Shining for a season

I looked out the window of our bedroom to see if the morning had brought snow. It had. There were a couple inches dusting the ground. Also out the front door of our neighbor's house their Christmas tree was laying on its side on the ground, also covered with snow. It was there awaiting removal. Christmas is past, its use over. It is now to be disposed of.

When the tree was decorated in their living room window, it was a sight of wonder. The lights blazed, encircling the branches. calling attention to the splendor of the season. There was no wonder now. Its beauty deserted. 

I thought of how my life is like that. There is a time when the world is a wonder, bathed in the bright lights of opportunity. While there is still light for me, it is dimming. My possibilities are waning. 

I think the temptation is to try to keep the lights bright and not be the tree tossed out in the front yard. And yet it is inevitable. Sooner or later the lights are pulled off and the wonder has waned. What it does make me aware of is not wasting the opportunities given to me. The season ends, the purpose is past, and transition to the next season is predestined.  That is the cycle of life.

A distraction to myself

My boss came in today and hid in her office. She didn't let anyone know she was at work. She effectively removed the distraction of interuptions. She said that by not letting others know she was here, she was able to get so much more done.

I could do that as well, BUT I distract myself. And where can I go to hide from me?

Holy family

I attended Mass with a friend. The day in the church year was The Feast of the Holy Family. There was a family sitting ahead of us with two children. One appeared to be a 6 month old who appeared "normal". The other child looked like a two-year with some physical and developmental disabilities. Both children looked loved and cherished. Mom held the two year old for 5 minutes. Grandpa took the child, holding her and interacting with her throughout the Mass.

It was another example to me of how we don't choose the events of our lives. The only true choice we have is how we will respond to what life has given us. This family in front of me is a representation of holy family. None will be rejected, all will have a place in the family.

Our love isn't perfect. We all get tired. We don't respond perfectly. And somehow we can limp through life making the best of situations. We choose to stay. We can choose to respond. We can choose to help bear each other's burdens. Most importantly we can choose to love. And when we do others are enriched.

Guide me oh thou greatest Google

On my phone I have Google maps. It is a great feature that includes traffic information. When I am confused on where to go during rush hour I look for the way that has the most green roadways on it. Yellow and black are to be avoided. It will also locate businesses in the area. At times, relying on the information provided I have hit traffic where Google said was clear. I have found it to be marginally accurate.

On our way to Mexico in October we were trying to find a Sonic drive-in restaurant. I consulted my Google maps application to guide us to the desired destination. I located one that was on our route. We were looking for the exit when someone said "there's a Sonic!" The one they found wasn't the one I had identified and this one wasn't listed on my map.

There is a real temptation for me to put my faith in technology to guide me, but it falls short. It could go down at any time, it depends on electricity. Technology is wonderful to use, it makes my life richer, but it will never save me. Never.

Loving a newborn

When people interact with a newborn, they act in ways that are out of character for behaving in public. They will coo, make funny faces, and speak in baby talk regardless of who is around. They seem so absorbed in their relationship with the infant that nothing outside of that interaction seems significant.

When God wants to communicate his love in a tangible way he sends a baby. Everyone can approach an infant. Everyone. Mary and Joseph didn't have to say to every visitor "don't be afraid". Almost every other time God reaches out to human beings, the first words out of the mouth of a heavenly messenger is "Don't be afraid". That was the experience of the shepherds being told by the angels of the amazing birth. In dealing with a newborn, the only thing that I fear is that I could injure an infant in its frailty with my overpowering strength. Well that and spit up.

For me, the meaning of Christmas is that God is saying "let me try this another way so you don't cower whenever I fry to tell you how much I love you." "Let me try this another way so I don't have to warn people not to be afraid to be approached". God shows us through our holding an infant how he restrains his own power to destroy us in our frailty with his overwhelmimg power.

An infant who is also God, gives me the courage to approach God and hear his words of love by approaching and loving the little frail infant.

Butchering Britten

I attended Christmas Eve Mass last night with a friend. There was a concert before the Mass where many different pieces of music were performed by the church choir. One of the musical selections was a processional and recessional piece from Benjamin Britten's Ceremony of Carols called "Hodie Christmas". Putting it kindly it was performed badly. Very badly. It was well beyond what they were capable of.

Kudos to the choir director for being adventurous and pushing his choir to their limit, but there is reaching and there is overstepping and they overstepped.

Yet not knowing the mind of God, I can't assess it as a failure. I believe that God takes our failures and our limitations and spins them into meaningful patterns, that when completed, may have us gazing in wonder at the glory of God, even if it didn't start out looking so glorious.

I am trusting that that is how he is working in me, because I butcher even more than Britten on a daily basis.

After Christmas

It is cold. Bitingly cold. There is an elderly man facing a headwind as he moves down the street. Oddly enough he looks like Deniro's tough guy face.

I get to the grocery store. there is a bad trumpet player out of rhythm with a Salvation Army bell ringer. Both are bundled against the wind, but smiling. As I check out at the cash register, a high school band plays Christmas carols for the enjoyment of the shoppers.

Merriment in the cold. A lighter spirit at Christmas time. Joy is spread like a carpet, keeping the cold from winning. It is a grand buildup to a single day and then it's over. 

CS Lewis in his book "The lion, the witch, and the wardrobe" talked about the curse on the land as being always winter, but never Christmas. But to me that begs the question, how long does the joy stay around after that grand day ends. What happens then?

Moving into January the days are dark and cold. They are to be endured. The trumpets, the bells, the impromptu  caroling evaporate, and what is left is the hope that if we hold out long enough, Spring will arrive and life begins anew.

It's all about the setting

Walking into a coffee house in a snowstorm with my fleece lined Sorel boots someone remarked to me that I had sensible shoes on, for the weather. I must admit that I probably looked like a tiny version of Paul Bunyan, prepared and reaching for a latte rather than an axe. I agreed with him that the going was easier with my footwear than with his.

Bu he didn't see me in Target for the last hour walking like Bozo the Clown, waddling deliberately and slowly down the isles of the store. He didn't see me planning my steps to reduce the amount of space I would need to travel to more effectively manage their size and heel slippage.

Given the right setting most of us look well prepared and wise. No one commented on my choice of shoes in the store. I think they were following the rule of "if you don't have something nice to say..."

Once I got out into the parking lot there was no contest as to who was thinking when they shod their hooves this morning.

Muscle memory

I have been dealing wirh a thigh muscle that has been causing me some pain over the last few months. Steph, massage coordinator at school, worked on the muscle. She stated that it felt bruised, that I must have hit it hard to leave such a knot in the tissue. She looked confused when I didn't remember anything. I went back to my office, puzzled as to why I couldn't remember what could have caused the injury.

Ten minutes later the memory burst through my consciousness barrier. A hail storm five months ago shattered one of our windows. I went out to survey the damage. Walking down the hill, my flip flops became skis and took off toward the horizon. I went down hard. The ground saturated my jeans instantly. I stood up quickly and was focused on my neck and back which seemed ok. My hip, where I had done injury to, begged me to acknowldge it, to no avail. I was grateful that my spine and neck appeared intact.

Sitting in my office the memory came back with vivid detail. I could even feel the wet jeans clinging to the leg. You could almost here the muscle rejoicing in the acknowledgement.

Earlier in my training to become a therapist I watched a person who performed what she called "Body Work". She took a volunteer from our class and started massaging her. At one point she described feeling a tightness in an area of the patient's back and bored into it, the patient's discomfort growing. The therapist asked her to identify a person that came to mind. The patient singled out her mother. The therapist asked her to talk about feeling she had for her mother. The patient burst into tears and psychic pain poured from her. The therapist explained that memories were not only stored in the brain, but in the muscles as well. Applying pressure and asking therapeutic questions would literally unlock memories.

I was amazed as to the vividness of my memory so many months after the injury. It makes me curious as to what else my body and mind are keeping from me.

Gum chewing ethics

In the urinal lies a pink wrinkled gob of gum. It disgusts me that someone would be so unthinking to deposit their discard in a place where someone would have to do something unnecessarily distasteful to tidy the fixture.

It got me thinking about all the places where I have encountered gum wads. I have stepped on soft wads of gum in parking lots and on sidewalks, stuck to the underside of a table, and my backside stuck to seat backs or bottoms. Any unexpected encounter I have had with those multicolored sticky nuggets has been unpleasant, annoying, and frustrating.

Where you discard your gum says a lot about the belief you have of your relationship to the world and your fellow human beings.

Validated by the universe

Last night it was snowing. It had been snowing since noon. At 8 pm the freeways had been plowed. Now there was a dusting on the road, and the highway was slick.

For the most part people were driving at a reasonable speed for the weather conditions. A set of headlights came up behind me too close to my rear end, even for good weather. When I could, I moved to the right and a Hummer barreled by me. I felt angry at the arrogant and unsafe way in which the truck was being driven.

Hummer-man made it to the end of the turn before going all Disney-on-ice. He did a couple pirouettes in middle of the road and disappeared in an explosion of snow on the shoulder. To be totally honest that is what I wait for when someone drives by in a thoughtless manner.

However, what went through my mind was not a sense of satiated vengence, but a sincere hope that Hummer-man would be more realistic and thoughtful in his driving from here on out. And if I were totally honest, I have to admit that there was a small sense of validation.

Vengence never feels good when it is enacted, but validation does. It feels good when the world turns to you and says "you were right." I think we have to savor those moments because they don't come very often.

I woudn't do it

Animorphism refers to ascibing human traits to animals. I work to make sure that our animal stays an animal even though it is difficult with a six pound, very cute poodle.

One if the things Coco loves doing is shredding tissue paper that she can reach in the trash can. However it is masked by stealth. We never see her do it , but by process of elimination it is pretty apparent who the shredder is.

I walked in the bathroom where I found a dog peering in the trash can. When she saw me enter she lowered her head, turned around, walked to her food dish and casually started eating her food. While she chewed she looked at me from the corner of her eye. She growled when I picked her up and she wouldn't look me in the eye.

It was so animalistic, this behavior. I never would have acted that way if I were caught.

The power of fear

In processing this last presidental election one overarching concern seemed previlent among by my more conservative Christian friends. It was fear. The fear of this nation falling into godless demoncratic hands was something they all shared whether they knew each other or not.  It seems that the highest office in this land has used fear to drive its agenda. McCain used it as well. It is definitely a tool in the republican party.  Fear is natural when we are focused on change and how it will affect us.

As those who follow Christ we are part of another system and while we may participate in this world, we aren't held hostage by it. Fear has no part in this process. If our way of life falls apart, we belong to another kingdom that is vastly different than the system we know. A system where everything is backwards to the world system we know. To lead you must become a servant, to be rich you should give away.  And to be accepted, you just have to be, and to love you need to cast fear away.

So then why is fear employed?

When it's too cold for business

Yesterday we woke up to the sound of rain on the roof. By last night the temp was close to zero. I took Coco, our six pound toy poodle, out for the last pit stop of the night. She joyfully ran outdoors to her business area, circled a few times with her tail dropping between her legs and then sprinted for the door. I tried several times to get her back on the lawn. Nothin' doing. She was clinging to the front door to save her. You can drag a dog to the lawn but you can't make her potty.

The prospect loomed that it would be a middle of the night run. Fortunately our daughter was able to coax her outside long enough to piddle, but when Coco was done, she had to be carried back inside.

Cats are spoiled!

I would do anything for love, but I won't do that!

The thermometer in my car says 7 degree outside. The snow is spanking the road like an artic Sahara sandstorm.

I pass a house with a shadowy human figure standing huddled near the front entry. He is facing the street which means that he isn't knocking on the door. He shifts his weight from one foot to another.

And then I see the hand move to the mouth and a frail orange glow. A smoker.

On a night like tonight I would give up any vice that made me stand out In weather this ungodly. But not this smoker. He braves the blistering wind to pursue his passion. Wow! What commitment. What love.

I would do anything for love... But I wouldn't do that.

No shaking

In church there was a kids Christmas choir presentation. There were kids who had individual speaking parts. Not one of them appeared to be nervous even when they struggled with their lines. What appeared to be missing was a sense that their performance was being judged critically.

Last week I scored presentations in some of my classes. The adult students displayed a lot of various nervous behaviors.

It made me think that somewhere between the experience of a child and the experience of an adult, the world becomes a more critical and demanding world.

Don't be afraid

When we encounter pure, naked power, only the insane aren't afraid. When we are threatened to be engulfed by a power that rips all control from us, we are afraid. That is a natural response. The power of nature is a great example. A tornado, an earthquake, a hurricane, all can cause fear as we see how big the event is and how insignificant and powerless we are.

When God or his messengers come in contact with humans, the first words the Bible records that they say to the spectators is "don't be afraid". God, pure naked power, the power of the universe is concerned that we feel loved by him.  There is no fear in love, but perfect love drive out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. God knows that if he were to order us to "love" him, or frightens us to "love" him, it isn't really love. Love can only happen when we desire him, his goodness, his care, and his company.

Advent is about the coming of God in a form that we could understand. God came as a man who grew up like we grew up and made himself accessible to us. The season of Advent says, here comes your God. Don't be afraid.

Heaven leaking through

At Caribou students came pouring in. They were all dressed in black tuxedo pants or floor length black skirts. The coffee house was transformed from a scarcely populated room to a mass of humanity  It went from a wide array of tables, to a mass of people pressed together. It was buzing with the voices of seasonal excitement. 

The atmosphere changed with the hint of a note that grew into a beautiful blend of voices. A carol swelled around each of us at the coffee house. In an instant the room went from a realm of earth to a realm of heaven. Angelic energy swirled through the room blending with the aroma of coffee.

The final note was met with loud applause as the people in the shop expressed their thankfulness for the gift given.

Then the sky closed and everyone went back to their separate worlds.

Fun with OCD

Sitting at Caribou, a man came in and sat a table near me. He moved the chair just right, put his folder down, placed a napkin on the table, laid a stir stick on top of it, adjusted the stir stick and put it back on the napkin. He got up, ordered a cup of coffee, straightened the condiment shelf, moved the stir stick, placed his coffee cup on the napkin. raised both pant legs and scratched both shins in unison, opened up his folder, took out a document out and started reading it.

While his behavior looked a little excessive, I'll bet he got WAY more detail out of the document than I would have gotten. In fact if someone depended on that detail, I would rather he be combing the document than me.

It reminds me that we all deal with our idiosyncratic behaviors that help us cope with life. We all have strengths and weaknesses and if somehow we find uses for our strengths we muddle through and make a life for ourselves.

Sign of winter

Turning into our subdivision you are met with a 45 degree turn as you traverse the street. At the point of that curve there stands a mailbox. Turning into the subdivision you travel slow enough that there are no problems with navigating the curve. Leaving the subdivision is another story. If you do not watch your speed and it is icy,  your car might negotiate the turn depending on how icy and how fast you are traveling.

The mailbox stands in the way if you don't make the curve. In the first snowfall of the season, it has already been taken out. Last winter it was leveled enough times that the homeowners put it in a large flower pot and moved it out of the way of overreaching car bumpers.

I believe winter 08-09 has arrived!

I want it stopped NOW!

Someone sent me a request to join a cause to stop the practice in China of skinning of dogs and cats while they are still alive. There was a painful video that accompanied the request. It was horrible. I want it stopped! I want it stopped NOW!

Sarah McLachlin sings "In the arms of an angel" as she talks about the abused pets that must be rescued. I want it stopped! I want it stopped NOW!

Thinking of the abuse of animals I turn to children among others who are systematically being starved around the world, women and young girls being raped, mutilated and killed, men tortured and killed in horrible ways.  Innocent people lose their lives due to fanatics making statements with bombs designed to tear flesh apart. There are millions trapped in human trafficking horror with no one to hear their cry. 

The field starts to expand until my vision is overcrowded with need, pain, and abuse. The plethora of needs causes the compassion center in my brain to short out. And when it shorts out I end up doing nothing, because it is so huge I don't know where to start.

I want it stopped! I want it stopped NOW! Now I have to go sit down and figure out where and how I start. While I am figuring out how to start, thousands of animals are being skinned alive, thousands of people are being starved, tortured, and trafficked. AAAHHHHH!!!!!!

The death and revival of Santa

Driving the neighborhood in the morning there are deflated symbols of the season. I drove past a shriveled Santa lying face down in a front yard awaiting it's nightly resurrection.

When evening comes Santa is breathed life into it's lifeless form and he waves and sways to the rhythm of the season.

It is disconcerting to see Christmas carnage on so many lawns.

Rolling stop

Last week I saw red and blue lights in my rearview mirrors. I pulled over to the curb and waited for the officer to approach me. He asked me if I knew why I had been stopped. I said I did, that I hadn't come to a complete stop. He agreed with me. He took my license and proof of insurance leaving me to wait in the cold and dark. While sitting there I kicked myself, waiting for the financial slap on the wrist.

I saw the officer get out of the squad car and walk up to my window. To my relief he gave me a warning. I was a free man once moe, a repentant man wanting to be a better man.

Since that night I have been attempting to make sure I come to a complete stop, and to my surprise I have been amazed at the incidences of my rolling stop addiction. I realized that I rolled though stops all the time! The warning was a wake up call. I am curbing the urge to roll when I stop now and my passengers actually notice.

Sometimes a warning can be as effective as a punishment.

Hiding the damage

For a few weeks now I have passed this trash can with the door broken on the receptacle lid as I go in the door for work. It has made it easy to throw away banana peels because I haven't had to push the door in, just drop it through the crack. In the last week I noticed I assumed it had been repaired. I walked up to it today from an angle I don't normally go. There the door was, still broken as it always had been.

I guess there are two ways to look at it. One is a form of recycling. Turn the top over and use the other side. Or hide the broken side and maybe you won't have to replace it so soon because it still looks presentable.

Years ago when I worked at an auction company the appraisers bid a house and bid it high because of the amount of collectable tea cups present in the house. An agreement was struck. When we went in to set the estate up for auction, to the auctioneer's horror, every last teacup had a crack in it. All of them were worthless.  There was nothing left to do but throw them out. I don't believe the relatives of the estate were attempting to be malicious and deceptive. I think they thought they were going to get a lot of money as well from the collectables.

Turning the broken sides away from people's viewpoints, increases the perception of value. But it doesn't change the fact that it is still broken and diminished in value. 

That sounds like the human condition. We shield our broken places from others. People see the functional side of us and we try not to show the damage. We assume that the observers ascribe higher value to us with our damage turned away from their point of view. It is a fertile ground for shame to grow.

Grey: I see your anatomy

I have followed "Greys Anatomy" for a few seasons and have enjoyed the show. I have connected with the concepts that they present on weekly episodes. What hit me a couple weeks ago is the casualness with which sex is portrayed on the show. I have watched it enough to know that that is a normal aspect of the show. Where I had my moment of insight was when two doctors were exploring their lesbian desires. One of the doctors felt they didn't do oral sex right and sought out a male doctor to give her lessons. The casualness of the request was jarring. Through fresh eyes I started realizing how much sex is portrayed in the show.

I thought of where I work. There certainly is sexual stuff that happens, but not even close to the level of what is portrayed on Grey. It isn't a portrayal of anything like real life.

I realize that sex is one of the vehicles that powerfully portrays our human condition. Once we start removing sacredness from sex, it loses much of the powerful force that it is and moves us closer to being animals. There have been movies that showed that aspect to make a point about the baser human proclivities, but I don't think that is the point of the show. 

I believe that sex is sacred and when I trivialize it, I do so at my own peril. I believe that I start losing some of my humanity.  What does it say about me when I watch it be trivialized as entertainment?

The need that are hard to see

In an earlier blog I mentioned a former student had donated a guitar to our church specifically for me to take down to Mexico. I gave the guitar to the Mikruts, the missionary family we donated the van to. I told them to find a pastor in need and give it to that person. Aaron, my former student, did an amazing job of resurrection. The guitar had a pretty amazing sound and action for what the guitar had been subjected to by its previous owner.

I got a note back not more than a week later. They told me that they had given it to Julio. Julio has a passion for the ministry and an amazing humility. Both Jim and Barb Mikrut have known Julio for a number of years and had no idea that he was borrowing the guitar he was using in his church. In giving him the guitar, not only does he get a guitar that will receive a lot of use, it is also connected to fond memories of our time together. 

It is continual reminder that we don't do life alone, and not all needs are immediately visible. 

In the picture is Julio on the left, and Jim Mikrut on the right.

A note to follow "SO"

Today my boss came addressed me with kind words and a smile on her face. I should have been pleased. Then came the word I was expecting and dreading... "So" and she was off  pitching an idea that she had that she thought I should do. 

You can't have teenagers who complete tasks you have asked them in the past that they have done now without prompting. When that has happened the first question that comes to my mind is "so" what do you want?

I get nervous when I hear the word "so" because I can almost smell the butter.

Baby talk

It had been relatively quiet in the church service. There was an infant ahead of us sitting quietly on his mother's lap. Near the end of the service the infant started cooing. It wasn't distracting, but it was deliberate. Within a matter of minutes the service was alive with the sound of cooing all across the congregation. 

Perhaps there was a secret language that was being employed. Perhaps it was just each infant remembering that they had that skill and were reveling in it.

Ghosts of the morning

Out on my walk this morning, it was frosty. I was bundled up warm walking on the path along the river. Up ahead of me a bird lighted on the bitumen. It was a darker black than the leaves around it. A second later, the shape in the forest behind the bird moved. I stared at it, seeing something and then nothing. As I walked closer the shape of a deer started to become defined. And then another one. 

Within a second and in utter quiet the two deers danced away, the whites of their tails indicating the movements. And they were gone, like they had never been there. All that was left was in me. A sense of wonder at the grace and poise with which these animals exhibited.

Who is responsible?

Gradually it was disclosed to me that the line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either, but right through every human heart, and through all human hearts. This line shifts. Inside us, it oscillates with the years. Even within hearts overwhlemed by evil, one small bridgehead of good is retained; and even in the best of all hearts, there remains a small corner of evil.

Since then I have come to understand the truth of all the religions of the world: they struggle with the evil inside a human being (inside every human being). It is impossible to expel evil from the world in its entirety, but it is possible to constrict it within each person. (Alexander Solzhenitsyn) "The Gulag Archipelago"

In reading "The Post-American World, Fareed Zakaria talked about the financial impact of the 9/11 terrorist attack. As Zakaria chronicled the financial impact of subsequent terrorist attacks, he demonstrated how the economic impact grew less and less with each attack.

There is evil in the world and we should be very concerned about terrorism, but what has shaken the world economies is not terrorism. What has shaken the world markets is pure and unadulterated greed. 

Maybe we didn't make the bad loans or play the market on a pseudo-insurance scheme. In the little decisions we make we help add to the greed. I am so guilty there. There is a lot of finger pointing about who is responsible for the mess, but if we are honest we would have to say that we all are.

Hawk

On the way to church I saw a sight of wonder. On the freeway a hawk floated down close to my windshield. It sailed above my car roof and almost floated into another car behind me. It grabbed something in the median and flapped away.

I have never seen hawk as road kill. I don't know if it saw the cars and navigated expertly between the obstacles, or that it almost met its maker in a moment of distraction. Regardless of what it was, it was a moment of wonder.

Oh my thighs!

Walking this morning in 25 degree weather, my legs got cold. After I got out of the shower, my skin burned a little, and the front of my thighs were red. I started wondering why it is only my thighs. My shins were exposed to the same, but they weren't as red. I'm sure there is a medical explanation, but I choose to continue to live in the mystery.

Burn thighs burn.

Driving like teens

I had a moment this morning waiting to get out of the high school parking lot. Even though cars were backed up waiting to get into the parking lot, the high school age drivers cut off the cars trying to exit. 

Down the road an elderly man was attempting to cross the street. I stopped and waited. A truck going the other way, driven by a high schooler barreled past the man. The boy was staring straight ahead and didn't even see the man.  The elderly man wisely waited for the truck to pass and limped quickly across the street.

It got me thinking. I understand that part of the high school experience is to be completely consumed with one's self. That was reflected in almost every driver I waited for as I tried to get out of the parking lot. Every youthful driver entering the parking lot was focused on themselves and their own needs and it seemed apparent that they weren't thinking of anything that didn't directly impact their forward movement.

Maybe my frustration with drivers out on the road is that the ones that anger me are the ones who think of themselves only. I have heard it said that age is only in your mind. 

No where is that more true than on the roadways. There are a lot of people who look a lot older than teenagers that are driving like there is no one on the road more important than them. In a word, they are driving like teenagers.

Texas is REALLY BIG!

Lest I think that the US is a small place, it took us all day to drive through Texas on our way down to Mexico! All day! 600 miles out of 1600 miles that stretched from Minnesota to Mexico! It went on all day! In order to give me some perspective others assured me that we didn't go through the biggest part. 

AAHHH

Or 9?

Driving through Texas there were a number of billboards advertizing christian themes. "Repent and recieve Jesus as your personal savior OR regret it forever!". 

Further down the road there was another sign, "Receive Jesus OR regret it forever. There was a lot of "or regret it forever" signs on the roadside.

The next day driving through Texas we spied with our little eye, a hand painted sign in white block letters advertizing a christian website. One of the people in the van said she didn't get it. She asked why it said "repentchristian or 9" she asked.

 I must confess that the "g" looked a lot like a "9".

repentchristian.org

Freedom on All Saints Day

It was All Saints Day on Sunday. As is the custom at our church those who had experienced loss took a candle up to the front of the church representing the light of that life. I walked a candle up in memory of my friend Nancy. I found myself tearing up as I remembered her life and the family she left behind. There was something magical holding the candle. It called the memories forth. Someone in the procession could hardly hold her candle for the sobbing. There was power in these memories. 

I want to intellectualize my memory. I stop the emotions from reaching the surface when I remember. I know I need to keep emotions in check so I can continue to function in my life. It was good however,  that for a moment those emotions could be loosed in this ceremony to once more remember the loss and grieve.

Slappin' labels!

.is reading 'The Post-American World' -- it's a Muslim's view.

send this to those that think he walks of water and should be the next President of our Great Nation.

I got this in an e-mail. I didn't edit it so the grammar issues would be discernible. Apparently the person who created this e-mail as well as the one who forwarded this e-mail on to me has not read the book. I am glad Senator Obama is reading this book. It is a fascinating look at the dynamics of the new world that is here that we are going to be a part of. I would hope that Senator John McCain is reading the same book. I found the book very insightful and eye-opening.

And so what if the author is a Muslim? To be honest it is hard to figure out what his religious affiliations are in the book. What does the faction of the Christian community that sent this e-mail out, the community of "love casting out fear", and giving of their lives for others, have against a Muslim? I don't know why the person who sent the e-mail wrote that it was a "Muslim's view", other than the fact the composer of the e-mail is ignorant! I am just tired of this nonsense! There is enough to feel queasy  about in the election from either party, without piling on of this nonsense!

I'm voting for history

I talked to someone yesterday who's mind is made up about who they are voting for. There are so many possible historical moments that could be made in this election. In fact history will not not be made, regardless of which ticket wins. The first female vice president, the oldest president, or the first African American president. 

This person has decided to cast their vote for the first African American, simply because that is what the person believes is the biggest historical consequence. And this person has decided to vote for history.

I love it!

I was hard on Famous Dave's for it's "Compassionate eating" campaign. This is their latest ad and I love it.

Looking for quease

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I have been sent some material about the candidates that have been disconcerting at best. After spending some difficult thought provoking weeks and watching the second presidential debate I have finally narrowed down what I believe the election is about.

We have two senators running for president. One hasn't been in the senate for very long, and the other perhaps has been there too long. While both understand politics and law crafting, neither has had much experience with holding and attracting businesses.

If my main focus is on the economy, then Senator McCain is the way I go. He is more cautious when it comes to economy and raising taxes. As a bonus, in the economic arena Governor Palin could be an asset with her experience as a mayor and governor, who’s job it was to attract businesses into her city and her state. I get nervous when I hear politicians, like Senator Obama, talk about making corporations pay their fair share. There is nothing like businesses seeking to improve their bottom line, moving out of cities or country to depress an economy. Moreover, when corporations get taxed, I believe they just pass those increases on to consumers. 

Blame for the bank failures is being flung around Washington like poo from a monkey cage. To me, bank failures are not only the fault of one political party. While people love riding gravy trains, greedy excesses have a tendency to catch up with its commuters, and in this case, those of us who watched the train go by. As a nation, we will probably destroy ourselves because we don't know how to rein in maximal WIIFM (what's in it for me), human nature being what it is.

If my main focus is on foreign policy then I think I have to go for Senator Obama.  He is cautious on controversial issues and he is much more likely to show restraint in the global arena. Looking at President Clinton and President George Bush, President Clinton was far more likely to fire a couple missiles at a factory of an offending nation than commit our troops to additional ongoing battlefields. And up until the last couple weeks when banks were going belly up at a record rate, our political focus was on nations we are at war with or could be at war with. I'm not convinced that Senator McCain wouldn't be "Maverick" from the movie "Top Gun", itching for a fight.

It has been reported in the last few days about how the global markets are working together during this financial meltdown to keep bankruptcies and bailouts from destroying all markets. This has demonstrated for me the necessity to be able to navigate in the global arena. It is my belief that President George Bush, while a decent man, has decimated our standing in the global community. His reckless bullying actions in the world, his black/white thinking, and his cronyism has squandered the goodwill we enjoyed from the global community after 9/11. 

At this point, a month away from the election I am planning to vote for Senator Obama because I think global issues trump economic issues. If we have the resolve, we will work to climb out of this economic crisis we are in. There will be pain and inconvenience and possibly some dramatic changes in the way we live and do business. Maybe we will learn from this. Maybe we won’t. However if we make ourselves unpopular in the world we could be doing battle with a lot of other countries. It is hard to live in a global system with an ever shrinking set of allies. 

I don't believe that Senator McCain and Governor Palin are not the mavericky pair that will ride in and change the way Washington works. I don't believe that Senator Obama is going to save us. I’m not sure that either will be able to continue for a second term. I don’t believe that Senator Obama is the "Manchurian candidate" or that Senator McCain is as out of touch as his detractors contend. Either has the potential to astound or disappoint us. Elections are simply about damage control. 

The good news for me is that in these past weeks I have rediscovered my political equilibrium. I have long stated that if I don’t feel queasy coming out of the voting booth, I haven’t done my job.

Thank God, I now feel queasy.

Silver Bullet

In two weeks I am riding the Silver Bullet to Mexico. After our trip in July, one of the needs identified was a van. With money donated, a silver colored van has been purchased in Minnesota and we are going to drive it down to Valle Hermosa to give to an alliance of churches. It will be a quick trip, and it should be fun to connect with friends made in July. If you want to see the work being done there please click here.

One of the needs that pops up all the time in the area of Mexico we were in is guitars. It is the primary form of accompanying singing in many of the smaller churches. Guitars get an amazing amount of use.A former student of mine, Aaron Madison, who has a company that repairs guitars and works with Guitar Center is donating a guitar he had. If you have a guitar that is sitting around, I would ask you to consider donating it to this work in Mexico. Contact me as soon as possible if you are wanting to donate as we will have a van to take down rather than checking it on a plane. We are also able to give you a letter to be able to claim your donations on your taxes. Please contact me at jimcook24@me.com

Tears in the isle

One of our sons got married this weekend. As the beautiful bride walked down the isle to her new husband-to-be waiting for her, you could see her wiping away tears. Looking at the groom, he was teary as well. Others in the wedding party were red eyed and wiping tears away.  My wife was wiping tears away and so was I. 

I have blogged a number of times about tears. The act of tearing up is so powerful, and if the audience has empathy, tears are a virulent virus that spreads from one to another. And it is very hard to stop tears. I remember sitting at a hospital as a mother and daughter were crying and holding each other, while the father sat looking at the ceiling, breathing deep so he wouldn't succumb to the weeping.

Tears make us stop and take stock of the moment. Tears are signs of significance. They magnify meaning. They are holy.

It's not the days, it's the moments

Last Thursday my wife and I woke up with busy days spreading before us. We were unaware that my wife's 83 year old mom had been in Emergency during the night and on her way out to her car, had not seen a curb and tumbled, fracturing bones and hitting her head. It was the moment, the phone call that changed everything. It changed what was to happen that day, the days to come, the prospect of rehabilitation centers and nursing homes. 

It isn't days that change our lives. It's a misstep off a curb in the early hours of the morning that changed the direction of lives. We can fool ourselves into believing that we are masters of our fates and controllers of our destinies, but we are a step away from being exposed as a fraud.

OCD...really?

I have CDO. It's like OCD but with the letters in alphabetical order, like they're supposed to be.

A renewable energy source

Hope is a renewable energy source. Every morning when I wake up, I am given another opportunity to change, realize, love, ________ (fill in the blank).

It may be renewable, but it is up to me to decide if it is sustainable. I can wake up and start living the dream, or (more likely) I pass it on to the next day. When I stumble, when I become discouraged, I tell myself that it will be better tomorrow, and in doing so I use hope to mitigate my defeat, to let myself off the hook. 

In my life, hope may be renewable, but there comes a time when my mornings run out, and I am unable to defer my deficits.

Cheating the piper

I was talking to someone the other day who was frustrated that he wasn't able to reach his goals because of some choices that he had made. I stated that we all had to settle up our accounts in life, that we didn't get anything for free. The person agreed with me.

As I thought more about it I wondered about all of those who looked like they had gotten away with it, that they had cheated the piper. It appeared that they could make it all the way to death without having to settle accounts for the wrongs in their life.

If one believes in an afterlife, which I do, then I think scores are settled there for sure. The frustration would be that it is to late to make amends. That is what Marley's ghost was telling Scrooge in Dicken's "A Christmas Carol". Turn before it is too late. For Marley it was too late.

As I thought through the concept, I realized that the lucky ones are the ones who are able to wake up and realize the impact of their decisions while they still have the time to do things different. 

I worked with a kids many years ago who was excited that he had passed a drug test, even though he had used that week. I told him that I felt sorry for him. I saw confusion in his drug-hazed eyes. He had gotten away with it. He had cheated the odds. He was the winner! What was wrong with me.

We never ever get away with "it". I feel fortunate when I am able to see the impact of my poorer choices. It may not feel very good at the time, but it gives me the chance to make other choices and to seek redemption.

When you can't edit

I experienced one of the dangers of making comments on the internet. Once you click "accept" you give up your right to edit.

I visited a friend's caringbridge site. In my comment on the guest-book I included the word "here" instead of "hear". I clicked the "accept" button without seeing the error, and waived my right to retraction in perpetuity.

It bugged me for a minute, but I had to let it go. I couldn't change it. I had to accept that for me, being viewed as a fool was conditional. There are things I am willing to be thought a fool for.  It doesn't include my spelling ability.

Compassionate eating

This arrived in my inbox today. I stared at it in wonder as I contemplated its meaning. Okay, if I get this straight, I can devour to help another child not go hungry. Is it just me or is there a disconnect somewhere here?

One of the joys of capitalism is that businesses send out incentives to drive traffic their direction. I am not faulting Famous Dave's. They are a great restaurant, and they aren't the only one to use their products to benefit others. I have a problem with the concept of providing gifts for those who give.  Giving should be its own gift. This ad however seems to march up to the edge and JUMP over. Is this the corporate equivalent to the injunction from our parents to "Clean your plate! Don't you know there are starving children in Africa?"

"Hey waitress, could you bring another rack of ribs? Damn Buddy, have some mo'. Eat up!  We're stuffin' ourselves to feed them hungry kids so they don't have to be hungry no mo'!"

Forever mine?

On Sunday we sang the song "Amazing Grace/My Chains Are Gone. It takes the original song of Amazing Grace and tags on an additional part. It ends with the "but God who called me here below, will be forever mine...will be forever mine...you are forever mine.

In our culture, I don't know if I agree with the phrasing of that song. Can God be "mine?" Can I own Him? I wonder in this culture that needs to possess things, if it would have been better to say that "I will forever be His. He owns me if I let him. I don't think it works the other way around. I don't bring out MY God and show Him to the world. I look at where God is moving and ask to join him.

Sharin' the seed

I have a rekindled love. Pistachio nuts. I have found a variety at a local grocer that sells the nuts with 50% less sodium. I love them.

Today when I was cracking one open, my tongue traced the seed and found a divot in it. The other side of the shell was a little fuzzy. I pulled it away from my mouth and discovered a worm tucked nicely in the shell. It looked deceased. It also appears that it had filled it's belly on the green sweet meat of the nut before it expired.

I threw the offending nut away and pondered whether I would eat any more. I decided that it didn't put me off. I took out another nut shelled it and ate it. I've eaten worse.

Years ago a company that produced dried seed products was shut down because cockroach parts were found in the commodity. One of the people I talked to about it said "the product was good. Who cares if there were cockroach parts in it. We never got sick, did we?"

Signs of Fall

"Fall is in the air. You can smell it." "Look, the leaves are changing!" These are signs of Fall and most look to those indicators to herald the emergence of Fall

For me there is a much more dependable sign. I know Fall has arrived when I see my first smashed pumpkin lying on the road in pieces. I don' t know what it is about this time of year, but there must be a powerful force that activates in the heart of some to pelt a pumpkin. I mean, you don't see summer veggies carelessly flung. I don't see watermelon, apples, peas, green beans, or other produce lying in tatters on the roadway.

Today I know it's Fall because I have seen and I believe!

The 30 pound predicament

In the last six months I have lost thirty pound. I feel better, clothes fit better and my knees don't scream quite as loud when I walk up stairs. I could lose more, but I feel good about the loss I have achieved. 

I lost pounds about ten years ago. I was warned that I have Impaired Glucose Tolerance and was moving towards diabetes. That scared me enough to get me moving and I lost 30 pounds. 

I remember the day ten years ago when responding to some deep emotional pain I said "%&*S@, I don't care. I started eating carelessly and desperately. In a short amount of time I was back to where I had started, and then some. And it has stayed that way for the last ten years.

In my growing awareness of the needs of the world and looking at my own voracious consumer response, I am working to cut back on my consumption. My body is a testament for my own consumption response. Want equalled need.

At 30 pounds I have stalled again. I think it is a combination of several things. One is that it may be an indication that I have reached the outside edge of my self concept at this time. My brain is saying "this far and no further."

The other possibility is that I am spiritually obese. I have been receiving a lot of input from people I look to as mentors. I have things I want to follow, but lethargically I let the days slip by without action. Spiritually I am taking in, but I have not been exercising, spiritually speaking. 

I don't feel I am in the same place I was ten years ago. There has been healing and while I find myself meeting more of my wants than I would like, there is more control, and less insatiable need. I am in the process of assessing where I am, where I've stalled, and how to get going again.

Save me Centro!

Last night I went grocery shopping and when faced with not seeing the product my wife had asked for, I called her up. Through our conversation I was directed to the right item.

This morning I went out on a walk. A block down the street I realized I had forgotten my cell phone. My wife hadn't left yet, so my first thought was, I'll just call her and have her bring it to me on my walk as she would be driving by me.

Call...with what? 

I think I might have dependency issues!

Captured bird

Movement caught my eye up in the rafters of the Valle Hermoso Convention Center. I stared at where I had seen movement. I saw a tiny bird in the steel beams. It flew in random flight patterns around the ceiling, looking for a way back to the outside.

I felt sad that a life would end in starvation and a meaningless death. I moved my thinking to other thoughts.

There were sporadic chirps and an occasional chirp which brought my thinking back to the little bird.

The next morning it was flying into the windows on the stairs and trying to get out. But it was useless. I descended the stairs and used the bathroom.

On my way back to my sleeping pad, there were a few girls out of their sleeping room. They said they were out in the hall because there was a bird flying around their room. I got a towel and in a few minutes had trapped the frightened little animal in the towel. It's tiny black head poking out of the white terry-cloth. It's eyes stared at me. It looked terrified.

I took it downstairs, out the door and shook the towel out as a flutter of feathers headed to the sky, free to forage for food another day.

What I can (never) do

This week the Olympics have consumed our national psyche. Stories emerge about the incredible sacrifices made to get to this point. We see hard bodies that define muscles so precisely so that it wouldn't look much different if we peeled away skin. And these amazing hard bodies do amazing things. And we celebrate the winners. Very quickly those who don't place, lose their place in the story.

I was raised with two beliefs. One was that we in our family were special, that we didn't occupy ourselves with the pursuits of the common folks. Our existence was on a higher plane. The other tenant was that strong, well-muscled men were a cut above the rest. So when I see male athletes standing on the podium receiving accolades for their accomplishment, I have a tendency to feel despondent. I can feel I don’t measure up and I should. I know it isn’t rational. I know the fallacies that lurks behind that thinking. But like a riptide, it has the tendency to set me adrift for a while.

One of the things that helps me find the sand under my feet is this. The Olympics are well-defined arenas to showcase one or several athletic skills that the athletes have been honing for years. Cast in that setting, it looks pretty impressive. In fact, they are really impressive and I do not want to diminish their achievements. But we don’t know how they function after they leave the arena, what goes through their minds when no one is aware. I don’t know that they are better people because of what they have achieved on the world stage. They are simply people who have exhibited a single dimensional skill divorced from a multidimensional life.

And while their awards are well deserved, that is not a basis for the measurement of the worth of a life.

34 passenger van

There are different names for things between here and Mexico. For example, in our country, we have 15 passenger vans... except it is difficult to insure them and people are concerned about the safety of the vans. Studies have shown that 15 passenger vans are three times as likely to roll over in a crash. So we use them less and less here. And few are insuring them.

In Mexico, you can refer to what we call "15 passenger van", by a new name; the "34 passenger van". After kids camp each day, the kids waited patiently while they took their turn getting in the van. The way it worked is like this:

In the very back, there was enough room for five children to stand up between the back seat and the back doors. Then because the back seat stretched the width of the van five children could sit on the seat, which they did. Then another five children sat on their laps which equalled ten. The two middle seats could only hold four children, and with children sitting on laps, that equaled eight times two which is 16. Then there were two children sitting in the front seat and two more on an office swivel chair placed on the floorboards between the driver and the passenger seat.

Regardless of how light the spirits were inside the van, it did nothing to take the load off the springs.

They might have been able to fit another child in the driver's seat, but safety is important!

Watching Rambo in Spanish

It was late at the convention center in Valle Hermoso. Most of the team had gone to play soccer at an outdoor stadium. I was in a mental set thinking about the relationships we had with the many children who showed up. As usual, the person who supervised the building was sitting on a van seat bench propped up in an alcove of the lobby. A TV, balanced on a low table,  was blaring as he stared mesmerized by the glowing screen.

At one point, he looks away from the screen and smiles at me. 

"Rambo" he says, with a toothy smile. I walk over to his area and for a few minutes we watch the TV. 

"Which Rambo?" I ask.

"Tres"  He smiles and turn back to the TV.

I nod my head.

I watch more. The heros, the good, the bad, they are all speaking Spanish. It all looks very foreign, until the guns come out. The guns don't speak Spanish. They speak with the authority of brute force and need no additional interpreting. 

As the guns fire, the keeper of the Convention Center settles deeper in the van bench seat and watches with admiration, the tough action figure, mete out justice to the nare-do-wells.  And in that the keeper and I need no other language for common understanding.

Primal peek-a-boo

A woman was dragged down to the water's edge,  towed by a large bounding Labrador Retriever. She was laughing and gripped the leash tighter. Dog saw ducks and whatever control the woman had was lost as the dog plunged into the water, unhanded leash dancing across the rocks and into the water.

The lab headed straight for a female duck with her ducklings swimming behind her. As the dog neared the ducks, the female duck flapped and splashed and moved away from the ducklings. The dog instinctively headed toward the adult female as the ducklings went towards deeper water.

Within a very short time the lab lost interest, realizing that she was going to get no nearer to the prize, turned around and headed back towards shore. The leash trailed behind and was dragged up on the beach when she got out of the water and shook her fur dry.

In a space of a few minutes, the natural world was laid bare. Animals do what they do to survive in the world. Leashes only give us the illusion that we have tamed nature and is subservient to our control. But every now and then, nature reveals its truer essence.

Play with me

My attention was drawn to five geese angrily paddling away from the shoreline. Following them was the head of a black labrador Retriever.

It became apparent that the dog had no interest in the geese. A white plastic ball floating by the geese was engulfed by black jaws. The head turned and headed back to shore.

Climbing out of the water, he dropped the ball on the stones and shook the water from his glossy black fur. He picked up the ball and with his head down and full of purpose, walked up to where my feet were. He shook again and dropped the ball two feet from my toes. He looked at me. He nudged the ball closer to me, his head down, his eyes watching me intently.

I leaned over and picked up the ball. The lab's head shot up and his haunches tightened as he anticipated the throw. I threw it into the water. Water joyfully parted as the black hulk lunged away from the shore. 

Once again the head purposely navigated to the ball. It was snatched in his jaws and his nose once more headed toward shore. 

We did one more round before he lost interest and wandered off to find his owner.

This dog did not judge my character. He didn't worry what I looked like or what my morals were. His only concern..."Can you throw the ball?' 

Killing the potato

I am micro-waving a small red potato. Sounds coming from the potato in the microwave sound like screams of pain. It is actually a little disconcerting.

But I don't think it will stop me from eating it.

Just a joke?

I read this joke on a widget I have on my computer. I found myself laughing, quite amused by the joke, delivered by Jay Leno.

Beijing skies are so polluted that Chinese authorities are planning emergency measures for the Olympics. For example, protesters will now only be run over with hybrid tanks.

I was going to print it up and put it on my door to share with others at work. I was going to put a picture of one of the dissidents standing in front of a row of tanks he was staring down along with the joke. As I was finding the picture of that in Google, other pictures of the dead bodies of dissidents who had paid for their protest with their life emerged as well. 

As I saw those pictures, the joke stopped being funny. I was sick to my stomach at the cruelty of a government that would run over demonstrators who were protesting the lack of freedom that others in other countries have. It felt like it cheapened the lives of those students.

There is nothing funny about repressive governments. I think Jay Leno was attempting to show that not much has changed in the Chinese government other than public relations. I think we do a disservice to the dissidents when we reduce the cost of their lives to a punch line.

When we make a joke of of this are we helping call attention to the plight of many in the world? Or are we creating humor out of horror, so we don't have to be so appalled by it?

Ain't I special...NOT

I was talking with a student in my office. While we were talking the lights flickered and then went out...in the hall. All the electrical equipment was still operational in my room! I looked out into the darkened corridor and I started feeling special, maybe even blessed. Here I was in the only office spared the indignity of a power outage. 

I stood up and went out into the hall. While the halls were dark, many other classrooms and offices were lit up. I started feeling the pain of let-down, that I wasn't THAT special. I found out that only half of the power in the building had been affected. I was forced to see myself more realistically. I may need therapy.

Being there

This weekend we had a party celebrating my wife's 50th birthday. Unbeknownst to her many of her good friends were invited. (A few were missed, because of her husband's poor attention to detail). As people kept showing up, my wife's jaw would drop and she would become a little teary, and she would express "Oh my goodness!" She stated at the end of the night that she had had a WONDERFUL time, and that it was so good to see all who were able to come over.

The internet has been a wonderful connection tool, but there is one thing it really can't do. It can't create presence. We can get stuff, but even the nicest stuff pales in comparison to relationship.

I think we only have a limited understanding of how powerful our presence is. Every person's presence for the party indicated that they were there sacrificially to celebrate the life of a person. They weren't there for gain or advantage. They were there simply to celebrate. And more than words, it was communicated by physically walking through the door. 

In showing up communication transcended words, which are so clumsy anyway.

The gift and the curse!

One thing I noticed in Mexico is, all a person had to do to gain some friends was drop a soccer ball on the ground. Before the second bounce it would be whisked away and chasing ensued. Boys and sometimes girls would kick and dribble the ball around with their feet. You could tell the ones that worked on moves. They had skills.

Games were played in the convention center, at a local stadium, or anywhere there were people, a soccer ball and a little room. What amazed me is that a stray ball would land in a pile or a project. Items would go flying everywhere, but no one seemed really bothered by it. They just threw the ball back where a foot stopped it and redirected down the field toward the other team's delineated goal. Middle aged men with sizable guts on them, their shirts sweat-soaked ran like 15 year olds.

I commented to someone that it seems like soccer naturally brings people together. I got an odd look from him and he proceeded to share with me, the dark side of the sport. He talked about assassinations that occurred for errors in the game, and the fierce rivalry that surrounded the game.

I guess it brings people together and then as the competition heats up, makes enemies of people. It may be said that there is no friendly game of soccer after a certain amount of playing time has elapsed. It's rivalry.

Home is where the stove is

We stayed at a convention center for the week we were in Valle Hermosa. It was a bare floor and a lot of leaks when it rained. There were no cooking facilities so adaptation was critical. The most important need was a stove and oven.

And what stove was brought? The stove right out of the missionary's house. It was a kitchen stove they bought from Ikea in Dallas a year and a half before. A propane tank was hooked up to it and it served up the grub, just like at home. 

Not quite the portability of the camp stoves that many use camping in our northern climes, but when you have more time than money, willing manpower, and some ingenuity, anything is possible. 

And where there is willingness to be flexible, love and memories to share, it can feel just like home.

The wonder of southern lights

One thing I have longed for in my life is a chance to see the Northern Lights. I have looked with wonder at the pictures of the phenomenon.  Hopefully one day I will be able to see them.

But I did see a phenomenon that occurred the last day of kids camp. And I will never forget it.

The last night of kids camp in Mexico any child who wanted to sleep over could. At the final total we had over 100 children from age 6 to 17. There was a program for the parents who showed up with bedrolls for their child's sleep-over experience. After the program the parents left the auditorium, and the kids lost their interest in the movie that was showing for them. Kicking soccer balls and chasing each other was far more fascinating.

At a certain point the Mexican leaders started the process of getting the children to lay down and go to sleep. Of course only a small handful were complying. One of the leaders was walking around with a bullhorn and requesting that the children start settling down. It was about as effective as starting a fire with a single match in a thunderstorm.

One of the leaders came over and asked us to shut off all the lights so the children could go to bed. We used the "bad idea" argument, but to no avail. We went upstairs and within seconds the entire auditorium was plunged into darkness. From that moment and continuing on for about five minutes was almost deafening shrieking from the children.  It was hard to tell if they were having fun or overcome with terror.

The megaphone continued to bleat out bedtime instructions. We were standing on the balcony peering through the darkness to shapeless forms below.The request came up that we should crack open the glow sticks that we brought with us for the camp children. The rationale was that this would allow the children to have a night-light for falling asleep.

We gave our best "really bad idea" speech, but it went unheeded. We just pushed back our EBT (estimated bed time) from 1:30AM to 3AM.

In the pitch black I could see a blue glow, then orange. Yellow popped up and red arrived. The glowing started magnifying and growing. More colors filled the black void below us. Some of the colors sped across

 the room, others flew through the expanse, to lie still for a minute and then move again. Everywhere below colors moved in random patterns. It tool my breath away. The beauty of the colors, knowing that they each represented a child was stunning.

The scene lasted for about 40 minutes. I stood on the balcony enrapt with wonder at the sight below me.

When the leadership realized that the children were not going to sleep, some one walked around the main floor, collecting them in a shopping bag that leaked glowing light through the plastic.

Soon afterwards it became increasingly quiet and children nestled in their blankets. Many dropped off to sleep. I stood there for a long time, savoring the sight I had just witnessed. The pictures taken of the experience only caught a miniscule fraction of the wonder.

If we had had our way in not allowing the glow sticks, wonder would not have erupted in that place leaving a trail of enraptured witnesses. Color would not have come alive.