9/11 Memories

Time is a strange thing. When I sat staring at the clock in my 7th grade math class it seemed to stand still. But when summer finally came, the days would race by like a series of comets blazing out across the sky. So it is with 9/11. It's been 11 years since the towers fell.  On that day my children were middle schoolers, my wife was still in her thirties and my mother had 11 years to live. It doesn't seem possible.

I remember exactly where I was when I saw the first images...my office on Glen Forest Drive. There was a small television on my desk. At first we watched in horror and mostly silence except for whispered prayers of "God help us...". By the time the second tower came down our mood had changed. Anger and righteous indignation replaced fear and helplessness the minute we realized that this was no accident, that we were under attack. It seems like an eternity since that day, that feeling.

Back then we were all sure that this was only the first wave, that there would be many more equally devastating attacks. We all gathered our families close, but a second wave never came. Now the legacy of that day is the annoyance we feel in line at the airport watching grandmothers and 6 year olds getting patted down by grim TSA people in cheap uniforms.

There's finally something at ground zero. After years of enviornmental impact studies and turf wars and bureaucratic incompetence there's a memorial that cost $700 million to build and will cost $60 million a year to operate. In 1972 it cost $400 million to build the towers, now it cost almost twice that to build a hole in the ground. Such is progress.

On this day I will say a prayer for the families who lost loved ones. I will remember what it felt like. I will once again watch that horrible footage. But luckily for me I will also think about my big sister Linda, who was born on 9/11. The blessing of her life and her powerful presence in the life of my family will always redeem this day. The celebration of her life will for all time balance the scales and brighten the dark sky that history has placed on September 11th.

How To Survive The Election

Now that the country has endured two political conventions, the campaign has officially begun. Everything that has happened over the past 18 months of primaries, caucuses and debates was all prelude and doesn't matter now. Thirty percent of the American people probably couldn't tell you who the candidates are, and probably at least twenty percent of them couldn't pick Joe Biden out of a lineup. Luckily for our Republic, most of these people won't bother to vote. This is a very good thing.

From the days of Plato through the imaginations of Jefferson and Madison runs one common theme. For democracy to function properly there must be an informed and enlightened citizenry. If the "man on the street" interviews conducted outside the two convention sites these past few weeks are any indication, we are doomed. Earnest men and women eagerly offered opinions on what ails the country. "The President needs to pass a law that outlaws corporate profits." one woman suggested. Put aside the fact that the President doesn't "pass laws" since that's the job of Congress, what would this woman have the President offer in the place of corporate profits,...corporate losses?

For those of you who consider yourself conservative, who have a generally negative view of government and long for the days of Calvin Coolidge, these next two months are going to be long and frustrating. I offer the following tips for surviving the 2012 Presidential Election with your sanity intact.


1. Stop complaining about media bias. It has always been so. The press loved FDR, Kennedy, and Clinton every bit as much as they love Obama. Even though they hated Nixon, Reagan and both Bushes, those guys won seven elections despite a hostile press. Journalists are inherently liberal and they always will be. Get over it.

2. Even though there are a percentage of democrats who are genuinely Marxists and many who are socialists, most of them are neither. They just disagree with you about the role of government in society. That doesn't make them horrible people. Don't define an entire political party by their extremes. Remember that among the republicans there are a percentage who are unrepentant bigots. Recall how outraged you feel when you are lumped in with those people by media types. Please, a little good faith goes a long way.

3. Stop trying to make the case that if you're a real Christian you can't possibly vote for a democrat. This is foolishness on steroids. Yes, the democratic party embraces positions that go against biblical teaching like abortion and gay-marriage. But there are many democrats who don't believe in either of those things and still vote for the democratic candidate, many of them faithful Christians. I see on Facebook all the time posts that talk about how they can't possibly understand how any Christian could vote for a democrat. Really? I can easily understand how a Christian with a deeply held commitment to the downtrodden of this world might vote for a democrat. Frankly, it would be quite natural for a Christian concerned with the fate of the poor, sick, disabled, widowed and orphaned might be drawn to a political party known for policies that provide government subsidies for such people.I personally can make the case that those very same programs do more harm than good to the people they are intending to help, but to suggest that Christians who support democrats are somehow apostates is ridiculous and insulting. I'm against capital punishment on the grounds that giving the power of life and death to something as corruptible as our justice system is a usurpation of vengeance belonging to God alone. Does that make me a bad Christian because I support a political party that is in favor of capital punishment? No, it makes me a pragmatic citizen trying to make the best I can of a bad and flawed choice. I take the good with the bad, just like my fellow believers on the other side of the aisle.

4. Enjoy Joe Biden. What a Godsend. That this fool of a man could rise to such a place is exhibit A in the argument against career politicians. If Obama wins, all Christians should place the president's continued good health at the top of our prayer list.

5. As the election nears and it appears that Obama will win reelection, let not your heart be troubled. During an election, the power and importance of politics gets blown out of proportion. On November 7th, my life will go on it's merry way no matter who wins. I will not quit my job, sell all my worldly possessions and move to Montana...and neither will you. We will all survive, yes, even four more years of Obama. I am the captain of my own ship, the occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue does not set my course.

 

The NFL And Me

I have a weird relationship with professional football. I have been a fan all of my life, although baseball has always been my favorite sport. I have always been interested in the NFL and reasonably fond of the game. But I've never been all in for a particular team. Sometimes I secretly envy those die-hard Redskins or Cowboys fans their zeal and passion. I've always had favorite players but never a favorite team. In the early days I was crazy about Roman Gabriel which meant that I followed his team, the Rams. After that it was Joe Namath and the Jets. Weird thing was, although I really loved Walter Peyton, I never cared for the Bears. Well, its 2012 and nothing has really changed. There are several players I really like and want to see do well but I could care less about the fortunes of their respective teams. The players I like and root for are as follows in no particular order:

Tim Tebow

Russell Wilson

Robert Griffin III


I love Tebow because he's the most exciting, unpredictable player in the game. I love how almost all of the "smart people " in the game think he's a terrible QB. I love that he has a crappy throwing motion. I love that his statistics are awful. But what I really love is his uncanny ability to elevate his game in crunch time, his will to win, and his unfailing great attitude.

Russell Wilson is the local kid who made good. Everywhere he has ever played he's been a winner and a terrific leader. It's about time that great men who just happen to be great athletes get some attention. Russell Wilson is a gentleman and a roll model for just about anyone. He also has the distinction of being the only current NFL player to ever bean my son in a little league game! True story!

My fondness and respect for Robert Griffin III stems from the fact that he seems like another stellar citizen. I know that he's a Christian and a guy who plays the game the right way. But I must confess to mixed feelings on this guy. While I wish him nothing but the best, I truly detest his team. I have no idea why, but I have always loathed the Skins. It makes no sense. They are my local team. Growing up, all of my friends were in the tank for the burgundy and gold. Maybe it's the contrarian in me, but I've always rooted against them, from Billy Kilmer to Rex Grossman. So, the best possible outcome I can hope for is the Skins going 6-10 and RGIII winning rookie of the year!

OK, week one predictions..your winners are...

Bears
Eagles
Patriots
Rams
Falcons
Vikings
Saints
Bills
Texans
Packers
Seahawks
Panthers
Steelers





 

Fascinated By Forgiveness

Forgiveness fascinates me. I consider it evidence for the existence of God. It is the divine spark that sets humans apart from the rest of creation. Forgiveness is the thing, not opposable thumbs. I believe this because I find forgiveness nowhere else in the natural world. Dogs don't forgive cats. Squirrels don't forgive dogs. Sharks never forgive sharks. On the vast plains of the Serengeti you will find not one scintilla of forgiveness. Never will the wildebeest and the lion sit down over a beer and let bygones be bygones.

Despite a thousand sermons extolling the virtues of forgiveness, we all find two things to be true . . .we do not forgive easily, and we do not find ourselves easily forgiven.

Forgiveness is not without it's problems. Maybe the great philosopher Immanuel Kant had it right when he said that a person should be forgiven only if he or she deserves to be. Some people feel insulted when victims of violence or horrific crimes forgive their tormentors in court because it cheapens their sense of justice. Maybe some sins are not ours to forgive. Besides, I can think of a hundred reasons not to forgive. He needs to be taught a lesson. If I offer easy forgiveness to her it will only encourage more irresponsible behavior. Why should I forgive them when they're not even sorry? Shakespeare said it best in the Merchant of Venice when the guilty Shylock is asked in court. . . "How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none?"

And yet, this unique human ability, if we could warm to it, could sure solve a lot of our problems. Can you imagine what the world would be like if Red Sox fans could just forgive Yankee fans for that whole Babe Ruth thing? Or how about the Jews and the Palestinians sitting down over coffee and forgiving each other for all the land stealing and terrorism? Maybe it would even be possible for Democrats and Republicans to forgive each other for all of the dirty tricks and campaign commercials that have been aired over the last fifty years. On a more personal level and of much greater importance, how different would our lives be if we were able to forgive those we love for the daily annoyances, the emotional scar tissue that builds up over slights and harsh words. If we could find it within us to forgive that stuff as it happens, a daily wiping clean of the slate...."forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us"...

Most of us prefer the Serengeti.

Thursday Observations

Misc. observations on this Thursday morning.


# My dad is amazing. In the last two months he has suffered the loss of his wife of 65 years and his second oldest grandchild. He has had to make the adjustment to living alone for the first time in his life. He has had to deal with a balky and very painful hip, and an assortment of other ailments common to 87 year- olds. And yet, every time I walk through his door, he greets me with a big smile. He has good days and bad days, but his spirit is always positive, always grateful. His legendary patience has been on display, as he demonstrates for us all how to take the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune with grace and humor. If I live to 87 I can only hope to be half the man that he is.

# My tried and true method of ignoring aches and pains in the hope that they eventually will go away on their own has finally failed me. For about two months now my left shoulder has been hurting, a nagging pain two months ago that has steadily grown into a throbbing, stabbing sort of thing that's making it difficult to sleep sort of pain. Perhaps I should go get it checked. I'm popping Advil like Skittles to no effect. Grrrrr...

# The Washington Nationals just finished a two game stretch in which they hit 12 home runs. Granted, it was against the Cubs, but still...wow. The Washington Nationals are 32 games over .500 on September 6th. I'm meeting Donnie up there on the 23rd to see them play. Can't wait.

# I religiously avoid watching political conventions on television. Life is too short to introduce that much frustration into one's life on purpose. I read about the proceedings the next day and watch selected highlights. The biggest takeaway from the GOP version was Clint Eastwood, the biggest takeaway from the DEMS will be God getting booed. It's as if I'm living in a terribly bad dream, that at a time such as this, when the country is in such peril, our two political parties have been taken over by the writers at Saturday Night Live.



 

I Heard A Sermon Today

Today being Sunday, I heard a sermon. The speaker chose as his topic . . . "The Meaning Of Life". He started out quoting Camus, Sartre, and Hemingway, and ended with a story about Buckingham Palace. This particular speaker was an octogenarian. And I, along with a thousand others were hanging on every word.

Everyone knows that there are some things that get better with age . . . like cheese, and wine, and your favorite pair of jeans. I haven't usually thought to add preachers to that list. In fact, my experience has often been the opposite, older preachers often being insufferable scolds constantly whining about the good old days, starting every other sentence with, "Why, in my day..", and generally boring me to death. But this guy today was different.

At my church, we are lucky enough to hear him several times a year since he was the pastor here for 25 years, and virtually put Grove Avenue Baptist on the map, when he led the move from the Fan to the West End all those years ago. He is still a member, and amazingly, delights in playing the role of a back-bencher after being the biggest headliner this church has ever had. Most men have too large an ego, too inflated a view of their own worth to accept so low a profile at a church after such a distinguished tenure. But he is not most men.

When I hear him speak, I always marvel at the experience. What is it that is so captivating? Why does the mood of the room seem so heightened? He is a good speaker, no doubt, but I've heard better. He tells interesting stories, but he's no entertainer. He's not a screamer, doesn't stride about on the stage. It helps that he's easy to listen to, having no annoying verbal ticks, like the preacher's whispering voice. He doesn't use arcane religious lingo, and he has the good sense to not go on too long. But until today I didn't realize what made him so effective.

This man is an authentic spiritual survivor. He has been a warrior for Christ for longer than I've been alive. He has taken a machete to the thickets of life and has the scars to prove it. He has fought the hard fights of life and come through the battles without even a hint of cynicism or bitterness. Instead, there is still joy in his heart, and a face alive with passion for the Gospel. The reason we hang on the words is because we believe them, because we believe..him. He has earned our trust and respect by a life well lived, free of scandal, free of pettiness and unencumbered with ego. So we sit and listen, eager for the truth we know will come before he's through. He will make it easy for us to understand, because he knows that if it's not real for us on Monday, what's the point of Sunday?

Thank you, Vander Warner Jr.

Bertha, The Window Fan Of Death

When I returned from my run this morning I walked into a perfectly air conditioned house. I don't know why, but it sparked a memory from my childhood when it was not always so. Having all the family here for Ashley's funeral today maybe has me thinking of the early days, so maybe something light is in order.

I grew up living in a "parsonage", which I later learned was code for " condemned housing". It was a house owned and ..er..maintained by the church where my Dad was the pastor. This "maintaining" was done by a shadow organization called the "buildings and grounds committee", which I soon learned was code for "couple of old guys who show up two weeks after you've replaced the carpet caused by the exploding toilet". Anyway, I lived there from the age of 10 until I graduated from college in 1981. In all that time we had no air conditioning. I say "no air conditioning" when actually that isn't quite fair. We did have a window unit in our dining room conveniently placed three inches from the back of the heads of those unlucky enough to sit on the north side of the table. This explains the family pictures from Julys gone by when Mom and Linda would be wearing parkas, trying to twirl spaghetti onto a fork wearing mittens. Dad would only run it when we sat down to eat to save on the power bill. However, after months of complaining, Dad responded to our pleas for relief by designing and constructing...the Window Fan of Death.

You see, those fancy air conditioners were a rip-off, and unreliable. No, no, Dad had a better idea. He believed that the key to maintaining maximum indoor comfort was the constant circulation of the air. If only we could find a way to continuously rotate the air from inside to out, we could all live in sweatless bliss. So instead of buying a window fan at Western Auto like most other people would do, Dad decided to build his own.  "Those store bought fans are too cheaply made and not powerful enough for our needs", he explained in ominously foreshadowing tones. He then bought what looked like a small turbine engine, heavy as led, along with what looked like the propeller from a P-47 Thunderbolt. After that he went to the lumber yard and bought some 2x12's and some 1 inch chicken wire. My 12 year old brain was alive with wonder at what he could possibly be thinking. Soon it was all revealed. After construction was complete his full evil plan was made known. Donnie and I shared the smallest bedroom in the house. It was upstairs, and only slightly larger than the bathroom. But our room was chosen as the new home of "Bertha" as she became known. The plan was simple. Every window in the house was to be cracked open 6 inches. Then the fan, firmly ensconced in my bedroom window,pointing out, would be turned on sucking all the air inside the house through Bertha, as refreshing fresh air would be sucked into the house from outside through the six inch opening in the windows. This refreshing breeze would insure that all of the stale air in the house would be replenished with God's air from the great big outdoors.  Ok.

There were some set backs. When Dad excitedly threw the switch for the first time, it triggered a county wide power outage that baffled government officials for years. After a few modifications we were ready for Bertha's maiden voyage. Dad threw the switch. For a scary few seconds all the lights dimmed and hissed, but then old Bertha came to life and the fun started. Within thirty seconds, a tornado of wild wind was sucking up everything in it's path. Pictures on the wall were shaking, loose paper was flying, toilet paper spinning off their racks, and soon our dog Zack was plastered wide-eyed to the chicken mesh. "Shut it down Emmett!! Shut it down!!!", Mom screamed, but no one could hear her. Finally our bunk beds began to slide across the floor, snapping Bertha's plug from the wall. Zack fell to the ground with a thud along with the  science homework I had been looking for for days. Dad was exultant. "Now, THAT'S a window fan!!"

After several more tweaks, Bertha was a permanent fixture in my bedroom. The noise and rumble was deafening, but I must admit that after awhile you got used to it. Before long it was even comforting. Of course, it did absolutely nothing for us in the cooling department. Dad would often brag.."Feel that breeze kids..feel that breeze", to which we would respond.."Yeah Dad, its like a hurricane from the Sahara desert just blew into our house".

To this day, I can't fall asleep without a fan in the room.