Category: Current Event

As has long been a tradition of the Intramuralist, every now and then I enjoy taking a quick glance at the nation’s headlines, just to get a pulse on what people are talking about. Also, of course, I enjoy the insightful questions embedded in those headlines.

(Remember: the question mark is the only punctuation piece that actually invites a response.)

Nonetheless, while on spring break, the following questions — which themselves served as actual headlines — got my attention:

“Whose Luck Runs Out in Final Four?”

“What If George W. Bush Spied on Obama in 2008?”

“Is Obamacare a Lifesaver?”

“Why Can’t Politicians Work Together?”

“When Is It OK for Democrats to Work with Trump?”

“What Do Republicans Do Now?”

“Is Russia America’s Enemy?”

“What’s Next for Gold, the Dollar, and the Stock Market?”

“Think Tax Reform Will Be Easy for Trump?”

“Does Believing in God Make You a Better American?”

“Why Is Water Sacred to Native Americans?”

“If Gorsuch Can’t Be Confirmed, Who Can?”

“Why Are Baseball Games So Darn Long?”

“Is a Secular America a Worse America?”

(… and perhaps my favorite — at least in the non-polarizing category…)

“Dancing With the Stars: Who Will Win Season 24?”

Let me always offer the freedom not to answer the questions; some questions, in fact, are impossible to answer. Some questions I simply don’t like.

But almost always, the asking and entertaining of a question is key to further understanding. Further understanding would be wise for us all…

… always.

Respectfully…

AR

 

Some of life’s most poignant lessons come from the least expected places. For me that often means coming from my youngest son, Joshua.

As said here many days, for those who believe special needs equates to some lesser quality of life, I contend you have not met my Josh. He is vibrant and sensitive and incredibly insightful; he, too, is often better with people than I.

One of the many things I admire about Josh is that he doesn’t hide his emotion. That doesn’t mean he takes it out on unfortunate others, but it does mean that when he’s happy, we all know it. When he’s excited, his enthusiasm brightens up everyone else in the room. And when he’s mad, he’s really mad. There is no doubt whatsoever.

We adults — well — we’re better at hiding things, being fairly well versed in managing the impressions we wish others to have of us. The sharing of emotions, though, is typically a higher priority for Josh than managing those impressions.

Last week, no less, Josh was mad.

Let me begin by explaining that Josh loves many things… from Batman and Disneyland, to nachos and mozzarella cheese sticks, to his two older brothers and Joey Tribbiani. And consistent with his emotional expression, when Josh loves something, that zestful glee is 100%, absolutely contagious. Yes, Josh’s love is contagious.

Note that one of the things on that list of things he loves is sushi. While we don’t get too into the raw fish or eely edibles, Josh loves creating a cold rice combo with a small vegetable and shrimp garnish, wrapped in seaweed, and topped with a modest crunch. Thankfully, Wednesdays are often “Sushi Day” at school.

But last Wednesday, he had a problem.

Someone had graciously decided to bless Josh’s special needs class with a thoughtful gift. They were bringing lunch to the entire class, purchasing Arby’s roast beef sandwiches for everyone in the room.

For over a week, in fact, Josh had expressed his joy that someone was bringing them Arby’s!

And he continued to express that joy… that is… until Wednesday morning when he awoke, realizing that the acceptance of the gift meant no sushi. Remember: Josh loves sushi.

He was ranting and raving and unquestionably grumpy.

“I am so mad!”

Such was a mere one of his angry refrains.

Allowing the authenticity of his expression to play out, I felt no need to squelch any emotion until he kept repeating himself with even more ratcheted up responses. His continued expression was causing him to lose focus.

“Josh,” I finally said, during one small break in the ranting. “Do you see what’s happening?”

He looked at me with those big blue eyes that kind of wanted to stay mad, but still keenly aware that he should at least listen to other potential sources of wisdom.

“You are so mad, your anger is keeping you from being thankful. Your anger is getting in the way of seeing and doing what’s right.”

To be clear, Josh did not become instantly happy; as noted, he’s not one to fake how he feels. But he was able to stop ranting, surrender his anger, go to school, and then offer his thanks. He was able to keep his anger from getting in the way.

Respectfully…
AR

 

So on Tuesday (follow my train of thought here, as we’ll eventually make our point)…
With minimal sleep and a totally swamped, exhausting day before, I awoke with two of my two and half bathrooms unusable. With my spouse out of town and carpet layers home instead for a substantial, two day project, the furniture in the soon-to-be carpeted rooms was temporarily stacked in the bathrooms. Note that when stacked from floor to ceiling, brushing one’s teeth becomes unviable and taking a shower, out of the question.

With the carpet crew and the paint crew both working steadfastly on this day — albeit in separate rooms — the only indoor area absent of contractors was a booth in my kitchen. Don’t get me wrong. I love my booth; but it was the only place in my entire home in which I could peacefully sit.

Strike that peacefully part… I knew there would be two days of this, overlapping the crews for some desired home improvements, and so on the previous day, I took my one year old pup to my favorite “doggie daycare,” so the noise of the stripping and pounding would not be cause for her to stir; however, Tuesdays are for small dogs only; my pup weighs 53 lbs.

So on Tuesday, my faithful Yogi stayed right where she typically does — by my side — which now included barking and barking and even more barking due the pounding of the carpet layers, who were not yet, her known friends.

I suppose I could have let her outside; granted, it had rained this morning.

At one point, the barking got the best of her. She took off all a sudden, slamming my left hand against a metal table. It hurt so much, tears immediately flowed. While I no longer think it’s broken, it remains swollen and available only for minimal use.

My son then called — couldn’t find his written excuse for the orthodontist. I had to then call both the school and the ortho.

“Time for lunch,” I thought. “I’ll sit down and find some comfort food.” Yet before taking my very first bite, I walked out to the garage to throw something away… until… when what to my wondering eyes should appear? My car, that was sitting in the garage all night, had a flat tire.

Geesh.

I admit: when initially considering penning a relevant post, my thoughts pretty much paralleled “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.” But somewhere amidst the pondering, I realized if I focused on what truly seemed a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, I would miss any blessing.

I’ve seen a few blog articles swirling around cyberspace lately talking about use of the word “blessing” — or “blessed.” And mostly what I’ve seen has been an ardent admonition to quit using the word.

I disagree. We shouldn’t stop saying the word; we should instead start using it correctly.

Being “blessed” is not a matter of material fortune.
Being “blessed” is not a matter of prosperity, victory, or success.
Being “blessed” is not a matter of circumstance.

Even though my Tuesday was indeed a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, I was still blessed…

I was blessed being able to interact and communicate with the ethnically diverse contractors in my home that day.
I was blessed that they would allow me to make them dinner, thankful for them using their skill and expertise in an area that I had none.
I was blessed by the kindness of the Good Samaritan who came to my house to fix the tire.
I was blessed by the prayers of friends who knew I was struggling.
And I was blessed by that special needs son, who told me before he left for school that day, “It’s ok, Mom. God’s got it all under control.”

Thank God my Tuesday didn’t keep me from seeing the blessing.

Respectfully…
AR

As one who intends to always be an active student — recognizing there will forever be more to learn — I find myself consistently amazed at the truth embedded in stories of faith. I also find that for me, when I’m immediately rejecting of faith, sometimes that’s more about me and my own hangups than it is about any embodiment of truth.

One of the stories that continually challenges my core thinking is the infamous idea of “defining one’s neighbor.” Allow me to briefly share the scenario:

Just then a religion scholar stood up with a question to test Jesus. “Teacher, what do I need to do to get eternal life?”

He answered, “What’s written in God’s Law? How do you interpret it?”

He said, “That you love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and muscle and intelligence—and that you love your neighbor as well as you do yourself.”

“Good answer!” said Jesus. “Do it and you’ll live.”

Looking for a loophole, he asked, “And just how would you define ‘neighbor’?”

Jesus answered by telling a story. “There was once a man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. On the way he was attacked by robbers. They took his clothes, beat him up, and went off leaving him half-dead. Luckily, a priest was on his way down the same road, but when he saw him he angled across to the other side. Then a Levite religious man showed up; he also avoided the injured man.

“A Samaritan traveling the road came on him. When he saw the man’s condition, his heart went out to him. He gave him first aid, disinfecting and bandaging his wounds. Then he lifted him onto his donkey, led him to an inn, and made him comfortable. In the morning he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take good care of him. If it costs any more, put it on my bill—I’ll pay you on my way back.’

“What do you think? Which of the three became a neighbor to the man attacked by robbers?”

“The one who treated him kindly,” the religion scholar responded.

Jesus said, “Go and do the same.”

The part of the story that challenges me is the question of who actually is my neighbor (… well… and, actually, the part about treating him kindly and going out and doing the same…).

But I think about that… “Who’s my neighbor?” Who are we called to be kind to that we struggle with — a question all active students must ask, regardless of adherence to any faith.

Am I kind to the person who looks differently than me?
Am I kind to the person who lives differently than me?
Am I kind to the person who believes differently than me?
Am I kind to the person who behaves differently than me?
Am I kind to the person who votes differently than me?

Am I kind to my neighbor? Or am I intentionally justifying withholding kindness from some?

The reason I find the above teaching so continually challenging, lies in the reality that I am not always kind. Sometimes I justify withholding kindness and respect because of differences in how others look, live, believe, behave, and vote.

Looks like remaining an active student is a wise choice after all.

Respectfully…
AR

It is no secret that the Intramuralist loves the question mark. It’s the only punctuation piece that invites an answer (… and we wonder why we keep conversationally shutting down one another…).

With a search spanning the pages of Facebook, Forbes, Readers’ Digest, and my own, etc. — recognizing that some of life’s questions are oft related to the thrill of victory or the agony of defeat — I found myself pondering the following…

… especially in regard to the current socio-political climate that is less than conversational… less than respectful… less than inviting… less than good…

(… yes… less than good…)

1. What are the questions we each must answer?
2. What am I pretending not to know?
3. What are my values and am I being true to them?
4. What — or who — am I living for?
5. In what ways am I being perceived, that I’m not aware of?
6. In what ways am I being deceived, that I’m not aware of?
7. Do I honor the authorities in my life? Am I actually willing to acknowledge authority?
8. Where are my blindspots?
9. What is wrong with the world?
10. How can what’s wrong be made right?
11. Is money the root of all evil?
12. What is the definition of evil?
13. Where am I less than patient?
14. Where am I withholding grace? From whom am I withholding grace?
15. What don’t I know, that I don’t know?
16. Would I be focusing on the same things today if I knew I was dying tomorrow?
17. How would my role models act and carry themselves?
18. Who is God and what does he ask of me?
19. Is there anything within my control that I need to change today?
20. Where have I been unkind?
21. Where have I been discriminatory?
22. Where have I been awful to the person who doesn’t think like me?
23. Who has the right — and the ability — to judge?
24. Where am I being judgmental? … and…
25. What did I learn today?

(… hopefully something…)

Respectfully…
AR

[This is a tough day for the Intramuralist. But this post originally published in January of 2016 makes me feel a little better, as it’s one of my all time favorites. I apologize for the repeat; however, some stories are worth sharing far more than once…]

_____

A little less than a year ago, I had one of the best worst weeks of my life… as nothing prepares you for the passing of a loved one. Nothing. The only thing that makes the unbearable pain bearable is a faith that is grounded in wisdom and hope — and speaks of something greater than the circumstances at hand.

My younger sister passed away early that Monday morning. My family and I had long planned to fly to NYC on Thursday, as my teenage son and his talented show choir were set to dance on the prestigious, Lincoln Center stage on Friday. Hence, the celebration of Nicole’s life was moved to Sunday, which meant much travel (and even more emotion) packed into a few short days.

Unfortunately that Thursday morning, the undesired occurred again; in our midwest city of often sporadic weather, we were experiencing a blizzard-like storm that included over 9” of snow. Perhaps minor for our friends in Boston and Colorado Springs, 9” can be paralyzing in Cincinnati.

With the storm extending across the entire East coast, flights were being cancelled by the minute; one by one, we would hear disheartening news of another show choir family unable to make this once-in-a-lifetime trip. For some odd reason, our morning flight took off, relatively on time.

Save for my grieving heart, the flight itself was fairly smooth — that is, until we approached LaGuardia. We were immediately placed into an hour long holding pattern, as the airport had closed in order to plow the runways. Unbeknownst to us at the time, after that hour, the airport had actually reopened, but the first Delta flight attempting to land skidded right off the runway, crashed through a fence, and came to rest with the plane’s nose extending out over the adjacent bay of water. Thank God no life-threatening injuries occurred.

Needless to say, our Delta flight was then told the airport was closed. With the storm intensifying and more airports closing, we wondered if they would return us home. After more delay, we were told we would be landing at Bradley International — although most of us knew not where that was.

Once landed (in Hartford, CT, no less), we found ourselves in a sea of stranded others… so many questions and confusion. Airline reps attempted to be clear; maybe busses would come; maybe they could get us to our desired destination sometime today. There were too many “maybes.”

Yet there amidst the hundreds stranded, we were given a blessed gift. Three other show choir families were experiencing the same flight and plight: two sets of parents, one set of grandparents. We recognized one another, but previous to this moment, I did not know them well. We huddled, put our minds together, assessing our options.

Deciding to take things into our own hands, we walked and talked. As a group, we shared all this unexpected, significant emotion… the challenge of being diverted… the fear of being stuck… the concern for our friends traveling alternate routes… the empathy for our friends no longer able to come… and the worry for our kids, who were separately en route. There was so much deep, dichotomous emotion — almost too much to handle.

“Too much to handle” for me was all this on top of what had happened earlier in my week. Thus, thrust together in Connecticut — feeling simultaneously totally overwhelmed and profoundly grateful — I couldn’t help but share the more prevalent feelings permeating my heart, that which happened before we ever took off. The way those men and women then reacted to the news of my sister’s death was beautiful… the tears in the women’s eyes… the immediate hugs… the questions, the sincerity, and the genuine concern… They loved this then semi-stranger in a way that was meaningful, authentic, and true. Any differences did not matter. They became, as I like to say, my best friends for a day.

Several hours later, we finally made it to Manhattan. The time included multiple phone calls, prayers, selfies in the abandoned baggage claim area, a drink in the pub, and then a two/three hour, at-times-treacherous but fun-filled van ride before pulling into Times Square near 5:30 p.m. As we each exited the van, saying “see you tomorrow,” we hugged one another, unspeakably aware of all the emotion the day entailed. Those friends will always be uniquely, deeply dear to me — what a beautiful role they serve… my “best friends for a day.”

Respectfully… with peace, joy… tears, too…
AR