Recovering Baptist

John McCain has shown more political savvy in the last 24 hours than the entire GOP has in the last four years. He ran a brilliant congratulatory advertisement immediately following Obama’s speech, but he refused to undermine its authenticity by not allowing any leaks about his VP choice until today. By keeping the tensions high he managed to divert the attention of the press away from Obama’s amazing speech without looking bad.

Like people from the other 49 states, I have no idea what the governor of Alaska is like. She may be a total bust in terms of policy or personality, but at least there’s a chance that she uses email and knows what Google does. McCain needed someone to balance his age and stodginess, especially when Obama exudes youth, hope, and technical competence.

Truth is, though, I’m watching both sides with impassion. My candidate is Barr, and he is sure to lose. I am a Libertarian through and through, and my foreign policies mimic those of Monroe. I see goods and bads to both candidates, and I just can’t pick a side between them. At least we won’t have Bush to kick around anymore, I guess.

My boys love to play on the computer. They love everything from Dora to National Geographic. On the one hand, it’s great; the computer provides constant entertainment and education. On the other hand, we’re quickly recognizing that the boys aren’t properly developing their sense of play.

It’s our sense of the latter that makes me a fan of Free Range Kids. Lenore Skenazy made a name for herself when she sent her nine year old home via the New York City subway system and wrote about it. Now, if I, a bumkin from the south, were to put my kid on a NYC subway alone, I should probably have my parenting license removed. I’ve been to NYC once, and my kids rarely ride the train here. But for a family that lives in New York, the subway is a normal way to move around town, and the boy should know how to ride the train by himself.

If our great-grandparents could see how we’re raising kids today, they would think we’re all nuts. For starters, how many boys under the age of ten even know what a pocket knife is, much less how to properly use and care for one? Our great-great-grandfathers were probably expected to properly use a firearm by the time they were twelve; today that privilege belongs only to hunters who much the country would call “rednecks.” And when it comes to play, we’ve ruined it.

When she was a child, my mom and her brother played with boxes, chalk, and the Sears catalog. The box (maybe the size of, say, a graham cracker box) was cut and folded to form two bench seats. The chalk was used to draw lines on the hardwood floors. And the children cut (yes, with something sharp) people out of the Sears catalog to be put into the box-cars and go for a ride on the roads. That was their bad weather play. When the weather was nice, they were sent outside to run around and play. I bet they ran with sticks. I’m sure they climbed trees and played in the OSHA-unapproved barns while dodging one-ton hooved creatures.

Rosa Brooks got it right a few months ago. Our kids need to just go outside and play more. There’s a creek near our house. I think I’ll take the boys down there just as this tropical storm clears. Or maybe we’ll go out in the rain; the rain and dirt might do them some good.

I was talking politics with a friend the other day, and I was a bit surprised. He once accused me of being a capitalist; he is, after all, the son of a socialist. But in this election cycle he is completely backing McCain. I, on the other hand, wouldn’t mind if Obama were to win, although I will continue my losing streak and vote for Barr.

My friend and I agreed that in the event of international crisis, Obama would lead us into economic isolation and economic ruin while McCain would just drop the bomb. While I am by no means a pacifist, hawks like McCain scare me, if for no other reason than war can be a means for someone to achieve his political gains at the expense of the lives of other men.

After 9/11 I was proud that Bush was president. I thought he did a great job leading out nation during those dark hours. And I thought we had every right and reason to go into Afghanistan. However, when he announced that we were invading Iraq again I was unhappy. I believed that Bush’s decision was based more on his desire to complete what his father did not and that this was a war of politics. I predicted that the war would run through the next election cycle and end when it served him and his party the most. My wife remembers this moment very clearly; unfortunately, I did not write it here or anywhere else. I did not have this blog back then, and I was too chicken to post it under my actual name. Regardless, it seems that I was right.

The war on terror was a key issue in the previous election. Bush and the GOP used it to scare voters into voting for him. It was reminiscent of Wag the Dog. And now it seems that my prediction has come true again. How miraculous is it that just months before the election that the Iraqis and the US have agreed on a timetable to end this “increasingly unpopular” war?

Go ahead. Call me a cynic. Call me a conspiracy theorist. Say that I’m making up everything that I’ve ever said. The Republicans have given neither this country on the whole nor members of their party any reason to trust them. And while I may align myself with many of their economic policies, they have completely turned the principles they once held, so I have now permanently turned my back on them.

2008 has turned out to be a very strange year for us. Highlights so far have included my wife breaking her leg on vacation, my bad knee, unemployment, and a kitchen project that has taken much longer than originally thought. And in the middle of the kitchen project a pipe burst, leading to an evacuation of the entire lower level of our house so new hardwoods could be installed.

With all of our focus being on the kitchen, my office and our soon-to-be music room are a complete mess. Boxes are scattered everywhere, and they are six high in some places. I miss my wonderful mid-century meets iPod office complete with my pipe holder. And since this picture was lost from my blog, I thought I’d post it here again. It’s a co-creation of my wife and me, and I’m pretty proud of it.

Let me see if I understand the current state of international politics.

The United States invaded two sovereign nations, overthrowing their governments and ensuring the death of the duly appointed leader of one of them. The United States is making threats against another sovereign nation over its choice to pursue a form of energy that we and many other nations currently possess and are considering expanding because they might choose to then develop a weapon that we possess and have used on civilians.

Russia and one of its former territories have disagreements over which nation controls a tract of land. Georgia and Russia trade attacks using terrorist-type tactics for years. Russia decides to invade the contested region and displays a small amount of its military might, and the United States decides to intervene. Now that Russia has a presence in Georgia, the United States has decided to land a B-17 to deliver humanitarian aid for the purpose of establishing a military presence there.

It seems that there isn’t a conflict involving non-pitch-black people that we Americans can’t stay out of. We act as if all of the world belongs to us, and our appetite for domination seems to be endless. If I recall correctly, Washington seemed to have a different view of the right for self-determination 140 years ago, and I doubt anyone there would support Vermont or Montana if they voted for self-rule, as some there are currently advocating. Is there any wonder why the rest of the world gets tired of us telling it what to do? I guess Jesus was on to something with that whole speck in someone else’s eye and log in your own…

Facebook is such an interesting phenomenon. I never thought much of it until our new pastor started making great use of it; as it turns out, FB is a great tool for churches. It makes it so much easier to keep tabs with a congregation care for them when you have a tool which makes it that easy to keep up with who’s doing what and how everyone is feeling.

And the good and bad of FB is that it’s easy to find people. On the one hand I’ve been found by friends that go so far back that my memory of our times together is hazy, and then on the other I keep running into ex-girlfriends. But hey, if they’re the ones adding me as friends, then I guess I couldn’t have been that bad a guy. But those aren’t the ones that have me thinking; it’s all my old Baptist friends. I suddenly have a better understanding for so much of what Paul has to say.

My old Baptist friends are good people. They all know why I chose to leave the SBC; I disagreed with its theology and its culture. Oh yeah, I also left because of a girl (who isn’t my friend on FB), but that’s irrelevant. And the further I get away from the SBC the more I think that God was in a lot of things that happened thirteen years ago. Yet I still find myself wanting to gain the approval of my old Baptist friends, and that means being tempted to change what I say on Facebook.

This is where Paul comes in. It seems so strange that Paul’s writings to Jews would apply to an ex-Baptist, but they do. Paul reminds members of the Way that they are not only called to follow Christ, but they are also free, and in some ways even called, to give up their culture (and don’t forget Peter who was specifically called to sit down to a meal of tasty pig). He reminds them of God’s grace, and he exhorts them to walk that fine line of loving the people who cannot give it up while living firmly in a new one. And so I’ve been purposely updating my Facebook page with statuses and comments that many years ago would have convinced me that I’m a backslidden Christian, not only because that’s who I am now, but also for the sake of my brethren who need to know that Christ would drink good beer with friends and sinners alike.

I open the truck door; the engine is off. I hear the sound of silence, and it is wonderful. And for once, it’s not because of any sort of deafness. I step on the porch, find the key, and feel like I’m opening the door to my palace. When I am here alone, I feel like a king.

I move a few things to prepare for my guests and then get to work. I spend an hour manhandling a deck that I want to use as a dock in the reeds of the pond. Getting it out of the barn alone gives me a sense of just how tough this job will be. It’s one of the hottest days of the year, but the work is worth it. The decking slides out of the truck into the reeds, but after an hour of sloshing through the mud I realize that some jobs are meant for two men.

The line is in the water. It’s the heat of the day and the fish aren’t biting, but sometimes fishing isn’t about the fish. I forego my usual bait of worms and try using lures. Cast, reel, repeat. Cast, reel, repeat. Old men know how to smoke a pipe and fish at the same time; I need more practice, and this is the right day to work on that combination of skills. The fingerling bass like this choice of lure, but the big ones don’t seem interested.

Having washed off most of the mud, I’m sitting on the rocking chair on the front porch. My friends have arrived for their photoshoot. We thought they would take pictures in the pasture or near the woods, but the proverbial wheels in the photographer’s mind are spinning, and he likes other things that he sees. It’s brutally hot, and everyone is exhausted; it’s hard to take good pictures when the heat zaps your energy, but the pictures look good anyway. I check in with my wife as my friends drive away, and she gives me permission to return to the pond before coming home.

The air is so still that the smoke from my pipe just hangs in the air. Cast, reel, repeat. Sunset is supposed to be the perfect time to catch bass, but it seems that I started a little too late. Cast, reel, repeat. I sit down on the dock my dad and I built. Cast, reel, repeat. I’m beginning to think that it’s too dark for the fish to see the lure; I can’t even see it when it when it comes out of the water. I’m about to give up when a little one strikes. I see a flash of something large going after the little fish. There’s no giving up now.

Cast, reel, repeat. My pipe has gone out and I realize why smoking is important when fishing; damned mosquitoes. Cast, reel, strike! That big one is still around, and now he is on my hook. I fight him for a moment and then utter, “I’ve got him.” It’s the wrong thing to say. He gets caught up in some strings hanging down from the dock and gets away. Fisher’s fallacy is worse than gambler’s fallacy.

The scene is beautiful. Having spent all day around a camera, I try to figure out how to capture the scene. It’s impossible. I long for the ability to describe what I see, but I lack the words. So I keep fishing. There’s no way the fish can see the lure, but fishing isn’t about catching fish. I’m mourning the loss of my favorite broadcaster and the impending death of my friend’s father and enjoying the stillness. And the crickets. And the occasional bullfrog.

I climb in the truck and leave my kingdom. It’s time to return to suburbia.

My family thinks it is strange that people want to use our farm for pictures. To them it’s a dusty old, working farm. But I know that it’s much more than that. It is a Good place, and people resonate with Goodness, even when it’s just a glimpse through a picture. I am blessed that I get to experience it whenever I want to.