Month: December 2014

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tragedy


30439_1506502386326_1347283030_1356311_8331309_nAfter a third day of searching — with seekers and searchers and planes equipped with all sorts of rescue gear scouring the waters of a square mile area comparable to the State of California — they have now found traces of AirAsia Flight QZ8501. All 162 passengers are feared dead. More information, bodies, and debris will most likely be heartbreakingly discovered after this posting.

This is a tough one, friends. Granted, it’s no tougher than the never-found Malaysia Airlines Flight 370 last March or the intentional shooting down of Malaysia Airlines Flight 17 over the Ukraine in July. It’s hard to fathom the depth of the tragedy.

Tragedy is not indigenous to airline malfunctions. It is a tragedy to watch a loved one suffer, the disabled struggle, or a child starve. It’s a tragedy to witness any heart that breaks. Tragedy is one of the admitted, hardest challenges as a known part of life on planet Earth. As we’ve watched the search and rescue teams from a combination of countries anxiously search the Asian waters, that gut-wrenching reality has become all the more clear.

I continue to see pictures of the passengers’ families — relatives heartbreakingly huddled in a small room filled with little but shock and somber apprehension. There are no smiles. No laughs. Only tear-laden, grim glances, rarely looking up, as the hopes of individual survival dissipates each added tick of the clock. The pictures make the empathetic heart only share in such tears and grim glances.

So I think to myself… if one of us were to walk in that room right now, what would we say? What would we share?

If we were to walk into the room of those hurting, huddled masses yearning for their loved ones, what would we, could we, possibly utter?

I’d like to somehow humbly offer here, how the Intramuralist has just the right answer — that we know just the right words to soothe the aching heart — but I do not. Tragedy is not something that can be healed or glossed over by words or empty promises. Tragedy and brokenness can also not be soothed by any arrogance… self-servingness… revenge… rhetorical Band-Aids… insult or oppression of someone else…

And then I think of other tragedies outside of airplane accidents — especially these past few months — and how too often the hollowness of all of the above is justified. It cannot fill the ache.

What words and truth actually heal?

As we come to the end of another calendar year, I am poignantly reminded to focus on what’s most important and to always live with eternity in mind — to remember that there must be more to this life — more than just trying to make it through the day. I try to think of what’s bigger. Who is this great big God of the universe — who had to have created me — because something cannot come from nothing. What would God desire of me? If I can figure that out, my strongest sense is I will have value, purpose, and hope… a hope that would gird me through these tragedies.

Would I say that to the huddled masses in that room?

No… not right away at least. For now, I would simply be by their side… saying very little… praying… quietly letting them know I share their broken heart.

Respectfully… always…

AR

 

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who are we?

A fascinating statement…

With the questionable on-again/off-again moves by Sony Pictures these past two weeks considering release of a controversial movie after threats from North Korea, Pres. Obama addressed the issue in a year end press conference. He said, “We cannot have a society in which some dictator some place can start imposing censorship here in the United States… that’s not who we are.”

When Obama announced this fall that he has the executive authority to alter immigration law, he delivered a prime time address in which he acknowledged that while criminals still need to be deported, deporting millions of others “isn’t realistic.” To defend his controversial move, he added, “It’s also not who we are as Americans.”

Again, after a controversial, questionably substantiated report was released in December by Senate Democrats regarding CIA tactics after 9/11, Obama publicly responded, “Some of the tactics that were written about in the Senate Intelligence report were brutal and, as I’ve said before, constituted torture, in my mind. And that’s not who we are.”

We are always declaring who we are not. It’s also not always Pres. Obama…

Last week as the annual bowl game season commenced, Brigham Young and the University of Memphis found themselves in a tight, two-overtime contest, with Memphis finally edging out the Cougars 55-48. With the game complete in addition to both teams’ dreams of winning, a brawl broke out on the field. Dozens of players partook in the punching. Said Memphis coach Justin Fuente in the immediate aftermath, “I don’t know what happened at the end… It’s not who we are.”

So what is this notion of declaring “it’s not who we are”? Note that the practice is not to actually declare who we are; it’s declaring who we are not.

Who, no less, is capable of declaring such? And what’s the reason for the declaration?

As with many rhetorical one liners, it seems to this semi-humble observer that impression management must be motive #1… “impression management”… saying or doing things around other people in order to convey a specific impression. Obviously, for example, the head coach of the Memphis football team does not want the watching world to think of his team as a bunch of thugs who beat up on other people… “that’s not who we are.” True. They are not. But they are a team who got into a significant fight at the end of the game…

… we are a nation that deports the illegal… we are a nation that has struggled with censorship… we are a nation which had to find a way to respond to 9/11… we are a nation that has made good decisions and poor decisions… and we are a nation that often disagrees on what those are.

My point is that the “not who we are” line is more about controlling the narrative that an actual truthful statement. Allow me to speak for myself. I’ve made my share of foolish mistakes. I’ve said some stupid things, done some stupid things, and put my foot in my mouth on one too many occasions.  It still — unfortunately — happens.  Is that who I am?

That’s not the right question. Better put would be, “Is it consistent with who I want to be?” No, not at all. But we are each capable of saying and doing some stupid things. That, truthfully, is who we are.

Respectfully…

AR

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hope & pain

150334_162204953821786_100000968467983_295251_2467866_n[Borrowed and slightly edited from a blog this week by Justin Taylor, Crossway Sr. VP & publisher, in a historical account giving each of us hope amidst our pain — putting life into perspective…]

In March of 1863, 18-year-old Charles Appleton Longfellow walked out of his family’s home on Brattle Street in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and—unbeknownst to his family—boarded a train bound for Washington, DC., over 400 miles away, in order to join President Lincoln’s Union army to fight in the Civil War. Charles was the oldest of six children born to Fannie Elizabeth Appleton and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the celebrated literary critic and poet. Charles had five younger siblings: a brother (aged 17) and three sisters (ages 13, 10, 8—another one had died as an infant).

Less than two years earlier, Charles’s mother Fannie had died from a tragic accident when her dress caught on fire. Her husband, awoken from a nap, tried to extinguish the flames as best he could, first with a rug and then his own body, but she had already suffered severe burns. She died the next morning, and Henry Longfellow’s facial burns were severe enough that he was unable even to attend his own wife’s funeral. He would grow a beard to hide his burned face and at times feared that he would be sent to an asylum on account of his grief.

When Charley (as he was called) arrived in Washington D.C. he sought to enlist as a private with the 1st Massachusetts Artillery. Captain W. H. McCartney, commander of Battery A, wrote to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow for written permission for Charley to become a solider. HWL (as his son referred to him) granted the permission.

Longfellow later wrote to his friends [Sen.] Charles Sumner, [Gov.] John Andrew, and Edward Dalton (medical inspector of the Sixth Army Corps) to lobby for his son to become an officer. But Charley had already impressed his fellow soldiers and superiors with his skills, and on March 27, 1863, he was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant in the 1st Massachusetts Cavalry, assigned to Company “G.”

After participating on the fringe of the Battle of Chancellorsville in Virginia (April 30-May 6, 1863), Charley fell ill with typhoid fever and was sent home to recover. He rejoined his unit on August 15, 1863, having missed the Battle of Gettysburg.

While dining at home on December 1, 1863, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow received a telegram that his son had been severely wounded four days earlier. On November 27, 1863, while involved in a skirmish during a battle of of the Mine Run Campaign, Charley was shot through the left shoulder, with the bullet exiting under his right shoulder blade. It had traveled across his back and skimmed his spine. Charley avoided being paralyzed by less than an inch.

He was carried into New Hope Church (Orange County, Virginia) and then transported to the Rapidan River. Charley’s father and younger brother, Ernest, immediately set out for Washington, D.C., arriving on December 3. Charley arrived by train on December 5. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was alarmed when informed by the army surgeon that his son’s wound “was very serious” and that “paralysis might ensue.” Three surgeons gave a more favorable report that evening, suggesting a recovery that would require him to be “long in healing,” at least six months.

On Christmas day, 1863, Longfellow—a 57-year-old widowed father of six children, the oldest of which had been nearly paralyzed as his country fought a war against itself—wrote a poem seeking to capture the dynamic and dissonance in his own heart and the world he observes around him. He hears the Christmas bells and the singing of “peace on earth” (Luke 2:14) but observes the world of injustice and violence that seemed to mock the truth of this statement. The theme of listening recurs throughout the poem, leading to a settledness of confident hope even in the midst of bleak despair…

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day, 
their old familiar carols play, and wild and sweet the words repeat
, of peace on earth, good will to men.



I thought how, as the day had come,
 the belfries of all Christendom, 
had rolled along the unbroken song
, of peace on earth, good will to men.



And in despair I bowed my head:
 “there is no peace on earth,” I said,
 “For hate is strong and mocks the song
, of peace on earth, good will to men.”



Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: “God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
 the wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
 with peace on earth, good will to men.”



Till, ringing singing, on its way,
 the world revolved from night to day,
 a voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
 of peace on earth, good will to men!

Respectfully… with hope… always…

AR

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music in my ears

As Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat, and the mall subtly echoes jingling melodies in every shopper’s ear, it causes this semi-humble observer to pause and reflect upon the reality of the season. I actually find it fascinating, how the life and death of Jesus Christ is one of the few events in which we allow time to alter history. “It happened so long ago; we just can’t know for certain,” becomes the familiar, sometimes accepted, societal refrain. And yet, we don’t allow time to change the fact of the reign of the Roman Empire nor that Columbus sailed the ocean blue. The life of Jesus, however, perhaps because of how we feel about some of his teachings, is often a fact rationalized away via the passage of time.

Allow me to humbly share this day a few facts that cause me to pause — brief reasons I know he is real. I speak not from scripture itself (… which I also find to be incredibly fascinating… all the ways inspired prophecies are fulfilled hundreds of years later… so humbling and overwhelming to actually study and read… putting my predetermined opinions aside). There are a few significant facts, no less, that strike me… even with that music in my ears:

  • There exist more than 5600 Greek manuscripts of the New Testament, the biblical account that begins with the birth of Jesus and then chronicles his life. Contrastingly, we have 7 Greek manuscripts of Plato’s work, 49 of Aristotle’s, and 643 of Homer’s “Iliad.” Academia presents each of these as unquestionably true.
  • Jesus is acknowledged in the major religions which do not worship him. Islam says he was a great prophet. Judaism identifies him as a great teacher. The bottom line is that neither denies Jesus walked this planet.
  • Hundreds of witnesses attested to Jesus’s life and death. People who actually saw him and saw his death spoke of it. Allow me to quote Dr. Edwin M. Yamauchi, Professor Emeritus of History at Miami University, as told by writer Josh McDowell: “What gives a special authority to the list (of witnesses) as historical evidence is the reference to most of the five hundred brethren being still alive. St. Paul says in effect, ‘If you do not believe me, you can ask them.’ Such a statement in an admittedly genuine letter written within thirty years of the event is almost as strong evidence as one could hope to get for something that happened nearly two thousand years ago.” Let’s take the more than 500 witnesses who saw Jesus alive after His death and burial, and place them in a courtroom. Do you realize that if each of those 500 people were to testify for only six minutes, including cross-examination, you would have an amazing 50 hours of firsthand testimony? Add to this the testimony of many other eyewitnesses and you would well have the largest and most lopsided trial in history.

I will admit to often wrestling with some of the things Jesus said. They’re not always easy to apply, and I don’t always like the way I feel about what is said. Rarely, however, do I wrestle with what is true.

I’m thus quietly, gleefully moved by that music in my ears this time of year.

Respectfully…

AR

[Intramuralist note:  multiple sources were used for this post, including but not limited to the following: “Archaeology and History Attest to the Reliability of the Bible” by Richard M. Fales, Ph.D., “Unshakeable Foundations” by Norman Geisler & Peter Bocchino, the works and studies Josh McDowell, and Wikipedia.]

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a lack of comprehension

I witnessed a fascinating exchange this week. ABC’s “The View” hosts were again passionately bantering — this day about the evolution and effects of racism — when Whoopi Goldberg and Rosie O’Donnell seemed to somewhat tear into one another. O’Donnell boldly made the comment that “you don’t have to be black to know what racism is!” Goldberg immediately fired back, “Yes, you do!”

I find that fascinating. I mean, I get it. I really get it. I get that when we have a unique scenario or hardship in our life, we conclude that others who have not the hardship do not comprehend what we do — that others are actually incapable of understanding. Those who have been oppressed by racism, for example, have experienced a plight that others have not. It’s a plight that hurts… that’s hard… that comes with a unique set of challenges. We must not diminish the plight of another even and especially when different than our own.

We’re tempted, no less, to reserve that lack of comprehension distinction in other areas…

You don’t have to be an atheist to know what unbelief is…

You don’t have to be adopted to know what rejection is…

You don’t have to have cancer to know what suffering is…

You don’t have to be a single parent to know what loneliness is…

You don’t have to be gay to know what discrimination is…

You don’t have to be poor to know what sacrifice is…

And still many of us adamantly respond: yes, you do.

Like I said, I get it. I get how we conclude that someone who shares not our circumstances or life stage is incapable of comprehension. To the Intramuralist, that’s a logical conclusion. It’s also a conclusion I’m thankful to have not always made.

Once again on Thursday, I referenced the wisdom of my youngest son. Yes, Josh is pretty amazing. He’s a growing, budding, delightful young teen who seems to be sprouting in wisdom in a whole new way. He has changed the way I think, and he has challenged me to grow in areas I otherwise would have missed. Josh has Down syndrome.

When Joshua was born 13 years ago, I remember quickly connecting with other parents of kids with such a special need. We somewhat flocked to one another, as we shared a similar, obvious plight. My sense was we were able to more immediately empathize with one another, recognizing that each of us faced a shocking loss in the expectations of who our children would grow up to be.

While I’ve come to realize as a parent that we have to alter the expectations for each of our children (with Josh, that change was simply forced at birth), I learned something else at the time which I believe was also especially wise…

While flocking to those with like scenarios was comforting because I knew they understood, it was wrong of me to assume that those who did not share my circumstances were incapable of understanding. The longer I clung tightly to my bubble of disbelief — that similar experience was the only means to comprehension — the longer I was challenged to grow outside that bubble.

Friends, there is no judgment in my words. Like I said, I get it. I get it. It is tempting when we experience a plight that hurts, that’s hard, and that comes with a unique set of challenges, to conclude that no one else gets it. The added challenge is that we then widen the division with others, and end up bantering and shouting and making assumptions — instead of ever positively and productively dealing with the issue and emotion at hand.

Respectfully… never with shouting…

AR

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life is hard

IMG_1534Banking on some of the creativity within our household, I’ve solicited the talents today of a young son to help me with today’s post. No, we are not embarking on a winter guest writer series; stay tuned for next summer when our clever writers will again exhibit their contagious wisdom and wit.

My youngest son, though, is pretty amazing. Yes, yes, I know we each tend to be partial to our own flesh and blood, yet I’m fairly certain even if I was not blessed to be his parent, I would still find Joshua to be amazing.

Young, master Josh possesses many gifts, such as (he would gleefully wish for me to inform you) some rather impressive, new dance moves he typically shares with the world each brisk early morning, as we wait for daily school bus.

One of his more fascinating gifts, no less, is his ability to speak the truth. Fascinating, friends, because I believe that in contemporary society, such a gift is rare. So many people feel the only way to speak truth is to shout it; so many others have little respect for the totatlity of their audience; and so many still say one thing to one crowd, and yet a different word to another. Truth is truth. And Josh, this amazing, 13 year old boy with special-but-by-no-means-debilitating needs, knows how to speak it. This week, he spoke it again…

We’ve been wrestling with a serious illness in our family. It’s tough. It’s hard. It’s hard to watch someone you love struggle.

As the last few months have passed, we’ve shared portions of the physical progression with Josh, as he, too, cares deeply for each of our family members. Yet this week one morning, instead of focusing on those new moves, he was simply not his typical self. He was so obviously, emotionally moved; and he was sad. Josh’s entire attitude and activity was thrown off that morn, and it was visible in every ounce of his being. He asked me to please come sit with him.

As I sat down, Josh shared with me that he could not stop thinking about our family member. He was rattled. Upset. When I tried to appease him some, try to pep him up a little, he immediately snapped his head up from it’s downcast pose, yelling at me. “Mom, you don’t understand! I don’t trust God with this!”

And there you have it…

You don’t understand. I don’t trust God with this.

Isn’t that the reality for us as adults? Isn’t that the truth?

It made me think of how often as adults, we don’t trust God… how intelligence gets in the way… how passion and emotion get in the way… how there are so many aspects and areas and struggles and scenarios in which we validate trumping God’s providence and care because of how we feel. And so for whatever reason, we choose not to trust the God of the universe. We don’t trust him with…

Provision. Justice. The future. The current… We too often take too many things into our own hands.

Josh and I proceeded to together conclude that this is tough stuff. In fact, when I shared that such is the struggle for every living, breathing, human being, he seemed to get it… “It’s just hard to trust when life is hard, but I know still, God loves me.”

Josh finished his breakfast, and then we went outside and danced. It was a little slower of a song. Maybe next summer he’ll be a guest writer, too.

Respectfully…

AR

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peace on earth

As we watch the world around us, I see so many struggling for peace. We want it; we crave it. We keep looking for peace, albeit often in all the wrong places.

We look for peace in human history, but the pages are littered with centuries of war and conflict. We look for peace in current events, and yet…

… there is no peace in the racial unrest, seen vividly via protest (some peaceful — some violent) around the country…

… there is no peace in the religious unrest, seen vividly via violence around the globe (possibly motivating this week’s hostage siege in Sydney, Australia).

Just last week four children — all under the age of 15 — were beheaded by ISIS, the raging, radical Islamic group. What was the supposed sin of the four murdered in Iraq? They refused to renounce the name of Jesus Christ.

There is no peace in the conflict with ISIS. If we were one day able to fully thwart their barbaric behavior and future capability, halting their cruelty still fails to change the heart of the radical who still savors savaging the infidel. Stopping ISIS does not solve the unrest; it does not create permanent peace. And if peace is not permanent, I question if it’s truly peace.

There is no peace in the current racial tension. As rallies swell in the streets from San Francisco to New York City, this lack of peace is gut-wrenching; people are hurting. We hear the understandable chants of black lives matter — and they do… They do! But now it has become disrespectful and politically incorrect to acknowledge that “all lives matter” — which they also do. But until we get that — until creed or color is never seen — until we all stop empathizing only with some — assuming another side is ignorant or stupid or some other derogatory term — there will be no peace. Again, there will be no condition that’s permanent; and that’s what we truly crave: permanent peace.

So I ask: can peace on Earth truly exist? And if so, how?

Surely it’s not by shouting at one another, demanding others must “think like me”… surely it’s not by declaring how right “I am” and pouncing on the presumed sins of another — how wrong they are… surely it’s not by any means of intentional dishonor or disrespect. Where then does peace come from?

I find it eerily ironic that here we are with so much obvious unrest in the world — from the streets of Ferguson to the deserts in the Middle East — and yet it’s hard to escape the “peace on Earth” mantra that is continually piped into our ears this holiday season. This time of year, seemingly all around us, from the constant car radio to the musical tracks subtly echoing in the local mall, we hear that bold, prominent proclamation, a promise of hope and of lasting peace… a peace that’s permanent… “Peace on Earth… good will to men.”

As I think of this unrest and despair on planet Earth — in these conflicts in which we clamor for peace — I’m reminded of the that “old familiar carol” that plays, as penned by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in the latter half of his song:

And in despair I bowed my head: “There is no peace on earth,” I said; “For hate is strong and mocks the song , Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: “God is not dead, nor doth he sleep; The wrong shall fail, the right prevail, With peace on earth, good will to men.”

Till, ringing, singing, on its way, The world revolved from night to day, A voice, a chime, a chant sublime, Of peace on earth, good will to men!

We hear the refrain in the music in the malls. We hear the claims of available peace amidst all conflict. I want a peace like that.

Respectfully…

AR

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big picture

In the news this past week was much conversation regarding spending money. Whether it’s funding the federal government or finding one more creative, Christmas gadget, we focus much on how we spend our money. I think, however, we often focus on foolish things.

Let me not appear to be disrespectful, friends; it’s not my intent. It’s just that we fall so easily prey to becoming passionate about a singular aspect of spending that we sometimes ignore the big picture.

Look at the federal government’s spending bill — which next to the Gruberization of Obamacare and controversial CIA report — was perhaps the most significant story out of our nation’s capital this past week. While passage was bipartisan but narrow in the House — and  faced a similar fate in the Senate — note also the bipartisan criticism. Republican critics, such as Sen. Ted Cruz (R-TX), demanded the bill be stripped of money that could be used to implement Pres. Obama’s Executive Order on immigration. Democrat critics, such as Sen. Elizabeth Warren (D-MA), demanded the bill be stripped of provisions that roll back part of a controversial banking bill, even questioning the “maturity” of the provision’s supporters. Yet both the Cruz’s and Warren’s of the world — who are supposed to represent us — are focusing on something less than the big picture.

Over no time during the past six years have our leaders passed an annual budget.

Allow me to say that again in another way: our federal government has not adhered to a budget for the past six years.

For whatever reason (and I’m sure entrenched partisans will willingly and quickly cast blame on someone else), during the Obama administration, the federal government has never passed a budget. Instead of being guided and limited by a standard practice that most successful business entities must acknowledge, the federal government simply keeps passing “continuing resolutions” — “CR’s” — never wrestling with the bigger problem.

This lack of wrestling is what allows for ample waste and long term problems. This lack of adherence is what allows for the current, uncontrolled spending of the federal government, such as $387,000 spent on a study of the effects of Swedish massage on rabbits… $371,026 on if mothers love dogs as much as they love kids… and $856,000 to teach mountain lions how to walk on treadmills. In other words, an annual budget forces legislature and the White House to specifically address spending and cut out money we don’t have (… i.e. love those dogs and lions, but not sure massive monies should be spent…).

We seem to be growing complacent in the reigning in of exploding spending, and thus when the Cruz’s and Warren’s and White House, etc. focus on a singular aspect, passionate as they may be, they are still focused on something lesser. How will spending ever be under control if we can’t agree on how much to spend? What domestic entity has ever succeeded by such a process? Where is the courageous, big picture leadership? Where is the leadership to adopt an annual, wisely limiting budget?

This week comes my annual Christmas brunch (fire up), a wonderful, community event where my sole goal is to love on the participants — genuinely and generously — jumpstarting their celebration of the season. It is a marvelous event — fun to partake in and a true privilege to host — sharing all sorts of goodies and gadgets.  The goodies and gadgets are actually far less important than the celebration. The event is thus so sweetly good because we never lose sight of the big picture.

P.S. That’s important.

Respectfully…

AR

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split-brained

2014-08-26-right_brain_left_brain-thumbRight brain, left brain. Left brain, right brain. Schemeel, schlemazel, Hasenfeffer, Incorporated.

Ok, ok, so the “Laverne & Shirley” lyrics leave a little to be desired, but again we’re faced with the psychological myth that persons prefer one side of their brain to the other.

“Left-brained” persons are said to be more logical. “Right-brained” are more creative.

In other words, according to multiple sources utilized for this post (including psychology.com, livescience.com, National Public Radio, etc.), “left-brained” are supposedly more rational, respond to verbal instructions, solve problems via logic, sequence, and order, and are known to be more structured, and in control of their feelings. They see the logic of cause and effect.

“Right-brained,” on the other hand, are less structured. They are more intuitively guided. They solve more with hunches and emotion; they are more spontaneous and free with their feelings and emotion. They see resemblances and base conclusions off of such correspondence.

And then look at events of today…

Should they be solved solely via logic?

… solely via emotion?

Or both?

Let the record show that every time the Intramuralist takes the left brained/right brained test, my results are the same. I test pretty equally, right down the middle; in other words, I don’t consistently lean toward either hemisphere. I appreciate emotion, but I can’t leave logic out of the equation. I value logic, but I can’t dismiss emotion.

How would it change the perceived polarization of our country — the Republican vs. Democrat, the white vs. black, the White House vs. Congress, for example — if we valued both logic and emotion? … as opposed to solely base decisions off of one?

How would it change how we wrestle with the issues?

From the budget to Ferguson to the scandalous crud of the IRS? How would it change each of our perspectives if we honored logic and emotion both — as opposed to being solely driven by one side of the brain or the other?

And one more “for the record…”

While the “left-brained/right-brained” theory was coined by Roger W. Sperry in 1981 — who was awarded the Nobel Prize for his research — many contemporary psychologists believe the split-brain theory to be a myth.

Is it a myth? Maybe.

But are some more logical in their approach and some more emotional? And do we tend to think the other is misguided because of their different approach?

Fascinating.

Respectfully…

AR

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person of the year

Since 1927, Time Magazine’s editors have chosen their annual “Person of the Year.” The award is not a popularity contest, nor is it a person who is necessarily admirable or positive; past designees have included Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin — with Stalin named twice. The title is aptly given to one who has “most influenced the news this year for better or worse.”

The origin of the magazine’s moniker was different — at least in regard to motive — as the editorial epithet was first assigned in order to remedy a perceived editorial embarrassment. Aviator Charles Lindbergh was not featured on Time’s cover following his historic trans-Atlantic flight that year; hence, the designation of Lindbergh as the first then “Man of the Year” allowed Time to save some journalistic swagger.

Sometimes the person is a bit more ambiguous, such as “The American Fighting Man” in 1950, representing U.S. troops involved in the Korean War — or an entire people group such as 1960’s “U.S. Scientists.” In some of the periodical’s more creative attributions, 1982 cited “The Computer”, 1988 “The Endangered Earth,” and 2006 was actually “You.”

(… ok, “You” is still making this observer chuckle… must not have been many great choices that year…)

This year, with the continued evolution of social media, Time again invited the rest of us to join in, although the editors aver they will be doing the actual selecting. This year’s prime candidates, no less, include multiple, perennial national and world leaders — such as Germany’s Angela Merkel, Russia’s Vladimir Putin, and both U.S. Senators from Kentucky. Several CEO’s made the list, as did celebrities Kim Kardashian, Taylor Swift, and Kanye West. Also included is NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell, “Ebola doctors and nurses,” and Pete Frates and Pat Quinn — originators of the ALS “Ice Bucket Challenge.”

My sense is that the so-called winner will not be Pope Francis, as even though included in the consideration, the pivotal religious leader was the 2013 designee.

The title could be given to the included “Ferguson protestor.” Even though the societal figure was prominent only in August and December, the choice would contribute to the public narrative desired by some. Let’s face it; one of the aspects manifest via Ferguson is that sometimes the media influences the narrative more than reality itself. Sometimes the media seems to actually create news — especially when possessing a bias certain sources surreptitiously share.

As the Intramuralist considers potential worthy suitors, I immediately think of “awards” to the following :

To Pres. Obama — who still seemed to rally the masses this year, albeit arguably more in opposition than support…

To Attorney General Eric Holder — who questionably, oversaw the legality in multiple serious scenarios, from the IRS to Ferguson, Missouri…

To “A Trio of Athletes” in Adrian Peterson, Ray Rice, and Jameis Winston — each who for better or (yes) worse, brought domestic violence to the forefront of public conversation…

And to “The Social Media User” — who still creates or kills a story based on how much they Tweet, text, video, or Vine.

We will watch with curiosity for this week’s announcement, seeing who earns the subjective distinction — seeing still, how they will react to the title. Will they be humble? Will they be honored? Will there exist any bias in the presentation?

At least this year, the “victor” probably won’t be “You.”

Respectfully…

AR