It is interesting to me that I woke up early this morning contemplating Hell. This afternoon, after skimming through FB, I saw that our teaching minister blogged about Hell. I have not read his blog because I want to neither plagiarize nor seem that I am somehow passively aggressively disagreeing with him. So, I will wait to read it until I am finished. There is one thing I know for sure, and that is whatever he has written, it will be much more intellectual and well thought-out than this little blurb.
There was a time in my life when I was often reassessing what hell would be. I once was convinced that it would be the late Saturday night show at the Grand Ole Opry with Hank Snow on stage. If you have experienced that event, you know exactly of that which I speak. Once on a tour someone asked me if Hank Snow was dead. My less-than-gracious reply was, "yes, but no one has told him so you will be seeing him at the Opry tonight."
One evening years ago, I was fairly certain that hell was the tiny nursery at church filled with babies of all ages on a hot summer night during a thunderstorm with no power. I still get the shudders and consider how seriously I need to straighten out my wicked ways in order to avoid such an eternal fate.
When I was twelve years old, about six months after my baptism, our preacher offered up a sermon on hell. He was very graphic as he told us to go home, turn the burner on the stove and set our hands on it. He described the gradual heating up of the burner, how the flesh would begin to smoke and how the blood in our veins would begin to boil. He had a way with words as he described the smell of burning flesh and the complete agony that accompanied such a deed. Then, his denouement...he said that was only a fraction of what hell would be like. Holy cow, I could not get out of my pew and down that aisle to ask for the prayers of the church so I could be "restored" fast enough. I did not want to go there, and if staying out of there meant being "restored" every church service, then I was prepared to comply.
Frankly, I think there are very few of us, no matter what heinous acts we have committed, who would ever think we deserved such a hideous eternity. If sent there, we would not be contrite and broken hearted, we would be furious and self-righteous and looking for someone to blame for this terrible injustice we were suffering.
I think all church goers have heard the story about the people in hell starving to death at a table laden with food because the spoons they were given had handles too long for them to feed themselves. Heaven had the same circumstance except the people were happy and well-fed because they fed each other. Perhaps, this is getting a little closer than a horned, long-tailed, pitch-fork carrying demon to whom God, the Father has sent all of us who have more black marks than stars in the Lamb's Book of Life.
Perhaps, this last view is a bit closer to what hell is. I have come to think of hell as where God is not....in our need to be angry at our fellow man, in our addictions, in our hatefulness, in our selfishness, in our need to exact revenge on those whom we perceive have slighted us, in our lack of sympathy and empathy, in our sense of entitlement, in our looking for a fight, in our enjoyment of the base and obscene, in our prejudice. These things are not of God. These things lead to a burning hell in our hearts in our minds and in our relationships. And, when, in honesty we look at ourselves, and know we are guilty of such behavior, our hearts are broken, we understand our culpability, and then we are ready to accept the saving grace of Jesus, not as something to which we are entitled, but rather as the gift that it is.
So, hell...is it a place? I do not think so. It is so much more than that. Is its landlord a despicable red man? I do not think so. I am the landlord of my hell. I do not profess to know where a spirit or soul goes after the body has died in this realm. It is all too wonderous and mysterious for my feeble mind. So, I choose to trust God, to accept Jesus's sacrifice, to try and fail and try again to live my life in a way that reflects those choices.
For today, I wish you blessings
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
An Epic Kerfuffle
So, Mr. Lincoln decided several months ago that he had not been pushing himself lately (guess he forgot that hellish day last December when he ran 60 miles) so he would train for and run in the Salt Lake City Marathon. I was pretty excited as I really love Salt Lake City, and invited myself along for the ride. We began to plan...in our heads...for the trip, delaying making the necessary arrangements such as flight, rental car, and lodging. Finally, we did get online looking for our preferred hotel, the one in which we stayed the last time he ran this marathon. We thought it was the Radisson, which, alas was filled. Due to our delayed planning, we scouted around and found a place to stay. Shortly after making the arrangements, we both forgot where we had made reservations. We were a tad puzzled about how to remedy the situation, but we figured it would work out some way; which it did. We are usually much more efficient.
Periodically, MP would ask if we had made our flight reservations, which we had not. Finally, she could not take it any more, came over, and forced me to buy plane tickets. We greatly appreciated her "gentle" encouragement. Also, about a week before our trip, we decided to rent a car. We got a Nissan Versa, and despite multiple efforts to have us "upgrade," we were quite happy with it.
Thursday, April 18 my alarm went off at 3:30 am letting me know it was time to get up and get ready to go to the airport. Our plan was to leave the house by 4:30 in order to catch a 6:00 flight. MP was gracious enough to pick us up and take us to the airport. Mr. Lincoln had encouraged me that we could make it with only one suitcase, and since, after all, I had invited myself on the trip, I complied. All I really needed were a couple pair of pants and several tops, perhaps a jacket. Mr. Lincoln assured me that the weather was to be sunny and cool, no chance for rain, so I did not pack my raincoat; too bad. I also forgot one pair of those pants.
Getting through security was pretty much a breeze, and as we smugly strolled through the airport thinking to ourselves what a cinch travel is, I got a text message. How weird is that at this time of the morning? It was Southwest Airlines letting me know that our flight had been cancelled due to weather. We were supposed to fly to Chicago and then on to Salt Lake. We continued to our gate, only to see a line about 20 people deep. Mr. Lincoln went to a relatively empty gate, and our flight was changed. Now we were to fly out of Nashville at 9:30 (six hours after I had gotten up) and go to Baltimore then to Salt Lake. The ticket agent assured us that we would not have to change planes. Really, does that matter at this point? Even I, in all my geographically challenged idiocy, know that Baltimore is not on the way to Salt Lake City from.....well, anywhere. I was at least grateful that I had not already taken the Dramamine which is essential in my having a successful trip on any moving conveyance.
Of course, the IPad would not connect to the internet at the airport, so Mr. Lincoln read Life of Pi while I played Bejeweled Blitz. Finally, our flight is called and we board the plane, fly to Baltimore, wait not very long for others to board who are also going to Salt Lake. As we get to 1,000 feet and "all approved electronics can now be turned on," we were informed that the WiFi on the plane was down. Okay, no big deal. By now, the Dramamine has taken effect and I am somewhat unconscious. A few more feet in the air, and the pilot comes on to inform us that our flight is being directed south of Little Rock in order to avoid the bad weather. Even I know that Little Rock is not on the way to Salt Lake from Baltimore. Also, a minor detail...our 4 1/2 hour flight (a hellish thought) will now be 5 1/2 hours. What? 5 1/2 hours in a plane...needless to say, I doubt I would be a successful traveler to, say, Fiji, Africa, or California...from Baltimore. And, thank Goodness we "missed the weather" because it was pretty much like 5 hours on a roller coaster. No amount of Dramamine can disguise the nausea produced by that.
Finally, we land at Salt Lake City; not at the 11:00 am time we anticipated when we left home looking forward to a leisurely afternoon enjoying the sites, but more like 4:30 pm. We got the Versa, again, resisting the pressure to "upgrade," and set out to find our hotel. As we passed the Hilton (not our hotel, but turns out it was the Hilton, not the Radisson where we stayed before) for about the 5th time, I gave Mr. Lincoln the phone number to our proper hotel so we could get some directions. If you have never been to Salt Lake, let me tell you that all the streets are numbered according to their distance from Temple Square and in what direction. So, you can be on the corner of 600S and 700 W. I like names, you know, like Old Hickory Boulevard, Main Street, Maple Drive etc... I do not remember numbers well. I have never been so happy to see a Residence Inn in all my life. A Motel 6 would have been a welcome sight at this point. Instead of dinner in Park City as we had thought, we ate at the Olive Garden right next to the Hilton!
Shortly after returning from dinner, I got a phone call from my sister. She was crying. She told me that our mother had been taken to St. Thomas hospital with a 103.9 fever and very low blood pressure. Granted, Mom has not been feeling well since shoulder surgery on April 4, but certainly she was not in such a dire condition when I left town. Otherwise, I would not have left. Doree was headed to St. Thomas. I talked to my brother, Sam, and he also was headed to the hospital. I told them to let me know what was going on. That is such a helpless feeling. Mr. Lincoln and I discussed if I should fly back home. Oh, good, heavens, the thought of getting back on a plane was almost more than I could bear, but I told him I would wait until I had more information. It turns out that at St. Thomas was Doree, her husband, my brother Sam and his girlfriend, but NOT Mom. She was resting peacefully (translated knocked out from pain meds) at the rehab center where she is staying for a few weeks following surgery. Seems like another poor lady was at St. Thomas with a raging fever and plummeting blood pressure. I still do not know if that lady was taken to the hospital because Mom's doctor said for Mom to be taken if she took a turn for the worse. Crisis averted, for our family. After that, we both fell into bed and slept like the dead.
Friday morning dawned somewhat cloudy, but that is fine. We drove to the convention center (right across the street from the Hilton), parked the car and walked in so Mr. Lincoln could get his race packet and enjoy the expo that is always connected to a race. You may think I am exaggerating, but I promise I am not, by the time we walked the distance from the door in which we entered until we found the expo, we were much closer to our hotel than we were to where we parked the car. That convention center is gargantuan. The expo was tiny tucked into about 3000 square feet of a room that was probably 30,000 square feet. Mr. Lincoln got his number and we went sightseeing. We saw the University of Utah and its beautiful campus. We never did (that day) find the bookstore, we went to the capitol, we went to the finish line of the race. I spent some time at Temple Square taking pictures. Mr. Lincoln scouted out which light rail station he needed to go to in order to get to the start line. We did a dry run so that I could find my way back to the hotel after I dropped him off on Saturday morning at 5:30. It was 2 turns. What could go wrong? After a burger and sweet potato fries at a restaurant within walking distance of the hotel, Mr. Lincoln got all his stuff together for the race and we slept.
Saturday morning, it is raining. I drive Mr. Lincoln to the station, wish him good luck, tell him I might see him at the finish line, which we both knew is not true because there was no way I will find it, and I head back to the hotel. Of course, I need my McDonald's diet Coke, and the Mc Donald's is only a block from the hotel. I get my drink head back, and lo' and behold, I get lost. I am passing 200 S and 400 W and the Hilton, and for someone who cries rarely, I was very close to tears. Then I see the burger restaurant where we had eaten the night before and figure surely I can find the Residence Inn...surely. I do!! I watch the start of the race on TV, actually see Mr. Lincoln there and at mile 5, then coverage of the race is over for the day. They did not even show the elite runners finish....not that I would have seen Mr. Lincoln then. Periodically, he called me to let me know how he was doing. I began to worry as the last 6 miles were taking an inordinate amount of time. Finally, he's finished. Worst time he's ever had, but a personal best for a marathon since he turned 60, so, good for him!! He was soaked to the bone, glad the race was over and ready to keep walking (at the mall) so his muscles did not stiffen. I won't go into details about that trip and the hour I waited in line at H&M to buy 2 blouses and a pair of pants. The cashier in my line had no sense of urgency nor modicum of efficiency. When we walked to dinner that evening, hoping to eat at the burger restaurant again, we found it empty...open, but no one working there..so we assumed it was closed. After checking out another diner, which was closed...on a Saturday night...oh, wonder if they are run by Latter Day Saints? Hmmmmmm, that just dawned on me. We ended up eating at the Hotel Monaco, and it was delicious!!
Sunday morning dawned. Our trip home was uneventful. While reluctant to leave, we were glad to get home. It is always nice to get away, but we are blessed with a lovely life at home. All this epic kerfuffle was taking place with the backdrop of the explosion in West Texas, the manhunt and capture of one of the Boston Bombers, and horrific weather all over the middle portion of the nation. It was disquieting and stressful, but we experienced it together. You can decide for yourselves, if you have possibly managed to get through this ridiculous epic, if we have a good story to tell.
I love Mr. Lincoln, and I love spending time with him. Life in town gets hectic with family and work and church and other wonders that life offers. It is just nice to get away together, even if things do not work out quite as anticipated.
So for today, I wish you love, safe travels, and I wish you
blessings
Periodically, MP would ask if we had made our flight reservations, which we had not. Finally, she could not take it any more, came over, and forced me to buy plane tickets. We greatly appreciated her "gentle" encouragement. Also, about a week before our trip, we decided to rent a car. We got a Nissan Versa, and despite multiple efforts to have us "upgrade," we were quite happy with it.
Thursday, April 18 my alarm went off at 3:30 am letting me know it was time to get up and get ready to go to the airport. Our plan was to leave the house by 4:30 in order to catch a 6:00 flight. MP was gracious enough to pick us up and take us to the airport. Mr. Lincoln had encouraged me that we could make it with only one suitcase, and since, after all, I had invited myself on the trip, I complied. All I really needed were a couple pair of pants and several tops, perhaps a jacket. Mr. Lincoln assured me that the weather was to be sunny and cool, no chance for rain, so I did not pack my raincoat; too bad. I also forgot one pair of those pants.
Getting through security was pretty much a breeze, and as we smugly strolled through the airport thinking to ourselves what a cinch travel is, I got a text message. How weird is that at this time of the morning? It was Southwest Airlines letting me know that our flight had been cancelled due to weather. We were supposed to fly to Chicago and then on to Salt Lake. We continued to our gate, only to see a line about 20 people deep. Mr. Lincoln went to a relatively empty gate, and our flight was changed. Now we were to fly out of Nashville at 9:30 (six hours after I had gotten up) and go to Baltimore then to Salt Lake. The ticket agent assured us that we would not have to change planes. Really, does that matter at this point? Even I, in all my geographically challenged idiocy, know that Baltimore is not on the way to Salt Lake City from.....well, anywhere. I was at least grateful that I had not already taken the Dramamine which is essential in my having a successful trip on any moving conveyance.
Of course, the IPad would not connect to the internet at the airport, so Mr. Lincoln read Life of Pi while I played Bejeweled Blitz. Finally, our flight is called and we board the plane, fly to Baltimore, wait not very long for others to board who are also going to Salt Lake. As we get to 1,000 feet and "all approved electronics can now be turned on," we were informed that the WiFi on the plane was down. Okay, no big deal. By now, the Dramamine has taken effect and I am somewhat unconscious. A few more feet in the air, and the pilot comes on to inform us that our flight is being directed south of Little Rock in order to avoid the bad weather. Even I know that Little Rock is not on the way to Salt Lake from Baltimore. Also, a minor detail...our 4 1/2 hour flight (a hellish thought) will now be 5 1/2 hours. What? 5 1/2 hours in a plane...needless to say, I doubt I would be a successful traveler to, say, Fiji, Africa, or California...from Baltimore. And, thank Goodness we "missed the weather" because it was pretty much like 5 hours on a roller coaster. No amount of Dramamine can disguise the nausea produced by that.
Finally, we land at Salt Lake City; not at the 11:00 am time we anticipated when we left home looking forward to a leisurely afternoon enjoying the sites, but more like 4:30 pm. We got the Versa, again, resisting the pressure to "upgrade," and set out to find our hotel. As we passed the Hilton (not our hotel, but turns out it was the Hilton, not the Radisson where we stayed before) for about the 5th time, I gave Mr. Lincoln the phone number to our proper hotel so we could get some directions. If you have never been to Salt Lake, let me tell you that all the streets are numbered according to their distance from Temple Square and in what direction. So, you can be on the corner of 600S and 700 W. I like names, you know, like Old Hickory Boulevard, Main Street, Maple Drive etc... I do not remember numbers well. I have never been so happy to see a Residence Inn in all my life. A Motel 6 would have been a welcome sight at this point. Instead of dinner in Park City as we had thought, we ate at the Olive Garden right next to the Hilton!
Shortly after returning from dinner, I got a phone call from my sister. She was crying. She told me that our mother had been taken to St. Thomas hospital with a 103.9 fever and very low blood pressure. Granted, Mom has not been feeling well since shoulder surgery on April 4, but certainly she was not in such a dire condition when I left town. Otherwise, I would not have left. Doree was headed to St. Thomas. I talked to my brother, Sam, and he also was headed to the hospital. I told them to let me know what was going on. That is such a helpless feeling. Mr. Lincoln and I discussed if I should fly back home. Oh, good, heavens, the thought of getting back on a plane was almost more than I could bear, but I told him I would wait until I had more information. It turns out that at St. Thomas was Doree, her husband, my brother Sam and his girlfriend, but NOT Mom. She was resting peacefully (translated knocked out from pain meds) at the rehab center where she is staying for a few weeks following surgery. Seems like another poor lady was at St. Thomas with a raging fever and plummeting blood pressure. I still do not know if that lady was taken to the hospital because Mom's doctor said for Mom to be taken if she took a turn for the worse. Crisis averted, for our family. After that, we both fell into bed and slept like the dead.
Friday morning dawned somewhat cloudy, but that is fine. We drove to the convention center (right across the street from the Hilton), parked the car and walked in so Mr. Lincoln could get his race packet and enjoy the expo that is always connected to a race. You may think I am exaggerating, but I promise I am not, by the time we walked the distance from the door in which we entered until we found the expo, we were much closer to our hotel than we were to where we parked the car. That convention center is gargantuan. The expo was tiny tucked into about 3000 square feet of a room that was probably 30,000 square feet. Mr. Lincoln got his number and we went sightseeing. We saw the University of Utah and its beautiful campus. We never did (that day) find the bookstore, we went to the capitol, we went to the finish line of the race. I spent some time at Temple Square taking pictures. Mr. Lincoln scouted out which light rail station he needed to go to in order to get to the start line. We did a dry run so that I could find my way back to the hotel after I dropped him off on Saturday morning at 5:30. It was 2 turns. What could go wrong? After a burger and sweet potato fries at a restaurant within walking distance of the hotel, Mr. Lincoln got all his stuff together for the race and we slept.
Saturday morning, it is raining. I drive Mr. Lincoln to the station, wish him good luck, tell him I might see him at the finish line, which we both knew is not true because there was no way I will find it, and I head back to the hotel. Of course, I need my McDonald's diet Coke, and the Mc Donald's is only a block from the hotel. I get my drink head back, and lo' and behold, I get lost. I am passing 200 S and 400 W and the Hilton, and for someone who cries rarely, I was very close to tears. Then I see the burger restaurant where we had eaten the night before and figure surely I can find the Residence Inn...surely. I do!! I watch the start of the race on TV, actually see Mr. Lincoln there and at mile 5, then coverage of the race is over for the day. They did not even show the elite runners finish....not that I would have seen Mr. Lincoln then. Periodically, he called me to let me know how he was doing. I began to worry as the last 6 miles were taking an inordinate amount of time. Finally, he's finished. Worst time he's ever had, but a personal best for a marathon since he turned 60, so, good for him!! He was soaked to the bone, glad the race was over and ready to keep walking (at the mall) so his muscles did not stiffen. I won't go into details about that trip and the hour I waited in line at H&M to buy 2 blouses and a pair of pants. The cashier in my line had no sense of urgency nor modicum of efficiency. When we walked to dinner that evening, hoping to eat at the burger restaurant again, we found it empty...open, but no one working there..so we assumed it was closed. After checking out another diner, which was closed...on a Saturday night...oh, wonder if they are run by Latter Day Saints? Hmmmmmm, that just dawned on me. We ended up eating at the Hotel Monaco, and it was delicious!!
Sunday morning dawned. Our trip home was uneventful. While reluctant to leave, we were glad to get home. It is always nice to get away, but we are blessed with a lovely life at home. All this epic kerfuffle was taking place with the backdrop of the explosion in West Texas, the manhunt and capture of one of the Boston Bombers, and horrific weather all over the middle portion of the nation. It was disquieting and stressful, but we experienced it together. You can decide for yourselves, if you have possibly managed to get through this ridiculous epic, if we have a good story to tell.
I love Mr. Lincoln, and I love spending time with him. Life in town gets hectic with family and work and church and other wonders that life offers. It is just nice to get away together, even if things do not work out quite as anticipated.
So for today, I wish you love, safe travels, and I wish you
blessings
Friday, April 19, 2013
Captured
"Captured" the news said. I am grateful that the young nineteen year old was captured and not killed. I am extremely grateful that the law enforcement officials were successful, and I pray they rest well tonight.
It occurs to me that this is not the first time this young man was "captured." Some time in his short life his spirit was captured by something destructive and sinister. I don't know if it was the influence of an older brother, a faction of his religion, mistreatment at the hands of society...I do not know. I know that he must be held accountable for the deaths of an eight year old and three people in the prime of their lives. A young man lies in the hospital having lost both his legs. Others are hospitalized with serious injuries sustained at the hands of this young man and his brother. What "captured" their spirits that caused them to think that these actions were acceptable? I do not know.
What I do know is I will continue to pray for this boy. I know he is injured. It seems that he has had little rest or food this day. He has lost his older brother. I understand that these circumstances are consequences of choices he made. Who of us hasnot suffered consequences for our poor choices? Most of our spirits have not been captured by forces that would cause us to kill and maim others, if often we might be satisfied to let others do the dirty work for us. Some of us might even have hoped that police would kill this boy, and feel justified in believing that is what he deserved.
So, while this world would be much better if this boy and his brother had been "captured" by the Jesus story...not the bastardized version so many of us live...but the real Jesus story...than whatever it is that had its grip on them, I know they are children of God. I will pray that this boy will survive in order to be recaptured....by the grace and forgiveness of a God who loves him every bit as much as He loves all those who were killed, all those wounded, all those law enforcement officials, and all of us who watched with both enthusiasm and unease the unfolding of the events this day.
For today, at the end of this long day where we were captured by unfolding events, I wish you a spirit of love and forgiveness and I wish you
Blessings
It occurs to me that this is not the first time this young man was "captured." Some time in his short life his spirit was captured by something destructive and sinister. I don't know if it was the influence of an older brother, a faction of his religion, mistreatment at the hands of society...I do not know. I know that he must be held accountable for the deaths of an eight year old and three people in the prime of their lives. A young man lies in the hospital having lost both his legs. Others are hospitalized with serious injuries sustained at the hands of this young man and his brother. What "captured" their spirits that caused them to think that these actions were acceptable? I do not know.
What I do know is I will continue to pray for this boy. I know he is injured. It seems that he has had little rest or food this day. He has lost his older brother. I understand that these circumstances are consequences of choices he made. Who of us hasnot suffered consequences for our poor choices? Most of our spirits have not been captured by forces that would cause us to kill and maim others, if often we might be satisfied to let others do the dirty work for us. Some of us might even have hoped that police would kill this boy, and feel justified in believing that is what he deserved.
So, while this world would be much better if this boy and his brother had been "captured" by the Jesus story...not the bastardized version so many of us live...but the real Jesus story...than whatever it is that had its grip on them, I know they are children of God. I will pray that this boy will survive in order to be recaptured....by the grace and forgiveness of a God who loves him every bit as much as He loves all those who were killed, all those wounded, all those law enforcement officials, and all of us who watched with both enthusiasm and unease the unfolding of the events this day.
For today, at the end of this long day where we were captured by unfolding events, I wish you a spirit of love and forgiveness and I wish you
Blessings
Monday, March 25, 2013
Noise
There is noise in my head. It is the sound of 1000 dripping faucets. It is the sound of 10,000 popping knuckles. It comes from a million pin pricks of pain inflicted on those I love and those they love. It is the loss of a devoted wife, a cherished husband, a beloved pet. It is sorrow and frustration swirled together in an eddy of confusion for those who seem to be clueless about the very essence of who they are...or am I the clueless one? Perhaps, that reality is what is causing the noise.
There is a noise in my head. It is the sound of fingernails scratching on a blackboard. It is the sound of a dentist's drill. It comes this time of year. It does not come every year, but when it does, it is this time of year. It is born of bad choices repeated in expectation of a different result. Now, what is that well-known definition of insanity? The bad choices that are clanging in my head are not all mine, but I must accept the ones that are; more importantly, I must accept that the ones not mine, are not mine to fix.
There is a noise in my head. It is the sound of the "music" blaring from the MAC cosmetic counter in Macy's. It is the sound of a cell phone ringing at church. Its origins come from having eyes that will not see; of witnessing the lost vision in others. It is the futility of depending on trite sayings and quotations to make sense of this life. It rises from not being able to meet needs, this noise in my head. It comes from the unintended "laying on of guilt." It comes from trying to let that guilt stay where it was set down instead of dragging it around in virulent resentment.
There is a noise in my head. It is when the noise crescendos that I can actually see myself sitting at Jesus's feet with his hand resting lightly on my head. It is time "to be still and know." Perhaps, soon the noise will abate, or will become as a soft rain shower, or the delicate crunching of gravel, or the trill of birdsong early on a spring morning, or the gentle lapping of waves on the shore. I will wait. I will be still. I will learn to find the message in the noise.
For today, I wish you blessings.
There is a noise in my head. It is the sound of fingernails scratching on a blackboard. It is the sound of a dentist's drill. It comes this time of year. It does not come every year, but when it does, it is this time of year. It is born of bad choices repeated in expectation of a different result. Now, what is that well-known definition of insanity? The bad choices that are clanging in my head are not all mine, but I must accept the ones that are; more importantly, I must accept that the ones not mine, are not mine to fix.
There is a noise in my head. It is the sound of the "music" blaring from the MAC cosmetic counter in Macy's. It is the sound of a cell phone ringing at church. Its origins come from having eyes that will not see; of witnessing the lost vision in others. It is the futility of depending on trite sayings and quotations to make sense of this life. It rises from not being able to meet needs, this noise in my head. It comes from the unintended "laying on of guilt." It comes from trying to let that guilt stay where it was set down instead of dragging it around in virulent resentment.
There is a noise in my head. It is when the noise crescendos that I can actually see myself sitting at Jesus's feet with his hand resting lightly on my head. It is time "to be still and know." Perhaps, soon the noise will abate, or will become as a soft rain shower, or the delicate crunching of gravel, or the trill of birdsong early on a spring morning, or the gentle lapping of waves on the shore. I will wait. I will be still. I will learn to find the message in the noise.
For today, I wish you blessings.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Fifty Years
Last week, I was communicating with my friend Judy, via email. In the course of our correspondence, she mentioned that this is the year she and her husband, Clark, celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary. Of course, they will be celebrating all year, which is completely appropriate for such a blessed life milestone. They are not celebrating just 50 years together, they are celebrating 50 years of a wonderful life together filled with love and family and friends and fun.....and hurt, for no one lives long without hurt.
Early in their marriage, an unexpected event occured; a daughter born with spina bifida. They vowed to each other that because the world would hurt them enough, they would never ever do anything to hurt each other. My observations would tell me that they both took that vow seriously. I know that in the midst of the uncertainty of having a baby with multiple physical issues, they did not realize quite what a joy and blessing that child would prove to be for them. She is a grown woman now, with a life filled with love and family and friends and fun...I think I see a pattern here. She has excellent role models. She is an excellent role model.
So, here goes....some random memories with and lessons learned from my dear friends Clark and Judy. Happy Anniversary you two lovebirds. It's a wonderful life, indeed.
Anticipation...the first phase of all life's events. Clark lives in anticipation...a lot.
Gatlinburg 10K...we all got shirts...we all had our picture made at the start line...if memory serves, Mr. Lincoln is the only one who ran
Daily photo journal...recently Clark made the statement that he tried his hand at one from observing my efforts...he's confused...he did it first
Drama....not obnoxious life-is-just-too-much-for-me drama...actual drama. Judy was a drama major in college....and a Kids on the Block puppeteer for years.
Delicious Meals....I have had many at their home...white chili, crepes, special salads, yummy desserts etc...always delicious, always served graciously
Letters on the fridge....often when guests arrive, a welcome is spelled out nicely on their refrigerator with magnetic letters
Hikes....lots and lots of hikes, some spent trying to find the UniBomber...for the reward, I think
Lawn mowing poetry...I'll not elaborate on this one.
"Just a little happy"....what Judy calls a hostess gift.
Gifts...they are the only people I know who are equally thrilled with the gift of a shell picked up on the beach, or a marble made in a lampwork class as they are by some expensive offering
Paintings...Clark and Judy collect art, and they display with great enthusiasm the most humble piece done by a nobody to work done by internationally known artists
Barnabas...we were once in a small group together called the Barnabas Group...striving to be encouragers...Clark and Judy are the original Barnabases...well, no, I guess Barnabas was the original, but they have taken encouragement to a very high level
Cars...Clark loves cars
Home...their home is uniquely them...no furniture store displays here...chimes in the livingroom, a sand zen pendulum thingy, pictures galore, glass eggs, pillows made from family heirloom fur coats...get the picture...uniquely them
Where's Gumby??
Understanding...once when Mr. Lincoln, Marshall, Sheri and I spent a weekend at their house in Gatlinburg, we switched out all their family photos with pictures of us. We did not tell them, of course, and just waited for them to notice the next time they went. They were very understanding...especially of the pic of Mr. Lincoln in the Jacuzzi.
Clark's birthday at Greer Stadium...thank goodness they did not make him dance with a cheerleader on top of the dugout
Wildflowers....they know the names of them all, and appreciate every tiny delicate feature
Clark vomiting... by the side of the road on a group trip to Lexington...poor Clark
Condemnation of Coca Cola products...Pepsi all the way now...drat that "original" recipe
Support....sitting quietly beside me during church, asking no questions, offering no platitudes on the morning before my brother's funeral service
James Bond....the James Bond hike....we were amazing!!!
Renaissance....Clark and Judy (I won't hit everything, I'm sure) between them have collected stamps, pop up books, artwork, religious icons, excelled at calligraphy, writing, knitting, cooking, painting, card making, and that doesn't mention the collection of people in their lives
More understanding....on a sunny day, they just kindly place something to block the solar battery powering chimes on the coffee table....those things can drive you crazy
Caramel apples...always willing to drive into town for a caramel apple...once Clark even offered to pay the like $50.00 for me to mail an apple to MP at college...she did not get one that year
Quotes....I think they may have introduced Mr. Lincoln and me to the joy of a good quotation...I do know that we were with them when we bought a copy of Mark Twain's quote: "Always do right. It will gratify some and astonish the rest." Love that!
Books...they are lovers of books...all kinds...voracious readers...have introduced me to several books I have thoroughly enjoyed
Books...they get that they should never loan a book to me
Spearhead...when Mr. Lincoln lost his job several years ago, they spearheaded an effort to help us financially so we would not have to sell our house...I think they think they did that anonymously...we know
Thoughtful....they invited us to dinner, and for personal reasons felt we could not leave our house...so they brought dinner to us
Oops...on another note, I once invited them to a charity dinner, they declined, then about a week before the dinner, I got a call from them inviting us to a dinner party at their house on the same night. Come to find out, a good number of their invitees had been my invitees for the charity dinner. Gotta love it.
Redeemed....A pretty big check came from them and the other guests at their party who blew off the charity dinner....I mean, seriously,who would rather have a quiet gourmet dinner at Clark and Judy's instead of catfish cooked in mass quantities served with 100's of others at the fairgrounds?
All Aboard....the Mexican Train
Grandparenting...Clark was a little reticent at first about taking on this role in life...I mean what if the baby calls them MooMoo and PooPoo? They are Mimi and B. They are wonderful grandparents! I strive to emulate them.
Mining...B. would "salt a mine" in his backyard for his grandson, Jackson, and they would go out and discover hidden treasure together. That grandson is 14 now, and still, I imagine his B. is one of his very best friends.
Stellar....one of Judy's favorite words, and she finds the stellar in everything.
For Whom the Bell Tolls...:-)
The Talented Mr. Ripley...sorry, Clark, I still don't get it.
Countless meals in homes or in restaurants, confidences shared, acceptance extended, laughs galore, small gifts exchanged, causes supported, kindnesses expressed, examples set, little email chats both long and short. Too many blessings for time and feeble mind to recall. Thank you, Clark and Judy for living out Kingdom Life, and for letting us be garnered into your fold of graciousness. I wish you a wonderful year of celebration.
For everyone else who might be reading this, I wish you good friends whose lives are carried within your own, and I wish you
blessings
Early in their marriage, an unexpected event occured; a daughter born with spina bifida. They vowed to each other that because the world would hurt them enough, they would never ever do anything to hurt each other. My observations would tell me that they both took that vow seriously. I know that in the midst of the uncertainty of having a baby with multiple physical issues, they did not realize quite what a joy and blessing that child would prove to be for them. She is a grown woman now, with a life filled with love and family and friends and fun...I think I see a pattern here. She has excellent role models. She is an excellent role model.
So, here goes....some random memories with and lessons learned from my dear friends Clark and Judy. Happy Anniversary you two lovebirds. It's a wonderful life, indeed.
Anticipation...the first phase of all life's events. Clark lives in anticipation...a lot.
Gatlinburg 10K...we all got shirts...we all had our picture made at the start line...if memory serves, Mr. Lincoln is the only one who ran
Daily photo journal...recently Clark made the statement that he tried his hand at one from observing my efforts...he's confused...he did it first
Drama....not obnoxious life-is-just-too-much-for-me drama...actual drama. Judy was a drama major in college....and a Kids on the Block puppeteer for years.
Delicious Meals....I have had many at their home...white chili, crepes, special salads, yummy desserts etc...always delicious, always served graciously
Letters on the fridge....often when guests arrive, a welcome is spelled out nicely on their refrigerator with magnetic letters
Hikes....lots and lots of hikes, some spent trying to find the UniBomber...for the reward, I think
Lawn mowing poetry...I'll not elaborate on this one.
"Just a little happy"....what Judy calls a hostess gift.
Gifts...they are the only people I know who are equally thrilled with the gift of a shell picked up on the beach, or a marble made in a lampwork class as they are by some expensive offering
Paintings...Clark and Judy collect art, and they display with great enthusiasm the most humble piece done by a nobody to work done by internationally known artists
Barnabas...we were once in a small group together called the Barnabas Group...striving to be encouragers...Clark and Judy are the original Barnabases...well, no, I guess Barnabas was the original, but they have taken encouragement to a very high level
Cars...Clark loves cars
Home...their home is uniquely them...no furniture store displays here...chimes in the livingroom, a sand zen pendulum thingy, pictures galore, glass eggs, pillows made from family heirloom fur coats...get the picture...uniquely them
Where's Gumby??
Understanding...once when Mr. Lincoln, Marshall, Sheri and I spent a weekend at their house in Gatlinburg, we switched out all their family photos with pictures of us. We did not tell them, of course, and just waited for them to notice the next time they went. They were very understanding...especially of the pic of Mr. Lincoln in the Jacuzzi.
Clark's birthday at Greer Stadium...thank goodness they did not make him dance with a cheerleader on top of the dugout
Wildflowers....they know the names of them all, and appreciate every tiny delicate feature
Clark vomiting... by the side of the road on a group trip to Lexington...poor Clark
Condemnation of Coca Cola products...Pepsi all the way now...drat that "original" recipe
Support....sitting quietly beside me during church, asking no questions, offering no platitudes on the morning before my brother's funeral service
James Bond....the James Bond hike....we were amazing!!!
Renaissance....Clark and Judy (I won't hit everything, I'm sure) between them have collected stamps, pop up books, artwork, religious icons, excelled at calligraphy, writing, knitting, cooking, painting, card making, and that doesn't mention the collection of people in their lives
More understanding....on a sunny day, they just kindly place something to block the solar battery powering chimes on the coffee table....those things can drive you crazy
Caramel apples...always willing to drive into town for a caramel apple...once Clark even offered to pay the like $50.00 for me to mail an apple to MP at college...she did not get one that year
Quotes....I think they may have introduced Mr. Lincoln and me to the joy of a good quotation...I do know that we were with them when we bought a copy of Mark Twain's quote: "Always do right. It will gratify some and astonish the rest." Love that!
Books...they are lovers of books...all kinds...voracious readers...have introduced me to several books I have thoroughly enjoyed
Books...they get that they should never loan a book to me
Spearhead...when Mr. Lincoln lost his job several years ago, they spearheaded an effort to help us financially so we would not have to sell our house...I think they think they did that anonymously...we know
Thoughtful....they invited us to dinner, and for personal reasons felt we could not leave our house...so they brought dinner to us
Oops...on another note, I once invited them to a charity dinner, they declined, then about a week before the dinner, I got a call from them inviting us to a dinner party at their house on the same night. Come to find out, a good number of their invitees had been my invitees for the charity dinner. Gotta love it.
Redeemed....A pretty big check came from them and the other guests at their party who blew off the charity dinner....I mean, seriously,who would rather have a quiet gourmet dinner at Clark and Judy's instead of catfish cooked in mass quantities served with 100's of others at the fairgrounds?
All Aboard....the Mexican Train
Grandparenting...Clark was a little reticent at first about taking on this role in life...I mean what if the baby calls them MooMoo and PooPoo? They are Mimi and B. They are wonderful grandparents! I strive to emulate them.
Mining...B. would "salt a mine" in his backyard for his grandson, Jackson, and they would go out and discover hidden treasure together. That grandson is 14 now, and still, I imagine his B. is one of his very best friends.
Stellar....one of Judy's favorite words, and she finds the stellar in everything.
For Whom the Bell Tolls...:-)
The Talented Mr. Ripley...sorry, Clark, I still don't get it.
Countless meals in homes or in restaurants, confidences shared, acceptance extended, laughs galore, small gifts exchanged, causes supported, kindnesses expressed, examples set, little email chats both long and short. Too many blessings for time and feeble mind to recall. Thank you, Clark and Judy for living out Kingdom Life, and for letting us be garnered into your fold of graciousness. I wish you a wonderful year of celebration.
For everyone else who might be reading this, I wish you good friends whose lives are carried within your own, and I wish you
blessings
Monday, February 18, 2013
Samson for 3rd Graders?
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
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
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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