Where are All the Mahatmas?

The Merriam Webster word of the day is "mahatma."  http://www.merriam-webster.com/word-of-the-day/2010/12/30/ --  a person to be revered for high-mindedness, wisdom and selflessness.    The moment I saw the word "revered" I thought about all the "reverends" I know.  And I thought of how that word is generally self-attributed and very much overused to the point of abuse.   


It really galls me when people say my name is 'reverend doe.  Sometimes my follow-up question is what did your mother name you?"  (Of course, this is no different from people who say my name is Doctor Doe or Attorney Doe or -- or Evangelist Doe -- or my all-time grating-on-my-nerves one -- Lady Minister Doe.   News flash folks:  Your name is not your title or what you do for a living.     


The one time I saw "Rev. Andrea Hoxie" in an article written by the late "Bud" Johnson, one of my dearest sparring partners (verbal, of course), I had to give him a call; we had a serious conversation, including a little discussion of Psalm 111:9.


Words are important.  They encourage, convict, condemn, support, dissappoint, exhort, admonish, and deify -- or at least, attempt to do so.  Sometimes they begin with a thought; sometimes not.  These words I write today began with a thought -- primarily the possibility of offending those whom I love and respect, some of whom are oftentimes referred to by that "R" word. And then, I thought of those folks, and remembered why I respect them.  They accept me as I am, including the sometimes radical and unconventional Andrea who goes against the grain.   Even when we agree to disagree, it is without condemnation.  


Some folks are probably thinking right now:  Why would she write something so offensive?  So inflammatory?  What difference does is make that we call our priests, preachers, pastors and ministers "Reverend"?   Well, consider this:  Does it make a difference when someone calls you a receptionist when you're a secretary?  A gal when you're an administrator?  A secretary when you're a paralegal?  A boy when you're a man?  A hooker, prostitute or whore when you have reserved your body exclusively for your spouse?  


Words do matter.   We speak them and they take life, become flesh.  How many children have taken paths uttered by mean-spirited, impatient, ignorant folks who told them they would never amount to anything?  Yes, words matter.  


So, now, a few questions:  

• Does that certificate of ordination, license to preach, divinity degree, or your spouse's call to the ministry justify use of the handle Rev.?   
• Do you preach and teach God's word with authority, and then live as if there is no God, or as if He is blind and deaf?
• Do your beliefs, thoughts, attitude, behavior, and actions reflect reverend?
• Do you try to justify extra privileges to accorded to you because you use the handle?
• Is your general comportment the same whether you are at or away from home?

In other words, are you truly  a mahatma?  Or do you just wear the mask?  Here is a hint if you have difficulty answering the question:  The one man most of us know as Mahatma was Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi.  It is said that he protested against the title Mahatma that was conferred on him by others.   This simple-living man seemingly cared nothing for the transient trappings that are coveted by others.   He was wise, selfless and high-minded.  Mahatma?  And because of his wisdom, selflessness and high-mindedness, he was revered.  Reverend?


Even while we have high regard for the wise, selfless, high-minded folks of this world, there is but One, Who is indeed Reverend.   And He is called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.  And at His name, every knee shall bow and every tongue acknowledge and confess that He is Lord.  Jesus, the Christ.   Reverend.



  To Tell the Truth (V. Michael McKay)

Remembering Glenn and Charles

I have the best of both worlds. While I enjoy formally structured music, and am privileged to know a plethora of talented musicians (SMBC's Daryl Robinson, for one), who can properly execute the most intricate musical works and make such execution appear to be effortless, I also revel in the soul-stirring spontaneity of improvisational music, such as Glenn Burleigh's live rendition of one of my most favorite hymns.  This is a fitting time for me to find this recording, as it was just three years ago, around this time, that Glenn left this earth for a better life.  He is still missed by many, including me.  And even three years later, the gifts our God gave us through Glenn and his musical talent, are still giving; over, continuously we who love Glenn and his music are still reaping the benefits of those blessings.

On a similar note, just a few days ago, we celebrated the birthday of Charles Richards.  He, too, was a talented musician.  Unlike Glenn, he was not known nationwide.  He served same family of God here in Houston for more than 35 years.  He was the consummate gospel organist with a unique sound that I have never heard duplicated.   And he was much more than an organist.  Just as he blended his own sound on the Hammond organ, he trained and blended voices to sing God's praises.    It just so happens he really liked Glenn's music and incorporated it into his music ministry frequently.  Charles left this earth for a better life earlier this year.  He too is missed by many, including me.  

Now, about the link:  There may be one who listens to this recording and cannot understand what Glenn did with this lovely hymn.  Where did all that come from?  That's not the way it's supposed to go!  Why did he do that?  When is he going to resolve that phrase?  How could he do that?    Charles would understand.  It's just a thing that happens when the Spirit is like fire in your bones.   He leads you down paths you would not normally take -- many times well off the printed page; He pulls stuff out of you, the existence of which you are quite ignorant; and even while your heart pounds so hard you know it will soon explode, and you know for sure that you are soaring among the clouds, He keeps you from going off the deep end.  And when it's all over, He sets you down gently and safely.   And, you understand your feet are actually firmly planted -- on the ground.

Even while you're the same, you're not quite -- there's a little something different.  It may be a new perspective of an old issue, or a sense of peace that wasn't there before, or an urge to bridge the chasm of a derailed relationship.  It's kind of like something for which Pastor Steve prays when he asks God to speak to us through His Word, so that we will be less of what we used to be, and more of what we ought to be, through Christ Jesus.  What I'm saying is that the Word of God, even through a hymn, has transformative powers.  To one who cannot understand, I can only refer you to the words to this awesome hymn, which are themselves more than sufficient to make my heart soar.   And if those lyrics are not sufficient, feel free to go to the source:  Lamentations 3:23.  In the meantime, I believe I'll hobble upstairs and visit this hymn for myself -- just for a while.  As for you, the reader, visit Glenn's rendition here:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UR2hoEN2t2M

Health Care: There's Something to be Said for Keeping it Simple

KISS is one of my favorite acronyms.  Keep it Simple (some might add Stupid -- I do not) has become, for me, a lifestyle.  While it is not often reflected in my writings, which I am told are full of (on any other day I would likely have used fraught instead of full of) archaic expressions, I tend to favor keeping it simple in most other areas, like

-- a regular diet of fresh fruits and vegetables, and a little protein and intentional fat [confessing here the tendency to favor my own recipe for wheat buds, which has everything to do with dark chocolate folded into some less-decadent ingredients like oatmeal and whole wheat flour], rather than larger-than-life servings of battered, dipped and fried messes of stuff, or breakfast breads elaborately adorned with a year's supply of sugary additives,

OR

-- a simple mode of dress which has little to do with the latest trends (have you seen some of the shoes women are supposed to wear? --- definitely not made for walking!

OR

-- settling for the wheels that came with the vehicle purchased as opposed to the four-figure ($) things I was asked to purchase, purely for aesthetic reasons,

OR

-- in my own mind, as I draft a petition alleging unjust enrichment or misappropriation of funds, thinking theft is theft no matter how you dress it up.

I just find KISS is a lot less stressful and an easier way to function.  It is unfortunate that the KISS principle has not made its way into the area of health care.  In fact, it appears that every year, both in public and private sectors, the issue of health care gets more complicated, and the burden of finding the right health care plan becomes more onerous and tedious.   Regulations that are made to protect those seeking information often make that information difficult to find.  Despite rules and ethics, folks may be misinformed and locked into a health care plan that is not right for them.  As we move toward the end of this year, one remedy is to get information from someone who has no loyalty to any one company or plan, and who will share sufficient information to assist with choosing the plan than is right for the individual, not the company's bottom line.  This is not to negate the significance of a private company's or plan's bottom line, which lends itself to discussion profit margins, returns on investment, job losses or gains, and so forth.  This is however, to make the point that no one is served fairly if the seekers of health care services do not get what they need.  In that regard, where services are not delivered, everyone loses.

It is important to make a well-informed decision when choosing a health care plan.  An interactive website may not address all of your health care plan concerns or answer all of your questions in that regard.  Be encouraged, especially if you are a senior or have been declared totally disabled, to contact someone who will help to simplify your issues and assist you in making that decision.

Random Thoughts of My Father on His Birthday

Having lived three times as long as I had his physical presence in my life, I am still awestruck by how much he gave me in the 14 years we had before his body ceased to function.  Even today, for me, Lewis Hoxie is very much alive.  He is always with me.  My words are often his words. My thoughts, attitudes and opinions are so much like his.  Some folks who know me may not think those are such good things; how very short-sighted they are!

When I was a toddler he added a handle to the screen door leading to our front porch, positioned to be within my grasp, giving me freedom to go from the house to the porch in my own time and way.

He allowed me sips of Mogen David Concord Grape wine with my Oreo cookie (in retrospect, that combination grosses me out, but back then . . .).

He removed the seeds from my melons, diced and speared them with toothpicks and served them to me so that I could pretend the fruity cubes were hors d' oveures.

I stood on his feet and walked with him.

I met him at the kitchen door when he arrived home from work.

I gave him exclusive rights to kiss the dimple in the middle of my forehead and he gladly accepted.

No one in the neighborhood bothered me because they knew I belonged to him.  If some poor soul had a lapse of memory, a simple "I'm going to tell my daddy" was sufficient to make all scatter.

He let me drive from the front gate to the garage opening.  Okay, it was less than 100 feet, but still . . . .

He took our family to church every Sunday.  I sometimes sat with him in the seating reserved for deacons during worship.  No one ever asked me to move.

He only had to make me go outside and cut a switch just a couple of times.  I thank God for the switch -- and the strap; I figure they were a lot easier to take then than being behind bars would be now.  

As long as I didn't have a fever or some childhood ailment -- or my toe wasn't tagged -- we all went to church on Sundays, first for Sunday School, then worship, then back in the evening for Training Union.  I thank God for Training Union.  I can find scriptures in the Bible without looking at the table of contents, and many I know now because my father and mother taught us decades ago.  I can speak, sing or play piano in the presence of a few or a few thousand.  All because my daddy took -- not sent -- his family to church.

My brother is smart, solid, strong, dutiful, responsible, supportive and loving.  In other words, he is what a man should be.   My brother is one of the most upright men I know.  When I look at Brer, or think of Brer, I also see or think of my father. 

Daddy did not have a lot of money.  He worked hard and provided for his family.  The house he built 60 years ago has weathered every Houston storm without damage and still stands solidly today.  We were always well fed, well clothed, well nurtured and well loved.  While money can buy the food and clothing, no currency is sufficient to purchase the care and love my father bestowed upon his family.  In that regard, we were -- and are -- wealthier than most.  

My father tolerated little nonsense from people.  I am very much like him in that way and don't mind it -- not one bit.  

That is enough for now.  There is no grand ending because Daddy's story continues.  As long as there is a Hoxie limb from his branch of the tree, or a twig from a limb of his branch, or a fruit that fell from a twig from a limb of his branch of that tree, my daddy will be around.  It would be nice, though, if he could kiss my third dimple just once more.

Happy birthday, Daddy.

Elitism Everywhere

One has not begun to appreciate the choral repertoire until one is familiar with Palestrina.


This smug little response was made to the question "What are your favorite choral works to sing" posted on Facebook questions.  The response is elitist, exclusive, divisive, and just downright snotty -- reeking of a strong implication that the appreciation of choral music which excludes certain choral works could not possibly be "appreciation."   


Being one whose musical style has been described as "too white for black" and "too black for white," this writer is content to straddle the fence and land on either side in comfort.   Sometime ago, many evenings were spent jumping from one side of the fence to the other:  first to Sleepy Hollow, a restaurant/piano bar in Town & Country Village in Houston, sitting in for Russ White, the consummate all-around pianist.  When Russ took his breaks, Andrea would play and sometimes sing old standards like I Left My Heart in San Francisco and My Funny Valentine.  Then she would zip across town to the Wunderbar on Southmore in the Third Ward area and end the night listening to Iola Broussard belt out jazz and blues standards.   Other evenings were spent, spellbound, at the opera or symphony.  And then -- on Sunday morning -- generally multiple worship services incorporating all genres of religious music, from songs based on African melodies (the harmonies for which were nonexistent -- and damn the musician who would tried to create them!), to incredible hymns, the compositions of which were paid for with life's experiences, to soul-stirring gospel, to centuries old anthems that made one's heart soar to the heavens.  With such musical wealth, how can one have "A" favorite?  Is there one and only one way to touch one's heart?  If so, what a tiny heart one must have!  


So, what has this to do with elitism everywhere?  Simply this:  a narrow scope of any one area can be indicative of a narrow scope of the big picture.  True, everyone is entitled to one's own opinions and preferences.  Still, how far does one go with that?  


Try this:  One has only begun to appreciate automobiles until one is familiar with the Koeniggsegg Trevita, which, at $2.21 million (according to Forbes) is the world's most expensive car.  


Just curious:  What about the automobile that is right for you?   That you can afford?  That serves you well?  


Or, try this:  One has only begun to appreciate flowers until one is familiar with Cannas or Calla Lilys.


Just curious:  What about those daisies your child or spouse picked out of the front yard and brought to you in a mason jar?


Or, try this:  One has only begun to appreciate beauty until one is familiar with Julia Roberts, Kim Kardashian, Katy Perry, . . . ????


Just curious:   Who is truly beautiful to you?  Is he/she someone with the right look on the outside? Is that all that matters?  If so, what happens when the look fades?  What about the person behind the look?


Now, try this:  One has only begun to appreciate -- freedom -- education -- others -- until one is familiar with --- ????


So, what does it for you?   Is your appreciation of freedom based on your having rights that others do not enjoy?  Is your appreciation of education exclusive to you and yours, or something to which all should have access?  Is your appreciation of others based on whether or not they look, act, speak and think like you?  


Or can you appreciate that while we may be 99% alike, the 1% that makes us different from each other is the special something that God put in each us for the sake of variety and diversity -- to expound on the miracle of His creation?  Is there but one type of fruit?  Flower?   Dog?   Bird?   Man?   Woman?  Culture?  Absolutely not!


The differences in all of us make elitism in any realm a smear on the big picture of creation, and an absolute slap in the face of the Creator.


How dare any of us -- what right have any of us -- to slap the face of the Creator?

Drop That Foolish Delusion??? -- Part II -- Slugs

II.  Many Bloodsuckers

On the last Wednesday of September this year, this writer was blessed to attend Bible Study with the family of God known as South Main Baptist Church.  Pastor Steve rendered a wonderfully inspiring and thought-provoking introduction of the Gospel of Mark.  At some point during the Bible Study we were reminded of an upcoming election, and that candidates  would be out in full force, making promises that none could keep.  When asked which party might that be -- Republicans or Democrats, there rang throughout the Fellowship Hall a one-word, unanimous answer:  Both!  That is true.   So, after toiling over which Slug (sorry-butt sluggard) or CTI (critically thinking idealist) to highlight first, I want to thank Pastor Steve for inspiration.

Before we delve into this writing -- THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS TO THE SLUGS MOST CALL POLITICIANS AND I CALL MANY BLOODSUCKERS.  The problem is that the CTIs who happen to have been elected to their positions of responsibility and authority, are few and far between -- like -- a needle in a haystack -- a cool drink of water on a hot summer's day -- just plain rare!

So, why does this writer label most politicians slugs?

A.  They develop amnesia quickly, so we ask: Now, why did you say you were seeking to be elected to this particular office?

B.  They are redundant, regurgitating and rechewing the same drivel, and we ask: Wasn’t it the last election, and the one before that, and the one before that, that you said you were going to strengthen our border security – or was it the one before that??  Wasn’t it the last election, and the one before that, and the one before that, that you said you were going to reduce crime – or was it the one before that??  Wasn’t it the last election, and the one before that, and the one before that, that you said you were going to strength our educational system – or was it the one before that??

C.  They steal.  Okay, that’s a bit much for some; let’s try this: they reallocate funds that were supposedly intended for a particular purpose, to some other concern for which they were really intended in the first place.  Otherwise, they see to the allocation of funds to sometimes frivolous, nonviable purposes that serve an elite group, or to some worthwhile project that benefits the many after the elite group has made their profit from the project.

D.  They are lousy lovers: they tell us what we want to hear, then do what they want to do, oftentimes to our utter detriment.

E.  Many have outlived their usefulness, and now appear to be resting on their laurels.  The problem with that is there are no laurels upon which to rest.

F.  They simply don’t do their jobs.  Some assume the offices to which they were elected but the duties of which they are incompetent to properly execute.  Others are busy padding their pockets and investing in their own futures.  Some just spend as much time on the golf course as possible.  And, in Houston, that’s pretty darn near a year-round activity.

Before any reader starts speculating about the identities of the folks of whom I write, consider that at the age of 56, I’ve seen a lot of ballots and a slew of politicians, and have read of as many who preceded my voting age.  Just know that there is no political party within which slugs nest exclusively.  They are as diverse as this country of ours.

So, why devote the time and energy to write about these many blood-sucking slugs?  That’s simple.   This is not for them; it is for you, the reader, the electorate.  Unfortunately there is a much larger populace than that of slugs.  We are they: the apathetic, the complacent, the folks who keep returning washed up, dried out, used up, weren’t-worth-a-plugged-nickel-from-the-beginning, lazy, incompetent folks to office.  And then we complain.  How dare we!!!???

And finally, a word to politicians: Just like all Cognac is brandy, but not all brandy is Cognac, slugs are politicians, but all politicians are not slugs.  Then again, if you are a politician and can be identified by one or more of paragraphs A, B, C, D, E and F above, perhaps you are indeed a slug.

Grace & peace,

Andrea Hoxie

Loren Jackson -- Harris County District Clerk

The general election of 2008 brought waves of change to not only government on the national level, but on local levels as well.  Here in Harris County, Texas we lost lots of judges.  Peculiarly, one in particular who should have gone the way of other exiting jurists managed to hold on.  I find that peculiar because the numbers from the election results show that feat to be impossible by any reasonable, ethical, legal or moral standard.  See Merriam Webster's word of the day - peculation - which with some poetic license I believe is appropriate to apply here.  Talk about digressing:  this is a first for me -- to digress in the introductory paragraph AND speak in first person -- but I shall leave it as is.

One really great bright spot emerging in victory from the November 2008 election is Loren Jackson, our District Clerk.  In two years, Mr. Jackson has done more to improve the operations of that office than I have seen in the previous 26 years of exposure to it.   True, technology is on his side.  Also true, however, is that the technology existed before he assumed the office.  The difference is that unlike his predecessor, he embraced available technology, bringing the function of the Clerk for 74 Courts in Harris county, among other dues, into the 21st century.  

Whether Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, Green, Tea Party, Independent, or none of the above, I pray that all will vote, and that regardless of party affiliation, they will vote for Loren Jackson so that he can continue the substantial work he has done to further the efficiency of the Harris County Courts.

Now, if we can just elect some real judges -- you know -- ones who will actually do the work they were elected to do -- based on sound law (alright, this to some is an oxymoron) and not some flimsy whim.

And the final word is this:  Please vote for Loren Jackson, Harris County District Clerk.

Drop That Foolish Delusion???

I.  Introduction


This writer is a voracious reader without the time or visual strength to read voraciously. Thank God for technology that spawned CDs, MP3 players, public libraries and www.onthegobooks.com!  


The current read/listen is The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand.  Have you read it?  Or, perhaps, you may have read her Atlas Shrugged.   Both of these mammoth works of fiction are fraught with critically thinking idealists ("CTI"), on the one hand, and sorry-butt sluggards who never seem to transcend a state of group mentality ("Slugs"), on the other.   My dilemma is that while I tend to agree more with the CTIs rather than the Slugs, I find the CTIs to generally be a cold, unfeeling, dispassionate bunch.  That makes me a little uneasy, as my cold, unfeeling dispassionate self is quite a bit smaller than my warm, feeling, passionate Andrea -- at least so I believe.  [Some folks may beg to differ; so be it.]  Still, the Slugs tend to trample on my last nerve with their whining, conniving, manipulative, selfish-in-the-name-of-the-people and deceitful ways.  Oh, but for a bit of balance!  It is my sad acknowledgment that Slugs tend to outnumber CTIs in all areas -- family, work, school, whatever/wherever (perhaps the 80/20 rule applies here?).  


The Slugs of the world would have us all believe that the only way to make it in this little world (it is, indeed, quite small when you look at the big picture) is to follow the masses in all respects.  And to the extent one's dreams, desires, ambitions, aspirations, and even opinions and thought processes are skewed from those of the masses, there is no place for that kind in the world.  


The Slugs of this world -- the ones who would dare say drop that foolish delusion -- be damned!  There is a price to pay for that kind of edict, and many CTIs have paid dearly.  Still, if one who is a peace-loving, nonconforming traditionalist, often misquoted and misunderstood, still refuses to march to the beat of anyone's drum except one's own, as led by one's God, then so be it.   What for most is a foolish delusion may be a solution to a problem that benefits not the CTI so much as it does the masses -- including the Slugs.  It is the lack of confidence and downright slothfulness of the Slugs that stifle the nurturing, growth and development of the masses.  And the masses are too blind, starved and stunted to see and understand their deprivation.


In the coming blogs we will examine some CTIs and and Slugs -- some from works of fictional and some real*, with the intent of trying to find some balance between the two.  I hope you will stick around for the next few entries.    


Grace & peace,


Andrea


*Out of basic human respect, no real person will be labeled "Slug" or "CTI."  Then, again, if it looks like a Slug, acts like a Slug . . . well, you get the point, don't you?

It's Time

A few week ago, I watched a video shared on Facebook by Kathryn Paterson (watch for her new book -- I don't know when, but just google her every now and then [and, yes, this is a plug for KP]) -- images of surprise family reunions of U.S. soldiers and their families.  If only my ophthalmologist, who recently treated me for an extra-severe case of dry eye, could have seen the tears flow!  They were so flushed out that day that I thought (briefly) of foregoing the evening's eye-wash ritual.  The images themselves not only evoked the tears, but thoughts of how easily we (yes, all of us), take for granted the folks in our lives who mean (or so we say) so much to us.

Similar thoughts came to me on September 11, 2001, when 2,995+ people arrived for work, appointments or errands, at the World Trade Center in New York, for the last time in their lives.  I know of no official count that takes into consideration those who perished sometime thereafter, with the events of that date being the proximate cause of their demise.  My thoughts then, and the ones that continue to haunt me, not only about that situation, but those happening everyday are unanswered questions:  What if?  Did they? Why?

What if a hug was offered that morning and rejected?
What if an apology was tendered and not accepted?
Did they resolve that conflict and depart in peace?
Why didn't he/she/they try one more time?

Why is it so easy for us to tend to the inconsequential while we allow some of the most important aspects of our lives -- our relationships with others -- to languish?  Who/what do you blow off while making sure your nails, hair and/or makeup are flawless?  Or while you find just the right tie, shirt or cologne?  Or who did you disappoint and keep waiting while you had one more drink?  To whom did you utter empty words of endearment just to have your way with him or her?

There is no need for a soapbox speech or sermon here.  One would hope that any marginally thinking person of the least modicum of discernment would have had a light-coming-on experience if having read to this point. So, how about it folks?  Do you have a relationship in need of repair?  Attention?  Nurturing?  Resurrecting?  How much time do you think you have to start working on it?

What if . . . ?
Did you . . . ?
Why . . . .?

One Step at a Time: Climbed Any Mountains Lately?

I looked so high above, as far as I could see

Was a mountain so high it overpowered me

It's peak not seen by my naked eye

I said to myself, "it must touch the sky!"

It was so wide, as wide can be

To go around it would take eternity

Here this mountain stood; in my way it would be

For I could not go forward 'til I put it behind me.

"I've got to do this," to myself I said,

And started to climb, my heart filled with dread.

For I knew deep within I didn't have a chance

Of getting to the top; I could tell at a glance.

But just a short distance away, I saw a little ridge

I could reach in only a day.

"I'll go just that far, then stop there and see

Just how much closer to the top I will be."

So away I went, looking forward to see

Only as far as my first destiny.

I reached the little ridge, sat down with a sigh

And looked ahead to see where my next stop might lie.

There it is; I can see it well

I'll make that one -- easily! I could very well tell.

So this is the way it will have to be

To reach the top, I now clearly see.

For the goals we set, difficult as we may believe

If we take one step at a time, will be possible to achieve.

AHoxie

Building on the Landfill

Earlier today this writer was reminded of an unpleasant occurrence of about 39 years ago.  While the event itself was short-lived, it's effects are ongoing, even today.  The reminder of The Thing brought to mind that we are products of everything that has happened in our lives up to the moment in which we take our most recent breath.  See?  It just happened again.  What? you might ask.  Well, you just took another breath, and in some tiny, microscopic, miniscule way, you are not the same as before; nor am I.  So? you think.  What's the point?  you persist.

Here, Reader, is the point.  It only takes a moment for tiny or dramatic shifts in our lives make them something other than what they were the moment before.  In our little lives, things happen -- good, bad and indifferent.  The good things help to keep us going:  nurturing our minds, bodies and spirits -- encouraging us to try again, to keep going, to not give up -- instilling within us hope for the future -- growing our faith -- catalyzing our ambitions -- deepening our determination.  The bad things sometimes serve us similarly, if we can look past the badness to whatever good there is to be gleaned from such as The Thing.  Or, the bad things can deter us from being all that was intended by our creation.  The indifferent things are -- well -- indifferent.  They neither lend to nor take away from whatever; however, they can be useful fodder for one's landfill without causing additional odorous memories like The Bad.

So what's this landfill thing?  The landfill is the stuff -- the good, bad and indifferent.  It starts as a little whole in the ground.  Over time it may get deeper, wider, or higher depending on the need for space to house the stuff that makes one, well, oneself.  How one manages the landfill may determine how one manages the present.  We can either let it be an unsightly mess with little fragments strewn about in intermittent, untidy piles; or we can confine it to specific boundaries, keep it pressed down and compacted together.  

There is no profound statement here.  There is no endorsement of any landfill type.  There is, however, an understanding that one's landfill should somehow be managed to support modicums of peace and order in one's life.   Decide for yourself on what kind of landfill you will build the rest of your life.

Working Through the Mess

What a fitting title for my 100th writing via this blog -- Coming Out of the Closet -- Keeping it Real.  I often wonder what folks think when they first see that title.  Anyway, let's get to the sujet du jour 


Last week I was in my little kitchen, heating some really good, grainy bread -- bread which begged to be drizzled with grapeseed oil and spices.  (Just for the record, grapeseed oil has healthful benefits just as olive oil, but it tolerates higher heat for cooking and is not as heavy-hitting on the wallet.)  As I returned the bottle of oil to the shelf, there erupted an involuntary, violent, dry cough, the force of which caused me to lose my grip on the glass bottle which crashed to the floor and shattered.  In other words, I had my own personal oil-spill crises.  As I took action to clean up the kitchen's environment, two phones rang simultaneously, and my Blackberry vibrated, alerting me of an incoming message.

Working through the mess is -- well -- messy.  Sometimes we have to juggle.  Sometimes we have to just stop and deal with the mess.  Whether we choose to juggle the mess with other stuff or just deal with the mess, one thing is clear:  the mess must go.

Our little lives are fraught with ugly messes.  The longer they are left untended and unfinished, the larger and more burdensome they become, until they become part of the family.  In fact, they can change the family dynamic.  Or the business dynamic.  Or whatever in your life makes life worth living.  Messes are like diseases.  If left unchecked they wreak havoc.  So what mess have you left untended?  Why not clean it up today?


A note from the writer:
Many thanks to Erin Conaway, our Associate Pastor at South Main Baptist Church, whose sermon this past Sunday, taken from the first chapter of Isaiah, validated the weekend urgings of three people whom I admire and respect.  He ended the message with a challenge identical to that of my folks (many thanks to them as well), prompting me to see to a mess that I had left untended far, far too long.  And while I started this blog well before this past weekend, it took the prodding of my friends and a message from the Almighty via Erin, to finish it, for I could not do so until I had worked through  a mess.    

Sarca-who? -- Will You Walk for People Like Me?

Take a look at my mugshot.  Go on.  Kind of normal looking, don't you think?  Think again.  I know, some of you are groaning inwardly:  Is she going to write about that?  Again??  Well, yes, I am.

Perhaps a week or so ago -- I forget because my days tend to bleed into each other -- I saw a snippet of President Obama on television, announcing a five-year plan for reducing HIV-AIDS.  I thought to myself, well, that's nice, but what about me -- and people like me?  Then, I had to remind myself that there are lots of people like me who would gladly trade places with me, and properly chastised myself for such a lapse.  But, let me tell you about people like me.  

People like me have Sarcoidosis.  Most times when I mention that in conversation, the reply is "Sarca-who?" and I have to repeat myself:  Sar -- coi -- do -- sis.  I'm not going to try to explain to you what it is, other than it has been described as a run-away immune inflammatory response.  There are a few sources on the web for information, to which I commend you.  Just google the word.

So why am I writing about this again -- today??? 


I just love it when you ask the right question!  I want to tell you about the upcoming Annual Janine Sarcoidosis Outreach Foundation Walk for a Cure in October.  I ask that if you participate in events of this nature, that you consider participating in this one.   It is highly likely that you didn't  know Janine; neither did I.  However, I had the pleasure to meet her mom -- at least on the phone.  At some point, whether during or after Janine lost her battle with Sarcoidosis, her mom, Emma Carroll, started a support  group for people with Sarcoidosis.  Emma is actively and regularly involved with this group and works hard to promote awareness of this orphan disease.  


Speaking of orphans, how many 200-plus-year-old orphans do you know?  Yes, it's that old; it's just not that popular.   And it is more prevalent than one may think.  Perhaps it just hasn't claimed the right person's life.  Morbid?  Sure.  But it is what it is.   

Consider that despite the crise de la saison folks are still getting out, enjoying time off, and going about their daily tasks.  Just last Saturday on local news, this writer learned of an International Jazz Festival taking place at Discovery Green here in Houston.   Saturday was another day of a triple-digit heat index.   And the sun precedes such temperatures.    

The sun.  I love the sun.  And not because I need to work on my tan (although I wish it were just a little more uniform as opposed to a plethora of shades of brown).  The sun is life-giving.  Yes, it can be dangerous when one over indulges, but in proper doses, the sun is a good thing.  But not for people with Sarcoidosis.  Many of us cannot abide prolonged exposure to sun, or triple-digit heat indices.    Most of my time is spent indoors, and I relish the thought of a parking space near the entrance of whatever place I need to visit.  


One of the added bonuses that 

often accompanies Sarcoidosis, including elevated angiotensin-converting enzymes, which causes high blood pressure.  In a roundabout way, that's what prompted this writing.   Years ago I divested myself of all prescription medications except one:  the pilule du jour for high blood pressure.  I have tried many.  The current one is a high-dollar thing, labeled with its description and three warnings:  

May cause dizziness.   One might think why is this problematic -- just take it at bedtime.  Well, that would be great, but I have to take it in the morning.

Do Not Use This Medicine If You Are Pregnant Or Plan to Become Pregnant.  My first thought:  why is the warning capitalized as if it's a title?  Am I to look elsewhere for a detailed explanation?  My second thought:  no problem for me; there'd have to be a Star in the East and one occurrence of that in the history of the world is quite enough.


You Should Avoid Prolonged Or Excessive Exposure To Direct And/Or Artificial Sunlight While Taking This Medicine.  My reaction:  Duh . . . I cannot think of one "sarcoid" patient who gets to enjoy the sun anyway.


What I'm getting to is this:  There is a Sarcoidosis awareness walk in October.   I may not be able to come.  At the rate our summer is progressing it will be a long time before we have manageable temperatures for outdoor activities.  And if I do come, will I be in remission?  We'll just have to wait and see.  But will you come?  Will you walk?  For me and people like me?

Reality Check: It's Just a Game, But It's One Man's Life -- and It's His

Just a note little to all the folks who are livid on the one hand, and those who are ecstatic, on the other hand.

• If a team owner wants to get rid of a player, that player is simply put out on waivers, cut or traded.  The player has no say whatsoever in the team owner's decision as to the player's disposition.
• Before free agency, professional athletes were like slaves.  They had no input regarding where they would play.  Hats off to Curt Flood, a long forgotten baseball who paid the ultimate sacrifice for professional athletes.  I seriously doubt if they even know who he is.
• Where a person chooses to work, to the extent that the person has alternatives, is entirely up to him/her.   
• Obviously everything is not about money.  Wouldn't you like to be in a position where your choice of employment does not hinge on the amount of your salary?  Evidently Mr. James aspires to win; most likely he can afford to pursue that goal. 
• Lebron James, though he has generously bestowed upon himself the title of "King," is just one man, living his own life.  He should not be construed as a beacon of hope for anything or anyone other than himself and the persons he truly holds dear. That definitely does not include all of his many, misguided fans.

In closing, I wonder if the good folks in Cleveland would be half as upset if King James was really King Jesus, and he chose to set up his throne in Miami.  On the other hand, I cannot help but wonder if the good folks in Miami would try to send Him back while still in airspace, or tooling down Highway 95.

July 5: Remembering Glenn Edward Burleigh

On this day, not nearly enough years ago for him to have gone from labor to reward (perhaps for him, but not for us who are left behind and miss him dearly), a musical giant was born into a family of musicians and ministers.  I am not familiar with his folks, but am blessed for having known Glenn Edward Burleigh.  And even now, when his soul is at rest, I take great joy and comfort in visiting his music often. 

As powerful as it was, Glenn's music was not for everyone.  He did not write to be a commercial success.  He did not write for the crossover market.  He did not write jingles on demand.  He wrote for the Lord, to His glory.  

There were no national headlines when Glenn passed away -- typical, as society is only shocked into mourning those whose monied lives were sensational, tawdry, messes -- while those who went about the business of living lives worthy of the breath God gave them, fade away as unsung heroes. This cannot happen on my watch, nor the watch of anyone who is blessed by the singing or hearing of works like --

• Order My Steps 
• Well, the Savior is Born 
• You Shall Be Free Indeed  
• I'm Gonna Rise 
• Just Because You're God 
• What Does All This Mean 
• You Must Be Like a Child 
• I Know 
• That My Redeemer Liveth
• Spiritual Medley Jesus Doeth 
• All Things Well 
• Agnus Dei 

or any number of the many original compositions and hymn arrangements, the notes of which were poured out of the windows of heaven and into the soul of Glenn Edward Burleigh and of which he made a record so as to be preserved for the edifying of the body of Christ, the encouragement of the souls of believers, and the hearing of the Gospel set to music so as to witness to the lost.

I have said before, and say now, that Glenn's music transcends time, generations, races, cultures, denominations, ethnicities, worship styles, and any other barrier that humankind may use to divide us.  Rather than exclusionary, Glenn used music to bring us together, to include all at the table.  We dare not let it gather dust, go unplayed or unsung.  To do so would be to slap God in His face, and tell Him we do not want and we do not appreciate His gifts.  I dare not.  How about you?

Remembering Susan Beard -- and Praying Her Words Will Not Fall on Deaf Ears or Blind Eyes

This morning I arrived at the South Main campus a full hour before the 8:30 a.m. worship began.  It was a planned arrival.  I even went to bed at 8:00 p.m. yesterday to make sure I would have adequate rest, wake up and leave timely for the occasion.  The event was for the attendance of one -- me.  My early arrival afforded me time to park strategically just outside the entrance to the Chaffin building in which my Sunday School classroom is located.  And it afforded me time in a room that was designed for worship and reflection on the awesome and mighty God whom we serve.  In that room is a grand piano -- beautiful to behold and even more wonderful to play.And play I did -- starting and ending with one of my favorites -- "Great is Thy Faithfulness."  As the music filled the room, I let go of the frustration and thoughts of futility at living in a body racked with pain, the waves of which rival any storm's and that rarely takes a break, wishing for oxygen and dreading the need therefor, and wondering if I will ever be free to just be me.  And, in the midst of my pity party, remembering that millions would love to walk in my shoes, sleep in my bed, and worship in [this] room -- and cannot.  So, there came a verse or two of "It is Well With My Soul."

Then there was worship, Sunday School, and lunch with some of my class.  Again, arriving at Chuy's on Westheimer, I parked strategically near the door to avoid time in the sun.  After lunch, I hurried to my Jeep, turned on the A/C and turned the "fan" knob has high as it would go for the drive home.

In a season where many are vacationing and having fun in the sun, I take refuge in my home where the air conditioning makes it possible to function, to just breathe.  Fortunately, I have no desire to work on my already glorious tan, which is a good thing, because having Sarcoidosis with pulmonary involvement dictates a life of solar avoidance -- especially when the heat index is 105.

Just moments ago, I received a note via email from the Sarcoidosis Awareness group, and share it now with any who will read it, as it clearly captures the plight of folks who live with an orphan disease that gets comparatively little attention in terms of research and funding. Susan is gone but her words are those of many who live as she did.

Subject: Oh how I hate this disease

Oh how I hate this disease. It has taken too many things away from me. My ability to work. My ability to care for myself. My ability to be independent. My feeling of self worth. My feeling of who I am. My life. I have had to try and recreate all those things. At some I have been successful but at most I have failed. I try hard, but my enemy is too strong. The battle I am loosing. Sarcoidosis has won. I am still wanting to fight, but I know it will take my life soon.

My goal now is to make a difference in some small way. To help others with the disease to learn as much as they can about this monster. To help researchers to unlock the door to the mysteries that are Sarcoidosis. To feel useful in some small way. To stay alive long enough to attend one last Walk for a Cure.

How do I inspire others to help take arms against this disease? To take part in research to help unlock the mysteries? To get involved and be proactive? How do I make others understand that it is US the patients, the ones with the disease that must take up this cause. Without US the answers will never be found. Because it is within US, within OUR bodies that the key to the door lies. As much as those who do not have the disease want to help, they can not do it without US.

This is my greatest failure. I can not find the words to motivate. I can not reach enough people , to make them understand what a battle this is. What is at stake. I do not have the means to do it myself. For if I could I would without a second thought. I am too weak anymore, my body failing too much. My grief so strong.

If I could just organize the different sarcoidosis groups. Encourage them to work together in a united cause. Find the one thing that we can all work together for on a national goal. Make them understand that a house divided can never stand. We must give up trying for selfish "glory" but find how to work as a team. Where are the words I can use? How do I make others see the need?

Alas, all my dreams and efforts are in vain. For I am but one person. A voice alone. As loud as I can shout about sarcoidosis, my single voice will go unheard. My life will pass, as so many others with the disease have, with little or no notice. All because I could not find the words. Because I could not be heard. No one would help me.

--Susan Beard

The Business I Want

This writer has never understood why folks get so caught up in the personal side of the lives of people who are famous for any number of reasons -- their political office, artistic ability, sports skills, or whatever.  How does society equate being a superstar of any ilk with being an upright human being with no faults or frailties -- especially when no such human being exists?  (Actually "human being" and "faultless" should not be used in the same sentence.)  Why do folks cry foul when a known person is caught lying, cheating, prostituting or stealing, just as many others do daily?  Don't we know that of the 100% who engage in such acts, 99.9% know better and do not care enough to stop themselves??

Enough of my rant -- this is where I'm headed:  Sitting here at my desk with the Golf Channel on for background noise, I perked up and sat at attention when I heard Tiger Woods say, in response to a reporter's question:  That's none of your business.  Mr. Woods sat still, calm, and in just few seconds (though I'm sure for the reporter it seemed like days -- at least, hours), the female voice who was designating whom should make a query to him, prompted the next reporter to speak.

After the press conference, another reporter asked someone else about the appropriateness of Tiger's response, and seemed to be disappointed that the man agreed with the way the question was handled.  

Everyday we awaken, there is a scandal brewing, one is about to be exposed, and one is in its beginning stages.  These are the things about which folks want to know.  Why?  

Everyday a couple celebrates a wedding anniversary, a healthy baby is born, a student passes a test, someone sees for the first time, someone gets a second chance at life with a newly transplanted organ, someone realizes he/she was not put on earth to live a self-centered life, that an unshared life is a waste life.  These are the things folks do not care to hear about.  Why?

Rather than dwell on the shortcomings of others -- whether Tiger Woods or the man who killed is wife or the woman who sells her body on the street corner -- if we're going to dip into someone's business, can it be to encourage, uplift, and even challenge them to do and be better, and to let them know that they are loved (even while their behavior is abhorred)?  That's the business I want.

After all, as we gossip about and gawk at them, someone is gossiping about and gawking at us.

Amen.