The Stranger

About eight years after I was born, my father met a stranger who was new to our small Texas town. From the beginning, he 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 — my mother taught me good from evil, and my father 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 my father didn’t seem to mind.

Sometimes, my mother 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 to leave). 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 longtime visitor, however, got away with four-letter words that burned my ears and made my father squirm and my mother blush.

My father didn’t permit the 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 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 sixty 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’ living room today, you would still find him sitting over in his corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and watch all the pictures he’ll bring to you. What’s his name you ask? We’ve called him “Television.” He also has acquired a wife now — she’s called “Computer.” Together, they have a child called, "Smartphone." How do we get rid of these ungodly strangers?

Unplug them from the electrical wall socket, put the child in "silent mode" — then go open, study, and meditate on God’s word! (Acts 17:11; 2 Timothy 2:15; Psalm 1:1-2).

—Mike Riley, Gospel Snippets