Dead Men's Glasses

They collect them, you know…

Dead men’s glasses.

Boxes can be found in public,

Strategically placed.

                                                       

Somewhere, a person without resources

Stumbles along with blurry vision.

Someone’s cast-offs, could be

Someone else’s clarity.

I have a bagful, from my uncle.

He saved nearly everything.

I possess a ninety-one year collection,

Of objects, papers, insights.

I will drop his glasses

In a box so designated.

Would that I could drop his insights,

Into someone blindly stumbling.

Defining Times

I think as people grow older they increasingly look back at the defining times in their lives.  For my Dad, it was his years in the Army during World War II.  For me, it is my years in nursing school...not the same kind of "war," but an agonizing struggle with life and death, nonetheless.

Recently I thought about an experience that occurred about this time of year in 1965.  I was a student spending 3 months at Chicago State Hospital for my psychiatric nursing experience.  I was assigned to a male ward which housed about 30 men, as I remember it.  We didn't have much direction or supervision.  We sort of made our own way trying to build relationships and be "therapeutic."  We didn't have specific patient assignments, although we were expected to pick a patient and do a case study.

An elderly man was admitted to the ward.  Over the course of 3 or 4 days, I noticed a deterioration in his condition.  I had not spent any time talking with him, but I noticed that instead of being well-groomed and clean, he was unshaven and dirty.  As I approached him, I realized he had even soiled himself.  I sat down next to him and began to talk with him.  He started to cry.  Something told me this wasn't just depression.  I asked enough questions to learn that he was diabetic and had NOT received any of his medications since entering the hospital.  I immediately talked with the head nurse and had him transferred to the infirmary...the place where patients who were sick physically, as well as mentally, were taken.

When the whole story came out, we discovered that this man's family was tired of taking care of him.  They apparently decided that a convenient way to get rid of him was to admit him to the psychiatric hospital and not tell anyone that he was diabetic.  I suppose he was confused enough that they got away with the psychiatric admission.  They were probably hoping he didn't have the mental clarity to tell anyone he was diabetic.  He certainly did not have the initiative.  

So, why is this a defining experience?  I was 19 years old and had not previously seen enough of the evil side of the world to realize that some people are unloved and unwanted.  I had not really thought about the responsibility that I bore in that environment.  It was frightening to think what might have happened, if I had not been there enough days in a row to observe the change in him.

Someone recently commented to me that his son studied theology in college, but he doesn't have a job in that that field.  He is concerned that those years of education are being "thrown away."  I told him that his son's education is now part of his character and his world view, no matter what field he works in.  

The experiences I had in nursing school are part of my character and world view.  They are a large part of what defines me.

East Wind

A Meditation on Isaiah 27:8

“...with his fierce blast he drives her out, as on a day the east wind blows.”

Swirling, hot blasts,

Windswept desert sand,

Blinding the eyes,

Grating on the flesh,

Driving from the land.

Stinging winter chill,

Pounding all around,

Icy, frozen pellets

Chasing me to shelter,

Covering the ground.

Descending from the heavens,

Soaking to the bone,

Advancing sheets of rain,

Curtains of moisture,

Pushing me towards home.

Only for a season,

This uncommon flow of wind,

Punishing, yet directing,

Scourging, yet protecting,

Leading me to him.

The east wind does not forever blow.

Of All Men Most Miserable

If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.   I Corinthians 15:19

This verse is puzzling to me if it is quoted outside of the context of the chapter.  When it stands alone, I don’t agree with it.

If after death, all I had to look forward to was hell, then I would definitely agree.  But, if after death, there was oblivion…nothingness, the end of existence, I would not be of all men most miserable.

I do believe in and totally expect to end up in heaven when I die, but if death was THE END, having Christ in this life would still have been worth the commitment.  I did not accept Christ as my personal Savior to escape Hell.  I accepted Him as my Savior to embark on a life-long relationship.  By God’s grace that is what I have had.  I look for guidance through His Word and praying, not just aloud and formally, but within my own mind and spirit on a more than daily basis….”Lord, what do you want me to do next?  Help me set my priorities for day.  What can I say to this person to whom I’m talking?  What should I do about the situation which has just presented itself?  Please help me not to do anything stupid that is harmful to someone else.”  I am able to cope with challenges, because I do not feel alone.  I feel the peace and strength that comes from knowing that I live and move and have my being in His love.  (Acts 17:28)

Of course, if we look at I Corinthians 15:19 in the context of the surrounding verses, Paul’s point is that if Christ has been raised from the dead, He has conquered death, and that is why we have the hope of living forever.  He has conquered death for us too.  If we have hope only in this life, it is because He was not raised and our whole faith comes in to question.  It all hinges on His resurrection.  He is alive!  If it were not so, we would be miserable!

Relationship in this life and hope for the next life are part of an integral package.  I am grateful for the reality of His presence now and overwhelmed by the prospect of an eternity with Him.

Big Decision-Little Decision

A teenager of my acquaintance recently declared his unwillingness to discuss with anyone what he is deciding regarding his life.  He does not want to be asked if he is planning to finish high school or get his GED or just drop out completely.  He figures it is his choice.

There are two things wrong with his thinking….

1.        He doesn’t realize it, but he has already made his decision to drop out.  He hasn’t attended school in about six weeks.  He did not make the BIG decision to drop out.  He made many LITTLE decisions that added up to the big one.  He repeatedly stayed out most of the night and decided not to get up in the morning.  No individual morning sleep-in caused him to drop out, but the combination certainly did.  He has missed sufficient school at this point, that the academic year is irretrievable.

2.       He mistakenly thinks that his decisions impact only him.  This is a pretty common misconception among teenagers and young people in their early twenties.  They do not understand that the day will come when they are really in a mess, and then they will turn to their family.  Their flippant and self-centered decisions will “cost” their family in some way….time, money, stress.  In fact, it is already costing his family as he sits around playing video games and making no tangible contribution to the household.

I do not believe I have ever made a major decision.  By the time I reached the point where I had to declare myself one way or another, I had made a series of minor decision which led me to a point of inevitability.  Education, career, marriage partner, job changes, living situations….all may seem like big choices, but it is easy to slide into any one of them based on little every day choices.  That is why we need to learn to seek guidance from Someone who sees the big picture.  As a Christian, I believe in a daily recommitment of myself to live by principles found in the Bible.

Important among these principles are the notion of honoring ones parents and loving ones neighbor as oneself.  This eliminates many poor choices.  If I keep this in mind, I will not think that my decisions only affect me.  I will avoid paths which are selfish and which will be costly or harmful to others.

How I wish there was a way to impart this wisdom!  It is painful to watch a young person in self-destruct mode.  I think back to another young person to whom I said, “I am jumping up and down and screaming at you, ‘The bridge is out!  The bridge is out!’  But you have your foot on the accelerator and are roaring past me toward the edge of the cliff.”

It has been painful and costly in multiple ways.

Memories of My Mother

Fourteen years ago today,

My dear, dear Mother slipped away.

The color draining from her cheeks,

Her body silent ‘neath the sheets.

I knew that the day was near,

I knew I could not keep her here,

I tried so hard to ease her pain,

I knew my efforts were in vain.

I was grateful for the sweet release,

Her weary face at last at peace.

But, from her bed, I saw the tree,

Wondered, “What would Christmas be?”

Outside the ground was cold, but green,

No white Christmas, it would seem,

Yet  as I watched her body die,

White flakes descended from the sky.

A final gift of wintery white,

As her spirit took its flight,

These the memories I recall,

Each year when Christmas snowflakes fall.

I Went to Jail This Morning

I sat there alone for some time in the jail reception area with no particular desire to converse with the other folks waiting.  It’s not that I felt superior to the rest of the visitors, but I didn’t have much in common with some of the attitudes being expressed.  Two women who apparently were there to see the same man talked with each other, and the air was electric with their contempt for one other.  My guess is that one was the mother and the other the girlfriend.  Eventually the younger woman stalked out.  The older woman said aloud to no one in particular, “Can you guess I don’t like her?  If she dropped dead right here, I wouldn’t give her CPR.” 

When the reception window opened, we all went up to sign in, surrender our IDs and receive a badge to wear during the visit.  I returned to my previous seat and found it had been taken by an attractive and dressed-better-than-most, forty-ish woman.  I sat down next to her.  She was there to visit her son.  I was there to visit my granddaughter’s boyfriend.  I’m not even sure how the conversation began.

She didn’t want to be there, but felt obligated to come.  Her son would always be her son, in spite of his poor choices.  She had raised him until he was 12, and then he had gone to live with her ex-husband.  She remarried and has daughters who are good students and cause no trouble.  Her son has been in jail before.  Recently they helped him get set up in an apartment.  He got a job.  They thought this was the time he would be successful.  But, here she was visiting him in jail….again.  She never did tell me exactly what he had done.

I didn’t want to be there, but felt obligated to come.  The biological and adoptive family members of my granddaughter’s boyfriend do not visit him.  My granddaughter can’t visit him, because there is a “stay-away” order.  I couldn’t think of anyone else who would visit him, so I figured it was my job.  But, it isn’t fun to visit someone in jail.

I have been in jails many times in my life.  From childhood through my teen years, I attended a church which held monthly services at a local prison.  I went frequently.  I sang solos there.  Later as a professional person, I visited jails to offer health services and information to staff.  Of course, I went through metal detectors and listened to the doors lock behind me, but that was not as dehumanizing as going to visit a prisoner.  You are required to be there 30 minutes before the visit begins or you are turned away.  After signing in and surrendering your ID, you wait.  You are then herded into an entry room and the door locked behind you.  From there, you go into a locker room.  All of your personal items must be placed in a locker.  You take nothing with you from that room but the clothes on your back and the locker key.  Next are the metal detector, and another room and another locked door.  Finally, you enter the visit room.  The prisoners are already seated at small tables.  You are allowed a brief hug and then you sit opposite the person you are visiting for one hour.  You cannot leave early or wander about the room.  A guard sits at an elevated desk constantly observing.

The visit is over.  I smile at the lady I talked with earlier and ask if her visit went OK.  She nods with a bit of a smile playing on her lips but sorrow in her eyes. 

We never even exchanged names.  I suppose we each like our anonymity, but we share a sad and heavy common bond.