Let He Who is Without Sin . . . Call the Kettle Black

You've probably heard these before: "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone" and "the pot calling the kettle black." I'll let you decide if the two are relative. They are to me. These are the phrases of which I thought when I started reading one of the many emails I receive daily from some guy (for this piece, I'll call him "CL") who is evidently retired and hasn't figured out that there is more to life than "passing on" his political views via email ad nauseum. Why I haven't blocked him is a writing for another day. Now, on to the subject: the late Senator Edward Kennedy.

As we all will one day, Mr. Kennedy has passed from this life into whatever eternity awaits him. While this writer never attempted to deify or canonize the man, there are some who did. This is nothing extraordinary when it comes to losing a loved one. We tend to want to see and remember what is best in them. That's just the way we are. Seeing the good in a decedent often helps those who are left to better deal with their loss. (I do admit this can get out of hand. Several years ago I went to a funeral, and, sitting next to my brother, asked this question of him when folks stood to speak of the departed one: Brer, are you sure we're at the right funeral? Are they talking about ________? The contrast of what I heard and what I knew of the deceased was so profound that I excused myself and walked home.) Now, moving right a long. . .

The email I received today from CL was a laundry list of events in Mr. Kennedy's life which would tend to detract from whatever good he has done. At least, that appears to be CL's intent. While it is apparent that Mr. Kennedy will have a special place in American history, considering the collective contributions of his family, there is neither a need to deify or demonize him. He was a man, and just like other men he made some mistakes. As we all do. But as privileged as he was, he lacked what most of us have: a great degree of privacy in our lives. When Kennedy made a mess, the whole nation could smell it. For any one of us whose life goes on daily without close scrutiny, when a mess is made, there is no accompanying fuss on a national scale. The mess still stinks, but only a few smell it. Generally we get hose down our messes and scatter them around until they blend into the environment.

What I am saying is this: There are things that I have done in my life of which I am not proud; in fact, of which I am ashamed. Just the thought of them makes me shudder spasmatically, look away from the mirror. At such thoughts, bile rises in my gut to tease my esophagus, threatening to spew its way out to show me once again the ugliness and stench of my wrongdoing. Sometimes I just groan inwardly and hang my head. Get the picture? I dare say that anyone reading this blog, who has any inkling of right and wrong -- whether man, woman, boy or girl -- professional, skilled tradesman or day laborer -- black, white, red, yellow -- Christian, Jew, Atheist, Muslim, Buddhist or Wiccan -- young or old -- or whatever -- may sometimes react in similar fashion at the thought of his or her past deeds. If not he (or she) is probably too narcisistic or sociopathic to think she (or he) may have committed a wrong in the first place.

So? So what? So . . . are you the pot calling the kettle black? Or the milk calling the rice white? Or the one without sin who will try, judge and execute the rest of us? If so, righteous one, cast the first stone. Otherwise get a grip, and be glad you have another day, and therefore another opportunity, to get your own life straight, to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly.

Am I a Kennedy fan? Not particularly. But neither am I a fan of any self-proclaimed righteous, holier-than-thou 21st century pontifex.

The bottom line is this: there is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. So put the stone down and do something for good.

Sarcoidosis -- Part III: Why Talk About it Now?

Why not? I know -- you have your hands full with cancer, and HIV AIDS and muscular dystrophy and multiple sclerosis. I understand. I've lost folks to cancer, AIDS, and muscular dystrophy. I know folks with multiple sclerosis. But since being diagnosed with Sarcoidosis 13 years ago, I have met scores of folks in my tiny little circle who either have it, knows someone who has it, or lost someone because of it.

After being diagnosed I learned how little research had been done about Sarcoidosis. It was not until four or five years ago that it was learned how this "orphan" disease, having been discovered more than 200 years ago, functions. It simply does not have widespread popularity and support. And because of the difficulty in properly diagnosing it, there are most likely lots of people who have suffered from it, even for years, without knowing why they feel so crappy all of the time. (From the first "S" book I read, I recall the story of a woman whose doctor told her she would feel better if she stopped being so lazy and got a little exercise. It was 15 years before she was properly diagnosed.)

Finally, while I hope these little snippets have raised awareness of the disease, I want to invite you, and the folks with whom you share this blog (and if you never share my blogs, please share just this one), to participate in a Sarcoidosis walk for a cure. The walk is scheduled for October 24, 2009. Please copy and paste this link into your browser's address window for more information: http://www.jsof.org/events.html

Or contact me.

Thanks for reading.

Sarcoidosis -- Part II: What the Heck is It?

Here's the short answer: Sarcoidosis is a multi system disorder characterized in affected organs by a type of inflammation called granulomas.

Here are a few tidbits I have learned about "S."

In North America it occurs among a higher percentage of folks of the darker nation. In northern Europe it occurs among a higher percentage of folks of the paler nation.

It generally is found in people between the ages of 20 and 40. I was 42 when I was diagnosed.

While any organ can be affected, in 80% of the cases there is pulmonary involvement. Skin, liver, spleen, bone marrow and lymph node involvement are common. It's in my lungs and left eye. (Why, then, are my bones, joints and muscles affected?)

It manifests itself in different ways but the formation of granulomas is a common element.

It is considered an "orphan" disease and was discovered more than 200 years ago.

What happens in the body: The blood cells that are supposed to defend the body against infectious diseases and foreign materials, surround those enemies, and instead of killing them, give them a place to stay. Welcome! Come on in! Make yourselves at home. Be fruitful. Multiply. And when you outgrow this space we'll just add another room to the house.

Chronic fatigue is a huge factor.

High blood pressure comes with the package.

It is not contageous.

It is unpredictable.

----------------- to be continued

Sarcoidosis: Part I -- Her Story

She was almost 42 (folks generally thought she was perhaps in her late 20s), working on the biggest project of her career. And she had her music. And her favorite downtime activity was walking -- about 30 miles a week. Life was okay. And then . . .

Around the first week of April in 1996, she began experiencing discomfort in her right hip. She thought it was another malady, courtesy of some genetic strain. (She tends to experience stuff that other family members have experienced, but much earlier in her life than they experienced the same malady in theirs.) She saw her doctor, who gave her a prescription and sent her home. By the following week, the right side of her body, from the neck down, did not function properly. She was literally dragging her right side!

Second trip to see her doctor: more questions, a few tests. No, she did not have lupus, lymphoma, lyme disease, or HIV. More prescriptions and an order to take a week off from work. When she returned the following week, she was terminated.

One day while dragging around the house, in a quandry, wondering what was going on with the old 'bod, she announced with a degree of preemptive defiance, that she was going for a walk . Yeah. Right. She lived four houses down from a nice little park and walked there frequently. She made it to the edge of the park and could go no farther. She sat on the curb, not knowing if she could make the walk home. After her pity party she managed to utter a short prayer: Lord, I don't know what's happening to me, but whatever happens, just let me play. She sat on the curb until someone came to fetch and take her home.

By the following Sunday, her size 9-1/2 AAA feet were the size of footballs. And when she tried to stand, she felt as if she was standing on billiard balls. Somehow, she dressed and made it to the 11:00 a.m. worship service for the church where she served. As she played the piano, daggers ripped through her clothing, pierced her skin, and sliced her muscles into slivers of flesh – or so she thought. After that she went to a Bellaire hospital. She could no longer ignore her feet. The tingling was more like a swarm of wasps or bees. The skin was so tight she thought it would pop. (Unlike the gradual swelling of the belly during pregnancy, the change was overnight.) She stayed overnight at the hospital (the food was pretty good) and was then transported to a hospital near Houston Baptist University (where the food was pretty bad -- leave it to an insurance company to mess up a good thing).

As she lay in bed the next morning her thoughts were consumed by theories and outlandish ideas of what could be happening to her. It was at that time that she felt something on her left knee -- a lump about the size of a jumbo bubble gum ball (you know -- the ones that come red, green, purple, orange, blue and speckled in a package [her favorite]). Thinking there should be another on her right knee (you know, balance, symmetry, whatever), she searched but found none. She was discharged without any answers.

Then more tests "outpatient" style: a bone scan (Have you ever seen your own skeleton? Pretty weired.) revealed big spots on her lungs. Then there were MRIs, CT scans, and a lung biopsy. Then there was a diagnosis: Sarcoidosis. Sarco-what??? We'll come back to that in Part II.

Despite the prescription medications, which were supposed to treat her symptoms, her condition worsened. Anti-inflammatories did nothing to ease the swelling and discomfort in her ankles. Pain pills did nothing to ease her pain. For several weeks her feet remained swollen beyond the capacity of any shoe. Having functioned well on 4-5 hours of sleep, this former human dynamo could not raise her hand above her head without assistance. Groping for a silver lining, she said at least I can catch up on my reading. Wrong.

She began experiencing new symptoms -- the twitching of her toes and eyelids. The eye movement was so disturbing that she could not read. Off to see an ophthamologist. You have blepharospasm. BLEPHARO-WHO??? You need to get more rest. BUT I DON'T DO ANYTHING BUT READ AND WATCH TV. Then read less and watch less TV. Okay, that's it. She's been sentenced to PRISON -- FOR HOW LONG??? Who knows?

During one of her doctor visits, the guy decided to prescribed steroids. She found it amazing that a tiny white pill could make her feel as if she would either eat a side of beef at one sitting, or was about to breathe her last breath -- all at the same time. Being her own person, she ditched the Prednisone.

While in prison, for the next year or so, the one constant in her physical life, was pain. Dull, sharp, shooting, constant, intermittent, all varieties. Other than for trips to see her doctors (the purpose of which she questioned, as nothing ever changed), she was released every Wednesday evening for choir rehearsal and every Sunday morning for worship, which she never missed (if you ever really get into doing music, you will understand playing in pain), except for one weekend -- an intentional trip to Wimberly and Southwind (her favorite bed & breakfast). The one constant in her spiritual life was God -- the glue that held her together (and does now).

About 18 months after the onset of the disease, she began to improve. She discovered the scariness of driving alone and suddenly, while on Loop 610, wondering what was her intended destination. Short-term memory was a really serious problem and accounted for opened or unlocked doors, overrunning bathtubs, clothes left to "dry" in the washer, who was just on the telephone, etc. She slowly regained some strength and a bit of energy. The pain dissipated but never stopped. Her body never lost the feeling that she had just been run over by an 18-wheeler.

Someone else finished the biggest project of her career. She tolerates people who look at her sideways when she parks in a spot designated for vehicles with "Accessible" (the new politically correct word for "handicapped") parking credentials. She rarely wears shoes with "high heels," and, being vertically challenged, that is a disappointment. (Finally, her feet shrank to a 10 AA.) There are frequent inspections for new lumps. Always there is foraging for natural remedies, anything to energize. And in choir, she sometimes cheats -- sneaking breaths in the wrong places.

The old "normal" never returned. Even after 13-1/2 years, her body is sometimes foreign to her. Still, as she takes her one daily pill, she realizes that many who live with Sarcoidosis would gladly trade places with her.

-- to be continued

Soundbite Solution: Pull the Plug on Granny

PREEMPTIVE MEASURE: The writer treads into this sensitive area knowing that some may be offended or hurt. Please know that the writer's intent is not meant to cause offense or pain, but to (hopefully) encourage one to take proactive measures about this emotionally-charged problem.

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Unless you live in a tropical rain forest, you are probably at least marginally aware of the current hoopla regarding healthcare reform. This writing is not so much about healthcare reform as it is about facing a fact of life -- though unpleasant for many of us.

FACT: as sure as we were born we are all sure to die. What happens between those two points on the spectrum of eternity is for another time.

No matter how invincible one may delude oneself into believing one is, without regard for race, color, creed, socio-economic status, or class (or lack thereof) -- whether rich or poor, young or old, Christian, Jew, Muslim, Agnostic, Atheist, or Confused -- one day will be the last.

So why all the fuss about pulling the plug? Many have agonized over such an ordeal. Some have envisioned a vegetative state in which there is no possibility of recovery and believe such a state of being is undesirable. Others want to "live" regardless of their quality of life -- or lack thereof. (Perhaps they are afraid because of their acts of omission and/or commission, by thought, word or deed, against the divine majesty of whatever god in which they believe. [God forbid if they believe in mine. ] But that's for another time and another blog.)

If you are of the former mindset, I urge you to take the necessary steps to protect yourself from being subjected to having your body maintained by unnatural means if there is no possibility of recovery. (NOTICE TO LAWYERS AND UPL [unauthorized practice of law] ZEALOTS: consider the foregoing suggestion as practical, ministerial advice as opposed to legal advice.) By taking proactive steps yourself, you will free your family or friends from 1) agonizing over the decision to "pull the plug" and 2) free yourself from family members who just cannot "let you go." And to those who cannot "let go:" consider the suffering of your loved one. For whose benefit would you have one remain? His/hers, or yours?

If you are of the latter mindset, and believe that as long as you are "breathing" you are "alive," consider this:

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?

(©1995 Andrea Hoxie)

Only in America

A. NOT-SO-RANDOM RANTS

1. In Fall 2008, I started this blog out of sheer frustration from listening to the pundits, talking heads, and frenzied crowds who were touting Sarah Palin as the next best hope. While I respect her supporters' right to take whatever stand they choose, please respect my right to say this: What absolute and utter nonsense.

POINT: Only in America can a lame-brained fast-talking woman of the paler nation quit a job in midstream and declare it a success, and go on to pursue bigger and better things with the support of so many because of her paleness, quasi decent look, and/or snappy eyeglasses, while being totally unable to construct a sentence that: a) is concise; b) is confined to one idea or concept; and c) is understood by persons of average intelligence who understand English, more so than by infants and toddlers whose vocabularies consist of two words.

2. When Bush 43 was elected President, he inherited a budget surplus. While some may argue this point, it is safe to say that the country's financial situation was definitely not what it was when he left the office.

POINT: Only in America can a man who could not be an effective owner of an oil company or a baseball team be charged with the responsibility of upholding the Constitution of the United States and carrying out its executive responsibilities.

3. Bush was given his second term of the Presidency by the Supreme Court, during which term he continued to sink this country in more debt with creative accounting to finance a war the purpose of which still begs justfication.

POINT: This country's economic woes did not begin on January 20, 2009. And many of the folks who profited from the war are long gone while at least one left behind an adult daughter who has taken to the airwaves, whining in defense of her father whose machinations are in part responsible for God only knows how many thousands of lost lives and broken families.

4. At a town hall meeting this week, a woman asked President Obama when he would restore the Constitution as our founding fathers intended it.

POINT: If the Constitution was restored as our founding fathers intended, Obama would never have become President of the United States, and millions of people, including this writer, would never have had the opportunity to vote for or against him, or anyone else.

5. The general election is long over and I am still being inundated with emails trying to convince me that the 44th POTUS is unqualified for office because he was not born in the United States.

POINT: I have no doubt that all who opposed Obama have overturned every rock, and peered in every nook and cranny for a way to discredit him, long before the first Tuesday of November 2008.

B. WHY THE BURR IN MY BUTT TODAY?

1. I have had my fill of hate/fear-mongering and negativity.

2. Obama is much more intelligent, more knowledgeable of the Constitution, and basically just more fit to the executive position than the imposter who just moved out of the Whitehouse.

3. Having been in a similar situation on a much tinier (microscopic) scale, I can identify with on of Obama's problems, and here is the first:

There are folks who are blinded by their on dislike of what comes natural for people like me, while they have to buy tanning-bed time and risk skin cancer to get it. Many of them don't have a clue, or perhaps are just unwilling to see their prejudice for what it is: prejudice. These are the same folks who hired the blond-haired, blue-eyed, pretty young thing who made a mess of the place, then called me to clean up the mess when the PYT didn't "work out."

And the second is this:

There are folks who are really miffed because their team did not win. Since I've never been a "party" person, I can say that some of my candidates won, some of my candidates lost, and some of my candidates were the victims of theft. (Yes, there was some thievery going on in Harris County, Texas on the first Tuesday of November 2008, and I'm not talking about the foreclosure sales -- I'm talking about the polls.) But now that the contests are over, factionalism will get in the way of any meaningful progress if we let it. Unfortunately, there are folks who stupidly pray for Obama's failure because their team didn't win. That's really stupid, since in the grand scheme of things, there is only one USA.

4. Bush 43 sacrificed how many lives in pursuit of what in Iraq?

5. And, dare I ask, was the pivotal point in the Bush 43 era -- "911" -- a domestic production? Or could it have been prevented?

C. NOW WHAT?

Search your heart. Look in the mirror and ask yourself:

1. Was 43 one of the brightest bulbs in the chandelier, or was he a few watts (or more) short? Come on, now. Didn't you sometimes hang your head in shame when you saw him on television?

2. What does Sarah Palin really have to offer other than gibberish?

3. Are the folks on Capitol Hill, regardless of party affiliation, trying to work together to formulate meaningful and effective legislation? (Okay, I know, there is the Pelosi factor [barf]).

4. Do you really think this Country is going to hell because the 44th POTUS looks a tad different from the first 43? Really? The truth be told, this Country has been in a downward spiral for a long, long time -- when it was solely controlled by people who don't look like me and who are not of my gender (you know, the rough drafts).

5. Look at your own elected representatives. Some have been around longer than you've been alive. Are you really that pleased with their service? Oh -- you didn't know they are there to serve you?

D. AND FINALLY --

I DO NOT SUPPORT ALL OF THE OBAMA ADMINISTRATION'S POLICIES. For instance, even though I have been without health insurance for all of this century (sounds more dramatic than saying for the past 10 years), I am concerned about any attempt to eventually eradicate private health insurance. Am I saying this because I am a licensed insurance agent? Absolutely not! What I do believe is that we should have a choice. Right now, my choice for health insurance is something far beyond my budget, so I try (most of the time) to take care of the old 'bod and I budget for regular checkups (which for me, are quarterly, not annually).

FAMILY FEUD: Like it or not, there is but one United States of America. And just as in any family, we have disagreements. But at some point, the family unit has to come together -- to unite -- to move forward. Otherwise, the family unit disintegrates.

STILL, ONLY IN AMERICA can I write this blog without fear of my door being broken down and my being handcuffed/shackled, pushed into a vehicle with no interior door handles, hauled away to some dark, dank cell that smells of old urine and has a partition of tin behind which there sits a really nasty toilet.

ON THE OTHER HAND, I might get some strange looks when I go out tomorrow. That's okay. I have lived with strange looks all my life.

Remembering Glenn Edward Burleigh

Since finishing Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged, a mammoth work comprised of more than 40 CDs, the time spent in my Jeep (which is more than I care to think of) has been made bearable by some odd music CDs -- a mixed bag including Il Divo, Rodrigo, Shirley Ceasar, Frank Sinatra & Quincy Jones, Michael Bolton, the Chicago soundtrack, Mozart's 41st Symphony (I don't know what orchestra or conductor, nor do I care to know) and Part II of Glenn Edward Burleigh's Christmas cantata, Born to Die. I listed Bureligh's recording last because once I reached that one I have continually pressed its disc number to restart it from the beginning once it has played through. And one must dispell the notion that Born to Die is fraught with songs of tinkling bells, hay rides, snow and other such nonsense. Born to Die is pure Gospel -- Good News -- about the coming of Jesus, the Christ, the Messiah, the Savior of the world. Born to Die tells not just the who -- the story of the birth of Jesus -- but the how and the why -- the suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus so that the world might be saved. [see John 3:16-17, The Holy Bible]

For those of you who are not familiar with Burleigh's music, his lyrics are well grounded in the Holy Bible, sometimes verbatim (depending on the translation), and his writing style is all over the musical spectrum. While he may be best known as the composer of Order of My Steps, a traditional gospel song, Burleigh's musical compositions are infused with many different genres. He was classically trained in music and reborn of the Holy Spirit. That is a tremendous combination! Some people are of the school of thought that there is a tedious sameness about music of the faithful. Not so. Hymns and anthems are dull and plodding, old and stale, only if one refuses to see that the words give them new life whenever sung by those who understand and appreciate their meaning. While this writer believes there is no tedious sameness to the music of the faithful, she recognizes well that only very infrequently someone like Burleigh comes along, sharing his faith through his fingertips in a way that is foreign to most. (That is, because folks tend to expect the dull, plodding, old, stale, and tedious sameness ad nauseum, of "church" music.) In fact, she knows of only one other, whose musicianship she has experienced from a performance perspective, but has yet to experience his compositions or arrangements. Perhaps one day . . . but for now, back to Burleigh.

I first experienced Glenn's music when he was the Minister of Music at Good Hope Baptist Church here in Houston, Texas. That was a couple of decades (and then some) ago, as my very much now grown up daughter was just a child. While we had never met, I remember approaching him after a concert at Good Hope and telling him that his music is timeless and I believe it will be sung for decades and decades to come. Several years later it was my blessed pleasure to meet him face-to-face and work with him on his music catalog. After he left Houston we stayed in touch, though infrequently. That was okay, because his music was always near. Picking up a familiar piece of Burleigh's music was like picking up a telephone for a brief conversation with him. Picking up a new piece of Burleigh's music was like learning something new about him. In that way, even though I spoke with him only occasionally, saw him perhaps once or twice a year when he came to Houston, and exchanged emails now and then, he was as near as sitting at a piano and playing one of his songs, or just singing one, even in my head, only to be heard by me and my God.

And God is a fitting subject on which to end this writing. For it is not so much Glenn Burleigh as it was his willingness to empty himself and allow the Spirit of God to fill him in such a way as to express and live out his faith through his music, touching countless lives, even those who know not that the music is of his hand, from his mind and heart, and even those who are yet to hear it.

Thank You, God, for Your unmerited favor that manifested itself in the life of Glenn Edward Burleigh and Your gift to us through him -- music for now and years to come.

Into the Woods

Every year my church's music ministry does a summer musical production one weekend in August. We call it "Bach to Broadway." It started in our Fellowship Hall (long before my time) on a small stage and subsequently moved to the Activities Building on our campus with a larger stage, props, and the whole package. A relative newcomer (this is just my sixth year at South Main Baptist Church in Houston, Texas), I have not seen many, but the ones I have experienced have been top-notch productions, including Man of La Mancha, Hello Dolly, and The Sound of Music. This year's offering, the 20th, Into the Woods, is no exception. In this work, Stephen Sondheim weaves a tapestry of fairy tales -- Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk, Little Red Riding Hood and Rapunzel, sprinkles in some notable mentions (Snow White and Sleeping Beauty), and uses that foundation for the story of a baker and his wife who want to start a family. And, of course, there is a witch. There's always a witch.

What is so blessedly amazing is how easily one can be caught up in the moment of this artistic work, and the spirit of authenticity the cast of 31 brings to the stage. Yes, Into the Woods is about fairy tales. The Woods, for this writer, symbolized a place of refuge, assistance, turmoil and transformation. It seems that when one goes into the woods, one emerges as not quite the same person as before. And there are lessons to be learned from Into the Woods. What makes it possible to hear and see those messages is not being distracted by self-centered, indifferent or negative spirits. The members of the cast, even those who never uttered a word, gave themselves over to their characters, and brought me into their story. I felt the dismay of the baker and his wife who wanted a child. I saw the ends to which the baker's wife would go to get what they needed to break the witch's spell. (Not unlike the way we excuse unethical, immoral and treacherous behavior -- you know -- the end justifies the means. Not!) I saw the straying eyes of the two princes as they forsook their respective wives in search of something/someone different. Now, that's really hitting home, don't you think? I saw a crowd willing to sacrifice the life of another -- in order to save their on skin.

Being a fan of performing arts (especially opera) for decades, I am most appreciative of live performances. While the seating in Jones Hall and the Wortham Theater Center in Houston may be cushier and more comfortable, I cannot say that the performances are any better. (And the refreshments at intermission cannot hold a candle to our cookies, cupcakes, fresh fruit and punches, whether from the perspective of price and quality [free and fresh at SMBC].)

How dare I compare my church's musical offerings to that of professional performances? Like this: They may build bigger sets, but that's about it.

Entitlements -- Part II

Part I of this writing mentioned Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged, a massive work of fiction, which I finished listening to yesterday evening. While the book is a work of fiction, it is very much grounded into reality. It is also one of the reasons I started this series on Entitlements. Another reason, the catalyst that exploded my sense of NOW, was a CNN story posted by a Facebook friend (thanks, Phyllis T), about a young woman who is suing her college/university for $70,000 tuition and $2,000 for emotional suffering, because she ("the Graduate") has been unable to find a job after graduating.

When I first heard of the Graduate's story and read, presumably in or own hand, her accounting of why she is suing for $72,000, my mind was bombarded with so many questions. My sensibilities were outraged. And, I was embarrassed, in the same way that whenever the previous POTUS (Bush 43) opened his mouth to speak, I would cringe. After all, what school GUARANTEES any student a job? And to what kind of job, if any, does the Graduate feel she is entitled?

For years there has been some trend afoot: a conspiracy to reward mediocrity as the best one has to offer. My father called that "hitting it a lick and a promise."

to be continued.

Entitlements -- Part I

For the last week or so I have been listening to Ayn Rand's "Atlas Shrugged." In this fictional work of epic proportions -- replete with characters so real I want to reach out and give some a comforting touch, shake the hands of some with gratitude for having known them (and knowing that others share my thoughts and convictions), slap the faces of others, and still others, grab by the shoulders and scream get a grip!!! -- I am awestruck by how many scenarios and schools of thought from Ayn Rand's book are running rampant in this real world in which we live now, right now, August 2009.

This is a difficult writing, in part because of the complexities of now. You see, the now is the sum of everything that has come before. Just as I am a product of everything I have experienced to this point, so is the world a product of every event that has occurred until this very moment. (I am reminded that my daughter, now an educational administrator, but in years prior, a social studies teacher, always had somewhere in her classroom, this directive: MAKE A CONNECTION. Daughter's position is that whether she was teaching geography, history or economics, the subject matter connects to each of us in some way. Even in our nowness we are connected to what has come before; hence, the complexity of it all.)

The complexities are plethoric shades of gray on a foundation of a few facts of black and white. And no, this is not another "race relations" writing. Unfortunately, many times topics with no seeming congruity, hinge on the black and white (or, as I prefer to say, the dark and the pale). God did not intend it so, and I believe that with all my heart and mind, but in centuries past a few folks made some bad choices, and mankind -- all of us -- pay for those choices in one way or another. We are descendants of either the oppressors or of the oppressed. More and more, we are the descendants of both. Take the current POTUS, for example. (Actually Mr. Obama, even though one of the darker nation, has the distinction of not having a darker nation parent who was a descendant of antebellum slaves and early 20th century Negroes.) So what does this matter? It matters thusly: as one continues reading (and I hope one does), it is imperative that one dispell any stereotypical notions of what people of the darker nation, particularly this writer, expects from the world in general. Yes, she is aware of the suffering of her ancestors at the hands of their oppressors, and she has first-hand experience with overt and covert forms of oppression and discrimination. Still, she is often thought to be more to the right than most in her conservative views. She likes to think of herself more as a switch-hitter; it realy does depend on the subject matter whether she goes left or right. Am I still writing about entitments? Of course.

to be continued.

Come to the Table, But Leave Your Favorite Dish at Home

Here we are in 2009, decades after the Civil Rights Movement and all of what that means to all people, regardless of hue. So, what's the rub? Well, let me tell you of at least one. It is one thing to be allowed to come and go as one pleases, to attend whatever school one wants (that is, if one meets the entrance requirements), to worship wherever and with whomever, and to be welcomed wherever, but there are instances in which the welcome does not reach the height, depth, or core of being truly received with gladness.

What would you think if you were told to come to a potluck meal, but don't bother bringing anything to share with others? You know that your pound cake is the best this side of the river, the pork loin of others could never hold a candle to yours, and your mustard greens are the tastiest, tenderest, and best to be had anywhere on the continent. Or --- what if, like most, your food dishes are palatable and passable, but not the ultimate in culinary delights -- just like those of most everyone else? You would still want to contribute, wouldn't you? Or would you be comfortable feeding at trough to which you have offered nothing?

Or ... what if you were invited to a meeting where you were allowed to speak, and others listened, but did not hear? Your ideas were not theirs, so they did not merit discussion. Would you want to go to the meeting? Is it enough to be a fly on the wall? I think not.

What if you have invited someone to your home for a gathering of like-minded folks? What of that person would you say he/she should not bring? Her food? His music? What, then, would you say to your invitee? Don't bring your famous chocolate chip cookies. I’ll have someone else bake some. Yes, I know yours are different. Yes, I know about the blended oatmeal that gives them a slightly different taste and the shredded coconut that keeps them moist and chewy. But that's okay, we really don't need anything different. Yes, I know your ribs are so tender and tasty that they fall off their bones with only your thoughts to command them -- even before you pick them up, and one really doesn't need to douse them with sauce, but rather can eat them naked because their flavor is so pleasing, but that's okay, we'll do without. Oh, by the way, don't bring your music -- I'll have someone else do yours. What was that? We don't do yours the way you do? Well, of course we don't; but still . . . we really don't need to do anything your way, now do we? What was that? You want me to step outside my box? Why? Because you stepped way outside yours? What of it -- that you stepped outside of your box? Aren't you the richer for it? I glad you agree that you are. Besides, you had to -- you were suppoesd to. It was you who had to meet me where I am!

Okay. I have met you where you are. You have made a place for my body in your home. Now, I challenge you: make a place for my mind, my spirit, my talents and my God-given gifts. You will find that while they may not smack of the precision and excellence you value, they are offered in a perfection that transcends those superficialities, that perfection of being at peace with doing the best I can with what God has given me. Only His assessment of my offering matters; no other assessment is worthy of mention.