So I'm a bit of a Bible Geek... kind of. I know that there are plenty of people who know the Bible way more than me and I don't think that the kind of fact retention is actually spiritual but it's just the kind of guy I am. I mean I'm pretty close to the same way with Lord of the Rings but that doesn't mean that I actually like the book better than some thirteen year old kid who is reading it for the first time.
So I sometimes think about the Ark of the Covenant and the Temple of Solomon and just think it is cool. Cool, like a +5 Sword of Transformation cool. I think part of it started with Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark (melting faces and what not) and as outrageous as the stuff in that movie depict what the Bible describes is so much more over the top if only because it is described in such a realist way. For example it is described how the High Priest (who is only allowed to enter once a year) has a rope tied to him so that if he is struck dead that the other priests can pull him out of the Holy of Holies without being struck down themselves. It is just cool in a very dorky D&D way.
When ever I read Old Testament stuff I always put myself in the shoes of the person messing up. I am almost always the masses of Israel falling into transgression that they should have known better, I am rarely the one bold Prophet who is willing to call people on it. So when I think about the Temple, and what it would have been like for the people of Israel I think it would have been terrifying... but still so captivating.
The Temple held the Ark of the Covenant which was a sign that God was with the people, inside of the Ark is a jar of mana (from when their ancestors wandered the wilderness), the staff of Aaron (the sign of the priesthood) and the freaking stones the ten commandments were broken on (Oh my freaking gosh!). To be an Israelite and know your history was to be terrified because your ancestors did not accept God's mana, they had rebelled against the priesthood and broke the commandments. To think about the Temple and the Holy of Holies and the Ark of the Covenant is to see the holiness of a real God and the real sinfulness inside of yourself. The only way I can imagine it could be stood was because once a year God allowed one person, the High Priest, to enter into the Holy of Holies and make a sacrifice of blood for all of the people.
In so many ways it sounds just like all of the same stuff that all of the people were doing religiously four thousand years ago, appease an angry god, blood of a goat, gold for the temple yada yada. But for me I am constantly putting myself in the story and so by the time there is a temple to worship at I have already heard God's promise of more children than the stars, I have seen how the Lord led that family into Egypt and I have seen how the Lord led that family out of Egpyt and in the wilderness and out of the wilderness into the Promised Land. I have seen all of it and the whole way through I have been messing up and every time the Israelites (I) have mess up in retrospect it seems so dumb.
"Why did they rebel against God? He just lead them out of Egypt!"
"Why did they rebel against God, again? They are just going to fall back into slavery!"
And so when I get to the time of Temple worship I can understand the fear of this layered temple where first anyone can come to pray, then the level only Jews can enter and then the level only Jewish men can enter and then the level only priests can enter and then the level only the High Priest, once a year, can enter, and I understand how much a person would want to enter the Holy of Holies but it would be so terrifying, so much bigger even than the High Priest. I can see both the fierceness and the beauty of the Lord God Almighty and feel both the aversion and attraction of even just the idea of holiness (to say nothing of the reality).
And then in my own life, every day I am a jumbled mess of sins and perversions and corruptions and hypocrisy. But I think about what it means to be a Christian and before bed I read a Psalm... except the Psalms are so often written from a righteous perspective that the only way I can believe them is if it were Jesus the one saying them. So I read the Psalm but am imagining what it would be like to be able to say the same. And then I often have the mental image of how the New Testament says that as a Christian I am the Temple and inside of me is the Holy of Holies with its gates and its layers which would prevent the least of sin to enter and the only way I can imagine it would be possible to enter is a blood sacrifice from the High Priest.
As a geek I know that the Indiana Jones response, close your eyes and hopefully God won't smite you, would be correct. But as a Christian I know that the sacrifice has been made and at any time I can enter the Holy of Holies and be in the presence of a God so holy I am tempted to capitalize even His adjectives.
It is like water for a thirsty soul and I just wish I could share it, that continues to be my wish.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
New Short Story
I'm working on a new short story. This is what I have so far:
On Sunday, January 1st, 1950 Scarlet made one New Year's Resolution: to stop going to church. The minister had read than morning from Revelation 2 "thou sufferest that woman Jezebel... commit fornication... I will cast her into a bed... great tribulation... I will kill her children..."
"I was only going to be politer," she explained to her mother, "and if they can't extend me the same courtesy I see no reason to continue the hypocrisy.
"Besides," she added nonchalantly. "I've read Nathaniel Hawthorn and understand how all of that really works."
Honey had not read Nathaniel Hawthorn but neither had she read the Bible outside of a church building. She feigned scandalization with the appropriate signs of outrage and fear but she had never once denied her daughter any desire and was not about to start now that she was a smart, independent young woman. Honey insisted that her granddaughter continue to attend church, for decency's sake, and with that was able to keep appearances. Honey might not have any great confidence of her place in the Kingdom of Heaven but knew where she stood with the neighbors. Honey and granddaughter would continue to be polite for a few more decades until the neighbors stopped caring, died or moved away.
Scarlet only had one child intentionally: Angelica Pearl Elder, born in late December 1956. Angelica would eventually become the only sincerely religious member off the family since the Grand Old Thornburg but in the pleasant carefree Fifties she was her mother's precious angel.
Scarlet had intended to keep Angelica's father, as she had intended to keep every man she had married, except the first, of course. Still if any man tried to get one over on her she would tell him to go right to hell.
"Go to hell, you bastard," she'd say with her cigarette pointed like a gun at his head or heart or lower still. She'd flick a touch of ash in his general direction, turn around, drop his ring on the floor and walk away.
...
I pretty much know everything I'm going to say in the story. It is just a matter of getting the words down.
On Sunday, January 1st, 1950 Scarlet made one New Year's Resolution: to stop going to church. The minister had read than morning from Revelation 2 "thou sufferest that woman Jezebel... commit fornication... I will cast her into a bed... great tribulation... I will kill her children..."
"I was only going to be politer," she explained to her mother, "and if they can't extend me the same courtesy I see no reason to continue the hypocrisy.
"Besides," she added nonchalantly. "I've read Nathaniel Hawthorn and understand how all of that really works."
Honey had not read Nathaniel Hawthorn but neither had she read the Bible outside of a church building. She feigned scandalization with the appropriate signs of outrage and fear but she had never once denied her daughter any desire and was not about to start now that she was a smart, independent young woman. Honey insisted that her granddaughter continue to attend church, for decency's sake, and with that was able to keep appearances. Honey might not have any great confidence of her place in the Kingdom of Heaven but knew where she stood with the neighbors. Honey and granddaughter would continue to be polite for a few more decades until the neighbors stopped caring, died or moved away.
Scarlet only had one child intentionally: Angelica Pearl Elder, born in late December 1956. Angelica would eventually become the only sincerely religious member off the family since the Grand Old Thornburg but in the pleasant carefree Fifties she was her mother's precious angel.
Scarlet had intended to keep Angelica's father, as she had intended to keep every man she had married, except the first, of course. Still if any man tried to get one over on her she would tell him to go right to hell.
"Go to hell, you bastard," she'd say with her cigarette pointed like a gun at his head or heart or lower still. She'd flick a touch of ash in his general direction, turn around, drop his ring on the floor and walk away.
...
I pretty much know everything I'm going to say in the story. It is just a matter of getting the words down.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
| Michael Gardner Fremont, Ca 94538 (510) 673 2991 | |
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"Intelligence plus character- that is the goal of education." - Martin Luther King, Jr. "It is the supreme art of the teacher to awaken joy in creative expression and knowledge." - Albert Einstein "The task of the modern educator is not to cut down jungles but to irrigate deserts." - C. S. Lewis “Genius without education is like silver in the mine.” -Benjamin Franklin | Professional Profile A recently credentialed teacher with experience in classroom and small group K-12 instruction, comfortable in our diverse Bay Area population, seeking to advance his teaching qualifications through special education experience as a teacher, intern or paraprofessional aid; eager to share a love for learning and help develop a lifelong habit of self-improvement in myself and others. Key Qualifications § § 1000+ hours of classroom experience K-12 § Student teaching in 4th and 1st grade, including a blended combination class of main stream and special education students § Classroom control and organization skills, capacity to follow or create lesson plans § Proven dependability and stability; mature but warm personality Employment · Lead Chess Teacher, Know Chess (December, 1999- June, 2008); class instruction, room organization, child safety, parent communication · Restaurant Server, Trainer, Outback Steakhouse (November, 2000- present); Red Robin (September 1996- January 2000); serving customers, training employees, teamwork · Community Volunteer, The Crossing (September 2003- September 2006); small group instruction, teenage experience Education § Multiple Subject Credential (Summer 2010) B.A. of Philosophy. (Summer 2008) § (September, 1996- December, 2001) § (September, 1992- June, 1996) Professional Ambition I found myself called to the great need and personal interest in Speical Education during my time in the credential program and was fortunate enough to gain a lot of experience in my student teaching placement. I am registered to begin Level 1 Credntial this Fall part time and am seeking employment in that field either as a special day teacher, intern or paraprofessional aid leading to a career in Special Education. |
Depressed Friend
So I had lunch with some of the guys and it was cool. Mike (Muffin) naturally steered the conversation to topics that he could dominate the conversation which is totally Mike. But with the guys usually you can engage as much as you want and Mike is actually good about sharing time... it is just if you don't care he will let the topic be comics, WoW and himself.
The purpose of the hang out is because one of the guys is leaving. He's moving back with the family to middle-of-no-where, Utah. It is kind of the suck but at the same time he needs a change real bad. He's really depressed and doesn't know how to deal with it. He's pretty closed about it... in an angry sort of way.
I guess I am used to dealing with people I care about being depressed... which doesn't mean I am really good at it. But it doesn't freak me out or surprise me (unless it makes me late for something). But having depressed friends is the suck. There is so little I can do, especially if they only want to say so much.
I can and will be praying for my friend which I guess would have been the best thing to do in any event seeing how the problem is spiritual rather than psychological or physiological. I am sure those things contribute but human nature is self destructive and the only way that can really be helped is through a new nature.
I just hate that my friend is suffering.
The purpose of the hang out is because one of the guys is leaving. He's moving back with the family to middle-of-no-where, Utah. It is kind of the suck but at the same time he needs a change real bad. He's really depressed and doesn't know how to deal with it. He's pretty closed about it... in an angry sort of way.
I guess I am used to dealing with people I care about being depressed... which doesn't mean I am really good at it. But it doesn't freak me out or surprise me (unless it makes me late for something). But having depressed friends is the suck. There is so little I can do, especially if they only want to say so much.
I can and will be praying for my friend which I guess would have been the best thing to do in any event seeing how the problem is spiritual rather than psychological or physiological. I am sure those things contribute but human nature is self destructive and the only way that can really be helped is through a new nature.
I just hate that my friend is suffering.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Jesse's Bible Study
So I've made Jesse's Bible study on Tuesday nights my regular small group Bible Study. In a weird way I feel like a loser because I need someone else's small group rather being so awesome I can make my own small group. But like Marssellus Wallace said "that's just pride [cussing] with you." In another weird way I feel like I am imposing but "cuss pride."
It is neat to go to someone else's Bible study because they ask questions and see perspectives I wouldn't normally ask or see. For example when reading about Ezra the High Priest Jesse asked us what sort of thing did Ezra do, that we as Christians who are priests, also are called to do. I guess application is not one of my strong points... not asking questions either.
I've had a sort of renaissance of post-exile understanding. Certainly that is a esoteric field of knowledge but it sets the scene for the Israel that Jesus will be born in.
I've heard the history of humanity as described in the Bible put in a neat little alliteration: creation, curse, covenant, Christ, church. I would add "kingdom" and "collapse" between covenant and Christ.
It is neat to go to someone else's Bible study because they ask questions and see perspectives I wouldn't normally ask or see. For example when reading about Ezra the High Priest Jesse asked us what sort of thing did Ezra do, that we as Christians who are priests, also are called to do. I guess application is not one of my strong points... not asking questions either.
I've had a sort of renaissance of post-exile understanding. Certainly that is a esoteric field of knowledge but it sets the scene for the Israel that Jesus will be born in.
I've heard the history of humanity as described in the Bible put in a neat little alliteration: creation, curse, covenant, Christ, church. I would add "kingdom" and "collapse" between covenant and Christ.
Monday, July 12, 2010
"Sensible People" final draft before professional editting?
Christian is slowly progressing through stop and go traffic in his old ’89 Honda Civic. The car was named “Angelica” after his mother since it was difficult and undependable. He had gotten the car as a gift from the church where he was saved (for some purpose or another) but no one feels saved in traffic. His mother and teenage sister were with him on this drab but bright California winter day. His sister was also named after their mother but everyone called her Gee or Gigi. No one called their mother by her name either, but always and only Mom. She was not a well respected woman but no one doubted her maternal instincts. Between the one Angelica being called Gee and the other Mom you would have thought that the car was named after a dream girl or something like that.
Gee sits in the front seat staring out the window without speaking or listening. She has shotgun over Mom because she is a pregnant. Mom sits in the back cheerfully giving advice about pregnancy and motherhood. “Pregnant girls always get the front seat,” Mom explains to no one so that it seems more like a recitation of scripture rather than a conversation. “They are special. A gift. They need to be treated that way. You believe in God, you should know that.”
“You don’t even go to church, Mom.” Christian says half- heartedly.
“When I was pregnant your father always bought me flowers.” Mom continues without hearing.
In sensible families when a sixteen-year-old girl gets pregnant sensible mothers start talking about abortion or maybe adoption. Mom talks predominantly about milk. “Growing babies need a lot of nutrients,” she says. Mom would start keeping a gallon of milk in her van for her daughter and grandchild.
Neither Gee nor her mother had any idea how to take care of themselves. Mom lives in a van. Gee floats between welfare provided hotel rooms, friends’ couches and worst case scenario a warm and concealed dumpster. Mom burned all of her bridges with sensible family members with her learned helplessness and uncompromising morality. Gee’s pregnancy alienated anyone who might have pitied her for her eccentric mother. To sensible families both have become useful instructive tools in passing on sensible family values:
“You don’t want to end up like that Gee girl.”
“It is such a shame about that Gigi.”
“I blame her mother.”
“You could always move into my van.” Mom says hopefully.
“No, Mom!” Gee explodes impatiently. “I keep telling you I don’t want to live in your smelly van!”
“I just worry about the baby.” Mom says defensively dropping the subject.
Christian has not yet burned all of his bridges with his sensible family members. He is actually held in rather high regard. He could hold two jobs while going to college, had never been arrested, paid back what he borrowed and borrowed rarely. He actually agreed with Mom about the vibrant joy that is growing in his sister but was just sensible enough to keep this private. This discretion seemed to be a tight rope walked between two worlds. He did suffer guilt because he lived in a rented room in someone’s house while Mom lived in a van and his sister lived where she could.
Sensible people congratulated him saying that it was proper and fitting that he take care of himself first. “You got to look out for number one,” they would whisper to him as if they were conspirators. Christian did not resent them but between Mom’s influence and his conversion he had never developed the sensible belief that his self interest was the highest good to be achieved in one’s life. He was not that sensible. Secretly he planned to support Mom and Gee but believed that they would be best cared for by him graduating college.
Strictly speaking Christian might have been a saint but he was not perfect. The very least of his sins was that he was a selfish driver. On the freeway there is an exit which other than leading off the freeway also leads directly back to it. Using this as a shortcut is the grown up equivalent of cutting in line. Christian was perfectly aware he was stealing someone else’s spot and ultimately making more traffic for those behind him. If his mother thought about the ethics of driving one tenth as much as she did about milk she would say something to shame him. But with a growing baby in the car, she was content so long as her son did not go over the speed limit or change lanes too often.
Despite his conscience Christian is overpowered by a desire to go faster than 10 mph. It was during that small happiness he was attempting to steal that Gee saw her crawling along the side of the freeway.
“Christian! Pull over! Pull over!” she called out urgently almost panicking “There’s a dog on the side of the road!”
Christian was scared for a second but then was relieved it was just a dog. If Mom had not been in the car he would have kept driving but she who birthed him, cared for him and protected him until he grew up into the man she always knew he would be was there so there was only one way he could go. The whole family was sentimental about animals and Christian not the least so. He only needed the most to be reminded what he really believed in.
Sensible people think of Christian as a sort of pet moral figure, the kind of saint that fits on the dashboard of an expensive automobile. They pat him on the back, make sure he doesn’t drop out of college and say how great it is he likes to go to church. Christian accepts this cheap applause and does not bother to correct those who misunderstand him.
Because of the gift of his mother’s heart Christian was resolved. He knew what was right. Without a word he pulled over on the side of the freeway and got out of his car. He didn’t expect much. If a dog gets hit on the freeway there was only one way it could go.
It was cold enough, by California standards, to wear a jacket. He only owned one jacket. His mother’s sensible step-dad had started a tradition a couple years earlier of buying all of the grown grandchildren matching ugly jackets. It was not known if he knew with what irony they received this gift. But for the frugal patriarch buying six Christmas presents for under $75 forgave all crimes of fashion. Some might say that he is cheap but for many of his sensible grandchildren a simple Christmas visit or even a phone call was too expensive a gift to give. The steady disintegration the sensible family made the old man’s Christmas shopping less and less costly; year by year the picture of amused faces in neon denim jackets had grows less and less crowded. This family disintegration had also been a serious blow to the homeless community who had cause to give thanks for the grandfather’s frugality. Soon after Christmas the local panhandlers were beyond pitiable in their lime green and feces brown jackets.
This year however Christian kept his jacket. It showed Mickey Mouse inviting others to a theme park that Christian had never been to. He had inherited his Gramps’ meanness about money out of necessity. This jacket wasn’t too bad. Christian might not wear everything he had been given but would rather go without than pay $20 for something he liked better. Aside from that he had become touched with affection for his Gramps, who faithfully (though not extravagantly) remembers grandsons who never remembered him on Christmas or any other day.
Buttoning his jacket Christian trotted along the side of the freeway. His mother had moved to the driver’s seat and said she would take the next exit, turn around and wait for him on the overpass they had driven under. “I worry about being on the side of the road with the baby,” she explained.
Christian headed back towards the overpass, which rose above the freeway and the frontage road that was an entrance to, an exit from and shortcut through the freeway. The frontage road was separated from the freeway by a cement divider but the frontage road was separated from a large open field by a short fence made of an interval of short wooden posts that held up a rail designed to bounce back reckless drivers. The field was newly landscaped with sapling trees and tanbark meant to beautify the long stretch of crowded concrete. The occasional traffic along the frontage road was impatient hotshots, like Christian, who would aggravate the traffic for others just to be able to drive 40 mph for ten seconds.
It was with the drone of indifferent motorists that Christian first saw her lying down in the tan bark ten feet away from the frontage road. When Gee had seen her, she had enough will to crawl but now lay like one dead. Christian knew there was only way it could go. His mind immediately thought of nightmare stories he had known, where monsters with human faces would throw a bag of unwanted kittens into a lake. This same kind of creatures might take their dog for a ride and make a quick stop on the side a freeway. These amazingly sensible people would then return to their other dependents with stories of a farm where their dog could play with lots of other dogs and be happy.
This dog, however, had a collar and tags. It was more likely that she was a lost dog. Her family was only human and even the noblest of dogs doesn’t know better than to explore an open gate, never knowing or believing that it could lead to dying on the side of the freeway. Maybe pictures of this dog being hugged by happy children already were posted on telephone poles and shops in the neighborhood she would never see again. From a distance Christian could read her tag; her name was “Michelle.”
Michelle was a mutt with some pit bull. Her coat was cheaper than Christian’s jacket, red and brown and black and white. She had been a puppy not long ago but her carefree days were behind her and would never return. She had been hit by a car, and it had crushed her hip or broke her hind legs or cracked her spine. She lay down whining in way that sounded both like her prayers and her last rites. There was only one way it could go.
Christian had been called to be with Michelle in her pain, suffering and humiliation. All of which would most likely define the end of her life, as it does for most of us. Christian had been raised with dogs and cats, strays and domesticated. He imagined himself somewhat of a dog-whisperer, able to charm skittish and abused animals into trust or acceptance. This would not work out very well with Michelle. Though he only courted her with love and sympathy they never became friends. Though for his part Christian was always her friend.
The best advice is to never get close to a strange dog. All dogs are defensive and protective creatures; even a friendly dog will bite when startled. It is best to make your presence known and if the dog is willing to let it come towards you. Michelle would not approach anyone in friendliness or ferocity ever again. Without the use of her hind legs she was not a dangerous dog unless someone came close. But getting close is just what Christian had a mind to do. Christian could read the tag with Michelle’s name but she had another tag which identified her family, those who would rush from their sensible plans to be with their loved one if only to be there at the end.
With this in mind Christian lowered his head, keeping it submissive and if he had a tail would have put it between my legs. He reached out his hand slowly, flat and low for Michelle to smell. This is good manners when dealing with dogs but Michelle was not accepting invitation. She started to growl to let Christian know that he was not welcome but he still inched forward. She tensed to sit up and begin what might have been a bark or a bite. But this put pressure where she was most hurt and all that came out was a sharp whine. Christian’s jumped back which caused Michelle to also jump back despite the pain. He approached again, slow and close to the ground. He hoped that she would trust him, either out of intuitive kinship or in desperation. He only came for her good, and she certainly didn’t have any bite left in her. But each inch he moved towards her she whined, growled and with anguish jerked two inches away from him. He moved forward in pained compassion, and she moved back in pain and more pain. Hopelessly she began urinating on herself as she still desperately tried to escape the only man who loved her. Seeing her shame and the end of her life Christian wondered how he had imagined he had ever known the meaning of love or pity before this moment.
At this point Christian’s main concern was no longer his own sensible desire to avoid being bitten but that in pain and ignorance Michelle was throwing herself further and further towards the freeway. The fence which bounced careless drivers would not stop a crawling dog from meeting one more indifferent or malicious motorist.
Christian backed away and began to circle around so that if Michelle did back away from him then at least she would also be moving away from the freeway, its indifference and death. He took off his jacket and held it front of him like a matador. Michelle never took a suspicious eye off of him but was confused enough that he could drape the jacket, the little warmth he had, over her injury and shame. She lay under her jacket like one already dead; content to move no more.
Sentimental sensible people would be greatly moved by a man giving his only jacket to a dying dog. They wouldn’t be wrong to think it was caring but it was only a small victory. Christian had given up something he had been given and didn’t really like. Elsewhere in the world a mother hen was devoured by a fox while covering her chicks under her wings; a gentle husband and father placed his mortal body between his family and the horrors of war. Even they did not face great battles, any talk of pacifism or flight would be a betrayal; it would be an abomination. Up to this point Christian had not fought a battle or earned a victory; he had merely displayed the bare nakedness of the man he was raised and saved to become.
Christian’s battle was not for Michelle’s life, which was lost before they met. His battle was to revenge her against the indifferent and sensible slayer of men and Michelle. Her only help would come from those greater than him. Animal Control, or whoever, would subdue, sedate and save her, read her name and call her family. Christian knew there was only one way it could go.
Long ago Tinsel, the majestic German shepherd, had been put to sleep by Christian’s mother. It was after a long life that was being over-overwhelmed by illness and anguish. She was humanely put to rest surrounded by the loud weeping of a caring family. Mom believed that Tinsel was the canine personification of her own motherly spirit. She was the only one who could have made the decision and she painfully chose out of love. Still Mom had stayed in bed for a whole week after the experience. Sensible family members did not understand how the end of Tinsel’s life was the beginning of Mom’s homelessness; just as Gee’s pregnancy was the beginning of her recovery.
The only desperate hope Christian held on to was that Michelle would breathe her last surrounded by her weeping family in the same way. This would require the aid of those who carelessly passed him by as if the walls of their cars demarked the end of creation. Christian was not against technology and though many of his friends and peers had cell phones Christian did not. This was simply a matter of expense and it was a time in Christian’s life when a cell phone would have been a luxury rather than a way of life. This put him in the blessing and curse of poverty: the need to ask for help.
Though little time had passed the traffic on the freeway had cleared up enough so that the average speed was somewhere between twenty and thirty miles per hour. After the pace the motorists had been enduring this would have been quite delightful. This pick up in the pace on the freeway made the even greater speed of the frontage road more tempting like a bite of food increases rather than decreases the appetite.
Speed is a powerful stimulant. It seems to promise that if one could just move quickly enough they could escape the four walls of their cars and the four walls of traffic and the four walls of the prison of their sensible little life. The addiction of speed is the belief that if a person moves quickly enough one day they will never needs to hurry ever again. Beyond the speed of light there is a place where one can sit restfully surrounded by happy children and a family dog. Those tempted by the delight of increasing power and control of their environment are those least likely to slow down and help someone on the side of the road. After all people could get robbed or killed that way. It was not sensible to stop on the side of the freeway to help a stranger who might need help, not sensible at all.
This illusion would be Christian’s enemy. First, he politely stood by the side of the frontage road imagining that someone would see him, slowly and safely come to a stop and ask him if he needed help. He then tried calmly waving to the passing cars. Christian would have waved a little more urgently but felt that this would have frightened motorists. Many sensible people who admired and respected Christian also believed that he was a little naive.
The traffic, however, was more than indifferent to his need. Several cars belligerently honked their horns at him as if I were disturbing the sanctity of their octane powered orgasm. One car slowed enough to throw a soda at him while yelling obscenities. This is a sensible reaction and should be expected if you think about it there was no good reason for him to be at the side of the road in such a way.
It was after this that Christian would have to face my true battle. He realized he could not make the indifferent care anymore than I could heal Michelle’s wounds. But up to this point he had been reasonably sensible or at least polite to the sensibility of others. He had always walked the line between what is sensible and what is right. His silence let it appear that he gave lip service to Moloch while in my heart he never cherished those golden calves. Christian certainly wanted to live in peace so far as depended on him but at this point meek and mild would have been a betrayal to his calling. So Christian stepped out into the middle of the frontage road that had taken Michelle’s youth away, he placed his mortal body in the middle of the road so that none could remain indifferent.
He wisely didn’t actually want to be hit so did wave his arms energetically, but his legs were firmly placed on the solid ground. He didn’t think it was likely that even the heady pleasure of speed would lead someone to actually run him over but it was not outside the realm of possibility. Certainly at this time he was not placing his trust in a general respect for the sanctity of life. If anything he would say his only protection was the belief that running him down would have been more of an inconvenience than stopping for him. But beyond that he was putting his trust in the fact that there actually are some things worth dying over.
Christian stood defiantly in the middle of the road that yearly killed more men than handguns. There were no witnesses except a dying dog and yet Christian was standing in front of the whole world of sensible people and openly declaring “I am not one of you!“ He was placing his immortal soul between the world and the horrors of hell. Christian’s character had never been one resolved to conflict and confrontation and if it had been his own heart pushing him forward he wouldn’t even have had the strength to cry for Michelle. But the author and perfector of a living heart was inside of Christian propelling him forward in ways he did not yet understand. At this moment Christian stood in the middle of a highway for no greater reason than the fact that a dog was dying on the side of the road.
The first car he tried to stare down was a beat up pickup truck with an elderly Mexican man in the driver’s seat and a dog in shotgun. The driver didn’t resent seem to resent Christian for holding him up. His eyes did not accuse him of insubordination, of being part of a divine rebellion. He seemed mildly concerned but unworried as if it was just someone in need in of little help.
“Do you have a cell phone?” Christian shouted out as politely as possible.
He poked his head out the window and answered “No.” with a heavy Mexican accent. Christian moved aside to let him pass. The man paused and asked if anyone was hurt. “A dog on the side of the road.” was Christian could say and felt rather stupid.
Behind the pickup truck a car had been forced to stop because of the considerate Mexican’s question. The car honked at him and Christian and the whole world for being so cruel to it. That car had a man trapped inside who yelled obscenities at Christian as it passed.
Christian would have to make war against the freeway a second time. As soon as there was a break in the passing cars he planted himself in the middle of the road again and waved his arms to be seen. This time the car he stopped was an expensive Jaguar with a successful seeming business man in the driver’s seat. He seemed to personify all of the hopes and expectations Christian’s sensible family members had for him. Expectations he was now openly rejecting.
Christian met the drivers eyes immediately locked in what would become a battle of wills. The motorist immediately looked into Christian’s demeanor and knew this was nothing the motorist would consider an emergency.
“Out of my way,” the his eyes commanded as the sun shined brightly on his expensive automobile.
“No.” was all Christian’s eyes said.
“I could just run you over,” his eyes threatened. The powerful engine purred in bloody readiness.
“And increase your insurance premiums?” Christian’s eyes mocked, his proximity to sensible people taught him the depths of their hearts.
“Well,” the motorst’s eyes reasoned, “I could just move ahead slowly. You couldn’t stop me.”
“Oh,” Christian’s eyes laughed, “But I might scratch your lovely automobile.”
“Ugh,” the motorist’s eyes relented in guarded desperation. “What do you want?”
Christian felt no embarrassment that he extorted charity from this man, this man who still hadn’t even opened his window to find out what was needed.
“Do you have a cell phone?” Christian yelled out while making a phone signal with his hand. The man nodded and reached over to pick up his top-of-the-line PDA cell phone. Seeing his expensive toy a sense of power grew in him. When his eye contact broke from Christian his anger increased again. When their eyes met again the man’s eyes raged like a lake of fire.
Christian signaled the numbers “nine, one, one.”
“Oh, you better believe I am calling the police,” the man’s eyes said. But Christian was immune to his rancor. It was impotent rage. Perhaps he would never join the motorist’s country club or wouldn’t get that home loan but Christian was not one of him. The motorist had called the highway patrol and that was all he required. Christian had won.
Now, if Christian weren’t white he might have been a little more nervous about having to explain all of this to a police officer. But as it was, he was not only white but a clean cut white kid with no criminal record and a list of reference from pastors, school teachers and sensible home owners declaring that he was a “a good guy, a little naïve but a good guy.” So Christian was content to walk over to the fence where he could see Michelle’s slow and painful breathing without disturbing her. He pleasantly smiled and waved at the Jaguar as it drove past him to God knows where.
Christian sat a good ten minutes before anything happened. He saw his mom drive by on the overpass and imagined his mom and sister seeing him sitting by the side of the freeway doing nothing. But as he sat there next to the freeway a woman in her car saw him, slowed her car down and came safely to a halt. She got out of her car and walked towards Christian asking “Do you need any help?”
Christian’s first reaction was that there must be something wrong with this woman. This would have been easy to explain if she were ugly seeming or lonely seeming but she was just a normal woman neither too young nor too old. Then their eyes met.
“There is so much to live for,” her eyes pleaded. “Don’t do it.”
This woman thought he was thinking about suicide. She had stopped on the side of the freeway and exposed herself to danger from cars and maybe a dangerous man. Christian blushed like Adam meeting Eve. Embarrassed he spoke words about this dog on the side of the road but his eyes said “I am one of you.”
“Are you going to be okay?” she asked as he looked down at the ground.
“Oh, yeah, animal control or whoever is on the way and my mom is waiting with my car up there on the overpass.” Christian couldn’t say anything else except to thank her for caring and she drove away.
Not that much longer a highway patrolman approached Christian. He had parked his cruiser somewhere further down the road where it wouldn’t be in danger of being hit. He was a muscular black man and walked towards Christian behind dark sunglasses and one hand near his holster.
It took the officer about two seconds to figure out what Christian was not: crazy or dangerous. Most people with any experience with authority quickly come to see Christian as a tall and rather well behaved child. Still regardless of what the highway officer thought he saw in Christian he was trained to be exceedingly polite and exceedingly careful, his hand was only away from his holster once.
“Good afternoon, sir,” he said with authority. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Did someone call you about the dog?” Christian asked naively.
“No, sir,” he replied. “I received a call about a pedestrian on the side of the highway.”
“Yeah,” Christian answered half laughing; half embarrassed “That would be me.” The call to the police probably had a lot stronger words than “pedestrian.” Christian explained briefly about seeing the dog and not being able to get the tags. “So I tried to get someone to call animal control.”
He didn’t mention a lot of things. But his jacket on Michelle and his eyes said a lot more than his words. After this the patrolman softened a great deal. He was still very businesslike and efficient but he put his authority away as if he was off duty and dealing with a young man he had seen grow up.
Christian turned the whole thing over to him. There was nothing more he could do. He noticed that he actually pretty cold. The patrolman was talking into his radio Christian stopped paying attention to him.
“Well,” the officer said after a minute, “animal control is on their way. Where is your car?”
“My mom is up there on the overpass.” Christian said pointing. He could see Angelica driving past.
“Go ahead and walk up there from here,” he said.
“There is nothing more I can do,” Christian thought to himself unconvincingly. Most likely Michelle would die alone, if she wasn’t dead already. Her guardians would receive a phone call that was cold and clinical telling them that she had been hit by a car. There was a chance that they could have been called before Michelle was euthanized. She could die surrounded by weeping, caring family members. But there was also a chance her family was rich and could buy all of the medical costs to give her a new hip or legs or spine. She would soon be happily playing with other dogs on a farm far away from this freeway and all of our sinfulness. “There is nothing more I can do,” he said to himself again and received no comfort from the words.
But before he left the highway patrol man took off his sunglasses with his left hand and looked Christian in the eyes while shaking his hand with his right. “Well done, young man,” his eyes said.
Still Christian walked towards the overpass feeling like a failure when the Word of the Lord came upon him and declared “If I would send you, Christian, a beloved one, to care for a dying dog what would I not do your brothers and sisters whose need is just a great?” Like most miracles this message was in one ear and out the other.
When Angelica pulled up Christian was shivering.
“What happened?” Gee asked.
“She was hit by a car. I got someone to call animal control.”
“Did they say what they were going to do for her?” his mom asked as she scooted over to let him drive. “I mean she will probably need surgery!”
“Damn it, Mom! Don’t be stupid. They are going to put her to sleep! No one does reconstructive surgery for stray dogs on the side of the road! Grow up!”
“Jeeze, Christian,” Gee said after a minute, embarrassed by Christian’s inexplicable and uncharacteristic anger.
“Well, you don’t know what they are going to do,” Mom said defensively. “But if decent people were in charge of this world, even stray dogs would get everything they need.” In her own hurt she added “You should learn to control your temper.”
Christian didn’t say anything and before long his mother was continuing on and on about everything pre-natal. Gee was again silently staring out the window and Christian drove on, as if nothing had ever happened.
Gee sits in the front seat staring out the window without speaking or listening. She has shotgun over Mom because she is a pregnant. Mom sits in the back cheerfully giving advice about pregnancy and motherhood. “Pregnant girls always get the front seat,” Mom explains to no one so that it seems more like a recitation of scripture rather than a conversation. “They are special. A gift. They need to be treated that way. You believe in God, you should know that.”
“You don’t even go to church, Mom.” Christian says half- heartedly.
“When I was pregnant your father always bought me flowers.” Mom continues without hearing.
In sensible families when a sixteen-year-old girl gets pregnant sensible mothers start talking about abortion or maybe adoption. Mom talks predominantly about milk. “Growing babies need a lot of nutrients,” she says. Mom would start keeping a gallon of milk in her van for her daughter and grandchild.
Neither Gee nor her mother had any idea how to take care of themselves. Mom lives in a van. Gee floats between welfare provided hotel rooms, friends’ couches and worst case scenario a warm and concealed dumpster. Mom burned all of her bridges with sensible family members with her learned helplessness and uncompromising morality. Gee’s pregnancy alienated anyone who might have pitied her for her eccentric mother. To sensible families both have become useful instructive tools in passing on sensible family values:
“You don’t want to end up like that Gee girl.”
“It is such a shame about that Gigi.”
“I blame her mother.”
“You could always move into my van.” Mom says hopefully.
“No, Mom!” Gee explodes impatiently. “I keep telling you I don’t want to live in your smelly van!”
“I just worry about the baby.” Mom says defensively dropping the subject.
Christian has not yet burned all of his bridges with his sensible family members. He is actually held in rather high regard. He could hold two jobs while going to college, had never been arrested, paid back what he borrowed and borrowed rarely. He actually agreed with Mom about the vibrant joy that is growing in his sister but was just sensible enough to keep this private. This discretion seemed to be a tight rope walked between two worlds. He did suffer guilt because he lived in a rented room in someone’s house while Mom lived in a van and his sister lived where she could.
Sensible people congratulated him saying that it was proper and fitting that he take care of himself first. “You got to look out for number one,” they would whisper to him as if they were conspirators. Christian did not resent them but between Mom’s influence and his conversion he had never developed the sensible belief that his self interest was the highest good to be achieved in one’s life. He was not that sensible. Secretly he planned to support Mom and Gee but believed that they would be best cared for by him graduating college.
Strictly speaking Christian might have been a saint but he was not perfect. The very least of his sins was that he was a selfish driver. On the freeway there is an exit which other than leading off the freeway also leads directly back to it. Using this as a shortcut is the grown up equivalent of cutting in line. Christian was perfectly aware he was stealing someone else’s spot and ultimately making more traffic for those behind him. If his mother thought about the ethics of driving one tenth as much as she did about milk she would say something to shame him. But with a growing baby in the car, she was content so long as her son did not go over the speed limit or change lanes too often.
Despite his conscience Christian is overpowered by a desire to go faster than 10 mph. It was during that small happiness he was attempting to steal that Gee saw her crawling along the side of the freeway.
“Christian! Pull over! Pull over!” she called out urgently almost panicking “There’s a dog on the side of the road!”
Christian was scared for a second but then was relieved it was just a dog. If Mom had not been in the car he would have kept driving but she who birthed him, cared for him and protected him until he grew up into the man she always knew he would be was there so there was only one way he could go. The whole family was sentimental about animals and Christian not the least so. He only needed the most to be reminded what he really believed in.
Sensible people think of Christian as a sort of pet moral figure, the kind of saint that fits on the dashboard of an expensive automobile. They pat him on the back, make sure he doesn’t drop out of college and say how great it is he likes to go to church. Christian accepts this cheap applause and does not bother to correct those who misunderstand him.
Because of the gift of his mother’s heart Christian was resolved. He knew what was right. Without a word he pulled over on the side of the freeway and got out of his car. He didn’t expect much. If a dog gets hit on the freeway there was only one way it could go.
It was cold enough, by California standards, to wear a jacket. He only owned one jacket. His mother’s sensible step-dad had started a tradition a couple years earlier of buying all of the grown grandchildren matching ugly jackets. It was not known if he knew with what irony they received this gift. But for the frugal patriarch buying six Christmas presents for under $75 forgave all crimes of fashion. Some might say that he is cheap but for many of his sensible grandchildren a simple Christmas visit or even a phone call was too expensive a gift to give. The steady disintegration the sensible family made the old man’s Christmas shopping less and less costly; year by year the picture of amused faces in neon denim jackets had grows less and less crowded. This family disintegration had also been a serious blow to the homeless community who had cause to give thanks for the grandfather’s frugality. Soon after Christmas the local panhandlers were beyond pitiable in their lime green and feces brown jackets.
This year however Christian kept his jacket. It showed Mickey Mouse inviting others to a theme park that Christian had never been to. He had inherited his Gramps’ meanness about money out of necessity. This jacket wasn’t too bad. Christian might not wear everything he had been given but would rather go without than pay $20 for something he liked better. Aside from that he had become touched with affection for his Gramps, who faithfully (though not extravagantly) remembers grandsons who never remembered him on Christmas or any other day.
Buttoning his jacket Christian trotted along the side of the freeway. His mother had moved to the driver’s seat and said she would take the next exit, turn around and wait for him on the overpass they had driven under. “I worry about being on the side of the road with the baby,” she explained.
Christian headed back towards the overpass, which rose above the freeway and the frontage road that was an entrance to, an exit from and shortcut through the freeway. The frontage road was separated from the freeway by a cement divider but the frontage road was separated from a large open field by a short fence made of an interval of short wooden posts that held up a rail designed to bounce back reckless drivers. The field was newly landscaped with sapling trees and tanbark meant to beautify the long stretch of crowded concrete. The occasional traffic along the frontage road was impatient hotshots, like Christian, who would aggravate the traffic for others just to be able to drive 40 mph for ten seconds.
It was with the drone of indifferent motorists that Christian first saw her lying down in the tan bark ten feet away from the frontage road. When Gee had seen her, she had enough will to crawl but now lay like one dead. Christian knew there was only way it could go. His mind immediately thought of nightmare stories he had known, where monsters with human faces would throw a bag of unwanted kittens into a lake. This same kind of creatures might take their dog for a ride and make a quick stop on the side a freeway. These amazingly sensible people would then return to their other dependents with stories of a farm where their dog could play with lots of other dogs and be happy.
This dog, however, had a collar and tags. It was more likely that she was a lost dog. Her family was only human and even the noblest of dogs doesn’t know better than to explore an open gate, never knowing or believing that it could lead to dying on the side of the freeway. Maybe pictures of this dog being hugged by happy children already were posted on telephone poles and shops in the neighborhood she would never see again. From a distance Christian could read her tag; her name was “Michelle.”
Michelle was a mutt with some pit bull. Her coat was cheaper than Christian’s jacket, red and brown and black and white. She had been a puppy not long ago but her carefree days were behind her and would never return. She had been hit by a car, and it had crushed her hip or broke her hind legs or cracked her spine. She lay down whining in way that sounded both like her prayers and her last rites. There was only one way it could go.
Christian had been called to be with Michelle in her pain, suffering and humiliation. All of which would most likely define the end of her life, as it does for most of us. Christian had been raised with dogs and cats, strays and domesticated. He imagined himself somewhat of a dog-whisperer, able to charm skittish and abused animals into trust or acceptance. This would not work out very well with Michelle. Though he only courted her with love and sympathy they never became friends. Though for his part Christian was always her friend.
The best advice is to never get close to a strange dog. All dogs are defensive and protective creatures; even a friendly dog will bite when startled. It is best to make your presence known and if the dog is willing to let it come towards you. Michelle would not approach anyone in friendliness or ferocity ever again. Without the use of her hind legs she was not a dangerous dog unless someone came close. But getting close is just what Christian had a mind to do. Christian could read the tag with Michelle’s name but she had another tag which identified her family, those who would rush from their sensible plans to be with their loved one if only to be there at the end.
With this in mind Christian lowered his head, keeping it submissive and if he had a tail would have put it between my legs. He reached out his hand slowly, flat and low for Michelle to smell. This is good manners when dealing with dogs but Michelle was not accepting invitation. She started to growl to let Christian know that he was not welcome but he still inched forward. She tensed to sit up and begin what might have been a bark or a bite. But this put pressure where she was most hurt and all that came out was a sharp whine. Christian’s jumped back which caused Michelle to also jump back despite the pain. He approached again, slow and close to the ground. He hoped that she would trust him, either out of intuitive kinship or in desperation. He only came for her good, and she certainly didn’t have any bite left in her. But each inch he moved towards her she whined, growled and with anguish jerked two inches away from him. He moved forward in pained compassion, and she moved back in pain and more pain. Hopelessly she began urinating on herself as she still desperately tried to escape the only man who loved her. Seeing her shame and the end of her life Christian wondered how he had imagined he had ever known the meaning of love or pity before this moment.
At this point Christian’s main concern was no longer his own sensible desire to avoid being bitten but that in pain and ignorance Michelle was throwing herself further and further towards the freeway. The fence which bounced careless drivers would not stop a crawling dog from meeting one more indifferent or malicious motorist.
Christian backed away and began to circle around so that if Michelle did back away from him then at least she would also be moving away from the freeway, its indifference and death. He took off his jacket and held it front of him like a matador. Michelle never took a suspicious eye off of him but was confused enough that he could drape the jacket, the little warmth he had, over her injury and shame. She lay under her jacket like one already dead; content to move no more.
Sentimental sensible people would be greatly moved by a man giving his only jacket to a dying dog. They wouldn’t be wrong to think it was caring but it was only a small victory. Christian had given up something he had been given and didn’t really like. Elsewhere in the world a mother hen was devoured by a fox while covering her chicks under her wings; a gentle husband and father placed his mortal body between his family and the horrors of war. Even they did not face great battles, any talk of pacifism or flight would be a betrayal; it would be an abomination. Up to this point Christian had not fought a battle or earned a victory; he had merely displayed the bare nakedness of the man he was raised and saved to become.
Christian’s battle was not for Michelle’s life, which was lost before they met. His battle was to revenge her against the indifferent and sensible slayer of men and Michelle. Her only help would come from those greater than him. Animal Control, or whoever, would subdue, sedate and save her, read her name and call her family. Christian knew there was only one way it could go.
Long ago Tinsel, the majestic German shepherd, had been put to sleep by Christian’s mother. It was after a long life that was being over-overwhelmed by illness and anguish. She was humanely put to rest surrounded by the loud weeping of a caring family. Mom believed that Tinsel was the canine personification of her own motherly spirit. She was the only one who could have made the decision and she painfully chose out of love. Still Mom had stayed in bed for a whole week after the experience. Sensible family members did not understand how the end of Tinsel’s life was the beginning of Mom’s homelessness; just as Gee’s pregnancy was the beginning of her recovery.
The only desperate hope Christian held on to was that Michelle would breathe her last surrounded by her weeping family in the same way. This would require the aid of those who carelessly passed him by as if the walls of their cars demarked the end of creation. Christian was not against technology and though many of his friends and peers had cell phones Christian did not. This was simply a matter of expense and it was a time in Christian’s life when a cell phone would have been a luxury rather than a way of life. This put him in the blessing and curse of poverty: the need to ask for help.
Though little time had passed the traffic on the freeway had cleared up enough so that the average speed was somewhere between twenty and thirty miles per hour. After the pace the motorists had been enduring this would have been quite delightful. This pick up in the pace on the freeway made the even greater speed of the frontage road more tempting like a bite of food increases rather than decreases the appetite.
Speed is a powerful stimulant. It seems to promise that if one could just move quickly enough they could escape the four walls of their cars and the four walls of traffic and the four walls of the prison of their sensible little life. The addiction of speed is the belief that if a person moves quickly enough one day they will never needs to hurry ever again. Beyond the speed of light there is a place where one can sit restfully surrounded by happy children and a family dog. Those tempted by the delight of increasing power and control of their environment are those least likely to slow down and help someone on the side of the road. After all people could get robbed or killed that way. It was not sensible to stop on the side of the freeway to help a stranger who might need help, not sensible at all.
This illusion would be Christian’s enemy. First, he politely stood by the side of the frontage road imagining that someone would see him, slowly and safely come to a stop and ask him if he needed help. He then tried calmly waving to the passing cars. Christian would have waved a little more urgently but felt that this would have frightened motorists. Many sensible people who admired and respected Christian also believed that he was a little naive.
The traffic, however, was more than indifferent to his need. Several cars belligerently honked their horns at him as if I were disturbing the sanctity of their octane powered orgasm. One car slowed enough to throw a soda at him while yelling obscenities. This is a sensible reaction and should be expected if you think about it there was no good reason for him to be at the side of the road in such a way.
It was after this that Christian would have to face my true battle. He realized he could not make the indifferent care anymore than I could heal Michelle’s wounds. But up to this point he had been reasonably sensible or at least polite to the sensibility of others. He had always walked the line between what is sensible and what is right. His silence let it appear that he gave lip service to Moloch while in my heart he never cherished those golden calves. Christian certainly wanted to live in peace so far as depended on him but at this point meek and mild would have been a betrayal to his calling. So Christian stepped out into the middle of the frontage road that had taken Michelle’s youth away, he placed his mortal body in the middle of the road so that none could remain indifferent.
He wisely didn’t actually want to be hit so did wave his arms energetically, but his legs were firmly placed on the solid ground. He didn’t think it was likely that even the heady pleasure of speed would lead someone to actually run him over but it was not outside the realm of possibility. Certainly at this time he was not placing his trust in a general respect for the sanctity of life. If anything he would say his only protection was the belief that running him down would have been more of an inconvenience than stopping for him. But beyond that he was putting his trust in the fact that there actually are some things worth dying over.
Christian stood defiantly in the middle of the road that yearly killed more men than handguns. There were no witnesses except a dying dog and yet Christian was standing in front of the whole world of sensible people and openly declaring “I am not one of you!“ He was placing his immortal soul between the world and the horrors of hell. Christian’s character had never been one resolved to conflict and confrontation and if it had been his own heart pushing him forward he wouldn’t even have had the strength to cry for Michelle. But the author and perfector of a living heart was inside of Christian propelling him forward in ways he did not yet understand. At this moment Christian stood in the middle of a highway for no greater reason than the fact that a dog was dying on the side of the road.
The first car he tried to stare down was a beat up pickup truck with an elderly Mexican man in the driver’s seat and a dog in shotgun. The driver didn’t resent seem to resent Christian for holding him up. His eyes did not accuse him of insubordination, of being part of a divine rebellion. He seemed mildly concerned but unworried as if it was just someone in need in of little help.
“Do you have a cell phone?” Christian shouted out as politely as possible.
He poked his head out the window and answered “No.” with a heavy Mexican accent. Christian moved aside to let him pass. The man paused and asked if anyone was hurt. “A dog on the side of the road.” was Christian could say and felt rather stupid.
Behind the pickup truck a car had been forced to stop because of the considerate Mexican’s question. The car honked at him and Christian and the whole world for being so cruel to it. That car had a man trapped inside who yelled obscenities at Christian as it passed.
Christian would have to make war against the freeway a second time. As soon as there was a break in the passing cars he planted himself in the middle of the road again and waved his arms to be seen. This time the car he stopped was an expensive Jaguar with a successful seeming business man in the driver’s seat. He seemed to personify all of the hopes and expectations Christian’s sensible family members had for him. Expectations he was now openly rejecting.
Christian met the drivers eyes immediately locked in what would become a battle of wills. The motorist immediately looked into Christian’s demeanor and knew this was nothing the motorist would consider an emergency.
“Out of my way,” the his eyes commanded as the sun shined brightly on his expensive automobile.
“No.” was all Christian’s eyes said.
“I could just run you over,” his eyes threatened. The powerful engine purred in bloody readiness.
“And increase your insurance premiums?” Christian’s eyes mocked, his proximity to sensible people taught him the depths of their hearts.
“Well,” the motorst’s eyes reasoned, “I could just move ahead slowly. You couldn’t stop me.”
“Oh,” Christian’s eyes laughed, “But I might scratch your lovely automobile.”
“Ugh,” the motorist’s eyes relented in guarded desperation. “What do you want?”
Christian felt no embarrassment that he extorted charity from this man, this man who still hadn’t even opened his window to find out what was needed.
“Do you have a cell phone?” Christian yelled out while making a phone signal with his hand. The man nodded and reached over to pick up his top-of-the-line PDA cell phone. Seeing his expensive toy a sense of power grew in him. When his eye contact broke from Christian his anger increased again. When their eyes met again the man’s eyes raged like a lake of fire.
Christian signaled the numbers “nine, one, one.”
“Oh, you better believe I am calling the police,” the man’s eyes said. But Christian was immune to his rancor. It was impotent rage. Perhaps he would never join the motorist’s country club or wouldn’t get that home loan but Christian was not one of him. The motorist had called the highway patrol and that was all he required. Christian had won.
Now, if Christian weren’t white he might have been a little more nervous about having to explain all of this to a police officer. But as it was, he was not only white but a clean cut white kid with no criminal record and a list of reference from pastors, school teachers and sensible home owners declaring that he was a “a good guy, a little naïve but a good guy.” So Christian was content to walk over to the fence where he could see Michelle’s slow and painful breathing without disturbing her. He pleasantly smiled and waved at the Jaguar as it drove past him to God knows where.
Christian sat a good ten minutes before anything happened. He saw his mom drive by on the overpass and imagined his mom and sister seeing him sitting by the side of the freeway doing nothing. But as he sat there next to the freeway a woman in her car saw him, slowed her car down and came safely to a halt. She got out of her car and walked towards Christian asking “Do you need any help?”
Christian’s first reaction was that there must be something wrong with this woman. This would have been easy to explain if she were ugly seeming or lonely seeming but she was just a normal woman neither too young nor too old. Then their eyes met.
“There is so much to live for,” her eyes pleaded. “Don’t do it.”
This woman thought he was thinking about suicide. She had stopped on the side of the freeway and exposed herself to danger from cars and maybe a dangerous man. Christian blushed like Adam meeting Eve. Embarrassed he spoke words about this dog on the side of the road but his eyes said “I am one of you.”
“Are you going to be okay?” she asked as he looked down at the ground.
“Oh, yeah, animal control or whoever is on the way and my mom is waiting with my car up there on the overpass.” Christian couldn’t say anything else except to thank her for caring and she drove away.
Not that much longer a highway patrolman approached Christian. He had parked his cruiser somewhere further down the road where it wouldn’t be in danger of being hit. He was a muscular black man and walked towards Christian behind dark sunglasses and one hand near his holster.
It took the officer about two seconds to figure out what Christian was not: crazy or dangerous. Most people with any experience with authority quickly come to see Christian as a tall and rather well behaved child. Still regardless of what the highway officer thought he saw in Christian he was trained to be exceedingly polite and exceedingly careful, his hand was only away from his holster once.
“Good afternoon, sir,” he said with authority. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Did someone call you about the dog?” Christian asked naively.
“No, sir,” he replied. “I received a call about a pedestrian on the side of the highway.”
“Yeah,” Christian answered half laughing; half embarrassed “That would be me.” The call to the police probably had a lot stronger words than “pedestrian.” Christian explained briefly about seeing the dog and not being able to get the tags. “So I tried to get someone to call animal control.”
He didn’t mention a lot of things. But his jacket on Michelle and his eyes said a lot more than his words. After this the patrolman softened a great deal. He was still very businesslike and efficient but he put his authority away as if he was off duty and dealing with a young man he had seen grow up.
Christian turned the whole thing over to him. There was nothing more he could do. He noticed that he actually pretty cold. The patrolman was talking into his radio Christian stopped paying attention to him.
“Well,” the officer said after a minute, “animal control is on their way. Where is your car?”
“My mom is up there on the overpass.” Christian said pointing. He could see Angelica driving past.
“Go ahead and walk up there from here,” he said.
“There is nothing more I can do,” Christian thought to himself unconvincingly. Most likely Michelle would die alone, if she wasn’t dead already. Her guardians would receive a phone call that was cold and clinical telling them that she had been hit by a car. There was a chance that they could have been called before Michelle was euthanized. She could die surrounded by weeping, caring family members. But there was also a chance her family was rich and could buy all of the medical costs to give her a new hip or legs or spine. She would soon be happily playing with other dogs on a farm far away from this freeway and all of our sinfulness. “There is nothing more I can do,” he said to himself again and received no comfort from the words.
But before he left the highway patrol man took off his sunglasses with his left hand and looked Christian in the eyes while shaking his hand with his right. “Well done, young man,” his eyes said.
Still Christian walked towards the overpass feeling like a failure when the Word of the Lord came upon him and declared “If I would send you, Christian, a beloved one, to care for a dying dog what would I not do your brothers and sisters whose need is just a great?” Like most miracles this message was in one ear and out the other.
When Angelica pulled up Christian was shivering.
“What happened?” Gee asked.
“She was hit by a car. I got someone to call animal control.”
“Did they say what they were going to do for her?” his mom asked as she scooted over to let him drive. “I mean she will probably need surgery!”
“Damn it, Mom! Don’t be stupid. They are going to put her to sleep! No one does reconstructive surgery for stray dogs on the side of the road! Grow up!”
“Jeeze, Christian,” Gee said after a minute, embarrassed by Christian’s inexplicable and uncharacteristic anger.
“Well, you don’t know what they are going to do,” Mom said defensively. “But if decent people were in charge of this world, even stray dogs would get everything they need.” In her own hurt she added “You should learn to control your temper.”
Christian didn’t say anything and before long his mother was continuing on and on about everything pre-natal. Gee was again silently staring out the window and Christian drove on, as if nothing had ever happened.
If You Can Laugh About It You're Okay
So when Jenny told me that she didn't think the relationship was going to be able to go any further I was surprised and disappointed but not horrified or depressed. We were both really careful about our hearts when it was good and bad. I am actually impressed with how God has changed my heart since Michelle. That was a shorter courtship but knocked me on my butt for a good year. It's a week later and though I still have lingering thoughts I'd say the only reason I'm not back on Eharmony is because of the price tag (if any decent souls want to take a collection that will be cool).
The hardest part I think was having to tell Gramps. I think he really had his hopes up. He's worried he's going to die before I get married. So I go over to tell him on the pretense of getting plums and hang out for a bit to just shoot the breeze with him and My Ling. He asks the normal question: why. I never ask a girl breaking up with me why. I'm surprised that so many people think it would be a legitimate thing to say to someone telling you they are breaking up with you. I know I have character flaws but I'd much rather hear about them close friends, family, the Bible my conscience, coworkers, talk show hosts, random strangers and terrorists than from the girl breaking up with me.
I share my insecurity that it is about how much money I make how it looks bad that I've spent the last ten years working in a restaurant. Then My Ling puts in her two cents saying "No, she doesn't break up with you because you're poor... she breaks up with you because you're ugly!" And then she laughs and laughs. I also laugh and if you can laugh about it you're okay.
The hardest part I think was having to tell Gramps. I think he really had his hopes up. He's worried he's going to die before I get married. So I go over to tell him on the pretense of getting plums and hang out for a bit to just shoot the breeze with him and My Ling. He asks the normal question: why. I never ask a girl breaking up with me why. I'm surprised that so many people think it would be a legitimate thing to say to someone telling you they are breaking up with you. I know I have character flaws but I'd much rather hear about them close friends, family, the Bible my conscience, coworkers, talk show hosts, random strangers and terrorists than from the girl breaking up with me.
I share my insecurity that it is about how much money I make how it looks bad that I've spent the last ten years working in a restaurant. Then My Ling puts in her two cents saying "No, she doesn't break up with you because you're poor... she breaks up with you because you're ugly!" And then she laughs and laughs. I also laugh and if you can laugh about it you're okay.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Below is a Youtube link to a song that can make me cry.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9EzeW5KoPUI
The song is a story about a young teenager who's friend who is dying of cancer and how his pubescent romance complicates the situation. But it is not just out of sympathy for dealing with death that moves me but how what happens to us at that age casts such a long shadow and how little we can understand what it is that is happening to us. It is no surprise to me now how often my Mom would think and reflect on that time in her life.
When I was thirteen... ha ha I simply would not post all of the stuff that happened at that age but I can say that I am pretty sure the next couple of years were a mild case of PTS. Up until Christ revealed Himself to my heart that time pretty much unconsciously defined me. I remember Liz always saying "Michael why can't you just be happy?!" I had no answer and most of the time I didn't even know what she was talking about.
In Christ that time has not ceased to be influential but has a whole different direction. I think of the blind man in the gospel of John. He didn't forget that he had been blind but that made his belief and joy all the greater. That story certainly resonated with me when I first read it. Christ's influence has been like a stone dropped in a pool that ripples both directions of time, so not only my future has a hope but the despair of the past is dispelled with a clarity.
The real difficulty of my younger life was a feeling of existential abandonment and with dried eyes I saw that I had never been alone, that a strong hand had always been in my life from the darkest most difficult times till... well till Revelation chapter 21.
...
My meeting with the Special Ed program went well. I didn't completely charm the head of the department but that's fine. I will have to been in school for a heck of long time still but God's will be done. It is not like my life is really on hold anyway.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9EzeW5KoPUI
The song is a story about a young teenager who's friend who is dying of cancer and how his pubescent romance complicates the situation. But it is not just out of sympathy for dealing with death that moves me but how what happens to us at that age casts such a long shadow and how little we can understand what it is that is happening to us. It is no surprise to me now how often my Mom would think and reflect on that time in her life.
When I was thirteen... ha ha I simply would not post all of the stuff that happened at that age but I can say that I am pretty sure the next couple of years were a mild case of PTS. Up until Christ revealed Himself to my heart that time pretty much unconsciously defined me. I remember Liz always saying "Michael why can't you just be happy?!" I had no answer and most of the time I didn't even know what she was talking about.
In Christ that time has not ceased to be influential but has a whole different direction. I think of the blind man in the gospel of John. He didn't forget that he had been blind but that made his belief and joy all the greater. That story certainly resonated with me when I first read it. Christ's influence has been like a stone dropped in a pool that ripples both directions of time, so not only my future has a hope but the despair of the past is dispelled with a clarity.
The real difficulty of my younger life was a feeling of existential abandonment and with dried eyes I saw that I had never been alone, that a strong hand had always been in my life from the darkest most difficult times till... well till Revelation chapter 21.
...
My meeting with the Special Ed program went well. I didn't completely charm the head of the department but that's fine. I will have to been in school for a heck of long time still but God's will be done. It is not like my life is really on hold anyway.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
How to Ruin Your Life (Jemuel) with Long Digressons
Jemuel is going to be moving in with our sister Coral and the boys next month. I think it is a great thing for her and the boys and Jemuel. I cannot even imagine how hard it is to be a single mother... well maybe I can imagine since I was raised by one but the point is that it is not the best way to be a parent. Kids (and my nephews in particular) are wonderful... but they also require a lot of you (my nephews in particular). So Jemuel's moving in is a real godsend.
On the whole Jemuel's life is a contrast to the general guy response in our family which is "You are on your own." The women in our family are all high needs with children to take care of and most of the guys are off doing their own thing. I don't want to be too harsh against my brothers because we are all pretty much abandoned children as far as our fathers are concerned and our fathers were also abandoned children as far as their fathers are concerned. And really our family is just an extreme case of the national trend, parents divorcing with the husband's standard of living increasing while the wife's standard of living decreasing. The father visits on weekends, the mother takes care of the children Monday through Friday.
So Jemuel is (in very Jemuel fashion) breaking apart from mainstream culture... but he said something that I thought was worth exploring from a Christian perspective. He said that he thinks that moving in with Coral will be a big help for her and hopefully wouldn't ruin his life. Now if you are familiar with the family history this makes a lot of sense and if you don't know the details of the family history you aren't going to hear it here (you eager eared gossips!). But I want to unpack what he has said.
How I interpret the statement is that he wants to help but he also wants a degree of independence to pursue his calling into music, enjoy some peace and quiet from time to time and not end up broke. This is perfectly reasonable and I think this need should be protected even for parents with their own children. A husband and wife raising children owe it to their children to model a life which is not child centered. Now of course kids are a huge responsibility and need a lot of attention and care (and money) but this responsibility should not be mistaken as having a life which is child centered.
Certainly their are a fair amount of parents whose life might accurately be described as child centered. Many of these parents would even defend this position, "my children are my life" is an extreme statement but not so extreme as to evoke a shock in our society. I maintain that child centered thinking has been damaging to children and society.
The term was popularized by Dr. Benjamin Spock's book "Common Sense Book of Baby and Child Care" and has largely been the norm of parenting in America for the last fifty years.
The problem with a child centered home is how it is experienced by the child. The child does not experience a home or world which is centered around the benefit of growing minds but rather a home and home which is centered around themselves. Such children come to see the world as existing for their own benefit and comfort and pleasure (as can be seen in the baby boomer generation).
Now Jemuel is only an actively concerned uncle, giving more than is expected in our selfish society. But in a father or husband to want to protect his calling to music, his desire for peace and quiet and to not go broke would be to go against the notion of a child centered home. Such pursuits would be called selfish and destructive to the child's well being. I believe the opposite is true.
A child who sees a father, mother (or uncle) who has a purpose or calling in their life which is not centered on that child sees an example of maturity they can grown into. A child who sees a father, mother (or uncle) who's stated and acted purpose in life is to care for that child the child sees a slave who they will not want to grow up to become because being served feels better than serving. In the same way a child who sees parents who love each other more actively then they love their own children sees an example of a marriage worth growing up into. A child who sees a world which does care for them but has other higher priorities gains access to a live which is not automatically self centered.
Now going back to that... even if a caring uncle (or father or mother) has strong boundaries to protect their calling, their sanity and their financial responsibilities they are still going to ruin their life. It is impossible to escape, everyone (every single one) who loves other people is walking down a path which invariably and without exception will always absolutely ruin that person's life... or at least it will feel that way sometimes.
Now it will only feel like they are ruining their life, but here the sociology 101 adage applies "things which are perceived to be real are real in their consequences." So if any person makes a decision to make a sacrifice for another person (like Jem is doing) what is going to happen is that they will be faced with a time when they will want something and they will have to choose between the thing they want and their commitment to care for someone else. Now the actual sacrifice may actually be a small one (no watching football this Sunday, getting out of bed thirty minutes early once) but it will feel like your life is being ruined.
This is not an issue of selfish and unselfish people, good people and bad people (mostly because there are no unselfish, good people!) but everyone will feel their desire as the core of their being, that is how it will be experienced. In retrospect it might seem like a small small thing, but in the grip of the desire it seems to give up this one thing will be the last step off of a cliff with no bottom, to this person it will feel like they are choosing between life and death, freedom and slavery, happiness and unhappiness.
Now Jemuel is a stand up guy, in my judgment (that high and mighty standard) capable of more unselfishness that most anyone I know. In the list of virtuous people he is somewhere between me and Ghandi... and I think he will gain a lot from moving in with Coral and the boys BUT that benefit will only come after he has stepped off of the cliff of ruining his life several times.
On the whole Jemuel's life is a contrast to the general guy response in our family which is "You are on your own." The women in our family are all high needs with children to take care of and most of the guys are off doing their own thing. I don't want to be too harsh against my brothers because we are all pretty much abandoned children as far as our fathers are concerned and our fathers were also abandoned children as far as their fathers are concerned. And really our family is just an extreme case of the national trend, parents divorcing with the husband's standard of living increasing while the wife's standard of living decreasing. The father visits on weekends, the mother takes care of the children Monday through Friday.
So Jemuel is (in very Jemuel fashion) breaking apart from mainstream culture... but he said something that I thought was worth exploring from a Christian perspective. He said that he thinks that moving in with Coral will be a big help for her and hopefully wouldn't ruin his life. Now if you are familiar with the family history this makes a lot of sense and if you don't know the details of the family history you aren't going to hear it here (you eager eared gossips!). But I want to unpack what he has said.
How I interpret the statement is that he wants to help but he also wants a degree of independence to pursue his calling into music, enjoy some peace and quiet from time to time and not end up broke. This is perfectly reasonable and I think this need should be protected even for parents with their own children. A husband and wife raising children owe it to their children to model a life which is not child centered. Now of course kids are a huge responsibility and need a lot of attention and care (and money) but this responsibility should not be mistaken as having a life which is child centered.
Certainly their are a fair amount of parents whose life might accurately be described as child centered. Many of these parents would even defend this position, "my children are my life" is an extreme statement but not so extreme as to evoke a shock in our society. I maintain that child centered thinking has been damaging to children and society.
The term was popularized by Dr. Benjamin Spock's book "Common Sense Book of Baby and Child Care" and has largely been the norm of parenting in America for the last fifty years.
The problem with a child centered home is how it is experienced by the child. The child does not experience a home or world which is centered around the benefit of growing minds but rather a home and home which is centered around themselves. Such children come to see the world as existing for their own benefit and comfort and pleasure (as can be seen in the baby boomer generation).
Now Jemuel is only an actively concerned uncle, giving more than is expected in our selfish society. But in a father or husband to want to protect his calling to music, his desire for peace and quiet and to not go broke would be to go against the notion of a child centered home. Such pursuits would be called selfish and destructive to the child's well being. I believe the opposite is true.
A child who sees a father, mother (or uncle) who has a purpose or calling in their life which is not centered on that child sees an example of maturity they can grown into. A child who sees a father, mother (or uncle) who's stated and acted purpose in life is to care for that child the child sees a slave who they will not want to grow up to become because being served feels better than serving. In the same way a child who sees parents who love each other more actively then they love their own children sees an example of a marriage worth growing up into. A child who sees a world which does care for them but has other higher priorities gains access to a live which is not automatically self centered.
Now going back to that... even if a caring uncle (or father or mother) has strong boundaries to protect their calling, their sanity and their financial responsibilities they are still going to ruin their life. It is impossible to escape, everyone (every single one) who loves other people is walking down a path which invariably and without exception will always absolutely ruin that person's life... or at least it will feel that way sometimes.
Now it will only feel like they are ruining their life, but here the sociology 101 adage applies "things which are perceived to be real are real in their consequences." So if any person makes a decision to make a sacrifice for another person (like Jem is doing) what is going to happen is that they will be faced with a time when they will want something and they will have to choose between the thing they want and their commitment to care for someone else. Now the actual sacrifice may actually be a small one (no watching football this Sunday, getting out of bed thirty minutes early once) but it will feel like your life is being ruined.
This is not an issue of selfish and unselfish people, good people and bad people (mostly because there are no unselfish, good people!) but everyone will feel their desire as the core of their being, that is how it will be experienced. In retrospect it might seem like a small small thing, but in the grip of the desire it seems to give up this one thing will be the last step off of a cliff with no bottom, to this person it will feel like they are choosing between life and death, freedom and slavery, happiness and unhappiness.
Now Jemuel is a stand up guy, in my judgment (that high and mighty standard) capable of more unselfishness that most anyone I know. In the list of virtuous people he is somewhere between me and Ghandi... and I think he will gain a lot from moving in with Coral and the boys BUT that benefit will only come after he has stepped off of the cliff of ruining his life several times.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Ten Commandments
I was looking up the Apostle's Creed for some reason or another and read how the early church, the majority of whom could not read, would learn their faith by reciting the Ten Commandments, the Lord's Prayer and the Apostle's Creed.
I have been on a Ten Commandment's kick since then. I've been working on meditating their meaning on my life and seeking to live more by them... and yes Legalism Police I know I will not ever be made right with God by seeking to follow the Law. Still since I have been saved by my faith in Jesus Christ it makes sense that I would seek to obey Him.
Ten Commandments (summary)
"Our father, who is in heaven, holy be your name. Your kingdom come, Your will be done, in heaven as in earth. Give me my daily bread, forgive me my sins as I forgive others. Do not tempt me but save me from the evil one. For Yours is the kingdom forever and ever. Amen."
The Apostle's Creed isn't from scripture and was only used in the western part of the Roman empire and so is not a part of the Eastern Orthodox. But they share the same faith in Jesus Christ as all other Christians and I cannot see any objections they would have (but what do I know!):
"THE APOSTLES’ CREED
I BELIEVE in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth,
And in Jesus Christ his only Son our Lord; who was conceived by the
Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was
crucified, dead, and buried; he descended into hell; the third day he rose
again from the dead; he ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right
hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence he shall come to judge the
quick and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Ghost; the holy catholic Church; the communion
of saints; the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body; and the life
everlasting. Amen."
This was quoted directly from the Presbyterian "Book of Confession" I do not know if there is a less Elizabethian translation without sitteth's in them. In case anyone thinks that Eastern Orthodox would have issue with the "catholic church" remember that catholic means unified/universal. So I also believe in a catholic church because there is only one kind of Christian. Denomination is a fashion statement and does not make or necessarily exclude a person's relationship with Christ... and really I am not the guy who decides who is a Christian or not anyway.
I have been on a Ten Commandment's kick since then. I've been working on meditating their meaning on my life and seeking to live more by them... and yes Legalism Police I know I will not ever be made right with God by seeking to follow the Law. Still since I have been saved by my faith in Jesus Christ it makes sense that I would seek to obey Him.
Ten Commandments (summary)
- You shall have no other gods besides the Lord.
- You shall not make your own gods and serve or bow before them.
- You shall not speak the Lord's name in vain.
- You shall remember the sabbath and keep it holy.
- You shall honor your parents (its for your own good).
- You shall not murder.
- You shall not steal.
- you shall not lie.
- You shall not commit adultery.
- You shall not covet what other people have.
"Our father, who is in heaven, holy be your name. Your kingdom come, Your will be done, in heaven as in earth. Give me my daily bread, forgive me my sins as I forgive others. Do not tempt me but save me from the evil one. For Yours is the kingdom forever and ever. Amen."
The Apostle's Creed isn't from scripture and was only used in the western part of the Roman empire and so is not a part of the Eastern Orthodox. But they share the same faith in Jesus Christ as all other Christians and I cannot see any objections they would have (but what do I know!):
"THE APOSTLES’ CREED
I BELIEVE in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth,
And in Jesus Christ his only Son our Lord; who was conceived by the
Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was
crucified, dead, and buried; he descended into hell; the third day he rose
again from the dead; he ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right
hand of God the Father Almighty; from thence he shall come to judge the
quick and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Ghost; the holy catholic Church; the communion
of saints; the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body; and the life
everlasting. Amen."
This was quoted directly from the Presbyterian "Book of Confession" I do not know if there is a less Elizabethian translation without sitteth's in them. In case anyone thinks that Eastern Orthodox would have issue with the "catholic church" remember that catholic means unified/universal. So I also believe in a catholic church because there is only one kind of Christian. Denomination is a fashion statement and does not make or necessarily exclude a person's relationship with Christ... and really I am not the guy who decides who is a Christian or not anyway.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
"Creepy Guy Teachers"
I was having a conversation with a group of friends about my experience at teaching so far. I have just gotten used to the 1st grade class I am placed in and was talking about the difference between teaching 1st and 4th grade. I concluded with the often repeated statement that I am just as comfortable with 1st and 4th graders but think that 4th graders are a little more comfortable with me than 1st graders are.
One person, meaning to be supportive, added "Plus you don't want to seem like creepy guy teacher."
My initial response was that actually there is a great support for men teachers for younger grades, especially because of the high rate of fatherlessness.
I never thought of the profession in terms of gender role. My dad wasn't around very often in the second half of my childhood but when he was a teacher. And Gramps had plenty to say about hard work and the correct way to use a lawn mower (he still does!). I have been brought up thinking of instructing and educating as a masculine endeavor. To be sure I have had no shortage of women in the family who were very interested in the importance of education and I could say that they were the stronger influence but the point is that in my background there would be nothing considered strange or unnatural with a man developing the mind and character of a child.
Well, I guess in this department I am an unusual case. The most common reaction from adults to learn that I am going into elementary teaching is first surprise followed by the same encouragement "They need more men teachers."
But the more I thought about the friend's statement about creepy guy teachers the more insulted I feel. The underlying meaning is that many people feel (and are justified in feeling) that men cannot be trusted around young children. My experience has been that this feeling is particularly strong in churches.
I know a lot of people who have told me that they were abused as children and I am under no illusions as to how very common and how damaging it is. I share the militancy of abuse survivors to ensure that children must be protected from this abuse... but one of the damages done by abuse is the destruction of trust and an enduring suspicion against all people (and men in particular).
This suspicion has touched the national psyche so that there is a commonly held view that there is something unnatural and dangerous about a man who is around children. If I saw a man watching children at a playground it would most certainly enter my mind that he might be "a stranger" or unsafe and I should keep an eye on him... and I'm the guy at the playground most of the time!
I'm not really insulted by the friend's comment but am frustrated because there is no defense that could be given. Nothing is more suspicious than a denial!
But the worst part is how much is lost because of the removal of men from the raising of children. I was exceedingly fortunate in the quality of the women who helped raise me but there is something all together different in how and what was little was contributed by the men. I learned more than how to fix a flat tire and mow a lawn from Gramps. Dad's laughable attempt at talking about the birds and bees made a much deeper impression on me than I realized "So... uhh... I'm guessing you guys like girls now? You... uhh... hold hands... well it gets much more complicated after that."
The men in my life were imperfect (like the women) but their influence was literally undercut and much of this was influenced by a fear and distrust against all men against which they had not deserved. And so the world misses out.
Incompletely unrelated news I know a lot of women who ask "Where are all the real men?"
One person, meaning to be supportive, added "Plus you don't want to seem like creepy guy teacher."
My initial response was that actually there is a great support for men teachers for younger grades, especially because of the high rate of fatherlessness.
I never thought of the profession in terms of gender role. My dad wasn't around very often in the second half of my childhood but when he was a teacher. And Gramps had plenty to say about hard work and the correct way to use a lawn mower (he still does!). I have been brought up thinking of instructing and educating as a masculine endeavor. To be sure I have had no shortage of women in the family who were very interested in the importance of education and I could say that they were the stronger influence but the point is that in my background there would be nothing considered strange or unnatural with a man developing the mind and character of a child.
Well, I guess in this department I am an unusual case. The most common reaction from adults to learn that I am going into elementary teaching is first surprise followed by the same encouragement "They need more men teachers."
But the more I thought about the friend's statement about creepy guy teachers the more insulted I feel. The underlying meaning is that many people feel (and are justified in feeling) that men cannot be trusted around young children. My experience has been that this feeling is particularly strong in churches.
I know a lot of people who have told me that they were abused as children and I am under no illusions as to how very common and how damaging it is. I share the militancy of abuse survivors to ensure that children must be protected from this abuse... but one of the damages done by abuse is the destruction of trust and an enduring suspicion against all people (and men in particular).
This suspicion has touched the national psyche so that there is a commonly held view that there is something unnatural and dangerous about a man who is around children. If I saw a man watching children at a playground it would most certainly enter my mind that he might be "a stranger" or unsafe and I should keep an eye on him... and I'm the guy at the playground most of the time!
I'm not really insulted by the friend's comment but am frustrated because there is no defense that could be given. Nothing is more suspicious than a denial!
But the worst part is how much is lost because of the removal of men from the raising of children. I was exceedingly fortunate in the quality of the women who helped raise me but there is something all together different in how and what was little was contributed by the men. I learned more than how to fix a flat tire and mow a lawn from Gramps. Dad's laughable attempt at talking about the birds and bees made a much deeper impression on me than I realized "So... uhh... I'm guessing you guys like girls now? You... uhh... hold hands... well it gets much more complicated after that."
The men in my life were imperfect (like the women) but their influence was literally undercut and much of this was influenced by a fear and distrust against all men against which they had not deserved. And so the world misses out.
Incompletely unrelated news I know a lot of women who ask "Where are all the real men?"
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Why Study Philosophy
"You have long been aware of what you mean when you use the expression 'being.' we, however, who used to think we understood it, have now become perplexed."- Plato Sophist
When I posted that I was reading Martin Heidegger a friend commented "Why not slam your head into a wall, it will be quicker and less painful, but with the same result." In one sense it was a ridiculous statement as he specialized in engineering in college while I specialized in professional philosophy. It might be like me suggesting that since I, myself, never understood calculus that it must be without meaning and not worth another person studying.
But really it might be thoughtful to ask if philosophy (or metaphysics more specifically... or ontology much more specifically) has any value as a study. A common American, pragmatic, response is "What is the practical application of philosophy?" but this question has an unstated (and rarely explored) assumption concerning what it valuable. The pragmatic who says "What is the practical application of your study" actually means "Can your study produce technology* by which I might use for my own purposes?" This question might be valid, especially if I am asking for funding from the pragmatic, but as it is stated disguises itself as a moralistic question whereas the question as I believe it to be is not concerned with right or wrong but the application of power.
It saddens me to answer in the affirmative, philosophy has displayed powerful practical (that is technological) for the use of those who grasp it. It is without great reflection that we learn that between 1600 and 1800 monarchy was near completely eliminated in Western Europe and without reflection the role "ideology" has played in the mobilization for war since then. In no time in human history has what people believe been as influential, powerful or dangerous and this has occurred through the application of philosophy. Of course if you were to ask the people affected by the application of philosophy they would not recognize themselves as such. They would see themselves as motivated by the truth, be it "freedom" "racial purity" "revolution" or whatever. They would see themselves merely as "on the right side."
Certainly history has shown that those who have no interest in philosophy can be influenced, if not controlled, by it. But this is not why I value philosophy. Neither is it to resist the power others might have on me through the application of philosophy, though this would be one of the other practical advantages of philosophy. Certainly if my motivation was power (or even just for protection against the power of others) philosophy as a primary means would be one of the more round-about means to that end. It would be more expedient to study law, warfare and economics with just enough philosophy to ensure you are autonomous enough to not "drink the cool-aid" than to make philosophy the the focus of the advancement of my own purposes.
The reason I study philosophy and Heidegger is because (despite its possible round-about practical applications) that philosophy is a means for approaching meaningfulness. Granted, philosophy is not an absolute means to approaching meaningfulness. One need only meet a wise and learn'd philosopher quite capable of distinguishing between Kant and Descartes but who is little more than a dusty and little read collection of quotations. But still there is another kind of stereotype which is typified by the young idealist who is searching for truth. That idealist often finds himself drawn towards philosophy and though it might lead him in circles and to all kinds of intellectual fantasies we must admit there is something particular about philosophy, as a subject, which naturally attracts those who are interested in what is actually true.
It should come to as no surprise that philosophy, as a means to meaningfulness, is something which must be left behind or rejected as an ultimate path in favor of a relationship with God through faith in Jesus Christ... but my Bible study starts soon so I'm out of time.
*by "technology" we could include non-physical techniques of persuasion such as advertising.
When I posted that I was reading Martin Heidegger a friend commented "Why not slam your head into a wall, it will be quicker and less painful, but with the same result." In one sense it was a ridiculous statement as he specialized in engineering in college while I specialized in professional philosophy. It might be like me suggesting that since I, myself, never understood calculus that it must be without meaning and not worth another person studying.
But really it might be thoughtful to ask if philosophy (or metaphysics more specifically... or ontology much more specifically) has any value as a study. A common American, pragmatic, response is "What is the practical application of philosophy?" but this question has an unstated (and rarely explored) assumption concerning what it valuable. The pragmatic who says "What is the practical application of your study" actually means "Can your study produce technology* by which I might use for my own purposes?" This question might be valid, especially if I am asking for funding from the pragmatic, but as it is stated disguises itself as a moralistic question whereas the question as I believe it to be is not concerned with right or wrong but the application of power.
It saddens me to answer in the affirmative, philosophy has displayed powerful practical (that is technological) for the use of those who grasp it. It is without great reflection that we learn that between 1600 and 1800 monarchy was near completely eliminated in Western Europe and without reflection the role "ideology" has played in the mobilization for war since then. In no time in human history has what people believe been as influential, powerful or dangerous and this has occurred through the application of philosophy. Of course if you were to ask the people affected by the application of philosophy they would not recognize themselves as such. They would see themselves as motivated by the truth, be it "freedom" "racial purity" "revolution" or whatever. They would see themselves merely as "on the right side."
Certainly history has shown that those who have no interest in philosophy can be influenced, if not controlled, by it. But this is not why I value philosophy. Neither is it to resist the power others might have on me through the application of philosophy, though this would be one of the other practical advantages of philosophy. Certainly if my motivation was power (or even just for protection against the power of others) philosophy as a primary means would be one of the more round-about means to that end. It would be more expedient to study law, warfare and economics with just enough philosophy to ensure you are autonomous enough to not "drink the cool-aid" than to make philosophy the the focus of the advancement of my own purposes.
The reason I study philosophy and Heidegger is because (despite its possible round-about practical applications) that philosophy is a means for approaching meaningfulness. Granted, philosophy is not an absolute means to approaching meaningfulness. One need only meet a wise and learn'd philosopher quite capable of distinguishing between Kant and Descartes but who is little more than a dusty and little read collection of quotations. But still there is another kind of stereotype which is typified by the young idealist who is searching for truth. That idealist often finds himself drawn towards philosophy and though it might lead him in circles and to all kinds of intellectual fantasies we must admit there is something particular about philosophy, as a subject, which naturally attracts those who are interested in what is actually true.
It should come to as no surprise that philosophy, as a means to meaningfulness, is something which must be left behind or rejected as an ultimate path in favor of a relationship with God through faith in Jesus Christ... but my Bible study starts soon so I'm out of time.
*by "technology" we could include non-physical techniques of persuasion such as advertising.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Notes on Avatar
Hey spoilers... but really they don't spoil the movie:
- My first reaction to the movie was a hatred for the 3D glasses. Yeah, yeah, so cool but really I think the huge screen was cool enough and don't care if things look like they are floating in front of me. I don't think anyone even unconsciously stops thinking they are in a movie theater because of special effects. A good story can do that but smell-o-vision can not.
- The movie plot is a clear cut and paste archetype: Dances With Wolves, The Last Samaria being the examples that come to mind: a warrior, usually wounded in order to represent their spiritual crisis, leaves his home country to a wilderness frontier place where he encounters a foreign, primitive seeming culture which adopts in order to learn about the new-coming invaders. The warrior learns to respect the "primitive" culture and to understand that it is a sophisticated society with great spiritual lessons. The old culture rears its ugly head and the warrior must reject his old culture in order to help his new family... usually this results in a defeat that is a moral victory since the sophisticated spiritual culture did not betray their values even when faced with destruction. The wounded warrior generally survives the destruction and acts as a social critic... I mean truth teller about the spiritual deadness of his home society.
- My general reaction to the wounded warrior adoption plot is that you don't have to go to Japan to find a society which is spiritually based... you just have to go to a decent church. I'm sure that if Japan made a movie like this the wounded warrior would be adopted by a Christian missionary because the unfamiliar nature of the society would mask the imperfections found in all human societies. Really if there is some kind of spiritual truth which that foreign society was tapping into... that spiritual truth can be found in the country, city and suburb. If there is a God He is God everywhere, not just special places.
- Though I very much in favor in living a life which is spiritually based and not controlled by consumerism and vice (I believe there is a natural relation between the two). I really liked Jake's assessment of tempting the tree people out of the tree "We have nothing they want, what are we going to give them... Bud Light? Yeah right."
- I really liked Sigourney Weaver's character... though it was strange (and I'm sure no accident) that she was the only one of the tree people with large boobs. Still I like that kind of tree hugging liberal (and they love it when I refer to them that way).
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