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This Scoutmaster minute was given at a troop meeting on December 7. Our troop's theme for the month was Giving and Serving. If you find the sentiments and message useful, please feel free to use it for your organization (with appropriate edits).

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Violence strikes somewhere every moment of every day. At least, so it seems. Most of the time we view it from afar. It’s not in my neighborhood or my town or my city (even if it is we find a way to lie to ourselves).

The reality is that for some, it is a moment by moment fact of existence. I really can’t relate. I have never been directly exposed beyond the occasional fist fight in school. Even those died out by high school in my sheltered little town.

But, it did happen outside of town. It even happened in town, we just didn’t hear about it. And, it was always someone over reacting to some perceived slight or a debt or even an argument over a ball game. It was person on person, human on human.

I wondered then, how could people who say they have a faith, could do that to each other. Was their faith real? Did it actually mean something and guide their lives? No one could ever explain it to me.

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It’s that time of year – the making and breaking of New Year resolutions. In most years, it is all over the media – what resolutions are you making for the New Year? But this year is different. I have not seen much about those usual resolutions, things like drinking less coffee (or beverage of your choice); losing weight; joining a gym; or quitting smoking.

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It had been getting heavier and heavier. Barely noticeable a month ago, it grew quickly. I felt it pushing on my head and shoulders, digging into my back. Oh… it wasn’t noticeable to others until recently. But now it was evident with my every movement. It rounded my shoulders and made me feel shorter. Maybe I was getting shorter, compressed by that weight.

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We all have an image of the old, crusty hermit at the end of the street or on the hill. The property is not well kept; shrubs need trimming, leaves to be raked, perhaps the house looks more like a shack in need of paint. And the resident, if seen, is always stoop shouldered, shuffling along in old slippers, perhaps an old, ragged cardigan for warmth, even on the hottest of days. It is hard to tell whether male or female, at least from a distance. And that is all the closer we seem to come.

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