War in Iraq creates more terrorists????
Shocking, shocking news. The NYTimes has reported on a National Intelligence document that has suggested the war in Iraq is actually creating more terrorists instead of getting rid of terrorists. "WASHINGTON, Sept. 23 — A stark assessment of terrorism trends by American intelligence agencies has found that the American invasion and occupation of Iraq has helped spawn a new generation of Islamic radicalism and that the overall terrorist threat has grown since the Sept. 11 attacks."
Is it possible?? They continue, "The intelligence estimate, completed in April, is the first formal appraisal of global terrorism by United States intelligence agencies since the Iraq war began, and represents a consensus view of the 16 disparate spy services inside government. Titled “Trends in Global Terrorism: Implications for the United States,’’ it asserts that Islamic radicalism, rather than being in retreat, has metastasized and spread across the globe."
You mean we haven't done an appraisal of the state of global terrorism during the last 5 years while we've been at war with terrorism? Isn't that a little . . . well, like invading a country because they pose an enormous threat, without actually verifying the threat first? Or like trying to set up a democracy in a country before figuring out if anyone in the country wants a democracy, or before figuring out if the best way to set up a democracy is through forcing it on people at gunpoint or encouraging it through peaceful means? That's ridiculous. Surely we've appraised the state of global terrorism while trying to fight against it. How else would we know what we were at war with?
You know what, now that I think of it, the fact that the Iraq war is creating more terrorists isn't such a crazy idea. I remember sitting in an ethics class in the couple months after Sept. 11, 2001 and discussing how we as Christians should respond. You know what we decided? We decided that God would have us love our neighbors, and even our enemies. And in loving them, we would fight for peace. We could take actual steps to increase justice amongst the oppressed. We decided that instead of the US giving half of its foreign aid (3 billion at the time) to Israel so they could buy war planes and continue to oppress the Palestinians, we should instead give a good portion of that money to the Palestinians to help them build infrastructures in Palestine that allowed people to have normal jobs and support their families.
I wonder how Muslims around the world would have reacted to that? I'm not exactly sure, but I am guessing we wouldn't have been creating more terrorists.
What if instead of fighting a war on terror (which we didn't even take the time to try to understand) we instead fought a war on injustice. What if we'd spent our time stopping the genocides in Sudan and Darfur? What if we had toppelled Sadam's regime and then poured all the money we could possibly pool together into creating infrastructures and providing relief for the people of Iraq. If we hadn't been fighting a war against Islamic extremists, and we had given examples in Sudan and Palestine of our good intentions, I wonder how the Iraqi people, and the Islamic world would have responded to our ousting Saddam? What if instead of being focussed on protecting our own selves, the richest most powerful people in the world, what if we were interested in protecting the least of these, the broken and the hurt around the world?
I wonder how Muslims around the world would have reacted to that? I'm not exactly sure, but I am guessing we wouldn't have been creating more terrorists.
I remember sitting in my ethics class while the US began to bomb Afghanistan, and the report started coming in that because of the bombings the roads were being destroyed and thousands upon thousands of people were going to be trapped in the mountains having to try to make it through the quickly aproaching winter without any access to their normal ability to trade or to get to food. And some began to plead with the US government to stop bombing for a while, particularly because Ramadan was beginning, and allow these poeple to come down out of the mountains or at least to allow aid groups to get in there and give them food, or else thousands were going to die. And we reflected on what we as Christians should do in this situation. I decided that we should show solidarity with those who were dying, and that one way I could do that would be to participate in Ramadan. So I fasted and prayed during that month along with millions of Muslims around the world. And I wrote an article for our school newspaper about showing solidarity with Muslims during this time. We as a nation could have shown, perhaps even proven, our good will in respecting a holy holiday, but instead the bombs began to drop because we had to find Osama. And broken bridges during Ramadan fueled the suspicions of a war between civilizations rather than a civilized war.
I wonder how Muslims around the world would have reacted to our joining them in fasting and prayer during Ramadan? I'm not exactly sure, but I am guessing we wouldn't have been creating more terrorists.
The article concludes, "recently, the Council on Global Terrorism, an independent research group of respected terrorism experts, assigned a grade of “D+” to United States efforts over the past five years to combat Islamic extremism. The council concluded that “there is every sign that radicalization in the Muslim world is spreading rather than shrinking.”"
Sep 29, 2006
Sep 21, 2006
Cooler weather
One of my favorite feelings in the world has always been breathing a cold rush of air into my lungs. I remember as a child getting up in the morning, walking to the front door in my pajamas and opening it enough to stick my head out and see if the air was cool enough to warrant further action. And some days, it was. I would then slide through the opening and step out onto the porch. And breathe. Deep, slow breaths. The cool air rushed oxygen to my brain, enlivening my perceptions of all that was around me. Simultaneously, the coolness in my chest relaxed every part of my soul. I had a sense of being in a space that was bigger than myself, and I had the mental alacrity to perceive its details. "The earth is the Lord's and all that is in it" (24:1).
The mountains hold this magic. It gets cold at night in the mountains and most of the year you can step outside your cabin or tent early in the morning and take these deep, stilling breaths. The soul opens itself to wonder, and the mind becomes perceptive of wonder's materials. The birds' songs become clear. White and black stripes on the back of a chipmunk 20 yards away become separated. And as you sit to soak it all in, you enter a noticeably different position in creation. You become one with your surroundings, but you are the thinker, the philosopher, the poet, the developer of culture and creation.
I find it difficult at this point to not then DO something: to not write, to not get started with the day and make breakfast and get to the sights that are to be seen. It is difficult to learn to be in that place, to allow our beings to be affected by simply being who we are in the cosmic orders of creation. Stepping into that place created in my soul by the cold, crisp air in my lungs is like stepping into a rich memory. Not a memory thick and heavy with detail and meaning that is to be figured out; but a memory richly detailed but light, like a dream, in its acceptance of something true. It is a memory that was there "in the beginning" with God, a memory that is always there beside me, just out of my reach, just beyond my longing to know who I am.
Another time this mystery finds me is during the change to autumn. The highs in Chicago this week have been around 60 degrees and the lows have been in the low forties. And every time I've stepped outside a hint of this mystery has opened my soul and I've found more peace than the day had at first promised.
One of my favorite feelings in the world has always been breathing a cold rush of air into my lungs. I remember as a child getting up in the morning, walking to the front door in my pajamas and opening it enough to stick my head out and see if the air was cool enough to warrant further action. And some days, it was. I would then slide through the opening and step out onto the porch. And breathe. Deep, slow breaths. The cool air rushed oxygen to my brain, enlivening my perceptions of all that was around me. Simultaneously, the coolness in my chest relaxed every part of my soul. I had a sense of being in a space that was bigger than myself, and I had the mental alacrity to perceive its details. "The earth is the Lord's and all that is in it" (24:1).
The mountains hold this magic. It gets cold at night in the mountains and most of the year you can step outside your cabin or tent early in the morning and take these deep, stilling breaths. The soul opens itself to wonder, and the mind becomes perceptive of wonder's materials. The birds' songs become clear. White and black stripes on the back of a chipmunk 20 yards away become separated. And as you sit to soak it all in, you enter a noticeably different position in creation. You become one with your surroundings, but you are the thinker, the philosopher, the poet, the developer of culture and creation.
I find it difficult at this point to not then DO something: to not write, to not get started with the day and make breakfast and get to the sights that are to be seen. It is difficult to learn to be in that place, to allow our beings to be affected by simply being who we are in the cosmic orders of creation. Stepping into that place created in my soul by the cold, crisp air in my lungs is like stepping into a rich memory. Not a memory thick and heavy with detail and meaning that is to be figured out; but a memory richly detailed but light, like a dream, in its acceptance of something true. It is a memory that was there "in the beginning" with God, a memory that is always there beside me, just out of my reach, just beyond my longing to know who I am.
Another time this mystery finds me is during the change to autumn. The highs in Chicago this week have been around 60 degrees and the lows have been in the low forties. And every time I've stepped outside a hint of this mystery has opened my soul and I've found more peace than the day had at first promised.
Sep 19, 2006
George Washington has a brown nose.
A week ago today, Karis swallowed a quarter. At least, we're pretty sure it's a quarter. Risa told us it was bigger than a nickel, so it could be a dollar coin.
So Karis got taken to urgent care that day. The quarter was as plain as day, brightest thing on the xray. The Drs. said that the best thing to do was wait and that hopefully she would poop it out. If it didn't come out in 4 days we were to return. Oh, and by the way - we were instructed to dig through the poop so that we'd know when the quarter came out. Once it's out, there's no more need to return to the Dr. And they gave us two pairs of hospital gloves. Now, either they had no idea how many times this two-year-old can poop in four days, or (and this is the way we took it) they expected the quarter to pass quite quickly and we would probably only need a couple pairs of gloves. Well, we needed more gloves. Yesterday, 6 days after the initial swallowing, Robin took her back to urgent care. Another xray, another brilliant picture of a quarter. The Drs. there didn't want to get their hands in poop, so they sent us to the emergency room at another hospital that had "specialists." The emergency care pediatrician looked at the xray and decided that more specialists were needed - a pediatrician that specializes in gastro-intestinal whatchamaever.
Now, it was about 2:30 pm. Robin had been at urgent care and the hospital all day with both of the girls. None of them had had lunch and neither of the girls were enjoying their aftn. naps. I found myself unable to work while all this was going on, so I had taken the aftn. off and joined them at the hospital to be with Karis as she went through whatever extracting means were found necessary. It appeared that they would put something down her throat and try to grab it and pull it out. So we all waited in the hospital room, and the girls were very patient.
When I arrived, I had a banana, and of course the starving girls both wanted some. But I had to deny Karis any food (for obvious reasons). I told her that when we got the quarter out of her stomach, then she could have some food. So every time they did anything to her, such as when they took her pulse rate, she would then look at me and say "my nanna now? my nanna now?" "No honey, not yet, not until they get the quarter out."
4pm. The Dr. returned and informed us that the quarter has passed out of the stomach and into the digestive track, or so thinks the gastro-intestinal whatchamaever pediatric specialist. And the g.i.w.p.s. informed all involved that the best thing to do was to simply wait it out. It would be more dangerous to go in after it than to let it make its way out. As long as she doesn't start throwing up, or doesn't stop pooping, she is probably fine. With these instructions we were free to go (having basically wasted our entire day - and who knows what the bill will be that we'll get).
So, as long as there's no change, the g.i.w.p.s. says, we shouldn't be worried for at least a few weeks. In fact, these things can take up to two months to pass.
We asked for more gloves.
A week ago today, Karis swallowed a quarter. At least, we're pretty sure it's a quarter. Risa told us it was bigger than a nickel, so it could be a dollar coin.
So Karis got taken to urgent care that day. The quarter was as plain as day, brightest thing on the xray. The Drs. said that the best thing to do was wait and that hopefully she would poop it out. If it didn't come out in 4 days we were to return. Oh, and by the way - we were instructed to dig through the poop so that we'd know when the quarter came out. Once it's out, there's no more need to return to the Dr. And they gave us two pairs of hospital gloves. Now, either they had no idea how many times this two-year-old can poop in four days, or (and this is the way we took it) they expected the quarter to pass quite quickly and we would probably only need a couple pairs of gloves. Well, we needed more gloves. Yesterday, 6 days after the initial swallowing, Robin took her back to urgent care. Another xray, another brilliant picture of a quarter. The Drs. there didn't want to get their hands in poop, so they sent us to the emergency room at another hospital that had "specialists." The emergency care pediatrician looked at the xray and decided that more specialists were needed - a pediatrician that specializes in gastro-intestinal whatchamaever.
Now, it was about 2:30 pm. Robin had been at urgent care and the hospital all day with both of the girls. None of them had had lunch and neither of the girls were enjoying their aftn. naps. I found myself unable to work while all this was going on, so I had taken the aftn. off and joined them at the hospital to be with Karis as she went through whatever extracting means were found necessary. It appeared that they would put something down her throat and try to grab it and pull it out. So we all waited in the hospital room, and the girls were very patient.
When I arrived, I had a banana, and of course the starving girls both wanted some. But I had to deny Karis any food (for obvious reasons). I told her that when we got the quarter out of her stomach, then she could have some food. So every time they did anything to her, such as when they took her pulse rate, she would then look at me and say "my nanna now? my nanna now?" "No honey, not yet, not until they get the quarter out."
4pm. The Dr. returned and informed us that the quarter has passed out of the stomach and into the digestive track, or so thinks the gastro-intestinal whatchamaever pediatric specialist. And the g.i.w.p.s. informed all involved that the best thing to do was to simply wait it out. It would be more dangerous to go in after it than to let it make its way out. As long as she doesn't start throwing up, or doesn't stop pooping, she is probably fine. With these instructions we were free to go (having basically wasted our entire day - and who knows what the bill will be that we'll get).
So, as long as there's no change, the g.i.w.p.s. says, we shouldn't be worried for at least a few weeks. In fact, these things can take up to two months to pass.
We asked for more gloves.
Sep 2, 2006
Aug 31, 2006
One post a month for the last few months.
That's just sad, as though I have no ability to think for myself anymore.
Well, I apologize. The things which I know I should do (like take time for my own thoughts) I do not do. And those things I do not want to do, I do. Oh wretched man that I am. Who will save me from this?
Today I taught my first two classes -
and nobody walked out. So that's good!
Despite my being drained from talking all morning and tired from not sleeping much the last couple days, I felt some strong feelings of fulfillment, which are always nice when you find them. Grace for the everyday (no, not you Gracie) - that fulfills me. When I find grace in those small tasks, I try to slow everything inside of me down just enough to open a space inside where I can fully accept that grace. I try to wait long enough to let the grace enlarge and then connect with the larger streams of God's graceful actions in the world. And when I do, I find that God visits that space inside myself. I think of that space as the place where God inhabits the praises of God's people. It happens also when I am able to open that space inside during a worship service at church. As that space opens, I feel myself being drawn into the ongoing praises of all creation. Sometimes when I pray, for others -usually not when I pray for myself, I feel that space inside open. And God comes. And simple prayers are drenched and then overflow with grace. And they are no longer my prayers, but begin to drown in the groaning of all creation for its Maker.
That's just sad, as though I have no ability to think for myself anymore.
Well, I apologize. The things which I know I should do (like take time for my own thoughts) I do not do. And those things I do not want to do, I do. Oh wretched man that I am. Who will save me from this?
Today I taught my first two classes -
and nobody walked out. So that's good!
Despite my being drained from talking all morning and tired from not sleeping much the last couple days, I felt some strong feelings of fulfillment, which are always nice when you find them. Grace for the everyday (no, not you Gracie) - that fulfills me. When I find grace in those small tasks, I try to slow everything inside of me down just enough to open a space inside where I can fully accept that grace. I try to wait long enough to let the grace enlarge and then connect with the larger streams of God's graceful actions in the world. And when I do, I find that God visits that space inside myself. I think of that space as the place where God inhabits the praises of God's people. It happens also when I am able to open that space inside during a worship service at church. As that space opens, I feel myself being drawn into the ongoing praises of all creation. Sometimes when I pray, for others -usually not when I pray for myself, I feel that space inside open. And God comes. And simple prayers are drenched and then overflow with grace. And they are no longer my prayers, but begin to drown in the groaning of all creation for its Maker.
Aug 9, 2006
BLACK PEOPLE AT CHURCH!!!
Last Sunday our church hosted a dinner/celebration for diversity. It was quite a wonderful event. We had been telling Risa about the two parties we would be attending that weekend, one Friday night and one on Sunday night. She asks a lot of questions, so we had to explain to her what he parties were all about, what they were for, who would be there . . . etc . . .
Sunday morning, on the way to church she was asking again about the party that night, and we were explaining again the purpose of the party - "to celebrate our differences," we said. "Some people have red hair, like you, and some people have blond hair like Mom," I noted. Robin added, "Some people are black and some people are white." I continued, "Some people have elephants as pets, and some people smell really funny."
We got into the service and began singing worship songs. After about two songs I heard Risa saying "Daddy, Daddy." I looked down and she was pointing to the people down the row from us and added with a tremendous look of pride as though she'd solved a great puzzle, "Look! Black people!"
I smiled gently and returned to singing. When it was time for the offering, the pastor prayed, a girl came on stage and everyone was waiting for the music to start. Risa, confirming her new-found knowledge, again pointed and said louldy, "She's a black girl."
Well, by that time, I'd had enough. So I promptly picked her up, took her out to the lobby and laid a whooping on her! Can you believe her? Racist.
Last Sunday our church hosted a dinner/celebration for diversity. It was quite a wonderful event. We had been telling Risa about the two parties we would be attending that weekend, one Friday night and one on Sunday night. She asks a lot of questions, so we had to explain to her what he parties were all about, what they were for, who would be there . . . etc . . .
Sunday morning, on the way to church she was asking again about the party that night, and we were explaining again the purpose of the party - "to celebrate our differences," we said. "Some people have red hair, like you, and some people have blond hair like Mom," I noted. Robin added, "Some people are black and some people are white." I continued, "Some people have elephants as pets, and some people smell really funny."
We got into the service and began singing worship songs. After about two songs I heard Risa saying "Daddy, Daddy." I looked down and she was pointing to the people down the row from us and added with a tremendous look of pride as though she'd solved a great puzzle, "Look! Black people!"
I smiled gently and returned to singing. When it was time for the offering, the pastor prayed, a girl came on stage and everyone was waiting for the music to start. Risa, confirming her new-found knowledge, again pointed and said louldy, "She's a black girl."
Well, by that time, I'd had enough. So I promptly picked her up, took her out to the lobby and laid a whooping on her! Can you believe her? Racist.
Jul 14, 2006
For Mom
Here's an email I sent to my mom recently.
I've decided to make it a more public thank you.
"Hey Mom.
I'm writing to let you know about something I've been thinking about lately - trust. I've always been astounded, even as a teenager, by your ability to trust. First it was your ability to trust God that I saw. You were my model, obviously, in trusting God in the face of the difficulties of Dad's accident. That trust in God then blossommed out into all areas of my life. I was also amazed at how you trusted God with our well-being - allowing us to experience life in wonderful ways, on motorcycles, skateboards and the like. I later discovered, especially in college, that you had an unusual ability to trust me, whether in dealings with money or encouraging me to go to Israel for a semester. I have always coveted that trust, holding it close to my heart, not wanting to break it.
I'm not sure why, but I've been thinking a lot about trust the last week, and I've been grateful (toward you) as I've found myself to be a rather trusting person. Our world is full of fearfulness, whether it be of what someone will think of us or concerns about money, and trust seems to be a rare commodity. We are encouraged to be so careful with everyone and to get everything in writing. I think it's a horrible way to live, though - constantly in worry about everything. I find it debilitating.
So I'm writing to thank you for teaching me how to trust, for letting me experience trust. In a world of very unstable marriages, I have no difficulty trusting Robin. Concerning difficult life choices about raising children and prusuing a PhD and finding a job (or two), I have little difficulty trusting God. I see people in the parking lot at the grocery store whose glances flutter about themselves hoping to catch some danger in the act of destroying their lives. Yet I find myself able to close my eyes for the last few steps to the car, and take a deep breath, and pause, and imagine the flight of the birds that I hear in the distance, and know that God knows their actual flight. Then I open my eyes and begin to put the kids in the car and the groceries away as an even deeper breath comes with the realization of how much more . . .
Thank you for modelling trust to me."
Here's an email I sent to my mom recently.
I've decided to make it a more public thank you.
"Hey Mom.
I'm writing to let you know about something I've been thinking about lately - trust. I've always been astounded, even as a teenager, by your ability to trust. First it was your ability to trust God that I saw. You were my model, obviously, in trusting God in the face of the difficulties of Dad's accident. That trust in God then blossommed out into all areas of my life. I was also amazed at how you trusted God with our well-being - allowing us to experience life in wonderful ways, on motorcycles, skateboards and the like. I later discovered, especially in college, that you had an unusual ability to trust me, whether in dealings with money or encouraging me to go to Israel for a semester. I have always coveted that trust, holding it close to my heart, not wanting to break it.
I'm not sure why, but I've been thinking a lot about trust the last week, and I've been grateful (toward you) as I've found myself to be a rather trusting person. Our world is full of fearfulness, whether it be of what someone will think of us or concerns about money, and trust seems to be a rare commodity. We are encouraged to be so careful with everyone and to get everything in writing. I think it's a horrible way to live, though - constantly in worry about everything. I find it debilitating.
So I'm writing to thank you for teaching me how to trust, for letting me experience trust. In a world of very unstable marriages, I have no difficulty trusting Robin. Concerning difficult life choices about raising children and prusuing a PhD and finding a job (or two), I have little difficulty trusting God. I see people in the parking lot at the grocery store whose glances flutter about themselves hoping to catch some danger in the act of destroying their lives. Yet I find myself able to close my eyes for the last few steps to the car, and take a deep breath, and pause, and imagine the flight of the birds that I hear in the distance, and know that God knows their actual flight. Then I open my eyes and begin to put the kids in the car and the groceries away as an even deeper breath comes with the realization of how much more . . .
Thank you for modelling trust to me."
Jun 1, 2006
O'Connor quotes for the day -
"It seems to be a fact that you have to suffer as much from the Church as for it but if you believe in the divinity of Christ, you have to cherish the world at the same time you struggle to endure it."
"It was a case in which it is easy to see that the moral sense has been bred out of certain sections of the population, like the wings have been bred off certain chickens to produce more white meat. This is a generation of wingless chickens, which I suppose is what Nietzsche meant when he said God was dead."
"It seems to be a fact that you have to suffer as much from the Church as for it but if you believe in the divinity of Christ, you have to cherish the world at the same time you struggle to endure it."
"It was a case in which it is easy to see that the moral sense has been bred out of certain sections of the population, like the wings have been bred off certain chickens to produce more white meat. This is a generation of wingless chickens, which I suppose is what Nietzsche meant when he said God was dead."
May 29, 2006
May 21, 2006
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