It’s common to hear a person speak of himself as “a work in progress.” I’m sure I’ve said it, too, because that‘s generally the way I’ve seen myself. And why not? It’s allowed me to think of myself as both humble and goal-oriented, a pretty admirable combination.

The only problem is that it’s a partial truth. It’s equally true that I’m a work in regress. Whatever progress I may have made in my work, in continuing education, and the pursuit of various goals, I’ve let other things slide, often in big ways. Sometimes my most important relationships, though high on my official priority list, aren’t allotted much in the way of hours--or even minutes. Other times it’s spiritual disciplines or exercise. I once had time for them, but now they’re more theoretically than actually important, because the latter would require giving them a block of time each day.

I clearly remember buying Vincent Bugliosi's now legendary book Helter Skelter in paperback from my local grocery store when I was about twelve years old (I'm forty-one now, if you must know). I spent a good many hot summer days in St. Charles Parish, Louisiana, spread out on my comfortable bed in my air conditioned room, captivated by Bugliosi's story. It wasn't too long before the made-for-TV movie would make it's occasional airing, and then I saw that, too.

A man dies and goes to heaven. Upon arrival, he is met by Peter, who tells him that he will be a guide to help him get acclimated. Together they stroll past a large open area where there are several people dancing the hora, singing, enjoying a great feat, and generally having a good time. Peter turns to the man and says, “those are all Jews. After all they’ve been through throughout the centuries, they’re genuinely happy to be here.” Moving on, they come to another area where all manner of people are drinking, playing games, celebrating, and thoroughly enjoying themselves.  Peter says, “Those are Catholics. They come together every now and then to celebrate their inclusion in heaven and the great sense of personal fulfillment that they each feel for being here.” They proceed to another area, where a number of people are sitting quietly, staring at a wall. The man asks who those people are and Peter responds “Shhhh! Those are Baptists. They think they’re the only people here!”

I knew it had been too long since I’d been to the beach when I stood on the sands of Mustang Island, looked out at the Gulf of Mexico, and thought, “Now THAT’S an enormous wave pool.” To understand my complicated relationship with oceans, you’d need to know that I had a most unfortunate encounter with a jellyfish in the waves off of Galveston when I was ten. And when I lived in California, the few times I made it to the beach I usually refrained from getting in the water—and not because of my jellyfish phobia. I don’t recall ever seeing a jellyfish washed up on a California beach. The water’s probably too cold for them, as it certainly was for me.

The church in Starry Night is the only building without yellow light emanating from the inside and one of the only places throughout the painting where there is not a hint of yellow. Maybe not too significant until you realize that Van Gogh used the color yellow to represent God. The Church at Auvers is of a beautiful church building but with no doors and the path splits instead of leading to the church building, Vincent Van Gogh painted Eternity’s Gate as a representation of himself sitting in a chair with his head in his hands seeming to be in anguish. He finished painting it three days before he shot himself.

In 1993 a young President Clinton was struggling to define himself in terms of the serious issues facing the country, especially the economy. His opponents gleefully seized on issues left over from the 1992 presidential campaign, like gays in the military, to try to define him first.

Clinton managed to lay that particular issue to rest with a compromise that came to be known as “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” If gay or lesbian members of the armed services did not announce their sexual orientation they would not be involuntarily discharged. Clinton himself said that at least on paper, the military had moved a long way toward “live and let live” but it held on to the idea that it couldn’t acknowledge gays without approving of homosexuality and compromising morale and unit cohesion.

In the time it takes you to read this sentence, two children will starve to death, but it is really unlikely that you will ever know who those children were or why they died. In other news, the world’s press has gathered to observe the incarceration of a man who is accused of having killed a wealthy white teenage girl who was on vacation in the Caribbean. No word yet about when the press is going to gather at the site of the incarceration of the other people in the world who have been recently caught and charged with murder, nor are we ever going to hear about the people they killed.

Norman was a sometimes easy, sometimes hard man to love. It’s the nature of love.

I met Norman about five years ago. He was 58 years old, but looked much older. He shared a house with an older and dying brother. The house sat on a hill a mile off the highway. Getting to their house, required a four-wheel drive vehicle. Besides the steep climb on a less than well maintained road, getting from the highway to the house meant crossing two creeks, one of them twice. I have never seen a more picturesque setting for a home. To be on that hill and look out over the surrounding Kentucky land was to taste a bit of heaven.