Sic transit gloria mundi, according to Wikipedia, is a Latin phrase that means "Thus passes the glory of the world". It has been interpreted as "Worldly things are fleeting."
Today starts the beginning of the end - and the beginning of yet another new beginning - for my sister, my brother-in-law and I. They were approved for a rather nicely sized apartment/duplex in a nearby Toledo suburb - and so the process of paring down, selling, tossing away and packing up begins again. Target is the end of September to be out of this place - although the mortgage-holder won't take over for months yet. They may still be able to sell - although at a fantastic loss. But who knows? All I know is that this beautiful dream turned nightmare is ending.
According to USPS.com, Chris's application for his dream job has been delivered. Now starts the toe-tapping part of the process. He's done everything he can do. Now it's fully in the hands of God, and we can only wait.
And a long-time friend of Bill's - McKinley (Mac) F. from the Early Bird Group died late last week. The memorial will be 10 AM Friday, and I will be there - work be damned. Mac was a prominent feature in my early days of sobriety at Early Bird; like me, he could get more than a little long-winded, and like me, his journey "in the bonus round" has not always been on the sunshine side of the ledger. But thanks be to God, he died sober, and surrounded by people who loved him. When my time comes, may I do as well, dear God...
So much change. So much unwilling change, in amidst that I would choose to change. It's probably not any wonder the topic of the meeting last night was on the Serenity Prayer, and especially on accepting the things I cannot change.
At that meeting, I talked about what we don't often talk about is how much it can just hurt to accept change; how damn humbling it can be. It's no wonder people go out, rather than admit to how much we are like children, who just can't accept what we can't have (or are getting what we don't want!).
We lie and say "the phone weighs five hundred pounds, at times." The truth is the phone weighs just ounces; but it's that monstrous pride sitting on top of it - the part that doesn't want to admit to being childish, to being embarrassed, to not want to see our families or loved ones hurt, to just not wanting to have to cry any more, some times.
It still hurts. But the alternative is still way too scary. So I keep on trusting that God is with us, whether His presence seems a little thin on the ground at times, and keep moving forward. And giving thanks - every minute is a moment to give thanks, for goals met, for challenges walked-through, and for love of the people with whom God has gifted me.
Including each of you, gentle companions. Thank you, for coming back here, and reading. I confess I'm self-centered enough that your words, your comments, your emails mean an awful lot to me. Each of you are part of that great circle that will never be unbroken, by and by.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
The thrill of victory, the agony of defeat
Spanning the globe to bring you the constant variety of sport...the thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat...the human drama of athletic competition...
Anyone who knows me knows - I have no use for most sporting events. My one hat-tip to sporting events was to buy a Kansas City Chiefs "starter" jacket (because KC had just lost in the playoffs, and everything was on sale!), and I have taken merciless ribbing about it for years. Even in Toledo, Ohio, if I wore it out, some guy would give me a grin, and yell, "Hey, buddy, how 'bout dem Chiefs?"
(After years of staring vacantly at these folks, I finally figured out that the safe answer was, "Y'know, you just never know about that team...", and then the person would fill in their own half of the conversation, never knowing that I neither knew or cared - it was just a warm and inexpensive coat.)
But there is something different about the Olympics. In Summer, swimming, diving, gymnastics., biking. In Winter, skiing, ski jumping, bobsled, luge, figure skating, ice dancing. And for years, the voice of Jim McKay over all...
So many people become nationalist morons at times like this. Basketball especially, but not limited to that by any means. The only appreciation they have is for the score, and the chance to mindlessly shriek, "USA! USA! USA!" until they are hoarse.
I have no use for that, or them.
I can marvel at the stunning form of the Chinese gymnasts; share in the glee of the USA men's team as they struggled to achieve their bronze medal; see beyond the medal-tally to the humanity (and humility) of an American swimmer who almost seems superhuman, and the incredible work he must perform to make it seem so easy. I can cheer for the man from Poland who took the gold in shot-put; clap for the woman from Zimbabwe who took gold in women's butterfly swimming. It is, as Jim McKay would say every Saturday afternoon for years, "...the human drama of athletic competition."
Since Chris works until 11 each night, our Olympic viewing has been pretty limited, but has seen some of the classic moments from Beijing. The infectious grin of Jonathan Horton (can you believe that guy is only 5' 1" tall? Heck, his SMILE was that wide...), the almost helicopter-like performance of Alexander Artimev on the pommel horse, and the absolutely amazing come-from-behind performance of Jason Lezak in the men's 4-x-100-meter relay team.
(Some of you may say, "OK, this is STEVE here, talking sports stuff? Who ARE you, you impostor, and what have you done with Steve F? Tell us!" Nope, this is the real deal, folks...)
Part of it is sheer envy. I have never been athletic; I have always envied those who were. But most of it is sheer admiration for the ultimate athletic prowess, and even more for those who gave their best despite never making it (like the legendary Jamaican bobsled team!). But beyond that, for those who performed with class and grace. The men and women who were memory makers.
Like in Sarajevo, 1984. Winter Olympics. Ice dancing.
I don't know if I had ever even SEEN ice-dancing before 1984. I know that I had never followed it, and I knew nothing about who was good and who was not. Until, that is, I saw a couple from Britain who simply set the ice on fire.
Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean. Rimsky-Korsakov's Capriccio Espagnole. A little less than four minutes of visually captivating, stylistically arresting performance that won them the gold medal. I don't know what it was that embedded their performance forever in my mind - but that 4 minutes came to epitomize the best of the Olympics. Performance, beauty, strength, skill, flair - pushing the boundaries of what was possible in search of new levels of excellence. And to this day, I cannot hear Capriccio Espagnole without thinking of Torvill and Dean.
There is much that is not good about the Olympics, and Olympic competition in general. It saddens me every time someone must cheat (whether it be drugs or performance enhancing chemicals, using under-age athletes, or clearly predatory judging) to achieve some nationalistic goal. It is tragic how the spectacle of Olympic competition draws attention away from Darfur, Georgia, even the rest of China - not to mention the tragedies going on right down the street from each of us.
But for me, these Olympic dramas are a gentle drug that (along with my loving partner) help take the edge off days of frustration and uncertainty. These are moments of beauty in otherwise ugly times - and I give thanks for that. So here's to those talented men and women - with a tribute from Olympic past...
Anyone who knows me knows - I have no use for most sporting events. My one hat-tip to sporting events was to buy a Kansas City Chiefs "starter" jacket (because KC had just lost in the playoffs, and everything was on sale!), and I have taken merciless ribbing about it for years. Even in Toledo, Ohio, if I wore it out, some guy would give me a grin, and yell, "Hey, buddy, how 'bout dem Chiefs?"
(After years of staring vacantly at these folks, I finally figured out that the safe answer was, "Y'know, you just never know about that team...", and then the person would fill in their own half of the conversation, never knowing that I neither knew or cared - it was just a warm and inexpensive coat.)
But there is something different about the Olympics. In Summer, swimming, diving, gymnastics., biking. In Winter, skiing, ski jumping, bobsled, luge, figure skating, ice dancing. And for years, the voice of Jim McKay over all...
So many people become nationalist morons at times like this. Basketball especially, but not limited to that by any means. The only appreciation they have is for the score, and the chance to mindlessly shriek, "USA! USA! USA!" until they are hoarse.
I have no use for that, or them.
I can marvel at the stunning form of the Chinese gymnasts; share in the glee of the USA men's team as they struggled to achieve their bronze medal; see beyond the medal-tally to the humanity (and humility) of an American swimmer who almost seems superhuman, and the incredible work he must perform to make it seem so easy. I can cheer for the man from Poland who took the gold in shot-put; clap for the woman from Zimbabwe who took gold in women's butterfly swimming. It is, as Jim McKay would say every Saturday afternoon for years, "...the human drama of athletic competition."
Since Chris works until 11 each night, our Olympic viewing has been pretty limited, but has seen some of the classic moments from Beijing. The infectious grin of Jonathan Horton (can you believe that guy is only 5' 1" tall? Heck, his SMILE was that wide...), the almost helicopter-like performance of Alexander Artimev on the pommel horse, and the absolutely amazing come-from-behind performance of Jason Lezak in the men's 4-x-100-meter relay team.
(Some of you may say, "OK, this is STEVE here, talking sports stuff? Who ARE you, you impostor, and what have you done with Steve F? Tell us!" Nope, this is the real deal, folks...)
Part of it is sheer envy. I have never been athletic; I have always envied those who were. But most of it is sheer admiration for the ultimate athletic prowess, and even more for those who gave their best despite never making it (like the legendary Jamaican bobsled team!). But beyond that, for those who performed with class and grace. The men and women who were memory makers.
Like in Sarajevo, 1984. Winter Olympics. Ice dancing.
I don't know if I had ever even SEEN ice-dancing before 1984. I know that I had never followed it, and I knew nothing about who was good and who was not. Until, that is, I saw a couple from Britain who simply set the ice on fire.
Jayne Torvill and Christopher Dean. Rimsky-Korsakov's Capriccio Espagnole. A little less than four minutes of visually captivating, stylistically arresting performance that won them the gold medal. I don't know what it was that embedded their performance forever in my mind - but that 4 minutes came to epitomize the best of the Olympics. Performance, beauty, strength, skill, flair - pushing the boundaries of what was possible in search of new levels of excellence. And to this day, I cannot hear Capriccio Espagnole without thinking of Torvill and Dean.
There is much that is not good about the Olympics, and Olympic competition in general. It saddens me every time someone must cheat (whether it be drugs or performance enhancing chemicals, using under-age athletes, or clearly predatory judging) to achieve some nationalistic goal. It is tragic how the spectacle of Olympic competition draws attention away from Darfur, Georgia, even the rest of China - not to mention the tragedies going on right down the street from each of us.
But for me, these Olympic dramas are a gentle drug that (along with my loving partner) help take the edge off days of frustration and uncertainty. These are moments of beauty in otherwise ugly times - and I give thanks for that. So here's to those talented men and women - with a tribute from Olympic past...
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
A simple meme, for a simple man
I have been overwhelmed - work, the challenges of finding a new home for my sister and brother-in-law, a potential move, and financial challenges have had me bottled up for a while. But I needed a way to break the spiritual blogjam, and this challenge seemed the perfect entry. The instructions over at Black Pete (formerly Poor Mad Peter)'s Red Wine and Garlic were simple: share seven things about oneself that are relatively inconsequential. So here goes...
1) I have two sisters who are fraternal twins; as kids, we hardly looked like we belonged to the same family, but the resemblance is getting better.
2) I have a fascination with glass - blown, cut, colored but almost never painted. Emerald green, ruby red, cobalt blue, and clear cut crystal are my favorites; either rich deep color or the absence, I guess. Two of my favorite places in the world are the Corning Glass Museum in Corning, NY, and the Toledo Museum of Art's Glass Pavilion.
(The Glass Pavilion alone is worth a trip to Toledo, although you'd really miss out if you didn't go across the street to the Museum proper, or downtown for a Tony Packo's hotdog...)
3) I am fascinated with the work of Elbert Hubbard and the Roycrofters. My AA sponsor gave me a copy of A Message to Garcia (which I later gave back, like a fool) and Elbert Hubbard's Scrapbook, which is one of my more prized book possessions. I wish I could fully adopt the creed of the Roycrofters: A belief in working with the head, hand and heart and mixing enough play with the work so that every task is pleasurable and makes for health and happiness.
4) I never knew that I was given to jeremiads, but thanks to Black Pete, who made me look it up, I know I'm pretty good at 'em. Jeremiad (noun) - a prolonged lamentation or mournful complaint. [Origin: 1770–80; Jeremi(ah) + -ad, in reference to Jeremiah's Lamentations] (Thanks to Dictionary.com)
5) I also share a trait with Black Pete - I both very much enjoy cats, and am very much allergic to them. One gift given to me by my friend Ted (and a very lovely apple-headed Siamese of his) was overcoming my childhood fear of cats. One night Ted and I sat in blue armchairs in his living room, with a fire burning, just talking (as we are both wont to do). That Siamese just bounded into my lap, and with a blatant disregard for my discomfort, snuggled down between the chair's arm and my leg and began purring loudly. I never looked back. (It was preparation, I'm sure, for the procession of furry friends that my former wife brought into my life.)
6) Being a virtual employee (working from home, over the Internet) means that I have as many coworkers from Mumbai and Chennai (India) as I do in Lincolnshire and Chicago (Illinois). My most unusual location for a work day (at this job, anyway) was on December 28, 2007, when I spent 9 hours working in a coffee shop in Springfield, MO called The Mud House - a converted pottery studio. (I have been thinking I should do that at least every other week, just as a change of pace.)
7) I have seen one storyteller's performance that I have not heard. I wish I could remember the fellow's name, but he was a storyteller who was deaf, and who performed all his stories in American Sign Language (ASL). I saw him at the National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough, TN back twenty-some years ago. If I remember right, his "interpreter for the ASL-impaired" was John Basinger. It took some forceful reminders to look at the storyteller, and not at his "speaking" interpreter - but it was a fascinating experience. (That was also the year that I was first introduced to the stories and songs of John McCutcheon, if I remember rightly.)
More thoughts that are mulling...
- the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat in Beijing
- bellwether changes
- how many books do you need - really?
- revisiting a Labor Day tradition, after 20 years
I'll try not to make it a month till the next post....
1) I have two sisters who are fraternal twins; as kids, we hardly looked like we belonged to the same family, but the resemblance is getting better.
2) I have a fascination with glass - blown, cut, colored but almost never painted. Emerald green, ruby red, cobalt blue, and clear cut crystal are my favorites; either rich deep color or the absence, I guess. Two of my favorite places in the world are the Corning Glass Museum in Corning, NY, and the Toledo Museum of Art's Glass Pavilion.
(The Glass Pavilion alone is worth a trip to Toledo, although you'd really miss out if you didn't go across the street to the Museum proper, or downtown for a Tony Packo's hotdog...)
3) I am fascinated with the work of Elbert Hubbard and the Roycrofters. My AA sponsor gave me a copy of A Message to Garcia (which I later gave back, like a fool) and Elbert Hubbard's Scrapbook, which is one of my more prized book possessions. I wish I could fully adopt the creed of the Roycrofters: A belief in working with the head, hand and heart and mixing enough play with the work so that every task is pleasurable and makes for health and happiness.
4) I never knew that I was given to jeremiads, but thanks to Black Pete, who made me look it up, I know I'm pretty good at 'em. Jeremiad (noun) - a prolonged lamentation or mournful complaint. [Origin: 1770–80; Jeremi(ah) + -ad, in reference to Jeremiah's Lamentations] (Thanks to Dictionary.com)
5) I also share a trait with Black Pete - I both very much enjoy cats, and am very much allergic to them. One gift given to me by my friend Ted (and a very lovely apple-headed Siamese of his) was overcoming my childhood fear of cats. One night Ted and I sat in blue armchairs in his living room, with a fire burning, just talking (as we are both wont to do). That Siamese just bounded into my lap, and with a blatant disregard for my discomfort, snuggled down between the chair's arm and my leg and began purring loudly. I never looked back. (It was preparation, I'm sure, for the procession of furry friends that my former wife brought into my life.)
6) Being a virtual employee (working from home, over the Internet) means that I have as many coworkers from Mumbai and Chennai (India) as I do in Lincolnshire and Chicago (Illinois). My most unusual location for a work day (at this job, anyway) was on December 28, 2007, when I spent 9 hours working in a coffee shop in Springfield, MO called The Mud House - a converted pottery studio. (I have been thinking I should do that at least every other week, just as a change of pace.)
7) I have seen one storyteller's performance that I have not heard. I wish I could remember the fellow's name, but he was a storyteller who was deaf, and who performed all his stories in American Sign Language (ASL). I saw him at the National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough, TN back twenty-some years ago. If I remember right, his "interpreter for the ASL-impaired" was John Basinger. It took some forceful reminders to look at the storyteller, and not at his "speaking" interpreter - but it was a fascinating experience. (That was also the year that I was first introduced to the stories and songs of John McCutcheon, if I remember rightly.)
More thoughts that are mulling...
- the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat in Beijing
- bellwether changes
- how many books do you need - really?
- revisiting a Labor Day tradition, after 20 years
I'll try not to make it a month till the next post....
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
False shepherds damning believers
I was furious.
Way. Beyond. Furious.
Remember that old Peter Paul & Mary song, "If I Had A Hammer?" Today my version would be
If I had a rocket-launcher, I'd launch it in the mornin'
Launch it in the evenin' - all over this land...
And the source of my ire? A local congregation of The Institutional Church. (Big surprise there, eh?) Yet another "faithful servant of the Gospel," spreading pain, suffering, and spiritual death - bayoneting the spiritually-wounded at every chance...
My brother-in-law has been raised in the Lutheran Church, Missouri Synod. Since he and my sister have been married, they have gone long periods without attending church. When he's working, every other Sunday is a work day (starting at 4-5 AM), and for the last year and a half, my sister has been working Sundays until 7 AM, and coming home to sleep.
So yes, they could have attended more - but they are not without reasons.
And especially since the current pastor has come to The Church That Must Not Be Named (TCTMNBN), neither one of them have been especially comfortable attending that church. But Bro's sister is a church leader, and his family has been there for four generations. So they remain on the roster at TCTMNBN, and they go back periodically.
(This church, by the way, was the source of my ire at the "Free coffee - eternal life - Yes, membership DOES have its benefits" sign mentioned here...and here. But let's skip that, and get on to the source of my latest ire, shall we?)
Last Friday, Bro-in-Law stopped in to see his sister at The Church (she's principal at TCTMNBN School), and was collared by The Pastor. Once in The Pastor's office, TP began to tell Bro how he was going to burn in hell for not attending church.
(Yes, you heard me right.)
Repeatedly. And he continued to belittle my brother-in-law, saying that if he wasn't going to be attending church 75% of the time, The Pastor was going to yank his name from the membership roster, and he could burn in hell by himself.
Now, my brother-in-law is a believer. Admittedly, I'd bet most of his theology has come from Max Lucado and reading the Bible for himself (neither of which are bad things!), but I believe that he's a believer in Jesus Christ. But he's also "a traditional church-goer," which means that he believes in the power and the authority of the local pastor or minister.
Even when The Pastor's contradicting Scripture.
Even when he's being led astray by lies, from a supposedly-compassionate minister of the grace and love of Jesus Christ.
You see (just in case you were wondering...)
Salvation does not come from your church.
Or from attending services at that church, or any other.
It does not come from a pastor.
Or a tithing pledge.
It comes from belief in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior. Just to make sure, shall we open our pew bibles?...
Now, my brother-in-law wasn't doin' so hot to begin with, folks. He has tried to find new work for two years, on and off, with no success. His job (which he's faithfully shown up and given them his best for 30 years) booted him from full-time status to seasonal two years ago. As a result of that, and my sister's disability and loss of earnings potential, they are now seriously considering having to walk away from their condo - where they had hoped to retire or die. They are not, to put it mildly, firing on all cylinders - financially, emotionally, or spiritually.
And when this supposed shepherd of souls, this minister of the Gospel sees my brother-in-law for the first time in a while, all Pastor False-Teaching has to hand him is fire, brimstone, and burn-in-hell. Thanks a lot, Pastor.
Hemlock, anyone?
But my brother-in-law is so crushed, so ego-deflated at depth, that he's not talking. Not to my sister. Or me. Or his sister, or anyone. He's taking this judgment full-in-the-face - and it's eating him alive.
I want to drive to The Church, walk in to The Pastor's study, and grab that illegitimate child of God by the shoulders. I want to shake him until his damn head falls off, while screaming "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING, YOU STUPID SONOFABITCH?"
(you know, a calm, level-headed, turn-the-other-cheek Christian response....)
The fact is, I know what I should do - and I'll do it. But trust me - if you mess with one of mine, you have cut down more hay than you can put up in a month of Sundays. (Thank you, Tex Sample, for that wonderful line...)
Yes, I know - "vengeance is mine," sayeth the Lord. I know that. But I am also thinking of Abraham Lincoln, who was speaking to the mother of an only son, convicted of treason and scheduled to be hanged. President Lincoln recognized the need for mercy, and commuted the sentence. And yet he said, "...but I wish we could give him just a little bit o' hangin'..."
Me too, Abe. Me too.
If you're the praying type, prayers for healing, restoration and endurance for Jeff and Sue would be a blessing...
Way. Beyond. Furious.
Remember that old Peter Paul & Mary song, "If I Had A Hammer?" Today my version would be
If I had a rocket-launcher, I'd launch it in the mornin'
Launch it in the evenin' - all over this land...
And the source of my ire? A local congregation of The Institutional Church. (Big surprise there, eh?) Yet another "faithful servant of the Gospel," spreading pain, suffering, and spiritual death - bayoneting the spiritually-wounded at every chance...
My brother-in-law has been raised in the Lutheran Church, Missouri Synod. Since he and my sister have been married, they have gone long periods without attending church. When he's working, every other Sunday is a work day (starting at 4-5 AM), and for the last year and a half, my sister has been working Sundays until 7 AM, and coming home to sleep.
So yes, they could have attended more - but they are not without reasons.
And especially since the current pastor has come to The Church That Must Not Be Named (TCTMNBN), neither one of them have been especially comfortable attending that church. But Bro's sister is a church leader, and his family has been there for four generations. So they remain on the roster at TCTMNBN, and they go back periodically.
(This church, by the way, was the source of my ire at the "Free coffee - eternal life - Yes, membership DOES have its benefits" sign mentioned here...and here. But let's skip that, and get on to the source of my latest ire, shall we?)
Last Friday, Bro-in-Law stopped in to see his sister at The Church (she's principal at TCTMNBN School), and was collared by The Pastor. Once in The Pastor's office, TP began to tell Bro how he was going to burn in hell for not attending church.
(Yes, you heard me right.)
Repeatedly. And he continued to belittle my brother-in-law, saying that if he wasn't going to be attending church 75% of the time, The Pastor was going to yank his name from the membership roster, and he could burn in hell by himself.
Now, my brother-in-law is a believer. Admittedly, I'd bet most of his theology has come from Max Lucado and reading the Bible for himself (neither of which are bad things!), but I believe that he's a believer in Jesus Christ. But he's also "a traditional church-goer," which means that he believes in the power and the authority of the local pastor or minister.
Even when The Pastor's contradicting Scripture.
Even when he's being led astray by lies, from a supposedly-compassionate minister of the grace and love of Jesus Christ.
You see (just in case you were wondering...)
Salvation does not come from your church.
Or from attending services at that church, or any other.
It does not come from a pastor.
Or a tithing pledge.
It comes from belief in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior. Just to make sure, shall we open our pew bibles?...
Mark 16:15-16, NIVJust wanted to get that out in the open, so we're singin' off the same sheet of music, folks...
He said to them, "Go into all the world and preach the good news to all creation. Whoever believes and is baptized will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned.
Romans 10:9-10, NIV
That if you confess with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord," and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you confess and are saved.
Romans 8:1-2, NIV
Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit of life set me free from the law of sin and death.
Now, my brother-in-law wasn't doin' so hot to begin with, folks. He has tried to find new work for two years, on and off, with no success. His job (which he's faithfully shown up and given them his best for 30 years) booted him from full-time status to seasonal two years ago. As a result of that, and my sister's disability and loss of earnings potential, they are now seriously considering having to walk away from their condo - where they had hoped to retire or die. They are not, to put it mildly, firing on all cylinders - financially, emotionally, or spiritually.
And when this supposed shepherd of souls, this minister of the Gospel sees my brother-in-law for the first time in a while, all Pastor False-Teaching has to hand him is fire, brimstone, and burn-in-hell. Thanks a lot, Pastor.
Hemlock, anyone?
Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? (Matthew 7:9-10, NIV)Thank God, I know better than what this moron has been saying to my brother-in-law. I know that my salvation is not dependent on the institutions of man, or the judgment of any one man, but on my justification by grace through faith in Jesus.
1 Timothy 1:7, NIV
They want to be teachers of the law, but they do not know what they are talking about or what they so confidently affirm.
Matthew 7:15-18 (New International Version)
"Watch out for false prophets. They come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves. By their fruit you will recognize them. Do people pick grapes from thorn bushes, or figs from thistles? Likewise every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit. A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, and a bad tree cannot bear good fruit."
They will know we are Christians by our love. (from the song of the same name)
But my brother-in-law is so crushed, so ego-deflated at depth, that he's not talking. Not to my sister. Or me. Or his sister, or anyone. He's taking this judgment full-in-the-face - and it's eating him alive.
I want to drive to The Church, walk in to The Pastor's study, and grab that illegitimate child of God by the shoulders. I want to shake him until his damn head falls off, while screaming "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING, YOU STUPID SONOFABITCH?"
(you know, a calm, level-headed, turn-the-other-cheek Christian response....)
The fact is, I know what I should do - and I'll do it. But trust me - if you mess with one of mine, you have cut down more hay than you can put up in a month of Sundays. (Thank you, Tex Sample, for that wonderful line...)
Yes, I know - "vengeance is mine," sayeth the Lord. I know that. But I am also thinking of Abraham Lincoln, who was speaking to the mother of an only son, convicted of treason and scheduled to be hanged. President Lincoln recognized the need for mercy, and commuted the sentence. And yet he said, "...but I wish we could give him just a little bit o' hangin'..."
Me too, Abe. Me too.
This was our course: We realized that the people who wronged us were perhaps spiritually sick. Though we did not like their symptoms and the way these disturbed us, they, like ourselves, were sick too. We asked God to help us show them the same tolerance, pity, and patience that we would cheerfully grant a sick friend. When a person offended we said to ourselves, "This is a sick man. How can I be helpful to him? God save me from being angry. Thy will be done."This is what I heard from some friends tonight, and this is what I'm workin' on. It's a lot better than the plan I could come up with...
We avoid retaliation or argument. We wouldn't treat sick people that way. If we do, we destroy our chance of being helpful. We cannot be helpful to all people, but at least God will show us how to take a kindly and tolerant view of each and every one. (Alcoholics Anonymous, page 65-66)
If you're the praying type, prayers for healing, restoration and endurance for Jeff and Sue would be a blessing...
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Changes are in the wind
Things could get interesting, boys and girls....So, my sister and brother-in-law (more my sister, actually) have come to the conclusion that there's a very slim chance they will be able to hold onto their condo. For some reason, lending institutions would rather have them walk away from their condo and their mortgage than negotiate down to an interest rates and terms that they would be able to meet, and keep the place. They keep getting information on this kind of loan and that kind of loan - but you either need $12-20K of equity (they have none) or cash (ditto) to refinance. They have not been able to find anyone willing to simply renegotiate the interest rate to something that they could live with.
(Interestingly enough, once they turn the deed over to the mortgage holder, there is a market for buying distressed mortgages, at 70-80 cents on the dollar - but so far, no one we've found is interested in offering that same principal reduction to the current mortgagee.... another blessing of our capitalist system.)
So, they are starting to look at rental property that they could afford and get into before their credit goes way south. And we are once again looking at winnowing down the stuff of our lives into something that they can deal with moving. Not what I would choose to be doing, to be honest.
It's so freakin' sad, and yet it's no different than a million other stories, across this broken land of ours. "Going to hell, on easy credit terms" is what one old grand-dad used to call it. Well, the devil seems to want his due.
At almost the same time, Chris has gotten word that there may be an opening at his dream job, working product support for Horizon Hobby in Champaign, IL (central Illinois). Horizon has been supplier to the hobby stores Chris has worked at, and one of his favorite vendors for RC airplane and RC car parts and accessories. There is nothing so firm as a job offer at this point, but it's sufficiently positive that Chris and I will be journeying to the Champaign/Urbana area over Labor Day weekend. Since my work can be done from anywhere I have a solid Internet connection (Caribou Coffee, for instance), I should be able to transition there fairly easily. It's a college town (a lot like Bowling Green, from what I can tell) surrounded by a lot of corn. But that's not so different than things out here in Ohio - except the economic image seems somewhat better.So it seems there could be another scattering of the family in the weeks or months to come. Chris' lease is up December 31st, but the temptation would be to be out of here before then, or perhaps not until March. (We'd really prefer NOT to be moving over year-end, as we were last year!) Still, it is possible that a job at Horizon could make life a lot more pleasant for Chris, who is now working 2nd shift at a mid-sized hotel about 10 miles from here. My sister and her husband really need to make a decision in the next month or two, while he's still working and has a job for a rental reference.
So - my favorite state of mind - uncertainty, anticipating change, and disrupting the status quo. Just what I would have picked... But, at least, we are doing the right things, and trying to do what we can. So for now, it's the Serenity Prayer that is at the center of life, and we will work toward the best.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Looking for truth
The American government lied to the native Americans for many, maannny years. And then President Clinton lied about a relationship - and everyone was surprised.... A little naive, I feel?......So, perjury, yeah...if you commit perjury, I don't care. I don't give a shit, and I don't think that you should. Because you "grade" murder - you have murder 1, murder 2 - you realize that there can be a difference in the level of murder. So there MUST be a difference in the level of perjury! Perjury-one is when you say there was no Holocaust, when ten million people have died in it; and perjury-nine is when you say you didn't shag someone when you really did.
(Comedian Eddie Izzard, from his Dressed to Kill video)
So here we are. We've finally heard in the press in the last several weeks what we kind-of knew, but hoped we were wrong about...
- Yes, Virginia, the Iraq war really was all about oil. And that itsy, bitsy little article about no-bid contracts in Iraq for Exxon Mobil, Shell, Total, BP and the rest of the
rapists and pillagersmulti-national oil companies? Thanks to ourfree and independentsold-out-to-special-interests national media, that's all you'll hear about it. More than four thousand American lives, paid without a second thought, by a lying Executive Branch, to ensure that oil companies could get a sweetheart deal apiece in Iraq. - Yes, hunny-bunny, The Tyrant Who Would Pretend to Lead a Democracy does want to send you, your younger brother, younger sister, and all your friends to die in Iran, once your older brothers and sisters and their friends finish dying in Iraq and Afganistan. The nuclear war which will almost certainly follow any such attack won't last for more than a week or so, and will almost certainly be the end of the world as we know it. But don't worry, the National War Powers Commission is proposing rule changes that will mean that once King George announces that we've attacked Iran, there will be a whole list of Congress-critters on whom he'll be able to dump the blame, as he declares us in yet another undeclared war. Except only the cockroaches and crabgrass will be there to read the news...
- And yes, my dear, people actually laughed at Dennis Kucinich when he introduced resolutions of impeachment against King George and the regent, Tricky Dicky the Second. And no, dearie, I don't understand what they found so funny, either. It sounded pretty damn sensible to me, too.
There's so many similarities, it's scary beyond description.What the hell is it going to take to get people of good heart to stand up and say, "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore!" ? When will people look beyond religious-knee-jerking and "us-versus-them" scare politics to realize that we are edging closer and closer to the brink?
I have always been a hopeful, optimistic man - believing that things can always get better. But recently, listening to the BBC and NPR programs like "On Point" have made me wonder whether believing as I have is nothing but self-delusion...
That's why I'm glad that Chris made me sit down and watch Second-Hand Lions, a classic feel-good movie that I'd never encountered before. This scene was worth the cost of the whole movie:
Call me a sap; call me a hopeless optimist; but I still believe like that, even though half-a-century of experience tells me otherwise, so much of the time. But I also know that the only thing necessary for Evil to triumph is for Good to do nothing.
So listen; read; protest; vote; do whatever you can. Do what it takes to let the world know that the Tyrant At 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and the various right-wing prophets do not speak for all of us. That America is better than that.
That we, as Americans, are better than that.
(Late edit: had to get some of my facts straight about which companies were involved in those wee little no-bid contracts...)
Friday, June 20, 2008
News from around the countryside
It's time for a catch-up session, just to recap the many powerful events that have been going on here in northwest Ohio...It's a time of growth and renewal, outside as well as inside. The corn here has benefited from the periodic rains (much less than in other Midwest states!) so it actually looks half-way decent here. Chris (who whimpered all through January and February, "Will there ever, ever be anything green here again?") has been marveling at the green-going-amber waves of wheat, the corn shooting up out of the ground, and the soybeans growing across the main road from the condo. Spring has been much kinder to northwest Ohio - to the point where we actually could USE some rain, here.
Chris is still working 5 days at the hotel/insane-asylum, and then Sunday afternoons at the hobby shop. Even so, we managed to get away to Muncie, IN for the day to see the Saturday session of the outdoor remote-control Extreme Flight Championships (XFC) at the headquarters of the Academy of Model Aeronautics. Their 1,000-acre facility is designed perfectly for model aircraft flight and competition. People from around the US and across the world (Germany, Spain, Mexico, Israel) homed-in on Muncie to see some great modeling and great flying. We had to double-back that night - Chris had to work Friday until 6, and then get back to his other job Sunday at noon - but the drive was worth it.
We also got to prove it - Michigan actually IS a third-world nation. All you have to do is look at their roads. Having gone up to Ann Arbor (cultural jewel of Michigan, home to a supposedly world-class university) and the area around Brighton, it only took 83 miles of US-23 to prove that we had entered third-world status. Of course, the fact that we were riding in a '96 F150 didn't help things either - but our trip two weeks later to the Red Bull Air Races in Detroit cemented the image (pardon the pun).By comparison, the drive west through Ohio on the Turnpike to I-69 south to Muncie was an almost-pothole-free dream - smooth sailing for 170 miles or so. Where the heck is all of Michigan's road money going? People say to me, "But Michigan has always been that way," but they can't be getting any less road-money from the Feds than other states are... whose noses is all that cash going up?...
Chris went with me today to his first "real" AA meeting - the well-known "Raab Road Group" open discussion meeting outside Swanton, OH. We had lunch with my sponsor and his wife beforehand - it was the first time Brooke had met Chris - and it was a good time. And Chris got to see a classic AA meeting (there are people there from 2 days to 50-plus years of sobriety regularly attending), and he came away with a much better understanding of alcoholism and AA in general. I'm just so grateful that he took the time to use some overtime from earlier in the week and go into work a half-hour later so he could go with me. That says a lot.I've had a couple nibbles on books I'm trying to sell on eBay and/or on Amazon. So far, it's pennies - I'm sure I'm probably ahead ten or fifteen dollars, after paying for shipping - but it's worth it to get these out of my hair. I need to reclaim my bedroom, and so whatever isn't sold by the end of the month is probably going to the local Lutheran church or the library. (I am one of those people who just can't bring themselves to throw out books.) If you want a list of what I'm trying to get rid of, I will send them to you for the cost to ship them...the primary goal is to get them a good home.
Next Friday, I will probably be presiding over my last official DeMolay event - the district Court of Chevaliers for two young men who should be named today as our newest recipients of the Degree of Chevalier. The award is given for outstanding service to the Order of DeMolay, a group of which I've been a member and advisor since the mid-70's. I gave up the job of chapter advisor a bit over a month ago, and though it's not been overly comfortable, I think it's the right thing. I was driving 200 miles round-trip to do much less of a job than the guy who was living right there in town, and it just made sense. Perhaps I will be an advisor again someday, but at this point in my life, it's just not what I'm called to do. I'm blessed to be able to preside at the ceremony this next Friday, though.And Chris and I will celebrate his six-month anniversary as an Ohioan and nine months as boyfriends (though "partners" is closer to it, these days). I'm truly blessed to have him in my life - words don't even begin to describe how blessed I am. I'm sure we will have some challenging moments in the days and months to come. But that's the blessing of living "one day at a time" - the evil and blessings of each day are sufficient, to be honest.
There's lots more to write about -
- how the oil companies have finally tipped their hands about Iraq
- why I wish we could stop blowing crap up, and start rebuilding
- wondering how to pray for a gay man in the military going to Iraq
- considering the voices suggesting "lap-band" surgery for me
- why I'm both excited and not excited about Pride month, and
- an upcoming blogging anniversary.
For now, though, "th-th-th-that's all, folks!"
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Seventy-three years, one day at a time
We have shown how we got out from under. You say, "Yes, I'm willing. But am I to be consigned to a life where I shall be stupid, boring and glum, like some righteous people I see? I know I must get along without liquor, but how can I? Have you a sufficient substitute?"(the text Alcoholics Anonymous, page 152)
The story says it was on June 10, 1935 that a broken-down stockbroker helped a broken-down, drunken surgeon to take his last drink, and make it his last. Bill W. and Dr. Bob S. started a fellowship that grew into the world-wide organization known as Alcoholics Anonymous. So this day is AA's anniversary, and the weekend closest to it (last weekend) is known as Founders' Day weekend.
About two hundred and ten months ago, I was the one asking the questions, wondering if the group of old men and weirdos that I met at the Chapter V club in Toledo, Ohio could possibly help me put my life back together. Today I can tell you that my life is a long way from "all better" - but I have never had to return to the life that I had before December 12, 1990. And that is a pure gift of grace on God's part, to be sure.
Last night, at the Monday Night Mens' meeting on Heatherdowns, I listened to a group of people who had been to the Founders' Day celebration in Akron, where it all started. Depending on which person you listen to, somewhere around 10,000 people in recovery make the pilgrimage
to Akron from all over the world. And listening to them took me back....
When I was last at Founders' Day, something like 150 people were in the international meeting alone, all speaking in native languages. Most of us couldn't understand what was being said - but all of us knew what was being said. We knew the stories; we knew the
struggles. And we all knew what it was to have walked through Hell, and to have found what the AA folks modestly called "a way out."
Tonight, I was downtown Toledo, again with the Monday Night Mens crew. Our group is on the volunteer rotation to hold an AA meeting at the Champlain Street Pre-Release Center. So about a dozen of us drove down to "the ugly part of town" - and not because we were wonderful, or because we were going to save someone, or because we were going to get a feather in our angels'-wings or anything.
We went down because we'd been given a gift - and part of keeping that gift involves giving it away. A couple of the guys were there, just marking time, because they have to get just so many of these meetings under their belt before they are released back into the community. One was grateful for our presence, but didn't think he'd ever be able to get off the merry-go-round. And one guy sounded vaguely hopeful - like maybe this AA nonsense might work for him, because what HE had been doing certainly wasn't.
I don't know. All I do know is that I'd been given a gift; I went down and shared what I knew; and we had some fantastic fellowship over Friendly's Ice Cream in Maumee afterwards. And despite a couple ongoing divorces, at least two bankruptcy cases, and one man who's dying of cancer, I'd bet that none of us are going to have to get drunk or high tonight.
So to Bill W., Doctor Bob, Sister Ignatia, and the army of sisters and brothers in recovery, I give thanks to you this night. Thank you for sharing your stories. Thank you for accepting me when I was unacceptable, even to myself. And thank you for giving me a gift that only grows bigger when I share it. Soli Deo gloria.
Our book is meant to be suggestive only. We realize we know only a little. God will constantly disclose more to you and to us. Ask Him in your morning meditation what you can do each day for the man who is still sick. The answers will come, if your own house is in order. But obviously you cannot transmit something you haven't got. See to it that your relationship with Him is right, and great events will come to pass for you and countless others. This is the Great Fact for us.
Abandon yourself to God as you understand God. Admit your faults to Him and to your fellows. Clear away the wreckage of your past. Give freely of what you find and join us. We shall be with you in the Fellowship of the Spirit, and you will surely meet some of us as you trudge the Road of Happy Destiny.
May God bless you and keep you - until then.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
A fascinating "meme"....
For those who don't know better, a "meme" is something which you do, and then ask your friends to do as well. It usually is something informative about that person, or their interests (or something less-than-spiritual, on occasion...)
So here's Dr. Benton Quest's meme:
~
Step One – pull out a book on the book shelf.
Step Two – go to page 123.
Step Three – read and write out the 5th sentence.
Step Four – tag 5 more people.
~
I'll admit it; I cheated. I pulled about 8 books off the shelf looking for a page-123, sentence-#5 item that didn't say something stupid like, "And then Jim ran out the door" or "And this is what we find, time and again."
This is from my one of my favorite emergent writers, Renee Altson, from stumbling toward faith: my longing to heal from the evil that God allowed. Powerhouse stuff, as Renee's always is:
Anyway, I'm going to tag Michael, Erin, Penni, Hope, and Black Peter.
If anyone wants to chime in with a great page-123-5th-sentence from the book of their choice, feel free to comment. (Also, if you want to be rigorously honest, how many of you found a really, really cool line on sentence 3-4 or 5-8 that you would have loved to have used instead?)
So here's Dr. Benton Quest's meme:
~
Step One – pull out a book on the book shelf.
Step Two – go to page 123.
Step Three – read and write out the 5th sentence.
Step Four – tag 5 more people.
~
I'll admit it; I cheated. I pulled about 8 books off the shelf looking for a page-123, sentence-#5 item that didn't say something stupid like, "And then Jim ran out the door" or "And this is what we find, time and again."
This is from my one of my favorite emergent writers, Renee Altson, from stumbling toward faith: my longing to heal from the evil that God allowed. Powerhouse stuff, as Renee's always is:
whenever you try to regulate Godliness you come up with something a lot less than God.A close runner-up is James Bryant Smith's Embracing The Love of God, one of the books from the Renovare' movement. This is page 123, 5th sentence:
Doesn't God have something better to do than go around finding people tires?Both are definite teasers to read the books in their entirety...
Anyway, I'm going to tag Michael, Erin, Penni, Hope, and Black Peter.
If anyone wants to chime in with a great page-123-5th-sentence from the book of their choice, feel free to comment. (Also, if you want to be rigorously honest, how many of you found a really, really cool line on sentence 3-4 or 5-8 that you would have loved to have used instead?)
Friday, May 30, 2008
But do we hear it?...
I can't believe I haven't posted on here for three weeks. It kind of indicates a spiritual slump I've been in, for a while. But this has been on my mind for a while, and it just kind of kicked me to write about it. We start with a wee bit o' familiar Scripture...
"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him." (John 3:16-17, NIV)
John 3:16. Yeah, that verse.
We see it all the time, don't we? People at football games hold up "JOHN 3:16" posters so national TV will see it. You see it in the most unbelievable places (I'm including a few images for fun...). And I'll bet at least a half-dozen people reading this will read the first 4 words, think, "Oh, yeah, John 3:16," and skip right over the words. Yeah, we know it.
But do we hear it? Do we really take the time and the care to HEAR these words
, and believe that they apply to US, today?
There is an idea in Christianity (and has been, for a while, actually) that we are unlovable by God, except through Jesus Christ. That without Christ, we are unbearable to God in our sinfulness. That the only way God can bear to see us is "clothed in Christ." Sad to say, I've heard an awful lot of preaching done on that very theme - even by some Lutheran pastors, who ought to know better.
But look at the first five words of that first verse, will you?...
God loved the world. AND, please note, God loved the world BEFORE he sent Jesus to it. It is, in fact, because of God's love for the world that God SENT Jesus to save it. In fact, throughout the Bible are messages that God loves the world. We are "fearfully (awesomely) and wonderfully made."
Now if you're at all like me, there is a tiny voice inside the back of your head that says, "Yeah, that may be true for them, but not for me..."
Yes, even for you. And me.
A wise friend of mine used to say, "Look around carefully, and realize that God's grace is available to everyone in the room..." And that made perfect sense to me. Of course, I'd heard that a thousand times.
And then he'd pause a bit and say, "...and like it or not - believe it or not - YOU are IN THE ROOM...."
I'm not sure what's crazier - that God loves us all with an unending love, despite our best efforts to deny it - or that we continue to struggle with accepting that love.
Thank you, God of mercy, for the gift of your love today. Help me, and each of us, to hear it, and believe it, today. Amen.
"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him." (John 3:16-17, NIV)
John 3:16. Yeah, that verse.We see it all the time, don't we? People at football games hold up "JOHN 3:16" posters so national TV will see it. You see it in the most unbelievable places (I'm including a few images for fun...). And I'll bet at least a half-dozen people reading this will read the first 4 words, think, "Oh, yeah, John 3:16," and skip right over the words. Yeah, we know it.
But do we hear it? Do we really take the time and the care to HEAR these words
, and believe that they apply to US, today?There is an idea in Christianity (and has been, for a while, actually) that we are unlovable by God, except through Jesus Christ. That without Christ, we are unbearable to God in our sinfulness. That the only way God can bear to see us is "clothed in Christ." Sad to say, I've heard an awful lot of preaching done on that very theme - even by some Lutheran pastors, who ought to know better.
But look at the first five words of that first verse, will you?...
God loved the world. AND, please note, God loved the world BEFORE he sent Jesus to it. It is, in fact, because of God's love for the world that God SENT Jesus to save it. In fact, throughout the Bible are messages that God loves the world. We are "fearfully (awesomely) and wonderfully made."
Now if you're at all like me, there is a tiny voice inside the back of your head that says, "Yeah, that may be true for them, but not for me..."
Yes, even for you. And me.
A wise friend of mine used to say, "Look around carefully, and realize that God's grace is available to everyone in the room..." And that made perfect sense to me. Of course, I'd heard that a thousand times.
And then he'd pause a bit and say, "...and like it or not - believe it or not - YOU are IN THE ROOM...."
I'm not sure what's crazier - that God loves us all with an unending love, despite our best efforts to deny it - or that we continue to struggle with accepting that love.
Thank you, God of mercy, for the gift of your love today. Help me, and each of us, to hear it, and believe it, today. Amen.
Friday, May 09, 2008
Time for a dose of rigorous honesty...
For years, I have felt increasingly out of touch with American culture, even as I have felt guilty about being infected by it, to some degree. It started with the wrench in values that said that you weren't having fun going to the prom unless you arrived in a $160-an-hour limousine. It spread to the concept that killing a human being in high-school to steal their Starter jacket or designer sneakers somehow became acceptable. (We won't even talk about the acceptability of $175 tennis shoes...)
It accelerated when we bought the lie that "we are what we drive" - so it made perfect sense for a four-foot-ten woman who weighed 96 pounds to be driving a Chevy Suburban to work - alone - "because it makes me feel safe." Or that somehow Hummers and Expeditions and Land Rovers (not to mention Ram or F150 pickups with enough horsepower to pull a hundred-year-old tree-stump out of the ground) were suddenly de rigueur for the commute through the wilderness of our downtown parking garages...
And suddenly you couldn't be caught dead buying a house without a Corian kitchen countertop. And then, in no time at all, anyone who "settled" for Corian instead of marble or granite may just as well have stuck down self-adhesive carpet tiles in the foyer, too. The idea of a $50,000 SUV parked in front of a $400,000 house with a $60,000 kitchen seemed, well, completely acceptable to some folks...
But I was absolutely astonished - hell, beyond astonished - to hear the May 6th announcement that Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac were providing special mortgage availability for what they called "jumbo mortgages ... for people who wanted to obtain mortgages up to $729,000!!
When the hell did it become necessary to ensure that people could get government help to buy a three-quarter-million dollar house??
I realize that I and my family, however, are also part of the problem. I myself labor under the weight of stupid, stupid consumer debt. My sister and brother-in-law were sold a mortgage they could just barely support, long-term. They were encouraged to take an adjustable-rate mortgage, even though the initial payment was at the absolute outside edge of what they could afford - let alone any rate adjustment in 2-1/2 years. Common sense would have said they couldn't do it - but everyone else was, and "it'll all work out..."
Then my sister got injured, and her cost-conscious employer ushered her out de' do' - saying goodbye to 18 years of service and the income they desperately needed to stay afloat, not to mention her very affordable health-care benefits. Now their monthly drug co-pays are just as much as their car payment - if not more - and my sister's replacement job only pays 2/3 what her old job did. Gas has gone up 50% in two years... and people are wondering why we in middle America are in trouble?
I'm tired of a war that should never have started, taking lives and draining resources from a country that so desperately needs to be building infrastructure of our own, not blowing up others'. I'm sick to death of the daily butcher's bill; of personal liberties and rights guaranteed in the Bill of Rights being trampled in the name of "national security." Such a damn waste...
I'm tired of the majority of Republicans chanting about the "defense of marriage" against those scheming homosexuals and their "agenda" - when the people who are helping to destroy marriage are the straight white Christians who can't stay married, not the gays who would choose to be married if they could. And I'm even more tired of everyone pointing at that one issue as the primary reason for the "downfall of America" - when in fact the fault is laying at the feet of almost every single person who is pointing the finger...
One person, I think, is closer to the truth than others.
Thomas Friedman's editorial in the online New York Times on May 4th addresses an awful lot of the hows, and whys, of our current political and economic mess. He captures much of what I've been feeling for years - and just so the NYT doesn't archive this piece of wisdom, I include the text of it here, with all due credit to Friedman and the Times.
Who Will Tell the People?
By Thomas L. Friedman
published May 4th in the online New York Times
Traveling the country these past five months while writing a book, I’ve had my own opportunity to take the pulse, far from the campaign crowds. My own totally unscientific polling has left me feeling that if there is one overwhelming hunger in our country today it’s this: People want to do nation-building. They really do. But they want to do nation-building in America.
They are not only tired of nation-building in Iraq and in Afghanistan, with so little to show for it. They sense something deeper — that we’re just not that strong anymore. We’re borrowing money to shore up our banks from city-states called Dubai and Singapore. Our generals regularly tell us that Iran is subverting our efforts in Iraq, but they do nothing about it because we have no leverage — as long as our forces are pinned down in Baghdad and our economy is pinned to Middle East oil.
Our president’s latest energy initiative was to go to Saudi Arabia and beg King Abdullah to give us a little relief on gasoline prices. I guess there was some justice in that. When you, the president, after 9/11, tell the country to go shopping instead of buckling down to break our addiction to oil, it ends with you, the president, shopping the world for discount gasoline.
We are not as powerful as we used to be because over the past three decades, the Asian values of our parents’ generation — work hard, study, save, invest, live within your means — have given way to sub-prime values: "You can have the American dream — a house — with no money down and no payments for two years."
That’s why Donald Rumsfeld’s infamous defense of why he did not originally send more troops to Iraq is the mantra of our times: "You go to war with the army you have." Hey, you march into the future with the country you have — not the one that you need, not the one you want, not the best you could have.
A few weeks ago, my wife and I flew from New York’s Kennedy Airport to Singapore. In J.F.K.’s waiting lounge we could barely find a place to sit. Eighteen hours later, we landed at Singapore’s ultramodern airport, with free Internet portals and children’s play zones throughout. We felt, as we have before, like we had just flown from the Flintstones to the Jetsons. If all Americans could compare Berlin’s luxurious central train station today with the grimy, decrepit Penn Station in New York City, they would swear we were the ones who lost World War II.
How could this be? We are a great power. How could we be borrowing money from Singapore? Maybe it’s because Singapore is investing billions of dollars, from its own savings, into infrastructure and scientific research to attract the world’s best talent — including Americans.
And us? Harvard’s president, Drew Faust, just told a Senate hearing that cutbacks in government research funds were resulting in “downsized labs, layoffs of post-docs, slipping morale and more conservative science that shies away from the big research questions.” Today, she added, “China, India, Singapore ... have adopted biomedical research and the building of biotechnology clusters as national goals. Suddenly, those who train in America have significant options elsewhere.”
Much nonsense has been written about how Hillary Clinton is “toughening up” Barack Obama so he’ll be tough enough to withstand Republican attacks. Sorry, we don’t need a president who is tough enough to withstand the lies of his opponents. We need a president who is tough enough to tell the truth to the American people. Any one of the candidates can answer the Red Phone at 3 a.m. in the White House bedroom. I’m voting for the one who can talk straight to the American people on national TV — at 8 p.m. — from the White House East Room.
Who will tell the people? We are not who we think we are. We are living on borrowed time and borrowed dimes. We still have all the potential for greatness, but only if we get back to work on our country.
I don’t know if Barack Obama can lead that, but the notion that the idealism he has inspired in so many young people doesn’t matter is dead wrong. “Of course, hope alone is not enough,” says Tim Shriver, chairman of Special Olympics, “but it’s not trivial. It’s not trivial to inspire people to want to get up and do something with someone else.”
It is especially not trivial now, because millions of Americans are dying to be enlisted — enlisted to fix education, enlisted to research renewable energy, enlisted to repair our infrastructure, enlisted to help others. Look at the kids lining up to join Teach for America. They want our country to matter again. They want it to be about building wealth and dignity — big profits and big purposes. When we just do one, we are less than the sum of our parts. When we do both, said Shriver, “no one can touch us.”
It accelerated when we bought the lie that "we are what we drive" - so it made perfect sense for a four-foot-ten woman who weighed 96 pounds to be driving a Chevy Suburban to work - alone - "because it makes me feel safe." Or that somehow Hummers and Expeditions and Land Rovers (not to mention Ram or F150 pickups with enough horsepower to pull a hundred-year-old tree-stump out of the ground) were suddenly de rigueur for the commute through the wilderness of our downtown parking garages...
And suddenly you couldn't be caught dead buying a house without a Corian kitchen countertop. And then, in no time at all, anyone who "settled" for Corian instead of marble or granite may just as well have stuck down self-adhesive carpet tiles in the foyer, too. The idea of a $50,000 SUV parked in front of a $400,000 house with a $60,000 kitchen seemed, well, completely acceptable to some folks...
But I was absolutely astonished - hell, beyond astonished - to hear the May 6th announcement that Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac were providing special mortgage availability for what they called "jumbo mortgages ... for people who wanted to obtain mortgages up to $729,000!!
When the hell did it become necessary to ensure that people could get government help to buy a three-quarter-million dollar house??
I realize that I and my family, however, are also part of the problem. I myself labor under the weight of stupid, stupid consumer debt. My sister and brother-in-law were sold a mortgage they could just barely support, long-term. They were encouraged to take an adjustable-rate mortgage, even though the initial payment was at the absolute outside edge of what they could afford - let alone any rate adjustment in 2-1/2 years. Common sense would have said they couldn't do it - but everyone else was, and "it'll all work out..."
Then my sister got injured, and her cost-conscious employer ushered her out de' do' - saying goodbye to 18 years of service and the income they desperately needed to stay afloat, not to mention her very affordable health-care benefits. Now their monthly drug co-pays are just as much as their car payment - if not more - and my sister's replacement job only pays 2/3 what her old job did. Gas has gone up 50% in two years... and people are wondering why we in middle America are in trouble?
I'm tired of a war that should never have started, taking lives and draining resources from a country that so desperately needs to be building infrastructure of our own, not blowing up others'. I'm sick to death of the daily butcher's bill; of personal liberties and rights guaranteed in the Bill of Rights being trampled in the name of "national security." Such a damn waste...
I'm tired of the majority of Republicans chanting about the "defense of marriage" against those scheming homosexuals and their "agenda" - when the people who are helping to destroy marriage are the straight white Christians who can't stay married, not the gays who would choose to be married if they could. And I'm even more tired of everyone pointing at that one issue as the primary reason for the "downfall of America" - when in fact the fault is laying at the feet of almost every single person who is pointing the finger...
One person, I think, is closer to the truth than others.
Thomas Friedman's editorial in the online New York Times on May 4th addresses an awful lot of the hows, and whys, of our current political and economic mess. He captures much of what I've been feeling for years - and just so the NYT doesn't archive this piece of wisdom, I include the text of it here, with all due credit to Friedman and the Times.
Who Will Tell the People?
By Thomas L. Friedman
published May 4th in the online New York Times
Traveling the country these past five months while writing a book, I’ve had my own opportunity to take the pulse, far from the campaign crowds. My own totally unscientific polling has left me feeling that if there is one overwhelming hunger in our country today it’s this: People want to do nation-building. They really do. But they want to do nation-building in America.
They are not only tired of nation-building in Iraq and in Afghanistan, with so little to show for it. They sense something deeper — that we’re just not that strong anymore. We’re borrowing money to shore up our banks from city-states called Dubai and Singapore. Our generals regularly tell us that Iran is subverting our efforts in Iraq, but they do nothing about it because we have no leverage — as long as our forces are pinned down in Baghdad and our economy is pinned to Middle East oil.
Our president’s latest energy initiative was to go to Saudi Arabia and beg King Abdullah to give us a little relief on gasoline prices. I guess there was some justice in that. When you, the president, after 9/11, tell the country to go shopping instead of buckling down to break our addiction to oil, it ends with you, the president, shopping the world for discount gasoline.
We are not as powerful as we used to be because over the past three decades, the Asian values of our parents’ generation — work hard, study, save, invest, live within your means — have given way to sub-prime values: "You can have the American dream — a house — with no money down and no payments for two years."
That’s why Donald Rumsfeld’s infamous defense of why he did not originally send more troops to Iraq is the mantra of our times: "You go to war with the army you have." Hey, you march into the future with the country you have — not the one that you need, not the one you want, not the best you could have.
A few weeks ago, my wife and I flew from New York’s Kennedy Airport to Singapore. In J.F.K.’s waiting lounge we could barely find a place to sit. Eighteen hours later, we landed at Singapore’s ultramodern airport, with free Internet portals and children’s play zones throughout. We felt, as we have before, like we had just flown from the Flintstones to the Jetsons. If all Americans could compare Berlin’s luxurious central train station today with the grimy, decrepit Penn Station in New York City, they would swear we were the ones who lost World War II.
How could this be? We are a great power. How could we be borrowing money from Singapore? Maybe it’s because Singapore is investing billions of dollars, from its own savings, into infrastructure and scientific research to attract the world’s best talent — including Americans.
And us? Harvard’s president, Drew Faust, just told a Senate hearing that cutbacks in government research funds were resulting in “downsized labs, layoffs of post-docs, slipping morale and more conservative science that shies away from the big research questions.” Today, she added, “China, India, Singapore ... have adopted biomedical research and the building of biotechnology clusters as national goals. Suddenly, those who train in America have significant options elsewhere.”
Much nonsense has been written about how Hillary Clinton is “toughening up” Barack Obama so he’ll be tough enough to withstand Republican attacks. Sorry, we don’t need a president who is tough enough to withstand the lies of his opponents. We need a president who is tough enough to tell the truth to the American people. Any one of the candidates can answer the Red Phone at 3 a.m. in the White House bedroom. I’m voting for the one who can talk straight to the American people on national TV — at 8 p.m. — from the White House East Room.
Who will tell the people? We are not who we think we are. We are living on borrowed time and borrowed dimes. We still have all the potential for greatness, but only if we get back to work on our country.
I don’t know if Barack Obama can lead that, but the notion that the idealism he has inspired in so many young people doesn’t matter is dead wrong. “Of course, hope alone is not enough,” says Tim Shriver, chairman of Special Olympics, “but it’s not trivial. It’s not trivial to inspire people to want to get up and do something with someone else.”
It is especially not trivial now, because millions of Americans are dying to be enlisted — enlisted to fix education, enlisted to research renewable energy, enlisted to repair our infrastructure, enlisted to help others. Look at the kids lining up to join Teach for America. They want our country to matter again. They want it to be about building wealth and dignity — big profits and big purposes. When we just do one, we are less than the sum of our parts. When we do both, said Shriver, “no one can touch us.”
Friday, May 02, 2008
Hold on, indeed
I saw it first on Erin's blog. Then I followed the link to Patchouli's. Both postings crushed my soul, it seems.
Suicide. Not one, but two.
Each time I hear of someone who has taken their own life, I am swept back to April 8, 1990. Palm Sunday. I'd spent the night advising a youth-group overnighter, and got the call from my then-wife that my dear friend Skip Bevens was missing.
And then, when I got home, I got the call that he'd been found.
I vaguely remember the rest. How it seemed impossible to even imagine. How it seemed that the phone suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. Going downtown, to what was then the Toledo Safety Building. The numbness. How everything just went gray, at least in my mind. I remember the memorial service, when the family who had rejected him were wondering why he would do this. I remember the priest trying to talk about mental illness, and part of my mind denying that my friend was "crazy" and hoping at the same time that he was - that this was not some conscious act of saying "Screw you!" to the world. To his friends and loved ones.
To me.
I remembered how we had parted, a week and a half earlier. It had not been a happy encounter; in retrospect, it looked like the straw that broke the camel's back. All I knew was that everyone - everyone - had gotten a suicide letter. Everyone, that is, except me.
In this wave of emotional recollection, I have to share with you the wise words of my friend Erin. These are the words I wish I had written:
Today is the day to check in with those you know. Do you know someone who just hasn't been themselves lately? Call them. Go out for coffee. Be ready to listen. Has someone just dropped out of the picture? Find them. Today is the 30th of the month, and thousands face foreclosure of their homes tomorrow. Is someone you know facing homelessness? Invite them home. If you are afraid that someone you know might harm themselves, make a call to get them help.
Pray. Listen. If God brings someone to your mind and heart, make a call. If you can't reach them, call again. And again.
If you are reading this, and you have been thinking of taking your life, hold on. Call someone. Email me. Just hold on.
Amen, and amen, Erin. You preach it, sister.
Friday, April 25, 2008
This says it all
From anj, via bobbie - taken from a sermon by a pastor named Peter Hiett, this is an addition to the "Things I Now Know To Be True" list:So I’m convinced your deepest problem is not the cigarettes you smoke or the alcohol you drink in secret. It’s not the slander you speak and the gossip you cherish. It’s not the pornography you pleasure yourself with when no one’s looking. It’s not the baby you aborted; it’s not that you betrayed your brother, cheated on your bride, lied about the whole thing, and retaliated with murder [King Herod]. It’s not even that you slaughtered the Lamb and killed the Messiah. Your deepest problem is that somewhere deep down inside, you believe Jesus the Messiah rose from the dead just to kick your ass, when, in fact, He rose from the dead so you would believe all is forgiven. It is finished! Justice is accomplished. And the Father is pleading, "Come home, come home, come home!"
(NB: I found this image of God's welcome on Google Images a while ago. I'm sorry I can't properly give credit for it - but it's how I trust Heaven will be...)
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Like ten miles of rough road
It has been a bit of a rough patch, lately - not so much any huge crisis like a car crash, but a bunch of niggling problems that have just been wearing - as a friend used to say, "like riding bareback for ten miles o' rough road." I'm grateful to say, I'm still sunny-side-up, suckin' air and sober, though a bit out of touch with my sisters and brothers in the digital domain...
First, for those of you who are dying to know, I managed to have a great time at the AMA Supercross races in Detroit. It was an expensive day - I'd already bought the tickets, but between lunch at a local eatery and then snacks and dinner at Ford Field we'd been pretty well raped... But the races brought some dramatic changes in the standings, and yes, I found it exciting. The crowds were pretty well behaved, and at one point on the way home, I even caught myself using the words "lap times" in a sentence. It's something Chris loves, and I find interesting and enjoyable, so it was a "win-win" day.The trip was kind of marred at the end by hitting a monstrous pothole on the north side of Toledo on I-75. The tire held together for about 5 miles until (fortunately) we got through downtown and on the southeast side where there were some shoulders. But when it failed, it blew out big time, and we just barely got the car off on the shoulder to change it in the rain. The rim was dented beyond repair, the tire was totaled, and both right hub caps went on to Glory. The next morning we found that the right rear wheel also had a good-sized dent in the rim. So I found two used wheels ($50 total); hopefully we'll be able to save the rear tire and only replace the front ($82). So in short, I guess I should have shut up about the food at Ford Field, and concentrated bitching about the roads in the Toledo hinterlands...
Sunday and Monday, I had nosebleeds so bad I had to go to the doctor's Monday morning to get them cauterized. I haven't had nosebleeds like that since I had sinus surgery in 2001, and it was pretty scary. Immediately after that, I came down with some kind of respiratory gunk that just lodged itself in my sinuses and chest, and still hasn't let go. You know it's bad when they get out the albuterol nebulizer to help your breathing get better. Fortunately, Chris is a sound sleeper, and my barking-like-a-basset-hound didn't impair his sleep too much.
And we have had two continuous weeks of the most unGodly fubars at work - days when you get to the end, and think, "Could I just hose my brain out, and start fresh?" I don't know, but I'm getting less resilient to these weekly bobsled rides from Hell. It's not nearly as challenging, or rewarding, as it once was. But it's a sucky time to be job-hunting, especially in northwest Ohio. Thank you, Mr. President - and your oil/banking/military-industrial-complex bastard friends, of course...
The invitations to church remain unaddressed. We were still assessing the damages last week, and this last weekend, I was still feeling too puny to go much of anywhere. Perhaps this weekend, perhaps...
But spring is officially here...there is green and "buddage," as my sister calls it. The first trumpet of spring in Ohio is forsythia, whose yellow explosions give us hope that winter is gone.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Broadening horizons
Three enjoyable places I never would have imagined myself attending, a year ago:
First: Last Friday and Saturday, as part of the Weak Signals Radio Control Expo - one of the largest trade shows for RC craft in the US, held in Toledo each year - I was with Chris to attend the Electric Tournament of Champions (ETOC). ETOC is devoted to ultralight (6 ounce, total weight) electric-powered stunt RC planes and showcased some of the best stunt RC pilots showing off their stuff. The elimination rounds were Friday, and the finals were Saturday night at Waite High School.
Each "pilot" had to perform a series of required maneuvers, followed by a freestyle performance where they could "strut their stuff,"followed by a runoff for the top 3 competitors. Frankly, I didn't think I could ever get into this kind of thing - but seeing some of the previous year's competition on YouTube got me interested. Here's the video of the winner of ETOC 2008:
SECOND: We went downtown Saturday for the actual Weak Signals RC Expo, which took over the entire Seagate Center (Toledo's convention center) for the weekend. Imagine every conceivable vendor for remote-control airplanes, with a few RC boat and car vendors for good measure, crammed into a medium sized convention center - a virtual dreamland for the kid inside every man. From tiny ultralight RC planes that would fit in your palm to 30%-scale trainers with 20-foot wingspans powered by chainsaw motors, and every geegaw to fit every one of 'em, it was a wonderland.
The day started out as every good day downtown should - at Tony Packo's by the ballpark. Nothing fancy - just Packo's special hotdogs, and chili-cheese fries. Then four hours of wandering around Seagate Center, reminding me of an old smart-aleck comment about sunburning the roof of my mouth (since it was hanging open so much!). My feet and knees gave out long before my desire to see stuff did.
We went out to Central Catholic High School where a local RC flying club was having an "open flying" session - anyone could fly electric-powered airplanes under a certain weight. We were fresh out of cash, and they only TOOK cash, so we had to pass on that - but in the process, I learned a really disturbing thing about Chris.
He's one of those "White Castle fanatics."
Ewww.
Yes, indeed - we were going down Cherry St. just off downtown, and he saw the familiar building, and (to put it mildly) freaked out. "OH, my GOD, there's a White Castle here!!!" My reaction was basically, yeah, so what? The only time I have ever eaten White Castle was during a drunken weekend at Ohio State University back in the late 1970's - and I swore I'd never do it again. But, I saw the look on Chris' face, and I just started humming "What I Did For Love" from A Chorus Line and pulled in. And didn't even gag. And he was happy - and that made me happy, I guess.
Chris started working an afternoon a weekend at the local Hobbytown outlet, and he's back in his favorite element - talking and selling RC planes. It's definitely meant we have to re-arrange our schedule some - but it brings him joy, and doesn't inconvenience me much, so that's a good thing.
THIRD: the big deal, however, is this weekend:
The AMA Monster Energy SuperCross motorcycle races will bring their latest races to Detroit's Ford Field this Saturday, and we will be there.
Yes, you heard me. Motocross racing. Me. Detroit. All day Saturday.
I hardly believe it myself.
But I have watched half-a-dozen races with Chris, and strange to say, I've really gotten into it a bit. Chris used to run motocross bikes (a KTM, if you know about these things), some on tracks and some cross-country (enduro). So he got me watching, and now I am even starting to pick up the lingo.
I've drawn the line at fishing, though. I've told him - you want to go fishing, I will not ever stand in your way. But I'll be the one waving from the front porch - fishing holds NO charm for me WHATsoever. I told him I'll support him in whatever he wants to do - but I ain't GOING to all of it, and especially not fishing.
Even I have my limits.
First: Last Friday and Saturday, as part of the Weak Signals Radio Control Expo - one of the largest trade shows for RC craft in the US, held in Toledo each year - I was with Chris to attend the Electric Tournament of Champions (ETOC). ETOC is devoted to ultralight (6 ounce, total weight) electric-powered stunt RC planes and showcased some of the best stunt RC pilots showing off their stuff. The elimination rounds were Friday, and the finals were Saturday night at Waite High School.
Each "pilot" had to perform a series of required maneuvers, followed by a freestyle performance where they could "strut their stuff,"followed by a runoff for the top 3 competitors. Frankly, I didn't think I could ever get into this kind of thing - but seeing some of the previous year's competition on YouTube got me interested. Here's the video of the winner of ETOC 2008:
SECOND: We went downtown Saturday for the actual Weak Signals RC Expo, which took over the entire Seagate Center (Toledo's convention center) for the weekend. Imagine every conceivable vendor for remote-control airplanes, with a few RC boat and car vendors for good measure, crammed into a medium sized convention center - a virtual dreamland for the kid inside every man. From tiny ultralight RC planes that would fit in your palm to 30%-scale trainers with 20-foot wingspans powered by chainsaw motors, and every geegaw to fit every one of 'em, it was a wonderland.
The day started out as every good day downtown should - at Tony Packo's by the ballpark. Nothing fancy - just Packo's special hotdogs, and chili-cheese fries. Then four hours of wandering around Seagate Center, reminding me of an old smart-aleck comment about sunburning the roof of my mouth (since it was hanging open so much!). My feet and knees gave out long before my desire to see stuff did.We went out to Central Catholic High School where a local RC flying club was having an "open flying" session - anyone could fly electric-powered airplanes under a certain weight. We were fresh out of cash, and they only TOOK cash, so we had to pass on that - but in the process, I learned a really disturbing thing about Chris.
He's one of those "White Castle fanatics."
Ewww.
Yes, indeed - we were going down Cherry St. just off downtown, and he saw the familiar building, and (to put it mildly) freaked out. "OH, my GOD, there's a White Castle here!!!" My reaction was basically, yeah, so what? The only time I have ever eaten White Castle was during a drunken weekend at Ohio State University back in the late 1970's - and I swore I'd never do it again. But, I saw the look on Chris' face, and I just started humming "What I Did For Love" from A Chorus Line and pulled in. And didn't even gag. And he was happy - and that made me happy, I guess.
Chris started working an afternoon a weekend at the local Hobbytown outlet, and he's back in his favorite element - talking and selling RC planes. It's definitely meant we have to re-arrange our schedule some - but it brings him joy, and doesn't inconvenience me much, so that's a good thing.
THIRD: the big deal, however, is this weekend:
The AMA Monster Energy SuperCross motorcycle races will bring their latest races to Detroit's Ford Field this Saturday, and we will be there.Yes, you heard me. Motocross racing. Me. Detroit. All day Saturday.
I hardly believe it myself.
But I have watched half-a-dozen races with Chris, and strange to say, I've really gotten into it a bit. Chris used to run motocross bikes (a KTM, if you know about these things), some on tracks and some cross-country (enduro). So he got me watching, and now I am even starting to pick up the lingo.
I've drawn the line at fishing, though. I've told him - you want to go fishing, I will not ever stand in your way. But I'll be the one waving from the front porch - fishing holds NO charm for me WHATsoever. I told him I'll support him in whatever he wants to do - but I ain't GOING to all of it, and especially not fishing.
Even I have my limits.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
"Country club" Christianity
I am continually astounded by the brilliance of the people surrounding me in the blogosphere. Not as in Steven-Hawking brilliant, but by people who have seen the truth and are not afraid to speak it. Like my Canadian brother-of-the-heart who goes by the unlikely pseudonym [rhymes with kerouac].Whenever I am at risk of standing in lines, I've been reading his book, Today At The Mission, which is selections from his first year's blogging over here, and came across this clearly-prophetic post. The whole thing is brilliant, but this passage speaks to my heart in a way that hurts:
There are churches in our city that have no problem raising a million dollars for a new building (complete with paved parking lots, air conditioning and broadloom) but can't seem to spare a fig for the dying and the damned on our downtown streets. The exact phrase my friend used to describe these churches was "Christian country clubs."
And none of this would be an issue if it weren't for God saying this: "Wherefore Jesus also, that he might sanctify the people with his blood, suffered without the gate." In all of Christian history, thought and practice their can be no holier place than the cross. Yet the cross was not found in the Temple, nor in Jerusalem, the very City of God. It was found outside the city, in the wild and desolate place of Golgotha, the place of anguish, of humiliation and shame.
He puts in words what has bothered me about so much of suburban Christianity for so long. I've used that "Christian country club" phrase too - so much so that I stopped bothering, because that's all I saw.
I've been invited to a round half-dozen churches lately - and I've been resisting going to any of them. Part of them is pure sloth - Chris works until midnight or later on Saturdays, and Sunday just doesn't sound like fun to leap up and go. But it's also the idea that a considerable chunk of what the institutional church does would definitely fit the term "incompatible with Christian teachings." And I just don't want to be bothered, to be honest. (Now, to be fair, there is still a significant majority of the church whose actions mirror Christ's words. I just haven't run into them much...)
It's like having been burned in love - there is a significant desire not to commit again, for fear of getting burned again. The last time the church burned me, it hurt for a long, long time. I'm just not going to make that kind of commitment until I'm sure - really, really sure - that it's the real McCoy. And if that's cowardice, then so be it. To paraphrase what Gandalf said so succinctly in The Two Towers, one who has been escorted to the door will not willingly go back in a second time...
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Thinking about financial meltdowns...
I see the Wall Street meltdown from a couple different perspectives...
I was a newbie public accounting auditor, doing mortgage audits of places like First Federal Savings & Loan, Home Federal Savings & Loan, First Federal of Delta and a whole bunch of other S&Ls in northwest Ohio that overstretched themselves and collapsed in the early 80's.
As a newbie, I got assigned to the fun stuff - checking mortgage documentation. We were looking at internal controls that said "Is there a certified signed property valuation for the loan?" when the question should have been "Is there a property valuation that was worth more than a fart in a windstorm?" The loans were 100% documented from a compliance standpoint - but the worth of the documentation itself was nil, plus or minus 10%. This sounds very familiar to where we are now. Just substitute the words "market valuation" and you're set.
Another view...my sister and brother-in-law are owners of a condo purchased with a low-ball-rate ARM. It's not an extravagant thing - you could buy 3 of these with some of the monster properties surrounding us out here in the genteel country south and west of Toledo. It's nice, but there are no granite countertops, no sixty-thousand dollar kitchens or Hummers in the garage. It's just a nice home for a person who can't climb stairs and another who (after 30 years of cutting grass) is tired of dealing with a yard.
They were approved at the upper bleeding maximum edge of their ability to pay - with an adjustable rate mortgage that was (unknown to them, or me, at the time) almost certain to go up way beyond their ability to pay when the adjustment period came due. The people who wrote that loan put the shells in the chambers, cocked the gun, and pointed it at my family's head, knowing that the gun would almost certainly go off in 3 years. If my sister and bro-in-law are culpable, those who originated the loan and those who refinanced it are equally culpable. Just because they wanted this house was no reason to sell it to them, or finance it for them. Just because you can say "yes" doesn't mean that you should...
Of course, no one could have foreseen my sister's disability or Jeff's down-grade from year-round worker to seasonal status. But even at their most financially productive, with the other debt they were carrying, it was madness to approve the loan they got. And I'm a little resentful that the organization wants the bailout, rather than the little people who were sold an exploding pig in a poke.
I know what the S&L buyout cost the nation 20 years ago - and there is no way in hell it's not going to cost exponentially more this time than last. And this from an economy that's already suckin' dry from our overseas adventures.
To my mind, the only reason the oil companies haven't been stampeded together and broken-up like in the last antitrust wars is because we are so addicted to fuel. The nation - myself included - is so addicted to the "right" to independent and at-will travel that no one will risk threatening the supply of our drug - even though people (just like addicts) are now having to make decision between their fuel (read: drug-of-choice) and food, health-care, even housing.
I just wish I had an answer. But I also know the old answers won't do anymore, either...
Forgive me, br'er Cobb, for cross-posting this from your comments onto my own blog - but your post brought up several ideas that have also been percolating in my mind.
I was a newbie public accounting auditor, doing mortgage audits of places like First Federal Savings & Loan, Home Federal Savings & Loan, First Federal of Delta and a whole bunch of other S&Ls in northwest Ohio that overstretched themselves and collapsed in the early 80's.
As a newbie, I got assigned to the fun stuff - checking mortgage documentation. We were looking at internal controls that said "Is there a certified signed property valuation for the loan?" when the question should have been "Is there a property valuation that was worth more than a fart in a windstorm?" The loans were 100% documented from a compliance standpoint - but the worth of the documentation itself was nil, plus or minus 10%. This sounds very familiar to where we are now. Just substitute the words "market valuation" and you're set.
Another view...my sister and brother-in-law are owners of a condo purchased with a low-ball-rate ARM. It's not an extravagant thing - you could buy 3 of these with some of the monster properties surrounding us out here in the genteel country south and west of Toledo. It's nice, but there are no granite countertops, no sixty-thousand dollar kitchens or Hummers in the garage. It's just a nice home for a person who can't climb stairs and another who (after 30 years of cutting grass) is tired of dealing with a yard.
They were approved at the upper bleeding maximum edge of their ability to pay - with an adjustable rate mortgage that was (unknown to them, or me, at the time) almost certain to go up way beyond their ability to pay when the adjustment period came due. The people who wrote that loan put the shells in the chambers, cocked the gun, and pointed it at my family's head, knowing that the gun would almost certainly go off in 3 years. If my sister and bro-in-law are culpable, those who originated the loan and those who refinanced it are equally culpable. Just because they wanted this house was no reason to sell it to them, or finance it for them. Just because you can say "yes" doesn't mean that you should...
Of course, no one could have foreseen my sister's disability or Jeff's down-grade from year-round worker to seasonal status. But even at their most financially productive, with the other debt they were carrying, it was madness to approve the loan they got. And I'm a little resentful that the organization wants the bailout, rather than the little people who were sold an exploding pig in a poke.
I know what the S&L buyout cost the nation 20 years ago - and there is no way in hell it's not going to cost exponentially more this time than last. And this from an economy that's already suckin' dry from our overseas adventures.
To my mind, the only reason the oil companies haven't been stampeded together and broken-up like in the last antitrust wars is because we are so addicted to fuel. The nation - myself included - is so addicted to the "right" to independent and at-will travel that no one will risk threatening the supply of our drug - even though people (just like addicts) are now having to make decision between their fuel (read: drug-of-choice) and food, health-care, even housing.
I just wish I had an answer. But I also know the old answers won't do anymore, either...
Forgive me, br'er Cobb, for cross-posting this from your comments onto my own blog - but your post brought up several ideas that have also been percolating in my mind.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Percolating thoughts
Saturday was birthday #51.A time of celebration, a time of joy, a time of reflection - all at once.
It is a much different time in my life - love life is an A-plus, health is C-minus, up from D-plus, finances are still somewhere between C-minus and D-plus, family still struggling physically and financially. Definitely a "mixed bag," you might say.
I have been both celebrating items of gratitude, and bouts of "regretting the past and wishing to shut the door on it." Now that I have someone to spend time and money with, I sure could use some of the "wasted days and wasted nights" and some of the untold piles of dollars I have lost (or missed out on) over the years. There have been days when the weight of the "if onlys" have been pretty immense, to be honest.
And yes, before you say it - I know. I really do. If I hadn't done everything I had done, taken every step and mis-step I've taken up to this point, I wouldn't be here. If I hadn't moved to Toledo, I might not have been in a position to find love in the first place. If I hadn't had the job from Hell, I wouldn't have had the chance to move here and help out my family. If I hadn't had all those drinks, I wouldn't have found the blessed fellowship I now participate in.
Here's an interesting one - if I had come out sooner in life, I might well have engaged in behavior that would have earned me one of the millions of funerals that have happened over the twenty-five years. I might be dealing with a much more lethal disease than diabetes (though I am not for a minute minimizing the effects of that one, either).
So, every time I bring up what "woulda/ coulda/ shoulda" happened, I have to admit this:
I should be dead.
I should be in jail.
I should be in an institution somewhere.
I qualfied for each, time and time again.
Rascall Flats said it best, especially to the love of my life - but for the One who loves me, as well:
Every long lost dream
Led me to where You are
Others who broke my heart
They were like northern stars
Pointing me on my way
Into Your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to You.
Soli Deo gratias. To God alone be the glory.
Oh, and just so you know I haven't lost my sense of humor entirely, here is the very best blogger's birthday cake I've seen (double-click on it to see it bigger):
Topics yet to come:
- prayer as a tool to healing the past;
- "simple church" a la [rwk];
- the feel good movie of 2008; and
- two places I never expected to be in the next two weeks.
Keep comin' back...
Monday, March 24, 2008
The Monday after...
Erin posted this simple post Friday. Her follow-up post today says everything I want to say about the Monday after Easter - only better, and more clearly.
As Gamble Rogers' infamous character Agamemnon Jones would say, "If you find that someone has already made your point, and made it clearer, better, or sharper....then shut up."
((((Erin))))
As Gamble Rogers' infamous character Agamemnon Jones would say, "If you find that someone has already made your point, and made it clearer, better, or sharper....then shut up."
((((Erin))))
Thursday, March 20, 2008
The strangers and aliens among us
"Do not mistreat or oppress an alien; you yourselves know how it feels to be aliens, because you were aliens in Egypt." (Exodus 23:9)><>
It's Good Friday, and any good devotional writer would have his face, and his pen, turned toward Golgotha, and the cross. But somehow, my heart is pulling me in another direction...
Good Friday. Easter Vigil. Easter Sunday. "The Three Days." Along with Christmas, this is one of the two most sacred and revered Christian feast days on the calendar. Crucifixion, death, silence, resurrection and celebration. The very pinnacle of the Christian story. In virtually every Christian pulpit, the focus will be on the cross and everything it stands for.
But in my mind's eye, I'm standing in my home congregation in Kansas on Easter Sunday morning. In the huge, glass-walled space outside the sanctuary, I'm standing by the glass wall of the sanctuary near the top of the entry stairs, and I'm looking down the stairs at the faces coming in. There are the church members and their families - confident, well-dressed, and assured that no matter what special effects or special music or liturgical dance or procession or whatever, they will know the basic shape of the service they are about to experience. They've grown up with it all their lives, or at least for a long, long time. This is familiar, joyous territory for them.
But then, there are the others. They come in the door somewhat tentatively, looking about. Not quite sure where to go, they follow the crush of members up the stairs into the lobby (which everyone keeps calling a "narthex," for some reason). There are incredible images of color, powerful sounds of celebration - all of which seem completely unfamiliar to them. Not sure where to go or what to do, they go into the sanctuary, and take a seat near the back, so they won't be noticed if they do something wrong or say something out of place.
They are the outsiders. The non-Christian or non-practicing Christian visitors who swell the ranks of almost every Christian church on Easter weekend. And on this Good Friday I'd like us as a community of faith to start praying for them.Some of them are there because they have to be; their parents or siblings or spouses or partners have dragged them to the "just this once, please" service. Some of them are there because they believe Christian folk are supposed to have a corner on what's right in the world, and there isn't much going right in their world right now. And some of them have heard just enough of the story of this Jesus person to want to be there - to see what all the big deal is about.
All this talk about "the Lamb of God" and "the King of Kings" and the organ music and the fanfares and shouting "He is risen, indeed!" makes them feel like they have landed in a different land, like the children landing in Narnia for the first time. They haven't been there throughout Lent, so they haven't understood the times of preparation and transformation that many congregations go through. The liturgical colors, the significance of the white linen, the lyrics of the hymns, none of it makes sense to them. And all this strangeness will leave them feeling tense, ill at ease, and adrift in a place with a slightly different language and an entirely different landscape.How do I know this? Because I was "one of them," once upon a time. And that's how I felt.
And that's why, today, I'm going to ask you to do four powerful things.
First, pray for your church's visitors, all weekend long. Whatever draws them to your place of worship, literally pray them off the streets and in the doors.
Second, look for them, and be aware of them, in each of your services. Their first urge (as mine was) will be to not get noticed, to not draw attention. But look for the strangers among you with your heart, and they will not be hard to find.
Third, realize that your visitors very well may have no clue what's going on around them, this weekend. If you see someone fumbling with a hymnal or wondering whether to stand up or sit down, give 'em a hand. They will be grateful.
Lastly - welcome and encourage your guests whenever you see them. A friend of mine says that when dealing with visitors or guests, "Our primary purpose is to show them that we don't bite; that they are safe here among us." Perhaps that is near the heart of what a welcoming community does - they smooth the road, light the pathway and make things a little more comfortable for those that don't know the way.
Our sanctuaries and fellowships halls will fill this weekend. Not everyone will come in as friends, and many will feel as strangers. With our help, and our prayers, and our loving actions, perhaps they will leave feeling that they might just be able to come back and find a place among us. That they might find a home. That they might know we are Christians - by our love, and by our welcome.
I know I did.
><>
He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!"
(Revelation 21:5, NIV)
(Shameless plug: the images used on this post, from Atonement Lutheran Church in Overland Park, KS, have been lifted from the archives of my brother and friend, Timothy Bredow of Kansas City. He is a talented photographer, father, and all-around great guy. Go check his stuff out at his KCinFocus flikr site. Tim, I love you, but I get a very un-Christian case of envy looking at your stuff, bro. Your photography captures what one songwriter called "the rhythm and rhyme of the poem of your life." Thank you for allowing your images to bless these meager words.)
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