The mother of the victim stood to testify before the court at the sentencing hearing. Her eyes were misty and voice halting, and what I heard was not the least bit anger, but rather the bleeding of her heart. With words she shared a picture of her son that we needed to see. He cared about others, especially the elderly. He helped an infirmed man to maneuver his wheelchair, a hungry man with a meal. He proved to be a loyal friend, a good brother, and a good son. This was a person destined for a quality life and to make a difference for others. Sometimes during the recitation she would stop with the story for a while, lingering in silence and tears to regain her composure. At one point she looked over to the perpetrator. With softness to her voice, she told him that she did not hate him and did not want to ruin his life. And likely it was not permissible of the court, but she wanted to offer a gift to the young man. It was her son’s gym bag, to serve as a memory of his life and containing some literature about how one could find peace and forgiveness. This was because she was sure her son would want to make the offer. And when she walked from the stand into the arms of her sobbing family, the courtroom sat together in quiet respect and deep sadness.

The brother spoke also. His words were more mechanical, which seemed to me his only way to make the presentation without being totally engulfed in the emotions. He added more to our understanding of his brother as a quality person. He asked a young lady to stand, introducing her as his sister.   She stared strait ahead with face and eyes revealing no emotion. He told how she once was a vibrant and alive and fun young lady, but now seemed just a shell of her former self. Her life and energy now gone. He told us matter-of-factly that the same day he lost his brother, he also lost his sister. I sat stunned.

The defense now offered their testimonies, intended to encourage the court toward leniency. First the father slowly walked to the bench. I could not help but notice how much he had aged in the last year and now looked so very old. He told of how his son was raised in church and was active in High School sports, and never previously been in trouble with the law. He told of how proud he was when his son joined the army, later to serve in Afghanistan. Then he spoke of how his wife died of cancer about a year ago, of how devastating this event proved to be upon the whole family. I heard the ache in this father’s heart. I knew he drained his savings to try to help his son, and approached me several times to pray for his son. This dignified man looked the judge in the eye and begged, yes begged, for leniency. It seemed to me the judge looked down, unable to maintain eye contact with the hurting and sad man.

The next two witnesses wore military attire. They were his officers while in training and also in combat. They wove stories of a conscientious soldier doing his duty well. One gave a stomach churning account of warfare , of seeing a comrade blown to bits and the shocking effect upon the defendant.

Then the perpetrator of the deed stood to testify. To me he looked a bit awkward, in an ill-fitting suit and mussed hair. Obviously he gained a lot of weight in the last several months, probably a product of worry and depression.  He was not a smooth speaker; just a boy, in way over his head.  And he spoke from a broken heart, wiser but too late.

The story was told matter-of-fact, without excuse. I think we all appreciated the honesty.  He was home from military duty, soon to be married. It was the night of his bachelor party. The evening was intended for fun and drinking, with a designated driver enlisted. All went well at first. He had a drink and a nice chat with his dad, and then with his friends went to a bar. The place offered free drinks to those serving in the military, and this young man and his pals took full advantage. There was some fighting. Sometime in the evening the designated driver also started drinking. A friend became highly intoxicated and was asked to leave. And, this boy/man/soldier found himself in a dilemma- his driver was gone, and his friend needed to go home.  He told us all, at that moment, that he made the worst decision of his life.  He decided to drive the car, to take his friend home. He came to an intersection at a high rate of speed… and he hit a motorcycle. He did not remember much about the details- who was supposed to stop, how fast he was going, who disobeyed the specific traffic signs. All he recalled was pulling into a parking lot and talking with a police officer.

Then turned to the broken family, and spoke. The words were plain and from his heart. He was so very sorry. His desire was to spend the rest of life making restitution for this tragedy- speaking to groups, helping young people, and never again taking a drink. I believe he was sincere.

And he cried. All through the hearing he cried a bit.  At this moment it disintegrated into blubbering, ugly, deep-from-the-gut wailing. I felt such sorrow. And I noticed the other family was crying, as was the judge and the lawyers.

So much about life, to me, involves a tension between law and grace. This young man committed  a one-time and stupid and terrible act. For the sake of a life now gone, a shattered family, and a lesson to society, punishment had to be exacted. He faced a sentence of up to 30 years of incarceration. This seemed to me to be excessive and a waste of what otherwise still could be a good and meaningful life. More probable would be a sentence of between three and ten years in prison, of which 90% must be served. The judge spoke with eloquence and emotion. Seldom before had she seen such magnanimity on the part of an injured party. And she believed the young man to be a kind and decent person who made an awful mistake.

But she had the reputation of a no-nonsense litigator, and she intended to show respect for the law. Then she scanned the courtroom, and exhaled a sigh tired and sad. A moment of silence followed.

Five years in prison, followed by seven years probation.

Charles was handcuffed and taken away.  I hugged the family.  And cried.  And walked to my car in silence.

Nobody wins.

I'm Skylar.  I'm 3-years-old, and I'm sittin' in PaPa's chair.  He makes everybody else get out, but just lets me sit here anytime I want.  For as long as I want!  That PaPa, he's my buddy.

As I was getting gas at the self-service pump this morning, I thought about an old trick often employed as a teenager.  As I recall, the hoses that delivered the gas from the pumps would vary in length according to the stations.  So I found the station in town that had the longest hose.  I cannot remember the name, although I recall a flashing neon rabbit in the logo.  The trick was to shut off the pump after the allotted purchase.  Then, with the trigger still engaged in the car, to methodically raise the hose back toward the connection to the pump, allowing gravity to pour a generous amount of additional gas into the vehicle.  I figured, with a 12-foot-hose, I was easily getting another quart of gasoline.

One time the attendant came running out to tell me to stop, that I was stealing gas.  I looked at him with puzzlement and ask how?  He explained that I was taking gas that belonged to the next guy.

Now, here I am 35 years later, thinking about this incident.  I know such is rather ludicrous, but that’s how my mind works.  In my mind there is an explanation/justification that makes sense to me.  And I guess I will need to go back to my hometown, find the attendant, and continue the conversation.

Before passing along what I think, I would like to know your opinion of the matter.  Was I stealing gas?

 Sometimes I do not have the time or inclination to load up Big Dog in the car and travel to a park for our daily walk.  For such days we have carved out a local route.  It may not be the most picturesque or convenient, but it manages to provide the three miles and fifty minutes needed.  A bonus is that Big Dog needs no leash.  Today things started out not so good, which I guess is most appropriate for a Monday.  I searched but could not find the heavy duty leash.  And, I had forgotten to charge my mp3 player.  So, grumbling, I took off determined to get the walk completed.  Wanna come alone with a happy dog and an old grouch?

 First we walk around and behind the church I pastor.  This building was constructed in the 50's by volunteer help from the church.  I understand the wood was fresh-cut from nearby trees. 

 We walk through the parking lot and behind a cement factory next door.  These guys are good neighbors- well, as far as a cement factory can be a good neighbor- but they sure make a lot of noise!

 Behind the factory is a railroad track.  And, next to the track, is an acceptable trail for walking.  My hometown of Ft. Payne, Alabama, is traversed down the middle by a busy double railway.  Growing up I sometimes thought it would be a nice adventure to walk the track the fifty miles or so to Chattanooga.  Of course I never did it! 

 We decide to venture along a now abandoned track for a quarter mile or so.

 Graffiti along the track.  This is a locked box, probably containing switches or tools.  The graffiti, at least around here, appears tiresome and not very creative.  It mostly consists of fat, bloated letters spelling out the codes of the various ethnic gangs.  The businesses do a good job of quickly cleaning it up, while the railroads seem to ignore the stuff. 

 The clouds get dark and threatening in a hurry.  I guess I'm about to get soaked!

 As we are hurrying to try to get home before the flood, the drops of rain become more frequent and the wind is almost bending the trees.  We round the corner to be greeted by... a rainbow!  Wow.

 Rainbow over the church.

 Thought you might like to see the tent behind my house.  It's there in case my wife kicks me out.  But, mostly, it makes a fine playhouse for my granddaughter.  Well, we play together.

 Flower bed in front of the house.  They sat dormant, barely surviving, for much of the Summer.  In the last few weeks they have grown like crazy.

So, all-in-all a pretty good walk.  Starts out with grumbling.  Ends up with flowers and a rainbow!

So, there are religious people who are offended by the antics of this entertainer ?  This is what she wants!  It generates notoriety, publicity, and ultimately money.  It is the way this two-bit crooner of marginal talent has been able to survive for so long.  She will do anything for money.  She certainly is not a raving beauty, but she will take off her clothes for money.  Her voice is limited and dancing suspect, but she will abuse a crucifix and kiss a woman on stage.  Heck, she will even kiss Jesus in her effort to whore herself for an entertainment news clip and ultimately the increase of her bank account.  And, yes I am offended by her schtick.  But I do not think there is the need for a campaign for official censorship of her vulgar show.

Why does she want to be so offensive toward Christianity?  As I have already said, it creates interest and sound bites.  And especially negative publicity seems to make her more appealing to the lot of people who think organized religion to be an acceptable punching bag.  Somehow I found myself watching an interview with Brad Pitt last night.  Now I enjoy his work.  I think he is a good actor with a nice range of talent.  And he does commendable work for needy and vulnerable people in New Orleans.  The interviewer asked if he would consider running for Mayor?  In jest, he intimated that he would not be electable because he would run on a "no religion" platform.  I do not think it was a serious statement for the separation of government and religion, which I endorse.  I think it was a typical Hollywood slap on Christianity.  And guys like Pitt and Madonna know they can get by with it because the vast majority of us go to see a movie or concert strictly for entertainment, and not to support the politics or religion of the actors.  Even though I am a Christian, I certainly can separate the two.  And I also know that these people are not qualified to speak with wisdom and authority on matters of politics or religion simply because they have attractive faces and are able to read a script.

Just like with cartoon characters, I may enjoy the show, but I sure don't care what they have to say about real life.

I have not spent much time around here for a while. And I want to apologize, because we have a fine community here at t-Blog. Much of my interactive time on the web is now spent on Facebook . I'd really like to connect with all of you who have a Facebook account, so please send me a "friend request"! I will continue to hang out over there for the foreseeable future. But I still have a need for a place to write more indepth thoughts, and to interact in a respectful and thoughtful way with those who have differing insights. Such is hard to do at Facebook, although I'm giving it a try. Sometimes, with t-Blog, I think I've pretty well said everything that's remotely worthwhile for me to express. Those of you who have been around here for a while know where I stand on most things. We've had arguments, laughs, thrown some invectives around, and even shared a hug or two!

But I've gotten a bit lazy with the blogging. I still read books, study the Bible, watch and consider carefully human nature, enjoy movies, do stupid things every day, and even sometimes experience an epiphany. Rarely a day goes by without an interesting experience that would be worth writing down, if for no other reason, so it can be remembered. Plus I want to continue to grow in the capacity to express myself with the written word, which is still in my opinion the grand medium for creative and thoughtful communication. These several years on t-Blog have made me a better communicator. And if I can get sappy for a moment, this community has conspired to push through my stubbornness and laziness and make me a better all around person.

So, I'm back onboard around here! I'll be reading your blatherings and offering inane comments and continuing to challenge you to block me. Don't do it- you know you love me!