Surreal Moments

The other day I rented a storage space to store my stuff when I'll ultimately have to move from my house. Now, I've rented storage space before. The usual kind with exterior access. This time, though, I rented a space in a "climate controlled" setting, so I could store my piano without any difficulty.

As the manager and I walked through the building to get to the space, I couldn't help but feel as though I'd wandered into another universe. There were rows and rows of white metal "rooms" with rows of green and orange and white doors residing under a white balloon-material roof. When we got to the assigned space and the manager opened the door, there wasn't a speck of dirt or dust or anything in it. Just three metal walls, a wire mesh top, a metal wall with a metal door in it, and a smooth concrete floor. I've never walked into a storage space that was as clean and almost sterile as this one was. The whole experience was a bit surreal. (Well, d'oh!)

On Sunday, my congregation held its "Gifting of the Final Fruits". It was a wonderful opportunity for them to 'play Santa Claus', just as they'd wanted to. There were 35 truly worthy organizations that received funds from the proceeds of the sale of the building and the balance of the church's endowment funds. It was well and beautifully done, in a meeting room of one of the local hotels. Media were present. Members gave introductions to each of the organizations and explained why they were significant. Photos were taken. Refreshments served.

And yet, it was a very surreal moment for me. I was and was not a part of the proceedings. I was and was not a part of that wonderful group of members. There was sadness in the loss, and joy in the accomplishment of this heart-wrenching task done with courage and grace. There was fear and impatience in the "what now?" moments of my own life. There was this really weird feeling that somehow, some way, this should have been happening in a church, while I realized that the ONLY place it could have really taken place was totally inaccessible. And yet ...

Then yesterday I was watch-listening to the tv while doing some other things around the house. It was commercial time and I hadn't hit the mute button. Soon across the room wafted the obnoxious voice of Billy Mays. He was touting one of these hands-free adapter thingys for cellphones and went on and on about how wonderful this gizmo is. (Of course, that's his job.) Then, a woman's voice came on air and said, "Billy, you're needed in the production office in twenty minutes." To which, Billy replied, "No problem! I'll see you shortly."

Immediately my mind jumped to "Oh! I hope she isn't afraid of ghosts!" It may be more of a problem than he thinks for Billy Mays to get to that meeting, since he died several months ago. I can't imagine why the company decided to keep that particular ad. Definitely another surreal moment.

In fact, even writing about these surreal moments, feels a bit surreal. Wonder whether it's the moments, or just me!

Stereotypes

It's funny how stereotypes come up and bite you in the butt when you're least expecting it.

This morning I did pulpit supply for a small church in Vidor. It was the second time I'd filled their pulpit and presided at Communion for them.

Now, for those of you who don't know about Vidor, it's a small community outside of Beaumont where, for many years, the Ku Klux Klan had its headquarters, or it was a pretty powerful force at any rate. When I first lived in Beaumont, I was told by an African American friend that we could not travel east in the same vehicle. It simply wasn't safe for either of us. Even today, Vidor has a reputation of being pretty much a 'white enclave', and, to be truthful, is still strongly racially influenced.

Of course, I had my own blinders on and expected the congregation to be as racially segregated as, unfortunately, way too many congregations are at the worship hour. The first Sunday, I'd been somewhat surprised at the racial-ethnic diversity among the worshippers, but had passed it off as the multi-generational diversity of one particular family and assumed that the segregated mindset of the community as a whole would exist in the congregation.

This morning, I waded into some deep territory for those who prefer "separate, but equal". In my prayers of the people, I included Major Hasan, a Muslim and someone who committed an incomprehensible act of violence, killing and wounding many, asking for God's concern whether this act was committed through mental breakdown or misguided religious zeal. Then I waded in even further by quoting the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. in my sermon. Inside I cringed and fully expected to be received with complete silence and censure.

Not so.

God works in mysterious ways and opens the eyes of our assumptions when we most need a kick in the butt. This little congregation has more racial ethnic diversity than the congregations I've pastored ever dreamed of! Even though the one family was absent today, there were others in attendance whose racial ethnic backgrounds were not Caucasian. And those who were, welcomed my words and seemed to take them to heart.

Serves me right for not expecting the unexpected!

Grocery Store Annoyances

Don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I dislike grocery shopping ... intensely. It is, however, a necessity, so I shop.

Today I headed to one of the local provisioning establishments. All I needed were a few items, but I went while slightly hungry (or I wouldn't have bought anything at all) and spent more time than I'd planned at the store. A bit more money, too, but we won't go there.

Grocery stores tend to have 'background music', probably fine tuned to get you to buy more. The establishment I shopped at today is a national chain and has its own satellite radio station which plays over the speaker system.

Besides music, it has public service announcements from time to time to let the shoppers know what a wonderful company it is. Today's psa backfired, at least for me. "One year ago, Hurricane Ike tore through Galveston ..." and the rest of the psa was about how the grocery store company is partnering with some other group to rebuild Galveston.

Excuse me! Galveston wasn't the only place devasted by Ike!! Our communities were affected by the 'forgotten hurricane', Rita, in 2005 and now, even though the hurricane itself is remembered, the fact that more than just one limited area was affected is. I almost abandoned my cart and left the building.

Remember me commenting on how much I hate grocery shopping?

So I finished buying the groceries I needed and headed to checkout. No problems with that. The scanner worked. The total was right. I'd forgotten how much the bananas weighed, but that was no biggie. Then the clerk said, "We're running a fall promotion. (gave the details, said how much I'd already spent at said store, then said...) Keep up the good work!"

HUH?!?!

I'll spend as much as I darned well please wherever I want, and it won't be because some store clerk has been instructed to tell me that I'm doing "good work".

Should have abandoned my cart.

Skies and the GPS

I recently broke down and bought a GPS to help me find my way around when I move to wherever my next church is. Besides, I'm seriously directionally challenged, especially when I'm someplace new and, since I was headed into uncharted territory recently, figured I could use the assist.

It's a nice little GPS, not top of the line, not bottom of the barrel. Instruction manuals drive me nuts, so with just a little bit of reading under my belt, I jumped right in and began to figure things out. The first thing I did was spend about 30 minutes figuring out how to make the darned thing post in ENGLISH. Out of the box it seemed to believe that Italian was the language of the day. (Or was it Latin?)

After that, it was time to find the voice that would be least annoying. I think there were about 10 different voices to choose from, 5 female, 5 male. Now this was an important decision, so I took my time, listening to each of the voices several times and, finally, settled on Dave.

Recognizing that we tend to anthropomorphize much of the technology in our lives (or at least I do), next on the list was providing the little beastie with a name. And, no, it couldn't be Dave. The company provided that name and it didn't really seem to fit him. In just a wink, I was now beginning a budding relationship with Tommy.

I test drove Tommy on my recent trip to Ft. Worth, a real doozie since I was headed to some completely unfamiliar territory. Tommy didn't do too badly, except for that trip on the uncompleted toll road. Tommy kept wanting me to exit to the right ... on an elevated freeway with no exits. He kept saying, "in x-hundred, feet exit right" ... long pause ... "in x-hundred feet, exit right" ... long pause ... (you get the picture). This went on for about 20 minutes until there was finally a place to exit, and then I found myself in the middle of nowhere and hadn't the foggiest which direction to go.

But Tommy redeemed himself and navigated me through some interesting neighborhoods until he dropped me in front of this huge multi-acre facility and said, "You have reached your destination." NOT! Somewhere on that huge property was the building I was supposed to go to and I couldn't figure out where that was. I had to drive around the "block" with Tommy sitting there in stoic silence, condemning me for not acknowledging that we'd arrived by bringing the car to a stop and turning him off.

I've discovered that I like to torment Tommy, not that he can really be tormented, but I seem to hear a touch of frustration in his voice when I don't go precisely where he wants me to. He's not one of those REALLY annoying models that says, "Recalculating" each time you miss the turn. Instead, Tommy just comes up with the next exit or turn that will take you in the diretion he seems to think you need to go, and keeps on until he finally gets exasperated and suggests that you turn around at your earliest and safest convenience.

So, instead of keeping Tommy hidden away as I travel around known territory, I tweak his nose and torment him by heading to places I know 3-4 different ways to get there, and then take a route that's different from the one he offers. Teehee!

Of course, he has his own way of getting even. Whenever I drive long distances where Tommy doesn't have much to say between directions, he startles the heck out of me when it's time to turn or exit. So, if you're ever behind me on a long drive and see me jump, just ignore me. It's just Tommy out for revenge. I'm so glad he's an inanimate object!

Musings on the Way to Church

Last Sunday, I filled in for a pastor colleague who pastors a church about an hour from here. It was a very beautiful Sunday morning and led to some musings along the way.

One of the first things that popped into mind had to do with this space between calls. After I left my last church, I was wounded emotionally and spiritually and felt so much alone. It was an incredibly difficult ending and it seemed to me that there had to be something wrong with me and how I'd pastored the church. I'd felt abandoned by pretty much everyone (even though I had a place to go and friends online to help with the transition). About the only positive thing I had to carry with me was the General Presbyter's comment that I "hadn't done anything wrong", along with an admonition to get out of town as quickly as possible because he was concerned for my safety.

I truly needed the almost 13 months between ending one call and starting the next. During that time, except for weekends when I was 'candidating' for my next position, I didn't do any pulpit supply and certainly wasn't in any frame of mind to consider it, even though the income would have been helpful. The hurt was just too great.

This time, the hurt is there, but it's a completely different kind of hurt. There's a loss this time that is kind of dificult to explain. There is a letting go of relationships that is much different from the last time. How do you balance the relationships and concerns from over 5 years together with the distance which needs to happen so we can each move forward - the members to finding new church homes and pastors and me to a new call? It's definitely a new experience.

As you can tell by the fact that I was driving to preach for someone so soon after the church closed, I am doing much better this time around. My head and heart are both just about ready to be at that new place God is calling me to. The selfish part of me wants to know right now, so I can make some plans for a real vacation, knowing where I'll be in the future while taking a semi-stress-free break.

And, then I saw the sign. "If anyone can, *name of auto dealership* can!" OK. The two don't really go together, but this was some wool-gathering while driving. The brain went directly to "Well, duh!" If anyone can do it, I can do it, right? Why do I need someone to do for me something that anyone can do? Now if it had said, "If no one else can, *dealership* can!", then I might have been impressed.

A little further down the road was a sign for 'yard eggs'. I hadn't heard the term 'yard eggs' in years. When I used to visit my grandparents on their farm, grandma had chickens and every morning she'd go out and pick up the eggs they'd laid. She had a chicken coop and the chickens mostly laid their eggs in the prepared nests in the coop, but sometimes, they laid their eggs out in the yard. Then you had to hunt to make certain none of them were just laying around rotting. I'm not a farm girl by any stretch of the imagination and I'm not even particularly fond of eggs either, but it was fun remembering that day and time.

And, then I got to the church and worshipped with a fine group of people and came back home to a quiet afternoon. I haven't the foggiest of what God has in store for me in the future, but I trust that I will be ready for it when the time comes.

Come on, Y'all

So far, it's been a nice, lazy Saturday, mostly.

The dog woke me up about 9am with an urgency which expressed a desperate need to leave the building. That was followed by a collect call from a pay phone from someone seeking assistance who'd remembered enough of my name to get a home number from the directory. It wouldn't have been a problem if I'd actually known the person as a church member or true acquaintance, but I don't give rides to people I don't know.

Beyond that, nothing particularly exciting is happening. My accomplishments to this point include procuring a camcorder to record a second sermon for distribution in the church search, wrangling an agreement from my son to videotape said sermon tomorrow, responding to a couple of emails, working a couple of crossword puzzles, and slowly meandering my way through two newspapers.

Then my eye lit on this headline: Thousands still wait for Rita aid money. The bullet point reads: Auditor finds two-thirds of cash for Texas unspent.

OUTRAGEOUS!!

Okay. I'll bite. Yes, federal monies generally come with red tape. State officials are right to do what they can to avoid fraud. But this is ridiculous!

How many more hurricanes have to come crashing through the area before homes initially damaged in Rita, and already approved for assistance, are repaired? I went to a couple of meetings after Ike roared through town and was flabbergasted to hear that there would bee a need to distinguish between Rita damage and Ike damage. I guess you can't use Rita money on Ike damage? Even if the Ike damage was caused by the fact that the state futzed around with the Rita recovery money and didn't get the initial repairs done, which might have prevented the additional damage in the first place?

Get real, people!

These families are hurting. They are families who didn't have much except their homes before the first storm hit. For the vast majority of them, they are living in housing which was probably untenentable right after Rita came through and is in even worse shape after Ike.

It may be a false assumption, but I'm assuming the state has those multi-millions that are laying idle in some kind of interest-bearing account. It would be stupid of them not to. (But I wouldn't put a bit of stupidity past most governmental entities.) If there is interest being earned, will those monies head toward hurricane damaged areas for repairs that weren't funded the first time around? It seems that we ought to end up with some kind of benefit for the unconscionable delay in releasing the funds.

I know it takes time for governments to take action, and I know it takes time to recover from disasters of the proportions of Rita and Ike. However, families that suffered housing losses in Rita will never truly begin their own recoveries until their homes have been repaired. Is it right for us (as in govermnent) to continue to delay that recovery just because some minor percentage of individuals may commit fraud? These literally poor people have been through the bureaucratic wringer and come out of the process mauled. Anyone who's hung on this long probably has more than earned the right to a repaired home!

Come on, state officials! Let's get this recovery in full gear before the next version of Her Horribleness or His Hirrobleness comes roaring through town and not only adds insult to injury, but contempt to the pains that have already been endured.

Church Sign

Along the IH610 in Houston, there's a Baptist church with this sign:

Anyone who does not increase you will decrease you

Ummmmmm... NO!

Anyone who buys into that sign hasn't read the same Gospels I have. Every time you turned around, Jesus was hanging out with people who would "decrease you". Tax collectors, prostitutes, all kinds of 'unclean' people. Not only that, but he ATE with them! Big no-no if you were a first-century Jew. Is the sign saying that Jesus was decreased by hanging out with these people?

It seems to me that whether someone is 'increased' or 'decreased' by being around people with negative reputations is more a matter of one's behavior in relation to them. Is it not equally possible that if one hangs around people with questionable reputations that they might be increased?

That's certainly what Jesus did. Zaccheus, one of those despicable tax collectors that Jesus hung around with, was restored to community and a societal breach was healed. Matthew, another tax collector, became a disciple. Jesus healed lepers, people who were so stigmatized that they had to shout, "Leper! Leper!" as they walked the streets.

The religious authorities of the day certainly would have viewed Jesus as 'decreased'. I'm not sure the author of the sign would appreciate being associated with them. However, that was my reaction. Which would you prefer to go to - a church where all of us sinners can come together to help each other become better people or one where only those who are already perfect are welcome?

Since I'm nowhere close to perfect, you can guess which church I'd choose!

Rainbows

When I first came to Beaumont to interview for the call to Westminster Presbyterian, I'll have to admit that I mostly came out of curiosity. I'd lived here almost 20 years earlier and hadn't been back once since I left. The trip was more of an opportunity to look over familiar places than a really clear sense of call. After all, the week before I'd been on an interview that I was fairly certain was "the" place.

Yet I came ... out of curiosity and a desire to maintain the integrity of the call process.

Driving around town before I met with the committee, there came the typical Beaumont afternoon thunderstorm. Full blown. Huge dark clouds. ... and the biggest, most beautiful rainbow I'd seen in a very long time. Ummmm... maybe it was time to reassess my sense of call.

And I let myself listen to these faithful people, these friends, and listen for the Spirit, that still, small voice I'd been waiting on through the whole process.

In the almost six years I've been here since, we've been through some good times and some difficult times and been in ministry together. This past year has been the hardest as we wrestled with the incredibly difficult decision to dissolve the congregation and then actually do it.

The past two months have been especially difficult, with the reality beginning to set in and the saying of goodbye, experiencing "the lasts" together. Grief is a long journey and shared by many in different ways.

Last Sunday, we celebrated our final worship services. Prepartion for both of them was intense and complex. The weekend was deeply exhausting and deeply fulfilling. Worship was an experience of holy grief and care for one another.

On Wednesday, the congregation held a "Pastor Care" party for me, to spend time with each other and share blessings for the future.

Once again, those Beaumont afternoon/evening rains hit the area. One of the members went outside to get something from his car and came back in to report that there was a glorious rainbow outside.

We all traipsed out to watch it as the evening lengthened and the sun went down. A beautiful rainbow, spanning the sky in all its brilliant shades.

And, as I watched, there was a sense of completion.

"Well done, good and faithful servant."

Poor Little Blog

Poor ignored little blog. However, I've been up to my alligators in eyeballs with church dissolution issues and a couple of pesky health problems.

But, for today, I have a little something to share so the poor little blog won't feel quite so ignored.

Yesterday, I went to the local disaster preparedness seminar which has been held each year since Her Horribleness about a month before hurricane season starts. They've been trying to improve attendance and this year offered door prizes to attendees.

Throughout the day, names were drawn from a hat and people received shirts and cool tool sets and gift cards for various neat places. Now, I rarely ever get my name drawn from a hat and, when I do, I always get one of the really crappy prizes. I like watching the winners, though, and seeing what they get, so I stayed to the end. (Plus, the presentations were good and I got all sorts of good information, which was the REAL reason I went.)

At the end of the seminar, they awarded the grand door prize. I won this:



It has 5 burners and a little refrigerator. The irony? I don't cook! God has such a delicious sense of humor!

At least I'll be able to eat the next time the power is out. Thanks, Jefferson County Emergency Operations! It's a beauty!

Pyrrhic Victory

Well, it isn't according to the dictionary definition; however, it felt that way.

This morning I went to Mickey D's to get a simple Sausage McMuffin and small oj for breakfast. I get to the window and place my order. The cashier rings up a Sausage Egg McMuffin. I say, "No! I don't want egg. I just want the Sausage McMuffin, NO egg." She rings that up ... and it's the same price!

I say, "Wait a minute! The Sausage McMuffin costs less than the Sausage Egg McMuffin. You get less!" The cashier insists that they're the same price. I hold up the line for a bit, assuming she's talking to a manager. She gets back on the speaker and repeats the total from before.

ARGGGGGH!

I cancel my order and drive off. I refuse to pay extra for obvious stupidity (on the part of management) or laziness (on the part of the cashier).

So, I drove 40-cents worth of gas to the next Mickey D's, got my Sausage McMuffin with no guff about that stupid egg being worth nothing, and saved 40 cents in the process.

Well, it was the principle of the thing.

Fiasco

Well, the whole of His Horribleness (Hurricane Ike, for those of you who haven't read my Her Horribleness blogs after Rita) is a fiasco. That's the nature of hurricanes. But this is about a particular fiasco in the midst of the general hurricane fiasco.

Ever since His Horriblness roared through in September last year, there has been a community in the area which is truly caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.

Storm surge, the waters that get shoved ashore with no other place to go than beyond protective barrier of coastal sand dunes, was the beastie which ate up the vast majority of lives in His Horribleness' wake. Miles inland, the water piled up 4 or more feet into homes, ruining everything they touched and ultimately producing mold in all that they didn't touch.

Of course, this has happened before many times in many places, and all one can do is mentally flog the idiots who choose to build in an area where the flood plain was so low.

However, that can't be said about the families in LaBelle. In good faith, they built or bought homes that the government surveyor said was completely out of the reach of flood waters (except, perhaps, in extremely extraordinary circumstances). The National Flood Insurance program even willingly sold them flood insurance because of those surveys.

Then comes His Horribleness.

Now all the governmental entities say, "Oops! We goofed! The surveys were wrong and your homes are actually 3 feet BELOW the flood plain. Sorry, but we can't help you."

And because of that goof, these people are trapped, homeless. They can't live in their homes because the flood waters made them uninhabitable. They can't repair their homes because they are now located in an area where building is prohibited, since they are below the flood plain. They can't sell their homes, either, for the same reasons. And, they can't afford to continue to pay for homes they can't live in while purchasing or renting elsewhere.

All of that is fiasco; however, this is where the real fiasco starts.

There is a federal buyout program available where the homeowners can get 75% of the home's appraised value. The kicker is that the homeowner has to come up with the other 25% elsewhere (other grants, savings accounts, additional loans, whatever).

Shoot! My home isn't even near a flood plain, but if I had to come up with an additional 25% of the appraised value, I certainly wouldn't have the wherewithal to meet the $25,000 required. So, even if they knew they were in a precarious position before the storm, I'd still feel sorryfor families caught in that crunch.

Here's what absolutely infuriates me, though: These people didn't know! It was a screwup completely out of their control and beyond their ability to catch and fix before the first foundation was laid. The county decided it wasn't going to help. Any of the federal monies coming down the pike are specifically prevented from being used as the 25% match. These poor people have been just plain screwed!

I can't even begin to imagine the stress, anger, and frustration of being in their position, and I lived in limbo for about 2 years after Her Horribleness. Yet I knew precisely where I would live and that I could still afford to live there. There was no specter of homelessness, rootlessness that these poor families are experiencing.

The intellectual side of me recognizes the difficulty the local government entities have in providing assistance to meet the 25% match, legal and empty coffer-wise. But it strikes me that there's a moral obligation to commit to providing some recompense for the screwup that came through their offices, to doing something to help bring healing to these poor homeless souls. In the meantime ...

Fiasco! Total fiasco!

Tears

I've gotten really good at it over the years. At first, just the intro would get me and the tears would flow. In time, it was the refrain that would tip me over the edge. A few more years and I could sing that song from start to finish without a glisten in my eye or a catch in my throat.

That is, until today.

The sermon was on the call of the prophet Samuel, the disciple Nathanael, the civil rights leader the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, and each and every one of us. There was Christ's reminder of "Don't worry. I'm always with you."

My little and dwindling flock once again heard the words of the little boy Samuel responding to what he thought was chief priest Eli's voice, "Here I am!" Once again, they heard the words that it doesn't matter how big or small you are, how ineffective you may feel, God calls each one of you!

Then I had to go and choose THAT song - Here I Am, Lord!

I didn't think twice about it. For at least the last 8 years I've been able to sing it with no problems. While it wasn't truly just "a song", it didn't punch me in the gut like it used to.

Until today.

I managed to start strong and make it through most of the first verse, but then my voice began to catch in my throat and there was a quaver in the words I was able to sing. As we continued on, it became harder and harder to sing, and by the last verse, I simply stood there with tears in my eyes, reading the words, while the congregation continued singing. In fact, I'm tearing up right now, remembering it.

It is the song of my call. The song that grabbed me by the ears and shook me. The song that accompanied my writing the words 'attend seminary' in itsy-bitsy handwriting, almost microscopic in size.

"Here I am, Lord! I will go, Lord, if you lead me. I will hold your people in my heart."

That's what I'm doing right now. Holding the people of this dying, resurrecting congregation in my heart ... and it hurts. I'd somehow forgotten that that's what following Jesus may mean. Following led to a cross and crown of thorns for Jesus. While we may not ourselves have such an ending, to truly follow Jesus means letting people and their situations touch your very heart.

It may also mean going. That's what I'm preparing to do as we wind down our ministry together. I won't be here as what's left of this congregation graduates, gets married, has children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, retires, and dies. I think today's the first time I really realized that's what this time of ending means for me. And so, the tears.

Yet, my heart knows that I am not alone, and that God has called me to follow. It still doesn't stop the tears - tears honoring a ministry together that is coming to an end. Perhaps those tears are a gift of one soul to another.

I think it will be a while yet before I'm able to sing THAT song again without choking up and tears coming to my eyes.

It is indeed a fitting tribute to a congregation whose hearts heard God's call so many years ago, and continues to respond with "Here I am, Lord! Send me."

Too Much, Too Soon

I do realize that parents want the best for their kids. I certainly did, and do, for my son. However, I wonder if our society hasn't been on a quest for too much, too soon for some time.

There are tv talent shows for children, not young adults, to show off what they're good at. While I've a problem with such shows being on national tv, I don't really have a problem with encouraging our children to try new things, even if they fail, as long as it doesn't put them in harm's way AND as long as it's the kid's idea of what's a good time and having fun.

However, I guess I've suddenly connected some random events over the past year involving elementary age kids performing for large audiences and decided to wonder does our society as a whole expect too much, too soon of them?

The most prominent that pops to mind at the moment is the Chinese girl who sang at the Olympics. She has an incredible voice, and would have been a sensation even if the Chinese government hadn't decided to have a "Vanilla Ice" stand-in lip-sync the song while the young lady sang.

I also reacently received a link of 5 elementary-aged girls singing the Star-Spangled Banner at a university basketball game. You couldn't have asked for a more professional performance from those 5 girls.

And, I guess that's where my difficulty with it sets in. Professional? At 6,7,8 years old? C'mon! They're kids! What does it take of their time for play and imagination and just plain silly fun to polish that number? Is it the wise thing to do? Will we burn out some incredible future talent by pushing them to sing like adult professionals before their bodies, minds, and spirits are able to handle it? Does such an early start have the potential to injure voices that should be involved in playing "Red Rover" and "Duck, Duck, Goose" and "Marco Polo"?

Don't get me wrong. There are indeed some prodigies who choose to nurture a gift from a very early age. They are drawn to sing or play an instrument or act or create a work of art and you almost have to grab them by the hair and drag them away to get them to learn the basics of human interaction. And, if those 5 girls or the girl from China or any of the others are such prodigies, then ok. Do we have to showcase them at such a young age, though?

I still think we've lost some perspective when it comes to our kids and are nudging them to adulthood way too quickly. Why can't we just let children be what they are - child-like? It might be a step toward improving our society over the long haul.