Lift Up Your Hearts!

Do you remember Kathy's friend B. who met us at the airport in Banjul?  He's also a math major who sometimes comes to her for tutoring.  I'm certain that Kathy and I arrived at this plan independently, even though we were both math majors and roommates at the University of Rochester, but it turns out we each sweeten our tutoring sessions with cookies.  We even have a particular kind designated as "math cookies"!

Having enjoyed Kathy's math cookies when we visited, I thought it would be a good idea to send B. a package of my own math cookies.  You know, to see whose work best.  :)  But apparently our cookies are doomed to avoid that head-to-head contest.

I knew it would cost much more than the cookies are worth to mail them to the Gambia.  But for years I've been mailing care packages to college students and Hallowe'en candy and other trinkets to our Swiss grandchildren; I don't mind occasionally paying more in postage than the value of the items sent.  But the cost to send the wonderful Priority Mail Large Video Box is now $33.95!  Sadly, this is still the least expensive way to send cookies, by a considerable margin.  And that's not just because it's more expensive to mail something to Africa; the cost to send the box to Switzerland is exactly the same.  When I wrote about it in November of 2011, I could use that box to send up to four pounds of goodies overseas for $13.25.  

This is crazy. What else has gone up over 150% in less than five years?  Are you making 150% more than you did in 2011?  Does gas cost 150% more? Bread? Houses? Anything?  Apparently the IRS is not the only Federal agency to have a grudge against ex-pats.

So dear B. will not be getting his cookies, unless I can persuade Kathy to use precious luggage space to bring some home with her next time she visits the U.S.  Even dearer grandchildren will also suffer from this USPS outrage, I'm afraid.  It's still cheaper to mail packages than to visit in person—but a lot less fun.

It's no accident that Aesop's Fables have been popular for millennia.  Great truths revealed in brief, memorable stories are powerful.  I have some modern-day favorites of my own.

The Million-Dollar Child

For a number of years, we attended the same church as Pat and Patsy Morley.  I wish I had known Patsy better, because this story from her husband, as told in his book, The Man in the Mirror, shows her wisdom and strength.

When our two children were toddlers, I was uptight about new scratches showing up on our coffee table. This was a real point of contention with my  wife, who could not care less about such matters. Finally, she said, “You leave my children alone! I’ll not have you ruin a million-dollar child over a $300 table!” Wow! It finally connected. I was more interested in a $300 table than the emotional welfare of my kids. I asked Patsy to forgive me...

The Daffodil Principle

A friend introduced me to the daffodil story, told by Jaroldeen Asplund Edwards, which is too long to reproduce here.  Here's an excerpt that gives the gist of this remarkable, true testimony to the power of small actions done repeatedly over time.

Before me lay the most glorious sight. It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down over the mountain peak and slopes. The flowers were planted in majestic, swirling patterns—great ribbons and swaths of deep orange, white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron, and butter yellow. Each different-colored variety was planted as a group so that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique hue. There were five acres of flowers. ... We walked up to the house. On the patio, we saw a poster. "Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking" was the headline.

The first answer was a simple one."50,000 bulbs," it read. The second answer was, "One at a time, by one woman. Two hands, two feet, and very little brain." The third answer was, "Began in 1958."

The Ruby Ring

The story of the ruby ring came to me from a friend just the other day.  It is her story, or rather her grandparents', and true both in fact and in its powerful message.

My grandmother rarely asked for anything for herself, but for whatever reason she wanted a ruby ring.  My grandfather talked about it for years but kept putting off buying it.

When he finally was ready to give her one, she said, "Sorry, too late.  My hands are old looking and I don't want it anymore." 

Now, when you hear me referring to a "ruby ring" situation, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about.

Do you have any modern Aesop-wisdom to add to this collection?

Do you dream in color or in black and white?

This question, common in my childhood, must seem nonsense to the next generations, as to people throughout most of history.

I clearly remember dreaming in color, but just as clearly I know I frequently dreamt in black and white. The one vividly-colored dream I remember well occurred before we had a television set, and that's significant.  What possible reason could there be for black and white dreams except the influence of black and white television?

I thought of that recently as I observed the curious phenomenon that dream time apparently bears no resemblance to real time.  I wake up and look at the clock.  Fifteen minutes later I awaken again and realize that although only fifteen minutes have passed, the dream I had awakened from had seemingly covered hours of time.

How does the brain do that?  Is it natural, or is it, like the black and white dreams, a product of familiarity with the time-compression common to movies and television shows?

More than 40 years after Porter assisted a University of Rochester professor in the search for gravity waves, predicted by Albert Einstein 100 years ago, evidence of their existence has finally been found.

What are you not giving up on?

On January 28, 2016, we were preparing to land at the end of our flight across the Atlantic from Paris to Newark, the penultimate leg of a journey home from the Gambia that had begun with a take-off from the emergency Space Shuttle landing site that serves as the Banjul Airport runway.

Thirty years ago, that same Atlantic received the shredded remains of the Challenger and all her crew.

What Reagan (and Noonan) knew, as did Winston Churchill, was how to inspire people to be better than themselves.  You don't make children learn more by telling them how stupid they are; you don't make people love others better by insisting they are racist, sexist pigs; you don't encourage the weak to become strong by pointing out their failures.

Nor do you regale them with how strong and smart they are, and insist "you can be anything you want to be."  You don't imply that success should be easy or that love doesn't require sacrifice.  You don't suggest that the best way to fight terrorism is to continue buying and selling as usual (President Bush after 9/11) or partying on (some Parisians after the recent attacks).

A good leader is not afraid to insist that there is no gain without risk, no success without effort, and no victory without battle.  The way is hard, the road is long, and it is not safe.  A great leader goes on to encourage others to believe that they are the kind of people who will rise to meet the challenges; that the benefits will be worth the cost; and that the way, though difficult, will be sprinkled with joy.

I made a discovery last week:  I don't fully experience an event until I've had time to process it—ideally, to write about it.

When I'm preparing for a trip, people say, "You must be so excited to [fill in the blank]."  But I almost never am.  Doing something is rarely exciting; having done something is what thrills me.  I've always thought this to be weird, and even felt guilty about it.  How crazy is it to appreciate an experience—even one I really enjoy—only when it's over?

The revelation I had last week is that it's all a matter of processing.  Experiences bring a flood of sensory information that needs to be dealt with, and if I don't have that opportunity, the pressure builds up like a bad case of indigestion.  This is why, for example, when I'm away from home for an extended baby-birth visit, I will sacrifice an hour or two of much-needed sleep to write a blog post.  If I don't, more often than not my mind will rebel and not let me sleep anyway.

When I write about an event—even if the writing doesn't actually take physical form, though that's best—the experience coalesces into something coherent and memorable.  That's when it becomes real.

Is it right for a Christian to carry a gun?  Or even own one at all?

I'm not here to debate pacifism.  For centuries, even millennia, there have been debates both among Christians and in general society over the legitimacy of war and even self-defense.  I can't settle that here.

Nor, despite the subject, is this about gun control, gun safety, or the Second Amendment.  It's about something much more important.

What I want to address is an idea currently making the rounds in the Christian community:  that a Christian who buys a gun to protect his family is proclaiming his lack of faith.  That he doesn't trust God to take care of him and the people he loves.

Such a statement is absolute nonsense.

I've heard that logic before.  I wonder how many of those who loudly proclaim that buying a gun means you don't trust God for your safety would agree with the following similar claims:

• People who use birth control don't trust God to determine the size of their families and provide for them.
• People who use doctors/hospitals/medications aren't trusting God to take care of their health.

I acknowledge that certain elements behind those ideas ring true.  There is in modern society what I'd call a "birth control mentality" that I believe has done great harm (blog post on that to come eventually, I hope), and blind trust in medicine has done its share of damage, too.  But the above statements, as they stand, are dangerous nonsense, and so is the same logic applied to guns.

God gives us resources, and the ability to develop and use tools.  It is our responsibility to use the tools wisely.  Embracing them uncritically and rejecting them out of hand are both extremes that risk insulting the Giver.  Even worse than insulting God (he's already handled more than we could possibly dish out), is belittling the faith of those who don't share our opinions.  "To his own master he stands or falls."

Do Christians and Muslims worship the same god?

Of course they do!

Are you nuts?  They most certainly do not!

Wait.  Stop.  You're right.  You're both right.  You can say almost anything and still be right if you don't define your terms.

This question keeps making the news, with fervent opinions being expressed regardless of whether or not the speaker knows anything about Christian or Muslim theology.  There's no shortage of commentary, for example, on whether or not Wheaton College should fire a professor they believe is deviating from the statement of faith that she signed when she was hired.  Personally, I think that's Wheaton's business, not mine, and I don't know enough about the specific situation to have an informed opinion.  I will say that I respect Weaton a lot, not the least because they come under attack both for being too liberal and for being too conservative.  They must be doing something right.  But the issue of whether or not Christians and Muslims worship the same god is at the heart of that controversy.

Just what does that phrase mean, worship the same god?

Does a Christian worship the creator of the universe?  Absolutely.  Does a Jew?  Certainly.  A Muslim?  I'm sure a Muslim would say he does.  So would a good many (though not all) pagans (old-style; I'm not too familiar with the writings of new-style Pagans).  And, I venture to say, so do many who call themselves atheists (I was one), whose passionate admiration of the forces of nature (and science, their prophet) is as ardent as anything I've seen in church.

Do we all agree on the basic characteristics, let alone the details, of whatever/whoever caused this world to exist?  Absolutely not.

On some issues, and in some situations, we can all stand on the common ground and make progress together.  That's not the same thing as saying that we're basically in agreement, or that the differences don't matter.

It's Christmastime, and a group of happy vacationers is on an airplane bound for St. Petersburg.  We know they all share a hope that the pilot has gotten enough sleep the night before, and that the maintenance crew has done its job correctly.  We watch them eat together, and wish along with every one of them that the baby in seat 20B would stop crying.  But as we listen to them discuss their vacation plans, we begin to realize that there are some big differences in what they believe about this "St. Petersburg" that they're heading toward. 

The art students in 14D and E have packed boots and heavy coats, and are eagerly discussing their upcoming visit to the Hermitage.  The family in row 15, with their bathing suits and sunscreen, is looking forward to time at the beach, and the children hope to talk their parents into a side trip to Disney World.  Up in first class, a middle-aged couple is wondering how life has changed in their tiny hometown in Western Pennsylvania since they've been gone.  And the writer in the back of the plane is absorbed in visions of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn.

The passengers have a lot in common.  They are in the same airplane, and have many of the same interests and concerns.  They all know they are going to St. Petersburg.  The plane is, indeed, going to St. Petersburg.  But somebody—maybe everybody—is in for a surprise when the plane lands.

Commonalities matter.  So do differences.  Above all, truth matters.

C. S. Lewis called it chronological snobbery:  the idea that present ideas and attitudes are superior to those of the past simply because they are more recent.  Historian Paul Bartow calls it historical presentism and has written an important commentary ("The Growing Threat of Historical Presentism") on its contribution to the fracturing of American society and the disintegration of civil discourse.  (H/T Lenore Skenazy)

James Madison’s fears of mob rule and majoritarianism is a well explored topic. Suffice it to say that in Federalist 10, he wrote to the citizens of New York that “measures are too often decided, not according to the rules of justice and the rights of the minor party, but by the superior force of an interested and overbearing majority.”

This overbearing force today comes in the shape of tyrannical college mobs who demand any affiliation with people they don’t like be permanently removed. ... Not surprisingly, these mobs have neither a factual or nuanced historical understanding.

All of these protests of historical occurrences are symptomatic of a deeper, more grievous problem, that of historical presentism. This is defined as the application of contemporary moral judgments or worldviews to the past. Any trained historian knows that this is among the easiest traps into which one can fall.

The task of the historian, or the modern university student for that matter, is not to descend from on high and mete out judgment. ... When one studies the past, it is meant to be a deeply introspective experience. The goal is to enter into conversation with historical figures, to understand their world as fully as we can, to learn from them, and to let them challenge our worldviews.

These are dangerous times for the study of the past. Historians can no longer afford to sit idly by as uninformed or misinformed tyrannical mobs seek to stamp out the history they do not like. It is a threat to the preservation of the past. It is a threat to free speech. It is a threat to proper historical understanding.

It is a threat to the very existence of civil society.

It's also very bad manners.

My random quotation generator greeted me with this when I turned the computer on this morning:

May no gift be too small to give, nor too simple to receive, which is wrapped in thoughtfulness and tied with love. - L. O. Baird

Merry Christmas to all!

A friend shared this on Facebook. (Click to enlarge; you'll see later why I want to keep it small.)

I'm not criticizing the sharer, nor the original post, because the ideas this image suggests are valid.  But I was inspired mostly to comment and to ask questions, beginning with:  Where do these facts come from?  I'm not going to answer that one yet, because what I found pretty much makes my other comments unnecessary, and I like them, so I'm going to give them first.

• Since approximately two-thirds of high school graduates attend college (and therefore presumably read some books), this implies that the people who don't graduate from high school but later enjoy reading are very rare.  Whether or not it's true, it makes sense for the here-and-now, though not in other times and places.
• That forty-two percent of college graduates never touch a book again I find less believable.  This is a population that presumably enjoys learning—unless they went to college solely because they bought into the fallacious idea that it would guarantee them high-paying jobs.
• Fifty-seven percent of new books are not read to completion?  Hmmm.  I suspect that 57% of new books aren't actually worth reading to completion, so I'm not sure this is a bad thing.
• Define "been in a bookstore."  I've read 67 books so far this year, but I can't tell you the last time I was in a bookstore.  When they closed our local Borders, that pretty much sealed my relationship with Amazon.com.  Even before that, the local bookstores almost never had the books I was looking for.  Now if they asked me how often I've been in a library in the past five years, that would be an entirely different story.
• Define "buy a book."  Does that mean only physical books?  If so, it's disingenuous to leave out e-books.  Likewise, buying a book is not a particularly lofty goal in my mind (though I've spent a fortune on them); I'm a big fan of libraries.  On the other hand, this statistic says that 80% of families did not buy or read a book.  So there's another question:
• Define "family." There are about 50 million children in American public elementary and secondary schools, which is more than 15% of the entire population, and a much greater percentage of "families" of even the most generous definition (i.e. including any two or more people living together, with or without children).  And it ignores all students in private and home schools, as well as college students.  No matter what they do at home, each of these students must have in the last year read not just one but several books (or been read to, for the non-readers).  So even stretching the definitions out of all reality, I can't make sense out of the 80% figure.
• And the last one?  Reading an hour a day in one field makes you an expert in seven years?  I wish!  Seven years times 365 days per year is a mere 2,555 hours of reading.

Okay, I've said all that because that's what's currently going around Facebook.  But my first attempt at investigation—from squinting at the fine print at the bottom—led me to this page on Robb Brewer's website.  There he abjurs "any and all connection" to the statistics in the original graphic, and requests that if people are going to publish it, they use this one instead (again, clicking will enlarge the image):

I didn't check these statistics, because Mr. Brewer clearly did.  Except for the last one, which he kept for its feel-good value.

And yes, I had a thousand better things to do than critique a Facebook graphic.  OCD takes many forms.

Many thanks to my sister for finding this ray of hope from Oklahoma Wesleyan University after our depressing conversation about the state of higher education, inspired by my Victimizing the Victims post.  University preident Dr. Everett Piper's letter has since gone viral, as well it should have, but that won't stop me from adding my voice.  The letter is short and well worth reading in its entirety, but I will quote only the final two paragraphs.

Oklahoma Wesleyan is not a “safe place”, but rather, a place to learn: to learn that life isn’t about you, but about others; that the bad feeling you have while listening to a sermon is called guilt; that the way to address it is to repent of everything that’s wrong with you rather than blame others for everything that’s wrong with them. This is a place where you will quickly learn that you need to grow up.

This is not a day care. This is a university.

Would that this kind of sanity would itself go viral.

I enjoy most episodes of the TV show, NCIS, but one I watched recently left me more than usually disturbed.  To strip the show of all the redeeming and mitigating features, not to mention the whole rest of the complex episode, what happened was that a man used a hidden camera to videotape a couple of women in an undressed state, and put the videos online.  Wrong.  Immoral.  Creepy.  And it's true that one difference between now and BI (Before the Internet) is that such pictures never go away.  It's bad.  I don't deny it.  I don't want to think about how I might react if someone did that to one of our daughters or granddaughters—or grandsons, for that matter.

But still, I think the show is a good example of the overreaction I'm seeing all too often these days.  We've gone from ignoring and minimizing the problem of some forms of misbehavior to giving them unwonted significance.  As C. S. Lewis once said, in pondering the existence of devils, "There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils. One is to disbelieve in their existence. The other is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them."  In the NCIS episode, the event causes one of the women to commit suicide and the other to exult in the murder of the man she believes to have ruined her life forever.  And our NCIS heroes reinforce the belief that the cameraman has done irreparable, irredeemable, unforgiveable damage.

What's wrong with this scenario?  When people have been violated, when terrible things have happened to them, it's good and right to acknowledge the wrongfulness of the action, to allow them to grieve as much as they need to, and to take action to prevent similar incidents.  But are we doing the victims any favors by encouraging them to believe they are ruined forever?  That they can never escape what has happened to them?  I'm going out on a dangerous limb here, because I've never had an offense that great to recover from—and my track record for forgiving much lesser offenses isn't all that good anyway.  But aren't we in danger of perpetuating the crimes, giving eternal power to the victimizers and plunging the victims into helplessness and hopelessness?  Condemning them to a life trying to avoid "triggers" the way someone with severe food allergies must live in fear of what that innocent-looking appetizer might have come in contact with?

I think we can do better.

The trigger for this post?  Just two days after the NCIS show, I read this Salon article by a former college professor.  ("I believed in trigger warnings when I taught a course on sex and film. Then they drove me out of the academy.")  WARNING:  The article is definitely not grandchild-safe.  The author was teaching about "the evolution of the representation of sex throughout American Cinema."  You'd think that alone would be warning enough that students would be seeing disturbing images and discussing topics that would make them uncomfortable.  I should imagine that anyone signing up for such a class would know what he was getting into.  "My classes were about race, gender, and sexuality. These are inherently uncomfortable topics that force students to think critically about their privilege and their place in the hierarchy of this world."

You couldn't pay me enough to take such a course. I have full sympathy with the students who complained about some of the scenes they were expected to watch.  What astounds me is the students' (often conflicting) demands to control the content of the class.  I didn't take many liberal arts classes in college, so I can't say for sure that it didn't happen then, but I'm almost certain the professors would have responded, "You aren't strong enough to handle my class?  Then don't take it."  I can only hope this nonsense hasn't infected the physical sciences.  (Professor, your statement that 7t x 2 = 14t reminds me of my fourth grade teacher, who used to swat my hand for not knowing the times tables.  You need to warn me when you are going to use arithmetic, so I can skip class.  And you can't penalize me for not knowing what you taught in my absence.)

A couple of weeks later, graduate students at the University of Kansas demanded that a professor be fired, because they were offended when she uttered the word, "nigger," even in the almost-abjectly humble context that it was hard for her to know how to talk about race relations because, being white, she had not experienced racism herself.  "It’s not like I see ‘Nigger’ spray painted on walls…”  One complaining student wrote, "I was incredibly shocked that the word was spoken, regardless of the context. ... I turned to the classmate sitting next to me and asked if this was really happening.  Before I left the classroom, I was in tears."

She was in tears.  She was unbelievably shocked at the mere utterance of a word, in a context of support and attempted understanding.  On a college campus where I guarantee other offensive words are flung around frequently, casually, and often with intent to offend.  And she is a graduate student, not a second grader.  How can one get to the graduate school level and still be so fragile?

Life is hard.  For people who have had to deal all their lives with discrimination and racism, with poverty, abuse, illness, handicaps, or other challenges, life is much harder.  By what kind of cruel, twisted logic does society encourage someone facing such difficulties to think of herself as weak? 

This letter to the Free-Range Kids blog shows a more helpful attitude.  (It's probably also not grandchild-safe, depending on the grandchild.)  As a child, the man was repeatedly, sexually groped by his barber, and only much later realized what had been going on.  In the letter he takes pains not to justify the barber's actions, but neither will he dignify them by assuming they ruined his life.  "Try as I may, I cannot summon outrage at the pathetic man who assaulted me. Nor can I conclude that I am any worse for the wear. ... I enjoy a normal life including a healthy-though-unremarkable sex life."

Things happen to us.  Good things.  Bad things.  Sometimes horrible things.  They are all part of the material that makes us who we are, and I'm convinced that how we handle them is more important than the events themselves.  What can we do to empower those who have been through terrible times to be overcomers rather than perpetual victims?

My Dear French Brothers and Sisters,

Fourteen years ago we stood where you stand today.  While no two experiences, much less cultures, are alike, I will venture to make a prediction:  In the midst of the horror you will experience something wonderful:  You will be a united country, with opposing factions coming together in their humanity; you will find yourselves giving and receiving unusual kindnesses; and people from all over the world will express their sympathy and support.  Strangers will reach out to strangers, as you have done with #portesouvertes.  You will be a little more friendly on the Métro, and more patient on the highways.  You will stand a little taller, work a little harder, and be a lot more grateful for the people in your lives.  You will be yourselves, only better.

Hang onto that.

If you follow in our footsteps, one day you will realize the glimpse of heaven has gone.  You will catch yourself cursing the driver who cuts you off.  In your impatience you will scream at your kids.  Facing someone who disagrees with you, you will once again see a fool or a devil instead of a human being.

Don't let go of the only good gift the terrorists have left behind.

Make no mistake:  You are, indeed, at war.  War is being made against you, and you have three choices:  You can ignore it, you can shrink into isolationism, or you can stand up to your foes.  History has shown that the first two options never work for long.  The third is costly on many fronts and doesn't always work, either, but it is where hope and honor reside.

How can we stand against such an enemy?

I admire M. Hollande's determination to act with “all the necessary [lawful] means, and on all terrains, inside and outside, in coordination with our allies.”  Timidity would only strengthen such a foe, to everyone's loss.

That is what the government can do:  the military actions, the large-scale policy decisions, the intelligence gathering and analysis.  But what is the role of a citizen?  What can everyone do to defeat the terrorists?  Here's what I think:

• When we continue to live our ordinary lives and do our ordinary work without giving in to our fears, we are fighting terrorism.  Fear is the enemy's most powerful and effective weapon.
• When we refuse to let our anger turn us against the innocent, we are fighting terrorism.  Injustice, especially toward the powerless and the hopeless, fertilizes the terrorists' recruiting ground.
• When we make an effort to become friends with those of other nations, cultures, and beliefs, we are fighting terrorism.  A faceless, dehumanized enemy is so much easier to kill.
• When we acknowledge, study, appreciate, and build up the good that is unique to our own heritage, while recognizing the same in others, we are fighting terrorism.  Our enemies would like to see every culture and belief that is not its own erased from history.  If we will not honor and protect our own cultures, history, and ancestors, who will?
• When we resist the hatred that rises within our own selves, we are fighting terrorism.  If we become like our enemies, we have handed them the victory.
• When we allow our unbearable pain to be the soil from which grow acts of kindness, attention to the needs of others, expressions of love and appreciation, and attitudes of patience and mercy, we are fighting terrorism.  Bringing good out of our sorrow removes a potent instrument of torture from the enemy's hands.
• When we can hold on to both the wisdom of the serpent and the harmlessness of the dove, we can fight terrorism.  Keeping the balance puts the battle on our terms, not theirs.

Know that as an American I speak as much to my own country as to yours.  We have not set the best example in grappling with our common enemy.  Work together with us and all who seek justice, freedom, and peace to find the right path.

Vive la France!

I've known the tune of La Marseillaise for as long as I can remember, along with the first two lines.

Not till two days ago did I pay attention to the rest of the French national anthem.  Here's the first, most commonly sung verse (from Wikipedia).

I'm sure the French don't usually ponder the meaning of the words any more than we think of war instead of fireworks when we sing about "the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air."  But two days ago, ferocious men—I'd rather not dignify a terrorist with the honorable title of soldier—did come right into their arms to cut the throats of their innocent loved ones.