Mixed Signals

Playboy founder Hugh Hefner is reportedly getting married again, on New Year’s Eve. He and former “girlfriend” Crystal Harris planned to marry a year and a half ago to much hoopla — before Harris backed out five days before the ceremony.

It all seems a bit odd that the 86-year-old Hefner would opt for such a traditional form of commitment. He’s been married twice before, of course, but as the pioneer of a sexual revolution in which anything goes, I have to ask why he bothers now, especially when he reportedly needs to pop “enhancement” drugs and to watch porn before hopping in the sack.

Hefner spent a couple of years in a relationship with Harris while simultaneously “dating” twins Kristina and Karissa Shannon. For Hefner, dating is a euphemism for being available for sex whenever he desires at the Playboy Mansion. In the past, Hefner has “dated” seven girls simultaneously. In his lifetime, Hefner has had sexual intercourse with hundreds of women, the vast majority of them lifelike blonde Barbie dolls in their teens and early 20s.

Now he is promising to be faithful to the 26-year-old Harris. What a twist for the man who is largely responsible for polyamory gaining acceptance in this country.

Still Grieving

Five days after the massacre in Newtown, Conn., our nation is still gripped with a profound sadness. The slaughter of 20 first-graders never will be fathomable, especially when all their little bodies were riddled with multiple bullets.

I think of my own precious 3½-year-old granddaughter, how vivacious and precocious, yet innocent, she is. I wonder what she will become when she grows up. I cannot imagine the pain of those parents grieving over their murdered children.

And it is still time to grieve over little girls such as Olivia Engel and Emilie Parker. It is not the occasion to launch into a debate about gun control, although that substantive discussion needs to happen down the line. Nor is it appropriate to equate the killings of these children with abortion, and politicize President Obama’s stance on the topic.

It’s not even time, yet, to delve into the depths of shooter Adam Lanza’s troubled mind. Whether mental illness or sheer evil is more to blame, suffice is to know that the plot had satanic origins.

No, it is time to mourn with those who mourn, and weep with those who weep.

As we struggle to heal from this, I am encouraged by the accounts of heroism by teachers and staff to get schoolchildren to safety. Their quick thinking, plus the rapid response of law enforcement personnel, may have saved scores — or even hundreds — more lives.

I’m also hopeful that the nation still expresses collective rage at such an act. If we become callous to murder of elementary school pupils, our country really would be in trouble.

The Youngest Finishes College

Our youngest son, Zach, graduated Saturday from Drury University with a degree in musical composition. It’s been an arduous journey, taking more than six years. Zach carried a huge load his last semester, 18 hours, and earned an A in every course. He did this while working 30 hours a week to help pay for school.

I’m glad Zach felt nurtured in music growing up. All three of our sons took piano lessons when young and all did quite well. But only Zach stuck with it, and he has become not only a skillful musician, but a talented composer as well.

Thankfully, Zach persevered. As a kid, I dragged Zach and his two older brothers out to play baseball quite a bit. His brothers loved it; Zach preferred to be about anywhere else.

Lately I’ve grown closer to Zach’s view in his disdain for watching sports as a waste of time. But it’s never a waste to listen to music.

Zach accomplished his school progress without a great deal of financial help from me. Now comes the difficult part: finding a job in his field — and paying back student loans.

Shortsighted Solution

Congress, looking for ways to remedy the “fiscal cliff,” is seriously considering cutting the availability of charitable deductions that have been in place since income tax collections began nearly a century ago. Such a plan would be a shortsighted solution, for it would end up costing the government more in the long run.

Lawmakers in favor of the proposal say those who itemize their taxes and who tithe aren’t likely to stop because they no longer can claim the deductions. In theory, that is correct. But in reality, churches likely will be taking in much less income if churchgoers are even more strapped than they are now.

And if church income goes down appreciably that means many of the free services provided to help people no longer would be available. These include soup kitchens, homeless shelters, addiction recovery centers, and after-school programs.

Without those in place, there likely will be a lot more homeless people looking for food, addicted people in need of treatment and latchkey kids getting into trouble.

The government will pick up the slack when people end up in jail, hospitals or mental health facilities because the programs that kept them from falling through the cracks are no longer affordable at churches.

Jobs and Insurance Coverage

The full impact of the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act, also known as Obamacare, on employers is just more than a year away, but companies already are devising ways to circumvent footing the bill.

The bill, in part, is designed to tie adequate health care coverage to jobs. Starting Jan. 1, 2014, companies with more than 50 employees must provide health insurance to full-time workers or face a $2,000 per-employee government penalty.

Some companies already have announced plans to pass costs on to customers to accommodate the bill. But others are maneuvering to skirt the law by keeping a cadre of part-time workers so they won’t have to pay for their coverage.

Obamacare defines a full-time employee as anyone who works 30 hours a week. So, beginning a year from now, there will be a lot of restaurants and retail stores scheduling workers no more than 29 hours per week.

Rather than fix the problem of uninsured workers, Obamacare will result in a lot of people having to hold down two four-day-a-week jobs just to pay the bills. We will have a lot more people working service jobs in this country, but they won’t be better off regarding health insurance.

Demographic Realities

There is a job opening at my office and I hope we don’t hire another white male.

Our staff of 10 is all white. Seven of the employees are men. Eight of the workers are older than 40. That doesn’t make us demographically representative of the country, or our readers.

I’ve heard the argument that we should hire the “most qualified candidate,” but it seems strange how that person time and again happens to be white. There also is the reality that Springfield is one of the whitest cities in the country. Well, it might be time to look beyond the normal pool of candidates.

While I’m not in favor of quotas, it just makes demographic and ultimately economic sense to diversify the staff. The denomination we cover in the magazine is 40 percent non-white. While white writers like me try to do their best understanding culture from a black, Hispanic, Native American or Asian viewpoint, perhaps a non-white staff member could bring a more authentic perspective to an article. However subtle, when the four primary staff writers are all middle-aged or elderly white males, the articles have a homogenous tone to them.

I’m glad there are more ethnic minorities among the 800 employees in the organization than when I started 13 years ago. There are even a couple of African-American executives. But the reality is, if you want to find a non-white person in the complex, the best odds are to look in the kitchen.

Of course not hiring a minority for the post might not be the worst outcome. That would be if the powers to be decide to eliminate the position entirely. In this economy, that might happen.

The Real Twinkies Tragedy

Americans have raided grocery store shelves across the country to stock up on Twinkies, Ding Dongs and Ho Hos now that the 85-year-old manufacturer is in liquidation.

I find it amusing that people are getting so sentimental about a company that promotes junk foods. There is no such outcry when a magazine goes out of business.

Hostess built its trade largely by helping generations of Americans grow fat. There won’t be any shortage of junk food options now that Hostess has gone belly up.

But the real tragedy here is not the demise of Twinkies; it’s the unwillingness of workers to compromise in order to stay employed. Hostess workers went on strike and the company opted to go out of business rather than engage in prolonged negotiations with its bakers’ union.

That means 18,500 more Americans have lost their jobs, in three dozen plants and 565 distribution centers. Food is one of the few commodities that we don’t import en masse from China.

“Our members decided they were not going to take any more abuse from a company they have given so much to for so many years,” Frank Hurt, the bakers’ union president, said Friday.

Those union workers who refused to take pay, health insurance and pension cuts are living in denial. Years into a recession isn’t the time to be demanding more concessions from your employer. It’s hard enough for college graduates to find work today, let alone factory workers.

There isn’t a plentiful choice of any kind of job today, unless you happen to be an airplane pilot or physician. No matter if wages and benefits have been cut, it’s better to keep a job that to force your company into insolvency to prove a point.

Election Choices

Mercifully, Election Day — and an end to all the snarky campaign banter — is just over a week away. Unlike four years ago, the outcome is in doubt. Barack Obama rode a wave of hope and excitement to the White House in 2008. However, even ardent supporters are muted this time around, and many have abandoned the president altogether.

Obama has failed to deliver on promises to turn the economy around, and just as with many other recent presidential campaigns, this one likely will hinge on how voters believe they will be impacted in their pocketbooks. Despite being in office for four years, Obama continues to blame President Bush, Republican lawmakers and many others for the faltering economy and even escalating deficit. As we’ve seen with the deaths of U.S. embassy personnel Libya, the president refuses to take blame for anything that goes wrong under his watch. A little humility might win him some votes.

Mitt Romney has ridden a wave of anti-Obama sentiment, but has failed to fully capitalize because he still has plenty of sticky issues. By repeating the same lines for three debates he appears robotic. Many see him primarily as a rich businessman-turned-politician out of touch with the problems of common folk. And he is yet another old white guy nominated by the GOP, albeit healthier than his predecessors.

In addition to the economy, the election will be determined by which party better motivates voters to get to the polls. An unenthusiastic base could spell trouble for Obama, if millions decide to skip voting rather than reward him for another four years of mediocrity. For Romney, it will depend on energizing evangelical voters, many of whom would have to ignore their beliefs that Mormonism is an aberrant religion.

I’ve talked to several people who don’t think it matters who is in the White House, although obviously these men paint starkly different portraits of America’s future. I can’t really blame a jaded electorate. The candidates have spent months not so much spelling out what they would do in the next four years, but instead focusing on how to best demean the opponent.

Print Journalism Slide Continues

I’m afraid those of us who make a living from print journalism are deceiving ourselves. The loss of revenue and subscribers continues unabated in an era when most readers don’t want to bother paying for content they think they can find for free on the Internet.

The announcement by Newsweek last week that it would cease publication after 79 years is a case in point. At 1.5 million subscribers, Newsweek certainly has many more readers than a lot of publications going belly up. But the subscriber base has dropped in half in the past seven years and advertising is virtually non-existent. The periodical has been bleeding red ink for years.

But CEO Baba Shetty failed to face reality when he told The Wall Street Journal that Newsweek would gain “hundreds of thousands” of online subscribers at $25 annually during the next year. Currently Newsweek has just 27,000 online-only subscriptions.

Advertisers who shunned the print edition won’t flock to Newsweek’s website. Neither will readers. News has been missing from Newsweek for a long time. Most cover stories these days are first-person opinion pieces with no sources. Newsweek is a shell of its former self, masquerading as a current events resource. 

Nearly all magazines are in financial trouble. My former employer, Christianity Today, last week let go Senior Associate Editor Mark Moring, who had worked for the company for 19 years. I hope the day never comes when CT goes out of business, because it truly provides a clarion voice for the evangelical world.

Pentecostal Evangel, where I now work, isn’t immune from subscriber attrition, although it helps that the magazine is distributed primarily in bulk to churches. Yet not that long ago I had two full-time news writers on staff; now I’m a one-man department.

Magazines must strike a delicate presence between having a web presence with easy-access material combined with marketing their product as unique, valuable and unavailable elsewhere. Our magazine doesn’t put everything online for free that is in the print version, and I think that’s wise.

I rue the day when we have only a few magazines left and professional journalists become obsolete. Our society will be ill-informed if all we have to read are opinion-laced blogs.

Downsized Office Space

Our cramped workplace had to consolidate further last week under orders from management. I escaped the shift to small cubicles that three of my co-workers had to endure, but I participated in an office-wide downsizing of space due to the department’s loss of storage areas.

The staff had to toss many materials that had been kept in previously unused offices. Most of the reference works hadn’t been consulted for years. Somehow the important issues and topics of 1993 aren’t that pressing in 2012.

Dozens of books and magazines that had been on shelves in spare nooks and crannies now have been carted to a warehouse across the street or to a historical archives vault down the hall.

The whole process prompted me to weed through magazines I’ve kept for nearly 20 years in my office cabinets. Most of them went to the recycling bin last week. This de-cluttering exercise left me with the impression that we save too much stuff. I have too many books and CDs on my shelves at home. Usually I only read or listen to a handful of favorites while the remainder collect dust. It’s probably time to do some more sorting at my house.

Dozens of books from our office also went to a giveaway pile in the hallway, where employees from other departments quickly snatched nearly all of them up. Those volumes will now sit around on their shelves for years.

Football Worship

The older I get the less enthralled I am with professional football — and the more irritated I become with those who are.

I spent much of my early adult years watching NFL football all Sunday afternoon. I would be anxious to get out of church by noon so I wouldn’t miss the kickoff. And I would be upset to leave for Sunday evening services — back when those used to be held — when a game wasn’t over.

Now I have to wonder why. None of those games added anything to my life. They just soaked up time that would have been better spent with my wife and sons. A few years ago I kicked the pro football habit. I haven’t watched an NFL game, including the Super Bowl, in quite a while.

I appreciate the skill of talented athletes, but why should I devote myself to following them? If the Chiefs or Rams or Bears or Packers win or lose, it doesn’t make any difference. Unlike in my early adulthood, Americans can now watch pro football not only all Sunday afternoon and Monday night, but also Sunday night and Thursday night as well.

Some of my Christian friends are more devoted to football than they are to the Lord. Are they sitting down with God for 10 hours a week? Do they post Facebook sayings from God every day as they do about their favorite team? Do they wear clothing declaring the glory of God as they do for gridiron players?

I don’t understand all the hero worship for athletes who fans will never know personally, people whose personal lives are frequently consumed with immoral behavior. What is this weird attachment to a violent sport? Is this a diversion to avoid dealing with important issues in life?

Water: A Precious Commodity

We live in a country subdivision that relies on a well for water. A great benefit to this is the low cost — $180 a year, no matter how much water we use. The downside is that the well or pipes periodically have to be shut down for maintenance or repair, nearly always without warning.

Usually this means an hour or two of inconvenience. But late Friday afternoon the well went down for what turned out to be nearly 24 hours. Not the most opportune time, as 25 guests began to arrive in our home for a church meeting. Sorry, folks, you can’t flush the toilet.

Dirty dishes from the gathering stacked up on the kitchen counter. As Saturday morning rolled around, we looked for innovative ways to get some water: raiding the stash of bottled water from the garage spare refrigerator; emptying the tray from the dehumidifier on the porch; grabbing ice cubes from the kitchen refrigerator.

Later in the morning, with the well trouble still unfixed, I drove into town with three coolers and loaded up water from my son’s spigot. Back home, at least we could pour a bucket down the toilet when necessary. By Saturday evening the water we take so much for granted began flowing again.

By then we realized how much we depend on water, and not just for flushing. Without turning on the tap we can’t fill the coffeepot, wash our dirty hands, brush our teeth, take a shower, wash dishes, fill the bird bath or water plants.

I always thought losing electrical power was the worst outage a home could experience. Now I’m not so sure.

A Lesson in Compassion

When helping people out, there is a fine line between being kind and being an enabler. I’m afraid I crossed the line Tuesday night.

As I was painting a room at church, a down-and-out young couple wandered into the building off the street. They asked if the church could put them up for the night. A wise benevolence committee long ago established a checklist that keeps our inner-city church from being an easy mark for anyone unaffiliated with the congregation looking for a handout. But in the need of the moment, I couldn’t recall any of its contents.

As I listened to the plea from the couple, I failed to follow the guidelines and fell prey to the heartstring notion that Jesus wanted me to help these folks. After all, I have the means and they don’t; surely the Lord would want me to be compassionate rather than hardhearted.

But I started to realize the folly of making a decision with my heart rather than my head as I pulled my car into the driveway of a nearby inexpensive motel.

“I can’t stay here,” the woman announced.

“Huh?” I responded.

She went on to explain that the proprietor thinks he can walk into a tenant’s room at any time. And besides, he refused to return a Precious Moment figurine of hers.

Oh.

Her companion suggested it would be OK, so in we went. The clerk at the desk took one look at the woman and said he couldn’t rent her a room. He suggested we try another budget motel down the street, which we did.

Everything seemed to go smoothly, even though my male passenger didn’t have any identification. Then the kind elderly woman behind the counter pulled out a notebook. She noted that the woman in front of her had stayed at the motel the previous week and caused a ruckus. An ambulance had been called and apparently there was an altercation with a police officer. At this point, I’m figuring out that the woman I’m trying to put up for the night believes most men are out to mistreat her.

“We can go somewhere else,” the young woman told the clerk.

By now I’m thinking I’m in the middle of a bad sitcom that may never end.

Thankfully, the clerk says she will rent a room this night — but there better not be any trouble.

The couple thanked me as we parted, and I made it clear that I, not the church, had paid for the room. This wasn’t out of pride, but rather embarrassment. By then I had seen enough red flags that I should have refused: the couples weren’t transients; they had lived in Springfield for years. They weren’t decrepit; they looked to be around 30 and in fairly good shape. It wasn’t a night of torrential rain; it was beautiful with a low around 65. Both admitted to receiving monthly government assistance checks, much of which likely is frittered away on addictive substances. And worst of all, they weren’t married as I first assumed. They had only known each other a couple of months, so I was paying for them to shack up!

As I drove away I felt that I had been taken, angry that I was out 43 bucks.

However, soon I stopped feeling sorry for myself and looked upon this man and woman with pity.

They have no discernable skills or education to earn an income in this depressed economy. And even if they do scam churches and individuals for a free night in a motel, there isn’t any future in that. What kind of life is it to not know where your next meal will come from or where you will sleep tonight?

Maybe providing one night’s comfort isn’t such an onerous act after all.

Bargains Before Our Eyes

My wife and I hadn’t been in an Aldi grocery store for decades, until last night. We went in an effort to find another way to cut spending. My earlier memories of Aldi consisted of a disorganized store of cluttered boxes full of junk and low-quality foods.

But that’s no longer the case, at least at the store where we shopped, which is only a few years old. I suppose we’ve become food snobs, preferring to shop for all-natural choices at inflated prices.

But imagine my surprise when I discovered natural trail mix, lean ground turkey, 100 percent juice, and name-brand fresh fruit and vegetables, all for a much lower price than at the grocery chain down the street, and certainly less than the health food store across town.

Selection is limited and some of the cool stuff isn’t stocked regularly, but we found a lot of healthy bargains at Aldi. It took us a while to get the hang of renting a shopping cart for a quarter and paying six cents for each paper sack to haul away the goods, but those are smart ways the store keeps costs down.

At six miles away, Aldi is the closest grocery store to our house. I think we’ll be making fewer trips to the health food store, which is 15 miles from where we live.

Marriage Is About Compromise

With our wood floor remodeling near completion, my wife Patty and I have spent a great deal of time moving furniture, tossing possessions we’ve saved over the years and generally “decluttering.” The wood floors make our rooms look larger, or perhaps it’s merely the fact that we have less stuff.

At first, Patty didn’t seem too wild about my blueprints for redesigning the rooms once wood floors replaced the old carpet. But she eventually got into the spirit of things and we went back and forth about what would go best where. We didn’t argue; we discussed, calmly.

Patty made a big concession in moving her treadmill from a prominent place in the living room into a spare bedroom. I permitted her to move the stereo to the other side of the living room when it became apparent that speaker wires would become entangled every time she sat in her recliner.

And that is symbolic of why our marriage has lasted for 34 years. Neither of us insists on having our own way, even if we truly believe we are right. Inflexibility only leads to petty selfishness, that gradually veers to disrespect and ultimately delusion about matrimony itself.

Sorting Through Life

Workers are in the final stages of ripping out ancient carpet from our home and installing wood floors, which has meant we’ve had to move just about everything not in the bathrooms and kitchen. In the process, I’ve been motivated to toss some of the stuff I’ve been carrying around for way too many years.

I really don’t think I’m a packrat, but in my wife’s view I am. She’s not sentimental about keeping much. Beyond spiritual books and notebooks she doesn’t really store anything.

I know I’m not a hoarder. I have a relative who can barely move in his basement because of all the stuff he’s collected. And he rents a storage unit for more stuff. Thankfully I don’t have a basement.

But Patty has pointed out to me that I really don’t need to keep biology and British literature class notes from 1979. Or receipts from everything I purchased in 2001. Or every single issue in which I have written an article for the Pentecostal Evangel, which is, after all, a weekly magazine.

During the past week, I’ve succeeded in eliminating about half the possessions I’ve stored in closets. I have a now-deceased aunt and uncle who had photo album after photo album of vacations they had taken in their retirement years. The pictures had no meaning to their children and went in the trash heap.

Someday I’ll be gone. I don’t want to leave my sons a house full of items that are of no use to them. I better start cleaning off the bookshelves.

Chicken Creed

The goofy Chick-fil-A brouhaha just keeps getting weirder.

The fast-food chain’s CEO, Dan Cathy — a Baptist — told Baptist Press last month that he believes in traditional marriage between a man and a woman. No earth-shattering news. Cathy has said as much for years and it’s no secret that Chick-fil-A, a business that closes on Sundays, espouses biblical values.

Yet the story made its way through the mainstream media as though Cathy had said he hates homosexuals with all his being. The mayors of Boston and Chicago vowed that they would — illegally — prevent Chick-fil-A from operating in their cities. It appears that gay marriage has become the pinnacle of civil liberties.

Naturally the overreaction by the politically correct left spawned an overreaction of the religious right. Yesterday’s massive organized go-eat-at-Chick-fil-A-Day by various Christian entities and personages further escalated the culture war rhetoric.

The problem I have with that “activism” is that Christians somehow think they have demonstrated their faith by waiting in line for a chicken sandwich. Shelling out a few bucks for a patty on a bun is not the litmus test of Christianity. I’m bothered because this is the depth of the belief for many Christians. They don’t show much concern about rescuing sex-trafficked girls or feeding the homeless or counseling drug addicts or adopting special-needs kids. But eat a chicken sandwich? Sign me up!

Tomorrow of course comes the inevitable counterdemonstration by the gays who will hold occupy “kiss-ins” at a Chick-fil-A near you. I can hardly wait.

No TV? How Radical!

My wife, Patty, and I canceled our satellite television service a week ago. We’re not going with another provider. We’re not switching back to cable. We’ve decided to give up watching TV because it’s such a waste of time.

Not that we watch junk, or that we don’t find viewing pleasurable. I enjoy sitting down to see CBS Sunday Morning, Jeopardy, St. Louis Cardinals baseball games and classic movies on TCM. But that’s the problem. While I plunk down in my easy chair, I miss out on life. 

After many decades of zombielike viewing, it has become clear that TV did more than just provide evening comfort.

It had become an idol, an idol I dreaded giving up; an idol that I visited nightly by default; and idol that is preferable to more important activities, such as ministering to addicts or counseling troubled couples. 

Many of my Christian friends who have learned of my decision are as incredulous as the DirecTV customer serviceperson who tried 11 different ways to talk me out of canceling. But I think priorities may be out of whack. Although I don’t want to go off on a sanctimonious rant, the faith of many Christians I know seems impotent because they have more of a relationship with popular culture than the Lord. They would rather salivate over babes on The Bachelor than read the Bible; they would rather laugh at penis jokes on Two and a Half Men than pray. 

Rather than being a nuisance or distraction, the prospect of spending time in the evening praying with my wife or preparing to lead a small group now looks liberating. I also can send some of the $57 a month I’ll be saving to deserving ministries. 

Patty and I think we’ll survive this change in lifestyle. More than two decades ago we gave up television for a year and it turned out to be a great period of spiritual and relational growth. The catalyst back then? Cable TV rates had risen to $16 a month. But the sexual titillation dominating the airwaves also bothered me. Of course titillation from 1989 has been replaced by blatant vulgarity in 2012.

When I first gave up the habit in my younger days, I spent more time with my family, especially playing with my three young sons. I also read more and found church activities to be more meaningful. I quickly filled the time I had watched television with more essential pursuits. May it happen again.

A Night with JT

Through the generosity of the mother of my friend Jeremy Coursen, I had an 11th row floor seat Tuesday night at the James Taylor concert at JQH Arena.

While some attendees knew every word to every song, I am most familiar with Taylor’s work from the 1970s, including his breakthrough album Sweet Baby James that included the title track plus Fire and Rain, Country Road and Anywhere Like Heaven — all of which he sang at the concert. Taylor emerged out of an era of talented composers-singers that includes Paul Simon, Neil Diamond and Gordon Lightfoot, all of whom continue to write and perform in concert in their 70s.

Taylor’s mellow voice has changed little from when he recorded that album as a 22-year-old folk/country/rock singer 42 years ago. The 6-foot, 3-inch Taylor remains trim and animated on stage, frequently bouncing around and genuinely interacting with his assembled crew of seasoned musicians and singers. Most concertgoers were young adults and middle-aged people like me, attesting to Taylor’s staying power.

Few singers of Taylor’s caliber visit Springfield. But from the get-go as he unassumingly walked out on stage, took a bow, and picked up his guitar, Taylor indicated that he considers performing a privilege. Throughout the show he gave effusive praise to his backup singers and musicians; self-effacingly noted how he has survived trials and temptations; expressed gratitude to Paul McCartney and George Harrison for giving him his first recording break in 1968; and nimbly played guitar on virtually every song.

The show deftly blended a variety of instruments on various numbers including accordion, flute, flugelhorn, saxophone, fiddle and fiddle. Taylor seemed to be truly energized by the enthusiastic response of the crowd. How many artists of Taylor’s stature spend the entire 20-minute intermission signing autographs from the front of the stage?

I’ve been to many concerts over the years, but none in which I could actually see the performer well without looking at the big-screen projection. Thank you, Jeremy, and Dalla, for thinking of me.

Don’t Get Angry; Get Creative

I must hand it to my wife for being resourceful — and not getting irate at me.

While on vacation in Iowa recently, I bought Patty a couple of nice-looking made-in-the-USA organic cotton outfits. The clothes, despite being on the sales rack, were not what one would call inexpensive. Unfortunately, after we arrived home, Patty put the new duds in the washing machine with a pair of shorts in which I had left an ink pen. Not until she removed the clothes from the dryer did she notice that the pen had exploded, leaving all sorts of unintentional blotches on her new outfits. Patty tried to remedy the situation by using a variety of homemade methods to remove the stains, but nothing worked. Even a professional cleaner told her not to bother; the outfits were ruined.

But rather than accept defeat, Patty got creative. She bought some dark dye to cover up the blotches on the dress and some camouflage spray paint to mask the blemishes on the blouse. The results are quite stunning.

Respecting Our Leaders

I continue to be amazed at the number of Americans who disrespect the president. Disagreement is a hallmark of democracy, but those taking to the Internet to rant are doing more than objecting to policies. They tell malicious lies and spread false rumors. I’ve been disappointed in the Obama presidency; I had high hopes for him when he entered office. But no matter what I think of him, I’m not going to trash him in public.

Scripture commands Christians to respect their rulers. Titus 3:1-2 says, “Remind the people to be subject to rulers and authorities, to be obedient, to be ready to do whatever is good, to slander no one, to be peaceable and considerate, and always to be gentle toward everyone.” The Bible also tells followers of Christ to pray for those in authority over them. In 1 Timothy 2:1-2, the Apostle Paul states, “I urge, then, first of all, that petitions, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for everyone— for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness.” Many of my churchgoing friends disregard such commands. Isn’t asking God to help our national leader make wise, moral decisions more Christ-like than praying for his failure or demise?

I remember more than 30 years ago when I worked at a grocery store in Columbia during college. A co-worker shared the news with another that President Reagan had just been shot. The two young men stocking shelves exchanged high fives. The action revolted me. I hadn’t voted for Reagan, but such disrespect grieved me. Compassion for a leader’s life should always come before political persuasion. Alas, the ignorance of the masses has only increased as radio talk-show hosts spew venom about those with whom they disagree. The vitriolic climate today foments hostility. No matter what I think of a person, I don’t wish him or her harm.

Joining the Smartphone Set

finally gave in earlier this month and purchased a Smartphone. I long resisted, figuring I didn’t need one. But in taking a couple of trips, one a vacation and the other for business, it sure came in handy. Instead of a map I pulled out the phone. I didn’t need a phonebook to figure out what restaurants were located on my route. And checking Facebook and email accounts on my phone proved satisfying, especially considering I gave up a laptop years ago. The danger with any technology is becoming so enamored with it that we miss out on real human interaction. That’s what happened to my wife and me. We spent evenings sitting side-by-side poking away at laptop keyboards, never communicating with each other. We ditched the laptops. Of course there is a similar temptation with a Smartphone and all its available apps. I have friends and acquaintances that can’t make it through a lunch or a church service without repeatedly checking their handheld device. Thankfully I’m somewhat technologically challenged.

The Old Stomping Grounds

My wife, Patty, and I trekked back to Fairfield, Iowa, last week for our first visit in six years. I grew up there, we both graduated from high school there and we began raising our sons there. Still, we have no relatives left in Fairfield, or in all of Iowa, for that matter. And much has changed since we moved away 22 years ago. The oddest thing about the populace of 10,000 is the number of people who still live there, yet are married to different spouses who also lived there — but with another mate. The landscape is a lot different from my childhood, of course, but there are many other changes from the last stay in 2006. Then, the town square had vacant storefronts in about half the buildings. Now, thanks to shops owned by transcendental meditators, business is booming. There are several healthy grocery stores, restaurants and natural supplement shops dotting the downtown area that contain restored 19th century wooden floors, brick walls and tin ceiling architecture. Flowerbeds and brick crosswalks add a nice touch of outdoor beautification. There also is a bike and walking trail around the entire perimeter of Fairfield. In addition to being able to see water birds and other creatures, the paths feature picnic tables, benches and even a gazebo. An impressive arts and convention center has been built that contains a 522-seat theater. TMers such as Donovan and Mike Love have performed there. And where else can you visit a farmer’s market featuring wares from Amish, transcendental meditators from Ethiopia and longtime Iowa farmers?

Amazing Sight and Sound

Recently I had my first exposure to the Sight & Sound Theater in Branson, Mo., where the production Joseph opened in April. The experience included a behind-the-scenes tour from Fraser Armstrong, one of the nearly 200 people who is employed by the theater to make the biblical epic come to life. In addition to serving as a tour guide, Armstrong — like many of the other actors — plays multiple roles in a two-hour production that requires numerous scenes with extras. His biggest part is that of the pharaoh that entrusts Joseph with saving the land from famine. Unlike some passion plays where the actors are merely mouthing prerecorded dialogue, the 17-act Joseph has 48 live microphones that must be cued at the appropriate times. The play also features three dozen live animals, from a white rat to camels. The costumes, choreography, musical number and sets — built on site — are worthy of Broadway. Some of the action takes place not only on the center stage, but also on the stages to the left and right of the audience in the 2,085-seat theater. Armstrong, 25, explained that he enjoys working at the explicitly Christian theater because he didn’t have to compromise his standards to get hired. The company has been around for 35 years, putting on shows in the past about biblical characters such as Noah, Daniel, and Ruth. Jonah is next in line for the twin theater based in Lancaster County, Pa. The 339,000-square-foot Branson complex opened in 2008. The mission statement is explicit: “Our purpose is to present the gospel of Jesus Christ and sow the Word of God into the lives of our customers, guests, and fellow workers by visualizing and dramatizing the Scriptures, through inspirational productions, encouraging others and seeking always to be dedicated and wise stewards of our God-given talents and resources.” The production poignantly brings the story of Joseph (covering Genesis 37-47) to life. A broad range of human emotions and behaviors is on display: parental favoritism, sibling rivalry, pride, jealousy, temptation, miscommunication, abandonment, disappointment in God, compassion for fellow humans, sense of loss, emotional baggage and restoration. With a the sparkling script, quality acting, soaring musical numbers, enchanted pageantry and the story itself, Joseph brings timeless biblical truths to modern audiences in a meaningful way. Few will leave the house without shedding a tear or two.

Fun Down the Highway

In the past, every time I’ve visited Silver Dollar City near Branson, Mo., it’s been for my own enjoyment. There are plenty of shows, rides, food and shops to keep a middle-aged guy entertained. But recently my wife, Patty, and I took our granddaughter to the theme park for her first visit. As a result, I found a whole new reason to appreciate the family-friendly attraction that is located less than an hour south of my house, amid the rolling hills and trees of the Ozarks. I never had spent time in the Grand Exposition area of the park before, but Lael, who is about to turn 3, found the place fascinating. Lael rode in the Happy Frogs, Ladybugs, Elephant March, Grand Exposition Coaster, Racing Regetta, Wings of Wonder, Royal Tea Party and even the Mighty Galleon. These are all age-appropriate rides, some of which she could enjoy by herself, some accompanied by Grandma or Papa.

Lael had no qualms about riding the American Plunge log ride with me. We also hung out at Geyser Gulch, where there are net mazes to climb through, water guns to squirt and air balls to shoot. We also found time to take a trip on the Frisco Silver Dollar Line steam train, walk across a swinging bridge and ride a carousel before Lael conked out from eight hours of nonstop fun. With the Christian values established by brothers Jack and Pete Herschend, Silver Dollar City remains a safe and enjoyable place to spend a wonderful day. Employees are routinely friendly and helpful. The whole experience reminded me of a time of innocence that our nation sorely misses. The Herschend brothers say the Silver Dollar City mission is to “create memories worth repeating.” With my family, they certainly succeeded.

Getting a Word in Edgewise

Last week I expressed my frustrations about sources that want to rewrite my articles when given an opportunity. Another problem I infrequently encounter as a journalist is the source that takes control of the interview. Again, I think insecurity is a chief factor. Most interviewees are content to let me, as the journalist, ask the questions. They know it’s my job to write the story based on the information I obtain from them. I have a list of questions prepared before each interview to guide me and conversations normally go smoothly. But once in a great while I will come across a source (often a professor or other professional “expert”) that wants to manage the interview. He has an agenda. He has been granting interviews so long he thinks he knows what I will ask so he proceeds to blather. Instead of waiting for the actual query he takes off on a rambling line of rhetoric that isn’t the information I’m seeking. He tosses in clichés every few sentences. I had one of my absolute worst experiences in a phone interview this month. I couldn’t even ask my first question before the fellow began ranting about the subject at hand. He didn’t take a breath for 15 minutes. In cases like this, I know I might as well give up trying to ask a specific question. He won’t respond with what I’m looking for anyway.

Get Me Rewrite!

I write for a couple of publications that require me to obtain approval of content from sources before publication. It’s not exactly why I went to journalism school. But I must admit such a review process does occasionally prevent some embarrassing mistakes from finding their way into print.

The overwhelming number of people I interview are fine with what I write. They may have a suggestion for a tweak or two, but they are appreciative of an opportunity to see the draft before it goes to press. While they may have worded some things differently, they realize this is my area of expertise. Once in a great while, however, along comes a critic who wants to change virtually every sentence — even their verbatim quotes I recorded on tape. They replace my proper grammar with their vernacular. They substitute incorrect usage for the Associated Press style I follow. They remove descriptive writing and insert dull prose. While I suppose a general insecurity or obsession to be in control is behind such behavior, it rarely improves the copy. One source so butchered an article recently that he took out everything remotely interesting and managed to make the article a real snoozer. I apologetically turned it in to the editor, who, unsurprisingly, said it didn’t meet the magazine’s required standards. As we deal with professionals in whatever their line of work — physicians, airline attendants, real estate agents, clergy — let’s allow them a wide berth. Although there are exceptions, give these employees some credit for knowing their business. Dealing with the public sometimes isn’t much fun.

Commemorating 75 Years

My mom and dad married 75 years ago today. The union lasted more than 65 years. My dad died almost a decade ago; my mom died last month. Ironically, my parents cautioned me against marrying young, even though at 20 I was the same age as my dad and a year older than my mom. I will celebrate 34 years with the same woman next month. So all those statistics about couples marrying young and not working out aren’t quite true. My parents actually hid their wedding from their relatives until July. Still in the grips of the Great Depression, my mom continued to live at home and worked to support her family. My dad drove back to Springfield on weekends after attending Park College in Kansas City, Mo., during the week. Rather than their regular church minister, a high school teacher who also was ordained performed the ceremony. Not until recently did my brother and I learn that my dad actually picked up the marriage license in Clinton en route one day. The discovery of the clandestine nuptials came a couple of months after the event when my mother became ill and had to visit a local hospital. My grandparents took her to the hospital and when my dad showed up he divulged the relationship had moved beyond courting.

I guess it says something about the longevity of the marriage to consider they still had a child — me — 21 years into it.

Seeding on Rocky Ground

I received a weird “seed offering” mailing the other day from the Tulsa-based St. Matthew’s Churches. I figured it stemmed from my name being sold on a ministry mailing list by one religious organization or another. But it turns out that several people who attend a Bible study with me from church received the same pitch for funds. A closer inspection shows that this is a mass mailing, addressed only to “Resident — to a Friend.” So apparently this four-page color proposal, complete with a postage-paid return envelope, is being sent to tens of thousands or maybe hundreds of thousands of homes. I don’t see how the organization will recoup its costs. The correspondence includes a funky drawing that is supposed to be Jesus, but looks more like Osama bin Laden. Addressees are instructed to kneel on this “rug of faith,” check what needs they have in a list provided (for example, “my health,” “a new car” or “a money blessing”) and return the letter. In true chain-letter tradition, recipients are warned not to keep the paper “Bible prayer rug soaked with the power of prayer,” but to pass it along to a friend within 24 hours. Of course there are testimonials from unnamed people explaining how they have been monetarily blessed for following instructions. Mrs. L.C. of Texas says she got a new car and a job. E.C.S. of North Carolina claims to have received $10,000. Sis J.B. of New York says she was healed of severe leg pains. The letter contains several written instructions of what the reader must do to make the formula work. It’s all designed to open a line of communication that will ultimately start a flow of checks to the “ministry.” The letter from an unnamed “senior bishop” promises readers this could be the best year of their life and “God is ready to help you reach your dreams and goals.” Those who respond are promised an unspecified “wonderful, free, spiritual gift” in return. No doubt an illogical plea for funds in exchange for success will follow. The gospel of Jesus Christ is not for sale. Answers to prayer come from God, not a magical mumbo jumbo uttered by a telemarketer. The local church is the place for prayer needs to be met, not via some anonymous agent in the mailbox. Christianity is a religion of self-sacrifice, compassion and sometimes suffering —not gimmick. This is a marketing scheme designed to enrich hucksters at the expense of those who can’t afford it. Surely there aren’t that many gullible people willing to send big bucks in the hope of a financial windfall. I hope.