Gen X to Baby Boomers: Move over, you ruined everything. Echo, anyone?

I had to laugh. The editorial headline in the Mercury News trumpeted, “It’s time for disastrous Baby Boomers to go.” (click here to read it)

The author, GenXer Dana Milbank, went on to blame the 50-64 age group for pretty much everything wrong with America: congressional gridlock, squandering the global power and influence inherited from winning the Cold War by embarking on two Middle East military adventures-turned-disasters, crippling debt, and even . . . Donald Trump.

Milbank derided the older generation for its selfishness and unyielding attitudes, the fruits of being coddled in their youth.

Like I said, I had to laugh. Not with the glee of someone who gets a hilarious joke, but with the bittersweet realization that, (1), Milbank has some solid reasons to declare such conclusions and (2), and that I’ve heard it all before.

Literally. I listened to the same message in 1969, putting a 33 1/3 rpm LP vinyl record on my “portable” (75-pound, suitcase size) stereo and dropping the needle into the first groove. The song was “Move Over.” (click here if you want to listen to it)

"Things look bad from over here

Too much confusion and no solution

Everyone here knows your fear

You're out of touch and you try too much
Yesterday's glory won't help us today

You want to retire?

Get out of the way
The country needs a father

Not an uncle or big brother

Someone to keep the peace at home

If we can't get it together

Look out for stormy weather

Don't make me pay for your mistakes

I have to pay for my own
Yesterday's glory won't help us today

You want to retire?

Get out of the way
I ain't got much time

The young ones close behind

I can't wait in line. . . "

Who knows? Maybe Gen X will do better.

Or, at least maybe Linkin Park could do a cover of “Move Over.”

Wouldn’t need to change a word.

2016 Election: Is it really a choise of the 'lesser of two evils,' or voting your conscience?

It is a shame that our choices for the White House have boiled down to holding one’s nose and choosing one the perceived lesser of two evils. 

On one hand, there is the self-absorbed demagogue who steps in the bull flop and then puts the same foot in his mouth, repeatedly; a man who is long on criticism and so short of proposed solutions.

On the other, we are offered a career politician whose foreign policy decisions were disastrous and deadly in their aftermath, whose hubris is legendary, and whose integrity has long been for sale.


The old saw that we get what we deserve when we go to the polls cannot hold true in 2016, can it? How could any nation “deserve” either of our horrible choices this election year?

So, the argument here is basically to choose the aforementioned lesser of two evils; that a vote of conscience — say casting our ballots instead for Libertarian Gary Johnson or Green Party candidate Jill Stein — has no value?

Perhaps, in a political economy of situational ethics, that makes some sense. “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t,” as the idiom says.

Too many are surrendering to that idea, and I understand the frustration that feeds that assessment. But for some of us, voting for either of the major party “choices” is simply too repugnant to contemplate.

Sometimes, a few of us may even say all the time, choosing the right thing is never a waste, even if it isn’t the “winning” choice in the cynical world of politicians.

Vote you conscience.

A Momentary Lapse of Reason, a.k.a. Transient Global Amnesia

What's on your mind? Facebook asks. Well, funny thing is, my mind . . . is on my mind.

Monday I lost an hour. Was work, busy, had done five breaking news stories. I remember thinking suddenly that the time had really flown by, looking at the clock. Then I looked at the Trib website and saw my stories . . . and didn't recognize them. They were vaguely familiar, but in the sense that I became convinced that they were from a year ago, and that our flukey publishing system had somehow wiped out my work and replaced it with these others.

Yeah, kinda like that.

Steve Hunt, friend and editor, arrived. I told him what I thought had happened. He checked the stories, found them well-written (thanks), accurate and, more importantly, current. Noting my ongoing confusion at that point, he became concerned and talked me into getting checked out.

Off to the ER at St. Mark's. MRI, CT scans of the noggin, a bunch of tests and questions (who are you, who's president, what day and date is it, etc.) Then the horrible waiting.
My mother is in the end stages of Alzheimer's disease, so as I waited in the ER bed, I prayed it wasn't THAT. A stroke, even a tumor would've been preferable.

It was none of those things, Turns out I still have a fine lookin' brain -- no signs of stroke, tumors or, thank God, Alzheimer's. Diagnosis was "Transient Global Amnesia." Rare. Seldom reoccurs, and memories lost return. (They did, by the way, within 12 hours).

So, along with stress or blood pressure spikes (lot of the former, latter not a factor), migraine sufferers are at risk for TGA. (I have been plagued with them since puberty). Also, being over 50.

It's a scary thing, folks. But it also, generally, harmless and does not reoccur.
Still, the ER doc ordered me to rest the remainder of the week, do a precautionary followup with a neurologist (a panel of 'em is reviewing the scans, per protocol, and will decide whether to doing anything further soon (if something seems amiss the docs at St. Mark's missed), later, or not at all. Waiting to hear back.

So, when I saw the usual Facebook question, "What's on your mind?" I found that funny, ironically speaking.

But what had me laughing out loud today, as I listened to music at the condo complex poolside, taking the docs' orders to heart, was when I realized I had just mentally floated through Pink Floyd's album, "Momentary Lapse of Reason."

The Universe is a cosmic standup comedian, sometimes.

I had this thought, too, being a preacher's kid. Dad always used to preach that when God forgives our sins, he also forgets them. Forever.

Want to change a cynical, ethically and morally bankrupt world? First, change yourself

It’s getting tough to write blogs.

Oh, not because there’s not enough fodder, if political, moral, ethical or any other kind of outrage is what you are into.

There’s plenty of all that. 

In fact, there is way, way too much. It is downright depressing.

So much so, that if you think about it for any amount of time, you just might — in your deepest, darkest moments — wish for an extinction-level meteor event.

You know, give the cockroaches a chance.

Currently, a coarse, crude, egomaniacal billionaire has the Republican presidential selection process in what likely will prove to be a politically fatal spiral to banality. 

The Democrats, meanwhile, offer us either a candidate who lies as easily as a snake hisses, has no integrity, and who flip-flops on her so-called “deeply held beliefs” — abortion, gay marriage, capitalism, the War on Terror, immigration, the environment, you name it — depending on which way the political winds blow . . . or a self-described “democratic socialist.”

At least the socialist, in this case, is consistent and honest about his beliefs, however historically bankrupt they may be.

Then, there are the questionable, unending wars and civil conflicts we dive into, only to learn we have been on the wrong sides, or at least ones where we should not have destabilized nation states inherited by fanatic, murderous Islamic extremists who now persecute millions, slaughter thousands, and ultimately threaten billions.

We are, as a nation, morally bankrupt. We do not admit that; rather, we simply redefine what morality is, rather than confronting what we once commonly agreed was immoral.

Ethics — in business, government, even in religious bodies — has become situational at best, and arguably a massive illusion of self-deception, rendering the concept of proper behavior to nothingness.

One can despair.

But perspective is all. We can only control ourselves, our own actions. 

If we value morality and ethics, let it begin at home — how we treat our spouses, children, and grandchildren — and then shine as a rarity in the workplace, and certainly in our friendships.

If we are to lament the state of the world and its leaders, we need to be the kinds of leaders, friends, parents, workers, and human beings we would like to see.

Finally, but ultimately the key to it all, there’s faith.

If we believe we are, indeed, God’s children, time to stop playing the prodigal, and return to what we know in our hearts is true, good, and faithful to the Love that redeems us.

Want to change the world? And it needs changing, oh yes. 

Well, start with the person you see in the mirror — or reflected in the eyes of a child.

Thanksgiving

This is Thanksgiving week, but we're already living it, thanks to my daughter and son-in-law, Brenda and Idal.

Their generosity in deed and spirit made it possible for us to visit them in Maryland; it is the finest gift we could ever have received.

Seeing how they have created a strong, faithful family with perseverance, hard work and love makes Barbara and me proud, humbled, and truly thankful.

Sharing time with our granddaughter and two grandsons, while they are still young children, has been a treat. The years ahead are anticipated as rich ones because of them.

Seeing my daughter always brings a flash of memory -- a little girl, her eyes peeking out from a cloud of windblown auburn hair, marveling over a plucked dandelion.

Now, she is a grown woman and mother.
A good one. A very good one.

My son-in-law works long and hard for his family, too. No complaints about that, but joy when he comes home to hug the kids and help his spouse with dinner, or chores that may have remained from a hectic day of chasing a toddler and caring for an infant, all while helping an 8-year-old girl with homework.

How rare is all this, in this time of absent fatherless and broken families? Rare.

Thankful?

Oh, yes.

This Pilgrim's progress, and yours

Saturday morning, I took the dogs for a walk along the Jordan River's back trails. 

Once I got past the abandoned shopping carts, one homeless man's well-established and, uncharacteristically clean campsite (and a few impromptu refuse dumps, it was beautiful. 

The trek was a John Bunyanesque metaphor AND, to a point a metaphor, for a spiritual journey. I walked into areas where the well-worn foot trails became hints in the brush and through the limbs of trees, raining down gold and red foliage with each sigh of breeze; into sunlight filtered through the canopy and reflected in the frost on a downed cottonwood, and glistening from the moss on rocks. Beyond, power-blue skies, and clouds of fluff.

I stepped out of the pain, the detritus of human shortcomings, the bitterness of some lives expressed with disdain for themselves, and nature, the cast off wreckage of dreams, even, and into beauty.
It was like going to a cathedral, quiet but for the sighs and whispered prayers of the private penitent, looking up and finding myself walking inside the sunlight of stained glass with saints and sinners, all of us forgiven.

It was, for a blessed, crystal clear moment, being caressed and absorbed in that deep, abiding Love. . . and being reminded, again, that He is with me, and with all who just pause to let go the offense, to forgive, and be aware, to be present.

This, my Lord, transcends mere human doctrines, buildings and their grasp at the out-of-context pieces of scriptures while willfully ignoring the whole.

And, finally, here is a truth I've discovered. If you say you are a Christian that "whole" calls upon us to judge OURSELVES. We, and often poorly and with failures too numerous to count, "sin" -- fall short of the mark, from the word's Latin roots.

Paul put it this way in 1st Corinthians 5:12-13: "For what have I to do with judging outsiders? Do you not judge those who are within the church? But those who are outside, God judges."

And from what I believe, that latter part is in Love and compassion beyond our imagining.

Thus ends the sermon. smile emoticon


If all, some or part of it resonates, I didn't waste my time, or yours.

Be blessed. It's up to you.

Happy 42nd anniversary, sweetheart

Faith, and marriage.

 For me, the former has remained strong at its ancient roots through my River of Life sojourn.

It has ebbed and flowed, trickled through droughts, sustained under a glaring sun, refreshed in torrents and lulled to peace in the rare, precious stretches reflection and, yes, blessings.

Ah, but the latter, too, has been my companion, my warm human touch, the sustainer of love in a touch, a smile, a kiss, a prolonged embrace.

My lover and friend, my life's diamond, my priceless gift from the author of Love, who is that friend who sticks closer than a brother.

When I look in Barbara's eyes, I glimpse eternity. Faith and Love come full circle.

Happy 42nd anniversary, sweetheart.

His Love Wins. Always.

"Love Wins."

See a lot of that since the Supreme Court's decision to expand the constitutional definition of "marriage" to include same-sex couples.

I understand the honest sentiments of those expressing it. And, I will not judge the genuine-ness of their love for each other.

That, my friends, is not my job -- nor your's. There is but one judge, and I do no presume to know the mind of God.

But the truth is, more than 50 percent of people who marry, however they define it, will fall out of "love" and divorce,

But yes, Love Wins.

Greater love has no man, than he lay down his life for another.

Love won 2,000 years ago, it wins today, and it will win in eternal ages to come, because of a unique, selfless act of ultimate love.

Divine dichotomy: Of pain, suffering and a benevolent God

This past week has me, again, reflecting on the perceived dichotomy of suffering and a benevolent, loving God.

Particularly, the fundamentalist, evangelical Christian God who rewards the righteous in this life; the God the fringe of the Charismatic Movement — “Positive Confession,” “Name It, Claim It,” etc. — interprets those rewards as health and wealth and little or no suffering.

I understand, and this week even weep with those who have reached their limits of pain vs. faith, because they expected something else of life from what they were taught. Finally, they chose to cauterize the pain by simply declaring there is not, cannot possibly be, a benevolent loving God who cares about each of us, especially his children who obey, sacrifice and try to emulate Christ’s teachings.

For them, it has become a case of psychic, spiritual pain management: If God is benevolent and loving, they finally ask in their suffering, the perceived lack of that divine care amid the crucibles of life is a kind of open-ended pain that can, finally, become unbearable.

A trapped animal will chew off its own paw to be free of pain and hopelessness. A human being can be understood, empathized with, yes, forgiven for lopping off the extremity of faith in his or her most desperate times.

My week is nothing akin to the suffering others have endured, both those who hang on to faith and those who run from it. I have not reached the point of amputating my faith, and in some ways it is even stronger; but that all has come with more depth, and more pain.

Yesterday, I called my sister — in a group home in Washington state, crippled by cerebral palsy and intellectually a 5-year-old — to wish her a Happy 65th Birthday. Understand, she is my “big” little sister, being three years older, and a lifetime younger, at the same time.

“Hi Mom!” she said, answering the phone, and my heart sank. My mother, in the end stages of Alzheimer’s, is in a nursing home a few miles away from my sister, no longer able to talk, care for herself or remember any of her children, her husband, brothers, sisters.

Mom would not be calling. Her world has imploded to one of sleep, food, playing with dolls. Her body lives; her spirit has all but departed.

“It’s your brother, sis,” I said. The disappointment in her stuttering voice was tangible, and my eyes welled up.

I tried to keep it upbeat. Sang to her. Happy birthday. I could hear her, in that peculiar moaning stutter of her’s, upset. Mom’s denouement has been particularly hard on her; how do you explain memory loss to a childlike mind that only knows her mother, her bedrock in life, doesn’t know who she is?

Abruptly, she said, “Bye,” and the phone disconnected.

Last night, my Dad called, fear and despair in his raspy, almost 93-year-old voice. “Bob! I can hardly see anything anymore!” His macular degeneration has suddenly accelerated. I promised to call the medical staff for him, something he could have done . . . but in his terror forgot, reaching out to his son for help.

His maddeningly helpless son, 800 miles away. I called, asking for an expedited exam by the eye specialist to determine what, if anything, can be done.

It all felt like a massive, growing mountain before me: The mother who was a constant source of prayerful support and stubborn faith, gone; the father who spent his life preaching the gospel, sacrificing to do so in one tiny parish after another, in the twilight of life without his wife, stroke damage limiting his mobility, and now going blind, fearing the darkness to come; a sister who needed her mother, not her brother, on her special day.

So, I begin to understand how some people of faith can finally stumble under skies that seem to have turned brass to their prayers. And, I find myself amazed, and not a little humbled, and yet remain faithful.

It is the perspective of eternity, of knowing there will be plenty of pain in this life — but we are not alone in it. It is believing that like a morning fog, that pain will, someday soon, give way to immersion in the Love that is beyond this veil of tears.

Angel Vasko wrote about that a few years ago for CBN, after dealing with her mother’s prolonged, painful illness and death. (To read the whole article, visit http://www.cbn.com/spirituallife/prayerandcounseling/Vasko_Trust_in_Tragedy.aspx)

“What is the lesson here God?!”  she said.  “Do you want me to know that life is hard and that people suffer and then die!!!? I get it!”

Vast concluded that, “I still have so many questions and I have so much to learn.  But in my heart of hearts, I just want to run into daddy’s arms and have Him hold me.  I want to have a pure heart.  I want to have a simplistic faith again.  Most of all, I want my first love, Christ, to know that I still love Him wholeheartedly."

In our finite existence, happiness and sadness, blessing and loss, joy and pain come, and not always in equal portions. But life is, perhaps thankfully so, brief as it is changing.

On the wild, wonderful, scary ride that life is, it is good to have, as Solomon once wrote, “Eternity in our hearts.”

Nothing new under the sun? Time to look above it

Ancient Israel’s King Solomon, reputed to be the wisest monarch of his time, once lamented that there was “Nothing new under the sun,” and “Vanity of vanities; all is vanity.”

That’s the familiar literary recitation from Ecclesiastes I, anyway. The Message paraphrase might make a bit more sense in the 21st Century: “There’s nothing to anything — it’s all smoke . . . the sun comes up and the sun goes down, then does it again, and again — the same old round.”

Live long enough, and it is inevitable to nod and sigh in agreement with the jaded king of old.

Still, I turn back to that initial King James Version phrase, “Nothing new UNDER the sun.”

I believe your perspective must take flight, ABOVE the sun, to grasp truth, and hope.

Keep your gaze in front of you, or more likely, at your feet, despairing at the path your are on, and like Henry David Thoreau, you will find yourself one of those characters who live their lives in ‘quiet desperation.”

In his work, “Walden,” Thoreau — though of an existential, not religious worldview — urges looking above the sun, too, in the sense of climbing beyond the mundane to the true treasures of living.

Rather than being resigned to our “present low and primitive condition,” he writes about the almost metaphysical ecstasy of “the spring of springs arousing them” and the yearning to “rise to a higher and more ethereal life.”

I am reminded, anew, that it is time again to look above the sun.

Time to see, taste, touch and hear beauty, to cherish and embrace family and friends, and to let my faith in God carry me beyond mere sunrises and sunsets to other, eternal realms — whether experienced within the next breath or heartbeat, or in the passage of eons to come.

And, it's a journey best experienced hand-in-hand. Don't be afraid to reach out.