Central View

  Photo Credit, Kirsty Gardiner Hypoxic drills. That’s what watching last night’s presidential debate felt like. Swimmers know such drills to be hellacious torture. Instead of breathing comfortably, you breathe every third, fifth, seventh, or ninth stroke. Many coaches argue against this training method because it can cause people to hyperventilate and black out—not ideal in water.   I had never heard of hypoxic drills until I joined a masters swim team a few years ago.  I hated it. After the first 25 meters of not breathing, negativity  flooded my mind. “Why did I ever sign up for a masters swim team? I am too old for this. I swear that wall is moving further away from me. OMG, did they make my daughter do this when she was on the swim team? This is child abuse. I have to make amends to her.” Clearly, I don’t have the heart of a champion because I kept wondering why I should ruin an otherwise enjoyable sport. To which a proponent of hypoxic drills would say, “It improves endurance and

A Progressive Christian’s Response to a Facebook post  by Bob Philip &  re-posted  by a life-long conservative Christian woman.   Jesus’s radical love enraged people in power. For the longest time no one cared about an obscure rabbi traveling the hills of  Galilee — until he challenged the status quo and exposed their contribution to human suffering. Then the elite few cared so much that they killed him. But God’s resurrecting love, justice and hope would not be held in a tomb. It burst out in earth shattering ways.  That Spirit still crosses borders, and enrages the powerful by setting the captive free.  This is my response to the following Facebook post.  

Where  w ere you on 9/11? Memories of that tragic day are seared into American consciousness.     For me, September 11, 2001 began like any other.  I dropped my three year old off at preschool, and I took my two year old and the baby to a mommy and me gymnastic class. Then the news broke. A plane crashed into one of the Twin Towers. The class leader said we shouldn't upset the children and silenced a woman who interrupted the class. Some mothers left. Others stayed. I  froze in place. The mother next to me kept whispering in my ear. The instructor scolded us. We left.   When I picked up our three year old up, the parent-pick up line was eerily quiet.  By this time both towers had collapsed.  Because of the children, the teachers and parents reduced their enormous grief and confusion to quiet stares.    A s I buckled my daughter into her car seat, I did hear someone say something about a missing plane and the Pentagon being hit. I quickly shut the door.  When we got home, I put the

Jesus I need to know. How did You pull off those miracles? I' m not talking about calming the storm, healing the sick, feeding the multitudes, or rising from the dead. Clearly those are out of my league.   I need to know how You focused on love in a world full of hate.   Granted, You were fully divine, and we are not. Still, You said that Your followers would do even greater things than You. So I am here to ask, “How?” How did you keep loving when all the odds were stacked against You?   Just when Your career was taking off, Your own family tried to shut it down. They thought You had lost Your mind.  Your closest friends misunderstood You. They doubted You. They turned against You. They left You. Weren't You terribly lonely?  Your critics did everything possible to destroy You. They lied, spread rumors, and insulted You at every turn.  Still, in a violent world, You didn’t take revenge.  You gave peace.   As tyrants ruled, You liberated.   You weren’t swayed by popula