Sunday, December 27, 2009

Christmas Cookies Sermon #3

This morning I was visiting with a daughter elsewhere in NYS, so I left my Christmas Cookie Sermon for a friend to do.
I made sugar cookie cutouts shaped like stars and suggested the verses Philippians 3:14-15 Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe..."
I asked her to share the importance of each of us letting our lights shine to point others to Christ. I also left a CD of Larnelle Harris...I Want to Be a Star. The lyrics include...I want to be a star, hung somewhere in the silent sky, like the one over Bethlehem, that brought the humble and the wise.."
Being a "star" in a world of darkness seems like a formidable task. One might ask, "Just who do you think you are anyway?" The lyrics of the song also include..."I have no glory of my own for anyone to see...it's simply a reflection of Your light that shines in me."
I am flawed...in fact, I am a sinner. But, I am saved by the grace of God, and I feel an obligation to say so.

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Memories of Christmas Past

Every year at Christmastime, I reminisce about my first Christmas away from my family. I was 18 years old and in my second year of Nursing School. In those "olden days," nursing programs were based in hospitals, rather than colleges. The education was inexpensive, because the student nurse was basically the hospital's slave. We got four weeks of vacation a year, and it was not our choice when we took it. So it was that in 1963, I was hundreds of miles away from my family trying to discover Christmas on my own.
I attended a church in Oak Park regularly and sang in the church choir. Just before Christmas there was to be a Sunday evening concert by the choir. Although I often sang solos, duets and other special parts, the only one I had been scheduled to sing that night was with two other girls on the same part in one of the choir numbers. During the hour before the concert, the college and career group was meeting, and that's where I was when someone called me out of the meeting with, "Larry wants to see you."
Larry was the church pianist, and I couldn't imagine what he wanted with me. I soon learned that the program was to include a special arrangement by Larry of "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear." It was to be a duet, but the alto was ill with laryngitis. Larry wanted me to sing the part, because he really wanted his arrangement to be included in the program.
I am not sure how clearly I expressed verbally what I was thinking, but it went something like, "You're crazy! I am a soprano. I have never sung alto in my entire life. The concert is about 40 minutes from beginning. How could I possibly learn the part that quickly? Plus which, it isn't just for the hundreds of people attending....it's going to be recorded. If I mess up, there will be lasting evidence!"
Larry calmly informed me that the alto had the melody in some of the piece, and he could teach me the rest. He was so confident that I could do this, that I gave in. I had some misgivings about my sanity, but I gave in.
In the next 15 to 20 minutes, he analyzed the part for me. He told me that when I had to pick out the harmony, he would emphasize my note in the chord just before my entrance. He described some of the intervals as being similar to those in other songs he knew I was familiar with. We went through it about 3 times.
And I did it.
Now listening to the recording, there is one note that makes me uncomfortable. Not because it is a clunker, but because I attacked it too vigorously.
When Christmas Day came, a group of us decided to go caroling in the halls of the hospital before work at 7 AM. One of the girls in the group knew which room was occupied by a reputed Mafia boss whose bodyguards never left his side. We decided we would sing right outside his door. When we finished, a voice boomed out of the room with a stereotypical, "Tanks, goils." We hastened into the stairwell before bursting into giggles, which I expect he heard.
I had been working with the same patients for several days, so I took Christmas cards for them with me to work that morning, only to discover I had been reassigned to the other end of the floor. Being short-staffed had caused some realignment. I was disappointed when I realized that I had been assigned to two patients who had had strokes and were comatose. I had wanted to interact and spread some Christmas cheer.
When I entered the room of these two totally unresponsive ladies, I was startled to see that a beautiful orchid had been pinned to the pillow of one of the women. Her son had come in early that morning and placed it there as a token of his love for her. For me, it was a reminder that these ladies were not just blobs of humanity, but mothers who were loved. My whole attitude was abruptly altered.
As I bathed them, changed their positions, put clean sheets on the bed and gave other care that Christmas Day, I sang carols to them. I had no idea if they could hear the songs, but if a son cared enough to leave an orchid, I needed to care enough to make an attempt at helping them know that it was Christmas....a day for joy in the midst of pain.
Now every year, I listen to that old recording of "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear." Over the years, the record became scratchy, and I put the song on a tape. I guess I should now put it on a CD. I listen somewhat in awe of how well I actually did, but mostly because listening calls me back to that era of my life. It makes me remember my 18 year old self having the courage to perform a piece I didn't know well, laughing over "Tanks, goils," and having an orchid on a pillow adjust my attitude.
Being with family for Christmas is wonderful, but the real meaning is in experiencing the love, peace, joy and salvation that the Baby in the Manger entered our world to bring.
I knew that in my head before I was 18, but that year, it filled my heart.


Friday, December 18, 2009

Gleaning

In some cultures many years ago, after the owner of a field had gathered in his crop, the poor were allowed to go through his field and pick up anything that remained. The beautiful story of Ruth in the Bible explains how Ruth met Boaz, because she gleaned in his fields gathering food for herself and her mother-in-law.
I was reminded of that story this week on my way to work. Most of my usual route is through farmlands. This time of year, the corn has all been harvested and the stubs of corn stalks poke up through a coating of snow. One such field I passed had hundreds of Canadian geese gleaning the remains of the crop. A few miles later in my trip, I saw a group of about a dozen wild turkeys picking through the leftovers of another cornfield. I have also seen deer in these fields on some mornings.
It made me wonder what will happen to wildlife as the number of small family farms in our country dwindles. The birds and the beasts are the gleaners in our fields.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Why the Post Office is in Trouble

...or at least, in my opinion.
Last week we had lake effect snow in our area, but the band didn't really stall over the top of us, so we only got about a foot total. The first day of the snow, I went out and shoveled the sidewalk perpendicular to the street. A kind neighbor who, I think, knew my husband was out of town, did the sidewalk parallel to the street with his snow-blower.
The second day, I watched the weather and thought, "Well, there's not that much new snow, and I hate to shovel and then have to shovel again after it stops." So, I called the guy who has been doing yard jobs for us recently and left a message for him to come and shovel when it was convenient.
Later that day, I noticed the mailman on the other side of the street. I was sort of watching for him, because I had some letters that needed to go out that day, and of course, this close to Christmas, I was expecting to received some mail.
Currently the houses on either side of us are vacant, and the walks there are not shoveled at all. From my sewing table on the second floor, I saw the mailman go out in the street when he came to the house on the east side of ours and continue past our house and the one on the west side. I ran downstairs and out on the porch. I called to the mailman who was now two houses away, "Did you skip me, because my sidewalk wasn't shoveled?"
"Yes," he called back, and kept walking.
I would have chased him to get my mail, but I didn't have my boots on.
I couldn't believe it. All he had to do was walk up the driveway, the end of which the thoughtful neighbor had snowblown....there was no mound to climb over.
I took a ruler out and measured the depth of the snow on my walk...it ranged between 3 and 6 1/2 inches.....hardly a deterrent to a young adult male in heavy boots.
Now mind you, it was 4 pm and he was probably tired and anxious to finish his route, but I get lots of mail which he, by his choice, had to carry the rest of the route and back again the next day.
I also expect that the houses on either side of us not being shoveled out contributed to what he did, but that isn't my fault. I can't be expected to shovel out two properties I don't own....not at my age anyway. I'm in good shape, but I'm not exactly a teenager anymore.
There's this thing called "work ethic" that seems to be lacking in a huge percentage of the population.
So today, there was a promotional piece in the mail from the US Postal Service saying they would deliver holiday stamps to my door.
#1 It's a little late for that.
#2 They can't even deliver my mail if they don't feel like it.
Sigh.
I don't suppose they are interested in my opinion, but customer service is important.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Christmas Cookie Sermon #2

Today I took thumbprint cookies to church. I showed the plate of cookies to the kids and asked them if they knew what they were called. No one did. I told them they were thumbprint cookies and asked if they knew why they were so named. One of the girls offered that I had probably stuck my thumb in the middle of each one.
I described how I had rolled the dough into balls, rolled each ball in egg white and then in chopped nuts, placed the balls on a cookie sheet, and pressed my thumb into each one. After the cookies were baked I filled my thumb imprint with frosting.
God is not exactly described as a cookie baker in the Bible, but He is described as a potter. He takes the clay, shapes it as he desires and when He is finished, He puts his stamp on the vessel created.
I suggested that if we allow God to shape us and put His imprint on us, He fills that imprint with something good, just the way I filled the thumbprint with frosting. The themes for our Advent candles are hope, peace, joy and love....all things God wants to fill us with.
So let's allow God to put His imprint on our lives.
Everyone, including the adults, enjoyed the cookies.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Texting on Ice

Last weekend when the family had gathered for Thanksgiving, my fourteen year old grandson spent a good part of the weekend texting his friends back home. However, when I took some of the grandkids ice-skating, the phone stayed in his pocket.
Today I took some grandkids ice-skating again, and honest, I saw a teen girl skating around the rink texting. I use the term skating loosely, because you really can't do any serious skating without watching where you are going...especially on a Sunday afternoon when the rink is crowded.
I informed the teen granddaughter who was with me, that if I saw her texting on the ice, I would disown her.
I actually think having such technology is wonderful for people who have something genuinely important going on in their lives. A doctor might be able to spend a few extra minutes with his/her family until receiving the message that a patient is prepped and ready for the OR. A business owner might be able to concentrate on some crucial project until informed that his signature is needed on an outgoing document. But, what goes on in the lives of most teenagers does not even come close to qualifying as "important" in my opinion. It is possible to live a fulfilled life without knowing that your friend has just found the cutest shoes on sale at the mall.
Evidently I am way too old to understand this phenomenon.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Christmas Cookie Sermon #1

I baked gingerbread men today and frosted them this evening. Tomorrow I will take them to church for my children's sermon. I will tell the story of the old woman who baked a gingerbread man only to have him hop off the baking sheet and run away taunting her with, "Run, run as fast as you can...you can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man." The Gingerbread Man encounters other people and animals, and each time he runs away while calling out the same line.
Finally he comes to a river and doesn't know how he will cross it. Along comes a fox who speaks to him kindly and offers to take him to the other side. All the Gingerbread Man has to do is sit on the fox's tail. Once he is in the middle of the river and the water gets higher, the fox suggests that the Gingerbread Man move to his back. A little further on and he suggests that the Gingerbread Man move to his head. With a toss of his head, he flips the Gingerbread Man up into the air and snaps him up in his mouth.
I will use the story to make the point that there is real evil in the world, and sometimes we don't recognize it. Just because a person offers to help us in some way, doesn't mean that they have our best interests in mind. It is easy to get into a really bad situation through a series of small moves that we don't realize are putting us on the brink of disaster. The wise thing to do is not to take the first wrong step.
The Bible says we are to avoid all appearance of evil. (I Thessalonians 5:22) If we enjoy dancing around on the edge of wrong, we will eventually find ourselves on the fox's head.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Near Miss

Yesterday we woke up to a light coating of snow on the ground. This first appearance of snow resulted in a number of accidents around the area. One in particular was of interest to me.
A woman in a pickup truck pulled out to pass, decided she didn't have adequate room, and lost control of the truck when she tried to return to the driving lane. She hit an on-coming car head-on sending the occupant to the hospital. The accident occurred on the stretch of road I travel on my way to work. Yesterday I did not work.
But...
The day before yesterday on my way to work, a person in a pickup truck pulled out to pass and did not have adequate room. The truck was coming straight at me on a section of the road where there is guardrail, and therefore, not enough room for me to move all the way onto the shoulder. I braked to a near standstill, and the truck returned to its own lane just in time.
I wonder if it was the same driver.
A similar scenario happens to me on this stretch of road two or three times a year. In one area where there is dotted line indicating a safe passing area, there is also a curve limiting visibility. I never pass there having seen near misses on more than one occasion on that spot.
Life is, I think, full of near misses. Some of them we are aware of when they occur. I suspect there are others of which we are blissfully ignorant.
I thank God for His protective hand.

Friday, November 27, 2009

I am Thankful-Part 2


Now that Thanksgiving Day is over, I am thankful...
*for the invention of the crockpot which kept the spiced cider warm for all day enjoyment.
*for the backyard raspberry bushes whose fruit produced a most excellent pie.
*for the pumpkin pie brought by Michelle and the pecan pie Bill got at his favorite bakery, so that I didn't have to make ALL the pies.
*for peace in the household...no major fights broke out between siblings or cousins.
*for an adult son to carve the turkey.
*for the same son who cheerfully did everything I asked of him.
*for a gracious new daughter-in-law who tolerates the madness that is our family.
*for a husband who knows the location of the vacuum and how to use it (picture here the condition of the dining room carpet after the meal).
*for weather warm enough that some of the exuberant play by grandkids could occur outside.
*for a sweet little four-year-old granddaughter who was at her other grandma's this year, but called to say she missed me.
*for the oldest granddaughter noticing that the youngest grandson was throwing the tails from his shrimp under the radiator. It would have been most unpleasant to find these at a later date due to the odor.
*for a good night's sleep that restored my energy and made the throbbing in my legs and feet disappear.
*for the goodness of God in every way and all the time.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

I am Thankful

Leafless branches silhouette against a gray sky on this cool November day. My house is strangely quiet....it is the lull before the storm of people and noise and general chaos. At this point, the only family members who have begun the gathering are my son and his wife...arrivals from California on the red-eye. She is napping, catching up on sleep she missed on the plane. He is out and about town, catching up with friends he has missed while away.
I know I am teetering on the precipice of frenzied activity, so in this quiet moment, I will be thankful.
I am thankful that last night I had a comfortable bed in which to sleep.
I am thankful that I could roll out and take a warm shower.
I am thankful for a car and gas to get to the airport and back.
I am thankful that two refrigerators are stocked with food to feed the family who will be here over the next few days.
I am thankful that my house is big enough to accommodate the family gathering.
I am thankful that I still have enough physical and mental stamina to cope with the expected level of activity.
I am thankful that God is always good. We may have difficult experiences, but He is good.
I am thankful for the gracious hand of God on my life....guiding, protecting, propelling in the direction He chooses.
I am thankful for this breath and the next one.
I am thankful that God's love for us is beyond our ability to understand.
I am thankful.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Who is in Control?

This week I attended a lecture by a physician who is a specialist in a particular type of cancer. A woman in the audience who has this type of cancer commented during the doctor's presentation on clinical trials, that she is part of a clinical trial and was chosen for the control group which receives no treatment. She said that, since she had prayed about this, she was taking it as God's plan. The doctor replied, “Actually you were randomly selected by a computer, so unless you believe God is a big computer.......” and she just let the statement trail off.

Now, I totally understand the concept of random selection by a computer. Part of my job, in fact, is to coordinate a research project on a different type of cancer than the one that was under discussion. When I first enrolled patients in that study, a computer somewhere in the country told me what to do with each person. But the doctor was wrong when she implied that God could not be operating in this situation, because an impartial machine is in control.

True,which arm of the study a person ends up in is dependent on what the computer generates. But, suppose the person who entered this woman's data stopped to have a cup of coffee or use the bathroom or took a phone call, and the data entry was delayed by a minute or two, causing someone elsewhere to enter the data on another patient first. The computer is not in control of that. There is plenty of room for God to operate in our world in ways we never consider.

This brings me to something else I encountered this week, which may, at first, not seem to be related. There is a message floating around on the internet that we should pray for President Obama according to Psalm 109:8 Let his days be few; and let another take his office. It is very distressing to me that anyone who believes in prayer would consider saying such a thing. If this is a joke, it isn't the least bit funny. If the originator is serious, he/she is terribly misusing God's word by taking it out of context.

The apostle Paul, writing in I Timothy, says: I urge, then, first of all, that requests, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for everyone....for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness. This is good, and pleases God our Savior, who wants all men to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth.

If we love God and want to honor Him, we need to be praying for President Obama, the Congress and all of the leadership of our country. We don't have to agree with them, and it is perfectly legitimate to state our opposition to policies, but personal attack is wrong. We should never get caught hoping or praying for bad things to befall anyone.

If you don't agree with someone and maybe even dislike them, you can still pray for them in a way that honors God. Here is my prayer: “I pray for President Obama and the Congress. Lord, please use them to accomplish Your purposes in this world and to bring glory to Yourself.”

I think God can and will honor this prayer. I believe that He is in control. It doesn't matter what party is in office or whether the resultant policies are to our liking. I think of the world as an enormous Rubik's cube. Only God has the wisdom and knowledge to solve it and align the pieces to bring about His plan for human history. No matter how it appears to us, He is moving the pieces into position. At some points, it will look like everything is wrong, but that is only a temporary state caused by our imperfect perspective.

When God makes the last move, all mankind will be in awe, and no one will have any choice except to acknowledge that He is in control and has been right along.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Please stay out of the ditch!

Eight weeks ago today, my brother Bud arrived at our home in a terrible state. He had no money and no ID. His wallet and all of his documents had been lost. He looked and smelled like a street person. His home was about to be condemned. We learned that he had been living in it two years without heat and a year and a half without water. My other brother and I knew he had been drinking, and that his life had been in a terrible downward spiral since his wife had left him 5 years ago. Among other things, he had lost the job he had held for over 30 years, when his drinking caused him to do something incredibly foolish. We had no idea how bad things were though, because every time we tried to offer help, he insisted he didn't need it.
When his phone was disconnected last spring, I began stopping at his house every week or two to check on him. I would pound on the door to no avail, and finally go to the side of the house and scream under the window where I could hear him playing a computer game. When he came to the front door, he would never let me in the house, but the stench wafted out and was overpowering.
So when he arrived here eight weeks ago, I was relieved that he was finally ready to accept some help. He moved in with us, and we began our attempts to clean him and his life up. My husband and I have expended enormous effort trying to help him get his life back on track. My dear husband removed from the house: 50 large plastic garbage bags of trash, 20 bags of bottles and cans and 12 bags of filthy clothing, which I sorted through trying to find something salvageable for Bud to wear. Removal of these 82 large bags accomplished nothing more that a pathway through the house, but it was an obvious beginning. When the code enforcement officer came to inspect the house, we had a plan in place for the cleanup and essential repairs, so he did not go forward with the paperwork. He agreed not to actually condemn it, as long as Bud didn't live in it, and we did what we promised to do.
During the first two weeks, we helped Bud determine what in the house could be cleaned up well enough to be used. A huge problem was that the cat had urinated and defecated all over everything which Bud had strewn around in his drunken stupors, depression and apathy. The house was knee deep in "stuff" of all types. We rented a storage locker. My other brother helped my husband clean the items which could be saved, and they were moved out. We hired a professional cleaning company to haul out the rest of the debris and scrub the walls, floors, etc. We got a plumber in to repair the water lines, and a heating company to repair the furnace and hot water heater.
We got on the internet and ordered a birth certificate for Bud. We arranged for him to get to the DMV for a replacement license and to Social Security for replacement of his card. We arranged for a friend to take him shopping for some new clothes, and had a hairdresser work on his long matted hair and unkempt beard and mustache. We got him to the Adult Protective Unit at Social Services and set things in motion for financial help and a place to live. We helped him figure out what insurance policies he had that he could cash in for some money to work with. When the house was cleaned out, we got a real estate agent to come and arrange for its sale.
When it became clear that it would take a period of months for him to get into senior housing, we helped him find an apartment, got his belongings out of storage, helped him shop to purchase what was necessary to function on his own, and moved him in six days ago.
Four days ago, I stopped in to see how he was doing. He had nearly everything unpacked and settled. The aroma of a delicious meal he had cooked for himself wafted through the apartment. He seemed happy, and declared that he and the cat were "at home" here. I was thrilled and so excited that he seemed to be taking hold of his life. He had already made some phone calls that I planned to remind him were necessary.
Last night he called me and was clearly drunk. His speech was slurred, he couldn't remember what he wanted to say, he started to tell me something he had already told me that afternoon when we had happened to meet on the street. When I confronted him, he admitted he had been drinking, but insisted he wasn't drunk.
He had been sober (according to him) for four weeks prior to coming for our help, and during the seven weeks he had lived with us. But, five days on his own and he was right back at it. My heart sunk. I can't really begin to describe my feelings. I slept last night, but thought of him every time I stirred during the night.
After church and lunch today, I wrote down the number of Alcoholics Anonymous and headed for his apartment. He was just leaving to go out for a walk. He wasn't drunk, but wasn't looking any too well. I asked him if he remembered talking to me last night. He said that he did. I gave him the phone number and then reminded him about something that happened when we were kids. He was probably about 7, and I would have been 10.
We lived out in the country and went to school on the bus. We waited for the bus on the opposite side of the road from our house where there was a large open field along which an unusually deep ditch had been dug. It was much deeper that the ditch on our side of the road. For reasons I never did comprehend, Bud loved to crawl down in that deep ditch. I cannot count the number of mornings that he did this while waiting for the bus. He inevitable slipped in the slime in the bottom of the ditch and got his slacks all muddy. My mother would come running out of the house, haul him back in to change his slacks, and hurry him back out as the bus pulled up in front of our house. On some occasions the bus driver waited as Bud came running back out the driveway.
One morning I distinctly remember, Bud announced to me that he was going to crawl down into the ditch. I said, "Bud, don't do that. You know you will slip in the mud and get all dirty."
"No, I won't slip this time."
"Yes, you will....you always do."
Of course, he went ahead and crawled in the ditch, and there was a rerun of numerous other mornings.
So today, I reminded Bud of this story, and concluded with, "Bud, please don't crawl back into the ditch!"
He smiled and said he knew what I meant.
We talked for a bit longer. He tried to deny that he had a problem. We parted as he was saying, "Yes, I do know that "de-nial" isn't just a river in Egypt."
Oh, how I hope that this time, he stays out of the ditch.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Cleaning the House

One of the hazards of cleaning for me is that it leaves me with lots of time to think. It's not like vacuuming or dusting or mopping the kitchen floor requires a significant percentage of my brain's capacity. So, my brain gets busy on other topics.
I have a really big old Victorian house with 11 rooms and four full bathrooms. Since my husband and I now rattle around in here with some rooms rarely being used, I don't clean every room every week. But, yesterday and today, I did clean everything on the first and second floors. The third floor is a guest area, and gets cleaned when guests are coming.
If I manage to discipline my mind, I can use cleaning time productively to think about and plan out new projects. I can spend the time praying for family and friends. I can make a mental "to-do" list and hope I don't forget the items on it before I get a chance to write them down. All of that does require the input of positive mental effort...otherwise, I ruminate.
I struggle against this tendency, because it isn't productive to worry about things I can't change, to try to figure out the unexplainable, to puzzle over what seems to me to be a foolish decision by someone I know, or to wallow in self-pity over someones past offenses against me. All of these scenarios are really a reason for me to pray. The trick is in disciplining my mind to focus on my concerns in a positive way rather than a negative way.
And (she sighed) this is a lesson I have to keep relearning.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Changing the Bed

This week when I changed the bed, I put a different blanket on it. The next morning as I made the bed, I asked my husband if he had noticed that there was a different blanket on the bed.
No....he hadn't noticed.
I suspected as much, because he hadn't made a comment about it.
I expressed surprise that he hadn't noticed, but then again, men do tend to be oblivious.
I was sort of shaking my head thinking that there's no way on earth I wouldn't notice that the blanket was different than the one I had slept under for years, when he dead-panned, "Well, I suppose I would notice, if there was a different woman in the bed."

Monday, November 9, 2009

The River on a November Afternoon

I don't think that I have ever been out on the St. Lawrence River in November...until today. An unseasonably mild afternoon precipitated a decision by my husband to take our boat to Alexandria Bay to be winterized and to take a quick spin on the river first.
The sky was an icy blue with wisps of white clouds when we launched at Keewaydin State Park. The campground is closed for the season, so no one else was in sight, except for a porcupine feeding on something along the side of the entry road. At first the motor did not turn over and it sounded like the battery might not have enough power to accomplish the task, but after a few tries, it roared to life.
During the summer as we leave the marina, numerous boats can be seen both up and down river, and sometimes the water churns as their wakes bounce off each other. Today, although the wind created some choppiness, we entered the main channel without a boat in sight. The lack of leaves on the trees increased visibility. We could clearly see the American span of the Thousand Islands Bridge up river and Boldt Castle down river.
Heading down river first we passed many grand summer homes, boarded, shuttered and otherwise closed for the season. The resorts along the river, which bustle with activity in summer months, were quiet and parking lots empty. No crowds stood in downtown A-Bay waiting for the next tour boat.
In summer months, Boldt Castle and the island it occupies are swarming with visitors, but today it stood surrounded by barren trees, looking lonely and desolate. Passing by, we headed for Mary Island, a state park just off the down river end of Wellesley Island. We have a favorite picnicking spot on Mary Island, but this was a quick trip not allowing time for a leisurely picnic.
We swung around and headed up river in the main shipping channel toward the TI Bridge. There was only one large ship in sight, and ironically we passed it in the very narrowest part of the shipping channel. The Emerald Star out of Halifax glided by us carrying something somewhere. We turned around right under the TI Bridge and headed back to the marina.
Except for a couple of fishermen tucked back in bays off the river, and the Emerald Star, we had this section of the river to ourselves for those 45 minutes. And what a wonderful 45 minutes. The air was cool enough to need a sweatshirt, but warm enough to feel comfortable standing up to let the wind blow through my hair, and figuratively through my head, chasing away concerns and stresses.
What is more, I have just relived it by writing about it, allowing the cares of life to blow off. I plan to fall asleep tonight with the images and sensations created this afternoon still fresh in my mind.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

A lonely Golden Delicious apple clings to a bare tree under a cold November sky.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

At the Table

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies." Psalm 23:5a

Every day I sit down at the banquet table of life,
Spread before me an array of sumptuous blessings,
Spread around me an array of terrifying enemies.
Confusion
Anxiety
Fear
Uncertainty
How can I possibly choke down the delicious meal,
In the presence of these dangers?

My host sitting at the head of the table,
Is the Master of the universe, the Ruler of all creation.
He has invited me to this feast.
He blesses the meal.
He blesses me.
I eat my fill,
Undisturbed,
By the presence of enemies,
For I am the guest of the Lord of the Feast.

Thank you for this food....Amen.



Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Impeccable Timing

Today on my way home from work, I took the "low road" along the river, rather than my usual route over the hills on the "high road." The reason for this was the need to place some posters about an up-coming screening clinic which I am holding for men in the community. A number of small population centers on the "low road" have post offices or convenience stores with community bulletin boards.
One of my stops was at a small town post office. After tacking the poster on the bulletin board, I got in my car and started to drive away. The "still small voice" inside my head said that as long as I was in that little town, I should stop and see a couple from my church who live right next to the post office. I ignored "the voice" and kept driving. I turned out onto the main highway, but the urging to visit this couple kept replaying. I hadn't gone far before "the voice" was saying, "Well, you can keep driving, but eventually you will turn around. The farther you go, the farther you will have to backtrack, so why don't you just give in and turn around now."
With a sigh, I whipped into a driveway, and back out on the highway retracing my route.
I visited with my friends for a few minutes. They were doing fine, and I couldn't see any reason why I had had this strong urge to stop and see them.
So as I continued on my way home again, I was saying, "OK...so they didn't seem to be in any need. What was that all about? Hmmmm....maybe the purpose was to time something in my life. Maybe a bridge is falling down up ahead, but now I'm going to miss being on it when it falls."
I arrived at my next location....a convenience store. I grabbed my poster and headed in. I opened the door and stepped into the store at the PRECISE moment when a woman at the checkout immediately inside the door was saying in a loud and angry voice, "**** Hospital is nothing more than a bandaid station!"
She turned around, and there I stood with my poster for a free screening clinic sponsored by **** Hospital.
Ah...life"s interesting moments.
A conversation began. She expressed a great deal of frustration about a family member who was in **** Hospital. She wasn't dissatisfied with the care, but with what seemed to be confusing mixed messages from doctors and different staff members. I listened, expressed understanding, and suggested with whom she could address her concerns. When the very congenial conversation ended, she seemed more calm.
I hung my poster and returned to the car still wondering if there was a bridge out ahead.
No, the bridges were intact. I encountered no downed power lines, no trees across the road, and I'm not really sure why I had an "appointment" with that upset lady, but I certainly was "on time" for it.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

Two Viewpoints

I would like to label this post "oh-duh," but my husband has a different take on the story.
Yesterday afternoon a boy about 10 years old came to the door. He asked if I would like to buy some candy and handed me a brochure with Gertrude Hawk products.
What's not to like about chocolate? I cheerfully took the brochure, and as I began looking through it, I asked, "Who are you raising money for?"
His reply...."Gertrude Hawk."
"No, no," I said. This is a fund raiser, and I would like to know who is going to get the money."
"Gertrude Hawk," he said.
"No, all of the money isn't going to Gertrude Hawk. Some of it must be going to some group you belong to. Are you a cub scout?"
"No..."
At this point, I took the order blank from his hand, thinking that it would have the name of the organization on it. I had inquired initially, because knowing who the funds were for might influence the size of my order. But by that point, I was just plain curious. Who sent this kid out without an adequate explanation? I couldn't find the name of the organization anywhere on the order form.
"You're not supposed to look at that," he complained.
I tried again.
"If you are not raising money for some group, there is no reason for me to buy these chocolates from you. There is a Gertrude Hawk store in the mall, and I can just drive up there and buy the chocolates. Why should I buy them from you?"
"Well," he said, "You give me an order, and pay me. I take the money back to school. I pick the chocolates up at school and bring them to you next week."
Ah...finally we were making progress.
"What school do you go to?"
He named the local middle school, and when it came time to write my check, he was very clear on the check being made out to the school.
I told my husband this story with commentary that this is one really dumb kid.
My husband, who is innately more charitable than I am, responded, "Well, there is something to be said for doing what you are told to do, even if you don't understand it."
Indeed.

Friday, October 23, 2009

Uncovering the Past

I am in possession of hundreds of tapes of services at a church I attended for many years. A former pastor saw to it that all of the services during his tenure were recorded. When he left, the new pastor decided to discard the tapes. By that time, I had moved on to another church, but one of my friends rescued them from the trash. Her purpose was to salvage history and listen to some of the sermons again. However, as time passed, the tapes collected dust, and she mentioned to me that she would throw them out.
During the years those tapes were made, I frequently participated in the music ministry. Besides singing in the choir, I often sang solos or sang with others in duets, trios and quartets. Most of the music that I composed myself was sung during those years. I saw this as an opportunity to capture some of my own history, and so, I begged the tapes.
One of my greatest losses in life has been my voice. Age and a familial tremor have effected my ability to control my voice, so that I am no longer sure that what I hear in my head is what will come out of my mouth. I let the chance to get some of my original songs recorded pass me by. Here was a chance to retrieve them. True, the recordings are not professionally done and the balance between instrument and voice is not great on all of them, but something may be better than nothing.
Over the last year or more, I have been going through these tapes. I set the counter on the tape player to zero and stop it every 30-40 ticks on the assumption that if one of my songs is there, I will catch it. In addition to finding several of my solos which were original songs, I have found several other solos, duets with my husband, my daughter's voice reading scripture, and my son's voice in a skit.
This week I found the only trio I have ever done with my two brothers. One of my brothers is currently living with us, while he puts his life back together. I think that hearing the tape was very positive for him. The song we did was our father's favorite hymn. It was 1994 and both of our parents were still living at the time and present when we sang it.
We did one verse together with accompaniment, my two brothers did the second verse as a duet, and we sang the third verse a Capella. My brother enjoyed the fact that when the accompaniment came back in on that third chorus, we were dead on pitch. He also commented on the unique blending of sibling voices.
I am pondering the interesting timing. I have been going through these tapes for over a year, but I "happened" to find this one during the few weeks that my brother is living here and on a day when a boost to his self-esteem was much needed.
To some this would seem a coincidence. To me it is another affirmation that God is good and cares about each of us individually. He who sees the sparrow fall, sees you and me.

Monday, October 19, 2009

Greatest of Lights

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death, a light has dawned. Isaiah 9:2

Formless, empty,
Darkness of death,
Pierced by your words,
"Let there be light."

Stumbling, helpless,
Shadowed by death,
Words filled with hope,
"A light has dawned."

Following, questioning,
"Is he the one?"
Definitive words,
"I am the light."

Urging, empowering,
To banish the darkness,
My word speaks through you,
"Let your light so shine."

Greatest of lights...
Dawn on me.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

The Agony of Decisions

Every day of our lives we make decisions. Sometimes we know at the time that the consequences of a particular decision may be far-reaching. Other times we think we are just making some very simple choice, and later discover that the impact was monumental. I suppose one could go stark raving mad if too much time was spent in pondering this dilemma. Or, perhaps, paralysis and inability to make any decision on even the most minor of issues could set in.
Just lately I have found myself involved in, or in some way influencing, decisions relating to three different rather serious family situations.
My brother hit the bottom of the barrel in his life and has needed help turning it around. During the past four weeks, he and I have talked through multiple issues on which a choice needed to be made.
A granddaughter turned eighteen and signed herself out of a residential treatment facility and is now living with her mother for the first time in several years. Anxiety infused phone calls are routine. Sometimes I just listen, other times I caution or encourage. A phone call just after I dozed off last night required a cup of warm milk and a little TV to get me distracted enough to be able to go back to sleep.
My mother-in-law has a serious physical problem and surgery has been suggested, but she is nearly 91. Surgery seems like an insane option.... unless that "what if" happens.
I don't know with certainty that any of the advice I offer is correct. I don't know if some of the help I have extended is really "helpful."
I just keep praying for wisdom and believing God's promise that if anyone lacks wisdom, he can ask for it, and it will not be denied. I do not believe in a God who plays hide and seek with me, and who would delight in watching me make a wrong choice. I believe God is good, and that He loves each of us uniquely. I make choices in that context, prayerfully believing that even if I make a "wrong" turn, God's hands are not tied. He is still capable of accomplishing His purposes. However, I would sure rather be making choices that put me on His side.
Oh, yes...about the up-coming election. Do I vote for the candidate who best represents my views, but who probably can't win, or do I vote for the least objectionable of the remaining options?

Monday, October 12, 2009

The Miracle of Healing

Last week I cut my right index finger while cleaning out a can for recycling. (As an aside, do you ever wonder if recycling is worth it given the use of water and risk of injury?)
In any event, the cut was a nasty thing, because there were actually two slices and the chunk of flesh between them fell out. So, I had this rectangular hole which bled profusely through multiple bandaids until I spent a couple of hours holding my finger in the air as though I was practicing to sing the old Sunday School song "This Little Light of Mine."
For a couple of days, I had to first put on a non-stick gauze and then a thicker gauze over it, and then add a layer of tape tightly wrapped. Now I am down to a simple bandaid to protect it during the day, and I leave it open to the air at night.
I'm thinking how amazing this is, and how we take it for granted. By a complex biochemical mechanism, clotting occurs. A scab is constructed and cells divide and gradually fill in the gap. We don't have to give it any thought. I have gone about my daily routine with only some minor inconvenience while this process has automatically taken place.
If this healing was instantaneous, we would call is a miracle. But, isn't it a miracle even if it happens slowly and on a small scale...like a finger...as opposed to a large scale like a major wound or surgical incision?
I don't understand anyone who doesn't believe in an intelligent being having thought this all out. It makes me sick that atheists smirk at the lack of intelligence in those of us who have the audacity to believe in a "Creative Director." I think it is just plain stupid and totally illogical to think that this evolved without being directed by someone with extraordinary intelligence.
Years ago, I remember reading an article (I can't remember if it was in Smithsonian or Scientific American) which was written from an atheistic evolutionary perspective. The author, actually commented that "Mother Nature" had directed the evolution. HA! Everyone knows that Mother Nature is a myth. He apparently just couldn't resist the notion that it was planned. I'm surprised an editor didn't catch that.
I can't resist the notion that my finger didn't heal by an accidental mechanism. All of the components came into play at the correct time, because someone figured it out. That is, of course, only one of millions of "miracles" that happen everywhere in the universe, every day of time.
Kudos to the "Creative Director." Applause! Applause!

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

The Fun is in the Contrast

I awakened this morning to a cold and dismal day. I snuggled up against my husband and felt warm and at peace listening to the sound of the rain pelting the roof. Eventually I got up and showered. I always feel so grateful for a warm shower in the morning.
But, a great part of the enjoyment of these simple things is in the contrast. I compare the snuggle time in the morning with the rest of the day, or with the times my husband is away on a business trip and I awaken to an empty cold expanse on the other side of the bed. I need those times in order to realize the blessing of the cozy times.
If someone made me stay in a warm shower all day, it would amount to torture. It is only delightful, because it doesn't last forever.
I was at a health fair at a prison on top of a hill today. I had to drag my display and screening materials across the parking lot through puddles in a cold driving rain and load them in the car. I got home and fixed myself a warm cup of tea.
If I am grateful for the tea and the shower and the snuggle time, I guess I should also be grateful for the unpleasant times that put the delight in the pleasant ones.
Perhaps this is what is meant by "in everything give thanks."

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Day of Reckoning

"What will you do on the day of reckoning, when disaster comes from afar? To whom will you run for help? Nothing will remain but to cringe among the captives or fall among the slain." Isaiah 10: 3,4

Cringe among the captives,
Fall among the slain,
You have not believed Me,
Or felt another's pain.

Unjust and oppressive,
Robbing and depriving,
On the day of reckoning,
Where will you be hiding?

Cringe among the captives,
Fall among the slain,
Riches abandoned,
Will bring no earthly gain.

No one to help you,
Upraised, you see My hand,
Huddled in the masses,
No courage left to stand.

Cringe among the captives,
Fall among the slain,
Your blatant sin against Me,
An ugly, spreading stain.

Cringe among the captives....
Fall among the slain.....

Sunday, October 4, 2009

A Sliver of Intimacy

I trudge up the stairs at the end of the day and find my husband sitting on the bed thoroughly engrossed in a book...or so I think.
At the precise moment when I have removed my daytime clothes and haven't quite put on my pajamas, he looks up with an impish grin and twinkling eyes. "Nice outfit," he comments.
Feigning relief, I reply, "Oh, I'm so glad you still like it....it's getting kind of old you know."
"Wasn't that the whole idea?" he asks. "Growing old together?"
He is back to his book. I am thinking, "Yes, that was the idea. I am so thankful we haven't lost sight of it."

Saturday, October 3, 2009

The Girl in the Pink Sweatshirt.

I have two granddaughters who live near by, and they both like to ice skate. Their mom, my daughter, is in a wheelchair, so sometimes I take them skating. This afternoon we agreed to meet at the ice arena, planning for me to be on the ice with them, and their mom to stay and watch them skate.
I arrived early hoping that someone would be available to sharpen my skates. No one was free to do that, so I just waiting in the lobby for the two girls to arrive.
A girl I guessed to be about 8 years old, wearing a pink sweatshirt, was wandering around in the outer lobby of the arena. She didn't seem to make eye contact with anyone and didn't speak to anyone. I wondered who she was with and eventually noticed a woman, who looked enough like her to be her mother, sitting on a bench inside where skaters lace up their skates.
After 10 or 15 minutes passed, I was somewhat startled as the girl approached me without speaking and stood looking up into my face...that is, within inches of my face. She stared right at me. I smiled and said, "Hi, what's your name?" She did not speak and just looking intently into my eyes. It was a bit disconcerting. She was invading my "personal space," but I didn't want to react negatively. I had decided pretty quickly that something wasn't quite right, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings. At this point, I noticed some odd repetitive hand motions. After a bit, she wandered off again.
A group had arrived to use the party room for a child's birthday. They hauled in presents and cake and decorations. The girl in the pink sweatshirt was clearly not part of this group, but walked right into the party room. The woman on the bench hopped up and hurried to retrieve her. I heard her comment, "Look out, she'll stick her finger right in your cake!" As she directed her from the room, I noticed the repetitive hand motions again.
The child never spoke, never made an attempt to interact with the other children.
I wondered why she had stared so intently into my face. Did she think she recognized me? Did I just look like a "grandma" who could be approached? Am I a person with whom she could connect? If I sat down to play with her, would she interact with me?
My granddaughters arrived, and I didn't notice what became of her. I think she and her mother may have been waiting for one of the little hockey players who were leaving just as free-skate was beginning.
This evening I am thinking about the girl in the pink sweatshirt and about her mother. Life with a special needs child can be more than challenging. All parenting is challenging. When a child has unique needs that fall outside the norm, an additional layer of concerns is spread all over every activity and every moment of the day.
The world is full of people with concerns that very few others really comprehend. Sometimes we travel around in life oblivious to the burdens borne by our fellow travelers. Other times, they stare us right in the face.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Am I My Brother's Keeper?

A week ago my brother arrived at my house as we were finishing putting things away from the trip to New Hampshire. After saying that he had a problem and needed help, he said, "You know, I have heard you say that there is a time in life when if your kids don't get you, your parents do. I'm sorry to tell you that it might also be a sibling."
He proceeded to describe a disaster occurring in his life, and he just couldn't think through what to do or where to turn. I don't want to broadcast the specifics of my brother's situation all over the Internet, but it is bad......beyond description bad.
My other brother and I knew his life was in a terrible downward spiral, but he has previously stiff-armed us when we have tried to offer help. I guess he had to get to a point of desperation.
So, he is now living with us until other arrangements can be made, and my husband and I are being consumed with the details of trying to help him put his life back together.
This is not convenient. Some of it is, in fact, quite unpleasant.
My priorities for the next few weeks are totally altered.
We are supposed to have an empty nest.
But, there is just no way that I am going to stand before the Creator and Sustainer of the universe and ask the question, "Am I my brother's keeper?"
I know the answer is 'yes' whether or not it represents my choice of activities.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

"Divorce Sale"

On Thursday, I had occasion to drive across the northern portion of New York State, take the ferry across Lake Champlain, and drive across northern Vermont and into New Hampshire. Once I got past the first 40 miles and through the rain showers, the day was sunny with blue skies and fluffy white clouds. There were areas in the Adirondack Mountains where the leaves have started to change colors, so patches of brilliance filled me with wonder.
On my drive, I saw something I have never seen before. A sign posted near the road read, "Divorce Sale....Everything Must Go."
I have seen Rummage Sale, Garage Sale, Yard Sale, Porch Sale, Moving Sale, Estate Sale, and recently for the first time, Basement Sale. I have never before seen Divorce Sale, and it filled me with a different kind of wonder. What depth of pain and/or bitterness would be required to post a sign along the road advertising the end of a marriage? A "Rummage Sale" sign would have done nicely. Why did the person having the sale feel it necessary to broadcast the message that "Everything must go." All the material possession jointly acquired must go, but posting this sign also seems to be an agonizing cry that all of the hope and dreams felt at the beginning of the relationship must go too.
I am so sorry that someone....even though I have no idea who....is suffering.
I am so grateful for over 40 years of a relationship characterized by mutual respect, understanding, helpfulness and affection. I wish I could bottle it. I wouldn't even sell it. I would give it away.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Indelible Image

I had trouble sleeping last night. A "video clip" created by my brain kept replaying in my mind.
Several months ago in the late afternoon, I had just arrived home from work when I heard sirens converging on our neighborhood.
I live in a section of the city which has many Victorian style homes. Some are still owner occupied properties, but a few have been split up into apartments. I know most of the neighbors who own their homes, but the apartment dwellers tend to be shorter term occupants, so over the years, I have only known those who had children who were playmates of my children.
As the sirens stopped, rescue vehicles cluttered the intersection nearest my home. The house they entered was only three houses away, but on the opposite side of the intersection. I knew no one in that apartment building. I went out on the sidewalk wondering what could be going on that merited so many rescue vehicles....police, an ambulance and the fire department rescue truck had all arrived. A neighbor came and stood with me.
The rescue workers had been in the home only a very brief period of time when a uniformed man ran from the house. My impression was that he was one of the firemen, because he wore dark slacks with a light blue shirt. The police have dark blue shirts and the EMTs in our city seem to wear white shirts. He rushed across the porch, bounded down the steps and sprinted toward the back of the ambulance which waited with door flung open. On his forearm was draped the limp form of a baby. The child's head was cradled in his hand. The body was prone on the length of his forearm with small limbs dangling on either side. As the man's body moved with his strides, the arms and legs of the child swayed...there was no muscle tone, no resistance to his movements.
I murmured to my neighbor and to myself, "Oh, God....it's a baby."
But in my mind, I said, "Oh, God...it's a dead baby."
The man leaped into the back of the ambulance. The doors were scarcely closed when the ambulance raced away with sirens screaming.
The next day I read in the paper that the baby had drowned in the bathtub. The mother had placed the child in the tub with an older sibling and apparently had left them unattended. If the age of the sibling recorded in the paper was correct, the older child was not old enough to be supervising a baby in a tub.
What would cause a mother to do this? Was she sick and in need of lying down? Was a pot on the stove boiling over? Did she receive a terribly important phone call? Was her favorite soap opera on? Was she in the middle of an online chat? What could have caused her to take this risk?
As the indelible image of the sprinting rescue worker and lifeless form kept replaying in my mind, I wondered what images replay in the mother's mind. What images replay in the mind of the sibling? Will this horrible moment define that child's life?
I tossed and turned last night thinking, "Oh, God...it was a baby."

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Fighting Entropy

I suppose that most homemakers/wives/mothers are oblivious to the fact that they actually spend most of their time in the impossible task of trying to counteract the Second Law of Thermodynamics. Things tend to randomness and disorder, and those of us who try to keep a household running smoothly spend a huge amount of time trying to bring order back into the chaos.


I thought about this yesterday as I attempted to clean the basement. I used the shop vac to rid the rafters of the spider webs and dead bugs....but I know they will come back. I swept the dust and debris off the floor, but that too will be back. I gathered a large pile of "stuff" for the dumpster, but my husband will collect more. I cleaned the ash bin under the wood furnace, including the pile in front of the furnace which had spilled out of the bin, but as cold weather comes, more wood will be burned and more ashes will be created.

Of course, mothers of toddlers have an even larger task. No one can leave behind a random trail of toys quite the way a toddler can. The child is learning and exploring, but after a couple of hours of this important play, just stand back and look at the room. There is no pattern discernible in the arrangement of books, blocks, stuffed animals, toy cars, pots and pans from the kitchen cupboards and sundry other items.

I guess not everyone feels this compulsion to try to introduce order where there is none. You would think someone bright enough to have taken a physics course would be less inclined. But, orderliness does bring comfort to some of us, and we are willing to expend a lot of energy trying to bring it about. When I put something in the freezer in the basement today, I enjoyed the fact that the place actually looked cleaner.

If only it could stay that way, or perhaps, clean itself up.
Oh, wretched entropy.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Meri, Meri, Quite Contrary

Last week we visited with our daughter, son-in-law and two sweet granddaughters who live in Maine. The oldest girl, Meredith, also known as Meri, had her 4th birthday while we were there. I love all of my 8 grandchildren dearly, but I have to admit to being particularly amused by Meri. The primary cause of this being that I am afraid she has a large component of Grandma Ruthie genetic material. She is interested in and has something to say about absolutely everything. She is also a stubborn, take charge, let's get this done right personality...which I do recognize.
On Saturday, my son-in-law's sister was married in Connecticut. We tagged along with them in order to be helpful with the kids. When they got tired and squirrelly during the reception, we were there to take them to their other grandma and grandpa's house for a nap. Little Maddie (age 2 1/2) settled right down....but Meri....
Of course, being in a house and bed other than her own was not conducive to relaxing and allowing her weary self some rest. I laid down next to her thinking that I could get her to unwind by telling her some stories. She loves stories about when her mother was a little girl, or when grandma was a little girl. But, she was just way too interactive with my stories, asking question after question.
Finally after about half an hour, she asked, "Soooo....what are we going to do with me, since I am NOT going to go to sleep."
Stifling a loud guffawing belly laugh as best I could, I chuckled, "Oh, Meri, Meri, quite contrary."
To which she replied, "What does contrary mean?"
The kid has way too many Grandma Ruthie genes.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Advice on Dog Poop

What do you do when your kid won't even take your advice about dog poop?
Last night one of my daughters, Laura, called in quite an agitated state. Without coming up for a breath of air, she went from asking me questions, to drawing her own conclusions, and then paused long enough to hear what I had to say, before going straight into a rant of disagreement.
It seems that there is a fence between her property in the trailer park and the adjacent property. She wanted to know if it isn't true that when you put up a fence it has to be totally on your own property. Therefore, she assumes the land immediately over the fence would still be the property of the person who owns the fence.
She didn't pause long enough for me to say that in a trailer park, you don't really "own" the land. You own your trailer and technically "rent" the land, I think. I don't know for sure never having lived in a trailer park.
In any event, the woman at the adjacent trailer is throwing the poop from her dog over her fence into what Laura believes to be the other woman's strip of land, and therefore, the other woman's responsibility.
However, the neighbor says it is Laura's problem to clean up, even though Laura doesn't own a dog.
This would seem to be something for the manager of the trailer park to resolve, but Laura is not in good standing with the manager. Prior conversations have led me to believe that he perceives Laura as a troublemaker and would love for her to move out of the park.
So, I said, "Well, since it's your kids who are stepping in it, why don't you clean it up?"
You can imagine the response to that!
I continued, "What would happen if you just quietly and graciously cleaned it up every day?"
She was having none of that. She began to rant that she would contact legal aid today and find out what her rights are.
I asked just what that would accomplish. The person throwing the dog poop over the fence is obviously not a classy lady. She doesn't care about Laura's rights, and if Laura makes waves, she adds fuel to the park manager's fire that she is a troublemaker.
Sure, having to clean up the doggy-do is a lousy solution, but is there one that will likely have a better outcome for Laura?
She hung up rather abruptly.
So, what to do when your kid won't even take your advice about dog poop? Sigh.

Friday, August 28, 2009

Defining Moments

I guess most of us have pondered the "what-ifs" of life. Those times when something or someone nudges our lives in one direction rather than another. It is never possible to figure out what might have happened had the nudge been in the other direction.
When I was a young person, I lived in a rural area outside of Buffalo, NY. Throughout my junior and senior high years, I was selected to participate in the Erie County Chorus made up of students from schools all over the county.
I had a big, powerful soprano voice that could fill up a concert hall without a microphone. In the late 50s and early 60s that was essential if one wanted to sing a solo. Individual miking was just unheard of in that era.
One year the concert included a number with a soprano solo. The solo required a strong enough voice, not only to fill the room, but also to sing against the entire choir. I tried out for the part. I really loved the song and believed that I knew better than most teen girls how to interpret it. The theme was serious and moving.
After the try-outs, I went outside the school where the practices were occurring, to wait for the bus back to my home school. As I sat there, one of the music teachers who had judged the try-outs came out of the building, and paused on his way to the parking lot.
What he said went something like this: "I want you to know that you are not going to get the solo....but you should have. You were the only person who tried out who had a powerful enough voice to sing against the entire choir. The director has made a purely political decision. He wanted someone from his own school. The girl he has chosen won't be able to do it alone. He will end up putting others on the part with her."
I don't remember saying anything to him in response. I think I smiled and nodded, and he shrugged and walked away. I had the strangest feeling at that moment...as though I actually felt my life going in one direction rather than another. I didn't feel bitter, but sort of melancholy. Later, I did feel sad, because he was right....3 girls, all from the director's school, ended up trying to sing the solo part together in order to hold their own against the choir. They were, in my view, 3 silly air-headed girls, who had no idea what the words in the solo really meant, and no ability to draw on their very souls to interpret it
Still, I never felt angry. I believed that God had intervened to push me away from a career in music and toward something else. I will never know whether singing in that setting would have caused me to be "discovered" or mentored by someone who understood the music business, and it doesn't matter.
Throughout my life, music remained a form of expression of my most intense personal beliefs. In 2000, I developed a severe laryngitis at the same time I experienced a deep emotional wound. My singing voice has been totally unreliable since. The ENT doctor didn't know if the laryngitis was to blame or whether the inherited neurological tremor I have developed was impacting my vocal chords. He was adamant that it was physiological and not psychogenic, but I feel as though the connection that existed between my voice and my very soul was broken by the terrible hurt I felt...do wounds inflicted by our "friends" ever heal?
Once my voice soared out into the air and rose to heights propelled by an indescribable joy in my spirit. Now sometimes I feel as though a bird with broken wings is flopping around in the core of myself.
When I get to heaven, I expect the wound to be healed, and I will stand on a street corner and sing for eternity.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Of Childhood Treasures

On Monday I attended a little brunch get-together with some ladies, in order to visit with a friend who was in town. She lives in NYC and comes up to the North Country once a year. We enjoyed great food in a lovely setting with lively conversation.
One of the ladies who still has young children was detailing her plans to take her daughter to NYC to visit the American Girl Doll Shop. Apparently a day long visit costs $230, but you get part of the money back to spend at the shop. The doll visits a "spa" at the shop and has her hair done, etc. The visit includes a "photo shoot" with girl and doll resulting in a magazine cover style photo.
One of the other ladies of my vintage and I got talking about our childhood dolls. We both had baby dolls, with cloth bodies and hard plastic limbs. They had a small hole in the mouth where a bottle could be inserted, but of course, there was nothing in the bottle. If you were lucky you might have a doll whose eyes open and shut.
As a preschooler, my favorite doll was of that type. I named her Becky, and I loved her dearly. I actually acquired her by theft. A neighbor who was a grandmother had toys for her grandchildren when they visited. Among them was a beat up old doll that for reasons no one else understood, I fell in love with. I didn't think I was stealing her, because I left my beautiful new doll in her place. My mother, however, viewed it as a crime. She tried to make me take her back with an apology and retrieve my nice new doll. The neighbor said that if I loved the doll so much, I should be able to keep her. Becky was my favorite, but being second-hand when I acquired her, she eventually became dirty and her insides began to fall out. My mother deemed her a health hazard and threw her away. The story goes that I dug her out of the trash 3 times, and my parents finally dismembered her and threw her away in pieces.
One of the ladies at the brunch who knew my mother in later years could not believe my sweet dear mother would have dismembered and discarded my doll. But, it was my mother herself who told me the story. I don't remember it, or the tears I expect I must have shed.
I do remember that I had a stuffed Scotty dog, who slept with me every night into my teen years. He had a little plaid tam on his head and a music box in his stomach. When the metal edge of the box started wearing through the fabric and his stuffing began falling out, I decided to take action. Perhaps, I subconsciously remembered my Becky being thrown out when she got excessively shabby. I carefully slit the hole big enough to slide the music box out, stuffed the hole with cotton and sewed him up.
Scotty and I are now over 60. I don't sleep with him anymore and haven't in a very long time. His hat is long gone, but he sits in my bedroom and still has both of his red button eyes.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Safe Passage

Eleven years ago right now, I was in the throes of one of the more difficult periods of my life.
Starting at the very beginning of 1998, my mother had a series of health problems, including a heart attack in June and a stroke in the first week of July. The stroke left her paralyzed on her right side, unable to do anything for herself, and unable to speak coherently. She lost her ability to do a sequence of activities, so she could not even feed herself. She could say phrases that one might say on auto-pilot....such as, "Hi, how are you?" ....but not carry on anything resembling a conversation.
When it came time for her to leave the hospital, we had a very difficult decision to make. The idea of sending her to a nursing home was truly repugnant. My Mother placed tremendous value on family life. I couldn't imagine relegating her to an institution. On the other hand, being a nurse, I knew exactly what I was in for if I took her home. It wasn't just the unending work of taking care of her 24/7 that was overwhelming. It was also the fact that my father would be hovering around, and my Dad was NOT an easy person to get along with. I knew there would be times of conflict with him.
But, I decided to live one day at a time...just looking for strength for that day, and leaving the big picture to God.
We cleaned out the dining room, brought in a hospital bed for Mom and a twin bed for Dad, and embarked on a journey without knowing how long it would be. We arranged for caregivers to come in daily to bathe her, change the bed and irrigate the catheter....not because I couldn't do it, but because it was something that someone else could do, relieving me for a couple of hours.
At first, Dad insisted he would be the "night nurse," but this wore him down. He became really irritable, and obviously needed to sleep at night. I could not be up every night, and I finally had to sit him down and insist that we hire someone at night.
At this point in my life, I had 3 grown daughters, 2 of whom were in bad marriages, although at the time, I only knew that one of them was. I already had 3 grandchildren. When September came, I resumed home-schooling our 11 year old son, and I was trying to keep up with responsibilities at church. In other words, I was exhausted and stressed. I had no time for a life of my own. I remember one day feeding Mom her lunch. I was carefully spooning in one teaspoon of tomato soup at a time and watching her slowly swallow. I was thinking, "My life is disappearing one teaspoonful of tomato soup at a time." I wasn't really feeling sorry for myself. It just seemed to be a way to visualize a truth I had to accept.
By the grace of God, this nightmare only lasted 5 months. By the time the end came, I actually wanted my Mother to die. I knew she was suffering, in spite of pain medication. I was doing everything I could to make her comfortable, but I couldn't take the agony away. During the last few days, her leg became gangrenous. First there was a black spot on her toe, then the entire toe became a ghastly blue-gray. Every time I turned her, the discoloration had crept further up the leg. When she died it was nearly to her knee. It was two days before Christmas and snowing.
I hated the thought of the funeral director packing her in a black body bag and taking her out in the cold. Such a trivial thing perhaps, but I was so comforted that the body bag was blue corduroy. Blue was her favorite color.
Many months passed before my thoughts of my Mother were of happier times. At first, I could only think of her pain and frustration, and how little I could do to alleviate it. I knew she never wanted to be dependent. I was relieved that she had gone to a place free of suffering. Eventually I began to remember all the years of fun and loving interactions....all the things about her that I appreciated. I had not been able to prevent her having to walk through that dark valley of pain, but I had not surrendered her to someone else. I had walked up to the gate of death with her, holding her hand until God grasped it. I still have moments when tears come to my eyes, and I think of those last months of her life. Then I say to myself, "Safe passage...it's OK...you gave her safe passage."

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Ready to Fold

I got thinking today about an incident that happened several years ago, that some of my readers might find amusing.
I completed a major grocery shopping and the clerk said, "That comes to ninty-three dollars and sixty-seven cents."
As I began to write out the check, I heard a masculine voice behind me say loudly, "Ninty-three dollars and sixty-seven cents!"
A quick sideways glance revealed an obviously intoxicated shopper in line behind me. I didn't want to become engaged in conversation, so I ignored him.
He, however, was not to be ignored. He said, even more loudly, "Ninty-three dollars and sixty-seven cents!"
I turned slightly, not making direct eye contact and trying to concentrate on writing the check, and said, "I'm getting ready for company."
"Ha! I don't care if the Queen of England was coming for dinner. I wouldn't pay ninty-three dollars and sixty-seven cents!"
Hoping to put a damper on the discussion, I said quietly, "Well, I have a son with severe food allergies, so I buy some products that are sort of expensive."
Still loudly, but with a tone of understanding, he replied, "Now I know what you mean! I have allergies myself."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I can't eat a bit of food without some of this." He patted the case of 24 cans of beer which was on the conveyor belt.
By this time customers in adjacent lanes in each direction were watching with amusement.
"Hmmm....I'm not a very good person to talk to about that," I said. "I'm a total abstainer."
With utter consternation, he responded, "Total abstainer? Total abstainer?"
Obviously such a possibility had never occurred to him.
"Yup...I don't drink at all...not ever."
"Oh, lady, don't you know how good it is for your cholesterol? My doctor says that I have the lowest cholesterol in the county!"
"Really....what does your doctor say about your liver?"
"Ready to fold...."
I think everyone in earshot was laughing at this point.
Thankfully my check was written, and I escaped. I have no idea what he had to say after I left, but sometimes even going to the grocery store is an adventure.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Observations on bugs

I spent the day painting at the cottage. Most of the time, I worked on the back and sides, while my husband painted the front. He had a number of conversations during the day with other cottagers who walked by and commented on our project. I, on the other hand, mostly communed with the bugs.
The cottage is in a wooded area, so there are lots of 6-legged and 8-legged creatures about. If 24 hours elapse between coats of paint, it is necessary to wipe the area clean of spider webs before applying the next coat.
The morning began with a pesky mosquito repeatedly going for my jugular....and I mean that literally. The cottage is cream with dark green trim. Since I had dark green on my brush, and most of the paint in the area was cream, there was no possibility of swatting the annoying insect with the paint brush. He made several attempts at venipuncture, before I managed to annihilate him without splattering the dark green on the cream.
Ants seem to be clueless when it comes to paint. They walk right into the wet stuff or explore the can itself which is a dead end for them.
Daddy long-legs are, however, quite amazing. They travel up the wall extending one leg gingerly ahead of the others. The very first time an appendage touches an area that is still wet, they stop and change directions. If they run into paint in the new direction, they stop and redirect again.
I encountered one spider who saw the brush coming and ducked into a crack behind a window frame. He peeked out, but the brush was still swishing near his den, so he retreated.
By the end of the day, the mosquitos no longer bothered me. However, apparently I had "ripened" as the day progressed...it was a scorcher and I was pretty much drenched in perspiration...so I ended the day bothered by flies.
Thank goodness, we put a hot water heater and shower in this year!

Monday, August 10, 2009

A Tale of Two Homeless Men

About six weeks ago, I just happened to step out on my front porch as a man was passing by. When he spied me, he approached the house and asked if we had any work he could do. He said that he was homeless and needed to earn $20 each day in order to stay where he was currently staying. He was sharing a room with a friend and splitting the cost. He said that he would do anything inside or out to earn $20.
We had already started the mowing that day, but I figured he could finish the job and do the neighbor's yard also. I was not about to tell him that the neighbors were out of town, but the yards are adjacent, and we did at one time actually own that property too, so I didn't feel the need to explain anything to him.
My husband spent a bit of time talking with him and thought perhaps he could work some for my father-in-law (the 92 year-old mentioned in a prior entry). So before the man left, my husband arranged to put him in contact with his father.
Early the next week...I think it was the first day that he worked for my father-in-law...I read in the paper that someone by the same name and of the approximate age, had been arrested for stealing from his own mother. Oh, crumb. You think you are doing something to help out someone who is in need, and now you find yourself worrying whether this is a safe person to have around.
Well, that week he worked for my father-in-law two days, although he had promised to work four days. During that time he begged for money for medication for his daughter. My father-in-law wouldn't give him the extra money but did meet him at the drugstore and pay for the medication. Before the week was out, my father-in-law's digital camera and an old laptop had disappeared. The guy also tried to convince my father-in-law that he had actually worked the four days promised and only been paid for two.
So today when I saw another person begging for work, I had second thoughts.
I was out doing some shopping for grandkids. At the entrance road into the Walmart, a man was standing on the sidewalk with a cardboard sign. It read, "Will work for food."
When I left the parking lot, he was still standing there. I pulled over to the curb and told him that I didn't have any work, but asked him if there was some place he stayed to which I could deliver some groceries.
"No, I am homeless. I live out of my car."
"Have you had breakfast today?"
"Yes."
"OK, I'm going to go buy you some lunch. I'll be back."
"Oh, that would be really nice."
I went into a nearby grocery store with a deli. I picked up a large sandwich, a bag of small pre-cleaned carrots, a large package of trail mix and a bottled water.
I wondered if he would still be there....he was.
When I handed him the bag, I asked if he knew about The Workplace which helps people find jobs. He didn't, so I told him where it was located.
He seemed appreciative.
After running to a couple more stores (one of which had a "Now Hiring" sign), I passed the spot where he had been standing again. He was gone. Did he go to The Workplace, or had I given him enough food to get through the day, so he could forget about working and hope for someone to come along with food again tomorrow?
Who knows?

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

20% atheist, 80% agnostic, 100% sad

Recently I read in an internet article that Brad Pitt gave an interview in which he was asked if he believed in God. He stated that he did not, and that he is “20% atheist, 80% agnostic.” This strikes me as 100% sad.

Now I recognize that he is probably NOT sad. He has it all….good looks, fame, wealth, talent, and a highly desirable partner. He has used his position and some of his resources for philanthropic purposes, so he also has reason to view himself as a “good” person.

But, sadness is still what I felt on reading his comment.

I am sad for him personally. Everyone has a god, whether he recognizes it or not. We all have something that fills the core of our being and gives meaning to our life. Since I believe that the only god which adequately fills this role is the one true God who is Creator and Sustainer, I believe that all other “gods” are inadequate and will eventually betray us.

I am sad for his children. Most people I have encountered who are a mix of atheist and agnostic will say that it is fine with them if their children make their own choice about what to believe. The problem is that there is no attempt to expose their children to the point of view that there just might be a God. The children are programmed from the outset to discount the notion of his existence.

I am sad for all those who view him as a role model. He, who “has it all,” is openly stating he doesn’t believe in God, and he hasn’t been struck down by a bolt from heaven. So…maybe it’s a safe position. Of course, the Bible clearly indicates that those who don’t believe in God may appear to prosper in this life. The wheat and chaff grow together until the harvest. The sun shines and the rain falls on both the just and the unjust. As an agnostic/atheist, he probably believes the Bible is just another ancient book of myths. I would challenge anyone with this belief to read it, in its entirety. Not just read someone else’s thoughts on it, but actually read it. It is the only intellectually honest thing to do.

So, I do feel sorry for Brad Pitt. I wouldn’t for a minute wish anything bad to come his way, but difficulties do come to most human beings. If and when life begins to crumble for him, I pray that he will look to God rather than within himself. The human spirit is powerful, but not omnipotent. In the end, we are not “saved” either in this world or the next by our personal attributes, what we possess, or the good we have done.

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith…and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God…not by works, so that no one can boast.” Ephesians 2:8-9

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Seamless Transition

Recently I was pondering the 23rd Psalm, and in particular, the phrase "the valley of the shadow of death." Experiencing that valley is something we can all expect.
As a nurse and family member, I have seen death. Usually there is a period of diminished consciousness, awareness, ability to interact with ones surroundings. I picture that withdrawal from this world as a descent into the valley.
As one who believes in eternal life, I picture coming out of that valley on the other side into another life more joyful and fulfilling than we can imagine while trapped in this present life.
But, at least two men in the Bible apparently did not descend into that valley. We are told that Enoch never actually died, but was taken by God. Elijah never actually died either. A chariot descended from the sky and picked him up.
Ah...seamless transition.
No life-death-life situation for them, but rather life unending.
The criterion for experiencing this seems to be that they had learned in this life how to walk with God so intimately, that they simply continued that walk straight into eternity. What would that be like? It is so different from what nearly all of us have or will experience that it is mind-blowing. Could one actually live with heart and mind that attuned to God?
I fully expect to have to go through the valley someday, but it certainly is challenging to think that one could walk in such close fellowship with God, that there would be no reason to detour through the valley.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

A Trip to the DMV

My mother-in-law, age 90, asked me if I would give her a ride to run some errands this afternoon. She has mobility issues and gets around with a walker, albeit painfully. She wanted to go to the bank and take her city tax payment to the post office to mail.
When I arrived to pick her up, my father-in-law, age 92, asked if he could come along and get a ride to the Department of Motor Vehicles. His license expired last week and he had not received the renewed one. He had mailed it in weeks ago and didn't understand why he hadn't gotten it back until today. In today's mail, he received a letter stating that he had not answered all the questions on the form.
My personal opinion is that he should not be driving. However, I am the daughter-in-law. None of his offspring have worked up the courage to confront him.
The front bumper on his car is cracked, both sides of the car have streaks of color matching the garage door frame, and the back bumper has an imprint of someone's license plate in mirror image. You can even make out most of the numbers.
I had hoped he would not pass his eye exam. But, his eye doctor...bless her heart...told him he only needed one good eye to drive, and if he didn't pass the test at the DMV, she would sign the form for him. He, therefore, never bothered with the eye test at the DMV. He just took the form to her and then mailed it in...apparently minus the answers to some of the questions.
So...I agreed to drive him to the DMV hoping that maybe someone there would say, "Gee, mister, you really shouldn't be driving."
I told him that I would come back and pick him up after running errands with my mother-in-law. He replied, "I'll take a taxi."
I said, "Oh no, that's not necessary. I'll be back to pick you up."
"NO, I'll take a taxi. You don't know how long it will take, and you'll never find a parking space."
No sense in continuing the argument.
After he got out of the car, I asked my mother-in-law how he planned to call for a taxi. Did he have a cell phone with him? No...she had no idea how he would call for a taxi.
After completing the stops with her, I drove back down the busy street where the DMV is located. Sure enough...there were no parking places. Also, no taxis in sight....but, there was my 92 year-old father-in-law hoofing it down the sidewalk. We shouted out the window to him, but of course, he is verrrrrrrry deaf. Finally I honked the horn and pulled into a "No Parking" zone.
When he got into the car, he made no comment as to whether he had received his license, and I didn't ask. I'll leave that for later. He also didn't say where he thought he would find a taxi. He was headed in the direction of downtown, where there used to be a taxi stand...oh, maybe 50 years ago. Sigh.
I'm just glad the timing was such that we saw him. It's a hot day, and he just had cataract surgery yesterday. Good grief.