"Family Bonding"

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My father sent me a text message Wednesday night telling me about how much fun he had at a DoD event where they shot some military weapons. I smiled a bit, because a few years back my parents thought I was nutters when I started buying guns. I reached a point where I realized I wanted to know how to own, operate, and care for a gun in every category, and as my fortune grew so did my desire to educate myself. I learned about history, about mechanics, about ammunition, about the manufacturers, and about the science behind it. Yes, guns are scientific, and that's what hooked me. Surprisingly enough it brought my family closer together, and except for my neices who are too young, I am now a cause celeb in the family. My mom refers to me as the Armory. I wrote my dad back and invited him to go again since he wants to compare a few guns for a personal purchase, and we'll use the holiday to do that so I can continue to be an educator while we bond as father and son.

Shooting together got my family interested in marksmanship, and surprisingly they all seem to enjoy it. When my sister got ready to join the military, I took her out to show her the ropes in advance of her training so that she could show up all the guys at officer training, and she liked it so much we went twice more before she left. One of the things my kid brother wanted most to do when I went up to visit him in June was go to the range and shoot. He'd shot before, and he was very good, but we were there for like four hours! Even my mother decided at 60 that she should learn how to operate and shoot a gun in case she ever needed to; I guess all the gun crimes that go across her desk at work made her decide better to know how and not need to than need to and not know how. This year, I took some of my hiking buddy's family out, and except for his seven year old niece, everyone had fun.

As the fun increased, they got interested in gun ownership. Aside from my father, nobody else in my family owns and ever has owned a firearm. However, some of our family skype sessions and in person discussions involve discussions about what I bought, why, and how I feel about it. Some of them are really eager to fire the .44 magnum, but they're all cautious, and I get that; I only bought it because it was too good to pass up. When my dad looked into a .357 magnum Winchester 92 but couldn't stomach buying one, I told him that I'd buy it and let him shoot it, and so far everyone who shot it LOVES the rifle. In fact, I apparently do a little dance when I hit things with it, and my best shot yet was 3/6 at 150m. My kid brother really enjoyed my M4 (I do NOT like the gun) and told me that he really had fun. When I told him how much the fun cost, he shivered at first, cocked his head, considered it, and then a few weeks later talked to me about getting some guns anyway. Since he likes the gun I like the least, I offered to sell him mine to save him money and get rid of it at the same time. After my paternal grandmother's death, my dad tracked down the family heirloom gun that ended up with his youngest brother. Since my uncle never shot it and never actually intends to, he surprisingly passed it to my father who already bought ammo for it! When I was there for dinner on Sunday and he indicated confusion at how to clean it, I turned him to Youtube, and he's already found a good guide and torn it open to service it since we know it hasn't been shot for years.

Guns get us together. When my sister came to visit this summer, she contacted me ahead of time and asked if I could squeeze in time for "family bonding" which is apparently now code in our family for a trip to the range. She's coming back in November for a friend's wedding and expressed an interest in going out again if time permits. Meanwhile my dad wants to go out again to spend time with me. Growing up, it was always difficult for me to find ways to bond with my dad, and so I am gladly paying whatever it takes to enjoy his company and hone my skills. We talk about ammunition, about targets, and apparently about times we go out with other people. I have now taken coworkers out to the range and a few students to help them make good choices and educate them about gun operation. I find myself chatting up strangers at the ammunition counter and talking to people I see who carry, and when people found out I shot an orange at 30m with a lever action .357 magnum, they thought I was a god.

Yet the government wants to take away not only the weapons but this link that guns created between members of my family and the family of man. I know lots of foreigners don't understand why Americans are interested in guns, but that's probably because years of feudalism and despotism rendered them sufficiently submissive that they prefer avoidance over animation because the latter might cost them everything in a moment. Beyond the guns themselves, we talk about the time periods, the people who made and used them, and their mechanics. My dad has always been interested in tools and how things work. My brothers are interested in the outdoors. My mother is interested in protecting herself from criminals. I'm not sure why my sister enjoys it, but I enjoy going with her, and it gives us a concrete reason to spend time together and furnished pictures for almost everyone's family movie this year. I know it's cliche a bit as a male in the west, but my best friend knows I'm not doing it because I'm one of those nutty people. I use the ones I have to teach others about operation, features, safety, history, ammunition, and marksmanship, and although not qualified by my degrees to be a firearms instructor, as an educator it's an extension of my day job to help other people own and operate firearms. Moreover some of the pieces I own are impressive just as pieces of art. Most of all, they brought my family together, and for that I thank Sturm, Ruger, and Company.

Love is Wasted on the Young

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Last weekend, I stayed on the mountain until late to guide a group at twilight to the abandoned lead mine. On the way back, very near the parking area, we unexpectedly ran across a small group of young male deer who were attracted to us because one of our number was currently "in heat". You see, the young male deer often move together during mating season because they do not really know what to do and because they are out competed by the elder of their species. Humans seem to be the only species where it is the young among us who are most likely, most frequently, and most encouraged to engage in mating behavior as often as possible with as many partners as they can woo. Unlike the rest of the animal kingdom, young humans are actually poor mates, chosen for how well they look without clothing rather than on how well they can actually provide for and protect young. Unlike the rest of the animal kingdom, we mate for reasons other than to reproduce. Love and its bastardized meanings is wasted on the young, at least in humans.

Young humans have the least to offer. Tuesday night, a second cousin of mine twice removed married a young lady here in town. He is himself a college drop out who parks cars as a valet, and although he probably earns close to what I do, it's hardly a laudatory resume. His bride is 19 and so obsessed with appearances that she banned my cousin's brother and his own best friend from the wedding party to avoid having bad pictures because they are overweight. She doesn't want to have kids because she doesn't want to lose her figure. She is why I ignore girls under the age of 25 carte blanc because she is superficial, shallow, and selfish. Most of these young people don't have any idea what they are doing, what they will be when they grow up or how to be parents, but because humans are sexually mature by the age of 15, they are the ones with the most time and access to potential mating partners. My own Faith exacerbates this phenomenon by allowing a stigma to persist that it's shameful to be single and over 30; in my Faith it's more likely to be killed by a terrorist than get married over 30 (for the rest of the population the age is 40). Meanwhile, I repair my own cars, tend my own household, grow my own garden, have a real job, own a house and two cars, look good in a suit, play multiple sports and instruments, speak several languages, and attend events of cultural and historical significance with regularity. I'm a renaissance man in a selfie world.

Young humans have far too much free time and far too many opportunities to mate. After last spring, when I caught the same couple in flagrante delicto thrice in the staircase, the security guards now patrol quiet areas looking for students getting into trouble. However, I see young people from the nearby high school who are skipping school and hanging out with their significant others during school hours. With the economy still flat on its back, too few of them are at work. As young people begin puberty even sooner, the urges become ever stronger, and I see posts on the internet periodically about how young people are the only ones they know who are still virgins, and some of these are as young as 13! They hang out at all hours, send risque images, and "hook up" with whomever is interested not out of love but either due to boredom or to get "likes". Adults aren't much help, turning to Tinder and Ashley Madison to slake their lusts while giving flowers, chocolates, and promises they don't intend to keep to those with whom they sire children. What other lesson are their children to learn than what their parents teach them by way of example? Tragic.

Young humans look good, but shiny armor and six-pack abs have never really been tested. Look at the lion, where the leader of the pride is usually not the most attractive but the most achieved. We joke as humans that chicks dig scars, but for the lion the scars testify of successful hunts and unsuccessful coup attempts against him. He has fought to feed his brood and to protect his place. Time and time again in the human population I watch women wonder at my many laudatory facets. They talk about how they respect who I am and what I do and how they agree that life is richer when you share it and then go share it with someone else who either spends more money on them than I or spends more time at the gym than I. All too often, these guys have physiques about which I could only dream and very...little...else. Well, they reap what they sow I guess, and they get what matters most to them. I read recently about the relationship between plastic surgery and the selfie in which people go under the knife to look better. It's all about the show, about perception, about the outside rather than the character, and most don't give me a chance. Sexy beats handsome; edgy beats cultured; adventurous beats reliable; and women seem to live by the ABCD Theory: Anything But Choose Doug.

Meanwhile, there are plenty of amazing people who, if they had but waited a while, would make fantastic mates. In too many cases, humans settle in order to couple and know people biblically that they don't really know socially only to have their relationships and marriages fall apart, leaving parentless children in the wake. With rare exception, the only women interested in me are at least 50 years old and have multiple children, often by multiple fathers, only interested in me now because they wised up to what really matters. It's sad because I have known quite a few women who would be wonderful if not for the baggage they bring from a vindictive and vile ex husband. It's sad because quite a few women get to know me and see the real me and then cut me off like Gotye in favor of the exact opposite of what they told me with their tongues they sought. If only humans, like most other animals, recognized that the elders of a species outcompete the younger because they actually ARE better. Adults have the ability to provide, the wisdom to take care of a family, and the resume to be leaders while young have only potential. Yeah, undirected energy? Lovely. If only humans chose their mates for reasons other than how well they look shirtless. Maybe that's part of the trial God wanted- leaving us without hair so that we wouldn't all look the same; imagine if every man had back hair and a bald head! So, the youth "fall in love" constantly, indiscriminately, and the effect is the same as if they never fell in love at all, and they "make love" not for their partner but for themselves, and it leaves heartbreak and broken families in the wake.

The two ladies with me wondered why I am still single. They found me passing fair, passing grace, and good company. They enjoyed my conversation, appreciated my sense of direction getting them to their destination, and were glad I was there protecting them from the dastardly deer. One of them texted me: "when your (sic) not guarded your (sic) so amazing and interesting and diverse. that's so hard to find these days". Well, I made the same invitation to three other women this summer: one was 30, one was 28, and the other 25. All of them seemed interested in joining me for something, but when the time came they found an excuse and brushed me off. They will never know what they missed. They will go find someone else, and probably soon, because he is sexy, because he looks good shirtless, and perhaps more importantly because he is ok fornicating with them. In the twilight of their lives, and perhaps as soon as when they are 45, they will look out and wonder why there are no great guys. Well, they drove them away in order to chase love- the love of themselves. Love really is wasted on the young. They do not know how to recognize it. They do not know how to love others. They do not know themselves, and so they can't love themselves let alone love others. They are not ready really, but they are ready physiologically, and so it's a huge waste as they pick partners poorly. I hope my cousin chose wisely. I wish I had.

Origin of the Feces

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For many years, I've joked about writing a cookbook entitled "Origin of the Feces". As a biochemist and as a philosopher, I know the relationship between ends and means, and I know that what comes out depends very much on what goes in at the beginning. Imagine my surprise to read today about how fecal material is related to the health of the ecosystem. At the very least, it's an important part of our ecosystem, and it's something important to remember.

People don't like to talk about feces, but it figures into civilization. While hiking last weekend, one of the people with whom I went pointed out collections of droppings, thinking they were rabbit when they were really deer. However, when I found a human shirt near some human feces, nobody wanted to hear about that. We're totally grossed out usually by our own excrement, and deservedly so. Modern sewers are actually a very modern and recent development, leading to the establishment of massive metropolitan collections of people unheard of and almost impossible in antiquity. Without waste management, disease epidemics wiped out population centers. They say we are what we eat, and most of us to be quite frank don't eat very well.

Human feces is actually really bad for pretty much everything. One reason my garden took as long as it did to get started was because I needed manure for fertilizer. Despite having a dog and being capable of defecation myself, I looked to other species for help in that department. For some reason, domesticated animals tend to have very unhealthy manure. Even when we turn to cultured livestock, you must wait some time before it's actually ready for planting; get in a rush and get steer manure wet, and it stinks to high heaven! Humans are pretty good about leaching everything useful out whether we need it or not, and so our feces has little value but high risk. I stay as far away from it as possible when the chance arises.

Humans aren't very good about monitoring what goes into their feces. Top it all off, some of the places that tout themselves as healthy sources of food do not bear the burden of scrutiny on the john. I stopped last weekend at a popular and national eatery for a special salad, but the following morning despite having all sorts of healthy, natural, and wholesome ingredients the smell and texture of my feces told me that my meal contained a secret ingredient that wasn't as good as the things they advertise. By contrast, I can get a cheaper salad at Wendy's that doesn't bother me besides giving me hiccups from the apples it contains and produces far better fecal material. It's obviously not simple, and it's obviously not related to the claims of the eateries. It's the food. It's you. It's about the people between the garden and the table. It's dangerous out there, and sometimes the food you eat actually eats you.

For this reason among others, I wanted to provide some of my own food from my own yard and by my own hand. I tell my students that the shorter the distance from garden to table the better and safer and more nutritious the food can be. You know how it was grown, to what it was exposed, and that it was actually ready when you picked it. People who talk about how the ends justify the means ignore the fact that crappy ingredients can only make a crappy final product. Maybe my garden won't produce enough, and maybe it won't look all that appetizing, but if errors arise I know I caused them. Nothing irks me more than paying someone else to cause me problems. Our calamity is heightened by realization that we furnish the means by which we suffer! I know it seems a small thing, but it really feels good to have a productive and relieving trip to the bathroom. I know that I've put good things into me, and it gives me confidence that good things will come out of the ingredients of my life eventually. Virtuous means lead eventually to virtuous ends.

When Professors Rage Quit

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Last night I met for the first time to take over a Microbiology class abandoned after midterms by a professor who took another gig elsewhere. I knew it would be rough, but I had no idea how rough it would actually be. I guess what I really don't understand is why some people feel like the grass is greener on the other side, and how some people can just leave others in the lurch at the drop of a hat. Hopefully my willingness to step in and give aide, assuming I do a good job taking his place, will endear me to the powers that be and reaffirm my value to the institution and its mission. I don't lick boots, give bribes or brown nose, but I work hard and see things through.

The students were upset about their exam results. Last time they met, they took an exam, and apparently the median was 67%. For some reason, although Friday was the last drop date, every single one of them stuck it out. This morning, the coordinator contacted me about the situation since it applies apparently to every one of this guy's classes, and I have their support making accommodations under the circumstances. I finally sat down and read his online reviews, and I see students accuse him of testing things they don't discuss, which is one reason I write all of my own tests and do them custom every term in case I forget to discuss something. Most of the students, fresh off a frustrating exam, were unable to focus, and I think more than a few of those who left early did so because they realized they were too upset to pay attention.

The students were upset to have a change but happy to have someone complete the term after they committed time and money. I paid less to attend graduate school than they are paying for their undergraduate degree. I don't think any of them knew, and I don't think the administration knew that this guy was leaving until he gave two weeks' notice. So, everyone is blindsided. I waited over the weekend when word went out soliciting help because I know that microbiology is difficult to teach even moreso when you start in the middle of term with someone new. After that, I told the chair "If you haven't found anyone else..." and they hadn't found anyone for any of his classes! It happens; we lost a chemistry professor two years ago to a series of strokes that killed him. However, these students started the term in agreement with a particular syllabus, style, and series of expectations. I'll try to change at little as possible. I don't think he told his class they would have anyone new until after I was secured. They were upset and understandably so.

The students were upset that their professor essentially abandoned them. According to them, the previous professor cancelled two lab meetings and two lectures (which they suspect and I feel inclined to agree he used to job hunt or get things in order to leave) meaning they are missing points and information. Then he still held them accountable for things he essentially didn't discuss or cover or address on an exam. I don't think he communicated well to anyone, but I think they got the shortest stick in the draw, and it was evident from the questions that they were lost, confused, and scared about how this might affect them professionally. I did what I could to assuage, address, and resolve concerns, but some may drop anyway. I understand that; I'd be upset too.

A geology professor and I agree that this was handled in almost the worst way possible. If I secured new employment, I would tell my new employer that I had a contractual obligation and couldn't leave right now. I like to think he would respect that because it shows a level of commitment. This guy seems committed only to himself, which I find very odd because his online reviews say he's better than I am and that he's attractive (he makes me look like a supermodel in my honest opinion). The presiding authorities guard their words carefully, but I sense a sentiment of resentment towards my predecessor and appreciation towards me as I move forward. The only reason I can envision to quit early is my own health. I even made it to every class and on time this spring despite losing all of my grandparents. I hope things work out for him. I also hope this helps me.

Down to Earth

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Now that the weather's finally cooled off to seasonably normal temperatures, I went down to the nursery this weekend to buy more plants and replace the ones that died. I couldn't believe how excited I was to plant things and buy plants or that I went home and planted them all by Saturday night. Granted, I did work in a plant lab in graduate school, and so I feel obligated to have some sort of garden and green space to validate me in my field, but I have a beautiful place to which to retreat at the end of the day. It's not opulent or ornate, except as God made His creations to be that way on their own, but in many ways my yard is now part of my refuge. I like spending time outside, even in the summer. I like working in it, even though it's work and even though it takes me like 12 hours to trim all the bushes out front. I like most of all enjoying the flowers and the flavors and the scents and the visiting living things that come here. They know I planted a garden eastward in my Eden, and I feel God's approbation of my work and presence in the yard, and I am pretty sure He augmented my efforts with the touch of the Master Gardener's Hand.

Digging in the dirt gets me grounded. There's something about kneeling, digging, and putting something alive into the barren ground that refreshes me no matter how tired I get from the work. Even setting the blocks for the planters last year, as I dug trenches and leveled the soil, particularly as I started to fill them with dirt, mulch, and organic material, made the yard feel so much more welcoming. We were sent here with the admonition to dress this garden and take good care of it and warned that by the sweat of our brow shall we eat our bread. Well, I certainly sweat a lot putting this thing in, but the care and maintenance so far has been trivial and enjoyable, so much that I go out almost every evening to check on things while the dog runs around and plays. That's probably why some things are still alive- I was out there caring for and looking at them. You see, what we nourish is strengthened, and because I paid attention to it, pruning, dunging, and digging about each plant, most of them survived, even though the soil is poor and the heat was scorching. Some nights, I go out and lie on the ground looking up at the sky, and others I sit in my camping chair and watch thunderstorms behind the mountain. While everyone else sits in front of flickering electronics, I'm outside in touch with and among nature, and I enjoy the evenings. There are no fireworks, but there's this indescribable sense of satisfaction, purpose and peace that I enjoyed since most of my evenings are free that I have never known since I was a boy. For a moment at least I almost feel like a little kid again, like all that matters is to lie under the stars and listen to the wind in the leaves and not worry about cares or concerns.

The yard is welcoming. Friday night, I played out back with the dog while I put in a few plants. I planted some of the herbs and perennials I bought while listening to bird song. Interestingly enough to me, pigeons do not congregate in my yard, but songbirds, hummingbirds, and nesting birds line the top of the house, the branches of trees, and the fences while they watch me, all seemingly unbothered by my presence. Aside from the scorpion who stung me, the critters seem to mind their own business, and I felt bad just tonight when I moved something and sent pill bugs scurrying for shade or when i threw something in a bucket and stirred up a bee that was resting on its edge. It amazes me just how much cooler the yard is with a few plants strategically placed. I'm looking forward to the meager first year harvest. I already had both watermelons, both pomegranates and both peaches as well as a few handfuls of grapes and blackberries. My beagle keeps eating pomegranate flowers, so I have to watch him if I want those next year. The lemons aren't ready yet, nor are the figs, and that completes this year's harvest. The artichokes look well, the asparagus is already spreading, and the strawberries have recovered from the summer blast as has the lavender, and the smells and sounds are very welcoming. As I drove into the driveway tonight, it felt like home, and I was glad to be here.

Gardening reminds me that life goes on and fruits do come for those willing to dig in and stay down to earth. In grand total, I've lost five plants so far in my entire yard. I killed one of them, a penstemmon at the bottom of the driveway that I sprayed with weed killer accidentally. I lost a germander out front. My nectarine died suddenly, probably from an insect, a lavender never made it, and the raspberry cane burnt in the summer sun. Even the pineapple is growing. Otherwise, everything is bigger, healthier, and happy in my yard despite the long Vegas summer. It testifies to the planning that went into this, delaying the back yard for a year while I did my homework and leg work preparing the soil, because even in poor spots of ground in native soil, I have thriving, growing plants. The first crop of figs from this tree all fell off, aborted I think to preserve the tree, but now there are probably 50 or more ready to ripen at the end of this month (this variety does two crops per year, one in June and one in October/November).  I think Jesus would be pleased with the fig.  Every time I saw new leaves emerge, I got excited, even on plants that have no fruit and never grow any, because that tells me that something's working! Look, I actually CAN have something work out and enjoy the fruits. At least on this small spit of land with these living things I am the gardener here, and you can rejoice with me as it continues to grow and prosper.

I try in everything I do to do the best I can with what I have. It's not always much of a comfort. I'm getting close to ten years as a single, divorced adult, and most of those years I've spent completely out of a relationship. Most of my friends don't stay, and many of them flee when they discover to what Faith I belong. Outside my house but within the property lines, the plants grow and thrive, the flowers are plentiful and vivid, and the fruits are tasty even when they are few. For a moment, at least in this way, "the best I can" means something that I can see with my eyes, hold in my hands, and enjoy with all six senses. I'm a simple man. I would love to be a farmer, but I know it pays squat. I'm a practical man. I planted the garden as a show of good faith to God that I would actively try to provide for myself. I know that it CAN increase the value of the house when I sell it and to me while I live here by providing things I desire. I bought this house so that I would have a place for my family, and I got an education so that I could provide for one, and the women think I'm boring and outmoded. I guess that's the negative denotation for down to earth. I planted the garden as a show to women of another way I can be a provider. The simple pleasures of life, the things that I enjoy have to do with the earth. I enjoy its splendor. I rise each morning and leave the house to exercise by 0615 except on Sunday when I sleep in until 0700. I garden, I do photography, I hike, I camp, I kayak, I run, I swim, I waterski...all of these are things that get me out into the world and keep me in touch with the same stuff from which I was made. For a year now, I've walked to the grocer almost every time I needed to buy food and carried it home just like my ancestors did. I am earning what I have by the sweat of my brow, and I pray to God that He restore to me my hope for family and posterity. I am certainly working very hard for them. I carried 15 cubic yards of dirt, manure and compost into the back yard with a wheelbarrow. I have seen my share of dirt. For dust I am and unto dust I shall return. Until then, I'm trying my very best to improve this tiny and insignificant spot of earth over which God made me steward. Today at least I feel like if He asked an accounting there would be something to show for it.

I'm a Mac

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Men of power and influence have very strange reactions to me. Within the past two weeks, I've walked down the hallway with two powerful local politicians- J.S., former head of the RTC and former Henderson City Manager, and Harry Reid, alleged US Senator. Over the past two years, I've attended soirees for two US Congressmen- Stephen Horsford and Dina Titus. Each of these people is someone I called to carpet for lies, deception, and corruption. On the other hand, for some reason, a handful of people I know in positions of power wish they could get their daughters to marry me. For other reasons, I don't think any of those women will give me a second look. I'm not flashy. I am not rich or ripped, and I won't resort to chloroform to get a date. Several weeks ago after church, this fellow Joe who really seems to be interested in and supportive of me tried to buoy me up with hope for my prospects. I told him that I didn't share his optimistic outlook. Nobody wants to marry a Crusader.

As a Crusader, I am oath and honor bound to abide by, adhere to, advocate for, and exemplify a specific moral code. As a man, I am not perfect in doing this, but I do a pretty good job of sticking to my guns. I was influenced by people of literary and cinematic performance to find a principled position and then defend it against all opposition. Here are a few of them:

• We are men of action. Lies do not become us. -Dread Pirate Roberts to Count Rougen
• “If we lived in a State where virtue was profitable, common sense would make us good, and greed would make us saintly. And we'd live like animals or angels in the happy land that /needs/ no heroes. But since in fact we see that avarice, anger, envy, pride, sloth, lust and stupidity commonly profit far beyond humility, chastity, fortitude, justice and thought, and have to choose, to be human at all... why then perhaps we /must/ stand fast a little --even at the risk of being heroes.” -Sir Thomas More
• Be without fear in the face of your enemies. Live pure and upright that God may love thee. Speak the truth always even when it leads to your death. Safeguard the helpless.  -Bailien of Ibelin
• On my honor, I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country, to help other people at all times, to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight. -Boy Scout Oath
• “It is the mission of each true knight...His duty... nay, his privilege! To dream the impossible dream, To fight the unbeatable foe, To bear with unbearable sorrow To run where the brave dare not go; To right the unrightable wrong. To love, pure and chaste, from afar, To try, when your arms are too weary, To reach the unreachable star! This is my Quest to follow that star, No matter how hopeless, no matter how far, To fight for the right Without question or pause, To be willing to march into hell For a heavenly cause! And I know, if I'll only be true To this glorious Quest, That my heart will lie peaceful and calm When I'm laid to my rest. And the world will be better for this, That one man, scorned and covered with scars, Still strove, with his last ounce of courage, To reach the unreachable stars!” -Don Quixote de la Mancha

It takes courage to stand fast while all around you people go with the flow and try to blend in. It takes courage to stand by old and tried and true things when others fear the same old thing It takes courage to refuse to be blown about by every wind of doctrine, swayed by the waves of fad and fashion, and lured by the syren call. It takes courage to keep doing the right thing no matter what, especially when you don't reap.

I Don't Do P.C. I'm a Mac. During the heady days of the computer format wars, Apple refused to "get with the program" and go along with DOS. IN fact, until Steve Jobs died, Apple/Mac was an innovative company that allowed people to create rather than operate computer programs. Going P.C. killed the computer industry just like it's killing our society today. People are afraid to be who they are and say what they think because they fear reprisal, ostracism, and other risks. The surest way to hell is the gradually descending slope without signposts. That's what Windows has done.

I've seen too many people buckle under pressure in order to protect what they have or to gain advantage. I'm not saying I'd do differently or that they're not doing something worthy. I'm saying that there are people positioned better than I to speak up and speak out who do not do so to protect their job, their title, or their family. Some do it to earn a wage. Why am I doing it? Because you are not. You are doing something else worthy, leaving me to do the things that are difficult and that might upset your life. The other group goes with the flow in order to prosper, but once you start paying tribute, how do you stop? You become dependent on and beholden to those benefactors no matter how benign. I may not have much, but what I gained I earned, and I belong to no man.

Living this way takes guts. It's the same kind of tenacity that sent Daniel to the lion's den, that asked Moses to walk across the Sinai twice, and that led Abraham to march up the mountain with his sacrificial son in tow. Since I'm single, i'm in a power position to do this. I can testify against someone regardless of what he might do to hurt me or my loved ones. I can resist malversation and wickedness in high places, whether at work, in government, or even in my own Faith. During the summer, an upper muckety muck told me in the campus weight room that in order to move up I would either need to become a toady or dig dirt.  I told him that I don't dance.  My father thinks it's possible that standing up to these men has hurt me vocationally and professionally, and when I saw these men on campus this month I wondered anew if that was the case. I rise slowly, but I do rise. I don't dance. I don't play politics. I will do what is right, meaning I probably won't get promoted or get a raise or get special treatment. I swore an oath, and what is an oath but words we say to God? My first boss in NSHE wrote me this when the dean took over my supervision: "Your courage to speak the truth even when you face possible ramifications has earned my respect."

Maybe this is why I haven't been able to keep a woman. It stands to reason that a loving Father God wouldn't want to send any of His daughters into a situation where she would take second chair to a cause however noble. He would want them to go somewhere where they would be cared for, cared about, and caring, meaning He would want her to go to a good man in a good place. Maybe He needs me to be this way so I can be free to act without worrying about others. You see, the villains come at you sideways, sidle up and smile, hit you where you are weak- the people about and for whom you care. If I'm right, God does this to protect His daughters, which is what I would do if I had any- protect them. They didn't sign up for this. I did. I made this choice, and even if I'm just tilting at windmills it's my life to throw away how I will.

Like Don Quixote, I don't expect to get anything from this except for a clean conscience. I know that people are watching. So that anyone watching knows that I cannot and will not be bought, I continue to stand fast. Knowing that my future self will look back, I try to live so that I will have the affirmation and approbation of my own soul in the future. If I have any children, I want them to have the benefit of a father who actively fought for the things in which he believed, not just when it was convenient or didn't cost much, but that I was willing to give whatever it took, even my life, my fortune and my sacred honour. My favorite part of Mulan is when her father announces he intends to go fight to save China even though he's an invalid. They don't want him to go because they fear losing him; he wants to go because he fears losing China. His words have become mine: "I will die doing what is right. I know my place. It's time you learned yours." I know my place. I know who I am. I know what I believe. Meanwhile, although it doesn't mean the same thing it meant in the computer world, I will continue to resist the drive to render everything P.C. I'm a Mac. They may not be anymore, but this is where I am and it's where I will stay. I'm a crusader. This is what we do.

Irrational Fears Realized

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Growing up, I feared many things that never happened and that actually never would or could. Now that I'm an adult, I realize some other things I fear are statistically unlikely. However, every now and then something happens that rationalizes your reason to fear something, and you recalculate things in your life. Normally, if the only reason you worry is that something MIGHT happen, you can dismiss it. This morning, something happened that seemed irrational but nearly cost me my life.

Ever since I started driving, I hated driving near tractor trailer/semi trucks. I hated passing them, driving next to them, and winding through canyons when the road is thick with them. Irrationally, one of my fears always was that a semi would not see me and shove me off the road to my death. Consequently, I try to pass them as quickly as possible. This morning, I did that, but when we hit the 55mph construction zone, he caught up to me because he didn't slow up. Since I drive this route several times per week, I saw the lane shift; he didn't. Right where the lanes shift, he apparently either didn't notice or decided that was a good time to change lanes (it's not, EVER). When I heard his tires hit the bumps that mark the lane boundary, I realized he would encroach on my lane, weighed my options, held on, went through several orange buckets, and barely missed the 5000lb concrete blocks they use to protect workers on the shoulder from being hit by people like me. The truck didn't even seem to notice, and the car behind me never let up. Somehow, I survived. I've never hit one of those buckets before, and they were surprisingly heavy with the rubber weights mounted underneath. At first, I wanted to catch up to the guy, get his plate, and complain, but when I smelled burning rubber, I pulled over to make sure my car was fine and lost that opportunity. I'm ok, shaken but not stirred.

For many years, my parents worried about me in this car. My 1995 Saturn is on a rebuilt title, and should never have carried me this far this long without incident. A few years back, I had to take a curb to avoid being t-boned, and that led I think to last year's rim shattering on the highway one night. Otherwise, I've never actually had an accident in Car2-D2. When I went over the barrels, I held the wheel tightly because I don't have power steering and need to do so in order to maintain control. One of the main reasons I keep this car is because it reliably conveys me everywhere I intended to go and only broke down once in Ely NV when I had to stay the night waiting for a part to arrive in order to get home. Even when I had a blowout last fall, I put on the spare, drove home, dropped the tire off the next morning, and was back in Car2 two days later without further incident. A few pieces broke, but I can duct tape them together until I can get replacements.

Despite the campaigns asking us to watch out for them, I don't think truckers look out as well as they should for automobiles. Eight years ago, my mother and sister were run off the road by a semi or camper or similar that changed lanes into them and pushed them off the freeway. Since I couldn't catch up to this guy, there will be no repercussions for him. I'm not out to get him, but it would be nice to let him know in case he didn't notice so that it doesn't happen again. The Highway Patrol put officers in trailers to ticket drivers who don't give them berth, but who's there to notice he almost killed me?

God makes me very few promises, but this is one case in which He kept His word. When I was 15, I was promised to be "protected on your highways, your byways, in all of your travels, and in all that you do. The hand of the Lord will be upon you. He expects much from you." Today, I am grateful to see His promise fulfilled again. Just before things happened, I remember thinking that this guy might not observe the lane shift, and the radio was off so I could hear when he crossed the bumps. I probably ignored a prompt to slow up and let him get ahead of me, but there doesn't seem to be any lasting harm, and I arrived at work only 15 minutes late because I took surface streets afterwards to avoid trucks. I honestly don't know why He keeps me alive. I don't really do anything, and I haven't accomplished overmuch that can be measured. I don't really feel all that profitable, and I don't have a sense of satisfaction from life. I'm not sure I would send me, but here I am, so it's not my time yet. There must still be something for me to do.

Fortunately most irrational fears never turn out to happen. I've never opened my closet and found a ghost, been burgled, or made it to 50 without remarrying. I am still afraid that when my days are counted many of them may not count for much. Many of my other fears will probably never materialize, and now that I've faced this one, it's no longer looming. It's like when I had my first accident and got my first negative review as a professor- the pressure was off, the suspense ended, and I could move on with other things. For now, I'm safe, and there's hope that if not today maybe something else tomorrow may turn out to be a blessing disguised as a blessing.

Are We Not All Beggars?

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When I took my maternal grandfather out once in his car and used his handicapped placard to park near the building, I felt guilty. Of course it was justified as he was no longer able in his late 80s to move quickly or well, and when people who recognized him saw us, I could tell they were not venom on me. We make accommodations because we should, because it's a small thing we all can do to help others. However, not everyone wants to share, and not everyone who benefits from it needs it or uses it honestly. The reason this causes a problem is because it puts a black eye on those who need them and creates enmity between those who need it and those who can afford to give it.

Every now and then someone uses these privileges unjustly. When my hiking buddy and I visited Zion National Park a few weeks ago, there was a plethora of handicapped parking, and he joked I hope about getting one because his father genuinely qualifies. However, I'm not comfortable with that. I work with a woman who is the campus administrator's secretary who abuses the privilege to her benefit. She drives two different cars which she alternates, both of which are registered out of state, and both of which have handicapped placards. I know they are not for her. In the summer when parking was plentiful, she parked at some distance from the door in order to avail herself of one of the few shady spots. Now that school is full bore, I see her parked in normal spots early and then in the handicapped area after lunch when parking is a premium in order to be close to the building. I am ready to report her for violating the law since she is a state employee, but only because in addition to this she was awarded Employee of the Month a few months back, and I don't like the message that sends.

On Tuesday, I learned that as part of Diversity Week, there is a seminar on the accommodations made and how they either help or hurt the handicapped. I told a friend of mine who has some significant physical reductions, and she composed the following guest commentary. It's helpful to remember that we do not really understand them because we can't walk a mile in their shoes, particularly those who cannot walk at all. It is important for us to consider them and involve them in the decisions. It is important for us to advocate for them. They are after all our families, our friends, our neighbors, and fellow children of God. If we love Him, we feed His sheep. If we really believe, then we look out for the fallen and the needy like Christ did and like Christ taught the Good Samaritan did for the man brought low physically. If it's appropriate, it's something in which we ought be anxiously engaged.

Being disabled in America is sometimes a lot more difficult than people realize. Most people don’t understand, and if it’s a visual disability, they stare. It’s generally not a quiet or unnoticeable stare, no it’s as if you’re a monkey in a zoo. There are handicapped spots, and yet, there are more people in those spots that don’t need them than people realize, and if that many people do need them, maybe have colors depicting the severity. Also if you’re a young handicapped adult, older adults glare at you, as if you don’t belong in those spots because you are not age appropriate. Most things are posted as handicapped accessible, but if you really pay attention, it’s not quite. Stores are particularly difficult to navigate if you’re in a wheelchair, seeing as they are either too tightly packed so there’s no way to really move a chair, or those electric doors never work. There are handicapped stalls, as is the law, but general population of people will use them. It is of course acceptable for someone to use the stall when none other are available, but if there are six other stalls open, it’s rude.

While people hold it against you when you receive government assistance, they don’t realize, that little amount doesn’t even cover rent. There are locations that will take what little amount you have of course, but they’re horrible places that no one should have to live. So if you don’t have someone to assist you, you’re stuck living in a poor living situation or being a burden on someone else. The sad part about that is, because you’re disabled and unable to work, you can’t even get out of that location. There are those who will get uppity about that and say find work that you can do. Well, that’s the funny part, because most of the time jobs can only be so understanding about your physical ailments. They can only be so understanding about the amount of time you have to take off because of pain that’s outside your control. Another reaction is others can do it, why can’t you? There’s the thing about physical disabilities, some are similar to one another but that’s it, each are different in their own way. In this instance, you can’t win either way, you either get to live in poor conditions or be a burden on someone else, or you can’t keep a job because your body refuses to cooperate under the guidelines work requires.

Can you imagine how that feels to someone? Most don’t even think about that, because why would they, this is an individualistic country. Everyone is out for themselves and they’re not worrying about others around them, especially when half of them can’t even survive themselves. While yes other countries have it so much worse, why does that matter? Other countries are not your country and your country is the one you should worry about. The sad part about it is, it won’t change.

The same people who complain about dependency turn a blind eye to the disabled. We do things that are easy- build ramps, put up placards, dedicate spaces, but do we do things they actually need? I know it's tough. I have also like you been given lip by someone who thought I was being patronizing. So, most of us ignore it. Most of us don't really know how to help, but if, like today, someone from that community asks us to advocate and tells us what we can do, the onus is on us to do so. You know, even if you can't see them, most people are burdened somehow. I know many students on campus are on drugs, and although they aren't considered handicapped by the ADA, they are carrying a secret burden too.

I appreciate Tara's perspective on her living situation. I think one thing we could do to help them is to restore the concept of neighbors and neighborhoods. Far too many of the disadvantaged generally live in squalor- places I would never visit let alone live- partly because their ability to provide for themselves does not afford them a chance to live elsewhere. I've known Tara for more than 10 years, and she's always lived beyond her means because the SSI disability isn't enough. She turns to her family; they could do more. What about us? Are we neighbors? Are we friends? What do we really do for others? Do we just help strangers or do we help people we actually know like Tara? Last year, when I sent her $500, her boyfriend was very upset; he felt threatened, but eventually he understood that I was doing this because I was taking advantage of an opportunity to be her neighbor. Are we not all beggars?

Let's not just be neighbors in the sense of having property lines that happen to collide. I have good neighbors. My hiking buddy does not. He told me months back about how the children of another resident broke into his car and stole his climbing and hiking gear. When I am away, mine report strange cars in my driveway, even though that strange car is my mother checking the mail and making a quick walkthrough while I'm at my brother's in UT. Just north of my neighborhood, there is a section plastered with "Neighborhood watch" signs, but every Wednesday and Saturday morning there are people who patrol the neighborhood and dig through the garbage for things they can sell/recycle/use. Nobody really watches out for anyone, so why should we expect anyone to look out for the unfortunate? We are concerned with ourselves. "At least they didn't rob me" triumphs over "what can I do to help?" Take back your neighborhoods. Get to know your neighbors. Look out for them. Reach out to them. Help people you know.

Each of you knows someone who could use your help. Each of you has the ability to help in some way. Sometimes the only help you can afford is a listening ear, but sometimes that's all they need. When they need an extra hand, a bit of advice, or something more expensive, you can be the miracle in the lives of people you know. Everyone carries heavy burdens. What really matters in this world is what we do for and with other people. "You've had my powers for a week," Morgan Freeman asks in Bruce Almighty. "How many people have you helped?" Besides the beggars, the homeless, and the like, if we ignore people we actually know, are we really helping? Our charity towards people we don't know remains largely imaginary while our enmity towards our neighbors remains wholly real.

Jesus taught the ultimate lesson on this. Are we not all beggars? Do we not all have needs? Do we not all have means? If our means meet the needs of others, surely the means of others can and will return and meet our needs. For your listening pleasure, remember the parable of the good samaritan and ask "Who is my neighbor?" Let us review the concept of neighbor and neighborhood and endeavor to know and care about those in our sphere of influence, whomever they may be. Do likewise my friend.

Fifteen Year Factor

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Growing up, my parents described me as an old man trapped in a boy's body. I was interested in, fascinated by, and focused on things with which most people my age could not be bothered, and consequently attracted and kept older friends. Although I didn't realize it then, my friends and associates were generally fifteen years or so my elder. Now that I'm old enough, I find that I also attract followers who are fifteen years my junior. Initially my parents worried, not just for my cognitive development but also because they feared probably that these people had ulterior motives. Now, I worry because I don't really have much in common with people within a few years of my age, and it makes me feel isolated.

I used to hang out with people who were older. The first time I remember doing this with regularity was in high school. I remember stopping by in the afternoon as a freshman to visit the assistant scoutmaster at his place. We'd play board games, and he introduced me to modern video gaming. I think at first my parents worried, but they also realized that I was doing something with someone. Grant was probably 30 then, making him about twice my age. My two longest-standing friends are both about 15 years older as well. My late friend is probably the closest in age of a friend I've had since High school when I actually had a classmate from religious seminary who was my friend and who remains so today. He was also an old soul.

I attract friends among a class of those who are older. Just within the past few weeks, I've had two much older women decide we are friends. My kayak partner who is also a member of Physical Sciences just lost her usual companion due to some serious medical issues, and we're not sure he will ever recover and rejoin us. So, she and I continued to hang out after summer (he was in Oregon, so it was the two of us who went out kayaking a few times together), and we've been out to eat, out shooting, out hiking, and we're going down the river again. Then there's one of the older associates in the forest service. I was up there one week when there was a poacher out shooting, and although I am cavalier and armed, this woman took the initiative to care about me. She hunted down my cell phone knowing that my radio is off unless I am calling in with it and texted me "I'm really worried about you. Please come back" We talked for hours that afternoon in the visitor center, and we laughed and cried and bonded, and when I told her I wasn't going to volunteer in the winter, she told me she was sad. I told her that she had my number so if she was lonely or bored to call me or whatever, and when I left without saying goodbye she started a conversation that went on for several hours via text. We seem to have more in common. Quite frankly I'm not very interested in the things my generation finds appealing, and I remember and am more comfortable with paper gradebooks and the pre-computer age of college.

I attract friends who are very young, barely in their 20s. Most of the students who continue to talk to me after classes end are the very young ones. I know some of these do so in order to get letters of recommendation or other advice, but even when I was in a congregation of my Faith for single adults, the ones most interested in me were the newest. Of course they weren't interested in dating me, but they would talk to me and even seek me out. It's tough because I know they will change and because some of the people who want to be my friend are minors. It's tough because we don't share as much as they share with their peers. It's tough because inevitably their peers win out because these people want to belong, and it's not cool to have friends 15 years older. It's tough because that's what I did. It's tough because eventually they all find jobs, significant others, or some other reason that tears them away from my life, and I never hear from them again. It's tough because I was thinking the other evening how much it will suck when I'm 65 and my friends are 80 and either don't remember me or can't get together anymore and because when I'm 80 if I'm still single nobody will visit or care because I haven't been able to foster loving relationships with younger people.

A former student years back told me that if I don't reproduce I need to leave behind somehow something of what I am and believe because the world needs people like me. Trouble is that the world doesn't like, support, or welcome people like me, at least not until there's some crisis for us to solve. Trouble is that I'm not charismatic or attractive enough to keep friends who are 15 years younger and that I'm not persuasive enough to overcome the influence of the persuasive and appealing voices of their peers with whom my philosophy must compete. Ultimately, all the young people I know who aspired to be like me decided to do something else after all and vanished. Some of them were people I loved; all of them are people I remember.

I wrote several weeks back about how God needs brave sons. I am trying very hard to be brave and manage expectations given this gulf that exists betwixt myself and the people with whom I spend time. I don't know if it means something larger than just age, or if it's just common and not consequential, but I'm aware of it, looking into it and enjoying it for its advantages. Having older friends has its perks. They have money, they have time, and they know how to commit. They also have kids, jobs, and other friends. Some of them have fifteen year olds, but that's another story.

Handling Reprimands

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This past weekend, we took down the squatter's cabin, and in so doing, I inadvertently and unknowingly violated two federal laws. Consequently, this caused some apoplexy on the part of my supervisor who felt affronted by my actions and threatened vocationally by the consequences thereof. Initially I found the office's reaction very reactionary and ungrateful given the degree of work to which I went to eradicate the target and alleviate a concern. You see, back in July, they set a precedence and gave me latitude because of my experience, age, maturity, etc., and so I took initiative that precipitated in this reprimand. I don't think I deserved it, but it was the aftermath I found most interesting.

Much to her credit, my supervisor on the mountain handled the reprimand surprisingly well. She took me to as private a location as possible for my roasting, which makes this the first time that's ever happened to me. Also, she let me explain my side and actually listened. Sure, she spat fire at first but I understand now that she felt personally slighted by my insubordination. What I did was right, it was how I did it that put her in a bad place and a bad way, and as soon as we cleared the air, it was evident to me that something or someone else already put her on edge before I showed up for work.

I stayed in the visitor center for a while after the reprimand and was not the only one to notice a change in my supervisor's countenance. When the maintenance guy asked me what I did to "Tame the Beast", I really didn't know what to say. That's not how I would describe the situation, but there was clearly a change in demeanor to positive from before our conversation.  Upon further reflection, I attribute it to a change of heart and perspective occasioned by something said in our General Conference. I remember sitting there thinking about a story that they did not mention but which applied and decided to find out what I could do to make it right rather than resigning or overreacting to serve myself. My first reactions were very selfish and self-righteous. So, instead I went up, treated her with respect and remained calm as I explained myself and offered a course of action to correct the situation. Whatever I said, because I honestly cannot remember, despite my amazing memory, she clearly warmed up and seemed almost like a different person.

Everyone makes mistakes, but we do not need to let them make us. Since we are human, it is natural that we will err, and then people will attempt to correct and direct us. Since they are also human, we can expect them to err sometimes in the way they handle it. I try to keep in mind that this young woman is very young and in her first real leadership position. I try to help her with advice. I will try to help her by acting in concert with her direction. I'm not really sure what I did other than face it, own it, and explain it. I think the biggest boon in this was that my supervisor really wants things to work even if she doesn't know how to actualize it and that she realizes that it's wiser to guide an asset than lose one.

One of the conference speakers gave me hope and confidence in myself. He reiterated something he said years ago- I don't know everything but I know enough. I know enough to be obedient. I know enough to take initiative. I know enough to communicate. I know enough to do better next time. I know enough to listen to wiser men. I know enough about myself to realize that I am in no place to judge because I'm not sure what I would do. Sometimes people ask me what I would do in their situation, and as much as I would like to hope I'd do the best thing, I know enough to know I might do something else. I know enough to know that I need a Savior.

Fortunately for me, my life abounds with people who show additional love even when they betimes reprove me with sharpness. I also realize that this time, once the reprimand was over, my supervisor resumed friendliness and cooperation. It really astonished me how much she seemed to change after our tete-a-tete, and the others could not believe how much it helped the general feeling of the building to clear the air. I even heard from her via text and email today. I don't know why, but I think she looks up to me or respects me or at least views me as a valuable resource as she handles a difficult situation in this segment of the forest. That's right, I can be taught. Plus, the mission was accomplished without incident, and it alleviates the primary impetus to the forest service. Now on to the poacher...

The Problem With Karma

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Two weekends ago, one of the women we met on the mountain brought up the notion of karma. After we discussed with her all the fire pits, the hunting blind, and the squatter's cabin that we found, she announced while clearly incensed that she hoped karma caught up with them. Wouldn't that make life easy? You could tell immediately who was wicked in theory, but in practice, if people immediately reaped what they sowed, we would actually know almost nothing about who they really were. Karma tells us that we reap what we sow, that what goes around comes around, and the trouble with that is that most people do both virtuous and vile things. The virtuous things done by virtuous people seem to have an inexorably long path length before they return as do the vile things done by villainous people. If you were immediately paid for your actions, people would act in a way to get the good things in life. You see, why we do a thing matters at least as much as what we do, and if you're doing it for the rewards, virtuous actions become less virtuous. Our insistence on karma is usually duplicitous. We demand it act in favor of the people we like while we caricature strangers and enemies and hope they "get their comeuppance". The problem with Karma is not how it works but how we wish it would.

Most of the people I meet, including this well-meaning albeit misguided woman, have a duplicitous view of the world. They defend their friends and attack their enemies. They point out the virtues in those they love and paint others in caricature. They love those that love them. They are human. Like most humans, they demand Justice for the wrongs protracted by others and Mercy for the wrongs perpetrated by them. They demand Suffering for the ill sent out by others and Blessings only to reward us for the good they send out. As I previously wrote, you truly only stand for something when you advocate on behalf of people you do not know or do not like.

In 1774, John Adams stood as a stalwart example of this. After several British soldiers opened fire into the infamous crowd in Boston, killing several people including a free black man, Adams was asked to represent the soldiers at their murder trial. Adams took the case because he knew something we all need to remember- British soldiers are people too. Even drug dealers, serial killers, SS officers, viking raiders, pirates, drunk drivers, and every other person who committed a crime against the law or against humanity is a person too. It was hard I am sure for Adams to advocate on behalf of these men particularly in the context of revolution and rebellion and against the vehement outcry of the assembled gallery. However, he was right to do so. They deserve good karma too. We do not know everything about everything. Even if all the information you possess is true, usually you do not have all of the information.

Forgive me two personal anecdotes. Several years back, a man threatened to kill me. This is not new. In total, he is only one of five, but only one of those actually did anything, and he only managed to make me vomit. The man's threat put me in a tough spot, first in terms of my physical well-being, and then in terms of my eternal disposition and state of grace. After the reason for his threat decided to stop talking to me and abide his tyranny, it fell to me to handle it well. Eventually, and this was some time last fall, I came to a place where I could pray for him and see him as God does. I told the members of my congregation that I pray for this man, not because I love him, but because God does. He is a precious son of God; God loves him. Sure, he and I have bad blood, but I love God, and God loves this man, and so I cannot do anything other than wish good for him. Likewise with my ex wife, I came to that same place. After all the privations and suffering occasioned by the termination of our relationship, after all that it cost me, I have no desire for karma to kick her in the gluteus maximus. I don't win anything by that; making her low will not elevate me. I confess I don't ask God to decorate her floor with gold bullion, to smooth the ridges in her career or preserve her against all enemies bacterial and homo sapien. However, I do pray that things in her life will happen that offer her a chance to change her attitude, to treat others better, to turn to Christ and turn her life around. I do this not for me but for her new husband, for their daughter, for her siblings, and for the benefit of the people she encounters. None of them need to suffer because I have a misbegotten desire for vengeance or misdirected justice. I'm ok letting her go and letting go of the need to be rewarded for what I lost in that chapter of my life. I'm ok if karma ignores us both.

After all is said and done, each one of us deserves what we get. Truth is that every man is in every minute less than he ought to be. Some men have the mistaken notion that judgment is some sort of scale, that if our virtues and good deeds manage to outweigh the bad then we get into heaven or our eternal reward. That strikes me as impossible. It claims that grandiose deeds at the end of life can ablate the damage of a lifetime of wickedness. IT claims that you, once fallen, can restore yourself to a state of splendor. It claims that you have no need of a Savior. It says that acts don't matter as long as you do just one more good deed than wicked one. It says you can save yourself. In essence, it denies the Christ and is in itself a sin. Each of us has made a mistake, and so each of us deserves justice. Each of us has bad karma coming, no matter what else good may come. That goes on our "permanent record" so to speak, because it's true. We think that our sins ought be forgiven while we indemnify others in perpetuity for theirs. We believe that God can and will and must forgive us but that He cannot will not and may not forgive men like Hitler, Tojo, Polpot, Stalin, Ghengis Khan, Marcus Brutus, and other villains throughout time. It denies the power of an Almighty except when WE think it ought to work. That's not how it works. We are supposed to be a light unto the world, to bring good things, to do good things, to be good people regardless of what fate or karma deal us. Our detractors are very good to point out the motes in our eyes and the beams even when they have plenty of their own. They do not do this hoping to help us reform; they do it to excuse themselves from having to do so. Like the bullies do elsewhere, they paint us as lesser lights link because they want us to shy away and do nothing. This way, nobody notices the bully's stain and nobody rises above because all they can see is that they made mistakes. If we must hang forever for a mistake we make, then there is no opportunity for good karma to bless us. Jesus hung for a moment so that the rest of us do not have to.

People act because of the karma they see. People who believe in karma see a disconnect and hope to force karma's action without knowing the heart, without knowing the why. In "A Man for All Seasons" Thomas More says: “If we lived in a state where virtue was profitable, common sense would make us saintly. But since we see that avarice, anger, pride and stupidity commonly profit far beyond charity, modesty, justice and thought perhaps we must stand fast a little, even at the risk of being heroes.” People see that virtue doesn't pay and so they choose vice. If virtue did pay, people would live virtuously, not for the sake of virtue, but for the rewards they demand karma bring them. We would not be able to see karma because everyone would live well for the rewards. Living in excessive virtue could actually then be a vice. It's a tricky situation. We can only see the outside, but as Samuel reminded Saul "The Lord seeth not as a man seeth; the lord looketh on the heart". He knows why we do a thing. He knows it's not a scale, it's not a tally in a ledger, and that it's not about what we do but what we are. He knows who we are. Past heroism is no excuse for current misconduct. However, it is also true that one great act does not ablate a lifetime of wickedness any more than one grand mistake erases a lifetime of virtue. Our God is a God of second chances and third and seventy times seventy if that's what you truly desire.

Except for the worst of the worst, even our penal system gives most people a second chance. Maybe they won't get a security clearance, handle money or whatever, but they don't lose all hope or opportunities for taking one or more from another. In my Faith, in my opinion, and in my belief system, everyone can and will get another chance. Some of them will not take it because they do not want to, but it stands extended to all. Over the past several years, I've registered where my deep-seated beliefs originated, and my belief on this comes from a song I heard many years ago. You may listen and watch below. The salient phrase is this: "many a life scarred and battered with sin can find a great change like the old violin. When our eyes are open our heart's touched from within by the touch of the Master's Hand." You can change if you let Christ change you. No matter how many mistakes you make, how worn you may feel, the touch of the Master's hand restores value to your soul. The problem with Karma is that it ignores mercy. The problem with Karma is that it reflects what we do but doesn't reflect what we truly desire. The problem with Karma is that it matters why we do a thing and that the only thing that we do that really matters is turning to Christ.