Tying the Perfect Bow

Yesterday after church, I ran into two ladies who were admiring the lovely and festive red and green dress a little girl was wearing.  One of them mentioned that when her daughters were little, it was my mother who had taught her how to tie the perfect bow at the back of a party dress.  I can believe this, but I also found it amusing, as I had not learned to tie the perfect bow from my own mother.

To be fair, learning to tie any bow was such trauma for me, that my mother was probably happy I could tie something functional and didn’t worry about appearance.  Learning to tie ones own shoes was a huge deal in my kindergarten class.  As soon as we could demonstrate our ability to tie our shoes, we were honored with a bow pinned to our blouse for the day to let everyone know of our achievement.  I was the youngest person in my class.  I actually was too young to start school, but I was such a pain at home, that my mother took me to school at the age of 4 years and 4 months and begged them to take me.  Although my brain was clearly ready to be occupied by something other than telling my mother how to run the household, my fine motor skills were more in line with my age and tying a bow was quite beyond me.  My mother later said that I spent most of my kindergarten year bemoaning my inability to tie a bow, and sometimes crying that I would never get to have a bow pinned to my blouse.  I was so ecstatic when I finally came home sporting that bow, that I’m sure my mother didn’t care whether my bows looked perfect.

Unfortunately, I didn’t learn the correct way to tie a bow until I was eighteen, and the person who taught me wasn’t very kind about it!  After high school, I went into a 3-year diploma nursing program.  That would be the old style of nursing education where one was a slave of the hospital.  As we rotated through various specialty areas, we spent time in the operating room.  One fateful day, I was the circulating nurse, and as such, it was my duty to tie the bows at the back neck and waist of the doctor’s surgical gown.  He entered the room with arms raised, having scrubbed, slipped into the gown and turned his back to me to have the bows tied.  I had no sooner tied the bow at his neckline than he began to berate me.

“What is the matter with you?  Have you no idea how to tie a bow?  Don’t you know the bow is supposed to end up cross-wise….not up and down?  Do you want it to tickle my neck all during the surgery?  Look at your own shoes!  You tie your own shoes the same stupid way!”

I looked down at my feet.  Sure enough, the loops on the bows ran parallel to the length of my feet, not from left to right.  I wondered how I could have gone all those years oblivious to this huge faux pas.  I obviously could not correct my shoes then, but I did correct the bow at the doctor’s neckline following his instructions.  When I got back to my dorm room, I experimented with tying my shoes, and discovered there really was a difference in the results depending on which end of the lace was used for the first loop and which was wrapped around.  Imagine that!!

Since I didn’t get married and have daughters until after nursing school and college, I had perfected my bow tying before I had to use it for special occasion dresses.  My daughters were saved the embarrassment of an inept mother.  Lucky for them, I ran into that cranky doctor.  Shoes often have Velcro now, but I’ve never seen it on a party dress.

Tide of Evil

The tide of evil rolls,

A dense black stream,

Tentacles spreading,

Toward my world.

Easy to ignore,

When it is other lives,

Other families engulfed,

Swallowed up.

Screams of grief

Muffled by distance

Barely heard

From my safe shelter.

But what if…

The shield cracks,

The toxic vapor

Diffuses here?

Will I cower,

Or be courageous?

Will I stand,

Or hide in terror?

Will I,

By the grace of God,

Be spared

Facing the evil?

Or

Will I,

By the grace of God,

Be emboldened

To walk through the fire?

God Isn’t Fixing This

The New York Daily News headline is absolutely right.  It’s not that God can’t fix the mess we are in, but we as a nation have not met the criteria for his involvement.  Television anchors murmur words about remembering the victims of the latest shooting in our prayers.  One wonders if they, or very many of those watching them, ever pray when there isn’t some tragedy about which we are all feeling horrible.

God, the Creator of the universe, who deserves our awe and reverence, cannot be prevailed upon to act on our latest wish or desperate plea.  He has spelled out very clearly what it takes for Him to intervene on our behalf.

If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land.

                                     II Chronicles 7:14

Humble themselves

Pray

Seek His face

Turn from their wicked ways

We light candles and say prayers, but what about the rest of it?  Whoa….wait just a minute here!  You want me to humble myself?  To admit that I am a “sinner?”  Isn’t that bad for my self-esteem? To seek the face of a God I am not sure exists?  To put some limitations on my conduct?  Can’t I do whatever I please as long as it doesn’t hurt someone else?  What do you mean “wicked ways?”  I’m not as bad as many other folks.

If you want to resist these directives, fine, but if you do, don’t expect God to show up when you are frightened into praying!

It is, of course, ironic that liberals want to increase gun laws….that is, put a limit on the conduct of the populace.  They don’t want Christians to impose their standards regarding human behavior, but it is okay to impose the liberal agenda.  I do not own a gun and do not want to live with a gun in my home, but I do find that whole discussion a smoke screen for the real problems.  The problem isn’t guns.  It is the human heart and mind.

God has clearly spelled out the solution to our dilemma.  If we admit to our sins, pray for His forgiveness, seek His face for direction and stop doing those things contrary to His plan, He will show up. 

He does know how to fix this.

Marital Longevity

I woke up this morning thinking about all of the couples we know who have had marital longevity.  Specifically, I was listing off those we knew as young people prior to marriage, who have built enduring marriages that are obviously still characterized by commitment and genuine affection.

Some of this retrospect is probably related to having attended three fifty-year reunions during 2015.  At my fifty year nursing school reunion, I realized at one meal, that I had been the soloist at the wedding of everyone seated at our table.  Two couple were married 50 years ago, one 49 years ago, and Bill and I 47 years ago.  I can easily list off more than 10 couples of our acquaintance, whom we knew as singles, watched the courtship/dating years of some of them from close range, and were present at their weddings.  Decades have passed and these folks are still in love in spite of all that life has thrown at them.

The common factor in these relationships is that prior to marriage these people as individuals had a commitment to putting a relationship with God first in their lives.  They entered into relationships with their potential spouses prayerfully.  When they married, they did so truly believing that they could accomplish more for the Kingdom of God together than the sum of what they could do alone.

I understand that there are other approaches that result in marital longevity.  There are couples who come together selfishly and with no thought of God in their life, who manage to cling together without Him.  There are those who start out disastrously, who later find their unity within the context of a commitment to Christ.  But, this morning as I awakened, I thanked God specifically for those who by a miracle of His grace started out on the right path and have never swerved.  All have demonstrated a life of service.  Some are or have been missionaries or pastors.  Some have been life-long faithful church members.  Most have raised children with great love and care.  All are still looking for ways to serve the cause of Christ. 

All are still in love.  Something for which I am thankful.

Sonya or Johnnie....who cares?

Seriously, doesn’t the media have anything better to do than to worry about whether Ben Carson’s mother’s name is Sonya or Johnnie?  How ridiculous.

When I met a new family in our neighborhood years ago, I was amused to learn that only one person in the family of four went by his/her real name.  At some point, three of them decided they didn’t like their names and began going by something else.  The mother whose name was Sarah had gone through a hippie phase as a young woman and taken the name Heather.  I’m not sure of the reasons for the other three, but they all thought it was a perfectly normal thing to do.

In my own family, my father’s name was a great source of confusion.  He was told that his name was Charles Frederick and during his young life went by C. Frederick with the nickname of Fritz.  When he entered the Army during World War II, he was informed that he could not go by a first initial and middle name.  They changed his name to Charles F.  His friends then began to call him Charlie.  When he retired decades later, he was required to submit a copy of his birth certificate to obtain his pension.  He had never seen it.  He sent for a copy and was stunned to discover that his name was actually Frederick Charles.  He then began to use Frederick C. on documents.

After Dad died, when I tried to settle his affairs, I had to submit to the court a notarized affidavit describing why he had documents under the names Frederick C., Charles F. and C. Frederick.  Fortunately, no relevant documents used Fritz or Charlie.

Imagine my brother’s confusion, thinking he was Charles F. Jr. most of his life, and discovering there was actually no Charles F. Sr. 

No matter….he has gone his whole life by Bud.

November 2, 1952

November 2, 1952 was probably the most significant day in my life.  I was only seven years old, but I had been troubled for weeks by the growing realization that I was not capable of meeting my own standard of “goodness.”  I knew that I didn’t always obey my mother, that I told lies, and that I sometimes harassed my younger brother.  My conscience was troubling me, and I had recently learned at my church that these things were called “sin.”

I had also learned that Jesus died for my sin, and that I could invite Him into my life to wipe out that sin and make me “new.”  Several nights when I lay awake before going to sleep, I pondered my misdeeds of the day and prayed that Jesus would come into my heart.  I was disappointed when I got up in the morning and was the same rotten kid as the day before.  I expected to be immediately angelic, and it didn’t happen.

About this time, our church had invited an evangelist to speak.  I have no idea what he said, and I was put off by his style of presentation.  He didn’t just pound the pulpit, he actually jumped up on the front pew and shouted.  However, when he gave the invitation to accept Christ by coming forward, I responded.  I knew someone would help me figure this out.

An older lady in the church took me downstairs to a quiet place and opened her Bible.  She read me verses that explained again that “all had sinned” and that the penalty for this is “death”….i.e. separation from God.  She told me again that Jesus died to save me from my sins and the consequences.  I wasn’t so much thinking about escaping hell, I wanted help right then to get rid of the weight of my bad behavior.  I followed her as she led me in a prayer AND it happened.  What had seemed like a physical weight was lifted from my shoulders.  Equally important, she helped me understand that I would not automatically be perfect.  I would still stumble and fail.  But now, I had Jesus to help me in my every day conduct.  Each day, I could ask for and receive help.

My life changed that day.  I have no idea what course my life would have taken without that decision.  Years later, my Mother told me that she noticed a change, that my acceptance of Christ had obviously been genuine and life-altering.  I recognize within myself the potential for going some very wrong directions.  I am not saying that I have lived a life above reproach.  I am sure there are days that I have not specifically sought out God’s leading for that day, but the overwhelming majority of the time, I have kept my mind and heart open to hear His voice and have not consciously rejected His plans for me.

This keeps me from wasting too much time over “what-ifs” and “if-onlys.” In retrospect, even some incidents that were horrible and painful at the time led to new and positive experiences.  I look back with deep gratitude over 70 years of life and 63 years of trusting God’s plan.

Today is November 2, 2015….my special day for remembering and celebrating.

The Donkey of Balaam

Stupid jackass!

Clumsy donkey!

Lazy beast!

I am summoned by a king!

You embarrass me.

You crush my foot.

You thwart me.

I am summoned by a king!

I am Balaam,

Prophet, seer,

Wise among men

And summoned by a king!

But the donkey spoke:

I am your humble servant

Your loyal mount,

Even today, at this hour,

I am caring for you,

Protecting you,

For, I see His angel,

Hear His voice,

Obey His commands.

I too am summoned by a King!

(See Numbers 22)

My Brain is a Night-time Hoarder

I am not a hoarder….well, not for the most part.  My house is neat and tidy with the exception of some junk drawers and the top surface of my desk.  My computer desk top is not even particularly cluttered…not nearly so much as my actual physical desk.

My brain…that is a whole different matter…at least at night when I am trying to sleep.  During the day, I can keep my thoughts compartmentalized.  I do not allow myself to be concerned about one thing while I am working on another.  I can defer “worrying” about something until it is really time to consider it, but neither am I a procrastinator.  Thought fragments are in designated storage places waiting to be pulled out at the appropriate time...I do not view when I am trying to sleep as the appropriate time.  But, once I am horizontal and my eyes are closed…then!

Then, out they tumble like scraps of quilt fabric, unfinished knitting, half written stories, letters I must write, bills I must pay, left-overs in the refrigerator that need to be discarded, dirty laundry, clues to the unfinished crossword puzzle, and a myriad of other debris.  The disjointed mess pours out on the floors of my brain until I am slogging knee-deep in the confusing jumble.  I just want to power down my mind and sink into oblivion, but sometimes I spend the night trying to cram the disorder and chaos back into cupboards with doors that latch.

Fortunately, this does not happen every night.  When it does, I toss and turn, feeling overwhelmed and inadequate for the task of restoring some semblance of order.

So this morning, I am tired and disgusted with my brain’s hoarding habit.  I need a broom and some large trash bags and also….a nap.

Sorting Through the Numbers

The Book of Numbers in the Old Testament can be pretty boring and tedious.  For example, in chapter 7, the leaders of each of the twelve tribes bring offerings on the occasion of the tabernacle’s dedication.  Each of the 12 brings an offering identical to all the others, but instead of just naming the leaders and then saying, “each leader brought….” followed by the description, every leader individually is mentioned with every specific of his offering being spelled out.  This means the detail in Numbers 7:13-17 is repeated word for word eleven more times.  I confess to not reading it over and over.

I also confess to being enough of a math geek that in Numbers 4:34-38, when it mentions the number of men in the Kohathite, Gershonite and Merarite clans and then gives the total, I checked the addition.

It is very tempting when reading through the Bible to skip Numbers and some of the other Old Testament books.  The problem is that there are some interesting nuggets amongst the not so interesting minutia.

For example, the entire sixth chapter relates to Nazirite vows…a special vow of separation to the Lord.  Intriguing to me is the fact that either a male or female can make this vow, and there is no difference recorded in the way in which the vow is kept….even though there is head shaving involved.  I like the fact that God accepts male and female devotion equally.  The whole gender issue is a problem of fallen man.  God does not value one over another.

Also, I wouldn’t want to miss Numbers 6:24-26 The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.

Somewhere in my distance past, I sang with a group that did a choral arrangement of those verses.  Since reading them again a couple of days ago, the music is playing in my mind.  I can hear the parts.  I can feel the hush of worship and the soaring upward of my spirit with the music.  I want to speak this blessing over my family and friends.  I want everyone in the world to know that it is God’s desire to bless us, to turn his face toward us and to give us peace!

Of Pain Born

Of pain born.

                Aching loneliness

                Longing for wholeness

                Sense of incompleteness

                Perhaps, even rage

                Results in union.

In pain born.

                Stabbing spasms

                Overwhelming pressure

                Swept along

                Lacking control

                With a groan and a cry.

To pain born.

                Broken cocoon

                Blinding light

                Stripped of warmth

                Emerging into

                A cold, hard place.

Through pain born.

                Reality of rejection

                Facing failure

                Exhausting tasks

                Eviscerating disappointments

                Inescapable existence.

               

From pain delivered.

                Freedom from flesh

                Expanding consciousness

                Wholeness of spirit

                Glorious light

                Eternal peace.

By His stripes, we are healed.

               

                

Coffee and Geometry

One of the Dunkin’ Donuts in town is right across from the high school and has turned out to be a good place to tutor.  When I am working for the school system, I use the designated tutoring site, which is a school-owned building.  When I tutor privately, I might use the library or some other public spot like the Dunkin.

Yesterday I met with a sweet teenage girl, whom I tutored all last school year in common core algebra.  She has just begun geometry.  I am pleased that this year, they have actually given the students textbooks, and the books seem to have the materials organized in a logical fashion….NOT TRUE last year.

In any event, I met with her from 5:15 to 6:15, a time when that Dunkin is very quiet.  The only other people who were there most of the hour were a middle-aged woman seated across from a young adult man.  I was focused on my student’s geometry homework, so I didn’t hear much of their conversation.  My general impression was that the relationship was professional, and that the woman was managerial.  I wasn’t sure whether she was interviewing the young man for a position, or whether she was above him in the hierarchy and was mentoring or advising him.  I thought she may have been a local or regional Dunkin manager.

Whatever, the nature of their meeting, they finished up before we did.  He left first.  As she passed us, she stopped.  She asked my student if she was working on her homework, and then asked what the subject was.  When my student said it was geometry, the lady turned to me and said, “And how do you happen to know geometry?”  She said this in a very pleasant fashion.  I wanted to respond in kind, but what followed were several seconds of silence, as I tried to come up with an answer that was truthful and didn’t sound arrogant.

*I majored in math in college….that would be a logical explanation, but it’s not true.

*I am a retired math teacher…..another logical answer, but not true.

*I am a tutor…..true, but not an explanation.  Most tutors won’t touch high school math and science.

*I am a math genius….not true and also arrogant.

*Don’t all 70 year old grandmothers know geometry?....just plain silly.

What came out of my mouth after the lengthy pause was, “I’m a whiz-bang in math and home-schooling my son gave me a chance to review.”  True….but a tad on the arrogant side.  It was just the best I could do under pressure.

So how do I happen to know geometry, a subject I studied 56 years ago when I was 14?

*Isn’t it like riding a bicycle?  Once you learn how, it comes back quickly.

*Math feels good inside my head.  When I work on math problems, I actually have a physically pleasurable sensation in my brain.

*I have a life-long love affair with math! 

Well now…doesn’t all of that make me sound like an oddball?  I hadn’t really thought about the fact that seeing a granny tutoring a teenager in math in the middle of a Dunkin Donut might seem strange.

At least, I got a coffee while I was there.  When it comes to coffee, it is my considered opinion that the only place that might tie with Dunkin is Tim Horton.  I prefer both over Starbucks.

Also, if C is the midpoint of line AB, then line segment AC equals line segment CB.  If AC = 3y and AB =42, you can easily determine y=7.

And that’s the truth from Ruth

Waiting in the lobby of the jail....

Waiting in the lobby of the jail to be allowed access for a visit with an inmate isn’t much fun. It is required that one be there more than 20 minutes before the visit or be turned away.  People-watching to pass the time may be interesting, but is also sometimes depressing.

Yesterday as I waited for the visit time for female inmates, I was reading a book, but observing others in the lobby also.  Two young girls, I would guess their ages at 8 and 11, were waiting with women I surmised to be their grandmothers, although I suppose great-grandmothers might have been possible depending on how closely together the generations were crammed.  I assumed the women were waiting to see their daughters, who were mothers to the granddaughters.

I thought both grandmothers to be younger than I am, but both looked haggard.  Both granddaughters were pretty much out of control.  They had difficulty sitting still, talked loudly, and in general, made their presence more obvious than socially appropriate.  Neither grandmother had much success controlling the behaviors.  One girl had on a headset and was listening to music, but she was also singing along loudly, and grandma had no luck quieting her down.

Eventually the two grandmothers began talking to each other.  One said caring for her granddaughter was like taking care of 50.  The other said taking care of hers was like caring for 60.  The grandmother of the girl listening to music said her granddaughter was ADHD and that listening to music was the only thing that calmed her at all.  I guess I wouldn’t want to be around when she wasn’t listening to music.

Please understand, I am not being critical about their inability to control the girls’ behaviors.  I raised a girl with ADHD, and I well remember the struggle.  But….I was the mother, not the grandmother.  These poor women are attempting to raise kids at a time in their lives when strength and energy are diminishing.  The fact that they are visiting daughters who are incarcerated probably means they struggled as mothers, and now they are repeating the process when they are even less able to cope.

This is a huge and overwhelming problem for our society.  Young women can now rejoice in their sexual freedom and the fact that being a single mom doesn’t have the stigma it once did.  They feel they can make whatever decisions they wish, and that it is their business.  They don’t see how it will impact their own mothers.  Young men don’t have a sense of responsibility that ought to go with impregnating a woman.  We now have two generations….maybe three…that have trashed their own lives and those of the children they are abandoning to an older generation that is weary.

I grieve for the grandparents whose lives are sucked into this chaos, and for the children who have no father, a mother in jail, and no sense of right and wrong….perhaps no ability to think clearly enough to realize that having a meaningful life is actually possible.

Poor choices on the part of some of my own family members have put me in contact with many young people who are in despair and see little hope for their future.  Addictions to drugs and alcohol may temporarily diminish their pain, but over the long haul, these problems add to the pain and to the inability to make rational decisions.

I know what the answer is….but getting them to consider it is pretty difficult.

Jesus said….I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.  John 10:10

Called to Wash Feet

Recently I became involved in a couple of discussions regarding “foot-washing.”  I had seen a comment that “no one feels called to wash dirty feet.”  My instinctive reaction was that the statement was incorrect.  Now, having considered it for a couple of weeks, I still think it is false, whether taken literally or metaphorically.

As a nurse, and a mother, I have washed a lot of dirty feet.  I have never actually taken part in foot-washing as a form of worship in a church service, but I have been present as an on-looker.  In that context, I understand it to be representative of humility and the act of a servant.  However, I just see it as something that needs to be done or should be done, and so I would cheerfully do it anytime, anywhere, for anyone.  I don’t know if this exposes a flaw in myself or a strength.  Am I refusing to be “humbled” by such an act, or is my call to service so strong that such an act is totally natural?

I think that my eight year-old granddaughter has an innate call to service.  One evening while I was visiting her family, my daughter called me into the bedroom to see an outfit she had recently purchased.  My daughter’s husband was lying on the bed with his feet hanging over the edge, and his sweet little girl was kneeling on the floor rubbing lotion on his feet.  This act seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to her.  During a later visit, when my daughter had just had surgery and wasn’t coming down to the dining room for meals yet, this granddaughter appeared in the kitchen and offered to take her mother’s meal up to her.  There was nothing affected in these actions, no sign that she expected anyone to notice her acts of service.  They came as a natural outgrowth of who she is as a person.  She delighted in playing the servant’s role.

I think many people who are nurses….or at least, who were nurses in my era…delight in the comfort foot-washing brings.  An important part of the bed bath used to be actually putting the person’s feet in a basin of water.  A towel was spread out at the foot of the bed, a basin of warm water was put on the towel, and the person’s lower leg and foot were supported on the nurse’s arm while the foot was carefully lowered into the basin.  Many, many times this would result in the patient saying, “Oh, that feels so good.”  Why would one not feel pleasure in doing something that brought comfort to another?  Why would one not feel that foot-washing was a calling?

Foot-washing is only the beginning of what nurses do on a daily basis.  They hold the basin while someone vomits.  They struggle to undress the drunk who has been in a car accident and needs to be helped into the bed.  They clean up the person who can no longer control his or her bowels.  I have never looked on any of this as demeaning, but rather as what I was called and empowered to do.

I recognize that not all of us are called to wash feet in a literal sense, but some of us are.  I suspect that in a metaphoric sense, we all have such a calling.

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men….It is the Lord Christ you are serving.  Colossians 3:23-24

A Terrifying Prospect

I am terrified that we as a nation are going to get what we deserve…..either Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump.

We seem to have reached a point where there is no possibility of someone who combines common sense and integrity rising to enough prominence to be elected. 

We are enthralled with exhibitionists like the Kardashians, who aspire to “breaking the internet.”  We watch “reality” TV which is not “real” at all.  Can we be trusted to elect a “real” president?

We are so anxious for women to be self-determining, that we will sweep under the table Planned Parenthood’s provision of fetal body parts, perhaps for profit, perhaps not, but either way….revolting.   What has happened to the dignity of human life?

We are so anxious to prove that we are open-minded and politically correct, that we can’t stand up for what is right.  Then ironically, we admire Donald Trump brazenly taking a stand that is not just politically incorrect, but crass and boorish.  Are we incapable of seeing how preposterous this is?

We have reached a point where honesty is only valued if it enhances our agenda.  We admire people who get ahead through deception.  It’s OK if they can get away with it….just don’t get caught.  Do we enjoy being lied to?

We, as a society, need to re-examine our values.  For whom are we cheering?  Whose ideas are influencing us?  What are we reading?  What are we watching?  To what are we listening?  What on earth are we doing?

“All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.”  (Edmund Burke)

Thankfully, the election is still over a year away.  There is still time for reason to prevail.  Time for a candidate to emerge who wishes to serve his/her country instead of him/herself.  Someone who can represent us on the world stage with both dignity and strength.

I have no idea, at this point, who that might be.  I pray that there will be such a choice on the ballot, and that we will elect that person.  At the same time, I understand that God is sovereign.  We may end up with someone “awful,” because it fits into the divine “big picture,” of which we are currently ignorant.

And…God often lets us have what we deserve.

The Importance of Answering the Question

Recently I went into Home Depot to pick up some deck paint.  As my 5 gallon container was being mixed, a lady and boy I assumed to be her son entered the area.  The boy was sitting in the child seat in the cart, although I judged him too old to be sitting in the cart, and wondered why he was there.  Did he have a tendency to wander off?  Was he a “problem child” of some sort?

The boy immediately noticed the paint being shaken.  “Look at that machine!  What is it doing?”

I expected the mother to give him a reasonable answer.  Instead she snapped at him, “Don’t pay any attention to that!” 

I was three or four steps away from the boy.  I caught his eye and smiled at him.  The mother was turned away looking at color samples.

My paint continued to shake, and I continued to be concerned about the mother’s response to her child.  Did he spend his entire day asking questions?  Was she sick of answering?

Eventually, I couldn’t help myself.  I took two steps closer to the boy, and said, “The machine is shaking up my paint in order to mix it.  If someone had to stir the color in by hand, they would be stirring all afternoon to get it mixed properly.  The machine can do it much more quickly.”

“Wow,” he said, “that machine is really interesting.”

“Yes, it is,” I replied.

The mother ignored me and the boy, for which I was grateful.  I had wondered, if she would be angry that I had spoken to her son.  I did make sure not to get too close and invade his personal space.

Why would a mother be unwilling to answer her kid’s questions….even if he asked thousands of them.  Isn’t that how kids learn?

About 40 years ago, a friend was visiting at our home.  We sat in the living room talking while my first daughter played on the floor.  At one point, my daughter pointed at something under my chair and asked what it was.  I more or less stood on my head to see what she was pointing at and answer her questions.  My friend said, “That is why your kids are so smart, you know….you take the time to answer their questions.”

It has never occurred to me NOT to answer my children’s questions!  It isn’t just a matter of satisfying their curiosity and “making them smart.”  It is a way of respecting their dignity as a person, and that is one of the most important things a parent can do.

Gravesite Thoughts

Usually we visit family graves around Memorial Day…or certainly by mid-June…and plant flowers around the tombstones.  It has been traditional, because it was Bill’s Dad’s habit, and as he aged and could not do this alone, we were drawn into it.  But this year…..I don’t know what happened, but it is mid-July and the task was not done until today, and not done to the extent of previous years.

Several generations of Bill’s Dad’s side of the family are buried in a cemetery in Antwerp, New York. Since no longer having his own greenhouses, Bill’s Dad would order geraniums from a local nursery.  We would load up the car with the flowers, fertilizer, mulch, tools, and bottles of water, since there is no water source in that cemetery.  Later, we would go to the cemetery on the north side of Watertown, where Bill’s Mom’s side of the family is buried, and finally to the cemetery on the south side where my parents are buried.

Last year, Bill’s Dad passed away.  This year we did not get to Antwerp at all.  No flowers were ordered ahead, and by now, everything was picked over and scraggly looking.  We were so late planting that we ended up running around to FIVE different stores before we found flowers that were acceptable to Bill for his parents’ gravesite, my parents’ gravesite, and that of a family friend whose grave we always take care of.

Being in our 70s ourselves, this is quite a bit of effort, and I did considerable thinking while turning over the soil and trying to remove the roots of last year’s plants.

*This is an awful lot of work to do for people who don’t even know we are doing it.  I sure am glad my shoulder fracture is well healed.

*I tried to decrease the work by suggesting to Bill that instead of continuing to plant a big circle around the main tombstone where his parents are buried, we could just plant a row on either side.  Nope.  It had to be done the way his Dad had done it.

*No one is doing this for my grandparents’ graves which are a 3 hour car ride away.  This seems especially a shame, because my mother’s father so faithfully cared for the graves of his deceased family members.  He also absolutely loved flowers.

*The odds aren’t good that anyone will do this for Bill and me.  Oldest daughter is in a wheelchair and although, she likes to garden, getting into the right position to do the work in a cemetery probably won’t be possible.  Daughter #2 says she is eventually moving to a commune, so she’s probably out.  Daughter #3 lives very far away.  Although she likes to garden, she is not into traditions like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, so what are the odds she would think about planting gravesites?  #1 Son has declared that he is as sentimental as a brick, and he also lives on the other side of the country, so I’m not expecting anything from him in this department.

*So what to do with our mortal remains????  If we are cremated, we still have to figure out what to do with the ashes.

Eventually, I got distracted from these thoughts leaving my questions unanswered.  After planting the flowers in front of my parents’ tombstone, I poured on a healthy supply of water and to my amazement, scores of ants came scurrying out of the ground and crawled all over the stone.  There must be a huge ant colony either under the headstone or under the area where the flowers are planted, and watering flooded their home.

I noticed a wheelbarrow of sand just behind my parents’ headstone and wondered who had left it there and why.  Just as we were finishing up, I realized that there must be a burial about to take place.  A cemetery worker arrived and spread out a piece of artificial grass a couple of rows away.  Two young men in military uniforms arrived and were standing around obviously waiting.  We left before a hearse and procession appeared.  I suppose the sand was there for fill in the newly dug grave.

So, I am home now and wondering…

Will anyone notice that the usual geraniums are missing from the family graves in Antwerp?

Would Bill’s Dad be upset at the pitiful scraggly geraniums we planted over his grave?

With apologies to Christian Rossetti, who is dead and doesn’t know anyway….

When I am dead, my dearest,

Sing no sad songs for me;

Plant thou no scraggly geranium,

Nor brown and wilted pansy:

The ants that crawl above me,

With your watering can don’t wet;

And if thou wilt, remember,

And if thou wilt, forget.

The Last Breath

The last breath will come

And one of us will go on alone.

Synchrony gone.

Unity shattered.

For decades we have sung,

Harmonizing our voices,

Breathing in unison,

Avoiding discord.

Hundreds of times, skating

We have coordinated limbs,

Responding to subtle motions

Of the other.

Thousands of times

We have kissed, caressed,

Making our physical bodies,

Into one flesh.

Myriads of times,

We have blended our minds,

Our thoughts, our purpose,

Toward a mutual goal.

But one future day,

The movement will stop,

The very fabric of life,

Will be painfully torn.

And with that last breath,

A question will hang

Unanswered in the air.

How does one live alone?

When the Foundations are Destroyed

When the foundations are being destroyed, what can the righteous do? Psalm 11:3

I absolutely understand why people who are gay and want to be married would feel that they are being discriminated against.   Given the attitudes in our society which are now prevalent, marriage would seem to be a “right.”  Homosexual conduct is no longer seen as SIN.  Although other innate biological inclinations, such as a tendency to violence, are not condoned, homosexual inclinations are no longer seen as deviance.

But…that is because over the past several decades some foundational truths have been destroyed.

*God may or may not even exist.  If He does exist, He may not be the Creator, so what He says about how we are made, doesn’t matter.

*The Bible is no longer accepted as the Word of God and an “owner’s manual” for how human beings and their society best function.  It has become an irrelevant book of myths

*God’s provision for sex as a means of pleasure, procreation, and a symbol of His love for “the Church” has been distorted beyond recognition.  One man and one woman united for a life-time is a joke.  Sex outside of the bonds of marriage has become the norm.  No one bats an eye at pregnancy out of wedlock, hook-ups, affairs, and bed-hopping.

As we, as a society, have exercised our right to ignore God, the Bible, and His intent for sex, we have destroyed foundations essential to our own well-being.  The foundations of our society are crumbling, but the media is clueless and celebrating.

Here is the problem for those of us who still believe in God and believe the Bible is relevant.  We have read Romans 1:18-32.  Some excerpts….

For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse.

They exchanged the truth of God for a lie and worshiped and served created things rather than the Creator….because of this, God gave them over to shameful lusts.  Even their women exchanged natural relations for unnatural ones.  In the same way the men also abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another.

Since they did not think it worthwhile to retain the knowledge of God, he gave them over to a depraved mind, to do what ought not to be done.

They are full of envy, murder, strife, deceit and malice.  They are gossips, slanderers, God-haters, insolent, arrogant and boastful; they invent ways of doing evil; they disobey their parents; they are senseless, faithless, heartless, ruthless.

So…those of us who believe the Bible is God’s truth, see the Supreme Court’s approval of gay marriage as another step in the destruction of our society.  We are not celebrating.  We are saddened, but not really surprised.  According to Romans 1, this is the expected outcome when a society abandons God.  Our collective sin as a society has an impact on the lives of individuals.  No one can stand on a crumbling foundation.

There is only one hope for us.  Repentance and rebuilding on the only sure foundation which cannot crumble.

Each one should be careful how he builds.  For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ.  I Corinthians 3:10-11

Of Dead Mice and Flawed Men

Decades ago, I was playing a game with a group of people, and I drew a card that instructed me to share something I feared.  I honestly couldn't think of anything I feared at the time, but I have been reminded many times since of my phobia.  I have a horrible fear of dead mice....not live ones....dead ones.  I can hold a pet mouse.  I can watch one run around outside...or even inside after the initial scream from being startled.  But, I totally freak out over dead mice.

Today, Bill and I were at our cottage cleaning up for the season.  I always put out D-Con in the fall.  As I cleaned the cottage today, I discovered every single D-Con package was empty.  I began to wonder where the mice had gone to die.  I wasn't noticing an odor anywhere....although they don't usually rot with the D-Con.  They just sort of shrivel up and don't smell.

Eventually, I came to the time that I was ready to mop, and I needed to change the sponge on the mop.  I was having trouble getting it off, so I opened the drawer with the tools.  Ugh!  It smelled like mousy-pee and there was an obvious nest with the back end and tail of a dead mouse sticking out of it.  I ran for my husband.

What, you may wonder, is the reason for this totally irrational aversion to dead mice?  

When I was a child, we lived in a house in the middle of an open field.  It wasn't unusual for a field mouse to find its way inside.  My Dad would set a trap and catch the mouse.  THEN...he would take the dead mouse by the tail and chase me around the house with it.  I have no idea why he thought this was funny.  He didn't seem to realize he was completely terrorizing me.  On one occasion he came up behind me, pulled open the back of the neck of my shirt and pretended he was going to drop the mouse into it.  I developed the habit of locking myself in the bathroom when he was about to empty the trap.  Once he even came to the bathroom door and said, "Honey, I got rid of it," but when I opened the door he was swinging it by the tail right at my face.  From then on, I would not unlock the bathroom door until my Mother came to the door and told me he had disposed of it.

My Dad was basically a nice man.  He was a Christian, and he didn't believe in lying.  How he could have excluded this game of his from his normal standard of conduct, I do NOT know.  He had some other "games" I found unpleasant which he seemed to believe were funny.  He also had some "pet names" for me that were ego-bruising.  I suppose this behavior had something to do with his own father's conduct.

The  point is, even though this has had a lasting effect that I can't seem to get over, I do have to forgive him for it.  He was flawed, but then, so am I.  Every one of us lacks insight in some area of our life.  There are, for each of us, some areas in which our perception just doesn't match that of the rest of the world, or perhaps, that of one person who is harmed by our actions.

As Christians, we are recipients of the grace of God in our lives.  He forgives our sins...and that includes the personality quirks that we spend a life-time struggling against.  We have an obligation to forgive others...even before they ask for our forgiveness...even if they never ask for our forgiveness,   We have an obligation to extend grace to other flawed men and women.