Father's Day is coming, and it just isn't as big a deal in terms of media attention as Mother's Day.
Gee, wonder why?
If you are the child of a single parent mom who, for whatever reason, had to be mother AND father to you, do that woman a favor: Give her a Father's Day card. Some flowers would be nice, too.
Single parent moms pull double parental duty, and they should be acknowledged for it.
Happy Father's Day, y'all.
To Every Thing There Is A Season
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under Heaven . . . .
I’m no Bible scholar. I only know of this verse because of the Byrd’s song, “Turn, Turn, Turn.” It’s a reminder that the things we wish for don’t necessarily happen when we want, but in their season.
My friend Sheila in Denver is a living example of this verse. Whenever something doesn’t go her way or she doesn’t get something she longs for, she simply says, “It isn’t my season” and moves on. That’s it. No whining, no complaining, nothing. She surrenders to God’s plan for her and gets on with life. I wish I were more like her.
I’ve done something I never do on this blog: Included a photo. This is a photo from my garden of one of the rose bushes I brought with me to my new home from my previous rental. I had my doubts they would bloom, even after one of the groundspeople where I work told last winter to cut them back severely. “Are you sure?”, I said, with trepidation. “Yes.” He reminded me that they will come back like gangbusters, in their season.
And they did.
I was reminded that “to every thing there is a season” yesterday when I happened to be home and saw a commentary by Roland Martin on TV 1 regarding Judge Sonia Sotomayor’s nomination to the U.S. Supreme Court. He bemoaned the fact that African American women judges weren’t considered for the nomination and suggested that we hold President Obama accountable for his future choices for the Court.
I just shook my head and thought, “It’s not our season.”
Mind you, I’d love to see a sistah judge on the highest court in our land. But what would it have said about President Obama and African Americans in general if, at our first turn at governing the nation, we looked out only for our own interests and not the interests of all the other groups who helped bring President Obama to the White House? African Americans are no longer the largest minority in the U.S., and we need to get with that new reality. We need to forge alliances across racial, ethnic, and other lines to be able to secure our interests down the line with the support of others. We already have an African American justice on the Court (for what he’s worth – and don’t forget, there were black folks who actually supported Justice Thomas’ nomination), and he’s the second African American to have occupied a place on the court. What we need are women of all races sitting on the Court, not just women of two races – black and white. I have faith that, when the proper opportunity arises, President Obama will appoint an African American woman to the Court. However, I want to see all marginalized groups represented on the highest bench in the land, not just my own people.
Plus, the “black for black’s sake” argument doesn’t resonate with me given how conservatives have been teeing up Judge Janice Rogers Brown to be the first African American female justice on the Supreme Court. A former justice on the California Supreme Court who opposed racial set-asides and race-conscious relief in general, Brown was appointed by President George W. Bush to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the D.C. Circuit, which is well known as a feeder circuit for the U.S. Supreme Court. This was the same court Justice Thomas was appointed to for a little more than a year before ascending to the Supreme Court. In the words of my former judge, “He wasn’t there [the D.C. Circuit] long enough to write his name on a paycheck, much less author any significant opinions.” If Roland Martin were to go shopping just for black female judges qualified for the U.S. Supreme Court, Brown is more qualified than Thomas was when he was nominated. But I wouldn’t want her on the Supreme Court.
Just as the roses bloomed in my garden in their season, I believe we African American women will have our season, too, when it comes to nominations to the U.S. Supreme Court. It just isn’t now.
Ecclesiastes 3:1
I’m no Bible scholar. I only know of this verse because of the Byrd’s song, “Turn, Turn, Turn.” It’s a reminder that the things we wish for don’t necessarily happen when we want, but in their season.
My friend Sheila in Denver is a living example of this verse. Whenever something doesn’t go her way or she doesn’t get something she longs for, she simply says, “It isn’t my season” and moves on. That’s it. No whining, no complaining, nothing. She surrenders to God’s plan for her and gets on with life. I wish I were more like her.
I’ve done something I never do on this blog: Included a photo. This is a photo from my garden of one of the rose bushes I brought with me to my new home from my previous rental. I had my doubts they would bloom, even after one of the groundspeople where I work told last winter to cut them back severely. “Are you sure?”, I said, with trepidation. “Yes.” He reminded me that they will come back like gangbusters, in their season.
And they did.
I was reminded that “to every thing there is a season” yesterday when I happened to be home and saw a commentary by Roland Martin on TV 1 regarding Judge Sonia Sotomayor’s nomination to the U.S. Supreme Court. He bemoaned the fact that African American women judges weren’t considered for the nomination and suggested that we hold President Obama accountable for his future choices for the Court.
I just shook my head and thought, “It’s not our season.”
Mind you, I’d love to see a sistah judge on the highest court in our land. But what would it have said about President Obama and African Americans in general if, at our first turn at governing the nation, we looked out only for our own interests and not the interests of all the other groups who helped bring President Obama to the White House? African Americans are no longer the largest minority in the U.S., and we need to get with that new reality. We need to forge alliances across racial, ethnic, and other lines to be able to secure our interests down the line with the support of others. We already have an African American justice on the Court (for what he’s worth – and don’t forget, there were black folks who actually supported Justice Thomas’ nomination), and he’s the second African American to have occupied a place on the court. What we need are women of all races sitting on the Court, not just women of two races – black and white. I have faith that, when the proper opportunity arises, President Obama will appoint an African American woman to the Court. However, I want to see all marginalized groups represented on the highest bench in the land, not just my own people.
Plus, the “black for black’s sake” argument doesn’t resonate with me given how conservatives have been teeing up Judge Janice Rogers Brown to be the first African American female justice on the Supreme Court. A former justice on the California Supreme Court who opposed racial set-asides and race-conscious relief in general, Brown was appointed by President George W. Bush to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the D.C. Circuit, which is well known as a feeder circuit for the U.S. Supreme Court. This was the same court Justice Thomas was appointed to for a little more than a year before ascending to the Supreme Court. In the words of my former judge, “He wasn’t there [the D.C. Circuit] long enough to write his name on a paycheck, much less author any significant opinions.” If Roland Martin were to go shopping just for black female judges qualified for the U.S. Supreme Court, Brown is more qualified than Thomas was when he was nominated. But I wouldn’t want her on the Supreme Court.
Just as the roses bloomed in my garden in their season, I believe we African American women will have our season, too, when it comes to nominations to the U.S. Supreme Court. It just isn’t now.
Stop Hatin'
We say this nowadays to mean "don't be jealous" -- "stop hatin'." But it looks like traditional hatin' is spreading faster than VD in a bordello. First, Dr. George Tiller, then Stephen Johns, both gunned down in the most unexpected of places for no reason other than hate.
Since when did taking up arms and shooting people you hate based on race, religion, or political beliefs become acceptable? What made Richard Pryor's "Saturday Night Live" song, "I'm Gonna Get Me A Gun And Kill All the Whities I See" so humorous at the time was that it was so absurd. Blanket hatred was so unacceptable that anyone who would foment it was considered some kind of weird eccentric worth laughing at, a caricature of sorts.
Since when did taking up arms and shooting people you hate based on race, religion, or political beliefs become acceptable? What made Richard Pryor's "Saturday Night Live" song, "I'm Gonna Get Me A Gun And Kill All the Whities I See" so humorous at the time was that it was so absurd. Blanket hatred was so unacceptable that anyone who would foment it was considered some kind of weird eccentric worth laughing at, a caricature of sorts.
I think it's time that we make people uncomfortable in their prejudices. It's so easy for prejudices and stereotypes to creep in unchallenged as seemingly minor slights against a particular group unrepresented in the conversation. Maybe we all need to "smoke out" hate by calling ourselves and others on these unchallenged prejudices and stereotypes, even at the risk of being called "PC." Lord knows we could all be called worse. And if it means giving hatred no place to fester and grow free from exposure, so be it.
Stop hatin'. The traditional kind, that is.
What Older Sisters -- Or Siblings -- Do
I watched the families of Laura Ling and Euna Lee appear on “The Larry King Show” last week and could not help but see the profound sadness in Lisa Ling’s eyes. Although she maintained a calm and slightly smiling visage, you could see the fear in her eyes that belies the hope of which she spoke, hope that her sister and Euna Lee would be released by the North Korean government.
I knew then that Lisa was the older sister of the two. You could tell.
I’m the youngest of my mom’s four daughters and my dad’s five, and the youngest of my mom and dad’s children. As the youngest, you enjoy the blissful position of not having to be responsible for anyone younger than you, or anyone else for that matter. You are free of having to account for any harm that befalls a sibling. You don’t have that “You are in charge of your younger siblings” thing seared onto your brain as my mom’s oldest daughter does, as do all of my older siblings. As the youngest, you don’t get punished for the actions of others in the family because you’re not responsible for anyone else.
I doubt my mom’s oldest daughter would be as composed as Lisa Ling were she on Larry King seeking my release. As my mother got older, a lot of mother-type activities got farmed out to her and my mom’s second oldest daughter – Girl Scout stuff and the like my mom didn’t have time for. Even as old as I am, my mom’s oldest daughter refers to me as “Bad Baby” when I act out of line or say or do something of which my late mother would not approve. She just slowly shakes her head and says in a low, disapproving voice, “Now, c’mon, Bad Baby. You know better.” We’re ten years apart, and she still feels responsible for me, to the point of making sure that my birthday is observed with a cake as my late mother always did (BTW, she baked me a slammin’ carrot cake with cream cheese frosting for my last birthday. I still can’t button some of my pants because of it.). I would imagine that were I detained by a despotic government, she would feel responsible for seeking my release. She would probably feel responsible for my being detained in the first place. Responsibility for her five younger siblings has been drummed into her, against her will, for her entire life. I don’t think she knows anything else, despite the fact that she never really wanted to be responsible for us. As she told my mom when I was in utero, “I don’t want another brother or sister. I want a puppy.” A fifth younger sibling, and the responsibility that came with it, wasn’t what my oldest sister wanted.
I could see that sense of older sister responsibility in Lisa Ling’s eyes. I sensed that she, too, felt responsible for her younger sister’s situation, as illogical as that seems, and powerless to extricate her sister from it, as she was probably programmed to do since childhood. I would imagine that, in the world of older sisters, that is the worst condition to be in, especially when responsibility for your baby sister has been your “normal” all your life and the consequences of harm to her had always been placed on your shoulders.
To her credit, Ms. Ling held it together, gave a cogent and seemingly non-propagandist account of how this all happened, to the best of her knowledge, and stated the fact that her family was seeking a humanitarian release of her sister and Ms. Lee. She apologized more than once for “the girls,” stating that it was never their intention when they left the U.S. to stray into North Korea. As the older sister, however, I would imagine she would say or do just about anything to get her baby sister back. I know my older sisters would, even my oldest brother.
I hope for the return of Laura Ling and Euna Lee, not just for themselves, but for their families. I hope to see the sadness in Lisa Ling’s eyes disappear and be replaced with joy and relief because of the return of her baby sister. And if Lisa is anything like my oldest sister, I would imagine that, upon Laura’s return, there would definitely be an "older sister lecture" coming, somewhat like, “Now, Bad Baby, what in the HELL were YOU thinking? Don’t you ever worry me and our parents like that again!
I hope Lisa Ling gets the chance to give her "older sister lecture." Keep Laura Ling and Euna Lee in your prayers, y’all.
I knew then that Lisa was the older sister of the two. You could tell.
I’m the youngest of my mom’s four daughters and my dad’s five, and the youngest of my mom and dad’s children. As the youngest, you enjoy the blissful position of not having to be responsible for anyone younger than you, or anyone else for that matter. You are free of having to account for any harm that befalls a sibling. You don’t have that “You are in charge of your younger siblings” thing seared onto your brain as my mom’s oldest daughter does, as do all of my older siblings. As the youngest, you don’t get punished for the actions of others in the family because you’re not responsible for anyone else.
I doubt my mom’s oldest daughter would be as composed as Lisa Ling were she on Larry King seeking my release. As my mother got older, a lot of mother-type activities got farmed out to her and my mom’s second oldest daughter – Girl Scout stuff and the like my mom didn’t have time for. Even as old as I am, my mom’s oldest daughter refers to me as “Bad Baby” when I act out of line or say or do something of which my late mother would not approve. She just slowly shakes her head and says in a low, disapproving voice, “Now, c’mon, Bad Baby. You know better.” We’re ten years apart, and she still feels responsible for me, to the point of making sure that my birthday is observed with a cake as my late mother always did (BTW, she baked me a slammin’ carrot cake with cream cheese frosting for my last birthday. I still can’t button some of my pants because of it.). I would imagine that were I detained by a despotic government, she would feel responsible for seeking my release. She would probably feel responsible for my being detained in the first place. Responsibility for her five younger siblings has been drummed into her, against her will, for her entire life. I don’t think she knows anything else, despite the fact that she never really wanted to be responsible for us. As she told my mom when I was in utero, “I don’t want another brother or sister. I want a puppy.” A fifth younger sibling, and the responsibility that came with it, wasn’t what my oldest sister wanted.
I could see that sense of older sister responsibility in Lisa Ling’s eyes. I sensed that she, too, felt responsible for her younger sister’s situation, as illogical as that seems, and powerless to extricate her sister from it, as she was probably programmed to do since childhood. I would imagine that, in the world of older sisters, that is the worst condition to be in, especially when responsibility for your baby sister has been your “normal” all your life and the consequences of harm to her had always been placed on your shoulders.
To her credit, Ms. Ling held it together, gave a cogent and seemingly non-propagandist account of how this all happened, to the best of her knowledge, and stated the fact that her family was seeking a humanitarian release of her sister and Ms. Lee. She apologized more than once for “the girls,” stating that it was never their intention when they left the U.S. to stray into North Korea. As the older sister, however, I would imagine she would say or do just about anything to get her baby sister back. I know my older sisters would, even my oldest brother.
I hope for the return of Laura Ling and Euna Lee, not just for themselves, but for their families. I hope to see the sadness in Lisa Ling’s eyes disappear and be replaced with joy and relief because of the return of her baby sister. And if Lisa is anything like my oldest sister, I would imagine that, upon Laura’s return, there would definitely be an "older sister lecture" coming, somewhat like, “Now, Bad Baby, what in the HELL were YOU thinking? Don’t you ever worry me and our parents like that again!
I hope Lisa Ling gets the chance to give her "older sister lecture." Keep Laura Ling and Euna Lee in your prayers, y’all.
The Courage Of, And For, Billions
Today is the 20th anniversary of the Tiananmen Square Massacre, when the Chinese government began cracking down on thousands of students protesting for freedom. What I remember most is the photo that came to epitomize the protest: A lone man standing down a column of Chinese tanks. I remember the hope I had felt prior to the crackdown for those students who, like myself at the time, were naïve enough to think they could change their country and possibly the world. I remember thinking when I saw that photo, “Dang, that man’s got courage. I hope they don’t run him down.” I remember naively assuring myself that no government would run tanks over its own people, students no less. I was wrong. Young, naïve and wrong.
I’ve heard on NPR that the Chinese government has blacked out some Chinese bloggers’ sites and purposely scheduled student exams on this day to discourage remembrances and protests. Now, I’m as bad as your average American citizen when it comes to China. I shop at Wal-Mart and I watched some of the Beijing Olympics. I don’t stand as resolutely behind my principles as that lone man did. But no matter how China endeavors to erase the minds of billions, I won’t be among them. I will never forget.
I wonder whether that lone man, who would become known as “Tank Man,” is alive today. Some say he was executed, others say he lives in Taiwan. Regardless, no one should forget what they saw on the news that day and the following days. Never forget what governments are capable of.
It’s easy to forget in America that most of the world’s population does not live in freedom. It’s easy to forget that the rights we take for granted – speech, protest, having children, equality, religious observance -- or not – are rights that most of the world does not share. And if Beijing had its way, we’d forget what happened on this day twenty years ago in Tiananmen Square.
Not me. I won’t forget. I won’t forget that lone man who had the courage of, and for, billions.
I’ve heard on NPR that the Chinese government has blacked out some Chinese bloggers’ sites and purposely scheduled student exams on this day to discourage remembrances and protests. Now, I’m as bad as your average American citizen when it comes to China. I shop at Wal-Mart and I watched some of the Beijing Olympics. I don’t stand as resolutely behind my principles as that lone man did. But no matter how China endeavors to erase the minds of billions, I won’t be among them. I will never forget.
I wonder whether that lone man, who would become known as “Tank Man,” is alive today. Some say he was executed, others say he lives in Taiwan. Regardless, no one should forget what they saw on the news that day and the following days. Never forget what governments are capable of.
It’s easy to forget in America that most of the world’s population does not live in freedom. It’s easy to forget that the rights we take for granted – speech, protest, having children, equality, religious observance -- or not – are rights that most of the world does not share. And if Beijing had its way, we’d forget what happened on this day twenty years ago in Tiananmen Square.
Not me. I won’t forget. I won’t forget that lone man who had the courage of, and for, billions.
Until I Freakin' Die - A Spite Pension
Welcome to my mid-life crisis. I have weeks like this one when I question whether I want to continue doing what I do for a living, especially for the entity I do it for – the State of California. Given the 5% pay cut I’m facing next fiscal year in addition to the 9.4% pay cut/unpaid furloughs I’m already experiencing, I’m tempted to continue working for the State of California just until my pension vests, in about a year, just to piss off the top dogs in State bureaucracy and make the actuaries at CalPERS work harder to figure out how much I and my fellow Baby Boomers are going to cost.
See, I’m part of the big pension funding problem the State is going to have to deal with in about 20 years or less. Worse, I’m on the end of the Baby Boom generation. Even worse, my pension, should I stay long enough to vest, will be higher than your average state worker pension because my salary is higher than the average state worker and my pension is, I’m told, calculated under the older, more remunerative Tier 1 formula. My understanding is that if I put in 20 years and retire no earlier than 50 (as if!) I get lifetime health care benefits, too. The pension won’t amount to much, but because it’s a pension, I would be entitled to it and the health care benefits until I freakin’ die.
That should be enough to make the State’s big financial dogs tremble – paying pension and health care benefits to a whole bunch of healthy, elderly and, in my case, hypochondriac Baby Boomers until they decide to shove off the planet. Hell, you can’t get Baby Boomers off the stage, much less off the planet, to wit: Bill Clinton. I wouldn’t be surprised to see the State hire mercenaries from Blackwater to start taking out retired California state workers. It would be cheaper than paying health care benefits and pensions until they freakin’ die. And I'm sure Blackwater wouldn't get caught.
Call mine a "spite pension."
Mind you, there are days when I don’t like practicing law. Even in an advisory capacity, I often feel like I’m at war, constantly having to defend my legal opinions and proposed decisions to other lawyers and my superiors. I constantly allow the perfect to get in the way of the good, as do most lawyers, because you feel there’s little if any room for error in the advice you give. Someone’s going to be making plans based on that advice, so it better be correct. The quest for perfection is tiring at my age. Even a stripper is allowed a little imperfection in her work, a little cellulite without getting booed off the stage. Lawyers, not so much. Added to that is the flaming hatred most Californians have for state civil service employees. I don't remember things being so rabid when my parents worked for the State. It wears on your spirit to be hated just for having the job you have, regardless of whether you do it well.
With the State laying off employees and looking to cut salaries for employees of general fund agencies, which I am (Don’t get it twisted – state employees of the University of California, the California State University system, some special fund agencies, and agencies headed by constitutionally-elected officials have not faced unpaid furloughs), and given my ennui about law practice these days, it’s easy for me to consider laying the foundation for my immediate exit from state service (Any literary agents out there?) so I don't experience any loss of income in the short run. There's no loyalty between the State and its employees these days, and for folks like me, it's like playing financial chicken to see how long you can hold out without getting laid off. But assuming I can avoid being laid off until I vest, I will probably stay with the State for no other reason than to have a source of income, no matter how small, until I freakin’ die. Or at least the claim to one. Oh, and just to piss the State of California off.
In the meantime, I’m gonna try to get really healthy, take dietary supplements, and get in shape so I can live long to enjoy that pension when I’m old. Until I freakin’ die. Just to piss the State off.
Pilates, anyone?
See, I’m part of the big pension funding problem the State is going to have to deal with in about 20 years or less. Worse, I’m on the end of the Baby Boom generation. Even worse, my pension, should I stay long enough to vest, will be higher than your average state worker pension because my salary is higher than the average state worker and my pension is, I’m told, calculated under the older, more remunerative Tier 1 formula. My understanding is that if I put in 20 years and retire no earlier than 50 (as if!) I get lifetime health care benefits, too. The pension won’t amount to much, but because it’s a pension, I would be entitled to it and the health care benefits until I freakin’ die.
That should be enough to make the State’s big financial dogs tremble – paying pension and health care benefits to a whole bunch of healthy, elderly and, in my case, hypochondriac Baby Boomers until they decide to shove off the planet. Hell, you can’t get Baby Boomers off the stage, much less off the planet, to wit: Bill Clinton. I wouldn’t be surprised to see the State hire mercenaries from Blackwater to start taking out retired California state workers. It would be cheaper than paying health care benefits and pensions until they freakin’ die. And I'm sure Blackwater wouldn't get caught.
Call mine a "spite pension."
Mind you, there are days when I don’t like practicing law. Even in an advisory capacity, I often feel like I’m at war, constantly having to defend my legal opinions and proposed decisions to other lawyers and my superiors. I constantly allow the perfect to get in the way of the good, as do most lawyers, because you feel there’s little if any room for error in the advice you give. Someone’s going to be making plans based on that advice, so it better be correct. The quest for perfection is tiring at my age. Even a stripper is allowed a little imperfection in her work, a little cellulite without getting booed off the stage. Lawyers, not so much. Added to that is the flaming hatred most Californians have for state civil service employees. I don't remember things being so rabid when my parents worked for the State. It wears on your spirit to be hated just for having the job you have, regardless of whether you do it well.
With the State laying off employees and looking to cut salaries for employees of general fund agencies, which I am (Don’t get it twisted – state employees of the University of California, the California State University system, some special fund agencies, and agencies headed by constitutionally-elected officials have not faced unpaid furloughs), and given my ennui about law practice these days, it’s easy for me to consider laying the foundation for my immediate exit from state service (Any literary agents out there?) so I don't experience any loss of income in the short run. There's no loyalty between the State and its employees these days, and for folks like me, it's like playing financial chicken to see how long you can hold out without getting laid off. But assuming I can avoid being laid off until I vest, I will probably stay with the State for no other reason than to have a source of income, no matter how small, until I freakin’ die. Or at least the claim to one. Oh, and just to piss the State of California off.
In the meantime, I’m gonna try to get really healthy, take dietary supplements, and get in shape so I can live long to enjoy that pension when I’m old. Until I freakin’ die. Just to piss the State off.
Pilates, anyone?
Sometimes All You Can Do Is Pray
A doctor who performs late-term abortions is gunned down. In a church. While ushering.
A plane with over 200 passengers literally “falls off the radar screen” and disappears without little more than a signal regarding an electrical system failure.
What a way to start the week.
Dr. George Tiller was gunned down in the vestibule of his church. He performed late-term abortions. Mind you, my views on abortion are complex. I believe in the legal right to choose, but I pray that no woman makes that choice or has to make that choice, and I would not make that choice for myself although I have supported others who have. But no one should be able to shoot someone because they believe otherwise. I believe torture is illegal, but you don’t see me packing weapons and heading off to Tricky Dick Cheney’s house.
I think of my last remaining biological uncle on my mom’s side, the last of my mom’s siblings still living, and the fact that, more often than not, he and my aunt can be found at the entrance of their church on Sundays, smiling, ushering, welcoming others to worship, praise and/or discover God in all his goodness. I think of my friend whose views on abortion, gay rights and the like are so diametrically opposed to mine, yet she, too, spends most Sundays at the entrance of her church as head of her usher board, smiling and welcoming others to fellowship, praise, and just know God.
No one expects to be shot while ushering. What kind of demon would shoot someone in a house of worship? If I had my way, there would be special circumstances enhancements for crimes committed in houses of worship. But that probably violates the Constitution . . . .
When I think of those 228 souls lost somewhere in the Atlantic, I wonder: Were they ever told that there are portions of the Atlantic where there is no radar coverage? Would they have agreed to take THAT flight on THAT route if they had known? I flew from the U.S. to Spain and back while in college, and I doubt my parents would have agreed had they known that, for some portion of the trip, my plane would not have been visible on a radar screen. And that was in 1984.
If Google Earth can zero in on my house, why is there any part of the Earth where we can’t keep track of an airplane? You mean we can get to the moon, but we can’t track planes everywhere in the world? That just doesn’t make sense to me.
Then again, so much doesn’t make sense to me these days. I now realize the wisdom of the elders who, when faced with disturbing circumstances, say, “Well, sometimes, all you can do is pray.”
Indeed.
A plane with over 200 passengers literally “falls off the radar screen” and disappears without little more than a signal regarding an electrical system failure.
What a way to start the week.
Dr. George Tiller was gunned down in the vestibule of his church. He performed late-term abortions. Mind you, my views on abortion are complex. I believe in the legal right to choose, but I pray that no woman makes that choice or has to make that choice, and I would not make that choice for myself although I have supported others who have. But no one should be able to shoot someone because they believe otherwise. I believe torture is illegal, but you don’t see me packing weapons and heading off to Tricky Dick Cheney’s house.
I think of my last remaining biological uncle on my mom’s side, the last of my mom’s siblings still living, and the fact that, more often than not, he and my aunt can be found at the entrance of their church on Sundays, smiling, ushering, welcoming others to worship, praise and/or discover God in all his goodness. I think of my friend whose views on abortion, gay rights and the like are so diametrically opposed to mine, yet she, too, spends most Sundays at the entrance of her church as head of her usher board, smiling and welcoming others to fellowship, praise, and just know God.
No one expects to be shot while ushering. What kind of demon would shoot someone in a house of worship? If I had my way, there would be special circumstances enhancements for crimes committed in houses of worship. But that probably violates the Constitution . . . .
When I think of those 228 souls lost somewhere in the Atlantic, I wonder: Were they ever told that there are portions of the Atlantic where there is no radar coverage? Would they have agreed to take THAT flight on THAT route if they had known? I flew from the U.S. to Spain and back while in college, and I doubt my parents would have agreed had they known that, for some portion of the trip, my plane would not have been visible on a radar screen. And that was in 1984.
If Google Earth can zero in on my house, why is there any part of the Earth where we can’t keep track of an airplane? You mean we can get to the moon, but we can’t track planes everywhere in the world? That just doesn’t make sense to me.
Then again, so much doesn’t make sense to me these days. I now realize the wisdom of the elders who, when faced with disturbing circumstances, say, “Well, sometimes, all you can do is pray.”
Indeed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)