First, I freely admit that this is not an original title. I ran across this phrase earlier this evening as I perused my Facebook home page, trying to catch up on what is happening with my FB friends. There was the usual stuff: a new picture of my grand-nephew, P.H., a happy child of a fantastic mom; a rehashed obituary of the Pillsbury Dough Boy which still makes me laugh aloud [I refuse to use LOL -- oops -- I just did :( ]; an update from a musician acquaintance who writes often of sports (much better than getting it via television news) and church-related issues (sometimes funny, sometimes serious, generally thought-provoking); a couple of Friend Requests; more messages to which to respond than I really want to; you get the gist. Amidst those common tidbits was a post that dealt with one of the most controversial issues of the day with LIKES and COMMENTS that followed. Among those comments was a phrase regarding how we should define sin for a contemporary culture. That phrase has so haunted me that I have revisited that blurb several times now. It conjures up thoughts of recent discussions in my Sunday School class and Wednesday Bible studies at South Main Baptist Church (plug for SMBC).
Second, I also admit that this writing may offend others, including folks who may, loosely or sincerely, use the term friend in relation to me. My hope, however, is that as I respect their rights to believe as they wish, they will respect mine, and perhaps this is a point on which we may have to just agree to disagree.
Third, I freely admit that I am a sinner. I know guilt. And shame. Therefore, I judge no one; I condemn no one. Judgment and condemnation of others are simply not in my purview. It is enough for me that each morning and evening I can look in a mirror while brushing teeth and be grateful that God has given me another day for work on my own human failings. With that said, I freely admit, however, that some behaviors I simply hate: lying, stealing, killing -- you know -- the stuff of the Ten Commandments (which is also foundational stuff for our laws). Then there are also infractions like smoking, wearing fragrances ad nauseam, driving with a phone plastered to the side of one's face, and other behaviors that are a lot more than mere annoyances.
Okay, on their faces, the also infractions are not normally construed as sins; yet, they have the potential to cause irreparable harm to the body, and not just the body of the smoker, fragrance wearer, or telephone-talking driver, but others around them as well, and even death. For those who suffer with medical conditions caused through no fault of their own, to be subjected to the exacerbating effects of tobaccos and perfumes by people who put their rights to so engage themselves above all else is, to those who so suffer, a threat to their well-being. They think of terms like assault and attempted murder. Trust me; I know this to be true, and often have to work at stifling deep-seated anger and frustration, and the urge to kill them before they kill me. And statistics show that folks who drive while engaging in telephone conversations are more likely to be involved in vehicular crashes resulting in debilitating, life-change injuries, or death.
So much for the prefatory. The rest is pretty short, though not simple, and starts with a question. How does one define sin for a contemporary culture?
Short answer: I don't have a clue. I never gave a thought to sin evolving as mankind devolved.
Next question: Well, why not?
Well, how about this question in lieu of an answer: What makes one think that because the world has changed in technology, temperament and tolerance, that what was sin 4,000 or 3,000 or 2,000 years ago is different today?
Well, there are schools of thought that condone killing under certain circumstances.
Well, that may be true, and even while God gave the Word to the Israelites Thou shalt not kill, He also instructed them to kill all the people in the lands they were to occupy. It seems then, that there is killing, and then there is Killing.
And what about the scripture that says God "hardened" Pharaoh's heart?
Well, the Book does say that (Exodus 9:12). Does how the Creator uses His creation give the created license to act contrary to His instructions? I think not. This passage has often troubled me. Why would God harden Pharaoh's heart in such a way that ultimately led to Pharaoh's death? And on several occasions I have had to remind myself that God can use anyone or anything He wants to, in any way He wants to. In that regard I sometimes envision this scenario -- and while I cannot prove it was the way it happened, you cannot prove it did not:
After losing his son to the plague that befell all of the first-born in Egypt who were not protected, Pharaoh allowed the Israelites to leave, and in anger (and probably a lot of other negative emotions), pursued them until he, along with his followers, were consumed by the Red Sea. The aftermath: Pharaoh ascends to heaven and is welcomed by the Almighty for a job well done.*
As I said, I cannot prove it, but neither can you disprove it. Just admit it is something to consider (or not) and let's move along.*
And what is this DEVOLVING business?
Well, I'm glad you asked. A simple definition of devolve is to pass on or delegate to another. In the context of this little blog, mankind is ever devolving. The more knowledgeable and advanced we become, the more we shirk our responsibilities and commitments, passing them on into the ether where they become the responsibilities and commitments of some unknown force or entity as we continue to live in a foggy La-La Land, making excuses for our actions or lack thereof, buying into every frenzied trend of entertainment, including every gadget imaginable, 99.99999999% of which are made in other countries, providing jobs to others while 99.9999999% of corporate America embraces downsizing, rightsizing, cutbacks, layoffs and outsourcing, and any other gimmick one can envision, in the end making our country a slave to the rest of the world. (Sorry about the outburst; I'll have to save that for another time.)
So what does all that have to do with devolving -- and sin?
Such great questions you ask! Devolving and sin really go hand in glove. While in a state of devolution, one succumbs to any compulsion to say and do anything one chooses without regard to the rights of others or the Way of the Almighty. As Pastor Steve (www.smbc.org) might say, We live in God's world but not in God's Way. And when one chooses to live his own way, justifying whatever one says and does according to one's situation or circumstances, or the thorn in one's flesh,** one shuts the door on the Father's grace which is sufficient for those who believe.
Well, you really didn't answer the question and you definitely did not define sin for a contemporary culture.
True, and frankly, who can? Still, without judging or condemning any, loving all through Christ Jesus while hating the thoughts, words and deeds that are not of the Father's Way, I do commend all to Him, whose grace is sufficient for all, for His power is made perfect in weakness, even so-called contemporary ones.
The bottom line is this:
The advent of situational ethics did not rewrite the Bible; rather it just gave us something through which to ride our chariots when looking for a loophole. What the loophole does not account for, however, is the love that will make a parent suffer through disciplining, and even confinement in prison, of a child for the child's sake; or one not taking a life because one is not the giver of life.
Lying is still lying. Killing is still killing. Adultery is still adultery. Stealing is stealing, even though in our contemporary ilk stealing has all kinds of labels -- misappropriation and embezzlement, for instance. Covetousness -- well it's still that too, so if it's not yours, forget about it.
For this writer, who often drafts documents for others with revisions so numerous that they end with the year, month, day and time (for example, 2011 0325 2219 means the 25th day of March 2011, 10:19 p.m.), there are no revisions to sin. The 2000 AD version is the 2000 BC version.
So, dear ones, give yourself a break. All of that energy devoted to establishing some new benchmark for sin by today's standards might best be expended with the Father, Who is strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow. I dare you to try Him, even in your contemporary situation. His faithfulness was great whenever the book of Lamentations (3:23) was written, and, trust me on this, it's pretty great today, 2011 0327 2252.
To him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you before His glorious presence without fault and with great joy -- to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen. (Jude 24-25).
Praying that you lean and not stumble . . .
__________________
*A note to Bible scholars: This is my blog; these are my thoughts. Let's leave it at that.
**6 Even if I should choose to boast, I would not be a fool, because I would be speaking the truth. But I refrain, so no one will think more of me than is warranted by what I do or say, 7 or because of these surpassingly great revelations. Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. 8 Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. 9 But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. (2 Corinthians 12:6-9 NIV)
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
It is Well With My Soul: Looking on the Bright Side
A preemptive apology: Writing in first person is something from which I normally shy away. For this little piece, it simply cannot be helped. Another apology: Sorry about the large font; at this time of the day my eyes need a little more help than normal.
Have you ever had one of those days during which nothing seemed to go the way you planned it go? Wanted it go? Felt as if it should go? Well, I'm having one of those weeks -- months -- years . . . pick one. I would add decades, but 2011 is a newbie.
Too much time has passed since I posted a blog; e'en while I have felt several "coming on" I have resisted the urge to write. Do you ever get those urges? Your juices start to flow, and whether you write prose or music or poetry, do knitting, needlepoint or embroidery (I suppose folks still do that), work in your garden or paint or do puzzles or whatever, you feel the urge to do whatever serves as your outlet. For me, writing and music are my outlets -- my drugs of choice. While I'm middle-of-the-road mediocre at both, each serve as relief valves, de-stressers, natural highs, spiritual flights to the heavens, media of expressing all wonderful kinds of emotions, and a host of other wholly positive purposes. I've done a lot of music lately, singing with the Houston Ebony Opera Guild, preparing to sing with a group at Houston's Rothko chapel later this week, singing in worship with South Main Baptist Church, my family of God here on this earth, and preparing to sing at our noon Ash Wednesday service tomorrow. Considering recent events, I've decided to resort to writing, purely for therapeutic purposes, since I will do music for preparatory purposes later this evening.
So what's this all about? Gee, I like it when you ask the right question. Let me just tell you a little -- just a little -- about my day.
As a freelancer/contractor -- however the heck you want to label me, I have found it helpful to plan my days, whether with billable work or other work (you know, all that stuff that has to be done). In planning my days I have found certain patterns. Normally if I have an appointment away from my home office, eventually there is at least one other appointment scheduled that day or other things to do while I'm out. Many times I can see that I will be out all day and will plan accordingly, making sure there is an ample supply of bottled water, Melaleuca cinnamon gum, my own concocted trail mix, contingency clothing (you just never know what'll happen), and my laptop and tablet PC (again, you just never know . . .).
Today was supposed to be an out all day day, and I prepared accordingly, making sure that I had everything I needed, even stuff for a 5:30 p.m. meeting. I left home at 8:15 for a 9:00 appointment with a lawyer. After fighting my way to I10 West, jockeying for position to stay on I10 and take an inside-the-loop exit, just as I drove up the exit ramp, my phone rang. It was someone at the lawyer's office telling me he had an emergency and has left. Wow. My next appointment is 2 hours later! First adjustment to the schedule -- not too much of a big deal, just extra miles in the wrong direction (I promise not to discuss rising gas prices), then on to my 11:00 appointment.
Okay, this one is different for me. A headhunter had actually called me (this is simply not done; I am at the top of every headhunter's DO NOT CALL list, and have been since November 1990), raved about my background and credentials, said that she had the perfect position for me, and asked me to visit with her. After a good hour of discussion she announced that I am really an entrepreneur and I should just get my business going again, that I would not be happy with a job. Based on our conversation it was appropriate for me to respond with that passage from Philippians 4:11-12, and from one of my favorite hymns, the line Whatever my lot Thou hast taught me to say it is well with my soul. Our visit ended with my host saying, Can we talk again? I really need to pray about this. And can we pray right now? And pray, she did. My head was reeling; I felt the urge to go home and so put myself on auto-pilot. There went the afternoon.
I have no explanation for the loss of time, but at some point I found myself in the kitchen, preparing a staging area for a smoothie-making session. First slap-stick moment: tipping over a full bottle of apple juice on the kitchen counter -- not good -- followed by six batches of fruit & veggie smoothies yielding 2.25 gallons of nutrition. Good. And just in time to clean up the kitchen and myself and get ready for a 5:30 appointment.
Returning home, I made a salad for dinner and poured a little red wine. My doctor has instructed me to drink red wine. I don't like red wine. I'm a Riesling, Gewurztraminer or White Zinfadel kind of woman, and I rarely imbibe. But, I'm following instructions. And now, here is slap-stick moment number two, with a multiple-choice question:
Q. When you topple over the glass of wine on your desk (and, of course, that is not the place for the glass in the first place), is it better for the spill to land:
a. on top of the desk
b. on the bottom shelf of the desk just a few inches from the floor
c. on the chair mat which the desk sits and on the rug on which the chair mat that sits
d. on the nearly-white Pergo flooring on which the rug lays
e. on the little table that holds four filled pencil/pen cups, inside the cups and on the try on which the cups sit
f. on the number pad section of the ergonomic keyboard which is no longer popular and doggoned hard to find
g. none of the above
h. all of the above.
While the desired answer is g, the factual answer is h.
As I blotted and mopped up the foul-tasting stuff that will definitely leave its mark on several surfaces, there was lots of time to plow through the maybes and what-ifs of the day, the week, last week, last month, this year, last year, or whatever. And this, I told myself, is what's important:
Giving up is not an option. A little spilled juice, wine, or whatever is not a big deal when you look at the big picture. Where did you spill the juice? In your kitchen. In your home. Where did you spill the wine? On your desk. In your pencil cups. On your rug. On your floor. In your office. In your home. Did you have enough juice to make your smoothies? Yes, and there's plenty left. Did you refill your glass with wine? Yes, and there's plenty left, even if I don't like it. Your first appointment didn't happen. The guy did not call you back to reschedule and you're seeking his services. What does that tell you? Find another lawyer. Your 11 o'clock was most unusual. Did she tell you the usual "you're overqualified" animal dung? No. Did she ask to see you again? Yes. So you've cleaned up your mess, finished your dinner -- now what? I'm gonna vent via my blog, go upstairs, and thank my God for the good, bad, ugly and indifference of this day, sing one of my favorite songs -- It is Well With My Soul, practice for worship tomorrow, and ask Him to give me peace and rest tonight, and a new day to try again tomorrow.
I have had days far worse than today -- days filled with abandonment, betrayal, grief, deception, physical impairment and more. Even now I look back over the last few years in wonder and amazement and lots and lots of thanksgiving, realizing that there is no way I could have made it to this day, the 8th of March 2011, without Him. This day was a cakewalk. And there is a bright side. There is an old song that says "There's a bright side somewhere, don't you stop until you find it." I don't agree with that, and I've got news for the brothers who sang that song: The bright side is right here, right now. Even if you don't have your best life now, your bright side is right here, right now. Let the day take care of itself; just seize the moment. Whether the moment is one in which you are at rest, are still and at peace, or are poised, ready to spring into action, make the most of the moment. I lost a couple of hours today. Had they been intentionally devoted to rest, they would not have been lost. I literally cannot account for them.
A moment is a pivotal point in time. THERE IS NO ADJUSTMENT BUREAU! You are your adjustment bureau. It's how you handle this moment that will shape the next. In the legal world in one moment -- suddenly and without warning as they say -- lives are often changed forever. The Bible says the Lord Jesus will come in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye (1 Corinthians 15:52).
So, I leave you first, with this question: How will you spend your next moment? And, secondly, with more words from one of my favorite hymns, It Is Well With My Soul:
Have you ever had one of those days during which nothing seemed to go the way you planned it go? Wanted it go? Felt as if it should go? Well, I'm having one of those weeks -- months -- years . . . pick one. I would add decades, but 2011 is a newbie.
Too much time has passed since I posted a blog; e'en while I have felt several "coming on" I have resisted the urge to write. Do you ever get those urges? Your juices start to flow, and whether you write prose or music or poetry, do knitting, needlepoint or embroidery (I suppose folks still do that), work in your garden or paint or do puzzles or whatever, you feel the urge to do whatever serves as your outlet. For me, writing and music are my outlets -- my drugs of choice. While I'm middle-of-the-road mediocre at both, each serve as relief valves, de-stressers, natural highs, spiritual flights to the heavens, media of expressing all wonderful kinds of emotions, and a host of other wholly positive purposes. I've done a lot of music lately, singing with the Houston Ebony Opera Guild, preparing to sing with a group at Houston's Rothko chapel later this week, singing in worship with South Main Baptist Church, my family of God here on this earth, and preparing to sing at our noon Ash Wednesday service tomorrow. Considering recent events, I've decided to resort to writing, purely for therapeutic purposes, since I will do music for preparatory purposes later this evening.
So what's this all about? Gee, I like it when you ask the right question. Let me just tell you a little -- just a little -- about my day.
As a freelancer/contractor -- however the heck you want to label me, I have found it helpful to plan my days, whether with billable work or other work (you know, all that stuff that has to be done). In planning my days I have found certain patterns. Normally if I have an appointment away from my home office, eventually there is at least one other appointment scheduled that day or other things to do while I'm out. Many times I can see that I will be out all day and will plan accordingly, making sure there is an ample supply of bottled water, Melaleuca cinnamon gum, my own concocted trail mix, contingency clothing (you just never know what'll happen), and my laptop and tablet PC (again, you just never know . . .).
Today was supposed to be an out all day day, and I prepared accordingly, making sure that I had everything I needed, even stuff for a 5:30 p.m. meeting. I left home at 8:15 for a 9:00 appointment with a lawyer. After fighting my way to I10 West, jockeying for position to stay on I10 and take an inside-the-loop exit, just as I drove up the exit ramp, my phone rang. It was someone at the lawyer's office telling me he had an emergency and has left. Wow. My next appointment is 2 hours later! First adjustment to the schedule -- not too much of a big deal, just extra miles in the wrong direction (I promise not to discuss rising gas prices), then on to my 11:00 appointment.
Okay, this one is different for me. A headhunter had actually called me (this is simply not done; I am at the top of every headhunter's DO NOT CALL list, and have been since November 1990), raved about my background and credentials, said that she had the perfect position for me, and asked me to visit with her. After a good hour of discussion she announced that I am really an entrepreneur and I should just get my business going again, that I would not be happy with a job. Based on our conversation it was appropriate for me to respond with that passage from Philippians 4:11-12, and from one of my favorite hymns, the line Whatever my lot Thou hast taught me to say it is well with my soul. Our visit ended with my host saying, Can we talk again? I really need to pray about this. And can we pray right now? And pray, she did. My head was reeling; I felt the urge to go home and so put myself on auto-pilot. There went the afternoon.
I have no explanation for the loss of time, but at some point I found myself in the kitchen, preparing a staging area for a smoothie-making session. First slap-stick moment: tipping over a full bottle of apple juice on the kitchen counter -- not good -- followed by six batches of fruit & veggie smoothies yielding 2.25 gallons of nutrition. Good. And just in time to clean up the kitchen and myself and get ready for a 5:30 appointment.
Returning home, I made a salad for dinner and poured a little red wine. My doctor has instructed me to drink red wine. I don't like red wine. I'm a Riesling, Gewurztraminer or White Zinfadel kind of woman, and I rarely imbibe. But, I'm following instructions. And now, here is slap-stick moment number two, with a multiple-choice question:
Q. When you topple over the glass of wine on your desk (and, of course, that is not the place for the glass in the first place), is it better for the spill to land:
a. on top of the desk
b. on the bottom shelf of the desk just a few inches from the floor
c. on the chair mat which the desk sits and on the rug on which the chair mat that sits
d. on the nearly-white Pergo flooring on which the rug lays
e. on the little table that holds four filled pencil/pen cups, inside the cups and on the try on which the cups sit
f. on the number pad section of the ergonomic keyboard which is no longer popular and doggoned hard to find
g. none of the above
h. all of the above.
While the desired answer is g, the factual answer is h.
As I blotted and mopped up the foul-tasting stuff that will definitely leave its mark on several surfaces, there was lots of time to plow through the maybes and what-ifs of the day, the week, last week, last month, this year, last year, or whatever. And this, I told myself, is what's important:
Giving up is not an option. A little spilled juice, wine, or whatever is not a big deal when you look at the big picture. Where did you spill the juice? In your kitchen. In your home. Where did you spill the wine? On your desk. In your pencil cups. On your rug. On your floor. In your office. In your home. Did you have enough juice to make your smoothies? Yes, and there's plenty left. Did you refill your glass with wine? Yes, and there's plenty left, even if I don't like it. Your first appointment didn't happen. The guy did not call you back to reschedule and you're seeking his services. What does that tell you? Find another lawyer. Your 11 o'clock was most unusual. Did she tell you the usual "you're overqualified" animal dung? No. Did she ask to see you again? Yes. So you've cleaned up your mess, finished your dinner -- now what? I'm gonna vent via my blog, go upstairs, and thank my God for the good, bad, ugly and indifference of this day, sing one of my favorite songs -- It is Well With My Soul, practice for worship tomorrow, and ask Him to give me peace and rest tonight, and a new day to try again tomorrow.
I have had days far worse than today -- days filled with abandonment, betrayal, grief, deception, physical impairment and more. Even now I look back over the last few years in wonder and amazement and lots and lots of thanksgiving, realizing that there is no way I could have made it to this day, the 8th of March 2011, without Him. This day was a cakewalk. And there is a bright side. There is an old song that says "There's a bright side somewhere, don't you stop until you find it." I don't agree with that, and I've got news for the brothers who sang that song: The bright side is right here, right now. Even if you don't have your best life now, your bright side is right here, right now. Let the day take care of itself; just seize the moment. Whether the moment is one in which you are at rest, are still and at peace, or are poised, ready to spring into action, make the most of the moment. I lost a couple of hours today. Had they been intentionally devoted to rest, they would not have been lost. I literally cannot account for them.
A moment is a pivotal point in time. THERE IS NO ADJUSTMENT BUREAU! You are your adjustment bureau. It's how you handle this moment that will shape the next. In the legal world in one moment -- suddenly and without warning as they say -- lives are often changed forever. The Bible says the Lord Jesus will come in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye (1 Corinthians 15:52).
So, I leave you first, with this question: How will you spend your next moment? And, secondly, with more words from one of my favorite hymns, It Is Well With My Soul:
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.
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.
My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,
Even so, it is well with my soul.
Refrain.
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, with my soul,
It is well, it is well, with my soul
-- Horatio G. Spafford*
*Mr. Spafford wrote this shortly after losing his family in a shipwreck.
Friday, January 7, 2011
There is "The" God
Early this afternoon Daryl Robinson stirred hearts with an eclectic and thoughtful mix of music as only he can deliver via his primary instrument -- pipe organ. His recital was the first in a series called "First Fridays" co-sponsored by the Sacred Heart Co-Cathedral and the University of Houston's school of music.
The Co-Cathedral’s structure at 1111 St. Joseph Parkway is relatively new. During its construction it was frequently highlighted by various media as the building took shape and trappings and furnishings of every secularly-dubbed sacred kind and character were brought in to adorn the place with just the right marble, just the right statuary, just the right stained glass, blah, blah, blah. It is indeed a magnificent structure, and a haven on the south end of downtown Houston – a place that I dread frequenting because of the traffic, noise, unfriendly parking (especially if one needs an accessible [politically correct word for handicapped space]), and especially the all-too-often unfriendly, self-possessed, self-absorbed people. I had never visited the Co-Cathedral. I am not Catholic and have never thought of worshiping there, and I do not see it as an attraction to tour – like going to the Museum of Fine Arts (no offense to the folks who have done this).
As the sanctuary emptied of folks who attended the 12:10 mass, those of us who came for the recital joined those who chose to stay after the mass. I took a seat about midway -- just a few feet from what appeared to be a small, very still pool of water in a raised marble platform (which I assumed to be part of the trappings of some Catholic ritual). The organ, it turns out, is not in a place of prominence in the front, but in the choir loft above the main entrance in the back of the sanctuary.
Without a word, Daryl began playing at the appointed time. Some folks turned around to see Daryl – as much as could be seen of a man of medium height sitting at the instrument ensconced in the southeast corner of the loft. Actually, it is hard to blame them for wanting to see. The stuff that Daryl executes with precision, excellence and grace, is sometimes difficult for one to actually believe comes from only 10 fingers and two feet. As the sound of the organ filled the room I sat still and closed my eyes. My first and continuing thought was only God could make something like this happen.
Some will ask what’s God got to do with it? Well, ask away! And I am happy to answer:
- God made the dirt from which He created humankind.
- God gave humankind the thoughts, dreams, will, desire and ability to design great houses of worship – even knowing that our worship will not always be in spirit and truth (and that subject will be put aside for another time).
- God gave some the technology to make what others conceived in their minds, possible to construct.
- God gave others the skills and physical stamina to do the work to make the concept as outlined on paper and electronics, tangible.
- God stirred the hearts of others to make the financial commitments that brought all of the other elements together for the finished project -- even if they did it for the tax deduction or publicity.
- God created music. Those 12 half-tones and the infinite ways in which they have been combined for millennia have done more to soothe the hearts, minds and souls of people all over the world, and even draw people of diverse nations, ethnicities, cultures and beliefs together on common ground, even in war, than anything else and anyone else other than Jesus, the Christ Himself, the Son of the Living, Almighty God.
- And God brought Mr. & Mrs. Robinson together; they had a son and named him Daryl. And for most of his young life, Daryl has embraced the art and honed his skills of making beautiful music.
Daryl’s Bach piece so moved one man that at its end he emitted an involuntary, audible cry, shaking me from my solitude (yes, it was as if I was alone in that huge room, enveloped in the music of the Almighty via Daryl’s hands). I didn't recognize the man who could barely contain himself – or so I observed – through my own tears.
Daryl's mastery of the pipe organ is absolutely phenomenal. Most folks with a degree of talent even approaching that which Daryl possesses would be so stuck on themselves they wouldn't even be approachable. I am proud and pleased to call him son -- sweetie -- dear or whatever comes to mind -- and that regardless of how I tag him for the moment, he responds with understanding that my labels are just an expression of my affection for him, and by extension, our God who made everything possible, creating us out of love.
A suggestion to any who is in doubt about God being behind all of this: get your own dirt and do your own thing.
May the peace of God be with you always; may His goodness and mercy ever follow you.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Where are All the Mahatmas?
The Merriam Webster word of the day is "mahatma." http://www.merriam-webster.com/word-of-the-day/2010/12/30/ -- a person to be revered for high-mindedness, wisdom and selflessness. The moment I saw the word "revered" I thought about all the "reverends" I know. And I thought of how that word is generally self-attributed and very much overused to the point of abuse.
It really galls me when people say my name is 'reverend doe. Sometimes my follow-up question is what did your mother name you?" (Of course, this is no different from people who say my name is Doctor Doe or Attorney Doe or -- or Evangelist Doe -- or my all-time grating-on-my-nerves one -- Lady Minister Doe. News flash folks: Your name is not your title or what you do for a living.
The one time I saw "Rev. Andrea Hoxie" in an article written by the late "Bud" Johnson, one of my dearest sparring partners (verbal, of course), I had to give him a call; we had a serious conversation, including a little discussion of Psalm 111:9.
Words are important. They encourage, convict, condemn, support, dissappoint, exhort, admonish, and deify -- or at least, attempt to do so. Sometimes they begin with a thought; sometimes not. These words I write today began with a thought -- primarily the possibility of offending those whom I love and respect, some of whom are oftentimes referred to by that "R" word. And then, I thought of those folks, and remembered why I respect them. They accept me as I am, including the sometimes radical and unconventional Andrea who goes against the grain. Even when we agree to disagree, it is without condemnation.
Some folks are probably thinking right now: Why would she write something so offensive? So inflammatory? What difference does is make that we call our priests, preachers, pastors and ministers "Reverend"? Well, consider this: Does it make a difference when someone calls you a receptionist when you're a secretary? A gal when you're an administrator? A secretary when you're a paralegal? A boy when you're a man? A hooker, prostitute or whore when you have reserved your body exclusively for your spouse?
Words do matter. We speak them and they take life, become flesh. How many children have taken paths uttered by mean-spirited, impatient, ignorant folks who told them they would never amount to anything? Yes, words matter.
So, now, a few questions:
In other words, are you truly a mahatma? Or do you just wear the mask? Here is a hint if you have difficulty answering the question: The one man most of us know as Mahatma was Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. It is said that he protested against the title Mahatma that was conferred on him by others. This simple-living man seemingly cared nothing for the transient trappings that are coveted by others. He was wise, selfless and high-minded. Mahatma? And because of his wisdom, selflessness and high-mindedness, he was revered. Reverend?
Even while we have high regard for the wise, selfless, high-minded folks of this world, there is but One, Who is indeed Reverend. And He is called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. And at His name, every knee shall bow and every tongue acknowledge and confess that He is Lord. Jesus, the Christ. Reverend.
To Tell the Truth
(V. Michael McKay)
It really galls me when people say my name is 'reverend doe. Sometimes my follow-up question is what did your mother name you?" (Of course, this is no different from people who say my name is Doctor Doe or Attorney Doe or -- or Evangelist Doe -- or my all-time grating-on-my-nerves one -- Lady Minister Doe. News flash folks: Your name is not your title or what you do for a living.
The one time I saw "Rev. Andrea Hoxie" in an article written by the late "Bud" Johnson, one of my dearest sparring partners (verbal, of course), I had to give him a call; we had a serious conversation, including a little discussion of Psalm 111:9.
Words are important. They encourage, convict, condemn, support, dissappoint, exhort, admonish, and deify -- or at least, attempt to do so. Sometimes they begin with a thought; sometimes not. These words I write today began with a thought -- primarily the possibility of offending those whom I love and respect, some of whom are oftentimes referred to by that "R" word. And then, I thought of those folks, and remembered why I respect them. They accept me as I am, including the sometimes radical and unconventional Andrea who goes against the grain. Even when we agree to disagree, it is without condemnation.
Some folks are probably thinking right now: Why would she write something so offensive? So inflammatory? What difference does is make that we call our priests, preachers, pastors and ministers "Reverend"? Well, consider this: Does it make a difference when someone calls you a receptionist when you're a secretary? A gal when you're an administrator? A secretary when you're a paralegal? A boy when you're a man? A hooker, prostitute or whore when you have reserved your body exclusively for your spouse?
Words do matter. We speak them and they take life, become flesh. How many children have taken paths uttered by mean-spirited, impatient, ignorant folks who told them they would never amount to anything? Yes, words matter.
So, now, a few questions:
- Does that certificate of ordination, license to preach, divinity degree, or your spouse's call to the ministry justify use of the handle Rev.?
- Do you preach and teach God's word with authority, and then live as if there is no God, or as if He is blind and deaf?
- Do your beliefs, thoughts, attitude, behavior, and actions reflect reverend?
- Do you try to justify extra privileges to accorded to you because you use the handle?
- Is your general comportment the same whether you are at or away from home?
In other words, are you truly a mahatma? Or do you just wear the mask? Here is a hint if you have difficulty answering the question: The one man most of us know as Mahatma was Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. It is said that he protested against the title Mahatma that was conferred on him by others. This simple-living man seemingly cared nothing for the transient trappings that are coveted by others. He was wise, selfless and high-minded. Mahatma? And because of his wisdom, selflessness and high-mindedness, he was revered. Reverend?
Even while we have high regard for the wise, selfless, high-minded folks of this world, there is but One, Who is indeed Reverend. And He is called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. And at His name, every knee shall bow and every tongue acknowledge and confess that He is Lord. Jesus, the Christ. Reverend.
To Tell the Truth
(V. Michael McKay)
Monday, December 13, 2010
Remembering Glenn and Charles
I have the best of both worlds. While I enjoy formally structured music, and am privileged to know a plethora of talented musicians (SMBC's Daryl Robinson, for one), who can properly execute the most intricate musical works and make such execution appear to be effortless, I also revel in the soul-stirring spontaneity of improvisational music, such as Glenn Burleigh's live rendition of one of my most favorite hymns. This is a fitting time for me to find this recording, as it was just three years ago, around this time, that Glenn left this earth for a better life. He is still missed by many, including me. And even three years later, the gifts our God gave us through Glenn and his musical talent, are still giving; over, continuously we who love Glenn and his music are still reaping the benefits of those blessings.
On a similar note, just a few days ago, we celebrated the birthday of Charles Richards. He, too, was a talented musician. Unlike Glenn, he was not known nationwide. He served same family of God here in Houston for more than 35 years. He was the consummate gospel organist with a unique sound that I have never heard duplicated. And he was much more than an organist. Just as he blended his own sound on the Hammond organ, he trained and blended voices to sing God's praises. It just so happens he really liked Glenn's music and incorporated it into his music ministry frequently. Charles left this earth for a better life earlier this year. He too is missed by many, including me.
Now, about the link: There may be one who listens to this recording and cannot understand what Glenn did with this lovely hymn. Where did all that come from? That's not the way it's supposed to go! Why did he do that? When is he going to resolve that phrase? How could he do that? Charles would understand. It's just a thing that happens when the Spirit is like fire in your bones. He leads you down paths you would not normally take -- many times well off the printed page; He pulls stuff out of you, the existence of which you are quite ignorant; and even while your heart pounds so hard you know it will soon explode, and you know for sure that you are soaring among the clouds, He keeps you from going off the deep end. And when it's all over, He sets you down gently and safely. And, you understand your feet are actually firmly planted -- on the ground.
Even while you're the same, you're not quite -- there's a little something different. It may be a new perspective of an old issue, or a sense of peace that wasn't there before, or an urge to bridge the chasm of a derailed relationship. It's kind of like something for which Pastor Steve prays when he asks God to speak to us through His Word, so that we will be less of what we used to be, and more of what we ought to be, through Christ Jesus. What I'm saying is that the Word of God, even through a hymn, has transformative powers. To one who cannot understand, I can only refer you to the words to this awesome hymn, which are themselves more than sufficient to make my heart soar. And if those lyrics are not sufficient, feel free to go to the source: Lamentations 3:23. In the meantime, I believe I'll hobble upstairs and visit this hymn for myself -- just for a while. As for you, the reader, visit Glenn's rendition here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UR2hoEN2t2M
Friday, November 12, 2010
Health Care: There's Something to be Said for Keeping it Simple
KISS is one of my favorite acronyms. Keep it Simple (some might add Stupid -- I do not) has become, for me, a lifestyle. While it is not often reflected in my writings, which I am told are full of (on any other day I would likely have used fraught instead of full of) archaic expressions, I tend to favor keeping it simple in most other areas, like
-- a regular diet of fresh fruits and vegetables, and a little protein and intentional fat [confessing here the tendency to favor my own recipe for wheat buds, which has everything to do with dark chocolate folded into some less-decadent ingredients like oatmeal and whole wheat flour], rather than larger-than-life servings of battered, dipped and fried messes of stuff, or breakfast breads elaborately adorned with a year's supply of sugary additives,
OR
-- a simple mode of dress which has little to do with the latest trends (have you seen some of the shoes women are supposed to wear? --- definitely not made for walking!
OR
-- settling for the wheels that came with the vehicle purchased as opposed to the four-figure ($) things I was asked to purchase, purely for aesthetic reasons,
OR
-- in my own mind, as I draft a petition alleging unjust enrichment or misappropriation of funds, thinking theft is theft no matter how you dress it up.
I just find KISS is a lot less stressful and an easier way to function. It is unfortunate that the KISS principle has not made its way into the area of health care. In fact, it appears that every year, both in public and private sectors, the issue of health care gets more complicated, and the burden of finding the right health care plan becomes more onerous and tedious. Regulations that are made to protect those seeking information often make that information difficult to find. Despite rules and ethics, folks may be misinformed and locked into a health care plan that is not right for them. As we move toward the end of this year, one remedy is to get information from someone who has no loyalty to any one company or plan, and who will share sufficient information to assist with choosing the plan than is right for the individual, not the company's bottom line. This is not to negate the significance of a private company's or plan's bottom line, which lends itself to discussion profit margins, returns on investment, job losses or gains, and so forth. This is however, to make the point that no one is served fairly if the seekers of health care services do not get what they need. In that regard, where services are not delivered, everyone loses.
It is important to make a well-informed decision when choosing a health care plan. An interactive website may not address all of your health care plan concerns or answer all of your questions in that regard. Be encouraged, especially if you are a senior or have been declared totally disabled, to contact someone who will help to simplify your issues and assist you in making that decision.
-- a regular diet of fresh fruits and vegetables, and a little protein and intentional fat [confessing here the tendency to favor my own recipe for wheat buds, which has everything to do with dark chocolate folded into some less-decadent ingredients like oatmeal and whole wheat flour], rather than larger-than-life servings of battered, dipped and fried messes of stuff, or breakfast breads elaborately adorned with a year's supply of sugary additives,
OR
-- a simple mode of dress which has little to do with the latest trends (have you seen some of the shoes women are supposed to wear? --- definitely not made for walking!
OR
-- settling for the wheels that came with the vehicle purchased as opposed to the four-figure ($) things I was asked to purchase, purely for aesthetic reasons,
OR
-- in my own mind, as I draft a petition alleging unjust enrichment or misappropriation of funds, thinking theft is theft no matter how you dress it up.
I just find KISS is a lot less stressful and an easier way to function. It is unfortunate that the KISS principle has not made its way into the area of health care. In fact, it appears that every year, both in public and private sectors, the issue of health care gets more complicated, and the burden of finding the right health care plan becomes more onerous and tedious. Regulations that are made to protect those seeking information often make that information difficult to find. Despite rules and ethics, folks may be misinformed and locked into a health care plan that is not right for them. As we move toward the end of this year, one remedy is to get information from someone who has no loyalty to any one company or plan, and who will share sufficient information to assist with choosing the plan than is right for the individual, not the company's bottom line. This is not to negate the significance of a private company's or plan's bottom line, which lends itself to discussion profit margins, returns on investment, job losses or gains, and so forth. This is however, to make the point that no one is served fairly if the seekers of health care services do not get what they need. In that regard, where services are not delivered, everyone loses.
It is important to make a well-informed decision when choosing a health care plan. An interactive website may not address all of your health care plan concerns or answer all of your questions in that regard. Be encouraged, especially if you are a senior or have been declared totally disabled, to contact someone who will help to simplify your issues and assist you in making that decision.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Random Thoughts of My Father on His Birthday
Having lived three times as long as I had his physical presence in my life, I am still awestruck by how much he gave me in the 14 years we had before his body ceased to function. Even today, for me, Lewis Hoxie is very much alive. He is always with me. My words are often his words. My thoughts, attitudes and opinions are so much like his. Some folks who know me may not think those are such good things; how very short-sighted they are!
When I was a toddler he added a handle to the screen door leading to our front porch, positioned to be within my grasp, giving me freedom to go from the house to the porch in my own time and way.
He allowed me sips of Mogen David Concord Grape wine with my Oreo cookie (in retrospect, that combination grosses me out, but back then . . .).
He removed the seeds from my melons, diced and speared them with toothpicks and served them to me so that I could pretend the fruity cubes were hors d' oveures.
I stood on his feet and walked with him.
I met him at the kitchen door when he arrived home from work.
I gave him exclusive rights to kiss the dimple in the middle of my forehead and he gladly accepted.
No one in the neighborhood bothered me because they knew I belonged to him. If some poor soul had a lapse of memory, a simple "I'm going to tell my daddy" was sufficient to make all scatter.
He let me drive from the front gate to the garage opening. Okay, it was less than 100 feet, but still . . . .
When I was a toddler he added a handle to the screen door leading to our front porch, positioned to be within my grasp, giving me freedom to go from the house to the porch in my own time and way.
He allowed me sips of Mogen David Concord Grape wine with my Oreo cookie (in retrospect, that combination grosses me out, but back then . . .).
He removed the seeds from my melons, diced and speared them with toothpicks and served them to me so that I could pretend the fruity cubes were hors d' oveures.
I stood on his feet and walked with him.
I met him at the kitchen door when he arrived home from work.
I gave him exclusive rights to kiss the dimple in the middle of my forehead and he gladly accepted.
No one in the neighborhood bothered me because they knew I belonged to him. If some poor soul had a lapse of memory, a simple "I'm going to tell my daddy" was sufficient to make all scatter.
He let me drive from the front gate to the garage opening. Okay, it was less than 100 feet, but still . . . .
He took our family to church every Sunday. I sometimes sat with him in the seating reserved for deacons during worship. No one ever asked me to move.
He only had to make me go outside and cut a switch just a couple of times. I thank God for the switch -- and the strap; I figure they were a lot easier to take then than being behind bars would be now.
As long as I didn't have a fever or some childhood ailment -- or my toe wasn't tagged -- we all went to church on Sundays, first for Sunday School, then worship, then back in the evening for Training Union. I thank God for Training Union. I can find scriptures in the Bible without looking at the table of contents, and many I know now because my father and mother taught us decades ago. I can speak, sing or play piano in the presence of a few or a few thousand. All because my daddy took -- not sent -- his family to church.
My brother is smart, solid, strong, dutiful, responsible, supportive and loving. In other words, he is what a man should be. My brother is one of the most upright men I know. When I look at Brer, or think of Brer, I also see or think of my father.
Daddy did not have a lot of money. He worked hard and provided for his family. The house he built 60 years ago has weathered every Houston storm without damage and still stands solidly today. We were always well fed, well clothed, well nurtured and well loved. While money can buy the food and clothing, no currency is sufficient to purchase the care and love my father bestowed upon his family. In that regard, we were -- and are -- wealthier than most.
My father tolerated little nonsense from people. I am very much like him in that way and don't mind it -- not one bit.
That is enough for now. There is no grand ending because Daddy's story continues. As long as there is a Hoxie limb from his branch of the tree, or a twig from a limb of his branch, or a fruit that fell from a twig from a limb of his branch of that tree, my daddy will be around. It would be nice, though, if he could kiss my third dimple just once more.
Happy birthday, Daddy.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Elitism Everywhere
One has not begun to appreciate the choral repertoire until one is familiar with Palestrina.
This smug little response was made to the question "What are your favorite choral works to sing" posted on Facebook questions. The response is elitist, exclusive, divisive, and just downright snotty -- reeking of a strong implication that the appreciation of choral music which excludes certain choral works could not possibly be "appreciation."
Being one whose musical style has been described as "too white for black" and "too black for white," this writer is content to straddle the fence and land on either side in comfort. Sometime ago, many evenings were spent jumping from one side of the fence to the other: first to Sleepy Hollow, a restaurant/piano bar in Town & Country Village in Houston, sitting in for Russ White, the consummate all-around pianist. When Russ took his breaks, Andrea would play and sometimes sing old standards like I Left My Heart in San Francisco and My Funny Valentine. Then she would zip across town to the Wunderbar on Southmore in the Third Ward area and end the night listening to Iola Broussard belt out jazz and blues standards. Other evenings were spent, spellbound, at the opera or symphony. And then -- on Sunday morning -- generally multiple worship services incorporating all genres of religious music, from songs based on African melodies (the harmonies for which were nonexistent -- and damn the musician who would tried to create them!), to incredible hymns, the compositions of which were paid for with life's experiences, to soul-stirring gospel, to centuries old anthems that made one's heart soar to the heavens. With such musical wealth, how can one have "A" favorite? Is there one and only one way to touch one's heart? If so, what a tiny heart one must have!
So, what has this to do with elitism everywhere? Simply this: a narrow scope of any one area can be indicative of a narrow scope of the big picture. True, everyone is entitled to one's own opinions and preferences. Still, how far does one go with that?
Try this: One has only begun to appreciate automobiles until one is familiar with the Koeniggsegg Trevita, which, at $2.21 million (according to Forbes) is the world's most expensive car.
Just curious: What about the automobile that is right for you? That you can afford? That serves you well?
Or, try this: One has only begun to appreciate flowers until one is familiar with Cannas or Calla Lilys.
Just curious: What about those daisies your child or spouse picked out of the front yard and brought to you in a mason jar?
Or, try this: One has only begun to appreciate beauty until one is familiar with Julia Roberts, Kim Kardashian, Katy Perry, . . . ????
Just curious: Who is truly beautiful to you? Is he/she someone with the right look on the outside? Is that all that matters? If so, what happens when the look fades? What about the person behind the look?
Now, try this: One has only begun to appreciate -- freedom -- education -- others -- until one is familiar with --- ????
So, what does it for you? Is your appreciation of freedom based on your having rights that others do not enjoy? Is your appreciation of education exclusive to you and yours, or something to which all should have access? Is your appreciation of others based on whether or not they look, act, speak and think like you?
Or can you appreciate that while we may be 99% alike, the 1% that makes us different from each other is the special something that God put in each us for the sake of variety and diversity -- to expound on the miracle of His creation? Is there but one type of fruit? Flower? Dog? Bird? Man? Woman? Culture? Absolutely not!
The differences in all of us make elitism in any realm a smear on the big picture of creation, and an absolute slap in the face of the Creator.
How dare any of us -- what right have any of us -- to slap the face of the Creator?
This smug little response was made to the question "What are your favorite choral works to sing" posted on Facebook questions. The response is elitist, exclusive, divisive, and just downright snotty -- reeking of a strong implication that the appreciation of choral music which excludes certain choral works could not possibly be "appreciation."
Being one whose musical style has been described as "too white for black" and "too black for white," this writer is content to straddle the fence and land on either side in comfort. Sometime ago, many evenings were spent jumping from one side of the fence to the other: first to Sleepy Hollow, a restaurant/piano bar in Town & Country Village in Houston, sitting in for Russ White, the consummate all-around pianist. When Russ took his breaks, Andrea would play and sometimes sing old standards like I Left My Heart in San Francisco and My Funny Valentine. Then she would zip across town to the Wunderbar on Southmore in the Third Ward area and end the night listening to Iola Broussard belt out jazz and blues standards. Other evenings were spent, spellbound, at the opera or symphony. And then -- on Sunday morning -- generally multiple worship services incorporating all genres of religious music, from songs based on African melodies (the harmonies for which were nonexistent -- and damn the musician who would tried to create them!), to incredible hymns, the compositions of which were paid for with life's experiences, to soul-stirring gospel, to centuries old anthems that made one's heart soar to the heavens. With such musical wealth, how can one have "A" favorite? Is there one and only one way to touch one's heart? If so, what a tiny heart one must have!
So, what has this to do with elitism everywhere? Simply this: a narrow scope of any one area can be indicative of a narrow scope of the big picture. True, everyone is entitled to one's own opinions and preferences. Still, how far does one go with that?
Try this: One has only begun to appreciate automobiles until one is familiar with the Koeniggsegg Trevita, which, at $2.21 million (according to Forbes) is the world's most expensive car.
Just curious: What about the automobile that is right for you? That you can afford? That serves you well?
Or, try this: One has only begun to appreciate flowers until one is familiar with Cannas or Calla Lilys.
Just curious: What about those daisies your child or spouse picked out of the front yard and brought to you in a mason jar?
Or, try this: One has only begun to appreciate beauty until one is familiar with Julia Roberts, Kim Kardashian, Katy Perry, . . . ????
Just curious: Who is truly beautiful to you? Is he/she someone with the right look on the outside? Is that all that matters? If so, what happens when the look fades? What about the person behind the look?
Now, try this: One has only begun to appreciate -- freedom -- education -- others -- until one is familiar with --- ????
So, what does it for you? Is your appreciation of freedom based on your having rights that others do not enjoy? Is your appreciation of education exclusive to you and yours, or something to which all should have access? Is your appreciation of others based on whether or not they look, act, speak and think like you?
Or can you appreciate that while we may be 99% alike, the 1% that makes us different from each other is the special something that God put in each us for the sake of variety and diversity -- to expound on the miracle of His creation? Is there but one type of fruit? Flower? Dog? Bird? Man? Woman? Culture? Absolutely not!
The differences in all of us make elitism in any realm a smear on the big picture of creation, and an absolute slap in the face of the Creator.
How dare any of us -- what right have any of us -- to slap the face of the Creator?
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Drop That Foolish Delusion??? -- Part II -- Slugs
II. Many Bloodsuckers
On the last Wednesday of September this year, this writer was blessed to attend Bible Study with the family of God known as South Main Baptist Church. Pastor Steve rendered a wonderfully inspiring and thought-provoking introduction of the Gospel of Mark. At some point during the Bible Study we were reminded of an upcoming election, and that candidates would be out in full force, making promises that none could keep. When asked which party might that be -- Republicans or Democrats, there rang throughout the Fellowship Hall a one-word, unanimous answer: Both! That is true. So, after toiling over which Slug (sorry-butt sluggard) or CTI (critically thinking idealist) to highlight first, I want to thank Pastor Steve for inspiration.
Before we delve into this writing -- THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS TO THE SLUGS MOST CALL POLITICIANS AND I CALL MANY BLOODSUCKERS. The problem is that the CTIs who happen to have been elected to their positions of responsibility and authority, are few and far between -- like -- a needle in a haystack -- a cool drink of water on a hot summer's day -- just plain rare!
So, why does this writer label most politicians slugs?
A. They develop amnesia quickly, so we ask: Now, why did you say you were seeking to be elected to this particular office?
B. They are redundant, regurgitating and rechewing the same drivel, and we ask: Wasn’t it the last election, and the one before that, and the one before that, that you said you were going to strengthen our border security – or was it the one before that?? Wasn’t it the last election, and the one before that, and the one before that, that you said you were going to reduce crime – or was it the one before that?? Wasn’t it the last election, and the one before that, and the one before that, that you said you were going to strength our educational system – or was it the one before that??
C. They steal. Okay, that’s a bit much for some; let’s try this: they reallocate funds that were supposedly intended for a particular purpose, to some other concern for which they were really intended in the first place. Otherwise, they see to the allocation of funds to sometimes frivolous, nonviable purposes that serve an elite group, or to some worthwhile project that benefits the many after the elite group has made their profit from the project.
D. They are lousy lovers: they tell us what we want to hear, then do what they want to do, oftentimes to our utter detriment.
E. Many have outlived their usefulness, and now appear to be resting on their laurels. The problem with that is there are no laurels upon which to rest.
F. They simply don’t do their jobs. Some assume the offices to which they were elected but the duties of which they are incompetent to properly execute. Others are busy padding their pockets and investing in their own futures. Some just spend as much time on the golf course as possible. And, in Houston, that’s pretty darn near a year-round activity.
Before any reader starts speculating about the identities of the folks of whom I write, consider that at the age of 56, I’ve seen a lot of ballots and a slew of politicians, and have read of as many who preceded my voting age. Just know that there is no political party within which slugs nest exclusively. They are as diverse as this country of ours.
So, why devote the time and energy to write about these many blood-sucking slugs? That’s simple. This is not for them; it is for you, the reader, the electorate. Unfortunately there is a much larger populace than that of slugs. We are they: the apathetic, the complacent, the folks who keep returning washed up, dried out, used up, weren’t-worth-a-plugged-nickel-from-the-beginning, lazy, incompetent folks to office. And then we complain. How dare we!!!???
And finally, a word to politicians: Just like all Cognac is brandy, but not all brandy is Cognac, slugs are politicians, but all politicians are not slugs. Then again, if you are a politician and can be identified by one or more of paragraphs A, B, C, D, E and F above, perhaps you are indeed a slug.
Grace & peace,
Andrea Hoxie
On the last Wednesday of September this year, this writer was blessed to attend Bible Study with the family of God known as South Main Baptist Church. Pastor Steve rendered a wonderfully inspiring and thought-provoking introduction of the Gospel of Mark. At some point during the Bible Study we were reminded of an upcoming election, and that candidates would be out in full force, making promises that none could keep. When asked which party might that be -- Republicans or Democrats, there rang throughout the Fellowship Hall a one-word, unanimous answer: Both! That is true. So, after toiling over which Slug (sorry-butt sluggard) or CTI (critically thinking idealist) to highlight first, I want to thank Pastor Steve for inspiration.
Before we delve into this writing -- THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS TO THE SLUGS MOST CALL POLITICIANS AND I CALL MANY BLOODSUCKERS. The problem is that the CTIs who happen to have been elected to their positions of responsibility and authority, are few and far between -- like -- a needle in a haystack -- a cool drink of water on a hot summer's day -- just plain rare!
So, why does this writer label most politicians slugs?
A. They develop amnesia quickly, so we ask: Now, why did you say you were seeking to be elected to this particular office?
B. They are redundant, regurgitating and rechewing the same drivel, and we ask: Wasn’t it the last election, and the one before that, and the one before that, that you said you were going to strengthen our border security – or was it the one before that?? Wasn’t it the last election, and the one before that, and the one before that, that you said you were going to reduce crime – or was it the one before that?? Wasn’t it the last election, and the one before that, and the one before that, that you said you were going to strength our educational system – or was it the one before that??
C. They steal. Okay, that’s a bit much for some; let’s try this: they reallocate funds that were supposedly intended for a particular purpose, to some other concern for which they were really intended in the first place. Otherwise, they see to the allocation of funds to sometimes frivolous, nonviable purposes that serve an elite group, or to some worthwhile project that benefits the many after the elite group has made their profit from the project.
D. They are lousy lovers: they tell us what we want to hear, then do what they want to do, oftentimes to our utter detriment.
E. Many have outlived their usefulness, and now appear to be resting on their laurels. The problem with that is there are no laurels upon which to rest.
F. They simply don’t do their jobs. Some assume the offices to which they were elected but the duties of which they are incompetent to properly execute. Others are busy padding their pockets and investing in their own futures. Some just spend as much time on the golf course as possible. And, in Houston, that’s pretty darn near a year-round activity.
Before any reader starts speculating about the identities of the folks of whom I write, consider that at the age of 56, I’ve seen a lot of ballots and a slew of politicians, and have read of as many who preceded my voting age. Just know that there is no political party within which slugs nest exclusively. They are as diverse as this country of ours.
So, why devote the time and energy to write about these many blood-sucking slugs? That’s simple. This is not for them; it is for you, the reader, the electorate. Unfortunately there is a much larger populace than that of slugs. We are they: the apathetic, the complacent, the folks who keep returning washed up, dried out, used up, weren’t-worth-a-plugged-nickel-from-the-beginning, lazy, incompetent folks to office. And then we complain. How dare we!!!???
And finally, a word to politicians: Just like all Cognac is brandy, but not all brandy is Cognac, slugs are politicians, but all politicians are not slugs. Then again, if you are a politician and can be identified by one or more of paragraphs A, B, C, D, E and F above, perhaps you are indeed a slug.
Grace & peace,
Andrea Hoxie
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Loren Jackson -- Harris County District Clerk
The general election of 2008 brought waves of change to not only government on the national level, but on local levels as well. Here in Harris County, Texas we lost lots of judges. Peculiarly, one in particular who should have gone the way of other exiting jurists managed to hold on. I find that peculiar because the numbers from the election results show that feat to be impossible by any reasonable, ethical, legal or moral standard. See Merriam Webster's word of the day - peculation - which with some poetic license I believe is appropriate to apply here. Talk about digressing: this is a first for me -- to digress in the introductory paragraph AND speak in first person -- but I shall leave it as is.
One really great bright spot emerging in victory from the November 2008 election is Loren Jackson, our District Clerk. In two years, Mr. Jackson has done more to improve the operations of that office than I have seen in the previous 26 years of exposure to it. True, technology is on his side. Also true, however, is that the technology existed before he assumed the office. The difference is that unlike his predecessor, he embraced available technology, bringing the function of the Clerk for 74 Courts in Harris county, among other dues, into the 21st century.
Whether Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, Green, Tea Party, Independent, or none of the above, I pray that all will vote, and that regardless of party affiliation, they will vote for Loren Jackson so that he can continue the substantial work he has done to further the efficiency of the Harris County Courts.
Now, if we can just elect some real judges -- you know -- ones who will actually do the work they were elected to do -- based on sound law (alright, this to some is an oxymoron) and not some flimsy whim.
And the final word is this: Please vote for Loren Jackson, Harris County District Clerk.
One really great bright spot emerging in victory from the November 2008 election is Loren Jackson, our District Clerk. In two years, Mr. Jackson has done more to improve the operations of that office than I have seen in the previous 26 years of exposure to it. True, technology is on his side. Also true, however, is that the technology existed before he assumed the office. The difference is that unlike his predecessor, he embraced available technology, bringing the function of the Clerk for 74 Courts in Harris county, among other dues, into the 21st century.
Whether Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, Green, Tea Party, Independent, or none of the above, I pray that all will vote, and that regardless of party affiliation, they will vote for Loren Jackson so that he can continue the substantial work he has done to further the efficiency of the Harris County Courts.
Now, if we can just elect some real judges -- you know -- ones who will actually do the work they were elected to do -- based on sound law (alright, this to some is an oxymoron) and not some flimsy whim.
And the final word is this: Please vote for Loren Jackson, Harris County District Clerk.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Drop That Foolish Delusion???
I. Introduction
This writer is a voracious reader without the time or visual strength to read voraciously. Thank God for technology that spawned CDs, MP3 players, public libraries and www.onthegobooks.com!
The current read/listen is The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. Have you read it? Or, perhaps, you may have read her Atlas Shrugged. Both of these mammoth works of fiction are fraught with critically thinking idealists ("CTI"), on the one hand, and sorry-butt sluggards who never seem to transcend a state of group mentality ("Slugs"), on the other. My dilemma is that while I tend to agree more with the CTIs rather than the Slugs, I find the CTIs to generally be a cold, unfeeling, dispassionate bunch. That makes me a little uneasy, as my cold, unfeeling dispassionate self is quite a bit smaller than my warm, feeling, passionate Andrea -- at least so I believe. [Some folks may beg to differ; so be it.] Still, the Slugs tend to trample on my last nerve with their whining, conniving, manipulative, selfish-in-the-name-of-the-people and deceitful ways. Oh, but for a bit of balance! It is my sad acknowledgment that Slugs tend to outnumber CTIs in all areas -- family, work, school, whatever/wherever (perhaps the 80/20 rule applies here?).
The Slugs of the world would have us all believe that the only way to make it in this little world (it is, indeed, quite small when you look at the big picture) is to follow the masses in all respects. And to the extent one's dreams, desires, ambitions, aspirations, and even opinions and thought processes are skewed from those of the masses, there is no place for that kind in the world.
The Slugs of this world -- the ones who would dare say drop that foolish delusion -- be damned! There is a price to pay for that kind of edict, and many CTIs have paid dearly. Still, if one who is a peace-loving, nonconforming traditionalist, often misquoted and misunderstood, still refuses to march to the beat of anyone's drum except one's own, as led by one's God, then so be it. What for most is a foolish delusion may be a solution to a problem that benefits not the CTI so much as it does the masses -- including the Slugs. It is the lack of confidence and downright slothfulness of the Slugs that stifle the nurturing, growth and development of the masses. And the masses are too blind, starved and stunted to see and understand their deprivation.
In the coming blogs we will examine some CTIs and and Slugs -- some from works of fictional and some real*, with the intent of trying to find some balance between the two. I hope you will stick around for the next few entries.
Grace & peace,
Andrea
*Out of basic human respect, no real person will be labeled "Slug" or "CTI." Then, again, if it looks like a Slug, acts like a Slug . . . well, you get the point, don't you?
This writer is a voracious reader without the time or visual strength to read voraciously. Thank God for technology that spawned CDs, MP3 players, public libraries and www.onthegobooks.com!
The current read/listen is The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. Have you read it? Or, perhaps, you may have read her Atlas Shrugged. Both of these mammoth works of fiction are fraught with critically thinking idealists ("CTI"), on the one hand, and sorry-butt sluggards who never seem to transcend a state of group mentality ("Slugs"), on the other. My dilemma is that while I tend to agree more with the CTIs rather than the Slugs, I find the CTIs to generally be a cold, unfeeling, dispassionate bunch. That makes me a little uneasy, as my cold, unfeeling dispassionate self is quite a bit smaller than my warm, feeling, passionate Andrea -- at least so I believe. [Some folks may beg to differ; so be it.] Still, the Slugs tend to trample on my last nerve with their whining, conniving, manipulative, selfish-in-the-name-of-the-people and deceitful ways. Oh, but for a bit of balance! It is my sad acknowledgment that Slugs tend to outnumber CTIs in all areas -- family, work, school, whatever/wherever (perhaps the 80/20 rule applies here?).
The Slugs of the world would have us all believe that the only way to make it in this little world (it is, indeed, quite small when you look at the big picture) is to follow the masses in all respects. And to the extent one's dreams, desires, ambitions, aspirations, and even opinions and thought processes are skewed from those of the masses, there is no place for that kind in the world.
The Slugs of this world -- the ones who would dare say drop that foolish delusion -- be damned! There is a price to pay for that kind of edict, and many CTIs have paid dearly. Still, if one who is a peace-loving, nonconforming traditionalist, often misquoted and misunderstood, still refuses to march to the beat of anyone's drum except one's own, as led by one's God, then so be it. What for most is a foolish delusion may be a solution to a problem that benefits not the CTI so much as it does the masses -- including the Slugs. It is the lack of confidence and downright slothfulness of the Slugs that stifle the nurturing, growth and development of the masses. And the masses are too blind, starved and stunted to see and understand their deprivation.
In the coming blogs we will examine some CTIs and and Slugs -- some from works of fictional and some real*, with the intent of trying to find some balance between the two. I hope you will stick around for the next few entries.
Grace & peace,
Andrea
*Out of basic human respect, no real person will be labeled "Slug" or "CTI." Then, again, if it looks like a Slug, acts like a Slug . . . well, you get the point, don't you?
Sunday, September 5, 2010
It's Time
A few week ago, I watched a video shared on Facebook by Kathryn Paterson (watch for her new book -- I don't know when, but just google her every now and then [and, yes, this is a plug for KP]) -- images of surprise family reunions of U.S. soldiers and their families. If only my ophthalmologist, who recently treated me for an extra-severe case of dry eye, could have seen the tears flow! They were so flushed out that day that I thought (briefly) of foregoing the evening's eye-wash ritual. The images themselves not only evoked the tears, but thoughts of how easily we (yes, all of us), take for granted the folks in our lives who mean (or so we say) so much to us.
Similar thoughts came to me on September 11, 2001, when 2,995+ people arrived for work, appointments or errands, at the World Trade Center in New York, for the last time in their lives. I know of no official count that takes into consideration those who perished sometime thereafter, with the events of that date being the proximate cause of their demise. My thoughts then, and the ones that continue to haunt me, not only about that situation, but those happening everyday are unanswered questions: What if? Did they? Why?
What if a hug was offered that morning and rejected?
What if an apology was tendered and not accepted?
Did they resolve that conflict and depart in peace?
Why didn't he/she/they try one more time?
Why is it so easy for us to tend to the inconsequential while we allow some of the most important aspects of our lives -- our relationships with others -- to languish? Who/what do you blow off while making sure your nails, hair and/or makeup are flawless? Or while you find just the right tie, shirt or cologne? Or who did you disappoint and keep waiting while you had one more drink? To whom did you utter empty words of endearment just to have your way with him or her?
There is no need for a soapbox speech or sermon here. One would hope that any marginally thinking person of the least modicum of discernment would have had a light-coming-on experience if having read to this point. So, how about it folks? Do you have a relationship in need of repair? Attention? Nurturing? Resurrecting? How much time do you think you have to start working on it?
What if . . . ?
Did you . . . ?
Why . . . .?
Similar thoughts came to me on September 11, 2001, when 2,995+ people arrived for work, appointments or errands, at the World Trade Center in New York, for the last time in their lives. I know of no official count that takes into consideration those who perished sometime thereafter, with the events of that date being the proximate cause of their demise. My thoughts then, and the ones that continue to haunt me, not only about that situation, but those happening everyday are unanswered questions: What if? Did they? Why?
What if a hug was offered that morning and rejected?
What if an apology was tendered and not accepted?
Did they resolve that conflict and depart in peace?
Why didn't he/she/they try one more time?
Why is it so easy for us to tend to the inconsequential while we allow some of the most important aspects of our lives -- our relationships with others -- to languish? Who/what do you blow off while making sure your nails, hair and/or makeup are flawless? Or while you find just the right tie, shirt or cologne? Or who did you disappoint and keep waiting while you had one more drink? To whom did you utter empty words of endearment just to have your way with him or her?
There is no need for a soapbox speech or sermon here. One would hope that any marginally thinking person of the least modicum of discernment would have had a light-coming-on experience if having read to this point. So, how about it folks? Do you have a relationship in need of repair? Attention? Nurturing? Resurrecting? How much time do you think you have to start working on it?
What if . . . ?
Did you . . . ?
Why . . . .?
Sunday, August 22, 2010
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
Saturday, August 21, 2010
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.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
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.
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.
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