The Four Seasons of Gratitude’s Perfection (Why I am Grateful for a Mostly Crummy Year)

Writer’s note – this is by far the most indulgent thing that I have ever published.  No apologies…just a warning.  This one was for me.  Here’s hoping divine circumstances have something in it for any and all who read…

 

 

I am very much looking forward to 2016.

Very much so.

To say the least, 2015 was a crummy year.  To put it more succinctly, 2015 was painful.

My biological dad died in May.  He left behind a benevolent legacy, deep friendships to most all who knew him, a loving wife, and a mountain of broken glass.  

I’m not much of a janitor, but have been doing my best to dispose of that glass since his passing.  

My adoptive father (the man who raised me, and whom I have called “Dad” the longest) has slipped so far down the rabbit hole of dementia that it is hard to recognize the man that I once knew inside of the mortal shell that houses his current being.  

There were other hardships in 2015.  We lost my wife’s grandfather, and attended two additional funerals this year in support of a close friend and an even closer family member who also lost loved ones.  

I suppose I didn’t expect to be bombarded with the realities of time’s passage at the ripe old age of 39.  Perhaps I was ignoring the truths of which I have espoused in previous writings.

Mostly, I just miss my Dad(s).

I’ve heard from others that the holidays are particularly hard for those who have lost loved ones.  I can attest that they are.  Albeit, not for the reasons that I had expected.  It’s not the memories of happier days, or the ghosts of Christmas past, or even the time spent reflecting that hit me this Christmas.  It was the hard stop to life’s daily grind.  That’s what got me.  

I’ve always appreciated the respite and renewal that the last two weeks of the calendar year bring.  Not so much this year.  As most sunk into the tradition and revelry set in motion by the annual anticipation of ringing out the old and looking forward to the new, I was forced to (finally) allow the spiritual and temporal inertia of things that have been occupying my time and carrying me for these many months to bring me to a place of stillness and real reflection.

Words have always been my coping mechanism.  Speaking them helps a little, especially if spoken to the right audience.  But, for me, there has always been a magically cathartic quality to writing my thoughts down.  Whether it be a personal shortcoming, or a spiritual gift…I am never really able to let go of a thought until I express it in writing.  I am ready to let go of 2015.

So here goes…

The Four Seasons of Gratitude’s Perfection (Why I am Grateful for a Mostly Crummy Year)

In hindsight, the worries and anxieties of the new year’s winter paled in comparison to the other three seasons that made up 2015.  Hindsight, being what it is, was little help to me during the months of January and February as I watched both of my daughters struggle at the things that had brought them success and joy for most of their lives.  

First, my oldest was struck with a string of significant swimming related injuries that led to the realization that she had a choice; continue to grind and hope that her doctors’ warnings of potentially very serious injuries did not occur, or dial it back.  She chose the latter.  Which lead to a lot of heartache and eventually culminated in her walking away from the swim club that she got in to after working harder than any kid I have ever seen work.  She took it OK.  My heart broke for her.

My youngest went through a separate, but equally frustrating time on the basketball court.  It wasn’t the end of the world.  It was eighth grade, and actually made her more determined to succeed in the game. But, it still wasn’t easy to watch.  

For those without kids of a certain age, both of these events will seem trivial.  

They are.  

My girls are amazing and not at all defined by what they do.  It is who they are that makes them special.  And, if you have read anything that I have written in the past, then you will note that I am a big fan of using adversity to become a better person.  With all of that having been said…it’s not easy to watch those whom you love the most struggle due to reasons and circumstances that lend validity to the notion that life isn’t fair most of the time.   

I prayed for peace most of January and February 2015.

Then, as is so often the case, Spring did in fact spring eternal.  My Lilly (the swimmer) decided to focus her energy on serving others.  She thought that she might want to go into Nursing after college, and spent the spring applying and interviewing for an internship with one of our local hospitals.  She not only got selected to participate, but out of the hundreds of interns that were selected from an even larger pool of applicants, she was the only one allowed to choose the area in which she would work over the summer.  She chose the delivery ward. Her dad was grotesquely proud of her.

Gabs (the baller) tried out (and didn’t make) the AAU team that she had been dreaming of playing for since she could understand what an AAU team was.  However, the coaches asked her to come in and practice with the team a couple of times each week.  If she wanted to, she could go to games and sit on the bench in street clothes and help out where needed.  They told her they thought that she was good, just not quite good enough to be on this team…which they thought had the makings of becoming a very good squad.  

She cried when I told her she didn’t make the team.  I took her out for a milkshake and told her to pay more attention to the good that they saw than the not-good-enough that kept her from earning a jersey.  Being the baller that she is, she dusted herself off and went back to work.  Within 2 weeks of practice the coaches decided she had earned that jersey.  Then she earned some playing time.  Followed by a little more. Then she shaved over a minute off of her previously best 800 meter time on her track team.  The girl who had been broken by winter’s events decided to show the world what she was made of in the spring.  Again, her dad was awfully proud.

Then, in the middle of the night in the middle of May…my phone rang.

And time stopped.

My dad had died of a massive heart attack.  I was the first person notified.  Lots of wheels were set in motion and lots of things happened that I led or took part in.  Most of those things occupied a great deal of my time.  Many of those wheels remain in motion today.  But I swear to you that for the remainder of the spring of 2015, time stood still.

The only way that I knew to get time to start again was to pray.  I prayed most of May and early June 2015 for a return to some sort of normal.  I also prayed that in all of this, I would, once more, make my dad proud.

Normalcy began to return in the summer of 2015.

It turned out that the baller’s coaches were right.  This team was very special.  The little bit of playing time, turned into major minutes.  And, those minutes contributed in a real way to that team winning the NTBA 8th Grade Girls National Basketball Tournament in Myrtle Beach.  The tournament was amazing.  Myrtle Beach was gross.  My other dad (the one who raised me and who I love just as much as my biological dad) came to one of Gabs’ games.  He was sweet and cheered at the right times.  He hugged her and told her good job.  I’m going to visit him in a few days.  He won’t remember anything about the game…or much about my childhood either.  He is still alive, but in a lot of ways he has already left.  That’s the wicked cruelty of dementia.  I pray a lot that a cure is found.  I hope that dementia doesn’t steal a father’s pride for his kids…but I suspect it does.

Back to happier news of the summer, Lilly had an incredible internship experience and got to be around for the birth of our neighbor’s new son.  She knows for sure that nursing is what she wants to do.  Both Lil and Gabs have a grotesquely proud dad, a fact that only made the physical loss of one of my dads and the mental loss of the other that much harder to take.

Friends reached out to me.  I reached out to others.  There were offers to get together and talk.  I wanted to.  I even agreed to meet up with a couple of them.

I never saw any of those friends.  I didn’t want to talk.  As cathartic as words are for me…there is a time and a place for them.  I wasn’t ready.  Looking back, that was very selfish on my part. Even if I didn’t have the emotional capacity to talk about it, I should have been better at following through.

I prayed a lot to hear some words (from the here and now as well as that which lies beyond) from either of my dads during the summer of 2015. Those words didn’t come either.

For the first time in a long time, I was at a loss for words.  And, at the same time, was mourning words that had been lost.

Then came autumn, which was both of my Dads’ favorite season.  I never asked them why.  Maybe it’s because football really gets going.  Maybe it’s because the leaves change colors.  Maybe it is because there is something in the air that makes things feel and smell and sound different…more so than any other time of the year.  

This autumn was weird.  The leaves never really had a chance to turn.  They just seemed to fall to the ground all at once.  Science blames El Nino.  I say it was just a fitting end to 2015.  

That brings us back around to Winter…which just started.  I’ve prayed  that things that seem to have fallen all at once, are lifted just as quickly in the coming spring…and stay that way going forward.  

They won’t.  

And, so we’re left to sort out the task of remembering the presence while experiencing the absence.

How do you remember without sinking back into despair?  How do you reflect without coming apart at the seams in a year like 2015?  I don’t pretend to have all of the answers, but I can tell you that the one thing that has helped more than anything else, has been finding the commonality in all of these experiences.  From the ups of being a proud dad in 2015 to the downs of losing my dad(s) in 2015 there is a common truth to which anchoring my emotion has led to real comfort.  

I love my daughters.  My dads loved me.  In the end, when everything that seemed so important reveals itself to be completely insignificant, love is the only thing that matters.  I believe it is the only thing that can both go with us to the next life and stay here to help those of us left behind to carry on.  Indeed, love wins. And, for that anchor…that ability to remember with joy…that flickering of light in the distance that allows for hope to remain constant…I am truly and profoundly grateful.

Love and gratitude…those are the answers to all of the tough questions.  

And, as far as 2016 goes…to all those who I avoided seeing in 2015 because I just didn’t have the words…

For auld lang syne my dear, for auld lang syne, I’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.

15 Reasons Why Carly Ledbetter Can Kiss My Charlottean Grits

If you are not from Charlotte, then you might not be aware of the literary smack down that little Miss Carly threw our way via the electronic pages of HuffPo yesterday. 

If you are from Charlotte and you have not tweeted some sort of cryptically southern insult at little Miss Carly then consider yourself in the minority.

I'm long winded....consider this my version of said tweet:

Dearest Little Miss Carly,

Congratulations on your Elon College Volleyball career.  I'm sure it was fulfilling and awfully important to the 3 people who loyally attended games.  I never saw you play, but I bet you were one heck of a digger.

Anyhooooo...

I read your clever little rant on my hometown yesterday.  Canon-bound for sure.

If it is meant to be a light hearted and benign homage to the quirkiness of the QC, then please do not read past this sentence.

If it is meant to be what it feels like it is meant to be, then please allow me to clarify on a few points...I'll write slowly...so that you can understand.

In the order you presented:

1) Downtown is called Uptown.

Yes, well you see when your city center is north of the primary population (which was the case when uptown was being developed) you would go "up" to town. If you don't believe me, then ask Atlanta or New York.  I believe they are both in similar boats.  I realize that we do not have a downtown or midtown like those cities yet, but we are drinking milk....and getting our play60 in. So....

2) No one is actually from Charlotte.

I am.  Born July 24, 1976 in Presbyterian Hospital...near uptown. 

3) #Jeah (Charlotte has 3 celebrities Michael Jordan, Cam Newton, and Ryan Lochte).

My 15 year old daughter swims on Ryan Lochte's club, and he's not the biggest celebrity on deck.  I'll be sure to tell Mandy Patinkin, Claire Daines and Dale Earnhardt Jr. that you think he is though. #powned

4) Everything is oddly evangelical.

What does that even mean?  I'll be sure to ask one of my Catholic, Jewish or Greek Orthodox friends who live and worship in Charlotte.  If they don't know, then I'll head up to NoDa which, according to your reporting, is apparently inhabited by the Godless masses.  Funny, I don't remember seeing that during my last trip up.  They do have excellent craft beer though.

5)  Everyone works for the big 3.

You've got me there.  Nucor, Sonic Automotive, and Duke Power are huge...or, were you talking about RCR, Hendricks and Joe Gibbs Racing....or, were you talking about Chiquita, Carolinas Healthcare and The Compass group.  It's kind of hard to tell with the 270 fortune 500 firms currently employing folks in the city.

6) Buzz City Bobcats

Your list is really starting to lose steam at this point.  I nicknamed this one the downward dog...it is one heck of a stretch.  I grew up in Durham.  I'm a dyed in the wool Tarheels fan.  You know not of what you speak.  This city gave a 60 minute standing ovation to a franchise that lost it's first game to the Cleveland Cavs by 40.  I was there.  In the immortal words of Dr. Peter Venkmen, "Back off man.  I'm a scientist."

7) B of A is trying to tell you something.

I'll admit, the paintings are interesting.  I walk past them everyday on my way to the office...where I work...as in am employed...by an entity that pays me.  Nice concept, employment.  California ought to look into it.  By the way, you're so right....no other city center high rise in America features really strange artwork in their lobby. 

8) The streets are always empty. 

I can surmise that you came to this conclusion at the time of the photo featured in your masterful work of prose.  That picture features snow on the ground.  Bless your heart darlin', we Charlotteans don't do snow.  You certainly could have made fun of that.  But, you didn't...and so you remain a bit uninformed.  Charlotte streets tend to be a bit of a jungle during office hours and one hell of a party after...sans snow, of course. Don't believe me?  Please try to make a left turn off of Tryon Street uptown between the hours of 7-11 PM any Friday night.

9) If you Ain't First, You're last.

I'm sorry.  We don't buy into the whole "every one's a winner, now here's your trophy" mentality.  There are winners and there are losers.  Losers tend to aspire to become winners.  The more enterprising losers work really hard and eventually become winners...thereby motivating the next generation of losers to start winning as soon as possible.  Sister, that's the America we want to live in.  Nice trophy by the way.  You get that playing volleyball at Elon?

10) Public Transportation is Hilarious.

You're so right.  Executing an idea that would enable thousands of low income workers a way to get to where the jobs are, connect hospitality entities to major uptown events like the CIAA and Major League sporting events, and re-invigorate a previously dead commerce corridor...that's frakkin' hysterical!

11) Rafting and Rapids.

I'll give it to you.  The US National Whitewater Center might have made more sense in Colorado.  I really don't have anything snarky to add.  We are really glad they chose Charlotte as it's home.  That's a very cool place.

12) Graveyards are Everywhere.

I nicknamed this observation the corpse pose.  Listen, Carly...whatever you do, for the love of all that is holy...never, EVER visit New Orleans...or Charleston...or Arlington, etc.

13) BBQ is an issue.

No darlin', BBQ is THE issue.  I have guests in from Seattle and we will be dining tonight upon pulled pork with your choice of eastern Carolina and mustard sauce.  That thing that you are feeling...that's called jealousy.  Deal with it.

14) Amelie's > America.

Seriously, Amelie's?  Did the Junior League sponsor your visit or something?  Wait a second...I get it now.  Your last name is actually Kuchar isn't it.  I am being punk'd right?

15) Charlotte is kind of like Purgatory. 

No sweetie...playing Volleyball at Elon College...that is exactly like purgatory.

Enjoy San Fran.

XOXO,

The Queen City Collective.

A Message from My 17 Year Old Self...

Life spent in thought of the morrow,

leads one to feel nothing but fear and sorrow.



 

Silent dreams with fallow spirit,

left alone to wander through;

 

I cannot dream.

But, dream is all I do.

 

-me 4/13/1994

 

 

 

I stumbled across these words that I wrote nearly 2 decades ago while cleaning my attic the other day.

I have no recollection of writing this, nor do I have any idea why I saved it.  It was not an intentional time capsule. 

It's an amazing experience to revisit the forgotten fears and hopes of your 17 year old self.  To be reminded of where I was, and what providence has brought.  I was so afraid of being alone.  Those words were a prayer of sorts.  God knows all I ever wanted was not to be alone.

God has a plan.  And so...

The morrow's thoughts steadfast and strong,

though spirit wanes through hours long.

 

The dreams I dreamt so long ago,

scream on this silent wind;

 

When the morrow wakes;

My dream was always them.

 

-me 11/7/2013

 

 

Thank you Lord for my family.  I am so grateful. 

On The Fault in Our Stars

SPOILER ALERT - IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE FAULT IN OUR STARS YET.  DO NOT READ THIS.  YOU WILL HATE ME, AND I DO NOT HANDLE REJECTION WELL.

I'M SERIOUS - STOP READING THIS AND GO READ THE BOOK.  YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO PUT IT DOWN.













The first thing that you need to know about me as a reader is that I do not cry at literary fiction.

It's a hard rule.

Disbelief gets suspended well enough, but I do not cry at things that are not actually so.

The next thing that you need to know about me is that I hate cancer more than just about anything.  My hate for it is not a theoretial thing.  My disdain is galvanized by the trials of those whom I hold dear who have suffered it's unrelenting physical and emotional deathroll.

I hate the idea of burying a member of my nuclear family more than I hate cancer.  Which is to say, I hate it the most.

As for the afforementioned nuclear family loss hatred, I can only offer a hypothetical first person narative.  However, my narative is well informed.  I walked with a very close friend through the unexpected death of his child (the word tragic is intentionally omitted, because it is a dumb word when used to describe the death of a child).  It was and remains to this day horrible.  No, it is worse than horrible.  It is the worst.  THE WORST.

The final thing that you need to know about me is that I have a deep faith in a very specific spiritual doctrine.  That faith did not grow to where it is now until well after the ages of the two main characters of John Green's book.





SPOILER ALERT UPDATE - SERIOUSLY, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS DECENT, STOP READING THIS IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE BOOK.  THIS WILL BE YOUR LAST SPOILER ALERT.








I cried.

Several times.

I'm crying right now thinking about several of the moments within the final few chapters of Augustus' and (presumably) Hazel Grace's lives.

So much for hard rules.

I'd never read a "cancer book" before this one.  I didn't want to read this one.  My wife and oldest daughter recommended it a long time ago.  I REALLY did not want to read it.  Reader's intuition I guess.  Ironically, it was an article written by Veronica Roth (Divergent Trilogy Author) about her literary inspirations that finally got me to turn the first page.  Damn you Roth!

My initial reaction to the story's conclusion was equal parts adoration and abhoration.  Then I fell asleep.

When I woke up, the recurring question in my head was "why?".  There is no way that you write a story like this without an answer to "why?".

I'm talking about the big "why?"  The "why?" that keeps you from falling asleep after you read about two teenagers who find each other in the middle of the worst possible circumstances, fall in love, only for one of them to die without seeing all of the things that young love aspires to see.

I repeat, damn you Roth!

Anyway, the book's answer to that "why?" seemed to hint at the importance of not letting your circumstances dictate your inability to (as they spoke about in the "Literal Heart of Jesus") live your best life today.  This sentiment came together in the climactic pre-funeral eulogy that Gus asked Hazel to write for him:

"I can't talk about our love story, so I will talk about math.  I am not a mathematician, but I know this: There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1.  There's .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others.  Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million.  Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.  A writer we used to like taught us that.  There are days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set.  I want more numbers than I'm likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got.  But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity.  I wouldn't trade it for the world.  You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful"

I really cried after I read that.

The sentiment of gratitude for something amidst the backdrop of that something being stolen is laudable if not perfect.  But, it begs the question.  What happens when you get from 0 to 1 and the infinity between the two reveals itself for the fallacy that it is.

I am a slave to logic, and the logic within the eulogy is flawed.  Beautifully flawed.

I hate myself for thinking that. I mean we're talking about teenagers who are going to die after all.

Still, there is no "infinity" (mathematical or otherwise) that we can experience while stuck in the throws of a finite temporal existence.  Everything that we know is marked by time.  And, time is winding down for all of us. 

I really hate myself for that one.

Look, I'm not a callous man.  I really am not.

I believe that there is an infinity, but I believe that infinity is not found within the bounds of our humanity.  I believe our humanity causes the waters of faith to get really murky when you lose someone.  Especially if that someone has seen all of your brokeness and depravity and chooses to love you all the more for it or (even more heart breaking) in spite of it.  I believe that we should, in fact, live our best lives today, but never lose sight that our humanity...that same humanity that is prisoner to time's march from 0 to 1...points to something else.  Something bigger. Something that puts "why?" in it's place.

Our humanity informs us that our ability to relate, rightly or wrongly, to everything and everyone around us is what separates us from the stars.  In fact, our ability to gaze in awe at the stars and contemplate how we might relate to them, faults and all, points to an embedded purpose in every one of us.  Love is the best example of this purpose.

But, in order for a purpose to be embedded, there has to have been an answer to "why?" before the embedding took place.  An author of infinity perhaps.

I wish more than anything Gus and Hazel Grace could have known that infinity does not end. 

It is not bound by the dictates of time and space as we know it. 

I wish they knew that the author of love created infinity.  And, that love is the only logical answer to "why?"

I wish...

Reinventing the Inverted Pyramid

Journalistic writing (to maintain any credibility at all) has, should and must begin with the basic idea of presenting a report in an "inverted pyramid" styling. That is J-School 101. I am growing rather tired of how many writers are opting to place controvercial facts at the top of the funnel, knowing very well that most readers will not make it to the facts that emaciate the controvercy located in the final few lines of the story. Poor form. Notice where this line ends up in the pyramid:

IC might very well be attempting to hide something. Howerver, you CANNOT stack the pyramid this way until you have evidence that is nothing more than an organization that grew too fast for their own good (which seems to be indicated by the last two paragraphs of this report).

Poor Form.

Invisible Children has responded to the Better Business Bureau’s concern by
noting that participation in the review program is voluntary and that it is
“choosing to wait until we have expanded our Board of Directors, as some
questions hinge on the size of our board.”

Full Article: http://www.charlotteobserver.com/2012/03/13/3093891/bbb-kony-organization-wont-answer.html#storylink=cpy

3 Things

I finally saw The Solist last night. Great movie (aside from the over-the-top characature of Christian musicians) and it reminded me of the following:

1) As long as man is able to recognize, arrange and perfect the relationship between musical tones and dynamics, then there will always be proof of a creator to me. Mankind's ability to find beauty in proportion, ratio and relationship in the realms of nature, music, architecture and art proves the existence of God to me. There is no explanation in the argument of evolution that accounts for our ability to gaze longingly and curiously at the heavens...and there is certainly no "survival of the fittest" facet inherent in our ability to differentiate between harmony and dissonance.

2) Music along with laughter are the only acceptable forms of spiritual currency.

3) This world is impossibly broken. Positive personal relationship (in spite of our brokeness) is the only thing that can put the pieces back togehter. And, we will never get anywhere as a species until we honor that from which relationship originates. In the realm of eternity, nothing can relate to anything without an orginating point to begin the process.

Beauty is grace...unearned favor...a friend who refuses to give up. I'd say The Soloist made this point quite clearly.

Olde Providence Talent Show 2009

Those who frequent this blog are aware of my parental conundrum.  Though I sincerely disdain the annual "notes" that families send out at Christmas that serve as a recap of little Susie and Johnny's year (and make you feel like a completely inadequate parent at the same time),  I find myself engaged more frequently in what has become the electronic version of said "notes".

OK, there is your warning...venture no further if you prefer not to be subjected to parental pride (and that is it...no sizing up my children to others here...we are entirely too short a breed to taunt).

She-who-must-be-obeyed and I are beeming with pride tonight.  Our oldest daughter, Lilly Rae (no we did not intentionally pick a name that rhymes with Eddie Murphy's character in Trading Places, but we have begun her karate-man training), performed in the annual school talent show. The most difficult part for her was choosing which talent to showcase.  She is an award winning author, pianist and swimmer...so naturally she chose to do a cheeleading/jumprope routine?!  

"Watch out for number 7..."

As promised, here is "Number 7's" big goal.

GOOOOAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL!!!!!!

The Lilster Shoots and Scores....

Lilly scored her first goal this morning for the Ballantyne Y Bluejays. She scored after stealing a throw-in just in front of goalbox. She spent the first quarter on the pitch playing right wing (from where she scored)...she had one critical block to preserve the Jays' 2-0 victory and keep them undefeated. And finished the game at her favorite position...midfield The Lilster was elated and I'll have the video up in the next couple of days.

Gabs has a good showing in her second game....

She gave it a brilliant run at goal during her time as center forward for the Morrison Y Blue Jets this morning...it took some fancy work in goal to deny the young phenom's first score....Gabs split the game between fullback and center forward. Cousin Luna had a great showing as well, as these two are rapidly becoming a force with which to be reckoned...

On Contradiction

Stepping off of the train this morning, I paused to ponder the ridiculous qualities inherent in the content of my character. To the naked eye I was just another suit in uptown Charlotte. Exiting public transport at the banking center stop reserved for power ties and man bags, I must have appeared to be just another financial professional clinging to the hope of an upward market swing. But, there was the issue of the Bible clutched in one hand, which could have lended to a notion that times are desperate on the Street. A closer examination would have eliminated that theory due to the Hailey's Bible Handbook and Cigar Caddy accompanying the slightly worn leather binding of the NASB translation. All of these evidence that would indicate me to be one of Charlotte's many "Christian" business leaders, somehow immune to the rising gas prices and insulated from the recent job cuts rampant in an industry's who's chickens truly are coming home to roost. This evidence would point to a high ranking position and would indicate that I was probably on my way to or from a small study and prayer group full of other high ranking position holders, all of us stepping over each other and anyone else as we climbed a corporate ladder. Hypocrisy had become a rationalized cost of doing business, never mind what the books I was carrying had to say on the issue.

The profile created by this evidence would lead a cultural observer to leap to seemingly certain conclusions; schools attended, political affiliations, and music preferences. All of which no doubt skewing conservative.

These conclusions were all too present in my mind as I considered the dichotomy of that which is real and that which is illusion. As Frank Black lept into his screeching vamp of semi-audible indie punk tirades through the blue tooth headset strapped tightly to my ears, I considered the potential rip in the Christian and political arenas down the lines of race. I was reminded that America was never meant be seen in black and white clarity. We appear clearer when gazed upon through the timeless murky shades of red, white and blue.

As I walked briskly, late for my weekly management meetings at an upstart media company insulated from recent economic troubles by faith alone, I noticed the recently swept grey sidewalk flanked by the well manicured shades of green that masked the concrete oasis which is home to well managed shades of the same color.
I considered the rhetoric. Pontifications, followed by platitudes finally giving way to proposals that would probably never become reality. The radio interviews, rallies, campaign stops, and controversy. I considered the tone of their voices when answering questions over the airwaves that I managed, and I contrasted those same voice's tones when delivering speeches to crowds that brought adoration absent of scrutiny...and made my decision.
I approach all of these decisions prayerfully and with much thought. I only hope those thoughts have not been clouded by the ever present greenery.

I am voting for Obama in the NC primary later today.

On The Temporal Dychotemy

Studying the mathematical and philosophical concept of Phi, the notion of a "divine" ratio, has lended to a consideration of the motivation of history's greatest thinkers contrasted against the canvas of my worldview. The evolution of the pursuit of wisdom through channels of reason, science and math is a dizzying and fascinating journey that seems to lead all who have endeavored to one of two notions.

The human brain seems to universally subscribe to the notion of order (of one form or another). However, it is here where the two roads seem to split. One leading towards a world that subscribes to the notion of a created order, and the other road towards a world where order would seem to be a product of process that was set in motion by a perfectly random sequence of events.
I am ill equipped to speak to the pilgrims wandering the latter road. Sufficed to say, however, I am greatly intrigued by some of the common experiences and findings. One of which is in the realm of math and is called Phi.

Most are not aware of this discovery made (we think) by Euclid, but everyone has a notion of how it is manifested in nature and by the human mind. The ratio mathematically provides a perfect balance that we find in nature when looking a the spirals of a snail shell or the seemingly perfect symmetry of a starfish. We also see Phi at work in the engineering of the Pyramids in Egypt and the seemingly perfect symmetry of the Parthenon. Further studies demonstrate that Phi is achieved when you do God's math on the instructions he delivered to Noah when building the Arc, and ironically enough, Phi is the ratio used to draw a perfect pagan pentagram.

Pythagoras used it to develop his theorem as well as his own religion which (at least in part) seemed to be secretly devoted to proving the existence of the gods through math. If you know your history then the rest becomes a logical process to how we got here. Pythagoras was a contemporary of Gautama as well as Zoroaster. The mysticism mixed with intellectual pursuit created an intoxicating notion that we could "play" on the same courts as our deity....which today has evolved into the notion that we have advanced to becoming the captain of our deity of choices' teams. And, in some of the "pick-up" games of life, we can elect not to choose that deity if they do not suit our purposes.
Back to the two roads. The best that I can draw from all of this is that there is an infinite quality to the notion of Phi. If that be true than something equally as infinite had to devise it....and then plant the notion in the human soul. Music, structural engineering, photography and art are all examples of the human's intuitive proclivity to this "divine proportion". Yet, we are not infinite, and therefore if the universe were indeed a random thing....which science has proved to be building towards collapse, then we would no more be drawn to the harmony and balance of phi in music as we would be drawn to that which we hear in the random decofinization found in the moments before a symphony begins as the virtuosos all tune-up their instruments free and independent of one another....without order.

Furthermore, it appears that this divine proportion's practical manifestations are universally conforming to every major world religion....therefore insinuating that God "is", in spite of our differences in philosophies.

All things to consider when pondering the rather large questions of existence and humanity's corporate footprint...not to mention yours and mine.

On Miracles

God creates the vine and teaches it to draw up water by its roots and, with the aid of the sun, to turn that water into a juice which will ferment and take on certain qualities. Thus every year, from Noah’s time till ours, God turns water into wine. That, men fail to see. Either like the Pagans they refer the process to some finite spirit, Bacchus or Dionysus: or else, like the moderns, they attribute real and ultimate causality to the chemical and other material phenomena which are all that our senses can discover in it. But when Christ at Cana makes water into wine, the mask is off. The miracle has only half its effect if it only convinces us that Christ is God: it will have its full effect if whenever we see a vineyard or drink a glass of wine we remember that here works He who sat at the wedding party in Cana.


CS Lewis - God in the Docks

I Really Hate That the Credit Crisis is Proving this True...

Considering the historical significance and alleged furor surrounding the presidential primary season and run-up to the national elections, I figured I would weigh-in with my 5 cents worth of analysis (which is currently worth about 1.8 cents in the international markets – so take it for what it's worth).

For the record, on the issues I am more in line with Tom Tancredo, Chris Dodd and Mike Huckabee's ideals. Considering the Huckster is hanging by a thread in the GOP primary, I am forced to turn elsewhere, and am even willing to go elsewhere should Huck pull out a miracle.

Mike Huckabee is a good candidate, and (from what I could tell during his brief fundraising visit that was hosted locally) a good man. However, one of the pillars that is supporting his platform is the fair tax. I love the fair tax. However, in today's political climate it will never gain traction because it calls upon American voters to trust that it is indeed "fair"

I have researched it, and in it's conceptual form…it is fair. However, I do not trust anything to politicians right now and believe that, left to their own devices, the fair tax would become anything-but, by the time it was written into law.

Upon further reflection – I think therein lies the overarching problem with this election.

People are always looking for hope and change, for protection of their interests and advocacy for their particular cultural and traditional proclivities. And, perhaps at no time is this more evident than during the fanatical-driven time that is the American open primary season. Therefore, I do not believe that this "mania" on all sides will last once we are into the difficult decision that will be laid at the public's feet come November 4th.

I believe you need go no further than statistics relating to America's lack of trust of any member of government. Perhaps our Legislative and Executive branch are unfairly measured, especially when you examine the dichotomy of congress when measured nationally vs. approval in a member's particular district.

This statistical trend is my empirical evidence lending to the notion that the problem Americans have with trust has little to do with performance – because, for the most part, our elected officials are doing exactly what the majority of the electorate have asked them to do. I would put forth the hypothesis that the problem has to do with strategic approach to governing and America's inability to put our finger on why it isn't working. And, ironically, perhaps the best answer to all of this can be found by turning to…Hollywood.

OK, that is a bit pretextual and certainly lends entirely too much credit to pop-culture and not enough to the progression of this most unlikely of economic experiments.

I believe that we need a return to John Nash's revisions to Adam Smith's original law of governing dynamics. Globally, these brilliant conclusions have helped international markets bring formerly destitute economies back to life…..one need look no further than China for proof of this notion. But, even with this proof playing out in markets around the world our elected officials have reverted back to the old model which stipulates that we should all pursue that which is in our own best interest pertaining to policy and positions without concern for collateral damage or potential synergistic advantages to pursuing what is good for ourselves AND all others in a common pursuit.

I believe that what is called for (in order for Americans to ever trust enough again to go for something as complicatedly simple as a "fair tax") is a return to a fact based, pragmatic approach to executive and legislative decisions and compromise. Sprinkle that with a hint of transparency and we could be looking at America's next Greatest Generation.

We need a return to the pragmatic approach of Truman that lead to a trusting nation and historically significant impact events like the Marshall Plan. We need a return to the civility of Ronald Reagan and his demur qualities which made everyone from members of the GOP to members of the Teamsters Union "feel American".

So which of our candidates provide the best option? I will leave that for all of you to decide. However, I would caution against your own proclivities toward faction-driven politics, as that is precisely what took Rome and Greece down. For clarity and assistance in identifying….faction-based politics is driven by the fear or greed of "all-or-nothing" candidates and positions (see Carl Rove and the forces behind move-on.org). America does not work when it is "all-or-nothing". And, as long as there is a Legislative Branch balancing the power of the Executive and Judiciary….these positions and candidates (and indeed, the time that they oversee) will become insignificant in the scope and context of history. I would like-wise encourage you to objectively seek facts about all of the candidates and not trust media-driven preconceived notions of what they may or may not embark on if elected. Be brave enough to consider that which is real and not that which is ideologically convenient or spun to your persuasion via clever electioneering.

Finally, should it be your persuasion (as it is mine), I would encourage you to pray that this nation return to a sense of national pride. One that does not need conflict to exist, but is not afraid to stand up at any time for it's God-given and inalienable rights. After all, this is what has made us the envy of ALL other nations for the better part of nearly 200 years.

You Probably Don't Care, but...

I am the proud father of two literary award recipients (Lilly has now won two, Gabrielle won her first). As well, the Lilster was awarded with a Superior rating at her National Council Piano Festival this weekend at Queens University, and Gabs finished second in her breast stroke heat.

Kate and I are currently researching for our next novel on the proof that genetics have nothing to do with children's achievement (and humility....of which I am most proud).

I had an epiphany today regarding the difference between what is and what is understood to be. I think that when it comes to absolute matters in life; our inclination is to fall back on time-forged human reactions to the trigger-emotions of hope, fear and greed.

After a few years of instruction from the financial bulls of the new south, I have learned that there is no better example of this than as is played out daily in the free financial markets of our time. You see and hear reports from the corporate mega props that would lead you to believe that there is a cause-and-effect nature to these markets. In reality this idea is the equivalent of a pharmaceutical company purporting to have patented a pill that can dictate the next thought to enter your head. It is misdirection in its most virulent form, and it is astonishing that most of us have not caught on.

Think about it. If you are (or have ever been) engaged in the information that is bandied about as to why this market did this and that stock did that, and so on, then why would we not just make the market respond in a perpetually positive direction through these various stimuli? Why are bear markets and recessions necessary (if not natural)? The explanation to this leads one to understand that it is nearly as hard to work-out this financial jaberwocky as it is to try to explain it in writing. So, we tend to fall back on what we do understand when investing…."this idea scares me", "that one sounds good", "that one (the one I really want to buy) is going to make me rich", and things of this nature.

The truth in all of this is that we are all being bamboozled to believe that there is a golden ticket, and that prospering in a free economy is as easy as finding the right button to press. In essence, we have all been manipulated to equate proper wealth building fundamentals to the same means by with which any lottery is conducted.

Doesn't that sound really wrong?

The inherent problem is that we do not want to expend any more effort in considering this notion. It has always lead us down the primrose path, and who has time to ponder such things any way? So, we reach out to those oversight institutions (which no doubt were founded on the notion of getting to truth), that have discovered people do not pay top dollar for that which is true, they would rather that which fits into the refined permeable membrane of their custom crafted self-interest filter. Unfortunately, we have failed to realize that the companies that mold the perceptions and preferences that lead to our choice of these filters, now own the oversight institutions that we get the information from...just check out the ownership of your local newspaper if you do not believe me. These forces are bound by the virtues of the code of the First Church of Fiduciary Responsibility, and that calling is (in the grand scheme of things) so much more purposeful to them than looking for truth. "After all," they say, "Isn't truth just that silly little island that we longed for in our youth which leads to silly little transcendental or post-modern houses?" "And, didn't those houses' walls collapse on the poor fools who inhabited them long ago?"

Capitalism is a noble concept (true statement adhered to by this author), and, to the best that I can tell, worth the risk. It is one of the fundamentals that our nation was built upon, and the grandest of experiments that (in its uncorrupted form) seems to provide proof to hypotheses about global freedom and democracy everyday. However, any economist worth his or her right to own a copy of Manifest der Kommunistischen Partei would not deny that a free-economy is just that. It is built on its inalienable right and responsibility to never be manipulated. It is (in its own way) a living organism that will respond to stimuli how it damn-well pleases. Any claims to the contrary are quick-pitches from traveling salesmen in the hopes that you will respond one-way-or-another.

And, therein lay the misdirection.

You see, it matters not what your response is. The devoted members of the First Church of Fiduciary Responsibility (and those elected officials who falsely believe that they can control it) get very wealthy as long as you do something.

So then, are we to take our resources off of the altar (and with it those hopes and dreams for our futures) and stuff them back into our mattresses at home?

Probably not.

Turn, rather, to those who have learned that the First Church of Fiduciary Accountability does not stand without your reaction to their quick-pitches, and therefore have to perform as well as they sell. What is it that these members of the bourgeoisie discovered that has advanced them to aristocracy (as an aside, I do not subscribe to the notion that America is built on class warfare….I lived in the UK, and therefore know what the remnants of that kind of economy feel like. I merely use this verbiage to invoke a visual image).

Forgive the indulgence here….it is faith. Not faith as it pertains to the way it is bandied about (rather wantonly at times) in religious circles. However, it is a faith that can be (to some degree) correlated to that which followers of Christ adhere to.

It is the truth, because it always has been. As improbable as it might seem to the skeptics. Even when you can not see it or sense it...it remains.

It not only holds up to scrutiny and attack, it takes those opportunities when under the heaviest scrutiny and attack to attract the casual observer and invite them to be bold enough to consider the ramifications of a truth rooted in the timeless code of a master artist's handiwork (for the record, I do not equate Hamilton's institutions to that of God's...however they must have been inspired by something).

Does this mean that we are to cast our resources into the kitty and wait for the profits to start pouring in free from concern and due diligence?

Heavens no.

Faith in an investments ability to turn a profit involves discipline (author's emphasis on the word's root)….discipline typically is managing those emotions (fear, greed), paying close attention that they do not impede any progress created by adherence to the truth. The truth that proper, prudent investing earns the investor substantial amounts of money over long periods of time in which there will indeed be seasons of suffering and great angst.

However, the end of these seasons will be met with the unfailing prosperity of the free-market capitalist's promises of a greater return than the losses sustained. All of this culminates (if the investor does not waiver) in the accumulation of substantial and sustaining wealth …that is the faith which is at the heart of all TRUE free market economies. That faith is augmented by the grander emotion of Hope (that you can prosper), and (in some very advanced capitalist circles) the grandest of them all...Charity (you can use that prosperity to better the lives of others)...

I find it very interesting, this notion of correlation between the pursuit of the Capitalist and that of the faith of the Christ follower. There is no cavalier intent on my part as it pertains to winning the souls of those motivated by money to Christ. As a cultural observer I am attracted to the similarity of the plight in both pilgrims' journeys.

Likewise this brings a bit more perspective in the on-going political coup over the misinterpretation of Jeffersonian writings that have lead some of our elected and appointed leaders to indicate that Christianity and its principals played no part in our nations formation and therefore should be banished from every national institution.

On Faith

What is it to have faith?

Is it to claim belief in something and then expect that something to bring forth fruit every time you ask? Is it to believe that control is (in the grand scheme of things) not ours to posses and a subsequent relinquishing of hope for personal gain and accomplishment? Is faith death to all things earthly and new life in all things spiritual? Is faith governed by laws of reciprocity and thereby rewarded with the opportunity to further good works while weaving our way through this mortal coil? Or, is it governed by laws of righteousness that hold a standard so high that our only hope is to dive into the brightly lit water of life and go with the current?

Again, in my walk, I have found more questions regarding this than I have finite answers....proving (at least in accordance with my very narrow self interest) that God will not be compartmentalized.
What I am finding is that a faith matured is scaled and polished by the fires of trial. These fires are custom made for the purpose of burning away that which you (I) would hold onto most dearly. For me, family welfare, financial stability, and (I have been sad to realize) preconceived notions of how God works.

Through the course of these trials (and let me quickly mention, that in direct comparison to the trials of those in the Sudan and around the undeveloped world - I gladly accept the fire in which I find myself) I have learned a couple of truths thus far.

The first is from whom the fire's ability to shape my life comes. You see if I really believe (have abundant faith in what I say I do) then the logical becomes completely unfathomable. Though the fire does not come from my creator, as a living stone, it is used by Him to eradicate remnants of my original programming.

Therefore, as weapons are formed against me, in accordance with the covenants of God made applicable through my faith in Christ Jesus, they shall not prosper. Indeed, they are made to be worked for good in my life....and I believe that they will.

So, for me (today, at least) faith is my personal rationale for choosing to hold onto Christ and the promises of God through my redeemer, and letting go of everything else.

He asks me if I believe that He is able to do this (fulfill his promise...not of comfort and justice, but of deliverance and sustainment)? In faith, I say yes.

It kind of feels like what I imagine hang gliding would.

The other truth that I have learned (and at the ripe old age of 30, I anticipate many more down the road) is that God is indeed love. Real love as is defined biblically over and over again as the sort of love that you are drawn to never let go, because it will never let go of you. Our generalized misconception of this sort of all-forgiving love is that it's waters are comfortable for swimming in at any time.

I have found that when the waters are heated by the fires of trial they are anything but. God is love and his love is perfect. Perfect has limited tolerance for that which is not perfect, especially as we progress in our personal walk. So, the flames arise and even the waters that once provided the only haven from the torment of this world become unbearably hot.

And, so I am entered into a season of faith's perfection. And, I am learning that (as is the nature of God) faith will not be compartmentalized by any one definition.....it just is.

On Pain

In the mid to late nineties any time that I came across Kurt Cobain or Elliott Smith on the radio, I stopped. When hosting my morning show, I played both artists ad nauseum. I tried to drill deep into the lyrics in search of what could stimulate the "genius" they both embodied, hoping to grasp a glimpse of the wisdom which brought forth this depth and perception.

Flash forward to earlier this week when I attempted to rekindle my college mindset and plugged into a little XO (Smith's first studio album, and one of the best CD's in my collection) during an evening jog, and didn't make it past the second track before having to switch over to another play list on my Blackjack. At that moment I wrote off my inability to absorb the melodramatic self-loathing that we came to expect and celebrate in the 90's, as being an entirely inappropriate musical accompaniment to my most recent endeavor in physical fitness...you know...heroin and dry-fit attire just won't mix.

Then driving home the other day, I heard a talk radio show host make a point, and it really resonated. "Numbing the pain in our lives is a bad idea". I can't listen to Smith and Cobain for extended periods of time for (tragically) reasons that have nothing to due with the fact that they were amazing artists. I can't listen to them because I choose not to relate.

Now, before the gallery begins to chant "No-Duh" in unison due to the fact that I am a middle class, father of two, non-narcotic ingesting, Jesus Freak...please allow me to make my point.

I can not relate, because my attempts to numb the pain in my life all failed miserably. Make no mistake...I tried. The harsh reality of a world which is not too concerned with conforming to what would make my life most comfortable led me to make the cognitive decision to attempt to tune out....it just never got past a certain point (as I am sure it must have with both Smith and Cobain who committed suicide at similar ages), and at this juncture in my life's walk it would be intellectually dishonest to deny the fact that I was not the one in control of that.

Pain and discomfort (physical, emotional and spiritual) are there for a reason. They are a created function in our existence to let us know that something is wrong. My experience tells me that the only antidote for pain is hope. Hope that it will dissipate. Hope that even if it does not go away, it will augment my character. Because, say what you will, but personal pain is one thing that you can claim as your own. And, because of that, it is something that makes you uniquely you.

I am blessed to have been able to cope with the limited pain in my life and I owe that ability entirely to the hope that was afforded me very early on.

I can not relate to the lyrics of Elliott Smith and Kurt Cobain (no matter how hard I try) because, at their core, the words are rooted in hopelessness. The hopelessness born of a lack of the realization that pain is not present so that it may be numbed. Pain is present so that it may be overcome.

Be careful what you allow into the ears of your young ones. At least do them the honor of explaining what they are listening to.

You Probably Don't Care, but...

What can I say I am a proud dad!

To qualify this, I have a special chamber in my brain. Over the entrance to that chamber hangs a very prominently displayed sign that, in bold capital letters, reads "DISDAIN". In this chamber I house my contempt for all of the people of the world who find it necessary to send letters with their Christmas cards that serve as an annual resume for their children's accomplishments over the past 365 days.
You know the ones.....We are very proud of our Tommy as this past spring he was accepted into the Eastern Wyoming Conservatory for the Very Well Adjusted Preteens, and we can't rave enough about our little Susie's recently published research study on the correlation between Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and the number of Twinkies that children eat....

You know who you are....we don't care!

With all that said....let the world know that this week my little Lilly was recognised as a literary award winner by the North Carolina Young Writers Association.

I'm proud....so sue me.

For My Fellow Fathers

Examining the film side of popular culture, I stumbled across a personal revelation recently. What do Arthur, Little Miss Sunshine, Cash, Annie, Indiana Jones III, The Star Wars Series, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, etc all have in common?

They all feature the conflict of a child seeking his or her father's approval as a central theme within the script's plot development.

That got me to thinking. What is it about the approval of our father that resonates in the souls of enough people that Hollywood would adopt it as a sure-fire revenue generator?

Most folks don't know that I was born Casey Fontana and was later adopted by my dad when my mom remarried in 79. I only mention it because when it comes to seeking the approval of my father(s), I have earned the right to engage in the discourse.

As someone who has experienced the anxiety of wondering what my father who raised me would think when I reached out to the father who conceived me, and then (as far as I knew) vanished, I am acutely aware of what it is to need that approval. And, when I made the decision to professionally partner with my bio-dad and allow him intimate access to my wife and children, I learned what it was like to expect disapproval.

Subsequently, as I examined my relationship with my daughters, I found the answer. The relationship between committed father and child is one that can not be described to those who have not experienced it. Suffice it to say, it is the best example I have of how God would be willing to see past all the crap I put Him through back in-the-day.

The relationship starts with a desire to pursue that which you created in an attempt to allow the knowledge of the boundless depth of your passion for them in the hope that they might one day joyfully reciprocate. At the root of it, there is the fact that the passion is not earned or even augmented by what the child does for the father...it is entirely a product of the father's inability to not unconditionally and unfailingly love the child. And, the product of this root is the unhesitating willingness to go so far as to be prepared to die for your beloved.

After all, show me a man with nothing worth dying for, and I will show you someone who doesn't have much to live for (and doesn't that bring some perspective to the correlation between the American Intelligentsia's unwillingness to forsake his/her career or other life-pursuits for children, and the staggering number of antidepressants being prescribed?)...

And, therein lies the truth. American pop-culture grants relevancy to the relationship between father and child, because we are all programmed to desire the knowledge that our Dad would step in front of a train for us.

So, next time you are moved by the on-screen dramatic effect of this conflict, know that you are not tangled in suspended-disbelief....you are experiencing perhaps the most fundamental of human emotion (and if you are tempted to dismiss this due to religious overtones...I would humbly request that you examine Freud's publications on the subject).

And, for the record...I have three dads  who unconditionally love me...and two daughters for whom I would step in front of a locomotive.

Cash is King.

This post is a knee-jerk defense of the singer/songwriter genre I am compelled to write after learning that more than one critic has hailed Snow Patrol as a jolly good return to this form of musical expression.

First of all, the "great" singer/songwriter's are canonized based on a body of work...not potential. Secondly, (is this proper use of an adverb?), and of more import, urging people to "just lay here" or for that matter "wait for the world to change" hardly makes you great....cute maybe, but not great.

Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Ray Charles...they are great.

I am a pop-culture junky (pronounced yuncky by Cubans) with a particular soft-spot for the singer songwriter (great or just OK, and for the record....I think that John Mayer is fabulous....but not great).

I could spend hours of extemporaneous discourse contemplating the social implications of a world without Billy or Willy or Leonard....But I can't imagine one without Cash. And, that (in a very dizzying way) is what I am getting at.

Leonard makes me nostalgic. Billy makes me smile. Ray makes me want to play the piano again, and Dylan confuses the hell out of me. But, Johnny Cash makes me hurt in areas of my subconscious that I thought had died and gone. Cash reminds me that the line by which morality is based was not drawn below my feet. He urges me to contemplate that which I take most comfort in from the paradigm of one who would spend a lifetime rejecting it. And, then reminds me that the reason they reject it is because I tend to use it like a blade.

I'm certain that this is an oversimplified argument, and based on the fact that I have not run across many "music" categories on myspace that do not include his name..his legacy needs no help. I just want to bring a little perspective.

Johnny Cash....full stop.