New York City and its Endless Webs

New York City and its Endless Webs

I was in Manhattan last month when I heard the news: Stan Lee had died.

I believe that destiny made our trip that much better.

It was not the bad news that deaths can illicit normally, those events that are too often the tragic case when you first learn of the passing of person, unexpected or not. He was old; he was accomplished, he had lived a great and well known and lauded life. He had an impact on me, and many others now through the ubiquitous movies. X-Men. Iron Man. Avengers. On and on with the Marvel franchises.

I was a rather avid collector of Marvel comics as a teen. I still have them, decades later, hoping for a bounty of wealth in them. Money and art, and creativity. Stan Lee embodied New York, with the Webbed Crusader... And on and on.

And there I was, with my sons, in the heart of Gotham! Or, rather, New York City, where Spidey was the weaver of his fabulous webs. (DC and Marvel made this city more heralded in the imagination of millions, or billions: Gotham being a reference to the Caped Crusader, Batman.)

Serendipity, perhaps, for us.

I told my sons that this news was significant in hopes that they might always remember being in the streets of Manhattan right then, just when another confabulator (fabulist?) of the Big Apple was first known to have gone on to the next world.

For example, I was in Nashville, Tennessee when my family and I learned that Elvis had died. Close enough to Graceland to think that our proximity mattered. Certainly memorable. I was maybe six years-old then.

New. York. City.

You should go there. Pay your taxes, pay your dues. It's the modern Rome. Pax Americana. Get a feel for our shared humanity and engineering prowess. Get a feel for the pull and push of economic might and the rest of us who hang on sheerly to the cliffs of big money that we hope to not engulf us. That somehow will cushion us... Protect us from ruin. Our hopes lie there, like it or not. The United Nations Headquarters is there, too.

New York has the financial institutions and skyscrapers that lift and crush us, day to day, year to year. Through their intricate endless webs of accounts and markets, phone calls and Internet clicks.

The biggest city in the United States. The capital of the world.

17 plus years ago the terrorists attacked it for a reason. (We are at the end of 2018 now).

This grand metropolis has streets and networks and pipelines that never end. It has influence in investments, information, and news that never ends.

If you have never visited NYC you are missing out on something. I have never been to Paris, nor London, nor Rome, nor Shanghai or Beijing. I guess I am missing out on those.

I have been to Cairo and Mexico City. I used to live in Los Angeles.

Yet, New York, the Metropolis, is a place apart.

First of all, it is five boroughs, each with its own style and charm, then it continues beyond those, into neighboring states. Thousands of inlets and connecting communities.

The heart is the island of Manhattan, where I ended up briefly with my boys the second weekend of November. We did not stay long, but we saw a few things. And of course we were billed, a fate I thought we had avoided. (The traffic/toll ticket came in the mail a few weeks later).

Returning from Boston to the DC area, my last minute plan was to skirt the opposite side of Manhattan through the Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn, and finally Staten Island, crossing the edge of New York Harbor on the Verrazano Bridge and seeing the Statue of Liberty from the side we normally would not see. We had approached from the Jersey side a few times before. And I was tired of crossing the Hudson to the north. I did it on the way up to Boston, and back and forth back in 2014.

The GPS (a digital map tracker, if you are not of our era or lingo) got us out of Bronx and over to Manhattan. By accident, (I wanted to go to Staten Island, the borough, though not notable in comparison, that I had not seen much of...) but not a bad trip all told. The news of Mr. Lee may have capped it off.

We cruised south along the East River, buzzed by Wall Street, crawled through streets of lower Manhattan. We saw the massive Freedom Tower and other notable city sights and sounds, peoples, some New Yorkers, some tourists, hustling and carousing the sidewalks... We got turned around once or twice, and meandered out the Holland Tunnel. It was longer than I remembered. We saw and noted a bit.

The webs of the Great New York. Tunnels, trains, awnings, sidewalks, side-streets, cause ways, boardwalks, plants, trees, sewers... The ever changing skyline. Rain or shine, night or day.

It doesn't sleep, but I have seen it sleepy. Droopy and under constant construction. How many police and garbage men run this town? How many maids and cooks run through its veins?

It has been growing and evolving since the foundation of the Republic. People of import, crazy street criers, news men and women, smelly homeless. The first Jew for Jesus that I ever met, handing me a pamphlet. Or rather, a Xerox copy of the message. I had never heard of such a thing.

New things and happenings in the Big Apple.

Now it has the Broadway "Book of Mormon". Sad irony, really. Joseph Smith sought the ancient writing expert Charles Anton here. Two centuries ago.

Tre Parker and Matt Stone, currently the modern prophets of raunchy truth, coarse nice feely good funniness and hilarity. Thanks for being such kings of New York, my chump brothers of foolishness.

The City is bigger than most of us.I first saw it in person in the 1980s. Back when the subways were still gritty and covered in graffiti.

We, my mother, and sister and I, first emerged on foot from Grand Central or Penn Station. 

Later in the 1990s my older sister and then my other sister moved there, compelling me and others to return. Part of it, this large conglomeration of vertical skyscrapers and expansive neighborhoods become somewhat homey to me. Familiar enough to know some streets, some doormen, some restaurants, some basketball courts and subway exits.

Another return visit in 1997 I was able to rise to the top of the World Trade Center. That would be the last time I observed Manhattan until 2002 when I saw it across the Hudson landing in the Newark, New Jersey Airport on a clear sunny day. After my dose of southern California, the visible missing skyline was sobering.

We had processed that fact for years. Now it is more emotional than physical, for most of us.

I have taken my children to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, I have taken them with my wife to the Memorial of 9/11/2001. We visited Central Park, trawled through Times Square.

New York, New York.

It's a whale of a town.

The inter-knit laces of its influence go beyond the region of the northeast, go beyond the borders of the United States. The plays, the shows, the movies, the styles, the executives, the bankers, the architecture.

The prices and allure, the hub bub and the attitude. The stories, the scenes, the lore...

The first time I visited we went by train, we tooks taxis; we saw Soupy Sales, an entertainment comic who was not really famous but a celebrity nonetheless. We attended our church near Central Park.

I have seen a few more celebrities since, or at least had close relations who have (Adam Sandler almost ran down my sister in his roller blades).

It's a city to visit, a price to pay. While I have enjoyed leaving there every time that I have gone, it is a place that we go to know the best and the worst.

To get entangled in the endless web of humanity on this beautiful planet. Harbor and rivers meet humanity among the steel, glass, and girders.

Enjoy getting wrapped up in this crazy web that we weave.

Enjoy New York. The City of Cities.

I Knew a Man from California that Served the Lord in Italy

I Knew a Man from California that Served the Lord in Italy

This man did a lot of other things besides serve the Lord in Italy. I also know many other people, men and women, who served their God and Church in Italy. And elsewhere.

This is a special tribute dedicated to this one person, and to those that knew him, and for those who are yet to know him.

I don't know that many details about his mission to Italy, but I know he went to Provo, Utah, to take classes morning, noon, and night to learn the Italian language, to be immersed in the culture and lives of the Italians that he would come to know and love for the next two years.

I don't know what year this man entered the Missionary Training Center, but I know that he was observed by those that were learning and teaching with him and to him. In two months of training he would pray with them continually. They would pray on their knees both in their classrooms and their shared dormitories. They would pray in English, especially in the Large Group Meetings that were convened for those that were learning other languages. Some of these meetings would have 2,000 or more young missionaries, like him, going to a land by plane to a place that they had perhaps never heard of, or at least had never contemplated inhabiting.

They would pray in smaller groups in their nascent Italian, which is a humbling experience, which is like you are three or four years old again, or it makes you feel like a parent teaching your children, if you happen to know the right words or phrases better than your fellow companions. Slightly older teachers were there at most hours to help guide you and teach you. These teachers were either native Italian (sometimes Swiss), or had lived in Italy themselves. I don't know for sure, but I am pretty sure this man headed to Italy to serve the Lord would observe these teachers astutely. At least one of them would impress him enough to see himself succeeding and prospering in Italy, like those who had gone on before. More importantly, the Spirit of God with which they shared the scriptures and doctrine of God would light a fire in this man and his fellow elders and sisters. As a former MTC president used to say, "I want you to go to bed at the end of the day tired. And: make it a celestial day!" I am confident that this man had many of those days and nights in the MTC. And there were many more to come a few seas away...

I don't know all the things this man was going through when he went on his mission, but I am reasonably sure that he missed some of his family, and would think of them fondly in spare moments. I am sure there were a few times where this man was touched by the Spirit enough to cry, maybe thinking about his loved ones that he knew all his life, or Jesus, the Beloved, or at least feel that amazing tug in the heart that made him know he was alive and in love with life, in love with the Gospel of Jesus Christ and His Kingdom on Earth. Grandiose feelings occur in such a place, and that is a feeling that is hard to describe. It can be overwhelming. I am not a hundred percent sure that this California guy felt these amazing feelings of joy, release, cleanliness, repentance, purity, love... But I bet he did.

And this was just in Provo! So like most of us who went to the Missionary Training Center, he was ready to go and be with the people. Teach people, learn to know and love the people of Italy.

Again, I don't know all the the places that this man as a young priesthood holder went to in Italy. He may have told me a time or two, or he may have recounted a bit of it in a talk or discussion. Suffice it to say, the language and the culture was amazing and different. Like a lot of us speaking and thinking in a second tongue, even a Romance language, it was an incredible way to develop the brain and the heart. Latin, that ancient language of the Romans and even Jesus Himself. The Bible had new significance and tenor. Some verses and stories made more sense. Together with the Book of Mormon and other scriptures witnessing the power and majesty of the creation of the world, the stories of the covenant tribes, the lives and achievements of the prophets, the coming of the Savior and His life and legacy, His death and Resurrection. The foretellings of the future, the eventual history played out of the Earth. Spoken in this masterful, historic, artistic, colorful language. What a way to ingest all of these topics! They sunk deeper into his soul.

Singing and chanting in this artistic tongue. The medium of operas and sonatas. A beautiful way to live.

I don't know the details of this and that, like many others will recall, but I am sure there were cities and panoramas that this California elder grew to cherish, that inspired him and caused him to dream. Dream of heaven and earth, dream of life and beauty, dream even of loss and pain. Italy has a Mediterranean climate, as does California, so there were familiar sunny days of dry heat and longer days and nights of rain and chill. Like many of us, Americans with creature comforts and luxuries to others, he would observe people with much less wealth, but happy and generous all the same. 

Italians were expressive and romantic, how not to be?

Then there was the art! And the churches, cathedrals! What a country!

"Magnificent" might be the right word when it came to the cultural heritage of these ancient Christian people. They were proud and humbled by their legacy, the capital of Christendom and the keeper of the ancient vaults. The history of the Holy Sees and the Universal church, the noble priesthood and mantle of Christ Jesus. The signs of the faith were everywhere, even in the way people used their hands and arms, and heads and souls.

As a bearer of the Good News of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, in a traditionally Catholic country, well, the Catholic country, the message of the Restored Gospel was not an easy sell. No matter, in small gains testimonies and the faith grew. This young man was part of a rich tradition of its own, that by prophecy would grow and "confound the wise".

God had a plan and its order, and this man was part of it. Even his mission companions and others that he grew to know were part of it. It all fit, even though there were times of frustration and impatience for certain partners. It was bound to happen to have a few assigned companions that you did not see eye to eye with. Stay strong and prepare for the future, the Lord was in charge. Balanced with the elders that were like brothers from childhood, so tight were the bonds of trust and faith with some. And some members burned into his heart and his own.

It takes all kinds, that we confirm throughout the full time mission and later in life.

I cannot say for certain, but I am quite sure there were times in Italy when this young man would go to sleep hopeful and content, and assuredly the next day plans and commitments did not live up to those supposed expectations from the night before. Safe to say this was normal, and what some people say and swear to one day does not always live up to those levels of fulfillment the next. Life and people can be fickle, capricious. However, the Lord is the same yesterday, today, and forever. He knew this, He trusted in the Lord.

We learn day by day, week by week, transfer by transfer, that the Lord does not change, and we need to change for Him. The Gospel of Jesus can be difficult and challenging, but it is simple and constant.
It, He--does not change. Put your faith in Him, not man. "Be still, and know that I am God."

Like those of us blessed at such a tender age, this young man learned through trial and test, momentary decision and willing life course, that one who follows God and implements His program is happiest, is most fulfilled. He saw it, he felt it, he knew it.

He testified to those who would hear: Repent of your sins, posit faith in the Lord, worship Him, take His yoke upon you, take His body and blood into your mind and spirit. Be alive in Him and through Him. He lived this, and saw it in others.

He testified of an all-loving Father in Heaven, a Son sent by Him to save mankind, to save us from ourselves, the Holy Ghost that confirms their undying love, that comforts and guides. He taught and preached of a young man who questioned them directly, and lo! he received an answer! And much more.. Golden plates, angelic visits, seer stones, temple constructions, Saints migrating, missionaries sent across the oceans, God's pattern continues.

Yes, a tough sell. But worth it.

Thinking across the centuries, and maybe further, this young man with a royal surname was tracting in, traipsing across, and tracing the steps of perhaps the greatest Christian missionary ever, Paul of Tarsus. The earth and lands where Christianity took root and flourished, this is where the message and mission of Christ came to the fore. And it would again. Years later in marriage and buttressed with his own children this older young man would learn of the Prophet's declaration for a temple in none other than Rome. The land of the labyrinths and Colosseum, of St. Peter's and the centuries of rule, it was meant to have its own restored temple of God, with the true and everlasting altars to seal himself with all others, the royal heavenly family.

He had done this, he had seen this, he had felt this. He had served the Lord, in a mission of two years, in steps and choices that would pave the way for himself, his future, his eternity. It led to so much more later in his life, touching the lives of others.

How many Italians knew him, noticed him, spoke to him, waved to him? We don't know, hard to tell.

It flashed by in a blink of an eye.

I don't know if there were times for this returned missionary, like me, where he might wake up on a random day and wonder: did that really happen? Did I really live there? Did I really speak and sing in that language? Did I walk where the saints and martyrs walked? Did I breathe the airs of the ancient seas?

Sometimes we need photos or letters to reassure us.

Did I really feel with no uncertain overpowering impression that life is forever, that love is eternal, that God in Heaven is my absolute sovereign and commander, and that His Son Jesus has redeemed me from the blight of eternal torment?

Yes, this happened.

This happened to a man from California who went to Italy, a badge placed on his chest.

A badge proclaiming his sacred title, his honorable family name, and the organization of which he represented, as a true emissary of the Kings of Kings. And His Bride, the Church in His name.

During my mission in South America, my dear mother sent me an article of a missionary that entered a humble, yea, a poor and rundown house in far off Italy (In the Church News circa 1990-91). That elder came to the sublime realization that even in the poorest of lairs, where dirt is the floor and water is difficult to procure, that the King is present in His castle, settled upon His thrown. Having lived in a relatively wealthier part of Latin America and having visited Spain, it had not fully occurred to me that Italy had pobreza so late in the twentieth century. Poverty and want.

Alas, we are all beggars, we all need the succor and aid of our Big Brother, our Messiah, our Anointed One. We are all destitute without him. We need Him. We owe Him, and he pays our debt.

I cannot tell anyone for certain, and I cannot presume that I know for myself what another knows and feels, but I am compelled to declare: this Californian in Italy knew all these things.

And yes, while I did not know him as well as I might, I know that he knew these things.

And, our friendship went by too fast here on this planet, in this century, but it was like the times of Lehi, or the short years of Joseph Smith, and my mission, our missions to the spiritually poor. We had a chance and small lifetime to preach redemption and freedom.

To assure others that the family of God is eternal and we will live to see it all again. Nothing is lost, all the good is gained.

Thanks for going to Italy. Thanks for doing so much more. Thanks for reminding me of who I am, of who we are. Thank you for representing Christ there, and here, and beyond.

I look forward to exploring the caves and works of that great land one day.

Thanks for doing your part to establish a temple of God there.

Thank you for sealing yourself to your immediate family, and inheriting the privileges and blessings of your greater lineage, the eternal greater family of our Father, and Mother, and brothers and sisters.

Thank you for that, and for all the other things I cannot recount nor know.

I can however, have these inklings of what you did, how you did it, why you did it, and who you are.

And we are better, even in untold ways, for having been that close to you.

We serve the Lord and live. In every time, in every place.

My brother, again: I thank you so much. We are so blessed.

Syria and Arabs in the 21st Century

Syria and Arabs in the 21st Century

Syria has been in the headlines a lot in the last 7 years; this past week Syria has come to the forefront again. Today is December 25, 2018. A big day for Christians worldwide, a weird economic and political time for the United States. And as perpetually, a tough time for Arabs to figure out who and where they are. Many Arab Christians, a small but significant minority in many current Arab nations, are fearful for their survival now and into the future.

President Donald Trump arbitrarily (that's my description) announced the removal of U.S. militarily troops from the country, summarily (my word again) declaring victory over the Islamic State of Iraq and As-Sham, ISIS, the 2014 caliphate arising from militant jihadi extremists of war torn Iraq and its neighbors.

Hmmmmm. The jury is out on that one.

The Arab lands have gone through much, much, much, upheaval and tumult over the last century. Map carving during and as a consequence of the epochs of World Wars I and II did their share of defining current borders, much of which were forced by Western minds and powers. Natives of those countries have struggled to find their places ever since.

The United States and other powers have had their impacts on the regions, both the Middle East and Arab Africa all of their modern existence. The US has been the planetary superpower for generations. With that power comes accountability and responsibility, something that the US presidents have done since Thomas Jefferson fighting the Barbary pirates, to Roosevelt sending troops to Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, and Libya, to the more recent escapades in Iraq and the Gulf. 

Not to forget about the goings on of the Suez Canal in the 1950s, the creation and battles of Israel,  the Marine disaster in Lebanon in 1983...

And now Syria.

Russia became a game changer when they went to the military aid of a losing Bashar al-Assad regime in 2015; Kurds and Turks and their endless conflict complicate the picture in northern Syria. Iran and its Iraqi proxies further complicate Syria.

So, do Russia and Iran now claim greater Syria for their own victorious claims?

That is one real fear. 

We understand that we, the US and its allies, do not want to waste valuable lives and money on lost causes. But is this how we see the divided Syria now?

Won? Safe? Nothing is secure where terrorists, and foreign armed adversaries roam.

Where we had plans to stamp out the worst of the militant jihadis dedicated to the destruction on the West and moderate Muslims, suddenly we are leaving.

The Arab world is already divided and fractured in ways that are both physical and emotional. 

Yemen is in shambles. Libya is divided, and largely lawless. 

Somalia, marginally Arab, has been 3 countries for almost 3 decades.

Palestine is not content; Israel's continued presence in occupied territory is a constant threat to the safety of all.

Extremists abound. On the other side of Iran, Afghanistan has its extremist issues...

They are not Arabs. But they suffer from the same symptoms of the Arab world:

Define a border, a government, a way of life, and try to prosper.

It's not happening today.  

The United States has priorities which affect how it deals in its policies with the whole world and the nations that are Arab, focusing on this specific region.

1. To protect its citizens.
2. To allow free trade and commerce.
3. To enforce laws and rules that allow the proper compliance with these priorities.

Part of the concern in protecting US citizens is so much instability in lands across the world that there is too much demand for foreigners to come to our country as refugees. There is also the freedom to travel and live across the world. 

Syria has become a no-go zone, as has Yemen and Libya. Other parts of the Arab world are far from hospitable. Saudi Arabia has proven tough to deal with due to issues of free speech and freedom of harsh rules and rulings.

The United States needs to improve its conditions in all aspects, but this is easier said than done.

Leaving Syria to the others that are there? Not sure that is the right course...

We were not leaving many injured or killed behind of our troops.

No easy answers. 

BYU Football Progresses in Year 3 of Sitake

BYU Football Progresses in Year 3 of Kalani Sitake

The Bigger Picture is What Matters to the School and Its Supporters

1.  The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has, since its inception in 1830, been a bold proclaimer of certain large messages. Apart from its claim of authority and proper priesthood restored on the earth, which throws down a gauntlet to all other organized religions, there is the Christian imperative to:

2. Repent and sin no more! To urge and encourage all people to live up to high moral standards that the Savior would have us live, according to the moral laws of the Church, and the Lord who runs it. This is different than any other college or university, especially in the 21st century. No premarital intimate relations, no tobacco or alcohol, no cursing or radical hair styles...

Therefore, the flagship school of the Church embodies what the faith espouses; the football team is a very public part of that mission and effort.

Since 1922, prophets and presidents, apostles and general authority educators of Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah, have started and then supported the BYU Cougar football to represent the school and its values. By the 1970s the team became a factor in national rankings and bowls.

Since the retirement of legendary Hall of Famer LaVell Edwards in 2000, three different coaches have had their chances to continue the success of the team that achieved the national championship in 1984, a feat causing multiple fissures and cracks throughout college football that has had its effects up until today (2018).

The newest head coach, the first Tongan football head coach in the United States, took over in 2016 and led his first team to a respectable 9-4 record. Season two went upside down when the Cougars finished an embarrassing 4-9, their worst record since the 1950s. Sitake was under a hot microscope.

Year 3, this 2018 season, was a big deal.

By losing 4 close games in close fashion, mixed with some good wins (Arizona and Wisconsin), it was left for the end of the season bowl game for the then 6-6 Cougars to come out winners or not.

And they did, thankfully, having a great third quarter and crushing the Western Michigan Cowboys 49-18.

7-6 overall, progress noted and second losing season averted.

Next season will open with really tough teams and opponents, including starting with arch rival Utah; the Utes that BYU almost beat this year and has not beaten in 8 straight competitions, despite close finishes almost every time. Many Cougar fans and critics are heartened and hopeful that many Sitake youthful recruits and returnees will have the power and skill to handle themselves against the likes of the Pac-12, a conference that spurned BYU in including as part of their expansion 8 years ago. The exclusion may possibly have been based on religious reasons. 

We will see what will happen on the field.

As far as what the Church of Jesus Christ declares through its university football team and its leadership and players, the message is the same: we value clean and Christlike lives. We expect our men and women to be awesome ambassadors of both sport and purity. Cleanliness and morality as we believe it should be.

Like Army, Navy, and Air Force (the Knights, by the way, just finished a fantastic season), there are other priorities at play with BYU. Cadets at the U.S. military service academies are expected to be trained warriors to fight for their country, to serve the president and defend the Constitution. This is an added burden to accomplish while running against men and women who are civilians, looking to make a buck or serve in their respectful fields of work as non-military.

Cougars have the burden of Christ, which Jesus says Himself that it is "light".

There are other religious affiliated schools, but they do not require the same enforced standards of living like Brigham Young. Notre Dame, Texas Christian, Southern Methodist, Boston College: they have their allegiances to the Higher Power and their denominations, but I am not aware of much more commitments to a written Honor Code other than attending additional church services. Maybe I am wrong.

Winning shows that we can do it. Serve a higher Master, live His laws as best as possible, repent of the sins that we commit, and play with a pigskin on the rugged grid iron, and win.

Whether you and others believe in the principles of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, that is your prerogative.  Whether you believe in the missions of the U.S. Army or others, the liberal aims of Stanford or UC-Berkeley, or the University of Miami or wherever, fine. We can agree to believe the same or disagree.

BYU. Football team.

It's fun to watch, but it definitely is a statement of belief. 2018 ended up being a decent demonstration of that ethic.  We shall see how it goes for Kalani and his young men in the future.

Go Cougs. See you in 9 months, Utes. I respect your returned missionaries. I respect your school.

The Cougars will keep doing its thing, which will be your on the field nemesis. But not off it! May it ever be so, and may good sport continue to flourish in the state of Utah.

Alas, Terry Hutchens! You Knew Me Well

Alas, Terry Hutchens! You Knew Me Well

A man of 60 years passed away this week. I never met him. Yet, he knew me, and I believe he knew me pretty well. With his passing, part of me and another group of devotees and fans have lost part of ourselves. However, he left a lot. He was a writer. The love for those passions that he espoused will continue.

Terry Hutchens wrote about Indiana University basketball, and football, and Indiana athletics. He wrote about more than the Xs and the Os of the sports. He wrote about people; he wrote about ourselves. He was a pro's pro, probably the best.

That may not register as significant for many people, but it does for me. And, as us native Hoosiers like to say, "Every where else it is college basketball. This is Indiana." Terry Hutchens was at the forefront of what we loved and lived for.

Terry Hutchens, or "Hutch", as he was known, was a formidable part of being a Hoosier.

Identity is hard to qualify and quantify; I know I have many identities: I am a father. I am a husband. I am a church goer. I hold the priesthood of God. I am a professional in the work place. I am part time soldier for my country and state. I am an American. I am a Spanish speaker. I am an aficionado of languages and foreign cultures. I am guy who likes sports, from baseball to the Olympics. I am an active participant in some sports. I am a reader. I am a watcher. I am a conversationalist. I am a writer.

In my core DNA, I am a Hoosier fan. It seems to keep my blood flowing. It is not that I do not want to spend time with my wife or kids or buddies or church members, colleagues or neighbors -- but when the Hoosiers are on the court or field, there is another pump pumping. It's just that that is where my heart is when the game is on.

I hope you understand. This is who I became. I cannot always explain it myself. But in Indiana, this love makes us all the same: black, white, rich, poor, no matter what religion or background or philosophy. Democrats and Republicans and Communists, we all bleed Hoosier red. We are one through this sport and school. This is our faith and practice. A unifying force, hard to measure but real. Only Purdue Boilermakers or Notre Dame Irish make us question our home state loyalties. OK, Butler has been a recent thing, too. But Indiana at Bloomington is still the standard of the state.

Near or far, Indiana sports resonate with me. When I have gone far away to other countries and far off climes, Indiana sports beckons to me and connects me back to my home. Sometimes I would go months or years without the direct contact or observance of the teams. I long for those lost times when I did not see the Hoosiers fight, compete. It is tricky to explain. People like Hutchens were able to re-connect me to it.

Indiana basketball and football, and even other IU sports, bring me back home.

Thanks, Terry, for sharing. Thank you for building part of that identity for me and others. For keeping me a Hoosier. We feel passionate about the basketball and football and other sports. They are parts of who we are. It is our identity, and certainly figures like Bob Knight made it so. Or made the passion stronger. The quest for the beauty of the fight.

Hemingway had bull fighting and fishing. Steinbeck had sharecropping and vagabondery. Jack London had dog mushing and animal fights. Rowling had quiddage. Tolstoy had ballet. Great for the Russians!

Texas has football, the gridiron variety. Brazil and Argentina have futbol,  the world variety. South Asia has crickett. California has surfing and volleyball.

Natively raised Indiana folk have basketball. It is pure agony, ecstasy, and elation.

It ain't much, but it is poetry in special moments. Which could happen the next time the ball is in-bounded. 

I once wrote an online comment to Terry around 2005, back when the successor to the legendary Hall of Famer Robert Montgomery Knight Mike Davis was battling to keep the team good and stay at the job. I questioned if Terry was "really a Hoosier fan"? I am not sure if he replied to me, but I feel like in the last thirteen years he changed in his tone towards the Hoosiers. He did become a homer for the Hurry'n Hoosiers, which is the only way to be if you are within the bounds of southern Indiana. 

I know Hoosier fans across the country and the world, from Utah and California, to New England and Florida and the Bahamas. Basketball, at its best, is supposed to be played there. It is the Aristotelean "good". The ideal. That is what we cheer to see. A slice of perfection. Embodied in a leather ball and its purveyors.

The end of 2018 brought some interesting things culminating around Indiana basketball, perhaps apropos to the life of Terry and his meaning to Indiana basketball.

• ESPN TV released a very interesting (they all are) 30 for 30 special called "The Last Days of Knight". If you watch that show, you will learn a bit about the General's legacy and meaning in Bloomington. You might learn something about yourself, and you likely will learn a few things about me. At age 14 my Massachusetts cousin asked me if I liked Coach Knight. My answer was mixed, and so are the feelings we share about Coach ever since.
• Eric Anderson, former IU star and one of the last players to reach the Final Four, died at the precocious age of 48. I am his age; he was there on campus with me. Or I with him, even two years spent in South America. He handled the court for me. Hutchens wrote poignantly about him. Of course he would, but 5 other former ball players who have died too young.
• The current IU basketball team beat four decent teams by a combined 8 points, never having been done before in the history of the program. The hopes are that the current Hoosiers are clutch. The squad, with second year coach Archie Miller, a savvy all-conference senior Juwan Morgan, and two special freshmen ballers (Langford and Phinesee), has made the top 25. Where they belong.

By the time I was 5 years old Knight made himself an icon in Indiana. He reached perfection in 1976. It was never entirely perfect thereafter, as life never is.

But IU basketball has been enough.

A banner in the rafters of Assembly Hall means all the perfection you need. Knight did it three times in 11 years. We thought he would achieve a fourth, but his own protégé from Army and later Bloomington years before, Mike Krzyzewsky at Duke, would impede those efforts.

Knight made us hungry for it, because we knew what it feels like to win March Madness; we grew to expect it.

As a writer, Terry Hutchens was the consummate professional of writing: telling stories, explaining the identity of the teams and their leaders, their triumphs and miscues.

Terry showed us the drama, the struggle, the life of our on-the-court and on-the-field heroes. 

They were us. Ourselves. Winners, losers, competitors, strivers, men and women of victory and defeat. Effort, dedication, focus, and determination and discipline led to glory and joy.

Terry went out a winner. He succeeded on and off the court.

The car accident that led to his death was a mistake we have all made. He failed to stop in time exiting a ramp that would connect to the interstate that led to no other place than Bloomington, Indiana.

I have done it, you have done it. There for the grace of God we all have survived those mistakes to live another day. Terry succumbed to the wounds of that crash this week. Like a powerful man among peers, he left a legacy of success and achievement regarding the craft of writing and sports. Living life, giving and caring. He was certainly a driven person who gave and taught and mentored.

Sports writing is an art. The passion for the sports is a sublime gift-- at times taken to the extreme, yes.

But you have to know where your heart is, and for many of us, that vital tender organ is found when the lights spring on and the clock and ball are put in play.

Live on Terry Hutchens and Hoosier fans. 

The games will continue, even without its best heralded voices.

Because life is about competing and striving, and Terry did this and more.

Never daunted, we cannot falter
In the battle, we're tried and true
Indiana, our Indiana,
Indiana we're all for you! I-U!

Bum, bum, bum, bum, bum, buuuuuuuummmmm!

I-U !!!

Yes, Terry, you are a true Hoosier. We celebrate life, with you, and our collective identity forever.

Thanks for knowing me that well.

Celibacy and Chastity: Both Work for Good; Don't Get them Confused

Celibacy and Chastity: Both Work for Good; Don't Get them Confused

Keuschheit und Zölibat haben ihre richtige Zeit und ihren richtigen Platz 

There are moral standards regarding human sexuality that are worth striving for and maintaining. 

I did not make up these rules. I learned about them from others. And I believe them.

Mankind-- humankind has standards and goals for human relationships.

Friendships, alliances, associations, family, bonds. Proper networks and channels of relationships, individually, collectively-- all of them work for us or against us. I am now informing you about the higher laws of sexual relationships.

All relations are key to our survival and progress. The better relationships and bonds are better.

Hence, the need for both celibacy and chastity, when it is the right time and place.

Chastity is a constant good state or status that we must all strive for. Sometimes this requires celibacy. But  celibacy and chastity to do not always equate. This is a great lie.

Men and women must procreate and have children. Doing this sexually within the bonds of matrimony is chaste, wholesome, pure. Those who have impugned this act as a sin are deceiving millions.

For centuries.

Celibacy will lead to marriage. This is perceived as difficult and unnecessary but it is true. 

Being pure through our relationships is key to making things right.

Do your best to live this way. It's the best way. 

Failure Defines Us; Regrouping from It

Failure Defines Us; Regrouping from It

I think that we all fail every day. Most of the failures are not noticeable or notable. Some failures are obvious and large, having an impact beyond the moment of that particular failure.

In our lives we take formal and informal tests. Some of those are on paper, many are physical.

Most tests require mental acuity, reason, wisdom, or knowledge.

Hopefully our failures do not cost the lives of ourselves or others. These are drastic failures.

Most of my life that is a dreaded outcome; to get someone killed, people that you are supposed to live and let live or protect. To avoid that result,  by what most normal people define by successfully avoiding drastic mistakes or failures, one must be diligent and lucky.

But it happens.

I do not think it has happened to me. I hope not.

We all know people who have taken their life, some of whom we had a stake in their life; I do not think I am to be included in those passings. I hope not.

No stupid highway or other accidents have befallen me, or those that I care for or steward. I know a few where that is the case. Tragic accidents and hard to avoid mishaps.

Failures come more frequently to some than others. Some tests are more tangible, such as job opportunities lost and interviews and the application process.

2018 has provided some tests and failures for me.

I tried to avoid failing. I will regroup, I believe. I will continue to advance, to grow, to learn, to adapt and overcome.

I am not defined by my failures, but I am marked by them.

Like scars on the body and in the mind that leave indelible traces. Some scars are ugly and lasting, at least visually and within the psyche.

Thus it ever was.

Move on.