Electra by Sophocles

My own personal "Greek tragedies" have recently hindered me from reading the classic ones.  I read Electra some weeks ago, but didn't have the time to write about it, so today I skimmed through and refreshed my memory.


Electra is the daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra.  Agamemnon was killed by Clytemnestra and her lover Aegisthus, who are now ruling in his place.  Chrysothemis who is Electra's sister has chosen to quietly accept this difficult situation.  Orestes, their brother, was spirited off to another country for his safety many years ago.  Electra cannot let go of the injustice that was done and spends her life in mourning very openly.  This is, of course, viewed as a display of defiance by Aegisthus and Clytemnestra, so she suffers hardship under them.


During the course of the story, Orestes returns grown-up and unrecognized.  He and his friend Pylades avenge Agamemnon's death by killing both Clytemnestra and Aegisthus.  The bulk of the play, however, is really about Electra's constant expression of grief and whether one should quietly accept ones circumstances or constantly rail against them.


When I was about 19, I went through a phase where I thought one should always express how one was actually feeling and not put on a good front to hide inner misery.  What I quickly discovered is that this approach is a slippery slope spiraling downward into the pit of despair.  Each expression of misery gives rise to deeper misery.  Conversely each expression of joy elevates ones spirit.  Showing interest in others can bolster a gloomy mood.  Looking for something positive or beautiful counteracts sorrow.


I am in favor of being honest, but I am not in favor of clinging to misery, since it usually makes a person non-functional too.  It is a rotten way to live.


Be advised to say no more; canst thou not see what conduct it is which already plunges thee so cruelly in self-made miseries?  Thou hast greatly aggravated thy troubles, ever breeding wars with thy sullen soul..."  (the chorus to Electra)


Go out and take a walk.  Observe the beauty of the world around you.
Listen to the laughter of playing children.
Lose yourself in a good book.
Play uplifting music.
Find a way to be helpful to someone else.
Clean something that is dirty enough that you can see the difference.


Stay off the slippery slope leading to the black pit of hopelessness!
Do not follow the example of Electra.

Commitment to Truth

How does one discern between conflicting statements....especially when neither party has demonstrated a commitment to truth previously?


I am caught in the middle.  How do I plot a course when I am not sure where the land-mines are located?   Two people are telling me with certainty that they know....but what they "know" overlaps only slightly.  I want to do what is "right," not just so that I can survive, but also for the sake of doing right.  


I know that God sees and knows all, and that He himself is the personification of truth.  But in this present era, He is not in the habit of sending a handwritten message or giving clear revelation through a vision.  I am desperately in need of the guidance of His Spirit...of the still, small voice that directs.


Today I am reading II Corinthians 13:7-8  Now we pray to God that you will not do anything wrong.  Not that people will see that we have stood the test, but that you will do what is right even though we may seem to have failed.  For we cannot do anything against the truth, but only for the truth.


I pray that I will not do anything wrong.
I pray that I will stick to what is right even if it looks like I have failed.
I pray that I will act in accordance with the TRUTH....real truth, not human perspective.

Ten Dollars a Pack

One day recently, I was in the checkout lane at a grocery store, when I noticed an unopened pack of cigarettes on the floor.  I picked it up and started to hand it to a clerk, assuming it had fallen off the counter or a display rack.  The woman ahead of me in line turned and said that it was hers.  As I handed her the cigarettes, she said, "Thanks!  At ten dollars a pack, I really appreciate it."


I have no idea what kind of facial expression I was exhibiting, but she studied my face briefly and continued, "I bet it just about killed you to give those to me."


I never managed to formulate a reply.  She turned and continued writing her check.  She was, of course, right in thinking that I was sad to hand her those cigarettes. I had a lot on my mind at that point, but picking up that package snapped my mind into the present, and I felt a twinge of sadness.  Cigarettes are addictive.  People get hooked.  Cigarettes are a huge cause of health problems.  They are an enormous waste of money.  Even though I didn't know the woman, I could feel empathy and sorrow.  I have family members who smoke.  I love them and grieve.  I'm guessing she has family members who love her and wish she could kick the habit too.


I'm still thinking about that very brief encounter.  I wonder if she is.

Did He Wait for Me?

When I learned on Tuesday that my uncle, who lived in western New York, was weakening and probably would not live much longer, I was literally on my way out the door to the Southern Tier of New York to try to help one of my daughters with a crisis she was facing.  


Since I couldn't hurry to see him on Tuesday, my dear sister-in-law Kathy got up early on Wednesday and drove  the 3-plus hours to be with him.  We didn't want him to die alone.  He has lived much too much of his life alone...seemingly by his own choice, but we still didn't want him dying alone.  


Kathy and I talked a number of times on Wednesday, as my husband and I tried to get away and head in his direction. At one point, Kathy said, she had told him that I was coming and he smiled.  He was no longer speaking.  Finally by late afternoon, we felt our daughter's situation was stable enough to leave her temporarily.


The weather was terrible...the rain was coming down heavily.  The traffic was also heavy...lots of trucks kicking up spray and reducing visibility.  My husband drove like a maniac anyway, and we did not stop for supper.  We arrived at the nursing home about 8:45 pm.  My husband dropped me at the front door, and said that he would take care of getting our belongings to the guest room.  I hurried to my uncle's room.  As I entered, the nurse had the stethoscope on his chest and was telling my sister-in-law that in spite of the fact that she could not get a blood pressure, his heart was ticking along just fine.


I touched him on the shoulder and told him I had come.  I sat down next to him and stroked his arm and his forehead.  His eyes stared out with no sign of recognition and no acknowledgement.  My sister-in-law stepped into the hall.  Later she told me, she had said to the nurse, he would be able to let go now that I had arrived.


Less than 5 minutes later, his breathing changed.  His respirations became more shallow.  A couple more minutes and he began to pause between breaths.....5 seconds, 10 seconds, and then he went 30 seconds with no breaths.  I almost called the nurse, but as I started to do so,  there was another breath.  Then I waited a full minute....nothing.  I could feel no pulse.  I called the nurse.  She listened with her stethoscope.  It was 9:09 pm.  I had been there less than 20 minutes.


Kathy,the nurse, the social worker and others all say that he waited for me.


Strange as it sounds, I think that is just what he did.

Crying Out

I wrote this several years ago, but want to share it in connection with my last post.


Crying Out

Fear’s icy fingers clutch at my heart,

They brush over my shoulders and chill me.

I cannot find my voice to cry out,

“Help!”

Surely God is my salvation,

Surely He will rescue me!

I push out a quavering, whispered,

“God?”

Are you there in the darkness?

If I reach out, will I find you?

Softly, timidly I venture,

“I will trust.”

The hand of God stretches toward me,

I crawl into His palm and lie down,

I fall asleep murmuring,

“I will not be afraid.”

Rested and refreshed, I awaken.

His strength warms my soul,

I hear my own voice singing out,

“Praise the God of my salvation!” 

Awake at 4 AM

I rarely have trouble falling asleep, but if I awaken during the night, I have difficulty getting back to sleep.  Especially if there is something stressful going on in my life that my brain thinks it needs to "work on."  As much as one portion of my brain shouts at the other that the middle of the night is not the time to ponder possible solutions to some dilemma, the other portion just keeps cranking out ideas.  Tonight I have not one, not two, not three, but four major issues, any one of which could keep me awake.  Dealing with one of these problems over the next few days is potentially going to prevent me from dealing with the others.


So...how to cope?


Before I went to sleep last night, I followed my normal habit of reading out of the Bible.  I do not usually read more that a chapter, but last night I got into the story in Numbers 22-24, which by the way, includes a talking donkey.  As interesting as that is, what stood out to me was a message from God spoken through the prophet Balaam.


God is not a man, that he should lie,
Nor the son of man, that he should change his mind.
Does he speak and then not act?
Does he promise and not fulfill?


Can I trust God to take the necessary actions to solve my problems?  Can I believe that He is already working?  Will He give me the guidance to come up with the right solutions, at the right time?  Will He give me the peace to wait for His leading?


Does he speak and then not act?  Does he promise and not fulfill?


Back to bed I go.

Toy-ta-toy-toy

I'm not sure how it got started, but ever since I was a very little girl, my Uncle Roy and I have had our special way of closing a conversation.  Certainly, it would seem odd to anyone else.   We point at each other, making a circular motion with our index fingers and say, "Toy-ta-toy-toy."


Yeah, I know...it doesn't mean anything, and it's ridiculous.  Except that for us, it is infused with rich meaning.  "You'd better behave yourself," or "So long, it was nice to see you," or something else that isn't easily defined, but we both understand.


I am 66 and my uncle is 91, and we still continue this foolishness.  Today I talked to him on the phone.  He is in a nursing home, has cancer, has been told he cannot tolerate any more chemo and is refusing any other interventions.  His voice was weak today.  He could barely hear me, although I was shouting as loudly as I could.


He said that he was tired.  I told him that I didn't want to keep him talking too long, that I just wanted to let him know I was thinking of him.
My uncle:  "I'm thinking of you too, sweetie."
Me:  "I want you to know I love you."
My uncle:  "I love you too, sweetie."
Me:  "Good-bye"
My uncle in barely a whisper:  "Toy-ta-toy-toy."


I burst out laughing.  I couldn't believe he remembered to say it given his condition. In recent years, it has become a bit of a competition to see who remembers to say it at the close of the conversation.  He won, leaving me to add:  "Same to you."
My uncle:  "Thanks, sweetie."


Each time I talk with him now, I wonder if it will be the last time that I hear "Toy-ta-toy-toy."  A silly, silly phrase conveys the warmth of more than six decades of family relationship,  mutual admiration and concern for each other.  


No other words will do.