I received this from from my good friend Russel. Something that will challenge every Christian home, or atleast should do.
A few years after I was born, my Dad met a stranger
who was new to our small 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 from then on.
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: Mum taught me good from evil, and Dad
taught me to obey. 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, Mum 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 the kitchen for peace and quiet.
(I wonder now if she ever prayed for the stranger
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 long time visitor, however, got away with
four-letter words that burned my ears and made my dad squirm and my
mother blush. My Dad didn’t permit the liberal use of alcohol 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 (much too
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 could walk into my
parents’ den today, you would still find him sitting over in his
corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and watch him draw his
We just call him ‘TV.’