RIP Ronnie

I was not prepared to see this news this morning, as I opened up a browser with my first cup of coffee. It hit me like a punch to the chest. All-time Chicago Cub great Ron Santo passed away at the age of 70. While I am too young to have ever had the chance to see him play, I am well familiar with Santo's play-by-play for the Cubs radio team over the last two decades, not to mention his long and ultimately futile effort to gain entry into the Hall of Fame. In my estimation, he's a Hall-of-Famer anyway.

Rest in peace, Ron.

Auburn 28 - Alabama 27

In the 23 years I've cared about this game, I've never seen anything quite like what I saw yesterday. Down 24-0, Auburn roared to life in the second half to cap a perfect 12-0 regular season, with the SEC Championship game left to play next Saturday. With so much "unfinished business" though, I'm still having some trouble enjoying the ride. Nevertheless, on the field, Auburn once again found a way. While there are obvious standout heroes on this Auburn team, without a doubt in my mind, the most unheralded but surehanded player is the tight end: Philip Lutzenkirchen. When the ball comes his way near the end zone, he never seems to drop it. And those touchdowns always seem to come when the game is on the line. Mr. Clutch. His catch for the go-ahead touchdown in this year's Iron Bowl is no exception.


Photo by: Auburn University photographer Todd Van Emst

War Eagle, Mr. Lut-Zen-Kir(k)-en!

Is it live, or is it Memorex?

Well, okay, the title isn't exact, although I date myself by referring to a marketing pitch from a technology now outdated. But check out the video below:


According to this New Scientist article, the entire commercial is computer generated using off-the-shelf software. It's really amazing stuff. Eventually, we may not be able to believe anything we see on TV.

(h/t: HotAir)

Another Thanksgiving

I spent some time on YouTube today, seeking inspiration for this year's Thanksgiving post. While there was plenty to choose from - of all shapes and sizes, in poor taste and good - I settled on "Thanksgiving" by American pianist George Winston. I invite you for a moment to close your eyes, and simply drink it in:


There is a dimension of Thanksgiving that goes higher than its history, deeper than the Detroit Lions, and further than the fowl that may grace our family table. It is more than just a day to take stock and count our blessings, although such an exercise has value.

I've not lived as much life as some, and I've lived more life than many. The music plays, and with each turn of the page I see images of a lifetime, memories of happy times and sad, faces familiar and others that were almost forgotten. Memories, and the emotions they evoke, are treasures to cherish be they bright or bittersweet. Our life is what it is; every moment, every soul, every experience has made us what we are. To discover within ourselves the capacity to be thankful for our lifetime, when so much argues against us to undermine that discovery, takes an almost spiritual act of will: a courageous choice to be thankful for all that we are, and what has brought us to be, wherever and whatever we are to become. For some, this may be easy while for others it is almost unbearably heartbreaking.

Yet as I close my eyes, and the notes dance upon my mind, I come to the conclusion that Thanksgiving about all those who have shaped our lives, guided our steps, and filled those spaces in our hearts. It is for joy, in the midst of all things, that we are here. It for the love of family and friends in our presence, and a remembrance of precious loved ones no longer present, but with us just the same. And it is about those we've yet to meet, and embrace.

Therein lies the heart of this Thanksgiving message: Being thankful for a lifetime that was, a life that is, and an eternity that is to come.

May it be so for you and yours.

Foot Shadows

Sitting here late this afternoon with my stocking feet propped upon a desk, looking out of my hotel room window at rows of square little houses in the fading sunlight, I found myself marveling at the shadows cast by my feet upon the wall. Not because there is any profound truth to be revealed by such introspection, to be sure. Rather, it was a momentary distraction, a random thought I elected to put into words with the typing of these very letters. Has Jim lost his mind, you might wonder? I do not believe so, but of course who am I to say?

The nature of my job requires to me to write. And write. And write. I've made a career of finding ways to better articulate policy, process, concepts, requirements, guidance and a myriad of other documentation - all from a technical, professional slant. The negative, of course, is that it frequently leaves the well dry by the time I am able to carve out some moments for myself to write creatively. Like today: I finally have a few moments to post something to the blog, and the well is dry. In the past, one of the techniques I've used to break the logjam that is the so-called "writer's block" is to put to words exactly what I'm thinking or doing in a given moment. Hence, the fascination with foot shadows!

I don’t feel like commenting on politics, or sports, or space exploration, or even that errant gray hair that I thought I'd taken care of a couple days ago that still taunts me from my temple. Nor have I had time to surf online for that strange but true (ok, maybe true) story to share with anyone who may read this site. I'm not really in the mood to dwell on the deeply complicated issues of life, either.

So why, you may ask, am I dedicating so many words to a largely meaningless post without so much as a main point? Well, that is precisely the point! I find that on occasion, poking random holes in the walls of a dry well sometimes triggers a flow that restores my source.

Feel free to roll your eyes; I'm okay with that. Because in the end, I have accomplished my goal.

Repost: A Matter of Respect

Tomorrow is Veterans Day, and in honor of this, I'm reposting an experience I had several years ago. I first published it on this blog back in 2008. I've heard rumors that this recollection has made rounds via email, but I can most certainly vouch for the fact that this is my story. But really, it is not just my story, but that of the many men and women who have sacrificed their all for the cause of our Nation and its precious freedom. Please read, and remember those valiant men and women who to this day continue to serve and defend the United States of America.

I've done a lot of traveling over the last couple of years, perhaps not as much as some, but definitely more than others. But there was something special about today's flight from Baltimore to Atlanta.

It began conventionally enough. Full flight, crammed in the window seat on a beautiful January afternoon. The last man to board the plane was a soldier, Army, in dress uniform. Having flown on several flights with soldiers going to and from their deployment assignments, seeing a soldier on board wasn't so unusual. It didn't register right away that this was the first time I'd seen one in full dress on my flight.

I dozed off for a while, little thoughts dancing in mind about being home, burning leaves, seeing my family. Two straight weeks being away from home is still two weeks too long. Nevertheless, I'm proud of what I do, and sometimes I'm even good at it. But all of this was magnified even more as the pilot made his mid-flight announcement.

I stirred from my pseudo-nap to hear that we were flying at 22,000 feet into a 190mph headwind, that Atlanta was a lovely 50 degrees with a light south wind at 8mph, and that our arrival should be slightly ahead of schedule. I remember those details as clear as a bell, but to my great shame I would not remember the names mentioned when the pilot announced:

"We are honored today to be carrying home the remains of a soldier who served with honor and recently fell in Iraq. We ask that when we arrive in Atlanta that you remain seated, to allow the military escort on board to disembark first. We thank you for your cooperation."

Suddenly, I was wide awake. I can't tell you all of the thoughts that went through my mind, though I did experience that tingling feeling you get sometimes when you know that you are sharing a scene that sears itself on your very soul. The soldier on board was at the far back, and I debated with myself on how I could respond. Should I say thank you, should I start a round of applause as the escort worked his way up the aisle, or should I sit in quiet reverence? All of those options were quickly taken away, because the flight crew (smartly) escorted the soldier to the front as we were taxiing to the gate; he was past me before I could say anything at all.

Before I knew it, he was off the plane. I soon saw him standing quietly but attentively just below my window. I turned away to walk up the aisle, still wrestling with my thoughts, and in a sudden surge I spoke to the captain, "Thank you sir, for your show of respect." He acknowledged me, and I exited the plane.

Still dealing with the guilt of my inaction, I slowly but deliberately walked to a nearby window. I stood by that window in a loose posture of parade rest from my marching band days, and simply stood still. The soldier was standing below the plane, giving instructions to the luggage personnel who would be handling the coffin. His back was to me, but the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as the soldier suddenly came to attention and then to a salute. Moments later, a large white box with the words "HANDLE WITH EXTREME CARE" emblazoned on the side came down the treadmill. The soldier examined the box, then immediately turned to the handlers, who in turn carefully turned the box 180 degrees. I don't know all the protocol, but clearly the box was positioned incorrectly. Soon, the handlers carefully loaded the box onto a luggage carrier. No sooner had they closed the plastic rain shield on the carrier than another white box, identical to the first, came down the treadmill. I took a quick breath, as I had only expected to see one, not two.

After the second box was loaded onto a carrier identical to the first, the military escort continued to discuss matters with members of Delta's handlers. Then he and a member of Delta's honor guard (complete with a vest emblazoned with the U.S. flag) walked away. I took a deep breath, and allowed myself to move a little, glancing at another fellow from my flight who was apparently doing the same thing I was. We nodded at each other, and looked back out the window. I stayed there at the window until the coffins were driven away.

I walked away, feeling strangely satisfied that I had done all that I could do. The soldier never saw me; I never saw a family member. Save for the other passenger standing at the window, no one else knew what I was doing. It is a matter of respect. Respect for those who serve, and have served; respect for those who paid the ultimate sacrifice; respect for the families of those who have fallen for the cause of freedom. And, just as importantly, I believe it is about respect for self. I give honor to Jesus, who paid the ultimate price that I might be eternally free. Likewise, I give honor to those who have enable me to worship, to live, to love, and to excel in a land that claims freedom as its ultimate ideal. It is not about politics. You and I don't have to share an ideology. But for me, a simple show of respect to honor those fallen soldiers has allowed me the inner satisfaction of self-respect. I know who I am, and where I come from. I know to Whom I belong.

Respect for self and respect for others go hand in hand. You cannot have one without the other.

To the families of those who have paid the price, my thanks, my prayers and my hopes for peace. Likewise to you, my friends and my family.

God bless,
Jim

Strike Up the Band

This past Saturday morning, for the first time in a number of years, I ventured down to the loveliest village on the plains for Auburn's Homecoming game against UT-Chattanooga. I was coming right off a week-long business trip to Maryland, and as such my family had gone down ahead of me. With kickoff at noon, I managed to get a few hours sleep Friday night before waking up at 0-dark thirty for the 4 hour drive down to Auburn.

In past years, my wife and I would play with the alumni band during Homecoming, but this year because of the uncertainty of my travel schedule, we opted for the cheap seats in the upper deck. The Auburn band was very much a focal point of my Auburn experience, not the least of which is due to the influence of my best friend who would become my beloved wife of nearly 17 years now. My Auburn marching career was limited to 1991-1993, as I had elected to put aside the music for my freshman year. Late in my sophomore year, I began playing in Auburn's concert and symphonic bands before getting talked into marching in the fall of 1991. Without a doubt, my time in the Auburn University Marching Band remains one of the most treasured periods of my life. It is mostly about the music, but like so many before me and after me, words fail to describe the full experience of being on the field surrounded by 87,000 football fans.

So it should be unsurprising that the gameday experience this past weekend tugged on some emotional strings for me. This video below is the new "intro" that gets played on the stadium jumbotron before the band enters the field for its pregame show:


Pretty cool stuff, but I do have mixed feelings about it. Back in my day (oh, boy, now I'm talking like an old guy), Jordan-Hare didn't have a jumbotron. When the Auburn Band entered the field - you knew we were there. We didn't need some flashy videotronics to announce the fact. However, what I do appreciate about the video is the respect shown from the University, and from the fans. This link here is video of the above, taken by a fan in the stands. I offer it simply as a window into the crowd response.

Watching the band perform on Saturday (even if it was just a static Homecoming show) was a moving experience for me, bringing back a flood of memories. Maybe over the holidays, I'll take some time and convert some of our old VHS tapes of marching band performances and post some excerpts on YouTube (properly cited, of course).

Watching a younger generation on the field, I was amazed at the strong affinity I have for what they do to prepare for each and every show. And I was reminded, that no matter what happens with Auburn's football team, and with their star quarterback, I am and remain an Auburn man.

Because, true to the creed, "I believe in Auburn and love it."

Flying Through Color

As the Embraer streaked across the early morning sky, the rising sun turned my eyes to the west and the dissolving night. I've been awake for hours, yet the gears of my mind have yet to fully engage. Unwilling to prod it so, I simply allow my eyes to take in what I see, as if looking out the window of my own self.

It is a watercolor moment, with broad brush lines that splay through the sky like beams among the wispy cirrus that strings across the heavens. Contrails from recent passers-by serve as guardrails, as if pointing the way to where we are going. And suddenly, they are gone, just as the dawn breaks forth in full glory, setting the condensing air on fire with rays and shadows bursting with brilliance; I am flying through color!

The upper sky turns from deep navy to dawn's typical blue as we cross 33 thousand feet. Such heights and such lows! A field of clouds comes into view, hanging in the air like a colony of jellyfish: peaceful, quiet, angelic. Looking up again, between the blue and the gray, each swath highlighted by streaks of orange, cuts a dark gray line - a shadow bleeding like an ink stain across the sky. And then it is gone, as if it never was. The faded patchwork below begins to glow with the arrival of morning.

Where are my thoughts this morning, here at the beginning of a week destined to last forever? Of where I am? Of where I want to be? Of what I seem to have? Of what I seem to lack? The sun is shining brightly now through the window across the aisle. It stings a little, but not too much.

But, oh, to fly through color! That I could but capture just a taste, just a shade, to keep with me. Then perhaps I could better articulate the wonder - and the agony - for which I simply have no words.

Hannan on America

Being a bit of a news and political junkie, not to mention my fascination with American history and civics, in recent months I have taken to listening to assorted podcasts, history lectures, Constitutional symposiums - anything that I can get to play on my phone's podcast software. (In full disclosure, I balance such with NPR's This American Lifepodcast, as well as a number of sermons).

One of the podcasts I listen to is one presented by the Hoover Institution. Hosted by the delightful Peter Robinson (who also moonlights at Ricochet), Uncommon Knowledge is a series of one-on-one interviews with a number of interesting and smart people. Recently, Peter Robinson conducted an interview with Daniel Hannan, a British politician and member of the European Parliament. He talks about the sociopolitical state of Europe, and his belief that the world needs a strong, vibrant non-Europeanized America that avoids the mistakes of Europe's socialism and massive entitlement culture.

If you have about 35 minutes to spare, I commend to you this fascinating (and yes, conservative) perspective from across the pond. You can watch the video here at Powerline, or you can get the mp3 audio from Feedburner here.

Hogwarts Comes Calling?

In Harry Potter lore, that wonderful literary universe created by J.K. Rowling, Hogwarts is a school of magic that comes calling on prospective students upon the occasion of their 11th birthday. Granted, they appear only if said prospective student has displayed some evidentiary level of possessing the gift of magic. For such introductions, sometimes the school dispatches an eccentrically dressed wizard or witch to offer the invitation. More commonly, however, the school will send forth an owl, carrying a formal letter of invitation and a list of supplies needed for the upcoming term.

Yesterday was my oldest son's 11th birthday, but alas, no owl arrived on our doorstep, through our window, or down our chimney. Yet this morning, as we were backing out of the garage to head off to our regular old private Christian Muggle school, a large owl swooped down from the roof of the house into the poplar right at the edge of the driveway. The zoom-challenged camera on my phone was unable to capture the wary looks exchanged between us and our visitor (which the boys thought was tremendously cool), but perhaps you can see our friend on the branch below to the left of the tree's trunk:


Aside from the excitement of a rare sighting of an owl in our yard during the daylight hours, sadly, no letter of invitation to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was delivered to our residence.

At which we could only say: "Diagon-it!"

End of an Era

The news broke today, announcing the end of an era most of us thought ended years ago: Sony has discontinued the Walkman portable cassette player. Apparently, even in our advanced digital age, Sony was able to exploit the rapidly diminishing market of cassette tape users. But according to Fox News, no more:

After more than 30 years, Sony has pulled the plug on its iconic Walkman, the original portable cassette-tape player, the New York Post reported Sunday.

The electronics company made its last shipment of the tape players to the Japanese market earlier this year, and once those are sold off, there will not be any more to come, according to Japanese media reports. …

Launched in 1979, the Walkman became a global hit and a symbol of tech cool, with Sony selling roughly 220 million of the boxy devices.

I still have my Walkman, packed away in a box somewhere. How well do I remember that beloved player, which more than once came to my aid as I pedaled my way 5 miles into a fierce 40mph Dakota headwind between the bowling alley on base and the sleepy town I called home, about which I've written previously. It was the Rocky IV soundtrack, as I recall, plus a number of other tapes I still have shoved in a closet. That Walkman also help pass the time on some long family trips. I used it up until my first year or two in college.

Ah well. The Walkman was my generation's iPod, I suppose. Am I now officially "old"?

Remembered Verse

Posted without comment, except to point out that the former Marine in the video is actually referring to the fourth verse, although he's calls it the second verse.


(h/t): Ricochet

My Conundrum

After yesterday's post, I began to reflect on an area of concern that has preoccupied me for years, one that still animates my thinking but nevertheless remains unresolved. My conundrum involves the at times awkward juxtaposition of my faith and my love of country. For an innumerable many, there is no conflict between these; indeed, they align well for many. For an innumerable number of others, the two are at the core diametrically opposed, that to choose one must mean denying the other. I'm not sure I fall cleanly in either camp, and the result is a tension that while not a monumental distraction, does however frequently leave me with some disquiet.

I love my country. It was founded on what I believe to be Godly principles, coinciding with an era of wonderful spiritual awakening that inspired many to seek and establish a refuge that allowed for the cultivation of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness - to include the freedom to worship the Lord God as each individual was so moved. And while we are certainly far from perfect, given our natural state as fallen beings, there is little argument that our Nation through the years has been blessed, and has been a light to others throughout the world yearning to be free. I say this not to boast, but to acknowledge the largely positive force for good America has been to the world. Again, we are fallen, and we have our national sins throughout our history. Our modern culture, for each progressive step forward, appears to be in moral retreat. Our fervor is muted, and our aspirations limited. The war of ideas of what America is and should be is being waged all around us, and I wonder if there will come a time when as a society we will cast off the virtues that brought us into being. But because I love my country, and because I cherish the blessings we have received from the Giver of gifts, I confess I spend considerable emotional and intellectual energies on the hope and desire that this Nation will survive, return to an understanding of core values and founding principles, if only because we have been given so much that it is incumbent upon us to continue to shine that light of liberty that even today gives hope to the world.

And yet, there is another truth that is plain to see. And that is this: the spiritual awakening that helped usher us in as a Nation in the 18th century, and the waves that followed, seems to have subsided. Statistics show that the Church is in decline in America, even as the Gospel flourishes in Africa and Asia. Here, in the most free and prosperous society in the world, the spiritual dynamic pales in comparison to those places in the world where there is less freedom, more tyranny and oppression, and want. And while I am absolutely certain that a people can be both prosperous and spiritually vibrant, it is hard to dismiss the correlation that is evidenced by the movement of God among the nations. God is no respecter of persons; He blesses whomever He chooses to bless. I am sure that I'm not alone in wrestling with this tension between our relative prosperity and the condition of our faith - indeed, I wonder if that in part is what undergirds much of our generous and charitable nature as a society in the face of disasters both natural and man-made.

Whenever I ponder matters such as these, I always arrive back at the same point: This world, and this Nation, is but a temporary phenomenon in the scope of time. As a Christ-follower, I am convinced that there is an end to history as it plays out here on earth. I long for my eternal home, and yet I also long for renewal and restoration of America's soul, if you will. Would that we would, as a society, recognize the wisdom of the Apostle Paul when he spoke of freedom, in understanding that while much may be permissible, not everything is beneficial. That if we could but seek to preserve and protect a societal environment that enables both individual freedom and the wisdom to exercise restraint, these are worthwhile things. But then I despair, for as a human being, how deeply am I aware of my own impulse to deny my own fallen nature, and choose my own course of action apart from wisdom! Apart from the movement of God, it is not clear to me that there are many examples - if any at all - of established societies doing anything but following the cycle of decay. And so as I ponder the future of our beloved Nation, I struggle to see how a genuine restoration of society can occur of the order required to perpetuate this American experiment. For even if we do, someone will always seek to build the next Tower of Babel, or will choose to forget the lessons of the past in favor of the pride of now. To preserve what is ultimately temporary seems a great, if not impossible, challenge.

Perhaps I am unusual for wondering such things. I realize that all I can do is to humble myself and pray, and to do the best I can to walk faithfully, knowing that for the time I am here on earth, I will have to give an account for the wonderful gifts I have received. And I can be salt and light, seeking to illuminate the Truth while I can, and season the world by quietly influencing those around me. I don't see it as wrong to desire a better America that can be preserved for my children and grandchildren. But that desire must be placed in the context of the true reality of its temporal nature. For inasmuch as I would love to see and experience an awakening and reclamation of first principles and, to put It crudely, the "growing-up" of culture - I would far rather see this fed and fired as before by a new spiritual awakening that sweeps the land. One can hope, I suppose. And pray.

Will it last?

November is coming ever closer, and with it, Election Day 2010. I've shied away recently from writing too much about politics. Primarily, this is because of my overpopulated calendar, but it is also because I feel that there is enough news and noise out there right now that any contribution I would make to the conversation would have little value. I've already voted, marking the first time in my adult life that I've filed an absentee ballot (I'll be on business travel out of state on Election Day). So at this point, I peruse headlines, but otherwise find myself largely in spectator mode, waiting to see what happens next. I'm particularly interested to see what happens to the so-called "tea party movement" after the election.

I haven't written about the tea party movement, although I am holding in reserve dozens of links to articles and essays that attempt to define, illuminate or otherwise expound on its nature. Without a doubt, I am sympathetic to many of its aims. But before I give full-throated support for it, I want to see how it handles success (which they will likely experience in a couple of weeks). I also want to see whether it has staying power. If the tea party movement truly represents a generational awakening of the American citizenry, complete with a renewal and rediscovery of our Nation's founding principles and a desire to roll back the theft of liberty perpetrated in the name of "fairness" at the hands of a government who thinks it is more qualified to make your choices than you are, then yes, I will celebrate such a renewal of American civic life. But I do have suspicions about whether the tea party awakening can maintain its appeal once the economy improves. We shall see. I have a million other thoughts on this, and about where America stands at this point of its existence. I will save those, however, for another day.

In the meantime, allow me to summarize like this. Our elected political class likes to talk in terms of "mandates." This is ridiculous on its face, because many claim a mandate of all the people by winning 50.1 percent of the vote. If there is to be a mandate, the mandate is upon us, as the citizen class. Too often we go to the polls in November, and then go back to the sidelines and disengage until the next election cycle. If the tea party movement truly is to effect a generational shift in the direction and future survival of our Nation, our mandate should be: 1) To elect principled legislators at all levels committed to doing the hard work of preserving this Union for future generations; 2) To stay vigilant, involved, and knowledgeable about the existential issues we face; 3) To commit to serve as watchdogs over the votes our Representatives/Senators take - and to be willing to throw out anyone who kowtows to the influences of the political class at the expense of the citizen class.

But above all, we should remember that there is more to life than politics, that civil and respectful discourse remains an important virtue, and that all of this is temporary anyway.

Finally Fall?

In my house, we call it PDD. That is, Post-Disney Depression. PDD is the inevitable letdown that occurs following a joyful Disney trip, brought on by the realization that as fun as the magic can be, fairy dust in the real world is simply hard to come by. The last couple of days have found me in a typical PDD funk. It will pass, to be sure, but it just goes to show how desperately I still need a respite of peace and solitude. I'm still running on empty, it seems.

The one thing I cannot complain about is the weather. The sky is a brilliant blue, the air is actually cool with a steady fall breeze. I stepped outside my office a few moments ago to try to clear the fog from my head, and took the photo below with my phone. The picture does not do justice to the real thing, of course. But hopefully the colors will shine through. Soon, the trees in my yard will be in full display. But even they may not be as lovely as this tree.


I just wish I could keep my mind and heart as clear as this absolutely beautiful day.

I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

- Joyce Kilmer

Welcome to the Real World

Welcome back to the real world, welcome back to life. After 10 days of unplugged, unconnected detachment from the world of work and routines, from news and other online distractions, a return to reality was inevitable. A Disney family vacation can certainly be enjoyable (and it was), but one thing it is not is restful. But a good time was indeed had by all. And it was good to get away from the normal stresses of life. But now it is back to the grind. Back to incessant email traffic, and demands upon my time and schedule. Back to the early morning get-ready-for-school rush, followed by the clean-the-bucket-adventure-because-the-kid-who-rode-all-sorts-of-crazy-rides-at-Disney-without-trouble-gets-car-sick-on-the-way-to-school-his-first-day-back, and the fill-in-for-your-boss-in-a-meeting-after-being-out-of-the-loop-for-10-days demand. I've been back at work for 4 hours and I already want to go back home and take a nap/read a book.

So, yes, reality can be icky. But I'll do what I can to make the best of it, and reorient my attitude regarding the mundane. It may take a little bit to get back into a regular writing habit, but once I catch up on some work, hopefully I'll be able to post more regularly.

un-OO-sa

Did you know that the United Nations has an office dedicated to space affairs? Indeed, the United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs (UNOOSA) promotes international cooperation in the peaceful use of outer space. For the most part, they deal with benign issues - which of course is about all they can deal with, since they have no true authority over the matter. Or so you might think.

For now comes news that the United Nations has appointed a key individual - that virtually no one has ever heard of - to be the world's representative (I don't recall getting a vote) to any extraterrestrial first contact. Forget Captains Kirk and Picard, or even Zefram Cochrane. We have Mazlan Othman (emphasis mine):

Mazlan Othman, the head of the UN's little-known Office for Outer Space Affairs (Unoosa), is to describe her potential new role next week at a scientific conference at the Royal Society’s Kavli conference centre in Buckinghamshire.

She is scheduled to tell delegates that the recent discovery of hundreds of planets around other stars has made the detection of extraterrestrial life more likely than ever before - and that means the UN must be ready to coordinate humanity’s response to any “first contact”.

...

Professor Richard Crowther, an expert in space law and governance at the UK Space Agency and who leads British delegations to the UN on such matters, said: “Othman is absolutely the nearest thing we have to a ‘take me to your leader’ person.”

We should all feel tremendously safe knowing that 1) the UN has appointed itself the responsibility to coordinate with ET on the behalf of all humanity; 2) and that Ms. Othman - again, shout if you've ever heard of her - is the nearest thing to a "take me to your leader" person.

I hope she has Bruce Willis on speed dial.

A Charter to Cherish

I'm not sure where or why it came up, but the other day I heard or read chatter about whether the ideas represented in the founding documents of our nation - in particular the Declaration of Independence and the U.S. Constitution - are fundamentally outdated, given that we have seen two centuries of modernity, ideas and progress sweep over our civilization. Obviously, I have my own views on the matter, some of which I address indirectly here. The topic got me thinking about a passage I read recently in Matthew Spalding's interesting work We Still Hold These Truths. On page 220 of the hardback edition, Spalding raises the issue of Europe's slow decline from its heritage as the birthplace and home of Western Civilization, and suggests that the statist and socialist nature of today's Europe represents the antithesis of progress and freedom. (As an aside, I mean, seriously: there is a proposal in the UK that suggests that all payroll - private and public - should be administered by the government for the sake of "efficiency." In such a model, it's hard not to see how the private sector could utterly disappear. But I digress). Spalding goes on to relate a portion of a speech given by President Calvin Coolidge in 1926, on the 150th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. You can read the speech in its entirety here, but below is the excerpt Spalding includes in his book. I'll leave it there for you to ponder, without further elaboration or embellishment.

About the Declaration there is a finality that is exceedingly restful. It is often asserted that the world has made a great deal of progress since 1776, that we have had new thoughts and new experiences which have given us a great advance over the people of that day, and that we may therefore very well discard their conclusions for something more modern. But that reasoning can not be applied to this great charter. If all men are created equal, that is final. If they are endowed with inalienable rights, that is final. If governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed, that is final. No advance, no progress can be made beyond these propositions. If anyone wishes to deny their truth or soundness, the only direction in which he can proceed historically is not forward, but backward toward the time when there was no equality, no rights of the individual, no rule of the people. Those who wish to proceed in that direction can not lay claim to progress. They are reactionary. Their ideas are not more modern, but more ancient, than those of the Revolutionary fathers.

Getting Outdoors

For the past several weeks, I've been dealing with more than my usual share of physical and mental fatigue. Which in a way is ludicrous, because I work a desk job. I suppose it is stress, and I really don't like making excuses, but the constant neck and back pain is starting to wear on me (not to mention the resulting migraines). And to be sure, the fact that I spend my days sitting at a desk on the computer is probably the primary cause of my trouble. I'm simply not active enough.

Today - Saturday - offered a slight change of pace. I was up before 6am, woke my youngest son, and by 7:30 we were on our way to a nearby state park to join his Cub Scout pack on a 3.5 mile hike. Fall is not quite here yet, but as we walked the trail you could almost hear the trees pining for their leaves to start changing. But although the morning quickly reached the mid 80's, the sky was beautifully crystal clear and blue. In a few more weeks, that same trail will be alive with color. With each passing moment, I could feel the knots starting to loosen, if only a bit.


The blue expanse continued to beckon all afternoon. Even as I was filling my sinuses with flying dust and grass clippings, I found myself constantly drawn to the striking contrast between the earth and sky.


So while I'm in a desperate need for a genuine break, I'll have to be satisfied with these brief moments. No doubt, the outdoor air and activity did me some good (despite my protesting sinuses). I need more of it.

Evening has arrived, and still, I'm taken aback at the endless blue above. What a wonderful, beautiful day.

Patriot Day 2010

Today, I don't feel inclined to craft any major retrospective of the events surrounding 9/11. This may be in part because next year, 2011, will mark ten years from that fateful day. My reticence may also be in part because of the current controversies over the proposed mosque near Ground Zero, and the shameful grandstanding of a seriously misguided Florida pastor (and others around the country) and the media's exploitation of his seriously aberrant methods.

As of this morning, the burning has apparently been called off. About this issue, I will only say this. Whatever else he thinks he's doing, this "witness" of his is as far from the Gospel as you can get. Burning the Koran, like burning Harry Potter books or rock-n-roll albums and so forth, do absolutely nothing to further the message of Jesus Christ. And I dare someone to prove it to me otherwise. Beware the wolf in sheep's clothing, because the message he is preaching through this act - if he had gone through with it - looks nothing like the manner in which Christians are called to live. Frankly, I'm disgusted by the focus on this guy, not only because it does damage to true Christian witness, but because I feel it takes away from the proper moment of reflection and remembrance that Patriot Day should represent.

Burning the Koran, and planting a mosque in the shadow of Ground Zero, are deeply provocative acts. Under our system of laws, both are legally protected (the latter is somewhat more murky, depending on the source of the funding). I personally approve of neither, but I will resist getting emotionally drawn into either one. I do worry somewhat, though. For instead of a "coming together" on this Patriot Day, we are witnessing an increasing unrest that I can only pray doesn't get out of hand. Future Patriot Day ceremonies may well include large scale protests and counter protests, and heaven forbid, riots.

So today, I may look back over the links in last year's post, and I will post the colors outside my front door. I'll enjoy my family, do some work around the house, and be thankful for the blessings of God and of nation that we have received. And I will remember the fallen and the heroes.