Sigh...

The view from Syria......

A Chilling Memory

A couple of weeks ago I remembered a story my Dad told me many years ago. I hadn’t thought about it in years. I suppose it came to my mind after reading the news about the posthumous fall from grace of Ravi Zacharias. Many of you will know who RZ was, but for those of you who don’t, he was a brilliant Christian apologist, speaker, debater and philosopher from India who played an enormous role in stabilizing my faith during a time of doubt many years ago. I first saw him when he was at Oxford debating some atheist about the existence of God. I was mesmerized by his eloquence and the intricate patterns of his arguments, using logic and rationality along with an erudite wit that disarmed the largely hostile crowd that packed the hall to hear him. So, all these years later to learn of his personal and moral failings was a blow. It is so strange to me how many times something that my dad had said to me comes flooding back during times of great agitation. The story I am about to relate isn’t complete. I don’t remember every detail. I will have to backfill in places, but the moral of the story I remember with crystal clear certainty...

Back in the early 1960’s, I was a little boy and my dad was a giant. He had moved the entire family from Richmond, Virginia to New Orleans, Louisiana so he could attend The New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary as a 39 year old freshman, the only student on campus with four kids and zero money. During that time Dad was given a church field, a little church in a one horse town called Nicholsville, Alabama. Every Friday night we would make the long drive from New Orleans to Nicholsville, passing through Laurel, Mississippi around the halfway point on Highway 59. I include this detail because it was on Highway 59 just outside of Laurel where our story comes to its shocking conclusion.

There was a young, charismatic preacher from Mississippi back in the early 60’s who was making quite a name for himself in Southern Baptist circles. His name eludes me and I’m not even sure Dad ever told me his name. It would have been like him to leave it out. Anyway, this man was the pastor of a thriving and rapidly growing church, but that church couldn’t contain this man’s ambition or his talent. He was invited to be the revival speaker at every big church in the south it seemed. He even got invited to speak at convocation at the Seminary, such were his gifts as an evangelist. Everywhere he preached, people responded. He was a captivating speaker and mixed with his dynamic personality, the sky seemed the limit.

Then, one day, at the peak of his popularity, it was discovered that he had been having an affair with a young woman who sang in the choir at his church. When the governing body of the church confronted him he refused to repent, claiming that his new love was the work of God. Just like that, his ministry was over. He divorced his wife and left the church to run off with his new girlfriend. Everyone in dad’s circle of friends in Seminary were stunned and disheartened by the news. How could he have done such a thing? It was not only a dark day for those who looked up to the man, but also for the cause of Christ and his Gospel.

But the story didn’t end there. Just a few months after his fall from grace, this man was traveling at night on Highway 59 with his new wife in the passenger seat. They were just outside of Laurel, headed towards Hattiesburg when the front left tire blew out. The man was able to guide the car to a stop just off the road. He got out, walked back to the trunk, lifted the spare out and began changing the tire. Suddenly a speeding 18 wheeler came roaring past. Just before the truck pulled along side the car, a giant piece of tread let loose from one of the wheels, flew through the air and in a blink of an eye, decapitated the dynamic, charismatic young ex-evangelist.

The news spread like wildfire on the campus of New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. Students began quoting the old prophets in hushed tones...There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it brings death. In Dad’s telling the lesson was simple...whatsoever a man sows, that shall he also reap. Dad believed that the calling into ministry was a sacred thing and that with it came a grave responsibility...your walk better match your talk or there would literally be hell to pay. I remember this part like yesterday, Dad turning to me after telling this ghastly tale, “Son...God will not be mocked.”

The good that Ravi Zacharias’ words and deeds did for me was incalculable. Without his intelligent voice during that time in my life, I might have totally abandoned my faith. But to learn of his double life and hypocrisy was crushing. Although he never had to answer for it in this life, I agree with my Dad. With a great calling comes a great responsibility. God will not be mocked.

Dogs of the Culdesac

Lucy’s morning constitutional was adventure-filled. We went out earlier than usual, so it was still dark. As we approached our neighbor’s yard Lucy began to growl towards the general direction of where her buddy, Pippen, usually hangs out. I turned, squinted into the darkness and discovered that Pippen had been replaced by our other neighbor’s giant mastiff, Boss, a lovable lug of a dog who enjoys nothing quite so much as a roughhousing romp with any other dog. So, there I am holding on to Lucy’s leash for dear life as the two of them frolic around in circles, hoping not to do any further damage to my still ailing back. One thing was clear, there would be no doing of business on this adventure. There would be no time for such mundane routines while Boss was around! So, I led Miss Lucy to her fenced in back yard/mud pie and let her loose back there. The paw-cleaning required once she finally finished was extensive.

The culdesac at the end of Aprilbud Place is home to seven dogs, each with their own idiosyncrasies. The aforementioned Pippen is a Golden Doodle who wouldn’t hurt a flea and lives outside 90% of the time, kept in place by one of those electric collar things. All the other dogs love Pippen because he is always there to play with. Then there’s the newest Puppy on the block, a black lab named Tucker, who replaced the recently departed and sainted black lab, Maverick. Next around the circle would be Buddy, a mutt of uncertain origin and grumpy personality, who all the other dogs ignore. Then, there’s the mighty Kane, a huge German Shepherd who’s bark would put the fear of God in any potential burglar dumb enough to try something. Our next door neighbors have two dogs, who when seen together paint a rather comical picture. Boss, the gangly giant goof-ball, along with his wingman, the diminutive Vander, a pug. The two of them always remind me of these guys I used to watch on Saturday mornings when I was a kid...

In the cartoon it was always the small dog who called the shots, with the big dog trying his best to please him. A great example of art imitating life on our little slice of suburbia. Of course, the seventh would be Lucy, the beautiful, psycho dog who’s afraid of literally everything except people and other dogs! Good thing!

Bad Back

Back problems are fun. You wake up one morning and realize the minute your feet hit the floor that something is wrong. There seems to be a giant knot half way between your neck and your waistline on both sides of your spine. This knot makes fully upright walking painful, so you make adjustments in your gait to the point where it is clear to literally every other human being you will encounter on this day that something is wrong with you. You think that a hot shower will help but it doesn’t. The full implications of this back issue don’t become clear until it’s time to brush your teeth. There is no way to perform this crucial part of your daily hygiene regimen without excruciating pain. But you do it anyway because...well, because...ewww!

You take a couple extra strength Tylenol. They do less than nothing. You go through your day walking very slowly, listing slightly starboard, while answering the question everyone never fails to ask, “What happened to you??”  When you arrive home for lunch you take another couple extra strength Tylenol, eat a quick lunch, then plop yourself down slowly into your trusty recliner, and adjust the heating pad perfectly in the center of your ailing back and turn the button on to high. Thirty minutes of this does next to nothing. You head back to the office only now the back feels worse than it has all day. Only trouble is you have two clients coming in back to back. They both arrive on time and watch me walk up to them as they wait out by the receptionist, with a concerned tilt of the head right before they both ask, “Whoa Doug, you’re moving awfully slow there, big guy. What happened to you?”

After my last appointment I head back home, take two more Tylenol—for reasons that remain unclear—then retire once again to my recliner. Only this time, I decide to try ice. I pull the frozen back thingy out of the freezer, wrap it in a dish towel and place it dead center of my now throbbing back and settle down. Again, thirty minutes of this new treatment yields a freezing cold back...that still is as stiff, tight and painful as it has ever been since the first tentative steps of the morning. After a delicious meal prepared by my sainted wife along with a tender massage, I am back upstairs to the recliner. Only now I have taken the first muscle relaxers of the day, the only slightly remedial course of action I have taken all day. The trouble with the muscle relaxers are that taking them in sufficient quantities during the day I have found to be unwise. When you invest money for a living, it is kinda crucial to be in full command of all of one’s faculties, although even that does not insure success. But its better than being so sleepy you can’t put together a simple declarative sentence without a yawn.

This has been happening ever since Monday morning. If the past is prologue, it will continue like this until Saturday or Sunday when, like magic, it will suddenly heal itself and I will be back to normal.

So what do I give as an answer to all the questions I got all day? My wife thinks it has something to do with all the heavy lifting and cleaning I did to help her prepare for the big bridal shower Sunday. Maybe, but who knows? What I tell people is that for many years now I have had a quirky back that acts up every once in a while, for reasons that remain elusive. Its nothing serious and I will be fine in a few days. All true. However, it still sucks. If you’ve never had back problems, say a prayer of thanks for your good fortune. If you have had back problems, I am open to any and all suggestions for home remedies or back pain hacks you would like to pass along!

Lucy’s Balloon Nightmare

Ok, the bridal shower was a roaring success...

But this isn’t a blog about a bridal shower, which will come as a huge relief to my male readers, no doubt. No, this is a blog about Lucy. In the week leading up to this shower she has been walking on eggshells what with all the boxes and furniture rearranging and what not. Lucy isn’t a big fan of things moving around in her house. Whenever we put all the leaves in the dining room table she knows that something big is in the works and begins snooping around giving everything the side eye. So yesterday, about an hour before the guests were due to arrive, we banished her to the upstairs for the duration. Then we were free to garnish the downstairs with the final flourishes which included several balloon bouquets like the one in the above photograph. Fast forward to four hours later...

It was time for Lucy to be released from jail and taken out for what was sure to be a long awaited constitutional. But half way down the stairs she stopped in her tracks when she spotted the balloons tied to the banister at the foot of the stairs. No, no...this would not do. Lucy was not about to budge until the horrifying balloons were dispatched! Pam quickly removed them and eventually the poor girl was persuaded that it was safe to continue. I then grabbed the leash and told her it was time for a potty break which she was very happy to hear. As soon as I opened the front door, she eagerly bolted for the porch....only to immediately slam on the brakes when confronted with yet another balloon bouquet monster attached to the rail at the bottom of the porch steps!! If it were even possible, this batch was even more terrifying than the first since these danced in the wind!! “What da hek?” I somehow managed to coax her to slink down the front steps ever so slowly, keeping a sharp eye out for sudden movements from the hecking balloon demons. As soon as she was clear, she bolted down the sidewalk and around the corner, then raced down the driveway to her favorite urinating spot. But, what’s this???? Again, she applied the brakes. There, tied to the mailbox was a third grouping of the sinister new terrors to invade her happy home. That was it. She immediately squatted down and relieved herself right in the driveway...a first...and turned around to head back to the house. But there was no way she was going back up the front steps. So, I took her back through the garage, a balloon-free zone.

This morning, Lucy still hasn’t come down the stairs. Fortunately for her, the balloons are gone...except for one that somehow in the night broke free from the porch railing and drifted into the night sky, only to become lodged in the pine tree branches in the front yard. Hopefully Lucy will not notice. If she does, I will have to employ my BB gun to deflate the monster.

Never, EVER Mess With the Teapot Kid

After yesterday’s rather self-indulgent post, I feel that I owe all of you something much lighter on this Saturday morning...

How do you tell the sex of an ant?

Stick it in water. If it sinks it’s an girl ant. If it floats it’s a...buoyant.

The man who stole my diary died in a car accident yesterday.

My thoughts are with his family...

Hey Ted, just because you cancun doesn’t mean you shouldcun.

What do cowboys use to move from state to state?

Yee-Hauls...

I asked my doctor what I could do about my irritated eyes. He said, “check out conjunctivitis.com”

I answered, “What’s that?”

He said, “It’s a site for sore eyes.”

What do you call the walking trail around the Psychiatric Hospital?

The Psycho Path... 

The Winter of my Discontent

For the first time in the going on eleven years of this blog, I’m finding it hard to write. This is significant since for me writing is the easiest, most effortless thing I do. I may not always write well, but the act of writing itself has always been easy. Subjects to write about fly in and out of my head constantly with no effort on my part. I simply open up my iPad and poof, it comes to me like magic. But this past year has changed things. Its been a combination of many factors, I suppose, not the least of which might be how long I have been at this. Eleven years is a long time to do anything. Maybe after nearly 2500 posts, there simply isn’t anything left to say. Nothing lasts forever.

But I think it might be something else. These past twelve months have seen a unique combination of events mixing together to produce a new atmosphere in this country, one that I have never experienced before. I will attempt to list them here and figure out how they relate to each other. But by doing so I must admit that I won’t know what my conclusions are until they appear on the screen. Thinking and writing at the same time sometimes produces inconsistencies, for which I apologize in advance.

COVID

It has been a year now. Very few of us thought that it would last this long. The most informed voices are saying it may be several years before, or even if, we get back to normal. I am an optimist in this regard. I am encouraged by the reduction in cases, the distribution of the vaccine, etc. But the virus itself (like everything else) seems to have divided us. Through it all there have been those who have taken precautions, those who have given in to irrational and crippling fear, and those who have pretended that COVID isn’t even real. The simple wearing of a mask has somehow become a contentious and controversial act. There are large communities throughout the country who’s suspicion of the government is so great, their political attachments so rigid, even a virus that has killed a half a million of us gets dismissed as a political conspiracy by them. But its not just the politicalization of COVID that has been so troubling, but also the protocols necessary for its containment. COVID has isolated us from each other. We have travelled less, worked from home, Zoom calls and chat rooms have replaced personal interaction. That ghastly term, social distancing, has done its work. I have never felt more socially distant from my old life as I feel right now. 

POLITICS

America has always been divided. We have always been a contentious and difficult people. There is nothing new about our divides. We are not a homogeneous nation. Never have been. We are from all over. Always have been. We come together to form alliances warily. We are persistently independent people who rarely agree to give up personal liberties even for the greater good. But its that very same independent streak that has made America unique and contributed greatly to our innovation and accomplishment. But, gradually over time the idea of personal liberty and freedom has morphed into something else entirely. Any sacrifice we are asked to make for the common good from wearing a mask to paying taxes has been rebranded as creeping Socialism. On the other hand, if citizens reject the brand spanking new sexual identity constructs being thrust upon them, or rise up against the notion that they should be appalled at themselves for being white, they are suddenly Nazis. So, beliefs and ideas that in the past would have divided us only politically, now place a wide and dark social chasm between us. We can’t go to the same church, listen to the same music, even be neighbors or neighborly with anyone outside our political tribe. This politicalization of literally everything has extended to the marketplace, with CEO’s now taking positions on politics as a signal to their customers that it’s alright to buy from them, “It’s cool. We get it,” they Tweet.

RELIGION

This has been very much the winter of Christianity’s discontent. The tragic posthumous fall of Ravi Zacharias has served as a bookend of sorts to cap off a horrible year for the faith, which started when support for Donald Trump became somehow a litmus test for genuine Christian faith. I will not dignify that absurdity with further comment. However, being deprived of...the gathering...during these tumultuous times has been a blow for me personally. No, it hasn’t been a communist conspiracy to stamp out religion. It has been a prudent public health and safety initiative that I support. But that’s not the same thing as saying it hasn’t had a downside. Human beings were not meant to live this way, walled off from each other. Any attempt to do so must be temporary, and balanced by careful attention to the emotional, mental, and psychological costs. I think of how this is affecting school kids in particular. Virtual learning, heck, virtual anything is a feeble replacement for the real thing. While I am thankful for the technology, as it has gotten us through a very difficult time, it is not a perfect solution. Human beings need other human beings...especially when it comes to Christian faith and practice.

WINTER

It’s hard to blame a season of the year for this. Winter is just doing what Winter does, only this year it seems like cruel and unusual punishment. Just in the month of February alone, people in my area have had to deal with six days of snow and ice, and another seven days of clouds. While I am sure that others have endured far worse...(those obnoxiously arrogant Texans with their ten gallon hat egos come to mind)...for us the ice-encrusted landscape serves as yet another isolating barrier, sending us inside our homes for yet another round of hunkering down.

It is all of these things and probably some that I haven’t mentioned that have contributed to my discontent. I place them in no rank order. I accuse none of them of being the worst offender. Its more like a witch’s brew of ingredients that taken together produce something close to depression.

But, Spring is coming. The sun will eventual come out. I will snap out of this funk at some point. When I do, my writing will get better.