Wrong versus Feeling Wronged

I’ve been thinking lately about the difference between someone doing something wrong versus my feeling that I was wronged. Going back a few years, I was managing an apartment complex, and I thought to do a pretty good job. But there was one tenant who was lying, manipulating and backstabbing; the very definition of antisocial personality disorder. The fact that she did these things was indisputable and by any moral definition short of Nihilism, it was wrong. However, I found myself often feeling angry about her actions when they were directed towards me. I took a personal offense, even though I knew she was this way with everybody. I began seeing a pattern in my spiritual life where her “attacks” would occur at the very time something good spiritually was going on. It became predictable. One day I had a great conversation on the phone with one of our bishops, very encouraging and full of Godly praise. Shortly after that, my theological mentor called. As I was relating the phone call, I said that it was about time for the neighbor to do a sociopathic fly by. Within a couple of minutes I heard the screen door open, and close. I waited a moment and opened it to find an “anonymous” note complaining about something or another. At that point I laughed and prayed aloud thanking God for his blessings and calling out Satan for his feeble attacks, telling him I was onto his game and it would no longer have an effect on me. The attacks stopped at that point never to happen again. When we deny Satan his attacks, calling them out for what they are and as an interference in a life committed to Christ, he has to stop.

I share this story because I’ve often reflected that Satan’s favorite way to attack us and take our eye off of Christ is to play with and to our pride. It has been that way since the beginning. Then the serpent said to the woman, “You will not surely die. For God knows that in the day you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil. - Genesis 3.4-5  Satan was playing to Eve’s pride and vanity. In our growth as disciples, the most basic area where we are changed is moving from a focus on ourself and our flesh with its inclinations, towards a desire to be humbled before God seeking only to serve Him; becoming more Christlike and less worldly. This is the constant war we wage between our flesh and our spirit.

St. Paul describes love, the opposite of pride in 1 Corinthians 13.4-7 4 Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Psalm 10.4 directly contrasts pride and seeking God, The wicked in his proud countenance does not seek God; God is in none of his thoughts.

All of which was brought to mind recently when someone behaved wrongly, in a manner contrary to humility and recognizing some good things I had done. Things in which I took great pride. We recently moved and in the process of getting our things out of the old place, the new people there “helped.” Things were done that were inconsiderate, some of our belongings were carelessly handled so they were either broken or discarded, and a garden project I had been working on was either forgetfully or thoughtlessly destroyed. While these actions were undoubtedly wrong, I was harboring quite a bit of anger and resentment at having been wronged. Praying about it, God spoke to my heart that there is a difference between someone’s behavior and actions, which we may label as right, wrong, or some other moral tag, and how we feel and react about it. It reminded me that oftentimes when we have a negative reaction to some event or perceived slight, the empirical issue is one of our pride have been affronted. Something that we placed value on, aside from God, was disrespected, dishonored, or otherwise devalued. Our negative feelings then manifest in defense of that thing we are proud of.

Teaching in Matthew 8.39-42 the Lord says, But I tell you not to resist an evil person. But whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also. If anyone wants to sue you and take away your tunic, let him have your cloak also. And whoever compels you to go one mile, go with him two. Give to him who asks you, and from him who wants to borrow from you do not turn away. A fine teaching on not taking offense.

People are people. We all suffer the awareness of our own mortality and desire to protect and possess. But contrast those worldly affections to the eternal hope we have in Christ, the things of this world are meaningless. Our attachment to them, is a reminder and proof of further work we need to do in moving our lives from the attentions of the flesh to the better and higher things of God.

Snowstorms and Faith

The snow was blinding, beyond a white-out. I left the house at 5:00 am for what is normally a 35 minute drive. Even in the dark, the worst part is the chance of a deer or antelope becoming suicidal on the road where trucks and cars are hurtling along at 70 miles per hour. Today, was different, I averaged 30 miles per hour, the snow in the headlights a curtain of white while the four-wheel drive kept the slipping to a minimum. In these conditions, you keep your high beams off to avoid the jump to lightspeed effect. I took solace knowing that if I had an accident, I wouldn’t be badly injured since I was driving slowly. Driving in the dark, your headlights show the way and roadside reflectors give reassurance that you’re on the right path. This morning was different.

As I crawled along, my only reassurance was the reflector coming up on my right. I couldn’t see the next reflector, trusting that based on the one passing out of sight, the next would soon appear and I was on the right path. The next reflector would come into view, I’d breathe a small sigh of relief and continue on.

In times like this, you are traveling on faith. Faith in your truck, faith in the people maintaining the roads, faith in your concentration, and most importantly faith that God is in control. All of these had me thinking about other ways that God guides us in our walk of faith. So many times, we know that we are doing all that we can, things are chaotic, we’re scared, but we keep moving forward. We pray for guidance, protection, answers, and understanding; and all along the way, if we are looking, God is giving us small answers and reassurances. He does not always speak loudly, parting the seas or stopping the storm. Oftentimes we have to pay attention to our prayers and relationship to see the road markers He puts out.

So when your life is chaotic, you’re scared, and feel that everything is out of control, stay faithful, remain steadfast in prayer, and know that while God does not always give thundering answers, He always has road markers for you to follow.

Open Water

The wave splashed from the left cheek to the right, pausing long enough to flood my nose. A wave a centimeter higher than what I was used to, floating off the beach. Waves that lapped, splashed, and sprayed as I daydreamed of to do lists, vacation plans, and heady decisions like staying out longer, getting my snorkel gear on, or heading in to take a nap under the palm trees.

Waking from sleep, your senses don’t boot up all at once. When a tiny wave waterboards you however, your senses all come on line at the same time. I took a breath as a reflex, only to inhale salt water from the one centimeter imp’s bigger brother. Coughing and sputtering I moved my feet down and head up to cough deliberately and take a breath. Moving from float to upright, you start start treading water. At that point, the cold hit me like a spike of frozen steel was running from head to toe, expanding inside my body.

Treading water I looked around to get my bearings. Water as far as I could see. Spinning around towards the beach I’d expected to see the palm trees and surf line within a thirty second swim. Instead, I was confronted with Kaluakoi Point to the left and Sweetheart Rock to the right. I was outside Hulopo’e Bay in the open ocean. By my estimate, a mile out to sea, home to currents, waves, sharks, drowning, and bodies never recovered. The spike morphed into a claw, dropped another several degrees Kelvin, and began to rake my guts.

I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with the ocean. Actually, more of a love-fear relationship. I love everything about the ocean; calm surf and storm tossed waves, sand the consistency of confectioners’ sugar and rocky shores, palm trees and driftwood, fragrant Plumeria in the tropics and the earthy old ocean smell of a New England fishing village. I love it all.

I don’t know what gave birth to the fear. My dad taught me to dog paddle in the shallow end of a pool before I was school age. I took swimming classes during the summer when we weren’t on the gentle shallow beaches of Cape Cod. The only instance of fear I can recall was at summer camp. The entrance to the swim area at Camp Massapoag was an F shaped, floating dock. I was hanging onto the dock in the deep water, deep, that is, for a husky kid. I’d let my legs float up and down, lazing about when my feet broke the surface and I was dragged under. On my back, head suddenly underwater I was sliding beneath the dock. My seven year old imagination had me trapped under the dock, forever, probably drowned. The counselors wouldn’t even realize I was gone until the buses loaded at 3:30. Just then my Cub Scout training kicked in, I rolled over and swam out from under the dock, narrowly escaping a watery grave in clutches of Massapoag Pond.

Except for this one event, I have no reason to fear the ocean. Perhaps it’s just the understanding that adding water to a husky kid, chubby young man, or obese, out of shape adult could result in dead. At 55, with the epiphany that comes free of charge with open heart surgery, I decided to take care of this fear.

What is it, exactly, that I’m afraid of? The answer quite simply was downing. Shark attacks are dramatic but exceedingly rare, six to eight deaths every year. With a global population of 7.5 billion people, the odds of getting murdered by a shark are one in a billion. So the problem then is how do I not drown? Learn to swim in the ocean. What if I get tired? Float. OK, so my first step is to learn to float.

Over time I’ll lose weight and become a confident swimmer. Until then I’ll float with impunity. Floating on your back is not simply a matter of lying down in the water. You have to relax, let your feet float up as if they’re surfacing under a dock, allow your head to fall back like you’re being dragged under water, and allow the tension leave the rest of your body. Piece of cake if it weren’t for that seven year old at summer camp. I practiced, realizing that as women float their breasts pointing skyward are a testament to their success. For most men it’s their humble toes. The rising of mount lard belly from the depths showed that I was floating. So be it.

I practiced and practiced, getting used to water in my ears and around my nose and mouth. Gentle splashes across my face. Once you get past the shore break, you rise and fall with the swells and can start to relax. So relax I did, right to the point of dozing off and not realizing that the gentle swells deviously transported me out to sea.

After a minute or ten of treading water the claw changed back into a spike, and I reassessed the situation. Where the ocean hits Kaluakoi Point, water is forced through long extinct lava tubes to explode in geysers. The geysers were performing their show about a half mile in front of me. Sweetheart Rock and the unforgiving reefs bordering Shark Bay were a half mile to my right. The safety of the beach and the current that brought me to the very real prospect of drowning was a mile ahead.

With the swells and distance, no one would see me. Shouts for help would be drowned out by the waves crashing on the beach. Not that there were any lifeguards to help anyway. I put my head down, kicked slowly, and put the crawl in Australian Crawl. The distance between myself and the kid sliding under the docks at Camp Massapoag increased. And I made my first open water swim over the mile back to shore.

Beachcombing for Dreams

Lanai is a small island, only 140 square miles and eighteen from end to end. It lies nine miles west of Maui and five miles south of Molokai, all of which were part of the same volcanic eruption before time. Between Lanai, Maui and Molokai is the shallow ʻAuʻau channel. Ocean currents from the east of Maui accelerate through the channel, depositing all manner of debris along the east coast of Lanai.

Lanai is sleepy with two resorts and a hotel supporting the bulk of the economy. Originally the Dole Pineapple plantation, most of the 3,000 residents work for the resorts or Larry Ellison, the multi-billionaire who owns the island. With no traffic lights, a 20 mph speed limit and easy-going Aloha spirit, the island is beyond quiet. Picture a tropical Mayberry and give it Ambien.

On this relaxing afternoon, I drove Keomuku Road over Mount Lana’ihale to the east coast of the island. The pavement ends here, and like many roads outside the town or resorts requires a four-wheel drive vehicle. Not all-wheel drive, not a Subaru. Legitimate, Jeep Class, high clearance four-wheel drive with intentional tires. One to two foot deep ruts punctuates the road. These byways are either sand, dirt or mud, depending on the wind and the weather. A 1995 Toyota Camry does not qualify for non-pavement activities on the island, so I parked at the end of the pavement, donned my backpack and headed out on a walking adventure.

Turn right and you’ll end up at the abandoned Club Lanai, a once beautiful resort best accessed by boat. Now it’s a seven mile one way trip on the Jeep road. Going left a couple of miles you arrive at Shipwreck Beach. Venturing out you’re surrounded by a canopy of Kiawe trees, a pleasant looking, shade producing species with thorns that could be used in a knife fight. Hawaii has a unique relationship with abandoned vehicles. It’s not uncommon to be driving down the road and see a car with a giant “AV” marked on it. After a certain amount of time, the police will cast that Scarlet Letter on the vehicle. What happens after that is a mystery because the vehicle will sit there until it’s reclaimed by the jungle. Asking around, no one can recall when one of these was actually removed from the blight register. The road to Shipwreck Beach is host to any number of these.

A few hundred yards in, there’s a cut off to the beach. This trail runs through an abandoned yard, host to a couple of small boats in need of repair on trailers with flat tires and the remains of what was once a shed or shelter. The setting with shade trees and the former dreams of boats is peppered with hoof prints of the local Axis deer. At the far end of this yard the thorny brush closes in as nature’s warning sign. On the side of the blocked trail is the skeleton of a deer embedded in the sand. An explorer’s journey is nothing if not intrepid, so moving out and around, I came to the far side of the brambles where the trail continued to the ocean.

Climbing the dunes you’re struck by a warm breeze and the clean scent of the ocean. Cresting the sand and grass the view of Maui and Molokai is worthy of a travel brochure, as long as you ignore the debris covered foreground. Enough driftwood lines the shore to construct a village for the Swiss Family Robinson, all of Gilligan’s friends, Ben Gunn, and Wilson. Weathered branches, palm fronds, lumber that was stolen by a storm, and huge timbers are in Davy Jones’ Building Center. You can imagine tying them together with the remnants of fishing nets that are interwoven on the beach.

Beachcombing along the two miles from the path to Shipwreck Beach, other discards from society litter the shore. You can’t help but wonder how some of them arrived on this deserted stretch of beach. What abandoned dreams, adventures, and mishaps supplied these offerings? Wine, beer and liquor bottles could have been cast into the sea once they’d served their purpose. But what of propane tanks, large and small? How did the sea inherit and then discard over a dozen ice chests? You can understand them not having lids. But why were there no lids on the beach? How does a backpack sprayer end up a dozen miles from the closest town?

Navigating the driftwood and discards of society, I came upon the first shipwreck. A faded yellow and blue ketch that was once someone’s dream of sailing the Pacific. Now, lying on its side, keel open, masts gone and nothing left except the hull and a stainless steel sink in the galley. Perhaps the owners had insurance to compensate for the monetary loss. But what of the dream? The time spent outfitting, planning, provisioning, and envisioning a future on the open sea. Is there compensation for that? At least the trailered boats at the beach cut off were waiting to be made whole and used.

For over an hour, I had been alone with my thoughts and beachcombing. Not a soul in sight. Rounding a point marked by an entire driftwood tree, I came upon a middle-aged lady with over-tanned skin, clad in a black bikini, at least one size too small. She was on her hands and knees, Bud Light can in one hand and the other sifting through the sand for shells that weren’t there, carrying on a conversation with no one. What dreams compelled her younger self were now drowned in a haze of alcohol? We exchanged a brief greeting, but her attention was on unseen mysteries in the sand.

Continuing the last couple of hundred yards I received a gift. On the rise of a grassy dune, someone had set up a rattan armchair, complete with cushion, facing the ocean. The weather had been fair, so the cushion was dry. The chair, sitting on a piece of carpet was a reward for the journey. Those who take the Jeep road to Shipwreck beach would come to the ocean a half-mile farther down the shore. For those intrepid beachcombers, someone with a dream of quiet afternoons and unmatched vistas had set out a place of rest. Sitting in the chair with a water bottle in hand, I looked out over a beach festooned only with driftwood. No coolers, bottles, or empty oil cans. The reef and ocean painted the foreground of an unobstructed view of Molokai with its five thousand foot volcanic summit brushing the clouds.

We travel through life leaving evidence of our dreams. As we move along our path, we avoid the abandoned coolers others have left and the nets that have broken off. But we leave our own bottles, broken surfboards and sometimes shipwrecks. In the end, we need to remember to stop and smell the roses. Or at least, relax in a chair on the beach, taking time to appreciate our place in a tropical wonderland.

Juke Boxes

Kids today have lost the life-lessons taught by the jukebox. Crosley, Wurlitzer, and Rock-ola. All offering the promise of your favorite music. While certainly for entertainment, the jukebox taught me about life.

When I was young, songs were ten cents each, or three for a quarter. Later it became a quarter a song or five for a dollar. At fifty cents a song, I stopped spending my money; the value proposition wasn’t there. I learned about getting more when you bought in larger quantities. How to make sure my quarter or dollar, often from my folks, had to be spent on carefully selected songs. After all, if you only have five songs to pick, split with your sister, you had to be careful which of the 100 to 140 songs you were going to choose. Johnny Horton was usually out, but the Beatles, Beach Boys, Santana, Rolling Stones, Elton John; and if mom and dad weren’t paying too much attention, The Who, Pink Floyd, and Led Zeppelin were all fair game.

Mr. Wurlitzer also taught me about patience and hope. If the place was too busy, you might not even hear the songs you bought with your hard-earned or begged money. First come, first served, and who knows how many songs the guy in the double-denim actually picked. So you wait, trying to remember which songs you chose, and in what order. Once they started playing, we could usually wait until they were all done. But if they hadn’t started by the time we finished the pizza, oh well. Maybe next time. Or maybe I’ll just put my quarters in the pinball machine.

These magical music machines lived in two places, pizza parlors, and diners. The pizza parlor had the big one in the back. If the joint’s owner cared, you’d have some new songs in there. If not, Frank Sinatra, Johnny Mathis, Patsy Cline, and Johnny Cash were waiting to ruin your meal. Diners were another treat all-together. Your patience was tested as you flipped the song list back and forth at your table. Playing songs from the table was a risky proposition because you had no way of knowing how many people had songs queued up, and there was never anything new. More like playing a slot machine as compared to blackjack. There was also the risk of family discord at the table as you fought with your brother and sister over the song menu. Then you not only wouldn’t get to pick any songs, you couldn’t even touch the jukebox anymore. And rarely was there anything new. Just the classics, crooners, and too much country and western. More often than not, you’d only pick one or two songs, limiting the downside of no songs. But you could still fight over the song lists.

Today, we have fast-food, family restaurants, and cell phones. No more communal entertainment and life lessons. In some bars, you can still find a jukebox, and while it is the same size, your choices are now hundreds or thousands of songs, all digital and a dollar apiece. Worse, it’s shut off on Wednesday and Thursday for the horror that is karaoke. The magic of seeing a carousel of 45’s turn, the arm pick out your record and the needle come to rest as the song, your song, played is gone. Kids no longer learn about budgeting, value propositions, choices, uncertain outcomes, and the exciting win when the stars aligned and Crocodile Rock rang out of the Hi-Fidelity stereo speakers as hot pepperoni pizza was served onto paper plates with a pitcher of Tab to go around.



Copyright © 2019 David Barton

When did the dreams of my youth die?

Big thoughts.

Insignificant thoughts.

Ponderings that don't matter.

Reflections that mean everything.

When did the dreams of my youth die? Was their fire left untended? An exuberance that collided with reality? Or folly born of a naive view of the world and ourselves? As I approach sixty years on this earth, some of it actually living, these questions haunt me.

I’m a Christian, and as hold to the hope of life everlasting where my time here would have been just a flicker. I hold to that faith as a drowning man grasps a floating timber, waiting for his rescue. I wonder, what I could have done with my life. Are my self-perceived failures what people do, or have I fallen short and missed the mark? Unanswerable questions all, but begging explanation and resolution nonetheless.

I have dreams even today that merit a younger, healthier man’s life. Yet I still go forward towards measures of success, however they may be defined. I have not maintained fitness and a reasonable weight but now work to lose weight and increase my physical ability. Why didn’t I do the things that are now more difficult when I was younger? I work to pay off debts accrued through laziness and circumstance while continuing to not put anything away for retirement. The dream was once to be a millionaire, semi-retired at forty. Others have done this, but not me. Is it due to a failure of character? Perhaps a mental or psychological problem. Maybe failure in my upbringing, or simply a roll of the dice. The answer to this I do not know.

I often sit at the beach, watching the locals and vacationers, young and old, rich and poor, gods and goddesses, and those overweight, out of shape souls who are my kindred spirits. What would it be like to have the affections and enjoy the mysteries of a twenty or thirty-something beauty? I also realize that I never would have had them even if I wasn’t in debt and rotund. So starts an internal conversation of woulda, coulda, and shoulda’s that wonders how life might have been different.

What if I went to law school as I planned when I was eighteen and newly married? What if my parents didn’t always encourage short cuts? What if I worked for that builder during the summer of my sixteenth year and became a contractor? What if my parents weren’t scared of me getting heatstroke? What if I never accumulated debt? What if I invested in real estate for all these years? What if became an accountant and put money away year after year? What if my dad didn’t always have the next business idea to finally make it rich? What if I spent less time with family, and actually learned the computer skills I needed? What if I didn’t always, always, always feel that I was lucky to have the job and hope they wouldn’t figure out I was a fake? What if I didn’t always feel that I was a fake?

So I resolve again, to eat healthier and be more active. I resolve again, to finally have a budget and stick to it. I resign myself to a marriage that simply is, but I will write more so that I am actually a writer. I resign myself to the fact that I will have to continue to work, hoping that social security is still there when time says that I have to retire.

I do know that I’ve been a successful dad. I always worried about that but knew that once my kids were grown, I would see if I did it right. Both kids, are now their own people, living the lives that they have dreamed, avoiding debt, and staying healthy. Perhaps my failings were a sacrifice that helped them become who they are. Or maybe that’s a hopeful justification, after all, there are kids that have grown up to be a success whose parents were also put together.

I return again to the dreams of youth, that have now become plans for a life winding down. A salvage program to reclaim the years that remain. I know that at least for today, I am a writer. I have done something right.

How did Trump win?

This post is for all of the people who voted for Hillary Clinton, and don’t understand how this could have happened. Who now think the country is populated by racists and misogynists. How could “the Deplorables” have won? 

So, how did Trump win? To answer this question, it’s important to understand that there is a difference between people living on the coasts and large cities, and everyone else. If you look at a map of this, or any of the recent presidential elections with county by county voting, you will see a staggering illustration. The heart of America, Fly Over Country, ‘murica, Deplorables is largely conservative. Even in states like California, Oregon and Washington you can see that outside of the cities, people are conservative.

On the coasts there are population centers; 80% of the population lives within 65 miles of the coast. So take the 20% of the population that lives inland and you have people who by and large, work for a living. They are not uneducated or ignorant, and what they lack in a college degree, they make up for in common sense. They get up early, get the kids to school, drive to work or get on the tractor, and at the end of the day, come back together. Their towns are small, so they’re more likely to know their neighbors, work with them, bring them a casserole when their spouse is sick, bring their dog back to them, and go to church with them. Their values are defined by how they live their life; work hard, raise a family, go to church, go camping for vacation, look out for your neighbors. These are old values, the ones that defined societies before the industrial age and growth of cities. These are the values described in the Bible, Declaration of Independence and Constitution. These are things that you talk to your neighbor about when you’re getting the mail. These are values based on self-evident truths, as our Founders pointed out. And that’s where I believe liberals have a difficult time. Trump/conservative voters' way of thinking based on the how things are, not on the way we wish them to be.

As an example, God (or nature or …) created animals and plants with male and female parts. (Don’t get caught up in the fact that some frogs can change sex, this self-evident truth is valid over 99% of the time.) Male and female exist for the purpose of procreation. Therefore, the natural relationship of things is between a male and female. Period. No social pressures argument. No traditional society argument. No patriarchal dominance argument. Simple. Occam’s Razor – in the presence of multiple, competing theories or explanations, the simplest one is preferred and usually correct. There is no “gays are bad” or “God hates fags” or other pabulum. Just basic logic founded on a self-evident truth. The negativity in this comes from elsewhere, in this case a lot of press has focused on Christian fringe groups. As an ordained Orthodox Priest, I can tell you that “God hates fags” is as much a Christian approach as saying that someone who is against abortion is for rape.

Another example pertains to debt. The total debt owed by all US government agencies is about $20 trillion. That’s unsecured debt, analogous to credit cards, lines of credit, and student loans, as opposed to car loans or mortgages. Total GDP is about $17 trillion. So if we knock off some zeros, it would be like owing $200,000 on credit cards when you earn $170,000, or if we divide by two for a more realistic number, it would be the same as you owing $100,000 on credit cards, while your take home pay is only $85,000. That’s an irresponsible number for anyone’s budget, the government just has bigger numbers. But it’s still irresponsible. What would you do if you owed this kind of debt? You’d cut expenses, put yourself on a strict spending plan, and pay off the credit cards. Extend that to government programs and you have the conservative, not living near the coast approach. In a word smaller government; the spending is unsustainable, so cuts have to be made.

The last thing to understand about Conservatives, is that we are mostly about honesty and truth. The country was founded on principles. We still adhere to those, oftentimes literally and they are enunciated in the Declaration of Independence and Constitution. Freedom of speech is freedom to speak your mind, not withholding your opinion or certain words because someone might be offended. Children in school get offended by mean words, not adults. When questions are consistently raised about lying and criminal activities, like Hillary’s emails, mishandling of classified information, Pay for Play with the Clinton Foundation, and caucus manipulation, we wonder about her integrity. Maybe it’s nothing, maybe it’s something. But we know a lot of people in government have issues with integrity and it’s nagged the Clintons for decades. So even if some of it were true, we have an issue with her honesty and truth.

So when you wonder how Trump could have won, the answer is that as more and more people become unemployed, see inflation eat up our income, and opportunities flicker and die, those who live on the coasts start to question their assumptions. And some start to think. And when they think, and try to understand why the old rules are not working, they often start to see lies and deceit.

As I read heartfelt, agonized posts and texts this morning over the results, I started asking myself why there is such an emotional, visceral response. I do not pretend to understand or fully appreciate the depth of these emotions, but they are real. So why? What is different about the liberal/Bernie/Hillary/progressive perception that leads to so much pain? I have a couple of thoughts. First, words matter. Politicians and activists throughout history have turned words on their head so they no longer have their intended, traditional meaning. History gives us the “German Democratic Republic” and “Peoples Republic of China,” both terribly oppressive, communist countries that by their actions were neither democratic nor caring for their people.

To pick a particularly inflammatory word, but one that illustrates the misuse of words consider homophobia. I did a quick search on Google, and came up with the following:

Arachnophobia (noun) – extreme or irrational fear of spiders

Agoraphobia (noun) – extreme or irrational fear of crowded spaces or enclosed public places

Claustrophobia (noun) – extreme or irrational fear of confined places

Homophobia (noun) – dislike or prejudice against homosexual people

In our English language, nnn-phobia is an “extreme or irrational fear of” something, not a dislike or prejudice. So homophobia, by normal usage would be defined as “extreme or irrational fear of homosexual people.” But it is not used that way. It is used to describe someone who is “against” homosexuality, but it is an emotionally charged usage. How do we feel about someone who is agoraphobic? We judge this as an irrational person who has a mental health issue. Referring back to the example of gay marriage, people of this opinion do not have an extreme and irrational fear of homosexual people. But the word is used pejoratively as an accusatory bludgeon.

This leads to the second observation, again my perception based on violence against Trump supporters, many people in protests and the media commenting on current events, and posts on social media. A political strategy of alienation, discourages any reasonable discourse. That is, anyone who disagrees with an opposing opinion is labeled or viewed as being the extreme, irrational opposite.  A post from a Clinton supporter stated, “America, you are so much more racist and misogynistic than I ever imagined,” in effect saying that the half of the country that disagreed with this person’s preference for president are racists and misogynists.  Clinton’s deplorables. Her quote is actually, (my highlights)

You know, to just be grossly generalistic, you could put half of Trump's supporters into what I call the basket of deplorables. Right? The racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, Islamaphobic -- you name it. And unfortunately there are people like that. And he has lifted them up. He has given voice to their websites that used to only have 11,000 people -- now 11 million. He tweets and retweets their offensive hateful mean-spirited rhetoric. Now, some of those folks -- they are irredeemable, but thankfully they are not America."

An article linked in social media made the case that many people are not only misogynists, but actually hate and oppress women based on Hillary’s defeats in 2008, 2012, and now. Is this a reasonable conclusion? Is it possible that her politics and lingering questions of illegal activities made people prefer someone else as opposed to them hating or despising women? Coming from the conservative side, this would be akin to me “concluding” that people who support non-traditional sexual relationships are pedophiles.

So to the question, How did Trump Win? Enough people thought that his ideas of restricting immigration, reducing unemployment, and addressing corruption and undue influence were a better option than someone with questions of integrity who had ideas contrary to their reasoned conclusions. And someone whose supporters, painted them as horrible people.

Trump’s supporters did not vote for him because they hate women, they did not vote for him because they hate people of color, did not vote for him because they hate gays, and did not vote for him because they hate Muslims. The fact that she was female had no bearing. They realize that unenforced immigration laws have a financial and social cost. They prefer traditional families and don’t like being labeled as a bad, mean-spirited, evil person because of those values. And they realize that most terror attacks are committed by people from countries that say they hate us, so it makes sense to ensure we’re not welcoming those who might do us harm until they’re vetted, seeing what is happening in Europe.

What they did not take into account was anyone’s feelings, possibly offensive language, the reason people sneak into the country, or a consideration that everyone has the right to behave as they please and not have anyone challenge them. 

They took into account Trumps deplorable language towards women and loud, brash demeanor. Understood that building a wall allows us to make sure people coming into the country do so legally, just as our grandparents did. Listened to what he actually said, versus what was often reported on issues.  They realized that he made and lost and made and lost and made a lot of money. And on the balance, agreed with much of what he said, detracted the negatives. They compared it to what Hillary offered and didn't offer and drew a conclusion that they are better off with him as president. They understand that words have meanings, their traditional values are important, honesty is essential, and they don’t like being called names.

So I understand, although admittedly cannot completely empathize, with your unhappiness. But please understand that those who voted for Trump are not women hating, racist, Islamaphobes. They are people with traditional values, who believe in the kind of America the Founding Fathers gave birth to.

Life or Lucre?

Flying back from a last minute trip to Charlotte where my younger brother, only 47, was "suddenly" diagnosed with kidney failure, heart failure, and high blood pressure. I put "suddenly" in quotes because the reality is that this had been developing for years and began manifesting itself in the final form a couple of months ago, ending in a crescendo of a life altering visit to the emergency room. In The Sun also Rises by Ernest Hemingway, Mike describes his going bankrupt as "Slowly at first, then all of a sudden." The same is clearly true of many things in our life; health, mental well being, personal finances, loss of faith, relationships and more. The reasons are many, and hardly worth mentioning except for the lessons learned by Keith and others. They include an irrational loathing for modern medicine and reliance on "natural medicine" that when combined, created cognitive dissonance even in the face of an obviously worsening condition. The result is that he will likely be on oxygen for the rest of his life, have to schedule himself around dialysis three or four times a week, take a bucket of medications, have one of the most restrictive diets known to modern medicine, and have many choices in his now dramatically shortened life eliminated; all because of a dangerous script and filter that he applied to his life. Psychology, fear, isolation, the list could go on, but the end result is that through his choices earlier in life, he is now sentenced to a very restrictive life drive by the very thing he railed against, the modern medicine that saved his life last week. There is no doubt that if he had waited another day or two, perhaps a week, he would have died.

Moving forward he will learn to live his new life, and mom now has something to do. At 77 she becomes caregiver to a disabled man. Emotionally for me, it's heartbreaking. Being a nurse I know it could have been avoided entirely, and as a brother and son, I see that many of their choices in life are forfeit. I will, of course, always be available for calls, advice, consoling and emotional support. But what do I take away from this? In what areas of my life do I have a cognitive dissonance influencing my decisions? Obviously my health is in the forefront; I need to lose 80 pounds, now. I need to build my core strength and flexibility to preserve my back. I'm overdue for dental work and due for sinus surgery. Those are the easy ones. But what about the bigger questions? The gorilla in the room?

I wrote a poem called Three Months to Live, that posed the question, "If you knew you had only three months to live, would you be living where you live and doing what you do?" That's a hulking gorilla of a question. The answer for me, is yeah, I'd be ok living where I live. I'd rather be on a tropical island, but living where I live now in a cute house with room for a garden in the country is just fine. The larger part of the question is would I be doing what I do, more specifically how would I spend my days if I only had three months to live. I teach about roles, goals and priorities and perhaps should have been taking my own medicine. Considering my roles, especially how it affects and influences my day to day and daily activities, I'm out of balance, not the totally out of whack balance, but the imbalance that results from ignoring what's really important, where your love lies, and where you have the greatest impact. My vocational role for the past several years has been a nurse; I'm good at it, communicate well with patients (I think,) and am currently the Clinical Educator for a small hospital. I enjoy teaching and creating curriculum, not so keen on drudgery, tracking, and people who won't take responsibility for themselves. I'm good at the big picture stuff and direct a couple of projects along those lines. The work is good, I enjoy it, but I certainly don't wake up Monday morning excited to go to work.

So what of my roles? Disciple of Christ, husband, dad, writer, and gardener. I pray, but there's really no time for soaking, probing prayer. Leonora and I have a heart for the hungry and homeless and we do some to that end. I've wanted to write on theology and discipleship, but that has been an effort of fits and starts. There is so much more that I could be doing as a disciple. As a husband, I love my wife. We're empty nesters now, but our leisure time, due in large part to fatigue, is spent in front of the television. We got rid of DirecTV, maybe it's time for Netflix and Amazon to go as well, but probably not. We spend very little time exploring our world, and intimacy is mostly sitting next to each other on the couch ... with the dogs. We could have a much deeper relationship. Dad, well the kids are grown. Sarah has her own life as a teacher in Southern California and Jonathan is living the dream working on his Marine Biology PhD in Australia. A writer? Writers write, and I do on occasion, but I freaking love it. This is probably the most glaring area of role deficiency. To be a writer or not be a writer; that is the question. YES! an emphatic, unreserved yes. So the question is how do I transition my good paying job to making a living as a writer?. And gardening? We're working on our own, and I run the community garden which blends with the discipleship since half of what we harvest is given to the poor.

Recognizing your roles and calling is so important. There have been people in church who seek their "calling" when in fact they're just trying to be special. What I'm talking about is what God has intended you to do; the answer to that not only serves Him, but provides for your worldly needs. Of this I am certain. Life has to be more than the hours you sacrifice in exchange for lucre. There are a lot of resources on the internet to "find your purpose," but it can really be quite simple. If you won $100M (that's one hundred million dollars) what would you do with your life? I've run the numbers and paying off all the debt for family members, buying everyone a house, funding all the nieces and nephews education, a ridiculous vacation, and a couple of cars only comes up to $10M. Don't even bother with that part, once you and your family have all the possible stuff you could want, how would you spend your life? How will you serve God? What value will you add to the world? And most importantly, what's your new day look like? This is a turn on the motivational question of what would you do if you knew with certainly that you could not fail?

I pray for my brothers complete and miraculous recovery, but lacking a miracle, he's working with a "new normal" he never imagined two weeks ago. What if the same thing happens to you or me? Chances are it won't, but spend some time talking to God to figure out this thing called life. Make the most of it. Glorify the Lord. Help a bunch of people. Make sure your loved ones know that you love them. And don't just trade the hours of your life for money.

A Calling of Compassion

It probably started with our parents. Both my wife and I come from homes as imperfect as anyone’s, but stable. Our parents were married once and stayed that way until a spouse died. We didn’t have a home where waifs and homeless cycled through like Mother Theresa’s family, but there was always love and caring.

As teenagers, we drifted towards those who were on the fringes and not part of the in crowd. Maybe they needed friends and comfort, more likely we saw ourselves in their loneliness. Early in our marriage we had the normal spaghetti pot luck dinners and BBQs, but there was always a couple or two where we would make sure we provided the vast majority of the food, often bringing “extra” groceries that we had. It’s just the way things were.

With children growing up, we started having one or more of our kids’ friends staying with us. Although we had our share of tough times, we were the same stable family our parents had. An island in the storm of discord for others. We weren’t special, or better in any way, just consistent. The times kids were with us we didn’t have special rules or try to have interventions, just the same rules of the house, chores, and the expectation of respect. A couple of times they’d go off the rails and we’d be at the jail to pick them up. They all survived and with just a couple of exceptions, are thriving in life to this day.

One of our children and then the other made their way in life off to college, starting a career and becoming their own person. But, the helping continued. When I was called to ministry, our congregation met Saturday evenings; when the chapel is free, you take advantage of it. After the service, we always had a meal. Fellowship and food, pot luck but always enough to send home our intentional leftovers. Our outreach ministry involving members from the church and others made sack lunches for the homeless, provided anonymously through a soup kitchen.

It’s curious that the service and direction we have which is so obvious to us, is a challenge to others. I recall one neighbor who occasionally came to church but never helped with the sack lunches. I decided to ask her one last time, and she said that she had been praying about it, but wasn’t sure it was a calling the God was setting out for her. In my mind I thought, “It’s not a calling, I’m just asking if you’ll help us make lunches for hungry people.” About the same time, I asked for permission to use the church’s kitchen and large dining hall for an outreach program I called, “Join us for Sunday Dinner.” This was to be an open invitation to people in the community, some of whom were homeless, others shut ins, to get out, have a free community meal, and hear an encouraging message. They declined to let us use the facility; their main concern was “What if homeless people start hanging around the church?” Indeed.

At that point I started to understand that people often set up reasons not to help people, and more importantly, it didn’t matter if Leonora and I didn’t have help, it was our calling. I have all the scriptural reasons to help feed the hungry, Ruth 2, Matthew 25, … The bottom line, however, is that this is our calling.

When you read through scripture, there are only a handful of cases where people needed to qualify to receive help, and those were centered around their refusing to work or help out, being disruptive yet still wanting a prime seat at the table (2 Thessalonians 10) In every other case, you give and help those in need without judgement or merit. We all fall short of grace and none are deserving, but God loves us anyway. We are called to help and encourage, not judge need.

We are now facing the next chapter. It’s been on our hearts for a long time that Christian communities can be functional and effective, without being holier than thou. A key component is taking care of those in need, especially the poor, widows, orphans and others without support. The first step in our hearts, is to have a community garden where the food is given away. No preaching, no judging, no qualification. If you feel you need food, come and get it. The response from the community, however, has be tepid at best. We were feeling a little discouraged, but one of our friends, a former “kid we helped” pointed out that it’s tough for people to visualize what we’re trying to do. With this friend, his girlfriend, and the two of us, it will be enough to tend the garden, albeit a lot of work. My Archbishop observed that we are new in our small town, and this is OUR calling. As we work and pray, we should be asking for God to send helpers whose heart is similarly inclined and that He wants to help. Sure enough, the day after I approached my prayers for help that way, a neighbor came to the house eager to help and wondering how soon we could put him to work in the community garden.

I share all of this as an encouragement. While 1 Corinthians 12 has a list of spiritual gifts, Galatians 2 enumerates fruits of the Spirit, the proof of good works. So whether you are called to pray for others, teach Sunday school, serve meals, visit prisons, or work a garden to feed the hungry, prayerfully approach your calling. Ask our Heavenly Father to guide you, lead you, and show you the work to be done. And as you do the work you are called to do, prayerfully ask Him to send those He needs to work with you. Do not be discouraged if others don’t “catch your vision.” The right people will, and we’re not trying to make our fortune with the newest doodad, we are disciples serving in the Kingdom of God.

Wrong versus Feeling Wronged

I’ve been thinking lately about the difference between someone doing something wrong versus my feeling that I was wronged. Going back a few years, I was managing an apartment complex, and I thought doing a pretty good job. But there was one tenant who was lying, manipulating and backstabbing; the very definition of antisocial personality disorder. The fact that she did these things was indisputable and by any moral definition short of Nihilism, it was wrong. However, I found myself often feeling angry about her actions when they were directed towards me. I took a personal offense, even though I knew she was this way with everybody. I began seeing a pattern in my spiritual life where her “attacks” would occur at the very time something good spiritually was going on. It became predictable. One day I had a great conversation on the phone with one of our bishops, very encouraging and full of Godly praise. Shortly after that, my theological mentor called. As I was relating the phone call, I said that it was about time for the neighbor to do a sociopathic fly by. Within a couple of minutes I heard the screen door open, and close. I waited a moment and opened it to find an “anonymous” note complaining about something or another. At that point I laughed and prayed aloud thanking God for his blessings and calling out Satan for his feeble attacks, telling him I was onto his game and it would no longer have an effect on me. The attacks stopped at that point never to happen again. When we deny Satan his attacks, calling them out for what they are and as an interference in a life committed to Christ, he has to stop.

I share this story because I’ve often reflected that Satan’s favorite way to attack us and take our eye off of Christ is to play with and to our pride. It has been that way since the beginning. 4 Then the serpent said to the woman, “You will not surely die. 5 For God knows that in the day you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil. - Genesis 3.4-5 Satan was playing to Eve’s pride and vanity. In our growth as disciples, the most basic area where we are changed is moving from a focus on ourself and our flesh with its inclinations, towards a desire to be humbled before God seeking only to serve Him; becoming more Christ-like and less worldly. This is the constant war we wage between our flesh and our spirit.

St. Paul describes love, the opposite of pride in 1 Corinthians 13.4-7 4 Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; 5 does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; 6 does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; 7 bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Psalm 10.4 directly contrasts pride and seeking God,  4 The wicked in his proud countenance does not seek God; God is in none of his thoughts.

All of which was brought to mind recently when someone behaved wrongly, in a manner contrary to humility and recognizing some good things I had done. Things in which I took great pride. We recently moved and in the process of getting our things out of the old place, the new people there “helped.” Things were done that were inconsiderate, some of our belongings were carelessly handled so they were either broken or discarded, and a garden project I had been working on was either forgetfully or thoughtlessly destroyed. While these actions were undoubtedly wrong, I was harboring quite a bit of anger and resentment at having been wronged. Praying about it, God spoke to my heart that there is a difference between someone’s behavior and actions, which we may label as right, wrong, or some other moral tag, and how we feel and react about it. It reminded me that oftentimes when we have a negative reaction to some event or perceived slight, the empirical issue is one of our pride have been affronted. Something that we placed value on, aside from God, was disrespected, dishonored, or otherwise devalued. Our negative feelings then manifest in defense of that thing we are proud of.

Teaching in Matthew 8.39-42 the Lord says,  39 But I tell you not to resist an evil person. But whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn the other to him also. 40 If anyone wants to sue you and take away your tunic, let him have your cloak also. 41 And whoever compels you to go one mile, go with him two. 42 Give to him who asks you, and from him who wants to borrow from you do not turn away. A fine teaching on not taking offense.

People are people. We all suffer the awareness of our own mortality and desire to protect and possess. But contrast those worldly affections to the eternal hope we have in Christ, the things of this world are meaningless. Our attachment to them, is a reminder and proof of further work we need to do in moving our lives from the attentions of the flesh to the better and higher things of God.

Life with Lies and Corruption

The government is corrupt and lies. Too many people are trying to be "politically correct" in order to "not offend" ANYONE. Major universities are practically shut down with students who are fearful, stressed, and in pain ... because someone wrote TRUMP in chalk on the sidewalks. Now  "micro aggression" and "white privilege" are all the topic in schools and progressive circles, while no one wants to talk about the elephants in the room. Or gorillas in the corner. Inflation, a government oblivious to the will of the people, focusing on the bread and circuses of the later stages of Rome.

Trump wins the popular vote, but the Republican party gives the delegates to Cruz. Sanders is the up and comer, albeit a Socialist, but the Democrats create "Super Delegates" for Clinton. The EPA all but kills the oil, gas, and coal industries with regulations. The BLM closes off stock water for multi-generational grazing rights. All the while talking about gun control, when 75% of all murders are committed by blacks according to FBI statistics. The US Court of Appeals says that Los Angeles County has to remove the cross off the top of the mission inside their seal because it endorses a religion. The chaos, idiocy and immorality run rampant.

So what to do? Clearly these things are not going to be easily changed, if at all. The blogs and discussion on the internet that have previously been opining that we have to do something, are now talking about how we rebuild once society collapses. I'd rather not wait for collapse to start doing something. Self reliance and deliberate living, the battle cry of Thoreau and Emerson rings as true today as ever. Here's my list of how to disengage from the madness.

• Be debt free
• Make our own cleaning supplies
• Grow and hunt for our own food
• Heat with wood
• Have a well available for water
• Stay faithful to God
• Stay healthy
• Be involved with your local community
• Develop multiple streams of income

A simple list that will take some time, but in the face of a corrupt, illogical, immoral world, the only way to be insulated, is to be separated.

Curious times we live in.

Interesting things going on in the world and the body of Christ. The economy continues to decline with more and more people across the continents hurting and in need. Muslims are systematically genociding Christians through the Middle East and Africa. Governments are lying to the people, and the powers that be continue to wring every dollar, euro, and ruble from the people. Society is returning to the historical mean - smaller, self-supporting, self-governing communities.

Key to a love and care for your neighbor based community, is the basis of Christianity. In it’s essence, Christianity acknowledges God’s supremacy and love for us. Modeling Christ and the good examples of His apostles build families and communities of disciples who care for one another, just as the Lord cares for us.

Continuing the decline, I am hearing about more and more casualties in ministry. Aside from the genocide of Christians, in the past month I have personally heard of a minister whose partner was murdered, a small congregation with an unexpected $10,000 bill to keep their power on, the leader of a congregation acting as though he owned the church, a bishop writing unauthorized information in publications, a family who represented the youth ministry and adult Sunday school of a church abruptly leaving, and ever more. Add to that growing problems in the Roman Catholic church, and increased selfishness of people.These spiritual attacks on the body of Christ are Satan’s attempt to build his following at the expense of God’s own.

Curious times we live in. Pray. Love. Read the bible. Help others. 

Matthew 25:34-39

34 “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. 35 For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

37 “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? 38 When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? 39 When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’


40 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

Three Months to Live

Wailing scream down the hall

               Surprise of a family member gone.

Silent skid on blackest ice

               Three walk, one asleep forever.

Youth playing on the sidewalk

               Rear bumper forever silenced

Three months to live

               Three months to live

                               Three months to live

Where would you be?

What would you do?

               If

Three months to live.

Breathe now

               Love now

Live now

Calendar never scheduled

               Our appointment for

Three months to live

Breathe now

               Live now

Love now