Move over Caroline. Step aside Ted. In what will likely have little to no discernible impact on the 2008 Presidential race whatsoever, it’s time for me to announce my endorsement for President. Operation Obama Bumper is underway:

Ah, come on, you can’t say you didn’t see it coming, can you? If in two and a half years of blogging I’ve ever given any of you the impression I was a lockstep conservative who always voted Republican, then I apologize for I have completely failed you as a writer. As I’ve indicated before, here and here for instance, I start thinking in the middle and work my way toward the edges pro re nata–as needed.

Ultimately, I’m a pragmatist, not an ideologue.

Some crazy, Deeply Southern law professor mailed the sticker to me in an envelope addressed to “Dr. Mike the Eyeguy.” That was a first for me.

Placing a bumper sticker on my car is also a first. It’s been on 2 weeks and so far, no thumbs up, no obscene gestures. But it’s early, and I haven’t ventured outside the Huntsville city limits yet. I think I surprised a few family members, but they’re dealing with it, just like they do all my midlife mini-crises. Eyegal had this to say: “I didn’t think we were bumper sticker people.”

And she had a very good point. I mean, for Pete’s sake, the kids were always on us about how we never put one of those soccer magnets on the Family Truckster or painted their names on the back window when one of them made an all-star team, so why a bumper sticker all of a sudden?

Basically, it boils down to what I would call The Great Need of the Moment. And to me, that’s a nimble, nuanced mind, a President who can recognize the paradoxical times that we live in (the need for “both/and” rather than “either/or” solutions) and who can lead a broad spectrum of Americans, from people of faith to hardcore secularists to everyone in between.

Frankly, I don’t care if the person with this skill set is to the right or left of center because we all know that our system ensures that you’ve got to lead pretty much from the middle these days anyway.

Having looked at this year’s candidates, it appears to me that Barack Obama fits those criteria better than any of the rest.

And there’s another reason too. I think politics is a little like working on eyeballs, and when I’m in the clinic, I try to keep it simple: If something’s working, don’t change it; if it’s not, then try something different. Sometimes I follow the book, sometimes I chuck it out the window. There are times to “stay the course,” and there are times when you need some fresh blood and new ideas.

Also, my independent streak is apparently in my DNA. My dad was a postal worker and union secretary who voted for John Kennedy, Lyndon Johnson, Richard Nixon (twice) and Jimmy Carter. Had he lived to see the day, I’m pretty sure he would have voted for Ronald Reagan. His son did–twice. So, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Could I be wrong? Sure! And I don’t have any illusions that Obama, or any other candidate for that matter, can deliver on all the promises and rhetoric. Ultimately, I follow the Psalmist’s cues and don’t “put my trust in princes.” But the way I look at it, if you’ve got to live under one, you might as well go with somebody who has a keen intelligence and a good command of the King’s English.

Barack Obama has the rare gift to inspire, and looking around, it appears to me that the country could use a little fresh air as well as a fresh face to represent us abroad.

Of course, many will feel that they can’t support him on the basis of some of his liberal social views, such as his defense of the abortion status quo. And hey, that’s fine; I understand that, I respect that, and at the end of the day, you’ve got to follow where your conscience leads you.

But I still contend that if Obama was a Republican, had a less-funny sounding name, was a few pounds heavier, a war hero and wore a green suit with 4 stars on his shoulders, that conservative Christians would line up in droves to vote for him. All of a sudden, many of those “black and white” moral issues would become “complex and nuanced conundrums on which reasonable people might disagree.”

Ultimately, this may turn out to be a quixotic quest, but it’s fun to jump into the fray and throw my support behind someone. Is it my imagination, or is everyone much more engaged and excited this time around?

Someone asked me how long I was going to keep the sticker on. I said “at least through Super Tuesday” and perhaps beyond. Someone else asked, “And if he doesn’t get nominated?” Well, if that happens, who knows, there may be another bumper sticker waiting in the wings. The nice thing about this go round is there are potentially several candidates whom I might feel comfortable voting for.

But in the meantime, I’m looking forward to showing up at the polls come Super Tuesday and, for the first time in a long time, feeling excited about voting for a candidate–rather than simply holding my nose and voting against one.

For some reason, this quote has been circling in my head over the past couple of weeks. I take this to be a sign that I should post it, so here it is:

To know and to serve God, of course, is why we’re here, a clear truth, that, like the nose on your face, is near at hand and easily discernible but can make you dizzy if you try to focus on it hard. But a little faith will see you through. What else will do except faith in such a cynical, corrupt time? When the country goes temporarily to the dogs, cats must learn to be circumspect, walk on fences, sleep in trees, and have faith that all this woofing is not the last word. What is the last word, then? Gentleness is everywhere in daily life, a sign that faith rules through ordinary things: through cooking and small talk, through storytelling, making love, fishing, tending animals and sweet corn and flowers, through sports, music and books, raising kids — all the places where the gravy soaks in and grace shines through. Even in a time of elephantine vanity and greed, one never has to look far to see the campfires of gentle people.

Garrison Keillor, “The Meaning of Life” in We Are Still Married: Stories and Letters

Christianity Today is on a roll. Here’s a good Q&A session on faith with Presidential candidate Barack Obama. Those with reservations over his stance on abortion should pay special attention to page 2 of the interview to see what, if any, views that you may hold in common.

Also, Beliefnet has one as well.

I overlooked a very good review of the film Juno when I posted last Friday. I can usually count on Christianity Today to be a little more broad-minded when it comes to the intersection of faith and culture and less-enamored with counting “swear words” than Focus on the Family’s Plugged In Online, and that’s certainly the case here.

I especially like the “discussion starters” that follow the review. Now here’s a thought for some progressive, proactive church out there–why not take the youth gang to see it and then discuss the movie afterwards over coffee at Starbucks or some such?

Oh, and this guy points out the sudden spate of “pro-life” messages in recent cinema. He, and those interviewed, also make the point that I made in the comments from my last post: art can influence behavior for the good, especially for those who may not view biblical teaching or Christian tradition as “authoritative.”

Here’s to more good art–like Juno.

If you’ve not had a chance to see Juno yet, it’s worth a look. It’s a quirky, cute, whip-smartly written flick by screenwriter Diablo Cody and director Jason Reitman dealing with a tough and gritty topic–teenage pregnancy. It’s been nominated for four Academy Awards, including Best Picture, and features extraordinary talent Ellen Page as the sassy and irreverent Juno MacGuff, along with several other strong supporting performances from the likes of Michael Cera, Jennifer Garner, Jason Bateman, Allison Janey and J.K. Simmons. Review cans be found here and here.

But please, don’t go expecting another Facing the Giants. The language and humor are a little earthy and raw and there are few explicit references to God or traditional morality. But the honesty is refreshing, and persons of faith will be impressed with many of the decisions that Juno makes as she finds herself growing up–and out–way too fast too soon after her overly-productive tryst with class geek and distance runner Paulie Bleeker played by Cera.

My favorite laugh-out-loud line from Juno’s stepmom played by Janey (delivered with the Midwestern bluntness characteristic of Dancing Elk, Minnesota): “Someone’s going to get a special blessing from Jesus in this garbage dump of a situation!”

I personally wouldn’t hesitate to allow older teenagers to see this, and in fact, it might serve as good discussion fodder. However, The Focus on the Family review site Plugged In Online begs to differ. They opined that the film “almost accidentally” comes across as pro-life and pro-adoption and that for teens “already swimming in the culture, Juno will only reinforce the complete lack of a moral compass.”

The complete lack of a moral compass? Did the reviewer watch the same movie I did? It’s true that Juno does not find her way with the help of scripture or a faith community (although she does get an assist from an abortion clinic protester), but she does seem well-attuned at times to the “moral law within,” plus the film strongly attests to the need for strong, supportive families to help guide teens through today’s moral morass.

In the ways that matter most, Juno navigates a series of less-than-ideal circumstances and manages to find true north. It seems that considering the times, Christians ought to affirm the good whenever and wherever they find it rather than constantly playing the perpetual scold.

Go to Juno. I think you’ll enjoy it.

With his trademark eloquence and depth, Gnade once again taps into and confronts the zeitgeist.

Obama as a Republican–now there’s an interesting thought. In fact, one wonders, really, how much different his views would be from a moderate Republican like, say, Colin Powell. I shook Colin Powell’s hand in 1994 and I thought, Hopefully, I just shook the hand of the next President of the United States. Sadly, I had not.

If Obama were to somehow survive the gauntlet of the conservative elements of the party and become the Republican nominee, would evangelicals stay home on election day? And if they did, would he still be elected anyway?

Maybe. Your thoughts?

Oh well, an interesting conjecture, but it is what it is–first he must face the steely teeth of Team Clinton. Audacious Hope vs. Old Timey Cynicism.

I wish him the best with that. I really do.

I’m pleased to report that Torrance “Tank” Daniels, former star linebacker for the Harding University (Hail!) Bisons, is continuing his NFL sojourn and has landed a spot on special teams with The New York Giants.

Good for him, good for Harding and good for me. Good for me because that gives me a reason to pay attention to what’s going on in between the commercials come this next Super Bowl Sunday. So be on the lookout for #52 and here’s hoping that he leaves some tread marks on some patsy Patriot during a kickoff return.

I have a bone to pick with that Wiki, though. What do you mean “no notable achievements?” Excuse me, but Tank is the first Harding grad to play in the NFL and, of course, the first to take the field in a Super Bowl. No notable achievements–sheesh, gimme a break.

I’m betting that Tank, like any enterprising professional athlete, will be eager to chronicle his NFL days in one of those “journeyman-tells-all” autobiographies that are all the rage these days. If that happens, I could be his ghostwriter. I already have a 6-word title for his memoir:

He Came, He Ran, He Tackled.

Go Tank. Go Giants. Maybe a big hole will open up in the earth and swallow the Patriot team bus on the way to the stadium.

Many tanks to ME for that update.

——————————————————-

Update 1/25: To watch Tank’s interview with Little Rock sports anchor Craig O’Neill, click here.

Once again, a tip o’ the hat to ME

Is it my imagination, or did The Gray Lady just pull the stock ticker from the front page of her online edition?

Update: Okay, it’s back now. Settle down, folks.

On the heels of my smashing haiku debut, this caught my eye. I wish I had known; I’m betting that it would have paid more than 6000 pennies.

My first thought was: I spent my life examining eyes. But then another one came to me, better still:

The answer was “two” all along.

Your life story in six words. Hit me with your best shot.

Charlie, Clay and Joe, these are for you.

As for the rest of Team Wannabe: Where were you?

Wimps.

———————————————————————-

single digit chill
icy sweat clings to my beard
wicked rugged dude

sunrise four men run
8 miles over road and trail
they live weak “men” sleep

we are a phalanx
cars on donut runs move quick
shake fists gaze in awe

ordinary daze
sunday comes wannabes run
it’s good it’s all good

I’m usually the only one up this early, but this morning I have company. Amazing Gracie The Wonderdog rose early to join me, and is now curled up beside me in “her” recliner for the first of several morning naps. A few moments ago, Number Two passed through on his way to work. He’s a lifeguard at the local YMCA and today he’s working the early shift.

He’s only been working there since the first of the year but has been putting in a lot of hours in an effort to help pay for a trip to Germany this summer. He looks the part–long and lanky, warm-up suit over the trunks, flip-flops (even though it’s in the 30s) and a whistle around his neck.

Eyegal told me last night that he’s already had two “saves.” He hadn’t mentioned them to me. The first one was “no big deal.” A little boy seemed to be struggling a bit, and Number Two simply knelt down at the edge of the pool, offered his hand, and guided the boy to the edge where he felt more comfortable.

The second was more of the real thing. A harried mother had an eye on one child, but lost track of her 3-year-old daughter who had drifted into 4-5 feet of water and was starting to silently go under. Number Two didn’t hesitate, but jumped in and easily snatched her and set her on the side of the pool before the mother knew what had happened.

It all reminded me of an earlier incident in the mid-90s when Number Two jumped in and pinned his two-year-old brother against the side of the pool when he seemed to be struggling and about to go under. I guess he was getting an early start on his lifeguarding career. Who knew where that would lead?

And who knows where it will go from here? I asked him, “When were you going to tell me?”

Number Two replied, “It was no big deal. I was just doing my job. But I did feel very useful.”

Lord, please make me useful today. Give me the courage to “jump in.” Just like Number Two.

I just happened to turn my eyes in the right direction at just the right time–and there he was. My old high school friend Eric was on his way out the door of a Barnes & Noble in Roanoke, Virginia on Christmas Eve, but I managed to wave him down before he slipped away. We had not seen each other in about 8 years, and I thought that it might take him a few seconds to recognize me. But it actually only took him about two. He had the firm, well-practiced handshake of a politician, which he was–or, at least, had wanted to be.

Eric had recently finished his third campaign for the Ninth District House of Delegates seat and, unfortunately, endured his third defeat. It had been another close one. Eric lost by around 600 votes, carrying areas he never thought he would, but losing precious votes to a third independent candidate whom his main opponent had apparently talked into running.

I consoled Eric, telling him that at least he could always say that it took not one, but two opponents to finish him off. He smiled and thanked me, seemingly moved. His graying temples, ample paunch-made all the larger by a few too many racetrack barbecues and Kiwanis fish fries–and the sad, saggy bags under his eyes silently testified to the long, hard road he had traveled.

His first campaign had been fairly civil in tone, but the second one more muddy and the third dirtier still. I recalled talking with him about this years ago, asking him if it would ever be possible to win a political race without Going Negative. His reply: “Absolutely not.”

I reminded him of that conversation, and he said, “People say that they don’t want politicians to Go Negative, but don’t believe that for a second. They love a good mud-slinging contest.” He went on to tell me that all the things that he had said about his opponent had been true, but that 80% of the things that his opponent had said about him were false.

I remember thinking: I guess that other 20% must have really stuck. But I didn’t say it. He spoke those words very sincerely and with a straight face. I kept waiting for the wink, the wry smile, for any sign of irony whatsoever, but none ever came.

He went on to say, “Mike, you’d be surprised the things people will say when they want something really, really bad.”

I recalled a recent situation when a person in my own circle, faced with a reality that did not comform with his version of the truth, had Gone Negative in a very large way–and won. “Actually, Eric,” I replied, “I wouldn’t.”

He told me that he was done running for political office, that it was time to return to his legal practice full-time and become “that million dollar trial lawyer” that his opponent had frequently called him. We talked about how it was a good thing to pursue your dreams, even if you’re unsuccessful, and how that might put you in a position later in life to look back and say, with at least some satisfaction, “No regrets.”

As fate would have it, John happened by about that time. He had been our A.P. History teacher back in 1978. John, of course, knew who Eric was, and after introductions, he seemed to remember me–or at least said he did.

John was in his 42nd year of teaching high school history with plans to retire at the end of the year. He looked great; tall, slender–same laid back John–just a little grayer than I remembered, that’s all. He asked me where I had been and what I was doing and I told him. He listened attentively, taking it all in, and he seemed pleased–even a little proud–to be standing there with two former students. Perhaps, remembering our lack of polish, adolescent foibles and self-destructive tendencies, he thought, Thank God, at least two of them turned out okay.

I congratulated him for going such a long distance and reminded him how rare it was for someone to stay in one place for that long, serving in the trenches year after year. He shrugged and thanked me– “It’s what I was meant to do, and I’ve enjoyed it. I’ve been blessed.”

A moment later, Number One Son, who had been shopping for a last minute Christmas gift, wandered by. I proudly introduced him to all, pointing out to John that he had a love for history–a veritable chip off the old block!–and might minor in it at Bama. He told them about his first semester at school, that things had gone well (except for football), but that he still had some things to figure out, like what teachers to take and what teachers to avoid. Eric and John both smiled and told him to hang in there, that eventually he would figure that out, as well as a few other things.

The four of us talked for a few more moments and then parted ways. I felt blessed, and I thanked God for such happy circumstances. In those sublime moments of reminiscence and good will, far away from the extraordinary world of politics-as-usual, there had been no Going Negative–only three generations meeting at a happenstance crossroads, swapping notes and encouraging each other, hoping, as we went on our separate ways, to make some kind of lasting difference in the few days that we had left under the sun.

Remember the old expression, “A penny for your thoughts?”

Well, if someone ever says that to you, my best advice is to hold out for more. You see, I’ve discovered somebody who’s willing to pay me 6000 pennies a month for my thoughts! Not Bob Woodward. Not George Will. Not Dave Barry. But me. Little old me.

Now I know how excited The Soggy Bottom Boys must have been when they found out that they could actually get paid for singing into a can.

I’ve been dropping a few hints lately that I might be branching out a bit from blogging this year, and I’m pleased to report that has come to pass. Last fall, I applied to become one of five community columnists that The Huntsville Times hires each year to write a monthly column in the Sunday editorial page. I was told that the decision would be made by the end of November, so when I hadn’t heard anything by mid-December, I assumed that I hadn’t been selected.

But on Christmas Eve while visiting family in Virginia, I received a very unexpected present–a call from the editorial page editor congratulating me on my selection and asking me to send a picture to use for the column. I know, it’s not exactly The New York Times or NPR, but hey, you gotta start somewhere.

My first column appeared in yesterday’s paper. Longtime Fusioneers may notice that this was a retooling of an earlier blog post (most of the first paragraph from this post appears in the print edition of THT but was left off the online version for the sake of space).

Speaking of space, that original post was 1,148 words. Each column that I write must be trimmed to no more than 680 words. That sort of draconian diet makes for some merciless self-editing, but it’s a good discipline to learn and it spills over into many other areas of life. “The more words, the less the meaning, and how does that profit anyone?” The Preacher in Ecclesiastes asked. I wish more preachers would listen to him–and writers too.

If you really want to love your neighbor, keep it short and sweet, bub.

I decided to write my first column about something I know well–eyeballs–and use a little self-deprecating humor (everyone loves a good “comeuppance story,” after all). Hopefully, by showing that I can poke fun at myself and laugh a little, I can till the soil and earn some cred should I eventually decide to tackle something more serious or controversial.

In fact, if you read Sunday’s column carefully, you might spy two words that together may serve as seed for a future too-hot-to-handle column which, in these parts, will no doubt earn me a bushel basketful of Bible thumpin’, self-righteous nastygrams. I’ll keep an eye on the paper during the week and let you know if I get any doozies in response to something I write.

But for the most part, I’ll probably try to keeps things lighthearted and upbeat–just like the ol’ blog. My column will be appearing the 2nd Sunday of each month, and I’ll post a link on the Monday after.

Well, so much for my anonymity, as if it ever existed in the first place. Boy, I’ll really have to watch what I say now. Of course, I don’t want to remain too unknown.

Especially when it comes time for them to mail me that big jar with the 6000 pennies.

There are two things that soothe my soul these days, three places where I find some much-needed grace and peace…

At a Barnes & Noble on a Friday afternoon, a cup of coffee in hand, perusing the recent releases and the latest bargin bin deals. My reward for a hard week’s work…

Near the end of a Saturday morning 10-mile run, when the endorphins hit my bloodstream with a mighty roar. Natural opiates–a gift from God…

Kneeling at the altar rail of an old, liturgical church, hearing the priest say, “The Body of Christ, the Bread of Heaven; the Blood of Christ, the Cup of Salvation.” Heaven come down to earth…

I am so there.

As the polls closed and the pundits pontificated Tuesday evening, the grassroots gab was flying fast and furious in the cramped study of a modest, lily-white, suburban ranch home somewhere in the Deep South:

Fourteen-year-old son: So Dad, what’s the deal with these primaries?

Pater Familias: They’re the process that each party uses to select its nominee for the general election. In most cases, the candidates are competing for that state’s delegates who would then have to promise to vote for the winner at the convention next summer.

Son: Okaaay…so Pops, if Hillary wins, are we going to move?

PF: Move where?

Son: You know, Canada, or someplace like that. A lot of the kids at school are saying that.

PF: Well, first off, someone running away from Hillary wouldn’t be better off by moving to Canada. And secondly, if Hillary wins, we’re not going to move.

Son: Does Alabama have a primary?

PF: Yes, but hardly anybody ever pays any attention to it.

Son: Do you think Alabama will vote Republican again this year?

PF: Is the Pope Catholic? Is SEC football the best in the land?

Son: Gotcha. Say, Big Dog, do you know who you’re going to vote for?

PF: First off, let me say this: I love it when you call me “Big Dog.” But to answer your question, no, not yet. I’m still watching and listening and trying to make up my mind.

Son: Don’t you always vote Republican?

PF: Hardly. I’m more of an independent. I’ve voted for both Democrats and Republicans in my lifetime, depending on the person and the circumstances.

Son: What do you think of McCain?

PF: I like him. If there was ever a bona fide American hero, he is one. And if he says waterboarding is torture, I’m not going to argue with him.

Son: Got that right. Hey get a load of my Huckabee imitation: “Hey evrabody! I’m a Baptist Preacher–Vote for Meeeeee!”

PF: (chuckling) That’s pretty good. I think he’s funny, and I think he would be a great guy to run a 10-miler with. But I’m pretty sure I don’t want him to be my President.

Son: If you vote for a Democrat I’m going to kill you.

PF: Don’t make promises you can’t keep.

Son: Most of the people at church are Republicans.

PF: So I hear. But there are a few Democrats.

Son: No way.

PF: Yes way. I know a few of them. They just don’t go around talking about it. It’s not the kind of thing that you mention in polite company-it doesn’t get you very many invitations to Sunday lunch at Logan’s Roadhouse.

——long pause————

PF: You know what I think would be fun?

Son: What?

PF: Putting an “Obama ’08″ bumper sticker on my car and driving it into the church parking lot just to see what kind of reaction I get.

Son: They would think you’re nuts!

PF: So what else is new?

Son: Dad, if you do that, I want to get an Obama t-shirt and wear it to youth group.

PF: (smiling) It’s a deal.