Living Close to the Edge

Today I saw some people who I think are living “close to the edge.”  Close to the edge of what….illness, homelessness, disaster of some kind?

I had to pick up a few things and went to a local Walmart.  In the store, I passed a woman standing still and leaning heavily on her cart.  She was making a strange sound as though she was clearing her throat with every breath.  She did not look as though a collapse was imminent, so I walked on by listening for a worsening of the sounds.  Had I heard such, I would have turned around and asked her if she needed assistance.  I thought to myself, “this woman is teetering on the edge of a major physical problem.”

I had driven to the Walmart following Google maps over some back roads which I had not taken before.  On the way, I passed a strange sight.  Out in the middle of nowhere, I saw a young man with a cart heaped higher than he was tall.  The cart was not a grocery cart or a wagon.  I could tell by the wheels that it was a very sturdy cart, but the wheels were all I could see.  The mounded-up contents of the cart were covered with a large sheet of black plastic. The guy was just standing by the roadside as though he was waiting for someone.  When I passed him on the return trip, he was still there in the same place.  He had a large shaggy dog with him, which I hadn’t noticed earlier.  What was his story?  Was he homeless and the cart contained all his earthly possessions?  Was someone coming for him?  Had he slept in that field last night?

It has been a gray, dismal, rainy day here at the cottage.  So, when I discovered that my husband had forgotten to bring the medications he is supposed to take before bed, I said that I saw no reason for us not to drive back to our apartment and get them.  It is about an hour and 15 minutes each way, but we had nothing special we needed to do anyway.  Just before getting back to town, we passed through a very small hamlet…pretty much just four corners, although it has a convenience store and a bar.  I was driving, and I noticed a very frail elderly lady standing beside the road as though she wished to cross the busy highway.  She was wearing shorts and a scarf and had a purse hanging from her arm.  She walked so slowly that I was worried about her finding a big enough break between cars to cross.  We picked up the medications at the apartment along with a back rest pillow since Bill is having a lot of sinus drainage and being propped up might help.  We turned right around to head back.  The elderly woman was still at that intersection.  She had crossed to the other side and was standing in a parking lot near the highway looking confused.  Where does she belong?  Is she safe out on her own?  Why is she hanging out at this intersection?  I’m thinking she is a person in need of supervision.

As we go about our lives, we rarely know the story behind the people we pass.  Which ones need our help?  Which ones would accept our help?  We can’t reach out to everyone we meet.  Who is teetering on the edge? 

I guess there is a sense in which we all are “close to the edge.”  Some of us are just oblivious to it.

Accidentally Speaking the Truth

It fascinates me that a person, who has no intent to do so, can accidentally speak the truth.  The person may not mean to tell the truth, but it can come out of his mouth without even realizing it.  Sometimes the intent is actually evil.

I read an example of this in the Bible recently.  When the religious leaders were angry with Jesus and trying to figure out a way to kill him, they discussed the fact that if he stirred up the people, the Romans might crush them all.  Caiaphas, who was the high priest, declared that it would be good for one man to die for the sake of all.  He, of course, meant that if they killed Jesus, the Romans would not have an excuse to put down some sort of rebellion.  Rebellion of the Jews against Rome was never Jesus’ plan.  He knew that he would “die for the sake of all.”  That is, as a sacrifice for the sins of all.  Caiaphas told the truth accidentally.

I wish I had saved the Smithsonian article that inadvertently mentioned the truth.  I read it decades ago.  The frame of reference was evolution.  There was discussion about the organization of seeds in a pine cone.  Near the end of the article the author mentioned “Mother Nature’s” planned design.  Seriously!  If you can’t admit that there is a Creator with an intelligent design, you just anthropomorphize Mother Nature?  I think you have accidentally spoken the truth that there is an intelligent being behind the order in our world.

Yesterday, I read an article in Time magazine.  I was several paragraphs into the article before I realized that it was about one individual, but the person was being referred to with plural pronouns.  I understand this is sometimes part of the transgender identity and is characteristic of persons who don’t want to be defined by he/she.  I was struck though by the inconsistency of the person.  More than once in the article, quotations included the singular pronoun “my.”  If this person is a “they,” why do they not use the plural possessive pronoun “our.”  I’m sure this will make any “theys” angry, but it appears to me as an accidental speaking of the truth. 

Not everything a misguided person says is wrong.

Not everything said by a person who believes he is a truth-teller is right.

It is up to the individual to be discerning….but how?  I believe in a God who defines Truth and has revealed it through His Word.  Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth and the life.  No one comes to the Father except through me.” (John 14:6)

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.