A Future Frontier (Updated)

As far back as 8 years old, I've been interested in astronomy and space. I remember sitting outside in the dark of night studying the constellations and the moon through a pitiful excuse for a telescope. Like so many red-blooded American boys, I was caught up in the glamour of the space program. Enraptured by the danger and the thrill of pushing thresholds into a new frontier, the brave adventurer would seek out to discover and conquer the unknown, exploring the cosmos simply because he hadn't been there yet. I left much of the fantasy behind I as grew older, perhaps in small part because of the realities of Challenger, and more recently Columbia. But the wonder remains with each new image from the Hubble telescope and the live feeds of scientific discovery from our probes on Mars.

I recently read a very long article by Rand Simberg in the New Atlantis journal. It discusses at length the evolution of America's space program in the context of its vision, as influenced by politics and society. It delves into great detail the dichotomy of pushing frontiers while chained to an unwieldy bureaucracy that defines almost every government program. As a government contractor, I can identify directly with the challenges of trying to meet too many requirements with one solution, which increases the cost and likelihood for failure to reach objectives. It is indeed a complicated matter, made worse when the business model of the organization (designed to keep people employed indefinitely) runs into conflict with fiscal responsibility and mission focus.

The thesis of the article basically suggests that the technological advancement to make us a space-faring people would be better realized by private sector entrepreneurs (with a spirit of adventure and a profit motive) combined with a government enabler that facilitates their activities. As Mr. Simberg states in his article [bold emphasis mine]:

To get past the misperceived lessons of the past four decades and to develop a “safe, innovative, affordable, and sustainable” plan for manned spaceflight, we must begin by stating plainly why we should go into space, for the why gives shape to the how.

The United States should become a spacefaring nation, and the leader of a spacefaring civilization.

That means that access to space should be almost as routine (if not quite as affordable) as access to the oceans, and with similar laws and regulations. It means thousands, or millions, of people in space—and not just handpicked government employees, but private citizens spending their own money for their own purposes. It means that we should have the capability to detect an asteroid or comet heading for Earth and to deflect it in a timely manner. Similarly it means we should be able to mine asteroids or comets for their resources, for use in space or on Earth, potentially opening up new wealth for the planet. It means that we should explore the solar system the way we did the West: not by sending off small teams of government explorers—Lewis and Clark were the extreme exception, not the rule—but by having lots of people wandering around and peering over the next rill in search of adventure or profit.

The space program was born out of Cold War motives. The American West was tamed by the private individual seeking fortune, liberty, and adventure. We view NASA as the only permissible embodiment of progress into the final frontier, but maybe it shouldn't be that way. Ironically, the criticisms that NASA costs too much aren't unfounded, but it is precisely because of its organizational limitations and business model. But NASA could be more cost effective if its mission were better partnered with private sector initiatives - not more contractors, mind you, but completely private space technology ventures. While government has enormous resources it can put to bear to just about anything (courtesy the taxpayers), government in general is not the vehicle to push us into new frontiers. But it can enable others, and thereby achieve goals previously out of reach.

There is always more to discover about Creation. I'm not sold on the idea that humanity's survival and immortality depends on conquering the galaxy, however. But to have the liberty to pursue the heavens, to discover the origins, to learn more about that which God has created ... why not? Why not encourage my 9 year old son, who watched with fascination the live feed from NASA as the Mars probe landed on the surface to begin its search for evidence of water? Why should his passion for science and math and space be limited by the constraints of government organization or grants?

Government should not be the arbiter of individual dreams and discovery. But it can be an enabler that promotes and encourages such progress.

UPDATE: Here is a great example of the opportunities that exist for entrepreneurs. An ion-engine that could shorten the journey to Mars from 6 months to 39 days!

Past Words

Years ago I used to run an online devotional ministry called Encounters!. Starting out as a weekly email devotion, I ended up creating a website, had a distribution somewhat less than 175 people, and basically poured out into words what the Lord was speaking into my own heart. Back then, I was considerably less jaded about certain aspects of ministry. The last few days, I've been looking back over some of those devotionals. It was interesting, because looking back at things I've previously written is not something I usually do. I immediately recognized them as words I put on the page, yet at the same time I got the sense they were written by someone long gone. A decade of perspective and experience will do that to you, I suppose.

In my archives there are also seven years of Bible study material I produced while serving as teacher of an adult Sunday School class. Again, I found the same phenomena - I instinctively knew the words were mine, yet they felt almost alien to me. The words given to me, and the Spirit in which they were written, were for a particular purpose in a particular place at a particular time in history. They were words written to teach Truth and to inspire belief. But I'm not sure I was the target. Perhaps that's part of the reason they feel so strange. The spiritual benefit to me was not the words, but the moment with God I experienced in producing them. It was part of a passion for the written word - a passion I wish to reawaken and hence the reason for having this blog.

Writing was always my creative outlet, along with symphonic and marching bands. I shut down those activities years ago out of fatigue and a yearning for new direction, but I never replaced them with anything else creative. I've spent most of this decade in the world of "have to". It was a choice (or series of choices) I'm coming to view as a mistake. The price my soul has paid for not pursuing the creative gifts I was given has wounded me somehow. Recovering that balance is going to be hard to do, but I feel it is necessary.

Experiencing joy is virtually impossible when you spend most of your time hiding from it.

Of Pigs and Pearls

A few years ago, I toyed with the idea of participating in a local group blogging effort. This group (which never got off the ground), would focus primarily on politics at both the national and state level. Part of the reason I ended up declining the opportunity had to do with the lack of time in my schedule. To be of value and interest, a political blog needs to be up-to-the-minute and current with the day's events. I knew that I could never devote the time necessary, and honestly, why bother when there are several quality political blogs already out there encompassing all points of view. Indeed, it is daily reading for me, and anything I would end up posting would ultimately point back to what someone else already said. My posts may occasionally touch on the political, but rather than diving into the fever swamps, I would rather attempt to try to put things in a broader context of what events say about us, our history, and our future as a society. I make no apologies for being independent, quasi-libertarian, fiscally conservative, pro-life, and anti-death penalty in my views.

I confess to being absolutely stunned by what we are witnessing in our Nation's Capitol. Congress is running at a fever pitch to pass bills they haven't read, spellchecked, or analyzed. With seemingly no thought for the consequences to our economy and our standard of living, they seem to be driving recklessly headlong into a fiscal nightmare. Our government is binging on power and money, the future be damned. Where is the wise leadership, the thoughtful deliberation of solutions for real problems, honest but respectful debate? If one political party is to control all arenas of government, you would think they'd want to make wise decisions with thought to the future in order to maintain that trust indefinitely. What is the hurry, unless they truly fear the debate and/or revelation of an unpopular agenda? The voices out there are warning of socialism and the sort, but I'm not ready to jump off that cliff and presume I know their intentions. America's ultimate decline is inevitable - that's the history of human civilization - but right now I sense we have the foot on the gas pedal trying to accelerate the outcome.

Is there no one interested in knowing and understanding the truth? Basic logic, common sense and knowledge seem to be lacking - spend money to keep from going bankrupt? What is that all about? And the majority of folks don't seem to care. They remain oblivious, or maybe resigned to whatever happens. People have gone to the race, they've picked their horse, and no amount of reason or argument will get them to think with an open mind. They will stay with that horse until they decide they want a new one. The system is so tainted and so cynical, it’s a wonder that there are any genuine, authentic people at all serving in public office. And despite the saturation of political coverage in last year's campaign, the genuine excitement in some quarters and genuine dread in others - I get the feeling that the masses are largely ignoring it all. Until it touches them personally - and eventually a bad economy will touch everybody - they are going to continue to tune it out. And even then, few will educate themselves on the issues sufficiently enough to have a well-informed opinion. Because in our American Idol culture, it’s all about the personalities.

I know America will continue for decades to come. Our history has demonstrated periods of national angst and social upheaval before. For my generation, maybe we're due for a major downturn to shake us out of our comforts. But for all its predictability, I remain amazed at our capacity for self-destructive behavior and ignorance. To coin the phrase - the truth is out there. But it's falling on deaf ears.

An Ache for Simplicity

It is a rare occurrence to find myself the first one awake on a Saturday morning, especially with two young boys in the house. The sun is up, there’s a light breeze tickling the leaves. The heat of the day is still to come, but right now it is fairly pleasant. It is quiet now – which likely won’t last long once the children awake. But I enjoy the moments of silence and peace when they come.

I ache for simplicity in ways I cannot even begin to count. It is not so much that I am too busy – everyone is – but rather I fear that I am wired in such a way that simplicity is too difficult a discipline to master. My mind is always working, seeking to understand why things are the way they are, why people act the way they do, and anticipating likely outcomes. In some ways, this is a gift, because it allows me to analyze a situation and strategize multiple outcomes, thereby navigating with care the choices and leadership decisions I make. Yet in other ways, it is not so much a gift, because there doesn’t seem to be an “off” switch. At times, I have an overwhelming impulse to make things right, or at least better. This, however, takes an extraordinary amount of energy – emotional, physical and spiritual. And when I fail, or fall short, frustration and anger tend to follow.

I find myself convinced that the joy I have been seeking all my life – the pure joy of living – is found in a perspective grounded in simplicity. How one manages the burdens of responsibility while maintaining a spiritual attitude of simplicity in matters of faith and daily living, I really don’t know. I’d love to figure that one out.

Nevertheless, it is quiet now. I’m still the only one awake. Time to cast my burdens and listen.

Maintenance

Given the infrequency at which I update this blog, you’d be hard pressed to believe that my passion is to write. Indeed, every time I sit down to craft a post, I end up tinkering with the design and layout of the site instead. I have a few new designs in various stages of completion, but none that I am completely happy with as yet. Perhaps I’ve fallen into the trap of thinking that once I have my setup “perfect,” I’ll be able to write.

It’s the same with trying to maintain the house. I am indeed blessed with a decent house and acreage. But maintaining the yard, landscape and living space is a constant struggle. There are any number of uncompleted projects awaiting my time and attention. Balancing family and job generally doesn’t leave much time for anything other than the bare necessities of home maintenance. Yet I keep thinking that once I get A and B done, then I can do C and D, which will make things so much better. But so often, A and B never quite get done. So I end up settling for bare minimums of maintenance, and don’t move forward and produce.

Maintenance is important, to be sure. But so is progress. Avoiding the disillusionment that comes with lack of progress is hard for me. It affects my motivation to do maintenance. I find that to be true in many areas of my life. I wonder if it would be better to focus maintenance on those things that enable me to move forward, as opposed to that which doesn’t produce anything more than the status quo. Could it be that the most important things to maintain are those things which, in the end, enable me to produce and grow? There’s a spiritual discipline in there somewhere.

Maybe there is something to the motto that my brother-in-law once adopted from Walt Disney. “Keep moving forward.” Maybe I need to take that more seriously.

A Link in the Chain

I generally have little interest in the Hollywood scene, but if pressed to name my favorite actor, James Cagney would win the honor, hands down. Film critics and fans alike tout Cagney as one of the all-time greats. With origins as a song-and-dance man from Hollywood's early vaudeville roots, Cagney's characters brought to life the prototypical anti-hero. Indeed, Cagney was one of the early pioneers of the anti-hero genre, which I define basically as a scoundrel with just enough redeemable qualities to make you like him. To be sure, Cagney was very conscious about being typecast, and tried to branch out into other types of characters. But aside from Yankee Doodle Dandy, in which he played the estimable George M. Cohan, my all time favorite Cagney movies feature him in the role of the anti-hero.

More recently, I discovered a little known Cagney appearance from an old weekly television series called The Christophers. Still active today, The Christophers are an organization with Catholic roots whose mission is captured nicely in a simple motto: "It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness." In 1957, toward the end of his movie career, Cagney starred in an episode of The Christophers called "A Link in the Chain." He plays a professor who reflects on his life and whether he has made any difference. Over the course of 30 minutes, we see vignettes about 3 students who found the direction of their lives changed by this professor. Simply put, the professor provided timely encouragement and profound truth that revealed to each student that good could be done in this world, and lives could be made better because we choose to get directly involved - not in causes, but with real people. The episode reveals in time that we are all but links in a chain - the professor endeavored to light a candle and make a difference, because someone in his past had done so for him - an unspoken tradition that reaches back into human history. One generation inspires the next.

Conscious of my responsibility to my own children, I find myself at the place where the question seems to be "what next." I've experienced highs and lows in both career and ministry, yet I find myself hesitant to look behind at what was. Rather, I feel compelled forward, to use the gifts God has given me for something new - something that will continue to shape me into what I'm destined to become. And while it is tempting to believe that there is nothing new to share that hasn't been written or taught better by someone else, it is also clear that every generation has to have its voices. A broken chain is lost history, lost identity, lost purpose.

These generations are at risk. We have a responsibility to speak truth. But we must ensure that our voices bring light to real people - otherwise, we merely curse the darkness.
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We The People ...

Somewhere in time, there reigned in our collective conscience at least a fundamental understanding of the ideals behind our American experiment, enough to enable the constant state of soul-searching that defines so much of our history. We live in an age where the principles of the American concept are being challenged from within. Worse is the evidence that they are no longer even understood. In the noise of the always-on Information Age, it has apparently become politically incorrect to revere these principles and ideals; as if the advancement or evolution of this nation depends on putting "old" things behind.

Has it always been so? Is it intentional, or inevitable? In the 90's, I began thinking seriously about the attitudes I held toward the American institution of government and how they differed from what I remember thinking in my youth. Since 9/11, I have continued to observe, with great scrutiny, as the brief flare of American identity dissolved into the most prepubescent display of political discourse I've ever seen - not just from the political classes, but from "average" citizens. And with the results of the recent election, a part of me fears that the grown-ups are gone and the adolescents have taken over. Why do I fear? Because I'm not convinced that the ruling political class - of either party - have any fundamental grounding in the American principle. And I am convinced that a vast amount of American citizenry have never emotionally left Jr. High. Contrast the taunting display against President Bush as he entered the dais just prior to the inauguration of President Obama, and the singing of the "Kiss Him Goodbye" theme as he left the Capitol on Marine One. Seven years ago, crowds would greet President Bush with chants of "USA! USA! USA!" Yesterday, President Obama was greeted by a million-strong crowd with "O-BA-MA! O-BA-MA!" American pride exchanged for what appears to be a cult of personality.

What are these notions of honor, nobility, patriotism and principle? Are they doomed to a bygone and forgotten past, or do they still have voice? We the people ... have collective amnesia. There is a cure, but we have to take the medicine. And someone needs to administer it. But who?
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A Matter of Respect

Yeah, I know. I haven't posted anything all year. There are reasons for that, but I won't divulge them now. Let's just say that it has been a trying year.

Veteran's Day is approaching, and in that vein, I'd like to share an experience I had some years ago. My father was the keynote speaker at a banquet recently, and to my surprise, he shared my story. 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 enabled 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

Adagio

The past several months have found me deeply occupied by difficult challenges in a number of areas in my life, and thus little time for the pursuit of this budding little hobby. But the seas are beginning to calm, and the sunrises of North Alabama have been brilliant to behold of late, so here I return.

I have the joy of taking my sons to school every morning, and recently I've played some classical music CDs as we make the 25 minute drive. This morning, we listened to my favorite piece of music, Adagio for Strings by Samuel Barber. My 8-year old spoke up about halfway through to say: "Dad, you know, some slow songs like this can make me feel sad, or sometimes give me comfort." So I asked how Adagio made him feel, and he replied, "Sad, mostly." Which, if you are familiar with the piece, was precisely the intent of the composer. I love teaching moments like this!

The wonderful mystery of music is that it can touch us on so many levels. Some melodies stay at the surface, while others penetrate deep within and touch those rooms in the heart that we've forgotten. Some music can mask our emotion, while some draws it out in a quite surprising fashion. I can listen to a great movie soundtrack and be completely absorbed in the moment, a la Star Wars, Indiana Jones, and The Mission. Imagine watching Field of Dreams, Pirates of the Caribbean or even Harry Potter without music. Music is written to engage our emotions, beyond the conscious mind. I can listen to Adagio, and without any images I can experience loss, grief and in the end, strength and resolution to go on in the span of 10 minutes. Perhaps this is a bit much for some people, but I find that the experience of music gives voice to those parts of us that need expression, even connection to the spiritual.

I love words, and my passion is to use words to pass on truth and to bring expression to the inexpressible without damaging the moment. A passion, sadly, I have neglected for 7 years. But sometimes, I wish I could trade it all for the gift of enriching others through musical or artistic composition. I'm glad God gave us those kinds of people, though.

After all, the human soul needs a melody.

Nothing Crushes Us

The other day, I finally got around to watching the movie version of Bridge to Terebithia, based on the book written by Katherine Paterson. I don't exactly remember how old I was when I first read the story, but I can say that it has stayed with me in ways that are difficult to explain.

Looking inside the story is to look inside of me. Jess Aarons was a kid torn between two realities - the dreams and talents he was given, and the need to keep his head out of the clouds and his feet on the ground. In many ways, he was alone to face this dichotomy, although not so beaten down by self-doubt that he stopped striving to break free (after all, he was determined to win the playground race until Leslie Burke came along). Although some may play it off as puppy love, I tend to believe that some of the most profound and true friendships happen when you are 11 or 12 years old. Leslie brought out the best in Jess, giving him the room to start believing in himself and fully utilizing his gifts. Of course, 12 year-olds don't think like that. But when the world is young, and you are able to see the good in it, there is a feeling within that can only be described as contentment. Sure, there are bullies, but with a friend beside you, bullies don't look so big anymore. The story, of course, has a tragic ending. But at the same time, the story doesn't end tragically for Jess, because he is able to move forward without losing himself to despair.

There was a time in my life where my spirit was free and running the neighborhood with my best friend Brian. But when I was 11 and going into the 6th grade, I took an involuntary bite out of the apple from the Tree of Knowledge. And while circumstances ended up okay, I was never the same again. We moved, and I became deeply introspective and reserved. I sought my escape in books, writing some poetry, and wandering in the woods. Like in the story, I lived near some woods with a creek at its border. To get to the woods, I had to cross over the creek on a fallen tree. During the winter, the creek would be frozen over and you could walk for miles. It was my own world. Nobody really knew me, because unlike Jess, I never again had the kind of full-trust, bonded friendships like the ones I had before I turned 11.

Re-reading the book and watching the movie awakened emotions in me that I thought I had purged long ago. They are not happy emotions, but rather the kind that catches you in a sob that comes out of nowhere. It's amazing a story I first read 25 years ago can reach inside me so deeply and send me back to that time. All the doubts, the deep-seated loneliness, and even the anger - are they real, or are they merely reflections of a past that is long since gone? Or has the past become the present again?

My boys are still young enough to be free - I pray that their spirits will not be shunted by the personality failings of their father. It is a difficult world to grow up in - for that matter, it is a difficult world in which to be a grown-up. But as a closing thought, consider: In the final scene of the movie, Jess and his little sister cross the bridge Jess built into Terebithia. Over the bridge there is a crest with the following words hanging below: "Nothing Crushes Us."

Romans 8 tells us that in Christ, "we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us." And so I press on, because in the face of all that life will throw at us, for the sake of my family and my own soul - I must believe. Nothing Crushes Us.

The World's Gone Nuts

It's a beautiful day, and the world is going stark, raving mad. I'm sitting here at Kids Space, giving my two boys a chance to enjoy the pleasant weather and get some energy out while I just try to silently, quietly detox from the world. Because, as I said, the world has lost its marbles.

I used to joke that I was an information "junkie." I'm sometimes obsessed with keeping up-to-date in current events, whether it's basic news, politics, sports - you name it. And with the internet always on, the options are endless. But the more I see of this incredible "information age" the more disillusioned I become. From the everyday slandering of the President and the military by alleged 'news' organizations to the sensationalist drama of Paris Hilton Goes to Jail and the like - I wonder, are there any grownups left out there? I swear it's almost like Jr. High. Our society and its institutions have a serious case of ADD/ADHD. I'll have more to say about that some other time. The bottom line is that in the face of an existential threat, people with no sense of history are declaring what is good evil and what is evil all our fault. This psychosis has only one ending - complete and utter detachment from reality. Because, after all, what really matters is whether Harry Potter lives or dies.

I'm reading the unabridged edition of Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe. What a remarkable and deeply spiritual book about the Providence of God! (And if you think it's just a 300-year old version of the TV Lost or Tom Hanks in Castaway, you've missed the entire story). There's a quote in this book that recently caught my attention:

How infinitely good the Providence is which has provided, in its government of mankind, such narrow bounds to his sight and knowledge of things; and though he walks in the midst of so many thousand dangers, the sight of which, if discovered to him, would distract his mind and sink his spirits, he is kept serene and calm by having the events of things hid from his eyes, and knowing nothing of the dangers which surround him.

I don't know if I can or should ease up on my "need to know" predilections. As a sinner, I've already succumbed to the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. But I do know this: out here at the park, it's a beautiful day.

Where to Begin ...

My adventures in blogging began over three years ago on a now defunct site, and promptly ended within about two months. I wanted to "blog with a purpose," to show that I could still write, communicate and otherwise convey something of the truth to others. However, whereas some can create to an audience of none, I'm the type that generally feeds off of the flow of conversation.

Here's the challenge I have with blogging: What should I say? I spend a small part of my day reading various blogs, mostly political and news blogs but occasionally those of friends and other people I know. I have those moments where I imagine myself being one of those bloggers that other people read. I guess that comes from my innate desire to be a writer/teacher. But the time commitment is unbelievable, and I find it challenging to "just say anything about everything."

Sometimes, I might have a personal story to share. Other times, I might have a parable or illustration to share. Ideally, I'd love to participate in a group blog not unlike what National Review Online has called The Corner. Just a group of people who are willing to conversationally exchange ideas, share links to timewasters like Mini Golf, and perhaps even some "iron sharpens iron" debate.

In the end, though, the written word is too important to me to sit here and post about every mundane moment of my day. I'm just not built to be that transparent, and I frankly don't have the time. I like to write with a purpose, for a purpose. I want to write not only about what might interest me, but what interests others. And therein lies the challenge.

Is this a new start? Who knows.

A Letter To My Son

I wrote the following letter to my son in the days following 9/11. I haven't read it since, until now. How quickly have so many already forgotten the unity of purpose we knew in those first few months. For your reflection:

My dear son,

As I write these words, you are but a tender age of not-quite two years old. Your world is simple and innocent, consumed with the task of learning to talk, a fascination with anything with wheels, and the emotional extremes of toddlerdom. And a precious world it is.

As you read these words, the world you know is as you remember it. Whether that world is one of war or peace, I do not yet know. But I want to tell you of the world I remember, and how a single moment in history changed me.

You have by now learned from history about the events of September 11, 2001. The facts you know, and I will not belabor them now. But that day is to my generation what December 7, 1941 was to the generation of your great-grandfathers. It was a day when words such as “duty,” “honor,” “patriotism,” “sacrifice,” “heroism” and “principle” awoke from the slumber of dilution, derision and dormancy. Indeed, my generation has allowed such words to fade, exchanging the privilege of freedom for the trappings of entitlement. We have little understanding, much less personal experience or appreciation for the cost of liberty. But we are learning now. Oh, are we learning now.

I grew up in a military family, the son of an Air Force navigator during the tense years leading up to the end of what history calls the Cold War. In the world of my childhood, war was often at the foremost of my thoughts. There was an enemy we could see, an enemy with a name, an enemy that was once called an “evil empire.” In those days, the Stars and Stripes meant something, though I admit I didn’t understand it as I do now. I remember going to movies, which always started with us standing for the National Anthem. I remember stopping my bicycle in the street at 5:00 in the afternoon, with cars and people stopped in the street as our country’s flag was lowered for the day. Within the buffer of military-family life, I didn’t know that such displays of respect and loyalty were the exception rather than the norm.

But times changed. The enemy became a “friend.” Patriotism was exchanged for portfolios and personal profit. Gone was the “just cause.” Even the Persian Gulf War of 1991 did little more than briefly spark the embers of national pride. In less than 10 years, the eyes of what was once a nation of principle (in my view, anyway) turned against principle, playing out a morality war vicious self-righteousness, corruption and scandal. The power of this intellectual onslaught wreaked havoc on the American psyche, even in the face of material prosperity. I certainly fell victim to its influence, for I was ashamed of our government and those in government. I could see no “principle” at work. My cynicism was bitter; my distaste for my country’s self-indulgence and superiority complex left me sick to my stomach. I cannot lie to you: I was not proud to be an American during these years. I even lamented the way in which our military was used overseas, under a banner of a world organization whose motives I questioned. I prayed for their safety, though, and for peace. After a while though, I admit, I became indifferent to the whole thing. I was not disrespectful, but I wasn’t very respectful either.

I was not prepared, as is true for most of us this day, for the emotions awakened in me following the attacks of September 11, 2001. I have spent much of this week vacillating between tears of grief, tears of anger, tears of pride and tears of guilt. On my desk at work sits a small American flag with a yellow ribbon tied about its top, an ensemble I put together while your Grandpa put his own life on the line during the Gulf War. I kept it because I didn’t want to forget, but I never imagined it would once again capture my focus like this. I have been reminded, along with many others, that freedom comes with a price. It is a blessing to be cherished, a treasure to be protected, and a privilege – not entitlement. The love of my country has been born in me, perhaps now for the very first time.

Please understand, my first and primary allegiance is to Jesus the Christ, whose Spirit dwells within me to this day. At a time when many see God as a far-away being, I know He is close at hand. I firmly believe that our first response to this crisis should be that of 2 Chronicles 7:14. I still pray for peace. For many years, I struggled with the apparent incompatibility of Jesus’ teachings and the actions of government and military. But I began to understand when I realized that in the scriptures, God gave His people instructions on how to live in together in a holy, loving and peaceful community, and then later called that same community to war to destroy the evil nations surrounding them. It remains a mystery, but it is not a contradiction.

I long for peace, and I abhor any loss of life. But I serve a God who values justice, a God who has used nations and kingdoms to exact justice. For me, I don’t know whether the governments of this world have the courage to take a stand against what I can only describe as evil. I hope so. I hope the world that you know is one in which peace abounds, where right and wrong are clear, where the blessings God affords us by His hand are bountiful. But even if it is not, I hope that you have learned from me the importance of prayer, the value of principle, the sanctity of life, and the courage to stand for what is right and good in the face of unspeakable evil.

There is grief and sorrow and tears to come, and it will be unbearably painful. But I believe the cause is right. I love my country, for the ideals and principles she represents, though often fails to reach or even remember. But I believe that she will now remember and rededicate herself to the cause of peace, and to the cause of justice. May history record this as a time when America was once again, “One nation, under God.” My trust is in the Lord, and He can be trusted, especially now.

The world is as you remember it. But, my son, be sure that you remember also the world that I know, and have shared with you.

I love you dearly, Christopher.

Dad