Issues Never In Doubt

Psalm 46:  "God is our refuge & strength an ever-present help in trouble.
              Therefore we will not fear."

Life on this planet has its moments of uncertainty, and one of those times in my life was in December 2008, just a few days before Christmas.  I was heading to work when my cell phone rang.  I answered it and a barely audible voice said, "Something's wrong with me."  It was my wife Christy, calling from the empty locker room of a nearby gym.  Now, Christy isn't a complainer, so I knew she must be very, very ill. I raced to the gym to find her suffering from a major heart attack.

Those days were so stressful, her life apparently so in doubt, that even as I write this, feelings of anxiety creep into my gut.  Thanks be to God, she recovered fully, and in looking back, I realized her survival was never really in doubt; it was part of God's will.  After she recovered, she told me that Psalm 46 was the scripture she held on to while alone in that room.

Calamities and reversals are a part of life, and outcomes aren't always what we want.  But nothing escapes God's eyes, ever.  Even when bad things happen, God  turns the results to fulfill his unshakable will.  He asks only for us to trust in Him.

To live is to have problems. No one gets a pass. Circumstances and reversals can derail the strongest believers with pain and discouragement and leave many unanswered questions--ask Job.  But in those times, reach out to God, and claim the promises He's put there for us in His Word. Call on your strong brothers and sisters for support.  We are promised refuge and strength, and an ever-present help in trouble.  With God, no issue is ever in doubt.

That Day of Days: 6/6/1944

Seventy-three years ago on June 6th, 2017, some of your fellow citizens--mostly young men--boarded landing craft and sailed across the English Channel to a place on the French coast called Normandy.  It was a stormy, bitter day.  Many of those young men are and will forever remain unknown to you because that day was their last day.  They fought and died there at the beginning of the Great Crusade which a year later crushed the Nazi death machine in Europe.  In many of those photos, a young face  is turned towards the camera. They gaze at us through the mists of time and it seems as though they look to us as if to say, "What will you do with this?"

Every year when the 6th of June comes up on the calendar I think about those men.  They weren't all brave.  They had their fears; many were plain afraid.  They understood--as only soldiers can--there might be no tomorrow; but they had their duty, and they did it.

Every one who can read this is a beneficiary of those men who that day and in the days that followed bought and preserved our freedom.  That's what makes it all so precious. That's what makes every crumb of our freedom worth fighting for.

June 6th, 1944 was a horrible day.  It was also a wonderful day.

The Most Famous Prostitute In History

Recently I wrote an article that had to do with sex, and since it received so many hits, I’ve decided to continue in that vein with a short article about the most famous prostitute in history, and one who by her actions helped save a nation.  

Her name was Rahab, and she lived in the city of Jericho, about 40 miles northeast of Jerusalem.  Jericho was a walled city-state, and Rahab’s house was located on the city wall.  The Israelites, who at the time were looking to establish themselves in that land that had been promised them, were looking at how they might enter and defeat the armed forces of Jericho.  

Joshua, the leader of the Israelites, sent two spies into Jericho, and they found lodging in the house of Rahab the prostitute.  It wasn’t long before the King of Jericho got wind of the spies, and that they were staying in Rahab’s house, so he sent some of his men to threaten Rahab, and capture the spies.  But Rahab had taken the men and hidden them, and when the King’s men came, she misled them by telling them that yes, the men had been here but they had left just as the city gate was being closed for the night.  

Now, Rahab did this on her own; at this point she had merely protected the spies that had come into her city.  But now she asks something of the men:  “I know that the Lord has given you this land...for the Lord your God is God in heaven above and on the earth below...

“Now then, please swear to me by the Lord that you will show kindness to my family...that you will spare the lives of my father and mother, my brothers and sisters, and all who belong to them--and that you will save us from death.”  

The men assured her, “Our lives for your lives...if you don’t tell what we are doing, we will treat you kindly and faithfully, when the Lord gives us the land.”  And as the story unfolds, Rahab and her family were taken out of the city when it fell and were taken to the camp of the Israelites--a promise honored.  You can read the account for yourself in the book of Joshua, chapters 1through 6. 

Rahab the prostitute and her family was saved from destruction because she recognized the one true God, she acted on that belief, and she asked for mercy, which she received.  She looked forward in faith to the redemption that comes through Jesus Christ.  That’s the same grace and forgiveness that can you can have, if you want it.  

But that’s not quite all of the story.  Rahab is mentioned not just in this story in the Bible, but also in the first chapter of Matthew which lists her as one of the ancestors of Jesus Christ himself, in the book of Hebrews, and again in the book of James.  I don’t know how you count famous, but that’s about as good as it gets. 

I don’t know who reads this, but no matter who you are, or what you are doing or have done, there’s a place for you at the cross of Jesus Christ.  As the Old Book says, there’s no one who is righteous, but through the forgiveness of Jesus, who by his death washed your slate clean, you can also be forgiven, and enter into God’s eternal kingdom.  Read in the Bible John 3:16, and then the whole book of John. If you decide to accept this free gift, you too will get to hang out with the the most famous prostitute of all time in heaven.  See you there.  

On The Death of Friends and You

We recently lost two people whom we knew well.  One was my cousin Julie, the other my friend Eric.  It seems we have entered into that era of life I will call the "Era of Memorial".

The most shocking thing about both Julie and Eric was that both deaths happened without warning.  There was no lingering or debilitating illness; they were just gone.

Julie and her husband Jim were in Europe on their long-awaited 'dream vacation.'  While in Vienna, she missed a step and fell, breaking her nose and shattering her elbow.  A trip to the hospital and a precautionary MRI revealed a hidden danger:  She had a brain aneurism.  After some considerations, they decided to forego the rest of the vacation and return to the U.S.

She underwent a surgery where a stent was placed--I'm no doctor, so forgive me--to allow the aneurism to wither away.  All was well, and then--seizure and death.

Eric was my off-roading buddy, and we took a number of trips together here in Arizona.  He always chastised me for my Toyota pickup, and I reciprocated in telling him the woes of his Jeep.  No matter, we always enjoyed one another's company.

About a year ago Eric and his wife Marjorie moved to Colorado to pursue a job interest.  They had a new house built, and had a growing circle of friends.  Then about two weeks ago, Marjorie came home after work and found Eric dead, apparently of a heart attack.  Terrible.

We've been here before.  My wife's father died suddenly.  He was healthy, then he was gone.

Just like that.  Eric was only fifty, Julie 73 or so.  Too young to go, at least in the eyes of those of us who are left.

It is not unwise to prepare for your end.  All of us die, you know.  What happens afterwards?  You have few choices.  Maybe there's nothing beyond the grave.  Maybe there's something, and you are insecure about what it might be.  Maybe there's something and you've been told how to approach it.

I am sure there is "something" beyond the grave.  Jesus said, "I am the way, the truth, and the life.  No man comes to the (God) Father, except through me." (John 14:6)  He also said "He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die..." (John 11:25-26)

I used to know this guy who had an incurable disease, and so I went with a friend of his to tell him about Jesus Christ,  because he was checking out a whole bunch of different religions and thought on dying and death.  We told him about Jesus, used the verses referenced above as well as others.  We told him about forgiveness of sins, eternal life, the many promises made in the Bible, but he wasn't convinced. Finally I said to him, "Steve, do you really thing you're going to get a better offer?"

I don't know what Steve decided, and I don't know that he chose to follow Jesus.  I hope he did.

One thing about Jesus Christ, it doesn't matter what you've done, who you've wronged, nothing.  "Come as you are."  Have you stolen from people?  Cheated on your spouse?  Murdered someone?  Fill in your own blank.

You--are--welcome.

America's Eleventh Hour

I lived near San Francisco in 1989 when the Loma Prieta Earthquake occurred, and believe me, when something like that happens, you want to be somewhere else.

We were in our home in Santa Cruz that evening when everything started shaking.  It was  like being inside a piggy bank with someone shaking it for the pennies.  Our street rolled like an ocean wave.  Dishes were vomited out of the cupboards.  The electricity went off and the phones went dead.  When I finally got to my feet, I went out and turned on my car radio, and from one end of the dial to the other--nothing. All stations off the air.  It was frightening.

Our nation is undergoing a similar dramatic change. Institutions and ideals which have been standards for centuries aren't merely being questioned, they're being ridiculed and rejected. Things which have always been known to be wrong--even immoral--are now considered as normal.  Our nation's constitution, written to safeguard us against the excesses of government and the failings of human nature, is now considered by many to be obsolete and in need of gross revision, or trashed altogether.

 The United States, for all of its influence, power and wealth, is a nation in decline.  There will always be a United States, but it may well be an unrecognizable U.S. within a generation or two. The seeds of our deconstruction were planted long ago, but now those seeds have begun to germinate.  We have gradually and systematically  thrown away many of the traditions and institutions which have made our nation not just a great nation, but the greatest the world has ever known.

Many are the reasons, more than I have room here to discuss, but these listed are essential for our survival as a nation, none of which can be restored in a day, a year, or even a generation.  It's taken decades to destroy what has made America a great nation.  Likewise it will take decades to reverse the downward spiral,  and then only if we even have the will to do at all.

A nation is the embodiment of the uniqueness, identities, and institutions of the individuals that live there.  Borders are necessary to retain and protect those things.  Without an effective border, with unrestricted illegal entry, a nation will gradually lose its identity and take on much of the character of those coming in. They may indeed take on some of our identity, but we will take on much of theirs, simply because of the numbers coming in.  Assimilation is not a part of the plan of those coming in illegally today--they're here for jobs and/or benefits, but their allegiance remains with their homeland.  If assimilation was the goal, they would assimilate.

Worse, an open border is an invitation  to undesirables, criminals, even our sworn enemies.

A borderless nation is no nation at all, but because of politics, permissive attitudes, and greed, we no longer have an effective southern border.  And frankly, both of our majority political parties are to blame.

Marriage and family are important to a nation's survival.   Marital commitment to each other and to the children produced by those unions is necessary for the health of the family unit and the health of a nation.  Families propagated by unmarried partners are by definition unstable.  The partnership is weak, no commitment made, and everything within it is at risk.  It's not difficult to imagine scenarios where a child or children of such flimsy relationships could end up in a home in which they are not related to any adult under the same roof,  both parents having moved into new relationships.  There is much talk about "love" today, very little about commitment.  But love and commitment should be one and the same--and in fact, they are the same.  Anything else is a cheap knockoff.  I submit that those who are not committed enough to make a vow to each other, are not likely to make commitments in other areas, including commitment to a nation.  Commitment demands "skin in the game."  No one reading this would dream of buying or selling a house or a car without a contract spelling out what is expected of both parties.  Yet, we enter into the most intimate of relationships without any commitment.

The government of the United States has spent itself into servitude to China, a nation that is not our ally or friend, giving to them, because of our financial dependence upon them, the power to influence our political decisions. This is national suicide.  If, at any time, China should decide to no longer lend us money, our economy would immediately shut down.  Our national debt is close to twenty trillion dollars. You want to know where we are headed with that?  Look at Greece, who must go to nations around the world with a tin cup, begging for loans to prop it up.

Finally, and this is paramount, we no longer have a spiritual dimension of any consequence in America.  We as a people no longer look to God as a supreme, authoritative being, an entity to whom we are responsible--if we even believe He exists at all. The individual is now the final authority over his/her morality, which is to say, there is no final moral authority; everyone is free to do what is right in his/her own eyes.  The correct standard is your standard, which might be said to be any standard, which means there is no standard.  When your morality and the next person's morality conflicts, then there is moral anarchy.  To not be responsible to a final authority--God--is moral anarchy.

Nations succeed when most of its citizens are pointed in the same direction.  In today's United States, we are no longer aligned. Yes, I know that the United States has had its share of failings in the past, as have all countries.  But until now we have been structured and united so as to be able to recognize and right those wrongs.  The future will see us as unable to make corrections.  This isn't merely our 11th hour, it's more like our last minute to midnight.  When nations start down these paths, rejecting the very things that have held them together--they fail.  I believe this is where we are today.  I wonder:  Is it too late for us?

A Warning on the Dangers of Political Correctness

Gotta love political correctness (PC).  It's the means by which people censor themselves out of fear of being ostracized.  The correctness, the acceptability of what you say is somehow determined by some faceless others with the assumption they are correct.  Sounds like an excellent way to do away with original thinking.  Nothing to see here, move along.

In part, political correctness is a substitute for what used to be called good manners--manners generated not from a heartfelt, internal morality, but from an external, legalistic sense of right and wrong--an imposed system.  And it's flexible; it can change any time the arbiters of the system decide to change it.

Politically correctness in language is just the beginning. We're already seeing the extension of political correctness past just a self-imposed gag rule.  People are losing their jobs, even being jailed because what they say or believe doesn't fit the template.  Freedom of speech--though inconvenient at times--is at the forefront of all of our freedoms.  Lose it and you lose more.

The First Amendment to the United States Constitution guarantees, among other things, the right to free speech, that is, the government can't officially impose a ban on limiting free speech.  It's no surprise that, listed along with free speech is the freedom of the press and freedom of establishment of religion and the exercise thereof.  But the constitution is no help against being harassed by those outside of government.  And that will be the modus operandi until the First Amendment is taken away, a piece-by-piece chipping at our freedom.

It's not hard to understand that if we lose the freedom to speak our minds, the freedom of the press and freedom of religion and its free exercise would undoubtedly follow.

Nor is it difficult to extrapolate that those who are the greatest proponents of political correctness could also be those who could at some point argue for an official loss of our freedom of speech.  If that were to happen, we will have entered that hopeless place where we are governed by those over whom we have no control,  the very thing that caused our forefathers to break away from the despotic rulers over them.

It's all about losing our freedoms.  And in my opinion, it's a matter of time.

Interpreting The Bible

I read an article online the other day that had to do with some subject in the Bible, and one of the dissenting comments posted was, "Well, scripture is open to interpretation." Really? What verse says "All scripture is inspired by God and is open to interpretation"?

I've been reading and studying the Bible for over 40 years and I have yet to read anywhere in the Bible that it is "open to interpretation." Now, we may disagree with scripture, we may misunderstand it, we may bend it, we might even reject it. But before God, scripture is not open to anyone's "interpretation." It says what it says. Any misunderstanding of it, purposeful or not, falls upon us, so we had better be seeking the Holy Spirit to help us to not misunderstand it.

Another dodge is one I heard about the same time: "Well, Jesus didn't say such-and-such, so it's someone else's opinion or it's open to question."

No good. Jesus didn't say a lot of things. For instance, Jesus said nothing about using crystal meth, or texting while driving, but that doesn't mean such things are good ideas. The Bible does tell us that it is "inspired by God", and Jesus himself validated the Old Testament by quoting from it a number of times in the New Testament. Furthermore, he said that scripture "cannot be broken." Nowhere in the New Testament does Jesus disavow anything in the Old Testament, so we can conclude that he accepted it wholly.

The New Testament is essentially the story of Jesus (as is the Old Testament, for that matter), written largely by his close associates (the disciples) about him and their their personal interaction with him, or by those directly acquainted with those associates. The point of this is, the New Testament was written by people who knew him intimately. Direct and accurate interaction leading to direct and accurate reporting. Because of this, we can assume their writings portray Jesus accurately.

If that weren't enough, remember that some of Jesus' people were imprisoned (Paul, for one), and some were executed (Peter, for another) because of their faith in Jesus, yet none denied their relationship or belief in him. It makes no sense to believe that anyone facing death because of a belief in a false messiah who didn't deliver what he said he would, would not deny him simply to survive. None did. They knew him, believed what he said, witnessed his death and resurrection, and continued in that faith, even unto death.

So, if it's in the Bible, you can "take it to the bank" as reliable and true. If you want to parse or add on to scripture, that's fine. If you want to limit your belief only to direct quotes from Jesus, you are free to do so. But you do so at your own risk.

Frankly, I think most of the time people use things like "open to interpretation" or "Jesus didn't say this" to appear sincere when they're actually looking for a way to exempt themselves from scriptural authority. If so, they have succeeded.

Oatman Massacre

Gazing outward from the lonely bluff above the Gila (hee-lah) River, watching a hawk riding the currents, and looking down the rock-clogged grade cut into the bluff, I couldn't help but think:  "What a lousy place to die."

Oatman Massacre Site

Just over a century and a half ago, the Roys Oatmans, one of a number of Mormon dissident families, travelled through here enroute from their Illinois digs to a new home in the perennial "promised land" of California.  What I see here today--virtually unchanged from what their eyes saw--is the last thing Roys and his wife and three of their children saw that 21st day of March, 1851.

The crude grade cut into the bluff by the Morman Battalion is still there.  Getting out of my air-conditioned truck and stepping onto the hard ground, I slammed the door on the twenty-first century and stepped onto what was then northern Mexico.  Nary a rock has moved in those 150 years.  Your ears strain to hear the nothing noises of now-distant modern life.  Just the wind and the heat and the witness of those damned rocks--they're all here just as on that awful day so long ago.

Ruts Worn Into the Rock by Many Wagon Wheels Long
Ago

The Oatmans weren't naive--they'd been on the trail heading west for months in the company of their fellow travelers.  It had been difficult.  At every hard grade and sandy wash they had to unload their wagon to ease the load on their team, but they were anxious to get to where they were going.  Against the good advice of others who warned them not to go it alone from their last stop near present-day Gila Bend, Roys made the decision for his family to press on.  And Roys was the boss.
And so for maybe the fiftieth time since they left their home, they unloaded the wagon at the base of the bluff, gee-hawed their starving oxen forward, and hand-carried everything they owned up the hill.

Maybe they were just dog-tired, too weary to think straight when the Indians approached.  Or maybe they saw them too late.  They'd encountered Indians before, never had any real problems, so when they came seeking food, the Oatmans obliged them from their meager stores as best they could.  But it quickly went from cordial to pushy, the Indians becoming more demanding.  They began rummaging through their wagon, helping themselves to the precious supplies, and Roys got more threatening.  Finally the Indians withdrew, talking among themselves.  Maybe the Oatmans thought it was over--but it wasn't.

Suddenly the Indians rushed forward and attacked.  They beat Roys to death, and stabbed his pregnant wife repeatedly.  Their son Lorenzo was clubbed and tossed off the bluff, left for dead.  The three youngest children were murdered as well,  but little Mary Ann and fourteen-year-old Olive were captured and carried off by the Indians.  The bluff was quiet again.

The kidnappers took them miles away to their camp and the harsh fate of slavery.  Mary Ann, being the weaker of the two, died from starvation after a couple of years (it was a time of famine for the Indians as well).  Olive survived, and was traded to another tribe, who received her and treated her well, even as a daughter of the chief.  Her brother Lorenzo, left for dead that day, survived, and by his efforts Olive was eventually rescued after five years in captivity.  Her story is well chronicled in several books.

It's not a hard place to find, and the road's a good one except the last 3/4 mile.    It's worth the trip just to experience something that was as newsworthy in its day as any sensational incident is in ours.  A bit of scratching about and you can still find the nails that held the horseshoes to the feet of the  Butterfield Stage Lines teams which later used the road, the ruts still evident where their iron wheels ground into the rocky path.  And of course the rocks.  Nobody moved the rocks here.  They're the same ones that Roys and his wife and three of their children saw their last day on earth.

To find the Oatman site, take I-8 west from Gila Bend about 30 miles to the Sentinel exit.  Turn right and follow Sentinel Road about 1 mile north, then right on Oatman Road.  Drive 8.8 miles and turn left on the rough road and follow it as it wanders around about 1 mile (keep right at the fork).  A passenger car can make it if you go easy.  You'll see a sign in the distance, that's your goal.  If you rely on GPS, the coordinates are


                                                                   N33* 00.167
                                                                   W113* 09.603

Take plenty of water, and tell someone where you're going:  History under your feet.

The Oatman Massacre Site Monument

What's in Your Heart?

Want a laugh?  How about a tag on a freeway overpass that says "Do a flip, faggot," presumably to encourage gay people to jump and commit suicide.

Not funny. Writing such a thing is reprehensible.

A person posted on facebook that if Ted Cruz were elected president, he would pray to Jesus that Cruz would die while in office.  I recall similar things being said regarding Hillary Clinton and Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas, among others.

 Jesus doesn't hear such prayers.

Know what leads to attitudes like that?  It's bitterness, the father of hatred.  Doesn't matter who said it, or their motives.  In fact, many people who call others haters are themselves haters.

OK, we all have opinions.  I don't like the politics of the left.  I don't agree with Hillary Clinton on many issues.  I think she has some leadership issues.   If she's the nominee, I'll vote against her.  But I don't hate her.  If she's elected president--then she is the president.  May she serve her term in perfect health.

Examine yourself and think about where your attitudes come from: "...[H]ow can you who are evil say anything good?  For out of the overflow of the heart the mouth speaks."

Oh BTW, Jesus said that.

Beyond Abortion, a New and Better Society--At the Stroke of a Pen

During this year's Super Bowl, a commercial depicted via ultrasound an unborn child reacting to his father eating Doritos as though it wanted some. A humorous attempt at selling a product.

But it took not even a day for NARAL (National Abortion Rights Action League) to protest that the ad humanized the unborn child by assigning to it human emotion.  How dare Doritos portray such  humanizing emotion to a mass of cells, even though done unintentionally.  The fact it took just hours for them to rip this commercial should help the reader understand how much they fear people will catch on that those innocent unborn children are truly human.

Incidentally, these comments are not aimed at women who now realize they have been victimized by abortion.  My deepest sympathies to them.

Think about NARAL's view of the unborn:  A fetus isn't human, must never be thought of as a living being, and having no value, is subject to summary execution.  Nothing new here:  Throughout history the strong have traditionally devalued the weak and made them slaves or murdered them outright, often by decree.  Examples?  In early America, Africans were considered to be uneducable, and by such reasoning they were kidnaped and enslaved--often executed.  Jews, during the reign of the Nazis, were declared by the state to be untermensch.  The able-bodied were placed in labor camps to work until they collapsed, then disposed of.  The weak and sickly were sent immediately to the gas chambers.  In North Korea, even today, it's important to toe the party line, lest you and your family end up in a "reeducation camp."  If you don't play by the rules, think right thoughts, you're an enemy of the state.  If you're lucky, you make it out.  Many don't.

Do you see a pattern here?  Life is for normal people--you know, like you and me, subject to change, of course, without notice. Anyone who gets in the way is subject to whatever fate the prevailing power deems suitable.  Welcome to America. Welcome to abortion. Welcome to whatever might come next.

So where do we go from here?  Since we now know there is a thriving trade in the body parts of the unborn (they're not totally useless, after all),   I propose the following for the morally adaptable crowd:  There are thousands of Down's Syndrome children who have perfectly good hearts and lungs, etc., which could better serve those of us who are normal but in need.  And by ridding society of them or appropriating that which is useful to us, think of how much better our lives might be.

Or how about the mentally deficient?  Those with an I.Q.  score of, say, 70-90 might be assigned permanent jobs of menial labor serving the 'normal' people. Those with scores under 80, well...after all, they are a drain on society aren't they?  Hey, a better life for the rest of us.

And it would be so easy.  After all, the abortion issue was settled by legislation. So, too, the Final Solution.  Josef Mengele,  Margaret Sanger you would be so proud!!

Does reading this make you uneasy?  Relax, you're normal.  Today.

What IS Truth?

I've been re-reading a book titled "Twisted Cross".  It was written about twenty years ago by Doris L. Bergen.  It's a rather scholarly examination of the "German Christian" movement in Nazi Germany, and how that movement subverted people from following Jesus Christ and the traditional teachings of the Bible.   Instead,  they sought to make the church an Aryan church, a "manly" militant church, which glorified and supported war as a means to German greatness.  Hymns were changed or deleted,  Jewish Christians were kicked out of the church, and those who stood against the incoming tide were ridiculed--or worse.

As a follower of Jesus, it's a hard book to read, because one sees how easily the perverse Nazi philosophies corrupted that church.  Though German Christians didn't influence the Nazis, the Nazis influenced the German Christians and used them for their own ends.  The result was a weak, un-nourished, ineffective church, which was view with contempt by the Nazi party.

If we are true followers of Christ, we need to be careful of who and what we listen to. There's a lot of diversity in the Christian community,  more than we are given credit for,  but it's disturbing when I see those who call themselves Christians buy into beliefs that clearly deviate from the Word of God.  If we aren't under the authority of Holy Scripture, then we must be under an authority other than God.

           "For the time will come when men will not put up with sound doctrine.  Instead,
             to suit their      own desires, they will gather around them a great number of
             teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear."  2 Timothy 4:3 (emphasis
             mine).

As a believer in Christ, I must not first be a Democrat or a Republican, a conservative or a liberal.  I  must first be a follower of Christ, and the Word of God.  Period.  Every thought, every action, each belief must first pass through these filters.  My faith is not to be defined by my politics, it is to be defined by Jesus and Holy Scripture.  When we modify our beliefs to fit any political persuasion--we are on dangerous ground.

The German Christians allowed the tail to wag the dog.  Their ethnicity and spurious beliefs were put ahead of their faith, and thus dictated the shape of their faith.   The applications may be somewhat different today in our nation, but the results are always the same: a move away from God.  It cannot be otherwise.

Seldom seen: Harquahala Summit, Arizona

Arizona is blessed with many great areas to explore, many of which are largely untouched by civilization, and the distance between the city and the frontier can be remarkably short.

One of my favorite off-road places to visit is Harquahala Summit, just 90 miles west of Phoenix.  At  5700 feet, it's no Mt. McKinley, but it is the highest point in the southwestern quadrant of the state, and as the Harquahala Mountains rise from the relatively flat Sonoran Desert, one quickly becomes aware of how high and isolated it is.  And as is often the case with these destinations, you'll likely see few or no people once you leave the interstate highway.

The summit of Harquahala Mountain was chosen as the site for an observatory sponsored by the Smithsonian Institute.  Dr. Samuel Pierpont Langley, a pioneer in the study and use of solar energy, advanced the theory in the late 1800's that solar activity might be responsible in determining our weather.  Later, his protoge, Dr. Charles G. Abbot, with the backing of the Smithsonian,  decided to establish an observatory at the top of the mountain in 1920.

The present day road to the summit isn't the one used when the observatory was established.  In fact, there was no road.  In the beginning, an hour's drive east from the village of Wenden brought you to a staging area, where everything going to the summit was transferred to burros.  From there it was a three hour trek on foot up the steep path to the top.  Building materials, instruments, food, everything went up the same way.  Even water had to be hauled, though fortunately a source was found just a thousand feet from the top.

A two-story structure was built and served a dual purpose.  The top floor was divided into small apartments, and housed the staff of eight. The laboratory with its various instruments occupied the ground floor.  The building was apparently slapped together rather hastily and quickly fell victim to the mountain top's extreme weather.  Soon after completion it had to be sheeted over with corrugated iron.

The Harquahala Observatory was a solar observatory and as such didn't make use of telescopes.  Instead, readings of solar energy were taken with instruments with such unlikely names as pyreheliometers, coelostats, and theodolites, as well as mercury thermometers, all used to take measurements of the sun's energy and radiation.  The staff took these readings, recorded  them and dispatched them to Washington D.C., where they were analyzed.

Besides transportation, communication with the outside world was difficult.  At first, a heliograph was used, but flashing messages to Wenden was slow,  and of course a heliograph could only be used on sunny days. Later a two-way radio was tried, but it also proved to be unreliable. Finally a telephone line was strung down the mountain to Wenden using large rocks and cactus to suspend the wire.

Weather was a problem.  High winds were frequent, and violent thunder and lightning storms often raked the mountain.  In the winter, freezing temperatures were the rule, and snow often dusted the summit.  In summer, the combination of high temperatures and high altitude could cause a quick and severe sunburn.

It wasn't all misery.  The staff made do, and at one point one of the men even brought his new bride to live on site.  The new husband wisely purchased a refrigerator and freighted it to the summit for her use. As well, the feminine touch was much appreciated in the living quarters.   Entertainment consisted of croquet and never-ending card games.  The radio, which had proven useless for  communication, did provide an ear to the outside world.

After just five years, the observatory was abandoned.  The remoteness,  the transportation issues, and the weather extremes all counted against a long-term facility, and a more suitable location was found in southern California. Today, only the main building survives, along with a cistern used to collect rain water, and a few random foundations.  But the mountain still has its uses.  An unmanned communication station was constructed by the Central Arizona Project in the 1980's to monitor and control the flow of water through their canals.   It is powered by a rather large solar array, as something of an unintended tribute to Drs. Langley and Abbot, who were early pioneers in the use of solar power.    The present-day road was in part graded to allow vehicles to the summit for this later project.

The observatory staff were by no means the first people to habit the area. The mountains are rich in minerals, and the area has been mined extensively since the 1800's.
There are a number mine sites to explore, including the Snowflake, the Linda, and my favorite, the Monterey mine.  To access the Monterey, you turn west off the main road about four miles from the staging area and through a wash, where there are remains of a stone cabin and an ore-loading area.  A steep and rocky shelf road continues up the mountain,  where you will find the remnants of a wooden ore bin and the mine entrance.  The shelf road is passable, but suitable only for modified high-clearance vehicles.  My stock Toyota 4x4 made it part way, but the rough, loose rock surface made me decide that I didn't really want to spend the big bucks fixing the undercarriage, so we chocked it out about a third of the way up, and continued on foot.

The Monterey's main shaft is dug into hard rock, and is open, but there are of course hazards.  The first time I went with my son and my neighbor Jim, we ran into a rather angry rattlesnake about 100 feet in, so we decided it was time to leave. This last time we got about the same distance in and started smelling cat urine, so once again we backtracked.  I already know how tough I am (not very) and I don't need to corner a bobcat or mountain lion to prove it.  We did spot mine cart rails, and someday I hope to revisit and go further in, assuming all the tenants have decided to move on. A cool breeze blowing through the shaft made it clear there was a ventilation shaft somewhere ahead.

The road continues up the hillside far past the main shaft, in a series of sharp switchbacks.  What's beyond is for another day, but there's plenty more to explore.

Should you decide to go, be advised there are those who say any high clearance two-wheel-drive vehicle is capable of navigating it.  Not so.  Though the lower portions can be traversed by a carefully-driven passenger car, by the half-way point you would be unwise to proceed.  The road becomes very steep and rutted, and grades the last two miles are in the neighborhood of 20-25%, with plenty of sharp rocks.  Wheel placement for the sake of tire survival is critical (Some years ago I went with some friends, and one of our party lost two tires within 15 minutes).  The curves are sharp as well.  I recommend taking abundant water, extra water, and a little more water, both for you and your vehicle. Watch your temperature gauge.  Tell friends where you are going and when you expect to return.  Also, remember the weather was extreme in 1920 and it still is.  If a lightning storm develops, or it starts to rain, its time to get off the mountain.

Finally, except for a parking lot and a fire grate, there are no facilities at the summit, not even pit toilets, so take whatever supplies you might need if you go, and bring your trash back with you.  Camping is permitted if you are so inclined.  My son and I spent the night there recently, and it was great.  We had the whole place to ourselves.

Twenty Nine Spikes: When Terrorists Derailed Amtrak's Sunset Limited

October 9th 2015 marked twenty years since Amtrak's Sunset Limited was derailed by an unknown person or persons in the desert 70 miles southwest of Phoenix, Arizona.

Looking West Towards Montgomery Pass And Quail Springs Wash

It's a lonely spot. This is where the Middle Of  Nowhere got its name. The pavement ends and it's fifteen miles west through the empty desert before you arrive at the derailment site at Quail Springs Wash; beyond that, another  fifteen miles of barrenness before you arrive at the Hyder General Store, a lone and lonely outpost for a few local farm hands. After leaving pavement you will likely see no other humans.

This portion of the rail line, which runs between Phoenix and Wellton, AZ, came late to Arizona.  Since the late 1800's Phoenix was at the end of two branch lines. The Santa Fe built their line into Phoenix from the north, and the Southern Pacific did the same from the south, but all trains from either line had to return the way they came. For years the state pressured the SP to build a line west from Phoenix that would complete a through route, and in 1926, this line was the result. 

On the night of October 9, 1995, the Sunset Limited  left Phoenix just before midnight, running southwest through Buckeye, then west into the barren desert towards Montgomery Pass.  At approximately 1:05 a.m., as it banked into the curve ahead of Quail Springs Wash at fifty miles per hour, the Limited's locomotives lurched and pounded across the bridge on the wooden ties before coming to an abrupt stop on the other side.  The coaches and the passengers didn't fare as well: Six cars derailed,  two of which fell--hard--thirty feet into the bottom of the dry wash.

 The Sunset Limited Rounded This Curve, Moments From Disaster

Many passengers suffered  injuries, some serious.  Miraculously, considering the speed and the fall into the wash, only one person was killed, sleeping car attendant Mitchell Bates. The train crew immediately sent out a radio call for help, but owing to the remote area, forty-five minutes passed before the first rescue units could get there.

When help came it came in spades: Men and equipment were everywhere, some getting stuck in the many desert washes which had to be crossed to reach the site. It was a crime-scene nightmare. By the time FBI investigators arrived, most evidence had been obliterated by law-enforcement vehicles, ambulances, fire rescue vehicles, helicopters, passengers and rescue personnel.

The only tangible evidence--at least that which has been publicly acknowledged--were several identical notes left at the site, upon which were references to Ruby Ridge and other recent events which the writer(s) took issue with.  It was signed by the "Sons of the Gestapo", a group previously unknown to law enforcement.

The rails had been tampered with. Twenty-nine spikes had been pulled out of the railroad ties and the outside rail on the curve was pried out of alignment. Whoever did it knew their geography, as the spot was the only one on the line that had a curve leading onto a bridge, likely chosen to cause maximum damage. And they were sly: The bonding wires were left connected between the misaligned rails, which cause the trackside signals to show a clear indication--the head end crew never saw it coming.

Quail Springs Wash And The Wrecked Sunset Limited

After twenty-plus years of investigation there is little evidence available as to who was responsible. But the authorities have by no means forgotten about it. The Unsolved Mysteries television program  broadcasted a segment on the incident some years back, and it was subsequently posted online at unsolved.com.  A few years back, I found the article and left my name and email address for any new information that might come to light.  Within a few days I was contacted by an FBI agent who told me he would "like to meet with me," and I did several times afterwards, talking theories and conjectures.  The FBI has subsequently announced the reward for information leading to arrests had been bumped to $310,000.

As mentioned, there are several things that stand out about this incident.  First, the perpetrator(s) had to be familiar with the area, and the location was chosen to cause a maximum amount of damage in a derailment.  They also had to have at least a rudimentary knowledge of  railroad signalling systems, enough to know the bonding wires had to be left attached between the rails, ensuring the engineer would see only a green signal in front of him.  Third, though rambling, there's that note left behind by the so-called "Sons of the Gestapo". Though no group using such a name has ever been publicly identified, it was plainly the work of someone who had strong opinions regarding some of the controversial steps used by the government in dealing with domestic issues.

Old-Style Semaphore Signals Like This Guarded The
Rail Line At The Time Of The Crash

The rails southwest of  Phoenix are quiet now, except for grain deliveries to a local egg ranch, and an occasional run to the Palo Verde Nuclear Power Plant to deliver equipment.  Beyond that, the line has been out of service since the Sunset Limited was rerouted in 1996 to a more direct route between Tucson and Yuma.  Rumors of reopening the line have been floating about for years, and there's also been talk of turning it into a high-speed rail route between Los Angeles and Phoenix, but only time will tell if any of this will become a reality. And maybe in time the perpetrators of this act of domestic terrorism will also be brought to justice.

See also this video footage from the derailment:

https://youtu.be/uVdhvwyWUpw

Sunset Over Palo Verde

Gay Marriage and Believers in Christ

Let's get everything out on the table.  Although I expected the Supreme Court to rule as it did on gay marriage, it was surprisingly upsetting to me.  I am a Christian and I understand that marriage is "...instituted of God..." and is between a man and a woman.  I don't agree with gay marriage, and I never will.  But at the same time, I  understand why gay people want to be included: They want acceptance, just like you and me.
So although I don't agree with gay marriage, I can understand their logic behind it, their desire to be included. I may not like the decision, but gay people understandably think of this as monumental.

I have a measure of respect for sincere liberals and homosexuals who see this as a civil right issue. I have greater respect for them than I do for the politicians or those who are "leaders" in the Christian culture who have crawled onto that bandwagon for political or social expedience--some at the very last moment.  I don't see them as having become 'enlightened', I see them as willows in the wind, bending with every prevailing political and moral breeze.  "Will this buy some votes?  Can I increase my popularity?  Count me in!!" There is ample scriptural evidence to support the premise that marriage is reserved for male and female pairing, and on that rock is where we should stand.

That's one side of the coin.  The other is the position taken by certain 'christians' who are hell-bent (literally, it seems) on wiping homosexuals from the face of the earth, like the Fred Phelps mob out of Kansas, or closer to home, "Pastor" Steven Anderson in Arizona who has stated he believes all homosexuals are pedophiles, and that they should all be killed.

How outrageous:  God doesn't hate gay people.  If  God hated gay people for homosexual sin, then he would also hate the Fred Phelps types for arrogance and pride ("For all have sinned..."), and he would hate Steven Anderson ("...and fall short of the glory of God.") for advocating murder. And he would also hate the person writing and those reading this blog. Thankfully, we live in the age of grace, brought to you by Jesus Christ.

So, where do we go from here?  Believers in Christ have to remember that though we are saved by grace, we are no different from homosexuals when it comes to sin.  Period.  And though we must abide by Biblical teachings about homosexuality, and oppose what we know is wrong, we must do so not as moral superiors, but as sinners ourselves.

You know, the whole thing is so simple, and I like others get so wrapped up in the "headline of the day" that I forget that Job One is to represent Christ.  It's not our job to "fix" gay people.

Gay people are much like you and me. They live on Elm Street, USA; they drive Toyotas or F150 pickups to work; they like to go to restaurants for a good dinner.  A gay man in California with whom I have had a long-standing friendship often converse via facebook on a number of subjects, including homosexual issues.  My wife had lunch with a lesbian coworker who had concerns about her mother's health. Sure, they look at some areas of life from a different viewpoint, but let's not let the divide grow by finger pointing or rejecting them.  Like everyone else, including you and me, they need the light of Jesus Christ in their life. There will always be a point of tension between who we are and who they are, but If we minister sincerely, as real friends, everyone will win.

The City on the Edge: San Francisco, April 1906

Nothing fires the imagination like the thought of time travel.  If we could only go forward; if we could only go back. But no machine yet invented can send us; no machine ever will.  But we can travel back, if only in a sense, through the magic of video. True, it's like viewing the world through a keyhole, but it's all we have and all we ever will have, and no piece of film does it better than the Miles Brothers film,  A Trip Down Market Street, which was shot just days before the great earthquake which destroyed San Francisco in April of 1906.  I invite you to view it at

                                    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pEvB_ZIWtAg

Get past the commercial and begin your journey.

There's a dreamlike quality, almost a modern-day familiarity in watching these scenes.  It's 1906 and it's life as usual: Traffic is chaotic. A cop walking his beat casts a wary eye at the camera; businessmen in boiled shirts and bowler hats are everywhere; a paperboy peddles the day's news; a trolley full of sightseers crosses Market Street at an oblique angle; brass-era cars rattle past, dodging horses and wagons; the few women evident are dressed in dark, ankle-length dresses some in ostrich-plumed hats.  In the distance at the foot of Market Street is the Ferry Building--an earthquake survivor which stand majestically to this day. I could go on.

I've watched this film a hundred times, and each time I try to see more and I do see more.  It's almost like being there--you feel so close.

Near the end of the film at the Ferry Building, the cable car is turned around. Young boys jump into view and wave at the camera. They're all gone now of course, everyone is gone, lost to the earthquake, or to their years.  But they wave at us as though it is today--more than a century later.

Addendum: The last known survivor of the San Francisco Earthquake of 1906 earthquake has passed away: http://www.marinij.com/obituaries/20160111/marin-resident-bill-del-monte-last-known-survivor-of-1906-quake-dies-at-109

The World and High School(s)

I was at our church for a meeting the other Sunday evening, and the guy next to me mentioned that he had lived in Cheyenne, Wyoming.  I once lived there and told him I had graduated from East High School, class of 1966.  Turns out both he and his wife were alumni. He was a couple years ahead of me, she a year behind. Hadn't known either one of them, but it was a nice contact.

Of course it sent me to the garage to haul down that extra-heavy box of annuals I keep for no good reason. Found her in the 1966 Wahina.

My high school journey was an odd one, since, owing to my dad's working for a defense contractor, I went to four of  'em in three years. Sophomore year was a split between San Lorenzo Valley, California and Andress HS, in Texas, junior was Knob Noster, Missouri, and senior year was another split, Knob Noster/Cheyenne East.  It made me stronger to do four schools, but it also stunk.  I don't even show up in the East annual, but at least my name is in the back. I think of it as a lemon/lemonade experience.

You can't appreciate how much things (read: people) change until you get out your old high school annual.   I've been privileged to find a few people from my schools with whom I was friends, but most of the people I knew in the past haven't given me a thought since the day I graduated--49 years ago today (May 20).  Even the gals I thought of as rather plain, well, they look a lot better through the lens of time.  I take that as an indicator as my being less arrogant or fearful as I was then.  I hope.  I should have been kinder, less  fearful.

When you don't stay in the town that you graduated in, and also owing to my curious streak, you give more thought to those you did know well, and are more diligent in searching out those you knew.  My good friend Berri lives in Tennessee, and in retirement shows up as an extra on the television series Memphis. Don, who was also my college roomate became an electrical engineer and now lives in a missile silo in Nebraska. A former girlfriend Susie resides in New Jersey, and there's gal in Texas I occasionally correspond with.   I could go on.

Like I said, I went to four schools in four states.  It wasn't a great way to do school, but it sure helped me to relate to people.  It was not so good because I was always the guy leaving, and when you're a teenager, being connected is very important. I'm also a "man without a country" in a school sense. There are few who remember me.  If I were to show up at a reunion at any one of those schools, it would be as a stranger among strangers.  Ah, well.

I remember when my dad went to his 50th high school reunion.  He graduated from Roosevelt High in Seattle in 1932. I remember hoping (as a guy in my mid-30's) that the old fossil would survive it.  He did, and now as I see my 50th year looming, it doesn't seem quite so daunting now as I perceived it was then.

Doubtless my kids think of me that way, though.

Why I Believe There Is a God

I believe in God.  Lots of people think those of us who are 'religious'  are that way because of superstition, or fear, or some pie-in-the-sky-all's-well-in-the-bye-and-bye belief in something beyond what we can see, like, you know, a secret friend, or an all-powerful super-hero, an Ultra-Batman who will arrive in the nick of time (or shortly thereafter) to set everything right.

But that's not why I believe there is a God. There are many reasons, sound reasons to believe; here are just a few:

First, I'm unable to conclude that everything on this earth, the plants, animals, and human beings, an ecosystem which is self-perpetuating and (thankfully) difficult to destroy came about by cosmic happenstance, or fluke.  The complexity of life in its many forms precludes this notion of a self-invented ecosystem.  It's a worn argument, but even taking the example of a car, and proposing it was the product of billions of years of unassisted engineering would get you laughed out of any showroom. And life in all its forms is infinitely--infinitely--more complex.  I'm not alone in this. There's a growing movement among some scientists (and not all of them 'religious') that happenstance and evolution could not account for life as we know it. "Darwin's Black Box", written by the eminent and highly-regarded biochemist Michael Behe, sees life forms as being the result of intelligent design.  He came to his conclusion because of the demonstrable fact of  'irreducible complexity', that is, the recognition of  life forms so simple they couldn't exist if even one of their  components was removed. He concludes therefore there had to be a designer to design such  organisms; it couldn't become what it is without a designer.

Second,  I recognize that we humans are essentially evil, not essentially good. If you think we're just a bunch of sweethearts, you need to read some history.  Oh, we have our moments of good, but even those are done to promote--us.  I have friends who are not religious and they consider themselves good people, and they are within a context.  I mean, they're not criminals or rapists. They pay their taxes, they're nice to their neighbors, they live respectable lives, etc. When I tell them I'm not good, it kind of throws them.  How could I, a guy who lives a life similar to theirs, not see myself as a good person? I do all the same things outwardly they do. It doesn't compute. But underneath that veneer of  goodness I project  (in part to keep my nastiness hidden) I recognize the anger, the bitterness, and the self-centeredness that's part of my nature--and yours. I repress it, but it shows up every so often. Ever have someone cut you off on the highway, and you give them the finger?  Ever drive when you've had too much to drink? Cheat on your taxes?  Lie?  No matter how much we want to pretend we're all sunshine and happiness, we actually have a lot of evil in us, and sooner or later it shows itself.

Finally, we have no reason to exist if there is no God.  If there isn't a creator, if we're just randomly spinning around in space, if our planet is a closed system, if life is a cosmic fluke, then I have to conclude that nothing we do or have here is of any value, and without value life is meaningless.  So what if we steal from our neighbors? So what if we kill our enemy?  Without an authority higher than man himself, Hitler was as right Mother Theresa.   If you do good, it means nothing; if you do evil, it means nothing.  Life becomes a dead-end street, having no meaning beyond eating well and impressing others with what you have or have done or are able to do--all meaningless at best, anarchy at worst.

  A few years ago my wife and I flew to Washington D.C.  During the flight I looked down and I spotted a little town, probably in Kansas or somewhere, and  I started thinking about the people in that town, and how some of them were big-shot officials, and some of them were making big money on some deal or another. And I thought how proud and important they must feel, or how pleased they were with the size of their bank account. But who they were or what they did was insignificant--even from 30,000 feet up. Pinprick towns on a pinprick planet in the cold, airless, vastness of space.

It seems I've painted a picture of  hopelessness and despair. Insignificant captives on a less-than-obscure planet.  But there's great hope: Comes from God.

Next blog.

On Aging...

When you're young you seldom thing about becoming old, maybe never, but unless some event happens to interrupt our lives--we grow old.  My next birthday I'll be 67 years old, or to quote Mark Twain, "nearly so if I'm dead".  I figure I have about 14 years left, maybe not all of that in the relatively good health I now enjoy.  So I wonder, "what's ahead?"

Being older is a strange place, because I don't think of myself as old.  In spirit, within the confines of our head, most of us think of ourselves as young.  I still relate well to the younger set.  I work part-time, and most of the people I work with, better than half, are under thirty; indeed, several are under twenty five. I'm the different one, separated by age, and their attitudes towards me remind me of that always.  No unkindness, but a tacit acknowledgement of the age gap on their part.  It matters not how I perceive myself, outwardly I waste away.

Yet, do I wish to be younger?  No.  Although I am understanding my age insofar as aches and pains, I wouldn't trade my experiences, my knowledge and the portion of wisdom that I have accrued in my nearly 67 years for youth:  For what? To go through life again?  I think not.  Talking to young people is like trying to fill a wine vat with a teaspoon: You want to impart to them your knowledge, experiences, your wisdom, but you realize that most of what has been learned that's worthwhile is gained only with time.  What they learn in great part must come from their experiences. It'll happen, but there are few shortcuts.

Do I fear death?  No, but I do fear dying, but only because of the spectre of suffering.   Behind me as I write is a large photo of my dad dated May 6th 1938, leaning casually on his Nash roadster, a youth of 25 years. In his last years, he suffered  a series of small strokes which slowly robbed him of his life and vitality. He who was intelligent and humorous became helpless and unable to care for himself. For some time I went twice a day to his apartment, got him out of bed and cleaned and dressed him, and took his soiled bed linen and washed it.  It was a burden, yet I treasure the memory. I wonder:  Will my children be so honored?  In some ways, I hope so. In others, no.

Certainly 2014 was the year I came to realize that I really don't have all that I had in youth, that the body deteriorates.  My strength has deteriorated to the point I can't "whip my weight in wildcats" any more, and a younger assailant may well take me down, unless I'm willing to cheat  (and I am!).  I realize that I'm perhaps (and this is harder to admit) not as quick mentally as I once was.

2014 was a wake-up call in other ways as well.  My sister died, my wife's uncle died and her oldest sister died. We're entering the age of funerals and memorials, Those are the 'awards ceremonies' we will likely be attending in the coming years. I haven't lost any of my close friends yet, but that's around the corner as well-- unless of course my close friends lose me first.  Old people talk about their aches, pains, and medical problems. When I was young, I wondered why, but now as I've reached that age, now I know why they talked about them so much:  First, health and maintaining it becomes a priority, an always in-your-face situation, and second, everyone of my age has health problems. It's just the way it is.

I looked at google earth the other night, thought I would try to find something worthwhile to discover or research.  As I zoomed in from, I don't know, five thousand miles above the earth to near where we live, it left me with this uncomfortable feeling of how small I am, something less than a pinprick on a pinprick in this universe.  Reminded me of the time we flew to Washington D.C.. As I looked out the window from thirty thousand feet, I saw this little town, maybe in Indiana or Kansas somewhere with its grid of streets, and I thought to myself that somewhere in that little knot of civilization, there was someone who took great pride in being one of the leading citizens, on how he or she had had his or her way with the city council, or maybe had swung some big real estate deal.  But even from a mere 30,000 feet their accomplishments became insignificant.  "For what shall it profit a man...?".

As I grow older I find I don't crave material possessions--as much.  The urge to get stuff is still there, but the breadth of the desire is narrower.  I've gone through the motorcycle phase; the old car phase; the fast car phase, even the big house phase, and probably a few other phases I can't recall.  But those things just don't mean as much as they once did. I've realized that much of what I bought and did were done for the approval of others.  I remember an old woman I used to see driving around our neighborhood in a Cadillac sedan, when Cadillacs were still huge.  Her hair was carefully coiffured, the car was large and immaculate, and she practically sat sideways in the drivers seat facing the window so everyone could see her.  I don't want to be remembered like that.

Another poignant remembrance was a visit to an elderly couple who lived in a large, wonderful home in a very affluent area near us.  They were both in ill health. He said to me, "All our lives we worked hard so we could have these nice things, and now we are too old and sick to enjoy them."  I hope he didn't exit this world with that lament, that his life came to mean more than the sum of his possessions, and his big house.

As you grow older your focus changes, you shift gears (downshift, that is).  My interest in stuff has lessened, and my interest in people has blossomed.  We have good friends in prison, and we visit them monthly;  I have a homeless friend, "Bible Mike", whom I see from time to time and help out, give him money, sometimes clothes, and once even a bicycle.  And I see others and have a greater compassion for them, even people I don't know well, like my co-workers.  I have a son and a daughter, and we are learning to be better parents, in-laws, and grandparents.  You never stop learning with those titles.

The saying is, "Time flies when you're having fun." To which I would add, "...and when you're not".  I wouldn't trade my experiences, especially in retrospect.   Life is short when viewed from the far end.  Making good use of it is more than being young and having good times.  All experiences in life are (or should be) important for what they teach.  I would argue that looking back is as valuable as looking forward. To be young again?  Nah.  First, it's not possible; second, I'd have to run the Gauntlet of Life all over again, and third, who needs it?  I've already been here.

There Are Certain Things......

There are certain things, actions, or events which threaten to upset the equilibrium of the universe. Occasionally they are seen in real time, and they are the most threatening.

Take for instance people who drive their cars with their doggy in their lap.  Just the other day I was driving home from my psychiatrist. Our meeting had resulted in a breakthrough in dealing with my anger and phobias, when I spied this SUV with a dog's head stuck out the driver's window.

I'm not an animal hater.  As we all know, there are a lot of dogs out there that should be driving the cars instead of people.

The driver is--almost without exception--middle- or upper-middle class, in an upscale car or SUV.  The dog is typically named Princesss or Tifffanee, or a similar gutless name. The dog eats better food than anyone in a rotting third-world nation, and lives in a nice upper-middle-class home.  No drafty doghouse for our Tifffanee.  Awwwww......

The canines fit a profile too: Small and professionally groomed, white or light brown, and always with a ribbon or two tied around their neck. How about a dog sweater for the dear one!? Another thing:  The beloved one is likely smarter than the driver. Hey, who's the one being chauffeured?

Really, do we love our dogs so much they have to be in our laps at all speeds up to 70 miles per hour?  I love my kids, but when they were little I put them in the rear seat, well restrained.

When I got home I made an emergency appointment with my shrink.

Friends in Prison Part 2: What Life is Like Inside, and What Should be Done to Make Prisons Work Better

Having friends in prison has made me rethink what prisons are and what we use them for. Of course prisoners have virtually no freedom, and that's part of their appeal, that is, to keep these individuals away from society at large.  What is life like on the inside?  Even little things are big deals. Again, pseudonyms are used in this account.

It's said a man's home is his castle, but that doesn't apply to a prisoner, or even his or her own body.  As I mentioned in part one, Ron's cell was tossed because I inadvertently walked through a metal detector with my cell phone on, so they went looking for lists of phone numbers in his cell.  Cells are routinely inspected for contraband.  Contraband can be cell phones,colored pencils, tattoo paraphernalia, drug paraphernalia, alcohol, needles, pornography, or any number of other items.  No sexual materials or literature of any kind are allowed, not even the swimsuit issue of  Sports Illustrated. Suggestive movies or television are forbidden.  There are consequences for having contraband, and these infractions earn you 'tickets'. Disobedience to an officer is another path to a ticket, and enough tickets can add up to a loss of privileges, time in solitary, or even more prison time if you don't wise up. A search of the person or his living space can occur at any time.

Ron told me that some months ago their unit was locked down with no notice, and everyone was sent to their cells. Then they were called out by face-covered dressed-in-black guards. Inmates had their hands tied behind their backs with zip ties (locking plastic straps) and made to sit cross-legged on the floor with their faces down.  They were shouted at and threatened continually while their cells were turned inside out.  When some complained of discomfort they were hit.  After an hour and a half  they were released, but left in the dark as to the what had caused this event.  Several of the inmates filed complaints about their mistreatment. The result was a ticket for disobedience to an officer.

Tina told my wife about her first ticket.  She had arrived at the prison as a new inmate, and when she awoke in the morning she did her toilet duties.  Immediately afterward, she was summoned for a drug test. Because she wasn't able to pee, she was awarded a ticket, and a loss of privileges. In prison no reason is a good reason.

Mailing items to inmates can be difficult.  Just before Christmas last year I sent some books to Ron from Amazon.com. They were sent back because (this is my understand) although Amazon sends such items via the U.S. Postal Service, when they get jammed up, (as during holidays), the postal service will subcontract package deliveries to to outfits like FedEx.  However, shippers like FedEx won't deliver to a post office box, and since both Ron and Tina's prisons are post office addresses, the items were returned.

The correctional officers are a subset of people on the outside, which makes sense, since they are a part of the outside crowd.  They go home every night, just like the rest of us.  Some exert more power than they should, either because they can or because they operate with a cold heart. From my admittedly limited observation I would say the hard-nose types are the exception.  Most of them are regular people, just doing a job, albeit one with many of society's worst.  There's more of a rapport between the officers and the prisoners than one might think. Ron's unit is quite relaxed, and though structured, the relationship between guard and inmate seems respectful. That's not the case in units that hold violent offenders. Of course, I am speaking in general terms, and one bad correctional officer can poison the well for all of them.

There are two dress codes in prison.  The one for the inmates is: Orange--orange shirts, orange pants, no belts.  People coming to visit are welcome to wear anything they want except for anything the officers object to.  My wife visiting the women's prison has been turned away for wearing a knit top  (no way revealing), too low a neckline (must cover shoulders), and having clothes in an inappropriate color (passed the first time, not the second). Underwire bras are a cause for rejection because they set off the metal detectors.   I've been rejected for wearing off-white shorts (too close to the guard's khaki uniforms). No glasses except prescription.  I could go on for ever. Arguing with prison officials is of no value and should be avoided.

Medical treatment (or lack of) leaves much to be desired.  In the book Slumber Party from Hell, author Sue Ellen Allen recounts how her roommate suffered and complained of terrible pain to the officers and the medical staff, only to be repeatedly rejected and sent back to her cell.  She died of breast cancer within weeks.  Ron told me of an inmate who complained of chest pains and shortness of breath. The officers were were called and dithered about, and finally sent him to a unit with a working EKG machine.  The medical staff determined it wasn't a heart attack and sent him back to his unit.  Later that day, he again complained of chest pains, but since the medical team had already gone home, he was told he would have to wait until morning.  Around 4:30 a.m. an inmate found him on the floor of a toilet stall.  He died of a heart attack on the way to the hospital.

There are two recent books on life inside a prison, both by women who have served time.  Orange is the New Black by Piper Kerman is a memoir about her time in the federal correctional institute in Danbury Connecticut (read the book, don't bother with the television series).  The other, less known but an excellent read, is the aforementioned Slumber Party from Hell  in which Sue Ellen recounts her six-year stretch in the women's prison in Goodyear, Arizona (Perryville).  Both books are a worthy read and give a glimpse into the frustrations of the incarcerated.

So what's the point of all of this?  Hey, I'm a conservative Republican, and I'm not soft on crime. I believe in long sentences for violent offenders, and for that crowd I'm not big on 'second chances'. I also believe the death penalty, properly applied, is of great value. In fact I would argue that it be expanded to include those found guilty of rape. But I especially believe that right is right and wrong is wrong, and after having read the books and heard the stories, I know there needs to be reform in our prison system.  In their present configuration, prisons breed hopelessness and despair, and in the long term that is neither good for the inmate or society.

Prison should do what they are presently not doing: Allow for prisoners to be rehabilitated and make restitution.  Therefore, I propose the following reforms:

--Prisoners should have access to proper medical care, not band-aid service.

--Punishment to fit the crime, i.e., non-violent or white-collar criminals should be given shorter in-house sentences and then be returned to society with appropriate electronic monitoring restraints and be made to make restitution to their victims.  This will allow those who have abilities to be useful to society and be far less disruptive to the families of both the offender and his or her victims.

 --Find businesses in the community who are willing to hire those who are newly released, along with perhaps a subsidy or a tax break, so these people aren't turned loose with no place to go.

--Prisoners must be allowed to have computer time and be able to access appropriate internet services.  Of course, inappropriate sites would be blocked.  By allowing inmates such access, they will be much more able to fit into the world they are returning to.  Many prisons lack any computer access for inmates.  Yes, this might be difficult, but it can be done.

--Education is a must, and inmates should be allowed to take mail-order or computer courses from colleges and universities or trade schools.

--A mandatory savings account for all prisoners, taken as a percentage of what they earn or are given while in prison.  I propose this not only for short-sentence people but also for long term.  A large number of freed inmates end up back inside because they leave prison nearly broke; they have little choice except to violate. This gives the prisoner a leg up on his or her return to society. If an inmate dies while inside, the money could be given to a relative, a victim, or a charity.

Prisons are a fact of life in every country in the world. They probably work as well or better in the United States as anywhere, but even here they are far from perfect--or even good.  I am a big proponent of  'better and cheaper.'  I believe we can do better and cheaper with our prison population.  It will be a win for  the people who have served their time, and it will also be a win for society.  It's worth a try.