Tis the season to disappoint

Target 8:30 on Tuesday morning, Burl Ives was crooning his rendition of "Rudolph the red nosed reindeer" over the sound system. It was seniors day at Target with Santa and elves posing for random pictures and the elderly peering over the handle bar of the carts they pushed through the store.

At checkout, a clerk and a shopper were grousing about how the excitement was over for Christmas. They were facing the prospect of shopping for items that would be deemed inadequate on Christmas day

This time of the year with the exception of Valentine's day (where women give report cards on male thoughtfulness) is a time of great emotional risk. We had better buy the right present or run the risk of disappointing. We stress over the amount of money we should spend on a gift as it has come to symbolize our feelings toward that person. People are afraid that they won't measure up.

How do we cope? We compensate. Overbuying, and spending agonizing hours finding the "right gift". What do we buy for people who have everything?

Which might explain the rise of gift cards. The latest one I saw at Target doubled as a mp3 player. Others bark and sing, which appeals to the kid in us. They are a delight to wrap and mail.

With the pressure to get something that our loved ones will enjoy, the only stress left is to figure out the dollar amount that says "I care about you this much!".

Prolepsis

I learned a new word yesterday. Pro·lep·sis: the use of a descriptive word in anticipation of its becoming applicable.

The pastor asked why we don't ask for the gift of world peace when we have a chance to. Why don't we go for the whole enchilada? We don't. We settle.

Years ago, hiking up a ridgeline in fog, I could see what I thought was the top of the ridge, only to find that there was another higher point. After a couple disappointments I stopped believing, and focused on the next section. When I reached the top it came as a surprise as I thought I would never get there.

I wish for world peace. I would like to have a world where people aren't obsessed with the desire to hurt, or kill people and our beliefs would all be respected.

The sad reality is that life stands in the way of that belief. I no longer believe that it is possible. While I may desire it, it will not happen today, and I'm pretty sure, not in my life time.

I am a cynic. What stops me from wishing for world peace is the bomb that went off on a Bagdad street, and a little child in the ER, sporting bruises from an angry parent. I struggle to believe when I see the elderly lose their retirement to a scam artist, and a business acting unethically to squeeze bigger profits from their unsuspecting customers.

World peace is big. I don't know if my belief is that big. Perhaps I should practice prolepsis, acting as if it has already happened. If I'm honest, I am afraid that if I act that way, others may think that I have lost touch with reality.

An even bigger fear is is that I will think that about myself.

Declaring my apostasy

I was surprised in the wake of Rev. Haggard’s downfall, by my lack of identification with the situation. In the past I would have believed he discredited christians everywhere. Now it felt as distant to me as any politician's demise. While I was sad for him and his family, I no longer believe that people like the reverend represent a true follower of Christ. But that is for God and him to decide.

Am I committing apostasy in admitting this? Pondering the word, I realized it would define where I am. "A·pos·ta·sy": Abandonment of one's religious faith, a political party, one's principles, or a cause

Don’t misunderstand me. I am not abandoning or renouncing God. He is the source of everything and renouncing God would be more insane than renouncing gravity.

What I am renouncing is a religion that maintains the belief that God can be contained and defined. I renounce the belief that these Christian leaders can identify what God is doing in the world. I renounce my belief that there is only one way to come to God as a follower of Christ. I renounce dogma that attempts to leash a Being that transcends limits. I renounce the belief that political power can usher in the kingdom of God. I renounce a belief that doctrine pushes aside love in favor of harsh rhetoric declaring boundaries of black and white, announcing who is in and who is out. I renounce the belief that when we are enjoying what would be defined by society as success, that we are experiencing God's blessings.

Put quite simply, I am giving up attempting to define. I am learning to not be frightened by, but embrace the mystery. I am learning to embrace the journey, to act on what God reveals in my life, and walk further away from judging what God is doing in our world, or who he is using to do it.

Martin Luther nailed 95 theses on the Chapel Church door in Wittenberg, Germany. I don't think I've listed that many or been as scholarly in my pursuit of what I believe. But I do believe that Martin Luther would have been called an apostate too for declaring what he believed and did not believe. I think he would make for good company.

Seeing God

One thing that has resulted from having a vastly bigger view of God is that I no longer feel comfortable to talk about where I see God working except within my own life.

What I find difficult is identifying God working in the larger world. I don’t know what I am looking at. If God is the one who formed the universe, and I am realistic in my understanding of my place within the universe, then it is the height of arrogance to believe that I can identify for certain what God is doing.

For example I may look at something that appears hopeless. I may say that God isn’t there. God may in the middle of a project and His presence is poised to break through. In another case, it may look like things are going well and people talk about being “blessed”. I may be tempted to think that God is in their midst. But it may appearance only, these people fearful of admitting what they are struggling with. This would have nothing to do with God, but their own self protection kicking in.

I think of the story of the pious follower and the dishonest cheat praying in the temple, as recorded in Matthew 18. Jesus pointed out that the cheat’s prayers were getting through. If we had witnessed the scene we might have been tempted to put our money on pious guy.

I’m just grateful God is working in me. Wow! Isn’t that an arrogant statement, proclaiming that God is interested in my wildly insignificant life. And yet, that is something that the Bible states that we can say for certain.

Navigating Black Friday

This morning we got up early. Real early! We were hoping to get the deals advertised at Target. It opened up at 6 AM. We left the house a little late. We missed the mass of people rushing the door when they opened.

In the parking lot all were speed-walking for the doors. There was a fear that we might miss what we came for.

People were everywhere. My heart beat harder as I searched for the advertised deals. Others were looking for the same things.

I got to the shelf. The item was gone! Oh wait, they have more in the stock room. How could I position myself to insure that I get mine, before the others?

Then the realization hit. What am I doing? How am I caught up in this madness? Slow down. What will happen if I miss the item? ... I miss it. Plainly and simply, I can live without it.

I realize that it is so easy to get caught up in the madness of getting. It takes work to let go.

Cute cuddly coward

Today I dropped a plastic bottle on the carpet. Our canine gave it a wide berth, keeping a wary eye on it. A week ago, on a trip outside, she stopped in her tracks and started barking at a yellow caution tape wrapped around several stakes. She would not get too close too soon.

She sounds squeaky fierce when she catches sight of another dog. I have taken her out to play with some of the dogs. Bold while approaching the other dog, if Coco believes she can’t get away from the dog, she lays on the ground looking like she will get violently ill.

I was unprepared when we brought Coco home, what effect she would have on me. I am very protective of her, and don’t push her as far as she should be pushed. It is always a pleasure when she crawls into your lap to nap. So much can be overlooked when we love.

Coco is a reminder to me that at times I talk tough, and yet I can find myself paralyzed by the fear of moving into unknown territory. I am grateful for God and my family, who even though they see weaknesses in me, still enjoy my presence.

Defining offense

In church a speaker talked about his experience working as a Christian in a Moslem population. I was looking forward to a greater cultural understanding. What I got was offending; language, at least to me and those I was with. As I reflected on his offending remarks, I sat through his multiple uses of the word “retard”, his use of the word “fag” in the telling of a story, as well as his casual statement “if you’re not offended yet, stick around”. Where I got up and left is when he verbally reproached a person who was leaving, having a chilling effect on others in the congregation who may have been contemplating leaving. It struck me odd that a church who focuses on the grace and love of Jesus, would tolerate the incident of public shaming.

Last night I attended a high school production of “Les Miserables”. In the lyrics the high schoolers had to deliver were swear words, and crude references to sex. I did not walk out. In fact I was moved by the play and the power of the production. The offending material was simply overlooked.

What I am offended by provides a way to understand what is important to me. It defines me. it allows me to define the lines that savages my values when they are crossed.

Our lines are as unique as our fingerprints. We all have different toleration points. We may join groups that all have similar toleration points on certain issues, abortion and torture come to mind.

The next time I am offended by someone it will be helpful for me to realize that this person is giving me a gift. When I find myself offended, I am more clearly defining who I am, and with that knowledge I can decide whether this is a value I want to hold on to, or let go of.

How do I assess the two incidents listed above? I’m not concerned about high schoolers singing ribald songs. If they are unaware of those topics, then they are harmfully isolated from the culture we live in. The writers of “Les Miz” wanted to establish the characters singing those lines as repulsive, and it works. As far as the speaker, where I voted with my feet was when shame was projected on another. While the other words may have conveyed hurt and shame, they were not directed to anyone in particular. Singling out a person to shame and intimidation I see as wrong and unjust. Standing up to that wrong is a strong value for me and one worth fighting for. That is a very core value for me.

I owe gratitude to the speaker for helping me see more of who I am and what I am willing to take action against.

That plucky prostate!

Last Sunday in church, my prostate spoke to me. It wasn’t audible, but I heard it loud and clear. I located a restroom quickly to relieve myself. When I entered the restroom, older men took up all the stalls. They were all staring strait ahead like worshippers at the Wailing Wall, praying for relief. Behind them were other older men waiting for their chance to step up to the wall. I realized that no one was going anywhere for a while. The older you get the slower you go. Literally! I realized that when the going gets tough... the tough desperately seek restrooms.

Age has brought some interesting changes. This is one. I experience an urgent need, I rush, and I must admit, the older I’ve gotten, the meaning of the word “dribbling” has changed for me from a physical activity to a physical condition.

To be honest, I would like this condition to go away. I have consulted with my doctor who performed a delightful prostate check. It was so intimate, I wondered if we should smoke cigarettes after it was over. He stated that everything appeared fine, that this is a condition that will come and go, and I just have to get used to it.

Get used to it?

Acceptance is the work of getting older. The term “aging gracefully” means accepting the changes that come with getting older.

The harsh truth is that our bodies don’t function at peak levels forever. My kids said to me that they would never put on the weight that I have gained. We’ll see when their metabolism slows.

The opposite of acceptance is denial. I struggle accepting reality. I want to deny death and I want to deny decline.

So these prostate changes are one of many alarm bells to rouse me from complacency. My goal is to accept, accommodate, and persist.

There’s no sense in encouraging the restroom gang to speed things up. They’re going as fast as they can. However, standing in line attempting to reason with a bladder I realize that all of us in this little room are part of a club that the young just can’t comprehend. The reality is that someday, if they live long enough, they will.

Hypocrites abound

Mike Jones the ex-escort that outed Ted Haggard is now quoted as saying that he only wanted to expose a hypocrite not destroy a family. PLEEAASSEE! How stupid do you think we are, Mike?

You didn’t appear to care at all about the family or you wouldn’t have blasted it across the airwaves and made it a national story. You would have used discretion.

Can we out you, Mike? You are a hypocrite too. You were looking at 15 minutes of fame, a change in the tide of the election, and/or photo ops. In the end, you had the goods and you spilled it for advantage.

If you are part of the gay community then you have to be aware of the pain of people being outed against their will and how it can devastate their families. Granted, as acceptance takes place over time, those family relationships have the possibility of being repaired.

In the end this family may not be destroyed and by the grace of God it won’t. You started the ball rolling. But don’t get more self righteous than the most strident evangelical and claim that you care.

You and the reverend are similar. You both have acted hypocritically. At least now, he is being honest, while you are acting like a hooker with a heart. Treat them like you did your johns. “It’s just a job, I didn’t feel anything.”

Get real!

Rejoice Rev. Ted, your redemption draws near

I’ve seen it before. You live long enough, you see it more than once. Someone gets caught participating in the very behavior that he or she is trying to eradicate from the planet.

One more time the mighty have fallen. In disgrace and humiliation Rev. Ted Haggart has stepped down from a position of political power to one of long lasting ignominy. The face he wore while he was being interviewed in the car and admitted to purchasing meth and getting a massage from a gay prostitute will join the pictures of Jimmy Swaggart crying and saying “I have sinned” and Tami Faye Bakker with her masquera looking like melting wax.

It was reported that he “had the president’s ear” and there are pictures of him shaking hands with the President. He appears to have been connected as president of the National Association of Evangelicals to the political structure of this country.

All the his work attempting to advance the kingdom of Christ, and a gay escort, Mike Jones, may have been the doorman to usher him through the gates.

Christ was very clear that His kingdom was the complete opposite of the political system. I have heard many a preacher preach it, but I see few, if any, live it. Power is such a temptation. The belief in raw naked power is intoxicating. It was, in fact, one of Satan’s temptations for Christ while He was in the desert.

Ted, now that you lost everything, you are rich. Now that you are in mourning, you will be comforted. God blesses those who see their need for him. Now that you are humbled and humiliated, God can raise you up.

I realize your political capital is bankrupt. Everything political is falling away. Those who are still in power will continue to distance themselves from you. You are poison to what they are promoting. After all they still believe the idea that political power can usher in Utopia, and what has happened to you does not help their cause.

With this outing, you can experience the freedom that you no longer have to hide such a painful secret. It also means that you are free from the beliefs that God’s kingdom is advanced through our country’s political system.

All that is Christ’s love, is marshaling around you to draw near to your broken heart. His love is massive and embracing. You may be closer to the kingdom than you have ever been.

So Ted, from one fool to another, welcome, brother, to the kingdom. Be prepared. The love that is here will overwhelm you. It is wonderful to be in this kingdom where we can be our truest selves, and we are loved, valued and cherished, acknowledging who we really are, flawed, imperfect creatures and...human.

Shaken Bottle Syndrome

I was opening up a bottle of my favorite drink and I noticed something surprising. The bottle cap had the words “shake me” printed into the design.

“Shake me.“

What am I supposed to think about that? Why didn’t it say “shake before drinking”? The other directions don’t indicate personage.

Advertising appears to have gotten out of control. In this world where we all struggle with being connected, is this a way for us to find connection with the products we use? Why refer to my drink that I will consume and dispose of when not needed, as a person?

I know it probably sounds like I have too much time on my hand.


The other day I bought a cup of coffee. They put the cream and sugar in it and handed it to me while securing the lid. Molded into the lid in spanish and english was the sentence “Caution I’m hot”. I know this sounds paranoid, but there is a face on the lid and coffee dispenses from the opening that looks like a mouth.

You may think I’m silly, but I think I’m on to something. Much of our advertising is created, both in the products market as well as the political market, as something that will complete us and fulfill us. That sounds like a relationship to me.

Maybe I can start this blog site with “Hey there. You look like such a thinker. You’d give me such pleasure if you would read me. I know the writer of this blog would be thrilled as well.”

It's all about me!

A while back somebody said that we wouldn’t be concerned about what other people think of us, if we really understood how much them do.

Pulling into a parking spot at the grocery store today there was a cart in the middle of a prime parking spot. If I wanted to park there, I would have had to get out of the car and move the cart before I could claim that spot. It appeared that someone loaded their purchases in their car and left the cart in the other parking space, avoiding rolling it across the lane into the cart corral. They could have done it to be mean, but I think that it was more a matter of not considering those that would come after them. They had gotten what they needed, What more was to be considered?

I find it ironic that all of us fail to consider the needs of others, yet at the same time we are starving to have others consider our needs.

It boils down to this simple truth. Either we think of others or we make it all about ourselves with each act we do, regardless of how insignificant. The grocery cart was not a big deal. The leaders of Enron, Skilling and Lay, by bilking people out of life savings and retirement funds was a huge deal. At the end of the day however, it is the same spirit, just on a different scale. We all fail to realize the needs of others.

So much could be avoided by following the words of Jesus when he said that we should treat others as we want to be treated.

The fragile bond of polite society

At a local restaurant I was getting up to pay my bill for my meal. While I was walking to the cash register a cell phone went off. While it chirped my gaze rested on a woman in her mid 70’s. She was glaring at the owner of the cell phone that was ringing. It looked like if it went ringing on too much longer, she would get up and act somehow. (I’m not sure what she was capable of, but her face was scary!)

Steven King’s novel “Needful things” demonstrated how a fragile tolerance could unravel quite quickly. Freud talked about Superego and how it makes sure we comply with social norms of polite society. Superego appeared to have a strong grasp of this little lady, but it looked like it wouldn’t restrain her much longer if the situation didn’t change

I was struck by how thin the cement is that glues a civil society together. We are all together in a room with our own likes and dislikes, and we all act civil to each other. In one sense it truly is a miracle.

My soul for cheap

Our couch at home has been a bit saggy. You can feel the supports through the padding. It has been time to purchase a new one for a while, well at least for the lifestyle we live.

We started looking and before we knew it, we had found one. It was less expensive than some other couches and the sales clerk informed us that the leather was shipped from Italy to China to be assembled at a cheaper cost.

I wonder what that means. Was it because wages are less there or are the pieces assembled in a sweat shop? Is that how they kept the price down? The harsh reality is that by purchasing the items, I am connected to the assemblers and perpetuate the conditions with which they do business, either good or bad. But without research, I have no idea what the conditions are.

It is hard to live in the awareness of the global community. It is so easy to go to the store, shop for the item, compare prices, assess whether you can buy it, and then make the purchase. To be honest, it’s a lot of work to consider the world. I don’t want to think about the condition of the people who assembled my furniture. More shopping, more research.

I could be critical of others for not caring to make this world a better place. But I would be a hypocrite. Putting it bluntly, I chose indifference. It was the cheaper of the options.

Confronted by a mystery

On my walk today a little critter lay expired on the path. It’s unclear as to what it died from. It Watching a documentary on Hurricane Katrina, there was footage of bodies floating and bloating in the toxic waters of New Orleans,

How can it end? I have such a hard time comprehending that. One minute I am alive and active. The next minute i am not and rather quickly you need to separate yourself from my body.

There are shows on how to catch fish, shoot game. The animal or fish is alive and then it is not. A pheasant is shot, flounders to the ground where a dog snatches it up in it’s mouth. We watch carnivores grab their next meal.

Humans around the world successfully kill people around them. Children and adults open fire in schools and students are killed execution style.

Death is a mystery. I don’t understand it and I don’t want to understand it. It frightens me. And yet, like a slap in the face, all around us there are steady reminders on TV, in print, on the internet, and on the walking path...life ends.

Foley, FoxFaith, and Desperate Housewives

The Rep. Mark Foley scandal that is continuing to grow has the republicans shrugging it away as irrelevant, while at the same time attempting to be the party of moral values, as well as the party that ripped President Clinton a new one. Regardless of who knew what when, it seems is that this behavior has been tacitly tolerated. And I don’t see any evangelical leaders denouncing Foley too loudly. Come to think of it, I haven't heard a peep out of Falwell, which may be evidence of great restraint.

About a month ago, FoxFaith was promoted. This is entertainment’s attempt to encourage the faith of the faithful. This from the company that brought a lot of sleazy and irreverent programing to the airwaves. They have however, been successful in winning conservatives over with Fox News and allowing them to forget Fox's contribution to the moral landslide in this country.

A new video game based on the TV series “Desperate Housewives” is being released by Disney’s Beuna Vista Games company. The rationale for this move into predominantly male territory is that marketers were starting to realize that there were more women playing the CSI video game, and they realized there was a whole demographic that was emerging that they could profit from.

Our country has moved away from conviction and honor, and toward niche marketing and promotion. At least Desperate Housewives: The game, is able to admit their true intentions and no one gets offended. TV programmers call it family entertainment and politicians call it “playing to the base”.

Are we so far down river that we accept being played to, regardless of reality? FoxFaith isn’t about strengthening the faithful, it is going after the wallets of the faithful. Family values isn’t about strengthening the flagging morals of this country, it’s about getting the votes so they can hold on to power.

And we are the “sheep” that eat it up. The sad reality is that we are hungry, but we aren’t starving. Those who set the agenda will continue to feed us as much as we can ingest, as long as we have votes or money.

Life is unfair!

I got a tough call late this afternoon. I was informed that a very good friend of mine has stage four lung cancer. It was horrible news to get. She is one of the nicest people I know. She is beautiful both inside and out. She has a great husband and three small children. She doesn’t deserve this.

Life is just unfair. In our busy lives of attempting to get ahead, we have the false belief that we control our lives. When it comes right down to it, we have little control over what happens to us. It is an illusion. A diagnosis, like a slap, wakes us up from our stupor, revealing what we really control: our response to the information. When life is stripped down to the basics that is all it boils down to.

So they choose to fight. Her mom said it best. “When you combine God with medicine, wonderful things can happen.

Fight, my friend! We will be praying for you, sending you our love and best wishes, and anything else we can do to supply the courage to keep fighting.

Penis on the path

Some naughty person with spray paint left their mark. As I gazed down on this modern day hieroglyphic, I pondered what it meant. Did this person try to articulate that he had a penis, or a graffiti Christmas list from someone hoping she would get a penis? Are they part of the PEN-15 club?

Looking at the position of the penis, it appears to be flaccid. What does that say about their belief about potency or power?

This mystery message is cryptic. I understand gang tags, and the “f*** the police” graffiti, but I must admit, this makes no sense. I wonder if it is a sign, for a gang called “the Penises”. My mind went a little off kilter, wondering if there was also a “Vagina gang”, who would fight the “Penis Gang” late into the night, producing young gangs months later? Enough. This is idiotic.

The point here is that I leave signs attempting to define myself. Some of these signs are misunderstood. I believe I am being clear, because it makes sense in my own mind, but other people may be confused. Sometimes I don’t even know why I define myself the way I do. Sometimes past hurts and scars have their way with me, and I send out signals that muddy the waters even more.

I don’t know why the person left the sign on the path. Maybe it was significant. Perhaps that was all that came into a person’s mind when maliciousness was upon them. Maybe it was a cry for help… “help, help, I’m flaccid and I can’t get up!”… Sorry. Maybe it was a child just trying to say something sexual. Whatever the reason, it makes no sense and the symbol remains cryptic.

As you read this, you may be puzzled as to why I even brought this topic up. I guess I thought there was material for a blog, I’m not sure I know why. Maybe I just wanted to use the word “penis” in a blog. Viva the Mystery!

Listen if you dare!

Someone shared her frustration over sending an e-mail at work about the lack of effective communication. What she got back was e-mails about who's job it was to do what, not addressing the concerns that the employee had. When I suggested that she write "I rest my case" she laughed and said she thought that would be fun, but the problem goes pretty far up the chain, and she would not be viewed in a positive light. She vented and then she left, and as far as I know, the communication is still lacking. The e-mails had the desired effect of silencing her.

As I was heading to class, someone in the learning center was talking on and on about nothing of substance. He loves to hear himself talk. I looked in to see who was staffing the lab. The instructor there had her head buried deep in her work and looked oblivious to the steady stream of verbiage going on. No one told him to stop, he was just made irrelevant, by ignoring him

We struggle to listen. Listening may reveal parts that we don’t want to admit about ourselves. As long as we fill the room with our voice, we don’t have to hear the critique of others. Talking silences the critic.

The departure of wonder

On the lawn in front of me was a light sabre, some inattentive child had dropped and lost interest in. I had an impulsive desire to grab the lightsaber and cut the foes of the rebellion to ribbons. Only an impulse. I walked by.

I could have picked up the lightsaber to fight invisible enemies. But I am a middle age adult. We don't do that. Besides I know there is no unseen enemy that would respond to that threat. And it feels just plain silly.

As a child, wonder was a part of my daily life. Now it's getting as stiff as my back when I stand after sitting for a while. It's hard to be inspired by rhetoric anymore, because that is what I feel it is. I listen to politicians attempting to inspire, I listen to music that attempts to move me, I sit in church and see those around me raising their hands in worship. Mine stays stoically by my side. I'm suspicious of wonder these days.

When wonder gets up and leaves the room, it is usually cynicism that hurries to sit in the chair. And once it sits, it is very difficult to get the chair back again.

The blessing of slugs

On my walk today I noticed glittering threads woven on the walking path. As I investigated, I saw that there were slugs at the end of each thread. Small, dark, fleshy. I had inadvertantly stepped on a few in my haste to complete my walk. They looked disqusting. Yet behind them, they left a trail of silver that shone in the sunlight. Some paths were straight, some meandered, and some looped. They didn't look like they are even moving, but the silver threads disputed that.

I have wandered through much of my life, trying to move forward. Along the way I have left a trail of something. I don't always see the good, but happily, when the Son shines on it, even if I am just a slug, He makes it a beautiful path. Joy, and sadness, success, and failure. He has the ability to illuminate the goodness and purpose that have comprised my life.

The benefits of hate

"YOU CAN'T BE CATHOLIC AND PRO-ABORTION." The car with that bumper sticker raced past me. I was mildly disturbed about the randomly polarizing in-your-face approach to the topic. It seems it was intended to ramp up a person's blood pressure. Granted, most Catholics don't adhere to abortion, but who is this person to blast those who believe different than her.

As I thought about the statement, I thought of all the unkind words that have been spoken by people who call themselves Christians. Many unkind labels came to mind. It made me feel sad for all the hateful things that have been said in God's name.

There is a verse in the Bible that says "everyone will hate you because of your allegiance to me". (Luke 21:17). And Jesus, talking to his disciples, says it like that is a good thing. There are other verses as well that talk about the benefits of being hated for belief in God.

Maybe this polarizing speech could be considered in other ways. If being hated is desirable for a Christian, then maybe by stirring up a backlash from others, these Christians would be able to achieve "I'm hated because of you" status in God's eyes There might even be brownie points awarded. Maybe the bumper sticker is just an opportunity to get the hate flowing in their direction.

Or maybe these Christian insulters are trying to give others the opportunity they themselves desire. A chance to share the blessing with others. This is a chance for others to be hated as well. What's good for the goose might be good for the gander. If this hate is such a good thing, then maybe we should be spreading it around, to make all our gods happy (at least the ones who talk about being encouraged in the face of being hated for affiliation with them).

I think Jesus was most brutal to the religious leaders that condemned other people's sins and energetically pointed out other people's wrong beliefs, while ignoring their own. I think that Jesus was trying to warn of tough times ahead for certain beliefs, not to teach his followers how to inflame hate in others. We do such a good job of that on our own.

Here's an idea. Maybe these bumper sticker believers should put signs on their vehicles outlining their own sins and wrong beliefs. I don't know if that would invoke hate. Others might just drive by in disgust.

Does disgusting others count in the hate category? I don't know. I guess I'll have to keep searching my Bible for that one.

Hail

Hail rained down on our community several days before. It punched holes in our siding, and left divits in our cars. As the hail fell, all ran for cover. When it had passed by, everyone came out of their houses to survey the damage. Today on my walk I saw a number of dead animals that may have been killed in the torrent of ice balls. I'm sure many ran for cover. Some were not so lucky. What was alive and vibrant before, now lay there like litter strewn about.

We are all marching through life on our way to death. To feel better about our lives, we factor death out of our lives. We can acknowledge that we will die, but we don't believe it. Enjoying life is important. But it will end soon enough. We can't stop hail and we can't stop death.

Maybe that is what funerals are. Maybe it is a time when everyone comes out of their shelter and surveys the damage.

An angel among us

What or who are angels? We have seen mythical images of white robed, winged men or women. Their purpose is to give aid and protect. They are there to serve.

Angels don’t always come in shapes so otherworldly. Sometimes they are the people we bump up against in our daily life.

I must acknowledge one of those angels. I will not mention the angel’s name, because that person would be embarrassed to have it invoked. That is not why this person acts on our behalf. It is simply that this person is that giving. This person’s gifts to us has come at times of some of our deepest needs.

The gift may seem small and inconsequential to this person, but we have received it as a gift from the very hand of God. I know that may sound like a gross exaggeration of the magnitude of the gift, but what one does and what another receives may be wildly different. For example, a gift can be given sacrificially while the recipient may not understand or appreciate the cost. There is no way to measure the impact of gifts given.

So let me say to our angel, thank you for your giving heart. Thank you for your gifts. Most of all, thank you for your love. God bless you as you have blessed us.

God is listening

I am sitting in the hospital lobby waiting for my bride to get prepped for surgery. Five minutes ago, she was taken to the second floor and I was told to stay on the first. I wander around, lost in the waiting area until I find a secluded area to hide in. I wipe my tears. I don’t know if it is separation or anxiety from the looming trauma.

Next to me, a man dials a number on the lobby phone and starts updating someone’s medical condition. I don’t want to listen to his conversation. I put my headphones on, I load iTunes, I select shuffle, and choose the “inspirational” genre. The first selection that randomly plays is “God will listen to you” by Mark Heard. It is so powerful and moving. I wipe away more tears. This time it is gratitude. God is here and listening to me when I am tearful and afraid.

It is amazing how God communicates his love to me. I feel so undeserving, and yet I am so grateful for His affection toward me. This is such a simple gesture, but love is holding me. It is exactly what I need.

The attack

Yesterday I attacked me. Inside, an accusing voice took inventory of my life. It gave witness to what a loser I am. It examined how much I don’t matter and what I haven’t done with my life, resulting in me questioning the actual value of my existence. Indictments rained on me with “shock and awe”. I felt small and insignificant. I hadn’t made anything of myself. I hadn’t moved up the corporate ladder. I haven’t completed anything significant. What good is my life?

I don’t know if I’ve emerged yet. There were affirming moments yesterday. It doesn’t feel like they quite liberated me, but the hits aren’t reverberating as hard.

Considering the origins of the attack, I realized there was an event I felt prompted to attend on Tuesday night. I went with the implicit belief that if I was there, I may receive some enlightenment as to future direction for my life. I didn’t receive anything close to my expectation. I left the event feeling unsatisfied and let down. But what did I expect? I went to the meeting with unsubstantiated beliefs.

I was disappointed and I believe that triggered the attack the next day. When expectations were unmet, my mind stopped looking at my future and focused on parts of my past. Feeling trapped in my job and confused about what direction I move next, accusing voices in my mind cold-cocked me. As I reeled from the blow, accusations rained down on me like boxing gloves.

Sometimes getting perspective is hard work. Standing up to those voices feels daunting and intimidating. It is hard to call those voices liars when the world around affirms and supports them. It is hard to not call yourself a failure when your direction has little to do with ambition and a lot to do with vocation. It is hard to move away from what society affirms.

But it is my sincere belief that these voices are not telling me truth. I have no idea the impact I have had on this world (both positive and negative). Attempting to diminish the impact of my life regardless of my status in society is nothing short of wicked.

Voices, it is my turn to talk. SHUT THE HELL UP!

A dose of humility

I watched a man yelling at a car from the sidewalk. He looked like he was trying to start something with the person in the car he was yelling at. His hands were agitated and he looked angry behind his sunglasses and goatee. He walked into the store as I was getting out of my car in the parking lot. He emerged from the store as I stepped on the sidewalk.

He smiled broadly and said “Hi, Jim. Do you remember me?” I confessed that I didn’t. He then stated his name and as I looked at him, I did remember. He introduced me to his girlfriend and went on and on, telling her what a wonderful human being I was, and how I had changed his life. I was grateful to hear that, as it beats the alternative.

However, I don’t think I ever encouraged him to be an “ass” on sidewalks. He had changed his appearance. I remember him being kind of a geek in scrubs. He was now a “player”.

Whenever I am tempted to puff myself up on how wonderful and effective I am, I visualize people like him. I realize that I am just not that powerful.

It does make me wonder how God feels when acting like jerks; we state, “I owe this all to God!” I visualize God in heaven shaking his head muttering, “please stop; you look like an idiot, and I don’t want the credit.” It makes me grateful I am not God.

Kindness or compulsion

I accompanied my wife to a sale at Nordstoms in the Mall of America. There were chairs placed on the sales floor to accommodate the men's exhaustion from shopping with their women.

Between two chairs in the department, was on an end table. A piece of trash lay unmolested on the table; a discarded receipt.

A couple walked by, the woman stopped. She backed up, picked it up the paper and threw it in the trash.

At first I felt a pang of guilt. I had been content to let the crumpled paper lie there. Here was a woman who performed a kind responsible act for the environment. I was willing to allow the trashing of the planet. This woman, a self-appointed guardian of Mother Earth had stepped in and acted.

But then, as I thought on, I speculated what she must be like to live with. Maybe she’s not a planet guardian. Maybe she's just compulsive. Maybe she couldn't stop herself. Trash NEEDS to be picked up. Perhaps inside she was dying, trying not to pick up the trash. Maybe it wasn't a personal triumph, but rather a private failure.

A reason I believe it is the latter explanation is that this happened in the Mall of America, the shrine of the American consumer. Unlike much of the earth with its unprotected soil exposed, the mall is covered in concrete.

So to the woman I say: for peace of mind, resign as general manager of the universe. Fight the urge, let some things go. You'll feel better. That's why I didn't pick it up. Or was it because I didn’t care?

Being watched

This morning I was out walking. I had to cross a county road, which meant I had to stop to let cars pass by. On my left a police car came to a stop in front of the crosswalk. I looked to my right and a white Chrysler minivan was proceeding, not appearing to be stopping.

I watched the face of the woman driving the van as she realized that the police vehicle was at a standstill. I could see the look of understanding as the front of her van started to dip from quickly applied brakes. I waved at both of them in appreciation.

I had to think though about why we do what we do. I don’t think she would have stopped if the squad car had not stopped. There was an understanding that if she didn’t stop, the police might give her a ticket, and it might not have been worth the risk to find out.

We can be so good, obedient, kind, thoughtful, ______(fill in the blank) when we are aware we are being watched.

Changing

I have started to address my weight. I am going to eat better and walk. I started today. I am hoping that if I announce this in cyberspace, it will have a greater impact on my willpower.

The irony is that there is never any good place to start. The heavier you get, the more you have to lose to get to your ideal weight. The ideal weight never needs to change. What increases is the weight you need to lose to get to your ideal weight. The longer you wait, the more pounds you put on, and the more you have to lose. Another factor is that you also an increasing number of years in which you pursued poor eating habits, and those habits are hard to break.

I thought about that in terms of changing other things about your life, like habits, or unhealthy thinking. I have begun to wonder if the longer you wait to make those changes, the less likely you are to change because it is another year of a habit, another year of incorrect thinking. Our worldview may have increasingly solidified, making us more set in their ways.

There are people I care about who refuse to change some of the things in their lives, even though those things aren’t working out well for them. They blindly plunge ahead continuing to wound those around them. When confronted by change they become belligerent. I have gotten old enough to let go of the anger and frustration, but the older I get, the less I think things will work out.

It appears that each year brings more dependence on the habits and thinking of the past, and less chance for considering change. Thank God that one of the things that comes with age, for me anyway, is an increasing sense of tolerance.

The power of believing

The second day out on the backpacking trip we stayed by a river. We were drying things out from getting dumped on the night before. The kids want to go play in the river. I suggested to my daughter that she put her suit on. She declined the idea and headed off with her brother and her cousin to explore. She came back pretty soon after leaving to put on her suit so “I don’t get my clothes wet.” I told her that she needed to be careful in the river. Her response was “I’m with Bill (her 20 year old brother). I’ll be okay; he’s a lifeguard. She then ran off to join the guys.

A short time later I went to see where they were. They were nowhere to be seen. Their clothes and shoes were on the rocks, but I couldn’t see them at all. I turned back to the campsite, believing that they were okay. And they were. They could see me, even though I couldn’t see them.

I was struck by the powerful and simple faith of a preteen. To her, the world is safe, and those around her, who care about her, protect her. What a potent belief!

Adventures with hip belts

I went backpacking this weekend. The first shock I had to deal with was feeling like Mr. Incredible getting into my backpack’s hip belt. Apparently a LOT of water has run under the bridge, and some has stayed there. The hardest part about attempting to buckle a belt is not being able to see it. I push and from my vantage point it looks like it is lining up, but one of the prongs may not be in the clasp. If it is lined up, there may be part on my tee shirt that won't let the buckle snap closed. I pirouette. I gasp for breath. I release the clips, palms on my knees trying to catch my breath. I try again.

My 12-year-old daughter is watching me, amused by my antics and concerned by my red face. The telltale click says we have contact. I don’t have to tighten my belt, just my breathing. As we set off on the trail, I’ve already experienced adventure.

Dead in church

This week in church I sat there, numb. My throat hurt and I didn’t feel good. I didn’t feel any energy to move or sing with any kind of gusto. I didn’t get much out of the message as I thought it was delivered somewhat clumsily.

At the end of the service the speaker read a story. I went from an immobile face, to tears on my cheeks. The story was powerful and moving and it woke my spirit.

The great thing about God is that He accepts me just as I am. When I am in a worship service, I don’t have to pretend. He knows where I am at and is willing to wait quietly for my response.

Sentinel in the skyway

An old man is sitting ahead of me in Starbucks, and dressed in mismatched plaids and stripes. He casually watches as the employed wander by him with places to go. He gets up to get another cup of coffee and sits back down. He crosses his legs and watches the flow of foot traffic as it wanders past the window like a waterless aquarium. A woman, who appears to have interacted with him in the past, knocks on the pane and waves at him. He smiles mildly, revealing pink gums, then turns and stares again in another direction without a word.

How did he get this way? He is obviously not competing with the people on the other side of the glass. There is no rhyme or reason as to what captures his interest. He stares at random times. I think of other older people I know. I think of my work at a nursing home. They all stare, as if the world has moved off tilt.

Chasing feathers

My pup, Coco and I walked the streets of Duluth. Traffic whizzed by and Coco seemed oblivious to the cars moving past. She was straining at the end of her leash, literally choking on the tension.

On a road with less traffic, there was a white seagull feather tumbling along in the breeze. Coco went like a shot, attempting to apprehend the piece of fluff. Of course she was constrained by her leash. She hacked, and wheezed. I held the cord firmly for her protection.

Rounding the corner, it was out of sight, and out of mind. She went back to sniffing out all the seagull poo.

As I look at my life and the stuff I have pulled at my tether to acquire, I would have to say most weren’t too different than that feather. I have been grateful (usually later) for the tug of the leash that denied me those obsessions. For me there are many things better than a mouth full of fluff.

Into the water

Two girls were playing by the water’s edge of Lake Superior. Their pant legs were rolled up and they were pushing the limits of what they could do and still remain dry. They monitored the waves and moved accordingly.

One of the girls appeared to slip and hang precariously over the water. Balance was rediscovered and she righted herself. The other one must have found the rock with algae on it and she showed the first girl how to fall in the water.

She came up sputtering and clamored on the dry rocks, sitting there shivering.

Life is generous. We are free to make choices. You can walk close to the edge if that is where you want to be. And sometimes when you walk close to the edge, you can fall over, or in this case, you fall in.

You don't know what you've got till it's gone

I went through the last few days feeling pretty sick. I was lightheaded, feverish, and achy. What struck me is how bad I felt and how hard it was to do everyday life.

I forget so quickly how much my life depends on complicated processes that go on in my body. Each system plays into the whole and the whole is indebted to the system. When systems break down, life becomes so much more complicated.

When I feel good I so easily forget those systems, and expect life to continue forever. The sad reality is that it doesn’t. But that doesn’t seem to stop my fantasy about my own invincibility.

The disheveled businessman

A person walked ahead of me into Caribou Coffee. He sported an expensive suit and italian leather shoes. His hair was combed straight back and held solidly in place. The thing that was striking about him was his billowy white shirt was hanging out of his pants, only tucked in random places. As he walked through the door ahead of me, I could see the tail of his shirt peeking out of the bottom of his suit coat.

Here is a man who appears to have spent a lot of money developing an image. I think it a bad investment. Maybe when he navigates the hallways of his domain, he retains the persona of success and power. Walking ahead of me he looked like a walking inconsistency, an image of unfinished business, an entity that does not wear power well.

Contentment

I was told that I appear content. I took it as a complement. I am. I don’t have a lot of things that I am longing for. I’m grateful for all that I have.

As I thought more about it, I began to wonder if contentment is a good thing. Don’t get me wrong. I think it is. But I don’t know that content people change the world. Isn’t discontentment the motivation to improve? Doesn’t the desire for more, more money, recognition, and status create opportunities?

Bill Gates wasn’t satisfied. Gandhi wasn’t satisfied. And their dissatisfaction changed the world. On the flip-side, Discontent has created great ugliness in the world as well.

As a teacher, I have been content with what I do. Now the rules are changing and it is revealed that I have no power, wondering what to do next.

I have been provided for in the past, and I am not forgotten now. I can rest in that knowledge. I am unaware of all the changes I have made in the world, but I am excited for the changes that face me. I am learning daily what it means to trust, and in that I am content.

My worth

Within the last week, I have had to consider what I am worth. What am I willing to get paid to do? What are the benefits and what are the responsibilities. I look at what it costs me to fuel my passion.

I teach. I took a hit in pay when I started, and figured out how to make ends meet. And I am passionate about teaching. I love the look of understanding streak across students’ faces as they connect the dots to something in their lives.

However, I think Maslow was on to something. Once lower needs go unmet, the upper needs start to crumble. Reconsidering your worth is a chance to pay attention to the foundation. Asking what is important is a chance to prioritize anew.

The bottom line is, there is no one out there who could afford what I am really worth. So we settle on an amount I am willing to accept.

Pissing on my candle

My friend talked about how unhappy he was. He talked about how there is no joy in his life. The candle flame of his life is dwindling down.

I talked about things that he could do to change that feeling. He didn’t want to go there. He was content being unhappy. I jokingly stated that he was “pissing on his own candle”, to make damn sure it wouldn’t flare up.

The things I am most unhappy about are things I have the power to change, and I don’t. I’m as happy as I want to be. Or maybe I can get downright “pissy”.

Pop machine choreography

Fast food is a do-it-yourself world. In getting a drink you have to assemble it. If the drink counter is orderly I can move from one spot to another and not backtrack. Unless someone’s idea of order is different than mine.

A lady and I were getting an ice tea with lemon and sugar. This required that we cross each other’s paths to get what was required for a satisfying beverage. We both moved back and forth locating items to put in our cup. I picked out my lemon and sweetener while she filled her cup with ice. We then switched places as I got the ice and beverage. I then stepped out of the way for her to get a lid and straw. We didn’t know each other, but we moved in harmony to the other person’s movements. We did a strange choreographic dance in front of the counter.

Afterwards it occurred to me that we are all dancing together in this world. I have been frustrated when one person’s dance in front of the pop machine is to block everything until they are completely done. It is a selfish dance, that refuses to dance with others. Our dance at the machine was utilitarian and mutually respectful. And it got the job done.

Spiraling out of control

I signed up for an on-line class to incorporate blackboard into my residential classes. I made this commitment with the end of the quarter moving closer.

To make a tedious story short, between attempting to figure out where I needed too navigate next and watching out of the corner of my eye, the reports growing, I started to feel overwhelmed.

Life makes a great teacher. I remember three years ago, sitting in my car, in a parking , attempting to catch my breath. My world was truly spiraling out of control and I was keeping up, but barely. I had many commitments that I thought I couldn’t break.

The situation changed with a life-threatening diagnosis. It is amazing how priorities snap into place at times like that. I dropped certain responsibilities that I thought I would not be able to. It was amazingly simple! It allowed me to focus on what mattered. I found my breath.

As my world started to teeter on the edge of control again, I was simply able to prioritize. I dropped the class, stating I would try again at a later time. No guilt, no regret. Just peace, and the ability to breathe.

A selfish choice

We met our new neighbors while on a walk. They invited us to join them for a beer. This would have been a good chance to spend more time with them, to get to listen to their lives, but I had a lot to do. I chose to stay at home and work. The rest of the family went.

Sometimes the most important decisions are embedded in seemingly unimportant choices. I made a selfish choice and one that I regret. How else do we get involved in other people’s lives and get the opportunity to love another person, unless we spend time with people? Noble ideas don’t work outside of relationships. If you won’t spend time with people, you can’t say you love them.

Slippery forgiveness

Abu Musab al-Zarqawi is reported to have been killed. The mastermind of the Iraqi beheadings may be no more. On this momentous occasion, I listened to the father of one of his victims in a radio interview, talking about his feelings over the announcement.

Michael Berg talked about the death of his son, and his pain over having to endure such a horrible experience. He claimed to have forgiven Zarqawi for his inhumane act.

I was intrigued. Here was a man who did not claim a religion, who claimed to forgive and hold no grudges. He sounded sincere and I was impressed. He was then asked about policies and the war in Iraq. Michael’s voice morphed from gentle, soothing and calm, to acidic, and harsh. He stated that he holds George Bush personally responsible for the death of his son. The tone held through the rest of the interview.

Forgiveness is like a slippery eel. We can convince ourselves that we have forgiven, that we are moving on with our lives. The sad reality is that like a person forgetting to zip their pants before going out in public, others see and are embarrassed to point out the neglect. We may say we are forgiving, but we may be more transparent that we realize.

The things we do for love

“I HATE YOU MOMMY!” A child’s shrill shout blasted down the isle at Target. “Yes, but mommy loves you” came the soft gentle response. The cart glided off to another isle and the last thing I heard was the child saying softer this time, “I’m mad at you, mommy.”

As parents, we absorb all that our children try on. Emotions, thinking, and behaviors all are thrown at us to see how they work. As parents we soak up the feelings and mold them into digestible units to be fed back to the child, much like regurgitated food from a nesting bird. It’s demanding and its no wonder that as parents we don’t always do it well. Hopefully we don't get the “I HATE YOU” salvo, when we are having a bad day.

Parenting for me has been the single greatest thing for wrenching me away from my ubiquitous self-centeredness. One of the first warnings come as an infant, when they throw up all over you. You clean up and keep loving, even if it is through your anger. (This is observed by a dad. Moms seem supernaturally unruffled when they get thown up on.) We watch our children try roles on, we give them feedback and then we let them go to make sense of all the lessons they have been taught. This is the work of love.

Diamonds are forever

In church a couple sat ahead of us. They looked pretty trendy. He sported a hairdo that combed over in front and fluffed in back. The woman he was with was wearing a “wifebeater” tee-shirt and jeans. On one of her shoulders she sported a tribal tattoo running down towards her elbow. They struck me as children of this present age.

What caught my attention was the engagement ring. There was a noteworthy diamond sitting in a setting of ornate gold on the third finger of her left hand. At times she was distracted from the sermon and stared at it.

No matter how trendy we become there are some things that keep us grounded in the past. Like rocks in the river that waters flows around, there are some things that have such deep meaning, and are so symbolic that they can’t be dispensed of easily.

Do I really know you?

The woman in class had a mound of tissue piled in front of her on her desk. Her sniffling could be heard through the darkened room. She continued her display of emotion, apparently unconcerned about what others were thinking of her. In the class I have found her emotional and sensitive, but never unreasonably so.

We were watching a movie with themes of unfulfilled childhoods, lack of connection between family members and an untimely death. I have cried at this movie in the past, so I found no inconsistency with someone else crying because of the movie.

After class I was talking to another teacher. For some reason, this woman’s name came up, and the teacher called this person a "wacko". She told a story of being called in to administration and read the riot act by this person. I found it fascinating that that is so far from my experience of her. This other teacher wanted to stay as far away as possible from her.

It occurred to me how little we know of others. We see facets of another person. We can see different people within the shell of the same person. It felt sad to hear the judgments heaped down on this woman that I found so sensitive and engaging in my class.

I was reminded of what C.S. Lewis wrote in his book “Mere Christianity”. He said about humans: “God judges them by their moral choices…when a person who has a pathological horror of cats forces himself to pick up a cat for some good reason, it is quite possible that in God’s eyes he has shown more courage than a healthy man…Some of us who seem quite nice people, may in fact, have made so little use of a good heredity and a good upbringing that we’re really worse than those we regard as fiends. That is why Christians are told not to judge. We see only the results, which a man’s choices make out of his raw material. But God does not judge him on the raw material at all, but on what he has done with it.”

I think this is frighteningly true. I am reading “Unholy Messenger” which tells the story of the BTK killer. What I am finding so remarkable is how a person who had such an evil side could fit so well into a small town society. It is a testament to how little we truly know about another person.

I look at the woman crying in class. I have judged her to be sensitive and caring. Another has labeled her crazy. Who is right? Can we really say we know?

Unwritten etiquette

There is fashion etiquette going on here that is not listed in Glamour magazine, about what parts of us should be visible to others in public. For example, what undergarments are appropriate to be seen in public? It'’s not unusual to see a woman reach back performing tactile surveillance of her waistband to make sure that underwear is not displayed. Especially thong.

I'’m at a Panera restaurant right now, sitting with a woman in my line of sight that has felt the waistband of her pants so much that my eyes are no longer distracted by her exaggerated movement. In fact, I looked over just now to verify that she was still sitting there, and there was her hand, feeling the waistband of the back of her pants, again! I'’m not sure what she is so concerned about; there isn't even a gap in her clothes for underwear to show through. And yet she keeps tugging at the bottom of her cami to overlap the top of her jeans.

The woman she is eating lunch with is wearing a tube top with elastic to hold it up, and she is wearing a bra. How can I tell? I can see the straps! In fact when she sits down, the entire back of her bra is seen because the top she is wearing is pulled way down her back. And she isn'’t even attempting to check to see how much of her bra is showing. That doesn't seem to matter. But woman number one just checked her waistband AGAIN!

Now for the men. It is considered bad form for a man to display butt crack. A personal confession: "I have sinned!" However, it is allowable to see the OUTLINE of butt crack, and A LOT of it as long as it is covered by underwear, either boxers or boxer briefs. Sagging pants off the male derriere is presentable and sometimes even desirable, as long as butt crack is covered by underwear, even though I have come to understand, in prison it is an invitation for someone else to push back your stool.

How about how much chest should be exposed? If a man leaves his shirt unbuttoned, he looks like a "player-loser"; something left over from disco days. But good lord, cleavage has become a fashion statement for women these days. I know it'’s not polite to stare, but some days it seems that my eyes have minds of their own, and it is difficult to spank them and make them behave!

Women can display bits of tummy out of the bottom of a blouse as long as it doesn't hang over the belt while standing. It is always bad form for a man to have his belly peek out of a shirt. If he is endowed with an ample belly it is in even worse form for a t-shirt to be short enough for the belly to play peek-a-boo from the bottom of the shirt.

As for older people, the less shown, the better. There is no "shirts and skins" with older people, there is only shirts and different color shirts. Shorts are still okay. I am checking to make sure my shirt is tucked in to my pants and not my underwear...hold on...nope, I'm good!

Reality check

We moved out of the neighborhood we lived in for 15 years. We sold it to the only person to give us an offer. He wanted to use it for a rental. There were a lot of people moving out of our neighborhood, many because of the different ethnic populations that were moving in. We were told by some of the people moving out, that as other ethnic groups came in, the neighborhoods would go downhill.

The house next to us was sold to an hispanic couple. They seemed to be the nicest people.

The irony is that our former hispanic neighbor kept his house and yard better groomed than the white people who bought our old house. The grass at our old house had not been cut since last year and it was knee high. I think they were made to get it cut by the city. The hispanic couple, on the other hand, does the neighborhood proud.

We can be so narrow minded and see what we want to see. Sometimes we need a reality check to help us see what is really going on.

Moving on

When do you decide to move on? In a relationship, in a job, with a vehicle, when do you make the choice that you are done sinking energy and resources into it?

A number of years ago we had an Aerostar van. It was such a comfortable vehicle to drive. It just kept breaking down. It was $400 to this place, $1,000 to another shop. Finally it was $475 in car repairs and the cost of a motel room because I couldn't get home. We had to make the decision that we were done with the repairs. The cost was moving past the benefits we were receiving from the vehicle.

I remember when my therapy job was winding down. I drove the streets where over 10 years I had worked with clients. I wondered about the impact that I had and how it could so easily go away when the funding ran out. I felt so empty, and used. It took me a while to realize the good that I had done, and the impact I had had in so many families. That couldn't be taken away, even if they took the job away. I started feeling better about what had happened. I was able to move on.

I keep wondering if I am meant to stay put where I am or anticipate change. Should I play the game of positioning myself so I don't get caught. Looking seems to take so much energy. It is more comfortable to remain with the status quo.

I had a friend who played that game with girlfriends and jobs. He always had irons in the fire, so if one dropped, he could grab another. He was one of the more guarded people I have known.

One thing that I do know for sure, He leads me beside the still waters and the green pastures. I don't have to fear as He is with me. It is so good to know that someone else is leading, and can see much further than me. If changes come, I can simply look up and ask where I step next.

Thank God for Mr. Biff!

Sitting on my porch today I was able to watch the world go by. It was hot and on a holiday all that moved were cars driving by. Our neighborhood is a development that is being constructed so there are random portable outhouses at the construction sites, provided by Biff's.

A Biff’s employee came by with his truck. He stopped at the outhouse closest to us, and stuck a hose into the tank, sucking the foul sludge out. I’m sure it wasn’t a pleasant job. Afterwards he took a bucket in with some sort of solution and swabbed the inside of the enclosure. When he was done, he waved as he drove by.

Compared to third world countries where buckets of sewage were brought out and poured into a large tank pulled by oxen, the Biff’s operation seemed so sanitary. Overseas you could always tell when the bullock cart was coming down the street to collect the sewage. The smell was overpowering. Here the Biff's guy was two houses away and I didn’t smell a thing.

Thank God for those who traffic in human waste. What a dirty job. At the same time, I'm sure, there is money to be made doing it. Thank God for the Biff’s guys. They work hard to tone down the fact that there are parts of our existence that are pretty foul.

Here's to you, Mr. Biff! You do your part to help us believe that our shit doesn't stink.

Journalistic tragedy

Two journalists died, and one was wounded in Iraq today. A soldier and an iraqi interpreter were also killed in the same attack. Six soldiers were wounded. We know the names and the ages of the journalists, as well as seeing their pictures The soldiers and thei Iraqi interpreter remained nameless and pictureless. The media is already touting the tragedy that this is. It is a tragedy, but what about all the other soldiers who were killed and wounded and die every day there. They don’t feature their pictures on the news reports. They don’t talk about their lives.

Go ahead media, tout your tragedies. You can express sorrow as to how horrible this was to happen to you. The soldiers that die every day there don't get the same treatment. And yet they are no less special than you. Maybe it would help to see soldier’s faces and hear their stories on every one who is killed. Sadly it may grow to be so many that we can’t feel sadness for so many, without being overwhelmed. Perhaps it is good to focus on feeling sad for the media, because their deaths happen so few and far between.

Cleavage

Shopping for flowers today, to plant in the garden, a mother/daughter duo entered the greenhouse. The daughter looked to be about 15. She was dressed modestly in a blue tee shirt and jean shorts of reasonable length.

Her mom followed her. She was wearing a black tank top with the sequin word “star" glittering across her chest. Even before you saw what was written on the shirt, you couldn’t help but see the cleavage. She was spilling out.

It is difficult these days for kids to grow up. How does a girl feel when her mother looks sexier than she does? Does it impact her self esteem in some way? The daughter didn’t appear bothered, but it seemed backwards to me. I have seen mother/daughters where the mom is continuing to badger the daughter to cover up. In this case mom was attempting to catch the male eye, and the daughter followed her around dutifully.

Who knows, maybe purity will be the issue that children fall back on. “I do not want to be like my parent," as they cover up from head to toe. It just may be a difficult if the mom attracts all the guys.

Maybe the daughter realized from what she has witnessed, that males who come around because of cleavage, might only be interested in one thing.

Playing God

I am so quick to judge other people. I perceive others in light of my own personal schemas and decide whether the person I am observing is worthy of my time. Many times I have judged people unfairly.

I have had a problem with people judging the disenfranchised harshly, even though, if I am honest, there are times when I have judged them harshly as well. The judged are usually those who have difficulty defending themselves. I need to be looking for ways to help, not making sure they stay down.

On the other hand there are people, I would gladly sit in the judgment chair and condemn. In my book they get what they deserved and I couldn't be happier. For example, I feel a sense of vindication when I see a speeder fly by me and then get pulled over by the police. I think “Good! They deserved that!” I feel no sympathy for them at all.

I feel noble defending the poor, the downtrodden, the discriminated against. The high and mighty, the arrogant, the dramatic, and the legalists I don't want to forgive. I don't want them to have a second chance. They get what I think they deserved.

The Bible says "judge not lest you be judged." We are all guilty of things that we should be punished for. Just like the child that quickly jumps in to be the parent, we quickly jump in to play God. We can be damned good judges. But sadly we don’t forgive like God.

The Confessional opens

Well, the material girl is at it again. Out to shock and offend. And religious leaders are up in arms about it. Madonna is promoting a feel good religion, whose offering plate is Ticketmaster. The service consists of worshipping Madonna's body and antics, and moving your body to the rhythms of her special night.

It's hedonism. She can whip up a crowd with her well muscled body. What a show. She can make political statements, compassion statements, social conscious statements. Her worshipers can adore her, cheer for her, hold her in their hearts and then go home to their empty lives believing they've been fed. "What an awesome concert". Not one person has been delivered from anything. And Madonna goes home with the resources to continue her empty material girl pursuits.

Why is the religious community up in arms? Jesus isn't sending lightning bolts. Criticism is good for the show. It draws more crowds. So what if she is on a glitzy cross with a designer crown of thorns? She will be held accountable for her self promoting, thoughtless acts, just as much as we will. This is theatre, well thought out movements to make a buck. Madonna is not Mother Theresa. Her sacrifice is not for others, but for herself. The images are designed to offend, which allows crowds to look her way, to notice her. Her religion demands her spending hours of dedication at the gym as she worships herself.

God will still be there long after Madonna's body, as well as the rest of ours are rotting in the grave. Truth will always win. Sometimes it just takes time. Real sacrifice always counts. Fake sacrifice always leaves us hungry for more.

Hey Madonna, can you save us? I'll hear your confession. Can you speak up, please? Did you say "What a ride?"

Anchors

Anchors are good things. They keep us from drifting. Dropping anchor insures that the boat you are in is going to be staying put in water that encourages movement.

Families are like anchors as well. They keep us grounded in a world that shifts. We can get lost in a crowd, losing our very sense of self. A family, like an anchor keeps us tied to understanding where we come from and is the keeper of our very identity. “I am a Cook”, is a very pregnant statement.

I had a student who in class said that one of the reasons she took the class was to see if we were related, as we both had the same last name. She was African American. I obviously am not. I asked her if she had gotten her answer. She said she had. We all laughed. A simple glance spoke truth.

Anchors have also killed people. I think of the old mob technique of killing called “cement shoes”. The goal of the shoes is to hold a person underwater, until they drown. If we are honest, I think families can be like that as well. The neediness of a family can constrain a person to feel like they are drowning.

If you have ever gotten an anchor stuck, no one goes anywhere until the anchor is freed. And sometimes, anchors get so stuck, you have to cut it free if you are ever hoping to move.

A beneficial fast

A friend went on a fast this week. He stopped eating on Wednesday and broke it this morning. That made a total of 4 days. We talked about the effects both physically and spiritually. He talked about how much God had spoken to him during the days of the fast.

As we talked about the experience he had and we started joking about how much our egos get in the way of spiritual growth, and how difficult it is to keep down. We talked about what it would be like to put the ego on a fast. Deny the ego for a length of time in order to achieve deeper spiritual advantage.

How does one do that? I suppose that you need to create an environment where you are thought of as undesirable. I think it would be difficult to create, as we work pretty hard to make sure that at least some part of us in lovable. What if I could do an ego fast? It would allow God to communicate to me that I am a loved and valued child of God, even if I was undesirable to the rest of the world.

But then that would be an ego boost, which your ego could feed on. So would it really be fasting?

Amazing grace

We sang Amazing Grace in church. Before the song was sung the pastor talked about why John Newton wrote the song. Newton was a slave trader who encountered a storm. There was fear that he would lose his life so he prayed out to God for rescue.

The storm stopped. John Newton was still alive and in gratitude he pledged his life to serve God. It truly is an inspiring story about the power of God and the gratitude of man. His occuation didn't change for a while, but it was said that he treated the slaves he was transporting "more humanly."

While this is an inspiring story, there is another side as well. What of the slaves in the hold of his ship praying out to God to be delivered from their nightmare? There are no stories of famous hymns written when God delivered the slave from his or her storm. The way I look at it, reading about the conditions of human trafficking, and watching the movie “Amistad”, it becomes apparent that the slaves’ fears and misery far exceeded the storm that Newton endured. Many of them died at sea thinking that God had forgotten them.

I think the truth is that our existence is far more mysterious than we know. The inhumanity of mankind to itself is mind-boggling. And whether God shows up in a storm, or appears a to be a million miles away, His word says He is with us at all times. The strange reality of suffering is that God is with us whether we are delivered from a storm, or dying in the hold of a ship. And while we can be pleased to see the redemption of one man from the calming of a storm, many times the greater peace of God's presence may come when there is no delivery. We may see in more powerful ways, God's true deliverance...from ourselves.

Talking about sin

In church a man stood before the congregation and revealed his past addiction to pornography, and how it destroyed relationships and almost cost him a divorce. He talked about opportunities lost, and the acceptance he was given when he was able to release it to God and receive healing. He talked about the goodness of God since those dark days. When he was done he took his place in serving communion.

I was amazed that a person would have the courage to share his experiences with a church. In my mind that is the mark of a great church. Others can praise God for his witness and not judge him as an evil person.

What I would find as unbelievable is if a person could stand before the congregation and confess one of the more “shameful” sins that they had committed last night and share forgiveness the next day in church without being judged off the stage. That would be an unbelievable church.

We like knowing that our stories have successful conclusions. We like things tied up neatly in a package. We like to look back and see resolution. We are uncomfortable with messes. They look too much like our lives. We are expecting the person who is sharing their story to give us hope that we can triumph too.

The simple fact is that we fail every day and any one of us could stand there and talk about our weaknesses. Also, sin is sin whether it is a more “shameful” sin having to do with cravings, or the more hidden things like resentment, pride and greed. What if a person could confess sin openly to the church, even if they are still struggling? What if the church could accept and love the person, even in the midst of their sin? That would be amazing!

Release

Reading what a person I care about thought of me, I was angry. Really angry. It cut deep and I felt the pain of the cut.

I vented. My poor friend endured my diatribes, my insults, my unreasonable responses. She sat there, she joined in, she gave me the gift of helping me process this painful information.

Next came the willingness to let it go, giving up the desire to hold on to it. Being willing to turn it over to God who can absorb even the strongest emotions.

Then came peace. Not right away. Not like an explosion, but like a shift of a breeze where you suddenly realize that it has cooled down, the heat displaced. You gaze into your heart and realize the anger and the pain is no longer there.

We can be angry and hurt, but we need to acknowledge it and be willing to let it go, or become its prisoner. We can find healing, but it is a process. It doesn't come of it's own. We have to invite it in and release the hurt like a dove into blue sky.

Surrender

A significant relationship was terminated by the will of the other party. It troubled me that there was no way to sustain the relationship. As a former therapist, as long as people were alive there was still a chance. I just had to figure out a strategy.

I came up with a great strategy today which entailed allowing the other person to feel in a visceral way, what I felt. This would probably ramp things up and force a confrontation, which could potentially provide some meaningful dialogue. And then again it could blow up in my face.

I started writing up the letter and in my mind confronting the imagined response I would receive.

A Small Voice that I hear if I am willing and quiet enough to listen to, said to me, "you are doing this under your own power. Why don't you trust me"? My pose was that of a surgeon fighting to save a life any way possible, desperately trying ANYTHING.

"Can you let go of your strategies and let Me deal with it? He is my child. I'll take over from here."

I let go of my control and trust the outcome to the One who is the Great Healer.

The chasm

Life moves in familiar patterns for us most of the time. Sometimes we are given a glimpse into the depths of what divides us. We watch our politicians posture and challenge and we usually believe our side is right so it doesn’t seem so frightening to observe the divide with people around us.

I have been dealing for years with a relationship that I have come to see recently with razor clarity that we are universes apart. This is not a misunderstanding. This is a complete breakdown of thought and language. I have come to see that there are no words or concepts to bridge this gap, that our divide is profound. And it is terrifying to see the depth of the chasm.

Acknowledging this gulf demands commitments from me. I have to commit to accepting the divide, I have to commit to moving on, and I have to commit to walking with a sense of honesty that my reality may not be the correct one.

Most of the time I can look at others and believe that everyone sees the same thing I see. Every once and a while, if we are looking and we are honest about what we see, we are given the opportunity to look into the blackness of the chasm so great that it splits us apart and clutches us at a distance. The more we look into and acknowledge that profound abyss, the scarier it can be.

Thank God for His merciful love and wild unfairness. He sees the gulf that disconnects us from Him as well and sends His love to us across that chasm. Kindhearted Father, help me to love others from my side of the chasm like you love me!

Consciousness

On a podcast, Alan Watts was talking about the myth of myself. He talked about how in western civilization we are taught to see through a spotlight consciousness, that is, focusing on one thing at a time. He talked about another consciousness he called floodlight consciousness, which encompasses all of who we are in totality. It shines from us, not on us. Put in Eastern mystical thought, he stated that we are all part of the larger consciousness and that when we die, we will live on by the "we" conscious. I suppose you could say that when I die the larger consciousness loses an appendage (me), but the consciousness continues.

This is very hard for me to wrap my mind around living in an individualistic culture. Does a person who lives in a communal culture have the same struggle? Is it easier for them to think of being part of a larger existence that the self is encompassed by?

If that is the case, would a person from a more communal culture having a hard time understanding "I"? Might he or she have a hard time believing the statement "God loves you", and think of it as his or her life only? Would it be easier for them to hear "God loves us"? Is it possible that when we attempt to convince a person that God loves them as a person, they are as mystified by the concept as I am thinking about floodlight consciousness?

Ambition

A struggle of mine has been the meaning of advancement. I work at a small business college and there is a feeling that I should be getting promoted and move into more of an administrative role. This would move me further away from teaching and students. That isn't what I want to do. I want to teach.

I am definitely an employee. I am ordered to do things, I lack the power to keep things in place, or make changes on my own. At times it is appealing to think that I could direct changes that would affect the classroom.

What I find to be satisfying to work with students and affect changes there. There are pangs that I am not keeping the progression going and that in the end I will be in trouble. And yet I find so much contentment in watching individuals grow.

I listened to an interview with Scott A. Sandage who wrote the book "Born Losers: A History of Failure in America". One statement he made was that Americans resent lack of ambition more than they resent lack of achievement. I relate to that. I find that I struggle with that within myself as well, probably even more than I hear it from others.

Waiting is tough!

It's a strange thing when you are trying to connect with someone and work through a problem using e-mail. You press send and then you wait. If an answer comes back you move. If they don't answer, you are left with conjecture alone. You wait for the reply to come. Every time your inbox notifies you of incoming mail, there is anticipation waiting to see if it is them. Then there is either movement or let-down. Silent treatment is a hard thing to deal with when you are relating face to face. With face to face meetings and on the telephone, you know your message was conveyed. When you send a e-mail, you just wait, and waiting can be long.

At other times in my life I have had to learn the waiting game. It is never fun, but it is instructive. It also allows you to practice contentment as letting go of control.

Bush and Bunnies

I have to shake my head again. There was a group of gay families that were to take part in the Easter Egg hunt at the White House last Sunday. The president was there for the start, but was not there by the time the gay families got there. The press makes the assumption, most likely correct, that his absence was a statemtnt of disapproval of gay families. But does he approve of large bunnies distributing eggs? I guess you don't mess with tradition, in any form.