What is the Speed of Time?

The first 20 years of life crept along.  Before my memory, I am told my ambition was to be as tall as the handle on the refrigerator door.  Ever so slowly, I grew and attained that height. 

I do remember that I thought the day would never come when I could read well enough to read the Sunday comics to myself and not rely on my somewhat crazy uncles on Sunday afternoons at Grandma’s house.  One could never be sure they weren’t editing as they read.

I wanted time to stop so that I didn’t have to walk across the stage in front of all those people to graduate from sixth grade.  I could feel it coming ever so slowly but surely.  It turns out, that I could live through that intimidation.

The pain of mid-teens seemed never-ending.  I believed that to be the Dark Ages of my life.  Who am I?  What am I supposed to be doing with my life that stretches out in front of me?  How will I find purpose and meaning?  But eventually, I emerged with hope for the time ahead, because of my faith in a loving God.

I don’t know if the six years I spent getting my education after high school crept or sped.  In retrospect, they are the blink of an eye, but at the time, they were packed full of life-defining experiences.  I remember times when I counted down the hours left in my shift caring for some extremely ill and difficult patient.  I knew that if I could reach the end of my eight hours, the impossible situation was someone else’s responsibility.  Agony and ecstasy shaped me and formed life-long bonds with friends as we suffered or rejoiced together.

I walked down the aisle with my Dad and back up it with my husband over 50 years ago.  On that day, the notion of 50 years together was exciting but not really possible to comprehend.  We were pledging to grow old together, but so much life was ahead before we reached old age.

Ha!  Fifty years!  Is that a long time or is that the blink of an eye?  Looking back, I can barely wrap my head around all the things we have experienced together….wonderful times, horrible times, mundane times. 

Today is the last day of 2019.  I am 74.  Do I have 20 more years?  If so, will they edge forward at a snail’s pace or shoot past like an accelerating locomotive?  Twenty years seems like a long, long time when one is a child.  Now, twenty years seems like nothing…a wisp of smoke.  Here I am asking some of the same questions as in my mid-teens.  Who am I now? What am I supposed to be doing?  This time, however, it doesn’t feel like the Dark Ages of my life.  I have lived through all those strange and sometimes frightening eras.  I have learned that God has been faithful, and I believe that will continue…whether I have 20 years left or 20 months or 20 days or 20 minutes.  I know sometimes life will pass slowly and sometimes rapidly, but I know it only goes in one direction for mortal man.  I am OK with that!

Welcome, 2020.

The Ever-Rolling Stream

The hymn Our God, Our Help by Isaac Watts includes the words “Time like an ever-rolling stream, bears all its sons away.”  When one lives in a retirement community with 2500 residents, the ever-rolling stream becomes very obvious.  It is a rare day when we don’t see both an ambulance and a moving van.

Ambulances arrive lights flashing, as people fall or have medical events.  A man in front of us at the Christmas Eve service became ill and was helped out and into a waiting ambulance.  In the past ten days, a resident of our building had a fall resulting in broken bones and a brief hospitalization for surgery. 

As the inevitable deterioration occurs, residents move to an increased level of care…assisted living or skilled nursing.  Their independent living apartment becomes empty.  Walking to the pool each day, I always see some apartment being renovated for the next occupant.  Soon a moving van arrives and another person or couple jumps into the same stream we are traveling.  The pictures of new residents in our building are posted in our elevator with an encouragement to welcome them.

None of us knows how long we will be floating in the stream before we plunge over a waterfall.  Change can happen abruptly.  This morning, as my husband got out of bed, he had a cramp in his leg and tumbled to the floor.  He wasn’t hurt, but the sound of the splat awakened me with a momentary panic that he might be.  I have the recurring thought that everything can change in an instant.

For others, change creeps up gradually as their memory of past events disappears.  I watch with admiration and gratitude as I see a spouse compensating for their partner’s decline, filling in the blanks for the one they love.  The stream flows on and hits inescapable whirlpools of memories lost or swirling in never-ending loops.

I suppose this could be a depressing place, but for most here that does not seem to be the case.  The healthy engage in activities of every type.  Sometimes they join an activity that has been of life-long interest, but it isn’t unusual to see folks take up something new with enthusiasm.  Those relegated to the sidelines cheer participants on. 

Because many here believe that this world is only our temporary home, they look forward to the end of life with joyful anticipation.  I don’t know how old Isaac Watts was when he penned the words, but the last stanza of his poem looks forward.

O God, our Help in ages past, our Hope for years to come,

Be Thou our Guide while life shall last, and our eternal home.

At the end of the stream is an eternal home.  There may be cataracts, whirlpools and rapids between us and that home, but as we trust Christ as Savior, we are filled with hope for what awaits.

Don't Celebrate in Ignorance

Christmas comes, and we fill the world with lights.  They sparkle and twinkle on trees, but also on bushes and fences and the eaves of homes everywhere.  People gather outside of hospitals with lights to let the children inside know they are not forgotten.

Joyful music rings.   Some radio stations play Christmas music non-stop.  The songs may be ridiculous like Grandma getting run over by reindeer, but interspersed is that which is uplifting.  Flash mobs delight mall shoppers with soaring harmony, and carolers bring joy to shut-ins even if the singing is off key.

The kitchen is filled with delightful aromas.  Cookies in all shapes and flavors fill special plates.  Meats are roasted.  Popcorn is strung.  Fudge melts in the mouth.  Many families celebrate with unique foods fixed only at this time of year.

We give gifts.  Children are up at 4 AM because anticipation is so great, that they just can’t sleep.  Young lovers exchange presents with special significance to them.  Old lovers may have stopped giving gifts, because as the years pass, nothing is as meaningful as having each other.

Nearly everyone participates in the Christmas festivities, but many do so in ignorance.  The lights, the music, the food and the gifts…we would have none of these with Christ.  They are but symbols of the reality that not everyone can see.  Without His coming, all the trappings of Christmas are hollow.

Christmas is celebrated because…

            Christ is the light of the world.

            His birth was announced with angelic song.

            He is the bread of life.

            He is the greatest of gifts!

Don’t celebrate in ignorance.

Unholy Night

Chaotic night, unholy night,

Darkness snuffs out every light,

Painful cries from mother and child,

Evil rules rampant and wild,

We long for conflict to cease,

In agony, we cry for peace.

Chaotic night, unholy night,

All earth quakes at the sight,

Profanity streams around us each day,

Each man follows his own sinful way,

The fabric of life has been torn.

Man perishes naked, forlorn.

Chaotic night, unholy night,

Banished by His radiant light,

By His death redeeming man,

God reveals His merciful plan.

Salvation comes to earth,

Through the Christ child’s birth.

Silent night, Holy night,

Humble child, display your might,

You can make the crooked straight,

With great longing we await,

From our heart’s depths we sing,

Come take your place as our King,

Dad's Haircut

My father was a very stubborn man.  After my mother passed away, there was no one to stop him from carrying out some of his more bizarre plans.  For example, shortly after her death, he shortened all his slacks to the point where they looked like he was preparing for high water.  I didn’t know about it until after the deed was done, and he told me, “I don’t know why Mom wanted me to wear my pants so long.”  Actually, it was because her fashion sense was better than his, but I couldn’t really tell him that.

Another quirk which emerged was that he began to cut his own hair.  He couldn’t see what he was doing and was old enough that holding his arms up to accomplish the feat was a problem, but he did it anyway.  This resulted in some dreadful haircuts.

A few months after Mom’s passing, he moved in with us, and I started to feel responsible for his appearance.  So, one day when I was going out to do errands, I offered to take him to a barber shop.

“No,” he did not want to do that.

I tried to tell him that his haircut was sub par, but he wouldn’t listen.

I then said, “You know, Dad, Mom is probably upset with me for not taking better care of you.”

Harrumph

“When I see Mom in heaven someday, she is going to say, ‘Why didn’t you take better care of my Fritzy?  Why did you let him run around like that?’”

Grumpy face reply:  “No, she won’t.”

Me:  “Yes she will.”

At this point in time, my Dad’s brother Roy was also cutting his own hair with similar results, so my next attempt was:  “You know, this is not a contest between you and Uncle Roy to see who can have the worst haircut.”

No response.

I sighed and thought.

“Please let me take you to the barbershop.”

He just slumped in his chair and stared at the floor.  I had seen him use this technique on high pressure salesmen.

So, I pulled out all the stops.  “Okay, Dad.  But when you die, I’m going to have the undertaker give you a nice cut, so you’ll look good in your coffin.”

He retreated to his room.

A short time later, I walked through the kitchen to leave via the back door.  Dad was sitting at the table with his jacket on.

“Are you coming with me, Dad?”

“Yes, you can drop me at the barber shop.”

He got a nice cut that day, but it’s not the end of the story.

Several years later, it was no longer safe for him to be alone while I was at work.  We moved him into a nursing home.  He died only six days later, but in those six days, he had discovered that he could get a free haircut at the nursing home.

So….there he was in the coffin with a brush cut.

As people came to the calling hours, some said, “Gee, I’ve never seen him with his hair that short!”

I shrugged and replied, “You know Dad….the cuts at the nursing home were free.”

I guess in the end, he got even with me.  The undertaker couldn’t give him the nice cut I had planned on, and the rascal also died on my anniversary.

What's in a Name?

Bill had some items he needed to take to a dry cleaners today.  I searched online, since we are new to this area.  One of the closest seemed to be a business called “60 Minute Cleaners.”  Now just what would you think if you saw that name?  I suggested that he question them as to whether the items would really be done in 60 minutes.  We had other errands to run, and I was picturing that we could stop back in an hour.  When he returned to the car, he informed me that “60 Minute” is just their name and has nothing to do with how long it takes.

This reminds me of a used car dealership in northern New York that was named “Florida Cars.”  I questioned whether the cars actually came from Florida…that would, of course, mean minimal rust.  Well, if you think these were cars that have not been exposed to freezing temperatures and road salt, think again.  “Florida Cars” was just a name that had nothing to do with origin.

I wonder if Friendly’s is always friendly.

I wonder if every Bible church adheres to the Bible.

I wonder how many newspapers are full of opinions rather than news.

Shakespeare said, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

I suppose an onion by any other name would make you cry.

Thankfully, when the Bible says, “He will be called Immanuel, which means God with us,” truth was spoken.  His name describes him perfectly.  Jesus Christ was God incarnated in human form.  There is no deception in the name Immanuel.

Wanting to be Wrong

I hope I’m wrong, but I think he was buying what she was selling…and vice versa.

As I waited for our baggage to appear on the carousel, I couldn’t help but notice a couple standing nearby.  She was holding a bouquet of red roses.  My guess was that they were presented to her by the man who was holding her hand.  I assumed that he had just greeted her with the roses as she had flown in from somewhere to see him, and that they were waiting for her baggage.

Because of his tan, I guessed him to be the Florida resident.  He was not an unattractive man, but he was an older man expensively dressed and with dyed hair in an attempt to look younger, I guessed.  He looked financially well off and confident.

She was young…very young compared to him.  I would have thought she was a daughter but for the constant hand-holding and repeated kisses on her cheek.  She was accepting of the affection, but not reciprocating.  She had pretty features and bleached blond hair…not natural…I could see the roots in her part.  Her very slender figure was accented with skin-tight black pants that had a bit of fringe around the ankles.  She was wearing very, very high heeled black and silver shoes.  I did not see her move during the time we were close, so I could only guess that she could probably walk in them.

Through my mind drifted thoughts like:

*I wonder if he threw away a perfectly good age-appropriate wife for this trophy.

*I wonder how many Viagra he will have to pop in order to keep up with her.

*She doesn’t look scared, so I guess it is consensual.

*I wonder how long they have known each other and under what circumstances they met.  Have they met before?  Is she seeing him in person for the first time?

*What is she thinking?

*I’m pretty sure I know what he’s thinking.

*Hey, Ruth….it’s none of your business.

*Ah, but it breaks my heart.

Here are two people thinking they are each going to satisfy their own needs.  They don’t understand what their needs actually are.  Their understanding of the other person’s needs is very superficial, or perhaps, even irrelevant to them.

I eventually moved from standing behind them to standing in front of them so I wouldn’t have to keep looking and wondering.  Except that out of sight was not out of mind.  I have thought of them repeatedly over the past couple of days.  I think of them with great sadness for the emptiness they are each trying to fill.

Sometimes I really wish I was wrong in my assumptions.

Lost Music

Nothing to which it can be compared,

No adequate words to portray,

With reckless abandon I jump into the stream,

Let the current sweep me away.

While the vibrations penetrate my body,

My heart syncing with the beat,

I drift on a tide of melody.

And thrill to the harmony’s heat.

But robbed by tremor and age,

Expression is trapped inside.

Instead of bursting from heart into song,

It leaks in drops from my eyes.

A Cure for Cancer?

Over recent months, I have seen more than one meme that sends the message that cancer would be cured, rather than treated, if only medical personnel and pharmaceutical firms weren’t so greedy.  Supposedly, they make more money by treating it than by curing it.

I am not directing this post at anyone in particular, because I have seen this message multiple times from multiple Facebook friends.  But, I have reached the point of not being able to tolerate this any longer.

If you think cancer is going to be cured by a magical one-size-fits-all treatment, you are very probably mistaken.  Cancer isn’t just one disease.  It is a large complex of diseases which do have some common factors, but which are also greatly varied as to causes and manifestations.  Probably the factor most in common is that they all involve a mistake being made during cell division.  The cells in our bodies are constantly dividing as we grow when we are young, and to replace worn or injured cells thereafter.  Considering all the millions and billions of times cell division occurs, it is quite miraculous that it happens correctly so much of the time.  I am not a cancer researcher, so I don’t know if the error always occurs at the same step in cell division or if that varies, but it seems to me that identifying a common point of error and finding a treatment that attacks just that point without doing harm to other cells that are dividing properly would be very, very tricky.

Non-medical people tend to think of the body as a machine where everything is understood, and a medication can be given to solve any problem.  We just need to look in the manual under troubleshooting.   Anyone in the field knows that there is an awful lot we don’t know.  Medications work differently in different people.  There are things the body has to do for itself.   Doctors do what they can and then stand back and watch what the body does.  Some doctors project a god-like demeanor, as if they can solve all problems, but that is just an act.  No one has all the answers.

More than 10 years ago, I was invited to attend a state-wide meeting convened by a man who had political connections, but no medical background as far as I could tell.  The purpose of gathering hundreds of people concerned with cancer prevention, detection and treatment was to come up with a plan to “cure cancer” in the next 5 years.  On the way there as I traveled with a group from our area, we discussed the purpose of the meeting.  I made the comment, “Who is going to tell this guy that he can’t cure cancer in the next 5 years!”  The driver said, “Oh, Ruth…that is why we brought you!”  Everyone in the car laughed.

Cancer is, of course, no laughing matter.  I am quite certain it is no laughing matter to the doctors and pharmaceutical executives who have had to watch their own parents, spouses or children die of cancer.  I am sure there are greedy individuals among them.  But, I am just as sure that there are those who would give everything they possess and their own lives to see a cure for those they love.  You do them an injustice when you flippantly accuse them of promoting a treatment rather than a cure.

The notion that there is a cure out there and it is being suppressed is also dangerous.  It allows charlatans to say they have the cure and are being silenced.  I have seen claims like that on the internet, including on Facebook.  People then buy into this and seek treatment through alternative means.  Later, when it is too late for conventional treatments to work, they get around to traditional medicine.  It is the con-artists promoting these types of treatments who are actually the ones interested in making big bucks.

Responsibility for the prevalence of cancer must also be borne by the individuals who end up with a cancer diagnosis.  In many cases, we would not need a “cure” if people were willing to make the lifestyle changes necessary to prevent it.  I am NOT saying that all cancer could be avoided with behavioral changes, but many cancers are influenced by cigarette smoking, alcohol consumption, poor diet, and having multiple sexual partners.  You can hardly live the way you want without restraint, and then present yourself to a doctor and say, “Cure me!”  Childhood cancers are, however, a terrible tragedy for which the child bears no fault.

If this were just a matter of money, we should also consider that there are and have been people with huge fortunes who have died of cancer, and who would have gladly paid for a cure if there was one.  Steve Jobs and Patrick Swayze both died of pancreatic cancer.  I can’t imagine that they wouldn’t have been willing to pay dearly for a cure.  Alex Trebek is currently fighting pancreatic cancer.  He has accepted that his life is nearing its end, and says he is not afraid of death, but he has also said, he would like more time with his wife.  What would he pay for that?

If some researcher had the cure, do you think he would remain quiet?  Would the university or pharmaceutical firm at which he works not be broadcasting the achievement?

A cure would be worth a king’s ransom…and probably a Nobel prize!

It would also heal many broken hearts.

Until there is a cure, let us encourage those who are being treated, and let us be grateful for those who treat them.

Does God Owe Us an Explanation?

While riding on the autotrain between Virginia and Florida, I picked up a magazine called “The National” which was in our compartment.  In it there was an interview with Robert DeNiro.  When the interviewer asked him if he believed in an afterlife, his response was, “If there is a god, he’s got a lot of explaining to do.”

Wow!  How arrogant and ignorant!

I suppose if there was such a thing as a “god” who was contrived by man’s imagination, and who had powers and an intellect somewhat superior to man, but not infinitely greater, one could expect an explanation for the imponderables of our lives and the universe.

But

If there is an Almighty God (upper case G), who is the creator and sustainer of the universe and everything in it, if He sees every sparrow fall, and numbers the hairs on our heads, He does not owe any human being an explanation.  If He chooses to give us one, He must have to dumb it down greatly.  Both His knowledge and His wisdom are vastly superior to that of the most intelligent person on earth.  The created cannot be greater than the Creator.

My son works in a highly technical field.  Once in a phone conversation, he talked excitedly about a project on which he was working.  I struggled to keep up.  I thought to myself, “I wish I understood this well enough to even ask an intelligent question.”  But my grasp of the topic wasn’t adequate for even that. 

After several minutes, he paused and said, “I’m probably boring you.”

I replied, “You are my son, and I love you, and I am so happy that you enjoy your work, but I wish I understood it better.”

His response?  “Oh, Mom…don’t feel bad.  There are only 3 or 4 other people in the world who understand what I have been talking about.”

Now, I am sure there are more than 3 or 4 who have the necessary intellect to understand it, but apparently only that number who have been sufficiently exposed to the topic to immediately connect and be able to discuss intelligently.  I was definitely not one of them.

God has a mind so vastly superior to ours and exposure to such an infinite variety of information, that even if He were to try to give us answers to our burning questions, we might find ourselves struggling as I did to even get a toe hold on the topic.

Certainly, there are horrible events occurring in the world, and we want to shout, “Why?  How can you let this happen, God?”  But the world is full of people who don’t want to follow God’s plan.  We don’t understand why He allows them to harm innocents.  But, we do not see the big picture.  We do not see into eternity past or future.  I rest in His infinitely superior knowledge and wisdom.  He is the potter.  We are the clay.  The clay doesn’t get to choose what the potter does with it.

When I see God face to face, I will not be shaking my fist at Him and demanding an explanation.  I will be on my knees thanking Him for being merciful and providing a means for my salvation.  Who among us would have thought of sacrificing our only Son to redeem humankind?  That is the unbelievably superior mind and tender heart of God.

Adam's Rib

From the dust of the earth

I could have formed her,

As you yourself were made.

But as you slept, I pulled her from your side.

I could have made her

Just like you in texture and form,

But I made her unique,

Unlike you, and yet of you.

You were made of the dirt,

She was artistically fashioned

From living flesh, from sturdy bone,

To be your perfect companion.

If you disrespect or mistreat her,

You dishonor yourself.

You must cherish her, care for her.

 She is my thoughtful gift to you.

When I say, “Cleave and become one flesh,”

I am urging you to be

What you already have been

Since the beginning of time.

Your rib protects your heart,

And so will she formed from a rib.

The union of man and woman,

Is a thing beyond human understanding.

Witness to History

It seems that as a white evangelical, I am being encouraged to blindly support President Trump, which I cannot.  On the other hand, because I have in the past encouraged that the left back off from criticizing absolutely everything he does, I have been accused of being a Trump supporter.

If one were to bother to look at a blog I wrote during the lead-up to the 2016 election, it would be clear that I did not want Trump as president, but that I feared we might get what we “deserved” as a nation rather than what we “needed.”  That is what happened.  The choice between Trump and Hillary was an impossible one to make.  They have both shown themselves to have a problem with truth, although Trump certainly has less finesse in twisting the facts and does it with alarming egotism.

I understand why white evangelicals have supported Trump.  He has dangled conservative values in front of us.  He has not, however, lived conservative values himself.  He is playing a game and may abruptly betray those values.  How do you trust someone who distorts the truth, tosses wives aside, and is incessantly boastful?

I have, however, also been disturbed by the left picking at every little thing he has done.  Some of the criticisms are just plain illogical.  I am perfectly fine with a valid criticism, but everything he has done has not been wrong, and everyone he has appointed is not an incompetent idiot.  When you criticize everything, you lose the ability to level a valid criticism.  You have cried “wolf” so many times, that no one can tell when it’s for real.  So, to impeach or not?  Whose version of the events are we to believe?  Is this just another in the list of ways that liberals and progressives have tried to find an excuse to oust Trump, or can someone actually document his misdeeds?  Which media outlet are we to believe? 

Now he is abruptly pulling out of Mideast conflicts.  Whether he approves of Turkey’s invasion of Syria or is simply looking the other way, I don’t know.  Abandonment of the Kurds is nauseating.  BUT…it does seem to be a step in the fulfillment of prophecy regarding what will happen as the world’s clock ticks down to midnight, and the rightful KING returns.  An alliance between Turkey and Russia will happen.  Invasion of Israel will happen. 

Trump thinks he is a “stable genius” with “great and unmatched wisdom.”  He is actually a pawn in the hand of God to bring about God’s plan to draw the world to its predicted close.  The majority of people won’t believe this.  Trump certainly doesn’t.  But, God is sovereign in the affairs of men even when that is not obvious to us.  It won’t be the first time God has used someone who is amoral, maybe even mentally unbalanced, to bring about His purposes.

We are witnesses to an amazing time in human history, but instead of standing in awe, most of us are more concerned with who will win the current Survivor, and whether Ziva and Tony will reunite.

Come, Lord Jesus!

The Decimal Point

In the present era in the medical field, it is rare for a nurse to have to actually calculate how much medication to give to a patient, but that was not the case 50 years ago.  Medications now come from the pharmacy packaged individually in correct dosages.  Sometimes syringes are even prepared with the correct amount of a medication solution to be injected.

In the mid-60s, I was a recently graduated registered nurse and was working my way through college with a part-time job on weekends.  I worked nights at the hospital from which I had graduated, and I “floated” which meant I got sent wherever they were short-staffed, and often where the action was.  One night I was assigned to a medical floor, and one of my patients had an out of control blood pressure.  I was to give her an injection of a medication to lower her blood pressure.  The amount the doctor had prescribed did not match easily with the strength of the solution sent from the pharmacy, and I had to calculate the volume to be injected.  I did this in the medication room, took it to the patient’s room and gave the injection.

The elderly woman was mostly unresponsive as it was, but a few minutes later, she died.  This resulted in a flurry of activity, including the fact that her two sisters, also elderly, were informed and arrived.  They began wailing as soon as they got off the elevator and cried out loudly all the way down the hall to her room.  We ran around hastily closing doors to minimize upset to the other patients.  The sisters threw themselves over her body sobbing, “She’s still warm.”

At some point during this chaos, I had the thought, “What if I miscalculated, and I caused her death?  What if I gave 10 times too much?”  As soon as I was able to do so, I hurried back to the medication room and checked my calculations.  I satisfied myself that I had given the correct amount and put it out of my mind.  I doubt I would remember it now, except for something that happened a couple of weeks later.

I majored in chemistry in college, and a few weeks later a homework assignment was returned to me.  One of my answers was incorrect, because I had misplaced a decimal point.  The professor, knowing I was an RN, had written on the paper, “A mistake like this could kill someone, nurse.”  A wave of nausea and self-doubt washed over me.  “What if when I had recalculated, I had made the same mistake again?”  By that time, there was no way to go back and check a third time.

So more than 50 years later, it still plagues me now and then.  In the past year, I had a conversation with another RN from my era.  She knows that she made a medication error that did result in someone’s death.  She said, “You do thousands of things right, but the thing you can’t forget is that one mistake.”  I will never know for sure if I made a mistake, but I still can’t shake it.

I guess that’s what happens when you care.

Worthy of Her Notice

For weeks I have been walking by her, frequently greeting her.  She has shown no signs of even acknowledging my presence.  Today she became a pest!

When we sold our house and moved into an apartment near downtown, I established the habit of swimming in the Family Y lap pool three or four times a week.  Walking to the Y avoids the problem of finding a parking space.  It is only about a block away, if I cut through the city parking lot which is behind our complex and then through the historical society property.  A very pleasant walkway lies along the north side of the historical society building with an adjacent garden, interesting trees, and park benches.  In addition to the main museum, there are a number of out buildings.  One of these is marked “Private Residence.”  I am sure one or more humans live there, but it clearly belongs to a gray and white cat.  Perhaps the whole historical museum property belongs to her and even the nearby bank parking lot.

Often when I pass, kitty is lounging on the porch.  Whether or not she is asleep, she never acknowledges me, even if I say “Hello.”  Sometimes she is sleeping in the middle of the black-topped walkway having found a warm sunny spot.   She never moves, so she forces me to walk around her.

This morning as I passed, she was off the porch sharpening her claws on a rock.  I did not take that as a good omen.  But, she trotted after me, and then began weaving back and forth in front of me.  I altered my course repeatedly to avoid tripping over her.  I finally spoke to her and scratched her behind the ears.  Only then did she stroll off and stop entangling herself in my feet.

The queen has deigned to recognize me walking through her kingdom.

The Miracle of Life

Still in wonder here I stand,

Awestruck by your mighty hand,

Working with such craft and art,

True expression of your heart.

Intricate is your design,

Beauty I cannot define,

Each part meshing with the whole,

Linking mind, body, soul.

The miracle of conscious thought,

Of every fleeting moment caught,

We take for granted and assume,

Randomness some will presume.

The master potter molds the clay,

His very image to portray,

And someday every knee will bow.

As for me, I do it now.

I’m grateful that you formed me, made me,

Cared for me, redeemed and saved me.

Fashioned me and gave me breath,

Shelter me from birth to death.

The F Word

Today as I walked along the sidewalk, I came up behind a woman whose back was turned to me.  She had stopped and was looking at something down the street….I don’t know what.  She was so focused on whatever, that she did not hear or see me.  Just as I reached her, she uttered, “What the F*#@.”  Then realizing that I was passing her she said, “Whoops” and then “I’m sorry.”  I kept walking and did not stop to say anything to her. 

This four-letter F word is unbelievably common.  In movies I have seen recently, it seems to be part of every sentence.  I have overheard conversations in which the same seems to be true.  Toddlers use the word having no clue as to its meaning.

It is used so indiscriminately, that I wonder if it actually has a meaning anymore.

A few years back, I was at the skating rink and a woman had the 4 letters imprinted on her pants right over her buttocks.  This put them at eye-level of small children skating.  I did say something on that occasion.  A relative of the woman became furious with me.  She said the woman was from Europe and that it wasn’t a bad word; it was the name of a clothing company in Europe.  “Ah yes” I said. “And the clothing company was started by Franz, Charles, Ulrich and Karl and the marketing department has no idea that those letters have meaning.”

The F word is used to express hatred and contempt toward others, but also sprinkled in conversation to give emphasis or to make one seem tough or worldly.  Sometimes the word is not spoken, but a finger is raised to represent the word.

The terribly sad truth is that it is a horrific perversion of what God intended to be meaningful.  Sexual intimacy is not meant to be an animalistic act infused with hatred and violence.  God intended it for both procreation and pleasure for both man and woman.  It is supposed to be an experience that is physical, emotional AND spiritual.  He intended it to be symbolic of the ecstasy that we feel when we are united with Him.  That meaning is a mystery to us...something the human mind cannot quite grasp.  The devil himself wants to make it ugly.  If he cannot make it ugly, he wants to trivialize it and remove any meaning.

Every time it is used, something sacred is dragged through the mud and soiled beyond recognition.  This breaks my heart.