When The Bachelor/Bachelorette reality show first came on the air, I thought it was silly, didn’t watch it, and didn’t think it would last. That someone would actually propose marriage to a person after a couple of months of fairytale dating adventures seemed to me to be unbelievable or very naïve.

The show has been on the air for 17 seasons now, I have watched it off and on during that time, and as proven by the number of broken engagements stemming from the show, my initial impression was both inaccurate and accurate. The show has lasted far longer than I would have ever expected. The proposals at the conclusion of each season are unbelievable or very naïve; which brings us to this season.

When Juan Pablo began the season it appeared to me that everyone loved him. The women on the show said he was sensitive and chivalrous and just the kind of man they had always wanted. By the end of the season, many of the contestants for his love had turned against him and the host was obviously not in his corner. Though he is not the only bachelor who did not propose at the end of the season, he’s getting his share of negative press. Juan is being maligned because he was unwilling to say “I love you” even though or, perhaps, because he was pushed to say it.

Has the audience actually convinced themselves that people fall in love after a few months of dating in exotic locations? Do they actually believe that a healthy marriage will stem from a short, intense experience with or without a group of other datees? If a man doesn’t propose marriage because he thinks it’s too early in the relationship to do so, and rather than propose and then back out, he doesn’t propose in the first place; and if he doesn’t say “I love you” because (horrors) he isn’t quite ready to do so and won’t be bullied into it, I have one thing to say: I applaud you.

Sometimes, actually very often now when I read or watch the news, I feel like I’m watching Bedford Falls turn into Pottersville. It’s hard to believe that things are moving at an ever increasing speed toward the loss of what is dear to most folks: freedom, morality, generosity … you know, the things that make life wonderful. I shouldn’t be surprised that a few people can convince many people that for instance, if someone has more than you do, they should be forced to give some of their assets to someone else to give to you; or that if you want something important it becomes a right rather than a personal goal; or that it’s wrong to actually have a sense of right and wrong. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I always am.

I speak to the George Baileys out there who do their part – big or small – to make a difference in these times. Don’t give up. One day you will find that the Mr. Gower in your life is better off even if he doesn’t know it, that the Violet whose path you’ve crossed really had it in her to be decent and she was because of you, and that the street you cross every day is better because you do that thing you do. Those thousand points of light really do matter. Overcome evil with good.

In this culture and time in history, the people who receive attention and honor tend to be those who are on T.V.: news reporters and commentators, actors, major politicians, and those in professional sports. I often wonder how this is regarded in its place in history or should I say with what degree of triviality this is regarded (save, perhaps, for major politicians. Or not).

The question then is: who should receive attention and honor?

The positions that receive the most attention and honor in our culture are usually not the most important. I think it’s marvelous that women have more options than ever to be successful and influential. They should. (In fact, it shouldn’t even be a discussion any more, but it crops up from time to time.) Two important roles, that of wife and mother, should not be overlooked in that success, and if they are it is to the detriment of society.

Although divorce is acceptable and commonplace now, it is in everyone’s best interest to work at staying married (save for abuse or unfaithfulness). Being a good wife is not always a bed of roses, and sometimes it’s the last place on earth you want to be. Sorry, guys, everyone has bad days, except my husband, of course. He is always thrilled to be married to me. Be the one who shows the world marriage is for keeps, not just for convenience. In this day of wimped out men, do what you can to encourage your husband to be brave, to be a man of courage, to be strong.

In this day of undisciplined children and an alarming future, raise children who can say no to others and to self, who can see beyond the immediate and develop long-term thinking, who have been taught to read their Bible every day and pray every day, who listen for God’s voice in their lives.

When did we get to the place of valuing something trivial because it makes money or brings attention and devaluing something that brings in no money or status but affects the lives of family members? We might assess our influence in terms of title or money. However, the consequence of our lives will be much larger if we don’t think in those terms. Ask God to use you however He sees fit without regard for the applause of others. He might give you a big place in which to serve or He might give you a rocking chair and prayer shawl. Embrace either. Because He, my friends, is the power behind the hand that rocks the cradle that rules the world.

When we moved into our home twenty years ago, we were tickled there were three walnut trees on the property. We didn’t know much then.

Two walnut trees grew close together, like inseparable friends, in our front yard. One was in the back, perfect for shading the deck and eventually holding a tree house with a rope ladder, a fortress (I use the term loosely here) my husband built one year as a birthday present for our son. Our son never posted a “No Girls Allowed” sign, since he had three older sisters who used it nearly as much as he did and who would have ignored the sign anyway. He should’ve posted a “No Squirrels Allowed” sign, but that would have been ignored, too.

The kids had great fun with those walnuts that started dropping mid-summer. They gathered them in little sand buckets, or mixed them with leaves for “recipes”, or pretended they were some kind of treasure, or, on their humanitarian-minded days, even medicine.

I even got in on the action. Did I say we didn’t know much then? Because I think it’s important you remember that. I peeled the green outer coat of a great pile of walnuts one year – free food, right? The brown stain left on my hands lasted a good, long time. The taste of the walnuts – by the way, they are black walnut trees – is what some might generously call tangy and what I call bitter.

I have become an avid gardener. I’m not any good at it, but I like doing something in which I can feel productive and let my mind wander at the same time. I discovered our walnut trees don’t like my efforts. They don’t come right out and say it to my face. They simply kill anything planted nearby, including the lovely little hollyhocks I had envisioned happily lining our picket fence; many, many lovely little hollyhocks planted over the years. Those trees don’t back down. Our apple tree didn’t escape. It bravely and, in its final years, desperately tried to hang on despite it’s close proximity to what by now I knew was one of the very selfish walnut trees. Selfish with one exception: For years our yard has been a regular convention center for squirrels from all over.

I suppose I should have some sympathy. The front yard tree suffers from what happened to its friend, though I’ve told it on more than one occasion to suck it up and move on. One summer we came home to a sight. Well, let me back up for the sake of context and to give me an excuse for my lack of sympathy. Everyone loaded into the car for our trip back from the family cabin and we immediately learned that something was wrong with the muffler. We traveled those four hours unable to speak to one another or to find rest in the peaceful scenery flying by, never mind to sleep due to the incredibly loud engine noise. We arrived home, ears ringing, to find water in the basement due to what must have been quite a storm while we were gone. And, yes, one of the friends had fallen. It was quite a sight. I did not grieve over the fallen comrade. And then there were two.

I know more now than I did twenty years ago. I just nod my head when people remark about the lovely golden leaves those trees show every fall. They hold on to them quite late. This year they dropped the night of the first snow. ALL AT ONCE.

Actually, there are steps leading from our deck down to the yard.

I painted a checkerboard onto our picnic table. We have rocks painted red and rocks painted black for the game pieces. I’m beginning to think the tree doesn’t like our games.

Sigh

At least the squirrels are happy. I suspect they plan to overwinter here while planning the next convention.