Sunday, November 4, 2012

A Divided Ballot for a Divided Citizen of a Divided Nation

For the past several weeks I have written and rewritten this --- over, and over, and over again.  It will cause me to lose "friends" on both sides of the political divide.  If one is to be honest, I dare say one would find some good on both sides.

First, a little housekeeping:  1)  When writing for this public space, I tend to try to avoid writing in first person.  After awhile, "I" gets to be so well-worn.  The reader will probably find more references to "I" here than I (see, there's one already) would normally use.  2)  When referring to the "sides" I generally mean the Republic and Democratic parties.  That is not to say there are only two parties; any marginally informed person knows there are others, but for purposes of this piece, the elephants and donkeys are my primary focus.

Now, moving right along.  Second, a little background:  One can see from my picture that I am of the darker nation (if you're not acquainted with this term, I commend you to Stephen Carter's The Emperor of Ocean Park).  I am an American who happens to be a diverse mix, and the DNA of the darker nation prevailed in my skin color.  Still, I am an American.  I do not believe in or subscribe to hyphenated terms; they are more divisive than anything else.  (By the way, this is my writing, so hopefully it is understood that these are my thoughts and opinions unless quoted and properly cited.)

Although I am black, I was taught by a white woman, specifically how to vote.  What do I mean?  Oh, I'm so glad you asked!  Back in the early 70s, Judge Geraldine Tennant (God rest her soul), invaded the worship hour at Wesley Chapel African Methodist Episcopal Church one Sunday morning during the political season.  In the way of explaining to the congregation of hundreds of worshipers as if they were children, how to vote, she said that all we had to do was turn that one little lever and vote for all of the candidates in the Democratic party.  Can you imagine my indignation???  Who are these people?  Shouldn't they be given individual consideration?  And so, in telling me how to vote, Geraldine Tennant taught me how not to vote.  I vowed never to vote a straight ticket for the sake of expediency, or, God forbid, for the sake of the party; and I never have.

Why I dislike political parties:  Well you didn't ask this question; I want to tell you anyway.  One of my Republican acquaintances with whom I spent hours on the road, literally back and forth from Houston to Victoria countless times during a Medicare Annual Election period, told me of his conflicts and woes with the Republican Party, and despite his experiences, remained a faithful party member because that's the only way anything can get done.  Well, that may be true, to a certain extent, but everything that gets done because of party alignments isn't necessarily the thing that should be done.  And parties are just divisive.  We have become a nation of us vs. them.  The sad part about it is that there are people who are loyal to one party because it's the party of their ancestors -- on both sides!  And what if your party's candidate for XYZ office supports a position that is totally antithetical to yours?  Do you still vote for that candidate?  Really?  Or what if the person holding XYZ office has been totally ineffective for years???  Do you still vote the straight party ticket and risk the possibility of helping to elect that dud?   Really?  Okay. I'm moving on; this is supposed to be about my divided ballot.

My divided ballot:  The ballot was long, and I won't speak of every selection, but know that none of my votes were cast based on race, color, party, gender, religion, or sexual orientation; rather character (from what I can determine), effectiveness, experience and position on critical issues were important factors determining my choices.  Sometimes it was the lesser of two (or three) evils. :(

For Judge of the 333rd Judicial District Court, I voted for Tracy D. Good.  Admittedly my vote was more against the current judge, Joseph "Tad" Halbach, who I believe was not fairly re-elected in the last election.  I would love to speak with any person who can explain to me the numerical possibility of his prevailing with the Democratic party prevailing in Harris County.  Mr. Goodwill Pierre should be sitting on that bench now.

For Representative of Congressional District 18, I voted for Sean Seibert.   I believe that elected officials are  not holders of public offices for life; and it is our duty to limit their terms when they are no longer effective.  Mrs. Lee has long been ineffective.  Far too often Mrs. Lee goes to extreme measures to keep herself in the public eye, even for circumstances that have no bearing on her constituency.  Do you remember her outrageous behavior after the death of Michael Jackson?  The tragic murder of Robert Byrd?  Mrs. Lee is always in the spotlight, until one needs her help.  I speak from personal experience.  Besides, who wants to be represented by The Terror of the National Airport as she is known?  And . . . who wants to be represented by someone whose staff, when one calls her office with a concern, makes a cursory check of the rolls and announces to the caller I don't see your name on the voter rolls and then we have "X" number of people in this district! rather than how may I help you?  Indeed, it is time for a change.

For President of the United States of America, I voted for Barack Obama.  Not because he is black, but because he is

  • the most intelligent; 
  • the most compassionate; 
  • the most thoughtful; 
  • the most trustworthy; 
  • the most critically thinking; 
  • concerned about the entire country, not just particular demographic segments; and 
  • the most mature and grounded of the two candidates.  


My vote for Mr. Obama was every bit as much a vote against Mr. Romney, who

  • has a history of gutting companies and outsourcing jobs (you know, those things that people blame Mr. Obama for not creating?);
  • attacks with lies and innuendo (isn't that what they say:  the best defense is a good offense).  This is my logical deduction after reading and fact-checking; 
  • opens his mouth and says really inappropriate stuff, trying to make points for himself by trying to make Mr. Obama look bad.    
  • cannot be trusted to be concerned about the welfare of the entire country, rather than just the 53% (remember, he has already discounted 47%).
  • painfully unstable.  Who knows which Mr. Romney, if elected, will be sworn in?  Even members of his party have agonized over his vacillations.
What I do not understand is that there are people, among the 47%, who access federal and state aid like food stamps (or whatever the new label is) and health care, and want college scholarships for their kids who barely graduated from high school and haven't even thought about college tuition, yet, they despise the current POTUS who supports helping families and promoting access to education for all.  And, even though there are aspects of the Health Care Reform Act that I do not like, who can not want 1) an annual physical; 2) coverage for the child who is not quite independently employed; or 3) coverage for preexisting conditions?  Yes, people say ObamaCare with disdain.  I tell them that ObamaCare is because Obama cares.

And finally, I can identify with Mr. Obama.  In my early adult years, as an employee I tended to replace some incompetent dimwit (okay, the gloves are off!) who did not do her job, and left a mess for the next person to clean up.  My supervisors were always impatient about getting everything in order and asking why is it taking so long?  My question in reply was how long has it been like this? 

My bottom line:  When you have people in office who --
  • will say YES to corporations that export jobs
  • are more concerned about personal gain or enriching their friends 
  • refuse to work together in a spirit of cooperation for the good of the country
  • will say NO to anything in hopes someone will fail
you have a divided country.  Fingers are pointed at both sides.  Some on both sides need to go, some need to stay, and some should never have tried to come.

Now, tell the truth:  
  • Many of you will vote for Mr. Obama because he is black (you will probably admit this publicly).
  • Many of you will vote for Mr. Romney because he is white (you probably won't admit this publicly).
  • Many of you will vote for Mr. Obama because of his position on same-sex marriage.
  • Many of you will vote for Mr. Romney because of his position on same-sex marriage.
  • Many of you will vote for Mr. Obama because he is a Democrat.
  • Many of you will vote for Mr. Romney because he is a Republican.
  • Many of you will vote for Mr. Obama because of his position on immigration reform.
  • Many of you will vote for Mr. Romney because of his position on immigration reform.
  • Many of you will vote for Mr. Obama because he is concerned about 100% of Americans.
  • Many of you who vote for Mr. Romney may be hurt by his policies and attitude regarding the 47%.
Finally, I respect your right to vote however you choose; you should respect mine as well.  In that regard, it is okay if you do not agree with me; just write your own blog.

Now, the tarring and feathering can only be done by appointment.  Call my office number to get on the list, but not before 9:00 a.m.

Thursday, October 18, 2012

God Winks for Music Too

I am a lover of music, all kinds of music.  That's a broad term:  music.  There are sooo many styles, so many genres.  When I mention the word music, however, even in its broadest definition the terms rap and heavy metal are not included.  Not in my broadest definition.  

My music proclivities were diverse from the time I was six years old.  Even now, vivid are my memories of the first classical (a term loosely used here) pieces, among them being  March from The Love of Three Oranges by Prokofiev.   Mary Ellen Owen, my first grade music teacher, will always have a special place in my heart for introducing me to that world of music.  

But not only classical, but jazz, sacred, gospel, popular, Broadway, and more, including mine, a hybrid, mixed-bag of all of the above, music is my drug of choice.  So, where am I going with this?  Well . . . right here:

A lifetime ago when I made large bucks, I had a season subscription to the Houston Grand Opera (another reason Fall is my favorite season of the year) -- a nice orchestra seat, smack dab in the middle of the row.  Facing the necessity of trimming expenditures, my last opera season was 2002-2003.  Since then, it has been hit or miss, and mostly miss.   Still, I am on the HGO's mailing list.  It was a routine matter for me to receive a postcard in my post office box a few days ago, advertising, this time, La Boheme.  Conversation with self:

Man, I wish I could go.  Maybe if I brownbag it I can divert some walking around money and get a decent seat.

Yeah, you could do that, and maybe plant some stash at Gordon's office if you're gonna be there a lot; then you could avoid ordering food to be delivered.


Yeah, I can do that.  

Then, just a few days ago, it became clear that my work station was on its last leg (it's last boot[-up]?).  Next conversation with self:

Well, there goes the opera.

Are you sure?  Can't you just go anyway and deal with the computer later?

Are you kidding?  Next to a vehicle, that computer is a significant work tool!  How're you gonna make a dollar without working technology?  Huh?

So, the decision is made to be an adult (again??) and do the responsible thing (again???).  Yep.  After many hours of hand-wringing a computer is ordered.  Unlike the last time technology purchases were made, there was no air of excitement, just resignation.  It had to be done.  :(

Then, a conversation with my Sweet Pea (Daughter) this afternoon.

The phone rings; it is Sweet Pea.

Hey, Babe.

Hey, Ma.

What's up Sweetie?

Ma, I've got something for you.  What're you doing on the 27th?  [Note to self:  Warning . . . warning . . do you hear that sense of urgency in her voice?]

I don't know, Babe, let me look at my calendar.  Oh . . . I'll be at the United Health Care store on the Southwest Freeway.

What time, Ma?  [Warning . . . warning . . . a tad more intensity here.]

From 9 to 3.

Then what, Ma?

[At this point I'm asking myself:  what is she up to NOW?]

Oh, nothing, Babe.  What's up?  [Admittedly, at this point I'm getting a little wary.  Sweet Pea has a history of pulling stuff . . .nothing bad . . . or negative . . . but she seems to revel in the shock value of stuff.  (No offense, Sweet Pea.)]

I have opera tickets for you . . . it's La Boheme.  

What??!!!??  Wait a minute . . . my heart . . . [At this point my heart is pounding so that I press my hand to my chest.]

Then she says:  I bought 'em in March but I just picked 'em up today.

Wait . . . my heart . . .  It all came back to me:  a routine trip to collect mail from my post office box -- the desire to go to the opera -- the plot to splurge on a really good seat -- the realization that I should use the money for something really necessary -- and the grand tier tickets purchased for me SEVEN MONTHS AGO by my darling Daughter!!!

Life today is more challenging than it has ever been for me as an adult.  Despite that, I have sobered myself from the occasional pity party with the knowledge that however bad it might be for me, millions -- even hundreds of millions -- would gladly exchange places with me.  And even on the very worst days, even to this day, when I cannot not utter a word in prayer, God places a song in my heart that pulls me out of a miserable pit:


When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
(Horatio Spafford)

And, God's winks don't stop there; in fact, they never stop.  










Wednesday, October 17, 2012

I Would Like to Hear From YOU!

During sporting events, TV broadcasts (for instance, Tony McNeill's "Scandal"), and, of course, political events (conventions, debates, news conferences or whatever), I check out Tweets and Facebook friends' comments.  Debate frenzy (schoolyard brawl?) aside, I would like to know your objective, logical, dispassionate (yes, this is possible) reasons for your candidates of choice.  And no, this is not just about the presidential campaign.  Please share your thoughts about any candidate you deem worthy of your input.  Since I am soliciting objective, logical, dispassionate reasons about YOUR candidate and NOT your candidate's opponent, there should be no need to ask that responses be respectful and without vile language, but just in case:   Please keep your comments within the realm of civility and devoid of disrespect toward your candidate's opponent.  

I look forward to hearing from you.

Monday, September 17, 2012

Has Mitt Romney Written ME Off???

.The Video That Prompted the Question

A rare note from me re politics:  

Dear Mr. Romney,

I am an independent and have never in 40 years voted a straight party ticket.  You never know which candidate of which party will get my vote.  After viewing this video (see the link above), I cannot help but wonder if you have counted me as one of the folks you have written off.  

I have undergraduate and graduate degrees, have pursued additional post graduate studies, and have professional credentials and licenses; but I don't work a lot.  And, for the record, it is not because I have a flawed work ethic.  What I do have is a flawed body and, to some, a flawed paint job.  

For 16+ years I have lived with a chronic medical condition that often dictates if and when I will get out of bed.  Even so, when I was bedridden for 18 months straight and wasn't even allowed to READ, I was denied the social security disability income to which I was ENTITLED BECAUSE I HAD PAID TAXES, by an administrative judge who in later years was found to systematically render biased opinions about people who look like me.  Now, I am no longer eligible to receive the benefits for which I PAID TAXES; someone else will benefit from MY LABOR and contributions.  I often wonder what will happen if one of my walks through the valley of "out-of-remission" turns into another 18-month-or-longer confinement to bed.  

Of course, I have a solution:  line all of your good Texas buddies up and have them contact me.  (I'm easy to find; just type "Andrea Hoxie" in the search box or address window of your browser, especially if you use Google, and you will find me; or send me a comment on this blog page.)  I will hook them up with some nice seven-figure equity indexed universal life insurance (EIULA) policies and use the commissions to:

1)   get licensed in other states so you can send your buddies all over the country to me so that I can show them the tax-free EIULA hook-up; and 

2)   get a couple of those EIULA policies for myself.  Then I can borrow from mine, tax free, as your friends will do with theirs, and support myself for the remainder of my life . . . perhaps.  I will even be able to see my doctor quarterly and do all of the tests she prescribes.  And I will painlessly afford the cost of the one prescription that is currently $157.11/month. 

And, I will hire an assistant, someone who can help me do the things I need and want to do for myself and help other people (most of whom you have already counted off) change their thinking, and by doing so, their lives.  In return, my assistant will be paid a decent wage (that means, well above minimum) and will be mentored, the intent being that working with me will be a stepping stone to something better.  And when I send that assistant off to better things, hoping that she (or he) will have a heart to help others whom you have already counted off, I will simply hire another assistant and start the process again.

And . . . I will be able to attend opening night opera and ballet performances which have not been in my budget for years, meet more of your good-old-boy/gal buddies, and sell more EIULA policies, making more commissions to fund my ministry, hire another assistant, and further perpetuate the helping out someone whom Romney has written off campaign.

Perhaps then, I can be assured you will not have written me off.  Now, let's get started, Mr. Romney:  send all of your Texas cronies to me.  Even they will be treated with decency and respect, just I treat those whom you have written off.


Sunday, July 22, 2012

A Kinder, Gentler Andrea


A note to the young woman who had the audacity, the unmitigated gall, to park in my RESERVED parking space: 

You are fortunate, my dear, that it is 2011 and not 2001 or earlier.  In 2001, I would not have canceled the request to have your vehicle towed from my parking space.  You are also fortunate that, despite your flippant attitude, I did not throw my vehicle in "park," turn off the ignition and leave you there to deal with being blocked in.    

Today it was only a thought, but just a few years ago, amid your protests of "you're blocking me in," I would have said "give it your best shot," gone inside and played my piano, leaving you to do just that:  give it your best shot.  I would, of course, have made a note of the make, model, color and license plate number of your 
vehicle, and at sometime in the afternoon, instead of writing this little note, traced your plates to ascertain the identity and address of the vehicle's owner and followed up with a certified letter.

Indeed, young woman with the nasty attitude, you should thank God for the modicum of grace and tolerance I had today, which I did not have not too long ago.  You should thank Him also, that on this Lord's day, I had just returned home from two worship services where each element of prayer, scripture reading, litany, hymn, gospel song, anthem and sermon touched my heart, convicted and convinced me -- for perhaps if it were yesterday, and I had returned home from errands in the heat, traffic jams caused by bad driving and closed freeways, and other annoyances of being exposed to rude people -- I would not have been properly equipped to show you any modicum of grace because I would have run out.

You should thank God for South Main Baptist Church's intern, Timothy Peeples, who reminded me that while it all started with dirt when God formed man a blew into him the breath of life, it all ends with love -- the love of God for us in giving His Son, and the love His Son taught us to have for God the Father, and for each other.  

You don't even realize it, because to you it was nothing to trespass on my rights. Indeed, young woman, your Sunday afternoon could have been fraught with conflict as you strode to your vehicle, counting a wad of cash that you probably did not earn, and if you did, not legally, for it is uncommon to carry a wad of C-notes like scratch paper, which at first glance would cause any bank to report a cash deposit of that nature.  Your entire afternoon might have been ruined by your insensitivity.  Instead, you parked in the RESERVED parking space of an older, kinder, gentler, and more gracious Andrea.  


Please take notice, young woman, tomorrow I will still be older, but tomorrow does not hold the promise that I will as kind, gentle or gracious.




Monday, July 16, 2012

They are to be Pitied


Note:  I often mention my Family of God.  This writing, is not about them.  In fact, it is because of some like those described herein that I was compelled to join my FOG.

---------------------------------------------


Pitiful are the small, inconsequential minds of those who think that they can hurt me because of their offices and self-deluded thinking that they have some kind of authority over me.    


Pitiful is their self-contempt because they see they fall short of what/how/who they really want to be, so they lash out at and try to hurt others, when in fact, in doing so, they hurt themselves more.  


Tragic is that they confess to believe in my God.  


Tragic is that they foolishly forget my God is omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent.  He was there when they lied to themselves and each other.  And He was there when they perpetrated a fraud, calling it worship.  And He was there in the aftermath when they set about their deceitful intentions, justified by their lies.  And He will be there when they stand in my face and try to assert their authority.  In response, I will simply go home, play my piano, and be at peace, at least two out of the three of which they are unable to do.  


All they can do is go home.  And most likely the places where they normally bed down for sleep, hang their clothing, prepare their meals and groom their bodies (at least the exterior) are no more than way stations rather than homes.  “Home” is a place of sanctuary, rest, relaxation, restoration, rejuvenation and refuge.  Home is a place of caring, love and acceptance, despite conflicts which may arise.   Whether a 700-square-foot one-bedroom apartment, a row house, a condominium or a three-story new construction, what they call “home” is most likely a way station, a place for them to go and get ready for the next attack on someone else because they refuse to look in a mirror and see the real problem, the real culprit.  And because they have no inner peace, it matters not the quality, size or cost of their dwelling place; there is no place that can really be home for them.


In the meantime, I will go home, a 2/2 apartment that houses both work and living space, and my piano.  It is not the piano I would have if I could have my pick of instruments, but it is the one I own.  It is not even acoustic.  But it has all 88 keys and they are reasonably weighted and the thing, a Kurzweill PC 88 that has served me well for 17 years, never needs tuning.  And on this instrument I played and recorded my very best rendition of Blessed Assurance ever in my life.  I will play my piano, commune with my God, and be at peace.  


I have a home.  I have a piano.  I have peace.  I have my God.  I have wealth beyond measure.  On the other hand, they do not.  They are to be pitied.

Sunday, July 8, 2012

Facebook Rantings

This post will probably get me "unfriended" by one or two hundred folks.  That's okay.  I have been unfriended before, and this probably won't be my last time.  It's just another indication that Facebook outgrew "friending" a few million folks ago.  Maybe friending should be renamed "connecting" or "aligning" or some other term that is more suitable to birds who only seek out those of like feathers.  I allowed myself five minutes to vent and came up with this my top ten list of pet peeves -- at least for today:


1.    I REFUSE to LIKE Walmart.  My heart falls and my gut twists into a knot everytime my mom, The Boss, sends me there. Walmart is a vicious, despicable conglomeration of predators.  It preys on and victimizes its suppliers, its employees and its customers.  It gouges its suppliers.  It mistreats its employees.  And it passes off poorly manufactured goods to its customers, like laptop computers with barely enough memory to run operating systems.


2.     I  have NO idea who or what Kim Kardashian is or even if she has any socially redeeming value, which I doubt, based on the circumstances under which I hear her name in popular media (that is, if media has any veracity, which, again, is doubtful), nor do I care to know.


3.     Jesus, the Christ is my Lord and Savior, of Whom I am not ashamed.  Still, I doubt that in the flesh he was the handsome dark-haired, blue-eyed hunk as he has been portrayed.  He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.  (Isaiah 53:2).  


4.     I pray daily, throughout the day, and am uttering one now, asking God the Father to still the hands of folks who think it their mission to shove their beliefs, regardless of the issue, down my throat, by telling me what to LIKE and what to SHARE, and the contingent circumstances upon which I am to do so.


5.     Despite my beliefs and my opinions, they will be mine even if they are not yours.  I may or may not agree with you, but I respect your right to think/believe as you deem appropriate, even if contrary to what I think/believe.  Please allow me the same consideration.  Of course, if you don't that's okay, too.  You will be ignored.  And you will probably unfriend me.  Cool.


6.     I do not believe that SHARING or FORWARDING or LIKING anything in particular, for any specific number of times with a specific number of people, will put me in better stead with the Almighty God.  It rains on the just and the unjust, and we are all some of both.  


7.     God is not a genie.  You don't get three wishes; you get to live your life based on the choices you made, as do I.  Sometimes He will show you an extra measure of unmerited favor -- perhaps you call it grace, or sometimes you will forego the consequences of your actions -- perhaps you call that mercy; that doesn't make you any more highly favored as the next person; we all get that, to some degree, from time to time.


8.     I do not care to see intimate moments of anyone on my Facebook page, whether male/female, male/male, or female/female, or, God forbid, male/other or female/other, where other is something in lieu of homo sapien.


9.     I do not care to see pictures of barely dressed people.  I don't know which is worse, a picture posted to laugh at or ridicule, or a picture posted to tantalize.  Neither are appealing.  Both are offensive.   This being said, I am not a prude; there is simply a time and place for everything.


10.     My "church" clothes are always ready.  I get up on Sunday morning, do the necessary daily grooming, go to my closet and pull out something neatly pressed and clean, generally a dress shirt or twin set and a pair of trousers, occasionally a suit, and appropriate accessories.  I still have to watch those dirty stains that appear on my heart, however.


Looking forward to "friending" new folks as my current roll declines, and


Finally, brethren, Be perfect, be of good comfort,
be of one mind, live in peace;
and the God of love and peace shall be with you.
 II Corinthians 13:11 (KJV)

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

For Christopher and Daryl: My Musical "Sons"


Most of my music aspirations have gone unfulfilled, and as many, I have made peace with my place in the music world, what I have accomplished, and what I am still able to do.  You will be spared the litany of mishaps and unfortunate occurrences.  On this day, 27 June 2012, I can only be grateful as I remember those of my musician relations who are no longer here to share their gifts to any degree at all.  And, as an old song begins, I’m still here.  


Having begun playing (or attempting to play?) piano around the age of six, five-plus decades later I am still trying.  In my school years I sang in school choirs, including while an applied music major at the University of Houston, and studied voice off and on privately because I had to teach my choirs and felt like the lessons would help me help them.  Yet, just a few years ago, I found a very large bucket in which to carry my alto voice; that bucket has proved itself to be serviceable, and said yes when occasionally asked to do solo work at my church.  My thought was that I ought to be safe at my church, if I’m to be safe anywhere.  (Of course, there is an exceptional group of folks that are the family of God called South Main Baptist – but that is for another time.)  By a series of incidents, a mixed bag of negative and positive, I was invited to join the Houston Ebony Opera Chorus.  This positive experience has brought me face to face with young, talented musicians, and I am blessed to get to know them, sing with them, and, hopefully, encourage them.  


Among those young ones, I met a tenor, Christopher Harris.  Mr. Harris later invited me to join his Houston Master Singers.  There I became more acquainted with him and his original compositions.  They continue to stir my heart and are new, fresh, exciting and uplifting each time my mind’s ear visits them.  


On this past Sunday, 24 June, Houston Ebony Music presented its annual Juneteenth concert at Riverside United Methodist Church here in Houston.  Our unique program featured works by local composers.  Two of the works performed were composed by Christopher Harris.  This long, lithe young man has depth and breadth of ability found in more seasoned musicians.  Faultless and I Am Loved are night and day.


Faultless, based on one of my favorite Biblical passages (Jude 24-25) starts with a quiet intensity that builds to a bright, glorious celebration of God, the Father and Son.  I like this passage from The Message:


And now to him who can keep you on your feet, standing tall in his bright presence, fresh and celebrating—to our one God, our only Savior, through Jesus Christ, our Master, be glory, majesty, strength, and rule before all time, and now, and to the end of all time. Yes.


Perhaps the reader will be more familiar with the King James version:


Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen.


Either way, these fine, fine Words that are rendered in three versions and hang on the wall just to the right of my front door, and Mr. Harris has set them perfectly to music that makes the heart swell to bursting. 


On the other hand I Am Loved is broad, sweeping, exciting, and, at times, joyfully overwhelming.  Taken from Sarah Teasdale’s poem, Mr. Harris again created the perfect music setting for these words:


I am wild, I will sing to the trees,
I will sing to the stars in the sky,
I love, I am loved, he is mine,
Now at last I can die!
I am sandaled with wind and with flame,
I have heart-fire and singing to give,
I can tread on the grass or the stars,
Now at last I can live!


When we sang Faultless, there was first a wave of murmuring from the audience, then applause and excited utterances.  When we sang I Am Loved, which ended the program, the applause was even more adnimated.  As I stood with the chorus, my heart swelled with such pride as he, and we, witnessed the audience’s appreciation; it could not have been more had he been my own son.  


And now, a little more than 24 hours ago, I sat near the center aisle in the 6th or 7th pew at Grace Presbyterian Church on Sam Houston Parkway near Westheimer, in Houston, Texas with a direct view of Daryl Robinson, a young man who is not so tall in height, but who is a giant among his immediate peers, those who play pipe organ, the wider circle of peers who are musicians, and the even wider circle of people who just like music well executed.  Perhaps there were folks in attendance who had never been exposed to the grand sound of a well-played pipe organ, or who had never had a live experience like that.  Bless their hearts; they were certainly in the right place!


Daryl played as diverse a program as I could ever imagine.  While each of the four works were wonderfully rendered, the third, Ettrick Banks by Judith Weir (b. 1954) was the most unusual.  It evoked scenes that I easily visualized, unfolding a story in my mind’s eye.  The fourth, Prelude and Fugue on B-A-C-H, S. 260 ii, by Franz Listz, was the most powerful, heart-felt and breath-taking – literally breath-taking.   At its end I found myself exhaling, right hand clutching my chest, and faced streaked with tears.


This is only a lame attempt at painting a word picture whose elements are unique combinations of sound – and quiet – that stir every aspect of the human psyche.  The problem is, either words -- or my vocabulary -- are simply inadequate.  Music is not to be spoken of, but to be listened to, to consume, to be consumed, and to enfold, caress, soothe, renew, restore and rejuvenate.  It can do all of that, and more.


Both Christopher and Daryl, while they have their specialties, are well-rounded musicians.  Christopher writes, has a resonant tenor voice and plays piano.  Daryl is as commanding with his choral conducting and pianistic abilities as he is sitting at the organ.  When speaking of either Christopher or Daryl, I often say to those who know Daryl,  Christopher is to composition what Daryl is to pipe organ; and when speaking to those who know Christopher, Daryl is to pipe organ what Christopher is to composition.  Nothing else need be said; this seems to cut to the chase and relieve me of trying to describe how phenomenal either of these young men are.  I always end, though, with, and he has such a great spirit.  Unlike other uber talented people, they walk with both feet on the ground, are approachable, gracious, pleasant and personable.  My prayer is that even as they soar to higher dimensions of their calling, they remain as human and grounded as they are now.  



Sunday, June 17, 2012

For My Brer on Father’s Day


Brer is my brother, John.  When we were kids he was overly fond of that very dark,  highly viscous fluid known as Brer Rabbit syrup.   That is why I call him Brer.  Sometimes we would run out of the “good” syrup and rather than suffer the agony of ingesting that thick stuff, I would do without the pancakes or waffles our mom had prepared.  From scratch (how else? ).   Anyway, this is not about my inclination toward thin syrup or my mother’s culinary wizardry; it is about my Brer.  And yes, it is Father’s Day.


For the record, I have written about fathers in prior blogs.  On 5 November 2008, I posted Real Dads of the Darker Nation – Part 1, and on 9 November, Remembering Daddy, writing of my father, who is still very much a part of me, though he died 44 years ago.  On 21 June 2009 I posted Real Dads of the Darker Nation – Part III, writing of men who become fathers to the children of another.  And on 24 February and 13 December 2010, and 8 December 2011 I posted writings about my Sweet Pea’s father, Charles Richards. 


Today, while thinking of my father, Charles, and my friends who assumed the role of father in the absence of fathers, I also think of my brother.  Somehow, Brer has morphed into the patriarch of our little Hoxie clan – not because he is the oldest surviving male – but because he has truly become just that.  Sons do not always assume responsible roles in the stead of their predecessors.  Samuel, the prophet, who anointed young David, son of Jesse and later to become king of Israel, had, to put it bluntly, lousy boys.  They were unfit to succeed their father in God’s work.  I am sure without much thought, you, the reader, can think of the mishandling of well established business by succeeding generations – some you may even know personally.  The deal is, all are not fit to walk the path or assume the responsibilities of their predecessors.  We Hoxies fared well in this regard.  Lewis and Lillie conceived and gave birth to John Chester.  As it turns out, that was a good thing.  


Brer is more than a brother; he is my earthly rock.  He gives wise counsel, listens as I verbalize my wildest thoughts – without judging, solves problems, and mediates disputes fairly (and, yes, mediators who help others resolve conflicts still have their own with which to contend).  He even understands my warped sense of humor (a major plus).


Brer is a father and grandfather of natural, adopted and blended-in children; he claims them all without distinction.  And for him, father is not just a label.  He reminds me a lot of our father with his stern exterior and kind heart – like Napoleons – that hard candy with the soft, chewy stuff inside.  He even looks like our father, a little slight on the vertical side, large eyes, strong jaw, and everything else.  Brer has shown me decades of stability and dependability.  On top of all that, he is a really, really smart guy.  And to beat all of that, he knows the Word from cover to cover, and will remind me, quoting book, chapter and verse, when appropriate. 


Weird – perhaps Brer is also psychic.  He just called with an early birthday greeting, and to invite me to lunch tomorrow.  Is he peering over my shoulder?  Spooky.  :)


None of this is to say Brer is perfect (there is none perfect but Jesus, the Christ), or even good (there is none good except God my Heavenly Father). Brer’s got his little idiosyncracies and warts; still, for a sentient  being who puts his pants on one leg at a time like the rest of us, Brer is pretty much the cream of the crop.  It is good to have a brother who not only shares the same blood, but shares himself.  Like Lewis Hoxie, a real father of the darker nation, so goes his son, my brother, John.  





Saturday, June 2, 2012

For T: Soli Deo Gloria

What an absolutely wonderful weekend this is turning out to be -- wonderful and heartwrenching.  This weekend, in my church family, is all about T.  


This weekend we celebrate Thomas Coker's 25 years in ministry at South Main Baptist Church and 50 years in ministry.  That is the wonderfulness of it all.  Then he retires.  That is the heartwrenching part.  


The celebration has been true to South Main's longstanding tradition of doing things well, in excellence, decently  and in order.  Earlier this afternoon we had a concert featuring just about all of our music ministry, and including participation by returning "alumni."  What a joyous time we had.  The music in all respects was top notch, from our kindergarten group to, well, our more seasoned members.  


Let's digress for a moment, for just a little "TC" background:  Thomas has pursued an excellence in music at South Main Baptist that sets our music ministry apart from what people normally expect of a church choir.  We have done (and done well) sacred works like King David, Elijah, Messiah, Requiem (Brahms & Rutter), Mass in G (V. Williams) and more; and we have done (and, again, done well) Broadway shows, including Hello Dolly, The Wizard of Oz, Man of LaMancha, Into the Woods, and even more.  It is difficult for someone who thinks she has a decently-rounded background to be hit in the face with "stuff I've never even thought about doing."  He has had to drag this writer out of her box, sometimes kicking and screaming.  Often inwardly questioning his song selection, she was reminded of telling the choirs she directed, It's not about what you want or even like, it's about helping worshipers make a connection to God, reinforcing the theme of worship through music.  Being whipped by the sermon she had so often preached to others, she had to swallow hard, dig in, and yield to T's directions.  In learning that song, whichever one, she learned to love what she had previously professed to loathe.


Near the end of the concert, Pastor Steve Wells asked us to show our appreciation for Thomas, and there erupted a standing ovation like none I had ever witnessed!  Thomas, in the style of a true minister, would not, could not take a bow.  Obviously moved by this outpouring of  love and appreciation, he stood with right hand over heart.  It seemed that he may have even been a bit uncomfortable by the demonstration.  At one point he raised his hands, both index fingers pointing upward.  Had we been at a baseball, football or basketball game, the raised fingers would most likely be followed by a chant:  WE'RE NUMBER ONE!  WE'RE NUMBER ONE!  


Not so in the instant case.  When I saw the ascending fingers, I knew instantaneously Thomas was thinking soli deo gloria -- to God alone be the glory.   Soli deo gloria has been T's tagline since before I knew him.  And from my observations, it is the way he has lived his life of ministry.  Time and again, whether Bach to Broadway or King David or Elijah or My Eternal King -- going over and over . . .  and over and over . . . and over . . . whatever section of music, pesky phrase, or that single vowel that is just not right . . . over and over . . . it was not about getting it just right to justify it being dubbed excellent, but getting in just right to give glory and honor to God by giving Him our very best.  


T's got things in proper perspective:  God gave us His very best, and we should give Him no less.


Thank you, Thomas, for knowing, and showing the real importance of music ministry done well.


Soli deo gloria
To God -- and God alone -- be the glory.

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Great Is His Faithfulness

I was just browsing through my Facebook page and came across a post requesting most meaningful and inspiring passages from the Bible to be read when someone I hold in high regard travels to Israel in the near future.  How can one choose, one most meaning and inspiring passage?  That is a tough assignment, at least for me.  I thought of many, and the one that I kept coming back to me is Lamentations 3:22-24.


Lamentations, an Old Testament book, was written during the years Judah was in exile in Babylon.  It  shares the torment of the Jews, having been ripped from their homeland and separated from the temple which had been destroyed, because of their rebelliousness and many sins.

Fast forward a few thousand years, and those verses resonate even today.


         22      Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.
         23      They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
         24      I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.”
Lamentations 3:22-24
The Holy Bible: New International Version.

 I often feel as if I am exiled in a strange land, out of touch with the culture and mindsets that currently prevail, and especially alienated by the divisiveness of my own country.  (Of course, some may still argue in this the 21st century, that I, and people like me, have no right to be here in the first place; but that is for another day.)  Just a minor example:  someone else posted a picture of a very large woman wearing a top that sported so many horizontal back straps that I saw more flesh than fabric, and shorts cut so high that they were more like denim panties than shorts, revealing more than 50% of her buttocks.  And that was a lot of flesh.  While I don't consider myself a prude (at least not the last time I checked), the need for anyone, male or female, to display her (or his) body in that fashion, and the need for someone else to share a picture of that to the rest of the world, are both beyond my sensibilities.  We celebrate and glorify the ridiculous and outlandish, and scoff at just about anything of redeeming value.  And, unfortunately, who constitutes the "We" includes people who profess to believe in the One who is The Word . .  and The Way.  That, indeed, is scary.  

Am I saying that I am perfect and am sitting in judgment on the rest of the world?  Absolutely not!  I cannot help but think, however, that some of the We forge ahead with frolicking, funky fashions and frivolities without considering the long-term effects or broader implications.  Those pictures are all over the place and will come back to haunt someone . . . someday.   I'm just saying . . .  

Just one more "for instance" -- just one more:  My daughter and I discussed the recent Time magazine cover featuring a young boy at his mother's breast.  Are we against breast feeding?  Absolutely not!  We merely discussed the long-term effects that kind of exposure will have on the boy as he gets older:  "Dear mom of the little boy:  what will your son be confronted with in the future because of that cover?   Was it worth it?"

Now, back to Lamentations.  This passage is also the basis of one of my favorite, favorite songs:

Great is thy faithfulness, O God my Father;
there is no shadow of turning with thee;
thou changest not, thy compassions, they fail not;
as thou hast been thou forever will be.
Great is thy faithfulness! Great is thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
all I have needed thy hand hath provided;
great is thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!

Words: Thomas O. Chisholm

So what is the big deal?  

The big deal is this:  Things can look pretty, pretty bad sometimes.  Trust me on that, 'tis very true.  Yet, things can also be a lot worse than what they are.  And, take it from someone who awakens some mornings and has no clue about the course of her day:  all that I have ever needed, He has provided.  All that you will ever need, He will provide.  Today was a day like that.  As far as I knew, I had three things on my "to-do" list, none of which constituted billable activities:  1) scan documents for my archives; 2) assist my nonagenarian mother, The Boss, at the polls; 3) look in on my Sweet Pea who has an internship with a District Judge.  Yet, while parking my car in the most unlikely spot that was just be vacated as I turned a corner, a woman in a wheelchair stopped and asked me if I would talk to her about Medicare.  Out of nowhere, after agonizing over 1) having to dress (I don't care what folks say, when one enters a courtroom, proper attire should not be optional.  Hint -- hint to you trendy lawyers and social workers who look as if you're going out to party hard) in a suit, and 2) driving across town to help The Boss, I gave up my resistance to honor my commitments to the two most important women in my life.  And still, He was looking out for me.

He is always keeping me, cheering me, ever guiding me. He is always with me -- even when things look pretty, pretty bad.   So, how about you?  If He gave you another day, it is not too late to turn to Him, and you will find that He has been, is now, and will be faithful.




Monday, May 28, 2012

Dirty Words and Phrases

It is that time of year in Texas.  There is an election tomorrow.  This morning in the span of 30 minutes I  was been subjected to more nastiness of political advertisements than local news.  From those ads, I have gleaned this list of dirty, filthy, nasty words and phrases that serve more to foster negativity, hate, distrust and division in these supposed-to-be United States of America.


Democrat
Republican
Liberal
Conservative
Moderate
Left
Right
Obama (NOT President Obama, or Mr. Obama, just Obama)
Take back our country
Tea party (when I was a little girl, this was actually a fun thing)
Represent
Defend
Stealing jobs
Balance the budget


It was already an effort to start the day, and hearing the drivel spewing from some smarmy-mouthed hireling with vocal inflections designed to stir up angst and animosity, my mind and body all but begged me to stay put, in the safe confines of my bed, turn on Pandora and tune into any channel -- Richard Smallwood, Tony Bennett, Claude Debussy, Gladys Knight, Anthony Burger -- ANYTHING except broadcast television -- or go to Netflix and watch the 121st episode of Law & Order SVU -- ANYTHING except broadcast television -- even scroll through my Facebook photos and videos, streamed to my TV via Roku -- ANYTHING except broadcast television.  


Times like these validate the about me blurb at the bottom right of this page:


I am a peace-loving, nonconforming traditionalist, often misquoted and misunderstood, but still refusing to march to the beat of anyone's drum except my own, as led by the Triune God. I live on a roller coaster with more climbs, dips, twists and turns than the average, but am sustained by the One who leads me. I am perplexed, dismayed and saddened by the insanities that constitute today's norms and hope for a return to civility and morality, neither of which can come soon enough.


I am truly saddened by the nastiness of current political events.  Just as the entertainment industry has devolved over decades, so has the American political process.  What is seriously pathetic is that people buy into those sordid advertisements and never take the time to research the candidates for which they vote, that is, if they even bother to vote (that subject to be dealt with another time).  


Indeed, this is a nasty, nasty mess we're in.  People want labels rather than leaders, color rather than character, wealth rather than wisdom, orientation rather than objectivity, and vilifications rather than values.  


Then there are those who cut off their noses to spite their faces:  they want/need scholarships, financial aid, medical care and Supplemental Security Income; yet they hate the ones who seek to help make those provisions.  And let us not leave out the ones who want less government and less spending; they are forced to pay a fair wage for a day's work; they are forced to pay employment taxes for their domestic workers -- including the women who raise their children.   


And let's be fair now:  EVERYONE wants a military force that will DEFEND this country and KEEP IT/US SAFE


So, why do we elect politicians who shield their children from military duty while the children of others sacrifice their lives?  Why do we elect politicians who legislate great perquisites and benefits for themselves and have no sense of urgency about taking adequate care of our soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines when they come home physically and psychologically maimed and crippled?  And why have American citizens been driven to have fundraisers to purchase protective gear for soldiers who were shipped across the pond to fight on foreign soil?  And WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY WHY, do we keep sending back to these offices, people who set themselves apart from the rest of us by referring to us as ORDINARY AMERICANS (also to be dealt with later)?  Some have held office for more than a decade (or two), and every election year, resurrect that old, stale, nonsense about how effective they have been.  I AM JUST ASKING.


I dare you:  when you hear that divisive drivel on television or radio, or see it in print or on the internet, ask yourself what is really important to you, and look for the candidate who espouses what is important to you.  You may have to look past gender, color, religion, socio-economic status, or religion.  


There is something terribly wrong with a country as diverse as the United States of America fostering an "Us vs. Them" mentality when both the "Us" and the "Them" are American citizens.  I AM JUST SAYING.







Tuesday, May 15, 2012

When You're in the FOG



There is fog that is a collection of tiny water drops suspended in the air that reduces visibility sometimes to nothing, wreaking havoc on morning rush-hour driving conditions, sometimes resulting in car crashes, caused especially by folks who have insufficient common sense to respect this natural phenomenon over which they have no control, and adjust their ragged driving style.


And there is FOG -- "free online games dot com" (I know because I just Googled it). On freeonlinegames.com one can engage in driving games (more car crashes?), or shooting, killing or war games, among others.  I would rather not explore the site to write more intelligently on this matter; at first glance it has no socially redeeming value.  Of course, many may say the same about my blog.  Suum cuique.


And . . . there is the state of being in a "fog" -- you know -- when one's thoughts are just not clear.  A decision is out of reach.  The uncertain state leaves one stagnant; there is no movement, no growth, no progress.


These are not the kinds of FOGs of which I write.  The FOG that occupies my thoughts today is my Family Of God.  Yeah, yeah, I know everyone does not share my belief.  Well, that is everyone's right.  And those who find this topic unworthy of exploring, and perhaps may be more interested in the FOG representing freeonlinegames.com, are all free to close this tab, or window, or whatever, on their browsers.    Again, to each his own.  If you do, however, you may miss something you really need for yourself, even if you are unaware the need exists.


So what is the big deal about Andrea's Family of God?  Wow!  I am sooo glad you asked!  Keep reading.  Please.


Humans are gregarious creatures, for the most part.  (There are some anomalies –  like folks who intentionally maintain reclusive lifestyles – but that is for another time.)  We humans like to socialize, preferably among  our own kind.  There is something to be said for birds of a feather . . ..   This gregarious nature of man (if one has read my blog before, one knows well that I mean all of humankind and I am not particularly fond of being politically correct, so please deal with man and let us continue) is responsible for private clubs, single-gender institutions (even though the excluded gender raises a stink if not admitted), hunting clubs, bowling clubs, genre-specific music groups, gender-specific music groups, thousands of Yahoo, Google and other online groups specific to a particular subject or interest, and much more.  Men of the same ilk tend to seek each other out.


Sometimes you can look at a cluster of people and have a good idea of their common bond.  This is something that fascinates me about the Olympic Games.  Generally, one can observe groups of athletes and know they represent a particular country, simply by their physical characteristics, or their outward appearance.  Except, of course, for the United States.


We Americans are a mixed bag, and until you reach in and pull something out, there is no telling what one will get.  That is the way Heaven will look.  (Note to theological scholars:  let’s not get bogged down with this, just go with it).  Because that is the beauty of the Family of God.  We are young, old, tall, short, rail thin, average (whatever that means) plump and plumper.  We are black, brown, white, and yellow, and various mixes of those.  We are professionals, laborers, technicians, artists and craftsmen.  We are on all points of the socio-economic spectrum.  However, unlike society's measure, whether we live in a row house, boat house or mansion -- or drive a Honda or a hoopty or a Hummer -- live from day-to-day or week-to-week or get direct deposits from trust fund distributions or are "set" for the remainder of our natural lives -- we are all super rich!  And why is that?  Because we are FOGs.  And all members of the FOG are children of God, Creator of the Universe.  And the earth is His and everything in it.


Being in The FOG is a nice place to be.  It means not only is God with me in spirit; it means also that He has hands to hold mine, arms to hug me, ears to listen to my woes, lips to pray with and for me, and voices to join me in praising Him in song.  My FOG (you can find them online at www.smbc.org) does all that for and with me, and more.  And, there is even more:  One of the neatest things is wherever I am, there are other members of the universal FOG, folks I had never met until my Father caused our paths to cross.  They have come to my rescue, and I to theirs.  And, being the wanna-be-so-independent woman I am, even over my protests, they have said to me “just make my day and let me help you.”


So, does that mean that we have no problems, no pitfalls, no puzzling situations?  Absolutely not!  What it does mean, however, is that none of us is alone with those pesky P's,  because we bear each other’s burdens, in thought, word, prayer and deed.  In good times and bad times, we are family, offering each other our love, care, kinship and hope.  We learn from each other, give to each other and receive from each other by God's grace.  


Even when we are dealing with our own stuff, we are with each other, helping each other carry those burdens.  Have you ever, in your own misery, turned away from yourself and did something for someone else?  Was it not the most exhilarating thing you have ever experienced?  Did you then rethink your perspective of your own situation and determine perhaps it is not as bad as you once thought?  Being in the FOG can do that for you.


When you are in the FOG, you are never alone!  Do you think you would rather be in the CLOUD than the FOG?  Do you know what happens in the CLOUD?   Think about some of the conditions of the Cloud: 

  • Cloud-dwellers live with clenched hands, and in so doing they are unable to give or receive to and from others.
  • Cloud-dwellers live by, for and within themselves, and are often contaminated by the company they keep.
  • Cloud-dwellers never see anyone beyond their own mirrors, and miss the joy of sharing even the most mundane tasks and occasions.
  • Cloud-dwellers are self-deluded, thinking they have succeed by their own efforts alone, routinely refusing to acknowledge the shoulders on which they stand.

Trust me on this:  being in the FOG is much, much better than being in the CLOUD.  Which do you choose?  the Family Of God?   or the Chaotic Lunacy Of Ungodly Deportment?


I’m just asking . . .


So, if you ever tire of dwelling in the CLOUD, we members of the FOG will welcome you with open arms and hearts, and we will pledge ourselves to be the Family Of God for you.


Be at peace.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Jobless Americans in Her Muddied Mirror



I profess that I know nothing of the story covered by our local Fox news that was posted on Facebook today.  A caption for the picture of three police cars parked at a Burger King fast-food restaurant read:
Happening Now:  Not an HPD lunch break . . . a dude just got busted for allegedly holding up 3 fast food places.  Northeast Houston in the 9500 block of Jensen . . . SkyFox over the scene.    
This writing is not so much about that story; what prompted this writing was a comment posted by an individual, which reads:
Jobless Americans who seem to think everything should be handed to them!  UGH!  
That line has stayed with me since I first read it, and its author is the focus of this writing.
NOTE:  Before delving into this, please take notice that I do not condone any kind of criminal activity whatsoever; so before the reader jumps to that conclusion, declaring the writer to be a left-wing liberal who makes excuses for every out-of-mainstream, down-on-his-luck guy/gal on a corner, leave the lid on that can.
What bothers me is a person, who, from her photo, appears to be a rather young adult, taking on jobless Americans, making a wholesale statement that on its face is devoid of any degree of humaneness.  Her FB page indicates she is affiliated with a local high school, presumably a present or former student.   Speculatively, she is just out of high school, and I imagine a scenario in which she lives a reasonably comfortable life, courtesy of parents who assure that she is properly attired with fashionable garb and properly equipped with some technological gadgetry – at least a mobile phone to stay connected on Facebook.  Perhaps.  Or, maybe she has a job that allows her to live comfortably, dress decently, and afford some gadgetry.  Perhaps.  Or, maybe she is a trust fund baby, you know, a Paris Hilton wannabe who is content to live her life and not be concerned about the means by which she will acquire her next outfit, her replacement phone, the latest iPad, the next tank of gas or . . . her next meal.

She appears to be young.   Evidently she has not been around the block too many times.  Perhaps her short life has been a flat, straight line, uneventful in any impactful way,  rather than the twisted, knotted ones of those jobless Americans who were either:  1) laid off through no fault of theirs; 2) terminated with cause; 3) terminated without cause; 4) casualties of corporate mismanagement; 5) deceived retirees who lost their nest egg in Wall Street shenanigans; or 6) casualties of exported jobs or imported workers ... Perhaps neither has anyone who is responsible for her lifestyle and meeting her basic and extraordinary needs experienced a time of joblessness.  Sadly, perhaps she believes she is immune from joblessness, immune from want, immune from need, immune from hunger, homelessness, and nakedness.  How haplessly and utterly sad.  Perhaps she planned to live only in the very moment at which she post her jobless Americans drivel, seeing in a muddied mirror, her deluded superior, immune-from-negative-circumstances self.  Or, maybe unlike the rest of us, she knows her future is totally secure.

If I should have a moment with this young woman, I would tell her of someone of whom I knew, who was once wealthy.  I came to know him personally when all he had left was himself and a car with a clear title.  Or, maybe I would tell her of another, who was a diligent, dedicated employee with an unblemished record for three months shy of 20 years (at which time he could have retired), and was ousted on the whim of another for no reason other than it was doable.  Or, maybe I would tell her about this writer, who despite the framed crap on the wall of her home office, attesting to academic achievements (and no, she did not graduate at the bottom of her class) and professional credentials, was systematically rejected by employers for more years than the young woman has probably been alive.

I pity her, and people like her.  They are the ones who have more difficulty adjusting to the adversities of life.  Like one of whom I would tell her, she probably would not survive if any event upset the delicate balance of her most likely want-for-nothing existence.  What we would not know is whether it was a waste for her to breathe precious air in the first place, or a waste for her not to stick it out long enough so she would know what she could endure.



Sunday, April 22, 2012

Just a Grain of Sand, a/k/a Running Out of Gas in Houston, Texas

It seems lately that this writer has worn out words like glorious, wonderful, awesome, and, still, this blog entry must begin thusly: 


This has been a glorious day!  First, there was wonderful worship, then Sunday School (some people call that Sunday morning session where folks go into "classes" and talk about Bible stuff Bible Study, but I am of the other ilk.  It was Sunday School when I was a kid, and for me it is still Sunday School.)  After a few stops along the route to home, I prepared myself a decent meal, using Italian turkey sans pasta, awesome garlic bread from Barry's Pizza, fresh asparagus and an antipasta salad, chased with two dark chocolate chip cookies made with whole wheat flour and blended oatmeal.  Perhaps now I can get to the heart of this writing without repeating the words glorious, wonderful and awesome.


Getting distracted by a favorite word game this afternoon, I was 15 minutes late to leave for the final master's recital of a wonderful (oops) young lady with a glorious (oops again) soprano voice.  The car's information center indicated my DTE to be 22, meaning I could drive a distance of 22 miles before the gas tank was empty.  Surely, I thought, it's only 7 or 8 miles -- I'll be okay and will get gas after the recital.   Just as I arrived on the campus of the University of St. Thomas, the car stopped.  I tried to start it  Nothing happened.  I began to fret, but the thought that I probably had no gas danced into my head to haunt and taunt.  For someone with a "half tank" rule, running out of gas simply should never be an option.  Well, I blew it.  So there.


My options were simple:  1)  walk two blocks to the nearest gas station, purchase a gas can and gas, walk back to the car to dispense the gas, probably not without sloshing some on my hand for good measure.  After all, since I had run out of gas, it could be argued that I was already in my slapstick mode; or 2) call roadside assistance.   My body made the decision for me, reminding me that even on this beautiful, sunny, Sunday, it would give me grief if I walked even that far in the heat of the day.  Yes, for someone who lives with Sarcoidosis, even this wondrously, gloriously, awesomely beautiful day with a temperature less than 90 degrees, is HOT!  The fact is, I knew better than to try to make that walk, so I opted for number 2. 


I escaped the sun pouring into the car and took refuge under a tree that shaded me well.  As I stood there, enjoying the light breeze that assured my comfort, a couple of campus police, a guy on a bicycle, a couple in a van and a guy on his afternoon run (he offered to push the car out of the street while I steered!) stopped and offered to assist me.  I was reminded that His goodness and mercy are forever following me.  Even as I thought of this, relating to Pastor Steve Wells's sermon, yet another stopped to offer his help.  Then a woman stopped.  Then another woman.  In all, nine people stopped, asked if I was okay and what could they do to help.  Nine.  In just a few minutes.  Nine.


So, what's the big deal?  Simply, no one had to stop, including the nine who did.  They were a mixed bag of folks of all sizes, ages and colors.  And the nine were willing to stop, just for me.  In each of those nine folks I saw a little bit of my God.  He loved the world so much that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life.  And He sent His Son, not to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved.  (see John 3:16-17).  


This deal is big.  It is huge.  You see, the world is a big, big picture -- God's creation.  And on just one beach of humanity I am but one grain of sand.  In the big, big picture, I am but one dot of paint.  And even in my foolish negligence of ignoring my own "half-tank" rule, He sent nine of his folks to see about me.  Because He loves me.  Just as He loves you -- like there  is only one to love.  He showers us with His joy and peace each and every day.   His goodness and mercy follow me each and every moment.  Even when I foolishly turned my back on Him, He never left me.  He never leaves, nor forsakes me.  And why is that?  Because He loves me -- this single, solitary grain of sand on just one beach of many beaches of humanity -- this one miniscule dot of paint -- me. And, trust me, it is not that I am so special -- but that He is so loving.







Monday, April 16, 2012

The Marketed, Manipulated God :(

God is going to do a new thing!  Get ready to be blessed!
"LIKE" if you love God.
"RESHARE" if you love God, in 120 seconds He will do you a favor.


It was the last one that was the straw that broke my back.


If you believe what I believe, God, the One Whose name we cannot even properly articulate, is the creator everything.  The earth is His, and everything in it.  He created mankind (I refuse to write awkwardly just to be politically correct, but for the sake of the PC police, know that I man all humans without regard to gender when I say mankind), out of His love, giving  us dominion over the earth.  And what did we do???  We messed it up -- and we messed us up -- and quite thoroughly, I might add.   


Now, fast-forward a few millennia.  Here we are in the 21st century.  One would think that by now we would have figured out a few things, for instance:

  1. It rains on the just and the unjust (see Matthew 5:45).  Just because you're having a good time, that does not mean you are king (and yes, queen also) of one-upmanship over those of us who aren't.
  2. Your illness is not necessarily a satanic visitation.  Have you considered His servant, Job?  Or, have you considered that the white bread, hormone-enhanced fried food, Bluebell ice cream with 12% butter fat, processed meats extruded from some machine that makes perfectly formed loaves of God only knows what (and don't forget the pink slime), the fruits and vegetables you refused to eat, the 4-pack-a-day cigarette habit, the booze you boozed or all of those cookies and candy bars finally caught up with you?  
  3. Those prayers in which we thank God that we are on top of the ground and the ground is not on top of us . . . what's that all about?  Then we turn around and sing I've got my mind made up and I won't turn back because I want to see my Jesus some day.  I suppose we all just want to wait around for other the second coming -- and that would be some day.  No one is ready to die.  
  4. We are not guaranteed a huge house.  If Jesus didn't even have a fixed place of residence, what makes us so special?  (see Luke 9:58)
  5. AND . . . if we do have a huge house, that does not necessarily mean we are blessed and highly favored (consider the rich fool, Luke 12:13-21).  Of course, it doesn't mean that we are lousy people either.  The point is that your huge may be inconsequential.  
  6. Your clothes do not make you or set you apart as a child of God.  How many suits did John the Baptist have?  Jesus?  I'm just asking ...
I'm a big proponent of the KISS principal.  Considering how lame-brained mankind can be, there is something to be said for KISS.  Keeping it simple would relieve us of the hype, pomp and circumstance that folks buy into, trying to reach God through all machinations of catch phrases, conventions, programs and paraphernalia that do nothing but perpetuate mindless consumption of tapes, books and stuff, looking for an answer other than THE answer which was handed down -- well -- at least a couple of millennia ago.  We are forever using religion to reach God, when the religion pales in significance to the relationship God prescribes for us.    


So, why does God have to do a NEW thing?  He is eternal.  He was before there was a was.  He is here and now.  And He is in the future that perhaps our children's children's children will see.  He stands with one foot at the beginning of . . . well . . . the beginning -- and the other at the end of infinity.  Well, where is that?  How long is infinity?  How far can you go?   God is incalculable, unquantifiable.  If one is able to define God within human parameters, why bother believing in Him?  He would be no more potent or powerful than the one who can define Him.  


So, now, enter the Social Network.  There are great things about Facebook, most likely the premiere and dominant social network of the worldwide web.  This writer happens to appreciate Facebook.  It allows her to connect with people she knew in her childhood and grade school, distant relatives, people who share that dread disease Sarcoidosis, people who like word games like Words With Friends, people with whom she shares common interests -- like insurance, current events, the practice of law, writing, performing (especially music) and visual arts, and worship.  Yes, Facebook is great.  Then again . . . 


Why do you suppose that this omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient, all-seeing, all-knowing, all-powerful God, needs to be marketed and manipulated on Facebook?  Why must we LIKE Him to get a blessing in 120 seconds?  His blessings are perpetual, ongoing, never-ending.  From before we were expelled from her mother's womb, we were blessed with a place to gestate, be nurtured and grow.  Even as we read He is blessing us -- we are breathing, touching, seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, feeling.  Even in our literate, quasi-sentient, semi-intelligent, idiosyncratic ways, He still blesses us.  Even while we grasp at straws, looking for some magic formula while denying the simplicity of His Gospel, He blesses us.  Even as we embark on greedy quests to amass the trappings of tangible and financial-but-long-run-worthless wealth and be the best at things that don't even matter in the big picture, He blesses us.  So . . . why the HECK do we need to click LIKE and be blessed in 120 seconds?  Do you think He is looking down to count His LIKES?   Is He your genie in a bottle, waiting for you to rub it and say the magic words?  Will He move at your command -- or should you move at His?


Alright, I'm just asking . . . .


Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20 and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.  -- Matthew 18:20


You may say click LIKE and He will do you a favor.  He said "go . . . and I will be with you."


I'm just saying . . .