The Urgent Pull of My Wants

I don’t want to discuss President Obama’s speech to the nation about dealing with ISIS. I’m so weary with war. I don’t want to hear Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell launch another arrogant attack against the president. I don’t want to see any more beheading videos. I don’t want to watch people being swallowed up in floods and typhoons and mountain slides. I don’t want to hear anymore petty whining about defenseless children coming here from vicious countries hell bent on abusing and killing them. I don’t want any more lectures from Republican Congress members about how horrible everything is in the nation when they won’t lift a finger to do a damn thing about any of it. I don’t want to watch another unarmed young black man being shot to death by a gang of cowardly white cops. I don’t want to see anymore senseless beatings by bullying rogue cops. I don’t want to see anymore backward hillbilly racist Ferguson, Missouri’s. I don’t want to view another video of a pampered rich football player beating the daylights out of his wife or girlfriend and then calmly looking at her like she was a sack of rocks. And I don’t want to hear anymore lame excuses from ditzy fans or anyone else defending that behavior. I don’t want to hear any more sanctimonious counterfeit Christians telling the rest of us how to live and vote and believe.

I want to be with laughing children. I want to hold the hand of someone hurting. I want to be in the presence of goodness. I want to hear the music of unity; somewhere, anywhere. I want my black friends to feel safe in this country and be given the human dignity they deserve. I want your children and grandchildren and mine to grow up in a country of moral depth, where intelligence is celebrated, civility is practiced, creativity is encouraged, and independent thinking is allowed. I want to see the ocean. I want to sit on a white sandy beach and be mesmerized by the dancing horizon. I want to be in the company of friends. I want to give and receive affection. I want to understand and respect my mortality. I want to laugh so hard my stomach hurts and my mouth gets sore and I cry great salty tears. I want to hug people who need hugging. I want to give something of myself that makes one person or many feel good about themselves and be open to loving more. I want to take time to watch and be appreciative of autumn arriving with its misty cloudy mornings and chilly nights. I want to be aware of the changing leaves and hallow their dazzling colors. I want to go down a long country road where the trees bend down to touch one another and shelter the passengers beneath. I want to take off across an open field and feel the wind on my face. I want to look out my window and see a thunderstorm brewing and hear the thunder rolling and watch the rain softly fall. I want to enter a church sanctuary and be lost in something sacred. I want to have something to be awed by and fall to my knees in wonder. I want to have more compassion, not more money. I want more meaningful learning, not more of the same old ideas and beliefs that have become useless and moth-eaten.

I want to follow the calling of the Persian poet Rumi: “Be a lamp, or a lifeboat, or a ladder. Help someone’s soul heal. Walk out of your house like a shepherd.”

We are Made for Human Connection

There are words from Brandi Carlile’s song, “The Story,” that I might sing, and perhaps you, too. “All of these lines across my face Tell you the story of who I am So many stories of where I've been And how I got to where I am But these stories don't mean anything When you've got no one to tell them to” You don’t have to be single or alone to feel the depth of those words. Someone in a longtime marriage or relationship might feel them, too. The voyage through life takes each one of us through an assortment of experiences. Some of them ennoble us. Some crush us. Some lift us beyond ourselves and carry us into the lives of those who need us. And some carry us to those we need. Some experiences are burdens. Others ease and encourage us. Some leave us baffled and unsure. Some build confidence within us and are so affirming that we grow in substance, in courage, in tenderness, and sympathy. As we age, the lines in our faces can represent the hurts we have not yet resolved. Or t

If I had five minutes to evacuate--what would I take with me?

If I was told there was a bomb in my building and I had five minutes to evacuate my apartment I’d grab a grocery bag and quickly toss these items into it: 1. A photo of my grandparents, Mom and Pop and me, when I was 15 years old. I learned what love is made of from them. I learned what it is to be kissed on and hugged in arms so tender they felt like God’s arms. I discovered self worth from those two angels in human flesh. Of all the people in my life, they were the ones who made me feel I counted. Honestly, whatever capacity I have to love others came from them. 2. A sentimental, dog-eared, stars in the margin copy of Pat Conroy’s, “The Prince of Tides.” It is a book I have read three times and often return to for its wisdom. It is a harsh, profoundly tragic novel, the story of a family so broken and tortured by such flawed and wounded people that it is sometimes difficult to turn the next page. And yet it is the story of such Herculean courage and endurance that you want

Remembering Dr. Bill Craig

In Memoriam Dr. Bill Craig January 1, 2020 In the Hebrew Bible, we see from the life of Moses, and the Psalmist, Isaiah and others , concern for the problem of living rather than the problem of dying. Their primary interest was not how to escape death, but rather, how to sanctify life. Bill modeled that kind of wisdom. The brilliant novelist Louis L'Amour, who wrote bestselling books about the American West, what he called “frontier stories,” basically said the same thing. He wrote, “The trail is the thing, not the end of the trail.” No one attempted to sanctify life and get more out of the trail than Bill Craig. He was a deep thinker, a gifted veterinarian, a rugged and unbreakable man with the kindest heart and the purest motives. He was a loving and devoted husband, father, and grandfather. Karen, Shalor and Melissa, Kellan, Nolan and Carter, were his world. They meant everything to him. I guess he had faults, but I don’t remember any of them. There was o

The Unclad Soul

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