He sat on the steps of the church eating Ramen noodles. I asked him how he was doing. "Having to eat out of the dumpster today," he said.
I admit, I wondered who had thrown Ramen noodles in a dumpster, but could not think of a graceful, non-incredulous-sounding way of asking. He quickly satisfied my curiosity by explaining that a fellow homeless gentleman shared the noodles with him.
"I am really sorry," I replied. "I have $2.00, and you are welcome to it, but I realize it won't get you much. I wish I had more."
He said he had been back in Nashville for two weeks. Someone had stolen his backpack and the clothes in it. I am thinking, seriously? Not, seriously are you lying to me, but seriously, who steals from a homeless person? How very privileged of me. I suspect it was taken by someone who is hopeless and desperate as well.
He seemed embarrassed that the jeans he had on were dirty, but he had no others.
"You know ma'am lots of Christians are bi-polar. You know what I mean by that?"
"I'm not sure. Help me understand what you mean."
"We'll, they go to church, and they look good and are all right acting there, but you get them out on the street and they don't do a thing to help."
"Hmmmmmm, I am afraid that I do know what you mean." I see a bipolar Christian in the mirror every morning.
I asked him if he was aware of resources available to him. He had not heard of the ones I suggested. He did not know of Father Strobel, and said that he is not Catholic. I assured him that he did not have to be. He shared that he does not have an ID. I had no idea if that was a problem or not. I tried to reach a minister at church, but he was not available. I knew I would be able to get help at church, I just did not have time at the moment to work it out as I was about to begin a tour.
"What is your name?"
"Earnest."
"My name is Marilyn. It is a pleasure to know you."
"I's nice to meet you."
"Well, Earnest, give me some time, and I will work on finding you some clothes. Where can I find you, say tomorrow morning?" I do not have time for this, I have to be at church tomorrow morning. Really? Church is going to keep you from meeting Earnest in the morning? Really?
"I will be down on 2nd Avenue tonight, and then I usually come sit on the church steps every morning."
"What time?"
"Sleeping on the concrete, I am usually up here by 4:00."
4:00 a.m.? Not going to happen, Earnest.
The people I was waiting for arrived. "It was a privilege meeting you, Earnest."
"No, ma'am, it was my privilege."
We parted ways, probably with each of us thinking there was no way we would meet in the morning....me thinking that he was a "typical" homeless person who just cannot be depended on to be where they say they will be, and him thinking that I was a "typical bipolar Christian."
Neither of us was taking into account God's grace in making sure that His children meet their divine appointments.
For today, I wish you a church that responds, I wish you trust in a God who will see that you meet the most important divine appointments, and I wish you
blessings
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Sunday, August 18, 2013
A "No Panties" Kind of Week....Girls' Trip
I really debated the title of this blog. Some may contend that, perhaps, the don't-use-that-title argument should have won. Maybe, maybe not. If it offends you, I sincerely apologize, but I also know that if you are offended, you just do not get "traveling with the girls." The phrase "no panties" was coined by my mother several years ago when she said at the end of a trip to Sarasota with my sister and me (her 80th birthday present), "why, I don't think I have had panties on all week" (please say that out loud in a charming southern accent, and all offended feelings will be healed). It does not mean that she was going "commando" a la Cosmo Cramer, it means that swimsuit and pajamas were all that were worn for the week. Talk about perfection.
Ernest Hemingway is quoted as having said, "Never go on trips with anyone you do not love." Amen and amen, Ernest. I recently traveled with people I love. Not only are they people I love, they are people with whom I love to travel. So, here's our trip "by the numbers."
10 - the number of days we were together
1 - the number of times we ate dinner out, and that was at Chik-fil-a in McDonough, Georgia on our way home when we were too exhausted to consider anything fancier.
0 - the number of cross words spoken
0 - the number of times M got "pissed off"
8 - the number of days we just sat on the beach and enjoyed being
3 (I think) - the number of Key Lime pie servings in a coconut shell
6 (maybe) - trips to Publix - once to buy food for the week and 5 to buy lunch on the way to the beach
1 - the number of rocket launches we witnessed (now, that was amazing!!)
7 - the number of tries it took to figure out how to turn the water on
lost count - the number of wrong turns taken trying to find the post office
4 - the number of trips to TJ Maxx
5 - tanks of gas for the trip down and back
3 - umbrellas lined up - the picture is of our "compound"
dozens - the number of side scurrying crabs that came out in the evening
1 ton - the amount of sand I vacuumed from Mr. Lincoln's car
2 tons - the amount of sand left in Mr. Lincoln's car after I vacuumed
3 - the number of suitcases we took
8? - the number of extra little bags of varying sizes filled with various items that we took
1516 - the number of miles we drove
2 - the number of trips to Pickin' and Grinin' thrift store...2nd trip to buy that beverage cart for Martha
4 - the number of white serving dishes I bought at the thrift store
272 - the number of white dishes I now have
5 - the number of books I read on my phone - love that Kindle on my phone
?? - the number of journal pages Martha wrote
9 - the number of nights Melissa cooked herself a healthy dinner and offered to share
9 - the number of nights Martha and I declined Melissa's healthy dinner
Don't want to talk about it - the number of Diet Cokes I drank
2 pounds - the amount of dark chocolate with almond Hershey's Bliss we (I) ate
Approximately 180 man hours - spent looking at Pinterest
Cannot be counted - the laughs, the prayers for each other's families, the memories of this and previous trips, the times we will think how fortunate we are to have each other, the times we remember how right Ernest Hemingway was.
So, for today, I wish you a "no panties" kind of week with people you love in a peaceful setting, and I wish you
blessings
Once Upon a Time....I Had a Social Life
Even before I knew what a social life was, I had one. I went square dancing with my parents and their friends, drive-in movies in my pj's with Becky Leech, sleepovers, elementary school carnivals, and, because I had an older brother, high school football games with my folks.
I had quite the social life in high school; Friday nights were for ball games, sometimes with a date, but more often with a group. Saturday nights were youth group activities, or games of Pit or Spoons and Toll House Cookies at the Murphy's. There was prom and Sadie Hawkins Dances, and Homecoming and the Lionettes Christmas Dance. I loved it all.
Later in college, much to my mother's dismay, oftentimes my social life consisted of watching Hawaii Five-0 with my dad. College dating consisted of 2 or 3 dates with whatever guy was looking for a wife and figured I might do. Usually it only took 2 or 3 dates for him to figure out that, perhaps, I wouldn't do. There was the time that I dated a guy known at my house as "Harry the Bastard," but really he was a pretty nice guy, just not terribly interested in me. Then along came Mr. Lincoln who offered to take me dancing, oh, wait, "you have a cast from your thigh to your ankle, maybe dancing isn't such a great idea." Well, duh. But movies, and dinners and dates to church turned, more rapidly than might be advisable, into conversations of marriage and forever.
Early in our marriage, we had a social life. Dinner out with friends, church, movies, the horse races, UK football and basketball games, all manner of wonderful, exciting social activities. As our family grew, so did our social life. We had friends who were the parents of our children's friends, football games, dinners in our homes, trips to Lexington, Gatlinburg and Captiva, evenings spent with dinner out and dancing, concerts, tacky parties, and 30 Something events, Halloween Masquerade parties, Christmas at Belle Meade Mansion. It was all fun stuff.
Last night as I sat on my sofa with a freshly bathed Simeon in my lap giggling and giggling as he zipped and unzipped a compartment on my purse, the thought occurred to me, "now this is a social life I can really enjoy!" There is no movie more entertaining than the live action that we enjoyed yesterday of Max walking around on his knees jabbering in his little boy language. There is nothing that even remotely compares to the big grins those boys toss our way...Simeon's with his large "Chiclet" teeth, and Max with that most familiar genetic space between his two front teeth. There is no movie, no dinner, no dancing, no ball game, no party, no anything that compares to the contentment and joy of a Saturday afternoon and evening spent watching Mr. Lincoln and Max touch fingertips in the vein of Michelangelo's Creation of Adam, or to look out the living room window and see Simeon walking up the driveway with one hand in Fizzie's and the other holding a "big stick." "You want me to read the Gingerbread Man again...okay, how ever many times you want."
So, I embrace this new social order, if you will. It is the best, and whenever I feel like the world is passing me by and I'm missing all the great movies and I haven't danced a step in quite some time and the leftover half of my lunch hamburger is what I have for dinner, I will be most grateful that most of my movies are happening live, and my dancing is now with a little guy in my arms as we move to the beat of "Five Little Monkeys," and my leftover hamburger is nectar from the gods because I am sharing it with Simeon or Max. Ah, I love this grandparent social life. It is the best. Robert Browning was on to something when he said, "Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be..."
So for today, I wish you the social life for which you long, I wish you joy in the moment, and I wish you,
blessings
I had quite the social life in high school; Friday nights were for ball games, sometimes with a date, but more often with a group. Saturday nights were youth group activities, or games of Pit or Spoons and Toll House Cookies at the Murphy's. There was prom and Sadie Hawkins Dances, and Homecoming and the Lionettes Christmas Dance. I loved it all.
Later in college, much to my mother's dismay, oftentimes my social life consisted of watching Hawaii Five-0 with my dad. College dating consisted of 2 or 3 dates with whatever guy was looking for a wife and figured I might do. Usually it only took 2 or 3 dates for him to figure out that, perhaps, I wouldn't do. There was the time that I dated a guy known at my house as "Harry the Bastard," but really he was a pretty nice guy, just not terribly interested in me. Then along came Mr. Lincoln who offered to take me dancing, oh, wait, "you have a cast from your thigh to your ankle, maybe dancing isn't such a great idea." Well, duh. But movies, and dinners and dates to church turned, more rapidly than might be advisable, into conversations of marriage and forever.
Early in our marriage, we had a social life. Dinner out with friends, church, movies, the horse races, UK football and basketball games, all manner of wonderful, exciting social activities. As our family grew, so did our social life. We had friends who were the parents of our children's friends, football games, dinners in our homes, trips to Lexington, Gatlinburg and Captiva, evenings spent with dinner out and dancing, concerts, tacky parties, and 30 Something events, Halloween Masquerade parties, Christmas at Belle Meade Mansion. It was all fun stuff.
Last night as I sat on my sofa with a freshly bathed Simeon in my lap giggling and giggling as he zipped and unzipped a compartment on my purse, the thought occurred to me, "now this is a social life I can really enjoy!" There is no movie more entertaining than the live action that we enjoyed yesterday of Max walking around on his knees jabbering in his little boy language. There is nothing that even remotely compares to the big grins those boys toss our way...Simeon's with his large "Chiclet" teeth, and Max with that most familiar genetic space between his two front teeth. There is no movie, no dinner, no dancing, no ball game, no party, no anything that compares to the contentment and joy of a Saturday afternoon and evening spent watching Mr. Lincoln and Max touch fingertips in the vein of Michelangelo's Creation of Adam, or to look out the living room window and see Simeon walking up the driveway with one hand in Fizzie's and the other holding a "big stick." "You want me to read the Gingerbread Man again...okay, how ever many times you want."
So, I embrace this new social order, if you will. It is the best, and whenever I feel like the world is passing me by and I'm missing all the great movies and I haven't danced a step in quite some time and the leftover half of my lunch hamburger is what I have for dinner, I will be most grateful that most of my movies are happening live, and my dancing is now with a little guy in my arms as we move to the beat of "Five Little Monkeys," and my leftover hamburger is nectar from the gods because I am sharing it with Simeon or Max. Ah, I love this grandparent social life. It is the best. Robert Browning was on to something when he said, "Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be..."
So for today, I wish you the social life for which you long, I wish you joy in the moment, and I wish you,
blessings
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Upon Second Glance
It has been re-brought to my attention in the past few days, that in life often a second glance is needed.
A few days ago, a friend, really an acquaintance whom I admire because I know the company she keeps and "her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also...," shared a post on FB. It was a picture of a man holding a sign that said "if I get a million likes, my son will go to church." On first glance I thought, "I like church. This is probably some friendly bet the dad and son have where the son said 'yeah, I'll go to church if you can get a million likes on FB,' sort of in the vein of 'I'll go to church when pigs fly.'" So I hit the "like" button?
Then, I read some of the comments following the post. I was struck all over again (I can be a really slow learner) how hurtful church has been for some. While many of the comments were accompanied by the "f" word multiple times and, what seemed to me, extreme vitriolic statements, I have to know that those feelings were born of some form of abuse and/or perversion by people connected to church. Rarely, if ever, does a person feel that strongly about something without reason. So, upon second glance, I hit "unlike."
I get that father's desire for his son to go to church. For me, it is a community of people with similar beliefs who help me grow in my theology, who set wonderful examples of service, who encourage me in my efforts to follow a Christ-like path, who are flawed and annoying and stubborn and imperfect (wait...an apt description of myself) and redeemed. So, I get that dad. Upon second glance, I am learning to understand a bit better those who are offended by that post.
Recently, a young woman shared her story with a group. On one level, it is a story hard to hear. It is a story of severe family dysfunction followed by a series of self-destructive choices. She is completely transparent concerning her life then and her life now. Her story was told most eloquently, woven with threads of humility and gratitude. She blames no one. She is an amazing woman. In her talk, she did not share her accomplishments brought about by hard work and determination. I happen to learn of those through others who know and love her. I was moved to tears as she shared her story. I heard a wise man say afterwards that we can read all the philosophers and theologians we want, no one can tell the story like this young woman.
Later, someone came to her and told her that she had done a nice job (huge understatement), but that her dress was too short (not in my opinion). What? Oh, my goodness I was furious when I heard this. It seemed such a cruel comment. I cannot judge in what spirit it was delivered. The young woman had bought the dress the day before so that she would be nicely and appropriately dressed. I really wanted to slap someone.
However, upon second glance, I found myself sorrowful for the person who walked away from that time of testimony with "your dress is too short." They completely missed the beauty. Let me say here that I am capable of doing exactly the same thing. I can totally discount great lessons because I do not particularly care for the messenger or I have a headache or countless other reasons. Often, I am able to see how my bias causes me to misjudge. Probably, just as often I do not see. Perhaps, a second glance is always needed.
I hope that upon second glance in this young woman's heart the "your dress is too short" will be drowned out by the comments that praised her honesty, her courage, her tenacity, and her humility. I do not know why it is, but often we humans cling to the negative others toss our way rather than the positive. I guess Julia Roberts was right in "Pretty Woman" when she said "the bad stuff is easier to believe."
I hope that upon second glance the person who made the comment will realize how unkind it was. I hope, upon second glance, they discover the essence of love and joy and gratitude present in that testimony rather than being blinded by a skirt that might have been (it was not) too short.
I hope that upon second glance those who have been wounded by church will see the flaws in the people but not in the plan. Church done well is a wonderful thing. I hope they won't stay away from lack of a second glance.
I hope that those who love church and find it a blessed place of refuge will, upon second glance, be honest about the failures that have caused damage to others.
So for today, I wish you second glances, deeper understanding, and I wish you
blessings
A few days ago, a friend, really an acquaintance whom I admire because I know the company she keeps and "her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also...," shared a post on FB. It was a picture of a man holding a sign that said "if I get a million likes, my son will go to church." On first glance I thought, "I like church. This is probably some friendly bet the dad and son have where the son said 'yeah, I'll go to church if you can get a million likes on FB,' sort of in the vein of 'I'll go to church when pigs fly.'" So I hit the "like" button?
Then, I read some of the comments following the post. I was struck all over again (I can be a really slow learner) how hurtful church has been for some. While many of the comments were accompanied by the "f" word multiple times and, what seemed to me, extreme vitriolic statements, I have to know that those feelings were born of some form of abuse and/or perversion by people connected to church. Rarely, if ever, does a person feel that strongly about something without reason. So, upon second glance, I hit "unlike."
I get that father's desire for his son to go to church. For me, it is a community of people with similar beliefs who help me grow in my theology, who set wonderful examples of service, who encourage me in my efforts to follow a Christ-like path, who are flawed and annoying and stubborn and imperfect (wait...an apt description of myself) and redeemed. So, I get that dad. Upon second glance, I am learning to understand a bit better those who are offended by that post.
Recently, a young woman shared her story with a group. On one level, it is a story hard to hear. It is a story of severe family dysfunction followed by a series of self-destructive choices. She is completely transparent concerning her life then and her life now. Her story was told most eloquently, woven with threads of humility and gratitude. She blames no one. She is an amazing woman. In her talk, she did not share her accomplishments brought about by hard work and determination. I happen to learn of those through others who know and love her. I was moved to tears as she shared her story. I heard a wise man say afterwards that we can read all the philosophers and theologians we want, no one can tell the story like this young woman.
Later, someone came to her and told her that she had done a nice job (huge understatement), but that her dress was too short (not in my opinion). What? Oh, my goodness I was furious when I heard this. It seemed such a cruel comment. I cannot judge in what spirit it was delivered. The young woman had bought the dress the day before so that she would be nicely and appropriately dressed. I really wanted to slap someone.
However, upon second glance, I found myself sorrowful for the person who walked away from that time of testimony with "your dress is too short." They completely missed the beauty. Let me say here that I am capable of doing exactly the same thing. I can totally discount great lessons because I do not particularly care for the messenger or I have a headache or countless other reasons. Often, I am able to see how my bias causes me to misjudge. Probably, just as often I do not see. Perhaps, a second glance is always needed.
I hope that upon second glance in this young woman's heart the "your dress is too short" will be drowned out by the comments that praised her honesty, her courage, her tenacity, and her humility. I do not know why it is, but often we humans cling to the negative others toss our way rather than the positive. I guess Julia Roberts was right in "Pretty Woman" when she said "the bad stuff is easier to believe."
I hope that upon second glance the person who made the comment will realize how unkind it was. I hope, upon second glance, they discover the essence of love and joy and gratitude present in that testimony rather than being blinded by a skirt that might have been (it was not) too short.
I hope that upon second glance those who have been wounded by church will see the flaws in the people but not in the plan. Church done well is a wonderful thing. I hope they won't stay away from lack of a second glance.
I hope that those who love church and find it a blessed place of refuge will, upon second glance, be honest about the failures that have caused damage to others.
So for today, I wish you second glances, deeper understanding, and I wish you
blessings
Monday, June 24, 2013
"Bad Theology"
Every day, I am reminded of my "bad theology." In my own defense, I was raised with bad theology. I trusted the adults in my life to know what they were talking about, and sometimes maybe they did and sometimes maybe they did not. In defense of those who shared it, they were definitely doing what they thought was good and right and best for those they taught. That does not excuse me for getting almost to my 61st birthday without a better realization that some of what I was taught was bad theology. It does not excuse me for my spreading of bad theology.
I was taught, and still know people who believe that it is wrong to read what others say about the Bible. "We are to read it for ourselves and the Holy Spirit will guide us." I believe that, but I have to wonder, if I believe in a transcendent God who is active and alive, why can he not "inspire" people now to a deeper understanding of the meaning of His word? Why can He not use the intelligence and hunger for understanding of someone like N.T. Wright to help me gain a deeper insight? Believing otherwise, seems, if not bad theology, at least a very limited boxed-in theology.
So much of what I was taught was black and white. I am not sure what we did with the scripture about not judging because we certainly had a refined sense of who was in and who was out. Even I figured out at an early age that not only people who attended the church of Christ were going to heaven. I remember in college, sitting in the balcony of Alumni Auditorium at David Lipscomb College before chapel, a good friend from my church informing me that my next-door-neighbor, one of the kindest most spiritual people I ever knew, was going to hell because she attended the Baptist church. Really? Please, God, tell me that nobody is living today who believes that....please. I figure that person has lived enough life at this point to realize, himself, what a ludicrous thought that was.
Absolutely, there was no possibility that Christ's sacrifice on the cross was far-reaching or strong enough to cover people who danced or "mix-bathed" or listened to rock and roll, or had premarital sex or drank or were attracted to the same sex. His sacrifice only covered those of us who said the right things and believed the right things and who occasionally might utter a curse word, or play solitaire with "playing" cards (Old Maid was fine), or overeat, or tell a little "white" lie, or spread a little gossip. We certainly cannot be having guilty people walking around with their struggles thinking God loves them anyway. That might excuse them for their unacceptable behavior. And, we cannot be culpable in their sin by not setting them straight and letting them know what they are doing that is dooming them to eternal hell. Seriously, we might be responsible for their salvation as if God is incapable to handling it. So, we did not mind letting people we barely knew or knew not at all how to straighten out their lives through tracts, "gospel" meetings that were anything but "good news," and door-to-door canvasing.
We have many seeking, thinking, loving, questioning young people in our church family. I love them. I need them. We have a series of classes on movies and how to find God and Christ and the Holy Spirit in those movies. Some of them are rated "R." It is an adult class. Some of them are violent and dark and have "language." Some of my generation take exception to discussing these movies at church. I do not attend the class because it is on Wednesday night, and those who know me know that I keep the boys on Wednesdays, and am usually too tired to stir from the sofa when they go home. My not attending would be enough to convince me that I really need not express any criticism of the class. But, I know the young man who teaches it. I trust him to not present anything salacious. He is much wiser and has a much better sense of what is acceptable in a church setting than that.
Once again, I was just living life, and not concerning myself about what anyone thought about that class. I did chuckle to myself when I saw that one Wednesday night the movie to be discussed was No Country for Old Men, and the next week on the schedule was "An Old-Fashioned Hymn Sing." I love a bit of irony...or is that a paradox - Betsy, Sandy...anyone? As usual, I digress.
Yesterday, as part of communion, another young man who is known to be extremely thoughtful, shared a few words. He started out talking about, of all things, a movie; Man of Steel. As I listened to him, I had an epiphany. Those of my generation who are so opposed to the viewing or discussion of these movies were raised with a pounding in their heads of the importance of remaining unspotted by the world. We often are unable to get past the violence and the language to see the point. We are working so hard to remain unsoiled that we miss the cleansing lesson of redemption and salvation that these young people see. We see sin marring a perfect world (which it is), and they see Kingdom springing up in very unexpected ways in a struggling world. I do not want to excuse sin, my own in particular, but I do want to see Kingdom.
For today I wish you love and joy and
Kingdom life.
blessings,
I was taught, and still know people who believe that it is wrong to read what others say about the Bible. "We are to read it for ourselves and the Holy Spirit will guide us." I believe that, but I have to wonder, if I believe in a transcendent God who is active and alive, why can he not "inspire" people now to a deeper understanding of the meaning of His word? Why can He not use the intelligence and hunger for understanding of someone like N.T. Wright to help me gain a deeper insight? Believing otherwise, seems, if not bad theology, at least a very limited boxed-in theology.
So much of what I was taught was black and white. I am not sure what we did with the scripture about not judging because we certainly had a refined sense of who was in and who was out. Even I figured out at an early age that not only people who attended the church of Christ were going to heaven. I remember in college, sitting in the balcony of Alumni Auditorium at David Lipscomb College before chapel, a good friend from my church informing me that my next-door-neighbor, one of the kindest most spiritual people I ever knew, was going to hell because she attended the Baptist church. Really? Please, God, tell me that nobody is living today who believes that....please. I figure that person has lived enough life at this point to realize, himself, what a ludicrous thought that was.
Absolutely, there was no possibility that Christ's sacrifice on the cross was far-reaching or strong enough to cover people who danced or "mix-bathed" or listened to rock and roll, or had premarital sex or drank or were attracted to the same sex. His sacrifice only covered those of us who said the right things and believed the right things and who occasionally might utter a curse word, or play solitaire with "playing" cards (Old Maid was fine), or overeat, or tell a little "white" lie, or spread a little gossip. We certainly cannot be having guilty people walking around with their struggles thinking God loves them anyway. That might excuse them for their unacceptable behavior. And, we cannot be culpable in their sin by not setting them straight and letting them know what they are doing that is dooming them to eternal hell. Seriously, we might be responsible for their salvation as if God is incapable to handling it. So, we did not mind letting people we barely knew or knew not at all how to straighten out their lives through tracts, "gospel" meetings that were anything but "good news," and door-to-door canvasing.
We have many seeking, thinking, loving, questioning young people in our church family. I love them. I need them. We have a series of classes on movies and how to find God and Christ and the Holy Spirit in those movies. Some of them are rated "R." It is an adult class. Some of them are violent and dark and have "language." Some of my generation take exception to discussing these movies at church. I do not attend the class because it is on Wednesday night, and those who know me know that I keep the boys on Wednesdays, and am usually too tired to stir from the sofa when they go home. My not attending would be enough to convince me that I really need not express any criticism of the class. But, I know the young man who teaches it. I trust him to not present anything salacious. He is much wiser and has a much better sense of what is acceptable in a church setting than that.
Once again, I was just living life, and not concerning myself about what anyone thought about that class. I did chuckle to myself when I saw that one Wednesday night the movie to be discussed was No Country for Old Men, and the next week on the schedule was "An Old-Fashioned Hymn Sing." I love a bit of irony...or is that a paradox - Betsy, Sandy...anyone? As usual, I digress.
Yesterday, as part of communion, another young man who is known to be extremely thoughtful, shared a few words. He started out talking about, of all things, a movie; Man of Steel. As I listened to him, I had an epiphany. Those of my generation who are so opposed to the viewing or discussion of these movies were raised with a pounding in their heads of the importance of remaining unspotted by the world. We often are unable to get past the violence and the language to see the point. We are working so hard to remain unsoiled that we miss the cleansing lesson of redemption and salvation that these young people see. We see sin marring a perfect world (which it is), and they see Kingdom springing up in very unexpected ways in a struggling world. I do not want to excuse sin, my own in particular, but I do want to see Kingdom.
For today I wish you love and joy and
Kingdom life.
blessings,
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Could It Be?
WARNING: Gross picture below!
It all started last Friday. Sometime in the night, my son got up, slipped on a pillow on the floor, fell backwards and landed on his child's toy. He said to himself, "wow, that is going to leave a bruise" (paraphrased). When he woke up, there was blood all over his sheets, and while trying to figure out the cause, he discovered a cut in his back approximately two inches long and an inch deep. His wife felt that he needed stitches, and asked if I could take him as she needed to get to work. My son, of course, felt it was a lot of hoopla for nothing. Nurse Henderson was here (I know she gets so sick of us asking her all our medical questions....just like Mr. Lincoln gets asked legal questions all the time...funny, no one ever seems to need my Tennessee history advice), so it was suggested that he send a picture of the cut, so that Nurse H. and I could offer our expert and non-expert opinions concerning the need for stitches. Below is the picture he sent:
It all started last Friday. Sometime in the night, my son got up, slipped on a pillow on the floor, fell backwards and landed on his child's toy. He said to himself, "wow, that is going to leave a bruise" (paraphrased). When he woke up, there was blood all over his sheets, and while trying to figure out the cause, he discovered a cut in his back approximately two inches long and an inch deep. His wife felt that he needed stitches, and asked if I could take him as she needed to get to work. My son, of course, felt it was a lot of hoopla for nothing. Nurse Henderson was here (I know she gets so sick of us asking her all our medical questions....just like Mr. Lincoln gets asked legal questions all the time...funny, no one ever seems to need my Tennessee history advice), so it was suggested that he send a picture of the cut, so that Nurse H. and I could offer our expert and non-expert opinions concerning the need for stitches. Below is the picture he sent:
Uh, yeah, I think you need stitches. I got the baby, my son called his doctor, who in about 2 seconds of seeing the cut said, "wow, you need stitches!" So after a couple layers of stitches, and a prescription for antibiotics, he went home. Except for soreness in his back, the weekend seemed to go fairly well for my son and family.
Fast forward....Monday morning. Complaints of a raging headache and a general feeling of unwellness began. I offered to let the baby play, nap and lunch at my house so my son could rest. He rested and seemed to be much better. Seems all is well, or at least on the road to well.
Tuesday morning....My daughter-in-law calls. Her hubby, my son, has a fever of 102, she has to get to work, he needs to stay away from the baby. I inquired as to whether they had checked for infection in the cut on his back. She thought it looked okay, but with such a deep wound we figured an infection could be there and not noticeable on the surface. When I picked up the baby, I asked him to please go to the doctor and have his back checked. He was so miserable that he just felt like he could not get out of bed, but conceded that if someone would work it out, he would go. Mr. Lincoln to the rescue!! He called the doctor who said to take our son to the emergency room immediately. Mr. Lincoln did. Yay!! No infection in wound, but there was definitely something going on. Tests were run.
Wednesday....Tests are back. Apparently hepatitis caused by either mono or medicine is what is causing all this misery. Temperature is still 102. He is miserable. Further testing to be done.
Thursday...It is not mono. By process of elimination, the doctor has concluded that he has Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever, caused by the bite of an infected tick. What? DO NOT GOOGLE such things. Oh, my word! There is one antibiotic designed specifically for RMSF, and it is prescribed.
Friday...Our son is feeling better this morning, and much better by this evening. Improving from the antibiotic seems to confirm the diagnosis. Mr. Lincoln informed me he read that only about 800 cases of RMSF are reported each year in the U.S. Wow, I bet he is feeling really special.
Saturday morning...I have not heard anything this morning, so I am assuming the improvement continues.
The real danger of Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever is a late diagnosis. The sooner it is caught, the better chance of treating it. My son is like a lot of men; he does not go to the doctor often. People, die of RMSF because doctors do not recognize it, patients do not remember being bitten by a tick, symptoms are compatible with many other things.
So I ask: could it be that our son's fall in the wee hours last Friday was the beginning of events that would literally save his life? (I know and love a few people who at this point are thinking, "I love her, but she's an idiot. She cannot really believe this stuff!) I cannot help but think that if he had not fallen, when he woke up with a fever of 102 degrees 4 days later he would not have gone to the doctor in fear that his wound was infected, tests would not have been run, and while an eventual diagnosis may have been made as symptoms increased, perhaps it would have been too late.
I am not saying this is how it is, I am asking, "could it be?" I believe it could.
So for today, I wish you belief in possibilities, good health, and I wish you
blessings
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Day three...and home
This morning I bid a fond farewell to the Country Inn and Suites and headed up Lookout Mountain to Rock City. Barns with "See Rock City" dot the countryside, and I have seen them all my life, but I have never been there. It was lovely...a little hokey and commercial, but the rock formations and the flowers were incredible. I will admit that I sort of attached myself to a couple (they didn't know, but I kept them in view) as we went through the caverns. There were a lot of creepy Mother Goose characters lit with black lights in the caverns and it felt scary and I felt a bit claustrophobic. I went through Fat Man's Squeeze, and seriously, a fat man could not have made it through. I saw 7 states from Lover's Leap Lookout, but I saw them away from the edge. I was transported to the waterfall with Daniel Day Lewis in Last of the Mohicans.
After my walk through the gardens and rocks, I had two white chocolate covered graham crackers to keep my strength up as I contemplated driving back down the mountain. I seriously thought about getting a room at The Chanticleer which is a fabulous B&B across the street from Rock City, but I decided that I wanted to come home instead. 41A was to be the route I followed, except for the brief stretch at Nickajack where the bridge is closed. I saw lots of men fishing there.
I was really surprised at how desolate the area was, especially, along the Tennessee River. I expected to see more vacation homes and resorts. Lunch was at the Dutchmaid Bakery in Tracy City. After lunch, I went to Sewanee and the University of the South. In our next life, Mr. Lincoln and I are going to be history professors at Sewanee and live in a yellow clapboard house with a big front porch on University Avenue. We will walk around town after dinner each night, then sit on the porch. Our students will walk by and stop and chat and then wander off thinking how eccentric, and tough, and fair we are as professors. Sounds lovely to me.
A lot of driving through some torrential rain, then sun, then rain led me to Nolensville where I did a little window shopping, bought some Martin's barbeque, and came home. It was a nice weekend. Maybe I could have stayed longer, but the pull home was greater than the need to be away. Simeon dropped by to see us for a few minutes, and the phone has rung several times since my return. I am sure I will sleep well, in my own bed tonight. I need to thank Zoe, for their "Faithful" CD was a dear companion on my drive.
I do not know if my head is straightened out or not, but I did enjoy my bit of solitude. I am also very glad to be home.
So for today, I wish you a pull to home when you are away, safe travels, and
blessings
After my walk through the gardens and rocks, I had two white chocolate covered graham crackers to keep my strength up as I contemplated driving back down the mountain. I seriously thought about getting a room at The Chanticleer which is a fabulous B&B across the street from Rock City, but I decided that I wanted to come home instead. 41A was to be the route I followed, except for the brief stretch at Nickajack where the bridge is closed. I saw lots of men fishing there.
I was really surprised at how desolate the area was, especially, along the Tennessee River. I expected to see more vacation homes and resorts. Lunch was at the Dutchmaid Bakery in Tracy City. After lunch, I went to Sewanee and the University of the South. In our next life, Mr. Lincoln and I are going to be history professors at Sewanee and live in a yellow clapboard house with a big front porch on University Avenue. We will walk around town after dinner each night, then sit on the porch. Our students will walk by and stop and chat and then wander off thinking how eccentric, and tough, and fair we are as professors. Sounds lovely to me.
A lot of driving through some torrential rain, then sun, then rain led me to Nolensville where I did a little window shopping, bought some Martin's barbeque, and came home. It was a nice weekend. Maybe I could have stayed longer, but the pull home was greater than the need to be away. Simeon dropped by to see us for a few minutes, and the phone has rung several times since my return. I am sure I will sleep well, in my own bed tonight. I need to thank Zoe, for their "Faithful" CD was a dear companion on my drive.
I do not know if my head is straightened out or not, but I did enjoy my bit of solitude. I am also very glad to be home.
So for today, I wish you a pull to home when you are away, safe travels, and
blessings
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