Winter Begins

Winter is nature's way of saying, "Up yours."

-- Robert Byrne

I love the seasons.  When I was young I lived along the California coast and was seldom treated to seasonal changes.  Median temperatures were in the mid to high 60s and this was only that low due to the fog banks that hung to the coast most of the time.  It isn't true that it never rains in southern California, and it also isn't true that the coast is always warm and sunny as any surfer can attest, even though surfers spend a good bit of their time under clouds or in the fog, cold and wet.  If we wanted to see the seasons we had to travel inland and the best place to experience winter was Fish Camp just outside of Yosemite.

 

For me, winter has always been about a snuggling down in front of a warm fire with a hot beverage.  It was a time for cross country skiing, snow mobiles, and snow blowers.  It was a time to shovel the car out of the snow drift and curse the plow as he buried it again immediately after I'd finished.  It was building a snowman and throwing a snowball.  It was Christmas music and good cheer.  I was lucky enough to be home based, for most of my military career, at Fairchild AFB in Spokane, Washington.  It had all of this, and more.

 

Since my retirement from military service I have spent the last 20 years in Olympia, located on the other side of the mountains from Washington's "high desert."  Like the California coast, it might seem Olympia spends most of the year under clouds, cold and wet, with a bit of dreary thrown in for variety.  It has some occasional snow, and the fall color mostly comes from non-native trees planted as landscaping or reforestation over the many years.  Instead of the gorgeous winter scenes of Washington's mountains, we have the photo above.  The accidents would seem out of place in an area which enjoys the same weather pretty much all year round, unless you attribute it to  either over confidence or the California migrants looking for a less expensive life style.

 

The upside of Olympia is that, when it's beautiful here it can be absolutely wonderful and the people try to make the most of it with sports, recreation, food, and the arts.  There is nothing like the Olympic Peninsula, in the summer, when the sun is out.

 

Meanwhile, along with the rest of the U.S., we've been fighting the cold temperatures.  The 15 degree evenings we've suffered through for the past week have started to abate.  I knock wood that I'm not on the east coast, and wish for them a speedy return to normalcy. Or, do I? 

 

Winter officially begins on Saturday and, as much as I'm glad I'm not suffering the winter warning alerts for the east coast, deep down I envy everyone getting a good depth of snow.  I would so much enjoy a white Christmas, coming in the house, after tubing down a snowy hillside, to be greeted by a roaring fire, some hot spiced rum and a bowl of chili.  There is something about the warmth of a fire that makes the pine bough wreathe over the mantle explode with evergreen fragrance.  Christmas music, along with the aroma of pine, spiced rum, and chili gently slaps you in the face as the door opens, so you never forget it.

 

Winter may be nature's way of saying, "Up yours!" but, for some of us, we look nature right in the eye and boldly dare, "Bring it!"

 

We should also keep in mind that without winter, nature would die.  Winter is God's way of letting nature recover.  I've often thought you could feel the tension on the winding key as it tightens during winter.  Animals hunker down, plants rejuvenate, glaciers and lakes replenish supplies of needed water all in preparation for nature to "spring" forth with the long awaited explosion of life, color, and sunshine.  Winter is just another part of God's masterful plan for sustainability of this little blue marble we call earth.  

 

Here's wishing everyone an enjoyable winter!     

Sunday Thought - December 15, 2013: Christmas Meaning

 "Glory to God in the highest
And on earth peace, good will toward men"

Luke 2:14     

What does Christmas mean to you? 

This quote from Luke might be one of the lines in the Bible I would be willing to bank history on.  I mean, when I think about it, it seems to be the only line we have consistently ignored, worldwide.  It is in man's nature to ignore that which is not in his nature, so why include it in the Bible?  Of all the books left out of the bible by that council of mortal men with personal agendas, of all the lines of scripture they left cluttering the cutting room floor because it didn't reflect their desire to retain power over the "faithful," recognizing that they would need these faithful to fight numerous battles for the wealth and glory of the church (re: the Church ruling elite), they screwed up and left this line in.  It defies our knowledge of the history of the time.  It certainly would not be in keeping with conquering kings that were trying to unite peoples and religion under one banner.  Would it?

"And on earth peace, good will toward men."  Let's take a moment and review the world around us.  Nothing has changed, and we are still a miserable disappointment to God.  Yes, I mean everybody's God, Islam and Judaism.  No one has exclusive rights to the One, the true God of Abraham, not even Malaysia.  So, what are we left with?

First off, Christmas probably isn't Christ's birthday.  Be real, nobody knows when it was. What we celebrate as Christmas has its roots in paganism.  I'm not demeaning the day, what we now accept as the celebration of Christ's birth, we had to pick a day and this was it.  We seem to go out of our way to pick arbitrary days for holidays as it may suit our business and culture, but let's face it; it really is a holiday tree, not a Christmas tree.  This shows how ignorant the naysayers of Christmas are when they don't even realize it's a pagan ritual.  It isn't entirely their fault, as the Christians will be more than eager to jump with a counter argument showing their ignorance to the facts as well.  I'm not even sure why the Jews get involved except that they want equal time.  The minute a Jew screams foul a boat load of Christians find it necessary to remind them who killed Christ.  Better they just stay out of the Christmas controversy. 

The gift giving is a way of celebrating and remembering (good luck with that) the gifts the Magi brought for the baby Jesus - gold, frankincense and myrrh.  The Magi are the three wise men, not to be confused with the Jinn, or Marid, which Aladdin might find in a magical lamp. 

I have never received gold at Christmas, and what the hell is frankincense or myrrh?  Myrrh, sounds like something out of Lord of the Rings or some other fantasy story.  And, frankincense sounds like an air freshener concocted by a mad scientist or a scent that is just, well, very to the point.  Whatever they are I certainly don't remember ever getting either of them, unless it was back in the 60s, we might have smoked it, not realizing.  That actually might account for some missing time, but that's another story.

As much as I enjoyed getting gifts, it was a big part of the reason I lost track of the true meaning of the day.  We all lost track of it because the material aspect overshadowed the spiritual.  History repeats itself from Sodom to Rome, to any town USA.  Mix money, liquor, food, and gifts, and people will just revert back to worshipping ugly, fat, stone fertility goddesses.  It is what we do.  We get spanked for it, but we still do it.

For many of us, family doesn't even travel to be with family anymore.  The large dinners with prayer and thanks has been relegated to Thanksgiving.  How sad is this?  I, for one, find it appalling.  I have tried to give the bulk of my "gift" money to needy charities during the holidays and have asked that my family all follow suit.  None of us need to be spoiled that much and, besides, what do you buy someone that can buy what they want for themselves.  I send some money so the kids will have a little something, but I hope the spirit of the day will be more important that the selfish materialism.  I would like to see them all out feeding the poor and homeless, adopting a needy family, or visiting a children's cancer ward with toys and smiles so my grandkids understand the spirit of it all.

What does Christmas mean to me? It sounds corny, I know, but I do have a heartfelt wish for peace on earth.  A desire for everyone to be more tolerant of each other and develop feelings of good will.  I wish all of this, and not just for the day or the season, but throughout the year, every year.  Is it a pipe dream?  Obviously, but wouldn't it be nice if violence, war, and hatred were the footnotes found in the back of the news, instead of the leading stories?  If we could just bring the world back into balance, that would be a great stocking stuffer. 

Christmas is a time we have chosen to remember the rebirth of love, that God sent us someone to remind us of who we are and what we could be, and to remind us of things greater than ourselves.  He was born for us, and He died for us.  I think we can give Him one day of honor. 

So, I ask again, what does Christmas mean to you?

“An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind.”

-- Mahatma Gandhi

No Catholic God

This was originally posted in my Thought for Sunday, November 17, 2013.  This particular Thought for Sunday has garnered 4 times more page views than any other Thought for Sunday since I began writing them months ago.  5th highest of all 148 posts to date!  The reason for the interest is unknown to me.  If it received all the views within days of posting it would still be an anomaly, but this post is still getting numerous hits several weeks later. I thought it prudent, due to the suspected interest, to take it out of this category and give it a title for its own post.  If anyone has a thought as to why this post is so popular, I would be interested in hearing from you.  Enjoy!

"And I believe in God, not in a Catholic God, there is no Catholic God, there is God and I believe in Jesus Christ, His incarnation. Jesus is my teacher and my pastor, but God, the Father, Abba, is the light and the Creator. This is my Being."  --  Pope Francis

"...there is no Catholic God, there is God..."  Finally, the leader of the Christian faith puts it out there.  There is no Catholic God.  There is not Protestant, Methodist, Mormon, or God of Islam, there is God.  If you are looking for a different God, good luck with that.  There is only one God.  There are many names for God, but it is the same God.  Many religions see God in a different light, use their definition of God as an excuse to do evil in God's name, but it is the same God, and we are all the children of the one God.

Belief in God is really a moot point.  God exists whether we believe or not.  God always was, is now, and forever shall be.  Our belief is welcomed but not required.  God will abide regardless.  But, to what end does damning someone for non belief achieve?   How does killing the non-believers advance the glory of God?  It doesn't, and every civilized religion understands this.  Two of the central tenets of Islam are freedom of religion and protection of non-Muslims, the same tenets professed by all Abrahamic religions.  Isn't that interesting?

Christians need to remember that Christ was a Jew.  Muslims need to remember that Muhammad (pbuh), had two Jewish wives.  The Jews need to remember that Abraham was not just an integral part of their faith, but has roots in several others.  Yet, we constantly find ourselves in a bar fight, everyone with their guns drawn, every one with a bead on a different target, waiting for the phone to ring and make an itchy trigger finger flinch.  To what end?

By everyone's Holy Scripture it obviously wasn't in God's plan, even though everyone easily reinterprets God's word to excuse their right to wage holy war on their brother.  My Christian friends are not exempt from culpability in this mess.  The proof is in the pudding, as they say.  If you don't believe me, ask some of your devout Christian friends what their view of Islam is.  Where to start?  Well, I got an earful from a Baptist.  Now, does this reflect poorly on all Baptists?  Of course not, but it is interesting that any Christian interprets the bible to justify their feelings.  Of course, the Catholics would be immune because they can unload at confession, do some penance, and start all over for another week of sin and debauchery.  Hey Catholics!  Have you read my posts on the new Pope?  Your days of feeling like you have special dispensation may be numbered.

If you do nothing else today for God, think on the fact that we are all part of the same universe, and all of us are children of the same God.  Even the atheist is a child of the Lord, whether they believe it or not is immaterial, except to them.  All children are innocent until they are taught not to be.  Isn't that sad?  Like a Pit Bull, they are mean spirited because they are trained to be that way.

Go out today and love your neighbor and do unto others, as you would have them do unto you.  What a concept.

God bless you and keep you all as we enter this holiday season.

My prayer:

"If I have to die, Lord, let someone be holding my hand.  Allow me to see one last smile, a caring, friendly face to be with me at the end.  And, if I find myself not among other men, Lord, I beg you forgive me my trespasses, and comfort me as I come to you in all humility, knowing I am a sinner and expecting no quarter.  But, if you allow me only one wish for myself, Lord, please don't let me die alone."

Getting Older

"Good God! How often are we to die before we go quite off this stage? In every friend we lose a part of ourselves, and the best part."

-- Alexander Pope (1688-1744), poet

The eyes are truly windows to the soul.  Have you ever really looked into the eyes of a person that is over the age of ninety?  For so many of them, the lights are not only on, but there are disco balls and parties happening, as well.  Behind it all, there is a cornucopia of information spanning history, emotion, religion, philosophy, pain and suffering, love and loss.  There is an unspoken reality that they are the last of their world, and a sparkle when they see young people who recognize they are heirs to a rich legacy.

I have watched my dad grow older.  I have watched as his attitudes about life, love, and tolerance have changed through the years.  I have watched my mother change along with him, at times wondering if her changes were in response to his, and discovering they're her own.  I have watched them deal with social changes concerning race, equality, and sexuality.  I have watched as they became friends with a gay couple that lived next to them.  I watched as they became unforgiving of Islam because they didn't understand and, when the finally did, they condemned Islam for refusing to call out their own heretics.

I have watched dad as his friends grew old and died around him.  There are few, if any, of his old friends still alive.  Sometimes I think I can see this sadness in his eyes and I wonder what he's thinking.  It's one of those things we haven't talked much about except in, well, passing.  I have an idea of how must feel to him, though.  I distanced myself from my own high school alumni association because the newsletter became a running obituary, and I was only 50 at the time! 

My dad lives to cook, bake, make a killing in the stock market, and watch FOX News and CNBC business.  He dabbles in real estate, She takes care of their three cats and reads a lot.  I think she would like to have a real estate project, to stay active.  In our eighties, we should all be this active.

I wish I had been like my mom and dad.  I have their gift for making friends, but where they always had people over for dinner and parties, I have kept my friends at arm's length throughout my life.  I have found trust to be a fleeting concept which probably molded my attitude toward having friends, turning me into an uncompromising person at times.  This served me well in the military where it is one thing to learn how to kill en masse, and a real eye-opener to realize you can turn off caring if you do.  It is patriotically great for the country, emotionally corrupting for the individual, and devastating for the marriage that has to deal with a lack of emotional commitment and honesty.

As I got older, I mellowed.  I removed violence from my life and my soul, with months of introspection, both personal and clinical.  I spent so many years being someone else all the time; it was relieving to finally admit I could just be myself.  The problem:  I didn't really know who I was.  It took me another 15 years to find me.  Now, I'm also learning to change in other ways.  For instance, it isn't that important to have more money than necessary to be comfortable; no job is worth ruining your life for; if you have stress you need to lose it; I don't have to like you to love you; I can agree to disagree; and I really don't give a tinker's damn what other people think about me since I'm the one I have to look at in the mirror every evening with full knowledge I've fought the good fight for another day.

I have also come to grips with certain undeniable truths.  I think everyone comes to these same conclusions as we reach our waning years.  There needs to be a balance in the universe; friends die, and sooner or later we follow; we need to work for survival and for our own growth; we need to pay taxes to Caesar; we need to vote or shut the hell up; we need to live by a code of ethics which we will constantly be at odds with because we are sinners, and sinning seems to be what we're really good at; there is an undefinable omnipotent power in the universe, whether we call it energy, Tao, the light side of "The Force" or the dark, and everyone needs to realize the God that can be defined is not the true God, but have faith anyway; children are God's greatest gift; and, finally, we need to love ourselves so we can learn how to love and be loved by others.

The few friends I have, I still hold at arm's length.  Some things are just hard to change, but I'm getting better at letting people in the gates.  The few old friends I have, I see infrequently, if at all, but we do email or phone.  Two of them I have known since we were 9 or 10, and one other I was in the Air Force with back in the late 70s.  My newest friend lives closer, I have known him for about 15 years.  We visit occasionally, but still not as much as we should.  One thing I think all of us agree on, however, is that we will always be friends.  As we all get older I do not contemplate their passing or my own mortality for that matter.  I do think, in my next life, I would like to do things differently.  I'd like to have a multitude of friends around me, close around me, and a large family of children and grandchildren.  I think that would be nice, as I have wasted most of this life, since the divorce, being alone, even when I'm not.

One of my good friends once told me that, deep in her heart, she knows we'll all be together on a porch when we're in our 80s, in rocking chairs, laughing about old times and having cocktails while poking each other with our canes and calling each other rude names.

I can't wait.

We'll be friends until I am senile, then we'll be new friends.

-- Anonymous

Editor's Note

(Re: disclaimer cum "get out of jail free" card)

Before you go getting your panties in a bunch, it is essential to understand that this is just an opinion site and, as such, can be subjected to scrutiny by anyone with a differing opinion. It doesn't make either opinion any more right or wrong than the other. An opinion, presented in this context, is a way of inciting others to think and, hopefully, to form opinions of their own, if they haven't already done so. This is also why, occasionally, I will present an "opinion" just to stir an emotional pot. Where it may sound like I agree with the statements made, I'm more interested in getting others to consider an alternate viewpoint. 

It is my fervent hope that we keep open and active minds when reading opinions and while engaging in peaceful and constructive discussion, in an arena of mutual respect, concerning those opinions put forth. After over twenty years with military intelligence, I have come to believe engaging each other in this manner and in this arena is the way we will learn tolerance and respect for differing beliefs, cultures, and viewpoints.

We all fall from grace, some more often than others; it is part of being human. God's test for us is what we learn from the experience, and what we do afterward.

Pastor Tony spent 22 years with United States Air Force Intelligence as a planner, analyst, briefer, instructor, and senior manager. He spent 17 years, following his service career, working with the premier, world renowned, Institutional Review Board helping to protect the rights of human subjects involved in pharmaceutical research. Ordained 1n 2013 as an "interfaith" minister, he founded the Congregation for Religious Tolerance in response to intolerance shown by Christians toward peaceful Islam. As the weapon for his war on intolerance he chose the pen, and wages his "battle" in the guise of the Congregation's official online blog, The Path, of which he is both author and editor. "The Path" offers a vehicle for commentary and guidance concerning one's own personal, spiritual, path toward peace and the final destination for us all. He currently resides in Pass Christian, Mississippi, where he volunteers as lead Chaplain and Chaplain Program Liaison, at the regional medical center.

A Christmas Carol - A Study in Politics?

I love Charles Dickens', A Christmas Carol.  Published in 1843 it paints a picture of England undergoing a time of change during a period of industrialism where men, women, and children worked in appalling conditions for little money.  Workhouses, debtor prisons, and refuges for the destitute with wards for males and females. 

 

Although it stands as an indictment of English society of the day, does it reflect on current American society and politics?  I leave that to the reader.  I offer the except, below, for each to read and ponder.  Can we see far left liberalism, the Tea Party philosophies, far right conservative or libertarian values?  Bleeding hearts and the crusty curmudgeon?  Is the story reflecting both ends of the spectrum or is there a bit of grey in between?  Next time you have the opportunity to read the tale, try giving it another twist and see if Dickens isn't commenting on the political and social environment of any country.

 

When you read the entire story watch the interaction between Bob Cratchit and his wife.  Bob being somewhat more understanding than the missus.  Also watch the same interaction with Scrooge's nephew and his significant other.  I see politics seeping in throughout, and these same conversations can be reflected by any family today.

 

This story is yet more proof that Charles Dickens was a master storyteller.  I try to read this every year, or at least those excerpts I love the most.  I always find something I didn't see before.  Whether it speaks to politics or social values, in the end we find the humanity we are all capable of.  We can have differing beliefs, differing economic situations, even different faiths, and still treat each other with dignity and respect. 

 

Merry Christmas!

"At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge," said the gentleman, taking up a pen, "it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the Poor and Destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time.  Many thousands are in want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, sir."

"Are there no prisons?" asked Scrooge.

"Plenty of prisons," said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.

"And the Union workhouses?"  demanded Scrooge.  "Are they still in operation?"

"They are.  Still," returned the gentleman, "I wish I could say they were not."

"The Treadmill and the Poor Law are in full vigour, then?"  said Scrooge.

"Both very busy, sir."

"Oh!  I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course," said Scrooge.  "I'm very glad to hear it."

"Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude," returned the gentleman, "a few of us are endeavouring to raise a fund to buy the Poor some meat and drink and means of warmth.  We choose this time, because it is a time, of all others, when Want is keenly felt, and Abundance rejoices.  What shall I put you down for?"

"Nothing!" Scrooge replied.

"You wish to be anonymous?"

"I wish to be left alone," said Scrooge.  "Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer.  I don't make merry myself at Christmas and I can't afford to make idle people merry.  I help to support the establishments I have mentioned -- they cost enough; and those who are badly off must go there."

"Many can't go there; and many would rather die."

"If they would rather die," said Scrooge, "they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.  Besides -- excuse me -- I don't know that."

"But you might know it," observed the gentleman.

"It's not my business," Scrooge returned.  "It's enough for a man to understand his own business, and not to interfere with other people's.  Mine occupies me constantly.  Good afternoon, gentlemen!"

Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, the gentlemen withdrew.

More Pope Francis

"He washes the feet of the poor. He opts to live in a small apartment, rather than the opulent Vatican suites.  His humility has made him globally popular. But traditionalists are worried that he may move the Church’s teaching to a more open and liberal approach."

Have you read this?  These are the opening two lines of the latest Newsmax advertisement for the new book, Francis: A Pope for Our Time, The Definitive Biography, by Luis Rosales and Daniel Olivera.  I haven't read it yet, but I would like to.  Maybe someone will get me a Christmas present (hint, hint). 

 

I have been concerned that the Vatican would start trying to tighten his leash.  That would be very sad when you consider the lines above with everyone touting "his humility" and how it has made him "globally popular."  I don't think any Pope has ever come close to becoming what he has become to all people.  Certainly not in as short a period as he has had to do it.  He has appeal has a name now, "The Francis Effect." 

But, my fears are borne out in the last line, "traditionalists are worried."  And, what are they worried about?  They're concerned that "he may move the Church's teaching to a more open and liberal approach."  Hallelujah!  Roll me in honey and call me Margaret!  Isn't it about time we had a Christian leader that cares about solving the stagnating relationship between the Christian Church and mankind?  I would say, yes!

 

While the Pope stands at the forefront of a new Christian "jihad," I think the traditionalists might be worried they'll be required to get their hands dirty and do some feet washing.  To them I would say, use soap!  I want to see some priests out with us on a cold Saturday morning feeding the homeless.  I want to see the priest having to go back to his apartment for another pair of socks so his frozen toes will warm up.  When was the last time you saw a priest, or a nun, or a minister of a denominational church, downtown doing anything for the homeless on homeless turf?  Come down with me one Sunday when I hand out a few bags of apples, but dress warmly.

 

I notice no priest showed up to the city council meeting last night to show support for continuing to feed the homeless.  Ask yourselves why.  I have plenty of ideas why, but I won't cast unfounded dispersions on character.  I'm sure all the churches in town are quite active in feeding the poor, I'd just be a lot happier to see them out amongst them English.  Come out and freeze with them.  It is an education.

 

Fear is a terrible thing.  I seriously think the priesthood is afraid of our new Pope.  They probably don't like how the parishioners look at him and then look at them, as though they were comparing vehicles.  Like they're seeing, for the first time, how their priest measures up.  It is an eye opener to know that being a great man is more difficult than being a truly good man, but being a truly good man and a great man, well, it just goes to show that even the Vatican can screw up. 

While the Vatican may be questioning their decision, this pope just made Time Magazine's "Person of the Year" for 2013, beating out President Obama.  Alright, so a child with a lemonade stand could have beat out Obama, but the Pope has actually shown himself more than worthy and up to the challenge.  Maybe Barack could learn a few things here, like humility, honesty, how to speak from the heart without a teleprompter, and other Christian values.  Pope Francis seems to have it all, and the people love him!  I think that scares the Vatican to death.

 

I just love the guy.

Belief in Prayer

"Prayer is simply a two way conversation between you and God"  -- Billy Graham

I don't pray that much, at least not the stereotypical, kneel by the side of the bed, kneel on the pew in church and light a candle, doing penance as an act of contrition, kind of prayer.  This ship sailed when I stopped going to confession feeling like I had to make stuff up so as not to waste the priest's valuable time. 

 

For those not in the know, an act of contrition is a Catholic prayer that expresses sorrow for sins.  Penance would be the numerous other prayers the good father would tack on depending on the severity of one's fall from grace.  As a kid, you learn quickly how to balance your admissions in order to minimize the time spent on your knees.  I always wondered how long Al Capone spent down there, or if a sizeable donation to the church building fund was a get out of jail free card.

 

Now days, I have conversations with God.  I have come to appreciate God's sense of humor, usually at my expense.  God seemed to be having so much fun messing with me I actually figured God was a woman, because only a woman would have that much fun screwing around with my head.  I have found that since I have been focused on this blog it seems like I have been less the brunt of humor.  I'm not sure if this is due to the nature of the blog and quality of the posts, maybe I'm too focused on the blog to sit on the sacred "Whoopie cushion," or maybe it was all in my head.  Whatever the reason, my conversations with the almighty have been more focused on specific tasks and don't always have to begin with me looking into the heavens and exclaiming, "Again?" "Really?" Or even, "What?  What did I do this time?"  And my neck has stopped hurting from looking up.

My prayers usually don't focus on a desire for a miracle.  I fight my battles and only ask God for the strength to muddle through.  I have learned to only fight those battles I have a possibility of winning, unless there is a lesson to be learned in the losing.  Such was the battle waged last night with the Olympia City Council over feeding the homeless in their parking lots. 

There is an old adage that dad pounded into me, "You can't fight city hall."  The reason for this is pretty straightforward and easy to understand.  If you understand it, you have a better than even chance of getting something for your efforts.  City governments exist for the safety and welfare of their citizens, all of their citizens. To this end they have rules, regulations, and codes that they have to abide by.  If you don't like a code or regulation there are avenues to get it changed, adjusted, or even deleted.  Arguing with the city council is not one of these avenues.  The outcome of this particular confrontation was predictable, and I informed the outreach folks of this, prior to the meeting, along with my recommendations of how to proceed.

Needless to say, as with anything emotional, good sense and logic were also prey to emotional grievance throughout the meeting.  Brow beating the council on the plight of the homeless, of which they were already well aware, did nothing to solve the issue.  Going in with ideas of how to move forward and asking that they let the outreach continue while both parties work through finding common ground toward resolution would have been a better tact.  Everybody wants to look like they have a win.  You never want to confront the 800 pound gorilla without bringing him a banana. 

The city was still willing to discuss alternate locations.  They stated they were not against continuing the good work.  They also stated that the parking changes would go through, regardless of the homeless presentation.  Does this mean tickets, fines, and arrests if they violate the new ordinance?  Hopefully the City is smart enough to assume this will not paint them in a good light with the bleeding heart liberal majority that is Olympia.  I have offered my services as mediator, and/or advisor, to the outreach services if it will assist the in achieving a beneficial outcome for both parties.

The point of this tale is that prayer, in this circumstance, was well served to give strength to those heading into this battle, but was going to do little toward removing legal obstacles in the way of a positive outcome.  Sometimes it's better to surrender and hope you can negotiate an amicable peace, with a reasonable opponent, than to fall on your sword fighting a lost cause.  At least you might be able to continue the good fight.

I did find it interesting, as I heard one of the group comment their prayers seemed to go unanswered, how similar this event was to another historical event.  The leader of the outreach has to deal with the city manager, Pontius Pilate, who investigated the transgression.  The case goes before the mayor and his council, Herod Antipas, who hears the case and determines it must go back to Pilate for disposition.  Meanwhile, I found myself in the back of the room sitting next to the chief of police, the centurion, who waited patiently to see if someone might need to be arrested. 

As I left City Hall for my vehicle I found myself glancing upward, into the night sky, thinking, "Nice lesson."  

 

"Prayer is not an old woman's idle amusement.  Properly understood and applied, it is the most potent instrument of action....Prayer is not asking.  It is a longing of the soul.  It is daily admission of one's weakness.  It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart."

 -- Mahatma Gandhi

Sunday Thought - December 8, 2013: More on Losing Friends

Last week a friend of mine asked me what I'd been asking myself for months.  What was I going to do every morning before work when all my friends at the business in the next building vacated it and moved an hour up the highway?  The question occupied my mind as a defense mechanism against dealing with the real question, how to deal with the loss of so much family. 

Friday was the last day for everyone to show up at the facility next door.  On Monday they will report to work at the new location.  This realization, that Monday would be a marked shift in reality, was driven home Friday afternoon when Gayle and Erin hunted me down to give me a last hug.  This "expected" loss kept me tossing in bed until 2:00 this morning, when I finally turned on the light, fluffed up two pillows, and put pen to paper for today's Sunday Thought.  I could wordsmith the post for grammar, but I think it reads better the way it went down.

One year, five...ten; five passes like one, twenty like ten; a stitch in time, the blink of an eye.  Children grow up so fast and friends become memories. 

We enter each other's lives, cross each other's paths not realizing - no, that's not right...not comprehending the affect our interaction will have on each other, how our reality will change, whether we want it to or not.  For some this change will be ignored or be accepted as the normal course of life.  There is nothing normal about human interaction.  It isn't like beating a piece of metal into submission at a forge.  Ours is a ballet of emotion, or a game of chess.  In the workplace, especially when you are packed like sardines into cubes, we e create with each other a subtle closeness that can continue unrealized until it is lost.

There exists mystery in this group of 300 odd souls.  The quiet woman, keeping to herself most of the time, yet her knowledge of CPR will save the heart attack waiting to happen that is munching the Philly cheesesteak three workstations down.  The young man across the room, struggling to keep up with his workload, will pull two co-workers from a burning building, and go back for more.  There hundreds of other possibilities that surround us in this environment.

The obvious impact we have on each other, daily.  A person that whistles, hums, or sings, always with a smile or a joke to lighten the mood or brighten the day.  The cartoon on a sticky note, left on a monitor to wish someone a beautiful day and remind them they are thought of.  The simple act of a hug to say you care and love having them on your path, if even for a brief time.  For others it is the act of playing games to get ahead or garner favor from supervisors, and back-stabbing for personal gain.  But, even in this immaturity there exists tremendous impact and the possibility for others around them to grow through the act of understanding and forgiveness.

The building is empty now.  The furniture is being moved out.  Soon, cleaners will come in to make it presentable so they can turn the building back over for the next tenant.  I will look in the windows on Monday and see, nothing.  Everyone will be gone.  I have knowledge of the hole in my heart I have to fill with memories of the myriad of people I have known and cared about for twenty years.  Is this what it felt like for some of them, when I retired from here and went to Mexico to live?  I wonder.

So many people have come and gone.  Some have suffered debilitating illness, mental infirmity, death or stroke.  I can't help but think of Amy and Rick, Lodi, Kathy, and others.  There are those that married, had babies, and those that moved on to other careers.

Are we aware of how we affect each other?  How we can change someone's path, every day, every moment, with just a smile, a kind word or thoughtful gesture?  How we become different than the day before, better than we were, for the interaction with those with whom we come into daily contact?

I wonder, if everyone were to gather around each morning in a circle, holding hands for a quiet moment of reflection, would they comprehend their meaning to each other, their value to the group?  Or, is this something that we're too busy to understand until it is gone or until we are too old and are left with only cherished memories? 

I look at the stranger and see my friend, the old man and see my child.  I look into the eyes of a baby and, for a brief moment, feel as if I've touched the face of creation.  How powerful we humans are.  How meaningful and necessary we are to each other, each day and for the rest of our lives.  Our happiness is the comprehension of this value; love is the understanding of it.

Monday will be hard. 

Miracle

"Nothing is esteemed a miracle, if it ever happen in the common course of nature."

David Hume (1711-1776), philosopher

Tomas Crisp, 65 and dying of cancer, stirred in his sleep, the I.V. tubing and wires attached to the monitoring electronics made it difficult to roll off his back and onto his side.  He coughed, and the cough led to another, and then another deeper cough which developed into a full-blown coughing fit that finally woke him from yet another of this afternoon's short naps.  The drugs just weren’t working.  He was in pain and he just couldn’t get any meaningful sleep.  With all of his money, he couldn't beat what ails him.  He looked around the small hospital room as he pressed the dosing trigger for another hit of morphine.  The room was dimly lit, medicinal and stark, no flowers or cards, no evidence of family or friends.  At the age of 65, Tom would die alone, and this was fine with him as he had lived a good life; lonely, but good.  He felt a warm rush as the drug took effect; his eyelids slowly dropped him into another fitful nap.

Tom turned his head while he slept and was facing the door to the small, private, hospital room.  His eyes fluttered and the right one opened just a crack.  His vision was trying to focus out of the drug-induced slumber.  He thought he could see someone sitting in a chair next to the bed, so he squinted his eye to try and blink it clear of fog.  He lifted his head a bit as he finally focused on a woman.  She was slender under her one piece taupe colored habit and had a natural linen scarf covering her head and draping down her shoulders.  She was sitting upright with good posture, hands one atop the other and resting on her lap, with knees and feet together.  He thought back to the Catholic orphanage he had been subjected to.  The nuns would have called her "prim and proper."  Tom, on the other hand, looked a fright with dark bags under his eyes, his short gray hair needed a brush, and he had cotton mouth from the painkillers which meant his breath could all but kill.  Oh joy, he thought, a visitor.

He stifled a yawn, worried about his breath, and managed to croak out a gruff, “Who are you?”  His throat was dry and he needed a drink.  The woman seemed to interpret his need and lifted a glass of water from the stainless steel tray which was parked alongside the bed.  She leaned forward and tilted the straw so he could take a sip.  Water dribbled from his lips to the pillow, and with a clearer voice, though still gruff, he said, “Thank you.”  The woman smiled and put the glass back.  Tom closed the left eye, the one next to the pillow, and tried to focus on her fully with his right.  He repeated his earlier question, “Who are you?”

She folded her hands together on her lap and smiled again.  In a soft, almost whispering voice she explained, “Father sent me to comfort you.”

Tom snorted, “Sister, you can go back and thank the father for his concern, but I haven’t believed in God for a long time and nothing I’ve heard or seen so far is going to change my mind.  There are no ooey-ooey miracles, no miraculous cures, no rising of the dead, and no fu…., uh, freakin' afterlife.  You priests and nuns amaze me.  All of you “people of the cloth,” wandering around giving folks false hope, especially when they’re dying.”  He snorted again, turned his head away while giving a dismissive wave with his hand, wincing as the movement jostled the I.V. needle taped into the back of it.  All of his movement was loosening the grip the tape had on the needle.  The woman’s brow furrowed in concern as she felt his pain and reached out to gently press the tape back into place around the needle.

Tom felt the gentleness and warmth of her touch.  It was strangely soothing to him and he felt the pain subside as she left her hand resting over the needle, to steady it.  He glanced sideways at her, still facing away, "Thank you, sister."  She smiled again.

She took her hand from the back of his and leaned forward so he could hear her soft voice as if she were unable to speak louder.   "Your belief in God is desired, Thomas, but not required.  You have faith, regardless of your belief.  The good you have done, with all of your wealth, you have done privately and without want of recognition.  You have played the "Scrooge" at great cost to your personal life, and always pushed people away for fear of being close.  No, Tom, you deny the Lord and yet you follow His path.  Like Judas, you do his bidding, and, like Judas, you also deny the silver you've earned for doing it."

Another snort, he did not turn to look at her as he spoke.  "It was not my intent to follow any path, sister," he spat out "path" as if in anger, "I gave of my wealth because I had more than any one man could spend, that's all.  If it did some good, so much the better.  The orphans could sure use it.  Much better than giving it to Uncle Sam!"  He smiled at the thought of his ability to always screw the government out of it's due.  He noticed he hadn't coughed for a while.  Maybe he could get some sleep, finally.  "It would be better if the orphanage taught children more about survival and less about a God that abandoned them.

"Has survival served you that well, Thomas?  It has turned you bitter.  Yes, the orphans needed those donations.  You deny your feelings, but you do care.  You made sure the charities you give to spend their money wisely, like the orphanage." she said, folding her hands back on her lap.  "Being an orphan yourself, you know how much they needed every penny of what you gave."  His head snapped toward her and he felt the blood rise into his cheeks.  He didn't yell, but his anger was evident.

"Who the hell told you I was an orphan?  No one knows that!  Did that damned priest check up on me?  What, he couldn't just take the money?  Did he have to make sure it was clean?  What?"

Her smile disappeared as she averted her eyes downward to her hands, not wanting to see his anger.   She whispered, almost pleading, "He has his ways, Tom.  Please do not be angry with the Father.  He always means well."  Tom looked away again, as he rolled to face the window.

"What's the old saying sister?  The path to hell is paved with good intentions?"  Another snort.

She looked up again and spoke to the back of his head, "If there were a "path to hell" Tom, it would be paved with cobblestones of lies, hatred, and spite that are held in place with want and desire; not with good intentions.  If there is a hell, your path does not approach it."

Tom let out a deep sigh.  "Sister, I need my sleep.  I'm sure you'll understand if I ask you to leave?"  She smiled and stood, her robe falling into place around her slim figure.

"You cannot sleep yet, Tom.  You have a few more visitors waiting."  Her voice was melodious and it felt as if she were willing him to look.  He turned his head enough to watch as she walked to the door like a dancer would float, reaching for the handle.  The door began to open before she touched it, and the night nurse for the cancer wing stuck her head in.  The look on her face said she was expecting his usual gruff manner. 

"I know its dinner time, Mr. Crisp, but these folks out here were insistent on paying their respects."

He let out another exasperated sigh and said, "Oh, my god!"  The sister smiled again.  "What are you smilin' at?  It's a figure of speech, is all."  The nurse responded, obviously not having seen his other visitor, "Mr. Crisp, I can guarantee you, I am not smiling!"  Tom rolled his eyes.

"Oh, show them in, for God's sake!  And, show the sister out!"  The nurse closed the door without the nun in tow.  He could hear the nurse in the hallway saying something to the others, and he heard giggles.  "Oh, great," he said quietly but with a note of frustration, "Fricking happy visitors.  Does the joy never end?"  He looked at the sister who was still smiling as if enjoying his discomfort with the happenings around him.  He let out another sigh, "I guess you're gonna stay then?"  She just kept smiling as the door opened and 15 small children, ages from 5 through 12, filed into the small room.  The sister backed up to the wall, making room for all to stand in front of the bed.  Tom thought the children a bit rude.  Didn't they see the sister backing up to the wall?  They should show a bit of respect!

The sister spoke from her position across the room, her almost whispering voice clearly audible to him.  "I have to go, Tom.  You have been always looking for a miracle to prove God."  she spread her hands to indicate the group of children, and he looked at them as she continued, "These are not a miracle, Tom.  These are your children, want them or not, they are yours."  She spread her arms wider as if to introduce them all.  "Here before you stand doctors, philosophers, and scientists.  Children which will, with your continued support, rid this world of illness, starvation and, possibly, even war.  They are children of God, like all children, and they need you, Thomas."

Tom's head sank into his pillow as if to escape from her.  The nurse pressed the button, bringing the back of the bed up so he was almost sitting.  His tired eyes looked up at the sister in resignation as he responded in the voice of a strong man finally beaten down at the last seconds of his life, "I'm dying, damn it!"  The nurse shot him a scolding look, then smiled and scolded him in a playful voice, "Not just yet, Mr. Crisp!  Not just yet!"  The nurse leaned in closer, whispering, "And, watch your language, there are children present!" 

He noticed the nun was smiling again.  They didn't see her.  Hell, they didn't hear her!  Not once have these people shown any sign they even know she is in the room.  Tom felt like he was losing his mind.  She raised her right hand and touched her heart with her fingertips.  "The Father loves you, Mr. Crisp, as does the Son.  You will live to see the youngest of these children with children of their own.  Only then will the Father welcome you."  He felt a lump grow in his throat as a subtle glow slowly began to envelop her.  "My miracle?"  he quietly asked, looking at the children.  The children and the nurse seemed not to notice the interaction between him and the nun.  She continued, "Remission happens, not common, but also not a miracle.  You have been given time to believe, Tom, and time to learn, to learn to love these children standing before you, and guide them.  You are a good man, Thomas.  Now, be a good father."

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, shaking his head slowly back and forth for a few seconds until the words burst forth from his mouth. "Mother of Christ, forgive me!" He opened his eyes and she was gone. The children were still there, staring at him as though his mind had taken a vacation, the nurse assuming a moment of drug-induced insanity. He could imagine how he must look; eyes wide as saucers, tightly gripping two fistfuls of bed sheet, perspiration beading across his forehead. All he needed was a drool cup to complete the picture. Bring on the straight jacket! The nurse had one hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with concern. Everything was quiet.

A small girl broke from the group of children and came to the side of his bed, climbing onto the chair and sitting with her hands folded in her small lap.  "Mithter Crithp?"  He couldn't help but smile at her lisp.  "We've come to thay, thank you.  Thank you, tho much, for everything you've done!"  She reached out and gripped his big hand with her small one.  It occurred to him he was feeling no pain and had not felt pain since the woman had covered his hand in hers.  He didn't want to cough.  He felt...good.  No, he felt young!  He smiled, and the children came forward to stand around his bed.  He looked at all the young faces, and he began to cry.

Miracles happen, Mr. Crisp.  Merry Christmas!

Editor's Note

(Re: disclaimer cum "get out of jail free" card)

Before you go getting your panties in a bunch, it is essential to understand that this is just an opinion site and, as such, can be subjected to scrutiny by anyone with a differing opinion. It doesn't make either opinion any more right or wrong than the other. An opinion, presented in this context, is a way of inciting others to think and, hopefully, to form opinions of their own, if they haven't already done so. This is also why, occasionally, I will present an "opinion" just to stir an emotional pot. Where it may sound like I agree with the statements made, I'm more interested in getting others to consider an alternate viewpoint. 

It is my fervent hope that we keep open and active minds when reading opinions and while engaging in peaceful and constructive discussion, in an arena of mutual respect, concerning those opinions put forth. After over twenty years with military intelligence, I have come to believe engaging each other in this manner and in this arena is the way we will learn tolerance and respect for differing beliefs, cultures, and viewpoints.

We all fall from grace, some more often than others; it is part of being human. God's test for us is what we learn from the experience, and what we do afterward.

Pastor Tony spent 22 years with United States Air Force Intelligence as a planner, analyst, briefer, instructor, and senior manager. He spent 17 years, following his service career, working with the premier, world renowned, Institutional Review Board helping to protect the rights of human subjects involved in pharmaceutical research. Ordained 1n 2013 as an "interfaith" minister, he founded the Congregation for Religious Tolerance in response to intolerance shown by Christians toward peaceful Islam. As the weapon for his war on intolerance he chose the pen, and wages his "battle" in the guise of the Congregation's official online blog, The Path, of which he is both author and editor. "The Path" offers a vehicle for commentary and guidance concerning one's own personal, spiritual, path toward peace and the final destination for us all. He currently resides in Pass Christian, Mississippi, where he volunteers as lead Chaplain and Chaplain Program Liaison, at the regional medical center.

A Point of Light

It was a cool evening in Olympia.  Most evenings are cool in the Northwest, but I remember this night, in particular, due to the overpowering smell of wood smoke from neighboring fireplaces.  This night had the right temperature, moisture, and pressure to hold the smoke fairly low.  I could almost hear the "poor air quality" alerts on the local news.

I initially went outside to move my car under the carport, having parked it at the side of the house.  Even with the annoyingly bright streetlight at the foot of the drive, and the lights from downtown Olympia reflecting across Capitol Lake and into the evening sky, my attention was still drawn upward to the bright carpet of sparkling stars.  I was in awe and wonder at how gorgeous the sky was.

The house is located on the bluff overlooking the lake, so the taller trees were pretty much all down in the ravine and on the hillside below us around the lake.  This allowed an almost unobstructed view of the eastern sky from north to south.  I say "almost" because of one, extremely tall, old-growth, Douglas fir tree sitting between our house and the neighbor's, right on the bluff.  It towered in the neighborhood of two-hundred to three-hundred feet, like a spear of nature.  The branches toward the top were certain "widow-makers" to anyone standing below when they broke them off

Our panoramic strip of sky usually provides evening views of passenger jets landing and taking off from SeaTac International, about an hour up the road.  Aircraft are easy to pick out in the distance if you know what to look for, even though the light doesn't seem to move, you can pick out the colored lights blinking on and off, or see the bright landing lights get even brighter as it gets closer.  Of course, the closer the aircraft gets the easier it is to see it begin to move through the sky, and they tend to follow standard flight paths.

This particular evening I saw a bright star, a bit higher than a usual flight path, and watched it for a bit to see if it was an aircraft, star, or a planet.  Nothing was blinking on it and it seemed, considering the extreme distance, it appeared to be visibly moving a lot faster than a jet would have been given the altitude.  It had to be a satellite.  Being in military intelligence I had the inside track on satellite overflights at night which allowed numerous opportunities to go outside at night when they overflew the airbases where I was stationed.  Satellites were fairly easy to spot and, again, follow their designated orbits.

I watched this one for a while as it traversed from the southern sky to point above me, almost even with my position, before it disappeared behind the tall, old growth fir.  I estimated how long it would take it to re-appear and shifted my gaze to pick it up when it emerged on the other side of the trunk.  I waited for a second... two... well, where was it?  I leaned left, then right, like that was really going to help me look around the tree.  Sometimes we do silly things.  The light finally emerged higher than the original track would have brought it, it was moving significantly slower, and it was also diminishing in brightness.  It continued to slow and diminish in brightness until it disappeared from sight only several feet from where it had reappeared from behind the tree.

If this was a satellite, it was rapidly leaving orbit and heading out into space.  The cat was rubbing up against my leg.  I looked down, as the cat sat and looked up at me as if to ask, "Whatchya lookin' at Boss?  You do know it's cold out here, right?  How about some kibble?"

I smiled and looked back up to the spot in the sky.  I watched for another moment, making sure that my eyes had not deceived me before I picked up the tabby and went back inside.  The cat sprawled in front of the fire as I poured myself a bourbon rocks.  I settled down on the couch to enjoy the fire with the cat who rolled over and stretched.

There are things we see at times that seemingly defy explanations which I have learned not to go looking for.  You will usually be told what you saw was something you know it wasn't or, as in my intelligence field, that the object can be neither confirmed nor denied, nor can it be confirmed that I actually saw something once bourbon is involved.  Their evidence changes faster than the explanations and disappears as fast as the bourbon.  You will rarely be satisfied with the answer if you ever received one.  After 22 years in with military intelligence, I knew better than to expect one, so I let it go.

I'm the master sergeant who took calls from people who dialed the wrong number, wanting to report aliens that were watching them through their bathroom mirror.  I'm the guy that told them to take shaving cream and ensure every inch of the mirror was covered, then get tin foil and make a hat from it, because, if they were watching, you could bet your bottom dollar they were also reading your mind.  I'm the guy that, while the caller was busy with the shave cream, transferred their call to the OSI, the Office of Special Investigations.  I was not the guy the callers wanted or needed.  I was the wrong number.  I was their worst nightmare, the guy who messes with people's heads, the guy who figured the OSI would probably want to share in the humor of the moment.  I was party to the policy of "plausible deniability" for way too long, so when it comes to what I see, no one can tell me what they think I saw.  Not even the voices in my head have the right to do that.

Are we alone in this universe?  Are there inter-dimensional beings traveling between realities?  Are they, perhaps, from our own future?  Mainstream science would say no, there isn't any proof.  Theoretical science would say, we don't have the science right now to form an opinion on the theoretical probability.  This covers their ass in the event of a possible breakthrough, or finding of the aforementioned, non-existent evidence which would otherwise make them look like buffoons.

For science, if it can't be proven by scientific method, then what you see is only in your mind, your imagination.  If a tree falls in the woods, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?  Does point nine times infinity equal one?  Does God exist?  Unusual incidents, like the one I witnessed in the night sky, can change a person's view of their place in the universe if they can open their mind and allow themselves to dream.

I dream a lot, and I still think about that point of light.

Editor's Note

(Re: disclaimer cum "get out of jail free" card)

Before you go getting your panties in a bunch, it is essential to understand that this is just an opinion site and, as such, can be subjected to scrutiny by anyone with a differing opinion. It doesn't make either opinion any more right or wrong than the other. An opinion, presented in this context, is a way of inciting others to think and, hopefully, to form opinions of their own, if they haven't already done so. This is also why, occasionally, I will present an "opinion" just to stir an emotional pot. Where it may sound like I agree with the statements made, I'm more interested in getting others to consider an alternate viewpoint. 

It is my fervent hope that we keep open and active minds when reading opinions and while engaging in peaceful and constructive discussion, in an arena of mutual respect, concerning those opinions put forth. After over twenty years with military intelligence, I have come to believe engaging each other in this manner and in this arena is the way we will learn tolerance and respect for differing beliefs, cultures, and viewpoints.

We all fall from grace, some more often than others; it is part of being human. God's test for us is what we learn from the experience, and what we do afterward.

Pastor Tony spent 22 years with United States Air Force Intelligence as a planner, analyst, briefer, instructor, and senior manager. He spent 17 years, following his service career, working with the premier, world renowned, Institutional Review Board helping to protect the rights of human subjects involved in pharmaceutical research. Ordained 1n 2013 as an "interfaith" minister, he founded the Congregation for Religious Tolerance in response to intolerance shown by Christians toward peaceful Islam. As the weapon for his war on intolerance he chose the pen, and wages his "battle" in the guise of the Congregation's official online blog, The Path, of which he is both author and editor. "The Path" offers a vehicle for commentary and guidance concerning one's own personal, spiritual, path toward peace and the final destination for us all. He currently resides in Pass Christian, Mississippi, where he volunteers as lead Chaplain and Chaplain Program Liaison, at the regional medical center.