The Donkey of Balaam

Stupid jackass!

Clumsy donkey!

Lazy beast!

I am summoned by a king!

You embarrass me.

You crush my foot.

You thwart me.

I am summoned by a king!

I am Balaam,

Prophet, seer,

Wise among men

And summoned by a king!

But the donkey spoke:

I am your humble servant

Your loyal mount,

Even today, at this hour,

I am caring for you,

Protecting you,

For, I see His angel,

Hear His voice,

Obey His commands.

I too am summoned by a King!

(See Numbers 22)

My Brain is a Night-time Hoarder

I am not a hoarder….well, not for the most part.  My house is neat and tidy with the exception of some junk drawers and the top surface of my desk.  My computer desk top is not even particularly cluttered…not nearly so much as my actual physical desk.

My brain…that is a whole different matter…at least at night when I am trying to sleep.  During the day, I can keep my thoughts compartmentalized.  I do not allow myself to be concerned about one thing while I am working on another.  I can defer “worrying” about something until it is really time to consider it, but neither am I a procrastinator.  Thought fragments are in designated storage places waiting to be pulled out at the appropriate time...I do not view when I am trying to sleep as the appropriate time.  But, once I am horizontal and my eyes are closed…then!

Then, out they tumble like scraps of quilt fabric, unfinished knitting, half written stories, letters I must write, bills I must pay, left-overs in the refrigerator that need to be discarded, dirty laundry, clues to the unfinished crossword puzzle, and a myriad of other debris.  The disjointed mess pours out on the floors of my brain until I am slogging knee-deep in the confusing jumble.  I just want to power down my mind and sink into oblivion, but sometimes I spend the night trying to cram the disorder and chaos back into cupboards with doors that latch.

Fortunately, this does not happen every night.  When it does, I toss and turn, feeling overwhelmed and inadequate for the task of restoring some semblance of order.

So this morning, I am tired and disgusted with my brain’s hoarding habit.  I need a broom and some large trash bags and also….a nap.

Sorting Through the Numbers

The Book of Numbers in the Old Testament can be pretty boring and tedious.  For example, in chapter 7, the leaders of each of the twelve tribes bring offerings on the occasion of the tabernacle’s dedication.  Each of the 12 brings an offering identical to all the others, but instead of just naming the leaders and then saying, “each leader brought….” followed by the description, every leader individually is mentioned with every specific of his offering being spelled out.  This means the detail in Numbers 7:13-17 is repeated word for word eleven more times.  I confess to not reading it over and over.

I also confess to being enough of a math geek that in Numbers 4:34-38, when it mentions the number of men in the Kohathite, Gershonite and Merarite clans and then gives the total, I checked the addition.

It is very tempting when reading through the Bible to skip Numbers and some of the other Old Testament books.  The problem is that there are some interesting nuggets amongst the not so interesting minutia.

For example, the entire sixth chapter relates to Nazirite vows…a special vow of separation to the Lord.  Intriguing to me is the fact that either a male or female can make this vow, and there is no difference recorded in the way in which the vow is kept….even though there is head shaving involved.  I like the fact that God accepts male and female devotion equally.  The whole gender issue is a problem of fallen man.  God does not value one over another.

Also, I wouldn’t want to miss Numbers 6:24-26 The Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.

Somewhere in my distance past, I sang with a group that did a choral arrangement of those verses.  Since reading them again a couple of days ago, the music is playing in my mind.  I can hear the parts.  I can feel the hush of worship and the soaring upward of my spirit with the music.  I want to speak this blessing over my family and friends.  I want everyone in the world to know that it is God’s desire to bless us, to turn his face toward us and to give us peace!

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