World Wanting Peace

What If You Couldn't Get a Glass of Clean Water...Ever!

Thirsty? Walk over to your sink, turn on the faucet and imagine nothing but a stream of dark, gritty, river water running into your best crystal goblet...

You wouldn't drink that, right?

But millions do...daily. And thousands die from it.

I've been lucky enough to spend substantial time in Ethiopia, Kenya, Peru, Mexico and China. I know this water problem is real. I've seen it.

While driving to our small village in Ethiopia, I saw families bathing and filling water buckets in streams where cattle were also wading, bathing and defecating within a few feet of them.

My family, living in a tiny Ethiopian village, employed a 16-year old girl to bring two five-gallon jerry cans full of clean water on a donkey from the village well nearly a half mile away six times a day, every day, 7 days a week to fill their holding tank. A shower was a very precious - and fast - activity.

Clean water - or the lack of it - poses "a major threat to human health. Diarrhoeal disease alone amounts to an estimated 4.1 % of the total global burden of disease and is responsible for the deaths of 1.8 million people every year," according to the World Health Organization (WHO).

"Let's drag out everything dumb we said when we were 18"

I worried about this girl all last week...

You know who I'm talking about - South Carolina Miss Teen America. Why on earth would I worry about her?

Well, let's see...

She's 18 years old, and ridiculed all over America for a dumb answer she gave under pressure.

Clips on Youtube.com portraying the incident have been viewed more than 19,000,000 times. Tons of additional cruel clips have cropped up ridiculing her. Even Subway (the sandwich place) created a commercial that took a cheap shot.

That's the kind of thing that a fragile mind (like most of us possess) could obsess about to the point of paranoia, and really turn into a life defining moment.

You probably remember those moments...good or bad in your life that stayed with you. Often, they're moments we'd like to redo.

But, seldom are there redo's in real life.

So I was tickled to see an interview with her on The Today Show also on YouTube where her situation was handled fairly and with compassion. Click on the image above to start the video in a new window.

She's a smart girl with a great future...and a healthy perspective, I'm glad to say.

Good God! She's 18. I'd hate to be judged on what I did when I was 18...

Find Your Voice...

In 1998, you could not have drug me to an Opera. I was more of James Taylor-Santana-Steppenwolf kind of guy.

But then I married an opera singer.

I was really nervous going to my first opera (Andre Chenier) to watch my wife on stage, but I hadn't fallen in love with a beautiful woman with a beautiful voice.

At the end of Chenier, I had fallen in love with opera too.

Yesterday, Luciano Pavarotti died. A great voice, huge talent. He brought opera to the masses. Even if you don't like opera, you know Pavarotti.

Today, my friend Mark Hendricks (who spent several years in the music business as well) sent me a link to a scene from the British version of The American Idol.

A man - a cell phone salesman named by day Paul Potts - wows the audience with his version of a Pavarotti standard taking everyone by surprise.

As soon as he opened his mouth, I gasped...and tears started flowing.

It was the story that got me, not the music itself. Oh, he's good, but when I'm in Atlanta, I room with a tenor who practices every day and is a much better singer.

But this little guy is everyman, hiding in little job because he doesn't have great confidence in himself. He's the chubby guy in the lunchroom who sat by himself avoiding social interaction. He's the one who doesn't say much or smile much because he's got bad teeth.

And inside him, lay a spirit - his voice - that couldn't be contained.

We've all got that spirit. All we have to do is find our voice.

Click on the link - turn up your speakers. Watch and cry.

Then click to the bottom of the page and listen to his next-to-final performance.

And click here to see his final performance on Youtube.

Whew!

A Dog Lover's Prayer For Michael Vick...

Ninty-year old Sen. Robert Byrd stood on the senate floor shaking with anger, screaming an outrage felt by many Americans, as he choked with emotion, "Barbaric...Barbaric...Barbaric..."

Michael Vick, the celebrated Atlanta Falcon Quarterback and multi-millionaire sports celebrity, had been indicted for being involved in dogfighting.

Byrd's words about the incident were appropriate..."Barbaric..."

When I told my wife about the episode, she nearly cried. We're both dog lovers and don't understand how anyone can take pleasure from hurting these or any other animals.

As the news crews latched on to the outrage, the evidence against Vick grew.

Not only was he "involved", but he was breeding dozens of dogs on his property using "Rape Stands" - a contraption that immobilizes the female for mating because the best fighting females are so mean that they'll bite the males.

Cajun-style dog fight pits were found on his estate in Virginia.

Barbaric...

Later that day, an e-mail notice...

Brothers in Arms. . .

Sitting next to my son, USAF Staff Sgt. Matthew Perdew, I watched as my youngest son, Seaman Ryan Perdew, marched onto the quarterdeck with his division.

Matt wiped a tear from his eye when he saw his younger brother dressed in white, wearing a sailor's cap, standing at attention in a sea of white uniforms. Ryan was completing his 8-week training at Great Lakes Naval Station north of Chicago to become a real sailor.

The national anthem played and . . .

Earth Day is not just any ol' day. . .or is it?

I never thought much about Earth Day. To me, it was just a day when a lot of people got together and cleaned up parks and roadsides. Not me. . .other people.

And that's cool. I like the Earth. How could a day celebrating it be bad?

But I wasn't really connected to it. In fact, I lived in the city for so long, I'd forgotten there was much of the Earth out there.

But a few years ago, my wife and I moved to the deep forest where we got wrapped up in the preservation of all life around us. Cutting downs trees to build our house. . .

Supporting the Troops with One More Son. . .

My youngest son, Ryan, woke up this morning in the Navy.

No, he wasn't Shanghai'ed. He enlisted nearly six months ago. I grew more proud each day as the date drew near. At 25, he has had grown-up responsibilities thrust on him — finally.

Not too long ago, I remember sitting in a coffee shop with him, talking about his future. "Is the military an option?" I asked. "I couldn't handle it," he said. "I have a problem with authority."

Well who doesn't. I thought. I didn't like being told what to do either. Ever.

But today, I imagine him with a drill instructor in his face telling him exactly what to do. That's what basic training in all branches of the military is about: learning to take orders. The trick is not to lose yourself.

I remember my love-hate relationship with basic training when I joined the Air Force 35 years ago. I, too, didn't take orders very well. I was scared to death for the first few weeks. I couldn't quite get the "Sir, Yes Sir" response correct. I said "okay" way too many times, and that made Tech Sgt. Ennis incredibly angry. And Staff Sgt. Zitsky was even scarier! (Funny how I can remember their names 35 years later!)

But I was in the best shape of my life at the end of six weeks and the strongest mental state I've ever felt. I was confident to the point of being invincible. I knew what I was doing, where I was going and what would happen when I got there.

Having that level of confidence is a blessing. Every decision was black or white. As soon as I got out of the Air Force after 3 years, 8 months and 13 days (but who's counting!), the world became all gray. And today, it's even more bleak.

I think about our troops in Iraq — especially the National Guard troops who've been ripped out of comfortable civilian positions like teaching, manufacturing and white-collar desk jobs and thrown into one of the most confusingly gray situations they could experience. They can't possibly have that level of confidence. Daily, I pray for their safe return. And daily, the casualties mount.

I now have two sons in the military: The youngest with one day in the Navy, and the oldest with almost 8 years in the Air Force. I'm so proud of them both. They have the courage to help themselves grow while they support our country's defense.

But I don't have a yellow ribbon on my car. And I won't get one either.

I hear some of you now. "Why don't you support the troops?" I absolutely do. Encouraging my two boys to join was not just about finding a way to college, but doing their part. I believe everyone who is a citizen of this country should complete a mandatory service, if not in the military, then in AmeriCorps or Peace Corps or Boys Club or . . . you get the drift. It's important to give back a small piece of the gift that our country has given to us.

But the yellow ribbon has taken on a meaning far beyond supporting our troops. It is synonymous in many places with supporting the War in Iraq.

I don't.

It's a war waged on false pretenses. It's a war waged to replace one man — a terrible tyrant. Yet more than 2300 coalition soldiers and 33,000 Iraqi civilians have died. And the country has been absolutely demolished by our government's bungling. The price has been too high.

Like Colin Powell said during the initial planning phases warning the politicos of the risk, "You break it, you buy it!" We broke Iraq. Now, we own the tragedy.

If you really want to support our troops, make a donation to the Armed Forces Relief Trust, an organization that provides emergency aid to our servicemen and women in need. Our troops need us!

Alabama is Back . . .and So am I!
by Charlsa Perdew

(Editors Note: When my wife and I married I had to learn to love college football, but specifically Alabama football. Read her comments about the Alabama 31-3 rout over Florida and you'll know why. What's it have to do with Peace? Keep reading. . .)

I can't remember when I have had more fun.

Right was on the side of the good guys. What we did worked and worked well and what they tried died on the vine. It was just like years gone by at Bryant Denny Stadium. . .long gone by as a matter of truth.

I marveled as I watched it happen.

The crowd was supportive and in touch with the game. It almost felt like we were one with it. We all seemed to feel it. . .a return to something irretrievably misplaced; something that we knew we had lost but had ultimately forgotten. It had become too painful to keep searching for it so we retreated into a kind of numbness that became a way of life. Its not that we had lost the love for the Crimson Tide or for the game, it's just that we were tired.

One defeat after another, one injury after the other, heaped upon failure, embarrassment, disillusionment and then, concession. . .that it just wasn't coming back and we needn't hope any longer. Hope vanished and drudgery took its place at the helm. Coaches left, sanctions descended, fans weakened and dreams died.

All that was left was to hearken backward to days gone by. We cheered old plays on the Jumbo-Tron, we revered Coach Bear Bryant more, the stars of old became more sainted and we sank into that morass that the aged inhabit. . .the place of "remember when" where the present is nothing more than a pain to be endured.

The young never really knew those days. . .when we were winners. They never experienced that feeling of peace on Saturday night when they put their head on the pillow and knew that the Crimson Tide had crushed the opponent of the day. They had not known the feeling of security that this knowledge brought nor felt the intense pride which nothing could erase. They missed out on a crucial part of their development where success at football was all it took to wipe away the day's troubles and ease the turbulent thoughts about work and responsibility.

All we could do is tell them about it and our memories were fading.

It was as if "reality returned" on October 1, 2005 when Alabama defeated 5th ranked Florida 31 to 3. Fans around me seemed to know it as I was beginning to know it.

There was the fear of daring to hope, disbelief that it was really happening to us. We the disenfranchised and humiliated, the saddened and wounded were watching something wonderful and the numbness began to dissipate. First with a tingling kind of pin-prickly glimmer in the eyes, followed by a gradual opening of the heart and then an explosion of clear knowing that we were going to see it again!

Alabama was back.

I have never understood and therefore have certainly been unable to explain my love for college football. I am, after all, a woman and one that seems an unlikely candidate for a Sports Center addiction.

It goes way back to cool, fall Saturday afternoons of my girlhood where we listened to the radio broadcasts of the Alabama games crackling from my transistor propped against a pine tree as we raked and bagged mounds of dried straw and oak leaves in our front yard. Long before college game telecasts, Alabamians made sure they were watching The Bear Bryant show on Sunday afternoons to see the plays we had heard about the day before. We watched Bear drink Coca Cola and hawk Golden Flake chips and delighted when he described receptions, hailed tacklers and outstanding blocks with exclamations like, "BINGO!".

When it came to time to go to college, there was no other contender for me. I went to Alabama and I knew I should go there with a certainty that made it hard for my mama to deny. I have wondered about that certainty. . .Where did it come from? Why wasn't it apparent in other areas of my life?

I loved being at the University of Alabama. I was a part of something that was bigger than me and a part of something wonderfully successful. . .something to be proud of. It gave me a confidence I had not known and I guess it made me feel secure; if life was to be a little like Alabama football, I would be okay. I was no longer a small town girl and a nobody. I went to Alabama.

I took on challenges and attained personal goals; I enjoyed living and my friends and. . .I went to games. They were the highlight of my week. The passing of events during the year was marked by the status of the football season. Spring was spring practice and the A-Day game, summer was time to read and hear about the team's progress and August was filled with anticipation of the coming games. I bought wool skirts, sweaters and nice shoes for my wardrobe that "I could wear to the game".

And then, when the season started the focus of the week was the Saturday game. Who would I go with? Would we drive or ride the bus to Birmingham? What parties were to be attended? These thoughts energized and occupied me throughout the week. Classes, library study and daily tasks flew by. The radio went on first thing Saturday morning to learn what "Leonard's Losers" would say about the game. How were we standing in the SEC, the country and the API/UPI polls?

And deliciously, at the end of the season there was the Auburn/Alabama game to top off Thanksgiving dinner. The entire state was electrified by the mere mention of this game. We bit our nails, crossed our fingers and even prayed for each player. The outcome of the game would effect our lives and the peace of our existence among friends and colleagues all year long.

For Alabama though, the season always ended in a bowl bid and we were anxious to see which one we would attend the end of December or the first of January.

From spring to January, I used football as my barometer for life and activity. As a graduate, I watched Bear's final Liberty Bowl while living in Atlanta from the home of friends from Alabama. I took pictures of him on TV being hoisted up by the players. I put them in my photo album. . .pictures of a TV with Bear triumphant.

When he died, I mourned with all Alabama fans. I kept clippings, collected photos and memorabilia and put them in a box labeled, "Bear things". Being an Alabama fan in Georgia wasn't easy. Radio coverage was not available and television didn't cover many weekly games. I lost touch and didn't feel I could afford ticket prices except on rare occasion. I listened to the news to see if we had won or called my mama who had listened to it on the stereo in her living room.

Successes became less pronounced and some lean times emerged, but Gene Stallings came in as coach and things were looking up again. The tale loses joy after that 1992 National Championship and Alabama and its fans headed to the days I described earlier.

My life seemed to go the way of Alabama's Crimson Tide. It was a parallel that is quite remarkable in its similarities.  We all just lost ourselves, our verve, our passion for living and loving life. Football and life were tasteless and bland. The energy drained out of all of us and left us with activity that was unfulfilling and automatic.

On that hot October day in 2005, I knew this was it. The color was returning to our faces there in Bryant/Denny Stadium. Fans of old and the new ones experienced "Alabama Football" and they experienced true joy. . .a feeling of pure delight that cannot be described and does not need to be.

We are alive again, we are awake to this life and all the beauty in it. Our "sleep" is ended and our eyes are wide open again.

Alabama is back. . .and so am I.

The Four Forbiddens: Part 4
Politics - too much compromise, not enough ideal

It's been nearly 10 weeks since I posted to World Wanting Peace. What happened?

A lot! And I'll be writing about it over the next few weeks too. But the main thing that happened was that I locked myself into writing something - The Fourth Forbidden: Politics - that I had no passion to write about -- until this week. And I got stuck. I'm now unstuck.

Politics has been called the art of compromise. Unfortunately, that means the art of mediocrity, too. Greatness is never accomplished by compromise, only through dedication to the ideal.

Politics in America today, no matter the party affiliation, is so far from ideal it's pathetic. Our leaders exhibit no drive to govern for the people as representatives, but govern to contain the people. And I'm not talking about the leaders of the party in power, but those on both sides.

It's especially difficult to talk about politics in today's world because of the incredible polarization and intolerence displayed by all sides. Politicians don't dialog, they accuse. Media pundits don't have debate, they scream at each other.
With the crisis on the Gulf Coast in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, the true cost of the mediocrity of our leadership is apparent.

No, it's not the poor response that took five days to begin evacuating people stranded after the storms.

No, it's not the lack of security that allowed the lawlessness to grow more dangerous daily because our troops were not called in earlier.

No, it's not because the poor planning for a catastrophic hurricane that would inevitably land on New Orleans doorstep and wipe out the below standard levies flooding a major American city.

It's the shameful way we've built a class of poor and disenfranchised people who remained faceless and hidden in this, the wealthiest country on Earth until they became the focus of a national nightmare.

That's the shame of politics. That's the cost of mediocrity tied to greed, special interests and corruption. The pictures of the poor and destitute stranded on rooftops and in front of the Superdome in New Orleans could have been taken in Somalia or Ethiopia or the Sudan.

This is America. We, a Christian nation, must hold to the Christian ideals so important to our growth as a great nation and so important in our compassion for those at home and abroad in need.

One of Jesus's most important teachings to his followers is chronicled multiple times in the New Testament, including here in The King James version in Luke 18:22:

"Now when Jesus heard these things, he said unto him, Yet lackest thou one thing: sell all that thou hast, and distribute unto the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, follow me."

And in 2 Corinthians 8:9:

"For ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his poverty might be rich."

What's the point? Jesus was telling us if riches - money and possessions - stood between us and our fellow men, then it was best to give the riches up and help our fellows.

It's our duty to ensure that no one in this country lives in poverty. It's the duty of our leaders to ensure that everyone in this country has opportunity and security.

And when we've secured this country, we must secure the world - not by military might or forced political doctrine, but through love, kindness and caring for one another. If our leaders adopt that attitude, fear and greed will disappear. War and suffering will fall away. Ignorance and poverty will become a thing of the past.

That's the ideal our politicians should hold. That's the ideal we should demand from our leaders.

Talking about politics can no longer be forbidden. Now is the time. A change is coming!

The Four Forbiddens - Part 3:
I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours!

How much do you know about Islam? Hinduism? Christianity? Spiritualism?

If you're like me, not much I bet. As a mostly Christian nation, it's amazing to me how little we know about the early church. Forget other religions, we have enough trouble learning about our own. Unfortunately, that attitude promotes isolation and religious dogma. And dogma has become our religion. We believe what we're told, based on someone else's research without understanding the motives. Whatever is said from the pulpit too often becomes what we believe, instead of investigating our beliefs for ourselves.

As a child, I went to a very fundamentalist church with my family. I had no idea what Christianity was about, but I remember it scared me with all the hollering and pounding and talk of hellfire. Who wants to burn forever?

Not me, so when I was old enough, I rejected Jesus and the Church. For years, I searched and searched for a spiritual life that met with my personal beliefs. Nothing really worked because I wasn't ready to believe anything.

But I found a non-denominational church in Huntsville that takes the teachings from all religions and distills it to Universal truths, many of them from the mouth of Jesus.

I have learned that my problem wasn't with Jesus, but a small percentage of his followers with an agenda. It's the same problem I have with Muslims who have twisted the message of Mohamed. Or the Buddhists extremists in Sri Lanka who conduct a war in the name of Buddha.

I am really uncomfortable admitting this. It's a forbidden topic in polite company. I've probably offended some people. But to me, religion is a greater cause of unrest in the world than any other social institution including dictatorships, military regimes and politicians. Extremists in any religion believe they have God with them and against anyone else. Of course, the idea is sheer folly, but incredibly dangerous.

If we learn more about each other and treat those we don't understand with respect, we may learn about commonalities, not just differences. And we may learn that the core belief comes from the same Source.

Greater Peace in the world is doomed without dialog. Fortunately, the dialog is happening in all forms: One-on-one meetings, group dynamics, and in the media. There is hope.

When he was in Huntsville, Dr. Rocco Errico of The Noorha Foundation said,

"Religion was made to serve us, but it has gotten reversed. We end up serving religion. God gets along with everybody. We don't get along with everybody."

Peace begins with just a glimmer of understanding of our differences and our common ground. It starts with talk. Talk that can not be forbidden any longer.