Monthly Archives: January 2018

Memories of the Blizzard of ’78, Now 40 Years Ago

40 years ago today, I boarded an airplane in Fresno, Calif., with $15 in my wallet and no credit cards. I had spent my junior-year J-Term with my family in Pixley, Calif., and worked at Pixley Foodmart, which was my summer job throughout college. Now it was time to return to Huntington College.

I didn’t know anything was wrong until I arrived in Denver. My flight to Chicago had been cancelled…as had just about every other flight to the East. They tried rerouting me through various airports, including Atlanta, but nothing worked. Every airport in the Midwest and East was shut down with the Blizzard of ’78.

In baggage claim there in Denver, I noticed a woman with her adult-age son, who was mentally challenged and kind of starting to freak out over the chaos in the terminal. She was trying to comfort him while looking for their bags, and not doing either well. I offered to help. She looked in my face for a few seconds and then said, “You’re a Christian, aren’t you?” It was amazing.

They were returning from a visit in California to their farm in Illinois. I took care of their bags, got us vouchers for hotel rooms, took them to breakfast the next morning (more vouchers), accompanied them back to the airport, secured flights for them, and saw them depart for Chicago. Never saw them again, but we had some wonderful discussions about faith. Her son, despite his disabilities, had a childlike and totally enviable faith in Christ. He inspired and humbled me. I’ll never forget him.

The airline had no idea where my luggage was. Nevertheless, I made it to Chicago later that day, and in the early morning hours, took a near-empty 747 to Detroit–ascend to altitude, and immediately descend. I spent that entire day in Detroit, sleeping on the floor and eating hardly anything. That evening, three days after leaving California, a plane took me to Fort Wayne, flying low the entire way. It was a beautiful flight. Snow covered everything.

When I reached Fort Wayne, my luggage was waiting for me. I wondered if I would ever see my bags again. How in the world did they arrive before I did?

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Empathy for Animals vs. Human Suffering

I can’t say enough good about “Following Francis,” by Susan Pitchford. This is a person following hard after God, and writing about it with freshness and wit. I’m halfway through, and savoring every short chapter.

This morning I read about a trip she took to Ghana to visit prisons from the slave trade. As you can imagine, she described some horrifying things. Then, going back to her hotel, her taxi passed a goat that had been struck, lying in blood and kicking its legs in pain. That’s when her tears began.

She wrote, “I used to feel guilty about my response to animal suffering, because it seems out of proportion: at an irrational, gut level not calibrated to my values, it gets to me in a way that human suffering doesn’t.”

Yes! That’s exactly how I am! And I’ve felt guilty about it, too. I’ve felt vulnerable to people accusing, “If you only cared as much about an aborted baby/a trafficked child/a leper as you do about an abused dog or lion.”

I’m deeply disturbed by human suffering, but something about animals really gets to me. Perhaps they, too are the “least of these”–powerless, dependent, disregarded. Perhaps a heart response to suffering, no matter what kind, should be regarded as a gift from God.

As Pitchford writes, “Whenever we witness the suffering of another in an attitude of radical openness–of compassion, not turning away, but allowing ourselves to feel something of that suffering–we enter into Christ’s own heart. Just as when we suffer for him, we share something of his cross.”

I still don’t know what exactly to make of my empathy for animals, but as I continue pondering it, it’s nice to know there’s at least one other person out there who is a kindred spirit.

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When Evil Prevails in America

Martin Luther King: “We have to repent in this generation, not merely for the hateful words and actions of bad people, but for the appalling silence of good people.”

When I was ten years old, I lived in Harrisburg, Pa. It’s a nice place. But I was thinking. What if my government suddenly forced me to give up my job, to give up my home, to give up my wife and cats, to give up my church, and unceremoniously deposited me in Harrisburg. With no job. No place to live. No nearby relatives. Just dumped me there and I had to fend for myself.

That’s basically what happened to Jorge Garcia of Detroit, who has been dumped in the foreign country which he left at age 10, which for him was thirty years ago. It’s yet another outrage from the Trump Administration’s unbending, no-exceptions-allowed policies. Yet another American family ripped apart by an uncaring government (though a whole lot of my Facebook friends will applaude his deportation).

Garcia was deported on Martin Luther King Day. King once wrote: “The Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not…the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate, who is more devoted to ‘order’ than justice.” That nails what is happening here. Give me law and order, make me feel safe, protect my interests, coddle my fears and paranoia…even if it tramples on justice.

Jorge Garcia was brought to the US illegally at age 10. He has lived here 30 years, and has lived, by all accounts, a commendale life–working as a landscaper, paying taxes, no problems with the law. He married an American citizen 15 years ago, and they have two children who are American citizens, ages 12 and 15. The Trump administration killed an Obama administration policy which protected from deportation the parents of American citizens.

He has tried to get legal, but efforts have been unsuccessful. He has checked in with ICE for 13 years, so when a new president took office, they knew where to find him. He won’t be allowed to re-enter the US–for any reason, I understand–for at least ten years. If his family wants to see him, they’ll need to go to Mexico.

When Garcia’s 12-year-old son was asked how he felt, he said, “Sad, angry,” and then bowed his head and began crying. For ICE, just another day at work. For that boy, a life-altering trauma.

“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”–Edmund Burke.

It’s outrageous–it’s EVIL–to tear apart families like this. Previous administrations made compassionate allowances, but those days are gone. I won’t be quiet about this.

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My Russian Fan Club

I seem to be quite the rage in Russia. Looking through my Junk mail (which I do once or twice a year), I discovered a number of emails from the last few days reading like this:

“You seem like my type and I would like to know you more! Write me if you are interested, here is my email ________, and, if you want, I will send some of my photos. Hugs, Anastasia.”

All have .ru email addresses and use the exact same wording. A related email tells me, “You are hot, smart, and sexy.” I can’t argue with that.

I’ve received the same email from Liza, Sasha, Victoria, Daria, Sofia, Ekaterina, Maria, Polina, Dasha, Olga, Ksenia, Alina, Katya, Anya, Alexandra, and Lena. I don’t know whether they are a fan club or stalkers, but I appreciate the attention.

The only rational explanation I can think of is that all of these women are babushkas in their 80s, and recently retired as prison guards in the Siberian gulag. I will not be requesting photos. (Really, Pam, I won’t.)

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I’ll Do This if You Do That

Husband: “Here’s my offer. I’ll stop beating the kids, if you’ll let me buy a new flatscreen TV for my man cave.”

Wife: “How are those two things even related? Besides, you promised–over and over and OVER–that your friend Morty would buy the TV for you.”

Husband: “I asked Morty, and he said no. So what can I do? We need to buy it ourselves.”

Wife: “So, if I write the check, you’ll stop beating the kids?”

Husband: “For now, I’ll stop. Believe me. It’s a win win.”

This is kind of how I view the President’s offer–that he’ll make a deal on DACA only if Congress makes the American people fund the border wall, which he always insisted Mexico would pay for.

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