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.

Why Didn't Someone DO Something?

Earlier this week upon entering the neighborhood branch of my bank, I was annoyed by the sight of a flat panel television, mounted on the wall, appropriately tuned to CNN.  The annoyance originated with a recurring thought  that it seems we are being conditioned to expect entertainment at every turn.  Think of where monitors are found today:  grocery store aisles and checkout counters, gas pumps, offices, and more.  Have you been to a basketball game lately?  There is no moment of inactivity.  Timeouts are filled with women wearing skimpy uniforms, smiling broadly to show off their five-figure laser-bright dental work, and shaking their boobs and back sides while bouncing their bobbled heads.  Or beer-breathed bubbas race down to try to shoot a basket from half court to win whatever prize awaits.  And when all else fails, blaring music prompts many who have a sense of rhythm, and more who don't, to cut a jig at their seats or in the aisles.  It is bad enough that hard-working folks pay huge sums of money for tickets and concessions to watch grown men play a game and make more than a lifetime of the average person's income, in one season.  Yep, we get more, much more than our fair share of entertainment, so much so, that the lack of attention to detail and/or anything matter of substance, is ever increasing.

All of these thoughts were hammering away in my head, when my attention was drawn to the annoying monitor.  I was captivated by a video, and watched as people passed by a man lying on a New York sidewalk, bleeding.  At least seven people walked past this man.  Did anyone stop?  Well, a couple of folks most surely did.  One stopped, lifted the man's body, exposing the blood.  Then, he walked away.  Another man stopped, brandished his mobile phone and took a picture of the wounded man.  Did he make a phone call?  No.  He walked away.  So overcome was this writer, that she had to exit the bank and take refuge in her Jeep so as not to make a spectacle of herself in the bank.

As I sat in my vehicle, I could not help but try to imagine what the man's thoughts were as he lay on the sidewalk, dying.  His wounds were sustained in an effort to help another, who did not hang around, nor call for assistance.  I thought of some of the times I had been in distress.  Once at a Greenway Plaza office building in Houston, there was an evacuation.  I was on the 28th floor.  Having a chronic medical condition, I did not look forward to walking down so many stairs to the first floor, but there was no choice.  On my way down, I was passed by more able-bodied folks who did not always take care to avoid contact with me.  I was jostled by a crowd coming from a floor occupied by an investment firm, the median age of its employees being 21.  It was all I could do to cling to the rail while the human herd stampeded past in their descent.  When I finally reached the ground floor and walked outside, my knees buckled when I had nothing to hold onto, and I toppled over, to the amusement of some of the folks standing around.   On the other hand, I also remembered an episode at the post office in downtown Houston, when, as I turned to reach for a pen, a stabbing pain and a locked joint dared me to straighten up.   Not only postal workers, but customers offered me assistance.  

Episodes like the one in New York make us wonder what has happened to humankind in general.  Yes, there has always been evil in the world.  And this is far worse than plain old evil.  Evil is relatively easy.  You see it, recognize it for what it is, and deal with it accordingly.  However, indifference is in a zone all to itself.  Indifference can inject itself into our veins, infecting us with a that's not my problem attitude.  I am reminded of a question proffered by my pastor, Steve Wells, during a Wednesday evening Bible study:  What is the opposite of love?   Naturally, some replied hate.  No, not hate, but indifference. 

Think about it:  did the folks -- at least seven of them -- bypass the wounded man because they hate him?  Is it logical to assume that they hate him?  I think not.  There is no indication of hate.  There is, however, an indication of indifference.  How else could it be, other than no one showed any care or concern for the wounded man, except they lacked love -- that basic benevolent concern for another human being.    I cannot help but wonder if a known personality were to lay on a sidewalk, not even injured, how long it would take for scores of people -- and even more media -- to show up. 

So, what is the deal?  Simply this:  we have become desensitized to any external stimulation that does not serve our need for constant entertainment.  We are charter members of the "IT'S ALL ABOUT ME" club.  And since we care for no one but ourselves, each person has his own chapter of the IT'S ALL ABOUT ME club, with a total membership of one.  And as was told to me years ago, the one who lives by oneself, for oneself, and in oneself, is always contaminated by the company one keeps.

What about the seven or more who passed by Hugo Alfred Tale-Yax (yep, he has a name, too).  Have they given him a thought since the moment of their encounter with him?  What if the next such incident involves someone they know?  Someone they think they care about?  Will there be cries of indignation?  Will there by weeping, waling, gnashing of teeth?  An offering of a reward for such a heinous act?  Impromptu shrines?  Candlelight vigils?  Press conferences?  When it matters to them, what will be the aftermath?  Will they wonder why didn't someone DO something?  

In case you haven't noticed, we have been lulled into a false sense of "okay-ness" where fluff matters and substance is inconsequential.  We have been indoctrinated to think that everyone else's problems are just their's.  What we have failed to remember is that what happens to one happens to us all.  When all of us matter, we will all do something.

BEST POEM IN THE WORLD

Do you ever see or hear something and think I wish I could have thought of that!?  Well, for what I will share with you here, I had the same thought.  Many thanks to my distinguished colleague in San Antonio, Texas, R. Neff, for sending this to me:

I was shocked, confused, bewildered 

As I entered Heaven's door, 

Not by the beauty of it all, 

Nor the lights or its decor. 

But it was the folks in Heaven 

Who made me sputter and gasp-- 

The thieves, the liars, the sinners,

The alcoholics and the trash. 

There stood the kid from seventh grade 

Who swiped my lunch money twice. 

Next to him was my old neighbor 

Who never said anything nice. 

Bob, who I always thought 

Was rotting away in hell, 

Was sitting on cloud nine, 

Looking incredibly well. 

I nudged Jesus, 'What's the deal? 

I would love to hear Your take. 

How'd all these sinners get up here? 

God must've made a mistake. 

'And why is everyone so quiet, 

So somber - give me a clue.' 

'Hush, child,' He said,

'they're all in shock. 

No one thought they'd be seeing you.' 

Just live; just worship

It was a rehearsal like any other, and yet, it was unique in its own way.  As usual, our gathering began with a little stretching of most bodies tired from the day, and vocal exercises for already strained voices.  Still we go through these exercises and find that afterwards we are, as usual, a little more relaxed and a lot more focused on the plan of attack devised by our minister of music.

As the rehearsal progressed from one musical work to the next, it was more like worship.  Getting caught up in the message and movement of a song is nothing new to this writer.  And it matters not when or where.  Somewhere in the middle of "At the Name of Jesus, every knee shall bow and every tongue shall confess that Jesus Christ is Lord" the 60 or 70 or so folks seemed to number in the thousands.  At that moment I was reminded of soap-box speeches from years ago, reminding my choirs that worship is not just what you do on Sunday morning; it's about how you live.  Tonight I was reminded that even in the process of preparing for worship, there is worship indeed.

I cannot help but wonder if remaining mindful that living is itself a form of worship, will folks see -- hear -- and experience from this vessel -- more of Christ and less of Andrea?   We shall see.

Progressive Think????

Today I received an e-mail, via Twitter, from someone inviting me to be a "guest blogger" at "progressivethink"  Since this is not the run-of-the-mill junk/spam, I went to the blogsite to explore.

Like most folks who use labels to define themselves and other folks, it appears from a cursory inspection that Progressive Think is yet another six-sided confinement, a/k/a a box, in which one must fit in order to comport with that blogsite's standards.  Taken aback, I trotted over to m-w.com to reassure myself of the meaning of the word "progressive."   "Of, relating to, or characterized by progress" is one thing.  And "thinking like our founding fathers" is not necessarily a bad thing.  But considering that holding slaves was not beneath many of our founding fathers, this particular descendant of slaves cannot help but wonder, which part of "thinking like our founding fathers" do the good folks at progressivethink have in mind?  And while I do not agree with President Obama's positions on all matters (as I have never agreed with any President, regardless of political label, on all matters), it appears that if I am an Obama supporter, my writing would not be appropriate for progressivethink.  In other words, I am free to express myself on that site as long as my thoughts align with theirs.   And they dare to invoke belief in the Constitution.  Perhaps an exception is made as to the First Amendment.  And what about those other good old Amendments?  If the first is excepted, are the 13th et seq. excepted as well?  In other words, is this writer of the Darker Nation considered slave or free?  Fractionally or wholly human?

I am reminded of a recent sermon or Bible study (I forget which, and I guess it really doesn't matter), Pastor Steve Wells reminded us that centuries ago the word "awful" had a meaning distinctly different from how that word is used today.  With that thought in mind, I am trying to conjure up what the good folks at progressivethink intend for the words "progressive," "conservative," and "libertarian" to mean as used in the context of that blogsite.  Perhaps they are akin to what some folks call the "good old days."  Now those days are different, depending on whom you query.

Like it or not, this is one nation under God, for God is over everything.  Unfortunately, the "indivisible, with liberty and justice for all" part is under serious attack.  Think about the struggles and strife which dominate today's media.  Rather than pulling together, there are tugs of war.  Rather than pulling together, one group is saying "no" to everything that is productive and doable, and another is saying "yes" to everything that is ridiculous and damaging.   No one seems to be thinking about the good of the whole.  We are plagued by the party of everything goes and the party of no.  This writer longs for the party of reason and common sense.

And before my super-liberal acquaintances start their victory lap over this little blog, please take a look in the nearest mirror.  The bottom line is this: regardless of the label to which the reader subscribes, there is something radically wrong with whomever thinks that everyone who does not think and believe exactly one's way all wrong, and one is all right.

Get a grip, folks, we're all messed up in so many ways.  Why not stop the finger-pointing and start looking in the mirror?  I dare you to take a look.  See that?  That little zit on the tip of your nose?  You might be able to do something about that before you mention mine.  Now that would be progress indeed.

Kevin Bales: How to combat modern slavery | Video on TED.com

Kevin Bales: How to combat modern slavery | Video on TED.com

Litany of American Citizenship

Some might think the title of this post a little far-fetched.  I dare you to think about it.  As American citizens we have certain rights.  What many do not seem to understand is that with every right, there comes a responsibility.  Most folks want to tout their rights.  What about their responsibilities?

What responsibilities?  Well, I'm glad you asked.  And I answer your question with these:  How many elections have you missed?  Alright, forget about the ones during which you were genuinely ill and could not get out of bed to go to the polls and vote.  What about when it was raining or cold and you did not want to get out in the "bad" weather?  Or you just blew the election off for no good reason?  Like bowling or a basketball game or a concert or the next installment of All My Children which you videotaped but must see as soon as you arrive home from work?  Or beyond being incapacitated, non compos mentis, or seeing to the needs of someone else when absolutely no one else is available for the 12-hour span during which polls are open on election day, and you missed all of those opportunities to vote early?  What about the opportunities you missed for absolutely no good reason?

My contention is that for every time you, American Citizen, failed to vote, you shirked your responsibility, letting down your nation, state, county, city, school district, MUD, and even yourself and your family.

What was that?  What do you mean how dare I say something like that??  In response, I ask you, how dare you not vote!?


And why today, this muggy, rainy day (at least in Houston, Texas), do I bring this up?  Again, so glad you asked.  It just happens that someone for whom I have great respect, who has shown himself to be an upright man of integrity, forwarded me an email which I will share with you shortly.  I do not know its originator.  Upon reading it, my first thought was that if folks would go to the polls en masse and exercise their right as American Citizens, to cast votes for issues and candidates to whom the duty of representation is given by a majority vote, our country might be in better shape.  (This brings about another thought for a blog, concerning America's fix it all right now attitude when many of our "its" have been broken for decades, but  that will have to wait for another day.)  Instead, we allow the diseases of complacency and apathy to blind and paralyze us, cut out our tongues and devour our brain cells.  We become walking zombies, devoid of the ability to think, buying into every thinly veiled lie some long-term, blooding-sucking (oops, I meant to say tenured politician) tells us.

So, here we are in 2010, with the very folks who are supposed to represent us, fattening themselves at the country's trough, voting themselves raises and retirement perks for which some would kill.

Stepping off my soapbox now, and conveying many thanks to Robert N, here is the Litany.  I dare you to read this and blow it off:

CONGRESSIONAL REFORM ACT OF 2010

1. Term Limits: 12 years only, with one of the possible options below:
   A. Two Six-year Senate terms
   B. Six Two-year House terms
   C. One Six-year Senate term and three Two-Year House terms
Serving in Congress is an honor, not a career.  The Founding Fathers envisioned citizen legislators, serve your term(s), then go home and back to work.

2.  No Tenure / No Pension:   A congressional representative collects a salary while in office and receives no pay when they are out of office.
Serving in Congress is an honor, not a career.  The Founding Fathers envisioned citizen legislators, serve your term(s), then go home and back to work.

3.  Congress (past, present & future) participates in Social Security:  All funds in the Congressional retirement fund move to the Social Security system immediately.  All future funds flow into the Social Security system.  Congress participates with the American people.
Serving in Congress is an honor, not a career.  The Founding Fathers envisioned citizen legislators, server your term(s), then go home and back to work.

4. Congress can purchase their own retirement plan just as all Americans.
Serving in Congress is an honor, not a career.  The Founding Fathers envisioned citizen legislators, serve your term(s), then go home and back to work.

5. Congress will no longer vote themselves a pay raise.  Congressional pay will rise by the lower of CPI or 3%.
Serving in Congress is an honor, not a career.  The Founding Fathers envisioned citizen legislators, serve your term(s), then go home and back to work.

6. Congress loses their current health care system and participates in the same health care system as other American people.
Serving in Congress is an honor, not a career.  The Founding Fathers envisioned citizen legislators, serve your term(s), then go home and back to work.

7. Congress must abide by all laws they impose on the American people.
Serving in Congress is an honor, not a career.  The Founding Fathers envisioned citizen legislators, serve your term(s), then go home and back to work.

8. All contracts with past and present congressmen are void effective 1/1/11.  The American people did not make contracts with congressional representations;  congressmen made all these contracts with and for themselves.
Serving in Congress is an honor, not a career.  The Founding Fathers envisioned citizen legislators, serve your term(s), then go home and back to work.

Today is the Day to FIRE Sheila Jackson Lee

This writing is starting her day off behind schedule.

By now I should have been on the other side of Houston, heading out I45 toward Galveston.  This is too important not to take another few minutes to hastily post this plea to all who live in the 18th Congressional District of Texas.

To the supposed constituents* of Sheila Jackson Lee:  Today is the day you have an opportunity to get rid of the ineffective representation of Sheila Jackson Lee.  To make this happen YOU MUST GO TO THE POLLS and vote!!!

Mrs. Lee's supporters will tell you that her opponent, Jarvis Johnson, doesn't have experience.  Well, guess what office Mrs. Lee held before seeking the one she has now held far too long?   She was a member of Houston City Council.  And, guess what office Jarvis Johnson holds?   He is a member of Houston City Council!    In other words, the "no experience" plea is a lame attempt that has no foundation.

It is more than Mr. Johnson being a native Houstonian rather than a transplant.  It is more than Mr. Johnson having roots in the community he has served for many years, even before being elected to the Houston City Council.  The compelling reason to fire Sheila Jackson Lee and vote for Jarvis Johnson is that she has simply outlived her usefulness in the 18th.

Complacency and apathy are not characteristics of just the electorate; they are common symptoms of a diseased governing body as well.  And Mrs. Lee failed to get immunized against the disease that manifests itself in part with complacency and apathy.

There is another manifestation of this disease:  it is called selfishness.  Our representatives should be selfless in their service, not selfish.  If you are a resident of the 18th Congressional District, one of those folks the media and elected officials (and therefore, hired servants) call ORDINARY Americans, and had occasion to call an office of the 18th with a problem, chances are you were told either:  1)  you are not on the voter registration rolls; 2) we have over 500,000 people in this district and we can't . . . . blah, blah blah.  On the other hand, if your name is known for whatever reason:   pop star, athlete, unfortunate victim of a heinous murder a la dragging (not to make light of the horrible murder of Mr. Byrd), or hurricane, then you may see Mrs. Lee, but only via television or the internet.

The bottom line is this:  the 18th Congressional District needs effective representative of its citizens, someone who understands the root of their problems, not just sees the outcome, but what lies beneath.  The 18th needs someone in tune with them, not just folks in Vidor and Never Never Land.

The 18th Congressional District needs someone like Jarvis Johnson.   Whatever you do today, PLEASE GO TO THE POLLS AND VOTE!

_________________________________________________
*By the way, why do you think the phrase "supposed constituents" was used?  Well, I'm glad you asked.  Think really hard for a moment, and try to conjure up ONE instance in which you believe Mrs. Lee was representing you.  Well?

Remembering Charles

This is the third blog by this writer, the title of which begins with "Remembering."  It is also the most difficult, even though the end of this life's journey was more evident to me than most.  In other words, it was obvious that the end of this little stop along the continuum of eternity was near.  Still, as much as one thinks one has made peace with what is to come, when the news comes, one is never quite ready.  Hence, the jolt.

This writing, however, is not about the loss of the man who had such a profound impact on this writer, but about some of the many treasures that are his legacy.  A few of the lessons he taught by way of action more so than spewing verbiage, are what will be shared in this blog.

PEACEFUL DECORUM:  He did not raise his voice in anger, and would not engage in any discussion, even in conflict, in angry or agitated tones.  

APPEARANCES MATTER:  Even when it was no longer the norm to wear a suit and tie to work, he did so every day to set an example to the boys in his charge, of how to dress properly.

DISCIPLINE IS AN ACT OF LOVE:   After counseling/disciplining a child, he would pat him on the back and say "I love you, man."   When queried about this, he replied, "they need to know that somebody loves them."

LEADERSHIP:  As a supervisor he employed collaborative and situational leadership styles rather than dictated to his subordinates.    He believed that bringing out the best in people is easier when they are treated as who they are:  God’s creations, worthy of basic human respect and dignity.   And he believed that it is as important to know when and how much to flex and pull as it is to push and challenge.

COMMITMENT:  For more than half of his life, he served one body of believers in music ministry and eschewed all overtures to leave that family of God for any reason, including greater pecuniary gain.  In fact, he confided that he would not leave for any reason.   In his music ministry, he was not so much concerned about doing the top 10 as he was preparing music for worship that would help folks see Jesus.

FATHERHOOD:   Charles was a real father.  He did as much to nurture and care for my daughter as I did; and in many instances, even more.  He read to her, read with her, talked with her (not at her), investigated and chose schools, spent meaningful time with her at home and on vacations, shared his faith, and encouraged her and cheered her on in every way possible.  And because he was a real father, I have a genuinely wonderful Sweet Pea, who is a reflection of her father in so many ways.

IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL:    Despite decades of physical pain, Charles had joy.  Because he had Jesus.  Rather than wish that more could be like him, I am sure he would encourage all to find the joy that he had.  That joy is available to all.  That joy is why I dare hope to see him again.

Is This Life?

Is this life?

Lying still in bed

Never aware -- no way to know

That others care

No means to

Let go a giggle

Stifle a yawn

Shed a tear

Rise early by the dawn

See the sun shine

Spread warmth and cheer?

Is this life?

Day in and out

Always alone

With every thought

Up and down

Work all day

Home to hear

No one say

How did it go?

I hope it was great

But must have been busy

Since you're so late

Just couldn't wait

To have you home

Time for us

To be alone.

Is this life?

Through manmade power

Making hearts beat

If just another hour --

Or day week, month or year

With eyes, arms or ears

Too blind to see

Nor touch, nor hear

Nor can feel

A bird in a tree

A buzzing bee

Screaming sirens in the night

Noisy crickets out of sight

Trains on tracks

Keyboard-thumping computer hacks

A hug

What is life -- without a hug?

Forget the Status Quo. This is the Year of the Checkup!

That's the way we've always done it.
That's our tradition.
We've been doing okay.




The status quo -- the current state -- can be a dangerous condition.   Maintaining the status quo can cause businesses to fail, untreated illness and disease to denigrate the body, families to fall apart, and houses to collapse.


You are offered one illustration, one attempt to persuade you of the peril of maintaining the status quo, with economical use of verbiage.  This is apropo, since the status quo the members of the Texas 18th Congressional District this writing attempts to encourage to change, involves one whose verbosity is legendary.  Here is the one illustration:


For more than a decade the Texas 18th Congressional District ("the 18th") has been malnourished, existing on an unbalanced diet of doubtful nutritional benefit.   In all this time the 18th has not taken advantage of free biannual checkups, and instead has plodded along, content to continue its current existence.  After so many years of abuse (maintaining the status quo), the 18th is now plagued with all kinds of ailments:  rotting teeth, abscessed cavities, halitosis, acid reflux, hypertension, and more.




How much longer must the 18th go on like this?  Fortunately, not long, for this is the year of the checkup, a process which begins with registering to vote no later than February 1, and then voting for a new remedy in the primary election on February 16.  The new remedy is Jarvis Johnson.


Consider the benefits of the checkup:  an opportunity to develop new eating habits, repair damage to and rejuvenate the body, learn some new fitness techniques, get some nutrition tips, and basically get a makeover -- or if that term doesn't suit you -- an overhaul.   Whatever floats your boat -- just be sure to take advantage of the free checkup.

That Four-Word Sentence: Part I -- DTCs

Don't you find acronyms annoying?  I do, especially since there are few that are truly unique.  Take DTC for example.  I Googled DTC just to see what the results would be. Am I referring to Domain Technologies Control?  Dallas Theater Center?  How about Diversified Technology Consultants?  No; at least not this time.


In this Part I of That Four-Word Sentence, the focus is on DTC advertising -- direct to consumer advertising.  Isn't all -- or most advertising direct to consumer?  Sure.  But there are some goods and services that are consumed by each of us, to which the average consumer does not have direct access.  Take pharmaceuticals, for example.  Have you ever wondered why pharmaceutical companies advertise so heavily now?


The Prescription Drug Marketing Act established safeguards for advertising pharmaceuticals to the general public.  Advertising guidelines for pharmaceutical companies were changed around 1997, and in a seven-year span DTC advertising quintupled.  With this tiny snippet of background, fast-foward to January 2010.  This is what's happening:

• Pharmaceutical companies court the FDA, seeking approval of the latest and greatest, or new and improved prescription drug.  
• The FDA approves the drug.
• Pharmaceutical companies inundate the public with commercials about drugs designed to treat common ailments like depression, overactive bladders, erecticle dysfunction, and even some that many folks never knew existed until the commercial was aired.  (How about restless leg syndrome?  I never heard of that before.)
• The ads instruct consumers to ask their doctors about (Rx).
• The ads include warnings about possible side effects.  (Notice the chipmunk-like speed at which these warnings are given.  I am reminded of the tiny, extra-fine print that is used for car commercials.)
• In the meantime, pharmaceutical sales representatives descend on doctors' offices, promoting the new wonder drug du jour, leaving samples in abundance, and gifts for doctors in God-only-knows what proportions.
• Sales skyrocket!
• Next come the ads from law firms, encouraging anyone who has suffered the side effects of whatever drug to call a toll-free number to determine if the consumer has a claim.
• Lawsuits are filed, sometimes multi-party cases involving large numbers of Plaintiffs claiming damage from taking the (Rx) prescription.
• Courts are clogged with cases.  Cases are routinely referred to mediation (woe unto the folks who actually thought they would stand in front of that judge or have their day in court).  Generally, Texas being a "Good Old Boy" state, the appointed mediators are chosen judges showering unmerited favor on their good-old-boy buddies.

The four-word sentence of the day:  It's all about money.  So, where does it go?

1. Ad companies
2. Media
3. Pharmaceutical companies
4. Doctors
5. Pharmacies 
6. Lawyers 
7. Mediators

Indeed, it's all about money.