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08/18/2016

the dog park

[Today is post #8 in our annual, summer Guest Writer Series. Note that the opinions expressed may or may not be held by the Intramuralist.]

Saturday was a big day for our dogs. Ed took them with him to run errands and stop at our favorite donut shop for donuts and coffee. Afterward, he took them to Miami Meadows Dog Park in Miami Township for a change of scene, and a chance to socialize with other dogs. I tagged along if I didn’t have too much to do on the home front.

We purchased a ramp to make it easier for Meg to get in and out of our SUV since she could no longer jump into it, and thus save Ed’s back from the strain of lifting her. She still weighed seventy-five pounds in her old age.

The dogs saw the ramp come out, knew why and where they were headed as if they had an internal calendar. Sam used it, too, and seemed to think it was a nifty apparatus for his amusement. He’d go up and down several times before settling down in the car with a fleece toy in his mouth to wait for the big outing.

Miami Meadows is two hundred acres with soccer fields, baseball and football fields, basketball courts, two shelters, picnic areas, walking trails, skate park, dog park, and a beautiful fishing lake. A major portion of the park has been declared a wetland reserved for wildlife.

The dog park itself is divided into two large fenced sections based on size, large or small, includes available fresh water, picnic tables, and an agility course. The doggie drinking fountain was one of Sam’s favorite amenities, and he spent a lot of time hanging out there. It was the bar scene for dogs, and suited his drinking problem to a tee.

During warm weather the dog park was frequently crowded with the same dogs and their people. After a while we began to recognize who went with whom, which group of people constituted a click, and which dogs we wished ours would avoid if possible. Unfortunately, it was impossible unless they were leashed, and that defeated the purpose of going to the dog park in the first place.

Meg enjoyed sniffing around, but was too old to put up with much nonsense from any dog. She was always cordial, but if another dog tried to roughhouse or chew on her she quickly asserted her Grand Dame status with an immediate ‘don’t mess with me’ snarl. She showed no teeth, but the offender got her message loud and clear and backed off. Usually a day late and a dollar short, Sam showed up to check on her and see what the problem was, but she had already taken care of it herself by that time. It was thoughtful of him to check on his old friend, though.

There was always the occasional squabble, some serious, but most over quickly, and Sam felt it was his duty to investigate and mediate most of them. Basically, he stuck his big snout in the other dogs’ business, and was lucky he didn’t lose it altogether. He had never been in a fight to our knowledge, and might have ended up on the short side of that stick in spite of his size. He was a lover, not a fighter.

Once all the excitement was over he returned to his socializing. And socialize he did.

Sam was a natural born social director. He had a gift. He took it upon himself to personally greet each new person and their dogs at the gate. He greeted the dogs in the normal dog fashion by sniffing their behinds, one by one, whether they liked it or not. If one or two didn’t, he accepted the rebuff with his usual aplomb, and happily trotted away completely unoffended to sniff the fence perimeter to see who else had been around.

The human Parkies, as I called us, stood around talking in groups. There were always quite a few groups, and we rarely spoke about anything other than our dogs or someone else’s dog, which was expected since that’s why we all were there. But Sam seemed to feel that, other than his family, the Parkies were in need of his attention or he was entitled to their adoration. We weren’t sure which.

He would stop whatever he had been doing, trot over to a newly formed group, and weave his way through it like he was navigating an agility obstacle course made up of human bodies. He’d halt in front of each person, smiling and wagging, stick his nose where it didn’t belong, and wait for the anticipated pat on the head. He stood there until each person stopped their conversation to focus on him and granted the expected adoration. Sometimes he even got a doggie treat. Then he moved on to the next and the next until he had greeted everyone in each individual group.

After doing this so often a few of the regulars started calling him ‘The Social Director’. When we entered the park we’d hear, “Here comes the Social Director”! Ed took it in stride, but I thought it was hysterically funny that anyone else had described his behavior the same way I saw it. He did look like he was making sure everyone was having a good time. He needed to pass around a tray full of drinks and snacks to complete the picture.

After repeated trips to the dog park, we realized that Sam had a habit of ‘looking for love in all the wrong places’. He really liked small dogs, and occasionally preferred males. In the Biblical sense. Not every visit, but we never knew when the urge would hit him. I guess he came out of the proverbial closet at the park.

His behavior, while not uncommon, was still embarrassing since he was neutered. There were a lot of children around at times, and they didn’t need to see it at a family park. They could go home and watch it on National Geographic.

Granted, living with Meg was like living with his great-grandmother, and she did not put up with amorous displays from any dog, even him. We thought that Sam would, or should, prefer females, and they would appreciate the attention from a handsome, strapping, big boy.

No. Sam honed in on some poor unsuspecting little dog, and stalked him around the park relentlessly until one of us intervened and redirected his thoughts, or the owner physically removed the nervous little dog. We knew Sam didn’t want to hurt it, just love it, but the nervous little dog and his owner wasn’t so sure. The poor little guy was so worn out from trying to escape from Sam, I was surprised he wasn’t standing at the gate whistling for his person to come and get him out of there.

Sam was such a love bug in so many ways, but I could have done without that one.

After an exhilarating morning of errands: shopping at Home Depot, the pharmacy, picking up donuts, and hanging out with Ed, Meg, and the Parkies, Sam was usually pooped when he got home. Apparently, being a social director and stalker took a lot out of him because he spent the next couple of hours crashed on his bed with his favorite fleece toy stuffed under his head.

Sam had a lot of nicknames: Wonder Boy, Sister Mary Sam, Goofball, Yellow Boy, Knucklehead, and my favorite, Knothead, but he never had a title. We added Social Director to his many monikers, and it was pretty cool because I personally didn’t know any other dog with an assigned title.

Being the bona fide dog park Social Director had its perks, and Sam loved every minute of it. He loved being with people and we enjoyed watching him do his thing. He had a way of making everyone smile simply by being around him.

We just had to keep that other issue under control, and stuff Sam back into the closet when he switched hats and set his sights on a little male dog.

With joy…
Linda
Except from Sam & Friends: A Collection of Recollections of Life with a Knothead
Permission by Linda Kiernan, July 2016

08/15/201608/15/2016

a perfectionist’s guide to salvation

[Today is post #7 in our annual, summer Guest Writer Series. Note that the opinions expressed may or may not be held by the Intramuralist.]

We live in a performance driven culture. Most companies center around performance metrics. Evaluations are based on accomplishments, not intentions. Talk is cheap. You must walk the walk. Actions not words. What have you done for me lately?

When I became a Christian, this is the prism through which I viewed my relationship with Christ. As I understood it, sin separated me from God and separation from God meant death. However, God loved me so much that he sacrificed his Son to die in my place. If I acknowledged this truth and confessed my sins, I would live.

I am also a perfectionist by nature, so after accepting Christ as my savior, I focused on living a sin-free life. I would berate myself for the smallest infraction. After all, what if I were killed in an accident before I had the opportunity to confess my sin?

Striving to live a moral life is a good thing, but there were several problems with my approach. Of course, no one is perfect. Setting an unattainable standard is demoralizing. Not accepting any mistakes at all means not being accepting of yourself which can lead to low self-esteem.

Furthermore, those unwilling to forgive themselves find it challenging to forgive others, especially when others express no contrition. All of us at some time in our lives will be wronged by someone else, often someone we care about. The thing is, if you don’t forgive, even when the other person doesn’t ask for forgiveness, you are the one affected most. Holding on to anger and resentment will only eat you up inside.

There were a couple extreme examples last year of Christians who truly understood “forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.” In June 2015, relatives of nine people gunned down at a Charleston, SC church forgave the killer at his bond hearing. In November 2015, the widower of a woman raped and murdered in Indianapolis, IN forgave the three men responsible. Amazing statements… incredibly difficult to say, yet liberating as well. If those people can mean those words, you can, too, for much smaller offenses.

In my original understanding of how salvation works, I had the facts right, but I had the order wrong. Long before I ever sinned, God gave me the gift of grace. That is the starting point. When I accepted this gift, my sin was wiped away. I still try to live a sin-free life, but now my motivation is love for God, instead of a fear of death.

None of this diminishes the importance of obeying God’s commands. Both grace and obedience are vital to living a Christian life, but you can’t perform your way to heaven. It’s grace that comes first. God gave grace to you, and He expects you to give it to others.

Respectfully…
PJM

08/14/201608/14/2016

not picking up the chair

[Today is post #6 in our annual, summer Guest Writer Series. Note that the opinions expressed may or may not be held by the Intramuralist.]

I have been honored to be a guest blogger here at the Intramuralist for the past five years. My friendship with the actual Intramuralist has a pretty auspicious beginning. We met sitting in the outfield at our son’s baseball game. It goes without saying that baseball moms are a pretty special bunch. We endure hours of games and practices and learning what cups do, and why it is important to wear them. So our friendships are born out of that commonality. And at the age our boys were, the games weren’t always the most action packed so that left quite a bit of time for chatting and getting to know one another.

One particularly hot summer day, we were clustered together in the only spot of shade anywhere near the diamond. If memory serves, it was midway through the season. The air was thick with humidity and the sun was relentless. We all knew one another but not well enough to have a conversation about much more than the heat or if we packed enough water for the kids. Somehow we got on the topic of religion, and not just a friendly, “where do you go to a church?” but an actual discussion of faith, and God and beliefs. And not everyone in our group was on the same page. That conversation was real, and passionate and heated at times, and when the last out came, we all packed up our chairs and smiled and said our good byes and planned to see each other again at the next game. And that’s what we did. We pulled our chairs into a line, and continued to share in the fellowship that can only be known in the outfield of a little league game in July.

Believers, non-believers, proselytizers, and agnostics.

At the end of the season, our bond now road tested, our connections strengthened by time spent together, we gathered for a mom’s night out at a local establishment for food and drink and talk that was to have nothing to do about baseball. There are two things you aren’t supposed to talk about in polite company; religion had already been discussed so we moved on to politics. It was an election year; I can’t remember which one or who was running. I remember the discussion was intense. We talked from all sides about the issues we were most passionate about.

Democrats, Republicans, Independents, and a few who have given up on siding with anyone.

We had food and beers, and when the night was done. We hugged and the words, “Man, I’ll miss seeing you,” were thrown around along with promises to schedule at least monthly gatherings. And then that season was over.

I tell you this as a background for what is the heart of what I want to share. In my years of guest blogging, I have had two central themes, baseball and respect for opposing views. I don’t think it is any coincidence that both of those things are a part of my friendship with the Intramuralist. Our friendship was born on a baseball field, and from mostly opposing sides of those two deep conversations. Now, she will laugh and say that we aren’t necessarily opposing, that we are generally closer to each other’s beliefs than the labels of our current society would allow. So I’ll counter her hearty chuckle with this: from mere affiliation we are opposite of one another, but yet there’s no one I’d rather have those conversations with — even someone who is 100% in agreement with what I think and believe. For the important stuff, her take is the one that I find the most interesting. The one I seek out, in these times of Wall Building, Gun Control, email-gate, religious fundamentalists. The one I can count on to make me really think.

You see, there is so much we can learn from one another by simply having the discussion. And by discussion, I do not mean in the comments section of Facebook. I mean face to face, if possible. We have to resort to Facetime now that I live hundreds of miles away. But it works.

One of our last such discussions involved the heated vitriol that is rampant on social media lately. That evolved into a discussion of “unfriending.” The ultimate “gotcha” of our culture. And how sad that is. How empty a victory it is to simply click a button and rid yourself of having to engage with people who aren’t lock step with your beliefs.

To what end? And though Facebook and Twitter and all the others are very much our reality to most of us, the act of unfriending shows how far from the truth that actually is.

In REAL life you wouldn’t say to someone in the middle of a conversation, “I don’t agree with you so consider us no longer friends!” But yet still be in the same social or professional circles or heaven help you, family. There’s no button you can reach out and push and make people in your life disappear if they don’t agree with you. No, in person there are two options, engage in a debate or keep your opinions to yourself and make note not to bring the subject up again.

Unfriending someone isn’t the answer; it’s the problem. We live in a world of big issues, that require us to engage in conversations with all sides to solve them. Closing yourself off from that doesn’t make you part of the solution. It isolates you, amplifies the fear that someone else might have a different idea. Your “side” may not have all the right answers. Choosing to only have one opinion show up in your newsfeed skews your thoughts, and makes you less. It widens the divide.

I realize now how myopic my way of thinking would be if I had picked up my lawn chair and separated myself from that first difficult conversation. I consider how much my way of thinking changed when I realized the person I so enjoyed sitting with on those hot summer nights didn’t agree with my feelings about religion being a private thing. I think of how much I have learned about myself from hours of conversations about hard things with someone who passionately and often believes differently than I do.

And I thank God there was no option for unfriending back then.

Respectfully…
Jules

08/11/2016

orphan no more

[Today is post #5 in our annual, summer Guest Writer Series. Note that the opinions expressed may or may not be held by the Intramuralist.]

Close your eyes and imagine with me…

You are seven years old. You are with your family. You are at home. Home, a place that is familiar and safe. Or at least it should be. Then your father comes to you and asks you to come with him. The two of you head out the door. You ask your father where you are going, no response. You wonder what adventure you must be going on. You ask again — no response. Finally, you find yourself at the train station. You are standing on the platform surrounded by a sea of faces you do not know. You turn to ask your father where you are going. When you turn your father is nowhere to be found. You search the station but it is no use. He is gone. Finally, a woman notices the lost look in your eye. She takes you to the security officer who promptly takes you to the local orphanage.

Unfortunately, the above story is all too often someone’s reality. There are 143 million children around the world waiting, in eager anticipation, for a forever family. Why are they given up or abandoned? The reasons range from death to disease to poverty. Some are even given up for adoption because the parents realize that they just cannot handle another mouth to feed. I cannot even begin to imagine the questions that must ravage the hearts and minds of the little ones who are left in orphanages and on the streets of our cities all over the world. I think the most heart wrenching question of all must be: do they not love me anymore?

God, if you are real, do you not love me anymore?

When we are honest with ourselves, each one of us has felt the very emotions I speak of. We have asked the same questions ourselves. There is within each of us that longing and desire to belong. To be grafted in. To be CHOSEN. We long to be a part of something beyond ourselves. I believe, with my whole heart, that longing is planted deep inside of us from the very minute we were conceived. The very one who created you and me is the very one who put that longing within us and has always had adoption on His heart… “A father to the fatherless… God sets the lonely in families… for he chose us, in him, before the creation of the world.”

Despite which side of the adoption line each of us falls on, the truth of the matter is this:

(1) Each of us, deep in our souls, when we are totally honest with ourselves, longs to be loved and to belong.

(2) Each and every life on this planet matters and within us we each possess the ability to be a catalyst of change for another person. Why not be that change for 1 of the 143 million orphans in our world?

Let’s take a peak on back at that 7 year old who was left at the train station…

The story is real. The 7 year old has a name; his name is Jia Wang. He lives in China and his father really left him at the train station. For the last three years he has been at an orphanage in China. In December of 2015, Jia got to come to America on an exchange program. He was placed with a family in Jacksonville, FL where he lived for 3.5 weeks. He was shown what the unconditional love and acceptance of a real family looks like. He got to see, in action, what it is like to have a mom and a dad who love you regardless. He got to experience having brothers and sisters who loved him for who he is. Going home in January was the very last thing he wanted to do.

Little did Jia know that in January that family would do a 21-day fast where they would ask: “God, what do you want us to do in 2016?” And God would answer with: “This little on needs to be with his forever family.”

And within 72 hours of requesting to adopt Jia, the Chinese government responded with an emphatic “YES!” They had very nearly been turned down as a possible host family for Jia Wang. Now, in the final phase of the adoption process, Scott and Mindy, wait for the word “go” and stand in humble amazement of how the God that they love has moved mountains, on their behalf, to bring this sweet boy home.

I thus wait and watch daily for that sweet hashtag, that looks something like this: #OrphanNoMore.

Respectfully…
LJ

08/09/2016

confessions of a climate change heretic

[Today is post #4 in our annual, summer Guest Writer Series. Note that the opinions expressed may or may not be held by the Intramuralist.]

I wrote “Heretic,” not “Denier,” although I defer to the reader’s judgment as to which label best fits. While I don’t doubt the evidence (at least through the end of 1990’s) that global average temperatures have been steadily increasing, I have misgivings about our understanding of the mechanism driving this change and grave concerns about the commonly championed responses.

One thing is certain in this debate – the global climate is mind-numbingly complex. It is challenging to understand and nearly impossible to mathematically model – as evidenced by the inaccuracy of your local weather forecast a mere 10 days out. I recall my own study of a simpler science, fluid dynamics, where my fellow students and I found it extremely challenging to arithmetically describe the behavior of a fluid flowing past anything beyond the simplest of surfaces. We spent hours building finite difference models that attempted to simulate what was happening in the real world – and even after our best efforts, we would sometimes get results that were directionally incorrect.

I realize I was but a lowly undergraduate student and not to be compared to those commanding a lofty doctoral degree in meteorology. Even so, the experience gave me an appreciation for the difficulties involved in attempting to model anything as complicated as an entire planet’s climate. Such a model would, by necessity, contain thousands of variables and also thousands of assumptions. It would be expected to explain many years of history while also correctly predicting the future. Developing such a tool is a daunting task, so it should come as no surprise that the climate models of the late 90’s have completely failed to predict the last 15 years. As Niels Bohr once famously said, “Prediction is very difficult, especially about the future.” Perhaps someday mankind will develop the ultimate climate model, one that accurately foretells our planet’s past, present, and future, and one that takes into account the human impacts on global temperature. I submit that today, we are not there. Nor can we comfortably accept any model until its predictions are proven through actual experience. How well a model correlates to history is absolutely not enough to justify the potential disruption of the global economy currently contemplated by many climate change advocates.

Does this make me a “climate denier?” I certainly deny the perfection of the “accepted” IPCC climate models. I suppose this makes me a “denier” of sorts. That being admitted, however, I do accept that it is highly likely there is a causal link between human activity and higher global temperatures. Credible theories exist that tie increasing concentrations of CO2 in the atmosphere to increasing energy trapping by our planet. Historical curves that correlate global temperatures with rising CO2 concentration ought to be concerning to everyone. On the time scale of decades, it has been getting warmer. And it is hard to escape the conclusion that human activity is likely a contributing factor.

So what makes me a “climate heretic?” I don’t reject the illness; I simply have a problem with the proposed cure.

If global warming continues unchecked as per the latest IPCC consensus forecast, (which is based on their flawed, but the best available, climate models) we can expect a 1.5-2.5 degree Celcius rise in temperatures by 2100. According to the IPCC second installment, it will cost between 0.2% and 2% of global GDP to adapt to this increase. In other words, while adapting to higher temperatures will require large expenditures, they are less than either of the two World Wars or the Great Depression. Combating climate change, according to the IPCC third installment, will cost upwards of 4% of GDP by 2030, 6% in 2050, and 11% by 2100 – and these numbers may be optimistic as they assume the development of as yet unidentified technologies to combat CO2 emissions. So which is worse? The disease or the cure? If you analyze the situation in purely human terms, adapting to climate change is substantially cheaper than fighting to stop it. Adaptation is expensive. And halting it is economically crippling.

Of course, there is the often-cited argument that climate change will disproportionally impact the poor. If we are relying on this argument as justification for spending trillions of dollars in an attempt to slow and ultimately reverse a warming climate in full gallop, we’re fooling ourselves. There are much more cost-effective ways to help those in poverty. We live in a world where one in six deaths is a result of easily cured infectious diseases. One in eight deaths is caused by air pollution – mainly the result of cooking inside while using twigs or dung as fuel. Do we honestly believe that gradually rising global temperatures figure more prominently into a poor person’s needs than malaria prevention? Or the provision of sanitation and clean water? Or basic medical care?

I don’t disagree that a warming world represents a concerning problem, but it doesn’t seem to merit the degree of alarmism currently ascribed to it. If the world can afford to spend 4% of Global GDP, or 6%, or a mindboggling 11%, then why do we allow millions of people to die each year for a lack of cheap mosquito netting?

The 2015 Paris Agreement alone could cost the US an estimated 0.7 percent of GDP by 2030 and will barely make a detectable dent in temperatures, a minuscule 0.05 degrees C reduction in the projected increase. Given the extremely high costs and uncertainties surrounding our understanding of the climate change phenomenon, a combination of adaptation expenditures and research into economically viable alternative energy options for the longer term certainly seem to represent a better use of limited resources. If we used only ten percent of the resulting “savings” for health improvements and poverty alleviation for third world citizens, the positive impact on humanity would be vastly greater. The total bill to provide clean water and sanitation to those in poverty is a “drop in the bucket” ($10B annually) compared to the spending proposed to manage climate change, and yet the impact on the poor would be vastly larger and more immediate.

Yes, I understand there is a case to be made for preventing the Earth’s climate from charging headlong into unknown territory, a place where it potentially reaches a tipping point that tilts us toward some unforeseen, catastrophic result. But given the astronomical costs and the lackluster track record in our ability to forecast the future (and thus pinpoint that future doomsday scenario bogeyman), it seems prudent to take a more cautious approach to climate change at this time.

So, am I a “climate denier?” Or just a “heretic,” refusing to accept the orthodoxy of the green revolution that is currently in vogue? Or possibly I’m simply chronically short-sighted, overly worried about short-term reductions in human suffering at the expense of placating a vague, looming disaster that will manifest generations later? You, gentle reader, may decide.

Respectfully…
Tom

08/07/201608/07/2016

nothing compared to a soldier

[Today is post #3 in our annual, summer Guest Writer Series. Note that the opinions expressed may or may not be held by the Intramuralist.]

Why do I like little dogs? I don’t know, but I’m definitely a little dog person. I adore my 14 pound Westie, but if she were the size of a hamster, I would adore her even more.

So last fall when my son, a lieutenant in the United States Army, told me he was seriously thinking of getting a dog I said, “Hey Buddy, just be sure to get a little dog in case someone (meaning me) has to take care of that dog should you ever be deployed.” I couldn’t tell whether he shook his head yes or no on the other end of the call, but I was certain I made my point clear. So he got a Great Dane.

Enter Mozzie, a fawn-colored Great Dane named after a character on a favorite TV show. Mozzie’s father weighs 175 pounds and drinks out of the kitchen sink. So much for getting a little dog.

This past March my son deployed to Afghanistan for the better part of a year. He put his car in storage. His household goods went to his roommate. And his dog… well, his dog was another matter.

My husband gave me his own puppy dog look and said, “Oh Sally, we have to take the dog. Don’t you think we should?” as if this were a 5 month old child who would be left at an orphanage if we didn’t agree to intervene.

“WHY SHOULD I?” I thought. It’s not a child; it’s a dog. If this were my son’s child, I would do it in a heartbeat, but c’mon; it’s a dog. A big dog. And I TOLD him to get a small dog. I TOLD him to consider all of this before bringing home Marmaduke with his drooling, shedding, and oh-look-he’s-piddling-on-the-pillow ways. Why did he have to go AMA (“Against Motherly Advice”) and get a small pony instead of a hamster?

As it would happen, Mozzie may be big, but he also has a big heart. Yes, he is hairy to the point of choking my vacuum cleaner to death, but he hugs us with all his furriness every day. Yes, he takes up the entire sofa, but he scooches over to love on us whenever we join him. Yes, he has the amazing capacity to carry an entire quart of water in his jowls from the bowl to my lap, but those floppy jowls make for adorable pictures that warm my son’s heart in Afghanistan.

As sweet as Moz is, I have asked myself “Why” a thousand times? Why am I doing this? My life was free of hassles. Now I care for a four-legged toddler who chews, slobbers, and toots (which, incidentally, smell like a port-a-potty on a 120 degree day). All this craziness, thanks to my son! And that’s when it hit me. That’s what taking care of Mozzie is. It is a way of giving thanks… to my son. Not just the son I raised as a boy, but the son who serves as a US Soldier. That’s what I think of when hair is sticking to my lip. This is all for a Soldier. That Soldier just happens to be my son.

What I have given up is nothing compared to what Soldiers go through. Deployment forces our brave men and women to give up the ability to see their friends, their family, and yes, even the pets they adore to make sure the rest of us are able to do so whenever we choose.

That is why I consider it all joy to care for my son’s Gentle Giant. I even forget that I ever had doubts about taking on this lovable loaf. Rather, I see it as a way to give back just a little bit for a Soldier who is giving his all for me.

Respectfully…
Sally

08/04/201608/04/2016

children matter

[Today is post #2 in our annual, summer Guest Writer Series. Note that the opinions expressed may or may not be held by the Intramuralist.]

Black Lives Matter…White Lives Matter…Cops Lives Matter… I am so tired of hearing these overused phrases. Bottom line: We All Matter. More importantly, Our Children Matter. What are we teaching them with all of this hate and violence going on in America right now?

When I was a child, I would leave my house in the morning and play most of the day and well into the evening with my friends and cousins. We would stop in to one of our homes for a bite to eat and then we were back out to ride our bikes, climb trees, capture the imaginary “bad” guys, build forts, and just be kids. We checked in with our parents from time to time but we were free to wander the neighborhood and play. It was a care-free time for all of us, and our parents never really worried about our safety other than maybe a rare broken bone or need for stitches from time to time. Life was simple and life was good.

It makes me sad that children today will never experience this type of innocence. Sure, they still play outside but most, only with adult supervision. They can’t hop on their bikes and ride to their friends’ houses on the other side of the neighborhood without mom or dad following closely. They can’t skip from house to house and make their own lunches without an adult or older sibling being present. They can’t catch lightning bugs or play kick the can in the evenings without someone watching after them. The care-free days of letting kids be kids are gone. Evil has replaced goodness in our society. At some point over the past 50 years, life has changed, and not for the better. Life is no longer simple and life no longer holds the purity and naivety that it once did.

That being said, I believe that every child is born innocent and good, with a pure heart. Each child is absent of evil and hate. However, life experiences teach children bad things. The news media floods society with horrible stories virtually 24 hours a day. You rarely hear of stories where good prevails over evil. News outlets fight to break stories of disgusting, criminal activities. As parents, we can try to shield our children of these things, yet with access to technology, children still find out atrocities that are happening each and every day of their lives. They see the bad and they learn the hate that is prevailing in our world.

Even our political leaders are tainted. We have two Americans running for the highest political office that have less than stellar pasts. It is sad that a country as great as America once was, can’t nominate two better individuals than what we have. I am scared to think of what the country will be for our children and our grandchildren when they become adults. How can we expect America to return to goodness and honor when we continue to elect sub-par, corrupt leaders?

The only way we are going to instill the love and goodness back into our children and society is to start at home with the most basic family unit. We, as parents, must lead our children and teach them respect and dignity. We need to get back to the days of spanking our kids or grounding them and holding them responsible for their actions. We need to get away from participation trophies; celebrate the wins and acknowledge the losses. Our children need to see us doing random acts of kindness for others. We need to donate our time and take our children with us to learn the importance of this act of goodness. We need to enjoy nature and show our kids all of its beauty. We need to smile at others and hold the door for people. Let your children see you doing these things.

I know we all try to be good and strive to be better people; however, a breakdown of society has happened and will continue to happen if we don’t do something to change it. We must change these news reports of civil unrest, mass shootings, the killing of police, rape, murder, robberies, etc. as the norm for our children as they grow into adulthood.

I leave you with the words from Tim Mc Graw’s recently released song, titled “Humble and Kind.” May these lyrics encourage all of us, remembering them as we go through our days and raise our children:

You know there’s a light that glows by the front door
Don’t forget the keys under the mat
When childhood starts shine, always stay humble and kind
Go to church cause your momma says too
Visit grandpa every chance that you can
It won’t be wasted time.

Hold the door say please say thank you
Don’t steal, don’t cheat, and don’t lie
I know you got mountains to climb but
Always stay humble and kind.
When the dreams you’re dreamin come to you
When the work you put in is realized
Let yourself feel the pride but
Always stay humble and kind.

Don’t expect a free ride from no one
Don’t hold a grudge or a chip and here’s why
Bitterness keeps you from flying
Always stay humble and kind.
Know the difference with sleeping with someone
And sleeping with someone you love
I love you ain’t no pick up line so
Always stay humble and kind.

Hold the door say please say thank you
Don’t steal, don’t cheat, and don’t lie
I know you got mountains to climb but
Always stay humble and kind.
When the dreams you dreamin come to you
When the work you put in is realized
Let yourself feel the pride but
Always stay humble and kind.

When it’s hot, eat a root-beer popsicle
Shut off the AC and roll the windows down
Let that summer sun shine
Always stay humble and kind
Don’t take for granted the love this life gives you
When you get where you goin’
Don’t forget turn back around
And help the next one in line
Always stay humble and kind.

Sincerely…
LS

08/02/201608/02/2016

counting the cost

[Note: today begins our annual Guest Writer Series. Hence, the viewpoints expressed may or may not be held by the Intramuralist. Regardless, these guys are good and they are respectful. Enjoy! … starting with Guest Writer #1…]

It was an interesting observation. I was in a florist shop waiting in line to buy flowers for a new mom. At the front of the line was a customer who was eager to place his order. He has his wallet in hand, and from his demeanor, it was obvious that he was ordering flowers for someone special, someone very dear to him. He wanted to send the very best. He was not just sending flowers; he was sending a message.

With strong affirmation and for all of us to hear, he declared, “I want to order a dozen of your very best red roses!”

Then with a degree of hesitancy and apparent after thought, and in a less enthusiastic voice, he asked, “Ah… just how much does a dozen roses cost?”

The clerk replied, “That will be $60.00.”

With that information in mind, further deliberation, and a long pause, he said, “Well…ah…how much does a half dozen cost?”

Again, the clerk replied, “That would be $35.00.”

I watched the man shifting from one foot to the other and obviously in thought as he was evaluating the cost before finalizing his order for this special recipient. Then he said, “Gee, ya’ know, she really likes carnations… and they last so much longer… yes, let’s send her a half dozen carnations instead of the roses.”

As I observed this scenario I couldn’t help but ask myself some questions. Did he decide that she wasn’t worth that which cost the most? Did he decide that less would reflect his love just as much? Did she really like carnations, or was that just a rationalization to get out of ordering the roses he had originally intended when he came into the shop?

Life frequently presents us with scenarios which have lessons within them for us who are observing. I thought about how often we have intentions to give the most or what we deem the best initially, and then when we research the cost, we rationalize to see if we can give a little less, do a little less, or maybe substitute something else entirely. Yes, we still want the relationship, the message, and the desired response to our gift from the recipient, but maybe, just maybe, we can get by with giving just a little less. After all, why should cost matter? Isn’t it the thought that really counts? Well, maybe… but then how important is the relationship, be it physical, emotional, or spiritual? Does what we are willing to invest say something about its value, its importance to us?

So my question is when is substituting something less for the most a commentary on what we honestly value, on how much we really are willing to invest, be it money, time, or ourselves?

Hmmmm, I wonder.

Thanks Intramuralist…you invest from the heart!

Respectfully…
DWL

07/31/2016

different approaches

Eight years ago, I sat in a local coffee shop and had a fascinating conversation. I sat with a then newfound friend who clearly approached life differently than me. Funny. I sometimes think in this polarized, political state we now live in, we’ve assumed there are only three approaches in life: left, right, and the ambiguous, undefined — mostly a route that just doesn’t want to be included with the other two.

I think we are making a significant mistake here. There are way more than three approaches…

There’s a little to the left, a little to the right… a zig zag here and there… there’s a roaming around in circles. There’s coming at it straight from the top… hovering overhead… or maybe those who zero in from somewhere on the bottom.

Some come creatively… others analytically… right brained, left brained, or some dichotomy in between.

There are our introverts, extroverts, and those introverts living in an extrovert world. There are the cautious, the meek, and those who tend to barrel the rest of us over with their exuberance and passion.

And here’s what’s beautiful: each of those approaches is ok. All may fit with the way we are each uniquely, divinely wired. What that then tells me is that there are far more than three approaches to life… maybe, quite possibly, even three zillion.

As the coffee shop conversations continued, the Intramuralist was born. My friend and I learned together that sharpening comes when we are willing to respect, honor, and learn from another’s approach. Let me be truly transparent, however; I don’t think as a society, we do that very well. We tend to hold onto to our own opinion, embolden it by camping in the vacuum of likeminded opinion, affirm it via biased news and resources, and then wholeheartedly deny or dismiss the validity of one of the other three-zillion-minus-one approaches. We, friends, are missing out. We are missing out on the sharpening that should come from one another.

In light of that backdrop, allow me to get to the point of the today’s post. Today I’d like to introduce one of my favorite events of the year, our annual Guest Writer Series. This is excellent!

Recognizing that none of us have it all figured out (and that none are going to have it all figured out, especially when exclusively immersed in the likeminded), the Guest Writer Series is a small manifestation of the Intramuralist’s mantra… that we can learn and grow from varied opinion, as long as that opinion is articulated in a way that is respectful of those who may not share the opinion. Yes, it’s true; it’s hard to learn from the person who is shouting at us; it’s hard to spend extended time with one who knowingly looks down on us because of what we believe.

In our annual summer series, you will find some ten/eleven persons who don’t all believe the same thing; they make up only a slight percentage of those three zillion approaches. But they are each committed to expressing their opinion in a way that is respectful of those who may disagree. That, is an incredibly beautiful, virtuous thing.  You will hear from men, women, and all sorts of professions. You will hear from persons in the public and private sector. You will hear from all sorts of demographic categories. And, of course, you will hear from people who approach life differently.

Do remember, that the opinions expressed may or may not be held by me; that’s not the point. While I have often published opinion that I did not hold nor agree with, the beauty of the Intramuralist is the recognition that agreement is secondary to respect. We can be sharpened through the respectful dialogue of diverse opinion.

Hence, while this semi-humble current events observer enjoys a bit of a summer respite, know that I will return in a few short weeks, refreshed and ready to roll. We have things to talk about!

Until then, enjoy this insightful series. I say again: it is excellent! Why? Because we are willing to learn from approaches different than our own. Fire up for Guest Writer #1, starting Tuesday.

Respectfully…
AR

07/28/2016

what we cannot see

One sentence.

That’s it.

Today, we’re going to go with just one sentence.

Want to guess what it is?

It is true that the Intramuralist has a special fondness for the following:

“Just do it.”
“Let your ‘yes’ mean ‘yes’ and your ‘no’ mean ‘no.’ ”
“Fire up!”
“Give me a second sentence.”
And, both “Who dey!” and “Boiler up!” (… go easy on me, please).

But today, after watching two weeks of conventions (yes, I watch them both) and being succumbed to the succeeding rants and raves on social media… watching people praise one candidate and tear town the other…

Watching the perceived increased racial tension and lack of respect for law enforcement…

And basically, watching the world go round, seemingly digressing in its polarized, intolerant state — an intolerance that exists on all sides because the one thing they aren’t tolerant of, is any legitimacy of the other side…

Watching all that, one sentence by a friend stood out to me this week. They said:

“We deny others their perspective because it does not match what we believe to be true.”

Let me say that again…

“We deny others their perspective because it does not match what we believe to be true.”

Whether we are left, right, or somewhere in between, we deny the legitimacy in another’s perspective because it does not match our own. We equate our opinion with wisdom and truth — and dismiss another as something lesser.

Friends, that dismissal is dividing our country, zapping our unity, and keeping us from loving all people well.

Whether our approach comes from the left or the right, we must quit denying what we cannot see.

Respectfully…
AR