The Hand Unseen

The hand unseen weaves quietly,

The fabric of my life.

Each fiber hand-crafted,

Colored and formed by the Master.

The hand unseen soothes gently,

The turmoil that surrounds.

Touching my fevered brow,

With a cooling holy calm.

The hand unseen pushes firmly,

As I fearfully take a step,

On a path unknown to me,

But plotted out by Him.

The hand unseen works swiftly,

Laying out the next tile,

Of the winding pathway,

His omniscience, my faith combining.

The hand unseen covers securely,

When the winds of life howl,

When the piercing cold or heat,

Threatens my spirit’s survival.

In astonishment I stand before,

In gratitude I bow to,

In relief I lean against,

The loving unseen hand.

Getting By

Today in the grocery store, I felt a twinge of sadness as I passed an elderly couple.  A small stooped over woman pushed the cart.  She was clearly in charge of the shopping expedition.  A thin man with a dazed expression walked along behind her.  She had tied a rope onto the cart, and he was clinging to the rope.  I have often seen a group of preschool children out for a walk hanging on to a rope to keep them together.  I have never seen this used for an elderly person before.

I suspect that she is mentally alert, and he is not.  He probably wanders off, so having him hold the rope is her way of being able to concentrate on her purchases and not lose him.  On the one hand, you have to admire her resourcefulness and independence.  On the other, life must be a struggle for her.  Although frail herself, she is the care-giver.  He is oblivious to her needs and even to his own.

I found myself hoping that they have someone who pays attention to them…checks up on them…someone who would be aware if her physical frailty got to the point of making her unable to compensate for his mental frailty.

I had a great-aunt and uncle who found themselves in similar straits.  He was weak physically but mentally alert.  She was developing increasing dementia, but seemed physically stronger.  They had no children to watch out for them.  Each one confided in my mother that they were hanging on in order to take care of the other.  My mother did not live near them and worried about them.  They died within 24 hours of each other.

I came home and told my husband about the couple in the grocery store.  We laughed picturing ourselves in those roles.  We agreed that if he ran off, I would never be able to catch him, so a rope just might be necessary. 

Something to look forward to…..

Of Nebuchadnezzar and Ozymandias

Every time I read the story of Nebuchadnezzar and his golden image in the book of Daniel, I think of the poem Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley. And, whenever I see the poem, I think of the story. I wonder if Shelley wrote the poem, because he was aware of the story.

Nebuchadnezzar thought himself to be the greatest king. He had some reason for this, because one of the dreams which Daniel had interpreted for him concerned a statue with a head of gold. Daniel had explained that Nebuchadnezzar’s kingdom was the head of gold and that the inferior materials in the rest of the statue represented inferior kingdoms. Of course, Daniel had also made it clear that his ability to interpret the dream was a gift from the one true God who was in control of human history. It was only this God who was (and is) worthy of worship.

Nevertheless, Nebuchadnezzar’s opinion of himself was so inflated that he had a ninety foot image of himself made and erected in an open plain. It was not just the head of this image that was gold, but the entire thing. Everyone was to bow down to the image on penalty of death in a furnace. Nebuchadnezzar thought himself to be a god worthy of such reverence.

Of course, neither Nebuchadnezzar nor his statue has endured. If his golden image still existed today, it would be a major tourist attraction and an artifact of incalculable value!

Consider Shelley’s poem:

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

The megalomaniacs of human history have come and gone. Each, in his time believing himself to be invincible, has succumbed to the same fate as every commoner. It will continue to be so. The names of today’s famous athletes, entertainers, government leaders, business titans and other news makers will someday be unknown.

But…one day every knee will bow and every tongue confess the one who genuinely is invincible and whose value is far above gold. (Philippians 2:10-11)

The Tale of a Tree

Over 25 years ago, my husband returned from running errands on a Saturday morning with a cup of coffee and a “tree” from McDonald’s.  McD’s was giving out the trees with each cup of coffee that day.  The tree was actually a little slip of evergreen about 7 to 8 inches long.  I asked my husband to plant it in view of our dining room window between our house and the neighbor’s house.

When our son was 4 years old, an ice storm weighed down branches and resulted in many broken limbs.  The swing set disappeared under the downed branches of a maple tree.  Our son sat looking out the dining room window at the evergreen which was by now about 4 feet tall.  Observing its heavy laden and drooping branches, he said, “I have to go outside and help that little tree.”  He bundled up and crunched through the snow.  I watched as he gently shook the ice from the branches of the tree, allowing them to spring back into a more normal position.

Seven years later, my mother had a massive stroke.  We cleaned out the dining room and put in a hospital bed.  She lived with us the last 5 months of her life, requiring round the clock care.    I put lights on the tree which was now a good size for a Christmas tree.  I had to use a ladder to put the lights near the top.  I was happy that the tree was there for her to see from her bed.  She died 2 days before Christmas.

In subsequent years, my father lived with us.  I plugged the lights in yearly as the tree grew taller and stretched the lights as far as they would go.  My father barely noticed.  He sat in the room that had once been our dining room with the drapes closed most of the time.  Eventually I had to remove the lights because the tree had grown too much for me to climb that high and the lights were also stretched too far.

The tree is now 30 feet tall, and we no longer live in that house, but when I pass by, I wonder how long it will be before someone with no sense of the tree’s history will decide to cut it down.  It would be no great loss to anyone else.  But, no one can take the memories from me.

Ride of Restoration

I wanted to get out of town today.  I felt burdened with the problems of others and unsure of my role in trying to help.  I would do the “right” thing, if I only knew what that was.  So, I got in the car and headed toward our cottage on Delta Lake.  My excuse was that two families have used the cottage since I was last there.  I wanted to be sure the pillows were stored in the plastic bins, the refrigerator door was left open, no garbage was in the cans for mice to find, and I wanted to leave some D-Con for the mice if they should come looking.

Today has been a beautiful autumn day…clear blue skies and temperature around 70.  My drive took me over the Tug Hill Plateau where a colorful display is beginning.  In some areas, trees are only starting to turn colors.  Most of the tree is still green, and only the edges seem to be “rusting.”  In other areas, there is a riot of color….bright reds, oranges, and yellows with dark evergreens pointing up through the palette.  The unharvested corn stands straight in the fields in hues ranging from green through yellow to brown.

I saw three horse-drawn Amish rigs.  I knew ahead of time that I was coming up on them, because I saw the horses’ calling cards along the road. Smoke from a wood fire curled from the chimney at the Amish schoolhouse.   I also saw a flock of wild turkey, and a skinny looking fox that caused me to brake when he ran across the road in front of me.  Some of the turbines in the wind farm were moving, others were still against the blue sky.  At times I could see the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains in the distance beyond the Black River Valley.

Apple and chestnut trees had dropped their fruits, which had rolled onto the shoulder of the road decorating it with red and green balls.  Next to the shoulder were wild flowers in yellows, purples and white.  Most of the yellow was allergy-inducing ragweed, which isn’t all that attractive close up, but from a distance the color is lovely in contrast to the purple.

I used to spend such travel time singing non-stop, but since I can now barely croak, I did some whisper-singing. 

I cast all my cares upon you.

I lay all of my burdens down at your feet.

And anytime I don’t know what to do.

I will cast all my cares upon you.

And I discussed my concerns with God.  I thanked him for the beauty of the world He created.  I asked Him how soon will He return and “make the crooked straight and the rough places plain.”  I wondered, “If I were to die today, what would happen to the people who think I should solve their problems?”  Then I thought that the corollary to that is “If I don’t die today, what am I to do?”

I am back home, and I don’t have any specific answers….just an assurance that God is in control, and He knows the next step on my path.

Can Google Solve Death?

The cover of the September 30, 2013 Time magazine poses this startling question.

For years we have heard that the two things in life of which we can be certain are death and taxes.  I do not know whether the prime movers at Google actually believe they can “solve death” or if this is just Time magazine exercising hyperbole.  I suspect it is the later.  Extending the life span, if it can be done so that some quality of life is maintained, is a worthy goal, but we all know that in this world parts wear out whether they make up mechanical devices or biochemical ones.  Nothing will last forever….not even Google.  ( I would refer you to the poem Ozymandias by Shelley.)

No one has figured out how to reverse the Second Law of Thermodynamics, so things do tend toward randomness and disorder.  Before that law and its corollaries were stated by man, the Bible quoted Jesus Christ saying, “Do not store up for your selves treasures on earth where moth and rust destroy…”    (Matthew 6:19) This deterioration was not God’s intent when he created a perfect world.    It was after sin entered that the ground was cursed and painful toil was necessary because of entropy. (Genesis 3).  It was at that time that God said, “The man has now become like one of us, knowing good and evil.  He must not be allowed to reach out his hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever.”  Death became a certainty.

Here is the good news!  Google does not need to solve death…that has already been done.  “For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive.” (I Corinthians 15:22) The sacrificial death of Christ on the cross frees us from the law of sin and death.  By faith, we believe that although death will destroy our physical bodies, our spirits will live on in the presence of God.

So, if Google wants to spend their resources trying to find a way to increase my life span, that’s OK with me.  But, I’ll be happy if they succeed with the car that drives itself, so that I can still get around once I am too frail, blind and deaf to drive safely on my own.

Given their enormous stockpile of cash, I certainly think it would be a better idea for them to work on that other “certainty”…taxes.  I think the odds are better of solving that problem.

To Build a Fire

Last weekend, I went to New Hampshire to watch my husband and eleven other men over the age of 50 compete in the Reach the Beach Relay.  The race is run in 36 legs over 200 miles, beginning at Cannon Mountain and ending on the coast at Hampton Beach State Park.  Along the way, the course runs in or near other state parks,  one of them being White Lake State Park.

Each year, one of the other wives and I set up a campsite at White Lake State Park.  We put up a tent for the guys to rest in and cook a hot meal.  For several years, we cooked on a Coleman stove, but they really don’t throw out a huge amount of heat, and when you are cooking for 12 hungry men, it takes forever to heat up that quantity of food.  So, the last few years I have been cooking over an open fire.  We have always started a fire anyway for the guys to warm themselves.  One never knows what the weather will be like, and some years it has been cold enough to see our breath.

This year the problem wasn’t cold…it was rain…lots of rain.  When we arrived at the campgrounds on Friday afternoon, it was pouring.  I mean it was coming down in torrents.  The campsite was awash.  In spite of a gravel base, there were puddles, the picnic table was extremely wet, and a dry spot had to somehow be created.  We began by putting up the canopy part of a screen house over the picnic table so that we could dry off that area and have a place to work.  Marsha and I were both wearing raincoats and hats, but by the time the canopy was up, we were both soaked.

Marsha continued with the preparations at the picnic table, while I tried to make the fire.  The fire circle, although on gravel, had some puddles in it.  The matches, even though they had not been out in the rain, were soggy from the humidity.  When I purchased the wood at the registration building, the nice park ranger had throw in a fire starter block which seemed to be compressed sawdust.  This too was damp with humidity.  I knew every match I lit was going to be quickly snuffed by the downpour.  Fortunately, I had tossed a very large umbrella in the car.  I put this over the fire circle and crouched underneath it assuming the fire would not flare up so quickly that the umbrella caught on fire.

I started with a base of crumbled newspaper which rapidly became damp from the puddles and the humid air.  We had brought a few pieces of scrap wood along.  We used to bring all our own wood, including small twigs for kindling, but it is against the law to carry logs/parts of tree branches across state lines anymore.  The woods were too wet to be a source of kindling.  I pulled some small wood fragments from the logs I had purchase and broke the fire starter block into pieces.  About 20 matches later, I was beginning to feel desperate.  I began to recollect a short story, To Build a Fire, by Jack London, which I read way back in high school.  A man traveling in the bitter cold of the Yukon realizes that he either has to start a fire or die.  He ends up dying.  I wasn’t facing death….just 12 hungry men who were expecting HOT goulash.

Thoughts of the Jack London story gave way to the Bible story about Elijah and the prophets of Baal.  Elijah challenged the prophets of Baal to put a sacrifice on an altar, but not to light the fire.  Instead, they would each pray to their god, and the god who sent fire down on the altar, would be acknowledged as the true God.  The prophets of Baal didn’t have any luck with their god.  Elijah even dumped barrel after barrel of water on his altar, but when he called on God, there was a bolt of fire from the heavens and the sacrifice burned and all the water was licked up by the flames.  I needed a bolt of fire! 

I just kept praying and lighting more matches.  Finally, a piece of the paper caught fire, it spread to the sawdust fragments, and then to the small pieces of wood, and finally to the soft wood I had purchased.  After that was well established, I placed some of the purchased hardwood.  I picked up the umbrella and stood holding it over the fire until I was sure it wouldn’t immediately go out.  Then I quickly lowered the grate and placed the pot of goulash sauce over the flames.  The macaroni would be added later, so that it didn’t turn to mush.  Once the pot was in place, rain was not hitting the fire directly under the pot, so that portion of the fire could be preserved.

Dinner was about 30 minutes later than I had planned for the first van which arrived, but the guys ate their first course of salad and Italian bread, and then headed for the bath house to shower while the goulash finished heating.  After dinner they huddled under the canopy, which we had extended by attaching a tarp between the canopy frame and some nearby trees.  They said this looked like a still. 

Later when the second van-load of guys arrived, we were able to serve dinner promptly.  The fire was roaring and the rain had slowed down.  The second van of men rested for a couple of hours…some in the tent and some in the van…before driving to catch up with the relay and run their legs.  All that was left for Marsha and me was to clean up the mess and fight off the raccoons which apparently like the aroma of the goulash.

It wasn’t on my “bucket list,” but I can now say I have started a fire in a puddle under an umbrella.