Category: Current Event

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a fictional, unconventional, poignant conversation

Man #1: “Excuse me, sir. Is this seat taken?”

Man #2: “No.”

(#1 nods. Sits. Across the table from #2. Neither were expecting to be here together. Not sure if someone planned this meeting or not. It’s a little uncomfortable. Hence, several awkward minutes of silence pass, until the two realize they’re the only ones at the table. #2 initiates the conversation…)

#2: [subtly but warmly] “I haven’t seen you lately. Busy?”

#1: [also subtly] “Yeah, not with the usual, but yeah, busy. You?”

#2: “Yeah, trying a couple new things. Not sure if it will work or not, but trying. How about you? I heard you were looking for work. How’s it going?

#1: “Frustrating, but ok. I quit last spring, but rumor had it they were going to get rid of me anyway. Looking for job isn’t easy. Everyone has all these preconceived notions about you, regardless of resume.”

#2: “So true, man. I thought I did pretty well in my last job. We did some good stuff out in Denver. But people still said I wasn’t good enough — not the right skill set or something.”

#1: “You think they were telling you the truth? … why you got canned?”

#2: “Maybe. I mean, I think everything happens for a reason, so that’s enough for me. I also know that some things are just a game. Life’s more important than that.”

#1: “You can say that again.”

(Another few minutes of a little less awkward silence commence, this time with heads bowed, somber faces, not looking at each other but each pondering, separately but together… #1 initiates conversation this time…)

#1: “Hey… you think all those people — the zillions who call you names, flip you off, judge you, all that other vulgar crud — you think they understand you?”

#2: “No. Not at all. I guess I just figure other people’s behavior is out of my control. My job isn’t to play to the audience, but to instead be who God calls me to be, say what he wants me to say, do what he wants me to do.”

#1: “You always do that?”

#2: “Are you kidding? No way. I am totally, 100% imperfect, you know.”

#1: “Yeah, I heard that.” (…they share a sincere chuckle, looking briefly eye-to-eye…)

#2: “What about you? Do you think you’re doing what you’re called to do?”

#1: “I think so. But it’s hard. It’s hard when people think I want to spit in the faces of our veterans or have no respect for any other race. Heck, my biggest fans don’t always get that.”

#2: “Mine either. Sometimes they praise me, when it’s not praising me that I strive for. I’d really rather they praised God instead of me. I think we too often worship people and things other than God.”

#1: “Agreed. I’ve said before publicly that I believe God guides me through everyday. We’re all equal in God’s eyes, but I feel like my brothers and sisters of color are still sometimes oppressed. I want our country to talk about that — to do something! I’m exhausted by the multiple examples of unfair treatment and disrespect I’ve seen.”

#2: “That’s really hard. I’m sorry, man.”

#1: “Me, too.”

(… silence again ensues, but this time, it’s not so awkward… the two recognize some sort of greater connection…)

#2: “Hey, you mind if I ask you a question?”

#1: “Sure.”

#2: “Why do you kneel?”

#1: (… with a slight smile and affirming nod…) “Good question. I’m just trying to bring attention to what I care about. You?”

#2: “Same.”

#1: “Do you, well, do you ever wish you would have picked a different way to do it?”

#2: “Sometimes. Sometimes it seems way bigger than me. People have agendas and jump on bandwagons. Then the politicians get in the way, usually trying to somehow use my actions for their benefit. Then more join in and get rude and nasty, and for some reason think it’s totally ok to judge people who don’t think like them.”

#1: “Isn’t that the truth! Don’t they realize that we’re fighting for respect for all people?”

#2: “True. [slight pause] How ‘bout another question — although a little more personal, if you’re ok with it?”

#1: “Of course.”

#2: [humbly] “I know you grew up in the church, went to church through college, and often still talk about God and Jesus publicly. You wish to honor him?”

#1: “Absolutely, brother!”

#2: “Would you mind then if we took a knee here together, privately? … recognizing that life is tough on this planet, yet we are each loved by God, regardless of our imperfections?”

#1: “Let’s do it!”

(… and with that the two men reverentially kneel… another few minutes of silence pass, but no awkwardness whatsoever now… the two slowly stand, stretch a bit, grasping the sobriety of the moment. They realize their time together has come to an end…)

#2: “Hey, man. I appreciate this. Even in our differences, I see we have more in common.”

#1: “I wish all people could see that — both those who cheer and jeer. Everyone deserves to be treated fairly and respectfully.”

#2: “Amen, bro! Prayer helps us see that — bowing to someone bigger than we.”

#1: “Submission to a God who created and thus loves us is perhaps most unifying. We need to change some things around here!”

#2: “Yes, we do. Hey, what’d you say your name was again?”

#1: “Colin. Colin with a ‘C.’ ”

#2: “Hey, Colin. I’m Tim. Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming to the table today.”

#1: “You, too, Tim. Maybe more will join us.”

Respectfully…
AR

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the kneeler

Last week the president of Black Lives Matter New York, Hank Newsome, and his supporters came face-to-face with Pres. Trump supporters at a very vocal rally in Washington, D.C. Newsome’s expectation was “to come down here with my fist in the air in a very militant way, exchange insults, maybe some dirty looks, or who knows what.”

But a funny thing happened after Newsome was spontaneously welcomed onto the stage and invited to speak. He and the audience found places where they agree. If one watches the now-gone-viral, powerful video, agreement was specifically found on the assertions that:

(1) Black lives matter.
(2) All lives matter.
(3) We need justice when a black life is unfairly lost. And…
(4) If we really want America great, we do it together.

In other words, when the approach was altered, agreement was found. Our approach often impedes understanding.

Introducing exhibit #1… the kneeler.

I ask first, no less, that we remember the circle metaphor… If we are all standing in a circle staring at the same object in the middle, there are a minimum of 360° to look at the exact same thing. From 360 angles, it will look and feel differently. And… because we each have an unobstructed view, we will confidently assume we have the absolute, only correct perspective… even when we are looking differently at (I repeat) the exact same thing. Hence, the Intramuralist continues to contend that this is not solely a two-sided issue. I also contend that because of the chosen approach, there is minimal understanding; people are talking past each other.

Note the explanation of a friend of a friend, Martin Carbaugh: “As I see things, the two sides are talking past each other. The kneelers are kneeling to bring attention to racism and unjust police actions against African Americans. Many just want to get a national conversation started. In their hearts, they aren’t protesting our military.

Those so frustrated by this see the American flag and our National Anthem as unifying symbols of our country that should be honored and respected because of the countless lives that have been sacrificed to give us the freedoms we have today. They see the kneeling protests akin to spitting in the faces of returning veterans from war.

Where I come down is that what the kneelers are protesting, I can agree we should have an open honest conversation about, but the way they are protesting is not an effective way to get the nation you want to converse with to listen to you. It is offensive to those who have served our nation in war. It is also offensive to the vast majority of police officers who serve and protect with honor.

The protesters see anyone who doesn’t like their method of protest as not agreeing with what they are protesting when in reality most just disagree with how they are protesting. On the other side, those who don’t like the protests assume the protesters are unpatriotic, military haters when in reality a majority of the protesters just want something done about unjust police shootings.

This is my take. My advice to the protesters is to find a way to get your point across without offending so many folks. I mean, if I really want to get attention and have the country listen, it is best if I don’t offend you in the process. For those offended, try and understand those protesting may not be doing it the right way at all but they may have something we need to chat about and do something about.”

I admit… I still have more questions than answers… did this initially start as a protest or pout, since Colin Kaepernick had just been benched by his team? … why did Pres. Trump feel he needed to get involved?… were the athletes this past weekend standing more for Colin Kaepernick or against Donald Trump? … and why does this all have to happen during the National Anthem? 

But perhaps the best question — and not an easy one, but maybe the one most necessary to answer — is: when will people quit talking past each other?

As Hank Newsome shared after speaking with the seemingly un-likeminded, “When I spoke truths, they agreed. I feel like we made progress. I feel like two sides that never listen to each other actually made progress today…”

Maybe progress starts with changing our approach… maybe it starts by inviting the un-likeminded onto our stage, inviting them to speak, and actually listening to what they have to say.

Respectfully…
AR

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a key to racial reconciliation

Let me invite you in today to join a tough but honest conversation, a place where you are safe, honored, and respected. Your opinion is welcome. And it will be listened to in its entirety. Please don’t shout at me, though, because when you shout, you’re hard to hear. I want to have authentic, sincere dialogue. My goal is not to prove any point. My goal is to journey together… learning, growing, and together working to solve some of these tough problems, facing what plagues us head on.

One of the problems that continues to plague us is the seemingly increasing, intense division between black and white… the racial impetus… that so many have fed from so many varied angles… knowingly or unknowingly. There’s a wall that has stood between far too many primarily because of the color of their skin. I shake my head.

I shake my head because we are all created equally, regardless of demographic. Even with that absolute, constitutionally-promoted truth, however, the challenge remains that we still often fuel and feel that division. We feel divided. We too often feel divided due to the color of our skin.

That grieves me.

All men, women, children, etc. deserve to feel loved and respected. But we withhold love. We withhold respect. Many justify withholding love and respect due to racial differences — and — due to how some choose to articulate their opinion about our racial differences.

For months I have pondered why this has intensified. For months I have observed the masses who declare that only one “side” needs to start loving and respecting the other more. People are out there pounding the pavement… protesting… declaring in their indigenous way that they deserve to be loved and respected. Yes, they do. Yet so many in their verbal and nonverbal protests, demanding to be respected, intentionally or not, consequently omit all others who deserve our love and respect. This lack of awareness — that you can’t fight hate with hate, you can’t fight bullying with bullying, and you can’t fight for respect with disrespect — is killing our conversations that have the potential to lead to solution.

Let me go a little deeper…

Here is where — killing us even more — the omission of God from society is hurting us. It’s impairing us and even our intelligence far more than we may know or be willing to admit. Let me give you second sentence.

So many people want to have conversations about what’s happening on the planet with the absence of God’s wisdom and role from the discussion. They won’t or don’t want to talk about God or acknowledge him, recognizing that as the creator of this planet and the creator of us, he may hold the key to figuring some of this big stuff out. How can we continue to have these grandeur conversations about these tough subjects with the full omission of God? It makes so little sense to me… it also continues to advance the idea that self-reliance is often our greatest sin.

God knows more than we do. He created us. We love what we create. And therefore, if God created and therefore loves us, shouldn’t we humbly find a way to make him part of the equation?

Here on Earth we spend all this stinkin’ time railing on one another. We insult. We impede. We intimidate and point all sorts of fingers. Friends, do you realize what we are doing?

We are insulting and pointing fingers at those who are also created and loved by God.

My a-ha these past few months is that I don’t think we see others as loved and created by God, just like we are. After all, why would we justify treating another so poorly? … why would we look down on them so much? … why would we say that only they need to love and respect another more?

It thus begs the question… How would it change our conversation in regard to racial reconciliation if we could see both black and white as equally created and loved by God?

Wouldn’t you treat someone loved and created by God differently? Wouldn’t you treat them with increased honor and respect?

God loves us because he created us, but our omission of him from the conversation is killing us and allowing for all sorts of judgment and disrespect. It’s throwing otherwise intelligent people off track, allowing judgment to seep deeply into their thinking.

Want to instead be part of the solution?

Don’t assume for a moment that the Intramuralist has all the answers — not even close. But I believe we could start by refusing to align with a “side” and stop pointing fingers at another. Recognize first and foremost that each of us is created and loved by God.

Oh, how that would change our conversation…

Respectfully… always…
AR

{Photo by Zac Ong on Unsplash}

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neighbor? enemy? or what?

Recently I was in a situation in which someone who has not known one of my sons very long, identified him in an educational document as somewhat of a “class clown.” While aspects of the description were not without merit, I respectfully requested that we alter the document.

“I don’t disagree with the behaviors you describe,” I asserted. “The challenge is the label. Once we put a label on something, it sticks. And then that’s how we tend to see and treat the person always thereafter.”

Thankfully, in the educational setting, everyone in the room respectfully recognized the potential pitfall… If we identify a person as “_________ ,” they will forever be viewed as “_________.”

Fill in the blank with whatever word you wish — positive or negative…

Friend or foe… genius or jerk. Labels stick.

One label I’ve heard from many as of late — perhaps due to the volatility of the current political climate — is the identification of another as our “enemy.” Socially, relationally, politically, you-name-it. We disagree… someone gets hurt… an initiative is obstructed… and our political leaders unfortunately then encourage the mass labeling.

The potential pitfall is that if we can get the “enemy” label to stick, then we can treat the person differently. We can justify it. We can even think lesser of that person — and then actually get lured into the idea that such is a wise thing to do. At that point it becomes completely acceptable to ignore another’s entire analysis or perspective… They are the enemy, after all. They are not deserving of our respect or consideration.

Who respects their enemy?

If persons are identified as the enemy, then they are certainly not our neighbor, because no way would we live anywhere close to them. And if they are not our neighbor, guess what? We don’t have to love them. We don’t have to like them. We don’t have to even try. It’s only our neighbor we’re universally called to love… right?

…“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind, and love your neighbor as yourself”…

Love your neighbor as yourself… the Intramuralist sees such as a pretty profound concept… I mean, I do love myself, and I’m pretty hip on my family and friends. But my neighbor? That’s more of a reach. I suppose I love most of them.

But notice how we have minimized the profoundness of loving our neighbor as ourselves because we’ve curtailed who can actually be considered in the neighbor category. We have made the imperative easier. Once we identify another as the enemy, we can justify treating them however is easiest and most convenient for us… No need to work through the tough stuff with this one… no need to pursue relationship or reconciliation… no need to give any validity to any of his perspective… nope… he’s the enemy.

For years I’ve led a study encouraging attenders to seek the greatest wisdom. One exercise repeatedly practiced is based on the timeless tale of the Good Samaritan. As has been shared for centuries in all sorts of circles, a traveling man is attacked, beaten, robbed, and left for dead. Multiple persons walk by, notice him but intentionally avoid him; obviously, they don’t see the injured man as their “neighbor.” Since they have labeled him as something lesser, there exists no need to help.

Along comes the Good Samaritan — an ethnicity at the time which was despised by pharisaic leaders. The Samaritan gave the injured man first aid, disinfected and bandaged his wounds. He even lifted the man onto his donkey, led him to an inn, and made him comfortable. Still, he paid the innkeeper for the injured man’s stay.

The Good Samaritan knew who his neighbor was. He never minimized it. He never allowed any belief, behavior, ethnicity, income, political or social standing to alter his awareness of who his neighbor was. He never confused his neighbor with the enemy.

In our study, we thus asked of one another:
“Who would be the person on the side of the road hardest for you to help?”
“Who have we labeled as our enemy?”
And “who have we justified loving less?”

Fill in the blank with whomever you wish. My suggestion is we first learn better who is our neighbor.

Respectfully…
AR

{Gleren Meneghin on Unsplash}

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if they would only realize…

Sometimes it’s hard to know what to write about. I say that not because the Intramuralist has no things to say — more because as I survey the status of current events, some are so tough for understandably many to engage in actual, respectful dialogue. Regardless of the submission of any respectfully-articulated perspective — as is this blog’s promise — the chances of someone screaming back at me or pointing fingers or maybe even throwing something at their computer screen seems to have exponentially risen.

The reality, no less, is that through this online outlet, I can’t hear any screaming nor does any creative projectile damage anything other than what’s in the thrower’s possession. Hence, what I candidly observe is the frequency which with we point fingers. Allow me to rephrase…

We are really good at calling out other people.

Problem after problem… conflict after conflict… so often we strongly suggest the solution rests solely in the change of someone else. So often we promote the only cure as one in which only others must change what they think, say and do. We believe in some grand panacea for all current ills that conveniently absolves self.

“I/me/my/myself,” my husband and I often say. When first married years ago, we began repeating that phrase frequently, reminding one another that it’s our innate, first inkling to articulate a solution or perspective that is “all about me” — that if there’s something wrong, the problem rests not with “me” but with “you.” Sometimes we don’t even realize we’re doing it; maybe we unknowingly mask the challenge to be about someone else.

But in our “I/me/my/myself” mindset, we get lured into believing that the problem rests entirely due to the beliefs or behavior of the other. If that other would only change, then the problem would not exist.

We absolve ourselves of the responsibility to change how we believe or behave.

I have seen this sincere, so-easily-adopted lure creep into so many of our perspectives… and yes, these are hard…

If those others would only realize they are bigots…
If those others would only realize they are privileged…
If those others would only realize they are intolerant…

In other words, if “those others” would only change. Not me, mind you… them. Solely them.

I have absolved myself from any contribution to the unhealthiness. We have absolved the “my” — my people, my party, my behavior, my way of thinking.

Maybe I’m wrong, but my strong sense is that one of the reasons so many topics are so tough to talk about respectfully is because we’re too busy pointing fingers at someone else; we’re so focused pointing out how another has to change how they believe or behave.

What if we instead asked ourselves…

Where have I been rude?
Where have I been mean?
Where have I been unwilling to listen?
Where have I been intolerant or demanding?
And where have I chastised or screamed at another?



Few want to change how they believe or behave when another is chastising or screaming at them. If we want to solve some of these tough topics, perhaps we instead start by stopping this illogical idea that it’s wise to absolve self and only call out the wrongfulness of another. Let us first wrestle with the wrongfulness within ourselves.

Today my husband and I celebrate 23 years of marriage. As most who’ve been married that long will share, there have been moments of both terrific and taxing (some of which I’ve been serendipitously grateful that occurred long before the existence of social media). But we made a commitment to do this… to work through things… to solve problems… and to grow. We committed to doing life together in sickness and in health — in the healthy and unhealthiness. Step one means omitting the emphasis on “I/me/my/myself,” asking not how my spouse must change, but rather, how must I.

Respectfully…
AR

 

{Photo by Felix Russell-Saw on Unsplash}

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what I love about disasters

Please read that title again. I want to be fully clear. Note that I did not say, “I love disasters.” “What” is the key word. There is something within disasters, when they unfortunately happen, that I love.

Disasters get our attention. They make us stop, reflect, cry out to God, and reach out to one another…

Disasters make us stop. Years ago I heard someone say that “if satan can’t make us bad, he’ll make us busy.” (Yes, I realize I didn’t capitalize that proper noun; satan doesn’t deserve it.) Sometimes we get so busy with our work, routines, and “to do lists,” that we fail to take time to do what’s most important — listen well, invest in others, build community, etc. Those things take time. While we might not be susceptible to adopt and embrace evil, we are susceptible to not doing good. When we’re too busy, we aren’t doing good.

Disasters make us reflect. Because we are busy, we miss the wisdom that comes with intentional pause and self-reflection. Often we are busy with good things. Yet when we get so wrapped up in even a good thing — an interest, initiative, ambition or activity — we often fail to reflect upon where we are off, where we need to grow, or where we need to be more humble and kind. Reflection has the unique, necessary potential to keep us humbler. Kinder, too.

Disasters make us cry out to God. Often I wonder if our greatest sin is self-reliance. We become so dependent on ourselves and so confident in our own abilities that we fail to acknowledge the great big God of the universe. We fail to acknowledge who he is, what he has done, and his role and presence in each of our lives. I know that’s a huge conversation, and it’s one I am most willing to have. My point, no less, is that often the only way we cry out to God — acknowledging him, asking for help, or even expressing our gratitude — is when what’s happened in our lives is too big for us to control. Disaster makes us realize what we cannot control. We need far more than self.

Disasters make us reach out to one another. One of the things that has most disturbed me in recent years is the number of things we allow to get in the middle of relationship — all the things that we allow to divide us. Let me be clear: we allow it. We justify an incident, offense, or difference to love someone less… to stop talking to them, to think worse of them, to disrespect them. We choose to love them less. We divide. Disasters have the potential to help us realize that those incidents, offenses, and differences that we have put in the way of relationship are not as important as we made them.

The reality is as I write this, I’m standing in the predicted, calamitous path of Hurricane Irma. I’m not certain of the extent of disaster as of yet, but we are prayerfully prepared to face what’s next. It’s tough, especially not knowing how bad this is going to be. We just witnessed Hurricane Harvey, and the recovery there will no doubt be costly, painful, and long.

But Harvey and Irma afford us the opportunity to more fully comprehend community — to respect and value others in spite of perceived differences and to recognize we have all been divinely created equally. As a friend also awaiting Irma said, “Sometimes people only understand ‘we are one’ during a time of extreme humanity needs.”

Note the joint video announcement from all five living former presidents this past week, appearing together to raise money for relief efforts following Harvey. “One America Appeal” is the name of their initiative. As Pres. Bill Clinton said in their video, “Hurricane Harvey brought terrible destruction — but it also brought out the best in humanity.”

True.

Also true is that those five men — Carter, Clinton, Bush 41, 43, and Obama — have lots of differences. They have all sorts of incidents, offenses, and different ways of thinking that if they allow, could impede any good. But the disaster has prompted them to prioritize what’s most important.

That’s “what” I love about disasters. We stop, reflect, cry out to God, and reach out and respect one another.

That’s important.

(Time now to hunker down.)

Respectfully…
AR

 

{Photo by NASA on Unsplash}

[Note: Tuesday’s post will depend on power after Hurricane Irma passes our area. We’ll post on schedule if able.]

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principle or power

Over the last decade I have seen the priorities of discourse trend away from arguments based on principle to those fed by the desire for power. Persuasive speech driven by facts has given way to forceful tactics where anything goes as long as you persuade or shut up your opponent. Honesty has lost its value while influence is the goal we all seem to be grabbing for.

A few years ago a friend shared an article on Facebook regarding an author she had issues with. The article was full of fabricated untruths that vilified the author. I pointed this out to my friend.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, “I don’t think people should read her books.”

She was using the article to frighten people from reading rather than putting out her own thoughtful opinion based on facts and reason.

In this world of instant results, it seems we have lost the willpower to take the time to actually engage over our differences. We would rather convince people of something in a matter of seconds. Our world of pictures, where we can with a snap show the universe a fabulous meal at a restaurant — “You need to go here!” or of a disastrous vacation spot, “Avoid this place at all costs!” — has turned us into toddlers who use only short sentences and a lot of jumping up and down to get our opinion heard.

To my point, I received a phone call from a polling firm earlier this summer. They asked a series of questions regarding political issues. For most questions, I was given 4-5 responses to choose from, except one question where I was given only two possible answers, neither of which reflected my opinion and both were very one-sided.

“Are those the only answers to choose from?” I asked the surveyor.

“Umm, no,“ she replied. “There are three more listed, but we were told to only read the first two unless asked.”

The polling firm was obviously looking for a particular answer, not caring about the integrity of the survey.

When we use false, exaggerated or manipulated information, not only does the argument fall flat, but the source loses respect and credibility. Which is why, according to recent Gallop polls, less than a third of Americans trust the media. But it is not just the media that are using these tactics.

There is a current court case in Canada where a scientist has been accused of manipulating data in order to show certain results… celebrities being sued for posting complete falsehoods on Twitter… and the thousands who reposted a picture of President Obama not having his hand over his heart during the national anthem while military members saluted around him, not bothering to check the source. Turns out it was “Hail to the Chief” that was playing and he wasn’t supposed to have his hand anywhere near his heart. We have become just as quick to put something out there because it reinforces our opinion whether there is validity to it or not.

If we want to maintain our integrity as individuals or as a society, I propose that we need to all take stock in how we try to persuade others…

Are we totally honest with our approach?

Are we open to hearing rebuttals?

Are we willing to take the time to have open and civil conversations over our differences?

Are we willing to be principled rather than powerful?

Respectfully…
SS

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how many cups?

There were two other scary incidents that could have been life threatening to Sam. They were in addition to the times I personally threatened his life.

The first was the grill brush. It was an industrial strength brush hanging on a bar designed for grill accessories on the side of the grill. It was heavy plastic with a brush made of one-inch long, very stiff stainless steel. It was a sturdy sucker-I could have scraped the asphalt driveway clean down to the gravel beneath. The grill was sitting in a corner of the deck covered by a vinyl cover-out of sight, out of mind. Apparently, it wasn’t out of Sam’s mind.

We frequently left Sam and Meg outside in the backyard, safe within the confines of the Invisible Fence. They loved to lie on the deck in the sun. Like a child, we couldn’t leave Sam alone for long or he’d find something to do, and this time he thought he would clean the meat flavor off the grill brush. Maybe he thought he was helping, like doing the dishes.

I found what little was left of the plastic handle lying in the grass. There was no sign of the steel brush anywhere. I even got down on my hands and knees to look for pieces hidden in the grass, but I found nothing. He could have munched it anywhere and discarded it. He was never selective about dining ambiance.

I started to seriously worry about the metal pieces perforating his stomach or intestines trying to pass through his body, and a possible trip to the emergency clinic in the middle of the night. No sign of distress the following two days, but on the third, Ed was doing poop patrol before mowing and yelled, “Lin, come out here. You’ve got to see this!”

I walked up, looked where he was pointing and burst out laughing. There it was: a huge pooh that looked like an explosion of mangled Brillo, all spikey and metallic. It must have hurt a lot, like passing ground up tin cans. It was really something, and we laughed about it for days.

The next eating extravaganza was expensive. I used manure-based fertilizer for many of the flowering shrubs around the house. The ten pound bag was too heavy to lug around, so I filled a five gallon bucket about three-quarters full. As I worked my way around digging trenches around the drip lines and mixing the fertilizer into the soil, I had my back turned to the bucket sitting several feet behind me.

I heard Sam behind me somewhere, but I had my head in a Rhododendron, and wasn’t paying him any mind. I had no idea he was following and eating the fertilizer as I worked. Ed came out of the garage and caught him with his head in the bucket.

“Sam! Get out of there”! he yelled.

I turned and looked, and saw Sam’s entire snout covered with the fertilizer. Good grief. How long had he been sneaking the stuff, and what’s in it besides pooh? We knew Sam loved to eat deer and bunny poop, so this was probably a culinary convenience-just stuck his head in a bucket. No rooting in the grass required.

Ed grabbed the bag and started reading the ingredients. To be safe, I called the poison control center. I never had reason to call the doggy poison control center before, and wasn’t aware you were required to charge a rather large sum to a credit card before anyone would speak to you that knew anything about anything. They weren’t in it for philanthropic reasons.

First a tech, or someone like that, asked a lot of questions. I repeated the same answers to the same questions when the vet finally came on the line. At least I assumed he was a vet. He could have been a plumber for all I knew.

I gave Sam’s age, weight, rattled off the ingredients, but could not say exactly how much Sam had ingested. The doctor wanted to know how many cups.

“I wasn’t serving tea”, I snapped. “He was sneaking it when I wasn’t looking”!

After a somewhat frustrating conversation, it was suggested I take him to a vet. Ours was closed for the day, so we piled Sam into the van, and off we went to the Emergency Care Center.

The big goof was as happy as a clam to meet so many new friends. He greeted everyone in the waiting room, went from chair to chair, wagging and smiling, as if he wasn’t about to empty our bank account. He reminded me of a smarmy politician working a crowd. He did everything but kiss babies.

After explaining the situation at the front desk for a third time and filling out the required paperwork, Sam was whisked off to the back. Thankfully, no one asked, “how many cups”?

An hour later a doctor came out to tell us Sam was receiving IV fluids, and they may want to keep him all night to keep an eye on him. She said the high iron content in the fertilizer could damage the lining of his stomach. I almost laughed at that. His stomach was made of iron! She said to hang around for a while, and she would let us know. Cha-ching went the cash register in my head.

While we waited we could hear what sounded like Sam’s deep bark in the back. He didn’t sound ill. In fact, he sounded rather boisterous. It was his happy bark. The doctor came out to give us an update, and I asked her if that was Sam barking. She laughed, and said, “Yes. He’s barking at the cats in the cages. He’s a happy boy, isn’t he? Everybody loves him”. Yeah, everybody loves him.

Four and a half hours later, $522.00 poorer and with two prescriptions, we took Sam home. He had mild diarrhea for a couple of days, but was none the worse for wear. What a knothead.

I will say though, the Rhododendron’s looked splendid that year.

Respectfully…
Linda

 

[Sam and Friends, A Collection of Recollections of Life with a Knothead
With permission by Linda Kiernan July 2017]

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doomsday?

Growing up in the inner city of South East Queens NY was a tough enough experience without having new fears to be concerned about with life in NYC in the ‘70s. In high school my science teacher, Mrs. Alvarado/Morales (I never remembered which was her maiden or married name), told us that we had to get prepared for a new phenomena soon to come in our lifetimes. The phenomena was the new Ice Age. She and others in the scientific community were sure that we were headed to an ice armageddon in our very near future. As is evident by the publications of the time, Mrs. Alvarado seemingly had sound evidence behind her claim — or did she?

This last article in July 1971 claims that in 50 or 60 years (which would be about 4-14 years from current date) we might have to have start growing gills. By now some of that evidence should be seen (it doesn’t exist). Wait. I thought ice freezes water — not liquifies it. So while we were sufficiently concerned, no one was panicking that this was going to happen — at least not anyone I was associated with at the time.

Fast forward to 2017… Now it’s global warming which quickly fell out of vogue. It is now “climate change.” The most important aspect of this new climate change frenzy is if you don’t believe in it as prescribed, many consider you a neanderthal, fool, or as Al Gore said July 13th in Australia, ignoring “the tradition of all the great moral causes that have improved the circumstances of humanity throughout our history.” He further went on to liken the climate change battle to “the abolition of slavery, woman’s suffrage and women’s rights, the civil rights movement and the anti-apartheid movement in South Africa, the movement to stop the toxic phase of nuclear arms race and more recently, the gay rights movement.”

Wow… Being a black man, I can’t imagine anyone trivializing any of these great struggles, especially slavery to climate change.

Climate change has become a new religion; if you disagree with the so-called faithfuls’ ideas on this subject, you might be shamed or rhetorically stoned. Those who present it as settled science that another dare not challenge, are some of the people who told us about the impending Ice Age years ago. The major difference today is how social media and the internet spread the propaganda.

I recently challenged my educated, knowledgeable cousin to prove how climate change really works; he couldn’t. He referenced many scientists who say it is so, and I mentioned scientists who say it is not. At best we had a draw. I asked him why is it ok to accept the thinking of the scientist who says it is so and not the other way around? Were they not all giving theoretical explanations? Again, we had a tie on the arguments at best.

I then asked him a simple question: “Do you know the Las Vegas Valley (where I live) and part of the Mojave Desert was part of an ancient body of water? What happened to it?”

In disbelief, he shrugged it off that this was a fact. I pulled the information from the UNLV site; it reads: “The Mojave Desert is located in the southwestern United States and is composed of Death Valley, Pahrump Valley, Amargosa Valley, the Las Vegas Valley and some of the surrounding areas.

The Mojave Desert region has oscillated in climate many times in the past. When man first arrived in the Mojave, it was not likely to be as desert like as what we experience today. While, no one is sure when man first visited the region, there is evidence for human activity over 10,000 years ago! That would have marked about the end of the Pleistocene era, a time when the Mojave was a much cooler and less arid environment. Portions of what are now vast expanses of desert, were likely shorelines of lakes, streams and marshes, and plentiful vegetation and animal life.

As the climate became hotter and drier, the lakes dried up, the streams receded, and left behind isolated ground water fed springs that contain species found no where else in the world, or ‘endemic’ species.”

So my cousin asked the same question you might ask, which is what the heck does this all mean?

It simply means that nature changes itself with or without mankind’s intervention. We have been measuring weather and keeping records for the past 150 years. We assume that the last 150 years have been the most significant because we must be the masters of weather patterns. We confuse weather which is constantly going through cycles as climate. Climate takes a significant amount of time to change as indicated above by UNLV. Weather can change day to day, year to year, decade to decade. 150 years is not statistically significant to call it a “crisis.”

I gave my cousin some additional examples, such as theories that say the Earth’s poles have shifted over the life of the planet. In other words, it is quite possible that the North pole now sits where the South pole is. After much debate, he admitted that there surely should be additional investigation and we shouldn’t declare climate change to be a settled matter. That was all I asked him and all I would ask you. I also asked him to follow the money line on this issue. Advocates like Al Gore are now worth somewhere between $100 and $300 million according to varied reports. They have made a considerable fortune, perhaps trying to be the modern Noah of the bible. They do this while often flying in Lear jets, limos and burning more carbon footprint in a year than most of us do in a lifetime.

My final conclusion is either someone was lying to me in the 1970s or lying to me now. Or could it be they are just misguided but believe they are smarter than us? I believe the Emperor has no clothes…

Who remembers Heat Miser and Snow Miser from that Christmas cartoon? They are opposite ends of the same idea… just like the Ice Age doomsday that was predicted and passed, as well as the new climate change.

Respectfully…
DG

 

Posted on

mom guilt

I struggled this year. I struggled with what I needed to write. What would help someone along their way? …and I struggled. I even considered that the Lord had closed the door on my guest blog time, and yet here I am. I hope this meets you or someone you know along the road when you need it most. Thanks to AR for the invite again; it’s always such an honor.

I was walking with a fellow mom (who I will call P) along a beach path recently in Myrtle Beach. I am just getting to know her, as our sons played baseball together this year.

The husbands were taking a large group of the boys from the team to a local water park and most of the moms were spending the day on the beach. She looked at me like I had 3 heads when I said I was looking forward to a day of relaxing. She asked why I didn’t feel guilty for not going nor felt guilty for planning a day of relaxing at the beach.

I said, “No, I don’t feel guilty.”

I told her P we’re a better mom when we take time for ourselves, read a book, get a pedicure, sit on the beach or have lunch with a friend… doing these things all help us, not hurt us — in being a better mom. P told me she has a lot of guilt being a mom, and that her husband really feeds into the guilt. This conversation has been plaguing me for weeks and got me wondering how many moms feel this same way.

When I googled “mom guilt,” 493,000 pages came up! WOW! WOW! WOW!

I had no idea this was crippling so many moms. I then saw this quote from author Fay Weldon: “guilt to motherhood is like grapes to wine.”

Webster’s defines “mom guilt” as tendencies a mom has to berate herself and to be judged by others for our child rearing decisions. A poll by Glamour Magazine asked men and women how guilty they felt about working after having kids. I was dumbfounded by the results: 87% of women and 0% of men feel guilty.

Let’s go back to my earlier time I was sharing while at the beach…

A group of us were having fun, enjoying the waves, the sun… some were napping, some were chatting… it was a great day. Throughout the day P kept asking if anyone had heard from our spouses and sons… “Do you think they’re ok?… Should I be worried that I haven’t heard from them?” I reassured her several times that it would be more concerning if we had heard from them.

I could see the struggle inside her on her face. It was sad; she’s believed the mom guilt lie. It’s the lie that says good moms don’t need a break — good moms are fulfilled solely by the time with their kids; “good moms _____________ (fill in the blank).” Friends, it’s a lie.

Focus on the Family describes taking time for yourself in this way…

Imagine running your car on low gas; it’s always a gamble, right? If you run out then someone has to come rescue you, fill up your car, and that takes away from two people — where if you had just stopped and filled up, you could’ve kept going. We are just like that car. If we are running our emotional and/or physical tank on empty, we can’t be the best for our family. We run the risk of running on low gas and that’s when tempers flare, feelings get hurt and meltdowns happen. If we had stopped and taken an hour, an evening, a whole day or even a weekend, we could’ve kept going at our best.

I’ll promise you this: the longer we let our tank run empty, the longer it takes to refill. Small stops of refilling when we’re a little low is much easier than if we let ourselves run bone dry.

I think I’ve become the strange lady in the grocery. When a kid is screaming and the mom is trying to regain control or maybe she’s not and just letting the kid scream, I’ve begun offering encouraging words. Sometimes my words are well received — sometimes they’re not — but I’ll keep saying them.

Let me end by saying parenthood is hard, and we’re all in the same kind of boat whether we see it or not.

So be kind; sometimes the sea of parenthood is temporarily smooth and sometimes it’s rowdy and the water is sloshing into the boat. So offer a smile, say a kind word, load a busy mom’s groceries into her cart, be kind to each other, and mostly be kind to yourself.

Respectfully…
AW

 

[Photo by Dakota Corbin on Unsplash]