Reproving With Love

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Everyone is human, and sometimes we don't know how to be better than we are. However, I find that most people are patronizing at best and hypocritical at worst, because it's almost impossible to put ourselves in the shoes of another person. My paternal grandparents were good (in hindsight I can see this) to advise me based on general principles rather than specifics, and they made sure that I always knew that they loved me no matter what I did or chose. It's hard. Most people love us if and only if we do what they like and if our lives validate theirs. So, they advise us and reprove us assuming that they know what is best, and sometimes it sets us up for greater struggle than is necessary than if they just lend a listening ear.

Criticism rarely constitutes constructive commentary. I find that most people and even most of the time when I criticize do so more for their own comfort than your own benefit. Eventually I get fed up with something and call someone to carpet, and I think that's what happens with most criticism unless you specifically ask for feedback. Even then, I think most people use it as an opportunity to air old grievances rather than help you. On the radio Wednesday night, a commentator recounted four observations of criticism I feel impressed to share.

1. Criticism almost always comes when we need it the least

2. I forget, but when I find the paper, I'll add that one

3. Criticism almost always comes from those least qualified to give it

4. Criticism usually comes in the manner least likely to help us change for the better

Usually people like to critique us when we are low. We are sad, demoralized, dejected, neglected, injected, and rejected. I guess they think that it's a good time to help us change course when we run aground, but that's when we need empathy and compassion more than we need advice. Most of these people either don't know what we're really experiencing or they haven't actually conquered their own Goliaths before advising us to don King Saul's constricting and oversized armor. I previously wrote in Lies About Grief how some of these people avoid the issue rather than facing it, and when they do they rely on standard tactics rather than trusting in Divine Inspiration and Direction as did David. Owing to the fact that they can't really understand, most of the advice isn't going to help us. I mean if one more person suggests I try online dating one more time as if it's never crossed my mind, I'll scream (look at all the beautiful women in my area who don't want to talk to me!). I think they do this to check you off in their mind, as if you're some sort of chore on their to-do list, and if they check it off they can feel better even though they did nothing.

This week, I offended one of the only women I have known longer than two years who still talks to me. She was good to reprove with love. She explained what offended her and why and then allowed this one instance because I'm only human. That's not always the case. A woman I dated almost six years ago told me after she dumped me several asinine things. She said she felt like she was there to train me up for my real future wife and that she never meant to hurt me. I told her that she should do something that would heal me. She responded by ignoring me completely for months and then snogging some other guy she dated after me when she knew I could see. She was very critical of my weight, but she would binge eat and then starve herself back to "health". She told me I needed to apply Steven Covey's principles but didn't live by them herself. It was a no-win scenario, and I don't think she really ever had anything helpful to say to me. In any case, I haven't heard from her for five years, and I no longer care if I do.

Most of the people who reproved me did so and then left me to handle it alone. Some of these were members of my Faith. Some were women I once loved. Some were friends. As I considered being on the receiving end, I pondered how many of those I once reproved actually received an increase of love afterwards. Despite the courageous conversations, I did not always end up showing extra love. In many cases, it was because I was cut off. In a few sad cases, I failed to be a real friend and follow my reproach with support and encouragement. In the years since I was divorced, after I got over being bitter about that, I have been better. You can contact some of the people in my cell phone contacts list and ask them if I'm encouraging, and most of them will tell you that's why they still talk to me. I'm that safe, ordinary, secure guy who is supportive. Some of those with whom I no longer speak got that treatment too, but they opted to not respond until I ceased trying to speak with them. I have gifts to give, things to say, and evidence to suggest that I truly do absolutely love absolutely. As much as it hurts, when you really love someone, you treat them as Christ would ask you to treat them, and you hug them close and weep at the pain suffered by all.

When people do not reprove with love, I think their "well-meaning" visage is a facade. One of the reasons I left my previous congregation in my Faith was because they found fault with me and then turned their backs. One of the reasons I feel so much pain is because people reject me because of my Faith without even offering to steer me to some sort of compromise. If I am such an egregious sinner, then they ought to minister even more to my care. The whole need not a physician but them that are sick. True, there is a time to reprove with sharpness, but it MUST be followed with an increase in love lest he whom you reprove esteem you to be an enemy. Wrote the poet of late: "You didn't have to cut me off, have your friends collect your records and then change your number...Now you're just somebody that I used to know." Cutting off people is not what Jesus would have me do.

I know it's hard to reprove with love, but I know that I do sometimes manage it. My dog gets underfoot and in the way and into things that annoy me, but I still love on him, pet him, give him treats, and scratch his belly. I have friends who do things that irk me. I still talk to them, even people who treated me poorly, and if they needed my help, I would probably offer it. Criticism cuts men low, which is particularly counterproductive in a time when people all around hope desperately for someone uplifting. Life is hard enough and bleak enough and painful enough that we do not gain much from holding grudges or looking down on others. Rather than pushing each other down, we can be uplifting, and when we do find it necessary to find fault, let us afterwards find occasion to find love for those people. It doesn't hurt you to criticize more than it hurts them. It hurts them, and it's time to move from fault to fix, from reproof to love, from foe to family and show more and more love whenever and however we can.

A Recent Change of Heart

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I'm not sure I like what I have noticed in myself, but it's done, and it's done for the better. I noticed in the past few weeks a peaceable disposition and different energy towards the people that I meet. Most of the people I know who feel this way are people in the twilight of their lives. I noticed a change of heart regarding my fellow men. I think I'm beginning to see all men as God sees them, and it makes me sad.

I am sad because I realize just how lost most people really are. Just a few minutes ago, I saw a woman walking through the parking lot scrounging up loose objects, mostly metals, and especially coins. I made sure to drop some pocket change (which is probably no more than $0.40) for her to collect because that's all I have on me right now. Last Thursday for recycling, I noticed the woman out collecting cans for recycling. She looks even more bedraggled than before, so I made sure my aluminum cans were out when I came back from jogging (they were gone before I left for work). I notice just how many people around me are financially destitute, and I see how many of them are burdened with cares that I cannot see or touch or even help. Most of the people around me seem seeped in some sort of misery. I don't really know how God handles that, knowing that most of the seven billion people on this planet are in a dearth, diseased, discouraged, dismayed, disowned, discombobulated, disoriented, and disliked. I know He loves them. I know He doesn't do things because alleviating our suffering isn't always best. If we obtain things easily, we esteem them lightly, and all too often people unjustly ascribe good fortune elsewhere than to Him to whom it rightly belongs. I lift where I can, do what I am able, and act in surprising ways. I wrote a few letters of praise last night for people with whom I have interacted. I bought lunch for the guy behind me in line. I know it's so very little, but I want to do something for them.

I am sad because I feel overwhelmed with the degree to which help is needed and my inability to provide what they truly need. Sure, people have transitory, urgent, needs of mortality like food, shelter, and the like that can be easily alleviated. After that, those are usually just symptoms of a bigger problem, and I'm not a psychologist or counselor or expert on anything. Mostly all I can offer is a listening ear, an empathetic smile, and some encouraging words. I have only one coping mechanism for my own struggles, and I lean on it so much that sometimes in exercising I actually injure myself. It hasn't solved anything or provided any answers; it just distracts my mind. So many other people turn to love and other drugs as a way to cope, only to find the problem waiting for them when they return from their high. I get some joy watching the sun set, looking at the snow-capped mountains, playing with my parents' dogs last night, and in listening to songbirds. Those are brief moments, and then my mind reminds me of feedback loops I cannot close. Most of our torment is inside us, even if we didn't create it, and I think the only way to really help people is to turn them to Christ.

I am sad because most people reject Christ. Last Thursday, there was a guy on campus with a big sign calling people to repent. I walked by him right behind a guy who told him to F-off. Later, he was arrested and removed from campus (probably because he didn't have a permit or something stupid). Most of us try to save ourselves instead of turning to Christ. however, I understand that. I don't know how to let Christ heal me. I pray about it all the time, and I converse and meditate and ponder, and as far as I can tell nothing changes except that I feel like I grow worse. I know that it's just because I'm becoming more aware of my faults as I pass through refining fire, but it's discouraging to feel like you've taken one step forward and three steps backwards. Today, I read a story about how young women are flocking to ISIS and to witchcraft. Our chapels and congregations at church seem more bare than ever before. The Nords are returning to worship of Odin after millenia, and the Jews are being driven out of Europe again. Rather than turn to Christ, people are turning to government, whether to Obama or to Romney, and I find it sad that people trust in man who is fallen to bring about the utopia that heaven alone can raise.

I feel differently towards some of the people I have met lately. I find myself praying for people I do not know and do not like. I find myself praying, not that people will do what I like, but that they'll do what is best for them, even if that means I am not part of their story or hurt by that eventuality. I don't intend for people to hold themselves back to make me happy; I desire their happiness. Recently, a powerful member of government with whom I have had difficult encounters fell on hard times. I wasn't glad; I felt bad for his wife, for his children, and for him, because I don't think he'll find a way to recover this time. He looks sickly in his picture, and I think things have finally caught up with him, and I think he may fall hard. I don't want that. I pray for him, not because I think he's a swell guy, but because I know that God loves him as a son. It's the same reason I endeavor to treat people better than I like. Sure, I have weak moments and do things that are only human, but I realize that each woman I meet is someone's daughter, someone's sister, and maybe someone's mother (some day), and I realize that every man I meet is someone's son, someone's brother, and someone's father some day. I really want to treat them like I would hope people would treat my brother's and sister, my mother and father, and any children God may one day grant me. If I want that, I must afford it to the people I meet and treat them well. Furthermore, I know they are part of the Family of Man, and if I hope my Father God will smile on me, I must also be my brother's keeper.

Last Sunday, we sang "because I have been given much" in our meetings. Even in my own congregation, full of fastidiously festooned families, I can tell some of the people are lonely, burdened, and struggling. I don't think things are as well for any of them as they portray. I already spoke to a few, but I am not really sure what to do. I'm just slightly above pond scum in the social heirarchy wherever I go, and I don't have much to offer. But, my heart bleeds for these people. I don't know them, but I care. I don't have to care, but if I don't, who will? After one fellow shared a similar story of loss and pain to my own, I told him that if only one of us could find happiness in this life, I prayed it would be he.  I want other people to be happy, and if there's something I can sacrifice, I am inclined to do precisely that.  I remember in "Groundhog Day" when Bill Murray tries desperately each day to save this old homeless man to no avail. No matter what he does, the man dies. I think he goes back and feeds him every day anyway, one last little joy and kindness in an otherwise bleak life. Now I know that in America we all live very blessed lives, but all the trappings of material prosperity do not soothe the pains of the heart and soul. The only things I know that do that are things of another world. Whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world. Whoso believeth in God ought to work to make it that way.

Tonight, I go before my nursing chemistry class. I have never had a class score so poorly on an exam. I don't know if it's their fault or my own. However, I care about them. I don't want them to fail. I don't want them to weep and wail and gnash their teeth in anguish and frustration. I know we need good and more nurses. Hopefully I can convince them that if they truly desire to succeed I truly desire to get them to a place where they will succeed. I don't know why I care. Most of my colleagues take it as a badge of honour to flunk a certain percentage, and the administration knows my all time class average is 81%, higher than they "like". I want the students to learn. I want them to be successful. I want them to be exalted, exultant, and exuberant. They are my sisters, my brothers, my family, and my friends. They are my legacy. If I fail them, I fail at life. That doesn't mean they will all succeed, but what I ought to do I will do. "I dare do all that may become a man. Who dares more is none." --MacBeth

Ready to Die

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This morning, my last grandfather passed away. Since I've already experienced this almost exactly four years ago with the first grandfather, I find myself somewhat calmer than the last time. Additionally, I went up with my parents just after the new year to visit him for what at the time we felt might be the last time. I visited when I could, called frequently, and in my younger years corresponded often. I don't feel like I failed at due diligence to pay respects before he died. What I do find myself asking now is what it will be like when I pass. I am not sure how ready my maternal grandfather was to die, and I'm not really honestly sure how ready I am either. Times like this give us pause to consider how we'd like to be remembered and if we're doing things with which we'll be at peace when we shuffle off the mortal coil.

Sometimes I feel more ready to die than others. Five years ago, just before my last accident in which I blew two tires and crashed into the freeway barrier, I remember asking myself "Am I ready to die?" Almost immediately after that thought crossed my mind, I felt a voice by way of answer reply, "Don't worry about it." At the time, I took it to mean two things. Obviously since I'm still alive it meant on the one hand that it wasn't my time yet, but back then I was far more confident of my state of grace than I am today. I've made a few mistakes in my life. Sometimes they were only mistakes because I had bad information, but sometimes they were things I did knowing that it was probably the wrong thing or even definitely so. Hopefully there will be no Marc Antony at my funeral to make sure that the evil that Doug did lives after him.

Losing both of my grandfathers invites me to consider what kind of a father I would like to be. My paternal grandfather clearly focused on family as his priority. My maternal grandfather didn't seem to feel as strongly about his own kin. I had a conversation last night with students after the exam about my "legacy" since I don't have any children and made two observations. First, what good they do with their lives reflects on the value of mine. If I inculcate wisdom and knowledge into them and they make good of their lives then I will be seen to have had good influence. Secondly, I don't have any grandiose plans or ambitions. I am looking for my "simple", for that quiet picket-fence family life where I raise a good family and otherwise don't stand out much. I have no desire per se to aspire to wealth or station; my greatest real ambition is to be a good father. When I sit in my chair as age washes over me in a flood of memories, I hope I'll be able on reflection to say that family matters most. Mark Levin once said, "Hundreds of years from now, most people won't remember who you are or what you did. What you're really leaving behind is your family." I believe that.

As we think about our own readiness to die, I think it helps if you decided early what manner of man you desire most to be. Since driving home last night, a scene from "The Princess Bride" has repeated in my mind where Inigro Montoya says, "This is where I am, this is where I will stay. I will not be moved." It is far easier, when the time of decision comes, to already know what kind of person, what kind of life, and what kind of man you desire to be. While sometimes, when I am tired or bored, I decide to do something else besides my highest choice, I really do endeavor to be on my best behavior most of the time. When the time comes, as much as I may really like to do something else, I hope I will be able to say, "This is who I am, this is how I will stay. I will not be moved" and stick to my highest choice. After all, most of the evil that men do is partaking in things in ways or at times that God forbids. The nature of the things is good if used in the right way at the right time for the right reasons. He doesn't tell us we can't ever; God commands us to do something else right now.

Most of the unhappiness I see in people who die or the people who survive them involves people who traded what they desire most for what they desire right now. Rather than contribute to their family, their community, and the sanctification of their faith, they chase career, coin, carousing, cocktails and carnivals, the normal carnal pleasures, as a substitute for things that take more work but ultimately promise better harvest. I understand that it seems easier to take something immediate rather than trusting in some ephemeral putative eventuality. Life is short. However, Lady MacBeth reminds us that some damnable spots are difficult to remove, and when we die they do not go away. They stained her entire household.

I know it's hard to be a good person as much as we might like. I know it sometimes sets you up for a no win scenario. When I try to get to know young ladies and establish myself as a man of valour, honour, and virtue, I know that it's only possible to maintain that personae if we never become intimate in any way. As soon as you really get to know a person and find out about their flaws, it blows the illusion of a knight in shining armour and exposes the wounds, the nicks, and the achilles heels beholden to every man in mortality. Everyone makes mistakes, which is why there is a Savior. Jesus didn't die for IF men sinned; He bled in Gethsemane because it was only a question of WHEN. All men sin, and all men die. It's only a matter of time. For those of us who still live, now is the time for us to prepare to meet God so that we will be ready to die. I hope my grandfather was ready. I shall endeavor to prepare myself now.

New Driver Licenses

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Last year when I went to renew my driver's license for my birthday, I was disappointed to not get an eight year term, but last Sunday i changed my tune. Apparently Nevada's new DL law essentially equates our driver's license with a national ID, and I think that causes problems both up front and in the future. Furthermore, I don't really understand how this harmonizes with the governor's politics and with the president's plans, since some of the things they demand of citizens are considered racist if we demand them of illegal aliens. Finally, I am not sure I like the new format.

According to some, asking for ID or any other documentation is racist. I hear that in order to obtain the new NV Driver's License, you must bring in an original legal birth certificate, your SS Card, your old license, proof of residence (utility bills in your name), ad infinitum or substitute a current passport for some of these. Well, how many people know where these are, will know to bring them with them, etc.? Will illegal aliens be required to provide these same documents? If getting an ID is so arduous, doesn't this make it even more arduous if not impossible? Is Brian Sandoval racist?

The new cards will cost more and tell the state more about us. I don't like this, because it makes it easier for cops to do their job when that should not be the case. Criminals already have more rights than citizens in many cases, and I am concerned that this constitutes harassment of citizens. Laws do not really apply to criminals because criminals do not follow the law. Like TSA restrictions on toothpaste, wearing shoes through the scanner, and bans on any size of pocket knife whatsoever, we keep allowing the government to harass law-abiding citizens rather than profiling and specifically paying attention to those most likely to secede. With a quick scan, I am sure this card will tell anyone who can read it all sorts of things with the click of a mouse that used to come with much more work. Now you don't need a warrant, to do any investigation, or to go research. The work is done for you, and yet cop salaries will increase when they become essentially glorified POS devices. What if the information isn't true? Not like you can't hack the database still and fill it with misinformation. It calls to mind Minority Report...

Supposedly, these new IDs contain special tracking chips like the credit cards to protect our identity and register our rights when crossing state or national boundaries. They don't technically count as a passport, which means it's sort of redundant and vestigial, but if I could do both with one card, that does appeal to me. The other features give me pause. When credit card companies first introduced the pay pass system, I worried that I might walk by one of these and be obligated to pay for something of which I was not aware. While the microchips ostensibly make the ID more secure because it's more difficult to counterfeit, it does not mean they cannot be faked and it does not give me peace of mind. They track us enough as it is. I have a passcard at work that registers every time I swipe a door open and closed. While mostly I enjoy this because it corroborates that I am at work when I claim to be at work, if I walked by passive scanners with a government ID they could essentially track me wherever I am whenever they like without due process. Why do you think I drive a 20 year old car and use a RAZR V3?

People should not be afraid of or harassed by their governments. Thomas Paine wrote that government is "a mode made necessary by the inability of moral virtue to govern the world". Society comes from our wants; government from our wickedness. At best government is an inconvenience we tolerate for the sake of civilized society; at its worst, it is an intolerable situation that causes great suffering among the people it administers. This new process will probably conflagrate the issue before it solves any problems, and it probably won't make anything easier for the citizens whom they force to comply with the new regulations. Many people will show up without the right documents or all of them, necessitating longer wait times and multiple trips to the DMV to get their new license since many people in line will not be ready to be in line. Then, when we have it, it will probably cost us more because we get to pay for technology. We furnish the means by which we suffer. It is truly silly that a swamp should rule a continent, but that's what we allow Washington DC to do. I do not think this is done for us, but that's how they will sell it to us just like every other usurpation ever played to exercise hegemony over the mind of man.

Just the Way You Are

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Tonight, if I go out, I will get to see the greatest display of stagecraft all year as thousands of men pretend to love thousands of other people. Most of what they do will be a ruse, a play, because I don't think most people know how to love anyone, themselves included. Loving someone includes loving them he way they are or loving them rather than what they do, what they have, how they treat you, etc. When we love secondary characteristics, we don't really love them; we love ourselves.

Yesterday, while I prayed, I first felt a little sheepish for mentioning things of trivial and transitory nature. As I berated myself, something I told someone dear to me returned to my own mind, and I remembered that I tell people that it's appropriate to pray for whatever's on your mind. If it's important to you, it's important to God because you are important to God. He may regard it as trivial or trite, but He values you, and so the thoughts and ideas and desires you have are important to Him.

In my interactions with my own parents, I saw this. I am sure my parents grew bored with visits to ghost towns, battlefields, science fairs and coin shops. However, I still visit ghost towns, places of historical interest, work in science, and participate in numismatics. None of these things interested my parents particularly, because they were inclined towards different pursuits, but my father took us out of our way to do things and see things that interested me because he cared about me.

Many people predicate their relationships foremost on shared interests, when it is sharing interest in each other that really matters. We are well when we are true to ourselves, and healthy relationships consist of partners who are interested in the other's activities because they are interested in each other. I courted a woman once who didn't really care much about Star Trek, Crusaders, Origami, or learning French. However, she asked about them because she cared about me, and because she knew I was passionate about them, she knew that it would help us grow closer when she cared about what mattered to me.

All too often, we attempt to change people to validate our own preconceived notions. We all know that it's a paradox when people claim, "I love you. You're perfect. Now change." People are who they are, and it does nobody any service to compel them to change against their will. Besides, as long as what they do is legal, ethical, and moral, what does it really matter if they love paintball, poetry, or paper mache? This attitude evinces that we love their behavior, their status, or their belongings. A lot of people claim they love you or someone else, but when the flowers die, the chocolates are digested, or the rubber meets the road we may find that they love something else.

Some time last fall, I came across the following cartoon that illustrates the love canard.

There are people out there who insist that we change to validate them. If they love us, they love us if and only if we do what they ask or conform in some way to their expectations. The problem with that is that in meeting those terms, we become someone else, and all too often they then leave. After they fashion us into what they want, we are no longer what they loved in the first place, and the hirelings flee, off to "fix" the next person they find. People who love you will love you for all the other things you are and do. They will love their dork, their Trekkie, and their partner's stubborn belly fat. If they prove otherwise, they don't really love you. I don't know what it is, but God loves us for who we are, not what we do, what we have, or what play we stage for the somnambulent public.

Toilette Etiquette

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Thrice this week at work, I went to the bathroom intending to "sit" only to find myself forced into the handicapped stall. This bothers me on several levels. First off, the occupied toilet stalls were occupied not by men sitting but by men standing to urinate in the open toilet bowl. Although there are several urinals specifically for that purpose and despite the fact that none of them were occupied, these men chose to urinate where I must defecate. Additionally, this is where men are most apt to make a mess in the bathroom, as few of them care about confining the stream to the bowl or clean up after themselves, meaning that subsequently I will be unable to use those stalls after they finish. I also live in lurid fear of the fact that one of these days someone who needs the handicapped stall will be there glaring at me when I finish, as if I intentionally chose that stall to inconvenience him.

It surprises me that so many people who talk a big game about looking out for others are so self-centered. There is a woman who works in the campus administrator's office who does not appear handicapped who twice this week, seeing the dearth of proximal parking places, played that card in order to park close to the building. It is inconsiderate to people who actually need those spots when she is otherwise capable and other spots remain open. At least in my case I had no other choice. C'est la vie.

Friends From All Walks?

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Last Thursday, a woman I recently met explained to me that she is happy to be my friend because she's friends with people from all walks of life, even if they are strange people. First of all, this is a canard. It is not usually wise to have friends from all walks of life. Secondly, this is unlikely. We bandy about the word "friend" too freely, and people are prone to hyperbole with words like "all" and "always". Finally, I think she means this on a contingency. In other words, most people think this of themselves until and unless something changes. I have friends you might not expect, but like I tell my students, chemistry, like people, show us that like attracts like.

In order to meet this standard, you would need to know people from all walks of life. I am intellectually honest enough to admit that even if I knew people from all walks of life, I would not probably befriend people from certain parts of society. I have never met anyone from Morocco; I don't know any Taoists; I am not really into cosplay; I don't quilt, I don't drink, and I never have done drugs. Ergo, it is unlikely that I am friends with people who fit those criteria. Like most hyperbole, it's a bridge too far to assume that I know people from every walk of life, and then I don't have time for the few friends I have now, so how could I really be friends with that many people? I have a cousin here in town who prides himself on his 5000+ Facebook "friends". Even if you spend only 1 minute per month with each of those people, it would consume almost 3.5 days of every month for that cursory and superfluous contact. I spent seven hours Tuesday night in conversation with a person, and that is more like the time you are likely to dedicate to people who mean something to you.

Some people I once called friends chose paths with which I didn't agree and traded my friendship for that lifestyle. I still remember when my New York friend "Jason" revealed that he was selling drugs. I told him that I could no longer be his friend if he chose to do that, and since he refused to abandon that lifestyle, I cut him off. In class Tuesday night, while discussing organic solubility, someone requested I bring alcoholic beverages for a demonstration. I told them I would not contribute to the delinquency of the minors in our company and therefore I would not comply. They'll just have to read the journal articles to which I contributed instead. Likewise, I have parted company with a college buddy who decided to cheat on his wife, with a woman I know from high school who was embezzling funds, and from a member of my Faith who is an illegal alien. I felt that if I remained friends with them, I would in essence be condoning and encouraging abhorrent and aberrant behavior. However, I don't cut people off for things they can't control. You don't pick your parents, you don't pick your height, and you may not be able to help your health, so I am friends still with people who are short, sickly, and in abusive families. Each of my close friends is also a chain smoker, but even though I disprove of that disgusting habit I don't cut them off because I understand how addictive nicotine really is. My late friend who died summer 2013 once asked me something, and I told her I would do anything that was legal, ethical, and moral to help her. Beyond that, I part company.

When relationships are new, we make rosy promises that sometimes overreach only to change our minds later. I too have held conversations too early and made promises I couldn't actually keep once I learned the true details involved. However, I also know the sting of betrayal born of bigotry. As previously written, all my life I saw "friends" turn around and rend me for my Faith. I was still the same person; they learned this detail, and essentially told me that if they knew what church in which I worshipped they would have never bothered to get to know me. My most recent new acquaintance already dropped a hint that when she learns in what Faith my records reside she'll cease to stand at my side. If it were a character flaw like being an alcoholic, or being a philanderer, or being a bigot, I would feel differently, because I do not cahoot with course characters, but it's for something pusillanimous, and that smacks of bigotry to me. You can't be my friend anymore because I believe in a moral standard and rules for living? Wow. I guess I probably don't want to be your friend anyway.

We frequently forge friendships based more on commonalities rather than magnanimity. As much as we like to think we are charitable, our friends are much more likely to share things in common with us than be people who add spice to our lives. We don't really understand or appreciate or enjoy the company of people who differ vastly from us, and so, like matter, we spend time in the presence of people with whom we share the most common ground. Magnanimous friendships are usually political in their nature, either a protracted campaign to appear more virtuous than we are, or they grow out of curiosity for how other people live. I attend the renaissance fair, but I don't spend much time there, because the people there like it for different reasons than I do. They are there for the revealing costumes, indulgent foods, and excuse to costume themselves as they actually prefer to be if not pressured by society to conform. I previously mentioned that Aristotle wrote of how we forge friendships. At the lowest level, we associate for personal gain. As we move up, we upgrade to shared interests or to shared values. The highest echelons of friendship include people who share our walk, our way, and they are people with whom we share much. It's a shame sometimes, because we share things with people from different walks, but those are not the glaring things that stare us in the face, and so sometimes we push away Linus for his hygiene, Charlie for his awkwardness, Peppermint Patty for her condescension, etc. Time will tell if this woman really means it, but my friends are people who share values, no matter what the paperwork shows as their official religious affiliation. That's window dressing, and if that's how you make your judgement call, you may walk along to people of other walks, and I shant mourn your passing.

Keep Living Life

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August 2013 was a rough month for me in many ways. As I considered the crushing news and the ramifications, my friend wisely pushed me to continue our plans to go to Sequoia. It turned out to be the right call. You see, my life hadn't ended even though some of its subplots seemed to. I was still alive, and that meant there was work to be done, opportunities to take, choices to make, people to meet, and a divine purpose to meet. Yes, there is still grief, and I'm still justified to be grieving, but since I am still alive, that means something too. As I pondered one morning at camp whether I made the right choice, I felt God whisper in my mind, "Don't put your life on hold for the choices made by others. Keep living your life happily, and let me bring the people into it who belong."

Life is a wonderful gift and experience. I know that sometimes the pain and anguish and suffering loom large, but I also know that partly it's a matter of perspective. Some of my close acquaintances suffer trials I thank God I don't have to bear. I'm not trapped in a mine in Chile, living in Ukraine wondering if Putin will overrun my town, living paycheck to paycheck or under the bridge at Stewart and Nellis, or without the use of my faculties or limbs. I know people affected by all of these, and as much as I hurt, I live a great life. I hike all the time, play several sports avidly, work on my marksmanship with rifles and bow, and attend events of cultural significance as often as my calendar and pocketbook allow. My friend and I have seen the wildflowers at Mt. Charleston, walked through a cluster of hummingbirds, watched pigeons fight over a mate, seen the lightning strike around us, and watched a tree fall in the woods without any obvious reason.

When I lost someone who meant a great deal to me, I felt like life was over and that I was somehow emasculated by that. Although that story may be over, other stories continue. I continue to act on the opportunities that present themselves and see where they lead and trust that, if those people really mean something to me, they will return, and when they do I will feel inclined and be able to inculcate them into the story of my life.

While it feels like nothing I choose or am allowed to pursue has any fruit to bear that interests me, I do still believe that what should be will be when the time is right. Like Einstein, I don't think God plays dice with the universe, and unlike some people I know, I don't believe in the Think System. I think that there is no guarantee, only opportunity, and since I refuse to use the Adversary's methods to achieve the Father's plan, I know I have to let things go and trust in God. He always delivers, even if not in the form or timing that I prefer. I will not pretend to understand His plan, but I will also not portend to His power or prescience. I keep living life until He decides that it's over. Since I'm still here, there are still things to do.

For now, I feel low more often than I'd like. To handle the pain, the loss, I exercise. When I have no more strength, I sleep. It hasn't made me more popular, more successful, or more attractive, but I discovered many things as I did so. I discovered more strength, more conditioning, more endurance, and moreso, I discovered that to the people whose approbation I truly desire and truly should seek, I am already popular, successful, and attractive. People of significantly greater intellect, acumen, and wealth (in my opinion) commend me to their friends and try to set me up with people they know. People of greater position in the community respect me when they disagree, and I even find advocates and supporters in places I once thought unlikely if not impossible.

Maybe the opportunities don't lead where I like, and maybe they're not about the end of the story. You see, in my belief system, we are the end. We are God's work. I confess I don't truly comprehend that, but I do know that it's not simply a matter of making me a married man, a father figure, or a pillar amongst peerage of the world. He is trying to make me His son. He's trying to help me see people as He does, to care about them as He does, and to act regarding them as He does. He knows loss and pain and rejection far more than I can comprehend, and yet His life goes on. There are other people, other opportunities, and other endeavors, and so I think He does what He can where He can with what He has. I hope as I do in kind He will find me fit for His approbation.

My trip to Sequoia proved a fit analogy for what transpired since then. My friend convinced me to join him in hiking up a dry waterfall, which was basically a sheer cliff more than a trail. I remember thinking I would probably die there, and the ranger at the top was surprised that anyone had done it; nobody was sure it could be done. When we went camping that summer, I wasn't sure that I could survive the trials before me. I felt they were so insurmountable that I would die. Yet, for all of the pain and the time and the worries, I did it, and you can't take that away from me. It taught me that I can do hard things, that I can overcome difficult trials, and that even if I'm hurt as long as I'm still alive, there is still an onward and upward to a green meadow and refreshing waters. It was worth the climb.

As long as you draw breath, live life. I don't think anyone lives the life they thought they would. We make decisions on the information given, and sometimes we discover the information was bad, but that doesn't make us fools for acting as if it were good information. It's not necessarily our fault that things don't turn out, and it's not our fault that others choose not to participate. It doesn't make us failures. It's life. The painful things do not make the good things bad. The good things remain. Our dreams give us glimpses of what our lives desire, of what our lives included, and no matter how much a flight of fancy they may seem, they were once real. I am trusting that God will bring the people who belong when they can be part of my life and my eternal destiny. Until then, I interact with those I meet by the way and wait to see who stays. I am usually surprised.

In memory of those I've lost, as a reminder that life goes on: 

Poetry

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During high school I wrote a considerable amount of poetry. Pushed by my composition-literature teacher to write as frequently as possible and full of teenage angst, I usually penned a few lines of poetry rather than something more structured. Last night, during a conversation with a student about high school and how things have changed, I was reminded of poems I write in yearbooks one year. One of the cheerleaders failed to submit a page change in time, leaving a 5" x 7" gap in the sophomore class pictures where a candid should be. When I signed a yearbook, I wrote a personalized poem in that spot, knowing it would not be taken. I have not written much poetry since then.

This week, I wrote one for the first time in many years. Since it's something also that makes me who I am, here it is so you can see what is on my mind and how I write in other forms than prose.

Lost,

Adrift in a sea of emotion,

I rise and fall

On waves that remind me of

Highs and lows with you

And feel so very far from land and home.

Obstinate,

Like Columbus I press forward,

Trusting my heart

And God's whisper that

Somewhere beyond the horizon

Lies a land of promise for me as well.

Valiant,

Each day and night I peer,

Focused on the goal

Trying to hold to hopes

That my search will

Bring me to a green shore like his.

Exhausted,

My eyes strain against the light,

Hoping to find land

But aware that tricks play

On the mind of the weary

Until I no longer trust what I see.

Hopeful,

When night falls, I hang

A light in the window

To keep my mind aware,

My eyes adroit

My own lighthouse against the storm.

Unsure,

Since these same details already

Hang around my neck

Like ballast I cannot shake

That drags me back down

But never far enough to fully despair.

Resolute,

Knowing that I've arrived before,

Despite storms

Despite mutinous dogs

Despite myself even

Since sometimes I remain my biggest threat.

Thankful,

For protections extant

To know the feelings that guide

My heart, my walk, my way

Across torrent waters, in storms

While all hell wails against my passage.

Someday,

Maybe the promise,

The premise given on sultry lips

In whispered hush backed up

By feelings, by actions

Will bring you back to light my door and life.

Virtue to Vice

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I write a lot about duplicity and double standards on this blog, partially because I see so much of that govern the world. As our world declines into decadent debauchery, duplicity rears its ugly head. People of faith should not feel surprised by this as it was foretold that in the latter days people would call good evil and evil good. It's a little more complicated than that. This disparity of definition and denotation arises from differences in valuation and from a tendency to paint in caricature.

Inigro Montoya points out to Vizzini that sometimes words do not mean what we think they mean. Sometimes they mean different things to different people. Sometimes, the words only have the meaning people give them in a narrow bandwidth. For example, outside the grocer last evening, a woman of another demographic tried to get my attention by continually calling to me "Bro! Bro! Bro". I am not her Bro in any respect. In fact, if I gave her money, that would end our implied familial felicitation in her estimation. When it comes to defining virtue and vice, sometimes it begins with a difference of opinion. I have friends who laud my adherence to Victorian values and friends who warn me that in this world because of that I'll ultimately end in frustration. When I read Ludwig von Mises' book "Human Action" it became evident to me that we differ in opinion simply because we value things differently. I value virtue more than any advantage the alternatives afford.

Adam Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments illustrates that both sides taken to extremes move from virtue to vice. Rather than pontificate in detail, let me share this image instead.

The image shows that virtue lies between two opposing vices. For this reason, people who might otherwise appear to be paragons get scapegoated when they take something too far. For this reason, good men usually fall harder; they have further to go and more to lose. For this reason, we really need a Savior because no matter how hard we try none of us can be on our best behavior all the time.

Another reason that virtues gain labels as vices comes when there are different standards. Far too many people apply different standards to those they know and like than they do to strangers or opponents. As long as you lick their boots and brown your nose in their butt cheeks, as long as you are useful to their aims, you can expect preferential treatment. The world is run by the GOBNet. It's a pervasive attitude among our species. In my experience, I most often see this from women. In addition to those I attempt to date, both my boss and a plurality of my coworkers are women. Most of the nursing chemistry students are women. Sometimes students play both sides of the game, and since I know most of them are already seeing someone, I never really understand why those who are taken actually flirt. Women claim that men should chase them, assuming that they are worthy of the chase and giving the impression that once caught they will stay with the men who catch them. In truth, many men and women are all about the game, all about the chase, rather than the end, and so this is a canard. Similarly, if women really like a guy, they shouldn't make them chase. Real men are looking not so much for women that are chased but rather for women that are chaste. If you walk around campus exposing your bodice, I assume that's all you have to offer.

Finally, there is the possibility that people paint with caricature in order to rationalize their aberrant and abhorrent behavior. You see, men of chastity and virtue are usually accused of being gay, or, gasp, of being puritanical. When misbehavior becomes ubiquitous, the vile feel vindicated. They are no longer alone. If the virtuous can be brought down from their high horse, it makes it feel like maybe the villains aren't that bad after all. Calling a virtue a vice is one way in which people rationalize bad behavior. If everyone's doing it, one type of logic says it's ok. Making it legal does not make it right; making it common does not make it virtuous. Nobody expects they are actually part of the Spanish Inquisition.

Beyond our phenotype, humans differ in many ways, making it difficult to live or put up with as many as we must. We do not mean the same things, and we do not like the same things for the same reasons. Sometimes, we play favorites; sometimes our only favorite is our own selfish heart. Perhaps paragons are rare because it's so difficult to really live well. We have good days and good moods and good habits, and we know that because we have the alternative as well. Most of the ways in which we differ are innocent, but the clarion call of the prophets applies to everyone who attempts to use it as leverage against the body populace. As I previously wrote, it is not possible to love yourself if you hate your fellow men or to claim you love people when you treat a few, however few, with duplicity. It is a crime we commit against ourselves to see the best in ourselves and draw attention to the flaws in others. I know from when I loved a woman truly that I didn't notice her flaws. Be careful while drawing attention to the mote in someone's eye not to gouge out something with the beam in your own.

Escaping Valentine's Day

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Most of you know by now that I loathe Valentine's Day. I think it represents the height of human duplicity, where in exchange for the usual flowers, chocolates, and promises you don't intend to keep you can pretend someone cares. Likewise, I hate the fact that, if you don't do something special for your significant other that day, it's like the other things you do don't matter a bit. Love isn't something that happens once or a feeling you once have. That's attraction, lust, or desire, and it's far from love. Instead, since Valentine's Day falls shortly after Lincoln's Birthday, and since this year like usual I am single, I have a plan to escape.

Frequently on holidays I dislike, I arrange to be busy elsewhere. In the past, I have gone camping for Halloween. Last year, my buddy and I went up to Zion and hiked the East Rim. Last night, I spoke with my father and invited him out shooting for President's Day, which is the Monday immediately after, only because I don't really feel comfortable going shooting on the Sabbath. Since V-Day will be on the Sabbath, I expect to be assaulted at church with lots of couples going ga-ga over each other, most of whom won't still even be talking coordially a month from now. Every year, I go see the Utah Shakespeare Festival's traveling play when it comes to town, and like most years, once again I will be going alone, which is a true shame since I get 2 for 1 tickets as an employee of higher education.

The signs of "love" on Valentine's Day are largely a trap. Love isn't something you do because the calendar tells you it's time to do something special. However, very few couples I know seem to recognize this and reject the premise that this day counts somehow more than spontaneous expressions at other times. One day, when I find someone with whom I desire to spend time and all eternity who reciprocates that, I need her to understand this. I will show you love because I love you. I will not show you because you or some catholic tradition or because of pressure in the workplace demand that I make some gesture on February 14th. If you don't know it on the other days, you won't know it then, and if that's the only day that counts, well you're not the one for me.

Over the past few years, I stood on the receiving end of some huge duplicity. Although others were "paid commensurate with experience" HR doubled down and decided with me to implement the policy of "paid commensurate with seniority" (which is the actual and legal methodology). Although women tell me that it's ok for me to lose my temper, that they will choose me, that they are willing to sacrifice for me, it doesn't seem to apply. When I am upset, they tell me to suck it up, when the time comes to choose, they move out of state instead, and when I don't do exactly what they want, all the other good things don't matter. Well, I'm done with that.

I try to be consistent. I have only deleted two posts from this blog. One was for security purposes and the other was because of an injunction against its publication. The rest I leave there because I really mean them. You can watch me change my mind and grow and develop, and if my beliefs remain the same, it's documented well back to 8 Feburary 2014 or all the way back to 2008. Very few people share their thoughts, beliefs, and opinions, and when we know anything about people in history its because interested albeit uninvolved individuals recorded their words and actions after the fact. For better or worse, I am me. For better or worse this is how I feel and think. For better or worse, I mean what I said. I really do know how to love.

Somehow, I will find a way to be away from people this Valentine's Day. Once I had a geautiful birl for whom I would have given anything if she chose me with whom I would gladly spend the day. I have a great idea of what to do too. We'd go up and walk around the Temple grounds, go have a picnic (I would take her out for Lao-Thai but it will be Sunday), then stargazing at Red Rock (since the free part is still a good place to stargaze) and then a nice evening walk. I'm so romantic, and nobody gives a flying pinwheel. If by some miracle within the next 11 days something changes, I'm open. I won't hold my breath.