Love

Love

Love is hard to explain and simple to describe.

I could go on, but I will not for now.

What to Write About

What to Write About

Paul Theroux is an interesting example of what to write about. He writes A) fiction and B) non-fiction.

His non-fiction is about traveling and writers, mostly. He goes places and reports on them, finds what is unique around the world. He is extremely gifted at reading about writers who do that, too.

In non-fiction he is somewhat of a know-it-all and in fiction he explores some ideas and characters. Both are informative in many ways. As far as fiction, does it match the greats? Probably not, but it helps inform the overall nature of the writer, which I have become susceptible to.

He writes mostly 1) realistic fiction, while a couple of his stories have some elements of the supernatural.

2) Science-fiction and 3) fantasy both have large places in literature. Some books and stories combine both. 

I have enjoyed Arthur C. Clarke and others' science fiction throughout my life, very much as a younger reader. I have encouraged others to read him. He does his non-fiction conjecture as well, which borderlines physics and science.

Orson Scott Card has interesting science fiction, plus a good amount of fantasy and some 4) historical fiction. He writes about Biblical characters, which could be considered historical and 5) religious.

6) Crime novels take up another genre, which can be both A) fiction or B) non-fiction. Truman Capote's In Cold Blood is of the latter, while Michael Connelly and Lee Child tend to be more fiction, with Child's Jack Reacher having an element of the above-human aspect. 

Stephen Ambrose focuses on the real aspects of war and their  stories, while Jeff Shaara does this and embellishes where he thinks that this works realistically. Both are incredible researchers and story tellers.

Vonnegut has his own way, and Salinger yet another.

Hemingway and Steinbeck are master story tellers, I am less thrilled about Fitzgerald and Faulkner.

We all mix fiction and non-fiction.

 

The Church Party

The Church Party

This story is about Jill and for Jill. It is also about the other characters in the story, also, which include you and I. It is also meant for the powers that we cannot see to become more felt and seen.

Joplin, Missouri. 1977. 

Jill was the eldest of her family, therefore she was the guinea pig, as they say. Her parents tried things on her first-- that was how things went as far as learning and establishing rules for the Clendenings. This process, experimenting on the firstborn, occurs millions of times in the world over, family after family, generation after generation.

Both of Jill's parents had similar traditions, beliefs, customs that they tried to amalgamate and reproduce to the best of their ability in order to provide the best existence for their progeny. They wanted their children to have good and happy childhoods like they had experienced. Perhaps they could provide better?

Humans are the most unique creatures at this process, the rearing and guiding of children, because of their powerful memories and their mutually spoken and unspoken rules.

Jill's family was pretty happily Methodist, which meant a standard level of activity and expectation within their family and community. They always attended church Sundays, both morning and night, and went to Wednesday evening Bible classes, and participated in all the weekend parties and dances.

A good, wholesome, virtuous Christian life it was. Some considered it too sheltered. The "world" had so much more to offer, outside detractors would claim. The Clendenings, in their way of thinking, thought that a fortress must be built around the individual and its loved ones to combat the snares and traps of life, and that good people needed to build up trenches and fortifications in order to battle the temptations and pitfalls of the Adversary. For there were many traps and snares, darts and poisons. Jill's parents had seen plenty of ills through the 1950s and 60s this far into the 1970s. Be ever ready, the Bible teachings exhorted. And they tried pretty hard, pretty effectively. Their home was free from most evils.

Ultimately, the prayer and vested hope was that Christ would lead the way through sin and turmoil. Christ would overcome, we would overcome, like the former generations of slaves in the United States with new-found freedoms, we would all overcome some day.

Jill believed it and accepted it. There were always inconsistencies that would be picked at in her beliefs by others, but that did not phase her or her family. They were upstanding Christians, always. They believed, they were happy, they prospered, and gave and shared. She saw some more affluent, some poorer, but fewer as happy.

Life was going okay, decent really. More siblings were there in the family alongside her, younger than she; they enjoyed the love and sharing of their family; Jill grew up and found herself at a church party after her junior year that summer.

The church party was a really fun occasion. Two hundred some people were there, it was still early in the beginning of the summer break, families and food and the light music in the background at the nearby town park made it festively idyllic. Everybody had every reason to be happy. 

Jill had met a young boy a few weeks prior at a church encampment. He seemed nice, he seemed fun and attractive.

That night at the party there was a hay ride arranged from the party that would take a leisurely pass by the river. It took about half an hour and would keep recycling four times till the end of the party at 10:00, just as it was almost completely dark, late in that June evening. Then they would go home and enjoy the rest of the weekend, free of school, worries, and preparing for the Sabbath as was their priority. Life was good, was it not?

Jill and Philip managed to get on the last hay ride together, which was being pulled by Jill's father, Mark. No one knew if Philip intended to have it play out as it did, but he and Jill were at the part of the ride behind and between everyone where no one else was watching. Then the precipitating moment of the story happened. Phil took advantage of the situation.

A few people wondered since: did Philip have extra stresses on him since his mother was divorced and she was the main parent in charge, thus not exerting enough parental authority and control over him? Was little Philip, as a smaller child, predisposed to doing things of such magnitude, even as a pre-pubescent runt? Were there clues to his sordidness, as others saw it and deemed it? Was he troubled, was he not churched enough in the wisdom of the Good Book and the fear of God? Was he a simple victim of his own lust and lasciviousness? Had he become an ogre-like predator as a teen? Did he somehow justify his prurience in the New Age of the Free Love Seventies? Did he see it in a film, a Hollywood special served up to perverse notions, of which plenty abounded? Was he another loser pothead? A druggie? A wanna-be beatnik hippie? He had given off so much better vibes to those at the church setting. Maybe he was just a typical youth. Hmmph.

Nevertheless, it happened, and all the details were not known nor understood. But the afterthoughts were felt in confusing and serious ways.

This offense was certainly not as bad as things could be, but they were bad enough. They, these acts, did not go as far as what a couple adults would be found culpable of a few decades later in the White House, famous beyond measure, true, but things were certainly that serious. In the 1990s the acting president would be impeached for lying on oath about such interactions. Perhaps the real truth of this hay ride would never be known, except for the three involved: Jill, Philip, and God. Where was God during this episode? some wondered. Some continued to wonder over and over. And where was the faith in God of those involved? Yet, the Gospel of Redemption allowed us our sins be committed.

Her parents, almost two years later, could not believe it when they learned the news for the first time. They had not found out till much later, relatively. Yet, they could understand it as it entered their hearts and minds. Something had changed with Jill. They thought back on those things. She had lost a spark that they knew, which they had tacked up to "growing up"; she had turned in a way that looked as though she did not handle things the same. She had changed, but the parents thought that other things had caused these changes, or an evolution perhaps very natural: other boys, other classes, other friends, other entertainments or arts, all these "others" had done the change. Maybe they had, in fact, affected the entire change of attitude or disposition, despite this particular incident, this one apparent ugly moment in time.

Is that what growing up was? Secrets and unknown happenings inside the mind, heart and soul. We do not know if one thing or the thousands surrounding it

Were things as such thousands of years ago?

Were things as such in India in 1977, half a world away where the largest group of non-native Americans in Joplin hailed from? They were Hindus, with very foreign beliefs. But they were like the Christians of Missouri, weren't they?

They were surely the same as the Clendenings and others of Joplin, of Missouri, of the United States? The same as American families, where the parents wondered how their children grew, matured, changed their views of the inside and outside worlds?

Millions of people had followed these patterns. Had millions followed the pattern of Philip that June night, or the ways of the U.S. president at the White House nearly two decades later?

Awful! Mark and Judy thought.

Why could not at least our kids not face this until --never? Why would this happen under our watch? Who is the stupid and naive victim?

Well, the water has been spilled. So it goes.

What can be recovered? That was the ongoing question.

Mark had a few of his own demons to deal with as far as handling this news of his daughter's violation, as he saw it. She was humiliated and lowered in his own hay wagon, he being mere meters away! But these other demons, or specters, or nightmares, were enough for him to stew on, which was what kept him fitful but reserved when it came to thoughts of justice or retaliation towards an American boy in Missouri.

Judy had her own issues in processing this consequence...

               ....      ________________________________________                                      

Mark served in Vietnam in 1970, when Jill was 11 years old. Being away from the family of Judy and the six young ones was hard enough to do no matter where he had to go. The letters and occasional phone call he made to his wife helped a great deal, but it was not the same with his own kids. But worse still, were his duties. Mark became a tunnel rat, which was terrifying, dangerous, and exhausting. By the end of his eight months of it, he was done. He could do no more. In fact, he swore that he would never take another person's life again, unless absolutely forced to do so in self defense.

Returning back to stateside and accepting his Savior Jesus Christ was really the only thing that kept Mark sane, or alive on the mend, after the trials and horrors of being a tunnel rat in the caves and underground systems of the Vietnamese highlands. He saw the worst of it. The worst of the Viet Cong enemy, the worst of his own troops, the awful degradation of his own brothers that he saw bleed and die and make others do so, and inevitably he saw deep into the worst of himself. The worst of humanity for eight straight months. He did not want a two week break for a multiplicity of reasons.

Going back to the "normal" of before for 12 days, and then having to return to the hell of the tunnel fighting, or any fighting, would be too much. He had to get through this all in one lump, and live or die, and move on. Either way, his wife and kids were not for him now-- then. During the death and terror.

Upon finally returning to his blessed USA, after surviving physically the mean cruelty and inhumanity of Vietnam, he knew he would depend on the deeper faith of his heritage and childhood for spiritual healing and recuperation. The Christ of the legacy of the prophets and apostles would be his refuge. He would become whole again, as Jesus promised.

He swore not to kill again. He trusted God would forgive him and make him whole.

This was his only hope.

Not the love of his parents, his siblings, his pastors, his wife, his children: none of it could bring him back to humanity sufficiently to do the job to get him one with the universe. They could help, sure.

Only God and His Holy Spirit could do it. They had to. Otherwise he was lost. He knew this was all that mattered for him or anyone.

He did have a few back up ideas. If Christ and His vaunted Christianity weren't the answer, he would try Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, and a few others until he truly exhausted all of them. The answers of peace and wisdom had to be out there.He had to find the calm assurance of peace, and the answers were promised to him. He would continue that search and pursuit.

Jill had similar feelings about grace and redemption according to Christianity, to the very Master of the Seas and their Tempests. Her feelings were also guided by a sense of justice, perhaps greater than Mark's, which led her to some more developed thoughts about her daughter and the boy, this one who had so upset her sense of place and right.

Some time later, (it was years), Jill, purchased a rather potent hand weapon and visited the college where the young man lived. Phillip was struggling to find his niche, as usual.

She found him on a Saturday night, not far from his dorms. She had reached out to a few people at the college previously, but there was no apparent follow up with him  as she had desired. No justice, no peace.

"Hello Phillip."

"Hello? Mrs. uhh... I forgot your name. Are you Mrs. uhhh--"

"Yes, I'm Mrs. Clendening. Do you remember me?"

"Yeah, sure, it's just I'm surprised to see you here. I thought that your daughter was at the state school. How-- how is she doing?"

"Jill is doing all right. How are you doing?"

"I-- Well,  I'm pretty good. I have done okay at school so far."

"Good to hear. Do you have a girl friend?"

"Whu--? I mean, yeah... I mean no. No one in particular. I don't kn---"

"Yes, I thought that you might be seeing different people. I have thought a bit about you, I don't know you that well but I have constantly wondered how things were for you, and those that you courted."

"Oh, so you mean that..."

Phillip looked flushed. He was confused but he had an idea what was afoot.

"Phillip, do you take advantage of girls that you go out with?"

"I... I mean..."

"You don't have to answer that. Just think about it. Also, think about the fact that things that you do and say to others are not always forgotten easily."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And, another question if I may be so bold: do you believe in God?"

"Well, I mean, it's sort of like... I have a lot of doubts. I really don't know what that has to do with the right now. Mrs. Clen-- Clendening. I'm sorry, but I don't know what you want to talk about..."

"Yes, I understand your perplexity with me right now.  You may not believe in God, and some Eternal Justice that He might be in charge. That's okay, everyone is entitled to his or her beliefs, which is how we were created by Him. Free to believe, free to choose, free to act. I am free to load up a weapon right now and put a bullet in you, true?"

"Uh, Mrs. Clendening, I really don't get what you want to say..."

"That's okay, let me finish and explain. I'll get to my point. The truth of reality is, God or not, we all get to choose what we wish to do. We all have the opportunity to believe in a greater justice or not. I believe that that will happen: God will mete out His justice and mercy, so me putting a bullet into you may not solve much in the grander course of things. But I am free and within my power to do it. Understand?"

"Yes, I get it, but why do you--"

"Wait, again, Phillip: let me finish. Okay?"

"Okay."

"So, some things are hard to change, some things are really hard to rectify. God will make things right in the end, but for now, we all must choose how we will act. Do you understand how things that we do now have effects into the future, and how our actions can affect others?"

"Yes."

"Good. That is what I wanted to communicate to you. I wanted you to know that I have a weapon right now, and if I so chose I could do an awful thing. However, I believe that God is greater, His justice is bigger and more beautiful than I can comprehend, and I wanted you to know that, to feel that. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it does Mrs. Clendending."

Phillip had had a lot of things go wrong in his life. His parent's divorce, the bullying at his schools all his life, his attempts to be cherished by members of the opposite sex which did not turn out right, his doubts and misgivings about God and any good church or organized religion, his qualms with oppression across the world, these negative things that he dwelt on, big and small, related to him or not. They all seemed so wrong.

He though about overpowering Mrs. Clendening this instant, to take any weapon from her, but he thought about how that might go. She might pull the gun too fast and he would be dead or wounded, or he would succeed in taking the gun from her, and if he did, the police might get involved, and that was no good.

Phillip was at her mercy. Very humbling. In this moment, at that precise and later in the day excruciating surreal moment, and weeks and months and years later, when he re-lived it and analyzed it, he believed she really, truly wanted to achieve those things. She wanted to show him power and mercy, a rather God-like attribute. For him, for herself, for her daughter. He thought that it worked. One, it humbled him as a guy who had done some rotten things to others, against those who did not deserve them, and two, it enabled him to see into the face of God.
.... _______________________________________________________

She achieved it, he thought. God bless her. And forgive me, my trespasses. When he read Crime and Punishment in his late twenties he even more fully appreciated this interchange and its ramifications, implications. He couldn't get enough of Dostoyevsky and increasingly other Russian authors, and others...
 ... ________________________________________________________

On the drive home and later, days and nights and thousands of dreams and a few nightmares later, Jill thought about who to share this experience with, this unique conversation with.

With her husband, Mark, a man who had taken more souls from the planet than she would ever know?

Yes.

With Jill, her daughter?

Probably.

With her pastor?

Likely.

With God the Father, and His Son, Jesus Christ?

Of course. She knew them, or at least she knew that they knew her. Her prayers to them were answered and reciprocated, richly. She loved them, and They her, and she knew where her trust belonged.

Good or bad, reckless or careful, she knew that the Master of Universe and Justice and Mercy would look on her and bless her all her days. Even if she did the worst... But she must forgive, that she knew. And she must take the higher road of grace and mercy.

The weapon, a large, or at least deadly and powerful revolver, she buried in a rusty box by the stream behind her back yard. It served as a good reminder of freedom and choices. It was a part of her past. She would let people know about it if they ever asked. Yes, I did that, she thought.
 ... _______________________________________________________________

The church party, of which this story was named, is not really the crucial part of this tale. It was a point in the lives of some, and it had its after-effects, but it was only a time in the lives of a few individuals linked, for them to figure out how they would proceed after some ugliness that happens, that God permits to occur, in this world, and probably other negative things that will come to pass before now and possibly even in the next world. We were promised better in the future, but evil and err will always be there, right?

Mark and Jill grew old, and they had their worries. They died and left behind their children, like their parents before them.

Jill grew old, and was happy, and discovered all she needed to find.

Phillip grew to a ripe old age, too, and let some people know in no uncertain terms that actions have consequences.

And, churches kept doing their socials, and kids and adults kept moving in their circles across the warm summer nights and the endless years beyond the parties and dances and camps and weddings and trips and school functions.

And, the families continued to grow and increase.

The Unwritten Novels...

The Unwritten Novels...

Second grade, the tailor and the rock.

Senior year, the being a member of the church.

Grad school, Mexico memoirs.

Chile, the boy convert jihadi.

Chile II, Omer and Rayen.

Last year, colonizing Mars.

What else?

Forgotten Conversations

Forgotten Conversations

Today I had quite a few conversations. I worked, I conversed with many. Many of the discussions are probably worth forgetting.

But: what about the ones that I should not?

Ahh.... journals are never complete.

Holy Lands, Holy Causes, Holiness

Holy Lands, Holy Causes, Holiness

This morning I went to the chapel where I usually play basketball weekly. It was fun, I had a good time. My teams won most of their games. This helps. I also had been away for the holidays, and before that I was ill so it was nice to participate with this group and get some exercise after a while away.

Almost every time that I go to play there, I visit these corner rooms of the church in between games and expel stuff outside on the bushes next to the corner doors. Spit, mucous, maybe blood, some sweat. That is not the point of me writing this, sorry for that. The least intent of this post was meant to be crass or vulgar. I wanted to explain why I go in these corner rooms, and that in order to lead to something more highly thought of, some reflections on holiness.

Today as I was leaving the room of the northwest corner, where I find myself alone and quiet, I noticed a couple things in the little trash can by the exit door. One was a map of the Holy Land. The other was a smaller poster with --

(For some odd reason this erased from this point above; I will try to re-write what I had put. I published it this Sunday afternoon, it was another 5 or so paragraphs with 3 numbered points).

 --scriptures and inspiration for doing what the Savior would have us do. I wanted to put one up in my house for my family to see the Holy land sites and be familiar with those locales, and the other for personal motivation. But, I left them on the stage by the basketball court and forgot that I had retrieved them. Hopefully I will  find them the next time I go back, or someone at church today may take them and use them for their own benefit. The point being, do not let them become trash.

Who would throw such treasures away?

Holy towns, holy places. Sacred history cast aside. It happens too often in my opinion.

Recently I have been accused of hoarding things, but I consider it "collecting". I believe, or have believed, that the large assortment of nick-nacks, magazines, books, tickets, handbills, pamphlets, and other odd assortments from my childhood and adult life would add up to one large treasure trove to become a resource to put together a history of significance, to spur my imagination and memory for a greater good. I still hold on to those fancies.

If nothing else, the items of sentimentality and nostalgia will serve as heirlooms of some sort for my children or grandchildren... But I wish for them to be more. We shall see.

For now, the  questions remain:

1. Are there holy places? Are there holy lands, and places worth venerating and revering?

2. Have there been holy men and women, legacies worth remembering?

3. Is there such thing as holy, sacred, a higher plain or realm to aspire to?

Is there a greater beyond?

Bethlehem, Capernaum, Nazareth, Jerusalem, Bethsaida, so many other places where the believers see their beloved remains of former legacies and holy prophets and lines of the ancients, from Abraham to Joseph, Moses and Aaron and their Levites, David and peoples of the Israelites through Judah, to the time of Jesus the Anointed and His apostles.

The Jewish inheritors since and the faithful Muslims since, and so many Arab Christians, now politicized and militarized, Palestinians and Israelis and a dozen other nationalities and groups...

Is it worth what the people down below are fighting for, striving for, yearning for, trying to revere and remember.

I was writing, recalling a few more things...

It is worth collecting, remembering, keeping hold to?

Do we cast all of it away, and relegate to the trash what is seemingly of no worth... ?

I will publish this and try to re-capture what I had not successfully published, yet tried to record.

The cause of memory and attempt to achieve the sacred.

Life, death, all of it.

Collected and reflected.

Hoosiers Fight Valiantly on the Gridiron, But...

Hoosiers Fight Valiantly on the Gridiron, But...

They lost.

This has happened before: close bowl losses in 2015 and 2016. And a bigger one in 2007, score-wise. This is the four game result of IU bowl games thus far into the 21st century.

The upside is that they achieved 8 wins in the regular season (2019), a feat that has not been arrived at much at all, ever. Not for Indiana.

A nine win season must wait another year... Not since 1967 or 1945 have they have won 9.

But it was a good year, and the Hoosiers had a 13 point lead with 5 minutes to go... Before both the offense and defense (and special teams!) lost to the resurgent Tennessee Volunteers.

Indiana was leading by 13 late in the game, forcing the Vols out after 3 downs. THEN: the IU offense went 3 and out and the rest became history, the Knoxville guys recovering a 10 yard kickoff after their quick touchdown, the first score for them of the second half...

Many ways that the Hoosiers could have won...

8-5 season for IU was not bad.

We beat Nebraska and Northwestern, and Purdue and I saw the Maryland road win in person, with family.

Satisfying enough.

We will get 9 wins or more next year.

Beat Michigan. Ohio State.

Good returnees, good recruiting.

Stay in the fight, IU!

I liked this team.

12th bowl ever. First in Florida, ever. 3 wins, 9 losses, overall.

Indiana is in the right direction.