The New Evolution

It doesn't seem right that I am much more interested in sitting around engaging the plight of the working class, planning their emergence and freeing their minds through education than I am actually engaging working class people. It doesn't seem right, and yet I know that I am guilty of the sin of subscribing to intellectual evolution. I don't know if other people have coined or used this term or concept, but what I'm getting at is the idea that through education a human being can quite literally evolve. The difference in only one lifetime when education surpasses the previous generation's can be equivalent to many generations of Darwinian evolution--I truly believe the difference can be so stark.

Elitism. This is an option for the POV that I'm referencing. Elitism, however, requires a feeling of arrogance. This can be true in some cases of established white-collar/blue-collar tensions, but that's not exactly what I'm referring to. What I'm NOT speaking of is a person who is an established member of the white-collar class with no hands-on blue collar experience; in this case avoidance or a hands-off approach would indeed be a candidate for elitism.

The intellectual evolution of which I speak happens within an individual, within a lifetime. In this case, the unwillingness to engage the blue-collar world from which said individual evolved is based, not in arrogance and lack of understanding, but in fear and intimate understanding. The outward signs of this intolerance can perhaps be the same as elitism--aloofness, scoffing, avoidance, distaste and distrust--but the internal struggle is completely different. The outward signs are a result not of a lack of knowledge (as in elitism) but of intimate knowledge and, having "seen the light," a fear of "going backward." This notion of "going backward" is not at all fair to the place from which the person evolved, nor to the people who still inhabit that space. But the individual, perceiving personal enlightenment, believes their journey to be one of progression, the inverse of which would be regression. So, through this progression or personal evolution, the concept of "overcoming" emerges. "I have overcome and to engage or embrace my previous incarnation is to take a step backwards."

I am beginning to see that this personal evolution is, in fact, a circle, not a line. The further growth and progression from the starting point leads not to greater distance but, in fact, a greater understanding and a closer look and, eventually, the release of fear.

Until next time...

Breathe it in

In my heart lies a memory
To tell the stars above.
Don't forget to remember me, my love

Ooooooh, I don't like to fill the days. I'd rather take them as they come, spontaneously surfing from one moment to the next, but life is busy.
I'd rather be classy, but mostly I'm crude.
I'd rather be compassionate, but mostly I'm sarcastic.
I'd rather be driven to be all the great things I'm not, but mostly I'm pretty comfortable with me.

Until next time...

I'll cop out to the change but a stranger is putting the tease on...

I feel like a lot happened over the holiday weekend. I know a lot happened in my head.

I went in to the weekend with all of the stress and tension involved with the end of the fiscal year at work. Uncertain as a team whether we would achieve our goals when it was all said and done, and certain as an individual that I'd not done my best to make sure we did hit the mark. I some times do that; occasionally I get in a funk and don't live up to my potential. This year, however, is the first time I've ever looked at the situation while I was in it and summed it up in terms of potential. Although it doesn't expunge the sin of failing to pull my weight, I'm somehow pleased with the observation that I have the ability to do better--the option to live up to my potential or not. I hope I can consider myself under this light in all things large and small. The fact is, the potential of a given individual human is an impressive thing. Being a human, I guess I'm comfortable with the concept that this also includes me.

This observation leads me to a commitment to consciously consider "my best" in every moment. I've done a lot of being in my life, but I'm not sure I've done much being my best. Here's to being my best in husbandry, fatherhood, humanity and humility.

Until next time...

War or Peace

Who's bold enough to believe
In either love, or war?
Both just leave you busted, and broken down
Wanting more.

I hope I never, ever know what it really means to experience war. That would make me lucky, and rare on a human scale. I don't know how it really feels, but I dreamed it last night. I peered through the window with my children by my side, trying impossibly to hide behind the sill so as not to be seen. Outside, an army in street clothes stole through the neighborhood, house to house with the occasional sound of resistance ringing in the air, but ultimately submission. The fear that I felt was horrible, and my children looked to us for answers...and safety. In the dream, we were helpless against the intruders, and terrible things happened. I'm sad to say that upon waking, my first thought was disappointment at not owning a gun. As though just owning one would salve my fear; or would it only potentially force someone else to feel it for me?

Many families are experiencing that fear right now. Fear that, as a fat and happy American, I cannot begin to understand. And why do they endure this? I challenge you to find a violent situation that doesn't boil down to one person seeking power over another. The only reason violence ever occurs is because someone has been held down. There may be moments where the violence appears to be defensive and just; but somewhere in the past is a moment where, had the fair choice been made, the present moment could have been changed.

I'll never forget the terror of the dream I had last night, but as vivid as it was I cannot imagine the terror of reality. War is over, if you want it.

Father's Day

This year was a good Father's Day in many ways; although I didn't expect it to be. I basically hadn't seen the kids since Tuesday night because Megan and I were doing tech for Broadway at Bethel and Megan's cousin Sarah was nannying for us. Wednesday night the kids all left our house and stayed with Sarah's family until Sunday. Sunday afternoon the kids came to campus with Megan's mom to watch the show. It was so wonderful to hug and kiss them. There is so much warmth and love in their little arms. It felt so invigorating to just inhale them after the week apart, when I never felt we'd quite reconnected after our Vegas trip. I bemoan the business of my life that keeps me away from them so much, yet I know that they need to be confident without me there. Maggie is turning into such a beautiful young person. She's got freckles all over her face--signs of happy times under the sun. She shows me such maturity alongside her childishness. There is so much joy in her smile, it hurts to know that she will experience pain at all. Lennon is so full of engagement that it sometimes comes out in kicks and pinches, but he really just wants to experience contact. He's such a good little hugger! He's starting to tell us why things are funny, and they both ask such good questions all the time. Maggie asked me about Adam and Eve recently and whether I believed it was true. She's really thinking about things. What a wonder is wonderment! What a lucky dad I am.

Father's Day is really a time to celebrate the kids and all that they bring; not least of all because we lost Megan's dad on Father's Day, 2007. Remembering him and how he would have loved these two is a wonderful way to celebrate them, while acknowledging and healing from the pain at the same time. If it wasn't for the little lives around us, the loss of the big lives would be too much for the heart to take. So, Jim, here's a nod to you. We miss you so--your steadiness, your thoughtfulness, your sly humor and your gentle direction. Your legacy lives here on earth through these children. You are not a memory to them; you are a real and living person, waiting to see us all again, hopefully later than sooner. And so, the day for fathers that I thought might always be bitter at the memory of your passing, is all the sweeter for the memory of your love.

Way back in nineteen-hundred and sixty-seven

I can't begin to tell you the joy I experienced on a recent evening, in our basement, slung in various states of repose around the room, cuddled tight in blankets and watching The Beatles animated movie Yellow Submarine with the kids. I've always loved the movie so much but haven't gotten it out since Maggie was a toddler. Lennon is so in to being named after a Beatle and bringing it all to him in cartoon form was a great time. As we watched, all singing along, learning the words as we went, I experienced the unique beauty of sharing a deep passion of mine with my children--who are in fact my deepest passion. The kids would occasionally check themselves on making sure they knew which Beatle was whom, ask me to clarify storyline (not easy in a fairly trippy plot), or ask questions about the individual Beatles' personalities. In the end, Maggie told me she really wanted a CD with all the movie songs on it. I probably can't wait until birthdays or Christmas to bestow that gift.

"Try to love one another right now"

The student part of me says that I should finish a book before I comment on it. The emotional part of me says that I must share my experience now even though it is incomplete.

No Other Name? A Critical Survey of Christian Attitudes Toward the World Religions by Paul Knitter is rocking my world. It's more or less a text book, and it's pretty academic, but it's a wonderful exploration of how Christians have chosen to react to one big problem: Christianity claims to have access to the full and final revelation/incarnation of God on earth, yet after 2000 years of mission work and attempts to convert the world Christianity cannot even claim a majority of human souls, let alone all of them. How then do Christians deal with the fact that so many humans claim a full and satisfying revelation of God without Christ? An amazing question if you ask me, and a clarification of a journey I've been on for awhile but couldn't clearly state.

Knitter explores 7 reactions to this Christian conundrum: all are relative; all are essentially the same; all have a common psychic origin; the conservative evangelical model of one true religion; the mainline Protestant model of salvation only in Christ; the Catholic model of many ways, one norm; the theocentric model of many ways to the center. He then attempts to offer a solution that lets Christians still be specifically and energetically Christian. I'm only through the first two explorations, preparing to dive into the concept of one psychic origin.

Here's the format: the reaction as most clearly stated by a particular theologian or proponent, two other cases for the point of view, questions presented for Christians, and problems with the position. My favorite observation so far comes from "metaphysician-mystic" Frithjof Schuon, commenting on the reaction that all are essentially the same. As explained by Knitter:

"...he sees the dividing lines among religions running not vertically between the different religions but horizontally across them all. It is not that all Christians are different from all Hindus. Rather, there is something that makes for a definite difference between one Christian and the next; this same something makes for the same difference between one Hindu and the next. And what makes for common differences among Christians as among Hindus also constitutes a fundamental unity between certain Christians and certain Hindus."

These commonalities are basically defined as responding to an esoteric or an exoteric God; fundamentally, do persons find more meaning in an introverted relationship (more commonly represented by Eastern religions and societies [Buddhist, Hindus, etc]) or in an extroverted relationship (more commonly represented by Western religions and societies [Judaism, Christianity, Islam]). So far, I've seen nothing to convince me that the many religions are conceptually different from the many paintings of an art class observing the very same subject.

Exciting.

"...where the bright lights and the big city meet."

I am such a bleeding heart.

We spent a weekend in Las Vegas and, with the exception of the very happy couple who were married, I hated just about every minute of it. All I could think the whole time was that here was the epicenter of everything that is wrong about America and about the world: excess, avarice, detachment, selfishness, mindless distraction, mass consumerism, perversion and poverty. And listen, I'm no prude by a longshot but I don't think every 10th vehicle needs to advertise "Hot Babes Straight To You" to get the point across. And yes, there were children--tons of them. We, as discerning adults can make sense of not only the massive amounts of sensory stimulation (although it took us half a day to adjust to that) and sexuality, but what's the redeeming value in having your kids there?

As we stood in front of the Bellagio, towering high in the western sky, watching the plumes of thousands of gallons of water being launched into the air by high-powered cannon-fountains, the only amazement I felt was at being in the middle of the desert staring at an amount of water used for entertainment that could have quenched millions of mouths worth of thirst. Not just the water, but the dollars spent to create this neat but pointless spectacle could have made a difference in the world in countless ways, innumerable places.

The indelible image in my mind was that of a homeless man on the north strip, bedraggled, rancid, manged and emaciated, passed out at the bus stop. At his feet lay a container spilled onto its side, bleeding its unknown contents on to the sidewalk. On his back a shirt proclaiming the spectacular Treasure Island Resort Hotel in Las Vegas. Such a billboard never entered the minds of the Las Vegas Bureau of Tourism.

Dream speak

During last night's dreams the words "it would have been better for him never to have been born than to have seen these days" played over and over in my mind. This concept sounds vaguely familiar. I have the distinct sensation that it plays a large role in the Bible, Shakespeare, Greek tragedy, Tolkien and probably a zillion others; all of these things having figured heavily into my reading at some point or another.

Isn't it a tragic statement though? It's a monumentally weighty thought to be so deep in despair that illimitable good memories are not enough to overcome the bad of this very moment. I've been there. Megan has been there. Probably most people have been there at some point. Some of the people I've known never got past that moment. But most have. If I think about that for a moment it blows me away.

But what about the people we know who didn't have the strength to live or die their way out of the quagmire of hopelessness? For some, I believe, it is a feat of superhuman strength to overcome anguish by owning death. For many, they perhaps felt they'd already been sentenced to death. I'm thinking not only of terminally ill patients who walk the road of assisted suicide, but of schizophrenics or others who are aware of their disease, who have struggled mightily against an unbreakable wall, who have picked themselves up from the fall to once again scale insurmountable odds. In that moment when the struggle becomes clear in its infinity, isn't it being realistic to consider that self-determination includes many forms of victory? I don't know. I'm considering the options as I write.

For me, suicide is not the unforgivable sin; but, then again, I do not believe God is puppeteering each of my moments. I'm reminded of the theme song from M*A*S*H: suicide is painless, it brings on many changes; and I can take or leave it if I please. Doesn't that suggest empowerment?

It occurs to me that I should probably mention two things. One, I'm not depressed I'm just running with a strange dream. And, two, I know that suicide is a terrible thing for a family to go through and I hope this conversation is not disrespectful to that pain.

But back to the people who don't feel they can live or die their way out of their position. What about them? It seems to me that the sentence is a life of sadness and despair, angry and suspicious of the world. I guess I'm really thinking of my mother, who I admit I do not have the strength to face. She's a paranoid schizophrenic who tumbles through life like so much laundry in the dryer, bouncing from one point to another with no control over whither or when. This is how I think of her, though I confess she may be fundamentally in control with medication or therapy and I would not know it. But when I think of her, I think of a person damned to unhappiness and bitterness, with no options for self-actualization, lost in the interminable wash of people whose existence leaves little mark on the world. But she left her children, who are leaving their children. I have said before that I'd rather not have been born than deal with growing up in our house. Each time I've said that I've meant it. But there's an amazing juxtaposition of relationship for me to look back up the road and see my mother, then turn down the road and see my children and all that they could be and know that those separate worlds are intimately connected--by me. I see fear that the road will circle, but hope that it continues upward.

For each time that you've made someone laugh, or feel anything at all it is better that you were born. For each time your children brought the world joy in its smallest corner it is better that you were born. For each moment that you stitch into the tapestry of humanity it is better that you were born. Even in the darkest of days, better.

I weep under the weight of humanity that has gone before

I was looking through some of my friend Peter's photos. He's on a service mission in the Middle East. As I looked through his photos of Lebanon, I was moved and overwhelmed at the vastness of day to day emotions that have lived on this earth through the millenia. Here were only a few photos of one small corner of earth where for thousands of years people have worried, feared, wept, loved, smiled, laughed, slept, had sex, starved, wanted, endured, created, sang, and died. The size of each of those things in my life, multiplied by untold millions, literally leaves me short of breath. Here are a couple of Peter's photos, shared without permission, but with a request for his forgiveness.

Busy, busy, busy

So we've undertaken a number of projects that need doing. Really, too many at once. I replaced the front door, but we still need to paint it and do the storm door. We've begun putting up the privacy fence in the back yard. That will allow Rigby to run with more freedom, as well as...well...privacy, I guess. We can feel a little more comfortable setting the kids free. (I admit to being a little paranoid and overprotective.) We've tilled up the front and east yards and laid down grass seed in an attempt to make it look a little better. As you can see above, it's probably a little sloppier than it should be, but it is what it is. (Be sure and check with Megan for her opinion.) We still need to paint the interior this summer, fix the Deere mower, finish the fence (obviously), and fix the siding. I'm sure Megan would like wood flooring to be a part of that, too. See photos for appropriate updates and don't forget to enjoy the bonus storm photo where I was pretty sure we were toast. Oh, and I've developed tennis elbow in the process. Yes!

Colombia, not Columbia...apparently

We spent a portion of our marriage afraid that we couldn't make friends together. We started college together as Theatre majors but the schedule for shows made it too easy for me to ignore work, class, etc., so I was invited not to return to school and Megan continued on. From that time forward, although we always had each other, we never ran in the same circle and manufacturing relationships to share was very difficult. That was seven years of marriage and maybe two-and-a-half years of dating.

Megan had her friends and I had my friends, but we could never figure out why we weren't finding a large circle wherein we both felt at home. The solution, in a roundabout way, came from the Mennonite culture. From our experiences with Hesston and Bethel we have stumbled across amazing families, people, conversations, adventures, places, smiles, homes, pastures, children and so much more. At this time in our lives we feel so blessed to know so many wonderful people of many ages and dispositions, histories and beliefs. Something about the communities of which we have been a part these last five years has made us feel at home and comfortable, with other people that we both love. There are so many, too many to name; but if you're reading this you are one of them, to be sure.

Thanks to all of you, whether we grow closer or remain acquaintances, for being who you are. We now know for sure that the two of us can run in the same circle--and it feels good.

Pictorial update II

dying eggs with friends















Megan made this dress
































So close buddy! That "m" does look like two "n"s hooked together!















Daddy's girl

Pictorial update

...maybe he's just looking for, someone to dance with...Michael Penn















...if I'm well you can tell that she's been with me...James Taylor
















...5, 6, 7 8 9 10, I love you...The Beatles















...and you may ask yourself--how did I get here?...Talking Heads















...hey, hey we're the monkees...The Monkees

What can I say, when I can't say much?

April has been a paltry month for posts. I think back to my first post in January when I considered the possibility of a post a day on my shiny new blog. I've not been nearly that prolific, but I've been very happy with the experience of blogging so far. That said, April will likely fall short of a robust February where I took the opportunity to post 8 times.

Why the decline? Certainly some of the newness has worn off, and some intermittent issues with the home computer haven't helped either. The biggest hurdle by far though has been that most of what I've been dealing with is work, and that's something I try not to discuss in this blog.

There are a number of reasons that I don't discuss work here, although for anyone stumbling across this blog I can say that "work" is Bethel College (KS). First, it's well-documented that public ranting about work can very easily come back to bite--hard. Second, I realize that feelings about work are cyclical; sometimes it's great, other times we'd rather be anywhere else. Third, I care very deeply for Bethel. My experience here has been life-changing, affirming, and fulfilling.

So, since the last month has dealt with some unpleasantries, and those unpleasantries have been pretty consuming, I've not had the opportunity or desire to discuss much else; thus, the lack of posts.

Suffice it to say that the economic downturn has come home to small town Kansas with a vengeance. Layoffs all over the area have dominated the headlines, and Bethel is not immune. So it's been with heavy hearts that the larger community mourn the loss of colleagues and mentors, attempting as a body of alumni to assess the changes necessary for long-term strength. It has been a long month, but I still hope.

He ain't right

Headed west on US50 there's a sign: Are you ready to meet the Lord?

While germane to traveling that particular highway, I'm wondering if that's the best thing for a potentially nervous driver to read while perilously navigating a roadway that seems to have more than its fair share of fatalities?

*

To that same end, about 10 miles before I reached said sign, the driver behind me decided it was time to pass when it was, in fact, not. Once the touch-and-go situation was over, I considered what options--besides continuing safely westward--I could have potentially experienced. I settled on the following:

While passing me on the left the driver realized that they were not going to make it around me before oncoming traffic hit him/her head on. Quickly realizing that the greatest chance of survival lay in running me off the road, he/she sideswiped me to save him/herself. I, of course, careened into the ditch and began a series of headlong flips, end-over-end, through the fields lining the highway until at last I came to rest in an irrigation ditch. Broken and bloody, I was in a lot of pain, but would survive. Unfortunately, however, a head trauma would surely leave me with brain damage.

Not to worry. I, through sheer force of will, would rewire my own brain around the damage, fully restoring my normal (dys)functionality.

Later in life, while at an interview, I would be asked, "What qualifies you for this position?" I would of course reply, "I rewired my OWN brain! What have you done?"

13 years

13 years ago tonight I told Megan that I didn't want us to date other people. All she could say? "Is this an April Fool's joke?"

I can't imagine my life without her.

I'm glad it worked out.

A waking dream

Last night I had a dream about a dream I used to have.

I was small and I was scared. She came almost every night, that rotting woman from the bathtub in The Shining. Even as a five-year-old I had been struck by the beauty of the nude woman in the bathroom, and then suddenly she was grotesque and horrific, and she visited me most nights.

So I was small and I was scared. Tucked deep at the bottom of my bed, securely folded into the sheets, with a coffee mug and a small television to ward off sleep, I would await the sound of "1...2...3." The numbers would appear in the air, red, at the sound of the bodiless voice warning me of her arrival. At "3" she was there, and my attempt to hide was never successful. She would always corner me and tickle me, cruelly mixing the glee of playing with the fear of her rot.

I would run downstairs and into my parents bedroom, a place of mystery and privacy. I would open the door and there they would be, or I presumed it to be them. Dark shapes, with no definable characteristics, broken only by a bright orange glow where mouths with kisses and kind words should have been. I would crawl between these shapes, the smell of burning cigarettes in my nose. I was allowed space but the space was cold, and there was no comfort.

I awoke from this dream of a dream and a memory--it's always difficult to distinguish which was which--and was confused by seeing my small face staring back at me from the darkness of my own bedroom, and the sound of my small voice telling me that the dream had scared him. He laid down between us and I knew that he needed to be warm, because I had been so cold. But he doesn't like the covers like I do. So, although he didn't know why I needed to, we held hands, and I could give him what I didn't get, and we all went down to dreams together.

The Darndest Things

Funny things that Lennon shared with me this weekend while it was just the two of us:

Dad, where do cotton balls come from?
From cotton plants.
Dad, cotton balls are meatballs.

Tommy doesn't believe that I'm Superman and Spiderman at the same time. Can you tell him mean that I am?

Daddy, this balloon has a penis.

I'm not climbing this ladder, I'm standing on it.

L: Do you want a tattoo?
Yes.
L: Well, this tattoo hurts you so maybe you should be careful.

Dad, is this The Beatles?
No, it's Def Leppard.
But The Beatles taught the Leppards how to do it, right?
Yes they did.

Smell of Summer

Yesterday was a particularly warm day; fortuitous on the first day of Maggie's spring break. We rode our bikes up to Bethel for convo and then around town for awhile. It was quite a trek for a girl who wouldn't get on her bike a few months ago just for the fear of falling.

I don't have very many positive childhood memories, but one came rushing back to me as I watched Maggie yesterday. At one point, we went over a small, steep, stone bridge in North Newton. Maggie thought it was so much fun that she begged me to let her go back and do it again. As I stood and watched her fly back over the bridge, all smiles and laughter, with the sun on my face and the smell of my own bike tires, budding trees and asphalt in my nose, I recalled the childhood freedom that went along with biking. I remembered speeding down the sidewalk on those first warm days of spring and summer, not a care in the world, imagining that I was a hero on the way to rescue a beautiful woman in trouble. This was my favorite game to play, often to the strains of Bonnie Tyler's "I Need A Hero" playing in my head. I didn't bother to tone down the melodrama when I eventually reached dating age, either. :)

Good times.

Ash Wednesday

I went to chapel at Bethel yesterday for the second time this year, but the third time ever. It was an Ash Wednesday service, and well-attended. I don't make chapel a regular part of my time here. I'm glad I went to this one.

I just wanted to share a beautiful prayer from the service.

God, we thank you for ashes, the ashes of which we are made and which make us one with your whole creation.
We thank you for the ashes which this day recall to us our frailty, our mortality, our death.
May these same ashes mark our cleansing and renewal so that,
accepting our weakness and trusting your strength,
we may become people of prayer,
people of character,
people of conscience,
knowing our worth,
loving your call,
trusting your promises,
until we again become ashes
and seeds of your new creation. AMEN.

So for Lent, I'm trying to see God in everything.

Cruel World

For the first time I can remember, I truly questioned whether it was fair to my children to subject them to the cruelty of this world.

At dinner, Maggie asked why some of her friends go to a special ELP class (Extended Learning Program, if memory serves; Newton's gifted or accelerated program) but she doesn't. I couldn't even spit out an answer for the lump in my throat. I could see in her eyes that the knowledge of this separation has effected her own confidence; she recognizes that her school thinks her friends are smarter. What breaks my heart is that she will always have the memory of this time she was unfairly judged.

Here's the thing. She's smart. I know she's my daughter and I'm biased, but I know that she's smart. She just doesn't do the things that our schools are built to address. She's right-brained, our system is left-brained. She's empathetic, social, artistic, sensitive, attuned to beauty and emotion. She thrives in any social situation with people of all ages. As a human being, she's a genius. As a calculator, not so much. I'd choose Maggie just the way she is: every time.

But her friends are smart, too, and there's nothing wrong with the way they think. Lucky for them that they fit the prescribed requirements for "smart" in the system we have. But for Maggie's makeup, for her special talents, the schools have next to nothing.

So I told her exactly that. Schools are not built to help her with the things that she excels at. I told her that it's not her fault, that her friends are just smart in a different way, and that the way she thinks is important, too. Thank God for Megan who pursues her passion of theatre and allows Maggie opportunities to shine. I hope my words and Megan's example will help Maggie.

I'm reminded of the Don MacLean song, "Vincent," where he laments of Van Gogh, "...this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you." Indeed, Maggie, you are of greater stuff than this world; your spirit is of God, your compassion is otherworldly. You and the millions of people like you who will struggle to find your place in a world where relationships are second or third or tenth on the list of priorities, must bear in mind that when times are tough, when people need help, it will be your smile and your shoulder to cry on that will make all the difference.

"They would not listen, they're not listening still; perhaps they never will."

Thank you, Maggie, for coming to me.

Some good things about religion

Many religious groups advocate peace.
Many religious groups help the poor and under-served.
Religion gives people a way to understand a confusing world.
Many interpretations of religion advocate brotherhood.
Churches raise money for other worthy causes.
Religion promotes a moral code.
Religion challenges people.

Why?

Lennon is 3 1/2 and has been in his "Why" phase for awhile now. At times it's seemed an interminable phase, but lately it's taken on a different tone for me. Perhaps I've realized before, when Maggie went through the same phase, and had forgotten, but the question "Why?" is not asked as a reflex, nor even as a request for the facts and figures of how things work (although I do often answer it as though "How?" has been asked, instead of "Why?"). It's a challenge to the status quo. I'm convinced that when my children ask me "Why?" they're really asking me, "Why should it be so?" I'd like to adopt that angle as my own.

In a way, it's the same as the Aquinas adage that I've discussed elsewhere on this blog. The important thing about a child's question, though, is that it entertains the endless possibility of imagination and creativity. This is the quintessential "outside the box" thinking--because no box exists for a child. So here's to being childlike in my standards for information. No, that's not true.

I'm talking about religion here. You say the Bible is the literal word of God. Why? Why do you know this to be true? You say that there is no God. Why? You say that there is only one right way. Why?

The goal is to get down to the core. Do you know this because someone else told you this? Do you know this because it feels right?

Here's the truth: nothing about God is known. But we people can't deal with ambiguity. We need the comfort of being assured that we're right; being special because we've got it figured out. From that special position comes our perceived right to judge and damn others, which makes us feel good. We don't understand God, but we feel better if we can create a reality in which others are wrong. We've all missed the boat completely, but we continue to literally and figuratively, directly and indirectly, kill for the sake of showing how right we are. We are all Cain. The punchline is that we're all Abel, too.

A good sign

On Monday night, we tried to log in to Maggie's rarely-used WebKinz account. Once we remembered the elusive password, we received a message that the account had expired, and that we'd need to purchase a new WebKinz in order to continue using it. So, I laid it out to Maggie just like they said. "Mags, they only let you use the site for a year because they want to sell you more toys." Man, was she mad. Not sad, not upset; angry. I gave her a hug and patted her on her little head, giggling to myself.

The next morning, right after she woke up, she gave me a big hug and said, "Dad, I wish I could put up signs telling people not to buy WebKinz because that's not fair to make people buy more stuff."

Nice.

Let the revolution begin.

Failure

Not every moment in life is a success. It is only this knowledge that makes it possible for us to pick ourselves up from the proverbial ground and face the next task. I've had a few run-ins with unsuccessful moments in the past few weeks (good run of bad luck) and it's good to know that better moments are waiting around the corner.

But it's the difficulty, and the general human unwillingness to recognize and address said moments that makes me think the "I screwed up" moment is the finest moment of the Obama administration, yet. Not only has Obama done what Bush was loathe to do (perhaps never did-I'd listen to arguments [not even Clinton took the opportunity when it was obvious]), but I believe it will set the tone for a mea culpa administration. How often do leaders at any level address their mistakes openly and honestly? What if Daschle had begun his confirmation hearings with full disclosure? Might we be preparing to swear in the person who might be our best hope for sweeping health reforms? What if Al Gore had admitted to exaggerating his involvment in fetal internet discussions? I have argued for years that politicians should engage in a policy of full disclosure, coupled with proactive mediation of mistakes and blunders.

Here's to the possiblity of an administration that owns its humanity.

For your pleasure

GEORGE CARLIN ON THE 10 COMMANDMENTS
from "Complaints and Grievances" (HBO special, 2001)

Here is my problem with the ten commandments- why exactly are there 10?

You simply do not need ten. The list of ten commandments was artificially and deliberately inflated to get it up to ten. Here's what happened:

About 5,000 years ago a bunch of religious and political hustlers got together to try to figure out how to control people and keep them in line. They knew people were basically stupid and would believe anything they were told, so they announced that God had given them some commandments, up on a mountain, when no one was around.

Well let me ask you this- when they were making this s**t up, why did they pick 10? Why not 9 or 11? I'll tell you why- because 10 sounds official. Ten sounds important! Ten is the basis for the decimal system, it's a decade, it's a psychologically satisfying number (the top ten, the ten most wanted, the ten best dressed). So having ten commandments was really a marketing decision! It is clearly a bulls**t list. It's a political document artificially inflated to sell better. I will now show you how you can reduce the number of commandments and come up with a list that's a little more workable and logical. I am going to use the Roman Catholic version because those were the ones I was taught as a little boy.

Let's start with the first three:

I AM THE LORD THY GOD THOU SHALT NOT HAVE STRANGE GODS BEFORE ME

THOU SHALT NOT TAKE THE NAME OF THE LORD THY GOD IN VAIN

THOU SHALT KEEP HOLY THE SABBATH

Right off the bat the first three are pure bulls**t. Sabbath day? Lord's name? strange gods? Spooky language! Designed to scare and control primitive people. In no way does superstitious nonsense like this apply to the lives of intelligent civilized humans in the 21st century. So now we're down to 7. Next:

HONOR THY FATHER AND MOTHER

Obedience, respect for authority. Just another name for controlling people. The truth is that obedience and respect shouldn't be automatic. They should be earned and based on the parent's performance. Some parents deserve respect, but most of them don't, period. You're down to six.

Now in the interest of logic, something religion is very uncomfortable with, we're going to jump around the list a little bit.

THOU SHALT NOT STEAL

THOU SHALT NOT BEAR FALSE WITNESS

Stealing and lying. Well actually, these two both prohibit the same kind of behavior- dishonesty. So you don't really need two you combine them and call the commandment "thou shalt not be dishonest". And suddenly you're down to 5.

And as long as we're combining I have two others that belong together:

THOU SHALT NOT COMMIT ADULTERY

THOU SHALT NOT COVET THY NEIGHBOR'S WIFE

Once again, these two prohibit the same type of behavior. In this case it is marital infidelity. The difference is- coveting takes place in the mind. But I don't think you should outlaw fantasizing about someone else's wife because what is a guy gonna think about when he's waxing his carrot? But, marital infidelity is a good idea so we're gonna keep this one and call it "thou shalt not be unfaithful". And suddenly we're down to four.

But when you think about it, honesty and infidelity are really part of the same overall value so, in truth, you could combine the two honesty commandments with the two fidelity commandments and give them simpler language, positive language instead of negative language and call the whole thing "thou shalt always be honest and faithful" and we're down to 3.

THOU SHALT NOT COVET THY NEIGHBOR"S GOODS

This one is just plain f***in' stupid. Coveting your neighbor's goods is what keeps the economy going! Your neighbor gets a vibrator that plays "o come all ye faithful", and you want one too! Coveting creates jobs, so leave it alone. You throw out coveting and you're down to 2 now- the big honesty and fidelity commandment and the one we haven't talked about yet:

THOU SHALT NOT KILL

Murder.

But when you think about it...religion has never really had a big problem with murder. More people have been killed in the name of God than for any other reason. All you have to do is look at Northern Ireland, Cashmire, the Inquisition, the Crusades, and the World Trade Center to see how seriously the religious folks take thou shalt not kill. The more devout they are, the more they see murder as being negotiable. It depends on who's doin the killin' and who's gettin' killed. So, with all of this in mind, I give you my revised list of the two commandments:

Thou shalt always be honest and faithful to the provider of thy nookie.

&

Thou shalt try real hard not to kill anyone, unless of course they pray to a different invisible man than you.

Two is all you need; Moses could have carried them down the hill in his f***in' pocket. I wouldn't mind those folks in Alabama posting them on the courthouse wall, as long as they provided one additional commandment:

Thou shalt keep thy religion to thyself.

The "Calling"

What's a calling? So many people speak of God "calling" them to be or do something. I tend to believe it's more a matter of a particular skill set/personality type matching up with a particular set of circumstances/opportunities. In these situations it's easy to say that a person is living their calling. Paul Coelho's book The Alchemist delivers the mystical message of "following the omens." The way I understand God, "omens" would be a perfectly valid way to describe communications from God. People with harder line views of Christianity would likely reject (I guess, based on my experience) omens as a pagan, mystic explanation of the universe, lacking truth.

Let me explain just a little about my concept of God. If we believe, as I do and as most modern people do, that there is one God, then there must have always been only one God. Whether you name that God Allah (which, incidentally, is the name Arab Christians use for God as well as Muslims), or YHWH, or Zeus, or Thor, or delineate all of the individual qualities by naming and personifying them all (polytheism) we're talking about the same God. If there is indeed only one God, then by recognizing any deism at all, one's only choice is to recognize that one God. Description, naming and understanding are all matters of individual culture and distinctive world views. I would argue that it is not possible to "create" another God that can functionally command a following. Even the ancients needed to see proof of the power in order to be convinced of the need to worship. For instance, the belief in answering prayer must be demonstrable. If there is only one God, then Baal would be incapable of demonstrating the ability to answer prayer. If, then, a prayer is answered, it could only be answered by the one true God, whatever name is used. But, I do not believe that ancient cultures understood this distinction. It is clear from the separation of the 3rd, 4th and 5th commandments. For me, the need to differentiate between putting "other gods" first, making graven images, or worshiping idols demonstrates the fact that mystic satisfaction was gained through any of these actions. If, indeed, there is only one God, then only God could be responsible for said satisfaction. But I digress.

So what then does it mean to be "called" to a mission? I see those around me who have been called or seem to be fulfilling a calling through a career that matches them perfectly, and I grow jealous. I don't see the omens or feel the pull to fulfill a certain niche. I'm told that some people may not realize they've lived their calling until they look back on it. Just the same, I'd really like to feel that I'm making a difference in the world.

Pros and Cons of Open Mouth Communication

I love to say what I mean. As an adult that ability has been severely hindered by me having developed a sense of conscience and empathy. There must, however, come a time when the things that are difficult to hear must be said. When is that time? How do we know when it's time to risk hurt feelings for the sake of betterment? I can't figure it out.

Arrogance gets his

Jeremy Piven, you can't just go around with a look on your face like everyone else smells bad. It will make people hate you.

Good Times

Wearing my motorcycle helmet, trying to make me believe he's not doing the same thing he does every night; try to take over the world!

















She's eight now. Eight. If I could help her a thousandth as much as she's helped me, that'd be saying something.












Megan won't let me take her picture. Let this represent the laughs we share together. The patience and the love, the smiles and the sadness that is this life. I could never have been what I am without her belief in me; or without her strength.

What's on my mind

Project: Our storm door has managed to completely tear itself from our door frame, as it's been threatening to do for a couple of months. Now I get to figure out how to remove the remaining storm door frame and then install a regular screen door in it's place. This will be delicate as, if you look closely you can see, the West side of the door frame has already been damaged. My goal will be not to cause additional damage. We are prepared this spring, after almost four years of doing no improvements to our home, to tackle some projects. The door issue will clearly be the first one, but many others remain. In my order of priority: getting a backyard fence so we can get a dog; painting the entire upstairs interior (minus the kids' rooms which have been done, but including stripping wallpaper in the bathroom); making bookshelves; replacing the pieces of Masonite siding which have succumbed to water damage; carpet/flooring issues in the front room and kitchen; fixing the door jamb from the kitchen out to the garage; fixing the garage door opener; refinishing the deck; replacing the windows (one by one); this list is longer than I thought, and probably sufficient. I doubt that most of this can be afforded the necessary time or money during 2009, but I'd love to have it all done this year.

Diet: On Thanksgiving day I weighed myself (pre-meal) and I was right at 170 pounds. I'm 5'4" and have weighed between 120 and 130 for most of my adult life (okay since 14, at which time I stopped growing). Needless to say, 170 is out of my comfort zone and also out of my healthy zone. The charts I read say that for my age and height I hould really try to be between 140 and 150 (turns out I was too skinny as a teen/young adult). So in good reactionary form, I swore that after the Thanksgiving festivities I would replace my soda and beer consumption with tea and wine. I tried to do this for a couple of weeks, but it wasn't working. Ultimately, I decided that I like being a beer snob more than I like being a loyal Coca-Cola drinker, so the tea stayed and the beer came back. As of this week, I'm slightly below 160 because of giving up the soda, and taking smaller portions at mealtime. I plan to, but have not yet, make a point of being a little more active this year as well. I'm confident that by maintaining my changes and adding some activity, I can get down to 140-150, which is my goal. Wish me luck!

Religion: We had a beautiful service in church today where we assigned adult mentors to some of the youth in our church and said a blessing over the mentor/mentee process. What I loved about this is that Shalom doesn't create this process in the self-righteous "we have all the answers" style that has been such a big part of religion in my life. I believe the most important part of religion in a life is the continuous question. I am turned off by the movement in Western Christianity that discourages active questioning because it's a sign of weak faith. This idea was reflected wonderfully by the service wherein statements were made about not having all the answers, and about deep questions in the past, present and future of the kids' and the adults' lives. Such a stigma has been attached to the term mysticism, but it seems to me that mysticism is exactly the context in which we should consider an all-powerful God.

John Lennon: The Life by Philip Norman (2008)

Ok. I'm going to try not to review this book, as I'm not finished. However, now that I've finished the chapters on John Lennon's childhood, let me critique some methodology. Norman gives emotional and personal details about Lennon, his parents Alf and Julia, Alf's brother and his wife, Julia's three sisters and their husbands, Julia's parents and other relatives. Norman also gives detailed accounts of life in British seaports during about a 60 year span, day-to-day details of the most mundane but specific nature, as well as reports on how seamen were tracked, hired and fired. Let me say, as a history major, that he does all of this without a single reference or the merest shred of a bibliography. Anyone who could possibly corroborate Norman's version of the story is dead. I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt (for now) on his observations of life in a British port because I'm assuming that reasonably done research would turn up evidence that supports most of his characterizations (although I hope I can someday do that research and find that he was completely wrong). But how am I to believe any of it when he has the audacity to put it out there in print without so much as a scanty bibliography to prove he didn't just make it up?

I'm not accusing him of presenting fiction as fact as has been in the news lately, I'm simply asking, "How hard can it be to show your sources?" The Beatles (which as it happens were the event that made Lennon's story printworthy anyway) were a social, musical, cultural force that helped to change the course of modern history (as I see it). Why doesn't anyone take writing about them as a serious academic pursuit? There is no good cultural or social history existing in print. Why not? All we get is this arrogant and melodramatic drivel, complete with a jacket note that has the author lauding his own qualifications as a Beatle biographer.

So far, so lazy, Mr. Norman.

Further discussion

So why title my blog based on what I shouldn’t be versus what I should? After all, let’s keep it positive, right? Well, first of all, it’s not that I’m particularly less qualified to be king than most other people. Nor is it that I actually think someone should be king at all. Really it’s just a mantra based on the adage attributed to Thomas Aquinas: Seldom affirm, never deny, always distinguish. This is the guiding principle of the convocation series at my Alma mater, Bethel College in North Newton, KS. Bethel College changed my life while I was there and this Aquinas quote is one of the many things that I’ve striven to use in my life since I graduated from college.

The concept is pretty easy to understand: don’t accept things as truth just because somebody or somebodies you trust told you; don’t dismiss as false that which you don’t understand or trust; in all things, seek to distinguish truth for yourself.

In practice, however, this is an altogether different issue. We all take solace and comfort in those things we “know” to be true. We’re all uncomfortable with the unknown, with stepping outside the box, and with the revelation that we don’t “know” something. Therefore, taking time and risk to consider new points-of-view or new knowledge that challenges our comfortable beliefs feels intensely dangerous and we all fear to call our comfort zones into question. But we must. We must.

Some have suggested that accepting new ideas, credos and ideologies is equivalent to standing for nothing, often canonized as “stand for something or you’ll fall for anything.” This could not be less accurate. To strive for a life of distinguishment is to stand for truth; that being “we all have truths, are mine the same as yours?”
It is difficult when the tenets of so many political, ideological, religious (etc) 0rganizations require almost blind acceptance. Everyone claims to have the real truth and acceptance of their truth as such is the only way to assure your patriotism, or reputation, or your eternal salvation or any combination of those and others.

So what it really boils down to is this: find out for yourself. Don’t take it on someone else’s word for their truth is their own and cannot serve to inform the path on which you travel.

Happy New Year.

Here it is. A major undertaking for 2009. Megan has convinced me that I should blog so I’ve chosen to create a wordpress account. I’ve titled it “I shouldn’t be king” because I expect to explore a lot of opinions and positions that reinforce that very point. Besides that, when debating politics and religion, I often offer two points of view: that of my mythical kingdom, and that of the way I know things should be.

We’ve just ordered a new camera in order to stop borrowing Mary’s (Megan’s mom) so once we get that I look forward to posting pictures of the fam and the house etc.

I begin this blog in the context of a mixed up world. Continued murder in Gaza, the impending financial ruin of perhaps the whole world, the prediction of a nuclear war in the next 10 years (can’t remember where I read that), Jayhawk basketball and bowl games all rule the day. My beautiful children, Maggie and Lennon, are 8 and 3, respectively, and Megan and I are in our early thirties and just starting to feel grown up.

So I guess my goal will be at least one post per day, although perhaps this will turn into a constructive (?) replacement for my Facebook addiction.

Here’s to the New Year, may it bring us peace.