Just how good is good?

The American Humanist society called for all who don't believe in God at Christmas not to worry. Just be "good for goodness sake." My hubby took the time to craft some thoughts in response. The floor is yours, babe.

I have a few questions. Can someone be good just for the sake of being good?

In an isolated circumstance, sure. Long term, I don’t think so. I know I can’t. But I don’t feel bad because the apostle Paul, whom Jesus appeared to and who was caught up into heaven, couldn’t be good either (Rom 7:19).

The question is how good do you have to be to be good? Who gets to define “good” in the absence of God?

Does the definition change with time, culture or circumstances? Is there one definition, or do we each get our own? At some point, does the discussion become meaningless in the absence of absolute standards?

So where would we find absolute standards to measure good? Jesus said, “Why do you call Me good? No one is good but One, that is, God.” (Mk 10:18)

It’s self-evident. You can’t be good unless you know what good is, and only someone who is good can tell you.

By the way, why even bother to be good if being bad is more fun...unless of course we’ll be responsible at some point to someone who is good. Something to think about.

Bottom line; not only do I need God to be good, I need God to even want to be good.

P.S. This has nothing to do with getting to heaven. For that you have to be perfect.

Thirty-five years ago in November

Thirty-five years ago this month, we moved from Lexington, KY to Homestead, FL. I was a few weeks from turning fourteen, a recent victim of the Blow Cut hair style, and a little overweight from an affinity for saltines and sweet tea.

November in Florida is beautiful as the heat and humidity wane and the holiday season rolls in. But thirty-five years ago it was odd, hot, and far away from my "world." I felt like I'd moved to the end of the earth.

I had culture shock going from a suburban Lexington Junior High to one all classes and races of kids. I had to learn their lingo and culture. I stood at the bus stop sweating in my pants and short sleeve top while my bus stop mates wore fur lined coats. It was the first time I'd ever been asked, "Where you stay at?"

My classes ran from noon to five p.m. The hallways were covered sidewalks or opened into courtyards.

Riding my bike this afternoon a scent on the breeze reminded me of those early days in Homestead. For a second I remembered how odd and weird it felt to be in a scene with so much green and sunshine when my setting should be cold, grey and pregnant with snow.

It was a long time ago. My parents were more than a decade younger than I am now. They loaded up five kids and moved to pursue their dreams.

Within a year of that move, I had a couple of best friends. I'd shed those extra pounds, exchanged octagon wire rims for contact lens and eventually got a job at Publix. I got a little bit prettier. Had a crush on a guy named Joe, then a guy named Pete. And had infinitely better hair. ;)

Looking out my front windows, soft breeze in the leaves, golden light on the lawn, I'm glad. I'm content. Life is good.