Friday, September 26, 2008

Life: Epistemological Writings

As a beginning student of philosophy, my knowledge of the various philosophical studies is naturally limited. While, by my nature, I tend towards philosophical thought, I have not read a great breadth of philosophy. I could hardly call myself a student if I knew it all ahead of time.

 Still, in general I think I come to understand the subjects pretty well when presented with them. I love philosophy, and it's something that I'm good at. I wouldn't be majoring in it otherwise. Nevertheless, there's always a learning curve for any subject. Currently, I'm reading an article for my epistemology class titled, "The Content and Epistemology of Phenomenal Belief" by David Chalmers. This paper is driving me crazy. Chalmers is, I understand, one of the great minds of modern epistemology and, as such, his work is quite influential.

Reading a paper like "The Content and Epistemology of Phenomenal Belief" is frustrating to me, because I know that I can understand the topics presented, but the manner in which they are laid out makes them dense and insanely difficult to process for one not used to reading this sort of scholarly writing. For example, Chalmers makes the following illustration to one of his points

"Take Nancy, who attends to a patch of phenomenal color, acting cognitively as if to demonstrate a highly specific phenomenal shade. Nancy has not attended sufficiently closely to notice that the patch has a nonuniform phenomenal color: let us say it is a veridical experience of a square colored with different shades of red on its left and right side"(Chalmers, "The Content and Epistemology of Phenomenal Belief").
A paragraph like that is so weighed down in vocabulary specific to the register of advanced epistemology, that for a beginner like me it means almost nothing. I'm forced to spend a huge amount of time just deciphering what his terms mean before I can even begin to try and understand what he's saying. Ultimately, I'm studying philosophy to learn philosophy, not to decipher peculiar sentences so the beginning stages of studying the subject can be a tad irritating. I suppose one could call it growing pains.

I understand the importance of specific registers (or jargon) for different fields. Without these linguistic usages a writer would be constantly forced to explain over the terms he was using for concepts. Still, they make these readings much more difficult for a beginner.

Of course, in the end that's part of what schooling is about. Despite my frustrations with Chalmers wording I will get through it and I will understand what he's saying and that skill will serve me in reading what other philosophers have to say, and what a sweet taste it will be when that day comes.

I do think, however, it would be a great idea for schools to offer a class in how to read philosophy that trained one to decipher these difficult texts. No doubt this sort of class would be useful for other majors as well.

Well, here's me looking forward to the day when I can read the works like those of David Chalmers without a second thought.

"The Content and Epistemology of Phenomenal Belief" by David Chalmers

Writing: The Red Ones

Below is a little horror story I wrote up for my Short Story Workshop last semester. It's not my usual genre (indeed I think if I wrote in it usually I'd get very depressed) but it was a fun experience.

The Red Ones

Jason paced back and forth, his bare feet slapping against the cold cement floor. It was the only noise in the dark room, besides the distant sound of pipes. He ran a hand along the rough cement wall for the hundredth time. Where had they taken him? Pulling his hand away from the wall, he put it up to his face, feeling the rough stubble where his wild beard had grown only a few days before. He turned away from the wall and waded through the room, hands out in front of him, until he found the long table at the center. Guiding himself around the table, he found one of the hard plastic chairs and sat down heavily into it. He felt like he was floating in empty, airless space, suffocating. He needed a drink.

            He wasn’t sure how much later it was, a few hours or so, he heard the door creak open and light cast around him from behind, and just as quickly it vanished as the door shut. He heard the clack of dress shoes making their way across the floor. Moments later the other chair ground against the cement as it was pulled back and then creaked as a heavy frame settled into it.
“Can I get you anything?” The man smelled of cigarettes.
“No.” Jason wouldn’t ask for a drink. He heard a rustling as the other man shifted in his chair.
“Well then, I suppose we’ll get started.” Suddenly there was light as the bulb over the table flashed to life, a bright stark white light. Jason blinked; he hadn’t realized the light was there. He had been in darkness ever since he had been brought to the room, and even on his way here he had been blindfolded. The man in front of him coalesced from a vague blurry shape into a meaty, clean-shaven, and pasty faced man in a suit as Jason’s eyes adjusted to the new lighting.
“So soon?” It had been close to a month since they’d taken him in. In that time the only people he’d come into contact with were the ones who brought him his food, the silent man who’d come in a few days before and shaved off all his hair and of course the guard with the huge vice-hand who had escorted him to this room.
“Time alone in the dark has a way of making a man think. You’ve been gone a long time, been running. Hard for a man to think when he hardly has a chance to lay down his head.”
 “Do I get a lawyer?”
            “What do you think?”
Jason nodded.
“What if I don’t feel like talking?”
The man rubbed his huge hands together.  He had a ring on. “Feeling is hardly our imperative.”
            “Imperative – they teach you to use big words like that at Harvard, Otis?”
The man seemed surprised for a moment, then looked down at his ring. “My name is not Otis, Jason.”
“Well, since I don’t know your name, and seeing as how I always had a liking for Andy Griffith, just figured it fit you.”
The man made a mock grin and bobbed his head around like a bad Jay Leno impersonator. “Very funny, now tell us about the events of February 14th, 1993.”
“The events of February 14th- so very formal.”
“Haven’t talked to anyone about it, sure as hell don’t feel like telling you.”
“We already know the facts, Jason.”
“Then why ask me?”
“Facts are just facts. We want the story, we want your truth. After all, isn’t it only fair that someone knows your side of the story before the end?”
Jason ran a hand over his scalp and there was a moment of silence. “Fine. Where should I -?”
 “Wherever you want, we’ll fill in any details we need to know later.”
“Well - It was February 2nd, 1993, my senior year, when things started to get all weird. I remember the date because I saw in the paper the next day that it’d been her birthday and I thought that was strange. That kind of things sticks with you for some reason, I guess.” He paused, it felt strange, hearing himself talk about it. He’d never stopped running through it in his mind, but he’d never talked to anyone about it. “Her name was Mary. Some kids called her Bloody Mary for the time she had her first period, she’d worn a white dress that day. That kind of stuff happened to her a lot, I’d hear. I didn’t really know her though. I remember she was blonde, but not much else really.  “Anyway, I was in history class. It was my last class before lunch and I’d stopped listening to the teacher since it was almost out. Some friends and I were going to cut fifth and six periods and head out of town to race cars. I was really big on that. So I was watching the clock real intently, waiting for the bell like it was the Second Coming. Now, it was so close to ringing that I’d already begun to tense my legs to jump up from my desk, when Pamela from campus security came into the classroom, and she and the teacher began to whisper about something. Pamela was the largest security guard on campus, with a jaw line that’d make an action hero jealous and a personality suited for the Gestapo. The teacher turned to face the class and told us that there’d been a slight emergency and that we’d have to stay over. With that, old Pamela walked to the door a gave a fierce glare to us all, as if to say that anyone who tried to leave would have to go with her to the marvelous little Auschwitz that was her office. At that moment I hated her just about as much as the potheads who spent every day in there did.
“Everyone started loudly wondering what could have happened that we would need to stay after class.  Now, you have to remember that this was before anything like Columbine had happened, so no one was really thinking that anyone had died or anything. Finally, though, we were let out of class and I was, of course, ecstatic.  Fast as I could I ran out towards my car, which was parked in the lot near the gym.  I stopped dead in my tracks. They’d put caution tape up all around the gym entrance, like in one of those stupid police movies, and there were maybe a half dozen police cars and an ambulance. And there was this gurney. They were pushing it out of the gym towards the ambulance, real slow like there was no hurry, and on it was this big long bag. That’s when I knew someone had died. The weird part though, the part that still freaks me out like hell, was the Pale Man. I mean, here was this body bag, someone had died, and what really caught my eye was this dude standing there. He was – he was tall, maybe six-and-half, seven feet, and so unbelievably pale, and he had this long silk white hair. Back when I was a kid, before I got bigger than my dad, my parents used to drag me off to church, and I thought about how when people saw angels, they’d always go all comatose. Well this guy reminded me of that, only where the angels were supposed to be all good and holy, he was – dark somehow. Like some sort of film negative of an angel. I mean, there was this kind of weirdly beautiful aspect about him and a real powerful presence, a – what do you call it? Charisma. But something about him scared the shit out of me. I turned right around and went back into campus.  There was no way I was walking past him to get to my car.
“Over the next few days the news spread that someone had died, and it turned out it was Mary. Rumors started going around about how she’d died too, lots of wild stuff mostly.  Of course, all the folks who’d called her ‘Bloody Mary’ started going on about what a great person she’d been and how their lives wouldn’t be the same without her. Because of all the rumors about how she’d jumped of the top of the gym, or been stabbed by some crazy bum, the principal called an assembly and told us all that she’d overdosed on drugs.
“It was after that, Dan came to me, his skin all clammy, looking like he’d seen a ghost. This kid, I guess you could call him a friend of sorts, worshiped me.  Thought I was the Christ Incarnate or something and. He figured I’d be able to help him, I guess. I remember it started with him stammering for what seemed like an eternity, his fat stupid lips opening and shutting like a beached fish gasping for air. ‘Mary - ’ he started, and I asked what about her, a little annoyed. He stammered again and then got it out. ‘I don’t – I don’t think it was drugs. It was – she – I found her.’ He’d started to get hysterical, weepy, and I tried to back away since I didn’t want to be seen with him like this. ‘I can’t – I’m not supposed to tell anyone. She was – there was blood everywhere, man, just pouring out of every hole in her body and there was all kinds of weird shit on the walls of the gym. Like fucking weird-ass banners. It looked like some sort of crazy human sacrifice.’”
Jason paused and chewed on his lip, a spot on his cheek began to itch and he started to scratch it. The man waited for a moment, his hands folded in front on him on the table, then he leaned back into the chair, which groaned, and he spoke, “Did you believe him?”
“ I sort of felt sorry for the kid, but I didn’t really believe him.  I figured he was probably just trying to get some sort of attention, maybe even on drugs himself. Drugs made a whole lot more sense than human sacrifices. By now I really wanted to get away from him.  He was getting so crazy that his blubber was vibrating obscenely. I told him I didn’t know what to do and that maybe he should see the school counselor. He gave me a look like I’d broken his heart and walked away.
“That was the end of that for a few days, but then the Pale Man showed up on campus again. I was at my locker, getting out some of my books for the next class, when I felt someone brush past me in the hallway and I swear it was like the heat was just sucked right out of me. I just stood there frozen for a minute or so and then finally looked down the hall in the direction the person had been heading. It was him and some government suit who looked like a g-man straight out of a B-movie. The Pale Man left a scent behind him, something sickly sweet, like lavender, that made me gag.
“Over the next few days I kept seeing the two of them around campus, talking with members of the faculty, especially the principal. My dad had been in business and it looked to me as if they were trying to work out some kind of deal.  Things even got heated sometimes. Well, the principal and the government suit got heated, the Pale Man never lost his composure. I could see that the principal wasn’t sleeping much. I tried my best to ignore it, seemed like no one else really noticed. I mean people talked about the strange men showing up on campus, but he didn’t seem to rub them the way he did me and most people just figured he was some stupid government man come down to campus to deal with drugs. So I shrugged it off best I could.” Jason swallowed, his throat felt dry. “Could I maybe get some water?” He hated asking for something from them.
“Very well.” The man got up, his belly sagging over his belt as he rose, and walked to the door. Jason heard it open and close behind him and a minute later the man entered again and sat a glass of water in front of him. All the while Jason’s face kept itching. He took his hand away from his face to drink the water, but then went back to scratching his cheek. “What happened next?”
“Dan disappeared. One day in Biology class, which we had together, Pam marched in (practically goose-stepping) and handed a slip to the teacher. A moment later she had Dan’s fat arm clenched in her fearsome grip and she hauled him, screaming for fear of his life, right out of class. A week went by and I didn’t see heads nor tails of him, and I was really beginning to worry. I don’t know why I remember this, but I was in Bio again and our teacher told us that though it didn’t really relate to Biology, she thought we might want to know that Mars was going to be visible that night, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how cool Dan would think that was. After class got out I walked to my locker, past a memorial that had been erected to Bloody Mary, and inside I found this freaky note from Dan. It was all rambling. He kept writing my name over and over. The handwriting was all over the place.  It got bigger and smaller and didn’t stay on the lines. I can still remember most of what it said. He said the Pale Man told him that he’d save the world, just like Jesus, and he said Ares was coming and that his army, Phobos and Deimos, was going to march right out of hell and into our world to slaughter everyone and that it was going to start at our school if he didn’t stop it with his blood. He told me to meet him in Gethsemane, ‘the Garden where she died,’ and that the key was under the rug.
            Jason stopped, “Sorry, I think I’ll need a minute.”  He’d began to breathe heavily, and shake, this was the hard part. All the while he kept scratching.
            “What!” He snapped.
            “You’re bleeding.”
            The man grabbed Jason’s hand wrist with surprising strength and pulled it away from his face, there was blood on Jason’s hand, and now he felt it trickle down his face. “Well, at least that explains the sores.” The man let Jason’s hand go and as soon as his hand was free Jason began to scratch again. “Stop scratching, Jason.”
“I can’t – it won’t stop itching.”
The man rose and walked back to the door. About a minute later he reentered with a guard by his side and they grabbed his arms and tethered them to the chair with plastic ties. Jason struggled for a moment and stopped. The guard left the room.
“Jason, we need the rest of your story.”
“No.” He shook his head and then began to rub his cheek against his shoulder.
“Fine. Fine, I’ll go on now. I – I didn’t really get what the hell that was, the note. It freaked me out that it was in my locker and I really didn’t know what to do but I was really worried. Worried about Dan,” Jason began to rock in his chair, “I mean, I could be a real jerk to him, but the kid really relied on me. That he’d just disappeared from class had me doubly concerned, so I decided I’d go. I’d figured out the garden at least, he was talking about the gym, since that was where Mary died. Why he called it the garden I didn’t know though.
“It was pretty warm that night, and the sky was clear and real beautiful, lots of stars. Pretty stars. I wonder though, how many of them hate us? Mars hates us. Mars isn’t a star though, is it? Mars was there that night, like a big red star. I was outside of the gym, and I pulled on the door, which of course was locked. I thought about just giving up on it, but then I remembered what Dan said about a key. There was no rug though but a glint caught my eye in the bushes and it turned out to be the key. I remember wondering how much jail time I could get for trespassing in the gym and figuring it couldn’t be as bad as the kind of trouble I could get into for street racing. I opened the door and went in. The gym was mostly dark, and the temperature inside must have dropped forty degrees from that outside. I felt an arm grab me and pull me behind a stack of chairs to the side of the gym. It was Dan, poor Dan,” 
Jason was crying now, not sobbing, but not trying to hold the tears back either, “He smelled like he hadn’t bathed since he’d been taken out of class, and looked even worse. He had one of his meaty fingers lifted up in front of his mouth in a gesture of silence, and he pushed me down behind the chairs. He gestured for me to look out between a crack in the pile and I did. There was – there were these two banners hanging on the wall of the gym, big red tapestries with some kind of bird, probably a vulture, sewn on them. Dan, he just rose and began to walk towards the banners. I should have stopped him but I didn’t, I was scared as hell.
 “God – um – so, yeah he went to the center of the room, between the banners and suddenly I heard this unbelievable sound, like a peal of thunder, and the gym began to shake. On the wall, between where the banners hung, a crack shot down the center and the wall there just imploded, like someone had pulled it from behind. A wind began to whip at me as the air in the gym was sucked towards the hole in the wall. Beyond the hole it should have been the campus, but it wasn’t, instead all there was - was red dirt and sky as far as I could see and them, standing there.
“They were taller even than the Pale Man, and they were covered in obsidian black robes and had tight black hoods drawn up over their skulls and over their face were crimson masks with two deep black holes for eyes and no mouths.” Jason hung his head forward and ground his teeth. His mouth tasted like salt from the tears, he didn’t want to go on. He looked up through bleary eyes to see the man across the table starring at him expectantly. Jason swallowed.  “They walked slowly, and the ground seemed to ripple away from them like they were walking through water, everything in me screamed to close my eyes, or to turn and run.  I couldn’t bear to look at them but for some reason I couldn’t turn away. It was absurd, they were shaped like men but something inside told me they didn’t belong, couldn’t be here. I really hadn’t thought anything could scare me as much as the Pale Man had, but they – they were so much worse.
 “I didn’t stop staring at them. I wish I had. Dan kept looking at them too. He stood there, frozen in the middle of the floor, quivering like some giant bowl of Jell-O. He was a little miniature doll of a human, dwarfed before the height of the figures. And then, and then – I don’t know if I can –“
“You can.”
Jason nodded, “One of them raised two black gloved hands to its masked face and pulled, removing the mask. I couldn’t see what was under it from where I was, but Dan could and as the blood began to seep out of his eyes, nose, ears, everywhere – I thought about what he’d said Mary had been like.
“I think I might have heard him scream, a terrible blood curdling sound, or maybe it was me. It didn’t really matter. I knew I was next, that they knew I was there. I sensed such incredible power in them, you can’t imagine. The whole world retreated before them, everything sane and ordered and – and right. I mean – just looking at one of their faces had killed Dan. Somehow I knew that nobody, no human, could ever stop them. It was the end of the world.
“But then, the door of the gym flew open, and he walked in, tall and pale, and from him emanated terrible power, like snapping electricity. The Pale Man stood there before the Red Ones, and he stared straight into the hood of the unmasked one. Something happened there, what I’m not entirely certain, but there was a sense that they were fighting each other, like two storm fronts meeting, bringing their powers to bear on some plane that I couldn’t see. It seemed like an eternity that they stood there, locked in their terrible struggle and then, in an instant, it was over.
“The Red Ones turned and fled back through the hole and seconds later the wall of the gym just closed up and it was undamaged. The Pale Man turned and seemed to glance at where I hid, and then the government suit who he’d been dealing with walked into the gym.
“The government suit spoke first; he asked the Pale Man if it was done and he replied in a bizarre evanescent voice that it was. The suit said that he supposed it was time to keep up his end of the bargain and he pointed at the body of Dan, said he figured he could be the first. The Pale Man shook his head and replied ‘The boy was the balance, a life for a life. The followers of Ares opened the star path with the girl’s blood. The boy’s blood, and a little effort on my part, shut it. Life for life. Jesus for Adam. Don’t you see? The rest of them will be the seal on the door.’ I just darted straight out of the gym right there, and ran like I couldn’t believe, jumping in my car and – and then disappearing. After that I just kept running, half-way round the world till your men found me in Tibet. You finally caught me, but I guess it doesn’t really matter. We’ll all be corpses when the Red Ones come again.” He had stopped crying, and he just stared blankly at the floor, his cheeks wet with tears and blood.
“When?” Asked the man across the table.
“Yeah. The Pale man, he stopped them, right? But how long till we get tired of fulfilling our end of the bargain? You were wrong you know, about me not thinking when I was on the run. That year at my high school, ten other kids died. They said it was from meningitis, but every year after that, same time of year, ten kids would die. Not always at my high school, but always together they were from the same school. People who didn’t know what I know wouldn’t have seen it, but I did. That was our price wasn’t it? The Pale Man, he gets ten kids a year and he keeps the Red Ones away, keeps them from killing us all.”
The man across the table didn’t respond, but Jason heard the door slowly creak open behind him, and, mixing with the smell of cigar, came the scent of lavender.

Politics: Russia

I was sitting in the Social Science building during a brief break from my Symbolic Logic class. The teacher had left the room to go get a drink, and I was reading BBC news on my lap top. Specifically, I was reading stories about the recent Russian invasion of Georgia. I expressed deep concern over these events to the classmate behind me.

“Eh,” he shrugged, “It’s their problem. Let Russia and Georgia deal with it. It’s no concern of ours.”
I was speechless.

On September 30th, 1938, Neville Chamberlain returned from Munich after talks with Hitler and declared “Peace for our time.” This declaration was the beginning of a policy of appeasement that would allow Hitler and his war machine to gear for massive invasion of Europe. In the end, Germany invaded Poland under the pretense that Poland had attacked them. Chamberlain wanted to chide Germany, but not go to war. Only the pressures of the British Parliament led the British into war against the Reich.

Meanwhile the U.S. stood by, we continued to isolate ourselves and ignore the actions of the Axis of imperialist nations. We just shrugged are shoulders and said, to effect, “Eh, it’s their problem, let them deal with it.” We would sit by and nurse our wounds and grow rich of selling weapons to the Allies. Then Pearl Harbor happened.
The hunger of imperialists is like the grave, it is never filled.

Fast forward to the present. Russia has invaded Georgia with sketchy claims of provocation, and is now threatening an attack on Poland (possibly a nuclear one) because of an American missile interceptor base that is going to be built there.  Furthermore, on September 22nd, Russian Warships set sail for US-hostile Venezuela, for joint exercises. (BBC News, America)

Finally, a recent BBC news article I read reveals that Dmitri Medvedev has claimed “‘[w]e plan to start serial production of warships, primarily nuclear-powered submarines carrying cruise missiles and multifunctional submarines’”(BBC News, Europe). In light of their stated “opposition to US global dominance”(Ibid).
It is certainly not yet time for a costly war, but we also cannot afford to ignore what Russia is doing. I also fully admit that America has been far from perfect in this arena. There’s no easy answer, and I don’t envy the World’s leaders right now, but this is certainly not just Russia and Georgia’s problem. I’m glad it’s not being treated as such. One thing is for sure, those of us who pray should be praying hard about this one.

Russia to Build Up Nuclear Systems:
Russian Navy Sales to Venezuela:
Russia and Venezuela Boost Ties:
Poland Threatened:
Photo taken from Wikipedia article on Neville Chamberlain  <>

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Writing: Interception

Last semester I took a short story workshop. It was an informative and exciting experience and I would recommend it to anyone. One of our assignments for the class was to write a short story ending in the line "...and then she closed the window." This was my take. It's quite a bit out of what I normally write, as my stories tend to be more plot focused and usually have a science fiction or fantasy bent to them. I hope you enjoy.


Wind whistled outside of the small lighted kitchen where Rachel sat reading her magazine, and across from her mother drank an herbal tonic ­­and stared blankly at the table.
Her mother looked up, “I wish you wouldn’t read that trash.”
Rachel pursed her lips and kept staring at the magazine, and her mother went back to staring at the table.
“Where’s your brother?” Her mother asked.
“What?” She didn’t even look up from the article in front of her.
“Your brother. Where is he?”
Rachel shrugged, “I don’t know. Probably in his room.”
“I’ll go check.” Her mother started to rise and Rachel’s eyes darted up from an sage article on supple skin.
“Uh – I’ll check mom.” She got up and put a firm hand on her mothers shoulder, “You just sit right down here and relax.” She adjusted the afghan on her mother’s shoulders and kissed her on the cheek, and then turned and walked to the stairs. They sang a groaning song as she walked up them.
Her brother’s door was closed, and beyond was silence. She knocked. No answer. Again. No answer. She grasped the door handle and turned and cracked the door open. “Timmy, I’m coming in.” She pushed the door open all the way and cold air rushed past her, scrambling to get into the warm house. The room beyond the door was dark; moonlight poured in from outside and turned the furniture into empty silhouettes.
“Is he up there?” Her mom called from below.
“Just a minute.” Rachel flipped on the light and looked around the room. The David Bowie and Elton John posters gazed with her at an empty room. She sighed and walked over to the open window.  Outside a willow tree bent and swayed in the cold winter wind. She turned back to the house and shouted down to her mother. “He’s just getting to bed,” and then she closed the window.

Monday, September 22, 2008

Politics: Obama and Iraq

I admire Obama, I believe Obama. I think that Obama is a man dedicated to America, dedicated to bringing about what he sees as the best possible world for peace and freedom. I find the offensive and libelous talk that has floated around the internet about Obama being a Muslim, being a racist, or being anti-American to be as disgusting as it is false. In the end though, I can’t vote for Obama.
My friend and mentor Paul Martin has made much of Obama’s stance on abortion on his blog at I think this is an issue that voters should pay attention to, but there’s something that is of at least as much importance to my mind.

“Nothing to gain from an endless war”
John McCain has gotten a lot of flack for saying he will stay in Iraq as long as it takes to finish the goals we set out to accomplish. Obama on the other hand has made us eloquent and clearly laid out promises. He has rightly stated that we should not have gone into Iraq in the first place, that our entrance into Iraq was a distraction from the necessary war in Afghanistan, and that the situation in Iraq seems intractable. Obama has promised the American people that within 16 months of his becoming President, he will have removed all but a residual military force from Iraq. I believe this decision is likely to lead to thousands of deaths (if not more).

A Terrible Kind of Hate

There’s no denying that Iraq is a mess, no denying that since the war began over 4,000 American troops have lost there lives and over a million Iraqis have perished from violent deaths. It’s hell over there. It’s damn ugly. A lot of people think that what’s going on in Iraq is that the people there hate us and want us out because we went in there and invaded their homelan
Publish Post
d. For some that may be true, but for the most part the fact of the matter is that it’s not about us. The fact is that the Iraqis hate each other.
The two major religious groups currently living in Iraq are the Sunni and the Shi'a, two sects of Islam that in the Middle-East often harbor a bitter and seething hatred of each other. This is not the kind of hate you feel for the guy who cuts you off on the road, it’s the kind of awful hate that led the KKK to lynch blacks in the South or the Nazis to kill six-million Jews. And, just like the KKK and the Nazis, it’s a hatred they perceive to be righteous.
This reason, more than any other, is why we shouldn’t have gone into  Iraq in the first place. A country where half the citizens harbor a bitter hatred for the other half is not the kind of place democracy works in. But, in the end, we did go in. We overthrew the power that, however abominable it was, kept the Sunni and Shi’a from killing each other. Now we’re the power there. The current government of Iraq lacks the strength to stop these two groups from butchering each other. For one thing, whatever military Iraq builds up for itself will be composed of Iraqi citizens, most who will be Muslims and that means Sunni or Shi’a. Some of these soldiers may be more dedicated to the government than their religion, and others will see past the hatred that’s been bred into them, but others won’t. That means within the entire Iraqi military structure there will be soldiers who will turn traitor to the current government to fight for the side of their faith. In the end what you have is a perfect situation for a genocidal civil war to erupt. Our soldiers are the only force keeping the lid on this storm.
Obama and Biden have promised to retain the right to reenter Iraq with our allies in the case of a genocidal situation. To my understanding of the situation, a genocidal situation is far more likely to happen than not. So, their promise to reenter if a genocidal situation occurs means that it’s almost certain they will have to reenter, making the pullout a pointless waste of lives. I suppose they could decide to just let the genocide happen and fail in their other promise, but I don’t believe Obama would let the genocide happen – it’s not in his character. In the end we’d be back in Iraq anyway.
Perhaps there is nothing to gain from an endless war, but we entered into Iraq and we have a responsibility to the citizens of that nation to finish what we started. If Obama is elected President, it is likely that far more Iraqi citizens will die. There are other reasons that I’m not voting for Obama, but this potential loss of life is a serious concern for me.

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Life: Nadawa Outreach

My time in Fiji had its ups and downs, but it was, in the end, a triumph. I went in early August with Teach Us to Pray, my dad’s mission organization

to help pray for people coming through the free medical clinic Teach Us to Pray and Window of Hope would be running. In the end, lives were impacted and the love of Christ was shone in the darkness. You’ve already seen the statistics, the numbers of people who were touched. It would be impossible for me to tell all of their stories, but here are just a few that stood out to me.
I was walking through the village on the second day, going from door to door, letting people know about the clinic and seeing if anyone wanted prayer. With me was Sylus, an Indian man from Canada who was serving as my translator. It was nearly time for us to go back to the church where the clinic was being held. Sylus and I walked up to one last house and knocked on the screen door. A middle-aged Fijian woman sat inside with a young boy on her lap and another playing on the rug. A young girl of maybe five years also sat inside.

“ Bula, come in,” the woman said as she opened the door for us to come in. We told her we had come to let her know about the clinic and to see if she wanted prayer for anything. The woman told us she had already been to the clinic, but would like prayer for her twin sons - who had chicken pox. As she spoke, the little girl ran out of the house. At there invitation, I sat down on the couch and we chatted for a few moments before I began to pray for the children.
As I prayed, the little girl came back into the house, followed by an elderly woman who smiled and waved at me.
“This is my mother,” the woman who had let me into the house told me. I recognized her immediately as a woman that I had prayed for the day before in the clinic. She had been suffering from back pain at the time and it had gone away when I prayed for her. To my delight she told me that her back was still well. I finished praying for the twins
and unfortunately we saw no improvement in their condition.
We told them they should go to the clinic so the doctors could give them medicine and thanked them for their hospitality. “Before you go,” the mother of the twins began, “Can you pray for my daughter. Every night she is waking up, she is itching and she wakes up my father to scratch her so that neither of them can sleep. This cannot go on, my father must work.” I nodded and the little girl came over to me and I placed my hand on her shoulder and began to pray. I finished my prayers and as we got up to leave, the grandfather came into the house. He asked us who was in charge of the outreach, and told me he wanted to write a letter from the community thanking the man in charge. “My father is in charge.” I told him, and I invited him to come to the healing prayer service that evening meet him.
I was not able to make the prayer service that night, but I saw the grandmother and grandfather waiting in line at the clinic. They told me they had not been able to make it either but joyfully proceeded to tell me that their granddaughter had slept well the night before for the first time in three months. We praised God for this and the grandfather asked after my father. My father was gone at the time, but I urged them again to come to the prayer service.
That evening at the prayer service, Ratu Osea one of the paramount chiefs of Fiji, and a man
who has partnered with my father in his ministry to the country, brought some of the youth from his church to do a dance for the people assembled. Most of the family did not make it that night, but the grandfather came and it turned out that Osea and the grandfather were old friends from the government, who had both worked on projects to improve the community. My father met with the man, who revealed that he was the leader of a local committee and wanted to help Dadin his outreach work. A new and potentially vital connection in the community was formed.
I met the little girl again several times during the week and she was always happy to see me. Last I knew, she was still sleeping well.
Later in the week, I was in the clinic praying for people waiting in the queue. The woman nudged her friend and they spoke together in Hindi. A moment later she caught my attention. She looked up to me with hope in her eyes and told me in a quiet voice that she had a headache and would like me to pray for her. I had been praying for some people around her and they had been healed. I think if it had not been for that she would have asked me to pray for her – I could tell by her head wrapping that she was a Muslim woman. I smiled and asked her if I could lay my hands on
her head to pray for her. It’s always important to ask before you touch someone, but it is especially important if she is an Islamic woman. She nodded her assent, and I placed my hands on her head and began to pray. After a time I took my hands off of her head andasked her if the headache was any better. This is always the hard part for me, asking if God has worked. Even though I know I’m not the one doing the healing, I’m always afraid that they won’t be healed. When that happens I feel as if I have failed them somehow. She nodded and I smiled. “Praise God,” I said and she smiled and said, “Praise the Lord Jesus Christ!”
The final story happened towards the end of the week. It was getting to be later in the day and I was getting tired
An Indian lady standing in the line touched my arm and asked me to pray for her daughter, who she said had a sore throat. Her daughter, a young Indian girl in a white dress, smiled timidly up at me. I prayed for her and, as always, asked if she felt any different. The girl's smile widened and she excitedly told me that the pain was gone from her throat. A look of hope began to kindle in the mother’s eyes and she asked me if I could pray for her now. She told me, with tears in her eyes, that her husband had left her years ago, that he was an abusive man and called her often the threaten her. She wanted to move to be with her sister and wanted me to pray that it would be possible. Again, I prayed for her, that her prayers would be answered and that God would give her strength. As I stopped praying and opened my eyes I saw a shift in her expression, a light kindled behind her eyes and she spoke to me with boldness. “When I came in here, I had no hope and as you prayed for me I felt this darkness lift off of me! I can face anything now. I know it; my husband does not scare me anymore!” When she said this, her daughter’s face lit up even more vibrantly than it had when her throat had been healed.
The following Sunday I saw them together at the local Assemblies of God church. She told me she had been a Christian but had long ago stopped going to church and that she would now be going again. She said my prayers had worked, that she had hope again and that her daughter was still without pain. God had moved in her life.
God moved in the lives of the people of Fiji, and I was blessed to be a part of it. Coming together with Christians from all around the world, from many different callings, we got to bless the citizens of Nadawa. Through the ministrations of the doctors, nurses, counselors, the prayer team and all the other volunteers we worked to touch every part of their lives. I cannot begin to tell you the joy of my experience, but hopefully the stories I have told you give you some insight into what I saw in Fiji this year.

More Pictures can be found on my facebook at:
A final request: My time in Fiji this year was a wonderful and rewarding experience, but nothing is free, alas. Before going I managed to raise about half the funds that I needed for the trip, and because I already had the ticket and the hotel had been purchased, I went
Now, I need to raise the rest of the funds to pay back Teach Us to Pray, which fronted the money. Any amount you would like to donate would be appreciated. You may click below to donate. Currently, I need to raise $1,300.