35-Years in the Making

My wife and I just celebrated our 35^th wedding anniversary on November 26^th.  We were both kids when we married…I was 18 and she was an older woman of 19.  As with most marriages, it’s had its ups and downs and as she likes to tell folks, “We’ve been happily married for 30-years”. 

In honor of the woman who has put up with my antics for that long, I took her on a whirlwind cruise to the eastern Caribbean aboard Royal Caribbean International’s “Brilliance of the Seas”, and then surprised her by coordinating the renewal of our wedding vows.  It was an awesome and emotionally moving experience for us both.

I was really surprised at just how nerve wracking I found the whole vow renewal thing to be.  I mean, who would have thought that after 35-years I’d be nearly as nervous as I was the day we said, “I do” the first time?  But I was.

The ceremony was a simple but elegant affair with one of the ship’s officers officiating, beautiful white roses, chocolate covered strawberries instead of cake and a champagne toast.  The only others in attendance were 2 photographers and some guy we referred to as the “wedding lurker”; hanging outside of the closed off area and taking photos through the window on deck.  Before it was over, everyone was crying like they were watching the end of the movie “Phenomenon”…including the wedding lurker.

My uncle always referred to my aunt as his “child bride”; a term of endearment that I always admired.  And so I salute my own child bride with this article.  A woman who has given life to four beautiful daughters.  A woman who has followed me half-way around the world and back while I pursued my military career.  A woman who, when we were broke, was willing to work two jobs and take care of 6-kids (a couple of rentals in there) to make sure we had a van to haul everyone around and a roof over our head at night.   

There’s an attitude among a few liberal career women and chauvinistic men in our country that anyone who chooses to make homemaking as their career is less of a success in our world.  Hillary Clinton once touted her working woman career status and famously snapped back at reporters that she could have just “stayed home and baked cookies and had teas”.  More recently, the feministic hatred of homemakers was even felt by Mitt Romney’s wife, Ann, during the recent Presidential election when another Hilary (Rosen) attacked her by saying, “You know what, she’s never actually worked a day in her life”.  

Balderdash!  My wife has worked hard her whole life and taken care of things most people would cringe at doing.  Not only that, she is intelligent and thought-provoking, organized and driven in her “chosen” profession.  Her standards are high, expecting nothing but the best out of herself.  She is tenacious when necessary while possessing social grace when appropriate.  Bottom-line….she is a strong woman tempered by experience and by any measure a complete SUCCESS! 

I feel fortunate to call this woman my wife.  She deserves honor and respect for all she has endured and the lives she has enriched.  I’m proud to have her arm in mine and her gift of a ring on my finger. 

A young couple on the cruise noticed our formal attire and flowers and the young lady asked a question I’ve heard many times, “What’s the secret to a long and happy marriage?”  For me the answer is simple.  Finding a good woman who you love and adore and who reciprocates that love….and then, not screwing it up by being stupid.  That last part is sometimes the hardest.

Papa Chief

Baseball - A Game for Life

I’m a huge St. Louis baseball fan. The Cardinals have been part of my life since I can remember.  Even though I didn’t come from a particularly sports-minded family growing up, I learned to embrace the sport of baseball.  I don’t think any of my immediate family really understands.  I’m not a crazy, paint your face, statistic spouting, obnoxious in-your-face type of baseball fan.  I’m just a regular guy who enjoys the game. 

Yes, I have the requisite Cardinal paraphernalia….the shirts, the hats, the pins and ties I wear to work to irritate my Cubs fan boss.  My favorite is the mini Fred Bird that lounges on the bed and comes out for the games on TV and the occasional stadium visit.  He makes me smile when I look at him. 

When I was around 7 or 8 years old we lived about 50-miles west of St. Louis.  I can remember Dad telling me that every year he would receive a FREE pass into Busch Stadium….something about him being a church pastor.  But…to my knowledge he never attended a game.  As a kid, that just didn’t make any sense to me. 

I didn’t get to go to my first professional baseball game until I was a young adult in my 20’s.  Cheap nose-bleed seats, cold blustery day, and mesmerized by the whole experience.  I’ve been hooked ever since. 

For those who are not baseball fans, trust me.  I get it.  Who wants to sit for 3-hours in the stands with a bunch of screaming people eating terrible food and freezing your gluts off during a season opener in April?  And Lord forbid there’s a pitching duel and no runs……BORING!!!!!!! 

But that’s just the attraction for me.  To me, the love of the game is the camaraderie of the crowd, the crazy mascot, the bad food, the bigger-than-life experience of the stadium, and the strategy of the game itself.  Especially the strategy.  How do you know when to pull the pitcher?  How does the manager decide where to place the players for the next batter?  How does the runner make the perfect bunt and what does it take to fake the pitcher out to steal a base?  And then, throw in the unpredictable factors like an injury, a bad baseball hop or just a bad call by the officials. It all makes for fabulous drama!

I used to umpire softball and baseball for the youth, high school and college leagues.  One day I was umpiring a game of 4 and 5-year old girls softball.  If you’ve not had that experience then trust me, it’s well worth going to watch.  Absolutely NOTHING happens like anyone plans.  The coach of the “Bumble Bees” was having particular problems with his outfielders not paying attention to the game.  At one point, the coach asked for “time” and proceeded out to centerfield.  After a short exchange, the girl reached into her pocket and handed over….a bag of Skittles. 

Life is much like a good baseball game.  How do we know what career to work towards?  How much money should I save up to buy my first house?  What kind of education is important?  What’s the secret to landing that great job?  What do I need to do in order to get that pretty girl to say “yes” to marriage?  How do I hang on to a life that I love, but can so easily be turned upside down by the unpredictable?  How much money do I need for retirement? What kind of advice should I give my kids?  What kind of legacy do I want to leave my family when I die?

Small decisions in baseball can have a dramatic outcome in the game.  An outfielder moving one step to the right for the next batter could cause him to miss being able to field a hit in time resulting in a run. Throwing a fast ball low and inside on a batter could be perfect for the near golf swing that sends the ball over the outfield wall. 

Life is the same way.  When the pitch comes how we react can be life changing.   Making the wrong choices can have life altering results.  We all want to hit the home run.  But the reality is that we oftentimes strike outs. 

Miguel Cabrera of the Detroit Tigers recently became the first player to win a Triple Crown since Carl Yastrzemski in 1967, and yet, he “only” carried a .320 batting average.  In other words, he only hit the ball successfully less than 1 out of 3 times at bat.  And yet, that’s Hall of Fame material! 

When they fail to connect and go through a streak of missed opportunities, a good baseball player returns to the batting cage…gets advice from the batting coach…and never gives up. 

When life throws you a curve ball and you strike out, the result can be heartbreaking.  But it doesn’t have to be devastating or career-ending.  Go back…evaluate your technique…seek out good advice…study up on your mechanics…and get back out there and swing again. 

Just as in baseball, to be good in life you have to hone your skills and practice, practice, practice!  You’ll fall and make mistakes along the way, but each experience will make you better.  Dwelling on the missed opportunity will not make life any better.  Reach for the home runs in life, even when you strike out.  Eventually you’ll end up in the Hall of Fame if you persevere.

Papa Chief

The Rest of the Story

In my previous blog, I spoke of my fear of growing up to be drafted and sent to Vietnam.  I also had a fear that my big brother would also end up being sent and would die.  My brother is 9-years older than me, and was ripe for selection in 1969.  He was attending college at the time and when he read my blog he shared his own perspective of that same time period. 

 

On Dec 1, 1969, the U.S. conducted a live broadcast of the draft lottery on TV.   I’ve included a link to that same broadcast as presented that night.  CBS News Lottery Draft - 1969  I could only imagine the anticipation and fear of young men all across the country as they witnessed that event.  But with his permission, I present to you my brother’s own account of his thoughts and feelings.  His memory of that day is far superior than my own.

“Don't know if you we're ever aware of the end of the traditional draft system, to a "lottery" system during the Vietnam War. The purpose was to more fairly draft men for service.  It had been made widely known that the "lottery" numbers would be drawn on live TV (there were only the three major networks) on the evening of Dec. 1, 1969.”

“I was living in the men's dormitory, and we all gathered in the "TV Room" to watch. (No TV's allowed in dorm rooms.) The entire dorm population was there with most having to stand.  Birthday dates were drawn out of a large bowl and announced. The birth dates were placed in the sequence drawn beside the numbers 1-366.  The first date drawn would be the first men called up for the draft as need and so forth.  Expectations stated beforehand were that the first hundred numbers picked could expect to receive draft notices in a relatively short time. Numbers 101-200 might receive notices at a future time. Numbers 201-366 were considered fairly safe.”

”The TV room was completely silent as the drawing began. No one spoke or showed any emotion. As someone's birth date would be selected in the first group of 100 we would see them silently and quietly leave the area.  Many guys immediately began packing their belongings into their cars throughout the night and early morning, then simply drove away, never to be seen or heard of again. I clearly recall watching the exodus out of my third floor dorm window.”

“It was one of the most emotional experiences I've ever been witness to and affected by. It was the saddest day I ever spent during my education. The silence and sense of doom was like a smothering fog over the whole campus. Those of us left behind of course breathed a sigh of relief for our own good fortune. I had drawn a 206 and posted that number on my dorm room wall as a reminder of what had just happened.”

“As my college education continued over the next three years, I also recall young men who had completed their military service in Vietnam and returned to enroll in school.  I distinctly recall how quiet, unassuming, and seriously studious they were.  They were never rowdy, and never goofed around, and just seemed generally more mature than the rest of us.  They had already grown up, and seen things I never would.”

Thanks to my big brother for sharing that experience.  As I watched the video clip…suddenly there it was…MY birthday; July 7.  Although I was too young to have been drafted, my brother’s recollection of that event made my imagination of how I would have felt that night even more real.  My birth date was lottery number 050.  I would have been in the first group.

Whether by providence, luck or random chance, some were called…and some were not.  I am a product of an all-volunteer military and was proud to serve.  In the end, my brother was not called, and did not die as I had feared.  For that I am thankful.  I pray we never have to force military service on anyone ever again. 

Papa Chief

1969 - A Child's Perspective

Neil Armstrong died this week at the age of 82.  On July 20, 1969, Neil became famous for uttering his famous words, “That’s one small step for man…one giant leap for mankind”.  His fellow astronaut, Buzz Aldrin, followed shortly thereafter and together they became the first two people to walk on the face of any heavenly body outside of the planet earth.  That’s some pretty cool juju! 

I had just turned 10-years old less than 2-weeks before man’s first walk on the moon.  I lived with my family in Marshall, Arkansas and remember how excited I was to get a small reel-to-reel audio tape recorder for my birthday that year. 

And so on the evening of July 20^th, I sat with my family in the living room of our home to watch a grainy black and white picture of shadows coming down the ladder of the lunar lander.  With the awestruck mind of a young boy, I sat on our hardwood floors with my little tape recorder running and recorded the moon landing and those famous words LIVE from the television broadcast. 

It was a time of hope and excitement at the end of a tumultuous decade punctuated by the assassinations of President John F. Kennedy, Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert Kennedy.  The unpopular war in Vietnam was splashed across that same television every night as we would listen to the latest body count of American soldiers by news reporter Walter Cronkite.  Protests across the nation, racial divides and increased rhetoric by the U.S. and the U.S.S.R. in the midst of the Cold War seemed to be the only thing anyone regularly discussed.

As adults, we sometimes think that the little kids don’t really understand nor have an appreciation for what is going on in our world.  “Adult topics”….we call them.  And while the boys played with their trucks and girls played with their dolls, Mom and Dad didn’t give the impact on our young ears much thought. 

In 1969, at the age of 10, I was keenly aware of world events.  Maybe that is unusual for a kid, but for me it was normal.  My brother was 19-years old.  I used to be scared that he would get drafted into the Army and sent to Vietnam and die.  My sister was 17-years old and used to talk about her high school friends who were going into the military and would eventually be sent to Vietnam.  Some of their classmates did indeed go…and some came home in body bags.  I was also scared that someday I would also have to go to Vietnam…and die. 

That’s a pretty heavy thing for a 10-year old boy to be thinking about.  I never told anyone my thoughts.

Dad took me on a visit to California around that time in my life…just the two of us.  It was a magical trip that I never forgot and always cherished.  We visited San Francisco and a very famous area of those days….Haight-Ashbury.  It was the center of the counter-culture world full of hippies, crazy music, colorful clothes and peace signs everywhere.  Again, it made an impression on my young mind.  I asked for, and received, a set of bongos for Christmas that year.

The experiences of our childhood have lasting impressions on the rest of our lives.  Try to make sure your kids are experiencing the best that life has to offer.  And when difficult events happen in our world, take the time to sit down and talk with them about it and their feelings.  Trust me…they are paying attention.

Papa Chief

Deep Thoughts

Well, the Olympics are over.  I really had fun watching, even though the Brits have a strange way of putting on opening/closing ceremonies.  The Spice Girls are still HOT!

As we pulled up to the house yesterday, we noticed a brood of quail…actually, a Momma quail with several babies in tow…under the tree in our front yard.  Those little birds are so cute and always look like they are running to get out of the way of something.  I don’t know if fear rules their roost, but they are humorous to watch.  And they taste like chicken.

Some random observations:

-          We live in the desert with a lot of coyotes, mountain lions, spiders, snakes, scorpions and such running around. 

-          Stray cats or dogs in the neighborhood don’t seem to be a problem where we live.

-          91-degree pool water is wonderful to swim in late at night.

-          110-degree hot tub water would make headhunting cannibals in Africa giddy with anticipation.

-          Momma noodles are second only to bacon as God’s magnificent gift of sustenance to mankind.

-          We used to think people who bought pet rocks were imbeciles.

-          Landscapers here sell a lot of rocks to a lot of people for their yards...and make lots of money.

-           People who sell rocks for a living should run for President.

-          Small children pick their noses at the most inappropriate times.

-          It’s well known among cats that licking one’s butt is a common culturally accepted means of welcoming one’s house guests.

-          Cats are confused as to why we do not welcome our guests appropriately.

Do men really think that no one notices when they don’t wash their hands after using the public restroom?  I’ve heard that some women have the same issue.  These must be the same people that still own pet rocks.  They are still imbeciles.

School is back in session. To the soccer Mom who stopped in the middle of 4-lanes of heavy rush hour traffic to let their 3-kids out of the van for school and subsequently backed up traffic for half a mile…I’m interested to know the name of your pet rock.

All my life I’ve wanted straight hair…and my sister always wanted curly hair.  We have both been cursed.

Still...I have a full head of hair. To all the creeps who used to bully me in school...revenge is sweet, baldy!

Now…back to my real life.

Papa Chief

The Crown of a Champion

I’ve enjoyed watching some of the XXX Olympic Games being held in London, England this week.  My favorites so far have been the 6-person volleyball, gymnastics, swimming and diving.  Michael Phelps has been in the spotlight for everyone this week….breaking the all-time record of medals won by a single individual across several Olympic Games.  He now has 22 including 2 bronze, 2 silver and 18 gold medals. 

There was quite a bit of talk about Mr. Phelps ability early on when he actually placed 4^th…out of the medal contention…in an early race.  Had he lost his edge?  Was age starting to creep up on him?  Was he psyched out by the competition?  In later interviews, Michael himself admitted that he did not train as long or as hard as he had for previous competitions.  In the waning swan song of his swimming career, I think that is the heart of the matter.  He has nothing more to prove.  He’s already the greatest swimmer, and arguably the greatest Olympian of all time having won more metal than anyone else in modern history. 

A few years ago my wife and I had the privilege of attending a concert by the legendary band, “The Eagles”.  These guys created some magical music throughout the 70’s and 80’s but eventually broke up over internal disputes and did not sing together again for nearly 15-years.  I have a live DVD of their first reunion concert together.  Having seen them in person along with my wife a few years later, it struck me how comfortable these guys were with each other.  Their musical talents on a variety of instruments combined with their vocal renditions of songs both old and new, made me realize the importance of achieving a level of comfort in your work. 

An Olympic athlete.  A musical group.  A man at work.  All three have one thing in common.  They each require a level of practice, hard work and competency in order to achieve success in their craft.  Once you reach the pinnacle, and have the material blessings and accolades of the world, what point is there to continued struggle for further perfection?

The Bible teaches us to, “Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a worker who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth.” (2 Timothy 2:15) NIV

Another passage says, “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men…” (Colossians 3:23) NIV

Finally, “Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like someone running aimlessly; I do not fight like a boxer beating the air. No, I strike a blow to my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize.” (1 Corinthians 9:24-27) NIV

Whether working towards our Olympic goal, musical perfection, worldly ambition, or a heavenly crown, we have an obligation to our creator to do everything in honor of Him, not ourselves.  In this way we are recognized as humble creatures that look for our reward beyond what man is able to give us on this earth.

Hard work, humble grace, and constantly striving toward the prize that awaits us is what truly makes us good, decent and honorable people in the eyes of God.  So, my counsel is to always do your best…even if it comes easier with practice.  Your life will be enriched in the process.

Papa Chief

Shock and Sadness

Massacres are nothing new.  Humans have gotten really good at killing each other…and doing so in large numbers for no particular reason.  The 17th century Italian painter, Valerio Castello, entitled his painting “The Massacre of the Innocents”; an apt title for such a gruesome depiction of horror. 

And so it was another sad footnote in our American history when last Friday a young man felt the need to obliterate and/or forever change the lives of thousands of people in an Aurora, CO movie theater. The days that have followed have been filled with speculation, anger, sadness and a hundred other emotions too expansive to put on paper. 

I’m always particularly saddened to learn about the details of each individual affected by tragic situations.  The mother who was severally injured while her 6-year old daughter was assassinated in cold blood.  The young man who was to celebrate both his birthday and first wedding anniversary only two days later….he didn’t make it.  The Air Force reservist who was called to active duty during time of war…only to be gunned down by some lunatic who never served a day of patriotic military duty in his life. 

There are many many more stories like these, and of those who were injured…and of those who were left to grieve it all. 

As I reflected on these stories it suddenly struck me that although I am saddened by the event, I’m not nearly as shocked as I was, say, when Timothy McVey murdered those folks in Oklahoma City, OK in 1995.  I did not find this nearly as unbelievable as the day I heard about the murder of Israeli Olympians in Munich, Germany in 1972.  What really struck me was my lack of incredulity.  It embarrasses me.  I am ashamed.

The world is a chaotic place that seems to run from one tragic event to the next.  The age of media saturation has created calluses on our hearts and minds that insulate us from stopping in our tracks and prevent us from being immobilized out of fear and repulsion. 

I also began to reflect on our reaction to other horrific world events.  They happen every day, you know.  As appalling as  the event in Colorado was (and is), there is actually some good fortune in that only 12 have died when there was so much potential for more.  And…we now know the names, faces, and stories of each one of them in some minor way. 

And yet…take the current Syrian conflict. In the town of Houla at the end of May, according to the UN, a massacre took place which claimed the lives of 108 village residents including 49 children and 34 women, most of them murdered with hatchets, knives and guns.  With few exceptions, we do not know their names, what they did for a living, what kind of lives they led…not even what they looked like.  108 lives taken….and yet we know little or nothing of them.  Horrific?  Yes.  Shocked to the point of creating a searing memory in my mind?  Not so much.  It embarrasses me.  I am ashamed. 

I have no answer for world conflict or individual madness in this world short of the return of Christ.  If I did, I’d run for President and make empty promises that will never come to fruition simply because there is evil in this world.  It makes no logical sense.  But I hope and pray we will always feel shock and sadness as these things happen.  I wish to grieve.  And I want to know their names, even if I can’t really pronounce them well.

Papa Chief

My Daily Commute

Why do we spend so much of our time doing the things we do?  It seems like life is a constant series of movements designed to accomplish one goal or another. 

I spend about 1 ½ hours each day of my life, Monday through Friday, sitting in a vehicle driving either to or from my place of employment.  People call this a “commute”.  That averages 7.5-hours per week, 390-hours per year.  If I commuted 24-hours per day each day without stopping, it would take 16.25 days to fulfill each year’s commute.  That’s a lot of rubber on the road. 

During my commute, I do a variety of things.  Most of the time I listen to music.  Someone smarter than me invented a cordless telephone that also contains my preferred musical collection.  Someone else invented wireless connectivity, better known as Bluetooth technology.  Yet another person figured out a way to put that technology into my radio, and….voilà….I can now listen to my music without the irritancy of commercial interruption.  Very cool! 

I’ve also been using my very cool phone on the commute to listen to my audio Bible.  I think I’ve been able to run through 25% of scripture in about 30-days of commuting.  Amazing stuff, for sure. 

I’ve tried learning Spanish by listening to lessons during my commute, but I find that trying to enunciate español while conjugating verbs to be a bit too much for my mind to concentrate on with the lousy drivers that surround me along the way.

On occasion….I sit in silence; in thought.  I oftentimes talk to God.  I tell Him about my day, or pray for my family.  I will recognize the beauty of His creation around me.  The mountains.  The sunrise or sunset. The coyote’s running along the road.  The suicidal doves that dive bomb my car or wait until the last millisecond to try escaping from my quickly approaching mass of aluminum and steel.  It’s all good.

Sometimes I talk to my Dad.  He has been gone for far too long.  And I can still see his smiling face as he wraps his arms around me and says, “Welcome home, son”. 

Commuting….make the most of yours.

Papa Chief

Flying High

Here I sit in row 18A with approximately 200 of my new best friends, riding in an aluminum tube high above the plains of Texas, or Oklahoma enroute to one of my least favorite regions of the continental United States...the east coast. Thankfully its a smooth ride so far, otherwise my writing would look like a bag full of Scrabble letters.

I'm also thankful to have a young slender man (emphasis on slender) in the center seat next to me...with a job, pleasant personality, a sense of humor, and nice teeth. Hmmm, perhaps I'll slip my card to him and tell him all about my eligible daughters. What's the worst that could happen?  I've already experienced the worst.

I love my job. I get to work with some great people and the highlight for me are the trips to our sites around the country to spend time with the managers and employees. But I'm fully aware of the joy they must have when the "boss" comes to town, so I try to not over stay my welcome. The Air Force has taught me to be somewhat of a people person even though I'm really more comfortable alone and in a quiet place. So...I love my job.

I hate my job. I get to work with some of the most lame people on the planet. Travel can be fun, but it gets old sometimes. Airport security is a necessary evil that just plain sucks. I got yelled at by the TSA guy this morning because I thought he motioned me forward...and I did so. He spent the next 30-seconds explaining that his motion was to stop me, not to step forward. He may be a great guy, but today he was lame too. Oh, and I have a co-worker who is arrogant and self-centered. You know the type. The one who makes up for their own inadequecy by putting forth an air of superiority with everyone else. So...I hate my job.

In spite of the pros and cons of my job, I am very grateful. I am paid a reasonable salary, my bills are not in arrears, my family is provided for, and I like to think a do a good job at what I do. My mantra for work is found in Colossians 3:23, "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as if working for the Lord, not for men." I think that's a pretty cool business plan.

All of us have things we like or dislike about our jobs. But the Bible teaches us that in ALL things we are to be thankful. And so I am.

We are also taught to be content in whatever situation we find ourselves. And so I am.

And therefore I sit, at 35,000 feet or so in the air, riding in this giant cigar tube...away from my wife, my cats, my house, my truck, my guitar, my church, my friends, my family, my life as I know it....but I am closer to God and I am happy.  I am blessed.

May the wings in your own life take you to places you've only dreamed about in your heart.

Papa Chief

Politics and Religion

Starting off with a bang...(must be the fireworks for the 4th still going off in my head).  There's nothing more volatile than politics and religion.  Mix them together and it's like pouring gasoline over a stack of dynamite and lighting a match.  Like many of my friends and family, I am a Facebook'er (FB).  I started using FB as a means to keep in contact with family and see photos of the grandkids since we live so far from each other.  It has evolved into a social experiment in how much dribble you can filter through your brain without losing the essence of REAL contact with REAL people; pressing the flesh, so to speak.  There is good and bad to anything one takes part in, including FB. 

With the election of the President of the United States looming very near, FB has become the modern day office watering hole...the front porch of America...the fire around which sits the elders and the youth who listen and complain about the "old ways" of the Chiefs. 

I'll admit....I'm somewhat of a conservative thinker; set in my ways and reminiscing of how things "used" to be. I recently mentioned that our church's Vacation Bible School was "different" on FB; how I missed seeing the flag procession and reciting of the pledge at the beginning of each service (it's a Baptist thing....just go with it).  I was almost immediately bombarded with a younger crowd on FB who were "offended" by my remarks telling me how effective the new way of doing things led people to know Christ, how much the kids loved it, etc. Wow!  Back up....it was just a memory that I particularly enjoyed as a kid.  And yeah...our way was effective as well.

When it comes to politics, I'm also somewhat conservative. Having spent 30-years in the US Air Force, I'm a stanch patriot who believes in the ideals of the American way of life, it's democratic form of republic that give people the freedom to live and express themselves as they wish...to a certain degree.  I'm proud to be an American and will apologize to no one for the red, white and blue that flows through my veins. 

When it comes to religion, I grew up in a Southern Baptist church.  Daddy was the preacher, and I married a Southern Baptist preacher's daughter.  It's what I know...what I understand...where my comfort zone is located.  Southern Baptists are also historically racist...originating from the smoldering heap of slavery in the south.  It's a fact, and we have to embrace the truth. This year, Southern Baptists have elected their first black American president; a first in their history that our forefathers would likely have found disgusting. A lot of grave rolling is going on.  I'm proud that we've evolved this far.

In both cases I use the term "somewhat" conservative.  There are things that Baptists (particularly, Southern Baptists) believe that I do not believe are Biblical <insert shock here>.  There are things about our way of government that I think could be better or are outdated <insert awe here>.  In both cases I believe there is room for discussion. 

Toleration and discussion for a minority viewpoint is admirable.  Political correctness (PC) for the sake of trying not to offend is pointless and violates our idea of democratic rule.  Although I value the opinions of others...whether in politics or religion...I am not PC. But I do believe that we need to learn to discuss without being violent.  We need to learn to listen without carrying a chip on our shoulders too.  Everyones opinion is valid and valued....but not everyone is right or wrong.  We do not live in a black and white society where everything is orderly and set in stone.  And sometimes...we need to be mature enough to agree to disagree and go about our business without holding a grudge. 

The "I'm right" and "You're wrong" mentality is what we see our so-called leaders playing out in Washington D.C.  It reminds me of kids in the playground fighting over the proper length of chain on a swing set. We need peacemakers more than we need sword swallowers.  I want to elect someone who represents the majority view point without dismissing the minority one.  I want someone who understands the word "compromise".  I want someone who will value MY opinion...even if it's conservative.  I want someone to value YOUR opinion...even if it's wrong. <that's what we call...humor>

Our country is much like a marriage where communication is the key to success.  Unless the different factions of our country begin to function like a solid relationship of give and take, we will find ourselves in divorce court.  In some countries they call it "nation building".  Others call it "civil war".  We've tried nation building around the world....and civil war on our own soil.  Neither one has been a fun experience; downright painful is the word. 

Politics and religion....a volatile mix for sure.


Papa Chief

Core Crow - It Begins

I am a Crow...a Crow to the core. The core of anything represents the very essence of what it is and where it originated; hence the name of my blog which starts today. I have lots of thoughts running through my brain that have accumulated over the past 52-years and 363-days. I am a prolific thinker and as I am now well past the half-century mark of life I thought this would be a good time to put my thoughts down for someone, somewhere to take a look at down the road. Maybe my children or grandchildren...or beyond...will think it kind of cool to see what I had to say. Perhaps they'll think it all rubbish and give it a toss in the virtual round can. In any event, this will become an outlet for my thoughts that I hope to share with anyone, everyone, and no one.

What I do NOT wish this to become is a diary or journal of my daily life. Lord knows there's enough drama in everyones day-to-day existence and you don't need to hear mine along the way. But as my writing evolves, I hope to share my quirky insight and, perhaps, slightly brash ideas and bold, sometimes irreverent thoughts.

So...here we go. This is a work in progress and perhaps it will go nowhere.

Ciao! - Papa Chief