There are times when the thoughts expressed in an article I wrote several years ago about square pegs and round holes bubble to the surface. The idea behind that literary effort was an examination of the lives of the dual-gendered and how, at least for myself, life had been quite similar to trying to fit a square peg into a round hole.

What occurs to me now is that there’s another way of looking at it, which is to think in terms of any item on a store shelf. Virtually all of them come in a package of some kind. The item always fits very nicely into the package doesn’t it? Now do you suppose that someone came up with a package and then went looking for an object to put in it? No, that’s not the way it works. Someone invents, designs or creates an item to serve a particular purpose. That purpose may be for pleasure, necessity, speed, enhanced durability or any number of human needs, but whatever the purpose, the purpose precedes the design of the object. The design of the object determines the package it comes in. Even the design of that little workbench with the various shaped holes and pegs determined the shape of the box it came in. I think that in my case, if I were to be compared to a packaged item on a store shelf, I would be the one item on the shelf that was designed to fit the package.

Can you imagine what functional use something would be if the entire basis of its design were just to be sure that it fit in the previously designed package? Have you looked at the strange shapes of some of the packages on a store shelf lately? Have you ever tried putting an item back into one of those molded plastic packages? Excuse the masculine phrase but “Fat Chance Sweetie”. Can you imagine some nut turned loose with the package design before an inventor or engineer developed something with a purpose to fit the package? Well, I have often felt that I’ve been a package driven product.

Of course I don’t know this for certain, but the thought has occurred to me that God designed this body, this package, first. I think he started with the overall size. He created it just a little too small for the average guy and just a little too big for the average girl. Then, beginning at the ground level he designed the feet. I think he thought that this time he would try flat, narrow and on the small side. There he was definitely thinking feminine.

Next He did the legs and with these He was clearly thinking female. At this point in my life I am extremely grateful for that choice. When it came to my posterior and my hips I’m not quite sure what He was thinking so I will just let that “sit”. (Oh that was shameful wasn’t it?)

Next I believe He worked on my torso, waist first. When I was younger it was rather small but He seems to have designed a doughnut with late rising yeast to go around that youthful waist. I think He was just getting ready to go on a coffee break when He designed my chest because it’s just blah from both male and female outlooks.

The arms and shoulders have always been strong like a guy’s, but kind of delicate looking like a woman’s. He was certainly thinking feminine when he designed the hands.

As for the head and face He was surely thinking dual purpose and I kind of like it that way. The only thing that I haven’t quite figured out is the hair. On first thought it would appear that He was thinking “old guy” or “really old guy”. I haven’t had enough hair of my own to spit at for years. Of course God might have been thinking ” he’s going to be wearing wigs in Phoenix Arizona during the summer some day and that will be really hot with a full head of hair under there.”

There is one exception to the “Georgia Rule” about designing the product first and then the package. Alfalfa sprouts! They are grown and shipped to the store in those plastic boxes. As a result, the shape of the cluster of sprouts when you take it off of the shelf is exactly what the shape of the box is. And you will notice that there are a number of different shaped containers available from sprout producers. So in a way there are parts of this body that are like the package of alfalfa sprouts.

The basic package that I was delivered in, a male body had seeds of a personality in it. For most of my life, as the personality “sprouted” and developed it had to take the shape of the package, which was a male body, even though it had attributes of a female body. Just like the alfalfa sprouts, there was no choice as to how my personality had to grow, at least as long as the package remained closed. But what happens when the package is opened?

Well, of course the bundle of sprouts will maintain its shape for a time but, not indefinitely. They can be spread out and used on a sandwich or a salad. They can be left to dry out or spoil, in which case they are a total waste. Or they can be nurtured, placed in a little soil and eventually, if not soon, they will become full-fledged plants with extremely deep and strong roots that can live almost indefinitely if given the right care and attention.

And so it is with this second personality, upon the realization that the package it came in didn’t have to remain sealed. Once the awareness of the options was awakened the “package” no longer had to define the shape of the product. The body that we are born with simply does not have to be the defining expression of our lives. We just have to take the “sprout” of that femininity, or masculinity, whichever the case may be in our package, plant it in some soil, nourish it, care for it and watch it take root, grow and bloom into what The Master Designer had in mind for the package.

Among the attributes I inherited is a certain degree of sense of humor. My best friend, Vince was very instrumental in honing that sense to a far sharper edge than would have occurred without his tutelage. I’m dedicating this effort to him so indulge me … Please!
This past Monday morning I posted a tongue-in-cheek bit on Facebook about what to do with my remains. After posting it I realized that it really needed to be expanded and developed further. So, here goes.

The post began this way: “Okay … I’ve made a decision, which of course may be rescinded by this time tomorrow morning. After I have assumed room temperature and have been stuffed into the blazing furnace of the nearest crematorium I wish 2 things to happen to the ashes formerly identified as me … Georgia. Sprinkle a generous amount over Monument Valley from a biplane.”

Cremation is critical here. I really don’t want to be put on display in an overpriced, satin lined box so people feel pressured to stroll by and say something they really don’t mean like, “She looks so peaceful.” Of course I would look peaceful. Some overpaid afterlife cosmetologist would have been paid a couple of thousand dollars to make me look peaceful thought totally unlike anything I did in life. I would much prefer that people remember me in their mind’s eye the way I appeared to them. And no, a closed coffin would not be a suitable alternative. I wouldn’t want the undertaker to have his hard work go unseen although it would be a way of getting even for the exorbitant pay he’d be getting from someone in my life who cared enough to cough it up.

As to the ashes, the biplane and Monument Valley; this is a must. Blame it on a limited sense of possibilities but … that’s where I’m happiest in this life and can’t begin to contemplate an improvement on that. Maybe I’m just not letting my imagination run wild enough so I’ll think about that a bit.

The biplane just seems right for some reason because of a scene from “The English Patient” when his biplane crashes with him and his love … in the desert. Go figure!

When I compare all the places that most of the world considers beautiful I think of mountains, forests, lakes and rivers; maybe the seashore. For the most part those scare the living daylights out of me. Mountains can be austere and cold, and at times forbidding. Deserts, on the other hand, don’t hem you in. Granny commented on occasion, when she was at the family cabin in Montana that she couldn’t “see out yonder.” She felt hemmed in by the forest and mountains and I agree. In that respect, the parts of Montana which are referred to as “Big Sky” would be my first alternative to Monument Valley because you can “see out yonder.” Bill collectors can’t sneak up on you that way … and neither can ex’s.

They don’t have ill tempered bears in the desert, which means I don’t have to wear something noisy like an old set of sleigh bells and carry a canister of pepper spray the size of a commercial fire extinguisher with me just to go for a walk. Forests just never seem as clean as the desert the floor which is clean windswept sand, not a carpet of decaying leaves, rotting logs and innumerable unseen creeping crawling creatures; ticks for instance.

There are, I admit, a few advantages to the forest. The forests in Montana have huckleberries and believe you me you haven’t lived till you’ve had homemade ice cream and fresh huckleberries, in the absence of ice cream, Huckleberry shortcake. There are also an abundant number of natural springs feeding the lakes and rivers. Water is nice to have around. It’s a requirement for morning coffee and mid-afternoon iced tea.

The necessity of the cemetery at West Yellowstone, next to the ashes of my bride goes without saying. It was a promise, and the last song played at her funeral was Dan Seals’ “Meet me in Montana.” And that’s the closest I’m getting to tears today.

On with the lighter side! The original hard copy of the original text of “Dear Mom and Dad” and a copy of the Book of Job is an absolute must. I’ve developed a deep and abiding affection for Job because I can relate. And so when some explorer in the distant future and he/she stumbles across my simple headstone and digs up the small vault which will hold my ashes and these relative items of significance to my life, he will understand why I included the book of Job with the memoir.

I will request that a large jar of Peter Pan Smooth (not crunchy) Peanut Butter and a jar of Blackburn’s Apricot preserves along with a pack of Trident Sugarless Tropical Fruit gum be included as symbols of my life’s simple requirements for contentment. Also just in case I am reincarnated I want to be prepared with the essentials.

The last item, and for this you can use one of those empty pint mug jars from Blackburn’s Apricot preserves you will find in most every cabinet in my kitchen, along with its lid; this last item will be filled with club soda, a shot of Rose’s Lime juice and two squeezes of lime. I’m thinking of taping a note to the jar that commends two bartenders, Jakob at Plazma on Osborne and Andy at Cash Inn on McDowell in Phoenix, for their faithful and generous provisioning of my liquid refreshments for so long.

Now, where has this day gone? Time does fly when you’re having fun and I have had fun creating this totally valueless communique´.

It’s not all that uncommon for me to realize after I’ve posted something new on my blog, to realize there was more to be said on the latest subject. Then on reflection I generally conclude to leave well enough alone. However this time is different.

In my last post, I cracked an egg that needs to go directly into the frying pan to be basted sunny side up. Near the end of the piece I quote from Mark 10:14-15 (NLT) with emphasis on verse 15. “I assure you, anyone who doesn’t have their (the children’s) kind of faith will never get into the Kingdom of God.”

A friend, who is himself a blogger as well as a former minister/pastor, responded to me with very thoughtful and interesting comments which prompted me to reflect on a few thoughts which have periodically given me pause to examine a very basic element of Christian faith. In fact, that element, as my blogger friend points out, is very basic to virtually every faith of religious nature adhered to by mankind. That element is a benefit to the believer, and in most cases involves a promise of eternal life in one form or another, be it with angels, virgins or whatever carrot you have an eternal appetite for.
Naturally there is the stick. In Christianity that stick is eternity in hell, which of course is still a form of eternal life, isn’t it? That brings us to motive. What are our real motives in what we do in this life? A question that Dr. Wayne Dyer asks on occasion is, “If there was no such thing as money, how would you spend the waking hours of your life?” Interesting question isn’t it? So, let’s ask ourselves a similar question. If there was no such thing as the potential of eternity for us, how would we spend the time in this life? Oh come on, you mean to tell me that thought never occurred to you? Sure it has; every time you are tempted to engage in some guilty pleasure forbidden by your faith that indulgence in would draw you nearer to the dismal abyss.

On the flip side of that thought is the notion that eternal punishment is the result of misbehavior. Maybe you’re less inhibited by the thought of losing eternal pleasure than you are by the thought of earning eternal punishment. Either way the key element is eternity isn’t it. So, back to the original question: what if there was no possibility of eternity either way, and you had either a firm belief, or actual knowledge of that fact? Would there be a point to your life? Would there be a moral basis for your relationships with other people?

That question becomes more significant if you are, as I am, a devout Christian. With all the promises, carrots if you wish, in the bible of life eternal, IF you adhere to the belief that Jesus of Nazareth was indeed the son of God, then your belief also tells you that you will live forever … guaranteed; done deal. I ask this question then: “Is the belief that God exists and Jesus of Nazareth was his only begotten son incompatible with a belief that eternity is for them alone? That for us, the Sadducees were right, this is all there is, there ain’t no more?”

If you are trying to wrap your mind around all of this and having difficulty with the concept of morality without reward in your faith, and neglect the ingredient of love then you need to pause and add that ingredient. When you do add it, make sure you are adding love which goes out from you to God and the people in your life. Now ask yourself the question, do you love your God enough to live your life as if eternity IS ahead even if it ISN’T? Or, are you committed to your faith, be it Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist or whatever, only because of the promise of life eternal if you mind your P’s and Q’s? Is your love of the God you know and worship powerful enough, deep enough, to sustain your faith even if you discover the Sadducees were correct, that this life is all there is?

What is the purpose to your life if there is neither carrot nor stick? Is your faith in the purpose to your life the kind of childlike faith that doesn’t require knowledge of anything beyond this day, this hour, this moment?

When I try to remember the images and lessons from the Sunday school classes of my youth, the details are sketchy at best. I honestly don’t remember a single solitary moment that stands out as a lesson learned and cherished. I was a senior in high school before I was exposed to the principle of osmosis. My memory of that seems to apply to the process of what I apparently retained from all those Sunday morning classes. What I came away with was a basic set of morals by which I was expected to live my life. Don’t lie, cheat, steal, kill and the rest of the don’ts. The odd thing is that I don’t think I ever absorbed a thing about the dos. Well, maybe the part about “honor thy father and mother.” But then again, I may have picked that up at home as much as in Sunday school lessons.

When I finally began to really examine the totality of my beliefs, after losing my bride to cancer in my mid fifties, I gradually awakened to the huge gap in my early Christian education. There wasn’t any memory of discussions or descriptions of the nature of God. Maybe it was just assumed that I would automatically absorb that knowledge. Sure, there was the universal “Heavenly Father” bit, but that was it because after all God was GOD.

I’ve written previously about coming to the realization of how my relationship with Dad, my earthly father affected the nature of the way I related to my Heavenly Father and the huge obstacle that presented. (See my blog entry of 2/13/2013 “A Father’s Image”) Dad seldom discussed spiritual issues. In fact I only remember one specific discussion and it had to do with life after death. Dad had created in his mind what heaven, or whatever followed this life, would be like. But what he envisioned was totally unrelated to anything found in scripture. And that brings me to my point.

Last night when I was doing what I do every night; reading my bible until my eyelids are ready to slam shut, a thought which has surfaced from time to time, bubbled up once again. But this time it demanded that I stop what I was doing and make an entry in my “Nothing Notebook.” What I wrote was this:

“When someone says, ‘I believe God is such-and-such, and goes on to describe “what” their idea of God is, how is that different from a person who carves a graven image from stone, clay or wood and worships it? God’s ability to have a unique relationship with each of us does not mean that we can define Him.”
As a Christian it’s incumbent on me to share my faith as often, and with as many people, as I can; and I do exactly that. I’ve found one common thread in the responses I get from people. That thread is this: they universally have created an idea of whom and/or what God or the universe or whatever they relate to, which is greater than they are. And it requires absolutely nothing of them beyond being a nice person. In many cases that higher power seems to be quite tolerant of transgressions and untruths that benefit the believer as long as they are a “nice person.”

In that light I’m reminded of Demetrius the Ephesian silversmith whose livelihood of making graven images of the Greek goddess Artemis was threatened by Paul’s efforts to share The Good News with the citizens of Ephesus. Demetrius definitely didn’t want Paul sharing his vision because it threatened Demetrius’ very reason for getting up every morning and the sanctity of the little images he and his employees were creating out of their imagination each day.

The most frequent response I hear from people at the mention of church, Christianity, faith, God, or heaven forbid, Jesus, is “well I just don’t think you have to go to church to be a Christian.” Another favorite is “I don’t believe in God the way you do. I don’t think he … blah blah, blah.” Really? How do you know that? You don’t know how I believe until I tell you. And one last favorite which I was particularly fond of using, “I was raised a ________ and I just got burned out on religion.”

Many of these people have actually studied the bible, and at one time or another professed a belief in God and or Jesus, but somewhere along the line they lose sight of what “faith” is all about. At the core of Judeo-Christian faith is trust in something so big, so awesome that trying to define it is futile. Faith for me is a belief that the nature of God and whatever lies ahead are so incredible in scope and experience that the only regret I will have, is having wasted so much as one minute trying to define it; explain it; worrying about what it will be like.

Jesus was very explicit in his definition of faith when he said about the children being brought to him for blessings: “… Let the children come to me. Don’t stop them! For the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I assure you, anyone who doesn’t have their kind of faith will never get into the Kingdom of God.” (Mark 10:14-15 NLT)
That verse is so pregnant with meaning and importance that frankly it just boggles my mind. And it’s the one verse that anyone who avoids a relationship with The Trinity needs to understand. You see, children don’t define their world. Children accept their world on faith as it’s revealed to them each day.

As adults, we tend to not only define our world, but over-define it, because with age comes distrust in our world. So, we attempt to shape and define our beliefs to match our circumstance and emotions. That’s what the Hebrew’s were attempting to do when they made the golden calf. God’s friend and servant Moses, the one being they could see and touch, hadn’t been seen for days. The golden calf was a representation of a total lack of faith in something when they couldn’t see it. In spite of the fact that they’d witnessed miracle after miracle, they just had to create their own idea of God; an idea they could see and which didn’t require faith in its existence.

So I ask, “Have you created your own ‘golden calf’ to cover a lack of faith?”

It’s been a few years ago now, but there was a time when I was in a hobby store looking for a model for my grandson for his birthday, and while I was there I ran across one of those human anatomy models. You know, the kind where you can see all the internal parts because the body, or shell as it were, is transparent. Those models, like the models of cars and ships that I built as a child, always came with detailed instructions that, when followed, resulted in a detailed and realistic representation of the real thing. I remember having one of those anatomy models that I never could seem to get put together. I had all kinds of trouble making the pieces fit and in the end it went unfinished.

It wasn’t the same with the models of cars and pickup trucks I put together. Up to a point, I followed the instructions carefully, but the end product was always a “custom job” which usually involved leftover or borrowed pieces of other models. In that respect those models were much like the real items, which were most often the result of taking parts of several cars or trucks and making them into one vehicle.

The quilts that Granny used to make have a similar aspect as well. Her quilts were like most quilts. They were assembled from scraps of material leftover from other sewing projects, which by themselves seem to be good for nothing more than rags to wipe the oil off the hands of a mechanic. Those bits and pieces of material became works of art in the arthritic hands of a loving, patient and devoted woman. The beauty of quilting is that the end product is not the result of a set of printed directions; instead, it’s the result of internal direction and vision of the quilter. As it turned out, that was a harbinger of things come.

If I had the human anatomy model now, maybe I could look at it with a little more objectivity. I might discover the reason the pieces didn’t seem to fit was that I wasn’t following the directions carefully enough. I was probably following my own idea of where the various parts were intended to go. It doesn’t mean that I would know any more about what all those pieces represented. It doesn’t mean that I would know any more about what their function in the human body was, or that I would be happier with the end product. It would just mean the end product I had in hand would match the picture on the box. You know, kind of like the end product that finally left my parents home; the one that matched the directions they got with the “Georgie kit.”

Of course when I look at the “model” in the mirror now I realize that a few, shall we say, alterations and modifications have taken place over the years. What’s happened over the years is that I’ve consciously and subconsciously adapted internal and external personality traits of people who’ve come in and out of my life. Those parts and pieces of other “models” have been used in place of the original ones. The result is a combination of patchwork quilting and modified model building.

During the years when “George” was being a salesman and learning the tricks of the trade by way of various sales courses, one of the facets of selling he was schooled in was the practice of mirroring the client. I always thought he wasn’t very good at it at the time, but in retrospect I realize that the habit became so internalized that it was happening automatically in virtually every aspect of our life. It became such an unconscious part of the modeling, and quilting effort which is me, that at times I realize I have unconsciously picked up a mannerism of speech or motion that I found attractive in another person.

I think we all see at least small parts of our parents in ourselves. My nearly flat feet came from Dad. My overall size came from Mom along with the sense of humor, which my best friend Vince honed and sharpened, and which I consciously modeled. My sense of style and poise I made a very conscious effort to model after Marilyn who felt that the original model looked a little too much like a hooker and as a result tended to act a little too much like a hooker. These are the visual parts of who I’ve become. The internal parts, the parts hidden beneath the paint, the odd parts from other models, are covered by the bits and pieces of quilting fabric which make up who I expose to the world. But, it’s the framework beneath is what makes up the essence of who I’ve become under the watchful eye and skill of the Master Model Builder/Quilter.

To add just one more bit of symbolism I would refer to Jeremiah 18:1-6 “The Lord gave another message to Jeremiah. He said, ‘go down to the shop where clay pots and jars are made. I will speak to you while you are there. So I did as he told me and found the potter working at his wheel. But the jar he was making do not turn out as he had hoped so the potter squashed the jar into a lump of clay and started again.”
“Then the Lord game me this message: ‘O Israel, can I not do to you as this potter has done to his clay? As the clay is in the potter’s hand so are you in my hand.”

After all my work at modeling and quilting and mirroring, the day I finally surrendered and bowed my head at an intersection on my way to work and in essence said, “I give up. I will be what You intend me to be”; God squashed me into a figurative lump and then began taking me apart and reassembling me the way He wanted me. The amazing thing to me is that He threw very few parts away. He just reassembled and shaped them into a more attractive quilt and functional model … or clay pot if you prefer.

There was a time in the not too distant past, when I was in the habit of stopping for a snack at a certain convenience store that had, to say the least, some rather unusual people working as clerks. One in particular gave my dishwater blonde brain a real workout. I’m sure that most, if not all of you, remember a character from several years back on Saturday Night Live named Pat, who was supposed to be the essence of androgyny. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that this person at the convenience store was the inspiration for Pat. I honestly couldn’t tell what body parts might have been hiding beneath the clothes that would give the answer to my curious question; “Which is it?”

What few words this person uttered were in a voice tone that was absolutely indistinguishable as either male or female. The basic body motions were male but there was no sign of a beard. If it was a man he certainly had a number of very feminine characteristics and if it was a woman she definitely had quite a few very masculine attributes.

In the process of processing this data I began to wonder how this person appeared at their initial job interview. Did he/she dress in a manner that more readily identified her/him as either male or female? But then on further consideration I realized that it really didn’t matter what this person appeared like at that interview. If it was actually a woman attempting to pass as a man, why in heaven’s name was that my gut level assumption?

The answer to that question was very simple to arrive at. Our society finds it quite easy to accept a genetic female dressing or living as a man but not a genetic male dressing or living as a woman; and that goes far beyond women wearing pants. It is, and has been for a long time in our society, perfectly acceptable for women to wear pants. For the most part those styles that are intended for women to wear are noticeably for women. No normal male would be caught dead in a woman’s pants suit for instance, because they are definitely feminine. Most women’s fashions that involve pants are definitely feminine. However, the issue here in the convenience store is not a pair of women’s Wranglers. The clerk in question definitely had on men’s pants and wore them like a man including the wallet on a chain. This person also wore a man’s western shirt with snaps instead of buttons and the short sleeves were rolled up a couple of rolls like The Fonz of Happy Days used to wear his sleeves.

At this point my mind wandered back to a place I’d worked in the past where there were two women who dressed extremely male and acted extremely male. Why, I ask, it acceptable in our society for a woman to dress as a man and it is not acceptable for a man to dress as a woman?

This is certainly not a new question and I am certainly not blonde enough to think that I have stumbled upon a new thought. However it seems to me at this point in time, that we have rounded a bend in the river, and what I’m about to say is strictly my opinion, based on observation.
Gay men are virtually indistinguishable from straight men on the basis of their appearance and clothing and for the most part their demeanor is indistinguishable from straight men. Lesbians however appear to me to fall into three basic categories.

There are those who, like gay men, are pretty much indistinguishable from straight women. They dress the same as straight women. They wear jewelry and makeup. Their demeanor and actions are the same as their straight counterparts.

The second group I’ve observed, are somewhat non-descript. They’re seldom, if ever, seen in a skirt or dress. They wear women’s slacks, extremely sensible shoes and blouses or tops that are not in any way considered frilly. Makeup is practically non-existent and if their hair is short it’s not too short. If it’s longer it’s generally in a ponytail.

In the last group are those who, aside from the sexual preferences in their bed partners, are in every other way female-to-male-gendered. They wear men’s clothing. Most of them have men’s haircuts and will quite often have the body attributes of an ordinary overweight construction worker. And that, at least to me, is where the rub comes.

In this world, as it is, having come as far as it has, men are still considered the top drawer by society in general, so it’s assumed that a woman dressing as a man is acceptable, because after all she is reaching upward to a higher status. She may not be appealing in her appearance and she won’t be held in lustful reverence like a normal appearing woman but that’s all right. In society’s eyes, at least she is trying to improve her station in life.

A man dressing as a woman is obviously moving the opposite direction. I wonder how much of most women’s disdain for a man in women’s clothes is natural, the way God intended it. How much of it is the result of society’s emphasis on the superiority of being male or how much of it could be the lack of desire for a woman to attach herself to a man on the way down. In other words, if there was no history of male dominance and no societal edge to being male would it make any difference what you wore; what gender identity you expressed?

I look forward to the day when the freedom to be who you are, is truly limited only by whom you feel you are. Can you, just for a moment, imagine what it would be like if dual- or trans-gendered men were as acceptable as Rosie O’Donnell, Ellen DeGeneres, Janet Napolitano, former Congressman Barney Franks or Rhu Paul. It’s almost impossible to wrap your mind around it isn’t it?

I cannot even begin to comprehend the number of essays, articles and books written on the subject of integrity. The number must be in the millions at least. The question I have is; how many people actually make an effort to apply the principle of integrity to the process of living their everyday lives? Better yet, how many even comprehend the value of applying the principle of integrity to the process of getting from the point of opening their eyes in the morning to the point of closing them again in the evening.

If one pays any attention to the news it would be difficult, especially for the uneducated, to even think that integrity has anything to do with our lives at all. The people we have placed in positions of authority in our governments, be it national, state or local, to a man/woman appear to apply little, if any integrity to the process of carrying out the duties of the offices to which they were elected. But, they aren’t the ones on my mind at the moment. The people on my mind are the ones I deal with on a daily basis in my own life. My question is: why is integrity such an unimportant part in people’s lives today?

Integrity doesn’t appear to be considered a virtue anymore, in spite of the fact that in reality, it’s an umbrella term which covers a number of other virtues, like honesty, faithfulness, accountability, responsibility, loyalty, reliability and trustworthy. The term integrity as applied to structure means to be whole; not broken or divided. To my way of thinking, that definition could be applied to the whole of the seven virtues above. In other words, a person of integrity would be all of the above, whole, not broken or divided.

As a part of the world of business, integrity as a principle is pretty much enforced by rule of law. If I purchase a product or service and agree to pay over time, my integrity as it applies to making those payments is supported by a written contract. If I fail to live up to the terms of the contract my credit rating will indicate that I am a person with little to no integrity. If I entered into that contract with little more than a hope for continued financial stability in the future and no backup plan for honoring my contract then I would be a person lacking whole integrity and that would be the same as no integrity. It’s sort of like being a little bit pregnant. You either are, or are not, pregnant.

But all of the above are issues supported by law. What about integrity in our personal lives where law civil or otherwise does not apply? For example; I might ask someone to do something for me; something that while unimportant to them is something very important to me. The response to the request is: “Yes, I will, but not today. I’ll do it tomorrow.” That’s okay with me, because I don’t expect someone to drop whatever they may be doing that instant to do something for me. It would even be okay if the person said, “No, I’m sorry, but I really just don’t have time to honor the request.” I might be disappointed but at least they could be considered a person of integrity because they told me immediately that they didn’t have time.
But what if their response was the “yes” response and then they failed to do what they said they would do? And not only did they fail to do what they said they would do, when asked if they had done it, failed to apologize, and instead made excuses about how busy they were. The gospel of Matthew addresses the issue to a degree in Chapter 21:28-31,

“But what do you think about this? A man with two sons told the older boy, ‘Son, go out and work in the vineyard today.’ The son answered, ‘No, I won’t go,’ but later he changed his mind and went anyway. Then the father told the other son, ‘You go,’ and he said, ‘Yes, sir, I will.’ But he didn’t go. “Which of the two obeyed his father?” They replied, “The first.” Then Jesus explained his meaning: “I tell you the truth, corrupt tax collectors and prostitutes will get into the Kingdom of God before you do.”

When I was neck deep in my alcoholism I had not one shred of integrity; not a whit’s worth. I was not whole, I was broken, I was divided. I was void of integrity in every sense of the word as defined above. I was honest only when it served me better than being dishonest and those moments were rare. I was like the man in the scripture above who said “yes” but failed to honor his commitment. I was faithful to only one person. The rest of the world was not worth faithfulness as far as I was concerned. The term faithfulness is in reality interchangeable with being trustworthy as well as responsible and reliable.

There was one of those virtues I think I could lay claim to. That would be loyalty. I was then and still am today, loyal to people I deem worthy of that loyalty. I’m even loyal to people whom I can’t depend on to do what they say they will do.
Three of the most difficult tasks I’ve faced in life were taking, or doing as they say in AA, step 4, taking that moral inventory of myself; step 5, admitting the nature my wrongs to God, myself, and someone else; and step 9, making the required amends, some of which have required a lifetime of amending.

I’ve remained sober for nearly 22 years, for 2 reasons. Abba has always been there for me and the absolute fear of ever having to go through those 3 steps ever again. Do I think for a moment that I’m perfect? Of course not! But, I have learned that to stay sober I must adhere to the best of my ability to those 7 virtues. It pains me a great deal to think what is being lost to the world, if it serves me, a recovering alcoholic well, why do the majority of its inhabitants fail to live by those virtues. If we fail in one … we have failed in all.

So in answer to the question at the end of the second paragraph above, People just don’t realize that integrity is critical in our daily lives because if we cannot be counted on for the integrity to do what we say we will do, the people we count as important in our lives will eventually lose faith in us. We may still love them but we will not trust them.

I never cease to be amazed at the thoughts which tend to dart across my mind on a rather regular basis. In this case I happened to be inhaling the remaining few bites of a grilled cheese sandwich when my mind served up this thought; “egg and cheese waffles.” Where did that come from? I never cease to be startled when something like that pops up. Maybe it’s because I spend too much time on Facebook and my friends and their friends have a habit of “sharing” whatever happens to be on their minds at the moment just pops up whether you’re thinking about them and their interests or not. Over the years I have come to realize that the intricate workings of my mind are generally beyond my grasp, but I have adapted a basic theory and definitions which assist me in getting on with life successfully.

The theory isn’t actually mine; it was first proposed by Dr. Maxwell Maltz in his amazing book Psycho-cybernetics, published in 1960. The basic premise was that the human brain functions much like a computer guidance system. A computer is useless without “input”. But, once it has input it can do astounding things provided you let it work and to do that you have to hit the “enter” key and let the computer do its thing. I was told that if you don’t stop inputting information and let it work it will never provide the answer or guide you to the target. Of course there is the added caveat that the input actually be usable information.
There was also a comparison of the way our brain works, to a guided missile system in that a guided missile does not travel in a straight line, and it does not necessarily respond to positive feedback. It primarily responds to negative feedback. In other words the system only functions when the missile has wandered off course. Now there was a time when I wasn’t too sure that my “guidance system” had worked very well in that respect because of the frequency of circumstances in my life when I have wandered way off the path to my target. After some study on the subject, I finally realized that it wasn’t the servo mechanism which was faulty, it was the servo mechanism operator … the person at the keyboard of my computer-like brain along with incompatible software that was causing the problem. The operator, that’s me, was entering all the wrong information and expecting the right responses.
It took me years to figure out that that I was, to all intents and purposes, both the programmer and the end product user of my servo mechanism. As the end product user of the electronic mechanism between my ears I had to have the correct software and a compatible virus protection system installed. It was as if I was trying to make my PC Hard Drive and Windows brain work with Apple software. I found a “technician” who identified the problem but really didn’t have a workable knowledge of how to fix it.
Eventually I resorted to the unthinkable solution of contacting the “manufacturer.” I told the “manufacturer” that I was tired of trying to fix the mechanism myself and needed a good “technician” to help me fix it. A new “technician” was recommended and so I sought him out. After explaining my dilemma the “technician” consulted the “manufacturer” and together they began the process of rebuilding my servo mechanism, a.k.a “hard drive”.
I was instructed to delete all the old files, and believe me there were a lot of them, after saving the good ones to a flash drive,. Next I was told to reload my “hard drive” operating system and start all over with new programming software designed for my operating system; software that would allow me to access the full capacity of my newly installed operating system. The “manufacturer” and the “technician” also advised me that if I wanted to keep my re-built servo mechanism running properly I really needed to locate my copy of the “original manufacturer’s operator’s manual” and study it carefully and consistently.
Among the things I found in the “operators manual” was a history of the “company,” it’s early “stockholders” and the numerous “stockholder” revolts, which went on until the “Chief Executive Officer” left his plush office, put on his work clothes and showed up at the jobsite one day. He eventually spent 3 years on site showing the “laborers” what the “Manufacturer” wanted them to do and what was expected of them if they wanted the full benefits of a truly generous retirement plan.
Sadly the “stockholders” didn’t appreciate the value of the retirement plan and everything the “Manufacturer” was offering through the “CEO”. After numerous tries they eventually succeeded in convincing the “governor” to crucify the ”CEO”. The happy ending to the company history was that the “CEO” was a hard man to keep down and he was soon back in the executive suite, but not before appointing a new “board of directors” who went right to work on a new edition of the “operator’s manual.”
I have both editions, the old and the new. I keep the old one for occasional reference, but use the new one daily. I still have to stop and re-boot my system on a regular basis, but I found, in the new edition of the “operator’s manual,” a free “virus protection” which I run continuously.
For future reference if the reader should need some clarification I’m including some personnel and terminology details below so you will know who to contact if your system crashes like mine did or if your software suddenly flashes “egg and cheese waffles” on your monitor.

“Manufacturer” – That would be God, Abba, The Lord, The Almighty. He’s not particular.
“Chief Executive Officer, CEO” – That would be Jesus, Christ, Savior, Son of Abba.
“Technician” – That would be your pastor
“Company” – That would be God’s people, Abrahams descendants, us.
“Shareholders” – That would be the Pharisees, scribes, Hebrews, Israelites, etc.
“Board of Directors” – That would be the apostles.
“Laborers” – That would be us.
“Hard Drive” – That would be your brain.
“Operating System” – That would be your heart and the emotions within it.
“Software” – That would be your desires and goals and purpose and the knowledge required.
“Guidance System” – That would be your moral values.
“Operators Manual” – That would be the Bible, The Good Book.
“Virus Protection” – That would be prayer.

The moments when I think Abba has rattled my cage are always unforeseen and usually have nothing to do with the train of thought which I felt was most important at that point in time when the rattling took place. This morning was one of those times.

I had just crawled back into bed to begin my morning devotions, prayers and e-mail checks, as is my morning habit after retrieving my first cup of java of the day from the kitchen. And unexpected as usual, mid second sip of coffee and before I could even get my devotional opened to July 23, or the covers re-arranged, He was interjecting Himself into my thoughts. This morning the thought was important enough to me that I stopped what I was doing and grabbed my “Nothing NoteBook.” This is what I wrote.

“I had a thought this morning … I know how I felt when my children rejected me, because I didn’t turn out to be what they wanted in a “father.” How does God feel when we reject him because He doesn’t turn out to be what we wanted in a God, because we don’t take the time to get to know Him; really get to know him?”

It’s a thought worth some contemplation. When I received the 2 e-mailed rejections from my daughter and oldest son earlier this year I was first angry and then that graduated to angrier. Both feelings then settled into a batch of hurt-chip angry cookies. My conservative Christian upbringing taught that I wasn’t supposed to feel that way. I was supposed to be magnanimous and instantly forgiving and forgetting of the injury because, after all, Jesus would be wouldn’t He? Really? What Would Jesus Do? Before we even get to the whip in the temple episode maybe a review of a couple of earlier incidents is in order.

We get a few ideas in just the first few chapters of Genesis. Adam and Eve, His first born children, disobeyed the one simple directive about the tree in the middle of the garden and they were evicted without ceremony and subsequently punished in ways that persist to this day. A few chapters later in Genesis 6:6-8 “And the LORD was sorry that He had made man on the earth, and He was grieved in His heart. So the LORD said, “I will destroy man whom I have created from the face of the earth, both man and beast, creeping things and birds of the air, for I am sorry that I have made them.”

God was “grieved in His heart?” That’s what it says in the NKJV. God was hurt and He lashed out … big time. Later, after He’s started over with Noah and Sons, He promises to never, ever do it again.

In Exodus 32:9 in response to the Israelites worshiping a golden calf God was ticked; so ticked in fact that he told Moses to get out of the way so He could do away with them and start over with Moses. But Moses pleaded with God to stay His hand, pointing out how it would look to the rest of mankind if it looked like God had led his “special possession” to the wilderness and then killed them all just because they misbehaved. And so it went; generation after generation after generation; God’s “chosen” people continued to “choose” not to like Him because He wasn’t what they thought He should be. And so it went for more than 1100 years until God just shut up and left the Hebrews to their own devices for more than 400 years.

When Jesus was nearing the end of His ministry, even He expressed frustration with those closest to Him at times, and certainly when He cleared the temple of the sacrilege He found there, with the whip He made while He thought it over. So, I return to the original thought above.

“How does God feel when we reject him because He didn’t turn out to be what we wanted in a God, because we don’t take the time to get to know Him; really get to know him?”

How do we fragile, delicate works of Abba’s art, feel when those we love, especially our children, reject us because we aren’t what they think we should be, so they can relate to us better? Are we hurt? Of course! Are we angry? Sure! Do we react in anger? You bet! Is this part of being made in God’s own image?

Do we have the same reactions when our children don’t turn out the way we thought they should, or according to the plans we had for them? Asked and answered already isn’t it? So why do we think that Abba should feel any different toward us than we do about our own creations? The answer to that could be that even though we are made in His image, we aren’t perfect parents; God is. The key for me is that forgiveness is not the same thing as acceptance, and acceptance of the person is not the same as acceptance of their behavior. And furthermore, I must follow Abba’s example as closely as I humanly can.

I forgive completely and like the father in the story of the prodigal son, I let them go their own way. It’s okay for me to be unhappy with their rejection, and also like the father of the prodigal son I will be overjoyed if they ever come home and ask to be forgiven, but also like that father, I will not chase after them and ask their forgiveness anymore than Abba will chase after me for the purpose of asking my forgiveness.

It’s up to me to seriously think about how Abba feels when I think I know how He should react to my many mis-directions of act and thought. How in the world does an imperfect human being begin to understand how a perfect Heavenly Father feels when we try to define the way we think He should be?

Billy Graham’s former close friend and associate pastor in their youth, Charles Templeton is a perfect example of the result of that kind of thinking. He abandoned his calling and faith because of a picture in Life magazine. It was a picture of a grief stricken black woman in Northern Africa holding a child who had died of starvation. Templeton decided that if God existed that would never have happened; that the horrors of civilization would be non-existent.

So therefore Templeton concluded … that since God didn’t work the way Charles Templeton thought He should that God doesn’t exist. In other words, for all his knowledge of the verses in the bible Templeton never understood that he didn’t understand that a genuine faith in God required what Jesus said about the children: “The kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I assure you, anyone who doesn’t have their kind of faith (I read the context of faith here as “trust”) will never get into the kingdom of God.”

How do you think God feels when we reject Him, because we never took the time to really get to know Him and worship (accept) Him as He is?

Okay … I admit it! I do! I’ve spent way too much time on the past; particularly my past. I’m an amateur historian, in that history fascinates me and no history fascinates me more than my own. That fact should not be confused with a wish to re-wind and re-do my own history, because with one exception I don’t have the slightest desire to re-live and re-do any of my/our past. Jorge Agustín Nicolás Ruiz de Santayana y Borrás, known as George Santayana, in his Reason in Common Sense, The Life of Reason, Vol.1, wrote, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” I have heard this paraphrased and misquoted for years, but the point has always struck a chord with me.

Some people would think that a person who has devoted four years of her life to writing her own history might have a hidden desire to turn back the clock. It’s not entirely off the mark if you consider the last line of Dear Mom and Dad where I quote my youthful icon Dennis the Menace, saying that he wished he was three again knowing what he knew at the age of four. One of the lessons of detailing one’s life, as I did, is that you realize the mistakes that were repeated, sometimes frequently. I guess I was by definition, somewhat insane if you apply another quote, attributed a number of people, but is currently found on page 23 of the sixth edition of Alcoholics Anonymous. The statement is this: “Insanity is repeating the same mistakes and expecting different results.” By that definition I spent a good portion of my life insane.

In the last few weeks I have come at last to a realization and thus a concluding moment in my story; my history as it were. Mind you, it wasn’t the result of a carefully crafted line of thought which led me to that point. It was, though, a singular moment which nearly drove me to my knees soon after we began the musical worship portion of our church service this past Sunday. The background for this incident is this:

Throughout Marilyn’s illness, I/he refused steadfastly to acknowledge the reality of her impending death. The result of that sad and hopeless situation was that, although I said goodbye to her one night after she was asleep, her prince never did and … neither did she. In relating 3 separate incidents which occurred soon after Marilyn’s death, I shared what I knew beyond a doubt to be visitations of her spirit. Two of those were consoling and one was an expression of displeasure, but there was still no “Goodbye”; no “Au Revoir.” She was just gone except for those three incidents none of which contained a goodbye.

Her sister told me later that I should know what Marilyn would say to me if she could. “Get over it and get on with it!” and her favorite statement when life presented one of its disappointments; “Oh well, NEXT!” But I didn’t. I couldn’t and I didn’t understand why.

Then last Sunday, in a totally unexpected moment she was there in front of me, not beside as before, saying “Goodbye!” And then she appeared to walk away on a road which ran up and over a hill. Near the top she paused a moment, looked back and seemed to say, “It’s not forever, just for now.” A pain I’d never experienced, not even at her death pierced me to the core. But, it was a pain like the removal of a barbed arrow that had been lodged in my chest for so long I’d gotten used to it until it was finally removed with no warning, in one quick movement on a Sunday morning.

With the memory of my past intact to avoid being condemned to repeat it and a determination to avoid the insanity of repeating the same mistakes and expecting different results, as a last tribute to my bride, the amazing and even in death, enduring Marilyn Folk Bishop, at least for the time being, “Oh Well, NEXT!” Yes dear.