Facebook Made Me Think....

A friend of mine posted on Facebook today. He was at an occasion down in San Antonio, Texas, at the Cathedral of San Fernando .  It's the oldest cathedral in the United States.

As Facebook is apt to do, it gave me a direct link to the Cathedral's own Facebook page.  I clicked through and was drawn to the button up in the top right corner of the Cathedral's page.



There's a theological question for you.  Who knew Facebook tested our faith?

A Modern Twist on an Old Poem

Following my annual reading at Stanley BPS's Holiday Program, December 17, 2010, many people asked to see a copy of the poem. It is not mine, but something I found online and then adapted for this audience. It was originally written by Harvey Ehrlich. About 20% of it is mine. I have no idea who old Harvey is, but all credit should go to him.


‘Twas The Night Before Christmas And Santa’s A Wreck


‘Twas the night before Christmas and Santa’s a wreck.
How to live in a world that’s politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to “Elves”
“Vertically challenged” they were calling themselves.
And labour conditions at the North Pole
Were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.

Four reindeer had vanished without much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.
And equal employment had made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
Were replaced by four pigs, and you know that looked stupid.

The runners had been removed from his sleigh;
The ruts were termed dangerous by the E.P.A.
And people had started to call for the cops
When they heard heavy footsteps upon their rooftops.
The people at PETA were all up in arms,
His fur trimmed red suit had caused animals harm

If that wasn’t enough, to add to his woes
Rudolf was suing over unauthorized use of his nose
And had gone on The View, in front of the nation
Demanding millions in fair compensation
And as for the gifts, why, he’d never a notion
That making a choice could cause such commotion

Nothing of leather, nothing of fur
Which meant nothing for him. And nothing for her.
Nothing that might be construed to pollute.
Nothing to aim, nothing to shoot
Nothing that clamoured or made lots of noise,
Nothing gender specific, for just girls or just boys

No candy or anything bad for the tooth
Nothing that seemed to embellish the truth.
And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden
No video games that could ruin the eyes,
No iPods, iPads, iPhones, nothing with ‘i’s.

No baseball, no football, where kids could get hurt
Besides, playing sports exposed them to dirt
Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passé
Computers would just rot your whole brain away.
So Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed,
He just could not figure what to do next.

He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
But you’ve got to be careful with that word today.
His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground,
Nothing acceptable was to be found.
Something special was needed, a gift that he might
Give to all without angering the left or the right.

A gift that would satisfy with no indecision,
Each group of people, every religion,
Every ethnicity, every orientation
Everyone, everywhere…the whole population.
So here is the gift, it’s priced beyond worth,
May you and your loved ones enjoy peace on earth

Whatever your thing at this season of light
Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Mary Jo’s Starry Night,
Festivus, Christmas, Solstice, Diwali
We wish you great joy at your winter party
From our Stanley teachers and all of our crew
We’re wishing great joy to your family and you.

Past Present Future

If you’re on Facebook, you know all about “25 Random Things About Me”. It’s become such a phenomenon that the New York Times recently wrote a feature about it. If you’re not, allow me to explain. Someone, anyone, writes 25 statements about him or herself: childhood memories, current beliefs, high school crushes, favorite books or movies, quirky information. He or she posts it on their Facebook profile for all their friends to see.

When I first saw one, I was amazed at the openness. I loved learning about a small slice of my friend’s background. It was fun, thought-provoking, and enlightening. Over the last few weeks, more and more friends have bared their souls. Never feeling like I was reading TMI, too much information, I have been pleasantly surprised at how carefully I’ve been taking them in. Windows have been opened and wonderful discussions have followed. I have learned things that I would never have discovered over coffee.

Inspired by my friends, I have just finished writing my own. It has been a fascinating process. What information would people want to read? How can I narrow it down to 25 things? Is this supposed to be a summary of my life or of my current thinking about the world? Should I be sincere, humorous, vulnerable? What would people think? What I discovered in the course of writing is that one ‘fact' flowed into the next. It doesn’t matter what people think and it’s not a résumé. It is simply an exercise in taking a little time, going inside for a short while, checking in with me, and seeing how I am doing.

I also discovered that looking backwards and looking inside isn’t enough. My random things are about my past and my present. As I wrote, I realized that where I really want to go is my future. So I have also generated some thoughts about where I’m headed. I have spent some time dwelling on where I want my life to go, and creating a vision for myself. I’ve called it Living My Vision.

Both my 25 Random Things About Me and Living My Vision are posted here. I have written them for me. But I post them here because I hope someone, maybe you, will enjoy them enough to be inspired. Perhaps inspired enough to go inside for a moment or to create a vision of your own. It has been a wonderful pause in my journey. Enjoy.

25 Random Things About Me

1. Being sent away to a traditional English boarding school at the age of seven has affected my adult life in more ways than I have previously cared to admit….

2. Negative impact: child abuse is never ever ever okay under any circumstance. Intimacy and trust are damn hard. But I’m working assiduously on both.

3. Positive impact: it has become very clear that my entire life has been and will always be about creating safe, happy spaces in which kids are free to grow.

4. Emma and Leah are the essential elements in my life. When I watch them sleep, I understand what is meant by ‘love hurts’.

5. Laughing with them brings me my single greatest joy.

6. I’ve never taken a class in theater in my life. I’ve acted in three plays, one in elementary school, two in college. All three were terrible. I was the only native English speaker in one – The Importance of Being Earnest – it was hilarious, but still terrible.

7. I am passionate about directing. Bringing a story from script to production is an awesome experience.

8. But not as awesome as seeing the light go on for one child.

9. I’m directing four plays this summer, bringing my total to 27 full-scale productions in the last ten years. My theater colleagues are among the most creative people I know.

10. I am an artist. I think I’ve always been one but nobody told me until a couple of years ago. I see the world in pictures. Books on tape are really hard for me.

11. I am grateful for those who see my artistry. You know who you are.

12. Writing is my thing. When the newspaper published my first essay, I wept. I plan on getting out there more. I know more about blogging than I ever thought I would. When I sit down to write an essay, I rarely know where I’m going. I believe that the Creative Spirit works through those who let her in.

13. I believe in Spirit. I am beginning to trust. I am learning to get out of the way. I’ve been here before and I know I’ll be back.

14. I believe religion is the root of much that is wrong with this world.

15. I love water – drinking it, listening to it, floating on it, walking through it, watching it, crossing it, standing under it, swimming in it. My best ideas come in the pool.

16. I am not a fan of movies or TV. I’ll go see live theater as many times as the budget will allow. Though I watch and know more about sports than anyone thinks.

17. I fantasize that one day I’ll still be teaching but earning the salary of a profession I value less.

18. Every year, I take the stage in Stanley’s Annual Deadbeat Coffeehouse. It is an amazing event involving the most incredible people. Every organization deserves such a night, a boost to the community spirit. I feel like an amateur compared to other performers. I am in awe of my musician friends. I wish I could sing like that.

19. I’ve played a lot of rugby, squash and water polo in my time, but I find it almost impossible to button the cuff on the right arm of my shirts.

20. At one point I was fluent in French and reasonably useful in Russian, Italian, Greek, Swahili and Latin. I have discovered that Colorado is not the place for honing those skills.

21. When I was small, my father owned the toy shop in our village. It was heaven for a little boy. I still feel guilty for stealing a plastic miniature Greek soldier. Sorry, Dad.

22. Some likes: Newcastle Brown, Brussel sprouts, Cadbury’s Dairy Milk, beach vacations, kind people, Wings Seminars in Eugene, baseball.

23. Some dislikes: celery, beets, peanut butter, traffic, thoughtless and/or mean people, crowded places, shopping malls.

24. I don’t consider myself a material person, but I know that one day I will be the proud owner of a Mini Cooper S, a red one with a sunroof.

25. I didn’t plan on writing these, but I’ve been pleasantly surprised at how wonderful it’s been reading those of my friends. However writing what’s been before will never be as relevant as creating a vision of what’s to come. See below.

26. I’m not very good with rules (see #1), so I just had to write a 26th random fact – just to be difficult.

Living My Vision

I know who I am. I am grateful for the past and I know where I am going. I trust that I have everything I need for the journey. I am energetic, playful, humorous and kind. I am fully present and I dream big. I am courageous and adventurous and I take action, even when I am fearful, creating the results I want.

I am abundantly healthy, exercising at least twice a week and choosing a nutritious and balanced diet. I feel great in mind body and spirit. I always have choice and I am living a life of integrity. I am honest and joyous, celebrating my openness and vulnerability. I am emotionally connected to those I love. I am in a loving, supportive, mutually respectful relationship and I enjoy a close caring relationship with my girls, at all ages.

I work in a creative environment where I feel valued. I celebrate the artist in myself. I am writing and publishing, with positive reviews and strong sales. I am passionately involved in theater. I am assisting others to know and trust themselves, and I support them in pursuing their dreams. I am growing my wealth, investing in myself, my family, and for the good of the planet. I have enough money. I live in a warm and cozy house, where simplicity and comfort reign. I drive a car I love. I enjoy relaxing and exciting vacations at least twice a year.

I am a lifelong learner, seizing and embracing opportunities to grow. I trust the process of intention. I recognize the uniqueness and sacred in everyone. I know in my heart that each of us is capable, lovable, whole, and magnificent. I am building a culture which celebrates and honors children. I embrace service to my world and the people in it. I live in gratitude and bring joy and passion into my life and the lives of others.

I celebrate the happy carefree child and the wise guiding adult.

History starts now….

Reading The Signs

In 1991, Steve Martin starred in one of my favorite movies, L.A. Story. It has become a classic comedy both for its bungled romance and its parody of Los Angeles. The main character is introduced to the joys of colonics by a spinning spokesmodel called SanDeE. He is told by a British journalist, in a tone that only the English possess, that his offer to take her on a tour of L.A. culture would take just fifteen minutes.

The film might best be remembered for its talking road sign. Martin’s character is lost in career and love. The flashing sign on the side of the Santa Monica Freeway gives him guidance and direction. At first cryptic, the sign realizes it has to be direct to get through to this guy and it does not mince words: “Kiss her, you fool!”

I recently experienced a talking road sign of my own.

A few blocks from my house, there is a church. Nothing particularly beautiful about it. Lackluster architecture. red brick, a little landscaping, but mostly parking lot outside. And a rectangular white sign where they announce the times of worship and occasionally post a line from scripture for the drivers passing by. I am not a church-goer and I’m generally not big on Bible verses. So I tend to ignore the sign even though I drive past the church several times a week. I don’t turn a philosophical blind eye. I just have other things on my mind.

I had had a bad week. I was tired and cranky. I was feeling uninspired by work and was beginning to consider a career change. It had been a poor month financially. My kids were needing more of me than I had to give and my marriage was in one of those places where we were bringing out the worst in each other, instead of the best. I was seeing my life as a glass half empty, taking my anger and frustration out on those I love. I was mean and miserable. I didn’t want to see anyone or do anything. I was one big clu mp of gloom and ill temper.

The worst of it was that I was fully aware of how I was behaving around my family and why. I knew I was hurting those I loved. They weren’t liking me very much at the moment and I didn’t care. Not only was I wallowing in anger and self-pity, I was ignoring the skills I had learned to get myself out of such a place. I knew I was capable of making better choices. I didn’t want to and I didn’t care.

I met a wise old teacher once who told me to shake off my old patterns with the following delightful command: “If the horse is dead, get off!” In the present moment, the lifeless steed of my irritability was patently not serving me well, but it felt comfortable in a twisted sort of way.

And then I passed the sign outside the church. Of course, it did not really talk, but it spoke to me as clearly as if it had. In big bold capital letters, a quotation from the Dalai Lama – this must have been a cool kind of church – “Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them, humanity cannot survive.”

The words hit me with crushing force. This is what had been sorely lacking in my life for the past week and I was dying. I had shown no love and compassion to anyone. As a direct result, I had not received any in return and I was on a downward spiral into darkness.

I may well have passed that exact sign before and never noticed it. When the student is ready, the teacher will appear. The sign broke down all my difficult issues and presented me with an easy and simple solution. Show love, kindness and compassion to others and things will start looking up. It is essential to who we all are at our core. If I did not feel like showing compassion at any given moment, I made up my mind to fake it until it felt right. When my children wanted something from me, I became loving. When my co-workers needled me, I showed compassion. When my wife began a conversation with me, I was kind and attentive. It really was that simple.

The immediate effect in my life, in my heart, in my family, was astounding. Such a simple choice, a new way of looking at the same old things, and I was able to create transformation at will. The sign was physically in the church parking lot but it also came from within. It did not flash or have a mind of its own like the one on the side of the freeway, but it spoke to me when I was receptive to it. I listened and I am grateful.

A Peaceful Mind

Neale Donald Walsch’s well-known book Conversations with God came highly recommended. It is the emotionally uplifting, autobiographical account of a man who falls into despair. At the end of his tether, he angrily scrawls the question “What does it take to make life work?” He hears the voice of God, and promptly writes a book about the dialogue that ensues. The book became an instant bestseller and the author, once homeless and penniless, was rewarded with seven figures by a large publishing house.

“From a peaceful mind do great ideas flow.” This is a quotation from Walsch’s book that hangs on the wall of my writing space. I placed it there to remind me to fall silent every once in a while, to turn off the incessant voice inside which tells me I should be doing something else, and to devote some time each day to my writing. Sometimes I take heed.

Just now, for example, I committed to myself to write the first part of a chapter for a book I’m working on for teachers. A page or so into my writing, my mind started wandering, and I found myself throwing a chew toy for the puppy, reading blogs of some my favorite authors, throwing the laundry in the dryer, practicing for a performance piece which is fast approaching. Anything but the job at hand. My mind wandered away from teachers and towards Neale Donald. Not what I had intended, but an idea nonetheless.

Walsch’s story is so much more than a rags to riches memoir. It is more than the inspirational tale of a man who has found a connection to his Source. It combines the beating of unfathomable odds, the discovery of the true artist within, the power of the human spirit, and the mystery of the Divine.

It is hard for me to buy in completely to the concept of a large hairy man being awakened in the night by a kindly voice responding to the question he had scribbled the evening before on a legal pad. However I can accept the idea that all of us, as human beings, have a deep sense of love and belonging within, a wisdom that we have carried with us through the ages. If only we can train ourselves to sit still long enough to listen to it, we will be wiser and more connected to the Universe. Perhaps that is my current definition of God. I do believe that there is something more to our own creation than pure biological happenstance and that we continue to carry with us that same creative force.

There are many writers, artists of all kinds, who claim to be simple conduits for the creative voice inside of them, the voice which bursts forth with little or no effort from the artist. I have a friend, a songwriter, who, like Neale Donald Walsch, tells me that her music is not hers. It comes to her from a place within that is separate from her. An oxymoron, I realize, but I think I know what she means.

And that is why Walsch’ quotation is by my writing desk. Perhaps they are his words, or maybe they came to him from someone else, the benevolent voice in the darkness. But they serve as a constant reminder to me that my artistry is within me. I just have to be quiet long enough to let it out.

Tradition

I often wonder about tradition. It is a comfortable blanket in which we wrap ourselves, savoring fond memories of times past and lost loved ones. It is a time for connection to the essence of who we are. It can also be a barrier to innovation and progress.

In my own family as I was growing up, Christmas was the season of both giving and ironclad invariability. I loved the warm cozy feeling of climbing onto my parents’ bed to open the presents tumbling out of my stocking. I also remember, years later, when my wife, a newly arrived outsider, dared to make a slight, ever so slight, modification to the Christmas dinner that had been passed down for generations. Twenty years later, my family has still not quite recovered.

I recently attended a Bat Mitzvah, an important ritual to mark the passage from girlhood into adulthood in Judaism, one of the world’s oldest religions. I felt blessed to be invited by of a former student, now a young teen, whose parents were kind enough to indicate that I had been a reasonably positive influence during their daughter’s formative years.

I was honored to be asked to read, in Hebrew, a blessing before she read from the Torah. I was initially alarmed at the thought of reciting in public in a mostly unfamiliar language. However, my beautiful wife, with forty-odd years of Jewish wisdom and custom behind her, served as an excellent coach and I managed to get through my few Hebrew sentences embarrassing neither myself nor the young adult in question.

A Bar or Bat Mitzvah is a huge deal. I have been to a few in my time. Some are simple affairs with close family and friends, words of love and respect, with a light lunch to follow. Others are marked by lavish parties that surely cost ten times what my wife and I spent on our wedding. Bands, magicians, limousines, extravagant parting gifts for the guest list of hundreds, the works. All over the country, at this moment, twelve and thirteen year old Jewish boys and girls are hard at work studying the history and tradition of their people, practicing the portion of the Torah that they will have to chant before the assembled masses.

I find it quite fascinating that this pivotal occasion occurs at the exact moment in human development when young teens covet nothing more than not to be noticed, when boys’ voices squeak between octaves, when adolescents are trying on the wings of independence, when the last thing a thirteen year old wants is their mother gushing ad nauseam, in front of their eighth grade friends no less, about how special they are and how grown up they look.

For this is exactly what happens.

On this particular occasion, the mother began her address by stating that she had promised to her daughter that her comments would be “neither long nor cheesy”. She promptly amended her remarks, again assuring brevity, but stating, in not so many words, that a full load of Gorgonzola was coming right up. It was all the daughter could do not to roll her eyes. After all, Grandma had flown in from Florida and the Rabbi was standing right there,

Mom spouted effusively about her only daughter: the toddler years, the first day of kindergarten, lying in bed together reading stories, recent trips to the mall where the two of them, by the mother’s estimation, gadded about like teenage girls. The girl of the hour made it pretty clear, by her facial expression, that she had a different take on the whole business.

And then it was Dad’s turn. He took full advantage of his opportunity at the microphone, so proud of his precious bundle, in awe of the beautiful young lady in front of him. He was loaded with wise counsel for this next part of his daughter’s journey into womanhood. One particular gem had been passed down to him from his own grandfather. An Emersonian ideal, it had been reduced to the simple “Leave the campsite better than you found it!” Truly words to live by, though the wider significance seemed to be lost on the great-granddaughter.

I hope Dad had paid someone to record the events of the day. I know that this particular thirteen year old, fortunate to be so clearly loved and cherished by her family and friends, won’t remember everything spoken to her that day. I hope that she will look back to her time in the spotlight and come to understand fully the gifts presented to her during the time of her coming of age. Not the material goods, the menorahs and the iTunes gift cards, but the stories handed down by an adoring family for whom she represents life itself. I hope she will recall and contemplate the pearls of wisdom passed down in the proud tradition of her forebears. These are the moments of true living.

How many of us, outside the Jewish faith, have such an opportunity? Every family, every religion, has its traditions, the ways it celebrates the passages of time. I love the lines spoken by Tevye, the father in Fiddler on the Roof: “You may ask, how did this tradition get started? I'll tell you. I don't know. But it's a tradition.” We may not know where are own traditions come from, but they are important. They matter and they present opportunities for us to teach the next generation. Of course, the next generation may not be ready for the lessons, but as guiding adults, we can only hope that they will sink in with time. For time and experience have been such powerful teachers for us.

I left the Bat Mitzvah service that day thinking about my own children. We are not raising them in one particular faith. We are what some call an interfaith family, although the faith, mine in particular, is somewhat limited. My daughters may not have a formal opportunity to participate in a religious event which marks their arrival into adulthood. When they are thirteen years old, a few short years hence, they may be happy that we spare them the sheer embarrassment of being up on stage listening to their mother and I wax eloquent about how long it took to potty train them or their first swimming lesson. I do have quite a collection of stories, some with photographs to match. But they may also miss the chance for us to tell them, in the presence of the most important people in their lives, all that they have brought to us, the absolute joy and love in our hearts.

When my daughters were babies, their mother and I designed non-denominational Naming Ceremonies for each of them. We wrote them ourselves. We had the extended family, the candles, the gifts, the festive food. We spoke from the heart, as did their godparents and grandparents. We promised to raise them as best we know how, to love and cherish them for all of our lives. But they were a little preoccupied at the time with the things that are steadfastly important to the under-three-month crowd: sleeping, nursing, filling their diapers. They missed the message.

But in the years since, another tradition has been born. Like Tevye, I don’t really know how it got started. Must have just happened one day, and then another, and another. No pomp and ceremony of a Bat Mitzvah. No distant aunts and uncles or hoopla or kreplach. No dancing teens or rolling of the eyes. Something simple. Something that hasn’t cost a cent. Something filled with meaning and sincerity and love. It goes like this.

At night, in bed, after the lights are out. It is dark. It is quiet. The toil of the day is becoming a distant memory. The bedtime story is read and put aside. We talk. My wife and I alternate. I spend part of one evening with my older daughter, the next evening with my younger. We talk about her day and mine, the fun, the successes and the struggles. What happened in school, which friends were significant, and what they had for lunch. Sometimes we tell jokes and sometimes we sing.

Sometimes we’re just quiet. But most of all I tell my girls what they mean to me, how much I love them, and they tell me the same. It is a sacred time of talking and listening, opening up, and truly hearing one another. We even have our very own special words for saying goodnight. The same exact words, repeated every night for years now. I would not trade this time for the world.

Like all traditions, this one started out small and turned into a routine. Now it is an essential part of life, as important to my family as the candles on the Menorah or the penguin on top of our Christmas tree. Yes, the penguin’s also a family tradition, but a story for another day.

As adults, as parents, we cannot control tradition. We have no say in whether our values and customs will be carried forward by the next generation. But we can lay down the tracks and try to start the train rolling in a positive direction. Our children will, in all likelihood, veer off course for a while, but we hope we have given them enough to be able to get themselves back on track. And we don’t necessarily need a party or a public forum to hand down our wisdom. We do the little things. We teach them, we hold them, we love them, and we let them go. And that is a tradition I can live with.