Embracing the Possible

It is one of the rules of the road trip. When scanning for music on the radio you must listen to whatever musical station the scanner stops at. Hailey and I were out on the road listening to the radio. The first stop of the dial was one of those top-40s stations. I raised my hand to hit the scan button-road rules or not. From the back-seat I hear, “Embrace it dad.” So I took a small step out of my comfort zone and listened to the music.

Most of us approach life like we approach the roll of plastic wrap in our kitchen drawer-being careful to avoid the cutting edge. Really though, where’s the true joy? Where do the greatest rewards happen? Where does the greatest character growth occur?

What does the cutting edge look like to you? We stand on the brink of difficult times as a country with more people than ever in need of assistance. Go grab your calendar and check-book. Could you invest in a neighborhood shelter, take part in the reading program at the local library that you’ve thought about on and off (and off and off) for the last year?

Maybe start smaller scale. Be thankful for one more thing today. Take one small step toward that big God you’ve been avoiding. Write that letter to Aunt Sophie telling her how much her cookie recipe has always meant to you.

Put your hand to the plow. Listen to the music. Step out of your comfort level. Embrace the challenge.

In 3D

I have received many responses on the dating site I participate in---mostly rejections. Granted my face is less ‘ruggedly handsome’ and more ‘ravaged’ per the Janis Ian song. There is another reason that I don’t do well on the dating site. Though I’m good on paper, I’m much better in three dimensions.

I should have seen it coming. I was working for a large insurance company when email came on the scene. Slaving in the quarry of cubicles my neighbor would email me rather than greet me in person. Corporate bosses would email messages rather than face me with an issue—“Greetings Dillo. How does a nice long vacation sound?” Nobody would leave their ergonomically positioned chair to interact person to person.

Professors across the country are banning laptops from classrooms.
José A. Bowen, dean of the Meadows School of the Arts at Southern Methodist University, is removing them from lecture halls and urging his colleagues to "teach naked" — without machines. Bowen says class time should be used for engaging discussion, something that reliance on technology discourages.

“Taste and see,” are words the psalmist uses to drive our experience of God. An experience that engages all five senses will have a greater impact on us than an event that is only seen. Partial engagement equals distractions. At the bowling alley I saw a girl bowling and texting at the same time. Needless to say she was not fully engaged. I guess you could say she was on ‘pins and windows.’ Fullness and joy in either event did not occur but only dissipated involvement in each.

Laptops and cell-phones are great tools for interacting with the world. A friend of mine is a truck driver. Texting and phone calls allow us to stay in touch throughout the week. Those electronic messages are but a shadow of the interaction we enjoy when we get together for a meal. Face to face we are fully engaged, Facebook to Facebook is a quick note in passing.

You Will Call and I Will Answer

A thought-provoking and powerful interview of William Stuntz on death and suffering.

Water Comes Back To Joshua Tree

Instead of water my last visit to Barker Dam found a wide expanse of stinking green algae. The effects of a drought year with .67 inches of rain. God gave rain this year and the dam is full. A stormy winter will make way for a splendorous spring.

Boredom An Epiphany

"From 7:00 to 8:00 we take our early evening nap, and then for an hour before we go to bed at 9:00 we waste time. "As you can see, that leaves almost no time for brooding, lagging, plodding, or procrastinating, and if we stopped to think or laugh, we'd never get nothing done."

"You mean you'd never get anything done," corrected Milo.

"We don't want to get anything done," snapped another angrily; "we want to get nothing done, and we can do that without your help."

"You see," continued another in a more conciliatory tone, "it's really quite strenuous doing nothing all day, so once a week we take a holiday and go nowhere, which was just where we were going when you came along. Would you care to join us?"

"I might as well," thought Milo; "that's where I seem to be going anyway." -The Phantom Tollbooth, by Norton Juster.

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An attack by pirates would be a welcome change. Steady winds and a strong sail propel the boat miles offshore. Long passed are the shipping lanes and boats staying close to harbor. Now we are out, somewhere, in the middle of the ocean.

The sea grows calm and smooth as glass. The wind, no longer steady, has ceased blowing. To complicate matters there is no motor. The only thing that could make matters worse would be… “Yes it would have been a good idea to recharge the battery for the GPS.” Drifting without direction, powerless and visionless I count the minutes until I leave work.

Like the Polar Bear at the zoo I pace back-and-forth. I stand and sip coffee as I face another day without challenge, another visionless morning. Even as I stare out the window my mind seeks to grasp something solid. Thinking through options that make life interesting I have an epiphany.

Difficulties and trials stretch one's limits and allow little opportunity for boredom. I grab a sheet of paper and proceed to outline the last five years of my life. It looks something like this:

2005: Move to desert. Start new job. Get kicked out of house.
2006: Move into new house. Find out about affair. Begin divorce proceedings.
2007: Look for new job. Fret about finances. New job opportunity.
2008: Divorce final. Mom gets cancer. Take care of mom.
2009: Mom passes away. Lose consulting job.

Looking at the list I think to myself, “Maybe boredom’s not a bad thing.” Quick upon the heels of that thought two others rush in:

1) Boredom is another trial. 2) I must learn to fill the boredom with things that make a difference.

Unlike the Polar Bear I can make my time productive. In the lulls at work I can pray. I can create and plan ways to encourage others. I can dream big and not let boredom become my master. Could it be that boredom too is a steady wind moving me onto greater adventure?

What do you think?

Blood and Betrayal: Why the Cross Matters

“You did it again, didn’t you? I can’t believe it. You are such a loser! She quickly turned away and walked toward the back room. He drew in a breath as his chest tightened against his pounding heart. He felt the adrenaline rise along with the anger and hopelessness. He followed her into the bedroom. He tried to speak but was interrupted with cussing and soul-tearing accusations.

Defending himself against her fiery darts he had to take a stand, had to be heard. Bringing the back of his right hand down into his other palm he prefaced his statement. Loud and in staccato he said, “I was on the computer signing up for a group to help me with my ‘problem.’ That is why I am late.”

The call came the next day as he was pulling onto the home street. “You have one hour to take a suitcase and get out of the house. If you are not gone I will get a restraining order from the local women’s shelter.”

They sat in the office of the marriage counselor. She shouted, “I am done-done-done (more staccato) with this marriage.” She made it perfectly clear that she was not going to talk nor do any work toward healing and reconciliation.

He found the bills by accident: The plane ticket for two to Las Vegas returning to Los Angeles two days before the meeting with the marriage counselor, the restaurant bill for 300.00 two weeks after he was forced to leave the house.

Years later the marriage is over. The wounds have healed. The questions linger and doubt’s still stirred by a scene in a movie or a conversation with his kid.


Where do you go with that pain? Who can you talk to who will understand? How can you get out of bed to face another day in an unfair world?

Christ was betrayed by one of his close friends. Convicted in a kangaroo court and crucified for sins that were not His. The purest man killed in the foulest manner.

Talk to Christ. He understands betrayal and back-stabbing. Roll out of bed and put those feet on the ground. Give the evil of the day to Him who “suffered leaving you an example to follow in His steps, who committed no sin, nor was any deceit found in his mouth; and while being reviled He did not revile in return; while suffering uttered no threats but kept entrusting himself to Him who judges righteously.”

Recalibrating: Reading, Riding and Relaxation

I pulled the hands away from my throat. I moved my hands down and placed one hand inside my pocket. I pulled out my asthma inhaler and took a quick puff. I moved deliberately to avoid disrupting the people behind me who were focused on the players upon the stage. My enjoyment of the play was interrupted by the old lady sitting next to me layered in fur, polyester and perfume. Initially I presumed she was just vain. Soon afterward I would realize that she was suffering from depression.

Science proves that our physiology and our mental state are inextricably intermeshed.
Scientists from Tel Aviv University recently linked depression to a biological mechanism that affects the olfactory glands. It might explain why some women, without realizing it, wear too much perfume. Physicians such as Dr. John Sarno are convinced that significant back pain significantly correlates to deep repressed anger.

I observed my boss’ look of amused concern as he stood next to me and I asked my vendor if he knew “where in the hell my delivery was.” The angry reaction was out of character for me. I knew it and, apparently, my boss knew it. The anger had been percolating all week. I took it out on vendors, myself and other innocent folks that I had short-changed as I dealt with them from a base of anger. There is one other person who always gets the fully brunt of these emotional outbursts. That’s one of the dangers of being a Heavenly Father-your imperfect kids throw temper tantrums.

I stomped around life for some days lacking energy and zeal. Disconnected from God I focused one-hundred percent on myself, as opposed to good days when I focus on myself ninety-nine percent of the time.

This particular flare-up came up against a 58 mile charity ride on Saturday which motivated me to take Sunday off work as well. The ride went well though I still felt ambivalent without focus. Sunday morning I planned on church but ended up bowing to my pillow. I rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. Had I really slept twelve hours?

Taut and tired I was in need of rest. The pressures of the previous week; driving 6 hours to visit dad in the hospital, the dryer blowing up and stagnation at work had affected me. Vigilance failed and I’d let wariness seep into my bones and soak into my spirit. I needed to recalibrate.

When the ship I’m in consistently crashes against the reef I know that my anchor isn’t grabbing ground at (at least) three main points.

1) Reading. If I’m not spending time in the bible my focus will be off. Surprise, surprise; carving out the time to read allows a solid chunk of time for decompression.

2) Exercise. Adrenaline pours through my veins accompanied by caffeine. A dangerous mix when combined with stress, anger, depression and self-pity. Exercise casts those demon energies out of my system.

3) Rest. Deprive me of rest and I become a roaring monster. Running on five to six hours of sleep makes me a coward. I bend to every evil and succumb to every sensation that strolls into the unguarded castle of mind and emotion.

Like the scent of perfume from a fur encased lady the stressors of life will choke out peace. It is up to me to live on the qui vive against these marauders. I shouldn’t have to crash-and-burn only to be saved by the flashing red lights of my own emotions.

Fatherhood: An Equal Reaction

I catch a glimpse of the wall behind my computer. Squeezed in-between the world map and cycling goals are notes from my daughter; “Dear Dad, thank you so much for helping me move my bed! You Rock!” There is an envelope next to it addressed: To The Best Dad In The World.

If I reach inward I can taste and feel the anger. I was aware of it at seventeen. I was achieving the rank of Eagle Scout. I knew that even if my dad attended the ceremony he attended in name only. The award had been achieved with no involvement from him. The same could be said of my turning eighteen.

The phone calls from my dad’s wife, Ethel, are predictable. She will be (understandably) at the end of her rope because my dad is pulling on it. He will have been angry, violent, abusive or---D: All of the above. The calls often incite guilt in me (see last weeks’ post) for not calling or visiting.

There are two basic laws of physics known to everyone: ‘For every action, an equal reaction’, and ‘an object in motion will stay in motion.’ These two laws have made me a different father than my dad.

An object in motion will stay in motion unless acted upon by an external force. Simmering anger was normative in my life. Christ taught me to forgive and give up control. Being acted upon meant the last thirty years with my dad in my life and a grandfather in Hailey’s’. Reacting to being fatherless I am aggressively involved in the life of my daughter.

A driving force guiding my decisions is to be the father for my daughter that will prevent gaping holes and vacuums in her heart. The key is to do it with a focus on her being a whole person and not letting my chinks and chasms get in the way.

A Platform of Peace

“Take your age and subtract two. That’s the number of years you’ve spent forcing yourself to say “yes” when your essential self wanted to say no.” Martha Beck, Finding Your Own North Star

I own the entire Magnum P.I. ‘Season One.’ I became a fan of the series during its’ original run in the 80s. The good P.I. that he was, Magnum would oft follow his hunches. To key you into his thinking, Magnum would say something such as, “A little voice told me not to visit her vast coastal mansion.” When he listened to the little voice, things went better. Failure to listen to the little voice meant disaster.

My dad’s Jewish and from my youth I’ve come to strongly identify with Jewish food and Jewish guilt. Everybody struggles in this area, but I struggle more. My whole life people have been telling me, “It’s your fault.” During one dating relationship my mate had me convinced I was responsible for the start of World War I. At the same level I’ve chosen to listen to the voices of other people and to stifle my own. After I became a Christian this talent made it easier to quench the voice of the Holy Spirit.

While married I often kowtowed to the voice of my spouse knowing in the depth of my heart my own opinion was contrary. As the marriage disintegrated and counseling was integrated I grew in regard to listening to that voice.

Now when the midnight call comes saying, “Dillo, yah dad’s sick and you need to come down here immediately,” I process the information until the voice is solid. I run the information through a grid.

1) Am I just responding to the tyranny of the urgent? In high pressure situations people want me to make immediate commitments. Usually immediate action is not necessary.

2) What does God say about it? These are the easy ones. Many an issue has no obvious moral or biblical solution.

3) What are my priorities? Does it interfere with my goals at work? Does it negate promises I’ve made to my daughter?

4) Try standing on the different options. One of the options will be a platform of peace. Stand on that platform.

Who’s voice is loudest in your life?

Helicopter swoops in to save the day; music rolls in and fades out.

Latvian Pilgrimages or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned To Love Capitalism

Mēs esam kā starp vārtiem,
Starp vārtiem uzcēluši savas mājas
Kur tautām pāri staigāt.

We are as if between gates,
Between gates we have built our home
For other peoples to trample over.
— Anna Brigadere, Latvian poet

"The Nazi invasion interrupted that brutal occupation—one horror replaced by another. When the Germans retreated, a choice of one evil over the other was the only option to escape the coming Soviet onslaught."


He came into the store to buy coffee and to complain about the bran muffins, which he insisted contained no raisins. His lapel bore the words, ‘Latvian embassy.’
Dillo: Do you speak Latvian?
Muffin man: Yes, I speak Latvian and Russian.
Dillo: My mom was born in Riga.
Muffin Man: Have you ever been?
Dillo: Yes, once during the occupation and once after independence.
Muffin Man: Occupation, that’s a funny thing to say, though, I guess, it was.
Both: Sveiks!

My first visit to Latvia occurred in 1978, the year I entered college. In 1978 the country showed on maps as Latvia, S.S.R. Military officers could be found on every corner, and it was common to see tanks drive down the street sporting trench-coated officers in black leather boots. The oppression was stifling; you saw it on people’s faces and the way they walked; shoulders stooped, steps plodding. It’s hard to move with a gun in your back.

The Statue of Liberty (seen above, holding three stars, one for each Baltic state: Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia) stood in the town square, facing outward. At the opposite end of the square stood a statue of Lenin also facing outward. The running joke was that there was a reason they stood back-to-back.

As tourists we could buy groceries in approved stores. These stores had a decent supply of groceries by soviet standard. You could find your bread, rice and salad makings. What’s more, you could get in and out in an hour or two. A citizen living in Latvia shopped at approved stores also. For them this meant long lines with no guarantee of finding what they needed once they actually entered the store. For the tourists and locals each was small with few shelves and minimum variety.

The zoo in Riga was a collection of animals in boxes. Some of the animals may have had runs and some space, but basic at best. The entire city was like this. No bright colors only grey and a pigment which Sherwin-Williams catalogs as Ancient City Poop Brown.

On August 21, 1991, Latvia claimed Independence. My second visit to Latvia took place in July, 2001. The first full day after arrival I went out for beer. After some strong encouragement and some, “You need to see this,” I also went shopping for groceries.

The grocery store took up nearly a block. Grab a cart and enter through the shiny glass doors. Right into the produce department which is bright with color, full of fruit of every type. If you had a child, you could push them around in the carts which were shaped like big cars, horns included. Whatever you wanted, whatever you needed. No approval necessary, and the tourists and the locals shopped side by side.

We took the bus to the Riga zoo. The old zoo has a new look which rivals anything found in San Diego, Portland or New York. The special exhibit that day was South African frogs and insects, I think. A huge display of grotesque and fascinating creepy-crawlies. As you meandered along a trail winding through tunnels each animal was displayed with appropriate lighting, and cages that were clean and spacious.

My conversion came at the lions den. Here were these large cats in a life-like setting with ample space, clear signage and interpretive video displays. Displayed behind the cats on the main wall were a number of large posters. Each poster was a brightly lit ad for the Latvian version of Friskies. It hit me then. Capitalism and a free-market supported an environment that allowed for growth.

Walking through Riga we could see a number of positive changes brought about by the new government and freedom. On the street though you could also see the older folks. They were easy to spot by their drab single color clothes, hopeless gait and bent bodies. It would still take some significant time for the oppression to lift. The shackles of coercion are not easily cast off.