African Violet

I have some lovely houseplants, but they must learn to survive on benign neglect.  I bear them no ill-will.  I like them, but I am not devoted.  I water them once a week, fertilize when it occurs to me…which is rarely, and repot them even more rarely.  Most of them put up with this low-commitment relationship, but then…there is the African violet.

I have written about African violets before. The house I lived in when I received a basket of five different African violets as a gift was apparently suited to their needs.   I previously described my delight when they actually bloomed a second time.  I had the basket on a table near a north facing window, and they bloomed repeatedly.  When we moved nearly seven years ago, I realized the only north facing window was a tiny one in a bathroom.  I moved the basket of violets around to various locations to no avail.  I finally took the aggressive step of repotting, but still no blossoms appeared.  I ended up giving all but one away.  I would have given that one away too, but no one wanted it. 

Since it was refusing to bloom, I had no idea what color I was keeping.  I placed it in a west facing window positioning it so that the sunlight would not hit it directly.  It continued to receive its weekly drink, but nothing else.  To my surprise it eventually bloomed and does so once or twice a year.  I am always delighted when I see the blooms beginning to unfurl.

I had an aunt who had beautiful African violets.  She said she talked to them and “patted their little leaves.”  She was a bit of a fruit loop in other ways, and I wasn’t anxious to follow her example.  I may, however, eventually tell this plant just how lovely I think it is.  Perhaps, I will even give it a bit of a pat and confess my love.

A Pile of Dust

I know people who go whistling through life without giving one thought to their motivations, never engaging in introspection.  It seems as if, their heads are full of white noise.   I know other people who agonize over what they do, what they think, and why.  Sometimes I would like to shake the oblivious types.  I wish I could untangle the knots into which the overthinkers tie themselves.  That includes myself, as I have a tendency toward the latter extreme.

This was the topic of discussion recently with a friend.  I have previously discussed this topic with myself.  I think this need for introspection is at least in part related to wanting to be sure one is doing the “right” thing, and the fact that we don’t always get feedback on that issue.  It would be nice if we got quarterly reports on how we are doing, but that isn’t the way life works.  It would be nice if we could know with certainty, but that isn’t how life works either.  And…maybe it wouldn’t actually be so “nice.”

One thing of which I want to assure overthinkers, and which has been a comfort to me personally, is that “He remembers that we are dust.”

He does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities.  For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him, as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.  As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.  Psalm 103:10-14

God is not sitting up in heaven waiting for us to mess up so He can zap us.  We are certainly going to say, do, or think the wrong thing at some point…pretty much daily.  Other human beings may sit in judgment looking for something to criticize, but God does not do that.  He wants us to recognize our own frailty and look to him for redemption.  He knows exactly what we are made of….and it is dust!  We are inherently flawed.  No matter how hard we try to do good, we will not achieve it all the time.  But if our desire is to honor and serve God, if we love Him and accept the forgiveness He offers, we can forgive ourselves too.  Then we won’t need constant affirmation from other human beings, and we can let their judgments roll off.  We don’t have to accept the hurt caused by others (well-meaning or not).

When a loving father is teaching his child a new skill, he does not expect perfection.  He expects an honest effort and improvement over time.  He expects the child will come to him with questions.  He knows the child is inexperienced and does not want to crush his spirit by being overly critical or demanding.  It is true that some human parents are demanding and hurtful, but our Heavenly Father is not.

He is like this father:

“Oh, look…my 6 month old can’t walk yet, but he is rocking on all fours trying to crawl.

Wow…he is 9 months old and pulling himself to a stand.

He is tottering and looks like a drunken sailor, but he is only a year old and hasn’t perfected his walking.

Now that he is two, he can skip and jump.

I am so proud of my boy.  He just came in first at the cross-country meet.

Have I mentioned, my son just ran his first marathon.”

At each point in development, the parent has something to be proud of and can encourage the child to the next level.  No one expects a 6 month-old to run a marathon.

God watches our development lovingly.  He picks us up when we fall.  He is keenly aware of our flaws and frailties, but He loves us.  He forgives us and urges us on.

Ah Sovereign Lord, I accept the fact that I am dust and thank you for remembering.

How to drain your own bursa.

Last week I visited my doctor.  I was looking for help with my elbow.  It has been draining a pale yellow liquid for four weeks, and I am getting tired of the constant bandaging and rebandaging that I am doing in an attempt to avoid bacteria creeping into the joint and causing a significant infection.

Upon hearing my complaint, the doctor replied that he has people come into the office all the time looking to have a bursa drained.  He prefers not to do this, because the majority of the time, the bursa will just come back again and nothing will be accomplished.  He then informed me that I was the first case he had seen of a bursa draining itself.

So…if you have a bursa and want to avoid having the doctor drain it, here are the instructions:

* Become really ill with a cold or flu.

*Get out of bed in the middle of the night and pass out.  It is important for you to be unconscious when your elbow hits the floor, because I suspect that having one of these bubbles burst through the skin is painful if you are awake.  I don’t actually know, because I was blacked out when my elbow hit.

*Make sure that you hit the hardwood floor, rather than the cushy carpet, as considerable force is probably required.

*Be oblivious to the injury until about 2 days later when you notice the pain and a sticky sensation on your elbow.  If you hit your head too, the pain of that should distract you from the elbow for a couple of days.

*Be sure to keep the area scrupulously clean.  I have been soaking it once a day and applying antibiotic cream each time I change the bandage.

*Be careful when removing the bandage.  The synovial fluid may ooze or drip, but occasionally it actually squirts like it is coming out of a water pistol.  For this reason, stand over the sink when you change the bandage.

*I cannot give you an estimate on how long the flow of liquid will continue.  I am going to be out of town for a few days in the near future.  My plan is that if it is still leaking when I get back, I will go see an orthopedic doctor for another opinion.

*I am not charging for this advice and if you choose to follow it, do so at your own risk.  Personally, I am hoping not to have a repeat performance.

Awe-inspiring Art

I recently watched the video attached to the link I am providing.  It is absolutely amazing that such a tiny creature with a wee little brain could construct something so intricate and beautiful as the puffer fish does in an attempt to attract a mate.

The question burning in my mind is:  How can an evolutionist possibly explain this?  What set of circumstances could have led to this relatively primitive creature being able to construct something of such complexity?  How implausible!

I am sure some evolutionist will try to come up with an explanation.  However, when I see this, it screams Creator!  Someone of high intelligence and creativity thought, "Oh, here's a fun idea!  I will program this tiny creature to be an artist."

The world is so much more enjoyable when one considers that someone loved us enough to put us in a world filled with beauty that would stimulate our awe-filled curiosity.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p1PID91sEW8

Is Mike Pence sexist?

Is Mike Pence sexist, because he won’t eat alone with a woman other than his wife?

The Internet is howling with rage over this believing that it indicates:

1.       That men are naturally without self-control.

2.       That this will keep women from advancing professionally.

3.       That it is indicative of male control and domination.

4.       And a lot of other silly things.

I say it is smart.

He is not saying that he would never be alone in the same room with a woman under any circumstances.  I suspect there are times when he is on one side of the desk in an office situation and a woman is on the other.  The door may or may not be open, but someone else is nearby.  Please note, this is not a hotel room with a bed.

I have been alone in a room with men many times.  As a nurse, I have seen patients in a room with the door closed and asked questions of a personal nature in a professional manner.  I have tutored male students in enclosed cubicles.  I have met with a male employer in his office with the door closed.

But…

That is different than going out to dinner with someone.  A dinner situation is not just professional.  There is an element of socializing mixed in.  There is opportunity for closer physical proximity than sitting across an office desk from one another.  The possibility of the line between professional and personal being blurred by either party exists.  If one wishes to protect his/her marriage and not give any appearance of impropriety, a two-some for dinner is not a good idea.  I would say that in the current climate even a male/male dinner or a female/female dinner that is supposed to be professional should include a third party.

Of course, I go out to lunch with lady friends.  But, the occasion doesn’t mix personal and professional.

A person who is in the spotlight, as a high-ranking politician, is going to be a target for any possibility of scandal.  There are folks prowling around just looking for some salacious tidbit.  He needs to be circumspect.

There are plenty of ways to interact professionally without a one-on-one dinner.  A wise man will use those opportunities to take the measure of the women in his circle and encourage their advancement.  He will respect them and his wife enough to protect both their reputations and his own.

I so want it to be true.

“Can it be true? Has Thylacinus been seen alive? And in mainland Australia not Tasmania? I so want it to be true.”  Richard Dawkins on Twitter.

Recently there have been reported sightings of a thylacine, aka the Tasmania tiger.  This creature has been thought to be extinct since the last one in captivity died in 1936.  Over the years, sightings have been ignored, but the recent ones are from reliable witnesses.  Cameras are going to be deployed in the area of the sightings to see if the existence can be photographically verified.

The thylacine is a most interesting creature.  It is a marsupial, i.e. it has a pouch, and possesses some characteristics that seem dog-like and others which are cat-like.  Its pouch is unique in that it opens to the rear, and both males and females have them.

The reemergence of such a unique animal, thought to be extinct, would certainly be cause for excitement.

I am, however, saddened that Dawkins a most renowned atheist, cannot express any excitement over the possible existence of a God.  Although not seen with the physical eye, God has been observed by millions of reliable witnesses.  His handiwork is visible with the physical eye and photographable.  Dawkins is evidently capable of ignoring these reports, and certainly feels no excitement over them.

What if he said, “Can it be true?  Has God been seen alive?  And on earth, not in heaven.  I so want it to be true.”

Now that would be exciting and newsworthy!

Here is the primary difference.  It is not scientific, and it does not hinge on how reliable the witnesses are.  If the Tasmanian tiger is found to be alive, Dawkins can be intellectually interested and intrigued, but it will require no change in his life or world view.  If the existence of God were to be verified, it would turn his world upside down…. or in my opinion, right side up, a most frightening possibility for him.

Ineffectual in the Face of Grief

I was there on an awful morning and watched as young parents were given heartbreaking news.  I was there and so ineffectual.  I blamed it on my youth, but I wonder if I would be any more helpful now.  What does anyone do or say faced with overwhelming despair?

In the spring of 1965, I spent three months at Children’s Memorial Hospital on Chicago’s north side.  The hospital, which was a very large complex occupying a triangular block, apparently closed in 2012.  It is hard to imagine a site where so much of significance happened in so many lives, as going out of existence.

I was in my senior year of nursing school, and this three-month stint was my pediatric nursing education.  We attended classes, but we also worked in the hospital nearly every day.  We had a variety of experiences as we worked days, evenings and nights.  There was even one toddler unit where a student was in charge on the night shift.  But, something we were not supposed to do was work in the Intensive Care Unit.  The truth, however, was that when the ICU was short-staffed, they sometimes called one of the other units and requested that a student be sent up to help.  This had to be a student perceived as being able to cope with what went on in the ICU.  The student would not be assigned to the patients requiring the most technical care…I only saw the babies who had had open heart surgery through the plate glass windows of their room.  But, I was pulled to the ICU three times. I know I was viewed as a cracker-jack, but it was easy to get in over one’s head there.

On the day of this particular agony, I was assigned to a toddler girl who was in continuous convulsions.  She lived with her parents in a Chicago tenement which was sufficiently deteriorated to afford her a supply of plaster and paint chips to eat.  The lead content of these materials had caused immense neurological damage.  Her physical care was keeping me very occupied.  I don’t remember the details now other than the jerking motions racking her poor little body with no let-up, in spite of medications and a cooling mattress.

A young doctor, a resident, I suppose, came in to talk with the parents.  He did not sit them down and approach his topic gently.  While standing in a crowded space between the bed and the window, he unceremoniously delivered the information that their child would either die or be a vegetable.  There was no possibility of recovery.

The young couple sobbed and clung to each other. 

I was in up to my eyeballs with the physical care of the child, but I wonder now, if I was using that as an excuse.  I had no idea what to say or how to say it.  I was barely twenty years old myself.  How was I to cope when confronted with this raw wound torn in their souls?

I don’t remember what happened afterward.  I think the parents left….probably to seek the comfort and consolation of support from the wider family.  The child and I both survived the eight hour shift.

I have thought of this many times over the years.  Especially, when I owned an apartment rented to a young couple with a toddler.  Unknown to me was the fact that the child had an elevated blood lead level when they moved in.  It dropped during the first six months they lived in my apartment which was lovely and had no chipped paint or loose plaster.  I found out when it sky-rocketed during the second six months.  It was reported, and a state inspector came in.  Even though the level had initially dropped and the inspector could find no deterioration of concern, the assumption was that my apartment was somehow at fault.  Before I could legally rent the apartment again, I was made to do thousands of dollars of work which was basically unnecessary.  When I protested, I was lectured on the horrors of lead poisoning.

Believe me, I was much clearer on the horrors of lead poisoning than the state inspector was.  She had never cared for a child convulsing.  She had never felt helpless in the presence of overwhelming grief.