ESSAY ENTITLED - THE JENGA THEORY

Abortion, gay marriage, gun control, affirmative action or any other issue that has a support or do not support stance have a common problem. This essay will use the issue of abortion contrasted to the game of Jenga to focus on a destruction that occurs and is overlooked in the passionate fight for what is right or wrong, fair or unfair and yet, sincerely fought with respect to inalienable rights. In a country where people pledge allegiance as "one nation under God, indivisible, with libery and justice for all", unity is at risk of estrangement when definitions change through newly developed interpretations. The destruction, how ever, is a potential result of all the above mentioned issues and is the main focus of this essay, not the issues themselves. Therefore, there will be no argument for or against any issue but an interesting warning pertaining to them all.

For any society to successfully exist it is important to create laws. When implemented, these laws protect citizens from mayhem that would occur if they were not in place. Simple laws that deal with murder,adultery, stealing and lying instill boundaries that protect life, family, possessions, honesty and integrity. A boundary is a designated point that when crossed out of or into constitutes a violation. Action must be taken to protect the purpose for which the boundary was created or it will dissipate and become void. Most of the time the action is one to extend the border to include more area in the name of fairness and tolerance, however, this action should be utilized with caution. There is wisdom in acknowledging that to extend a boundary can sometimes create too wide of an area, and the sheer number of those it is protecting becomes so massive that the protection of all begins to be compromised because of the change.

When laws are first put into place, they can be likened to the tower of individual blocks of wood stacked on top of one another in the game of Jenga. Each layer of blocks alternates their direction from the previous layer in order to create strength, so that when the tower is finished or the law is created it is a firm and sturdy beacon. It is a warning or a guiding ensign that can clearly be seen because of its solidarity and understood because of its simplistic black and white construction. In its infancy because it is black and white, to destroy the law outright would be to reveal a desire to replace right with wrong, good with evil, or justice with injustice. If the sole intention were to destroy the law, a much more subtle plan causing the law, in the end, to destroy itself would be much more effective. It would leave us blindly deceived and wondering what went wrong with society instead of recognizing the slow, deliberate demise of the law. Over a long period of time and without toppling the tower, slowly removing the strength-empowering individual blocks could be a hidden and covert objective leading to the inevitable self-destruction and annihilation of the law.

Let's take the tower or law regarding murder. The black and white perception of this law is that no one has the right to intentionally and maliciously take the life of another. Some may begin to argue that this cannot be a black and white issue and begin to cite situations that would constitute a gray area to consider. For instance, is abortion considered murder? One block might be removed stating abortion is not murder until the third trimester of pregnancy at which point the viability of the fetus is recognized. Another removable block could be that aborting the fetus is not murder because it is a constitutional right to have one. Within the care-taking of this tower or law, appointed judges have the ability to affirm each block that is in the process of being removed by individuals that have lost sight of black and white in the endless pursuit of gray. The judges affirmation creates the redefining of what constitues murder and removes a block that generates a gray area. The boundary is extended to protect the woman while subtly and inconspicuously it eliminates the fetus. This extention of the law weakens the tower when it comes to the original strength of protecting life, which is a black and white area. The black and white fuses into gray as this slow process continues block by block. The law eventually falls in upon itself and we see murder in all its grayness being committed without a single law in place to stop it. The boundary is extended so that its protection of life is non-existent for those it would have protected in the past.

In Jenga, as individual blocks are removed the eventual fall of the tower is inevitable and the person who removes the block that collapses the tower is the loser. The winner has nothing but the claim that they didn't directly cause the fall. Both winner and loser are left to wonder what the purpose in the game was if the result is the destruction of a once strong tower.

This theory can raise the same questions when analytically compared to laws. It promotes awareness that although there are no perfect laws, we must be careful not to remove solid definitions and interpretations that would ultimately lead to the destruction of those laws. Does one support abortion or not? That's not the point here. The point is whether we understand what the law is trying to protect and not lose sight of it as we consider what it does or does not preside over. Are we protecting the supports that maintain strong laws or are we removing supports that will eventually destroy them?

In the news where it is reported daily that murder is not murder, stealing is not stealing and a whole host of other lack of law paradoxes thrive, we better wake up and consider the fact that the destruction of the law could have been the purpose of the game. There is an inherit evil in the world today that has been in existence since the world began. Its sole purpose is to impede our acquiring the knowledge that protection of choice lies within certain boundaries. By extending the boundaries the protection of choice can slowly be eliminated quite simply through too much environ between good and evil, or too much gray between black and white.

Thus, we have the Jenga theory. A theory is considered proven only after facts and results back up the hypothesis for a specified amount of time. If the Jenga theory proves to be right, the scarey outcome is that the tower will fall into a pile of unorganized, grayish hued interpretations that only serve to contradict each other. This scenario promotes no other option except having to sacrifice one to protect another resulting in no solid protection for all. The real objective of destroying the law is either never realized or because of pride purposely ignored. The confusion leaves us to ponder how we got ourselves into the mess and hides from the ignorant players the hidden victory. The anarchy also conceals the strategy of the enemy, thus assuring its use on other towers in the future. Hopefully, amid all the chaos it will not be too late for us to blindly stumble and sift through the gray to find black and white to begin building again. Oh well, while we are waiting, anyone up for a game of Jenga?

A FEW NEW TIDBITS FROM A HALF-WIT

Tidbit # 6 : "The gestation period for immortality begins when the last breath of mortal life is taken". Brenna Brown

Tidbit # 7 : "Never let the adversary convince you to concentrate so much on the due date of promised blessings that you forget they have no expiration date". Brenna Brown

Tidbit #8 : "The only thing that Satan needs to convince a lost sheep to believe is that the search party sent out from the fold is hounding them, not exhorting them". Brenna Brown

Tidbit #9: "The only way God and Christ can become a mystery is if we only think of them as the Father and the Son metaphorically". Brenna Brown

Tidbit # 10: "I coulda, shoulda, woulda means your wasting valuable time. You canna, shalla, willa is the more productive mantra". Brenna Brown

TO MY FIRSTBORN ERICA WHO CAME A LITTLE EARLIER THAN EXPECTED INTO MY UNPREPARED, KAOTIC ATTEMPTS OF LOOKING LIKE I KNEW WHAT I WAS DOING!

Erica, as my firstborn you were my eye-opener. You came about a month earlier than expected. When my water broke in bed that morning I didn't realize you wanted out, I just thought I had pee'd the bed. It never dawned on me until after your fast and furious delivery that I had missed one of the most blatent signs of going into labor! Hence, proof that my naivety and sheer lack of common sense in an emergency situation totally exposed me as the unprepared, ignorant co-creator I was! Thank goodness the other two creators in your life, your earthly father and your Heavenly Father, were around to edit and override my mothering journey so in the end, all you children survived relatively unscathed.

Motherhood was a difficult road for me because my second, third and even fourth born came so quickly after you. Somehow, in spite of the circumstances, you developed the ability to become special, unique and choice. You wandered from the path of who you wanted to be for a small season but never so far as to not know your way back. You came back with great fury establishing who you are, why you are here and where you want to go! You are much like the wonderful photographer you have become. You take pictures and develope the negatives into positive images that reflect eternal purpose. As a mother you are the greatest example in demonstrating that raising children is the most important picture you can frame. Many times I witness and learn things I should have done differently and with more emphasis from watching you raise your children and of course, your husband. I can gain closure to mistakes I made when I see your wisdom in avoiding those mistakes with your family. It gives me the ability to say, "I should have..." with resolve instead of hanging on to destructive guilt. Thank you for that gift. It is a joy to watch as you run full steam ahead, in fifty different directions, doing all that a mother does and discovering that exhaustion and exhilaration somehow magically can be morphed together to create a whole new attribute that shapes the next generation. You do good work! I love you very much! Mom

A FEW NEW TIDBITS FROM A HALF-WIT

Tidbit #3: "Doesn't it seem that if people are paid to preach the gospel they should be defined as employees with a job to do instead of servants with a mission to fulfill"? Brenna Brown

Tidbit #4: "To think the world came into existence without a who and a why gives no one a reason to learn the what, where, when and how". Brenna Brown

Tidbit #5: "The priorities you approach mid-life with will determine whether you will have a crisis or a christening".
Brenna Brown

TO MY DAUGHTER SANDI - MY HAIR TWISTER BABY THAT NEARLY MADE MY HAIR FALL OUT

Sandi, you have a spirit and a will that drives you forward. I believe you have somehow inherited that drive from the Houston side of the family because their motto has always been "I'm happy as long as the wheels are rolling". Your Aunt Bobbi and Mamaw Rose precede you there. Possessing this nature has given you a zest for life and was the cause of many a stress filled worry for your mother. It has given you a brightness making you a fun-loving, adventurous and an active player in the game of life. For one brief moment, I saw that brightness snuffed from your countenance. It was like watching a candle's illuminate flame covered until the oxygen is spent. Watching that light totally disappear in such a short amount of time was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. True to your nature you rose above and relit yourself with all you knew you deserved and more. In reclaiming these things for yourself, you have the experience to teach the truth that maintaining self worth is one's own responsibility. As a result you have a family that consists of equality and mutual respect. A family that loves and supports each other enough to allow each individual the wings to fly solo without feeling alone in the process. I love you. Mom

A FEW NEW TIDBITS FROM A HALF-WIT

It has always been my philosophy that self esteem should never be a delegated responsiblity. Hence, everyone can have high self esteem if they realize that the giver of that gift can only be oneself. This is why I can retain high value for myself even when performances or executions are not of the highest quality. There is always a purpose accomplished if it ends up you have shown how 'not to do it' through innocent ignoranance or a good intentioned, uneducated try. There is nothing like taking pride in being a half-whit because that means you at least have some whits about you verses none at all. To this end, I have penned a few quotes about things in the world around me that by some will be considered half-whitted brillance and by others half-whitted ignorance. Either way, these Few New Tidbits from a Half-Whit that will be sporadically lobbed thoughout this blog will have purpose and allow me to retain my self esteem while sharing them.

Tidbit #1 "One of the biggest and saddest red flags of a bad executive leader is when they expect those under their leadership who give obligational respect to pretend it is volitional".
Brenna Brown

Tidbit # 2 "I have been accused of being a little anti-social and anti-talkative in my mature years. I think I am just excercising a little anti-it's all about you Brenna". Brenna Brown

TO MY OLDEST SON NICHOLAS-TRUE FEELINGS THAT TEND TO ALWAYS MAKE YOU CRINGE AND BITE THE INSIDE OF YOUR CHEEK

Nick, I have grown to admire you for the man you have become, the family you have created, and the life you have established. I love your sense of humor and your natural ability to draw people to you fills me with an almost covetous envy. The pride and love I feel to call you my son is real and will never change throughout all eternity. I see the respect and love that you give to your wife Crystal and applaud you for discovering that loving someone more than yourself makes you a real man. Always remember, the apron strings that are severed by a son which allows him to grow into a man leaves behind a small wound on the heart of his mother that never quite heals. Most mothers, myself included, realize that although it will never be the same it is necessary in the progression of life. Just remember who you are, the gifts you have been given and why you are here. Do it every once in awhile for old times sake, okay buddy?(Hint: Take out the PB, dust it off, read it and believe, so your neurotic mother will tremble a little less. ) I love you, Mom

TISSUES AND TOOTHPICKS

It is funny how your view of your parents change over the decades that pass. Moms and Dads run the gambit from caregiver; to advice giver; to cheering you on in the stands giver and then it hits. They become unable to be a giver because they can no longer even give what it takes to maintain themselves. The cycle of infant; to toddler; to adolecent; to young person; to spouse; to parent; to grandparent; to retiree, then slowly or quickly depending on fate, to child again is frightening to experience. However, it is just as frightening for the care giving children who must resume a role that is not quite parenting but eerily seems like it again. The challenge in the caregiving role this time is to nurture in a way that dignity is not extinguished. The kids enter a world where their conflicting emotions will take them from the anxiety level of a Steven King novel to the insanity level of a redundant Dr. Suess book. When it comes to my life most of this experience falls to my sister Bobbi because of geographical choices made by my parents. I constantly fight off the guilt of not being able to care for Mom and Dad by repeating to myself over and over, "It was not your choice, it was not your choice..." but guilt scores the win almost everytime.

It came suddenly with a phone call from my sister in August. "We are going up to see the kids in Indiana and Mom has decided that she and Dad want to come stay with you for three weeks". The adrenaline pumped as I asked when to expect them. "In about four days, is that going to be okay"? My mouth was spouting all sorts of affirmatives and positives but my mind was racing with thoughts of panic filled hows. It was not that I didn't want them to come or that I didn't want to do it, but the fact that spur of the moment is not a phrase that can be easily acquainted with two 86 year old people. Because she was 86, Mom didn't seem to get that concept. She was driven by what she wanted to do not by what was feasible to do in a short amount of time. You gotta love her though because she still has spunk, even though her spunk comes at a cost of exhaustion to those that have to make the arrangements for wherever her spunk may lead her!

The fury began as I stressed over whether or not the shower was accessible, how to make the airport pick-up managible, what to do if they needed medical help, and the list goes on. In the end it all worked out as each day got a little bit more perfected in routine and time management. My Daddy never accepted the need for me to help him shower, even though WITH my help he was exhausted. He dispareingly resorted to being tolerant through the whole process but reserved the right to have a pissed off attitude so that he could maintain the claim that he didn't really need the help and HE was appeasing me! Gotta love my Daddy's sense of hanging onto dignity. My Mom was the exact opposite. She welcomed the help and was appreciative through it all. It gave me a sense of accomplishment and nurtured me through the experience as we met learning mistakes head on with humor and laughter. I never compared the two to each other. I just accepted the fact that they each had their way when it came to showering of dealing with the loss of independence. It was my duty to respect that choice without judging who made it easier for me! So it went forth with each aspect of care, ranging from meals, to pill dispensing, to getting ready for bed and the nightly ritual of watching televison together even though I hate Wheel of Fortune. For me the different care issues were the same, but for Mom and Dad they varied in their attitudes lest you think Daddy was always the obstinate one.

It is amazing to me that there is such a thing as time passing quickly and slowly at the same time. Yet, in this visit that is exactly how it felt. It was just a few days after they left I began finding the the tissues and toothpicks around the house. These tangible items on the floor, in the beds, in the dryer. Mom's tissues soft and Dad's toothpicks sharp, much like their attitudes toward showering. I'll never look at those items the same again in my life. To me, each one represents the aspects of what is left to give when we reach a time where our giving is limited. The softness of gratitude and laughter and the sharpness of pride and dispair as those we love do for us what we can no longer do for ourselves. I hope that as I pass through the realms of becoming elderly I can remember this so eventually,when I am gone, my children will find more tissues than toothpicks that I have left behind.

TO TO MY SON CHARLIE - WHO ISN'T AFRAID TO HUG LIKE HE REALLY MEANS IT!

Charlie, you came last in the line of the Brown household. With your birth, came a test of faith. In your young years, up through the age of accountability, and into adolescence your experiences were laced with the burden of fighting for your life and enduring many things that were not fair. You fought the good fight and won your adulthood. Make no mistake, your lack of secular abilities, because of that fight, has no baring on the spiritual abilites you can give through the Priesthood of God. You, my son have the potential to be the strongest of us all, through the experiences you have had and the life you can choose to live from this moment on. The gospel is simple and so are you, Charlie. Life is not fair but Heavenly Father is. Nothing will be withheld if you are obedient and willing to sacrifice. You may have to wait longer but the blessings will come as you are faithful. I love you very much and this essay, although dramatized to get the grade in Composition class, holds very much the truths and feelings that I felt in those first few days in the hospital with you. I love you, Mom

AN ESSAY FOR MY SON CHARLE
My young son looks weak and wounded as he pushes the towering intravenous pole down the hallway - all by himself. A puffy face, red swollen eyes, and cheeks stained with streaks made from hot descending tears reveal the slow and intimate struggle the nurse had finding the tiny vein. He moves his small frame toward the reward of the playroom while clinging to the pole as if it were a battle flag. He looks taller and more victorious than any soldier returning from war and I come to the realization that I am witnessing the birth of a wise old man who is only three years old. He goes by the name of Charlie.

The time has come that I have dreaded all afternoon. Charlie must be told that one of the things he will have to sacrifice is his beloved rat-tail. With his short, brown hair lying close to his head and ears like half moons on either side, he will turn 180 degrees at a moments notice to proudly display the inch long lock of hair located at the base of his skull. The tumor looms beneath the beloved possession and the area must be shaved for the impending surgery. I know it is the one thing that means the most to him because it makes him like his big brother Nick. It gives him the honor of being cool and somehow includes him even though he's too young to be in the club. After all, you must have a rat-tail to earn the priviledge of being a Rat-Tail!

My heart is heavy in my chest as I try to explain a necessary evil, only to end up saying what is always said when life isn't fair. " I am so sorry, Charlie". I look in his brown eyes as they widen and give hint to his sense of helplessness and horror while he reaches up with his finger and softly touches a tear in the corner of my eye. I am catching another glimpse of the wise old man seeing the agony of another as it glistens on the end of his finger. I see him lay aside the pain of his impending loss to look up and whisper to my broken heart, " It's okay Mom, it will grow back". The greatest love given is always accompanied by sacrificing one's own feelings for the sake of another's. I wonder how this child comprehends what it takes most people a whole lifetime to come to know and conclude that it isn't something he has learned, it is something that the wise old man brought with him. In awe I say, " I love you, Charlie". He replies, "I love you more". I have never heard four words ring more true than I do at this moment.

The sounds that surround a hospital room late at night remind you that there is no place like home and you are not in Kansas anymore. They are echoing sounds like, the soft shuffling of nurse's feet scurrying to each room; the occasional bang of a dropped clip board followed by a hushed curse word; the answering of a ringing telephone at the nurse's station with the same redundant words repeated numerous times thoughout the night, "third floor pediatric unit'. Everything seems to be done as if to maintain a quiet and a reverence but in the end fails miserably.

Not being able to nod off because of all the "quiet", I watch Charlie sleep from my chair. His small chest rising and falling with each breath leads me to a dark place wondering if they are limited in number and will have an end soon. I notice his eyes are slightly open and for a moment I think he is awake. As I lean forward to ask him if everything is all right, I see the windows of his soul possessing only a blank dead stare and it frightens me. I can feel the adrenaline rush as I move instinctively and crawl into bed beside him. Placing my arms around him, I pull him close to me and cling tightly. The medical t.o.d clock which is found in each room, slowly and methodically counts the seconds until morning as my son cuddles and feels secure in the arms of a trembling mother.

The long night that seems to linger like dense fog over a lake clears to begin a day of dread and hope. It is time to turn my son over to God and the doctors. Slowly walking down the endless hallway that possesses no doors or windows on either side gives me the eerie feeling that I am once again in Oz. As we finally reach the huge doors they burst open with the rushing sound of an air gun to reveal a big, young, black male nurse who has come to take Charlie to see the wizard. He is full of positive energy and has a personality that emits a boisterous, fun loving nature. One can tell by just looking at him, that although he could play in the national football league as a linebacker, he could also be as gentle, tender, and loving as an award winning mother of the year. Charlie doesn't want to ride in the wheelchair and the nurse bellows, " No, problem little man". I see my tiny son take the hand of the huge man to begin a journey to an uncertain future.

As the double doors begin to close slowly, Charlie whispers something to the nurse who bends over to hear what appears to be a very important request. They both turn simultaneously and wave to those of us left behind to give us assurance and peace that in the end, whatever that may be, it will be alright. I peer through the window of the closed doors to take one final look. It doesn't surprise me to now see a tiny,wise, old man take the hand of a huge boy to continue on to his destiny.

AN ESSAY BY BRENNA FOR THE PONDERING

Studies show that from birth to four months an infant, because it cannot foster relationships on its own, needs to have communication and touch provided in order to thrive. Let us fast forward the DVD of life for this child, say around eighty-seven years, and visualize what we might see.

As we enter the long, dark, tall hallway of a nursing home, our footsteps echo so loud it seems like the very corridor that leads to the chamber of the great Wizard of Oz himself. At the end of the hallway sits a little, old lady in her wheelchair slouched over with her head drooping so low it looks like it is disconnected from her body and she is holding it in her lap. Her oily, thin, whitish gray hair is pulled back and plastered so close to her head it looks like she is wearing an early sixties bathing cap minus the chin strap.

As we approach, we see the skin on her thin arm looks taut but wrinkled at the same time, much like overly stretched leather. The skin possesses a transparent look revealing so many veins in her arm that you could probably route a map to Florida easily on it. As we softly touch her arm, her head suddenly pops up like the Whack-a -Mole at Chucky Cheese, her eyes appear to bulge at least an inch out of their sockets as she screams at the top of her lungs, "Get the hell away from me you Commie"!

Now, I don't know about you but my first instinct would be to never touch or talk to that woman again. However, we need to remember whether it is an infant or the elderly, if they do not have or have lost the ability to foster relationships, they still need communication and touch to thrive. Why should we do this? First and formost, it gives us the ability to entwine empathy into our nature. If that is not enough of an incentive for you, consider the fact that the choice you make opens the reality of the old saying, "What goes around comes around". Whether or not this saying is a blessing or a curse when you reach the age of eighty-seven is entirely your choice!

A REVELATION OF DROOPY PROPORTIONS

I ask my husband Chuck, "Do you think I can get my run in before the rain hits"? He looks up the weather on radar via the computer and says, "Looks to me like it's gonna go around us". So as usual, he and Brownie mount the four wheeler to follow behind me as I begin my run. I always insist they do this. Listening to my i-pod puts me at a great disadvantage of hearing the occasional pick-up truck with the shot gun in the rear window and the bumper sticker that reads, 'I reserve the right to carry firearms' that might mow me down in the boonies and leave my carcass for the buzzards!

I am no more than .25 mile in when I hear a clap of thunder that is so loud it drowns out Areosmith's 'Sweet Emotions' that is blaring into my ears from my i-pod. I turn to Chuck and he gives me the thumbs up signal, so I continue. At the .5 mile the rain begins to fall. I'm not talking a sprinkle. I'm talking a down pour with the drops being so big it only takes four or five to completely drench my body! Well, I'm dedicated but not that dedicated. I hop on the four wheeler next to Brownie, who smells like a wet carpet that has been rolled up, and we race back to the house. This picture was shot as soon as we got back to the house for no other reason than to show that one can be 54 and still not know when to come in out of the rain. However, when I viewed the photo a revelation of great proportion hit me!!!! No matter how much you excercise after hitting the half century mark, you will still droop, pooch and sag due to the combination of the law of gravity and the breaking down of cells. However, my run in the rain made me realize that although I may still look soggy and saggy even after I excercise, the maintaining of a healthy heart and body on the inside is the important, although unseen, benefits of excercise. Hence after a certain age, the importance of excercise is not a matter of retaining the look on the outside anymore, its a matter of maintaining the parts on the inside. I'm good with that and probably will be unless I'm running in the rain someday, without my faithful companions Chuck and Brownie, and get hit by that pick up truck! In that case, all this worrying about the outsides and insides will be laid to rest. Literally!

BLOGGING WITH A PURPOSE

I am begining this post at the age of fifty four. It is to record feelings, thoughts, observations and stories that hopefully will benefit my posterity. In this way, words that may not have a chance to be spoken will have a way of eventually finding a voice. For my present family, children, and grandchildren it may contain words of praise, fear, and exhortation but all will be said because of my love for them. For future posterity that may not physically know me, these words may be a means by which they will come to know about me. Hopefully, it will expose my weaknesses as well as my strengths. In this way I will be a truthful source, instead of one filled sugar coated illusions. May we all remember that every day in mortality is another day to have the chance to bind, strengthen and love each other into the eternal families we were meant to be!