Agamemnon Lives

Poor Agamemnon, he arrives home after many years at war against Troy, during which time he has suffered extreme hardship.  His wife Clytemnestra welcomes him warmly.  However, as soon as she has him behind closed doors, she stabs him to death.

Do I feel sorry for Agamemnon?  Hmmmm…..he sacrificed his own daughter in order to appease a goddess.  He went off to war over Helen, his brother’s wife.  He came home with the lovely Cassandra in tow as spoils of the war.  Clytemnestra was angry….no surprise there.

Do I feel sorry for Clytemnestra?  Well, she had an affair in Agamemnon’s absence and her lover was complicit in the murder.

What is the matter with these people?!?

The same thing is the matter with people now. 

In this morning’s paper, I read of two brothers who got in a fight over shoveling snow.  One hit the other in the head with a baseball bat.  On the internet is a story of a newborn baby abandoned in a toilet.  In the dentist’s office this morning, I paged through a book of the most important photographic images of the 20^th Century.  We have all seen the Vietnamese girl with anguish written on her face, who has been burned by napalm , and is running down the road naked.  Man’s inhumanity to his fellow man is unending.  The news is the same every day…just the names of people and places change.

And yet, we have those who believe that human nature is basically good.  Certainly, there are many good people in the world, but all of us are capable of evil if the right buttons are pushed.  At a minimum, we all know how to be self-serving.  The image of God implanted in us has been marred by our own self-will.  We are incapable of consistent goodness on our own.  Hence, the need for the redemption that comes through the shed blood of Christ and for a daily recommitment of our hearts and minds to being a conduit of His goodness.  Our own goodness is always questionable.  It is just not GOOD enough.

No Less Beautiful

 No less beautiful....just less colorful and colder.  
A morning in Florida last week,
Or this morning in northern New York.
I just need to dress for the occasion, 
So I put on my heavy coat,
My hat and boots and gloves.


No less beautiful...just less colorful and colder.
A time of peaceful non-events ...smooth sailing,
Or the chaos and distress that life can be.
I just need to dress for the occasion,
So I put on a hopeful heart,
And wrap myself in layers of faith.

Reflections

In the stillness of the water,
In the vastness of the sky,
Images reflected
Perfectly.

Colorful reminders,

Every pastel shade,

An Almighty hand,

Has artfully made.

I search for you below,
I seek you out above,
Everywhere examples,
Everlasting love.

In the depths of my heart,

In heaven's infinity,

The reflected image,

Of eternity.

Lost Butterflies

Yesterday we visited the Marie Selby Botanical Gardens in Sarasota.  On the grounds, among all the lovely plantings, is an art gallery.  The paintings currently on exhibit are watercolors of plants and animals.  Also displayed in the gallery was a case of butterflies, all beautifully mounted.  I cannot see a case of mounted butterflies without a flashback to my childhood.

From the second grade through my senior year in high school, I had a friend with whom I competed academically.  We seesawed back and forth for top grades in every subject.  When his grades were higher, I never was jealous.  I was, however, somewhat envious of ideas to which he was exposed and of which I was ignorant.

His parents were college-educated and mine were not.  I would sometimes realize that he was aware of the existence of a body of knowledge to which I had not the slightest exposure.  I remember him coming to school and talking about fossils.  I had never heard of a fossil, and he had been out hunting for them.

So it was with butterflies.  He brought to school a couple of cases of butterflies.  They were properly mounted in secure cases, so that they could be easily seen, but not damaged.  I knew I couldn’t afford such lovely display settings, but I figured I could come up with a poor man’s version.

Of course, this was in “ancient” times when there was no internet, so I turned to books to learn how to catch and preserve butterflies and other insects.  We used fountain pens to write with at that time, and the ink with which they were filled came in glass bottles which had a little well at the top edge.  One would tilt the bottle to put ink in the little well and then fill the pen from the well.  From books I learned that I could use an old ink bottle, place the insect in the bottle and some noxious liquid (I don’t remember what) in the well.  The fumes killed the insect and the wings could then be spread and the insect/butterfly displayed.  I fashioned my display cases out of shallow cardboard boxes lined with cotton. 

I don’t remember how many butterflies and other insects I had collected when disaster struck.  I had been away….probably to summer camp, and when I returned, I took my collection off the shelf above my desk.  To my horror, I discovered that in my absence, a mouse had obviously checked out my collection.  The wretched creature had eaten all of the bodies and left behind the apparently unpalatable wings, along with his numerous droppings.

I was sad….very, very sad.  I don’t think I cried, because I always tried not to cause my mother any pain.  She understood my desire to learn anything and everything new.  She was grieved when I couldn’t have the tools to learn that others had or the quality and variety of clothing that some of my friends owned.   I never wanted her to be sad, but I can still remember my own sadness.  It wasn’t just the loss of the collection.  I felt the social and economic difference between my friend and me.  We were intellectual equals, but he was a rung above me.  He never behaved that way, but I felt it.

So, yesterday I looked at the display of butterflies securely behind glass, unavailable to marauding rodents, and thought about my childhood sadness.  I also thought about the life I have lived during the past 55 years.  I grew up, became a nurse, used those skills to pay my way through college, married a truly wonderful man, worked when I wanted to, and stayed home with children when I wanted to,  I have had a great deal more happiness than sadness in my life.  I am grateful to the gracious and loving God who has gone before me paving the way.  The lost butterflies are a tiny blip of past sadness that now brings a smile.   But, I really hate mice.

Genuine Need or Scam?

Today we got together with friends whom we see once a year when we are in Florida.  We ate lunch at the same sub shop we had eaten in last year when we spent the day together.  It brought to mind the young man we had met there.


When we pulled into the parking lot at the sub shop last year, a man about 20 years old stood near the entrance of the building in apparent distress.  He asked anyone who looked in his direction if they could help him.  His story was that he was a college student in another city who had come to the Sarasota area the night before to party out on one of the keys.  He and his buddy had partied too much, and his friend, who was the driver, had been arrested for DUI.  His friend was in jail, the car was impounded and his wallet had been left behind in the car.  He was in a strange city with no money, no food, no friends and no way to get back to college.  His mother was in Israel visiting her brother, and he was afraid to contact his father.  At least, that was his story.


We invited him in to the sub shop with us.  Our friends, who were treating us, paid for his lunch.  We then drove him to a bus stop where he had supposedly determined that he could get a bus back to his campus.   My husband and I gave him the money for a bus ticket.


We drove off wondering if his story was true, and hoping we had not just given drug money to a con man.  Questions like this usually aren't answered.


EXCEPT...
When my son was in college, he was walking across campus one day when a pickup truck pulled up to the curb next to him.  A man got out and spun the tale that his daughter had just been in a car accident in a nearby village.  He claimed to be a maintenance man on the campus, and that his boss had lent him his pickup truck to go check on his daughter, but the truck didn't have enough gas in it.  He asked my son for money for gas. 


Now, my son is one of the smartest people you could meet, but he is also one of the most compassionate.  He knew the story might be a scam....but what if it was true?  He gave the man some money.  The guy promised he would repay him.


Months went by.  My son was again walking across campus when the same pickup truck pulled up along side him.  The same man got out and told the same sorry tale.  Somehow managing a straight face, my son replied, "You know, I would be happy to lend you that money, if you had paid me back the last time."


Somewhat flustered, the man insisted that he had not borrowed money from my son previously.


"I'm sorry to say that you did," my son said.


The man hopped in his truck and sped off, but not before my son memorized the license plate number which he later reported to campus security.


With this in mind, we looked for the "college student" at the sub shop today.  He wasn't there.  I guess we'll never know whether his story was true or not.  

A Hand in the Darkness

When I first stirred this morning, I changed positions and realized in my sleepiness that my hand had ended up next to my husband's hand.  I put my hand into his and his fingers curled around mine.  I thought that in over 42 years, he has never pushed my hand away or pulled his away....not even in his sleep.  What a comfort...a hand in the darkness.
Several years ago, I wrote the following poem about the ultimate hand.


Reaching


Fragile fingers searching, seeking,
Pat a mother's face,
Soft and pink and trusting.


Hands with urgency caressing,
Lover and beloved,
Passion, all-consuming.


Arms outstretched, embracing,
Joyfully I stand,
Life's winds about me rushing.


Still outstretched, but groping,
Writhing in agony and pain,
For an answer longing.


Through death's drape reaching,
To grasp You on the other side,
Reflecting and wondering.


Searching, caressing, stretching,
Was it not You all along
For whom I was seeking?


You for whom I long when in pain,
Whom I embrace in joy,
By whom I am consumed
In whom I trust,
My Lord,
My God.
It is You for whom I reach.!

I Don't Want to Live to Be Ninety

I had my annual physical this week.  I told my doctor that I don’t want to live to be ninety.  He advised me not to come to him if that was the case.  I told him that at some point I would stop making appointments.

As I look toward old age, I seriously don’t know how to proceed.  Do I keep seeking routine medical care and gradually slide into multiple prescriptions that keep me going and prolong my days?  Do I go my merry and un-medicated way hoping that at some point, I will have within me a ticking time bomb that suddenly explodes and takes me out quickly?

I have seen what the tenth decade looks like.  My father lived until a month shy of 91.  My in-laws are currently 92 and 93.   All have by the age of 90 been quite deaf and experiencing vision problems in spite of cataract surgery.  All have been on many, many medications.  All have had issues of balance and mobility.  All have become rather grumpy.

It is heart-breaking to see people who have been married over 70 years struggling to communicate, because they cannot hear one another.  When one raises ones voice loudly enough to be heard, the tone begins to sound disrespectful.  Irritability ensues. 

My father lived with us the last eight years of his life.  My in-laws stubbornly live in their own home.  Many people say some version of, “Oh, isn’t it wonderful that they are still in their own home?!”  Actually, I don’t think so.  They can no longer keep up with house maintenance, car maintenance, paying bills, fixing meals and some aspects of personal care.  We stop in often.  They have help with laundry and cleaning and personal care and yard work.  But it isn’t really enough.  The bathroom is neither safe nor convenient, but they have refused our offers to help them make the changes that would benefit them.

I really don’t want to find myself in that situation.  But, what is the alternative?  I don’t believe in suicide.  If you check yourself into a senior center that provides levels of care….independent living, assisted living, and nursing home care, you have only solved some of the problems.  You are out from under the maintenance issues and the struggle to find appropriate help as ability declines.  But, if you are not fortunate enough to keel over abruptly, you have locked yourself into gradual decline in a skilled nursing facility where multiple medications and good nursing care could keep you around to die inch by inch for years.

While I recognize that I need to trust God to pick the time of my death, I do think we can influence quality of life by our basic health habits, the medications we chose to take, and the surgical procedures we opt for or against.  However, no matter how well I take care of myself, the possibility always exists of a drunk driver hitting me head-on or a "nut case" being near me with a loaded gun.  But then, that is not terribly upsetting to me, because death is NOT the worst thing that can happen to me.  Since I pray regularly for His will to be done, I would have to believe that an incident that suddenly terminated me was not outside of His plan.

I would like to live long enough for all my grandchildren to be able to remember me as a person who loved God and desired to honor Him.  I would like to live as long as I am accomplishing God’s purposes for my life.  I want out, at the point where my death accomplishes more than my life.  That is what I will pray for!