Penmanship

For years, one of my pet peeves has been the steady decline in what my mom calls "a good hand". In her generation, penmanship was as important as stoking the wood furnace in the middle of the schoolroom. And it showed. Just check the handwriting of the average person over the age of 70. You will see a glorious, intelligible, graceful style that flows like a stream downhill. (Sudden thought: If our Founding Fathers had penned the constitution with the typical handwriting of today, would anarchy reign because we couldn't read what they wrote?)

The handwriting of the average middle-schooler today is, well, atrocious. And don't give the argument that this is a direct result of the move from notebook paper to a keyboard. This skill has seen a steady decline that borders on neglect. In the '60's, primary students were getting an average of 45 minutes a day working on handwriting. Today, the average is 10 minutes and only 12% of their teachers have ever taken a course in how to teach it.

And now we know that insisting on good penmanship is more than just a personal preference. There is growing evidence that handwriting fluency is an important building block of learning. Studies are showing that when kids struggle with handwriting, it filters into all their academics. Spelling becomes a problem; math becomes a problem because they reverse their numbers. I'm so encouraged that the folks who produce the SAT have added a written essay question. The thought is that with something like a writing test on the SAT, there will be a trickle-down effect to middle schools and eventually the third-grade classroom.

A great quote from the Newsweek article from which I gleaned the above info: "If we stop teaching penmanship, it will not only hasten the day when brides acknowledge wedding gifts by email; the bigger danger, they'll be composed even more poorly than they already are."

Spiderman

As per my doctor's orders, I slept in my recliner 5 days, ending last Tuesday. It was about then that I noticed a couple of pimply-looking red spots on the top of my forehead. Didn't think much of it, even when a red splotch began to encircle the two spots. I thought it was just one of those strange things that appears then goes away a few days later.

I think you know where this is going. By Thanksgiving Day, the area was quarter-size and getting very angry-looking. By then I was convinced this had to be related to a spider bite of some kind. About two weeks ago, I killed a large brown spider a few feet from the recliner that looked like pictures I'd seen of brown recluse spiders.

The red area has slowly grown and now has tiny blisters appearing. This is getting a bit alarming! I've got an appointment with a family practice doctor this afternoon at 4:20. This guy is a real outdoorsman and I'm hopeful he's got good experience with this sort of thing. I would think that the source was a brown recluse were it not for the fact that I've had no symptoms other than the red area smarting and stinging. This is getting curiouser and curiouser. I'll report in on what the doc says...unless he puts me in the hospital...I hope that's a joke.

LATER: Back from the doctor and the news is good, kinda. I've got shingles. The symptoms really are similar to the recluse spider bite...but the fact that I had two lesions pretty much ruled out the spider since they nearly always bite once and then move on to another meal. He said people who've just had surgery are susceptible because their immune system is down a bit. So I'm on a strong antibiotic and steroids. The sad thing is that I'm contagious. If I spread the virus to a child, then the poor kid will get chicken pox...and I've been holding Macie (9 months) all day.

So I guess this is what I get for using the internet as my doctor.

Aftermath

The contrasts between Thanksgiving Day and two days later are amazing. The same food which made us squeal in delight now sits there brooding in the refrigerator, as unattractive as a blind date. The din created by 27 guests has been replaced by a deafening quiet that makes Carole and me long for our grandchildren to bring their mayhem back to our den floor.

Thanksgiving is perhaps the best holiday of all. None of the artificial, materialistic frenzy seen during the Christmas gift-giving madness. The focus really is on giving thanks, even for those who don't know our Savior. The ritual of gathering at noon with family, eating at one o'clock, visiting until the Cowboy game, and then segregating the sexes during game...it's a pattern that seems worthy of repeating every year.

It's almost a given that there is a new addition to our gathering every Thanksgiving. This year, the fresh face belonged to our angelic fourth grandchild, Macie. Next year the newbie will be Audrey, our fifth g'child, due around three weeks from now. We are beside ourselves in anticipation. Poor Brooke just wants her to hurry up and get here.

The shoulder hurts all the time, but I know it's normal and that it will continue to hurt as I do more with it every day. Can't start rehab until Dec. 3rd and that's a bit frustrating. Seemed everyone who greeted me on Thanksgiving slapped me right on the socket as a greeting, sending me into a coyote-howling mode.

Now, the focus is on getting all our family and friends back home safely. And then we'll get into the official Audrey countdown.

Post-Op Report

Hey, checking in. All going well. Got the bandages off and staples out. Most interesting note from the discussion with the doc was this: Dr. Aldrich said that when I was under anesthesia, he tried to raise my right arm above shoulder level and couldn't. So glad I was under when he tried that.

He decompressed the shoulder, whatever that means, and opened up the capsule, whatever that means. I'm to work on small range-of-motion movement from now through the weekend. Then next week I start rehab...three times a week for three weeks.

My dream to pitch in the major leagues in my '60's is alive!!!

The Pilgrims were males...

I'm sittin' here in awe of my wife.

Of course, I'm still helpless, unable to do much of anything due to the surgery on my right shoulder. Meanwhile, Carole has both grand-daughters to manage...all the while getting the house ready for Thanksgiving. We're having nearly 30 family members here and naturally, we want the place to look good. Today, Carole has made two trips in the car to run various errands and continued the household chores as well. Her stress won't end until a week from now.

Meanwhile I sit, watch, and admire.

Day Two

First off, I hope you can click on the above photo and enlarge it. It is now my new wallpaper.

Post-op day 2 has been okay. I didn't sleep well last night. My right arm was totally numb and added to the inconvenience of sleeping in the recliner. I'm into a brief (I hope) time of nice pain because the IV drip into my shoulder has been completely depleted.

But this is not complaining. A brief time of personal inconvenience does wonders to tune me in to the millions of folks who face much, much worse incapacitation on a daily basis...and with no end in sight this side of eternity. What enormous blessings good health and working parts are! We should awaken every morning thanking God for what we have. And open our eyes to those who silently suffer every day and do what we can for them.

No pain, much gain

I'm back from the shoulder decompression and feelin' fine. This is less due to my strength of character than to the implant of a pain-killing drip. I'm also hooked up to a tube that circulates ice water around the area. And I'm typing left-handed, which looks like a caffeinated rooster having a sneezing fit in front of a keyboard.

Pre-op was routine. I told the anesthesiologist that if I started seeing a tunnel with a bright light, then I'd know he screwed up. He did not smile. I then recall a period of grogginess that lasted 6 or 7 seconds, then poof...woke up in the recovery room to a nurse saying, "Hey there, big guy!" I immediately was astounded by being pain-free. I've awakened in many a recovery room to sheer agony so this was very cool.

I asked the nurse if the color of my new prosthetic arm looked okay and she failed to see the humor either. Eventually, Carole and I got to leave. She took me to a Sonic since I was beyond famished. Upon leaving there, we had our first post-op crisis. I dropped my straw down between my seat and the door. So she stopped the car, got out, came over to my side, bent over, and started fishing for the elusive straw. It was way down there below the track and she got into immediate trouble. Her wedding ring got stuck between two metal parts of the track. It took her two painful minutes to extricate the ring and the one-cent straw. I just had to sit there and watch with the forlorn feeling that care-recipients have when they're helpless to help those helping them.

Anyway, all is well. Thanks for the prayers. But I may be calling you when the pain-drip runs out.

The Scope of the Thing

Finally going to get the shoulder scoped on Thursday. Day surgery. Seems simple enough, but I have this ominous feeling that it's gonna be a bit more painful come Thursday night than I'd originally thought. But it's gotta be done if I'm ever going to resurrect my pitching career.

I'll check in with gripping updates. The part of having surgery I hate most is the fasting prior to going in. By far. You think they'd notice Reese's Peanut Butter Cups on my breath?

"Intermediate" Heaven

In my prior blog, I mentioned Randy Alcorn's idea that when we die, we will go to an "intermediate" heaven. Here is what he says, mostly in his words:

When a Christian dies, he or she enters the intermediate state, a transitional period between our past lives on Earth and our future resurrection to life on the New Earth. By definition, an intermediate state is temporary. It is not our final destination. Though it will be a wonderful place, the intermediate heaven is not the place we are made for. God's children are destined for life as resurrected beings on a resurrected Earth. In the intermediate heaven, we'll await the time of Christ's return to the earth, our bodily resurrection, the final judgment, and the creation of the new heavens and new earth.

The future heaven will be in the human realm...on Earth. The dwelling place of God will be the dwelling place of humanity, in a resurrected universe. "Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth...I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God...And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God." (Rev. 21: 1-3). God will relocate his people and come down from heaven to the new earth to live with them. Rather than our going up to live in God's home forever, God will come down to live in our home forever.

Straight on your heaven theories?

I kinda thought I had nailed down this heaven business...to the point that I taught classes on it at church. The crux of my teaching was that even though we don't know a lot about heaven, just trust God and he will make even floating on a cloud seem like cloud 9.

But I've been reading Heaven by Randy Alcorn and I'm coming over to his ideas. This book is a real tome, a scholarly but readable volume that is the result of 25 years of study on the matter by Alcorn. What he has shown is while the Bible is not expansive on the topic, it is much more illuminating that we've suspected. And it's not just Revelation, either. The O.T. is illustrative and so are various N.T. books.

Here in a nutshell is what Alcorn says. There is an intermediate heaven to which we go when we die. It is not our final destination. Our final destination, coming after the judgment, is a new earth. This new earth is actually our present earth except with evil and the consequences of evil forever removed. We will have physical bodies which will have sight and hearing just as now. The pattern here is Christ's resurrection body, the one that was just like his former physical body in many respects and totally unlike it in other respects. There will be trees, mountains, and music. There will be work and relationships, all in total perfection.

Alcorn doesn't spend but a paragraph or so on 1000-year reigns or the lack thereof. He feels it is inconsequential to the discussion.

I'd like to expound on this in subsequent blogs...I just don't know whether I can adequately handle the matter in such a limited space and still do it justice. If you're brave, get the book and settle in for a study that may take months. I'm not even halfway through and I've spent dozens of hours reading and pondering its theses.

One thing is for sure. I'm hyped up about the prospects!

New Shots That Made Me Go "Wow!"

Carnival Atmosphere

Carole and I have just returned from Highland Oaks' annual parking lot carnival. It's really a big deal. Numerous giant inflatable games and exhibits are brought in. There is face-painting and tossing balls at stacked bottles. The food is free. Literally thousands of folks buy a $3 ticket for admission.

The purpose, of course, is to build goodwill in the community and hopefully make a few contacts that result in positive spiritual benefits. In other words, use the carnival to introduce people to Jesus.

Is something like this a wise use of the congregation's money? Perhaps it's worth discussing. It costs a bunch of money...I'm sure just buying insurance for such a big event is staggering. But it does introduce, even in a small way, the community to Highland Oaks. They know we're here and they know we're a friendly bunch. My question to the readers is: Even if none of the thousands of guests ever darkens the doorstep of the church, is such an effort still worth it because of the goodwill created in the neighborhood? Is it worth it just for the sense of teamwork it builds within our fellowship? What do you think?

I know this sounds like I'm negative toward the annual project. But actually I'm not. I just don't know enough about whether actual productive contacts are made and I would like to know that before I decide. Again, what do you think?

Tough scriptures: Part 2

36"But I tell you that men will have to give account on the day of judgment for every careless word they have spoken. 37For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned."

How many words do we speak in a day? Kinda depends on the circumstances, I guess. When I taught school, I'd come home some days unwilling to utter even a simple sentence like, "I'm unable to fathom the hopelessness of my task at hand!" I wonder what the average number is for the average American - 10,000/day?

What terrifies me is the realization that most of my words may be careless in nature. Of course, Jesus is probably referring to important situations where words will have impact, either positive or negative. "Honey, I'll get the mail" probably doesn't qualify. But we'd no doubt be surprised how often we can alter situations or relationships with our choice of words. I certainly am turned off by negative folks who spew negative words constantly. And how many of us have learned after the fact that something we said flippantly turned out to have stung someone to the core?

My greatest careless word problem has to do with constantly trying to be witty and to make people laugh. This probably means I have deep insecurity and feel the need to win acceptance through humor, as though I couldn't get it any other way. The problem is that I often cross the line by becoming sarcastic, trying to cast someone in an unfavorable light by putting them down...anything for a laugh, you know. It's high time I reined in this dangerous habit. As the verses in Matthew 12 say, there are consequences, eternal consequences.

Plane Nuts

Reporting in on Saturday's airshow. Best thing I could have done was have Steve Leaming alongside. We talked about everything and his ridiculous puns kept me in stitches. Before we parted ways, I told him how much I appreciated his company. That I sometimes go months with no one to talk to about aviation and that it kills me. He answered the need.

The weather would have been okay but for the wind. It howled so much that the Army paratrooper performance had to be cancelled lest some of their jumpers land in Kansas. We stayed for the last group, the Blue Angels. Imagine going 400 mph on a windy day with 3 other jets 15 inches from your wingtips and then imagine banking that way in a tight curve. These guys are beyond great.

More to say, but I've got jury duty tomorrow and I'm worn out from yesterday. Maybe I'll have something interesting to report about from the Rockwall courts soon.

Plans for Saturday

Just a note that on Saturday, I'll join good friend Steve Leaming and head to Ft. Worth for the 2007 Alliance Air Show. I've been to one in my life and it almost killed me. The miserable story of that experience is here.

Hopefully, we won't have any trouble with the heat. Also hopefully, I'll get good shots of the amazing Blue Angels and bunches of other daredevils.

Devilish

Two things have conspired to leave me a bit down lately. One is the stuff I see on a daily basis in the bus pick-up areas. The other is the rash of grim news stories in the past few weeks from just the Metroplex. It causes me to ponder about the unseen battles going on between the forces of good and evil.

What I have to guard against is the idea that Satan is winning. I do see so many apparent victories for this agent of darkness. Families being ripped apart, infants being discarded or killed, folks taking delight in causing hurt or harm.

But I try to remind myself that there are just as many, if not more, victories for God and his angels. Often, they have defeated the enemy in some unseen, unrecognized way - and thus I'm unaware of what has happened. Sometimes, however, the victory is obvious. I won't detail it here, but I've seen several situations lately where I said a prayer, urgently begging for His angels to do something very specific. And against all earthly odds, the good guys win. What a joy rushes through me when I see tangible evidence of God's power!

Of course, in the end, Satan will go down for the final time. Evil will be eliminated from everything, replaced by God's consuming presence. All will be love, light, and joy. Every fiber of our being, every nerve ending, will be wired for eternal ectasy. No more pain, disappointment, anger, or fear. An eternity of glory! Bring it on!

Tough scriptures: Part 1

22Slaves, obey your earthly masters in everything; and do it, not only when their eye is on you and to win their favor, but with sincerity of heart and reverence for the Lord. 23Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, 24since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.

Colossians is filled with practical Christianity - tons of a advice on how to exhibit Christ on a daily basis. I'm fine with all the inspired guidance except for this above challenge from the 3rd chapter. If I were to put it in today's vernacular, it might go something like this:

Listen. At the work place, work as though your boss is Christ himself. Never take advantage of your employer. Work the same whether your boss is looking over your shoulder or on vacation in Cancun.

Most of my time with DISD, I gave my all. Most of the time. But there were plenty of times I shirked responsibilities because I knew I could get away with it. As the years piled up, I got more and more cynical about my bosses downtown and my immediate superiors in the building. So I justified my actions by saying to myself, "They are stupid in educational matters and indifferent to my plight as a teacher. Therefore, I have every right to slough off whenever possible and even sabotage their efforts".

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. God expected me to be the same worker every day, and it shouldn't have mattered that I couldn't work up any respect for those over me. It shouldn't have mattered that often their course of action was totally wrong. It was incumbent upon me to work as though I were reporting to Christ himself every day, which, of course, I really was doing.

This is such a challenge for us. So few of us work in ideal situations. Most of the time, there is an ogre somewhere above us in the organizational flow-chart. God says it doesn't matter. The implication is that through our commitment, we will win over the ogres.

Tough scripture, eh?

Just some things I've been thinkin' 'bout...

!. I've written a bit about the extreme poverty I see every day on my bus runs. One of the sadder sights is a Tuesday and Friday occurrence. Those are the trash pickup days in the Grove, and every household rolls out their City of Dallas-issued garbage receptacle to the curb. This attracts a pitiful horde of shabby guys who push grocery carts around, going from bin to bin, digging for aluminum cans, food, or anything that has value. It is truly life on the edge.

2. My mom's doctor is a source of endless angst to me. For the last two appointments, he has finally seen her exactly 1 hour, 20 minutes after her appointment time. We see him again on the 23rd and if he pulls this again, I plan to stand up to him like a man, whatever that means.

3. I had a field trip to Fair Park last night, taking a volleyball team to a district game. I had the opportunity to look at folks leaving the Fairgrounds after a full day of merriment. They were the most beaten down folks I've ever seen.

4. I spend entirely too much time worrying about language and usage. I wonder if anyone ever says "wreak" (pronounced "reek") without using the word "havoc" after it. And why is it pronounced "reek"??? Does anyone anyone ever say "quagmire" without sticking "veritable" in front of it?

When we see Him...

I'm pleasurably rereading a book entitled "Deadline" by Randy Alcorn. I thought I'd share a striking passage found on page 50. It describes what is seen by one of the book's characters after entering heaven and seeing Jesus:

"This was the ageless one, the Ancient of Days, who is eternally young. He stepped forward, and at his first move the crowd quickly and reverently made way for him, as flimsy shacks make way for a hurricane. This was a good hurricane, but no one mistook goodness for weakness here. He who had spun the galaxies into being with a single snap of his finger, he who could uncreate all that existed with no more than a thought, extended his hand to Finney, as if the hand he extended was that of a plain ordinary carpenter. Everyone knew he was anything but ordinary. His riveting eyes commanded their full attention. All eyes were fixed on those eyes. For the moment, it was impossible to look elsewhere, and no one in his right mind would have wanted to.

'Welcome, my Son! Enter the kingdom prepared for you, by virtue of a work done by another, a work you could not do. Here you shall receive reward for those works you did in my name, works you were created to do.'

.

And then, with a smile that communicated more than any smile Finney had ever seen, the Great One looked into his eyes and said with obvious pride, 'Well done my good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Lord!'"

Kinda got to me.

Hard Lives

Every school day, for a couple of hours, I see them. They are the castoffs from an affluent society and they are more numerous than you think. Their lives are immeasurably tougher than you can imagine.

There is Pleasant Grove and then there is deep Pleasant Grove. I see both. The former is bad enough to be intolerable. The latter has to be seen, smelled, and heard to be believed. Deep Pleasant Grove is awash in the detritus of what had been a middle class area in the 1950's. The Main Street of deep P.G. is South Buckner Boulevard, a thoroughly ugly artery that has a new check-cashing store added each week. I counted 28 used-car dealers between Lake June Rd. and Elam Rd, a distance of less than two miles.

It's the people that alternately touch me and disgust me. I've seen a certain woman three times now on the peculiarly named "Antoinette" St. She is an elderly white woman whose gait and mannerisms fairly shout mental illness. She appears to weigh 80 pounds at the most. She is always carrying something in a plastic bag. My guess is that she is returning from a trip to the convenience store up the street and that the bag contains the bare essentials of her food supply. It breaks my heart.

I see welfare mommas entering the campus of Frederick Douglass Elementary. Since this is my fourth year to run this route, I've come to recognize many of them. They are perpetually pregnant. More often than not, they are also hand-in-hand with two toddlers...and they're arriving at the school to pick up the child(ren) in kindergarten. Their faces bear the marks of struggle...not necessarily physical marks, but displaying defeat, remorse, and anger. They don't know life, they know survival. They are ill-equipped to reverse or even slow down the cycle of poverty, children, and transient boyfriends.

I am as far away from a solution to all this as east is from the west. Where would you start? I mean, what is the first thing that needs to be done? Should we be more concerned with their physical plight or their souls? I haven't even a whimper of a clue. I do know how good it feels to get in my car and return to the land of plenty. And how bad it makes me feel.