Of Pain Born

Of pain born.

                Aching loneliness

                Longing for wholeness

                Sense of incompleteness

                Perhaps, even rage

                Results in union.

In pain born.

                Stabbing spasms

                Overwhelming pressure

                Swept along

                Lacking control

                With a groan and a cry.

To pain born.

                Broken cocoon

                Blinding light

                Stripped of warmth

                Emerging into

                A cold, hard place.

Through pain born.

                Reality of rejection

                Facing failure

                Exhausting tasks

                Eviscerating disappointments

                Inescapable existence.

               

From pain delivered.

                Freedom from flesh

                Expanding consciousness

                Wholeness of spirit

                Glorious light

                Eternal peace.

By His stripes, we are healed.

               

                

Coffee and Geometry

One of the Dunkin’ Donuts in town is right across from the high school and has turned out to be a good place to tutor.  When I am working for the school system, I use the designated tutoring site, which is a school-owned building.  When I tutor privately, I might use the library or some other public spot like the Dunkin.

Yesterday I met with a sweet teenage girl, whom I tutored all last school year in common core algebra.  She has just begun geometry.  I am pleased that this year, they have actually given the students textbooks, and the books seem to have the materials organized in a logical fashion….NOT TRUE last year.

In any event, I met with her from 5:15 to 6:15, a time when that Dunkin is very quiet.  The only other people who were there most of the hour were a middle-aged woman seated across from a young adult man.  I was focused on my student’s geometry homework, so I didn’t hear much of their conversation.  My general impression was that the relationship was professional, and that the woman was managerial.  I wasn’t sure whether she was interviewing the young man for a position, or whether she was above him in the hierarchy and was mentoring or advising him.  I thought she may have been a local or regional Dunkin manager.

Whatever, the nature of their meeting, they finished up before we did.  He left first.  As she passed us, she stopped.  She asked my student if she was working on her homework, and then asked what the subject was.  When my student said it was geometry, the lady turned to me and said, “And how do you happen to know geometry?”  She said this in a very pleasant fashion.  I wanted to respond in kind, but what followed were several seconds of silence, as I tried to come up with an answer that was truthful and didn’t sound arrogant.

*I majored in math in college….that would be a logical explanation, but it’s not true.

*I am a retired math teacher…..another logical answer, but not true.

*I am a tutor…..true, but not an explanation.  Most tutors won’t touch high school math and science.

*I am a math genius….not true and also arrogant.

*Don’t all 70 year old grandmothers know geometry?....just plain silly.

What came out of my mouth after the lengthy pause was, “I’m a whiz-bang in math and home-schooling my son gave me a chance to review.”  True….but a tad on the arrogant side.  It was just the best I could do under pressure.

So how do I happen to know geometry, a subject I studied 56 years ago when I was 14?

*Isn’t it like riding a bicycle?  Once you learn how, it comes back quickly.

*Math feels good inside my head.  When I work on math problems, I actually have a physically pleasurable sensation in my brain.

*I have a life-long love affair with math! 

Well now…doesn’t all of that make me sound like an oddball?  I hadn’t really thought about the fact that seeing a granny tutoring a teenager in math in the middle of a Dunkin Donut might seem strange.

At least, I got a coffee while I was there.  When it comes to coffee, it is my considered opinion that the only place that might tie with Dunkin is Tim Horton.  I prefer both over Starbucks.

Also, if C is the midpoint of line AB, then line segment AC equals line segment CB.  If AC = 3y and AB =42, you can easily determine y=7.

And that’s the truth from Ruth

Waiting in the lobby of the jail....

Waiting in the lobby of the jail to be allowed access for a visit with an inmate isn’t much fun. It is required that one be there more than 20 minutes before the visit or be turned away.  People-watching to pass the time may be interesting, but is also sometimes depressing.

Yesterday as I waited for the visit time for female inmates, I was reading a book, but observing others in the lobby also.  Two young girls, I would guess their ages at 8 and 11, were waiting with women I surmised to be their grandmothers, although I suppose great-grandmothers might have been possible depending on how closely together the generations were crammed.  I assumed the women were waiting to see their daughters, who were mothers to the granddaughters.

I thought both grandmothers to be younger than I am, but both looked haggard.  Both granddaughters were pretty much out of control.  They had difficulty sitting still, talked loudly, and in general, made their presence more obvious than socially appropriate.  Neither grandmother had much success controlling the behaviors.  One girl had on a headset and was listening to music, but she was also singing along loudly, and grandma had no luck quieting her down.

Eventually the two grandmothers began talking to each other.  One said caring for her granddaughter was like taking care of 50.  The other said taking care of hers was like caring for 60.  The grandmother of the girl listening to music said her granddaughter was ADHD and that listening to music was the only thing that calmed her at all.  I guess I wouldn’t want to be around when she wasn’t listening to music.

Please understand, I am not being critical about their inability to control the girls’ behaviors.  I raised a girl with ADHD, and I well remember the struggle.  But….I was the mother, not the grandmother.  These poor women are attempting to raise kids at a time in their lives when strength and energy are diminishing.  The fact that they are visiting daughters who are incarcerated probably means they struggled as mothers, and now they are repeating the process when they are even less able to cope.

This is a huge and overwhelming problem for our society.  Young women can now rejoice in their sexual freedom and the fact that being a single mom doesn’t have the stigma it once did.  They feel they can make whatever decisions they wish, and that it is their business.  They don’t see how it will impact their own mothers.  Young men don’t have a sense of responsibility that ought to go with impregnating a woman.  We now have two generations….maybe three…that have trashed their own lives and those of the children they are abandoning to an older generation that is weary.

I grieve for the grandparents whose lives are sucked into this chaos, and for the children who have no father, a mother in jail, and no sense of right and wrong….perhaps no ability to think clearly enough to realize that having a meaningful life is actually possible.

Poor choices on the part of some of my own family members have put me in contact with many young people who are in despair and see little hope for their future.  Addictions to drugs and alcohol may temporarily diminish their pain, but over the long haul, these problems add to the pain and to the inability to make rational decisions.

I know what the answer is….but getting them to consider it is pretty difficult.

Jesus said….I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.  John 10:10

Called to Wash Feet

Recently I became involved in a couple of discussions regarding “foot-washing.”  I had seen a comment that “no one feels called to wash dirty feet.”  My instinctive reaction was that the statement was incorrect.  Now, having considered it for a couple of weeks, I still think it is false, whether taken literally or metaphorically.

As a nurse, and a mother, I have washed a lot of dirty feet.  I have never actually taken part in foot-washing as a form of worship in a church service, but I have been present as an on-looker.  In that context, I understand it to be representative of humility and the act of a servant.  However, I just see it as something that needs to be done or should be done, and so I would cheerfully do it anytime, anywhere, for anyone.  I don’t know if this exposes a flaw in myself or a strength.  Am I refusing to be “humbled” by such an act, or is my call to service so strong that such an act is totally natural?

I think that my eight year-old granddaughter has an innate call to service.  One evening while I was visiting her family, my daughter called me into the bedroom to see an outfit she had recently purchased.  My daughter’s husband was lying on the bed with his feet hanging over the edge, and his sweet little girl was kneeling on the floor rubbing lotion on his feet.  This act seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to her.  During a later visit, when my daughter had just had surgery and wasn’t coming down to the dining room for meals yet, this granddaughter appeared in the kitchen and offered to take her mother’s meal up to her.  There was nothing affected in these actions, no sign that she expected anyone to notice her acts of service.  They came as a natural outgrowth of who she is as a person.  She delighted in playing the servant’s role.

I think many people who are nurses….or at least, who were nurses in my era…delight in the comfort foot-washing brings.  An important part of the bed bath used to be actually putting the person’s feet in a basin of water.  A towel was spread out at the foot of the bed, a basin of warm water was put on the towel, and the person’s lower leg and foot were supported on the nurse’s arm while the foot was carefully lowered into the basin.  Many, many times this would result in the patient saying, “Oh, that feels so good.”  Why would one not feel pleasure in doing something that brought comfort to another?  Why would one not feel that foot-washing was a calling?

Foot-washing is only the beginning of what nurses do on a daily basis.  They hold the basin while someone vomits.  They struggle to undress the drunk who has been in a car accident and needs to be helped into the bed.  They clean up the person who can no longer control his or her bowels.  I have never looked on any of this as demeaning, but rather as what I was called and empowered to do.

I recognize that not all of us are called to wash feet in a literal sense, but some of us are.  I suspect that in a metaphoric sense, we all have such a calling.

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men….It is the Lord Christ you are serving.  Colossians 3:23-24

A Terrifying Prospect

I am terrified that we as a nation are going to get what we deserve…..either Hillary Clinton or Donald Trump.

We seem to have reached a point where there is no possibility of someone who combines common sense and integrity rising to enough prominence to be elected. 

We are enthralled with exhibitionists like the Kardashians, who aspire to “breaking the internet.”  We watch “reality” TV which is not “real” at all.  Can we be trusted to elect a “real” president?

We are so anxious for women to be self-determining, that we will sweep under the table Planned Parenthood’s provision of fetal body parts, perhaps for profit, perhaps not, but either way….revolting.   What has happened to the dignity of human life?

We are so anxious to prove that we are open-minded and politically correct, that we can’t stand up for what is right.  Then ironically, we admire Donald Trump brazenly taking a stand that is not just politically incorrect, but crass and boorish.  Are we incapable of seeing how preposterous this is?

We have reached a point where honesty is only valued if it enhances our agenda.  We admire people who get ahead through deception.  It’s OK if they can get away with it….just don’t get caught.  Do we enjoy being lied to?

We, as a society, need to re-examine our values.  For whom are we cheering?  Whose ideas are influencing us?  What are we reading?  What are we watching?  To what are we listening?  What on earth are we doing?

“All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.”  (Edmund Burke)

Thankfully, the election is still over a year away.  There is still time for reason to prevail.  Time for a candidate to emerge who wishes to serve his/her country instead of him/herself.  Someone who can represent us on the world stage with both dignity and strength.

I have no idea, at this point, who that might be.  I pray that there will be such a choice on the ballot, and that we will elect that person.  At the same time, I understand that God is sovereign.  We may end up with someone “awful,” because it fits into the divine “big picture,” of which we are currently ignorant.

And…God often lets us have what we deserve.

The Importance of Answering the Question

Recently I went into Home Depot to pick up some deck paint.  As my 5 gallon container was being mixed, a lady and boy I assumed to be her son entered the area.  The boy was sitting in the child seat in the cart, although I judged him too old to be sitting in the cart, and wondered why he was there.  Did he have a tendency to wander off?  Was he a “problem child” of some sort?

The boy immediately noticed the paint being shaken.  “Look at that machine!  What is it doing?”

I expected the mother to give him a reasonable answer.  Instead she snapped at him, “Don’t pay any attention to that!” 

I was three or four steps away from the boy.  I caught his eye and smiled at him.  The mother was turned away looking at color samples.

My paint continued to shake, and I continued to be concerned about the mother’s response to her child.  Did he spend his entire day asking questions?  Was she sick of answering?

Eventually, I couldn’t help myself.  I took two steps closer to the boy, and said, “The machine is shaking up my paint in order to mix it.  If someone had to stir the color in by hand, they would be stirring all afternoon to get it mixed properly.  The machine can do it much more quickly.”

“Wow,” he said, “that machine is really interesting.”

“Yes, it is,” I replied.

The mother ignored me and the boy, for which I was grateful.  I had wondered, if she would be angry that I had spoken to her son.  I did make sure not to get too close and invade his personal space.

Why would a mother be unwilling to answer her kid’s questions….even if he asked thousands of them.  Isn’t that how kids learn?

About 40 years ago, a friend was visiting at our home.  We sat in the living room talking while my first daughter played on the floor.  At one point, my daughter pointed at something under my chair and asked what it was.  I more or less stood on my head to see what she was pointing at and answer her questions.  My friend said, “That is why your kids are so smart, you know….you take the time to answer their questions.”

It has never occurred to me NOT to answer my children’s questions!  It isn’t just a matter of satisfying their curiosity and “making them smart.”  It is a way of respecting their dignity as a person, and that is one of the most important things a parent can do.

Gravesite Thoughts

Usually we visit family graves around Memorial Day…or certainly by mid-June…and plant flowers around the tombstones.  It has been traditional, because it was Bill’s Dad’s habit, and as he aged and could not do this alone, we were drawn into it.  But this year…..I don’t know what happened, but it is mid-July and the task was not done until today, and not done to the extent of previous years.

Several generations of Bill’s Dad’s side of the family are buried in a cemetery in Antwerp, New York. Since no longer having his own greenhouses, Bill’s Dad would order geraniums from a local nursery.  We would load up the car with the flowers, fertilizer, mulch, tools, and bottles of water, since there is no water source in that cemetery.  Later, we would go to the cemetery on the north side of Watertown, where Bill’s Mom’s side of the family is buried, and finally to the cemetery on the south side where my parents are buried.

Last year, Bill’s Dad passed away.  This year we did not get to Antwerp at all.  No flowers were ordered ahead, and by now, everything was picked over and scraggly looking.  We were so late planting that we ended up running around to FIVE different stores before we found flowers that were acceptable to Bill for his parents’ gravesite, my parents’ gravesite, and that of a family friend whose grave we always take care of.

Being in our 70s ourselves, this is quite a bit of effort, and I did considerable thinking while turning over the soil and trying to remove the roots of last year’s plants.

*This is an awful lot of work to do for people who don’t even know we are doing it.  I sure am glad my shoulder fracture is well healed.

*I tried to decrease the work by suggesting to Bill that instead of continuing to plant a big circle around the main tombstone where his parents are buried, we could just plant a row on either side.  Nope.  It had to be done the way his Dad had done it.

*No one is doing this for my grandparents’ graves which are a 3 hour car ride away.  This seems especially a shame, because my mother’s father so faithfully cared for the graves of his deceased family members.  He also absolutely loved flowers.

*The odds aren’t good that anyone will do this for Bill and me.  Oldest daughter is in a wheelchair and although, she likes to garden, getting into the right position to do the work in a cemetery probably won’t be possible.  Daughter #2 says she is eventually moving to a commune, so she’s probably out.  Daughter #3 lives very far away.  Although she likes to garden, she is not into traditions like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, so what are the odds she would think about planting gravesites?  #1 Son has declared that he is as sentimental as a brick, and he also lives on the other side of the country, so I’m not expecting anything from him in this department.

*So what to do with our mortal remains????  If we are cremated, we still have to figure out what to do with the ashes.

Eventually, I got distracted from these thoughts leaving my questions unanswered.  After planting the flowers in front of my parents’ tombstone, I poured on a healthy supply of water and to my amazement, scores of ants came scurrying out of the ground and crawled all over the stone.  There must be a huge ant colony either under the headstone or under the area where the flowers are planted, and watering flooded their home.

I noticed a wheelbarrow of sand just behind my parents’ headstone and wondered who had left it there and why.  Just as we were finishing up, I realized that there must be a burial about to take place.  A cemetery worker arrived and spread out a piece of artificial grass a couple of rows away.  Two young men in military uniforms arrived and were standing around obviously waiting.  We left before a hearse and procession appeared.  I suppose the sand was there for fill in the newly dug grave.

So, I am home now and wondering…

Will anyone notice that the usual geraniums are missing from the family graves in Antwerp?

Would Bill’s Dad be upset at the pitiful scraggly geraniums we planted over his grave?

With apologies to Christian Rossetti, who is dead and doesn’t know anyway….

When I am dead, my dearest,

Sing no sad songs for me;

Plant thou no scraggly geranium,

Nor brown and wilted pansy:

The ants that crawl above me,

With your watering can don’t wet;

And if thou wilt, remember,

And if thou wilt, forget.