Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Molly Ivins

Molly Ivin's voice will no longer be heard in the land. And we should lament. I may not have always agreed with her, but she was always worth listening to.

Depression Day 5

Earlier days have been posted. I suspect this will end up novella length. At least if it goes as I have planned.

And she woke up, but it was not quite 7am, so she lay in bed waiting to take her pill. She had two things to do today. Take her pill and go to her first appointment with a therapist. She knew she could do the first and hoped that she could do the second. But today the pill didn't seem to be helping at all. Laying in bed waiting for the clock to turn to 7:00 was all she could do.

And she took the pill.

And she went to eat breakfast.

And she went to take a shower.

And she went to the closet and stared trying to figure out what to wear. She'd never been to a therapist and thought she should look nice, but was it church dress-up or work dress-up or casual lunch or dinner with friends or what. She had been just putting on clothes in the order they came up. The just washed went in the back of the closet so that there'd be some rotation.

At least the appointment had been made from her doctor's office. She didn't have to think about which therapist and what time and where to go. Those decisions were out of her hands. She didn't have to obsess over calling someone she didn't know or even someone she knew. All she had to figure out was which clothes to wear and as she thought about it it didn't seem to matter. Whatever she put on the therapist would see her. And would the other patients matter?

But what if someone saw her on the way to the therapist? What would her clothes say? Would it look like she was out for a day of shopping? Or would it be clear from what she wore that she was in trouble and going to see a therapist? And what would the people she knew say? She was supposed to be a Christian and why would she need to go to a therapist if she was really Christian? Wouldn't she be taken care of by God if only she had faith? She wasn't supposed to be one of those who grieved as those who had no hope? She wasn't supposed to be in despair? She'd lived a good life, trying to do the best she could. She'd been faithful in attending church. She'd been faithful in tithing. And how could she as her father's daughter; how could she as her husband's wife; how could she as her son's mother; how could she be going into therapy for depression? She'd always been the one others looked to for help or an example and how could she be in this situation? And why hadn't!
she seen it coming?

And she stared into the closet awhile longer before finally taking out the clothing that was at the front of the closet. A nice pantsuit, nothing to business like but enough to show that she was a competent woman. No ruffles, but enough of a V-neck to show some cleavage, but with the jacket it was clear that she was not available. Yes, it was a good outfit, she thought, it didn't say too much or too little about who she was. She could be mother, wife, and daughter in those clothes. She was intelligent, competent, and reliable with the outfit.

She knew she wasn't what her clothes said. Not anymore. And if not now had she ever been intelligent and competent and reliable? She had been a bright little daddy's girl – winning awards, but had they been because of her dad. She had been a credit to her husband – he was envied at her compose and he always made sure she knew it. She was thought of as one of the mothers to go to for advice and her son's friends were over at her house more than their own. But she didn't know if she really had been any of those things and she knew she wasn't them at present.

And so her outfit was chosen – more by default than thought – but chosen.

And she set the alarm for an hour before her appointment and lay down.

But she didn't sleep. No one in her family had ever needed therapy. They were supposed to be the sort of people who could handle problems. And she wondered if she was worthy of her father and her husband if the death of one could send her into this state where she was supposed to take medicine and go to therapy. Her family had been turning out good church workers for generations and how could she disappoint them by going to therapy and showing that her faith wasn't as strong as theirs. She should be like Timothy in following the example of his mother and grandmother and instead she was letting down the family and going away from the faith.

But she just didn't know if she had faith. She was hanging on to the idea that things were going to come to a grand and glorious conclusion with the coming of the savior, but she couldn't see how that belief meant anything when she was in the torments of hell. Why would any good Christian be in such torments of the mind? Yes if she had been asked to stand up for her faith and meet torture, then she could say she was a good Christian but how could she believe that she was a good Christian when she was in such a mess for no good reason.

And she grew up hearing stories about how an aunt had gone to Africa and survived for twenty years at a mission station before coming back home and raising a niece and nephew who had lost their parents. And she heard stories about her great-grandfather who had pledged money to help build a church and then left the church over some doctrinal point she couldn't understand even as an adult but kept on giving his pledge and more to that church until they could build. And she remembered stories about how her grandmother had taken in hired hands even with five boys since they could always feed the hand and his family even if they didn't have any money for sugar and all that they had was beef and potatoes.

And she wondered why she was in this – depression since she now had the word – couldn't she have had some great and terrible deed with which to prove her faith instead of this agony that showed her lack of faith? Weren't Christians supposed to be joyful? And weren't they supposed to be able to get over the blues? And weren't they supposed to be glad that their loved ones were with God? And why did she go into this state after her husband's death?

If she'd had enough faith wouldn't she have overcome this – depression – without medicine and without therapy?

Annie Dillard

"The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies' straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake some day and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return."

Annie Dillard: In "Teaching a Stone to Talk,"

R. Buckminister Fuller

I am utterly convinced that we are all here for one another and that every experience that everyone is having is relevant. It all counts. The Universe is so extrodardinarly well designed that it needs all those experiences.

R. Buckminister Fuller

What Defiles a person? - revisited again

I post some of my notes to a meeting that I have started on ecunet called Christian Theologies And.... And my friends their often have good comments.

One friend concentrated on the law, but another asked questions about our attitude. The Pharisees were trying to protect their worship, their God, their religion with their strict adherence to the law. Yet often they took the law (and their interpretation of the letter of the law) as more important than what is behind the law. But some of us struggle with the purpose of the law.

It's so much easier to preach about someone else and blame the 'decline in morals from others' rather than asking who we are and what we are doing. And it gets, or at least in my observation does so, more people in the pew if you blame others outside the congregation. But "who are we?" or, more importantly, "whose are we?" is the important question.

And that fact of being willing to ask and struggle with the question is in itself that we haven't fallen into the self-delusion that Jesus condemns in the Pharisees. It is when we are so convinced of our own righteousness that we fall into error rather than when we ask are we righteous or self-righteous.

Haggard comes to mind. His setup of the church organization was/is used as a model by many non-denominational congregations. Yet that model really provides no opportunity for correction of problems. The pastor is either in charge or out of the congregation. There is no in between.

But most of our denominational models provide for various varieties of failure. There are some actions for which people are removed from office, others for which they may be censured or reprimanded, others for which some action of change/restitution is required. I think having a nuanced view is more helpful than unilateral in charge or out of office model that Haggard set up and that many have followed.

I tend to think the nuanced view is more biblical as well, but that could be my own prejudices talking.

RE: What Defiles a person?

I had a friend note that in my writings about 'What defiles a person' a few days ago my statement that Jesus ignored was over the top. And so, he's correct. It may be more accurate to say re-interpret. Jesus did interpret and re-interpret the law in a different fashion than many of the Pharisees and scribes. I was writing more polemically - to wake the reader up - rather than academically, but the point is a good one. And in many ways Jesus was very close to the Pharisees, certainly closer to them than the other religio-political parties.

The question Jesus asks is more along the lines of "What is the purpose of the law?" and the Pharisees seem to be interested more in "What is the letter of the law?" Both are useful questions, but taken alone both questions lack a certain something that leads to a fullness of understanding. I, myself, have made quips and more determined examinations about the letter of the law as in when Leviticus says "You shall not lie with a man as awith a woman." saying I have no interest in lying with a man as with a woman, I want to lie with a man as with a man.

Yet the understanding of the law rests on more than quick summations and sarcastic retorts. There's a deeper understanding that comes from looking at the letter and the purpose that we should be seeking whenever we intepret what the law is.

I've seen some so interested in the purpose of the law that they forget to apply the law when something is clearly wrong and others so interested in the letter of the law that they forget the purpose of the law when the letter clearly harms both victim and victimized.

A news report the other day was about a woman who was raped. On the way to the station they found out she had a couple of warrents out. She had taken part one of a drug that prevents pregnancy/implantation, but in jail one of the attendants did not let her take the second part of the drug regimen to prevent pregnancy. The victim in this case was victimized by someone who thought they were upholding the law.

Paul, for all his emphasis on the law, does have an understanding - only after a knock on the side of the head on the way to Damascus - of what the law can and cannot do that we sometimes miss. My friend was correct to point that out. The law was given for our health and our support, but taken as the end of everything is death producing as you point out with your citation of 2 Cor 2:6

Mark 7:1-23

[1] Now when the Pharisees and some of the scribes who had come from
Jerusalem gathered around him, [2] they noticed that some of his
disciples were eating with defiled hands, that is, without washing them.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Anonymous

Experience is a hard teacher. She gives the test first and the lessons afterwards.

Anonymous;

Monday, January 29, 2007

What defiles a person?

When reading the gospels it is clear that Jesus ignored many of the commands, the laws, of the Hebrew Testament. One is defiled if they don't wash their hands and, yet, for Jesus that isn't important. The old categories of ritual purity and impurity, of abomination and purification, of offerings to become cleansed are thrown away. The one sacrifice is being made in the birth, life and death of the one who tells the Pharisees that it is more important to note what comes from within the heart than which ritual is performed.

The question to ask ourselves today is who are the Christians who are like the Pharisees and some of the scribes? Are we those people who concentrate on the defiled hands rather than the heart? I hear more and more TV shows where the pastor(s) seem to concentrate on how others ought to live rather than how the he and the people for whom he is pastor ought to live. If we Christians are not correcting our own problems, we cannot and should not speak to the world.

We are as Christians to be a light to the world, but that light shines more brightly when we speak to our own problems as well as to the problems of the world. We are the mantle and the light is from Christ. We need to polish that glass mantle so that the light of Christ can shine through us.

Saying the right things, e.g. I have a personal relationship with Christ, the Scriptures are inerrant, and more from all sides, is about honoring with our lips. But if our actions are a rejection of other people then we are not honoring with our hearts. If our actions are forcing others to believe (or mouth the words) even if what we believe is correct, then are dishonoring the one we claim to serve.

The harshest words in scripture are not for prostitutes and adulterers – those sexual sins, for tax collectors – betrayers of their country, or those ritually unclean. No, the harshest words are for the religious leaders of the day. And we who are religious leaders in our day should be careful that we are not like those Pharisees and scribes who knew the letter of the law but could not find the heart.

Mark 7:1-23

[1] Now when the Pharisees and some of the scribes who had come from Jerusalem gathered around him, [2] they noticed that some of his disciples were eating with defiled hands, that is, without washing them. [3] (For the Pharisees, and all the Jews, do not eat unless they thoroughly wash their hands, thus observing the tradition of the elders; [4] and they do not eat anything from the market unless they wash it; and there are also many other traditions that they observe, the washing of cups, pots, and bronze kettles.) [5] So the Pharisees and the scribes asked him, "Why do your disciples not live according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?" [6] He said to them, "Isaiah prophesied rightly about you hypocrites, as it is written,

'This people honors me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me; [7] in vain do they worship me, teaching human precepts as doctrines.

"[8] You abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition."

[9] Then he said to them, "You have a fine way of rejecting the commandment of God in order to keep your tradition! [10] For Moses said, 'Honor your father and your mother'; and, 'Whoever speaks evil of father or mother must surely die.' [11] But you say that if anyone tells father or mother, 'Whatever support you might have had from me is Corban' (that is, an offering to God)--[12] then you no longer permit doing anything for a father or mother, [13] thus making void the word of God through your tradition that you have handed on. And you do many things like this."

[14] Then he called the crowd again and said to them, "Listen to me, all of you, and understand: [15] there is nothing outside a person that by going in can defile, but the things that come out are what defile."

[17] When he had left the crowd and entered the house, his disciples asked him about the parable. [18] He said to them, "Then do you also fail to understand? Do you not see that whatever goes into a person from outside cannot defile, [19] since it enters, not the heart but the stomach, and goes out into the sewer?" (Thus he declared all foods clean.) [20] And he said, "It is what comes out of a person that defiles. [21] For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, [22] adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly.

[23] All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person."

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Memories

What we remember happening and what actually happened aren't always the same. I remembered as a child about five years old going to a psychologist for intelligence testing. My twin brother rememberedI went, but he didn't. I think both of us assumed that it was because the results would be the same.

Intelligence testing wasn't what happened.

My mother thought that I might be turning into a homosexual. So they took me to see what could be done. And with all the best intentions in the world helped to send me into denial about my sexual orientation. They used a book (Growing up Straight by Peter and Barbara Wyden) that had all the latest research and did all the right things - as in making sure I had plenty of time with my father, discouraging effeminate mannerisms and activities and more.

I found this out after I finally figured out why I wasn't meeting the right woman and that no woman would ever be the right woman. And some of my memories took on new focus. I hadn't realized that it was after 'the visit' that my mother stopped me playing with costume jewelry. But that wasn't the only memory that fell into place.

That one happened after a conversation with my dad. But more memories of desires I'd ignored and feelings that I hadn't dealt with came to the forefront after I admitted to myself that I was attracted to men as partners (not just sexually) in my life. My life just made a lot more sense after I figured out my sexual orientation and became gay.

Not everyone has an eye-opening moment of waking up and realizing they've been in denial about their sexual orientation. I suspect there's less and less of those sudden awakenings to who we are as in this culture been able to become more understanding of human sexuality (and sexuality throughout the animal realm) but putting the pieces together after I finally stopped cramming them into the wrong shape was one of the best times of my life. I don't recommend the pain of denial, but laughter and joy came to me when feelings and events just popped into focus after those years of denial. And that joy is something I still treasure.

Evolution Sunday Feb. 11

Evolution Sunday sponsored by a number of religious leaders who see no conflict between their faith and the theory of evolution is coming. Set your calendars to February 11. Thanks to Dispatches from the Culture Wars for the reminder.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Every man [sic]I meet is in some way my superior.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

He wasn't very nice - Luke 4:21-30

Jesus is not very nice to the people in his hometown. He flat out says he won’t be accepted and then, a little bit nastily, alludes to the stories of two prototypical prophets healing a foreigner and receiving help from a stranger. (Luke 4:21-30) This doesn’t say a lot for how humans receive news that someone they’ve known is acting differently than how they expect.

It does serve as a warning to us. How do we receive messages that we aren’t the way we should be – especially when they come from people we think we know? Are we going to welcome or hinder? Are we going to greet or despise? Are we going to be who we say we are? Or show that we’re hypocrites.

John Boykin said, “Time is life--nothing more, nothing less. The way you spend your hours and your days is the way you spend your life.” (I don’t have the source for this quote – I got it from a meeting on ecunet.org called Quotes to live with) The quote in many ways sums up the questions in this passage.

We who claim the name of Christian are asked to live our lives in service to that one. Yet some of us who are most familiar with the words seem least familiar with putting those words into action. The way we act towards each other and towards the stranger is a reflection of what we truly believe.

Are we going to throw the bearer of news off the cliff (at least try to) or will we have ears to hear?

And I’m not so sure I like the answer when I look at myself.

Luke 4:21-30 [21] Then he began to say to them, "Today this scripture
has been fulfilled in your hearing." [22] All spoke well of him and were amazed
at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, "Is not this Joseph’s
son?" [23] He said to them, "Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb,
'Doctor, cure yourself!' And you will say, 'Do here also in your hometown the
things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.'" [24] And he said, "Truly I
tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown. [25] But the truth
is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was
shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the
land; [26] yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zarephath in
Sidon. [27] There were also many lepers in Israel in the time of the prophet
Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian." [28] When they
heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. [29] They got up, drove
him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was
built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. [30] But he passed through the
midst of them and went on his way.

Wendell Phillips

Difference of religion breeds more quarrels than difference of politics.

Wendell Phillips

Homosexuality in animals

From Omni Brain, here's an article about a museum that mentions animals are gay. Well -maybe not gay, since that is more a political/socio-cultural identification, but certainly there are same-sex sexual activities that aren't dominance related among animals.

How many

I’ve been asked the question of “How many people have you brought to the Lord?” And my answer is none. That confuses the Christians (and some of them are Christianist) who ask the question. But the answer relates to my understanding of the task and purpose of each Christian. I cannot save anyone or bring him or her to Christ. That was done about 2000 years ago by the only human without sin. That is the human who is fully human and fully divine.

When I read passages such as John 3:16 my understanding is that salvation and redemption were done for the world. My task, my purpose is about spreading the good news of that salvation, but bringing someone to the Lord is what God does. I serve and enjoy the one who saves me. But since I cannot and could not save myself, it is the height of arrogance to believe that I can bring another to salvation.

And the numbers game, however played, is not what faith in Jesus – the one who is fully human and fully divine – is about. The Jesus I worship came to save the world. And that salvation was God’s gracious gift rather than anything I could do by myself for myself or for anyone else.

Erik Pepke

Any society that needs disclaimers has too many lawyers.

Erik Pepke

Our way is the only way

from Straight but not Narrow I found this article about hypocrisy. A bill has been proposed that:
Itse's bill would change the law to allow all "religious officiants authorized by their church, religion, sect or denomination to solemnize marriages in the way usually practiced among them" - with a catch. Those ceremonies would only be allowed "provided that such marriages do not conflict with existing state law prohibiting marriage between persons of the same sex."

What is this but trying to say that the only way to have faith is to believe as we do. Let individual churches, congregations, denominations make up their mind as to what their faith calls them to do. Don't impose burdens that you yourselves are unwilling to bear. (I believe that last statement is one that Jesus said to the Pharisees.)

Depression Day 4

Day 4

At seven she took the third pill. And she felt like she’d done something if not enough. She had hoped that she’d notice something even though the doctor had said it would be two weeks to a month, but nothing had changed. And it was only a faint glimmer that the doctor had said that an anti-depressant might work that got her to take the pill.

After yesterday spent lying in bed she thought she ought to eat, though she wasn’t really hungry.

So she got up and went to the kitchen, where she sat down and stared at the cupboards wondering what to eat. The thought of cereal nauseated her, even the sugar topped ones would taste like cardboard, so she just went with the shredded wheat. She didn’t need a bowl for that. She could eat it over the sink and anything that dropped she could run through the garbage disposal. And while every bite tasted like sand, still she knew that there was enough to feed her and she wouldn’t feel like throwing it all up afterwards.

And after she finished eating she sat down and waited for a half hour or so.

Then she got up and cleaned the sink.

And after she finished cleaning the sink she sat down and waited for a half hour or so.

Then she went and showered.

And after showering she sat on the tub for a half hour or so.

Then she brushed her teeth

And after brushing her teeth she sat on the tub for a half hour or so.

She thought about combing her hair, but went back to bed.

And she stayed in bed even as the phone rang and the answering machine picked up and it was her son.

And she knew that he’d be worried, but she just couldn’t talk to him, she just didn’t have the energy to talk to anyone. And she’d started treatment so she could mention something next time he called, but talking to someone was too much for today. Hadn’t she already done enough? She’d actually showered on a day when she didn’t have anything scheduled and that hadn’t always happened in the past so maybe the drug was having some effect even though it wasn’t supposed to be working for another two weeks, but it wasn’t’ two weeks anymore. It was less than two weeks, but still more than a week so maybe she was just fooling herself since she still felt the pain and she still didn’t have energy to do anything. How many hours had it taken to eat and clean up after breakfast and she used to be able to do that and six other things before seven and now she was left just trying to get up at seven to take a pill and that pill might not do any good. So why was she even taking that pill when she just was in so much pain and everything took so much effort and she lay in bed.

She listened to the answering machine click off after her son said, “I love you.” and wondered what it was she felt for him. All her being was consumed by pain and she had nothing left for the son she had born so many ears ago.

And then the real pain hit as she wondered – what sort of mother am I that I can’t even answer the phone when my son calls. All I’m doing is lying in bed and even though the pain is still throbbing shouldn’t I be able to pick up the phone and listen and reassure my son that I’m not lying dead even though that would hurt so much less than what I’m feeling right now.

And her thoughts circled round and around like the murmuring of the tide coming in – only not so painless.

And after a few hours she realized that if she called her son would be at class and she wouldn’t have to talk, she could just leave a message, and even though that didn’t feel like enough it was something.

And so she hit the speed-dial and waited for the phone to ring praying that he’d be in class so she wouldn’t cry and make him upset, praying that he’d be in class so she wouldn’t have to talk, praying that her nightmare would be over sometime. And the answering machine finished so she quickly said, “I’m glad you called, sorry I missed you, love you.” and hung up.

And she was relieved and sad and tired and wondered what sort of mother didn’t want to talk to her own son. And yet she was too tired to spend time in conversation and wondered if she should tell him she was on an anti-depressant, but thought he didn’t need to worry about her when he was away from home and she should be taking care of him so he didn’t need to know just yet.

Depression Day 3

Day 3

She was awake and turning long before seven. She was always awake and tossing through the night. But she had determined she was going to take the prescription at 7am and so she waited. She might not be able to do anything else today, but that one thing was all she needed to do. Yesterday she’d gotten more than the pill taken. She’d done a load of laundry. So today she could just lie in bed enduring the pain until it passed.

And that’s all she did.

Robert Heinlein

A competent and self-confident person is incapable of jealousy in anything. Jealousy is invariably a symptom of neurotic insecurity.

Robert Heinlein

In the Heart of the Desert

I've started a new book, but this isn't one that I can gulp down in the evening. It's called "In the Heart of the Desert: The Spirituality of the Desert Fathers and Mothers" by John Chryssavgis. The stories of how the sayings came to be collected are good and the sayings themselves are giving me food for thought. Readers may be hearing more quotes for awhile from this book.

The definition of hypocrisy that I posted earlier this morning strikes clearly at the problem. It's when we call others on what we ourselves are doing. And that was just from one page. Many of the books I read are like a good beer - you can drink it in one gulp. This book is like a good wine - each sip is to be savored.

Abba Poeman

A brother asked Abba Poemen: "What is a hypocrite?" The old man said to him: "A hypocrite is one who teaches one's neighbor something without making any effort to do it oneself."

John Chryssavgis, "In the Heart of the Desert", p. 6

Saturday, January 27, 2007

Guilty Pleasures - Anita Blake

I came across Laurell K. Hamilton's series on Anita Blake last year and am thoroughly enjoying the read. Guilty Pleasures is a good, relaxing read for when one's mind is overburdened with work and an escape is needed. It is a lot darker than my life and so I come away glad to have explored the night side without any risk to myself.

Leo Tolstoy

Everybody thinks of changing humanity and nobody thinks of changing himself.

(Leo Tolstoy)

Cheney and Blitzer

I've been trying to figure out what felt wrong about Cheney not answering some questions from Wolf Blizer about gay marriage, children and his daughter who happens to be a lesbian. I don't have to any more. There's an editorial at The Spectrum that I found courtesy of Page ONeQ.

It's not just a naughty word

I wasn't that upset about the use of the 'f' word about someone else in a conversation on set or not. But to talk about the 'f' word as if it is just a naughty name is another thing entirely. Pam's House Blend alerted me to the story about a CNN anchor. Isaiah Washington's use was overblown. But Glen Beck needs to be reprimanded. I hope more than one person writes in and/or blogs about this issue.

Actually they already have.

And more snow

Today we also had snow along with all the other stuff. But this was one of the storms that I can appreciate. We saw the light fluffy flakes with more air than water. Walking those flakes tickled the nose rather than chilled. And since I've shoveled at least twice a week for the last month or more, I was especially grateful to see the snow melt away before I got out a shovel or broom.

Enoying life is about finding the moments in-between to reflect, to relax, and to take pleasure in those moments without worrying about all the other things that are or may happen.

And one more thing

Did I say that some days everything seems to happen?

Well this is that day. Along with the couple having problems in their room, and the couple leaving a pickup, and the odd request came a problem with the fence.

Rather the problem wasn't with the fence so much as someone driving into the fence. My guess is that they backed into the fence. And so the whole backyard is open. Now we don't have a lot back there. There's a lawnmower - we were debating whether we could get another year out of it last fall. There's a number of pipes, a couple of tires, a few empty buckets, and a satellite dish. But we've made a report to the cops, we've called our insurance company, and we've called for an estimate on fixing it. We don't expect to catch the person and we expect the fix up will be less than our deductible.

And so it is just one more thing. One more thing to fix. There have been days in the past when I wrote a soliloquy on enjoying simple things like folding laundry. I don't think that's going to be such a pleasure today. Today it's just one more thing.

Today's the day

In the hotel business many days roll by with the usual checking guests in, checking guests out, cleaning rooms, fixing breakfast and nothing all that out of the ordinary. But then there are days. I've written about the domestic violence and the call my girlfriend to let her know about the truck. And just now a request for a room just to use the TV.

And now...

Really, truly, I don't care if you use the room for a couple of hours to watch TV or to have a nooner. But please don't expect a reduction in the price. If you say (and even if that's all you do), "I'm going to just watch a TV show" it doesn't lessen the cleaning that I do. I still wash the sheets after you leave, I still wash the towels. And please don't expect me to believe that you won't use the bathroom and sink so I will clean those. My costs to the franchise remain the same. My costs to the credit card company remain the same. Two hours or ten hours - the amount of time you spend in the room just won't make a difference in my costs.

But that's what happened today. Someone told me that they wanted to rent a room for a couple of hours to watch a TV program and didn't want to believe there was no difference in the price. I had to break it to a customer that just watching TV means I have to clean the room just as much as if they took a nap or more.

No thanks

Today I told someone that it wasn't my problem. A guy called and wanted me to take down the name and phone number of his girlfriend - or ex girlfriend - with whom he'd had an argument. I was supposed to call her and let her know that her pickup was in our lot. He seemed surprised when I said, "I'm not getting in the middle of this." And I'm not.

If he left the pickup there it is his problem. If she left the pickup here then it's her problem. In any case, my responsibility is to the owner and my guests. Getting involved in a domestic dispute is something I'm leery of. The questions that flashed through my head were along the line of "Does he have a protection order against him so he can't call her?" and from that going if anything similar to that I really don't want to be in the middle.

If the pickup stays in my lot, then I'll do the thing I do usually. That is, let the towing company check out the name and person from their license plate and take it from there. Getting in the middle of a fight, that's just not going to happen.

Ex-gay just doesn't happen

Despite the overwhelming evidence that ex-gay therapies are harmful to most of the particpants and if they work only do so irregularly they are still promoted. For one story of coming out of the ex-gay movement see Peterson Toscano.

Upsetting

In the motel business I sometimes come across more upset than I want. Last night was one of those times. I'm not sure who was beating up whom but there was plenty of moise and some sounds as if someone were hit. So my night person called the cops to deal with the couple. One of them mouthed off to the cops and went to jail and the other wanted to stay the rest of the night since they were too drunk to drive.

I hope I'm appropriately sympathetic in instances of domestic violence, but this is not behavior that we expect in our guests. Especially since we had several items broken in the room. If the guest had called to the front desk to report broken items I might have been more sympathetic. But when we hear complaints from rooms around the people. And when we go down and hear signs that someone is being beaten up. And when we have to call the cops. Then I'm not sympathetic to the plight.

And so our left-over guest was asked to leave. The credit card they used was charged for room damages and clean-up for smoking in a non-smoking room. And my housekeepers had more work then they should.

What's the appropriate action? I want to help the one being abused, but is it help to let them remain? I tend to think it is more help to make clear that this is a major problem and provide a phone number for the women's crisis center, than to just let the person stay. I had several options and none of them were good.

So I'm upset. And a little bit angry at the world.

Ramsey Clark

"The measure of your quality as a citizen is the gap between what you do and what you say."


- Ramsey Clark, former U.S. Attorney General

Sideline Secrets

Yes, I get movies because they have a gay theme. But I'm sometimes sorry about that and watching Sideline Secrets was one of those times. I kept watching to see if it could get any worse. And it did. Loose ends in a plot are supposed to be tied up in the denoument. All the loose ends in this movie were so in knots that all that happened was the noose around the dead body couldn't be removed. A lackluster script with worse acting pretending to be a suspense movie without one thrill. Skip the movie, please.

Friday, January 26, 2007

It is so gay.

Let's see one of the main people in the video "It's not gay" was found to be having sex with men even as he said he'd been cured of homosexuality. And Christians, who say they are for the truth, are promoting this video. Seems to me there's a couple of verses of mistaking the truth and falling into sin that those same Christians ought to be reading. It doesn't matter that Michael Johnston may be back to not having sex with other men, the video is still a lie.

Robert Peck

"A Day No Pigs Would Die"
by Robert Peck:

Never miss a chance to keep your mouth shut.

Sperm Wars: The Science of Sex

I've been avidly reading the Book Sperm Wars: The Science of Sex today. It's by Robin Baker and is a popularization of a more scientific work that was done with Mark Bellis. For why we act the way we do - I may just have to get the scientific publication.

String Theory and Intelligent Design

Why string theory problems don't support Intelligent Design? Both can't be tested, but how do their proponents operate? The answer at Red State Rabble.

Differences and Similarities

Male brain? Female brain? find out how your mind works with this quiz.

A fisking

Andrew Sullivan is one of the more consistent people around - part of his conservatism - sometimes I think he's too consistent. But to accuse him of changing his mind on supporting the war in Iraq is ridiculous, but the charge keeps happening. So here's a link to an article about that.

Faith or numbers

Every once in awhile I see an article attempting to prove that the Bible is true or to prove that God exists or some such nonsense, it's the whole attempt to prove what is not about proof but about faith. Faith can come in a small child holding their hand out to an adult. Faith comes when there is no sign of relief but one believes that it is on the way. Faith is about trust when there is nothing in which to trust. Understanding that leads to a release from worrying about how many people one has led to Christ or how many times one has professed their faith or any system of adding up enough points to achieve the goal. When faith is about trusting in what can't be shown, then one can live life freely and openly. When faith is about what has been shown, then faith isn't faith instead it is a numbers game.

I consistently return to a passage from Hebrews 12:18-9:

"[18] You have not come to something that can be touched, a blazing fire, and
darkness, and gloom, and a tempest, [19] and the sound of a trumpet, and a voice
whose words made the hearers beg that not another word be spoken to them."

as I think about what it means to live in faith. Faith can be described but not prescribed. Faith can be seen, but not measured. Faith can be lived, but not without thought. Faith becomes a part of who one is so that it cannot be put off and separated from self. Faith is the gift that allows one to go on even when the road is full of thorns and there seems no end to the problems.

The problem with living by proof is that proofs can be shown to be false and if you hold onto the proof in spite of evidence to the contrary then you make a mockery of the truth. Proofs aren't about faith; they are about a lack of faith.

Living by faith is a little scarier and a whole lot more satisfying. A lot of worries drop off when you can accept that your faith is incomplete and will grow through your life. You can stop worrying about getting the details correct and begin to look to where you should be heading.

Saying that you have proof finishes the discussion. But faith is not about stopping a conversation, but about a journey through life. Faith is the journey of a poor wayfarin' stranger wandering through a world of woe. Faith is starting out on a journey to a land where one has never been. Faith is what happens when you believe that salvation is coming and you continue to believe even though your family and nation faces destruction and is taken away to a Babylonian captivity.

Proving that scripture is true puts belief and faith into a category that can be measured. And while there are passages that talk about if only you had the faith of a mustard seed, those passages aren't about measuring faith in a way that is susceptible to proof but living faith in daily life. Faith is not about doubts or the absence of doubts; faith is about going forth into an uncertain world and trying to make that world a better place.

Asking for proof is the opposite of faith. And while proof is useful in many places and for many ideas, thinking that having proof will solve problems of religion and belief makes a mockery of faith itself. Faith is hope in things unseen, where proof measures and weighs evidence. Faith is looking for the now but not yet, where proof exists only in the present.

Rupert Everett

"I'd rather be called a faggot by someone who felt it — then you know where they stand. It's so much better to say what you feel."


Gay actor Rupert Everett reacting to the Isaiah Washington controversy (Eonline.com, Jan. 22)

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Oscar Wilde

"Experience is the name everyone gives to his mistakes."

Oscar Wilde

Darwin - a book review

The Atlantic is publishing some articles from the past. One of them is the review of Darwin's famous book. Check it out.

Can't we all just get along?

I’ve heard the question ‘can’t we all just get along?’ more than once in a discussion/fight within the church. And the questioner seems to assume that Christians in some mythic age of purity all got along. Since we have this passage about Paul correcting Peter and many where the twelve misunderstand and disagree with Jesus, the answer is “No, we can’t all just get along.” There are times when we’re going to disagree and argue.

What we can do is respect each other in the midst of the disagreements. But getting along is just not going to happen, at least not in the sense of avoiding arguments and heated discussions.

When we have fights and think someone else is going wrong we can talk to them openly and try to do so without rancor or condescension. The Christian shouldn’t be too quick to fall into an argument nor too eager to avoid dissension.

Practicing our faith is often difficult. The correct path for the particular occasion can be difficult to see. Have we talked about the issue in private with the person? Do we need to go a step further and talk with leaders in the church? Do we need to go together to confront he problem? And is it really our problem to confront?

Confrontation is necessary as when Jesus overthrew the tables in the temple or Paul confronted Peter about his actions. But I often think we need to use our brains more when we talk to someone about what we see as problems. Is the right approach a dramatic lying on one’s side in the street for days as did Isaiah? But too often our approach is the type that causes Mark Twain to say: Fewer things are harder to put up with than the annoyance of a good example.” Rather our example should be that of Francis de Sales approach: “Do not wish to be anything but what you are, and try to be that perfectly.”

The question about ‘Can’t we all just get along’ seems to presuppose that someone has to change and should do so without any discussion or argument – the one person gives in so that there’s no conflict with the other person. Yet if there are passions and beliefs involved not expressing an opinion and not letting the other know what one believes is a form of negating self that is unhealthy.

The mystic loses self in contemplation of God. But the ‘I just want to get along’ crowd loses self in order to achieve a spurious harmony between people. The mystic doesn’t give up their opinion, but subsumes their opinions in a search for the truth or in a search for something beyond self. Not voicing an opinion so that there’s no argument is a different matter entirely.

We who are Christians are called to set a good example, but the good example should not be of the Pharisee who thanks God that he is better than that tax collector over in the corner. That Pharisaism is what Twain is talking about in the ‘annoyance of a good example.’ It is an example that claims to be good while doing it for the admiration of others. And that is the wrong example of faith.

When Paul confronted Cephas he did care about the opinions of others. But not whether the opinions of other people were to his own benefit or detriment. Paul cared about how the opinion of what Christians should do was influenced by the actions and words of all Christians. And so Paul confronted Peter on how he did one thing for some people and another thing for other people.

We are called to live as who we are and doing what we believe. We are called to do so with respect and care for each other, but not avoiding or seeking disagreements. And we’ve all seen the people who are too anxious to find something wrong – such as figuring out who doesn’t say ‘men and women’ or ‘he and she’ on the one side vs. the people who ask about your ‘personal relationship’ or ‘inerrancy of scripture’ – so as to exclude someone from the group. And on the other hand we’ve seen of those who are too ready to placate the disagreements – such as making excuses for genital mutilation as a cultural ritual or caning as not being the beating that it actually is.

This is not an issue of whether the right or the left is correct, but of living what we believe as we call people (whatever side of the issue they’re on) to account for their words and actions. And when we call people to account there will be disagreement and we just will not all get along.

Certainly there are times when we need to put aside our differences and welcome each other. We will need to show that we stand in solidarity with some people as we disapprove of some of their actions. But that is different from the ‘can’t we all get along’ question.. That is going along with H. L. Mencken saying, “I detest what you say but support your right to say it” or the ACLU supporting the right of free speech for organizations that denounce the ACLU. That is standing up for one’s beliefs even as it may hurt one’s cause.

And standing up for one’s beliefs is what being a Christian is all about. And having the humility that recognizes even long held beliefs and doctrines can be wrong is also what it is about when one follows the Christ. We have the example of Paul on the road to Damascus, of Peter and his vision of unclean foods, of Paul castigating Peter for going back on his earlier example and more of Christians – of good people – trying to do their best and getting it wrong.

And that fact, which is illustrated through the whole of Scripture, is why we should not just remain silent so that we can all get along. We should stand up for our beliefs with the understanding that with God’s grace and the help of others they will be tested, found to be true or wanting, and once we figure out which we can go on continuing to live in Christ.




Galatians 2:11-21

[11] But when Cephas came to Antioch, I opposed him to his face, because he stood self-condemned; [12] for until certain people came from James, he used to eat with the Gentiles. But after they came, he drew back and kept himself separate for fear of the circumcision faction. [13] And the other Jews joined him in this hypocrisy, so that even Barnabas was led astray by their hypocrisy. [14] But when I saw that they were not acting consistently with the truth of the gospel, I said to Cephas before them all, "If you, though a Jew, live like a Gentile and not like a Jew, how can you compel the Gentiles to live like Jews?"

[15] We ourselves are Jews by birth and not Gentile sinners; [16] yet we know that a person is justified not by the works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ. And we have come to believe in Christ Jesus, so that we might be justified by faith in Christ, and not by doing the works of the law, because no one will be justified by the works of the law. [17] But if, in our effort to be justified in Christ,
we ourselves have been found to be sinners, is Christ then a servant
of sin? Certainly not! [18] But if I build up again the very things that I once tore down, then I demonstrate that I am a transgressor. [19] For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ; [20] and it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. [21] I do not nullify the grace of God; for if justification comes through the law, then Christ died for nothing.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Mark Twain

Fewer things are harder to put up with than the annoyance of a good example.

(Mark Twain)

Kerr-McGee guilty

So the Interior Department dismissed a suit against Kerr-McGee as they didn't actually owe royalties to the government. And in a reorganization one (Bobby L Maxwell)of those who protested that dismissal lost his job. And then Maxwell sued as a private citizen and won the case. It seems that the oil companies (President Bus worked in that area didn't he?) were getting their way on the backs of the rest of the country.

Thanks to TruthOut for pointing me to the article.

Problems continue for Delay

It seems that the prosecution of Delay is being put on long pause. The conspiriacy charges that were dismissed may be back on. At least there's an appeal of that dismissal. Quick resolution isn't going to happen. And while I tend towards the idea that Delay is guilty and ought to be found so quickly, there's the other part that is looking at whether a conspiracy actually happened that would be helpful for the resolution. Whichever way it is I want as much as possible for the truth to come out. I would like for a shorter time, but with all the legal manueverings from the prosecution and defense I suspect it will be longer than any of us want until a resolution is reached

Ken Hutchinson in the state of Washington

Ken Hutchinson, a conservative pastor, is starting a bill to take away civil rights that is rights common to everyone but only taking away those rights if you're GLBT. I always thought supporting equal rights for all was what being Christian was about. But maybe the god Hutchinson worships isn't the same as the God I seek to obey.

Wilbur F.Storey

It is a newspaper's duty to print the news and raise hell.

(Wilbur F.Storey)

Blog for Choice

I missed the Blog for Choice day. But the question of why I am pro-choice is simple. It is a decision that I think only the people involved directly can or should make. It is a decision with grave moral consequences especially as the end of the pregnancy approaches, yet those consequences cannot be made in a one size fits all equation. So I leave it up to the doctor and the woman and pray for all those involved.

Evolutionary biology and intelligent design

“Evolutionary biology certainly hasn’t explained everything that perplexes biologists, but intelligent design hasn’t yet tried to explain anything at all.”


–Daniel C. Dennett, Philosopher

Habeas corpus

A few days ago I saw an article at truthout.org. That the Attorney General of the USA was denying that habeas corpus was essential. This bothered me since the traditional understanding of historians is the right to habeus corpus is one of the reasons we fought the Revolutionary War. I'm surprised their hasn't been more of an outcry. If we don't keep the freedoms for which we fought, then why are we fighting now? Oil? Pride? or some other reason?

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Oscar Wilde

I hope you have not been leading a double life, pretending to be wicked and being really good all the time. That would be hypocrisy.

(Oscar Wilde)

What happens

One of my friends was recently chastised for having all men serve communion at one of the worship services. They have women who have helped, most of the time there are somewhere around the same number of men and women. But this time the people who were on the list as not having helped in awhile were mostly men and they all said yes.

And the question, for me, is not whether all men (or all women) happens once or twice, but is it a consistent pattern. One of the similar instances is what happened recently with Isaiah Washington and using the 'f' word about another person or a few years back and Mark Fuhrman denying using the 'n' word. The problem wasn't that Washington used the 'f' word - that can and should be addressed by the producers and fellow workers, but when he denied using that word, then it became a problem. The same thing happend with Fuhrman when he testified under oath that he had never used the 'n' word.

Is there a denial that something offensive happened? Then it's a problem. My age and where I grew up means that it would be utterly ridiculous to deny having used some offensive language - calling others names - yetthe question isn't whether I've used those words, but whether or not I've tried to change so that I don't call people names.

Is it a consistent pattern of having no women helping (or not men)? Then it's a problem. I remember the debate in my denomination when we put in a rule that every congregation had to have at least one woman on the session (governing body) of the congregation.

What I work at is including people whether by making sure that the servers over the year include people from the whole of the congregation. Or watching my language to avoid calling someone by an inaccurate or offensive name.

And one of the rationales or useages that some have a hard time understanding is how people within a group can use a term that is offensive between themselves while being rightly offended by someone outside the group using that term. A term of derision can be used to provoke an attack when used by someone who is not a member of the group and yet still be used to affirm solidarity by those who have had that term applied unjustly.

One of the great examples of this is the term 'gay.' For all the rants about how homosexuals took a perfectly good word and made it offensive, the actual history is of women prostitutes being called 'gay' and by extension homosexuals were also called 'gay'. Taking that term of derision and bringing it into common useage and supportive of a community is one of the examples of changing the meaning. There are still mixed messages with the use of gay, but not the overwhelming message of putting people down that there used to be.

In many ways the counting of women is the same 'holier than thou' that those on the feminist side deride. Yet someone can compete on being 'more of a feminist than you' in the same self-righteous fashion as the 'holier than thou' people. And both attitudes mistake the substance of
the message. We are called to be righteous, but that doesn't mean that we are called to make ourselves out to be more righteous than everyone else. We are called to treat people equally, but that doesn't mean that we put ourselves up on a pedestal for recognizing that people should
have equality of opportunity.

The numbers game is a place to start, but looking at more than numbers is what we are called to do as Christians. The numbers game, like the language game, mistakes the substance of the message. Rules are a way of helping us to live with each other, but mistaking the rules we have
for the ideas equality and justice from which they are formed is the mistake that Jesus condemned in the Pharisees. Knowing the rules can be important, but loving God and neighbor is the essence of all those laws and rules.

Counting up how many women and men serve communion is a numbers game. Checking to see who's called someone names and who hasn't is childish tattle-tale. Yes if it is a consistent pattern, then do something. But most often we should just take it easy and forgive seventy times seven - or something like that.

H. L. Mencken

God is a comedian whose audience is afraid to laugh.


(H. L. Mencken)

Depression Day 1

Day 1

As she lifted her head the sour smell of stale sweat from her pillow arose. But it was too hard to move much more and so she lay back down in desperation. She didn't feel as if there were any good reason for her to stay in bed, but she just couldn't move. And that was what she had felt for a long time.

At least it felt like a long time. At this point she wasn't sure how long. She vaguely remembered happy times. But it was as if those happy times were through ten feet of cotton candy and her life now. She could see herself laughing in some photos, but couldn't figure out what that felt like. Yes, she had been happy, but not in a long, long time.

Her living room and kitchen were immaculate. But that was because she didn't have the energy to leave them messy. When she ate – everything was cleaned and put away before she fell asleep. And she didn't buy any food that might go bad. The dried milk she kept on hand didn't taste all that good when she made it up for the meal – it was supposed to sit – but when she had the energy to eat and clean up she wanted to do it then. If she waited any time her burst of energy would be long gone and then there's be the dishes to clean and they'd sit. She'd done that before when she'd tried to wait. And the dishes would sit with the big round eye of a plate accusing her of not doing anything and her mind quivering with the blows of unmet expectations. And she just couldn't face the unwashed dishes one more time. So she made the dried milk up and drank it before it had cooled and as the horrid taste went down – thought – at least I got something in my body one more time.

And at times it was a moment-by-moment decision to keep on existing in such pain. She'd started treatments but so far none of them had worked. And she lived in pain. And she could no longer remember what it had been like before she lived in pain. And the treatments – try this drug and it will take two to six weeks before it works – you've been taking it for eight weeks and there's no change, then stop taking the drug and in two weeks will try another drug – seemed futile. And every day longer until each day seemed like years.

They called it depression – she called it pain.

And she lived with it.

Today she was curled up in bed. Her book club was at noon, but she hadn't read the book and she wasn't sure she could go because she didn't want people to know that she hadn't read the book. It was six in the morning and the book had arrived. The package was sitting next to her bed. But she'd only opened it enough to see the spine and then had let it lie there, accusing her, saying she should just reach out and begin reading it, letting her know how worthless she was since she couldn't reach over there. Instead she tossed and turned and even when she wasn't looking at the book the thought of it ate at her, the acid of not getting it done rising up in her throat and burning so that she couldn't sleep, but couldn't pick up the book.

And she thought – I could call Angie, but I've already made too many excuses for not reading the books. And I've called her too many times. And if I keep calling her she might not want to hear from me again. And I don't want her to see me like this. And maybe I just won't go, but I've missed too many meetings already. And it's too early to call her, but I've missed too many meetings, or I've been to them and not read the book and I just can't do it, but I don't want to miss the meeting and the book is sitting right over there so if I start reading now I could at least pretend to know what the book is saying, but I can't concentrate enough to read and besides my comments aren't as good as those of the other people and can't be since I haven't read the book and the books been sitting there for two weeks but I just haven't had the energy, but I'm perfectly fine so I should have read the book and then I wouldn't have to call Angie and cancel but I still haven't cancelled so!
I could go but then I'd be unprepared and everyone would see what a mess I am.

And it was six-fifteen in the morning and she did not have the energy to get out of bed or to grab the book and yet she was tossing and turning and wondering if she could get out of bed today.

Once upon a time she thought that she would have thought nothing about getting out of bed. And she wondered why it seemed so hard to do, but it did. She was wrapped in a cocoon of frustration and anger and despair and it was torturing her to move and sit up and swing her legs over the bed and she dreaded the day and what would come and what would happen and whether she could actually do something. And she thought, I've got a doctor's appointment today so I don't need to actually go to the book club. I can tell them I'm waiting and they'll understand and then I don't need to read the book, but I do want to read the book and I do want to keep up with things, but how can I keep up with things when I can't concentrate on anything and it takes so much energy and I've been up since 6am and I just can't get out of bed and I used to be able to get out of bed in the morning but it seems like so much work.

And then her thoughts became, not incoherent, only of the pain. At times it was throbbing like when she'd had a migraine, at other times it was just there as a haze that covered everything so that she could barely take a breath and those times she dreaded the return of the throbbing with every movement and noise and during the throbbing she dreaded the return of a persistent ache so that neither was a relief from the other. The pain remained.

It sounds so simple, she thought, when the pain had gone. It sounds so simple to get up and do something. And yet all I can do is lie there until it passes.

And it was around eleven so she got up and called Angie to tell her that she was too sick to go to the book club.

And she lay back down to rest. How long those sessions lasted was irrelevant. Five minutes/ Five hours/ Five days she was in pain. And she could see no end.

She'd heard that some in her situation were tempted to suicide, but that held no attraction. Could she be certain that it would relieve the pain? Could she be certain that it would be final? Might not she wake up to even worse – though she couldn't imagine how – pain? The questions ran through her mind, but found no purchase as all available centers were taken up by pain and longing for something different, some escape.

If there was a light at the end of the tunnel, it was a train coming to meet her. And the tunnel had no end.

She was in a pit. And the sides were soft so she could get no hold. And when she tried to pile the dirt up so she could stand a little closer to the top all it did was fade into the rest of the dirt and she felt soiled and unkempt and still couldn't see any way out. No glimmer of light appeared at the top of the pit whether it was day or night.

There were times when there was neither pain nor agony – they were few – but they were there. But those times she felt nothing. And she wondered, she wondered then, if she were still alive.

In the nothingness that was in-between the pain she couldn't imagine what it was like to go through life feeling something other than that pain. And when she wasn't feeling anything she felt dead. And while being dead was comfortable – more comfortable than the pain – it wasn't where she had been, though she couldn't see how to get any other place. And she wasn't sure she had the energy to go any other place.

The pain ruled. And when there wasn't pain there was nothing left. And when there was pain there wasn't anything else she could do except feel the pain.

So she started about the tasks. The morning had been spent in bed so she changed the sheets. Fortunately she had several sets so she didn't have to think about doing the laundry yet. And then she took a shower. She remembered that there'd been times she spent what seemed like hours in the shower luxuriating in the sense of the water on her skin, but now she felt nothing. The pounding of the water was like the beat of her heart when the waves of pain washed over her and so she was in and out of the shower.

She didn't have the energy to decide what to wear, but that we o.k. The clothes she'd just washed went at the back of the closet so at least she wore something different when she pulled the stuff out from the front. If it was a dress, then she wore nylons. If it was a suit, then knee-highs, and she just didn't have to think about anything. And thinking took up more energy than she had to spare.

And she just did not have the energy any more.

She was lucky, she thought, that she'd never used much make-up or done much with her hair. She didn't know how she'd have coped if she had to do more than the little blush and brushing of hair these days. She certainly kept up appearances…. She didn't think any one realized how hard it was for her to get through the day, but never having done more than the minimal in the first place except for special occasions and not going out just meant she had one less thing to do to keep people from worrying about her, though why they should she couldn't understand any more.

She had no energy to care about anyone else and so she wondered why anyone would care for her. And so she got ready to go to the doctor. It was her annual check-up. The card arrived asking her to cancel if the time wasn't good and since it was too much work to pick up the phone she'd left the appointment.

Depression Day 2

Day 2

She was awake and turning long before seven. But she had determined she was going to take the prescription at 7am and so she waited. She might not be able to do anything else today, but that one thing was all she needed to do. Perhaps she would be out of pain, perhaps not, but she could do that one thing just for today she would take the pill at seven and not worry about tomorrow.

She had never considered suicide – that just wasn't an option. But she thought of sticking a long thin wire – too thin to cause any damage up her nose and through her sinus cavities until it reached the brain and then scraping the brain away from all connections to her skull and severing the nerves. That wasn't to kill self, just a way to stop the pain.

The fires burned in her head when she was lying down and when she was moving every motion was through water. And sometimes every movement seemed through pain and in slow motion. And so it was in pain that she took the pill for depression. Even though she knew that it wouldn't work for several weeks, she took the pill. Even as the thoughts of this won't work and I'll have to start all over again came rushing through – she took the pill.

And then she went back to bed and curled up in a ball of tears. But the tears were beyond the weepy tired that she'd had when she'd worked long hours. They were not tears of exhaustion – though she had no energy. They were not tears of frustration – though the weariness in every moment frustrated her. They were tears that came because she had nothing left. And she lay like that for what seemed hours, but was only minutes, then got up again and went to fix breakfast – cereal right out of the box.

And then she went back to bed and curled up.

And she lay there, not writhing, not turning, not moving, just curled up and laying in one spot.

And she lay there in pain.

And she thought

How long, O Lord, How long?
I cry out by day, but I hear no answer.
My tears fill the night but there is no relief.

And the psalm was a comfort. She didn't know how she got into this situation and sure didn't know how she would come out of the pain, but the psalm comforted her. Someone else had been where she remained.

And after that thought she fell asleep.

And in her dreams the fire still burned and the pliers still pinched and her nerve endings played like a Kabalevsky theme without any resolution. She could remember when even the discordant notes resolved, but couldn't hear how it had happened. And her nerves were still played without relief.

But the real pain was in the feelings and images that kept her quivering in terror as the prey of images and thoughts and doubts and fears and worries and misgivings that tore through her head at every new event – even the ringing of the telephone or the whisper of a breeze. And so she lay in bed trying not to move so that the pain she was in wouldn't change to something worse.

And the pain wasn't worse when she moved, but it wasn't better. And while it seemed to change places and intensities it was easier to live with it not moving than with the pain moving around.

And her mind went back to: How long, O Lord, how long…. and then kept circling around how long.

And that was the only coherent thought until the afternoon.

Then she looked out the window and saw the rain and wondered what it would be like to sun herself in the rain. It was cold and damp, but beside the pool she could sit and remember the days when she thought sitting by the pool was fun while the rain chilled her so that her mind might go numb.

Sitting in the cold rain seemed more attractive than lying in bed. The rain – maybe – would be a distraction to the way her mind raced and rambled and hurt and tearing itself to pieces.

And she nearly went out into the rain, but then thought how much work it would be to clean up her afterwards and sat down and watched the rain through the patio doors.

She watched the rain and thought about the chill of sitting outside, letting her thoughts congeal and freeze until they could no longer hurt.

And she sat through the rain, through the drizzle as it finished and she watched the rain.

And then she got up and started the laundry.

It was already sorted for the washer.

She'd learned to have multiple laundry baskets and sorted things as she took them off. So she never faced the task of sorting clothes and she could always see when she had enough for a load. And she didn't face a mountain of laundry to organize. And the less movement she had was best.

Today every movement seemed as if it was through congealed grease. The muscles ached and she wasn't sure that she hadn't let out more than a few noises. Yet the pounding in her head seemed to drown out anything she could say. And so she got her first load to the wash, checked the settings and started a load of whites.

She had a chair in the laundry room so she sat while waiting for the load to finish.

And she waited for her muscles to stop aching.

And she waited.

She listened to the whining of the machine and wondered if a bearing was going bad. Or if she was obsessing over a noise that the machine had always made and would always make. She only heard the pitch when the load was spinning an maybe it was just the washer going through its regular cycle and she wondered if she'd heard last time she did the laundry, but she couldn't remember whether or not she had heard that same sound or whether she'd left the laundry room and gone back to bed or whether she'd stayed in the chair and let the load finish. And those thoughts kept running through her head as fast as the spin cycle until she was dizzy.

And she waited for the final spin to finish.

And she wondered how she used to be able to do other things while the laundry was going. She'd have cleaned a room, fixed a chair, taken out the garbage, raked some leaves or something. And now all she could manage to do was sit and worry that something else was going to go wrong. And something else was going to make more work.

And the machine stopped. And she opened the lid. And she began to take the shirts and blouses and linens out to put in the dryer. And then she sat down to take a rest after the load was in the basket. She needed to rest before going over to the dryer.

And she tumbled the clothes into the dryer, started it, and sat down again – wondering if she should have started the laundry today. There were days when she just couldn't do anything, days she had spent on the couch after getting out of bed, and when she hadn't been able to get out of bed. And this should have been one of them she thought as the dryer growled.

At least the whine from the washer was gone – at least until the next load. And she wasn't going to do another load today. She wasn't even sure that she'd get the load in the dryer folded. But she got the one thing done from the doctor's appointment yesterday – she'd started taking the antidepressant.

St. Francis de Sales

Do not wish to be anything but what you are, and try to be that perfectly.

(St. Francis de Sales)

Creation Science Debunked

In case you hadn't noticed, I don't particularly like the promoters of Intelligent Design and/or creation science. I think it's bad science and bad theology. And I have a love for both. So I was pleased to find this site called Creation Science Debunked.

Ted Haggard

Could there be any more irony? Ted Haggard - recently discovered to be having sex with a male prostitute - is talking about how evangelicals have good sex.
An earlier post mentioned evangelicals and statistics. But there is more to math and using statistics correctly. A good explanation of margin of error is at Good Math, Bad Math. Take a look.

Evangelicals and Bad Statistics

I've been fighting with my computer all day and lost the blog that pointed me to this article from Christianity Today. There are some Christianists, usually of the fundamentalist or evangelical variety, who seem to continually misuse statistics. They are being called to account by one of their own. I'm thankful and suggest reading the article since it is helpful for those of us who aren't fundamentalist.

I'll claim the title evangelical, but I'm far from a fundamentalist.

Sunday, January 21, 2007

H. L. Mencken

"Moral certainty is always a sign of cultural inferiority. The more uncivilized the man, the surer he is that he knows precisely what is right and what is wrong. All human progress, even in morals, has been the work of men who have doubted the current moral values, not of men who have whooped them up and tried to enforce them. The truly civilized man is always skeptical and tolerant, in this field as in all others. His culture is based on 'I am not too sure.'"

H. L. Mencken

Politics and Katrina

One of the major players - former FEMA Director Michael Brown - in the disastrous governmental response to Katrina is now charging that politics played a role in the timing of that same response. I hope not. But in any case we should hear more about this. There have been too many cover-ups.

Hate crimes don't impact religious freedom

The Exodus International web site has a ridiculous editorial about how hate crime laws will affect religious freedom. The problem with their logic is that hate crime laws go into effect after a crime is committed. Do they want religious freedom to beat someone up using a bat? I suspect not or, if they do, they won't admit it. Religious freedom and worship, freedom of speech, the ability to speak one's mind is not affected by hate crime laws. My freedoms and your freedoms are not affected.

There are problems with some, if not all, hate crime laws. Those problems have nothing to do with the right to worship free from state interference.

Snow

We have now had a snowsotrm once a week for the last five weeks. For this part of Colorado this is ridiculous. The snow is in the mountains, not the plains. The heaviest months for snow are October and March. And this year the snow is in the plains during December and January. I suppose I'll get over it. And I will remind myself that I missed the snow when I lived in the Bay Area and Northern California. But... there can be too much of a good thing and I'm fast reaching the point where these snows are too much.

Winnie the Pooh

"I don't see much sense in that," said Rabbit. "No," said Pooh humbly,"there isn't. But there was going to be when I began it. It's just that something happened to it along the way."

Winnie the Pooh

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Depression - again the story continues

Day 1

As she lifted her head the sour smell of stale sweat from her pillow arose. But it was too hard to move much more and so she lay back down in desperation. She didn’t feel as if there were any good reason for her to stay in bed, but she just couldn’t move. And that was what she had felt for a long time.

At least it felt like a long time. At this point she wasn’t sure how long. She vaguely remembered happy times. But it was as if those happy times were through ten feet of cotton candy and her life now. She could see herself laughing in some photos, but couldn’t figure out what that felt like. Yes, she had been happy, but not in a long, long time.

Her living room and kitchen were immaculate. But that was because she didn’t have the energy to leave them messy. When she ate – everything was cleaned and put away before she fell asleep. And she didn’t buy any food that might go bad. The dried milk she kept on hand didn’t taste all that good when she made it up for the meal – it was supposed to sit – but when she had the energy to eat and clean up she wanted to do it then. If she waited any time her burst of energy would be long gone and then there’s be the dishes to clean and they’d sit. She’d done that before when she’d tried to wait. And the dishes would sit with the big round eye of a plate accusing her of not doing anything and her mind quivering with the blows of unmet expectations. And she just couldn’t face the unwashed dishes one more time. So she made the dried milk up and drank it before it had cooled and as the horrid taste went down – thought – at least I got something in my body one more time.

And at times it was a moment-by-moment decision to keep on existing in such pain. She’d started treatments but so far none of them had worked. And she lived in pain. And she could no longer remember what it had been like before she lived in pain. And the treatments – try this drug and it will take two to six weeks before it works – you’ve been taking it for eight weeks and there’s no change, then stop taking the drug and in two weeks will try another drug – seemed futile. And every day longer until each day seemed like years.

They called it depression – she called it pain.

And she lived with it.

Today she was curled up in bed. Her book club was at noon, but she hadn’t read the book and she wasn’t sure she could go because she didn’t want people to know that she hadn’t read the book. It was six in the morning and the book had arrived. The package was sitting next to her bed. But she’d only opened it enough to see the spine and then had let it lie there, accusing her, saying she should just reach out and begin reading it, letting her know how worthless she was since she couldn’t reach over there. Instead she tossed and turned and even when she wasn’t looking at the book the thought of it ate at her, the acid of not getting it done rising up in her throat and burning so that she couldn’t sleep, but couldn’t pick up the book.

And she thought – I could call Angie, but I’ve already made too many excuses for not reading the books. And I’ve called her too many times. And if I keep calling her she might not want to hear from me again. And I don’t want her to see me like this. And maybe I just won’t go, but I’ve missed too many meetings already. And it’s too early to call her, but I’ve missed too many meetings, or I’ve been to them and not read the book and I just can’t do it, but I don’t want to miss the meeting and the book is sitting right over there so if I start reading now I could at least pretend to know what the book is saying, but I can’t concentrate enough to read and besides my comments aren’t as good as those of the other people and can’t be since I haven’t read the book and the books been sitting there for two weeks but I just haven’t had the energy, but I’m perfectly fine so I should have read the book and then I wouldn’t have to call Angie and cancel but I still haven’t cancelled so I could go but then I’d be unprepared and everyone would see what a mess I am.

And it was six-fifteen in the morning and she did not have the energy to get out of bed or to grab the book and yet she was tossing and turning and wondering if she could get out of bed today.

Once upon a time she thought that she would have thought nothing about getting out of bed. And she wondered why it seemed so hard to do, but it did. She was wrapped in a cocoon of frustration and anger and despair and it was torturing her to move and sit up and swing her legs over the bed and she dreaded the day and what would come and what would happen and whether she could actually do something. And she thought, I’ve got a doctor’s appointment today so I don’t need to actually go to the book club. I can tell them I’m waiting and they’ll understand and then I don’t need to read the book, but I do want to read the book and I do want to keep up with things, but how can I keep up with things when I can’t concentrate on anything and it takes so much energy and I’ve been up since 6am and I just can’t get out of bed and I used to be able to get out of bed in the morning but it seems like so much work.

And then her thoughts became, not incoherent, only of the pain. At times it was throbbing like when she’d had a migraine, at other times it was just there as a haze that covered everything so that she could barely take a breath and those times she dreaded the return of the throbbing with every movement and noise and during the throbbing she dreaded the return of a persistent ache so that neither was a relief from the other. The pain remained.

It sounds so simple, she thought, when the pain had gone. It sounds so simple to get up and do something. And yet all I can do is lie there until it passes.

And it was around eleven so she got up and called Angie to tell her that she was too sick to go to the book club.

And she lay back down to rest. How long those sessions lasted was irrelevant. Five minutes/ Five hours/ Five days she was in pain. And she could see no end.

She’d heard that some in her situation were tempted to suicide, but that held no attraction. Could she be certain that it would relieve the pain? Could she be certain that it would be final? Might not she wake up to even worse – though she couldn’t imagine how – pain? The questions ran through her mind, but found no purchase as all available centers were taken up by pain and longing for something different, some escape.

If there was a light at the end of the tunnel, it was a train coming to meet her. And the tunnel had no end.

She was in a pit. And the sides were soft so she could get no hold. And when she tried to pile the dirt up so she could stand a little closer to the top all it did was fade into the rest of the dirt and she felt soiled and unkempt and still couldn’t see any way out. No glimmer of light appeared at the top of the pit whether it was day or night.

There were times when there was neither pain nor agony – they were few – but they were there. But those times she felt nothing. And she wondered, she wondered then, if she were still alive.

In the nothingness that was in-between the pain she couldn’t imagine what it was like to go through life feeling something other than that pain. And when she wasn’t feeling anything she felt dead. And while being dead was comfortable – more comfortable than the pain – it wasn’t where she had been, though she couldn’t see how to get any other place. And she wasn’t sure she had the energy to go any other place.

The pain ruled. And when there wasn’t pain there was nothing left. And when there was pain there wasn’t anything else she could do except feel the pain.

So she started about the tasks. The morning had been spent in bed so she changed the sheets. Fortunately she had several sets so she didn’t have to think about doing the laundry yet. And then she took a shower. She remembered that there’d been times she spent what seemed like hours in the shower luxuriating in the sense of the water on her skin, but now she felt nothing. The pounding of the water was like the beat of her heart when the waves of pain washed over her and so she was in and out of the shower.

She didn’t have the energy to decide what to wear, but that we o.k. The clothes she’d just washed went at the back of the closet so at least she wore something different when she pulled the stuff out from the front. If it was a dress, then she wore nylons. If it was a suit, then knee-highs, and she just didn’t have to think about anything. And thinking took up more energy than she had to spare.

And she just did not have the energy any more.

She was lucky, she thought, that she’d never used much make-up or done much with her hair. She didn’t know how she’d have coped if she had to do more than the little blush and brushing of hair these days. She certainly kept up appearances…. She didn’t think any one realized how hard it was for her to get through the day, but never having done more than the minimal in the first place except for special occasions and not going out just meant she had one less thing to do to keep people from worrying about her, though why they should she couldn’t understand any more.

She had no energy to care about anyone else and so she wondered why anyone would care for her. And so she got ready to go to the doctor. It was her annual check-up. The card arrived asking her to cancel if the time wasn’t good and since it was too much work to pick up the phone she’d left the appointment.

Day 2

She was awake and turning long before seven. But she had determined she was going to take the prescription at 7am and so she waited. She might not be able to do anything else today, but that one thing was all she needed to do. Perhaps she would be out of pain, perhaps not, but she could do that one thing just for today she would take the pill at seven and not worry about tomorrow.

She had never considered suicide – that just wasn’t an option. But she thought of sticking a long thin wire – too thin to cause any damage up her nose and through her sinus cavities until it reached the brain and then scraping the brain away from all connections to her skull and severing the nerves. That wasn’t to kill self, just a way to stop the pain.

The fires burned in her head when she was lying down and when she was moving every motion was through water. And sometimes every movement seemed through pain and in slow motion. And so it was in pain that she took the pill for depression. Even though she knew that it wouldn’t work for several weeks, she took the pill. Even as the thoughts of this won’t work and I’ll have to start all over again came rushing through – she took the pill.

And then she went back to bed and curled up in a ball of tears. But the tears were beyond the weepy tired that she’d had when she’d worked long hours. They were not tears of exhaustion – though she had no energy. They were not tears of frustration – though the weariness in every moment frustrated her. They were tears that came because she had nothing left. And she lay like that for what seemed hours, but was only minutes, then got up again and went to fix breakfast – cereal right out of the box.

And then she went back to bed and curled up.

And she lay there, not writhing, not turning, not moving, just curled up and laying in one spot.

And she lay there in pain.

And she thought

How long, O Lord, How long?
I cry out by day, but I hear no answer.
My tears fill the night but there is no relief.

And the psalm was a comfort. She didn’t know how she got into this situation and sure didn’t know how she would come out of the pain, but the psalm comforted her. Someone else had been where she remained.

And after that thought she fell asleep.

And in her dreams the fire still burned and the pliers still pinched and her nerve endings played like a Kabalevsky theme without any resolution. She could remember when even the discordant notes resolved, but couldn’t hear how it had happened. And her nerves were still played without relief.

But the real pain was in the feelings and images that kept her quivering in terror as the prey of images and thoughts and doubts and fears and worries and misgivings that tore through her head at every new event – even the ringing of the telephone or the whisper of a breeze. And so she lay in bed trying not to move so that the pain she was in wouldn’t change to something worse.

And the pain wasn’t worse when she moved, but it wasn’t better. And while it seemed to change places and intensities it was easier to live with it not moving than with the pain moving around.

And her mind went back to: How long, O Lord, how long…. and then kept circling around how long.

Antony Jay

"The uncreative mind can spot wrong answers, but it takes a very creative mind to spot wrong questions."

Antony Jay

Hilary

Citizen Crain has an analysis of Hilary Clinton's run for president. He says much of what I was thinking, but couldn't articulate. And he's correct about how attractive she is to lesbians and gay men or anyone who has had to fight prejudice, but also that we need to look at what stands she has taken. In many ways she is so into feeling the winds of politics that she has forgotten to take a stand on issues of importance. I would like to see her have some definitive answers rather than siding with the polls.