The Shroud

 On this mountain he will destroy the shroud that enfolds all peoples, the sheet that covers all nations, he will swallow up death forever.  The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces...Isaiah 25:7,8

I can see it coming slowly closer.  It drifts toward me.  Sometimes its movement is barely perceptible; other times it seems to descend rapidly.  I know that one day this black sheet will cover and entangle me.  It will impede my movements.  I will not be able to reach out toward my family and friends, because it will bind me.  It will muffle my cries and laughter and whispers and songs, so that no one else can hear them.

The shroud is enormous and all encompassing.  I realize that it will not only envelope me, but all those that I love.  They too will be wrapped and bound in its folds.  I want to protect them, but I do not even know how to save myself from its steady descent toward me.

My mind and soul are filled with dark and depressing images. Is there no help?  I weep in despair and cry out for someone to intercede and stop the inevitable.

But what is this?  By a miracle I do not understand, the shroud begins to retreat!  It is gathered up, wadded up, and cast away by someone whose face radiates love.  He reaches down and with the sleeve of his own garment wipes the tears from my face.  The fabric of death is gone.  The fabric which covers him is dazzling, brilliant white.  For the first time, I see all things clearly, and I bow before him.

Thoughts in the Night

 

Yesterday I read an article in Time magazine about research that is being done regarding what the brain does at night while we sleep.  This is a topic I find quite fascinating, as I am aware that my brain seems to be very busy at night.  It is not unusual for me to wake up with an idea for a poem, as though my brain has been working on assembling ideas while I slept.

Over the past 3-4 weeks, I have been working on a short story.  I think I have decided not to try and get it published, but rather to just post it on https://ruthchapin.com where I have some other short stories posted.  The current story still needs some editing, but I am also struggling with what to use for a title.  I asked a friend to read it and see if she could come up with a title.  She did come up with three possibilities depending on what I perceive as my audience.

Well…what is my audience?  I’m not sure.  Any one of her ideas would require some rewriting…for example introducing a certain idea earlier in the story or expanding on an idea from the story.  Not being able to make a decision, I decided to put it on the back burner for a few days.

Last night, I woke up at 3:30 AM with a single word in my mind.  It was a word neither she nor I had thought of in connection with the story, but which would have a double meaning in the story.  It would take minimal rewriting to make it a logical title.  I haven’t decided yet if I will use it, but it fascinates me that some portion of my brain thinks it’s a great idea.

It is as though part of my brain came up with the notion and then shook the other part of my brain awake.

“Hey, hey!  Wake up!  I’ve got this great idea.  How can you sleep when I have something to tell you?”

“Uh…duh…can’t thish wait to mmmmmorninnnnn….zzzzz”

“No!  Of course not, you’ll forget it if I don’t have your full attention.”

“Sigh…do I have to write it down?  Can’t you remind me in the morning?”

I didn’t write it down, but I did remember it in the morning.  I hope that part of my brain is pleased with itself.  Otherwise, who knows what will happen tonight?

Thoughts on Being Illiterate

 Today at the eye doctor’s office, I saw an elderly gentleman who was accompanied by an elderly lady.  I first assumed she was his wife, but later decided she was an aide.  He seemed somewhat confused, so he may have had dementia.  However, I also heard him tell the clerk checking him in, that he could not read.  The woman with him filled out the forms and had him sign them.  When she turned the forms in, I heard her apologize for his signature and say that he had done the best he could.

It made me think again about how difficult it is for people who can’t read.  When I worked at a small rural hospital enrolling men in a research project, I encountered other men who could not read.  None of them ever told me in so many words that they couldn’t read.  I figured it out over time.  I realized that certain men when they came to see me always brought their wives or girlfriends with them, and that the ladies were very attentive to documents I gave to the men.  So without commenting on their lack of reading ability, I would just read the documents to them.  After a couple of visits, I gathered that the ladies decided they could trust me to be honest and helpful, and they stopped attending every appointment.

None of these men were lacking in intelligence.  All of them had jobs with which they supported their family, but they had jobs which didn’t require a great deal of reading.  Two of them were farmers and one was a janitor.  I suspect the farmers had help with record keeping from their significant others.

One of my children is dyslexic and had a very difficult time learning to read.  She eventually did learn and does sometimes read for enjoyment, but there are many times she just avoids reading.  She doesn’t seem to be able to quickly scan a package in the grocery store for information.  I don’t think she reads recipes if she can help it.

Not being able to read can cause some very awkward situations.  Seeing the gentleman today reminded me of a situation in which I unwittingly embarrassed a man with very poor reading ability.  I taught an adult Sunday School class, and sometimes when we read a passage in the Bible, I would have each person in the group read a verse or two.  I had no idea that I had someone in the class who read very poorly.  The man was married to a teacher, and I never suspected that he had this problem until we were reading around the circle, and we came to him.  He stumbled through the verse with great difficulty.  I felt terrible about placing him in the situation.  I wished I had asked for volunteers to read or that he had just said he wished to “pass.”  I don’t think I ever went around in a circle like that again.

People who are illiterate are NOT necessarily stupid.  Some people just can’t read.  Their brains aren’t wired to do it.  They might have really excelled if they had been born into a primitive culture where different skills were valued.  In our culture, it is increasingly the geeks who have risen to the top.  I suspect many of them would have died off in the jungle.

Jesus Loves the Little Children

 I hate lots of things about the world we live in…especially lately.  There is so much hatred and turmoil, so much that is evil happening.  But, what is happening to children is what bothers me the most.  I wonder if I am turning into my mother.

After my mother had the massive stroke and could no longer express herself clearly in words, she would become agitated if we turned on the news, and she saw something bad had happened to a child.  I am getting to the point where every time I see an article or hear a story about a child being harmed, it is like a gut punch.  I feel a wave of nausea.  I don’t understand it, and I want it to stop.

Sometimes children are “collateral damage.”  Someone in their neighborhood or even their parents are involved with drugs, and there is a shooting, and the child is hurt or killed.  Sometimes we see pictures of parents sitting in the front of the car passed out from drugs, and there are children strapped in carseats in the back.  Children are abducted and trafficked.  Children wander through bombed out streets in war zones alone and helpless.  A child may be tortured or purposely killed…sometimes even by a parent.  By a parent?

WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?!!

Actually, I know what is wrong.  People are so steeped in sin and have so little regard for themselves, that they don’t see the value in the continuation of the human race.  Anyone who has self-respect and an appreciation for his/her own life would value the life of a child.  All children…children of every race and color, children who are “perfect” and children who are not so perfect, children who are endearing and children who are annoying, children who are ones own flesh and children who are not genetically related, children in our own homes and children on the other side of the world.  Every child should be cared for and loved.  My heart breaks for those who are not.

I suppose such feelings are why I have two adopted children along with the biological ones.  I can’t help every child, but I could care for two who were not my own flesh.  I know sometimes they haven’t appreciated me, but I know they are better off having been in our home than if they had grown up elsewhere.

We, who do value life itself, need to do what we can to care for all children.  Not everyone can adopt or foster a child, but anyone can give a word of kindness or a cookie to a child in the neighborhood, make a donation to an organization that meets the needs of children,  be involved in children’s clubs or teams.  There are many ways to care.  Perhaps the most important way is to introduce them to Jesus, who will always love them and never let them down.

Let the little children come to me and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.  (Matthew 19:14)

 

Jesus love the little children,

All the children of the world,

Red and yellow, black and white,

All are precious in His sight.

Jesus love the little children of the world.

 

If my heart is breaking for the children of the world, what is happening to His? 

 

What will He do when He has had enough of this and He judges the world?

Servant Leadership at Its Best

 This morning we watched the worship service from The Village Church at Shell Point Retirement Community.  The residents who participated by reading scripture and offering the pastoral prayer were Jerry and Peter Nanfelt.  Dr. Peter Nanfelt was president of the Christian and Missionary Alliance from 1998 to 2005.  Jerry is his lovely wife.

During the era of Dr. Nanfelt’s presidency, we attended the C&MA National Council on a yearly basis.  Because our son was the only child still at home and was homeschooled, he attended this national meeting with us.  There were always activities in which he enjoyed participating, but he was also tolerant of being dragged along on adult events.  One year when he was a preteen, we were invited to a luncheon attended by about 30-40  others.  We were among the last to arrive and ended up toward the end of a long table with empty seats next to us.  We sat down with our son between us, but he quickly analyzed the situation and offered to trade places with me so that he was next to the empty chair, and I could more easily talk to people across the table from us.

The program and meal were almost ready to begin when Peter Nanfelt walked in.  His attendance at this event had not been announced.  No special place had been saved for him, so he sat down next to the young boy.  I was laughing inwardly as I thought of all the people at that council who had agendas, and who would have loved to have the ear of the president during lunch.  So, what did the president of this national organization and our son discuss during the meal.  Well, of course, it was baseball.  At one point, I looked over and saw Peter sketching out a play on a paper napkin.

The incident was a lovely example of a gracious and humble leader in action, but there was more to come.

A few years later, our son was a teenager and attended Life, which is a nationwide youth conference the C&MA holds every 3 years.  One evening, he called me with delight in his voice.  His comments went something like this:

“Mom, you won’t believe what I just saw.  Dr Nanfelt and his wife were directing traffic in the dining hall.  He was not on the platform telling us he was the C&MA president.  He was in the dining hall helping kids find their way.  And I am one of the few people who even realize who he is.”

Our son learned more about servant leadership that day than he ever could have listening to a lecture, reading a book or attending a conference on that topic.

I am a grateful mother.

The Puzzle of Life

A bit of logic,

Some intuition,

Researching foreign words,

And the crossword puzzle is solved.

 

The picture on the box,

Attention to color,

An eye for detail,

And the jigsaw puzzle is solved.

 

And then there is the puzzle of life.

 

Logic

Intuition

Research

Comparison

Attention

Observation

The pieces are still scattered.

 

How does one make sense of competing ideas?

Find clarity among the clamor of voices?

Escape from pressure on all sides?

Come up with a cohesive world view?

 

Jesus…

I hide in the shadow of your wings,

I rest in your sheltering arms,

I listen to the beat of your heart.

 

Peace instead of pieces.

 

Quarantine

Having driven from Florida to New York, we are now on our 3^rd day of mandated quarantine.  We have received an official document laying out all of the whereases and therefores, we have had multiple calls from the contact tracing department, and we have been told some contradictory things.

There is a $10,000 fine for violating the quarantine, but supposedly no one is checking up on us except for daily texts.  I have been told that we cannot leave the confines of our apartment, which affords no opportunity for exercise.  It has also been suggested…off the record, of course…that I could get away with a walk at 6 AM.  However, we live in an apartment complex and we have a car with Florida plates, so I think we are obvious, and I don’t want to risk any “good citizen” reporting us.

One of my daughters has been delivering groceries, so that is taken care of.  The contact tracer asked me if the washer and dryer were in the apartment.  No….they are in a common area.  The area is only available to 6 apartments, two of which are vacant.  Most of the folks here work, so I could sneak down to the laundry when no one was around during the workday.  One contact tracer told me that would be OK if I sanitized the equipment after I used it.  Another one said, “No….you can’t do that. Don’t you have a friend who could do it?”

Ummm….gee, lady…I am 75 and most of my friends are my age.  I’m not asking another old lady to do my laundry!

I have a teenage granddaughter who can do it, but her family does not have a vehicle.  She is in walking distance of our apartment and a laundromat, but she would have to carry the laundry and detergent, etc.  I finally thought this morning about putting the laundry in a rolling suitcase.  That should be doable.  Of course, the laundry detergent is in the storage closet in a common area, and there is a combination lock on the door.  I guess one of us will have to sneak down there avoiding other tenants.

I was also informed since there are two of us in the apartment and there is only one bathroom, we should be sanitizing the room after each use.  Good grief!  We sleep together and routinely snuggle up doing it.  We kiss (gasp!).  Sanitizing the bathroom between uses is a ridiculous waste of time and Lysol.

But, my main complaint is the lack of exercise.  In our community in Florida, I swim nearly every day, and when it isn’t too hot to do so, we walk around the island every day.  Combined with trips to the pool and the garden, I typically walk at least 2 miles a day.  So now, I am pacing the floor in my itsy bitsy apartment.  The Y pool is about a block away, but of course, I can’t go there until I’m out of quarantine.

Hey…at least I’m alive, and the sun is shining, and we have a little balcony I can sit on…AND…my fellow inmate is a very pleasant guy.