For the XP

Garage sales and yard sales are curious attractions. You walk several miles within a small and contained plot of land. The items you think will sell don't while other items you doubt anyone would ever buy are the first to go. And people show up with odd requests, looking for items completely unrelated to anything visibly available for purchase as if there’s a secret stash somewhere.

We held a yard sale this weekend. Unloaded stuff that had been cluttering the garage for months. Made some money that will help fund a home construction project. We still need to take the unsold items to Goodwill for donations. Our best profits came from the coffee stand the kids staffed. Chickens visited. And Frosty decided to graze his way through the merchandise.

Less stuff and extra money are nice benefits, but even if we didn't sell a single item, we were visited by a party that made the whole yard sale worth having. Early on Saturday afternoon, an SUV pulled into our driveway. An older man, roughly my dad's age, stepped out of the driver's seat and explained their situation.

His elderly mother was sitting in the front passenger seat. He and his wife took her out for a drive, showing her the area. They planned on cruising around Newman Lake before heading up to Greenbluff. They had no intention of stopping at any yard sales, but as they drove by our house they saw the animals and knew they had to stop. The two geese and all five goats were hanging out by the garage, chickens were scattered all over the yard, and Zu was riding one of our horses in the back pasture. The old man explained his mom grew up on a farm. It had been several years since she was near a bunch of barnyard creatures and he wanted to reconnect her with memories of her youth.

I invited them out to walk around, but the man said his mom wasn't very mobile any more. So instead, I picked up Kazoo, one of our goats, and carried her to their car where the mom could see Kazoo up close. We discussed the animals for a while, and I provided driving directions to their remaining destinations. As we talked, it became clear the man's mom was in the twilight of her life; her health was failing and she was non-verbal - communicated through nodding or shaking her head. By the time her son climbed back into the driver's seat, tears began to well in the corners of her eyes and a faint smile lit up her face.

Their visit reminded me of my dad and his mom. Grandma Casey is in a similar stage in her life. These strangers helping their mom navigate old age is like the traveling my dad has done to spend as much time with his mom as he possibly can. I recalled phone conversations with my grandma, each time I wonder if it will be the last time I hear her voice. They reinforced lessons of wisdom older generations have given me since I was a kid: at the end of your life, you will value your memories more than your money. Your experiences will always be of greater worth than the stuff you accumulate.

In video games, you are rewarded with XP or experience points for completing missions, defeating opponents, and performing specific tasks. Gaining more XP increases your character's health, strength, and abilities. Life is much the same. Our experiences affect our health. They can improve our strength and knowledge. They give us wisdom. The things we do and the relationships we build propel us through this world, it is the foundation for the memories we treasure when our lives come to an end.

This summer, Annie and I came to a realization. We have a small house for a family of seven. Storage space is minimal. It's obvious we don't need more stuff, so we decided we're not giving the kids big gifts for birthdays and Christmas. Instead, we're giving them adventures. No more toys and gadgets that will sit unused after the kids play with it once. We're going to take them out for a fun activity, something that will build memories to last a lifetime. It's real world XP. Giving them something that will build better bonds between them as siblings and with us as parents. Giving them a wonderous and exciting life. Giving them stories to tell their friends. Giving them a foundation to build upon as they grow up. Letting them know our time with them is the most important thing in the world.

Our first attempt at the adventure birthday gift was a success. We took the boys to Silverwood and filled the day with thrills and laughter. My oldest son will always remember being braver than Dad after riding Aftershock, the roller coaster that I refused to board. My youngest son will always remember sitting next to me for his first three roller coasters and how I helped him overcome his fear. The expressions on their faces as they watched Nick Norton's magic show are images I will carry with me through the rest of my days. Hearing Christian announce over and over how the trip was the best gift anyone ever got him made every penny worth spending. They both gained XP and leveled up.

As caretakers, whether as parents raising children, or grown adults caring for the parents who raised us, creating these memorable moments are our most important tasks. It could be as elaborate as a day at a theme park or as simple as visiting a farm. The XP we gain in life will become the memories we cherish for years to come. The old lady's smile and tears were enough to convince me: Annie and I made the right choice.

Two Towers

On the drive to work this morning, I noticed a cell tower standing in the field north of Cabellas. Actually, I saw two of them in the same empty lot - close enough that you could fly a paper airplane from one to the other. I've passed this plot of land more times than I could count and never recognized the two towers standing there to transmit my LTE signals. I've seen them, but I've never noticed them.

They're there. And they've been there for a long time. Yet I've driven by time and time again completely oblivious to their presence. They have a purpose, fully functional. I can make and receive phone calls because they exist. I'm usually streaming a podcast while I drive that stretch of road, which means my smartphone is accessing the internet carried by one of those cell towers.

I got my first cell phone in 2002. It was a part of a T-Mobile promotion for DirecTV employees. I filled out the application on my lunch break, selected the device and calling plan - voice only, no texts. The only game I could play on it was Snake. In the years since then, as mobile providers expand their coverage and fight with each other to build the most reliable network, the population of cell towers have exploded. They now dot the landscape of every city, town, and village across America. They've become so common they're often overlooked.

Let's be honest though. It's probably best that we ignore the sight of the towers providing our cell reception. They're ugly constructions, not architecturally appealing in any way, shape, or form. They're hideous enough, some people attempt to disguise them as trees like the one near the Daybreak Coffee stand at Prairie and Ramsey in Hayden. However, the nature costume is clearly artificial looking; it's even more garish than the standard cell tower.

Whether incognito or undisguised, cell towers are an eyesore, one we have become so accustomed to seeing they blend into the scenery. On most days, we can pretend they don't exist.

As I turned onto Seltice to cross the Spokane River and continue my morning commute, I observed that which I've repeatedly disregarded. Two cell towers. For the first time since signing my contract with T-Mobile sixteen years ago, I pondered the existence of these towers I've long taken for granted.

It made me think about time travel. What if we jumped in our DeLorean and went backwards thirty years? In 1988, my dad is probably playing a pinball machine in Godfather's Pizza while the jukebox plays Richard Marx's Hold On to the Nights. Cinephiles were in line for tickets to see Young Guns after enjoying Die Hard and Cocktail earlier in the summer. Anyone using satellite service for their television had a twelve-foot diameter dish in their yard. Mark Langston had a great year as a pitcher despite the Mariners finishing last place in their division. A few individuals used cellular phones on a 1G network with bricks that took ten hours to charge and only provided a half hour of talk time. Cell service was a luxury at a cost greater than what most Americans could afford, and cell towers did not dot the countryside.

Could you imagine going back in time and trying to explain a cell tower to a resident of history? Or even attempting to describe one to a younger version of you? Or what if a traveler from the past came to our time and saw these ugly base transceiver stations lurking behind office buildings, attached to billboards, or freestanding in the middle of fields? What would they think? How would we justify their presence? Would they return to their era and convince everyone we need to rethink this cell phone thing?

I am thankful I'm able to carry around one small device in my pocket that replaces a multitude of gadgets my younger self would have never been able to manage. I am grateful my phone is also my camera, video camera, calculator, compass, altimeter, GPS, voice recorder, Walkman, planner, and so much more. I appreciate being able to read the news, listen to the radio, research for my book, watch a movie, take classes, keep in touch with old friends, and go shopping all from the convenience of my iPhone. It's amazing that I can do those things from almost anywhere. However, not all the wonders of our technological advances are beneficial or aesthetically pleasing. Sure, I'm used to seeing mobile phone masts scattered in every community. I've practically become numb to them. However, I sometimes miss seeing unobstructed views of mountains, forests, pastures, and rolling hills. Sometimes, I am disgusted by the towers and monuments of digital progress.

Days like these, I wonder what tomorrow holds. Will the archaeologists of a future society dig up the ruins of our civilization to discover ancient cell towers then describe our people as primitive for using such crude structures to communicate with each other?

A Retirement to Celebrate

A friend of mine is retiring. This friend is a big reason I pursued writing. A few years ago, he and I chatted about my blog. I had only recently re-branded into The Faithful Geek and starting to define who I was as a blogger. There are several writers in our area and he told me that I was one of the few who could truly write. He added how any time he sees me post something, he pays attention. I recently divulged my evolution as a writer, but that story was incomplete. These words from my friend were the first that made me believe I could be a real writer, that I could have a career doing this thing I love.

Why was the encouragement he delivered so much more powerful than the others who told me I was a good writer? Because it was Dave.

Dave spent his life working in journalism. Writing has been his job for longer than I’ve been alive. He came to the Coeur d’Alene area twenty years ahead of me, and blogging is what brought the two of us together. Over a decade ago, the Spokesman-Review gave him the opportunity to translate his editorial duties from a print only column into an online platform. Through moderating a newspaper blog, Dave promoted other local bloggers, often using their stories to create new content for the SR. I was one of those bloggers.

He was paid to write. On his writing income, he was able to buy a house, raise his kids, put those kids through college, and enjoy a fulfilling life. So, when he told me I was one of the few, it was more than a compliment. He spoke with the authority of someone who knew what he was talking about. There was a legitimacy to what he said that helped me feel like something more than a random dad who blogs as a hobby. After my conversation with Dave, I felt like a writer. It was one of those defining moments in life.

Last summer, Dave and I had another conversation, one about something incredibly specific. He told me that my post about divorce was the best article he had ever read about the topic from an evangelical perspective. Once again, I was humbled by his perspective. Such a powerful compliment from an industry insider. That blog post was one of the most difficult things to write. I was scared to hit the publish button. And here was a man I respected, a trained and professional writer telling me how much he was impressed by my writing.

Which brings me to now. I am writing a book. Something I always wanted to do but lacked the confidence to actually do it. Without Dave’s encouraging words, I’m doubt I would be doing it. I might still be blogging, but I would probably still think of it as nothing more than a hobby. But writing a book? I don’t think I would be writing a book if Dave had never told me I was one of the few writers who could really write. His remarks about my piece on divorce is what convinced me I had more in me than a blog.

It's now time for him to retire. The footprint he has left on Coeur d’Alene and surrounding communities is immense. As he moves into his new adventure of retirement, there will be a vacuum left behind, an absence of his voice. But the impact he’s had on my life is a story only I can tell. This week, I want to congratulate him on a job well done. More than that, I want to thank him for his role in helping form who I’ve become.

Dave, your retirement has been earned and well deserved, may you enjoy it to its fullest.

Knowing

Knowledge is infinite. The more I learn, the more I find is yet to be learned. I know what I know but I don't know what I don't know. I will never know everything, but I know a lot. As I reflect on my birthday, here are a few of those things I do know.

I know there is value in sarcasm because it is when most people are truly being honest. This is why Malcolm Gladwell said, "Comedians have become our truth-tellers."

I know there is a link between suffering and creativity, but that doesn't mean an artist must suffer to create their art. I know that an abstract painting or the perfect song can mend a broken heart.

I know the two most healing words in the English language are “Me too.”

I know the word necessary is unnecessarily difficult to spell.

I know anything is possible with quantum mechanics. And because of quantum mechanics, I also know that everything I know could be wrong.

I know everyone has biases and there is no such thing as an unbiased news source. Therefore, a biased news story is not the same thing as a fake news story. Possessing bias does not make someone a liar, it makes them human.

I know people are far more shallow, insecure, and self-centered than any of us would care to admit. All of us are selfish and struggle with our self-image, so let's just admit it.

I know there is a healthy balance between optimism and pessimism, between introversion and extroversion, between megalomania and self-deprecation, between the silly and the serious. I'm trying to find that balance.

I know white privilege is real and I am a benefactor. I also know what it is like to struggle. Therefore, I am willing to sacrifice my privilege to speak on behalf of those who don't have privilege and give them hope to see an end to their struggle.

I know that rainy days make me happy, sunny days give me hope, thunderstorms make me feel alive, and foggy mornings remind me of home. Yet there is nothing more calming than waking up to find the world has been covered in a fresh blanket of snow.

I know I’m Team Cap in the comic books but Team Iron Man in the movies. And I know that not everyone will agree with me.

I know I am far nerdier than the typical North Idaho male. My natural habitat is inside a library or movie theater, yet I feel most at peace while hiking a trail through the woods.

I know being nerdy is fashionable these days. And I know that geeks and nerds were bullied when I was a kid. I was a geek when I was growing up. I also got beat up a lot. Times change. At least I can say I was a nerd before being a nerd was cool. I know that last statement might be the most hipster thing I’ve ever said. I also liked dad-jokes before they were popular.

I know I am not mechanically inclined and I would be helpless without how-to videos on YouTube.

I know I am both a skeptic and a believer. I doubt and question everything. I know I have an analytical personality; I crave evidence and data. I have difficulty coping when I do not understand all of the details. There is no logical reason I should believe in God, yet I do. I know my faith is different than the God of Sunday School bible stories, sanitized for elementary-aged audiences and romanticized for American tastes, but I still believe.

I know there are two types of family: the kind you’re born into and the kind you chose. I love both my biological family and the friends who have become a second family. I would not be where I am today without either of them.

I know I am short and the shape I'm in is round. I can't do anything about the former but I am working to fix the latter.

I know caffeine is a drug; I'm addicted to Mt Dew and white chocolate crème de menthe breves. I know this contributes to my round shape.

I know I am a night owl by nature and an early riser by nurture. I know I have learned to cope with minimal sleep.

I know that I will be still be tired enough to go back to sleep after drinking coffee at 6am. But if I drink coffee at 6pm, I’ll be up all night.

I know my favorite word in the German language is schadenfreude. I know schadenfreude in action brings me more joy than it should. I also laugh at inappropriate jokes far more than what is socially acceptable.

I know live music almost always sounds better than studio recordings. I know there are exceptions.

I know hip-hop makes more sense to me now as a grown adult than it ever did in my youth. Yet, my heart will always belong to my 90's grunge and Seattle suburb roots.

I know that I am a single dad in the upper half of my 30s. This is not always an easy or comfortable place to be.

I know that my three kids are some of the most awesome humans on this planet. One of my favorite activities is trying to convince people to see my kids’ awesomeness.

I know this list could continue ad absurdum and if you’re still reading you deserve a medal. Or a gold star. However, the most important thing I know is that I am not done learning. There is still too much that I don’t know.

Following Zu

A week ago, we celebrated your tenth birthday. You picked out a cake mix and we spent the afternoon baking it. There were presents. We watched a movie. I enjoyed celebrating the decade I have spent with you in my life.

You're a year older, chronologically speaking, but not much has changed. You are still the same bold and sweet young woman you were a few weeks ago. You are still as boisterous and compassionate as you were a year ago. You're a few inches taller but you are still you.

Of all the days between your ninth birthday and your tenth, there is one moment that stands out more than others.

Last summer, you and I had an afternoon to ourselves. Your brothers were occupied and we had a few hours before we needed to pick them up. I gave you the choice of how to spend our time and you asked to go to the beach. We didn't have any towels and you weren't wearing a swim suit, but you didn't care. All that mattered was how much you crave sunshine and water; both were available.

We were listening to The Beatles as we drove. I used to sing 'Hey Jude' to you as a lullaby when you were a baby and I always look for opportunities to keep you familiar with their music. We pulled up to the parking lot with the windows down and the song 'Got to Get You Into My Life' playing.

I exited the car and opened your door. As you stepped out, you looked up at me with those deep sparking chocolate colored eyes and asked "Daddy, did I tell you I need you every single day of my life?" Quoting the words of the song we just heard.

"No," I smiled and knelt down to your level. "But you did now."

Your question was a reflection of who you really are. You are the most observant girl I've ever met. You pay attention to everything even when it appears like you are focused on something else. Anyone who asks "How could she possibly know?" doesn't understand you. Your personality was full on display as a lover of music and as a daughter who adores her dad. You demonstrated that tightrope you walk balancing between bravery and vulnerability.

Then we walked, crossed the street, and followed the road to the beach. Your excitement carried you with a quickness uniquely reserved for youth. Nothing was going to stand in between you and the lake. Yet along the way, you still looked back to make sure I was there. I was and seeing me gave you the confidence to speed up your pace a little faster.

I was right there behind you. And I always have been. When you swing on the monkey bars or when you fall and scrape your knee. When you walk to class on your first day or school or get frightened by thunder on a stormy night. I'm right there behind you. Over the next few years, you will be facing a lot of new and potentially scary moments. For all those firsts, I hope to remain right there behind you.

When you attend your first day of middle school, go out on your first date, are crushed by your first broken heart, get your driver's license, and do all of those things kids do in their second decade of life, this moment on the way to the beach is the one I will always remember. You told me you needed me, then looked back to make sure I was still there.

I was. And I still am.

Driving in a Winter Wonderland Part 1

In the closing scene of It's a Wonderful Life, George Bailey receives a Christmas card from his guardian angel Clarence. His daughter Zuzu hears a Christmassy sound and explains its significance. "Look, Daddy. Teacher says, every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings." This winter, someone had the brilliant idea to place a seasonally relevant spin on the sweet sentiment, turning it into a meme. Instead of referencing bells and angels, Zuzu warned us "Every time a snowflake flies, an idiot forgets how to drive." For the Inland Northwest, that statement is comical because it is true. Street crews in and around Spokane are frequently unprepared for the first major snow accumulation of the season. Drivers around the region undercompensate by driving slower than needed causing traffic hazards or they overcompensate driving faster than they should as if streets were clear and dry. The first winter storm often causes more accidents, spinouts, and cars sliding off the side of the road.

By any measure of logic, I should be one of those idiots who forgets how to drive after that initial snowfall. After all, I grew up in the Seattle suburbs. The whole Puget Sound region is known more for rain than as a winter wonderland. It does snow there. Occasionally. But "White Christmas" is not in their vocabulary. Municipal budgets do not plan for snowplows or sanding trucks. Seattleites tend to flock to grocery stores at the first forecast of snow to stock up on bottled water and canned goods in preparation for hibernation. They're worried that their infrastructure will collapse the moment snow hits the ground and no one wants to be stuck without food – forced to make the dangerous trek to KFC for dinner. Schools close with mere fractions of an inch accumulated because the steep hills are too hazardous for busses. Or traffic. Or anything other than sleds. Winter driving is not a native skill for those who come of age in the greater Seattle metropolitan area.

It was even worse in my home town. Marysville is in a warm meteorological shadow created by Camano and Whidbey Islands. There were many storms that blew through town dumping snow in Everett to the south, Arlington to the north, and Granite Falls to the east while those of us in Marysville were stuck with a cold drizzle of rain. My childhood was peppered with disappointment when the Marysville School District remained in session while every other district in Snohomish County shut down for a snow day. When it did snow in Marysville, it was like a Christmas miracle. Just not on Christmas Day.

The teenaged version of me rarely received the opportunity to drive in snow. But one winter, the impossible happened. When I woke up there was more than enough snow to cancel school. It was deep enough to paralyze the region. Overnight, several inches fell from our Pacific Northwest skies and I rejoiced. I ventured out into a whitewashed world of silence. It gave me a deep understanding of the carol's lyrics "All is calm, all is bright."

I waded out into the nearly knee-deep snow with intentions to build a snow fort and a snowman and spend my day playing in the fluffy white powder. But my dad had other plans.

He followed me out the door, handed me his keys, motioned for me to brush off the car and climb into the driver’s seat. I thought he wanted to drive down to the donut shop for breakfast or make a quick trip to get groceries. Both assumptions were incorrect. Instead, he directed me turn for turn on a scenic tour of the neighborhood.

We lived on a corner lot of a busy intersection. Both roads received plenty of through traffic, even in inclement weather conditions. By the time Dad and I went out for a drive, enough tires had compacted the snow down into ivory colored pavement. It was slick but not much of a challenge. Dad said he wanted me to learn how to drive in the snow, but after a few blocks I was convinced there was nothing to worry about. How hard could it be?

Then dad found what he was looking for. He directed me to turn onto a road that was still covered in virgin snow - untouched by Goodyear treads. The short street was only four blocks in length terminating in a T intersection at both ends. The only reason anyone would have to use that stretch of road is if they lived in one of the homes in between point A and point B. I was excited. How often does a teenager in the Seattle area get the privilege of being the first to drive through pure and undisturbed snow?

"Floor it. Get it up to 35 MPH," were my dad's instruction.
"But," I objected, "The speed limit is 25."
"Look around. Do you see any other traffic? Do you see a cop car setting up a speed trap?"
"No."
"Then speed up."

I pressed down on the accelerator and reached speeds that would earn me a ticket in drier conditions. Dad leaned over my shoulder to watch the speedometer rise. As soon as I reached the instructed speed, he gave me the next step in my lesson.

"Slam on the brakes." He said.
"WHAT?!?"

I was sure my dad had lost his marbles. I even expressed my concern for his sanity but he insisted. "Slam on the brakes." I complied. I thought I was going to die.

When the car finally came to a complete stop, pointing askew in a direction that I don't think it should have been facing, my dad smiled with glee.

"Remember that feeling?" he asked. After I nodded, he continued, "Don't ever forget it and do everything you can to avoid feeling it again."

His words sounded like the advice of a mad scientist after sending you into a lightning storm with a metal rod in your hands. However, it worked. In the last 20 years, I have never caused or even been in a snow related accident. Only once have I slid off the road and into a ditch. Only once did I attempt to perform a right-hand turn while my car continued to go straight. Both of those incidents were in the same winter, 16 years ago in Boise. Now with more than a dozen years in North Idaho where it snows aplenty, I consider myself a veteran winter driver.

The Violence Trap Part 7: Springing the Trap

On Friday December 14, 2012, a disturbed individual walked into Sandy Hook Elementary with his mother’s Bushmaster Rifle and started shooting. He killed twenty first grade students and six members of the school’s staff.

Later, that same day, after every news network had covered the story of the mass shooting in Newtown, Connecticut, there was another event with guns occurring on the other side of the nation. Anyone driving along Government Way in Coeur d’Alene would have seen a sign advertising a gun show being held at the Kootenai County Fairgrounds that weekend.

Bad timing? Insensitive? Callous? On the day America experienced the worst school shooting in our history, the fairgrounds were inviting Cd’A residents to go buy more guns. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of dismay.

I understand that the gun show was scheduled long before the gunman entered the elementary school with evil intent. I know it was too late to cancel the event. And I realize there were sellers there with business that need to make a profit - dependent on customers showing up and purchasing guns. Even with those facts in mind, I still felt the brash street-side signage was disrespectful. They could have still held the gun show without putting out the signs.

When I drove by the fairgrounds that rainy Friday afternoon, I felt sick. And the responses to the picture I posted on facebook were simply disturbing.

“We can't put our lifestyle on hold. Life goes on.”
“Gun shows are a business, not some Broadway musical.”
“It is good business.”

These statements do not tell me anything good or bad about firearms. Rather, they speak volumes about our culture. Americans idolize guns – elevating them as something equal to or even greater than God. It demonstrates how badly we are trapped in a cycle of never-ending violence. We are stuck thinking that violence is the solution to all our woes.

When I hear someone say “We can’t put our lives on hold because of some tragedy,” I hear someone who is trapped.
When I hear the claim “Obama (or Clinton) is going to take away our guns!” I hear they are trapped.
When a Bushmaster advertisement states they’ll take away our man-card if we don’t own a gun, I see customers who are trapped.
When I hear someone say they need guns for “self-defense,” I hear someone who is trapped.
When I hear they need guns to “over throw our tyrannical government,” I hear someone who is trapped.
When a person argues “The only way to stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun,” I hear someone who is trapped.
Every time I see a “We don’t call 911” poster with a picture of a sidearm on it, I see someone who is trapped.
When an old man walks into a children’s play area with a 9mm strapped to his hip and brags about how he has a badge for it, I see someone who is trapped.
When I see pictures of pistols on top of bibles, I see people who are trapped.
Whenever someone utters the words “God, guns, and glory” or “God, guns, and country” I hear people who are trapped.

We are better than this. Or at least we should be.

Before I get carried away, I must clarify that I do not wish to disparage any gun-owners. If I refused to be friends with people who owned guns, I would be a very lonely man. My objections are not to guns but to the attitudes of our culture that have us mired believing in redemptive violence. I reject the attitude that the second amendment is the greatest amendment. I protest the attitudes that guns bring us closer to God. Guns do not symbolize your savior, they do not symbolize your manhood, and they do not symbolize hope.

Guns may not be the problem, but they are definitely not the solution. What we have is a people problem. We are stuck in a trap and think we can shoot our way out of it.

Think about quicksand. While the younger version of me believed that the danger of quicksand would be far more prevalent than it actually is, it does exist and it is possible to get stuck in it. When caught, quick and panicked movements will cause someone to sink deeper. Simply put – fighting it makes it worse.

The myth of redemptive violence is like quicksand. We are stuck and the more we fight the worse it gets. We are sinking in clinging to our guns. We are sinking in anti-government rhetoric. We are sinking in gun shows. We are sinking in fatal police shootings and sinking further with riotous response to law enforcement. We are sinking in belief that we can fix our broken country with violence.

When stuck in quicksand, slow and careful movements are essential for escape. If we want to get out of our violence trap, we need to make deliberate efforts and stop fighting.

I don’t believe that banning guns will put an end to American violence. But I do believe that gun-proliferation will make it worse. Both of those extremes would be akin to panicked actions causing us to sink deeper in the quicksand. If we learn anything from other nations like Japan, Switzerland, Mexico, and Honduras, weapon regulations do not increase or decrease gun violence. While common sense gun-control could be beneficial, it won’t fix our people problem.

If we want to end the violence, we need peace. We need to lay down our arms. We need a change of heart. Unfortunately, it is impossible to legislate morality. No law can ever force someone to be kind or humble. If we want to encourage peace, there are things we could do aside from revising gun laws.

Remember the biggest difference between Honduras and Switzerland? One nation is economically and educationally secure and the other is not. If you look at violence in America – the perpetrators and victims are both more frequently found among the most disadvantaged of our population. Poverty and crime dance in tandem.

Do you want to reduce the possibility of homegrown terrorism? Do you want to see an end to school shootings? To you want to see less senseless violence in major metropolitan streets?

Then we need to fix our broken education system that favors those with wealth and burdens kids in poor neighborhoods.

We need to do recognize wage disparity in our nation is a travesty and end corporate welfare.
We need to close the loopholes that allow the rich to get richer on the back of the poor.
We need to maintain safety nets to make sure that no one falls through the cracks.
We need stronger policies to crack down on school yard bullies.
We need to call out hatred and discrimination wherever it exists.

When everyone has access to hope and justice, we will stop believing in violence as a cure. We will be freed from the trap.

A waste of fuel?

This morning at the gas station, I observed a full sized diesel truck left unattended with its engine running parked directly in front of the store's entrance. As I walked up to the main doors, I glanced into the truck's cab to see if there was anyone inside. It was empty and had been sitting there for a while.

I must have had a judgmental expression as I walked by. One of the gas station clerks had stepped out for a smoke break just before I arrived. When she saw me inspecting the idling vehicle with my judgey face, she chuckled and told me, "I wouldn't leave a diesel running like that either."

When the driver emerged from the store, he broke the typical North Idaho truck driver stereo type. He was dressed like an aging GAP model - the kind who probably irons their jeans and polo shirts. And his smile was the definition of smarmy; you could look up that word in any dictionary to find his grin. He winked at the cashier that was outside smoking - despite her appearing to be 15 years his elder. He also motioned one of his hands into a shooting action - fingers pointed like a gun, and even made the clicking noise to accompany the gesture.

Between the smug expression, the preppy clothing, the strut, and the creepy wink & finger pistol flirtation, everything about him reflected the behavior of an 80s era fratboy who has failed to grow up during the past three decades. He could easily have been one of the Alpha Beta antagonists in Revenge of the Nerds. This was not the kind of dude that liked to get dirty. I would be willing to bet the most strenuous work his truck ever endured was driving over speed bumps in a golf course parking lot.

Now you must forgive me. I generally try not to be a judgmental jerk. Yet it happens every now and then. I will pull on my critical pants and start concocting wild and villainous background stories for strangers I find annoying. Yes, I am fully aware that the measure to which I judged this random man in the gas station parking lot is the same measure in which I will be judged.

Yet despite my snap assumptions about him based on his appearance, I still cannot get over the audacity it takes for someone to leave the engine in a hefty rig running for an extended period of time. I find such actions to be mind boggling stupefying. I do not understand.

My argument could be based on environmental concerns. The careless waste of a finite resource. The wanton disregard of the pollution created. But this is North Idaho. There is a significant population in these parts who believe the science behind climate change is a hoax. A save-the-earth argument would fail around here.

My bewilderment is solely the result of pure financial waste. With the price per gallon in a gas guzzling vehicle, letting it sit idle on a mild spring morning is economically impractical. They might as well use twenty-dollar bills as kindling for a campfire.

Last week, when a friend of mine told me she waited in the drive through line at the coffee shop for 35 minutes to get her daily latte, I had nearly the same visceral reaction. Somewhere in my gut, I could sense that waiting in any drive through for more than a half hour with your car running is ridiculous.Park your car. Go inside. Be social. Get your coffee. Even if it lasts the same duration, you would save a half hour's worth of burnt fuel.

Of course, I could be over-reacting. Maybe letting your car or truck run idle for obnoxious spans of time is no big deal. There might be a perfectly innocuous reason this upstanding member of my community allowed his truck to rumble while vacant and awaiting his return. Perhaps I am nothing more than a judgmental jerk eager for any excuse to relentlessly mock a complete stranger.

But ...

I could be right.

Mr. Jones (a death)

If you haven't done so already, please read the first part of this post HERE.

Our schedules revolved around movie night, poker night, and turning the store where we worked into our own version of Empire Records. But the most meaningful times were nights we would stay up talking for hours. Mr. Jones was the story of our lives. We helped each other believe in anything. We told each other fairy tales. We would look into the future. We knew that once everybody loved us, we would never be lonely. And we were going to be big stars.

Then there were days we would hang out at the mall. We would watch people and (just like the song) stare at all the beautiful women. We would exchange conversations lifted straight from the lyrics "She's looking at you. I don't think so, she's looking at me." I find it enlightening that the song starts off with such bravado, but revises the line toward the end to reveal a more insecure perspective: "She's perfect for you, man. There's got to be somebody for me." When we were having these conversations, we would brag and exaggerate, but if either of us were truly honest, we were nothing more than mumbling, bashful, and awkward when talking to any attractive girl.

Eventually, I moved away from Marysville. We maintained our friendship while living in different states. Five years later, he followed me eastward. Neither of us stayed there. I relocated to North Idaho and he moved back to Marysville. Due to tragic circumstances, we lost touch.

See, not every story has a happy ending. My Mr. Jones had a drinking problem. He hid it while we were younger, never imbibing while we were together. I knew that he would drink when I wasn't present, and was aware his dad was an alcoholic. I made it my mission to be around as much as possible in hopes to prevent him from following his father's path.

In the last year that we were friends, he no longer hid his drinking. By then, he was swimming the depths of alcoholism. Soon after, he also developed a narcotics problem and it didn't take long before he was mixing the two. He was dating a girl I had introduced to him, and at the end of that tumultuous relationship, he turned suicidal. He was drinking more and was increasingly angry.

In a phone conversation with his mom, she told me, "Do anything you can to save my baby boy."

I did. And it was the last we ever spoke. He was arrested on narcotics charges and spent a week in jail. He blamed me. His parents sent me death threats. Part of the terms of his bond was that he was to have (for my protection) no contact with me. That was the end of my friendship with Mr. Jones.

Years later, I got nosey. Googled his name. Looked him up on Facebook. I learned that he had moved back home with his folks. But other than location, not much had changed. He was still a metal-head, still loved Star Wars, still collected comic books, still struggled with depression.

Still an alcoholic.

In my last contact with him, he expressed a deep hatred for me. I didn't want to reopen old wounds, so I never made an attempt to reconnect online. My curiosity was sated. I moved on.

A couple years ago, I looked again. Instead of the typical "this is my life" posts that everyone shares on social media, I found messages from friends saying "We miss you." A Google search turned up an obituary. No cause of death was listed but knowing his lifestyle, his temperament, and his addictions, I could probably guess.

Why do I share this long and sad tale of an old friendship that has long gone cold? Well, the song has been on my mind a lot lately. We’re three weeks into the new year, and during this time (more often than not) I have had this Counting Crows tune playing in my head. In the shower. Along my commute to work. As I fill out reports. While I clean my apartment. When I try to fall asleep at night.

The words resonate with me. In quiet moments I can hear myself internally singing along, “She's suddenly beautiful. We all want something beautiful. I wish I was beautiful.” Then, “I want to be a lion. Everybody wants to pass as cats.” And later, “When I look at the television, I want to see me staring right back at me. We all want to be big stars, but we don't know why and we don't know how.”

This song has been stuck in my cranium for three weeks. With it come memories. As much as my Mr. Jones had his flaws and demons, he was a good friend. Probably the best friend I’ve ever had.

Why now? Why so long after everything fell apart? Honestly, I don’t know. However, I am not a man who believes in coincidence. I believe that everything happens for a purpose. Perhaps this song will remain lodged in my consciousness until I figure out the reason why it is there.

Meanwhile, outside my apartment

The top of this tree ...

... is now here.

And just a little further south, a tree came down on one of the garage units. All in all, it could have been worse.

Welcome to Fall

North Idaho got an unofficial head-start on changing seasons a couple of weeks ago. As of the Autumnal equinox this past Wednesday, Fall is officially here. Isn't it great?

Disclaimer: Autumn is not my favorite season - that special designation belongs to Winter. But Fall makes a strong showing in second place. In honor of the first few days of the new season, here are four things I love about Fall (plus one thing I don't).

1. Warm days, cool nights. It was 39° when I woke up yesterday morning, but by mid afternoon it was 79°. This is the season of layers. Fleece jackets and peacoats in the morning, t-shirts and sandals during the day. Sleeping with the windows open so the chilly overnight temperatures can naturally regulate indoor climates. Evening walks are better this time of the year with crisp air and clear skies. Winds feel more refreshing. And everyone is ready to be done with the long hot summer.

2. The foliage. This is the season the leaves turn, bursting with vivid hues as if they had been set aflame by sunlight. I love the colorful display. I love the sound of fallen leaves crunching underfoot. I love the giddiness of tromping through a big pile of raked up oak and maple leaves - scattering them around (apologies to my landscapers) with a couple joyous kicks. Strangely, I love the smell leaves emit as they crumble and decompose. There is also a calming, nearly hypnotic effect watching a single leaf float to the ground while fighting the pull of gravity.

3. Anticipation. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but so does anticipation. Autumn is brimming with it. Anticipation of the first frost. Anticipation of the first flakes of snow. Anticipation of seeing your kids and their friends in their Halloween costumes. Anticipation of Halloween candy and baked holiday goodies. Anticipation of Thanksgiving and the start of the Advent season.

4. Warm drinks and scary movies. I feel silly drinking hot coffee during the summer so I order my mochas and breves iced. Once the cooler weather of Fall arrives, warm drinks are again acceptable - if not mandatory. Hot chocolate, cider, coffee, espresso. This is also the season I return to horror classics: The Exorcist, The Ring, Donnie Darko, The Exorcism of Emily Rose. Curling up on the couch with one of those movies and a mug of hot cocoa spiked with a shot of Irish cream is my idea of bliss.

That's a lot to love. But there is one thing I could do without.

1. Pumpkin spiced everything. Pumpkin pie, pumpkin spice dip, spiced pumpkin bread, pumpkin spiced ginger cookies, pumpkin spice lattes, pumpkin spiced candles, pumpkin spiced lip gloss, pumpkin spiced lotion, pumpkin spiced Oreos, pumpkin spiced beers, pumpkin spice sausage, pumpkin spiced tires. Someone somewhere is the Bubba Blue of pumpkin spice. Seriously, we have jumped the shark with with this one.

Smoke.

Shortly after noon today, I looked up. Straight up. Staring at the sun. This is what I saw.

It looks pretty, but it is far from pleasant. The glowing orb in the center of the picture is the sun. As for the grey matter, those are not clouds. That is smoke, ashy remnants of burnt wood and brush.

For those of you who are unaware, the Inland Empire has been inundated by an onslaught of wildfires. Lightning strikes. Downed power-lines from high winds. Errant cigarettes tossed from car windows. Campfires not properly extinguished. Even some arson. This summer season has kept Forrest Service and Land Management crews busy and worn thin.

The Spokane/Coeur d'Alene area is surrounded by fire. Five major fires between Lewiston and Missoula and another between Lewiston and Walla Walla. A collection burning north of Kellogg and southeast of Sandpoint. One on the Washington side of the state line west of Sandpoint and one near the Canadian border north of Bonner's Ferry. Fires in or near both the Colville and Spokane Native Reservations. And the northern forests are ablaze from Okanogan to Lake Chelan to the North Cascades.

With fire comes smoke. It has been hazy for most of the past couple weeks, displayed in devilish red sunrises and an amber glow causing a preternaturally early dusk. While my throat has felt the impact of ashen particles in the air for a few days, today is the first where the air outside smells as if chain-smokers ruled the world.

I love a controlled campfire; the dancing flames are hypnotic and calming. I crave good barbecue - few things in the world rival the sweet mesquite and hickory aromas and the scent of grilled meats. And the smell of a lone wood stove burning in those first few crisp and chilly days of autumn flood me with a sense of warmth and nostalgia for days long gone.

But this burdensome odor of everything burning is disgusting. The smoke filtered light casting a jaundiced hue on every available surface is disconcerting.

We know that fires can be healthy for the forest. But it can be costly for property owners and insurance companies. It can also be deadly; this week we saw the lives of three firefighters perish near Twisp.

We need a break. We need it now. We need rain. We need hoodie weather. We need winter.

Kootenai crazy

Do you ever experience days where it feels like the world around you is losing its tenuous grip on sanity? That sense of madness is the best way to describe North Idaho today - particularly in Kootenai County.

Please do not misunderstand me. I living here. I am looking forward to attending another Car d'Lane (and hopefully it isn't raining this year), another year downtown for the fireworks show, returning to Art on the Green and the North Idaho Fair and Rodeo. I consider myself lucky to reside somewhere where I can take the kids hiking or swimming and return home in time for lunch. The sounds of baseball filtered into my apartment from the fields next door is strangely calming, as are the thunderstorms that roll through late in the spring season. The typically snow-filled winters are a fulfillment of all of my childhood dreams.

That being said, today is not the day to display hometown pride. At the very least, it is the kind of day where you want to avoid reading or watching the news.

The day begans with the Department of Health and Welfare reeling from last week's actions in the state legislature that effectively dismantles Idaho's ability to collect child support. But that was last week. Allow me to break down the events from the past 24 hours.

* Police were searching for a suspect after last night's shooting at a Hauser bar, eventually catching him midday.
* Another search stemmed from a home-invasion robbery this morning. Police eventually arrested three suspects in Hayden.
* A large, bald, and suicidal male with multiple warrants is the subject of yet another manhunt, causing lock-downs at a couple of Coeur d'Alene schools.
* A naked woman on LSD was spotted at a busy intersection in Post Falls.

I stopped paying attention after that.

This is North Idaho. A land of beautiful scenery. A wonderful place to live. Filled with more than our fair share of nutters. Consider it job security for municipal and county police forces.

photo courtesy of The Spokesman-Review

Blogfest 2015

Saturday was a glorious (partly) sunny day but still a bit on the frigid side of the thermometer. That made it a perfect day to head inside for some socialization and good food. Bloggers and blurkers from around North Idaho gathered at Fort Ground Grill to celebrate the anniversary of Dave O's Huckleberries blog.

This is an annual event and I have lost count of how many Blogfests I've attended. But the people that were there make it worth the visit.

(click to enlarge - it's worth it)

This is the second year that all three kids came with me. It's interesting to give them a glimpse into my social world beyond what they normally get to see.

The kids got to meet Mayor Widmyer. Steve came around and shook their hands. Christian acted as if he was in the presence of royalty. Steve is such a great guy and as long as he's running for office, he has my vote.

Aside from the delicious grub provided by Fort Ground Grill and Bent's BBQ, there were also lots of laughter and reminders of why our blogging community exists.

Good times were had. JJ really enjoyed his lemonade.

Christian kept busy, distracted by Angry Birds. (completely draining the battery on my iPod)

And Chloe made some new friends in Digger and Spaz.

Honestly, I am grateful to be a part of this community. It is so rare to see a cordial and jovial gathering of a group of people with such diverse political and religious persuasions. It is also an honor to be considered as peers among the talented writers and photographers that Dave has assembled.

I can't wait until next year.

P is for Power pt 1: The Power of Pause

It was during an afternoon commute north on 95. Late afternoon. It's the only time of day when that stretch of Coeur d'Alene highway experiences a genuine rush hour. I switched from the slow lane into the fast lane to get around a logging truck and discovered a second logging truck a few car lengths ahead of me in this new lane of traffic. After those few cars all moved into the turn lane, I had nothing in front of me, except freshly cut timber.

Lights ahead turned red and we rolled to a stop. There, with one fully loaded logging truck ahead of me and another to my right, I had a revelation.

However, before I unpack this sudden brush with wood inspired wisdom, I need to talk about Trevor.

Who is Trevor?

When my family moved into a new house during the summer before I entered the third grade, Trevor quickly became my best friend. There was one house in between his and mine, but the casa Casey was situated on a two acre corner lot. Due to the size of the property, our back yard almost connected with Trevor's back yard, so he was practically a neighbor. We were close enough that when dinner time approached, all my mom would have to do is stick her head out the back door and yell my name. I'd hear her and go running back home.

There are a few big reasons I enjoyed hanging out with Trevor. The first is that he owned a Nintendo - a luxury that my parents could never afford. I would also watch some shows at his place that my parents wouldn't allow, primarily Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The final reason I liked hanging out at Trevor's place became more apparent as we got older. His little sister was super cute and by the time we were in junior high, I had a massive crush on her.

What does getting stuck in traffic have to do with Trevor and my boyhood crush on his little sister?

Excellent question.

Trevor had great parents. They wouldn't let us spend all of our time indoors playing video games and watching TV. They frequently sent us outside, rain or shine.

There was an empty lot between our back yards. It was the battlefield where we played out our summertime squirt gun wars. It was the arena where I played tag with Trevor and his sister. It was the setting where I became infatuated with her jet black hair, tanned skin, and bashful laugh.

At the far end of that empty lot was a row of pine trees. Their lowest branches were close enough to the ground that it was easy to scramble up into the boughs and climb higher and higher until the branches were too thin to support our weight. We spent many afternoons clinging to bark high above the ground. More often than not, by the time I heard my mother yell, "NICHOLAS!!!" my hands were sticky with sap and I had pine needles tangled in my hair.

But now I'm stuck in traffic. This is North Idaho and what we call rush hour pales in comparison to the I-5 Boeing traffic that I grew up with in Seattle. But I am not a patient man. Slow drivers tend to annoy me. Semi trucks in the fast lane tend to bother me. Being stuck at a red light when I'm in a hurry to get to my destination tends to frustrate me.

(I never claimed to be perfect.)

But that afternoon, despite the annoyance of slow traffic and being stuck at a red light behind a semi in the fast lane, I had an out-of-character reaction. With both of my windows down, with former trees stacked up in front of and beside me, I took a deep breath. I fully inhaled the odors of recently cut pine. And I just enjoyed the moment for what it was.

My natural inclination would have been to grumble. Instead, I found a bit of happiness in that piney sappy scent wafting through my car. For just a moment I allowed my life to pause. Instead of dwelling on whatever problems existed in my life, I breathed in every ounce of calm and peace that floated by along with that smell of lumberjack's labor. In the time it took for the rotation of lights by Fred Meyer to cycle through and give me a green light, that refreshing aroma reminded me of Trevor. And his sister. It reminded me of better days, years of blissful innocence. It reminded me of those countless times I squirrelled my way into the tree tops and the evenings I ran home for dinner smelling like a forest. The revelation hit. I could chose to be frustrated or choose to accept my circumstance.

That minute of pause was a return to joy.

Every now and then, we need to push that pause button. Our lives are hectic and demanding. Stressors abound. Demands unrelenting. Left to our own devices, it's easy to let these outside influences steer the course of our day to day routine. We need that pause to give ourselves a refreshed perspective. To recharge our internal batteries. To experience a momentary reprieve from our burdens.

That's the power of pause. To rest.

And rest isn't easy. It takes practice. As the son of a workaholic (who exhibits some of those same tendencies), I don't truly know how to rest. Intellectually speaking, I know it's important. Selah. In actual practice, however, I have a hard time fully and tangibly resting. But this past summer I made considerable efforts to do just that.

I've largely been absent from the blogging world since May. My writing pace slowed to a noticeable trickle. It's hard to write from the heart when your heart is not in the right place. So I needed a break. I needed to push pause. I devoted as much time as I could to enjoying the summer with my kids. I took them hiking, something that I myself haven't done since I moved away from Seattle in '99. I started going to concerts again, local shows. That's an element that has been absent from my life since I lived in Boise. I rekindled the joys I once found in live music and dirt paths through the woods. I loved every minute and along the way I discovered a few things. I found that one of the most peaceful places on Friday mornings in Coeur d'Alene is sitting on the edge of the amphitheater stage at Riverstone Park, with my feet dangling in the water, watching the ducks swim by close enough that you could kick them. (note: I don't condone kicking ducks). I discovered the light of fireworks reflected in my children's eyes. I discovered energy that I didn't know I had while walking around the fair grounds with my three kids for seven hours. I learned that truth always wins.

One other thing I discovered, or rather rediscovered, is who I am. Why I write. The kind of person I want to be. Why I embrace geekery. And where this path is taking me. Thanks to the power of pause, I'm driven. I know why God stuck my love for pop culture and theology in a blender. Those synapses in my cranium are bursting. I'm ready to be me again.

All because I got stuck between logging trucks at a red light during an afternoon commute and it reminded me of a kid I once knew named Trevor. And his younger sister.

Have You Seen Me Lately?

Zu has a head that instinctively understands music and a heart that is drawn to a catchy song. Melody and rhythm flow through her like a tranquil stream through alpine wilderness. She feels the emotion of a song in the deepest recesses of her being.

It's a gift.

And she sings. Oh how she sings. Her voice is lovely. And sweet like marshmallows. Some of my most cherished moments have been those seeing her lost in giddy bliss - belting out the chorus to an Owl City song. Or holding her in my arms while we sing Hey Jude together. Or when a special tune comes up on her MP3 player and she says, "This is my favorite song, how did you know?"

Someday, when she's older, she's going to be one of those girls with her own YouTube channel singing her own versions of popular songs.

I occasionally picture an older version of her with an acoustic guitar in her hand or sitting behind a keyboard, and I imagine her future voice replacing the vocals of whatever music I have playing. Most of the time, this imaginative jaunt into days yet to come makes me smile.

This is what I was doing the other day while listening to an old Counting Crows album. The song playing was one of my favorites - Have You Seen Me Lately? When the chorus started, I began to imagine Zu's voice replacing the one belonging to Adam Duritz. "I was out on the radio starting to change. Somewhere out in America, it's starting to rain."

That image of a teenaged version of my daughter rocking this song that the teenaged version of me used to listen to brought me joy. It's the same sense of hope and optimism I feel when I imagine the awesome things my boys JJ and Christian could accomplish in their lifetime.

But as the song continued to play, I was reminded of a truth about life that I know my kids will wrestle with sooner or later. In the song's bridge, Duritz sings, "Come on color me in. Give me your blue rain. Give me your black sky. Give me your green eyes. Come on give me your white skin." To let it sink in, he repeats that last line a couple of times.

Come on give me your white skin.
Come on give me your white skin.

Suddenly, the though of my sweet girl singing those words broke my heart. Because I know the day is coming where she will feel those words, even if she never speaks them.

For now, I shouldn't worry. My daughter is fiercely proud of her Native American heritage. If you call them Indians, she will correct you. And I'm thankful that her friends at church and school have accepted her for who she is. And I love her beautiful mocha colored skin, her piercing brown eyes, and her blend of raven and chocolate hair that shimmers in sunlight. I will always see her as a priceless gift, a treasure.

But lets be real. We live in North Idaho, an area with a notorious history with white supremacy. Even in more diverse areas of our nation, America still struggles with issues of race. Someday, my kids will enter that world beyond the shelter of my guidance. Because of that, I know that someone somewhere will treat Zu and her little brother with less dignity and respect than they deserve for no other reason than their ancestry. I know that in the ugliness of adolescent comparison, a classmate will deem Zu less beautiful because of the pigment of her skin. I know that no matter how hard I try to protect them from the evils of this world, someday my kids will feel hated, they will be discriminated against, they will experience racism.

I hope I'm wrong. I hope that attitudes change. I hope that every teacher, every peer, and every stranger my kids meet in the street see them for who they are. I hope that my kids grow up in a society where everyone is treated fairly. And I hope Zu and JJ never wish they had been born with white skin.

Selah

Last Sunday, this was the morning view from my patio. This is fall in Cd'A.

Photo credit: me
Source: Instagram

My Christian Political Creed

The following is a rebuttal to a flyer being distributed by Rally Right, a political action committee in North Idaho. These are my opinions on the topics addressed in the Rally Right flyer. While I am passionate about what I believe, I hold my opinions loosely. My understanding could be wrong. I am only human and therefore, prone to error. You are welcome to disagree, but please, do so kindly.



I believe in...

The Triune God - τοῦ Πατρὸς καὶ τοῦ υἱοῦ καὶ τοῦ Ἁγίου Πνεύματος
My relationship with God is not dependent on how this country was founded. I believe that my God would be the same God regardless of where I lived. If I packed my bags and moved to Canada, or Russia, or Korea, I believe that my God would not love me any more or any less than he does now. But since I am an American, I know that this nation was founded with freedom of religion being the first item in our Bill of Rights. With no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof – I understand that means there will be people who live here and are citizens of this same nation that do not believe in the same God that I do; some might not believe in any God. While my religious beliefs conflict with theirs, they have been granted the same liberties as I – to believe as they choose to believe, to worship as they see fit.

Freedom
Liberty is not just a matter of being able to do whatever you want; it is the freedom to do what must be done. I believe the rights that I've been given are balanced by responsibilities to which I must abide. To have the freedom to safely drive on paved roadways, I pay taxes to fund the construction of those roads and must follow certain rules about speed limits, traffic lights, and seat belts. I have the right to life and liberty, so part of the money that I earn must go to pay for police, fire personnel, and paramedics so that others can be granted their life and liberty. I have the right to pursue happiness as long as my pursuit does not infringe upon the ability of others to pursue their happiness.

The Constitution
I believe that the constitution was written by men with the noblest of intentions - whose understandings were limited to the past. These men had no knowledge of what was to come. They did not envision a world where the USA would stretch from one ocean to another; where planes, trains, and automobiles could (in a matter of hours) transport them a distance that would have taken them months; guns that could kill dozens in the time it would have taken to load their musket and fire a single shot; a world with atomic energy, hydroelectric dams, and power lines dotting the landscape; homes that would be dependent on corporations for their basic utilities; where plastic cards would replace money and fortunes could be made or lost from the comfort of a person's living room. However, they had the good sense to know that the world would not remain the same. With that knowledge, the provided a way in which the laws they established could be amended. They demonstrated that process with the Bill of Rights, setting an example for future generations to do the same when the existing Constitution became archaic. With that power bestowed upon us, the Constitution is as much a living document as it is a historical one.

States Rights
There are some needs that should be met at the federal level and others that should be met at the state level. However, “Every kingdom divided against itself will be ruined, and every city or household divided against itself will not stand.” Without the Union, the State is weak. Without the States, the Union is nothing. The line that divides what should belong to the state and that which should belong to the federal government is a very fine line and we're not always going to get it right. Sometimes the States will over step their bounds, and sometimes the Feds are going to step over theirs. There will always be that pushing and pulling. The States exist to prevent the tyranny of a federal government, but the federal government must also prevent the tyranny of a state.

Justice
Like most people, I long for justice. Social justice. Legal Justice. Spiritual Justice. I want justice when some jerk cuts me off on my way to work but I also want justice when I look at the statistics surrounding human trafficking. Unfortunately, my ability to influence the delivery of justice is fairly limited. I understand that my definition of justice doesn't always line up with God's. That's why Christians believe in a thing called grace. The legal system is a different yet similar mechanism. Just like God, I'm not always going to agree with what our courts call justice. Justice, much like happiness, is something that is to be pursued. But just because you chase after it does not mean it will be obtained. Or, at least it might not be obtained in the manner you would prefer. Sometimes, despite our wishes and efforts, justice will elude us. However, when I feel the courts are wrong, I must respect and honor their decision. As a Christian, I will obey God's command to follow justice and not pervert it. I can't just do it my way; vigilantism is a fancy word to describe criminal behavior. There is a time and place for civil disobedience, but having your feelings hurt over a speeding ticket or hiding assets to avoid taxes does not make you a hero.

Individual Rights
I am a free man. The government does not own me. No one owns me. I am free to do as I please. However, I have willingly ceded my rights so that my life will serve more than my own selfish desires. I have given my freedom to my employer – I do the best job possible so that I can maintain employment and earn a paycheck. I have given my freedom to my wife so that I can show her that I love her, admire her, and support her. I have given my freedom away to my kids so that they can learn from me and grow into healthy and productive members of society. I have given up my freedoms to my community so that I could provide a home for foster kids. I have given away my freedom for friends so that they could know that they're not alone in this world. So, while I have the rights to do anything I want, doesn't mean that I should. I can do anything, but not everything is beneficial or constructive.

The Right to Life
Abortion is a horrible and ugly thing. But do you know what else is ugly? Child neglect. Sexual abuse. Domestic violence. I believe that abortion is a bad idea. I won't pretend to know why anyone would chose an abortion, but here's what I do know. If the child has a right to life before they're born, they have that much more right to life after they're born. We cannot continue fighting for the life of the unborn child without maintaining that fight after they're born. We must strengthen supports for kids. Everything we're doing is fundamentally wrong. We need to better prepare future parents. We need to improve our foster care system and social services to help make stronger families and to save the kids are most at risk. We need to break the cycles of abuse and neglect. We need to stop undermining public education. We need a complete cultural shift to create communities that supports, encourages, develops, and engages kids at their developmental level.

Marriage
I believe that marriage is a religious institution. It's time the government got out of the marriage business. Let the government honor civil contracts between two consenting adults. If that is a husband and wife married in the tradition of the church – fine. If it's a couple of rednecks that drunkenly decided to elope while on vacation in Vegas – fine. If it happens to be two dudes who love each other – fine. Civil contracts can fulfill the legal aspects of joint finances, next of kin, medical decisions, and tax filing status. If churches can handle marriage, then the church can define what marriage is or is not. The government does not need to intervene.

Personal Responsibility
As a nation, we have perfected the blame game. We could justify anything if we really want to. OWS blames the one percent. The rich blame the freeloaders on welfare. The Tea Party blames taxes. Conservatives blame the liberals and the liberals blame the conservatives. But the blame for what is wrong in America is misplaced. It's not in any specific political party. It's not in any economic or social class. It's not in any race, religion, or sexual preference. It's not in immigration – legal or otherwise. It is in the hearts of each and every one of us. American's biggest problem is greed. When you look at all of this nation's woes, the root cause of that ill is greed. The power struggle in congress: greed. The abuses in welfare or Medicare: greed. The arguments over gun rights: greed. The arguments over health care reform: greed. Racism: greed. The maltreatment of the disadvantaged citizens - the elderly, the handicapped, the homeless, the single parents, the recovering addicts: greed. The bloated credit card debt of the average American: greed. And I am not immune. I shoulder as much of that burden as anyone else with a heartbeat existing on American soil. The time I spend reading, listening to music, or playing video games: greed. The meals I eat out: greed. My desire to have a comfortable house, a big TV, and a nice car: greed. We will not be able to fix anything that is wrong with our nation until we all own up to the fact that we're all to blame.

National Security
Our military should be strong enough to defend our land and our people from foreign aggressors. However, the strongest military in the world means nothing to national security if the people at home feel insecure. We might be able to protect ourselves from terrorists, but what about gang violence? What about people living paycheck to paycheck and fearing how one medical emergency will ruin them? What about the worker who got a pink slip after years of loyal employ because his company decided they can make more money by hiring lower skilled workers? What about the single parents fulfilling the roles of both mommy and daddy while struggling to pay for food and rent? What about the kids who get bullied day after day while their school turns a blind eye to the abuse? We may have the biggest or the strongest or the most technologically advanced military in the world. None of it matters if we can't take care of the people here at home.

Fiscal Responsibility
The average American household has more than $15,000 in credit card debt. The average American still owes $148,000 on their home. The average student owes $32,000. We are an indebted society. We lie about our wealth. Rapper Nicki Minaj inflated her earnings by 6500% when she estimated her wealth to be in the billions. Nas claimed to be worth $200 million while he owed $6 million to the IRS. Most honest people probably wouldn't admit how much (or how little) they're worth. We are a society that lives beyond its means. Americans buy cars that we can't afford so that we can keep up with the neighbors who bought cars that they can't afford. Americans go to movies and buy fast food, but forget to pay for car insurance and the phone bill is past due. Americans take out loans to pay off loans. Americans spend more money than they make. Then we wonder why the government can't balance a budget? I say that we get responsible with our own finances, then we will have more leverage to demand fiscal responsibility from our government.

Support for Israel
Are the Christians in Israel worth more than Palestinian Christians? Are they more valuable than Christians in Sudan or Indonesia? Furthermore, God's covenant with Israel ended with Jesus. We are now under a new covenant which is better than the old one. (Hebrews 8:6). When Jesus sent out his disciples, he told them to reach all nations – not just Israel. (Matthew 28:19). Besides, who would God support? According to Psalm 34:18, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” In that case, I'll support Israel, but I'll also support Egypt, Libya, Syria, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, and Turkey.

Do you really think you have a chance against us, Mr. Cowboy?

If you want good comedy, observe Coeur d'Alene politics. With school board elections coming up in a couple of months, and municipal elections next fall, the circus is in full swing. In a state like Idaho, especially our northern region, races like these are usually between a bunch of conservatives arguing over who is the most conservative.

Fortunately, city council, mayoral, and school board positions are designed to be non-partisan. Unfortunately, the predominant political party has discovered a key to success in eating their own. One PAC in particular has driven their people into many of these positions by branding other Republicans as "liberals" or "RINOs" and propping their candidate up as the true conservative. They're ignoring the fact that their candidate has previously belonged to and/or supported other parties in the past and only recently added the (R) after their name for political expediency.

They ignore the fact that their opponent is just as conservative. Our upcoming school board election is one fine example, where the Chosen One (who is currently serving on the board as an appointee) was a volunteer for the local tea party, and is active with the GOP. He's a smart and capable business owner. But there are skeletons in his closet. He sees UN conspiracies in the County's Unified Land Use Building Code and helped dismantle fully funded curriculum at an area elementary school because he views it as UN propaganda. He recently stirred up some notoriety at a legislative forum when he made a joke comparing Obama to guns because he's "black and looks scary." He is a solid conservative candidate, yet he home schools his kids, which (in my mind) should disqualify him from serving on the board that controls our public schools.

His opponent is a life long republican who has been active with several GOP campaigns, local civics organizations, and the PTA. She's clearly more qualified for the position, but in this non-partisan election she's all ready been branded as "the liberal opposition." That claim is partially due to her unwillingness to support tax cheating timber thief Phil Hart or Bill Sali the congressional clown. She's earned the liberal description mostly because she's campaigning against their preferred candidate.

We're suffering the effects of this hyper-partisanship. Kootenai County's Board of Commissioners recently fired our public defender three weeks after he filed a harassment claim against one of the Commissioners and two weeks after letting the board know he'd need an extra day off for weekly cancer treatments. At least two of the current Commissioners were endorsed by the same group that is behind the school board appointee above, and the election of the third was an ugly contest with lots of accusations and terse words between the candidates.

As for our City Council? They're just as dysfunctional. Most of that madness stems from one member of the council, who was also backed by the PAC that supports all of the offenders mentioned above. He's been Mr. Negativity since the debates leading up to election. During one of those debates, he was asked to say one good thing that his opponent (the incumbent) had accomplished as a member of City Council - he couldn't come up with an answer. When pressed for specifics, he said, "I can't think of one thing." He was the only candidate that could not answer that question with something positive. Since winning the election, he has consistently voted against anything that involves federal funding, even if a yes vote would be in the best interest of the community.

The most recent flap started when he voted yes to seek judicial approval for a federally mandated bond to upgrade our sewer facilities. But when the council faced the judge, he suddenly changed his mind and said he opposed the judicial confirmation and said the public should vote on it and promised to appeal the judges decision if the judge ruled in the city's favor. This outburst spilled over into the next couple of council sessions where there has been a war of words between Mr. Negative and the city's attorney. This included a 911 call placed by our councilman who felt threatened by the city attorney because the attorney called him a moron. Now that he's drawn his proverbial line in the sand, the city is forced to add the bond to May's ballot at a steep cost to taxpayers who will fund the election through an increase of sewer rates. If the bond fails, the city will be facing fines of $37,500 per day until the upgrade is complete and a possible moratorium on new sewer hookups. His obstinate defiance could turn into some really expensive effluence.

When faced with such fumbling and pandemoniac governing, there are only three options available.

1. You could cry. And I wouldn't fault anyone who chooses this option.
2. You could complain. Several in this area are going this route. A quick read through  letters to the editor will reveal nothing but a steaming pile of whine in both support of and criticism of the buffoons mentioned above.
3. You could laugh. Humor is good for the soul. Clearly, this is the option I've decided is best. After all, our saga here is one long joke with the most brutal punchline ever imagined.

So it is with that dose of comedy that I return to the School Board races. One of the other candidates is a recent transplant from the mid-west who is also active in the local GOP despite a recent conversion from the Constitutionalist party. He's also a favorite of the PAC that's supported Mr. Negativity, the retaliatory County Commissioners, and the conspiracy minded school board.

I know little about him and what I do know of his views I don't like. I'm sure he's a nice man. He seems intelligent. But until tonight, I didn't know what he looked like. When I first saw his picture, one thought crossed my mind:

"I am an exceptional thief, Mrs. McClane. And since I'm moving up to kidnapping, you should be more polite. "

*Photos courtesy of Duane Rasmussen and 20th Century FOX