Dear Friends

Dear friends:

          Although my pen (or in this case, Word) is getting tired of me writing letters at a frequency not seen since the days of high school and the correspondence with attractive ladies from north Arkansas (you know who you are – I won’t throw names out there because that was at least twenty years ago or so), I must continue what I have to say, and this case, it is a thank you.

          Thank you for understanding the helplessness within my last blog and wondering what can be done. Beyond prayer and putting real rubber to the road regarding our own tone, there are a number of things you can do for us. For example, listening with a genuinely attentive ear is always a first step. This is the most critical step in the process of true healing all the way around; if you act like you know everything or have a dainty solution for what ails us, we will turn from you. We won’t be able to reengage you in this serious conversation as a result of your inactions. This is not the hour for condescending speeches, for we ache greatly. Throughout American history, we find that problems can be neatly nipped in the bud and whitewashed in a manner that appeals to the majority of us, such as how our elementary schools taught the Civil Rights Movement, the American Revolution, and the results of the Louisiana Purchase. Unfortunately, having our issues solved in a thirty-minute episode and holding hands singing Kum-ba-ya is not real life contrary to what we would like in an idealistic utopia.

          A second step in the process is getting down on those knees and entering the prayer closets for some deep conversations with God. [I understand not everyone is Christian, but I am. Speak with Allah, Buddha, or simply reflect in a quiet location if you are atheist – I still love you and what you bring to the table.] In no small part of the social and political climates we live in today, we are being torn apart through a media that plays the role of Big Brother better than many of us could ever imagine. How do I know this? Enter an older relative’s home and check their favorite channels on their remotes. We need some intense dialogues in a period where anything goes seems to be the credo, and that is simply unacceptable. Freedom of speech does not mean freedom of consequence for inappropriate behaviors not limited to the Levitical practices of an eye for an eye; internet trolling; blatant and covert racism; and generally being boorish.

          The overwhelming messages I have received in the past few days have been a great comfort to my soul. I’m also glad that once you read past the foul language (which in this case was necessary; I wouldn’t drop MF bombs just for fun) you were empathetic to the pain experienced. Although Baton Rouge and Falcon Heights are a far cry from Benton/Bryant, Conway, New York City, Provincetown, Portland, or anywhere else we lay our heads down to rest, simply seeing someone die before our very eyes hurts. It’s not like killing a man in a Hollywood movie knowing that all of the characters can get up and walk away as the screen fades; murder is a permanent thing. Even if we do everything right, who or what is to say that God may need us more than our families do that particular day?

          A third step in the process is uniting as a people to hold each other accountable for our failings. None of us are perfect, so let’s get the chicanery out of the way. I’m not talking about some short notice meeting at City Hall which we have one side yelling Black Lives Matter and another screaming All Lives Matter. This has to become something of almost overreaching proportions we have not seen in years although the patriotism associated with post-September 11 America is close. This especially includes how we stereotype others we do not look or act like. Our leaders of all stripes have consistently failed us in this regard; who is to say after we send them all home and take away their bully pulpits the replacements would be any better? Days like today are making me look at the United States of America a bit more cynically than I did even last Monday evening as the younger cousins were outside lighting their Roman candles and colored stink bombs in the backyard.

          Moreover, I do not look to our political leaders for any sort of leadership: President Obama is looking at the exit sign from stage left more intensely by the day, and I simply cannot feel comfort in either Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton occupying 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in six months.

          Truth of the matter is this:  I am not afraid of death and my own fate, as we all must depart from this earthly existence eventually. What I am concerned about is the world I would be leaving behind for my wife and toddler daughter. Did I do everything God asked of me in 37 years of roaming around here? Was I a solidly practicing Christian who helped introduce new souls to eternal salvation in action as opposed to regurgitating an outdated set of rigid rules and restrictions that do next to nothing for Kingdom building? How did I treat my brothers and sisters? Did I put on for the least of us, or only for those in our economic class? What will my legacy be, as in the Armstrong surname beyond one of catchy slogans such as #CaeliStrong and Grindstar in addition to a ridiculous work ethic?

          When my brother and I were growing up in the little white house in the curve, our parents had one Bible verse on the refrigerator door for years. Joshua 24:15 states “Choose this day whom you will serve, but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.” As a parent, it resonates in this way:  I don’t care what they do outside of the Dub Shack, but in THIS HOUSE, WE WILL SERVE THE LORD without exception and faithfully. Are our days perfect? Of course not. They certainly are ordered in a series of steps and decisions we make from something as minute as the type of salad we eat at work to the lucky soul we choose as a spouse and so forth. In other words, every day, every hour, every minute, every second, every breath matters.

          You matter.

          I matter.

          Even our antagonists matter, as much as we’d like to dismiss them.

          Jesus matters because He mattered to the lost, the disgraced, the sin-sick, and the rest of us. Don’t you dare forget that!

          May God bless each of you on your journeys through life and please consider those who may not have been privileged to be born a part of the lucky sperm or egg club with every organ, muscle, system, and mind working correctly.

With all of my love,

ACed A