Left of Bang: Recognizing What's Ahead
God’s Word gives us a dozens of clues regarding what’s ahead for the human race.
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Good News... Bad News...
“God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.”
Even if you’ve never cracked open a Bible, you’re probably familiar with John 3:16. It has been recited and preached ad infinitum, appeared on countless T-shirts and bumper stickers, and some of us even remember when it was flashed by energetic fans in the endzone during NFL football games.
It is the epitome of the old adage: “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.”
The good news of John 3:16 is very good: God loved the world. God gave His Son. We can have eternal life if we believe in Him. (mic drop!)
But hold on. There’s bad news too. And the bad news of John 3:16 is very, very bad. Delivered so swiftly, it can be easily overlooked. It comes in the form of a single word: perish.
Turn John 3:16 upside down, to emphasize the bad news, and it reads like this: We will all perish if we do not believe in God’s one and only Son, whom He gave because He loved the world.
The bad news of John 3:16 is very, very bad
So the obvious question is: what does it mean to “perish”?
Your handy-dandy online dictionary will offer a definition along the lines of: “to suffer death, typically in a violent or sudden, untimely way.” But that doesn’t begin to adequately define perish as it appears in John 3:16. In that context, it packs more punch. A lot more.
Destruction
In the original Greek, the word translated “perish” (apollumi) means to destroy; to be cut off entirely; permanent and absolute destruction; to be utterly lost and experience a miserable end.
Doesn’t sound fun. But wait, there’s more.
Under God’s Wrath
According to pastor and Bible teacher John Piper, it also means being under the wrath of God. “The issue,” Piper writes, “is not merely dying, but being judged by God. To perish means that we remain under the wrath of God because we will not trust Christ. And that is a terrifying place to be.” (See John 3:36)
In Fiery Torment
Piper also notes that in the book of Revelation, perishing is described as being tormented with fire (Rev. 14:10). “Perishing is not,” he explains, “going out of existence. It is staying in existence and suffering in the fiery torments of hell.”
Sound like bad news yet?
Separated From God
Another aspect of what lies ahead for those who refuse God’s offer of eternal life in Christ is separation from God and His glory. As Paul points out in his second letter to the Thessalonians, “They [God-rejectors] will be punished with everlasting destruction and shut out from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might.”
“In hell,” Piper writes, “the perishing will be cut off from all [God’s] work – except the work of wrath.”
Those who perish cannot change course, change their mind, or change their eternal home.
Irreversibly and Eternally
Lastly, perishing is irreversible and eternal. The destruction, the wrath, the fire.... They are forever and there’s no way out. Those who perish cannot change course, change their mind, or change their eternal home. That should put fear in every human heart. There is no more frightening destiny than the perishing described in John 3:16.
Taking together, those who perish will face “destruction in fiery torment under God’s wrath, separated from God, irreversibly and eternally.”
Yikes!
Maybe you don’t “feel” like you need for a savior. Life is good. You’ve got it under control. Maybe you don’t even believe in God, the Bible, heaven or hell. Great. It’s a (mostly, kind of, on paper at least) free country. Believe what you want to believe.
But what if you’re wrong?
According to the Bible, a day is swiftly approaching when we will all stand before God in judgement and give an accounting of our lives. If we’ve broken a single command (lied once, stolen once, committed adultery or lusted once, murdered or hated someone once, used God’s name in vain once...) we’ll be found guilty. And if we’re honest, each of us has disobeyed God’s laws on numerous occasions.
The Bible says ALL have sinned and that the payment for that sin is death.
Bottom line: we... shall... all... perish.
With the bad news now well established, let’s return to the good news: God has paid the price for our sin and is offering us eternal life. As the Bible puts it: “The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus.”
All we have to do is Admit we haven’t lived up to God’s standard and ask Him to forgive us; Believe Jesus died in our place and was raised back to life; and Confess that we are putting our faith and trust in Him.
It’s almost too simple. But it’s imperative if we hope to avoid perishing and embrace eternal life.
Good news... bad news... The choice is up to you.
Happy Easter!
“He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.” - 2 Peter 3:9
Why I Stand With Israel
I’ve been getting the same question over and over lately. Maybe it’s my Facebook profile pic, or the Israeli flag we’re flying outside our house (next to, but respectfully lower than our American flag). Maybe it’s the “I Stand with Israel” sticker on our truck or my “I Stand With Israel” sweatshirt. Whatever the reason, both online and in person, the inquiry that has been coming my direction is: “Why do you support Israel?”
There’s a long answer (see below). But the simple reason comes down to just four words: “In the beginning God...”
Any “why?” asker who isn’t on board with that phrase and the 66 books that follow it, can skip the rest of this.
(I’ll wait while you close the window and go back to scrolling Facebook.)
Ok. We now return to our regularly scheduled blog: “In the beginning God...” How we respond to those four simple words impacts how we live and what happens to us when we die. After learning that God was there in the beginning, we read further and learn that He created everything – the universe, the stars, the sun, the moon, the earth, the animals, the plants... And He created us in His image – a revelation that gives us all value and results in a respect and love for others because, no matter how we might behave, we are all divine image bearers.
Why stand with Israel? While there are plenty of reasons, I’ve boiled mine down to five.
Critical Sidenote: We also find in that first book that our ancestors chose to rebel against God and that we now carry that same nature (Genesis 3; Romans 3:10-12). As a result, we are incapable of living up to God’s standard as set forth in the Bible. Bottom line: we are all guilty of breakings God’s law. The Bible puts it this way: “...All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). The punishment for this is death (Romans 6:23). Which is why God made the grand sacrifice of sending His only Son, Jesus, to die in our place. We now have the opportunity to be forgiven and, instead of being sentenced to eternal death, can receive the free gift of God – eternal life in Christ Jesus (Romans 10:9).
Back to Israel: Why stand with them? While there are plenty of reasons, I’ve boiled mine down to five.
Reason 1: God specifically chose Israel and the Jewish people.
In Genesis, God singled out Abram and told him: “Get out of your country, from your family and from your father’s house, to a land that I will show you. I will make you a great nation, and I will bless you...” (Genesis 12:1,2).
Later, in Deuteronomy, the Bible declares: “For you are a holy people to the Lord your God; the Lord your God has chosen you to be a people for Himself, a special treasure above all the peoples on the face of the earth” (Deuteronomy 7:6). (See also Psalm 135:4, Exodus 19, Jeremiah 30:22.)
Reason 2: God gave the land to Israel and the Jewish people.
God led Abram to the land of Canaan (the modern nation of Israel lies within the borders of that territory), and promised, “The whole land of Canaan, where you now reside as a foreigner, I will give as an everlasting possession to you and your descendants after you; and I will be their God” (Genesis 17:8).
Later in Genesis, God told Abraham’s son, Isaac: “Dwell in this land, and I will be with you and bless you; for to you and your descendants I give all these lands, and I will perform the oath which I swore to Abraham your father” (Genesis 26:3).
Then God made the same promise to Isaac’s son, Jacob – aka Israel: “The land I gave to Abraham and Isaac I also give to you, and I will give this land to your descendants after you” (Genesis 35:12).
Reason 3: God promised that the Jewish people would be dispersed, and that He would eventually regather them into the land of Israel.
Through the prophets, God told the people of Israel that they would be scattered to the nations because of their disobedience (Leviticus 26:33). In AD 138, the nation of Israel ceased to exist and in fulfillment of prophecy, they were dispersed. However, the prophet Jeremiah, writing between 630 and 550 BC, predicted God would bring the Israelites back. God promised, “For I will restore them to the land I gave their ancestors” (Jeremiah 16:15). In Jeremiah 24, God repeated, “I will bring them back to this land...” (See also Isaiah 11:10-12; Jeremiah 33)
An entire chapter in Ezekiel prophesies the same event: “For I will take you out of the nations; I will gather you from all the countries and bring you back into your own land” (Ezekiel 36).
The prophet Isaiah, writing between 740 and 701 BC, described how God would accomplish this great feat: “Who has ever heard of such things? Who has ever seen things like this? Can a country be born in a day or a nation be brought forth in a moment?” (Isaiah 66:8). And on May 14, 1948, God did just that: Israel became a nation again in a single day.
Zechariah talked about the eventual reclamation of Jerusalem: This is what the Lord Almighty says: “I will save my people from the countries of the east and the west. I will bring them back to live in Jerusalem; they will be my people, and I will be faithful and righteous to them as their God” (Zechariah 8:7,8). In 1967, Israel reclaimed Jerusalem.
Reason 4: God says He will bless those who bless Israel.
God makes it crystal clear: “I will bless those who bless you, and I will curse him who curses you...” (Genesis 12:3a). It’s both a promise and a sobering warning.
Reason 5: God promised to bless the nations of the earth through Israel.
The fulfillment of this can be seen in several respects. The Jewish people and the nation of Israel have been responsible for astounding innovations and inventions in every field – from mathematics and chemistry, to medicine and computers. (For a sampling, go here and here.) Israel also boasts a disproportionate number of Nobel prizes – more per capita than Germany, the United States, or France, and more Nobel laureates than India, China, and Spain.
Jesus came from the tribe of Judah, from the line of King David, as the Jewish Messiah.
Far, far beyond their amazing scientific, technological, and medical contributions, God has used the Jews and Israel to bless the world with His Word and His Son. Of the 66 books in the Bible, all but two (the Gospel of Luke and Acts) were written by Jews. Jesus came from the tribe of Judah, from the line of King David, as the Jewish Messiah. (See Matthew 1:1-17, Luke 3:23-38.)
God conducted His global rescue mission through the Jews and Israel – in the Person of Jesus (John 3:16).
In summary, God says He is for Israel and the Jewish people. Therefore, I am too.
Important note: Even if none of the above were true, I would still be compelled to take Israel’s side in the present war. To do otherwise would be to condone, support, and participate in barbaric, horrific, unconscionable acts of violence carried out by maniacal terrorists. There is no excuse for the Hamas attacks and no defense for their complete disregard for human life and demonic thirst for blood. Their actions must be condemned and they must be defeated.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German pastor who stood against the Nazis and was hanged for his dissent, once declared:
“Silence in the face of evil is itself evil. God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.”
While it may not be a popular position in our upside-down world, I choose to unapologetically speak for, act on behalf of, and stand with Israel.
The House ‘Cross the Way
In celebration of National Shamelessly Promote Your New Book Day AND International Best Book Cover Day – which, for the first time in the history of mankind fall on the SAME day (what are the odds???) – I am excited to announce the release of my new novel: The House ‘Cross the Way. (Insert cheering here.)
(Note: I will be bolding random statements throughout this short, but important blog for emphasis, and madly linking almost everything to the book on Amazon – so you might as well get used to it.)
There are three... nay, four!... important things to know about The House ‘Cross the Way.
First, it is now available on Amazon and will soon be selling like hotcakes. (And you know how hotcakes sell, right?) You can read the first chapter here. It’s only a matter of time before it tops the NY Times Best-Seller list, gets made into a movie with a Matthew McConaughey voice-over, and the author relocates to Kauai. So get it pre-smash hit!
Think Where the Crawdads Sing meets A Walk to Remember, with a dash of Titanic. Ok, not really Titanic (no ships, icebergs, or floating doors).
Second, the release of The House ‘Cross the Way is a clear sign that dogs CAN grow antlers, pigs CAN fly, hell actually DOES freeze over on occasion, and, apparently, the Twelfth of Never HAS finally arrived. You can read about the sometimes arduous, often painful, and occasionally goofy saga of bringing this book to print here, here, and even here. Ai-yi-yi...!
Third, this is my first “literary” novel. That means that no one dies in the first chapter, like they do in nearly all of my other books. Sure, there’s mystery and drama and tragedy and romance... but it’s character driven. Think Where the Crawdads Sing meets A Walk to Remember, with a dash of Titanic thrown in, for good measure. Ok, not really Titanic (no ships, icebergs, or floating doors). But still, be sure to have Kleenex® on hand when you read it.
Fourth, I would also like to draw your attention to the cover. The cover of The House ‘Cross the Way could, quite possibly, be as good as the actual story. (Maybe better!) It will definitely be the hands-down winner of this year’s International Best Book Cover Day award and will, no doubt, go on to win a plethora of other accolades. It’s THAT good. Take a look.
Cover Design - Sarah Hulsey (Yes, THE Sarah Hulsey, of Ruby and Ben Creations!)
See? When you finish reading the novel and have employed the appropriate amount of Kleenex®, you’ll probably want to rip the cover off, frame it, and hang it on the wall. Or maybe just frame the whole thing!
If you’re still on the fence, thinking to yourself, Meh... I’m not sure if this book is worth shelling out however many shekels he’s charging ($4.99 Kindle or $9.99 print), let me direct your attention to the trailer. While it does not (yet) have a Matthew McConaughey voice-over, it still gives you an idea of what to expect from the novel – in a low-budget, we-couldn’t-afford-Matthew kind of way.
That’s it. As soon as you’ve purchased a copy of The House ‘Cross the Way for yourself, and a dozen or so copies for your friends, family, and strangers on the street, you may return to the literary games, festivities, and general jocularity you had planned for this year’s National Shamelessly Promote Your New Book Day AND International Best Book Cover Day. Make this a holiday you’ll never forget!
Oh, and after you read The House ‘Cross the Way, please (PLEEZ…!) write a review on Amazon!
The Great Reset!
The Great Reset is here! No, not the one being orchestrated by Klaus Schwab, the James Bond villain-wannabe, and his evil cronies who are, at this very moment, secretly meeting behind closed doors to smoke cigars the size of burritos and exchange high-fives as they devise clever, diabolical schemes to enslave the masses, dominate every governmental and financial institution on the planet, and Rule The World!!! (Insert maniacal laughter here!).
No. Not that Great Reset.
I’m talking about a much kinder, gentler reset. A lower-intensity reset. Unlike the one being foisted on us by Ernst Stavro Blofeld... I mean Professor Schwab, this reset won’t result in complete chaos, anarchy, and the dawn of a bleak Orwellian dystopia. Nope. Our reset should – eventually – bring about a blissful state in which we can spend summer evenings relaxing in the backyard, sipping cold beverages, and dodging dog doot as we prove that we are pretty terrible at cornhole. The only question is when this state of bliss will be achieved.
If you haven’t already guessed – we are UN-moving!
A funny thing happened on the way to selling the house. Namely: we didn’t.
As you may remember, in my last blog, I wrote about our maybe-moving. It involved a gargantuan energy suck in which we labored night and day, day and night for weeks to get our house ready for the market, then (gasp!) listed it, and began to live a monk-like existence, perpetually on red alert status, ready at all times to disappear if any buyers requested a showing. And let me tell you, buyers did.
Well, a funny thing happened on the way to selling the house. Namely: we didn’t. At a certain point, motivated by a host of factors (the WEF’s mad quest to usher in the Armageddon wasn’t one of them) we raised the white flag, removed the For Sale sign from the front yard, and went back to life as usual.
Except... well... NOT.
Not “life as usual.” In fact, kind of the opposite of “life as usual.” Because as it turns out, “life as usual” was mostly being stored in a multitude of boxes stacked and stuffed and otherwise shoved into our garage. So our new and improved “life as usual” quickly became this: unpacking, unloading, and undoing all of the downsizing we had so successfully accomplished in order to achieve minimalistic perfection and snag a buyer.
Time to re-set.
Thus our evenings and weekends are no longer spent meticulously cleaning and preparing to bolt for showings. Whew! What a relief! Now they are spent pushing boxes around in the overly warm (think: hellishly hot) garage, carting boxes downstairs, carting boxes upstairs, opening and then closing boxes as we realize they don’t contain what we’re looking for, cutting down boxes, restacking boxes because we don’t know what to do with the contents, and generally cursing the inventor of cardboard under our breath. We are also redoing... everything.
This is UN-moving. And while we are not finished (ha! not even remotely close...), I do have some advice for those who might find themselves maybe-moving and then, Davos-motivated or not, flip-flop to UN-moving. First and foremost: don’t do it! Just don’t. However, if you can’t resist, let me offer a few tips to help you make the most of the experience and, hopefully, avoid completely losing your mind in the process.
1. Stock up on patience. (And Alleve®.) The wisest man who ever lived once wrote: “The end of a matter is better than its beginning and patience is better than pride.” That’s true. However, getting to the end of a matter is no easy thing, at least when you’re UN-moving. It just keeps going and going. Patience (and Alleve®) are absolutely essential in order to avoid giving up on ever regaining any semblance of “life as usual.” Get used to resetting as a lifestyle.
With the right attitude, this can be a reset that is not just ok, or kinda not bad, or pretty good, but... Grrrreat!
2. Check your treasure. (And your supply of Alleve®.) You’ve probably heard the saying, “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” During the UN-moving process, it’s tempting to think that your heart resides permanently in the garage, encased in cardboard. This, of course, isn’t true. Sure, all your stuff is out there and you are going to spend the next several weeks (months?) sorting through it and schlepping it around. But life is more than personal belongings, right? Right?? Use this time to reconsider your priorities. And treat the resulting aches and pains with heaps of naproxen sodium.
3. Seize the day. (And the Alleve®.) As the adrenaline rush passes and UN-moving becomes a gosh-awful, seemingly neverending ordeal, you might be tempted to join good old Solomon in lamenting: “The hearts of people, moreover, are full of evil and there is madness in their hearts while they live, and afterward they join the dead.” But don’t! Just forget about Sol’s depressing words and instead, carpe diem! Think of your UN-moving as a once-in-a-lifetime (“please, God!”) opportunity to start fresh, revamp, rehang all those photos and pictures and curtain rods, rearrange all that furniture, and carry the stationary bike that weighs more than a Mini Cooper up the stairs because your wife decided it should go in the spare bedroom (oof!). Yes, with the right attitude, this can be a reset that is not just ok, or kinda not bad, or pretty good, but... Grrrreat!
So if that’s you, I encourage you to embrace this season of your life. Maybe put your box cutter down early this evening. Turn on something light and humorous, like Naked and Afraid. Relax as you watch a group of people who, like you, are scrambling for survival. Chuckle at their antics, shake your head at their plight, empathize with their pain, and reflect on how much better you have it than they do. After all, you’re wearing clothes and have even more clothes somewhere in the garage. And you’ve got Alleve®.
Lessons From Maybe-Moving
If you’re not familiar with the term “maybe-moving” let me define it for you. Maybe-moving is: Moving. Maybe.
Here’s what it looks like in real time: Your wife walks into the living room one day while you are innocently watching To Catch A Smuggler (the drug dog just nailed some dude hiding coo-kii-aine in a Stratocaster!) and casually says, “Hey, we should move.” She then presents an elaborate case for moving that she has obviously been practicing and polishing for quite some time. It is logical, practical, and (here’s the thing) compelling. It’s even exciting. So you, making the fatal mistake of not counting the cost, respond with an enthusiastic, “Sure, babe, let’s do it!”
The Big 3
“Let’s do it” translates into the big three:
· Cleaning every nasty corner and cranny of the house that for the past six years you have avoided, ignored, passed over, and generally not cared to venture into, much less scrub with a brush.
· Repairing all of the little (and large) things that your wife has been mentioning for the past six years but you have effectively been dodging and forgetting and otherwise pretending not to notice.
· Improving your home in ways that you’ve considered but balked at because of the required expense, effort, and/or time involved. This includes dream improvements that make you (for more than just a few milliseconds) consider what it might be like to stay here and enjoy them.
Listing
Next in the process, as every homeowner-turned-homeseller knows all too well, is the wonderful, satisfying, and decidedly terrifying process of listing. Thankfully, we have realtors who have seen us through a long series of often unexpected, occasionally planned, sometimes difficult life events, and are still willing to offer their services in order to assist us in hawking our abode.
As everyone knows (apparently), in order to sell your home, you have to make it look like no one lives there.
Living Like Monks
Under their careful advisement, we launched into the next phase. Namely: living like monks.
As everyone knows (apparently), in order to sell your home, you have to make it look like no one lives there. Actually, that’s not accurate. You have to make it look like someone does live there (furniture) but that they are neat freaks on steroids (no clutter, no photos on the walls, no personality whatsoever, no dirt, no dust, no nuthin’ that implies actual life). It must look like a GREAT house inhabited by ghosts. Ghosts who are obsessive/compulsive about cleaning.
In order to check this box, we sorted and tossed and downsized, ushering unnecessary items to either Goodwill, the dump, or the garage. By everything, I mean... everything we like. Art, guitars, books, exercise equipment... All that remains are empty desks, empty tables, empty chairs, (almost) empty closets. The result is a feeling that we’re camping, except without leaving town or getting away from our obnoxious neighbors.
Now, with that elaborate context, let me share the deeply (d-e-e-p-l-y!) life-changing lessons I’ve learned during this tumultuous, traumatic, and, most of all, LONG process.
1. Don’t Mess with Moths and Rust (Mostly Moths)
You may remember Jesus talking about the virtues of NOT putting your time, money, and energy into things that moths and rust could destroy. Well, let me tell you about the former... Every year in Colorado, we get a moth infestation. It lasts for a couple of months and is, depending on conditions, anywhere from mildly annoying to horrifying. This year, it’s close to biblical proportions. I found this out while stashing my extra art at my parents’ house. I encountered waves of moths, blankets of moths, sun-extinguishing clouds of moths, and, of course, heaps of moth doot. They really do ruin whatever they touch.
Bottom line: Yuck!
2. Always Be Ready (Even 30 Minutes Early)
Jesus said he’s coming back and it will be like a thief in the night. He expects his followers to be ready. Well, if you’ve ever put your house on the market, you know EXACTLY what that’s like. You can go days with no lookers, then suddenly, boom! You have multiple showings. You have to be ready! You have to have the place clean and in order and looking like the OCD ghosts are living large – otherwise you risk offending a potential buyer. And get this: sometimes they show up early! (Today, for instance, the 12:15PM person was here at 11:45AM. 11:45! We were still loading the dogs and granddaughter into the truck...).
Bottom line: Being ready takes (groan...) effort!
You have to have the place clean and in order and looking like the OCD ghosts are living large – otherwise you risk offending a potential buyer.
3. Get Used to Pilgrim Status
In the Bible, it talks about this world NOT being out home. It says our home, if we’re followers of Jesus, is heaven. This (imagine me waving my arm at my seriously empty basement office) isn’t really our home anymore either. Once that sign appeared on the front lawn, the MSL website picked it up, and all our good stuff was relocated to the garage... Not our home anymore. If/when we sell, we’ll be bumped out. And since we don’t yet have eyes on a new place, we will officially be pilgrims in a strange land!
Bottom line: Life is an adventure.
Bonus Bottom Line: Stuff makes life fun. Without guitars, for instance, really, what’s the point?! As one wise sage once noted, “Money can’t buy happiness. But it can buy guitars – which is pretty darn close!” Actually, that has nothing to do with this blog, I’m just saying...
As of this writing, our house has NOT sold. We don’t have any offers. But that could change at any moment. That’s the tightrope we’re walking. Will there be another showing today? What about tomorrow? Will there be an offer today... next week? Or will we live happily – in market-enforced, Marie-Kondo minimalism – in this house for the rest of our days on planet earth?
The answer to all of these questions is a definite: Maybe.
A Pathway to Hope
“If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?” – Martin Luther King, Jr.
Jimmy* was walking to the convenience store when he was jumped by three guys. They took what little money he had on him and began to beat him mercilessly. Before he lost consciousness, Jimmy had a stroke.
I met Jimmy for the first time last week. He was checking in to the Entry shelter at the Springs Rescue Mission (SRM) in Colorado Springs. Or I should say, he was trying to check in. Though he was already in the system and - according to records - had been in the shelter the year prior, he was having trouble remembering the rules. He had too many bags with him, didn’t know his ID number, and was in possession of a variety of prohibited food items and beverages. He kept apologizing and saying, “I forgot... I forgot...”
On Wednesday nights, my job as a volunteer at the shelter is to greet men and escort them to their bunks. It sounds simple enough until you realize that the guests include a radical span of ages and a vast spectrum of physical, mental, and chemical issues. Left to themselves, they could quickly turn the place into Lord of the Flies. So there are rules. And I’m tasked with making sure everyone plays by them. (Thankfully, I’m backed up by security.)
There are countless others in our city who, like Jimmy, are experiencing homelessness. The reasons are legion.
The shelter was packed that night, as always. I had one bottom bunk left when Jimmy showed up. As I led him to it, he began to tell me his story. It involved military service, a divorce, the loss of a job, and more recently, getting mugged and spending several weeks in the hospital recovering from his stroke. He can barely walk now, has trouble speaking, and one arm is refusing to respond to his brain’s directions.
I talked to Jimmy for 15 or 20 minutes. Later, I helped him figure out where to go the following day to store his stuff, take a shower, get a meal, etc. (all services SRM offers). Before I left for the evening, Jimmy thanked me by name.
The following Saturday, we were down at SRM helping with a cleanup day as part of something called CityServe. I recognized many faces and had the opportunity to talk with several guests. I saw Jimmy too. But when I approached him, he had a vacant look in his eyes and obviously didn’t know who I was. His memory, at least for the moment, is shot.
There are countless others in our city who, like Jimmy, are experiencing homelessness. The reasons are legion. Rob* has had two head injuries, has seizures, and can’t hold a job. Paul* is a smart, resourceful young man who was recently released from the Colorado State Penitentiary and is finding that his felony conviction makes it tough to secure employment. Then there’s the man undergoing chemo for a huge tumor on his face who doesn’t have the stamina to work, lost his home, and is living on the streets. Or the big dude who begs at intersections and then comes into the shelter roaring drunk. The list goes on and on. On top of their vocational/housing challenges, many of these individuals wrestle with addiction and mental illness.
Fran and I were motivated to begin serving at Springs Rescue Mission because they’re doing something to help these people. In addition to providing essential services like meals, showers, laundry, and a safe, warm place to sleep at night, SRM functions as a “transitory facility.” That means they aren’t merely an emergency refuge. Their goal, for each and every guest, is independence. And to that end, they have programs to encourage, equip, and enable people to move from survival mode back to being contributing members of the community.
Guests who wander in off the street are offered a “pathway out of homelessness.” That involves residential and outpatient addiction recovery programs and meetings, work programs, job training, career classes, and assistance finding both employment and housing.
At the center of their efforts is the Hope Program. As SRM President and CEO, Jack Briggs explains, this program is “a guide that provides opportunities for our guests to improve their health, their access to work, and ultimately their housing needs. And it is our desire that these individuals will also find hope in the process.”
As clients engage with the program, they are assigned a case manager and receive access to 16 partner agencies (including counseling, dentistry, and medical services). Unemployed clients are coached in job hunting. Some begin working on the SRM campus, doing laundry, cleaning, or working in the kitchen. This makes them eligible to move up in the tiered shelter system – graduating from the basic, no-frills Entry, to the more accommodating Next Step, to the comfortable Advanced housing – and eventually to their own home. Each step involves more responsibility and expectations.
There are things you can do. Little things to be part of the solution.
Success stories abound. In my short time volunteering, I have personally met and watched a number of individuals progress through and out of SRM, into careers and housing. In 2022 alone, the mission provided 2,974 men and women with shelter. They served 204,000 meals. Nearly 150 guests secured permanent housing, 129 were involved in addiction recovery, and 137 found jobs.
In the end, of course, it’s not about numbers. It’s about people. People like Jimmy and Rob and Paul who, for whatever the reason, find themselves in need of a helping hand. “It’s hard to know how to help homeless neighbors,” the SRM website says, “but you can be part of the solution.” How? If you live in the Springs, consider volunteering. Or you can become a Good Samaritan Sponsor through monthly donations. Even a one-time gift is appreciated.
Wherever we live, there are things we can do. Little things to be part of the solution.
*Names have been changed to respect the guests.
Postscript: We saw Jimmy again when we went down to the shelter last night. He was sitting outside the entrance in a wheelchair, looking pretty rough, begging for cigarettes as he waited for a ride to the hospital.
The Book is OUT!
Once upon a time, on a dark and stormy night, it was the best of times and the worst of times... and a new book was born.
Actually, that’s the punchline to this blog. The beginning goes like this:
A long time ago, in a home office far, far away, a young (young!) man sat hunched over a typewriter (yeah, that long ago), anxiously attempting to coax the keys into generating something readable, non-sucky, and worthy of public viewing.
What followed was a succession of bona vide books that ranged from children’s stories to techno-thrillers to mysteries. These were actual, hard copy, buy-at-the-bookstore, hold-in-your-hand, paper-pages-that-turn books.
And what followed this burst of prolificity (points for vocab), creativity, and financial windfall was an extended period of... crickets. While the young writer continued frantically coaxing the keys, (soon on an R2D2-style Mac, eventually on a Powerbook) literally churning out literature, the manuscripts piled up and he grew older and older, waiting for the contract that would propel him into the realm of John Grisham, Tom Clancy, James Patterson, et al.
But nay. (Nay?). Nay! That contract did not materialize. And the crickets crescendoed, as crickets are known to do. Thus, said writer continued to plow through the words, heaping paragraph upon paragraph, chapter upon chapter, while working day jobs and – here’s the thing – not getting any book deals.
Fast forward along the time/space continuum to today. As you may have guessed, I am that once-young but now decidedly dirt-old, nigh unto ancient writer. And it is my latest book that is out. I bit the bullet and finally went the self-publishing route.
Note regarding the title of this blog: The Book... is a bit of a misnomer. It is A Book. A novella (aka a novel that never quite grew into its shoes). While I really like this book and am proud to offer it up, it is a test case. I wanted to format and load something as a trial balloon, and work out all the kinks (believe me, it’s definitely a kinky process) before launching The Book, which is a novel I plan to release this summer.
The novella in question is called Trash Barrel Stew. It’s about a guy who lives in a small town in the Hill Country of Texas. In the opening moments, he steps off the curb on the way home from work and gets hit by a car. From the confines of his hospital bed, he looks back over his life with a mixture of nostalgia and regret.
If I managed to correctly follow the many (M-A-N-Y) directions to make this happen (a huge “if”), the book should now be available for Kindle and as a real book on Amazon. Check it out. Even if you don’t drop $2.99 for the download (it’s free for Kindle Unlimited), or $5.99 for the paperback, please take a look, peruse the preview, read a sample, and let me know about any issues you encounter. And please (PLEEZE!) spread the word. Share this blog and tell everyone you see – friends, family, and complete strangers – that there’s a book on Amazon that you haven’t read, but that might be pretty good. Maybe.
The End (...not really)
Of Hobbits and Hobos
There’s a guy at our gym who reminds me of a hobbit – small, round, quiet, beardless... very Bilbo Baggins-ish. All that’s missing are the hairy, bare feet. (Yup, I’m starting part two of this blog with yet another gym story.) He’s usually over in what we call the stretching area. Sometimes I see him drifting into the Zumba room. He’s basically the opposite of the intimidating dude I described last time (go here to read about him).
I guess that’s why I was rather shocked when I encountered him recently in the locker room. He was shirtless, facing away from me, and I had an unobstructed view of his back. There, stretching from shoulder to shoulder, was a giant tattoo that declared, in big, bold letters: “SINNER!”
I don’t know this guy. Maybe he has a sordid past. But he looks more like he needs a pipe, a nap, and maybe a second breakfast.
Anyway... my point here (I do have a point... I think) is that sometimes people surprise you. My theories regarding this guy’s tat: 1. after a little too much mead one night, he and his Shire buddies wandered into Mordor and made a bad decision, or 2. he’s got a serious sense of humor.
(I’m leaning toward the former. Mead can sneak up on you if you don’t watch out. Of course, it could have been beer – it does come in pints.)
Whatever the explanation – drunk or sober – that tat made me think a couple of things. For starters, I REALLY wouldn’t want that on my body. Yikes! Second, according to the Bible, we’re all sinners and deserve to have that branded on us. Third, the realization that we’re all sinners is how I became a Christian.
In my case, nobody Bible-thumped me, argued me, scared me, or emotionally manipulated me into the decision to follow Jesus Christ. (It wasn’t a case of excess mead either.) Rather, it was a song we sang in vacation Bible school one summer that did the job.
What I remember is this: sitting on the floor in the youth rec room of the church, with some lady playing the guitar and singing a song that talked about a sinner man running from God. The guy in the lyrics knew there was a God but didn’t want to do things God’s way. So he was hightailing it in the opposite direction.
Jesus doesn’t promise to make things easier, just better – providing purpose, hope, and the security of salvation and eternal life.
At that moment, the choice seemed pretty clear, even to a kid: say yes to Jesus and spend eternity in heaven, or continue to resist and spend eternity in hell. Hmm... let’s see... That’s a tough one...
Naysayers can naysay all they want (I’ll pause here for a naysaying break...) but my decision was genuine, my experience valid. And in the many (M-A-N-Y) years since that choice, Jesus has repeatedly proven himself to be who he claims to be. Namely: the big-T Truth. This has been evidenced by way of his ongoing faithfulness, forgiveness, and goodness, despite my inconsistent, pendulum-like behavior – swinging wildly from devotion to dumpster fire, and back again.
There’s a verse in the Bible that describes this relationship: “We know also that the Son of God has come and has given us understanding, so that we may know him who is true. And we are in him who is true by being in his Son Jesus Christ. He is the true God and eternal life.” (I John 5:20)
It should be noted that I am not suggesting a relationship with Jesus is an antidote for the pain, anguish, and hardship of life on planet earth. Jesus doesn’t promise to make things easier, just better – providing purpose, hope, and the security of salvation and eternal life.
Skeptics may discount these words, ignore them, or roll their eyes... But from my perspective, it only makes sense to point others to the Truth. If you were convinced that hell was a reality and all of us are on that trajectory, barreling closer to the Lake of Fire with each passing moment... And if you knew that Jesus was the real deal – the Son of God who died and rose again so we could avoid that destination and, instead, spend forever in heaven with him... Wouldn’t you want to make that known to others?
I stumbled upon a source of spiritual sustenance – the Bread of Life – that day in vacation Bible school.
There’s an old proverb about a hobo who serendipitously stumbles upon a huge bag of bread. He starts to chow down on it, then realizes there’s more than he can eat. He suddenly feels a little guilty stuffing himself when there are so many other hungry people wandering around without food. The logical – and loving – thing for him to do is share it
That’s the deal. I stumbled upon a source of spiritual sustenance – the Bread of Life – that day in vacation Bible school. Fellow hobos (and hobbits): Come and get it!
The Great Divide
One of the regulars at our gym recently wore a shirt that caught my attention. He’s a big dude with lots of tats and long dreads and multiple piercings who usually has a less than friendly expression on his face. I tend to give him a wide berth. But on this occasion, I couldn’t help noticing his shirt. It said:
F*ck Politics
Stop Dividing Us
F*ck Religion
I found the message to be equal parts profane, humorous, and confounding. Let me explain.
The first part, brandishing f-bombs in the gym... Come on! This isn’t Walmart. There’s actually a dress code – even if it’s not consistently enforced. Given the guy in question, however, I chose not to complain. Call me a wuss, but I don’t really like having my face pushed in.
I did, however, smile. And this was possibly an even worse mistake. It drew the guy’s attention. We momentarily made eye contact. I had to pretend I was amused by something in my earbuds. I quickly picked up my phone and scrolled until he stopped glaring at me.
But I thought it was funny: a shirt accusing two societal institutions of intentionally dividing us while threatening those institutions with something akin to violence. Provocative, yes. Logical, no.
Here’s where the confusion comes in. Politics, by nature, divides. Maybe political parties should be warmer and fuzzier and friendlier. But in general, they are not. Instead, they are ideological enemies who routinely express their differences with great emotion and, often, personal attacks on their opponents. Their debates are imbued with vehemence. (Double vocab points for using “imbued” and “vehemence” in the same sentence.) Next subject.
Christianity is arguably the most exclusive, intolerant, and divisive religion on the planet. And that’s by design.
Religion. This is the part I found especially odd. Since when is religion supposed to be unifying? Are you kidding me? It has been a source of disagreement and enmity since the beginning of time. (Points for “enmity”?) Prime example: Thanksgiving. What two subjects are you supposed to avoid at the dinner table? Right – politics and religion. Them’s fightin’ words.
So why would anyone be surprised by - much less print f-bombs on a t-shirt to protest – the idea that religion is divisive?
It is common knowledge that the major world religions are in theological conflict and actively disagree about God. Atheism says there is no God. Agnosticism says that if there is a God, we can’t know anything about him. Muslims follow Allah, as expressed by Muhammad. Buddhists believe human life is about suffering and that we can work our way to nirvana. Hindus believe in thousands of gods – none of which match the deities of other religions. (“Smorgasboard spirituality,” currently the rage in America, says all roads lead to God and cherry-picks from all of the above. But more on that in another blog.)
The problem is, you can’t be both an atheist and an agnostic. Neither can you have one foot in Islam and the other in Buddhism or Hinduism. It won’t work. Each religion is exclusive.
Then there’s Christianity, which is, arguably, the most exclusive, intolerant, and divisive religion on the planet. And that’s by design.
Jesus was careful to explain that he did not come to bring humanity together in a big Kumbaya hug. “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth,” he said. “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother... A person’s enemies will be those of his own household.” (Matt. 10:34-36)
Kinda harsh. And definitely not unifying.
On another occasion, he had the audacity to claim: “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 14:6)
The way. The truth. The life. Which implies that all the other so-called ways, truths, and sources of life are false. Yikes!
He asserted that he held the monopoly on connecting with God. “Whoever believes in the Son [Jesus] has eternal life, but whoever rejects the Son, will not see life, for God’s wrath remains on him.” (John 3:36)
Oh, boy...
So much for omnism, syncretism, and all the other isms. It was his way or the highway. Period.
Divisive? You bet. True? You decide.
It’s not so much politics and religion that divide us. It’s the truth that divides us. But that’s actually a good thing.
I once had a lengthy discussion with an ardent atheist about this very subject. She railed on God and organized religion in general, and Christianity in particular, calling it narrow minded and judgmental. Her final challenge to me was: “What if you’re wrong and there is no God? What if you wasted your life on this Jesus thing.”
My answer was something along the lines of: “I will have lived my life in obedience to a Bible filled with moral directives and teachings – most of which involve loving God and people. I don’t see that as a waste.”
As a final question to her, I countered with, “What if you’re wrong and there is a God? And what if when you die he judges you according to the commandments and expectations he laid out in the Bible?”
After a long pause, she answered: “I’ll be in big trouble.”
I told her she didn’t have to be in big trouble, that God was offering her a free gift of forgiveness and eternal life if she would simply accept Jesus as her Savior.
She seemed to consider this before walking away. No idea where she landed. Maybe she’s still ignoring God or maybe she decided to find out more about Jesus.
Here’s the thing: It’s not so much politics and religion that divide us. It’s the truth that divides us. But that’s actually a good thing.
Next time: Why I believe Jesus is the truth.
AOC's Complaint: He Gets Us
We’ve got Russia mounting a new offensive in Ukraine, sending out warships armed with nukes, dispatching BlackJack nuclear bombers... Iran threatening to erase Israel (and us) from the world map... North Korea’s Kim vying for attention by rattling his nuclear saber... The U.S. launching an ICBM to prove we’ve still got chops... Not to mention earthquakes killing and injuring tens of thousands, destroying hundreds of thousands of homes and buildings... Spycraft and UFOs loitering in our national air space...
All hell seems to be breaking loose around us. But what is AOC worried about? Super Bowl ads. Here’s the crazy part: I think she’s on to something.
He Gets Us is an ad campaign that is causing people to blow their gaskets. Some, like AOC, are ticked off because... actually, I forget why she’d mad (she’s always mad). I think because, like Judas, she thought the money could have been better spent on the poor. Then you have secular folks who are offended by Jesus in any way, shape, or form (not the least of which is his claim of being “the way, the truth and the life”). And then you’ve got Christians who are mad that the ads were outrageously expensive, yet failed to share the entire Gospel message...
Yadda, yadda, yadda...
Bottom line: Success!
We’re talking about those ads. We’re debating the validity and effectiveness of those ads. AOC’s forehead is begging for botox as she yells and complains about them. Whatever ad agency came up with the He Gets Us campaign: touchdown! Bonuses, all around.
He Gets Us is a good launching pad for conversations about MUCH bigger issues than advertising budgets at the Super Bowl.
My take: they’re a good launching pad for conversations about MUCH bigger issues than advertising budgets at the Super Bowl. Namely: What will happen to you when you die? And the enormously important partner question: Who is Jesus?
Yep. I’m going there. (And, as you can see: I’m not afraid to throw down a heap of excess punctuation in the process!)
This is the time. This is the place. We need to have the talk.
What happens when we die?
This age-old question (which I’ve wrestled with before in this space) is problematic for a couple of reasons. First, we are all guaranteed to die. Remember the classic “death and taxes” bit? Well, if you are clever and creative, and can afford a good lawyer, you stand of chance of avoiding some of those taxes. However, death... Nope. You can’t sidestep it, dodge it, or outrun it. Death is coming for all of us. Sooner or later.
The second issue is that while we will all eventually die, if you are reading this, you haven’t yet. Died, that is. Neither have I (as of this writing). Which means we don’t know, exactly, what death holds. Is there an afterlife? Do we just disappear? Do we come back as bugs? As angels? As furniture?
Since death is both inevitable and mysterious, it’s only logical that we should seriously consider the subject and, if possible, take action to prepare for it.
I’m not talking about life insurance and will not be attempting to sell you a burial plot. By preparation, I mean: determining your ultimate destination.
This brings us to question numero dos: Who is Jesus?
C.S. Lewis once famously wrote that there are only three valid responses to Jesus. We can deem him Lord, a liar, or a lunatic. If you’ve ever read the New Testament, you understand how accurate this assessment really is. Jesus made all sorts of claims that, if untrue, were wacko and would easily qualify him for an express trip to the psych ward.
However, if he was the real deal – authentically both God and Man dispatched to earth to save mankind – then we’ve got a huge problem.
Since death is both inevitable and mysterious, it’s only logical that we should seriously consider the subject and, if possible, take action to prepare for it.
A liar can be ignored. A lunatic can be dismissed. But the Lord who died and rose again...? Um... What do we do with that?
According to the Bible, and Jesus himself, when we die, we stand before God and he judges our life. Since we’ve all screwed up along the way, breaking God’s laws and commandments bizillions of times, the verdict isn’t a good one. In fact, the Bible uses an unpopular term for that (sin) and says everyone guilty of it goes to a very unpopular place (hell).
Few people want to think about death. Even less want to deal with Jesus or the prospect of languishing in a lake of fire for eternity.
Here’s what the Bible says about it:
· ...All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. (Rom. 3:23)
· ...The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Rom. 6:23)
· ...God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Rom. 5:8)
· If you declare with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. (Rom. 10:9)
So according to the biblical scenario, AC/DC had it right. We’re all on a Highway to Hell. However, it isn’t going to be a big rock and roll party with our friends. More like weeping and gnashing of teeth. Translation: not fun.
Which is why they call the Good News the Good News: we all have the opportunity to change course by accepting the forgiveness God provides through Jesus. Instead of hell, we get heaven.
You... me... AOC... We’ve all got a choice to make. Where do you want to go? Time is running out. Book your ticket today.
Click here for a clear outline of how to accept God’s offer of salvation and eternal life.
Christmas: A Season Fraught With... Juggling
If you’re like me, when you think of Christmas, you not only think of the birth of Christ (“the reason for the season”) but of the multitude of unique and meaningful traditions that make this time of year so special.
Like the Saturday afternoon right after Thanksgiving when you dig sagging boxes of ancient ornaments, tangled garland, blow-up lawn decorations, the giant rooftop wreath, and wads of icicle lights out of the attic and pile them in the garage. Then you string a bazillion extension cords across the yard for the blow-ups, and climb the ladder to hang that wreath and those icicle lights on the eves. In keeping with the season, you naturally neglect to plug those lights in beforehand to ensure that they all work – and, of course, they do not. This leads to another time-honored Christmas ritual: the hasty trip to Lowe’s for new lights, followed by another hour of balancing precariously on the ladder. As tradition would have it, a matter of days before the big shebang, the annual December wind storm arrives to effectively yank down those lovely lights, wreak havoc with the blow-ups, and send the wreath rolling down the street. With the temps now dipping into freeze-your-buns-off territory, it is finally time for that hollowed moment when, risking frostbite and hypothermia, and with an attitude that lands you securely on Santa’s “naughty” list, you hastily perform a halfhearted repair job.
No other holiday can compete with this delightful, two month+ (and still growing) season so fraught with wonderful festivities, foods, events, gatherings, and memories. And as we all know, it’s also fraught with juggling.
Yes, Christmas is the best! No other holiday can compete with this delightful, two month+ (and still growing) season so fraught with wonderful festivities, foods, events, gatherings, and memories.
And as we all know, it’s also fraught with juggling. Yes, I’m referring to that ancient activity in which clown-like individuals fling multiple objects into the air and attempt to keep them from crashing back to earth. I’m also referring to the seasonal reappearance of those infamous propagators of jocularity, frivolity, and mirth: Cristof and Carlito – aka The Hopping Jalapeño Brothers (“Hey!”).
If you just arrived on planet earth and are not familiar with the Hopping Jalapeño Brothers (“Hey!”), then you probably don’t know that they got their start some 30 years ago when one of the brothers (Cristof), witnessed a woman juggling in a park and returned home determined to mimic her movements. After many, many (M-A-N-Y) valiant attempts with balled up socks, tennis balls, and a variety of fruits and vegetables, he managed to break several of his wife’s priceless porcelain figurines. He also learned the basic cascade, with varying degrees of success.
Thousands of miles away, on the other side of the continent, Carlito was also tossing items into the air with varying degrees of success.
Before long, an idea occurred to them: Why not toss items into the air together with varying degrees of success? The result was a juggling duo that became a juggling team and eventually transmogrified into a juggling troupe. They donned MC Hammer pants, funny hats, and enthusiastically expanded their apparati to include rubber chickens, tennis racquets, bowling ball, eggs, even knives and (gulp!) torches, causing onlookers to scowl and shout: “Can you do chainsaws?!”
What followed was super stardom on the semi-professional, more-humorous-than-talented, local juggling circuit. They found themselves trying desperately to entertain standing-room-only crowds at such prestigious venues as the YMCA, the VFW, the Springs Rescue Mission, the Festival of Lights Parade, Josh and Johns Ice Cream, and a host of retirement homes, eventually reaching the pinnacle of their career: opening for Santa at the Lon Chaney Theater.
Somewhere along the way, during those heady days of touring the town, performing for throngs of hecklers and distracted children, they made a decision that forever changed the course of... um... Actually, it didn’t change the course of anything. They just started juggling for the Salvation Army’s Red Kettle Campaign.
For the next 25+ years, The Hopping Jalapeño Brothers (“Hey!”) carried on this tradition, hurling red, green, and gold items into the air as they rang the bell in front of King Soopers, Sam’s Club, Hobby Lobby, Safeway, and a host of other establishments, in what was often less-than-comfortable weather.
The point of this blog (if there is one) is that even marginally talented, wardrobe challenged jugglers can do something worthwhile at Christmas.
If you have never had the opportunity to experience The Hopping Jalapeño Brothers (“Hey!”) in person, you probably missed your chance. Aside from the kettle campaign, they are now in quasi-retirement. (Only a very sizable bribe and the promise of significant life insurance would convince them to break out the torches again.)
This year, one of the HJBs was sick and their designated elf was double booked. But the remaining brother, accompanied by a loyal, next-gen apprentice, dutifully rang the bell and tossed jugs at King Soopers. Because... (all together now...) the show must go on!
The point of this blog (if there is one) is that even marginally talented, wardrobe challenged jugglers can do something worthwhile at Christmas. According to the Salvation Army, their red kettle program assists 31 million people annually during the holiday season and throughout the year. The HJBs have logged approximately 50 bell ringing sessions, which have hopefully brought in a heap of Benjamins for that program. You can add yours here – at the virtual red kettle.
The HJBs would like to take this opportunity to thank those who have supported their efforts and made their illustrious, though largely unappreciated career possible, including Frances Lane (designated HJB elf), Ann Lane (designated HJB Starbucks runner and costume creator), Mari (the Wonder Dog), and our official HJB interns, Shep, Josh, and Miles.
In closing, the HJBs would simply like to wish you a wonderful Christmas and a joyous new year. Oh, and they also want to add: “Hey!”
Finishing Strong - Part Dos
Even if you aren’t a Bible person, you’ve probably heard of Solomon. As in, King David’s son... The wisest and richest man who ever lived... The ancient ruler who built the Temple in Jerusalem... You know, the dude whose gold got plundered in King Solomon’s Mines, the terrifically bad, 1985 Indiana Jones knock-off...
Yeah, that Solomon.
I bring him up because he’s a textbook example of what not to do. In many ways, really, but especially in terms of finishing strong. In the later years of his life, Solomon chose poorly. Badly. Crap-crap-crappily. Really not goodly.
Why do I say this? Because I recently read a book called (completely coincidentally) Finishing Strong, in which the author skewered Solomon.
See, here’s the thing: God was clear (crystal clear) in his expectations regarding Israel’s kings. He said (paraphrasing): kings should NOT acquire great numbers of horses, take many wives, or accumulate large amounts of silver and gold. Neither should they sniff women’s hair, sell oil from the emergency reserve, or make stuff up while delivering speeches on TV. (Actually, everything after silver and gold is an add-on of my own making. But it seems like a really good idea.)
After LX+ laps around our principle star, I’m a little dizzy, but thankfully, not that bad off in Solomon-esque terms.
Seriously - horses, wives, and gold were the three big don’t-even-think-about-its. But as you may or may not know, Solomon didn’t exactly stick to that plan. In fact, he went in a slightly different direction - the opposite direction. He raked in more than 34 tons of gold, collected 12,000 horses, married 700 wives, and assembled a harem of 300 concubines (aka mistresses).
Dang! Right?
Translation: Fail!
After LX+ laps around our principle star, I’m a little dizzy, but thankfully, not that bad off in Solomon-esque terms. No vast quantities of gold to report, nary a horse (although 3 dogs might be considered too many), and just one wife. Uno.
Unfortunately, 1. I’m not a king and, 2. there are many other parts of my life in which I’ve screwed up majorly. We won’t go into that here.
Let’s just say, I’ve taken a mulligan or two. (The term mulligan is derived from a Greek word meaning literally: Do over ‘cause you really blew it, buster!)
One of the few advantages of advancing in age is that you have the opportunity to look back at a long legacy/rap sheet and say to yourself, “Wow! I should probably try to get my act together before the curtain falls on this comic drama.” This is sometimes referred to as wisdom.
Thus, I have been evaluating, reevaluating, considering, reconsidering, thinking, and rethinking my endgame strategy. When you’re 15, 22, 33, even 45, you don’t really give a hot biscuit about the end or the game or the strategy. At least, I didn’t. I just ventured forward, sometimes with bold strides, sometimes stumbling. But a funny thing happens once you pass the half century mark... It starts to get real.
Mistakes, regrets, and really bad ideas aside, what I’ve discovered is that success boils down to one word: perseverance.
Mistakes, regrets, and really bad ideas aside, what I’ve discovered is that success boils down to one word: perseverance. That and a willingness to course correct, post-mulligan.
Along those lines, I would like to point you to the life of a remarkable man who exemplifies perseverance. His name is Louis Zamperini. If that name doesn’t ring a bell, check out the movie Unbroken. Directed by Angelina Jolie, it tells the true story of someone who makes Job look like a lightweight.
Editor’s note: If you haven’t seen the movie, go watch it right now. I’ll wait.
(Me waiting... And me announcing: MAJOR SPOILER ALERT AHEAD!)
Okay, as you know, now that you’ve watched the movie, in his early years, Zamperini was very un-Solomon like. Instead of riding his father’s coat tails, amassing major worldly goods, an/or satisfying his sensual desires, he:
became an Olympic runner
was commissioned in the Air Force
served as a bombardier in the Pacific during WWII
was shot down and spent 47 days in a raft with two crewmates
was captured by the Japanese
spent two years in four different Japanese concentration camps where he was badly beaten and tortured
His was an exceptional life of courage and valor. A life of overcoming seemingly insurmountable odds. The movie stops there. What it doesn’t tell you is that Zamperini returned home from the war to face even greater challenges. He suffered from PTSD, had terrible, reoccurring nightmares, and wrestled with anger issues. He recklessly wasted all of his money, became an alcoholic, and sunk into a horrible depression.
“I became extremely selfish, cynical, and greedy,” he admitted in a video testimony. “Until the wind was let out of my sails and I lost everything.”
Zamperini is a great example of going the distance. Having survived the war, he had to survive – and overcome – in civilian life.
His wife was in the process of divorcing him when she went to a crusade held by a young, unknown evangelist named Billy Graham. She responded to the alter call, accepted Christ, and then begged Zamperini to attend the crusade. He begrudgingly agreed and eventually surrendered his life to Christ.
“I acknowledged to God that I was a sinner,” he later explained. “I asked the Lord Jesus Christ to come into my heart and save me. And of course, he did. Since then, I have had an unquenchable joy...” He then dedicated his latter years to working with troubled youth.
Zamperini is a great example of going the distance. Having survived the war, he had to survive – and overcome – in civilian life. His experience reminds us that it isn’t enough to have a good or even great first half. You have keep going, keep pressing forward, and finish strong.
I’m beginning to realize that how we finish is even more important than how we start. The race of life can be won or lost in those final, difficult yards.
“The great lesson of my life is perseverance. Never give up.” – Louis Zamperini
Finishing Strong - Part Uno
Back in the day, back when women were defined in the dictionary as “adult female human beings,” before the onset of overpriced cars with no internal combustion engines and really long extension cords, back when masks were for costume parties, when only Dick Tracy had a telephone/watch, back when Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger, in his quest for a Section 8, was the only wackadoo trotting around in a dress... You know, back in the late 20th century... Back then, I used to do a lot of fun runs.
If you aren’t familiar with “fun runs,” the first thing you need to know about them is that they are sarcastically named. While they do include running, they do not involve much in the way of fun. What they involve is paying money to stand in a thick pack of anxious, borderline anorexic, scantily clad Olympian wannabes, wishing you had gone to the bathroom one last time, waiting in the withering heat/extreme cold (depending on the season) for a starter’s pistol to go off, at which point a rather unforgiving human stampede ensues. If you survive the initial onslaught of pushing, shoving, and swearing, and escape the flurry of manic limbs and panicked feet without injury, you then have the unique and exciting opportunity to move as fast as your lungs and legs will allow, eventually (most of the time) crossing a finish line where an inferior-quality T-shirt bearing an amateurish race logo is thrust at you. I remember proudly donning those cherished shirts and wearing them for approximately an hour, until I got home and stuffed them into a drawer crammed with other crappy race T-shirts.
Good times!
In the years since those lovely experiences, I have done my best to incorporate the lessons learned into both my running and my life.
While nearly all of the dozens and dozens of wonderful fun runs I participated in back in the day were a. overpriced, b. poorly marked (Signs, people, put up some signs!) and c. parking nightmares, there were two that stand out in my memory as events that actually had a lasting impact on my life. They remain fresh in my mind to this day – in a haunting, nightmarish kind of way.
The first was a 10K I did in Pittsburgh one summer. If you’ve ever been to Pittsburgh in the summer, you know where I’m going with this. Despite an early start, the temperature was in the 80s and the humidity was hovering at around 1652%. I was just visiting and hadn’t run much under those conditions. I was, however, young and dumb. Thus, I started fast and accelerated through the first half of the race. The second half of this fun run, as I recall, was the antithesis of fun and contained very little running. It’s the only race in which I actually stopped and walked. In addition to the weather, there were hills that, in my altered state of consciousness, seemed to rival K2. I eventually finished the race, but it was ugly.
Speaking of ugly finishes, that sums up my one and only marathon. It was in Virginia Beach. I was going to school out there and thought that pounding the pavement for 26.2 miles sounded like a good idea. (More youngness and dumbness.) I trained all winter for this one, was in decent shape, had multiple long runs under my belt, and was feeling borderline cocky. For the first 18 miles, things went great. The not-so-great part came when I hit the infamous wall. My mistake, once again, was going out too fast. Furthermore, in a momentary burst of genius, in order to maintain my pace, I refused to slow for water at the aid stations. Humongous mistake.
As I get closer to the end of my own race (yep, birthday recently) and contemplate the distance remaining (unknown), my goal is to finish strong.
Post mile 18, I didn’t walk. I just got slower and slower and s-l-o-w-e-r... until it probably looked like I was running in about 4 feet of mud. When I reached the final 100 yards, I began to get lightheaded and basically staggered across the finish line. I spent the following 12 hours lying on the floor of my apartment, clutching my new race t-shirt, suffering from dehydration, exhaustion, and cramping every time I even considered moving.
You might be thinking that it doesn’t get much better than that. Actually, it does. It gets WAY better than that. Which is why, in the years since those lovely experiences, I have done my best to incorporate the lessons learned into both my running and my life. The big three takeaways:
1. Don’t pay perfectly good money for a crummy shirt.
2. Drink more water.
3. Don’t go out too fast.
That last one is especially applicable to all of us. Unless you get hit by a bus or something, life tends to be a long, LONG race. Burnout is a clear and present danger if you don’t pace yourself. As I get closer to the end of my own race (yep, birthday recently) and contemplate the distance remaining (unknown), my goal is to finish strong. I don’t want to run out of gas and have to limp and stumble my way to the finish line. Neither do I want to leave a huge reserve in the tank and just coast home.
It's a tricky balance that, I’m beginning to realize, takes finesse and careful strategy. More on this subject next time.
Cover design - Sarah Fetzer Hulsey
The Waiting Game
Patience is a virtue. A google search will tell you that this little ditty might have come from Cato the Elder in the third or fourth century (Cato the Who-ha?) or could have first surfaced in Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales in the fourteenth century. While the origin remains uncertain, this truism reminds us that patience is considered a positive character trait. What it fails to mention – and really should – is that patience, no matter how virtuous, is sometimes freaking hard to practice.
In my LX+ laps around our currently quite active and flaring source of heat and light, I’ve discovered something interesting: patience and perseverance are not the same thing. The former (in my experience) can be excruciating, difficult, borderline impossible, and otherwise not very fun. The latter (again, ime) is more about endurance, toughing it out, hanging on, not quitting. It’s quite possible to persevere while losing patience. Let me explain.
I’ve discovered something interesting: patience and perseverance are not the same thing.
As you may recall if you have visited this space in the past, once upon a time, way back when, I wrote a novel. I’ve written several and had several published. However, this novel was (and continues to be) different – in content, style, and (here’s the part) its refusal to find a home. I think of it as the “problem child” in my literary body of work.
I have invested WAY too much time and effort hocking it to agents and publishers, almost getting it contracted, and then, apparently not learning my lesson, hocking it to more agents and publishers. This has been a display of perseverance at its finest. I’ve usually got plenty of that onboard. The patience part, not so much. As the process stretched to what could well be a record-setting length of time - two decades of slow pain and anguish with an ever growing pile of rejection letters that came to rival Pikes Peak – patience ran thin, ran dry, ran out. There were fits, tantrums, vows to cast this book into the nearest landfill, thoughts of burning it, page by crumpled page, in a campfire – if and when fire bans are ever lifted.
At L-O-N-G last, I hooked up with Odyssey Books and said to myself: “Whew! That was a ridiculous amount of work for one book. Man, am I glad that’s over. Let’s hurry up and get this dang thing published!”
That was 2 years and four months ago. (852 days or 20,448 hours or 1,226,880 minutes... but who’s counting?) Because see, a funny thing happened on the way to press. A hilarious thing, really. It went by various names: Corona, COVID, SARS-Co-V-2, Alpha, Delta, Omicon, Omaha, Hut-hut!
Remember how toilet paper was scarce for a while? Well, there was an even more serious shortage of patience around here. And at a certain point, even perseverance was going into hiding. Expectations were abandoned. Disappointment crested. The proverbial towel was in hand, ready to be tossed into the ring.
So it was with a certain amount of restrained excitement, qualified relief, and a hint of doubt, that I read a message from my publisher last week that said, in effect, “We’re ready to move forward and publish your book.”
Beyond the lingering question of whether or not this book will ever REALLY be released, this spectacularly prolonged ordeal has taught me a few very important lessons.
Ok. More than an hint of doubt. A hefty, 55 gallon drum of it. After all of the previous delays, I’m not doing the happy dance (yet). In fact, my natural inclination, at this juncture in the seemingly never-ending saga, is to think, “Uh-huh, sure. I’ll bet you’re ready to publish it” (nod-nod, wink-wink). Having been in this exact position before – more than once! – I’m a little wary and a lot worried about getting punked again.
Beyond the lingering question of whether or not this book will ever REALLY be released, this spectacularly prolonged ordeal has taught me a few very important lessons.
First, always wear sunscreen. Actually, that’s just good, solid advice. It has nothing to do with this book, except that, by neglecting to slather yourself in SPF50+, you stand a good chance of not being around anymore when something good – like getting published – finally takes place.
Second, expect things to take longer than scheduled. This tip can be applied to just about any situation – doctor’s appointment, DMV visit, getting semi-permanent hair dye out of your beard, or teaching your dog to play the piano. So take a book, scroll Facebook, be prepared to shave it off, and be satisfied with the first few notes of Mary Had a Little Lamb, respectively.
Third, Lady Mary Montgomerie Currie was wrong: All things DO NOT come to those who wait. However, in the waiting, there is an opportunity to build our patience muscles. And that can definitely come in handy in the long run.
Soon. That’s when my publisher says this book is going to come out. I guess we’ll have to (ugh!) wait and see.
Editor’s note: The book in question is The House ‘Cross the Way – a literary novel set in West Texas back in the 1960s and ‘70s. Part love story, part mystery, it follows Kevin and Nora Sue as they grow up, grow close, and ultimately face a tragic secret together. If you liked Where the Crawdads Sing, this is your kind of read.
Life Isn’t Always Funny
I’ve been avoiding writing a blog post (displaying symptoms of blog-itis) for a while now. I should probably go get tested. I’m betting I’m positive for NGBI (No Good Blog Ideas). Everything I consider writing about seems to fail the test. Most of my blather... I mean, profound commentary... tends to involve a unique brand of slightly irreverent sarcasm. It needs a special kind of subject matter to find its release.
Take COVID, for instance. Masks, controversial vaccines, accusations of Nazism, accusations of lethal recklessness, high and mighty poobahs getting the “Rona Rebound”... Not that funny. And if you joke about any of that (even at this quasi-post-pandemic stage), you can get drop-kicked off social media. Possibly cancelled. You might even have your Starbucks card revoked.
Pestilence is serious business. (Don’t get me started on Monkeypox, Marburg, West Nile...)
And so is war. Nothing particularly humorous about an ex-KGB thug bombing the Beelzebub out of a neighboring country, killing untold numbers, and creating the greatest humanitarian crisis of our time. Nope. And where’s the ha-ha in weekly saber rattling by a half dozen nuclear nations who happen to be run by certifiable nutjobs?
Mushroom clouds are even serious-er business.
As I’m writing this, something decidedly not-hilarious is occurring in Asia – a crazy old woman just poked the panda. Members of two of the world’s largest and (arguably) most potent military forces are streaming towards what could easily become an apocalyptic encounter (see above for the type of clouds to expect in the forecast).
Not feeling that as a subject for a blog. Maybe if I was a military expert or a socio-political pundit or a guy on a street corner wearing a “The End is Near” sandwich board. But... huh-uh.
How about gas prices? Painful. Wildfires? Tragic. Mass shootings... Crime... Horrific and scary as hell. Supply chain breakdowns, food shortages, inflation...
Not funny.
I’ve already talked about our newest dog. And really, there’s not much material there. Going on four months since we brought him home from the pound, he remains unwilling (but we still think he’s able) to go for a walk without jerking me around like a Raggedy Andy doll. While that’s probably amusing to watch, it’s not that fun to participate in.
This morning it dawned on me! We have been involved in something which, though not a source of great jocularity or one-liners, is relatively doom and gloom free. In fact, it’s got a bona fide bright side.
One of our goals this year was to start volunteering. After investigating a few possible suspects, we landed on an organization that we’d been supporting for several years: Springs Rescue Mission. Located in downtown Colorado Springs, their vision is: “To see lives transformed and filled with hope as our community works together to fight homelessness, poverty, and addiction.”
According to their website, they ALWAYS need volunteers. So Fran and I attended training, got a tour of the campus, underwent a background check, and went through orientation to serve in the Welcome Center once a week. There, we were told, we would be helping people get case workers, use computers to look for jobs and sign up for services, rent lockers, do their wash, etc.
On our first evening, we arrived to find the Welcome Center closed. After milling around for a while, we discovered that we had been reassigned to be Shelter Hosts at the Entry Shelter. The mission has a series of ascending overnight facilities that require various levels of responsibility and commitment. The first level, designated Entry, is open to anyone and everyone. It’s what they call a “low-barrier” shelter. After being searched for weapons and contraband, guests are welcomed for the night – no matter their level of inebriation, how high they might be, or what their level of mental agitation.
As you might imagine, the first time was... um... interesting. Let’s call it “an experience.”
Surprisingly, the shock element wore off quickly. By week three or four, we didn’t really notice the stench of B.O., the profane grumblings of the not-so-happy campers, or the wild-eyed psychotics milling about. What we did notice, however, and what still hasn’t worn off (months later), is that each of the guests has a story. Although the crowd tends to be made up of now-familiar faces, there’s no common theme. Some have unexpectedly lost jobs. Some are working and can’t afford rent. Some have been in prison. Some are dressed like tourists, others like vagabonds. Some clearly haven’t had a bath in weeks. A few are strangely happy to be homeless. Several are majorly pissed off. There are military veterans – many with severe PTSD issues. Mental illness abounds. Most of the guests also seem to have physical injuries that rival (and in many cases exacerbate) their emotional distress.
Ask a simple question like, “How’s it going?” and you might get an hour’s worth of heartrending tragedy. Or you might receive a sullen glare. Or you might get flipped off. There’s no telling. Some evenings are quiet, some involve security, the police, EMTs... It’s never boring.
“Great opportunities to help others seldom come. But small ones come daily.”
I have a plaque in my office that reads: “Great opportunities to help others seldom come. But small ones come daily.” This is our small opportunity. Greeting people at the shelter and escorting them to bunks... Listening to them explain how they got there, what they’ve lost, what they need... That’s probably not going to change the world. But it is changing us. For the better. And hopefully it’s beneficial to some of the guests.
The world isn’t a very funny place right now. But that’s ok. Life isn’t always about funny. Sometimes it’s about finding ways to make a difference. No matter how small.
All Things Vincent
“Whoever lives sincerely and encounters much trouble and disappointment, but is not bowed down by them, is worth more than one who has always sailed before the wind and has only known relative prosperity.” -Vincent
I was sitting with Vincent when I heard the news that children had been slaughtered in Uvalde, Texas. Vincent was asleep. He didn’t stir when the anchorman haltingly delivered the numbers and repeated, over and over, that they didn’t know much, it was a fluid situation.
Dogs don’t understand the evil of mankind. They don’t respond to distant horror. Neither are they are concerned with gas prices or barbaric conflicts in faraway places. Dogs have it good.
This particular dog likes to sleep on the couch. He isn’t shy about climbing right up and stretching out. He arrived in our home already knowing the appropriate location for doing his duty (i.e. outside rather than inside), but wasn’t (and isn’t) good on a leash. He absolutely loves to walk... and pull... and jerk... and wander... and sniff... and chase... and basically act like a wild dingo.
“It is good to love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is well done!” -Vincent
We got Vincent at the pound. He was a stray they found in Lamar – Lab/Pitbull mix rated as a level 4 on a scale that goes to 5. Level 4 means: “tends to be excitable and can have a very hard time settling down...” When we met him, we hesitated, but he countered with the look: this thing he does with his face and those sad, puppy dog eyes... He knows how to get his way. And he did. Score one for Vincent.
He is a replacement dog. That sounds crass. You can never really replace a dog. Lassie, Toklat, Bandit, Max, Nacho... all irreplaceable. They were standalones. The last in that hall of fame list - Nacho - was elderly when we got him. Majorly overweight. We helped him slim down, turned him into a hiking dog. He was with us long enough to win our hearts and when he left us... he broke our hearts. Like they all do.
Enter Mr. V. The Vin Man. He was already named Vincent. We went with it because... you know... Vincent Van Gogh and all.
“Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.” -Vincent
He watched Dog with us the other night and, unlike our two other dogs, who snoozed through it, expressed real concern when the star - a Belgian Malinois - was in tight situations.
Vincent is 2 or 3 years old (they weren’t sure) and acts like a big puppy. He gets the “zoomies” on a regular basis and the other dogs watch suspiciously, carefully staying out of his way.
“I think that everything that is really good and beautiful, of inward moral, spiritual, and sublime beauty in men and their works, comes from God...” -Vincent
Dogs have historically refused to come down to my basement office. Not sure why. Even Nacho. He would very occasionally walk down the stairs, then immediately go back up again. I was actively recruiting for an Office Dog when Vincent showed up. Despite his hyperactive antics, he is filling the role quite effectively. He usually arrives at work at 7AM sharp, takes a few short breaks to sit outside in the sun, and then hangs out until I call it a day around 4:30PM.
“I am living a day at a time; the weather is so beautiful and I am absorbed in my work. I am well.” -Vincent
He’s not perfect. For instance, Vincent won’t let me juggle. He steals the jugs. He’s finally gotten to where he’ll allow me to play my guitar, without biting the tremolo bar. The trumpet, however, is out of the question. Just opening the case makes him go cray-cray.
Since adopting Vincent, all hell has broken loose in the world - wars and rumors of wars, a new exotic pestilence, soaring inflation... We had a wildfire less than a mile from our home and have been dealing with serious illnesses in the family. Planet earth, which is always a little wobbly, seems to be spinning out of control.
Yet Vincent is unfazed. At this very moment, he is happily sleeping on the pillow next to my desk – like a good Office Dog should. He’s not worried about the economy or that huge asteroid that NASA says is going to be doing a flyby this weekend. Nope. He’s got a great new home that features two furry sisters, a doggie door with 24/7 access to the backyard, daily walks, and two people who are willing to put up with his shenanigans and won’t be dropping him off at Panda Express (probably).
“Close friends are truly life’s treasures. Sometimes they know us better than we know ourselves. With gentle honesty, they are there to guide and support us, to share our laughter and our tears. Their presence reminds us that we are never really alone.” -Vincent
I’ve only had close encounters with two Vincents. One, a starving artist I met through the pages of books, websites, and museums. The other, a lost mutt that inserted himself into our lives via the Humane Society. Coincidentally, they both seem to express the same general outlook on life, namely a passion for living it to the fullest.* They also share a determination and perseverance – an “against all odds” attitude - that is necessary in order to overcome and succeed.
I’m convinced that Vincent Van Gogh would have been happier if he had owned a dog like our Vincent. He’s definitely having that effect on us.
“I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart.” -Vincent
*Editor’s Note: Despite the popular belief that Van Gogh committed suicide, another theory suggests that he was shot by accident. In their book, “Van Gogh: The Life,” Steven Naifeh and Gregory White Smith, offer a CSI investigation into the famous artist’s death. Though Van Gogh was plagued with mental illness, they argue that shooting himself not only didn’t fit with his passion for life, it didn’t fit with the evidence on hand. This included a letter he wrote to his brother on the day of the shooting that was “upbeat – even ebullient – about the future.” To read more about their theory, go here.
Get Used to Disappointment: Part Deux
I actually had several alternate titles in mind for this blog:
Accepting Unexpected Setbacks with Grace
Not Whining When Things Don’t Go Your Way
A Practical Guide to Getting Ghosted by Your Publisher
But none of those seemed to fit. Well, except for that last one. Let me explain.
It turns out that I’m not good at accepting unexpected setbacks with grace. Whether that’s an emotional intelligence issue (I’m lacking) or a maturity thing (I don’t have any)... I mostly just suck at it. And instead of not whining, I take an alternate route: I whine. You can ask my wife. Furthermore, I complain, fume, rant, flail my hands in the air, adopt a surly expression, and often sulk. In fact, that’s my super power. I’m terrible at adapting to setbacks, but I can sulk with the best of them.
While I could offer examples from my illustrious resume of “bad loser” moments and regale you with stories of how L-O-N-G it takes me to get over negative events, I won’t. (You’re welcome.) Instead, I’d like to focus on the fact that my publisher really is ghosting me.
I failed miserably at the not getting my hopes up part.
You may remember that I predicted this in an earlier blog. I explained that, at long last, I had contracted my novel with a publisher. I mentioned that this particular novel had been involved in several near-misses with a variety of agents and publishers. It had been lauded, praised, complemented, and, most importantly, very nearly published yet, somehow, NOT PUBLISHED.
I remember saying how it seemed jinxed and that while I was excited to announce that it was “definitely” scheduled to be released in the fall of 2021, I was still a little hesitant to get too excited about it. Because you never know. I told myself that untiI I was holding a hard copy in my grubby little hand, I would not allow my hopes to get too elevated.
The contract I signed assured me that, at long last, the wait was over. It was going to be printed. It was going to be read - by at least my immediate family and a couple of friends. And it even had the potential (fingers crossed) to become a literary sensation, later to be adapted into a blockbuster movie starting Chris Hemsworth or maybe Chris Pratt.
Yeah. I failed miserably at the not getting my hopes up part.
So when the ghosting began, it was devastating. I had already produced a lovely trailer. I was doing some pre-marketing, lining up reviewers, and even had an invitation to do a podcast. A matter of weeks before the slated release... my publisher went silent. I called, texted, slacked, facebooked, emailed, sent smoke signals... Repeatedly. Nothing. (Insert the sound of crickets here.)
As of this writing, I still don’t know what happened. Maybe they went belly up. Maybe they didn’t pay their taxes and had to flee to Brazil. Maybe they were drowned by a tsunami. Alien abduction or Bigfoot might even factor into the mystery. But the bottom line is this: no book. Nada. Zilch. Zippo.
While I find this more than a little embarrassing (“Sure, you contracted your novel. Uh-huh... Right...” wink-wink), I am bringing up this topic today for a couple of reasons.
In the great scheme of things, the false start of one measly novel is no big deal.
First, there are actually some people - maybe five or six - who were looking forward to reading this book. A few - ok, two - kept asking me where the heck it was. One - yes, one - went to Barnes & Noble hunting the shelves for it. I felt that an explanation was in order. These faithful few know that the novel really exists - if only in manuscript form - and that it came perilously close to being a bona fide book bound inside a bona fide cover. (You do believe me, right? Right??)
The second reason is to bring an end to my extended period of sulking and put a positive spin on a negative happening. I mean, if you think about it, in the great scheme of things - what with the war raging in Europe, rising inflation, increasing violence in our city streets, and the fact that the Dallas Cowboys have the greatest pool of talent in the NFL but cannot play their way out of a paper sack - the false start of one measly novel is no big deal.
It also gives me a chance to work on my resilience. That was at the top of my list of New Year’s resolutions anyway: face unexpected challenges, bounce back quickly. Okay, not. But this situation does serve to remind me that the process of writing and of making any kind of art is almost always more satisfying than the process of trying to contract, distribute, promote, sell, and otherwise make a few shekels from that work. The creation part is fun! The marketing part... not so much.
As of this writing, I’ve climbed back up on the horse and have submitted the novel to a few agents. I’ll let you know if someone bites. If it’s another cricket situation, I may consider self-publishing - for posterity. We’ll see.
Which brings me back to the title of this blog. You may have recognized that it was drawn from The Princess Bride - that rich source of inspiration and insight. In addition to helping us understand the definition of “inconceivable” and what it means to be “nearly dead all day,” the film offers this pearl of practical wisdom that I have quoted before, but am still learning to embrace: Get used to disappointment.
Ok.
This Is The End!
No. Not the end, as in the end of the world. (Though that could certainly be inbound - as of this writing, all bets are off.) I’m talking about the end of something that has been a roller coaster of emotions, a source of countless serious discussions, and the subject of more than one argument. Yes, I’m referring to the end of... (gulp!) This is Us.
For many, perhaps most, of the people on this big, slap-happy planet of ours, that means nothing. Less than nothing. To them, if they are even aware of the NBC program, it is a ridiculous and trivial pursuit, a prime-time soap opera with so-so acting, an excuse to sit on the couch and eat popcorn on a Tuesday evening. While it is, arguably, all of those things, it is also, to a select few This is Us followers (aka - “the sappy ones”), a source of great dramatic entertainment.
Personally, I would emphasize dramatic. Sometimes it’s entertaining. Sometimes not. In fact, Season 4, imo, jumped the shark. Yet, remarkably - a testament to the show’s quality - it jumped back over the shark and, somehow, got back on track. I was astounded.
I offer the following explanation for why this could be - at least for me - the best series of all time.
For the sappy ones (like myself) who are already depressed about the approach of the final episode on May 24, as well as those who are majorly not fans and who think it majorly bites, I offer the following explanation for why this could be - at least for me - the best series of all time.
Backstory
The backstory - not of the program storyline, but of my attachment to it - involves a common conundrum: having nothing else to watch. Even worse, having nothing else to do. Remember back in the run-for-the-hills phase of the pandemic when we were basically sequestered in our homes and were forced to spend our evenings quivering in fear of contracting a sneaky and reportedly deadly virus at any moment even without speaking to or seeing another human being all day? Yeah, me neither. But I do remember the lockdown and being really, really BORED.
Enter binging. My wife, Fran and I binged on New Amsterdam (Quick review: good first season, followed by a stumbling belly flop - it couldn’t even manage to jump the shark - followed by... more seasons. We still watch, but I verbally abuse the writers, question the morals, and do a lot of head shaking.) We also binged Naked and Afraid. (Quick review: dang, that would suck to be both naked AND afraid. Veteran tip: always boil your water and make a shelter for when it rains - cause it’s gonna.) Then we discovered (cue heavenly choir...) This is Us.
I was immediately hooked for three reasons.
The theme and background music is THE BEST! I love it! I listen to it on iTunes while I write. It’s like an audio portrait of time. You can hear time passing, feel the current of time, and sense the sadness that time likes to drape over us. Siddhartha Khosla is a genius.
You can hear time passing, feel the current of time, and sense the sadness that time likes to drape over us.
In addition, the song they choose for the montage at the end of each episode is ALWAYS a tear-jerker. Even if the acting is blah or the story is meh, that song grabs you and demands that you cry. I try not to. I’m a (sniff!) man.
2. The Storytelling
Here I’m specifically talking about the flashback method. I don’t know, but I highly suspect that the writers knew in advance where they were going. This wasn’t just a situation where they had an idea, developed characters and then, each week, sat around a table and said: “So... what should we have Jack do this time?”
It’s like a good novel. Like a good movie. There’s forward movement. We’re going somewhere with the characters. They know this. We know this. And it’s a journey we are all invested in.
We’re going somewhere with the characters. They know this. We know this. And it’s a journey we are all invested in.
Not every episode is a home run. Not by any means. Some of them are borderline crappy. But the overall arc of the story is so well orchestrated. It grabs your heart. At least, it grabs mine.
3. It’s About Us
Strangely, I’m not crazy about the characters. But the story is about us: it’s humankind plodding along, sometimes celebrating, sometimes mourning, sometimes victorious, often defeated, wandering and hoping, making mistakes... And back to that issue of time - this series allows you to see it happening, just as it is happening in your own life. The events that take place are messy, ugly, difficult, and occasionally beautiful. Love and family are what keeps the story afloat and moves it along.
I’ll be sad to see the finale and bid farewell to the Pearson family. But it is fitting that the story has an end. All stories do.
I’m tempted to say the secret sauce is the music. (A-mazing!) Or the writing. (I only wish I could...) Both are incredible. But when you combine them with a saga that is something we can all identify with - the loss of a child, the adoption of a son, sibling rivalries and sibling support, divorce, sudden horrific events that ruin expectations, moral confusion, insecurities, premature death, family relationships that challenge and commit to be there...
This is Us isn’t perfect. I think that’s why it’s one of my favorite shows of all time. I’ll be sad to see the finale and bid farewell to the Pearson family of Pittsburgh, PA. But it is fitting that the story has an end. All stories do. That’s how life is. Things change. Time flows, advances… Then comes the end.
Cancel Me... Please!
Just do it. Get it over with. Rip off the bandage. Make the move. Pull the trigger and let’s move on.
I won’t protest. I won’t seek revenge. I promise that I won’t even hold a grudge. But this waiting and wondering when it’s going to happen... The suspense is killing me! Hurry up already!
Cancel me!
Oh, so you don’t think I’m cancel-worthy? Just because I’m not a celebrity or a professional athlete with foot-in-mouth disease doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be silenced. Plain old nobodies like me deserve to be erased too.
In support of my campaign to be cancelled, I offer this evidence: I’ve embraced a highly offensive worldview and belief system that is neither inclusive nor flexible. Furthermore, I stubbornly refuse to alter my stance or shut up about it.
I’ve embraced a highly offensive worldview and belief system that is neither inclusive nor flexible.
See? Cancel-o-mundo!
Not convinced? What about this: I am firmly committed to Someone and something that is diametrically opposed to the social trends, attitudes, and behaviors currently circulating and being espoused on planet earth. I’m talking about my belief in God and the Bible. By embracing that dangerous combo, I have chosen to put myself at odds with our culture’s morality and philosophy.
That sound you hear is the rubber meeting the road.
If I continue to believe and obey God, and practice what’s in the Bible, I’ll be going directly against the flow, making muchos enemies, and eventually setting myself up to be castigated, labeled intolerant, called a bigot, ostracized, and... all together now: cancelled.
So, why not skip the intermediate jousting? Nix me now!
This is about more than just being old and cantankerous. Not every curmudgeon qualifies for cancelization. It takes an extra edge, something that is scary and offensive and unpalatable to the mainstream, relativistic crowd, something that calls them out and effectively ticks them off. Believing the Bible and its Author qualifies.
Specifically, it’s not cool that the Bible says, “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth...” That sets off the evolutionists and atheists. Or what about: “God created mankind in his own image... male and female he created them.” Uh-oh... Not sensitive to gender fluidity. Or then there are the passages that comment on abortion, homosexuality, sex outside of marriage... Or the elephant in the room: Jesus calling Himself God and stating unequivocally that there is no way to heaven, except through faith in Him.
Yikes! Outrageous, right? Anyone with the audacity to believe that deserves to be cancelled. In fact, maybe we should just cancel the Bible. And God too, since it’s His book. That would take care of the problem, right?
I’m not writing this out of bitterness or anger or a desire to condemn. My motivation is a sad certainty that our world has gone off the rails and isn’t coming back.
Seriously, I’m not writing this out of bitterness or anger or a desire to condemn. My motivation is a sad certainty that our world has gone off the rails and isn’t coming back. All signs indicate that we are swiftly approaching a day when being a Christian is anathema.
It seems to be an eventuality. So I’m prepared to be eliminated, eradicated, disappeared.
Don’t confuse this with a concession. I’m not giving up (see tattoo on right forearm). I’ll still be practicing my faith in a country that used to be known for the freedom to do that. But if the cancelers will just hurry up, get on with their business, and hit the delete button, they’ll feel better about themselves and, hopefully, move on to find some other poor schnook to extirpate. Then I can continue to follow God in the relative tranquility of my post-cancelled state.
Before I tiptoe into Cancel-Town, however, I have one last cautionary warning for all of us: We’re going the wrong way. We’re moving speedily and recklessly away from God. And what lies ahead isn’t going to be good. To quote a few of my favorite movies: I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Hang onto something. It’s coming... It’s already here!
Editor’s note: They tried to cancel Jesus. But... um... Didn’t work.