Pondering Truth

I enjoy honest inquiry. I enjoy passionate people discussing topics of importance. I enjoy people who think and speak fearlessly. Truth is worth asking questions, discussing ideas, and speaking plainly.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like arguing and fussing. I don’t like people who babble and yak about things of which they have made no genuine study or given no considerable thought.

“We the people” must square off face-to-face with one another and seek truth. Truth must prevail in our homes, on our jobs, in our cities and in our nation.

Only the strong can face the truth.

Pondering a Cowardly Act

It’s a cold night in southern Indiana. The wind cuts through your clothes and brings goose pimples to your skin and a pain in your bones. When it’s cold like this, the night seems darker and longer.

Tonight is going to be an even longer night for the families of Officers Longhorn and Broady, police officers with the Jeffersonville Police Department. These brave men were serving our community and were ambushed by a coward. One was shot in the chest, and the other was shot in the leg. A man hunt is underway to find the sorry coward that did it.

I ask each of you reading this blog to pray for these men and their families.

Pondering Sacrifice

It’s a sunny, cold day in Southern Indiana. The snow and ice storm have left many still without power. Men and women from the utility companies are braving the cold and working around the clock to restore power.

I work across the river in Louisville, KY. Our restaurant has been flooded with customers looking for a warm place to just sit and enjoy a hot meal and a cup of steaming coffee or hot chocolate. The work crews are there, too. These folks, utility workers and the KY National Guard, have left their homes, their families, and, in many cases, their own power troubles behind to help other people. Interestingly, so has my crew. Many of my cooks, servers, cashiers, and dish washers are without power, some even have trees sticking out of their houses or apartments. Nonetheless, they are working to help other people.

This kind of attitude that serves others while possibly needing to be served is called sacrifice.

Isn’t it funny how we often overlook the spirit of sacrifice until disaster strikes us? Or do we think sacrifices are not made on a daily basis? Our troops sacrifice everyday. The men and women of the police, fire, and EMS services make daily sacrifices. Parents sacrifice for their children, social workers for their charges, teachers for their students, and the list goes on and on. So why does sacrifice seem so much more important in times of tragedy?

I think the answer lies within us. For most of us, we get so wrapped up in our world, our responsibilities, and our problems that we fail to notice the sacrifices being made by others. I don’t think this is a heart issue. That is, most people are not uncaring of the sacrifices made by others, we just don’t take the time to see those sacrifices. When misfortune smacks us right in the face, we have more time to notice and appreciate.

I wonder what the world would be like if we all made an effort to notice how others daily forfeit their own wants, needs, and desires in order to make our own lives better? I wonder, too, what the world would be like if we did not forget so quickly the sacrifices of others?

Why don’t you join me in showing some appreciation? Let’s turn the world upside down by giving thanks to the people in our lives that are making sacrifices for us? Let me get us started…
God… the Father, Son, and Spirit…thank you for the sacrifices you have made for me. I don’t understand all that you have done, but thank you for counting me worthy enough to surrender your heart for my good.
My wife…Debbie…thank you for giving so much of yourself each day for me, for standing beside me, loving me, supporting me. I know you have hopes, dreams, and desires for your life. Thank you for including me in those dreams.
My sons…Joey and Shane…thank you for being more sons than any man has a right to have. You are my heart personified.
My daughters-in-laws…Karen and Candice…thank you for loving my sons so dearly. Your love has made them more complete in everyway. And thank you for loving your in-laws, too.
My friends…thank you. Without you, my life would be a lot less pleasant.
To all whose name I do not know…thank you. Your sacrifices for me make my life better.
To everyone…thank you. I will try to do a better job of recognizing your sacrifices. I will never be able to repay you for what your sacrifices are worth, but I will give you my sincere and honest gratitude for all you do.

Now you try it! It feels good.

Pondering a Paradigm Shift

In 1962, Thomas Kuhn wrote of what he called a “paradigm shift” in his book, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Kuhn limited the use of the term to the world of science, and he would later voice great displeasure in the adoption of his phrase to other areas of life and academic disciplines. Nonetheless, his phrase enjoyed a growing popularity and a broadening scope of use. Today the expression maintains its rudimental meaning…a basic shift in the way one thinks about or views a particular topic or situation. (Thank you, Wikipedia, for the research.)

Recently, I experienced a paradigm shift. Let me share it with you.

I am a restaurant manager. One of the hardest tasks of being a restaurant manager is finding good help, people who are willing to be at work everyday and work while they are there. On any given day you can find dozens of people who will accept your employment offer, but who will only come in when they want and stand around while they are there. These are the people I say are more interested in a paycheck than in a job. Our store seems to attract a lot of people who want paid, but don’t want to work for it.

About six or eight months ago, Miro (pronounced “me row”) became of my employees. He spoke very little English, and I spoke even less of his language…none in fact. The General Manager assured me he was a good worker and would make an excellent dishwasher. I took his word for it.

Since then, I have had a few occasions to see Miro work. My problem with Miro was not so much the quality of his work, but my own inability to communicate with him the things I wanted him to do. My recourse was uneducated, but very American. I ignored him. I fussed at him when he didn’t do what I tried to get him to do. I knew he didn’t understand and that added to my frustration. When I would call out his name, he would not answer. I was sure he could hear me because I was only a few feet away from him. I got to the point where I hated to see him at work when I arrived. I assumed he was uneducated.

A few weeks ago, the restaurant was empty. We did not have a single guest in the store and had not had anyone in the store for about 30 minutes. Miro began talking with the employees. I listened. The more I listened the more intrigued I became. The more intrigued I became the more I attempted to communicate with him. This eager attempt at communication precipitated my paradigm shift.

Miro (I can’t pronounce or spell his last name) is from Bosnia. Thirteen years ago he moved to the United States to escape the ravages of his war-torn country. In Bosnia, Miro was a postal worker with 30 years service. He owned his own house. He helped take care of his entire family. He was happy. Shortly after the war broke out he heard his neighbors being killed and knew his family was next. He quickly gathered his family and fled, leaving behind the house he had worked so hard to own…a house to which he and his family have never returned. In the course of his escape from Bosnia, he lost 85% of his hearing to bombs exploding. He managed to get his family out of Bosnia and into the United States. One day, perhaps, he hopes to return home. However, as pleasant as the thought of going home is to Miro, he fears what he might find when he does go home.

My experience with Miro helped to see that I…Americans…am far too caught up in my own little existence. I complain about the cold in the winter and the heat in the summer. I become frustrated with the traffic. I fear the poor economy, the declining dollar, the stock market, and the long lines at Logan’s Steakhouse, but I have never feared for my life or the lives of my family. Bombs are not exploding in my neighborhood. My eyes have been opened to a larger picture of the world and the people in it.

Suddenly, Miro has become more than just a non-English-speaking dishwasher. I no longer see him as uneducated. In fact, now I am the one that seems uneducated. Miro’s life experiences have given him a Ph. D. in World View, and I am just starting my elementary years.

I thought I was well balanced in my view of the world and people. Miro taught me differently. My paradigm is surely shifted. Thank you, Miro. Through what paradigm do you see the world and its inhabitants?

Pondering A Following

I got the first follower of this blog today. I am so excited!!! Never mind that my one follower is my very own wife, and never mind that I called her and asked her to become a follower of my blog (shameless promotion, I know)…I have a follower!!!

If you would like to join my one, highly esteemed follower, then just make the click. It’s simple. It’s fast. Besides, Debbie needs the company.

Pondering The Snow

The snow fell on Southern Indiana last night, and I went into the darkness to discover the light. Here is some of what I found. Although I do not believe a picture is worth a thousand words, here are some pictures because I don’t have time to write a thousand words.

Pondering Meme's: Seven Random Things About Me

Although 50 years old, I am always ready to learn something new. Thank you, Ashley.

Here are the rules:
Tag people with the meme.
Tell them the rules.
If they have a blog, include it.
Make sure the people you tag, know they’ve been tagged.


Seven Random Things About John

1. I cannot stand it when people are impolite to strangers. For instance, one needs to say “please” and “thank you” when dealing with people. Being nice isn’t limited to the people we know. There is nothing more irritating than to hold the door for someone only to have them march right through the door and never even acknowledge your presence or show a sliver of gratitude.

2. I love mustard on corn. It is so good. The next time you have some corn for supper, get the jar of mustard from the refrigerator door and squeeze a little out on the corn. Open your mind. Mix the corn and the mustard. Give it a try.

3. I once bit the head off a chicken. One part of my military training required us to kill and eat a chicken at the end. They didn’t really care if we ate the chicken or not, but they watched carefully to see that we “bit” the head off. After killing the chicken, I cleaned it and made a Chicken and Vegetable Soup. Some of the soldiers put the entire Chicken’s head in their mouth, but I was afraid my chicken would peck my teeth before I could bite its head off.

4. I am a night person. I can stay up much better than I can get up. Some of my most productive work is done in the wee hours of the morning when everyone else is sleeping. Furthermore, as a general rule, I do not like morning people who do not or cannot understand my night person status. These people get up all chipper and loud. If you want to be a morning person fine, but don’t disrespect my night person status.

5. I love reading Westerns. As I write this, I feel somewhat ashamed as I have not read a Western in a year or two. Louis L’Amour is my favorite Western writer. I have all his books, even his first book which was a book of poetry. I would love to get my hands on some of the work he did in Pulp magazines. Although L’Amour is my favorite, I will read anything Western.

6. I eat my food by certain rules. Rule 1: everything has its place on the plate and no other food should violate this place. Mashed Potatoes go here, the steak there, and the mixed vegetables next to the potatoes. Rule 2: Each food item must be eaten individually. I eat salad first, then vegetables, then meat. Sometimes, just for a change, I reverse the order. However, reversing the order will often cause me to become disoriented and irritable. Rule 3: Dessert does not have any particular order. I can eat it before the meal…during the meal…after the meal, and sometimes all three. I do not always have dessert, but I always think about it.

7. I am a storehouse of useless information. One of my curses in life is that I seldom forget anything. I may not always remember the source, but the information is readily available. I think I would do well on some game show. Once, when my children were small, they recognized this amazing talent of mine and started calling me Chief A Lot A Bull.

As a new blogger, I am proud to have had this opportunity to experience the Meme. However, I’m not sure I want to experience it again. Telling things about me like this is not very comforting.

Whose next?

Pondering 50 Years of Marriage

It’s another cold day in Southern Indiana. The wind is kicking up and cutting right through jackets, gloves, sweaters, and long johns. It is the kind of day that requires finding warmth from steaming cups of coffee or hot chocolate topped with whipped cream. A good wood-burning stove sitting next to your recliner would help as well. It’s the kind of day that found me bundled up in my thoughts, particularly about my mother and father-in-law, Harold and Bonnie.

Fifty years ago (January 5th, 1959) Harold and Bonnie pledged their love and devotion to each other in Holy Matrimony.

They gave birth to three beautiful girls…the oldest is my favorite wife. With God walking beside them they raised their girls to be fine women. They watched their “girls” marry, and then watched as grandchildren and great-grandchildren came along. In addition to their biological children, they also gave hope to more than 50 other children through their service as foster parents. In my mind, there is no greater crown bestowed than the jewel-filled crown of love given freely and abundantly.

Their 50 years wasn’t all rainbows and roses, though. They endured economic downturns, car wrecks and the deaths of loved ones. They suffered through financial burdens. They suffered through chronic physical pain. They suffered through their girls moving away from home and moving away from the area. In short, they suffered through more then their fair share of tough times.

Through both the good times and the troubled times their love for each other continued to blossom.

On this cold winter day, I am thoroughly warmed by the great example they have been to me. They have given me their heart. They have treated me more like a son than a son-in-law. They have taught me to give my heart even when it may be painful. And, they have taught me how to love their daughter through their sterling examples. That isn’t counting the times they have loaned me money they didn’t have, cars they could have sold, and a helping hand that was already weary from a hard day’s work.

The thought of their never giving up on each other, their family, or their friends chases the chill from my body. How refreshing it is to see two people who left father and mother, became one, and are sticking to it with style and dignity. These are people worthy of our praise. These are people worthy of our admiration. These are people worthy of being followed. These are people I wish you could know like I do. These are my in-laws!

Happy 50th Anniversary! I love you and thank you for all that you have been, are, and will be in the next 50 years of your marriage.

Pondering Change

Today it has been cold in Southern Indiana. The snow has fallen, but chose to leave us before covering the ground. The white flakes gently falling to the earth excited me...fasinated me. It seems like only a moment ago that I was complaining about how hot it was. That's change.

I listen to some talk about how if they had it their way it would always be Summer or Winter, etc. Yet, everyone knows that change is inevitable. A wise person once said the only thing that doesn't change is that change happens (or something like that). So tell me why we live our lives acting like nothing is going to change, and yet, striving daily to change things?

We are never satisfied with the way things are. We want change in our jobs, our salaries, our cars, our houses, our health, and on and on and on. I recently turned 50 years old. I didn't want to turn 50. I do not want to think of me getting older, of not being able to run like I used to run, do the things I used to do, or of me closing in on my departure from this earth.

Frankly, I'm afraid of change. I fear it mostly because of the "unknown" factor. I don't know if the change that is occuring is going to be better or worse than what I have now. Have you ever worked hard for a change in your life only to find that when it happened it wasn't what you thought it would be? Have you ever shocked your own ears by saying something like, "I wish things were like they used to be?" That "unknown" factor is what makes me tremble.

Sitting here now in the middle of the night typing this post, I'm pondering change. I don't want to move. I've bought the house I plan to die in. What I want is a new job. I'm tired of working in the restaurant industry (and I have only been in it for about five years). I'm tired of working rediculous hours. I'm tired of going for days without seeing my wife. Don't get me wrong. I am thankful for my job. It pays the bills. I would be foolish not to be glad I have a job when millions are being laid off or fired. I just want to change jobs. Even saying that brings a tinge of dread to my heart. While I want a new job, the fear of going to a new job scares me.

However, change is going to happen. I have to learn to work with my natural fear of change, or better yet, to make it work for me. You see, we can't live our lives trying to avoid change or only acting when we know for certain the circumstances are just right for change. We have to change and then work to insure the changes are positive. Perhaps instead of fearing change or wishing that change would not occur, we should embrace it. Relish it. Adore it. Seek it. Chose it.

Nothing can stop change. It happens everyday in each of our lives. Today...I am going to change, and I am going to enjoy it. I am not going to fear change anymore. I am going to revel in all that change has to offer, whether good or bad, positive or negative.

Do you know anyone who is hiring?

Pondering Loneliness

I don’t want to be alone anymore.

I want to have lots of friends, close friends who care for me and love me. I want friends who call to check on me, give me unexpected gifts, show up at my door unannounced, and inspire me to live a better life. I want friends who I can call in the middle of the night when I am feeling blue and say, “Whatcha doin” even though I know they are sleeping…and they won’t care. I want friends who notice when I’m feeling sad and try to cheer me up. I want friends who will laugh with me. I want friends who will cry with me. I want friends who will let me show the same love and care for them, too.

However, I don’t have many friends like that. In my 50 years of life, I have had a few friends who meet the description above, emphasis on the word few. For those people, I am grateful. My life has been, and remains, blessed by these good friends.

When I graduated High School, I thought my friends would be there for me all of my life. Yet, over the years things change and the few become fewer still. Life has gotten faster, more disconnected. Job opportunities have drawn us away to distant locations. Children have grown up. We have gotten busier. The strange thing is communication technology in 2008 is far superior to the communication technology of 1977 (my graduation year). Still, somehow, we have become more disconnected than ever.

In the late 1960’s, I watched a movie on television titled My Side of the Mountain. It was about a boy that became angry with his parents and decided to runaway to live on his own. His adventures in the mountains sparked my imagination. He had animals for friends. He fished for his food. He even lived in a hollow tree. I loved the movie, and I thought I wanted to live that kind of life.

Those deeply embedded, childish feelings continued into my adult years, and I suppose even now there are times that living in the mountains on my own without any human contact seems like a great idea…except, I don’t want to be alone anymore.

Not long ago, I watched people coming into my store and sitting down for a meal together. Couples sat next to each other, and instead of talking to one another, they were on their cell phones talking with someone else. Parents brought their children in and sat silently eating their food while their children sent and received text messages. My own staff served their guests with a sense of separation, doing what they had to do in order to get back to their phones and text someone and still get a tip off the table. Across the street from my store is a city bus stop. It is amazing to watch people stand there waiting on a bus either too afraid or too unwilling to talk with one another. They stand yards apart reading a book, talking on their phones, watching a movie on their portable DVD player, listening to their iPod, or staring blankly into space or at the ground. All of this made me feel desperately alone.

Have we gotten too busy for friendships? Are really close friends a lost relic of past generations? Do we think friendships are for children? Do we have to be alone?


It is no wonder suicide rates are up. We have billions of people on earth. We have state-of-the-art communication technology. And, in the middle of our sea of humanity, we are still alone.

I don’t want to be alone anymore.

Pondering Elections

Elections are those "necessary evil" things that have helped to make our country great! However, I have been pondering a few questions about the election process that trouble me. These questions are not so much about "process" as they are about the "philosophy" behind the process. I am going to share my questions with you. If you feel like answering a question or two then have at it. If you feel like answering them all...I'm all ears.

Why is this a country in which the poorest among us can become President, but only rich people are elected?

Why do election campaigns start out discussing ideas and end up personal attacks about age, wealth, race, religion, etc...?

Why do we have to show our personal identification, register our name on a ballot number, and then claim the elections are by secret ballot?

How come the will of the people (popular vote) can be overturned by the will of the few (electorial vote)?

How can a process intented to bring about unity cause so much disharmony?

Why do people believe their "one" vote will not matter?

Why do people refuse to vote and then complain about the winner?

Why is it that ever single person elected, nationally or locally, is ridiculed?

Any answers to these questions are worth pondering, don't you think? I do.

Pondering Racism

Growing up in the small, southern-Indiana, river town of Madison, I was fortunate enough not to know anything about racism. Well, that isn’t exactly true. My parents watched the news everyday, and since we only had one television, that meant if I were going to watch TV, it had to be the news.

I don’t remember much about the news except two topics: Viet Nam and the Louisville Race Riots. Viet Nam interested me because of the pictures of brave soldiers fighting for our freedom, the helicopters, and the wounded being carried away on stretchers through the jungles and the rice patties. I remember the Louisville Race Riots because I could not understand why black people and white people could not get along in Louisville. After all, black people and white people were getting along in Madison.

Integrated schools? I cannot remember a time when I did not attend an integrated school. My first girlfriend was black. We were the perfect kindergarten couple. We refused to play with each other on the playground—she was with the girls, and I was with the boys—but after recess we would hold hands during story-time. I did not see her as a black-person, but as the girl of my kindergarten dreams.

I think I can honestly say I did not know what racism was until after I graduated high school and joined the military. In the Army, I met people from across the nation. Few of the people I encountered shared my small-town values. For me, people were just people. For them, it was painfully obvious, people were hyphenated: black-people, white-people, asian-people, hispanic-people, etc… For me, people shared similar hopes, dreams, and desires. For them, shared hopes, dreams, and desires meant nothing…it was all about accentuating the difference in skin color.

Suddenly, racism was everywhere. All black-people were the same. All white-people were the same. All asian-people were the same. All hispanic-people were the same. And, “same” was almost always deemed a bad thing. I found the military to be an intense mirror reflection of what seemed to be going on around the country and the world.

At first, I tried to fit in with the crowd. Who wants to be different? I certainly did not, nor did I wish to fight the overwhelming tide of popular thought. Then, I was assigned a black-people room-mate. My friends suggested I get moved to another room. I requested another room-mate and was denied. In fact, the company commander sent me to “sensitivity” training instead. Talk about contradiction! In my sensitivity training classes they taught what I came to the Army believing: people are just people. However, what they taught and what was practiced were polar opposites.

Over the years, I’ve developed my own ideas about racism. My philosophy is the sum total of my experiences and my academic achievements. It is simple. It is profound. It is true. Racism can only exist when people are not viewed as individuals.

Consider the present presidential campaign. Would you say Hilary Clinton is most commonly viewed as an individual or as a white-woman? Would you say Barack Obama is most commonly viewed as an individual or as a black-man? Would you say John McCain is most commonly viewed as an individual or as an old, white-man? The unfortunate truth is that this campaign may be the most prejudice-packed election of all. Americans are not looking at the individuals running for president. Americans are looking at race, gender, and age—all of which are peripheral to the individual.

How do you view people? Do you see each person as an individual? Do you react to people based on your experience with the person, or based on your experience with that person’s race? Here are a couple of tests. First, you are sitting in your car at a red light. It is late in the evening and there are no other cars around you. A couple of (you insert the qualifier)-people are walking across the intersection in the general direction of your car. Do you check to see if your doors are locked? Would you have checked if the two people were of your own race? Second, are you ill-at-ease when talking with people of another race? Do you watch carefully what you say and avoid using words that you might otherwise use? Do you take offense at the words used by other individuals that if used in another way could be racist?

So, what is the solution to racism? Some would have us believe the solution to racism is complicated and will take generations to solve. The truth is that solving racism is simple and only involves two steps. First, stop seeing people as anything but individuals. You would want others to see you for who YOU are, not your skin color. People are just people. We want success. We want happiness for ourselves and our children. We all have hopes, dreams, and desires. I am not my skin color. You are not your skin color. We are so much more than just color. Second, stop using skin color for personal gain or to inflict injury. In the presidential campaign, all colors have tried to use their skin as an advantage. Each candidate has tried to use the skin color of another candidate against him or her. These kinds of actions promote and propagate racism.

In the end, regardless of how you look at it, regardless of how you believe, regardless of how people act, regardless of what people say…people are just people. We are made and loved by the same God for the same purpose: to bring glory to Him.

Pondering Success

I hate forwards to my e-mail. The reasons for my hatred are varied, but if I had to narrow them down to just one it would simply be this: a forward is the attempt by the sender to feel as if they are staying in contact with you although the contact requires little or no effort and is non-personal. For this cause, I seldom open forwards people send me. Keyword: seldom.

Recently, I was sent a forward that attracted my attention. I do not remember who sent the forward to me; I wish I could. In the subject line was the word “success.” Now I am interested in success and the questions that surround the concept. What is success? How is success defined? Is the word success a concrete term or a relative one? That is, can the definition of success be one thing for one person and something entirely different for another (relative), or is it the same for all human beings (concrete)? Is success a destination at which some people arrive and others fail to achieve, or is it a journey that humans embark upon that has no final stopping place? Is success tangible or intangible? How do I know if I am succeeding or if I am rationalizing? So, with all these questions in mind, I opened the dreaded forward.

What I found inside the e-mail delighted me. As usual, there was no personal greeting or expression of love. As usual, I had to scroll through dozens of e-mail addresses of people I did not know (and a few that I did). Finally, at the bottom, the following quote:

“The road to success is not straight. There is a curve called Failure, a loop called Confusion, speed bumps called Friends, red lights called Enemies, caution lights called Family, and flats called Jobs. But, if you have a spare called Determination, an engine called Perseverance, insurance called Faith, and a driver called Jesus, you will make it to a place called Success.”

You may be wondering why the above quote excited me so much. Frankly, it does not answer any of the great mysteries encircling the analysis of success. It does hint at the notion that success is a journey, but it also, with equal certainty, calls success a destination. It has no scholarly value. It offers no evidence of fact. But what it does do is offer the reader the hope of success. The quote even recognizes some familiar obstacles and some tested solutions to those obstacles.

While I am not certain what success is or what defines it, I am certain that everyone yearns to have the hope of achieving it. Perhaps people see success like I view it: something to build toward. In the following picture (which I am not smart enought to get loaded on this blog...lol) the architect, unknown to me or I would certainly give him or her credit, illustrates my thoughts well. The picture shows two circular disks. On one of the disks are several pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. There are four people lined up in an old pass-the-bucket-fire-brigade fashion passing along pieces of the jigsaw puzzle in a team effort to build a bridge to the disk which contains the word “SUCCESS.”

In this illustration, success has a definite starting place and a definite end. There are four people attempting to build a bridge to the same place: success. Each person is doing his or her part to achieve the goal. Each part of the bridge is made up of similar, yet diverse, pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, each piece representing an obstacle or a time in the builders’ lives.

What is not seen in this illustration is the vision dancing in the builders’ heads, the desire burning in their bones to reach their common destination, or the greatest motivator of all…the hope of achieving success. This illustration demonstrates the words Zig Ziglar has made so famous: “You can get anything you want in life…provided you help enough other people get what they want in life.

Here is my point. Success, whatever you determine it to be, is yours for the taking. Achieving success will not be easy, and, in some cases, acquiring it may not be fun. But it will always be worth the cost. So regardless of your circumstances, never let your desire of success or your hope of success fade. Set your goal. Keep your eyes on that goal. And don’t let anything…failure, friends, confusion, enemies, family, or job…get in the way. Instead, let your determination, perseverance, faith, and God drive you to that coveted resort called Success.

Pondering Writer's Block

For years I've disagreed with those who would suggest that a writer could get to a point when he or she could not write, a condition many call--Writer's Block. My stance concerning the issue was simply this, it isn't that the writer COULD not write, but that the writer WOULD not write. I still believe as I have always believed.

Writers harbor many fears. For some the fear is of rejection. Others fear if they write their readers may not like the story or idea presented. Whatever the fear, it is the fear that keeps them from writing. I know this is true because I suffer from the ailment.

I have stories burning within me that I do not not write. I do not write them because I am afraid no one will publish them. Or if they are published, the only copies sold will be those purchased by me to give to family and friends on Christmas.

Another fear holding me back is that someone will think poorly of me because of the verbage I use or the nature of the content I write. As part of a writing group project, I once wrote a story that was published in a small anthology that we sold to raise money for the group. Do you know how many people asked me if the events in the story were real? I'm not sure the exact number, but I'm certain it was around a million.

Perhaps trying to list all the fears that lurk inside the writer's mind is too overwhelming. Besides it is not my intention of this writing to actually try and accomplish such a monumental task. My purpose is to confess that these fears are real inside me. The thought of facing my fears is horrifying. But, face them I will. Today I am slowly drawing my warriors blade from its dusty sheath, and I will slay the fears that bind me. I will write. I will communicate. I will spin my stories like a giant spider's web in an attempt to catch a listening ear or an inquiring soul.

I'm a writer. And by golly, I'm going to write!

Another Post Coming Soon

Recently my son pointed out the date of my last post. I cannot believe it has been over a year! Time flies quickly by and only the determined are not left in the wake of regret. I shall post again...but not for a few days.

Pondering Our Borders

On April 18, 1775, Paul Revere set out on a vital, albeit dangerous mission. His job was to alert Samuel Adams and John Hancock that the British troops were coming to arrest them. Legend has it that Revere rode through the country shouting the warning, “The British are coming! The British are coming!” After delivering his message to Adams and Hancock, Revere continued his ride warning others of the approaching danger. Two others, William Dawes and Dr. Samuel Prescott, recognized the need to warn their fellow citizens and joined Revere in his historic ride. We know the success of their mission, but can we imagine the result if they had failed.
Today the United States is being invaded again. Like Revere, Dawes and Prescott, there are riders issuing urgent warnings, but unlike the citizens in 1775, the people seem apathetic and unconcerned.
I will not debate our presence in Iraq or other parts of the middle-east. If our troops are there—regardless of the “why they are there”—I am going to support them. I am for any measure that will provide them a swift and sure victory and a safe return home. They deserve our support. They answered the call of their nation, and we have to stand behind them at any cost. Their blood and sacrifice is far too sacred for anything less than our very best.
There is another battle front, however, which deserves our immediate attention: the border between Mexico and the United States. Some estimate that 25 million illegal immigrants have already crossed the border and are living safely in the United States. These illegal immigrants are enjoying the benefits of our free society without any of the sacrifices. They do not pay taxes. They do not enlist in our military. They do, however, get free medical care. They get work. In short, they get all the good stuff without any of the cost.
Am I against immigration? No! I am all for immigration. The more the merrier. Immigration is how this country was established. Immigration is how this country has grown. Through immigration our society has been infused with creativity, ingenuity, and power. However, the positive contributions of immigration have come through legal, not illegal, immigration.
Am I against Mexicans? No! Having worked with legal Mexican residents, I have found them to be an honest, hard-working people. Many have left family and home to pursue a dream that the United States of America offers: a better life. They work hard. They dream big. They contribute to our way of life. Illegal Mexican immigrants do not. They are here to scam and drain our economy.
Mexicans are not the only ones illegally coming into our country. Some suggest as high as 15% of the illegal immigrants crossing our poorly guarded southern border are from destinations across the globe, particularly the middle-east.
Here is the question that needs to be pondered: if you want to migrate to the United States, why do so illegally?
The Constitution protects anyone who has a right to be here. Illegal immigrants do not have a right to be here, and are thusly exempt from the constitutional protections afforded those that are rightfully here either by birth or naturalization. No other country in the world affords its citizens the right of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” Although some claim that “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” are the right of all humans…and maybe it is, the constitution can only guarantee it to those who have a legal right to enjoy its protection.
Illegal immigration is, in essence, a war against the United States and the peaceful, law-abiding citizens that live here. Hence, illegal aliens are enemy personnel. Their only rights are derived from the Geneva Convention, not the U.S. Constitution. Our government, in other words, “we the people” have got to understand and recognize this threat for what it is and act accordingly. If we do not, we will not survive the war.
“We the people” must respond. We must consider all who would give aid to enemy personnel traitors to our nation, regardless of whether they are foreign nationals or our own elected officials. We must lend our hearts, minds, and purses to the protection of the nation. Close the borders. If necessary, ride like Revere and call to arms the people. Stand shoulder to shoulder along the border and block the entrance. Face it. The only people coming across the border illegally are drug smugglers (we don’t need anymore of that), human slave traders (we should have had enough of that in the 1700 and 1800’s), people who are seeking to harm our country by bleeding our economy, and terrorists seeking to inflict bodily harm on the people of the United States (does anyone remember 9/11).
I love my country. I love her people. I would love to have more people from across the world join us and live out the “American Dream.” But let them come peacefully, and let them come legally.

Distant Trails

Life is full of distant trails, paths that we once walked now covered by the leaves of time. Some we recognize immediately, while others are like a faded picture upon which we fix our gaze and wander through the halls of our own recollection trying to find the memory.

I like to travel these trails. I rode down one tonight. I went back to Madison, IN, my hometown, to visit my mother. Unfortunately, I did not call her to insure she would be home or awake. I wanted to surprise her. Instead, it was my surprise. She was home, but obviously in bed asleep as her car was in the driveway but all the lights were out. I pondered a moment on my own predicament and decided to wander down some distant trails.

I drove "downtown" to my childhood stomping grounds. Most of the houses on Third Street still looked the same...weathered and tired. I reined in though when I saw Lydia Middleton Elementary School. It was changed! The playground in the back of the school was gone, replaced by a huge new section of classrooms. Gone was the towering Hickory tree that once stood proud and strong shading us kids as we played dodgeball. Gone was the basketball courts I dreamed in, practicing to play for the ABA Kentucky Colonels. Gone was the window in which the old janitor lady, whose name I can no longer remember, but whose girth and warm smile I shall never forget, rang the bell that indicated recess was over. It was on that playground I kissed my first girl...I believe her name was Teresa...her parents owned a tavern in town and my parents strongly disapproved when I told them she was my girlfriend. I remember, too, that it was on that playground now buried under tons of brick and steel that we chanted "Kennedy, Kennedy, he's our man. If he can't do it, nobody can." That same playground was where I first learned of his assassination as well.

For a moment, I longed to walk on that playground one more time, to play again in the leaves that used to gather in the northwest corner, to feel the firm grip of Mr. Taylor's hand against the back of my neck as he guided me into his principal's office to discipline me for doing something wrong and promising me it would go on my "permanent record." But, I could not. Change had struck again.

I continued my wandering. Passing the house on Third Street in which a portion of my childhood was housed, I noticed how the new owners had cared for it. My eye caught a movement in the darkness. Someone was sitting on the front porch in a swing. I wondered if it could be the very swing in which I used to sit. I wondered, too, if they were pondering some lost past in their life as well. The movie theater, Roger's Drug Store, Mill's Department Store, Demaree's Men's Shop, the Courthouse, the Jail, the riverfront, the house on Main Street, the treehouse in the neighbor's yard, the alley, Second Street, my paper route, the Power Plant, Hanover Hill, Highway 62...all distant trails...all dusty with time...all changed.

As I drove back toward Jeffersonville, I wondered if given the opportunity would I go back? Could I go back? I pondered the possibilities. I finally decided that I would not go back if I could. Change has taken its toll in Madison, but more importantly, change has taken its toll in me. I must learn to be content with the horse I ride and the trail I'm on. And as for distant trails, I'm content to let memory's evening sun set over their horizon and close my eyes to dream of their experience. Besides, I kinda like the trail I'm on now.

Happy trails.

Initiation

Within these "ponderings" you will find my heart and soul.

Inspired by my son's blogs (www.joeymustain.blogspot.com), I, too, shall join the masses who are placing their ideas and thoughts on the virtual world of the Internet.

Please check this site frequently. Do not be content to sit on the fence rail, slide your seat into the saddle, grab the reins, and ride along with me as we explore the grassy meadowlands, deserts, and high mountain ranges of human thought! Cross with me the ragging rivers of controversy, and share with me the cool, crisp waters of agreement. But watch your back-trail, as such ponderings cannot leave you unchanged.