It's not me, its you

Or, more accurately, it's them.

http://www.miamiherald.com/opinion/other-views/story/1398423.html

They Still Don't Love Us

BY FRIDA GHITIS

FJGHITIS@GMAIL.COM

If you thought America would quickly regain the world's love, admiration and -- most important -- it's willingness to follow the U.S. lead once Barack Obama came to power, the news is disappointing. A useful guide to what has transpired comes from Venezuela's president and his most peculiar sulfurometer. Hugo Chávez, it seems, can smell the Devil, especially when the Prince of Darkness takes up residence in the body of an American president.

Watching Chávez's devil-spotting shows that efforts to turn America's foes into friends will, in many cases, prove utterly useless. There is an important lesson there for everyone, including the resident of the White House.

Chávez's first supernatural sighting came at the United Nations in 2006, when the Venezuelan leader took the podium after President Bush gave a speech and announced in the solemn chamber that he could smell sulfur still hanging in the air from Bush's presence.

The air cleared up nicely after the 2008 elections. ``It doesn't smell of sulfur. It's gone,'' declared Chávez last September, scanning the grand hall of the U.N. General Assembly. ``It smells of something else,'' he added approvingly. ``It smells of hope.'' The Chávez nasal gauge confirmed expectations that America's standing in the world was changing.

But hold the celebration. All is not well. On Dec. 18, Chávez revealed the new air-quality measurements during a speech in Copenhagen's U.N. Climate Change Conference. The Venezuelan's turn at the microphone came only moments after Obama, so the airborne particles tickled his sensitive nose. ``It smells likes sulfur here,'' he said, blaming the problem, shockingly, on Obama. The ``Nobel War Prize'' winner he called him.

In summary: Devil, Hope and now Devil again. America still personifies what is wrong with the world.

How is this possible? Wasn't Obama supposed to make the world love America again? Wasn't Bush the source of all of Washington's woes?

The opinion of one man, especially the president of Venezuela, is not terribly important, but it helps illustrate the folly of believing that ``tone'' determines international behavior. Clearly, Chávez's problem is not one man. It never was. Chávez's anti-Americanism was not the result of his dislike for Bush. Some will say what matters is not the man but his policies. But even that does not tell the whole story.

Some countries and politicians have goals and interests that conflict sharply with the United States. Regardless of how the man in the Oval Office speaks, regardless of how charming he is. And some nations and leaders will define themselves by their anti-Americanism.

Still, the conciliatory tone from President Obama does serve a useful purpose. When Bush was president, it was easy to believe that people like Chávez or regimes such as Iran's acted the way they did because America spoke in tones they found offensive or overly confrontational. Now we know there was more.

Iran's defiance of international demands on its nuclear program are not the product of poor table manners from the Bush administration. Iran behaves as it does because its regime has certain objectives, and its accelerated nuclear enrichment is key to achieving goals such as regional supremacy.

During the Bush years, many believed Iran's intransigence was the direct result of Bush's threatening stance. Since Obama came to power, he has tried unsuccessfully to stop Iran from lying to the U.N.'s nuclear authorities and deceiving the world's diplomats. Iran has dismissed all efforts despite Washington's new conciliatory tone and its efforts to find a diplomatic solution.

It has become more difficult to blame America for the problem. And yet, some will continue to see the devil's shadow and blame the US no matter how much America's president scrubs his foreign policy.

In the case of Iran, America's once-reluctant allies may have learned that the problem was not Washington's tone but Iranian objectives. That may or may not persuade Russia and China to support Western nations' efforts to pressure Iran through economic sanctions. But the truly important product of the new revelations will be found not overseas but inside the White House.

If Obama thought a change of tone would make the world see things America's way, his first year in power has brought a powerful lesson: Sometimes countries disagree simply because their goals are mutually exclusive.

Foosball's the Devils Game

Just a link. Short article. Interesting read.

http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2009/writers/jeff_pearlman/12/18/pear/index.html

Dave Pearhas a message for you.

"Don't let your kids play football," he says. "Never."

It is an odd thing, hearing these sort of words from a man like David Louis Pear, University of Washington standout, Pro Bowl defensive lineman for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, Super Bowl champion with the Oakland Raiders. His five-year NFL career was one thousands of high school and college athletes would envy -- charging out of a darkened stadium tunnel, 70,000 fans screaming for you, loving you, praising you, idolizing you.

"You wanna know the truth?" says Pear.

The question lingers -- the 56-year-old ex-athlete preparing to unload one more skull-splitting hit.

"I wish I never played football. I wish that more than anything. Every single day, I want to take back those years of my life ..."

The words are not subtle. They spit from Pear's mouth, with a blistering contempt normally reserved for drunk drivers. We are speaking via phone. I am in New York, sipping a hot chocolate, leaning back in a chair. My two young children are asleep. A Pretenders song, "2000 Miles," plays in the background. No worries, no complexities. Pear is sitting at his home in Seattle. His neck hurts. His hips hurt. His knees hurt. His feet hurt. When he wakes up in the morning, pain shoots through his body. When he goes to sleep at night, pain shoots through his body. What does Pear do to stay active?

"My life is simple," he says. "It's hard to get out of bed, but eventually I do. I try and do a little walking on the treadmill. I take naps. I go to physical therapy once per week. I read my Bible."

He is, in basic terms, a train wreck -- a football-inflicted train wreck. Pear walks with a cane and, often, simply doesn't walk at all. He suffers from vertigo and memory loss. Over the past 18 years, he has undergone eight surgeries, beginning with a Posterior Cervical Laminectomy on his neck in 1981, and including disc removal and rod fusion in his back (1987), arthroplasty in his left hip (2008) and, earlier this year, four screws removed from his lower back. Though he chalks up his physical ailments to snap after snap of punishment, he pinpoints the biggest problems back to 1979 and '80, his final two NFL seasons. While playing for Oakland, Pear suffered a herniated disc in his neck that never improved. Despite the unbearable agony, he says the Raiders urged him to keep playing.

Be a man! Be tough!"Those last two years in Oakland were very, very difficult times," he says. "I was in pain 24 hours per day, and my employers failed to acknowledge my injury. Sure, I won a Super Bowl ring. But was it worth giving up my health for a piece of jewelry? No way. Those diamonds have lost their luster."

Throughout North America, many of Pear's retired football brethren hear his words and scream,Amen!Conrad Dobler, the legendary Cardinals offensive lineman, is about to go through his 32nd knee surgery.Wally Chambers, the Chicago Bears' three-time Pro Bowl defensive end, spends much of his time in a wheelchair.Earl Campbell, the powder blue bowling ball, struggles to walk and underwent surgery to remove three large bone spurs. The list is both heartbreaking and never-ending -- one NFL player after another after another, debilitated either mentally, physically, or both. I'm currently working on a book that has led me to interview more than 150 former players. I'd say 60 percent experience blistering pain from a sport they last played two decades ago.

"And the NFL," Pear says, "doesn't care."

Hence, he is fighting back. Two years ago, Pear started a blog, davepear.com, with the intent of supporting hobbled NFL veterans and calling out the league's laughable disability policy. Pear says he first applied for disability benefits in 1983, and was denied. He applied again in 1995, under a new provision that stated players would be compensated should they properly prove their injuries were permanently debilitating. A league-appointed physician examined Pear and filed a report stating that a man who once bench pressed 500 pounds could no longer sit, stand or bend for prolonged time periods.

To Pear's shock and dismay, benefits were again denied.

Finally, in 2009, Pear's request was accepted, and he now receives a whopping $40,000 annually. "Am I financially stable?" he asks with a laugh. "Let's put it this way. By the time I was 27 I had two children and medical bills that would reach $500,000. I can't work, my wife,Heidi, has had to hold two and sometimes three different jobs at the same time. And why? Because the NFL hasn't allowed me and my family to receiver proper benefits."

Pear pauses. He worries that he sounds like a typical whiner -- some ex-jock who didn't appreciate making it big. "This isn't even about me," he says. "It really isn't. There are guys so much worse off than me, it's criminal. We dreamed our whole lives to play professional football, and our dreams came true. And then they turn into nightmares."

Pear is blunt, like a rusty dental knife. He consideredGene Upshaw, the former NFL Players Association executive director, to be a criminal. "He wasKen Lay," he says of the deceased Enron CEO. "Same thing -- took all the veterans he supposedly represented for a ride." He holds out hope that Upshaw's replacement,DeMaurice Smith, might make things right. "I'm keeping an open mind," he says. "I hope Mr. Smith looks at the retired players and sees the wreckage.

"We need help," he says.

A long, painful sigh.

"We need help."

Jeff Pearlman can be reached at anngold22@gmail.com.

Read more:http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2009/writers/jeff_pearlman/12/18/pear/index.html#ixzz0ab2GgyFY
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Diplomacy in Action

Worth posting.

Who thinks of this? Pure Genius.

Food Inc.

Emily rented this from Netflix and it's been sitting in our apartment for a couple weeks (since she's been out of town). I've been really hesitant to watch it figuring that it would be exaggerated shock value. Not that it wouldn't be for a good reason or good cause, but when info gets tainted with semi-truth or one sidedness, it becomes harder to watch or support even if noble-intended.

I was surprised by the film.

The scenes of the industrialized farming weren't what surprised me. What really made an impression were the stories of corporate bullying and manipulation and seeing how deep corporate influence and control goes.

The interviews with the Joel guy from Polyface Farms were all terrific. That guy is pretty cool. It wasn't all gloomy by any means. It was pretty inspiring. In the special features theres an ABC news spot with Joel and the founder of Chipotle Restaurants.

I was impressed. I'm a fan.

Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you? Hmm?

Parable of the Pie

My good friend from school gave this to me, his sister wrote it down as it happened to her. I really enjoyed it and thought you all might as well:

Maybe all moms have something they make especially well. For my mom, it is her apple pie. She doesn’t make it often and we all look forward to Thanksgiving because mom’s apple pie is as sure to be made on that day as the Turkey. On this particular Thanksgiving I was ten-years-old. The noon meal was a success and by evening there was just enough left-over apple pie for three pieces. Seeing this, my father took the pie to the table and called his children in to sit down. My father cut the pie into three disproportionate pieces; a piece that was an exact third of what remained, a much larger piece, and a remaining smaller piece. He put each piece on a plate and passed it out, giving me the smallest piece. My father acknowledged the pie was divided up unfairly and went on to explain, although close in age, we would grow up and have different lives, with different strengths, incomes, health, and challenges. He wanted us to be prepared for when that time came.

He turned to my eleven-year-old sister, Natalie, who had the largest piece of pie, and said, “You have a much bigger piece than either of your sisters. Don’t you want to share your pie with them?” I would like to tell you Natalie did share her pie, but she did not. Instead, she gave my father an incredulous look, smiled, and ate her pie in front of us. Do not judge my sister. She was eleven after all and probably not the best choice to give the largest piece of pie to (if hoping for a different outcome). My father then turned to my twelve-year-old sister, Marlain, who had an exact third of the remaining pie, and asked if she would like to share with her youngest sister who had less. I would like to tell you Marlain shared her pie, but she did not. She complained it was unfair to ask her to share, when it was Natalie who had the largest piece. And so, Marlain ate her pie. Again, do not judge my sister. Although she was older, she was only twelve, and in her mind, justified. I thought, “It is so unfair! Why do I always get the smallest piece of everything?” My father then turned to me – suspecting I felt jilted – and he was right. He chided me saying, “Why are you upset? You have pie. You should be happy.” He then went on to say it was probably healthier to have a smaller piece and I should be happy for my sisters because they had received more than me.

I was ten. My father’s intended lesson did not go well. No one shared. No one appeared to listen and I’m sure my father believed he had failed in his attempt to teach us. For me, it was an experience I looked back on repeatedly, and my perspective gradually shifted as I contemplated that day. For some time, I remembered it as a day of unfairness and wondered if my father even loved me, or at least, if he loved me less than my sisters who he had given a larger portion. Eventually, and long overdue, I came to a point of acceptance and reconciliation, and was able to acknowledge my father was well-intended, my sisters were young, and I forgave them.

As more time passed and I matured, what my father had predicted came true. My sisters and I did have different lives, levels of education, income, talents, and challenges. I found myself able to feel happy for others when they had more than me and compassion for them in their challenges when they had less. I was even able to roll my eyes and agree that a smaller piece of pie was ultimately healthier. There was another, more substantial benefit in having the smallest piece. Would the day have held the same significance and would I have spent as much time thinking about it if I had not received the smallest portion? Probably not. In this way, I learned to be grateful for my adversity and the impact it had on my life.

Like the pieces of pie, there are areas in life where I am disproportionately blessed, sometimes giving me a “largest” piece of pie. I would like to tell you that at these times, I always share, but it would not be true. There are times I am tempted to want more. A larger portion places me at a crossroads with an opportunity to either keep my abundance within myself or use it to help others.

There are also areas in life where I fall in the middle. Areas where some people have more and others have less. I would also like to tell you at these times I always share, but again, it would not be true. There are multiple excuses, like it is someone else’s responsibility, or someone else has a “larger piece”, or it would be a hardship – not necessarily true, but serves its purpose as an excuse. I have realized that these times also present opportunities where I am given a choice between my own self-interest and the interests of others.

There are areas of life where I believe I have the smallest portion of pie – areas where I feel I have less to offer than most. In fact, there are even areas and times where I believe I have no pie – areas where I feel entirely incompetent and unable – where I am called upon by life to build-up my own capacity, or “make my own pie”, so I have something to offer.

I learned all the lessons my father intended, albeit many years later. However, I continued to think about this day and came to realize there was an additional lesson for me to learn. At age ten and even beyond, I was so consumed with my comparatively small piece of pie, and the unfairness in how it was divided, it was decades before I realized at my same table was my father who had no pie. He had given all of it to us and had taken none for himself. What I could have done and should have done, was to share my pie with him. But because my focus was on myself and what I lacked compared to those around me, I failed to see there was someone who lacked even more right in front of me.

In reflection of this day, my understanding has grown to the point that as I think of this memory now, I think of it as “The Parable of the Pie”. It helps shape the gratitude I feel for all things in my life, so my message to you is this… It is Thanksgiving. Let’s you and I be grateful for all we have, so we are better able to recognize the needs of those around us, and share all of our pieces of pie.

Wishing You and Yours a Wonderful Thanksgiving,

Valerie Burgess

Self-Expression and Depenedence on Others

Allow this post to be more personal than usual.

Emily went to bed a few minutes ago and I had just finished tweaking and printing out the ward program for her for church tomorrow. As I sat on the couch thinking about her and me and our relationship I had a revelation of sorts. Not really a revelation of anything new, but a picture of what already was made more clear to me. One of our differences is also a great strength to both of us. Emily has a stronger dependence on close friends and relatives immediately around her: Her parents, best friends, me, our kids. When she has a problem she depends on others around us for the help or the answer. Last night, her new sewing machine she just bought went funny and she couldn't get it working before bedtime. This afternoon she went to the sewing store and the saleswoman spent a good deal of time with her explaining everything Emily could soak up and more and helped her out a lot. When Emily is having emotional troubles she comes to me or her parents for help.

I'm a little different. Instead of immediately going to people for help, I go to books, guides, internet, etc for the information I want (unless the person who can help is literally in my presence AND I trust them enough to show the limits of my abilities). I had begun to think that Emily was more dependent on others and that I was somehow more independent. The silly truth is that I am just as dependent on others as anyone else could be. I depend on authors, teachers, and scholars for writing books, websites, and articles on what I want to know. For emotional trouble I've always felt I had to rely entirely on the Lord. There were a lot of lonely times as a teenager (and even into adulthood) when I had no friends but the spirit after a prayerful plea to warm my aching heart. Even as I grow, I have to depend entirely on God to ease my burdens. I know this is what we're supposed to do, but there's a strong independent side to me that wants to figure everything out on my own even though I'm not very good at it. Because of this, often the only person left to help me through my (often self-imposed) isolation is my Father in Heaven. One upside to this is that I feel I've gotten to know him very well.

As I encounter problems with my environment and with myself and my weaknesses, I've usually tried to take care of it myself first, with my own abilities and talents. I was taught about personal responsibility and self-reliance and for a long time felt that this applied to spiritual issues as well. The truth: It doesn't. I can get to a certain point, but I cannot get past it and the more I try to get past it on my own, the more often I fall back down.

What I've realized is that even most of my own ability to choose right is a gift from God. The choice is still mine, but that is literally all there is to my credit. Yes, I do the task, the action, or the work, but the ability and even motivation to take action on the choice is entirely up to him. Any righteousness others might see in me is purely a gift from God that he has bestowed on me due to choices I made. All wickedness and faults that others see in me are purely my own fault and only a tip of the iceberg because of God's tenderness in hiding most of my flaws and mistakes from others for some reason that is known only to him. My wicked choices are often even hid from myself until I am ready to tackle the choice head on, consciously. He is leading me through life exactly as he knows I should so that I can end up where he knows I want to go. I'm the one who has to learn for myself what I want and I will learn it by seeing the choices I make when they are brought to light.

One choice I made involved self-expression. Art. At one point between high school and adulthood I was faced with a solid choice presented to me. Obtain a gift for self-expression that would fit my imagination or pursue a course that was more certain to fulfill God's commandments. I knew at that moment that for me, in my place, the choice was one way or the other and I knew the likely consequences of each. Even though I ached to find some way to express everything I felt, I knew the eternal benefits of the latter and chose that. A few days after this decision I felt a certain reassurance that the choice I made would fulfil my desire for self-expression in a way I never could imagine. That by fulfilling these commandments I would be able to use every capacity, feeling, and emotion I had in a creative way that would express itself to me and to others. I see this expression forming now. A symphony and opus in its infancy.

This choice and the following reassurance were not the effects of an emotional, distraught, or fatigued mind. They were as clear as a Fall day on the coast with no clouds or haze, when mountain tops more than 50 miles away are plainly visible. The same reassurance that told me as a young missionary I would certainly see the town of Bella Coola and perform missionary work in the town of Terrace, both of which occured before returning home--an opportunity afforded to very few missionaries and an opportunity that was only decided on days before it occured. When these reassurances were physically fulfilled, fire burned inside me as I was reminded of what I'd been told by the Spirit 8 months previously in a dark damp apartment in Vancouver.

In this same way I am reminded now of what I was told 8 years ago about how I would be able to express myself beyond my imagination through the same certain aspect of my life promised so long ago. This makes me happy.