An Ordinary Love - Chapter Three

They called them gigs. They were like demerits. If you got gigged for something, well, you were screwed. There was no such thing as a small gig. A first offense - a first gig - would earn you a trip to the Marching Party. This was a lounge filled with 80's music, beer, and hot women - NOT! It was a giant macadam filled with other offenders doing incredibly harsh aerobic exercise under the watchful eyes of disgruntled Navy SEALS. It was designed to make you feel pain for about two hours. To add insult to injury, you were not allowed to shower afterwards. By the time you received your third gig, however, you went straight to the Short Tour. The short tour was two hours of intense drilling with a 30lb drill rifle. If that doesn't sound tough, imagine doing 800 jumping jacks while holding the 30 pound rifle over your head. After that, the only remaining remedial punishment was called Vietnam. This was the Short Tour in full gear (Jacket, Belt, Combat Boots, etc...) in a stuffy room with all the windows and doors closed - in San Diego - in the summer. These were the remedial punishments. After that there was the social punishment - washing out. If you washed out, you didn't get to go home. Instead, you were sent backwards to another unit to repeat the same week of boot camp that you'd just finished. Not only would you add a week of time to your boot camp stay, but you'd also lose all of your friends, and furthermore be classified as a screw up by your new shipmates. Of all the punishments, it was the one everyone wanted to avoid the most. Beyond that, there were things known as administrative dismissals - you get out of the Navy, but you can never get back in - EVER! And the whole slew of UCMJ punishments (Universal Code of Military Justice) like prison time and Bad Conduct Discharges that would basically screw up your life. We learned all of this stuff early on because fear was the number one deterrent in the first couple of weeks of boot camp and considering what we were about to go through, it was good to be scared of the alternatives.

That first morning we stood in front of the temporary barracks for about half an hour as we tried to line up by height at 3:30 in the morning. Its dark out at 3:30am and its not really the best time to make social introductions. I stood next to a nameless face to the left and right of me judging them only by their so called height. I was on the relatively tall end of the spectrum. Once we were lined up, they formed us into ranks - four abreast - and then they posted sailors on all sides of us and told us to march.

If you've never seen a group of 80 guys march on their first day of boot camp, its kind of a funny site. As a group you look like a drunken centipede with a nervous tick. We marched down the road and across a bridge. Up ahead was a giant open space - like the parking lot at a football stadium. We could see that other groups of boot campers were lining up in similar fashion. We marched up near the front and then stopped. The sailors started yelling at us, "Tighten up there, Nuttobutt, nuttobutt!" It was the first Navy word I would learn. Nut to Butt, as it so colorfully describes, was a admonition to stand so close to the person in front of you that it was almost pornographic. But that was okay, because the guy behind you did the same. It wasn't a very comfortable way to stand, but it was warm. As there were no trees and as it was almost four in the morning, it was rather cool in San Diego. What I didn't realize as I squeezed close enough to my neighbor that I could have felt him break wind, was that we were going to be standing there for a long time. How long?

The Boot Camp system for serving chow is rather unique. It basically works by inverse logic. Those who are still relatively new to boot camp arrive first. Those who have been at boot camp arrive last. The last unit to arrive eats first - unless there is some special requirement that requires units to eat earlier. Though we arrived at the parade ground at 4:00am, we didn't get in line for breakfast until 6:00am. We were at the back of the line.

As we finally made our way into the chow hall, many recruits looked up at us - some with shock, some with humor, but most with compassion. "Don't worry, man. If I made it, you can make it." We just stared ahead in shock. When we finally reached the food line, we grabbed trays and were pushed through quickly. I don't normally eat breakfast. And, after standing in line for three hours, I wasn't really feeling all that hungry at that moment. I grabbed a piece of toast and some bacon. Which was just as well because almost as soon as I sat down, I was being told that it was time to leave. I think I must have given them a look of disbelief because they reitterated the importance of my moving. Three hours in line to sit down for approximately 45 seconds. I stood up, crammed the toast in my mouth, and hurried to catch up to the rest of my unit.

We marched back to the temporary barracks and stood out front in the courtyard again. Our names were called and we were told to do something - I couldn't hear what they said. You see, I hadn't noticed this during the darkness, but now that the light was coming up and I was beginning to see around the place I had come to realize that we were quite close to the San Diego International Airport. Every couple of minutes a plane would go roaring overhead. I did hear my name called and when something else was said and I saw everyone scrambling, I went scrambling too. We went back inside the temporary barracks and got our things and then we ran back outside and got back in line.

When I came back, there was a new man at the front of the large group. All those whose names hadn't been called were gone - I don't know where. The man introduced himself, but again I couldn't hear. He was a normal sized man - not incredibly buff or tough looking. He looked cunning, like a basketball coach or something, not dangerous like a linebacker coach. He introduced another man - Philipino, for sure - who looked at us like he was the head guard at a maximum security prison. Together the two men formed us into lines again and off we marched.

As it turned out, we headed to our barracks - the first barracks in the first division of boot camp. We were Company 101 and our Chief Instructor was CPO Hill and his assistant was CPO Perez. We were sent into the barracks in some sort of order and told to select our racks (bunk beds). I chose one in the corner farthest from the door. My bunk mate was a kid named Dietz. He was from Ohio. Though I knew I'd heard Ron's name called, I hadn't seen him. In five minutes, we reported back outside with our seabags and marched back the way we'd just come.

It hadn't even reached 7am yet. By the time lunch rolled around, we had been shorn, clothed, and ID'd. We had even started stenciling our name and last four digits into all of our clothes - yes, even socks and underwear. Our seabags were left behind as we formed into a slightly less discombobulated column and headed to lunch.

Again, we waited nuttobutt. Again we slammed something edible into our mouths before we were rushed out the door. We continued stenciling our names into everything we owned after lunch. And then, we went back to our barracks for a little siesta, some margaritas and... Nah, just kidding.

We were each given notebooks. But these notebooks were not meant for doodling. They were a first line defense in the war. We were to use them to carry communications, passes, and our orders wherever we went. We sat down in the barracks on the main floor and Chief Hill started reciting the 10 Standing Orders. We were told to write them down and to not deviate from the spelling or grammar. We were encouraged to memorize them as we might be asked at any time by any one to recite any of the standing orders. If we did not know the orders, we would be gigged.

He then went on to explain the entire method of indoctrination into the military. In the first two weeks, you need to break down the recruit into nothing - absolutely nothing. It was done by sleep deprivation, lack of food, heavy physical and mental stress, and fear. Lots and lots of fear. Anything we did wrong could not only get us gigged, but one day, in the real world, it could get our shipmates killed. Even as I sat there that first day, I had no thought - no memory even - of the real world. My entire existence was in that little room.

Eventually, the day came to an end. I don't remember getting much more done other than learning to fold and put away our clothes, make our beds, and clean the entire barracks top to bottom in the space of about twenty minutes (80 people a day, every day, for forty years - there wasn't a whole lot of dirt to clean anyway). We got about a minute for a shower at night crowded twenty naked guys deep in a small shower room with luke warm water. Then finally, we crawled into our racks and turned off the lights. It was 7:30pm. I never slept deeper.

At 3:40am, the sentries turned on the lights and ordered us out of bed - and the whole process started all over again.

An Ordinary Love - Chapter Two

Every year Americans remember June 6th as the anniversary of D-Day - the Day we stormed the beaches in France near the end of World War II. For nearly the past 20 years, I've commemorated the day for a different reason. It was the day Ron and I went off to boot camp.

Before the sun had even risen, I had gathered my things and said my goodbyes to my parents. It was a short walk from my house to Ron's house. His parents were up as well - his stepfather would be giving us a ride downtown. His mom made us pancakes. The nourishment was welcome, but my nerves kept me from eating more than a couple. Like two condemned men heading to our sentencing hearing, Ron and I left his house behind and climbed into his stepfather's car. It was a short ride.

The recruiting station was downtown on Market Street near the Civic Center Plaza. It was a little hole in the wall place, no bigger than the ethnic video rental place next door. Several recruiters were crammed inside the place trying to remain professional while they conned unsuspecting people into joining the military. I don't blame them for their job. Nobody knows whether they'll like the military until they join. A recruiter, in this case, is more like a waiter - trying to entice us to have the Chef's Special. He wants us to be happy with our choice, but he's not going to lose any sleep over it if we don't. We were the first to arrive at the recruiting station and we had to wait in a bad neighborhood for our recruiter to arrive.

Our recruiter seemed annoyed at having to take us over to Oakland to be processed. I was a little confused at this attitude, but then I realized that as far as he was concerned, his job was done. He'd got us to sign on the dotted line. It was up to us what we did from here on out. If we hadn't shown that morning, nobody would have come looking for us. By showing up, I had reaffirmed my decision to join. As soon as our recruiter arrived, he poured himself a cup of coffee and then walked us over to the government lot and signed out a government sedan. As dawn broke over the city, we joined the traffic crossing the Bay Bridge for the first leg of our journey.

A month before we had gone across the bay to the Oakland Processing Center for a physical. The doctor had scrutinized us, poked us, prodded us, made us cough, and then gave us a lecture on our health with express warnings that a failure to stay healthy would make us ineligible for military service.

As we arrived in Oakland, off 12th Street, we walked into the same building and proceeded into the giant medical queue. First came the paperwork. You can't do anything in the military without paperwork. We sat and gave our name, address, social security number (last four digits), etc... again and again and again as the bored and tired secretaries typed our information over and over again on different forms. The line was a lot longer than you would imagine. There had to be close to 200 young people there being processed through on that day. They were from all races, all backgrounds, all walks of life - male and female. There was no talking. It was like a giant hospital waiting room. After the paperwork came the same battery of tests that the doctors had performed before, but suddenly I could see behind the facade. They did the tests, noted the results, and moved us on as if on a conveyor belt. Had I suddenly sprouted a second head, they would have written it on the form and sent me on to the next station. The medical warnings I had received had merely been another test of my resolve. I had passed yet again.

I somehow managed to stay close to Ron, but at some point we were separated and he had gone on ahead of me. After the medical exam, then, we waited to have our paperwork processed and then, all too quickly, we were called into a small theater shaped room. There was a pulpit at the front and an American flag behind it. An official petty officer stood as witness. The doors of the room were closed and the officer in charge welcomed us and then told us to repeat after him. In the space of five minutes, I had been sworn into the military and had vowed to protect and defend the constitution of the United States of America.

This was only the halfway point of my day. After the ceremony, we continued the processing. I found Ron in the next waiting room. We talked tersely - the fatigue and stress of the day making us look like deer caught in the headlights. Finally, I was called over to the personnel woman who had me sign a gazillion forms and then she handed me plane tickets and a stack of paperwork that I was to carry with me to my recruit training center in San Diego, CA. She told me that I was all done now and that I only had to wait to get a ride to the airport.

Ron and I were processed together, but we didn't say much as we waited for the van. The ride to the Oakland Airport was short and quiet and we boarded a nearly empty flight from Oakland to San Diego. We sat in the back with two other recruits and, as it turned out, a sailor who had just returned from sea duty. He had been aboard the U.S.S. Stark - the ship that had been hit with the French Exocet missile in the Persian Gulf by an Iraqi missile boat by mistake. He had described in glowing detail the battle to save the ship. It was both fascinating and nerve wracking - like someone giving you a first hand account of the shipwreck they had just escaped while standing in line for your Hawaiian cruise.

It was night by the time we arrived in San Diego. We exited the aircraft into the terminal and found our way through its emptiness towards the place where we were to board the bus to boot camp. There was nobody there and the place looked deserted. But we were already in military mode and we just stood there and waited. Soon other flights arrived and other people joined us. Nobody spoke. Ron and I remained tightlipped. A bus arrived and we filed aboard. There was no fanfare, no screaming drill sergeant. We rode down a dizzying set of streets and highways until we entered Recruit Training Center - San Diego. We pulled up to a small squat one story square building with a large courtyard in front and the doors to the bus opened.

A sailor stepped on to the bus and told us to follow him. He was pleasant and we flowed out of the bus and crossed the courtyard to the building. We were told to enter the room, find a number and step on it, and to drop our paperwork on the ground in front of us. We did as we were told, feeling at last that this boot camp stuff wasn't so hard.

An officer appeared and welcomed us to RTC - San Diego. He had us repeat the oath again (we did) and then several sailors scrambled in front of us and collected our paperwork. While the officer explained the procedure to us for the rest of our evening, the sailors arranged the paperwork, copied the names onto some sort of roster, and then handed the roster to the officer.

He called us out in groups of ten. First, the piss test. Ron went with the first group. He disappeared out of the room and the room became quiet. Five minutes passed and another group of ten went. I was still in the room. In the fourth group of ten, I headed to the bathroom.

Wouldn't you know it? Performance anxiety. As I stood there, parched, tired, nervous, strung out - I just couldn't piss. I had nothing in me. They got tired of waiting for me and told me to come back later. I ran out with the others, suddenly realizing that I didn't remember where it was we were going.

I'm not sure I would have gone had I known what was coming next. We crossed the courtyard and entered the bowels of a much larger building. We went along wooden floors in a warehouse type area and ended up in a room with long communal wooden tables that looked like some sort of woodshop. We were the last group of ten to make it into this room (and this company as it turned out). Standing in front of the room was a short Puerto Rican sailor with a chip on his shoulder as wide and deep as the Grand Canyon. In broken and thickly accented English he said something that amounted to, "This is where you get your stuff. As I call off each item, take it from the table and put it into the sea bag on the floor next to you."

Nobody had understood a word he said, but we quickly got the gist of it. The room was hot, stuffy, and we were all tired and jet lagged from a long day of it. That combined with the man's nearly indecipherable accent, and we looked like an assembly line of dunces.

"Psst... what did he say?"

"I think he said sewing kit."

Everyone who put the wrong object in the bag got yelled at and sent out of the room. I saw Ron get kicked out about halfway through the process. Somehow my entire table made it through, mostly as a result of guess work. After another hour, we had managed to fill our seabags, complete the necessary paperwork, and head out of the room.

We were escorted out of the room by a sailor and taken across the courtyard to a barracks building (temporary). We were told to grab a rack, and then shit, shower and shave before lights out in ten minutes. I was so nervous I cut my face shaving about fifteen times. Just as I was standing looking in the mirror at my bloody stump of a face, the officer informed me that I had to report back to the first building to take my piss test.

I ran back to the first building, reported for the test, and stopped the officer cold.

"What the hell happened to your face?"

"I cut it shaving." I was already thinking that boot camp was designed to make you look like a dumbass.

I finished the test and returned to the barracks. It was past lights out and I had to find my rack in the dark, climb over someone to the top bunk, and pull myself under the covers. By that point, I had been virtually awake for 36 straight hours. My head hit the pillow and I was out.

A second later, or so it seemed, someone threw a trashcan down the center aisle of the barracks and I heard screaming.

"REVILLE! REVILLE! GET OUT OF YOUR BEDS AND MUSTER ON THE QUAD! COME ON, PEOPLE! MOVE IT!"

I threw myself out of bed and dressed as quickly as possible, thinking, "Oh my God! I have totally made a mistake!" I shuffled out of the room with everyone else, and discovered to my horror that it was 3:30 in the morning. We walked out into the moonlit morning on the quad and lined up and stood. In the darkness, I could see Ron in front of me and I suddenly had a vision of strangling him with my bare hands for having one of the most stupid and totally insane ideas and for dragging me into it. I was in Boot Camp now and there was no turning back.

An Ordinary Love - Chapter One

The Golden Gate Bridge was far above us - criss crossing girders that sounded like a strange musical instrument when heavy trucks went across it. Directly in front of us was the mouth of the San Francisco Bay and beyond, the Pacific Ocean. Waves crashed occassionally against the shore, like one of those peaceful meditation tapes. Somewhere off in the darkness, Ron and his date - some girl he'd known in High School - were off doing who knew what. I didn't care. Tonight was the last night on Earth and I couldn't see the darkness, or hear the waves, or smell the sea, or feel the fog. My world was in front of me - a short, beautiful, sweet angel sent to Earth to make me happy. Her name was Chelsea and the sound of her drowned out the rest of the world.

"Why are you leaving? I still don't understand." She had tears in her eyes now. The clock showed us that we were running out of time. Her traditional mother would only let her stay out so late - even if she knew it was because I would be leaving tomorrow for the Navy.

"I can't explain. I just have to." It was a lame excuse then. Its a lame excuse now. I'm still not sure I have a better answer.

There were a hundred reasons I had joined the Navy, but the shortest explanation is that I had to. I was floundering, really, and I had panicked. Unable to deal with the new found freedom of college, I had let my grades plunge and had effectively washed out of film school. It wasn't that the subjects hadn't been interesting - it was more that a case of lethargy had seized me and wouldn't let go. My brain just didn't want to function any more. I had enjoyed three very productive writing years in High School, had written nearly ten full length stories, and had thought myself ready to transition to film. I was going to be the next great movie mogul. But when I finally achieved film school, finally sat down in the class, finally opened a notebook - I became soul wearily bored. I wanted the fantasy of film school. I wanted the fantasy of freedom. Reality was a drag.

There was more, really. Ron had passed a note to me in Script Writing Class - "I'm joining the Navy." The bombshell had nearly shaken me out of my seat. For the next thirty minutes I scribbled madly notes back to him telling him why he was an idiot. I continued after class for another hour and then left him for work at my Dad's shop - but I didn't leave the argument. It raced in my head, exploded in insane rants that I couldn't keep locked up in my head. Talking to myself, I addressed all the hundreds of reasons why joining the Navy was a monumentally bad idea. But somewhere along the line, I convinced myself to join with him.

It wasn't a dramatic schizophrenic moment, but more of a subtle shift in logic. As I named off all the reasons he shouldn't join, I realized that the arguments for joining the Navy overcame a lot of the obstacles I currently faced. It was a job - a paying job. It was an adventure - a real adventure. I would have time to write and things to write about. And, perhaps, I could get into a real college at some point and become a real film maker. The Navy could pave my way into UCLA or USC. I was a patriot. My Dad and Grandfather had both served. And it wasn't like there was going to be a war any time soon.

I informed my family that night - then I called Ron and told him I would join him. He seemed relieved. The next day we went down to the recruiting station and I watched as the recruiter's eyes got about three sizes too big when he saw my ASVAB test scores. He knew he'd just landed a big fish. We tried to get into the Navy's film program, but they couldn't gurantee anything until after Boot Camp. Without hesitition in my heart, we signed on the dotted line and our fates were sealed.

I saw Chelsea that night and as we sat on a bench waiting for her bus, I broke the news to her. She took it really well. She was confused, sad, shocked, but she said she understood.

Our remaining days together - about three months - before Boot Camp were unusually tense. We had been seeing each other for nearly three years at this point and I didn't think we could possibly get any closer to each other. There was nothing we hadn't done together as boyfriend and girlfriend. Though we both knew we were too young to get married, have kids, and start a life together, I was under the assumption that it wasn't age that was keeping us apart so much as a lack of will. When we were ready to take that next step, I knew we would. I had no doubt about it. I loved Chelsea with all my heart - our lives together were inevitable.

On my final night in the real world, Ron and his date and Chelsea and I had gone out together. We went to see Crocodile Dundee 2. I was too nervous to enjoy the broad comedy. Sitting in the dark with Chelsea at my side, I couldn't help but contemplate the immediate future. After the movie, we went to dinner at Mel's Diner. It was forgettable - even if it was cliche for someone heading off to the military the next day. We ate without joy only to stave off the inevitable parting. We drove away from Mel's and crossed the Golden Gate Bridge to Marin, taking the first exit on the other side and heading down to the base of the bridge. It was dark and almost private.

Chelsea and I made our way to the end of the path, under the bridge, and sat with other couples watching San Francisco twinkle across the bay. We snuggled tight for warmth and kissed gently. But the anticipation was too great. It was a dark cloud on the very near horizon. We walked slowly back to the car - tried to create some sort of lasting memories to tide us over through the time to come - but, all too quickly, we were back at the car.

Chelsea dried her tears before we got to the car. Ron and his date were waiting for us. The dread spread from that moment, spread like a disease. I tried to be cheerful, tried to sound normal, but my heart was beating in my chest and tears were just underneath my heavy eyelids. We reached Chelsea's house and for what could have been the last time, I got out and walked her to the door. We kissed quickly. I wanted more, something more. But her mother was there, mad that we were out so late, and Chelsea had to go. She gave me a limp, "Goodbye," and went inside.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Ron and I stayed up til late in the morning and then I headed home. I climbed into bed with my dog. Said my silent goodbyes to my brother and sister. And when the early morning alarm woke me not a half hour later, I grabbed my bag and said goodbye to my parents and headed off to seek my fortune.

For the next three years, I regreted ever leaving that house.

The Following Preview is Rated R

Ariel over at Bittersweet Life wrote yesterday about rekindling his relationship with his novel. He wanted some advice and offered some quotes from various different authors about their relationship with the written word. One of the quotes listed was; "Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it. Give up yourself, and you will find your real self. Lose your life, and you will save it." - C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity. This quote obviously stuck with me last night as I tossed and turned and tried to sleep.

Insomnia has been gnawing at me lately. It is a productive time as the cares of the world wash away in half dreams and half baked ideas that have been unusually productive. In the past so many weeks I've had three really good ideas either during my "sleep" or directly upon opening my eyes. I've tossed and turned and sounded like a hard drive laboring to render a movie, play You Tube, and run Itunes at the same time. But DING! - and I get the answer I've been trying to discover without realizing it. Last night, that quote had a productive ring to it.

As I'm trying to consummate my relationship with one book, I'm about to start an affair with another. This story has been floating in my head for years - lost, without a rudder, on a wide expanse of story ideas. A couple of weeks ago (again, while asleep) I found a rudder and have been steering the story idea to shallower waters so that I could hop aboard. But last night, with C.S. Lewis in my head, I realized that I wasn't quite ready to set sail with a fictional story until I truly explored the factual story that might as well serve as a prequel.

All of this is a long, convoluted, and round about way of saying that starting tomorrow I will be writing a long, long, story here in the ICON blog. This story will take a while to reach a conclusion. It will likely be uneven and sometimes vague - bad writing will no doubt abound. I will be using the story to flesh out ideas for my second novel. Although it will likely be something close to 90% autobiographical, names and incidents will be changed as it suits me to either enhance the story, protect national interests, or to keep from being sued. (oh, also because I really care that some people might not want their names in my blog... really... ;)

The reason for the warning is that it will be R rated. I will not be pulling any punches. You may like some things and hate others. Be that as it may, I'm sure you'll discover that I like some things and hate others too - but I have to live with both of them.

So, starting tomorrow, a new story and a new adventure here at ICON...

Someone Explain This To Me...

I'm going to make this simple and let you do the math.

The price of a barrel of oil ended 2006, the same as the end of 2005. So, to recap, oil is exactly the same price now that it was a year ago. YET... January 1st, 2006 - Price of Gasoline was $2.08. January 1st, 2007 - Price of Gasoline is $2.71.

Anyone got any answers?

The Annual Review

If today was the Judgment, I am sure that I'd be chaffed with most of humanity. When I see what it is that Our Lord calls for us to do, I am sure that I am not even close to being considered near the top 10% of humanity in regards to that summons. There are many, indeed, who do not even know Christ who are much better Christians than I will ever be. But as my year end assessment begins and I focus on the areas that are much in need of improvement for next year, I am certain of one thing - hope. I have received an abundance of it this year and I carry forth its remnants into a new year filled with its afterglow. Hope will be my banner for next year.

I am still way too selfish. Jesus's words convict me constantly. I am not anywhere near like the beggar woman with her two small coins. I retain far too much wealth for myself and spend it foolishly on things and needs that I do not require. It seems as if the more I try to disentangle myself from this consumerist society, the more I fall lock step with it. Though my not purchasing a PlayStation 3 or Wii should count for something ;) Yet, I have hope that I might break free of the cycle that has kept me from spending wisely and that has encouraged my overspending. I have hope that I shall learn not to need so much of this gift that has been given to me and that I might find a way to put more of it to His use.

My heart is still too dark with thoughts and feelings that are not worthy of inclusion in Heaven. I wish to embrace the love of Christ and to be its conduit to the world. But the vast amount of love I receive remains locked inside of me - there to heal my own wounded heart. I hope to be mended so that I might mend. I hope to love, so that I might be loved. I hope to cast away the fear and the pain that has kept me in dark places. I hope to forgive, truly, and not to carry dark thoughts with me. I hope to go forth and sin no more.

I have great hope. On my birthday, I prayed for a gift that was real and I was filled with God's love for me and for the world. It lightened my soul like a solar tower in a coal mine. I bounced for a week before I felt the lightness slip from me and I became burdened again with the world. And again, this Christmas, I prayed for a glimmer of hope and there she was with a smile meant just for me - a bright spot on a gloomy day. A glimmer and nothing more, but a promise of things to come, a sign for my soul of a path on which I am about to embark. A spark just bright enough to give me a flicker of the world to be and to light a fire within my soul. Hope is a wonderful thing.

Faith is the assurance of things hoped for. And I have had my faith rekindled in hope. Sometimes we all need a glimpse of that for which we strive - a vision, a smell, a touch, a sound, a taste of the one truth. That hope is enough to brace us for the battles to come.

I am not there yet. I have a long way to go. But I have every hope that I will be there in the end.

May 2007 be better than 2006 for you and all your kin.

Will Robison

Peace on Earth

Even in Hawaii, war is a bad place.

I spent Gulf War One in a barracks in Hawaii. On a daily basis, I'd get up from bed around 4pm, shower, get dressed, grab a bite to eat, and head to my intelligence building to work. We worked from roughly 6pm to 6am every day. My job was the analysis of satellite imagery from the Gulf region. It had been my job for nearly two years at that point, but until GW1, nobody had ever paid any attention to it. All of a sudden, with the start of hostilities, I was briefing Admirals and watching my analysis show up on CNN. Interesting stuff.

We were not directly a target. Fleet Headquarters shared the same complex as us. We were the eyes, ears, and brains of the entire Pacific Fleet. When hostilities started, our threat level assessment went to the highest you can get without patrolling dogs, machine gun posts, etc... While most of the country was unaware of the dangers we faced in the United States from terrorism, we were very aware of our surroundings and suspicious activities in our area. Fear, while not great, was a presence.

Our work load increased as the ground war got closer. We were now engaged in real hostilities in a part of the world. We stopped looking for the sake of looking and started looking for real danger. Missing something that was right there in front of us was not an option. Threats had to be found and eliminated. Failure meant death for our friends and fellow soldiers. Compared to that, what is real life? Stress levels soared. Fatigue soared. More than one sailor in our building lost it and found themselves hospitalized from nervous breakdowns.

Drinking was rampant. Destressing became a priority. I was not immune from this behavior. After nearly punching a Lieutenant out, I went home and smashed my fist into a wall several times. The pain calmed me down a great deal. I nearly broke my leg kicking a chair during a Nintendo session. I steered clear of any additional stress. Christmas came and went. It was not my happiest holiday that year. As the war dragged on, there was a real possibility that I would be forced to stay in the military longer than I had anticipated and possibly miss the fall semester of college the next year.

When the day of the greatest battle arrived and I sat listening to a blow by blow account of helicopters massacring tanks and trucks and troops with hellfire missiles, I cheered their destruction. Iraqi soldiers, teenagers not much younger or older than me, were being torn to shreds - their lives being snuffed out - as I cheered on their end. It was not my brightest moment, but it was a great reliever of stress.

War is hell. When you tell young people to kill each other for nebulous reasons, how can it not be? It is a situation that we should always avoid at all costs and should never be entered into lightly. But beyond the emotional, mental, and spiritual anguish it causes, war also takes other tolls.

I returned home from GW1 a changed person. Its hard not to be pushed to the brink and not be changed. Within six months, my fiancee and I had broken up. Part of it was just normal young love coming to an end, but part of it was what the Gulf War had done to me. And I hadn't even come close to the combat zones.

I am reminded of all this because a young man I know through an acquaintance returned home from a tour of Baghdad. For six months he was deployed inside Baghdad, learning to kill or be killed. It was a hard tour for him. He was required to machine gun a man who had done nothing more than hold a cell phone - because that is a tactic used by Al Qaeda. Killing this cell phone man saved him and his comrades. As punishment, Al Qaeda killed the man's family because of his failure to detonate the road side bomb. Five innocent people were killed in one afternoon. It is quite a burden to place on one person's soul - the death of five people, the stress of nearly being killed, the knowledge that you have taken someone else from this world. This young man returned home a couple of weeks ago and found out that his wife wanted a divorce.

People who have never fought in a war or been in the military during a war can never know that everyone in uniform makes sacrifices - that we all suffer, and that you, the citizens who authorize the war, suffer as well. We put ourselves in this situation again and again - and like crazy people we expect a different outcome each time. But war is never succesful. Never. It is always a failure. Every time, no matter the outcome. It is a failure of vision, of faith, and of love.

What I most want for Christmas this year is Peace on Earth. Or, at the very least, less war.

I know...

"I'm now writing scenes that have been planned, in some cases, for a dozen years or even more," she (J.K. Rowling) wrote. "I don't think anyone who has not been in a similar situation can possibly know how this feels: I am alternately elated and overwrought. I both want, and don't want, to finish this book (don't worry, I will.)"

J.K. Rowling announced the name of her 7th and final Harry Potter book today - Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows. In making the announcement on her website, she included the above quote and another about dreaming about her character. I can't say that I've ever dreamt about my characters before, so I know what she means when she says that until recently she had never done that.

The point I wanted to make is something that I discovered about 15 years ago that was a great encouragement to me. Writers all have pretty much the same mind. Our minds work relatively the same with respect to writing and to how we view the world. For non-writers, I would imagine there are some similarities, but since I am a writer, I'll just have to guess at how your brains work. When J.K. Rowling talks about writing, I'm right there - been there, done that.

I can't begin to understand how someone creates music. I look at notes on a page and to me, they are just dots. I know higher dots represent higher notes. I know about keys and accidentals and how to read music. But still, the dots don't translate into a tune in my head. Musicians, on the other hand, look at the dots and hear - HEAR - a tune in their heads. Imagine that! I can't even begin to wonder at such an amazing skill and I've been around music almost my entire life as both a singer and handbell player.

Linguists can not only translate words from another language instantaneously in their minds, but can respond and think in other languages. Again, this is a skill I do not possess. I imagine that Barry Bonds sees a baseball much better than you and I, that Michael Jordan can elevate and dunk like we only imagine doing, that Frank Gore sees holes in crowds of people the way my brother can find a perfect parking space with his eyes practically shut. These are skills that some people have and the rest of us can only imagine.

Writing, however, is a skill that everyone uses on an almost daily basis. Hi, how are you? I'm fine and you? Great. BRB. And all that stuff. We all write. We all communicate. So what sets a writer apart from Joe Schmoe on the street? What is the difference between you and, say, J.K. Rowling besides a bazillion dollars?

We are writers. We come from a long line of writers. We are mentally no different than Dante, or Chaucer, or Shakespeare, or Homer. We get an idea in our head, and like the musician, a story plays out before us in a flash. There is no concentration involved. There is barely any effort. This is just the way we view ideas - as stories. We do not choose to be this way. There is no test, no class you can take, no training for this ability. You are or you are not. And I suspect that there are just as many writers who are published as there are writers who are not published. And just as many people who have written a book who are not writers as there are people who have not written a book who are writers. Being a writer is not the same thing as being an author.

So to J.K. Rowling I say, "I know." I know what its like to sit up until the late hours of the morning crafting a scene that has been sitting in your mind since the mid 1980's. I know its frustrations and its pleasures; its addictive qualities and its destructive ones. I both want to finish and don't want to finish my book. I both love it and hate it at the same time. One minute its the greatest thing since sliced bread, the next its the biggest pile of fecal matter ever excreted by one human being. I know all of these things.

Now all I need to do is finish and make as much money as J.K. and we'll be practically the same person. ;)

Filters

Once again, my inbox is filling up with spam messages as my filters are out of alignment with the latest attacks from unseen forces. Spam filters work by looking for particular patterns of popular spam subject lines and then, when finding those subjects listed, they target and eliminate the message so that it never actually reaches me. Every once in a while, however, a new paradigm is discovered and spammers find their way around the filters to send me new messages again and again and again. I get tired of it - ignoring their frequent calls for my attention - and I delete them the second I see them. But I have to give them grudging credit for being smarter than my filter, even if it is annoying dealing with them.

The latest spam messages I've been getting, especially as we get closer to December 25th, are all these messages someone keeps sending me with the subject line, "Behold, Unto You Is Born This Day In The City of David." I've been deleting that one as soon as I see it. Who has time to read things like that when there's Christmas shopping to be done? And another annoying message, "Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you," is just a troll, I'm sure, for my money. I don't even let that one into my inbox. I try to destroy it before I even have to deal with it. Nasty business. But the worst of all is the one that says, "For God so loved the world." Have they no shame? Do they not realize its the holidays? Can't they see that this kind of spam will only have a negative impact on the GNP of the United States and might keep this great country from its several trillions of dollars in profit made during this season of the year!?

I can't believe that there is some great mysterious entity out there sending me all this spam and that we haven't found this person and dealt with him. He ought to be crucified I tell you! Or, at the very least, a better filter must be invented so that I don't have to listen to him any more. His spam messages can be most annoying during this season when I'm trying to enjoy the holidays.

That's all I've got time to say, because I need to rush out to the store and pick up some last minute sale items from the 70% off sale. I think there's a light up Santa that I can add to my Christmas light display next year. Then I ought to show my neighbors what for during the contest for best Christmas decorations. I'll show them what the Christmas spirit is all about!

See you later. Have a happy holiday.

My God is thick and scaly.

Sometimes, we are all blind people walking around a large elephant trying to describe it with our limited sensations. But, I think, most of the time we are just blind people bumping again and again into something that we can't see, feel, or even understand - but it keeps getting in our way, forcing us to change course, always challenging us to know it and to describe it. This is God.

I am getting close to another breakthrough. I can feel it. The ideas are starting to pour out thick and scaly in my brain. Another glimpse, another sighting - I keep running into this invisible thing and I've only just now connected that all these ideas are pointing to the same source. They seem so disconnected, so disjointed, but when I dig deeper, I realize that they are describing the same thing.

But I'm not there yet. I need to bump into this thing a few more times before a picture gels in my brain and I am able to paint it for you with words. So, until then, have a great day.

And look out for invisible things.

Into each life...

To borrow from Bill Cosby...

"Mary, this is God."

"God?"

"Yes, Mary. Behold, you have been given a great gift."

"A gift, God? That's very kind of you."

"You are going to carry the Son of God and bring him into the world."

"Carry? Like a basket?"

"No, Mary... you are going to become pregnant."

(Pause)

"Right.... who is this, really?"

We can see the end of the story from hindsight only. Mary becomes Jesus's mother and everything turns out relatively alright for her. But, at the time, I'm sure she was just a tad freaked out, upset, and maybe a little bit distressed about the prospect of not only being a mother, but being a virgin mother, and a virgin mother of the Son of God. I'm guessing that this was not part of her plans. I'm guessing it was more than just a little inconvenient. I'm really guessing that the timing could have probably been better. And yet, she accepted it, lived with it, and moved on.

Have you ever noticed that when a particularly bad storm finishes with us, the world looks a lot clearer afterwards? To be sure, the wind and the rain scour the atmosphere and drench the trees. Pollen, dust, smog - all these things disappear and the air is clear afterwards. We can see things the way they're meant to be seen, if only for a little while before the air begins to get dirty again. But there is also a kind of seeing that only comes to us when things have been particularly nasty and our field of vision has narrowed so far that for a brief time the only thing that matters to us is the survival of those we love. The wind and the rain and all that the world can offer scours away the detritus of our lives until we are left with a clear vision and see things the way they're meant to be seen.

Some people see valleys as places where mountains go to die, others see valleys as the places where mountains begin to rise.

I've been sick the past couple of days. In fact, my whole family has been fighting the same illness. When I was much younger I coined the phrase that if neccesity was the mother of invention, sickness was surely its father. When we are sick we are usually left with one task to do - get better - which gives our mind time to empty of unimportant and unneccesary thoughts and feelings. We focus on the immediate. We focus on the imperative. We let the little details go. There is a sharpness that comes to us in being sick. There is a desire to survive the storm.

We accept it. We live with it. We move on.

I was searching for a single meaning in Jesus's birth as their is such a significant meaning in Jesus's death and resurrection. But I can't find a single meaning. As with all hopes, each person's meaning is a little different. Faith is the assurance of things hoped for. And Jesus's birth heralds the arrival of hope and the blessings of faith. You ask for an answer to faith and I can point you to Jesus's birth - there is the answer to faith.

It doesn't come easy. But it comes. That is all we need to know or to believe.

Mysteries of Faith Part Two - Where Is God?

For what seems like thousands of years, God walked along with the Hebrew people, offering them covenants, wiping out their enemies, dwelling inside their temples, choosing their judges and kings, chastising them, sending prophets to them, punishing them, and then, finally, making Himself flesh amongst them. Since then - bumpkis.

It is a challenge of my faith to accept that God is active in my life in a way that is as meaningful as it was to, say, the average Jewish citizen during the Exodus, because I can not see God, can not hear God, can not feel God, and don't get to see God wipe out the entire Egyptian army. Perhaps its my love of big budget movies, but where are the Special Effects? Where are the plagues? Where is the speaking of tongues, the flames over peoples heads, the prophet who rises up and tells us to repent?

Or am I just not listening? Am I just not seeing? Is our media coverage that poor that they fail to mention that the Egyptian army was wiped out crossing the Red Sea today?

It seems as if God left Earth after ACTS and said, "You're all on your own now, until I return."

Or, you might say that God wasn't finished with us and sent the Prophet Mohammed.

Or, you might say that God wasn't finished with us and explained the truth to the Mormons.

I guess the question is, where is God? Where should we look for Him? And just what would it take for Him to make Himself known to us?

Here's what I'd like to see...

I realize that when it comes to God we don't live in a democracy. We don't get to vote about what is acceptable and what is not acceptable in God's eyes... except that we do. There are all sorts of things that we no longer think are acceptable that were acceptable at the time of Jesus, and vice versa. We are dependent then on the foremost religious thinkers of our times to talk amongst themselves in a civilized and passionate discourse in order to determine the will of God for the rest of us.

That being said...

I'd like a national debate on national TV (PBS or some such). I'd get Charlie Rose to moderate. On one side of the table I'd have several "progressive" Christians who believe that being gay is not something that we should be shunning. And on the other side, I'd have several "conservative" Christians who stick to their guns that Gays are sinners. I wouldn't allow politics or Gay rights advocates or anyone else into the debate. This would be a strictly religious debate amongst the top Christians on either side of the issue.

I'd ask them three questions. 1) In light of what the Bible says, is homosexuality a sin? 2) How should we behave towards homosexual people? 3) Given your answers to number one and two, what should people who are gay do if they are also Christians?

Considering the train wreck that is national gay rights policy, it behooves Christian Americans to answer these questions before we discover a) that we're living in Sodom and Gomorrah or b) we start building nice "summer" camps for Gay people with mandatory attendance. Since there are extreme advocates for both views, I can see us adopting a more middle of the road course.

The point is that so far I've only heard rhetoric on both sides of the argument. I'd like to hear a compelling argument either way that would help me make up my mind.

That's what I'd like to see.

Magnificat

I'm getting old and soft in my old age (I'm nearly 40!) On Saturday night, as a perfect antidote for the holiday blues I was feeling on Friday (I wasn't nearly in my right mind when I wrote that, as I discovered this morning when I got to work and saw the pile of obvious stuff that I'd been left to do by my bored little self on Friday), I took my youth group to see The Nativity at the local theater. We had quite a turnout - or, well, more than I expected anyway - and we all made it into the theater and sat down in time for the movie.

The movie is just what it says it is - a holiday picture postcard retelling of the Nativity story just as you've seen it reenacted countless times in church on Christmas Eve - only more so. Relatively big budget, at least in comparison to the average Sunday School nativity story, the movie looks and feels like it was filmed on location 2000 years ago. The dialogue is not entirely from the Bible as there would be very little to say in a two hour movie, but seemed relatively believable, all things considered - sort of a The Message version of The Nativity.

I was glad to watch it with my youth group in the darkness of a quiet theater because I admit to weeping at several points during the film - mostly for joy. There are some incredibly touching moments in the nativity story and the movie does a wonderful job of portraying those moments with sincere emotion. When Elizabeth greets Mary for the first time with her line straight from the Bible, "Blessed is the mother, etc..." she did it so well my eyes teared up just from the joy on her face. Here was Mary, teenager, panicked, distraught, and confused, going to visit her cousin Elizabeth to discover if she'd dreamed the whole thing with the angel, and Elizabeth greets her not only with confirmation of the angel's words, but also with the joy of the impending birth of her Lord and Savior.

This is a quiet movie of unusual beauty and though it follows the Bible fairly carefully it doesn't go for the Handelian moments of Hallelujah like exuberance - no singing choirs of angels, no In Excelsis Deo, no Hallelujah chorus. Instead, you get a scene where Mary meets a shepherd who offers to keep her warm by the fire. His gift, he tells her, is the one of hope for deliverance by his savior. A knowing look passes between Mary and Joseph at that point. And that scene, of course, pays off in the manger scene at the end. The look on the shepherd's face is ten times better than a singing choir of angels.

So, I wept. Tears streamed down my face at the sheer beauty of it all. I was reminded of the importance of this moment but also of the hope it engenders. And yet, I couldn't help looking at the joy on Mary's face at the birth of her son, and contrast that with the sorrow on the face of Mary in the Pieta. The happiness was bittersweet. Christ was born for us. But Christ died for us. And then Christ rose again for us!

There are moments when I feel like a youth leader and moments when I wonder what the heck I'm doing (which is probably when I really do feel like a youth leader ;) This was one of those moments and one of those adventures that made me feel like a youth leader. The second I'd seen the preview, I just knew I wanted to take the youth group to see this movie. I was right. It was a good choice. And I can't wait for the discussion that this movie will generate at the next youth meeting.

Its Christmas time, y'all!

P.S. On SNL on Saturday night (not two hours after seeing the movie) they had a sketch in which the live nativity was being performed and the two clueless people who were playing Joseph and Mary looked down into the cradle and said, "This doesn't look like Baby Santa Claus!" It made me laugh.

And when your head explodes...

Too much information. My brain can not process it all. Its trying to keep up with my insatiable appetite for the stuff, but it doesn't know what to do with it. It can't digest fast enough.

Quick hits for the week:

I was deeply touched and saddened by the loss of James Kim. I didn't know him. Knew nothing more about him than what I saw on the news. But like many people, I followed the story with growing concern. I was thrilled when his family was found alive and hurt when he was found dead. A family driving home for the holidays should not be something that we need to worry about. And yet, there are so many other people who go out for a normal thing and never return. I can't imagine the grief that is being felt in that family, and for once I am glad to see that the media is being extremely protectful of this families privacy.

On a similar note, I heard about Jose Uribe this morning, killed in a car accident in the Dominican Republic. He was one of my all time favorite Giants. I remember when he left the Giants for the Astros in his final season. When he came back, the real fans began to chant his name after yet another spectacular double play - even when it was the Giants he was trying to beat. We all loved this guy.

The wheels continue to spin in Iraq and Washington, but they are not connected to anything real. Windmills that rotate but have nothing to grind - except the innocent lives of young people. I realize that the road is likely to get harder before it gets easier. But arguing about the direction we take is only delaying the inevitable. Let the politics go. Let the partisanship go. Accomplish the mission and come home already.

This is the busy season of the year and I'm just now settling into it. Basketball and holidays and church and presents and family and all that year end stuff at work... I don't need the rest of the world's problems as well. Nor do I need a reminder of how fragile it all is - how I might end up dead doing nothing more dangerous than driving down the street.

The Birth of Christ is supposed to represent hope. God's deliverance of his Messiah to Earth - the fulfillment of His promise. Yet, I can't keep my mind off of Calvary. I can't keep my mind away from the crucifixion. I see little hope, only death.

This is bumming me out. This is supposed to be my favorite time of year. I think its the movies... such a poor crop of holiday films this year. Maybe I'll go home and watch Love Actually again... or maybe sit in an airport and watch people meet their loved ones.

Race

There is no scientific evidence of Race. None. The variance of difference between peoples of the same "race" and people of another "race" is exactly the same. What we think of as "race" is actually a continual spectrum of humanity from black to white and black again. Or to put it in other terms, the difference between two "White people" on the opposite ends of the "race" is greater than the difference between the average "white" person and the average "black" person.

So, if there is no scientific evidence for something we can all clearly see with our eyes, where do these divisive thoughts come from?

Human beings are organizers. I think we've always been. We like to take chaos and create order out of it. As such, we tend to label things or put them into categories. This, no doubt, is a hold over from our most primitive thinking - this item is safe, this one is dangerous. But we've evolved this list of categories and subcategories until we've reached the point where everything has its place and there is a place for everything.

God forbid you should fall outside those categories.

The categories that we choose then have to be mutually agreeable to one another. I call an egg food. But you might call an egg an ornament. We can talk and discuss and agree with one another. We will call an egg food from now on. We agree that eggs are food, not ornaments - even if they can sometimes be used as ornaments. BUUUUTTTTT, those people over there think that eggs are ornaments that can sometimes be used as food. We can't understand why they would think this. We must put those people into a category that includes all people that don't agree with us. People who don't agree with us make us nervous. Nervousness is a sign of danger. Therefore, people who don't agree with us are dangerous.

Our brains are wired this way. 90,000 years later and we still haven't advanced far enough to look not at differences, but similarities to determine categories.

We think eggs are food. You think eggs are ornaments. We both agree that eggs are oval shaped. People who agree with us make us happy. And happy means safety. Therefore, those who agree with us are our friends.

Science has determined that we are all the same. Black, white, red, yellow, green, blue, purple, aquamarine, fuscia, bubblegum pink, lavender, pearl green, copper - we are all part of the same spectrum. You are all humans, just like me. You all breathe air, like me. You all love and hate, like me. You all strive for a better life, like me. You all want to live in peace, like me. You are like me. You agree with this point, no? Therefore, we can be friends.

To truly evolve, all we need to do is make more friends. How hard can that be?

There's No Christians Like Bell Christians.

I have been playing handbells since Jr. High School. I honestly know of no bell choir that isn't affiliated with a Christian church. I'm not saying they don't exist, but I know of none. Bell music is the quintessential Christian music - not because of its sound, nor because of its text, but simply because of its existence.

When one plays in a bell choir you quickly learn that there is no real opportunity for individual achievement. Bell music is unique in that you tend to only play a few bells at a time. The music is achieved, then, by an entire choir working in concert together to create a wonderful sound. There might be stretches where you solo and shine, but ultimately, without the rest of your choir - there is no music.

As a result of this togetherness, bell choirs tend to be very interdependent. It is not unusual for a choir to stop a rehearsal and have one member turn to another and say, "I can't play that note in measure 46, can you get it?" These are trained and hardened musicians saying this. Can you imagine Pavorati turning to the back up tenor and saying, "Do you think you can sing that E sharp for me?" But in a bell choir, nobody shines alone. There is no individual achievement. Everyone works together and the final product is a result of everyone's efforts together.

If all Christiantity worked this way, imagine the results. Imagine if you could look your Christian brother in the eye and say, "I can't do this, can you do it for me?" and there was no judgement, only agreement. "Sure, Bob, anything - let me just write that down."

But here's the thing... Christianity does work this way. There is no individual achievement. Your glory is my glory and vice versa. Your failure is my failure. Only together, as brothers and sisters in Christ, can we make beatiful music. Without that togetherness, we'll continue to sound like individual instruments playing our own tunes in concert with no one.

Bonus Friday Blog - Feeding My Addiction

I have in front of me the latest, and greatest, National Geographic Expeditions brochure for 2007. In this wonderful tome is every dream vacation an explorer born three hundred years too late could ever want. While I have contemplated the wonderful 15 Day Antartica Cruise before (at $10,000 - a real bargain!) as of yesterday, I have a new winning vacation goal.

You see, you start by boarding a private 757 Jet with about one hundred other passengers and a tour guide who is most famous for his discovery of the Incan Ice Princess Mummy (I'm sure he's slumming for research money). Your picture is taken on board by a for real National Geographic photographer who is probably suffering from Bengal Tiger and Flying Fish withdrawal but who can nonetheless say "Cheese!" with the best of them. After a short flight from Washington D.C., you arrive in Peru.

First stop: Machu Pichu - the 14,000 foot plus home of the ancient Incan culture.

After a few days acclimating and deacclimating to such a height, you board your plane again for the next leg of your journey.

Second stop: Easter Island - Yes, that Easter Island with the giant Tiki Statues.

Then, Samoa. Then, Australia - but not just anywhere in Australia, no. Get on your scuba gear and snorkeling IPOD's cause you're going swimming with the fishes at the Great Barrier Reef.

Tired, yet.

I hope not, because on your way from Australia to Chengdu in China, you have to stop in Cambodia to visit the Angor Wat shrine. And then, after only a brief one day layover in Chengdu, you make a quick roundtrip to the high holy mountain city of Lhasa in Tibet, before flying on to India.

But not just anywhere in India - of course, you're visiting the Taj Mahal. Get a postcard though, cause you have to board your plane again and you wouldn't want to be left lion around, as your next stop is Africa and particularly the Serengetti Animal Preserve.

At Serengetti you have the option of a photo safari with real National Geographic explorers, or a brief one day visit with the Leakey's at Olduvai Gorge. Then you board the plane yet again for a short flight to the Luxor - in Egypt, as opposed to Las Vegas. After another side trip to the Pyramids at Giza, you board your plane for a cross continent flight for your last stop on this trip - Marrakesh in Morocco - before a quick transworld flight back to Washington D.C..

Forget taking a world cruise that takes 10 months and visits exciting Calcutta and other "exotic" ports of call. For my money, I'll take the 24 Day, personal 757 tour that visits just about every place on the globe I've ever wanted to see and allows me to meet people that I've always wanted to know.

And even though you don't get a complete set of Ginzu knives, I'd bet you'd be willing to pay quite a bit for this once in a lifetime travel experience. Well, you needn't rob a bank. Because for the low low price of one day of Barry Bonds' contract, you could afford to make this trip. That's right, just a mere $49,950 (double occupancy) or $56,120 (single occupancy) will put you on this wonderful vacation experience. So, order now. Operators are standing by!

An Endorsement!

I realize that Thanksgiving was last week, but I still wanted to give thanks about something that I almost never give thanks about - my job.

I work for Yasutomo & Company in South San Francisco, CA. This company was founded over 50 years ago by Mr. Yasutomo - a Japanese American - and has been dealing with the import of Japanese and other Asian art and office supplies during this entire time. They are also the leading exporter of American made candy and snack items to Japan (Lifesavers, Planters, Carmel Popcorn - that sort of thing). I only know enough about snack items to say that I've sampled everything we sell to Japan. And I know even less about Japanese art supplies. Nevertheless, here I am.

Part of the reason I love Yasutomo is that it is the complete opposite of my last job - purposefully. When I reached the end of my tether for Century Theatres, I was faced with two options - and since one of them involved arson and mass murder, I decided to take the other option. My job search, after a week spent kaschnoodling in Las Vegas, lasted two days. I faxed out my resume to two jobs and had interviews with both jobs scheduled in less than an hour. I went to the Yasutomo interview first - I was applying for a customer service position - and I fell in love with the company in about twenty minutes. I had a job offer from them before I had even taken the other interview. Though I went to the other interview, in my heart I had already signed with Yasutomo.

What's there not to like? For starters, it is a small company of only about 20 people. Everyone here gets a certain amount of individual attention and I know every single person in my company. We all generally get along - but in any family, there are bound to be disagreements. We all work hard and are rewarded for our hard work. There is a very real sense of being in the same boat together - not of being the first rats into the lifeboats the second things go bad. It doesn't pay much, but I am not suffering because of it. The commute is short. The area where I work is nice and business parky. And there are plenty of good places to eat within a short distance.

Yasutomo and Company offers some pretty cool products. We were the first company to import Japanese pens into the United States market. Japanese pens are to ball point pens what Swiss Watches are to a Spongebob Squarepants Burger King watch. If you only need a cheap piece of crap, go to Burger King. If you want a pen that will last you a lifetime, buy Japanese.

But beyond pens, Yasutomo also imports dozens of packages of Origami paper. These colorful square sheets of paper are not only good for folding origami, but can also be used to teach children Geometry, and as backgrounds for scrapbooking and other craft projects. If you've never seen an origami covered wooden Easter Egg, you don't know what you're missing. And some of the simple origami designs that even I can do are quite beautiful and elegant.

We also sell the best gel pens on the market. Recently that guy that Leonardo DiCaprio played in the movie, Catch Me If You Can - the one who was an expert at forging checks - said that if you want to make it difficult for check forgers to steal your checks and identity, you should always sign your checks with Gel ink. I've been signing my checks that way ever since (and nobody has stolen my paltry amount of savings yet, so it must be working ;) Not only that, but gel pens are pretty cheap and they write smoothly and consistently for a very long time.

We carry a wide variety of other products, from giant mechanized hole punches to cotton swabbed color blending sticks, as well. Our Stylist pens have been the industry leader amongst Architects for over 25 years. Name the last product that you sold that lasted 25 years, much less one that remained the best in class that entire time.

I say all this because I love my job. And I love Yasutomo. For as long as I could talk trash about the now defunct Century Theatres, I can sing the praises of Yasutomo.

Two years ago, I left the customer service department and took over as the Product Manager/Purchasing Agent/Part Time IT Person/Inventory Prognosticator/Sales Analyst/Web Consultant/Vice President of Special Projects That Nobody Else Wants To Do. As is typical in a small company, its sometimes hard to define my job description. But no matter what I do on a given day, I find that I'm always challenged and that I'm always in demand. Its good to feel wanted. Its good to contribute. And its good to work with people you love and respect.

Really, what more can you ask for?

P.S. Congratulations to my sister on her new job. Which she can't talk about. ;)

I'm Feeling Ecclesiastical

Christmas time is here. Happiness and cheer. My favorite time of year. I wish I had a beer. Try not to sneer. Or to hit a deer. Hot elves make me leer. And no, I'm not queer. I meant female elves, you hear?

My apologies to Charles Schultz. I see nothing. I know nothing. My mind is adrift in the lackadaisical leanings of a post-election coital and I'm just floating along, looking down, and realizing that what I most want for Christmas this year is meaning. Good old fashioned black and white clearly contrasted Meaning.

Its all so pointless really. And I just can't shake the feeling. Rampant consumerism. Rampant politics. Rampant blaming. Rampant talking heads. Rampant rampantness. Its all so... rampant. I feel like setting traps, capturing a few rampants, and throwing them in the trash.

I want meaning. I want just an ever so tiny sliver of the real world God promises, now. Just a peak really. Just a whiff. I want to feel sunlight on my face. I want to feel some warmth in my heart that I don't suspect as a clever ploy to get me to part with money or to vote for your candidate. I don't want Hollywood special effects. I want nitty gritty. I want the bachelor to be human. I want to put real back into reality. I want value.

But there's none of it here. In the bright baubles of fake trees and lights, in the tinny ring of salvation bells, in the chemical smell of faux sugary sweets, there is nothing of meaning, there is nothing of value, there is no God.

I want God, not something that's ten times better than God for half the price! I want God, not some oversized promise of God that's better for my health. I want God, not some washed out politically correct mind scrub of God.

See... my mind is in a dark place, surrounded by nothing but shadows, and I can't find the light source.

It's all meaningless without God.

Footprints in the Sand Two - Electric Boogaloo

And the man asked, "Lord, why is it that at the top of these sand dunes there are two sets of footprints, but in the valleys there are only one?"

And Jesus replied, "Because when we went across the peaks, I walked with you, but when we were in the valleys, I carried you."

After a profound silence filled with gratitude and awe, the man looked around at all the sand and said, "By the way, where the heck are we?"

_______________________________________________________________________________________

When, after a certain point in his life, St. Augustine looked back, he could clearly see the pattern that God had laid out in his life and he knew that God had directed his path.

Then St. Augustine looked to the future and realized that he still had no idea where God was leading him.

________________________________________________________________________________________

I am lost. Not in the profound sense of someone who is terrified and alone. No, I am lost in the Lord. I am standing on a giant sand dune, looking back at the wonderful path God has given me. I have strayed from time to time, but God has always dragged me back on course, with the occassional kick to the head for good measure. And here I am. I can clearly see the path I've taken. But when I turn around and look ahead, I have no idea where I'm going.

Today, I enrolled in college. Again. For the first time in ten years. I always knew that someday I would go back, but I didn't see this coming from 100 miles away. But God knew and I followed God.

Here now are the mile markers that lead to this event.

I left Century Theatres in 2000 and decided to find a nice quiet job. I ended up here at Yasutomo. This move gave me weekends and evenings free. I quickly surmised that I had the time to return to an active church life. I rejoined the choir and started reattending church on Sundays. Shortly thereafter, the youth assistant left to join the seminary. Seeing the youth pastor struggle, I volunteered to help out from time to time.

A year or so passed and I started to work on my novel. Just as I was really getting into it, I changed course abruptly in order to finish my website. The website took a few months to complete and was exhausting work. Literally the day I finished it, with every intent to return to work on my novel, one of the youth in my church asked if I'd be interested in becoming Stage Manager at a local theater. I got one of those tingly spider-sense kind of things and took the job.

My friendship grew with the youth and with other actors and directors. The play ended about three months later and I threw myself into the novel full time for the next 3 years or so. In the meantime, I had cultivated some serious friendships. We continued to hang out and do youth type things. When the youth pastor abruptly left my church, I took over as the youth leader. My friendship with the youths helped to ease the transition.

Cut to: This summer, after finishing the latest draft of the novel, I was wondering what to do next. My youth friends (having just completed their first year of college) walked up to me and said, "Will, we want to make a film this summer." I think my jaw must have dropped. "Okay," was my response. Over Columbus Day Weekend, we shot for two days the five minute pilot I had written years before but had never had a chance to film for lack of actors.

When I was done filming, I looked at the footage and something remarkable occurred to me. I really suck at film making. And then the whole spidey sense thing kicked in again and I just knew that it was time to go back to school to become a film maker.

I left high school wanting to be a film maker and gave up because I wasn't ready. I left the Navy to become a film maker and gave up because I wasn't ready. Now, here, fourteen years after my last attempt, I am finally returning to film school. Each step along the way can be clearly seen and chronicled by me. I know where I walked side by side with Jesus and I know where He carried me. But when I turn around and look ahead, there are no footprints before me. I have no idea where I'm going or why I'm going there.

I may be lost, but I have the ultimate navigator with me. I will fear no evil, for He is with me.

The Beginning

The Lord works in mysterious ways, but I've never had so direct an answer to prayer as I did this weekend.

On Saturday night, I prayed to God about my youth group, asking for His guidance in making this Advent season relevant to the youth of my church. In the midst of my prayer, I had a sudden thought. "Why do we celebrate Christmas?"

Beyond the usual notions of Christmas and its commercial driven reasons, the murkiness of the nativity and its relevance to the Christian religion is probably lost on most Christians. It is not readily accessible as a powerful religious allegory that is somehow directly related to our everyday lives. None of us are likely to experience virgin birth, nor wisemen at our door, nor stars to follow, nor angels appearing to announce a birth, nor choirs of angels, etc... So what is the relevance to us? Why do we celebrate Christ's birth every year in a way that we do not celebrate anyone else's birth? Is is just because He was God? Shouldn't we just sing Him Happy Birthday and pass out some birthday cake then?

All of these ideas flashed through my head in a blur and a moment and it got me to ponder the whole advent season. I knew immediately, of course, that I had to use this idea to explore the notion of the nativity with the youth group this season. Not as a straight forward explanation - this is what the Bible says - but as a question of why the nativity is relevant to you and to the world.

Then, lest I forget the prayer of the night before, on Sunday I was sitting in my church library and I found a very dated book about The Gospel According to Thomas. This gnostic publication found in Egypt in the 40's had been translated as a loggia of Jesus's sayings purportedly quoted by the apostle Thomas. I skipped the intro and went straight to the words themselves and found a quote that really struck me... (and I'm paraphrasing here).

"Why do you ask me about the end, but not about the beginning? Truly I say to you, if you want to understand the end, you must first understand the beginning."

This quote has not left my mind since because whether spoken by Jesus or not, it is deeply profound. It also reminded me of my idea and my obligation to the youth.

So I've already decided to fill in my youth with the background of the nativity next week, but what I'd really like from you all is an answer to the question, "Why is the nativity relevant to you and to the world?" I don't have a definitive answer yet, myself. I must contemplate the question for a while before I hope to even venture a profound guess. But, perhaps, this is something you have pondered already or have read from the likes of C.S. Lewis or others. So, let me hear it.

I look forward to your posts or responses.

Has Penis Lost Its Punch?

Everyday I receive at least ten emails with subject lines that read, "Improve Penis Power!" or some such. Just now I received one of these e-mails and it suddenly occurred to me - I wasn't fazed by it at all.

I don't consider myself a prude or anything, but there was a time when the word Penis or Breasts or, as Monty Python called them, other Naughty Bits, would embarass me just to read them or say them. Its not that I was uncomfortable with the subject matter so much as the fact that I was raised to not use these words in public company. These were words best used by doctors and... ahem... others. Definitely not for casual consumption. (I meant the words, not the object... you perverts!)

But now with these words floating around the Internet and spamverse like flotsam and jetsom after a storm, you can't swing a dead cat without running into breast enlargements, penis enhancements, cheaper viagara, and speed disguised as weight loss drugs. These once giggle inducing words have been reduced to the common.

In language this is called marking language. Certain words are marked as taboo. You know what those words are. Eventually, through time, marked words become unmarked. They enter the mainstream through a combination of use and replacement.

Fifty years ago, I imagine that most people didn't know what an abortion was, let alone talk about it every two to four years as if it was a common every day thing. Now, of course, it is part of our national discourse at election time. So, too, must we expect the idea that someday people will be talking about penis enhancements like tattoo's. "Yeah, Bob, check out my extra four inches." "That's really great. Where'd you get it done?" "Wal-mart. They were having a special."

Perhaps this is why human beings are constantly feeling like the end of the world is near. When things that we grew up with as being taboo find themselves in the mainstream of thought, how can we not feel that the world has changed irrevocably for the worst?

So, this Thanksgiving, I am most thankful for these last few moments of innocense in my life. I like my breasts, penis, and other naughty bits just the way they are, thank you, and I really don't feel the need to change, or discuss it. Some things just ought to remain unspoken.

But certainly not un-blogged about... ;)

Happy Thanksgiving!

Walking With My Eyes Closed

Sometimes I like to close my eyes while I'm walking and just listen to the sounds of the Earth around me. Typically its the sound of cars, trucks, and other forms of transportation whizzing by. I imagine the people inside with their faces pressed against the glass watching the world go by them in a blur. I can hear my feet tapping along the sidewalk. In spring, it is the sounds of the birds in the trees and the wind gently rolling across the urban grass.

I have to open my eyes occassionally, though, before I walk into someone or something. While my eyes are closed and I am picturing the world around me, I am usually content that a dead body won't suddenly spring up in my path to trip me up. I have walked the path many times before and I have faith in my ability to hear something approaching. The longer my eyes are closed, however, the more that faith is tested. I can not walk very far on faith alone. I need to see where I am going.

Yet, if I were completely blind, I would not have any choice but to walk with my eyes closed. At first, it would be terrifying. And then, likely, it would be extremely depressing - not being able to do that which I had taken for granted for so long. But eventually my other senses would adjust and my faith in my abilities would grow with it. Before long, I would be able to "see" in many different ways that I had not seen before. My faith would grow strong then and I would be able to walk confidently with my eyes closed.

Just one more...

It is the essence of our sinful nature - three little words, "Just One More". We are never satisfied with what we have. If we are in the dirt, completely desolate, we look up and hope for a mere pittance - survival, health, something to stay alive. We get it and we praise God and rejoice and then say, "And now, would it be too much to ask for something else... just a little more, please?"

There is no limit to this acquisitiveness. We could be the high rulers of the entire Earth with dominion over all living things... and we'd still want something else. It is never enough to stop and say, "You know... I've got enough now. I'll stop. Maybe even give some of this stuff away. I haven't read this book in years. I barely watch TV anymore. This extra computer is just gathering dust. I haven't worn these clothes in ages - heck, I've never worn that outfit."

Christmas season is around the corner. Here we are trying to determine the best gifts for everyone. PlayStation 3's or DVD Players or books or music, some token to show that we love someone. It costs us money and effort to secure these gifts. And then on the big day itself, we rush around in a hurry to get everything done, to check off everything on our Christmas checklist - because we can't miss a thing. We can't be deficient in any way come the holidays. We must have it all... and just a little bit more besides.

Sometimes, I just want it to stop. I want to step away from the human condition for just a few hours. I want to go sit under a tree and contemplate my navel while the birds sing to the glory of God because their unencumbered lives are filled with worms and soaring and song. I just get the feeling we're all making it hard on ourselves. But I can't get away from it all. The wheel is spinning too fast and if I jump off someone is likely to get hurt - maybe even me.

Andy writes today, brilliantly, about it never being too much to do things for God. But, sometimes, I wonder. Does He really want this life for us? Does He really want us to be constantly taking on even more burdens so that we become swallowed by them? How many times did Jesus rest? How many times did He just walk away from the crowds and let the birds sing to Him? There is more to following Jesus than work. There is following Jesus in rest. Sometimes we must listen to our heads, as well as our hearts, and lay down our weary load so that others can take them up.

Ocassionally, we must say, "No thanks, I've had enough."

Entirely A Work Of Fiction...

No matter what you read, unfortunately, the following is a work of fiction...

How I Would Handle This, If I Could Handle It Correctly
By
Will Robison

"They're going to do what?" I would exclaim with exasperation. "You're kidding me, right? No. Well, I've got to handle this before it gets out of control."

I would squinch my face really tight, concentrate, and...

Startling several high powered execs in ruffled suits, I would magically appear in front of the Fox Boardroom.

"How did you get in here?" they would ask.

"During times of crisis, humans can evolve special skills necessary to solve problems," I would say.

"What do you want?" they would ask, as they called for security.

I would squinch my face again and stop time. Then I would walk around the table to each of the execs and smack them upside the head as hard as I can. Then I would go to the board and write six words... "Stop the O.J., Save the World!"

When I restarted time, they would find the words written on the board and I would be missing. But where would I have gone?

Appearing in the headquarters of Reaganbooks Publishing, I would seek out the Publisher responsible for this fiasco. After smacking her around, I would write the same words on her board, then find the galleys of this book and burn it.

Then, it would be off to Rockingham, or some golf course somewhere. I would find the devil in this matter. I would talk to him, tell him that he was an idiot, and then get him to confess to the crime in some way that didn't allow him to make money on the deal. After getting the confession, the devil would find himself teleported to a small desert island where he could harm no one else and where he could hunt or be hunted by polar bears all day long.

My work done, I would transport myself back to my office, and blog about it.

But, of course, I can't do any of these things. All I can do is not watch, not read, and not pay any attention to Mr. O.J. Simpson.

Stop the O.J., Save The World!

In Full Measure

I just wanted to let everyone get up to date with news of the Novel. First of all, I decided to split my incredibly long book into three novels (more money for me! ;) so that I could make the saga even longer. Second of all, the name of the first novel will be, "In Full Measure". Third of all, I have started the rewriting necessary to convert the first act of one novel into a stand alone novel. I am one chapter done and have synopsized the second act. Those of you who have read the first ten chapters will notice some minor changes. Those changes will pay off at the end of the first act.

I didn't do this to delay the completion of the novel. I did this for two reasons that sort of hit me simultaneously. In chronological order... Even before I started sending out queries to agents I knew that there was a good possibility that the novel would be unsellable in its original condition (1100 pages is almost unheard of from an established writer, let alone a complete novice). In my mind, I made contingency plans figuring out where to divide the story in half, if I had to. It occurred to me, in passing, that if I were to convert it into three stories, I would have to put a lot of extra work into it - but that I'd have some room to add some things that I deemed too much for the original story.

However, as I reached Chapter 22 of the final tweaking, I ran smack dab into a wall. The chapter didn't read right to me and it was a pivotal chapter in the entire book. As I tried to backtrack to determine how to fix this one chapter, I became more and more disenchanted with the book. It was missing a certain drive, a certain coolness factor that I had in my head. I had gutted the story to make it fit 1100 pages, and in the process, I had taken out all the stuff that made the story cool - in favor of stuff that made the story deep. I realized with something akin to horror that the only way to fix the story would be to make some small, but lengthy changes, to the story.

I cooled my heels for two months, hoping that things would fix themselves. In those two months, I got four rejection letters from agents. While that wasn't an avalanche of negativity, I had thought that I might at least get something other than a form letter after two or three queries. The rejection didn't make me think the whole novel was doomed... but it pushed me to reconsider the parts I had previously left out.

In the end, I knew I had to make the changes. The first act had the fewest changes to make, but the changes would resolve some of the longest problems I've had with the book (problems I never addressed during any version of the story). By having so few changes to make, I hope to finish the novel (again) quickly and get it back out to agents before spring. This time, I have a feeling I'll make a lot more headway.

I'll still get my paycheck for Novel #1 - its just taking a little longer than I thought. The end result is that I'm extremely happy with the changes being made and I think the first act, and first novel, will be much better because of it.

Besides, I think the title is much better than The Thin Line. ;)

Survival of the Fittest

In a recent post about Battlestar Galactica I posed the question about whether we deserved to survive. I've been giving the question much thought lately. But apparently, I'm not the only one. There is a movement afoot by atheists and others questioning the relevancy of not just Christianity, but religion in general. They question whether religion has become a hindrance to further human development. They suggest that perhaps we are holding the human race back with our ancient ways and our redundant beliefs in things that obviously don't exist. Rather than make me angry, this talk has spurred me to question my faith, to question my beliefs, and to wonder if perhaps, they aren't right.

The latest call for the relevancy of religion comes from Sir Elton John himself. While I enjoy his music, I wouldn't say that I turn to him for advice - spiritual or otherwise. But his argument is valid in this current world. Religion seems to be spreading intolerance and hatred, not peace and love. Perhaps we've outlived our usefulness.

With a great deal of humility we must bow our heads and try to see the situation from his perspective. As an avowed homosexual musician, he has surely had his run ins with the religious right of this world. They have no doubt told him that he is damned, that he is evil, and that he is going to hell. They have probably suggested terrible punishments to be delivered to him and have met him with scorn and derision wherever he's gone. If this was the way religious people treated me, I'm fairly certain I would see his point all the way and there would be very little that might disuade me from that opinion.

With an even greater humility, we must admit that he is right. Christians have become murders, rapists, child molesters, thieves, cheats, genocidal leaders, and greedy money hoarding capitalists. We have become the worst sinners. We ought to be damned into irrelevancy. We ought to be destroyed.

But we're not.

And that's my counter argument to the position owned by a growing minority. We are all the terrible things you tell us that we are. We have done all of the things you claim. We have been evil. We have been wicked. We have hurt. We have destroyed. But we are saved despite these things. We are saved because no matter how flawed we are or become, we try to emulate the love and the peace of Jesus Christ, the son of God. We are saved because we hope to be better than we are. We hope to heal, to feed, to clothe, to house. We are saved because we have hope that we will become something that we are not.

If you divide the world into two groups, Christians and the rest, you will discover that both groups have the exact same characteristics. But whereas we hope to be saved through our faith and our actions, they do not have any hope.

Our hope is what sets us apart. Our hope is what keeps us relevant. We deserve to survive precisely because if we disappear, humanity loses all hope.

What I would do now...

We finally won. The country finally came to its senses. And now, here is what I would do next...

Pray.

Lots and lots of prayer. Its time to find out what together we can do for the brotherhood of man. Its time to find out what real plan God has in store for this nation and its people. Its time for quiet discernment on the toughest issues of the day.

I'm not talking political prayer - where one side claims to know what God is thinking. I'm not talking about in your face prayer, "Dear God, thank you for giving us a clear mandate for change and now here's how we're going to run things without anyone else's help." I'm talking about quiet, all-inclusive, bipartisan, heck - non-partisan, heartfelt, deeply yearning prayer.

Call in all the politicians - Democrats, Republicans, Independents - from the highest post in the land to the lowest, add the Judicial branch as well, and the civilian heads of the various departments, and put them in a room together and pray.

Pray for guidance. Pray for deliverance. Pray for thanksgiving. Pray for the world. And let God answer their prayers. Let Him guide them and deliver them. Let Him be thanked and hear concerns. And let us become a force for His good in the world. Let us be a Christian nation in deed as well as word.

We can only survive together if our prayers are the same.

Encouraging bad behavior...

No matter how you voted today, you encouraged bad behavior. Both sides in this election should be sent to their rooms without supper. They were both extremely naughty. No political trick and gimmick was left unused. No negative thing left unsaid. No speech left unexploited. This was American politics at its ugliest.

I may not have the depth of others when it comes to my time at the voting booth. I know others have had more election experience than I have and so, perhaps, there have been dirtier and more confusing elections held before. But this election was the most costliest and had the most media saturation of any election ever - until the next one.

Both sides will tell you that they are only doing this because this is what it takes to win. Well, to be honest, I stopped listening, reading, discussing, and watching politics several weeks ago. My mind was made up a long time before and in some cases, further ads only served to strengthen my opinion or sway me over to the side opposite the one they were trying to cajole me into joining. It got to the point that I ended up voting for some people simply because I liked the sound of their name.

Now, I'm in 100% agreement with the Supreme Court that election materials and advertising is a protected form of speech, and in fact, one of the most important forms of protected speech. But there has to be some sort of restraint involved. We've had wildly inaccurate claims from both sides, innuendo disguised as political fact, and outrageous connections that villify opponents and connote them as terrorists or traitors or both. Conspiracy theories abound. Voters no longer trust the sanctity of the voting booth. Surely the clear and present danger clause of Free Speech covers this.

The whole point of a democratic process is that an INFORMED public goes and votes their mind in a free way to determine the best outcome by a majority of all citizens. If we allow the removal of the Informed process, then our voting is a waste of time. At that point, we are merely voting for the candidate or party or political apparatus that lies the best. That is not only not in the best interest of our nation, it is dangerous to our democracy. We are then voting for rhetoric and not for fact.

We need to change our election process. We need to reward those who speak the truth and keep us informed. We need to embrace those who bring us together with their words and not drive us apart with their politics. We are a mighty nation. We are a good nation. And we have a good system of government. We should all do everything in our power to protect it from all enemies, foreign and domestic, who would seek to subvert it.

Its two years to the Presidential election. We need to move quickly if we are going to avoid another election like this one.

Go Tell It...

First the facts and statistics:
Mt. San Bruno - Summit Trail - 3.1 miles - 725 Feet Elevation Climb - Terrain: Narrow trails through overgrown trees and bushes and rocky paths, 1.5 miles downhill and flat, 1.5 miles uphill - Time to complete: 1 hour 40 minutes.

On Saturday morning, I made my first solo hike in years, my first hike of any sort in at least 9 months, and my first summit in years. I chose Mt. San Bruno not only because its in my backyard, but because it was a relatively short hike. I wasn't as limber as I want to be, but it wasn't nearly as hard as it could have been. I kept a relatively steady pace up the side of the mountain, but stopped frequently to rest my weary legs. My knees and calves held up quite nicely. As this was an exhibition hike and outside of my usual hiking season, I carried the bare minimum - and that didn't include water (mostly because I forgot it in my truck). That means, no pictures. Most of the hiking time was spent getting up the hill. I've never been good with hills - even when I was in fabulous shape in high school.

As I walked along one of the ridge spines towards the summit, some thoughts occurred to me in the form of a prayer.

Lord, you ask us to climb a mountain.
You do not tell us why, but you say it is important.
From the bottom, we look up and can not see the top
because it is shrouded in clouds. Our hearts tremble.
How can we reach the summit? It seems impossible.
But we take a step forward, and then another, and then another.
After what seems a long struggle, we stop and look back
at all that we have accomplished. We can see so much. We have come a long ways.
But then, out of the corner of our eye, we see the mountain
still rising above us - still shrouded in the clouds.
It seems as if we will never reach the top. It seems as if we will
climb forever. But we continue to climb, one step in front of the other,
slowly but deliberately. Each step takes us higher and closer to the top.
Eventually, we will reach the summit, Lord. Eventually, we will do what you wish.
But it has not been easy, and the worst is yet to come as our strength fails us
and our will wavers. We can not summit without you, Lord. It is not possible.
Help us to climb, Oh Lord. Help us to reach the top.
Amen.

The top of Mt. San Bruno was shrouded in fog. I can not tell you what the world looked like below, but I felt a peace up there and an elation because I knew it was all downhill from there.

Next Saturday - I will tackle Butano State Park - maybe even with pictures.

Worst Case Scenario

I found this over at another website and thought that I'd share it with you.

A mother passing by her daughter's bedroom was astonished to see the bed was nicely made and everything was picked up. Then she saw an envelope propped up prominently on the center of the bed. It was addressed, "Mom." With the worst premonition, she opened the envelope and read the letter with trembling hands:

Dear Mom: It is with great regret and sorrow that I'm writing you. I had to elope with my new boyfriend because I wanted to avoid a scene with Dad and you. I've been finding real passion with Ahmed and he is so nice-even with all his piercings, tattoos, beard, and his motorcycle clothes. But it's not only the passion Mom, I'm pregnant and Ahmed said that we will be very happy. He already owns a trailer in the woods and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter. He wants to have many more children with me and that's now one of my dreams too. Ahmed taught me that marijuana doesn't really hurt anyone and we'll be growing it for us and trading it with his friends for all the cocaine and ecstasy we want. In the meantime, we'll pray that science will find a cure for AIDS so Ahmed can get better; he sure deserves it!! Don't worry Mom, I'm 15 years old now and I know how to take care of myself. Someday I'm sure we'll be back to visit so you can get to know your grand children.

Your daughter, Judith

PS: Mom, none of the above is true. I'm over at the neighbor's house. I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than my report card that's in my desk center drawer. I love you! Call when it is safe for me to come home.

So, remember, not everything you read this weekend is true. And on that note, have a nice weekend. See you on Monday!

And you think our guys are out of touch...

Ever since my decision to go to Scotland in 17 months, I've been receiving my daily headlines from the Scottish news via a website called Scotsmen.com. As part of their headlines e-mail every day, they have a bit of This Day in Scottish History. I read this one today and I had to laugh...

Penguin Books were found not guilty of obscenity on this day in 1960, following their trial under the newly introduced Obscene Publications Act after publishing Lady Chatterley's Lover by D.H. Lawrence. Famously, the trial prosecution were ridiculed for being out of touch with the rest of the country after their statement that it was not a book "you would wish your wife or servants to read".

This is just a antidote for all the crazy rhetoric floating around the country right now. If you want my suggestion, boycott all political speech for the next week. You'll feel less soiled on Tuesday.

Failure

If the ultimate goal of interpersonal communication is a well developed relationship, I have failed my brother completely. But I don't know where I went wrong.

For those of you who know my brother Dave, none of what I'm about to say will probably surprise you. In fact, for years I have defended my brother against complaints from all comers - telling them that they just didn't understand his idiosyncracies. Now, I'm not certain that I wasn't only helping to enforce a very negative behavior pattern.

The biggest bruhaha blew up about two months ago. I had made plans to go with my sister and her family to lunch, before heading off to my Mom's house for a family get together that we called Disney Day (we introduce the kids to Disney movies and corrupt them with food and love). My brother Dave is not a big Disney fan and so, even though he'd been invited many times, he didn't usually come along. Well, about an hour before lunch my brother called and wanted to go to lunch with me. I told him that I was already going to lunch with my sister but that he could join us. He said, sure. I told him that I would call him as soon as I learned more. To make a long story short, my sister and I hooked up for lunch and my brother finally called an hour later to say that he was caught in traffic and to keep waiting for him. When I told him that we'd already ordered (because the kids were hungry) he got upset with me and hung up. He called back a minute later and said, "And I'm not going to Disney Day either." And then hung up again. Those were the last, more or less, civil words he's had for me ever since.

Since then, three days before our trip to DisneyWorld he called us and informed us that he wasn't going with us and demanded his money back. We told him to go pound salt in the nicest Christian terms we could manage (but then we tried to get his money back anyway to no effect). He told me that he wouldn't speak to any of us again until he got paid.

I passed all this information along and my parents assumed that he was just blowing hot air. But I just spent the afternoon e-mailing and talking to him again as he reitterated (at the last minute again) that he was not going to help out with Basketball scoring this year. He said several rude things to me, made up many more lies, and then hung up after saying some nasty things.

I have tried to remain calm and civil and Christian. God asks us to forgive and yet the Bible is full of stories about brothers who have the darndest time doing just that. I have asked God for the words of forgiveness and healing, but they don't seem to be coming to me. I have tried to apologize, to beg, to plead, to do anything, but I've mostly just met a wall of silence. His remark today, "As far as I'm concerned, we don't have a relationship anymore," was particularly hurtful - as he intended it.

I am angry. I feel abused. I am confused. I am upset with the lies and the attacks. But mostly I am sad. I feel sorry for my brother who is casting himself loose from my entire family for something he thinks I did to him. If I knew what was at the root of the problem between us, I'd fix it - somehow. I want my brother back. But I can't get that through to him. He doesn't want to listen.

So, when it seems that there is nothing that can be done, I can only turn to God and let Him handle it. I ask your prayers for my brother. And I ask your prayers for me. If my heart has hardened, if I am in the wrong, may I find forgiveness for myself and ask forgiveness of my brother. And if my brother is wrong, may he find forgiveness from me and for himself. And may we both be forgiven by God and restored to his good graces. This has laid heavy on my heart for months now, but I haven't wanted to share because of the ongoing complexity of the situation. But now I need all of your help. So please pray for us.

Amen.