You know if I believed all those e-mails sent to me by my family and friends lately, I would be convinced that Obama was a tax raising, flag hating, godless, Muslim terrorist bent on destroying our country. Why in the hell would any right-thinking American patriot vote for this man?
Lately, I have spent a great deal of time sending e-mail replies directly from the http://www.snopes.com/ website that refute many, if not all of these outrageous forwarded e-mails. I remind my friends and family that we are in an election year and that many false and misleading things are being put out there on the internet about the candidates. If we simply forward them on to others without checking their veracity, then we are guilty of spreading those lies and half-truths. I also find it very interesting that the majority, if not all, of these forwarded e-mails are negative toward Obama. I am still waiting for equal time on negative McCain e-mails. Are there no concerns about a 71-year-old man who would continue Bush policies...the status quo for another four years?
What I feel is a campaign of fear against Barack Obama. Rumors and outright lies about the man and what he stands for are being circulated on the internet. These e-mails keep insisting repeatedly that he is a Muslim. Just look at his name, for heaven’s sake: Barack Hussein Obama. Can we trust anyone named after their father and grandfather? (George W. Bush and George H.W. Bush...hmmm) Then, of course, he went to that black Christian church for twenty years (wait a minute, I thought he was a Muslim?) where that crazy black minister of his keeps damning America in that endlessly played video clip. Surely, that should be enough to make us all afraid. Fear! Fear! Fear! That is what is being peddled here folks...FEAR.
So why do I support such a scary man? Well, it goes back to Obama’s keynote address at the 2004 Democratic National Convention. It was his words that captured my attention:
“It is that fundamental belief--that I am my brother’s keeper—that makes this country work. It’s what allows us to pursue our individual dreams and yet still come together as one American family.
“E pluribus unum. Out of many, one.
“Now, even as we speak, there are those who are preparing to divide us, the spin masters and negative ad peddlers who embrace the politics of anything goes. Well, I say to them tonight, there is not a liberal America and a conservative America—there is the United States of America. There is not a Black America and White America and Latino America and Asian America—there’s the United States of America.
“The pundits like to slice-and-dice our country into Red States and Blue States; Red States for Republicans, Blue States for Democrats. But I’ve got news for them, too. We worship an awesome God in the Blue States, and we don’t like federal agents poking around in our libraries in the Red States. We coach Little League in the Blue States, and yes, we’ve got some gay friends in the Red States. There are patriots who opposed the war in Iraq, and there are patriots who supported the war in Iraq.
“We are one people, all of us pledging allegiance to the Stars and Stripes, all of us defending the United States of America.”
I read one of Obama’s books, Dreams from My Father. I read about his early life being the multi-racial child of a white mother from Kansas and a black father from Kenya. I read about his time living in Indonesia with his mother and his Indonesian stepfather. I read about his being raised by white grandparents in Hawaii and his struggle to fit into two worlds, one white and one black. I read about his efforts to work with Christian churches to organize and improve the lives of black residents living in Chicago’s poverty-stricken south side communities. I read about his struggle to know an absent father (that he only met once before his death) by meeting his extended African family in Kenya. I read about his struggle to go to Harvard Law School so that he could fulfill those dreams from his father. I have a better understanding of the man who might be our next president. I have a better feeling for what drives, what makes Barack Obama tick.
Finally, as if his words and deeds and his background were not enough to bring me into the Obama camp, there was a Newsweek article a few months ago that convinced me of his leadership ability. The article was about how the campaign workers in each camp felt about their organizations. Obama’s campaign workers genuinely liked their boss and their coworkers. They felt that they worked as a team and were held in mutual respect. Barack listened to them and wanted all their input before making a decision. This was at a time when other candidates were firing campaign managers and there was a lot of stress and fear driving the organizations. The article concluded that the Obama camp must have been doing something right for their candidate, a dark horse, junior senator to rise up out of nowhere and become the likely National Democratic Candidate for President of the United States of America.
Yes, I have hope for Barack Obama and I have hope for change. After eight long years of divisiveness, partisan politics, congressional gridlock, anger and fear, after the destruction of our economy and this country’s good reputation...you can bet I want change from George W. Bush and Dick Cheney. This country needs to heal. This country needs to come together. This country needs to feel proud again. We can no longer be some lone cowboy ideology threatening the rest of the word, but we can be the United States of America, home of the brave and land of the free.
When you get those hateful, fear-filled e-mails do not become part of the campaign of fear. Read, investigate and check them out.
FOOD for THOUGHT...
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Ross Stories
Most people can look back on their school years and remember a best friend. They were your pal, your buddy, the one person with whom you could just hang out. Our best friends made us laugh and emboldened us to do things that our “little voices” told us might not be such a smart thing to do...but you did it anyway.
In high school, Ross was one of my best friends. “Ross” was actually his last name because we all went by our last name in those days. Ross intrigued me with his Texan twang and way of talking. He was so different from my other friends with our Midwestern speech. He stood out as much as he fit in. I gave up trying to correct the way he would pronounce certain words and phrases like... I (pronounced “eye”). Ross would pronounce it as a short “a” like the “a” in bat. Instead of saying, “smell this,” Ross would say, “smell of this.” His Texan twang only enhanced his “gift of gab” for lack of a better term. Ross was a talker. He could give you the most detailed, drawn-out explanation about anything, leaving you shaking your head and wondering what the hell he just said. Ross’s parents were the main recipients of his “explanations” when they would ask him where he was going as we headed out the door of his house.
One day Ross and I were sitting in the school library. We were supposed to be doing research for a term paper, but we became distracted by the new copy machine outside the librarian’s office. Today, copy machines are commonplace, but when I was in high school, they were a marvel of technology. You could make instant copies (photographs) of anything you could put on the scanner. Back then, copiers used special light sensitive paper that felt chalky, but still it was amazing. We decided to photocopy the front and back of a dollar bill. After cutting out the images of the bill, we glued them together.
Ross was in the process of coloring our “counterfeit” bill with a green marker when the little, blue-haired librarian came upon our enterprise. I watched as she took my friend by his ear into her office. I thought we were done for. I pictured us on the 10:00 news: Teen Counterfeit Ring Busted by School Librarian! A few minutes later, Ross came and sat back down at our table. “What happened?” I said.
“Well, aah don’t know what happened. She asked me what aah was doin’ and so aah was tryin’ to explain it to her. You know aah was just sittin’ there talkin’ to her when she starts cryin’ and telling me to get out of her office, just to leave. Aah don’t know what aah said to get her so upset. Aah was just talkin’ to her and now she’s cryin’,” said Ross, looking rather shaken.
On another occasion, Ross and I were sitting in the school lunchroom. It was crowded and noisy as kids were coming in for their short lunch period. Ross wanted to get the attention of someone at the next table over. He took a pat of butter from his tray and poised it on his plastic knife. Calculating its trajectory, he let it fly. Unfortunately, the school’s most unassuming “nerd” was sitting directly across the table from Ross. Splat! It struck the poor kid right between the eyes or rather his black horn-rimmed glasses, right where the white tape joined the two lenses. Some of the butter spattered his plastic pocket protector with its array of four pens.
Ross was hauled off to the assistant principal’s office. At our school, you went to the assistant principal’s office for serious matters of discipline. His nickname was “Tonto” (like the Lone Ranger’s Indian sidekick) and he was a buzz-cut, no nonsense ex-Marine. There were “rumors of torture and death” associated with a visit to Tonto’s office. I thought Ross was a “goner.” Later, I learned that Ross’s “sentence” was to take his lunch in Tonto’s office for a whole week. I tried to imagine what it might be like to try to eat my lunch with Tonto scowling over my every bite, beating me with a rubber hose as I choked down my green Jell-O. It sent chills down my spine. You can imagine my amazement when Ross joined me for lunch the next day. Again, I asked, “What happened?”
“Well, aah don’t know. Aah was just sittin’ there talkin’ to him and eatin’ ma lunch when he starts yellin’ at me and tellin’ me to get out of his office and not to come back. He just kept yellin’ to get out,” said Ross. “Aah was just sittin’ there talkin’ to him. I don’t know what aah said.”
One winter night, Ross and I were driving down some snow packed residential streets in his father’s old Nash Rambler station wagon. He came up with an idea. Let’s see how far we can skid the car sideways down the street. We got a few good slides, but eventually decided that we should not push our luck and looked for a quick exit from the neighborhood. We spotted a set of tracks leading across a wooded vacant lot to the next street over. We almost made it to the other street when we got stuck in the snow and mud. We sat in the car contemplating our predicament when we realized we had a six-pack of beer in the back seat. Since it did not look like we were going anywhere soon, we chose to drown our sorrows.
Eventually, we climbed out of the car and made our way to the house across the street. We rang the doorbell and an off-duty police officer with his gun still in his shoulder holster answered the door. We stepped back and tried not to breathe on him as we asked to use his phone to call a tow truck. I pictured him pulling his gun and arresting us right then and there...if for no other reason than stupidity. Ross “explained” what happened, but rather than yelling and telling us to leave, get out...the police officer said cars were always getting stuck there and he would call the tow truck for us. We marveled at our good fortune. We had just enough cash to pay the tow truck driver when he came. The old Nash was covered with mud by the time we were headed home. I knew Ross’s dad would want to know where all the mud had come from, but somehow I felt my friend would be able to “explain” it in true Ross fashion.
I have a treasury of Ross stories. He was one of a kind. Unfortunately, we lost touch over the years, but I remember those times, those small adventures we shared before I went off to college. We did a lot of stupid, dangerous things that young men do when they feel those first pangs of independence and think they will live forever. We were pals. Ross loved nothing better than to go fishing and I suppose I will always have that picture of him in my mind as he explains how to bait my hook.
FOOD for THOUGHT...
In high school, Ross was one of my best friends. “Ross” was actually his last name because we all went by our last name in those days. Ross intrigued me with his Texan twang and way of talking. He was so different from my other friends with our Midwestern speech. He stood out as much as he fit in. I gave up trying to correct the way he would pronounce certain words and phrases like... I (pronounced “eye”). Ross would pronounce it as a short “a” like the “a” in bat. Instead of saying, “smell this,” Ross would say, “smell of this.” His Texan twang only enhanced his “gift of gab” for lack of a better term. Ross was a talker. He could give you the most detailed, drawn-out explanation about anything, leaving you shaking your head and wondering what the hell he just said. Ross’s parents were the main recipients of his “explanations” when they would ask him where he was going as we headed out the door of his house.
One day Ross and I were sitting in the school library. We were supposed to be doing research for a term paper, but we became distracted by the new copy machine outside the librarian’s office. Today, copy machines are commonplace, but when I was in high school, they were a marvel of technology. You could make instant copies (photographs) of anything you could put on the scanner. Back then, copiers used special light sensitive paper that felt chalky, but still it was amazing. We decided to photocopy the front and back of a dollar bill. After cutting out the images of the bill, we glued them together.
Ross was in the process of coloring our “counterfeit” bill with a green marker when the little, blue-haired librarian came upon our enterprise. I watched as she took my friend by his ear into her office. I thought we were done for. I pictured us on the 10:00 news: Teen Counterfeit Ring Busted by School Librarian! A few minutes later, Ross came and sat back down at our table. “What happened?” I said.
“Well, aah don’t know what happened. She asked me what aah was doin’ and so aah was tryin’ to explain it to her. You know aah was just sittin’ there talkin’ to her when she starts cryin’ and telling me to get out of her office, just to leave. Aah don’t know what aah said to get her so upset. Aah was just talkin’ to her and now she’s cryin’,” said Ross, looking rather shaken.
On another occasion, Ross and I were sitting in the school lunchroom. It was crowded and noisy as kids were coming in for their short lunch period. Ross wanted to get the attention of someone at the next table over. He took a pat of butter from his tray and poised it on his plastic knife. Calculating its trajectory, he let it fly. Unfortunately, the school’s most unassuming “nerd” was sitting directly across the table from Ross. Splat! It struck the poor kid right between the eyes or rather his black horn-rimmed glasses, right where the white tape joined the two lenses. Some of the butter spattered his plastic pocket protector with its array of four pens.
Ross was hauled off to the assistant principal’s office. At our school, you went to the assistant principal’s office for serious matters of discipline. His nickname was “Tonto” (like the Lone Ranger’s Indian sidekick) and he was a buzz-cut, no nonsense ex-Marine. There were “rumors of torture and death” associated with a visit to Tonto’s office. I thought Ross was a “goner.” Later, I learned that Ross’s “sentence” was to take his lunch in Tonto’s office for a whole week. I tried to imagine what it might be like to try to eat my lunch with Tonto scowling over my every bite, beating me with a rubber hose as I choked down my green Jell-O. It sent chills down my spine. You can imagine my amazement when Ross joined me for lunch the next day. Again, I asked, “What happened?”
“Well, aah don’t know. Aah was just sittin’ there talkin’ to him and eatin’ ma lunch when he starts yellin’ at me and tellin’ me to get out of his office and not to come back. He just kept yellin’ to get out,” said Ross. “Aah was just sittin’ there talkin’ to him. I don’t know what aah said.”
One winter night, Ross and I were driving down some snow packed residential streets in his father’s old Nash Rambler station wagon. He came up with an idea. Let’s see how far we can skid the car sideways down the street. We got a few good slides, but eventually decided that we should not push our luck and looked for a quick exit from the neighborhood. We spotted a set of tracks leading across a wooded vacant lot to the next street over. We almost made it to the other street when we got stuck in the snow and mud. We sat in the car contemplating our predicament when we realized we had a six-pack of beer in the back seat. Since it did not look like we were going anywhere soon, we chose to drown our sorrows.
Eventually, we climbed out of the car and made our way to the house across the street. We rang the doorbell and an off-duty police officer with his gun still in his shoulder holster answered the door. We stepped back and tried not to breathe on him as we asked to use his phone to call a tow truck. I pictured him pulling his gun and arresting us right then and there...if for no other reason than stupidity. Ross “explained” what happened, but rather than yelling and telling us to leave, get out...the police officer said cars were always getting stuck there and he would call the tow truck for us. We marveled at our good fortune. We had just enough cash to pay the tow truck driver when he came. The old Nash was covered with mud by the time we were headed home. I knew Ross’s dad would want to know where all the mud had come from, but somehow I felt my friend would be able to “explain” it in true Ross fashion.
I have a treasury of Ross stories. He was one of a kind. Unfortunately, we lost touch over the years, but I remember those times, those small adventures we shared before I went off to college. We did a lot of stupid, dangerous things that young men do when they feel those first pangs of independence and think they will live forever. We were pals. Ross loved nothing better than to go fishing and I suppose I will always have that picture of him in my mind as he explains how to bait my hook.
FOOD for THOUGHT...
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
The Lord's Prayer
My wife came across an interesting website dealing with the Lord’s Prayer. If you go to this site, www.thenazareneway.com/lords_prayer.htm , you will find several translations of this well-known prayer. In Christianity, it is revered as the prayer given by Jesus to his followers. Christ’s words were translated into Greek, to Latin, to Old English, into King James English and finally to a modern English version of the prayer.
The Lord's Prayer Dated (1700- )
Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen.
Those of us brought up in the Christian faith, grew up reciting these familiar words in church, but just how did we arrive at this particular translation? If we consider that Christ himself spoke the Aramaic language (a language still spoken today in parts of Lebanon and Syria), how would a direct translation read? The problem is that Aramaic can be translated on many different levels with many words having more than one meaning. The website presents several of these translations from the original Aramaic. To the upper left is a copy of the original Aramaic text and below one of those translations:
The Prayer To Our Father (in the original Aramaic)
Abwûn
"Oh Thou, from whom the breath of life comes,
d'bwaschmâja
d'bwaschmâja
who fills all realms of sound, light and vibration.
Nethkâdasch schmach
Nethkâdasch schmach
May Your light be experienced in my utmost holiest.
Têtê malkuthach.
Têtê malkuthach.
Your Heavenly Domain approaches.
Nehwê tzevjânach aikâna d'bwaschmâja af b'arha.
Nehwê tzevjânach aikâna d'bwaschmâja af b'arha.
Let Your will come true - in the universe (all that vibrates)just as on earth (that is material and dense).
Hawvlân lachma d'sûnkanân jaomâna.
Hawvlân lachma d'sûnkanân jaomâna.
Give us wisdom (understanding, assistance) for our daily need,
Waschboklân chaubên wachtahên aikânadaf chnân schwoken l'chaijabên.
Waschboklân chaubên wachtahên aikânadaf chnân schwoken l'chaijabên.
detach the fetters of faults that bind us, (karma)like we let go the guilt of others.
Wela tachlân l'nesjuna
Wela tachlân l'nesjuna
Let us not be lost in superficial things (materialism, common temptations),
ela patzân min bischa.
ela patzân min bischa.
but let us be freed from that what keeps us off from our true purpose.
Metol dilachie malkutha wahaila wateschbuchta l'ahlâm almîn.
Metol dilachie malkutha wahaila wateschbuchta l'ahlâm almîn.
From You comes the all-working will, the lively strength to act,the song that beautifies all and renews itself from age to age.
Amên.
Amên.
Sealed in trust, faith and truth.(I confirm with my entire being)
I find it extremely interesting that much of our modern faith and understanding of that faith come to us from translations made by men, religious scholars and filtered by years of human history. Can we ever really know Christ’s actual words and their intended meaning?
FOOD for THOUGHT...
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