Alms in Secret

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Nursing students are particularly difficult to teach because they are competitive to the point of being cutthroat. Everyone expects great things, and they are all under intense pressure to perform in order to gain admission. Some of them do odd things to get noticed, and more than a few involve themselves in service in order to demonstrate that they "care about people" and in order to win points with the admission committee. Trouble is, every college program that demands this does a disservice. Students are forced to do it, and the recipients benefit from a half-baked and misguided effort, and so nobody benefits from the virtues of the others. Service, charity, and alms, they are something we are supposed to do because it makes us different from the rest of creation- we do things that help others without thought of reward. Well, that's the idea, but all too often, it's done selfishly, with an eye to benefit, and so the reward ends immediately. Since we all seem to want to matter, the alms we do stratify us and other people stratify us based on our alms. I guess we forgot that we are all beggars.

Unless you declare your alms AND do something they consider worthy, your charity is illegitimate in the eyes of the powerful. College and job applications invite you to take credit for charitable work in order to look better than your fellows. Politicians continue to prattle about how we need to be charitable and list their own deeds in order to justify why they are more virtuous than we. However, not everything is considered a charity, and the IRS only recognizes donations to certain things as charities although the church of the flying spaghetti monster sounds interesting. In order to get credit, you must sound your alms in the streets, which is what HYPOCRITES do. It is assumed that if you don't declare them you must not be doing anything charitable. You must be evil. Eventually, this inaccurate and artificial stratification establishes inequities between people, and a new caste system, the Compassion Caste, ranks those who do to be seen of men as if they were the best thereof.

Many do alms to be seen of men while others do them to be seen of God. I used to feel embarrassed to report my charitable contributions on my taxes. In fact, several years I took the standard deduction because I didn't want $200 in refund money to be the end of my blessings for doing good works. However, a new advertisement by Huckabee claims that because Cruz only gave 1% to charity he must not be very charitable. Maybe that's not why he does it. Maybe there's more he doesn't tell people he does. During the 2008 election when Joe Biden released his tax returns, I found it interesting that I gave more that year to charity than he did. Of course, he's ramped it up now, but that's probably to be seen of men. I claim it on my taxes to not miss out, but I am not interested in publishing my tax returns or having people wonder how much I give or why. In fact, I prefer people not know, that He who seeth in secret may reward me openly. The fascination with immediate gratification leads people to do things that gain them laud, glory, and honor from people and for today. They do what seems good rather than what will really be good. They look to advance themselves or point out how they "do more than others". Well, if you love only them who love you, what do you more than others? Do not even the Publicans so? Drawing attention to a perceived lack of compassion in me does not repair your breaches, it just distracts men from the beam in your eye.

When you act for the wrong reason it deprives you of lasting virtues. How many philanthopists do we really remember? Are their legacies still extant? Ironically enough, many charitable organizations that persist originated in wickedness. Only at the end did the founders thereof understand. Only when all the honors and glories of men are stripped away in death do they really act to care about others. Look at Ebenezer Scrooge. Only when faced with the prospect of celebration in his demise and the chains of pain in hell did he decide to change. In truth, Liberals equate compassion with excellence, so they give, not because they care about the people who receive, but because it's a way they advance their careers. They give to get credit, give to get accolades, and so as Jesus taught they have their reward, and the rewards given by the world for this amount to a great deal. However, gold and silver buy up false priests who oppress and tyrants who reign with blood and horror. The only way it matters is if you can find a way to skirt along on their coattails, reveling in the lifestyles of the rich and famous. Songwriters say we all want to be rockstars. No wonder young people are obsessed with affirmation on social media. They model the behavior of the adults they know who equate fame, recognition, wealth, good looks, "likes", "shares", ad infinitum with value, morality, and righteousness. It's STILL a popularity contest, and the adults of today continue to promote people based on the high school values of yesteryear, that whoever looks the best must be. Consequently, they draw attention to their philanthropy out of a desire to appear to be the best but not because they actually care about anyone they don't know or like.

Sometimes, like on my taxes or on this blog, I tell people about what I do. I am not expecting accolades or rewards, and I tell you what I tell you to illustrate principles I learn from what I do. I have nobody's stories to tell with permission besides my own. Honestly, this world has nothing to give me that I really desire except for one thing. This is the place for me to find a partner in and for life. Nothing more. Consequently, the awards and accolades of men will not help me. They will attract the wrong type of people- people who will "love" me for what I have, for things I have done or what I become rather than for who and what I am. What I do, I do to draw nearer to God hoping that as I draw near to Him He will provide what is really good for me to have and do and be. Honestly, the richest service to me is my family. I know people don't like doing that because there are no special rewards for doing what you ought and serving those we all expect you to serve, but that's the highest service to which I aspire- to be a dad. It's probably not very spectacular or glamorous or maybe even lucrative. It is however virtuous. It's the highest form of teacher. It is however seen of God. It is worthy. It is a sacrifice, one worth making. It is often secret. It is often unremarkable. It is however how each of you got here because somewhere there was a parent who nurtured you or nurtured someone who gave rise to you. It is a sacrifice I find worthy. What sacrifices will you make? Who will know? What rewards do you really seek? One hundred years from now, most people won't remember who you are or what you did. What you really leave behind is your family.

Responsible Charity

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The bleeding hearts advocating for admission of illegal aliens continue to manipulate your emotions to advance their politics and station. It's sort of like the gentleman of greater melanin content that I encountered outside the store Wednesday night who told me his sad story about not being able to buy his kids cereal because his union laid him off four months ago. I guess people don't think much about the future or about other contexts, but if you think about your nation as you think about your own household, then the reactions often change dramatically. People are very zealous to protect their own and think nothing when they waste your substance. Parents teach us to beware of strangers and then as adults they shame us into helping the same people we were taught to beware. Worst of all, the most irresponsible and lackluster among us are often the first to dispense advice and counsel to others, as if they are the authority on everything when they have little on which to stand besides theory. In nations, as in households, it is our responsibility to look out first for our own.

If you enter by breaking the law, I have the right to defend what is mine. We have doors and locks and guard dogs and property lines for a reason. We believe in private property. Far too many people however abide by the pirate's code that it's theirs if they can steal it, that possession is nine tenths. I don't have to answer the door, and I certainly don't have to open it, EVEN IF THE COPS COME. They need a warrant, and they are required to show it to you. If police aren't even allowed to search your property without permission, why would random strangers have that right, particularly if they first break the law by trespassing? Illegal aliens are exactly that- criminals. Willing or not, aware or not, the law doesn't make a distinction between people who don't know and people who do. It only excuses those we would not expect to know because six year olds don't know where the laws are and dementia patients forget about them. Furthermore, in many places and cases, you have the right to use lethal force to protect your own. Recently in Vegas, three persons were found excused in shooting trespassers (one of whom was a cop who didn't identify himself as a cop) because the shootings occurred on private property. When a neighbor's dog killed one of mine when I was a breeder, the County Sheriff told me that under livestock laws in the old west, I had a right to protect my "herd" with lethal force if his dogs trespassed again. Even when you opt against this option or lack it due to your locale, you may always elect to go to court to kick back out those who do not belong. You can evict tenants, call the cops to remove guests who are unruly or commit crimes, etc. If you can do this for your house, why deny it to those who wish to protect the sovereignty of their country?

I don't have to let anyone in that I don't know. Even if you know someone already inside or claim you do, that doesn't gain you automatic entry to my home. Clubs and events have guest lists to protect the establishment from bad or undesirable patrons. Illegal aliens claim the right to bring via chain migration anyone even remotely related. Well, if I tried to do that and bring all my Nordic relatives, they'd definitely put a stop to that (Nordic people coalesce just as well as Latinos except we're less petty). I don't know you, I can't vouch for you, I didn't invite you. Like businesses reserve the right to refuse service, I reserve the right to refuse entrance to people I don't know or didn't invite, even if they might be good for the household. It doesn't mean I bar you entrance indefinitely, but it buys me time to find out if I want to let you in, if what I hear about you holds water, etc. As with homes, our nations protect the populace from people who are sick, who mean us harm, and vets them personally before just taking the word of a relative. It looks out for those already there to make sure they get to enjoy the comfort, safety, and plenty of my table until I can decide if there's room for any more. It's not like anyone has a family tree or extended family completely void of "colorful characters". Nations are the same.

The rights, needs, and desires of the household come before those of any stranger outside. My great grandmother used to feed homeless wanderers during the depression. She did so because they had more than they needed. If it came to the choice between feeding her own and feeding a stranger, she would never sacrifice her own for an unknown not only because that's the normal human thing to do but because everyone would find her fit scorn as a poor mother to deny her own children food. When a nation however doesn't give everything immediately to refugees, the clarion call of charity manipulates leaders into confiscation to appease the outraged newcomers. Mother America, as with Mother Russia, has an obligation first to nurture her own before others. You are not special because you happen to cross the border without getting killed or captured. Nobody seems upset with Switzerland for taking this stance. Contrary to popular belief, altruism does not demand that you give away to strangers instead of taking care of yourself. You cannot give any oil from your lamp to help others if there isn't any more oil in your lamp. You cannot light the way with your lamp if you give away all of your oil. Even Elijah didn't demand the widow feed him first without also first promising that her meal and oil would waste not until the famine abated from the land. God doesn't ask you to give everything up without also promising that you will also have enough for yourself. Anyone who tells you differently is anti-Christ. If the nation has nothing to give to those labeled as "less fortunate", then it does a disservice to its own. It is NOT compassionate to think of the children of alien strangers over your own. Maybe you don't have any of your own children, but you probably do have friends and family who do, and it's very immoral to not put your own first, not because it's selfish but because you own your own kin an imperative duty. You sire the kid, you are obligated to care for it.

People who point out the emotional reasons to aid the less fortunate very rarely work the way they demand you do. I doubt very much if my fortunes were reversed that the fellow I met would do anything to help me buy food for my family. In fact, he would probably say I deserved it because of crimes my ancestors purportedly committed against his. The illegal aliens do not live across the street or hall from Hillary Clinton, Bernie Sanders, Ted Cruz, or Jeb Bush. Those people are rich, and rich people tend to buy enough land, square footage, bodyguards, etc. to isolate them from the riffraff, which also usually isolates them from everyone else, including other rich people. Each of them would take exception to the notion that they should put some illegal aliens up in their homes, buy them food, give them their job, etc., but that's essentially what they demand of you. While they defend with every force and dollar available to them the right to look out for their own families and protect what they have, they demand you give everything or assault your character as racist, selfish, and unChristian. How convenient that politicians use religion when it suits them! Beware when politicians prattle religious charity as a means to coerce your conformity. They do this, not because they believe in those things, but because they know that you DO.

Far too many people talk about rights without concomitant responsibilities and demand behavior of you that they would never let you demand of them.  Liberals rely on so-called compassion in order to advance their agenda at the expense of your guilt.  Even Denmark realized recently they don't have enough to take care of everyone everywhere, and it's a liberal guidon.  However, the assumption claims that unless you help, you must not care about others.  This man who contacted me got what he wanted. I already decided to help him before I heard his sordid story. It bothered me a little when he selected the MOST EXPENSIVE cereal possible, but that's normal for people to luxuriate when someone else pays the bills and use unwisely what I hadn't planned to have to use on strangers. What I don't understand is that our circumstance would not probably work the other way around. Were I in need of his help, he would almost certainly be disinclined to acquiesce to my request. Besides that, I would ask family before strangers. This man had a job, but instead of planning during fat months for the responsibilities during lean ones, or getting a temporary job until the union calls him back, he made it my responsibility to take care of his family. I didn't license him to have those boys, and I certainly didn't have any fun making them, so I miss where it's my obligation to feed kids I don't know exist. Similarly illegal aliens think nothing of dragging their offspring along without making provision for their care and then demand that I take care of kids I didn't know were coming. I decide how I dispense my money. I decide whom I help and why. When I withhold, it's not because I don't care about your family or plight but because I'm planning for my own. Perhaps the most egregious, illegal aliens break the law and then demand better treatment than I get for honoring it. I don't know how that can persist. It is charity to do what is just, what we ought, and if you break the law, you don't get to be the moral authority in telling me what I must do. You get to shut your mouth and wait for mercy. Aliens need to understand that beggars can't be choosers. Citizens need to remember that we are all beggars. If, under reversed circumstances you know in your heart you would do the opposite, you have no right to demand of me the best behavior. Only God can require that of me.

I Keep Teaching

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I took on more teaching this semester than I should. I did so to avoid missing out on an opportunity and to make sure I got "enough" in case a course I was assigned didn't fill. Then, at church they decided to ask me to teach Sunday School. During lunch today, the lead faculty for Organic Chemistry was in my office again bellyaching over the fact that they can't have me teach because my degree is wrong when the buffoons who may teach don't do it correctly. On evenings when I do get home at a "normal hour", I have to pack things for the other days and perform all my chores, because I gave up Saturdays again to teach. I told myself it wasn't worth the money, but I don't know what else to do with my time besides hike, and that hasn't borne the fruit I hoped. I fill a need that you constantly hear about in the media for qualified teachers, but as good as I am when they find someone better they should hire that person. For now, it's something I enjoy well enough to do for the pay, and more than the income, the outcome of teaching is a valuable commodity too. Not everyone gets to do something they like for a living, even if they receive a fat paycheck, and most of the fat paychecks in this world pay people who provide something of dubious if any worth like Twitter, Google, and Facebook, which sell advertising and nothing else. I learned things as a child and in adulthood that can be valuable, and so I follow the admonition of Yoda, Thomas More, and others to teach others what I know.

People seek qualified, experienced teachers. When I walked into the classroom the first day this term, the instructor who preceded me remarked how glad he was that I was back after my absentia last summer. Some folks in NSHE are looking forward to this summer when "Sally's policy" banning me from teaching at one institution lapses with her retirement. Other people are eager to staff me for summer and fall and asked me this Monday about classes that won't start for four to seven months from now. My clergy are crazy, but they were very eager to put me in with these young people, and I think that's an effort to have an adult influence in their life like I enjoyed. When I was their age, my friends were my current age, and those mentors may never know how much they encouraged me to be better than I otherwise might. Even outside my discipline, they are inviting me to teach other subjects like math or geography because I know math and because they get along with me. Then, sometimes people discover that I'm a white male. Apparently that's neither qualification nor experience.

I enjoy taking a break from my daily responsibilities to do it. Back in graduate school, I enjoyed teaching more than anything else. When I hit a snag, I would go to class and come back fresh and often find new ideas or at least enjoy thinking about something else for a while, something that would actually work. Since I teach because I choose to, I teach when I like, the classes I like, and for the extra money rather than feeling obligated like most teachers. This semester, I took on more than I should have, and I'm already counting down the remaining weeks, but when I'm in the classroom, and when I drive home at 10PM after a late Microbiology class, I feel good about my day. Besides, they teach in my Faith that there is no greater call than to teach, and although it's not the great pay that others make, I don't think I'll feel bad about having been a teacher when I stand before God to give an accounting of my days.

Teaching allows me to pass on what I have learned since I lack posterity. Particularly at church, where I teach Sunday school to the Juniors and Seniors from High School, it's a chance for me to share with them the things that transformed my life to make me who and what I am. In private conversations with students during lab or after class, I have shared advice, given tips on how to do things better than I did, and helped them understand why I am passionate about the things I learned and enjoy. Many people, including students who didn't particularly like the class but liked me, think I need to leave something of myself behind when I die. I will try to share those things with the children my siblings have and with cousins who still talk to me, but since I don't have anyone else to carry on my legacy, teaching provides that outlet.

I am exhausted almost every day. However, I told my Sunday School class that we have an imperative duty to waste and wear out our lives bringing to light the hidden things from darkness. I really don't have anything else I feel inclined to do with my time and life. Coworkers criticize me and say I should be out trying to find a girlfriend. Honestly, if I weren't teaching at night, I wouldn't go out; I'd go home. Besides, I tried doing something this summer to meet people like me, and all the women I met volunteering with the Forest Service were either already seeing someone (and reminded me frequently of that), or they went out of their way to avoid hiking and working with me if they could. My hiking buddy and I used to collect phone numbers and invite people, but nobody actually came, so I don't think I'm doing the wrong thing. I think everyone is second guessing or projecting their experiences onto me. I'm also not sure I'm doing the right thing or saying the right things or reaching the right people. I feel like I'm where I'm supposed to be doing what I'm supposed to do, so for now, at least, I keep teaching.

Water Smart in the Desert

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Last weekend, I took my supervisor from the USFS at Mt. Charleston up to Hamblin Peak overlooking Lake Mead. The lake looks really sad, the water line receded below any level since it was first filled. I hear stories about people in California who are penalized for watering their lawns, about people who bought homes on golf courses that are now going feral, and about the blight as Californians conserve for the first time possibly ever in the face of western drought. Everyone can do something to use water wisely, and the more we do the more we'll be able to enjoy what comes from wise water use for years to come.

I worked very hard to save water at my own property. Disappointed though I may be that since there was technically no grass I couldn't get a rebate for removing it, I put in a great deal of effort to design, plant, and nurture a yard that requires little water. Honestly, I water on days they forbid it, but I only water a tiny amount periodically through the day using drip lines, so my yard doesn't look wet or damp. Before summer, I need to find and install some shade over the back yard to block out sun on the garden beds in the back, but the yard was designed to take a minimum of water while still providing a maximum return in edible plants and decorative flowers. A mating pair of humming birds have claimed my yard as part of their sovereign territory, and I watch the male drive other birds out from time to time. In all, the entire yard raised my water bill a paltry $4/month. Done well, you can be water smart and still have a lush abode.

I work very hard to curb waste where I can. I give credit to the LVVWD authority for their quick response to water waste issues. Over the past six months or so, I submitted four reports about water waste that I noticed in my trips to the store or while exercising in the neighborhood. Each one was ablated SAME DAY. Odds are they will have to replace a lot of junctions, lines, and meters in the neighborhood north of mine since that's where the leaks arise, but they fixed the problems and repaved the streets while I was at work, and I think that's spectacular response. At work, I keep wash basins for glassware so I can get them soaking before I clean things, but I don't know what else I can do to save water on a college campus.

I work very hard to educate people about water in the desert. Two weekends ago, I hiked to Liberty Bell Arch on Lake Mead. On the way back, we encountered some hikers who had ZERO water with them. Two summers ago, an adult seasoned hiker died very near this particular trail, and although it was in summer as opposed to January, it's just a very good habit. Despite our best efforts, these two seasoned citizens confidently pressed forward without taking any of our extras. Up on Mt. Charleston this summer, I gave away all of my extra water one day to a latino family of five that was already dehydrated, suggested they turn around right there, and then left disappointed as they pressed on anyway. Back in graduate school, we tried to persuade the farmers that watering alfalfa at 11AM in the summer was a huge waste since 30-50% of the water never even hit the ground.

Despite the arid nature of this area and the warnings, we pay less for water than we should. My brother on the UT-ID border pays far more than I do, and he's in a lush agricultural region (well, lush by western U.S. standards). We don't have to work as hard either to get it. I've seen the old pipelines from back when they built the dam, and I don't have to climb down to the river's edge to get a drink. It's probably why this city was tiny until the 1960s because there wasn't a lot of water here. What I don't understand is why so many people congregate today in places the water supply cannot support and why everyone thinks they deserve a lawn. Grass loses so much to transpiration! Why does Nevada have and need so many golf courses? Only an idiot plants one of those in the desert. Los Angeles takes most of our water storage because they own the water in the lake, and so it behooves us to use water well. It's absolutely essential to life, to chemistry, and to happiness. Without the Waters of Life, our wanderings in the desert lead only to unhappiness and ruin.

Our choices have consequences. Sometimes, there is someone on the trail to give us water and rescue us. Sometimes, the price we have to pay to fix things is greater than we can bear. Sometimes, we don't do enough to save, but if there is some savings, it might be enough to prime the pump in our lives and tap into other opportunities. Finally, and perhaps most critically, in the deserts of mortal living, we must be water smart and turn to the source of Living Waters if we want to find our way. Caught up in the din and distractions of life, tempted by shortcuts to happiness and prosperity, we inevitably end up somewhere lost, forlorn, forgotten, feeble, and faced with the responsibility to look for what really matters in life. They say that a penny saved is a penny earned, but in the desert, water is the commodity that makes a man rich. Come unto Him and have eternal life. He who has eternal life is rich. May our wanderings in the desert help us realize the only choice of consequence is to be water smart.

How JJ Abrams Destroyed My Childhood

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I thank God that I grew up when I did, during the relative innocence of the 90s. I also thank God that I grew up with the parents I had who decided to expose us to entertainment, media, and experiences that were wholesome and educational. Before I knew that The Scarlett Pimpernell was a book, I had already watched it many times on VHS. When I was young, my parents took an active role in helping us find wholesome entertainment only to have JJ Abrams come along and rewrite everything I loved as a boy.

Last Friday, I finally went to see the new Star Wars film. The best part for me was watching the opening scene, which brought back a flood of nostalgia. Then, I watched people I knew discussing things I didn't. Then Abrams showed his stripes. Like Trek, Star Wars is no longer about the conversation. It's now about the action. That wasn't the Star Trek or Star Wars I loved and knew, and so as entertaining as it was, it wasn't Star Wars for me. Sure, Anthony Daniels, Carrie Fisher, Mark Hamill, and Harrison Ford were there, but it wasn't about them, and it wasn't about the story.

Entertainment used to tell a story. From Uncle Tom's Cabin to King Lear to A New Hope, we remember the stories for the stories, for the people, for the conversation. I know that "You Can't Take it With You" is boring to watch, but I still enjoy Columbo reruns, and that's all about him TALKING to people. My favorite Shakespearean Troupe is the USF Shakespeare in the Schools tour, which comes to campus in two weeks, because they have very little scenery, simple costumes, and a small cast. You can focus on the story. You can focus on the dialogue.

After we finished, my friend asked me what I thought. I told him my favorite parts were when Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher are on screen because they are the ones who talk. Everyone else seems to be there to advance the movie from fight scene to fight scene, neither verbose nor scholastic in their delivery, and so the movie isn't terribly memorable. We hated the prequels because they were annoying, but at least Jar-Jar had dialogue with the characters, which might be why we remember him. Instead of telling a story, Abrams continues to make movies that deal more with action, explosions, effects, and sensationalism rather than the story itself. It's why I probably won't ever see another Trek film. It's not Star Trek anymore; Star Wars may go down the same road.

I admit I'm a little old fashioned and expect different things than the paying audience. I still attend string quartets, watch plays, visit the opera, walk through museums, and pay to see fine art. The new audience is paying to be distracted, and the bombs and boobs Abrams dances across the screen certainly do that. People are too impatient to sit and listen to people talk on stage, but that's what people did in Shakespeare's time, in Sophocles's time, and even while Gene Roddenberry lived. Some people still enjoy The Twilight Zone, but that's about the conversation too.

Life is about the conversation. We don't need drama. We have that aplenty in our relationships, in our employment, with our health, with our neighbors, and with Islamofacists at home and abroad. You can buy company, but you can't buy good company; you can buy conversation, but not memorable conversation. Do people really talk about the movies Abrams makes with laud and awe? What's memorable about it? I hear about how Daisy Ridley looks hot, about how Ben Solo (sorry, don't know the actor's name) is ugly, and the action. There isn't anything memorable besides explosions and attractiveness of the cast. It's a mediocre film, and I feel bad for the rising generation that doesn't know the childhood I knew, the good entertainment I knew, or really even care. Then again, that's what they pay money to see, so it must be what they desire most. Too bad.

Lessons from Alan Rickman

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Like many of you, I was surprised and saddened to hear about Alan Rickman's untimely death at 69 years of age this week. However, truth be told he was looking poorly, and so I wager if we knew more we might be less surprised by this news. I never really expected to mourn a celebrity again (not since Andre the Giant died), but I realized just this past week just what an exemplar he is for us. Here are some of the lessons:

Success can begin at any age.

Rickman starred in his first movie role at the age of 42. Until then, I doubt he was very wealthy or successful given his previous employ. Despite the actual role, as a minor villain in the first Die Hard installment, he won critical acclaim and went on to play many villains very well. He was also very good as Marvin in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, because he had a very memorable and powerful voice. I would pick him to be my AI in lieu of that annoying woman used in smartphones.

Stick with your passions.

Rickman was a Shakespearean actor for many years. He loved acting. He loved what he did. He worked very hard, knowing the final plot of Harry Potter, to be a character worthy of veneration, shrouded in mystery, and convincing in the role up to the end. As Snape, his character stayed true to love until the end, and he was a family man until the very end. Last year, I think, he posted about reading Harry Potter when he was 80, and he seemed to really love his grandchildren. I feel sorry for them that they lost a good man.

Build something worth remembering.

Rickman told a reporter that he wanted to be able to look his grandchildren in the eye when they asked him about his role as Snape and reinforce the lessons of that character in terms of loyalty, fidelity, trust, and redemption. Most of his early roles were as villains, but he found a way to leave a different message on the final screen of the movie of his life in this character, which was his last major role.

Life is short but sweet

Most people think they will live forever until they are old, and most of Rickman's contemporaries will outlive him by decades. I hope he lived well. I enjoyed him in every role I ever saw, and I will miss him more than many other eulogized actors. He was worthy of the Bard.

Don't assume you know everything based on the information available.

In his most beloved role, Rickman's character reveals only in the final moments of his life the truth behind his motivations, his actions, and his personae. After all that time, he really was trying to save Harry- from Voldemort, from Dumbledore's sacrifice, from his parents' mistakes, and from mediocrity. He really wants him to be better, and so he doesn't give him an inch. I had professors like this in college who were tough but fair because they wanted us to rise to the challenge and be smarter than they were so that we could answer questions they couldn't and handle stresses they didn't know.

As a chemistry professor, I sometimes feel a kinship with our dearly departed "potions master". I am hoping with my life, in my classroom, on this blog, in my family, and in my congregation, to leave something worth remembering. I do not know how long I will live. I presume, since my grandparents all lived to be 89, that I will live that long. I don't really know. Today may be my last day, and hopefully there are lessons from me that people will remember. Hopefully my character will be one that people miss.

Words Without Knowledge

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Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information? -TS Eliot

The internet has been referred to as the "information superhighway", and I think that's more accurate that we realize. In that moniker, we see what the internet gives us, and it doesn't give us wisdom or knowledge. All it gives, all it can provide, is information. However, we are bombarded with information so much that it's easy to overload, overlook, overestimate, and overindulge in the vacuous and inaccurate. Most of what you read on the internet is pretty useless, which is probably why it's free. We often assume that the information is also true, which is why just before I left Facebook I posted this picture of myself to my profile:

I've written at length about sponsored results, skewed results, and outright lies. Plus, I worry about the speed at which information is disseminated. The speed at which misinformation spread in chief gives pause, for people are quick to document in order to be first to post, first to comment, rather than first to help, first to question, first to do their homework. All too often what we see is nothing more than the parliament jester's foist on the somnambulent public.

It's about information. Information is not the same as knowledge. Indiana Jones taught us that science is the search for fact not truth, and those words are nuanced slightly but significantly. Obi-Wan Kenobi taught us that much of what we hold to be true depends on our point of view. Then there's the internet, most of which is disseminated from only one point of view, but all of which is spread with an agenda- to get you to agree with them. Rarely do people do their own research anymore, and most people rely on Google's sponsored results, which are biased based on money or politics at google or on wikipedia which is edited by users in some cases. I used to use Yahoo, but now that Google owns Yahoo too, I don't know how to search for truth anymore.

People are not really very informed. Far too many people simply read through headlines and tick off articles as if that's journalism, informative, accurate, and complete. President Obama, purportedly the smartest man to ever be president, despite being a "constitutional law professor" contributes little if at all scholarship to ANY issue. Instead, he seems prone to throw out random numbers as if they are facts, which calls to mind one of my favorite Dilbert cartoons. It addresses the fact that a lot of what we see, hear, read, and learn is pretty worthless. Tonight, the President will give his eighth State of the Union address and say nothing worth repeating. It will probably be about him, full of vagueries, full of process language, full of editorials masking as facts. He will throw out things without anything to back up his assertions, and the clapping seals of his party and the media will eagerly regurgitate his every word and swoon at the thrill that goes up their leg. Where's the data? What's your source? Name names. However, when it's opposed to their preconceived notions, people strain at gnats. When it supports them, they will swallow camels. On my first visit to Independence Hall, I got a woman fired for misinformation in her presentation. The Secretary of the Interior reminded them that they are paid to know this information and that if they argued with me and I was right they were not doing their job.

Utility and accuracy in information dissemination give way to the desire for a moment in the spotlight. Everyone on Buttface and MyButt seems willing to do whatever it takes for fame, and then some of the rest of us bend over backwards making them famous. Sensationalism and headlines, being first, being the one with the most followers, is all that seems to matter. Just ask Essenia O'Neill. There is nothing wise in lies. There is nothing knowledgable about fame. There is only information and what people are willing to pay. A groundskeeper on campus offered this week to pay me for some advice he knew I could give as a Biochemist. It's the first time someone ever offered to pay me for my thoughts outside of my work responsibilities, so I gave it to him for free. Rather than celebrate the wise, we celebrate the otherwise. Rather than promote the knowledgable, we promote those who make us seem that way. Teachers are still underpaid, and education is neither recognized nor rewarded but the creators of Twitter, Facebook, and a myriad of other companies which have little value added effect to the advancement of civilization became among the richest men ever. Think about it.

Putting trust in the otherwise is not new. After Job's friends suggested that he must have offended God and committed a sin had left him, God appeared to Job and asked, "Who is this that darkeneth counsels by words without knowledge?" There will continue to be people who say the fault lies in us, who deflect, who project, and who do whatever it takes to not get caught holding the hot potato. Even when it sounds silly, they keep throwing it out there until it sticks. Ted Cruz is supposedly a foreigner and ergo not qualified for President. Ironically, the same people prattling this propaganda about Cruz dismissed all similar allegations about Obama's qualifications under the same auspices. When a document certifying Obama's citizenship surfaced on the internet, that quieted it, but don't expect that to work for Cruz. The parliament jester doesn't care about truth; he's there to distract you from the truth. He will keep you from finding out what's in his basket of tricks and focus everyone on your flaws, on your imperfections and mistakes, and on the things you can't answer. He will demand of you a cogent, coherent and comprehensive response to an inquiry in thirty seconds to a prompt he spent days preparing and then declare you a tank town boob when you can't match his wit. He will be, as that character described by the Bard, who tells a tale like an idiot full of sound and fury signifying nothing. Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge? Arise, gird up thy loins like a man and answer thou me.

I leave you with the timeless counsel of a dearly departed prophet of God. For some reason, this is unlisted in the search results:

Turn to God. He is the only source without guile, who will not lie, who doesn't have an ulterior motive.

Son of a Carpenter

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We learn wonderful things from our fathers, and this topic is inspired by things I learned from and love about mine. About ten years ago, my dad, who always wanted to be a carpenter instead of a fighter pilot, started earnestly a series of woodworking projects in the garage to keep his skills sharp. From that endeavor, I have several pieces that now decorate my house. They are beautiful pieces of artwork with a fascinating past and history. They also gave rise to a conversation this Sunday about another Son of a Carpenter and what He does to make beautiful work.

Since I was in high school, my dad has made me pieces of furniture, decor, and games out of wood. The Jenga game I have downstairs is made by him from old, broken karate board fragments. The old dresser in my bedroom that holds my winter wear, socks, and underwear, was made out of old 2x4s. The top of the desk on which I do my financial work and where I do grading, etc., at home was made by him out of wood so I could have a desk in college. In more recent years, the bathroom vanity cabinets, the game cabinet in my living room, and the clock he gave me this year for Christmas were all made by him. Pictures below. The thing about these pieces is that they all have one thing in common- they are all made out of pine. The thing about most of the newer pieces is that they were once cast off garbage- pine pallet wood. My dad disassembled pallets, removed the nails, filled the gouges, planed, sanded, sawed, screwed, stained, and joined them back again into beautiful pieces of art.

Each of us as we pass through life starts to look like a pallet, even if it's not visible to others. We are beaten, broken, bruised, cracked, soiled, walked upon, thrown around, stacked in the corner, forlorn, forgotten, and forboding, a bleak future in one of my cousin Derrick's bonfires our last stop. Most people think that pallet wood is good for only one thing, and Aldus Huxley would agree of humans. However, beneath the grime, beside the damage, and after all the other things through which we pass, we are beautiful on the inside. We are all children of God, and He can saw, sand, screw, stain, and join together the pieces of any broken life into a beautiful piece of art.

I do not think that it's accidental that Jesus was the son of a carpenter. It was one of the most skilled trades of the time. Wood was scarce in the middle eastern desert, and the finest artisans and craftsman at the time were hired to etch and work in wood to the comfort and veneration of the rich and powerful. Jesus would have seen trees grow, some straight, and some skewed. He would have seen trees die. He would have seen His father Joseph carefully select pieces, and He would have seen His father work with pieces that others might discard. He would have learned attention to detail and the skills necessary to coax beauty from the grains, from the branches, from the boards, to the reward and pleasure of His fathers. Every piece of wood has a place, and even the most dingy pine pallet boards can become something wondrous, lustrous, useful, and beautiful with the touch of the Master's Hand. I also find it interesting that they drove nails into His hands, because that would help Him understand how to remove the nails of sin, trial, and pain from the pallet of our lives before He begins to work with us to build something better.

I have the honour to be the son of two carpenters. My birth father fashioned fine furniture for my house. My siblings get wood of different trees and from different sources due to taste and ultimate end, but almost everything he ever built for me was made of pine. It's not usually regarded as a good wood, as a beautiful grain, as something strong, or as first choice for woodworking projects. Some species seem fit only for paper or fuel. However, it is soft and easy to work with, and it's plentiful since many people cast it away as dross and refuse. That's kind of how I feel sometimes about how people treat me- they think I'm weak, nondescript, last choice, bottom line, and worthy of being cast aside in favor of things that look better. However, I know the true story of origin behind every piece my father made. Moreover, I know about what my Heavenly Father made. He sent His son to walk with men on earth that we may know of love and tenderness, that every piece of wood, however dirty, knotty, spalted, diseased, dented, damaged, can be reclaimed in His hand to something wonderful. People judge us based on the show of our countenance, the size of our bank account, the loftiness of our title, the make of our car, and the beauty of our spouse. God told Isaiah:

"Forasmuch as this people draw near me with their mouth, and with their lips do honour me, but have removed their heart far from me, and their fear toward me is taught by the precept of men: Therefore, behold, I will proceed to do a marvellous work among this people, even a marvellous work and a wonder: for the wisdom of their wise men shall perish, and the understanding of their prudent men shall be hid."

Guests will not see when they look at the wood projects in my house that they were once "trash" by the metrics measured by men. Their wisdom and understanding will not see what they were, only what they are, and ultimately that's how God sees us after the Carpenter Christ works on us. Men may not see, reward, recognize, or reform, but the Lord seeth not as man seeth, for the Lord looketh on the heart. I am the Son of A Carpenter, and one day, I will be beautiful in His eyes.

Dinner With My Family

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I have a new favorite symbol of Christmas in the form of Ebenezer Scrooge. In 2015, I had the privilege to visit all of my immediate blood relatives during the month of December for the first time in many years. As we sat down to eat Christmas Day at my sister's house, the phone rang...thrice. At first, I assumed, since the person calling has NEVER actually called me on the phone before that it must be a mistake. By the third ring, I answered. Listening to the caller on the other end, the words of Scrooge came into my mind: "I'm having dinner with my family" and so I didn't encourage conversation in order to get back to the present company.

You all know the songs and cliches about family and the Christmas holiday. You also know people I am sure who do not like their families, do not have families who care about them, or who have no family with whom to spend Christmas. One of my coworkers told me that she hosts her single friends with her family during the Holidays so that they have someone with whom to spend the time. While it's true that Christmases I made magical for other people stand out in my memory, I have many more memories of traveling long distances to see relatives, spending time in their homes, and being together with my parents. When I returned from Kansas/Texas for the New Year, I found the Christmas card from my maternal grandparents from 2014. It still had money in it. That means I'm the only grandchild who got a present from them this year, and as I read the card, memories of Christmases past flooded through me.

Dickens takes Scrooge through the iterations of Christmas for a reason. As we age, we forget the magic of CHristmas as children, the fun and merriment we enjoyed as young adults, and the missed opportunities as we focus on career in adulthood. Caught up in our own situation, we do not always realize the blessed and happy state we enjoy compared to the Cratchetts around us, some of whom view their comparable squalor as opulence, until the spirits take us to the street outside. Upset about our own disappointments, we don't realize that we can still participate in merriment and rejoicing with people who know and love us, and we can spend time with the Freds of our lives and have a marvelous time. The minister's cat is a mysterious cat! Each year seems to pass more quickly, and all too soon our lives are flown and we've done nothing to help the people around us God put into our paths to bless.

At the end of the day, as at the end of the movie, Christmas, like life, is about families. No matter who you are, and no matter how you feel about them, each of you have parents. Most of you have siblings, and some of you have your own brood. For Christmas this year, my dad gave us all digital copies of ALL the family movies. In 72 DVDs, I can literally watch my life pass before my eyes, but even in my own libations, I still practice alone and without anyone to notice some of the observances passed on by my family. My mom makes me conference cake. I still have nutcrackers like my father displays. I still have the nativity set my religious seminary instructor gifted me in 1997. I use a fiber optic tree. I sing before I open gifts. I get dressed before I go downstairs. I read Luke 2 the night before. I have a quasi Christmas tradition because of my family, and I don't have to be alone because of my family.

This year I was grateful for the opportunity to spend Christmas with my family. I had the option to stay home while my parents traveled, like they did last year, and care for the dogs. As much as they love my visits, they are not the same as my siblings. As much as we have our own family "moments", we do have fun, and my nieces both enjoyed my visits (I don't really know why). Mostly, I wanted to watch them open the gifts I gave them. That's Christmas for me. it was a lean year, so I wasn't as generous, but I did want them to have good things. That's what real families do- they care about and for each other. Maybe one day I'll have a family of my own, and my parents will come over to visit us or we'll go over to open gifts there like we did when I visited my grandparents. It's strange not going to visit them anymore, but at least I still have some family, a good family, and that is one of God's greatest gifts to me.

A Huge Fixer-Upper

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I count it among my many blessings that I've never seen the movie "Frozen", but in visiting my sister this Christmas, she exposed me to a wonderful thought from that movie that resonates with me for many reasons. It resonates because I wish someone had sung this song to women I meet to convince them that I'm not so bad after all. It resonates because I sometimes feel like the Ebenezer Scrooge at gatherings with family and friends. It resonates with me because I'm still thinking about and embroiled in the Christmas season, the hope that even for me, I can be fixed and repaired and healed through the Atonement of Christ.

Everyone's a bit of a fixer-upper.

I just got off the phone with my sister in law in Texas to whom I apologized for my behavior at their home. I have very little tact, I'm very blunt, and I'm not a very gracious guest. She and I couldn't possibly be more different in those aspects, and I feel bad because I love my family, I just feel grumpy all the time. "Ain't nobody gonna make me wash!" I know that I'm a fixer-upper. I don't try to pretend otherwise. In fact, I'm a HUGE fixer upper, but her daughter and my other nieces think I'm the bee's knees. Part of the reason I think I retreat to my keep is because I don't want to hurt other people because I am a fixer upper and because I am disinclined to change even in ways I know I can. Back in 2014 I met two women who thought they could fix me, but they didn't really care about me, and so I resisted.  The right person will encourage me to be otherwise; I know because she did.

Sometimes, I am loathe to admit, I resist God's attempts to repair me and heal me too. As I wrote years ago, I feel like a lesser light and wonder why He would want to help me, redeem me, send me, and call me to do anything.

At least in my own case, I really am my own worst critic. Sometimes I consider the warning given by Jesus in His sermon on the mount that "with what judgment ye judge ye shall be judged". Enter the other reason I called my sister in law. On her fridge hangs this reminder from Dieter Uchtdorf:

Please remember also to be compassionate and patient with yourself. In the meantime, be thankful for all the small successes in your home, your family relationships, your education and livelihood, your Church participation and personal improvement. Like the forget-me-nots, these successes may seem tiny to you and they may go unnoticed by others, but God notices them and they are not small to Him. If you consider success to be only the most perfect rose or dazzling orchid, you may miss some of life’s sweetest experiences.

For most of the world, it's easy to put aside the last year, the last decade, the rest of life, and just live in the present. Indeed, the evil among us demand to be integrated only in the moment of their virtue while they hang the rest of us for a moment and extrapolate it to every aspect and cranny of our lives in perpetuity. I am very hard on myself, and if that scripture holds, God will have no choice but to judge me how I judge myself.  I need to remember to forgive and be patient with me too.  I got used while I was married to have any minor thing in the past brought up as evidence to condemn any perceived imperfection of the present. I was never allowed to live down anything. I was never going to be fixed in the atonement; I was fixed in her mind as a villain, and very few people seem to disagree.

We do not need to be perfect to be worthy of love, especially God's love. No matter what the people I meet prattle, dogs love me, my nieces love me, my parents love me, and God still talks to me. I see things on the internet all the time about love. We each look for someone who appreciates and finds our weirdness cute; we look for someone who loves us because of the odd things we do that keep us from perfect. We long for someone to come along and think we're practically perfect in every way, to calm all the self doubt and self criticism and tell us that we are worthy of love, of their love. Each new year, we hope to find people who love us and who appreciate our love, whether they be family, friends, or fanciers. I am fortunate to have a few. Ok, so none of them live with me, but even though we all agree I'm a bit of a fixer upper I have people who look forward to spending time with me, who talk to and about me glowingly, and who look forward to our time together. Small successes, baby steps, minor improvements are things that God sees and applauds and lauds and rewards. All too many among us think that, unless we achieve completely, nothing has been done and nothing worthy is accomplished. What About Bob taught me that baby steps matter. With God, if it were all or nothing, nobody would be worthy of anything.

So I'm a bit of a fixer upper, and so is quite frankly each one of you. The good news is that God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son that whoso believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. All it takes is love. People don't really change, but they do stop making mistakes, stop repeating rebellions, and revert to what they were when they were born. Everyone is born into this world with the potential to be amazing, to be loving, loved, and loveable. There are no bad people.  We are all children of God.  The good news is that Love does tame the savage beast. What we cannot help with our love, God promises to help with His. Everyone's a fixer upper, and yet God tried to help everyone. God loves everyone. You're a fixer-upper, and He can and will repair, redeem, and recover you, even you. He sees your every struggle, and He knows the trials you face. I close with CS Lewis because there's a reason why we're all fixer-uppers:

Sooner or later He withdraws... He leaves the creature to stand up on its own legs—to carry out from the will alone duties which have lost all relish. He wants them to learn to walk and must therefore take away His hand; and if only the will to walk is really there He is pleased even with their stumbles. Do not be deceived, Wormwood. Our cause is never more in danger, than when a human, no longer desiring, but intending, to do our Enemy’s will, looks around upon a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys. (Screwtape Letters)

I'll keep walking...