Between Day and Night

Between the lands of Day and Night

Flows the River of Hallucination,

Sometimes placid,

Sometimes turbulent.

Most travelers cross peacefully

To the farther bank,

Where they enjoy a needed rest.

Sometimes, eddies and floods

Cast the unwary into nightmare.

But,

Occasionally,

The river ejects me on the near bank,

Leaving haunting memory of a great beauty,

Glimpsed, heard, felt, smelled, even tasted,

A beauty far beyond anything in waking consciousness.

And I wonder whether the river's source is perhaps in Heaven.

Copyright ©2014, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Hoping and Planning

One of the greatest results of education is the realization of the difference between hoping and planning. All too often, a student will say, "Professor, I plan to turn my paper in by Thursday, okay?" Thursday comes and goes, and there is no paper. That's because the student did not actually plan to turn in the paper. He hoped that he would turn in the paper.

Hoping that something will happen absolves the hoper of responsibility. If it happens, great. It's what he hoped for. If it doesn't happen, it isn't his fault.

Planning, by contrast, requires the planner to accept responsibility. If it doesn't happen, it's because he did not actually do the planning, itemizing the things that must occur and deciding how to make each one occur.

But there's nothing wrong with hoping. An effective application of hope will marvelously clear the mind, letting it do the hard work of planning.

A Student’s Lament

Yesterday, after reading yet one more faculty account of a student demanding an unearned grade, the Muse spoke to me, saying, "Write!"  So I wrote. Here's the result. Feel free to share it around, so long as the legalese remains at the bottom:


A Student’s Lament

Dear teacher, I need you to bump up my grade.
If you cannot help me, I waste what I've paid.
I need you to think up a grading invention.
I must have an A to prevent my suspension.
Yes, I know that I did not submit my assignment,
But the academic week is out of alignment
With my life. I have two kids and a job,
And my spouse only sits on the couch like a blob.

My life's out of kilter. I'm being so tested:
My grandma just died and my son got arrested.
How can you expect me to study and think,
With this loss in the family and my kid in the clink?
My cousin has palsy, my daughter the flu.
I'm feeling real sick from a bowl of bad stew.
The power went out, so I've lost web access.
I'm out of my mind with this strain and distress.

How dare you demand that I write with good spelling
And grammar and APA style? Overwhelming!
No other instructor ever wanted so much.
You're mean and vindictive and so out of touch.
You're supposed to be helping me get my degree,
But instead, you demand that I use the library,
You say my opinion is not good enough,
But I simply can't read all that peer reviewed stuff.

The way that you're treating me feels so obscene,
I think I'll complain about you to the Dean.
If you just won't behave like a normal professor,
Who gives me full credit for little and lesser,
You'll have to be punished. I'll make you regret
That you've pointlessly increased my financial aid debt.
I will pout and I'll cry, and if still I can't pass,
I'll resort to the worst: I'll withdraw from your class!

And the instructor replied, "Thank you."



Copyright ©2014, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/).

From life to Life

2012-03-04 02:00 a.m.

I write on the eve of the interment of my mother-in-law, Betty Bills. I have loved her almost as my own mother, so it is natural that, at this moment, I might contemplate the nature of death and afterlife.

I am a Christian. I believe in the resurrection of my Lord. I believe that every believer will have an afterlife with Christ, and that this afterlife will be wonderful. However, I do not subscribe to very many other specific beliefs about the nature of that afterlife, despite the popularity of some of them. I believe what the Bible clearly tells me and hold all further speculation to be just that – and it does not matter. It is enough for me to know that all of the details are taken care of. It is part of the nature of faith that I don’t have to know everything to believe. And I do believe.

But at times like this, when a loved one has recently made the transition from life to Life, I think that a spiritually sensitive believer may be able to discern something of the mystery of it all.

During normal times, in everyday life, the heavenly and the earthly are separated by an opaque veil. We know vaguely what is on the other side of that veil, but we cannot see through it. As I write this tonight, I think that the veil is a bit thinner than normal. At times like this, I think it possible to grasp the dim outline of what awaits. In a way, perhaps, Betty’s passage through the veil has disturbed it, leaving open a few rips through which we may see – though, of course, the rips are in my soul, not in the veil itself. And perhaps the veil is not something between us and heaven, but something inside us, a defect of the human soul, a defect that will be permanently removed when each of us makes that journey from life to Life.

Jesus said, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10, NIV). He did not say whether he was referring to our current, physical life or to the life yet to come. There is no reason to think that he was not referring to both.

What else did Jesus say when he walked this earth? Mostly, he kept repeating that the kingdom of heaven was at hand. I’m fairly sure many people think he was only speaking symbolically, saying that a person can “accept Christ” today and have assurance of eternal life after a purely earthly life and death. But I see no reason to read it that way. There are very few, if any, instances where scripture says that Jesus spoke in such a symbolic, abstract, non-immediate sense. When he drove the money changers out of the temple, he wasn’t speaking symbolically. When he healed the sick, he did not do so symbolically. When he raised Lazarus from the dead, there was nothing symbolic about it. When he contemplated the fate of Jerusalem and wept, there were real tears.

I believe that, when he said that the kingdom was at hand, he meant that it was right there, right then, for any to grasp who chose to do so. I suspect that what set Jesus apart from the rest of humanity was that he was not born with that soul defect, the veil that prevents us from seeing the other side. Rather, he saw clearly. That’s how his priorities could be so radically different from ours. We see clearly only things that matter in this life. He saw clearly the things that matter for eternity. This fact is apparent in John 10:17-18 (NIV): “The reason my Father loves me is that I lay down my life—only to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down and authority to take it up again. This command I received from my Father.”

He laid down his life the way I drive to work in the morning: I know that I’ll be driving home again in the afternoon. Jesus knew that he would be coming out of that grave, because he could see clearly what is veiled from the rest of us.

So I keep returning to the thought that, if the kingdom of heaven was so important that it was nearly all Jesus ever talked about, then perhaps it’s what we in the Church ought to be trying to understand and be part of. And it’s not as if he left us with no clues.

I think that a complete understanding of the kingdom of heaven would include a removal of the veil, an understanding of what’s on the other side. I don’t expect to gain that complete understanding any time soon. I expect to spend my entire life gaining that understanding, completing it only when I make the same journey that Betty has just made.

It’s clear, though, that the kingdom of heaven extends on both sides of the veil. The moment we choose to enter the kingdom, we are citizens of it for eternity.

What does that mean? The most obvious meaning is that, after physical death, I will be resurrected to a new life in a new body, in a continuation of conscious life – but in a body restored to health. This thought has comforted Christians for two millennia, as well it should.

Are there other profitable ways to think about this? I suspect so. I have a good imagination. I can think of many strange and wonderful things. Some of them might be useful. I’d enjoy having a nice chat about some of those ideas sometime. But are they necessary? No. Again, it is sufficient to know that the details have been taken care of.

One thing of which I am certain is that any action that I may take in this life is an action that I am taking in the kingdom of heaven. It is part of my eternal life. I think that this is the key to the mission of Jesus on this earth, and it is the key to seeing the shape of what lies beyond the veil.

And I think that, a couple of days ago, when Betty moved from life to Life, she came into full realization of this in a way that confirmed the entire rationale for a life of committed service to her Lord.

A Handyman's Praise

On the day when Bill died, he had fixed one clogged sink,
A fountain, two gas leaks, one bed and a chair.
He sat down to rest some. Then, quick as a wink,
He found himself Elsewhere, but nothing was there.

The most he could see was a mist all about,
Save that off to one side was a powerful light.
So he set out to seek it, to try and find out
What was happening to him, just to learn what he might.

As he walked, came a Voice that proclaimed, "Hello, Bill!
Sit down; take that rest you so richly deserve.
I'll just finish preparing the place where you still
Can be helpful and happy, where you can yet serve."

Then there was a chair, so he sat down to wait.
A table appeared, with a drink and a snack.
While he ate, the mist cleared and he saw a white gate,
Then a fence round a house, and a garden in back.

"Welcome home", said the Voice. And the town next appeared,
Beyond it, a forest; above, all the sky.
Bill then beheld people, and what was so weird
Was he thought that he knew them but didn't know why.

Bill asked, "Who are these folks that I find me among?"
The Voice said, "They're people you've helped all your life
Who arrived before you did -- but now they're all young
And their health has returned. See, here is your wife."

Just then she appeared by his side with a smile,
No longer wizened, once more in her prime.
"Hey, Bill, I knew you'd show up if I waited a while.
And finally, you're here. Well, it's about time."

"But look, see your mom and your dad and Aunt Faye?
There's old man Jenkins. There's Sergeant Malloy.
Over there are the Johnsons and Mrs. O'Day,
And that handsome young man was the sick neighbor boy."

The Voice then cut in, saying, "Everyone's here, Bill,
The people you helped with your handyman's kit.
Their lives are all new. And it's time, if you will,
For you to step into new work, a job you'll just fit."

"I have it in mind that your talents will make you

A praise group director of peerless repute."
"Now wait," countered Bill, "Handymen don't do
Thinks like that. This just won’t compute."

"What I know about music would fit in a walnut."

The Voice said, "Now son, I can take care of that.
The music's no problem. What you do have is all but
Impossible to find, but it's there 'neath your hat."

"Every job you have done, you've performed to your best.

You held out for excellence, always took the hard route,
When some folks advised you should cut corners, lest
You go broke and your family be left destitute."

"But you trusted your God to provide all of your need,

And you just went ahead and delivered your best.

In front of the world, you planted this seed:
You showed how this life of dependence was blessed."

"Bill, the essence of praise is not musical skill.

It's not shouting 'Praise God' at the top of your voice.

But rather, it's showing, by act and by will,
That I'm what I Am and that I’m the best choice."

"So thank you, my son; it's now time to come in
To the joy of your Father who loves you in ways
That you fully revealed to those still mired in sin,
Those who just might be saved by a handyman's praise."

Copyright ©2011, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

A Note on Anonymity

I recently emailed a question to an old friend of mine, with the suggestion that he might care to write about it -- and that, if he did, I'd love to read his thoughts. Without getting into the details of the question, which are not important to the thought of this post, I'll just say that it was theological and sociological in nature and that my friend is somebody who is eminently qualified to opine on theological and sociological matters. He is neither a theologian nor a sociologist by training, but his life experience and personal study qualify him to express opinions that I shall read with great interest, even if he disagrees with me. He's that good a friend and that good at what he does.

He replied that it was a good question and that he just might write about my question on his blog -- anonymously. That was an interesting thought. He feels obliged to perhaps quote from my question and then react to it, without letting anybody know who asked it. I believe he thinks that he's protecting me.

Well, maybe he is. It's a question that could get quite a lot of people very upset -- just the fact that the question was asked.

But on another level, I don't really care to be protected in that way.

I am a member of a community. The only way to function as a member of a community is to have an identity by which people can know me and relate to me. If I dissemble, trying to make some of these people think that I am what I am not, that deceit does not serve me in the long run, and it does not serve them at all. I believe that I must be who I am, flaws and all, with no attempt to convince people that I am something else. This does not mean that I want to slap people in the face with the reality of me. I, like most people, can be a turn-off if taken in large doses under the wrong circumstances. Forcing people to see me in my full reality, when they have no desire to do so, would be the height of arrogance. It just wouldn't be polite. But trying to seem like I am something I am not does not seem to me a wise course.

Nowadays, there are a number of technologies that aim to let people have anonymity on the Internet. There are a lot of people who will avidly take advantage of those technologies. One of my brothers refuses to have a Facebook account, because it would reveal too much of who he is to too many people. He's concerned that people might not like what they see -- he could even face negative consequences in social and business relationships.

I can't live my life that way. Here I am. Like me. Or don't like me. It's entirely your choice. If you don't like me, I can live with that. If you disagree with one of my opinions and want to tell me, "You can't be a Christian and hold that opinion", that's okay. I'll pray for you. And I'll think about your opinion. You might even convince me that you're right. But what I will not do is try to be who I am not.

So, here on my blog, I openly claim to be "Paul H. Harder II, Ph.D." In the one instance when I wrote a short article on Wikipedia, I posted it under the handle "PaulHarder2". I use my own name throughout the World Wide Web, the huge community of which I am a part. Google me. You'll learn more about me than you care to know. You'll find that I am an Esperantist, that I have something to do with an independent Christian choir, that I teach for the University of Phoenix, that I have written an ebook about statistics for my students, that I was credited as a co-author of a scientific paper about the use of Nimbus 7 satellite radiometry data to investigate snowpack properties, that I worked for my brother-in-law's church architecture firm, that I made a YouTube video of Lenny Solomon's song "Global Warming Blues", and many more things, some of which you may like and some of which you may detest me for.

This is me. It's who I am.

A Boy and His Doll

“A pretty toy, but I’m a boy,
And pretty stuff’s for girls,”
Or so he thinks until she winks
And shakes her tiny curls.

The pretty thing extends a wing,
Then leaps into the sky,
Takes birds for pets, and races jets
Wherever they may fly.

She drops her snares upon the stairs
And captures half the force
Of army guys whose target lies
Upon her chosen course.

His rubber duck is out of luck.
It’s circling round the drain.
The angel hurls it from the whirls
And now it’s safe again.

“My pretty miss, give me a kiss”,
Demands the evil giant.
She knocks him flat for asking that.
She’s strong and self-reliant.

The passing years bring laughs and tears,
But never quite the joy
That once was seen to pass between
This dolly and her boy.

Copyright ©2011, Paul H. Harder II 

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Highway Fog

Sandburg was wrong: There's no kitten in sight,
No silent observer with mild intent,
But an angry invader with teeth in its bite,
Its tiger claws ripping, its fevered mind bent
Upon wanton destruction.

Copyright ©2011, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

I've Been Here Before

I've been here before and seen all of this mess
That no one can ever clean up. I guess
It's normal that everything seems to be less
Than it could be and things don't get done
By the folks with the job, and that virtually none
Who put systems in place for the rest to endure
Take pride in their work or take time to ensure
That things will work right. Yeah, I've been here before.

I've been here before, and it's no great surprise
That some people cheat or that every man lies
About whatever makes him seem small in his eyes.
I wonder why some people don't seem to know
That doing the right thing's the best way to go,
That the best of all worlds is what happens whenever
Each one of us tries to do right and just never
Gives in to temptation. But I've been here before.

I've been here before and I've stood in this line.
It won't last forever – this wait will end fine.
But I just have to wonder what genius design
Has been mangled so badly that nothing quite works,
What failure of foresight makes good people jerks.
Yet... somehow it happens that some of us strive
To pick up some pieces and somehow contrive
To make some things better. See, I've been here before.

I've been here before. I have seen all these things,
Wrestled these demons, survived all the stings,
All the bruises and bangs, all the cuts and the dings.
And so there is hope that the best of the best
May yet be in reach, that what's broken and messed
Up can yet be repaired. You know, if we all could stay
Truly committed to fix one thing each day,
A lot could be done. Well, I've never been there before.

But wouldn't we all like to be?

Copyright ©2011, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Fortune Cookie Reflections*

#1 - New and rewarding opportunities will soon develop for you.

Nothing's exactly like anything else,
So whatever happens is new.
With all that occurs, opportunity wells
Up with interesting projects to do.
Whenever you're challenged or upset or tired,
When everything piles on your head,
Remember to look up. Most chances are wired
To what we most commonly dread.


#2 - A visit to a strange place will bring you renewed perspective.

There are places we see, there are places we feel.
Some places are only prospective.
Some places are bad and some others ideal,
And some of each kind are elective.
But when places are strange and defy all we know,
Where circumstance doesn't obey,
There we have chances to learn and to grow.
There, for a time, we should stay.


#3 - Be yourself and you will always be in fashion.

When others want naught but to critically boo
And to load you with grief in full ration,
You've got only one self to be, and that's You!
So treat your one self with compassion.
Ignore the false chatter of those less benign,
Regardless how mean or how vile.
Rely on your self, stick to your own design.
Tenacity's always in style.


#4 - One learns most from teaching others.

You don't understand it. You can't comprehend.
The prospect of learning it smothers.
You're left with vain hope it will come to an end.
You'd give up if you had your druthers.
In this situation of fear and of fright,
The way to be done with the thing
Is to teach it to someone, till you've gained insight.
Do this and it loses its sting.


#5 - Keep true to the dreams of your youth.

Some dreams are impossible, others are vain,
And some are, quite frankly, uncouth.
Some dreams are quite fancy and others are plain,
But some pursue ultimate Truth.
Remember the dreams that you had at sixteen,
How the whole world would be your own workplace?
Hold fast to the fire and keep it routine.
Let the wonder be seen on your face.


*From dinner with family and friends at P.F. Chang, Austin, TX, July 1, 2011

Copyright ©2011, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.