I Read the Communist Manifesto and All I Got Was This Lousy Uprising

One sweltering night, before Covid and culture wars sent us indoors, I found a meetup group online that met downtown to discuss tough topics. I had time to join just once before jetting off to L’Abri to discuss tough topics—but I picked a good crowd, and a good night. (These thinkers meet in a dim chamber in a lush little Prohibition-era tavern. For two hours in the smoke and low lighting, I was fully convinced that I could be the next great American novelist, if only I could locate a cigar and a talent for nihilistic fiction.) On tap that night was a lively debate on Socialism. The cozy room was packed with people of all politics and races, students and business owners, marrieds and singles, atheists and me; yet despite the diversity, I noted that well over half the room heartily approved moving toward socialism in America. In the crossfire, I caught snippets like, “Norway!” “Scandinavia.” “Single payer healthcare!”—and then the fist-pounding rebuttals: “Look at Venezuela!” and “It has never worked ANYWHERE.” I nodded and took mental notes, but I prayed they wouldn’t call on me. I’m no dummy, but before that night, I sort of thought “socialism” was what I needed to work on to get popular in middle school.

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Tidies of Joy

If you find your life is stuck in a rut, would you consider the remedy might be to…<ahem>…tidy your house?  I might have dismissed the premise of The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up myself, had I not been adrift in my own particular doldrums. I leafed through the small and elegant book; its proposal was not exactly modest. Japanese tidying guru, Marie Kondo, claims that her clients (now on a three-month waiting list) not only learn to beat back bulging closets, but unleash untold vivacity and vision in the process. “In this book,” she declares, “I have summed up how to put your space in order in a way that will change your life forever.” (p1)

I could use such a change. My job had recently come to an end, as had a dating relationship; and now that I was slowly sliding into middle age, I was growing rather weary of the “seasons of life” thing. Starting again was not something I wanted at an age when, let’s face it, I’d hoped certain things would be settled by now. But no—it was back to the drawing board. This time, however, I didn’t want to draw up the same old plans with the same old pencils. I needed new tools; I wanted fresh eyes.

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Keepin' It Is-REAL

I feel guilty, really.  Why do I get to travel to spectacular places when I only leave stupider than before?  Alright, take it easy.  But here’s the facts: I had the opportunity to live in Jerusalem for six months right out of college, working at a youth/media ministry, and I still didn’t absorb anything about the history and culture.  That was after already having toured Israel earlier that year, then returning to Jerusalem to live and work.  Twelve years later, I still hadn’t quite pieced together which parts of the Bible went where.  I wanted to start all over as a tourist.  This April, my church took a 10-day tour of Israel, and I hopped on for trip #3.  Three times to Israel, when many folks would jump at the chance to go just once, and could probably recite the history backwards on returning.  Oh well, those folks can probably sing like Mariah Carey and I can’t, so we’re even.

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