Tuesday, August 26, 2008

AARP




Since age is the topic of the hour, I thought I'd mention the AARP magazine. My secretary loaned us her copy. This is a magazine that if I see it in a waiting room, I discreetly look away. After all, it carries stigma, kind of like those newspapers they sell at the local checkout. Everyone knows that succumbing to reading AARP will hasten the appearance of the angel of death.
My suspicions about what they publish in that magazine have only been limited by my imagination. I could just see articles titled, "Ex Airline Pilot drowns in commode," or "Lunatic Nurse Goes on Hypodermic Rampage." Lin was bold and opened it first. She has always been more of a risk taker. I halfway expected to see wrinkles form quickly around her eyes, and her body begin to sag. I was surprised. Her body remained intact, and as she shared some of the content, I realized I have been guilty of stereotyping. It actually had good articles. In fact, there was some of the best writing I have seen in a long time. (I'll blog about one of the authors in a few days.)
They should change the name of the magazine. I suggest "Intelligent Reader," or "Magazine for Brains Not Full of Mush." Lin suggested "Journey's End." I told her that would drive people away. "AARP" seems to be such a bland title. I hope they change the name.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

AGING




This month I had a birthday. We had some friends and family over, with lots of food and homemade ice cream. I had a great time. That's good, since it was my birthday.

My father celebrates his 96th next month. I tell him only four more years until he gets a letter from the president. I am assuming, of course that the president will still be doing that. The tradition that began years ago with just a few letters per month is quickly becoming unwieldy. By the time my generation become centurions, the postage will be a budget line item.

Having a birthday
has caused me to think a lot about aging. This was the big six-0 for me. I used to think I was old when I turned 40. Now, I don't think I'll be old until I hit 75. Statistically, I hope to have another ten years of relatively good health before I have to physically slow down. Realistically, my health could fail without notice. It feels like a tightrope, with life on one side and death on the other. I don't sense the precariousness, however, because I made peace with God long ago. I'm more interested in the quality of life.

Several years ago my friend Carol recommended a book titled Success to Significance, by Bob Buford. The basic premise of the book is that as we age, our focus should slowly change from providing for our family, to one of ministry to others. It takes on a natural progression, gradually beginning in our early fifties, and continuing into retirement. I like the idea. It appeals to me more than playing shuffleboard for the next twenty years. One must also be realistic, however. I know one couple who is heavily involved in several ministry activities, all in the evening. They save their daytime hours for doctor visits. That doesn't appeal to me. I would rather be hiking during the day.

The increasingly inward focus as one ages is also scary. I know older adults are many times fixated on blood pressure, bowels, and medication. I understand how that happens, and I will fight it tooth and nail. I also know that a person's failing physical health can absorb all their energy. If you come and visit, and I start talking about my ailments, please hit me alongside the head. My dad has never focused on his health. Of course, he doesn't remember anything from one day to the next, so perhaps his failing memory is a blessing. When we go out for coffee in the afternoon, he doesn't remember what he had for lunch. He loves the visits from his sister in Texas, but about three days after she leaves, his memory of the good times dim to almost nothing.

They say we are only as old as we feel. When I'm not exerting myself, I feel 25. The key is to live life without unnecessary exertion. That way, you can live every day thinking you are younger than you really are. You only come up against hard reality when you go help your son and daughter-in-law work in their yard. It's been two weeks, and my back is just now feeling normal again. Next time I'll spend more hours holding the grandchild. There's no downside to that.




Friday, August 15, 2008

THE DRIFTING MOUSE



We have an older Dell laptop that has been giving us fits for the past year. The mouse would spontaneously begin drifting, and if it came in contact with any icons, it would activate them. In addition, adjusting the screen would cause random "static." The only way to bring the screen back was to slap it soundly on the side. I was ready to give it away. Last week Lin tried a Google search. You can find anything on Google. She found a link that described the mouse problem exactly. They claimed it was a hardware issue. All we had to do was insert a piece of clear plastic or cellophane under the touchpad, between the touchpad and a flat strip of metal. It took some courage to start taking the laptop apart, but we had nothing to lose. I found that the clear part of a business envelope that lets the address show through was perfect. At first it was too flimsy, but slipped right in when reinforced with clear scotch tape. It has been over a week, and the mouse hasn't drifted once. The screen malfunction is also gone. I couldn't ask for a nicer birthday present. Thank you, Lin.

Saturday, July 12, 2008

THE WEATHER




Finally, the weather has changed. This year in western Oregon we did not have a spring. It went from wet and cool to dry and hot. I prefer dry and hot. In fact, the hotter the better. I know there must be an upper limit, but I haven't found it. Of course, my experience is limited to Oregon, so what do I know? Once, several years ago, I remember it was 106 in August. That was unusual for Portland. We drove to Phoenix that week, and when we arrived it was only in the 80's, but quite humid. That was my first experience with humidity, and right then I knew I didn't like humidity. I prefer dry heat. Most of the time in Portland we consider it hot if the temperature gets above 90. That doesn't happen too often. Our weather here in the summer is almost perfect. We have people who come on vacation from other parts of the country, and after just one visit, they decide that we live in heaven. They go back home, pack up, and move to Oregon. Then, when winter arrives, they realize that they were tricked into moving to hell. We actually have people suffer from lack of sunshine, and we call it SAD (seasonal affective disorder). It doesn't happen in central or eastern Oregon, just here where it rains and rains and rains. How hot does it get where you live?

Monday, June 16, 2008

THE FOUR PILLARS OF INVESTING




Anyone interested in managing their own investments should read this book by William Bernstein. Pillar One is The Theory of Investing. Pillar Two is The History of Investing. Pillar Three is The Psychology of Investing, and Pillar Four is The Business of Investing. He concludes the book by discussing investment strategy using the four pillars.

(Go here to read a recent magazine interview where he discusses investment strategy.)

The chapter on a history of manias goes back in history and highlights some incredible times in the past when whole societies were caught up in investment madness. The end result was always a crash. Our recent housing bubble has a lot of similarities to past manias. We definitely can learn lessons today by studying examples from the past.

Bernstein does not have kind words for financial brokers. The reason is that anyone with the time to educate themselves doesn't need to pay commissions to an adviser. In fact, that is the only reason to ever have a broker. Everyone else can do it on their own. The only reason I have a job as a financial representative is because there are a lot of people who, for one reason or another, are not educated and are not interested in doing their own investing.

Read the book, and use it to jump start your education.




Monday, June 9, 2008

APPEASEMENT

One of the best articles I have ever read on the dangers of appeasement appeared in the June 7th 2008 issue of the Wall Street Journal. It is by Michael Ledeen, a resident scholar at the American Enterprise Institute. I have pasted it below in its entirety. Let me know if you agree or disagree.



Resident Scholar Michael A. Ledeen

Ever since World War II, we have been driven by a passionate desire to understand how mass genocide, terror states and global war came about--and how we can prevent them in the future.
Above all, we have sought answers to several basic questions: Why did the West fail to see the coming of the catastrophe? Why were there so few efforts to thwart the fascist tide, and why did virtually all Western leaders, and so many Western intellectuals, treat the fascists as if they were normal political leaders, instead of the virulent revolutionaries they really were? Why did the main designated victims--the Jews--similarly fail to recognize the magnitude of their impending doom? Why was resistance so rare?
Why are we failing to see the mounting power of evil enemies? Why do we treat them as if they were normal political phenomena, as Western leaders do when they embrace negotiations as the best course of action?
Most eventually accepted a twofold "explanation": the uniqueness of the evil, and the lack of historical precedent for it. Italy and Germany were two of the most civilized and cultured nations in the world. It was difficult to appreciate that a great evil had become paramount in the countries that had produced Kant, Beethoven, Dante, and Rossini.
How could Western leaders, let alone the victims, be blamed for failing to see something that was almost totally new--systematic mass murder on a vast scale, and a threat to civilization itself? Never before had there been such an organized campaign to destroy an entire "race," and it was therefore almost impossible to see it coming, or even to recognize it as it got under way.
The failure to understand what was happening took a well-known form: a systematic refusal to view our enemies plain. Hitler's rants, whether in "Mein Kampf" or at Nazi Party rallies, were often downplayed as "politics," a way of maintaining popular support. They were rarely taken seriously as solemn promises he fully intended to fulfill. Mussolini's call for the creation of a new Italian Empire, and his later alliance with Hitler, were often downplayed as mere bluster, or even excused on the grounds that, since other European countries had overseas territories, why not Italy?
Some scholars broadened the analysis to include other evil regimes, such as Stalin's Russia, which also systematically murdered millions of people and whose ambitions similarly threatened the West. Just as with fascism, most contemporaries found it nearly impossible to believe that the Gulag Archipelago was what it was. And just as with fascism, we studied it so that the next time we would see evil early enough to prevent it from threatening us again.
By now, there is very little we do not know about such regimes, and such movements. Some of our greatest scholars have described them, analyzed the reasons for their success, and chronicled the wars we fought to defeat them. Our understanding is considerable, as is the honesty and intensity of our desire that such things must be prevented.
Yet they are with us again, and we are acting as we did in the last century. The world is simmering in the familiar rhetoric and actions of movements and regimes--from Hezbollah and al Qaeda to the Iranian Khomeinists and the Saudi Wahhabis--who swear to destroy us and others like us. Like their 20th-century predecessors, they openly proclaim their intentions, and carry them out whenever and wherever they can. Like our own 20th-century predecessors, we rarely take them seriously or act accordingly. More often than not, we downplay the consequences of their words, as if they were some Islamic or Arab version of "politics," intended for internal consumption, and designed to accomplish domestic objectives.
Clearly, the explanations we gave for our failure to act in the last century were wrong. The rise of messianic mass movements is not new, and there is very little we do not know about them. Nor is there any excuse for us to be surprised at the success of evil leaders, even in countries with long histories and great cultural and political accomplishments. We know all about that. So we need to ask the old questions again. Why are we failing to see the mounting power of evil enemies? Why do we treat them as if they were normal political phenomena, as Western leaders do when they embrace negotiations as the best course of action?
No doubt there are many reasons. One is the deep-seated belief that all people are basically the same, and all are basically good. Most human history, above all the history of the last century, points in the opposite direction. But it is unpleasant to accept the fact that many people are evil, and entire cultures, even the finest, can fall prey to evil leaders and march in lockstep to their commands. Much of contemporary Western culture is deeply committed to a belief in the goodness of all mankind; we are reluctant to abandon that reassuring article of faith. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, we prefer to pursue the path of reasonableness, even with enemies whose thoroughly unreasonable fanaticism is manifest.
This is not merely a philosophical issue, for to accept the threat to us means--short of a policy of national suicide--acting against it. As it did in the 20th century, it means war. It means that, temporarily at least, we have to make sacrifices on many fronts: in the comforts of our lives, indeed in lives lost, in the domestic focus of our passions--careers derailed and personal freedoms subjected to unpleasant and even dangerous restrictions--and the diversion of wealth from self-satisfaction to the instruments of power. All of this is painful; even the contemplation of it hurts.
Then there is anti-Semitism. Old Jew-hating texts like "The Protocols of the Elders of Zion," now in Farsi and Arabic, are proliferating throughout the Middle East. Calls for the destruction of the Jews appear regularly on Iranian, Egyptian, Saudi and Syrian television and are heard in European and American mosques. There is little if any condemnation from the West, and virtually no action against it, suggesting, at a minimum, a familiar Western indifference to the fate of the Jews.
Finally, there is the nature of our political system. None of the democracies adequately prepared for war before it was unleashed on them in the 1940s. None was prepared for the terror assault of the 21st century. The nature of Western politics makes it very difficult for national leaders--even those rare men and women who see what is happening and want to act--to take timely, prudent measures before war is upon them. Leaders like Winston Churchill are relegated to the opposition until the battle is unavoidable. Franklin Delano Roosevelt had to fight desperately to win Congressional approval for a national military draft a few months before Pearl Harbor.
Then, as now, the initiative lies with the enemies of the West. Even today, when we are engaged on the battlefields of Iraq and Afghanistan, there is little apparent recognition that we are under attack by a familiar sort of enemy, and great reluctance to act accordingly. This time, ignorance cannot be claimed as an excuse. If we are defeated, it will be because of failure of will, not lack of understanding. As, indeed, was almost the case with our near-defeat in the 1940s.

Michael A. Ledeen is a resident scholar at AEI.

Saturday, May 31, 2008

APOLOGY ACCEPTED







Have you ever had someone apologize to you and somehow it sounded hollow? You find yourself thinking, "What are they really saying?" My favorite non-apologies are the ones that use the word "if." For example, "I'm sorry if I offended you." What is the real meaning? Why don't they just come out and and say, "I realize you have a problem with my rudeness, and I'm sorry you can't get over it." This is very common between spouses, especially early in the marriage. Since I'm a guy, I'm very familiar with what guys say, so I'll use the male example. I bring home a new toy (here you fill in your favorite toy that you slobber on everytime you go to the mall or car dealer). I bring it home, and my wife goes through the roof. What is my apology? "I'm sorry if I offended you. I should have discussed it with you first." In other words, "Get over it woman, I've already spent the money on my selfish desires and I'm always going to feed this little boy what he wants. I really don't care about your needs or the future financial needs of our family." It's no wonder that my apology doesn't go very far. She knows what I am really saying. What would be a sincere apology? How about, "I now realize what a selfish, inconsiderate jerk I have been, and how far I have to go to really grow up. I'm going to work at putting the needs of my family first, and to demonstrate my sincerity, I will return this toy." That is hard to say, because little boys don't say that, and if they did, it would not be sincere. It's no wonder we see conflicts in marriage. I think little boys tend to grow up only when they have conflict. If they survive the early years of the marriage, and learn to put the needs of others first, they ususally turn into somewhat acceptable examples of manhood. We read about guys like this all the time in the advice columns of the newspaper. They are stories about someone whose actions have demonstrated that they need to be taken out and whipped. I can just hear in my mind as I read those stories, a rising chorus of women's voices volunteering to do the whipping in the name of all that is fair and just.

Monday, May 19, 2008

LISTENING






Who do you enjoy being with? What makes them fun to be around? You probably share a common passion, and enjoy their sense of humor. It is also very likely that they listen to what you say. I think being a good listener is key to having meaningful relationships.



What about people you don't enjoy? Why do you avoid them when you see them coming? What character traits do they have that raise your blood pressure? Do they listen to what you say? I think not.


Proverbs 18:24 in the Bible says that if you want to have friends, show yourself friendly. I think we can rephrase that to say if you want to have friends, be a good listener. No one likes a person who is self focused and all they do is talk about their own interests and pains. It becomes a vicious cycle, causing others to avoid them even more.



Are you a good listener? I like to imagine that there is a secret recording of all my conversations, and I get points when I can direct the conversation away from myself. What about blogging? Isn't blogging the essence of being self focused? Maybe that is why it is so popular.

What are the keys to being a good listener?











Wednesday, May 7, 2008

BLOGGING AS THERAPY?




How do you process emotional trauma? Blogging is a recent phenomena that seems to meet that need. I have noticed that different blogs have different themes. Some, like mine, discuss issues. Most are windows into the daily activities of the blogger. Some focus on babies, or pets, or politics. CNN had an interesting article about the therapy of blogging. Writing about a traumatic experience seems to help the blogger find at least some closure. Who blogs the most, introverts or extroverts? Would it make a difference if you knew you had no readers? Would a large audience encourage you to blog more frequently? If you don't have a blog, why not? Is it lack of time? Perhaps you are intimidated by having others read your grammer mistakes. Maybe you just don't like to write. According to the above article, there are about 12 million bloggers in the United States. That means about 230 million don't blog. Which group are you in, and why?

Saturday, April 19, 2008

DEATH AND TAXES






Isn't it unusual that two of the most common things in life are the most hated? We do a lot of complaining about taxes. I'm self employed, so I save every month in preparation for the quarterly tax payment. Some people choose to not pay, but I believe in paying taxes, so I do it willingly. I don't agree with the concept of estate taxes, so I've decided that when I die I am not going to pay those.
I also believe in being prepared to die. Just because we don't like to think about it, doesn't mean we shouldn't make plans. The most obvious way to prepare for our own death is to provide for those that are dependent on our income by purchasing some type of life insurance.
Even less talked about is being ready to die. How does one ever get ready to die? I just purchased my 2009 desk calender and nowhere, in filling out important dates, did I write in the date of my own death. I wish it were that easy. Instead, I have to realize that every day I wake up may be the last one I live. I'm not sure how successful I've been at making every day my last, because I haven't been tested yet. I'm still here. However, I am "ready to go," as they say, having made peace with God in every way. I have no regrets, no known enemies, and no unspoken conversations I wish to make with anyone I leave behind. That doesn't mean I want to die. It does, however, free me to live life to the fullest. Each day is a new adventure, a gift from God. I think more about this than I used to, because almost daily I hear about someone younger than myself who has died.
Unfortunately, for most of us death won't come suddenly. Instead, it will begin with an illness that gets progressively worse, resulting in a death that is expected by all. For a short time five years ago I thought I might have to go through that process, having been diagnosed with prostate cancer. Thankfully, it was caught early and up until now there is no reoccurence.
It's too bad we can't choose how we exit life. I remember my friend who proclaimed that he wanted to die peacefully in his sleep like his grandfather, not screaming in horror like the passengers in his car. How do you want to die? More importantly, are you ready?

Sunday, April 6, 2008

CROWD BEHAVIOR


The psychology of crowd behavior has always interested me, ever since I studied it in a college Sociology class. It has caused me to analyze my actions in a group as if I were being observed by a neutral party, like a scientist watching a rat in a maze. The dynamics of a crowd can be scary. It's not unlike what happens when you find out your precious dog that sleeps on your bed at night is part of a daytime pack that takes down sheep.
There are three viewpoints when you are part of a crowd. The first is as a participant. I try to determine if my actions in the crowd are a true reflection of my values, or if I am being manipulated. Another viewpoint is to look at the person leading the crowd. What is their intent? If the crowd follows their lead, what will the result be? The third perspective is if I am the leader. Am I using my abilities to influence people in an ethical manner? Do these people really know what the end result of this action is going to be?
Frankly, I don't think we can depend on the leader to be ethical. We, as individuals in a crowd have a responsibility to be manipulated ethically. I know, it sounds strange, but it happens all the time. At a football game, everyone stands up when there is a touchdown. What if you don't stand? Are you worried about peer pressure? In a group of friends, everyone is expected to laugh at a joke. Do you laugh when it's not funny? Arn't you allowing yourself to be manipulated in little ways, all the time? Political rallies are notorious for manipulating crowds. They have made it a science. When you are in a crowd, are you aware of your behavior? When is it permissible to be manipulated? When is it ok to manipulate? Comedians do it all the time. Do you have the gift?

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

TAX REBATE







Your tax rebate is arriving in May! Some states are planning to allow tax free purchases around the Memorial Day weekend. They are attempting to stimulate consumer spending. I predict they will be highly successful. Retail businesses will be thrilled. It will boost the economy.


However, the best kept secret about your rebate may be that you would be better off if you use it to pay down debt or invest in your retirement. Do you really need that flat screen tv? $1000 invested at 8% over 27 years with no additional deposits will accumulate to $8,000. If the return is 12%, it would be worth $16,000 in just 24 years. Many mutual fund investments have averaged 10% over the last 10 years, and some over 12%.


So, what is best for your future; a tv to watch the superbowl, or cash in your future to jump up and down on? I suggest you invest the money and go to your friend's house to watch the game, knowing that your money is accumulating for you and your children. A wise choice limits your spending to a bag of chips or a snack plate, and a good time will be had by all!

Saturday, March 8, 2008

INVESTMENT OPPORTUNITIES



There are always opportunities to make money. Sometimes those opportunities are obvious, and sometimes they are staring you in the face and you can't see them. In the late 70s I knew two real estate investors. The first one, who I will call R, was young, and eager to learn. He was just out of high school. His uncle had the expertise, along with some money. Together, they began purchasing low cost rental houses. The uncle provided the advice and capital, and R did the work. They would watch for a good price, with a motivated seller. Many times they would purchase the property on contract directly from the owner. This allowed for a minimal down payment. The rent from the property would make the payments. If the rent could not make the contract payment, then they would not buy the house. To make it more acceptable to the seller, they would offer a 5 or 10 year balloon. That means that after a length of time, they would pay off the loan. That was accomplished by either financing the property with a lender, or by selling the property. R and his uncle were very successful. As the years progressed, they moved into apartments, and then into commercial property. Along the way, R became very good at painting, replacing bathroom floors, windows, and everything else that goes with fixing up old houses.
I also had another friend during that time. I'll call him B. He followed the same plan. He would buy older houses and fix them up for rentals. However, he did something else. Once he bought a distressed property, he would fix it up, and then refinance it with the bank. He was able to refinance it for more than the purchase price, so he would use that money to buy more houses. He started his enterprise about five years after R. After about five years, he declared bankruptcy. He made two mistakes. He started buying near the top of the market, and he was greedy. Today, housing prices nationwide are projected to continue their decline for one or two years more. It's been over 30 years since there has been this type of market. It's not for the faint of heart. You have to be willing to spend most weekends doing repairs on your houses, and many weeknights answering emergency calls from tenants. Older homes don't come without problems. I'm not going to do it, because I don't like to work on houses in my spare time. I like mutual funds. However, the opportunity is there for the right investor.
Remember, the reason you make money doing this, is because you are using other people's money. You have little or no down payment, the rent equals your monthly payments, and you are riding the equity market up. Back in the 80s seminar speakers were getting rich charging big bucks to tell you how to do it. You don't need to pay big bucks. Just do the research yourself. Be prepared to work evenings and weekends. It isn't handed to you on a silver platter, but the potential is there for those who take the plunge. Go here to read details about the housing market.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

FREEDOM OF SPEECH




Pakistan recently blocked Youtube because of its unfavorable treatment of Islam. They are insisting that Youtube remove the offensive videos. Go here to read the CNN report. We know that many nations limit the free speech of the citizens within their borders. Do they also have a right to extend those restrictions to citizens of other nations?


What about in conversation with others? Do we have a responsibility to temper our free speech if we know it will be offensive? For example, if I enter a room of smokers, should I refrain from expounding on the dangers of smoking? I could go on quite a tirade, but would it be advisable? Wouldn't it be better to vent my opinion in a public forum that is not as confrontational?


Perhaps there is a time to remain quiet, and a time to speak out. I believe Youtube is the perfect medium for speaking out. It allows for the sharing of ideas that may not be accepted by all. If we are talking face to face, there are acceptable standards of respect and tolerance. However, if the public forum is silenced, we all suffer.


I see it as a clash of cultures. I was raised with visions of Patrick Henry shouting, "Give me liberty, or give me death." An Islamic culture is totally different, and I would like to see your comments about how their values are in conflict with ours.

Monday, February 11, 2008

ENTITLEMENTS






I think I've figured out why I don't like the fast food advertisement, "You deserve a break today." It is telling me that they have decided I need a break, and not only that, but I deserve it. For some reason I resent their feeble attempt at mind control. I feel the same way about the multitude of new car advertisements. I don't even want a car, but they assume I would sell my soul to get one. Well, not my soul, but maybe submit to car payments for the next five years. The appeal is to what I think I deserve, or what I think I am entitled to. It's an attempt, as we all know, to sow seeds of discontent.

What am I really entitled to? We all have basic needs, such as shelter, food, and clothing. Am I entitled to the basics? If so, what entitles me to them? Do I have some sort of noble blood running through my veins that makes me more deserving than someone else? Do I deserve it because I have a job and can buy it if I choose? Am I entitled to something if I can't afford it? That's an argument politicians use all the time to push their favorite social programs.

How about if we reverse the question? Instead of asking what I deserve, what if we asked what others deserve? What if all advertising was focused on challenging the audience to think what they could do for others? Would it still be advertising? Would I buy my friend a car, knowing that my neighbor would be buying one for me? I doubt that approach would work at all.

What about little entitlements? Am I entitled to a hot meal when I come home? Am I entitled to be treated with respect and honesty? Do I deserve a cup of good coffee in the morning? The list is endless. Have you ever heard someone ask, "What have I done to deserve this?" The question implies that good behavior entitles us to rewards. God is watching and will zap you if you do wrong, and reward you with good things if you live right.

Do you have an unwritten list of entitlements? What do you deserve? I'm wondering if I am entitled to anything at all. Wouldn't I be better off if I didn't have any expectations, and then was grateful when something does go right?

Sunday, January 27, 2008

FOLLOWING THE LIGHT













Our dog Pekah Boo has an obsession. She loves the laser light. We keep it above the phone in a woven basket with other miscellaneous items. At least once a day she will go over and sit under the basket and repeatedly look up at the basket, and then over at me. She says, "You know." If you read my blog from last summer, you are aware that I really don't know what she is saying. Lin has to tell me her thoughts. I am well trained, so I obediently get the laser and we get started. If it is really wet outside, we stay in the house. There is a well traveled route from our living room, up the stairs, and back again. I keep watching for signs of wear in our 16 year-old carpet, but so far haven't seen any. If it is not too wet, we head out the patio door and she really gets up some speed, racing back and forth the full length of the back yard. After a few minutes, she begins to slow down. She never really stops, and I've never had the nerve to see how long she would chase it. Besides, I don't want to think about doing CPR on a boston terrier. I wouldn't mind the heart massage, but the mouth-to-mouth is a little much to get my brain around. If she does collapse, my plan is to immediately begin the massage, while frantically calling Lin to come over and begin the mouth-to-mouth, or in this case, mouth-to-nose. I used to be a certified CPR instructor, so Lin would not likely ask me to trade places, especially if I spoke with a voice that commanded authority. A few times I have made the mistake of taking Pekah outside when the ground is saturated. Have you ever seen mud caked up inside a dog's paws? She is an indoor dog, of course, so we have to clean her up before we can let her back in the house. It ruins a bath towel when you wipe between her toes, and her running is not very kind to the grass, either. We have huge ruts from her path, and when spring arrives I have to figure out how to smooth them out. I guess I could go out anytime and use my feet to reshape the grass. The ground is like putty. It squishes when you walk on it. I have a recurrent nightmare in which a 120,000 man army walks three abreast through our yard, and I go outside eight hours later to find a three foot deep trench, similiar to the buffalo migration trails that used to go through Kansas. When I wake up, I try to imagine the circumstances necessary for that to have happened. My mind has come up with some scary scenarios. You don't want to know.

Monday, January 21, 2008

RAMANUJAN


The Man Who Knew Infinity, by Robert Kanigel




Srinivasa Ramanujan Iyengar was born in 1887, in Southern India. Srinivasa was his father's name, and Iyengar referred to the particular branch of South Indian Brahmins to which his family belonged, and so he was simply known as Ramanujan.

Sometimes you read about someone so incredibly gifted that you wonder where the world would be if they had never been born. Mozart blessed us with music. Einstein transformed the world of physics. Ramanujan's gift was mathematics.

On January 16, 1913 he wrote a letter to G.H. Hardy at Trinity College, Cambridge. It began:

"Dear Sir,
I beg to introduce myself to you as a clerk in the Accounts Department of the Port Trust Office at Madras on a salary of only 20 pounds per annum. I am now about 23 years of age. I have had no University education but I have undergone the ordinary school course. After leaving school I have been employing the spare time at my disposal to work at Mathematics."

His letter went on to describe his desire to study at Trinity College, and was followed by nine pages of mathematical theorms.

Hardy showed the letter to his friend Littlewood, also a mathematician at Trinity. At first they thought the equations might be the work of a prankster, but after several hours of pouring over his writings, they realized they were examining the works of a mathematical genius.

Ramanujan ended up in Cambridge with Hardy, and Robert Kanigal describes in detail the adjustments and disappointments he faced, coming from a very poor part of India and trying to fit into modern academia.

Sadly, he died April 26, 1920 of tuberculosis.

Reading this book will acquaint you with Ramanujan the man, and Ramanujan the genius. The book has a lot of math in it, but the story line continues around the math, so if you are like me, you can gaze at the equations in awe for a moment, and then get back to the story of the man.

However, if you like math, you will appreciate both the story and the mathematics.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

RELATIONSHIPS


My friend Gary commented to me some time ago that the importance of relationships is becoming more apparent to him as he grows older. As time goes by, I am increasingly seeing the truth in his remark. In fact, it occurred to me that every movie produced; every book published; every story told, is a story of relationships. Even stories of men exiled alone on an island are actually about their attempt to reconcile back into civilization. In addition, every good story includes themes of betrayal, reconciliation, and redemption. Tell me your favorite movie, and you can be sure it contains intense relationship issues. In fact, I challenge you to think of an idea for a story that does not involve relationships. Critics analyze movies and books based on how characters and relationships are developed.
I have several questions: Who is your most important relationship with? Is it meaningful? What percentage are you giving/getting? Is it a relationship worth maintaining? Are there open lines of communication? What commitment have you made to it? Do your actions reflect your commitment? Are there positive or negative expectations of behavior imposed on you by being in this relationship? Did you make a mistake? Is it time to set some limits?
My most treasured relationship is with Lin. We have invested 33 years in it, and are reaping the benefits. I also deeply value my spiritual relationship with God. His grace is free and he has forgiven my sins. We have a rewarding relationship with our adult children & their spouses. It would be great if we could all live in one house and have a continual party! (They might not agree.) Life isn't like that, unfortunately. It only happens on holidays when they all happen to be here at the same time.
We have a good rapport at our job. It is fun to be with those I work with. It would be terrible to get up in the morning and have to go to a job and face someone I didn't really get along with. We have a blast with our LeTip friends. (Most of them are the same age as our kids, so we can freely give unsolicited advice and ask somewhat probing questions.) At church we have some of the most long lasting and closest friends. The adult ESL class we teach is a delight. The Latino students are generous and kind.
There is one thing that bothers me, however. If I am in a public place and see sadness in someones eyes, I want to break down the stranger barrier and touch their hurt. It's hard to get past that wall. I find myself wondering what circumstances they are facing and what past choices they made to arrive in their current situation. Most likely the seeds of our relationships today were planted years ago. What seeds are you planting today for your relationships tomorrow?

Monday, January 7, 2008

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES







The morning began as a routine vacation day. The year was 1954. We were preparing to drive to Grandma's house. We lived on a dairy farm in Western Kansas, along highway 50. Syracuse was 7 miles to the East, and Lamar, Colorado was about 18 miles to the West. An old shack beside the highway was all that remained of what had once been the location of a gas station. A sign was still standing, declaring the name Midway. Our house and barn sat about 1,500 feet off the road.

Dad was fueling the car. Being somewhat mechanical, he had converted our car and tractor to propane, and between the house and barn we had a large capacity propane tank.

I was five years old, doing whatever five year-olds do. Mom was preparing breakfast and watching the baby (Nancy). Suddenly, Dad burst through the door. "We have to get out." he shouted. (My dad never shouted.) "I've backed into the propane valve and broke it off. Shut off the stove, I'll get the baby." Our home was heated by a free standing gas stove. After what seemed to her like an eternity, Mom finally was able to shut off the stove and the pilot flame.

We fled down the driveway toward the highway. It was about 30 degrees, with absolutely no breeze. My pajamas did not keep out the cold. We watched as a cloud of propane gas gradually filled the farmyard and blocked our view of the house and barn. It was eerily quiet. Dad made a lame joke about not striking a match. Mom was praying, and Dad was agreeing. It took about 30 minutes for the cloud to dissipate. As we walked back, we were thankful to God that we had not been blown to bits. The real surprise, however came as we approached the house. The car was still sitting where Dad had backed into the valve. It was idleing. He had forgotten to turn it off.

Thursday, December 27, 2007

INVESTMENT CHOICES


The November 9th issue of USA Today had an interesting article about investments. Our choice of investments can have a profound effect on whether or not there will be any money remaining in later retirement years.


First, you have to determine your level of risk. If you will only sleep well at night with your money in bank CDs, then you must be content with a 6% or 7% rate of return in today's market. With bank CDs, your deposits are guaranteed by the FDIC.


The next level of risk is mutual funds. Your deposit is not guaranteed, and you could potentially watch your assets go down. Within each mutual fund family is everything from very low risk to high risk. If someone is very conservative or elderly, I recommend a fund that buys U.S. government securities. They usually return about 5%, although at times in the past the return has been higher.


After that would be a fund that blends bonds and stocks, called a balanced fund. They usually have about 30% bonds, 60% stocks, and 10% cash. When stocks go down, bonds tend to go up, and the reverse is true as well. This provides at least some protection in a volatile market such as we have today. In fact, if you have limited investment funds, I consider the balanced fund to be the ideal investment. Historically, a balanced fund will return 8 to 10%


If you like to take risks and are young, then you can take your chances and invest in a mutual fund that invests in anything from overseas emerging markets to gold. The risks are high, and the potential for gain (and loss) is greater. It's not unusual to have a 50% gain or loss in one year.


The place to begin saving for retirement is in a Roth IRA. You can start one for as little as $50 monthly, and choose the mutual fund you want to use. There is a cap, however, on how much you can put into a Roth IRA. For tax year 2008, the maximum is $5,000 if you are under age 50, and $6,000 if you are over 50. Each spouse must have their own IRA. The money that accumulates will never be subject to income tax. It's the best thing since sliced bread!


I don't recommend buying individual stocks unless you are committed to following the advice of Warren Buffett--buy and hold forever. Otherwise, the risk of loss is too great.


I especially don't recommend getting into options, or paying money to go to a seminar to learn how to day trade. They are appealing to your greed, and they are the ones making money on you.


Once you have reached retirement, you can calculate how much you can safely withdraw by following the 4% rule. That is, never take out more than 4% of your total assets in any given year. That will safeguard your investments over your lifetime, and you will most likely be able to pass on money to your children.


Don't delay planning your future.



Wednesday, December 26, 2007

THE RIVER OF DOUBT



Several months ago I highlighted Endurance. It was an epic battle of man against nature. At the time, Brad suggested I read The River of Doubt, by Candice Millard. It is a riveting story centering around Theodore Roosevelt's journey down an unexplored river through the Amazon jungles of Brazil in 1914. The expedition was led by Candido Mariano da Salva Rondon, one of Brazil's greatest heroes.

You would think that battling the jungle would be stressful enough, but they also had to contend with a murderer in their midst. Roosevelt's description of the piranaha makes me shiver. He writes, "The head with it's short muzzle, staring malignant eyes, and gaping, cruelly armed jaws, is the embodiment of evil ferocity; and the actions of the fish exactly match its looks."

There is another description of a tiny, almost transparent catfish known as the candiru. They are only about an inch long, and survive solely on blood. They feed in the gill chambers of larger fish, and drop off after having eaten their fill. However, they can be lethal to humans in the wrong circumstances. Candice Millard describes the following:

"In this case, however, the victim reported that, just before the attack, he had been standing in a river urinating, but the water had reached only to his upper thighs, and his penis had not even touched the river, much less been submerged in it. The candiru, he claimed, had abruptly leapt out of the water, shimmied up his urine stream, and disappeared into his urethra. He had made a desperate lunge for the fish, but it was too fast and too slippery. The incident occurred in a small town more than a hundred miles from Manaos, and the local doctors had been at a loss to help the man. By the time he was finally moved to Manaos for treatment, he had been unable to urinate for more than a week, and his stomach has become so distended that he looked six months pregnant. The doctor who eventually operated on him was able to successfully remove the candiru--without resorting to amputation."

Roosevelt survived the journey, but just barely. Through the latter part of the journey bacterial infections and malaria made an almost lethal combination. He never completely regained his health, and died just four years later at the age of 60.

This book is primarily a tribute to Roosevelt. He was a man of courage and iron discipline. As a child he was plagued by asthma, but used harsh physical exercise to conquor his weaknesses. He followed this formula for the rest of his life, and after major setbacks or disappointments, would often retreat into great adventures and will himself to prevail.

Like Endurance, this is a study of leadership. Rondon lead this journey, and Roosevelt would defer to his decisions, but sometimes there would be heated exchanges. The two men had great respect for one another, and after returning to the states, Roosevelt called Rondon one of the four most accomplished explorers of his day.

I have purposely not commented on the good parts. Otherwise, why would you want to read it?

Thursday, December 13, 2007

BUYING STUFF


J.R. introduced me to this video from SNL. Steve Martin is a great comedian. I've had a lot of fun sharing it with others, so check it out if you haven't seen Don't Buy Stuff you Can't Afford. I showed it to a class I teach at church on managing finances. I also played it for my LeTip group. They are all highly motivated, self-employed business people, so it struck a chord with them as well. I think there is a certain aspect of crowd behavior that happens in a group when this video is shown. If you really do have money issues you would be compelled to pretend you don't and laugh right along with everyone else. So if you comment, tell me if you are laughing because it's funny, or laughing because it hurts.

Tuesday, December 4, 2007

SPACE





















Growing up in the country, I had the privilege of seeing the stars at night. In the Spring I would sometimes accompany my dad as he made sure all the sprinkers were functioning properly, thereby keeping the cranberries from freezing.


Those clear, cold nights allowed a good view of our milky way galaxy. In addition to individual stars, you can't take your eyes off the white splash all across the center of the sky--like milk.


On summer nights I used to lay on my back in the grass and think about distance.
Our galaxy is about 100,000 light years across, with about 100 billion stars,
and a black hole in the center with a mass of approximately 3 million solar masses. Within range of our radio telescopes we know there are about 100


billion galaxies. Who knows how many are beyond that?


If we traveled to the nearest star at the speed of light, it would take
4 years just to get there. I used to hope that someday I would be able to at
least visit other parts of our galaxy, but unfortunately God put the stars
too far apart for that to happen. Oh well. Not in this life.

Thursday, November 29, 2007

WITH THE OLD BREED


E.B. Sledge "Sledgehammer" served with the U.S. Marines in the South Pacific in WWII. If you have any doubts that war is hell, they will be gone by the time you finish this book. Sledgehammer faithfully wrote notes each day on whatever paper he could find, and many years after combat he found partial emotional healing by writing this book. I have no personal memories which allow me to relate to his experiences. All I have is secondhand stories from my friend Winston who also served with the Marines twenty five years later in Vietnam.


Halfway through the book, he makes an interesting comment:


None of us would ever be the same after what we had endured. To some degree that is true, of course, of all human experience. But something died in me at Peleliu. Perhaps it was a childish innocence that accepted as faith the claim that man is basically good. Possibly I lost faith that politicians in high places who do not have to endure war's savagery will ever stop blundering and sending others to endure it.


Have you ever had an experience that changed the way you look at life? If not war, perhaps a debilitating illness, an accident, or the death of someone close?


How did it change you? Was it a positive or a negative change?





Friday, November 23, 2007

GOOD RADIO


Erin recently introduced me to a web site that plays your choice of music 24 hours a day. So far, I have chosen stations playing Ramsey Lewis, Gregorian chants, Rammstein, Techno, Kenny G, Hillsong, soft piano, bluegrass, and Flatt and Scruggs. I'm still adding stations. There is a random play option. I like that, because I get tired of just one genre. It's quite an experience to go from Gregorian chants right into Rammstein. Try it here and give me some feedback.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

THE SUCCESS SYSTEM THAT NEVER FAILS



W. Clement Stone founded the Combined Insurance Company of America. Along the way he inspired millions to be successful in their business. His book, The Success System That Never Fails is full of advice nuggets for the wanna-be business person. They really are nuggets. After reading this book, you will want to get out of bed in the morning and go to work. You'll be inspired with ideas that will grow your business. You're attitude will truly take a turn for the better. The positive effects will be realized by increased productivity, sales, and income. If you want to know the nuggets, read the book. Do not read more than one chapter per day. One chapter per week is better. Take notes, and apply the principles to your business. I know it works, because I read it 30 years ago.

Saturday, November 17, 2007

CONFLICT








What is the root of conflict? We have conflict between individuals, within families, between clans, states, and nations. I see bumper stickers that say "Why can't we just all get along?" The prevailing viewpoints are that mankind is either basically evil, or basically good. The "evil" outlook is rooted in Judeo-Christian teaching, and the "good" perspective is a more recent addition since the enlightenment. What do you think? Will our future be like Star Trek or The Apocolypse? Perhaps it will follow the storyline of H.G. Wells Time Machine, and we will have one, followed by the other.


Perhaps the root of conflict is that we want to control others. When they don't do what we want, we get angry. We see conflict in preschool when children fight over toys. I think the weapons just get more sophisticated as we grow older.


I often tell Lin that the world would be a better place if everyone would just do what I say. Who are you in conflict with? Is it because they are a jerk, or are you the jerk? Has anyone ever used guilt or manipulation to make you feel like a jerk, when they are the one who is the real jerk? How do you get past that?


Have you ever found yourself in a relationship with conflict? How did you resolve it?

Thursday, October 18, 2007

THE DYING HOBBY

I obtained my amateur radio license in 1960. (I was 12 at the time.) It's an old hobby, starting with the advent of radio. However, it is now a struggling hobby. The bright minds have been drawn away by the lure of building computers, programming, and hacking into cell phones. My first experience was putting together a Knight Kit. It was an AM 60-watt transmitter and a companion receiver. I soldered every joint. When it was completed, the receiver didn't seem to work well, so my dad and I took it to one of the hams in town who had a lot of electronic expertise. Once he studied the schematic and corrected a few of my errors, it worked fine. We lived on a cranberry farm so I had the luxury that few hams have; room for an awesome antenna. I strung up a 120 foot long wire pointed directly at Southern California. Needless to say, my signal reports from California and Nevada were outstanding. I had a Novice license and all communication was by Morse code. Single sideband replaced AM, so after college I unpacked the T-60 and sold it to a coastal fisherman who said he could use it on the commercial fishing band. Now I own a Kenwood. I keep it in the garage for those rainy Saturdays when I putter around and want to listen to the old codgers chew the rag. That is why it is a dying hobby; they are all older than I am. Of course, I'm partly to blame for the lack of interest from the younger generation. I taught my son basic Apple programming when he was seven, and he never looked back. He didn't see the glamor of building an antenna or radio kit. Of course you can't make a living today taking radios apart, and he does very well as a programmer, so perhaps in retrospect it turned out for the best. There is sadness when you see a hobby die. Some hams are very good an merging computers and amateur radio, but I think the glory days are gone. It's only a matter of time. Fortunately, it doesn't bother me except for occasional bouts of sucidal thoughts. Just kidding. Have you had a hobby that has died?


Wednesday, October 10, 2007

RACISM






Since WWII is the subject, I have uploaded some photos off original film my father took in 1945. The second photo is of my parents. They had been married about 4 years when it was taken.













He had his movie camera as they followed the front line and the retreating Germans. This next photo is a barn full of dead bodies.




The Germans locked them in; doused them with gas, and set them on fire. Three days later, when my dad arrived, he could still see smoke trailing off the corpses. It made an impact on the whole world at that time, and these films still make a powerful statement today.









Racism knows no limits. My question is, "Where does racism begin?" I think we can trace it back through culture, clans, families, and finally to the individual. What is in my heart? If I eliminate racism from myself, then it is more difficult to take root in my children and those I influence. If I speak out against it, then I have an influence in society as well. I have a responsibility to defend those who cannot defend themselves. I have a responsiblity to live a life free from hate. I have a responsibility to live by example. Can you think of other ways this should impact our lives?




Wednesday, October 3, 2007

GLAD TO BE ALIVE





I usually don't watch a lot of television, so it has been an endurance for me to spend 14 hours doing just that over the past week. PBS presented The War by Ken Burns. It was a fascinating overview of WWII history, focusing on four typical American towns and the personal interviews of individuals from them. I didn't want to buy the DVD set later for $129, so it was important that I watch it now. WWII veterans have now reached the age that an average of 1,000 die each day. My own father is currently in relatively good health at age 95, and he had full participation in that history. He began as an MP in the states, and then was a vehicle mechanic in Europe. He crossed into France on "D-30" which means 30 days after the invasion.

Today I was telling him about the series. We get coffee everyday when I make my bank run. After the first stop he started to relate a story from that past, but forgot what he was going to say. After the second bank stop he remembered. He was working on a truck when a shell from a German 88 landed on its tail next to him and slid to a stop without exploding. I have heard this story before, but after watching that series, it took on a whole new meaning. My stomach flipped. I was born in 1948. Suddenly I felt very glad to be alive. I exist because of the faulty aerodynamics of German artillery. My mother, my siblings, my spouse, my children, their spouses-- the thought is overwhelming how history could have occured differently based on one shell.

So I begin thinking, "How important am I?" Is my existence determined by chance? Does God ever reach into human history and tweak the outcome so that one may live and another die? I don't know how often He does that, but there is one fact that we do know: Jesus said, "I lay down my life and take it up again." I could possibly lay down my life if I do something heroic like shield a grenade with my body, or push someone out of the way of an oncoming truck. No way could I take my life up again after dying.

Has anything ever happened to you that could have easily ended your life? More importantly, has anyone ever died so that you may live? Are you glad to be alive?




Tuesday, September 25, 2007

THE LEPER CHAPEL

Several weeks ago I profiled the writing of Bethany, our youngest. After some research, I was able to locate an essay by Erin, our middle child. I say "child" in the loosest sense, because she is married, has a career, and no longer jumps on our bed in the morning. In her last year at Seattle Pacific, she spent three months studying literature in England. This article describes just one day's adventure during that time.





The Leper Chapel
“You are not here to verify, instruct yourself
Or inform curiosity or carry report,
You are here to kneel,
Where prayer has been valid.”
-T.S. Eliot



My bus slowed to a halt on Newmarket Road in Cambridge, England. I held my breath in anticipation; this was the moment I had been playing over and over in my mind. Twice a day for the previous week the small church had slid past my window on the route to and from the center of town. Each time I felt stirred to look closer at the stone walls, to touch the tall wooden doors. Brief moments of consideration turned into a determination of will; this was my chance. I stepped onto the cracked sidewalk, waked past the bus stop benches and toward the iron entrance gate.
The historical marker outside the church named it The Chapel of St. Mary Magdalene. It was built in the twelfth century under the reign of King Henry I, and it is commonly called the Leper Chapel. The church originally served as a place of worship for a lepers’ hospital that stood far on the outskirts of medieval Cambridge. Although it has been patched and renovated over time, it holds the title of the oldest complete building in the city. Over the last 900 years it has been used primarily as a place of worship, but also as a market house and a horse stable. Through it all the building structure has been relatively unchanged.
The foundation of the walls is a rough, red brick. The grainy texture of the blocks and mortar gives evidence of the chapel’s age. This layer quickly fades into the larger gray stones that compose most Cambridge buildings and a seam of cobblestones lines the top. The church is not much larger than a small house, but it sits in the middle of an undeveloped green field of grass. The path that leads to the door takes visitors through the gate and downhill to the level of the original city.
As I observed the building it struck me that this chapel was built when the Earth was flat. The heavens still revolved around the lepers that attended here; even their isolated community was kept in the center of the universe. Enlightenment science has since changed humanity’s view of our place in the cosmos, but the significance of the Leper Chapel has increased by its physical transcendence through the progression of time.
This chapel exists for those cast away from society. It is named after Mary Magdalene, a woman rejected by her community but embraced by Christ. The lepers that worshipped here knew the significance of that love. As patients in a hospital, this Chapel was seen as necessary part of their therapy. Jesus healed lepers throughout his ministry, thus a chapel devoted to his worship holds that hope. The unclean are made holy and acceptable by the grace of God both spiritually and physically. I have been the unclean one, and this Chapel invited me to worship also.
A sign informed the curious that the Leper Chapel is still used for services on a biweekly basis, but that weekday visitors could find the key at a nearby house. The doors are kept locked to prevent vandalism, but it is still a house of worship for all to use. After some confusion I found the address, and an elderly lady greeted me on the porch. With a cheerful smile she handed me an ancient iron key and showed me where to return it when I was finished. I thanked her and turned back toward the chapel.
There in my hands was the key to the oldest building in Cambridge. It was heavy and cold, but it allowed me the entry that I had been seeking. It gave me access to a church that had stood for nearly a millennium, and it was handed to me without a background check or even an appointed supervisor. I received the responsibility gladly; such freedom felt right in my spirit. It seemed appropriate that a church built for the lepers- the outcasts of society- would still be available to the public. It was built to embrace the outcasts, and I was invited to share that invitation.
As I neared the church my heart fluttered. Expectation threatened to dull reality. The key fit loosely in the old lock. I turned it with one hand while pressing my weight against the heavy wooden panels. A creak shuddered along the hinges; the lock clicked; and the door did not move an inch in its frame. I chuckled to myself and tried again. This time I turned the key and then applied pressure. Again it resisted. Anticipation morphed into anxiety. Three, four, five attempts followed, each with the key at a slightly different angle or the pressure of my weight in a different spot. The traffic lined up alongside the chapel in rush hour delay. Drivers undoubtedly wondered at the woman prying at the old church doors. I shrugged off lingering pride and continued the performance for my commuter audience. After at least fifteen attempts I gave up in frustration. Reluctantly, I turned back toward the key warden’s house.
The pleasant lady greeted me on the walk; she was surprised to see me so soon. I told her of my troubles and she gave me a patient smile. Apparently a few people suffer from the same problem. She offered to escort be back, and I gratefully accepted her offer. The trick, I learned, was to lift and push at the same time. Such a small difference in technique popped the door open immediately. She handed me the key and left me to the company of silence and history.
At first I was frustrated with my own failure. The moment that I had looked forward to had been colored by my own inadequacy and embarrassment. It was humiliating to ask for help in such a simple task as opening a door. Yet as the reality of my situation settled, I realized that my experience held a greater truth than I could have ever planned. How often do we reach our goals unassisted? Does independence truly equal satisfaction? My journey of faith has proved the point. Often I miss the way, ignore the truth, or crumple under pressure when I try to make my own way. But when the journey is consulted, submitted and shared with others, I experience the strength of the Body of Christ and truth that exceeds my personal understanding. My helper reminded me of the truth I would have otherwise missed: even as I took a private journey to the Leper Chapel, it was not a movement into isolation.
The door shut heavily behind me. Evening sun streamed through the small windows onto stone walls painted white. The effect was a soft, yellow light that clung to the dust in the air. The furnishings were the sparse necessities of an occasional church with two rows of wooden chairs facing a wide altar. On my right was a small pulpit with an open Bible on top. The room was largely undecorated save the puckish faces that stared down from the rafters with twisted, friendly grins. A single wooden cross marked the front wall beneath the high, dark beams of the Norman roof. The only noise came from the birds in nearby trees.
The chapel seemed to somehow escape the bounds of age and era. The floors and walls had spots where the stones were indented from generations of feet and hands. The shuffling feet of lepers, priests and parishioners had made a smooth path to the altar. My own visit was simply one more pair of hands and feet that would add to the wear. I was equally a part of the congregation.
There is confidence in the history of Leper Chapel. It is a physical testimony to a culture of faith that finds relevance and resonance in my own life. The history of the lepers is my own history. We are broken, outcast, and incapable. Some cannot even open doors for themselves. Together we form the Church of generations, the Body that Christ heads. The faith experience of lepers blends with my own through the prayers we share and the very chapel in which we worship. The current of their prayers and the depth of faith’s history drew me toward the front.
I knelt and prayed. My knees and palms pressed against the cool floor. Silence surrounded me, and the air was thick with absorbed petitions from generations passed. Mine joined the chorus. The space and the heritage of the Leper Chapel were available to me for a unique moment in time, and I was able to appreciate it with others before me. The climax was in the calm. It was a gift facilitated by others: the twelfth century builders, the community of faith in Cambridge, and the key warden among many others. I felt my prayers shift toward a close, and I stood to face the door.
At the exit was a guest book for visitors to sign. I debated the ramifications of leaving my name. My experience at the Leper Chapel had been intensely personal, and the anonymity of my solitude was part of that encounter. Yet it was the history of people that worshipped there before that gave my time its significance. Now I was one of the past worshippers, my feet and hands had worn away the stone, and the echoes of my prayers lingered in the rafters. I wrote my name.
The Chapel of St. Mary Magdalene is now part of my life story, and I am a part of its 900-year history. The Holy Spirit entwines my soul with the saints that have gone before—with those that built the stone walls and the lepers that were banished from city limits—and that connection will reach the visitors that are yet to come. More feet will glide toward the altar; many hands will hold the heavy key and open the aged door. As I shut and locked the door behind me, I knew that I would always keep the memory of a space that invites outcasts in the name of Christ.