That 'issue' you're talking about? He's my neighbor

Do people respect each other anymore?

I think about that a lot lately, when I talk to people. When two people agree about one or more issues, everything is fine. When they don't, that's when I start watching. And what I see isn't very appealing. No wonder why our politicians don't work together. Even the simplest disagreements spark ugly conflicts.

I think I'm a fair observer of people. And I watch. From the national politicians down to neighbors, I encounter the same reactions when people agree:

• I don't agree with you, but I'm not going to get into a debate about it. We can agree to disagree. This is the simple form. And honestly, not the most common reaction.
• I don't agree with you, and I've tuned you out for the moment so I can start coming up with my own arguments to try to convince you you're wrong. I'm not listening anymore.
• I don't agree with you. You're completely full of lies and you probably watch CNN or Fox News (whichever I don't watch), and I'm going to resort to my name-calling, put you in a category response.
• I don't agree with you and I've now put you in my category of people to whom I will never talk to about anything of consequence again.

So there. We are running around in little silos, having unproductive arguments or not speaking at all. And while that continues, the problems that impact our neighborhoods, our communities, our nation, our world never get addressed in any way. How does this really look?

Councilman Jones gets on the council. Even though municipal government is supposed to be a non-partisan contest, we all know Councilman Jones comes from "that party," so part of the community won't even start a discussion with him, because he must agree with his part about things like growth, water supply, open space, jobs, transportation, etc. Why even bother opening our mouths, because if we disagree, it will be unproductive. Either a majority of the council agree with my perspective or they don't, why talk about it?

A lot of people in this community are unemployed or underemployed. Having better paying jobs would not only benefit them but the entire tax base. But bringing in more industry would also likely bring in more people, more traffic, and other issues that the leadership doesn't want. So rather than upset the apple cart, the leadership continues to welcome low-paying retail and hospitality businesses to the town. It won't deal with the issues that this choice perpetuates -- the need for affordable housing, community services, young people leaving the area to pursue better employment opportunities, and degradation of neighborhoods.

Thousands of young people begin flooding the borders, crossing into our nation through other than legal challenges, calling themselves refugees. The system is not prepared to handle these individuals. Some people think they should be sent back. Other people believe that our country needs to take steps to protect them, as they fear for their lives in their homeland. Still others believe we need to go fix whatever is happening in their country so they can stop leaving their homeland. The people aren't part of the discussion -- politics, money and external aggression are the cards we play.

At some level, people need to sit down and start talking about what is best for our communities, our citizens, our nation. Cast aside the normal politics and start talking about what is the right decision, long-term: locally, regionally, nationally. And at the same time, start dealing with the here and now. That person who can't get into a reasonably priced apartment or house -- he is my neighbor. That couple who can't find a place to live or work because of an arrest record for which they've already served time, they are my neighbors. That person who has to choose between food and medication -- she is my neighbor. That child who moves to the big city to find a decent job -- she's my neighbor. That young scared teenager who just risked his life to come here from Guatemala -- he's my neighbor.

Stoking the fire or sustaining the passion: anniversary reflections

Today is my second anniversary at CCJ. In another way of looking at it, I'm starting my third year here. For a time, I wondered whether this position was going to be the interim, while I figured out what God's next plan for my life was. Apparently, this was his plan. I am where He wants me to be. Time to unpack and settle in.

Hard to believe that someone could hang out in a place for 730 days and not settle in, but I've really done it here. My desk is piled high with papers needing organization. I have a photo frame with two family photos on my shelf. An inspirational photo from my last office. Two plants, one that a former co-worker sent when I arrived, and a philodendron growing in an Arizona tea bottle that Leslie gave me after Lloyd died of lung cancer at age 42. It was a piece of the one Lloyd grew all around the house. I brought it into my office in April, following Lucy's death. I see both of them need attention, as does my desk. As do I.

I'm not very good at tending to myself. Mike is demanding I take a few days off next week, and I submitted reluctantly to three days at the Canyon. Did I really say that? "Submitted...reluctantly...Canyon"? I have lost my boundaries here.

The thought that crosses my mind today is "burning." What IS it that I'm on fire for? I am moved by many things. My heart aches for the homeless, the hungry, traumatized veterans, and so many other groups of people who don't have what I consider basic necessities: food, clean and plentiful water, shelter, mental and physical health, resources, relationships, peace. Truly, a large percentage of the global population.

I used to think I could change the world. And at 50, I feel like I've lost that idealism. I can't change my country, my state, or even my sick red county. I've resorted to celebrating when I can -- at least temporarily -- change the circumstances of some people who cross my path here at CCJ. But that feeling is so fleeting. Have I really changed them long-term or just made them more comfortable in their poverty? Have they grasped the power of change or have I acted for them? It's so difficult to see the bigger picture.

I find it so easy to get stirred up about an issue, really stoked, and then the moment passes. Like throwing countless logs on the fire and building a huge inferno, soon to burn out. A few embers remain, but the heat is gone until rebuilt with new logs.

Slow burn. That's what I need to learn. I need to feed the fire one small log at a time with a sustaining passion. Make action a daily, hourly, continuing effort without the bursts of fuel. Working for that compassionate, just community as praxis, rather than consumption.

Supreme Court Judge schools state officials in finance

Throwing more money at schools doesn't make them better. Over 15 years of reporting education, I wish I had a dollar for every time a taxpayer fed me that line. Bond issues. Overrides. Initiatives. Legislation. Every time a potential tax increase came up for debate, readers would respond that more money doesn't make better schools.

Yet, the converse IS true. Less money DOES make worse schools. It's not that teachers cannot teach without the newest and best equipment, books, technology and classroom spaces. The best and brightest teachers don't enter the field, don't take jobs in our state, don't stay in the classroom when wages are chronically, abysmally low. And while an amazing teacher can give students the world with a piece of chalk, some paper and pencils, why wouldn't the community want to give the best teachers the best tools to create the best students?

An administrator taught me a perfect lesson one day with a dry erase marker and a white board. Charter schools were a brand-new innovation. He showed me his concept of abolishing tenure and paying first-year teachers twice what first-year, first-step teachers normally make. And the second year, even more. And the third year, teachers reached their maximum step, a lot of money. But teachers would have to earn that pay and their teaching spot every year with cutting-edge teaching methods and engaged students. Parents would be fighting to get their students in the door, even if it required substantial parental involvement. Every teaching spot would have hundreds of applicants. And administrative challenges? It would be hard to imagine many in that setting. To keep up, other schools would have to replicate the model. And it would raise the expectations of all schools, first locally, then regionally, and finally statewide. The only challenge to all of that? Funding.

Currently, Arizona sits at the far bottom of the chart, with state student funding dead last, or second-to-last, depending on whose chart you believe. Either way, not a superlative statistic -- not something you would brag about, or teach your students. Some of them might conclude their education isn't worth their communities' dollars.

But that situation finally received some attention Friday. Not from the governor. Not from the Legislature. Not even from the State Superintendent for Public Instruction. In this case, a Maricopa County Superior Court Judge, Katherine Cooper. Cooper ruled that the state owes its public schools more than $300 million in Proposition 301 funding this year, and will hold hearings on whether five years of unpaid Proposition 301 funding is due and payable.

Judge Cooper isn't concerned about the state's argument that it doesn't have $300 million to spare. Pay up, she ordered. The voters approved this funding some five years ago, and state officials haven't responded. It would have been easier to handle if Arizona had dealt with it when the voters first approved it. It sounds a lot like a basic concept from any of those teachers' lesson plans: do today's homework today. If you let it pile up, it becomes a lot harder to manage.

He who has the most friends wins, sort of

Isn't technology wonderful? Two decades ago, the Internet was just catching on. A decade ago, we started thinking about connections through social media. And today, there are dozens of possibilities. Who knows what the next, best thing will be? I have to remember if my staff text, Facebook, Tweet, or just email.

Two decades ago, that first paragraph would have been unintelligible. And maybe two decades hence, it will be archaic.

So, my Facebook (FB) is a web that connects me and my 200 or so closest friends. Sort of. I'm pretty sure that only about half of those pay any attention to me at all. And probably only a handful connect daily. Today I received a new friend request from a name that I couldn't place. Before deleting the request, I opened the profile and found a long-lost distant cousin. Interesting. Nary a Christmas card, a phone call in 20 years. But today, we are connected through FB.

Facebook, to me, is a place I can be myself. So I post comments, pictures, thoughts, quotes and news that represents me. Not the me I was 30 years ago. So I was not surprised to see a relative take umbrage to my progressive Christian comments. Without saying it, it became obvious that he didn't like my positions. So, all of a sudden, he announces he's starting a "debate."

If he's baiting me, I'm not playing.

Most of my friends agree with my position.

Most of his friends don't.

Debating him on his FB page pits me against all of his like-minded Christian conservative friends. His FB is loaded with them. And why should I toss myself into that fray? If I win, lose or draw, I'm not changing my opinion. So I punted. I'm drained and I'm busy. I don't want to play. He can debate the wind.

Besides, I'd rather spend my energy in action. "Go, therefore." Not "Debate, therefore."

Good dog, Rowdy. You will be missed

We knew it would happen, sooner or later. It happens to the best of them. Saturday morning, it happened.

Our precious Rowdy died. We heard him bark about 6 a.m., and as is typical, if we don't get up to let him out right away, he usually settles back in for a while. Around 9, not hearing another peep, Mike went in to let him out.

"He's gone," he said. "Rowdy's dead." I came in to check, and he was not breathing. His body was still warm, but his eyes were fixed. The moment had come.

Rowdy was our son Michael's first dog. We told him as soon as we had our own house, he could have a dog. That day came a couple of months after he turned 8. We saw this cute black pup at Petsmart on a Saturday. But, alas, the pup, named Michael, was the last of a litter of strays and another couple had already claimed him -- was filling out his paperwork. Our search would have to continue.

For whatever reason people do things, we stopped into Petsmart again the following day, after church. And he was back. The couple had returned him. They had a husky, and the established dog tried to attack the puppy. It takes patience and knowledge to introduce dogs. They didn't have it. I had just one stipulation: I already had two Michaels in the house. The dog would have to have a new name. And that's how he arrived.

Quiet, shy, frightened. The puppy spent a first night whining. His boy went out to check on him, and within a few nights, the crate was moved to his room. Hoping he would grow into the name, we decided on "Rowdy." Rowdy Rockwell Kenny, getting his middle name from my parents' amazing Norwegian Elkhound. Rowdy's big paws and mixed lineage belied a big dog, so a friend gave us a crate large enough for a brute. And Rowdy grew -- a little. He ended up about as big as a cocker spaniel. A cocker's ears, the long body and fur of a long-haired dachshund, and the tail of a German shepherd. But Michael couldn't have loved him more.

He learned sit, speak and down. Even roll over. But fetching a ball was something he never did. He would run after the ball, then look at it and come trotting back. "Just pet me and cuddle me," he seemed to tell us. And we did. Through the addition of cats to our home. Through Michael's school years, graduation, college and work. Then a nasty bout of vestibular disease.

We thought he had endured a stroke. His eyes flashed. He wouldn't eat. And he walked in circles. Fortunately, our vet, Dr. Franks at PV Pet Clinic, knew exactly what it was. She gave him fluids. And predicted he would be over it in 2 or 3 days. And he was fine within the week. But later, with reduced hearing and vision, it would come back. No flashing eyes. But always circling. Then we noticed that he wasn't walking well. Slowly, Rowdy started his downhill progression. Michael moved out, but Rowdy always perked up and couldn't wait for his boy to return.

In the final weeks, Rowdy had trouble standing for any length of time, as a degenerative condition affected his back and hind legs. He had accidents or couldn't go when he was outside. We started talking about his pain, his quality of life. Michael came to visit and told him it was OK, if it was time, he was ready. But no one is really ready.

We called him and told him that it had happened. He was at work and would come over as soon as he could. We promised not to do anything until he had time to see him. He sobbed. This was his brother, the closest thing this only child had to a brother. How could he say goodbye? He touched his fur, held his ear. We removed his collar and tried to let go.

Rowdy will be cremated. Michael will keep some ashes. He wants a paw print tattoo. I snipped him a lock of fur. We have pictures and lots of memories.

We bring our pets into our homes for companionship. We follow our instructions in Genesis to have dominion over them, but compassionate, gentle dominion. We are their caretakers. But in the process, we love them. We become their pack; they become our family.

Getting my hands into service

"Can you help me?"

It's a call we get at my office numerous times a day. Someone has found himself or herself short of dollars or resources. They start calling the social service agencies they find online, in a resource guide, or in the phone book. Each one has a story. If we can help, we do. Sometimes it's just pointing him or her in the right direction.

Sometimes it's a situation that is out of our league. We don't have a shelter. We have little access to transportation. A stranded traveler who needs to get somewhere, we probably can't help. We might be able to help with a room or a tank of gas, but we can't drive someone to the Valley. We can't put them up indefinitely.

"It's my three children and my husband. We don't have any food."
Fortunately, providing food is something that's fairly easy. We have hot meals, sandwiches to go, pantry items, commodity boxes. We're open four days a week and today is one of them.

"My keys are locked in my SUV."

OK, now this has taken a little different turn. The woman needs help for her family, including her husband with health issues, but getting here is a problem. Another agency has put them up in a motel, 10 miles away. There's no buses from there. Her family is hungry and she's out of resources.

"Can you help me?"

Usually I work on administrative tasks for our agency. But several people are on vacation. And I have the ability not only to solve the immediate problem, but both of her needs. I arrange to deliver some food that is appropriate for their situation, and try to get a community member to help with the locked vehicle. Within 30 minutes, I have solutions. I will take the food out on my way home, the locksmith will do the work, gratis, within 24 hours.

Her children play outside in a back parking lot at the motel. We unpack the food and put some in her refrigerator. Among the food is applesauce, bananas, and macaroni and cheese -- her kids will be ecstatic. I wonder if they will remember this, and if so, as an adventure or a traumatic time? I ask her how long they will stay here, and what the future holds. Do they have other supportive services or people? A sister lives 90 minutes away. They may be able to go there and stay a while. At the moment, it seems like a good option. Time to regroup and get back to stability.

"Again Jesus said, "Simon son of John, do you truly love me?" He answered, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you." Jesus said, "Take care of my sheep." John 21:16 (NIV)

A gardener, in the image of God

Genesis tells us that we were made in the image of God. Some days, I have a lot of trouble with that concept. I struggle with forgiveness, and He doesn't. I can't remember people's names, and He knows every sparrow, every hair on our heads.

But today, anyway, I'm OK with the idea that we have some connected lineage. We both like gardens. God was the original gardener: He created the soil, the rain, the sun. He made the first garden -- and set up one simple rule. But we're not very good at following His rules. Thank goodness for His forgiveness.

There's no apple trees in my plot at the Prescott Valley Community Garden. Typical Arizona garden: tomatoes, peppers, onions. Salsa, anyone? Then a few carrots, yellow and green beans, zucchini squash, and some lettuce and Brussels sprouts that may or may not take hold. A coleus and some orange nasturtiums for color.

It wouldn't be my garden without a few garden props. A cardinal that represents my mom, who taught me the value of a garden. A snail, one of the things my sister collected. It's a family garden, after all.

I love to watch plants burst through the soil. The moist warm earth signals them that it's OK to sprout. And they push their way upward, sometimes with cute little seed cover hats. I can't help but hum Peter, Paul and Mary's "Garden Song" as I watch the tomatoes and peppers blossom, and the rows of beans grow bushy.

But where did those weeds come from? I scattered good seeds in the fertilized and worked soil. Then, among the new plants, crabgrass and some ubiquitous vine that comes up everywhere start filling in the spaces between the rows. Truth be told, there's almost no difference between my garden plants and the weeds; the plants are the ones I like, and the weeds are the ones I dislike.

Maybe the Lord felt the same way about weeds. He spoke to the fisherman about the things they knew, and the gardeners about that which they knew. He knew about thistles, and probably crabgrass and vines and alfalfa. Gardens need tending. The good stuff doesn't grow well if it is choked out by weeds.

On the other hand, in the right place, those weeds are cattle fodder. The ranchers encourage the alfalfa and even buy alfalfa hay. I have no use for alfalfa, but in the right hands, this clover grass raises grass-fed cattle. A peaceful verdant pasture with purple flowers. Something I have no use for ends up as a useful tool in another's garden. Another lesson about the diverse gifts of others.

Today I will gauge the moisture in the soil that is benefiting from the monsoon rain's early arrival. I will carefully remove the grass and vines and look for the ripening fruit. I will share some of my first fruits with those who hunger in our community. And enjoy the rest that gardens provide.