Unanswered Cry, Breaking Heart

Recently I visited my newest grandchild for 10 days.  He was about 5 weeks old…still technically a newborn.  All babies cry…it is normal.  Those who don’t are either weak or sick.  They cry because they have no other way to communicate their needs.

One day as I held him and tried to comfort him I told him that his crying was “breaking my heart.”  I should not have said this in front of his two year-old sister, who got a horrified look on her face and said, “He is breaking Grandma’s heart!”  I tried to explain to her that I was just trying to say that it made me sad to see him cry, and that I was sad when she cried too.

But….I, of course, knew that his mother was near-by and was available to nurse him, if it was hunger that was causing the crying.  We would change his diaper, rock him, walk the floor with him and do whatever else we could to comfort him.

What really “breaks my heart” is the knowledge that there are many babies and children in this world right now, who are crying, and whose cries will not be responded to by a loving parent.

There are parents who are not loving, who really didn’t want this child.

There are parents who are self-absorbed.  The child is not their priority.  Perhaps, video games or their cell phone or drugs or going out to drink are more important.

There are loving parents who cannot respond.  Perhaps they are lying dead in the rubble of Aleppo or some other war-torn spot.  The child will cry over and over until too weak to cry and may die unheeded and uncomforted.

A few years ago, a single mother in my city died in her apartment shortly after giving birth.  She had no local family, and apparently, no friends.  No one checked on her after her discharge from the hospital.  Her baby starved to death before anyone found them.  It made me sick at heart to think of people in adjacent apartments who might have heard the crying baby and just assumed it was normal fussing, rather than realizing it was a desperate cry for life itself.  Compassionate people, who would have helped, drove by on the busy street in front of the apartment oblivious to the need.

I cannot solve the problems in Syria or Africa or even in my own city.  I can only deal with the needs that God allows me to see…the crying He allows me to hear, but there are times when the burden of the crying children in this world weighs on my heart and “breaks” it.

Manipulation

I absolutely abhor manipulation.  I think it is disrespectful and arrogant, and I have a very broad definition of it.

I have sometimes been criticized for being too “honest.”  I tend to tell people the truth…whether or not they want to hear it.  I also tend to be animated when I speak, and I am sometimes misinterpreted as being adversarial when that is not my intent.  This is coming to mind now, because yesterday while discussing a topic about which I feel strongly, the person to whom I was speaking said, “I am not the enemy here.”  I didn’t think that she was.  I had no intent to be accusatory. The topic was one about which I felt strongly and thought she did too.  I suspect, however, that because of the type of work she does, she often finds herself in an adversarial position.

The same person was later explaining her approach in some situations where she purposely does not say what she is really thinking and puts on a tone of voice other than her normal one.  I understand doing that to be less threatening, but I wonder at what point does that cross over into manipulation?  I wonder if the people with whom she “makes nice” know that she is playing a game with them.  When people do that to me, I find myself laughing inside.

When I was in nursing school back in the dark ages, we were taught how to speak to doctors in situations where we thought they were missing something.  How do you make a suggestion to this person whose place in the hierarchy is above your own?  What we were taught smacks of manipulation to me.  It means, “I see something you don’t see, but I can’t offend you by telling you that, so instead I am going to play this silly game where I pretend to be dumb and just asking an innocent question.”

I like to come at people head on and put all my cards on the table.  I think that shows that I respect them as equals.  If I have an agenda and I am being sly in the way I present it, that seems to me to be arrogant.  I think it says that I don’t respect them, so I am leading them without them recognizing that they are about to do what I want, rather than having an open discussion that leads to a mutual understanding and plan of action.

When I was a young woman, I decided that flirting was manipulative.  This did not get me many dates, but dating wasn’t my objective.  I wanted a life-long relationship based on respect and honesty.  If I can make a man do what I want by flirtation, am I not showing that I am superior to him?  That is no basis for working through a life-time of challenges.

I have worked with men in some settings without any difficulty and in others where I apparently was supposed to defer to them and not express my opinions too vigorously.  I know some men like flirtation.  Do some also like manipulation?

I suppose there is a balance between being so deferential that it is manipulative and being so open that it is offensive.  I tip toward the latter. 

I am also a very poor liar and would be a terrible poker player.

Nasty Women

A lot has been said recently about “Nasty Women,” and there seem to be many women proud of being labeled with that term.

I really hate it when the meaning of a perfectly good word is hijacked and made to mean something else!  I wish women would fight against being labeled with “nasty” rather than accepting it as a badge of honor.

A couple of years ago, it became popular to quote Sheryl Sandberg who had expressed the idea that the same characteristic which in boys is called leadership is called bossiness in girls.  I like the idea of refusing to be labeled bossy, just because one is assertive and full of ideas.

One of my granddaughters once called me and asked me what it means to be Type-A.  Her mother had told her that she and I were both Type-A people.  I said, “Well, some people might accuse us of being bossy.”  I heard her giggle, so I’m sure that has happened to her.  “But,” I continued, “I think it means we are people with lots of ideas who are willing to work hard to make our ideas come about.”

Yes….I admit to being Type A, and I am sure that as a child I was accused of being bossy.  As an adult, I have been accused of being assertive, too quick to give my ideas, opinionated, etc.  I will admit to all of that, but I refuse to call myself “nasty.”  There need to be some people like us in the world, and some of them are bound to be female.  I recognize this is sometimes uncomfortable for males, but I think they need to get used to it.

I am a nurse, and if we are not by nature assertive, we need to learn to be.  If you are a nurse, you do not stand back and wait for someone else to act when you see someone in distress.  I was once in an auditorium with hundreds of people when a woman stood up and shouted, “Somebody do something.”  An elderly woman sitting near her had stopped breathing.  I did not wait for anyone else to respond.  I dove over several people in the row, dropped her dentures in the lap of the nearest person and resuscitated her.

On another occasion in an auditorium, a friend tapped me on the shoulder and said that something was wrong with his elderly mother.  It was a similar scenario.  Interesting to me was the fact that this same man later made accusations against me regarding my tendency to express opinions too quickly.  Well, you know, you can’t have it both ways.  You can’t expect me to jump in and save your mother’s life in one setting and then sit mutely and let the men have their say first in another.  I refuse to believe that makes me “nasty.”

I realize there are women in the world who think it is their role to always defer to men.  I am not one of them.  I am fortunate to have a husband who enjoys the challenge of being married to me.  This was, of course, no accident.  I had some specific criteria for a husband and would have stayed single if I hadn’t met someone who met the criteria.  I was looking for someone strong enough to meet me as an equal.  Being able to steamroll my husband and always get my way would have been no fun at all.  Being married to someone who thought he was supposed to constantly dominate me and get his way would have been a blood bath.  It is much more interesting to be able to discuss and debate and compromise.

I recognize that as a follower of Christ, I have an obligation to be gracious in what I say and the way I say it.  That has always been a challenge for me.  My mind works rapidly in assessing and coming up with solutions.  It is hard for me to watch a group stumble bumble around when the answer is so obvious to me.  I have always wished people would take advantage of me rather than feeling threatened by me.

Now about the word “bitch” which has also been hijacked to mean pretty much the same as “nasty woman.”  That is a perfectly good word for a female dog.

Let’s stop the name calling and appreciate people for their abilities.

My Early Life of Crime

Last night at church, the pastor made the comment that if you have ever told a lie, you are a liar; and if you have even stolen anything, you are a thief.  His point was that we are all guilty before God.  I certainly agree with that premise.  I know I have lied in my lifetime, although it is always my intent never even to tell what someone might call “a little white lie.”  I thought to myself, that I was unaware of ever stealing anything….then I remember that my career as a thief began very early in life.

When I was less than six, there were multiple times when we temporarily moved in with my mother’s parents.  Sometimes the reason was that we were between houses.  Sometimes my grandmother was ill, and we moved in so that my mother could care for her.  In any event, I was well acquainted with my grandparents’ neighborhood, and I am sure most of the neighbors knew me.

I was very little…may about 3 when I visited a neighbor regularly who had grandchildren of her own.  This meant she had a supply of toys which I enjoyed.  My favorite item at her house was a dirty, ratty, beat-up old doll, which for reasons no one quite understood, I fell in love with and called Becky.

One day after visiting there, I returned home to Grandma’s house in possession of Becky.  I hadn’t exactly stolen her, as I had left my beautiful new doll in her place.  My mother was horrified that I had stolen Becky and marched me back to the neighbor’s house to return her.  The neighbor lady told my mother that if I loved that doll enough to leave my lovely new doll in her place, then I certainly could keep it.  I think the new doll went back home with me too.  But, nothing compared to Becky.

Becky was so loved and played with so vigorously that she eventually became what my mother considered to be a health hazard, so she put her in the garbage.  I dug her out of the garbage.  I don’t remember all of this, but apparently, a cycle of in the garbage and retrieved from the garbage went on for some time.  When I was much older, my mother admitted that she had finally dismembered Becky, to get rid of the filthy thing.  I’m sure if I had known this at the time, my heart would have been broken.  My mother was not in the least a hard-hearted person, so I guess she must have been desperate. 

Fortunately, this did not set me on a path of crime in general and thievery in particular!

A Veteran's Day Story for My Grandchildren

During the Revolutionary War, when the American Colonies were trying to establish their independence from England, the American soldiers were not career soldiers.  They were farmers who had guns and who answered the call to protect this land.

Your great, great, great, great, great, great, great Grandfather was Sergeant Nathan Chapin.  He was born in Springfield, Massachusetts in 1735, so during the Revolutionary War he was in his forties.  On July 5, 1777, he was captured by the British while fighting in the Battle of Ticonderoga.  He and other prisoners were ordered to go to Crown Point (about 10 miles away) to cut hay.  They were given provisions which included scythes for cutting the hay, and for whatever reason, they were also supplied with rum.

They were only accompanied on this work detail by one guard, who apparently liked rum, and they were very generous with him.  He had so much rum that he fell asleep, and they were able to escape.

A group of nine men, guided by Sgt. Nathan Chapin and using only the moss on the trees as a compass, found their way back to Springfield (a distance of about 200 miles) to the great joy of their family and friends.  Sgt. Nathan Chapin lived to be 95 years old.

Sgt. Nathan Chapin was the son of Japhet Chapin and his wife Thankful Dickinson.

The genealogy is:

Sgt. Nathan Chapin (1735-1830)

Deacon Japhet Chapin (1762-1833)

Deacon Japhet Chapin (1796-1888)

Lawson Chapin (1833-1864)

William Chapin (1860-?)

Willard Chapin (1895-1983)

Richard Chapin (1917-2014)

William Chapin (1943-still living)

Your mother/father

You

The information for this story comes from The Chapin Book published in 1924.  It lists the descendants of Deacon Samuel Chapin who arrived in the Massachusetts Colony in approximately 1632.

Ezra's Prayer

Poor Ezra is absolutely devastated by what he has learned.  Years earlier the Jewish people had been hauled off into exile.  Jehovah had allowed this as punishment for turning to other gods and failing to worship Him as the one true god.  Ezra and a small contingent of his fellow Israelites have been allowed by King Artaxerxes of Persia to return to Jerusalem to rebuild the temple.

Ezra has learned that those returning to their homeland have begun to intermarry with the locals.  This was strictly forbidden, not because God is opposed to “true love,” but because intermarriage led to worship of the god of the spouse and forsaking worship of Jehovah.

Ezra is horrified that the sin that caused them to go into exile has reared its head among the returning remnant.  His prayer is recorded in Ezra 9, and ends with:

                O Lord, God of Israel, you are righteous!  We are left this day as a remnant.  Here we are before you in our guilt, though because of it not one of us can stand in your presence.

As I look at the culture around me, and at what we the people of the United States have become, I feel that we should echo this prayer:

                O Lord God…you are righteous!  Here we are before you in our guilt…..

It is devastating to realize the decline in our culture which has happened in my lifetime, and that these are changes which many in our country applaud.  We want our “rights,” freedom to choose our own destiny, freedom to give a higher priority to our desires than we give to God Himself, freedom to shake our fist in His face…..and that is terrifying.

In Romans 1:18-32, there is a description of what happens to a culture which rejects God so repeatedly and thoroughly that He gives up on them.  Here is where we are, my fellow Americans.

                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 have become filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed and depravity.  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.  Although they know God’s righteous decree that those who do such things deserve death, they not only continue to do these very things but also approve of those who practice them.

It does not matter who wins the coming election.  We as a nation are in a lot of trouble.

                Here we stand before you in our guilt……

Our Eyes Are Upon You

Jehoshaphat was one of the good guys among kings of Judah.  He removed objects of idol worship from the land, sent priests throughout the land to teach the people God’s commandments and how to properly worship him, and consistently sought the advice of godly prophets.  Much of his reign was peaceful.

However, at one point, an army consisting of members of three different surrounding nations advanced to make war with him.  Jehoshaphat’s army was smaller and no match for his enemies.  In II Chronicles 20, his prayer on this occasion is recorded.  “All the men of Judah, with their wives and children and little ones, stood there before the Lord” in the temple in Jerusalem and listened to Jehoshaphat’s prayer, as he pleaded for God’s help.

His prayer ends with this sentence: 

We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon you.

This seems so appropriate to me today.  I am dealing with some situations personally in which I really don’t know what to do.   It also seems that we as a nation currently don’t know what to do about numerous issues, not the least of which being the upcoming election.

Jehoshaphat believed a prophet who declared there would be deliverance without the Judean army having to fight.  As Jehoshaphat led the people in worship, some of the priests stood up and began to sing praises to God.  Men were appointed to go out at the head of the army declaring, “Give thanks to the Lord, for his love endures forever.”

As they went into battle the next day, they discovered the opposing armies were dead.  They had turned on each other and wiped each other out.  The army of Judah did not have to fight, because the battle was God’s.

So how about this for a motto and a way to begin every day?

We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon you.

Tired....but not Miserable

Today as I was out running some errands, I was thinking of difficult situations we currently are facing….family issues that I don’t wish to air here.  But of course, family issues are those which can be most painful and cause sleepless nights.  Last night, I was still staring at the ceiling at 2:20 AM.  I stirred long enough to see the clock at 4:30 and then woke up at 7:30 and couldn’t get back to sleep.  Lots on my mind.

I was discussing things with the Lord while I was driving this morning, and I thought of the statement by Paul in I Corinthians 15:19...If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.

I do understand what he means, but I also think the reverse is true.  If I only have hope of heaven, what am I to do now in order to get through the difficulties of life?  If I don’t have the presence of Christ now, I am also quite miserable.

I did not accept Christ as my personal Savior and the Lord of my life just to escape hell and have assurance of eternity with Him.  I expected His presence to begin immediately, and of course, it did.  With each troublesome situation in life, there is an assurance of His love and care for me.  I believe He intends all things for my ultimate good….even when they may seem in the moment to be “bad.”

Two days ago, I read II Chronicles 16:9   For the eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him.

Now there is a wonderful promise.  God’s eyes are constantly scanning the earth purposefully looking for those who desire to serve Him and providing them with strength.  I have hope both now and for eternity and no reason to be miserable.  I may be tired, but I’m not miserable.

How many old ladies still have their favorite stuffed animal?

I wonder how many old ladies still have their favorite stuffed animal from their toddler years.  I still have my Scotty dog….he is an awful old mess, but I still have him.

When he was new, he was fuzzy and white.  Because he was a Scotty, he wore a plaid tam on his head.  I don’t remember if his collar was plaid or solid red.  Best of all, he had a music box that played “Oh, where, oh, where, has my little dog gone?” 

I had other stuffed animals, but Scotty was my favorite.  He was hugged and loved throughout my childhood.  After suffering that abuse, he held the place of honor on my bed each day throughout my teen years.  Eventually, the metal edge of his music box wore a hole in his side.  Since the music box no longer worked, I decided to take it out.  I carefully made the slit large enough to remove the box, stuffed the hole with cotton and sewed him back up.

Scotty went off to nursing school and college with me and always sat on my bed during the day.  I actually think I slept with him until I got married.  Our first bed had a bookcase headboard, and he sat there for years.

For some reason, I thought about him when I woke up this morning.  Where did I put him?  As soon as I rolled out, I went looking and remembered he was now on the bed in the guest room.

So here he is…..70 years old, no fuzz left, scarred from his music box surgery, hat long gone, but he still has both of his red button eyes.  

I’m chuckling over the thought of taking him with me to the nursing home someday.

My Favorite Holiday

One evening this past week, I was feeling lazy and uninspired at supper time, so my husband suggested we go to the sub shop in the neighborhood.  We had just settled into a booth with our subs, when a young couple passed on the way to their table.  I heard only a snatch of conversation which went something like this:

Guy:  My favorite holiday is Halloween.

Girl:  I like Christmas.

Guy:  Christmas sucks.  I like Halloween and you have to go along with me on that, because it’s my favorite.

I had a pang of sadness.  It didn’t spoil my appetite for the sub, but it did make me sad for a couple of reasons.

One….it sounded like she was supposed to participate in his excitement over Halloween, but he might not reciprocate at Christmas.

Two…he clearly doesn’t understand the significance of Christmas.  I guess the commercialization of Christmas “sucks.”  Maybe Santa was never good to him, and he never got what he wanted for Christmas as a kid.  Maybe he doesn’t like all the twinkling lights and good cheer, or maybe he’s been trampled in Walmart.

I, on the other hand, love Christmas and everything about it.  The idea that the eternal God stepped into time with a plan to redeem me is beyond my understanding.  I delight in every possible way to celebrate that.  I enjoy the decorations and the special foods.  I absolutely love buying gifts for my family.  I put a lot of time and effort into picking things I think they will enjoy.  If they want money, that’s OK.  I still give them homemade cookies too.  I eagerly anticipate getting cards…especially those with letters catching me up on the lives of friends I don’t see often.

AND

I love the music.  I am sad that I can’t sing anymore.  For decades one of my main joys at Christmas was to go caroling.  If there was no group going, I coerced a few family members and friends into going with me to sing to someone.  My heart was singing…..Oh, let’s be joyful and express it.  Jesus came!

Now as to Halloween, I know there are Christians who think it is evil and pagan and no Christian should celebrate it.  I have no problem with kids dressing up and having an excuse to get candy.  I still enjoy carving a pumpkin.

But, I am so sad for anyone whose heart isn’t just filled to overflowing at Christmas.  I don’t even mind the crowds in stores and all the hustle and bustle.  All I care about is that Jesus came.  If the angels were excited and joyful, I can be too.

No bah humbugs here.

Is There a Reason for Being?

I don’t typically read the column in Parade magazine written by Marilyn vos Savant.  I confess to feeling a bit put off by claims that she has the highest IQ ever recorded, or that, at least at one time, she did.  I don’t think knowing ones IQ is particularly helpful, or that IQ is a good measure of success in life.

In any event, I happened to read her column on May 29, 2016.  A man who made a point of being a Mensa member said that he and other members had been debating a certain question for years. 

“What is the reason we are here?”

I did like her response in this case.  She pointed out that whether there is a reason for ones existence is dependent on ones spiritual beliefs. 

“If you don’t believe in a god, the question contradicts your thinking.  Having a reason implies having a purpose, which indicates an intelligent being (or cognitive power), with intent.  That’s what people call a god.  So if you don’t believe a god exists, you can’t believe a reason exists.  You must settle for assuming we got here through some natural process, and that’s that.”

In other words, you are a purposeless accident.  Perhaps, you are a happy accident, but none-the-less, an accident.

It seems to me that anyone who is smart enough for Mensa should have figured this out himself/herself.  If this was a group discussion, it seems someone in the group should have happened on this viewpoint without writing to a “savant.”  I suspect that many intelligent people actually do know this, but don’t want to accept it. 

Answering this question has little to do with intelligence.  We would all like to believe that there is a reason for our existence.  If we don’t believe it, suicide seems to be an attractive option.  I remember struggling with this as a teenager and deciding that I could only find a purpose for being through my faith…..not through my intellect.

 But for many, faith is not an attractive option.  If there is a god, he might expect something of me.  He might have some claim on my life.  His reason for my existence might not line up with my plans, and I do want to have my own way.

I am convinced that most atheists don’t arrive at that belief by rational, logical decision.  They arrive at that point because the possibility of a god doesn’t line up well with their desire for self-determination.  Since the existence of a god cannot be proven or disproven logically, something else comes into play in determining whether or not one believes.  I think that something is our own desire to be in charge.

Personally, I have no desire to be in charge of my life.  I cannot know the future.  I cannot see where my decisions will lead me.  I would much prefer to trust my life to an all-knowing God.  He has a reason for my being here and knows how I fit into His plan.

To quote King Solomon, one of the most intelligent and wisest of men, whose IQ isn’t recorded for us:

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.  Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord and shun evil.  Proverb 3: 5-7

Entangled

Stirring in the night,

Our arms and legs entwined.

My leg between yours.

Yours over mine.

Entangled.

Thinking the others thoughts,

You say what I am thinking.

You laugh as I begin to speak,

Knowing what I will say.

Entangled.

You haven’t done the taxes,

I am upset and threaten,

“I will file on my own.”

The accountant says, “Not possible.”

Entangled.

Strange to see in our children,

Strands of our DNA combined,

Each looks and acts like you.

Each looks and acts like me.

Entangled.

What if one of the threads,

In the tapestry dies.

Loses the ability to interact,

Withers away or disengages?

Untangled.

What if the warp and woof,

No longer cross over.

Will the fabric fall apart?

Will one of us be left in strings?

Entangled with memories.

Home Alone!

The first time we left our kids alone to “babysit” themselves, they were about eleven, twelve and thirteen.  Nate was not born yet, so I’m talking about Janelle, Laura and Michelle.  I don’t remember where Bill and I went, but we decided the girls were old enough to manage a couple of hours without getting into too much trouble.  Hmmm……

We arrived home and everything seemed to be OK on the first floor of the house, although the girls did seem to be especially gleeful.  On going upstairs, we discovered that the hallway had been turned into a tangled spider web of yarn strung between door knobs and light fixtures.  

When we went into our room and flipped on the light switch music began blaring.  They had plugged a tape recorder with the volume turned way up into the outlet which normally had a lamp plugged into it.   I kept my cool through all of this.  The monkey business had kept them busy all evening, so they hadn’t gotten into any serious trouble.

When I went into the bathroom, I noticed that the fuzzy cover from the toilet seat was on the floor in the corner and was obviously wet.  “What happened here?” I inquired.

It seems the girls had decided that if they put up the lid over the toilet, and placed the fuzzy cover on the seat instead of the lid, I would come in and not realize this, and when I went to sit down, I would fall butt first into the toilet.  The problem was that after they set this all up, they decided that it would work best if the room was dark, so they needed to unscrew the light bulbs over the sink.  They couldn’t reach the bulbs, so Laura without thinking about what they had just done, decided to stand on the toilet seat....and fell in feet first.

I totally lost it at this point.  The mental picture of her falling in was more than I could handle, and I burst out laughing.  So much for maintaining any serious ability to tell them not to pull such a stunt again.

Later trying to crawl into bed and finding that they had “short-sheeted” it was pretty anti-climactic.  I just started laughing all over again about Laura finding herself standing in the toilet. 

I am actually smiling right now as I think about it three decades later.

Surreal Hallelujah Chorus

Last evening the sermon at our church included a reference to the Hallelujah Chorus, and the fact that it is traditional to stand when it is performed.  I never hear a reference made or stand during the performance of this inspiring piece without my mind going back to the one time, I did NOT stand.

Decades ago, a church in our community was hosting a college choir.  They were in need of overnight housing for the members of the choir, so I offered our home, even though we were not regular attenders at that church.

I was enjoying the concert which was coming to an end, when a man who knew me well tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Something is wrong with my mother.”

I turned around and about two rows behind me sat an elderly woman whose skin was ashen, her lips blue, and her forehead covered with drops of perspiration.  She was slumped in the seat.  She clearly was not breathing.

I jumped up and hurried to her.  I could immediately see that her dentures were covering her airway.  I dug them out of her mouth and handed them to someone….I don’t remember who.  People quickly moved to the side, and we swung her legs up and laid her out flat on the church pew.  I knelt on the floor, pulled her jaw forward, and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.  At some point in this process, the choir began to sing and the congregation stood.

There I was kneeling on the floor giving mouth-to-mouth during the Hallelujah Chorus.  My mind was trying to wrap itself around this surreal situation.

It did not take long for her to begin breathing on her own.  Someone had run out and called an ambulance.  I suppose the Hallelujah Chorus was planned as the finale, but the choir continued singing until the EMTs had removed her from the scene, and she was on her way to the hospital.

I later learned that she had run out of her heart medication and had not told her son.  She apparently experienced an episode of heartbeat that was sufficiently irregular that she lost consciousness.  When she did, her jaw relaxed and her dentures fell over her airway.  I have seen this same phenomenon on another occasion in a church situation and resuscitated that woman also.  But…that time, the Hallelujah Chorus was not being sung.

Pilate's Question

Jesus answered…..”I came into the world to testify to the truth.  Everyone on the side of truth listens to me.” 

“What is truth?” Pilate asked.  John 18:37-38

 What is truth?  Today while I was out walking, I was thinking about how relevant this question is 2000 years after Pilate asked it.  How does one tease the grain of truth out of the heap of lies with which we are confronted?  A confusing mix of fact and fiction assaults us on every possible level from international to personal.  A plethora of information is available to us and anyone can create and distribute it.  My son once told me with a smirk, “57% of statistics are made up on the spot.”

Flossing is an essential part of dental health…or….nope, we have discovered it doesn’t make a substantial difference.

Aluminum in deodorant causes cancer…oh, good grief, no it doesn’t.

Hillary’s use of an unsecured server has put our national secrets at risk and contributed to the execution of an Iranian nuclear scientist.  No…this is false.  She did nothing wrong.

Donald Trump….huh….where to begin?  He contradicts himself so often that no one can possibly tell which of his statements are true and which are false.

Someone on Facebook acts depressed and lots of “friends” immediately say, “Oh, don’t be sad.  You are a beautiful person inside and out.”  Even though it is quite possible that neither is true.

Justice Scalia was actually murdered at that ranch in Texas.  What?!  Do you believe those conspiracy theories?

Someone close to me makes a promise I know he/she won’t keep or tells me a whopper they think I will believe.

Someone explains or excuses some behavior, and I know they are lying to themselves.

What is truth?  Is it based in my reality or in someone else’s? 

Jesus was saying that He is the standard for truth.  I try to judge truth by what I read in the Bible, and I pray for discernment.  That is the only way I know of to “listen to Him.”  Sometimes, however, I do wish I could audibly hear Him.  “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, ‘This is the way, walk in it.’” Isaiah 30:21.  That, however, in context seems to be a promise for a future day.

So you and I are left in this confusing and imperfect world struggling each day to conduct our lives in keeping with the light we are given.

Send forth your light and your truth, let them guide me.  Psalm 43:3

How I will vote...

The presidential election is about 3 and ½ months away.  I read a survey result that 58% of voters don’t like either choice.  I am in that majority.  I don’t trust either Trump or Clinton to act in the best interests of the country.  I think they are both self-serving and dishonest.

At this point, I don’t think I can vote for either.  I know that voting for a third party candidate is viewed as throwing ones vote away.  However, living in upstate New York and usually voting Republican means that my vote normally doesn’t count anyway.

I believe that ultimately God controls human history and is moving us in the direction of Christ’s eventual coming to straighten out the mess we have made.  We may not like what happens on the short term.  It may seem “wrong,” but historically God has shown Himself capable of using some vile people to accomplish His long-range purposes.

The outcome of the election is not my responsibility.  It is God’s.  My job in the upcoming election is the same as my job every day, and that is to be faithful in doing what I believe He is calling me to do.  I don’t think I should be voting for either candidate in order that the other won’t win.  It is not my job to figure this out.  Human understanding can lead to strategies that backfire.

I am planning to vote my conscience and leave the result to God.

I may wake up the day after the election and be surprised at the results.  This will not happen to God.

If He does not want either of the current candidates, He has multiple ways to handle this without any human intervention.

Eventually God’s judgment falls on nations which turn their backs on Him.  It may be our turn to experience this.  Either Trump or Clinton could be the instrument by which this happens….or not.  I do not know God’s mind.

I will pray for Him to direct my mind today, on November 8, 2016, and every other day He gives me breath.

Thoughts on Perspective

Aging is like standing in an open elevator from which one can see farther and farther as the elevator rises, but the objects in view become smaller and smaller.  Details become less important and overall concept seems more relevant.

I have tried to imagine how different ones perspective would be as he looked at the earth, if he were as small as an atom versus being as large as a galaxy.  I believe God both permeates and encompasses everything.  His perspective is always perfect.

I am fascinated that one can be at the same coordinates in space, but if the time is different surroundings have a totally different appearance and impact…..a sunny summer day versus a snowy total white-out at the same point on a highway.

The same conversation or event can result in opposite opinions as to what happened depending on the prior experiences and inclinations brought to the occasion.  Since others aren’t privy to what is going on inside my mind, my words may be interpreted in a totally different context, and since I don’t know what is going on in their minds, I don’t know how they are interpreting my words.

We acknowledge 3 dimensions in space and one in time, but I suspect there are other dimensions to time, and I wonder if perspective itself is a dimension.

Is it possible during life, to begin seeing things from God’s perspective, an eternal perspective outside of time which sees detail and overall concept simultaneously?

I can’t really wrap my head around the concepts of infinity and eternity…..are they forever or only a blink in God’s eye?  I think the answer is “yes.”

I also think I had better just go have breakfast and accomplish something concrete today lest trying to stretch my brain to comprehend the incomprehensible sends me down the slippery slope and off the edge.

If All Lives Matter....

If all lives matter, we need to get rid of the total disrespect for life exhibited in video games, movies and television shows.

We can’t possibly get rid of all guns, kitchen knives, baseball bats, cars, bare hands and other objects capable of taking a life.  The problem is not the objects.  The problem is the attitude which trivializes life…unless you are the star of the show.  They will never kill off James Bond and probably not Jason Bourne.  We are shocked at the deaths of Han Solo and Will Gardner.

NCIS is one of my favorite shows, but it typically starts with a murder.  I was sad to see Person of Interest go, but when I reflect on that show, I can’t begin to count the number of individuals “offed” by John Reese and Sameen Shaw.  We are expected to be OK with this, because they are all bad.  In True Lies when Arnold Schwarzenegger’s character is asked, while under the influence of truth serum, if he has killed someone, his response is “Yes, but they were all bad.”  The bad guys die, and the grief of their family members is never shown.  The good guys die, and the grief is momentary, and the show goes on.  We don’t get to see the agony still present a year later.  (Exception:  Gibbs on NCIS will never get over the murder of his wife and child.  It is part of his character.)

I have never played a violent video game, but I understand they exist.  I do know that in video games it is possible to earn points that get one an additional life.  Seriously?  An additional life does NOT happen in reality.  What are we allowing children and young minds still in their formative stages to learn?

I guess you might tell me that we can’t change violence in entertainment either.  We have “free speech” which unfortunately protects hate speech and violent images.  Our society apparently has a lust for such, and the entertainment industry is just giving us what we want.

So, we all clamor into the arena and cheer for the gladiators to be eaten by wild beasts or to kill each other.  That attitude did not bode well for the Roman Empire.  What makes us think we will fare any better?

The basic nature of man has not changed or improved since Cain killed his brother Abel.  We are NOT evolving into a more enlightened species.  We have just become more sophisticated and technologically advanced in the way that we kill.

New Short Story

If you are interested, I have just put another short story on my other blog.  Click on the Short Stories link above right or go to ruthchapin.com

I Love/Hate My Fitbit

I have been wearing a Fitbit since April 16^th, and I am happy to report that I have lost 5 pounds.  That may not seem like much, but I have had a creeping weight gain going on for about 13 years….just two pounds a year, but that has added up.  In April, I decided this had to stop, because some of my clothes were getting tight.  I figured a Fitbit was less expensive than buying a closet full of new clothes.

I have tried to lose just a little bit gradually during the past 13 years.  I tried cutting out chips with my lunch, eating only half a sandwich, not having a morning cappuccino, eliminating ice cream at bedtime.  No luck.  The two pounds a year just kept coming.  Every time I took a few calories out of my diet, they snuck in someplace else.

I like the Fitbit, because it keeps track of the energy I have expended and tells me how many more calories I can consume and stay within my weight-loss budget.  When I set up the account, I told it I wanted to lose 15 pounds and that ½ pound per week was an acceptable rate.  Fifteen pounds won’t get me back to my 25 year-old weight or even my 45 year-old weight, but it will be a quite agreeable weight for a 71 year-old.  Supposedly an old lady like me has a higher risk of osteoporosis if she weighs under 126, so I have no plans to get too close to that.  I have also noticed that senior ladies sometimes get to a point where they just seem to shrivel up and look frail.  I figure that a little padding might be a good idea before I get to that slippery slope.

So, my Fitbit reminds me if I am over, under or in range of my intake goal as compared to my output.  If I am under my calorie budget in the evening, I have a low calorie bedtime snack.  If I am over my budget, I go for an evening walk.

However, sometimes my Fitbit makes me downright angry.  For example, I got my husband a top-of-the-line Fitbit, because he is a runner.  It tells him how many stairs he has climbed each day and seems to do a better job of taking note of his physical exertion.  My Fitbit is a pretty basic one.  It has no clue that I have spent an hour and a half vacuuming, 2 hours raking, 2 hours digging in the garden or most of the day washing windows.  It doesn’t even give me any “active minutes” for these exhausting, perspiration-inducing activities.  Apparently, it doesn’t count steps if one has their arms up pushing a grocery cart.  This hardly seems fair.

Sooooooooo…..when I worked all day washing windows, vacuuming the screens and was up and down the ladder doing all this, I got even.  I had a lovely crème de menthe soft ice cream cone in the evening, and I didn’t tell it!

Men from Issachar

After King Saul, Israel’s first king, was killed in battle, David was the choice of the people to succeed him.  Representatives from all of the tribes of Israel traveled to Hebron, where David was camped, to assure him of their loyalty and to support him.

In I Chronicles 12, a list is given of each tribe and the number of men who assembled to become part of David’s fighting force.  The specials skills of each group are listed…..whether they were adept with spear or sword or all types of weaponry.

In the middle of the list, 200 chiefs from Issachar are numbered among those who assembled.  “….men who understood the times and knew what Israel should do.”   David’s force included 200 wise strategists. 

Just what we as a nation need!

There are probably 200 men in our country who do “understand the times” and who know “what we should do,” but I’m afraid they aren’t the “chiefs.”  We probably don’t have that many in Congress or in governorships about whom this could be said.  If we have such men, they are apparently not in positions of power, and we aren’t listening to them.

I had hoped that one such person would emerge in the current election.  If we had such a man or woman as president and 199 others in congress, our country and perhaps our world would be changed for the better.

Oh…for a man or woman who understands the times and knows what to do!

The Clouds by Aristophanes

Strepsiades is an older man from a rural background who “married up” to a woman with higher class notions.  Together they had a son (Pheidippides) who is more interested in horses and racing than in working the farm.  Strepsiades has gotten himself into significant debt which he blames on his son’s spending habits.  He would like his son to be gainfully employed, but it doesn’t appear that is going to happen.  So, instead of his son going to school with Socrates, he goes himself.  His intent is to learn how to use speech to talk his way out of his legitimate debts.  He tells Socrates “a galloping consumption seized my money.  Come now; do let me learn the unjust Logic that can shirk debts.”

Socrates is presented as a double-talking charlatan.   Through the use of twisted logic and changing the subject, he convinces Strepsiades of the error of a number of beliefs commonly held.  Among these is the notion that there are gods.  Specifically, he says that Zeus doesn’t exist, and that it is actually the Clouds which control man’s destiny.  When Strepsiades inquires as to how the clouds cause thunder, Socrates’ answer is to liken it to the rumblings of ones stomach after consuming something that doesn’t agree with him.  He makes reference to flatulence as the explanation for multiple things.  (i.e. he uses bathroom humor)

Socrates eventually pronounces Strepsiades too stupid to learn, and Strepsiades convinces his son to enter the school.  At this point, “Right Logic” and “Wrong Logic” enter in to a debate in front of Pheidippides.  Right Logic advocates the “old ways” of truth and justice and manly behavior.  Wrong Logic pokes fun at this and advocates dishonesty and promiscuity.  Wrong Logic ends up winning the argument and so Pheidippides accepts it.

The problem with this is that it backfires on Strepsiades.  Pheidippides starts beating him because Wrong Logic once employed makes it perfectly acceptable for a son to beat his father and his mother. 

Strepsiades then sets the house of Socrates on fire.  Socrates yells that he is suffocating.  Strepsiades again claims to believe in the gods.  The Clouds, for their part, are pleased with the outcome saying, “We find a man on evil thoughts intent, and guide him along to shame and wrong, then leave him to repent.”

I wonder how his contemporaries reacted to Aristophanes’ plays.  I suspect they found them wickedly funny, although from my perspective he makes quite a bit of humor from bodily functions.

                e.g.  Strepsiades trying to convince Pheidippides how carefully he tended him as a child:  “And you could hardly say “cacca!” when through the door I flew and held you out a full arms’ length, your little needs to do.”

The play drips with sarcasm and irony, and Aristophanes clearly didn’t think much of philosophers in general and Socrates in particular.

Hezekiah's Plea

I have been reading the books of I and II Kings recently.  There are many fascinating stories of these ancient rulers of Israel and Judah.  None of the kings of Israel between Solomon and the time of Israel going into captivity in Assyria are recorded as being wholehearted followers of God and obedient to His commands.  Judah, however, did have several kings who attempted to live righteously and destroyed idols and the places in which they were worshipped.  Among the “good guys” was Hezekiah.

Hezekiah reigned for almost thirty years beginning when he was twenty-five.  Although his father Ahaz had not followed God, Hezekiah did.  “There was no one like him among all the kings of Judah, either before him or after him.  He held fast to the Lord and did not cease to follow him; he kept the commands the Lord had given Moses.” (II Kings 18:5-6).  God consistently blessed him, including an occasion when Sennacherib, the king of Assyria, besieged Jerusalem with over 185,000 soldiers.  Hezekiah pleaded for God’s protection and was delivered when God sent an angel at night and put 185,000 Assyrian soldiers to death.  Sennacherib broke camp and went back to Nineveh, the capital of Assyria.  There he was assassinated by two of his sons.

Shortly after this, Hezekiah became deathly ill.  He apparently had a boil and the infection was spreading.  We sometimes forget that antibiotics to fight such things were not even discovered until the 1920s.  For the millennia preceding our time, such infections were often a death sentence.  Hezekiah inquired of the prophet Isaiah as to whether he would live or die.  The Lord gave Isaiah the message that Hezekiah should put his affairs in order, because he would not recover.  Hezekiah turned his face to the wall and wept bitterly.  He pleaded for his life, asking the Lord to remember that he had been faithful and wholeheartedly devote to God.

Isaiah had not yet left the palace when God told him to go back and give Hezekiah the word that He would not die and that God would give him 15 more years.

Now comes the part that fascinates me.  When Hezekiah did die after those 15 years, it was his 12 year old son Manasseh who became king.  That means that Manasseh was born in the time period God granted Hezekiah, because he begged for additional life.  Manasseh is recorded as one of the most wicked kings of Judah.   The places of idol worship which had been destroyed by Hezekiah were rebuilt at Manasseh’s direction.  He worshipped multiple false gods.  He even sacrificed his own son to Baal.   “Manasseh also shed so much innocent blood that he filled Jerusalem from end to end…” (II Kings 21:16)

Through His prophets, God pronounced severe judgment on Judah, because of the sin of Manasseh and the fact that the people followed him in this sin.  “I am going to bring such disaster on Jerusalem and Judah that the ears of everyone who hears of it will tingle….I will wipe out Jerusalem as one wipes a dish, wiping it and turning it upside down.” (II Kings 21:1213)   Eventually, this did happen as the people of Judah went into captivity in Babylon.

I can’t help but wonder how the situation would have played out if Hezekiah had died when first predicted and Manasseh had never been born.  I don’t understand how God’s sovereignty and our prayers combine together to bring about God’s purposes in human history.  But, this story does give me pause.  If I am ever given the diagnosis that I am terminally ill, I’m thinking I won’t plead for my life.  I’m hoping I won’t weep bitterly and try to remind God of all the “good” I’ve done.  The most perfect person who ever lived said, “…not my will, but yours be done.” (Luke 22:42)