Children and Angels

'There is nothing,' cried her friend, 'no, nothing innocent or
good, that dies, and is forgotten. Let us hold to that faith, or
none. An infant, a prattling child, dying in its cradle, will live
again in the better thoughts of those who loved it, and will play
its part, through them, in the redeeming actions of the world,
though its body be burnt to ashes or drowned in the deepest sea.
There is not an angel added to the Host of Heaven but does its
blessed work on earth in those that loved it here. Forgotten! oh,
if the good deeds of human creatures could be traced to their
source, how beautiful would even death appear; for how much
charity, mercy, and purified affection, would be seen to have their
growth in dusty graves!' [Chapt. 54]


She was dead, and past all help, or need of it. The ancient rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even while her own was waning fast -- the garden she had tended -- the eyes she had gladdened -- the noiseless haunts of many a thoughtful hour -- the paths she had trodden as it were but yesterday -- could know here no more.

'It is not,' said the schoolmaster, as he bent down to kiss her on the cheek, and gave his tears free vent, 'it is not on earth that Heaven's justice ends. Think what it is, compared with the World to which her young spirit has winged its early flight, and say, if one deliberate wish expressed in solemn terms above this bed could call her back to life, which of us would utter it!' [Chapt. 71]

-- Charles Dickens, The Old Curiousity Shop

Dicken's Preaches Christ

And let us linger in this place for an instant to remark that if ever household affections and loves are graceful things, they are graceful in the poor. The ties that bind the wealthy and the proud to home may be forged on earth, but those which link the poor man to his humble hearth are of the true metal and bear the stamp of Heaven. The man of high descent may love the halls and lands of his inheritance as a part of himself, as trophies of his birth and power; his associations with them are associations of pride and wealth and triumph; the poor man's attachment to the tenements he holds, which strangers have held before, and may tomorrow occupy again, has a worthier root, struck deep into a purer soil. His household gods are flesh and blood, with no alloy of silver, gold, or precious stone; he has no property but in the affections of his own heart; and when they endear bare floors and walls, despite of rags and toil and scanty meals, that man has his love of home from God, and his rude hut becomes a solemn place.

Oh! if those who rule the destinies of nations would but remember this – if they would but think how hard it is for the very poor to have engendered in their hearts that love of home from which all domestic virtues spring, when they live in dense and squalid masses where social decency is lost, or rather never found, – if they would but turn aside from the wide thoroughfares and great houses, and strive to improve the wretched dwellings in bye-ways where only poverty may walk – many low roofs would point more truly to the sky, than the loftiest steeple that now rears proudly up from the midst of guilt, and crime, and horrible disease, to mock them by its contrast. In hollow voices from Workhouse, Hospital, and Jail, this truth is preached from day to day, and has been proclaimed for years. It is no light matter – no outcry from the working vulgar – no mere question of the people's health and comforts that may be whistled down on Wednesday nights. In love of home, the love of country has its rise; and who are the truer patriots or the best in time of need – those who venerate the land, owning its wood, and stream, and earth, and all that they produce? or those who love their country, boasting not a foot of ground in all its wide domain?

-- Charles Dickens, The Old Curiosity Shop

Perceptions: Don't Judge A Temple By Its Vessel

I love the way Charles Dickens lauds the virture of the misfortunate while illuminating the self-blindness of the fortunate.

It was natural enough that her short and unfinished dialogue with Kit should leave a strong impression on her mind, and influence her dreams that night and her recollections for a long, long time. Surrounded by unfeeling creditors, and mercenary attendants upon the sick, and meeting in the height of her anxiety and sorrow with little regard or sympathy even from the women about her, it is not surprising that the affectionate heart of the child should have been touched to the quick by one kind and generous spirit, however uncouth the temple in which it dwelt. Thank Heaven that the temples of such spirits are not made with hands, and that they may be more worthily hung with poor patchwork than with purple and fine linen! -- The Old Curiosity Shop, chapt. 11.

It must be specially observed in justice to poor Kit that he was by no means of a sentimental turn, and perhaps had never heard that adjective in all his life. He was only a soft-hearted grateful fellow, and had nothing genteel or polite about him; consequently instead of going home again in his grief to kick the children and abuse his mother (for when your finely strung people are out of sorts they must have everybody else unhappy likewise), he turned his thoughts to the vulgar expedient of making them more comfortable if he could. -- The Old Curiosity Shop, chapt. 14.

My Concern: A Commentary

I wrote the below commentary expecting to make a brief presentation of ~ 3 min. I did not have to make the presentation, but did deliver a one minute abridged version. Since I wrote it, I thought I would post it.

I am concerned that our culture has become much too selfish, too me oriented. Observe the attitudes in the way we drive: "my time is more impotant than yours; courtesy and rules do not apply to me--I am in a hurry; get out of my way." Look at what we drive, vehicles that far exceed the necessity of mere transportation in both price and luxury.

Look at what we buy, large screen, hi-def TV's and elaborate sound systems to watch big budget productions and over-paid athletes in order to escape footage of war, Darfur, and our inner cities.

Look at where we live, houses whose size and design are exuberant examples of form over function; whose furnishings are so opulent they cost more than our parents' houses did.

We have become an "I deserve", materialistic society to such an extent that we flirt with amorality.

We are more intent on fighting injustice done unto us than we are in fighting the injustices we do unto others.

Yet, are we growing more content? Are we happier, more peaceful at heart or restful in soul? Do we sleep better at night? Based on the sales of sleep aids . . . well, you decide. Have we found our sense of purpose or does it seem ever more elusive driving us deeper into our consumerism?

I think it is time we seriously contemplate the advice of the great American psychologist, Karl Meninger, who gave this answer when asked what one piece of advice he would give to someone about to go insane. “Lock up your house, go across the railroad tracks, and find someone in need and do something for him.”

Money-giving is a very good criterion of a person's mental health. Generous people are rarely mentally ill people. -- Karl Menninger

A Conclusion

From a recent service involvement, some discussions with a brother, and mostly through internal mental arguements, I have reached a conclusion of thought.

I must show the love of Christ to everyone, every minute, everyday. Then I must trust in God to handle the rest.

I am not sure which is going to be harder, perpetually living Christ or completely trusting God. Such hard tasks to execute from such a simple conclusion. Well, Christ did promise that discipleship would be hard and that it might even kill me. Oh well...

Sweeeet baby!

I love college basketball. I love March Madness. I love the sweet sixteen!

Know what I love the most about it? Being in it!

GO DORES !!!

Head Down

This post needs a short explanation. First, I don't have anything pressing on my mind or heart, so I revert to my easy way out--publishing song lyrics or some past writing. Today I choose one of the handful of poems I have written.

This poem is not indictative of my current mood (I feel great right now). I wrote this poem in February 2002. Some events in my life triggered some deep seated emotions, leftover scar tissue, from way back in my past. This is one of my favorite self-authored poems, not because it is dark, but because it was cathartic. I finally expressed some pain that had been lingering a long time. Now, pain doesn't just go away because you wrote a poem, or song, or told a therapist. But such actions are a small step toward healing.

Anyway, I subject my readers to this poem for a lack of anything better to write, and the fact that continued silence would just be too prudent.

Head Down
Head down, head down, maybe the beating will pass.
Head down, head down, maybe the ridicule will miss.
Born not this way – head down.
Created this way I believe not – head down.

Head up, head up, is my natural place.
Head up, head up, with smiling face.
Head up, head up, through life at an excited pace.
Innocent and naïve, degradation I did not believe.
Was not looking, was not prepared, when execration came sweeping.

Heads up, heads up, your above your place.
Heads up, heads up, your out of place.

Head down, head down, put you in your place.
Head down, head down, inferior is your space.
Ashamed, I am, that I was not stronger; but fight, I can no longer.
The neck of my soul has been broken, and its shoulders falter.

Head down, head down, head down this lonely path.
Head down, head down, head down into the depths.
Head down, head down, head down this dangerous path.
Head down, head down, maybe this too shall pass.

What Would Jesus Do? If You Want to Follow Jesus, You Will Be Tested.

Walking in the ways of Christ will bring demanding and uncertain opportunities to test our discipleship. Christ assured of this in scripture. Follow the link below to see one group of Christians faced with just such a test.

Sex Offender Causes Stir at Nev. Church

I think they are probably handling their situation pretty well, but what are your thoughts?

On Saturday evening, our church faced a little test too with a new participant (nothing on the scale of the Nevada church). It will be interested to see how those involved will handle the situation. Maybe Phil will blog about that incident (hope he takes the bait).

Do Christians really want to love those outside their sanctuaries? It isn't going to be easy, but it is critical we do so.

Mockingbird Singing for the Blind

I had a rewarding experience resulting from a previous post entitled, Mockingbird Singing, which was poem I had written. During a moment of curiosity I was looking through the tracking paths for my blog and I noticed a hit on this old post. Going back I found the following comment had been left.

Greetings Tony, ... . I work with an agency that produces materials for people who are blind or visually impaired. One of our projects is a small monthly magazine provided in braille and/or 24-font large print. This magazine always has a poetry section, and in recent issues we have been trying to relate the poems to the lead article of the magazine. Since the lead article in April’s issue is about the mockingbird, I was searching the Internet for a poem to go with the article and ran across your blog. I believe your poem would be perfect for our April magazine and hope to use it there. Copyright regulations do give us the legal right to use copyrighted material for special formats used by people who are blind or visually impaired, but I wanted to give you the courtesy to have the ability say “no” if you do not want this poem in the magazine. You can find our web site at Horizons For the Blind. The site is a bit outdated, and we are working on an update soon, but you can learn more about us there.

After verifying that the non-profit was legitimate and exchanging an email with the contact there, I was thrilled and humbled that they thought the poem was worthy of using. I had no reservations about its usage in their publication. Below is the lead-in they sent me.

This month’s poem is not from one of the classic poets, but rather was found on the Internet. Tony Arnold is a business and operations professional who lives in Nashville, Tennessee. The poem below was found on his blog * site. Arnold claims that “All my poetry is based on real things that happen to me or feelings I have …” He claims not to be a poet, nor to read much poetry, but his poem below belies this claim.
* A “Blog” is an Internet diary of sorts where people share their thoughts with others and allow a place for others to comment.

Notice they included a footnote explaining what a blog is. Many of their readers are probably not familiar with blogs because their disability inhibits computer use. This was a reminder of all the small things I take for granted everyday.

This correspondence sure was a pleasant, uplifting surprise. It is also an example of those small occurrances that are considered luck or coincidence, but could easily be a small measure of God's providence. That is, me even seeing the comment left on this 6 week old post. I could easily never have been aware of the request or the poems use.

On the negative side, the whole situation does feed my narcissistic tendencies. :-)

My Apology

I have been blogging for almost 2 years now (March 11, 2005). In that time, I have been spared truly mean-spirited comments or attacks on my thoughts, views, etc.

That changed the other day. During the dialogue on my post A Major Faith Struggle, I made the following comment to one of the participants in the discussion:

One thing you might consider and of which you may be unaware. When you draw discussions in the direction you have, and which you have done before, it quickly moves away from the intent of the original post and you become the focus. I don't think you want to appear narcissistic, but you may want to consider the effect.

The person to whom I addressed this comment responded and did not seem to take offense.

However, someone else left this comment anonymously:

I find it comically unbelievable that Tony would suggest that someone else is narcissistic. Wow. This will now be my new definition of irony.

My first reaction was shame, which then bred a little anger, then settled down pretty quickly into an embarassed hurt. The pain was confounded by the fact that I have no context in which to judge the statement; no identity with which to associate it. What relationship do I have with this person? It is very hard to know how to weigh the comment and its merit.

What hurt the most, besides the validity of writer's accusation, was the underlying venom present in the comment. It seemed so vindictive and I could not get a grasp on why. This confusion was compounded by a follow-up response after I challenged the person to not leave such biting criticism anonymously. I left my email address so that the person could respond discretely and I promised to keep their ID confidential. Here was the response to that challenge:

I WILL do it annonymously. If you don't want annonymous comments, you can remove the ablitity to do so. Otherwise, I will continue lobbing grenades at will.

After stewing on all this, I realized something. Something that made me feel awful. I realized that this comment had to be made by someone I had hurt in some way. A hurt of which I am likely unaware. It obviously wasn't a small slight either. I must have hurt them significantly.

I pray that the following appears sincere and neither narcissistic nor sarcastic, because I intend sincerety. I would prefer to do this in person so as to avoid any misconception, but the anonymity of the comment leaves me no choice but to do it publicly.

So my final response is to offer my sincerest apology for causing such harm. If I ever find out who you are, I will ask for your forgiveness directly. Until then, I hope you will accept my apology in this forum and forgive me.

Tony