Sunday, July 18, 2010

I’ve been busy, what’s your excuse?

The 2010 swim season apex occurred in the second heat of the first event: girls 8 and under medley relay. Gabby anchored. When her friend touched the wall after the butterfly leg, Gabby soared into a perfect dive and entered the water with barely a splash. She surfaced with her face down to business and her arms and legs pulling and pushing her team to victory. In the length of the pool, I saw her take 3 breaths (Gabby says she took 4). Gabby's coaches told her team that they had improved their time by 10 seconds over last week. I believe it. She looked like a swimmer. Seven weeks ago, she looked like a little girl.

Both girls learned to swim this summer. They joined the local swim team, listened to the coaches, and learned. They stayed after practice and worked on new techniques. We told them that they only had to participate in the intra-squad meet. They ended up swimming in all seven events including the league championship meet yesterday. Both have made amazing improvements, but Gabby's stretching the lead against the competition visually demonstrated what they've accomplished. Of the first year swimmers on the squad, I don't think anyone has excelled as much as my girls. Each week they have displayed major improvement. They plan to build on their gains throughout the year and return next year for another swim season.


As a home-school family, our summer break has been officially over for a few weeks. We are gradually ramping up the assignments knowing that August will set the tone for the rest of the year. As the littlest one in the family, I'm assigning Gabby reports on the littlest countries in the world. This week she's studying Trinidad and Tobago. Claire's assigned country is Hungary. I've also assigned Claire to read Paul Johnson's A History of the American People, but not until I'm finished with it. Claire is currently reading Joe Posnanski's biography of Buck O'Neil, and Gabby is researching Yanaton Netanyahu. Perhaps they'll learn to recognize heroes instead of idolizing celebrity.


This summer, we've tackled a major repair project on the house. It don't like just fixing things. I prefer to make them better. It's a type of psycho/physical therapy for me. Lisa knows this, and so she heroically manages the budget through the project phases.

A few weeks ago, I was complaining about what the previous homeowner had done. It was obvious that he had "never worked in construction." Gabby asked me if I had ever worked construction. I gave her my blue collar resume from nearly 2 decades ago. Now she measures every man by the standard of whether he has worked in construction.

There is more to do with the house, but we're taking a break after reaching a milestone.


At the office, we survived a data center move and an office move. I think my Black Ops team is stronger now than we've ever been. On Friday, I commented to one of my guys, saying, "This has been a very productive week. You've accomplished a lot." He agreed and then told me that he hoped this level of productivity didn't become the norm. I just laughed. I was hoping that it would. We reach a milestone with a project mid-August which will fundamentally alter the daily responsibilities of the Black Ops team. If we were tracking this according to CMMI, we would be moving some core processes from level 2 to level 3 with a roadmap to level 4. Regardless of the company's vocabulary, we're approaching a major milestone. I'm excited to move beyond.


Recently, Lisa and I took in Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No 1 with the Kansas City Symphony, Vladimir Feltsman on the piano. As the house lights were about to dim, I received notice of a major outage at work. My team responded, and by intermission all was resolved. A year ago, I would have been missed the concerto. At the end of the concerto, Lisa asked me if it was really as fantastic as it seemed. I suppose it was. I still hear Tchaikovsky's melodies and rhythms in my head.

A few weeks ago, we took the little girls to see Shakespeare's, King Richard III, at the Heart of America Shakespeare Festival where I learned that treachery is actually a form of self-loathing. Who knew?

Jim and Julie celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary on July 3. Holly, the little flower girl at Lisa and my own wedding was there with her husband and baby. I remember Holly's first birthday back when Lisa and I were still in high school. Somehow, seeing my own kids grow up does not make me feel old, but seeing other children become adults does.

We were at Dad's on July 4. Daniel, Claire, and I knocked down a box of clays. I mostly missed, but after a warm-up, I did OK. Claire hit a few and then decided that she didn't want to bruise her shoulder before a swim meet the next day. Daniel looked practiced. He attributed his preparedness to Xbox.

Earlier this month, the big kids were home at the same time for the first time in 18 months. What would families do without Facebook? Daniel and Rhonda couldn't stay for long, but Cara was here for 9 days. Thanks to her, I have some awesome artwork for my office if I can get the frames finished.

We also took in the Nelson Atkins Museum of Art while Cara was with us. Afterwards, we took Cara and the girls to The (New) Dime Store in Brookside. I asked Cara if she remembered the place from her early childhood. She said she did not and I responded saying, "How sad, your happiest times were right here." I should have remembered that treachery is actually a form of self-loathing. I suppose that parents have more memory of their children than children have of their parents. Still, I wish our older kids felt the affinity for Kansas City that their mom and I do.

On a personal level, I grew tremendously. I actually joined my girls in a few games of Farkle. I don't play games, but I did, and I think the girls enjoyed it. Historically, I have played chess with Daniel, but chess isn't a game. It's a sport, or perhaps a mental sublimation of war. I find games in general to be pointless, but I played Farkle.

While Cara was home, I replaced the rotors and pads on Lisa's 1997 Saturn, although I hate auto repair. I don't find auto repair therapeutic. The only benefit to home auto repair is mitigating damage to the budget. During the repair process, Lisa reported that I only said, "Farkle," once.


I've been absent from blogging and nearly silent on Twitter and Facebook. Social networking can become a mental sublimation of life. Recently, my life has been too busy to permit me time to write. Perhaps now, as I approach milestones, I'll have more time. I've been contemplating topics such as the erosion of justice in America. When did bureaucratic extortion replace our justice system? As if, somehow, two wrongs make a right.

I've also been contemplating the proper application of Biblical promises. My hypothesis is that the promises of the Old Testament, in general, were made to the Christ. We ultimately experience the fulfillment of those promises through Him, and not merely because of Him. This is my hypothesis, and I hope to have time to research and expound on this in coming months.


In the meantime, I've noticed that my readership statistics have waned. While I expected a summer contraction, I am a bit alarmed by the general weakness. I know I have not been writing for some time, but honestly, you have not been reading, either. I suppose a writer must be most forgiving of his audience. Therefore, let us reaffirm our contract. I will write as frequently as I can, but I ask that you in turn visit the archives on occasion.

Leave a comment or two when you do.

Friday, May 21, 2010

The church of King Henry VIII

Thursday's A-hed, In England, Buying the Farm Can Be a Fate Worse Than Debt, outlines the abusive power held by English churches to extract money from unsuspecting neighbors. Unfortunately, the reader may mistake the church of St John the Baptist in Aston Cantlow, and even the Church of England, as being Christian. Nevertheless, from a Biblical perspective, the church of St John the Baptist is unlike Christ's church as outlined in the New Testament Scripture.

Paul told the Athenians at the Areopagus, that God "does not live in temples built by hands." Yet so-called Christians continually call the church building "God's house." The building becomes the center of worship even though God doesn't live there. Whether the Church of England, and especially the wardens of St John the Baptist, believes in God is perhaps a dubious assumption. Nevertheless, the so-call church benefits from the presumption of Christianity. It's easier to extort money in the name of God than in the name of greed. Still, the excuse, It's for the building, just doesn't ring true.

Even 2 Chronicles 6-7 makes it clear that Solomon's temple was not for the benefit of God. If 2 Chronicles 7:19-22 prophesies the eventual destruction of Solomon's temple, I doubt that God holds the building, St John the Baptist in Aston Cantlow, with any regard (its association with William Shakespeare notwithstanding). God holds his name in higher regard than any building, but churches hold church buildings in higher regard than they hold God's name. Jesus told the Samaritan woman in John 4,

Believe me, woman, a time is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem . . . Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks. God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in spirit and in truth.

John 4:21, 23-34 (NIV)

If the ancient temple does not matter in worship because God is spirit and worship is spiritual, then how can any building assist "worship in spirit and truth?" Jesus tells us that geography and architecture are meaningless in worship. Emphasis on a building disparages the Gospel preached by Jesus Christ.

Even if the building is somehow important, the church is un-Christian to sue. Paul berated the Corinthians for suing each other in the courts. He writes, "The very fact that you have lawsuits among you means you have been completely defeated already. Why not rather be wronged? Why not rather be cheated? Instead, you yourselves cheat and do wrong, and you do this to your brothers." 1 Corinthians 6: 7-8 (NIV) Apparently the Church of England has no qualms about suing Christians for financial gain. Of course, God doesn't care about buildings, so obviously the church wardens can't expect Him to provide. The Wall Street Journal quotes it as saying, "The church cannot be expected to forgo sources of funding to which it is entitled." Assuming the church, St John the Baptist, was somehow entitled, according to Paul they should rather be cheated than take a church member to court!

But nothing in Scripture entitles St John the Baptist in Aston Cantlow to any money. Even the Old Testament tithe rendered only 0.33% to the temple (one percent every 3 years). The Levites, who collected the tithe in the year of the tithe, did not use it to support buildings. They used it to support orphans, and widows, and foreigners. The tithe didn't support buildings, it supported people. The church of St John the Baptist's entitlement comes not from Scripture, but from the dead reprobate King Henry VIII.

Since King Henry VIII's laws are obeyed within the parish of St John the Baptist in Aston Cantwell while Christ's laws are ignored, we should never mistake the church of St John the Baptist, and the greater Church of England, as being anything other than the Church of King Henry VIII.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Second fiddle

This weekend as we drove out of town to see Dad, I tried to explain to Claire my ambivalence toward so-called popular Christian music. My arguments summarized amounted to this: "Don't take your theology from an entertainer."

Now, the Apostle Paul says, "All things are lawful," so Christian entertainers are free to entertain. They certainly don't need my permission. However, Paul follows his first thought by saying that "not all things are expedient." That is to say, not all things edify or build up. Just because you can, doesn't mean you should.

Tonight, on Facebook, Lisa posted a link to a viral YouTube video from Rend Collective Experiment http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gaJ4A7mXJH8. The video shows kids accompanying their singing using iPhones as musical instruments. As such, the video is novel and mildly entertaining. The fact that they chose a popular Christian worship song is somewhat confusing, however.

What are they promoting?

  1. The iPhone
  2. God
  3. Themselves
  4. All of the above

Pop culture expert Marshal McLuhan coined the phrase, "The medium is the message." Accordingly, the novelty of performing as an iPhone ensemble overwhelms the content of the performance. Without the iPhone, would the video go virile? Not a chance. Does that justify the performance? Do the words of the song sanctify the iPhones, or do the iPhones rather profane the meaning of the song?

Herein dwells the conundrum of the Christian entertainer: Who is glorified by the performance? To whom is the audience' attention drawn? Why does it matter? Or, does it matter?

Perhaps it should matter. God speaking through the prophet Isaiah, says,

I am the LORD; that is my name!
I will not give my glory to another
or my praise to idols.

Isaiah 42:8 (NIV)

Does God need to play second fiddle to an iPhone?

Does God really need any gimmick? Or do we need a gimmick to talk about God?

What does this say about us?

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Salter-Harris Type II

So 12 year-old Claire broke her leg, her fibula more precisely, while roller skating with friends. I guess she cried a bit when she got to the car, but not much. Her friends didn't realize how badly she was hurt. Minutes later Lisa noticed the swelling and took her to an urgent care facility close to our home. Claire wasn't crying a few hours later when I arrived at the orthopedist's office. Except for the swelling on her ankle she appeared completely normal. She was actually laughing at my jokes as we waited to see the doctor. When she heard that her recovery would take 4 to 6 weeks, she chuckled, "Oh! My life is ruined!" When she realized that her injury wouldn't interfere with summer swim team (an activity for which she feels trepidation), she laughed again, saying, "Oh! My life is ruined!"

I was glad that Claire did not succumb to fear when she realized she was hurt. I'm glad she didn't really whine. I'm glad that she was tough enough to endure the pain and even to crack jokes about her injury. I know she's in pain. The doctor prescribed hydrocodone, but as of this writing Claire has been content with Ibuprofen and Tylenol. She doesn't want to be groggy because tonight she's playing games with friends. I know she hurts, but she's setting it aside for something that's important to her. I'm glad Claire can be tough.

In today's culture, tough is underrated. Street thugs are tough, but we bourgeoisie are acclimated to environmental controls 24x7x365. We're overly medicated and overly adjudicated. We might be educated, but we needed a nanny to be adequately administrated. Now that we're subjugated, we want to be liberated.

We're whiners. We listen to whine radio during the day, and each night we watch people complain about this, that, or the other on what we consider reality TV.

Claire will heal just fine, so I propose an ancient remedy to our modern whining problem:

At all times rejoice!
Continually pray!
In everything give thanks!
For this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 (AB)

Friday, April 2, 2010

Vehicular humility

After dinner, we walked to the park to see if we could find enough wind to fly the new kites Lisa bought for the girls. Each kite had a moment of glory, but the intermittent breeze deflated our ambitions. We came home not too disappointed, but not exhilarated either. On the way to the park and back we passed, an old orange AMC Gremlin that has been stranded in a driveway for a few weeks. It's apparently someone's project car. For those who are too young to recall the Gremlin, they are ugly.

As a teenager, I was much more interested in sleeker designs. Mustangs, Corvettes, Camaros, or Pontiac Firebirds and GTO's captivated a portion of my imagination that a Gremlin never could. The paint colors on the Gremlins were faddish but painful. Lisa and I talked about our youthful memories of Gremlins until I blurted out, "I used to drive an orange Datsun pickup. That was my first lesson, in vehicular humility."

Before I could say, "Well, maybe not," Lisa was shaking her head saying, "No, I don't think so!" She remembered the "Gold Bomb." I knew it as a 1967 Chevy Impala with the three-on-the-tree shifter and a 283, not even a 327, although my grandmother drove an Impala with a 327. When I was 16, I drove her car to work in the cornfields near Bethany, MO. Racing other teens back to town proved the virtues of the small block V8, but my 283 never topped 95 mph, and it took a mile to reach that speed. I could drive my dad's Volkswagen van nearly that fast, as Lisa and a Lenexa, KS police officer can attest. He went airborne over the top of a hill catching up to me. That rear-view mirror image is forever etched in my memories of not-so-great ideas.

The 1976 Datsun pickup was probably the most atrocious vehicle I ever owned. Before we moved to Iowa in 1996, Lisa sold it to a group of non-English speaking migrant workers for $250. Somehow she managed to communicate to them that if they wanted the truck, they had to take the camper shell, too. Several piled in and the ones in back held the "topper" in place as they drove away.

We've purchased new cars a couple times. In 1996 we traded in our first new car (a 1994 Saturn SL2 five speed), for a 1997 Saturn SL1 automatic. Cara drove that car to Maryland to college in 2003 and used it as her sole means of ground transportation until recently. Lisa drives it now, though she doesn't venture far from home.

When our used Ford Explorer became too expensive to repair, I downsized to a 1994 Saturn SL2. The fabric headliners in both our old Saturns are pinned to their backing and they each have quirks. Nevertheless, with regular oil changes, and minimum maintenance, we intend to drive our old Saturns until it becomes impractical. In the mean time, I'm thankful for my cost-effective ride to the office each day. My automotive priorities have changed. I realize that new cars become old cars but not until a lot of money is wasted.

After our reminiscing about clunkers we've driven and the vehicular humility we've experienced, it occurred to Lisa that we have a good role model in this regard.

As they approached Jerusalem and came to Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, "Go to the village ahead of you, and at once you will find a donkey tied there, with her colt by her. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, tell him that the Lord needs them, and he will send them right away." This took place to fulfill what was spoken through the prophet:

"Say to the Daughter of Zion,
'See, your king comes to you,
gentle and riding on a donkey
on a colt, the foal of a donkey.'"

Matthew 21:1-5 (NIV)