Lofty goals

image courtesy of photo bucket.com

image courtesy of photo bucket.com

The days preceding to start of a new year prompt many of us to reflect upon what has transpired over the past year and resolve to make some positive changes in the new one. Whether it’s relational: Spend more time with family and friends, career oriented: Get a better job or a promotion, financial: Get out of debt and save more towards retirement or physical: Lose weight, eat healthier, quit smoking, exercise, most of us make New Years Resolutions, or at least have made them at some point in our lives.

I stopped making New Years resolutions a few years ago. It’s not that I don’t have goals or things I wish to accomplish. I just got tired of being a constant disappointment to myself. Once I made a resolution, I would subconsciously begin to sabotage my own efforts because apparently, no one is the boss of me. Not even me. In other words, I don’t like ultimatums. If I tell myself I have to do something, I don’t want to do it.

Maybe everyone’s a little crazy like that and I’ve just been around long enough to realize setting pie-in-the-sky aspirations for oneself often leads to disappointment.

This is typically not the case for young people. Take my 16 year old son for example. He has his whole life ahead of him with plenty of time to accomplish great things. As a bonus, he has the added confidence (cockiness) born of not having experienced many of the bone-crushing disappointments that time spent on this earth tends to bring.

This past Sunday at church, we were encouraged to write down some of our resolutions for 2014. My bulletin remained blank save for the anime doodles done by my daughter.

photo-705

But my son? He had some impressive goals for the coming year:

Keep climbing (towards) your potential.
I should probably mention here that my son plays high school football. In Texas. I’m sure he’s heard a thing or two from coaches about reaching his potential.

Never compromise your integrity.
I love this one. Kids these days have ample opportunity to make bad decisions, but he’s never been one to go along to get along.

Accept that A is A.
Okay, I had to Google that one. “A is A” refers to Aristotle’s Law of Identity which states:

Everything that exists has a specific nature. Each entity exists as something in particular and it has characteristics that are a part of what it is. “This leaf is red, solid, dry, rough, and flammable.” “This book is white, and has 312 pages.” “This coin is round, dense, smooth, and has a picture on it.” In all three of these cases we are referring to an entity with a specific identity; the particular type of identity, or the trait discussed, is not important. Their identities include all of their features, not just those mentioned.

Identity is the concept that refers to this aspect of existence; the aspect of existing as something in particular, with specific characteristics. An entity without an identity cannot exist because it would be nothing. To exist is to exist as something, and that means to exist with a particular identity.

To have an identity means to have a single identity; an object cannot have two identities. A tree cannot be a telephone, and a dog cannot be a cat. Each entity exists as something specific, its identity is particular, and it cannot exist as something else. An entity can have more than one characteristic, but any characteristic it has is a part of its identity. A car can be both blue and red, but not at the same time or not in the same respect. Whatever portion is blue cannot be red at the same time, in the same way. Half the car can be red, and the other half blue. But the whole car can’t be both red and blue. These two traits, blue and red, each have single, particular identities.

The concept of identity is important because it makes explicit that reality has a definite nature. Since reality has an identity, it is knowable. Since it exists in a particular way, it has no contradictions.

And for the second time this week I’ve found myself wondering, “Who is this child?” The last time it was a different kid.

Gain 20 to 25 pounds of muscle weight.
Again with the football–Left Offensive Tackle. Yikes! He’s already a beast.

And last, but certainly not least:

Usher in the 2nd Renaissance.
I’m not sure if he means a personal renaissance or if he’s planning to conquer the world in the next twelve months. Maybe a combination of both. Good luck with that.

Lofty goals.

Sort of made me feel like a slacker. I didn’t even come up with one. Oh, I’ve thought of several, but then I shy away from committing to them lest I fall short of the goals I’ve set and feel like a failure.

But if I’m failing at something, at the very least it means I’m working towards something.

And each time I fail, if I pay attention and try to figure out where I went wrong then it’s not complete failure.

It’s incomplete success.

That’s what I’m going with.

So, I’ll share with you all one of my New Years Resolutions:

I’m back to blogging on a regular basis again.

Can you think of anything more incompletely successful than the act of writing?

Yeah, me neither.

Happy New Year!

Holy and warm

image courtesy of photobucket.com

image courtesy of photobucket.com

A recent conversation with a friend:

Me: How was your Christmas?

Friend: It was good. Christmas Eve service was fantastic. Why can’t all sermons be like that?

Me: Short and sweet?

Friend: No. Holy and warm.

Me: Maybe it’s not about the sermon. Maybe it’s about the people hearing the sermon.

I don’t know about you, but for me, the Christmas Eve service marks the point of the holiday season where I can finally put on the brakes. No more gift shopping or shipping, holiday baking, finding something to wear to so-and-so’s Christmas party. Christmas Eve service is when I’m gathered with family in a candlelit venue (ours is a junior high cafeteria–yours may be a church building) and FINALLY turn my heart towards the reason for the season. Oh, I’ve been MEANING to focus on Jesus daily…But, you know, I’ve been BUSY! Now I have time for the Christmas story. I’m done with all MY stuff. That’s how it’s supposed to work, right?

Maybe not. Maybe if I were to approach each day with the gratitude worthy of the sacrifice God made for me, for you, then every sermon would be like the Christmas Eve sermon–Holy and Warm. Maybe if we approached each Sunday morning as an opportunity to worship a God whose love is so compelling, so intimate, so extravagant that we would allow our hearts to be captured. For the first time or for the hundredth.

Maybe…

Not feeling like Christmas?

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“It just doesn’t feel like Christmastime.”

A sentiment I’ve heard more than a few times this year. Maybe it’s the economy or all the bad news coming out of Washington. Maybe it’s too much political correctness run amok.

I’ve noticed fewer and fewer people wishing each other a Merry Christmas these days, and when I wish someone a Merry Christmas, their response is often a surprised, “Oh. Merry Christmas to you, too.”

It’s certainly not a recent phenomenon. This time of year is filled with sadness and longing for many people for all kinds or reasons. Take Henry Wadsworth Longfellow for example. The tragic death of his wife and his son being severely injured in a Civil War battle left little for him to be merry and bright about. He poured out his despair in a poem entitled Christmas Bells on Christmas Day, 1863.

So, if you’re not feeling much of the Christmas spirit, take heart. Know that you’re not alone and know that there is still hope to be found.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day

I heard the bells on Christmas Day

Their old familiar carols play

Their old familiar carols play

And wild and sweet the words repeat

And wild and sweet the words repeat

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought how, as the day had come,

I thought how, as the day had come,

The belfries of all Christendom

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along the unbroken song

Had rolled along the unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head:

And in despair I bowed my head:

"There is no peace on earth," I said,

“There is no peace on earth,” I said,

"For hate is strong and mocks the song

“For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth good-will to men!"

Of peace on earth good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;

“God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,

With peace on earth, good will to men."

With peace on earth, good will to men.”

Till, ringing singing, on its way,

Till, ringing singing, on its way,

The world revolved from night to day,

The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,

Of peace on earth, good will to men!

Of peace on earth, good will to men!

A Christmas Poem

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Twas just days before Christmas and all thru the web
Were boycotts and protests over things that were said
By an old bearded fellow not dressed all in red,
But donned up in cammo right up to his head.

Some people were outraged that this man had the nerve
To equate being gay to being a perv.
Still others were mad that the A&E station
Would put Mr. Phil on a long term vacation.

On Twitter, on Facebook and on Google Plus
They ranted, they chanted, they raised a big fuss.

“That man’s homophobic and racist as well!
He thinks all gay people are going to hell!”

“The network is spineless! They caved into GLADD!
What happened to free speech we’re all spose’ to have?”

And all felt compelled to add their two cents:
“Whose side are you on? Don’t sit on the fence!”

Though I have my opinions, I’ve been mute on the topic.
At this point I wish everyone would just stop it.

It’s Christmastime people! Or have you forgotten?
When God sent His son, His only begotten.

Can we all for a moment set aside this distraction
and agree on our Savior as the central attraction?

Let’s stop all this grumbling and be of good cheer.
We can all resume bitching at the first of the year!

Merry Christmas!

A fresh start

Screen shot 2013-08-19 at 6.17.19 PM

Monday marked the first day of school for kids all across the USA. Some even started the previous week. My kids have one more week of sleeping in, video games and devastating laziness before they are scheduled back to school next Monday.

I’ve noticed varying degrees of both excitement and angst expressed by parents and kids about the prospect of going back to school. It seems my friend Billy Coffey views the start of a new school year with a tinge of melancholy. I believe he referred to it as feeling like death.

Screen shot 2013-08-19 at 6.48.51 PMThen again, Billy’s a professional writer. Writers tend to have a “glass half empty, dirty and chipped” outlook on life at times. (And if you’re a professional writer and happen to be reading this, don’t bother arguing with me. You know how you are.)

I, on the other hand, look forward to the new school year. Always have.

It’s an opportunity to start over with a clean slate. And not just for the kids, but for the teachers and parents, too. We all have perfect attendance and passing grades. None of us have forgotten about the parent/teacher conference that was scheduled or forgotten to pack our kid’s lunch on mystery meat day in the cafeteria. (Which incidentally, it pretty much every day.) We haven’t fought about homework, bedtimes, or missed assignments. All is set to zero and opportunities for greatness abound.

And while we’ve all had a safe, relaxing and fun summer, I think my kids are ready to get back into the predictable routine that the school year brings.

I know I am:

(That video never gets old, does it?)

To katdish, on her 48th birthday

Today I turn 48. I’m absolutely positive I turned 48 today.Unlike last year when I turned 47 and I wrote the following post:

image courtesy of photobucket.com

The first week of August around here is referred to as Birthday Palooza. My son’s birthday is July 31, my dad’s is August 1, my daughter and my sister share an August 2 birthday and mine is August 5. And that’s just my immediate family. I also have a brother-in-law, sister-in-law and niece with birthdays in either late July or early August.

My birthday always has and most probably always will be shared with family, and I’m okay with that. What better way to celebrate your birthday than your family? My sister found a birthday card which sums up this sentiment rather nicely:

inside card

It’s funny because it’s true. We put the fun in dysfunctional.

Anyway, this year I turned 47, which is weird, because for the life of me I thought I turned 47 LAST year. As a matter of fact, if you were to search blog posts I’ve written over the past year, you will find that I’ve often referred to myself as being 47. When I was 46. Weird, huh?

Many of you may be thinking to yourselves, “How can a person not know how old they are? Was she born under mysterious circumstances? Was she left on her parents’ doorstep as a baby and her actual age is merely a educated guess?”

No. I know the day I was born. August 5, 1965. I have my birth certificate as proof. My only defense is that I honestly don’t think much about my age. Also, I suck at math.

How did I come to the realization that I was turning 47 and not 48?

Because a couple of weeks ago, my husband asked me what I wanted for my birthday. This question lead to the next:

“How old are you, again?”

“I’m 47…I think. I’m pretty sure I’m 47,” I said.

“What year were you born?”

“1965.”

“It’s 2012. If you were born in 1965, how old does that make you?” he asked.

Me: “You know I suck at math.”

Him: “You’re 46. You’ll be 47 on your birthday.”

Me: “Okay then. Good to know.”

So, Happy 47th birthday to me again! I’m not sure whether to be glad not to be 48 yet or sad that I never enjoyed being 46.

No matter. I’m just grateful to have celebrated another birthday. Whichever one it happens to be.

Thanks to you all for the birthday greetings via Facebook and Twitter. You made my 40-somethingth birthday that much more special.

What should Christians read?

Yes, people. It's a real book.

Yes, people. It’s a real book.

Last Saturday I was scrolling through the latest Facebook fodder and came across this post from Christian writer Tricia Goyer’s timeline:

Screen shot 2013-07-10 at 10.06.29 AM

And while the majority of the responses (and there were several) were not in favor of limiting themselves to only Christian Fiction, I was surprised that there were some who felt that Christians should not read fiction that was outside the genre of “Christian”, arguing that we should not expose ourselves to the bad language, sex and violence so often found in mainstream works of fiction. Although to be fair, most stated that this was a personal conviction not a condemnation of those who read secular work.

But still…

It bugs me.

Maybe it shouldn’t. It’s certainly none of my business what people choose to read or not read, but if art imitates life–and I believe that good art mirrors real life–then much of what passes the muster of “appropriate” Christian Fiction is a poor imitation of what makes a good story. It’s a white-washed version of realistic prose. There are words that cannot be used, acts of violence and depravity that can only be suggestively danced around so as not to offend a Christian audience.

And that bugs me…

Writing for a Christian audience. So much so that I put in my snarky two cents:

Screen shot 2013-07-10 at 10.39.24 AM

Do you know what the hottest thing in Christian Fiction is right now?

Amish Fiction.

Written by people who are not Amish.

I’ve struggled to understand why this is so popular, but I think I’m beginning to understand. Just as teenage vampire romance novels are an escape from the banality of everyday life, Amish life (or at least the idealistic version of it) is an escape from an increasingly crude and immoral one. And I suppose both have entertainment value, but neither imitate real life. Pre-teen Twilight audiences are spoon-fed sexuality disguised as taboo vampire romance and Amish fiction audiences are spoon-fed an ideal, profanity-free communities where bad things may happen, but really bad things never happen to good Christian folks.

But that’s not real and that’s not real redemption.

Many of you know that I’m a big fan of Stephen King. There are those who refuse to read his work because he uses, among other things, profanity. I once read a discussion board where several posters maintained that his use of cuss words is simply laziness. That his books could be every bit as compelling if he left out the profanity.

To them I say, bullshit.

Take this passage from The Stand concerning a young deaf mute’s encounter at an orphanage:

He stopped wanting to communicate, and when that happened the thinking process itself began to rust and disintegrate. He began to wander from place to place vacantly, looking at the nameless things that filled the world. He watched groups of children in the play yard move their lips, raise and lower their teeth like white drawbridges, dance their tongues in the ritual mating of speech. He sometimes found himself looking at a single cloud for as long as an hour at a time.

Then Rudy had come. A big man with scars on his face and a bald head. Six feet, five inches tall, might as well have been twenty to runty Nick Andros. They met for the first time in a basement room where there was a table, six or seven chairs, and a TV that only worked when it felt like it. Rudy squatted, putting his eyes on approximately the same level as Nick’s. Then he took his huge, scarred hands and put them over his mouth, his ears.

I am a deaf-mute.

Nick turned his face sullenly away: Who gives a fuck?

Rudy slapped him.

Nick fell down. His mouth opened and silent tears began to leak from his eyes. He didn’t want to be here with this scarred troll this bald boogey. He was no deaf-mute, it was a cruel joke.

Rudy pulled him gently to his feet and led him to the table. A blank sheet of paper was there. Rudy pointed at it, then at Nick. Nick stared sullenly at the paper and then at the bald man. He shook his head. Rudy nodded and pointed at the empty paper again. He produced a pencil and handed it to Nick. Nick put it down as if it were hot. He shook his head. Rudy pointed at the pencil, then at Nick, then at the paper. Nick shook his head. Rudy slapped him again.

More silent tears. The scarred face looking at him with nothing but deadly patience. Rudy pointed at the paper again. At the pencil. At Nick.

Nick grasped the pencil in his fist. He wrote the four words that he knew, calling them forth from the cobwebby, rusting mechanism that was in his thinking brain. He wrote:

Screen shot 2013-07-10 at 11.44.26 AM

Then he broke the pencil in half and looked sullenly and defiantly at Rudy. But Rudy was smiling. Suddenly he reached across the table and held Nick’s head steady between his hard, callused palms. His hands were warm, gentle. Nick could not remember the last time he had been touched with such love. His mother had touched him like that.

Rudy removed his his hands from Nick’s face. He picked up the half of the pencil with the point on it. He turned the paper over to the blank side. He tapped the empty white space with the tip of the pencil, and then tapped Nick. He did it again. And again. And again. And finally Nick understood.

You are this blank page.

Nick began to cry.

Tell me how that could have been written as powerfully without the use of profanity.

The difference between that passage and one written without profanity is the difference between hitting a sacrifice fly with one out in the bottom of the ninth to win by a run and hitting a grand slam with two outs and a full count in that same inning.

The end results may be the same, but the latter is infinitely more memorable.

******

I’m not saying that Christians shouldn’t read Christian Fiction. I happen to know that some of it is excellent. All I’m suggesting is that we don’t limit ourselves to it thinking the hand of God only moves the pens of those who call him Father. Rather than looking for the devil under every secular rock, maybe we should open our mind’s eye to see that God is at work in the most unexpected places and even through those who don’t know Him.

Pardon me while I rant incessantly: Fed up with the Feds

image from abcnews.com

image from abcnews.com

“Politically, the White House is hesitant to say they’re having a war on coal. On the other hand, a war on coal is exactly what’s needed.” — Daniel Schrag, White House Climate Adviser

(In case you’re unfamiliar with Daniel Schrag, he is Sturgis Hooper Professor of Geology, Professor of Environmental Science and Engineering, Director of the University Center for the Environment, and Director of the Laboratory for Geochemical Oceanography at Harvard University. Educated at UC Berkeley and Yale.)

No sir, you Ivy League Educated Utopian Egghead, what’s needed is for you to appreciate that there are hard working Americans whose entire lives and communities are dependent upon the coal industry.

What you need to understand is that while the federal government seeks to crush energy production methods you deem unclean with unattainable environmental standards no other country in the world even comes close to, what you’re really doing is declaring a war on jobs.

Coal mine in China (from nytimes.com)

Coal mine in China (from nytimes.com)

You’re declaring war on the ability for hard working men to provide for their families the only way they know how; the way their daddies and their granddaddies did. And while you may disdain their lack of education or that they would actually choose to work in a coal mine rather than sit in an office all day, who the hell are you to decide how another human being chooses to live their life?

“There are a lot of generations that live in these communities, where your mom and your dad live here, your grandparents live here, your aunts and uncles, and all of them may be in a different form of the coal mining business, but when it goes, the community is gone, because people are going to have to leave to find work.

We’re begging for the right to work. That’s all we’re asking for. We’re not asking for any favors, we’re not asking for any handouts, we’re not asking for any concessions. All we’re asking for is the opportunity to work, pay taxes, provide electricity and provide for our families.” –Rocky Hackworth, Tyler Morgan Mine General Manager

It’s been several years since I’ve worked in the energy industry, but in the decade and change I worked for both major and independent oil and gas producers, never once did any VP, manager, engineer, geologist, foreman or field hand ever suggest that corners be cut when it came to environmental compliance and safety. I’m not saying it never happens, but it was my experience that every person I worked with complied with and oftentimes exceeded all state and federal laws and regulations and made damn sure everyone working there followed suit.

But that was a different time.

That was a time when the regulators were sometimes unreasonable (like the time the woman from Fisheries and Wildlife took a picture immediately following the detonation of explosives set to blast the legs off an offshore platform then instructed my boss to count the number of redfish said explosion killed–literally thousands of fish), but mostly they worked with the industry. Their job was to make sure we were exploring for, drilling and producing oil and gas in a manner responsible and respectful to the environment and property owners.

Not like today, where it seems the job of Federal regulators is to destroy the reputations and profits of the evil oil, gas and coal executives.

And if hundreds of thousands of men and women lose their jobs and their abilities to provide for their families, too bad for them.

They should have gone to work for a green energy company.

Or better yet, get a job with the federal government.

While you may think it noble to move towards your Utopian paradise, you may want to wait until you discover a green energy that’s actually viable, because wind and solar aren’t even close, no matter how many taxpayer subsidized billions you pour into them.

In the meantime, you might want to get a job outside the fantasy worlds of Washington and academia and see what the real world is all about.

Dear Hacker,

Screen shot 2013-06-20 at 12.49.51 PMIf I’m to believe the message you posted on my site to replace my regular content, you felt compelled to hack my site and many others in order to get the truth out about what’s going in Syria.

You say the news coming out of Syria is inaccurate.

You say the government is not attacking its people, but instead extremists are killing innocent civilians and using the media to create a false narrative.

You say a lot of things which may or may not be true.

But how does hacking some silly little blog in Texas help your cause? (If, in fact, you are who you say you are?)

I’ll tell you how.

It doesn’t.

If anything, it’s hurt your cause.

Had you simply left a comment explaining your predicament, I may have actually believed you; may have felt compelled to help you.

Instead, you randomly attack sites in attempt to cause as much disruption and anarchy as possible.

So basically, you’re just a punk with a computer frustrating a whole lot of people who have done absolutely nothing to you because you lack the skills to hack those who you say are hurting your cause.

I hope you’ve enjoyed your 15 minutes of fame.

Love,

katdish

P. S. — I HUGE thank you to web host David Allen who has worked tirelessly to get MANY websites up and running again, and doing so with grace and humility even when dealing with some pretty grumpy people. (BTW, if you’re one of those grumpy people, shame on you. It’s not David’s fault this happened.) Anyway, thanks so much David. You’re a class act.

And the winner is…

Screen shot 2013-06-10 at 5.47.18 PM Congratulations to Joel Bremer! Winner of the autographed copy of When Mockingbirds Sing, and thanks to everyone for participating.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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