It was quite a weekend. Saturday morning started out with Mr. Lincoln running 17 miles. This really did not effect my day as I was asleep during most of his run, you know, like normal people at 4:30 A.M. on a Saturday morning. He had some studying he needed to do when he got home, so I decided to run errands. First on my list was to get refilled the one and only prescription I have. I say the one and only, because I realize how fortunate I am that I do not have to take a lot of medicine. This one and only medicine I take every day, however, is vital to my well-being. If I miss it, in about 12 - 24 hours I will have a raging migraine. What can I say, my body is a very delicately balanced "machine."
It turned out that my medicine had automatically been refilled which would have been great if I had still been in Sanibel. That is where my bottle of meds awaited me. I am never opposed to a trip to the beach, but it seemed a rather long way to go when I definitely had to be home by Sunday morning. Like any reasonable person, I went to my local pharmacy where I have traded for literally years, and where my prescription is typically filled each month. With no concern for any sort of customer service, I was told that they did not have my medicine and had no idea when they would. I asked, "what do you suggest I do, as I really need my medicine, and I only have enough for one more night?" "Go to another CVS or to a Walgreens or something like that," was the reply.
I am not easily angered. I do not want to be the poor person on a lovely Saturday morning dispensing pills behind a wall where I cannot see outside, but a feigned attempt at some concern for my situation would have been greatly appreciated. I returned home, no errands run, in a huff figuring I would have to call every CVS in Nashville and surrounding areas to find my medicine. I might have felt vindicated if that had been the case, but, alas, the CVS on 21st Avenue (the first one I called) has a lovely young pharmacist named Dillon who appears to be about twelve years old. He was sympathetic to my plight, filled my prescription, and Mr. Lincoln took me there to get it. My day was back on track, but I still found myself seething over the poor customer service at my regular store. In some kind way; I do not remember the exact words, Mr. Lincoln told me to "get over it." That really made a lot of sense. Why let some poor girl who may have been having a bad day herself ruin my Saturday?
So, onward and upward. I am on a quest to buy white dishes. I got an amazing deal in Florida at a thrift shop somewhere near Melbourne Beach back in November. I acquired eight dinner plates and eight dessert plates for the grand total of $5.00. When I got back to Nashville, I researched my new dishes, and learned that Red Cliff Ironstone is very valuable and that I have approximately $630.00 worth of it that I bought for FIVE DOLLARS. It was the deal of a lifetime up to which no future purchases will live. Yet, I am still on the quest for white dishes, and I pretty much refuse to pay more than $1.00 per plate. After going to several thrift stores and Goodwills, I came home with 2 white plates and a brown bunny for a grand total spent of $3.00 plus tax. It was not a banner shopping day, but I am two plates closer to my goal.
I met Mr. Lincoln at home and we went to lunch at Five Guys in Brentwood where I am convinced the music they play is designed for turning tables over quickly. No sane person could spend much time in there with that racket. I can only imagine they have a huge employee turnover as workers must eventually run out of the restaurant screaming with their fingers in their ears. We spent about 7 1/2 minutes eating.
Saturday was the day Max, our 9 month old grandson, was to have his pictures made. Because his father was unavailable, our daughter-in-law asked if I could come help her with "costume changes." Of course I told her that I would, and Mr. Lincoln graciously agreed to come as well, for any opportunity to spend time with the grandchildren is gratefully seized, except for one such occasion which I will mention later. The pictures were being made at the Schermerhorn Symphony Center where my daughter-in-law works as an accountant. When we were making arrangements to meet, she asked if I had a chef's hat. This is a seemingly odd question, but if you know Sheri, it was not too off the wall. I assured her that I did not, but I would see what I could do about finding one. One phone call, a short trip to Shindigs and Celebration, and $2.49 later Mr. Lincoln and I were headed to the Schermerhorn with a chef's hat acquired.
The photo session was great. Max is a champ. I know I'm his grandmother so I haven't an unbiased bone in my body concerning him, but I sincerely believe he could be a professional model. Put a camera in his face, and he is "on." The boy does not lack enthusiasm. I am so glad that Mr. Lincoln and I went to help, for Sheri really needed a "SmartCart" from the airport to carry all the accouterments she had brought to ensure a varied and successful photo shoot. Her photographer, a precious young woman who goes to church with us, and who also works with MP, was patient and low-key, and I know got some wonderful shots. It was great. I was beginning to get tired, and I still needed to work on my Bible story for the next morning....Samson. Josh called to see if he and Simeon could drop by, and for the first time ever, I told him it was not a good time, as I was working on my Bible lesson for the next day. I wish I had just said, "yes, come on over."
Before I had gotten very far in my study, I got a phone call from Mr. Lincoln who had gone to pick MP up from work. He said that Simeon, our almost one year old grandson, had swallowed a screw, and for me to get to their house quickly. Now I am picturing a huge bolt complete with wing nut attached, and my heart drops to my knees. I dash to MP and Josh's house where Josh is calmly searching for the missing screw. He is not 100% sure that Simeon has eaten the screw, he just knows one is missing and Simeon had one in his hand, and he puts everything in his mouth. Thank heaven, this was, without a doubt, the tiniest screw I have ever seen, and did not have a pointed end. But, the pediatrician felt that it would be best if Simeon came into the emergency room. So, MP walked downstairs from the PICU where she works to the Pediatric Emergency Department. Mr. Lincoln was with her. Josh, Simeon, and I headed to the hospital. It seemed we would never get there.
Josh whipped into the driveway at the children's hospital, identical screw in a baggy. We handed Simeon to MP, who was as cool and calm as anyone can imagine. I know inside she had to be a mess, but on the outside, she had it all together. Mr. Lincoln and I waited until she came and said there was no reason for us to stay and sent us home. About 3 hours later, she called. The screw did not show up on the x-ray. All was well. Thank you, Lord.
Returning home, I began reading in Judges about Samson, and seriously questioned how I was going to tell this story to 3rd graders. If you haven't read that story lately, let me tell you it is a bit racy. No, it is a lot racy and very violent. You know, that Samson was a strong man physically, but not the brightest light when it came to women. A little nagging went a long way with Samson. How do I tell this story to third graders rife with prostitutes, "plowing my heifer' (referring to his wife), killing people with the jawbone of an ass, eyes gouged out etc...?
Church wide, we are going through a series called The Story, and everyone, from the tiniest to the oldest, is studying the same subject each week. Since that was the case, I communicated with our minister asking what exactly his point was for the sermon, and explained my dilemma with the 3rd - 5th graders. He shared his point, and then suggested that I skip Samson and move on to Jonah. My sweet friend, Betsy, and I were sharing Samson with the pre-schoolers in a puppet show, which left out all the "good" stuff, and we returned to the sanctuary in time to hear Josh's sermon. While it was an excellent lesson, it was of no help whatsoever for my needs. But, I told the story of Samson. I hope the information was age appropriate. The children listened well. I hope they received something they could take with them; that would make them think.
Sunday was Baby Dedication Celebration at church. It is sort of our church of Christ christening...a dedicating of babies born (40 of them) in the past year. Of course, we had 2, and I was simply overwhelmed with joy. I looked on that stage, and with the exception of our son who did not come, all the people I love the most in the world stood there. And, they were surrounded by so many church family that I love dearly. It was a sweet and special time. Mom was there for the first time since her fall on December 15. My sister and her family also came. After the service, was a beautiful lunch provided by loving hands, planned by young mothers whose babies were honored the year before. I love this tradition.
After the lunch, we had a meeting to attend at church. For all you who are not part of the church of Christ tradition, the announcement made last week that women in our fellowship would be invited to lead prayers and serve communion during corporate worship, may seem a no-brainer. But, it was a big step in our tradition, and there were some very concerned people with questions. The meeting was to discuss the issue. This had the potential of being a volatile, airing of grievances. It was not. Concerns were shared. Explanations were given. It was all done in a loving manner. I am not sure that I have ever been prouder to call Otter Creek family.
So, exhausted, we returned home. There was a bit of a blip in the day when I received a very unsettling phone call, and felt I had to say multiple times, "I am not going to participate in this conversation. It has nothing to do with me." The phone call did not make me angry. It did not hurt my feelings, but it did, for lack of a better term, upset me. I am still feeling disquiet in my spirit over it. I will work my way through it. I will hope that the topic will not be bantered about, hashed and rehashed, but I have no control over that. All I can do is repeat..."I am not going to engage in this conversation. It has nothing to do with me."
And then...there was Downton Abbey. Good grief.
So, for today, I wish you whatever brings you joy and benefits those around you. I also wish you
blessings
Monday, February 18, 2013
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Dimensions
Going against the first rule of public communication, "never start with an apology," I start out apologizing for the possible randomness of this post. I have several things on my mind, and I am fairly certain they may not be related.
I have said before that my mind is sort of like a pinball machine bouncing from here to there, and often times once I have "hit the lever" I have no control over where my thoughts bounce.
For the past several days, my mind has often hit on thoughts about a friend who was killed in an automobile accident last week. It is probably a stretch, at this point, to say she is a friend, as over the last many years I have seen her infrequently, and only by chance. She lived in the dorm room next to me my freshman year in college. She attended my high school's rival. She was funny and fun with a sweet, sweet spirit. I remember us making up a line dance in the dorm hallway to Temptations tunes. We were always laughing when Darlene was around.
She was going to eat and shop with her daughter and two granddaughters, ages 2 years and 2 weeks. Someone crossed over the line and hit them head on. My friend died quickly, her 2 year old granddaughter survived for a few days before she died as well. Her daughter is seriously injured but is expected "to recover." The two week old is fine.
I put "to recover" in quotations because I have to wonder how one recovers from such tragedy. From all indications, however, this family will recover. They have a deep and abiding faith in a good God who loves and watches over them. Despite all the apparent evidence otherwise, this family still believes and trusts in a God who loves and watches over them. They do not believe this God just slipped up and failed them. They do not know how, or why, or when they will "recover," but they know who. They trust that this God, that to others seemingly failed them, has not failed, and is actively working in their lives, loves and cares for them, and will see that they "recover."
These are the people who enhance the reputation of God. They have not simply studied, they are in an intimate and difficult place with their Creator, and while they may be angry, paralyzed with grief, suffering unspeakable loss, they choose to believe and trust...and so, they will recover.
A friend commented that someone was a one dimensional thinker. What he meant was, that person cannot think about thorny nor simple matters of life in any way other than the way she has always thought about them. I suspect about a lot of things I should say, "I resemble that remark." Having one's made-up-mind challenged is very uncomfortable. I sat in a class this past week, and truly thought my head might explode from all the dimensions of thought. It challenged me in the deepest ways. It was a great class. The teachers are excellent, but I did not leave there with a comfortable feeling that I had things worked out, and "aren't I doing well!" I left there with a "God help me, I do not know what I am doing." Fortunately, I do believe that God will help me, and while I may still not know what I am doing, it will be okay.
A lot was said in that class about our being ministers of reconciliation. I hear that term tossed out a lot in my circle of believers. I can look up the word minister in my dictionary - "any person or thing thought of as serving as the agent of some power..." and reconciliation - "to make friendly again," and try to conclude what people mean when they claim to be ministers of reconciliation, or that we, as believers, should be ministers of reconciliation. There is evidently a lot of leeway in translation. The teacher of my class (my interpretation of his comments) I think means we, by the way we live and reflect Jesus in this world, are to "make friendly again" God for a hurting world; to reflect a God of inclusion rather than a God of exclusion, to be agents of "a new earth," as it is meant to be. I have other friends who (my interpretation of their comments) mean that it is our job as believers to make sure everyone knows what they need to do to be reconciled to God, and just a whole lot of people are not making the grade, and it is best to avoid them. I think the former thought is a better reading. Say all the words and spout all the theology one wants, the Bogue family, exhibiting faith in the midst of great tragedy, are the greater ministers of reconciliation.
We have a button at our house. Mr. Lincoln got it at a seminar. It is a red circle with a red slash crossing out the words, "That's the way we've always done it!!" Truly, I think "that's the way we've always done it" is the poorest reason for doing anything. Of course, if it is a tried and true way, that is another story, but just because it is how we have always done it is really a pretty ridiculous reason for following a course of action. I think that is true of how we think as well. I know people who just toss good things out of their lives because of a few flaws. They focus on the hurts that have been caused and totally dismiss the blessings of the thing. Without investigation, they assume that others just never change. I know people who do something they do not really want to do because someone else might have suggested a different way, and, by golly, "nobody is going to tell me what to do!" I wonder why they cannot see that their desire to defy and not be controlled has total control over them. It is a conundrum.
The random thoughts of a pinball sort of mind. If you are a prayerful person, add the Bogue family to your list, and a tiny little girl (God knows who she is) trying to recover from a heart transplant, and who is struggling mightily. One of the greatest minsters of reconciliation I know is a man who claims to not believe in God, but he is a dedicated reconciler - he is often "making friendly again" those upon which others would despair. I love him.
Have a blessed day...
For the past several days, my mind has often hit on thoughts about a friend who was killed in an automobile accident last week. It is probably a stretch, at this point, to say she is a friend, as over the last many years I have seen her infrequently, and only by chance. She lived in the dorm room next to me my freshman year in college. She attended my high school's rival. She was funny and fun with a sweet, sweet spirit. I remember us making up a line dance in the dorm hallway to Temptations tunes. We were always laughing when Darlene was around.
She was going to eat and shop with her daughter and two granddaughters, ages 2 years and 2 weeks. Someone crossed over the line and hit them head on. My friend died quickly, her 2 year old granddaughter survived for a few days before she died as well. Her daughter is seriously injured but is expected "to recover." The two week old is fine.
I put "to recover" in quotations because I have to wonder how one recovers from such tragedy. From all indications, however, this family will recover. They have a deep and abiding faith in a good God who loves and watches over them. Despite all the apparent evidence otherwise, this family still believes and trusts in a God who loves and watches over them. They do not believe this God just slipped up and failed them. They do not know how, or why, or when they will "recover," but they know who. They trust that this God, that to others seemingly failed them, has not failed, and is actively working in their lives, loves and cares for them, and will see that they "recover."
These are the people who enhance the reputation of God. They have not simply studied, they are in an intimate and difficult place with their Creator, and while they may be angry, paralyzed with grief, suffering unspeakable loss, they choose to believe and trust...and so, they will recover.
A friend commented that someone was a one dimensional thinker. What he meant was, that person cannot think about thorny nor simple matters of life in any way other than the way she has always thought about them. I suspect about a lot of things I should say, "I resemble that remark." Having one's made-up-mind challenged is very uncomfortable. I sat in a class this past week, and truly thought my head might explode from all the dimensions of thought. It challenged me in the deepest ways. It was a great class. The teachers are excellent, but I did not leave there with a comfortable feeling that I had things worked out, and "aren't I doing well!" I left there with a "God help me, I do not know what I am doing." Fortunately, I do believe that God will help me, and while I may still not know what I am doing, it will be okay.
A lot was said in that class about our being ministers of reconciliation. I hear that term tossed out a lot in my circle of believers. I can look up the word minister in my dictionary - "any person or thing thought of as serving as the agent of some power..." and reconciliation - "to make friendly again," and try to conclude what people mean when they claim to be ministers of reconciliation, or that we, as believers, should be ministers of reconciliation. There is evidently a lot of leeway in translation. The teacher of my class (my interpretation of his comments) I think means we, by the way we live and reflect Jesus in this world, are to "make friendly again" God for a hurting world; to reflect a God of inclusion rather than a God of exclusion, to be agents of "a new earth," as it is meant to be. I have other friends who (my interpretation of their comments) mean that it is our job as believers to make sure everyone knows what they need to do to be reconciled to God, and just a whole lot of people are not making the grade, and it is best to avoid them. I think the former thought is a better reading. Say all the words and spout all the theology one wants, the Bogue family, exhibiting faith in the midst of great tragedy, are the greater ministers of reconciliation.
We have a button at our house. Mr. Lincoln got it at a seminar. It is a red circle with a red slash crossing out the words, "That's the way we've always done it!!" Truly, I think "that's the way we've always done it" is the poorest reason for doing anything. Of course, if it is a tried and true way, that is another story, but just because it is how we have always done it is really a pretty ridiculous reason for following a course of action. I think that is true of how we think as well. I know people who just toss good things out of their lives because of a few flaws. They focus on the hurts that have been caused and totally dismiss the blessings of the thing. Without investigation, they assume that others just never change. I know people who do something they do not really want to do because someone else might have suggested a different way, and, by golly, "nobody is going to tell me what to do!" I wonder why they cannot see that their desire to defy and not be controlled has total control over them. It is a conundrum.
The random thoughts of a pinball sort of mind. If you are a prayerful person, add the Bogue family to your list, and a tiny little girl (God knows who she is) trying to recover from a heart transplant, and who is struggling mightily. One of the greatest minsters of reconciliation I know is a man who claims to not believe in God, but he is a dedicated reconciler - he is often "making friendly again" those upon which others would despair. I love him.
Have a blessed day...
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