15

 Anna Kate—my “Action Baby”—is a true wonder. She has been magical from the very beginning of her time with me. I saw her fresh from the oven, and she has amazed me ever since.

AK is a fiercely loyal friend. She does not let people mistreat the ones she loves.

She is tuned to notice injustice, and she will call out hypocrisy—even mine.

AK loves to shop, and her mathy mind can track exactly what she has spent against her budget down to the cent.

She loves animals. She has fostered and rehomed multiple batches of kittens, even though it is hard, because that is the kind of heart she has.

AK has always been a dancer, a singer, and an actor. Her “Scout Finch” honestly surprised me, and I love that when she chooses to do something, she takes it seriously.

When she was younger, she used to fill time in the car by telling me about places she had visited in her sleep or daydreams. They were detailed, colorful worlds, often delightfully different from the “real” one. I did not record those stories because I foolishly could not imagine a day when she would stop telling them. I thought I would have more time.

AK has always been a talented visual artist. Even in pre-K, her art was special. She has things to say, and she can actually make the canvas look the way she wants it to look, which still amazes me.

She has always loved adventure. We used to gear up in rubber boots and head down to the creek by our house. She would always fill those boots with water, but she was the most fun person to explore with. She could catch tadpoles and fishies, and for a long time we had an aquarium in our house filled with creek sand, rocks, and water, where tadpoles became frogs and fish somehow just kept on living.

AK was cripplingly shy as a child, but she has shown that she can absolutely overcome that when it is time to do a job. She loves volunteering with me at Tyler Civic Theater, and she is especially good at concessions.

She has a great sense of humor and makes me laugh out loud.

She also challenges me and makes me think. Some of my favorite conversations are the one-on-one ones I get to have with her.

AK likes to read, and it makes me so happy to know that she loves reading.

She is a very good big sister. When it comes down to it, she loves her sisters deeply and takes good care of Bells. It delights me to catch them enjoying each other, usually while doing makeup.

AK is generous. She loves to make what I call “collection gifts” for her friends, slowly gathering small things over time. She puts so much thought, care, and love into them.

And one of my favorite things of all: she actually likes spending time with me and Stacy. She especially likes one-on-one time, but she chooses us pretty regularly, and I do not take that for granted.

I could keep going.

AK is smart, sensitive, discerning, and always paying attention. I want to know what she thinks about whatever is going on. She has a way of making everything feel okay—even the hard things.

I love you, Anna Kathryn. I am so glad you are in the world with me.

Happy birthday—and break a leg today!

What Happened to Me at the College I Loved

For over five full-time years, I taught English at the community college I once attended—my dream job. Before that, I had taught part-time for nearly five years. I loved the mission, loved the students, and felt at home there.

It wasn’t perfect. There were politics—people got sidelined from classes or committees if they ended up on someone’s "naughty list." But I stayed focused on teaching well and supporting my students. I wasn’t perfect, but I was good at the work that mattered.

Then, one Thursday evening, I got an email from HR: a student had filed a complaint, and I needed to attend a meeting the next day. I texted my Department Chair—no reply until 12 hours later. I didn’t panic. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong.

I went in for the meeting, upbeat but nervous. The HR rep was also the Title IX coordinator, and she was joined by the head of HR, a former attorney. What followed was a brutal 45-minute interrogation. They asked if I used “foul language” in class. I admitted that I occasionally used “mild” curse words to connect with students, never anything crude or directed at anyone.

Then came the trap: “What if I told you we have recordings of you saying the F-word?” I didn’t know that was a hypothetical tactic—used to rattle me. I said something like, “That’s possible, but not common.” That was twisted into an accusation of dishonesty. They had no recording. They just wanted to see how I’d respond under pressure.

But the complaint wasn’t really about language.

A student alleged that I struck her on the bottom with a rolled-up rug and said, “Sorry, I have to obey the voices.” This supposedly happened in a crowded hallway during a student art auction. No witnesses ever came forward, and I never saw these students that day. The rug in question was a wall hanging I was donating to the auction. I showed it to a few Art Professors and left. That’s it.

Yet the following Tuesday, just days later, I was asked to resign.

HR offered me a deal: resign, and nothing would go on my record. I’d be paid through the semester. Or I could fight—go through a public hearing with no legal representation, against an HR department that had already decided I was guilty. I felt utterly alone, without support from my Chair or Dean, so I signed the paper, packed up my office, and left.

I wish I hadn’t. I wish I had fought. Leaving made me look guilty. Rumors spread. One colleague called to tell me that others had heard I had raped a student. The truth—absurd and heartbreaking as it is—was twisted and swallowed by the machine.

I had no goodbye, had no recognition, and no defense. I packed up my office in the rain.

Since then, I’ve been trying to find my way. I worked for a friend’s roofing company. A woman sang to me at a birthday party, calling me “David, the shepherd boy,” reminding me my purpose might be bigger than teaching. Strange? Maybe. But kind. And kind things stick.

Today, I still feel like a teacher in disguise. I am working as an HR Trainer for a local grocery corporation. I work with wonderful people, but I still struggle with not prepping to teach for the coming semester. I’m learning that I am more than just my job. I’m a husband, a father, a son, a friend. And I'm still someone who believes people can change, grow, and find beauty in hard places.

To anyone else who's lost something central to their identity: don’t forget that you are many things. When one part of your story gets cut short, the rest of you is still very much alive—and worth fighting for.

A Letter Regarding Changing the Name of REL High (From June 2018)

Dear Ladies and Gentlemen of the Tyler ISD Board: My name is David Dickerson; I am a life-long resident of Tyler, a parent of students here, and the product of a TISD education, myself. Like just about everyone else in our city, I have an opinion regarding the potential renaming of Robert E. Lee High School. Let me begin by disclosing that I am a white male, and a graduate of Lee from 1990. Demographically, that puts me in the company of many influential Tylerites who are no doubt filling your email inboxes with messages urging you to “protect our history,” etc. For some reason, many of my colleagues—especially those who share my culture and tint of skin—are vehement that we continue to honor General Lee with the name of one of our large schools. I note that very few of my vocal classmates from the 1990s were the least bit interested in history when it was being taught AT Lee high, nor are they particular students of that field, now, aside from being in their mid 40s, and picking up a bit of history from being alive. It does not bother them in the slightest that the Lee name was historically chosen as a thumb-in-the-eye to the Black community in East Texas, and to the Federal Government, both of whom were forcing changes to how we set about educating young people in the South back when the school was named. Of course, nothing about the Lee name is alarming to them—nor was it to me when I attended the school. I never gave a second of critical thought as to why we went to a school named after a Confederate General who had no ties to our community. Lee was Lee to me—the Confederate flag was a symbol of rebellious fun for me and my white classmates, and we knew little-to-nothing about the war between the states. We also never asked a single black person what any of that might have meant to them. What can I say? We were oblivious to that chapter of our collective past, as well as to the benefits we all enjoyed because of that past. We were not educated, nor informed, and certainly not wise or loving. I thank God that we are not frozen at age 18 in our knowledge, understanding, our wisdom, or our love. Thankfully, we can grow and become better versions of ourselves. I say all of that because, in the 28 years I have lived since leaving REL, I have learned about our history, and I have become more wise, and loving, towards my fellow men and women. I have learned the benefits that come with asking critical questions instead of merely accepting things as they are, and asking how my preferences might be understood by people who do not share my culture and perspectives, nor the benefits I enjoy because of those birthrights. Now, it falls to each of you to ask critical questions, and to make a hard stand to do what is best for all of the students you are charged with caring for. I firmly believe that, were we naming our high school today rather than during the tumultuous times when the Lee name was first chosen, we would certainly not consider honoring a Confederate General with no ties to our community. There is simply no justifiable reason to honor him. Doing so is divisive in this community made up of so many families with such a variety of cultures and experiences. And now is the time to change the name—the new building will have new signs, anyway, and putting off making the change will be nothing but a waste of money. You, ladies and gentlemen of the board, are more knowledgeable than our grandfathers were about the role race and culture play in individual experiences of our community. You are more understanding than they were about your role as stewards of the educational experience of our children. You have the chance to show that you (we) are more wise and—most importantly—more loving than our grandfathers in our care for the experiences of the myriad of students who will walk the halls of the new high school, even those long after we are but faint memories to those students (as the board members who first named the school are to us, today). By the way, the name of the school is not a matter of majority rules—all the white-skinned people I know can have no problem with the Lee name, and can want to protect their personal history (“I went to Lee, and that is good enough for my kids!”), but those attitudes completely ignore the complex cultural environment we share with our fellow citizens, and ignored this moment of history that we occupy, today. Fortunately, I believe that you all enjoy a higher perspective than many of my former classmates on the whole issue. I am thankful to each of you for your service to our community, and for you taking the time to read this lengthy email. Know that there are many of us in this community who understand the difficult position you are in, and who will stand up and defend you once the name is changed. Sincerely yours, David Dickerson

Salvation for a Demon

by Peter Rollins

IN THE CENTER OF A ONCE-GREAT CITY THERE STOOD A MAGNIFICENT CATHEDRAL that was cared for by a kindly old priest who spent his days praying in the vestry and caring for the poor. As a result of the priest's tireless work, the cathedral was known throughout the land as a true sanctuary. The priest welcomed all who came to his door and gave completely without prejudice or restraint. Each stranger was, to the priest, a neighbor in need and this the incoming of Christ. His hospitality was famous and his heart was known to be pure. No one could steal from this old man, for he considered no possession his own, and while thieves sometimes left the place with items pillaged from the sanctuary, the priest never grew concerned: he had given everything to God and knew that these people needed such items more than the church did.

Early one evening in the middle of winter, while the priest was praying before the cross, there was a  loud and ominous knock on the cathedral door. The priest quickly got to his feet and went to the entrance, as he knew it was a terrible night and reasoned that his visitor might be in need of shelter.

Upon opening the door he was surprised to find a terrifying demon towering over him with large, dead eyes and rotting flesh. 

"Old man," the demon hissed, "I have traveled many miles to seek your shelter. Will you welcome me in?"

Without hesitation, the priest bid this hideous demon welcome and beckoned him into the church. The evil demon stooped down and stepped across the threshold, spitting venom onto the tiled floor as he went. In full view of the priest, the demon proceeded to tear down the various icons that adorned the walls and rip the fine linens that hung around the sanctuary, while screaming blasphemy and curses.

During this time, the priest knelt silently on the floor and continued in his devotions until it was time for him to retire for the night.

"Old man," cried the demon, "where are you going now?"

"I am returning home to rest, for it has been a long day," replied the kindly priest.

"May I come with you?" spat the demon. "I too am tired and in need of a place to lay my head."

"Why, of course," replied the priest. "Come, and I will prepare a meal."

On returning to his house, the priest prepared some food while the evil demon mocked the priest and broke the various religious artifacts that adorned his humble dwelling. The demon then ate the meal that was provided and afterward turned his attention to the priest.

"Old man, you welcomed me first into your church and then into your house. I have one more request for you: will you now welcome me into your heart?"

"Why, of course," said the priest. "What I have is yours and what I am is yours."

This heartfelt response brought the demon to a standstill, for by giving everything the priest had retained the very thing that the demon sought to take. For the demon was unable to rob him of his kindness and hospitality, his love and compassion. And so the great demon left in defeat, never to return.

What happened to that demon after this meeting with the elderly priest is anyone's guess. Some say that although he left that place empty-handed he received more than he could ever have imagined.

And the priest? he simply ascended the stairs, got into bed and drifted off to sleep, all the time wondering what guise his Christ would take next. 

From The Orthodox Heretic and Other Impossible Tales, by Peter Rollins.

Ch, ch, ch, Changes...!

Since I last posted on this blog, lots has changed in my life. I loved living in Houston and working at the Central Public Library there, but my sweet papa got cancer (he was diagnosed in February 2013) and so we returned to Tyler a lot to visit more regularly, and discovered that our most beloved connections were in East Texas. By November, we were planning our move home. We did not make it back before Papa passed away, but I did get to come home and spend time with him on the weekend prior.

After getting back, I tried to stay home with Anna Kate again, but this time it didn't feel as sweet or as accepted. That might have been just feelings inside of me, but I kept looking for work--I wanted something as amazing as HPL, but there are slim pickings in Tyler for someone with as much useless education as me. Fortunately, my friend Brandon had my back; he was able to arrange a job for me at the non-profit he had recently begin working for. I took the position of Community Coalition Coordinator with Next Step Community Solutions, and learned so much about all that goes into attempts to change policies and practices on the community, environmental level. It is a difficult position because it requires that you work to put things in place that will impact communities and sub-communities, and it is hard to get all of the right people to join together to make the right changes.

While I was there, I built another blog that storehoused prevention data and information, and another website that basically dressed up the blog. When I wrote, that is the blog that I worked on.

The best part about that work was it has meaning. It is an uphill struggle (mostly against the ignorance of normal people, who offer alcohol and off-use prescription drugs to the kids in their lives), but it is an important struggle. The other best part was that I got to work closely with Brandon Davidson, who is one of my favorite people. He has this mind that just amazes me, though it also pushes him to do way too much all of the time.

Anyway, I got the chance to return to teaching just before school began again this past August. I am teaching 9th Grade Humanities at the Brook Hill School in Bullard, a private, Christian, college prep school. This is a job that challenges me every day. I like working directly with my students and hope to continually improve as a teacher. Perhaps I will write on this blog a bit more frequently, now, and I can share some of what it is like to teach 14-year-olds!

Who knows what is next?!

Stuck in Traffic (From October 2012)

It's hard for me to write this post because I want to make certain that I am writing from love, but because what motivates me is indignation, I know I might easily come off as either whiny and weak or partisan. If either of those conditions are what you get from this post, I will have failed.

I have been home with baby Anna for a couple of months, now, which has given me great time to really get to know her. This downtime has also given me very little time with other adults, so I have depended upon group chats with some of my crazy friends in Tyler, Facetime with my friends, parents, and sister, and--sadly--upon Facebook for everyday interactions. 

Now, full disclosure: I am a progressive (a.k.a. "Liberal Scum"). I was raised by generous, loving Conservative Republicans--my dad owns a struggling small business, and taxes have always been a burden for him--but from a pretty early age, I felt that some people were paying attention to money while others were paying attention to people. Please understand that, though I tend to see the world better from the standpoint of one who focuses on the needs of people, I know this is probably because I was raised with no financial needs--free from money worries, I have been free to focus on people more. There is a good chance that things only work if some people are people-centered while others are money-centered; it likely requires both in the big picture. 

That being said, I am usually okay with the fact that about 50% of people tend to disagree with me, politically (really more than that because I live in East Texas, but I am writing from that big picture I mentioned earlier), and I don't even get bent out of shape about people voicing their points-of-view--I loved the "I disagree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it" quote from my 6th grade Social Studies teacher's bulletin board. However, much of what I see on Facebook these days goes beyond rational people who happen to view the world differently that I do right into the realm of fear-mongering militants spewing hatred. When I run across these sorts of posts, I usually comment, calmly, just to push back a bit, but there are some posts that bring out the worst in me.

Take this gem:

In a way, this is a pretty funny little jab at Obama. At least it is creative. But it is also pretty offensive to people like me, and it was created and posted just to piss us off. It is inaccurate, racist, and religiously hypocritical (Christianity actually calls us to love people who are not "us," like Samaritans, but instead we use our religion of love as a weapon against Muslims), and it picks on Obama in an underhanded way (he is not a Muslim, not that there's anything wrong with it if he were!)

It seems to me that crap like that is not honest--I would be fine with a friend posting her honest fears about a candidate, but the above is actually a statement not meant to open respectful dialogue.

But there is much worse out there! There are people who wish to exploit the honest religious faith of so many Americans by using the schemes and tropes of Christianity, but plugging President Obama into the Apocalyptic framework (that so many of us have suck a small understanding of, already):

This one pisses me off in 3D! It is exploitative and underhanded and it is a lot of what is wrong with Christianity as it is expressed these days.

* * *

What baffles me is that I don't get what so many people have against Obama. I mean, he hasn't been terribly liberal or anything near the "Socialism" that so many people lament. He has been pro-Wall Street during a time when many Americans (and anyone truly Liberal) would have hyper-regulated, since shady, under-regulated practices resulted in a huge recession; he has not declared "war on Christianity," though just listening to pundits would make you think that America, today, doesn't look a thing like America under President Bush. Maybe I am thick, but I see the same country with mostly the same policies and practices as six years back. About all that Obama has accomplished is restoring the US's credit abroad, in both Islamic and non-Islamic countries, and the infamous "Obamacare," which stopped way short of anything truly liberal, and which has not yet take effect--he gave insurance companies tons of time to find sneaky back doors before the better parts take effect. In fact, what is now the Affordable Care Act was originally a Republican plan.... From my vantage, Obama's lack of real Progressive revolution comes closer to having me vote elsewhere than anything that he has done.

Honestly, I don't see whatever it is that makes our President any worse than President Bush was! I mean, think of all of the things we did as a country under Bush that are simply not "American": Warrantless wiretapping. Torture of prisoners. Unilateral attacks on other countries. Unabashed war profiteering. Posturing and attitudes that ostracized the world community. Perhaps it is because of Bush's Koala-bear face, but somehow none of the above seemed to outrage my Facebook community nearly as much as Obama has just by being in office. 

Here's the thing: I might understand people's beef with the President better if they would communicate it! Instead, I get to see ridiculous posts about how Obama has raised fuel prices, even though Presidents can do very little to help gas prices. Or I get veiled references to his race, or to some war against Christianity, though everyone I know gets to worship how they want, when they want, etc. The only credible complaint I have seen is a huge ball of fear because Obama said he, personally, supports Homosexual Marriage, but how that affects my conservative friends I still do not comprehend--if you are against gay marriage, don't get gay married! 

* * *

All of that middle stuff was just positioning myself where you would know my bias, and expressing my befuddlement with the environment of fear I have found, especially on FB. This post is really about communication and love and respect.

It is not the misinformation, itself, that makes me consider deleting my Facebook account about three times each week, nor the fact that people who I care for and respect have opposing views to my own. What puts me in despair is the manner in which people--many of whom I regard very highly in the real world--communicate their views. I know people who say inflammatory things all of the time just to get a response, who then respond to any response they get with comments like, "Isn't it just like a stupid Liberal to get his panties in a wad about something I said! I am an AMERICAN with the FREEDOM TO SPEAK WHATEVER I WANT! You Socialists are always wanting to limit speech!"

So, my acquaintance baits people he disagrees with, and then revels in their replies so he can slap at them again! And he does this sort of thing for fun, all the time! I know quite a few muckrakers who enjoy Facebook "debates," but there is something manipulative about that guy's ways that do nothing to further the exchange of ideas. Does he have the right to post whatever he wants? Hell, yes he does! but does his way communicate friendship or respect for the people he opposes? No. 

As goes Facebook, so goes the world. Facebook merely mirrors the polarized state of our country. Gone is common courtesy, working together for a common goal, and persuading others that your position is correct (persuasion keeps its audience in mind and seeks to appeal to an audience using logic and emotions while maintaining credibility. It can be subtle). What is left is two sides speaking over one another. 

On a podcast I listen to, I heard Social Media compared to heavy traffic. In traffic, people in their own cars forget that they are part of the traffic, that they are in public, and this forgetful state of mind leads to road rage, nose picking in full view of others, and assorted other phenomena. I guess we see a sea of machines all around us and feel dehumanized, and then begin to dehumanize the others we are in context with. But this kind of behavior is based on a misconception that we are in private! As soon as we are in a context that is face-to-face, we become more civilized (few of us would curse out a person in line in front of us at the DMV, but in the traffic to get there, we are likely to say or do anything when frustrated). Facebook is just like that. Trapped in our own minds, responding to disembodied posts, we are liable to say or post anything; In person with someone we are acquainted with, we may still disagree, but most would certainly not become abusive based on the disagreement. It is called decorum, and though most of us exercise it in person, it can be hard to find online.

I do not hide my politics on Facebook and I do not apologize for them anywhere. I feel like I am liberal from a genuine place inside of me. I try to love others without regard to their race or financial position, sexual orientation or politics, and I am friends with many people who I disagree with in important ways. I sometimes WISH that I could change and see the world as the majority of my family and friends see it all, but I am authentic in my folly, so I think that I must be who I am supposed to be. My personal faith ties in with my politics--I truly believe that we are supposed to care for others' needs above our own profit and security, that all people of all creeds and nationalities are children of the same God and are deeply loved by him, and that the riches I have been blessed with are NOT my own, regardless of how hard I work--they come from God and it is wrong to resent sharing with others (even if their culture is different from mine, their employment status is different than mine, or their skin color is different than mine). 

My job is to share my blessings and gifts with the world and people who cheat the systems that are in place (be they Welfare queens or Corporate Lawyers who get Hummers to drive using large tax credits intended to help farmers get new equipment) have their own karma and have to face the Source with their own sins--Like my blessings, I have plenty of sins my own.

So, though I will likely never come to the exact same political position as you, kind reader, I promise you that I will speak on Facebook with respect for you, especially while I am disagreeing with your status update. And I will continue to turn all of my available cheeks rather than responding to you without love. I will not forget that it is good that your position and point of view is not identical to mine, for who knows what the ultimate plan is, and I will continue to hope that, together, we can create a world of respect despite differences, beginning right now, even on Facebook.

Here's an interesting story about bad movers in Houston, TX

I found this story HERE: http://cartermovinghouston.blogspot.com/

First off, let me admit that I feel terribly foolish for taking to the internet about this incident. The whole story makes me feel weak and ashamed for not being more defensive and clever. But, when I think that telling this story might make a difference for some other schmuck out there, I know that writing it all down is good.

Next, yes, I have filed a police report and consulted an attorney. HPD told me that this sort of scam is really common and that, though they wish there was an immediate way to address the problem, in their experience, pursuing crooked movers is fruitless. My lawyer advised that pursuing Gary Carter would cost me more than the items lost.

Here's the basic story:

We made the mistake of hiring Carter Moving and Delivery to help us load our U-Haul just before Christmas. We were leaving Houston to attend to my father's death and simply needed muscle. We were in no place, mentally or emotionally, to deeply consider that the movers we hired would take good care of us; after all, we hired them through U-Haul, just as we had done when moving to Houston 18 months before.

Our second mistake? Writing contents on the outside of our moving boxes. Since our experience, people have smiled and shaken their heads at us for actually writing things like "Jewelry," and "Random Electronics" on the outside of boxes. We have been advised that the smart thing to do it to move valuables in our cars ourselves, and/or to have things we value sent to "Master Bath," or some pre-agreed-upon room, with no details on the boxes. If you are preparing to move, please take this advice.

But we did what we did.We packed for several days prior to the three movers arriving; They loaded our truck over a three-hour period, we locked the U-Haul and left early the next morning. Problem 1: We were overcharged by two hours. The owner promised to refund the additional $200, but never bothered, despite my regular calls. Problem 2: After we arrived at our new place, we took our time unpacking non-essentials, thinking that certain things LIKE JEWELRY and ELECTRONICS simply were still packed. They would turn up. 

Three weeks after our move, we finally figured out that our valuables had been taken to the MOVERS' truck instead of ours! 

Do I know this is what happened? Did I see the movers place our things in their truck? No, had I seen them do so, I would have confronted them. I did notice, when I went to get their pizza, that they had placed a large stick in the auto-locking gate to the parking lot where they were parked to prevent the gate closing. I dismissed that with the thought that they might need to go back to their truck sometime and didn't want to be locked out. It was only afterward that I realized that they needed to return to their truck without being locked out (as in during my move).

I had already called Mr. Carter, the owner of Carter Moving and Delivery, about the hours we were overcharged, so I called him back and made my accusation. He listened, and played it off as though he was kind and would take care of everything, but did nothing to make amends (not even the promised refund). He actually excused his company from moral liability by claiming that the movers he sent to help me no longer work for him--thanks for that. Way to stand behind the service you sell with your family name. 

HPD say that this happens ALL OF THE TIME! people who are moving are tired and stressed and are easy marks for unscrupulous movers. My only recourse is to make sure other unsuspecting people hear my story. If I am wrong and our valuables evaporated from the locked moving truck, at least this story may make someone else more cautious than I was.

Advice

1. Do not list contents on the outside of your moving boxes, even though the boxes may have a place to do so. Write only the destination room on each box. 

2. When the movers arrive, get their full names and photographs--better yet, ask to see/photograph their IDs! If none of them will share their IDs for you to photo, dismiss them. Call the company and ask for a replacement crew. I know this can be tricky--like me, you may have time constraints. Know that there are other moving companies in Houston, and one of them will jump on the chance to help you. Or, one better, make it clear from the point of first contact that you will require whomever comes to handle your personal effects to provide ID. It sounds like a hard-assed move, but it communicates that you are on your guard, and those IDs could prove useful when you have to file a police report, later.

3. Don't let my story scare you away from using movers! Just be smarter than I was. I had just lost my father, had been packing and finishing work that I loved, I have two high-energy kids (who were on site) and was focused on making the move, not on policing the men hired to help me. It was a perfect scenario to be taken advantage of (to the tune of $5000, retail).

4. Get recommendations for companies you use from people you trust. This one is simple, and a rule-of-thumb in all circumstances. Need a plumber? Ask who people who have been around who they trust. If you instead call the big-name Roto-Rooters, you will pay more. Same goes for movers--do your homework and find a company that is insured and that is reputable. Carter Moving's listed address is bogus, and they obviously do not care about their reputation, so using them left me with no recourse when things went bad. 

See: RED FLAG WARNINGS ABOUT MOVING 
How to PREVENT the THEFT of Valuable Items During a Move

Poem of Welcome, by Pádraig Ó Tuama

The Lost Garden

by Dana Gioia

If ever we see those gardens again,
The summer will be gone—at least our summer.
Some other mockingbird will concertize
Among the mulberries, and other vines
Will climb the high brick wall to disappear.

How many footpaths crossed the old estate—
The gracious acreage of a grander age—
So many trees to kiss or argue under,
And greenery enough for any mood.
What pleasure to be sad in such surroundings.

At least in retrospect. For even sorrow
Seems bearable when studied at a distance,
And if we speak of private suffering,
The pain becomes part of a well-turned tale
Describing someone else who shares our name.

Still, thinking of you, I sometimes play a game.
What if we had walked a different path one day,
Would some small incident have nudged us elsewhere
The way a pebble tossed into a brook
Might change the course a hundred miles downstream?

The trick is making memory a blessing,
To learn by loss the cool subtraction of desire,
Of wanting nothing more than what has been,
To know the past forever lost, yet seeing
Behind the wall a garden still in blossom.


"The Lost Garden" by Dana Gioia, from Interrogations at Noon. © Graywolf Press, 2001.

If you give a little love...

This video is made of strung together insurance adverts, but I love it just the same....


 
If you give a little love from Markus B. on Vimeo.

Namaste, Houston!

December 7 was my mother's birthday, and since we live a few hours away, now, I had to put the gift I got for her in the mail on the Wednesday morning before. I drove in to downtown Houston and parked at the public library, where I am working, and wandered through the streets in search of a UPS Store. I found it and had another hour to kill before I was scheduled to work, so I just wandered the streets and enjoyed the architecture and cool morning air.

Downtown is a frenetic place on a Wednesday morning before nine. People pour in by the bus load--literally!--and everyone walks at a pace seldom seen outside of an early-morning suburban mall. People are in a terrible rush to get past one another, to grab coffee and to get to work. Some are already doing business on their mobile phones, their eyes fixed on things only they can envision. The sidewalks are a blur with motion.

All of the stereotypes are represented on the streets. You can see the perfect professional lady and gentleman, dressed to kill, briskly maneuvering through the crowd; You can see the entry-level executive in new clothes, with carefully-messed-up hair, with eyes the betray his outward confidence. There's an Assistant who has been on the job for nine years--she is no longer excited by being downtown, but she no longer has to work so hard to try and impress her boss.

I walked for a half hour, wondering what it is that she knows, before turning back so I could hopefully find my way back to work. When I got to the busy part of downtown, something that we talked about in Shambhala Meditation a week or two back popped into my mind: namaste.

Namaste is a common greeting in India--basically, it means something like, "I salute your form." But that form points to the formless part of us all, so Namaste is a way of acknowledging the divine in others. So, I started thinking namaste inside, making eye contact with everyone I could. "God loves you," I told them in my head. After passing by maybe 50 people, these two thoughts had become something of a mantra for me.

By the time I made it back to work, I was in an amazing state of mind; when you remember that God loves each and every person you meet, regardless of their membership in this group or that, you begin to remember that He loves you, too. The truth of the fingerprint of the divine within the people rushing to and fro is the truth for you, too, whether you know it or not.

We are all on the same journey, heading to the same destination, even if we, ourselves, have no idea where the trail ends.

But, it is all good...

It seems I have some apologizing to do. Thanks to having time to think (between episodes of Curious George on Netflix), I have uncovered some tendencies of mine and begun to make reparations for them a little. 

For instance, I called my friend Chris after ignoring him, outside of weddings and funerals, for several years. We are busy, so there are no hard feelings, but I was not being true to my beliefs about the value of people when I didn't call or write to Chris, so it is right that I finally spoke with him. I have also called Tim and Leigh Ann, who were foundational friends to me while growing up, and had a great conversation with my friend from when we were three-years-old, on, Justin (he instigated that call, but it was good). Just today, I posted some old photos of a girlfriend of mine from OU on Facebook and got to pester her a little. 

Since 1972: Super Schmuck!

And there are many more people I need to say big truths to--my sisters, my mother, my father, other friends. They all deserve an apology because I have walked this pebble for long stretches with my head firmly implanted in my asshole, my mind focused solely on whatever I preferred on any given Wednesday, with my own interests set as primary regardless of repercussions.

I just didn't know, didn't see, and often didn't care, that I was selfish.

Years have passed swiftly, just as everyone always said they would, as though my life was a leaf I dropped into a flowing river. I look backward when I speak with my good, old friends, and I remember more of them that I see before me. And I feel ashamed because I was rash and selfish, because I withheld love from them when I should have loved, and because I just didn't take time to show them that they have enriched my life in ways that I can't explain in words.

But, it is all good. 

See, I am not going to randomly call up everyone I have ever slighted and waste their time with a long, mushy monologue--it would be great to have a party where the guests were all people I have slighted and neglected, because I would get to see everyone I have ever loved, but the next day I would likely start a new list. 

The thing is, people don't want or need big apologies like that would be. Those conversations feel good for maybe fifteen minutes, but then shit moves on and things feel much as they did before because all of our contexts have changed and we just don't mean as much to one another, now, as we once did, at least not as much in our day-to-day lives. And that is as it should be.  By itself, confession can be really selfish.

About the best thing we can do is just understand our bad tendencies--really own them--make amends when given the opportunity, but then really do better as much as we can. I don't want to excuse myself from my sins by claiming that we all fall. I know they are me, anyway.

If you read this, please consider yourself apologized to. Then, call me up and let's take care of one another the way we should have all this time! :o)

Welcome to the Fall Out

I have written three separate posts telling the story of how Stacy and I came to move our little family to Houston, a move we made in early August. The thing is, that story is not really interesting! Yes, the move meant huge, dramatic changes--we sold our house, we left friends and family in Tyler who we love and who we depend on for our (well, my) sense of security, and I left a job that I was okay at doing--and all of these changes happened quickly. In a way, that story should be told. I should certainly try to explain how that sort of thing happens.

But all of that is eclipsed, for me, by things as they are, now.

I am not writing to whine. I knew before we ever committed to move that moving would make for some strange changes. I knew that my people would be three-and-a-half hours away, but I have friends I love who live thousands of miles from Texas, and I have little idea of what their everyday lives are like, and the love persists. To me, that permanent bedrock of love is beautiful, and I fully expect that my dear ones will remain close.

One of the effects of this move that I (wrongly) thought I was prepared for is being unemployed. I honestly thought that I would be snatched up quick by the "job that I was meant to do," or that I would be able to use my time without a job to finally do some of the things I have always meant to do, like regular exercise, more reading, more meditation. I imagined finding a place/group of people where I would be challenged and examined and valued. But the thing is, relationships and jobs are not thrown together quickly, if they are really valuable! I know this is true, and I know that the time I am getting to spend with Anna and with Mia (after school) is amazing and valuable! My dad never got to literally be THE MAN who took care of Donna, Suzy and me when we were little, and I get tons of time to play and cuddle and feed and walk with my girls (I don't always want the responsibility, but that's another blog post).

I mentally know this is good time. I am not a guy who thinks his total worth comes from some job. Still, deep inside, I feel isolated and useless, like I need to apologize to strangers for taking up space--I am not contributing. I feel vulnerable, I feel unattractive as strangers walk past without a glance, and I feel sidelined from most of the people I love. As I said, I am fully aware that I am the one who moved away, so please don't take this as me resenting my friends and family in Tyler--in fact, the distance gives me time to think pretty full about everyone.

There are a lot of positives, too. I am closer to Stacy, to Mia and Anna, and to Kelly; they are all I have in my everyday life, so I should be closer to them. We have also been able to join Kelly at Ecclesia at a time when they are making tons of big changes, and that is good to be part of, even if from the fringes. I have been able to exercise at this great YMCA each day, and Anna gets great childcare there, and there is Yoga (though I have not made it to any classes, yet). And, I have had one interview for a job at a beautiful downtown Books-A-Million, though it looks like Anna's childcare might cost nearly as much as I would make--it is still good to be considered, and to meet some of the employees.

But, I don't want to pretend that I am in some kind of great place. I want to remain open to this new vulnerability, and to come to feel the truths that I believe, that my value is not determined by who I can serve or be valued by, or by some job. I want to cultivate the internal qualities that I value, already. I'm thinking of this time as time in the desert--a comfortable desert very near the Galleria, but a time to purge. 

I hope I can become as courageous as Rick has been with his internal searching. I will likely goof off a lot, but maybe good things will come to shine from this time apart.

Tyler, TX and fog

Driving the old, brick streets downtown. The fog makes you look at everyday things in a whole new way.

Marvin UMC in the morning fog.

Looking West down Erwin Street

Unholy Sonnet 4

I'd love to tell a hard tale of miserable abuse that I have suffered at the hands of conservative evangelicals that might excuse my tendency to push against them when in conversation. The thing is, I haven't suffered enough to have even a modestly-interesting story. I have issues, I guess, and those issues make me bristle in my soul whenever someone claims certainty about God--not certainty that God exists, but certainty about what He thinks or who He loves or doesn't love. Truth be told, I the only concept of God that doesn't set off angst in me is God as the source of unfathomable, unconditional love. That's my idol of choice.

It is no better and idol, really, than my Calvinist friend's 5-point, concrete system, and no better, really, than my brothers and sisters who picket funerals and claim to know with certainty that "God HATES Fags." Still, I choose Love. I say that it is better to throw away the scriptures than to use them in a violent, unloving way as a weapon against another. I say that God LOVES Fags at least as much as He loves self-righteous believers, women-haters and bigots.

But there I go, again, weighing this monologue to may way of thinking.

I love the way this poem, by Mark Jarman, strips away concepts of God as a thing--idolatrous versions of The Real God--and replaces that with the Truth that God is NO-THING, and therefore beyond concepts of God. Jesus is as close as we can get (I believe), and we pretty much mess Him up, too, and use Him in ungodly ways (and there I go yet again!). I swiped it from Steph Drury's blog Get your adverbs here.

Unholy Sonnet 4

Amazing to believe that nothingness

Surrounds us with delight and lets us be,

And that the meekness of nonentity,

Despite the friction of the world of sense,

Despite the leveling of violence

Is all that matters. All the energy

We force into the matchhead and the city

Explodes inside a loving emptiness.

Not Dante’s rings, not the Zen zero’s mouth,

Out of which comes and into which light goes,

This God recedes from every metaphor,

Turns the hardest data into untruth,

And fills all blanks with blankness. This love shows

Itself in absence, which the stars adore. 

 

—Mark Jarman

Sorry I Never Listened, Dad...

People say some strange, amazing things. It's weird to me, but much of the wisdom I've been offered has made absolutely no sense to me until much later, after I reached a certain age, experienced certain things, or just sort of grew up (at least for a time). For instance: I remember reading "The Road Less Traveled" when I was a Junior in college in Oklahoma and being completely blown away by this short, overly-quoted poem. I was actually kind of embarrassed that it suddenly meant so much to me because it was everywhere--I had read it before, and everyone else had, too. Coming to feel the poem in such a way seemed silly to me, especially when I tried to express its perfection to my friend, Nicole. I felt like I was rambling on and on about how much stuff Wal-Mart stocked, or something.

Still, that poem is amazing, which is why everyone has already read it. What is still baffling, though, is why I didn't "get it" the first time I encountered it. Was I not ready at 19 to feel that poem? Was I distracted? Probably all of the above. All I know for certain is this poem, which had seemed trite to me, I guess, suddenly felt unspeakably powerful, and the poem had not changed; I had.

Achtung Baby by U2 is my all-time favorite album. I ignore it for years at a time, but each time I play it again my old friend works, running me through the same whole-spectrum-of-feelings as it did in 1992. But, what I don't usually share when I speak of this album is that, though I wanted badly to love it upon my very first hearing, I was initially disappointing with it. After loving The Joshua Tree so fully, this new album felt harsh and even overly contrived, like the boys were pretending to be Eastern European or something. After having the album for six months, I heard a bit of it in Leigh Ann Tucker's Honda Accord and was floored to know that what I was hearing was the same album from six months back! And just like Frost's poem, the album had not changed. My expectations of U2 and my own feelings about myself did change, though, and allowed me to be open to the truth of the album.

Again and again in my life I find that the difference between experiencing the truth of something and missing the richness of it is often just time. It is true in my marriage; Thanks be to God, Stacy and I are in a place together that I literally could not imagine two years ago. She has changed, I have changed, and what I thought about her and about who she is inside is changed. The same is true in my faith--I doubt God has changed much, but I certainly have.

We ebb and flow. Time does, too. The wisest thing I think of (which may sound trite to you, today!) is that we are supposed to be in this present moment as fully as possible, so we can enjoy the peace and understanding while it is here. Because it will all keep washing in and out, we must try and try again to "get it" when we're ready.

Radical love

Welcome to the planet

Here we are--four months into 2011, and what have I shown the throngs of people who follow this blog so far? Nothing! You would think that I have been up to absolutely nada in this world. In truth, I have been terribly busy at work, and haven't been taking part in much of my usual activities, so I have had little worth writing about.

That is, unless you count having a beautiful, funny, full-term baby daughter as worth writing about!

Anna Kathryn was born on March 29; she was 18 and a half inches long (short like her daddy) and weighed in at 6.9 ounces (a whopping 4 pounds, 5 ounces aver Mia's birthweight!). Stubborn little thing that she is, she came out letting us all know that she has great lungs and a strong will, two facts that she continually reminds us at the Dickerson casa. She loves to eat; she had a few days of starvation while learning how to properly suckle, but she has made up for that time and is now about seven pounds. She is beautiful and very cuddly.

Aside from our collective lack of sleep, we are loving having a new baby to hold and feed and burp and change, and feed and burp and change. :o) She is one month old as of yesterday--give us another couple of weeks and we will share her with everyone!

Welcome, Twenty-eleven!

I mean, you might as well welcome the new year because being inhospitable to it won't do anything good for you. :o) And that is true of so many things. For instance, you can push hard against whatever you encounter and make it worse, or you can accept it as it is and try to dance with it a little.

This is a core idea to Buddhism that I find really practical. I am terrible at it sometimes, but there have been times of my life when I have been blessed with the ability to really let things be as they are, and those times have been joyful at their core.

Stacy is 27 weeks pregnant today, and that makes her one week more pregnant than she has ever been before. A couple of weeks back, she was placed on bed rest because she was having frequent Braxton-Hicks contractions, and with our history of early babies, her doctor wanted to play things really safe. My response was to freak out! I went batshit inside, mostly because of fear buried from the last baby (I have pretended to be enlightened before, writing about the problems of embracing love instead of fear, but that is all intellectual posturing in the face of real, latent fears). Anyway, things are okay, now, just as they would have been had I relaxed and accepted the situation as it is. The drama came when I rejected the situation with a hearty, "this cannot be happening again."

2011 will see the birth of my second daughter, Anna (Beth or Reese, as of right now). Mia will finish up with first grade. Stacy will deliver this new baby and be able to enjoy her at home without waiting months for the baby to get out of the hospital. She will survive bed rest with her sanity and we will be fine without her income. And who knows what else this year will bring?

Dance the dance to the tune that is playing; don't try to make the music fit the steps you have practiced and prepared for because you will be the one who looks silly, not the music.

I'll keep telling myself to practice what I am preaching. :o) Welcome, 2011!

Mia Emmeline in
The Ugly Pumpkin