That wasn’t nine days!

 I am writing this on a flight back to New York after spending the past few days visiting a daughter, son-in-law and two sweet granddaughters in Florida.  We have delighted in the interactions of these days….time at the pool and the beach, walks, bike rides, trips to the playground, sight-seeing, book reading, playing games, snuggling and more book reading. 

When a grandparent doesn’t see a grandchild for a period of months, the changes are somewhat startling.  A child who was in a beginning reader last time is now reading fluently both aloud and silently.    We ride along in the car and the five year old reads the signs along the way… “Mexican Grill, Sushi House, divided highway, uneven lanes.”  How did that happen?  Last time I heard her read it was “See Dan and Jan run.”

Both girls are riding bicycles now instead of trikes.  The six year-old swims without a flotation aide and hangs upside down from the monkey bars by her knees.  They make their own beds, carry their dishes to the kitchen after meals, and dress themselves, including selection of their own clothing which actually matches…usually.

Most of this did not happen magically, of course.  I know how much effort is required of parents to teach good habits.  Some of it does seem to happen in mystical ways, however.  What wondrous mechanism in the human brain causes a child to learn to read or ride a bike?  I understand that repetitive activity causes electronic pathways to be traveled more easily, but it is still miraculous to me.

The time passed much too quickly.   Last night as we talked about leaving today, the five year-old said with indignation, “That was NOT nine days!”  Her mother counted off the days for her on her fingers.  She was quiet as she realized the truth.  It was nine days….nine much too short days.

One of the girls declared they would now have to go back to being bored.  I doubt that those two eager minds are ever actually bored, but, apparently they will miss us, and I know we will miss them.

Little House on the Precipice

Throughout my life, an image of a sweet little Cape Code style house has on occasion floated through my mind.  I see myself as barely more than a toddler exploring the yard and discovering to my great surprise that the house is on the edge of the world!  The grassy area is enclosed by a fence, but through the wire mesh of the fence I see an enormous hole…the biggest and deepest one I have ever seen in my young life.  Each time the pictures play across my brain, they are accompanied by the feeling that I was supposed to live there, but I know the various places I lived as a child and the memories don’t match up with any of them.

I thought perhaps this was a sort of Freudian dream that had some importance to understanding my psyche.  But, once when I described the house and yard to my mother, she shrugged and said, “Well, we almost lived in a place like that once.”  Although she offered no further details, I decided that it wasn’t symbolic of anything….that it was a genuine memory.

One of my uncles was the last survivor of his generation, and as he approached the end of his life, he reminisced about many things.  Without me asking any questions, he shared one day that my parents had planned to move to a little house located right on the edge of a quarry.  My father had actually made a purchase offer and down-payment on the house.  When he took my grandparents to see it, his father was horrified.  He said, “You cannot move that little child into this house.  It is too dangerous.”

My father, being young, freshly out of World War II and struggling to establish himself, protested that he had already made a payment and couldn’t afford to lose the money.  According to my uncle, my grandfather gave my father the amount of the down-payment, so that he would not move me into that house. 

My grandfather was not a wealthy man.  He was a blue-collar worker who had raised his family in the Depression.  He died at the age of 69, when I was only 6 years old.  My memories of him are few and not as intense as those of the other three grandparents who lived until I was a “tween.”  I do remember that he took me for long rides in my wagon, and that he had a hearty laugh.

To these, I now add and treasure the memory of his concern for me.

Tabula Rasa?

Tabula rasa or "blank slate" is the notion that a child is born without prior knowledge or "programming," and can therefore, be influenced in any direction by environment and experiences after birth.  Those who believe in nurture over nature tend in this direction.


Recently I was at a booth at an organized event and was approached by a woman close to my age.  She seemed to just want to talk and launched into an explanation that in spite of her age, she had an eleven year old son.  She said that she and had her husband had been foster parents and had not been allowed to adopt because of their age.  When the opportunity came along to obtain a child through private adoption, they took it, much to the consternation of the foster agency.  When a representative of the agency asked where the baby had come from, she told them, "It's none of your business."  She went on to tell me that he is a "good boy," because they got him straight out of the hospital as a "blank slate."


I wanted to say, "Oh, my dear, I hope he doesn't break your poor, old heart."  Instead, I said nothing, and since she had turned to leave during her comment, no response was required of me.


Having spent time in a newborn nursery while in nursing school, I was not a believer in "tabula rasa" even before having my own children.  Personalities emerge from Day 1.  I did, however, believe that nurture could make up for a lot of flaws in nature, and now, I'm not so sure.


Each of my children is unique, and I can definitely see the influence of genetic background in each.  When I note certain traits in my biological children, I sometime laugh with the knowledge of which relative they resemble.  My daughter at age 3 picked all of the black jelly beans out of the candy dish, displaying my father's preference.  My son has mannerisms that remind me of my mother's brothers, who were all deceased before he was born, so he could not be mimicking them.  On the other hand, my adopted daughters have traits that leave me scratching my head as to origin.  


After 4 children, 8 grandchildren and almost 40 years of parenting, I have concluded that nature establishes the parameters and nurture allows one to influence within the parameters, but not get outside of them.  The only way to get outside of the boundaries of nature is by an act of God.  And, I do mean that literally.  The person himself or herself would have to make a conscious decision to place his/her life in God's hands and allow God to shape, mold and change.


None of us has to be a prisoner of either nature or nurture.  God has a plan for each of us with the intent of fulfilling who we really are.  He can redeem both the nature we were born with and the nurturing we have experienced.  Not that we will be perfected in this life time....both nature and nurture leave their marks on us.  But neither has to hold us hostage.

Power of the Resurrection

How can death be reversed?
What power can bring this about?
Electrical current may restart a silent heart...
but..
What if the heart has not beaten for three days?


What happened that Easter morning?
Did the infinite touch the finite?
Was an image really scorched...
into...
the now ancient Shroud of Turin?


What is the power of the resurrection?
How can my mind comprehend this?
Are the scriptures true that say..
this power...
Is available to those who believe?


How can death be reversed?
What happened that Easter morning?
How is the power of the resurrection...
relevant..
To my life today?


Can I access the power by faith?
Can I allow it to course through my soul?
Is there unlimited strength with which...
to confront..
The seemingly unlimited struggles of life?


I pray that you may know his incomparably great power.
That power is like the working of his mighty strength,
Which he exerted in Christ Jesus
when 
He raised him from the dead.*


Sovereign Lord, Creator, Sustainer
By faith I acknowledge you,
Pour into my frailty, the Spirit
which
Fills and fulfills, consumes and empowers.


*(from Ephesians 1:18-20)

Hippolytus by Euripides

Aphrodite, also known as Cypris, is no fan of Hippolytus.  As goddess of love, she is not pleased with Hippolytus, who carefully avoids romantic entanglements and has dedicated himself to the goddess Artemis, who is a virgin.

Hippolytus is the son of Theseus, who is married to Phaedra, but she is not his mother.  Aphrodite causes Phaedra to fall in love with her stepson.  Phaedra is horrified by the feelings she cannot control.  She is an honorable woman and wants to be faithful to her husband.  She is so ill with these conflicting emotions that she stops eating, and her attendants fear for her life.

Phaedra’s nurse, who is her confidante, eventually convinces Phaedra to tell her why she is pining away.  Unfortunately, Phaedra’s nurse tells Hippolytus.  Her intentions are to help her mistress, but Hippolytus reacts with anger.  Now that her secret is out, Phaedra is really distraught.

Just prior to her husband’s return from a journey, Phaedra kills herself leaving a note that accuses Hippolytus of violating her.  Theseus believes what Phaedra has said in the note rather than Hippolytus’ declarations that he is innocent and he banishes Hippolytus. 

Theseus has been given the gift of three wishes to be granted by the god Poseidon.  He wishes for the death of Hippolytus, and so it happens, that while Hippolytus is traveling along a shoreline, a massive wave engulfs him.  His horses run wild, and he is dragged.  He is returned to Theseus, and as he is dying continues to insist that he is innocent of Phaedra’s charges.

Artemis appears to Theseus as Hippolytus is dying and explains what has transpired.  Artemis lays the blame on Aphrodite.  Theseus begs forgiveness from Hippolytus and Hippolytus forgives him just before he dies.

Interesting quotes:

…I put no faith in counsellors, who know well to lecture others for presumption, yet themselves have countless troubles of their own.  (Phaedra)

Great Zeus, why didst thou, to man’s sorrow, put woman, evil counterfeit, to dwell where shines the sun?  If thou wert minded that the human race should multiply, it was not from women they should have drawn their stock, but in thy temples they should have paid gold or iron or ponderous bronze and bought a family…and so in independence dwelt, from women free. (Hippolytus)

I hate a clever woman; never may she set foot in my house who aims at knowing more than women need.  (Hippolytus)

I can never satisfy my hate for women, no! not even though some say this is ever my theme, for of a truth they always are evil.  (Hippolytus)

On thee in chief this storm of woe hath burst, yet is it some grief to me as well; for when the righteous die, there is no joy in heaven, albeit we try to destroy the wicked, house and home.  (Artemis speaking to Theseus)

O, that the race of men could bring a curse upon the gods! (Hippolytus)

So….I really don’t like Hippolytus.  He is a major misogynist.  I am also feeling negative about Euripides.  This is the second play I have read in which he expresses that mankind would be better off if men could procreate without women.  The Great Books contain 19 of his plays.  I’m only on the third one and hoping that this is not his persistent theme.  In any event, his point is moot.  So far…women are a necessity for making babies.  It will be a sad world if that changes.

Instant Gratification

Today I took my car to the garage for some needed repairs and waited in the lounge while the work was being done.  Although I was reading and crocheting, I was vaguely aware of the TV and caught a tiny snatch of an ad for high speed Internet service, which included this statement:  "Enjoy the freedom of instant gratification."


This statement sickens me.  The notion that instant gratification improves ones life is horribly flawed.  Instant gratification is far more likely to produce bondage, than freedom.  An entire generation has come to believe that they have a right to instant gratification...nothing and no one should stand in the way of their pleasure.  


If you need your mood elevated, just pop a pill.
If you feel like sex, hook up with the first available partner.
If you are thirsty, stop at the convenient store and grab a 32 ounce soda.
If you are hungry, there are plenty of fast food joints with fries.
Don't bother to prepare a meal from scratch, just pop something in the microwave.
Don't save until you have enough money for a car or a room full of furniture, just finance it.
Why should you wait for anything?


Instant gratification is a frightening addiction.  We are like lab rats that have learned to push a lever to obtain food.  We go back over and over until we are way past gratification and into overdose.


What has happened to the exquisite pleasure derived from patiently waiting, deferring gratification, until the "fruit" is ripe to perfection and is then consumed slowly, thoughtfully and with great appreciation?
*a cold drink after working on a hot day
*a meal created from home-grown vegetables, carefully prepared
*admiration of a piece of furniture refinished by ones own effort
*wearing a hand knit sweater
*sex with a partner to whom one has made a life-time commitment after taking the time to know that person as a dear friend
*making a purchase with confidence after counting the cost and knowing the resources are available for the payments


So, please don't try to sell me instant gratification.  Don't feed me the poison of instant gratification. And please, don't remind me of the irony, that I will use my high-speed Internet from the very company that ran the offending ad to upload these comments.

Medea by Euripides

You know that expression, "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?"  Let me tell you about Medea.


Medea married Jason after helping him to succeed in and survive certain adventures.  She left her homeland and came to live with him in Corinth, and eventually they had two sons.  As the play opens, she is grieving because he has left her for the daughter of King Creon of Corinth.  Medea is a sorceress with some pretty scary powers.  It seems to me that Jason should have known better than to cross her.


He tries to convince her that he has entered into this relationship with the king's daughter in order to secure their position in the kingdom and cause their sons to be half brothers to the royal family.  Medea doesn't buy it...particularly since he did not discuss this plan with her ahead of time.  She plots to kill Creon, his daughter, Jason and their two sons....her own children.  


In order to accomplish this, she feigns acceptance of the situation and apologizes for her prior conduct.  She tells Jason to take their two sons to meet his new wife and offer her presents.  The presents she sends are an embroidered robe and a golden crown on which spells have been cast.  The person who wears them will die most painfully, their flesh ripping off of their bones.


The princess who is to be Jason's bride dons the garments and the curse begins.  As she is dying, her father is called.  He embraces her and is caught up in the spell also.  As soon as a messenger comes to tell Medea of the death of Creon and his daughter, she kills her own two sons rather than have them killed by Creon's loyal subjects.  Jason arrives and begs to be allowed to bury his sons, but Medea is determined to take them away with her.  Medea leaves on a chariot drawn by dragons.


Some interesting quotes from this play:
...the greatest safeguard this when wife and husband do agree; but now their love is all turned to hate, and tenderest ties are weak.  (Medea's nurse)  This is an interesting phenomenon.  Passionate love turns to passionate hate.


Art learning only now, that every single man cares for himself more than for his neighbour, some from honest motives, others for mere gain's sake?  (Attendant to Medea's children)  I'm having a little difficulty with just what "honest motive" would cause one to care most for himself.


Some think me clever and hate me, others say I am too reserved, and some the very reverse; others find me hard to please and not so very clever at all.  (Medea)  Strong and clever women do have this problem.  They pose a threat to some, while other appreciate their gifts.


Yea, men should have begotten children from some other source, no female race existing; thus would no evil ever have fallen on mankind.  (Jason)  Now there's an interesting perspective!  I am pretty sure that the male of the species left to his own devices would have found a way to be evil.


A villain's gifts can bring no blessing. (Medea)  Perhaps the villain intends no blessing, but a gift is still a gift.  I heard a story once about a poor elderly woman who prayed for food.  A neighbor who didn't believe in God overheard her and brought her some food.  He could not resist taunting her that God had not answered her prayer.  She replied, "God sent the food, even if the devil did deliver it."