• goodbadi

    Thursday’s Rambler

    On our walk this evening, we heard an odd sound. At first I thought it was a failing chain drive in the nearby park ranger’s Kubota RTV, since it seemed to correspond with the driver’s occasional acceleration spurts. But after he sputtered away, the sound continued. It sounded like a woodpecker having at a metal pole. Sure enough, soon we spied the little bird, at the top of a light pole, thrumming away.

    “It must have a headache,” I said. “Some cure!”

    But that little fellow hasn’t the only headache around.

    Take the FAA, for example, and, for that matter, the airlines under its watchful eye, and, for that matter, all airline passengers, and, for that matter, anyone who has contact with an airline passenger. This week, in my largely uninformed view, after it was accused of being “too cozy with the airlines it oversees,” the FAA has by all appearances taken aggressive action to whip lax airlines into shape, prompting thousands of canceled flights. Somebody’s head doesn’t want to roll.

    Then there’s the alternative fuel corn industry. As stated by my reliable source The Freakwenter, “The US political support for the production of corn ethanol … is being shot down by every study, news story, and respectable pundit.” That’s got to hurt.

    And then there’s Charlie, of YouTube fame. But I guess his brother’s is more finger- than headache.

    Today my head hurt less than it has for a while, although that’s not to say that it’s really been in pain.

    The trouble is, on Sunday I finally figured that getting up at 5:25 every morning, to work out with my virtual trainer Maya (courtesy of McDonald’s), is ridiculous, since I usually don’t get to sleep until after 10:00, considering N’s patterns (or lack thereof). Instead, I would sleep in until 6:00 and just run or something after coming home from school, thereby still exercising every day.

    The trouble was this: On Monday, I felt OK for most of the day, but very sick when I got home, so I took a very long nap and didn’t exercise. On Tuesday afternoon, after feeling somewhat OK all day, we walked around the nearby track a whole bunch of times (five), and so I got exercise. On Wednesday, I didn’t do anything, and felt groggy all day.

    Last night I realized that the point of the grogginess was to get me to exercise at the beginning of each day, to get and keep myself going–and so this morning I cut loose even from Maya, and jogged. I hate jogging, but I felt great.

    Some cure!

  • goodbadi

    Fuzzy Theology

    Some may remember, from my earlier posts, my colleague D. D is about to retire and is an outspoken member and critic of a Very Large Southern Denomination.

    A while back, on a teacher work day, D wandered into my classroom and said, “I’m reading a book by a guy with really fuzzy theology.”

    It turned out he was talking about Brian McLaren. “Oh,” I said. “I’m reading a book by him, too, one called A Generous Orthodoxy: Why I Am a Missional, Evangelical, Post/Protestant, Liberal/Conservative, Mystical/Poetic, Biblical, Charismatic/Contemplative, Fundamentalist/Calvinist, Anabaptist/Anglican, Methodist, Catholic, Green, Incarnational, Depressed-yet-Hopeful, Emergent, Unfinished CHRISTIAN, for my Sunday school class.”

    “Yep, I’ve read that one, too,” he said. (Actually, it sounded like he’d read most of McLaren’s books.) “And they haven’t thrown your class out of the church yet?” He quoted the bumper sticker motto of his denomination: “‘The Bible says it, I believe it, that settles it.’ Not much room for fuzziness there.”

    He talked more, about the dogmatism of his fellow Very Large Southern Denomination-ists, specifically a missions group concerned with feeding the poorest of the poor in Africa, who, in a spirit of grave concern, were tied up in knots because the miller who offered to grind for free the corn to be given away was, alas, not Christian. “Jesus didn’t say anything about that, did he?” D said. “No. He just said, ‘Feed the hungry.'”

    Several weeks later D popped in again. “Kicked out of church yet?”

    “No,” I said, chuckling. “But whenever we talk in Sunday school about what we don’t believe, we talk about your denomination.”

    “Aw, that’s OK,” he replied. “We’re so confident in our beliefs, that won’t hurt our feelings at all.”

  • goodbadi

    Share the Recessional Love, Please

    As you might remember from my earlier posts about house hunting for the perfect property, I’m itching to homestead. After casting about the local waters, we found the perfect place, for probably about $230,00, which is entirely not affordable for us, without a low-cost loan.

    Since our bank of choice could only offer us a rate of 6.5%, at which our monthly payments would really put our pennies in quite a pinch, I applied to an online company promising up to five loan offers from competing banks. The best offer, at 5.7%, brought the potential monthly payments down a few hundred dollars, but still way not enough.

    In hopes that what my email-happy contact person wrote was true, namely that “the initial offers that you received are not the only offers you qualify for, and there could be loan offers that better fit your situation for lower closing costs,” and that his company wants “to make sure every customer receives 100% customer service and satisfaction,” I replied to him: “I’m afraid we are unable to pursue purchasing a new home at this point…unless you know of a way to get a fixed-rate, 30-year, $230,000 mortgage with monthly payments under $800.”

    His response was brief and to the point: “Unfortunately, you would need less than a 2% interest rate to get that. If that is your monthly payment comfort zone, you should be looking to purchase a property around $100,000. Are there any properties around your area at this price?”

    Well, no, actually, not ones I’d want.

    But his 2% interest figure got me thinking. On March 18, the U.S. Federal Reserve Board lowered its federal funds rate to 2.25%–which would suit me just fine. I emailed a close contact who works for the Board: “Say, what are the odds that the Fed could share the love with us? Home mortgage loans are still up at 5.6%-6.5%, but isn’t the Fed offering loans down at around 2%? I could afford a whole lot more house at that rate! Somehow I’d like to benefit from this recession.”

    “I’m on it,” he wrote back. His later conclusion? Become a bank.

  • goodbadi

    Grandpa and the Go-Cart

    My grandpa was not necessarily a high-speed-thrills type of person. Once on our way to church, when I only slowed before driving past a stop sign, he commented, “That didn’t seem like a stop to me.”

    And yet here he is, in this photo passed along to me at a recent family get-together, trying out the go-cart I’d put together using an old $25 frame, a roto-tiller engine, a school-desk seat, a bike-seat satchel containing a few necessary items, and fishing line.

    Several years ago, one uncle remembered something Grandpa’d said after his terminal cancer was diagnosed. Instead of spending so much time making sure church rules were followed, he’d said, he wished he’d focused more on extending grace.

    But in a way, the pictured go-cart ride may be evidence that he had done just that. My go-cart accelerator was connected to the engine via fishing line that often snapped, necessitating that bike-seat satchel to hold the spool of replacement string. The green plastic seat barely gripped the frame with skinny, rusted bolts threaded through washer after washer. The duct tape on the steering wheels wasn’t just for decoration—it held in place the engine’s “kill” switch, which I’d probably pulled from my dad’s box of electrical odds and ends.

    Just getting behind the wheel of that contraption required a certain amount of gracious acceptance of rough edges.

  • goodbadi

    Weekend Scenes

    N’s weekend included athletic, zoological, queenly, and intellectual highlights.

    My dad (center, about to rocket off the court) played in Thursday’s faculty v. seniors game:
    Following the game, N hung out with her teacher grandparents:
    Back at their house, their cat tried to join us:N pleasantly presided over the festivities, which mainly centered around her: N gave the rest of us a run for our money during our Scrabble game:

  • goodbadi

    The Butt in the Deli

    When I stepped up to the deli/bakery counter this evening, no one appeared to be behind it. From where I stood I peered into the nooks and crannies of the kitchen, past cooling rolls and empty stainless steel counters. No one.

    I walked to the end of the counter, to the employee entryway, and craned my neck around a corner. “Can I help you?” She practically jumped out at me at the same time as her cell phone detached from her ear.

    I placed my order, “Cut thin, please,” and she put on her gloves and grabbed the lunk of meat. “Is it still raining outside?” she smiled. “How’s this?”

    “That’s fine,” I said. “Yes, it’s still raining.” I had just come from an unnecessary yet highly productive teacher work day, and because the store-made cake and cookie that I’d eaten at 10:30 (we’d been told to expect early morning muffins, so thank goodness I forgot and ate plenty of granola at breakfast) had long since worn off, I wasn’t exactly feeling too chatty.

    “This meat is hard to cut into nice slices,” she said. “It’s lumpy.”

    “I wonder why that is?”

    “I’ll show you,” she said. Just then her cell phone went off like a carnival slot machine. “That’s my grocery list.”

    While she finished cutting up the meat, I decided that after getting the meat, I would politely just walk away from the counter, instead of pursuing greater understanding of the lumpy meat. Just because. If I could get away, that is.

    “Have a nice day,” she told me as she handed over the package, and I started off to the salad dressing department. But no sooner than I thought myself free, she called after me, “Oh, did you want me to show you about this meat?”

    “Oh yes,” I said, turning back.

    She held up the mass of pink cow butt. “It happens when lots of different people cut it. It doesn’t stay even,” she said.

    “Oh my,” I said. “Thank you.”

  • goodbadi

    The Feminine Shaping of Jesus

    (Please note: Since I am no Bible scholar, this post may open a Pandora’s box of controversy and dis-accreditation, all at my expense.)

    It is said that behind every good man is a good woman. Behind Jesus, however, were quite a few good women.

    First, there’s the water-into-wine miracle in John 2, quoted here from oremus Bible Browser‘s New Revised Standard Version: On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. 2Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. 3When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, “They have no wine.” 4And Jesus said to her, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” 5His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” 6Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. 7Jesus said to them, “Fill the jars with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. 8He said to them, “Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward.” So they took it. 9When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom 10and said to him, “Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now.” 11Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

    Who effectively pushed Jesus into his active Godliness? His mother, a woman.

    And then there’s the challenge in John 4: 5So he came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. 6Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon. 7A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” 8(His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.) 9The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.) 10Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.”

    Jesus begins by acting like a male in a male-dominated society–he demands a drink. The woman is no back-bender-over, though, and she challenges his assuming request, which leads to Jesus’ verbal clarification of his own purpose, to give “living water” to everyone.

    A more blatantly stark point on Jesus’ learning curve appears in Mark 7, where 25…a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet. 26Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. 27He said to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” 28But she answered him, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” 29Then he said to her, “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.” 30So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.

    The Syrophoenician woman insisted that Jesus share his love beyond his own personal boundaries. Lucky for so many of us, he listened.

    And finally, there’s the whole raising-Lazarus-from-the-dead incident, in which Martha puts things into her own terms, in John 11: 17When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. 18Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, 19and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. 20When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. 21Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. 22But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” 23Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” 24Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” 25Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, 26and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” 27She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.” 28When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary, and told her privately, “The Teacher is here and is calling for you.” 29And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. 30Now Jesus had not yet come to the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. 31The Jews who were with her in the house, consoling her, saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. 32When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

    Martha does more than Jesus bids: she basically tells him it’s his fault Lazarus has died, and she tells him to use his God connection to perform a miracle. A bit later, when Jesus asks her for a statement of faith, she does not answer his question but, instead, states her own perspective. Still later, Martha tells Mary that Jesus was calling her–which may not be true, since it’s not in the text. Why would Martha want Mary present? Perhaps to lay on guilt trip pressure for a miracle, which Mary does obligingly, and Jesus ends up raising Lazarus from the dead.

    Even God’s got to admit that women rock!