How Old You?

Before there were Tweets, there were telegrams. If you wanted to get a short message to someone quickly, that was pretty much your only option. Just like with Twitter, you tried to use as few characters (back then we called them words) as possible. Legend has it that the late Cary Grant was interviewed by a reporter. The reporter forgot to ask Cary Grant his age. So the reporter sent him a telegram, “How old Cary Grant?” Cary Grant replied, “Old Cary Grant fine. How old you?”

So: How old you? Or rather: How are you? If you’re like Holland, you’re probably pretty good. A year ago, Holland was called the second happiest place in America. Just recently, we were called the healthiest place in Michigan. But what’s true for the whole may not be true for a particular part. Are you happy and healthy? Are your loved ones?

If you answered “no” to either of those questions and you’re feeling depressed or suffering in some other way, I hope you’re seeing a psychologist, psychiatrist or licensed therapist. If you can’t afford them or your insurance doesn’t cover them, there is a free alternative: your clergyperson.

Holland is said to have more than 170 churches. If you attend one (and I assume you do, since this is Holland), your clergyperson, as busy as he or she is, would undoubtedly talk with you.

If you’re really desperate and have nowhere else to turn, you can contact me. But please be advised, I’m a chaplain, not a professional counselor (I don’t even play one on TV). But if you want to talk about the state of your world or the state of our world, I’d be willing to listen. If something in your world doesn’t make sense to you, like why God allows you to suffer; or if something in our world doesn’t make sense to you, like why people who supported regime change in Iraq all of a sudden oppose regime change in Libya, and you want to talk, I’m all ears.

You can email me (I don’t Twitter, although I do twitch sometimes). Or you might see me around town. I’m often walking (some might call it sauntering), usually while practicing my sermon, to make sure I have it memorized for Sunday. So if you see someone strolling the streets of Holland muttering to himself, chances are it’s me. Just come up and introduce yourself. But don’t blame me for ambling and rambling; blame my preaching professor, Jim Green (whose name has been changed to protect the innocent; he shouldn’t be blamed for what I preach, but only for recommending that we memorize our sermons, thus prompting me to plod around town, honing my homily).

You could also talk to me at a local coffee shop, restaurant or ice cream parlor. (I’m not a particularly good example of why Holland is considered healthy.) Perhaps you’ll recognize me from my newspaper picture. Stranger things have happened. The other day I was walking downtown and was stopped by a TV reporter, who wanted a comment about a news story. He introduced himself. I said, “Hi, I’m Bill.” He asked me a question and after I answered it he exclaimed, “You’re Bill Freeman, the pastor!” Guilty.

Hopefully you’ll recognize me someplace too. If you do and you want to talk, I’d be happy to talk to you. It’d be a nice change of pace from talking to myself.