A subdued 45th anniversary, yes, but also one of the most precious

Tomorrow is Barbara's and my 45th wedding anniversary.

This will be a subdued affair. She had eye surgery earlier this week and is making an aching, sometimes painful recovery. She is, thank God, recovering, though.

This week has given me the opportunity to explore that "in sickness and health" bit from our vows in 1973, when I was barely 20 and she was 18. 

When you are that young, you say the words, meaning them, but likely not apprehending them. In the years since, both of us have come to understand them a bit more.

It has been my honor this week to keep her on her post-op med schedule, help her bathe (rrrruff!), and fix (not nearly as good as her's) meals and serve her in whatever other ways come up.

This is a fractional payback for all the times she has nursed me, during two major operations, a few minor ones, double-pnemonia, and more recently, the post-layoff blues.

So, usually we celebrate. Flowers, dinner or show, a nice trip, etc. This year, I have the privilege and the blessing of giving my best friend, lover and much better half a tiny bit of grace, love and I hope, comfort.

In that way, it might, at least from my part of this lifetime together, be the most loving of our share milestones.

It has been a tough year, in terms of changes and expectations. But that's life. And, we have been blessed with adequate financial prep, fortuitous (providential?) timing on retirement and medical coverage benefits when the employment hammer landed in May.

Yes, this quiet, understated 45th anniversary may be the most precious ever.

I know this: gray, wrinkled as I am, when I look in Barbara's eyes (yes, even the red one with bruising around the eye socket), I see the girl I married Sept. 1, 1973, in Spokane, Wash.

And I never stop marveling that she actually said, "I will."

I love you, Barbara!

Faith and science: Same coin, different sides in search for the Truth, and the truth

An Orthodox Christian perspective on the "conflict" between faith and science.

If you were raised Protestant, and especially the son of an Evangelical/Pentecostal preacher as I was, this is an irreconcilable issue. (And I would add, likely a major factor in people ditching "faith" altogether in many cases).

Generally, this not so in Orthodoxy, which realizes cultural influences and limits of human understanding are mixed into the Bible, as much "words about God" as they are the "Word of God." 

Faith and science, at their roots, both seek truth -- ultimate Truth, on one hand, and empirical truth on the other.

This has been an important element of my new faith for me, ending the former spiritual/intellectual schizophrenia of my upbringing.  This article, from an Orthodox worldview, to me, is remarkably understanding of this search for Truth, and truth:

https://souloftheeast.org/2016/05/13/orthodoxy-evolution/

Transitions: Finding Purpose when 'Retirement" Comes Early

Nearly three months ago, I found myself thrust into retirement.

I had begun months before making preparations and inquiries about 401K rollovers, Medicare, Social Security, etc., feeling (providentially, as it turned out) compelled to get a head start on a process. I did not expect I would have to pursue for at least another year, if not longer.

Actually, I was sure I'd have another year: time to think about what retirement for a lifelong journalist, writer and editor would look like, and how to make that transition.

I was wrong. On May 14, along with 40 percent of the already dwindling staff at The Salt Lake Tribune, I was let go. Thanks, they said, for the 20 years; you did great work, but the newspaper can no longer support the staff numbers with advertising tanking, and the online model still adrift in the becalmed, profit-poor seas of the Internet.

Sixteen weeks of severance pay was nice, albeit not even a week's worth for every year I had worked to the paper. Medical insurance was yanked in two weeks -- a real blow for most of the stunned victims of the "reduction in force" not fortunate enough as me to be just a few weeks shy of their 65th birthdays, and thus Medicare eligibility.

It was nasty, but it was not personal; managers giving the bad news in some cases teared up. But for all of us, it was what it was. And it hurt, perhaps in a weird way, more so since it was so abrupt, and in many ways nonsensical in choices made about what beats (and people) stayed, and which/who remained.

Still, I imagine many of my fellow sacrificial lambs on the altar of failed newspaper economics would happily trade their current anxieties -- income about to run out by now, lack of medical coverage, lack of prospects in a disappearing industry -- for mere malaise over such nebulous matters as "purpose."

But that's my cross to bear, as it were.

When your work was your purpose, when exploring and exploring, mulling and reporting on Life and Faith and Trauma and Love and Setbacks and Triumphs defined your raison d'être, the world -- or your tiny piece of it -- made sense.

Now, I find that was illusion. Oh, it was an amazing ride -- exhilarating, maddening, challenging, frustrating, fulfilling, revealing glimpses of ultimate Truth, between epiphanies of the limits of mortal intellect.

But, Purpose? No, it never was. Actually, I now believe, it was something of an escape and counterfeit for Purpose, speaking in the ultimate sense -- it filled up my thoughts, desires, goals, emotions and self-image, allowing me to put off the Big Questions.

These are the times that test your faith, whatever form that takes. And that faith had better be real, grounded and strong once roused from the dormancy our busy lives impose on it. If it is not, you stare into the Abyss, and it looks back at you, whispering, "What have you really done with your life?"

Better to be able to find not the darkness and realization that a lifetime has all but passed on its march to loss of meaning, but to fall to your knees and see the Face of God.

That visage shines in a nighttime of stars, the waves of horizonless oceans, the way the wind caresses the fields of grass, the leaves and branches of trees, and brushes the banks of rivers and lakes with waves that ripple in light.

That face is of wisdom and love that defies our poor concept of Infinity, yet twinkles in the eyes of a child, the tears of those who mourn, the first breath of an infant, the last gasp of the dying.

All those things, yes. And for me, Eternity descends like a cloud of uncreated light and mercy during the ancient prayers of the Eastern Orthodox liturgy, and Love takes residence in the bread and wine of the Eucharist.

There is Purpose. But how to understand it? And now, at this stage of life, how does this Purpose become my life?

This road -- not a new one but largely, I confess a poorly explored one -- stretches before me, as the prayer says, "both now and forever, and unto the ages of ages."

That now has become my primary purpose. My secondary purpose? That would be how to express creativity and curiosity and to somehow use my acquired skills of a lifetime to still educate and encourage.

And that is what remains a work in progress.

Road to Orthodoxy: On a Holy Saturday . . .

For those interested, here is my story about my own conversion to Orthodox Christianity on the "Journey to Orthodoxy" website.

http://journeytoorthodoxy.com/2018/07/on-a-holy-saturday/

A tale of a lost driver's license, Social InSecurity, and getting to know a Saint

Hey, it's just Tuesday, and it's been "a Week."

While hoofing it at Fashion Place Mall in Sandy, Utah last week, I managed to lose my driver's license.

I was all set to brave the lines at the Utah Drivers License Division today, but was spared when mall security notified me they had it. Just needed picture I.D. to reclaim it (passport), which I did . . . and then did three miles in the labyrinthine aisles, since I was there anyway.

On Monday, I had to go into the Social Security Office downtown Salt Lake City. I had been approved for Medicare before the May Tribune Surprise (mass layoffs), and had then applied for retirement benefits a couple weeks ago.

LifeLock thought that was strange, and raised a red flag over possible identity theft. So, I made an appointment online, only to find out the local office had no record of that . . . but after an hour's wait, got sent to another office where a polite (?) young feller cleared it all up . . . even told me I had an extra month coming, since my last day of work had been that dire second Monday in May.


Things worked out. The cynics among my friends will just have to indulgently smile when I say I credit prayer . . . for the outcome, or at very least for the peace I've had. (Live with it).

So, before the go-the-mall-and-recover-the-driver's license trip, I went to early morning men's meeting at Sts. Peter & Paul, where Fr. Justin shared a presentation on St. John Maximovitch (https://orthodoxwiki.org/John_(Maximovitch)_the_Wonderworker), a.k.a. St. John of Shanghai and San Francisco.

That's him, in the photo to the left.

His icon has a prominent place in SPPOC's nave, and I always smile when I enter and venerate him, and other saints. What an amazing, selfless, heroic and, yes, miraculous life he gave for God and humankind.

While the miraculous aspects of St. John continue to this day, with his relics and intercession credited for healings spiritual and physical alike, for me it is his actions -- on behalf of thousands of orphaned children, refugees, the poor in spirit and life -- that inspires me most.

Sixty-five trips 'round the Sun: A mere flickering of a celestial neuron does not a life make

I've now completed 65 orbits of this planet around Sol. Not even a blink of the Creator's eye (if the Creator was truly male, female, corporeal or even concerned with "Time.") 

Scripture tells us He (a concession, human pronouns being so limited, after all) does care about those rotations made by his creations, from the so-called pinacle, humankind, to even the smallest sparrow. 

But consider, the Earth, current assumptions purport, has made approximately 4.5 billion-plus (give or take a paltry 500 million) trips around our class G, yellow dwarf star. So, not even the blink of the Deity's eye, this lifetime of mine, in purely statistical terms. . . indeed, if God has something like neurons within His eternal, limitless intelligence, 65 years might be a fraction of one celestial neuron firing (or mis-firing?) 

Too, too much to take in? OK, how about the perspective of mere mortality? 

The World Health Organization says males, on average, live to nearly 84 years of age in Japan (No. 1). In the good old U.S.A., despite having the "best" (and most expensive) health care in the world, it's a shade over 79 (31st on the planet). In Sierra Leone, it's barely 50. 

But how to measure the worth of a lifetime? That has always been the question. My father turns 96 in July, yet he is legally blind, with severe hearing loss, and cognitively disabled. My mother, 90, is in end-stage Alzheimer's. 

So, how does 96, or 90, in such cases compare to that fellow in Sierra Leone who probably still works hard, helps raise his children's children, and has clan and family and village to center him?

When you consider the differences, why measure life in terms of whether an aged American can count (if he or she is indeed able to remember how to count) one or two dozen more trips around Old Sol than our brother in Sierra Leone?

Rather than years, seems to me, we should count each day -- how we have loved, embraced and helped others, whether we stood in awe in a forest clearing, watching the sun shimmer on the limbed canopy above, the breeze teasing the leaves as it cools our wet brows, and as the sun warms us.

One moment like that, my family and friends, is a glimpse of eternity. . . and a humbling reminder of our tiny, however treasured by our Maker, place in it all.

And, if we are blessed to rise again in the morning, begin to count again, if you are so inclined.

But really, every day should begin with this: "Well, this is '1', once more."

Layoff. 'Reduction in Force.' 'Right-sizing.' Whatever you call it, it's still gonna hurt

 

My last feature package for the Salt Lake Tribune before the May 14 layoffs, on hospital chaplains, has gone worldwide thanks to AP (a long ago employer). Spotted in Europe and Korea, etc.

A bittersweet thing, though I hang on to the idea that at least I went out doing my best work. Connected to that story, however, was an offer made by one of the chaplains I interviewed to provide me with "grief counseling." 

What? But now, almost three weeks out, I get it. The stages of grief in suddenly, unexpectedly losing a job are indeed similar in some respects to loss of a loved one. (

1) Denial, as in erecting an emotional buffer, downplaying the impact of the loss on one's finances and self-esteem. I did that, filling my initial days to appointments to arrange 401k rollovers, Medicare coverage, a ton of long-neglected domestic repairs and tasks, just to feel like I was accomplishing . . . something.

(2) Anger. This didn't last long, actually, but it was there for a while, and when one hears how well those last articles were accepted, it validates self-worth, sure, but also elevates the question, "Then why?"

The answer, honestly, has to be "Why not?" especially when it's not all about you, after all, and realizing that 33 other great people are asking the same questions.

(3) Bargaining. Well, there was none of that, since no alternatives were provided . . . unless scrambling to fill the now-empty hours with other work -- any work -- counts; I actually did that, filled out the employment forms, took training, and then realized I just could not be happy in the offered position -- truly, a square peg/round hole situation.

(4) Depression. Didn't really come until earlier this week, culminating with the pits on Wednesday.

Long story short(er), you give yourself time to process, once you realize this is your new reality . . . and, despite how it feels, you now must explore the long-dormant other values of life, allow faith, introspection and learning to re-invent, or resurrect your long shelved dreams and interests.

(5) And so comes Acceptance. As a former editor of mine used to say, ad nauseum, "It is what it is."

In both the loss of a loved one, or of a job that so defined you for decades, you must eventually bury the dead.

Truly, it stinks, but that's OK. Once in the hallowed ground of memory, suitably mourned and honored, you take your eyes off the freshly turned earth and walk toward the sun.

It will get better; there is more of life ahead, and you will, eventually, find ways to embrace the freedom.

For me, that means more time to pursue a part-time avocation, now as a vocation: freelance writing and editing. I've co- or ghost-written a dozen books and hundreds of articles over the last couple decades through my DBA, MimsMedia; I hope to do many more.

Babylon Bee: For my last story in The Salt Lake Tribune, an invitation: Christians, laugh at yourselves!

Nearly two weeks since the Tribune's "right-sizing" https://bit.ly/2KjlK5m left 34 people (including me) unemployed, my last story -- one of three in the can when my 20-year stint at the newspaper ended -- ran today.

I've have always liked the Babylon Bee website (www.babylonbee.com) for its hilarious, often biting satire aimed as Christian idiosyncrasies and self-righteousness. These off-the-hook "fake news" items make you laugh, and think.

Thinking is a good thing, especially for those of us who believe we have a special connection to the Creator.

So, here it is, my Tribune farewell article about the Babylon Bee and its new book, "How to be a Perfect Christian."

Just click on the headline below:
Thus saith the satirical Babylon Bee to Christians: Laugh at yourselves, for heaven’s sake

Chaplains: Invited into the sacred places at the bedside of the sick and dying, and the human heart

As I've mentioned in earlier posts, I was laid off from my job of 20 years at The Salt Lake Tribune on Monday -- along with more than a third of the staff, 34 reporters, editors, columnists and photographers in all.

It may seem bittersweet that today, Sunday, my package of stories on hospital chaplains ran on A-1, top of the fold, and took up a good portion of the inside of the front section as well with a sidebar and photos.

Me? I see it as a good way to go out on top. This was some of my best work. 

Don't we all wish that when our time comes, in career or life, we go out on a high note?

I'm not done yet with writing, editing and telling human stories. I have freelanced for decades on the side -- magazine articles, ghostwritten and co-written a dozen books -- and now I will focus more time on this.

Here are links to Sunday's stories:

While doctors bring healing to body, chaplains treat the soul

https://www.sltrib.com/news/health/2018/05/19/now-i-can-touch-the-peace-utah-chaplains-bring-healing-hope-comfort-and-faith-any-faith-to-patients/

The bedside of a dying child is ‘holy ground,’ a place where Utah chaplains can offer tears, prayers and solace but no easy answers

https://www.sltrib.com/news/health/2018/05/19/the-bedside-of-a-dying-child-is-holy-ground-a-place-where-utah-chaplains-can-offer-tears-prayers-and-solace-but-no-easy-answers/

Tribune layoffs aftermath: the reeling stops, clarity settles in

Midweek of the Salt Lake Tribune layoffs aftermath. The reeling has stopped, and clarity of purpose, at least short-term, has replaced it.
Been a whirlwind of activity since Monday, arranging finances, medical insurance for both myself and Barbara, networking for possible freelance writing/editing gigs, and doing our own "right-sizing" on the domestic budget.
When you are forced to get down to it, it's surprising how many of those previously "automatic" expenditures you don't need to make, and to actually start better monitoring spending, groceries, travel, etc. Whole new world, and I have found, not entirely a scary one out there.
Still have several stories in the can the Trib likely will run over the next week or so (kinda like being a ghost, lurking around, looking for the light). I believe they will be some of my better work, so a bittersweet, but nice way to go.
And, I haven't been alone in this. My sweet wife has been brilliant, and encouraging; my kids, even the grandkids, supportive; fellow members of the "Trib 34" (aka, #tribrightsizedmetoo) and those editors and colleagues still rattling around in the newsroom at 90 W. 400 S., sharing practical and emotional support; and my brothers and sisters in faith.
Onward.

Thirty-four layoffs at The Salt Lake Tribune; me, too

Monday was a sad day. So many veteran journalists, and not a few young, gifted ones, laid off today at the Tribune. 

Me, too. 

Twenty years, during which I was given the opportunity to report and write on a whole lot of beats, and meet fascinating people and tell their stories. Is there anything better? 

So, with some tears, there also is a lot of gratitude.

The notice came by email, a quick, clean cut. I know some of my colleagues resent the impersonal nature of this -- I do not. None of this was judgment of us, or our abilities; it was a matter of a drastic downsizing, pending reorganization of news operations and audience. 

Utah needs the Tribune. My colleagues at the Deseret News, tied to the Trib through the JOA, also need the Tribune. 

So, sure, emotion cannot be rationalized away; one feels as one feels about loss of income, purpose and self-identity. 

But at least, I go out with the journalistic equivalent of the old Spartan admonition of returning with your shield, or on it. I've done some of my best work this year, and a couple examples (I hope) will run in the coming days as a sort of bookend to my Trib career. 

What is ahead, I don't know. But I have faith that whatever that is for Barbara and me, we will not be alone.

After all, saying you believe God is with you in good times is easy; knowing He is in tough times? That's where, hopefully, we "comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height" of His Love. (Ephesians 3:18)

All the best to those who remain. You are in my prayers, and my heart.

Redefining human sexuality and gender: Our relentless politically correct lemmings' march to the sea

So, it's no longer the Boy Scouts. But it's still the Girl Scouts. Girls can join the former, boys cannot join the latter.

It's just crazy. No, really, it is. And this is just one more mile marker on this politically correct lemmings march to the sea.

Our so-called "culture war" was fought for decades in the political realm, and in the classrooms and lecture halls. Now, increasingly, this struggle has moved into the arena of faith.

More mainstream, "liberal" denominations of After millennia of general agreement of such things, within a generation many mainstream, "liberal" Christian denominations have abandoned old, seemingly written-in-stone beliefs about the nature of humankind, love and what comprises the sanctity of marriage. These changes, they argue, reflect a more loving God, and a more selective, perhaps, reading of scripture.

A new PRRI poll shows that now the struggle appears to also be eroding, through attitudes of millennial members, the once-resolute commitment to "traditional marriage" and associated same-sex issues, within the ranks of the most conservative expressions of faith -- just 10 years after a coalition of such churches, along with Muslims, Hindus and others -- passed California's Prop 8.

While this shift is explosive in terms of religious timelines, perhaps the struggle is ancient. There always has been the dichotomy: Does humankind define the Divine and its intentions, or does a faithful humankind allow the God they claim to believe in to redefine and perfect them? A subset of that would seem to reflect the former -- that the foundations of scripture, doctrine and tradition are now an embarrassment to our more enlightened, evolved worldviews.

The trend seems to be that scripture is antiquated, its commands thus open to revision or dismissal in light of current, more "evolved" thought. In all this, where does love and fidelity come in? Can we, as believers, not love, respect and pray for those who do not share the tenets of our faith, and yet still hold fast, not compromising the heart of our faith given once, for all?

Can those who so rightly fight for civil rights for all humankind, regardless their ethnicity, gender, or personal, political and religious choices also respect -- even protect -- the rights of others who disagree on matters of faith and its practice to live out their convictions?

Once upon a time, such disagreements often would conclude without resolution, but with this statement, accredited to Evelyn Beatrice Hall: "I do not agree with what you have to say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it."

A spiritual sea change: Diving into the deep waters of the Ancient Faith

Today, Holy Saturday, April 7, 2018, I joined 20 of my brothers and sisters today in Holy Baptism.

Four hours of illumination, prayer and eternal memories. Having my sweet wife Barbara, son Rob, daughter-in-law Rachel and my grandson, Josh, witnessing my life event made it even more special.

My feet and knees ached a bit (we stand for most of the liturgy and prayers at Sts. Peter and Paul Orthodox Church), but my spirit soars.

Photo courtesy SPPOC

I'm the old guy second row, just left of center. At Resurrection Service a few hours later, I received my first Holy Communion. Another awesome, life-changing experience.

To my young (by comparison) spiritual father, Fr. Justin Havens, my godfather (also younger than me) Bruce "Zachias" Plympton, Deacon Peter Samore (who encouraged me early in my journey), and all the others to welcomed me with open arms and hugs these past 12 months, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

To Barbara, again, a special additional thanks. In her love for me, she has been a steady support throughout.

That she had done so, even if not being in the same place in her own journey, has been sacrificial and made me love her more -- and after almost 45 years of marriage, I thought my heart was already full with the mystery of my better half, best friend, and first and only love.

I am, truly, blessed.

See you tonight for Resurrection Service!
Let that, too, be truly blessed.

Photo courtesy SPPOC

*Other posts on my journey from Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/BobMimsSLC/posts/375797842897191
https://www.facebook.com/BobMimsSLC/posts/370707290072913