I Don't Need God; I've got "The Arts"

Warning: Gross generalization ahead:

I really enjoy the music that I hear on our local NPR affiliate. Please note that I said music, not news!

The one problem I have with listening to NPR is the live studio sessions (Saint Paul Sunday, Performance Today, etc.). The music is great, and listening to Ted Libby or Bill McGlaughlin is generally an enlightening experience.

Even as I listen, though, I sense (and here is the generalization) that for most of these artists, the music is their god. As I listen to them talk about their education, their lives, etc. it seems to me that there is no room for the author of their talents.

Now here is where many people will have to disagree with me. There are a couple of different arguments: 1) When I use my talents I glorify God, but I don't feel the need for formalized religion (tacit admission that there is a God, but that He is satisfied with a hat-tip from time to time), 2) God doesn't care about me or my abilities. He is busy worrying about global issues; I developed my inate abilities through sheer hard work (again, tacit admission that there is a God, but hey -- why should he care about us -- He has bigger things to worry about, and so do I), 3) there is no God, and, your pious protestations to the contrary, my talents are a lucky mix of genetics, environment and hard work.

Fine. That's the beauty of mortality. Agency (and its associated consequences) is one of the gifts God granted to us. In the end, we will find out who is correct. If the non-believers are right, it won't make any difference to me. If the faithful and believing are correct, it will make a great deal of difference to the non-believer. I'd rather be on the side where heads or tails I win.

In the meantime, I listen for a sense of soul in the music. Especially during the baroque and early classical period it is there, it's just hard to detect when you have to filter it through the image the players try and project. Sorry if I'm wrong.

Reading my journal

For me, blogging is a natural extension of something I have done for the past thirty-something years -- write in a journal. I've waxed and waned on the frequency of my journalling during that time, but through it all I've been pretty consistent in doing it.

Journals took on a whole new significance this year. After Seth and Jessica were killed, leaving Alexander an orphan, we were fortunate enough to recover both Seth and Jessica's journals. These small and imperfect windows into their souls are precious beyond words. I don't think marriage and fatherhood was as easy as my son had envisioned it, but I know from reading his journal that he loved being married and he loved being a father.

It was during a discussion of their journals that Jennifer told me something that made my own journalling worth every minute. She and Jessica would meet at our house every Wednesday and spend the day canning, sewing, quilting or just talking. When school and work would permit, Seth or Jesse would join them for the day. Jennifer said that Seth would come into my office, pull one of my journals off the bookshelf and start reading. Jennifer said Jessica told him "Seth, you shouldn't read your dad's journals!" and Seth's answer was "Why not? He's writing about us."

I was writing about them and about Jennifer and Jesse and Devri and Todd and Laura and Emma Lynn and Adrienne and Patrick and Connor and Dalene. They are what makes life complete.

A friend who lost a daughter in a automobile accident told me (10 years later for him) that he only thinks about his daughter about once an hour now. I don't know what to think of that -- if that's a good thing or a bad thing. All I know is that there is nothing that consumes my thoughts more than them. For me, it's a good day when I don't think about the day they were killed. Hell would be reliving that day for the rest of eternity.

Fortunately, that's not the plan. There is a plan. God is the author. We are the actors (sometimes wittingly, mostly not) and the hardest part is reading from the right script.

Ready! Fire! Aim!

This presidential campaign started (for me) with a great deal of apprehension. I was worried that Bush would not win (even dreaming about a Dean presidency was enough to wake me up in a cold sweat). Once Kerry wrapped up the Democratic nomination I started worrying about the Democrats running an articulate, intelligent, focused compaign. Given the events of the past several weeks, I've started to loosen up a bit and enjoy the scenery.

I won't bore you with details of the RatherGate -- there are others who have it covered very nicely. Suffice it to say that it has been "interesting" to watch that story unfold and see the manifold "opportunities" for collusion between the poodle's campaign staff, Burkette (where did this guy come from?) and CBS.

From there it was their childish response to the "Kerry Windsurfing" ad. If Kerry can't stand the heat he better get out of the kitchen.

The best, though, (or worst, depending on your perspective) was the Kerry compaign's trashing of Iyad Allawi. At the rate he's going, Kerry will have to liberate Iraq again just to get a prime minister who will talk to him...

Later...

The view from the potato fields

Southeastern Idaho is Republican country. With the exception of a small festering spot of liberalism at Idaho State University in Pocatello, you would have to look pretty far to find a more Republican area.

We know our politicians, too. Senator Mike Crapo lives down the street. The mayor was at Frank's house the other day to get her camera repaired. Russ Matthews, who lives just through the block, was elected to the state legislature (actually he won the primary and is unopposed in the general election). I go to church with him.

The point being that the people who represent us are from among us. With the exception of our congressional delegation and the mayors of our larger cities (about half a dozen), our representatives do other things to earn a living. They farm, sell insurance, raise cattle, fix teeth and so on. They know that the decisions they make have an impact on people because they are not exempt from their own legislative decisions. They know, too, that the federal government is having more and more of an impact on our local economy. That's why it's not an uncommon sight to come around the corner at church and see Mike Crapo leaning up against the wall while a farmer bends his ear about some piece of pending legislation.

I've played baseball with Susan Crapo, held Russ Matthews' little girl on my lap, driven Brian Crapo to the dentist before he was old enough to drive. I know these people and their families. I may agree or disagree about their politics, but I know that their decisions are based on deeply held beliefs. They may change their mind over time, but only because they have considered the issues and are convinced their previous opinion was incorrect.

A couple of years ago for my parent's anniversary I bought them a windmill at the local Cal Store. It stands about 5 feet tall and when the wind blows the fan spins furiously, all the while swinging from side to side, trying to capture every movement of the wind.

Watching it made me think of John Kerry. He has no detectable deeply held beliefs (I consider deeply held beliefs those that impel us forward, pushing us to do things for a greater good that we would not otherwise do). He may say that he does, but a person cannot have that great an inconsistency between beliefs and actions and be able to stand himself! He is like that decorative windmill of my folks: he is constantly shifting positions based on expediency, with his mouth running full speed (the description of the windmill from the link above is most applicable: "Blades spin & tail moves even in a light breeze").

Kerry scares me. He has no common sense. He comes from an insulated world where he doesn't ever feel the friction of real life. Any attempt to make him look like a "regular guy" just turns into a parody because he isn't a "regular guy," he's never been a "regular guy," and he never will be. He's clueless about middle class life. He has spent his whole adult life as a poodle in the lap of wealthy women. Watching him speak (a painful experience at best) is interesting only because, like the windmill, you wonder which direction he will jerk (no pun intended) next. Disconnected from the realities of real life, he can (and does) say things that may appear to make sense, but taken in the larger context are silly at best and often dangerous to our servicemen and damaging to our country.

When Tom Campbell, my high school principal, ran for mayor of Idaho Falls as a Democrat, I voted for him. It wasn't hard because I knew the man and I knew that the label "Democrat" didn't define him. I won't be voting for John Kerry -- he has too many labels that do define him. He's too erratic. He acts on impulse based on what he perceives to be the most popular course of action. Whichever way the wind blows. Just like that little windmill.