Mindfulness and Gratitude

I was asked to speak to my congregation a couple of weeks ago.  I decided to post it on this blog.  It may be a little long, but hopefully worth the time.

I was reading about an experience a young mother had with her three-year-old as she was praying with him.  She related the following:

“I knelt beside my three-year-old and listened to his scrambled bedtime prayer: ‘I’m thankful for Mommy and Daddy, snow and clouds.  I’m thankful for Santa Claus.  I’m thankful for pizza and my big brother.  Thank you for food.  Thank you for everything.’”

“I waited as he hesitated.  With such a long inventory of blessings, I assumed he was deciding between continuing his list and jumping into his warm, inviting bed.  After a long pause, he hastily added, ‘Oh, and please bless our dumb old cat.’  He then finished his prayer with an emphatic ‘AMEN.’” 1

This experience caused this young mother to look at her life and to contrast her adult life with her children’s lives.  She continued:

“I tried to remember the last time I had thanked the Lord for such things.  Certainly my life was filled with small blessings.  Like my son, I thought pizza was delightful, but never included it in my prayers.  I enjoyed snow and clouds too, but I never mentioned them either.”  She then wrote:

“I liked to think I omitted such items because they were too insignificant to include among important adult acknowledgements and appeals.  But I knew that in reality I no longer noticed them.  I had become so busy with “to do” lists and responsibilities that I no longer paid attention to the tiny purple flowers dotting the backyard, the intricacies of leaves, or the earth-washed smell of fresh rain.”

“Unlike me, my children noticed all the details of their young lives.  Nothing escaped their observant eyes and appreciative hearts.  My five-year-old ran for the sheer joy of feeling his healthy body move—not to burn calories or reach his target heart rate.  My three-year-old danced exuberantly whenever music was played and squished mud between his toes just to feel the warm, gloppy ooze.  My baby was a study in joy.  He tasted soap bubbles, smeared his hair with applesauce, and chased shiny, black beetles—unfettered by grown-up notions of cleanliness or repugnance toward six-legged creatures.” 2

My intent was not to write about being grateful and what we should be grateful for.  Rather, I would like to share insights that have helped me to know better HOW to be grateful.  My focus is to remind us about the secrets that young children seem to know instinctively and that teenagers and adults seem to forget about, secrets that the young mother realized in the story I related.

D o you recall what she said about not paying attention to the tiny purple flowers in her backyard, the intricacies of leaves, and the earth-washed smell of fresh rain?  How she had forgotten what it feels like to dance when music was played, to squish mud between her toes, to taste soap bubbles, to know the joy of smearing hair with applesauce, and chasing shiny black beetles?

I love Primary songs, and one of my favorites comes to mind:

Whenever I hear the song of a bird or look at the blue, blue sky, whenever I feel the rain on my face or the wind as it rushes by,

Whenever I touch a velvet rose or walk by a lilac tree, I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world Heavenly Father created for me.

He gave me my eyes that I might see the color of butterfly wings.  He gave me my ears that I might hear the magical sound of things.

He gave me my life, my mind, my heart, I thank Him reverently for all His creations of which I’m a part.  Yes I know Heavenly Father loves me. 3

Did we get part of the secret from the story of the young mother and the Primary song above?  It involves enjoying our senses, being aware of them.  It involves s-l-o-w-i-n-g d-o-w-n our lives and living in the present—the here and now.  When was the last time we took time to listen for the song of a bird or look at the blue sky?  When did we last touch or smell a velvet rose?  When did we last decide to slow down and listen to the magical sound of things or dance when a particular song came on—for no other reason than to experience life?  I’m not proposing that we smear our hair with applesauce, but what I am recommending is that you and I SLOW DOWN and literally and figuratively smell the roses.  It’s about allowing slowing down and allowing our senses to help us feel gratitude.

By doing so, we will begin to do what the children’s song indicated in the last line: we [will] thank Him reverently for all His creations [for which we] are part.  We will more fully come to know, as the song says, [that] Heavenly Father loves [us]. 4   Slowing down and experiencing the moment in which we are, can be called being MINDFUL.  Mindfulness, I believe, is the big, overarching secret, the very key to gratitude and the way to know and feel God’s love.

Let me share a couple of experiences I had recently that will help define what I mean by being mindful through living in the here and now and enjoying our feelings and senses.

I have had all kinds of aches and pains for many years, particularly in my lower back.  I’ve been to the chiropractor many times, I’ve purchased a special bed, I’ve taken literally bottles of ibuprofen through the years, I’ve tried to keep a good posture, but I still have back issues, especially in the middle of the night and when I wake up in the morning.  My wife has experienced her own issues relative to our advancing years, and recently she got this wild hare about taking yoga classes.  

I initially was less than enthusiastic about it but I finally decided that I would try it with her and see what happened.

The first time we went, we both became nauseous.  It was SO hard!  But we continued to go, my wife more often than me.  It still is hard.  I am not into yoga meditation and chanting that sometimes is done at the classes, but I am getting a little bit better at contorting my body into the movements and poses.  And let me be clear: anybody who does yoga knows that the contorting of the body forces one to focus on just the breathing and the sensations of the body, and NOTHING ELSE!  I sense the strains, the heat of the muscles, the breathing.

Since starting to do yoga, not only has my back and balance improved, but it has forced me to be mindful for 60 or 90 minutes, and that is a good thing for me.  As I slow down and am mindful about the experience, I notice that my back is getting better, that I have a wife who challenges me and helps me to do things I probably wouldn’t do otherwise, that I have two arms and two legs with which to do yoga, that I am actually able to some of the actions, and that I have been blessed financially to be able to take the classes.  I feel grateful that I have a car in which to drive to the classes, and the money to put gas in the car, and that afterwards I have a home to return to.

The other experience I want to share has to do with my experience in the last area of my mission to Argentina.  It was the first (and probably the last) time missionaries had lived in this particular place, and there was no running hot water or heat in the shower area of the bathroom.  Occasionally it got very cold.  What I would do during those cold spells was to go without showering for a couple of days but then I would shiver my way through a 3-4 minute ordeal, only turning on the water to get wet and to rinse.

Some days I forget, but I often try to go to a mindful place and remember how it was by I luxuriating under a stream of warm water.  Afterwards, in a mindful place, I will really enjoy and feel gratitude for stepping out of the shower and not seeing my breath. 

And that brings up another aspect of being mindful: slowing down and being in the here and now enough to realize what blessings I have right now that others don’t have.  It’s being able to feel gratitude without being compelled by our circumstances to feel gratitude.  It doesn’t come from a place of pride but rather, a gratefulness that comes from mindfulness.

Let me share an example of what I mean from my extended family.  I have a nephew who was born without the ability to rotate his arms, to turn his palms upward.  They always face downward, or perpendicular to the ground.  For me, it is a simple, mindless action to rotate my palms but for him it is an impossibility.  To his credit, he has not allowed the disability to stop him from using his arms and hands as best he can.  He has learned to play the piano (palms down), he has learned to play the trombone (palms perpendicular), and has even learned to play lacrosse (palms perpendicular).

When I succeed at being mindful, especially when I pray my morning prayer, I will rotate my palms up and down a couple of times.  That is my way to express to Heavenly Father that I am trying to be grateful for those physical blessings that I might take for granted. 

When I succeed at being mindful, I express gratitude for being free of pain in that moment because so many of His children have so much physical pain.  When I am mindful, I have thanked Him for being able to swallow because I was hospitalized a few years ago with epiglottitis, which was a swollen epiglottis that made it terribly painful to swallow and for which I had to be hospitalized in intensive care.

When I succeed at being mindful, I am grateful to be able to see because I have worn glasses since age 5 and have feared getting a sharp blow to my head and having my retinas detach.  I try to utter a little prayer of thanksgiving when I look at the mountains which surround where I live here in Southern California, when I see the white or gray of clouds, the green of grass in my yard, the red of my car, the blue of the ocean, the orange of pumpkins, the black of licorice. 

I really believe that my senses help me to be grateful, but I must slow down and be in the here and now to have these realizations.  In the Bible story of the ten lepers, I wonder if after being healed of leprosy, the nine neglected to give thanks to Him because they did not stay in the moment.  Perhaps their lives quickly became crowded with details and trivialities.  Maybe they were impatient and wanted to quickly join their families and community, wanting to forget about their former lives altogether.  Perhaps they felt entitled.  Regardless, once the miracle took place, they did not feel the need to offer thanks; they lost their mindfulness.

As you and I plead with the Lord to receive blessings in our prayers, are we mindful enough to thank Him for giving us blessings?  Do we ever purposefully offer a prayer of gratitude for all of our blessings and not made a single request?  When I have done that, I have noticed that it puts me in a mindful place, and I notice that I will thank Him for blessings that I normally wouldn’t and that I might take for granted.  I am reminded of the words of King Benjamin recorded in Mosiah 2:21:

“I say unto you that if ye should serve him who has created you from the beginning, and is preserving you from day to day, by lending you breath, that ye may live and move and do according to your own will, and even supporting you from one moment to another—I say, If ye should serve him with all your whole souls yet ye would be unprofitable servants.”

The truth is that indeed the Lord lends us our very breath which allows us to live.  He blesses us with so much that we often don’t notice or that we take for granted.  I don’t want to be like the ungrateful nine lepers.  I would rather be mindful and return daily to the Worker of miracles in my life and fall at His feet and worship Him by offering my gratitude.

I am grateful for having the Gospel in my life.  I am grateful for a loving wife who supports me and helps do difficult things like taking yoga classes, and who works alongside of me in the Addiction Recovery Program of LDS Family Services.  I am grateful for that Program and for the Twelve Steps of Recovery.  I am grateful for the hard earned sobriety of my heroin-addicted son what has 19 months clean and sober.  I am grateful for my Priesthood.  I am grateful to have a temple so close and a car to get me there and to the Chapel because they haven’t always been so close and we haven’t always had a car.  I am grateful for Church leaders like our bishop and stake presidency and general Church leaders.  I am grateful for music and the joy that it brings me, and that I am able to hear.

Perhaps most importantly, when I am mindful and realize my fallen state, that I am a sinner laden with sins and multiple weaknesses and imperfections, I am humbly grateful for the pain which He suffered and the drops of blood that He spilled for me in the Garden of Gethsemane. I marvel that he would descend from his throne divine to rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine.5  I am grateful that He should care for me enough to die for me.6  I am grateful to His Father who love me so much that He sent His only Begotten Son.  It helps me to be grateful when I am mindful of His love.   

    

1.Lisa Ray Turner, The Song of Gratitude, June 1993 Liahona

2.Ibid

3. My Heavenly Father Loves Me, Children’s Songbook, p.228

4.Ibid

5.I Stand All Amazed, Hymns, p.193

6.Ibid

Drawing Upon Life Experiences

Maybe it is due to the schooling I received and the types of therapy that I embraced there.  Maybe it is due to the types of clientele that I see.  Maybe it is due to the style of supervision that I receive as a therapist intern.  Maybe it is due to where I am in my middle age as I see people each week.  Maybe it is due to the decisions that I have made through the years and the enormous amount of experiential knowledge I have gained recently. – Whether it is one, some, or all of these, what I know is that I often draw upon my marriage, my parenting, my spirituality, and indeed, my life experiences, as I do psychotherapy.

I have wondered if a fellow therapist with much more experience might be alarmed or even aghast that I would share who I am with those who come to see me.  I have likewise wondered if a veteran fellow therapist might condescendingly take me aside and state, “that’s how it is done.”  I can only say that I feel comfortable sharing who I am as I endeavor to help those who come seeking help.  And perhaps because I have not had clients with overwhelming psychopathologies (code speak for being “really messed up”) or perhaps because I am not disposed to pathologize them (code speak for telling them they are “really messed up”) or perhaps because I have pathogical issues (code speak that I am “really messed up”), I seem to relate and connect with most of them.

Somehow the experiences of my life seem to have a measure of relevance.  Being a 57 year old intern allows me the luxury of having experience from which to draw, and while not always directly applicable, they seem to be close enough.  For example, I have not had what I would consider a full blown addiction, but I do have experience feeling triggered and obsessing over not-so-nice thoughts, and I have seen addiction first hand.  I have not been through a divorce, but Ann and I got somewhat close some years ago.   I did not have parents who physically or sexually abused me, but I did have a mother who occasionally would emotionally abuse me, a father who was emotionally distant, and their marriage that lacked emotional and physical intimacy.  I did not have siblings at home, but I know what it is like to be an only child, and I did witness four siblings interact as children in my home.

I have been in psychotherapy for quite a while and know what it is like to be “on the couch.”  I have had a son who has been addicted to drugs and I know that heartache.  I have had experiences with the Twelve Steps and the whole recovery milieu.  I have had a wife who knows and understands how behavioral boundaries function in a marriage, and who knows how to be a loving and supportive.  I have had children who have made decisions that were not wise, and I likewise have made decisions that were not wise.  I have overcome my fears to go back to school to get a degree in my 50s.    I have learned many life truths, such as “recovery/change happens when the pain of addiction/not changing becomes greater than the pain of recovery/change, and will not happen when the pain of recovery/changing is greater than the pain of addiction/not changing,” and “let go and let God.”

I am in the transition of learning to be an effective psychotherapist.  Occasionally, I will get down upon myself (another life experience with which I am extremely aware), but I know that I am making progress and constantly learning.

A New Commandment I Give Unto You, That Ye Love One Another As I Have Loved You

I am a lifelong member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, a Christian denomination (even though some of my evangelical brothers and sisters don’t believe that) that is also known as the Mormon Church.  It is a worldwide religion of over 14 million believers (including Mitt Romney and Jon Huntsman among others) whose primary leadership is based in Salt Lake City, Utah.  Rather than being a casual member, I attend meetings weekly, perform private worship during the week, and serve in callings or perform responsibilities each week as part of my desire to perform Christian service.   I earnestly believe in the doctrines of the Church and sincerely feel that I not only worship but want to obediently follow the beings I call my Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ.   In this blog entry I will not discuss a wide array of doctrinal beliefs or theology of my Church but rather I will focus on what I see as a disconnect that occurs between what our religions teach us to do with what those religious beliefs should help us become.

In the Christian faith community, the pulpits are ablaze with sermons about God’s grace and His love for his children.  Those that preach proclaim that Christ’s teachings are about taking upon ourselves His attributes, such as being imbued with kindness, love, caring, gratitude, and thoughtfulness, and casting aside un-Christian characteristics like judging, coveting, and sexual impurity.  Indeed, in the congregations of my Church, we are told in word and song that “by this shall all men know ye are my disciples if ye have love one to another.”

However, in my Church and in all churches, synagogues and mosques, there is always the challenge of “living” our religious beliefs between those days when we are sitting in the pews or kneeling on the floor, and the rest of the days of the week.  True believers realize that they want to live righteous lives and their challenge is to make their lives congruent with the teachings they receive on their day of worship.  I would like to think that most do a pretty good job of it.  But it seems to me that sometimes a few of we believers lose sight of that congruency and get caught up in our own piety and what we would suppose to be the purity of where we worship, or in the notion of strictness of our doctrines.  We sometimes lose sight of the fact that our doctrinal beliefs were given to help us to not only do better but to also be better.

For example, how do we respond when someone ventures into our religious buildings that does not fit the stereotypical appearance of who we piously think should be there?  Or when, having attended for a period of time, a person is discovered to have something done something “wrong?”   Or more critically, when someone we know as an acquaintance, friend, or even a family member, is discovered to be engaged in some activity that may be contrary to doctrines espoused by us and our religions?

Because of our fears of being contaminated personally, or our homes or religious building being desecrated, or our desiring to keep our homes or families or congregations or religions pure, do we lose sight of what the religious teachings are trying to help us become, and shun the individual?  Out of that fear, do we do what our natural, non-religious selves demand that we do, and that is to judge him or her (or them)?  Do we understand so little of our underlying doctrines?  Are we so insecure in our religious beliefs?  Are our religions merely about purity?

A lay member of my faith was asked to speak at one of my religion’s important meetings, and although it was a few years ago, the words he uttered still haunt me.  He said, and I am paraphrasing, “for me, the sweetest smell I can smell in these meetings is the smell of cigarette smoke on someone’s clothing.”  For anybody who does not know, to be a completely faithful member of my Church, allowed to participate in all its worshipping rituals, you cannot smoke (or drink coffee, tea, or alcohol.)  Obviously, someone who smells of cigarette or cigar smoke would likely be judged as not being completely faithful.  What do I do with this apparent paradox?  Do I distance myself by not interacting with him or her at all?  Do I take this person aside and tell them that they smell and that they need to do something about their problem?  Do I tell them that they just need to try harder not to smoke, or maybe pray more diligently?  Do I talk to other congregants about how bad this person smells?  Do I go to Church leaders and tell them this person reeks of smoke? 

In my belief system, I must ask myself “what would Jesus do with or say to this individual?”  Does He love them any less because they smoke?

The speaker then said something else in the same sermon that likewise haunts me.  Again, paraphrasing, he said, “if all of our sins had a smell, what would you and I smell like?”

I understand that refraining from such substances is unique to just a few religions, so I would like to bring up a more universal “prickly” issue that many faith communities are wrestling with: same sex attraction.  My intent is not to bring up the issue of the correctness or incorrectness of SSA or so-called gay marriage, although I have opinions about them.  What I wish to address is how we as straight people in faith communities respond to these fellow travelers in mortality, these souls who I have been taught are my spiritual brothers and sisters, as all people are.  What do I do when they exercise great courage and risk by daring to darken the doors of our religious buildings, knowing that they might be judged and/or shunned.  Or even more difficult, what do I do when one of these sensitive individuals is my friend, my uncle or aunt or cousin, or my parent, or my child?

Do we go to our pious place and declare that they are flawed (which by making that judgment we infer that we are not, and as such are better than they are)?  Do we judge them as evil or wicked and that they are surely going to go to hell or wherever or whatever our purgatory is (which distances us from them)?  Do we tell fellow congregants that they are gay or lesbian or even transgender (as if we are morally superior to them)?  Do we consider them so sinful that they are not worthy of our love, and in my case, my Christian love (because sexual sin is regarded as being so heinous)?  Do we preach to them and tell them that if they were really spiritual the attraction would simply go away (as if that may not have crossed their minds at one time)?  Do we bring out our particular scriptures and lecture them on the scriptural evils of being attracted to someone of the same gender (because we feel that it is our responsibility to set them straight)?  Do we just avoid them and have nothing to do with them because they make us feel uncomfortable (because dealing with people different from us makes us uncomfortable)?  Do we tell them to leave our homes and that we never want to speak to them again (because they are a disgrace and embarrassment—they make us look bad---and are not deserving of our love)?

Are we so insecure about who we are and what we believe that we have to put someone down or distance ourselves from them because they are different?  Are we so oblivious to what really matters—like being kind and gentle as little children?  (Have you ever noticed how easily young children play with other young children no matter their gender, size, race, color, religion, or smell?  Those are adult constructs.)  Are we so threatened by others’ lifestyles that we cannot look past them to find out who they really are?  Are we who are Christian so caught up in the Mosaic Law-type, letter-of-the-law piety and hypocrisy as the Pharisees were that we do not see His higher law of a broken heart and a contrite spirit, and of loving our neighbors as ourselves?   

My hope is that when people who are “different” from us live with us, work with us, and come to our places of worship with us, we can begin the transition to forget about appearances, we can begin the transition to get past our pre-conceived stereotypes, we can begin the transition to get to know who they are in their souls, and we can begin the transition to come to care for them like we would like to be cared for.

This blog post is dedicated to two men, one whom I know very well and love as a brother who has a gay son whom he loves and adores and is a true example of Christ-like love to him, and the other a person whom I have never met but hope to meet at some future day.  His name is Mitch Mayne, and he is currently serving as the Executive Secretary of the San Francisco Bay Ward of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and who happens to be openly gay.  He is a fellow blogger at mitchmayne.blogspot.com.

Nice Places to Visit, But I Don't Want to Live There Now

Shoveling snow was an activity that I used to enjoy as a youth but which became more difficult as I got older. The older I got, the muscles used for shoveling that were rarely used otherwise would ache for hours after. With the transition to older years, I got better at the challenge to determine when the snowfall was subsiding and the sidewalks and driveways would remain fairly clear of snow so that I didn’t have to shovel again. And while I enjoyed the feeling afterward, especially if it did stop snowing, of clean, clear paths, it was a lot of work. The spiffy snow blower I got later on was better for my back, but it was still a lot of work.

I remember the enjoyment of feeling the dry flakes on my face as they would quietly and gently tumble to the ground or land on my glasses and blur my vision. But if there was any wind at all as I pushed and lifted, it would chill my nose and make it run, and make me squint. For the uninitiated, the temperature during a snow fall is rather mild; it is when the skies clear that the coldness settles in. Still, my fingers would inevitably get cold and it was nice to sidle up to a fire in the fireplace or stand on a heat register after I had peeled off the coat and taken off the snowy boots. Those snowy boots would always heat up once inside and leave little pools of water around them.

I have lived in Southern California for the past 17 winters and have shoveled snow once (about two inches).  When the rest of the US is shivering and other folks are shoveling snow, I look out of my window and see palm trees, flowers, a few green leaves, but no snow on the ground.  When Ann and I do retire, we might end up where it snows; who knows?  All that I know is that I do not miss shoveling snow. I have made that transition!  For me, snowy climes are a nice place to visit, but I don’t want to live there now.

The Greatest Generation and The Tattooed Barbie

My wife Ann recently adroitly remarked to another couple that our generation, the baby boomers, are the connection of a world of the horse and buggy with the crazy-paced jet world of 2011, the world of the IBM supercomputer, Watson, that completely outpointed Jeopardy’s greatest mortal champions.   My generation grew up with parents who may have flown in a biplane, put their food in an icebox cooled with real ice, listened to scary stories on the radio because there was no television, did what they had to do in an outhouse, were warmed by coal rather than natural gas or electricity, and built infrastructure like walls and roads in post-depression America.  My generation had fathers who fought in WWII and had mothers who went without for the good of the wartime society. 

My mom and dad knew what it was like to see the terrible human toll of the depression.  They knew what it was like to buy a five cent loaf of bread and to feel lucky to have that nickel to spend.  They knew what it was like to leave the house to entertain themselves and interact with other people by taking the train to the Saltair Ballroom on the shore of the Great Salt Lake to dance the night away.  They knew what it was like to live in large families and to receive one gift for Christmas, if they were lucky.  They knew what it was like to lose a close relative to illness because it happened so often.

Theirs was a world where everybody knew everybody else in the neighborhood.  Theirs was a world in which there were clearly defined good guys and bad guys.  Theirs was a world in which kids were to be seen not heard and parents were in charge.  Theirs was a world in which couples stayed married, even if that marriage might be loveless, for the sake of the children.  Theirs was a world in which movies were mostly in black and white, and the sex scenes in those movies were only imagined, never portrayed.  Theirs was a world of “wear it until you wear it out,” and clothing was generally modest—in style and in price.

A few of the children of baby boomers have been lucky enough to be able to listen to the stories of “the good old days” from Grandpa and Grandma.  Many have not had that blessing.  Too bad.

My kids’ generation only knows jet travel in Boeing 747s and Airbus 320s.  My kids’ generation only knows climate controlled refrigerator-freezers with instant cold water and instant ice.  My kids’ generation only knows 100s of channels from which to choose on cable/satellite TV including numerous kids’shows.  My kids’ generation only knows indoor plumbing unless they go camping, and only know that when they flush, water washes everything away, and they can wash their hands afterwards with warm water.  My kids’ generation only knows thermostats on walls that can make them feel warmer or cooler in no time at all.  And although my kids’ generation has been exposed to the ugliness of war—especially the relentless but sanitized images of Iraq and Afghanistan, these modern wars of cost relatively few (but worthwhile) lives compared to WWII, and its effects have not been felt much on a daily basis.  There has been no sacrificing for the modern war effort per se.

The children of today sadly see people waiting for food from the Salvation Army or another charitable organization, but nearly all the children have plenty to eat and plenty to spend.  Because of the Internet and the myriad of social networks like Facebook and Twitter that are available at home or on their mobile telephones, the children of today don’t need to interact face to face; they are entertained electronically.   The children of today usually grow up in small families, and most only know entitlement.  The children of today have been blessed to be beneficiaries of scientific and medical breakthroughs, some of them living past difficult childbirths because of those advances.  The infant mortality rate in their Western world is extremely low, and if they were blessed to be able to know and speak with grandparents, it was likely because their progenitors’ lives had been extended by the miracles of modern medicine.

Unless they live in a rural, small town setting, it is difficult to get to know people living around them.  They live in a world of little or no feeling of community. They live in fear because their modern world is a dangerous place.  They live in an increasingly valueless society where right and wrong are relative and are likely taught by school teachers to think that they should not value their ideas above any other’s ideas.   They live with parents who want to be their friends rather than their parents and who have a hard time saying no.  And they rarely live with two parents anyway, especially if they are blacks.  Because nearly all of their friends’ parents or relatives have been divorced or they have been raised in by a single parent, they see marriage as a difficult institution that can be tossed aside when their interests conflict with their partner’s and the going gets tough.   They live with computers or cell phones where they can watch any kind of sex scene imaginable between any combinations of people.  They live in a world of immodest clothing, and an endless drumbeat of all types of media (including movies) relentlessly enticing them to keep buying the latest immodest fashions.

So here I am at the nexus, the transition, of “the greatest generation” and the generation of “the tattooed Barbie.”  I have a pretty good idea of my parents’ world, and that way feels SO different from the world of today.  I still feel awestruck by faxes and computers and credit card scanners and Skype, technological changes that have occurred in my lifetime.  I must admit to enjoying aspects of the easy life of 2011, and maybe I just feel a bit guilty that I am experiencing what my parents never could.  I may be feeling uneasiness that the things I enjoy today do not make up for the valueless environment in which they are enjoyed.  And it feels like that environment is rapidly getting uglier and weirder and sadder.  I feel powerless to do anything about in on a societal level, like I’m on a train going to the bad side of town and I can’t get off of because it is going so fast.

I guess all that I can do is to maintain the good values of my parents’ generation in my own interactions and those with whom I come in contact, and be appreciative for many of the blessings of the modern life.  I live the transition.