Is Your Middle Initial F?

When I meet people and tell them my name for the first time, I get a variety of reactions.

“Is your middle initial F?” is one of the most common responses. Having a famous name is one of the reasons I’ve always used my middle initial W in story bylines. The name “John Kennedy” isn’t that uncommon. And there even are thousands of John W. Kennedys populating the country.

I’m not sure what the response of people would be if my middle initial was F. I have an aged distant cousin named John F. Kennedy who lives in Texas, where the president was assassinated. I imagine he has had many more taunts over the years.

Another too frequent retort to learning my name is, “I thought you were dead.” That always makes me feel good.

And of course there is the, “Are you related to the Kennedys?” inquiry. Yes, I have many relatives named Kennedy, I tell them. “No, no the famous Kennedys,” they continue.

Over the years a few friends have called me “Mr. President.” Since the last administration, others have dubbed me “Dubya” because of my middle initial use in correspondence.

For the record, I was born before John Fitzgerald Kennedy was elected. He was only a senator in 1958, and my parents didn’t name me after him.

As his memory fades, so do the quizzical looks I get from those who meet me. In fact, some young adults act as though they never heard of our 35th chief executive. “How do you spell that last name?” they ask.

Still Needing the Post Office

An Associated Press article this week (http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/local/chi-ap-us-deadletters,0,790123.story)
says that nearly two months pass before the typical American receives a personal letter in the mail. Thankfully, my mother isn’t typical.

Living in a nursing home at 93, my mom receives four or five letters from relatives in an average week. I read these to her, as she no longer is able to concentrate enough to either read or write letters. For decades, my mom sent letters prolifically, mailing dozens a month to friends and relatives. I would receive about three a week from her myself.

While email via the Internet has pretty much killed personal handwritten communication, old folks without computers still look forward to hearing from loved ones through daily delivery of a stamped letter. My brother Dave and my Uncle Joe write to my mom once a week, even though Joe lives in the same city and visits his sister in person on a weekly basis.

The real champion letter writer, though, is my cousin Betty Ann, who composes witty and compelling theme letters two or three times a week to my mom. Betty Ann always has an interesting story about her childhood, our relatives or her career to tell. I think the essays would make a great book someday. But for now I’m grateful she has an audience of one, my mother.

Playing Favorites?

This week, Time magazine’s cover story (http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,2094371,00.html) purports that parents can’t escape having a favorite child, even if they never admit it. As the father of three adult sons, I don’t think my wife or I consciously ever gave preference to one child over another.

It’s probably more accurate to say that each boy is a favorite at a particular time, but not in the cumulative. If I want to cheer enthusiastically at a baseball game, I should plop down next to Josh, the ultimate fan. If I’m ready to face the toughest competition in a tennis match, that means setting a date with Jesse, who is athletic at anything he attempts. If it’s time to enjoy music with a son, that would be Zach, who has a wide range of tastes, including the soundtracks that are my favorites.

Josh we like for his dogged pursuit of a teaching career, zest in playing sports, even-tempered personality, maturity and independence.

Jesse we admire for his compassion for the downtrodden, thirst for biblical knowledge, simple lifestyle, zany sense of humor and love of travel.

Zach we appreciate for his stand for righteousness in the midst of a hedonistic workplace, his passion for music, his pluckiness in working his way through college, his love of children and his desire to spend time with his aging parents.

I disagree with Time’s premise that the middle child — especially in a family with three sons — gets the shaft. Certainly Josh received the most undivided attention as the firstborn. And Zach reaped the requisite perks of being the youngest. But Jesse managed to rise above the bounds of being stuck in the middle of three boys born within 3½ years. He emerged, like his brothers, as an intelligent, talented and personable man.

We love our children in different ways, which we hope results in equal treatment. Josh, the oldest, turned 29 yesterday. We took him, his lovely wife and two wonderful daughters out to eat. Because Zach lives nearby, we invited him, too. We didn’t want to play favorites.

Smoking Obsession

My wife and I watch a lot of old movies on TCM, some of them mediocre, some of them brilliant. But one thing virtually all — whether from the 1930s, 1940s or 1950s — have in common is showing the lead characters, both men and women, is smoking. Often the habit is shown in conjunction with drinking alcoholic beverages. In some films, there are no scenes without lighting up.

The smoking-drinking behaviors of the classic film era are as ubiquitous as the obligatory profanity-nudity in today’s motion pictures. In both instances, the trends are designed to exhibit coolness. The movies influenced society at large. A lot more people smoked during the Great Depression and through World War II because they emulated the stars on the screen. Likewise, a great many more people have no qualms swearing in public these days compared to a couple of generations ago because they are following the expectations dictated by Hollywood.

Of course the supposedly sophisticated conduct of years gone by caught up with the stars as they aged. The vibrant energetic appearances of Bette Davis, William Holden, Gary Cooper, John Wayne, Joan Crawford, Melvyn Douglas, Humphrey Bogart, Clark Gable and others early in their careers gave way to wheezing and wizened features by middle age. Most died of heart disease or cancer, their faces full of craggy lines, their gaits slowed by shortness of breath.

We now know that smoking is not only a health risk but also that tobacco is the most addictive drug around. Many who puff away today are still trying to be cool. But the downside of smoking is no secret anymore. While around 45 percent of Americans smoked cigarettes when I was born; now it’s less than 20 percent.

Telling Stories

Occasionally I run into a person who asks if it’s difficult to come up with an idea for a news feature article in a weekly magazine. The answer is, usually not. There is enough going on in the world and in the Assemblies of God that ensure new topics are available to explore or fresh ways to report an already-explored topic.

In the first 11 years of my journalism career, I worked at daily newspapers, where creativity is a necessity. I spent eight of those years as a reporter and news editor of a paper in a city of 10,000 people. I covered murder trials, a manhunt, a child sex-abuse trial, an arson death, fatal car wrecks, the fatal shooting of a mayor during a city council meeting in a nearby city and a prison uprising. Of course, in a small city, those aren’t daily occurrences.

With a couple of others on the small staff I shared the responsibility of finding a local article for the front page every day. City, county and school board meetings and events provided fodder for numerous news articles, but much of the time I had to devise a feature story on my own. Even in a city of 10,000 (and county of 16,000) there are enough interesting folks and circumstances: servers complaining of low tips of local diners; a belly dancer looking for business; the workweek of morticians; the life of circus performers appearing at the local fairgrounds; how easy it is to buy a handgun; the story of local World War II prisoners of war; a local engineer whose hobby is jousting at Renaissance re-enactments.

These days, covering a U.S. denomination of 3 million people, there are many interesting untold stories to uncover. The primary challenge is that there is a two-month delay from the time the story is written until readers see it. Thus, articles really can’t be hard news and instead must examine trends. Lengthy stories I’ve written this year include alcohol abuse and females; the elderly and sex; astrology hazards; emerging adults; child sex abuse; reincarnation; and sports mania. What an interesting world in which we live!

Take Me Out of the Ballgame

I felt quite convicted recently after an interview with Shirl James Hoffman, author of Good Game: Christianity and the Culture of Sports for an article I’m writing about sports addiction. Although I wrote a paper on the topic last spring for seminary, talking to Hoffman really made me think about how much time I’ve wasted watching games, particularly baseball.

I’m far from a fanatic. But I made a practice of setting the DVR to watch the St. Louis Cardinals. Often at night I would start viewing about an hour into it so I could skip the commercials. Sometimes I wouldn’t watch until the next day or two, only viewing certain segments. If the team lost, I wouldn’t watch at all.

Still, the hours added up. The seven or eight hours a week I might have devoted to watching a telecast could have been better spent on a variety of activities such as reading, playing tennis or praying.

What really made sense to me was Hoffman’s observation that sports have no eternal value. People gather for a few hours to wildly cheer for men interacting with a ball. There is no vested interest. We aren’t friends with these millionaire entertainers. They don’t care about us. For the viewer, there really is no take-away investment in spending time in this pursuit.

So I resolved to give up watching baseball, and to throw myself into more important tasks. It helped that my team collapsed at the same time I made my decision.

It bothers me that sports seem to consume the daily thoughts of so many Christian men, including some in my own family. If such passion and devotion could be directed toward the Lord, what a difference it would make.

My wife argued that perhaps I should forgo other forms of entertainment, such as the movies we watch on TV many nights. I agree that many movies, especially ones produced these days, are a waste of two hours. But the classic films we watch usually are full of lessons about morality, greed and life in general that are worth the time spent.

My quest to ignore sports won’t be easy. After a lifetime of conditioning to watch on TV, it will be easy to get sucked back into the habit.

What Else Would I Do?

Recently a spate of people I respect have congratulated me on being a great writer. Being acknowledged for one’s work is always nice, and it doesn’t happen in a lot of professions. But several folks have gushed on and on about what a talent I am, how my articles in the Pentecostal Evangel have been a blessing to them and the denomination.

On the one hand such compliments warm my heart. On the other, is God testing me to see how I react? Am I going to get a bigger head than I already have?

No doubt I believe God has gifted me in the field of journalism. It comes naturally. But I wonder, what else could I do? I don’t have any mechanical talent essential for many jobs. I don’t have great physical stamina required for others.

About all I can do is write. So, I’m hoping the floundering magazine business survives a bit longer. If all goes well I will have another dozen years or so until retirement. Thankfully writing is usually something one doesn’t get too old to handle.

Missive Impossible

One of the projects I busied myself with during my wife’s recent weeklong vacation involved sorting through four boxes of letters from friends and relatives, mail that I’ve saved since my high school years.

You remember letters. Those pieces of paper people wrote on in cursive writing, put in an envelope and then affixed a stamp. Well, maybe not. Certainly letter writing is a lost art these days of the Internet.

Not that all the letters are gems. Many are mundane accounts of routine daily activities. I ended up tossing about half of the correspondence. Yet some contain truly creative and well-constructed thoughts on the trials of life and the importance of relationships. Dashing off a few lines in a typed email doesn’t exactly convey the same message.

In reviewing letters I’ve collected over 35 years I’m afraid I came across several from people I have no idea of meeting. Other people, sadly, I’ve lost track of, even though we wrote back and forth for years. Sorting these writings proved to be bittersweet: people once happily married have divorced long ago; active church leaders now want nothing to do with God; letter writers who died in their 30s.

I finished sorting the fourth box the day of Patty’s return home only to discover another three boxes of letters lurking in the closet. More memories await.

Missing the Missus

My wife is flying home this afternoon from Phoenix, and boy will I be glad to see her. She’s been away for a week’s vacation visiting relatives; it seems like a year.

When I go on reporting trips by myself I don’t have such feelings. I fly to a new location, interview interesting people, stay in an unknown place. But it’s a different story when the tables are turned. I go home to an empty-nest house; our dog isn’t even alive anymore.

Thankfully, my wife, who is an excellent cook, made enough scrumptious meals to keep me alive, because I’m inept in the kitchen. But I miss her more than at feeding times. And I miss her more than physically, although there is that.

I long for my wife’s presence. After 33 years of sharing life together, there is a tendency to take each other for granted — until that routine is interrupted. When I get home from work she isn’t there to discuss the day’s joys, traumas and triumphs. This past week has dragged on interminably, and I’ve experienced a profound loneliness. It’s not good for man to be alone (Genesis 2:18).

Yet, I’m glad Patty could get away in the interim, between losing her job and starting her new assignment next week: daycare for the granddaughters.

Sorting Out

I spent much of last week at work cleaning out the voluminous files I keep on all sorts of subjects and people I have reported on or interviewed. The newspaper, magazine and Internet clippings are stored for future reference in case I broach the topics or sources again.

In the past couple of years I’ve become less of an article saver, in large part because I just don’t have the room. In downsizing to a much smaller office last year, I had to relinquish one of my two full-size, five-drawer filing cabinets. I began clipping in earnest in 1993, my first year as news editor for Christianity Today.

During the past 18 years I’ve accumulated a lot of reading material to comb through. I managed to toss several wastebaskets full last week. Some of the people I collected articles on in the 1990s, such as Gary Bauer or Ralph Reed, just aren’t relevant in 2011. Others I’ve interviewed such as Jerry Falwell or abortionist killer Paul Hill have died.

Likewise, some of the hot topics of not that long ago — Ten Commandments displays and Pledge of Allegiance lawsuits, for instance — no longer are on the front burner. Aging high-profile figures of yesteryear such as Pat Robertson and James Dobson are no longer in the limelight. Others, among them John Ashcroft, Ralph Reed, Phil Vischer, Rodney Howard-Browne, Roy Moore and Randall Terry, have faded from the scene due to various circumstances.

Clearly, anyone’s time in the spotlight is only momentary. The best we can hope for is to make our mark in the few years that we have influence.

Thank God for Air Conditioning

My wife and I came home from work last Monday and found the temperature inside the house to be 86 degrees. Although the thermostat was set at 80, only lukewarm air blew out the vents.

I called an air conditioning company, which had made nearly $300 worth of repairs to the unit four months ago — when the heater blew out cold air — to get an estimate. It would be $100 to come out after hours, or $60 during a regular business day. Trying to be good stewards, we opted to wait, even though no appointments were available until Wednesday afternoon.

So we toughed it out, aiming two fans on our bed and turning the overhead fan on as well. I decided not to open up the windows. While the temperature dipped to a balmy 80 overnight, the humidity topped 90 percent. We made it through the night.

Craving comfort seems a bit selfish when much of the world suffers through hot summers with no means of cooling off. Troops in Afghanistan certainly aren’t obsessed with 72-degree indoor air. Humanity has managed to survive for centuries without this means of temperature soothing.

I asked my 93-year-old mom how she lived without air conditioning growing up in hot and humid Springfield, Mo. Lots of swimming, going to air-conditioned movie theaters and taking turns with her siblings sitting in front of an electric fan about the size of a fist.

My wife and I didn’t have to wait another night for the air conditioner to be repaired. I mentioned to building contractor Melvin Hopke, who is constructing an enclosed back porch on our house, that our air conditioning had broken. He had an air conditioning installer that he works with look at it and he fixed it quickly. What a blessing that turned out to be when the temperature that day reached 100 degrees!

The Benefits of Sacrifice

Twelve months after our church home group studied the book Radical by David Platt, I’ve made it through a year feeling as though I accomplished something.

I didn’t take up some of the more stringent challenges, such as going on a mission trip to Africa. My wife and I seriously thought about it, but we couldn’t work it out with our schedule.

I managed a less sacrificial task: forgoing the purchase of any clothes for myself for a year. That may not seem like a big deal, but until making the pledge I often indulged in purchasing a new shirt or pair of pants that caught my eye. As a result, I have an overstocked wardrobe.

So, when too many stains gathered on some shirts, I didn’t run out and buy new ones. The Radical experiment really helped me change my attire lifestyle. I realize I had — and still have — too many garments. Money for new clothes can be channeled to more worthwhile causes. I don’t mind wearing socks and underwear with holes in them.

It’s a message that Americans need to constantly hear. Working in a Christian environment doesn’t make us immune. In fact, materialism competition may be more acute in the evangelical world than elsewhere. I’m surrounded by employees in a company who crave the latest designer purse or shoes, who have an expensive luxury car or who live in a gated community. Apparently, as my wife loses her job tomorrow because of economic downsizing, self-sacrificial ministry is no longer in fashion. Shallow consumption and enriching oneself is the order of the day.

A Blessed City

I spent a marvelous three days in Tacoma, Wash., the weekend before last on a business trip. What a wondrous city to provide a respite from the summer heat and humidity of the Midwest. In mid July the daily high temperature is 72 degrees. I spent an entire afternoon reading books along the Puget Sound shoreline, unperturbed by flies or mosquitoes. The air smelled so fresh, devoid of the haze that enveloped the Chicago I viewed on my return flight. Majestic snow-covered Mount Rainier loomed in the background.

The climate is temperate year-round, rarely venturing into the 80s in the summer or failing to reach the 50s in winter. Residents don’t have to contend with snow. Best of all there are a bevy of seafood restaurants along the water selling my favorite fish, halibut and cod, fresh and at reasonable prices.

Lest I start packing my bags to move to Washington, however, the shuttle bus driver from the rental car outlet to the airport warned me that it’s cloudy much of the year. And he said he pays $720 a month to rent a one-bedroom apartment, not that much less than my monthly mortgage for a four-bedroom home in southwest Missouri.

Unlike southwest Missouri, I saw few people smoking and few obese people in northwest Washington. Tacoma seems to have a good share of residents who are well off. I saw hundreds of spiffy people walking, jogging and biking along the shoreline. But I didn’t see many families. Dogs outnumbered babies and young children by a wide margin.

The Wonder of Summer

Summer isn’t my favorite season. I don’t care for 100-degree days with high humidity, ticks embedding themselves in my skin or expensive air-conditioning bills.

But summer is the best season for eating. We’re blessed to have fresh apricots, peaches, Bing cherries, raspberries, honeydew, green beans and other produce available for consumption at fairly reasonable prices this time of year from local grocery stores.

In our own yard we’re benefiting from tomatoes, blueberries and basil that my wife planted. This spring, she also planted a fig tree and sweet potato patch that will yield in the future.

Insects destroyed any harvest from our plum and peach trees. Nevertheless, it’s a great time of year to be eating healthy.

So Long to the Best Dog

My wife and I made the difficult journey yesterday to have our dog put down. Patty has shed more tears in the past few days than she has in a long time. I cried before we took him in as well.

Buddy never really recovered from a vicious attack by a neighbor dog on Memorial Day weekend. The visible wounds healed fairly well, but we suspect he suffered internal injuries. His mobility had been greatly inhibited since then, and his voracious appetite had abated. In the past week he ate virtually nothing and he suddenly lost all bladder control.

We have many fond memories of Buddy: his tricks of balancing bonies on his nose before devouring them at Patty’s command; offering protection by sleeping outside the bedroom door of visiting vulnerable babies and elderly people; going on morning walks with me the past dozen years.

Buddy has been an enduring part of the family. He’s lived in our current home longer than any of our sons, who have all moved out. He is sorely and sadly missed.

Not the End of the World

My wife’s boss informed her this week that as of July 29 her position as assistant web content editor in the AG National Women’s Department had been eliminated. Certainly I don’t begrudge the denomination for having to make the move in lean times. The AG has been a good employer for Patty for six years.

Yet upon hearing the news many Christians we know react as though we’ve suffered a death in the family. We appreciate the expressed sorrow, but Patty’s life isn’t defined by her job.

I still will be working for The Pentecostal Evangel, where I have been for twice as long. Financially, the layoff isn’t a crushing blow. Patty’s salary enabled us to enjoy things (such as a home remodeling) that we wouldn’t have otherwise. Certainly we’ll need to tighten our belts, but that’s a good thing. When a family is too comfortable fiscally it sometimes mean we rely more on an employer than the Lord for our future.

Patty has found a more fulfilling role: investing in our two granddaughters. She will be watching them four days a week once our son and his wife return to their schoolteacher jobs.

You’ve Come a Long Way, Baby?

Business Insider recently ran a photo essay of “shocking” advertisements that would never fly in today’s sensitive culture. Clearly, the ads http://www.businessinsider.com/vintage-sexist-and-racist-ads-2011-6 are demeaning, both toward black people and women.
Madison Avenue executives no longer subject African Americans to prejudicial mistreatment in this age of a black president. But women in some ways have regressed.

We rightfully shudder at sexist advertising copy of years gone past of men walking on women, blowing smoke in their face and spanking them. Certainly they still are used as sex objects to sell beer, cigarettes, automobiles and jewelry.

But these days the real mistreatment of females comes from pornography. In magazines and videos viewed by millions of men (and boys), naked women these days are beaten, humiliated and forced to perform sexual acts that few women in the real world find enjoyable. They follow scripts in which they express pleasure at being punched, called vulgar names, and having one orifice or another painfully stretched in pain. Not exactly progress.

Nursing Home Oddity

In doing research for a pending article in Christianity Today, I discovered that my mother is a rarity among nursing home residents: someone who pays her own way. Medicaid subsidizes around four out of five nursing home residents.

While it may sound like a good deal for the government to pay the cost of care for an aging parent, it really means that parent has lost control of virtually all assets. The resident must turn over Social Security and pensions to the nursing home (only being allowed to retain a small amount for supplemental health insurance and necessities such as toothpaste). In some states it also means that the government has the right to seize any real property, such as the family home.

In any regard, my mom is paying for both her medicines and nursing home care — which in itself costs $156 a day for a semiprivate room — out of her own pocket. That she can pay that herself is in large part due to the work ethic of my dad, who retired at age 75 after working multiple jobs at once. He had a generous pension from the Presbyterian Church, plus Social Security and a bit of retirement income from working for the Soil Conservation Service. My mom is able to prevent eating up her savings thanks to a special benefit available only to World War II veterans (my dad served as a Navy chaplain).

My mom does benefit from Medicare because she is in hospice care. Hospice has provided her with a special bed to try to help prevent bedsores, an oxygen tank to aid with her breathing, and regular visits from a nurse, two aides, a social worker and a chaplain.

I realize some angry younger people want to put Medicare and Social Security on the chopping block. I’m not sure that’s the best way to cut taxes.

Yesterday When I Was Young

As I visit my 93-year-old mom in a nursing home I wonder what she and my dad (who died nine years ago today) were like as a young couple. I’ve seen photos of course, but those don’t shed much light on personality. My sons know what I was like at their age because they have videos. No such technology existed earlier, of course. My parents were in their 40s when I was born.

By the time I figured out who my folks were they seemed sort of, you know, old. I have virtually no memories of before age 5. An article in The Wall Street Journal last week entitled “Blanks for the Memories” says this isn’t uncommon. The inability of adults to remember early childhood memories is called infantile amnesia and the article goes on to explain various theories behind it.

I wonder if my growing up with television had anything to do with it. My hypothesis is that these celluloid images (which I can’t recall either) somehow displaced real memories. My older brother, who had no television set in the home until much later, says he has vivid images of playing in the yard at age 2. My mother — more than nine decades later — can recite details from before age 2, such as when her father took her outside to see her first snow and when she got an opened safety pin stuck in her mouth while her mother hung out the laundry.

Maybe I would have remembered that one myself. Glad my parents had a dryer when I was a baby. At least I assume they did; I can’t remember.

Resilient Beast

Imagine my surprise this morning when I started out the door for a customary half-hour walk before work when Buddy my dog got up and trotted over to the door ready to go. Yesterday I thought Buddy would never go with me again.

On Sunday, as I read the newspaper on the back porch before work, I heard a commotion in the next yard. A 150-pound Great Dane from across the street made an unprovoked attack on 66-pound Buddy, a blue heeler-keeshond mix. A mauling followed as the massive dog ignored my yelling. Finally the owner came to pull him off.

But not before Buddy had been torn asunder from shoulder to hind legs while pinned on the ground as I stood by helplessly. We took Buddy to an emergency vet. Once he was shaved, his wounds proved even more extensive than we thought, and he required multiple sutures in two different places on his body.

My wife stayed home from work yesterday to keep an eye on Buddy’s stitches and his oozing wounds. Considering Buddy is 13 years old and he could barely move yesterday I didn’t figure he would recover, at least not so much so quickly. Several people said prayers on Buddy’s behalf yesterday and he seemed to turn the corner last night.

We hit the doggy jackpot with Buddy. He is good natured, sensitive and docile (unless he sees a UPS truck). I hope he’ll be my walking partner for a good time longer.

Misplaced Medical Measure

Officials in San Francisco announced Wednesday that activists had collected enough signatures to put a measure on the city ballot in November that will ask city voters if they want to ban circumcision.

Petition ringleader Lloyd Schofield declared that, “nobody has a right to perform unnecessary surgery on another human being.” Schofield is part of a group called the Prohibition of Genital Cutting of Male Minors responsible for this first-in-the-nation type of legislation. If passed, the ordinance would make it illegal to “circumcise, excise, cut or mutilate the whole or any part of the foreskin, testicles or penis of another person who has not attained the age of 18 years.”

Should San Franciscans approve the ordinance, doctors who perform circumcision could be fined $1,000 or spend a year in jail.

Of course in Judeo-Christian culture circumcision has a history dating back several millennia. No religious exemptions would be allowed under the proposal. Circumcision has been routine in most of this country’s history. Evidence shows that circumcised males have lower rates of infections and diseases. The numbers of procedures have declined in recent years as health insurance companies stopped covering the supposedly unnecessary medical action.

The argument that parents don’t have the right to make medically decisions for their children is bogus. When my oldest son had hernia surgery at 5 weeks old I didn’t ask him beforehand if he wanted to undergo the operation. When my youngest son at 19 months of age had a temperature of 108 degrees and began having a seizure, I didn’t inquire whether he wanted to be rushed to an emergency room before we jumped in the car.

Most parents do what they think is best for their kids, including circumcision. Schofield is worried about the temporary physical pain that infants endure during the cutting. Perhaps he should be thinking about pain prior to eight days after birth. Preborn babies suffer damage when they are aborted. That dismemberment is permanent.

Weight-Loss Incentive

I’ve started to keep track of everything I eat. My wife is graciously entering the information into our computer every day as part of a wellness-incentive program at work. She is following the plan as well, and has lost 10 pounds in a month.

While label reading and calorie counting may seem burdensome, I needed to do something to lower my weight from the 200 pounds where I’ve hovering for quite some time.

Logging every pat of butter and each dollop of ketchup may seem legalistic, but it really helps keep me accountable, especially when my wife is reviewing everything I put into my mouth. Although I walk every day and pretty much eat healthfully, charting every morsel does help make a conscious effort to keep off the pounds.

For it’s easy to deceive myself if I’m not keeping track: an oatmeal raisin cookie here, a mint chocolate chip frozen custard there. No wonder I’ve leveled off. I hope being a culinary scribe will have life-changing results.

Theophanies

Recently at small group while studying Untamed by Alan and Debra Hirsch we talked about a form of religious experience called “theophanies,” which they describe as a manifestation of God. The authors gave an example of watching a sunset and suddenly the wonder of it all dawns on a person as time seems to stand still and eternity fills the moment.

In polling members of the group about theophanies, several resonated with a story of God’s creation: a magnificent sunrise or majestic mountains. Others described sensing God’s overwhelming presence while on a missions trip in a foreign land and realizing that followers of Christ have much in common wherever they live. Some talked about how God answered prayers in supernatural ways just when they needed it most.

I talked about the awe-inspiring moments of the births of my three sons. Tears of joy streamed down my face as my wife and I suddenly faced the arrival of an amazing new person into this world.

Of course part of experiencing God is to realize that He is everywhere and that it is our responsibility to demonstrate His goodness to others, whether that be the pregnant teenager, the homeless person, the alcoholic, our co-workers or our relatives.

Death of an Unknown Cousin

I found out from my Uncle Harold last week that my 60-year-old first cousin, Diane Kennedy Bulger, died April 1 after a 17-day stay in a hospital intensive care unit. She had entered the hospital for minor surgery, but complications ensued.

Unfortunately, I didn’t know Diane; we never even met. I knew her parents, my Uncle Frank — a retired law professor — and Aunt Patricia, when they were alive. We saw each other several times at family reunions of my dad and his four brothers. But Frank and Patricia’s four children never attended, and I don’t know any of them.

From the obituary it sounds as though we would have enjoyed each other. She worked as a broadcast reporter in Atlanta, Tulsa, Washington, D.C., and Lansing, Mich. She interviewed everyone from Gerald Ford to John Wayne.

“She was very knowledgeable about a wide range of issues and popular culture,” her husband of 34 years, Bill Bulger, told The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. “She put people at ease; that was her best talent as a reporter.”

Just today I realized that only two years ago I spent a day reporting an event in Roswell, Ga., the very city in which she lived. I wish I had known.

No Thanks to Baseball

The 162-game baseball season is a week old already. Only 156 more games left on the schedule. I, for one, won’t be watching as many contests on TV this season. And not just because the St. Louis Cardinals won’t be as good as last year, when they were expected to win their division but underwhelmed their followers.

Time is the key factor. Our lives only have so many hours to pursue leisure activities, especially if we work full time, are engaged in church activities and are in school, all of which I do. So it’s hard for me to justify sitting in front of a screen for three hours a night to watch men trying to pitch, hit and catch a ball.

The other reason is that I wrote a paper for seminary on sports addiction last month. I’ve researched how sports can not only consume a fan’s time but also impact his personality. A team’s loss truly can depress a person who has an undue reliance on baseball (or football, basketball, hockey, etc.) as a component of his life.

Another factor is whether I really want to express such devotion to athletes who — for all intents and purposes — are mercenaries. While “love of the game” isn’t going to pay a player’s bills, I’m really turned off by Albert Pujols rejecting a reported seven-year, $20 million contract offer as insufficient. I think I’ll be doing more reading and less baseball watching this summer.

Ignorant Americans?

I found the results of last week’s Newsweek citizenship quiz troubling. The magazine administered the 25-question test to 1,000 Americans and 38 percent failed to get even six responses correct.

I’m a history buff, so I managed to figure out all but one of the answers (I didn’t remember that the United States had 27 constitutional amendments.) But even people such as my wife, who has little interest in the workings of the government, answered nearly every question correctly.

The vague wording of some of the questions left a lot to be desired. For example, “What happened at the Constitutional Convention,” “During the Cold War, what was the main concern of the United States” and “What is the economic system in the United States” should have been more specific.

But the lack of knowledge on some of the basic questions is astounding. Just one in five remembers who was president during World War I. Only 14 percent know how many members are in the U.S. House of Representatives. A mere 12 percent could identify one of the writers of the Federalist Papers.

If you want to test your knowledge, see:
http://www.newsweek.com/2011/03/20/take-the-quiz-what-we-don-t-know.html

Warmongering

I’m not among those clapping their hands that the United States has taken the leading role in bombing Libya in an effort to keep neutralize Muammar Gaddafi in his battle against rebel forces.

Certainly Gaddafi is a nasty dictator. But what is the vital interest of Americans intervening in an African civil war? Leaders in the rest of the free world have enough sense to let the United States take the lead, both in military planning and in spending millions on the bombing effort.

President Obama has followed the pattern of George W. Bush before him in meddling in the affairs of a Middle Eastern nation. As we’ve seen in Iraq and Afghanistan, extricating ourselves after years of involvement isn’t easy.

Such wars are costly in many ways. There are the billions spent on military equipment and command posts. There are the thousands of lives lost. And we’re not winning any friends around the globe by intervening, for the third time in a decade, in the midst of a conflict between Muslim factions.

The United States cannot spread its military so thin as to police the world. There are plenty of dictators worthy of being deposed. But how about someone else doing it?

What, Me Obese?

At a recent gathering of the hundreds of employees where I work, a Wellness team reported that 70 percent of the company’s workers are obese, compared to 40 percent of Americans overall. I wasn’t surprised. The evidence is apparent to the eye.

The good news is that the workplace is taking real steps to get people to try to exercise and eat better. Monetary rewards and extra time off can be great incentives. But a lot of us have a ways to go.

For years, Christians have turned a blind eye to the problem of overeating. We like to quote the Scripture that the body is the temple of the Holy Spirit. That obviously means avoiding those wicked sins of alcohol and nicotine, right? We conveniently neglect gluttony, which has shortened as many lives as Jim Beam and Camel cigarettes.

But the jig is up. Stop passing the buckets of chicken wings and 128-ounce container of Mountain Dew. It’s time to take a holistic approach to health.

Hitchcock on Screen

I had the pleasure Saturday of watching my first Alfred Hitchcock motion picture in a movie theater. I’ve seen most all of Hitchcock’s movies on television, and even own a dozen or so on DVD.

But there is something about the theater experience that made watching North By Northwest special. The film is 52 years old, so obviously society has changed. Cars looked ancient, we no longer go into phone booths to make calls, and hotel clerks don’t give out room numbers of guests any more. But Hitchcock’s techniques are timeless: his camera angles, crackling dialogue, crisp color cinematography, on-location shooting, attention to set details, Bernard Hermann’s wonderful score, Cary Grant in his prime and the insight into the human psyche. Particularly apt was the callous attitude of a CIA authority figure regarding the potential loss of life of innocent bystander Cary Grant caught in the middle of Cold War espionage.

North By Northwest is one of the few movies I can enjoy viewing again and again. A local non-profit theater is showing a Hitchcock film every Saturday this month. I don’t think I’ll go back, though. They are charging 2011 prices for admission.

Not Looking Forward to Old Age

A new book by Susan Jacoby confirms what I’ve been thinking lately: old age isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. For the past generation, scientists, doctors and other sages have told us we can maintain healthy living way beyond retirement years if we just eat right and exercise. That’s a lot of bunk. At 52 I’m already starting to deteriorate, although I walk every morning and avoid junk food.

“We need to face reality and base both our individual planning and our social policy on the assumption that by the time men and women reach their eighties and nineties, not the best but the worst years of their lives generally lie ahead,” Jacoby writes in Never Say Die: The Myth and Marketing of the New Old Age. Ninety really isn’t the new eighty.

Not that we don’t buy into the fantasy. A recent HarrisInteractive poll showed only 12 percent of Americans didn’t want to live until age 80. Fully one in four said they wanted to last until sometime in their 90s. Amazingly, an additional 37 percent want to live to be 100 or older.

I certainly don’t want to join the centennial club. There won’t be technological advances enough to keep my mind and body sharp. Those who make it to 85 these days have an almost one-in-two shot of landing in a nursing home as well as developing dementia.

The reason I’ve been thinking about this lately is because of the condition of my almost 93-year-old mother. She was spry at 89, able to drive a car and manage her checkbook. Then she broke her hip. Rehab didn’t go well. She began using a walker and still got around OK, but the short-term memory began to go. The situation worsened last summer when she fell three times, then had to move into a nursing home, with a wheelchair as her new mode of transportation. She has been in hospice care since last fall, after losing 15 pounds in four months. Most of her day now is spent in bed, no longer capable of writing letters, dialing the phone or controlling bodily functions. I imagine the end will bring a further loss of memory and more physical ailments.

It’s painful to see my mother so frail and helpless. I don’t want my children to have to remember me that way a few years down the road.

Baseball, Ego and Greed

As with most St. Louis Cardinals fans, I’ve come to revere the seemingly superhuman talents of Albert Pujols, who for the first decade of his career has put up numbers unmatched in the history of baseball.

For the spiritually inclined such as me, Pujols is even more appealing. He talks openly about his Christian faith, donates time and money to charitable causes, doesn’t brag about his God-given talents, and speaks fondly of the privilege of playing for the Cardinals. When he gets a hit, Pujols typically points to the sky as an acknowledgement that the glory should go to God. Thomas Nelson has just published a faith-based biography of the first baseman.

Which makes the breakdown of contract talks this spring all the more puzzling. Pujols is signed through this season, finishing up a contract that will pay him $16 million in 2011. That’s certainly more money than virtually everyone else in America makes.

Yet Pujols isn’t the highest paid player in baseball. And apparently because he feels he is the best player in the game, he thinks he should be compensated accordingly. The Cardinals offered a reported eight-year deal worth around $200 million, but Pujols rejected it. He is said to want a $300 million, 10-year contract.

So, it appears after the 2011 season Pujols will test the free-agent market. There may be teams out there willing to give him what he wants. But for the Cardinals, which don’t have the seemingly endless bankroll of the Yankees or Red Sox, it doesn’t make sense to tie up so much money in one player. It also could mean mutiny from the fan base to pay $30 million a year to Pujols at age 41 if his skills have greatly diminished. Most players have retired by that age.

A club has no recourse but to continue paying an underperforming or hurt player. St. Louis is on the hook to shell out $12 million this season to hurt star pitcher Adam Wainwright — even though he won’t play in any games.

The sentiment at the end of last season among many Cardinals fans was that Pujols must be resigned to play his entire career in St. Louis no matter what the cost. But now most enthusiasts are siding with the club. Greed and ego have their limitations.

Facebook Disconnect

I’m continually amused at the favorite choices of Facebook friends when it comes to what they watch, listen to and read.

Many of these mostly young people claim to be spiritually and morally conservative. Yet the movies and TV shows listed on the social networking site belie those beliefs. The salacious programs and motion pictures they watch promote premarital and extramarital sex, display horrific violence, and contain vulgar language.

Ironically, many of these same people often list tame contemporary Christian artists as their musicians of choice, and the Bible as the book they love.

There seems to be a disconnect here. While Scripture certainly contains accounts of sexual sin and gore, it’s balanced out with God’s ideals of love and purity. Not so with today’s media.

Spying on Others

I’m not so sure about this trend of putting everything about ourselves online. There are enough websites around trying to divulge information about us that we really wish others wouldn’t know.

I stumbled the other day on an Internet site that purportedly shows information about anyone. I looked myself up and there was a picture of my house, with the garage door open, no less. Yet not all the data were right. The listed value of my house was $15,000 less than I paid for it 12 years ago. And residents listed included my oldest son, who moved out when he married nine years ago, plus his wife, who never has lived with us.

It seems technological snooping has its limitations. Yet this website told me for a monthly fee of $2.95 I could find out the estimated income and hobbies of whomever I want to search for, plus see photos and videos of them.

All this sharing of information that is highly guarded as private in our society only seems to stir up jealousy. If I find out that my friend lives in a house valued at twice my property, or that my co-worker earns $25,000 more than me, I’m focused on the wrong things.

Not So Simplistic

I’ve had to chuckle at the editorial writers and cartoonists in the past week who have naively portrayed Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak as the epitome of evil and those demanding his ouster as fighters for democracy.

Early in the current struggle, many Americans applauded that social networking sites sparked a democratic revolution. They rejoiced that a henchman could be ousted without involving the U.S. military, as happened in nearby Iraq. Then came the clashes between forces hostile to Mubarak and those supporting him. In one 24-hour period, 400 reporters were injured in the melee.

Clearly, Mubarak can be labeled a dictator and even a thug. But there is a reason that five U.S. presidents from Ronald Reagan to Barack Obama have propped him up, currently pouring more than a billion dollars in military aid to Egypt. The alternative could be a great deal scarier.

If a banned Islamic terrorist group becomes part of the ruling coalition in Egypt it could have catastrophic consequences for the United States in efforts to contain terrorism. It’s unlikely that a new regime formed in the midst of chaos would be interested in protecting the religious freedoms of the already oppressed Christian minority in Egypt.

An orderly transition to a new leader is desirable. If an Islamic revolution happens in Egypt as it did in Iran more than 30 years ago, moderate Islam will no longer be tolerated.

Waiting at Starbucks

The other day a friend invited me to meet him at Starbucks. I had not been in a Starbucks for years. I don’t drink coffee. My friend was late because another appointment ran long, but while waiting for him, I came to understand a little about the genius behind the coffee-giant chain.

Most obviously, Starbucks has become a draw for twentysomethings with money to spare. Of the 40 or so people at the business during my 20 minutes of waiting, only one of them (besides me) was over 35. The store I went to is on a busy thoroughfare, not on a college campus. Yet Starbucks, playing Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennett music, somehow has become a destination for studying collegians.

I imagine it mostly involves allowing young adults to be comfortable. Many of the patrons sat around with laptops and/or textbooks, as if they were studying in a dorm room. They felt no urge to move on; in fact, many of the people who were in the place when I arrived were still there when I left an hour and a half later. But, even though they may not interact with anyone, students feel more connected just sitting in a place that sells overpriced coffee to others just like them.

I had hot chocolate. It was good, but probably not worth $3.

Technologically Challenged Dad

One of the best reasons to have children is that they can help you navigate life’s ever-changing technology when you’ve reached the point of befuddlement.

My sons and wife gave me the entire original Twilight Zone TV series — all five years’ worth — as a DVD pack Christmas present. I had an earlier eclectic DVD set of a handful of episodes. I probably would have tried to sell that at a local entertainment store and received a few bucks. My oldest son, Josh, suggested he sell it for me on the Internet to get a better price. Sure enough, it drew a $28 bid.

Youngest son Zach has recorded music from cassette tapes onto CDs for me; I don’t know how he did it, but more power to him.

Middle son Jesse suggested scanning papers that I would have had to drive into the city to fax otherwise.

Technology and young sons are a wonderful combination. Hey, boys, somebody needs to teach me how to put together a PowerPoint presentation for seminary.

Hacked Identity

I think Facebook is the greatest invention of the 21st century. It’s an especially useful tool for journalists trying to track down sources.

But imagine my surprise recently when I looked at my Facebook page to find that someone had hacked my account and posted a crude video purportedly from me onto the wall of my 225 friends. There, beside my highlighted name and my smiling picture, was a video of a baby on a toilet seat, complete with a vulgar LMAO tagline. An accompanying text told my friends: “HAHA you have to watch this baby is so cute and funny be ready to laugh.”

Of course some people knew it wasn’t me because even in social networking I won’t write a run-on sentence without punctuation. All I learned is that someone in Arlington Heights, Ill., accessed my account and for whatever reason posted the offending message in my name. I erased it from my wall immediately and put up another post explaining that I really didn’t write such a message.

Not until a week later did I comprehend that I have to go onto the Facebook accounts of all 225 friends and individually remove the post as well for it to disappear from the pages of all my friends. Some of the savvy younger types already had removed it. Seven days later I embarrassingly found my coarse content still on the pages of ministry leaders, relatives and dear elderly women.

The whole experience mortified me. I’ve changed my password to something I can’t even remember in hopes that it won’t happen again. I trust most friends know me better than to think I find such rude imagery funny. Of course it could have been worse. At least I don’t have 5,000 Facebook friends.

Living Above the Fray

I’ve been privileged to know a handful of people in my life who exude optimism every time I come into contact with them. They are always upbeat, always positive, always grateful.

Bill Jeynes is one of those people. He is a professor, scholar and evangelist. He keeps such a busy schedule preaching, researching and teaching that onlookers would think he must be exhausted and overwhelmed. Yet the more he does, the more energized Bill seems to be.

That’s because Bill is a man of prayer. Not just before meals times or at church. A cynic might say, sure, he’s got it made. But Bill has spent years in school to get multiple degrees, not to earn more money, but to have a broader scope to advance the gospel.

Skeptics also might say Bill has had it easy. But that’s not the case, either. Bill was essentially abandoned by his father and, at age 8, left in the care of his mentally unstable, atheistic mother. From that time on he pretty much had to fend for himself. As a teenager, Bill contemplated killing himself — until he encountered God in a dramatic way. He’s never been the same since.

For more than three decades, Bill has been making a difference in bettering the lives of people throughout the globe. He is a role model to me, a sometimes-cynical journalist who too easily gets a warped view of society and Christians. I hope to escape the mundane, live above the fray and be a blessing to others as Bill is.

Empty Nest Redux

In the span of two weeks, our home has gone from two boarders to none. Once again, my wife and I are empty nesters. Although we didn’t see our two live-in sons all that much, having them gone makes for a much different atmosphere.

I doubt if moving back home will be an option for either of the departed offspring anymore. After three return bouts, 26-year-old Jesse is married and living in Wisconsin with his wife. Zach also has flown the coop again after a seven-month stretch in his old bedroom. We invited Zach back to save money during his senior year of college, but after two years of living on his own, trying to mesh with old fogies didn’t set too well with him. He’s back to apartment living.

So, now it’s just my wife and me, with the aging dog and even more ancient bird. I’m looking forward to devoting myself more to my mate of 32½ years.

We spent the other night filling up the empty bedroom that Zach had vacated. Within a couple of hours, we had hauled furniture, videos, records, books, games, paint cans, suitcases and wrapping paper into the room. These items had been stuffed into closets, the garage and elsewhere.

We enjoy having the less-cluttered house to ourselves, but our guest suite is always open to treasured friends and family who visit from out of town

School Days

Monday night I went to school. It marked the first time I’ve sat in a classroom since taking a course at Wheaton College 15 years ago. And it’s been 30 years since I’ve been a student pursing a degree.

Now I’m enrolled in the master’s in counseling program at Assemblies of God Theological Seminary. Much has changed since my undergrad days. For starters, most of the students — 17 out of 24 — are women. While I’m older than nearly everybody else in the classroom, including the professor, it’s clear that many seminary students aren’t just fresh out of college.

The course, “Addictive Behaviors in Family Systems,” isn’t as intimidating as it looks on paper. Professor Mark Bradford is easygoing and affable. He genuinely enjoys the give and take discussion with students. It’s definitely a different, and better, atmosphere than the droning lectures I remember from my college days.

Most of my classmates already knew each other and seem to be full-time students, rather than taking a course a semester as I’m doing. I learned a lot in the first night. This class will be challenging, including the 75 pages to read before the next session. School will leave less time for blogging. Maybe that’s all part of learning about addiction.