I wonder sometimes if God dreamed up certain creatures just for a laugh. For instance, there is a fish that sucks air and then hiccups. Its hiccup can be heard by other fish a mile away. Wonder why God did that? I wonder if He laughs over it.

Then of course I wonder about the duck-billed platypus. When the first specimen was brought to England from Tasmania in 1880 the zoologists were mystified by the creature. Its two-foot-long body was covered with thick gray-brown hair (mammal?) but it had a flat tail (beaver?), webbed feet and a wide rubbery bill (duck?), and two spurs behind its rear ankles that secreted poison (snake?). The fact that this bizarre creature laid eggs caused the scientist to finally conclude that it must be a hoax. That theory was discarded, however, when a team of scientists discovered a whole pond full of platypuses in New South Wales. Those creatures could growl like dogs, lived most of their lives in the water, but were also capable of climbing trees. Wonder what God was thinking? I wonder if platypuses make Him laugh.

A little-known fact is that bedbugs bark when they smell human flesh. U.S. Army scientists came up with a scheme to use the bugs in Vietnam. The plan was to pack bedbugs in capsules rigged with miniature radio transmitters. The capsules were to be dropped on suspected Viet Cong hideouts. If a radioman overheard their hungry barks, jets and artillery would be called in. The war ended before the bugs saw active duty.

God is a wonder. I think He’s also funny.

Sometimes I’m tempted to think I may be a bit old fashioned when being old fashioned is not even slightly fashionable.  (Try to work your way through that sentence and then tell me how you did it.)  My old-fashioned-thinking is I hate to see handwriting becoming a thing of the past.

Even a grocery list is often typed out on some electronic gizmo or spoken into a “memo app”.  The once timeless Christmas list has been replaced by a “Santa Claus app” reminding you there are three more people you have to buy for and only two more days in which to do it.  Somehow this all feels so mechanized and maybe too efficient.  Chewing on the end of a pencil pondering just the right word provides a certain sense of accomplishment assuming of course you don’t swallow the eraser.

I have written 15 books in my lifetime and collaborated on many others.  Each book has been hand written on yellow legal paper.  “Tedious and slow” you say, and I say “absolutely true”.  In addition to the tediousness are the finger cramps that require cups of Earl Grey tea with just a touch of cream.  Fortified, I once again pick up my roller ball pen and labor on.

Now I make this slightly pitiful confession for this reason.  Recent research suggests the value of putting pen to paper: it’s good for the brain.  One study found that when preschool children looked at letters of the alphabet, those who had first practiced writing showed more activation in the visual areas of their brains than those who had practiced letter recognition alone.  Writing by hand seems to lay the neural groundwork for other important skills like reading.

In the follow up study, it was found that kids looking at letters activates a previously documented “reading circuit” in the brain only after writing by hand, not after typing or even tracing.

Now of course we’re talking about children and how they benefit from putting down their iPad and picking up a pencil; not a seasoned woman whose hair is the same color as that of her Maltese puppy.  But I’d like to give you my personal testimony about writing on a computer or iPad as opposed to writing by hand.

To begin with, I’m convinced all computers either come from Hell or are going there; so I prefer to keep my distance from “all appearance of evil”.  My bottom line truth about writing by hand is I’m sure it’s good for my brain but I know for a fact it’s good for my soul.  Why?  I love the feel and the smell of paper.  I love the feel of a roller ball pen effortlessly gliding across the pages.  I love the power of crossing out a word and knowing it won’t “delete” more words than I intended.  My pen and paper are not affected by lightning, power surges, or the need of a re-boot.  My words will not inexplicably be lost when I return to them the next day.  My pen cooperates fully with my wishes even to the point of tolerating misspelled words.  Computers know nothing of grace or how to build a sense of well-being.  I’m committed to the necessity of both.

These emotional responses may not increase my reading skills because those were mapped at least 99 years ago, but writing by hand allows me to sleep at night with the sense of grace and kindness inspired by a sheet of paper and a Precise Grip, Extra Fine roller ball pen. So I say sweetly, “Eat your heart out, Apple.”

C.S. Lewis wrote, “If I had to give a piece of advice to a young man about a place to live, I’d say, ‘Sacrifice almost everything to live where you can be near your friends.’” I say a hearty amen to that!

Close proximity to my friends allows me to experience the vagrancies of thought and emotion that characterize dailiness. Proximity allows spontaneity of contact and immediacy of expression.

For example, Luci Swindoll, one of my oldest and dearest friends, lives only a few blocks from me. She called shortly before noon today and said, “Throw your pen down, flee your desk and come over for lunch. I’ve just made a chicken salad and I’m putting it on the table in ten minutes!”

You can bet I dropped my pen and tore over there. I wanted to go to Luci’s because I knew that when I sat down at her table I would get more than one of her incomparably well-seasoned, crispy salads. The salad would be served in an atmosphere or nondemanding, accepting warmth that would allow me to be however I was at the moment. I would be profound or a moron, funny or pensive, happy or sad. I would even, perish the thought, be boring.

That’s the wonder of our friendship with God. He’s right in the neighborhood. We have access to Him immediately, and spontaneously sharing our “dailiness” is His delight. There is enormous comfort in close proximity—whether it is with a friend who makes a salad or a God who makes a world.

One of my favorite lines from the delightful movie The Straight Story is, “What’s the number for 911?” Sounds like the kind of question I would ask during one of my brain blips.

The magic number that activates an emergency system first connects the caller to a dispatcher. If all is working with the computers, there appears on the dispatcher’s screen the telephone number and address from which the call is coming. The police, fire department, and paramedics are all hooked into the dispatcher’s line and are able to hear the caller as well. In the event I should call 911 in a state of panic and not remember my phone number or address (I’ve been known to forget both while not even in crisis) the dispatcher will know where I am because the address is right there on his screen. Help will be sent immediately.

There have been times when I didn’t know how to pray. I didn’t have the words; fear and panic were all I knew. But I don’t have to know how to pray! I don’t even need to have words to approach the God of the universe. He knows where I am; He knows my precise condition; and He sends help immediately. Because His Holy Spirit lives in me, I have a direct line to the One who is always listening for my faintest call for help. And so do you.

Last week I went to see my favorite “eye doctor” for my yearly check up.  He’s in Dallas; I’m in Frisco and going all the way to Dallas feels as if a passport should be required.  In addition to the distance disadvantage, the drive is unnerving. Texas has an odd sign-system (North-South Tollway East” or “George Bush Tollway”). Where does the Bush Tollway go? Since west has not been mentioned does it go west?  Should I have remained going north-south with a touch of east?

But last week I didn’t have to sort all that out because Luci drove since my eyes would be dilated. Huge pupils would add even more tension to the “signage” challenges I experience in Texas. (I know “signage” is not a real word but shouldn’t it be?) I wanted Luci to meet my darling “little” doctor because he is so cute and utterly charming so she followed me into the “eye room”.  (I say he’s little because he appears to be ten or eleven years old although I’ve never inquired.)

While there was a tiny break in guessing the numbers and letters on a wall chart, I noticed the doctor’s computer screen saver. It looked to me like a photo of that peculiar pile of stones called Stonehenge which dates back thousands of years before Christ.  I wondered why he had that monument as his screensaver but then thought maybe he simply has a respect for ancient things. Curious about Stonehenge I asked Luci if she knew whether it is in England or Scotland. She guessed England; I guessed Scotland. The baby doctor only smiled. Our difference of opinion grew more heated until finally I said “OK Luci; I bet you lunch Stonehenge is in Scotland.”  She rose to the lunch-bait and insisted it was in England. The baby doctor smiled warmly, turned then to Luci and said “You just got yourself a free lunch; Stonehenge is in England.”

As we walked out of the examination room Luci told me where she wanted to have lunch and if we hurried we could get there before it closed at 2:00.  I told her I had never liked that restaurant and absolutely did not want to go there even if it remained open until the return of Christ. As we proceeded down the hall I heard the baby doctor say to his assistant “they are cute aren’t they?”

Somehow his comment pleased me.  Wouldn’t it be great if the young and the old found each other cute instead of incomprehensible or, perish the thought, annoying?