kevin smith's 'quiver'

You know, I've never been a tremendous fan of Green Arrow.

As superheroes go, he's not particularly remarkable. Oliver Queen is another billionaire playboy industrialist -- like Tony Stark, like Bruce Wayne, like Daniel Rand and like Marc Specter, to name a few -- who uses his fortune to finance a career of vigilantism. His schtick is that he's a peerless archer, a modern-day Robin Hood.

Queen has no superpowers, but because of his money he can buy trick arrows, like Hawkeye. Because he's in the DC Universe, Green Arrow usually associates with the Justice League, although I have vague memories from when I was younger of a title that he headlined specifically with Green Lantern.

I've been reading the collection of  Kevin Smith's "Quiver," and it's enough to spark my interest in the character.

For starters, he is easily the most radically liberal superhero I can think of. He is the only superhero whom I can picture actually calling the police fascists, chewing out the City Council for closing a youth center, and even telling off Aquaman for having elitist royal attitudes.

But beyond that, this comic is just a solid introduction to the character and his history.

Oliver Queen died after the events of "Zero Hour," a 1994 DC companywide event that grew out of the death of Superman two years earlier. Superman's death was followed within a year by the appearance of four separate heroes each of whom might be a resurrected Superman. One turned out to be Kon El, his clone; the second, John Henry Irons, the superhero Steel; the third, Superman with a mullet; and the fourth, the supervillain Cyborg.

During this period of four Supermen, Cyborg destroyed Coast City, where Green Lantern lived in his civilian capacity as Hal Jordan. Driven insane with grief, Jordan tried to use his power ring to remake the universe so that Coast City was restored. In the end, it was Oliver Queen who killed his friend.

Queen himself died not long after on another adventure, and into his shoes stepped his son Connor Hawke, himself a skilled archer but one who did not use gimmicks like boxing glove arrows.

The mystery of "Quiver" is why Oliver Queen is alive again, and to an extent whether he even really is Oliver Queen. He has no memory of Coast City's destruction, cannot believe that Hal Jordan is dead, and is stumped when he first sees a cell phone. "What, do you think you're Batman?" is essentially his reponse.

It's this search for an explanation that drives the comic, and the reactions other members of the Justice League have to his unexpected return that make it interesting. Batman not only is suspicious of Queen's apparent resurrection, he provides some of the most cutting commentary about how derivative a character Green Arrow is, down to the Arrowcave and Arrowmobile, and even Arrowmobile.

The comic's momentum falters as the explanation for Queen's return begins to emerge, though it recovers as the story works toward its conclusion. It's a fun read, but it does beg the question: Is it really necessary to bring a hero back from the dead?

One of the things I've liked about D.C. Comics is that they haven't been pulling these penny-a-piece resurrections, except with Superman. The roster of dead superheroes, and the succession of their sidekicks and namesakes, has given the DC Universe a sense of history that Marvel lacks. Not only was Oliver Queen dead and someone else assuming the mantle of Green Arrow, there was a new Green Lantern in the Justice League after Hal Jordan's death, and a new Flash as well.

No one seriously expects members of the Fantastic Four to perish in the line of duty, or the Avengers; and if a hero does die, you know they'll be back soon enough. Even the villains recover from death. The Green Goblin had been dead for more than 20 years before he came back at the end of Marvel's ill-advised Clone Saga. That makes the menace of death much lower and the theatrics of superheroics much cheaper. There's no risk to what they do.

But in DC Comics, the death of Oliver Queen until now meant that there were real stakes for Connor Hawke's efforts with the Justice League. The fact that Kyle Rainer was the most recent and last of the Green Lanterns told him that he had reason to be afraid. Jay Garrick was still alive and powered as the Flash, but he was also in his 60s or early 70s. Wally West knows not only that Barry Allen died saving the universe, but that as the Flash he's responsible for a legacy that goes back before he was born.

Bringing heroes back from the dead cheapens their sacrifice, and erodes that sense of a grand and proud history. Kevin Smith has taught me to appreciate Queen as a character, but not that he was worth bringing back from the dead.




Copyright © 2005 by David Learn. Used with permission.


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Of course, you should always blame the media

When all else fails, blame it on the media. Surely it's that the liberal media has it in for the pro-life movement and hates crisis pregnancy centers. There can't be any other explanation for why the silent work of crisis-pregnancy centers doesn't get more coverage, can there?

This is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Because we believe that the news media won't make any effort to present our story, we don't spend any effort reaching out to the media and giving them a story that they'll run with. So the news media doesn't report anything positive about crisis pregnancy centers, thereby proving that they are in bed with pro-choice activists.

Media outlets love heartwarming stories about people helping other people in need. That's a big part of liberalism, don'cha know?

Forget the rhetoric, take the time to develop a serious media campaign, and spend the money it would take to implement it properly, and pro-life groups will find they're getting more coverage of their activities.

Let's say, for the sake of argument, that I'm not just a liberal journalist. Let's pretend that I'm also a pro-choice liberal journalist. Chances are that I'm going to be one of those who just takes abortion as a for-granted position, and it's not an obsession for me at all, any more than auto insurance reform.

Every time I run into someone who is strongly pro-life, they rant and rave about how Planned Parenthood is killing babies, how the media are deliberately covering up the dangers of legal abortion to protect their allies in the abortion industry, and how we always go for the sensational stories that make pro-lifers look like idiots and ignore the things they quietly do to help pregnant women.

Every now and then I'll encounter other wackos who automatically assume that I'm going to hell and publicly call on people to pray for my soul, without even stopping to find out anything about my spiritual state.

That's a fairly rude way to treat someone. It irritates the real me, who has been pro-life since his teen years. I can only imagine how much worse it would go over with a pro-choice me.

This isn't just about publicity and marketing. A lot of it is about plain old-fashioned manners.

Want coverage of other aspects of the pro-life movement than the loudmouths at demonstrations and protests? Then find some way to make "business as usual" sound compelling. It's not that hard -- there are literally thousands of public relations firms that do just that for their clients, every day.

Get the local Birthright or some other pro-life group to hire me, and I guarantee I will start getting them into the newspaper, and not just little three-inch press releases, either. Most advertising money is money poured down the drain, anyway.

I can't begin to tell you how many times as a reporter and as an editor small-business owners called us up to let us know about what was going on, or just loved it when we used their business for a news story. Nonprofits loved it too -- it always drove up the giving and got their message out to the community.

Conservatives and churches have bandied about the term "liberal media" so much that they've created a divide that doesn't have to be there. Groups that could benefit tremendously from the news media just don't think about it because they've been told so many times that the media have it in for them that they believe it. And so, rather than being in the world but not of it, we withdraw further from it, and create our own media to broadcast our message loud and clear to people who already know it by heart.

It is within our ability to get the right horns tooted, but to do that we need to take the initiative to do it, and make a better effort to get along with the people who work in the news media. Complaining that it's not our fault doesn't accomplish either of those purposes.

pro-adoption

One thing the muckraker in me has always wanted to do is to try to organize an adoption awareness event, and ask Planned Parenthood or some other pro-choice group to help support the event.

And then when they refused, I would have a field day with their commitment to choice not extending to choices that don't involve abortion.

Fortunately for everyone, the muckraker in me long has been underfed and reined tightly in by those dirty old ethics of mine. Setting someone up for a fall is just low, and I couldn't do it, even to a group that supports abortion on demand.

But it is an entertaining thought.

plugging away at enrollment

I spoke to the superintendent's office today, and got the impression that they don't have a clue what they're doing, but I wrote down the name of the person I spoke to and what she said so I can use it later on, if it comes down to that. She had said that they have no problem with Evangeline entering first grade if she's already covered the kindergarten material. (Ha! This 5-year-old whizzed through addition and subtraction flash cards earlier today. In kindergarten, you only need to know your numbers.)

I'm calling the state Department of Education later today, I hope, to see if I can get info on exactly which statutes cover homeschooling and transfer into public schools.

I'm probably putting more effort into this than I need to, since the charter school is multi-grade level and they'll test Evangeline before the start of school to establish her baseline, but I'm still concerned about her being filed as K and having to spend an extra year in school if we end up staying in public schools for the rest of her education. (Like I said earlier, I'd rather homeschool her all 12 years, if possible, but we don't all agree on that as a family.)

sanity saver

We've found it very useful to have the rule that the same videotape or DVD may not be watched more than once in the same day. We've had that rule since Evangeline was born, long before she discovered the TV, and it's been a great rule for preserving sanity in the house.

A Big Idea Come and Gone

Remember when VeggieTales was actually funny?

The brain child of Phil Vischer, VeggieTales is a computer-animated show about talking vegetables, like Bob the Tomato, Larry the Cucumber, and a few others, including a family of carrots, some grapes and a bunch of asparagus spears. It's goofy, in an off-beat and creative way; billing itself as "Sunday-morning values and Saturday morning fun" as it marketed itself toward a primarily Christian market.

Unfortunately, VeggieTales series went downhill since about a year before they did "Jonah," their feature-length adaptation of the book of Jonah, and has never made it back up. Their latest offerings like "Larry Boy and the Rumor Weed" and "The Wonderful World of Auto-Tainment!" -- not to mention "Larry Boy and the Angry Eyebrows" or "Duke and the Great Pie War" -- show signs of being rushed through production in order to make a quick buck.

These are videos that either needed more work, or that never should have been considered. The lessons are still there, but they're expressed too forcefully, the story is belabored and stilted, and the humor is forced. These are tapes and DVDs that were not worth buying. In the case of "Auto-Tainment," we actually wrote to Big Idea to say how awful it was.

It's a shame, because the company was producing some high-quality stuff for a while, like "Larry Boy and the Fib from Outer Space" and "Esther: The Girl Who Became Queen." Subpar videos cheapen the brand.

We have three episodes on DVD of their 3-2-1 Penguins series, but I have to say that I haven't been very impressed with that series as a whole. They're more sophisticated than the more recent Veggie Tales offerings, but even so, they're just not engaging. The series has a science fiction motif, but the lessons are more typical of Sunday school fare than what we were accustomed to with VeggieTales: the story is subordinated to making a point, rather than telling a good story and letting the moral come out.

Evangeline has asked a couple times to watch them, and it's better than some of the stuff she could be asking to watch, so I guess I shouldn't complain too much.

But I'm still really disappointed at the turn this show has taken.

school bureaucrats

My wife and I are going to put our daughter into a charter school for first grade, but we're currently amid a minor bureaucratic struggle to get her past year of schooling to count for kindergarten. (She missed the cutoff date in our school district by two weeks, which is what initially decided us in favor of homeschooling.)

Well, according to a letter I received today from the superintendent of schools, Evangeline is allowed to enter first grade -- as long as we can provide "the appropriate certification regarding the program that [she] has completed." Well, duh. It's a homeschool, innit?

We didn't use a curriculum for kindergarten, since there are no state core curriculum requirements for it and it isn't even mandatory for a child to attend kindergarten in Iowa. I've got a list of all the books Evangeline has read herself or had read to her, records of the classes we enrolled her in outside the home, and a nice portfolio of some of the projects she's worked on here at home, albeit rather few worksheets.

Can anyone recommend resources, people or organizations that can help us with this? I haven't wanted to put her into public school at all since we found out we were expecting, but this is the route we've decided on as a family, and I hate for a bureaucrat to tell us we can't do it because they don't like homeschooling.

inerrancy

What exactly do we mean by biblical inerrancy? At what point do we say "This can't be metaphorical" or "This has to be exactly how it happened," before the whole thing collapses like a house of cards?

On the forum we've talked before about whether Jonah was an historical story, or just a parable, and I think only one guy said "Absolutely, it's historical." The rest of us hedged our bets and said, "Well, it could be, but it isn't necessarily." We've had similar talks regarding the manner of Creation and other such topics. The Jewish tradition is a big one for using stories to teach lessons, as evidenced by the frequent use of parables throughout the Bible. As I've heard it argued -- and I have no idea how accurate the claim is -- the insintence that all the stories in the Bible be interpreted literally is a phenomenon found only in the last couple hundred years, and not one that would have been espoused during biblical times.

"Lord of the Rings" also presents itself as factual, in a sense. If we had found it in a clay jar in a bog, we would have believed it to be a long-lost cycle of literature, particularly with its references to lost stories, transcriptions and so on. Who's to say the book of Jonah doesn't have an analogous origin?

Just because God can do something doesn't mean that he does. The story would be less fantastical if we had something else we could relate it to, such as another incident of someone being swallowed by a "great fish" and surviving the incident. Unfortunately, the only incident I'm aware of that was fabricated for a 19th-century sermon.

With many other biblical stories, such as the parting of the Red Sea, the Ten Plagues, and even the fire that consumed Elijah's water-soaked sacrifice, we have ideas based on observation and intepretation that give us some insight into how God may have worked his purposes. In the case of Jonah, we usually just have to shrug our shoulders and say, "Well, he's God, so he could do it."

But still, even in the more concrete events of the Bible, there's enough variation within the text that inerrancy can't mean completely accurate in every single freaking detail. The chronology of the gospels is nonexistent, for starters, even if we assume Jesus cleansed the Temple twice. One gospel has Jesus cursing the fig tree, and it withers immediately; another has him cursing the fig tree, and it's withered when they come back, about a week later.

Other details vary from gospel to gospel. How many angels were at the tomb? Who got there first? What did Jesus say right before he died? Did both thieves taunt Jesus, or just one? Did Judas buy a field and fall forward in it, or did he hang himself? How many demoniacs identified as Legion were lurking in the tombs when Jesus and his disciples crossed the Sea of Galilee? Why are there two lines of descent from David to Jesus? If memory serves, the Torah prescribes two different ways to prepare the same sacrifice, once in Leviticus and once in Deuteronomy, and each passage strictly forbids the other passage's technique. (And for that matter, did Moses really write all that Law *in advance* of the Israelites' entry into the Promised Land, or did Jeremiah or someone else just make that up years later when the book of the Law "was found"?

Now most of those aren't hard to harmonize, but it's not hard to find more, even without the skeptics gleefully jumping on every small detail, and not all the explanations we give are wholly satisfactory. To an extent, we can shrug our shoulders and say it's not important, because the ancient Hebrews told stories as a means of communicating Truth, and whether the stories were real often didn't enter into it. (I may be mistaken, but I believe our insistence on taking everything literally is a fairly recent development in hermeneutics; i.e, in the last couple hundred years.)

See, I'm just wondering where we stop and what our basis is for stopping there. If the myth time of Genesis 1-11 is meant to be a vehicle for truth and is not meant to be taken as literal history, then what reason do we have to believe that the Exodus really happened as described? And if Jonah is just a nice parable to remind the Israelites that God lives the Ninevites too, then what reason do we have to believe that Jesus actually rose from the dead and that the gospel isn't just another reassuring story? Once we begin playing with the canon like that, where do we stop?

Don't misunderstand. I'm not having a crisis of faith. I long ago accepted that I can answer many reasonable challenges to my faith, and that there are other challenges I have no idea how to respond to. It's not about who has the best argument, pro or con, since there's always somebody on the other side with a more intelligent argument. It's really about Jesus and who he is, and what the Cross represents.

But I'm wondering: Where do you draw the line at the old metaphorical interpretation or "It's not that important" reasoning?

The point of the text is more important than picayune nittygritty or even historical details. It really wouldn't bother me too much to find out that the titulus had the languages in a different order from the way they're listed in the gospels, for example, and it wouldn't really bother me to find out that the Earth is significantly older than Usher's 6,000-odd years.

BUT! At some point, the Truth of the story has to be borne out by the reality of the story. If, as some revisionist historians claim, there was no Exodus from Egypt, that the entire story is just a nationalist myth meant to comfort Israelites with a nice story that they were special and unique in all the world, that is a major blow to the faith, isn't it? If the role models of faith we're given in the Patriarchs or the prophets are manufactured just to convey a point about the importance of faith or to provide a demonstration of what faith ought to be, doesn't that render the lesson somewhat less legitimate?

All but the most ardent fundamentalists will agree that if anything stopped for Joshua it was the Earth's rotation, not the sun. But if even that didn't stop, well, then, doesn't that diminish the truth of the lesson that God was watching over Israel, somewhat?

At what point does the history stop being subordinate to the authoritative nature of the Bible? At Christ's life? (Note the discrepancies among the synoptics, and with the gospel of John.) And again, what about those dratted inconsistencies in Christ's genealogy? If he was descended from the king God had cut off ever having a successor on the throne, then doesn't that raise questions about the authoritative nature of the Bible, even on spiritual matters?

I never said I had all the answers, just a lot of questions.

Like I said somewhere else a while ago, I realized long ago that the truth of the gospel ultimately isn't going to be settled by argument. There are thousands of skeptics out there with arguments, many of which I can refute to my own satisfaction. Others, I can't, but I know people who can or I know how to find the answer myself.

What I can attest to is the transforming power of the Risen Christ, and what he's done in my life and the lives of those around me. If I'm following Christ the way he asks me to, others will be able to see it for themselves.

So I accept that I have doubts, that I have questions, and there are some things that just plain don't make sense right now. At the same time, God put a brain in my head for more than proper balance of the noggin, so I'm trying to figure out what those answers are. If I never figure them out, well, fair enough. My faith is past the point where a few vexing questions are going to unravel it.

needlephobia

I've never been able to get myself to give blood because my dislike of needles is so strong. Getting allergy shots every week for fourteen years probably has something to do with it, but I've also had one or two times where doctors had to give me an IV or draw blood and had to stick me a few times before they could get anything.

From what I've been told, it's a moot point anyway, since I lived in Haiti for two years, from 1992 to 1994. Supposedly, I'm ineligible to give blood until 2014, but I don't have that from anyone in authority. All anyone has been able to tell me is that there are travel-based restrictions, but they don't know what they are off the top of their heads.

Finally getting treatment for psoraiasis

Things are going pretty well here, all things considered.

For only the second time in 18 years or so, I'm getting some serious treatment for my psoriasis. Psoriasis, if you don't know, is a skin ailment that's genetic in nature and that flares up under stress. It looks like red, raw skin with white scaly flakes, if for no other reason than it's red, raw skin with white scaly flakes.

I've had it since I was 17 and a small patch appeared on my back, the size of my quarter. It's gone up and down a few times, but it  has never gone away entirely, and each time it's flared up, it's come back worse. At the moment, it covers most of my legs, my arms, parts of my stomach, my scalp, my shoulders, my forehead, and almost all my back.

Plus a few other spots.

A previous dermatologist had prescribed some topical steroids that worked like a charm and cleared up everything within about three weeks, so I was expecting something similar this time. The dermatologist I was referred to this time didn't want to do that. Steroids are steroids, after all, even when they're topical; and coating almost half your body with steroids twice a day isn't something most doctors recommend for the long haul.

So instead, I'm getting phototherapy. With a name like that, you'd almost expect it to involve talking to a psychiatrist about how your mother never loved you and always had you airbrushed out of the family pictures, but it actually involves being exposed to ultraviolet light, since that's pretty much the only things that clears up psoriasis naturally.

If you consider it natural to stand naked in a chamber lined with bright lights while you wear nothing but a pair of sunglasses shaped like swimming goggles, and hold a paper towel over your most personal anatomy, that is.

The downside to all this is that my share of the office visits comes to $10 a visit, and I have to visit the dermatologist's office three times a week for about four months to make this all work,so we're talking about $500 in co-payments.

The upshot to that is that I'm also taking a second medical treatment that involves injecting myself every Monday and Thursday morning with a psoriasis-treatment drug. Since both treatments are FDA-approved, I'm getting a combination of treatments with a proven track record of success, for free. I'm taking part in a study to see how much faster patients respond to the treatments when they're combined. So not only am I getting the doctors' visits (and the drug) for free, I'm getting paid about $800 to do it.

The only part that really bites is that I have to inject myself, and I really hate needles. (Thank God I'm not diabetic. I can't imagine injecting myself with insulin three times a day.)

The other big news is that I've just committed myself for the next two years to a role-playing adventure using AD&D, version 3.5. It's a major transition for me, since I haven't played D&D in about 20 years, since I was in middle school. I actually got rid of all my equipment back when I was in college. The only roleplaying I've done since has been a little bit of NeverWorld and some live-action roleplaying as a vampire about eight years ago.

Going under the light to combat psoriasis

For only the second time in eighteen years or so, I'm getting some serious treatment for my psoriasis.

Psoriasis, if you don't know, is a skin ailment that's genetic in nature and that flares up under stress. It looks like red, raw skin with white scaly flakes, if for no other reason than it's red, raw skin with white scaly flakes. At the moment, it covers 40 percent of my body, including my legs, my arms, parts of my stomach, my scalp, my shoulders, my forehead, my generative organs and almost all my back, plus a few spots on my buttocks.

I've had it since I was 17, when it was a small patch on my back, the size of my quarter. It's gone up and down a few times, but has never gone away entirely. Each time it's flared up, it's come back worse.

A previous dermatologist had prescribed some topical steroids that worked like a charm and cleared up everything within about three weeks. Unfortunately, that was before I started working at The Pit, more commonly known as WCN, and it soon roared back to life.

The dermatologist I was referred to this time didn't want to do that. My psoriasis is extensive and topical steroids are steroids, after all, and coating more than half your body with steroids twice a day isn't something most doctors recommend for the long haul.

I get a whole booth to myself.

So instead, I'm getting phototherapy. This does not involve talking about how my mother didn't love me and always had me airbrushed out of the family pictures because of the unsightly blemishes on my arms. It instead involves being exposed to ultraviolet light, the only natural way to clear up psoriasis.

That is, it's natural if you consider it natural to stand naked in a chamber lined with bright lights while you wear nothing but a pair of devo sunglasses shaped like swimming goggles and hold a paper towel over your most personal anatomy.

The downside to all this is that my share of the office visits comes to $10 a visit, and I have to visit the dermatologist's office three times a week for about four months to make this all work, so we're talking about $500 in co-payments.

The upshot to that is that I'm also taking a second medical treatment that involves injecting myself every Monday and Thursday morning with a psoriasis-treatment drug. Since both treatments are FDA-approved, I'm getting a combination of treatments with a proven track record of success, for free.

I'm taking part in a study to see how much faster patients respond to the treatments when they're combined. So not only am I getting the doctors' visits (and the drug) for free, I'm getting paid about $800 to do it. It just keeps getting better.

The downside is that I have to inject myself, and I really hate needles.

Thank God I'm not diabetic. I can't imagine injecting myself with insulin three times a day.

Pat Sajak and the plank in our own eye

Pat Sajak has a hub on his site where he complains about how liberals have ruined political discourse in America. It seems you can't say anything in support of our president or a conservative viewpoint without being savaged by the liberals in the media and all around us.

Sajak's column is going to win points with conservative readers who already feel that way about outspoken Far Left-ers, but for thoughtful and reasoned analysis, it falls far short in really saying anything meaningful about the shrill tone of American political discourse. There is no shortage of people on the Far Right who demonize liberals as hating America, freedom and apple pie; who bill anyone on the Left as traitors, lacking a moral backbone, and so on.

It was only six months ago I was hearing that the Left would sell us all out to al Qaeda, that liberals would destroy the institution of marriage, that liberals are a bunch of soft-brained crybabies who want to be coddled, and so on.

It was barely two weeks ago that I was hearing that liberals hate life and the people who try to defend it. And I'm regularly reminded on a Christian forum I belong to that the liberals in the media and that prominent Democrats have no ethics, no standards, no sense of fair play, and no grasp of reality.

When you get down to brass tacks, no political party, position or leaning has a dearth of arrogant SOB's, and there's plenty of blame to go around for the lack of reasoned political dialogue.

As Christians, whether liberal or conservative, Right or Left, it behooves all to begin the process of reconciliation by looking at ourselves and asking where we have sinned against one another, and against the world.

We're all guilty of looking down our noses at people who we think "just don't get it"; for seeing people as the enemy instead of as other people with different ideas or approaches to improving the world; and for allowing our own sense of right and wrong to drown out our sense of community and love.

Repentance and forgiveness should be our legacy, not arrogance, judgment and "neener neener."

Sajak's right, as far as he goes: There are plenty of loudmouth liberals who have left the planet and lost all sense of proportion. They're the ones who think a comparison between Bush and Hitler is reasonable, if a little unfair to Hitler.

The thing is, it's not the nitwits on the Left alone who have brought public political discourse in the States to a standstill. There are plenty of blowhards and bastards on the Right as well.

I used to work for a newspaper where the publisher nuked every staff-written column that criticized Bush policies because they "weren't local enough" while he had no problem with staff-written columns that expressed a pro-Republican viewpoint. (Note that I said "columns" and not "editorials.") And the negative treatment that Bible-belters show those of liberal views or unapproved lifestyles is worth remembering.

We're barking up the wrong tree when we start pointing the finger at liberals, or at conservatives, and saying "They're so bad."

We're missing the point when we sing without ceasing the lament of the Biased Liberal (or Conservative) Media.

We're in the wrong when we laugh and say "What's the matter? Can't you handle being the ones out of power?"

We're in the wrong, because we're just as guilty.

I've sinned. It's been easy -- too easy -- for me to wag the prophetic finger at City Council and bemoan their willful disregard for the rights and needs of my city's poor, and the way they use their eminent domain power to uproot established, home-grown businesses, destroying people's livelihood and removing homes while they claim to be engaged in "redevelopment."

I've sinned not because I've been unfair to the City Council or because I've failed to appreciate the economic advantages to having another Starbuck's instead of a privately owned deli.

I've sinned, because there have been many times I've been just as willfully ignorant or negligent of my responsibility to do what's right by my hungry or homeless neighbors.

The city leaders have sinned, and so have I.

I've sinned not because it's wrong for me to notice and comment on the transparent bias in a news report; to be disgusted by the shoddy reporting and lazy investigation that went into the story; or to be outraged by the plagiarism I've seen professionals commit, the stories that are so far from reality that it staggers the mind, or the other sins of journalism.

I've sinned, because I've committed the same faults, even if they haven't been in print. There have been times I've allowed my passions to blind me to fairly presenting a situation to my wife, to my employer, to a friend, and to a neutral third party.

There have been times I've been too lazy or tired to dig into the truth of a matter and find out what really happened, and so students got away with something they shouldn't, or the wrong person was punished, or everyone was.

And there have been times someone's shared ideas with me, and I've passed them, and forgotten to give credit where it was due, or I've claimed to have been an influence for an action I wasn't even involved in.

And like everyone else, I hate it when things don't go my way and I feel like the people who could help me are completely indifferent to how I need their help.

I've sinned in all these ways and more, and if I had to take bets, I'd wager that everyone who reads this forum has committed those sins too.

There are many times we play host to a game of Look How Stupid They Are. We all get into it in one form or another, either online or at home. We talk about how one group or another doesn't get it, acts as though they think the entire world would be better off if we all thought they way they did, and (of course) we do it with the oft-unstated but still clear understanding that we are different.

We, as the better party, understand or are privy to a higher order than the poor slobs we're castigating as proud, judgmental and woefully uninformed.

And that's why I suggest that we all need some prayer and some soul-searching. Because, just like Sajak's column ironically misses the fact that the fault he sees in his liberal friends can be found among conservatives, we all miss the plank in our own eyes.

not a city in china

A friend writes:

The base tip rate is 18 percent. Cash, please. If you use a credit card, you must tip more, because many servers don't report cash on their income tax, so cash is worth twice is much to them. 15 percent is what you tip when the service is just barely adequate. 10 percent -- you'll never be served again.

That's an interesting viewpoint, but it's not a practice I'm inclined to agree with, quite. We always put our tip on the credit card, and never feel inclined to tip extra because we are tipping that way. I see no obligation to tip extra because I'm not letting someone cheat on their taxes, nor to help them cheat.

I prefer to tip closer to 20 percent of the post-tax bill than to 15, and under no circumstances will I tip less than 15. I've been known to give people, including my dear old mother, tremendous grief for wanting to tip less than 15. (Money's really tight right now, so we're not eating out at all, which renders the whole issue moot, to be honest.)

Honestly, my inclination is to tip a little extra when we get shoddy service, although I'll also report it to the manager. A lousy waiter or waitress may not deserve the extra tip, but there's a lot of things I haven't deserved that I've still received, by God's grace.

'til we have faces

Much as I loved "That Hideous Strength" and the Narnia books, "Til We Have Faces" blows them all out of the water. It is far and away C.S. Lewis' best piece of fiction. It also presents a more mature, more personal and more honest look at the nature of suffering than his previous book to deal with the subject, "The Problem of Pain."

The main character, Queen Orual, writes the first part of the book as a complaint against the gods because they are cruel to men beyond reason and without excuse. They take away from us everything that ever gave us happiness, and make it so that we often appear to be to blame for our own misery. (In her case, she had the misfortune of being one of the sisters in the Cupid and Psyche myth.)

In the second part of the book, she gets to deliver her complaint against the gods, and is answered.

Fantastic reading. I re-read it after Lumpy moved back to his parents, and found it made much more sense than it had the first time I read it, years earlier.

tattoos

The risk of hepatitis is substantial enough that I wouldn't get a tattoo. But if you do, here are a few suggestions:

1. If you've been studying the martial arts and you've progressed far enough, get a black belt tattooed around your waist.
   
2. Conversely, get a button-down shirt, necktie, dress pants, socks and shoes tattooed on your whole body, to save time getting dressed in the morning.
   
3. Get an arrow pointing to your chin, with the inscription above it, "This end up."
   
4. Get an arrow pointing to your chin, with the inscription above it, "I'm with stupid."
   
5. Shave your head and have the back of it tattooed, "Handle with care. Contents fragile."
   
6. As a sign of loyalty to your employer, have their logo tattooed on your forehead.
   
7. Get an elephant with a black belt, kicking the snot out of a donkey.
   
8. Have the words "At least I'm not Dave Learn" tattooed somewhere prominent.
   

batman

Not sure what to expect from the Christian Bale movie coming up. It's supposed to be a lot of backstory about how Bruce Wayne became Batman, which is material covered by Frank Miller's "Batman: Year One," but the previews don't look anything like BYO.

Batman should be an enjoyable character to read about, but he himself is not "tons of fun" -- the essential failure of the Adam West TV show and the two post-Keaton "Batman" movies, "Batman Forever" and "Batman and Robin." Batman is supposed to be a man on the edge of justice and sanity, not a comic buffoon like Adam West's Batman. (The better stories I've read don't include the buffoonish freakshow foes like the Mad Hatter, or Solomon Grundy, and weren't written by Jeph Loeb.)

Michael Keaton's Batman comes closest to the iconic figure in DC Comics, but even he fell a little short, in his use of guns and the way he opened up to Vicki Vale. Not his fault, admittedly -- that's just Hollywood in action. I have to say, though, the character was dead-on when Alfred brought Vale into the Batcave. Wayne's reaction was spot-on when he essentially said, "I don't have time for this right now. I have work to do."

must-read graphic novels

It goes without saying that anyone who is interested in reading graphic novels should read Neil Gaiman's groundbreaking and seminal work, "The Sandman."

They also should read the related works, also published by DC Comics on its Vertigo imprint, including two trade paperbacks about Death, one about Destiny, and a collection called "Endless Nights," all by Neil Gaiman, save for "Destiny: A Chronicle of Deaths Foretold." I can't recall who wrote that one, but it had a haunting, funereal beauty about the lives of those who become entangled with a man marked out by Destiny for horror.

Other graphic novels worth reading, in no particular order:

1. "Strangers in Paradise," by Terry Moore. (This is a series of about 17 collections so far). The series follows the lives of two women, Katchoo and Francine, and one man, David Qin. It gets melodramatic and soap operaish at times, and there are other times Moore has lost track of continuity and what he's doing, but the writing is nonetheless excellent.

2. "Batman: Year One," by Frank Miller. On no account should you read "Batman: DK2." It *really* sucked.

3. "Daredevil: Born Again," by Frank Miller. The Kingpin discovers Daredevil's secret identity and proceeds to destroy him.

4. "V for Vendetta," by Alan Moore. Set in an England under fascist rule, this graphic novel shows the rise of the human spirit and longing for freedom, embodied in the anarchist V.

5. "League of Extraordinary Gentlemen," by Alan Moore (two volumes, barely related to the movie). The British government begins assembling a team of people known to us from 19th-century Victorian literature, including Mina Murray, Allan Quartermain, Captain Nemo, Edward Hyde and the Invisible Man. The series is worth reading just for the sly references Moore sneaks in to other literary works. Volume one establishes the team; volume two takes place during H.G. Wells' "War of the Worlds."

6. "1602," by Neil Gaiman. Gaiman transplants the classic Kirby-Lee characters for Marvel Comics from 20th-century America to Elizabethan England. Despite the large ensemble cast, this is a story not to be missed if you're familiar with the Marvel icons.

7. Marvel Legends Thor 1 & 2, by Walt Simonson. the start of a fantastic and defining run on Thor back in the 1980s, this actually includes the start of Ragnarok, the Twilight of the Gods. Absolutely incredible stuff.

8. "Amazing Spider Man: Coming Home," "Revelations" and "Until the Stars Turn COld," by J, Michael Straczynski, of "Babylon 5" fame. Unbelievable. The guy reinvented Spider-man in the first set, and set Webhead's entire world on its head in the second one.

9. "Rising Stars," by Joe Straczynski. A realistic look at the superheroes, used as a metaphor for lots of stuff, including limited natural resources.

10. "Kingdom Come," by Mark Waid and Alex Ross. Set in Superman's post-retirement days, this comic brings Superman and the rest of the Justice League out of retirement to battle a phalanx of brutal antiheroes who have taken their place in the years since they left. It closely follows the book of Revelation.

11. "Marvels," by Kurt Busiek and Alex Ross. The history of the Marvel Universe, from WWII up through the death of Gwen Stacey, told from the point of view of a news photographer who is not Peter Parker.

12. "Astro City," by Kurt Busiek. This is at least three volumes long. It deals with a superhero universe built with elements of DC and Marvel so that Busiek can explore those heroes by proxy. It deals with things like what would a superhero do if his time were his own, how a superhero has to balance his family responsibilities with his obligations as a hero, what makes someone a hero, and so on. Also good stuff.

13. "Midnight Nation," by Joe Straczynski. An L.A. cop loses his soul and has one year to get it back. A great parable about our nation's coldness to those in need.

14. "Black Orchid," by Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean. Gaiman picked a relatively unknown superheroine -- heck, I never even heard of her before I read that volume -- and did some interesting stuff with her. It's definitely not a superhero story, which is always nice in comic books, and it starts to lay some foundations for Gaiman's theology of the plant kingdom, which he was going to develop more in "Swamp Thing" if he ever wrote that comic, which he didn't.

15. "Ronin," also by Frank Miller. That's the story about a reincarnated Ronin (a samurai, who by failing his master, allowed him to die) going toe-to-toe with a demon in a futuristic New York. Sort of. But not exactly. Not at all, really, but I can't say why not without giving away important parts of the plot.

And if anyone is overfamiliar with the superhero genre and wants to read a brilliant sendup, I recommend the "Quantum and Woody" series published by the now-defunct Acclaim Comics.

I skimmed a collection of Frank Miller's "Sin City" a while ago, and found it unengaging, but that's me personally. I don't care for film noir and gangster movies, which is what Miller was imitating, although I do enjoy Miller's older material immensely.

Also, I forgot to mention Jeff Smith's "Bone" series. It starts out as a kid-friendly humor comic, and although it retains its kid-friendliness and a strong humor vein, "Bone" definitely attains the air of high fantasy. Highly recommended.

And then there's "Cerebus." I bought the first volume of that on a recommendation, but found it so unimpressive that I've never bothered to pick up any of the later volumes.

A family Easter celebration: 2005

We had what was, all things considered, a decent Easter weekend.

Around noon Saturday, we took the girls to an Easter egg hunt at the university. (Speaking of Easter eggs, I've found seven so far on Disk 2 of "The Incredibles," including a sock puppet version of the movie.) There was some confusion about how we were supposed to sign in, and the girls missed -- just -- the hunt intended for the little kids.

After that, they took part in the hunt that was meant for all the kids and that, sadly, was a rout.

Evangeline managed to get six eggs, and Rachel got three. How're a 5- and 2-year-old supposed to compete with 40 other kids, some of whom are practically teens? It was crushing to see as their father, particularly when the hunt was over and hordes of kids are counting "20! 21! 22!" as they rack up their gains.

Evangeline was in tears, because she really wanted to gather more.

There were some frustrating things, like the adult who took the egg I was trying to point out to Evangeline, but there were some bright spots too. Another parent saw Evangeline walking to an egg up in a tree and handed it to her, and when Evangeline was feeling inconsolable after the hunt, I could see a boy her age struggling with whether he should share some of his prizes. (He decided not to, but it was nice to see him feeling badly for her.)

Luckily, the organizers had planned for such a contingency, and had packages of consolation eggs stashed away for children who had gathered fewer than 10 eggs, so Evangeline ended up cheering up considerably. Fortunately, it was after I had managed to convince her that the important thing was that she had had fun looking for them.

Afterward, we dyed eggs and Evangeline was in heaven.

And in what must surely count as some form of sacrilege, Natasha and I took some deviled Easter eggs to a potluck dinner that night.

Easter, though, was a blast.

A few years ago I started to lament that the whole of our family traditions concerning Easter involved food: We eat ham, mashed potatoes, green beans mixed with cream of mushroom soup and topped with french onions, and biscuits. And that's just pregnant with meaning, isn't it? Well, I started the ball rolling and we've been adding some meaningful traditions.

First, there's the eggs. We take a runny egg and hard boil it. What does this signify? The transformation of our lives when we commit ourselves to following Christ. Next we put the egg in the dye and change its color. So it is when we immerse ourselves in Christ -- gradually we change and take on his likeness.

Then there's the Easter basket. It's hidden, and we look for it. It's a parable about the kingdom of God and our search for Christ. We search high and low, and we find him, it's a cause for celebration.

Natasha and I took the Easter meal and added some stuff at the beginning that we borrowed from the Passover seder Jews celebrate each year. That is, we're using some of the same elements, but we're reinterpreting them. The horseradish becomes the bitterness of our sins; the apple is the comfort that God provides for us in taking away the full measure of the cost our sin carries. We dip the parsley into salt water to symbolize the tears of this life and the new life that we have been promised.

We would have had wine, to symbolize joy and the Holy Spirit, but alas! I forgot the wine until Sunday, when all the liquor stores were closed. (But we're getting better. This year we had more of the elements than we did last year.) Dinner includes some Scripture readings about Good Friday and Easter Sunday and if we had had the wine, we would have celebrated Communion.

I even had planned to have an extra glass of wine on the table, although, since we believe Elijah already came to prepare the way for the Messiah, I had Evangeline open the door to invite Christ into our home, not just in the immediate sense, but also for the Second Coming. Next year, of course, who wouldn't want to celebrate Easter Sunday in the Kingdom of God?

So I was feeling pretty good about it. Things were a little disorganized and we had to reheat the mashed potatoes, but we used two longstanding Easter traditions (the basket and the eggs) to relate spiritual truths to our children, and we turned our Easter dinner from simply another large meal into what hopefully will be a long-lasting family tradition that will teach our children the foundation of our faith.

And today, Easter Monday, the girls watched "Jesus Christ Superstar," which is to date my preferred Passion play.

confronting tyranny

Pacifism has a moral strength to it that having bigger guns or a more dedicated military outfit lacks.

Nelson Mandela and the other giants of South Africa were able to overcome Apartheid and systemic discrimination; Mahatma Gandhi was able to defeat the British Empire, and the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and the others were able to triumph over white America because they stood their ground and allowed themselves to be beaten, not once but repeatedly. Their calm, self-sacrificing moral sanity threw the insanity of their oppressors into stark relief, and brought the issue to the point that their own, oft-ignored voices finally were heard.

I think it was Romania back in the early 1990s that showed a determined and wholly unarmed populace was able to overthrow a despotic communist government with all the guns.

You say it doesn't work with Hitlers or Stalins or Arafats or Mao Tse-Tungs. I say, in the end, it's the only thing that does work.

raoul

Raoul usually get played as a nancy-boy, which makes him a pretty dull contrast to Erik, who is a compelling, complex and ultimately tragic figure. True, he's a psycho who garroted Buquet and Luigi, and who was more than willing to blow up Paris if Christine wouldn't choose him, but -- especially if you've read Leroux's book -- you can't help but feel sorry for the poor bugger. And Lloyd Webber's musical makes him a compelling, mesmerizing figure. All Raoul does is react, and he's always playing catch-up. Erik not only exists in Christine's world, he exists for her.

Raoul could be a better rival to Erik, but I've never seen him portrayed that way. The closest was in the Claude Rains movie, but even there, he was a rival with a baritone in the opera, not with Erik, whose role was stripped down

value of life

The issue I've yet to see advocates of keeping Terri Schiavo on her feeding tube address is this: Terri reportedly said, before she was in a coma, that she did not want to be kept in a permanent vegetative state.

I've heard many people talk as though Michael Schiavo is doing everything he can in an insane bid to kill her. What if he is telling the truth? Maybe he isn't trying to snuff her, to have her executed, or to whatever other phrase you want to use. Maybe he is really trying to respect her wishes? True, that might not match what someone else would have wanted her to decide, but it doesn't mean they aren't her wishes.

Focusing on the issue at hand: Is a life spent in a permanent vegetative state still worth living? Does her life still retain the intrinsic value of all human life?

terri schiavo

I'm continuing to avoid offering extensive commentary on this issue myself, but a friend shared this article from ABC News, which I am now passing on.

According to this poll, most Americans believe Congress is getting involved in the debate for political purposes, rather than on the principles of the sanctity of human life. A majority also support the decision to remove the feeding tube. Not surprisingly, many Americans have been discussing end-of-life issues with their loved ones, and talking about when they want life support pulled.

What's bothered me about this debate is what's bothered me about the abortion debate, namely the villification of those involved. I've no idea what is going or has gone through Michael Schiavo's head -- nor, I would wager, does anyone else who has sounded off and called him everything from a murderer to a Hitler-wannabe.

His claim, which no one has been able to substantiate or to disprove, is that Terri had once told him that she did not want to be left in a vegetative state. And since the medical conclusion of doctors familiar with the case is that she is in a vegetative state, and appearances of responsivenesss are merely wishful thinking on the part of her parents and pro-life supporters, it would appear that what he is doing is honoring her wishes (again, if what he is saying is true).

I've been sorely disappointed by the polemic being tossed about around this case. If the issue is that Terri's life is sacrosanct and she should be kept alive for that reason, I think the advocates of such an action would be better off to zip their lips about what they think of her husband, and base their arguments solely on the value of Terri Schiavo's life qua human life.

More light, with less heat and noise, is what we need.

btk killer a christian?

"[Dennis Rader] is not a Christian. never was. He was flying under a false flag all the time, getting his jollies on how bad he was on the inside and yet how he fooled everybody."

Although my natural tendency is to agree with this assessment, there are a few things that make me reluctant.

First is that the judgment that a killer -- even a serial killer -- can't "really" be a Christian is something that I think places limits on the redemption Christ offers. Are we suggesting that someone with a pathological drive to kill is incapable of receiving Christ? That doesn't square with the notion of God's free offer of grace, the belief that no one is so far fallen that he can't come home.

Is the suggestion that a person who kills repeatedly cannot really have the Holy Spirit in them? I have to admit that troubles me to (to put it mildly) but it suggests a gradation of sin that I don't think is biblical. In terms of effect, murder -- particularly something as gruesome as the BTK killer is known for -- is far more destructive socially than a "lesser sin" like adultery -- but isn't sin sin? Paul says that if we break the least part of the Law, we are guilty of breaking it all. Does the fact that I struggle with -- and often fall into -- a sin of a less destructive nature, make me somehow more acceptable to God than a serial killer who is also a professing Christian? Is my sin better than his? Or am I also likewise not really a Christian, flying under a false flag all the time, and getting my jollies about how bad I am on the inside while I fool everybody?

To be honest, I don't want the BTK killer to be a Christian, but I think that's mostly born of a sense of wounded pride. I want to believe that Christians are a better class of people than that, that while we might minister to a serial killer and show Christ's love to him, that no one who is really following Christ will be capable of something as horrifying as what Rader has been accused of.

What I want is irrelevant, though. The truth is that if we believe the gospel, we must regard ourselves as murderers too. Why? First and most obviously, because our sin murdered Christ. Secondly, we have the testimony of Christ himself, that if we hate someone, then in the eyes of God, we already have committed murder.

I don't want the BTK killer to be a Christian. But in some mystical way, I think I need him to be.

I know a teen who for a few years was the poster child for reactive attachment disorder. He had no bond to anyone, and had no conscience. His adoptive family used to wonder how long it would be until he ended up in jail after committing some horrific crime. For this boy, for whatever reason, concepts like "right" and "wrong" didn't apply. Whatever he did, was justified.

Now this boy was a Christian; he had committed himself to following Christ, attended church with his parents and the whole nine yards. He was young enough, and his parents were dedicated enough that they were able to get him the treatment he needed to awaken his conscience and give him some sort of moral compass. The last time I saw him, I was amazed at how well adjusted he had become.

But suppose he hadn't had that breakthrough, and had gone on to commit some horror? I'd agree that he's still accountable for his crimes and should not be let off scot free because of his mental illness -- but I would have to say that I honestly would have no idea what his eternal state would be.

And that's all I'm saying with the BTK killer. We have no idea what is going on in his head, nor do we know what is going on in his soul. And while I would be slow to extend the right hand of fellowship to a serial killer, I'm also reluctant to say he has no part of Christ.

'their eyes were watching god'

"Their Eyes Were Watching God" is a novel about self-discovery. It follows the life of a black woman named Janie in the South during the late 1800s and early 1900s. It begins when she's about 13 or 14 and awakening to the birds and bees, and is pushed into a marriage with a much older man. A few years later, she runs off with a fast-talking and up-and-rising type named Jody Starkes (?) who sets himself up as mayor of a small town, and ultimately she decides that she's no better off there either.

A good chunk of the book is about her last relationship, with a fellow named Tea Cake. It's an easy relationship with romance, fun and being free to be herself, but it ends badly for reasons connecting to the title. ("Their eyes were watching God" is a line from the novel, describing a waterspout that destroys everything when it hits the place where Janie and Tea Cake are living. Including them, ultimately.)

I'm probably off in the details, and can't attest much to the major themes of the book. I read it back in college, about 14 years ago, and although I've had the urge from time to time to go back and reread it, I never have.

hits and misses

So many things I haven't been online to share:

[+] Back on Feb. 16, E and I went to New York for a modeling go-see. It was a pretty straightforward, if uneventful trip. We showed up, E read me a chapter of "The Courage of Sarah Noble" and then we went to get her picture taken. The photographer asked me if I would mind if she took my picture too. I figured, what the heck, and filled out the paperwork. Flash, click, we're done. Time to get back on the train and go home, stopping only for overpriced pizza at Penn Station New York. (E ate like a little lady, without even asking me to cut the pizza.)

Well, that Friday I got a call-back for an actual shoot on Tuesday, for Hewlett-Packard. Yes, I got a call-back, not my daughter. Not the cute little 5-year-old, but the hairy man nearing middle age. I joked with my wife and some friends that they figured, "Hey -- this guy looks like the sort of geek who uses our product, let's get him!", but it turns out the actual idea for the shoot was a family get-together, with a sort of "See how bright our printers make your treasured memories turn out" feel.

The actual shoot wasn't too bad, although it did take about six or seven hours. I tried on about five sets of clothes, including some that I was only too thankful not to be seen in by anyone who knew me. (The yellow pants were the worst.) I ended up wearing a light green shirt and a pair of tan Tommy Hilfiger pants. You won't be able to tell from the ad when it runs, but the stylist ripped the back seat out of the pants so they would fit -- an impromptu if expensive way to make alterations. So for most of the shoot, I was walking around with pants that had more rear ventilation than hospital gown. They gave me the shirt when it was over, and offered to let me take the pants home, but I declined. I'll never own a pair of Tommy Hilfiger's, needlessly expensive as they are, but it makes an amusing tale to share how I wore them one afternoon.

Total payment for the shoot is $800, less the 15 percent that goes to agent Lauren Green and the other 10 percent that goes to Elen's Kids. I think we're about breaking even now.

[+] We finally had some decent snow this week. On Tuesday the girls and I spent about an hour outside playing in the snow. We built a giant snowman in the front yard, along with two small snowgirls, and rode around on the sled in the back yard for about 20 minutes. The girls even got back on when they fell off, without complaint. (I guess I ran too fast.) And for the grand finale, before we went back inside, we had a massive snowball fight. Even R was into it, and was picking up clumps of snow to throw at me. One of the funniest moments was when I hit the front door a good two feet above their heads. E laughed at my bad aim, then gave a start when bits of the snowball fell onto her head. She thought it was pretty amusing.

[-] I really hate insomnia. I fell asleep tonight lying in bed with E, woke up just before midnight, did my business and got into bed, where I managed to go back to sleep. About 40 minutes later, my wife came in and unintentionally woke me up. At this point she reminded me I hadn't walked the dog, so I got dressed, went downstairs and trudged around in the cold with Sandy for 15 or 20 minutes so she could do her business. I got back into bed and found myself getting more and more awake. It's now 4:39 a.m., and I'm wide awake. Saturday is going to be hell.

[+/-] Mixed experience on homeschool this week. I had insomnia Tuesday night, and ended up getting about three hours' sleep. We had rented the BBC "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" from Blockbuster since E and her mother have been reading through "The Chronicles of Narnia" the last few weeks, and E wanted to watch it. I put it on, intending to watch only for a little, and fell asleep. (The movie is bad enough I might have done that even had I been less tired.) I woke up at one point, said I was going to turn it off in five minutes, and fell asleep again. And that was pretty much all we accomplished that day.

On the other hand, E has finished reading "The Courage of Sarah Noble," a true Colonial-era chapter book, all by herself. Today I started her on the first book in "The Magic Tree House" series, she still remembers the names and values of coins, and we created our own weather vane to put in the back yard.

To make history more accessible, we must continue to read true stories about America's past. To make science more accessible, we must do more hands-on projects to pique E's curiosity. To make school less onerous to E, we must do arts and crafts on a more regular basis. Today we made two sets of bunny ears -- one for her, and one for R -- after reading "The Tortoise and the Hare." It is the first real craft we have done in a while. I must plan these better.

I also must make more of an effort to include R, who too often is shunted to one side while E and I do school activities. I also need to be more flexible in how I do things, and insist less that E do things the way I had envisioned them. While she does need to follow directions, not everything should be a battle of wills. I never realized what an exacting control freak I could be until I started teaching her -- and I hate it when she asks me, "Daddy, can we please do it my way for a change?" because she's right -- I keep insisting on my way all the time, even on times when there's no big loss in doing it another way.

Got a good suggestion on writing. I will try it this next week. Having some problems with the math drills -- she knows the idea, but doesn't have the addition table memorized. Must content myself with her knowing how to get the answer, and let the memorization come to her in due time. She did it with reading, and she'll do it with numbers too, I have no doubt.

[-] No writing done on big projects. I'm a rotten collaborator on the webcomic and the novel, as my two partners will attest.

disney princesses

Like many other girls their ages here in the United States, Evangeline and Rachel are just nuts about Disney Princesses. They love to watch the movies, play with the dolls, dress up, and role play -- all of which wouldn't be so bad if the Disney Princesses weren't so vacuous.

Sometime last year, I took advantage of my older daughter's big Cinderella kick, and asked her if she'd like to hear another version of the story, from Germany. When she agreed, I pulled out my beloved copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales, and introduced her to Ashenputel, the girl whose stepsisters actually cut off parts of their feet to get into shoe.

In the months since then, we've been making a point of hitting up our library for other-cultural versions of the Princesses and various other fairy tale characters. With Cinderella alone, Evangeline has been exposed to fairy tales from Mexico, Ireland, Cambodia, the Phillipines, Germany, Swaziland, England, France, West Virginia, Haiti and Los Angeles. In the process, she's been developing comparative-literature skills-- on her own, she recognized that the bull in an Irish Cinderella story played the same part as the fairy godmother -- and she's been learning world geography. Every time we read a fairy tale, we find the country of origin on our world map, and place a sticker of that country's flag on the map.

So instead of butting heads with the vapidness of Disney, I've managed to turn it into something valuable. Now if I could only find something educational to do with Elmo...

building writing skills

I've been homeschooling my daughter, 5, for about four months now, despite a few bumps and hurdles after leaving my job to be a stay-at-home dad. We're doing very well with reading, with math and science, art and the other subjects, but I'm stuck on one: writing.

Evangeline knows all her letters, as a result of attending a local preschool last year and the year before. When I assumed the homeschooling duties, we worked our way through the letters again just to brush up and make sure everything was going the right way.

Well, here we are, about three months after we finished handwriting exercises, and I'm stumped for what to do to get her writing on a regular basis so that she can develop those skills as well as she's developed her other academic abilities.

Evangeline enjoys writing stories -- but by writing stories, I mean she enjoys having her old man write everything as she dictates, which does nothing to build her handwriting skills or ability to put thoughts to paper herself.

Can anyone make any suggestions? Like her father, Evangeline is opposed to rote work, and also like her father, she can be a challenge to motivate to do something she doesn't want to do.

social security

Here's an idea I came across for Social Security reform. Instead of Social Security, how about a $2,000 government investment for each child from birth to 18? A former secretary of the treasury believes such a practice would leave each person in possession of $1,013,326 at retirement age.

No idea on the specifics, obviously, since the article didn't enumerate them. My thought would be that the money would not be vested until beneficiary turned 18, and would not be accessible until retirement. I would expect that in the event of death, the money and interest would return to the government, or however Social Security benefits are handled now.

I thought it an intriguing idea -- as the article claims a number of policymakers do -- but I doubt anything will happen with it. Opposition to this is likely to be high among the Republicans on Capitol Hill, and as one commentator noted in the article, it leaves little incentive for the individual to prepare a 401(k) or retirement IRA. There's also the problem of this program not being able to kick in until 30 or 40 years after Social Security goes insolvent.

Still, it was thought provoking enough that I remarked to my wife how wonderful it would be if we had the disposable income to start putting away money for the girls' retirements each year; alas, we have trouble enough getting the money to put away toward our own retirements and the girls' college educations.

my kid hates homeschool

My daughter Evangeline hates being homeschooled. She spent a year-and-a-half in a preschool, where she got to make a number of friends her own age, and now she is here at home with her father and younger sister, Rachel.

I try my hardest to make homeschooling enjoyable and educational for her. We have her involved in activities where she can be with other children her age, we go on homeschooling field trips regularly with the co-op we belong to, and we try to arrange playdates with her friendsfrom preschool, but she still wishes she were in regular school.

As someone who worked for nearly 10 years in the news media, I can attest that most of the colleagues I discussed it with thought homeschooling parents should be commended for their commitment to their children, and they also were impressed with the success stories of the homeschooled children that we diligently reported.

But homeschooling remains not for every parent, and not for every child. We've been homeschooling Evangeline for kindergarten because she was reading-ready at 5 years old, but missed the cut-off date for our school district by two weeks. My experience is that the socialization that occurs in a school setting is usually destructive, rather than productive. Schools function on the law of club and fang, where people who are different are ostracized and put down, and we're made to feel ashamed of our differences, no matter how beneficial those differences are.

A charter school is different in that it's multi-grade level, so that Evangeline will interact with children who are older than her and are not dealing with the same issues she is, and therefore might actually be positive rather than destructive role models for her. It's also different in that there is a lot of parental involvement, which is usually somewhat difficult in a public school setting.

Well, we'll see what happens. She's said several times that she doesn't want to be homeschooled after kindergarten, so we're almost definitely going to enroll her at the charter school, I think. And I'll be there every step of the way with her.

a pleasant surprise

My conversation with the pastor at Zarephath Community Chapel surpassed my expectations by light years. It was positive, productive and deeply encouraging. Rob Cruver, the pastor, leapt several points upward in my estimation from this meeting.

One of the biggest things I carried away from this was Rob's genuine humility. I started off the meeting by saying essentially (but politely) that I was genuinely unsure of whether Zarephath is even the right place for me to attend. He didn't try to convince me that it was, not even once. That's virtually unprecedented in my experience.

He also didn't get defensive when I critiqued his sermons as shallow. He was a little taken aback, but he also admitted that I'm not the first person to tell him that he's not providing much for people to think about, and that he's going to have to put more effort into giving his sermons more oomph in the analysis and application departments.

I also mentioned that I got a little soured on the church by some of the political attitudes I encountered before the election. I've mentioned the one, where Eowyn's Sunday School teacher told me I shouldn't bother going to church if I was planning to vote for Kerry, but there were others. The political action bulletin board also has a ton of GOP campaign literature for the taking, and the Sunday before the election there was a reminder (not from the pulpit) that it was our Christian duty to elect professing Christians to office, because God's blessing is on such people, and they actively seek God's guidance, blah blah blah blah blah.

Well, Rob was disappointed that someone actually would be crass enough to link faith and the GOP to that extent, and apologized for it. He also explained that they had asked both political parties to provide their literature but the Democrats never came through, and what's more, he agreed with me that Christians often get one-sided in their allegiances when they try to infuse their faith into the political process. And it wasn't just a polite thing either; apparently the head of the Pillar of Fire Bible college on the church campus, when he came to the area a few years ago, was of the opinion that you couldn't be a Christian and vote Republican.

Rob said he would have to introduce the two of us, since he's sure we would hit it off fine.

Also nicely, we talked about our visions -- in Rob's case, for the church; in mine, for the sort of ministry I'd like to be involved with.

I used to head a drama ministry at my old church. There's been talk of starting a drama ministry at Zarephath as well, but nothing else public but talk. Well, apparently they've hired someone to head the drama ministry this August, and the guy they've hired has pretty much the same vision I'd had for our drama ministry back at Community Gospel Church. He wants to have dramas during the church service each week to lay the groundwork for or build upon the sermon, and he wants to do other things in the community. First is some sort of open-air evangelical outreach via drama -- the mere thought is enough to make me cringe, given the caliber of most evangelism through drama -- but he also wants to bring something to the community in terms of theater, by performing honest-to-gosh plays like "The Crucible" or "Death of a Salesman" that deal with eternal issues honestly without being distinctly Christian.

Wow. That's *exactly* what I would have loved to do at my old church, if we had been granted the breakthrough in numbers that we would have needed. (And in an area like this part of New Jersey, a theater presence would be a tremendous asset. We're an hour away from Broadway, and the two Tony-winning theaters outside New York are here in the area as well.)

So since it's evident that the two of us have similar visions for what it means to be serving God, I shared with Rob my vision for a community where the believers share all their possessions in common and use their freed-up wealth to reach out to the needy around them. He was visibly impressed with the vision, and said he'd love to see that happen, although he's uncertain how that would play out in New Jersey, where people drive 30 or 40 minutes to get to church, making community fairly difficult to cultivate. (My response was that even with that distance, there would still be pockets of church members who live fairly close together, and one goal should be to encourage a sense of community within those pockets, and to get people to view the church as a place we gather for worship on Sundays, and not as the place where all ministry and spiritual activity is centered.)

Anyway, it went well. So well in fact that he told me his chief goal right now is to get more people actively involved in discipleship relationships, where one person is committed to discipling three or four other men.

He asked me to consider being one of those leaders. I'm considering.

So. I'm impressed, and I was really pleased at how well this went today. I was bracing myself for a huge disappointment and a need to plunge back into the waters to find a church, but as I told my wife today, "If you want to keep attending this church, I'm a lot more open to it now than I was last week."

return to new york

We return to New York on Wednesday afternoon, for another child model tryout.

Evangeline was chosen specifically by Hewlett Packard to come up for a go-see, so we have to be at the studio a little after 5 p.m. In the past, she's always been selected as part of a range -- i.e., every girl between 4 and 5 years old with brown eyes, or something similar -- but this time, they actually requested her specifically, so presumably her chances of being selected to earn $1,000 for college are a little better this time than in the past.

It would be nice. It's kind of a pain to go to New York -- it takes about an hour to get there by train, plus the time spent waiting for the train and subway, and then actually hiking around the city -- and it's not exactly cheap. Evangeline's now 5, so I have to pay for train tickets for both of us, which drives up the price. So two hours to the shoot, two hours back, and the actual appointment usually takes all of five or ten minutes. It's enough to take up your whole day.

On the bright side, it's time spent alone with her, so I value it all the more. We take a few books and read them if she's settled enough. The first couple trips she was too excited to do much, but the novelty has worn off somewhat. We'll also have to find a place to grab a bite to eat, since we'll be there around dinner time. (Here's hoping we find something nicer than McDonald's, but not too pricey either.)

Before we go, I have to call the gymnastics academy and see about scheduling a make-up class, since attending it won't leave us enough time to get to the studio with a comfortable safety cushion.

And naturally this is the night my insomnia decides to kick in and keep me up.

Remembering Easton Assembly of God

Some of the best worship services I've ever been a part of were at Easton Assembly of God while I was a member there.

The preaching was excellent under the first pastor there too. Nothing lasts forever. I stuck around for about four more years after we hired a new pastor, but eventually left. It was the lackluster preaching, particularly the wrongheaded messages like "Christians should smile all the time if they have the joy of the Lord!", combined with increased dissatisfaction with the church's lack of interest in the community around it, that did it. The differences between me and the church's take on the gospel eventually started to really get at me.

Another reason I left was an overemphasis on glossolalia. The Baptism in the Holy Spirit is a trademark of the Assemblies of God. To their credit, I never heard anyone in authority claim that people who didn't speak in tongues weren't really Christians. But someone did tell me how mortified she was that I would presume to teach children's church without that gift.

The truth is, I'm a skeptical believer in the gift of tongues. I've yet to hear a reasonable biblical argument against the continued existence of glossolalia as a gift of the Holy Spirit.

 I believe the Holy Spirit can inspire people to speak either in a human language they don't know or in a heavenly language, but I can only think of one instance where I believe I might have witnessed it. In that particular case, the utterance had a lot of repetition, enough so that there was a recognizable structure to the language. The interpretation came out with the same manner of repetition.

Other times I've heard alleged messages in tongues, the interpretations were incomprehensible mishmashes of contemporary and King James English; they were so vague that they were meaningless; and so on. Usually, when I've heard people praying in tongues in church, it goes against what Paul sets down for guidelines about speaking in tongues in 1 Corinthians.

Most ecstatic utterances in tongues appear to be just that -- ecstatic utterances born entirely of the human spirit, with nothing divine about them. Spoken tongues like that are found in other religions, notably at least one sect of Islam, and have been practiced by heretics throughout church history.

As to an utterance in a language unknown to the speaker but known to a listener, I've heard stories about that happening, but I have no way of knowing if there's any truth to them, so I don't bother to enter them as evidence one way or the other.

 I don't particularly disbelieve in glossolalia, but I don't believe I've seen more than one legitimate instance of it in my life. I do believe I've seen enough error, confused doctrine, abuse and misuse of the gift, and just muddled thinking to convince someone who's already skeptical that the whole thing is a fraud.

I will say that I've been tempted to use my knowledge of Haitian Creole during a worship service to order a large pepperoni pizza with an order of breadsticks and a bottle of Coke, and wait for the interpretation, but that's something that's amusing only in concept. It would be incredibly disrespectful to actually do it.

I left Easton Assembly of God years ago. I went to visit the church about 2½ years ago, when my foster son was with us, because I needed to get away for a little.

The worship is almost all done on an organ now and has none of the brilliance that made it work before, and the pastor's preaching is just as awful as ever. A lot of the church leaders from when I was a member have gone (not all), and it seemed a duller place than ever.

left feeling cold

So we had another uninspiring (at least to me) sermon today at Zarephath Community Chapel. The text for the sermon was Colossians 3:12-14. Paul exhorts the readers to clothe themselves in righteousness, and zips through a few things to illustrate what he means: Be compassionate, be gentle, be kind, be patient, be humble and vote Democratic (just kidding).

As I saw the text, I figured, "Hey, this is a great passage to preach from!" It contrasts with the categories of fallen behavior Paul mentioned in the previous verses, and there are so many things you can use it as a springboard for. You could give concrete examples where Christians can be compassionate instead of supercilious, such as gay-right issues; ways to be kind, such as welcoming seniors into your lives, or pitching in at a food shelter; and so on.

Nope. The sermon focused more on the line about forgiving as we have been forgiven, which could have been a great message too, if the pastor had discussed areas where it's hard to forgive, such as a spouse's infidelity, or the countless unthinking indifferences and insensitivities that bedevil human relationships. Instead, at least from what I took away, the sermon was about how great it is to have been forgiven — not by other people, for specific wrongs, but by Christ for our general sin. And even then, the people he asked to share about how nice it is to be forgiven were teens or preteens who had nothing specific to share, just that they enjoyed being forgiven.

Well, yes, I suppose I do too, but isn't something as weakly expressed as that so general as to be utterly meaningless -- especially when the person who confesses to sinning "a lot" has no idea what the heck she's talking about, except at some basic level? These are kids, for crying out loud. What do they know about being attracted to someone other than your spouse, about being so frustrated with your children's screaming that it's all you can do to restrain yourself, about having to forgive a malicious, backstabbing co-worker or a lying, indifferent employer for the ways they keep hurting you and tearing you down? What do they know about having your heart torn out of you because you wanted what you can't have, and you took it anyway, or about dealing with old griefs and pains you thought you buried 20 years ago?

What does such a sermon like this one, treating such an in-depth passage in such a cavalier fashion, do, but make us feel good about ourselves and how lucky we are to be forgiven while the rest of the world is going to hell? It's good to be reminded about grace, but when every sermon — or at least a vast majority of them — is about the redemption Christ offers, and how believers will be spared from God's wrath, I can't help but feel someone's missing the point. Is that really all there is to the gospel? If so, why are we exhorted to bear fruit in keeping with repentance? Why all the talk about a transformed life if there's no evidence of a transformation?

This sort of shallow thinking, which seems so common in evangelicaldom, is one of the reasons I no longer consider myself an evangelical Christian, despite the doctrinal similarities. The gospel has to go deeper than that. Christ calls us to holiness, which means not just a restored relationship with the Father, but a restored set of relationships with our fellow men as well — a real and recognizable community. In fact, it's really impossible to get the relationship with God restored if you're out of any sort of fellowship or relationship with a larger community. If going to church and singing "Amazing Grace" once a week (or even three times a week) is the end-all-be-all of the faith, then why does Christ talk so much about our responsibility to other people. It's one of the two prevailing themes of his preaching, along with "No one gets to the Father but through me."

A friend of mine whom I call Respectfully Brian P. (because that's how he always signs his correspondence) suggested that this approach to sermons is probably deliberate. They do the same thing at his church, and when he talked with his pastor about it recently, he was told it was because they're making the church services "seeker-friendly." In other words, the Sunday worship service is meant to vapid and void of meaning because that's all non-Chrsitians and new Christians are supposed to be capable of understanding. In other words, the worship service is meant for evangelism, and growth is meant to take place at the small group Bible studies most members don't attend.

Pardon me, but that's bass-ackwards.

I'm all for churches being seeker-friendly. By that I mean we don't have a someone at the door to greet you who acts like he's your best friend, even though you've never met before. (That screams "phony" to most people.) It means we avoid buzz words like fellowship, grace, blood of the Lamb, saved, Holy Ghost power, and so on. Put it in simple, straightforward talk that's accessible to the man in the street, because anything else sends a message of "We belong and you don't."

Dumbing down the message is about the stupidest thing a church can do. People who are wrestling honestly with life's questions are going to be turned off by a church that gives pat answers for everything like, "Omigosh, Jesus is just so cool, you know!? And, like, following him has made my life just so much better, you know? Like, totally!" Anyone who knows diddly about Christians knows that our lives aren't perfect, that we still screw things up royally for ourselves and the people around us. And anyone who's been following Jesus for any amount of time knows he usually makes life worse for us, dividing members of families against one another, and bringing pain after pain to our lives. In fact, that's what he promises us. It'snot our happiness that is his chief concern -- it's the glory of his Father.

Christians who tell you that Christ has made them happy all the time either are simple-minded or in denial. Making happiness and the ease of the Christian life the official teaching of a church is inexcusable. Lying to people is a horrible way to bring them into a relationship with Christ.

Going by church tradition and by biblical record, the meetings held on the Lord's Day, i.e., Sunday, are believers' meetings. Those were meetings where the early Christians got together to celebrate the Lord's supper together, to encourage one another, and so on. Especially during periods of persecution, it would have been disastrous to bring someone to church who wasn't a Christian already.

In terms of evangelism and outreach, it makes far more sense to get someone involved in a small group, because that's where the relationships form, that's where people are going to be more honest and open about their doubts and struggles, and that's where you're more likely to get a nonbelieving friend to come out and return again and again, because of the intimacy of the group.

The dumbing-down of church services "for evangelism" is one of the all-out stupidest, most lame-brained, ill-conceived ideas ever to be blamed on the leading of the Holy Spirit in recent American church history, not to mention one of the most condescending.

(That's not to say that small groups should be dumbed-down either. I've never been at a Bible study with a nonbeliever who complained it was too deep. Honesty, brokenness, Christlikeness -- these are the things that will really win people over to Christ, not keeping everything at a beginner's level.)

The sad thing is, Rob Cruver is a decent preacher. I don't doubt his commitment to the Lord is real, but I can't help feeling empty inside after church each week. Heck, I feel empty inside during church each week.

I'm supposed to meet with him a week from Thursday, when I hope to spring some of this on him, in a loving and respectful way. I'm not sure what I hope to accomplish, really. The meeting is supposed to be to discuss ministry opportunities at Zarephath, which is essentially what I want. I don't want to be plugged into a standard ministry slot, nor do I want to stage a confrontation where we end up angry at each other, each convinced the other guy is missing the point or otherwise a hopeless case. I'd like to generate honest discussion about what I would like to bring to the church and whether it matches what the church wants from its attendees and members.

If not, I guess it'll be time to move on, and I'm really sick of looking for a new church.

happy birthday

Dear Isaac,

As I'm writing this, it's almost the end of your fifth birthday. I wish I could have been there to celebrate it with you, but that isn't possible. By the time you're able to read this, you'll be closer to celebrating your seventh birthday than your fifth, and by the time you actually do read it — assuming you ever do — your fifth birthday will be long past and long forgotten.

If you do read this one day, it will be because you decided to seek me out. Hope is that thing with feathers, but I still hope you will come looking for me one day, however far off that may be. As I stand before God, I hope one day to see you again in the flesh with my own eyes. Foster son or not, I loved you as much as my own flesh and blood, and I still do.

You stayed with us from January to mid-October 2002, after Iowa Child Protective Services placed you into foster care. When you arrived you were a wreck -- unable to speak, barely able to stand or walk, incapable of showing any emotion except anger, and unable to concentrate on anything except watching TV.

That changed while you were in our care. I watched as you began to bloom for the first time in two years, and mastered skills that we had always taken for granted with our own daughter. I watched as you learned to stand and to walk without falling down, and as you learned to pick up things with your fingers and to eat with a fork. I cheered the first time you used an actual word to ask for something. Most of all, I lost myself in those smiles of yours, that silly laugh you had, and that insane humming you made whenever you wanted to sing butdidn't know the words.

The day you left is one that is seared indelibly into my very soul. The sky was clear blue, the leaves were beginning to turn color, and the air had the crisp quality of an early autumn morning. You'd been taking trips to your birth parents twice a week for the last nine months, so when the DYFS driver buckled you into the car seat and drove off, you were smiling happily, and all the while my heart was clenching tighter and tighter in my chest. The tears started when you disappeared from sight, and to be honest, they've never really stopped.

I don’t think I can ever begin to tell you how much I've missed you the last two years. Not a day has gone by since you left that I haven't thought about you, and sometimes the grief has been so great that all I've wanted to do is to crawl into a hole and cover myself up, or to drown it.

The day you left, a heavy blackness fell over my soul. It was as though I had been following Christ willingly and in faith, trusting him as the road got ever darker, until finally I came to the darkest place I had ever been. There was no way forward, and no way back, and on all sides there were beasts that would gladly rend me limb from limb if only they had the chance. I could hear them whispering, just out of eyesight. One wrong step would mean my destruction, and my guide was nowhere to be seen.

For the life of me, I don't know how I survived that time, except to say that God's love and grace are greater and more bewildering than I ever could have imagined. Trusting to him is like riding the rapids of a waterfall, without even the benefit of a barrel, and yet I wouldn't have it any other way. By his grace, I survived.

Having you and losing you has had a more profound effect on my life than just about everything else I've ever known — more than college, more than being an exchange student, and more than being a missionary. The loss of you is a pain that suffuses my writing, my relationship with God, and the relationship I have with my children. Every day when I think of you, I give thanks that I still have them, and I hold them close.

Evangeline, who was your older sister for those nine months, had a horrible time when you left. For weeks after, when we went to the movies or to a friend's house, she looked around for you. Once I came home from work late at night to find her, wide awake at the top of the stairs, wondering when you would come back. And when her sister was born, and we had to leave her with friends for the night, it made her ill. She knew — she just knew — that we had got rid of her, too.

Two years later, she still remembers you. She asks me why you left, she wants to know when you're coming home, and she prays for the chance to see you just one more time. She no longer lays awake at night waiting for you, nor does she still want to send her younger sister away so that you can come back, but losing you has affected her also. She loves you, and she misses you too.

I don't know what the future holds for you, but I hope it is full of good things. I hear that you've made remarkable progress the last two years: that you speak well; that you are relatively happy living with your father, your grandmother, aunt and cousins; and that you may even start school with the other children your age. That's fantastic.

I pray for you every day. If I could make a wish for your future, it would be this: Finish high school and either attend college or learn an honest trade. Stay clear of the wrong crowd, and keep away from those who would lead you into gangs, drugs or violence. Search for love, not one of the cheap substitutes we so often settle for in this world, and when you find someone special, make it work so the relationship can last a lifetime. Most of all, find Christ.

And if it's selfish, it's selfish, but I'm going to wish for it anyway: Come home to me. The day you left I promised that I would always carry a piece of you in my heart, and that you would always have a piece of me in yours, even if you didn't remember it in your waking hours. It's still the truth two years later, and it will be the truth in another twenty and another sixty. Neither one of us will be complete until we connect again.

I love you, Isaac, more than anything. Have a happy birthday.

Love,
Abba