by Randall Allen Dunn

Nicki and I used to watch “The Imagination Movers” regularly with our six-year old daughter, Abby. It’s sort of a preschool education version of “The Monkees”, about four guys who run an “Imagination Warehouse”. Together, they work to help solve people’s everyday problems – and their not-so-everyday problems. So we were really excited when the series returned after a long hiatus with new episodes.

Unfortunately, the Movers’ city had other plans.

In the episode, “Save the Warehouse”, a city official, referring to herself as “the Diana”, informs the Movers they will soon be moving – literally. The city wants to demolish their warehouse and turn the space into a parking lot. The Movers can’t believe it. But they have trouble convincing the inspector that their warehouse provides a valuable community service. In “the Diana’s” opinion, the types of problems the Movers solve could be easily solved by the people themselves.

The Movers demonstrate their cool gadgets and expansive “Idea Rooms”. They also give examples of the huge problems they have helped people solve. In the end, “the Diana” is not convinced. So she tells the Movers to start packing.

The next day, “the Diana” returns with contracts in her briefcase to demolish the warehouse. But she discovers she locked her keys inside the briefcase and has forgotten the combination, which is written on her keys. She assumes a Princess Leia stance and implores them, “Help me, Imagination Movers. You’re my only hope.”

The Movers huddle together, noting that if they help her open her briefcase, she’ll use the contracts to demolish their warehouse and their livelihood.

But they also note they have an obligation to help people – no matter what the cost.

Using a magnetic glove, the Movers slide the keys to a position in the briefcase, where they can read the combination with their X-ray goggles. Seeing how important their job is, “the Diana” insists the Movers should keep their warehouse.

We might not always want to help a neighbor move their heavy furniture. Or apologize to someone who feels offended without cause. Or take on an extra shift when someone’s out sick. Or cook a meal for someone who can’t venture outside. Especially when these extra efforts don’t benefit us in any way. Even more so when helping others could end up hurting us.

But we do these things, anyway. Because we have the ability to help them and because we care. It’s what we do.

It’s who we are.

Learn more about “The Imagination Movers” at ImaginationMovers.com!

by Randall Allen Dunn

When Nicki suggested using a Lifetime movie for a blog, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Neither of us watch many Lifetime movies, and the ones we do watch often seem contrived. Like the Barbie movies my daughter watches or the James Bond movies I watch, Lifetime movies tend to create a fantasy world in which all the characters act in a way that validates the main character’s viewpoint, instead of acting the way people really act. So while sycophantic men cater to Barbie’s latest whims and easily-won women cater to James Bond’s endless libido, the family and friends of Lifetime movie women all rally around the lead heroine in whatever she decides to do, with a “You go, girl!” attitude. Kind of like a women’s daytime talk show transformed into a movie.

“On Strike for Christmas” seemed to have all the earmarks of such a film. Joy Robertson (Daphne Zuniga) gets fed up with her husband and teenage sons leaving her to do all the work planning their holiday parties while they do nothing to contribute. Between her husband’s faculty party for his professorial colleagues and her sons’ parties for a basketball team and a garage band, Joy has no time to do all the work herself. But when she asks the family to help, they are all too busy. Her husband, Stephen (David Sutcliffe), is grading papers and writing a novel, while her sons are busy with scholarship applications, basketball and guitar practices and a girlfriend. So Joy is expected to work, work, work and get everything ready for Christmas to “magically” appear while everyone else runs out the door.

Instead, Joy goes on “strike”, listing off demands for her family to appreciate all the work she puts into Christmas and pitch in and help, without being asked or prodded.

Fortunately, Joy’s family cares enough to recognize she has a point. Unfortunately, they take exactly the wrong approach to help out. Assuming Joy’s Christmas cookie recipe will be easy to make, Stephen directs the sons to bake them one afternoon. The resulting catastrophe creates avery messy kitchen but results in no cookies. So they hire a baker to put it together from Joy’s recipe.

When Joy figures out what they did, she gets a local newspaper to interview her about her strike. In the article, Joy explains her reason for the strike and also tells how her family tried to trick her in order to get out of doing any of the work. As they return to work and school the next day, Stephen and the boys get angry glares from women and mocking comments from men, branded as selfish and uncaring slobs. In fact, plenty of women side with Joy and decide to go on “strike” themselves.

The men retaliate with their own article in the same newspaper, telling about how Joy insists on doing everything a certain way for Christmas. They explain that their own attempts to help out with the holiday preparations are not appreciated because they’re not being done the way Joy wanted them done.

Joy’s mother, Erna (Julia Duffy), who never supported the Christmas strike, encourages Joy to decide what she really wants out of it. Joy begins to recognize that her family did put effort into Christmas, even though it wasn’t what she would have done. Still, she’s concerned when a friend tells her she got a Christmas e-card from her family, rather than the usual mailed card. But when Joy sees the animated figures of herself and her family, with her son playing his original Christmas song for it, she realizes that although it’s totally different from what she would have done … she likes it.

Still, some household organizational tasks require the hand of an experienced professional. When people begin arriving at their house for the husband’s faculty party, the men quickly discover that they have accidentally scheduled all three of their parties for the same night. Joy quickly steps in to coordinate the guests into three separate rooms, with Erna’s help … as well as the help of Stephen and the boys. Soon all three parties are running smoothly in separate areas of the house, and Christmas is saved.

More important, the family is saved. When a television reporter shows up to interview Joy that same night about the strike, Joy tells the news cameras that she realized she was feeling obsolete with her sons moving away to college, so she just wanted her last Christmas with them to be perfect. But seeing the efforts her family made to help out showed her how much they appreciate her. So she declares that her strike is over, and she encourages the rest of the striking women to end theirs as well.

In gratitude, the men sign a family pact to always celebrate Christmas together and to all contribute in the planning and the work. Joy signs it with them, knowing what really matters is not the trappings of Christmas, but celebrating it together as a family.

I wasn’t sure a Lifetime movie would make a great blog, since … well, only because it’s a Lifetime movie. But Nicki wisely pointed out that it had everything I needed for a great blog. When I got over thinking I had to do this blog a certain way, I realized she was completely right.

I’m glad I listened to my wife.

Merry Christmas!

Find more reviews of “On Strike for Christmas” at amazon.com!

by Randall Allen Dunn

Nicki and I just started watching the remastered editions of the original “Star Trek” series. (Which, by the way, is the only way to watch them anymore, where the special effects are updated and the planets look like planets, so that it’s no longer embarrassing to watch the original shows without having to keep explaining that those were the best special effects they could do on television in the 1960’s.)

Still, I felt a little embarrassed about watching the episode, “Mudd’s Women”, with my wife, about three sexy women who are brought aboard the starship and give all the male crew members fits. Seeing the episode title, Nicki said, “‘Mudd’s Women’? Like, are they wrestling or something?”

I instantly felt more comfortable, realizing how much worse the episode could have been. “I never even considered that,” I said. “I don’t know if anyone ever has.”

In the episode, Captain James Kirk (William Shatner) rescues a reckless space traveler, Harry Mudd, from crashing his own fleeing spaceship. Along with Mudd, they transport three deliriously beautiful women, whom Mudd describes as his “cargo”. He’s in the business of finding wives for men isolated on distant colonies – the future’s version of “mail-order brides” for the galactic frontier. In that fashion, the women are not slaves, but willing volunteers who are in an equally bad position, having no men left on their own planets.

What Mudd isn’t telling anyone is that these gorgeous women are gorgeous because of the illegal Venus drug, which transforms their ordinary features into those of goddesses. When they find prospective husbands among some dilithium crystal miners, the men are eager to seal the marriage deal. But when one of them discovers that his wife, Evie, is plain-looking without the drug, he feels cheated.

Kirk allows Evie to take the Venus drug again, transforming herself into a desirable woman once more. She only wants to show her new husband how meaningless it is to pursue a beautiful, vapid woman instead of a wife – someone who can be a friend and partner to him. Despite his rude reception of her, she’s already cooked him a good meal and advised him how to sand-blast his pans clean on his wasteland planet. She’s shown him how she can help him – as a wife. Not as a fantasy lover.

But Kirk reveals that the Venus drug Evie took was just colored gelatin. Evie became beautiful because she chose to see herself that way, instead of seeing herself as ordinary and plain-looking.

A marriage involves both.

My wife and I recently were blessed by our church with an overnight stay at a hotel, along with a gift card for a restaurant dinner. It was their way of saying thank you to Nicki, for all her work in heading up our children’s ministry this past year. Their only stipulation was that we not bring our kids, because they wanted us to have time alone to relax.

We weren’t sure what to do with that. I know many couples would love to get away from their kids, but we’ve never been that way. In fact, we haven’t had an overnight stay without kids anywhere since Abby was born, over five years ago. And anyone with kids knows that it takes extra time and money to hire a sitter and make plans for all of that alone time.

But once we had arranged for a sitter to stay the night and headed for our hotel, we soon discovered how much we needed the time away. It’s not as though our marriage was suffering. In fact, we have at least as much fun as most couples, and we rarely have arguments. When we do, they usually get resolved within a matter of minutes.

But after spending time by ourselves, I realized that we normally operate in “work mode”, figuring out how to manage chores of laundry, dishes, and kids, along with other activities of writing and church ministry. We have a great time together doing it, but it always involves work, even when we’re “relaxing” with the kids. It was rare to have an evening out, with no responsibilities. We didn’t know how much we needed that until we had it.

In a marriage, people need to know how to work together. To support one another as partners, co-workers, and best friends.

They also need to know how to let their hair down. To not view their marriage as a business relationship or a drudgery, but as the best relationship that one person can have with another. Something to be treasured and celebrated, in fun getaways, quiet moments, and intimate care for the one they love.

Nicki was surprised to find that she liked the “Mudd’s Women” episode. I’m sure she was relieved that it had nothing to do with mud wrestling.

I’m relieved to know that my marriage is real. Not something I have to endure, in order to help get things done. Nor is it merely a fantasy relationship, that looks sexy and exciting on the surface but lacks any real trust or commitment. Our marriage is fun and adventurous, as well as being practical and supportive. In short, we’re in love.

And we don’t need a Venus drug to stay that way.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Find more reviews of “Star Trek Season 1” at amazon.com!

by Randall Allen Dunn

I have to admit: I just don’t feel as “Christmas-y” this year as I have in the past. I think it’s because I’ve been so far behind in my schedule of Christmas activities. Two weeks before Christmas, we still didn’t have our tree up, we still had not wrapped any presents, and I was still trying to figure out how to set up our porch lights correctly. We had hardly listened to any Christmas music, only watched two Christmas movies, and the only Christmas party I attended was the one at my office. We’ve just been too busy, and I think everyone’s been a little too broke to make elaborate plans for parties or programs or anything else.

Meanwhile, my minor attempts to enjoy Christmas with the kids were kind of a bust. Abby’s thrilled about Christmas, of course. She loves singing Christmas carols any time of the year. But we had to re-schedule three plans for seeing Christmas lights, and the only Christmas movies she wanted to watch were “Elf” and “Christmas with the Kranks” – each one for the third time this year. She finally consented to change up the pace by watching a Christmas cartoon. However, instead of “Frosty the Snowman” or “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town”, or any of the other movies I anticipated sharing with her again this year, she chose “Mickey’s Once Upon a Christmas” – which she watched for about sixty days straight last year. But it’s something, anyway. Only fifty-nine more viewings to go.

Meanwhile, Nicki and I have been too busy to relax much with a Christmas movie or anything else. She’s been watching kids for child care during the day and making fudge to sell at night, while I’m creating and preparing lessons for the three writing classes I’m teaching and writing blogs like this one to let everyone know how extremely busy we are. We know we’ll get it all done by Christmas day, but it seems harder to enjoy the journey without our usual traditions. It just doesn’t feel like the Christmas we had hoped for.

I share some of the disappointment of divorced radio psychologist Frasier Crane (Kelsey Grammer), on the “Frasier” TV episode, “Miracle on Third or Fourth Street”. Excited to spend Christmas with his young son, he’s devastated to learn that plans have changed and his son won’t be able to visit. He ends up taking out his frustrations on his father and the rest of his family, and walks out on their Christmas plans. He’s no longer in a festive “Christmas” mood.

He regrets his outburst later, realizing he’s just depressed over missing his son. Desperate to restore his Christmas spirit, he volunteers to cover a late-night shift on the air, to invite callers to talk about how they maintain their Christmas spirit.

Unfortunately, the callers provide such dismal reports of their own tragedies and misery at Christmas that Frasier ends the show, emotionally drained and despondent. He soon ends up moping at a diner, unshaven in a sweatshirt and jeans, feeling less Christmas-like than ever.

Then, to top off his horrible day, he discovers that his wallet is missing. Seeing how he’s dressed, the waitress doesn’t buy his story about leaving it in his overcoat in his car down the street.

But a homeless man named Tim (John J. Finn) sitting at the counter tells Frasier not to worry, because he’ll help cover it. “It’s okay, buddy. We’ve all been there,” he assures him. He takes his hat around to the other customers, asking them to donate their change to help a man cover his bill. Frasier is deeply embarrassed by the gesture, but the man tells him, “Don’t be embarrassed. Look at it this way. The rest of the year belongs to the rich people, with their fancy houses and their expensive foreign cars. But Christmas – Christmas belongs to guys like us.”

He hands the bowl to the waitress, who also throws in some change to cover Frasier’s meal. And Frasier realizes that his idea of what makes Christmas special and meaningful wasn’t quite right. It’s not the traditions and trappings of Christmas that make it worth celebrating. It’s not the satisfaction of seeing family and friends, seeing children unwrap special gifts, seeing Christmas plays or films or concerts. It’s that people – for one day or even a whole month – are willing to think about others more than they think about themselves.

Christmas isn’t about getting what we want. It’s about giving others what they need. And if even a handful of people – whether they’re rich or poor, ugly or pretty, influential or unknown – can reach into their hearts and souls to show someone else that unconditional love and compassion, Christmas will be sure to come, year after year after year.

I hope your Christmas is just as special.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Find more reviews of “Frasier Season 1” at amazon.com!

by Randall Allen Dunn

It’d be so nice to look out the window

And see the leaves on the trees begin to show.

The birds would congregate and sing

A song of birth, a song of newer things.

The wind would calm and the sun would shine.

I’d go outside and I’d squint my eyes.

But for now, I will simply just withdraw.

Sit here and wish for this world to thaw.

I’m starting to understand how some people can get so consumed with Christmas “busy-ness” that all of their holiday fun gets swallowed up in work. This is one of the busiest times in my life, and definitely the busiest Christmas I’ve had in years.

I started up a new Advanced Creative Writing Class focusing on Genre Studies – which means I have to actually study each of those genres myself to adequately instruct others on how to write for them, before creating the actual lessons. I’ve also started teaching a condensed version of the Beginner’s Creative Writing Class at a local library – which means I have to take time to condense it – cutting the regular lessons in half – before I can present them.

Meanwhile, Nicki is caring for up to six children at a time – and only two of them live with us! She’s also been leading and coordinating our church’s Sunday school program, scheduling adult teachers and filling in wherever needed, while finding curriculum and developing new plans to improve the overall program. On top of that, she’s been making her famous fudge to sell for the holidays, so we’ve been arranging a party for people to sample fudge, while Nicki keeps baking pans of fudge and filling orders.

We’re tired.

When February rolls around, I’ll roll my eyes.

Turn a cold shoulder to these even colder skies.

And by the fire, my heart, it heaves a sigh

For the green grass waiting on the other side.

Most nights, we’ve gotten to bed sometime after 11pm and gotten up by at least 6:30 when the kids wake up. If we’re lucky, we can wake up before they do and have time to make a pot of coffee first.

It sounds like I’m complaining, but I’m actually having a lot of fun, despite being tired from creating nine advanced lessons, helping Nicki guard six kids, hanging four strings of Christmas lights, teaching three classes, helping Nicki prepare desserts for two December weddings, and shopping for a partridge in a pear tree just to top it all off. I never expected the month of Christmas to be as hectic as this one has become. It’s easy to see how some people find little reason to celebrate Christmas. It can seem like nothing but work, work, work to make some bratty kids happy for a few hours, before cleaning up the mess and returning to our slightly less chaotic routines. Why would anyone be excited about that?

I know I wouldn’t. Which is why I never let the “busy-ness” of Christmas crowd out Christmas itself.

It’s always winter, but never Christmas.

It seems this curse just can’t be lifted.

Yet in the midst of all this ice and snow,

Our hearts stay warm, ‘cause they are filled with hope.

I got to bed past midnight last night. This morning, I woke up around six o’clock and went downstairs while my family slept. I spent time in prayer, thanking God for his friendship and for his peace. I read my Bible, too, but I mainly felt that I needed to take time this morning to just thank God for who he is and what he’s done in my life. What he’s still doing in my life.

Even in a year when I’ve gotten so busy that Christmas almost seems like just another item added to my to-do list, I make time to relax, and experience the peace and joy of this season. Of knowing that I’m loved and appreciated by family and friends. That I have a roof over my head and food in my stomach. That I have a role and purpose in life, to encourage and inspire others to be the best people they can be. And that Someone loved me enough to come to this place where I live, live a life like mine, die to receive the punishment I deserved, and live again to put this peace in my heart. I refuse to let the busy-ness of Christmas rob me of this quiet joy every December.

And everything, it changed overnight.

This dying world, you brought it back to life.

And deep inside, I felt things

Shifting, everything was melting away.

And you gave us the most beautiful of days.

Why let the standard holiday busy-ness turn you into a Christmas cynic, failing to recognize the peace this season brings? Take time amid your hectic schedule for moments of quiet reflection, or you’ll miss the whole Christmas season. The tree, the gifts, the lights, the holiday movies – they’re all meaningless if you have no peace and joy in your heart.

If you’ve got too much on your plate this year, consider cutting back on some of it. In recent years, Nicki and I learned to let go of some things that we once considered essential for Christmas. When one of our beloved traditions or activities started to become a burden, we decided it wasn’t worth stressing over. Why not have one less party, one less project, one less pageant, one less program, one less perfect holiday tradition on your already busy schedule? Removing some of those extra activities won’t kill your Christmas spirit, believe me.

In fact, it might help you get your Christmas back.

Don’t let anything – even if it looks like Christmas – rob you of the real gift this season brings us.

Find more reviews of “Let It Snow, Baby, Let It Reindeer” at amazon.com!

by Randall Allen Dunn

Now THAT was cool.

Nicki and I saw the pilot for the new TV series, “Once Upon a Time”. I had just seen an online ad for it the weekend before, and decided that it looked like one of the few new shows I might actually commit to watching. I was right.

Cleverly presenting fairy tale characters in a believable light, the series shows Snow White (Ginnifer Goodwin) being brought back to life by the kiss of her Prince Charming (Josh Dallas). But before they can live happily ever after, the Evil Queen (Lana Parrilla) intrudes on their wedding, and threatens to ruin the lives of Snow White and everyone she knows. Snow soon learns from the imprisoned Rumpelstiltskin (Robert Carlyle that the Queen intends to banish everyone to a place where they will be frozen in time, never able to return home. A place where there the only happy ending will belong to the Queen, while everyone else remains trapped in time, with no future and no hope.

She’s sending them to our world.

A world with people like Emma (Jennifer Morrison), a bailbondswoman – that is, “bounty hunter” – who was abandoned at the side of the road as an infant, never knowing her parents. She has no family, other than a son she gave up for adoption ten years ago.

A son named Henry (Jared S. Gilmore), who appears at her door, on her twenty-eighth birthday. Henry has run away from his home in Storybrook to find Emma, his birth mother. Not simply for closure or connecting with his birth family, but because he’s been reading a storybook, which reveals that every character within its pages is real. And one of those characters is Emma herself – the adult daughter of Snow White.

Snow White and her husband had sent her alone, as a baby, in a magical wardrobe created by Gepetto (Tony Amendola) and his son, Pinocchio (Jakob Davies), to escape their fairy tale world that the Evil Queen was about to curse. Only one person could be sent through the wardrobe, and Rumpelstiltskin had revealed that Snow White’s child would fight to free them, once she turned twenty-eight. Which is why Henry believes that Emma can now bring about change in his village of Storybrook, where time has been frozen. The town clock has been stuck forever at 8:15.

Henry’s adoptive mother, Mayor Regina Mills, is really the Evil Queen in disguise. And she’s none too happy to discover that Henry has been learning about these fairy tale stories from his teacher, Mary Margaret Blanchard – who happens to be Snow White. Only she doesn’t know it. None of the fairy tale characters know who they really are in this world.

When Emma asks why Mary considers fairy tales so important for her class, Mary explains that the grade school children find something in these stories that they can’t find anywhere else: hope. Hope that there can be a happy ending for them. Hope that even in their deepest moments of despair, things can still change for the better.

I can’t speak for everyone else. I live my life by faith, and I see God working in my life when I do what he tells me to do. When I have problems with finances, relationships or projects, I find that God resolves every crisis, as I trust him to do so. As Beth Moore states in her book, Get Out of That Pit, “Things don’t just work out; God works them out.”

So I can’t say, “Things will work out”, or “Everything happens for a reason”, or “Time heals all wounds.” That might or might not be true for others. I know for myself that “All things work for good to those who love God and are called according to his purpose (Romans 8:28).” So I know that whatever life throws at me, God can take care of it and lead me through to the other side of it.

I also know that “Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen (Hebrews 11:1).” No one hopes for what they already have, but only for what they don’t yet have. They hope that their situation will change at some point, to bring them the resolution they need. Because I trust God to provide for me and lead me in life, I can hope in complete confidence, knowing he will take care of me no matter what happens.

I can’t say that for everyone else. Nor can I believe that “crossing your fingers” or “having positive thoughts” will actually accomplish anything.

In a crisis over which people have no control, hope is the only thing that can sustain them. When their world is about to be destroyed, Snow White knows that their only chance for survival – their only hope – lies in sending her infant daughter alone into the wardrobe. She has to believe Rumpelstiltskin’s prophecy that Emma will rescue them all one day. It’s only by hope that Snow can give up her child this way, or believe in a future for herself after she finds her husband dying, shortly afterward.

It’s only by hope that Mary – the “real world” Snow White – can keep visiting her loved one – the “real world” Prince Charming – and leaving him flowers as he lays comatose in a hospital bed.

As she hopes for a better tomorrow.

Many people, insisting they live in the “real world”, consider such hope a fairy tale. They figure if they can’t see it or touch it or prove it by a scientific process, it can’t be real. They fail to consider that such “scientific proofs” don’t work on many of the things that matter most in life: such as love, truth, honor, trust … and hope. These things are intangible, and yet they are the things that hold us all together. When the “real world” fails to provide scientific solutions that can be controlled, people must depend on those intangibles – those indispensible things that make life and the universe continue to function. The love of our families, the truth of what is right, the honor and trust of those around us – and the hope that these things will spur others to help us when we need it most.

As for me, I trust in God, and my hope is secure, no matter what happens to my world.

How secure is your hope when you need it?

“For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what he already has?” – Romans 8:24

Visit “Once Upon a Time” online at abc.go.com!

by Randall Allen Dunn

Last week, someone shouted a racial slur at my wife and daughter as they walked home from the grocery store. Nicki was so shocked she didn’t even see what vehicle the man was driving. I’m shocked that this happened in one of the most ethnically diverse cities of our state.

When she texted me about this, I was really angry. I’ve been dreading this day ever since we became a multi-racial family. The day when our children would have to start listening to the mindless contempt of people who judge them by their skin color and nothing else. Whether it’s a white person who hates blacks, a black person who hate whites, or others who just can’t stomach seeing both races share the same house.

I’m still angry as I type this.

Angry at how cruel people can be, to shout something from a car at a young mother walking down a public street with her two small children, one a five-year old girl and the other one in a stroller. I’m angry that someone can be so ignorant and hateful that they would try to make Nicki and Abby and Noah (not his real name) feel less than human. Angry that someone would dismiss my daughter at a glance, never bothering to discover how special she is.

But as angry as I am, I can’t let myself hate them. I can still be angry, frustrated, impatient, and confounded by them, but I can’t hate them. They’re acting out of blind ignorance. What they need is education, to break through their prejudiced mindset. Not for someone like me to stand up and start a war with them. Hating the haters won’t solve anything.

Still, it’s hard to swallow my pride and my sense of justice, while I wait for those people to grow up and stop throwing stones at my kids.

I’m reminded of the film, “Ruby Bridges”, which chronicles the trying experiences of the first African-American child to attend an all-white grade school in the South. On the first day of school in November of 1960, Ruby (Chaz Monet) is greeted by an angry mob of protesting adults. They wave picket signs and shout threats, upset that the President has ordered them to integrate their school. US Marshals are on hand to ensure Ruby’s safe passage into the first grade.

Unfortunately, all of the other kids’ white parents have yanked them out of school, unwilling to let their children share the same building with a black child. At the same time, all of the white teachers have refused to teach Ruby. They don’t realize – and likely wouldn’t believe – that Ruby is a brilliant child, who tested highly enough to be selected to attend the all-white William Frantz Public School. So Ruby’s mother, Lucille (Lela Rochon), refuses to give in to local pressure, insisting that her daughter earned the right to receive the same quality education given to other children. She knows that they have to take a risk in order to change their lives for the better, or people will simply continue to limit their opportunities because of their color.

Having just moved to town from Boston, Barbara Henry (Penelope Ann Miller), settles in to teach Ruby as her only student. She’s frustrated at the abuse hurled at this innocent little girl by the locals, who won’t even try to accept her.

A child psychiatrist, Dr. Robert Coles (Kevin Pollak), shares Barbara’s feelings. Having seen the protesters shouting threats at Ruby, he offers to provide Ruby some free counseling during her first year.

But he becomes so focused on helping Ruby as a patient – or even a project – that he fails to recognize his own inner prejudices. While his wife, Jane (Jean Louisa Kelly), enjoys getting to know Ruby’s parents, Robert graciously declines every offer of hospitality made by the Bridges. When Robert later asks Jane to make him some dinner, she pretends to be surprised to hear that he’s hungry. She tells him she’s full, having enjoyed a home-cooked meal at the Bridges’ home, and walks away.

Robert later recognizes that while he’s been fighting for the Bridges’ rights, he hasn’t treated them as equals, let alone as friends or neighbors. Which is something the Bridges need far more than they need a professional counselor.

At the same time, Ruby is dealing with more stress than any first grader should ever have to. Every day when Ruby walks up the steps of the school, one female protester threatens to poison her. So Ruby can’t bring herself to eat anything unless it’s packaged, like potato chips and pop. She also hides her lunch so the teacher won’t see she’s not eating it.

Other adults call Ruby nasty names, complaining that they won’t allow their children to attend the same school as a black child. When some white children finally do return to school and join Ruby’s class, a boy tells her his mother told her not to play with her because she’s black. (Of course, they used much crueler words to describe Ruby’s race.)

Most horrifying of all, an elderly woman fashions a doll in Ruby’s image, lying in a makeshift coffin, and waves it at Ruby from the line of protesters.

Adults refusing to associate with a little girl, and refusing to let their kids play with her, and threatening to kill her. All because they don’t like the skin she’s wearing.

It’s hard to wait for such people to grow up.

It’s even harder to stomach the way some of those people combine their prejudice with faith, praying over their meals while shaking their heads at the little black girl who is “ruining their school”. It sickens me that people who believe in a loving God would somehow decide that God’s love doesn’t really extend to everyone.

Years ago, I encountered such a person as I visited an adult Sunday school class. A man talked about being grateful to God and said, “After all, I could have been born Black.”

I was shocked speechless as the teacher deftly moved the conversation along by asking a new question, to avoid calling the man out for making such an ignorant and hateful statement. I couldn’t believe this person had just linked his bigotry to God, as if God had “cursed” some people with “the wrong color”.

In light of such nonsense, who can blame Ruby’s father, Abon (Michael Beach), for taking down the picture of Jesus from their hallway? Why shouldn’t he be angry that his daughter sees such a painting every day, in which Christ is depicted as resembling the protesters more than he resembles Ruby, even though no one knows what Christ looks like.

And why shouldn’t Abon be dubious about making integration work, having served alongside white soldiers in Korea, risking his life for them, but still being valued less because of his skin color?

My mom told me how some black soldiers who returned home from World War II were lynched for wearing a military uniform. I’m sure those people would never believe that the black men had fought for their freedom, and that the uniform they wore was the only outfit they had to wear upon their return.

Their attackers presumed the uniforms had been stolen.

In the face of such stupid hatred, I honestly don’t have much patience. But I also recognize the futility of arguing with truly ignorant people, who can’t grasp how closely their bigotry mirrors the mentality of the Nazi regime, who were all too eager to burn thousands of Jewish people in ovens. All I can really do, when I hear such mindless remarks or hear about such unforgivable murders, is hold my stomach and try to keep from vomiting at the senselessness of people’s hatred.

Because it’s not just about prejudice of white people against black people, or vice versa. It’s all the racial slurs and racist jokes made about Asians, Hispanics, Indians, Arabs, Native Americans, Jews, Poles, French, Germans, Russians and every other race that people put on their hate list. Every race that people readily dismiss as worthless or untrustworthy or less anything than the rest of us. I have always been disgusted by people’s expressions of personal bigotry, in conversations, jokes, or in violent news headlines.

Yet Ruby handles it in a way that challenges me, and should challenge all of us who must deal with the haters who surround us. As she is about enter the school one morning, Ruby turns back to face the crowd of protesters, though the US Marshalls had warned her never to look at any of them. She mouths something, then walks back into the school building under escort.

Later, Robert asks Ruby what she said. “Did you finally get angry with them?” he asks. “Did you tell them to just leave you alone?’

“No,” Ruby says casually. “I didn’t tell them anything. I didn’t talk to them.”

“But, Ruby, I was there,” Robert tells her. “I saw your lips moving.”

“But I wasn’t talking to them,” Ruby says. “I was praying for them.”

Robert is aghast. “Praying for them?”

“Yes, I pray for them every day in the car. But I forgot that day.”

“Oh. What prayer did you say?”

“‘Please, God, forgive these people, because even if they say those mean things, they don’t know what they’re doing. So you can forgive them, just like you did those folks a long time ago, when they said terrible things about you.’”

I’d like to be able to pray for the haters, the bigots, and the murderers, the way that Ruby did. Of course, it feels hard to do that. But the truth is that it’s a choice I make. Whether to let anger curdle into bitterness, or to pray for those attackers to change, while wishing them well. To keep my heart clean and ready for other people’s hearts to change, even if some hearts refuse to ever open.

My wife and daughter were insulted by an individual, not by a race. Nor was the attack made by a specific political party, age group, United States region, or even a gender, but by a single person who made a bad choice. A person who had listened to lies about others and lies about himself, which led him to lash out at an innocent family. I can’t really hate him. He’s as much a victim of those lies as we are.

But I know who I am, who my wife is, and who Abby is. If someone tries to label us as nothing more than a color, gender, nationality, or any other one-sided aspect, that’s their choice, and their loss. Each person is unique and full in their individual personality. Even the guy who shouted insults at my family. He might have his own wife and kids. He might be struggling at his job. He might have a flooded basement. He might have been abused as a child. He might be scared of black people, without even knowing the reason. He might be any one of those things, or none of them. I don’t know, because I don’t know him, any more than he knows us.

So why would I hate him?

I don’t even know him.

Instead, I’ll stick to what I know. That I’m married to an amazing woman, who’s doing a phenomenal job of raising our kids. That Abby is the most incredible child I’ve ever known, and she continues to make us laugh every day. That Noah is learning to trust us more and more, and loves our family. And that whatever crisis we face, with bizarre tantrums, broken relationships, flat tires, skyrocketing fuel costs, or even a man shouting insults from a fleeing vehicle, we’ll get through it all, and tomorrow is another day.

Another day of knowing who we are.

(Please note: I will not be posting a new Weekly Blog next week. I’d like this one to stay up a while longer.

-RAD)

Find more reviews of “Ruby Bridges” at amazon.com!

by Randall Allen Dunn

Abby just started kindergarten, taking the first step on her long-term career path. Nicki is thrilled to be told that Abby’s starting out at the highest reading level in her class. Of course, telling Abby this information could prove dangerous, as she already thinks she is smart enough to run the household. Based on her talent and personality, I expect her to one day become an exceptional dance choreographer, like Paula Abdul in the ‘80’s, or become the dictator of a small country.

Of course, she has a world of possible careers to choose from, and another fifteen years or more to think and plan for it. Then, once all of her hard work and preparation pay off by landing her the dream job she’s always wanted, she will probably be laid off and have to search for something else.

That’s the point at which many people feel lost. Their identities are so wrapped up in their chosen career that they can’t imagine themselves ever doing anything else. They’ve come to believe that what they have done at their job all this time is what makes them the person they are. Without that career, they have no identity.

But as our pastor recently reminded us at a church leadership meeting, we are all human beings – not “human do-ings”. Though we get wrapped up in the busy-ness of what we are doing, those tasks don’t define us.

In the film, “Kindergarten Cop”, John Kimble (Arnold Schwarzenegger), a take-no-prisoners detective, goes undercover at a kindergarten class. He’s searching for Rachel Myatt, the ex-wife of his drug-dealing nemesis, Cullen Crisp (Richard Tyson), based on information that Crisp’s ex went into hiding, while Crisp’s son is attending a nearby kindergarten. Knowing that Crisp has been trying to find his son, Kimble reluctantly accepts partner Phoebe O’Hara (Pamela Reed), a former teacher, who plans to do the undercover teaching assignment.

Sadly, Phoebe gets horribly sick the night before they arrive for school, so Kimble decides to teach the class in her place.

Phoebe pities him, knowing what he’s in for.

When the wary Principal Schlowski (Linda Hunt) asks Kimble whether he has any teaching experience, he responds, “They wouldn’t have sent me otherwise.”

Not only does he have no experience teaching, it soon becomes clear that he has no experience with kids at all. Especially little kindergarten kids, who make public announcements most embarrassing personal information, need constant supervision and potty breaks, burst into tears when a teacher loses his temper, and will readily tell him what a lousy job he’s doing.

Kimble soon realizes that being a kindergarten teacher is much tougher and more frightening than being a cop. He has no control of his class, and feels overwhelmed. He can’t wait to finish this ridiculous assignment and return to slamming dangerous criminals into brick walls.

Then Phoebe encourages him from her own experience. “Look, you’ve got to treat this like any other police situation. You walk into it showing fear, you’re dead. And those kids know you’re scared.”

Kimble nods his understanding, with a renewed determination. “No fear,” he says.

The next day, he brings a whistle to class, instructing the kindergarteners how to respond to the whistle. He makes it a game, seeing how quickly they can clean up their toys when they hear the whistle’s signal. He is amazed when the children actually follow his instructions. He starts to feel a new sense of pride in himself, and in the class he leads.

He soon has the children marching in rhythm like an army battalion, following a set class routine, playing games together, and outclassing the other grades in their fire drill practices.

Principal Schlowski has a private meeting with him about some of his unorthodox teaching methods. She tells him what a terrible idea she thought it was to bring his pet ferret into the classroom, and to blow a whistle at the children. “I have no idea what kind of police officer you are,” she tells him. “But you’re a very good teacher.”

Kimble is surprised and grateful, having expected to be chewed out for his teaching attempts. He is even more surprised later, when Principal Schlowski later honors him at a school fair, as she addresses the crowd of parents. “I’d like to introduce you to our kindergarten teacher. He came to us as a substitute teacher and he’s proven to be a wonderful asset. Let’s welcome him into our community and hope that he considers staying on a permanent basis. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. John Kimble!”

For the first time in years, Kimble considers switching jobs, as he sees smiling faces all around him, praising him for what he’s accomplished with the children. He’s discovered something new he can do, and discovered that he loves doing it.

After saving everyone from Crisp, Kimble leaves the police force to continue working at the school, using the new skills he has learned to continue teaching the kindergarten class that he’s fallen in love with. He’s learned that he can do more than what he started out doing, because there’s more to his identity than his former job.

If you’re re-thinking your career, remember that the average person changes jobs at least five times in their adult life. There’s no reason to presume that the job you have now is the only one you can do, or that it makes you who you are. You are much more than your current job, and you can do many more jobs than you realize. Perhaps even a job that you never imagined yourself doing.

Be open to shifting careers, and seeing what you’re really made of.

No matter what you’ve done in the past, there’s still a whole world of possibilities out there waiting for you.

Find more reviews of “Kindergarten Cop” at amazon.com!

by Randall Allen Dunn

My wife, Nicki, is always saddened by part of the ending to the film, “Searching for Bobby Fischer”. After Josh Waitzkin (Max Pomeranc) wins the final competition, his opponent, Jonathan Poe (Michael Nirenberg), leaves the platform. A crowd rushes at the two children – fans, reporters, well-wishers – and they all move straight to Josh, completely ignoring Jonathan.

After all, he only came in second.

We live in a strange society that believes winning it all is the only things that validates a person’s hard work and makes them valuable. Some people believe they should only earn straight A’s, should only win first place, should only get the highest position at a company. They believe in getting all or nothing.

The problem is that not everyone can “get it all” all of the time. So those people who believe in “all or nothing” fool themselves into thinking if they can’t have it all, they will have nothing.

In “Searching for Bobby Fischer”, kids feel a lot of pressure to win. To be the best. Knowing how much his own father (Joe Mantegna) is counting on him to win, Josh ponders aloud, “Maybe it’s better not to be the best. Then you can lose … and it’s okay.”

In the world of competition, someone always wins, and everyone else loses. Why should those people, all of them skilled and accomplished in their craft, imagine that they are losers because they’re not the one holding up a trophy?

Believing this lie – that a plaque or a promotion or a title proves that you matter – can destroy a person’s life. They can keep struggling and striving to win – to do whatever it takes to get “back on top” – spending many wasted years under the crippling delusion that they’re losers. Josh’s chess teacher, Bruce Pandolfini (Ben Kingsley), suffered from this malady even into his adulthood. He remains devastated by his loss in a major chess competition, and cannot see his own worth: as a chess expert, as a teacher, as a mentor … even as a friend. Not until he finally humbles himself enough to overcome his fears of failure, and attend Josh’s final championship match. For years, he has stayed away from competitions, since they only served as reminders of his great failure.

But there is much more to life – and much more to each one of us – than simply winning or losing. Bruce puts his pride aside when he realizes that his friendship with Josh is more important than his fears, and more important than whether Josh wins or loses. And he and Josh’s father take great pride in the fact that when Josh is set up to win the championship, he offers his opponent a draw. In a world of cutthroat competition, Josh chooses to let his opponent save face – to be recognized for his skill and achievement – rather than trouncing him, just so he can claim another trophy for himself.

After all, Jonathan Poe nearly beat him. And Josh wanted to honor that.

But Jonathan couldn’t understand that. He had been trained to win, and nothing more. Without winning, his life and his skills held no meaning. So he refused Josh’s offer, and ended up losing the game.

Coming in second place.

Which, despite what our society wants to believe, is an incredible achievement.

It’s okay to be second best. It’s okay to just place in a competition. It’s okay to even make the decision and put forth the effort to try out in a competition.

It’s okay to try. To do your best, and recognize that you gave it your all. If you didn’t try, then go ahead and criticize yourself, and figure out how to do better next time.

But if you tried and failed, don’t label yourself a failure. No one can score every touchdown or win every trophy. Sooner or later, everybody loses. But that doesn’t make them losers.

We fail in life when we’re so scared of losing that we don’t even try. Because we think winning is everything, and coming in second means nothing.

So go ahead and try, and do the best you can. Give it your all, and congratulate yourself for making your best effort.

Not for the trophy you might or might not win.

Find more reviews of “Searching for Bobby Fischer” at amazon.com!

by Randall Allen Dunn

As Nicki and I drove to a family reunion last month, we listened to a surprisingly good cover of the song, “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” by The Proclaimers. It was performed by Steven Curtis Chapman, a contemporary Christian musician. As good as Chapman’s songs are, this just wasn’t the kind of song he would normally sing.

Ever.

In fact, he explains in the album’s information that he did the song for his wife, because she loves it. Since most of Chapman’s songs fall into the “easy listening” category, I imagine he felt a little silly attempting this driving, offbeat rock song. Had he been a contestant on “American Idol”, Simon Cowell would definitely have told him he had picked the “wrong song”.

But Chapman pulled it off. And to my surprise – and perhaps his – Chapman’s version is amazing! It’s one of those rare cover songs that was actually worth re-making! But we might never know what kind of effort it took Chapman to make this uncomfortable song finally work for him.

When I’m dreaming

Well, I know I’m gonna dream
I’m gonna dream about the time when I’m with you
And when I wake up

On Memorial Day, our family and friends came over to help set up a swingset, which had been given to us by church friends. For technical jobs – like figuring out how to put a swingset together so that it doesn’t fall over – my brother, Robert, and our friend, John Adams, usually work with my wife to determine the best approach. I’m there as a grunt, to do some heavy lifting when needed. I’m also there to help watch Abby and Noah (not his real name), so that Nicki’s free to do other things for a short while. It doesn’t feel like much, but I’m doing whatever I can to make things easier for her and the kids.

After the swingset was put up, we celebrated with hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill. I was grilling.

For most dads, this is no big deal. It’s one of the most enjoyable things they get to do as dads, besides watch football games.

I am not most dads.

I don’t do well outdoors. I can’t handle much heat, and all manner of bugs are somehow attracted to me. On top of that, since I am mechanically uninclined, our gas grill still makes me nervous. I’ve only used it a few times, and still need to remember when – and how – to safely start the gas in order to light it. Whenever I pictured myself grilling, I anticipated standing in front an open gas leak with a tiny match, sweating and swatting away mosquitoes as I tried to keep them off of the meat, then lighting a match that caused the entire outdoor deathtrap to burst into six-foot flames.

It didn’t help that the only thing I could find to ignite the grill that day were the world’s tiniest and slowest-starting matches. Or that the wind had picked up enough to extinguish each lit flame. With every new match I struck, I inched closer to the grill. Closer and closer to the furnace that might spell my doom. Thankfully, it finally lit with the twelfth match and my face remains intact.

But I would walk 500 miles
And I would walk 500 more
Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles
To fall down at your door

Even better, Robert came out to help make sure I was able to start the grill, cook the food, and stop the grill without burning anything, especially myself. It’s good to have other people around with more grilling skill and experience than I have.

I had shied away from grilling for several years, because the idea made me so uncomfortable. But Nicki kept hoping I would learn this natural fatherly skill, because she loves the taste of grilled food. A few years ago, I finally manned up enough to start trying to grill stuff, and today … I’m still trying. But I improve a little each time. I actually enjoy it now.

But I never would have made myself do it if I weren’t doing it for Nicki. Doing something for someone else makes it worthwhile to step out of your comfort zone, even when it’s extremely uncomfortable.

And when I go out

Well, I know I’m gonna be
I’m gonna be the man who goes along with you
When I come home

Yes, I know I’m gonna be
I’m gonna be the man who comes back home to you
I’m gonna be the man who’s coming home to you

 Is there something a loved one has been waiting for you to do? Something you just have trouble getting started? Unless there’s a legitimate reason you shouldn’t, why not try it? If it makes them happy, it can’t hurt to start making the effort.

You might even grow to like it.

Find more reviews of “All About Love” by Steven Curtis Chapman at amazon.com!