The Heart Divided; it is the Brain We Have

The Heart Divided; it is the Brain We Have

Each person has their self interests, as ascribed. Some publicly put God as their main interest to serve. That makes sense to many. To others, that makes little sense, because God or gods are very mysterious and even fickle, which is not very Godly. Why would anyone care to please or serve a capricious being? Or worse, one that is not really there, and if is there, after all, does not seem to do a very good job?

I understand those arguments.

Each of us have our own interests; many of those interests are less selfish than others. I find that parents are generally pretty good at putting the needs of their children ahead of their own. Although, that is always debatable, too.

A lot of mothers are better at it than dads, and some dads are a lot better at being unselfish than other dads. Being selfless, or more interested in the welfare of the child than himself or herself.

We all have desires and needs, and the wants of adults as parents always include their offspring. This can be harder for some than others.

Whom do we serve? There is a famous (well, to those who do espouse the Holy Bible), verse from Joshua defining who do we serve? Is it God or some one or something else?

"We cannot serve God and Mammon,", Jesus says.

"No man can serve two Masters". Again, the Lord. He goes on about loving one and hating the other. He says things worth pondering, of course. Those are parts of my interest in the Divine.

Render unto Caesar what is his; he uses the coin from the random fish to illustrate the point. 

It is totally difficult to concentrate or focus the desires and interests of the heart purely into a few simple things, even if stated and vowed. We have distractions and other gods that we love, or fancy, or contemplate, or simply are inundated by.

Caprices and whims, curiosities and indulgences, obsessions and/or compulsions.

We (I) try to stay on track with a few simple things. Some of them compete against each other.

Generalism, specialization, and all the pathways between.

Good luck heart! Good luck, mind, brain! Stay following the planets or stars that you do.

Really, good luck and God bless. Believe it, and Him, or not.

Either way, the choices and options are ever before you. Some of the ones behind you may haunt you, and the ones ahead may be the same.

Live in the present? Sure, some of the time.

Black Americans, African Americans

Black Americans, African Americans

Casey Gerald is a compelling speaker and thinker. He seems to have a gift for writing. I watched him in an interview last night; he got me thinking for sure.

His audience, at least for his essay about Escape? African-Americans. If others read it, fine, he says. But it is meant for "his people". I get it. "Your people", Casey. African-Americans are his people.

But there are other factors at play, too, Casey. Are fellow blacks just your people?

For example, all Americans, like them or not, are my people. I am white. My people are brown, white, black, and many other shades. I belong to them and they belong to me. We are Americans. When I do work for law enforcement, I am not doing it for only whites or blacks or Hispanics or Asians. When I am a soldier I am not serving one particular race.

I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Those are my people. Many are different colors, ethnicities, shapes, and sizes. They are my people no matter what ethnic group they come from. Some are black. I have known African-American members of my faith since at least 1978. A big year for my church, indeed.

I knew one member of the church, for example, and became his friend in Provo, Utah. He was from Ohio. Both his grandfathers were white but he was black. His grandmothers where black, and then his own parents were black.

Mixed race, as some of my black friends would say. I get it.

Barach Obama was raised by his white mother and white grandparents. I was raised by my white parents, my mother was white and also lived in Indonesia, and also re-married a new husband when I was still a minor, a bit like the former President. Barach is black, but he is mixed. So is Tiger Woods and maybe millions of other Americans.

Casey, you are speaking to part of those people, the Americans who are "fully Black", or only their black part? Does your message apply to the mixed race ones?

I know that when it comes to cases of police brutality and mistreatment for racial reasons in the United States, that a person who is only 1/8 black will be treated as "all black", and the mixed portions will not matter that much.

The 400 year anniversary of African-Americans creating their own race, in the words of Gerald, which I understand and agree with, gives the new significance of what it means to be black. Own it, be it, Gerald seems to say. (I need to read the essay: I am white, but again, I feel a belonging and ownership to this message.) He may not know it, but his essay is meant for me as well as millions of others.

I am Tiger Woods. Remember that? Long before his fall from grace in 2009...

We are Americans. All of us. We all bleed red. We all serve each other and fight and die for one another. That is the American that I am. Colors of skin and cultural background should be measured in the context of how Martin Luther King espoused it. By merit.

True, I do not have ancestors that have been slaves, to my knowledge. This does not cause me the emotional trauma, going back to the 1800s, as Gerald correctly communicates to African-Americans, that this legacy has left since emancipation. Decades of post-bellum segregation and oppression have caused many more internal and external problems among the black populations of our nation. The remnants of these issues are very extant to this day, 2019, which include generations of poverty, poor education, poor neighborhoods, and the levels of less savings and budgetary power than many other Americans.

This is not right, this is not fair. I acknowledge that these disparities exist and need be dealt with. 

Blacks, African-Americans, according to Gerald, should all have therapy to heal from generational and present trauma. We all need therapy of sorts, I agree.

Having been raised in a faith with no drugs or alcohol, having hosted multiple foster children as young man and child, having gone through Boy Scouts, having served a mission, having spent time as a volunteer for my faith and community, having joined the U.S. Army and worked in dozens of jobs across all the U.S. continental time zones, I have a few things to say that I hope would help African-Americans (again, my people), and people of all backgrounds: live clean, live strong, live right, live to give, give back, pay attention to those who know great things and have achieved great things. Pay attention and invest in yourself and your people. Your people are me, my family, and us. I am part of your family. I am your brother, you are my brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles. You are my cousins and relatives. I am part of you, you are a part of me.

Casey Gerald, you are my brother and I respect your views and accomplishments. Hear me when I say: W.E.B. DuBois and Booker T. Washington wanted the same thing: they wanted you and I to thrive.

There is no debate, there is only one message. Let's be co-citizens in victory.

Let's be humans and brothers, sisters and family. We care for each other, we respect one another, we serve each other, we live and die together.

We are here together. One human race.

How Do Little Kids Grow Up?

How Do Little Kids Grow Up?

We chronicle the cases: life by life, photo by photo,  journal entry by journal entry.

Sunday to Monday, through the work or school week, and on to the weekend.

Weeks become months, months transform into years, and voila!

Adulthood.

Us parents observe the miracles: the pregnancy, the pushings within the womb, the sicknesses, the swelling. The doctor visits and sonograms, maybe a la Mauze class and books from the library or as presents from loved ones. "What to expect while expecting."

Hospital time and the magical drive home. Life is different with precious cargo.

The suckling child follows: the long, more pleasant days, the longer at times exasperating nights. But the baby does sleep restfully enough for life to be good and go on. Diapers and formula. The occasional sickness and the worried visit to the doctor. Baby's okay. Vaccines and medicines. Baby cries but she's okay. She is beautiful and her gurgles and smiles make us laugh. Even the messiest diapers... Yucky and gross, but still kinda cute. Like the slobber and mucous. The baby makes the grossest, cutest secretions. A goopy secretion machine. Like the pabulum spit up! Wonderful.

She gets packed up all the time: into the car seat, into the buildings and rooms where she sleeps, or at the beach or the board walk, at a restaurant or office. Baby is wrapped up and swaddled, peeking into the greater world of oohs and ahhs.

Baby sits up, raises her head. Rolls over! Crawls. Scoots. Climbs with her arms and legs. Takes steps and walks. Falls down. Gets up again. And falls down.

Eats all types of foods, ends up not liking some... Bananas? Spits up things. Cries, laughs, giggles, snores baby snores. Screams for the binky. The binky, aka chupon, i.e. the pacifier. Ahh, how it pacifies!

The baby becomes a toddler and begins to speak. Ours was understanding two languages, it took her longer to pronounce many words. Oh, she could dance to music, too.

She grows and grows, and likes things. She always liked the sand and the water at the beach. Pools and baths are nice. Water is good. Nice music by day and by night, and nice television shows and videos. Disney and a "whale of a tail". Teletubbies? On and on the shows keep coming.

The little girl dresses up for church. She is exposed to other grown ups. She goes to kindergarten. Her family moves around, and she gets her tonsils out. She gets quality time with her grandparents, in both Indiana and California. And cousins and aunts and uncles.

She grows and grows, learns to read and write. She plays with friends, tells stories and makes up worlds of her own. She travels and goes on trips, goes to different hotels and parks and cities.

She leaves primary school and goes to middle. She chooses an instrument and is dedicated. She learned piano at home. She helps with her little brothers and sisters.

She, this adolescent burgeoning human into adulthood, chooses her classes, takes her exams, sacrifices for homework and participates in all sorts of extra-curricular activities: sports, music, the arts, fun trips and educational forays. She chooses friends and hang outs, she attends church with her family and cohorts. She sings, she draws, she attends dances and parties and keeps on top of her studies. She stays up late, sometimes for school, sometimes for obsessive binge pleasures, sometimes for youthful indulgences.

She, unlike the generation before her and raising her, has a "smart phone". This device, a window into most of the known and dangerous universe, becomes a competitor to the peace of the home, at times, at least to the growing concerns of the parents. This is new ground, new territory, more nefarious and potentially sinister than a mere personal computer, competing for the Generation Xers for most of their adult lives.

Issues become known, discussed, debated, articulated, bantered about and considered. Friends show their stripes, they grow and change. Some move on, move away, move apart.

Some friends grow closer, including romances. Struggle for independence when it comes to bed time, phone time, car driving, one on one time with friends, and a few issues happen like that. Learning the privileges of driving are developed. Warm up a car prior to leaving on a cold or snowy day. Help your siblings and others be where they need to be. But, she, this newly groomed adult, has her definite strengths and virtues. She achieves impressive results with academics and grades, extracurricular performances and artistic endeavors, and is a very caring and involved sibling to her younger brothers and sisters. She also placates her parents and friends much of the time. She doesn't like to displease, bless her heart. She worked, she made money. She strove to learn a second language outside of school. Orale.

She was a fun and delightful baby, became a fun and delightful little person, and has now turned the legal age of adult, a peer among her elders, and is completely fun and delightful.

This, to me, is how this little kid grew up.

Different than me, different than you. Like you, and like me.

From baby to toddler to small child to growing teen to adult.

We grow up.

We cannot explain all of us, or fully explain one sole individual.

How do little kids grow up? With love, care, devotion, sacrifice, yes, a bunch of the will of the parents, and a ever progressing, give and take dialog with the creators of the being, this little dependent life that learns to walk, swim, read, run, play, worship, entertain, and work, share, cry, laugh, joy, sorrow, and grow.

She will continue to grow up. And we, the lucky observers and vested friends and family of this former little kid, "all grown up" but still maturing, will ask of her: how will you help us grow up?

We are so much, some more than others, little kids within aging minds and bodies.

Join the club, and do your best, little one.

Story # 3 Eswatini Guy and the Boer: 2019

Combinations of 240 : Endless Stories (Started in 2018...)

There are 240 countries and nations in the world, plus or minus some islands and remote places that contain their own sub-cultures.It occurred to me that it would be interesting to capture an encounter or story about two people, respectively, from every place on the planet.

This would add up to 57,600 stories. An Indian and a Nepalese. A Bhutanian and a Falkland Islander (Malvino, I guess, in Spanish). And: another fifty-seven thousand, five hundred and ninety eight encounters more. Like an American and a Welsh. Er ... Welshman... Welsh lady? On and on it will go. What would your match ups be?

_____________________________________________________________

 Story # 3: Eswatini Guy and the Boer, 2019

Eswatini is the name of the newest modern country, a name changing on the maps and in official titles, by those of the former nation-- well, still a nation-- known as Swaziland. This happened this past decade, or last few years, we gather.

Swaziland is and was a mostly forgotten country way down in the bottom southeast of the massive continent of Africa. We know some things about the neighbors surrounding it, blocking it from the sea.  It is not too far from the Indian Ocean. Quick: name 5 countries that border the Indian Ocean. 
Some of us pay attention to maps. It's okay if you don't. Some of us spend our lives doing this.

Probably one of the reasons for this story.

Africa is anything but a lost cause, for those who did not know or consider it. Or... maybe racism and ethno-centrism is endemic among us, smart ones, wealthier ones... Many, perhaps most, think they are lost. Some think this is simply conventional wisdom based on evidence. Africa is not cursed for reasons of race, some might rationally argue, but they continually fail by the inferior cultures that they have created. No hope and pessimistic future. Us, the wealthy powerful ones look down and criticize them, or simply toss up our hands with no plan of action to solve the issues that plague them, us, humanity....

The  lucky elites with some power and fortune, see the others, especially the destitute blacks, as lost or even more: they populate too much.  There are too many of them! They cannot sustain life enough to even feed themselves! they accuse and villainize. And what of Ayanda, and the millions like him?

Ayanda Wickus Bhembe was a thirty year-old man of Swaziland, now eSwatini, of the majority Swazi tribe, always wondering what was to become of everything. He had these concerns, constantly. 

He could not help it.

He was from the city of Nhlangano; maybe for people so close to the border of South Africa it was natural to worry so.  Where the Swazi people and other natives of his land less worried thna they in the south? The water problems were more acute in the south parts of EswatiniSouth Africa was huge, and had powers and contained mysteries that he and his countrymen could not fathom.

He observed the South Africans over the course of his life, especially the Boers.

One thing that became many things that gave Ayanda hope was his belief in God; the faith structure that he was a part of. He was able to meet and become friends with members of his church, the principle and doctrines of it reassured him that he would be okay in this life and glorified in the life to come. With his family. He worried about the bigger picture, however. The greater country, the region, the continent, the world.

Water became an acute problem that summer of 2019. 

Ayanda spoke to Petier Broadsius, late in the summer, around February...

Ayanda stated simply," I have met many white men and a few white women, but I have never spoken to one so candidly as I do you. Can I consider you a friend?"

Petier demurred, " Of course I am your friend, Ayanda! I am also your brother! We of our faith know these things, preach these things, try to live these things."

Avanda rejoined," It has been difficult for the Boers to find peace in the land; I know your community feels the loss of some former privileges. Do you feel resentment towards the government? Do you believe that God and Jesus Christ are doing their will, if I may be so bold to ask?"

"Wow, those are some deep, heartfelt questions. We South Africans--especially I can speak for my Boer heritage: we are fully invested in the success of the land and our home country. We have known nothing else for at least 300 years."

"Yes, you surprise me, Brother Broadsius. Again, I have met my share of the white men, and I know my black brethren, and very few seem to be as optimistic or as accepting of the other races like you."

" I give credit to my family, but also to the faith. I served a mission clear over to Cape Town and that side of the country. I saw with my heart, mind, and eyes that there are incredibly small differences and greater commonalities among all God's children. I saw and understood it better than back home among us, my own people. God helped me understand the bigger picture. I got to know other Africans, from Nigeria and Ghana, and some Europeans and North Americans. We are all the same, brother. Even the English. We only have different parcels to care for. We must make the right decisions and be wise."

"Yes, yes, this is true Brother Petier! I hope we can continue our bright conversations as we try to fix the water problems! I thank you so much!"

"It is my pleasure, Brother Ayanda. We South Africans will help the eSwantini, all the tribes, as much as possible, and I know that your success will also make for the entire region's progress."

"Brother, prior to meeting and getting to know you, I doubted whether the men and women of this Church were really genuine in their words and deeds. I feel it from you, I sense it strongly, and you tell me of dozens if not hundreds who work in the same vain."

"Yes, it's all true. God is working among us, brother. Do not give up hope despite the current droughts and problems. God's people are finding their way."

"I love it, I love the Lord, my tribe, my homeland. But most of all I love the kinship in the Gospel of Jesus Christ."

"Amen, brother. Let us have a meal together next month at my ranch. Your family will see up close that we care and we are all the same. Or something close, anyway."

Ayanda effusively added," My family loves the books that you have loaned us; we look forward to sharing the bread with yours! Thanks so heavenly much." (This travel would require international border crossing, but both families felt it very worthwhile, like a trip to the temple in Johannesburg.)

"Not a problem, Ayanda. It is our pleasure and duty. Till next time. Brothers in the Lord, alway."

"Yes, till next time!"

Things were going to be all right.

Bryce Harper at 332 All time: Waiting for La Verdad Soto to Get to 92

Bryce Harper at 332 All time: Waiting for La Verdad Soto to Get to 92 (Top 1,000)

Below is the current (second weekend of August, 2019) list where the 8th year player ranks. I have been tracking him for a few years but now he is a Phillie and my interest has flagged...

He is coming up the list, but others are doing it better and younger. No one is as good as Mike Trout, but I think Machado and others, like some younger guys, will outproduce Bryce.

I think Juan The Truth El Trompo Soto may. He is only a second year player but he is as good as Bryce, I think. But he needs to hit about 50 more to make the top 1,000 list.I wish to go with him when he does that, maybe by as late as 2020. Meanwhile I will keep tracking Bryce.

Notably Hall of Famer Barry Larkin has been surpassed by Harper; not an intrinsic power hitter but for  short stop he was awfully good.

332.	Felipe Alou (17)	206	R	HR Log
	Gus Bell (15)	206	L	HR Log
	Bryce Harper (8, 26)	206	L	HR Log
	Pete Incaviglia (12)	206	R	HR Log
336.	Joe Medwick+ (17)	205	R	HR Log
337.	Rico Carty (15)	204	R	HR Log
	Jose Cruz (12)	204	B	HR Log
	Wally Joyner (16)	204	L	HR Log
340.	Richie Hebner (18)	203	L	HR Log
341.	Bill Dickey+ (17)	202	L	HR Log
	Carl Everett (14)	202	B	HR Log
	Sid Gordon (13)	202	R	HR Log
	Todd Hundley (14)	202	B	HR Log
	Jhonny Peralta (15)	202	R	HR Log
	Bill White (13)	202	L	HR Log
347.	Buddy Bell (18)	201	R	HR Log
	Manny Machado (8, 26)	201	R	HR Log
	Gene Tenace (15)	201	R	HR Log
350.	Bill Freehan (15)	200	R	HR Log
Rank	Player (yrs, age)	Home Runs	Bats	HR Log
	Oscar Gamble (17)	200	L	HR Log
	Josh Hamilton (9)	200	L	HR Log
	Adam Lind (12)	200	L	HR Log
	Don Mincher (13)	200	L	HR Log
355.	Cesar Cedeno (17)	199	R	HR Log
	Jackie Jensen (11)	199	R	HR Log
	Juan Uribe (16)	199	R	HR Log
358.	Barry Larkin+ (19)	198	R	HR Log
	Rondell White (15)	198	R	HR Log