Tuesday, April 26, 2005

change of seasons

crisis after crisis
turmoil upon torment
stressors for the stressed
risk and loss
relentless action
lunge and parry
reduction reaction
burning
burning
burned out
would that it would please God
REM without nightmares
a season of peace
for what is left

Farewell

Last night he finally left us

Sunday, April 24, 2005


Wingmen Extreme

another week

sometimes a thick rope snaps
for no apparent reason
maybe it was just old
another time a thread too thin to support life
has some amazing substance in it
and refuses to break
so the load dangles precariously
it cannot stay there
anxiety grows all around
as does incredulity
how thin can the thread fray?
it seems not one more bit is possible
but it is
and it does
and so ends another day

the fabric of our life

Complicated Quilt

a complicated quilt
lots of layers
many pieces to fit together
that make beauty and comfort
or an ugly mess
this is life
this is also death

7

The Perfect Number

An interesting thing happened today. The odometer on my motorcycle ticked over to all 7’s. That’s a lot of miles on a motorcycle. And a lot of 7’s.

From some of what I've posted here in recent weeks, you might think my choice of perfect number would be 8. That is a very important number, but it is a human one. It represents the flow of relationships, the crossing over each other in intimate connection, the moving apart in separateness, and the looping back around to reconnection. 8 is wonderful, but it's floating. It has little connection with the baseline and is harder to manage. Writing an 8 can flow beautifully from one hand, but from another or upon a different attempt, the lines may not reconnect and leave an open loop and a difficult to read symbol. Some of us aren't very good at the 8.

But 7, ah, 7. This is a completely different symbol. It's long been associated with the divine. The / is a singular, strong stroke anchored firmly into the baseline. It rises to the right, like the raised right arm of God. That arm holds the flat cross member high up, a platform from which the world is clearly seen, from which strategic action can be based.

One last thought: 7 comes right before 8.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Yeah, I thought so

My wife and I have seen several counselors over the years. Swallow your pride, go get some help, do whatever it takes to make things better. But I've come away every time thinking that they hadn't a clue how to help us. I have thought of the counseling arts that they think getting you to communicate is tantamount to solving your problem. But we "present" (as they say) our issues having communicated long and intensely. We really don't have trouble communicating. We are both quite good at it, thank you very much. We know what the blasted problems are. We don't need your help figuring that out. We need help with solutions. Apparently they don't teach those in counselor college. I have long suspected that, but then I ran into this the other day:
______________________________

Married With Problems? Therapy May Not Help
By SUSAN GILBERT Published: April 19, 2005
New York Times:

Each year, hundreds of thousands of couples go into counseling in an effort to save their troubled relationships.
But does marital therapy work? Not nearly as well as it should, researchers say. Two years after ending counseling, studies find, 25 percent of couples are worse off than they were when they started, and after four years, up to 38 percent are divorced.

Many of the counseling strategies used today, like teaching people to listen and communicate better and to behave in more positive ways, can help couples for up to a year, say social scientists who have analyzed the effectiveness of different treatments. But they are insufficient to get couples through the squalls of conflict that inevitably recur in the long term.

At the same time, experts say, many therapists lack the skills to work with couples who are in serious trouble.
Unable to help angry couples get to the root of their conflict and forge a resolution, these therapists do one of two things: they either let the partners take turns talking week after week, with no end to the therapy in sight, or they give up on the couple and, in effect, steer them to divorce.

"Couples therapy can do more harm than good when the therapist doesn't know how to help a couple," said Dr. Susan M. Johnson, professor of psychology at the University of Ottawa and director of the Ottawa Couple and Family Institute...

degradation

he lingers
yet still
ever so slowly
degradation
in all of us
where is the bottom?

here we go again (?)

It's so hard
to be so far away
Out of touch
Out of use
Left out
Replaced
Forgotten

Synchronization

more recycling:

Take three people, all of whom have relationships with each other in pairs and as a threesome. Of this set of relationships, lets examine two of the pairs, each with one common member. One might assume that those two relationships are very similar, if not identical, since one side of each of them consists of the same person. But they are not the same at all. They are not even close. One can be tempted to believe, as I have, that one automatically diminishes the other. It certainly is possible that this can intentionally happen. And it seems that it can inadvertently happen. But it is not automatic and it is not necessary. The two relationships happen in different time and space and can never fully synchronize no matter how hard the three parties try. If all are able to operate in honor prefering one another, as the Bible verse says, then it is possible for both relationships to fully support each other and blessing can flow all around. But here's the rub: there has to be a willingness to accept the fact that there are things I don't know and cannot understand. And that this is also true on the other side. We have to trust each other with these mysteries. And make peace with the fact that we will never understand everything. This concept has huge ramifications to gaining personal peace and to getting along in the world. There is an irony that attaining wholeness involves becoming contented with the notion that one can never be completely whole. There will always be missing parts, missing information, missing comprehension. I'm only beginning to see this. I have much processing left to do. This rabbit hole may have no bottom. But God is a person. And it helps me to gain some sliver of understanding to think in terms of relationships with flesh and blood people around me.

(This was originally part of a discussion about the uniqueness of God's relationship with each person and the idea that the differences in the relationships contribute greatly to our inability to understand each other, the proliferation of many denominations, etc.)

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Prayer

"I strongly suspect that if we saw all the difference even the tiniest of our prayers make, and all the people those little prayers were destined to affect, and all the consequences of those prayers down through the centuries, we would be so paralyzed with awe at the power of prayer that we would be unable to get up off our knees for the rest of our lives".

-unknown

Friend

I can't know all that is going on down there
but I know you are the essence of friendship
I am sure you are being a friend
like few have experienced
I wish I could match it
but I'm just a beginner
I aspire to be in your league some day
You deserve some quality to come your way

"I did not have sex with that woman"

-President Bill Clinton
_________________________________

From "The Week" magazine, April 8, 2005:
Yale and Columbia University researchers followed about 12,000 students in grades 7 through 12 for the past six years. They found that when those who had formally vowed sexual abstinence did engage in sexual activities, they were less likely than other teens to use condoms. They were also less likely to get tested for sexually transmitted diseases. Among boys and girls, pledgers were six times more likely to have oral sex, while for the boys, those who pledged abstinence were four times more likely to have anal sex. Millions of teens have signed written vows to abstain from sex, part of a church-led effort to discourage premarital sex. But researchers say those same teens may be less prepared for sex. "They substitute other noncoital sex," Hannah Brueckner of Yale tells USA Today, "which, however, puts you at risk."

______________________________

So, it all just depends on what your definition of "is" is. God help us.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Fighter

Surprising the doctors and everyone else, there have been not one but two more sunrises, and yet he hangs on. The kid is a fighter.

Sunday, April 17, 2005

Sunset

The sun is setting on the last day. I sit by quiet waters contemplating what will no longer be necessary. Soon, there will be one last breath. Air will no longer be consumed. Little bats flit about the pond. They lunge to and fro for their insect supper. Occasionally one swoops just above the water lapping up his beverage on the fly. They need sustenance and God as seen to it that they are supplied. Birds are making their final flights for the day, settling into the trees. The half moon is high overhead staking its claim as queen of the night sky. But for one, dinner was wasted. And now drink also has no use. A comfortable home will no longer be so. The cycle of days, nights, and seasons will cease to have beauty or meaning. The sun will rise tomorrow for us and the critters of this wood. But not for the one who is on our hearts as light and life both fade away. It happens thousands of times every day and night. But when death visits your own it is anything but normal. God be with my loved ones in the deep black of the valley of the shadow. Guard them through this night. Teach us to number our days. For tonight the counter ticks over to zero. Godspeed dear one and God be with us.

Long Distance Empathy

My brother in law is dying. He has been in horrid, slow motion death for some time. His liver has shut down and now it is a matter of days or hours before the end comes. My wife went down there a week ago to help. She didn't know for sure then that this would be the end, but it is. I was thinking she would have a quiet time of helping and just being there. The first day she was gone I was home enjoying beautiful weather, taking a wonderful motorcycle ride with my good friend, and just generally having a fantastic time drinking in a great day. Then a phone call made me realize the living hell that was going on 700 miles away. The quiet caring time turned out to be around the clock, sleepless care of a human being in utter torment. Uncontrollable pain, screaming, putrid filth, and terror with no relief. I felt so bad for having been enjoying life while this was going on.

I've been keeping up with developments by way of snatches of phone calls, a minute or two stolen here or there between crises. I mostly listen as my weary wife attempts to process cataclysm with fragments of sleep deprived time and waning energy. Obviously, most of the processing will have to come later.

My brother in law is her little brother, seven years younger. He was frail and sickly during his youth. They grew up in a foreign country, an unusual childhood that threw them unusually close together. Their mother had her own health issues and my wife was probably as much a mother to her younger sibling as their mother was. It has been obvious to me through the years that big sister has been my brother in law's favorite person - the most important human being in his life. His has been a love I have seldom seen in a brother for his sister. And now she is mothering again. The most difficult kind; mothering through death. She has sounded astoundingly strong on the phone this week. But, as I suspected, she said it is a brave front. Yesterday she finally cried on the phone. A lot of crying has been going on in the next room when he sleeps.

I have been praying constantly. And some of my prayers have been answered specifically on the very day I thought to ask for something specific. Today that spurred me to pray about another idea I had. Some time ago I was a part of documenting the life a young man with a similar illness. At the very end it was much the same. And his father told the story of his last moments to my camera. Despite complete organ failure and extremely strong pain medication, as he took his last breath he tried to sit up, his eyes were wide open, and he exclaimed, "Wow!" There was not another breath. No one can be sure if it was an angel, the beauty of heaven, or a glimpse of the glory of God himself, but that young man saw something wonderful as he stepped through the veil of tears. I've heard plenty of other stories of people stepping through that veil in stark terror, the contortion locked onto their faces as death swallowed them up. I was thinking about how powerful it would be in the lives of my brother in law's friends and how comforting it would be to his sister and father and mother if such a thing as the former were witnessed in his last moments. I've been praying all morning that God would orchestrate such an event.

In any case, my wife is shedding the love of God right now in a dangerous place. A place where many hearts have never recognized one photon of God's light in their lives. This is a moment of destiny for some of them. And my wife is dramatically in the right place at the right time being the right person to touch their souls. I know she will. She is a choice servant of God, prepared and custom wired up by the Creator himself for this. I am reminded with symbolism that cannot be accidental, of a woman in the Old Testament who also found herself in a foreign and hostile element, but in spite of all found favor with those she was thrown in with. Her influence was so great and so significant in the lives of her own people, it was said of her that she was placed on this earth "for such a time as this."

My sweet wife. So fragile, yet so amazingly strong. So limited, yet so fantastically capable. You were indeed put here for such a time as this. I pray you will shine brilliantly with irresistible grace and beauty and will draw many to ultimate Truth.

And here I am, sitting here in a glorious midday bit of heaven on earth with peaceful solitude around me. In spite of all I can't help but thank God for a beautiful day and enjoy it. But I have another prayer. I want to help bear this awful burden my wife and her family are reeling under. I want to feel it. I want to connect and be with them. I know there is no way I can truly enter into it as they do. My personal relationships here have been strained for decades. There really is not a human way for me to suffer and grieve and weep as the sister and parents do. But for all of them I want to.

God, help me to be there for them. Help me to feel the agony. Help me to somehow take some of it off them and pull it onto myself. Help me to make them know my concern. Help me to know some way to provide even some modicum of comfort. Oh, God, give me tears. Give me tears to mix with theirs. Break my heart. Give me the gift of compassion and let it pour out of me all over my wife, my mother in law, and my father in law. I am inept at this. I am not wired for it. I am an oaf. But I am a willing oaf. Oh, God, show me a way of love I have not known heretofore. Crack something open in me and let it spill out. Thank You for what You have done, for what You are doing, and for what You are about to do. Amen.

Friday, April 15, 2005

My Far Away Love

I woke this morning with this on my mind. It's for one person, but I'll let you read it:

All the air you breathed has drained away from the rooms and the house has gone sterile. My lungs feel as empty as my stomach. There's that God shaped hole in every person that only He can fill. Well, there's this other hole inside me shaped like you and there is a constant tinge of pain when it's empty. When we were courting I told you something that seemed to resonate with you. At that time it was an attractive thought, not a repulsive one. I told you that I needed you. Well, that has not changed. It's gotten more severe. Maybe it's some sort of co-dependent thing and there is something unhealthy about it. Maybe I need to be more independent. Whatever, it is the way it is. I think it's that "one flesh" thing going on. As important as it will be for me to start eating again, it is just as important to me that you come back around. A significant part of my body and soul is just gone blank when you are missing. It was so good to hear your voice last night. But you are sounding awfully tired. I ache for relief for you. You are doing what must be done and I am proud of you for the job you are doing and the frame of mind you have been able to maintain. This time is going to pass. When you return, I'm praying that somehow I will be able to make you feel how important you are to me. The air I breathe, the food I eat, your presence. I take all for granted far too much. And I die without them.

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Experience

Experience
Having been through it before

One week apart
A break
A change of pace
Not so bad

Two weeks apart
Uncomfortable
Empty
Hard

Three weeks apart
Agony
Just
Agony

So experience is not such a good teacher after all
It’s not quite one week
But it feels like the third is already starting

Tuesday, April 12, 2005


how long?

Holding Pattern

Caught between the moon and Miami
Hovering between heaven and earth
Some of us must sit out these circuits of the 8
Cheering fans in the far off bleachers

Hands dirty
Minds rending
Bodies screaming
Sensibilities assaulted

breathe

Arms empty
Hearts longing
Pride swelling
Prayers ascending

breathe

Patience fraying
Tears falling
Souls waiting
Come, Lord Jesus

______________________





TURMOIL!

Monday, April 11, 2005


in the slot

hot rod

Answers

I have been asking God for change and I have gotten some. A lot actually. My twice widowed mother has remarried and moved out from under my roof. My wife is off in another state attempting to lend aid and comfort to her younger brother in his death throes. My daughter has changed schools. My house is for sale. Some days it seems like the very fabric of the world is morphing. It's not all bad stuff. Several wonderful things have just happened. Two of my family's cars that I thought were gone and would have to be replaced have been restored to me. One that was broken and necessarily up for sale has been repaired and we are able to keep it. The other was declared dead by a mechanic but has nevertheless been restored to health and is running strong. In fact, another fine car has been given to me and so I have a four wheeled vehicle with a roof for my personal use for the first time in three or four years. With my mother's departure, and as a result of her new circumstances, some arrangements have been made regarding the sale of this house we shared that will have an unbelievable positive impact on our options for future housing. My marriage has faced an onslaught of assault on several fronts, any one of which could have easily blown us apart. Somehow, we have survived to this point, bloodied, but healing I think. And when the smoke of the trauma clears, I am trusting we will be stronger and wiser and more mature in love than ever. Some things I am doing physically to attempt to deal with all that is going on around me are resulting in some significant weight loss. The very flesh I'm living inside of is morphing slowly.

Thank you, God, for these answers. Thank you for these changes. Thank you for the wonderful gifts that are rocking my world and bringing relief to long carried burdens of stress. Thank you for the difficult, firey gauntlet of emotional upheaval that burns the dross from my soul. Thank you for allowing me to sense your very hands touching others through my own. I have tasted and known the sweetness of being the physical channel of your love to another human being. That is what I want to be changing into. Whatever else it takes, Lord, bring it on. The bad, the good, the ugly, the heart rending. Let my organism adjust to live on less, to need less, to take less, to be able to pour right back out most of what you pour in. You must increase. I must decease. Less is so much more.

Process vs. Instant

Another recycled piece:

A recent event in our family brought to my attention once again our western technical view of Christianity in general and the salvation experience in particular. The specific instance I'm thinking of was a relentless hammering of the need to know an instant in time when a person was saved. Some do have a date to affix to this, but I believe based on what I've run into talking to believers in various cultures in other parts of the world that "process" is probably a better descriptor than "instant." At the far side of the process one ends up with a set of embraced beliefs based on scriptural truth and fruits of the holy spirit that are the verification of what has happened. This can crystallize in an instant to which one can fix a date, but I don't think this is necessary or even normal. I'm inclined to think that this concept is a western overlay. Believers I have interfaced with in other cultures haven't come away from scripture with this concept at all. And their salvation experience, from what I observed, is often much more solid and absolute than many others I have observed who point to an instant in time as if a magic trick had been performed.

Along with the birth metaphor scripture also gives us the darkness to light metaphor many times as well. Dawn is a steady, undeniable process that happens in a knowable envelope of time, but one can't pinpoint a moment when night changes to day. God certainly has the power to change a person in an instant, magic-like way. But it seems that God's default style, if you will, of transformation, observable in all creation, is gradual and organic without hard edges. And along the organic line, birth is a moment as is conception, but the nine months in between is a wondrous process. Based on the conservative Christian stand on abortion, it's arguable that our annual celebrations of individual life should be done on our conception day rather than our birth day. But that's a lot harder to pinpoint, isn't it? Even the birthday of Jesus is celebrated on an arbitrarily chosen date. The important thing is not knowing the instant that the thing happened, but knowing the fact that it did happen. I believe that focusing on process vs. "the instant" postures us much more effectively for living out Christ to those around us. It makes us much less likely to give up on someone for whom "the instant" is lost in our judgment.

How I wish there was a simple way to filter human construct out of scriptural truth. To me it underscores the priesthood of the believer and the importance of going directly to the source for truth. Otherwise, in spite of the best intentions and efforts of godly preachers and teachers, our belief system can easily be built on the comparatively rickety structure of someone else's preconceptions of truth, rather than truth itself.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

Confusing Consumption with Creativity

Okay, while digging around in neglected folders I also found this old rant. So while I'm in the mode of posting past writing, here's some more:

Our agrarian forefathers lived in a culture of self-reliance. They grew and raised their own food, made their own clothes, and built their own houses. Without CD’s or radio to listen to, they made their own music or told each other stories for entertainment. Today our society is extremely interdependent. Our lifestyles have shifted from a focus on producing to a focus on consuming. We contribute something and/or create a measure of wealth at our jobs, and then for many people, every other aspect of life involves the consumption of goods and services. It has lead to a bizarre economic reality where the classic virtues of producing and saving have been replaced by our government’s desire for us to consume more because it’s good for the economy. Never mind that we are spending ourselves into oblivion. I’m simple enough to still believe that what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. How can what is opposite of what’s good for me be what’s good for the country? But I’m obviously not an economics expert. I’m sure you are laughing at me already if you are one. And that’s not what I wanted to write about here anyway.

Western culture has made a profound progression in the direction of increased choice that has accelerated exponentially in my lifetime. When I was a kid the McDonalds in our town had about three choices of soda pop available. Today there are more than twice that many varieties of just Coca Cola. I generally see a wide variety of choices as a good thing. I no longer have to settle for what’s available, but can find something that’s just the way I like it. But I am finding that more and more the choices we have are running us amok. We all want a good deal on whatever it is we need or want to purchase, and we loathe the dreaded buyer’s remorse of seeing a model or color we really like better a week after it’s too late to change our minds. The decision making process involved in buying just about anything can easily consume hours, days, or weeks of thought. For some folks this seems to be little problem. They see the first thing that will do and settle for it. But I think for most Americans, if not westerners in general, we can’t help but ponder our options.

Okay, this is all obvious so far. But where is this leading us? For one thing, consumption has become quite a job in our culture. We can expend extraordinary time and mental effort trying to decide which tool would be the best for our application, or which thing would be the most pleasant to possess. This effort of selection is something that I don’t believe has existed before. Instead of consumption decisions being a matter of insignificant moments of time during our day, they can feel like an occupation. In fact, for the more affluent among us, it can become a very involved full-time career. I submit that this phenomenon of consumption feeling like work has caused a shift in our societal patterns of thought.

It has always puzzled me how in different parts of the USA where I have lived, there have been people who have said, “we’re building a house” to refer to having a house built. There are so many choices to be made and so many things to deal with when having a house built, that it is truly a grueling process, even if you never hammer one single nail. After going through the process, people often act exhausted as if they had put every two by four in place with their own hands. But they have not “built” a house. They have consumed the services of others.

One of the first laws of thermodynamics (I can never remember exactly which one) states that matter is neither created nor destroyed. King Solomon said that “there is nothing new under the sun.” As much as we might like to create something from scratch, all that exnihilo work has already been done by the Great Creator. What’s left to us to do as a reflection of that true creativity is to combine old elements in new ways. That is the essence of what we call human creativity. An artist squeezes colors out of tubes from a factory and with a brush someone made applies them to a canvas woven by yet another person, and creates a painting. We take an octave’s worth of tones in a system of intervals devised long ago on an instrument provided for us by the skill and work of some craftsman and play them in various sequences and combinations to “create” music. All creative endeavor stands on the shoulders of those who have gone before. All generators of intellectual property are influenced by those who have generated the legacy of existing work. No one works in a vacuum. The question of what is original and what is plagiarism can become very sticky. My friend who has a doctorate sees this clearer than I do. He says the difference is whether the components being used are elemental in nature or are composites of someone else’s design. This is a good starting point, but to me it still gets sticky when you chase the rabbit far enough.

Nowhere is the confusion more glaring than in the realm of today’s computer software. There are amazing tools available to lay out elements creatively into graphics, music, web sites, DVD’s, etc. But there are also products that produce a similar result by dropping visuals, text, sounds or whatever into a template. (This blog is made that way.) Is it creative to choose a template and insert your content? Even simple software like this requires a modicum of skill to be mastered. But is the user a creator or a consumer? I think most would land on the side of consumer.

Here’s another technology example. A software package called Acid by Sonic Foundry (now owned by Sony), and several others very similar, allows music to be produced using short clips of pre-recorded music called loops. One simply selects a loop and drags it with a mouse to a timeline. The loop may be a single note but usually is a short phrase of music or a percussion pattern. The loops can be repeated and layered on top of each other to build up an entire song. If one chooses loops of differing musical keys that would sound dissonant if put together, the software automatically shifts the pitch of the subsequent loops to match the key of the first loop. Differences in tempo are also automatically adjusted to be compatible. One can end up with a recording of musical presentation that has never been heard before in that combination. And this can be done with absolutely no knowledge of musical theory or skill in playing any kind of instrument. It is all done by moving a mouse and clicking it’s button. It certainly is a handy way to get a music track for a video production. But is this creating music? If one takes a single loop and lays it down over and over again in a monotonous repetition, it is obviously not. But what if one takes dozens or hundreds of widely divergent chunks of sound and combines them many layers deep in ingenious patterns? This will never get you to Carnegie Hall, but I think true creativity can be expressed in such work.

A lively debate continues regarding the legitimacy and legal ramifications of combining bits and pieces of existing recordings into new recordings. Is this creativity or consumption? Can consumption be art? What of the artist who uses these tools to plagiarize his own previous work and manipulate it into new versions or completely new works?

Here’s another scenario, not at all uncommon today. One takes someone else’s visual, say a photograph. The photograph is cut up or distorted or effected in such a way that it is no longer recognizable even to its original creator. Does this new entity belong to the person who distorted it? Is this creativity or consumption?

We have been considering creation using computer software. But isn’t the use of any software a form of consumption? The person who writes the program which allows others to be creative with its use may be the most creative of all. The result of his or her work is leveraged into the output of every user of the software. But we don’t think of those guys that way. They are technicians. They are geeks. We don’t consider them artists. We may or may not consider the luthier an artist, but with no instrument to play, there is no music.

New technological means of combining existing elements are most certainly useful and have their place. A template built website is probably better than no website at all. The danger to our culture, however, is when we consider ourselves creative when we do minor finishing or revision to someone else’s work. Then our art becomes dulled by inbreeding at best and repulsive regurgitation at worst.

Creativity and consumption seem to be obvious polar opposites at first glance. But confusion of them is rampant and I fear will only get worse.

Those Who Can Do - part 2

Last night at the school we were doing i-mag (image magnification) for a conference. We had four cameras going switched to a big screen. The class is running on the small side this semester and as it happened I didn't have a full roster of operators signed up for one session. I'm always trying to set up opportunities and push the students to take them. But this time I jumped in where there was a lack and ended up running one of the hand-held cameras. I don't think I'd ever run a camera at one of these events. The student directing was a little intimidated at first that he would be directing me, but he got over it pretty quick. I hadn't done this kind of work for a while and it was fun to pull out the old bag of tricks and go after it. I realized from their exclamations of delight on the headsets that light bulbs were popping on in their heads. I was thinking, "hey, I'm just doing what I've been telling you to do." I mentioned this experience to a colleague who told me of a recent conversation with his professional mentor. This master of his field shared that he had found that when he was true to himself artistically and pursued his own creative muse, his students gained far more benefit. My friend told me that his students this semester just weren't engaging as others had in the past. And he realized at the moment he was telling me this that this was the first semester in quite a while that his students had not had the opportunity to see him perform in a context showing his highest level of ability. So, together we had this profound hammering home of a truth we knew in our heads but all too easily lost track of: that students must see the teacher do the thing being taught. Just talking about it doesn't cut it. We have to do the talking to lay down the theory and set the context for the doing. But without the demonstration, there is little chance of comprehension. And what we seemed to have lost track of that is probably of the utmost importance is that our students are inspired and enthused by seeing us do our thing in a context that showcases the best we are capable of. To us it may be old hat. Something we have done many times before. And it is probably something they have witnessed on TV or at a concert or whatever the case may be. But until they see us, the person they look to as teacher, the person they know and feel a connection with, do the thing, they just don't see it. Running a camera for a couple of hours last night probably did more for my students' education than all the class hours I spent yaking this semester.

Those Who Can Do - part 1

Something I wrote today brought to mind something I wrote a while back and I happened to find it in a dusty corner of my hard drive. So this is part 1 and what I wrote today will be part 2.
__________________________________________

Since most of my classes involve technology and learning software - a quickly moving target - I often have students show up who know more about the software, or at least certain parts of it, than I do. If I don't come clean about that and acknowledge it, I'm in big trouble fast. I find it surprising that the students don't seem to feel cheated when their prof knows less about something than they do. They seem to be energized when we're learning something together. Fortunately I usually have some trick or another up my sleeve that even the quick ones haven't come across yet, so they get some something for their money. Several times I've introduced a piece of software to a student who has never been aware that such a thing existed before. Something about it catches their fancy and they spend every spare minute, months worth of weekends, mastering every nook and crany of the program. They quickly outstrip my ability like a crotch rocket flying past a bicycle. It's a strange experience. I have one student in that mode right now. Try as I might, I don't see how I'll ever have the time he has to devote to one single thing like this.

The big "yes, but..." is that we faculty members have that priceless asset of "experience." But with today's tools, rank beginners can turn out work that puts my years of "experience" to shame. I know there is value there, but we can't count on it staying there. My current dabbling in production work on the side in no way keeps me as close to the cutting edge as long days and months of constant, full-time production did. By paddling out of the main stream to teach, I'm slowly becoming obsolete unless I keep learning new technology - which is as big a part of my job as the teaching. Probably bigger. We may soon get to a point where in order to get the degrees you need to be qualified to teach, it will be impossible to get the experience necessary to be a viable teacher. Sometimes I think we're there already.

There is a situation that comes to mind with flight training. The FAA requires pilots to learn, pass written tests, and demonstrate proficiency with navigation systems that are completely obsolete and will never be used again. I don't know if it's still there, but the air transport pilot test (for people who are going to fly jets for the airlines) had a question about the pressure in the tail strut of a DC-3. It's been commonly known in the flying community that to get an instrument rating (allowing one to fly in and above clouds) you have to learn a whole bunch of practically useless information. Then, once you get the license, you have to go out and learn to fly instruments the way it is actually done today.

The old saw, "those who can, do, those who can't, teach" may be getting truer. Some days I'm excited to be teaching. Other days it scares me.

Saturday, April 09, 2005

Stay

Stay with me
You have shown me a new vista
You brought me to a place I have never been
Please don't leave me here to enjoy it alone
As if alone and enjoy can live in the same sentence
Only once around the 8 is not nearly enough
A single taste of infinity is almost cruel
Better to have swallowed the blue pill
But the red one has already started to work
The blind receives sight
As the rays first illuminate the retinas
Will the storm cut the lights back to blackness?

Song of Solomon 5:5-6
I arose to open to my beloved
And my hands dripped with myrrh,
And my fingers with liquid myrrh,
On the handles of the bolt.
I opened to my beloved,
But my beloved had turned away and had gone!

Friday, April 08, 2005


yellow fever

Breakthrough (work in progress)

The Bottle

Somewhere, long ago, I heard or read a beautiful thought. That God values our tears. He has a bottle that He uses to catch and save every one. None of them ever gets wasted. Lately I’ve been thinking about what He does with the contents of that bottle. I think I know. He finds people around us who are hurting and in need. He brings them near so we cross paths with them. If we love on them and share who we are, at some point our story will spill over onto them. God takes that bottle, and like the water turned to wine, what pours out onto the lives of these people is blessing. And what a precious, life giving liquid it is. In place of the stinging salt is sweetness. “Christ in you, the hope of glory.” The miracles of Jesus continue every day.

Thursday, April 07, 2005

SoftGod

I have no idea how long this will stay on the internet. Another timely connection considering my last post. This was thrown up into my radar a few minutes ago:

http://www.theologyonline.com/newgod/

for those with ears to hear...

Safety

It’s ironic that this post follows the last. I was listening to the radio and deeply in thought about this when the previously mentioned incident occurred. A contributing factor, no doubt.

Our local Christian radio station has a problem. I don’t think they know it. Their promotional campaigns over the last five years have been centered around the idea of how safe they are for one’s whole family to listen to. G-rated. Oh, yeah. Southern-fried, Bible-belt wholesome. With all the fecal matter being flung about the airwaves today, it’s a logical thing to latch on to and sell. It certainly is a defining factor among the choices out there. But there’s something about it. I can tune in occasionally and find it tasty and enjoyable. Uplifting even. But then there’s this bloated feeling. Yes, I remember that feeling now. Like what you get from junk food. That big greasy cheeseburger goes down really well. But then there’s that aftermath of empty calories. There’s that pot growing under my navel. It’s junk food for the soul. It’s familiar. It’s convenient. It’s safe. Oh yes, it’s safe all right. I think that’s the problem. Dangerous will grow you if it doesn’t kill you. Safe? Well, safe will just kill you. Eventually.

Close Call

My two unidentified friends earned their keep this morning. Malfunction Junction almost claimed me. I got surprised in the rain on the way to work by some clogged traffic and the weak brakes in the 25 year old car I was driving came up short. I narrowly got around the vehicle immediately in front and headed into the grass next to the interchange. Sliding completely sideways, my go-cart inspired, Chicago snow honed instincts had me skidding and counter skidding through five or six radical oscillations while somehow I was guided between sign posts, guard rails, cars and an entrance ramp to stay in open flat grass until the energy was dissipated. Glad I had one friend for each side of the car. The 18-wheeler behind me slowed and watched this go down right in front of him. He got quite a show. I’m sure he couldn’t believe it when I drove away in one piece.

Lasting Change

A person encounters Christ in a personal way for the first time. There is passion. There is fire in the belly. Then, over time, it seems that all too often one settles into a "christian lifestyle" (note the lower-case "c") that has this identifiable look and feel about it, but the passion is gone. In fact, deep under the surface, if one is brutally honest, there is a current of subtle sin. Like a low-grade fever. It is "nice" sin. But the core of it is pride, selfishness, and fear. It's endemic in the church. It is horribly discouraging. It makes some, me included at times, want to completely blow away the Biblical command to not forsake the assembling of ourselves together. Great. Sin begets more sin. The blind lead the seeing astray. Speaking of leading, church leadership often seems to be the worst offenders in this area. Those whose livelihood depends on a paycheck from the church must deal with the added confusion of not only their spiritual life hanging in the balance but also their meal ticket. Grappling with personal sin and spiritual reality is way more complicated and scary when the welfare of your family is at stake as well as your pride. But to be crucified with Christ, to live a completely yielded life, to be truly whole, requires great risk. Without risk and pain, there is no gain. It's an irrefutable law of the universe. It holds at all levels in all realms. From a t-shirt at Gold's Gym to heaven. Even God the Father himself does not live outside this His own law. Christ the Son set the ultimate example.

So, I encounter truth. I see things I've never seen before. I dip into a depth of love I didn't know about before. And I'm profoundly changed. But my track record, our track record, the human condition, is to drift back away from this profundity over time. To ease acceleration to the point where I don't even realize the engine has ceased to run, the dynamo ceased to generate, and I'm coasting imperceptibly away from that wonderful truth. And into the "lifestyle" of truth I mentioned above, with an infusion, an infection of sin that is somewhat dormant, but debilitating. In fact, it is much harder to deal with than overt sin because it's like an inoculation. It actually fools me into believing that I'm okay while it fights off the real, Holy Spirit domination of my spiritual immune system. All while looking so pretty and healthy on the outside. Whitewashed tombs, I believe were Jesus' words.

Prayer for today:
God, truth can be so hard to see. And the closer we get to it, the more complex the later steps. Like half life. I seem to keep getting half-way there. Please help me to keep the truth you have revealed at the front of my consciousness. Keep me from drifting. Put a hedge around my heart that will keep the subtle sin at bay. Make the change you have started more than a moment in time. Make it permanent. Sear my soul. Brand me with this change. Let me wake up to it every morning and never forget. I know my human propensity. I know the fading effect of time. I see the colors fade as the rain and sun beats down. The bright red blood goes brown, then black as the air of earth does it's work. Lord, keep me hydrated with the air of heaven, so the blood stays brilliant red in my eyes. So the taste of copper bites in my mouth. So I never loose the gravity of the cost of this precious blood that washes my sin away. I am weak. You are strong. Help me carry this gift and keep it safe until I see you face to face.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Inscription

-Song of Solomon 5:16

"His mouth is sweetness itself;
he is altogether lovely.
This is my lover, this my friend"

Let me be this man or I die

Control

My would-be green thumb is black
I am a control freak
But I hate controllers
I have seen the carnage
I hate that I am one
But as much as I want not to be
My reflex always seems to go there
I confuse mercy and helping with hurtful control
I want to be a gentle, nurturing gardener
Weeding and fertilizing and watering
But I look back and see manual, manminded, manipulation
My hands smothering the bud to keep it from blooming
My fingers pulling at the petals
Forcing them to open prematurely
My dirty, grubby hands mashing the blossoms together
In foolish attempts to arrange the bouquet to my liking
I want to let the flowers be
I want to let the garden grow to full glory as it will
I want to be the gentle husbandman
There only to eradicate weeds
And make the environment a showplace
But I am blind and stupid
I need help to know when I control
To need this help or ask for it
Is probably to forfeit any benefit of effort
God help this blind man to find his way through the garden
Without scuffing through the beds
And laying waste the blooms

Theme Song

I hate it, but I have been living in this song for decades. How I long to make this music stop. God help me to break out of this cycle.

-Over and Over, by Kings X:

If I hurt you
I don't mean to
Please forgive me
Got no excuse

Over and over again
Over and over
Over and over again
I let you down

I will hurt you
It's what I do
Please forgive me
You don't have to

Over and over again
Over and over
Over and over again
I let you down

thank you for being there

bud

My Children

They are grown
My fathering is all but done
I’m no longer the tower of their lives
Now, just a consultant
An occasional touchstone
In lives that are full to the brim
Of things I know nothing of
How I wish I had done a better job
To have been there more
To have paid more attention
I have many regrets
And many wonderful memories
How have they turned out so magnificently well?
I certainly don’t deserve to have such a fine pair to my credit
It’s their mother
She has been the real deal
There has never been one better
I have been a half-rate provider
They are still the luckiest kids in the world
Godspeed to my precious ones
I am so proud of you
I love you so
I wish you could know

terminal

streak

Crystalize

Fire

through a glass darkly

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

lit match

What must burn, and how much of it, before the phoenix can fly whole once more?

Black Dog's best friend

No cozy feathers, these wings. They are fleshy, black, repulsive webs between pointed claws. The natural repose of a bat is to wrap those wings around itself for it has no other comfort save the company of thousands of other bats. It is said that a Christian cannot be possessed because the indwelling Holy Spirit will not allow it. But the bat can land on the head, wrap those wings around the eyes and hang on tight, those claws tangling in the hair. And penetrate into the mind? I don't know. But indwelling or not, this demon creates havoc. It can blind and force us to smell its stench and drop its guano all over us. Wretched creature. Would the day comes soon when it is forced to its final home.

Change

I like change
I hate change
I want to change
I can't change
I must change
I'm willing to change
But I can't change who I am
I'm in need of a change at the deepest level
My DNA needs some reprogramming
I can change a lot
But I don't have access to that
Change or die
God change me
I bare my chest
Wield your scalpel even if it kills me
I gladly bleed every drop I have
I have nothing to loose
And much to gain
Only You have the power
Ex Nihilo
I plead
Do It

Fear of Falling

Another childhood memory jumps out at me. In winter, we used to love to play on the frozen ponds and swampy lots around my neighborhood. We would push it at the beginning of winter, trying the new ice to see if it would hold us. Sometimes, we would get too far out too early. I remember that feeling of standing there when you hear that cracking sound, sometimes I could see the spider webs form under me, growing out from my feet. I would wonder whether it was better to hold still or run. Would I get out of this without getting cold and wet? More than once I fell through and got shoes and pant legs full of cold water. Game over for that day. One time it happened out on the big pond, far from our house. We had been dropped off there to skate. My little sister and cousin were getting too close to the thin ice. I went after them to warn them and I, being bigger and heavier, was the one who fell through. That time I did some swimming. I scrambled out somehow and stood there in the winter cold soaking wet. Miraculously, my mom showed up right at that instant and I was saved by the warmth of our Chevy station wagon. The feelings are all so familiar now. Will I make it out of this? If not, am I going to freeze to death? Daddy's long in his grave and mommy can't do anything to help this time. I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto.

See ya later, Alligator

I remember at one of my grade schools, there was this one set of monkey bars on the playground where we would climb up one side, then hang on the rungs of this sort of horizontal ladder and work hand over hand to the other side. We would always say there were a hundred alligators below that would get you if you let go. It wasn't all that difficult to get across except that some of the rungs would spin around and make it really hard to hang on. This was especially so if you forgot which ones were loose and got surprised by it. Lately I've been having sensations that feel very similar. And so, I suppose, the memory came to mind for the first time in about forty years.

Monday, April 04, 2005

What We Already Knew

-from "The Week" magazine, April 8, 2005:

No wonder men find women so hard to understand. The newly cracked genetic code of the female X chromosome shows that females are far more genetically "variable" than scientists realized - and far more complex than men. Women carry their genetic instructions on two X chromosomes, while men have an X and a Y. The Y chromosome determines maleness, but science has long kinown that its genes are otherwise fairly inactive. (women have always known this!) That means men are largely the products of one chromosome, the X. But in women, the journal Nature reports, both X chromosomes are chock full of active genes. Each woman is the product of about twice as many genetic instructions as any man. (And as the caption of the photo of a group of women states: "Each is her own enigma.")

Precarious

God keep us from snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.

Deep Mysteries

There is always something you don't know. There are realms where you have never been.

Where there is life, there is hope.

House Poor

I have been getting up much earlier lately. Today I slept later. I awoke to an empty house as everyone is already off to their daily routines. I’m sitting on a deck behind a lovely house overlooking what is at this moment a showplace of God’s natural beauty. The thermometer is reading 80 degrees at 10:00am, though it’s overly optimistic as the sun is already shining on it. Due to some foolhardy choices on my part and overly optimistic assumptions when I moved here, there is a for sale sign in front of my house. I don’t know how many more moments I will have to enjoy this fabulous spot. Various factors have reached a confluence of necessity and we must downsize. There is a lot of good and considerable bad in that. But that thought is for another time. Right now I’m drinking in spring. The tall trees are in bud. Millions of tiny, tender sprouts on thousands of limbs. The birds are having a convention. Several intensely red cardinals have been calling to each other. A swallow flitted about looking for a nesting spot. The exhaust port of our clothes dryer was in serious contention for a minute or so. Glad she decided against it. A jay screeched a couple of times in its curious combination of ugly and pleasant cacophony. An invisible woodpecker an acre or two away provided percussion to the soundtrack. A brilliantly yellow little thing flew a few circuits of the yard and then found a limb that looked just right for a while. Butterflies are busy near the grass. Yesterday a big bumble bee fooled me momentarily into thinking that the first hummingbird had shown up, but it’s still a bit early for them. Some squirrels are about and at this moment the birds seem to have settled down to the morning’s labor at various spots. But the coffee clutch chatter still spreads through the tree tops. The recent rains are gone, all is dry and fresh and perfect. I’d like to just spend the day here. But I must face the real world. Or is it the unreal one? In any case, I go in hope of an unstoppable, inexorable spring. Will it invade my own soul?

Sunday, April 03, 2005


Proto III

Proto II

Prototype

Dominos

action taken
before the first domino hits the ground
the second and then the third are struck
and begin to fall
will all fall away to oblivion?
or come back around
to knock me over again?
do we let them lay there flat
or set them up again?

Friday, April 01, 2005

Wingman

I had this in the "about me" section of my profile, but it showed up to the right and kinda messed up the look of the page. So I'm shortening that stuff and putting this here as a post:

My wife asked some months ago what my goal for us was. I said one thing: that she would find me irresistable. I've since refined this goal. I now have a strategy to attain it. I want to be the flesh and blood manifestation of the Holy Spirit of God wraping his wings of love, comfort, and peace around her. When she feels my arms, I want her to feel His feathers. My feathers have been broken. They are scarred and scratchy and muddy and often anything but pretty. They have definately not been airworthy. I was grounded. If they were not phoenix feathers, they would be intolerable to touch. But there is such a thing as fire. There is such a thing as redemption. There is such a thing as forgiveness. And most importantly, there is such a thing as acceptance of these things. And as those monstrous, invisible wings enfold me, there is room and strength enough to allow me to wrap those in my world under my own wings. As long as the wind is blowing. As long as the flow is happening. It can be. Threfore, by faith in One who is greater than me, one on whose Wind I soar or sometimes just barely clear the rocks, I make my claim: I am the wingman.

worlds collide

Malleable Strength

How much is too much? One of the very valuable characteristics of steel is that though it is very strong, it can bend. Modern skyscrapers resist high winds and earthquakes because the structure will flex. But invisible changes happen deep inside the steel and stay there when the bending stops. It's called metal fatigue. Some of the highest technology in the field of metallurgy is attempting to detect and measure these changes. This is crucial knowledge to obtain because the steel will bend and hold through many cycles and then at some point of service, while being utilized exactly as many times before, the part will fail. Sometimes the failure will be a crack and thus there is a warning. Other times the failure is a catastrophic break. If the part is supporting life or property, loss of some sort may occur. Once metal has been bent, one is always in doubt about its dependability. But depend on it we must. How much is too much? I hope we don't have to find out.

How Deep?

Shallows, shoals
Reefs and rocks
Would tear open my hull
Straining for safety
I let down the sounding line time and again
Down, down, down it runs
But I cannot find the bottom
How deep is this?
Infinit-E