Unanswered Cry, Breaking Heart

Recently I visited my newest grandchild for 10 days.  He was about 5 weeks old…still technically a newborn.  All babies cry…it is normal.  Those who don’t are either weak or sick.  They cry because they have no other way to communicate their needs.

One day as I held him and tried to comfort him I told him that his crying was “breaking my heart.”  I should not have said this in front of his two year-old sister, who got a horrified look on her face and said, “He is breaking Grandma’s heart!”  I tried to explain to her that I was just trying to say that it made me sad to see him cry, and that I was sad when she cried too.

But….I, of course, knew that his mother was near-by and was available to nurse him, if it was hunger that was causing the crying.  We would change his diaper, rock him, walk the floor with him and do whatever else we could to comfort him.

What really “breaks my heart” is the knowledge that there are many babies and children in this world right now, who are crying, and whose cries will not be responded to by a loving parent.

There are parents who are not loving, who really didn’t want this child.

There are parents who are self-absorbed.  The child is not their priority.  Perhaps, video games or their cell phone or drugs or going out to drink are more important.

There are loving parents who cannot respond.  Perhaps they are lying dead in the rubble of Aleppo or some other war-torn spot.  The child will cry over and over until too weak to cry and may die unheeded and uncomforted.

A few years ago, a single mother in my city died in her apartment shortly after giving birth.  She had no local family, and apparently, no friends.  No one checked on her after her discharge from the hospital.  Her baby starved to death before anyone found them.  It made me sick at heart to think of people in adjacent apartments who might have heard the crying baby and just assumed it was normal fussing, rather than realizing it was a desperate cry for life itself.  Compassionate people, who would have helped, drove by on the busy street in front of the apartment oblivious to the need.

I cannot solve the problems in Syria or Africa or even in my own city.  I can only deal with the needs that God allows me to see…the crying He allows me to hear, but there are times when the burden of the crying children in this world weighs on my heart and “breaks” it.

Manipulation

I absolutely abhor manipulation.  I think it is disrespectful and arrogant, and I have a very broad definition of it.

I have sometimes been criticized for being too “honest.”  I tend to tell people the truth…whether or not they want to hear it.  I also tend to be animated when I speak, and I am sometimes misinterpreted as being adversarial when that is not my intent.  This is coming to mind now, because yesterday while discussing a topic about which I feel strongly, the person to whom I was speaking said, “I am not the enemy here.”  I didn’t think that she was.  I had no intent to be accusatory. The topic was one about which I felt strongly and thought she did too.  I suspect, however, that because of the type of work she does, she often finds herself in an adversarial position.

The same person was later explaining her approach in some situations where she purposely does not say what she is really thinking and puts on a tone of voice other than her normal one.  I understand doing that to be less threatening, but I wonder at what point does that cross over into manipulation?  I wonder if the people with whom she “makes nice” know that she is playing a game with them.  When people do that to me, I find myself laughing inside.

When I was in nursing school back in the dark ages, we were taught how to speak to doctors in situations where we thought they were missing something.  How do you make a suggestion to this person whose place in the hierarchy is above your own?  What we were taught smacks of manipulation to me.  It means, “I see something you don’t see, but I can’t offend you by telling you that, so instead I am going to play this silly game where I pretend to be dumb and just asking an innocent question.”

I like to come at people head on and put all my cards on the table.  I think that shows that I respect them as equals.  If I have an agenda and I am being sly in the way I present it, that seems to me to be arrogant.  I think it says that I don’t respect them, so I am leading them without them recognizing that they are about to do what I want, rather than having an open discussion that leads to a mutual understanding and plan of action.

When I was a young woman, I decided that flirting was manipulative.  This did not get me many dates, but dating wasn’t my objective.  I wanted a life-long relationship based on respect and honesty.  If I can make a man do what I want by flirtation, am I not showing that I am superior to him?  That is no basis for working through a life-time of challenges.

I have worked with men in some settings without any difficulty and in others where I apparently was supposed to defer to them and not express my opinions too vigorously.  I know some men like flirtation.  Do some also like manipulation?

I suppose there is a balance between being so deferential that it is manipulative and being so open that it is offensive.  I tip toward the latter. 

I am also a very poor liar and would be a terrible poker player.

Nasty Women

A lot has been said recently about “Nasty Women,” and there seem to be many women proud of being labeled with that term.

I really hate it when the meaning of a perfectly good word is hijacked and made to mean something else!  I wish women would fight against being labeled with “nasty” rather than accepting it as a badge of honor.

A couple of years ago, it became popular to quote Sheryl Sandberg who had expressed the idea that the same characteristic which in boys is called leadership is called bossiness in girls.  I like the idea of refusing to be labeled bossy, just because one is assertive and full of ideas.

One of my granddaughters once called me and asked me what it means to be Type-A.  Her mother had told her that she and I were both Type-A people.  I said, “Well, some people might accuse us of being bossy.”  I heard her giggle, so I’m sure that has happened to her.  “But,” I continued, “I think it means we are people with lots of ideas who are willing to work hard to make our ideas come about.”

Yes….I admit to being Type A, and I am sure that as a child I was accused of being bossy.  As an adult, I have been accused of being assertive, too quick to give my ideas, opinionated, etc.  I will admit to all of that, but I refuse to call myself “nasty.”  There need to be some people like us in the world, and some of them are bound to be female.  I recognize this is sometimes uncomfortable for males, but I think they need to get used to it.

I am a nurse, and if we are not by nature assertive, we need to learn to be.  If you are a nurse, you do not stand back and wait for someone else to act when you see someone in distress.  I was once in an auditorium with hundreds of people when a woman stood up and shouted, “Somebody do something.”  An elderly woman sitting near her had stopped breathing.  I did not wait for anyone else to respond.  I dove over several people in the row, dropped her dentures in the lap of the nearest person and resuscitated her.

On another occasion in an auditorium, a friend tapped me on the shoulder and said that something was wrong with his elderly mother.  It was a similar scenario.  Interesting to me was the fact that this same man later made accusations against me regarding my tendency to express opinions too quickly.  Well, you know, you can’t have it both ways.  You can’t expect me to jump in and save your mother’s life in one setting and then sit mutely and let the men have their say first in another.  I refuse to believe that makes me “nasty.”

I realize there are women in the world who think it is their role to always defer to men.  I am not one of them.  I am fortunate to have a husband who enjoys the challenge of being married to me.  This was, of course, no accident.  I had some specific criteria for a husband and would have stayed single if I hadn’t met someone who met the criteria.  I was looking for someone strong enough to meet me as an equal.  Being able to steamroll my husband and always get my way would have been no fun at all.  Being married to someone who thought he was supposed to constantly dominate me and get his way would have been a blood bath.  It is much more interesting to be able to discuss and debate and compromise.

I recognize that as a follower of Christ, I have an obligation to be gracious in what I say and the way I say it.  That has always been a challenge for me.  My mind works rapidly in assessing and coming up with solutions.  It is hard for me to watch a group stumble bumble around when the answer is so obvious to me.  I have always wished people would take advantage of me rather than feeling threatened by me.

Now about the word “bitch” which has also been hijacked to mean pretty much the same as “nasty woman.”  That is a perfectly good word for a female dog.

Let’s stop the name calling and appreciate people for their abilities.

My Early Life of Crime

Last night at church, the pastor made the comment that if you have ever told a lie, you are a liar; and if you have even stolen anything, you are a thief.  His point was that we are all guilty before God.  I certainly agree with that premise.  I know I have lied in my lifetime, although it is always my intent never even to tell what someone might call “a little white lie.”  I thought to myself, that I was unaware of ever stealing anything….then I remember that my career as a thief began very early in life.

When I was less than six, there were multiple times when we temporarily moved in with my mother’s parents.  Sometimes the reason was that we were between houses.  Sometimes my grandmother was ill, and we moved in so that my mother could care for her.  In any event, I was well acquainted with my grandparents’ neighborhood, and I am sure most of the neighbors knew me.

I was very little…may about 3 when I visited a neighbor regularly who had grandchildren of her own.  This meant she had a supply of toys which I enjoyed.  My favorite item at her house was a dirty, ratty, beat-up old doll, which for reasons no one quite understood, I fell in love with and called Becky.

One day after visiting there, I returned home to Grandma’s house in possession of Becky.  I hadn’t exactly stolen her, as I had left my beautiful new doll in her place.  My mother was horrified that I had stolen Becky and marched me back to the neighbor’s house to return her.  The neighbor lady told my mother that if I loved that doll enough to leave my lovely new doll in her place, then I certainly could keep it.  I think the new doll went back home with me too.  But, nothing compared to Becky.

Becky was so loved and played with so vigorously that she eventually became what my mother considered to be a health hazard, so she put her in the garbage.  I dug her out of the garbage.  I don’t remember all of this, but apparently, a cycle of in the garbage and retrieved from the garbage went on for some time.  When I was much older, my mother admitted that she had finally dismembered Becky, to get rid of the filthy thing.  I’m sure if I had known this at the time, my heart would have been broken.  My mother was not in the least a hard-hearted person, so I guess she must have been desperate. 

Fortunately, this did not set me on a path of crime in general and thievery in particular!

A Veteran's Day Story for My Grandchildren

During the Revolutionary War, when the American Colonies were trying to establish their independence from England, the American soldiers were not career soldiers.  They were farmers who had guns and who answered the call to protect this land.

Your great, great, great, great, great, great, great Grandfather was Sergeant Nathan Chapin.  He was born in Springfield, Massachusetts in 1735, so during the Revolutionary War he was in his forties.  On July 5, 1777, he was captured by the British while fighting in the Battle of Ticonderoga.  He and other prisoners were ordered to go to Crown Point (about 10 miles away) to cut hay.  They were given provisions which included scythes for cutting the hay, and for whatever reason, they were also supplied with rum.

They were only accompanied on this work detail by one guard, who apparently liked rum, and they were very generous with him.  He had so much rum that he fell asleep, and they were able to escape.

A group of nine men, guided by Sgt. Nathan Chapin and using only the moss on the trees as a compass, found their way back to Springfield (a distance of about 200 miles) to the great joy of their family and friends.  Sgt. Nathan Chapin lived to be 95 years old.

Sgt. Nathan Chapin was the son of Japhet Chapin and his wife Thankful Dickinson.

The genealogy is:

Sgt. Nathan Chapin (1735-1830)

Deacon Japhet Chapin (1762-1833)

Deacon Japhet Chapin (1796-1888)

Lawson Chapin (1833-1864)

William Chapin (1860-?)

Willard Chapin (1895-1983)

Richard Chapin (1917-2014)

William Chapin (1943-still living)

Your mother/father

You

The information for this story comes from The Chapin Book published in 1924.  It lists the descendants of Deacon Samuel Chapin who arrived in the Massachusetts Colony in approximately 1632.

Ezra's Prayer

Poor Ezra is absolutely devastated by what he has learned.  Years earlier the Jewish people had been hauled off into exile.  Jehovah had allowed this as punishment for turning to other gods and failing to worship Him as the one true god.  Ezra and a small contingent of his fellow Israelites have been allowed by King Artaxerxes of Persia to return to Jerusalem to rebuild the temple.

Ezra has learned that those returning to their homeland have begun to intermarry with the locals.  This was strictly forbidden, not because God is opposed to “true love,” but because intermarriage led to worship of the god of the spouse and forsaking worship of Jehovah.

Ezra is horrified that the sin that caused them to go into exile has reared its head among the returning remnant.  His prayer is recorded in Ezra 9, and ends with:

                O Lord, God of Israel, you are righteous!  We are left this day as a remnant.  Here we are before you in our guilt, though because of it not one of us can stand in your presence.

As I look at the culture around me, and at what we the people of the United States have become, I feel that we should echo this prayer:

                O Lord God…you are righteous!  Here we are before you in our guilt…..

It is devastating to realize the decline in our culture which has happened in my lifetime, and that these are changes which many in our country applaud.  We want our “rights,” freedom to choose our own destiny, freedom to give a higher priority to our desires than we give to God Himself, freedom to shake our fist in His face…..and that is terrifying.

In Romans 1:18-32, there is a description of what happens to a culture which rejects God so repeatedly and thoroughly that He gives up on them.  Here is where we are, my fellow Americans.

                Since they did not think it worthwhile to retain the knowledge of God, he gave them over to a depraved mind, to do what ought not to be done.  They have become filled with every kind of wickedness, evil, greed and depravity.  They are full of envy, murder, strife, deceit and malice.  They are gossips, slanderers, God-haters, insolent, arrogant and boastful; they invent ways of doing evil; they disobey their parents; they are senseless, faithless, heartless, ruthless.  Although they know God’s righteous decree that those who do such things deserve death, they not only continue to do these very things but also approve of those who practice them.

It does not matter who wins the coming election.  We as a nation are in a lot of trouble.

                Here we stand before you in our guilt……

Our Eyes Are Upon You

Jehoshaphat was one of the good guys among kings of Judah.  He removed objects of idol worship from the land, sent priests throughout the land to teach the people God’s commandments and how to properly worship him, and consistently sought the advice of godly prophets.  Much of his reign was peaceful.

However, at one point, an army consisting of members of three different surrounding nations advanced to make war with him.  Jehoshaphat’s army was smaller and no match for his enemies.  In II Chronicles 20, his prayer on this occasion is recorded.  “All the men of Judah, with their wives and children and little ones, stood there before the Lord” in the temple in Jerusalem and listened to Jehoshaphat’s prayer, as he pleaded for God’s help.

His prayer ends with this sentence: 

We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon you.

This seems so appropriate to me today.  I am dealing with some situations personally in which I really don’t know what to do.   It also seems that we as a nation currently don’t know what to do about numerous issues, not the least of which being the upcoming election.

Jehoshaphat believed a prophet who declared there would be deliverance without the Judean army having to fight.  As Jehoshaphat led the people in worship, some of the priests stood up and began to sing praises to God.  Men were appointed to go out at the head of the army declaring, “Give thanks to the Lord, for his love endures forever.”

As they went into battle the next day, they discovered the opposing armies were dead.  They had turned on each other and wiped each other out.  The army of Judah did not have to fight, because the battle was God’s.

So how about this for a motto and a way to begin every day?

We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon you.