Chuck Norris Facts

By now, you've probably seen the political advertisement for Mike Huckabee that includes a cameo by Chuck Norris -- If you haven't go to your favorite video page now and search for it. It's original, and funny.

I had to share one of the funniest web pages that I have come across recently: http://www.chucknorrisfacts.com

This site lists hundreds of 'true' fact about the Chucker. Gems such as:

Guns don't kill people. Chuck Norris kills people.

Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.

Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.

Maybe it's just me, I like Chuck, and I think this page is a riot.

Halloween - To Trick, or Not

This is a portion of an essay from the archives of one of my favorite bloggers, Tim Challies:
You can read the full text here.


Perhaps the greatest fallacy Christians believe about Halloween is that by refusing to participate in the day we are somehow taking a stand against Satan. And second to that, is that participation in the day is an endorsement of Satan and his evil holidays. The truth is that Halloween is not much different from any other day in this world where, at least for the time being, every day is Satan’s day and a celebration of him and his power. A member of the discussion list wrote the following last year around this time: “Yeah… I’ve heard all of the ‘pagan’ reasons Christians should avoid Halloween. The question is whether we are actually participating in Samhain when we participate in Halloween? Who or what makes the ‘Witch’s League of Public Awareness’ the definers of what Halloween is, either now or historically? Such a connection between Samhain and my daughter as a ladybug or my son as a Bengals Boy is highly dubious.” And it is highly dubious at best.

I am guessing my neighbourhood is all-too-typical in that people typically arrive home from work and immediately drive their cars into the garage. More often than not they do not emerge again until the next morning when they leave for work once more. We are private, reclusive people who delight in our privacy. We rarely see our neighbors and rarely communicate with them. It would be a terrible breach of Canadian social etiquette for me to knock on a person’s door and ask them for a small gift or even just to say “hello” to them. In the six years we have been living in this area, we have never once had a neighbor come to the door to ask for anything. Yet on Halloween these barriers all come down. I have the opportunity to greet every person in the neighbourhood. I have the opportunity to introduce myself to the family who moved in just down the row a few weeks ago and to greet some other people I have not seen for weeks or months. At the same time, those people’s children will come knocking on my door. We have two possible responses. We can turn the lights out and sit inside, seeking to shelter ourselves from the pagan influence of the little Harry Potters, Batmans and ballerinas, or we can greet them, gush over them, and make them feel welcome. We can prove ourselves to be the family who genuinely cares about our neighbours, or we can be the family who shows that we want to interact with them only on our terms. Most of our neighbors know of our faith and of our supposed concern for them. This is a chance to prove our love for them.

The same contributor to the email list concluded his defense of participating in Halloween with these words: “One night does not a neighbor make (and one night does not a pagan make), but Halloween is the one night of the year where the good neighborliness that flows from being in Christ is communicated and reinforced. We are citizens of another Kingdom where The Light is always on.”

My encouragement to you today is to think and pray about this issue. I do not see Halloween as a great evangelistic occasion. I do not foresee it as a time when the people coming to your door are likely to be saved. But I do think it is a time that you can prove to your neighbors that you care about them, that you care about their children, and that you are glad to be in this world and this culture, even if you are not of this world or this culture. Halloween may serve as a bridge to the hearts of those who live around you who so desperately need a Savior.

Who Won That Game?

Yesterday, a professional baseball game was played between the Washington Nationals and the Florida Marlins. This 12-inning marathon was played at Dolphin Stadium in Miami which can seat around 75,000 fans.

The attendance for yesterdays game? Around 400.

Yep. 400 folks attended this match-up which lasted just over 4 hours.

You can read all about it at the Washington Post link below (photo credit goes to the Post as well):
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/09/12/AR2007091201874.html

Several years ago, I had an on-going debate with Preston, a co-worker and friend of mine. Now, Preston is a baseball purist and a fan to some degree. I'm really not, I admit.

So anyway, we were discussing the fact that several high profile games had their outcomes impacted by either poor officiating, or spectator interference. I pointed out at that time that baseball needed to revamp the officiating -- you, know, add a replay official to use slo-mo to overrule those bad calls, and get rid of the umpires who are sometimes biased and always incumbered with basic human limitations. I also pointed out that the games were far too long and that people now-a-days lack the attention span to watch a game in excess of 3 hours.

Of course my friend scoffed at me, and told me that you don't mess with the National Pastime. He was pretty passionate about his views, and frankly, I just liked messing with him. And, as he was and still is, bigger than me -- I eventually let it go.

Yesterday's Miami game just proves that I am right though. It doesn't matter that these two teams suck right now. People will go see professional athletics, if certain criteria are met. Hey Baseball Commissioner, you wanna save your sport? Here's what you need to do:

1. Get rid of the home plate umpire. We have computers that can determine a strike zone without bias and without error. If you still think that the Umpire needs something to do, let him yell out the results that the computer gives him.

2. Bring in an instant replay official that can overrule a close call on a base or catch.

3. This one's my favorite: Institute a time clock, much like a shot-clock in basketball. Have the time start when the pitcher gets the ball. Then give him 30 seconds to get rid of it. I once read that if you took all of the action in a baseball game - pitches, hits, steals, etc. - and pieced it altogether, you'd have about 9 minutes of action. 9 minutes of action from a 4-hour game aint gonna cut it. You get your major league games down to 90-120 minutes and you'll have a better chance of the Generation X-er's putting away their Nintendos for a while to watch a game.

4. Lastly, if none of the above work, then you are probably going to have to hire a 40-girl pom/dance squad. Dress them up in cleavage and sequins and let them squirm around on the field during the 7th-inning stretch.

Ok, that last suggestion was just a joke.

And, sorry Preston - I don't want to mess with the National Pastime. I just want to enjoy it more.

@%!*! College Football Fans

Sports fans are ruining sports for me.

Maybe that's too broad of a statement. I'll rephrase.

College students are ruining college athletics for me.

They are just plain obnoxious. Even the students at my Alma Mater -- especially the students at my Alma Mater.

In fact, I'm sure that I have attended my last home game at OSU. The last game that I attended left me embarrassed to be OSU Alumni. It wasn't the performance of the team on the field that made me feel that way -- it was the student body and the fans in the stands. I hadn't attended a game in a few years before I went to this game. I didn't realize it was standard practice to chant profanities in unison at the opposing team and officiating staff. Silly me.

I was just glad that I didn't have my kids with me that day.

How sad is that? The fact that I don't want to take my sons to a football game at my own university? I guess I'm just not ready to explain the "f-word" to my six year old yet (yes, believe it or not, I have managed to insulate him from that word thus far in his life).

I watched some of the Rutgers - Navy game this past weekend. It wasn't enough for the Rutgers fans that their team handily beat the smaller Navy squad. No, they had to be jerks about it too. There is an excellent article regarding this from the New Jersey paper "The Star Ledger". Here's the link:
http://www.nj.com/news/ledger/index.ssf?/base/columns-0/1189484859197200.xml&coll=1

How Safe is Your Workout Routine?

As if I needed another excuse not to work out.

America's Got...er...?

So, there's this TV program --maybe you've seen it. It's called "America's Got Talent".

Then there's another one called "Britain's Got Talent".

These programs sound like more reality TV/Idol-wannabee type stuff don't they? Now me, I haven't seen either program so I don't mean to be judgemental. But, I have seen the various video clips on blogs and YouTube, so I have an idea what these show are about. One would assume that the best and brightest talents are showcased right? Certainly, Connie Talbot is an example of real talent from across the big pond. Check her out -- she's only 6 years old.

Pretty impressive huh? What a magnificent, courageous and talented little girl. Way to go Britain! The land that spawned Mr. Bean and Teletubbies has redeemed herself. Great job U.K.! Sorry about all of those "bad teeth" jokes.

So what does America have to offer in counter point? Who will step up from the ranks of America's most talented? Let's see...

Perfect. Britain has the adorable singing 6-year-old girl who can make everyone cry with her angelic voice.

America has a boy who can kiss his own butt.

Nice.

Al Gore and the Heat Index

Yeah, it’s hot.

No. This is not another diatribe on global warming. I’m not buying it, and I’m not selling it. If that’s your angle then you might want to go and fish another pond.

No, my beef is with the Heat Index. It’s not really a beef – I just find it amusing that we have invented a new way to make it sound hotter than it is. Now, don’t get me wrong, ‘cause I know it’s hot. But I grew up in Oklahoma, and it’s always been hot. Seems like now-a-days anytime it get’s over 100 degrees, people get excited, likes it’s never happened before. When the mercury gets into the century range, the newscasters always give the temperature in two parts, like this: “Well, it’s 102 degrees out there today, but with the heat index, it feels like it’s 114!”

Now 102 degrees, that’s pretty impressive, I guess, but 114? Now that’s something to brag about. I suppose that people have always fudged the truth a little when it has come to extremes, but it used to be called exaggerating. Now, it's scientifically backed!

I’m wondering why we don’t apply this same philosophy to other aspects of the weather. Can you imagine all the old men down at Pixley’s Sunshine Diner bragging about their rain-guage readings like grandchildren?
“We got two-anna-quarter inches at my place”, says one old farmer.
“Well, I got two and nearly-three-eighths”, says Mr. One-Up-On-Ya.
Then, there’s the 3rd guy who watched Mr. High-Tech Weatherman on the oh-six-hundred newscast. “I got over two-annie-half at my place”. Then he adds with a gotcha-smirk, “but with the Precipitation Index, that’s almost two-point-eight inches”. Only, he pronounces precipitation like this: Pree-sip-ee-TAY-shun. A gen-U-ine $10.00 word.
And what’s more, we could come up with a Snowfall Index, a Wind index, fog indices –the possibilities are endless.

But what if we carried this idea into other aspects of our lives?

How about Age indices? For older folks, we could sound younger. “Well, I’ll be seventy-one next year but with the Spry Index, I feel like I’m only sixty-five!” Or for the younger set, “My Betsy’s only four but she’s so bright! Almost five and a half on the Maturity Index!”

An Obesity Index can’t be far off, right? I mean relatively speaking, I’m not as fat as those other guys are.

An official index for singles playing the bar scene would be helpful, I’m sure.
“Karl, check out that gal!”
“Shoot, Bubba, she’s homely. Only a three on a ten-scale.”
“Yea, maybe Karl, but she’s a solid seven on the Budweiser scale.”
Yea, I know. The Budweiser scale has been around since prohibition ended. It just needs to be standardized for those of us who don’t drink.

There should be an index for those handicapped with a lead-foot; “Yes, officer, I know I was going ninety-six, but this is a ‘Vette, right? I mean that’s only fifty-three on the Chevy Cavalier Speed Equivalency Index.”

I think what would really be cool is if there was a Super-Christian-Spirituality Index (SCSI). It would work like this. Joe and Susie Christian (not real people) attend their church three times a week, and even teach Sunday School classes. They don’t swear, drink, smoke, or dance and they pray before eating in public. Susie has a bumper sticker on her Volvo that says “WWJD” and Joe occasionally wears a t-shirt that says “Real Men Love Jesus”. Joe and Susie would rate a solid nine-point-eight on the Super-Christian-Spirituality Index even though, in reality, apart from their church and Sundays, there is very little about Joe and Susie that is Christ-like. They don’t give to charities, or stop to help stranded motorists. They don’t know their neighbors names, much less their needs. They are rude and condescending to people they deem worthy of noticing, and treat the remainder as invisible. They are vain and self-serving and their lives lack real spirituality.

Still, a 9.8 on the SCSI aint bad!

Anyway, it’s too hot for this. It’s like, 114 degrees outside.

Maybe Al Gore is right.

Dangerous Books and Kipling

A couple of weeks ago, I ordered two copies of "The Dangerous Book for Boys" -- one for each of my sons. I won't bother reviewing the book here because many others have done a better job of that (See the review at The Discerning Reader). The boys and I have been reading the book together most nights before bedtime, and have really been enjoying it. It's an excellent and entertaining book for all ages.

There's a chapter entitled "Seven Poems Every Boy Should Know" and one of the poems included is Rudyard Kipling's "If". This poem has really become meaningful to me and I wanted to post it. If you are like me, you probably haven't read this since high school (over 20 years ago for me).

"If" by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or, being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with triumph and disaster And treat those two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breath a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

Zoolander and the $1,400 Phone

I am seriously and voluntarily out of touch with mobile phone technology.

Until a few months ago, I didn’t know what Bluetooth was. I did know that Josh has a blue tooth in his mouth. Seriously – It’s like a leftover from some childhood trauma or something, but there it is, this little, bluish-tinted tooth. He’ll show it to you if you ask him.

When it comes to cell phone technology though, I am out. MMS, G3, WiFi, GPS, SMS – I read those terms from a tech review of a new phone. I don’t know what they mean. I don’t care. If I didn’t have to carry a cell phone for my job, I wouldn’t have one (that’s probably not true, but I wish it was).

And now, the iPhone is coming. I am writing this 2 days before the thing hits the streets and they are already on sale on Ebay for $1,400. I guess these things will be the official status symbol of the mobile elite, at least for a few months until the next gadget comes out. If you get one of these puppies, you will be able to look down your nose at all the mobilephiles still bragging about their Blackberrys or Razors. How droll of them.

I remember the first truly mobile phones. Motorola DynaTacs. Now, those were something, and only Somebodies had them. Back in the day, loudly answering your mobile phone in a public place was a status thing – it meant you were important, and everyone knew it. Now, loudly answering your mobile phone in a public place is just plain rude. Those old bag phones were expensive too. If you had told those original Motorola phone owners that someday, cell phone service providers would be giving phones away, they would have told you that you were crazy. Right.

After a while, everyone had a mobile phone. Just having a mobile phone was no longer status-worthy. So, pretty soon, status came with size (remember Zoolander's phone?). Mine is smaller that yours, right?

Then, it was cameras – remember the controversy? People thought that if camera phones became commonplace, there would be rampant cases of ID theft and privacy invasion as a result. Well, they were right about that.

Now there’s Blackberry, Bluetooth, WiFi, MP3 and video players. Video players?? Are they nuts?!! Do you think the morons who are determined that they can effortlessly drive with complete focus and attention during rush hour while dialing and talking on their mobile phones need video players? How long will it be before a traffic accident report reads like this:

The Victim was found dead upon arrival of emergency responders, and had to be extracted with the “Jaws of Life”. However, the Victim’s Sprint mobile phone was unscathed and still playing the season finale of “24”.

Can I rant for a moment longer? Are these wireless, in-the-ear phones the most obnoxious things ever invented??

I got on an elevator the other day, and this dude says “Hey, how’s it going?”
Now, I’m a friendly guy so I say “Great, thanks. How you?”
You know where this is going, don’t you?
He glances at me with this perturbed look and then I see the Borg implant in his ear, pulsing red – he’s on a call.
“No, just some guy on the elevator” he says to no one in particular, and I’m there for five floors staring at my shoes and boiling while he talks about really important stuff.

It’s amazing how ingrained these things are in peoples lives, isn’t it? How many times do you pull out of your driveway and see your neighbor firing up her Hummer and pressing her cell phone to her ear. “You just left your house”, you want to say, “Who are you calling and why can’t it wait?” Then there’s the guy at the grocery store deli aisle looking like he’s never seen pastrami before. He’s talking to his wife, you suppose, and he’s like “Well, they have Oscar Mayer but I don’t see the Louis Rich. Is Oscar Mayer OK?” Please.

All of these radio waves, Bluetooth, and WiFi are flying through the air, zapping our brains and our reproductive systems, aging us, growing brain tumors, and killing all of the honey bees. For what?
Oscar freaking Mayer.

So, go ahead and get your iPhone. Surf the internet on your Blackberry, and listen to MP3s on your Razor. It’s cool. I’m OK with it, but I don’t want it.

I’m going to wait for the inner-ear mobile phone implant that I just read about. Now that’s cool.

Where are you John Wayne?

As you may have gathered from the title and byline of this blog page, I love Louis L’Amour westerns. I have often described his books as “Harlequin Romance” for Men. I love the allure of the old west, and the romanticized idea of the men and women of that time period that are portrayed in L’Amour’s books. Within his many novels and collections of short stories (there are over 100 books) there are some common themes:

The Good Guys always triumph in the end.
Men act with integrity (even the bad guys usually fight honorably).
Men act like men and treat women with respect.
A man’s word is important.
Honor is respected, cowardice is loathed.

A man deals with his own problems, or as L’Amour liked to put it, he “forks his own broncs”.

Men lived by a "code".

A typical L’Amour plot line goes like this:

A stranger rides into town. He’s not too big, but tough, strong from hard work, and travel stained. His name, if he gives it, may be Nolan, Lance, Borden, Flint, Utah, Sackett, Kilkenny, or Talon. He asks around for work and takes a cowhand job for a pretty lady who has recently inherited her father’s ranch. He works hard, and keeps his shoulder to the wheel, but he doesn’t take any guff, and he rubs some of the cowhands the wrong way. He whips the toughest hand in a fair fist-fight, but is later dry-gulched with a branding iron or shot in the back. While recovering from his near-fatal wounds, he discovers a plot whereby the bad guys are plotting to steal the ranch from the unsuspecting and overly trusting, previously-mentioned pretty lady. With the help of the previously mentioned tough cowhand who was whipped in the fair fight, our hero ferrets out the bad guys plans and reveals them to the pretty lady and “the law”. In the end, he is forced into a gun battle with the bad guy, who turns out to be the step-uncle of the pretty lady. The hero dispatches the bad guy and rides off into the sunset, much to the disappointment of the pretty lady. (There are variations on the ending: sometimes he stays, and sometimes there’s a lingering “maybe” as he considers the merits of ranch life with a pretty lady versus the life of the trail).

I think it’s sad that L’Amour’s depiction of a western man is considered “romanticized”. I believe it’s the way a man still ought to be defined – integrity, independence, respect and the fortitude to stand and fight for what’s right.

If L’Amour were still alive to write his story using today’s idea of a man, would the plot look like this?

A stranger rides into town. His finely featured face has been augmented by a plastic surgeon to project a strong chin and cheekbones. He is a fashionable dresser, and his saddle has a designer name on it. His name is hyphenated. He takes a job at an art gallery, owned by a pretty lady, where he works half-heartedly every day from 9:30 AM to 3:00 PM. He files a restraining order against an evil co-worker after he perceives he has been insulted. The co-worker retaliates by filing a civil suit against our hero. They eventually work out their differences over a tofu-and-artichoke-heart lunch where they conspire together to swindle the pretty lady out of her ownership of the art gallery. Before they can act, however, the pretty lady declares bankruptcy and absconds to Europe with all of the cash and assets. In the end, our hyphenated stranger finds himself beside the interstate holding a hand-lettered sign that reads “Anything Helps” and pondering the merits of welfare housing versus life on the trail.

It's the capital of France, right?

Why are we so obsessed with this person?

This morning, Russian President Vladimir Putin warned that Russia intends to aim missiles, probably nuclear, at targets in Europe.

Yesterday, Iranian President Ahmadinejad, was once again predicting and celebrating the destruction of Israel (remember, he's the guy who said that Israel should be "wiped off the map").

Today, the FBI announced crime statistics for 2006: over 16,000 murders and over 92,000 rapes.

And, don't forget the war in Iraq, shark attacks, tornadoes, the Democratic debates, the JFK Airport plot, GLOBAL WARMING, Oh my!

Sounds like a lot of important news, huh?

Why then, will every television news magazine, radio talk show, and Internet news source devote so much attention to this pathetic, wealthy, socialite who went to jail yesterday? (For that matter, why am I?)

I guess we're finally tired of talking about that other morally challenged celeb who recently shaved her head. I suppose that her hair is growing back, and she's not noteworthy right now.

At least for today.

Lust and Dragonflies

But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed. James 1:14.

Ok, I’ll admit it.

I am a weak creature.

Subject to the very lusts and enticements that James wrote about. As I said, I am weak.

I give in to my impulses….too easily.

Recently, K-Ro and I were just hanging out together. Our wives were shopping. We weren’t looking to get into trouble – just waiting. Innocently.

At some point we found ourselves walking by the bright lights of one of those places. You know, one of those places.

This place had windows to tease the passers-by with the wares sold within. K-Ro and I couldn’t help but look. Looking doesn’t hurt right?

As I said, I am weak.

I don’t know who suggested that we go in, me or him. It doesn’t matter. We went in.

The lights, the music, the exotic pleasures displayed on tables before us. We got into trouble. We were drawn in. We lusted and were enticed. We indulged our fleshly impulses.

Before we left the business, the Sharper Image store had fifty bucks from each of us, and we both had one of these:

Stupid impulse buy.

They have this thing displayed in the store like it’s some sort of idol, sitting on a pedestal. Then there’s the video looping over and over, showing the amazing ease and dexterity with which anyone can pilot this amazing flying machine in their own living room. It loops, it dives, it hovers…fantastic! I knew my life wouldn’t be fulfilled without it. K-Ro drooled beside me, and so I knew that he needed fulfillment too.

Stupid impulse buy.

Back at home, mine was broken before the batteries were charged --stupid antennae on the controller. I swiped the antennae from one of my kids remote control cars and I was back in business. I waited impatiently for the fifteen minutes it took to charge.

Finally! Ready to fly! Give it some power… gently waft it into the air like the video showed. Smack…to the floor. Try again… smack. Ok, I’ll read the instructions.

All right, I didn’t have the settings correct.. here we go! Smack. Smack, smack, smack… to the floor. Stupid impulse buy.

I wonder if Sharper Image will take this heap back.

Wait

You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat their wait-staff.

I recently attended a dinner meeting for an internationally known organization which does phenomenal philanthropic work. I sat across the table from one of the evening’s speakers, a man that I had not met previously. As he was a representative of this benevolent organization, I was frankly surprised at how rudely he intreated with our waiter. He seemed mildly irritated when the waiter refilled his glass, and he never uttered a “please” or “thank you” when he made requests. Several times during the meal, he held up his finished plates or bowls to be taken away, without a word, without eye-contact. To him, the waiter didn’t exist, other than to serve him.

Observing how he interacted with our waiter made me not like this guy very much. I certainly wasn’t open to his comments later in the evening when he spoke to the audience.

Moments like this just exemplify to me how our culture, has this twisted view of individual value in society. Donald Miller calls this "Lifeboat Theory" -- the idea that I am more valuable to society than you are, therefore, if we, along with others, are stranded in a lifeboat at sea together, and there are not enough provisions for everyone, you are going over the side before me (from Donald's great book, "Searching for God Knows What"). It's difficult not to think in these terms sometimes -- comparing our worth to others, sizing ourselves up, boosting our own egos. It's unfortunate though, and sad when we begin to define ourselves, or assign our own worth, by demeaning others. Hence, the rude behavior, or simple lack of acknowledgement towards those who cook or serve our food, make our beds and clean our motel rooms.

Jesus said in Matthew 25:40 that "inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me (KJV)." Now, I'm not trying to twist the context of what He was talking about -- Jesus was talking about the poor, naked, starving, and imprisoned, not the hierarchy of worth among great and small people. But is there really that great a difference? If we want to debunk the "Lifeboat Theory", is there any difference to God between the homeless beggar and the waitress at IHOP? Between an imprisoned felon and The Donald? Between our self and the guy next door?

Does God love one over the other?

Should we?

Bridges and Suicide

I watched a fascinating movie last night on cable. It was a documentary about people who commit suicide by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. Although the theme of the movie is rather morbid, I found myself riveted to it. The filmmaker gave us a glimpse into the lives of both the victims and their families and portrayed the pain and hurt that friends and loved ones feel after someone commits suicide. Additionally, the romanticized idea of suicide that is obviously advanced by the mere fact that this film was made is actually tempered by the brutal, violent depictions and testimony of the survivors.
The most disturbing thing about this movie to me, however, was the callous and unfeeling manner in which many of the victims were viewed by passers-by. Time and time again, the long-range video cameras would zoom in on a solitary person walking along the bridge. Often nervous and fidgety, the person would walk along, and then climb over the safety railing to sit atop or perch on the edge. Many times, the video would depict people walking or riding bikes past the person. Some would intervene and try to help, and at least one guy was successful in hauling a young woman back over the rail. Often though, the people passing by would just glance over and then look away. Look away.
Maybe they just didn't think it was real. Maybe they didn't have time to comprehend what they were seeing. Maybe they didn’t care.
I’d like to think that I wouldn’t be like that – that I would notice, that I would care --that I would have the courage to say “Are you OK?” and not be afraid to make a fool of myself.

A friend of mine, who is also the youth pastor at my church, recently said something like this: Sometimes, in order to invest ourselves in the lives of other people, we have to get our hands dirty. It takes guts to ask someone if they are OK, when we know the answer might be "No".

Here’s a synopsis on the movie, from http://www.imdb.com/

Plot summary for The Bridge (2006/I)
People suffer largely unnoticed while the rest of the world goes about its business. This is a documentary exploration of the mythic beauty of the Golden Gate Bridge, the most popular suicide destination in the world, and those drawn by its call. Steel and his crew filmed the bridge during daylight hours from two separate locations for all of 2004, recording most of the two dozen deaths in that year (and preventing several others). They also taped interviews with friends, families and witnesses, who recount in sorrowful detail stories of struggles with depression, substance abuse and mental illness. Raises questions about suicide, mental illness and civic responsibility as well as the filmmaker's relationship to his fraught and complicated material. Written by G. Leggat

On the Rocks

I have a photo that I took last year of one of my two sons standing on a rock dike constructed on the navigable river where I work. I love this picture because it reminds me of the excitement he felt having ventured out there on his own. The dike is constructed of rocks ranging from 1' to 3' in diameter, and they roll and shift under your feet, making for treacherous passage. My son, 7 years old, precariously made his way out to the end of the 300' long dike -- he wanted to go alone. He's at the age where he wants to explore and try, taste and experiment - "what if? how? why? WHY?"

Also significant to me is that my youngest son, 5, is not in the photo. He was standing by my side when I took this picture. He preferred the safety of his father's side to the thrill and potential danger of exploration with his brother.

I guess at different times, I feel like both of them --adventurous and bold one minute, and fearful the next. I'm glad that the Savior told us "...I am with you always, even unto the end of the world" (Matt. 28:20).

Even as my oldest son ventured out alone, he never went more than a few paces without looking over his shoulder to smile at me. He knew he wasn't alone.