Family

One of the most telling characteristics of our culture is how we collectively determine an individual’s standard of living. The concept of a “standard of living” is something like a high-jump bar by which we gauge the quality of our daily lives. Some people cannot clear the bar and we say they experience a “low standard of living.” Others clear the bar with considerable room to spare and we declare that they enjoy a comparatively “high standard of living.” Those who fall between these two sub-sets keep jumping, but never seem quite sure if they clear the bar or not.

Irrespective of how high we are able to jump, one thing is certain: our culture naturally defines standard of living in terms of economic prosperity. The bar by which we gauge standard of living is hoisted to its current height by prevailing economic conditions and expectations and then we orient ourselves toward attaining that height—and then some.

It is interesting to observe that the bar which distinguishes between high and the low standards of living has been steadily elevated throughout the latter half of this century. As case in point, I recently enjoyed an evening meal with my extended family. It was one of those summer time delights—grilled chicken breast, calico bean dish, corn on the cob, fresh baked rolls, potato salad and iced tea. Wow! The conversation among the elders at the table turned (as only an intimate family can turn it) to middle-of-the-winter trips to the outhouse. This topic veered off ever so naturally into a discussion of the history of toilet paper, when, on cue, my mother divulged her recurring account of the days her family could not afford said fibrous luxury. As the account always goes, she reminded us of the qualities of various alternative sources of “paper” that were used for this daily duty. (It seems that the wrapping on summer peaches was the paper of choice. My mother still speaks as if peach season were Nirvana.) I went home that night very thankful that the standard of living in America has improved so dramatically.

It is certainly not just toilet paper that has improved our living standard over the course of the twentieth century. Add to the list almost anything: from houses and cars to communication systems and the myriad of technological advances over previous generations.

Yes, in almost every way our standard of living has dramatically improved; if, that is, we blindly accept the prevailing criterion by which that standard is determined. I would like to propose that we should not so readily accept this criterion.

They beat me! I knew the day would inevitably arrive, but it was still difficult to process. I stood there blinking, humiliated. They beat me. All three of them!

On a hot summer day in my 46th year on earth, I took my three school-aged sons jogging around a lake near our home. None of them had ever outstripped me in anything athletically related. Ever. But as we readied for our run, they seemed to collectively sense that this was their day. They stood quietly like vultures circling a dying man. It was pitiful.

I first cued in to their sense of pending conquest when they decided to give me a head start. A head start! Who on earth did they think they were? I could blow them away—always had. Slightly miffed, as I bolted off the starting line ahead of them, I determined to prove that their estimation of my physical eclipse was not only premature but delusional.

Editor’s Note: This article is reprinted with permission from Doug Kutilek’s free newsletter “As I See It,” a monthly electronic magazine, and appears here with some editing. AISI is sent free to all who request it by writing to the editor at dkutilek@juno.com.

Should my life extend to the 17^th of this month, I will have attained to my “Heinz pickles” birthday (if you don’t catch the allusion, look at the label on a jar). Having lost a step or two in my race with the grim reaper—a race I must inevitably lose—I am compelled to reflect on life, particularly on my life. The inescapable decline in physical and mental capacity has long since set in, and is continuing apace. I can no longer labor physically with the intensity and endurance that I not so long ago could. My mental stamina for protracted and intense study is noticeably diminished, though I hope I am much more efficient in the use of my mental energies than I was at 20 or 30 or even 40. I’m over the crest and on the back side of the hill—and have no certainty as to how long or steep the slope is on the way to the bottom.

I ask myself, what have I accomplished in these nearly 57 years? Compared to a list I wrote up for myself when 25, precious little, indeed virtually nothing that I had planned to do back then. I had set an agenda of teaching in Bible college or seminary—continuous teaching at one institution was the intent (preferably one with an extensive library). I have in truth taught much in the intervening years, indeed almost continuously and in many places and schools and churches, but without the continuity (or livable salary—I’ve nearly always had to endure the distraction of “secular” work) to accomplish the second purpose on my list: to transform class lecture notes into books on theology, apologetics, Bible topics and the like. A systematic theology and a major book on OT messianic prophecy (to replace Hengstenberg’s work) were planned, along with several other works. I have written much and diversely for publication—enough to fill a dozen books (only one of which has actually been published), but certainly much less of a lasting nature than I had hoped at 25. I have thought several times of compiling and publishing topical books “from the pages of As Is See It”: one of biographical sketches (chiefly Baptists), another of selected articles on the KJV controversy, another on the history of Bible translations (English, Hebrew, Spanish, Romanian, and more), yet another on studies in OT texts, another on studies in NT texts, and more. But since self-publishing requires a considerable cash outlay, and more considerable storage space for unsold stock, I haven’t yet undertaken any of these (so far, my efforts to secure a commercial publisher have been frustratingly unsuccessful). I fully believe that “the writing that men do lives after them.” I know well Spurgeon and A. T. Robertson and Vance Havner and Wilbur Smith and a many other men—indeed, including Paul, Peter, John and Jeremiah—because of the extensive corpus of writings they left behind. I suppose it goes without saying that the first step in all this must be to write something worth leaving behind.