Christmas Meditation: What Can I Give?

I thought this would be easy. Foolish me. Having years of written devotions and reflections at my disposal, I figured it would be a simple matter to select and adapt one to suit my purposes for this year's Christmas meditation. And yet, out of all of that precious raw material, none seems to satisfy, none seem suited to the moment.

I grew up in a stable family with loving parents, with means afforded to that of a military officer coupled with wise saving and financial discipline. Gift giving at Christmas, while never extravagant, was nothing I would ever consider meager. I suppose I could write about Christmases past, shuttling between grandparents and Christmas Eve services in Chicago, sharing a plethora of memories that are warm and comforting, but in the end these offer little material for public consumption.

In the years between my childhood and young adulthood, I began to place less value on both the receiving and giving of gifts. I'm really not sure why. The act of giving brought some joy, and the act of receiving, while a little more difficult, brought some pleasure too. But for whatever reason, the gifts (the objects themselves) became less important or precious. A personal failing perhaps. Or perhaps a simple reordering of personal priorities. I began to take a little more seriously this idea of laying up treasures in heaven, rather than accumulating them on earth. Gifts continued to be given and received, but always with the knowledge of their temporal nature. We continued to prosper, and in turn, where we could, we endeavored to share that prosperity. In a word, we have been comfortable.

The past few years have been particularly trying, putting to the test that comfort. Early in 2011, a severely ruptured appendix that was nearly missed as the result of inconclusive ultrasounds and CT scans put me in the hospital for a week. That same spring, a couple of months later, another near miss as a massive tornado outbreak swept across the south, coming as close as half a mile, leaving us in the dark - but safe - for seven days. In the summer of 2011, I came home with one son from a camping trip to find my wife and other son bruised and sore from a car accident from which they somehow walked away. And then finally, in 2012, standing above the rubble of my home - destroyed by a direct hit from a high-end EF2 tornado - I could do nothing but give thanks for the fact that the love of my life and our children were safe. The outpouring of love and support from family, friends, and community - locally and online - was a gift beyond measure. And today, we are once again living day by day, with jobs and kids and crazy calendars, in a rebuilt home on the spot where so much could have been lost. And yet wasn't.

I have been given so much. Indeed, the greatest gifts I have ever received is the air I breathe, the family I love, and the faith to which I cling.

What should one do with a life that, when compared to so many, seems so fortunate and blessed? What can I give that could compare to the mercy and grace I have received, and continue to find sitting on my doorstep? I can give things, money, time … all this could help make me feel better, but to feel better is to attempt to assuage a guilt that I need not carry.

No, the burden is not one born of guilt, but rather one born of debt. For one who has been given so much, what can I give? What light can I bring to push back the darkness, today and everyday? What joy, what hope, what love can I extend that will touch the lives of those who so desperately need those things?

What can I give? Things, money, and time? Yes. Perhaps a kind word, a prayer, or even a holy kick in the rear.

In the end, I have been given life. I have been given love. I have been given grace I have never once deserved. I have been given modest means, and I have been given a voice. And yet, to hoard these gifts would be to squander them.

The picture below is of an ornament in the heart of our Christmas tree. Recovered from the storm, this is the ornament I most cherish. Not because of the thing itself, but because of the scene it captures, the truth it represents.

What can I give? Perhaps, as the old hymn says, simply this: my soul, my life, my all.

How can I possibly live up to such a high ideal? I don't know that I can. But I will try, and pray that grace covers the rest. Such is the promise, such is much my hope.

To you, and to your families, peace and grace.

Merry Christmas!

Thanksgiving Reflection

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 a 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 is 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.


* Originally posted for Thanksgiving 2010. Thought it was worth reposting. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

Veterans Day 2014

On this Veterans Day, I offer again a thanks to the many men and women who have stood in harm's way on behalf of the American people, and indeed, on behalf of citizens of nations around the world. No words of mine can adequately express the debt owed to those who stand in the gap for the cause of freedom and liberty.

I do invite you, however, to give pause, and remember that each Soldier, Marine, Seaman, and Airman who volunteered to wear the uniform deserve to have their stories told and their sacrifices honored. There are far too many that are too quick to use a few bad examples to tarnish the whole, and I have little patience for such drivel (for the short-tempered, reader caution is advised).

If you read anything today, read this next link. Writing at Ricochet.com, Dave Carter has penned a most poignant piece that left me naught but tears. Take a few minutes and read "If The Wall Could Speak", and give thanks for those who have gone before us, and also give thanks to those who are still with us.

Really, don't miss Dave's piece. It is worth your time.

Life’s Little Pleasures

I awoke this morning with a mantle of melancholy draped across my shoulders, a not uncommon occurrence with me, but one which I find increasingly tiresome. As the first to rise on this rare Saturday free from the manacles of outside commitments, I walked to the kitchen to start the coffee. Opening the cabinet, I retrieved the can holding the blend of heaven, and smiled, for it was brand new.

Why? You see, there are few pleasures in life quite like the smell you smell when you first open a vacuum-sealed pouch of coffee.

Such are the little pleasures of life. And there are others:

The gentle slap of water against the side of a canoe.

The lights on a Christmas tree in an otherwise darkened room.

The look of pure joy on a child’s face in the presence of a new discovery.

The sound of wind in the leaves on a quiet summer’s eve.

These moments bring little pockets of peace to an otherwise fretful, noisy life, which makes them precious indeed. Like manna from heaven.

Gone Vintage

As a GenXer, I came of age in the era of 70′s and 80′s rock music (classic rock and pop), migrated to late 80′s alternative for a while, then contemporary Christian in the 90′s. With the occasional exception, I really have no love for most the 90′s and 00′s in terms of music. Not really sure why, other than a general disdain for incessant dance tracks and anything auto-tuned.

Over the last decade, my tastes have gone distinctly vintage: Big band. Rarely does a day go by where I don’t have the smooth strains and top-tapping licks of Phil “In the” Blank and His Orchestra swinging in my ears, courtesy Pandora. Indeed, I’ve developed quite the fondness for bygone voices such as Sinatra, Crosby, Martin, Ella, Doris, and so many more. My teenage self would surely be revolted at this transformation in musical tastes, although I would hope he would appreciate the touch of jazz clarinetists Goodman, Fountain, Shaw, and Daniels.

I’ve always been an old soul (I was 40 when I was 20). It seems this has become true of my tastes as well.

I may be an aberration: I have no idea whether it is common or not to have one's tastes in music (and other things) change so drastically with age. I can live with that, so long as I can enjoy classics like this:

An Authentic Swing

Last night found me in shockingly unusual circumstances: I was home alone on a Friday night. With my immediate family split between a campout a couple counties to the east and a high school football game a couple counties to the west, I performed a few domestic duties, made a sandwich, and marveled at the emptiness of the house.

Not one to simply let the opportunity pass, I popped in a movie I've owned for years but never bothered to actually watch: The Legend of Bagger Vance. I found it to be a nice little piece of storytelling, a somewhat metaphysical hero's tale involving the main character's search to rediscover himself following the trauma of war. With help from a mysterious, almost spiritual guide, our lost hero recovers something of himself as he rises to the challenge of the great game of golf. It is an interesting metaphor, given that the game is indeed really not so much a competition between golfers, but a battle between the golfer and the elements, the golfer and himself. Indeed, our greatest battles are often engaged with that most unsuspecting of adversaries: our own doubt.

The key theme of the movie is captured in this one quote:

Inside each and every one of us is one true authentic swing... Somethin' we was born with... Somethin' that's ours and ours alone... Somethin' that can't be taught to ya or learned... Somethin' that got to be remembered... Over time the world can, rob us of that swing... It gets buried inside us under all our wouldas and couldas and shouldas... Some folk even forget what their swing was like...

One true authentic swing. I don't really like the word formulation on this idea, although its meaning is relatively clear. It just doesn't roll off the tongue well. But as I'm unable to restate it more musically without losing the original context of the quote, I'll work with it. There is a Richard Bach quality to the concept, and honestly I am wrestling with how true the idea really is. I do believe that each of one of us is uniquely designed and gifted, created to fulfill a purpose in this life, even unto something far greater than ourselves. Yet I also think we are easily misled into believing that this great destiny is merely limited to the view of man - the idea that this greatness requires the esteem of others. For the believer, we are taught that our identity is found in Christ, and that it is through Him that our true selves can be more fully known. But it is also true that we can lose sight of ourselves rather easily, as "over time the world can rob us" of our sense of self, and who we are "gets buried under all our woulda and couldas and shouldas". We can indeed forget ourselves.

I confess that I don't know if I have that "one true authentic swing". I am unsure I would recognize it if I had it. I think I know what I'd want it to be, but I imagine I could waste a great deal of life chasing after it, like the wind. This does not mean I should not continue to pursue the prize, mind you, nor should I neglect to discern my proper disposition. It simply means that self-fulfillment is not the highest calling. There are greater things, and fulfillment comes more readily when our aim is not constrained by our never-ending need for validation.

Perhaps it is in that understanding, in that nugget of wisdom, that our "authentic swing" may actually be found.

Remember the Fear

You know what today is, and you know why we pause to remember the events that took place that day, now thirteen years ago. As is my wont, I am spending some time (as circumstances allow) on Youtube reviewing the archives of "as it happened" video from the major networks, as well as documentaries produced a few years afterwards.

Not everyone chooses to remember this way, and sadly, I've seen some evidence from some who would prefer not to remember at all. But I do, and for me, remembering the shock, remembering the disbelief, and remembering the fear are essential elements to my remembrance.

I know it seems strange to say "remember the fear." Many of you will take issue with the suggestion. I do not look to live in fear, but I do think there is some value in remembering the fear of that day. Hindsight has revealed so much that has both informed and clouded our memories, not the least of which is the long and enduring wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the rebirth of violent Islamism in the form of ISIS that is wreaking havoc in the vacuum left by our withdrawal from the Middle East.

The memory of fear serves as a motivation and a warning that, of all the things we should ask and expect our Government to do, it should "provide for the common defense." Politicians, bureaucrats, and citizens will ever battle over where the lines are to be drawn, and the prices to be paid, for that defense, but to ignore the fact that the threat remains may be fatal in more ways than one.

September 11, 2001 in many ways united us as a nation, for a time. The next verified terrorist attack on our homeland may very well ignite another battle that will shake the republic in ways we are loathe to imagine. Why? Because in the aftermath, the thirst for vengeance will lead many to blame not only on the perpetrators of the act, but those in power who failed to heed the warnings, allowing the act to take place. You think we are polarized now? Which ever party holds power in the next attack will bear the brunt of public anger.

I hope I am wrong. I deeply hope I am wrong. But I can't help but to feel the nation is a tinderbox.

So yes, I choose to remember the fear, even as I commit myself not to live in fear or to let even the memory of fear consume me. Remembering the fear with a certain detachment sobers the mind, and perhaps clears our vision, allowing us to see the world as it is.

We must cherish the liberty we have, and we must ensure that power remains in the hands of the citizenry. But those tasks we delegate to government, particularly the responsibility to provide for the common defense, we must also demand that such be taken seriously, and demand from the government the protection of our national interests. Otherwise, liberty will be compromised and fear will truly take hold.

These are dangerous times. But our God in Heaven remains sovereign. May God bless each of you.

Running Ahead

I have had a difficult year maintaining a regular running routine. Many reasons, and all of them excuses. I've completed two races this year, a 5K and my first ever 10K, but each was followed by a self-disciplinary drop-off.

A new and surprising motivation has recently come into play. My older son is working on his Personal Fitness merit badge for Scouts, which involves a 12-week self-training program designed to increase strength, flexibility, and endurance. A part of his regimen is setting a benchmark and improving his time on a 1-mile run. So for the last few weeks, once a week, I've taken him out for the simple run at a local track.

The first time out, I had him keep pace with me. I am not a fast runner by any stretch of the imagination, but I can run more than a mile without walking. Trying to pass on my little bit of wisdom, I encouraged him to first try a pace that would increase the possibility of making the distance at a steady run, without walking. Going on 15 years old, he is lanky and lean, and easily completed the run with energy to spare. Running side by side with my son, even that one time, is a memory I will treasure.

The next few runs, however, I turned him loose, advising him to set his own pace, and not worry about running ahead of me. (I am not built for speed, and I am far more interested in simply being in good enough shape to go the distance, even if I can't run it all, or run fast. For me, it is about staying healthy and keeping the weight off). And so he did. And today, he hit his mile in 9:11, whereas I came in at 10:46.

While some dads might have a hard time with something like this, I couldn't be prouder. Watching him pull ahead of me, I got to thinking about how short a time there is left before he truly starts his own journey of discovery. The time I have left with him under my roof is dwindling rapidly. Yet there he went, racing a quarter of a lap, then half a lap ahead. Exceeding, excelling, exhilarating. When he began a cool down, I caught up, and we began to talk about how next time out, we'd go farther, and maybe even plan on running a 5K together later this year. It wouldn't matter to me if he left me way behind, just the thought of running a race together did this old man some good.

Both of my children, in time, will be running ahead of me. And that is more than okay, as long as they are passionate about what they do, and are pursuing goals that are worthy and honorable, in line with their gifts and talents. They may not always, but I will maintain the hope that they find the joy in discipline, the joy in being, and the joy in living.

They will run ahead, and behind them will be me, huffing and puffing and smiling, encouraging them all the way.

It's Marching Band Season!

Auburn University Marching Band 2002

It's that time of year. Schools around the nation are saying goodbye to the summer break. Students near and far are reporting to camp in preparation for the upcoming season. They head out to the field, they run drills in the extreme heat day after day, because nothing less than superior performance on the field is acceptable.

It's that time of year. It's that season. Marching Band Season.

I am a band geek. I marched in high school, and I marched with the Auburn University Marching Band. Today, I am a band dad for my son's high school marching band. There is nothing - nothing - like being out on the field week after week giving a performance in front of thousands, or tens of thousands of people (regardless if they all pay attention or not). I've marched on every SEC field (before expansion) except Arkansas, Kentucky, and South Carolina. Memories I will never forget, and a legacy I am watching grow in my own son's marching exploits.

So a couple times a week, and every Friday night, I'll be there helping to load, move, and unload equipment. I'll be on the sideline, setting up and taking down the drum major podium. I will rove the stands, passing out water, guarding seats, finding music, and stay late until everything is done and stowed. A few Saturday's out of the fall I'll resort to DVR'ing college football to accompany his band to marching competitions. I may grumble at first, but it all washes away the minute my eyes see and my feet touch the playing field. And if I get a chance this year, I'll march with the Auburn Alumni Band later this fall.

Because I am a band geek. And it is Marching Band Season once again.

On to vict'ry. Strike up the Band!

July 4th Reflection

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.—That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.—That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it; and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shown, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object, evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.—Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. …

Generations ago, the men we now revere as the founding founders of our Nation lost faith in the system under which each had been born, under which each had been educated, under which each had thrived, and under which they had ultimately been oppressed. At some level, they had to be seriously disillusioned with the hand they had been dealt under a monarchy seeking to maintain control over a distant empire. But they also had a firm grasp of an ideal - notions of natural rights and liberty that is the birthright of every individual. They had to have had a hope and a faith in the potential of such ideals, to propel them through a costly conflict that led to independence.

That hope, that faith, that perseverance gave us the birth of a nation and the ultimate test of civilization - can a people govern themselves, or must they be ruled by others? For 238 years we have been engaged in this noble pursuit, sometimes thriving with the better angels of our nature, other times stumbling as we battle our own corruptibility. We've seen periods of great progress, and we've suffered periods of great regress that we often choose to dismiss or ignore. Prosperity is not the only measure of progress, nor is character the only indicator of regress.

We are in the throes of great political angst, a polarized battle of self-identity, spoils, and systemic institutional decay. We are a nation in crisis, although many would accuse me of exaggeration in saying so. But I believe it to be true, and will stand by this assessment.

A crisis can be faced and surmounted, but there is a cost that will be incurred along the way. We must relearn the fundamentals of our heritage as a free people, and once and for all recognize the aims laid forth in our defining charter. On the 150th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, President Calvin Coolidge said the following words. I'll leave it here for you to ponder, and pray that its truth will take root in you as you celebrate the 4th of July holiday.

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.

70 and 10

Today marks 70 years since the great D-Day invasion by the Allied Powers to liberate western Europe from Nazi control. Yesterday marked the 10th anniversary of the death of President Ronald Reagan. I took some time today to listen again to the speech he gave at Normandy's Point-du-Hoc on the 40th anniversary of the invasion. His remarks on that day are worth 13 minutes of your time.


I've said before, and I'll probably say again: our leaders don't seem to talk this way about America anymore. Yet I digress. One thing jumped out at me after listening to Reagan at Normandy. Toward the end of his presentation he said:

"We in America have learned bitter lessons from two World Wars: It is better to be here ready to protect the peace, than to take blind shelter across the sea, rushing to respond only after freedom is lost. We've learned that isolationism never was and never will be an acceptable response to tyrannical governments with an expansionist intent."

After more than a decade of war in Afghanistan, and the toppling of a tyrant in Baghdad, it is painfully obvious that we have become a war weary nation. The isolationist impulse is increasing dramatically on both sides of the political aisle, although for different reasons. Consider Reagan's words, and it becomes clear that if we have not forgotten the lessons learned after two World Wars, we are clearly in danger of doing so. Authoritarian aggression abounds, and the ties that bind the West are increasingly weak and impotent.

Maybe we just can't afford to protect the peace anymore. Maybe we've just lost the will to do so. Lech Walesa may be the only international voice so willing to declare (and loudly) that the United States must lead. Because if we don't, the vacuum will be filled by someone else.

What does this say to the men and women over the past 70 years and more who have paid great sacrifices for the cause of liberty and peace? What does this say to the next generation who stands in the wings, ready to inherit the world as we've left it?

It is our duty to honor and remember the events that so dramatically shaped the world we have inherited. But that remembrance should carry with it a reaffirmation, a recommitment to the lessons it offers. Our history can inform our present, if we have ears to hear.

To Remember

I won't endeavor to add to this, other than to say that despite the cloud of cynicism that frequently hangs over my head, the cause of freedom and peace remain ever just. May I myself learn to view our current struggles with hope, and in the words of Private Martin A. Treptow, "Therefore I will work, I will save, I will sacrifice, I will endure, I will fight cheerfully and do my utmost, as if the whole issue of the struggle depended on me alone."

Remembering our heroes, and giving thanks for the innumerable sacrifices made on my behalf. Amen.

In Between

Sometimes, walking around my own home is a disorienting exercise.

Like coming back to visit your hometown after an extended absence, only to realize that time has irrevocably altered the landscape in violation of your recollection. The same, only different, and sometimes unrecognizably different. Yet when you venture down that familiar street, in your inner eye you begin to see again that place you once knew.

A trick of the mind, I suppose. I do marvel, though, at how easy it is sometimes to see the world as I remember it, despite the evidence right in front of me.

Even after a year in the rebuild, I walk through the house with a case of ghostly double-vision, making unconscious (if unnecessary) course corrections in my step counts to pass through cased openings just ever so slightly offset from what they once were. I walk down the stairs expecting to see piles of stuff in a dark, unfinished basement only to be jarred by the clean, well-lit space where bookshelves line walls and a ping-pong table sits in waiting for the next match.

Only the deck seems to offer an escape from the blurred memory, because its design is completely new to take advantage of the glorious view created by the terminal rampage of wind against the trees.

The trees. I miss the trees. I miss the gentle rustle of the leaves, the towering majesty splayed overhead. The view of the eastern horizon has opened, however, and each and every morning, the sun rises again. And when the golden light of the afternoon sun rests on a field of corn, well, it eases the spirit.

I still haven't figure out how to mow the lawn. The patterns established by a dozen years of muscle memory are not easily broken, despite a year's absence during reconstruction. The land doesn't lie the way it once did. The light falls differently, and the shadows are nowhere to be found.

Well, there are shadows, but they are those created by my own imagination.

Walking along the back edge of the property, reminders of what once was still litter the ground, if somewhat sparsely: small shards of broken glass, a magnetic letter from a child's alphabet toy, a partially buried segment of the original brick wall, and fragments of PVC from the original plumbing. And yet over my shoulder stands the rebuild, strong and new. I'm living in two worlds at once.

I look in vain for a single item, a commander's coin given me by then Lt. Gen. Thomas Keck of the Eighth Air Force. I don't expect to ever find it, although I suspect it is likely buried several feet underground, in what was the cavity of a fully uprooted tree. But I look for it anyway, because things that are buried have a habit of coming to the surface, often when we least expect it.

Life goes on, as they say, and I suppose that in time I will make peace with this haunting double-vision. For now, though, I continue to straddle the dimensions, a foot in each world. Maybe I'm the ghost, unable to fully let go the past. Like being in between. What a fascinating thought. I am in between.

And I suppose, in a way, aren't we all?

Second Career Choices

Lately, I've been doing some thinking (dangerous pastime, I know). I am rapidly approaching my mid-40's, have rising middle school and high school age kids, and am very much still in my "first career." That is to say, I won't be leaving my "first career" anytime soon, at least voluntarily.

But I often wonder about the possibility of a career change. What would I do? Would it sustain my family financially? Would it be personally rewarding? Would it be beneficial to others? Lest you think this is part and parcel with the onset of a mid-life crisis, don't. My first priority has been, and is, to provide for my family. Considerations like "is my current job rewarding" falls low on the list. I do what I do, and I do it pretty well, "liking" it is irrelevant. Staying gainfully employed is the primary objective, because it has to be.

Today, I consider myself locked in to my present vocation. This will not always be the case, however, and it strikes me that maybe a time is approaching where I do need to give this some serious consideration. I find it highly unlikely for me to be able to walk into a second career without some thoughtful preparation, especially if additional education is required. Perhaps another undergraduate degree, or a masters of some kind, or even apprenticeship in a trade should be considered. This costs money, which means that training and certification for the second career would need to be underwritten by the first.

While it is certainly possible that I'll stay with this "first career" until I am of retirement age, I somehow sense this may not be the case. My quest, if I choose to pursue it, is not merely to fill my post-retirement days, but rather to lay the groundwork for an earlier, pre-retirement shift to something new.

The what, of course, must come before the how, which is where I must begin.


As soon as I have time.

PC Mob Rules: Destroy the Intolerant

Confession: I haven't followed the NBA to any significant degree since the great Bulls run of the '90s. The reasons are fairly plain, in that I just don't enjoy the game the way it is played today. But I have been paying attention lately, because of the controversy surrounding the owner of the Los Angeles Clippers. Donald Sterling was apparently caught on tape espousing some rather politically incorrect, bigoted views. The resulting mob frenzy has led to a lifetime ban and an attempt by the league to force Sterling to give up his ownership in the Clippers franchise. The key here is franchise, and the "association" that his team has to the league. It means that as an owner of a franchise operating in association with other franchises (the league), he is subject to certain rules and guidelines.

Except that until yesterday, April 29, those rules and guidelines were secret, unpublished. Let me come back to this in a moment. Like the Marge Schott melodrama of the '90s Cincinnati Reds, Sterling's saga is stunning only in the speed with which he was banned from the game. Behold the power of social media.

Contrast this with the actual criminal behavior of an NFL franchise owner, Jim Irsay, of the Indianapolis Colts. Earlier this year, he was arrested for DWI and possession of a controlled substance. While in rehab, his daughter runs the day-to-day operations. I don't recall any outcry regarding his behavior, as to jeopardize his ownership of the team, do you? But Irsay certainly didn't want Rush Limbaugh buying an NFL franchise, simply because of the views expressed by the radio show host. You see, words and thoughts are far more important than actual behavior. The latter can be excused, apparently, while the former cannot.

My initial reaction to the punishment levied against Sterling was based on the fact that at the time, all the information I had access to was the story (including transcripts and clips of the recordings), and a statement from the NBA. The NBA statement and the rationale employed to execute the punishment bothered me. Not to defend a cretin, but per the statement from the NBA, Sterling "violated league rules through his expressions of offensive and hurtful views." Also mentioned elsewhere is the unpublished constitution that the owners abide by (note: this has been rectified as of yesterday, more on this in a moment). Why am I bothered? Because nobody can (or will) cite the specific rules or agreements he violated. I am asked simply to trust that he violated them, and that therefore the scope of punishment is warranted.

Sterling is a PR disaster, to be sure. But the mob rule mentality sweeping the nation seeking to destroy any and all with unpopular views (no matter how bad) is extremely bothersome to me. (See also the now former CEO of Mozilla, forced to resign because he donated some money to a pro-traditional marriage cause).

Late yesterday, the NBA posted its rules and constitution to the public. Good call, because if you are going to strip a private owner of his franchise, you'd better have more than mob rule on your side. Except that it turns out, the only relevant rule is the "Best Interest of the Association" clause, which basically means that the commissioner can levy any punishment he sees fit where the issue is not clearly covered in the bylaws. And according to the NBA constitution, as long as 3/4's of the Board of Governors agree, an ownership can be terminated (Article 13). But the Article gives reasons, and Sterling's offense isn't one of them, even in the abstract.

In this highly-charged, politically correct climate, clearly Sterling is a liability from both a PR and a financial perspective. I get that. The league will be better off without this guy in the headlines. But that does not change the fundamentals here.

The fact is this. Sterling was targeted and punished for what he thinks. And to a point, for what he said. Not, mind you, for anything he actually did. I won't defend him: he is a representative of an association, and no one is "entitled" to that position. Fine him and ban him from the game, I don't care that much. But force him to give up a franchise he outright owns because of his views?

The moral of the story is this. We each are entitled to think what we want. We each are entitled to express our views as we see fit. Just be aware that if you express a view that isn't popular, or isn't politically correct, you could lose your reputation, your job, and your property. Because there are those who may be opposed to what you think that will do everything they can to utterly destroy you. Look around. It's happening.

And that should bother you.

"He's Alive!"

“He’s alive!
He’s alive!
He’s alive,
and I’m forgiven
Heaven’s gates are open wide!
He’s alive!”

–Don Francisco

“Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen!”
(Luke 24:5-6, NIV)

“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! By his great mercy we have been born anew to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and to an inheritance which is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you!” (1 Peter 1:3-4, RSV)

“That if you confess with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” (Romans 10:9, NIV)

He's Alive! Have a blessed Easter!

Who Fact Checks the Fact Checkers?

Warning: Cynical post to follow. My Grumpy hat is firmly affixed to my head this morning.

This is rich. The article entitled “Fact-checking journalism gains momentum” almost made me spew my coffee this morning. I couldn’t get past the first line:

Journalists have always faced up to facts, but a new wave of fact-checking journalism has gained prominence in the past decade to counter misleading or outrageous claims of political figures.

The article goes on to highlight notable notables such as FactCheck.org and PolitiFact, which won a Pulitzer, don’t you know. It references a study noting the growth of the “fact-checking” industry, and the rise of these self-styled, self-knighted bastions of truth.

I don’t deny that fact-checkers can have some value in our national conversation. But they would have far more value as a public service if they would turn the microscope on the journalistic product rather than serving as the arbiters of judgment on every utterance of some politician. Fact-checking certainly hasn’t stopped politicians from lying, but neither has it stopped the news media from presenting biased and misleading reporting. The fact that fact-checking is often just another subsidized branch of a media organization, what value should I give to their pronouncements? Is something a fact or a fiction just because PolitiFact says so? Sorry, not buying it.

But no worries. Soon every organization will have a fact-checking arm, custom-tailored to ensure that their cause or candidate is backed by an unimpeachable, self-accredited truth squad.

I’d like to think there are straight-shooters out there, without an axe or an angle. But the thing is, everyone has an angle. That’s a fact.

Losing the Peace

Last week, a colleague and I were having a broad-ranging conversation over lunch, highlighted by some armchair analysis of the recent Russian aggression and subterfuge in the Ukraine, sprinkled with our shared concern over the trade-off between entitlement and defense spending, particularly over the next decade. A key issue raised in that discussion was trying to assess the point where perception becomes reality with regard to the diminishing influence the Unites States has on world affairs. At that point, my friend said flatly, "we are losing the peace."

I had to stop and think a moment, because my first reaction was that he was overstating the case. The United States is still a force to be reckoned with in world affairs economically and militarily. And yet, as the week wore on, I began thinking about the signals that have sent to our allies, the public announcements of dates-of-withdrawal from Iraq and Afghanistan, our "leading from behind" resulting in failed states across North Africa (Libya, primarily), our canceling of missile defense deals in Europe, and our dithering in the face of Chinese and Russian adventurism. And now the Chinese and Russians are upping their game in Latin America? Haven't we been here before? Suddenly, I find myself quite open to the idea that we are at risk of losing the peace.

But then, that presupposes there is/was a peace to lose. Since the so-called end of the Cold War, there is plenty of evidence that peace is but a mirage. From the 1991 Gulf War, to Somalia, Yugoslavia, the USS Cole, 9/11, Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya, various uprisings world-wide in both hemispheres, this has been a tumultuous period in its own right. What peace is there to lose when there has been no peace, per se?

I think it is more likely that this sense of "losing the peace" has more to do with the perception that American hegemony is in decline. Maybe it is inevitable, as the cost of maintaining our role as the world's preeminent superpower is astronomical, made worse by the mountain of debt and domestic entitlement and regulation the progressives are heaping on our shoulders. If American hegemony is indeed in decline, other players will rush to fill the gap with impunity, and that certainly appears to be happening.

Influence and credibility can be lost in an instant. Regaining that which was lost may take a generation.

Nothing Like a Real Vacation

Indeed, there is nothing quite like a real vacation. Unfortunately, post-trip reality is far too predictable. For now, I choose to let the spirit of the much needed respite linger on as long as possible. Although the consequence may possibly include a slow return to productivity, that's a consequence I am willing to endure. Aloha, and mahalo.

Razing Arizona

In rereading the history of Jefferson's election to the presidency in 1801, I am reminded that politics is a very nasty business.  Philosophies of government and natural rights are often lofty and inspirational, leading us to revere the high-minded achievements that have resulted in the America we claim to know and love. But at its core, politics is a device employed by human beings nevertheless capable of the very destructive and seductive impulses that produce tyranny, be it soft or hard.
 
Take this new Arizona bill. S.B. 1062, in short, is designed to provide a measure of protection to business owners who wish to run their businesses in accordance with their religious convictions. Basically, it offers them the opportunity to use their beliefs as a defense in court should they be sued for refusing to provide a service that violates their religious conscience. While I don't intended to dive into any of these specifically, I encourage you to read the following links on the matter, in the interest of context (don't be turned off by the titles - there is reasoned and rational information in each link):

Arizona Capital Times: Reality vs. Rhetoric in the SB1062 Debate
Arizona Capital Times: ASU Law Prof: SB1062 'means almost nothing'
The State Press: SB 1062 Offers Warped View of Religious Freedom
The Matt Walsh Blog: Yes, Of Course a Business Owner Should Have the Right to Refuse Service to Gay People

I can see the argument from both sides, to be sure. The vitriol is a flash fire burning out of control, and Arizona is being razed and excoriated with vehemence. No matter the outcome of the bill, there will be no "victory" for believers in this battle, or in any battle, where new laws issued by governments grant new "rights" with regard to religious belief. Natural rights, and those ensconced by the First Amendment, are no longer a sufficient defense against the forces at work, even though they should be. Rights issued by governments can be taken away. There has never been a time in our nation's history where the boundaries of freedom, liberty, and religion have not been at the flashpoint of our conflicts. The pendulum swings, sometimes decidedly. It remains to be seen if it swings back, or if it has been severed from its pivot.

What dismays me most is the effect this has on our society, our communities. Too many of us are now conditioned to see at work only the worst intentions of our neighbors, which may or may not always be the truth. To choose sides in any single matter is to be declared by the other as an enemy combatant in all matters. Tyranny of this sort, from such there is no escape, except by the rediscovery of grace.

This is the nature of our politics.  I submit that our history reveals that it has always been so.  For all of the evidence of the better angels of our nature, much more so is the evidence of our demons.  

This may yet be a government of the people, by the people, for the people, but it is clear that as people, we remain most decidedly, wickedly human.

Heaven have mercy on us.