The Make Way Partners Report 30 May 200

Dear Friends,
This week’s story is longer than most. It is the story of Mary Adut, the oldest girl in our school in Sudan. Mary knows that girls don’t have many opportunities in Sudan and has fought hard to be faithful with the privileges she receives through Make Way Partners, especially her education. Please read to see what a difference your support for the children of Sudan is making.

In Christ,

Kimberly L. Smith
Executive Director

· To learn more about Make Way Partners Child Sponsorship Program click here
· To become a Child Sponsor and be a part of a transforming ministry to those at risk click here.
Become a Child Sponsor Today!


If you can’t save them all, what difference does saving
one child from slavery make?



(Kimberly Smith and Mary Adut)

I was the first white woman she had ever seen. It was my second trip to her school in Sudan, but my first visit was for just a few days, and I was with a large team of men. This time the word was out – the ‘white woman’ was there for two months, and alone.

The pilot of my small, chartered plane circled the dirt airstrip where I could see hundreds of Sudanese below waiting to greet me. The landing kicked up so much dust that I lost sight of them for several moments. As the pilot opened the door, it was their beautiful voices singing praises to Jesus that first greeted me.

From there on everything happened so fast. The crowd pressed in; everyone wanted to touch the ‘white woman’. Within moments of my foot leaving the last step of the pull-up ladder descending from the plane, the pilot threw my bag to the ground and started his engine to leave. As the crowd sang, cried, danced and grabbed at me, the plane took off. I now had no transportation, no satellite phone and no other American with whom to talk.

Soon, Mary made her move. A tall, strikingly beautiful girl, who I guessed to be about 12 years old, took the lead. With wide eyes blazing directly into mine, she put out her hand as if to take my hand and said in precise English, “My name is Mary.” Impressed, I started to take her hand. Just as our fingertips brushed, Mary withdrew her hand, threw back her head and laughed as if she had made the biggest joke of the year. The two girls with Mary cackled bravely along with her.

I figured, “12 year-old girls are 12 year-old girls all around the world.” They threw their arms around me, and we continued our walk together toward the compound and New life Ministry School. Several of the teachers (who are all male) and a horde of children walked with us. The singing and drumming set the pace and spirit as the girls laughed and danced around me.

Once we arrived at the schoolyard, the boys beat a massive drum while the other children gathered in a large circle around them. Mary and her two friends jumped to the center of the circle where the trio danced to the beat of the boys’ drumming. I stood on the inner fringe of the circle watching with pure joy and utter amazement. Suddenly, Mary rushed over, grabbed my arm and pulled me into the circle. I quickly learned that Mary’s precise English was limited to a few practiced phrases. However, it didn’t take verbal language to understand that she and her friends wanted the tindeet (old woman) to dance with them.

My first attempt at trying to acclimate myself to the Sudanese form of celebration and worship – I danced. Mary led the trio in laughing as only preteen girls can laugh at other females. I had to laugh at myself as well; I was certain that I was a ridiculous sight indeed! A three-day trip to get to them had surely taken its toll on my appearance even without the aid of my combat style hiking boots, filthy cargo pants and unruly, dirty hair! So, together, we danced, and laughed at me.

James came over to the dancing circle. As soon as he approached, he began to sternly scold Mary and her sidekicks. The gaiety died, and all the children were sent back to class. As we walked from the schoolyard, I asked James to explain to me what had just transpired. He told me that the girls were laughing at me and he could not tolerate that. They must be disciplined and learn to respect their elders.

I told James that all girls go through a time of challenging or competing with older women, just as boys do with men. But girls and women have a different style. I asked James if he would permit me some time with the young girls to earn their respect. This was a foreign thought to James – to earn respect. In his experience, you either respect the authority or be severely disciplined.

James desires to grow strong and healthy leaders among his people so he was open to my suggestion, but he told me he would not tolerate the girls laughing at me or being disrespectful in any way. Reiterating that I would need time and his patience as the girls and I learned one another, he agreed.

It didn’t take long for the girls to seek me out. With Mary in the lead, they found me in church. They found me in my tent. They found me on a walk. They found me in the latrine! Each time, the others would hide slightly behind Mary while she would first ‘invite’ me into some interchange so that she could get the upper hand by rebuffing my response to her. When we walked together, Mary would often run a few feet ahead so that she could mock the way I walked or carried a stick (to ward off rabid dogs).

Each time James caught Mary mocking me or displaying some form of disrespect, he intervened to discipline her. I again appealed to James to allow time and relationship building. I told him that young girls who have been through such unthinkable things as these girls have experienced could not be forced into submission, but they could be loved into healing and eventually, true service. Frustrated, but not knowing what else to do with females, James agreed to turn Mary and her ‘shadows’ over to me.

Then my big break came. All week long, the school was abuzz because of a soccer game being planned for Sunday evening. One of our donors had given 50 soccer balls for children in the area, and our school had kept several. I heard chatter about the ‘big game’ everyday.

It was all very informal. Two of our school helpers arranged the game; whoever showed up could play. We waited until late in the evening, a couple of hours before sunset, so that the heat was not so intense. I had never played soccer, but I wanted to join in. So, without thinking much about it, I joined in.

Our ‘soccer field’ was an area in the bush where the children had worked with relentless vigor to clear out all thorns, debris and roots. With only small tools, not much more effective than spoons, it had been taxing work!

Once on the ‘field’, I noticed there were no girls. I asked James about it; he told me that the girls didn’t like soccer, only volleyball. I was heartbroken! I had only been told about the love of soccer in Sudan so I had only asked our donors for soccer balls. Had I known girls loved volleyball, I would have asked for volleyballs also. I was confused because I had seen the girls working just as hard to clear the field, as had the boys.

After some initial jockeying among the boys over who was on whose team, the game began. I was amazed at how good the boys were! I ran the best I could and played as hard as I could for nearly an hour. Spent, I went to the edge of the ‘field’ to sit on a mahogany tree branch lying on the ground. Other late-arriving boys joined in or out of the game without interruption to the play.

Within moments I saw Mary and several other girls walking toward me. I was accustomed to basking in their high spirit; I had never seen them so crestfallen. I watched cautiously as the girls found a place beside me on the mahogany branch. After a few moments of pregnant silence, I asked Mary what was wrong. She moaned, “We want to play soccer.” I was delighted. I said, “Great! Go ahead.” A wide smile consumed her face, “Really?” “Sure!” I said.

Mary and several of the girls got up and took off. About 20 feet away from me, they stopped in their tracks and turned to me, “You come with us. You play, too.” Still tired, I simply could not run in the heat one more step. “Sorry. You go ahead.” Satisfied, they ran onto the field.

Immediately the game came to an abrupt halt. Hoping to avoid hoisting myself from my perch, I tried to discern what was going on. I could hear shouting but could not make out the words. Then pushing began. I ran to the center of the field.

The main spokespersons for the dispute were Mary and a young boy Deng for whom moments earlier I had fought for his right to play. When Deng first showed up, none of the boys wanted to let him join the game; they said he was too small. I defended his right to play since it was a game for all the school. The larger boys relented. Deng ended up being a tremendous player and both sides now wanted him on their team.

However, none of the boys wanted girls to play, and Deng was the ringleader in keeping them off the field. I looked at the school staff (all male) who stood on the boys’ side without speaking. I addressed them. “The girls would like to join the game. Are you going to let them play?” The men looked at the ground, kicking it like little boys and said, “Girls don’t play soccer. They only like Volleyball.”

“These girls say they love soccer and want to play. Are you going to let them play?” They answered, “In Sudan, girls don’t play soccer.” I reminded them that I played and no one complained, which set precedence. I said, “How can we tell them they can’t play? I need your support on this. Can the girls play?”

As Deng felt the male staff crumbling, he had held his peace about as long as he could and shouted, “Girls can’t play soccer!” I reminded Deng of what the larger boys said about him just moments before that; and if I hadn’t fought for his right to play, he would still be crying on the bench. “Don’t you want to help someone else who is being sidelined also?” I asked. Deng shook his head, “No! If girls are going to play, then I quit!” I said, “Fine, but you can watch us from your seat on the mahogany bench if you like!” Suddenly, the staff laughed. The boys jokingly punched Deng in the arm and said, “Let’s just play.” The game was on.

Exhausted, but filled with joy for Mary and her friends, I made my way back to the mahogany bench where I was better suited. It only took a few moments for me to figure out why the boys didn’t want the girls to play. They ran like the wind and had far better coordination at this age than did the boys. I knew, in time, the boys would out maneuver them for they had much more practiced skill since the girls never got to play. But for now, the girls surely gave the boys a run for their pride.

From that moment on, Mary has never laughed at me or mocked me. She still seeks me out but now it is for a hug, to practice her English reading or to paint our toenails.

For three years now I have watched Mary grow in stature and in wisdom. I have seen her struggle to leave behind the rebellious girl-child and grow into a woman of wise council and leadership. She has fought with and for those same girls, who used to just follow her around to make fun of others, to help them understand their value and responsibility to become educated, Christian women leading their people to freedom in Christ.

When the meningitis outbreak hit us this winter, we almost lost Mary. She became the sickest of any meningitis survivor that we had. Without your prayers and financial support to provide food, medicine and medical help, I believe Mary would have died. Then, the people of Sudan would have been denied a powerful woman of the Lord, which I have no doubt, with your continued prayers and support, will remain faithful in the Lord’s work to set the captives free!
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Join us to combat human trafficking.
To save a child like Mary and support a future leader in Sudan costs only about a dollar a day.

Make Way Partners
P.O. Box 26367
Birmingham, AL 35260 U.S.A

The 40s were busy.

Miami Springs growth over the last 75 years.

Obscure (to me) but Interesting (to me) Christian Things

I'm calling out Macon to comment on Robert's post here.

Candidates' Religious Affiliation

Sean credits Brad with finding this link that runs down the religious affiliations of the Presidential candidates. They are fun to consider:

1. Isn't Hillary's response just so predictable?

2. I liked the honesty of Kucinich's response. I like him too. Not as a President, but as to what I perceive to be his character.

3. Don't you think Giuliani's response is just a little testy? And how is God these days, Rudy?

4. Some mixed religious practices here. Brownback is a Catholic in the AM and an Evangelical in the evening. And McCain too. A Baptist Episcopalian. Do you think its the drinking-in-public thing? Do you think that if the Baptists came on out of the alcohol closet they would pick up thousands of Episcopalians? I think so. Drop the grape juice, guys. Let's have some wine!

5. Boy, the Methodists are all over the block. We have Edwards and we have have Gilmore. But the Methodists have always been all over the block.

6. Obama is UCC. "Unitarians Considering Christianity", I've heard it said.

7. Tancredo is a Presbyterian. I'm so embarrassed.

8. Fred? Fred?

9. Romney. The article says all of the candidates are Christians. The AP, then, has decided the question of whether Mormons are Christians. I'm glad we settled that. If Romney's candidacy does nothing else, he has scored a victory for the Mormons. They are finally seen as one of us. At least by the AP.

Mary's Latest Trip Up the Escarpment

Don't miss this one!

What Happens to Tall Poppies

This past week NPR interviewed a Kiwi comedian/pop star, Jemaine Clement. (Apparently this genleman and his group are about to burst upon the US cultural scene under the auspices of HBO.) The interviewer ask Mr. Clement to describe what he saw as the main difference between the culture in New Zealand and that in the US.

He said, "Tall poppies get cut", which puzzled the interviewer. Clement explained that "tall poppies get cut" is a saying in New Zealand that refers to the strong cultural value there of keeping one's affairs below the radar. He said that in the US, on the other hand, people seemed to value standing out from the crowd. People down under find that risky.

I think that was once the value in the US as well, and still is in many parts of the country.

I remember when I was a young partner at Smathers & Thompson attending a partners meeting when this value was discussed. During this period of time the legal practice generally was in transition. The practice, the experts insisted, had to move from being a profession to a business, and our firm was struggling with that change. Part of being a business was marketing, apparently, and so we discussed retaining a marketing firm to get our name in the paper and so forth.

Hervey Yancey, an elder statesman in the firm and a fine trial lawyer, blasted this idea. We did not want to get our names in the paper. "Fools names and fools faces", he recited, "oft appear in public places," a saying that mother was fond of using until I got my picture in the paper once. (The saying remained true. In fact it was then and there for my mother demonstrated. But my mother quit using the saying.)

I think flying below the radar is a good thing. When I was litigating full time, I had a number of cases and in each case there was another lawyer, of course, the opposing counsel, most likely smarter and more experienced than I. The lawyers with whom I contended also juggled a great number of cases. I wanted to remain a very short poppy as the lawyer on the other side surveyed the field in which he worked. I did that by always being courteous and not being contentious on issues that really didn't make any difference. When that lawyer came into the office on Saturday, in the peace and quiet of the morning, to think about the week just past and to plan the week to come, to plan the next steps of his various battles, I really didn't want him to think about me and my case. I was hoping that some other adversary of his had made himself quite prominent during the week before and that I would be unthought of, unseen, and safe.

I remember when I was in college and once visited my aunt and uncle in Spartanburg, SC, home of Deering Milliken, a large and well-known multinational textile firm. My uncle was on the faculty at Wofford College, and one day we drove together from the college back to his house through a well kept residential neighborhood with nice houses. It was not a neighborhood that would strike you as being particularly a wealthy one, but the houses were of a generous size and well kept. As we drove by a particular house on a corner lot, my uncle said, "That's where Roger Milliken lives", the president and chairman of Deering Milliken. I was suprised at how modest it seemed, next to the image I had of this great businessman from this great business family. He did not live as such a tall poppy, and my respect for him increased greatly.

But some people in the US make a living off of being tall poppies, often wittingly but sometimes unwittingly. Not just movie stars, but businessmen, clergy, lawyers, politicians. Wittingly, Paris Hilton was a tall poppy. Perhaps unwittingly, Skooter Libby was a tall poppy.

Rhythms

Lately, I have found that my life is very full, so full that I can't possibly find time to do everything that needs doing, and yet when people ask me what's going on in my life, I find that I don't have much to say. I have been thinking about this and have wondered, "how can I have nothing to say? My life is so full!" Then, I realized that my life is very full but it looks very much the same every day and progress is slow and change very gradual. There are not many tasks that I can point to that are truly and finally done as most of them are tasks I will simply have to do again the next day or the day after that (e.g., laundry, dishes, grocery shopping, cooking, changing diapers, putting kids down for naps, feeding kids, burping my baby). These things all take time, and none of them are inspiring to talk about, but in the midst of them I am learning to recognize the rhythms of my children, their needs, their highs, their lows. I am learning when to discipline and when to laugh (and sometimes choosing to laugh is one of the hardest choices in my day...I tend to be more of a worrier than a laugher, and laughter is so necessary to both my sanity and my children's sense of hope and confidence).

I am learning to enjoy this slow and gradual process. I am learning to laugh when I would rather shout or maybe even cry. I am learning to give choices when I would rather just push something through and say "because I said so" (although sometimes it comes to that anyways). One of the greatest achievements in my recent life is beginning to discover my daughter's cues of tiredness before she reaches the point of sheer exhaustion. This was difficult to do with my son, and that was when he was the only person I was paying attention to. Now, I am paying attention to him and to her, and having enough presence of mind to read her signals has taken most of the attention that I have to give. But it is so exciting when I put her down and she drifts off without fighting it, when she can fade into drowsiness and sleep because I didn't wait until she was too tired. I feel like I have served her well and like I am getting to know her better as I begin to sense her rhythms.

My son is finally starting to be okay with me saying "I need to go feed your sister and put her down for a nap", and I cannot tell you what a relief it is when he does not pitch a fit every time I need to put her down. He has been having to learn new rhythms. Everything he thought he knew has been shaken up and put back down in a different space. This has been very trying for him at points, but he is beginning to be able to move with the new tempo. He is beginning to find himself again in a new way, and is learning to enjoy his sister. One of the great joys in my life right now is how he can make his sister laugh. She is only 4 and 1/2 months old, and while her father and I can make her smile, only her brother can really make her laugh. When he is silly for her, she will laugh from her gut and will shriek with glee. What a gift! What a pleasure. What a wonderful thing for him to discover that one of the spaces he now fits into is that of her friend.

As I move through my days, one looking much like the other, I am discovering what a privilege it is for me to get to watch and take part as my children begin to discover themselves and one another, as they learn how to move within their own rhythms and that of the other.

It's a full life, and one I love. So, that is what's going on in my life for those of you who have asked and found me silent or slow to respond. I wanted to share and let you know, but the rhythm of my life is slow and it took a while for me to figure out what to say about it.

Now Who Did This Remind Us Of?

Carol reports that as she was jogging this morning, on the bike path by the canal she saw a boy, about nine years old, standing on the bank, fishing pole in hand, tackle box by his feet, silently waiting for a bite. Carol wondered, "Just what is he using for bait? A kernal of corn? A tiny ball of bread?" Sigh.

More Father's Day Gift Lists

Another neat list.

And how about a new computer or lunch in some exotic place?

iPhone Ads

Wow.

Is Something Up in Hollywood?

Ann Althouse comments on two "date flicks" where abortion is rejected as a solution to the problem.

Carol and I saw Spiderman 3 last night. Unlike Superman Returns, where patriotic references are pared (Truth, Justice, but no American Way), there is a quick scene with Spiderman swinging in front of a large American flag (although it would be easy to edit that one second shot out of international editions of the movie). The vengence-is-bad, forgiveness-is-good theme is very prominent and the deus-ex-machina solution to the evil black stuff takes place in the bell tower of a church. Moreover, even though this is the third movie, we don't see MJ and Peter in bed, it's simply a kiss that causes the main romantic complication. Finally, Peter's aunt gives a theory of marriage under which the husband is to put the wife first (as Christ loved the Church?).

What's going on?

Father's Day Gift Lists

Glenn Reynolds posts on this topic, with a link here. But how did he miss this one?

What's on your list?

UPDATE: Another cool list.

TR on Immigration

Here.

Is this view out of date? Even as a Christian I would say it is not.

Indoctrinate U

Looks quite interesting, and I'll vouch for it's premise.

The great thing is, though, that even though this documentary rightly describes the situation in American Universities, there are folks like InterVarsity Staff & students who are salt & light there. By the Grace of God and in the power of the Holy Spirit, they're preserving, illuminating and salutarily disrupting the system.

New World Bank President A Keeper

Robert Zoellick.

Farmer Aidan

Child labor laws? What child labor laws?

Saving and Investing

Sean has a post that links to a question by a 20 year old asking the Simple Dollar how he can retire at 40. I haven't been impressed by what I see of the American ideal of "retirement", but what also caught my eye was the suggestion that the young person put 20% of his income into the S&P 500.

Last year, Mary asked me about where she should save and we looked together at Vanguard Funds. We settled on the Star Fund, which is a "fund of funds". That is, it is a group of Vanguard mutual funds into which a dollar invested will be allocated by the Star Fund manager. This gives great diversification. Because these are Vanguard Funds, there is no sales commission and there are very low maintenance fees. There is no maintenance fee at all for the Star Fund management. So the maintenance fees that are allocated to one's account are those of the particular funds that make up the Star Fund portfolio. Morningstar gives the Star Fund 4 (out of 5 stars), which is very good.

There are some other savings plans that have caught my eye. One involves investing in Savings Bonds, of all places. There is no sales commission here either, and no maintenance fee. Of particular interest to me are I Savings Bonds. These are bonds that guarantee an initial rate and have an inflation component, which tracks the CPI. Having lived through the inflationary 70s, I can tell you that inflation risks are important considerations. I Bonds are accrual securities. The interest they earn are not paid out, but are added to the principal. In the meanwhile, there is no income tax payable until the bonds are redeemed. I Savings Bonds qualify for the education tax exclusion. That is, if the proceeds are used to pay qualified college expenses, no federal taxes are due! Go to the government's website for more information on buying US securities.

You can redeem the bonds after one year, but the idea is to use these for "deep savings". Of course, savings bonds and other US treasury obligations are the safest investments you can make. I wouldn't put all of my savings in the S&P 500 (for which Vanguard has a very cheap fund), as the Simple Dollar seems to suggest, I would allocate about 40% to Savings Bonds.

I learned about I Savings Bonds by reading about them in an article by Annette Thau in the AAII Journal. The AAII is the American Association of Individual Investors. One has to be a member to access that article on-line, but I would recommend joining that organization and reading the monthly magazine. You will be amazed at how much you can pick up about sensible investing from that publication.

No to Cable Yes to Free

We stopped subscribing to cable when Macon was in junior high. Not only was it the expense, we couldn't see supporting MTV, much less running the risk that our children would be exposed to it. In addition, we were trying to reduce tv watching, not make it more attractive.

Presently we use an interesting technology for linking to commercial TV by pulling TV energy out of the air. No, we are not talking about satellite TV, which costs money. The method we use, costs no money.

Oh, yeah, we get it: rabbit ears, that sort of thing. But what are you going to do when HDTV is mandatory?

We can get HDTV out of the air for free as well. All the networks offer HDTV programs. You just need the right outside antenna. TV listings are available at antennaweb.org, and this website will show you what sort of antenna you need in your location to get both digital and analog broadcasts.

We use this other technology you might be interested in, a portable, sort of laptop technology. You use it for reading things . . .

(Thanks to Popular Mechanics for the HDTV info.)

Holy-Davidson

CREDO: I believe the machine I sit on can tell the world exactly where I stand.

COMMENTARY: Fists forward and boot heels to the wind. Exposed metal slathered with chrome. Fat rubber steamrolling an endless slab of highway. A V-Twin motor feeding your ears. Any questions? Didn't think so. www.harley-davidson.com

EXHORTATION: Live by it.

-From the ad in this month's Popular Mechanics.

I would like to think that the irony is intentional.

The Church a Little Weaker

World Magazine in its May 19, 2007, issue, reports the following:

Montreat (N.C.) Presbyterian Church, a flagship congregation of the 2.3-million-member Presbyterian Church (USA), won its freedom from the liberal-run denomination. Following hours of contentious debate, the Presbytery of Western North Carolina voted 185-69 to "dismiss" the congregation to the more conservative 75,000-member Evangelical Presbyterian Church. But delegates also voted 174-35 to take over the church's property pending up to six months' further study.

The Montreat church had voted 311-27 last January to leave the PCUSA. Complicating the property matter, the congregation meets in the large chapel of Montreat College, a conservative PCUSA school that sits on the grounds of a PCUSA national conference center. The church owns a separate three-story educational and office building on property held by its trustees. Montreat pastor Richard White contends that under state law, the church owns its property. PCUSA rules say church property is held in trust for the denomination.

The dismissal vote authorized the presbytery to organize a "continuing Montreat Presbyterian Church" from among a small number of dissidents, who would be granted use of 10 percent of the educational building.

The Genographic Project

Last year I clipped an article from the WSJ with the headline Project Hopes to Trace Your Ancestors Back 10,000 Years. The article reported a joint project commenced by the National Geographic Society and IBM to assemble a massive genetic database that would catalog certain genetic markers left in DNA from generation to generation. The result would be that one could see what path his ancestors took on their migration from East Africa, from whence modern man supposedly came, to his eventual home. (With Mary, that eventual home would be? Oh well. She always was a homebody.) I checked the status of this project recently, and it seems to be well under way.

Mail-in DNA testing kits are available. You would send in a swab taken from your cheek and the lab will find the markers in your DNA and match them with the movement of different groups of humans up to 60,000 years ago. Go here for more information.

(I must say that after visiting Kenya, it would not be a leap to think that God established the Garden there.)

Some Non-Intuitive Economic History

Much has been made about the rise of child labor [during the Industrial Revolution] and too little about the fact that, for the first time, there was remunerative work available for people of all ages. As economist W. H. Hutt [my link] has shown, work in the factories for young people was far less grueling than it had been on the farm, which is one reason parents favored the factory. As for working hours, it is documented that when factories would reduce hours, the employees would leave to go to work for factories that made it possible for them to work longer hours and earn additional wages. The main effect of legislation that limited working hours for minors was to drive employment to smaller workshops that could more easily evade the law.

In the midst of all this change, many people seemed only to observe an increase in the number of the poor. In a paradoxical way, this too was a sign of social progress, since so many of these unfortunate people might have been dead in past ages. But the deaths of the past were unseen and forgotten, whereas current poverty was omnipresent. Meanwhile, as economic development expanded in the nineteenth century, there was a dramatic growth of a middle class that now had access to consumer goods once available only to kings—not to mention plenty of new goods being created by the engine of capitalism.

From Socialism, Free Enterprise, and the Common Good, a speech by the Rev. Robert A. Sirico at Hillsdale College. The entire text is worth reading.

How awesome was Square One TV?

So totally awesome. That's how. Check this classic out.


You can find more Square One Videos here.

Sadly, there are no Mathnet clips. Those were my favorite.

"The Pledge of Allegiance" - by Senator John McCain

As you may know, I spent five and one half years as a prisoner of war during the Vietnam War. In the early years of our imprisonment, the NVA kept us in solitary confinement or two or three to a cell. In 1971, the NVA moved us from these conditions of isolation into large rooms with as many as 30 to 40 men to a room. This was, as you can imagine, a wonderful change and was a direct result of the efforts of millions of Americans on behalf of a few hundred POWs 10,000 miles from home.

One of the men who moved into my room was a young man named Mike Christian. Mike came from a small town near Selma, Alabama. He didn't wear a pair of shoes until he was 13 years old. At 17, he enlisted in the US Navy. He later earned a commission by going to Officer Training School Then he became a Naval Flight Officer and was shot down and captured in 1967. Mike had a keen and deep appreciation of the opportunities this country and our military provide for people who want to work and want to succeed.

As part of the change in treatment, the Vietnamese allowed some prisoners to receive packages from home. In some of these packages were handkerchiefs, scarves, and other items of clothing. Mike got himself a bamboo needle. Over a period of a couple of months, he created an American flag and sewed on the inside of his shirt. Every afternoon, before we had a bowl of soup, we would hang Mike's shirt on the wall of the cell and say the Pledge of Allegiance. I know the Pledge of Allegiance may not seem the most important part of our day now, but I can assure you that in that stark cell it was indeed the most important and meaningful event.

One day the Vietnamese searched our cell, as they did periodically, and discovered Mike's shirt with the flag sewn inside, and removed it. That evening they returned, opened the door of the cell, and for the benefit of all of us, beat Mike Christian severely for the next couple of hours. Then, they opened the door of the cell and threw him in. We cleaned him up as well as we could. The cell in which we lived had a concrete slab in the middle on which we slept. Four naked light bulbs hung in each corner of the room.

As I said, we tried to clean up Mike as well as we could. After the excitement died down, I looked in the corner of the room, and sitting there beneath that dim light bulb with a piece of red cloth, another shirt and his bamboo needle, was my friend, Mike Christian. He was sitting there with his eyes almost shut from the beating he had received, making another American flag. He was not making the flag because it made Mike Christian feel better. He was making that flag because he knew how important it was to us to be able to Pledge our allegiance to our flag and country.

So the next time you say the Pledge of Allegiance, you must never forget the sacrifice and courage that thousands of Americans have made to build our nation and promote freedom around the world. You must remember our duty, our honor, and our country.

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

Before our Memorial Day Celebration, I plan to lead our family in the Pledge of Allegiance. Hopefully this small gesture will remind us of the brave men and women in our armed forces that continue to protect our freedoms and rights as citizens of the United States of America.

"Cleaning" Hard Drives

At our office, we are disposing of some old servers. Carol has arranged to have the drives "cleaned" by some sort of process. I've taken the opportunity to do the same with some old computers around our house. As to the computers at our house, I removed the hard drives before sending them off. I am not sure what I will do with the drives, but I have in mind to use an electric drill and make a few holes.

Carol, as our office adminsitrator, keeps an eye on a list serve sourced by a web publisher called Technolawyer. She sent me this post:

For anyone interested, there is a free program available at dban.sourceforge.net that will let you securely wipe an old hard drive. The site doesn't look like much, but this program has been around for a long time and I have used it many times. Everyone should do it before you think about selling a computer on ebay or donating it to a school. A simple format does not delete any data on a drive, it just marks the area as "usable." Because of this, it is amazing how much personal information (cc numbers, ss numbers) can be recovered from old drives and computers that are sold on eBay every day.

I Have Never Gone to Class on a Wooden Floor Before

May 5, 2007

It was a sobering Easter. We were enjoying being together, and it began to dawn on us that it was the last Easter we would be with JT for many years. Watching the twins find their eggs put us back in the spirit of the day.



After Easter, we took a train to the coast for our last vacation together. The way it is supposed to work is that the train would leave at 7 in the evening and you would arrive at 9am. They provided bedding, and it would be a fun way to get down to Mombassa. The way it was supposed to work didn’t; the train broke down in the middle of the night and we didn’t get to Mombassa until 2pm.

What was great was that the car that was supposed to pick us up at 9 had broken down and was still there, so we managed to push start it and get to our hotel. It was a sweet time, with lots of walks on the beach and just enjoying being together.

It got a bit old on the way back, when the train broke down again and instead of arriving at 9am we arrived at 3pm. When I asked someone on the train about it, he said `It could be worse; it was last week.’

JT has made his final decision on a college. He is going to Wake Forest, which was always one of his top choices. They have the highest pass rate of CPA’s of any college in the country, my sister and her husband are only a few hours away, and they gave him a wonderfully generous aid package. He also made the varsity rugby team here at RVA, which was a huge thrill for him.

I’m proud of my oldest son, but in some ways he has been a huge disappointment. When I was a little heathen kid, the only prayer I ever remember praying was that God would make a Spider-Man movie. Usually, movies arrive in Kenya after the DVD has come out. But, in an effort to combat piracy, the Spider-Man 3 opened on Friday in Nairobi, just the same as the states.

And JT says to me: `Dad, I really think I should wait until I’m done with my Calc and French AP on Wednesday.’

Blowing off Spider-Man to STUDY? This HAS to come from Nancy’s side.

The sixth computer center is done and we have moved into a new area. This is the poorest school we work with. It is completely Masai, a tribe that still lives in mud and dung huts, and so the contrast between the center and the school is striking:


(The newest center in Namunja)


(The kitchen in Namunja)

The contrast to how they live is even more striking:

(A nearby home)

When I told one of the teachers what we were planning to do, he just started laughing and saying `Here? Here?’ And he just laughed again.

It is the furthest school because the roads are non-existent, and I blow a tire every time I go. It is the furthest place from any civilization, as I understand civilization, that I have ever been. It isn’t to say that I don’t respect the Masai and love their culture, but it is so different than anything I know.

At all the other schools, none of the children had seen a computer before, but they all knew what they were. At this school, many of the students had no clue what a computer was.

School starts up on May 8th, and our teacher tells me that the students come everyday to peer inside and look in wonder at what they will learn. One student told me `I have never gone to class on a wooden floor before.’ All their classrooms have dirt floors.

This school has tripled in size because of the food you have provided, and now they are going to learn computers.

Thank you for the computer center, and for the wooden floor.

Your pal
Steve Peifer
Rift Valley Academy

The Greatest Album of All Time

I would love it if Iron Maiden lived next door. That way, I could barbecue pork tenderloin for them, and we could talk together about how awesome their new album is.

New Terminator TV Series.

Seriously! Called the Sarah Connor Chronicles. On Fox ('course).

Check it out. Looks pretty dang good to me!


Sydney Bristow is Dead, long live Sarah Connor!

More on Pocket New Testaments in War

An excerpt from a biography of Mel H. Nesteby posted on the website of an organization known as the "American Ex-Prisoners of War Organization":

Mel enlisted in the Army on 17 May, 1941,.at Fargo, N.D. He chose a warm part of the world, in contrast to the frigid temperatures of Alaska, in which to serve, and the Philippine Islands over the Panama Canal Zone. Since he had been driving a big Caterpillar tractor in his farm work, he figured that he would be qualified for operating a tank. At Fort Snelling, near St. Paul, Minn., Mel was sworn into the Army. Mel and some other recruits attended a service at a nearby Methodist Church. Each young man was presented a pocket-sized New Testament. This little book was a divine gift, with a significance far beyond expectations. It sustained Mel through all his trials in the coming years. Not only that , but it brought the presence of Jesus to men who had reached the final hours of their lives: men so sick and so destitute that they were beyond recovery. This little Bible was confiscated by the Japanese at the time of surrender; but miraculously, it was returned to Mel. On its second page, it bears the stamp of the Japanese Imperial Army censor, with a date line inserted, and it is a sacred keepsake today.


Houston Baptist University has a Bible Museum. If you will scroll down this post, you will find an article entitled "A Veteren's Day Look at Soldier Bibles" that discusses them in earlier wars.

See also this history of the Pocket New Testament League.

And find the pocket New Testament reference in this amazing story of WW II.

Two Items of Evidence for Our's Once Being a Christian Nation

Among my mother's things, she left a pocket New Testament that my dad carried during WW II when he was in the Navy. My mother said that the government gave one of these to each service man and woman. The first page of this little book has the heading "The White House - Washington" and this message:

As Commander-in-Chief I take pleasure in commending the reading of the Bible to all who serve in the armed forces of the United States. Throughout the centuries men of many faiths and diverse origins have found in the Sacred Book words of wisdom, counsel and inspirition. It is a fountain of strength and now, as always, an aid in attaining the highest inspirations of the human soul.

This page bears the facsimile signature of Franklin D. Roosevelt.

At the back of the New Testament, the little book contains the Ten Commandments, and "Psalms, Prayers, and Hymns", including Psalms 19, 23, 24, 27, 46, 51, 91, and 121, The Lord's Prayer, A Prayer on Going into Battle, A Prayer for Loved Ones, A Prayer for a Pure Heart, A Prayer of Thanksgiving, Washington's Prayer for the Nation, A Prayer of Penitence, and hymns, Our God, Our Help; Lead On, O King Eternal; Onward Christian Solders; Faith of Our Fathers; Eternal Father, Strong to Save; How Firm a Foundation; Rock of Ages; Abide with Me; Now the Day is Over; America the Beautiful; My Country, 'Tis of Thee; the National Anthem. Finally there are two pages entitled "Where to Look" with scriptures. For example, If you are facing a crisis, read the 46th Psalm, page iv.

(As I leafed through this book, looking for notes, I found only one, a little piece of paper at Romans 10 with the citation "Romans 10: 1-10" in my dad's handwriting.)

Looking at this New Testament reminded me of the Bible that I received when I graduated from Duke University in 1968. It is a leather bound, gilt-edged RSV that each graduating senior received on the platform, just before being handed his or her diploma and shaking the president's hand. The first page of the Bible has a copy of the old Duke official seal at the top. The seal is circular with a cross prominent in the middle. The base of the cross appears to be the top of a mountain, perhaps Calvary, and the sun's rays blaze from behind. Along the circumference are the words Universitas Dukiana and Eruditio et Religio.

Below the seal are the words "presented to __________________ upon graduation from Duke University [class of] 1968. Below that inscription is the following:

THE AIMS of Duke University are to assert a faith in the eternal union of knowledge and religion set forth in the teachings and character of Jesus Christ, the son of God; to advance learning in all lines of truth; to defend scholarship against all false notions and ideals; to develop a Christian love of freedom and truth; to promote a sincere spirit of tolerance; to discourage all partisan and sectarian strife; and to render the largest permanent service to the individual, the state, the nation, and the church. Unto these ends shall the affairs of this University always be administered.

Yes, of course, feel free to question my sanity.

I have several weeks been trying to get my lawnmower to work. This is the one I bought about a year ago that has an electric starter. Well, the electric starter went South some months ago, but it had a back up pull cord that worked OK for awhile. Now the thing just won't start. I've changed the oil, changed the spark plug (twice). Today I will empty the gasoline tank with the old fuel and put in some gasoline fresh from the service station, to see if stale fuel is the problem. I fear stale gas is not the problem (at least not with the lawn mower), and I will have to take the mower to the shop. That will cost not only money but a lot of time.

As I was dealing with this problem yesterday, I remembered a Glenn Reynolds post about his purchasing a push mower. Great idea! No gas, no spark plug, no oil, no noise. So off I went to Home Depot and bought one.

Fortunately, it was quite late in the day when I brought the box with it home (oh, so light!), assembled the handle and connected it tothe base unit (oh, a marvel of engineering!), and started to push. And push. And push. Ugh! It was hard! But the sun was on its way down, and so I soon had to stop. That was a good thing, because it was a work out. I should have gotten ready with a strict, six-month kettle bell regimen. But I didn't.

Maybe it will rain today.

Prayer Request: Debbie Newman

This came to me via email this morning from Adrianna, one of the women in our church. We have an email/telephone "prayer chain" and this is part of it. (I added the links.)

Please pray for Debbie Newman, a 37 yr. old mother of 2, a 7 year old boy and teenage girl. She was recently bitten in the neck by a Brown Recluse Spider, had surgery yesterday and now today was diagnosed with a type of staph infection that has only a 20% chance of survival. The poison of the Brown Recluse is deadly enough and they may not have gotten out all the flesh and muscle that have the poison but now this deadly staph infection is added to the threat of the poison. Debbie is a life-long friend of my daughter, Joelle, and our family has know her since she was a child. She has always lived in Miami Springs. The spider that bit her was in her back yard in Miami Springs on Truxton Av. Pray for her, her children and then be careful. I had no idea these spiders were here in Miami.

UPDATE: Adrianna reports:

Sunday [Debbie] began responding to the antibiotics, they were planning surgery this morning [Monday] to remove more flesh, but when they saw she started to respond, they cancelled the surgery. This also means the antibotics are actually working on the Mercer Staph infection, as well.

Thanks for the prayer!

"If she had done a miserable job as dean, MIT might have been more forgiving,"

MIT recently fired its admissions director, someone who had worked there successfully for 28 years, because she had falsely claimed when she first came to work that she had three degrees. James Taranto comments with his usual dry wit on that and the value generally of a college education.

For those interested in the Griggs vs. Duke Power Co. case that Toranto cites, you can find it here.

Toranto didn't finish high school, much less college.

Some of the dumbest people I know went to good schools, Some of the smartest either never went to college or didn't finish.

Bye, Ricky

Pretty good column on Ricky Williams in the Herald.

Literary Thoughts

Refraining from pedantry is difficult when there are so many good words in the world.

"LEO"

LEO stands for Literacy Education Online, a website I discovered when I was looking for some grammar help on verb tenses. It is full of useful information.

You Owe Me

There is an old fashioned, evangelical word that describes an insight, given as a matter of grace by the Holy Spirit, into one's own character, an insight that reveals something not very pretty but also gives one hope that the same Holy Spirit will help in reforming that trait or disposition. I had one of these insights last night in a discussion I had with Carol, after we returned home from church and our respective Bible studies. Our men's group is marching through Luke, and we had covered part of "the Sermon on the Plain" in the sixth chapter of Luke. Carol and I discussed that scripture in the context of what is happening in our law office. We prayed. I was, as it were, "convicted".

Here is the particular scripture from Luke in question (but like Glenn Reynolds often says, you need to "read the whole thing")

If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. If someone takes your cloak, do not stop him from taking your tunic. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you.

We have had some staff leave our firm over the past 12 months, people that we trained and even nurtured. My perception is that it hurt us. It made me angry with these people. After all, they owed us. They didn't do right by us. We had transferred value to them, more than they had returned, and it did not look like that we would ever get full value back. Plus the interest we deserved. (Now we are looking at more changes in firm personnel, not to my liking.)

And if you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Even 'sinners' lend to 'sinners,' expecting to be repaid in full. But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back.

How can this possibly work? The key verse is this one:

Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.

This scripture is familiar to those of us who have been raised on the Bible. (Probably too familiar.) But what I am referring to is "insight", how to make the connection between familiar scripture and present circumstances. We should know (and do know, at least intellectually) that our firm is there to serve not only our clients but also our staff. If we nurture our staff to the point where they believe that they must leave us to grow, then so be it, even if we think them wrong. Bring on the next person whom we can employ to serve our clients, whom we can expose to our values, whom we can encourage and nurture, to whom, maybe, we can give more than they can ever return. Our own source of support and encouragement comes from a third party, not from them. His resources are boundless, more than we can ever use. His blessings spill out of any sort of container we can fashion; they run over and just pour into our laps.

More to Learn from the Russians than Kettlebells

Of the kidnappings in Beirut during the 1980s, Bernard Lewis writes in today's WSJ:

There was only one attack on Soviet citizens, when one diplomat was killed and several others kidnapped. The Soviet response through their local agents was swift, and directed against the family of the leader of the kidnappers. The kidnapped Russians were promptly released, and after that there were no attacks on Soviet citizens or installations throughout the period of the Lebanese troubles.

The WSJ kindly posted Lewis' entire essay today on Opinion Journal. His thesis is that the Islamists think the US is a weak and decadent culture and that what we did in Afghanistan and began in Iraq were anomalies.

Be a Wiener!

In response to Carol's request for a picture of the "not so great" t-shirts:


That's right, people, "BE A WIENER!" That's what our race shirts say. Need I say more?

*(second picture included so you can see close-up shot of the aforementioned slogan).

Racing Day!

Well, yesterday was RACING DAY!!! We borrowed a stroller with an infant car seat adapter from my brother and his wife and headed out to join hundreds (or maybe even thousands) of others as we ran from the Hula Hut through scenic Tarrytown and back to the Hula Hut again in the "Hot To Trot 5K"(a race that supports Big Brothers, Big Sisters.)
Having not run a lick in over a year, I was a bit daunted by the idea of running a 5K, but I believed that it would be possible with the help of a little interval running (not to mention the encouragement of my fantastic husband who slowed his own pace considerably so as not to leave me and Honor in his dust!) Let me hear three cheers for interval running! (and three more for Macon and his great patience and encouragement through the race).

Aidan rode in our BOB stroller (YEA for BOB strollers!) while Macon pushed him, and Honor rode in her carseat which was attached to yet another BOB stroller (did I mention, YEA for BOB strollers?) that I pushed.

Here's some pictures of us before and after. I'm sure you'll be able to tell which is which!



I must admit that the main reason I was motivated to sign up for this was because I had heard on the radio that this race had "pretty cool t-shirts". Unfortunately, whoever made that statement does not have great taste. We were disappointed to discover that the t-shirts were not "pretty cool" at all. Next time we register for a race, we're checking out the t-shirt design first!

Mother's Day 2007

At Central Baptist Church in Downtown Miami, the grand place where I grew up, a place surely a part of heaven, Mother's Day was big. At the worship service, the recognition of the oldest mother began when all the mothers were asked to stand. They were applauded when they did so, in a church where we simply did not applaud. (We were "high church Baptist".) Following the applause, those who had been mothers for X years were asked to be seated, then X + 5 and so on, until the oldest remained standing.

It was always Mrs. Dorothy left standing there, at least in my memory. I marveled at how anyone could be that old. She was dressed to the T, had snow white hair, and a sweet smile. She was related to practically an entire section of our big church sanctuary. My mother bought shoes for my siblings and me at her shoe store in Coral Gables, by then run by one of her several daughters. (As a younger mother, Mrs. Dorothy was a business woman, as well as a Christian mom. Those types don't appear solely in Proverbs.)

There was an orchid for the youngest mom too, but this woman usually changed from year to year, so I don't remember any particular one, just that they seemed to get prettier and prettier as I moved into adolescence.

Flowers were everywhere on Mother's Day Sunday at church: one of the members was a florist. There were even flowers at the entrance ways to the sanctuary, small corsages for the women, if necessary, but all the mom's seemed to be wearing some sort of corsage given them at home. There were also boutonnieres for the men, a red carnation for those whose moms were still on earth, and a white one for those whose moms had gone to heaven.

I would get a white carnation today. I don't much like that, frankly.

Anne Perry's Favorite Fiction

The Wall Street Journal has a guest column from time to time where notables list their five "best books". British author Anne Perry wrote the column in the April 21, 2007, edition. I can't link to the WSJ, as it charges for use of its web edition. But I can let you know that Anne Perry's favorite "fictional tales rooted in history" are

1. I, Claudius, by Robert Graves;

2. Full Dark House, by Christopher Fowler;

3. The Scarlet Pimpernel, by Baroness Emmuska Orezy;

4. To Say Nothing of the Dog, by Connie Willis; and

5. The Ballad of the White Horse, by G.K. Chesterton.

Anne Perry writes crime novels set in the late 19th Century, all dealing with murder. She is personally acquainted with that crime, having served time for it herself.

Theodore Dalrymple, about whom I have posted several times, writes about that crime here.

She's a fine, successful writer, and Carol and I enjoy her books.

I just checked out from the library I, Claudius. PBS based a TV series on the book several years ago.

Realigning America

Demography is destiny, at least according to Michael Barone.

Weather Alert Radio

The other day Kellsey discussed with Carol her contingency plans for a tornado in Austin, and the subject came up of weather radios. Glenn Reynolds at Instapundit pointed to this one. Reynolds writes for Popular Mechanics, a favorite magazine of mine, is a law school professor, and, of course, runs a succesful blog. He also is an amatuer photographer. (But what does he do in his spare time? Really.)

UPDATE: Speaking of disaster planning, Reynolds keeps an eye on what other things you should have at hand. This post is his latest.

International Human Rights

Preparing for a job in that field, from the International Justice Mission.

'Nita, the Feminist

As I was going through Juanita's wallet, I came across a tiny clipping with this:

Three Wise Women
would have . . .
Asked directions,
Arrived on Time,
Helped deliver the baby,
Cleaned the stable,
Made a casserole,
Brought practical gifts and
There would be
Peace on Earth.

One thing that surprised me were her views on abortion. She strongly believed that women should have the choice. She was of the same generation as Barbara Bush, who also has that view and is also a fine wife and mother. This is worth thinking about.

"The Great Unwind"

As a "small investor", I watch the stock market, and its recent rise is worrisome. The WSJ's front page, lead article on Monday reports on the "leveraging" that the big hedge funds practice to make extra returns in the financial markets. "Leveraging" means to borrow money and use the proceeds to buy investments that one thinks will grow in value faster than the interest one will pay on the borrowing.

The classic example of leverage is buying stock on margin. One would buy, say, 100 shares of XYZ corporation for $10 a share or a total of $1000. To "leverage", one would borrow $500 from the broker and put $500 dollars of his own money into it. The investor would pledge the stock to the broker as collateral. Assume that the broker charges the investor an annual interest rate of 5%. After one year, the market value of the stock increases 10% to $11 per share and the investor sells. His gross profit is $100. He pays the broker back what he borrowed plus interest of $25. He pockets his own $500 plus the balance of the profit, which is $75. On his $500 investment, then, the investor made a return of 15%.

Had the investor simply invested $500 without borrowing the broker's $500, He would have made $50 dollars, that is, a return of 10% on his money. He used the broker's $500 to make an extra $25.

The reason one can only borrow 50% of the value of the XYZ corporation from the broker is that the government limits how much one can leverage in buying stocks. These sorts of limits permeate the financial system, but not completely. The hedge funds have figured out how to avoid those limits and in many ways the hedge funds are simply unregulated. So they borrow great sums and in very complicated ways, using "derivatives" to engineer the leverage. The very large returns that the hedge funds have enjoyed in the past several years have interested pension funds and public companies in their approach, according to the WSJ, and they are now on the bandwagon as well. (The WSJ reports, for example, that "garden-products maker Scotts Miracle-Gro Co . . . [has] loaded up on on debt to improve returns.")

The WSJ calls it a "leveraging binge", and you can tell that its editors are worried because they put their article on the front page of Monday's edition. The article states in part:

No one is sure what will happen to this complex brew in the event of a serious market downturn. When markets turn bad, leverage can create a snowball effect. Lenders and derivatives dealers demand that investors provide them with more collateral - the stocks, cash or other assets they pledge to cover potential losses. Sometimes, investors dump stocks and bonds to raise cash. Prices drop more, losses accelerate, and more selling ensues. Some Wall Street analysis have taken to referring to a nightmare version of this scenario as "The Great Unwind.

Not having a pension plan provided by a big corporation, government agency, or union, I am like a lot of my peers and have saved using IRAs and 401K plans. The financial markets are about the only place one can invest such savings. So I have been buying stocks and bonds over the years, but quite a large proportion of stocks. (I have never bought anything on margin. Except for my house.) That approach has done reasonably well, but I am so worried about this that I am significantly reducing my exposure to stocks, and I started doing that in earnest earlier this week. I will continue to do so, until I feel comfortable. Yes, the stock market continues to go up, and hit record highs. But it worries me.

Let's go back to our XYZ company illustration. Let's assume that in one year its value goes down 10%. At the end of the year, then, the investor's position is worth $900. He sells the stock and pays the broker back the $500 he borrowed, plus $50 of interest. That leaves our investor $350. He lost $150 on the deal or 30% of his investment. As you can see, leverage works the other way too. And in these illustrations I am assuming relatively benign price movements. But things seem to be different in the financial markets. The price movements may not be so benign when the Great Unwind begins.

Perry for President

Bless you, Governor. (Thanks, Instapundit.) (By the way, my next concealed carry.)

Jack and I go Boom!

Yesterday Jack and I travelled up to Indiantown, actually to the west side of Indiantown, down a road to a cow pasture that an enterprising gentleman has turned into a game preserve, rifle and pistol range, and a skeet and trap shooting range. Along one side of part of a field there are also some store-front sets, something like the set of a western, where people who dress up like cowboys and pack six-shooters have meets of some sort. We went there to see a lady for a skeet shooting lesson. Her name is Jo Hanley and she is an approved instructor of the National Skeet Shooting Association.

My goal was to hit one clay pigeon. (Jo calls them "birds", also politically incorrect. In the blue states they refer to such things as "clay targets" so we don't hurt the feelings of our feathered friends, and I am not making this up.) I hit several and missed a lot, but Jack did very well. We blasted through 5 boxes of shells, using two Remington 1100s, 20 gauge, that Jo had brought for us. We spent about two hours there.

On the way back to Miami, Jack and I decided that the 4 and 1/2 hour round trip to Indiantown was simply not worth the trouble, as good as Jo is as an instructor. We decided we learned enough from her to go back to Trail-Glade Range, rent their shotguns, and blast away there. But we did break the ice, and Jack discovered that he already has most of the hang of it.

As for me, I have the same problem with skeet as I have with golf: I get tense and, as a result, I don't have a smooth swing of the gun as the barrel leads the bird and then follows through after one pulls the trigger. But now and then, I would put it together and blast the bird out of the sky, just as I sometimes smash a golf ball solidly, straight and respectably long. Those moments keep me coming back to golf, and will propel me to more skeet shooting, at least for a while longer, to see if I can get better.

Jack and I are thinking we would each buy a used 20 gauge automatic and see how far we get. He's been emailing me links all day to posts on AuctionArms.com for mostly 12 gauge shotguns for sale. It looks like you can get something for as little as $385, which is not too bad to start with. Stay tuned.

'Nita, Needle, and Thread

Among Juanita's gifts was the way she worked with needle and thread. She had her sewing machine and made dresses for herself, and Julia, and shirts for my dad and me. I remember a suit she made for me for Easter when I was in the second grade. In her later years, when she could afford to buy all those things, she turned to cross-stitch and embroidery. She was active in the local chapter of the Embroiderers' Guild of America. (The "EGA", which my dad libelously said meant "Enraged Grandmothers of America".) She did beautiful work, giving most of it away. In fact, before she started something new, she knew to whom she would give it.

Among the things she kept was a wedding cross-stitch that celebrated her marriage on March 6, 1943, to my dad, Walter. In the bottom third of that work, she stitched this poem:

I pray that,
     risen from the dead,
I may in glory stand,
A crown perhaps
      upon my head, But -
A needle in my hand.

Sunday

The house is quiet this morning. Last evening Micki, Morgan's mother, then Audrey and Bob, my sister's daughter and her husband, and Julia, Greg, and Gregory Paul left on their flights home. This morning I took Macon, Kellsey, Aidan and Honor to the airport for their flight. Walter and Morgan are sleeping, and Carol went back to bed after rocking Honor one last time this morning. Mary and I have been IMing some. But I have also been to church to set up the coffee for the service, and come back. Morgan and Walter will be here until tomorrow morning, when they fly back to Austin.

We had the memorial service for Juanita yesterday morning at our church. (Friday we were in Atlanta for the interment.) There were a lot of people there, and that surprised us. I had proposed to Carol earlier in the week that we hire a caterer for the lunch that we planned at our house after the service, but she was confident that people from church would bring enough food. During the service, however, she was having second thoughts about that. The Lord helped me whisper "Loaves and fishes", when I wanted to express my own anxiety. "Loaves and fishes" it was, even though the house was jammed with people, again more than we expected, and there was more than enough food, enough food to feed us for supper too and enough food to take to church today for the light lunch after the service.

The service at our church was just wonderful. Van did such a great job. I had asked Ed Sagi to come and play the piano for the service, and he did his usual great job.

Ed and I went to high school together. He sang the part of Curly in Oklahoma our senior year, a smash hit that the drama department took to the Dade County Auditorium after it did so well in our school auditorium. Ed went on to teach music in our school system, and lead church choirs, as he continues to do in his part time. For awhile, he was our music minister. He goes to Epworth from time to time and sings and plays for them. My mother loved him, but she was always careful to tell me that I had a better voice. [I absolutely don't.] And so I called Ed to play and of course he said yes.

Donna sang. We chose the Old Rugged Cross for her, because of Mary's post. Donna was going to mention that to the assembly before she sang, but she was afraid she would cry, so she didn't. She just sang wonderfully. It was in her upper range, and she is not respectful of her upper range. She has a low alto voice, full of tenderness and passion. But her upper voice is beautiful too, and she moved us all.

Walter spoke. Sometimes lately I have seen "open microphones" at funerals and memorial services, and an offer is made to anyone to speak. Those aren't always good. I have seen family members also speak in eulogy, sometimes to great effect, but sometimes much too sadly and weepily. So we offered it to the grandchildren, and they decided Walter should speak for the family. I had visions of his speech at his rehearsal dinner, which went on, as I recall, several hours. Or the one he made a Macon's rehearsal dinner, where he cried and made the rest of us cry. It was a high risk assignment, but he did it just right. Just right. He told two stories about Juanita that captured perspectives of her that were just right.

I spoke to two men during the service and luncheon who were about my age and whose mothers had died. I discovered that they too were surprised at how those deaths affected them. Of course you expect to mourn and to feel the loss. But you don't expect to feel like a little boy who has lost his mother in some busy department store. You don't expect that, but you feel like that. I feel like that, and it was helpful to find out that this is not uncommon.

On Civilian Armed Resistance

Here. (Thanks, Instapundit.)

"Bedlam Revisited"

See this informative piece from Opinion Journal which addresses the question of "why the Virginia Tech shooter was not committed." (The comments to this article are also interesting.)

"It's a Season"

Macon checked in last night by telephone, wanting to know how we are doing. He had a cold, and I mentioned how busy he had been these last several weeks, especially with trips out of town and the weekends taken up with travel and catch-up. And he has another busy weekend out of town beginning Friday, as he and his family come to Miami for the memorial service.

"It's a season", he said.

That hit home. It was what I needed to hear. Even though there is winter, and it seems a very, very long winter in some ways, it is a season. It will come to an end. It is part of time's movement, over which God is sovereign. Things advance, finally to a glorious culmination, but in the meanwhile (good word) there are intermediate culminations that have a Sabbath waiting, before the next season begins.

So we engage the season, with all our energy and with the Spirit's help. But we will be glad for Sabbath, a time of rest. And then the next season. Praise God.

Chicago Airport

I'm sitting at my gate for my flight to Austin, and my first thought upon seeing the view was,"Oooooooh! Big Trucks with Cherry Pickers with Big Nozzles on them!" (These are the de-icing trucks.) Clearly, I miss Aidan.

I've been in Chicago since Thursday for John Stott Ministries board meetings, my first of (at least) three years' worth. (It was during the nominating process that I had to get a picture.)

I departed Austin on Thursday morning, the same morning Dad called to let us know that Grandmother had gone on to Glory. I was glad to know that I'd be seeing Aunt Marlene (also on the board) and would be with some family while in away from my family.

The meetings were extremely interesting and stimulating for all number of reasons, and I am exceedingly grateful to be now associated with JSM (and the Langham Partnership International). (More on that in a different post.)

One thing many of you will appreciate is that I came down with a really bad cold almost the moment I arrived that took my voice down to a whisper. While a real pain, I'm viewing it as a blessing from the Lord, who helped keep me from shooting my mouth off during my very first meeting.

It was a joy to go to the meetings, but I am glad to be heading home. With the funeral for Grandmother next weekend, and my work with InterVarsity as a Chapter Planting Coach, I will be out of town for at least three days a week three weeks in a row.

Thanks for your prayers for me and the family!

'Nita Went On

Thursday morning at 6:40, Nita died.

For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.


While she was in the hospital, as I wrote before, she spoke of seeing my dad, my little brother, and Jesus waiting for her there on the other side. (As I told a Jewish friend, most Christians refer to St. Peter greeting them. She has Jesus waiting for her. That's probably great insight on her part. But it could be because she was a Baptist. The rest of us get St. Peter. The Baptists get Jesus.)

We will go to Atlanta for the burial. She and my dad had a plot at Westview Cemetary. The body of my dad (Walter), his mother and father (Walter and Heddie Stokes), and my brother (Walter) are buried there. Nearby are the graves of my grandfather and grandmother (Carlos M. and Willilu Hemperley), my mother's brother and his wife (Carlos M. Hemperley, Jr., and Ellen) and one of their children (Mickey Hemperley), and of my father's sister and her husband (Frances and Harold Harris). On the way there from the airport, we will pass by an older cemetary with other ancestors. Not too far away, in Stone Mountain, are even more gravesites of family members. There are Jordans, Johnsons, Lanfords, Paris, Gays, Manns and Travises [yes, those Travises, Texas readers] buried all over Atlanta to which we are connected.

I see Juanita's greeting in heaven as something like that Cingular commercial: a host of people behind the three in the forefront, all waving, maybe singing. And Juanita, who could not sing a note on this side of the divide, finding her voice at last and just thrilled to join in the song.

Juanita said that when you died, you had to go to heaven by way of Atlanta and, while there in Atlanta, pick up your robe at Rich's, once to Atlanta as Macy's is to New York. Knowing that, however, she told me that she wanted to be buried in the dress she wore to Walter and Morgan's wedding, and we had set it aside and then gave it to the funeral people. I don't know how she worked that all out with the people at Rich's, but I have no doubt that it's that dress and not a robe from Rich's in which she entered into God's presence.

Dear Professor Scott,

After class I came up as the other students filed out. I was disturbed because I just did not quite get what you wanted in the paper you had assigned us. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but it was something like “Do you want this, Dr. Scott, or that or something else?” I did not know exactly what you wanted, and I wanted to know exactly what it was. I was sure I needed to know. I thought you would tell me.

You said, “Just let the chips fall, Mr. Stokes.”

To my surprise the day brightened, I relaxed, said thank you, and out I went. You liked what I wrote.

Furthermore, that conversation became part of our family’s lore, because I repeated it time and time again to my children as they grew up. “Just let the chips fall, Mary or Macon or Walter.” It was the “chips fall” story. They knew exactly what that meant. It meant that “I have confidence in you to figure this out. You have permission to paint your own bulls-eye. How you frame the issue, you not me, within bounds of reasonableness that are really wider than you think, is as much a part of this assignment as how you address the issue.” You said all that in a short sentence, and it was a sort of release.

So here am I, reading the article about you in the Duke Magazine, and thinking about you again, feeling blessed to have been in your class and marveling at how you can be your age already and me mine. I went to the University of Chicago Law School, then to New York City as a law clerk for a federal judge, then back home to Miami where I joined a law firm, and I have practiced law in Miami ever since. My wife was a freshman at Duke the year I met you, and she and I married when she finished.. We have three surviving children, each of whom graduated from Davidson College, two sons (a philosophy major and a classics major) and a daughter (an English major). The sons are in “eBusiness” in Austin and are married. Mary teaches English at a boarding school for missionary children in Kijabe, Kenya. One son in Austin has two tiny children. If I live long enough, I’ll tell them the “chips fall” story.

Please add my thanks to all the others you richly deserve.

Sincerely,



Paul Stokes
Class of ‘68

Did someone mention "justice"?

A friend of mine called for a referral to a criminal lawyer. My friend's 20 year old step son had been arrested for battery on his grandfather, with whom he was living.

I know that sounds like a terrible thing to do - striking one's grandfather. No argument there. It has a sort of Biblical edge to it, and not a nice edge.

The stepson was charged with two offenses, which may have been: (a) battery and (b) battery on an elderly person. One reaches the "elderly" category at age 65. I don't know whether the charges were "aggravated".

In Florida, battery is a misdemeanor of the first degree, but when it is upon an elderly person it becomes a felony of the third degree. A first degree misdemeanor has a one year maximum sentence. A third degree felony a maximum five year sentence.

There is also aggravated assault and aggravated battery. An aggravated assault is a third degree felony. An aggravated battery is a second degree felony. A second degree felony has a maximum of 15 years.

But if the aggravated assault or battery is on an elderly person, that gets you a minimum (mandatory) term of imprisonment of 3 years, a fine of not more than $10,000, resitution to the victim and up to 500 hours of community service work. Restitution and community service are in addition to the imprisonment. Adjudication or imposition of sentence may NOT be suspended, deferred, or withheld.

Wow.

"The next time you hear a lawyer joke, maybe you'll think of the lawyers who represented these three boys and it won't seem so funny. "

Right on!

Mr. Davidson Training Update

Many* of you expressed great concern regarding the effect my 'boarding injury might have on my Mr. D. training.

Fear not! My knee should be fully recovered in four more weeks, which gives me four months to get my 5K time down.

While I haven't been able to run, I have been able to train for a number of other events. For those of you rooting for my practically assured victory, I know that you will be relieved by the image below. For my competitors, well, I can only imagine that it strikes fear into the very marrow of your bones. If you like, I will gladly save you travel time and expenses and accept the Mr. Davidson 2007 award from you right now.




ps: For your edification, in the sidebar I added a handy timer counting down the time to the Mr. Davidson 2007 Opening Ceremonies.

* where "many" > 0 and < 2.

Monday Monday

Mary left for Kenya yesterday evening a little after six PM Miami time. Our watch on the BA website indicates that her plane arrived at Heathrow a little late, but in plenty of time for her to catch the plane to Nairobi, even with the very long lines at that airport. We went to church yesterday morning, and she spoke at the worship service about her work in Kenya. The church has a big screen that drops down at the front of the sanctuary, and during the talk she displayed some scenes from RVA. We thought it might be a sad day, yesterday, with her leaving us, but she gave such a good talk that it encouraged all of us about what she is doing at Kijabe. It was sad day, but it also was full of joy and encouragement.

On the way back from the airport, we went by Epworth to see Juanita. (She lives at Epworth Retirement Village and has been for several years, in its "independent living section".) She returned there on Tuesday of last week. We arranged for aides to be there 'round the clock. Hospice nurses were there for the first four days as well, and now visit once a day, as we expected. Our friend, Sharon Hicks, an RN who just retired from Jackson Medical Center and whose mother Mary lives at Epworth, dropped by several times last week, talked to the aides and saw Juanita. (Sharon's sister, Nancy Jones, is our senior paralegal.) Carol and I went by there after work during the week and Saturday and Sunday. (That will be our pattern. There are some recurring needs for her household as we go forward and the aides need our encouragement. And, of course, we just want to see her.) Other people are visiting. The aides, who seem to be gentle and competent, by now know that a lot of people care for Juantia.

She is very quiet. Sleeps most of the time. Eats and drinks very little. She cannot sit up or get out of bed. Each day she seems less responsive. She does not seem to be terribly uncomfortable, and of course the medication is there to help with pain. My sister will come visit again at the end of the week and bring Audrey. My Aunt Ann plans to come for a short visit a week from today. I think Juanita will still be here by then, but I am glad that Macon, Walter, and Mary got to say good-bye. We pray that the Lord will take her gently, while she sleeps, and know it will be in his good time.

Can YOU resist me?