Category: Cultural Observations

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The Best and Worst of 2025

By Jim Spiegel

It has been another exciting year for the Spiegel family—more transitions and making new friends. In August Jim commenced his work as Executive Director of the Center for Faith & Life at Geneva College in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania. He has rolled on to the Board of the Kalos Center and now hosts the Kalos Center Podcast on a part-time basis. Amy continued her work in Institutional Advancement at Hillsdale College but now working remotely in a role well-suited to her interests and skills. Maggie is a sophomore majoring in English at Wayne State University. Sam graduated from Taylor University last January. He is currently working for State Farm Insurance in Detroit and planning to attend graduate school next Fall. Bailey has been rooming with Sam in Detroit while working at Mad Nice Italian Restaurant, building on his art portfolio, and applying to MFA programs. And Andrew is a freshman at Hillsdale College, where he will likely major in Philosophy and Religion. We are excited about all of these developments, as our kids continue to grow into interesting and ambitious adults. Our family conversations about art, culture, philosophy, theology, and politics are more stimulating and enriching than ever. As usual, we are closing out the year with summary remarks about good and bad stuff related to film, music, books, sports, food, and family.

Film Experiences 

Jim: I’ll go from bad to best here, starting with Killers of the Flower Moon (2023) a somniferous waste of three hours, despite Leonardo DiCaprio’s lead role. Much better was Smile 2 (2024), which Maggie convinced me to see. I’m not into horror and generally avoid the genre, though my cousin Scott Spiegel (who, sadly, died this past year) made a Hollywood career out of directing horror films. My daughter seems to be the one in our family who inherited Scott’s love of horror. Anyway, Smile 2 scared me spitless. And Naomi Scott’s lead performance as a demonically tortured pop star was brilliant. I was enthralled by Anatomy of a Fall (2023), a carefully crafted French legal drama about the mysterious death of a husband and father. The acting was tremendous, and the film’s gradual plot revelations land hard. The film is also instructive regarding French criminal court procedure, which is fascinating. I’ve enjoyed the first season of Pluribus, the latest series from the mind of Vince Gilligan, the creator of Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul. The thought-provoking science fiction premise of Pluribus alone makes it worth watching. My favorite film this year was Small Things Like These (2024), an historical drama set in Ireland in the 1980s. It is an exquisitely directed and acted film that reaches into your soul.

Amy: I find myself at a distinct disadvantage because Jim has already named several of my favorites from this year, Small Things Like These being at the top of the list by a mile. I also enjoyed Everything Everywhere All at Once, which was flawed, but creative and well-acted. I am happy to report that Wake Up Dead Man, the third in the Knives Out series, was a vast improvement over the second, which is like saying eating ice cream is a vast improvement over a root canal. We’ve been enjoying Ken Burns’ American Revolution series on PBS, though it has taken us twice as long to watch because I keep insisting that we pause, fact-check and discuss every five minutes. Another highlight on the doc scene was I Like Me, a documentary about the life and work of John Candy. Named for a line from one of our family’s holiday favorites (Planes, Trains and Automobiles), it was exactly like so many of his great performances: funny, tragic, and touchingly human. The highlight of my film-viewing this year was actually at the movie theater, a rare occurrence these days. Andrew and I saw an unintentional double-feature spanning two nights when Mission Impossible: Final Reckoning self-destructed with just ten minutes to go and we had to come back the next night. We came early and amused ourselves by “guessing” upcoming plot twists. While not the best movie in the series, the stunts are out of this world and Tom Cruise’s dedication to his craft is commendable.

Food and Music

Amy’s Best Food Experiences of the Year: This year saw a lot of meals with friends and family which become more meaningful to me as they become less frequent. My mom, Sam and I had the pleasure of eating at Bailey’s restaurant with him as our server, which was very fun. I also got the chance to eat at Pierpont’s at Union Station in Kansas City with work colleagues. The excellence of the food was only surpassed by the exceptional service. But my highlight would be the discovery of The Deck Down Under, a hole-in-the-wall restaurant located a few miles from our home in Jonesville where we shared a couple of meals first with the boys just prior to their moving to Detroit and then with Andrew and his girlfriend to celebrate his high school graduation. Again, great food and service (truffle fries so good you want to duck under the table and lick the plate), but it was the conversation and laughter I will treasure most. 

Jim’s Best Musical Experiences of the Year: I didn’t get out to see any concerts this year, but I did discover a lot of exciting new artists (well, new to me anyway), including Annika Kilkenny, Maya Hawke, Rob J Madin, Ray Lamontagne, Great Grandpa, Lily Allen, Birdtalker, Hurray for the Riff Raff and, my favorite: Geese. Their album 3D Country caught my attention at the suggestion of my son, Sam. Then came their current album, Getting Killed. Unlike their previous stuff, the band’s approach on this album feels entirely improvisational. Think Lift to Experience meets Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks with a dash of The Grateful Dead. Front man and lyricist Cameron Winter is a unique, compelling persona, confirmed by the fact that he was recently parodied on SNL. Sam and Bailey saw Geese live in Detroit a few months ago. And Sam was able to get a pic with the band after the concert, as you can see here.

Sports

Jim’s Favorite Sports Moments of the Year: 2025 was another year of “almosts” for my teams. While that meant disappointment for all of them in the end, the playoff run by the Indiana Pacers was a thrilling surprise. Since at the time of writing this the Indiana Hoosiers are #1 in the country and have a good shot at winning the college football national championship, I’ll call that my favorite sports “moment” of the year. Here’s to hoping that they don’t become my most disappointing sports memory of 2026! 

Amy’s Favorite Sports Moments of the Year: Over Thanksgiving, we had the joy of hosting my folks from Tennessee and the misery of watching every one of our teams lose. I’m not sure it counts as a sporting event, but cheering Sam and Andrew on during their first marathon this summer was a treat and seemed a rare instance in which the fans really do make a difference. Speaking of fandom, this year has seen a significant development for me as a sports fan. After years of existing in an NFL allegiance limbo, I have decided to become a Lions fan. I abandoned the Colts after a half-hearted effort to transfer my support from Peyton to Andrew Luck, only to be followed by a brief and lackluster commitment to the Carolina Panthers. Mainly, I want to have someone I can cheer on with Jim, and so the Lions it is.

Jim’s Most Disappointing Sports Moments of the Year: Amy’s notion that one can simply “decide” to become a fan of a team is interesting and worthy of analysis. But moving on . . .  My Detroit Lions getting bounced by the Washington Commanders in the first round of the NFL playoffs last January was probably the hardest loss of the year for me. The Indiana Pacers’ loss in game 7 of the NBA finals was disappointing, too, but like most people, I expected they’d lose, since Oklahoma City was so heavily favored and, okay, the better team. Still, it hurts to be that close and fall short.

Amy’s Most Painful Sports Moment of the Year: Hands down, it was my attendance of Andrew’s track meets this year. Who came up with this format?? One is expected to attend the entire 12-million-year-long meet, conveniently located seven hours from your house and bonus points for cold and rain while your child competes for approximately the wink of an eye, and the snacks are terrible. If any of my eventual grandchildren decide to run track, they will find me waiting in the car with an encouraging hug and a cup of hot chocolate.

Good Reads

Jim: Because of my work hosting the Kalos Center Podcast, I read more widely than usual this year. Oh, so many good books. I loved Anne Hendershott’s The Politics of Envy, which discusses the vice of envy as it manifests in many cultural contexts, from the academy to politics to social media. Robert Woodson’s Woodson Principles is an inspiring and practical summary of his proven approach to urban renewal, and Don Eberly and Ryan Streeter’s The Soul of Civil Society is a superb complement to this, providing many wise insights about civic engagement and democratic culture. I was deeply edified by John Perkins’ One Blood, perhaps the most biblically faithful work I’ve read dealing with race relations. And by “race”—following Perkins—I mean the human race). On the theological front, Michael Kruger’s Canon Revisited on the origin of the New Testament canon is the best volume I’ve read on the fascinating and sometimes bewildering topic of biblical canonicity. Dan Doriani’s Work: Its Purpose, Dignity, and Transformation is a superb introduction to a biblical theology of work. And I loved D. A. Carson’s Exegetical Fallacies, a book which I had never read in its entirety. Now I understand why so many scholars call this a “must read” for anyone interested in—and especially anyone who professionally does—biblical exegesis. My only real disappointment of the year was Christopher Watkin’s Biblical Critical Theory. While this book made good fodder for group discussion with the group of Columbus pastors I led as part of the Center for Christian Virtue’s Minnery Fellowship, I found many aspects of Watkin’s methodology to be disappointing.

Amy: Like Jim, I read a wide range of books this year. One of these was Birding to Change the World by Trish O’Kane. I couldn’t agree with this woman’s politics less, but I couldn’t stop reading the book and pondered it for weeks afterwards. My family is likely to write her hate mail for my new obsession with a bird-watching app I can’t get enough of. I loved The Hallmarked Man by Robert Galbraith, aka J.K. Rowling. She’s a literary genius who creates characters I can’t get enough of. What else can I say? Erik Larson’s The Splendid and the Vile is a very interesting look at Churchill leading up to and during the Battle of Britain. Allie Beth Stuckey’s Toxic Empathy is a succinct but powerful examination of virtue gone wrong. Lee Strobel’s Seeing the Supernatural is sobering and encouraging. And Harriet Beecher Stowe’s classic Uncle Tom’s Cabin and Garrett M. Graff’s The Only Plane in the Sky are my current reads in progress. Both of these are gripping portrayals of some of our country’s darkest days and the courageous efforts of many who lived through them.

Best 2025 Family Memories

Jim: Our annual Bell (Amy’s side of the family) summer reunion was a lot of fun again, this time spent at Donkey Town, an aptly named rental property in southern Indiana. Having the whole family together for Thanksgiving at our new home in Beaver Falls was a definite highlight, especially given the fact that our latest batch of eight Goldendoodle puppies were at peak cuteness and rambunctiousness at the time. By mid-December we delivered seven of them to their thrilled new owners, and we kept one—Pippet, named for the ill-fated dog in the film Jaws. Hopefully, our pup won’t meet such a gruesome end. We’ll be careful to avoid taking her to Amity Island during the summer months.

Amy: Empty-nesting with Jim as we settle into our new home in Pennsylvania has been a blast. While I was very sad to say good-bye to Michigan and a bit daunted by the prospect of starting over again, being reunited after a year of Jim splitting each week between his job in Ohio and our house in Michigan has been nothing but wonderful. Adjusting to the kids being gone has been hard, but I love seeing each of them forging their own paths in new settings and supporting them as adults rather than shepherding them as children. I also had the terrifyingly profound experience of delivering eight puppies by myself when our beloved Goldendoodle decided to give birth while Jim was out of town. And yes, Donkey Town was everything the name says and more.

New Year’s Resolutions

Amy: The upheaval of the last five years has served as an excuse for making less than stellar choices in the area of nutrition and exercise for me. Hoping to turn that around this year along with reading more and scrolling less.

Jim: I have committed to fasting (as a spiritual discipline) more consistently in 2026. It is amazing how much moral-spiritual power there is in this practice—sharpening the mind and improving self-control, which of course is a key fruit of the Spirit.

Happy 2026 everyone!

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Before and After

By Amy Spiegel

Every life has a few before-and-after moments, some that are shared with others and some that are more personal. There are some before-and-afters that seem small but which have profoundly shaped my life. Before and after discovering the world of independent film. Before and after reading Jane Austen. Before and after realizing that food from other countries is better than chicken fingers.

Some moments are deeper and more life-changing. Before and after becoming serious about my Christian faith. Before and after becoming a wife and then a mom. Before and after 9/11, an experience many of us have had, in our own way, together. Wednesday was a day of two before-and-after moments. First, one moment, I was emailing a Hillsdale donor about the impact a single life can have on the world. The next, I was reading a message from Jim saying that Charlie Kirk had been shot. Then, I got on Twitter and inadvertently watched a video of Charlie being shot. One moment, I was waxing poetical about the price of liberty and the next I was watching someone paying the ultimate price. Before and after.

While we won’t know for days, months, or even years how Charlie’s death will reverberate throughout history, I know with certainty how it will echo through mine.

The fact of his death laid bare the stakes we are playing for in our current public discord. Labels of Republican and Democrat no longer really apply. You are now either on the side of life or the side of death. The contrast is too stark to ignore. This should be good news. Surely the cause of life is something most reasonable people can rally around. Aren’t the rights to “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,” all things that were just stolen from Charlie Kirk, things we all want to see secured for us all? We might disagree about how to pursue those things, or how to secure them for others, but good gravy, can’t we all say in unison, “I don’t want public figures being gunned down in public because they said something someone else disagrees with”?

So I resolved that I will hold out two hands from this day forward: the first will be a fist so tight that, to quote Ferris Bueller, if it held a lump of coal “in two weeks you would have a diamond.” In that fist, I will hold my unalienable rights, given by God to me and all my fellow citizens. And those rights will only be taken from me by force. I will not strike out with that fist, but I will cling to those rights for me, for my kids, and for all my fellow Americans to whom I will extend that second hand, in an attempt to bridge whatever divide separates us—in a desire to find a way to unite around values and principles we all hold dear. I will not join with those who seek to snatch my rights of life, freedom, and expression, but I will look for common ground wherever it can be found.

I said that I experienced two before-and-after moments on Wednesday. The first when I got the news and the second when I witnessed it with my own eyes. Despite initial news to the contrary, after seeing that video, I knew that Charlie Kirk was dead. Dead and yet . . . in all the horror of that moment, I felt as if I watched Charlie come alive. And that was the second “after.” Seeing that Charlie had not lost anything and he gained everything. My second resolve was to live in the light of that reality, that I have nothing to lose that anyone can take.

In times of discouragement or doubt, I can often be found, driving with the windows down, singing badly, but with great gusto, the Avett Brothers’ song “Ain’t No Man” the chorus of which is:

There ain’t no man can save me. There ain’t no man can enslave me. Ain’t no man or men that can change the shape my soul is in. There ain’t nobody here who can cause me pain or raise my fears. ‘Cause I got only love to share.

While I usually find this song quite uplifting and inspiring, it isn’t entirely true. There is a man who can save me. A man who died for the sake of the truth, and it wasn’t Charlie Kirk. It was the man who saved Charlie and me and anyone who will call upon His name. This is the man who was waiting for Charlie on Wednesday. He is waiting for us all. And this man, Jesus Christ, said of those who will trust Him, “I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.” May we all reach out, as Charlie did, and take that hand until He sees us home.

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Connecting the Dots

By Amy Spiegel

Several years ago, the Spiegel family spread out across multiple countries and continents in an unprecedented flurry of world travel. Jim was in Greece, Bailey in Israel, and Sam was in Bolivia while Maggie, Andrew and I kept the home fires burning back in Indiana. Multiple times a day, I would pull up our family chat and check the location of my family members. I got a rush of joy and a feeling of connecting to my far-flung husband and offspring as I watched them move jerkily across the screen like a technological version of the Marauders Map from Harry Potter. I am not sure that I could solemnly swear I was up to no good, but I did develop a terrible addiction. I became a “location dot” addict.

Something about seeing this tiny dot, so far away, made me feel closer to them. When everyone came home, I started checking to see if they had left soccer practice and were on their way home for dinner. Or if they were cutting it close for curfew. Now that we are quasi-empty nesters, I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and double-check that they have all made it home safe and sound. Ironically, my mom has started doing the same to me. I get texts from her saying, “Are you working from home today?” or “Traffic bad? Why are you stopped in the middle of the interstate?”

I recently learned this is a “thing.” When referring to my locations addiction at work, a male co-worker said, “What is it with women and dots?” Until he asked, I didn’t realize there was a thing with women and their dots. I thought it was just me.

If this is, in fact, a female phenomenon, I imagine there is more than one answer to that question. Typically, women are “running the show” when it comes to the family schedule, coordinating drop-offs and pick-ups, mealtimes and bedtimes, invites, and events. So it makes sense that they would look for a “leg up” in keeping all their family ducks in a row. I will confess to sending an innocently worded “Almost home?” which, given the location of the recipient, could also have read “Why haven’t you left yet?” Entirely a truthful reflection of my knowledge of their whereabouts? No. Highly effective way to both avoid an argument and get them to hightail it home? Heck yeah.

But beyond the convenience as a tool of the homemaker, I think there is something deeper, more visceral that calls to our maternal nature when we seek to “find my.” If you aren’t an Apple user, “Find My” is the app for Mac users to find their devices, items (e.g., air-tagged car keys, etc.) and people. Perhaps it is a stretch, but this app presents women with a temptation eerily similar to that first forbidden fruit of Eden. Tempted by Satan to disobey God, Eve was told that in doing so, “your eyes will be opened and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” (Genesis 3:5) What Satan predicted came true, Eve’s eyes were opened and she did gain the knowledge of good and evil, but she, along with all the women that followed, sure paid the price. Her relationship with God, Adam, and all of nature, even her own body, was irrevocably altered for the worse. The blessing of womanhood, our beauty, frailty, and unique reproductive role was turned against us in God’s curse and its devastating consequences.

Now I am fairly certain that I do not fall under God’s judgment each time I reach out and check my family’s locations. And I seriously doubt they are struggling under the burden of His wrath because I like to know where they are. But I do think there is a clear connection between Eve’s failure and my own obsession, both are rooted in a lack of trust and a longing for control. Eve didn’t want to obey; she wanted to rule. I don’t just want to know; I want to control. Somehow, I have convinced myself, however subconsciously, that by knowing where they are, I am protecting those I love. As if by knowing where they are, I am watching over them as well. But I am not, because I am not God. Only He can protect. Only He is in control. He not only knows how to find us, He knows how to bring us home. I am just an observer of dots. He is the one connecting us all.

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Weezer’s Albums Ranked Worst to Best

By Jim Spiegel

The first time I heard a Weezer song was in the Fall of 1994 at the university where I taught at the time. The song was “Undone” and while it was playing I asked a student, “Who is that band?” He sneered and said “Weezer” dismissively. The next day I went out and bought the album and was immediately amazed by what I heard. Over 30 years and hundreds of songs later, the band is still going strong and I love them more than ever. But many people still sneer at Weezer or at least don’t take them seriously. Why is this?

Several reasons, I believe. For starters, there is the band name, which is goofy. It originated with Rivers Cuomo’s father who would call his son “weezer” when Rivers was a little kid. Rivers liked the sound of it, so the rest is history. Another likely reason is that Weezer’s music is fun. Many of their songs are witty, satirical, or silly, and even on many serious songs there are funny turns of phrases that make us smile, all of which adds up to a band that has a generally campy aesthetic. This has been consistently reinforced by many of Weezer’s album covers, album titles, and their practice of repeatedly releasing self-titled albums, leaving it to journalists and fans to nickname them by their predominant colors. But perhaps the biggest reason why Weezer isn’t taken seriously is their unlikely front man. Shy, reclusive, self-deprecating, and well-educated, Rivers Cuomo is the archetypal anti-rockstar. Or, at least, his persona directly contradicts what we have learned to expect from a rock band’s central figure.

In light of all of this, those who are bound by rock culture categories will naturally be inclined to dismiss Weezer, perhaps seeing them as something of a jester in the court of modern rock. Add to this the fact that Rivers Cuomo doesn’t look cool. He looks more like an accountant or IT guy than anything we usually associate with rock stardom. Which is why it is so easy to miss the fact that he is a bona fide triple threat: A strong vocalist, a superb songwriter, and an excellent guitarist. Sadly, he is underrated in all three of those categories. But so it goes. Such must be the fate of anyone who so readily embraces the image of a dork.

Be all of that as it may, Weezer is a band to be taken seriously. Serious enough to be regarded as one of the great bands of all-time. This is despite the fact that their discography is wildly uneven in terms of quality, including several gems and some absolute stinkers. But, alas, every band whose career spans 30+ years has some bad albums to their discredit. What is fascinating about Weezer, however, is that, unlike most (all other?) bands, they have made their best music in their later years. Yet another way in which these guys don’t fit the mold.

Well, enough of this preamble. Let’s get down to business with my ranking of Weezer albums from “worst to first.” Unlike others who have done such rankings, I will lay out my assessment criteria so you’ll know the basis of my evaluations. I am using these four criteria: 1) musical quality, 2) lyrical quality (an often overlooked but critical aspect of song quality), 3) production quality, and 4) overall originality or innovation.

Weezer [The Teal Album] (2019) – Not rated due to incommensurability. In other words, as an album of covers it requires assessment by a somewhat different set of criteria than albums of original compositions. Among cover albums, I suppose I would arrive at a middling score of a C+ or B- (using a letter grade to help me resist any temptation to place it somewhere in the following ranking).

Now for the rest of the albums, I start from the worst and work upward. Brace yourself, Weezer fans; the first few may hurt. But hang in there. It gets better as you go!

Hurley (2010) – 1.6

In 2010 Weezer hit bottom with this misbegotten amalgam of bland melodies and trite lyrics. An album with literally no bright spots, it is as if they randomly selected a 10th grade kid from Podunk, USA and said “Here, write lyrics for 14 songs; you have one hour,” and this was the result. I can only think the band was somehow in need of money, or perhaps they did it on a dare and intentionally made a bad album. Whatever the explanation, Hurley goes down about as well as a diarrhea smoothie.

Death to False Metal (2010) – 2.7

To round out a year best forgotten in the history of Weezer, the band released this collection of re-recordings of leftover tracks from throughout their career. Biggest stinkers: “Everyone,” “Unbreak My Heart,” and the torturously wretched “Losing My Mind”—an excellent candidate not only for Weezer’s worst song but for the worst song of the decade by any artist. Even thinking about it puts me in a bad mood.

Make Believe (2005) – 3.5

Another poor effort overall, but with a few bright spots, including the opening track, “Beverly Hills,” which is Weezer’s satirical homage to Hollywood subculture. The next song, “Perfect Situation,” also works—a decent singalong. But from here it’s all downhill with non-stop lyrical drivel—clusters of cliches and lazy rhymes set forth in mostly somniferous packages with occasionally serviceable guitar lines. Make Believe is an album that makes you feel bad for the band—an aimless and uninspired recycling of mediocre ideas. The guys sound bored, though pretending otherwise. Make believe, indeed.

Weezer [The Red Album] (2008) – 5.5

A brief semi-recovery from the dreary aesthetic lowlands of Make Believe, the “Red album” has no cohesive identity but should be commended for its bold experimentation. It is Scott Shriner’s breakout album as a bassist and has some truly great moments. The album is replete with power chords, which is fine, but low on Rivers’ melodic lead work. The high points are clever power pop tunes like “Troublemaker” and “The Greatest Man that Ever Lived” (an epic tune, despite the talk-over, which is usually poison to a pop song but here adds to the comic effect). “Pork and Beans” is inane but it works somehow. The corny tribute “Heart Songs” kills the mood, and the three non-Cuomo songs in the middle of the album, though all earnest efforts, feel more like novelties and don’t strengthen the record.

Raditude (2009) – 6.1

Perhaps Weezer’s most critically panned album, I believe Ratitude is usually unfairly assessed. For all its quirks and strange turns, the album knows what it is: a party album. And an almost decent one at that. Weezer is goofing off here, and we love it. The production team, led by Jacknife Lee, temporarily rescues the band from its creative coma with crunchy textures, strong dynamics, and varied arrangements. Probably Weezer’s most danceable album. Definitely their best workout album. (Try it. I burn calories just listening while sitting still.) Most importantly, on this record Cuomo rediscovers some of his lyrical wit. The songwriting is generally helped by contributions from folks outside the band.

Weezer [The Green Album] (2001) – 6.4

Complicated by psychological wounds sustained from confused critical responses to Pinkerton, the “Green Album” was destined to be a safe, catchy retreat that takes no musical chances. It strives to be a high energy college rock album but is unwittingly marked by Cuomo’s melancholic disillusionment from unjust treatment of Pinkerton and, consequently, feels disingenuous. Despite good melodies and sweet harmonies throughout, there are too many vapid rhymes and lyrical cliches (including the most overused chorus lines on pop radio—e.g., “can’t you see,” “I’m lost without your love,” etc.) to be anything more than a mediocre album.

Van Weezer (2021) – 7.0

After a five year (and four album) hiatus from guitar-centric music, Weezer returned to their stylistic home base with this pure rocking collection. Sans the acoustic closer, the songs are uniformly metal-inspired, many of which showcase Cuomo’s superb lead guitar work. If the album title signals the fact that the album is a sort of tribute to the metal genre, the opening track, “Hero,” belies this: “. . . I tried to be a hero, but I was lying to myself. I walk alone.” It’s a powerful, and well-articulated confession in song. Something of which the young Rivers Cuomo seemed incapable. Besides “Hero,” however, there are just a few real highlights, including the Van Halen knock-off “The End of the Game” and the Ozzy-inspired “Blue Dream,” but, thanks to the guitar work and mostly decent lyrics, no real losers.

Pacific Daydream (2017) – 7.8

Though the opening song is named for an electric guitar, this album is decidedly not a guitar album. It’s more about dance grooves and synth pop. But it works. It has a consistent dreamy pop atmosphere. In that sense it is aptly titled. Lots of clever lines: “Everyone wants to be cooler than everyone else. It’s a hip-hop world, and we’re the furniture” (“Beach Boys”), “You’ve gotta choose between the Internet and me” (“QB Blitz”), and “You don’t have to die to go to heaven” (“Weekend Woman”). The album highlights are “Weekend Woman” and the closer, “Any Friend of Diane’s,” a danceable ditty featuring a classical guitar solo that, strangely, fits the song perfectly. An appropriate ending to an album that is surprising at many levels. Many critics complain that it’s a stylistic reach for the band. A reach, perhaps. But not out of their reach.

Pinkerton (1996) – 8.1

As a huge fan of the Blue Album, when Pinkerton was released, I was as surprised as anyone at the lo-fi turn the band took. But I was heartened by the clear indication the band refused to sell out. I also liked the raunchy keyboard sound that pervades the album and, of course, the lyrical vulnerability conveyed with raw vocals and minimal instrumental effects. It all showed these guys were for real and not just a pop rock outfit, daring to seriously address exasperation with the promiscuous rock star lifestyle (“Tired of Sex”) and sexual attraction to a minor (“Across the Sea”), among other difficult topics. So as negative reviews emerged, I was perplexed. But history has been kinder to the album, as its real quality has become evident to most music critics.

Maladroit (2002) – 8.3

Ironically titled given the depth and range of the album, Maladroit was a refreshing sign of musical growth, including the band’s first forays into heavy metal. It is also Pat Wilson’s breakout album on drums. His work on “Dope Nose,” “Keep Fishin’,” and “Burndt Jam” is especially strong. And the rhythmic turnarounds on “Fall Together” are super cool. Add to this some excellent lead guitar work and a lot of fun, nonsensical wordplay, and you have another distinct artistic advance for the band. The only significant low point is “December,” an unfortunately corny, if admittedly catchy, album closer. Cuomo sings, “Only trust can inspire soggy lungs to breathe fire.” Soggy lungs? Ohh-kay. An earnest but failed attempt at an inspiring rock anthem. In time, however, Weezer would succeed at this, and in big ways. Persistence pays!

Weezer [The Black Album] (2019) – 8.7

Horribly underestimated by most critics, in part no doubt due to a lack of interest or appreciation for lyrical quality, the “Black Album” was another step of maturation for Rivers Cuomo as a lyricist and the band as a whole for musical innovation. The album features more imaginative and creative humor, on a level with their “White Album” from three years earlier. Like that one, the “Black Album” is melodically and instrumentally rich and varied. There are lots of strong dance grooves to go with some excellent musical hooks. Also, some great lines, like: “the future’s so bright I gotta poke my eyes out” (“Can’t Knock the Hustle”), “life will make a beggar of rich men, bring the sovereign to his knees; and all the gold and all of the platinum melt like a chocolate sea” (The Prince Who Wanted Everything”), and “I don’t believe in mysticism, only in what science proves—like the sex appeal of your sick dance moves” (“Byzantine”).

Everything Will be Alright in the End (2014) – 9.3

Weezer’s “comeback album” after more than a decade of artistic doldrums. Was it Ocasek’s production? Cuomo’s brush with death? Creativity enhancing meditation? Who knows. Well-crafted songs, creative dynamics and arrangements, smart and sometimes introspective lyrics, inspired guitar solos, and ambitious vocals. The second half of the album might be the band’s strongest 6-song sequence, with two of the songs enhanced by female vocals. “The British are Coming” is one of Weezer’s very best—featuring a gorgeous melody, perfectly sung, and one of Cuomo’s most brilliant guitar solos, finished off with a killer outro. This is immediately followed by “Da Vinci”: Cuomo has written many songs about the unreachable, ineffably sublime girl, but this is his finest, complete with references to Stephen Hawking, the Rosetta Stone, the eponymous painter, and even the Gospel. All wrapped in an addictive cluster of melodies. Following this are the plaintive “Go Away,” featuring guest vocalist Bethany Cosentino, the genre-defying “Cleopatra,” and the touching “Foolish Father.” It all culminates in a soaring three-song suite to close the album. Wow.

Weezer [The Blue Album] (1994) – 9.5

What can be said that hasn’t already been said about this legendary Weezer premier? One of the all-time great album debuts, full of raw, youthful, catch-us-if-you-can energy. Uncommonly clever, if sometimes nonsensical, compositions packaged in walls of fuzzy power chords, pierced with hooky guitar solos, street-level vocals, all sprinkled with occasional dissonant guitar lines. Masterful production by the late, great Ric Ocasek, the ideal musical mentor for these determined grunge and 80s rock-inspired rookies who had no idea what lay ahead of them as a major rock band.

Weezer [The White Album] (2016) – 9.7

The ultimate “beach album” (as inspired by the band’s manager, Jonathan Daniel), complete with fully realized lyrical concepts, fresh melodic innovations, and, yes, some beachy themes.  Modern rock just doesn’t get any better than this. The album completes Cuomo’s decade-long trek from lyrical sloth to a genuinely smart, insightful, and even quotable songsmith. “We’ve  got the wind in our sail like Darwin on the Beagle and Mendel experimenting with the pea” (“Wind in Our Sail”), “We’re as happy as a couple Hare Krishnas” (“Good Thing”), “She swam away and flexed her mermaid tail” (“Summer Elaine and Drunk Dori”), “You’re the sun that I’m orbiting. I burn in your heat. Supernova and cosmic dust, you spawn galaxies” (“Jacked Up”). And then there’s Weezer’s single greatest song: “Thank God for Girls”—a lyrical journey that warrants an essay’s worth of analysis by itself. The White Album is not just a batch of hook-laden, super-singable, beach-inspired tunes. It is, at last, a lyrical effort worthy of the Harvard University English major graduate that is Rivers Cuomo.

OK Human – 9.8

Who would have thought Weezer was capable of something this smart and sophisticated? A baroque-style, fully orchestrated set of strikingly thoughtful compositions. And no electric guitars! The rich musicality throughout creates the ideal pallet for Cuomo’s substantive and moving lyrical ventures that include immersions in literature (“Grapes of Wrath”) and music (“Playing My Piano”) to insightful social commentaries on digital devices (“Screens”) and the psychological effects of statistics (“Numbers”) to a touching personal reflection about feeling past one’s prime (“Bird with a Broken Wing”). All of these songs are sandwiched between the plaintive opener “All My Favorite Songs” and the hopeful roundelay “Here Comes the Rain,” which, like several other tracks on the album, subtly packs a profound lyrical message. The string and horn orchestration and dynamics are exquisite, featuring seemingly endless layers of melodies and instrumental textures that perfectly serve the songs. Producer Jake Sinclair deserves as much credit as anyone here. The very idea of Weezer doing an album like this might have once seemed comical. (Yes, there are plenty of funny moments, but only because of Cuomo’s clever wit.) The truth is it all feels very natural and, well, authentically human.

SZNZ (2022) – 9.9

Technically, the SZNZ EPs are four separate releases. But because of their unifying theme and the fact that all of the songs came out of the same recording sessions, I regard SZNS as a single, albeit time-released, work. Indeed, Weezer’s greatest work. A consistently innovative blend of progressive rock, orchestral rock, baroque, and chamber music, with dashes of heavy metal, all with consistently strong lyrics. This is Rivers Cuomo at his most literate, smart, witty, personal, and compelling. SZNZ is loaded with seemingly endless pockets of melodies. Nearly every song has some interesting dynamic, whether a surprising arrangement, a challenging syncopation, an unexpected modulation, or creative musical sidebar, and usually a unique intro and/or outro. But nothing forced or pretentious. Just persistent, often stunning musical innovation. Lyrically, nearly every song is thought-provoking, many profoundly so, as in the case of “Lawn Chair” (on the origin of human suffering) “What’s the Good of Being Good,” (why be moral?), and “Should She Stay or Should She Go” (on Adam’s dilemma if Eve had succumbed to temptation in the Garden of Eden but Adam did not: “I could kick her ass out, move on with my life. Or I could follow her into the night”). Some more lyrical doozies: “I wish I could say it all to you in iambic pentameter. I’d improvise high notes like Thelonious when he’s jammin’ it” (“Iambic Pentameter”), “Why was I ever born and why did God make me? He must’ve been high when he dropped me down here” (“Dark Enough to See the Stars”), and “Lollygag in the lee of a highland ’til my ghost takes flight. In the sky I’m as high as a titan feeding on the fire, shattering those iron bars through the sky like shooting stars” (“Wild at Heart”). In addition to all of this, Cuomo’s voice is in top form. Underrated as he is as a guitarist, he’s probably just as underrated as a vocalist—like many great rock singers, not because of technical excellence but because of the personal connection he achieves and his ability to consistently match his vocal dynamics and emotion to each song’s meaning and mood. Simply put, SZNZ is an extraordinary achievement. If Weezer never records again, they will have gone out at their artistic peak. Brilliantly done, guys.

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They Aren’t Just Eating the Dogs and Cats

By Amy Spiegel

My mind is often a colliding mix of thoughts and ideas, swirling around in a chaotic soup inside my head. This morning while sitting on a balcony looking out at the Gulf Coast of Florida, Jung’s “devouring mother,” the words of the apostle Paul, and Springfield, Ohio all coalesced into what follows.

Sitting in God’s beautiful creation, I was reading 2 Timothy 3 which outlines “the last days” and what will characterize them. Some of the things listed, frankly, have characterized human civilization since Adam and Eve decided to have a snack from the wrong tree in Eden: lovers of self, lovers of money, proud, arrogant, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, etc. What struck me, however, was the following: “…lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having the appearance of godliness but denying its power. Avoid such people. For among them are those who creep into households and capture weak women, burdened with sins and led astray by various passions, always learning and never able to arrive at a knowledge of the truth” (vs. 4-7).

Could there be a more apt description of the current state of our nation and many in the evangelical church in America? Women, burdened by their guilt with no one calling them to repentance are not only being led astray but leading the charge to assault the most vulnerable among us, our children. Through the ungodly teachings of the woke, which has infiltrated our thoughts on parenting and motherhood, whichever side you land on politically, these women have been persuaded to follow harmful paths, carrying their children along with them into a desolate and dangerous land.

As a frequent consumer of Jordan Peterson’s lectures and podcast, I have become familiar with the concept of the devouring mother. The basic idea, as I understand it and will use it here, is of a mother who has come to depend so heavily on her children for her sense of self-worth that she consumes them with toxic “care” rather than nurturing them into healthy and self-sufficient individuals. Think the “bad” mom in the story of Solomon willing to divide the baby in 1 Kings 3 or Gothel of “Mother Knows Best” fame from Disney’s Tangled.

So, you ask, how does this relate to 2 Timothy’s weak women and the hellscape of morality in modern America? Here are a few current issues where I believe we can see the devouring mother doing battle against, rather than for, her children:

Abortion: I’m not sure I need to say more. Literally a mother killing her child in its most dependent and vulnerable state. What is different now is that women are no longer being told this is a final escape hatch only to be used in case of emergency. We are being encouraged to celebrate doing that which should be devastating even to contemplate. The aim of “rare and necessary” has become “common and discretionary.” Women are being told to rejoice and defend our ability to destroy life; we should instead be marveling and protecting our sacred and unique ability to procreate and carry life.

Trans rights: The response of many women to the onslaught of trans activism is a head-scratcher for me. Allowing their compassion for those they see as marginalized to blind them, these women have aligned themselves with one of the most misogynistic movements in history. I could take a whole post to outline this argument but standing against the mockery and erasure of womanhood, the predatory nature of “gender affirming care” providers who with little thought subject vulnerable young girls to life altering medical procedures, and the physical, emotional and psychological endangering of women in sports and public spaces should be a stance with whom any clear thinking woman agrees. There also seems to be a vampiristic segment of mothers who are encouraging their children to disavow their biological sex. Don’t believe me? Just look at the disproportionate number of celebrities with trans children. These real-life stage moms are exploiting their children’s confusion for social standing rather than helping them navigate their way, as beings created by God in His image, through the confusing waters of childhood and adolescence.

Social media: A non-partisan issue we should all be able to get behind is the harmful effects of social media on the mental health of women, especially young girls. This is an area where I feel most ashamed as a mother and child of God. I have allowed social media to eat away at my soul with envy and greed. I have used my kids as props for online clout building and failed to shelter them from the destructive repercussions of social media consumption. Ironically, it was my daughter who helped to lift the scales from my eyes when she asked me, years ago, to not post pictures of her online. It started me questioning why it was that I wanted to in the first place. I should have been the one protecting her rather than “selling” her image to prove I was worthy of others’ approval. This is to say nothing of the use of social media by predators or the devastating effect of social media on the mental health of children.

After the second presidential debate, I became obsessed with Donald Trump’s delivery of the line “They’re eating the dogs. They’re eating the cats. They’re eating the pets.” Whatever your opinion of the man, you have to admit, he knows how to coin a phrase and create a slew of chuckle-worthy memes. Though the truth of that claim might be in dispute, there is no disputing the perilous danger our children find themselves in, partially due to the cowardice of weak Christian women, myself included. The world is eating our children and our failure to stand up and protect our children, whatever the cost, is a stain on the sacred reputation of motherhood and we must do all we can to remove it. We must refrain from devouring them ourselves and protect them. We must teach them and one another how to live as God’s children. When reminded by Jim that our kids will one day cut the apron strings and fly the coop, I would often say, “Yes, but on the battlefield they always call for their mothers.” Ladies, our children are crying out to us from the battlefield and we must heed their call or they will perish alone.

The devouring mother will not be defeated through politics. This is not a power structure issue; it’s an issue of the heart. And in some ways that’s good news. When it comes to influencing the hearts and minds of our fellow believers, we the Church are in charge, not the political powers that be. Let us stand against the devouring mother and see her transformed into the nurturing, protector she was meant to be. Let us guard her heart with truth and wisdom, as we guard our own, and in doing so we guard her children from destruction.

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Women’s Work

By Amy Spiegel

For years, when our children were small, Jim and I would share a hurried kiss and a “Have a good day” as he left for campus and I began a day at home with the kids. We used to joke that as we went our separate ways, each of us would look at the other with wistful pity and mutter under our breath “Sucker!”

Sure, there were days when, with a heart full of envy, I imagined him gathered around the water cooler (this was truly imagining because they didn’t have a water cooler) with his colleagues, discussing current events, quoting Plato and basking in the luxury of adult time. I am less sure that there were days where he sighed with regret as he pulled out of the driveway, watching the kids and I head out for a walk to the library or a playdate with friends. But for the most part, we were quite comfortable in our roles. He was the main breadwinner, supporting our family financially, not to mention influencing the minds of countless students and readers through his lectures, books, and articles. I was a stay-at-home mom, supporting our family through the various little tasks of home life, planning meals and doing laundry, not to mention educating our kids through elementary and middle school. We were, and still are, a great team, sharing the responsibilities and burdens, as well as the joys and rewards, of raising a family and pursuing a life of purpose and accomplishment.

I have no doubt that Jim, were he left on his own, would not have accomplished as much professionally without my support. Were he to have been a single dad, most of his time and energy would have gone into raising his kids, with little surplus for research and writing. I consider his accomplishments, all the publications, awards, etc., to be shared accomplishments in which I played a vital, though not equal, role. Obviously, he could have been a non-dad and had many more hours for his intellectual pursuits, but without the depth of experience, not to mention the love and encouragement, a family brings which I think has shaped him into a greater man than he would be otherwise.

Similarly, had I been a single mom I’m not sure the kids and I would have made it out of their formative years alive. Putting aside the obvious financial support Jim provided, allowing me the privilege of focusing on raising our family, his emotional and spiritual support was instrumental in my development as a wife, mother, and more generally as a human being. He is quick to credit me with influencing our kids to a greater degree than he has and that is perhaps somewhat true given the sheer quantity of time I was able to spend with them. But that time was made possible through the hours he spent lecturing, grading, doing research, and so on, not to mention the profound impact he has had on me as the spiritual head of our family. Our roles have shifted over the years, with the kids off to school, though I am still more focused on the daily routines of our family while he is focused on providing for our family through a myriad of ways.

This division of labor has worked, with varying degrees of success, for thousands of years. Men and women working together to nurture the next generation. Of course there have been abuses and imbalances of power, but the modern tendency to sneer at “women’s work” in the home as oppressive or demeaning is yet another symptom of the overall mass misogyny of our times. Nowhere is this more apparent in the current petition calling for the dismissal of Kansas City Chief’s player Harrison Butker over comments he made as the commencement speaker for Benedictine College which you may read in full here.

Those supporting this effort have called his comments “sexist, homophobic, anti-trans, anti-abortion and racist.” Well, they at least they got the anti-abortion part right. I won’t go into all their claims but would like to address their accusation that Butker’s remarks were sexist. Many

National Catholic Register

have pointed to the hypocrisy of those leading the charge for Butker’s firing given the numerous instances of domestic abuse and unlawful and violent behavior on the part of countless NFL players which has garnered little attention from the press or fans. What’s most interesting to me about the outcry on the part of some regarding Butker’s comments, however, is hypocrisy in another form.

They believe that a man celebrating the sacrifices and achievements of his wife is sexist. They believe that a woman’s value is to be found in her paycheck and not in her eternal investments in the lives of those entrusted to her care. In other words, they believe that women should be judged by the historically male dominated standards of career and, for lack of a better word, “worldly” accomplishments. Do they think that Butker holds his wife hostage at home? Do they think so little of women’s intellect that we are incapable of deciding for ourselves how we will divide our time and energy? Do they see so little value in the great joys of motherhood and homemaking? This seems the epitome of sexism!

In a world where men have decided that they can simply declare themselves women, invade our private spaces, steal our opportunities in sports and demand our acceptance of them as our equal, can we not at least acknowledge that being a modern woman can take many forms? Can we not celebrate those who work inside the home alongside those who choose to do so outside the home? In a world which demands acceptance of all manner of lifestyle choices, can we not allow for the rights of the traditional alongside the pantheon of “alternatives”?

The petition demanding his firing calls for unity rather than divisiveness. I couldn’t agree more; as our founding fathers put it, “Out of the many, one.” One body with many parts, all working together to function as a whole. This to me is the unity of purpose Harrison Butker wished to celebrate by praising his wife and all she has done from the sidelines to support and enable him and their family. In my eyes, she is playing the better game and winning. There are of course other roles that women can play, roles which hold great value and purpose. But I say Isabelle Butker is the star quarterback for her team. Perhaps you disagree but as for me, I’m a big fan!

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Risky Business

By Amy Spiegel

As Christmas approaches, this mother’s heart is humming with anticipation. All four of our kids, Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, will be spending the holiday break with us this year. As they grow up and out (of the house that is), I am learning not to take being all together for granted. Gone are the days of me hiding in the kitchen pantry, eating chocolate and trying to get five minutes to myself. Most of the time I’m lucky to have more than one of them sitting at the dinner table and last Christmas we suffered an emigration mix up getting Andrew home from his semester in Bolivia and ended up with only half the crew celebrating with us.

Earlier this week, I was listening to Megyn Kelly discussing the case of Kate Cox. If you haven’t heard of the case, Cox is suing the state of Texas for the right to abort her baby. Texas’ recently enacted laws prohibit abortion once a fetal heartbeat is detected with some exceptions. Despite the fact that Cox’s baby has been diagnosed with Trisomy-18 and is highly unlikely to survive to full-term or the birthing process, the lower Texas courts have denied Cox’s application for an exception to be made. Kelly expressed her belief that forcing a woman to carry a dying baby was a form of “torture” and condemned the Texas law as too extreme, a position I strongly disagree with but not, perhaps, for the reasons you might think.

Surely no one who hears this story can fail to sympathize with Cox, although extremists on the left would have a hard time selling their sympathy to me as genuine. Many, though not all, abortion advocates have moved well past the argument for “legal, safe, and rare” and into the space of gleeful celebration at the death of a helpless unborn child. Those on the opposite end of the spectrum should most definitely offer their condolences to Cox and her family; if you are pro-life, you certainly should seek to comfort those who face such a dreadful diagnosis. But for myself, I believe that in seeking an abortion Kate Cox is not escaping “torture,” as Kelly put it, but rather inflicting further wounds to her psyche. She is already the mother of a dying child and having an abortion will not erase that fact. Being the direct cause of her child’s death, rather than allowing her child’s life to unfold, in my opinion, will only add to her grief. The risk of heartbreak is an inherent part of motherhood and a medical procedure cannot remove this from the job description.

We, as mothers, are all the mothers of dying children and our journey through parenthood is a tortuous one. We bring them into this world knowing that one day, hopefully many decades from now, they will leave it. Not only do they face certain death, we also know there will be many pains and traumas along that path. We hold our breath from the moment we feel that first stirring deep inside our wombs, through their first tottering steps and watch with anxiousness as they are off to school and have their first disappointments and heartbreaks and failures. As their worlds widen, our fears only increase. As they grow, so too do the dangers they face.

But so too do their joys. And through them, our joys increase as well. As they say, with great risk comes great reward. There is no joy in mothering without the sorrow; to love is to venture heartbreak. There is no escaping the tortures of motherhood, whether it be carrying a baby you know is destined to die early or carrying a baby you know will face untold perils as he or she grows. Just as in the throes of labor there is no escaping the pain of birth; all you can do as a mother is grit your teeth and know you are giving birth to something worth the pain.

Years ago in my early days of parenthood, I was complaining about not getting a moment to myself, and a friend wisely shared an insight that pierced my heart. He looked down at one of my toddlers and said “If I had known the last time I held my son or daughter was the last time, I would have held them five minutes longer.” We never know when that last time will be so we should cherish each time as if it is the last.

From the news reports I have read, Kate Cox won’t get that last time, or a first. She has pursued an abortion in another state. For that loss, I grieve for her. I’m sure that this Christmas will be a challenging and sad time for her, to say the least. I will certainly pray for her to experience repentance, forgiveness and healing during the season which celebrates not only Jesus but also his mother Mary. Not only Mary in the stable but also Mary at the temple, dedicating her baby to God and being told by Simeon, according to Luke 2, that He would do great things but at the cost of a sword piercing, not just His side, but also her soul. I think of Michelangelo’s Pieta. Mary holding her son for just five minutes more; the pain of His death and her sorrow bring us who believe the greatest of joys.

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Anti-Social Behavior

By Amy Spiegel

I suppose we all have a relationship or two which falls into the “guilty pleasure” category. We know they aren’t a good influence. We rarely leave their presence feeling better about ourselves or the world in general. They make us a worse version of ourselves, and yet we just can’t bring ourselves to walk away. We make up all sorts of excuses for not cutting ties with them: we’ve known them for such a long time. Our mutual friends would feel awkward if we didn’t associate with them anymore. Or worse, our mutual friends might choose them over us. We are a good influence, and if we abandon them who will be left to offer a more enlightened perspective? We tell ourselves maybe they will change for the better.

And then one day, you’ve just had enough. A line is drawn that you just can’t cross. And you suddenly realize the futility of continuing in this relationship any longer. It’s like eating Rocky Road ice cream straight from the tub and praying it will magically turn into non-fat sugar-free frozen yogurt. Going no contact won’t be fun, but it’s time.

I have come to this place with social media, by which I am referring to Facebook and Instagram. I know these aren’t the only social media platforms out there, but these are the two with which I mostly frequently engage and with which I am officially breaking up. For a few years now, I have known FB and IG were a negative influence on my life. It wasn’t just the time wasted but the overall impact on my outlook that bothered me. When Jim left Taylor, I inadvertently walked away from posting for the most part. I’m not sure of all the reasons this happened, but I do know the co-mingling of friends and former friends in my network made me feel vulnerable online and I started just sharing pics here and there with friends through text. To minimize time spent online, I deleted my IG app and only accessed it via web browser. (If ever you doubted the intentionally manipulative design of social media, contrast the browser and app version of the experience. I can’t believe how much faster I exit IG and FB when I’m not plugged into the app.) I was more conscious or rather self-conscious about how much time I spent browsing. It also made me aware of the distraction it created in others, as I tried to engage with people whose eyes kept drifting to their phones. I have also started the absolutely radical behavior of leaving my phone in the car for church services, dinners out, and walks with the fam. Try this exercise and you will quickly realize what a lurking presence your and others phones are, even when turned upside down or in a pocket. Phones in this situation are like a rude, socially awkward third wheel, just waiting to interrupt and turn all eyes on them. Stop inviting them along! But I digress…

I noticed that this somewhat distanced relationship had me questioning why I would be involved with social media at all. I found myself asking questions like “Who is this post for? The person you are writing about or your “fanbase”? I was alarmed at the use of children as props for their parents’ “brand” and recognized that I have been guilty of doing the same. One of the kids asked me not to post pics of them from fun family events and would ask me “Why are you doing that?” which made me stand up and think “Yeah, why am I doing that?” The fact that I stopped posting for the most part during the dark season after Jim’s firing is a good indication that I was more interested in highlighting our happy seasons than transparently sharing real life with friends.

As my relationship with social media weakened, I could feel more clearly the impact on my state of mind when I did engage with it, generally walking away feeling fatter, uglier, less accomplished, and poorer while simultaneously feeling smug and judgmental. Not a good combo for the psyche.

Then this winter, Andrew’s school hosted a night with Dr. Leonard Sax, a prominent physician and psychologist, who opened my eyes even further to the negative impacts of social media on children. Not only was I participating in something harmful to myself, I was engaging with a dangerous organism which was being weaponized against the young and vulnerable. Jim and I spent time in prayer, repenting of having, in ignorance, exposed our kids to this malignant force and talking with our kids, most of whom are now young adults, about the impact this activity has had and is having on them.

With all of this, I still haven’t been able to walk away. That is until I heard of a Wall Street Journal article exposing the fact that Instagram “helps connect and promote a vast network of accounts openly devoted to the commission and purchase of underage-sex content…” What further motivation did I need to cut ties with IG? Maybe I was willing to ignore the cancerous impact it had on my productivity, my thoughts and even my children’s mental health. Sure IG is the gateway drug for pornography and a vast number of physical and mental disorders, but it’s so deliciously entertaining. But when confronted with this horrifying though hardly shocking article, how could I ignore that I was willingly partnering with a monster that doesn’t simply allow but promotes and profits from the sexual exploitation of children?

So I am breaking up with Instagram and Facebook. I will no longer post or monitor my accounts. I’m sure I will slip up every now and again or will peer over someone’s shoulder to watch a funny dog video or see who just got engaged. I’ll take it one day at a time and hopefully turn those days into months and years, but I am planning for an anti-social media life moving forward. An anti-social media life that is full of actual socializing and genuine and authentic engagement with friends.

As the saying goes, you do you. I don’t have any desire to judge others and their navigation through the complex “Metaverse” we find ourselves in. But I hope you will do so with your eyes wide open to the dangerous waters you are sailing through and prayerfully consider your course.

 

“O Trinity of love and power

Our brethren shield in danger’s hour

From rock and tempest, fire and foe

Protect them wheresoe’er they go.”

~William Whiting, “Eternal Father, Strong to Save”

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Passing Into History

By Amy Spiegel

Recently, I had the sad honor of attending a memorial service for a dear friend’s father who passed away quite unexpectedly. I listened as several people shared their memories of Fred, some funny, some touching, but all laced with the sorrow of his absence. It is a tragic irony of such events that the more beloved and accomplished the person is, the deeper the sense of loss and grief. It struck me that most of us are striving to live life in such a way as to make many people, whom we love, miserable when we are gone. The only thing worse than a funeral for someone for whom everyone is grieving is a funeral for someone for whom no one is mourning.

My friend’s dad was, fortunately, not such a person. There were many tears from the large crowd who gathered to comfort his family and celebrate his life. There was beautiful singing and a truth-filled homily declaring faith in life after death and the hope of resurrection. And then . . .  it was over. We wiped away our tears and hugged one last time. Some of us gathered for a meal and caught up on life. Then we drove home and did chores, walked our dogs and spent time with our families. Of course, the grieving process is not over and for his family and close friends. It never will be, at least this side of heaven. He will be missed at each family event, talked about among those who didn’t have the privilege of knowing him. But as those who had that privilege slip away, so will their memories. So it will be for each of us. One day in the future our lives, however long, will be reduced to an obituary and an afternoon service.

There are, of course, a select few whose lives take on historic relevance, but they are few and far between. Most of us will not be a world leader, a great inventor or the writer of a timeless classic. Even these figures aren’t really remembered as people but more by their accomplishments. Their deeds and works live on in our memories rather than in their personal impact on individual lives.

As I reflected on this truth, I realized that this is actually true for all of us. In the case of my friend’s dad, Fred, his skills will carry on every time his grandson tees up for a round of golf. His smile and kindness will echo through history in the smiles and kindness of each person whom he influenced for good. Each time his daughter stands in front of her class, his love of teaching will continue.

We each have the opportunity to live a historic life, one that ripples through time far after we are gone. Each day presents us with countless opportunities to reach beyond our eventual grave and live on through small acts of kindness or faithful service. There is no telling how you might echo through history, how loudly your life might resonate through time.

Of course, this requires one to think beyond oneself. After all, if I live a life that is primarily focused on myself, then that leaves very little behind after I am gone. While writing this post, the lyrics of the Beatles’ famous Eleanor Rigby kept playing through my mind. The namesake of this famous song which asks “all the lonely people, where do they all come from?” is buried in Liverpool’s St. Peter’s church cemetery. In the song, Eleanor is alone, touching the lives of no one, she is not mourned or missed at the end of her life. According to the gravestone of the real Eleanor, however, she was a beloved granddaughter and wife. One version of Eleanor has been enshrined as a monument to human isolation and loneliness. But the impact of the real Eleanor is quietly rippling through history in who knows how many ways. Let us strive to do the same.

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Safety First

By Amy Spiegel

Monday Night Football is a near sacred ritual in our home, dating back to Jim’s younger years. In one of my favorite anecdotes from his childhood, little Jimmy, who is the youngest of four boys, would come home from school each week as a young elementary student, eat dinner, do his homework, and go to bed to be woken up in time for kick-off. With Andrew in Bolivia this NFL season, I have picked up the mantle of Jim’s watching companion and embraced Monday night dinners in front of the TV watching football.

Last night I had an after work haircut and didn’t get in till late. Flinging open the front door, my greeting was “Let’s go Bills!” whom I had picked to win only to see Jim stone-faced, somberly watching coverage of Buffalo Bill’s safety Damar Hamlin’s dramatic on-field collapse. There was no trash talk or celebratory end zone dances to be found. Instead, grown men, who are paid to slam other grown men to the ground each

Duane Burleson/Associated Press

week, hid their faces and cried while countless sports commentators and fans sent thoughts and prayers to Hamlin and his family.

I in no way wish to minimize the trauma of those who witnessed the medical personnel’s desperate struggle to revive Hamlin. What his family, teammates and fans witnessed was, I am sure, a horror they will never forget. I applaud the NFL’s decision to suspend play in deference not only to Hamlin but also out of respect for the shock and grief of both teams.

However (you knew a “however” was coming), I do take issue with a great deal of the hyperbole spouted by ESPN commentators and others regarding the significance of this event. Yes, Hamlin obviously experienced a potentially life-altering injury or at least a life-altering event. We can only speculate as to the cause of his cardiac arrest. While it could be entirely unrelated to the blow to the chest he received seconds before he fell to the ground, that seems unlikely. Assuming it was related, this event only differs in severity to the countless smaller, but nonetheless life-altering injuries players experience each time they take the field. How many other players in the very same game received a few more bumps and bruises, a little more damage to their knees, another blow to the head, all of which add up to wear and tear on their bodies which is irreversible, impacting their quality and likely length of life?

And how does this differ from highway workers hit by cars, policemen killed in the line of duty, coal miners with black lungs, etc., except in the size of their paychecks and the amount of attention and concern their injuries arouse? There was a baggage handler killed earlier this week while going about his unglamorous job in an Alabama regional airport. Where were the mourners questioning the safety of his working conditions or calling for the airport to be closed longer than a few hours out of respect?

I’m in no way saying that in the face of such a sudden and dramatic event we shouldn’t be moved, or pause to reflect, or if so inclined to say a prayer. But instead, I first caution against painting Damar Hamlin as a victim. Life is a game of weighing pros and cons and choosing which risks you are willing to take and which you wish to avoid. Hamlin chose an inherently risky profession, with decidedly high rewards. Let’s honor that choice rather than paint him as an oppressed victim of a violent profession.

Secondly, I suggest we all take stock and recognize that if an exceptionally healthy 24-year-old can go to work one day and drop, even momentarily, dead of a heart attack, then who knows what the game of life has in store for the rest of us? Death is just a drive down the highway or a visit to the doctor for any of us. I think that is what stirred such raw emotion among commentators, fans, and players alike. Not the singularity of Hamlin’s collapse but the universality of it. The idea that it could have been me and it will be one day. Are you ready for your final play?

There once was a young man, healthy and strong. And He was engaged in a game of sorts, a high stakes game of life and death. He lived and then He died and then He rose in victory. One day He will return and settle the score. It could be today, it could be tomorrow, it could even be on a Monday night.