What is Wrong with This Picture?

Yesterday with my husband at the wheel, we rounded a corner and came upon three boys on skateboards in the middle of the street.  They were smack dab in the center of our lane, but they were focused on the on-coming car in the other lane.  My husband had to brake and had to use the horn before they even realized we had come up behind them.

A few blocks later as we approached an intersection, I commented that there were more kids in the street ahead of us…but….when we got closer, we realized they weren’t kids.  A couple, who appeared to be in their 50s or 60s, was crossing the street.  Actually it was hard to tell their ages.  The man walked erectly and seemed sturdy, but the woman was unsteady and her back was bent both forwards and sideways.  With great effort, she was pushing a shopping cart which had one wheel wobbling around at an awkward angle.  In the cart were two 24 can cartons of beer.

“Oh,” I sighed, taking in the wobbly cart, the abundance of booze, the frail woman doing the heavy work as the man sauntered along, “What is wrong with this picture?”

“Everything,” my husband sadly replied.

I Want to Die on a Windy Day

I want to die on a windy day,

So as my spirit slips away,

And leaves my flesh behind to stay,

I can fly upon the wind.

As color fades to pale cast,

And I leave grief behind at last,

I’m breaking free and moving fast,

Soaring upon the wind.

Time for me will be no more.

I’ll slip through the eternal door,

Free to float and dip and soar,

And dance upon the wind.

Now I live at sluggish pace,

My movements are not filled with grace,

But my spirit then will leap and race,

At light speed on the wind.

When it’s time, don’t be surprised,

If as I sigh and close my eyes,

Mighty gusts from breezes rise.

I’m somersaulting in the wind.

Last Man Standing

We just returned from the National Senior Games in Cleveland.  My husband participated in the 5K and 10K runs and came home with one ribbon and one medal for his age group.  My husband has been a runner since junior high, but not so with all of the participants.  One of the fascinating things about the Senior Games is that some of these people were not athletes in their youth and have come late (very late) to the notion of physical exercise being beneficial and rewarding.

The day before the 5K, which was held at the Cleveland Zoo, we were walking the race route to get a feel for the course and fell into conversation with another couple who were doing the same thing.  The wife of the participant told me that her husband had had two heart attacks, and that his whole family was overweight.  He had taken up running after the second heart attack and had lost 80 pounds during the past year.  He was now more or less obsessed with exercise and diet to the point that she had gone off to their second home in Florida to get a break from it.  She commented that she no longer enjoyed eating since he had put himself, and her, on a restrictive diet.  She, by the way, did not need to lose weight.

The dear lady couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the strange world that runners retreat into prior to a race.  There is no other topic worthy of conversation.  Everything revolves around and is focused on “the race.”  As the wife of a long-time runner, I assured her that this was “normal,” and that a week later she should expect the whole race to be relived.  He will be making remarks like…”A week ago right now I was_______.”  He may be wearing his medal under his shirt and pulling it out to be admired by anyone who mentions “the race.”

The first eight runners in each age group were recognized.  Places 8 through 4 received ribbons, while 3, 2 and 1 got bronze, silver and gold medals.  At the awards ceremony, it was interesting that as the older age group results were read, sometimes there were not as many as 8 participants to be recognized.  In fact, in the 10 K, age 85-89, there was only one male participant, who automatically received the gold. 

After about age 85, the participants, both male and female find it difficult to step up and down from the podium.  They may be able to run/walk a 5 or 10 K, but the little step up to the podium becomes a barrier, and they need to steady themselves by holding on to someone to make that step up.

As each age group is called forward, one can’t help but notice the increasing frailty, fewer participants and slower recovery time.  As hard as we try to take good care of our bodies, eventually they deteriorate.  Something breaks or wears out.  We may be able to put off the inevitable for a time, but no one lives forever.  There were no participants 95 or over.

But…if you live long enough and can still show up and put one foot ahead of the other, you might just win the gold!

The Dangling Muffler Escapade

Just before lunch today, I heard a terrible racket coming down the street.  The noise stopped in our driveway causing me to dash to the window.  My husband had pulled into the drive with the muffler dragging below his car.  The racket was the muffler scraping the pavement all the way up the street.  He hurried in, grabbed the keys to my car and hurried out so as not to miss his noon Rotary meeting.

For some inexplicable reason, as I pondered the vehicle in the driveway, I saw it as an irresistible challenge.  I have no idea what makes me do things like this, especially since my husband didn’t expect me to take care of it.  But, I crouched down next to the car and tried to pull the muffler off…no luck.  I then decided that perhaps I could wire it up off the pavement, so that the only noise on the way to the muffler shop would be the unmuffled engine noise.  I figured at least the rattle and scrape sound could be eliminated.  A coat hanger, bungee cord and 30 minutes later, I had the muffler ever so slightly above the ground.  

I went in the house, washed off the dirt acquired from my under-the-car activity, made myself a PBJ sandwich, and headed for the muffler shop.  There was a bit of metal-on-the-pavement sound along with the rumble of free exhaust, but not nearly as loud as earlier.  I thought my solution had worked, until I hit a bump.  A thud and a look in the rear view mirror revealed the muffler was now detached and in the middle of the street behind me. The bungee cord and coat hanger were still hooked to the under-carriage of the car.   I pulled over and used a blanket from the car to protect my hands while picking up the now hot muffler.

The rest of the trip to the garage was uneventful, except for strange looks from other motorists and pedestrians.  The manager at the muffler shop said I shouldn’t have bothered to pick up the muffler.  He said that people troll the city picking up scrap metal, and it would have probably been picked up before I even got to the shop.  I told him that I was just trying to tidy up after myself.

I sat in the waiting area, ate my PBJ and looked at old magazines.   When my husband got home, he called my cell phone wondering where his car was.

The muffler is now fixed…it was actually under a life-time warranty.  Of course, the labor, the bracket and the pipes on either side of the muffler weren’t on warranty.  Funny how that works.  A life-time guarantee plus $200 will get your muffler fixed.

I’m still trying to figure out why I saw that dangling muffler as a challenge.  If I could answer that question, it might explain some other curious things about my life too.

Waiting for Life...Waiting for Death

It is a sad thing to watch a young person “waiting for life” to happen to her.  I have seen this phenomenon more than once.   A young person sits on the sofa in front of the television, mindlessly and indiscriminately watching whatever comes on, because she can’t think of anything better to do.  She wanders around the house, or pokes around in the refrigerator, or stares into space, or checks email or snail-mail repeatedly, as though something significant surely must drop in front of her any minute.

At the other end of the continuum is the elderly person whose strength, sight, hearing or mental acuity have failed him.  He sits in his favorite chair staring blankly, nodding off now and then, sighing, and occasionally shifting position ever so slightly.  Perhaps, someone will visit him, and he will rouse from his lethargy for conversation.  Life is passing him by and he is “waiting for death.”  The elderly person may or may not be able to change his circumstance.

The young person is the sadder of the two, because she can change her circumstance and chooses instead to wallow in a bog of mental and physical inactivity.

For goodness sake, get out and DO SOMETHING!!!!

Go for a walk, read a book, start a craft project, clean something, volunteer somewhere….maybe at a nursing home or senior residence that has elderly people “waiting for death.”  There is just no excuse for “waiting for life!”

Inescapable

“Can anyone hide in secret places so that I cannot see him?” declares the Lord.  “Do not I fill heaven and earth?”  Jeremiah 23:24

What a different world we would live in, if all men understood and believed this.  Our deeds are not covered by darkness or hidden by closed doors.  There is no way to whisper quietly enough that our words are not heard….in fact, our thoughts are heard.  No mountain is high enough, no water is deep enough, no tunnel penetrates far enough, and no desert is remote enough to escape the all-seeing eye and all-hearing ear.

Because…

God Himself fills heaven and earth.

For the one who loves God and desires to do His bidding, this is a blessed comfort.  For the one who ignores God and has no desire to be directed by Him, it ought to produce terror.  The only reason it doesn’t is that men can convince themselves that He does not exist or is powerless.  But, just because men can delude themselves, does not change truth.  If God exists, He does so whether or not men believe in Him.

The person who does not know or love God sees evidence of His presence every day, but does not recognize it.  The person who loves God sees Him and the work of His hands everywhere and gives thanks.

Father's Day Reflections

My Dad and I got off to a shaky start in more than one way.  I was born in 1945 when he was still in France.  World War II ended in time for him to come home for Thanksgiving when I was 7 months old.  This delay in bonding wouldn’t have been a big deal, except that there was a second and larger problem.  My Dad had no idea how he negatively impacted my concept of myself as I began to develop.

Dad did not know Jesus as his personal Savior until I was 7 years old.  Even after he made a commitment to follow Christ and gave up some of his unsavory habits, he did not understand the hurtfulness of things he said to me.  Although there was a level on which I was sure he loved me, I was wounded by frequent comments that I was fat or stupid or a “sukie.”  That was his word for someone who lacked courage.

Right up through my teenage years, I could not reconcile my excellent grades and the admiration of my intelligence by some family members with my Dad’s comments that I was stupid.  I was always surprised with the high scores I received on standardized tests.  How could I be stupid and score in the top 1 or 2 percent?  I know it sounds ridiculous, but one tends to believe what a parent says.  I remember hearing Dad say that there was no point in educating women.  I knew I wanted an education and had no idea how this would happen.

Having him call me “fatty” was part of what made me feel awkward and uncomfortable about my body.  There was a time in my childhood when illness caused me to become too thin and other times when I was too heavy.  I always felt uncomfortable in my skin.

Dad was very proud of my singing voice.  He would tell me that I sang like a bird.  But, he caused me to be terrified the very first time I sang a solo.  I was only about 8 years old.  The title of the song was “I’ll be a Sun Beam.”  He teased me unmercifully that I was going to get up and sing, “I’ll be a bum seam.”  He thought this was funny.

It was a wonder I learned to drive.  He had no patience and was given to yelling even when I was behind the wheel.  I remember one occasion when we were in city traffic, and he got so nasty, that right out in the driving lane, I put the car into “park,” got out and moved to the back seat.  The only reason I persevered in getting my license was that my mother had never learned to drive, and I refused to be as dependent as she was.

I have no idea how I had the courage to attend a college out-of-state and hundreds of miles from home, but it was a God-inspired decision.  I learned that I could not be timid, that a certain amount of self-confidence was right and good and necessary for survival.  It was not sinful to figure out what gifts God had given me and to determine to use them with His help and for His glory.  I lost weight, got contact lenses, figured out how to wear make-up, became a nurse, put myself through college AND forgave my father, and all of this was by the grace of God.

After my Mother’s death, Dad lived with us for about 8 years.  We did not always get along or see eye to eye, but we did live together in peace the vast majority of the time.  I tried once during those years to talk to him about the hurt…to get it out in the open.  I thought I would start by telling him that it was hurtful to me that he had helped my brothers with their college education.  He had helped me with nursing school, the entirety of which was equivalent to about one semester of college, and after that I was on my own.  I had to work hard to pay for my college expenses, and I had not been able to participate in extra activities on campus.  His only comment was, “Well, you didn’t come out with any debt, did you?”  Actually I had come out with some debt, although minor.  But, his rather defiant tone and facial expression made it clear that he was not able to understand.  I gave up on trying to express my feelings.  I just forgave him again.

I loved my Dad.

I am not perfect either….some of his rough edges may even live on in me.

One of the things we must do as Christians is to lovingly forgive each other for being frail and imperfect. 

God, our heavenly Father, does.