Doug Does Dumb Things

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Last Saturday, I decided to drive up to Mt. Charleston to hike in preparation for my summer volunteering. Since I like to actually look like I am fit and since the mountain is more difficult than my regular hikes, I like to make a few trips up to the Bristlecone loop and carry a backpack with rocks just to get myself in shape for the more arduous terrain. I was also tired of the people down in the valley and thought it would be hot, and knowing the mountain to be cooler even without snow and cheaper since you don't need a pass to get in, I decided to drive up and stick to my routine. Except the day was anything but routine. This was probably the most difficult hike I've ever done at Charleston Peak. Last year, we hiked up in April at night to watch the sun rise, and as dangerous as the dark is, at least the trail was clear. This was not. It wasn't just blocked, but it was iced. I told myself I'd hike to the snow line, but in truth the snow line was visible from the parking area, so I went further than that of course to stave off boredom, and that's what I did. At least it was only I. Nobody else was put in jeopardy because my brow was brass, and even I wasn't hurt.

I knew there would be obstacles, but obstinately went anyway. It was maybe a half mile in when I felt for the first time the full impact of low oxygen levels. Since that trail starts at 8200 feet and the top of Red Rock is 6700 feet, any amount of summer hiking fails to adequately prepare me for the elevation. I stopped a lot more often than I like. Sometimes I stopped for literal obstacles in the path, but not willing to take that as a sign, I decided to climb over the giant ponderosa pine that came up to my waist and continue on, and so at about a mile in, I already cut my leg. When I arrived in the parking lot it was a balmy 38F and breezy, and I was woefully underdressed in shorts and a short sleeve golf shirt, but I had my heater (backpack) and just told myself I'd walk faster, and the last half would be in the sun anyway. Well, the snow made walking faster impossible, and the snow or really ice meant that the air all around me was cold, and I burned more calories in the six mile loop than I usually do in a day, probably just shivering to keep warm.

Although I knew the dangers, I pushed on. I probably should have turned back when I hit that first switchback and had to grab a tree to keep from sliding down the embankment, but I told myself that it would be fine in the sun, that the snow wouldn't be so bad. Well, it got worse, and it kept getting worse until going forward was just as bad as going backwards. There were about a half dozen stretches where the trail was completely covered with 1-3 feet thick drifts of ice, hard enough that I couldn't use my boots to kick in for a better footing, so I hoped that the footings from others headed the opposite direction and days before would accomodate my path. Several sections the ice stretched so far that I couldn't see the end, anywhere from 10-30 meter sections, and although I used my hands to steady myself, I found my hands go numb through my gloves. It was cold enough my camera stopped working. My stupidity never failed me. Despite all of that, I said a quick prayer to God and then trusted that if this was my final day I'd at least die doing something I liked, even if I did freeze to death in a cell phone dead zone.

Unwilling to change my plans to accommodate others, I went alone. I hike all the time. What could happen- so you die a little? Nobody really knew exactly where I was, and my family would have wondered if I didn't show up Sunday to get them at the airport, but I really didn't feel like I should put my life on hold even for safety reasons. When I finally encountered people, I warned them, but if they disregarded my warnings, I can't blame them. I essentially said, "Do as I say, not as I do" since I'd already crossed *successfully* the section I advised they avoid. "Well if that idiot can do it, we can..." One looked relieved. Some looked disappointed. The last couple, the oldest people I met, looked like they took it as a challenge. They probably made it. So, I came across as that feral hypocrite who wanders the woods aimlessly and warns people of spooks in the elderberries. There was neither anybody young on the trail or anyone attractive. It seems like the elements dissuade all but the most foolish or dedicated from making an attempt to conquer nature. True, it's rare to still have this much snow in April here, but we did have a banner year, and the mountain has snow above 8400 feet in more places than you think. It was beautiful.

All too often, in life, we get in over our head. Unable or unwilling to see the dangers, we press on into paths unknown or unadvised because we can or because we think we're the exception. Unable or unwilling to forsee things, we go unplanned. Unable or unwilling to admit our faults, we go it alone. What need have we for a Savior? People warn us. People teach us. We have our own experiences. We know we've had close calls. We get into trouble again. Still all too often we don't reach out and insist that this is something that we can do. We're amazing, and even if we are, sometimes the mountains conquer us instead. This past week, some mourned the loss of a veteran Swiss mountaineer who was defeated in Nepal. Of course, he liked to hike in record time, but the principle remains the same. Eventually we get in over our head and either die or need rescue. Fortunately, I got down without incident, but that's not to say I didn't receive a rescue effort. I can't with certitude say that God didn't help me. If He decided not to, I wouldn't be surprised. I wasn't that stupid in Alaska. At church yesterday, one of the leaders admitted some deep-seated faults and asked me if I didn't like him. I told him that we all need the Savior. Just because you don't know my faults doesn't mean they don't exist. Doug does dumb things too.

No Other Gods

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A plenipotentiary of interested, albeit unaffected, people tell me sometimes that I should abandon my Faith, and I think I found the best way to answer their concerns and yours if you feel like you are in that place. Fascinatingly, I was thinking this weekend about Moses and the Exodus, and I realized that it's the same story on a different scale, and that these people are doing the same things that the children of Israel did. While it is true that I am mistreated by members of my Faith and subject to some curious provisions of the bylaws, I am not going to leave. Some think I'm in the wrong congregation, the wrong Faith, that maybe I follow the wrong God or that perhaps I should create my own. Well, you don't know me very well, and some of them don't know their own religious tradition well either. The story of the Exodus is sometimes overemphasized in terms of the plagues and leaving Egypt without dwelling enough on the path they trod between bondage and prosperity. There is only one way to get from Egypt to the Promised Land, and it is not to puff up myself and build an idol, depose the prophet, return to Egypt, or surrender my allegiance once I have seen God's hand giving me a chance to leave. Thou shalt have no other gods before me, and I am not fool enough to think I could fashion one or that I have. I am the created; He is the creator.

Despite seeing miracles, they quickly forget. Each of the plagues affected apparently every region of Egypt except for Goshen. After the plagues led to their release, Israel plundered Egypt and took spoils, including money (which is where they got the gold for the idol later, but I digress). By the time they got the commandments, God had already provided mannah daily and pheasants for a change of pace (Exodus 16) and then found water out of a rock when they thirsted (Exodus 17) and then seen the mountain of transfiguration boom with God's presence (Exodus 19). What's actually eye-opening for me as I reread the account is that apparently the people knew about the commandments (exodus 24) BEFORE Moses got the tablets (exodus 31). People like to claim that if they could see God they would believe. If He only gave them everything they command they will do everything He commands. Well, as Exodus teaches us, God actually DID provide for them first and then they were still fools. After Moses told them God forbade idols (Exodus 20) they make one anyway (exodus 32). Lord, what fools these mortals be! Obviously we are no different from Israel. I have seen miracles, felt God's presence, and benefitted from His love; I know it, and I know that He knows that I know it, and I will not deny or forget it. Maybe I'm not getting the nourishment I need or making the headway I like, but I also feel very strongly like He is pleased with my stumblings (CS Lewis).

Unable to see God for themselves, they make their own. Many years ago, shortly after I was divorced, my friend Tom suggested I start my own church. He knew I wouldn't start one with beer and hookers, but I told him that who was I to presume myself called to that? Not even Martin Luther actually intended to create a splinter group from The Church- he only thought he would raise awareness and create change in the church he knew and served and loved. Other people took it upon themselves to do so, but "no man taketh this honour unto himself saved he is called of God as was Aaron". John the Baptist didn't start a church; he knew he was paving the way for the Messiah, and when he met Christ, he was reticent to think that he had any authority whatsoever in the kingdom, hesitating to baptize Jesus. The fact is that there was an organized church and congregations thereof run through a central heirarchy. If not, then why did Paul write so many epistles to the churches? He was directing the church. Even in his time, there were obviously miscommunications, misunderstandings, and misapprehensions, because if you read the Pauline epistles, you'll see that he says different things to some congregations and the same things to others. Obviously some central authority was necessary to direct the church. Paul didn't decide to do this. The other apostles chose him to be among their number after Judas' death. I do not presume to be a man called of God to start a church or even to lead my own. If that is what He wants, He will let me know the same way He has, even if I must see a burning bush.

Unwilling to follow a madman into Sinai, they insist on returning to Egypt. From the moment God spoils Pharaoh's army to the time when Moses goes to the mount to receive the stone tablets, Israel constantly complains that things would be better elsewhere. The problem is that this particular elsewhere, Egypt, was a country that enslaved them. People suggest that I should go somewhere else and enslave myself to another idea simply because it MIGHT be easier to bear, consistent, and predictable. Well, I know that wandering in the desert isn't exactly a rip-roaring good time, but I know that I would rather die with the harness off my back than deal with these alternatives. I have met my fair share of cotton-headed ninnymuggins in positions of leadership in the church. I know men who are corrupted by power and who imagine up in their own minds that they know better than God or speak for Him. Well, I know the pattern of prophecy, and I know that God doesn't call random nincompoops to positions of power without some sort of token, and I don't care what these men think, they are not fulfillment of some prophecy of which I've never heard. The only staph they might have is an infection. Finding something simpler, safer, suppler is not necessarily better. Finding something else isn't necessarily going to lead you to the Land of Promise. You left Egypt for a reason, and a VERY good one. I'm not going back to the mire just because it's comfortable. The right thing is rarely easy or immediately rewarding, and usually it costs you something upfront. If that's what you want to do fine, but don't force me to agree. "When we die and you are sent to heaven for following your conscience and I am sent to hell for not following mine, will you come with me for fellowship? (Sir Thomas More)".

Only those willing to trust God, follow His prophet, and remain true were allowed to see the Promised Land. When Moses came down and saw the throng engaged in their riotous and raucous reverie, he cried out, "Who's on the Lord's side (exodus 32:26)" and then instructed the Levites who gathered to slay the offenders. Eventually, as punishment for persistent and constant complaints against God, Israel was punished to wander in Sinai for forty years and only Joshua and Caleb were allowed to go into the promised land (at least of the men of the camp) because they were true to their God. I find it paradoxical just how many people think that they can do whatever they like and still get everything God promises. The prodigal son was welcomed back, but the inheritance remains promised to the faithful son. At every juncture where they opined the loss of Egypt, where they were slaves, God provided for them. At every point where they assumed Moses was a raving lunatic, who had gained their release from Pharaoh, God backed him up. At every instance where they had a change to prove what God they truly wanted to follow, even when they made their own or forgot the cloud by day and pillar of fire by night, God still protected them and let them see the land of milk and honey he promised. Not everyone who calls out, "Lord, lord" will get his due, for how knoweth the man a master whom he has not served and who is a stranger to him? How can I expect God to bless me if I follow your advice and abandon Him? If I want to see the promised land, I must remain true to the end.

Paradoxically and contrary to logic, people like to complain about how I am treated because of my Faith and suggest I leave it. What I suffer doesn't compare at all to what Moses had to bear, and nobody suggests he was a raving lunatic. No, I'm the fool and he was a prophet, and yet our stories are not so different in their undergirding principle- it is strange for mortals to keep faith and normal for mortals to criticize those who do. I am not a prophet, but I know what they teach and how to recognize them. I will not fashion my own God because the one I have doesn't happen to validate my worth or follow MY commandments. I am not going to find something easier or better fitting or connoiseur churches, because it's not a question of what I like but what God commands. I know what I know, and I will not go with you on a path that doesn't lead where I want to go just for company. The exodus is a pattern for our lives once we start living what God asks. Sure, it's difficult, demanding, draining, drudgery, but the only way to get from Egypt to the Promised Land on foot is to cross the Sinai Desert. There are no other options. No other roads connect those two places (interestingly enough). No other Gods can redeem us from bondage. No other Way exists. This is where I know I ought to be, and I will not be moved. I might falter or fall, but I will do all that I can to at least see that promised land if not ultimately dwell there. I am following the prophet, following Moses, and listening to God and His Christ, and as much as I appreciate your concern, I trust that if I'm on the wrong path they will tell me directly.

As a Disciple of Christ

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Although I don't occupy a position of visible prominence and lofty titles, I occupy a position in my Faith of great responsibility. I teach Sunday School for all the teenagers in my congregation who are in High School. They are a variegated and complicated bunch, not because they are problematic, but because of the world into which they are about to enter. After General Conference this past weekend, I told my father that since I wasn't a priesthood leader, I wanted to find more ways to get involved and inspire them to action and growth. He told me that I already was, that I have been for a long time, often leading from the middle rather than at the head. He told me that he feels he is there to help train his bishop, and it made me think of a time when I had to train someone in a far loftier position than I who apparently didn't learn certain lessons and had to learn then from a 20 year old boy in the Alps. Those of you who know who Dieter Uchtdorf is have your own stories; mine are much different than yours, as you will see, and as he gently tried to use me to teach a man who once occupied a position of prominence and lofty title. During that brief interval, I got to work essentially directly under God's direction, which is quite a thing if you think about it, and learned just how involved He is, how much help He gives, and what He asks of those who truly accept Him and want to work with Him. You see, far too many people think about accepting Christ in order to be saved while ignoring the other scriptures closely akin to that. "And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the one and only true God and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent" and "for how knoweth the man a master whom he hath not served and who is a stranger to him?" My missionary service was my time to become a disciple, to not just accept Him but to walk with Him and get to know Him as I got to know and serve and love those people whom He asks to call Him Father.

God directs the work. When I became the Zone Leader of Tirol, the Mission President called me about the Newmans. Elder Newman was a former member of the 2nd Quorum of Seventy, who was now serving in a much more humble position as clerk in the mission home in Vienna. Elder Newman wasn't happy about his assignment and wanted to be more involved, to proselyte, and, as I later learned, push people around by virtue of his experience as a leader, and nobody wanted to work with him. When President Schulze called me, I knew what he wanted, and I wasn't happy, so when he asked me if it was ok to send the Newmans to Tirol, I said to my great astonishment and pride, "If God wants the Newmans in Innsbruck, you do not need my permission." The President hung up and called me back. After the Newmans arrived, he set about immediately validating the rumors that came before him and immediately tried to exercise unrighteous dominion, demanding to be in charge of the missionary work and missionaries over which I was Zone Leader. I told him that if he thought God wanted him to be ZL, he should call the mission home and ask, thereby freeing me to do God's work and stop having asinine conversations with him. A few days later, Dieter Uchtdorf, the Area President of Europe, called and asked me if I'd told Elder Newman he should be the Zone Leader; Elder Dieter told me that he had discussed things with Elder Newman and made it clear that God decides whom He chooses to lead, and that I was the designated leader and that if I had any more problems I should call him directly. When I made decisions, I deferred to the Lord, involved the Lord, and acted on what the Lord commanded. I cannot tell you that things turned out peachy keen, but I do know that I said and did things I never could have known to do let alone that well at the age of 20, and I continue to live that way today.

God qualifies us to lead. When I became the ZL, I wasn't sure about the choice. I had never been a leader, and I wasn't really very successful if you talk about statistics and paperwork, so I asked if I was being promoted because there wasn't anyone else who really qualified. President Schulze just laughed and told me I was funny. I can however tell you that I was given phrases to say, activities to attempt, ideas of places to go, and ways to handle problems far above my experience and maturity level. So surprising were the interpolations of Providence that they sent the highest missionaries in Austria out to watch me to find out what I was doing and why when all I was really doing was living worthy of God's help and then trusting that it would come when I opened my mouth. As a Zone Leader responsible for missionaries in four different countries speaking three different languages, I was the only one who received an unrestricted EU travel visa, and I found that I was able to learn all the languages of the areas for which I was responsible. One young Elder wrote me about how he tried to picture what a good, down to earth, hard-working missionary would look like, and was pleased to meet me as his first zone leader, and another told me how he looked up to me as an elder brother. Not everyone liked me, but there was one who wrote how he was glad he picked up a few of my traits by serving closely with me. As I traveled around the alps and crossed borders to work with missionaries in Italy, Slovenia, Austria, and Germany, the work in my area suffered, and as their efforts bore fruit with my help and encouragement, they knew that I was giving up my time and opportunities for their success.  I spent a LOT of time on the train, and a LOT of time listening to conversations in different languages and doing most of the talking since I was the only missionary who knew what was being said.  I look back on that time as one of the best times, albeit one of the most difficult, of my life, not because of what I achieved but because of what I learned about my true propensities and qualifications for leadership and how God gives His mantle to whom He calls.

God's leaders sacrifice. When the Newmans came, I surrendered my car, my apartment, much of my time in the aforementioned verbal distractions, and even my decision to cease speaking English as a missionary. Sister Newman spoke only English, and so I had to speak English to her, which caused one other missionary to exclaim, "Is that what you really sound like?" when he heard me speak English for the first time. Only just before I returned home did the Newmans really learn about the way in which they came to be in Innsbruck and what I surrendered to help them be comfortable, and they felt ashamed that they complained about their accommodations especially when they saw the dive to which Elder Gertge and I had to move when they took what we had. As I mentioned, I spent a great deal of time in the areas where other missionaries were assigned, and on one particularly inauspicious encounter, I was assigned to proselyte in Hall in Tirol, a town where the Deacon of Tirol lived, a man who once ran the missionaries out of town. I was beat up at a train station, incarcerated by Italian border guards, frozen nearly to death in the mountains, and when I found people willing to listen they almost invariably lived in another missionary's area. Still, one elder wrote how when I returned home the people would know that I had served with valour, and my family can probably still remember how I looked when I debarked the plane in America, tired and worn but not defeated or finished. I spent most Sundays translating meetings for tourists, and if you've never translated before you know how difficult it is, and so I don't remember a single thing said at church in Tirol, because I had to translate rather than pay attention, and so I gave up my Sundays so that tourists could enjoy the meetings too. When an Elder's bike was stolen, I gave him mine and then when his was recovered, I went to court to translate for him since he was new.

My missionary service in Austria was the last time I held an official and lofty title. Since returning from that service, except for a brief period, I have spent all of my church service teaching Sunday School in one fashion or another. I realized this year that this is a position of great responsibility. I have the power, means, and opportunity to corrupt all the youth in my congregation if I choose, to teach for doctrines the commandments of men, to teach the philosophies of men mingled with scripture but deny the power thereof. I try very hard to still let God direct me, trust that He's going to help me, and sacrifice in order to achieve the best approximation of what He would do that I am capable. Connor prayed at the end of class back in January and thanked God for my faithfulness in and dedication to my calling, and they know that I care about them even though I have almost no reason to do so whatsoever. They are not my children; I don't even have a girlfriend. They are not my friends. THeir parents are not my friends.  They will probably not talk to me much when they matriculate to college. I learned as a missionary how to be a disciple of Christ. I am still trying very hard to do what He would have me do where I am, to lift where I stand, to act well my part, and to follow His direction even when I have no idea why. I face a lot of disappointment and heartache. I did in Austria, too. When I went home, the Newmans invited me over to their humble apartment in Thaur where they cooked a nice meal for me and thanked me for the lessons in leadership I taught them. I found a way to work with them and give them a place, something that nobody else apparently wanted to do. He and I still had problems, but I knew that he was also one of God's sons, trying to help others of God's children, and so that as a leader it was my job to get him connected to the work, and we found a way. Sometimes it was difficult to view these people as God's children, and except for the SS people we met, I think I can honestly say I managed to see them as God's children. I got to know God and work with Him, to start off well on the road to discipleship. IN that way, my missionary service was the best time for my life.

I Loved DC Before StudioC

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Very rarely in my life have I ever been cool. Usually, it's because what I was already doing suddenly became cool. The first thing was when I started wearing white undershirts all the time, and in college that briefly became the thing to do, and so I was cool. Then, when beards became cool, since I already had one, I enjoyed some acceptance. Recently, I've noticed that socks under sandals is suddenly cool, which boggles my mind, because 10 years ago people made fun of me for doing that. My how times change. I'm not really a hipster, but I became a fan of BYU's Divine Comedy in 2006, far before any of the people who now appear weekly in BYU Channel's StudioC ever joined the group. However, I have known those people since that time. I knew them before they were famous.

I often say that I will keep something until someone becomes famous. Then I can say I knew them, and maybe I can cash in on that with a little cold, hard cash. However, I also find that, when other people like things, suddenly I become less of a fan. In fact, I would still rather watch Divine Comedy skits. It's nostalgic. It's real effort. It's real people. It's because they love it and not because they get paid. I guess in that way I am actually a hipster.

As a much longer diatribe on the subject, here is a video I made to all of you at DC and StudioC. I liked you before you were cool. Deal with it...

Models v. Data

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As a scientist, I rely sometimes on models to predict outcomes so that I can measure outcomes against expectations. However, I know enough from the experiments I did and those done by students in lab to know that with great frequency things happen that I did not expect. As I mentioned many times elsewhere and on this blog, I like to look at the data myself, and so when a coworker showed me the real-time data reporting on weather and environmental activity in the atmosphere last fall, I was understandably intrigued. I found the data to be very illuminating and in some cases quite contradictory both to the models as well as the conclusions drawn by others. Since this tool shows real time data on climate, I found a few things very interesting.

The scale isn't intuitive, and in some cases is misleading. Scientists use graphs all the time, but when they use graphs with funny or arbitrary scales, it obfuscates the data to the standard user. When I see a graph, I expect it to start at zero so that I can compare things properly. Not all of the graphs do. When they do, sometimes they use a sliding scale where you see more of the numbers at the bottom than at the top (1,2,3,4,5...) and then near the bottom the space between them expands to change the perspective (15,25,35...), which gives a different impression to those untrained to read the graphs. It's deceptive. It's dishonest. It's pseudoscience. It's COMMON.

Some of the most interesting sources of information are never even really discussed. I noticed some strange behavior in equatorial Africa and in the northern part of Australia, but you won't hear about those places on the news or in reports. You hear about the West, as if that's the only interesting part, but now that we can explore the Heart of Darkness, I think it behooves greater interest as to what's actually happening there, because nobody really knows. Unfortunately, nobody really seems very interested either.

There's simply too much data to analyze, store, and for which to account, even in a model. I doubt very much anyone is capturing all the relevant data, because we probably don't know which pieces of data actually matter. Even if we did, where would we store it, and who would pour over it for the next 30 years of their life? The models cannot include all the data, because it would take too much time to program it, and because we can't provide enough, and the researchers are biased anyway, so the data that makes the cut will probably corroborate the programmer's preconceived bias.

Take a look at it for yourself. Below is a significantly long tutorial (12 minutes) I uploaded tonight to show you what I saw the first time I was able to record it. More will follow, including discussions on Australia, Africa, and the influence of the Sahara on "climate" because that can't be ignored either, no matter what the political agenda.

The Pain of Love

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Whoever wrote "it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all" must never have really loved anyone, because anyone who feels the pain of unrequited love feels differently. Far too many people think they are in love or love someone or are loved when some other word applies better. True love is forever. True love means something, even if it doesn't bear the fruit you hope or validate what you think you deserve or work out. If, after your "love" goes unrequited, you lash out and hurt others, wish them bad, bad mouth them, then anyone who really knows anything knows that you didn't really love the object of your affection. That's the problem with love, that so many people, like Sabatini's Scaramouche "fall in love constantly, indiscriminately, and the effect is the same as if they never fell in love at all". It doesn't mean anything. It isn't about the other person. It does not lift or elevate or build anything or anyone. I know it's hard. I am loathe to honestly admit I realize now that I didn't really love my ex wife. I thought I did, but I didn't really then, and I've had to learn how to love her as a child of God after the fact in order to become the person I desire to be. When you really love someone, you give them power to hurt you and hope that they don't use it against you, but all too often it ends in pain because they either don't return it or don't return it in a way that leads to a fruitful disposition. Real love has several key facets, and chief among them are the following:

Celebrating their happiness while you long for your own

Since you really loved them, you desire their happiness and genuinely feel good to see them happy. You are glad that they finally made a choice and set themselves decidedly to a path. You hope that they find happiness even though they are basically the opposite sometimes of what they were when you knew and loved them. You rejoice when they finish college, get a job, strike out on their own and then find someone "amazing" to replace you in their life. You decide, rather than rebound, to wait, and then the waiting turns from months to years, as you wonder if and when you'll finally get what they promised you while you watch them keep those same promises with someone else. You try not to lash out, because you love them, and because love doesn't hurt in order to heal itself. As you watch their life in pictures pass before your eyes, you hope that this new person doesn't break their heart. Ironically, even though they hurt you, you defend them, because you don't want them hurt, by you, by this new person, by life. You know better than to ride to the rescue if they decide to make a life without you, but you find yourself praying to God to bless them, sometimes not because you are excited for them to mate, marry and multiply with another, but because you know God loves them too. While you die inside, you watch them smile, laugh, and mate with someone who isn't you even though they promised to change your life for the better when the only promise they kept is that you would never hear from them again. People don't usually do that because they are selfish and like to remain in control, and you know they probably won't realize ever that you did the right thing or reward you for it. You do this because it's what you hope people who truly love you will do- encourage you to follow your own path.

Wondering what if anything actually was real

A popular cartoon circulating the internet claims that you shouldn't weep because you didn't lose someone that loved you, but they did. Well, that's kind of selfish. You do weep, because you really did love them. You put your heart out there, and even if they didn't smash it with a hammer, they left it sitting there to die. You wonder as they keep their promises to others but the only promise they made to you is that you'd never see them again if anything they said meant anything. You wonder if you misread them, even as you remember how they smiled with their entire body when you made them laugh. You remember the inflection in their voice, the feelings in your heart, and then you doubt YOURSELF in addition to them. You find yourself wondering if maybe it would be better if they had never come at all and agreeing with the cynicism spoken by the Dread Pirate Roberts about the promise of a woman. Real love cannot be so tenuous a thing that it takes many months to build and mere moments to destroy, and so since they don't seem to love you anymore, you begin to doubt the veracity of their love. Johnny Depp once advised us that if you love two people, pick the second, because you never would have fallen for that person if you truly loved the first. As this person makes their life with someone else, you realize they may have never loved you, and even if you try, you find you can't replace them or really get involved with anyone else as long as you're not really over them.  Years pass, you meet other people, but since you really did love them, you find it difficult to bury them in the past because it means burying part of you with them.  You know that part is a real loss, and so you hold on, longer than you ought perhaps, hoping to find a lesson or a reward or an opportunity in the ashes left by the dying embers of your love.

Wrestling with rejection and feelings of inadequacy

You were a great guy until you were not. At one time, you were practically perfect in every way, and now someone else is practically perfect and you're completely removed. You wonder what is wrong with you, if there is some character flaw that keeps you from happiness and love and warmth, not necessarily because you know there is one but because you're the only person you can change. Why are other people worthy of the sacrifice? Why would they change religions for someone else but not for you? Why is their moped fine but your cars were not? Why would they move in with someone else but they wouldn't even move out for you? Every time that they pick someone that you consider less than you you wonder what they see in that person that you lack or that you at least can't see. When they pick someone who looks better than you, you curse your genes for not admitting you to the Lucky Sperm Club. You watch them marry others, have kids together, and post the rosy bits of their lives to social media, and although you know things happen that they don't post, you wonder why you weren't permitted to share those joys with them.  You wonder why they never posted pictures of YOU to their social media and if they think poorly of you if they think of you at all.  You jump to the conclusion that they dislike you, disdain you, disavow you, and so you do the same to yourself.  Rather than having them return in regret and ask to try again, you receive all sorts of repudiation for things that don't matter or things you can't change without changing who you are. If your problem is that you are you, why did they date you in the first place?

Hurting each time you remember

Although you try to remember the good times, you remember everything else too, because that was also part of the story. Bad times come coupled with the remembrance of things that make you smile, sad shadows attached to the pedestrians of memory.  Each time you remember, the chill winds of rejection blow through the hole they made in your heart, and the frost of abandonment creates its blue crystals on your soul against the gray skies of time. You find yourself unable to move forward because you still see it perfectly in your head, because you keep tokens, because you remember things they said and that you thought they meant it.  Your memory works at odds with your heart, evoking memory of events that makes you sad or dour, and the ability to recollect at will becomes a truncheon with which you beat yourself.  Angry at yourself, at them, at God, at love itself, sometimes you yell impotently into the heartless night for redress until too hoarse to speak and then sulk under the covers to a fitful repose. You remember them in your car, at places you went together, when others sound like them or use phrases they use, and so everywhere you turn you can't get away from the fact that they are gone. You throw away the list of things you planned to do together, and when you do them without that person, that empty chair beside you blows raspberries at your mind.  The good times exist, but they are haunted by the juxtaposition of the fact that your beloved ultimately left, and so even though you want to enjoy your birthday, the fact that their birthday is in the same week as yours always dampens your joy and makes you wonder how they are and if they think of you. Sometimes the warm memories only make you think you were happy, sort of like how alcohol tricks you into thinking you are warm. Eventually, you either throw away or box up all the things from your courtship, take down and/or delete the pictures and wonder why you thought it would or could work in the first place. You couldn't possibly have known with certitude that this would happen, but you feel like you ought to have known better and screwed your courage to the sticking place against the inevitable siege on your mind.  You remember that you thought you were happy once, that they actually meant what they said, and then you remember that they're telling that to someone else now, and you hope that they're not lying to that person too.

Every woman I ever considered as a partner eventually moved on; none of them ever came back yet, and sometimes I honestly wonder if it would have been better for me if I never met them at all. I ache for the last one EVERY DAY. She was the only one I ever really loved and the only woman I ever met who truly seemed willing and able to be a partner to me. It was ok to be me. We had a song. We had a plan. We had some problems, but she seemed likely to succeed, and if we could not make it, then how would anyone else ever stand a chance? Enough time passed that I went back and listened to "our song" again, and it brought back a flood of memories and emotions. Love songs only really seem to make sense when you are actually in love. The rest of the time, you change the station when they come on, because they don't apply to you, make sense to you, or even appeal to you. You know you're in love when you feel like they're talking to you, expressing your thoughts, sensitive to and aware of your situation, and so you turn to them. Was their heart ever really mine? Was our love real? When I remember, am I remembering truth? Could we have been happy? Is she happy? What makes me unworthy of being the choice of a choice woman? I am very popular with women over the age of 50 and with girls under the age of five. I know I'm awesome. What's wrong? How do I get rid of the pain? If I had never loved at all, I would still know pain, but it would be a different kind. I don't know what kind, but I know I don't like this dull ache that throbs in my heart every day and darkens my expectations and hopes and challenges my continence. I don't like being cynical and bitter, and I fear that my Sunday School class will be jaded by my experiences and perspective.  I gave a woman real love, true love, and let her break my heart. I know she probably didn't intend to hurt me, but she hurt me despite her hopes. It's painful, which might be why most people don't really open up, take a risk and offer what love really means. When you love someone, you want what is best for them with an eye single to God's glory. It's rare. It stays rare because more often than not it's not returned or rewarded, and that's painful. The problem is not with pain, it's with love, because in order to love you must make yourself sufficiently vulnerable to be more sensitive and accessible to pain.

Cops, the Homeless, and One Way Riders

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Shortly after I began teaching, I joined the One Way Riders, which is a Christian motorcycle club in Vegas with a ministry throughout the valley. I joined the group through invitation by a student who belonged and thought I was cool enough to be part of their cadre. Among other things that we did, we fed the homeless each Friday around 5PM at the corner of Owens and Las Vegas Blvd, just north of the museum district but out of sight of the court house and most of the famous casinos. At that corner, you find a vacant lot which appears from the debris present to be a previous mobile home park, and it lies just north of a cemetery. For almost two years, we did this without incident or problem until one day about four years back, the owner of the property decided to call the cops on us to evict us from the site. On Christmas day last year, I went down to the area that morning to hand out brown bags to the homeless and found, to my shock and awe, that the corner is worse than before, and it angered me. The owner lied. It wasn't about development or the homeless or whatever. It seems to be all about driving us away.

We were removed by force. The police arrived, marched towards ME with their hands near their pistols, and then explained that we were no longer welcome on the property. Apparently, it was the One Way Riders who were not welcome. The homeless were not menaced, now that I recall, but the North Las Vegas Police remained until we packed our victuals, loaded in our vehicles, and vanished from sight. I realize that it is the right of a property owner to remove anyone. It was not what he did but the manner in which he acted that bothers me.

The owner never acted. I haven't been by the site since then until last Christmas, so I was understandably surprised to see just how little has changed at that intersection. However, there are now MORE homeless people there than I ever saw before. Their residence is no longer as tepid as before, the tent cities being in organized lines, so much that it tells me that the owner never actually started building anything on the site. Maybe he couldn't get permission or funding or changed his mind, but he went to the trouble to call the POLICE on us only to never actually follow through on his plan. Misappropriation of funds?

The homeless not only remained but expanded. I don't think I ever saw so many in one place in this town as there were Christmas Day. They were up and down every street, on every corner, in every bush, and then in organized and seemingly new tents on the vacant lot where we once not only fed their bellies but also attempted to nourish them spiritually. What once served as a trailer park is now a homeless encampment populated perhaps with more people than before, people who probably pay no rent whatsoever. I find this highly odd because most property owners want to make money, especially after the owner implied that he intended on a business venture to monetize the lot. I just don't understand why there are more of them and no other apparent changes.

From the evidence, it seems to me that the only people permanently evicted from the property were the Christian missionaries attempting to do good for the lost, the lonely, and the longing. The owner never apparently acted on his expressed claim to develop the land. The homeless were apparently not the problem since they are not only there but in greater numbers than ever before. The police viewed US as the pest, and I wonder if it was over religious differences rather than fiduciary, logistic, or legal ones. I am at a loss, and I am perturbed. As for the homeless, I am glad they have a place still to live. As for the police, they have always been there when they needed me. As for the owner, a plague of both his houses, and if this was bigoted, then may God have mercy on his soil.

Deserved Criticism

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My students tell me interesting and illuminating things. Sometimes I am glad to know, and sometimes I wish they wouldn't. In the midst of some praise after class, one of them told me that I had a scathing review from last semester that didn't make sense to her, because it sounded like some completely different professor, but no, it is for me, because nobody else here has my name. Mostly, I try to be the very best I can all the time. However, I am also mortal, and no matter how much I find it odd that we let students, who never have been professors, critique our work, it was a poor job, a poor showing. The criticisms usually describe differences in learning styles, personalities, and preferences, and in this case, this review essentially reflects the same thing- I didn't teach the way they preferred, I definitely deserve criticism. I taught the class for the wrong reason, and because I wasn't really excited about it, it showed in the quality and veracity of my work in the classroom, and I knew it. I was constantly aware, albeit subconsciously that something was wrong, but nobody seemed willing to tell me then or to my face; they're all too passive-aggressive for that.

I took that class last term for the worst reason possible- for the money. When I started teaching six years ago, I told myself that it was because it was something I desired to do. Most people do it because they must, because it's their job, because they don't know what else to do for a living, and I frequently appeared to most students to be actively engaged. Each time I took this class, microbiology, I did so with my own reservations. It's not really my strong suit, and although I turned down invitations to teach anatomy, I should have turned down this course too. My first time, I taught it on Saturday, to show I was a team player, to score points, and to hopefully secure myself a permanent post, but that failed. The second time, I took it because I was available, and because the bar was very low since the professor abandoned his load mid term to take a job elsewhere. By the fourth time, I was in a groove, doing it out of habit and for the money, and not because I truly wanted to, but this semester I decided to stop teaching classes I don't really enjoy. It will be better for everyone.

Whoever wrote it, I deserved the criticism. Although I don't agree with it carte blanc, the student was correct that it wasn't easy or probably worth while. What disturbs me was the manner of how the criticism came. I know that it came BEFORE the term ended, meaning that whoever this was sat there and smiled, having already roasted me on the internet. They said different things to my face than they said to the internet. I know that it's anonymous, which means that it was done because this student figured they would never actually have to man up and substantiate their claims. Most of the GOBNet who helped me get established is moved on, and so this mark will remain on my permanent internet record, unchallengeable, forever a critique of my merit while others gain favors due to connections. It didn't help anyone, because it came to my attention too late to be of any use. I can no longer reform my teaching and improve what they get, and they cannot benefit from it. So, you vented, but since it cannot any longer lead to any effort on my part to repair the breach, it essentially amounts to a libelous estimation. At best, someone else will teach the course, and maybe that person will do a better job, but none of these students will benefit, and I will bear the shame in perpetuity, hanging for a moment. I am human, and I make mistakes. Like you, I have good days and bad, good semesters and bad, but I cannot overwrite a bad course with a good one as they can because my work isn't represented by transcripts but by whether or not they hire me back, which they may not. If they have someone better, they should hire that person; what this person stole from me is the opportunity to BE better and affect their life directly.

Without the right motivation, my heart just wasn't in it, and I did a half-baked job. I love chemistry, and I love introductory classes. Sure, the first time I teach anything, there are complications and mistakes, but when I really enjoy what I'm doing, they can tell, and I think they learn better and more than if we're both just going through the motions as it were. There for the money, there to fill a slot rather than just doing my regular job, I didn't give 100% every night, and maybe I never gave 100%. I have a reputation, and I'm usually cool, but I don't like the book, the material, or the microbiology course here, so I know better than to get involved. It's why I steered clear of organic chemistry- I didn't want to do all that extra work for the same pay, and I'm not excited about it, and so I didn't do it. When you really care, you find a way, and when you don't, you find an excuse. I got paid, they got grades, and everyone "won" so to speak, but they were cheated out of the best things I have and the best ways I teach because it wasn't where I really belong. I took this class because someone else, someone inferior in my opinion, got the chemistry classes I desired, because of connections, and I wanted "my piece of the action" and took this as a consolation course. They could probably tell. Then again, so could I.

There is good news. I no longer intend to teach that class. I also no longer intend to teach classes just for the money. I've already been asked to teach a summer course, and I'm going to turn down the offer. I also recognize that I earned that review more than this student earned whatever grade they received. I am back teaching courses (mostly) this term where I already know I do a better job- to where I belong. The exception is a course I have never taught, and I think I'll do just fine the second time since I'm just a bit rusty explaining chemistry to non-majors. I forget what people don't already know sometimes. I learned I was correct to not teach pathophysiology, physics, or anatomy and physiology, not because I couldn't but because I'm not really interested in those (or I would know more about them) and because I shouldn't as long as someone who actually desires to teach those courses out of passion can be found to teach them. I don't want to rob them. I like my job, and I know that sometimes in our job we do things we don't really enjoy and for which we're not truly qualified, but having the option, I will not teach classes I don't really want to, regardless of the promised price. The price the students pay is far more than money, and sometimes the money I receive doesn't truly remunerate me for what their libel costs me.

By Their Fruits Ye Shall Grow Them

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It is said that every action has a consequence, that we reap what we sow. They sometimes talk too little about how to sow, what to sow, and why that sometimes results in a different harvest than we expect. As I planted seeds yesterday for my spring garden, I realized that I bought the wrong variety of something again, meaning that instead of green beans, I will have string beans if I plant these, which is not what I want. When you look at the packages of seeds, you trust that what they contain is accurate. However, some plants out back right now are going to seed because they aren't actually the type of radishes I expected. Rather than eat them, since I didn't expect them, I left them, unsure what to do. Then, there's the surprises in what appeared to be a bounteous harvest because I neglected the proper care and nurture of the garden. I have hundreds of beets. They are unfortunately all the size of a pea because they didn't get sufficiently thinned when young.

Sometimes, we are tricked into planting things we didn't actually want. I tell my students every term that each decision I would change is because the information on which I based my choice was either incomplete or inaccurate. When I went into science as a career, they told us we could earn $30,000 to $80,000/annum. What they didn't tell us is that those are average numbers, that most people earn near the bottom, and that the highest wages are not for science but for management. When I went to college, they told us that Biochemistry was the hot career, but when I graduated, the market was flush with unemployed biochemists from companies bought up for their patents and not for their personnel, and now most colleges don't even offer Biochemistry degrees. You make a choice, and you hope that the contents of the package actually match the packaging, but sometimes even if it's not maliciously minded, someone pulls a bait and switch, and instead of radishes you end up with horseradish. That's great if that's what you expected, but it's not what I expected, so it doesn't lead anywhere I planned to go. Even worse, sometimes in the middle of the night, some fiend breaches our field and sows tares among the wheat if we're lucky or burns down the garden completely while you sleep.

Each of us has a requisite responsibility to actualize the outcomes we hope. I detest those who believe in Jedi Mind Tricks, the Secret, the Power of Positive Thinking, as if all we need to do is think happy thoughts and whatever we wish will appear before us. As much as I love the garden, I know there is much to do to prune and dung and dig about the yard. I didn't thin the beets enough, so my beets have amazingly luscious greens but very tiny bulbs. The tomatoes drown out some of my herbs. The string beans nearly choked out other plants. I go out every day during the summer to water everything and make sure it's not only alive but thriving, but some things didn't get the attention they deserve. Too many people are "waiting on the world to change" and too many others are changing it in ways that won't lead to the world they claim they desire. I watched four people right in front of me buy groceries with food stamps, all of whom were smartly dressed, and although their lives are probably peachy, it's not creating the right kind of world.

During Sunday School today, I reminded my class that people find a way to achieve what they truly desire. If you want to harvest pumpkins, you must plant pumpkins. I don't care how much "positive thinking" you do, you can't will a pumpkin seed to bear watermelon as its fruit. If you want something, you find a way; if not, you find an excuse. You must be sure that what you plant leads to the end that you desire. Cauliflower is not steak; cows do not give pork; your garden watermelon will not look like those in the store. God plants good seeds in us, but because of sin, He mostly seems to harvest lemons. On top of that, we're very pessimistic about it, unjustly ascribing things to Him while we ignore that there are things exigent to our control. Other people are free to plant what they like, work on their gardens as they like, and grow things we happen to dislike. They have agency too, but all too often we blame God for not forcing them to grow things that validate us. If we don't remove the weeds from our garden, they may choke out our crops, and if our neighbors don't remove their weeds, they may seed into our lives and choke out our substance as well.

My garden provides both sustenance for my life as well as lessons about life. I never thought as a college student that I'd think and talk so much about the pastoral, but as a plant scientist, I realized that everything begins in the Garden. God planted us there, tried to teach us, and then when we learned how to do things God knew put His garden at risk, He cast us out until we learned enough to return to His presence without wrecking it. Our lives teach us the necessity of work, the prescience of planning, the relationships between cause and effect, and the sweetness of the harvest. We reap what we sow. We sow what we truly desire, we nurture what we want to bear fruit, and we learn to recognize the weeds or foreign seeds from the ones we actually want to keep. I am learning in my garden what God needs me to know in order to be of use in His garden. I am sure there will be more lessons, but for today, this is an early spring.

Small and Simple Things

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If you come here frequently, you probably noticed that I seemed to stop writing for about a month. The articles I started during that period but never finished will appear soon, because I actually ended up having pneumonia for the last several weeks but didn't know it. I've been exhausted, congested, shivering from cold when it's nice in the house, itchy all over, feverish, vomited, and sore all over all the time. It was bad enough that I spent all day last Saturday at home and barely make it home each day to collapse in my bed at night. At least I sleep well, but I think it's because I pass out from exhaustion. Sometimes we don't take things seriously enough, and so I'm slugging through each day barely making it because my body just can't keep fighting while I do everything else. However, they do matter, either because in quantity they add up to something weighty or because they are weighty in their own right. Finally, some small things we take for granted, but when we lose them it creates other and sometimes bigger problems.

Simple habits can keep dangerous risks small. I've never had pneumonia before, but I'm not really surprised I got it. You see, I spend a lot more time than most people in places where I'm likely to catch disease. When I'm minding my own business, I'm out walking every morning and evening, regardless of weather, and I'm more likely to catch something during those times because my body is weak against exposure. I also spend a lot more time than most people talking to, standing near, and working with the indigent. When we go feed them, since I didn't actually prepare any food, I usually end up going down the line either handing out socks or talking to them about religious topics, meaning I get a lot more face time than those who serve the food. They're no better about covering their mouths than children, and so I bet money I caught it from some homeless dude. No good deed goes unpunished, right?

It's always the little things that matter. The bacteria that cause pneumonia are 1 millionth of a meter in length, so small that even if you could see them your brain would ignore them, and yet they brought me low to my bed for weeks. Seemingly unimportant decisions, innocent deviations, and any time we are off by a few degrees, things end up far from where we hoped. Yet, I know that I honestly do my best, and if I had to be perfect for it to work, then there was no point trying. Today, it is just the little things, but when you put enough little things together, their total sum is enough to bring down something far mightier. What began with maybe 100 bacilli blossomed into a million within days and probably ended up killing millions of my own cells before it ends. A few torn fibers, a few innocent flirts, a few items purloined perniciously, and pretty soon we're paying for our choices in ways we don't realize because we don't realize how many things added up to earn us our plight. For this reason, I try not to deviate from my rules. I keep them because they keep me. Lots of small bacteria combined made a huge impact on my life, and small habits could have prevented their entrance methinks if I'd taken them more seriously.

Ever since teaching in grad school, I've distrusted doctors, so I only went to see one because I had another reason that was less urgent. Sometimes we belittle things that we ought not. It seems a little thing to admit you need help, to get a regular checkup, and although I'm not going to probably change all that much, I am now on a regimen to get better, especially since I lost my voice several days ago, right about when I went to the doctor. So, I slug on, point at things, sigh a lot, and probably make people think I'm a jerk when I don't answer, but I really can't. We rely so much on speech, on affectation, and I can only communicate so well with typed words. You really only appreciate what you have when it's taken from you. I became so used to my habits, my routine, and the use of my limbs and faculties that it was tough some days to just lie there and do nothing, realizing that the work of the day was to get well, get rest, and get repaired. If I had insisted on hiking or running or leaving my house, at the very least I prolong my own suffering and possibly risk introducing it to others.

At the end of the day, it's always the little things. People remember the little things. When people ignore the little things, they often blow out of proportion. What seems little to you adds up to a big deal. Small lies evince lack of integrity eventually. Small fines deplete your account eventually. Small gestures endear you to others eventually. Simple habits create great change, for good or ill. For now, I feel small. I know that I am dumb for I cannot speak. It's amazing how much small and simple things change your world.