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In Defense of Faith
I recently read excerpts from a website authored by a person who mocks those who are religious or spiritual. The writer repeated the familiar condemnation of religion: it causes war, it’s the opiate of the masses, there isn’t some all-powerful giant sitting on a cloud causing calamity or salvation, and only the uneducated believe in a higher power. Apparently, the writer thinks he’s wiser than billions of people throughout the centuries who have worshiped and believed in God, a Higher Power, or various deities.
I’ve read several versions of the agnostic and atheist philosophies, and I’d like to offer a personal perspective. I’m a college graduate, and I’ve traveled to 32 countries around the world. I’ve watched a numerology service at a Chinese Sanctuary in Hong Kong. I’ve toured the massive, inspiring Alhambra Palace in Grenada, Spain which was rebuilt in 1333 for Islamic leaders. I wept in silence at the Dachau Concentration Camp outside Munich, Germany and offered prayers for the Jewish people. I’ve walked into the tombs in the Valley of the Kings in Egypt and learned about the hieroglyphics that depicted their various gods. I walked to a Hindu Temple on a hill overlooking Kathmandu, Nepal and spun the prayer wheels. I observed devoted worshipers offering fresh fruit to the Jade Buddha at a temple in Thailand. I hiked with a group of women across the Haleakala Crater in Maui, Hawaii and honored the Goddess Pele. I listened to Zulu guides chant around a campfire while on safari in South Africa. I stood in a two-hour Latin Mass in the Duomo in Florence, Italy and felt the Spirit of God wash over me. Through these travels, I’ve learned to respect the spiritual beliefs of other cultures and to solidify my own. I know, without a doubt, my redeemer lives.
Music can be proof of a higher power. As a child, I sang in the church choir and loved singing the expanded “Gloria” portion in the song “Angels We Have Heard on High.” That experience began my lifelong love affair with music. In college, I sang in a concert choir that toured Europe. We performed in cathedrals in six countries, and our last concert was in the ornate American Cathedral in Paris, France. The acoustics amplified the harmonious sound, and at the end of the final song every choir member was in tears. I’ll never forget that profound spiritual experience.
I believe “The Messiah” is the greatest piece of music ever written. In 1741, George Handel wrote by hand the 259-page masterpiece in only 24 days. It’s recorded that he was crying while writing the final “Hallelujah Chorus” and said, “I saw heaven open and saw the very face of God.” How else could he have accomplished such an enormous and lasting gift to the world without being filled and inspired by the Holy Spirit?
As my mother lay dying, I played her favorite spiritual songs from Tennessee Ernie Ford. She had been unresponsive in a coma for several days, but as I held her hand I felt a slight reaction when Ford sang “Peace in the Valley.” I believe the movement wasn’t an involuntary reaction but a spiritual release from a tired but faithful soul. She died several hours later.
I don’t endorse any one religion, but I strongly believe there is a higher power called God, and humans have a need for spirituality. God doesn’t cause war and hatred; people do. The God I worship teaches us to love one another, forgive each other, and show mercy and kindness to those less fortunate. People in organized religions and cults have distorted the message to their own corrupt rules, foolish agenda, and evil purposes.
I’m skeptical when I read that “God saved the child from a horrible accident,” or “God cured the woman’s cancer.” Does this mean God didn’t care about those who died in accidents or suffered from terminal diseases? God is not a fairy godmother dispensing magical surprises. My God’s magnificent omnipotence surpasses our mortal, earthly concept of humanity and gender, and I believe God is not limited to “Our Father” because God is everything – male, female, and spirit.
I suggest that the writer of the blasphemous website do more research, travel to foreign spiritual areas, and become less critical of other’s beliefs. I have faith that someday he will feel the spirit and at least begin to wonder about peace in the valley.
(Published on The Huffington Post Religion Page Jan. 6, 2016)
Toffee and the Seven Deadly Sins
Brown sugar, pecans, chocolate, and butter are simple ingredients but when combined, heated, and transformed into candy, they have the power to turn me to the dark side. I am helpless to fight the seduction of toffee. I think the delicious treat is the work of the devil exemplified through the Seven Deadly Sins.
- Greed. The sweet confection makes me a greedy, cheating hoarder. A neighbor gave me a can of Almond Roca, and I immediately hid it so my husband or children couldn’t enjoy a single piece. I don’t care. It’s all mine, mine, mine.
- Gluttony. Toffee leads me into temptation. I cannot have one piece. I will stand until my feet spread and consume an entire batch and not stop to breathe until I have licked every morsel from the platter. I’m not proud of this fact.
- Lust. I’m addicted to exquisitely-crafted homemade toffee. However, on days of desperation, I’ll settle for a mediocre sample from a truck stop, the kind that is too brittle or stale. I crave the taste, and I want more. Now.
- Envy. I can’t pass a candy store without gazing in the window and slobbering over festive trays of caramels covered with chocolate and nuts. I’m jealous of people buying and tasting toffee that should belong to me.
- Anger. I’m equally mad about two issues: when the toffee is gone and when I step on the scale and see that eating all that gooey goodness makes me weigh the same as a compact car. I’m far over the weight I was decades ago at nine-months pregnant when I wailed about my rotund girth before giving birth.
- Pride. I’ll labor for hours to create the perfect recipe for almond toffee. Then I’ll post photos on every social media platform to let the world know that I did it and I’m going to eat it. Ha!
- Sloth. After waddling through decades of tasting toffee, it’s apparent that I’m as lethargic as a bowl of thick butter on a humid afternoon. Especially during the holidays, toffee saps my energy, and all I want to do is sit in a dark room and chew. Sometimes I pull empty Almond Roca foil wrappers out of the waste basket just to smell them. I’ve taken pathetic to a new level, and I need counseling.
To atone for my many sins, I’ve decided to share and give back to society. In the spirit of generosity, here is my recipe for English Toffee:
Ingredients:
1 Cup butter
1-1/4 Cups sugar, brown or white
2 Tablespoons water
½ Cup chopped pecans
1 Cup milk chocolate chips
Butter a 10X15 inch pan.
Melt butter in heavy skillet over medium heat and stir with a wooden spoon. Stir in sugar and water. Bring to a boil and add the pecans. Cook, stirring constantly until nuts are toasted and the sugar is dissolved. Pour in the buttered pan. Be sure to lick the spoon. Spread chocolate chips on top. Cool. Break into pieces. Eat half and share the rest.
My New Year’s resolution – again – is to lose weight and be healthier. I will consume fresh vegetables and fruit, exercise, and prepare nutritious meals. Maybe I’ll create a new recipe for zucchini and kale toffee. With enough butter, sugar and nuts, it could be delicious.
Defending Those Who Protect and Serve
As a professional writer and award-winning journalist, I’m offering my services for free to the Idaho Statesman. I’ll research and write a feature article describing positive stories about Idaho law enforcement officers. The article must be given three pages, including the lead story on the front page on a Sunday edition. Editor Vicki Gowler, [email protected], can email me at [email protected] for the assignment.
The Idaho Statesman devoted three pages of yesterday’s Sunday’s paper to a “SPECIAL REPORT” about police “officer-involved deaths on the rise.” For her research, “watchdog” reporter Cynthia Sewell copied information already published on The Guardian’s “The Counted Project,” a website that includes photos and descriptions of people killed by police officers. Two recent photos are of Syed Farook and Tashfeen Malik – the evil murderers of the San Bernardino massacre. Personally, I have no problem with those officer-involved shootings. The majority of workers in law enforcement are good people who would appreciate some balanced reporting.
I’ll be waiting for the project.
Adult Coloring Books have Issues, Too
A recent article in the online Atlantic Monthly noted that stressed people are using coloring books to relieve existential angst. Apparently, to supply the global demand, upscale retailers such as Yves Saint Laurent and Hermès offer adult coloring books for $160. For about the same cost, I’d rather doodle on a napkin in a wine bar and enjoy a bottle of Quintessa Red Wine from Rutherford in Napa Valley.
“Just because everyone is doing it doesn’t mean you need to do it,” I’m reminded of my mother’s admonishments during my formative years. “If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you follow them?”
Mom wasn’t too original in her advice strategy.
But, I can’t endorse the new addiction for adult coloring. Even as a wee child I didn’t enjoy coloring because I couldn’t stay within the lines. Never have, never will. Who can sit still when there are butterflies to chase, frogs to catch, and pebbles to toss into the pond?
In the spirit of positive adventure, I tried the free online samples. The outcome was disastrous. I only can conclude that I don’t have time for this shit.
If other adults want to seek catharsis by way of colored pencils, that’s fine with me. I agree with professionals who claim that art can be therapeutic. However, I’m reminded of several artists through history who were not at peace with the universe or themselves.
Vincent Van Gogh was reported to be insane and depressed between manic bursts of creative energy. Pablo Picasso had issues as did Fransisco Goya and Salvador Dali. Famed artist Georgia O’Keeffe suffered an intense nervous breakdown and needed to stop painting for several years. And, who can forget Edvard Munch? It’s been speculated that his famous painting of The Scream was a portal into his own anxiety, hallucinations, and subsequent psychotic breakdown.
I acknowledge that millions of adults are coloring and creating works of art in an attempt to soothe their troubled waters and find inner tranquility. That’s fine with me. Just leave me alone to self-medicate with a bold Cabernet. I promise I won’t cut off my ear.
Make Candy Trains: They Magically Disappear
Mix three wonderful items — kids, Christmas, and candy — and create some fun and lasting memories by making candy trains. They are magic because they disappear before New Year’s Eve.
We first made candy trains more than 30 years ago when my two children were toddlers. Now, their children and I meet on a Saturday each December to make trains. It’s a tradition that gets better every year. The mothers and I have added a new ritual that makes everything more festive: we enjoy a glass of wine while the little ones concentrate on frosting and candy. By the end of the day, everyone is happy. Sugar rush? Who cares?
Candy trains make wonderful holiday centerpieces, and they’re also fun gifts for neighbors and friends. To make trains and traditions of your own, you’ll need the following supplies:
Cardboard
Tinfoil and tape
A few cans of white frosting
Strings of red licorice
Candy: M&Ms, unwrapped candy bars, unwrapped round red and white mints, chocolate kisses, life savers, square mints in foil, anything else you want. (Frozen leftovers from Halloween work well.)
Cut up a cardboard box and tape several sturdy pieces together for the platform. Cover it with tinfoil and tape on the bottom to secure.
Spread white frosting on the cardboard for snow. Place two strips of licorice over the frosting for the tracks. Squish one candy bar into the frosting near the end of the platform. Cut a candy bar in half and “glue” with frosting to the top of the first candy bar. See the engine taking shape?
Now, glue the round wheels onto the candy bar. Glue M&Ms into the center of each wheel. Glue a chocolate kiss onto the front for the cow catcher. Use unwrapped lifesavers on the engine for the smoke stack. Repeat with more cars, adding wheels and more candy. Allow the children to create their own masterpieces. We’re talking about future engineers here! You may need to establish parameters ahead of time: the designers only can eat four pieces of candy and four tastes of the frosting during the assembly.
After the edible art is finished, everyone celebrates with hot cocoa. Then the kids can proudly take home their trains to display on the kitchen counter. If you have a cat, you may need to cover the train or leave the cat outside until January. (In case defensive pet lovers don’t know, that was a joke.)
Over the next few days, the train gradually disappears. One M&M is missing, a chocolate kiss disappears, and then a chunk of candy bar is gone. How does that happen? As we all know, the season is full of mystery and magic, and it makes me happy to watch my children and their children enjoy a special family tradition. After we tuck the little ones into bed, we often stand and gaze at them sleeping and imagine visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads. Somewhere, I can hear Tiny Tim saying, “God bless us. Every one!”
(Published on The Huffington Post in December 2014)
