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Having just come from Kansas, where Evolution and Intelligent Design are duking it out over meme space in the public schools there, I couldn’t help loving this alternative theory. It seems as scientific as ID yet more imaginatively compelling — the Flying Spaghetti Monster: “He who created all that we see and all that we feel.”

Count me in with the FSM crowd. If we’re going to open up Science class to alternatives to evolution, let’s really open it up. And if overwhelming observable scientific evidence is no longer the sole criteria for what’s taught as science, then the field of alternatives should get very crowded indeed.

My questions: Who created the Flying Spaghetti Monster? What kind of sauce? Does this make Italians, not Jews, God’s chosen people?

After a 13 hour trip back from Wichita which required some creative navigation around stop-and-go traffic backed up on I-45 from Huntsville to Conroe, we arrived home last night at 10:30. No damage to speak of, but the yard is carpeted with twigs and limbs from our many elderly trees.

The only real loss was the contents of our refrigerators and freezers, since power went out for the better part of three days. Oh and a few cactus pots my father in law left on the stairs outside.

I’m at work, but I’d rather be home. Our house is still in hurricane mode with stuff stashed in bags everywhere. Laundry to be done. Thawed and refrozen meat to toss. A garage full of yard stuff to haul back to where it belongs.

Hard to believe that a mere week ago I was abandoning myself to the fact that much of this stuff was as good as gone. That was when Rita was a category 4/5 heading straight for our house. It’s tempting to say that this exercise has been much ado about nothing, but that’d be wrong. It was much ado, for sure, but about keeping family safe and out of harm’s way. If a hurricane Zita were to come our way in another month, I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

So I had that nap. I’m feeling much better, thanks.

But it’s still about the waiting. Especially for information that trickles frustratingly slow.

A call to the Lakeview Police Department confirms there is minor wind damage, no power, and downed trees in my neighborhood. A call to a friend says that Clear Lake is still like a ghost town and any open food business is getting mobbed. Gas is in short supply everywhere.

No school until Thursday. My employer says to listen to local officials to determine when to come home. The Chronicle has a map for a return plan, but according to that my area’s return time is still TBD. With no gas and few support services and businesses open, we’re not in a hurry to take four kids back. But with the mental image of a downed tree on my house or broken windows letting a parade of gulf coast critters into our kitchen, I’d really like to get back. I wish I knew of someone in my neighborhood who stayed so I could get a pair of eyes on my home just to check. But all of the neighbors I know were smart enough to get out early too.

We still have not located Heidi’d parents who are on their way from Ft. Smith to their friends’ house in St. Louis. Heidi’s sister is playing sleuth and trying to track them down and make sure they’re okay. We are all worried a little, but also know that they take literally forever to travel anywhere and usually always turn up eventually. But still.

Yes — but still. We know that there is only light damage in our area. We know that authorities will give us a plan for returning eventually. We know that Rick and Joyce will turn up. But still. It’d be nice to know for sure.

More waiting.

Looks like we were largely spared by the hurricane. But we will not know until we get eyes on our place. We had a number of trees in our yard that are nearing retirement and I don’t believe it would take much tropical wind to encourage a few to step down. There’s this one on the southeast corner of our house that’s especially old. But from all reports our area is basically undamaged.

But we’ve been told not to return for a few days. Water is still rising in the nearby bayous due to the rain and runoff. School won’t start again until at least Wednesday. More waiting, but this time with less worry.

What seems funny to me is the let down I’m feeling. I’ve spent the last few days making plans in my head for rebuilding my family’s life, saying mental goodbyes to much of our stuff, feeling the adreanaline rush of crisis mode. Now that all of those chemicals have drained out of my brain back into my endocrine system, it’s kind of like withdrawal. I should be happy that we didn’t get crushed, but all I want right now is a nap.

And then I want to come home. Our friends have been wonderful. Witchita is a great place to ride out a Hurricane. But now that I know I’ve actually got a home to come home to, I just want to get back there.

But for now, more waiting. And a nap.

Heidi’s parents are in Fort Smith, Arkansas. That’s a major item off of our worry list.

Yesterday we had heard that Rick and Joyce had called their friends in St. Louis and told them that they’d be there last night. What we didn’t know until this morning is that the call came from our house back in Houston. When we heard that we really started worrying.

But now we at least know they’re out of harm’s way and not stuck on some Houston freeway. Joyce is sick and saw a doctor in Fort Smith, but they plan to continue on to St. Louis when they can.

When Katrina hit, we donated our portable crib to a shelter. This afternoon we drove across Witchita to a resale shop to buy — you guessed it — a portable crib. Olivia just doesn’t do real beds yet. And in a strange place, she’s wired and not willing to go down without a fight. Our first night in Poteau, I had to sit up holding her for hours before she fell asleep deeply enough that I could put her down and walk away. Last night was less difficult, but still problematic. Now that we have a bed that doubles as a baby bucket, the sleep is back. Olivia is napping away right now.

Looks like we’re going to be spared the brunt of the storm. Our house is in a low lying area, so we’re not out of the woods yet. But with the weakening and the shifting east, we are getting the “clean” side of a category 3 rather than the “dirty” side of a category 4 or 5. Yet again, looks like we’re the fortunate ones.

Now it’s just a waiting game for us. Trying to make contacts, get news about family and friends, and trying not to worry too much.

After another long day of travel, we’re with our bestest (former) neighbor freinds in Witchita.

Got stopped by a trooper last night. He saw our Texas plates, Heidi’s Seabrook address on her DL, and our load of squirming kids, put two and two together, and let us off. Nice of him. Everyone has been so kind and helpful.

Still haven’t located Heidi’s parents who were heading to St. Louis. Since they tend to get lost going across town in Houston, we will not breathe freely until we know they are at their friends’ house and hear from them.

Prayers. Prayers. Without cesaing.

But for us right now, on this bright comfortable hospitable Kansas day with some of our favorite friends in the world, at least some of those prayers are prayers of Thanksgiving.

Stay safe out there.

After 14 hours on the road, we’re safe in Poteau, Oklahoma with relatives. Took us seven hours to go the first 80 miles and we left relatively early. We’ll go on to Witchita tomorrow.

I cannot say what a surreal experience preparing for evacuation was. A real-life excercise in non-attachment. Trying to pack the most important, vital, useful, and meaningful objects in the lives of a family and only having a few hours to try to protect the rest was an effort that had me rather addled. At the end I was grabbing things I saw and putting them in plastic bags more or less at random. I had to stop myself. It was like trying to bail the Titanic with a shot glass. I had to choose between getting out early and staying to protect more stuff. Ultimately, it’s just stuff. Attachments, memories, pieces of reified self — but ultimately just Stuff. I still hope to see some of it again.

But I got out with the family. That’s what matters. We chose right. From the look of this storm, any extra effort and time to try and protect our home would have been wasted. Precious hours that enabled us to leave the Hosuton area in three hours instead of eight.

We got a voice mail from our municipality of Taylor Lake Village telling us that mandatory evacuation is in effect and that they’re expecting most of my area to be covered in ten feet of water from the storm surge. I can handle that if the winds will simply leave the house standing. I’d much rather salvage our belongings from a flooded house than a flooded pile of rubble.

Right now I am feeling adrift, as if we’ve jumped in a life boat to watch our ship sink on the horizon. We’re safely in port for now, and for that I am thankful. I’ve never been so literally abandoned into the hands of God.

What struck me as I was driving up here is how not freaked-out I am. I have Heidi and I have the kids. The rest is just stuff.

Since Rita is heading our way, we’re getting out while the getting is good. If we leave before the mandatory evacuation, we get to choose our route. Otherwise we have to take the trail of tears up Hwy 146. We’re going to Wichita to visit friends (might as well make it a vacation while our home is being pounded.) Leaving at high noon.

I’ll see you on the other side. Be safe, fellow coastal Texans.

I opened the paper this morning and was surprised to read this:

“Yerba mate moves beyond fad status and into the American mainstream”

Since when? I’ve been drinking this for years and I totally missed the fad part. And you’d think if it was mainstream I would have encountered someone besides me and the handful of South Americans I know who drink it. Still, it’s nice to see it get more play in the MSM.

I’ve been drinking lots of Yerba Mate lately because I’ve had this chest cold and Mate contains Theobromine and Theophylline as well as a cocktail of vitamins and antioxidants that rivals chicken soup in it’s restorative power. At least for me, it’s comfort food.

The feature is wrong, or at least incomplete, in one thing though. Mate has indeed been linked to esophageal cancer if you drink too much. But that’s because the way traditionalists drink it — boiling hot sipped through a straw — deposits lots of very hot water directly into the throat. It’s the hot water action that causes the cancer, not the mate.

I make my mate the wimpy American way — with a drip coffee maker. So no danger there. And sipping my morning cuppa, I’m already feeling my airways relax. It’s going to be a good morning.

Today at lunch with Heidi, Olivia, and Petunia, we all reached to join hands to say the blessing. (Yes, we do it even in Boston Market.) Anyway, Olivia, had already previewed the Mac and Cheese with her hands, covering them in cheesy goop. Petunia, seeing this, tried to reach beyond Olivia’s hand to grasp her wrist. After several attempts that resembled some sort of kiddie secret hand dance, Petunia finally gave up and grabbed Olivia’s hand to say the blessing.

Exactly three nanoseconds after the “Amen,” Petunia had a napkin in hand, wiping the cheesy goo from her fingers. Seizing the teaching moment, I said to her, “Somtimes when you love someone you have to get messy.” She gave me a look back that said, “Brother, dont I know it.”

For a more clear-eyed look at love and marriage, read these refreshing articles in Boundless Magazine. These are based on Scott Stanley’s book, The Power of Commitment: A Guide to Active, Lifelong Love. Being certified to teach his and Stanley Markman’s PREP course, I’m already a fan.

And I do not mourn the myth of the Soul Mate. Heidi is my mate. I’m happy she has her own soul and I have mine.

Whether you are a disciple of David Allen’s Getting Things Done or not, these two posts from 43 Folders:

Building a Smarter To-Do List, Part I
Building a Smarter To-Do List, Part II

are key if you want to be more productive and wish to have a to-do list that inspires productivity and not guilt.

They key is to have only things on your to-do list that are physical, actionable items that can be done in a sitting. Old school to-do items like “Clean Garage” or “Write paper” are really projects, not actions, and need to have their own separate list. Putting a project-sized item on your to-do list is like trying to eat an apple in one bite. You’ll choke trying and nothing will get eaten.

So to have an effective to-do list, you need to have a comprehensive current projects list. Where do you get that project list? Well, I’ve been talking about Mission and Vision lately. Your misson and your vision should be specific enough to be the source of all your projects. You can look at your mission, your vision, the current situation, and determine what your next projects should be. Once a week is the recommendation.

After that it comes down to doing the “next right thing” on any project that’s important to you. And the “next right thing” is all that we can really do anyway.

Yeah, I still owe a post on how to generate a good Mission. It’s on my to-do list.

Some friends of mine were playing Monday morning quarterback about the whole New Orleans public planning snafu via email. And then somebody did it — they used the above phrase in a Christian context.

Ever since reading the excellent feature in July’s Harpers by Bill McKibben, I’ve been piqued by the misuse of this phrase and the mischaracterization of God’s willingness to help implied therein.

Okay folks. Nowhere in the bible does it say that. Benjamin Franklin said that. You may believe that saying is true. And you may be a Christian too. But that is not a Christian belief by any means. In fact the Gospel of Jesus Christ is pretty much diametrically opposed to the very idea.

Goes to show that there is no religion that localized cultural values cannot distort beyond recognition. In Africa and other developing nations, Christianity is adapted, some say distorted, to accomodate the local animist culture. In America, Christianity has been adapted, definitely distorted, to accommodate rampant individualist culture.

Saying it doesn’t make it true. I wish I had a greater Google rank so that when people in the future search for this phrase it’d get the debunking it deserves.

So earlier I got started talking about missions in a pique over the kind of mission statements I hate. I think personal missions are quite important, but I cannot stomach the useless flowery paragraphs that most missions become. Anyone who has been thrown in a conference room at work and asked to come up with a mission statement should be right here with me. When was the last time you and your coworkers consulted the mission statement to guide your activities? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

One of the problems with mission is that it is often confused with visions, ideals, values, morals, and the like. Those concepts are all related in certain ways, but a statement of values or goals or vision does not a mission make. You will find plenty of folks out there who will advise you as such. But what can I say? I disagree.

Here’s how I boil it down:

Mission is about your purpose in life.
Vision is about your direction in life.

Those are the stars of the show. The others — ideals, values, goals, ethics, morals, etc. — are all supporting players.

So, imagine you’re a parent planning a big vacation in the family station wagon. (Not much of a stretch for me.) As a parent, there are lots of things it is my job to do. I have to assure that my children are fed and have clothing and shelter. I have to help care for their physical and emotional health. I need to provide stimulation, educational opportunities, and creative outlets to feed their hungry little minds. The list is a lot longer than that, but you get the idea. I have a lot of stuff on my plate simply by virtue of being a parent. My mission as a parent is pretty well defined.

So, now we’re planning this car trip. We’re not leaving home for nothing. We have some image in our minds of what it will be like when we reach our destination. Maybe we envision a nice visit with Aunt Tillie. Maybe we’re looking forward to five fun-filled days camping or going to Disneyland. Maybe we just want to drive around and read as many of those historical markers as we possibly can. Whatever inspires you to hop in the family car and get moving. That’s your vision

Your vision sets your direction for the future.Your mission sets your agenda for the present. Viola. That’s it.

Now, whatever you envision, your destination, your motivation for moving — that’s like your Vision. But just because you’re on vacation, you can’t stop doing your job. In fact, most of your vacation planning is all about how to carry out your mission as a parent while on the way to the great vacation you envision. You need food, shelter, clothing, stuff for the kids to do so they don’t claw each other to death in the back seat. All that stuff, even as you move forward toward your vacation goal, must be maintained.

I’m also a big believer in having a vision as well, but that’s a whole ‘nother chapter. Mission deserves a chapter all to itself. Or at least a post all to itself.

And if you’re a Catholic type, try this on for size — every sacrament of vocation has a mission and a vision that goes with it. You need to articulate that mission and vision to fully live your sacrament. So there.

One of my new daily reads, Lifehack.org, links helpfully to a paper on by Randall S. Hansen called Five Steps Plan For Creating A Personal Mission Statement. An excellent idea. In fact, I need to revisit mine.

My problem is with the 5-Step plan. Truth be told, I hate mission statements in their popular conception. Flowery words with little practical use, IMO. Hansen’s example Mission Statement, the product of his 5-step plan, reads like most I’ve seen:

“To live life completely, honestly, and compassionately, with a healthy dose of realism mixed with the imagination and dreams that all things are possible if one sets their mind to finding an answer.”

An admirable statment indeed. And I’m sure it’s a thousand percent better than it would have been if not for Mr. Hansen’s 5-step plan. But what do I do with that? I just hate that kind of mission statement in general.

But I do advocate being aware of one’s own “personal mission.” Yet I hate mission statements. What to do? Write down your personal mission without condensing it down to a statement.

A mission needs to answer the question about your purpose in life — given all of your identities, roles, and relationships, what is it your “job” to do? A good mission is present-oriented. It should guide your current life activities.

Instead of a mission statement, per se, I advocate a list of mission areas. This list of mission areas should be specific enough to plug right into whatever flavor of GTD you are using. Think of GTD’s current project list. If it is in your mission — if it is your job to do a particular thing — then there should be a project concerning it in your GTD project list. Your next actions should map straight to some part of your mission.

Be warned. My flavor of mission will not read well on plaques, flyers, or business cards. It is pretty darn boring reading and not particularly inspiring to anybody except for (hopefully) yourself. But you can use it as a defacto agenda for your own personal status meeting, as an organizing rubric for all of your current activities, as a cornerstone in your getting organized agenda.

So how do you create one of these things for yourself? Well, you first have to know the difference between a mission and a vision and you need to know my version of the five step plan. Both will be subjects of my next posts. But right now, other elements of my personal mission are calling me away from the blog.

(Man, I’ve been scrounging so long to find something that would inspire me to write here. Maybe I’ve found it. Maybe this is how my blog fits into my life? We’ll see. Another post as well.)