Retarded?

I don’t particularly like Chuck Schumer or the policies he favors, but I am annoyed that he is currently being criticized for using the word “retarded.”  The word is not in and of itself a derogatory term.  It has only become one over the years.

To be “retarded” really means nothing more than being delayed in one’s development or progress.  Its actual meaning is no worse than “handicapped” or “disabled” or “differently abled” or whatever term is currently politically correct.   Somehow along the way, someone decided to say, “you are retarded!” or what a “retard!” with a tone and facial expression that indicated distain.  Unfortunately, it caught on.  So now, even if one says the word in a neutral way or even in a caring tone, it is interpreted as intending disrespect.  However, any politically correct term could also be said in a condescending tone.

It is fascinating that the meaning of words can evolve.  It used to be that “awesome” was reserved for the glory of God or His amazing handiwork in nature.  Over the years it has become so cheapened that it has barely any meaning…. “Oh….awesome, Dude,” for anything slightly above the expected level. 

When I was growing up, there was a child a bit younger than I who attended my church.  I now realize he must have had Down’s syndrome.  At the time, people said he was “retarded.”  But, he was loved and cared for not only by his family, but by the church community.  Going back to visit the church as an adult, I realized he was warmly embraced as a real part of the fellowship.  He was given jobs to do which were within his abilities.  He ushered and took up the offering.  He greeted people with a broad smile. The label placed on him or the way it may have changed over the years was irrelevant.

As Shakespeare’s Juliet said, “What’s in a name?  That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” 

I’m pretty sure that a skunk by any other name would smell as bad too.

3 Girls Alone for the First Time

We have three daughters, who are now 49, 48 and 47.  This morning I was remembering the first time we left them alone without a babysitter, thinking they would be safe by themselves…as long as they didn’t get into a fight.  As it turned out, they were safe because they were occupied in a cooperative effort to play tricks on us.

When we arrived home that evening, all was well in the downstairs of the house…not so much upstairs.  We lived in an old Victorian home with a long hall running down the center of the upstairs.  On each side of the hall, there were 2 bedrooms with a bathroom in between.  An additional room had a door into both the master bedroom and the hall.  This created a fun maze for children to run through and play hide and seek.  Being too old for such games, the three decided on another one.  They took balls of yarn and strung them in and out and through the rooms of the upstairs and the hall creating a tangled and impassable web.  But, that was only the beginning.

After making it successfully into our room, we turned on the light switch and were greeted with blaring music.  They had unplugged the lamp which was on the switch and plugged in a tape recorder with the volume as loud as it would go.

Although this was all amusing, I kept a straight face until I got into the bathroom.  The fuzzy cover for the toilet seat was in the tub and was soaking wet.  When I asked why, I got the following explanation.  They had decided that if they put the lid of the toilet up and covered the actual seat with the fuzzy cover, one of us (probably me) would come in to use the toilet, lift the seat thinking it was the lid, and try to sit down expecting the seat to be there, when in fact, it was only the ceramic bowl.  They pictured me falling in.  However, after they considered this, they thought it would only work if the room was dark, so they decided to unscrew the light bulb that was on the switch.  They couldn’t reach it…so forgetting what they had already set up…Laura attempted to stand on the toilet seat and fell feet first into the toilet bowl.  Thus, the soaking wet cover which they tossed in the tub.  Picturing Laura falling feet first into the toilet was too much for me to keep the straight face…I howled with laughter.

They were quite pleased with themselves, especially since they knew they had one more prank we had not yet found.  When we tried to crawl in the bed that night, we discovered they had “short-sheeted” the bed.

Working together on the project had kept them from fighting while we were gone.  I laughed then, and I’m smiling thinking about it now.

Failed Rescue Attempt

Yesterday while swimming laps in the pool, I discovered a large, winged, stinging thing doing backstrokes in my lane.  He was clearly in trouble as he was lying on his back, flopping around with wings too soaked to fly.  I don’t normally take pity on stinging things, especially since a wasp bit me a couple of months ago while I was standing on the pool deck minding my own business.  I can still see the spot where he bit me.  However, this guy was in my lane, and I didn’t want him to end up in my hair the next time I came by doing the backstroke.  So, I guess my motivation wasn’t entirely altruistic.

I went to the edge of the pool near a bed of ornamental shrubs which was nicely mulched and found an adequately sized wood chip.  It took about a dozen attempts to get the creature on the wood chip and have him stay there.  A couple of times, he tried unsuccessfully to fly away, but his wings were just too wet.  Finally, I got him on securely and got to the edge of the pool before he fell off.  I left him near the shrubs where he could dry his wings.

I went back to swimming my laps feeling quite righteous for my compassion on this lowly insect who could easily bite me someday.

But, a couple of lengths later, there he was floundering about in my lane again!  By this time, I was the only person in the pool, so I just moved to a different lane and left him to his own devices.  If he was suicidal, it was just tough luck.  Perhaps a bird swooped down and made a meal of him, or maybe he got sucked into the overflow drain.  I was hoping he would survive and tell his friends not to sting that nice lady.  At least he won’t be the one that stings me next time.

Window Pane

Condensation blurs the world outside,

Droplets running down,

Create wobbling streaks,

Intermittent rivulets of clarity.

 

Jack Frost’s busy fingers painted,

Crystal fantasies as I slept,

Beauty that distorts,

But ironically enhances.

 

Within the sanctuary,

Viewing through stained glass,

Various colors interpret the landscape,

As spectrum beams stream inward.

 

Through whose lens shall I peer?

Through whose pane interpret

The realm outside my home,

Thoughts outside my own mind?

A Penny for Your Thoughts

If I had a penny for every one of my thoughts in a day,

I would have a sack of coins I could not carry.

 

If I had a drop of water for every tear I have held back,

The tub would overflow and spill onto the floor.

 

If every sigh were combined into a puff of air,

There would be hurricane force winds.

 

If I had everything I have ever wished for,

I would have less than I have now.

 

If I lit a candle for every prayer for those I love,

Someone would be calling the fire department.

Ode to a Wad of Gum

Last Sunday evening, I found a wad of gum stuck to the arm of the chair in church.  This is a bit surprising as the church is in our retirement community, and there are rarely young people in our church services.  I was amused thinking about how the gum got there and who might have left it behind…someone in their second childhood?

Last evening when I went to prayer meeting, I had intended to take something with me…maybe a kitchen knife…to scrape the gum off, but I forgot.  I decided to use the flat edge of my apartment key, which did work just fine.  Bill went and got a couple of paper towels, one of which was soaked with hand sanitizer.  I wrapped up the wad of gum in the dry towel, and cleaned my hands, the key and the arm of the chair with the wet towel.

On the way home, I began to sing in my mind…”Does your chewing gum lose its flavor on the bedpost over night?”

Then this resulted:

Does your chewing gum lose its flavor on the chair arm between Sundays?

Do you wonder where you’ve left it, when you think of it on Mondays?

Did you stick it there because you could not both sing and chew?

Did you think no one would notice even tho’ it was bright blue?

Just why did you stick that wad of gum to the chair?

Well, better that than in some poor old lady’s hair.

Recognizing His Voice

It struck me recently that there are two types of individuals at the extremes who recognize Jesus Christ.  One group is His sheep who hear His voice, know it, and follow Him. (John 10:27  My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me.)   The other group are the demons.  There are several examples in the Bible of demons or demon possessed individuals who know who He is and declare it. (Luke 4:33-34  In the synagogue there was a man possessed by a demon…he cried out at the top of his voice…I know who you are…the Holy One of God.)

What about the mass of humanity in the middle?  Why do so many have no genuine perception of who He is?  I suppose in some cases they just lack spiritual discernment.  Others may be capable of spiritual discernment, but they are too busy or too distracted by other voices to recognize the voice of Jesus calling them.

There used to be an ad for RCA of a dog listening intently at the open bell of a gramophone.   (That was an old-fashioned way of listening to music for those of you too young to know.) The caption was “His master’s voice.”  Why are so few people listening for and recognizing the voice of The Master?

Sometimes children run away when their parents call to them, because they do not realize that they are in danger.  They ignore their parents voice thinking it is all a big joke.  It scares me to think of what can potentially happen in these situations in both the literal and figurative sense.

When my son was about 10, he and a friend were playing happily in our backyard.  I was sitting at my sewing machine in front of a large second floor window which faced the street.  I glanced up from my sewing and realized that a group of police were spaced out across the street and sidewalk going through the neighborhood methodically with weapons drawn.  Some had pistols, and some had rifles.  I knew it must mean that someone dangerous had been spotted in the neighborhood.  I dashed downstairs and out the back door.  I called to my son and his friend, “Come to the house now!  Run!  Don’t ask questions.”  Both boys came running as fast as they could.  I was relieved to see their immediate obedience to my voice.  I later learned that someone had been seen in the neighborhood brandishing a gun.

Contrasting that…when I was about 6 years old, I had a dog who didn’t mind well.  As I waited for the bus one morning at the side of the road, the dog danced around me.  I saw a dump truck coming and called to the dog patting my leg for him to come to me.  Instead, he danced merrily away from me and in front of the truck.  He was hit.  The bus came, and I got on it not knowing if the dog was dead or alive.  I sat in school all day in misery.  The dog did not survive his disobedience.  I was sad when I got home and learned he was dead, but I learned an important lesson.  If someone wiser than you calls and beckons, you need to respond in obedience.

I am afraid that a great many people, some of whom I know, are dancing around the voice beckoning to them.  They have no idea there is a dump truck speeding toward them.

When Jesus calls, even the demons recognize His voice.

If you are not one of His sheep, because you haven’t responded yet, please listen for the call and run to Him.  Something worse than a dump truck is headed your way.