Month: October 2019

Posted on

Perception

I learned long ago that perception matters; perception can mask truth. I have known this and even I can fall victim to false perception. I was once again reminded of this after a baseball game.

What’s more American than baseball? At a World Series game in America, you will have as diverse a group as any. Military and civilian, Democrat and Republican, citizen and immigrant will gather to watch the game.

When the current President of the United States attended such a game last week, the behavior of those gathered was not what we’ve come to expect when DT stands in front of a crowd. They booed him and chanted “lock him up” in anticipation of an impeachment.

There was outcry from his supporters calling it un-American and unprecedented. There were those who argued the office of the president deserves respect.

Me personally? It brought a smile to my face.

Here is what we’ve come to expect when Donald Trump gives a speech to a large crowd: fandom. The crowd cheers at his every unintelligible utterance as if it’s from God. They wear their red MAGA hats and hold signs and shout derisions at his enemies. It’s disgusting really. We see these rallies on the news all the time. They aren’t ever that big but they are made to look big by cheating camera angles and clever lighting. The perception created is one of immense and overwhelming support. We never see descent at a Trump rally because dissention is quickly snuffed out by security.

This president surrounds himself with yes-men (and I do mean men) and sycophants. He has neatly insulated himself from the broad spectrum of Americans and has no idea how the majority truly feel despite what polls and approval ratings say. He doesn’t see it so it doesn’t exist. What he does see in the media is dismissed as fake news.

This perception doesn’t match reality. This gives him and his supporters the feeling of majority. It is a false perception and as proof we have what happened at the World Series game last week. When a range of Americans gather, those who support 45 aren’t the roaring red hats concentrated at one of his rallies. They are the minority and always have been despite his electoral victory in 2016.

The majority of Americans didn’t want him as their president and didn’t vote for him. The office of the president should be respected but that respect doesn’t extend to the man occupying that office. If Trump made more public appearances in front of crowds like that at the World Series, I suspect we’d hear a lot more booing!

End Transmission.

Posted on

Faded Image

Sedro-Woolley, WA

The following story is fictional and inspired by the image above:

My mind is all over the place as I sort through the worn box from my past. I just unearthed it from my office closet where it hadn’t seen the light of day in nearly twenty-five years. It’s filled with letters and trinkets from my college days. When I come across the photo, I stop short. The box slides from my lap and falls to the floor but I make no effort to stop it. The photo has my complete attention.

I remember the day I took it. It was the weekend before graduation and the six of us were inseparable back then. We had just finished the last of our exams and decided to go for a hike. I fight the lump in my throat as my memory of that day surfaces. You’d think after so many years, the sting would have lessened but it hasn’t.

As I gaze at the fading image, I can’t help but think of the person I was when I took the picture and how much my life would change in the hours that followed. Little did I know it would be the last time we would all be together. It was the last picture of David ever taken. A few hours after this captured moment, his life would be cut short by a stray bullet from the rifle of a drunken hunter.

I recall my hands becoming sticky with blood as I applied pressure to the gaping hole in his chest. There was so much of it, the smell overwhelmed me and to this day, the sight of blood makes me faint. We tried to get help, but help came too late.

My hands begin to tremble and the picture shakes. The image blurs as my tears fall once again for my fallen best friend. I reach for the box but before I return the picture, I think better of it.

I set the newly framed photo on the mantle of my fireplace and trace my finger over my absent friend; gone but never forgotten.

End Transmission.

Posted on

The Affliction of Indecision

The following was inspired by today’s writers prompt:

Wednesday Writer’s Prompt
Lake Easton State Park, WA

Two paths stand before me. Both look well-traveled. One is wider, more open but the other, though narrow, looks more interesting. Which way should I choose?

Some pass me by and seem to take one path without any thought for the other. Some chose the other just as easily. Yet here I stand at the fork weighing the decision. I have no idea where either path will take me.

One path could become arduous with steep climbs and dangerous predators while the other could offer relative ease and safety. They both could be safe. They both could be dangerous. I don’t know which way I should go and I’m paralyzed with uncertainty.

More come and go and none seem to suffer my affliction of indecision. Some make suggestions for one path or the other but none have traveled either path so their words mean very little. They shrug and leave me behind.

A stranger approaches yet again only this time he stops and sits with me as I vacillate the fork in the path. He makes no suggestion of one path or another but offers to stay with me until I choose. I’m grateful for the company.

We talk about the possibilities and the need to be properly equipped for whatever either path may hold. My pack is well stocked with everything I should need as I came prepared for this journey. He reminds me this is more than most who’ve traveled either path have brought with them.

I stand and step forward ready to follow this man but he will not move until I do. He says he will walk with me regardless of which path I take but I must make a decision if either of us is to move forward. This helps me make a decision; knowing I don’t have to go it alone. Finally, I choose the more interesting path and he smiles. He picks up his pack and follows me. While neither of us knows what lay ahead, we will walk the path together.

End Transmission.

Posted on

Devotions

As part of serving on my church council, I periodically have to give a devotion prior to starting one of our monthly meetings. My turn came up this week and I did what any resourceful Christian would do; I asked my sister, who is a Lutheran Pastor, for some help.

I’m currently in the middle of a bible study on Thessalonians so I had a good place to start. I also follow a remarkable Anglican priest on Twitter who posts little gems and nuggets of awesomeness almost daily. Add some spice from my sister and I came up with the following:

First Thessalonians is believed to be one of the Apostle Paul’s earliest letters. It was co-written by Silas and Timothy while they were in Corinth during his first missionary journey.

1 Thessalonians 2:5-8 As you know and as God is our witness, we never came with words of flattery or with a pretext for greed; nor did we seek praise from mortals, whether from you or from others, though we might have made demands as apostles of Christ. But we were gentle among you, like a nurse tenderly caring for her own children. So deeply do we care for you that we are determined to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you have become very dear to us.

Daniel Brereton is an Anglican priest from Ontario and recently posted this on Twitter: When people say they are too hurt or angry to believe in God or that they simply don’t believe, I just accept that. I don’t try and “slip God in another way” with theological argument or spiritual platitude as if God was some kind of drug I’m determined to slip into their drink. What I DO offer them is the one thing that they are open to at that moment – myself. I try to listen in order to understand, not simply to reply. I apologize where I think it’s needed and wanted. I show concern for their present state, not for their future in church or in heaven. They may no longer believe in a loving God – but I do – so I offer what I believe God has sent to them: me; my time; my empathy; a human presence to say “I see you. I hear you. I care about you. I’m here with you.” I believe it’s what Jesus meant when he said “follow me”.

Jesus was all about relationships. In every encounter he had with people, he offered himself, and in so doing, he gave them God’s love.

A piece of Christ resides in all of us for those times when church may be too big for a fragile moment. We were created in His image so that when those moments arise, we can be examples and imitators of the one who made us. It’s an incredibly vulnerable thing to do, but when people come to us, broken or otherwise, we can show them God’s love simply by being our true self. We don’t need a scripture passage, a committee, or an elegant facility to be what God calls us to be in the moment.

As followers of Christ’s example, sharing ourselves, our stories, our experiences of God at work in our lives is the most important thing we can give to one another. I believe that is how we follow Jesus.

End Transmission.

Posted on

Something in the Air

The following short story was inspired by today’s Wednesday Writing Prompt

Lake Easton State Park

The river is the only safe place to travel. The dead couldn’t swim. I long to return to the shore, to feel the warm sun on my skin and to give my weary arms a break, but I can’t. I can see them through the trees; their eyes empty, hollow. They stand unmoving like statues yet I can feel their dead gaze upon me as I maneuver my boat through the water.

I set my paddle down and take a moment to catch my breath. I’m out in the open in the relative calm and safety of the water. Up ahead of me the river narrows and I fear it may become shallow enough for the dead to reach me.

I lean back in my seat and close my eyes as the gentle breeze caresses my face. I am so very tired and I allow my eyes to stay closed.

I feel the hull of my kayak hit something and sit up awake. How had I allowed myself to sleep? I’ve drifted toward the shore and I’m hung up on a tree just below the surface. I sense movement on the shore and the dead statues begin to move sensing I am nearby. I hear the splash as the dead hit the water and make their slow shuffle toward me.

I put my paddle in the water and attempt to push off the submerged debris. It takes me a moment. There is a current driving me closer to the dead who make their way across the shallow water to the edge of my kayak. I feel a thump behind me as the first of them arrive.

I’m free of the tree below the water but the dead have my boat now. I attempt to paddle free but there’s too much dead weight. I turn and use my paddle as a ram but the dead don’t flinch.

Closer and closer, they are nearly upon me. I pull out my pistol, only three bullets remain. I make them count. Two head shots and the dead weight is gone. I drop the pistol into my lap and pick up my paddle only to find another two ahead of me. Another head shot, another one gone but alas, there is little I can do against the fourth and the horde behind him.

I am certain this is the end but then there is a boom in the distance. It’s just loud enough to give the dead pause. The air changes and a green haze consumes the once brilliant blue sky. The dead remain still as they are torn between the new sound and me.

I remain frozen in place, unwilling to remind the dead of my proximity to them. The air changes, it smells funny and tastes almost metallic. The dead one in front of me sinks into the water. He makes a splashing sound as he does and I fear he has drawn the others to me but as I look around, I hear more splashes and see more dead falling.

It takes me a moment to realize what is happening. I have survived and the dead are falling. I’m alive and the dead are truly dead now. I paddle my kayak away from the horde and under the bridge. Through the trees I can see and hear them falling. Something in that green hazy air doesn’t agree with the dead. I only hope it agrees with me.

End Transmission.