No waiting. As I was putting my shoes on, the security guard told me to wait–my food was coming through. A little dumb-struck, I took my food and backpack and headed for the gate. Ginger handed me a new baggage tag receipt, and I got on the plane, which promptly pulled away from the gate and headed for Dallas with me and my burger and fries. How I ever got on that flight with my food can only be termed a miracle. I left before I was even required to be at the airport. I have never been “moved up” without asking for it. Call me crazy, claim that it was just coincidence, but I honestly think God put my return together. I was at the airport early, a seat on a full flight was given to me without asking for it, the server at the bar had the kind foresight and generosity to carry my food to security, and the security agent gave it to me. Well-rested, and well-fed, I arrived in Dallas where my car was waiting for me–I didn’t miss my connection because on this odd trip, I had driven the two hours to the airport. If it were just one thing, I would dismiss it as random, but too many things had to coalesce at once to bring me home safely on Saturday night. Leaving Amarillo was a wonderful lesson in God’s power to give us what we need and perhaps less of what we want.