I was talking with a very good friend of mine the other day about where each of us will be in our writing careers in 2 years. Without thinking too much about it, we defined our patterns of living that, despite some of our greatest attempts, have not really changed over many more than the 2 years we were pondering. He thought that I might return to being a vegetarian (he was surprised that I had abandoned it, but now I find myself returning to it because of several amazing events that happened throughout the day).

I guess at this age–middle 40’s–there’s a groove that’s difficult to break.

For some of us, we’re pretty happy in what we’re doing. I’ve been blessed that my zig-zag energies in teaching and writing have carried me to a pretty good place. I’m writing and publishing on a fairly frequent basis (certainly more of the writing than the publishing), and I’ve established my own press (Ravenwater) to offer more publishing opportunities to writers who want to make a difference with their words.

So I guess this is it, then. Life. As it was prescribed for me, and what I’ve managed to make of that prescription. The aglet’s already been wrapped around the end of this story, for the most part, keeping my life on track (or the possibility of such a thing) until the very end. It’s up to me how tightly I pull it all together, lace up this shoe, and keep walking.

I’ve got some other friends around my age who are in a different kind of groove. I don’t know whether it’s been more bad choices or more bad breaks, but they hate their groove. Can’t find a way to break loose and make some pretty big changes, no matter how many figurative tools–hammers, screwdrivers, saws–I and others might give them to break free.

This is it for them as well. Sometimes, the journey’s no more comfortable than a ride on a dromedary that’s got a little too much on his mind this morning. Slow, bumpy, and downright stinky at times.

We have to embrace who we are, where we are, and where we tend to go. For me, the zig-zag is all about putting my energies into THIS for a few weeks, then THAT for another few, all the while being a Dad to my kids. It’s a tough juggle, and sometimes I drop a few of the balls. But this IS it, and I know that. I have to keep these boots moving as if I had diamonds in their soles.

I know that the photosynthesis of my soul will not shift in its arrangement suddenly and without warning, any more than our planets might re-align with Jupiter and Saturn deciding to switch it up a bit on nothing more than an astral whim…

I wish it weren’t “It” sometimes. You know, that this were a dress rehearsal for the real thing. I’ve done a good job with the blocking, my lines are fairly memorized, and I’m gearing up for a tech rehearsal. But I’ll take a few more dress-rehearsal run-thrus, thank you very much, so I can get it just exactly perfect.

Hardly.

It’s tough, but we have to constantly remind ourselves of where we are right now–and be happy with that and have the courage to refine with each rising sun.

*This entry is dedicated to Courtney, Mark, Theresa, and Brad, all giving me some pretty interesting words on a recent Facebook challenge to sprinkle into tonight’s entry. Can you guess which words I was told to add?

This is an uncut blog entry, meaning I have done little to censor the flow of thoughts about the topic of simplicity. Please do not read too deeply into what I say below; in the words of my good friend Larry, “I’m just trying to figure it all out myself.”

I remember years ago–perhaps 15 or so–when the world wide web was on the brink of changing our lives. Never before (at least in my lifetime) had a promise of simplicity been ushered to us so strongly. With this new technology, we would be able to save hundreds of hours of researching and seeking out important facts simply with a few keystrokes. All we ever needed to know would be nanoseconds away, freeing us up to live our lives more fully, more simply, free of the anxiety and stress that had plagued us in our endless pursuit for simple things.

Here I am, 15 years later, voluntarily chained to more electronic devices and accounts than I could have ever imagined. The simplicity that was promised back in 1994 is The Last Great Lie of the 20th century, only now being fully realized.

I sometimes think that I just missed this generation rush by a few years, and I will be forever held back by my memories of the way life used to be, where simplicity was more than a concept; it was a way of life for most of us. Had I been born in the early 70s, I don’t think there would be this constant pull to return to something that, for the most part, no longer exists.

Don’t get me wrong. I love writing here in my blog, and I am beginning to pick up the pace at The Examiner. I do my best to manage the flow of email that comes in for the various projects I’ve taken on  (again–all by choice), and I genuinely love and appreciate all of the great connections I’ve made on Facebook.

It’s just that, when I need to take a little break from it all, the guilt is so strong when I return and I see all that I have neglected. I want technology to provide a life that was promised to me; I want my life to be simplified by my e-choices, not complicated.

I know it’s up to me and the choices I make, but even in the last two years or so, the choices have come at critical costs.

Writing and publishing is all about marketing and selling yourself. Having a Twitter account does wonders for my publicity, but if I pause even momentarily, I feel out of the loop and no longer in the running for serious consideration as a bona fide writer.

Same with Facebook. We are so close to so many, and I begin to feel guilty when I cannot muster a response to somebody who is having a bad day. Every pulse of who we are is available for comment, for concern, for celebration. I love it all, and yet I feel the pull to disconnect, unplug, get out of that pulse and return to the solitude in the woods, on the water, that know of no status updates or blog posts.

It’s that same feeling you get when you’ve been running a fever or fighting a stomach bug. You aren’t hungry at all for days, and it feels pretty good to have that empty stomach. But the lure is strong to eat, to return to your old ways. Within days, you’re back to the things that probably made you sick in the first place, and the cycle continues.

When I unplug for a few days and refresh, I look at Twitter, Facebook, and my blog with a renewed energy, and I come back with daily posts, witty tweets, and inspiring status updates. In a few short weeks, though, that fades once again, and I am left seeking out simplicity.

I want to live simply. I want to live without conflict.

I want to allow love to guide my every breath, my every thought, my every action.

I want to embrace technology and have the ability to do my job and power down when the time is right.

I want to please, to share, to enjoy, to cherish.

I want to be the heron in the reeds: still, patient, focused.

*sigh*

I want to not want. I just want to be.

Updated 10:31 p.m.

Bellatrix is stuck in Oakland, CA. :( I did a Google image search for what life looks like in Oakland, as I have never been there, and here’s what I came up with:

Now, I’ve never been to Oakland, so I did a quick fact/stat search of the area…Is it really as bad as I’ve been reading? 14.70% unemployment rate? Cost of living is 43% higher than the national average? Schools are some of the worst in the nation?

The photos look beautiful (but who would use bad photos of their city to entice non-west-coastians like me?)…

Late last week, I was part of a conversation (I was really just an observer, to be honest) between two people who have been to Oregon, Washington, and California and who, in all probability, will someday move there for at least a few years. They spoke of its draw, its lure, that calls them back. This piques my curiosity about what it’s like out there, and I feel that I’ve got to realize someday the dream I had when I was in college: to drive across country and spend some time along the west coast.

Crazy? Why do we look at such adventures with I-Don’t-Knows and We-Can’ts? Just how hard would it be to plan such a trip? Even with a family of five?

It seems like the biggest scare is to break the routines, the conventions that have put us on this conveyor belt of life. Hey, I’m not knocking it. I love the things I do and the things my family experience on a daily basis, but why don’t we build in more adventure time to explore more of our country, our land around us, our world?

I remember those days in 1987 when Brad and I were planning our trip out west.

I remember those days in 1991 planning that six-week journey along the Appalachian Trail that turned into a little more than seven days.

I remember those days….

But I also remember all of the other road trips realized. Those trips to New England, Canada, and Florida. That drive out to Arizona was amazing as well. My life has not been short-changed in any way of adventure. I guess I just am missing that next big road trip, and I hope it comes soon.

We’ll be heading down to Georgia in December for my nephew’s wedding (just writing that makes me nostalgic), and that’ll be a blast.

Maybe the trip out west–the big one never realized like my yet-to-come thru hike of the Appalachian Trail–is just something that I’ve got to keep at the near-top of my list. . . .

In the meantime, I’ll wait a few more days for Bellatrix to head east.

Had a great day today. Started out on the NCR trail for a 14-mile bike ride. Always a wonderful and refreshing way to start the day. Once again, though, I neglected to get a picture. I don’t know why it is so hard for me to remember to snap these pictures!

I had about an hour to kill before I had to pick up Holland at the gym, so I drove out to Loch Raven and took a few pics of the Jeep:

As I was taking these pictures, a man in his early thirties (that’s my guess, at least) jogged by. He was looking at me and at the jeep. When I said Good Morning to him, he just laughed and shook his head.

Now, I get it about the whole Oceanic picture-taking thing and how I might (might!) get a look here and there of what-are-you-doing, but I don’t think I’m out of line here to question why jogger boy offered his little condescending snicker. Did he think I was pretentious in taking pictures of my Jeep at Loch Raven? I wanted to jog alongside of him (well, maybe walk really fast–I’m not into jogging just yet) and explain to him all about the my3*6*5 project. I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t obsessed with my Jeep (though I am) so much that I had to take it places, park it, and then take pictures of it and put it on my blog.

Ok, well, maybe I am. But why does that warrant a judgement?

How mature would it be for me to mock him, The Jogger, for doing what he loved to do?

Ugh. People.

I should have just given him a big hug and wished him much love in his life, but I don’t think that would have gone over too well either.

Rest of the day’s been good. Spent the afternoon at the pool, grilled dinner outside…All seems right with the world. How was your Saturday?

Updated 10:31 p.m.

It finally happened. I have been waiting over three years for this day, and here we are. A M A Z I N G. . . . .

For those of you who don’t know, I am obsessed with LOST, the tv show on Wednesday nights (well, it used to be on Wednesdays….We’re now in an 8-month hiatus until the final season begins in February, 2010). Season 1 began with a plane crash, Oceanic flight 815, on a remote island. Throughout the series, much emphasis has been placed on that flight, on specific numbers, symbols, as well as allusions and archetypes.

So, to me it made perfect common sense to be a little more than obsessed with our local gas station, named Oceanic, and the unlikely chance that, one day, the numbers on the marquis would align just right so that the sign would read, “Oceanic 815.”

That day was today.

I first noticed it as I was driving Holland to the gym. I was a little late picking her up (traffic seems to be getting worse these days), and she was pretty upset about it. But when we drove by the gas station, I screamed in joy at noticing the numbers on the sign. Suddenly, the entire mood changed between us, and I was caught up in the possibilities of what this meant.

Sure, it was just a gas station, and few people (any? I was sure at least some people were as fascinated by this wondrous phenomenon) would notice. However, obsessions are not born overnight. They are cultivated, nurtured, so that when I drove by the sign, years and years of watching, waiting, and wondering had finally cashed in. I could snap my photo and share it with the world.

After I dropped off Holland, I parked in the lot across from the Oceanic (815) gas station and crossed the street. I snapped two pictures, one of each side (the lighting seemed a little better on the north side), and some guy yells out to me: “You know, it’s just going to go higher.”

I looked at him with incredulity. “What?”

“The price,” he said. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

“Don’t you get it?” I replied, now walking toward him. In retrospect, I can understand why he started to back away a little. I think I might have chuckled a little madly, eyes a bit wide, head tilted like that guy on Law and Order.

“Don’t you see what’s going on? I’ve waited 3 years for this!”

“Waited for what?” he replied. But I could already tell he was thinking twice about starting our little chat.

I looked down at the ground, a little disappointed, I guess.

“Lost, man. Lost. Do you watch it?”

He nodded, but there was definitely some hesitation. I don’t think he wanted to be in sync with anything I was talking about.

“The numbers! 815! Don’t you see it? Look at the sign! OCEANIC 815! Isn’t that amazing?”

I think I was smiling, my eyes still a bit wide, when he turned and looked up at the sign one more time. He looked back at me, took a step back, and said: “You’re crazy, man.”

And then he walked back to his car, or his truck, or whatever horse he rode in for this chance meeting.

Really, though. As I crossed the street and headed back to my Jeep, all I could think was this: How can anybody say they watch LOST and not be touched, at least with mild giddiness, at such a cool thing as a gas station called OCEANIC sporting an 815 on their marquis?

Some people. Ugh!

(oh, and if you notice, the other numbers prominent in the show–4, 8, 15, 16, 23, and 42–are all linked together on the sign. Of course, you need to add 8, 4, 2, and 2 to add up to 16…..)

Obsessed? You must have me confused with somebody else… :)

Updated 9:47 p.m.

Ok. I have no pictures today, and I am really beating myself up over this one. So I’m going to have to be a little more descriptive in bringing this wonderful day to life on virtual paper. :)

The morning began with a wonderfully intense writing session on my novel, Cold Rock, and then heavy editing with a book cover design for a book I’m publishing for a fellow writer. It’s hard to have anything but a great day when my morning begins so wonderfully. :)

Then, after breakfast, we all headed to Central Presbyterian Church, located in south Towson. Two of my high school friends, Rob and Dave, attend, and Dave and his wife thought that it would be nice for our family to attend as well.

Central is just like the church (Chesapeake Presbyterian) I belonged to when I lived in Calvert County, nearly 20 years ago. There was live music, a stage, Sermon-in-the-Round…..All of the things that I loved so much about Chesapeake. I felt so….at home this morning, and I know that my younger daughter, Madelyn, felt the same way. Even Amy, born and raised a Catholic, thoroughly enjoyed the service and found the musicians to be nothing short of amazing (as we all did).

My picture today should have been of Rob, Dave, and me together at Central. I was taken aback by the great memories and wonderful experience  that I forgot to snap the picture. I’m sure we’ll return next Sunday, and I’m also sure that I’ll be a little less overwhelmed in the memories and have my head a little more focused on getting that picture. :)

Then it was off to the pool, where I got a touch of sun as I started reading Stephen King’s IT. Two hours passed by, and I headed out to the gym for what turned out to be the greatest workout I’ve had in about 10 years.

I have so much weight to lose, and although I’ve lost only 7 pounds so far, i feel like I’ve dropped 30. Working out on the Elliptical Trainer is such a challenge, and every day I can feel my body getting in a little better shape, allowing me to go farther and burn more calories. Love the elliptical!

After my cardio, I decided to check out the circuit weight room. When I was going to Padonia about 15 years ago, the machines were simpler, there were fewer of them, and I had little problem mastering most of them. Today, though, I found myself overwhelmed (once again!) by the amount of chrome and complex mechanisms that filled the room. I didn’t know where to start. Connor, the Brick associate who signed us up with our membership, was just finishing his workout, and he said that he’d help me work on my biceps/triceps.

He didn’t want to mess with the circuit machines, though. He took me down to the free weights room and proceeded to kick my butt. It was the most significant workout I have had in nearly a decade. Amazing! I know that I will be in intense pain this time tomorrow, but it was all worth it. I’m addicted now to exercising, and it’s cut my food intake down by at least 50% if not more.

Then home, and an incredible meal of marinated flank and veggies, all prepared on the grill. Just a great, great day.

Cookout tomorrow in PA with my niece and her family…..Will be beyond wonderful. We always talk about getting together, and now we really are. Cool Cool Cool….

Enjoy! This is my first film, and I know it’s a little rough…But I had a blast putting it together!

I had the great fortune of watching the inauguration in its entirety with my advanced composition students today. For the most part, they took the event quite seriously, writing excerpts and reactions in their daybooks as our 44th president delivered his inaugural address.

Class began about 36 minutes before the president-elect was to take the official oath, and I seized the moment to pronounce this occasion as, quite possibly, the most significant moment of their lives that is not the result of some catastrophic event. I do believe that at least a few of them grasped the meaning of the moment, and they were the ones who immortalized their experiences in words. I asked them to take care of those entries, for someday, when their own children might ask what they were doing or thinking on this day, they can share their written thoughts as if they were expressed just moments earlier.

I was struck, personally, by the significance of this day, but not for the same reason that some of my students might have been. My own children, ages 12, 7, and 4, will think nothing of the importance of an African-American becoming president of our country, just like I, at their age, could not comprehend what the big deal was to have best friends who were black. When I was 7, it seemed like ancient times when there were actually separate eating and sitting areas for blacks and whites.

Not in my lifetime, I always thought.

And so it will be, thankfully, for my own children and, for the most part, the teenagers that I teach.

But there’s something deeper that I felt, too, as I was preparing my students for the remaining minutes leading up to the swearing-in ceremony. I may not remember what segregation was all about, but I do remember many broken promises by our former presidents and other leaders, both national and local. I’m old enough that I’ve been through seven presidential transitions, where I’ve heard the dreams and the hopes and the prayers of a brighter future, a greater day for America just over the horizon. I’ve heard the stern statements of a stronger, more united nation that will not give in to the tyrants and the terrorists around the world who threaten our own democracy. I’ve welcomed the promises of a stronger economy, better health care, and thriving classrooms. And I’ve believed in the beliefs that this time would be different; this time would be real change; this time would be like no other.

And I thought: why is this new administration any different? Why should I believe just one more time, when my heart has been broken repeatedly, a sorrowful cycle that seemingly knows no end?

The answer is in the eyes of my children, the words of my students, and the voices of my children’s best friends. There is hope because, for this generation, they know nothing else but a life where African-Americans can become presidents and speak of dreams that, in their hearts, are not broken.

Just a few moments ago, my buddy’s son, who is 8, read for me an essay he wrote about the inauguration, and why this day is so important to him. As I listened to his high-pitched, innocent voice recite the reasons why President Obama is both inspiring and better than any president we’ve ever had, I heard something resonate through the words: Belief, filled with hope and with love.

I am 43, soon to be 44, and I am not too young to be surrounded by cynics who believe that this is all smoke and mirrors, that no great change can come so swiftly to our country and our people. But these are the same people who, 30 years ago, believed in peace, and hope, and love. We imagined, along with John Lennon, that anything was possible with love. We believed that, together, we could make a change that would be long-lasting and beneficial for the world. We believed in ourselves and our country. We believed that love and fairness and justice would prevail.

Many of us have had our hearts broken since then. But all it takes is to look into the eyes of our children and see that they, too, have dreams that, with these new promises, peace and love are possible once again. It is this spirit, this belief, this faith that we must embrace, the faith and love from generations young and old, that will give this great nation the chance to realize the dreams of a more peaceful, more confident, and more loving world, where our children’s children will be born wondering what all the fuss was about, so so long ago.

I’m gonna tell you how it’s gonna be, you’re gonna give your love to me,
I will love you night and day, know our love not fade away

I spent the greater part of the morning poring over old photos. Most of them were from the seventies and the eighties, when I was a little more reckless than I am today. It was great reliving those memories, and it was even greater now wallowing in the past, wishing to return to something that was so long ago.

It’s easy to do, isn’t it? We see a snapshot of ourselves when we were younger, with good friends we haven’t been in touch with for so many years, and we want at least a part of it back. We want to return to a certain innocence that we believe is still possible.

I think the better thing to do is reclaim that innocence that is still with you. The old, fading pictures have done a fine job of freeze-framing a moment for us to remember, but we are too quick, I believe, to think that the goodness within that picture is, for some reason, locked in that past.

I dare say, nothing could be further from the truth. If anything, it is locked up within you, longing to be released again and cherished as a part of who you are.

From time to time, I have a debate with some good friends who have weathered a few decades with me. It goes something like this:

Good Friend (GF): You can’t live in the past. You have to discard those old shells like a crab molting, getting bigger, stronger by shedding the old, dead skin of its former self. You meet new people, grow up, gain new experiences, and too many of them have nothing to do with the relationships and experiences you had in the past.

ME: But those relationships are possible because of those past experiences. Let’s consider ourselves grapes for a moment, shall we? Let’s just, for the sake of argument, make the assumption that, one day, we will become wine. The distinctive taste of the wine is from a long heritage of grapes grown in that region. The grape does not become distinct when the process begins to age the wine; it relies on its history to become, eventually, a fine-tasting wine that is savored by many. If it weren’t for that grape’s past, it would be some generic, fermented drink that is corked and put out for sale. Even Aristotle believed that unfermented grape juice was a good wine’s childhood.

GF: You make a lot of mistakes in the past, though, and the only way to move on from them is to put them behind you, especially when you meet somebody new who doesn’t care about where you’ve been, as long as you don’t go back there again.

ME: There’s a difference between going back and preserving the essence of you. Nobody is suggesting you should shirk your current responsibilities to relive some moment in the past. I argue that the past defines who you are today, and you can’t let any individual enter your life with demands to make you discard that past for the sake of the relationship. From the day you were born, your experiences have been defining and refining who you are. I say, to your old, bad self: It’s all about the Not Fade Away. Refine, Good Friend. Refine like a good wine in the glory of ’09.

Well, maybe that last part was not said during one of our debates, but I say it to all of you on this, the last day of 2008.

Love yourself. Love your life. Love those in your life. Cherish the experiences captured in those snapshots and remember the aspects of you that you continue to refine. There’s no need to abandon the great times of the past; build on them, instead. Make the experiences in 2009 be as rich as the colors (or variations of gray!) in those old photos, and continue to refine the great person you continue to become. ☺

The family sleeps still. It is a little after 8 a.m., and just as is the case every year, my children finally succumb to the need for rest and let go of the anxiousness of the season.

It has been a busy few weeks. They need the rest, and I cherish the quiet to read and to write.

I just finished reading John Grisham’s Skipping Christmas, which was a fun, quick holiday read to keep my mind off the hectic happenings all around me. Now I’m immersed in Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight, and can’t stop turning the pages. This is a highly edited piece of writing, folks, that has cut out all of the fluff. She (or her editor) wastes no time with telling the story. It’s a style of writing that I can appreciate, but only in certain stories. This is one of them. I wonder if the remaining three books are written so concisely. . . .

This will be my challenge for the remainder of the break: To balance process with product. Time (as I’ve been given this morning) is the ideal way for me to manage the two with some measured success. The less time I have to work at this pace, the more I feel the paralysis working through me, until it’s all about lamenting about not having a process at all that might lead to any product.

My morning has been ideal: to multi-task at will between reading two books, writing both in my digital and paper daybooks, sketching abstract art, working on a 400-piece jigsaw puzzle, and cleaning up in and outside the house. All this in the last three hours since awaking a little before 5:30. When my family awakens in the next 30 minutes or so (I expect), I will be ready for the day with greater energy, patience, and outward loving for all of them. It is the best of all worlds for me.

I hope you have had a wonderful holiday. I’ll be around to friends’ blogs and facebook pages to see the updates and photos as the morning progresses. . . .

I was pulled over the other day by a Baltimore City police officer, and I saw something I’ve never seen before in a cop’s eyes: fear.

About 30 minutes before I was pulled over, K-Man called me and said his car wouldn’t start. I told him I could leave in five minutes to pick him up. Those five turned to ten, and I felt a little rushed heading out the door to take the detour into the city. I made good time, though, until I got behind this 18-wheeler that just made it impossible to pass. I followed him off the highway and onto one of the city’s major arteries. Still, though, I found myself stuck behind him, unable to get ahead and make up some lost time. When you teach a first-period class, you can’t afford to be late. It’s a big no-no to leave 30 kids unsupervised outside your locked door when that late bell rings…

We finally pulled up to a light where I needed to make a right, and I had just enough room to squeeze by and cut a quick path through the corner gas station. Even as I was doing this, I thought that I better have some reason for being here. I slowed down, looked at the prices on the pumps, and then proceeded to jump back on the road and head toward K-Man’s place.

Not 10 seconds on that road, I saw the flashing lights in my rearview mirror, and I realized that, somehow, that cop was able to get around that big truck, too.

The officer took little time to make it to the side of the Jeep. I rolled down the window, and with both hands on the steering wheel, I turned to look at him.

“Do you know why I pulled you over?”

The Jeep sits high, and in our eye-line, I was looking down at him. It struck me immediately that this was not a normal stop. He looked nervous–even fearful–of this stop, and I realized that there was already suspicion about my motives. I was the suspect, for whatever reason.

“I’m sorry, officer. I don’t know my way around here, and I’m picking up a friend who has some car trouble.”

“License and registration, please.”

I turned on the interior lights so he could see the baby and booster seats behind me.

“I have my license in my left pocket, and my registration is in my glove compartment. I’m going to get them now, in that order.”

I figured this communication couldn’t hurt. I once saw a show about how to survive a pullover, and the number one piece of advice is don’t surprise the officer with any sudden or hidden moves.

“You from around here?” he said.

“No. I’m from Towson.”

In retrospect, I think this might have been the exchange that clinched it for the officer that I was just a bumbling driver and not some runner from the law with a few kilos of white powder sewn into the seams of the boosters in the back seat. Towson’s about 5 miles from where I was pulled over, but to us suburbanites, you might as well ask us to go to Idaho when it comes time to cross that Big City Line.

He looked at the license and registration briefly, then handed them back to me with a relieved, “Drive safely.”

Which, of course, I did do after I pulled away from the curb.

I am suspect, though, that the fear I saw in that officer’s eyes is indicative of the ever-changing job they have to keep us safe. Just a day or two after I was pulled over, another police officer in a county west of Baltimore tried to make the same roadside stop. This time, though, the person he was pulling over took off once the officer left his car, and a chase ensued. Moments later, the officer lost control of his car and ran off the road and into a tree, killing him instantly.

I am suspect that we are all suspects now in the eyes of the police, simply because the chances are higher than ever that the person being pulled over has a crisis or is desperate or is running for one reason or another. It’s not just the police, though, who are suspicious of us. We’re all suspicious of each other, it seems. Within a half-mile from my house, we’ve had several recent incidents of rapes and robberies, and just behind my daughter’s gym, two 17-year-olds were carjacked and kidnapped. The boy was stuffed in the trunk while the girl was raped in the back seat.

There’s desperation and suspicion all around us, and I’m afraid that, in the eyes of those who have dedicated themselves to protect us, we are all suspects. This puts all of us on edge. Given the current economic conditions surrounding us, especially as emotions run as high as the expectations to let the the cash flow a little more freely during the holiday season, we are faced with a different type a challenge: How do we rise above those suspicions to secure the love we want to share openly and freely with all those around us?

To consider insulation as a possibility saddens me greatly, but it might be the best thing we can do at this time. Love the one you’re with, right? Let them all know how special they are, and work hard to solidify that foundation of hope, love, goodness, and faith with those you trust. My guess is that, if enough of us do this, we’ll begin the process of re-establishing those larger communities of love and faith where, to be suspect is no longer the default.