If Dear Abby can do it, why not me? 

So, every Thursday, I plan to answer a question or address an issue posed to me from the previous week.  It may be a question from the Bible, a social or family issue, an obvious question from a kid or a mind-numbing query from a teenager.  Heck- this is my column, so the matter may be entirely fabricated.  And I will not swear upon my mother’s grave to keep this appointment every Thursday.  By now most will know I am not very disciplined with this blog.  Besides, my mom is still very much alive.

Here is the first question/issue, elaborated a bit for clarity:

The daughter is a young adult, now busy with a good job and working hard to establish her independence.  Both parents would describe her as a good kid.  She goes to church, connects with quality friends, and generally displays maturity is her interactions with life.  This is a close family with healthy relationships.

For some reason, the boyfriend’s car was left at her parent’s house.  As he walked by, the dad gazed into the front seat and saw a black bag from Victoria’s Secret.  Now mom and dad are highly concerned.  They do not like the young man, and now doubly so.  Both are worried their daughter is sexually active and may become pregnant.

What should they do?

My Response:

Dad, let’s be honest.  You had no business looking into that man’s car!  You were being nosy.  Right?  Therefore, you do not have the moral right to confront him or your daughter about the matter.

I understand the concern.  Those of us who seek to live our lives according to the Christian faith and the teachings of the Bible seek a standard of living very different from the world around us.  This includes a different view of sexual ethics.  Therefore we believe sexual relations to be a wonderful part of life properly and exclusively devoted to a marriage relationship.  And I understand the world just does not understand!  Our struggle, no matter if we are seasoned parents or emerging young adults, is to seek to be honoring of God and not be overly concerned about conforming to those around us.

Now, your daughter is working through this process.  It is not easy, nor smooth.  I am going to assume you have raised her as best you can.  She is an adult and you must give her freedom and trust.  If she chooses some different approaches to life, and even chooses to do some things you consider to be wrong, you have to allow her to be an adult in these matters.  Surely you can pray for her, and love her.  I advise that you not preach to her.  Since she is already striving for independence and adulthood, a healthy and ongoing process, your sermons will not be appreciated. 

Since you have a good relationship and ongoing opportunities for communication, there probably will come along appropriate opportunities to broach the subject of sexual ethics.  I think our kids, no matter the age, will always need our insights.  When that opportunity comes along, be honest.  Don’t pretend to be a saint.    And surely by now you have talked with her about “protection”.  In this day, there is absolutely no reason for a bright and enlightened young person to become pregnant.  Encouraging contraceptives is not offering support for premarital sex.  Simply, it is being sensible.  I could even make a case for it as being godly.

One more thought:  Perhaps they sell some decent, sensible, not-too-provocative items at Victoria’s Secret?  I’m thinking…. lotions, jewelry….  earrings!  Maybe not- forget it. 

Pray for her.  Love her.  Trust her.  And, don’t forget the “protection” matter.

Oreo Is Still Around…
It is the reasonable and right thing to do.  My mind and heart have been convinced.  Still, with every day, I find that I am just not tough enough to do it.  He hangs out on the patio until the heat of the day, when I let him into the house and he sleeks into his customary corner to sleep the day away.  There is not much interaction and little personality remains.  He is just an old dog.  But he is my old dog, indelibly connected to my life.  Some morning, sooner or later, I’ll carry him out to the car for a ride to the vet.  The deed will be done. Until then, I think I play the part of the Cowardly Lion quite well.

Moving Krystal Home From College
We left the house at 5:30 yesterday afternoon, and finished the move at 1:00 this morning.  Good grief, but I am getting too old for this.  She lives on the third floor of her apartment building, and it was necessary to park the truck a good distance from the door.  There was a lot of traveling up-and-down those four flights of stairs, and it was amazing how much “stuff” she has accumulated.  And a question I was mumbling, as I stumbled down said steps, was “Where’s that big, husky, no-good-boyfriend at this time?”  Actually there was little need to worry concerning his absence, because a hamburger or steak will draw him back to my vicinity.

Krystal had some very nice roommates, who also will be moving out in the next few weeks.  They watched and nibbled on cookies as I worked myself into a doctor’s appointment.  With a smile I asked one if she was going to work her dad this hard when she moved out?  With earnestness, she said no way, because she has not spoken with her dad in three years.  Three years!  I do not know enough to judge the situation.  But, how very sad.  I will semi-joyfully trudge up and down some stairs for the sake of a healthy relationship with my kid.
------------------------- ----

For the next couple of days I intend to catch up on some comments, and get around to reading the brilliance-and-drivel of my fellow bloggers.  It’s good to be back!

Upcoming Topics I’ll Likely Be Writing About:
Insights From 2 Days Of Camping With Teenagers – or I’m Too Old For This!
Car Show – Beautiful Ford Pinto, Fine Chevy Vega
I Believe In Staying Together For The Sake Of The Kids
Diary Of A Prison Visit, Part III
A Bad Joke, & I Like It
He Thinks He Is Ministering, He’s Being Meddlesome, & He Is Making A Mess Of Things

Going camping!  About ten of us are headed up to the mountains, about a hour or so north of here, for a couple of days of camping.

We will be staying at Jenny's Creek.  This is a small, family-owned campground.  Since I'm not into roughing it, they have almost everything I need for camping: shady lots, electricity, water, bathhouses.  A swimming pool would be nice!  But, they do offer wi-fi, so who knows but I may write a post on my ancient laptop while there.  An interesting point from their website concerns the photos of their "lake".  It sure looks big in the photos.  A few of us drove up to check-out the place.  In reality, it is a rather small lake, perhaps more appropriately a pond.  Still, I intend to cast a few lines and see if I can catch a fish.

We intend to make a couple of hikes.  We'll hike 2 1/2 miles to Raven Cliff Falls, purported to be a spectacular scene as they burst from between huge cliffs.  And we'll do Dukes Creek Falls, which appears to me to be overlooked by the crowds but promising. 

Our crew will include a half dozen teens from the church, and three or four adults.  I look forward to getting to know these young people better.  I tell people, who complain about the limitations of a small church, there are special benefits.  For instance, where else are you going to find a church where the pastor will go camping with your teenagers?

I sure hope Jimmy goes with us.  I've invited and encouraged him, and hopefully he will show up.  Jimmy is 61 years of age, and has never been camping.  He has missed out on so much fun in life.  He was born with a learning disability, and extremely sheltered his entire life by a well-meaning but in-my-opinion unstable mother.  Last year, in quick succession, Jimmy lost his mother and twin brother.  Now he is alone and in so many ways lost.  I've been telling him that in reality life is now opening up to him, like a flower.  He is childlike in many ways, and has an especially kind demeanor.  He is anything but dumb, and is slowly venturing out.  I think this would be a highlight of life for Jimmy- sure hope he comes.

We will be back on Sunday morning, ready for church.  I may be cranky, unshaven, and unprepared for my sermon- but I will be there.

Come on over.  We will catch a trout or two, wade in the water under the falls, and make some smores around the campfire.

 
I am proud to wear the above sticker because I voted today.  To be honest, the day started without it being on the agenda.  Turnout was expected to be extremely light.  No major emotional issues seem to be on the ballot; just candidates for the two parties, most without opposition. 

But as the day went along, it seemed to become more important to take the time to vote.  Often I have let it be known that I am not interested in listening to your opinion about political matters if you do not bother to vote.  Also, there are places throughout the world where the private ballot means little or nothing.  Finally, since the turnout to vote is so light, my particular vote will carry extra weight.  If the turnout is 25% as heavy as usual, then in essence my vote will be four times as powerful.  So I found myself at the polls.

My state requires a photo ID.  Many oppose this restriction, arguing that it inhibits the poor and minorities.  But the state offers a free photo ID card to anyone who bothers to apply, so I think the argument is without merit.  No one was in line.  There were probably a dozen poll workers, serving me!  I voted by touch-screen, something that makes me uncomfortable.  It seems too vulnerable to hackers and manipulation and even error.  I think it would be best and safest to have a paper trail to verify my vote.

In races where there was no opposition, I dutifully clicked the boxes next to the candidates.  With one race in which I knew none of the candidates, I left it blank.  The question was asked if I would support a one-cent sales tax to support a rapid transit service, and another asked if I would support a lower property tax accompanied by a higher sales tax.  I voted “no” to both, being one who never supports an increase in taxes.  Government, almost by definition, is foolish and wasteful with money.  And, I voted against our current County Commissioner.  Fancy billboards throughout the county encourage his re-election.  I’ve received several mailings touting his credentials, and robotic phone calls.  So, I figure anyone with so much financial backing in support of a County office with meager salary must be too closely aligned with powerful and rich folk who likely have little in common with myself.

I came home and encouraged my wife to go vote.  She hesitated, saying she was not too informed about the issues.  I told her that did not matter, to just go vote against the County Commissioner.  And she did!

Our County Prison is a big and sprawling complex housing thousands of inmates. It is edged with the prerequisite barbed wire and dotted with tiny widows poked through thick walls. The gatekeepers, guards, and workers portray the initial impressions of surly punks who take their jobs far too seriously. But I think it is the natural result of having to interact with the unusual clientele on a daily basis. Probably they come into the job wanting to be nice guys and even make a difference, and as they become more in touch with the true darkness of the human condition, they become less caring and more antiseptic in their approach. That, and the fact it truly is a dangerous business.

Of course the metal detector beeps as I walk through. I know the culprit- metal inserts in my shoes. Thankfully, this time, I do not have to endure a strip and cavity search. The grumpy guard just mumbles “humph…shoes ” and waves me on through.

I get in line with the rest of the visitors. Most are minorities. It is blatantly obvious that most that are in this jail are black and Hispanic. Why? I certainly do not think it is anything inherently inferior about race. Clearly there are cultural and socio-economic factors at play.

It is at least a quarter-mile walk to the Pod where I will meet the first inmate. I climb three flights of stairs, traverse a wide corridor the length of two football fields, turn left and walk a gently rolling hallway at least the same length. Along the way I meet a lady making the return trip. She is laboriously dragging a leg, obviously the result of a stroke. Thus I note this place is not handicap accessible, and there are no wheelchairs. There is a mindset about jails and incarceration, at least in this part of the country. The prisoners are there for punishment, not rehabilitation. The intent is to get the most bang for the tax dollars, with comfort and appearance and amenities set aside.

Finally, I arrive at a series of little phone-booth sized rooms, one of which bears my assigned number. This is where I will make my visit. We will converse through a pane of thick glass, hearing one another through holes somewhere under the table. I sit down, visitor nowhere in sight, and will wait for 30 minutes before he arrives. It is a nasty little room. I imagine how difficult it must be to visit with someone with whom you have an emotional attachment. Somehow my hand grazes the bottom of the desk, touching something sticky and spongy. And I make note to thoroughly scrub that hand as soon as possible.

Lots of nicknames and obscenities are chiseled into the desktop by bored visitors. And Bible verses. I wonder what possesses a person to deface public property with such a strange Christian witness, and I ask the same question when I see the Christian quotes written upon bathroom walls. I’ve got to admit that religious people are a strange lot. And my current setting confirms this insight, because religion is alive and well in prison. It is characteristic of those I visit in jail that they are eager to talk about faith, God, and the Bible. Usually they attest to personal conversion and determination to live for the Lord while suffering such trial, which in their opinion has been unfairly inflicted. I'm pretty sure much of this comes from guilt and a true desire, convenient for the moment.

(Next - The Visit. He's been pumping iron!)

 

John Wiley Price, a County Commissioner in Dallas is deeply offended.

Here Is Why
Here's A Video

I agree. This guy has absolutely no moral right to speak of an unoccupied space, devoid of solid matter, with an achromatic color value of minimum lightness and maximum darkness, with such callous and offensive language.

Shame upon this fish-bellied, paleface, blue-eyed devil honkey. The best hope is for such cracker-and-mayonnaise, white chocolate, wonder bread whitey to learn some respect for others.

Yesterday I visited a couple of folks in the county jail. They have actually been there for several months, and I should have seen them sooner. But these are two people whose obscene behavior and calculated abuses of religion particularly frustrate me. So I’ve put off the visits. I know they have wanted me to come see them, and I guess my silent message has been that they are surely not fooling me, that I am on to their games. And in my heart I know such is not a worthy way to treat others, especially such that are hurting and whom Christ specifically instructs me to visit. So, this time, I followed through with the appointments.

The minds of these two persons are strange and even fascinating. Many who find themselves in prison are simply stupid. But these are intelligent individuals. However, they use their smarts in stupid ways. They manage rather easily to manipulate and use others, and to readily excuse their own foibles. They process information and life experience differently from normal people. That is why they are in jail. They need help, they need transformation.

Now, as you can probably tell, I am angry at these two. I find them fascinating, but even more do I find them irritating. But this day I will try to interact with as much compassion and as little judgment as possible. Sometimes I do o.k. with such endeavor. However, I have been staying up late every night this week. And for me, lack of sleep puts a hard edge to my capacity to filter interaction with others. It makes me a bit less patient and a tad more direct. In other words, give me a couple of nights with little sleep and I become a Yankee.

So, I enter the huge prison facility for my shakedown. And I’m in no mood for grumpy security guards. However, they carry night sticks. I only have a flimsy little chaplain’s card.

...to be continued...

I have this little home improvement project going.....
And I do not have a truck, nor one readily available....
It seemed like a good idea at the time....

I went to a good bit of trouble to take a little-ole-lady out for lunch.  She had been confined to her home for several weeks, and I simply felt she needed some pampering and to look at something other than the four walls of her house.  It all involved a bit of trouble, but we had a good time and a big meal.

Now, I find out today she is in the Intensive Care Unit of the local hospital with severe complications from diabetes, as her blood sugar shot way up the next day and she passed out.  Way to go, PastorDave. 

Well, not really.

A big, burly, black man sat down in the back of the sanctuary.  It is surprising how often some total stranger will visit our Wednesday evening services.  I will usually have time beforehand to get to know the person a little bit and encourage him or her to move closer to the front with the rest of the group.  But, this guy slipped in the last minute.  He wore a dark suit and held a large Bible.  And with interest, from time to time, I would glance his way as the worship service progressed.

Our midweek gathering is a simple affair.  Most people, even regular church members, do not attend midweek worship.  And I find this to be unfortunate, because it seems to me one could truly benefit from that shot of spiritual energy and nourishment that could be gained.  On this particular night we had about 20 in attendance.  We sang a couple of hymns, and then spent about 15 minutes in prayer.  Then I lead in a basic Bible study. 

We concentrated upon Acts 10-11, which tells the story of Peter’s encounter with Cornelius.  Peter was Jewish in tradition, and Cornelius a Gentile.  Both groups had a simmering, historical, and longstanding animosity toward the other.  Especially upon grounds of religion, they did not associate.  Then, of course, God came along and insisted upon knocking their silly prejudices out of their heads and hearts.  Through this experience the non-Jewish world was opened to the gospel, and the rest of the New Testament is that story.  Thus, this is an important juncture in the scriptures.

I made some salient points, at least in my opinion.  Most of us preachers are brilliant in our own estimation.  I hammered home the truth that ingrained beliefs, even personal absolutes, must be made subject to God’s will.  We must be willing to change even the most stubborn mindsets when God insists.  Peter, in spite of his history of prejudice, became a friend and advocate of the Gentiles.

The application to our present culture was obvious.  And our guest picked up on it.  As I was wrapping up, I asked if anyone had a comment, and he raised his hand and said, “I do”.  He talked for about 5 minutes.  He gave the famous MLK quote about judging a man according to the content of character and not the color of skin.  And, interesting to me, he said we have a candidate for President who is proclaiming a message of Hope.  Then he sat down.  I acknowledged his pertinent point, that indeed while the church should surely be in the forefront of bringing people together under the banner of love, collectively we remain probably the most segregated and exclusive institution.  In a moment we closed in prayer.  I looked to the back of the church, and our mysterious guest was gone.

I do not agree with Obama’s repeated claim to offer a refreshing message of hope.  And it bothers me that any group of people would choose to vote, lock-step, in unison for a candidate because of race.  However, I did pick up on the cultural and even soul connection felt by this man.  Race, religion, and politics are absolutely intertwined for him.  And I have no doubt we will see that reflected in November, when the black Church will turn out over 90% for Obama. 

Our guest was making the point, with clumsy subtlety and a bit of courage, that the white community should learn the same lesson as Peter.  I agree.  Is it possible that he could learn something, also?

His name is Oreo.  He’s been my best buddy for almost 17 years.  It used to be that when I would come home, he would be the first to run to me with happy greetings and lots of kisses.  Now he simply continues to lay on the porch, although my recognition may bring a slight twitch to his tale.  Probably he cannot see more than a shadow, because of cloudy cataracts on both eyes.  And obviously it hurts for him to move, backbone and joints ridged and misshapen with arthritis.  He’s still my buddy, but life has become hard and painful- and sad for the old fellow.

Years ago we were living at the end of a dirt road out in the country.  I was working long hours trying to be successful as a salesman, and thought I had little time for the wife and three little ones.  One late evening I arrived home to find a strange dog in the carport.  I shooed him away, but he kept creeping back to the door.  Finally my wife came out in her pajamas to formally introduce me to our new dog!  At the moment I was not too keen upon the idea.  But soon he became a fitting part of the family.  He’s always been gentle in nature and quite patient with whatever inadvertent torture inflicted by the kids.  Often we have lived in rural areas and so he has been privileged to have the freedom of country, swamps, and lazy back porches.  He’s been bitten by a snake, sprayed by a skunk, and whipped by several bigger dogs.  He’s always had lots of heart, if not good sense.

For the last several years we have lived here in a busy metro area with a zooming highway in front of the house, and so he has been secured behind a backyard fence.  After living here for a while, I noticed Oreo crying on the porch and licking the hair from the backs of his paws.  I realized he would have to receive more attention, so we began our almost daily ritual of walks, treats, and time together.  And thus he once again was a happy fellow.  As he became older, we started allowing him to come into the house at night.  I think this little move made him feel like king of the world.

The last year has brought with it some major changes of behavior and health.  He no longer goes for walks and has trouble maneuvering the steps, both signs of arthritis.  Now he has come to the point that he must the bathroom wherever and whenever.  He no longer craves companionship and love, which previously had been so very characteristic of his personality all through the years.  Instead, he simply wants to sleep and be left alone.  And when I leave him outside at night, a necessity with his lack of control, he barks incessantly; even as I go out to tell him to be quiet, he soon forgets and then barks again.

So, I am thinking, the loving thing for me to do is to help him to find a peaceful end.  And it would have to be an act of love- I could do it for no other reason, no matter how irritating and inconvenient he may prove to be.  And I will have to be there, with him, for this last part of his journey.  After all, I’m pretty sure I am his best friend.  So it is my job.  My duty.  My privilege.

For today I have a busy several hours ahead.  Later on, in the evening, I’ll go out on the back patio to spend some time with my friend.  I’ll scratch him on the head and behind the ears- he’s always enjoyed that.  We’ll talk a bit about the day; Oreo is a great listener.  And from my pocket I will pull for him the very best treat. 

Goodness, but I’m going to miss My Buddy. 

“Have you seen our turtles?” she asked.

Well, no.  So we walked out back to see her husband’s menagerie of animals, including his collection of turtles.  He was at the other end of the yard, doing something under the hood of a car.  When he saw us, he strolled over our way.  He is a friendly guy with a ready smile.  I like him.  And he has let it be known that he intends to never join the church, although he will attend regularly and help whenever he can.  Of course I will be working on him, and somewhere along the way I intend for us to reconsider the issue.  But, now is the time for him to proudly display his animal collection.

His wife affectionately refers to him as Dr. Doolittle.  But I am thinking also a bit of Dr. Jeckel within this guy.  Apparently, any unfortunate animal that happens to stroll into the yard becomes a captive in his backyard zoo.  Various sizes and shapes of homemade pens and cages are strategically located around about an acre of shady landscape.  And peering from within are lots of sets of eyes.  Stray dogs and cats now live behind bars, albeit with plenty of food and water.  There is a raccoon and opossum, mercifully separated with a wall.  He has an assortment of roosters- they are not for fighting, he insists, although I wonder.  Cockfighting is a fringe sport in this area.  He has a cage filled with pigeons.  They are carrier pigeons, but of course they never carry anything but their fat little bellies from one side of the cage to the other.  There is a pond filled with what appear to be carp, but I discover later they are overgrown goldfish.

And, of interest for the moment is the turtle collection.  He proudly tells me there are six.  I’m no expert, but I think they are terrapins.  And, please do not ask me the difference.  I wonder where he secured these turtles, and he tells me that over the last five years all have wandered into his yard.  Poor creatures, I think to myself, too slow to escape.  As if he is reading my mind, he offers, “You, know, these little guys are fast.  I tell you, a turtle is fast!  A couple of times they have escaped, and they were lined up, going really fast.  But I caught ‘em!”  There appears to me an evil smile upon his face.

I feel sorry for the poor, imprisoned creatures.  Surely they would rather be in the stream, about a quarter mile away, or somewhere in the field behind the house?  I would like to sneak over, late one night, to secretly open all cages.  And I would likely do so, except….. The guy has an ever-so-slight and almost imperceptible tinge of craze to his demeanor.  There is probably a shotgun nearby, and willingness on his part to do what would be deemed necessary to protect his “family” of imprisoned animals.  Also, far into the corner of the lot, is an unmarked shed with a padlock on the door.  Perhaps it was my imagination, but as I remember the visit, I think I heard some banging noises coming from the door.  Perhaps locked inside that shed is the last guy who messed with the animals?  Probably, he gets plenty to eat.  None of the animals are neglected.  And maybe, by now, he has become accustomed to his wire cage?

Finally, we have installed Satellite TV at our house.  We now get a thousand channels, and rarely can I find anything worth watching.  I've settled onto  Sci-Fi channel and Chiller.  This would make a good episode for either.