What causes us--- normally restrained, responsible people with jobs and families---to lose our minds, whoop and holler, jump up and down, pump our fists in the air, and shout “YES!” as we high five each other?
It’s March Madness, of course, the NCAA Division I basketball tournament which results in the national champion. And if your team didn’t make it, you can find a favorite. For me, it’s usually an underdog---and with the bracket Kentucky had to claw through this year, they surely qualify as one.
In the surprising moments that that make March Madness what it is, anything can happen. For a few hours, we forget about the heavy stuff: economic uncertainties, tragedy in Japan, turmoil in the Middle East, stress at work, problems at home, and we breathe in the moments that make March Madness what it is. In the words of Dick Vitale, “It’s unbelievable, baby!”
But wait a minute, before you stay up too late enjoying the Kentucky-UConn matchup this Saturday night, you might want to know there’s something amiss on the court, and it’s not a conspiracy by the referees to give the Big East representative an advantage over the Cats.
No, it’s more serious than even that, according to U.S. Secretary of Education, Arne Duncan. The real March Madness is the fact that 10 of the 68 teams invited to the NCAA tournament this year did not meet the Knight Commission on Intercollegiate Athletics proposal that teams should be eligible for postseason play only if they are graduating at least half of their players. Although Duncan acknowledges that the NCAA has made progress in boosting the academic performance of Division I basketball teams, there is still much, much work to do.
And that’s not all: In the last five NCAA tournaments, 44% of the $409 million distributed to the teams with top performances went to teams not on track to graduate at least 50% of their players
But that’s not all. There’s more; it gets worse. Not only did 10 of the 68 teams fail to meet the Knight Commissions proposals, but there also exists a growing disparity between the graduation rates of blacks and whites, with a national average of 91% of white players graduating compared with 59% of blacks. (The University of Kentucky graduated 31% of their black players, compared to 100% of their white teammates.)
And March Madness gets more problematic. Richard Vedder and Matthew Denhart, in an article published by The Wall Street Journal, contend that this whole business of March Madness is just that, a business, specifically a business in which the athletes are being exploited by the coaches they play for and universities they represent. The athletes bring in much more revenue for the university’s athletic program and the bloated salaries of the coaches than the players receive in return. The authors suggest that the players should unionize, or something like that.
And silly me, all I wanted to do was enjoy a March Madness moment. After all, isn’t it the moment we wait for? It’s the team’s go-to-man charging down the court with only a few seconds left, the ball leaving his fingertips, the crowd cringing, the ball swishing through the net just as the buzzer signals game over. One team rejoices in victory; the other falls prostrate on the floor. Isn’t that it---the reason we watch, and isn’t that why we lose our minds over a game?
I believe it is. It’s Kentucky coach John Calipari flashing that proud papa smile at DeAndre Liggins as coach embraces player; it’s Virginia Commonwealth coach Shaka Smart leaving the court with the net around his neck; it’s Kansas star Markieff Morris crying as he walks slowly off the court. Yes, the moment.
The real March Madness is caught up in a series of moments the summation of which is a collective craziness that helps us keep our sanity for the real world we must face on Monday morning.
So, for a brief period of time this weekend, I’m going to enjoy the moment. I’m going to put the Knight Commission’s proposals on the backburner; I’m not going to think about the graduation ratio and the question of whether players should band together for a better deal than an opportunity for a college education and a chance to make a lot of money.
I’m going to enjoy the moment, and if I run yelling and screaming through the house as the Kentucky Wildcats score the winning basket, don’t accuse me of being out of my mind. It’s only March Madness.
David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., is Pastor of Lebanon Baptist Church in Lebanon, Ky. He also teaches on the adjunct faculty at Campbellsville University in Campbellsville, Ky. You can contact him at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Daylight Saving Time: How's That Working for You?
Daylight saving time (DST) --- how’s that working for you?
Apparently it’s not so good for many of us. According to a study at the University of Alabama at Birmingham, DST may not be the best thing for our health, since it comes as such a jolt to our cardiovascular systems.
Have you been dragging out of bed since March 13, the date we moved our clocks forward this year? It’s worth it, isn’t it? After all, we do get that extra hour of daylight. Well, that extra hour of afternoon sunshine is associated with a 10% increase in the risk of having a heart attack on the Monday and Tuesday after moving the clocks forward, according to Martin Young, Ph.D., Professor of Cardiovascular Disease at UAB. The opposite occurs in the fall when we move the clocks back; there is a 10% decrease in risk of heart attacks.
Why the potential for harm in moving the clocks forward? One theory, Dr. Young says, is that each cell in our body has something like an internal clock that allows it to anticipate change. When there is an abrupt change---like springing forward one hour---the cells don’t have time to readjust, creating stress, resulting in a detrimental effect on the body.
Maybe that’s why there is a higher incidence of traffic accidents and work place injuries on the first Monday and Tuesday after moving our clocks forward.
So, here I am, almost two weeks into this time change, and I’m still groping for that lost hour of sleep, dragging myself to the coffee pot at 5:30 a.m., reminding myself---with every heavy, burdensome, languid step--- that it’s really 4:30 a.m., at least according to the circadian rhythms of those cells in my body, which obviously haven’t had time to readjust to this barbaric method of enjoying an extra hour of afternoon sunlight.
I feel like Bill Murray as the character Bob Wiley in the film, What about Bob? Bob awakens himself each morning by repeating the words in his half-awake state, “I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful... I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful... I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful...” I’m with you, Bob; it’s just that the internal clocks in my cells haven’t gotten the message yet.
It should remind us that as slippery as time is, we are still subject to it. Even something as small as a one hour time change can throw our systems into confusion for days, even weeks. Last Sunday, one of the persons who meets regularly for prayer was absent. Seeing her later in the morning, she simply explained, “Time change. I’ll get used to about the time it changes again.”
I understand. I get that.
Time. That’s all it is, after all. And time in its essence is well nigh impossible for us to grasp. Who after all invented time? God? Not necessarily, at least according to Stephen Hawking. In his book, A Short History of Time, he states, “So long as the universe had a beginning, we could suppose it had a creator. But if the universe is really completely self-contained, having no boundary or edge, it would have neither beginning nor end: it would simply be. What place then, for a creator?”
Other scientists have proposed a mulitverse—a theory that describes the continuous formation of universes through the collapse of giant stars and the formation of black holes. And physicists Paul Steinhardt and Neil Turok have postulated a model where two universes collide to produce a new beginning for the universe. Time changes; it reaches back and forward beyond time, meta-time.
I still want to leave room for God in his universe, even though I have difficulty articulating the concept of time. That’s why I’m with St.Augustine, who believed in God as the creator of the heavens and the earth and of time itself. But when he tried to explain time, he too was at a loss for words, “What then is time? I know what it is. If I wish to explain it to him who asks, I do not know.”
Wiping the sleep from my eyes, shuffling toward the coffee pot, I know time not as a theory to be explained but as a drag on both hemispheres of my brain.
One little hour reminds me of my weakness, my vulnerability, my dependency on the One who cared enough to enter what he created---our little time zone here on this terrestrial ball, our little moment in time---and deliver us from it, awakening us to more, even as we make our way through the daily routine.
Even through, God help us, Daylight saving time.
David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., can be reached at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or through his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com.
Apparently it’s not so good for many of us. According to a study at the University of Alabama at Birmingham, DST may not be the best thing for our health, since it comes as such a jolt to our cardiovascular systems.
Have you been dragging out of bed since March 13, the date we moved our clocks forward this year? It’s worth it, isn’t it? After all, we do get that extra hour of daylight. Well, that extra hour of afternoon sunshine is associated with a 10% increase in the risk of having a heart attack on the Monday and Tuesday after moving the clocks forward, according to Martin Young, Ph.D., Professor of Cardiovascular Disease at UAB. The opposite occurs in the fall when we move the clocks back; there is a 10% decrease in risk of heart attacks.
Why the potential for harm in moving the clocks forward? One theory, Dr. Young says, is that each cell in our body has something like an internal clock that allows it to anticipate change. When there is an abrupt change---like springing forward one hour---the cells don’t have time to readjust, creating stress, resulting in a detrimental effect on the body.
Maybe that’s why there is a higher incidence of traffic accidents and work place injuries on the first Monday and Tuesday after moving our clocks forward.
So, here I am, almost two weeks into this time change, and I’m still groping for that lost hour of sleep, dragging myself to the coffee pot at 5:30 a.m., reminding myself---with every heavy, burdensome, languid step--- that it’s really 4:30 a.m., at least according to the circadian rhythms of those cells in my body, which obviously haven’t had time to readjust to this barbaric method of enjoying an extra hour of afternoon sunlight.
I feel like Bill Murray as the character Bob Wiley in the film, What about Bob? Bob awakens himself each morning by repeating the words in his half-awake state, “I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful... I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful... I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful...” I’m with you, Bob; it’s just that the internal clocks in my cells haven’t gotten the message yet.
It should remind us that as slippery as time is, we are still subject to it. Even something as small as a one hour time change can throw our systems into confusion for days, even weeks. Last Sunday, one of the persons who meets regularly for prayer was absent. Seeing her later in the morning, she simply explained, “Time change. I’ll get used to about the time it changes again.”
I understand. I get that.
Time. That’s all it is, after all. And time in its essence is well nigh impossible for us to grasp. Who after all invented time? God? Not necessarily, at least according to Stephen Hawking. In his book, A Short History of Time, he states, “So long as the universe had a beginning, we could suppose it had a creator. But if the universe is really completely self-contained, having no boundary or edge, it would have neither beginning nor end: it would simply be. What place then, for a creator?”
Other scientists have proposed a mulitverse—a theory that describes the continuous formation of universes through the collapse of giant stars and the formation of black holes. And physicists Paul Steinhardt and Neil Turok have postulated a model where two universes collide to produce a new beginning for the universe. Time changes; it reaches back and forward beyond time, meta-time.
I still want to leave room for God in his universe, even though I have difficulty articulating the concept of time. That’s why I’m with St.Augustine, who believed in God as the creator of the heavens and the earth and of time itself. But when he tried to explain time, he too was at a loss for words, “What then is time? I know what it is. If I wish to explain it to him who asks, I do not know.”
Wiping the sleep from my eyes, shuffling toward the coffee pot, I know time not as a theory to be explained but as a drag on both hemispheres of my brain.
One little hour reminds me of my weakness, my vulnerability, my dependency on the One who cared enough to enter what he created---our little time zone here on this terrestrial ball, our little moment in time---and deliver us from it, awakening us to more, even as we make our way through the daily routine.
Even through, God help us, Daylight saving time.
David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., can be reached at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or through his website, www.davidbwhitlock.com.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
An Act of God?
"Frightening beyond belief. I have no words."
---Resident of Sendai, Japan, victim of the tsunami
Most of us who saw the telecasts of the tsunami’s destruction in Japan could understand that man’s reaction to the horror of the cataclysmic event. Your jaw drops. Your eyes widen. You have no words.
The devastation in Japan was so enormous----it’s beyond words. In Minami Sanriku, a town in northeastern Japan, it’s estimated that 9,500, people---half the town’s population---may be unaccounted for. The death toll in Japan has exceeded10, 000. Multiple nuclear meltdowns threaten thousands more. Japan’s prime minister said it is the nation’s gravest disaster since World War II. In the words of President Obama, it is “heartbreaking.”
The question inevitably edges in somewhere between the televised reports of the heartache and pain, between the visuals and the commercials, between the interviews and analyses, just as it did in other major natural disasters---whether it’s Hurricane Katrina in 2005, the 2008 cyclone in Myanmar, or the 2010 earthquake in Haiti ---the question arises and begs an answer, “Where is God in all this?” Where indeed? Why does God allow natural disasters like tsunamis, typhoons, tornados, earthquakes, and hurricanes?
The question is not only reserved for the monster sized disasters. Yesterday morning while updates of the tsunami were being broadcast on television, my wife received a text messaged prayer request. A friend of hers has a relative whose two day old baby is undergoing open heart surgery.
Included in the message were the heartfelt words, “I can’t help but wonder how and why this is a part of God’s plan.”
Anyone who has felt the fear of loss and the agony of grief can empathize with the words in that text message. Even Job, righteous as he was, asked the question. Having been slammed to the canvas of life’s tragedies, having lost everything except a nagging wife, he wanted to know why and just what in the heck he had done to deserve it. Is this pain of ours a result of random chance or an act of God? Rather than giving Job an answer, God revealed himself to him. And, in the presence of God, all Job could do was lay his hand over his mouth.
Which is another way of saying, our question of who is responsible is unanswerable.
Nature itself, the apostle Paul tells us, is fallen, waiting for complete redemption. We can study nature and point to reasons for natural disasters. Hurricanes can be traced to warm waters and gale force winds, tsunamis are caused by underwater earthquakes, earthquakes are caused by the earth’s shifting plates, and there is, I’m sure, a medical explanation for what caused the infants’ heart problem.
The question on our minds is, why didn’t God do something? Why didn’t he direct Hurricane Katrina to some harmless place in the Gulf of Mexico? Why didn’t he divert the earthquake in Haiti to an obscure place? Why didn’t he take that tsunami into an unpopulated area in the middle of the Pacific? And why didn’t he intervene in the life of the baby, preventing that heart problem from ever occurring? After all, he is God, isn’t he? Isn’t he in charge?
And the answer is yes, God is God. And at the same time, we live in this world and not another. The hurricane that died in the middle of the ocean doesn’t make news, the tsunami that rocked the middle of the Pacific where no people live is a five second report on the Weather Channel, and God isn’t questioned when the baby is healthy. God is rarely mentioned in those instances.
In the world we live in, it is inevitable that we will experience disasters. It’s the natural order of things, and for God to intervene in every unsavory instance of our life would place us in a different world altogether. As C.S. Lewis wrote in his classic work, The Problem of Pain: “Fixed laws, consequences unfolding by causal necessity, the whole natural order, are at once the limits within which (our) common life is confined and also the sole condition under which any such life is possible. Try to exclude the possibility of suffering which the order of nature and the existence of free wills involve, and you find that you have excluded life itself.”
It’s the world we live in; it’s life itself, painful and tragic as it is.
It’s an act of God.
David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., is Pastor of Lebanon Baptist Church in Lebanon, Ky. He also teaches as an adjunct professor at Campbellsville University in Campbellsville, Ky. You can contact David at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or through his website at www.davidbwhitlock.com
---Resident of Sendai, Japan, victim of the tsunami
Most of us who saw the telecasts of the tsunami’s destruction in Japan could understand that man’s reaction to the horror of the cataclysmic event. Your jaw drops. Your eyes widen. You have no words.
The devastation in Japan was so enormous----it’s beyond words. In Minami Sanriku, a town in northeastern Japan, it’s estimated that 9,500, people---half the town’s population---may be unaccounted for. The death toll in Japan has exceeded10, 000. Multiple nuclear meltdowns threaten thousands more. Japan’s prime minister said it is the nation’s gravest disaster since World War II. In the words of President Obama, it is “heartbreaking.”
The question inevitably edges in somewhere between the televised reports of the heartache and pain, between the visuals and the commercials, between the interviews and analyses, just as it did in other major natural disasters---whether it’s Hurricane Katrina in 2005, the 2008 cyclone in Myanmar, or the 2010 earthquake in Haiti ---the question arises and begs an answer, “Where is God in all this?” Where indeed? Why does God allow natural disasters like tsunamis, typhoons, tornados, earthquakes, and hurricanes?
The question is not only reserved for the monster sized disasters. Yesterday morning while updates of the tsunami were being broadcast on television, my wife received a text messaged prayer request. A friend of hers has a relative whose two day old baby is undergoing open heart surgery.
Included in the message were the heartfelt words, “I can’t help but wonder how and why this is a part of God’s plan.”
Anyone who has felt the fear of loss and the agony of grief can empathize with the words in that text message. Even Job, righteous as he was, asked the question. Having been slammed to the canvas of life’s tragedies, having lost everything except a nagging wife, he wanted to know why and just what in the heck he had done to deserve it. Is this pain of ours a result of random chance or an act of God? Rather than giving Job an answer, God revealed himself to him. And, in the presence of God, all Job could do was lay his hand over his mouth.
Which is another way of saying, our question of who is responsible is unanswerable.
Nature itself, the apostle Paul tells us, is fallen, waiting for complete redemption. We can study nature and point to reasons for natural disasters. Hurricanes can be traced to warm waters and gale force winds, tsunamis are caused by underwater earthquakes, earthquakes are caused by the earth’s shifting plates, and there is, I’m sure, a medical explanation for what caused the infants’ heart problem.
The question on our minds is, why didn’t God do something? Why didn’t he direct Hurricane Katrina to some harmless place in the Gulf of Mexico? Why didn’t he divert the earthquake in Haiti to an obscure place? Why didn’t he take that tsunami into an unpopulated area in the middle of the Pacific? And why didn’t he intervene in the life of the baby, preventing that heart problem from ever occurring? After all, he is God, isn’t he? Isn’t he in charge?
And the answer is yes, God is God. And at the same time, we live in this world and not another. The hurricane that died in the middle of the ocean doesn’t make news, the tsunami that rocked the middle of the Pacific where no people live is a five second report on the Weather Channel, and God isn’t questioned when the baby is healthy. God is rarely mentioned in those instances.
In the world we live in, it is inevitable that we will experience disasters. It’s the natural order of things, and for God to intervene in every unsavory instance of our life would place us in a different world altogether. As C.S. Lewis wrote in his classic work, The Problem of Pain: “Fixed laws, consequences unfolding by causal necessity, the whole natural order, are at once the limits within which (our) common life is confined and also the sole condition under which any such life is possible. Try to exclude the possibility of suffering which the order of nature and the existence of free wills involve, and you find that you have excluded life itself.”
It’s the world we live in; it’s life itself, painful and tragic as it is.
It’s an act of God.
David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., is Pastor of Lebanon Baptist Church in Lebanon, Ky. He also teaches as an adjunct professor at Campbellsville University in Campbellsville, Ky. You can contact David at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or through his website at www.davidbwhitlock.com
Thursday, March 10, 2011
The Days Go By
It’s a line from the Eagles 1975 classic hit, Tequila Sunrise: “The days go by.”
And they do. Whether you like it or not, whether you waiting for (or enduring) a tequila sunrise on a beach in Acapulco, or working in a coal mine in eastern Kentucky, or trading stocks on Wall Street, or writing songs in Nashville--- the days go by. Like wet sand slipping through our fingers, the days go by.
Lori and I have a friend who takes old videos and transfers them into a DVD. People give him their wedding ceremony, children’s birthday parties, anniversaries, and other significant life events. The quality on the DVD is better and more enduring.
So Lori has been going through all our family videos to see which ones we want our friend to convert onto DVD. The other night after dinner, she asked me, “Want to watch some of the family videos?”
Two and a half hours later, teary-eyed and smiling, we turned off the VCR. I went to bed, thinking that was the last of our family viewing. But the next morning, instead of the news in the background of our get-ready-for-work routine, Lori was playing another family video. “Look at that, would you?” she chuckled while putting on her make-up, pointing to then three year old Madi’s recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance.
That evening when I arrived home, there was Lori again, glued to the TV, video in, on the road to becoming a family video junkie--- this time watching the then young Dr. Whitlock preaching. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “Your preaching style has changed. You used to be sooo loud, and you preached FOREVER!” I think it was a compliment, but all I could see was a fuller head of hair, no gray---and smoother skin on my youthful face.
We are a blended family, so our family video viewing takes twice as long. There was Mary-Elizabeth dancing, Harrison being awakened on Christmas day by the kisses of Skittles, his new puppy, Madi with her baby dolls, and Dave playing in his Davy Crocket outfit. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters---they were all there, through all those years.
The days go by: Mary-Elizabeth gave up ballet long ago; Madi’s baby dolls are somewhere; Harrison and I buried his Christmas day puppy, by then the grizzled Skittles, several years ago; And it’s been years since I could hold tiny Davey high above my head--- balancing him in one hand, the toddler sucking on his pacifier, kicking his chubby legs, giggling uncontrollably---and proclaim while laughing with him, “Behold, the child!”
Each moment was a moment, caught in time, pictured on camera, fleeting ever so easily, always so quickly, passing through time---time, the common denominator that levels us all until we are all equal, everyone of us dust.
But not dust in the wind, floating along random like, drifting in the currents of time, without meaning or purpose. Seeing years compressed in minute segmented videos reminds us of our two inescapable boundaries: birth and death. But as long as we travel, we can and should sing because we have hope of a forever life that endures beyond the family movie. As Moses said it in his prayer, “Satisfy us each morning with your unfailing love so we may sing for joy to the end of our lives.”
Yes, Moses, to the end of our lives, and beyond, to a life that extends beyond our lives. William Faulkner put it like this in his 1950 Nobel Prize speech, “I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among the creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance.”
Maybe, just maybe, Don Henley and Glenn Frey---sipping straight tequila, waiting on the sunrise---were somehow, somewhere deep within themselves hoping for hope, thinking that there must be more, more than what is here, as “the days go by.”
And there is.
David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., can be reached at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or through his website at www.davidbwhitlock.com
And they do. Whether you like it or not, whether you waiting for (or enduring) a tequila sunrise on a beach in Acapulco, or working in a coal mine in eastern Kentucky, or trading stocks on Wall Street, or writing songs in Nashville--- the days go by. Like wet sand slipping through our fingers, the days go by.
Lori and I have a friend who takes old videos and transfers them into a DVD. People give him their wedding ceremony, children’s birthday parties, anniversaries, and other significant life events. The quality on the DVD is better and more enduring.
So Lori has been going through all our family videos to see which ones we want our friend to convert onto DVD. The other night after dinner, she asked me, “Want to watch some of the family videos?”
Two and a half hours later, teary-eyed and smiling, we turned off the VCR. I went to bed, thinking that was the last of our family viewing. But the next morning, instead of the news in the background of our get-ready-for-work routine, Lori was playing another family video. “Look at that, would you?” she chuckled while putting on her make-up, pointing to then three year old Madi’s recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance.
That evening when I arrived home, there was Lori again, glued to the TV, video in, on the road to becoming a family video junkie--- this time watching the then young Dr. Whitlock preaching. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “Your preaching style has changed. You used to be sooo loud, and you preached FOREVER!” I think it was a compliment, but all I could see was a fuller head of hair, no gray---and smoother skin on my youthful face.
We are a blended family, so our family video viewing takes twice as long. There was Mary-Elizabeth dancing, Harrison being awakened on Christmas day by the kisses of Skittles, his new puppy, Madi with her baby dolls, and Dave playing in his Davy Crocket outfit. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters---they were all there, through all those years.
The days go by: Mary-Elizabeth gave up ballet long ago; Madi’s baby dolls are somewhere; Harrison and I buried his Christmas day puppy, by then the grizzled Skittles, several years ago; And it’s been years since I could hold tiny Davey high above my head--- balancing him in one hand, the toddler sucking on his pacifier, kicking his chubby legs, giggling uncontrollably---and proclaim while laughing with him, “Behold, the child!”
Each moment was a moment, caught in time, pictured on camera, fleeting ever so easily, always so quickly, passing through time---time, the common denominator that levels us all until we are all equal, everyone of us dust.
But not dust in the wind, floating along random like, drifting in the currents of time, without meaning or purpose. Seeing years compressed in minute segmented videos reminds us of our two inescapable boundaries: birth and death. But as long as we travel, we can and should sing because we have hope of a forever life that endures beyond the family movie. As Moses said it in his prayer, “Satisfy us each morning with your unfailing love so we may sing for joy to the end of our lives.”
Yes, Moses, to the end of our lives, and beyond, to a life that extends beyond our lives. William Faulkner put it like this in his 1950 Nobel Prize speech, “I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among the creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance.”
Maybe, just maybe, Don Henley and Glenn Frey---sipping straight tequila, waiting on the sunrise---were somehow, somewhere deep within themselves hoping for hope, thinking that there must be more, more than what is here, as “the days go by.”
And there is.
David B. Whitlock, Ph.D., can be reached at drdavid@davidbwhitlock.com or through his website at www.davidbwhitlock.com
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