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Rouge Wave

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It would be great if life were all sunshine and rainbows, but it is not. While I enjoy being around upbeat people, I also need to be around some folks who are real and admit they struggle with things like I do. Their honesty lets me know I am not alone in my personal challenges, and that is surprisingly encouraging.

Some people seem to surf through life, keeping their façade intact, never going very deep, managing to stay above the consuming waves of grief, anxiety, and depression. That is not life. It is fantasy. Those people worry me. Everything is too pretty, too perfect. Scratch the surface a bit and you will find a different person.

The waves are real and they are not easy to ride. Maybe you feel like what you are going through one of those waves right now that might just take you down.

I just came through a wave, and it wouldn’t let me get back up on my feet for several days. I knew I was muted, not myself. I was carrying a weight that I could not put down no matter how hard I tried. I felt weak, sad, and everything that went through my mind had a negative spin. I wanted to run away from my thoughts. Simply, I was not myself.

If you ever felt that way, welcome to the human race. We all are, to some degree, damaged goods, damaged by people and circumstances in our life, damaged by bad decisions and bad thinking, damaged by things out of our control and things under our control. 

There is a word for that: “sin”, sin in our hearts, the sin of others who have wounded us, and sin that is just part of the world. It is a universal problem. Sin hurts us and others. I like calling sin, “sin” and guilt “guilt” because there is a cure for it: Jesus. His redemption, his unconditional love and forgiveness. 

There are a number of things that can be like life preservers to rescue you from the rogue wave. It might be as simple as a pill, that helps calm the steady stream of obsessive thoughts in your head. It might be a focused way of praying and self-talk that repeats the messages you need to hear and not the ones you need to avoid. It might be professional therapy that will give you the tools you need to get through a rough patch. It might be new activities like taking a walk, reading a book, or calling a friend.

Stop beating yourself up. We all have triggers, stresses and reasons we feel the way we do. God wants us to enjoy full, joyous lives. It certainly won’t feel like that every moment, but we can keep coming back to that base line. We have to keep ourselves healthy mentally, spiritually, and emotionally to help others. So, there is an “otherliness” about taking care of ourselves.

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The County Fair

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The county fair is a rite of passage for the summer, and I can’t think of anything that is more Americana. 

It harkens back to a day when counties were predominantly rural. Local farmers brought their very best calves, pigs, and chickens to be judged. Others showcased their produce or homemade goods. The presenters were usually teenagers who had tended the livestock and produce.

Along with the agricultural side of attractions is the glitzier side of the carnival midway full of rides to give you a thrill, games of skill, and all manner of deep-fried food on a stick. 

Tractor pulls replaced farmers testing the strength of their draft horses in the 1920’s and demolition derbies got started because fans where infatuated by crashes during regular races.

Here are some more interesting fair facts:

  • Vendors adopted deep-frying to provide a portable, self-contained food shell that eliminated the need for forks, spoons, or plates.
  • In 1897, dentist and candy maker, William Morrison, created the spun-sugar machine that produced what he called “Fairy Floss”.
  • George Washington Gale Ferris Jr. designed the first giant wheel for the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair to demonstrate that American engineering could rival Europe’s Eiffel Tower.
  • The tradition of awarding blue ribbons for first place traces its roots back to the French knighthood.
  • Local county fairs served as the very first place many rural Americans encountered modern technological marvels such as electric lights and telephones.

The origin of fairs goes way back.

  • Merchants from distant countries would come together, bringing native wares to trade with one another.
  • The Latin word “feria,” meaning holy day, is the logical root of the word “fair”.
  • During the early Christian era, the church took an active part in sponsoring fairs on feast days, and as a result, fairs came to be a source of revenue for the church. 
  • This evolution, which blended religion and commerce, continued over time and moved into Western Europe. 
  • Periodic gatherings brought together the producers of all types of commodities for barter, exchange, and, finally, outright sale. 
  • In 1765, the first North American fair was presented in Windsor, Nova Scotia.
  • Similarly, in the not-yet formed United States, a fair was chartered in York (Pennsylvania) in 1765 and existed as a 2-day agricultural market.
  • The concept of the “county fair,” organized by an agricultural society, was initiated by Elkanah Watson, a New England patriot and farmer. 

When I wrote this an exhibitor at my local county fair in Claiborne County, Tennessee. So, I have been getting a first-hand view of a county fair in a small rural east Tennessee county. The local fair association has produced a well-organized fair and an excellently maintained fairgrounds.

It has all the American classics: the big attractions like the demolition derby, the attention-grabbing lights and sounds of the midway, the vast array of carny food, and the stable of American agriculture and business in the vast exhibit hall. 

It’s also a great place to people watch: teenagers out on a date, the folks who don’t get many opportunities to go to town for entertainment, and families with small children who are in awe of the whole thing.

Communities need the opportunity to gather for a good party.

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Give What You Did Not Receive

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These words sound like an oxymoron. How can you give what you did not receive?

To understand, we need to look back into our formative years.

Our parents got some things right, but they also got some things wrong. There were gaps in our parenting, maybe some gaping holes. Maybe we had parts of our formative years where we had to self-parent or figure things out for ourselves. 

From what I can piece together, my mom was the least-favored child by her mom and the youngest of three. Ironically, Dad was the most favored by his parents and youngest of five. Mom could be wonderfully tender or fiercely jealous and protective. Dad was wrapped up in his own world and rarely made any attempt to meet me in mine, yet he had a love of order and doing things right, which I also appreciate. My parents’ formative years affected mine. They always do.

There were things they did not get from their parents and things I did not get from them. I missed out on some unconditional love, so I learned to be a “good boy”. I also missed out on a lot of appropriate socialization, so I became introverted and insecure.

I have a little saying, “You don’t begin to know how messed up you are until you’re forty.” We grow up thinking our life was normal. Usually there is a part that was not normal or even healthy, but it can take a good while for that to sink in.

We all could make a list of things we did not receive from our parents, our teachers, and others who should have mentored us.

So what? We could think, “I didn’t get (fill in the blank) and I turned out “okay”.  So, we continue the pattern of our parents.

The easiest thing in the world is to repeat our parents’ errors and deficiencies. It comes naturally. We tell ourselves, “I will never (fill in the blank again)”. But these things are sneaky and we often do the same darn thing in a way that superficially looks different, but really is the same trait. We became like our parents!

My adult children could tell some stories about how I insisted their behavior was upstanding in every way. After all, I was a pastor. There were expectations, and those expectations may have been more stressed than love and acceptance. I wanted them to be “a good boy and a good girl”. Their good behavior reflected positively on me.

As a pastor, I was obsessed with my work. It was just different work than my dad’s. I was totally in my world with little time for family.

These are the things I did not get and did not give. They hurt me. They hurt my kids, my wife, and others. Since I was hurt by them so deeply, why would I inflict them on others, especially those I love the most? Why not give them the opposite of what I got, give them what we did not get?

Where my imposed expectations overshowed my unconditional love and acceptance, why not change the balance. There is no trait more noble, more nurturing than love and acceptance. Where the importance of work overshadowed the importance of family, why not flip it. It is not going to mean much if you sacrifice your family for your job.

This is a lesson for me. Maybe you need to hear it too.

Give what you did not receive.

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Southern Snow

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I am a southerner at heart. Maybe, even a beach bum. Though we have spent most of our lives in northwestern Missouri, central Illinois, and especially northeastern Illinois, near Lake Michigan on the Wisconsin state line, we love the south and have visited many times. Now we live here. Don’t worry we are not part of the wave of marauding tribes from the north trying to re-make Tennessee in the image of our former locale of low temps, high taxes, and wonky ways.

What’s not to like about the south? This is our kind of food. These are our kind of people, unhurried and refreshingly congenial. We even find the accent charming. We re-located here in May and were developing a strong bond, until January. Then our new friend turned on us with the menacing ways of something called January.

We were lavishing in the relatively mild weather of November and December, but come January, we felt betrayed. We were accepting of the cold nights and days warming up into the forties. But January went a step too far when we saw some teens and single digits, coupled with four or five inches of snow that overstayed its welcome. It was uninvited and unwanted, reminding us too much of what we moved from.

Winter and I have a history. We have a deep-seated disdain for each other. It seems like winter tries to get on my nerves; and it succeeds. I used to think SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) was something made up by psychiatrists for wimps, until I became aware of how winter tried to bring me down. 

Its short days make me feel unproductive. Its uncomfortable nature causes me to feel like I am under house arrest. Its limiting factors make me feel bored and I want to eat southern comfort food and snacks, loading up on carbs.

I hope for my sake (and everyone’s sake) this winter has been unusual because you are not prepared for it. Back in northeastern Illinois, there was an unofficial neighborhood contest to see who could snow blow their driveway first. You would hear the chorus of gas engines before dawn. The snowplows were out at first flake dumping massive quantities of salt on every highway and street. It took a major blizzard to affect people’s lives and schedules. I am talking feet of snow and huge drifts. Even then the inconvenience was short-lived. 

Here, in my neighborhood, we saw hardly a ripple in the snow for a couple of days. Traveling on any road other than a couple of highways was treacherous, so everyone just stayed home. I hate that feeling. Up north people get out just to defy the snow.

My backup plan is Florida. Our spring vacation to a little-known barrier island on the gulf coast of southwestern Florida is my mental happy place. It will be a few days of sun, sand, and surf with lots of walks on the beach. 

When we return home, it will be hot and humid here. That will give us something new to complain about.

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Staying Balanced

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Keeping our lives balanced is a bit like standing on one foot (which requires balance of a different kind). It’s hard to do for very long. Life throws things at us that draw our attention away from the safeguards and healthy habits that we build into our lives. 

When things get out of balance, we lose perspective and feel overwhelmed or underwhelmed, depressed or anxious.

I am driven by responsibility. In other words, I am obsessive. So, I have to remind myself daily of what it takes for me to stay on an even kneel.

Three words remind me of the of the kinds of activities I need to stay mentally, emotionally, and spiritually healthy.

Those three words?

Create. Relate. Recreate. 

They are my daily mantra and the things that feed my soul by keeping me calm, purposeful, loving, peaceful, and refreshed.

Create. I get great joy from writing and lighting design. You can check out the lighting design at doo-dads.com. Writing something that gives words to my thoughts and is clarifying for myself and, hopefully, others is incredibly rewarding.

Relate. Many of my activities are solitary. So, I have to remind myself to break out of the bubble and engage with people, whether it is a neighbor, a service provider, or checker at Walmart. Something about this lightens my day. 

When we are inwardly healthy, we tend to be outwardly healthy too. In other words when we take care of ourselves, we are nicer people. An when we are nicer people, it is personally rewarding.

Recreate. There is great value in goofing off. It clears out the cache of preoccupying thoughts and worries like a mental reboot. It might be taking time for a hobby that we enjoy, getting out in nature, physical exercise, visiting a friend, or anything where we are totally present in the moment.

We cannot be helpful to other people if we don’t take care of ourselves.

Years ago, I was listening to radio program about happiness. As it got to the very end the host asked the guest for one last quick bit of advice. Here is what he said:

Read a book.

Take a walk.

Call a friend.

It really is the same mantra.

Staying inwardly happy and healthy is the best thing we can do for ourselves and others. Honestly, we will probably need to remind ourselves of this countless times throughout our lives.

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Mamdani and Maduro

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Two very strange things happened in the last few days. A Democratic Socialist was sworn in as mayor of New York City and the United States invaded another sovereign nation capturing its leader to face justice in the U.S. These are unusual events to say the least and they are representative of two ways of governing that have a very long history of opposition in our country. 

One is socialism, a system where the government owns or controls the major resources and industries, aiming to distribute wealth and opportunities more equally. The goal is to ensure everyone’s basic needs (like healthcare, education) are met by government programs, rather than private individuals and companies that profit from them. It’s about collective well-being and cooperation, contrasted with capitalism’s focus on private ownership and free markets, though many modern systems blend elements of both systems. 

We are a capitalist country which enables a few people to do extremely well, many people to get by pretty well, and some folks to really struggle. Our personal prosperity is controlled by the markets and other economic factors along with individual effort and good (or not so good) fortune. Our goods and services come mostly from the private marketplace, though we also have some quasi-socialist programs like Social Security and Medicare.

Capitalism champions personal freedom and individual effort. Socialism upholds the common good and the ability of the government to oversee it. The capitalist one-liner about socialism is. “Socialism doesn’t work because eventually you run out of other people’s money.” 

Several European nations have massive socialist programs providing things like childcare and higher education for “free,” but they have a much higher tax rate. The population in these countries are some of the happiest people in the world because they don’t have to worry about affording these things, like we do. Yet, communist countries also deploy socialism with a much less desirable result.

The new mayor of New York has promised several free services Americans find necessary for daily life. We’ll see how that goes. It sounds great, but it will be extremely expensive. Where will the money come from?

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On January 3rd in the wee hours of the morning the lights went out in Caracos, the Venezuelan capital of 300,000. Military bases and air defenses were bombed by over 150 U.S. aircraft. Then the helicopters came in flying under the radar. Members of the US Army’s Delta Force quickly found Maduro and his wife and extracted them. Dozens of Venezuelans were killed, along with 32 Cuban citizens who were part of Maduro’s security detail.

Maduro was indeed a narco-terrorist and allied with Russia, China, Cuba, Iran, and Hezbollah, selling them oil from the world’s largest reserve. Even though resource rich, mismanagement and corruption led to the collapse of the Venezuelan economy causing eight million people to leave the country, many winding up in the US.

Maduro was a bad guy. But regime change has never worked very well for us. Remember Iraq and Afghanistan. While the military pulled off a flawless feat and there is a feeling it was good thing to bring this corrupt dictator to justice, we are left with an important question. 

Was it legal? 

It was not. It was a violation of international law. There was no security council approval or case for self-defense. It was a violation of the US Constitution which requires congressional approval for significant military interventions. It was not a law enforcement operation. It was a military operation in a foreign state.

But it is a good thing the thug is out of power, and the US took control of the oil and we are “running the country. “ Right?

It sounds rather like something we would condemn if another country did it. Mr. Trump has already issued 225 Executive Orders this presidential term, more than his entire first term. There are 253 active cases challenging his administrative actions. Trump obviously has a way of stretching the legal limits of his authority. Executive overreach is not new, but the blatancy and extent it is being used by the present administration is new.

It seems like a good thing. Does it really matter if it was legal? It does if we are a nation of laws that follows its constitution, let alone international law.

Frustration births change, for better or worse. People are frustrated with the high cost of living. Having the government provide necessary services for them that they cannot afford on their own has a broad appeal. 

People are also frustrated when we don’t have a strong response to countries that pose a threat to our nation. Many of us would rather see a quick and effective executive response than have Congress debate it to death.

These frustrations and extreme responses are born out of a basic dissatisfaction of our government and the status quo. My question is: Do we really want to throw out the founding principles and guardrails our nation was founded on? We might be inclined to say, “yes,” if it works to our favor, but the day will come that we regret it.

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Nuggets for the New Year

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Here it is: the big flip of the page to 2026. It’s that golden opportunity to reflect on 2025 and to aspire for a better 2026. The trick is combining those noble aspirations with the crush of reality for a hopeful way forward.

But let’s be honest, somewhere about mid-January most of our aspirations for the new year usually get waylaid by the realities of daily life and the difficulty of personal change.

Here are some random thoughts to help us combine those noble aspirations with the crush of reality for a hopeful way forward.

Change is possible. I am not one of those who believes that people never change because I have witnessed life-altering change in my life and in other people.

Change is hard. It is more than a little unlikely that anyone will change something that has been a part of the pattern of their life for several years in a few days or weeks.

Change requires a strategy. It won’t just happen because we wish it to. We have to dig deep, asking ourselves, “What is it really going to take?” There will be a whole subcategory of steps and little changes to get to the desired goal. Work on those little steps.

Change is a process. It is not an event. We have to learn to embrace the process, realizing that we have not arrived, but are in process for all of life. That process will involve some successes and some failures. We are doing great if we can keep the arrow generally pointed in the right direction.

Change requires grace. The great example is God’s grace who accepts us as we are. The great challenge is to accept others as they are, but the greatest challenge may be to accept ourselves as we are. Yet, that is where we are. That is reality.

Change needs acceptance. “What if we never change?” “What if we keep failing?” What if self-loathing sets in and we keep replaying negative mental messages about ourselves? It all comes down to our understanding of God.

If our view of God is someone who is surprised by our failure or sin and somehow changes how he feels about us, we will likely become an obsessive self-improvement freak or someone who feels a bit more righteous than most. That is not the God I know who was fleshed out by Jesus. That’s a god of our own making him more like us than the real God.

Change is not just about us. One of the big parts of changing is becoming more loving. We all have this tendency to get lost in our own little world when the best thing we can do for ourselves and others is to become more loving and focused on others.

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Tales of the Glories of Christmases Long-Long-Ago

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Since this post seemed to several people last year, I am reposting it here.

Christmas 1981

The news hit us hard. Everything in our busy lives faded from our minds as our thoughts were consumed with one new haunting fact. Patty had a large tumor that required a hysterectomy. She was twenty-five. 

We got married very young. Patty was only eighteen. I was all of twenty. By this time we had two children, a girl and a boy, ages four and two.

She was an ER nurse, and I was finishing college and working part time. 

We didn’t have time for a hospitalization. So, we planned it during my Christmas break.

In those days, we lived over an hour and half from our parents and they both expected us to spend equal time with them (at least). So, visits were always a chore with two little kids, a long drive, and fiercely competitive parents.

That year, we spent Christmas Day in St. Joseph’s Hospital in Kansas City, Missouri. We ate Christmas Dinner together, side-by-side in her room, while celebrating a successful surgery and watching the Kennedy Center Honors on TV. Victor Borge was inducted that year. Patty only hurt when she laughed. The food was good. The program was hilarious. It was peaceful there in the hospital as the patient census was very low due to the holiday. 

We had no demands to meet, just each other.

We felt blessed.

Christmas 2004

We had two beautiful step-granddaughters, but we were about to experience the first Christmas with our less than one month old grandson. We always had Christmas here at our home north of Chicago, but the kids lived way up in St. Paul, Minnesota and the weather was bad. We didn’t know if the highways would be clear enough for them to make it.

Patty and I were more excited than two little kids expecting an extravagant Christmas gift. 

I kept playing “This Christmas Day“ by Tran Siberian Orchestra over and over. There is a line in the song, “She’s (our daughter) coming home this Christmas Day.” 

That song has moved me to tears and goosebumps so many times as we embraced the gift of a most precious baby boy. 

He is now twenty-one and doing well at university.

We felt blessed.

Christmas 2015-ish

For over forty years we celebrated Christmas with the entire family at home on Christmas Eve. We would eat good food, read the Christmas story from Luke 2, and open presents.

The tradition began with steaks cooked on the grill. As the family grew, the steaks turned into kabobs.

It’s almost always very cold at Christmas time in the upper Midwest but tradition demanded cooking the kabobs on the grill. So, I would wheel it out of the garage and fire it up. It’s a job for my son, Nathan, and me. 

Something happens out there between father and son as we freeze our butts off. While the inside of the house is filled with frenzied activity and chatter, the cold outdoors is peaceful and focused with just two people.

We enjoy the man time and have admitted to each other; it is our favorite time.

Now my Son-in-Law, Jared joins us too.

We felt blessed.

Christmas 2019

We were called back to Missouri as Mom faced her last few days on earth. She was only a tiny bit conscious at times. Her body was shutting down. Patty, Michelle, and I were keeping vigil wondering if each breath would be her last.  

She passed away while Michelle and I returned to the hotel on an errand. Patty called letting me know Mom had slipped away from this life into the next.  Patty thought she waited to let go until I left. It was the day before Christmas Eve. The kids came. The arrangements were made. The funeral would be the day after Christmas. We had no Christmas plans, no place for Christmas.

My cousin who had sat with mom until we arrived invited us to her home for Christmas Dinner. Her son and his family were visiting from Austria. Little Sebastian was running around as conversations ensued in English and German. They are all delightful, gracious people. 

They adopted us into their family.

Even in our grief, we felt blessed.

Christmas 4BC

God came low, real low. Humanity low. Poverty low. Nobody low. So low hardly anyone recognized him. His few initial followers were also low, some foreign mystics, some sheepherders who were regarded as untrustworthy, and a faithful elderly couple. 

The oppressive religious system and the ruthless foreign superpower that occupied the country colluded with each other to stay in power and keep the people in submission. Yet, it was all as intended, the poverty, the high taxes, the oppressive government, the corrupt religious leaders.

It’s not the end of the story. He was killed. He did rise. 

And now, it’s not about being good enough or having faith enough.

It’s about embracing him.

We are blessed.

Merry Christmas, friends!

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Nashville Nights 

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We just returned home from spending a weekend in Nashville, our third trip, but our first concert.

I am not a big city guy, but I like to go and see the things the city offers and then head back to my cozy home in the Cumberlands of East Tennessee.

Nashville is one of the fastest growing cities in America with 2.15 million people living in the metro area, making it the twenty-first largest in the nation, the fourth largest city in the south, and Tennessee’s biggest city.

It feels like a big city because it draws 16.8 million visitors a year who spend almost 11 billion dollars. There is so much to do in Nashville, one could easily stay an entire week in an attempt to sample all the city has to offer.

Nashville has more than its share of monikers, Athens of the South, Music City, and Nash Vegas. I understand each of them, especially the last one.

The street scene on Broadway in Nashville is like none other with wall-to-wall honkey-tonks for blocks and rocking country music leaking out of each one of them. Some have different bands in different rooms. The sidewalks are packed with visitors looking for a good time.

Nashville is indeed music city, but it is also a bustling party town with its pedal bars and bachelorette parties. It’s a different world, like something out of a movie. I am not a party guy, but I have fun looking at all of the honkey-tonk names colorfully displayed in neon and listening to all of the live music.

The Ryman Auditorium has a special place in the hearts of all music lovers. Known as “The “Mother Church of Country Music.” This 2,362-seat venue was originally built as the Union Gospel Tabernacle in 1890 and was home to the Grand Ole Opry from 1943 to 1974 when a new home was built for the Opry. It is on the National Register of Historical Places and has hosted rock artists for decades earning its place as a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Landmark.

For several years I have wanted to attend a concert there.

My opportunity presented itself in the form of The Mavericks, a group that defies categorizing. My best take is country, rock, and Latin music that makes you dance. We have seen them once before in Milwaukee. We love them, though my wife needs ear protection.

We had our tickets for several months, then, sadly the founder and front man, Raul Malo developed a rare and fatal form of cancer. Raul was truly a maverick in creating a style of music that confounded the Nashville musical establishment. 

He put together a touring entourage that included electric guitars, bass, drums, keyboard, accordion, and a brass section. They enjoyed considerable success in the studio and on the road over thirty-five years, developing a committed grassroots following. 

The man has the purest, silkiest voice I have ever heard. It makes you listen with joy. So, I got to see one of my favorite bands at one of the most storied venues in the country. We spent most of the three hours on our feet. Raul was unable to perform, but the band called on a number of their musical friends to cover Raul’s vocals. The night was full of energy and emotion.

Nashville was very much another world than my daily experience, but one I truly enjoyed. If you love live music, Nashville is the place to be.

Raul passed away two days after we attended the concert. His voice, his smile, his passion reached the back row and touched the hearts of many, including me.

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Elrod Falls and Bob

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It was a pretty fall day, and I had made a vow to myself and my wife to get out and explore our new home, i.e., the Cumberland Mountains. Somewhere in my internet searches for interesting attractions, I ran across Elrod Falls. 

It was forty-two miles away. Was it worth the drive? Who knows? Let’s find out. That’s what you do when you are retired and are weary of being consumed with all that is involved in making a new house your home. I was feeling like I worked here, but I haven’t really lived here yet. I also, had just found my way through some health issues and was ready to get out and reclaim my life. It was high time to regain some balance and get acquainted with the local geography.

As seems to be the case with a lot of natural attractions in this part of country, the journey progressed from highway to secondary roads, to something that just barely qualifies as a road. It is easy to picture someone meeting you with a shotgun if the “road” is indeed someone’s long, winding private driveway. 

Who cares. We were just two “kids” out for a scenic drive.

We learned Elrod Falls is a county attraction, a natural wonder really. The area has limited improvements, a fire pit, some benches, a walking trail along Flat Gap Creek which originates on Clinch Mountain in Hancock County (Tennessee).

As we pulled into the area, it was a bit disappointing because the water level was so low. The creek was covered with moss-laden rocks that formed a couple of small pools. But we were not deterred and followed the trail up creek to find the main attraction: a sixty-five-foot-high incline with a gurgling trickle tumbling over the rocky outcropping. It was magnificent. While standing on some wooden steps, captivated by the reward of journey, we met Bob.

This had proven to be great little day trip already, but meeting Bob made it even more special. While we leaned on the railing taking in the beauty, we chatted and learned a lot about each other in a short time. 

Bob said he was seventy-eight. He grew up in the area but found himself living out West in Montana for a good many years. He was happy to be back. He loved the natural beauty of the area and the slower pace of life. We listened to the stories from his youth, and he talked about how things have changed. He even stopped us as we were leaving to pass on another gem of story he had heard.

I liked Bob a lot. He brightened our day. I believe if we lived closer, we would be good friends.

I don’t know Bob’s back story. I assumed he was a widower. I thought a lot of people of his age and circumstances, would be sitting on the couch feeling sorry for themselves. Yet, Bob was out and about enjoying nature and meeting new people, bringing a little light into their lives.

He had his faithful companion with him, a hound dog who was well behaved off leach. He referred to her as his inspiration.

Bob showed me a lot about how to age with grace. He was my inspiration.

Our new friend told us about a food truck in nearby Sneedville, the only town in Hancock County. Since we were hungry, we found our way there. To our surprise, not long after we pulled in, here came Bob and his inspiration.

If anyone who reads this knows of Bob or the barbeque food truck in Sneedville, please let me know.

You can contact me at glennhager1@gmail.com or find me at glennhager.com or on Facebook.

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Living in a Dysfunctional Nation

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By the time you read this I suspect that a short-term compromise has finally been reached to fund the government. But as I write, the federal government has been shut down for Forty-four days. It is the longest shutdown in history.  Unfortunately, it is not an isolated event, but it is emblematic of how our government is functioning. 

In too many ways it is simply dysfunctional.

Here is a brilliantly simple explanation of what has happened from Alex Buscemi of The Builders Movement (abuscemi@buildersmovement.org). 

The government shutdown is basically America’s version of parents fighting while the kids hide upstairs, wondering when dinner will be ready. Mom and Dad (that’s Congress) are too busy screaming at each other over who “started it” to actually parent. Meanwhile, the kids (that’s us) are left scrounging the pantry, surviving on crushed-up Triscuits from the bottom of the box.

Millions of people were left waiting on delayed food assistance, hundreds of thousands of federal employees were not getting a paycheck, and travelers were left wondering if they could safely fly as air traffic controllers are among the unpaid. 

How could this happen? I pay my taxes, and I suspect you do too. It happened because Congress could not agree on a budget. So, it was not passed, not even a short-term resolution could be passed. It is the result of an ill-fated game of chicken, a silly partisan game that hurts lots of real people. They (in this case, the Democrats) could have passed the Continuing Resolution which would have kept funding at its current level and then had the much-needed debate about healthcare. However, both parties have been guilty of playing this game in the past.

I think it is the members of Congress whose paycheck should be withheld. They are the ones not doing their job. Part of their job is appropriations and they failed miserably.

It happened because politics is more important than people. On bill after bill, the Republicans vote as a block and so do the Democrats. The Senate is split 53 Republican and 47 Democrats.  It takes sixty senators to pass legislation.

Our two-party system is not constitutionally mandated. As a matter of fact, our first and only independent president, George Washington, warned us about them.

He famously expressed his opinion of political policies in his farewell address.

The spirit of party serves always to distract the public councils and enfeeble the publicadministration. It agitates the community with ill-founded jealousies and false alarms, kindles the animosity of one part against the another, foments occasional riot and insurrection. 

His prophetic words sound more like a current news report than a historical document/

It seems unlikely one party would be right on everything and the other one wrong every time. What are the odds?

Each party would have us believe that they are trying to save America and the other is trying to destroy it; and people believe it. The purpose of political parties is to amass power and money, so their candidates get elected and their policies get enacted and thousands of federal employees keep their jobs or get new jobs through a change in administration.

Their message is one of fear and hate. Fear about how the other party Is trying to destroy their beloved nation and hate and vilification about how bad, how evil, and how un-American their opponents are.

America has been built upon civil discourse. Our founders knew there would be disagreements. They actually made it difficult to pass legislation and they wanted to protect of the minority view so that it got a hearing. Negotiation is absolutely essential for us to function. 

Now negotiation, compromise, and civility are as out of fashion as the leisure suit. The very principles that our nation was founded on, and the very core of our constitutional operating system are looked upon with as a sign of weakness and disloyalty.  

So, here we are. Legislators are too busy repeating their increasingly extreme party mantra, too busy vilifying colleagues who differ, too busy shamelessly gerrymandering districts, too busy running for re-election, too busy fundraising, too busy to hold the executive branch in check, and too busy to simply do the people’s business (their job).

The result is our country gets mired down in crisis after crisis. Our ability to respond to a growing array of timely challenges is frozen. The can keeps getting kicked down the down the road. We have drifted into tribalism and regionalism. Neighbor hates neighbor because he has the nerve to have a different opinion on politics and the very fabric that holds us together is alarmingly frayed.

What can we do?

Get out of the echo chamber. The easiest thing to do is confine ourselves to an echo chamber of people with like experiences and opinions, but we will never learn or grow there. It is not heresy to listen to someone who has a different opinion. To not do so is actually naïve and narrow-minded. We might not like somethings someone says and believes, but they may have a different experience and perspective that deserves hearing.

“Make our own sausage.” Sauage is made from lots of different ingredients and opinions on important issues are best if based on information from several varied sources. I know it is easier to follow what someone else believes than to gather our own information and form our own opinion, but everyone has blind spots. Unfortunately, there is a whole cadre of politicos and media types who make big money by projecting a particular opinion rather than conveying solid information from various sources. Their job is to keep the base outraged at their opponents and blind to the misgivings of their chosen politician. 

Remember relationships are more important than politics. The most heartbreaking thing about what is happening is that relationships have been fractured because two people have different political opinions. 

There are a lot of people who I just don’t understand. Why would they say that? Why would they do that? Why do they think that way? At times I feel that way about the some of the people closest to me. 

Love is stronger than that. Love kicks in when we don’t understand. You don’t have to agree with someone to listen and treat them with respect.

Please contact me at glennhager1@gmail.com or find me at glennhager.com or on Facebook.

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Notes from a Novice Appalachian

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I am not from here. About a quarter of my life was spent in northwest Missouri having grown up in St. Joseph. After that we moved to a bedroom town near Kansas City, Missouri (and I can’t help but remain a Chiefs’ fan). Lastly, we wound up in Illinois. First in central Illinois and then in northeastern Illinois.

That was our home for over thirty years, most of the time in Winthrop Harbor, Illinois. The name of the place sounds far grander than its reality, though we had a good life there, midway between Chicago and Milwaukee. We were very near Lake Michigan and just a block and a half south of the Wisconsin stateline.

The portion of our family that lived near us for several years migrated to rural Harrogate, Tennessee. Rather than be alone as senior citizens in a region known for its high taxes and flukey climate, we decided to join them here.

I only have five months of experience with the people of Appalachia. When we moved here, I never even thought of this area as part of Appalachia. I tend to think of Kentucky and West Virginia as part of the region, but not Tennessee. 

Like most of the uninitiated, I think of Tennessee as a desirable location. You say, “Tennessee” to most folks, and they reply with “Nashville”, and Nashville is booming. Maybe they will think of Memphis, Chattanooga, Knoxville, or Pigeon Forge and Dollywood. But here in eastern Tennessee the term Appalachia is owned and embraced.

I am trying to understand all that is packaged in that word because Appalachia is my home now and likely will be until I die.

Maybe AI is good for something. Here is the AI view from 100,000 feet up. 

Appalachia is a cultural and geographical region in the eastern United States that stretches from southern New York to northern Mississippi, encompassing parts of 13 states. The region is defined by the Appalachian Mountains and is home to a diverse population with a rich history. While the area has a strong cultural identity, it also faces modern challenges such as poverty and a need for better infrastructure.

Without a doubt it is different here than anywhere we have ever lived. The most outstanding thing my wife and I have noticed is the kindness, politeness, and congeniality of the people. I am not just trying to get on your good side. This distinctive was striking to us and we love it. 

I have been referred to as “brother” by people I just met and our new names are, “Mr. Glenn” and “Miss Patty”. Also, a shopping cart became a buggy. Everything is closed on the weekends and stories are a part of any significant transaction. It slows things down a bit much for most northerners but shows a real interest in each other as people.

To us, things here seem old-timey and quaint. A lot of things that used to be a common part of interpersonal relations and have long since faded away elsewhere remain here.

The mountains in our backyard are a special treasure. I think we are beginning to get used to everything being strung out in the hollers. 

We have a found a surprising number of local businesses in our new “twin cities” of Tazewell and New Tazewell, Tennessee. Also, we found a surprising amount of traffic on route 33. I don’t know where everybody comes from.

Taxes here are unbelievably lower than in Illinois. Property taxes are close to one-tenth. Government regulation also is far more lax. Where we used to live, you had to pull a permit and have several inspections to build a simple porch.

To be sure, there are more blighted residences and empty commercial buildings (at least around here), punctuated by an occasional grandiose home on a hill. It would seem to indicate the continued prevalence of poverty and a lack of good-paying jobs.

Isolation formed Appalachia. Back in the day when transportation was a struggle, things in our country where decentralized. You did business with a local merchant in your own little town. There was accountability. These days you can’t even get decent customer service no matter how many buttons you push on your cell phone or how long you wait while listening to terrible music. 

Here, the topography lent to the isolation and independence of the people as they embraced their own unique cultural history.

For generations all of this was denigrated, and the perception of Appalachia was that of an impoverished, uneducated people. 

It has become a different story as the uniqueness of the region has become embraced and celebrated.

Appalachia has massive beauty abounding with opportunities for outdoor recreation. It has its own special culture that has birthed countless musicians and artisans. Factories and businesses have located here due to favorable economic conditions. 

I think, (and most everything I have written is just me thinking out loud) this vast region has vast opportunities ahead. 

I would love to hear your thoughts.

Please contact me at glennhager1@gmail.com or find me at glennhager.com or on Facebook.

The photo of the barn was taken at the end of the my street.

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Health Scare

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I know I have been writing a lot about my health issues lately. But writers often write about something in the realm of their personal experience. Health issues have been an unexpected part of my personal experience lately, first orthopedic and then cardiac. I have enjoyed a remarkable lack of serious health issues my whole life, until now, so this is all new to me.

For three weeks I waited for a cardiology appointment form a large provider in Knoxville, our nearest city. Last Tuesday, I suggested to my primary care provider that we switch to another group that could actually follow through and make a phone call. 

Thursday, I got the call, which caused me to jump for joy and begin to worry in a different way, having no idea of what a visit there might entail, an interview, an EKG, a stress test, heart cath, and angioplasty, or surgery. Patty suggested I pack an overnight bag.

We arrived early at a medical facility with an army of cariologists. I got an EKG, a chat with the doc, and an increase in my new blood pressure medicine. That’s it!

It turns that I am kind of weird; no surprise I know. I have a low resting heart rate in the 50’s – 60’s, like an athlete. However, as my wife reminds me, I am not an athlete by any reach of the imagination. For some unknow reason my blood pressure went up but that can be controlled by medication. Since April I have had a lot of stress with moving and a whole lot of muscle and joint pain with old injuries flaring up.

My EKG is also weird which alarmed my PA. I have a hard beat and thickening of the left ventricle, called hypertrophy. All of this weirdness that decided to make itself known might cause a problem in the future, but most likely, it is just the way I am. It was something that alarmed my PA because it looks bad on an EKG but did not alarm the cardiologist at all since I have no symptoms whatever. 

Here are his conclusions:

Stop the Ibuprofen altogether. I had been taking 800mg 3x/day for 3-4 months for joint pain. It can cause some of these problems.

Increase the blood pressure medicine.

Wear a Holter monitor for three days.

Get a cardiac echo.

Go about my regular activities.

It’s hard to overstate how relieved and thankful I am! This entire episode has been surreal.

Thank you much for your concern and prayers.

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Waiting

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I’m still waiting to get an appointment with a cardiologist. It has been three weeks after I was told that I have some real issues in that department. 

Certainly, there are some good things about medical care in this country. We probably have some of the best and most advanced medicine in the world, if you can pay for it. However, it is uneven in its availability. 

We don’t have a system, but a mishmash of providers and insurance companies, government and private payment programs. Each one has a catalog of what’s covered and what’s not that takes an army of office staff to keep up with.

The goal of electronic records to make your information available to you and each of your providers has been a failure. Different systems are still being used.

The fact that I am still waiting for a response from a huge university cardiology group indicates that prompt, personal care is the exception, not the rule.

I am not a patient patient. My primary care doctor expressed great concern and a sense of urgency about my condition, and I can’t even get a returned phone call from a huge provider with a large staff of doctors. Something is wrong.

At times I am indignant. At times I am anxious and begin to imagine symptoms I don’t have. At times I am distracted, and it all is pushed to the back of my mind.

Waiting is a bitch. I have no idea about the tests or procedures that will be performed on me, or how long it all will take, or how we should plan for anything.

It’s all new to me having enjoyed good health most of my life.

What do you do when you are troubled by something but unable to do anything about it?

You can worry yourself sick about it.

You can wear out your family or friends by talking about it all the time.

Or you can make peace with it through prayer and faith and immerse yourself in life each day.

This waiting, this helplessness, reminds me that it not only relates to our personal life, but also the interpersonal.

How many times have we wanted something for somebody more than they seemed to want it themselves? These are the people who keep falling into the same hole, rather it is addiction, money management, or accepting treatment for mental illness. 

They ask for help. We help them. Then they fall again and again. We cannot fix them, no matter what we do. They have to take the necessary steps for themselves. 

I was a pastor for two decades and was confronted with this dilemma repeatedly, but there are no magic words. There isn’t enough money. There are no life-altering seminars. There is no magic prayer. The process of recovery usually comes gradually, one step at a time and it begins in the heart of the person who has been a victim of their own decisions.

But we can still support them, love them, and prayer for them.

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A Personal Note

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This post is a bit self-indulgent, but I needed to write it for me (and maybe for you or someone else who reads it.) 

I am seventy-one years old and have been blessed with good health. Finally, the “check engine” light came on.

Chronic joint and muscle pain have been my unwanted companions for about five months. At its worse, the hip pain kept me from being able to get in the car and unable to walk when I got out. 

The shoulder pain was an aggravation of old injuries and torn rotator cuffs. I couldn’t pick up our little dog, get my shirt on, or raise my left arm. It was excruciating in the mornings and hurt in the evenings. My left arm was very weak and painful. I never had anything like it before and certainly not for that duration. It was a long, painful, aggravating stretch.

It all flared up when I started packing to move to Tennessee. As it got worse, I put off going to the doctor because we were on such a tight schedule to get moved. I planned on seeking medical attention as soon as I could. 

I didn’t even make it to Tennessee. About midnight we rolled into Lafayette, Indiana. Both cars were ridiculously stuffed with last minute items that did not get on the moving truck, and we had Odie, the Terrific Terrier. This was our planned first stop, since we had to be out of the old house, but we planned on getting there several hours sooner.

I got out of the car and could just barely hobble. Odie escaped and was checking out the hotel. The world’s best night manager saw I was in pain while Patty parked both cars and brought in the stuff we needed.  He chased Odie down and brought him to our room.

I woke up the next morning not being able to imagine driving all the way to eastern Tennessee. So, we stopped at an urgent care place. A prednisone pack gave me about three better days.

All in all, I have been to two urgent care centers, made six visits to a local orthopedist, had numerous cortisone shots and prednisone packs until I couldn’t get anymore because of potential side effects. Then I began physical therapy for sixteen sessions (twice a week). It took about ten sessions before I saw improvement. Now I am at about 80% – 90% which is a huge relief. I graduated physical therapy but continue to do the exercises. 

Then I found out that was just chapter one of my health issues.

It was time to find a primary care doctor so I could get my prescriptions refilled. Upon the recommendation of our daughter-in-law (one of the three nurses in our family) we went to PA in Tazewell, close to home. She was wonderful, a straight talking, caring, country doctor sort. I really like her.

One of the first things medical personal do is take your blood pressure. Mine is always near perfect. The nurse took it and immediately returned with an EKG machine and asked me all of the usual questions about symptoms of heart disease. Light-headed? No. Dizzy? No. Shortness of breath? No. 

She told me to take my shirt off and lie down on the examine table. Then she stuck electrodes all over my hairy self.  My blood pressure systolic number was over 200. Do you have a history of high blood pressure? No. I just want my two little maintenance scripts refilled. 

The PA came in and she was very concerned, “Mr. Hager your EKG is very irregular,” and she showed me the particular squiggly of concern. You need to see a cardiologist in Knoxville. We will write the referral today. To sum it up so I can understand it: My blood pressure is too high, my pulse is too low, and I have a weird EKG.

I said I feel fine! She said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t need a heart cath and a pacemaker.” I thought, I just want my prescriptions refilled. Then she said,” If you have any symptoms call 911 immediately.” 

The only good thing about the visit was that she told me to stop mowing the yard and have someone else do it.

I was in shock. Wasn’t five straight months of ortho pain enough? I swore to myself. It was surreal.

I am the kind of person who feels like I need to process everything in order to move on. I realized my initial response was shock. It was a lot to take in. 

My second response was sadness. The kind that can make tears well up. I want to live a full and active life. I know I am seventy-one, but, honestly, I am a slow learner and am just now getting a handle on some things and figuring out the kind of person I want to be the rest of my life. I want to learn how to love other people better. In short, I have stuff to do and people to love.

I don’t want to cause my family any burden or have to be cared for. I want to take care of them. I don’t want to leave them.

How could all of these health issues happen at the same time while we were just getting settled in a new area? I have no idea.

The process was shock, sorrow, “Sherlock Mode” (trying to figure it out), and finally settling down. 

That’s me. I need a little time to process things and wallow around in the worst-case scenario.

Right after this I talked to a dear friend who has been on a pacemaker for decades and has lived a wonderful life. 

Today I chatted with another person, a contractor that is fixing up our little buildings. He has been electrocuted and suffered several heart attacks. Ironically, he is doing the electrical work. 

It takes a good while to get in to see the cardiologist. I have been waiting fifteen days so far. I don’t know what the future holds. But my worry factor went way down.

I think there are some lessons for me to learn. 

  • Many people have worse things to deal with. Now I can be a little more empathetic.
  • Many people have faced similar issues and have continued to have a full life. 
  • Live each day big. Dive into it. Relax. Find the blessing. Be the blessing.
  • Live each day small, too. Don’t miss anything. There are so many blessings and opportunities.
  • If you know Jesus, you are in a win-win situation.This could be something kind of big or not so big. It feels surreal because
  • I feel fine and can do almost anything, but mow the yard, and it has been so hot I wasn’t enjoying that too much.

Waiting. Not worrying. Keeping the faith. Focusing on others. Nurturing peace, the kind that God gives. It’s a challenge, but doable.

I’m okay.

Thank you for the prayers and for indulging me.

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Dirt

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There must be a little dirt in my blood, more specially, clay. It sounds like a cardiovascular nightmare, but the point is I have always liked dirt track racing. 

When I was a kid, my parents frequented the local track at a nearby town in Northwest Missouri. When we moved to Decatur, in central Illinois, we had Macon Speedway close by. Finally, when we lived in northeastern Illinois, we had Wilmot Speedway just across the state line in Wisconsin. They each hosted various classes of cars, classics, late models, and sprint cars.

 As life got busy, we only went to races occasionally

Now that I live in New Tazewell, we have Tazwell Speedway just up the road a bit. Just a few days ago we made our inaugural visit to the track, which is positioned to have a scenic backdrop of distant mountains and rolling hills.

The most impressive thing is the track itself which is low and highly banked while the seating is elevated so you are right on top of the action. If you are seated up high, you can see the entire track without turning your head. 

Things moved rapidly and efficiently: hot laps, qualifying, and feature races for each class.

Racing always seemed very Americana to me, with overtones of evangelicalism, patriotism, conservatism, good-ole-boy-ism, competition, and danger. Obviously, these drivers are highly skilled adrenalin junkies. The fans are too, in a different way. 

It’s fast, loud, powerful, exciting, dangerous, and unpredictable. No doubt, it takes a lot of money, technical skill, and driver instinct to do well in this sport.

In reality, it is a bunch of overpowered cars being driven in a circle making four left turns. When you think of it in those terms it sounds a little silly. But so does football, which is a bunch of big, extravagantly paid, stout young men battling to get a weird-shaped ball to the end of a field. 

I guess a similar observation could be made about numerous sports and pastimes causing some people to think these pursuits have no value, but, in fact, they do.

They give us someone to cheer for (our favorite driver, player, or team.)

They give us a tribe (fans of the same driver or team.) It opens up a family-like relationship, providing a sense of belonging.

Here is another example. Since we are originally from the Kansas City area. We have watched Kansas City Chiefs games weekly with our son, daughter-in-law, and occasionally, others for about twenty-five years. For several years, we have gone to Chiefs training camp at my hometown in St. Joseph, Missouri. We have bonded together around this crazy game and it gives us an excuse to get together and eat good food. 

These sports give us something to cheer about (or to complain about) that really doesn’t matter. We have a few hours together of free emotional expression and community over something other than our usual responsibilities and worries. 

They bring us together, providing us a break in the routine of busy days, worries and preoccupations.

While it might seem trivial in the ultimate scheme of things, it really does matter.

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The Appalachian Grand Prix

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I got my first Tennessee speeding ticket yesterday. I was doing 73 in a 55 zone on 25E south of town. It’s my wife’s fault for buying a red car. 

I like my seat back and my steering wheel low. Unfortunately, the wheel position obscured the speedometer. On my car I have the gadgets set so there is a big digital display of my speed right in front of me. I didn’t want to fool with the settings in her car. So, I tried to match the prevalent speed of my highway neighbors. 

That strategy did not work well. 

I waited for what seemed like and inordinately long time between introduction and presentation. I commented to my wife that the state troopers should have a printer in their cruiser, so they don’t have to write it all out. Ironically, Mr. Trooper handed me a full page, obviously fresh off a printer since it curled up.

“Officer, can you tell me, how much is my fine.”

“No, you need to call this number tomorrow.”

A nice lady answered the phone letting me know if I was ticketed by a state trooper it takes about a week for them to get the paperwork. So, that gives me a full week to agonize over how much I have to pay.

It seems like Tennessee takes speeding very seriously, like it is a sizable chunk of state revenue. Where I lived in the Chicago area, if you weren’t doing ten or more over the speed limit on the highways and tollways, you were a significant hazard to the traffic flow.

Things are different here. 

According to census data, there are less than 5,000 people in old town and new town (New Tazewell and Old Tazewell). How does that explain the traffic on Route 33, which reminds me of Chicago? My theory is that the local topography is not conducive to building highways, so about everything is on one road.

Another thing, what’s with the strobe-accented red lights? I have never seen those before. I guess they are designed to get people’s attention and not necessarily to induce a seizure.

It’s the mountain roads that are my favorite with their crazy intersections, hairpin curves, narrow lanes, and my personal favorite, hills that you cannot see over. One thing they don’t have is shoulders. Pulling over could be a serious mistake. This network of windy, hilly roads make up the Apalachin Grand Prix. It seems to be a challenge to see how fast you can take them. The cops aren’t there because the road itself limits your speed.

Being new to the area, we have tried to find so many sites that we have read about as we were researching our surroundings. Several of those we never did find and was thankful just to make it back to civilization.

Since it looks like I will be making a significant contribution the state coffers, I would like to designate my contribution to putting up better signs.

One more thing we have learned is that you cannot give directions by saying turn at the Dollar General, the Baptist Church, or the old barn.

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Leroy

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Sometimes writers change things, like names and details. They do it to keep from offending people and to keep from being sued. Occasionally, it is essentially to protect the guilty. 

I am going to tell you a story that is true in its intent, but not in its details.

A few weeks back I walked into a hardware store (It was not really a hardware store.)  looking for a small hook to hang a mosquito zapper on our back porch (also fabricated). My wife is very allergic to mosquito bites and hey cause little burning welts. I am fortunate in that I am rarely bothered by them at all. (This part is true.)

As I entered the store, I was not greeted which is generally the case at this type of local store. However, there was a middle-aged employee standing near the entrance looking at his phone. He seemed to be completely uncaring that a customer just walked through the door and probably needed a little help locating a specific item.

Aimlessly, I started wandering about when I encountered the guy again. He seemed a little peeved that I interrupted his obviousness, but he did eventually lead me to the item I needed.

I was brand new to the area and wanted to be friendly to the people I met. So, I engaged him on our little journey to the correct isle. I told him I was new around here and asked him for his best advice for a new-comer.

This is what I got: (This part is true and verbatim.)

  • “People move here but they don’t stay.” (How’s that for a friendly welcome?)
  • “It’s an okay place to live if you have made your living, but it is not a good place to make a living.”  (He may have a point if there is a lack of good paying jobs in the area, but it seemed like an odd welcome.)
  • “We don’t have much to offer. The schools here are not good.” (My grand-daughter has two kids in school here and loves the schools.)
  • I tried changing the subject to local restaurants mentioning a restaurant in Middlesboro, which is probably the best restaurant in the area. Not, surprisingly, he didn’t like it either. 
  • Oddly, he did invite me to church. I spent a sizable chunk of my life in church work, but I really didn’t want whatever he had.
  • I turned to ask a question about my item, but he was in the process of making a quick retreat.

Everyone else I have met here has been wonderfully friendly and gracious. So, this guy was an anomaly. I will name him Leroy (not his real name, of course).

I have found people like Leroy everywhere, especially in online comment sections where they can anonymously let their negativity, cynicism, and anger rip.

I have noticed that wherever there is something new and exciting happening in an area, most of the online comments will be negative and cynical. 

On the political stage it is even worse, the opponent or the other party will be ridiculed and vilified, but never really listened to. The most bizarre example from the other side will be held up as a straw man to show how stupid, corrupt, immoral, downright evil, and un-American the other side really is. Most of the effort goes to political infighting rather than getting the work of the American people done.

Being negative is the easiest thing in the world because there are so many things wrong. Ranting about it is a knee jerk reaction. It takes little thought and effort. 

Doing something about it is hard. Improving the situation takes time. Listening to other people with different experiences and perspectives takes patience and empathy. Being positive in a world full of negativity takes serious effort. Loving people, especially those who have different opinions is difficult, but that is what loving your neighbor is all about.

My apologies to everyone named Leroy.

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It’s Different Here

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This post is intended for both local readers and those who live elsewhere.

Barn at the end of my street

I have lived in Tennessee a little over two months. That’s not very long, especially since so many people I have talked to have lived here all their life. But it is long enough to note some interesting contrasts to life back in northeastern Illinois where we lived between Chicago and Milwaukee for thirty-two years.

It didn’t take long to arrive at some conclusions about my new community. This place is not perfect. There are needs here like there are anywhere, but there some things about this area that I love, and I hope they never change. 

Here are some things to be proud of and some of the area’s greatest assets.

People here are delightfully congenial, polite, respectful, and kind. 

I hear it in daily conversations:

  • Being addressed by “Ma’am” or “Sir”
  • “Welcome to Tennessee.”
  • “Let me know If I can help you in any way.”
  • “I wouldn’t mind it just one bit.”
  • “Let me help you with that”
  • “Have a great day.” 

Sometimes northerners take themselves too seriously and focus more on what’s proper than what is congenial and caring. 

To me, these expressions seem pleasant, mannerly, quaint, southern, and comforting. They remind me a bit of where I grew up in Missouri. It’s a delightful, kind, and loving way to relate to people. 

These words and phrases used to be more common. Here they never went away.

I don’t just hear kindness in the language, but I also hear it the stories. Doing business in northeastern Tennessee is more than a transaction. It’s a relationship.

This tends to frustrate some folks not from here who just want the facts and get things done ASAP. 

If you need to buy something or hire somebody for a job, stories will ensue. You’ll hear stories about their business, various jobs, and other slices of life. The best part is they are unhurried and take time to make a true connection. They not only tell you their stories but patiently listen to yours as well. It shows the relationship is more important than the transaction.

It’s old-timey around here. I don’t mean behind the times or out-of-step with the popular culture. I mean some of the old ways have been long forgotten elsewhere. Here they never went away.

I hear it in the music. A few evenings ago, we took a little drive and wound up at an old out-of-the-way diner with amazing mountain views, huge portions, and some old-school, down home mountain musicians who kept it lively.

Last week I wandered into a local hardware store that seemed largely unchanged for decades with its original wood floors and owner seated at the rear of the store. It had survived numerous economic challenges to stay well-stocked and vital to this day. 

Newer is not always better. 

People work here. I mean they work with their hands. They sweat and get dirty. Where we lived most of the good jobs were in huge corporate office buildings. Also, many people worked from their home. 

Where we moved from, if you got the right degree, you could start your career with a six-figure salary. There folks commuted carrying their laptop in their backpack. Everything they did was on that computer. Most of the manual labor was done by migrants.

I like good honest work where people are not afraid to get their hands dirty and learn how to do something for themselves and help others. That is not the trend among most younger people and city dwellers today. They have a guy for that.

Granted, there are not huge international business parks and corridors of corporate buildings here, like there are north of Chicago. The jobs here seem to be more manual and likely pay less. I would think that leaves several manual jobs or entrepreneurial opportunities for those who want to work. I have noticed several young people working hard at their own business who seem to be doing well.

I am not swooping in to try to analyze your culture because now it is my culture too. This is where I live. This is probably where I will die. I want to learn about life here. I want to talk to interesting people. I want to interact with you. Please, feel free to send me any words of wisdom you have for a newbie to Claiborne County, Tennessee.

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Goodbye. Hello.

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Sometimes it seems like life never changes.  Each new day is eerily like the one before. But occasionally, there is a huge change, and we know it is the beginning of a whole new chapter. There are a lot of pages in a book, but only a few chapters and you will know when you begin one. 

The last kid moves out of the house. You retire. You have grandkids. You downsize. These changes are marked by graduations, weddings, births, funerals, and the signs of aging. 

Moving is one of those new chapters. It is more jarring than I ever thought, a bit like pulling something up by the roots and re-planting it somewhere else in what you think will be a better place. It takes awhile before it begins to show signs of growth. (Now I have officially mixed my metaphors.)

We had some great roots in northeastern Illinois. 

A home fixed up the way we wanted it with a remodeled kitchen, bathrooms, family room, and a beautiful, peaceful backyard

A location in a small bedroom town, close to a vibrant city with a spectacular waterfront, its own unique culture, and tons of festivals

A solid group of neighbors who looked after each other. Conversations regularly ensued over fences and in driveways. We have been in each other’s homes numerous times and gone out to dinner. We grew close through the years.

A good chunk of our family was about five minutes away. Family is the most important consideration. So, when they decided to move, we did too.

These blessings and many more are the roots we pulled up.

Those years witnessed the marriage of our children, the birth of a grandson, the addition of our granddaughters, the birth of five great grandchildren, as well as the death of our parents and our brothers, leaving us the last of our family of origin. 

There were graduation parties from middle school, high school, colleges and universities. There were ongoing weekend games of rummy, so many shared meals, and visits from friends and family.

In twenty-seven years, we made a lot of memories.

It was a lengthy, packed chapter. A lot happened.

But it was time to say, “Goodbye”.

Now we live in the next chapter.

Is it possible that God would provide everything on our checklist for a new home? It is. The one thing we didn’t get was to have a larger yard and live further out in the country, but after caring for this yard and dealing with some infirmities, I’m glad we don’t’ have the larger lot and are near town.

We have a lot of advantages moving from a forty-nine-year-old home to one three years old. Nothing needs to be remodeled, updated, or repaired. We have never had that before.

We are in a subdivision, but it is out in the country. It takes a few miles of windy mountain roads to get here from the highway, yet it is only five minutes from town. We have the modern features of a split floor plan, a mud room, and LVP flooring throughout.

Our street is short, with only six houses. Our neighbors are mostly young. Yet, it is usually quiet. 

We hated to give up our back porch at the old place which had two levels and plenty of room for a table, rocking chairs, and a hot tub. Here we have a back porch that also has two levels to accommodate those same amenities, only it is also covered and has two ceiling fans. It’s our hangout. We play games and visit there.

We are in the Cumberland Mountain foothills. At one end of our little street, you see homes stacked up the hill like stair steps.  At the other end is a derelict barn that I am fond of. The homes are all nice, like suburbia, but the area has a country feel as yards are carved out of the clay and rock. If you decide to park your car or boat in your front yard, no problem.

It is different here and I will probably get into that more in the future.  We moved the flatness of Illinois and an upper Midwest, Great Lakes landscape to a mountainous area, covered in forests and steeped in its own special history and culture known as Appalachia.

What stands out here is the humble graciousness of the people. They are welcoming, helpful, and ready to share their life. People are in less of a hurry. They have their stories and are happy to listen to ours. 

That’s the beginning of the new chapter.

Hello.

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Was It Worth It?

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That’s what my physical therapist asked me the other day. 

I think most of you know we have moved from Northeastern Illinois to Northeastern Tennessee. 

It took a toll.

  • I lost eleven pounds without trying. 
  • I have a black toenail. (I must have dropped something on it.)
  • I am dealing with considerable ongoing pain in my hips and shoulders and have been under medical care including physical therapy for several weeks.
  • Our son and grandson who also moved were covered with bruises.
  • Even though we got rid of an immense amount of personal possessions, before the move, we were misled by our mover and had to leave things behind we intended to take.
  • Between the time we had to be out of our old home and into our new one, we had to stay at three different places, moving every day.
  • At times it was so stressful we took it out on each other each other.
  • It cost several thousand dollars for realtors, movers, hotels, paying for a multitude of fees involved in the transaction, and all of things needed in the new home.I try to learn from experiences, and I know several people who read what I write are of a certain age and may be thinking about making one more move.

Here is my best advice:

Don’t. Don’t move unless you have really good reasons to do so. You cannot imagine everything that needs to be done. It will wear you down and overwhelm you, especially if you have lived in your home a long time and have a lot of stuff.

We had good reasons and had thought, talked, and prayed about it for a long time. Our main reason was to be near family in our latter years. We also were fond of the warmer climate and much lower taxes.

Choose your mover with care. We chose our mover carefully and they did a good job in many ways; except they vastly underestimated the amount of stuff we had and the size of the truck we needed. Be sure your mover uses the same people to load, drive, and unload. Working with a broker who jobs out different parts of the process can me a nightmare. Even with our challenges, our son and granddaughter had far worse experiences with their movers.

Count on everything taking longer than you think it will. That includes packing, unpacking, getting your new home set up, and all the behind-the-scenes paperwork for the mortgage company, changing your address, banking info, and licenses.

Be aggressive about getting rid of stuff. Excessive possessions wind up being a burden for us or our kids. We had to continually get rid of more

We have been Tennessee residents for two months now. We love our house. We love the land. We love the people. We love being close to a good chunk of our family. We love it here.

Most of the good things in life and the most important decisions are hard and drawn out. Yet, to go through it all with some sense of sustaining grace and conclude with a sense of gratitude reassures us it is worth it.

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No Spring Chicken

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I literally hobbled into the hotel in Lafayette, Indianna at midnight. We had to be out of our old home and wanted to get a few miles down the road toward our new home. We never dreamed we would be so late. 

There we were nearly 200 miles from our old home in Winthrop Harbor, Illinois and 400 miles from our new home in New Tazewell, Tennessee. Our two cars were packed to the gills, and we had Odie, The Terrific Terrier who got away from us at check-in and was exploring the hotel. Thankfully, the night manager was aware of my condition and recovered the wayward canine.

I awoke the next morning, tense and troubled. The remaining 400 miles may as well been an international trip. I could not imagine how I would endure it. I hurt. Patty had to pick up my leg to raise it high enough to get into the car. Sitting was uncomfortable. Getting up and trying to walk was a long, painful process. Frankly, my butt hurt, and my shoulders were beginning to hurt. Ironically, it all happened when we were on a tight schedule to close on both homes.

These maladies seemed to spring from earlier injuries. I injured my right shoulder about three years ago when I fell of a ladder. A cortisone shot and therapy got me back to full function. About a year later a similar thing happened on the left shoulder when I was setting our merchant’s tent. I had a small tear in the rotator cuff, bursitis, inflammation, and some other issues, but had a similar recovery.

Last summer I got sciatica from setting on our couch that wore out way too soon. Walking was painful, but I was able to sit elsewhere and exercise my way out of it. The shoulder and butt pain began getting worse in the early spring. I thought I could exercise my way out of pain again, but it didn’t work, and we had to pack. I determined to do what I needed to do and seek medical attention later. Later came sooner than I hoped. 

I relented to the unmanaged pain and the persistent voices of those around me and sought out an urgent care center in Lafayette. I couldn’t go on the way things were.  A sense of relief began to flow just knowing things might get better.

I walked up to the receptionist’s window, and she asked, “What brings you in?” I replied with a summary description of my pain, ending with, “I just need something for this pain!” Then I sat down to await my turn. My retired nurse wife whispered in my ear, “You just got labeled a drug addict.” The young PA and I had a laugh as I tried to convince her I am not a druggie.

She gave me several medications, and they worked giving me three to four good days. Since then, I have had five visits to a local orthopedist, x-rays, MRI’s, two oral doses of steroids, and four cortisone shots. Each time they are good for about three days. Because of potential side effects, I can’t have anymore for several weeks. Also, I have had four sessions of physical therapy. My therapist says it usually takes four to eight weeks of therapy to notice significant improvement.

In general, pain has been a nearly constant companion for about three months.

I get by.  I have a spot on my back that hasn’t had a good washing for a while. I usually need help getting my shirt on and off, and I can only go for short rides and usually do not drive. I can’t lift anything heavy with my left arm or reach very far. It seems like being somewhat active, but careful works best.

My most intense pain is in my left shoulder, but I still have the butt pain, some pain in the right shoulder, and a weird feeling in the back of my knees.

I appreciate prayers that I get back to normal. I have been feeling old and frail. My seventy-three-year-old doctor reminded me that I am no spring chicken. 

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A Moving Experience

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You may have noticed that I have been AWOL on the blog and on Facebook for nearly two months. The reason: we moved and that process ate up all my time and energy. It has been such an Odessey I have been itching to write about it so I can better understand all that has happened..

When I let one of our neighbors know we were moving, he replied,” That’s one of the biggest pains there is.” I replied, “I am looking forward to it, but then we have lived in this house for twenty-seven years, so maybe I forgot what it is like.” That is one of the most profound things I have ever uttered.

Parts of the process were smooth as silk. We had culled our earthly processions, taking loads to Goodwill. We spenty just a little money fixing a few things and staging the house. We only did little things that made a significant difference. We engaged a very successful real estate agent and sold the house for full asking price a week before it went on the market.

We continued to breeze though the numerous steps. We passed the home inspection and even met and liked the couple who bought our house.

So far, so good.

Then we made a trip to Tennessee where a big chunk of our family was moving. We worked with another very experienced agent and found our house on day one.

It was the one we most liked on Zillow and seeing it in real life made us like it more. Our agent commented that it was a nice house, and she checked to see if there were any offers. There was one and the owners had set 5:00 PM that day as the deadline for offers and making their decision.

The proprietor of the real estate firm was out of town on a family cruise and our agent was temporarily in charge. Most of the technology in the office was down and all businesses in the tiny town had closed for the day. So, there was no place to get documents copied. She had to take photos of the lengthy tome and send them a few pages at a time to the other agent. Our agent just barely beat the clock. She is 82 but has more energy than anyone I know.

We put in an offer that we thought would be strong enough to be the chosen one. As we sat eating dinner at Cracker Barrel in Middlesboro, Kentucky, just across the state line, I got the call that our offer was accepted. I did a fist pump and yelled, “All right!” and told our server we just bought a house. It was an exciting and emotional moment.

So far, so good.

For three weeks we did nothing but pack and provide information for the big transaction. It was like having a steady job and it took much longer than anticipated. With our volume of stuff, there was no question about hiring a mover. We hired a good one. 

Our son and family who moved at the same time unknowingly hired a broker and had a litany of problems. They were days late and could not take everything on their truck. Our son and daughter-in-law wound up having to rent another truck on their own to haul everything.

Fortunately, our moving company used the same people to load, drive, and unload. They did a good job; except they underestimated the size of the truck needed. 

Moving companies come to your home to estimate how much stuff you have and what size truck you will need. After they came out, I made more trips to Goodwill and got rid of more things on Facebook Marketplace and put everything in the garage in our son’s rented truck. I called our company and told them I think they underestimated the size of the truck needed. I was assured they did not.

On moving day, they were not able to load most of the things in the backyard, lawn furniture and things we wanted to take. Also, they could not pick up six boxes of books I had moved to storage facility. This was after I had reduced the load considerably. So, we had to leave the books for a later trip, and we gave a lot of stuff to the new owners.

By the time they had loaded everything, it was late. We had to clean the house and make it to a Lafayette, Indiana hotel.  We could barely squeeze the last bits into the cars. We arrived at midnight. 

We were exhausted, stressed and frustrated.

By that time, I hurt so bad, I could not raise my leg to get into the car or hardly walk when I got out.

We were surprised (or shocked) by the day’s turn of events.

Part 2 next time.

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I’m Still Fine

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Music is an important part of my life. I like listening to it, watching it being played, and playing along with it; sometimes loud. It is a language of the soul beyond words, even poetry. It gets us moving, thinking, and most of all, feeling. It takes us back to a specific place and time. I can think of times I needed more music in my life, but never less. Without music life become perfunctory and emotionally dead. We need music in our life.

The music of our youth holds a special place in our hearts. I am not sure why. It seems like a lot of the songs are targeted to younger people. It’s their thing to embrace, especially if their parents’ generation hates it. The teenage years are rife with emotions. Every little up or down seems huge. Music provides a way to express it.

My musical tastes are all over the place. I’m not much into rap, hip-hop, or metal (though my son keeps trying). I only like country that is authentic like Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, and Chris Stapleton. Of course, I have never gotten over the music of my youth, The Moody Blues, the Beatles, Clapton, Jim Croce, Elton John, Pink Floyd, Elvis Presley, and The Alman Brothers. Some artists I have picked up in more recent years include U2, Springsteen, Fernando Ortega, Coldplay, The Black Keys, The Mavericks, and The Avett Brothers.

More recently, I have taken a liking to Alabama Shakes, Nathaniel Ratecliff and The Night Sweets, and The Red Clay Strays. 

I like songs and bands that are freshened up versions of the music of my youth.

Finally, I am getting to my point. Let’s get acquainted with The Red Clay Strays. They are one of music’s fastest rising bands, formed in Mobile, AL in 2016, the group is having a breakout year, as they were nominated for Emerging Act of the Year at the 2024 Americana Music Awards and continue to achieve massive success with their single, “Wondering Why.” With over 100 million streams to date, the track spent a week at #1 on Spotify’s Viral 50 USA Playlist and six-consecutive weeks at #1 on the Americana Singles chart. 

They are a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll, with a hint of the blues and some spiritual references in their lyrics. Brandon Coleman leads with a strong, passionate voice. A Facebook commenter, wrote that Brandon is 1958 and the band is 1974, but it works.

“Wondering Why” is a good enough song, but my favorite is “I’m Still Fine”. It’s a huge emotional swing from quiet thoughtfulness to bold proclamation and the chord progression and intensity convey it so well.

The lyrics are pure raw poetry and prayer. Everyone can identify with going through something so horrific and hurtful that you expend so much emotional energy you reach a point where you feel numb. Now, you are trying to reassure others and yourself that you are, in fact, still fine. That’s what this song is about. 

Maybe you could give it listen. We can use a little more music in our lives.

I’m Still Fine

Sometimes I feel like I can’t feel
This isn’t real, I should be hurting
I was alone, I was a song
Music and bone, God’s perfect wording

And could the people understand this?
I’m as bruised as a used up canvas
I’m awfully nice but I’m cold as ice
I’ve been through hell but I’ll be alright

People here living it up, I think they’re blind
I think they’re out of their minds
Not one of them has had this
God’s not giving me up, no, I’m just fine
It’s just a matter of time
Though I don’t feel my sadness

I know it should be there, maybe I’m too tired to care
But I’m still fine

I’m on display, I’ve lost my way
Oh God, I pray, let this pass over
I lost the note, I rocked the boat

I’ve even choked, I lost my composure

People here living it up, I think they’re blind
I think they’re out of their minds
Not one of them has had this
God’s not giving me up, no, I’m just fine
It’s just a matter of time
Though I can’t feel my sadness

I know it should be there, maybe I’m too tired to care
Maybe I’ve been giving my love and all my time
Yeah, yeah, know I’m stronger in the long run
Oh, but father, I’m afraid you picked the wrong one

People here living it up, I think they’re blind
I think they’re out of their minds
Not one of them has had this
God’s not giving me up, no, I’m just fine
It’s just a matter of time
Though I can’t feel my sadness

I know it should be there, maybe I’m too tired to care
Maybe I’ve been giving my love and all my time
Oh, I know I should be scared, maybe I’m too tired to care
But still I’m fine, oh, oh, I’m still fine

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The Harbor

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Twenty-seven years ago, we needed to relocate to accommodate my mother-in-law who was moving in with us. By then we had lived in the far north suburbs of Chicago for about five years. We had narrowed down our potential home to one of three options. I am sitting in the one we chose. It was the only home we looked at in which we struck up a conversation with the neighbors while house hunting. That incident characterizes what it has meant to live here all this time.

We moved from a town called Beach Park which at the time had neither a beach nor a park. We moved to a town (officially called a village here in Illinois) called Winthrop Harbor. The name sounds like it a stately, quaint waterfront community. People around here call it “The Harbor” which sounds even more uppity. It is none of those things, being neither stately or uppity, it sets back just a bit from the big lake which is surrounded by a forest preserve and state park.

Rather, it is a far north bedroom town to Chicago, mid-way between the big cities of Chi-town and Milwaukee, about forty-five minutes to either one. Located in northeast corner of the state. If you go north, you are in Wisconsin. If you go south, you are in Chicago suburbs. If you go east, you will get wet because Lake Michigan is right there. If you go west, there are more suburbs. We live a block and half south of the Wisconsin state line and about a mile from Lake Michigan.

Lake County is the wealthiest county in the state of Illinois. Though is has a couple of poor communities, it takes in a lot of elite towns adjacent to Chicago on the north with median home prices from one to two million dollars.

Winthrop Harbor is nothing like that. Being a bedroom town, there are things we do not have. A few years ago, we lost our grocery store and our drug store. Our high school is in a neighboring community, combined with other communities. We certainly don’t have a big box store of any kind. However, all these things are within ten to fifteen minutes. Gurnee, Illinois and Kenosha, Wisconsin are overflowing with shopping opportunities and most everything else one would expect in a city.

All of that is offset by what we do have in our village of 6,594 people: 

  • A large variety of nice single-family homes
  • An ideal location between two major cities
  • A nice village park and recreational center
  • A good mayor who really cares about people and has brought in significant amounts of state and federal funding for village projects

The crown jewel of “The Harbor” is North Point Marina, the largest freshwater marina in the United States, encompassing 140 acres with over 1,500 boat slips, public beaches, a fishing pier, a yacht club, a restaurant, and 40 fishing charters. The marina attracts nearly one million visitors annually. ​

Adjacent to the marina is Illinois Beach State Park, a 4,160-acre area preserving the state’s only remaining beach ridge and swale habitat. With beaches and camping, it is one of the busiest parks in the state. The park is also home to over 650 native plant species and 300 animal species, including more than 60 state-protected species and several federally protected ones.

We have a nice, comfortable home, but it is the neighbors that set this place apart. We have been in each other’s homes and gone out for breakfast and dinner many times. Most of our immediate neighbors were retirement age and have moved to points south, Missouri, Arkansas, Florida, Tennessee, or retirement housing, escaping Illinois’ erratic climate and high taxes. Even so, the people who moved in have also been great neighbors.

The neighbors and the people we have gotten to know have made “The Harbor” feel very much like home.

​

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Kenosha

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Kenosha, Wisconsin is ten minutes from our home in Winthrop Harbor, Illinois. Since Winthrop Harbor is a bedroom town to Chicago, it has limited offerings for shopping and dining. So, Kenosha has been “our city” for nearly thirty years. 

Kenosha (“Keno”) was a manufacturing and shipping center and, in the early 1900’s, had one of the largest auto manufacturing plants in the country. As late as the seventies, American Motors cars were manufactured in Kenosha and shipped via Lake Michigan. The auto industry remained in Kenosha until 2003 when the Crysler Dalmer engine plant closed. At its peak the industry employed 14,000 workers.

I love the way this city has repeatedly re-invented itself. What was once a Simmons bedding factory and American Motors plant on Lake Michigan became Harbor Park with over a thousand units overlooking the big lake, plus two new museums, a marina, and green space for scores of festivals. 

The engine plant in the middle of the city is now torn down, the soil has been remediated, and the first buildings are going up in what is now the Kenosha Innovation Neighborhood. It is a hundred and seven acres devoted to an incubator for new businesses with several local educational institutions, medical, commercial, residential, and recreational space.

Kenosha Harbor District, the newest of the large developments, is downtown near the lake encompassing nine blocks devoted to scores of new residential units, office space, and a new city hall. Construction has already begun on the first five-story building with one hundred and fifty-eight units.

The world headquarters of Jockey, Snap-on tools, and Uline reside in Kenosha. The city and its burbs host several industrial parks with manufacturing and warehouse space for domestic and international companies, including Amazon and Microsoft.

Kenosha is not just a city that looks ahead, it also benefits from a strong heritage, which is Italian, German, and Irish. That translates to great old, family-owned delis, bakeries, and restaurants. It is loaded with places to get a brew, gourmet burger, or pizza. It also is home to the oldest dining car in the country, and two very popular old timey car-hop burger joints. For something nicer, there are a handful of venerable old Wisconsin supper clubs in town and the surrounding area. 

The summer is a special time because there are so many free outdoor festivals, many on the lakefront. There are several offerings for free concerts every week from standards to rock, blues, and jazz. Every year a giant car show encompasses the entire downtown and a frontier rendezvous occupies Simmons Island. Many years the tall sailing ships use Kenosha as their port. The background for these events is Lake Michigan, several museums, fountains, a marina, two historic lighthouses, electric street cars, and several parks and beaches.

It is a city of 100,000 with another 50,000 in its suburbs that is located just right on Lake Michigan and on I-94 between Chicago and Milwaukee. Companies looking for a friendly place with good logistics find it ideal. It is also becoming a tourist town because of its lakefront and many festivals. 

For us, it is a convenient destination with its own unique character.

It’s “our city”.

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Odie Coyte, the Terrific Terrier

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About two and half years ago our long-haired Chihuahua died. He was an incredibly sweet little guy. He defied the breed stereotype by being a mellow cuddler who loved belly rubs. I never cared for small dogs, until we got him. I wound up loving him more than any dog ever.

We are dog people. So, soon as we got back from an extended stay down south, we knew we needed a canine companion. Odie came from a kill shelter in Corbin, Kentucky. We found him at an organization in the Chicago burbs that cares for dogs until they get adopted; a doggie orphanage.

He was supposed to be mostly Chihuahua. It was hard to tell since he was only four months old. He had a bit of a scruffy, whiskery face, was a bit calmer than the other dogs, and was prone to giving little puppy nibbles. These traits immediately endeared him to us.

He won us over. He was our favorite.

It turns out, he is not a chihuahua, but a twenty-one-pound border terrier. His whiskers became more pronounced like a Scotty. He has more energy than any other living being on the planet. And he had a terrible biting problem for at least a year and half.  

That was the “What have we done?” stage of our relationship with Odie. But he was family by then. We survived.

Odie is a graduate of Puppy School. He was stressed to be around other dogs and not be able to play but excelled at recess with all other dogs chasing him.

What he offers is a high entertainment value. He is amazingly fast and has more cagey moves that any NFL running back. He will play with the other dogs for hours until they are both exhausted. Then he sleeps well into the next day.

He wakes up with us but is in cuddle mode for two to three more hours. He usually takes an afternoon nap and falls asleep at eight o’clock in the evening. He plays with me every evening. He lets me know it’s time to play by sounding like a vicious Tasmanian Devil and play biting me. I have no choice. So, we chase each other around the house or the yard. He is nearly impossible to catch.

He loves his toys and gets them out every day. In the evening when we are watching a favorite TV program, he ever so often begins relentlessly squeaking them. If that does not get your attention he gets on the back of the couch, pushes the toy against you ear and squeaks it. 

He has matured. He no longer bites so that it hurts. He is mostly quiet and very loving and cuddly at home if there are no new people or dogs around. Even when there is, he settles down soon.

He has superhero vision and hearing which makes him a reliable watch dog. I would, however, like him to turn down his sensitivity setting. 

I have seen lists of ways a dog shows he loves you and he has every one of them. 

Not unlike most people, he is a real character, but we love him.

As active as he is, he stops to pose for photos.

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Tetris and Life

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I am not a game person. They seem like a waste of mental energy and pointless competition. But I have some exceptions. I like the interaction that games encourage. You get to let your hair down and have some fun with people. Scrabble has some appeal because at least you are making words. I so predate video games that I remember Asteroids and Pacman. The only video game I ever played much was Tetris which I played on my son’s original Gameboy.

The game reminds me of a couple of things. I am good at packing things, like cars for road trips and moving trucks. My son reminded me that it is like a giant game of Tetris. He also said he doesn’t know how to pack a car to this day because I always did it.

Tetris also reminds me of big projects with a lot of moving pieces and things that need to be decided at a seemingly increasing rate. 

This move we are making to Tennessee is that kind of project. The fact that our son and family are moving at about the same time adds an additional element as we try to figure out how to get our stuff done and help each other. We just merged our calendars a few days ago. It looks like our lull might be short-lived as I need to make several phone calls this week and hopefully move Patty’s Beadmomma shop and my library to storage.

I have been responsible for numerous large projects on the job and at home. They seem like a never-ending story. You make a list and dive into an item only to find another long list that you didn’t really count on. Finally, you think you are done but discover more things that need attention. Almost always with big projects something goes wrong or something unexpected happens. 

Have you ever thought about how much of life, or any job, or any craft is problem solving? Our response to those problems is a key juncture. You can get depressed. I have done that. You can get mad. I have done that. Or you can get busy dealing with it. Sometimes I have done that. Positive energy is always better than negative energy. One works at getting things done. The other digs a deeper hole.

I hope this all makes some sense.

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Avoiding the Void

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One of the most dangerous things in life is having nothing to do. I bring up the topic because we are in a bit of a waiting period right now. 

We have been talking about moving south for several years, but we never found anything that we both liked and could afford near the east coast of Georgia or either coast in Florida. Increased traffic, hurricanes, and the outrageous cost of homeowners insurance were all on our list of negatives.

Then our son and daughter-in-law purchased nine acres in the mountains of northeastern Tennessee. Just before that my cousin who lives in Orlando reminded us of the importance of being near family, especially at or our age. It was a wake-up call. So, we changed our focus to Tennessee to be near our family. We really like the mountains too. 

Every move we have made has been a rush deal. This one allows us time to be thoughtful and deliberative about each step, that’s the luxury of being retired. 

We cleaned the place out taking a massive load to Goodwill last September.  In October we checked out our target area in Tennessee near Cumberland Gap. We did another massive clean-up in February, along with fixing those little things you get used to ignoring. We spruced things and then met with our realtor last week.

Her market study fortunately pointed to an asking price that is considerably more than I was expecting, thanks to recent updates and a tight sellers’ market.

We are waiting until April 11th to put the house on the market so I can do one more lighting show and not have to move existing stock. Also, we wanted to get into spring since it is a better time to sell. Now for about four weeks, we have a lull in the activity.

Patty’s Beadmomma shop is all packed up and my Doo-Dads shop will be packed up after that last show in April. We will put all that in storage and stage that area of the house for showing.

There isn’t much of anything to do around the house.

We have a three to four week-long void, a waiting period before things get busy.

My main activities are household projects, lighting, and writing. I add in exercise, playing with Odie or walking him, and guitar playing. I have some ideas about trying some new things once we get moved, like axe-throwing (really), playing pickle ball, doing advocacy work, and additional writing. However, I am reluctant to start new things now since I won’t be here long. 

We are trying to be proactive in this whole moving process and avoid last minute scrambling. This lull will soon pass, even if it seems lengthy now.

When I made a huge career change and was looking for a new job. It was, perhaps, the most frustrating time in my life. I was so passionate about my work that it was my life. I didn’t know what to do next. I couldn’t get prospective employers to recognize my experience and skills that were transferable. Being in my 50’s and 60’s also hurt my chances. Eventually, I retired and had to re-invent myself. I finally have peace with that.

The point is, “You got to have something to do.”

This is extremely important when you retire. I have known people who floundered in their later years and those who prospered. I have known those who obsessed over the trivial and I have also known those who always had something to do that they enjoyed. 

Activity and creativity, both physical and mental, along with meaningful relationships give life meaning. Without it, things become routine, boring, and depressing. We need distraction from our own obsessive thoughts. We need to create and connect. We need to stay curious and engaged. This is beginning to read like an article in the AARP magazine. Yet, it is so true, especially for those of us who are retired.

My void will soon pass. I try to build in a little “voidness” when involved in major projects because it usually gets filled up by unexpected things.

Don’t succumb to the void. Try some things. Do some good. Have some fun.

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Leader of the Free World?

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Hi there. This post is a little different. I am tipping my hand a bit by letting you know how I feel about something of which there are serious differences of opinion. These days most everything has been made political with extreme opinions ruling the day. 

Your civil, well-reasoned comments are always welcome, even if you disagree. I believe that relationships are generally more important than opinions. My goal is to write what I understand to be true while still loving those who disagree. Let’s aim for that.

Last Friday was a big day in world news. President Volodymyr Zelensky of Ukraine met with President Trump at the White House to sign a mineral rights deal giving the U.S. 50% of the proceeds of the mined rare earth deposits unearthed in Ukraine. Instead of a done deal, the meeting ended in a shouting match with President Zelensky being asked to leave. 

The shear drama of it was unprecedented. Negotiations around the conference table can get very heated, but the public face of meetings between heads of state is always conciliatory. This was anything but conciliatory. It was an emotional loss of control (or an ambush) with people talking over each other during the last few minutes of the meeting. It was ugly and Vladimir Putin was the only winner. 

Trump and his apprentice, J.D. Vance, were bullies. Zelensky seemed exasperated and unable to get a word in. The lives of his people and the very existence of his nation hung in the balance since they are dependent upon aid from the U.S. for the nation to survive the Russian onslaught. This war has already cost thousands of lives.

The harsh words began when Vance said they are trying to use diplomacy to end the conflict. Zelensky asked, “What kind of diplomacy?” Vance told Zelensky he should be more grateful and respectful. Trump reminded him he was losing the war, and he doesn’t have any cards to play. Zelensky was backed into a corner simply because he wanted some commitment to security for the minerals deal. Trump wanted the deal with no commitment for future military aid and has been critical of the help already provided.

I have had my share of experience with bullies and at times I have been dependent upon them for help accomplish something. Their tactics are to belittle you and brag of their great power. They try to gaslight you into believing you are the one in the wrong. They will destroy you if that is what it takes to get their way and keep their toxic narcissism intact. The best thing to do with a bully is walk away and ignore them while no longer relying on their help.  The problem is that no other country can help Ukraine to the degree that the U.S. can.

As Trump followers beat their chest, thinking “Boy, we really showed him.” Most of the rest of the world was appalled and assured Zelensky of their support. Many in our own nation were profoundly embarrassed.

The context for the meeting included: 

a call from Trump to Putin about the war, without the involvement of the country that was invaded

a lie that Zelensky started the war. They are a sovereign nation that was invaded by Russia with the goal of toppling its government. 

a lie that Zelensky is an unelected dictator. He was indeed elected, but elections are not permitted during times of war by their constitution, the same as the UK under Winston Churchill during WWII. How could they have fair and safe elections when Russia occupies a large chunk of their nation?

a lie that Zelensky’s approval rating is at 4%. It is 57% (probably much higher now). Trump’s is 44%.

a lie without evidence (like all his lies) that the U.S. aid is unaccounted for

On top of denigrating the man with lies, he then expected him to sign a deal that profits the U.S. and provides zero toward a secure future (or any future) for Ukraine.

Cities have been turned to rubble. Children kidnapped. Women raped. Hospitals, schools, apartment building, and power plants targeted. Twenty percent of the country is Russian occupied. That is three and half million people. One-third of the nation has been displaced from their homes. 

Twenty percent of our states would be most of the east coast (Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New York, New Jersey, Delaware, Virginia, North Carolina, and South Carolina. 

Imagine if the Russian invasion happened here. Imagine ten states were occupied by the foreign invader. Imagine that our weapons cache was depleted and thousands of our military personal were killed or wounded. Imagine entire cities turned to rubble. Imagine our hospitals, power plants, schools, and residential areas targeted and destroyed. Imagine our women raped, our children kidnapped. Imagine that the NATO countries who were legally bound to come to our aid not only abandoned us but flipped the table and declared us to be the enemy and sided with Russia as we were left with little hope of survival. Imagine the leaders of our closest and most powerful ally belittling our leader fighting for our survival.

While Trump is not known for his good character, his obvious lies about an ally leave many scratching their heads. He did not humiliate Zelensky. He revealed his true character and humiliated our nation.

Now he has “paused” all aid and intelligence sharing with Ukraine, much of which was long ago promised and yet to be delivered. Trump has demanded an apology from Zelensky. He is functioning like a childish mob boss. Some of the same people who criticized Biden for slowly providing aid for only defensive purposes are applauding Trump now. Is not the blood of innocent people in Ukraine on his hands?

On the international stage this seismic shift of turning on our allies and cozying up to our enemies changes everything. We are forfeiting our position as the leader of the free world.

So, who is the leader of the free world now?

One is so erratic that world leaders never know where they stand or for how long

Another has been brave and steady during a terrible three-year long war

One is dumping alliances that have keep the world much safer for eighty years

Another has been instrumental in making NATO and other alliances stronger.

One is isolating the nation focusing on self interest

Another is fighting for survival while battling a ruthless, imperialistic enemy in their homeland so that a victory there does not threaten other nations

One wants another nation’s rare-earth minerals at no cost to enrich their nation.

Another wants “ammunition, not a ride” so his nation can survive.

I say we stand with Ukraine and their noble fight for their lives as they battle not just their enemy, but our enemy, the world’s enemy and fight for survival.

I say we stand with our great nation and the principles upon which have made it great (even though they have been increasingly ignored or reversed).How about a return to common sense, compassion, and honor?

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My New Baby

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That’s a photo of my new baby. I have four others. So, you must think I am a good guitarist or play in a band. Nope. I just play for me. However, it would be fun to play in a band. 

In a sense I do play in a band in that I play along with a band. I have a high-tech amp that does more things than I know how to use. It pairs with a companion app through which I can access most any effect known to man. 

I can also pull up a you tube video of a band playing a song and see the chords in real time. That enables me to play rhythm along with them and that is what I have been enjoyed doing ever since I got the amp a few years ago.

No doubt, I should be advancing in skill level instead of staying stuck playing rhythm. Ever so slowly, I am beginning to learn a few licks. Eventually, I hope to learn how to write my own riffs and even songs. Honestly, I had so much fun doing what I have been doing that I just kept doing it.

When I was a kid, I had an off-brand semi-hollow body electric and took some lessons which I found boring. Eventually, I sold that guitar during hard times. 

My dear wife borrowed money to buy me a nice 12-string acoustic Epiphone forty-six years ago as a Christmas gift. Twelve strings are rhythm instruments and difficult to play because there are twelve strings to press to the neck, rather than six. But I thought twelve strings were cool at the time. I didn’t play it much, though it is still beautiful and looks like new. I will not part with it.

Several years ago, I rewarded myself upon completing an extensive course of study in nonprofit management by buying a Yamaha plug-in acoustic. That got me playing again after many years away.

About five years ago, I got to play my son-in-law’s Fender Square Telecaster. That ignited the fire to get an electric guitar and eventually led to the purchase of an all-black Fender Telecaster Player’s Edition and I have played the heck out it. The Telecaster (Telie) is one of the most original guitar models and is simple to control. The flip of a switch takes you to entirely different sound. This is probably the most popular guitar in the world. It’s kind of twangy and the base E string really pops. Most all country bands use them.

My next to the last baby is one of the prettiest, an all-black Gretsch Electromatic Jet. Guitars are generally hollow, like acoustics or solid like Telecasters and Les Pauls, but this one is chambered due to the availability of the wood and weight considerations. She is a pretty girl and can really scream, but I am still a bit challenged by the Gretsch controls. I was first introduced to this pretty girl while visiting Guitar World (a big boy’s toy store) in the Twin Cities with my son-in-law. I succumbed to purchase a couple of years later.

My newest baby just purchased is the most beautiful yet, a Gretsch semi-hollow small body electric with a Sweet Tea quilted maple finish. We have been busy getting acquainted. She gives me a different sound I was looking for.

They each have a different look, sound, and feel. Oddly, three of the guitars have a version of a sunburst finish and two are solid black. I am a bit of a traditionalist going with well established brands and rather conservative finishes.

What is the thing with guitars?

  • They allow me to fulfill the dreams of my youth. I never dreamed until recent years that I would ever own another electric guitar.
  • They are both beautiful and cool. They are works of art and beautiful craftmanship. I guess because they come from the era of rock music and my youth it makes them cool.
  • They offer both creativity and therapy. Making music has no end. The joy of playing a role with other players in a band and being a part of the total, beautiful sweeping wall of sound is a unique joy. Just being able to wail my heart out and loose myself in a song is worth the purchase price and ultimately much cheaper than therapy.
  • They remind me of Patty. She bought the first one and was with me, encouraging me as I bought each of the others.

So, they are among my most precious possessions.

They are a reminder that we all need something to do that we enjoy to stay mentally, emotionally, and spiritually healthy.

I hope you find your sweet spot that energizes and replenishes you. 

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Sun Circles

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This post has nothing to do with atmospheric conditions or skin care. It is a reflection about our trips around the sun. Tomorrow I will celebrate 71 of them. I am not fishing for birthday wishes of happiness and joy (though always appreciated). Rather, I am using it as an opportunity to reflect, thinking that some of you reading are seeing similar numbers on the odometer of life.

I am grateful that I have thus far been spared the chronic ailments often associated with a significant accumulation of sun circles. To the best of my knowledge, I don’t have diabetes or cardiovascular issues, though they are prevalent in my family. I do have some wear and tear. Here is my list of boo-boos:

A concussion. When I was in third grade, I was riding down the pothole-laden hilly street I lived on with no hands on the handlebars and I hit a pothole, was thrown and knocked unconscious, lying on the street. That landed me in the hospital with a broken eye orbit and lots of abrasions on my face.

A broken arm. A brat kid tripped me as I was running while waiting for the school bus in fourth grade. Both bones of my arm were almost sticking out of my skin, but I got on the bus and walked home a good distance from the bus stop. (I know it sounds the tales of our parents who walked to school, uphill both ways through massive snow drifts, but it is true.)

A broken nose. I was teaching a kid how to play racket ball without allowing enough distance from his surprising reach.

A torn calf muscle. I was heavily involved in a water fight with my grandson Sam, who was nine at the time. Something hit me (still don’t know what) as the muscle was taunt. It disabled me for some time.

Two torn rotator cuffs. The right arm was victim to falling off a ladder. The left from putting up a tent. For both, I avoided surgery but needed physical therapy.

Surgery on my left, lower eyelid. It had drooped (and is doing it again). An age thing. It hurt and looked terrible for a while.

A gallbladder attack. I thought I was having a heart attack. The offending organ is no longer with me.

Now you have my medical records whether you were interested or not.

Yes, there are more aches and pains, and I make more trips to the bathroom. However, I can do most anything I used to, though it may take me longer. I get more tired out. Fortunately, I have learned short cuts for some things (the wisdom of age).

This all seems normal to me, for my age.

I value simple things more, a quiet, but productive day, the absence of trauma and drama, a conversation with a friend or neighbor, my playful puppy, sitting with Patty in our backyard watching the hummingbirds, playing guitar, creating something, going for a walk, an engaging story, a good party or outdoor festival.  

It seems like in many ways I am the same inside, still a little insecure, still hating conflict, still disliking the feeling of confinement, still struggling with some anxiety.

Yet, I have accepted and made peace with the flaws of my life, whether they be ones of my parents or other people or myself. I am working to face those things, learn from them, and then leave them alone in the past where they belong. 

I am getting better at living in the moment and enjoying it. I realize that difficult times will pass, and I can learn and grow through them.

One lesson learned is we all  need to do something: a job, a parttime retirement job, a small business, volunteer work, or a hobby; something that we enjoy.

My goal is to live a life of love, and I sometimes I fall on my face. I have distilled my faith and my life owning and sharing the peace, love, and joy given to me by God. Looked at another way, with God I have peace. With others, the main thing is to love them. With life, to never miss an opportunity to see the joy.

So, ends circle #70 and begins #71.

I am in solidarity we all of you navigating  this stage of life with all of its challenges and joys.

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Still Home of the Chiefs

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I had planned to write a tribute to my Chiefs while basking in the warm glow of victory. Instead, I am writing to process my grief.

I never really thought about the Chiefs losing after their victorious season of generally doing just enough to win game after game. I didn’t know much about our opponent, other than the success of their vaunted running back. Watching the game with a confident attitude made the sting of the meltdown even worse.

What the heck happened? I only have rudimentary knowledge of the game, but the consensus is the o-line broke down not giving Mahomes enough time to throw the ball downfield. Really, most everything went wrong, penalties, interceptions, sacks. 

However, this Monday morning quarterback thinks there was a problem that has plagued most of my team’s poor performances. It is the re-occurring theme of trying to force an arial bomb downfield, instead of playing the game at hand with short passes, quick releases, and utilizing our very good running backs. That’s just me, but I have limited understanding.

Moving from the analytical to the philosophical, this thing called the National Football League (even though they play in other countries) is pretty crazy. 

I often say the game appears to have originated with gladiators (the players), billionaires (the owners), lawyers (the officials who adjudicate the massive rule book), and marketers (who have turned a game into a multi-billion-dollar industry).

Sunday, I reveled in all of the hype and grandeur of the pre-game spectacle. It is an annual celebration of American culture. Beer, betting, and bingeing are encouraged through ads that cost eight million dollars for thirty seconds. The NFL always works in some well-produced messages, encouraging unity and tolerance, appealing to our better angels. Tickets are several thousand dollars. Celebrities cheer from their outrageously-priced luxury suits.

It is crazy. It is just a game, right? Yes and no. It is a game that becomes an excuse for all the rest. It is about money, lots and lots of money and celebrity (players, entertainers, and attendees). 

But it is also about gathering with people we love and who love the same team. It is about sharing good food, stories, and humor. It is about forgetting about the important stuff and the troubling issues and getting wrapped in something that really doesn’t matter. Yet, it does because it entertains us, unites us, and gives us something to share.

We are blessed in that we have watched nearly every Chiefs game for almost a quarter of a century. We are even more blessed in that we have watched those games in a massive fan cave festooned with most any Chiefs branded item you can think of and many that you have not. We share really good food, and we do it all with our son and daughter-in-law, and sometimes with our grandchildren and great grandchildren. 

Back about 2000 our son and daughter-in-law invited us over to watch the Chiefs play. It made sense because we are originally from the KC area. But it didn’t make sense because we neither understood nor cared about the game. Boy, did that ever change.

We have watched through many terrible seasons, way before the dynasty, and the Travis and Tay-Tay gossip. And we will keep watching. I firmly believe the Chiefs will continue to be very competitive so long as they have Bret Veach, Andy Reid, and Patrick Mahomes. 

I would not trade this journey for anything. The very best part of it is the incredible way it been instrumental in forming a deep bond with my son. We have even made several pilgrimages to St. Joseph, Missouri, our hometown and home of the Chiefs Training Camp. We have met many of the players and accumulated several of their autographs.

You may have noticed that during the singing of the national anthem, Chiefs fans conclude with “and the home of the Chiefs.” Our homes, wherever we live, and our hearts (because of how this crazy game brings us together) will continue to be “the home of the Chiefs.”

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Simplification

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It’s time for us to do a final clean out of our house before we meet with our realtor March 1st and put our home of twenty-five years on the market in early April. Fortunately, we also did some of this last fall knowing this time was coming. 

We have gotten rid of lots of stuff, including a few SUV loads to Goodwill, bunches to the garbage, the metals re-cycler, and the enterprising folks who drive by the day before trash pick-up and throw stuff in their car or truck. Thank you all! 

Now we are getting the place spiffy for showing and I am so glad we allowed plenty of time for this process. Previous moves have involved a lot of pressure and rushing. Moving is a huge project with plenty of stresses without waiting until last minute.

As we get rid of stuff our life becomes simpler. If we don’t, one day all our possessions will become a burden to us or our kids. No, thank you!

There are other virtues to thinning out our possessions. When we get rid of the excess, we can find the good stuff, the things we need and should hang onto. Moving costs will be less and our new home won’t get immediately filled with clutter. We have been looking at places on Zillow for a long time and clutter in a photo is huge buzzkill.

Simplification and organization are close cousins. About fifteen years ago, I finally got our legacy documents in order, and I put together simple instructions so that a person off the street could pay our bills and manage our affairs. Simplification is a lot of work up-front but makes things significantly better for all concerned.

Some people think they are at their best when they are multi-tasking, though research shows otherwise. Since we can only do one thing at a time, it works better to make a list and prioritize it and get going. That’s the pathway to simplification.

I get a lot of joy out of accomplishment, scratching things off my list and enjoying the order and beauty left behind. Also, it’s a good feeling just knowing it’s done.

Simple is good!

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Wintertime Rhyme

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You get off to such a fine start.

With Thanksgiving and Christmas, that first snowfall is a work of art.

But you overstay your welcome as your beauty quickly fades into a massive filthy slushy and white glaze of salt.

Your refreshing chill turns bitter, and you must be removed, or everything comes to a sudden halt.

Days begin in the dark and quickly retreat back into the blackness.

Causing us to feel unproductive and desire high doses of carbs and snacks because we feel our own slackness.

There are winter sports and things to do outdoors if you don’t mind freezing you’re a__ off. 

So, we stay in our toasty box like one under house arrest, nursing a persistent cough.

But hope springs forth.

Just a big tease reminding us that you could reappear at any time. Nice days are still a longway off because we live in the north.

The Danish practice hygge (pronounced hoo-gah), is a quality of comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment and well-being. 

But I am not Danish, though I love their pastry, but with winter, I am not agreeing.

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Power to the Middle

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I watched the inauguration of President Trump, and I am brimming with reaction, but I am not going to write about it. If I did, a bunch of you would brand me as an enemy or, at least, a poor, misguided soul. You would probably delete me as a Facebook friend and never read another thing I ever wrote. I am just moderate enough to be hated by both sides. It’s not that I am a coward, I have written plenty of controversial things in the past

Rather, I am sick of the division, the sniping, the vilification, the cynicism, the politicization of every issue, and especially the strained and severed friendships because of some politicians in D.C. Unfortunately, my wife hears some of this from me, and I certainly have heard my fill from others.

Let’s be honest, we have had several of the least popular, most divisive presidential candidates in memory, but soon after the primaries, the people of our nation become ultra-tribalized, just like the political parties and media talking heads have been encouraging us. Suddenly, one candidate is the “savior of our nation” and the other one “will destroy America.” There is no room for nuance or a close examination of the issues. The “other side” never even gets a hearing. Moderation is a bad word. Our representatives are so busy fighting that little gets done and our nation falls behind.

Is one political party always correct on every issue? What are the odds? The purpose of political parties is to amass funds and power. They stir people up to get their people elected and massive numbers of bureaucrats appointed. They must cast a vision that is in opposition to each other, to have a purpose to exist.

We have had one independent president. His name is George Washington. When he left office our country was eight years old. His farewell address was written at a time before political parties had become accepted as vital extraconstitutional, opinion-focusing agencies, Washington feared that they carried the seeds of the nation’s destruction through petty factionalism. He was correct

I have been told you have to choose one or the other. I do not. You do not. We do not. We can choose neither. There are some positive values upheld by both parties, but they have become increasingly extreme. 

Hitching our wagon to a political party is lazy. It keeps us from exploring different perspectives and developing an honest opinion that has some room for nuance (and there is always nuance).

Our national heritage is a pendulum of reaction. The party in power sticks it to the opposition, back and forth. Little gets done and we grow further apart. This resembles tribalism as much as democracy.

Criticism is easy. Solutions are hard. I offer three items on the solution side.

Develop your own opinion. Do your own research. Stretch yourself by listening to others you disagree with. 

Learn how to discuss issues in a civil manner. You can have strong opinions, but you can express them in a civil manner. Certainly, some folks in power give us a lot to disagree with or be cynical about. But we can make a conscious choice to shy away from verbal molotov cocktails, and social media zingers. 

People are more important than positions. You don’t have to change your position or that of someone else to maintain a relationship. You simply refuse reject someone who has the audacity to disagree with you on politics. If you can have a civil conversation, do so. If not, there is much more to life than politics, talk about those things.

Move from complaining about the problem to being part of the solution.You can join with others who are working toward common sense solutions and begin exploring new ideas. It will be a better use of your mental and emotional energy

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Jimmy Carter

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As Jimmy Carter was laid to rest last week, I was struck by the stark contrast between him and today’s politicians.

I remember his presidency: his big toothy grin, his common man persona, and his background as a naval officer and peanut farmer.

He is generally hailed for his character and his post-presidency, even though most thought his years as president were not so great. 

I don’t see how we can blame him for Iran taking American hostages or the failed rescue attempt as three helicopters encountered mechanical problems, or the resultant gas shortage from an OPEC embargo. 

The high inflation that plagued Americans during his time in office was largely the outcome of world events and bad economic policy under his predecessor, Nixon. Maybe, he should have handled somethings a bit differently, but presidents get credit and blame for things that happen on their watch that they have little control over. Americans vote in response to economic conditions more than anything else. That’s why he didn’t get a second term.

He did, however, broker a lasting peace through the Camp David Accords between Israel and Egypt and Syria, bitter enemies of Israel with whom they fought in Yom Kippur war of 1973.

His post presidency took him all over the world working to uplift oppressed people and further democracy. He also wrote several books and built several houses for Habitat for Humanity, even in his later years when he was in poor health. He did what he could to help people who needed helping. 

I can’t find many people like Jimmy Carter today. I wonder if his breed has passed away with him.

Carter and Mondale summed up their administration with these words, “We told the truth. We obeyed the law. We kept the peace.”

For quite some time American presidents and other political leaders have had difficulty with these things. The volume of lies and fictional stories have sent the fact checkers into overtime. Allocations of law-breaking and actual convictions are so common they no longer even seem to faze us. As far as keeping the peace, just look at the world, or our own country where the politicians and talking heads of the media make their fortunes by turning us against each other.

The logical question is, “Which is most important, character or policy.”

Some people think Carter had good character, but bad policy. Some people think Trump has bad character, but good policy. 

No doubt, both are important. However, competence and knowledge are developed through experience over time. Character: you either have it or you don’t. Good character does not insure anyone against lapses in judgement or mistakes, rather it is a north star to continually focus (or refocus) on. Most politicians seem to have a star that moves for their own benefit. 

We don’t seem to care much about character anymore, perhaps because we have so few positive examples that provide a contrast. Instead, there is an emphasis on sweeping generalizations on the issues resulting in knee-jerk reactions and simplified slogans. This gives rise to the pervasive human need for to make someone or some group of people villains and objects of ridicule. Forgetting about character doesn’t seem to be working out so well.

“A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit”. (Matthew 7:18).

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Honesty Is a Dangerous Thing 

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If necessity is the mother of invention, then desperation is the mother of writing. The desperation is the need to understand our own hearts and minds. Stating things so another can understand is a key component of our own understanding. That’s the cathartic element of writing non-fiction.

The human spirit needs to create, to put our stamp on something. It’s a lovely thing to take on a writing assignment, make a cohesive story out of it, and work our way through the difficulties that arise, eventually winding up with something we are proud of. That’s the creative part of both, fiction and non-fiction.

But there is another part of writing that is frightening. That is putting the piece out there for other people to read. While we begin writing for ourselves, we come to realize that we are a representative voice to inform or entertain others. 

Writing is only good if it is honest. And it’s always dangerous to be honest. Some will love it and others will hate it. The haters have it easy these days with the internet and social media. 

I have blogged over several years, written two books, a newspaper column, and been a regular contributor to a magazine. It’s hasn’t been glamorous, but it has been a fun challenge. Most of it did not pay. Some of it paid a little bit. The writing life is neither easy, profitable, or glamorous, unless you are a best seller.

There are years worth of writing on glennhager.com about many topics. I have also been posting once a week here on Facebook. You’ll probably like some of it and probably wonder what I was smoking while I was writing some other posts. That’s okay.

It’s my hope that the content generally brings a little something positive to your life. Thank you for taking time to read and being a part of this community. 

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The Blank Slate

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Welcome to day one of 2025. Every day of this entire year is “yet to be determined.” I have a sense of excitement at the beginning of every year. There are new things I want to explore, new disciplines I want to acquire, and some crappy things I want to leave far, far behind.

The slate is indeed blank in that nothing has yet been written. However, we drag the same, old us into the new year. Like a poorly erased chalk board of old, you can see the “ghosting” of what was there before, and it affects our newly written aspirations.

The memories, the people, and incidents that shaped our lives are as strong as ever. We can’t simply wipe them away because we turned a page on a calendar.

There will be curve balls that come our way this year, things we didn’t expect or want. How we respond to those things is more important than the things we respond to. It’s the part we can control.

Repetition is a key factor. There are certain things I remind myself every day in prayer.

Change that requires the elimination of an unwanted habit is the hardest. Replacement works better than just trying real hard not to do it. Replace a bad habit with a good one, something you enjoy.

This new year will have its ups and downs. We will probably rise to the challenge at times and not so much at other times. There will be times that we will flat out fail. God gives us grace. He is used to our failures, but it doesn’t change how he loves us. We need to accept his grace and move on in strength. 

Rejoice if the arrow is pointed the right direction.

Maybe the most important thing about moving into 2025 it the commitment to get back up when we stumble. It’s not just the year that is a blank slate, every day is a blank slate.

Happy New Year, friends!

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Tales of the Glories of Christmases Long-Long-Ago

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Christmas 1981

The news hit us hard. Everything in our busy lives faded from our minds as our thoughts were consumed with one new haunting fact. Patty had a large tumor that required a hysterectomy. She was twenty-five. 

We got married very young. Patty was only eighteen. I was all of twenty. By this the time we had two children, a girl and a boy, ages four and two.

She was an ER nurse and I was finishing college and working part time. 

We didn’t have time for a hospitalization. So, we planned it during Christmas break.

In those days, we lived over an hour and half from our parents and they both expected us to spend equal time with them (at least). So, visits were always a chore with two little kids, a long drive, and fiercely competitive parents.

That year, we spent Christmas Day in St. Joseph’s Hospital in Kansas City, Missouri. We ate Christmas Dinner together, side-by-side in her room, while celebrating a successful surgery and watching the Kennedy Center Honors on TV. Victor Borge was inducted that year. Patty only hurt when she laughed. The food was good. The program was hilarious. It was peaceful there in the hospital as the patient census was very low due to the holiday. 

We had no demands, just each other.

We felt blessed.

Christmas 2004

We had two beautiful step-granddaughters, but we were about to experience the first Christmas with our less than one month old grandson. We always had Christmas here at our home north of Chicago, but the kids lived way up in St. Paul, Minnesota and the weather was bad. We didn’t know if the highways would be clear enough for them to make it.

Patty and I were more excited than two little kids expecting an extravagant Christmas gift. I kept playing “This Christmas Day“ by Tran Siberian Orchestra over and over. There is a line in the song, “She’s (our daughter) coming home this Christmas Day.”

That song has moved me to tears and goosebumps so many times as we embraced the gift of a most precious baby boy. 

He is now twenty and doing well at university.

We felt blessed.

Christmas 2015-ish

For over forty years we celebrated Christmas with the entire family at home on Christmas Eve. We would eat good food, read the Christmas story from Luke 2, and open presents.

The tradition began with steaks cooked on the grill. As the family grew, the steaks turned into kabobs.

It’s almost always very cold at Christmas time here, but tradition demanded cooking the kabobs on the grill. So, I would wheel it out of the garage and fire it up. It’s a job for my son, Nathan, and me.

Something happens out there between father and son as we freeze our butts off. While the inside of the house is filled with frenzied activity and chatter, the cold outdoors is peaceful and focused with just two people.

We enjoy the man time and have admitted to each other, it is our favorite time.

Now my Son-in-Law, Jared joins us too.

We felt blessed.

Christmas 2019

We were called back to Missouri as Mom faced her last few days on earth. She was only a tiny bit conscious at times. Her body was shutting down. Patty, Michelle, and I were keeping  vigil wondering if each breath would be her last.  

She passed away while Michelle and I returned to the hotel on an errand. Patty called letting me know Mom had slipped away from this life into the next.  She thought she waited to let go until I left. It was the day before Christmas Eve. The kids came. The arrangements were made. The funeral would be the day after Christmas. We had no Christmas plans, no place for Christmas.

My cousin who had sat with mom until we arrived invited us to her home for Christmas Dinner. Her son and his family were visiting from Austria. Little Sebastian was running around as conversations ensued in English and German. They are all delightful, gracious people.

They adopted us into their family.

Even in our grief, we felt blessed.

Christmas 4BC

God came low, real low. Humanity low. Poverty low. Nobody low. So low hardly anyone recognized him. His few initial followers were also low, some foreign mystics, some sheepherders who were regarded as untrustworthy, and a faithful elderly couple. 

He was born into a corrupt religious system and a country occupied by a ruthless foreign superpower. hristmasIt was all as intended, the high taxes, the horrible government, the religious leaders amassing power and wealth.

It’s not the end of the story. He was killed. He did rise. 

It’s not about being good enough or having faith enough.

It’s about embracing him.

We are blessed.

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7 – Oh

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I have been wanting to write about this for so long that I am now only two months from turning 7 – One.

I remember the milestone birthdays, 40, 50, 60, 70, especially seventy, though 50 was interesting, since it was at Chucky Cheese. 

When I was a kid, if you reached 70, you were almost done in this life. Times have changed. Healthcare has improved. We aging baby boomers have surged like crazy. There are 57.8 million of us, 17.3% of the population in US, one in six of the entire population. 

I think people who turn 70 and are doing okay, brag about it. They tend to casually mention, “Well I am seventy.” I am okay with that. After we have been working toward it for a long time.

The average life span is 78. Not too far away. But if you make it to 65, odds are you will live to be, on average, 84.

It’s weird being the age of our parents when they were old. In our family, there is no one still here from our parent’s generation and even our siblings have passed. We are now the senior members of the clan.

Here are some encouraging observations:

  • We neither need nor want drama.
  • We finally realize we need to take care of ourselves.
  • We appreciate a quiet night at home more than ever.
  • We don’t have anything to prove.
  • The term, “late” is getting earlier and earlier.
  • Life has slowed down so we can appreciate the simple things.
  • If you are like me, there is a big gap between your mental age, as evidenced by your sense of humor, and your physical age as evidenced by how you feel when you get up out of your easy chair.
  • We are less sure about more things, but surer about a few things that are supremely important.

More encouragement:

  • Johnny Cash made his most acclaimed recordings (the series of American Recordings produced by Rick Rubin) in his 70’s when he was suffering from a multitude of illnesses.
  • Willy Nelson still has a busy touring and recording schedule at 91 and enjoys good health.
  • Bruce Springsteen is still delivering long, high-energy concerts at 75.
  • The list of actors over 70 is huge: Clint Eastwood, Helen Mirren, Morgan Freeman and many more.
  • The point is that these artists not only kept at their craft, but they did some of their best work late in life.

The point is that these artists not only kept at their craft, but they did some of their best work late in life. We need something to do that we care about, a job, volunteer work, a hobby, or something.

My advice is to kick some butt, do your thing, don’t hold back, and above all don’t act your age. Take the wisdom you have gained and put it to use. Enjoy life. Adapt as necessary, but don’t stop. Leave a legacy of love.

God bless you my fellow  septuagenarians (and my younger friends).

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Time to Make a Move

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About 300,000 people move out of Illinois every year, for a net loss of 116,000. We are moving out of Illinois.

About 226, 000 people move to Tennessee every year. The net gain is 43,000. We are moving to Tennessee. 

I have a few people to “blame” for this:

My cousin has lived in Orlando for several years. She is considering moving back to Missouri to have some people around who can lend a hand if needed for a health crisis. Most of her friends in the area are older and have their own health issues. It was something I hadn’t thought of before, but it had a big impact on our future decisions.

Our daughter-in-law bought nine, unrestricted, and mostly undeveloped acres in Tennessee near Cumberland Gap. Our granddaughter and family already have moved there, and our son and daughter-in-law are moving next Spring.

Our daughter-in-law’s boss lives in Cumberland Gap and owes a B&B there. She and our daughter-in-law work from home and frequently meet in Tennessee. She immediately fell in love with the beauty of the land and the friendliness of the people. 

We too love the mountains and the kind people who live there.

Our daughter and family live in St. Paul, Minnesota, a lovely city, but we are not neither city dwellers or lovers of snow.

We have lived in this area, a far north Chicago bedroom town, for 34 years and have been in this house for 27 years. We like it here. The area along Lake Michigan is truly beautiful. Our nearest city, Kenosha, Wisconsin is a manufacturing city that has re-invented itself as warehouses, logistics, tech, and tourist hub. The Lake Michigan waterfront is home to lighthouses, museums, outdoor markets, streetcars, and a host of festivals. It is beautiful.

Our neighbors are great, though the area is turning over as people reach their retirement years. My immediate neighbors have moved to Kenosha, Florida, Alabama, Arkansas, Missouri, and Tennessee. 

Yet, there are two things we do not have here, a mild climate and low taxes. 

We have been to Florida many times but could not find what we were looking for. It is getting very crowded, has lots of traffic, and walled subdivisions. It is simply too expensive to live close to the water. Of course, it gets pummeled by hurricanes, too.

We have always been drawn to the coast and the mountains. It looks like the mountains will win out. There is a nearby lake in Tennessee with the clearest water in the nation.

It’s a huge step, but we have had enough time to systematically plan for it by getting our house ready to list and checking out the new area. We almost bought a house there a few weeks ago. But now we are back to our original plan of listing our home in the spring.

It’s a big step for senior citizens. I talk to Patty about it as “one last adventure.” We seem to be ready for it, even with all the work and uncertainties involved. 

I have read how baby boomers who moved to Florida are now moving to Appalachia. We are looking forward to being with family and beginning a new chapter.

It is a great feeling to like where we are yet being ready for something new. It’s great to be on the same page with Patty. We are ready to make new friends and see new sights.

I have been thinking about “home.” 

It is more about the people around you than the structure that surrounds you. 

It is more of an attitude than an address.

But sometimes it is just the right time to make a move.

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Thanks-thinking

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When I pray and when I think, I tend to labor over what is wrong, what needs to be fixed. These are the black specks on the blank piece of white paper. I focus on what’s wrong with other people and especially what’s wrong with me, and, of course, what’s wrong with the world.

That makes for a long, heavy list.

But there are some things that are right.

It’s a healing exercise to look for these reasons for gratitude and it brings balance to our lives. Lastly, it is a great privilege to celebrate what is right, beautiful, truthful, joyous, and loving, and be a part of it, on this Thanksgiving Day and every day.

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What I Am Hanging Onto

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It is so easy to enumerate what I am done with when it comes to religion. It is profoundly more difficult to figure out what to hang onto. I feel like I should occasionally ask myself that question to see if I am total heretic or just a free spirit. 

Less and less, is an accurate description of what I am hanging onto, but I am hanging onto those things tighter and tighter.

I could make a massive list of stuff I let go of and another massive list of stuff I don’t know. But this list will be short.

I am hanging onto Jesus.

He is my model for how to live and it’s a model I very often fail to live up to.

He loved outcasts, the diseased, the despised, the foreigner, the poor, and the outcast.

He rebuked the corrupt and powerful, especially, the religious power brokers.

He was humble, but shockingly truthful.

He told stories that people related to. He was not a theologian and did not preach an expository sermon.

He occasionally confounded and challenged people to go deeper in their understanding.

He was a healer. Though I do not possess divine ability, I can still be a healer of hearts.

He gave people hope for now and for eternity.

I am hanging onto love

It’s hard to remember when we get consumed with ourselves and forget about others.

It’s hard to figure out what loves means for a particular individual. 

It’s hard to be nice, or even decent, at times, let alone loving.

But love really works to touch people deeply, like nothing else.

It’s our primary responsibility here on earth.

I am hanging onto truth

I do believe in objective truth, but what I am referring to is belief and behavior that is so true, it works its way out in regular life. It is real, raw, and not academic, esoteric, or theoretical. It doesn’t require its own subculture. It works in life with all its celebrations and challenges, achievements and disappointments, and triumphs and tragedies. It’s integrated not separated. 

I am hanging onto hope

I believe we can live in peace in this life. I believe we can become more loving. I believe we can live gracefully, gratefully, and joyfully. I believe we can reset to living life this way, even when we get thrown a few curve balls.

I believe there is hope for this life and the next, though we have only a scant few clues and promises about that. 

I don’t have any ideas about how to “fix church” or make it more relevant. It seems like things get messed up when we begin to organize it and institutionalize it. 

This is a pretty strange statement of beliefs, but it is mine.

Also publishing on Done With Religion

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Why I Am Done with Religion

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I feel like I need to write a disclaimer every time I write a post that is critical of the institutional church. I write about my experience over several decades, both very much inside the church and outside of it. I am not mad at anybody. There are no “sour grapes.” My opinion is just my opinion. I don’t belittle those who differ. Several people I love are very much a part of the institutional church. I do believe it is correct to address someone or something you love when you see it headed in a dangerous direction. In fact, it would be unloving to do otherwise. Please, do not mistake my concerns as a rejection of Jesus or the idea of church, a community vibrantly representing Christ in the real world.

As my relationship with the church and my religion came into question, my world unraveled, because church was my world. I was a pastor for over twenty years and loved all things church. I constantly read books about how to do church better. My friends were all church members and pastors, and my life was consumed by church services and church meetings and my pastoral calling was my north star in life.

What happened? Through the years, one-by-one cracks began to form in the relationship between me and the church until finally we went our separate ways. Those cracks were quiet questions that I did not allow myself to pursue. 

As I pastored a fledgling church in a small town already saturated with churches of the same denomination, I wondered, “why so many churches?” A crack began to form.

I could have had a great career at another church, if I just pandered to folks with some old-fashioned preaching and music, and back-slapping. I couldn’t do it. It seemed they wanted all the ministry directed toward themselves with little concern for those outside the fold. The crack was getting more defined.

I felt I needed a more serious congregation with more involved leadership. That desire took us to a church in a large suburb of Chicago which had become an Anglo Island in a Hispanic community. It was a congregation populated by seminary students, old fundamentalists, and younger evangelicals. With its inner division and transitioned neighborhood, it was a nightmare to lead. 

Finally, after several painful years and several existing members leaving, it became an authentic ministry with great community and an updated worship style. Yet, as a Hispanic congregation shared our building and thrived, it was obvious we were in the wrong location. 

During our move to temporary quarters in a more suburban and English-speaking setting, a key couple took it on themselves to share their discontent with others. It resulted in our small group becoming even smaller. After some time of meeting in our home, we disbanded. The betrayal pried open the crack even further. For the first time in my adult life, I was not a pastor, and I was undone.

In the years after, we hosted a house church of young adults in our living room, attended another house church, helped-out a couple churches with their welcoming ministry and community-wide outreach. Eventually, it seemed unlikely that I would ever find a church that aligned with my vision. That vision included a heart for the outsider and a willingness to try new avenues of acceptance and community.

The crack had become a gaping canyon. 

Also published at Done with Religion

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I Am Done With…

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This is one of the easiest and most cathartic posts I have ever written. It’s easy because I can clearly catalog the characteristics of evangelical religion that are distasteful to me. 

Since I write this at the peak fervor of our presidential campaign, Evangelical entanglement with politics immediately comes to mind. 

There seems to be a confusion about kingdoms. Christ’s kingdom and all the kingdoms of this world are vastly different. One is a kingdom of love and the others are kingdoms of power.

Earthly kingdoms are about control, Christ’s kingdom is about influence, the way we live our lives and love people. Earthly kingdoms are about enforcing laws, Christ’s is about love and changing hearts. Earthly kingdoms are about war, Christ’s is about peace with God and one another. Earthly kingdoms are about mandating rules, Christ’s is about choosing his ways from the heart. 

Christian Nationalism is an attempt to use earthly kingdoms to force on people what some determine to be Christian values. It’s like trying to mix oil and water. They are in opposition to one another. You cannot legislate or mandate a changed heart. It opens the door for politicians to adopt a few socially conservative policies, do lip service to religion, and use a couple of evangelical buzz words to get elected.

During the January 6th riots, I was as shocked as any American to witness the violent assault of the very heart of our government after being ginned-up by a man whose ego and was so huge but so fragile that he would assault our very democracy to try to be “a winner” (really a looser). 

In the violent chaos flags were waving, the American Flag, the Don’t Tread on Me Flag (Gadsden Flag), the Confederate Flag, the Trump Flag, and the Christian Flag. These flags represent the elements of Christian Nationalism. They are a toxic cocktail that confuses patriotism, individualism, racism, cultism, and religion. It looks nothing like Jesus and everything like an authoritarian political movement that is destroying the witness of the church. 

Folks who are not in the club, don’t get it. They wonder, “Why are Christians so hateful, so unloving, so bent on forcing their views on others.” Even they know that is not at all like Christ. This movement exposes a hypocrisy of a superficial faith defined by a few slogans, that hates its enemies, and ignores the obvious faults of its champion (not Christ). 

Christianity has become an exclusive club for the already convinced. So, churches hire a charismatic pastor and staff, build an impressive building, and offer a wide array of programs to keep the sheep happy and proud of what they have. They think the bigger all of this gets, the more successful the church must be. They rely on these assets, the buildings and staff.  With all the salaries and the mortgage, it takes a lot of money to keep the sheep happy. 

Every church has a little different idea about how to do church, hence the countless varieties, sometimes at the same intersection, like fast food outlets. 

Pastors and leaders have unrealistic expectations placed on them. A few are egomaniacs. Most are simply trying to fulfill their calling and keep the flock happy. Almost none can be honest about their feelings and struggles with anyone in the congregation because they are expected to be above mortal temptations (unlike the congregants). They are not, as proven by the numerous scandals involving members of the clergy.

Too many churches and associations of churches have become a self-centered, politically affiliated rest homes for the long-since convinced with little concern for those who need to see the Gospel in action.

I join the millions who are done with that. 

But it doesn’t mean we are done with Jesus.

Also published in Done With Religion.

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Hello, Again

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It has been a long while since I have posted here and I have missed it. I realize that my readers come from different perspectives and some of the posts I put up are not exactly their cup of tea. A long time ago, I went through my social media connections and deleted about 150, anyone with whom I did not have a real life relationship. I am not sure about the wisdom of that because I likely deleted a giant chunk of my readership, since I had so many online relationships.

Nonetheless, I decided on a singular platform for my writing and another one for my lighting business, doo-dads. So, some posts may hit home and others, not so much. I love hearing from you. I only ask that you keep the discourse respectful.

Thank you!

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Christmas Reflection

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Finally, a little time to think, and pray.

God made an unassuming entrance into our little world. The creator became the creation. You would think his entrance would have been grandiose. Instead, it was humiliating. 

He was born into a blue color, working class family. It was a really bad time to have a baby, in middle of a difficult journey to register for a government mandated census. And it was a terrible place to give birth, a barn that sheltered the animals. Geographically, it was also a terrible place to born, as his people were heavily taxed and oppressed by a cruel occupying military superpower.

He did have a few visitors though: shepherds, but even they were considered to be the dregs of society by respectable people. 

He had no status, no money, no respect. 

He is one who identifies with people who have no status, no money, no respect.

He would go on to “comfort the afflicted and afflict the comforted.” Railing against the religious power brokers and oppressors, finding new ways to anger the respectable and reach out to the untouchables. He was generally hated by the powerful and loved by common people.

On him, his birth, his life, his death, his resurrection hangs everything, trusting he is who he said. It changes the trajectory of our life now and forever.

He showed us there is no way to be good enough to be acceptable by God, because he accepts us as we are.

And if you really think about it, this is the warmest Christmas feeling of all.

Merry Christmas friends!

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The Leader of the Free World

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He was a comedian that played a teacher on a TV show whose character went on tirade about corruption in the country’s government. The tirade went viral on social media, and he was elected president of the country. That was a TV show. Now that same actor/comedian is the actual president of a war-ravaged Ukraine. 

What is it they say about life and art?

This thirty-eight-year-old with a law degree and a background in the entertainment industry is now the leader of the free world.

He has qualities that most Americans wish their leadership possessed. 

“I need bullets, not a ride.” This was his famous response to the US offer to help him escape the country. Staying put when he actively hunted by Russian operatives, required unquestioned loyalty and courage. 

His nightly addresses to the people of his nation and his endless pleading with western nation for weapons, utilized his skills with the media. He knew exactly how to approach the leadership of each nation and how to keep his people encouraged in times of immense loss.

His courage and communication skills have garnered him the kind of authority that has resulted in the re-unification of NATO, an outpouring of weapons and aid, and the overwhelming respect of the world. 

He can keep asking for more weapons and call out the hypocrisy of other nations and alliances because he has earned the right to do so. He can encourage others to stand up to the bully, because that is exactly what he is doing.

That’s what real leadership looks like!

It seems like history has taught us little here in our country. Our delay in getting involved in two world wars did not turn out to be prudent. Now, we are so fearful of escalation from a ruthless dictator with nuclear weapons that we are willing to do just enough to help the Ukrainians defend themselves for a time, rather than defeat a ruthless enemy that will always want more. We continue to turn a blind eye as thousands are killed and cities are destroyed when so much of the horror could be prevented.

We have a responsibility to do more, as Americans, as decent human beings.

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Breakfast of Champions

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jesus and peterJohn 20-21

Each mealtime has a special feeling to it. Breakfast is refreshing because it has been a long time since dinner. In our day, many people skip it or eat a pop tart on the way to work. Almost never does someone fix breakfast for you. So, when we have a hearty breakfast, prepared by someone else and take time to enjoy it, it is rare. Now, imagine that it is Jesus cooking breakfast for you.

It was pretty exciting. Jesus yelled out to these fishermen asking them if they had caught anything. That’s what you always ask fishermen. They replied, no. He said, try throwing your net out on the right side of the boat.  I imagined they grumbled and begrudgingly did so. Then they caught so many fish they couldn’t pull in the net. 

Finally, they realized the stranger on the shore was no stranger. It was Jesus. Peter was so excited that he dove in the water and swam ashore.

Jesus cooked some of the fish they had caught on the campfire. Their time together had to remind them of the many times they had eaten together as they traveled with Jesus for over three years. The band was back together, laughing, telling stories, listening to Jesus.

But the most important thing that happened was after breakfast. The rest of the guys had probably gone back to fishing. Jesus and Peter took a walk down the shore. Peter still loathed himself for denying Jesus in his hour of need. The stress of the moment had shown him that he was weak, cowardly, impulsive, and a hypocrite. Now he was face-to-face with the one he vehemently denied a short time earlier.

Jesus turned to Peter in one of those dramatic moments in which everything else in the world seems to stop and asked him, “Peter, do you love me?” Peter gave his lame response. Then Jesus said, “Peter do you love me?” Another lame response. Then a third time, “Peter, are you even my friend?” Then, Jesus said, “Take care of my sheep.”

Three things happened in the conversation. One, there was no more wondering about the relationship. Jesus got it out in the open. Two, Jesus gave Peter a new job and indeed Peter became the first leader of the church and was the go to guy in its early days. Three, Jesus forgave Peter and Peter finally accepted his forgiveness and stopped wallowing in  guilt. Only then could he fulfill his role that Jesus had for him.

This is a universally human story. He forgives us. Now, we need to do that which he has put in our heart.

Originally posted April 24, 2011.