Latest essay added Nov 21, 2007

The Man With The Hat

My grandfather was a farmer all his life, and always wore a hat whenever he left the house. This is necessary for people who spend most of their work day outdoors in the sun, and it never occurred to me that it was unusual. One day when he wasn't feeling well, I walked over to the corner store to buy his daily newspaper for him, and commented to the lady behind the counter that I was buying it for the gentleman that came over every evening, and she said "Oh, yes, the man with the hat."
When she said that, I realized that yes, he aways wore his hat outdoors, and no, most people don't seem to wear hats anymore. Funny the things you remember about someone when they are gone. The hat was a beige Stetson, not particularly unusual. My grandfather wasn't a "cowboy" although he raised cattle.
Something else I remember about him was that he never seemed to lose his temper. I lived with him for thirty years, and I can't remember him raising his voice even once. Funny, I only lived with my dad for four years, when I was four years old, and I seem to remember HIM yelling at mom and us kids. But I can't remember "Pop" (my grandfather) ever yelling. And he only hit me once in thirty years (on the behind - and I really deserved it). I think I inherited my father's temper, but I try to model my behavior after my grandfather (my mother's father).
"Pop" also never drank alcohol, and never swore. In 30 years, I can only remember one single instance when he muttered "Damn" under his breath, and that was after I was over 21 years old. Do people like this still exist? He was married to my grandmother for over fifty years. I can't recall them ever fighting or yelling at each other. If they had arguements, it certainly wasn't where the kids could hear them.
There is the story about the piano. I am told that when my grandfather wanted to move from Texas to Arizona, my grandmother didn't think she wanted to come out here. But grandfather promised to buy her a piano if she would agree to move. Grandmother used to play religious music on that piano, and all us kids took lessons on it. I still have that piano.
Once, in grade school, one of my teachers asked us all to write an essay about our greatest hero. I think I wrote mine on Abraham Lincoln (who was indeed a great man). But I think I made a mistake, so this essay is to make up for the one I didn't write then. The Man With The Hat has been gone for over 15 years now. I miss him......

My Thoughts On the Kennedy Assassination

I was in high school when President Kennedy was assassinated. A few weeks after it happened, my English teacher gave the class an assignment to write about our thoughts on the assassination. The problem was that I had been deliberately NOT thinking about the assassination. I did not like Kennedy at all. I always thought he was a terrible president, and I didn't like the whole "Camelot" thing that his fans went on about. However, I was not going to be glad that a president of the US (or anyone for that matter) had been killed. It was not necessary for me to think about it or talk about it, until this teacher (I think his name was Mr Fink, believe it or not) gave us this assignment. So since I deliberately had no thoughts about the assassination itself, I wrote about something else. My teacher did not understand.
I wrote a description of the land behind my uncle's ranch in Kirkland Arizona. I don't recall that I was consciously doing it, but I was writing about something calm and peaceful instead of what I refused to think about directly. The teacher handed it back and angrily asked why I hadn't followed the instructions. At the time I wasn't really sure why I had done it, and had no ready answer. The next day he asked me for my essay back. As I recall it , he said something like "anyone who can write an essay like that..." When I told him "You didn't like it, so I tore it up," he seemed to look a little guilty. I don't know what he wanted to do with it, and unfortunately it is gone forever. I could try to recreate it here, but that was over 20 years ago.
I think it was just a straight description of what you see as you walk out past the ranch. There is a creek at the back of the ranch that runs all year round (not a given, in Arizona). You climb the bank of the ravine after you cross the creek, and walk through scrub brush over some rolling hills. There is a "road" that's really just a trail, that winds between the hills. You'd probably need a 4-wheel drive vehicle to drive it. I've walked it many times, and ridden it on horseback a few times. It goes past what used to be some old cabin back in the middle of nowhere. There's nothing left of the cabin but a concrete foundation, and some litter. There are lots of rusty old cans and broken bottles lying around, and maybe a few bedsprings.
As you walk farther back into the hills, you come across several old mineshafts. Some are just holes straight down into the ground, with mounds of dirt around them. At least one short one was apparently blasted sideways out of solid rock. There are also the remains of some kind of old mine buildings. My uncle always told us that this was the remains of the "All American Mine" which was really a German spy headquarters during World War II. It's hard to know whether he was serious - I suppose this would have been good cover, and a good place to hide between "assignments" but what was there to spy on in North Central Arizona in the 1940's? There was a German POW camp in Phoenix a hundred miles away, but surely nothing of military significance.

The Lonely Light

As you drive down Yarnell Hill from Kirkland and Yarnell, heading back towards the Valley of the Sun and Phoenix after a weekend at "The Ranch", there is a light at the bottom of the hill. There must be some mine down there, as there isn't much to see during the daytime. But at night, as you drive down the hill, you can see this one, solitary light bulb burning. From up on the hill, you can see for miles and miles of desert. Off in the distance are homes and towns. You can see Congress Junction, and the lights of Wickenburg. But at the base of the hill, there is just the one, single light bulb burning in front of some small building or shack, and then a great stretch of darkness. Why is it there? Why aren't there any other lights? Why is is ALWAYS there? For some reason, when I see it, it makes me a little melacholy.
But then, it is a bit inspiring too. No matter how much darkness there is, that light bulb is always there, bravely shining on, providing light to its little corner of the desert, offering a beacon to anyone who can see it out of the darkness: "Here is Life! Here is Civilization! Are you lost? Here is a connection to the World."

I've Heard the Voice of God

I know there are lots of people who claim to talk to God. Preachers are always talking about prayers being answered, although they usually don't mean literally. There are people who "hear voices" and people who claim to have a direct pipeline to the Supreme Being. I believe that I once heard the voice of God, but I didn't know it at the time.
For many years, when I was younger, I used to volunteer to be a counselor at church camp. Our church has this wonderful camp up in the pines of southern Arizona. It's a wonderful place nestled in a small valley by a stream that is sometimes wet, sometimes dry, high up on a mountainside and about two hours from civilization. Once a year I would go up there for a week with 8 or 9 other adults and about 60 or 70 junior high kids. It was always a refreshing change from my day-to-day world. The smell of the pines, the sound of the wind, the view from Cathedral Peak, the fellowship of like-minded Christian friends... what a break from the pressures of travel, deadlines, bills, and so forth.
One year, I had just arrived and was walking around breathing in the smells and enjoying once again the sounds. I wandered into the mess hall, and sitting at the other end near the fireplace was a young girl I had never met before. Camp wasn't going to start for several hours yet, and we were both there early. I walked up, figuring I'd introduce myself and make her feel at home, since she hadn't been there the year before.
When I got close, she turned around, glared at me with a terrible look of anger, and said "I hate you!"
Now you have to understand, I didn't know this girl, and she didn't know me. She wasn't here last year. I had only been here for ten minutes, so it couldn't possibly be something I had done just now. I had not yet introduced myself, nor was I wearing a name badge yet, so she couldn't have heard anything about me. (Not that I can think of anything someone might have heard about me that would get this reaction!) I had absolutely no idea why she might say something like this to a stranger.
I was stunned. I had no clue what to do or say. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. My brain was completely empty. My mouth dropped open, and I heard myself saying "That's ok. I love you anyway."
When I realized what I had said, and thought about it for a second, I decided I couldn't come up with a better answer than that. So I smiled, and walked away. Later that day, I came across the same young girl, and once again she snarled at me "I hate you!". But now I had had time to think about it, and had decided that my first, instantaneous answer was the best possible, so once again I smiled and said "That's ok. I love you anyway."
Of course you have figured out by now that by the end of the week we became good friends. On the last day of camp we played ping-pong together, and hugged before she left for home. She never told me what her issues were, and I never asked. I assumed she had some problems with the men in her life at home, and since I wasn't any kind of therapist, all I could really offer was quiet friendship. At least she could learn that there are men in the world who can be friendly, loving, and non-threatening.
I've always remembered that little girl, and wondered what became of her. But it wasn't until many years later that I realized something. Although I am a Christian, I'm not one of those who walks around saying "I love you" to everyone I meet. As a matter of fact, I think I am a typical male, in that I very rarely say it at all. I couldn't imagine how I came up with the reply "That's OK, I love you anyway". It's simply not something I can imagine saying to a stranger. If you had told me a week in advance that I was going to meet a young lady who would introduce herself by saying "I hate you", I would have probably come up with some clever, amusing response. Perhaps something like "Oh, you must mean my evil twin brother". Never in a million years would I just reply by saying "That's OK, I love you anyway."
After thinking about it for several years, I have concluded that must have been God speaking. He knew this young lady needed some comforting at that particular moment, and he used my mouth to say the words. I am pleased to have been given that opportunity, but of course it means that I can't take credit for coming up with the phrase. It comes from God, and therefor I offer it to you to use as you see fit. It's a wonderfully universal phrase that fits many occasions.
That's OK, I love you anyway.

Why Does God Let Bad Things Happen To Good People? I really can't understand why some people think this is a relevant or difficult question. To me the answer is quite simple, and it should be easily answered by a first year seminary student. Here's what I believe:
God has given us free will. He wants us to do the right thing, but if we genuinely have free will, we have the ability to do the wrong thing. If God automatically fixes it when we do the wrong thing, then we don't really have free will at all. That would make us all just robots. Of course, when we choose to do the wrong thing, sometimes it makes bad things happen to us. And sometimes, unfortunately, it makes bad things happen to someone else - someone who didn't deserve it. That's all part of having free will.

Now, let us suppose you have the worst possible life. Let us say you live for 70 years, and the entire time you are sick, crippled and in pain. Everyone you love dies an early death. Everything good you do, someone else takes credit for it. You are accused and convicted of terrible crimes that you did not do. But in spite of all this misery, you do your best to do what God asks of you. God has promised that when you die, you will go to heaven. He has told you that heaven is the most wonderful place you can possibly imagine. OK, then, how long must God allow you to stay in heaven to make up for those 70 miserable years on Earth? 70 years? 700 years? 7000 years? How about *forever*?

You see, it doesn't really matter WHAT happens to you while you are here on Earth. What matters is how YOU react to it. Of course we all hope for a good life, and fortunately very few people have such a miserable life as I described above. And part of doing what God wants is helping your neighbors have a good life. ("If you do it to the least of these, you do it to me.") Sure, it's sad when someone we love, especially a good person, dies. But it doesn't mean there is no God.

Not too long ago I heard an idiot radio personality state that he could "prove" there was no God, because God could do anything, and since bad things happened to good people, that mean God WANTED bad things to happen to them, and since that is a ridiculous idea, obviously there is no God. It just proves that the radio personality is an idiot.

This next one was NOT written by me, but it struck me as worth repeating. I found it in a column by Joseph Sobran, and I wanted to be able to quote it at appropriate moments.
"But the state has a way of growing beyond its proper bounds. The servant becomes the master by gradual and cunning steps, usually on some humanitarian pretext. instead of merely protecting our independent pursuit of happiness, it promises to deliver the substance of happiness itself. And it can do this only by diminishing the very freedom it is supposed to be assuring, as by taxing Peter to subsidize Paul.
If Paul took Peter's money himself, we would recognize his behavior as criminal. But if the state does it for him, we accept the transaction as legitimate.
How can this be? The few people who try to justify such practices usually argue that they are sanctified by "democratic process". But if a practice is inherently unjust, no mere procedure can make it right. We may delegate to the state our right of self-defense because we all have a right to defend ourselves in the first place. But we can't delegate our right to rob our neighbors because we have no such right. Robbery doesn't cease to be robbery merely because the beneficiary uses a vote instead of a gun. The means is still force."

This leads to another one by me:

Environmentalism.

Let's assume, for the sake of argument, that there exists a polka-dotted owl, and that said owl has a habitat on a property which I purchased a few years ago (before anyone was aware of this owl) for my eventual retirement cabin. And let's say that it is absolutely true that if this habitat is destroyed, we know that this owl will become extinct. And let's even say that it is beneficial for all mankind that this owl NOT become extinct. OK, assume for the moment that we KNOW all those things are true. Nevertheless, what is your justification that *I* must personally bear all the cost of keeping this owl from extinction? How dare you pass a law that says I cannot develop my own property? If this owl is indeed so important, and everyone agrees that it is so, then why does not *everyone* pay the cost of keeping it from becoming extinct? If it is discovered that this owl is on my property, then instead of passing a law that says I cannot develop the property I intended for my retirement, why not use collective funds to purchase the land from me, so I may buy another retirement lot? Just asking.

To email Rick send mail to rick at flying buffalo dot com.

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