Mood: a-ok
Topic: MyWords::RE::RandomStuff
DISCLAIMER: We love all of you and like most of you, but we have no intentions of spending postage money on you. That’s why we have devised a fail-proof plan for deducting the cost of this letter from income tax: So that the cost of this letter can be filed as a home-business expense related to Timothy’s writing, this letter will be filled with subliminal messages telling you to purchase his books—but these messages are so subliminal that you won’t even notice that the reason you’re weeping profusely is because you have realized that, unless everyone that receives this letter purchases at least two cases of Timothy’s book Hullabaloo: Discovering Glory in Everyday Life, our family will no longer be able to purchase toenail clippers and Hannah’s toenails will pierce her ballet slippers, thus inestimably damaging a dance floor at Louisville Ballet, so head for the telephone right now and order two cases of books. See? You didn’t even notice, did you?
The Jones Family: Episode 2007: Revenge of the Christmas Letter
Dear friends, family members to whom we feel morally obligated to send occasional updates letting them know we’re still alive, furry four-legged companions, and anyone else on whom we happen to inflict this letter:
The last time we wrote an epistle of this sort, Timothy had just transitioned from Associate Pastor at First Baptist Church of Rolling Hills to Senior Pastor, and we had just adopted Hannah Rachel Jones.
The next bit of excitement came in 2005, when we were at Pre-Teen Camp and several gargantuan aliens from the planet Pootywhinkle landed in the middle of a worship celebration. Timothy bravely ignited his lightsaber and destroyed most of the Pootywhinkleputians, but—before they fled into their giant asparagus spaceship and returned to their home planet—one of them fired death-ray into Timothy’s knee. After an MRI (which stands for “My Rump Itches,” because that’s how you feel after an MRI), it was discovered that the death-ray had destroyed Timothy’s ACL (that stands for “A Clumsy Leap,” because that’s what typically causes ACL injuries).[1] This unfortunate incident resulted in surgery, physical therapy, and the discovery that if one drinks an entire can of 7Up while still under the effects of anesthesia it is possible to throw up clear liquid and green stuff for several consecutive hours without stopping. We do not know why this is true, but we assure you that it is.
Anyhow—after four years of preaching and leading FBCRollingHills to build a youth center and new preschool area, which required Timothy to learn more about title deeds and flood plains than anyone ever needs to know—a major change occurred in our lives. And what was that major change? We are so glad that you asked, because it explains much of what you will read in this letter: In 2007, we began hanging toilet paper so that it rolls from the front instead of the back. (Speaking of paper, InterVarsity Press utilized extremely high-quality paper in Timothy’s book Misquoting Truth, which is now in its fifth printing and can be used as an environmentally-friendly toilet paper alternative.) About the same time as this major life-transition, a minor change also occurred: Timothy was appointed to the position of professor of leadership and church ministry at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary—the flagship seminary of the Southern Baptist Convention, the largest evangelical seminary in the world, and the seminary that’s way better than all other seminaries because we have Dr. Al Mohler as our president. (In case you didn’t know: Before the devil goes to sleep at night, he checks his closet for President Mohler. And Dr. Mohler has counted to infinity … twice. Okay, so maybe those are exaggerations, but I am---in all seriousness---greatly privileged to work under a president as skilled and esteemed as Dr. Mohler.)
All of this caused a bit of a problem, though: Southern Seminary is in Louisville, Kentucky, but we lived in Catoosa, Oklahoma at the time. These two locations are separated by a substantial space, consisting mostly of two flat states that both begin with the letter “I.” Rayann and Timothy sat for days, trying to figure out how Timothy could possibly teach in Kentucky, since we lived in Oklahoma. After weeks of perplexity, Rayann was reading one of Timothy’s books—which are filled with infinite wisdom and are available on Amazon.com, by the way. In the midst of her reading, Rayann saw a space in the book between a period and a capital letter. Drawing from the wisdom in that space, she had an epiphany—which you could experience too, if you order one of these books, even if you have no clue what an epiphany is—“Timothy!” she cried out. “We could move!” And so we did.
On June 18, 2007—our thirteenth wedding anniversary—we purchased a home in Louisville. It’s a brick Cape Cod house—though, despite searching arduously, we haven’t yet found those pesky capes or the cods, so we have no clue why they named it that. The original house was built in the late 1800s, but it was destroyed in the flood of 1937. Someone—probably from the planet Pootywhinkle—rebuilt it that same year, which makes it considerably more convenient to live in than it would have been if they had left it destroyed.
The house has a large family room down below—a room which now has a video projector and surround-sound for certain anonymous residents who like to crank up Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith and smack each other with plastic lightsabers until Darth Mommy sends them outside (this, by the way, is also mentioned in Timothy’s book Finding God in a Galaxy Far, Far Away). On the middle floor, the house has a red kitchen, sun room, bedrooms, dining room, parlor, and wooden floors—all of which Rayann likes a lot and uses extensively. There’s a bathroom on that floor too—which Rayann also likes a lot and uses extensively—plus another bathroom on the top floor (also used extensively by Rayann) with a bedroom where Rayann and Timothy sleep, but where, after that comment about Rayann and the bathroom, Timothy may not be sleeping for a while. It—the whole house, not just the bathroom—is in the St. Matthews Township of Louisville, which is like a little village in the middle of the city, complete with Farmer’s Market and quaint little restaurants, delis, and coffee shops all within walking distance from the house. Plus, the seminary is only a couple of miles away. After we moved, Timothy began teaching family ministry and lifespan development at Southern Seminary. He also continues to write books, including the upcoming books Conspiracies and the Cross and Family Ministry in the 21st Century, one of which may already be subliminally pre-ordered from Amazon.com.[2]
Well, in all seriousness—and, goodness knows, seriousness is not easy for at least one of us when we write these letters—we’ve seen this year that our God is ever so faithful and good. God provided a position where Timothy can use his gifts of teaching and writing without feeling constrained by other duties. God granted us a home in precisely the place where we wanted it, when we needed it, at the end of our rental lease, at a time when we didn’t have to scramble to sell a home. God also has given us many good friends who have encouraged us in more ways than we can count … well, actually, we probably could count them up, but we frankly don’t feel like counting right now—though we probably would, if you ordered a few books. Our Oklahoma friends, we miss most of all and hope to see some of them in 2008. (By the way, before we completely lose our capacity to be serious, we’re not really deducting the postage from our taxes. The Pootywhinkleputians are delivering the letters for free.)
Well, that wraps up this year’s Christmas letter! Have a Happy Christmas, a Merry Hanukkah, and you already missed Rosh Hashanah and Ramadan, but hopefully you enjoyed them too. Since Timothy’s now a professor, we’ve included study questions (below) to assist you in absorbing these materials, using the same edifying teaching methods that Timothy employs in the classroom. (Speaking of absorbent materials, the paper in Timothy’s book Christian History Made Easy is especially absorbent, so purchase a copy today!)
Still learning to live as God’s children,
Timothy with two people that he loves more than words can express, Rayann and Hannah
… plus, three creatures that try to act like God’s children—
Remus Lupin the Siberian Husky, and Shadowfax and Cho Chang the housecats …
… and one cat who sold his soul to Old Scratch several lifetimes ago, Martin Luther.
Study Questions
1. Were you offended by anything in this letter? If so, recognize that you lack an appropriate sense of humor. Rebuild your self-esteem by writing a confession of your failures on a separate piece of paper—phrases like “I am such a worm” will be helpful in this assignment—and purchase books by Dave Barry, as well as Shrek 2 and the DVD of Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
2. Read through the letter again, counting the references to Star Wars. What do these references suggest about certain persons in the Jones household, such as Hannah and Rayann?
3. Was there anything in the letter that you didn’t understand? Does this suggest that you are dim, dull, or dense? [Please circle all three options for full credit.]
[1] This is the official version of the story as reported on Discovery Channel. The unofficial version which was suppressed in a government conspiracy—INSERT SUBLIMINAL ADVERTISEMENT HERE: and, speaking of conspiracies! Timothy has a new book available for pre-order from Amazon.com, entitled Conspiracies and the Cross—was that Timothy initiated a moshing contest with someone larger than himself and lost this contest. We will not reveal that person’s name, but his initials were D (as in “David”) and N (as in “Nottingham”).
[2] We have no idea what a “subliminal pre-order” might be; it simply sounded impressive, like something Pootywhinkleputians might say before blasting your knee with a death-ray.