If there was a matriarch of the neighborhood it would have to be Beth.
She moved to our street in 1955 when there were only three houses on the block and a vacant field out to the west. Four years later her husband died and she's been a widow ever since, raising her four young kids alone.
Beth is elderly, but she gets around much better than Obi-Wan. She still drives and has just began using a cane and occasional walker. Several of her kids live nearby so she's well taken care of.
Agent wife met Beth on a walk a while back. She's come to our house twice in the last couple of weeks to give us squash from her garden. Glad someone's garden is producing around here.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Thursday, June 29, 2006
'Hood Tales Pt I: Jenny
Eight year old Jenny, first introduced here, came by our house today for a while. She usually hangs out with her 10 year old brother Sebastian, but he was at his grandparents house around the block. When asked why Jenny wasn't there too she said it was because there was another boy there with him and that her mom (Carole) didn't want Jenny to be near that other boy. Then later Jenny's story changed slightly. Something about her grandparents not being home. Kids tell tall tales a lot. I don't know if it's due to great imaginations, summertime boredom, or desire for attention. Jenny doesn't seem like the lying type. But who knows at this point.
Since school is out and Carole works all day at the Dollar Store down the block, Jenny wanders the neighborhood daily looking for something to do. She came by this evening and tells us she hasn't eaten anything all day. Could be true. But with further questioning her story meanders all over the place...much like her neighborhood travels. She said her mom was about to get off work so I didn't panic too much over the food issue. But so many kids get free meals at school. So when school's out, many mom's neglect to feed their kids with any semblance of a schedule...if at all. It's every kid for himself.
Do you question? Do you talk to the parents? That could be too delicate. Do you just open your door and feed them? I'd think so. But maybe their parents don't want them in your house eating your food. Who knows.
Since school is out and Carole works all day at the Dollar Store down the block, Jenny wanders the neighborhood daily looking for something to do. She came by this evening and tells us she hasn't eaten anything all day. Could be true. But with further questioning her story meanders all over the place...much like her neighborhood travels. She said her mom was about to get off work so I didn't panic too much over the food issue. But so many kids get free meals at school. So when school's out, many mom's neglect to feed their kids with any semblance of a schedule...if at all. It's every kid for himself.
Do you question? Do you talk to the parents? That could be too delicate. Do you just open your door and feed them? I'd think so. But maybe their parents don't want them in your house eating your food. Who knows.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
"Provisional existence"
During our recent closet clean I found another forgotten book that's finally being read: Viktor Frankl's "Man's Search For Meaning".
Frankl was a well known psychiatrist and expert in psychiatric things. He also endured and survived 3 years as a prisoner of Nazi concentration camps including Auschwitz.
His experiences as a prisoner led to many later-life discoveries in the psychiatric field...primarily something called "logotherapy", which is explained in the second half of this book (I haven't got that far yet).
But the first half of the book is a general biography of his day to day holocaust existence, which sets up the scene for discovering and explaining logotherapy. A very shocking and fascinating read.
One of Frankl's discoveries of people's mental hi-jinks within the concentration camps is what he calls a "provisional existence". That's where a person ceased living for a future, in contrast to a person in normal life. He explains that unemployed workers go through the same thing: living long days with no end to this goal-less ordeal in sight. Yet larger frames of time like a week or a month can fly by.
Sometimes, prisoners live through "provisional existence" too. But if they know their future date of release, it gives them a goal and thus, reason to live beyond provisional existence. They know when the end is in sight. The unemployed and victims of the holocaust had no clue if and when the end is ever in sight.
I think the wilderness my family and I have lived in for the better part of 2-3 years is kin to a provisional existence. I don't intend to water down the experiences of nor compare my life to a holocaust victim. And I do have a larger hope...that is, faith in the CEO's promises for my life.
But this provisional existence of mine has trained me to identify with the poverty culture within the fair mother city far above and beyond anything I could have read or studied for. Maybe my experience is loosely similar to Frankl's 3 year hell which served as his "field work" for discovering revolutionary psychiatric studies and techniques.
After living with (and like) the poverty class in many situations, I have recently realized that it is increasingly difficult for me to identify with the middle class America from which I came. Examples are numerous. My favorite recent example is as follows:
A few weeks ago I took Obi-Wan to his foot doctor appointment. His nurse who usually drives him was unavailable. So he asked me.
I didn't want to just drop him off. So I waited with and assisted him.
We waited in the lobby with one other patient for over an hour. Then when Obi-Wan's name was called we waited in the patient room for another 20 minutes.
The doctor finally came in, looking all Magnum PI and such...complete with Hawaiian shirt and shaggy hair like he was ready for cocktails. That's fine. I look shaggy and wear Hawaiian shirts too. But I ain't a doctor. I'm a secret agent.
Obi-Wan was here to get his toe nails trimmed since he's a diabetic and only doctors are suppose to trim diabetic's toenails, so I'm told. The whole time while the doctor was trimming with this drill-like thing (which I could have done, I'm sure), I was looking out the window at his red convertible sports car parked under the special covered parking space with his name on the reserved sign. So it goes.
Then I cleaned up the blood from one of Obi-Wan's toe nails because the doctor didn't notice he made Obi-Wan bleed. He had already left.
On our way out there were two other patients waiting in the patient rooms and the lobby was now filled with elderly and helpless-looking people. All awaiting their savior, Magnum PI: the foot doc. And as Obi-Wan was settling up at the front desk, I saw the doctor out the front window taking a casual stroll outside throughout the office complex.
That's where I almost lost it.
Arrogance. "Us verses Them". This, "I'm the one they need and they can wait on me" kind of thing. That's where I realized I no longer identified with the middle class and saw things through the eyes of the poor and elderly sitting in the waiting room.
I'm sure the doctor is a nice guy. If I got to know him he might invite me and the family over for high dollar beer. Maybe have a dip in the pool. Maybe go for a ride in the sports car. Talk about his kids enrolled in prestigious universities. What's wrong with any of that? And maybe that stroll through the office complex was just a desperately needed break. I don't know.
All THAT to say...my provisional existence is training me to see things more like "them" and less like "us". For whatever that's worth...
Frankl was a well known psychiatrist and expert in psychiatric things. He also endured and survived 3 years as a prisoner of Nazi concentration camps including Auschwitz.
His experiences as a prisoner led to many later-life discoveries in the psychiatric field...primarily something called "logotherapy", which is explained in the second half of this book (I haven't got that far yet).
But the first half of the book is a general biography of his day to day holocaust existence, which sets up the scene for discovering and explaining logotherapy. A very shocking and fascinating read.
One of Frankl's discoveries of people's mental hi-jinks within the concentration camps is what he calls a "provisional existence". That's where a person ceased living for a future, in contrast to a person in normal life. He explains that unemployed workers go through the same thing: living long days with no end to this goal-less ordeal in sight. Yet larger frames of time like a week or a month can fly by.
Sometimes, prisoners live through "provisional existence" too. But if they know their future date of release, it gives them a goal and thus, reason to live beyond provisional existence. They know when the end is in sight. The unemployed and victims of the holocaust had no clue if and when the end is ever in sight.
I think the wilderness my family and I have lived in for the better part of 2-3 years is kin to a provisional existence. I don't intend to water down the experiences of nor compare my life to a holocaust victim. And I do have a larger hope...that is, faith in the CEO's promises for my life.
But this provisional existence of mine has trained me to identify with the poverty culture within the fair mother city far above and beyond anything I could have read or studied for. Maybe my experience is loosely similar to Frankl's 3 year hell which served as his "field work" for discovering revolutionary psychiatric studies and techniques.
After living with (and like) the poverty class in many situations, I have recently realized that it is increasingly difficult for me to identify with the middle class America from which I came. Examples are numerous. My favorite recent example is as follows:
A few weeks ago I took Obi-Wan to his foot doctor appointment. His nurse who usually drives him was unavailable. So he asked me.
I didn't want to just drop him off. So I waited with and assisted him.
We waited in the lobby with one other patient for over an hour. Then when Obi-Wan's name was called we waited in the patient room for another 20 minutes.
The doctor finally came in, looking all Magnum PI and such...complete with Hawaiian shirt and shaggy hair like he was ready for cocktails. That's fine. I look shaggy and wear Hawaiian shirts too. But I ain't a doctor. I'm a secret agent.
Obi-Wan was here to get his toe nails trimmed since he's a diabetic and only doctors are suppose to trim diabetic's toenails, so I'm told. The whole time while the doctor was trimming with this drill-like thing (which I could have done, I'm sure), I was looking out the window at his red convertible sports car parked under the special covered parking space with his name on the reserved sign. So it goes.
Then I cleaned up the blood from one of Obi-Wan's toe nails because the doctor didn't notice he made Obi-Wan bleed. He had already left.
On our way out there were two other patients waiting in the patient rooms and the lobby was now filled with elderly and helpless-looking people. All awaiting their savior, Magnum PI: the foot doc. And as Obi-Wan was settling up at the front desk, I saw the doctor out the front window taking a casual stroll outside throughout the office complex.
That's where I almost lost it.
Arrogance. "Us verses Them". This, "I'm the one they need and they can wait on me" kind of thing. That's where I realized I no longer identified with the middle class and saw things through the eyes of the poor and elderly sitting in the waiting room.
I'm sure the doctor is a nice guy. If I got to know him he might invite me and the family over for high dollar beer. Maybe have a dip in the pool. Maybe go for a ride in the sports car. Talk about his kids enrolled in prestigious universities. What's wrong with any of that? And maybe that stroll through the office complex was just a desperately needed break. I don't know.
All THAT to say...my provisional existence is training me to see things more like "them" and less like "us". For whatever that's worth...
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Hope deferred
In my universe within this day and age, all appears hopeless. This is not a doom-n-gloom whining. But I have specific promises that the CEO has given me, and I'm assuming my dream of The Table is part of that promise package.
However, looking at my surrounding situation, The Table and anything else associated with music and ministry with the poor seems like a real pipe dream right now.
Friday night Pastor Bubba from Johnson County, TX (where rednecks were invented) preached to the remnant of the izzy group at the home of The Bossman. His message was on this era in his church's life on not fearing and having courage.
In 1 Samuel 27, David basically left the promises the CEO gave him on becoming king because all evidence on the matter seem to point elsewhere. He was anointed King, was invited to live in the king's house and play music, impressed the whole nation (kills Goliath), marries into the king's family, etc. Things up to that point look good on being king someday.
But then all goes southward. Saul runs him off trying to kill him, Samuel dies, etc. So David gives up hope on being king and becomes a Bandito for 16 months in Philistine. As if he just threw his arms up and figured, "I've always been good at killing people. Might as well fall back on that career path."
I haven't been promised to be king. Nor am I going to become an outlaw.
But all outlook on the way I desire serious ministry to the poor en masse in the fair mother city seems hopeless. And my wife and I are about to have a second mouth to feed, yet we have no flipping idea how we are going to pay bills this month...which is no different from the previous 20 months.
Yet I stand before you, the body of christ, and announce that Agent Wife & I refuse to fear our circumstances and the appearance of hopelessness.
We will not doubt the promises on our life. We will have courage.
However, looking at my surrounding situation, The Table and anything else associated with music and ministry with the poor seems like a real pipe dream right now.
Friday night Pastor Bubba from Johnson County, TX (where rednecks were invented) preached to the remnant of the izzy group at the home of The Bossman. His message was on this era in his church's life on not fearing and having courage.
In 1 Samuel 27, David basically left the promises the CEO gave him on becoming king because all evidence on the matter seem to point elsewhere. He was anointed King, was invited to live in the king's house and play music, impressed the whole nation (kills Goliath), marries into the king's family, etc. Things up to that point look good on being king someday.
But then all goes southward. Saul runs him off trying to kill him, Samuel dies, etc. So David gives up hope on being king and becomes a Bandito for 16 months in Philistine. As if he just threw his arms up and figured, "I've always been good at killing people. Might as well fall back on that career path."
I haven't been promised to be king. Nor am I going to become an outlaw.
But all outlook on the way I desire serious ministry to the poor en masse in the fair mother city seems hopeless. And my wife and I are about to have a second mouth to feed, yet we have no flipping idea how we are going to pay bills this month...which is no different from the previous 20 months.
Yet I stand before you, the body of christ, and announce that Agent Wife & I refuse to fear our circumstances and the appearance of hopelessness.
We will not doubt the promises on our life. We will have courage.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Get-a-way
The family and I had approximately 3 days/nights house-sitting for our friend's the Carrs in rural Jones county. It was our only chance at a vacation. This was also our very last bit of alone time as a trio before the influx of family comes for the arrival of Agent Offspring #2, who is due to join us soon.
We have house sat for them before. There is farm animal maintenance involved. But this year was painfully easy as our chores required only one evening of work which took about 30 minutes.
I love going out there. Their property is only about 20 minutes away from the fair mother city but it feels like hours away from civilization.
This was our first time with a toddler (AO #1). So relaxing and reading was a bit more difficult.
A few messages from the CEO were delivered to me during this time through the following mediums:
1) Several messages came through a book that I found in the old izzy group clothing ministry years ago. I forgot I had it until a recentcloset clean. I can't say enough about How to Use the Power of Your Word by Stella Terrill Mann. Good luck finding a copy. It was written in 1955 and has long been out of print.
2) Went on my John Eldridge/He-Man solo adventure through the sandy, cacti terrain of Jones County. My trek's goals were to reach the well pump located somewhere at the end of the property and to listen/commune with the CEO in the process. I have been to the well before (literally and maybe spiritually, I guess) but it had been years. After 45 minutes I grew frustrated that I hadn't reached it and wondered if I missed the well. A rare urge and opportunity to climb a 30 foot oak tree arrived which gave me the view I needed to see that the well was practically right in front of my face...maybe 75 yards. This could easily be an accurate picture of my life right now. Anyway, I climbed down, found the well, then forged a path home.
3) My wife and I watched Hotel Rwanda, a movie I've been wanting to see. Good film. Probably not good to watch right before bed like I did.
It was a short vacation but I'm very thankful for it none the less...
We have house sat for them before. There is farm animal maintenance involved. But this year was painfully easy as our chores required only one evening of work which took about 30 minutes.
I love going out there. Their property is only about 20 minutes away from the fair mother city but it feels like hours away from civilization.
This was our first time with a toddler (AO #1). So relaxing and reading was a bit more difficult.
A few messages from the CEO were delivered to me during this time through the following mediums:
1) Several messages came through a book that I found in the old izzy group clothing ministry years ago. I forgot I had it until a recent
2) Went on my John Eldridge/He-Man solo adventure through the sandy, cacti terrain of Jones County. My trek's goals were to reach the well pump located somewhere at the end of the property and to listen/commune with the CEO in the process. I have been to the well before (literally and maybe spiritually, I guess) but it had been years. After 45 minutes I grew frustrated that I hadn't reached it and wondered if I missed the well. A rare urge and opportunity to climb a 30 foot oak tree arrived which gave me the view I needed to see that the well was practically right in front of my face...maybe 75 yards. This could easily be an accurate picture of my life right now. Anyway, I climbed down, found the well, then forged a path home.
3) My wife and I watched Hotel Rwanda, a movie I've been wanting to see. Good film. Probably not good to watch right before bed like I did.
It was a short vacation but I'm very thankful for it none the less...
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Church bus
Back in the 1980's when I was a teenager in Houston, I had a good friend named Gus.
Gus & I were both in church of christ youth groups, but we were each part of a different church. Gus' church was on the north side of town and mine in the northwest.
Gus was a comedian and a half. He was kind of a short and chunky guy who wore hawaiian shirts and told non-stop jokes. Real funny ones. And he was wild and crazy. Imagine Chris Farley or Jack Black as a teen. That was Gus.
And with me being the tall, skinny, semi-quiet guy with a dry sense of humor, we made a hell of a team. We could have made movies or something...if we only knew how to act...and if there was such a market for coc youth group kids in the 1980's...
We joined forces in friendship when we found that the kids in our respective youth groups were too snobby and self-conscious to intermingle with each other at some youth group bowling outing. So Gus & I took a chance and bowled with each other, had a few laughs, and have been friends to this day. Although I haven't talked to him in about 2 years. I need to call him soon.
Gus' church had a church bus. Not some inconspicuous van with the church's name and address plastered to the side for all those sinner's on the road to see who's going to heaven when the van crashes. I mean a bus. A freaking huge-ass, annoying looking, white and purple (yes...PURPLE) school bus with the giant words CHURCH BUS emblazoned on the front, back, sides, and probably from the top for sinners in helicopters to see.
I can see it now: Unsuspecting motorists on I-45 saying, "Church bus? Yeah...no shit. Who else would be driving that thing? The muslims? Hare Krishna's?".
I could see the Krishna's, I guess.
The Partridge Family held nothing on this thing.
Actually...Gus was kind of like the Danny Bonaduche of his church youth group. So, the bus fit, I guess.
But anyway, one of my favorite memories of Gus (and there are many) was his take on a youth group song we sang that went something like "...and they'll know we are christians by our love, by our love".
His went "...they'll know we are christians by our bus, by our bus".
Gus' take on the song has been stuck in my head for years. It's probably influenced me one way or another. I don't know.
I guess we followers feel it necessary to advertise our faith with bumper stickers, fish symbols, gigantic advertisements on wheels (aka ridiculous looking buses or vans), and bible verses pasted on our clothing...all because our love wasn't good enough, I guess.
Or maybe our love is in low supply.
Gus & I were both in church of christ youth groups, but we were each part of a different church. Gus' church was on the north side of town and mine in the northwest.
Gus was a comedian and a half. He was kind of a short and chunky guy who wore hawaiian shirts and told non-stop jokes. Real funny ones. And he was wild and crazy. Imagine Chris Farley or Jack Black as a teen. That was Gus.
And with me being the tall, skinny, semi-quiet guy with a dry sense of humor, we made a hell of a team. We could have made movies or something...if we only knew how to act...and if there was such a market for coc youth group kids in the 1980's...
We joined forces in friendship when we found that the kids in our respective youth groups were too snobby and self-conscious to intermingle with each other at some youth group bowling outing. So Gus & I took a chance and bowled with each other, had a few laughs, and have been friends to this day. Although I haven't talked to him in about 2 years. I need to call him soon.
Gus' church had a church bus. Not some inconspicuous van with the church's name and address plastered to the side for all those sinner's on the road to see who's going to heaven when the van crashes. I mean a bus. A freaking huge-ass, annoying looking, white and purple (yes...PURPLE) school bus with the giant words CHURCH BUS emblazoned on the front, back, sides, and probably from the top for sinners in helicopters to see.
I can see it now: Unsuspecting motorists on I-45 saying, "Church bus? Yeah...no shit. Who else would be driving that thing? The muslims? Hare Krishna's?".
I could see the Krishna's, I guess.
The Partridge Family held nothing on this thing.
Actually...Gus was kind of like the Danny Bonaduche of his church youth group. So, the bus fit, I guess.
But anyway, one of my favorite memories of Gus (and there are many) was his take on a youth group song we sang that went something like "...and they'll know we are christians by our love, by our love".
His went "...they'll know we are christians by our bus, by our bus".
Gus' take on the song has been stuck in my head for years. It's probably influenced me one way or another. I don't know.
I guess we followers feel it necessary to advertise our faith with bumper stickers, fish symbols, gigantic advertisements on wheels (aka ridiculous looking buses or vans), and bible verses pasted on our clothing...all because our love wasn't good enough, I guess.
Or maybe our love is in low supply.
random note
In the ever expanding Agent Network universe...I met another fellow agent today who was visiting family in the fair mother city. We shared a few stories and laughs.
We laughed as he told me that his only memory of the fair mother city came at age 14 while visiting to compete in a "bible bowl"...then stumbling across porn in his hotel room at night.
Bible, competition, and hidden sin.
...THAT, my friends, is the most spiritually accurate picture of Abilene, Texas that I've EVER heard...
We laughed as he told me that his only memory of the fair mother city came at age 14 while visiting to compete in a "bible bowl"...then stumbling across porn in his hotel room at night.
Bible, competition, and hidden sin.
...THAT, my friends, is the most spiritually accurate picture of Abilene, Texas that I've EVER heard...
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Agent B - 007
Strolling down the sidewalk of my street this morning with Agent Offspring, I stumbled upon a house burglary in progress.
It was at the home of Vincent and his wife. They live across the street and down a few houses. They're also one of the handful of neighbors I have not met yet.
AO & I were walking on the sidewalk in front of Vincent's place. There was a young, 18-20 year old looking black guy standing at Vincent's side fence gate looking off to the side. He never looked at me. I'm sure his peripheral vision saw me just fine.
This guy was looking towards some noise in the back of Vincent's house. I got a good look at him and kept walking. Then I realized neither of Vincent's cars were home. Could be a coincidence. This black guy could be a friend of his for all I know.
But in about 4 minutes I completed the walk and took AO home. I went back to get a closer look.
The guy was gone. I walked back to the alley to get a view of Vincent's back yard. Again, no one was there.
Then a cop car shows up in the alley. "Oh crap" I'm thinking. Someone calls the cops and here I am in the alley near the property looking suspicious.
So I walked up to the cop and told him what I was doing, etc.
Turns out, the next door neighbor, John Johnson (another neighbor I've never really met, but my racist neighbor Mr. Buckley knows him) called the cops.
John actually saw the black guy plus a husky mexican kid with a buzz cut from his bathroom window. The husky kid broke a window to Vincent's house with a tire iron and was preparing to break in. The guy I saw was the "lookout" guy. And they must have bolted soon after I walked by the first time.
So I've had cops interviewing me on and off all morning. One came to my house and while here he got a call about this case. Apparently Vincent's nephew usually works with him. But he called in sick around the time of the break-in. And his caller ID showed a number from our neighborhood, meaning he was near by.
So basically, the nephew is the prime suspect last I heard.
The good news is nothing was stolen and nobody harmed. I got to talk to Mr. Buckley, even if I didn't care for his racial views on the crime. And I sort of met John for the first time. And now I have an excuse to meet Vincent.
It was at the home of Vincent and his wife. They live across the street and down a few houses. They're also one of the handful of neighbors I have not met yet.
AO & I were walking on the sidewalk in front of Vincent's place. There was a young, 18-20 year old looking black guy standing at Vincent's side fence gate looking off to the side. He never looked at me. I'm sure his peripheral vision saw me just fine.
This guy was looking towards some noise in the back of Vincent's house. I got a good look at him and kept walking. Then I realized neither of Vincent's cars were home. Could be a coincidence. This black guy could be a friend of his for all I know.
But in about 4 minutes I completed the walk and took AO home. I went back to get a closer look.
The guy was gone. I walked back to the alley to get a view of Vincent's back yard. Again, no one was there.
Then a cop car shows up in the alley. "Oh crap" I'm thinking. Someone calls the cops and here I am in the alley near the property looking suspicious.
So I walked up to the cop and told him what I was doing, etc.
Turns out, the next door neighbor, John Johnson (another neighbor I've never really met, but my racist neighbor Mr. Buckley knows him) called the cops.
John actually saw the black guy plus a husky mexican kid with a buzz cut from his bathroom window. The husky kid broke a window to Vincent's house with a tire iron and was preparing to break in. The guy I saw was the "lookout" guy. And they must have bolted soon after I walked by the first time.
So I've had cops interviewing me on and off all morning. One came to my house and while here he got a call about this case. Apparently Vincent's nephew usually works with him. But he called in sick around the time of the break-in. And his caller ID showed a number from our neighborhood, meaning he was near by.
So basically, the nephew is the prime suspect last I heard.
The good news is nothing was stolen and nobody harmed. I got to talk to Mr. Buckley, even if I didn't care for his racial views on the crime. And I sort of met John for the first time. And now I have an excuse to meet Vincent.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Dream Report #004
I had another Star Wars dream last night.
I swear, I'm not a sci-fi nerd.
Much like the first one, I was Luke Skywalker again. But this time I was facing off with the Emporer. Darth Vader was watching near by.
I knew my light saber would be a joke since he was far more powerful than me in that arena. So I planned to opt out of physical combat and take a more subversive, turn the other cheek type of approach.
I woke up after that decision.
I swear, I'm not a sci-fi nerd.
Much like the first one, I was Luke Skywalker again. But this time I was facing off with the Emporer. Darth Vader was watching near by.
I knew my light saber would be a joke since he was far more powerful than me in that arena. So I planned to opt out of physical combat and take a more subversive, turn the other cheek type of approach.
I woke up after that decision.
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