Just a Suggestion

Considering recent events, it seems to me that Brian France & Co. had better wake up before their smug satisfaction with the current product gets someone else killed.

I’m just saying…

20 Questions

Okay, maybe not 20, but a few I have yet to find a good answer to. Feel free to add to the list or attempt an answer. The purpose is mostly to just provoke thought, not hash out the correct answers.

- If we call on God as Our Father, why do act as though he is Our Executioner?

- Why did God create the Universe only to destroy it later?

- What did Jesus actually accomplish on the Cross if the vast majority of humanity will end up in Hell?

- What good is a creed it it’s revised every couple of generations or by the church down the street?

- Does the world know the disciples of Jesus by their love for one another, or by their doctrine and denominational distinctives?

- Is it a sin to doubt God?

That’s a good start.

Samoas, Tonga, and Sumatra

Well, here we are again. As I sit here tucked away in the relative safety of the inland highlands, word trickles in from the Eastern Pacific about the tsunami and earthquake(s). I’ve read stories of entire villiages being wiped off the face of the earth, entire hospitals collapsing, parents and children drowning, and survivors.

“… to the fan from Auburn Hills”

When I was fresh out of school and moved to the Detroit area, it was pretty lonely time. In trying to fit in and find my place it was hard to find a voice that made you comfortable.

Enter Earnie Harwell. Some people have such a way and demeanor that you are instantly soothed and calmed. I have written in this space about being a Detroit Tigers fanboy, and the circumstances that solidified that in my life. Probably the biggest catalyst to that was listening to Harwell call games. Cardinals fans had Jack Buck. Cubs fans had Harry Caray. Dodgers fans–nay, baseball fans–have Vin Scully. I’d give up all those greats to be able to hear Earnie Harwell call games every summer, forever.

I know it is inevitable that such people must leave us–the clock ticks on for us all–but Mr. Harwell’s departure will be a bit more difficult than I’m sure he was hoping. He was diagnosed with an incurable cancer.

It makes me sad, like learning that my beloved uncle is dying. I’ve never met the man. Maybe it’s simply because he has to die, and that means I will, too. Maybe it’s a connection between two people with chronic diseases. I don’t know. Maybe I just wish I could visit him and thank him. Whatever this is, I hope he is able to spend his last days doing the things he loves with people who love him and care for him. I will continue to soothe my mind with his voice in my head, and try to push back at the sadness that life seems to constantly push on me.

Having it both ways (or not)

I typically don’t post links to others’ blogs, mostly because I’m afraid it will seem like an underhanded way to generate traffic toward my own blog. Today, I am making an exception.

An author named John Shore (of whom I’ve had no knowledge before today) posted this, today.

I will come right out and say that I stand on the side of the skeptic in the post.

Randomness…

Growing up in this country I was continually bombarded with ways to be “cool”, including the the total devastation of the English word “cool”. A major component of being cool was the right manners of speech. One of the slang words I picked up was “awesome”, as in, “The color of that ‘Vette is awesome,” or, “Dude, awesome air on that back-scratcher.”

“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.”

In the course of writing this post, I have written, deleted, re-written, re-deleted, and re-re-written the contents over the past few weeks. What has begun as an angry rant, morphed into a gossip column, and degenerated into a whine session has now resulted in what you read here. Hopefully it is none of those, and makes some general sense.

Over the past few years I have been dealing, in my mind, with the dichotomy of how life should be versus how life is. I am unable to confirm the quote, but Mel Blanc is purported to say, when comparing his characters Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck, “Bugs is who we all try be, but Daffy is who we see in the mirror each morning.” That seems to fit it into the nutshell I’m talking about. Similarly, the “Christian life” is such a lofty ideal, and compared to reality, things begin to look like a sham.

Within the past few days we have the story of Josh Hamilton’s continuing struggle, and reaction to it, which illustrates this dichotomy so well, it’s hard not to just end the discussion there.

As if we needed another reason…

Dr. Martin Luther King’s niece has taken up the Cause. I’m somewhat ashamed that I had not picked up on this earlier, but it makes complete and total sense.

50 million souls, and counting…

Mucking the Deep Drifts of a Mind

I’ve been quiet, lately, but it has not been for lack of subject matter. Having come off a recent family trip to Florida to visit the Eastern Shrine of St. Walt, and to visit one of auto racing’s biggest (if not the biggest) shrines, my mind has been such a bowl of mush that the Hulu aliens sould be licking their chops (or however they might do so). The post-vacation hangover and depression is in full swing, so if I come across as a little too melancholy in the next few posts… well, read the rest of the blog, it’s par for the course.

… and Then We Have This

This is as story about Bruce.

Bruce is a little boy, about eighteen months old. He lives in the foster-care system, a ward of the state. His mother is thus far unresponsive regarding desiring to be his parent. His father is in prison, but potentially is to be paroled, so his parental “rights” cannot be so easily adjudicated. In the meantime, a young couple, unable to bear their own children, and already parents of two adopted girls, graciously and lovingly accept Bruce into their home–with the hopes of adopting him in the near future–assuming the State acts to appropriately terminate the rights of the biological parents.