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ON BEING BORN AGAIN, SPIRITUALLY SPEAKING

Here's the thing...We were all born innocent and completely dependant on the world to educate us, for better or worse. As babies we knew nothing of hate and prejudices, rather we were exposed to them from the environment in which we were raised. 

In the beginning, we also inherited all kinds of things that we can do nothing about. We inherit our identity, our history, like a birthmark that can't be washed off. It is as if we have to earn our own innocence all over again. In essence, it is what being "born again" is all about.

Essentially, being born again refers to spiritual birth. It describes what happens when you commit your life to Jesus and become his follower. All of us came into this world by natural, physical birth. Being born physically makes us human beings. Being born spiritually (born again) makes us children of God, members of God’s family, part of God’s kingdom.

Think of it this way: just as when a man and a woman come together in an act of love that gives birth to a physical baby, so when the Spirit of God comes together with the spirit of a man or woman in an act of love, a spiritual birth takes place. At that point you become a new person.

Choosing not to quote scripture to support my thesis (a little dab'l do ya anyway) but on this, another quiet Sabbath of coronavirus withdrawal and putting in idle time, my friend I simply ask: Have you earned your innocence?

You don't have to go to church for that!

WE'RE ALL COLLECTORS, YOU HAVE MY WORD FOR IT

I'm a collector of things from away back. And I have crammed files, boxes, drawers and shelves to show for it.

I furthermore believe that every Human Being on this planet is a collector. Each of us stepped into the World, ready and eager to collect. We began our First Collection, not long after we were born. And we all began by collecting the same thing: WORDS!

We started collecting words as soon as we could talk. And each of our collections has continued to grow, throughout our lifetime. Like any major collection, it grew very fast, at first. But as our collections became more advanced, new words, rare words, and words we had never heard before, became harder to find to add to the collection.

And we store our collection of words in our heads. I sometimes wonder how they are organized in there. I can't quite visualize it, but I have tried. The arrangement must be quite efficient, for, most of the time, I know exactly where each word I want is stored, ready to use at a split second's notice. Sometimes, I will misplace a word, and I must dig around to find it, not always with success. I thought I knew where I had put it. In fact, the last time I looked for it, it was on the tip of my tongue.

The person, who had the world’s biggest collection of words, might well have been Noah Webster. He displayed the words in his collection in a rather unimaginative way, neatly lined up in alphabetical order, on shelves of equal size, in something called a Dictionary.

Others display their collection of words in more creative ways, arranging them in infinitely unique combinations. Their displays can move, inspire, enlighten, entertain and delight. They can make the viewer see things that they have never noticed and think thoughts that they never thought before

William Shakespeare is a good example of someone who displayed his collection well. He illustrates the premise that how a collection is displayed matters! The commonest words can appear beautiful when well displayed. And by the same token, a poor arrangement can make even the rarest and most beautiful words seem dull.

I always found it fascinating to hear an old politician of my acquaintance, talk. As he brought out the biggest and best words in his collection, some of which had, obviously, been broken, and amateurishly restored, he seemed to savor each word slowly, carefully pronouncing it, and enjoying every syllable, as if he was discovering it for the first time. 

I'm kind of funny this way, but I recapture the joy I once felt the first time I beheld a favorite trinket in my diversified collection, and relive that all too fleeting feeling of initial delight and excitement, each time I bring it out.

Thank God for my collection of trinkets in life, and words too. I never get too old to play with them, much to my delight...and occasional satisfaction in pride of authorship

ON DEALING WITH THE UGLY TREND OF INFLUENCING THE PUBLIC MASSES IN TODAY'S WORLD

I was thinking earlier today, in a moment of self-introspection, that it is nearly impossible to maintain a calm, rationality about the world in which we live. I suppose that honest admission should have upset me...But, strangely, it didn't!

I, like so many, have rather reluctantly come to accept life in today's world as it is, and as confusing and mind-boggling as it has become. It is like co-existing with a monster destined to devour us if we are not careful.

Personally, if after a lifetime of trying in earnest to figure things out, I can now make a concession of that nature, it is just as well that I accept the fact that a lot of life will continue to be a psychological challenge in the short time I have left on planet earth. The key will be in a healthy attitude toward it all and intelligent relegation on merit.

It seems to me though that life in general was so much easier when we could believe conclusively in things, our institutions in particular -- media, business, government, science, religion. Back then, we had clear-cut enemies. There were perceived enemies like communism vs. capitalism. There was mutual assured destruction. Fascism was bad and democracy was good. The world generally made sense, and you could understand it. Everyone knew the balance of power. Before character assassination reared its nasty head, we actually had leaders we respected and who were worthy of our trust. It appeared to be a much simpler world.

Bottom line, society today is the way it is because it is being overexposed to a steady diet of influence-peddling in several, closely related, forms.

Sadly, we are becoming victims of something I call deliberate public mass confusion. George Orwell referred to it as a necessary task for the rulers in a totalitarian society: “to dislocate the sense of reality.”

The mainstream media contribute to this daily. Think of their reporting of some recent news and ask yourself what exactly have they said? Gibberish piled upon gibberish, that’s what they’ve said. A salmagundi of contradictory verbiage that leaves a half-way sentient person shaking one’s head in astonishment. Or leaves one baffled, devoid of any sense of the truth.

We have now entered a new phase of propaganda where sowing mass confusion on every issue 24/7 is the method of choice. We have only to look south of the border for evidence of that.

But therein lies hope if we can grasp the meaning of Oscar Wilde’s paradoxical statement: “When both a speaker and an audience are confused, the speech is profound.”

Reduced to having to accept someone else's word for virtually everything we know, or questions that resultantly come to mind, the challenge now, as I see it, is to make the best of what lies ahead, come what may. And taking most of what we see and hear under advisement.

We must remember that, ideally, we live in an age of enlightenment, in the belief that the entire universe is open to our inspection and more than this, that it is theoretically all intelligible to us if we just apply enough science and enough rationality.

That we can wrest a comfortable life from the Earth is nothing special. Plants and animals do this without resorting to colleges, symposia or research laboratories. And, humans used to do it without these things as well. Ancient Greeks, if they survived childhood diseases, war and the occasional plague, regularly managed to live into their 60s and 70s among balmy Mediterranean breezes. It’s not that there hasn’t been any progress; it’s just that we may not have made as much progress as we think.

And yet, in the age of Big Data we have become ever more enamored with the representations of the world that we gather in the form of numbers and words, believing (wrongly) that the map is the territory.

This is the conundrum of the modern world. The world is so complex that it seems hopeless to try to understand how all things human and natural work together. We live in an age that calls out for explanations of nature and society that provide something genuinely revelatory to the layperson. What we mostly get, however, is hucksterism and public relations, information designed to mislead rather than clarify. Under the circumstances, we are lucky if we occasionally discover a small and perhaps fleeting truth.

This is the other ugly side of deliberate mass confusion that I was talking about.

We often believe that the explainers know what they are talking about because they speak with such conviction. The economists, the analysts, the technical geniuses, the captains of industry, the billionaires, the airwave pundits, they must know something we don’t or they wouldn’t be that successful. But what they know isn’t necessarily what they are telling us. And, what they are telling us is, in any case, almost always designed to advance interests of others, not ours.

We're continually sold bills of goods, biases and self-serving personal opinion, all under the guise of news of the day perpetrated by clever, professional media manipulators.

In such a complex, contradictory world that on the surface seems to be stacked against any rational reasoning then, how shall we get through the day? In my mind, it is best to start from humble premises:

-- Our social relations, our loves and friendships, are more important than anything else because they are our true anchors in an uncertain world. Embrace the reality of it!

-- The longer a practice or design has been around, say, a book versus an e-reader, the longer it is likely to be around. It has endured the test of time, if you know what I mean.

-- Just because the world is uncertain doesn’t mean it is implacably hostile. Sometimes good things come from an uncertain future if we are wise enough to have patience and to be on the lookout for them.

-- Avoid gullibility. Take into consideration the source of all  information. It is okay to be skeptical until an issue is proven to have merit to your satisfaction.

-- Know BS for what it is and relegate it to the nearest garbage dispensary.

-- Be diligent. Do your homework.

-- Pray a lot!

None of these principles will deliver you from all of life’s difficulties and annoyances. But they can help you counter the exploitation we've been talking about.

We should never stop asking questions and looking for reasoned answers. Turning down the dial is not indicative of a loss of interest, rather it can be a go-to measure of self-preservation. 

Sometimes too, we just need to have faith that truth and common good will prevail, as it usually does.

BRONZED BABY SHOES COMMEMORATE MY FIRST STEPS

I've been on a nostalgia kick the last few days, telling tales and posting photographs from my growing up days. primarily in the 1940s. I'm not making any rash promises but this item will be the last in this series -- for now.

I'm not sure when I took my first tentative baby step(s) but it was probably in the spring of 1939 and I wore the very shoes shown in the above photo. It was only a matter of months before I outgrew them and that was a signal for my mother to promptly send them away to the United States for bronzing, thus preserving them for posterity.

Obviously well worn, the bronzed baby shoes remain just as they were when I last wore them -- complete with broken laces tied together and both keeling slightly outward (the left one more than the right). One even had a ripped seam.

When it comes to sentimental value, few novelty items carry as much weight as bronzed baby shoes. These adorable little pieces of footwear, immortalized in a rich patina, commemorate not only a child’s first steps, but one of the first major accomplishments in the formative years, much to the delight of very proud parents. Actually the monumental occasion may be tied with the first spoken word as the highlight of a child's first dozen or so months of life. 

Though the process of bronzing items started around 5,000 years ago, it wasn’t until 1930 when Violet Shinbach noticed a pair of bronzed baby shoes in a department store and inspiration struck. By 1934, her company, the American Bronzing Company, began producing bronzed baby shoes and marketing them as the ultimate keepsake. She went door to door, targeting homes that looked as though they had small children and pitching her product to young mothers. Demand for these novelty items boomed as word-of-mouth traveled. By the 1970s, the American Bronzing Company was bronzing 2,000 pairs of shoes a day.

It wasn’t how cute the little bronzed baby shoes at the department store were that struck Shinbach; it was the sentiment they embodied. Baby shoes, as I say, lend a nostalgic nod toward a significant childhood event. While all firsts are significant in a child’s life, the first steps mark the beginning of a new era. The moment that first step is made, they’re no longer babies. Bronzing their shoes captured this moment in time and freezes it forever.

Bronzed baby shoes were wildly popular when Shinbach brought the idea to the public, but the excitement of these tiny keepsakes peaked in the 1970s. However, their popularity began to wane. Door-to-door sales and retail catalogs sent by mail carried these novelty items until the 1990s, where they all but became a lost art.

It wasn’t until recently that bronzed baby shoes started making a comeback, in large part due to social media. Parenting groups on Facebook and creative digital marketing of these perfectly Instagrammable little keepsakes, helped revive this sentimental tradition, though it came a little too late for the American Bronzing Company, which closed its doors for good in 2018. However, there are plenty of companies that still provide the service today. And, the popularity is growing, despite the minimalist mindset that seems to have taken over in many homes.

A quick online search revealed several different companies with varying price ranges for the service today. Bronzery charges $65 for a single, unmounted baby shoe to be bronzed. Memories in Bronze charges $130 for a pair of children’s shoes to be bronzed, up to 6″ in length.

The prices can go up from there, as most companies who offer bronzing also offer to plate the mementos in silver or gold as well (at a higher price of course).

I wish I knew how much my mother paid to have my baby shoes bronzed 80 years ago. To me though, they are priceless.

SELLING SHOES NOT DEMEANING FOR JOHNNY EVANS

How many people do you know today who are disciplined enough to work hard at a job they do not particularly enjoy, or which they did not personally select, or are not professionally qualified for?

Not many, I suspect...

Well, I'm here to tell you about a guy named Johhny Evans, a pretty good football player. It's the kind of story that appeals to me because it epitomizes character.

Johnny was an all-American punter and quarterback who played college football at North Caroline State University. When he graduated, he was drafted by the Clevland Browns of the National Football League. He played three seasons with the Browns before being traded to the Buffalo Bills who released him after only six weeks with the team.

Naturally devastated, Johnny spent the first Fall in 17 years not playing his beloved football.

Johnny Evans

At the time of his release, he was married and had family responsibilities. While his college degree equipped him for a good career, he could not immediately find a job in the field. Instead of feeling sorry for himself or accepting handouts from friends, or refusing to work at a job well below his qualifications, Johnny went to work selling shoes at a sporting goods store for minimum wages.

His wife said that in the evening when she would pick him up at work she would find him vacuuming the store's floor or down on his knees at the feet of an eight-year-old, fitting the child with a pair of soccer shoes.

Within a year, however, Johnny received the opportunity to continue his football career with the Montreal Concordes (1982-'83) and Edmonton Eskimos (1984'85) of the Canadian Football League. He would play a total of four seasons in the CFL, utilizing both his kicking and quarterbacking skills. He not only got back the football job he wanted and trained so hard for, but he had the satisfaction of maintaining the support of his family through his dedication to holding down a job, no matter how menial, during a low point in his life.

While friends may have felt it demeaning for someone of Johnny's stature to work as a shoe clerk, he knew it was an honorable position. And he believed it was much more desirable than to disregard God's pattern for the discipline of his life by not working at all.

You see, since 16 years-of-age Johnny had been a committed Christian. After his football career ended he became a color commentator for North Carolina State football games, but more importantly, he also became the Eastern NC director for the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. Johnny and his wife, Beth, still co-lead an FCA Adult Chapter Bible Study for nearly 800 people in the Triangle community of Durham, North Carolina.

The Evans have four adult children—quadruplets—and three grandchildren.

Now you know the other side of the Johnny Evans story.

WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A TOO-FRIENDLY SHY GUY?

Just a reflection to start out. Beyond that, this post will develop itself as I write it. I do not have an ending in mind.

Back when I was about four years of age, I used to sit on the front steps of our home, beside two empty bottles with 75 cents  in them, waiting for our milk to be delivered by horse and wagon. The delivery man was a fellow by the name of Grant Whitmarsh.

One day Grant met my mother at the front door and in a hushed tone said "Too bad about your boy!"

"What do you mean?" was my mother's surprised reaction.

"Am I wrong in assuming that he is deaf and dumb?" Grant replied hesitatingly, going on to explain that every day he made it a point to speak to me but I had yet to acknowledge him in any way. "He never answers me back, never says a thing...It's as if he does not hear me."

"Oh, he hears you alright," my mother assured Grant..."He's just terribly shy!"

Me and my mom.

My mother's remark was an understatement. I WAS painfully shy! No one could pull me out of my shell. That was a job for me alone and it took almost a lifetime. I'm still pulling to a degree.

Perhaps it was destiny that I would be the only child born of parents in their late 30s and early 40s. I really do not know. What I do know is that I have always been my own best company (worst enemy?) and have learned to consistently step out of my comfort zone in order to be sociable and to function in a chosen communications environment which otherwise demanded the utilization of personal skills and interests.

Certainly, I have found out the hard way that shyness is a psychological state that causes a person to feel discomfort in social situations in ways that interfere with enjoyment or which cause avoidance of social contacts altogether. I have fought it and compensated for it all my life. Evidence also suggests a genetic component to shyness and studies on the biological basis of shyness have shown that shyness in adults can often be traced as far back as the age of three, as in my case.

As my life unfolded, I learned ways of overcoming shyness and feeling comfortable in my own skin but it was a slow process, along the way often being seen as aloof and stuck-up. Through it all, however, was a strong inner desire to be accepted and liked but often left with a feeling that I was falling short of expectations -- mine and others. I longed to be outgoing like other kids and was conscious of my awkwardness. Something as simple as greeting others on the street was a big issue for me and I would practice privately at saying a convincing "hi" as opposed to the stiff and formal "hello" which was often the best I could come up with.

After strained conversations, I would think of a dozen things I could have said and would rehearse responses for possible future applications. Spontaneity did not come naturally. It was hard work overcoming personal shortcomings in the unnatural yet chosen environments of retail clothing sales, newspaper reporting, and ultimately professional communications and public relations.

I understand now (too little too late perhaps) that my formative modus operandi may have been faulty and ill-conceived. Because I lacked siblings in real life (for some reason I would have given my eye teeth for a big sister), I began to accept others as the brothers and sisters I never had and approached them from that perspective. And for a period that actually worked for me. That is, until a new issue presented itself...I frequently bridged the relationship gap too quickly and before the other party(s) really got to know me sufficiently. In short, I became too friendly too fast, saying and doing things that were not necessarily accepted in the manner in which they were intended.

Along the way I had to realize that "I am kind of a funny guy" and that humor was a great ice breaker. To this day, however, I have to remind myself that there is a fine line between teasing and sarcasm, and a little of both goes a long way.

Succinctly, I didn't know how to be half friendly any more than I knew how to be a brother.

I too frequently lose potential friends because of the things I say, or the way I say them, and I die a thousand deaths with each would-be relationship that falls by the wayside. Facebook in particular has been a source of grief and unfortunate misunderstanding for me. And again, I am left second-guessing myself and wondering how I might have said something better or differently. Worse yet, a new twist question has been added to my conundrum...Would it have been better if I had not said anything at all?

But that takes me full circle, doesn't it? Not saying anything at all, like when I was four years of age.

Some of us, I guess, are destined to go through life not completely understanding -- and not completely being understood.

It is a lonely reality.

But why can't we all just be brothers and sisters? Or friends, at least -- concessionary, caring, comfortable, supportive and 'hug' conducive.

What’s The Single Best Thing You Can Do For Yourself Today? Try Letting Go Of Yourself Just a Little Bit

The Egoic Mind is a state of mind in which the ego is in control of your thoughts and emotions. The inflated ego or self-image is one thing, but the problem with this is the Egoic Mind is characterized by negative self-talk and unhelpful thinking patterns. It can lead us to feel dis-empowered, hopeless and pessimistic about our future.

This morning my attention was drawn to a piece written by fellow blogger David Gerken in which he answers the question "What can I do for myself today?"

An interesting thought that challenges one's perception of a rarely discussed subject.

There are, of course, a myriad of things we can do for ourselves each day, but Gerken believes that the healthiest thing you can do for yourself is to let go of yourself. What does he mean by that?

"First, by ‘yourself,’ I mean our egoic self. That’s the you that you’ve cobbled together for decades under the false assumption that it would protect you from the vagaries of life. It’s the you that feels the need to feel superior to others, that feels slighted at a verbal dig, that has to feel ‘right’ while everyone else is ‘wrong’," he emphasizes.

By contrast, spiritual seekers often believe they need to add to themselves. The truth is, we don’t need to add anything to ourselves. All we need to do is subtract from ourselves, namely subtract or let go of, our egoic selves. Simply stated, the beautiful, peaceful, compassionate conscious self within us all just needs all the egoic gunk smothering it to get out of the way.

Take it from people like the Buddha, whose central aim was elimination of the self, otherwise known as reaching a state of nirvana. Eckhart Tolle, Mickey Singer and a host of other spiritual heavyweights, past and present, also placed elimination of the egoic self at the top of the pyramid.

Recognizing when your egoic self is rearing its insidious head is the most important step in the whole process because we are so used to reacting to the demands our all-powerful egoic selves exact upon us that we don’t even realize when it’s happening. We’ve been acting like this our entire lives so it’s hard to catch ourselves. Bottom line: We have to devote significant attention to becoming aware when our egos act up.

Because it’s only then that we can get to the all-important step where we relax our minds and bodies for a short time and then let that small bubble of egoic self rise up and out of us, making us a little bit lighter, a little more awakened and just plain happier.

This all calls for a closer look at the matter of the egoic self.

Superiority and the Egoic Self: True power comes from your connection with the formless, non-temporal realm of pure consciousness, not the ego. It will not matter how much you achieve or acquire in life, when you're in the pursuit of power for the sake of feeling superior over others, you will only be living out the desires of your pseudo self. 

There is no denying that the feeling of superiority is euphoric to the egoic-minded. We see this all the time in the workplace when someone is suddenly put into a position of authority and as a result, a completely different personality emerges. The super humble co-worker of yours gets appointed to boss, and the ego, sensing power, comes out of hiding. The new power position goes completely to his or her head. In its extreme, egoic-minded superiority in people can be deadly because it elevates the ego to the point where the individual stakes their entire identity on what he or she has achieved.

Many egoic-minded individuals have been known to commit suicide after suddenly losing worldly forms such as success, power, or fame. Since all form is temporary, when you identify completely with forms, surfaces, or appearances, you have wrapped your entire sense of “I” around nothing more than dust in the wind.

In many world religions, the renunciate is an individual who renounces all earthly pleasures and becomes an ascetic, living an austere, simple life devoid of material things. But just because this individual has given up all material desires, it does not mean they have transferred the ego. Contrarily, the renunciate may even have an ego larger than a Wall Street banker.

What appears to be on the outside is not necessarily indicative to the size of the ego on the inside. Egos come in all shapes and sizes, and as the acronym version of the word suggests, “Everyone's Got One.” 

Don't get me wrong, ego is not all bad; it can serve as a tool. But if the tool is guiding the hand instead of the hand guiding the tool, that is where we can get in trouble. And a lot of humanity has gotten in serious difficulty by letting this tool run the show. This makes it particularly imperative that we take the time to go within and let go of our unconscious ego.

Many times people will adopt a particular lifestyle or belief system so that the ego can live out its need of feeling superior to others. Identification with a particular religion or even atheism can also serve the ego's desire to feel superior. As long as there is a group or tribal identification, the “I am right and you are wrong,” stance will support the feeling of superiority in the ego.

The ego pervades every field, religion, philosophy, science, art, nationality, race, class, profession, and social status. As long as the need to feel superior over anyone in any way is present, one will still remain trapped in the egoic mind.

Memo to self: Get over whatever is left of your ego! It can be a good thing to do for yourself today -- among other things. Certainly, none of it is worth killing yourself  over.

STAY AWAKE, LISTEN AS YOU LOOK AHEAD

The great artist Rembrandt once created a painting that portrays the Biblical story of the storm on the Sea of Galilee. A huge wave hitting the little ship occupied by Jesus and the Apostles as seen in the above illustration. 

You can feel the shudder running through the the entire vessel. The storm is all around. The rigging is loose and blowing in the wind. And the disciples are panic-stricken. It is marvelous to realize that amid the raging storm and the mounting panic and fear, the disciples had to awaken Jesus to tell Him about it. It wasn't because He didn't care or because He was indifferent. It was because He had ultimate trust in God. He had sunk Himself so deep into the being of God for that period of refreshment that He was sleeping right through the storm. 

You can look at this painting and say to yourself, "I've got to learn that: to have complete trust in God."

From time-to-time, we're all in need of a spiritual wake-up call. Those times when we need the sort of complete trust in God that will enable us to weather any storm. "So, stay awake," we hear Jesus telling His disciples and would-be followers in parable form. He said that true wisdom consists in knowing how and when to prepare for death. It is the familiar Bible story of the 10 bridesmaids, five of whom were foolish (unwise), the other five sensible (wise). 

The unwise bridesmaids found that they had been excluded from the wedding feast because they were unprepared through a lack of foresight. The wise bridesmaids were admitted to the wedding feast because they were prepared through the exercise of foresight. The parable's point is that foresight (staying awake) is the beginning of true wisdom -- the onset of living wisely.

The Holy men and women of the Far East have always made wisdom the supreme human virtue. The custom of disciplined solitude in the pursuit of wisdom profoundly affected Oriental religious thinking. For most of us in today's western society, there is little or no time in our busy schedules for practicing the pursuit of wisdom through serious, uninterrupted reflection about who we are and what we ought to do with our lives.

An anonymous writer has given us this story of an American tourist's visit to the 19th century Polish Rabbi, Chofetz Chaim, who was looked upon by the people of his time as a sage and saintly person. On his arrival at the rabbi's residence, the tourist was astonished to discover that it consisted only of one simple room. The walls were lined with books; a table and a chair were the only furnishings. 

"But rabbi," the tourist asked, "Where is your furniture?" To which the rabbi replied, "where is yours?" "Where is mine?" said the puzzled tourist, "I'm only a visitor here, just passing through." "So am I" answered the Rabbi, "so am I."

We are crippled in our search for wisdom by a society that describes success as acquiring knowledge and applying that knowledge for personal gain. We have reached the point of progress wherein our capacity to gather, store, and interpret information is almost limitless. Of course, this knowledge-gathering explosion has brought us some very good things. However, we need to be reminded that it has brought us problems and complications which humans have never faced before. 

Our burgeoning storehouse of knowledge, loaded with new facts, new statistics, new data of all kinds, tends to obscure the reality that we humans are newcomers in a universe that is billions of years old. Yet, recent technological progress has accelerated so fast that we cannot comprehend the significance of events that impinge our daily lives. In other words, as a society and as individuals, both, we are acquiring knowledge at breakneck speed without slowing down, ever, to reflect on how to handle it -- what to do with it -- how to use it to uplift the human spirit and to better social relationships.

Living wisely means "staying awake." Living wisely means looking ahead. Living wisely means acknowledging that we are "tourists" on God's earth, only "passing through." Living wisely means pointing oneself in the direction of the very Source of life. Living wisely means acknowledging one's dependence on God not only for life but for the way of life. Living wisely means developing a lifestyle which is an act of faith in God's promise of ultimate, total fulfillment -- when the "tourist" season of life is over.

Is this world of ours, a place where peace and justice and love are the foundation stones? Or have we lost God? Is this community of ours a bastion of human trust and care and compassion? Or, again, have we lost God?

It is the power of wisdom that draws us into this state of being we call God's Kingdom. It is the power of wisdom that propels our desire to care and share and have compassion for one another. And it is the power of Wisdom that teaches us how little time we have to do it. Indeed. wisdom teaches us that we are only passing through this Divinely created school of learning how to love.

By the time we reach kindergarten age, we already have been exposed to all the wisdom we need to live good and meaningful lives. So says Robert Fulghum in his best-selling book of the 1980s, "All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten."

"Wisdom," he says, "was not at the top of the graduate school mountain, but there in the sandpile at Sunday School. In that sandpile, I learned such things as 'Cookies and milk taste good' and 'Wash your hands before you eat.' But, more importantly, I also learned such things as:

Share everything.
Play fair.
Don't hit people.
Say you're sorry when you hurt somebody.
Don't take things that aren't yours.
Hold hands and stick together.

"Think what a better world it would be if people would only put into practice the wisdom learned in the sandpile! Think what a better world it would be if people were more willing to share and play fair and say they're sorry when they hurt somebody, and not take things that aren't theirs. And isn't it still true that no matter how old we are, it is best to hold hands and stick together?"

Trust wisely my friends! Make each day of your life's journey a time of preparation for death, and the promise of new life.

Live wisely by experiencing the joy of human love now, preparing for the awesome experience of Divine Love for all eternity. And remember always: "stay awake, because you do not know either the day or the hour".

As we lull ourselves to sleep in this time of pandemic isolation and associated inactivity, we would do well to give ourselves a shake!

NOT ALTOGETHER HAPPY ABOUT IT BUT I'M AN OSTOMATE

I've been called a lot of things in my life but "ostomate" is a new one and I'm gradually adjusting to it. And I've got news for you: "Tain't easy McGee!"

Depression is a widespread and life-threatening condition that affects how people feel, think and behave. It can and usually does occur after a permanent colostomy procedure such as mine early in March of this year following the discovery of colon cancer and an emergency ileostomy in December. And I am certainly here to tell you a thing or two about it.

An estimated one million people in the United States and Canada have ostomies, with this number increasing by an annual rate of 100,000. Ostomies result in loss of control of intestinal contents, both stool, and gas. Previous studies have demonstrated that patients with ostomies have decreased health-related quality of life (HRQOL). Specifically, ostomates have been shown to have significant difficulty with stomal care, physical appearance, travel and general lifestyle adjustments.

Facing lifestyle changes is complicated for a new ostomate like me, especially the first weeks after surgery. As a result, fears and insecurities appear, and patients start to feel dissatisfied with themselves.

As new ostomates, we patients must learn to care for the stoma, which can cause frustration and stress if there is limited proper guidance. We have to face the challenge of acquiring skills to live with the altered body and experience a psychosocial transition and for the most part it has been an exercise in discovery for me.

The use of collecting very expensive equipment through a special (monthly) pharmacy order procedure is associated with negative feelings, such as fear, anguish, sadness, and helplessness, which can prompt self-deprecating experiences, linked to feelings of mutilation, loss of health and self-esteem, and reduced self-efficacy coupled with a sense of chronic uselessness and incapacitation, among other emotions. Stoma patients experience changes in their lives especially related to their social network (work and leisure) and to sexuality, aggravating feelings of insecurity and fear of rejection.

Trust me, and I have to get graphic here, having a stoma bag causes numerous personal insecurities both physical and psychological. I'll spare you the more potentially sickening details, but leakage caused by failure of adhesive or bag welds, ballooning of bags, poor siting, and difficulty in keeping bags in place are some of the daily problems. Anxiety and embarrassment over a stoma certainly leads to an alteration in lifestyle, including the ability to find work, desire to travel, and overall self-image.

Fortunately for me as a retired 80+year-old, I do not have to worry about holding down a job and I have no interest in travelling. The problem I have is the potential to become a hermit, avoiding as much people contact as possible simply because it is safer and easier that way. Quite frankly, COVID-19 isolation has fed into my convalescence and period of adjustment, but I cannot always use that as an excuse.

Compounding matters for me is the fact that I also struggle with all too frequent ostomy appliance changes due to a malformed stoma which will be corrected (I hope) with scheduled follow up surgery, virtually as you are reading this post.

With my limited fixed income, I worry also about the outlandish cost of ostomy products which can easily run up to the $3,000+ a year range. Mind you, the federal government does cover a little less than one-third of that amount through an assistive devices funding program and at least that's a help.

Suffice to say, there is need for reflection on the organization of the health system to include adequate care for patients with stoma in order to integrate them into society as citizens and to include new demands for care. For this to occur, it is not enough to recognize only the changes related to the physical and corporal dimension; it is necessary that the health professionals offer support for the inclusion of these patients in society.

I'll get by in the few years I have left because by nature I am resilient (I've had lots of practice) and self efficient, but I wouldn't wish any of this on my worst enemy.

Other than that, everything else is honky dory in my life!

And I'm thankful for small mercies.

Back at you in a day or two...Bet you can't wait!?

DISCOVER THE PAST IN ORDER TO FIND YOUR FUTURE

Think of it this way: The past as you have experienced it is your's alone...nobody else's. It is yours to own to your advantage. And this is by no means a selfish pronouncement or  acknowledgement.

You don't have to take a course in Freud to know that the past is a powerful force in shaping who you are right now. Actually there is no way the past can be ignored in the process of discovering who you really are as an individual occupying space on this planet and doing the best you can with what you've got.

To begin, we have all experienced trauma as children and sadly there are those (especially in the modern ecumenical era) who did not have the benefit of parents with the sensitivity and wisdom to channel God's healing love. Many grow up clutching fists and hugging their bodies either psychologically or literally, going through life scarred by all of the early uncertainty and fear of growing up.

It is only me speaking, but it seems to me this ought to be a priority of the faith community; to speak to the child inside each of us. We can all be parents to one another and say, "You are fine, you are loved!  You are the real one and only (unique) you!"

It should be acknowledged that we ere in labelling the past as either good or bad...All of our past is useful to us. We learn from what has happened to us and we also learn from our interactions with other people. We don't need to be condemned by our old memories, take it from someone who has a bushel basket full, but we can explore them and use them in building our lives as they are meant to be.

We claim the treasure of the past when we give it over to God of the Universe. Somehow we have to let go of the things from our past that are either painful or dear. This is where we really have to get serious now.

Multi-talented Karl A. Olsson: writer, preacher, teacher, literature scholar, decorated veteran of World War II (phew!) frequently said that one of the great acts of faith is found in Genesis where Abraham buried Sarah saying, "Give me property among you for a burying place for I may bury my dead out of sight." We keep our loved ones in our memory in an unhealthy way. We keep living with the dead to our own detriment.

Abraham was able to place his beloved Sarah in the Cave of Machpelah and to say "our life together is over," and to move on. This is how he honored his wife.

We have the Bible's word for it...We honor the past by burying it, walking away from it and into a new life. It is entirely our choice!

As far as I am concerned, I deal with a lot of my past by writing about it...thereby giving it over to the universe and God. I consider it a special double-whammy gift that I am able to share with others -- as humble as it is and for what it is worth.

Indeed folks, our yesterdays are gone, but they are dynamic fertilizer for everything we do today. Bearing in mind that we cannot live in tomorrow, though our dreams for tomorrow certainly shape today.

So, have at it! You and I make each day what it is. Many of the same experiences may come to all of us and yet find a very different response with each person. However, in a more profound sense, things do not happen to us entirely by chance. They can be the logical outcome of our life-style or attitude.

The important thing is that we understand who we are and that we enjoy being the truly unique individuals we are.

CHANGE CAN BE DIFFICULT BUT CHANGE WE MUST

Engraving from Christoph Hartknoch's book Alt- und neues Preussen (1684; “Old and New Prussia”), depicting Nicolaus Copernicus as a saintly and humble figure. The astronomer is shown between a crucifix and a celestial globe, symbols of his vocation and work. The Latin text below the astronomer is an ode to Christ's suffering by Pope Pius II: “Not grace the equal of Paul's do I ask / Nor Peter's pardon seek, but what / To a thief you granted on the wood of the cross / This I do earnestly pray.”

I recall hearing about a man who was working on his farm in Wisconsin when when suddenly something dropped out of the sky onto the field near him. It was blue, pockmarked, frozen and mysterious.

Excitedly, the farmer chopped off a large chunk, put it in his deep freeze and called the local sheriff and geologists from the nearby village to examine it. They were all stumped and left wondering if it might be a meteor or a piece of glacier carried by a jet stream. The only thing they were sure off was that the mysterious sample was frozen hard and when it melted, it smelled terrible.

In due course someone solved the mystery -- it was blue "potty fluid" accidentally ejected from an airplane toilet.

You know, I bet that if anyone of us came across that same "gift from heaven" package we would do the very same thing the farmer did -- preserve it on our freezer. I suspect that over the years a great many things have dropped into my life out of the blue that I have treated just like that, assuming they were a gift from heaven.

So many of our customs and traditions are like that too and we preserve and defend them at all costs. Actually, the Copernican Revolution is a classic example of this tendency.

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The Copernican Revolution was the paradigm shift from the Ptolemaic model of the heavens, which described the cosmos as having Earth stationary at the center of the universe, to the heliocentric model with the Sun at the center of the Solar System. This revolution consisted of two phases; the first being extremely mathematical in nature and the second phase starting in 1610 with the publication of a pamphlet by Galileo. Beginning with the publication of Nicolaus Copernicus’s De revolutionibus orbium coelestium, contributions to the “revolution” continued until finally ending with Isaac Newton’s work over a century later.

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Copernican came up with the idea that there was a basic flaw in understanding of the whole astronomical system. He said, "...let me suggest that the sun doesn't revolve around the earth; the earth revolves around the sun."

It took him 17 years to perfect the theory, and another 13 years to find a printer who would publish it. His basic truth was not really accepted until after his death.

If you consider yourself a reactionary, you're in good company. As author-theologian Bruce Larson has pointed out, the great churchmen for those days ridiculed Copernicus. Martin Luther said, "This fool will turn the art of astronomy upside down...The Scripture show and tells another lesson, not the earth." John Calvin asked, "Who will venture to place the authority of Copernicus above that of the Holy Spirit?" The Catholic Vatican damned the Copernicus theory as both "philosophically false and formally heretical."

It seems that there is a tendency for Christians to want to look back -- to glamorize the past or to hold some outmoded truth, even using the Bible as the authority for preventing change. We are caught in the tension between preserving the good from the past and embracing the new.

Some 90 years ago William James, a great pioneer psychologist, correctly said "Any new theory first is attacked as absurd; then it is admitted to be true, but obvious and insignificant; finally it seems to be important, so important that its adversaries claim that they themselves discovered it."

What James was saying is that each of us has a bit of the reactionist in us, some seeing themselves primarily as museum keepers, preservers of the past. And why is that, one might ask?

Perhaps there is a clue in the fact that Jesus likened us to sheep and, if true, this may well be one of the reasons we have trouble with change. If we are indeed like sheep -- stubborn, hostile and self-willed, we begin to understand our problem as seen in the eyes of that same Jesus.

But whether we are basically innovators or reactionaries, there is no possibility for health or life without change. Of course, not all change is good...Some change is unhealthy and a mark of decay and deterioration in our society.

Studies have proven that when too many changes come to any person at any given time, the resulting trauma produces physical illness, even death.

It is demonstrated time and again that the human body and mind and spirit cannot handle too much change at one time. And in the past half century we have all had to handle so much change that it is no wonder we talk about the good old days.

Everything around us is changing so radically.

As they say: Like it or lump it!

And that, finally, takes us back to the Bible for the message of promise and hope...God wants to make us new and assures us that we can change here and now. Know what I'm saying?

Tom Wolfe, one of our most popular writers, said in 1971, "The old dream of the alchemist was to turn base metals into gold. Today he dreams of changing his personality."

THE TRUTH: I HAVE MIXED EMOTIONS ABOUT COACHING

To view my video just give it a click.

Funny, isn't it, when you think about something and for the balance of the day you cannot get your mind off the subject.

For absolutely no reason today I've been thinking about my experiences as a baseball coach. The only way to rid my mind of those long gone days of "giving back" to the game I loved, is to write a bit about them. In the process, I'm sure there will be a number of been-there-and-done-that souls who will relate.

I've coached and managed at all levels of male and female minor baseball and softball (peewee, bantam, midget, juvenile, junior, intermediate and senior) in two provinces. And do you want to know the truth?...I was uncomfortable with most of it!

Of course, an explanation is in order after that startling admission.

Following a playing career that took me to many far-flung sandlots in North America, the natural assumption seemed to be that I was pre-ordained to eventually take up coaching -- even umpiring for that matter. To me it was an evolutionary thing and I actually felt honored to be able to take that one last step in a field of dreams.

In retrospect, even though I persisted, I simply was not cut out for the responsibility of coaching a group of impressionable teenagers, let alone a team of adults closer to my age who felt beyond the need for bonafide coaching.

Bottom line, I was just too sensitive -- a softie even.

To begin, there was the distasteful spring ritual of narrowing a group of prospects down to a team ideally in the manageable range of 16 players...and that was perhaps one of the hardest chores for me, trying to tactfully tell someone that they were being "cut" from the list and that they would not be included in the final game roster.

The sadness and disappointment was always culpable in body language and I died a thousand deaths each time I was required to deliver the painful message. The memory of my own rejections and heartbreaks as a player in over his head competitively speaking, was still relatively fresh in my mind and to my own detriment.

I recall unfortunately procrastinating with one sincerely enthusiastic but limited-in-talent young fellow when it came time to handing out uniforms for the season.  I had 18 uniforms to distribute and had already given out 17 of them, leaving the last one for me. I glanced over the group of players trying on their outfits and saw (we'll call him...) Jim hovering expectantly yet hesitatingly, in the background. I could no longer ignore him and spontaneously handed my uniform over to him without saying a word. Against my better judgement, our bench just gained another extra player for the duration of the season and I was left to scrounge up another mismatched uniform.

Jim proved to be one of the most dependable members of the team, never missing a practice or a game, and I made it a point to selectively get him in the lineup for an inning or two whenever I could. He was part of the team, which was all he wanted -- and he didn't hurt us in the least.

On every team there is bound to be two or three players who are a cut above the rest and shoe-ins to be regulars for every game. It is the coach's job to juggle the balance of the lineup with players based on previous game performance, fairness and intuitive hunches. While this fact of life is generally understood, there were always players who demonstrated dismay over being overlooked in the starting lineups, and would go so far as to voice displeasure. "If I'm not going to play, what is the sense of me coming out"? kind of attitude. 

On one of my strong league champion intermediate teams I had the luxury of three very good catchers. Two were versatile enough to adequately play at other key positions and carry big bats. The third was an excellent receiver but struggled at the plate and was not particularly adept at playing other positions. Guess who complained the most about not playing some games and never seemed to be a happy camper, thereby making my my job all the more difficult.

Come on Dick, this is no
laughing matter!

On another occasion during a very tight game, I considered it expeditious to remove a strong willed 18-year-old starting pitcher in favor of bull pen relief. In spite of my reasoning and urging, he refused to leave the mound and insisted that he could still retire the side. Rather than create a scene, I caved and left him in the game. To his credit he managed to get himself out of the jam and finished the next three innings, coming out with a win to his credit. He understandably walked off the mound that night very proud of himself and I suppressed humiliation in not having stood my ground as coach.

There was also the time when I was coaching and managing both a midget baseball team and a juvenile fastball team in the same season. Due to illness and summer vacations I had only nine players for a juvenile game and found it necessary to call up one of my better midget players in order to have at least one substitute on the bench in case of injury. As it turned out, I was unable to work the young lad into the game but he was more than pleased just to be called up and to join older friends (including a brother) on the team. After the game, however, I was challenged to a fight by an older brother who was a hot shot Junior "A" hockey player, NHL prospect cum beverage room waiter, who thought that I was a b--- s--- coach for not giving his younger sibling a chance to play.

To turn the other cheek and walk away from that unfortunate confrontation witnessed by a good two dozen fans behind the bleachers, was one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do. It is times like that that take the fun out of the game and coaching in particular.

And then, God bless them, there were always other fans (family members and friends mostly) who likewise never seemed satisfied with decisions I made in the dressing room or in the heat of competition. Parents were often the worst with abusive comments about playing time afforded their little Johnny. It was always a struggle for me to rationalize the pitfalls and barbs of coaching which I generally took home with me and admittedly struggle with even to this day. 

I'll never forget the time when I was a minor baseball peewee league convenor. Unplanned, I let coaches of the two divisional champion teams talk me into a winner-take-all saw-off game for which we had no official umpires. It was agreed that I would umpire the game myself from a position behind the pitcher's mound where I could call balls and strikes and cover the bases at the same time.

All went extremely well in a scoreless game until the final inning with two out and the bases loaded for the coin flip-winning home team. The next batter hit what should have been a game-winning single and his celebrating teammates mobbed him before he reached first base. I pretended not to see the infraction in the hope that the other team did not see it either and that the game would mercifully be over. 

But no such thing...The opposing coach yelled at his second baseman to retrieve the ball and to go and touch first base, which he did and I heard myself simultaneously and emphatically calling "yer out!"

Needless to say, all hell broke loose and players threw stones at me as irate parents and coaches rushed onto the field insisting that the runner had in fact touched the base. I pinched myself to see if it was all a bad dream -- but it wasn't.

The game never resumed and I barely escaped with my life. Days later the alert opposing coach confided in me that he wasn't sure if the runner had actually touched the base but he thought that it was worth him calling me on it and he was surprised with my arbitrary response.

I can honestly say that I was in shock when I got home that afternoon, sobbing shamelessly and unable to get out of the car for a good half hour. I was disappointed in myself and unconsolable for letting a bunch of kids down and for being so stupid as to put myself in that compromising position in the first place just because I thought that I was doing the right thing by bowing to the wishes of both teams, against better judgement.

Even as I write this text I feel an ache in my chest that has never completely gone away. It never will! 

And to think that I have gone this far with my story and I haven't even begun to relate flak coming my way from an unhappy spouse carrying associated family responsibility expectations, not to mention the expenditure of time and energy devoted to the off-field duties of coaching such as league and association meetings, assuring an adequate supply of equipment (including bats and balls for games), team transportation for away games and other administrative necessities (inevitably more often than not requiring personal out-of-pocket expenses).

I guess that in the end I was simply jinxed in a way and too intense, too caring, too sensitive to be a coach and that all combined got in the way of my enjoyment of the the game and pretense of good sportsmanship and ultimately, good citizenship.

I totally admire coaches today who are tough by nature with ability to let sensitivities like mine roll off their backs and to thrive on unexpected challenges. They are the ones cut out for the job that I fear I may have mishandled in thinking that I was making a contribution of some kind. I do not recall anyone ever saying "thanks" or "good job!" And that eventually told me something -- coaching is a thankless job!

It may be a mistake to mix minor sport coaching with adult coaching in a story of this nature, because they involve different temperaments requiring specific leadership approaches and skills. It is just that my experience covered the entire spectrum and that I attempted to be too many things for too many people and ended up second guessing my wisdom and what I thought I was standing for.

Youth coaches, whether in minors or any other extracurricular sport, are mentoring our children and giving them the tools to grow up to be responsible citizens. These coaches are doing far more than offering instructions on how to hit a baseball, shoot a puck or sink a basket. They are teaching their players valuable lessons about leadership, teamwork, effort and resilience. In the classroom, students that do everything right get 100 per cent on their test. On the playing field, athletes learn that you can do everything right and still lose. That's an essential life lesson that builds grit and will help them cope with the many challenges and disappointments they will face in later life.

It's wonderful if your child is the star player on a winning team but in reality the enduring lessons come from the tough losses, whether that's on the scoreboard, not making the team at tryouts or sitting on the bench while better players shine, as deplorable as the prospect may be for misplaced guys like me.

It is pathetic to think that the end of each ball season came increasingly as a relief for me and I did not miss anything about it when I eventually walked away to wean myself from the game with one last enjoyable season of umpiring.

So a big thank you to all coaches, and please don't let me discourage you. You are doing essential work and you will no doubt feel your sacrifice will have been worth it years from now when one of your former players, now an adult with a family of his or her own, sees you in the grocery store and stops to thank you, not for making them a better athlete, but for the fun times, the great memories and helping shape them into a decent person and solid citizen.

You might not even remember who they are when that day comes but they'll remember you and, most importantly, what you gave them.

I'm not holding my breath, but I'm still waiting for an isolated incident like that to miraculously come my way.

Then come to think of it, I guess that I wasn't a good coach any more than I was a particularly great ball player! In short, I was no doubt forgettable.

That hot-shot hockey-playing, bar waiter older brother may have been right all along. I don't know.

Just don't use me as an example. I may be an exception.

P.S. If you want to hang with me for a few more minutes while I have your attention, feel free to view one of my baseball blog sites "Boy Who Made A Big Catch". It is one of my more gratifying coaching stories. See https://dicktheblogster12a.blogspot.com/