Sunday, March 23, 2008
The tsunami
We had been here for days already and I knew I would never get used to the sight of all this destruction. The tsunami that had wrecked this havoc was a month ago and the island was still getting aftershocks. My prayer every time I felt one hit was, “Dear God, if this is where you want me to die, please don’t let my family bring my body home, that would be too expensive.” I was practical but I wasn’t afraid of dying, I knew where I was going, but these people….thousands had been lost, thousands had been made homeless, thousands had lived… so to speak, to die latter from the shock of finding family dead, from the injuries they received initially, from helping to rescue those trapped, or from the unsanitary conditions that resulted from decaying bodies, polluted water supplies and food spoiling in refrigerators separated from electricity.
When we had arrived the spectacle that met my eyes was devastating. I was horrified at the demolition the thirty foot waves had accomplished. Buildings were flattened and swept clean. The concrete slabs that had once held buildings were littered with the personal items and debris of other houses as the ocean had splashed about redecorating the land with no aesthetic plan. Bodies were being carried to pyres to be incinerated in mass as we walked to our headquarters. Previously burned piles exposed bones of recently cremated humans. We passed a ragged population devoid of hope and expectations, not a tear left, not a prayer of finding loved ones…..alive. We couldn’t drive because the tsunami inconsiderately didn’t leave a clear path, or any autos for that matter, so I got to see first hand the haunted faces. My lips kept moving in silent prayer, careful not to utter Jesus’ name aloud…..I would be stoned for that, or worse, I was warned. Christianity was not the main religion of this island. And we were not welcomed. At least not by the ineffectual government.
I had been invited to join this medical mission team that was sponsored by some rich guy in New York, because I was a nurse, and a darn good one and not anywhere near modest! I loved nursing. Every one I met on the team had been a stranger days ago, now after days of in-services and preparation we knew each other intimately.
At our final destination, the girls got to stay at a pastor’s house that had been far enough away from the beach to escape obliteration, the boys got the privilege of sleeping on the church’s concrete floors, which also served as our infirmary, pharmacy and triage center. We had set tents up for various purposes, like respiratory care, out patient surgery, and for supplies.
Just because the girls were in the pastor’s house didn’t make life easy, we also slept on floors and all of us showered as a group(not co-ed!). Public showering with cold, dirty water was done outside in makeshift tents with no roofs. This wasn’t because of the tsunami however, this was the area’s norm due to their habitual poverty, the tsunami didn‘t help it. Young boys from the area would perch up on trees to taunt us females. Oh, well. Apparently adolescent boys are similar in every culture!
One of the team members, a “lovely” (please note the sarcasm) young lady, was appalled by where she found herself. She had actually packed clothes for a vacation similar to a cruise, having been told our benefactor was a rich lawyer. A rich single lawyer. She had come on a husband quest to a country turned upside down! She complained daily. There was no place to hang her clothes… oh my gosh, they were going to be so wrinkled. The “bathing” water was filthy, there was no electricity for her curling iron, no telling what they were feeding us, and what the humidity did to her tresses just wasn’t right! I suspect she slept through the information sessions we had been required to attend before embarking on our trip, (not vacation). Worst of all, she couldn’t identify any one on the trip that fit the bill of rich lawyer, to her constant vocal disappointment he apparently didn’t come.
I had teamed up with the sponsoring pastor‘s son, Mark, who became my protocol expert, interpreter and tour guide.Mark had lived here for twenty years off and on. His parents were American missionaries who only went back to the states occasionally for the required breathers, but Mark had returned to get an education and visited here for "his" occasional breathers. He had lost many friends in this recent betrayal of nature but felt assured that through his father’s interventions in spreading the gospel he would see them again; most of them anyway. He was very good natured but Miss Prima Dona (henceforth referred to as Dona) kept hitting a raw nerve, she interrogated him about every American male she saw, still on the lookout for her lawyer, or any reasonable substitute. Her constant complaining and whining didn’t make my days any easier either, she made it hard to exhibit God’s love. Nights were actually harder as we slept in dormitory conditions. The lucky absent lawyer should get a missive about Dona’s nasal sleeping sounds. If she were a car, she wouldn’t pass inspection. Heck, as a Christian she wouldn’t pass inspection!
Mid way into our stay a group of us were sent to the local orphanage to do assessments and give vaccinations. The only way to get there was to walk past hostile natives who left death notes on the church doors. Nice people. Their own government wasn’t willing to help rebuild their town, it had in fact set up refugee camps that were more like prisons, yet the locals were unified in their hatred of us. I nursed one little girl who had been cut up for attending a church service months ago. Oh, we had also treated several of the local police force, who apparently were more gracious and lent their presence to our efforts, keeping murderous forces at bay.
Along the littered beach, that had been shortened by the oceans upheaval, we passed boats that had been the owners’ sole income, allowing the fishing economy to prosper, splintered and destroyed. The poor victims were not only left homeless, family-less, foodless, they were left jobless. Then I saw it. Up further there were masses of backpacks, pencils, scissors, once colorful construction paper and notebooks strewn about next to clothes worn by kids. One book was lying open on a very readable page. A young school girl had written her English lesson. “My name is Jeni, I’m twelve years old and live in ……….” Tears sprang forth automatically. Where was Jeni now? Was she alive, were her parents alive, was she unharmed? A young girl like any in America, doing a homework assignment, walking home from school to be bulldozed by a gigantic wall of water. Hopefully death was brief and painless. Hopefully she had met the Lord. If I could only find her, I’d take her home with me in a nano second! Oh, how I wished this island could have just one good thing happen to them right now.
Mark gently removed the book from my hands and pulled me into his sweaty embrace. He was wise enough to keep silent. There wasn’t a word invented that could eradicate my sorrow. Dona just kept on walking, she‘d put herself on remote, ready to go home the minute the plane returned. She was every bit a social snob. This place was so beneath her! She just kept walking and swatting at mosquitoes. We had offered her some repellant earlier but it clashed with her expensive perfume, which I believe actually attracted the biting insects. This brought a slight smile to my lips, God is just! Then as I was still smirking, Miss Prima Donna tripped and landed in a heap of dead fish and animal ….. Yep, God is just. I sniffed. No trace of expensive perfume left now and she smelled better, attracting more mosquitoes.
Before we could continue to the orphanage the earth started to boogie. Trees started to sway. The waves splashed about. My feet sank into the sand, water lapped at my ankles. Oh, Oh. Go inland and be buried under trees, or stay on the beach and be swept away into the ocean, supposedly where live started. Well if you believe aquatic live was formed before man you’d be right. Everything ended as quickly as it started. My feet were solidly buried under six inches of sand, it took some digging to get freed. Miss Prima Dona, her usual cheery self, let out some sailor like verbiage and began to retrace her steps back to our command center. Mark, the others, and I continued to the orphanage relieved to be denied her company. We stopped short at the sound of Dona’s loud vocalizations. This time she seemed …..happy? Excited? Had some rich lawyer been deposited onto the beach? Mark and I and the others ran back to rescue the dude if that was the case. Being washed ashore would be traumatic enough without having to meet Dona alone.
Dona was on her knees bent over, scooping something up and dropping it, then re-scooping and dropping. She was laughing and crying. This wasn’t good. What ever could transform her into something emotional on this island had to be from Satan himself. We raced around her to get a view of …..a chest. A wooden chest had been uncovered by the recent upheaval. The chest was pretty decayed, the wooden planks were just held upright by the dirt packed around it. Inside the chest was…jewelry, lots of jewelry, necklaces, rings, bracelet, gold goblets, gold platters, everything glittery that God had created to be valuable. We’d found the buried treasure of some long ago pirates!
“I’m rich!” Dona beamed for the first time since we’d been here. Oh, how I loved to smash her expectations.
“This is going to the village people, they need it for rebuilding!” I retorted, and was seconded by the others with me. “It’s theirs. It’s on their land.” I pushed the knife in deeper.
Dona leapt to her feet ready to die for her treasures but realizing she was outnumbered she bellowed and marched off. Wow, can jugulars really get that enlarged? I looked up and thanked God. The same disaster that had brought death, had uncovered vast opportunities.
Days latter after a celebration provided by the discovery of the treasure chest that would provide building supplies and other necessities, I sat on a plane with the other team members ready to head home, ready but definitely not happy about it. Completely opposite was Dona’s excitement. She was singing and humming while admiring herself in her compact, applying and reapplying her lipstick as we waited for all to board. This was going to be a long flight, time for lots of lipstick, I hope she had several tubes. I had missed saying bye to Mark this morning. His father informed me he’d had some business to tend to and gave me Mark’s regards and love.
I kept my eyes fixed out the window trying to ignore the sound of my heart breaking. I couldn’t get Jeni out of my thoughts not to mention I’d probably never see Mark again. At least I had taken tons of pictures. Somebody sat next to me and I glanced over at a crisply dressed gentleman, wearing an Etro blazer and Gucci Moccasins, seat belting a little girl to his right. Oh well, I knew I’d have to share these seats eventually. I just hoped this wasn’t a chatty guy, I really felt like wallowing in my self pity right now, missing “my“ Mark.
I looked back out at the tarmac, putting up barriers I hoped any intelligent, civilized man would recognize. He coughed, cleared his throat and started to speak. I pulled up the ear plugs of my IPOD. Take a hint, buddy.
He tapped my knee. Okay, I was going to have to be blunt! Looking into his eyes I gasped so intently I swallowed my gum and became incapacitated with coughing. It was Mark! In a very expensive suit. Who was the little girl?
Mark began, “The past few days I’ve been going all over the countryside trying to find your Jeni.” (Here I nearly fainted with excitement that he had actually carried out such an Herculean task, but reality took over when he continued), “ I couldn’t find anyone that answered to that name, but this little girl was orphaned after the tsunami last month. I’m taking her home to the states to place her in some nice home, would you be interested?” Would I ever, what better way to honor Jeni‘s memory?
I was flabbergasted. It turns out that Mark would know just what strings to pull, seeing he worked in a very prestigious law firm, one that carried his moniker. Dona, eavesdropping on the whole conversation, endeavored to intercept some of the attention for herself, still holding out hope that she might land her big fish. Mark immediately put up barriers to Dona that any intelligent, civilized women would recognize! He leaned over and kissed me passionately, for the first time since we met, but not for the last time.
Math. 5:43-48
Math. 7:15-20
math 24:4-8
Luke 10:25-37
Rom. 12:20
Sunday, March 9, 2008
The Reporter
The past few days have been anticlimactic. After the hoopla leading up to the recent public execution and the execution itself nothing recent seemed newsworthy. We were all sitting around the police scanner doing cross work puzzles or sudukos to pass the time till the end of our shift. I’d never get another story as juicy as the one I just completed, it would probably qualify me for a Pulitzer.
We dropped what we were doing, collectively. Something was going on at the nearby cemetery. The night watch men were calling for backup, one even suggested sending a swat team. Swat team to a cemetery? Some one must want out real bad!
We all sprinted to our cars. We weren’t friends now, we were competitors for a news story with a byline. The sun was rising in the east (of course) and blinding me as I drove into it but determination kept me going at an unsafe speed. I screeched to a stop as close as I could get to the cemeteries entrance that was guarded by three bronze horses rearing up on their hind legs. The gates were closed and police cars were jammed all about the inside with their lights blinking wildly. The officers had all arrived and jumped out of their cars where ever they braked to a stop, leaving doors open and motors running.
I showed my press badge and was immediately denied entry. What ever was going on was big. Of course rejection just fuels journalists, we‘ve always had trouble with authority. When we get a door slammed in our face, we look for the window. I walked around the parameters and discovered all the attention was located deep in the burying field at the mausoleum where they buried the terrorist who was claiming to overthrow the present political system. Using spy glasses, a reporter’s must have, I got a good view of the mausoleum, (a good view obtained from climbing a conveniently planted tree and hanging on for dear life while parting branches with one hand. ) Through the open door I could see a lidless sarcophagus with burial clothes lying about. The heavy door itself was lying on the ground feet away, as though blown off by an explosion.
I got my break! Two women were slipping out the back. I had seen them bawling at the execution, but now their faces were radiant. They sure didn’t look as upset as they did three days ago. I nimbly descended from the tree landing on my…(use your imagination) and hopped in my car. I was in hot pursuit. I followed the women to a house where they banged on the door until it opened. Three bearded men answered, cautiously, looking disheveled and dispirited. Were they hung over? Abruptly, as the women jabbered semi hysterically, the men’s faces lit up, in disbelieve then understanding. They underwent a fantastic transformation in the blink of an eye. I wish I could have heard the conversation! They hurdled themselves in the car with the women, well two did, one guy just took off on foot. He must think he’s athletic enough to out run a car. I was in pursuit once again, We were back at the cemetery. They had no luck getting in either, but they sure enjoyed seeing some robes being examined by the law officials. Did I see the imprint of a man on the white sheet? The third chap arrived, all sweaty and winded. After a brief rap session they got back in the car and took off. Guess what I did? Yep, I followed them.
On my car radio I heard that the criminal’s body had been stolen, presumably by his compatriots, in the night when two guards fell asleep. They were in deep do-do. The people of interest in the theft were those fanatics that had given their lives up to follow him, yet had dispersed during his trial and sentencing. They very same people I was chasing. What a lucky break! I would be responsible for solving this crime and getting maybe another Pulitzer. Every reporter had a sleuth for an alter ego.
I lurked about the house that was now becoming a gathering place of all the Executed’s allies. I was potentially in serious trouble if I got caught. These were societies lower layer, lower than dirt itself. Thieves, hookers, vagabonds, gypsies, Wal-Mart greeters. People with no qualms about breaking the law. As I observed them though, their actions seemed at odds with their stereo types. They were respectful of each other, differing to each other in ….love?
I crept up “bravely” and peeked in a expedient window, my luck just persisted. There he was! The corpse! Looking not so corpse-y! He certainly didn’t look as though he’d just been the main course at a barbeque in his honor. He glowed. Hey, how did he get in there, I’d been watching the entrance. I looked again, He was gone! I blinked, shook my head and swallowed, then started breathing again. I immediately fell backwards and landed on my…use your imagination again.
Every one that was hiding in the small house poured out and headed in multi directions. They were on a mission. I picked the two original women and trailed them for days as they spread the word. What word I don’t know, but those they shared it with went out and did the same. Did no one use the internet, email, fax machines, cell phone, or just regular land phones anymore? What ever was being shared was too big for contraptions that could be bugged or deciphered. There was a civil war brewing, terrorist activity. Code orange. Something. I should alert the officials. This was growing too big for me, if I didn’t tell someone something I’d become an accomplice. Tell them I saw the dead man, only he wasn’t dead. That I was stalking people. Maybe I better wait till I get a few more details, or until I get my affairs in order!
For six weeks I stayed on the stories scent, never going home, I just grabbed snippets of sleep here and there and pulled into drive through windows for food, ordering enough each time to last a day or two. Hey, we (reporters) eat stale donuts, we can eat soggy burgers and diluted cokes without flinching. I saw the dead man several times, briefly, he always came and went mysteriously, his tricks were better than David Copperfields, yet the authorities searching for him never got a lead, maybe it was because they were looking for a less mobile, stiffer body.
One morning I followed three men out to a lake where they boated out to the center for a conference, pretending to fish, give me a break, this lake was barren! There was absolutely no way they would ever be over heard. These people were experts in clandestine meetings. As I hid in the bushes scrutinizing the boaters I heard someone walk by. The dead man! Gulp. Looking absolutely healthy, and hungry (I could hear his stomach growl). He dropped twigs he was carrying, built a fire and started frying fish, where did he get those! The boat headed back to shore reeled in by the heavenly aroma, and filled with its own squirming fish. One of the conspirators dove in and swam to shore, obviously getting there last! The same fool who ran to the cemetery, I was getting used to him making stupid look good. This man and Corpse walked off for a private chit chat, one I was able to hear! It was about loving each other. They must have been real tight. Corpse was giving the dumb guy authority over his followers. What a dope, he must have suffered severe brain injury in his demise. If there was going to be an attack against this nation, we were safe now.
Days latter I sensed something big was about to break. Okay, something bigger. All the schemers loaded up in cars, vans and buses and headed out of town to the mountains. Guess what? Yea, I followed. I was not noticeable now, in the throng.
There were hundreds gathering here. I got nervy (probably from lack of consistent nourishment and sleep) and mingled in the assembly. Some of these people looked very familiar from the mock trial and state sanctioned assassination, I even recognized some of the police officers that were present at the cemetery weeks ago, now in civilian clothes. There were so many odd balls here, surely they’d think I belonged. I actually looked the most out of place, those present had been feeding and bathing more regularly than me. A few held their breaths, politely, as I passed.
There he was again. Corpse was standing on the tallest hill in full view, not afraid to be seen. Arms spread out, showing wounded hands, sandals exposing wounded feet. And glowing. It appeared the world had two suns. Two luminary bodies bringing light to the world. He spoke. Awesome words. I listened and fainted inwardly. Things hadn’t been as they seemed, he‘d been executed on erroneous charges! There would be no take over on a physical level, but demons, beware! Awesome words. Then he….then he….where were the strings? What would the strings hang from? He rose, and kept on rising. Two men came up behind me, “Why are you still watching him? He’ll come back the same way!” As they evaporated, I fainted outwardly and landed on my…..you guessed it, use your imagination.
Luke 24:9-12
John 18:28-37
John 20:17
John 21
Acts 1:1-11
We dropped what we were doing, collectively. Something was going on at the nearby cemetery. The night watch men were calling for backup, one even suggested sending a swat team. Swat team to a cemetery? Some one must want out real bad!
We all sprinted to our cars. We weren’t friends now, we were competitors for a news story with a byline. The sun was rising in the east (of course) and blinding me as I drove into it but determination kept me going at an unsafe speed. I screeched to a stop as close as I could get to the cemeteries entrance that was guarded by three bronze horses rearing up on their hind legs. The gates were closed and police cars were jammed all about the inside with their lights blinking wildly. The officers had all arrived and jumped out of their cars where ever they braked to a stop, leaving doors open and motors running.
I showed my press badge and was immediately denied entry. What ever was going on was big. Of course rejection just fuels journalists, we‘ve always had trouble with authority. When we get a door slammed in our face, we look for the window. I walked around the parameters and discovered all the attention was located deep in the burying field at the mausoleum where they buried the terrorist who was claiming to overthrow the present political system. Using spy glasses, a reporter’s must have, I got a good view of the mausoleum, (a good view obtained from climbing a conveniently planted tree and hanging on for dear life while parting branches with one hand. ) Through the open door I could see a lidless sarcophagus with burial clothes lying about. The heavy door itself was lying on the ground feet away, as though blown off by an explosion.
I got my break! Two women were slipping out the back. I had seen them bawling at the execution, but now their faces were radiant. They sure didn’t look as upset as they did three days ago. I nimbly descended from the tree landing on my…(use your imagination) and hopped in my car. I was in hot pursuit. I followed the women to a house where they banged on the door until it opened. Three bearded men answered, cautiously, looking disheveled and dispirited. Were they hung over? Abruptly, as the women jabbered semi hysterically, the men’s faces lit up, in disbelieve then understanding. They underwent a fantastic transformation in the blink of an eye. I wish I could have heard the conversation! They hurdled themselves in the car with the women, well two did, one guy just took off on foot. He must think he’s athletic enough to out run a car. I was in pursuit once again, We were back at the cemetery. They had no luck getting in either, but they sure enjoyed seeing some robes being examined by the law officials. Did I see the imprint of a man on the white sheet? The third chap arrived, all sweaty and winded. After a brief rap session they got back in the car and took off. Guess what I did? Yep, I followed them.
On my car radio I heard that the criminal’s body had been stolen, presumably by his compatriots, in the night when two guards fell asleep. They were in deep do-do. The people of interest in the theft were those fanatics that had given their lives up to follow him, yet had dispersed during his trial and sentencing. They very same people I was chasing. What a lucky break! I would be responsible for solving this crime and getting maybe another Pulitzer. Every reporter had a sleuth for an alter ego.
I lurked about the house that was now becoming a gathering place of all the Executed’s allies. I was potentially in serious trouble if I got caught. These were societies lower layer, lower than dirt itself. Thieves, hookers, vagabonds, gypsies, Wal-Mart greeters. People with no qualms about breaking the law. As I observed them though, their actions seemed at odds with their stereo types. They were respectful of each other, differing to each other in ….love?
I crept up “bravely” and peeked in a expedient window, my luck just persisted. There he was! The corpse! Looking not so corpse-y! He certainly didn’t look as though he’d just been the main course at a barbeque in his honor. He glowed. Hey, how did he get in there, I’d been watching the entrance. I looked again, He was gone! I blinked, shook my head and swallowed, then started breathing again. I immediately fell backwards and landed on my…use your imagination again.
Every one that was hiding in the small house poured out and headed in multi directions. They were on a mission. I picked the two original women and trailed them for days as they spread the word. What word I don’t know, but those they shared it with went out and did the same. Did no one use the internet, email, fax machines, cell phone, or just regular land phones anymore? What ever was being shared was too big for contraptions that could be bugged or deciphered. There was a civil war brewing, terrorist activity. Code orange. Something. I should alert the officials. This was growing too big for me, if I didn’t tell someone something I’d become an accomplice. Tell them I saw the dead man, only he wasn’t dead. That I was stalking people. Maybe I better wait till I get a few more details, or until I get my affairs in order!
For six weeks I stayed on the stories scent, never going home, I just grabbed snippets of sleep here and there and pulled into drive through windows for food, ordering enough each time to last a day or two. Hey, we (reporters) eat stale donuts, we can eat soggy burgers and diluted cokes without flinching. I saw the dead man several times, briefly, he always came and went mysteriously, his tricks were better than David Copperfields, yet the authorities searching for him never got a lead, maybe it was because they were looking for a less mobile, stiffer body.
One morning I followed three men out to a lake where they boated out to the center for a conference, pretending to fish, give me a break, this lake was barren! There was absolutely no way they would ever be over heard. These people were experts in clandestine meetings. As I hid in the bushes scrutinizing the boaters I heard someone walk by. The dead man! Gulp. Looking absolutely healthy, and hungry (I could hear his stomach growl). He dropped twigs he was carrying, built a fire and started frying fish, where did he get those! The boat headed back to shore reeled in by the heavenly aroma, and filled with its own squirming fish. One of the conspirators dove in and swam to shore, obviously getting there last! The same fool who ran to the cemetery, I was getting used to him making stupid look good. This man and Corpse walked off for a private chit chat, one I was able to hear! It was about loving each other. They must have been real tight. Corpse was giving the dumb guy authority over his followers. What a dope, he must have suffered severe brain injury in his demise. If there was going to be an attack against this nation, we were safe now.
Days latter I sensed something big was about to break. Okay, something bigger. All the schemers loaded up in cars, vans and buses and headed out of town to the mountains. Guess what? Yea, I followed. I was not noticeable now, in the throng.
There were hundreds gathering here. I got nervy (probably from lack of consistent nourishment and sleep) and mingled in the assembly. Some of these people looked very familiar from the mock trial and state sanctioned assassination, I even recognized some of the police officers that were present at the cemetery weeks ago, now in civilian clothes. There were so many odd balls here, surely they’d think I belonged. I actually looked the most out of place, those present had been feeding and bathing more regularly than me. A few held their breaths, politely, as I passed.
There he was again. Corpse was standing on the tallest hill in full view, not afraid to be seen. Arms spread out, showing wounded hands, sandals exposing wounded feet. And glowing. It appeared the world had two suns. Two luminary bodies bringing light to the world. He spoke. Awesome words. I listened and fainted inwardly. Things hadn’t been as they seemed, he‘d been executed on erroneous charges! There would be no take over on a physical level, but demons, beware! Awesome words. Then he….then he….where were the strings? What would the strings hang from? He rose, and kept on rising. Two men came up behind me, “Why are you still watching him? He’ll come back the same way!” As they evaporated, I fainted outwardly and landed on my…..you guessed it, use your imagination.
Luke 24:9-12
John 18:28-37
John 20:17
John 21
Acts 1:1-11
The one that got away
The one that got awayGreg was excited about being home from the grocery store again so he could go play with the neighbor's little boy. Since they had moved into our rent house a few years ago our families had become practically inseparable apart from their religious activities. The mother, Miriam, was young and expecting her second child, and her older husband, Joe, worked in construction for my Jack. Miriam and Josh were great company for Greg and me during the long summer days and early winter nights. Apparently some scandal she or her husband never talked about prevented them from returning to their home town. It apparently had estranged them from the nuclear family. Their loss, our gain. They kept to themselves pretty much when they weren’t at church, which was more than Jack and I were though they continuously invited us even when we adamantly explained we weren‘t believers.
They were a divine couple, always doting on each other and so protective of their firstborn, Josh, who was heaven sent. What a remarkable child he was! I kept suggesting to his parents that they start him in advance schooling. You could tell by Josh's eyes he was inquisitive and sharp. He was destined for great things. He would be the guy you hear about who invented a cure for some deadly disease, you could just sense that about him. I was proud to have him as a companion for my little fellow.
I freed Greg from his car seat, working around hands that were trying unsuccessfully to be useful, and without shilly-shallying he toddled, fell, toddled, fell, toddled over to Josh, who was sitting knee deep in squirrels and birds. It had taken me, myself, some time to adjust to nature's affinity for Josh. From the first morning Miriam placed his play pen in the yard animals would gather around him. They seemed to feel safe in his presence. You'd think he was the king of beasts. Greg's clumsy approach, however sent the little creatures scampering and flying. Miriam waved at me that she would gladly sit for Greg while I toted edible provisions into my kitchen, As they were coming over for dinner, it was the least she could do, she announced, rubbing her enlarged tummy in the expectant mother sort of way.
Later in the evening, dinner done, Mary and I bathed the boys, the toddlers, not the husbands, together in our tub, while our hubbies planned tomorrow's work day. It was like having an extended family. Greg was an only child so far and prospects looked gloomy for a sibling in the next nine months, but not from lack of trying. I was envious of Miriam’s pregnancy, wishing I could have my kids as close together. After the last battle ship was sunk, I toweled Greg dry and cuddled him to death before playing tickly, his baby fresh sweetness permeated my lungs and soul. He enclosed my neck in his arms and kissed my cheek as I laid him in his crib whilst Mary took Josh home to his little bed.
An hour or so latter as Jack and I were preparing to retire, we heard a commotion outside. Pulling the curtains back we discovered a convoy of sorts in front of Miriam and Joe's house. The bright light in the sky that had emerged a while back, and still mystified prominent astrologists, made spying easy. Three limousines and a host of supplementary cars with foreign license plates were parked outside and impressive looking men dressed in Armani suits and sporting turbans were carting things inside. What on earth? I'd never seen anything so impressive off the movie screen.
Neighbors up and down the street gathered on lawns under the illumination of the bright and shining star. Marge from across the lane looked over at me and shrugged. She had no idea what was going on but thought I might. Of course I felt foolish to signal I had no clue. I was suppose to be close to Miriam. I had never had a hint she or Joe had such connections. We all convened together and I was amazed at all the speculations and hypothesis being bandied about. Were they part of some witness protection program or the Mafia? How wealthy were their relatives? How influential? Had they found were they had escaped too? Were they going to be brought back home against their wishes? Should we call the police for….what; taking up too much parking space? Were we in danger by association? Individually the notable guests returned to their chauffer driven vehicles and departed without bringing any captives.
Jack and I lingered to see if Miriam or Joe would come talk to us, to ease our minds and curiosities, but we watched as the lights went out in the living room, and then the bedrooms. No explanations were coming tonight. I don't think I could sleep till morning to go get the scoop but that is exactly what Jack cautioned I do. If they thought it was any of our business they’d tell us. Men! No inquisitiveness what so ever. I tossed and turned the remainder of the night, Jack’s snoring fueling my anger. I should have gone over and grilled Miriam the instant they were alone. When morning finally arrived, so to speak, ( the rooster was still asleep), I jumped into my slippers and raced across the back yard like a teenager sneaking out of the house against her parents’ orders. Miriam should be up fixing breakfast, remember I knew Joe’s schedule, it was the same as my husbands!
I was infuriated to see that all the lights were still off. No wait. Something else had changed. The star or what ever that had been suspended above us for the past two years was gone, along with it‘s radiance! Along with Joe’s pick up truck! Joe couldn’t have already left for work! I tapped on the door and got a jolt when it opened. Everything was gone. Well mostly everything, clothes, dishes, toys. Stuff was strewn about in substantiation of a rapid departure. The bed wasn’t even made. Miriam always made her bed. I felt like a thief casing the joint. I was in reality trespassing. It was definite that no one anticipated coming back. My friends had stolen away into the night. Left without a good bye.
I was home for about an hour listening to the sounds of the neighborhood waking up when the land phone went off. “Becky, you need to take Greg and leave town, now!” Miriam yelled hysterically. “Miriam, what’s wrong? If you’re in trouble tell me, we can work it out!” I begged gripping the phone so tight my knuckles whitened.“We’re not in trouble, but you are! Get Greg and leave! I can’t talk to you any more, bye and I love you!” Click. Chills went up my spine from the urgency Miriam had imposed on me. I hoisted Greg from his high chair and ran to the car like a maniac. I felt like I was being drawn up into Miriam’s hallucinations of danger. But still….It wouldn’t hurt to go visit my parents for the day. I could make my sudden flight, in pajamas, sound sane. Just call Jack and tell him I had gotten homesick. I was dialing Jack up on my cell phone as a convoy of military trucks passed me, heading into town, men hanging off the sides with high power weapons over their shoulders. I wonder what they were up to? A drill?
“Becky, is that you, Thank the Mother of God you’re all right!” Jack screamed at me when he answered.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. Was that gun fire I was hearing?
“Just keep going! Don’t turn back. I’ll catch up with you later!” was his response before the line went dead.
My parents sprang out of their door as I pulled into the driveway and snatched Greg from my arms nearly wrenching my shoulder out of it‘s socket. Mom was crying feverishly, muttering things like she never expected to see him again. Dad had to explain to me the news was caring a live report of a military invasion into my city where they were targeting young infant boys, Greg’s age.
Jere. 31:15
math 2:16-22
They were a divine couple, always doting on each other and so protective of their firstborn, Josh, who was heaven sent. What a remarkable child he was! I kept suggesting to his parents that they start him in advance schooling. You could tell by Josh's eyes he was inquisitive and sharp. He was destined for great things. He would be the guy you hear about who invented a cure for some deadly disease, you could just sense that about him. I was proud to have him as a companion for my little fellow.
I freed Greg from his car seat, working around hands that were trying unsuccessfully to be useful, and without shilly-shallying he toddled, fell, toddled, fell, toddled over to Josh, who was sitting knee deep in squirrels and birds. It had taken me, myself, some time to adjust to nature's affinity for Josh. From the first morning Miriam placed his play pen in the yard animals would gather around him. They seemed to feel safe in his presence. You'd think he was the king of beasts. Greg's clumsy approach, however sent the little creatures scampering and flying. Miriam waved at me that she would gladly sit for Greg while I toted edible provisions into my kitchen, As they were coming over for dinner, it was the least she could do, she announced, rubbing her enlarged tummy in the expectant mother sort of way.
Later in the evening, dinner done, Mary and I bathed the boys, the toddlers, not the husbands, together in our tub, while our hubbies planned tomorrow's work day. It was like having an extended family. Greg was an only child so far and prospects looked gloomy for a sibling in the next nine months, but not from lack of trying. I was envious of Miriam’s pregnancy, wishing I could have my kids as close together. After the last battle ship was sunk, I toweled Greg dry and cuddled him to death before playing tickly, his baby fresh sweetness permeated my lungs and soul. He enclosed my neck in his arms and kissed my cheek as I laid him in his crib whilst Mary took Josh home to his little bed.
An hour or so latter as Jack and I were preparing to retire, we heard a commotion outside. Pulling the curtains back we discovered a convoy of sorts in front of Miriam and Joe's house. The bright light in the sky that had emerged a while back, and still mystified prominent astrologists, made spying easy. Three limousines and a host of supplementary cars with foreign license plates were parked outside and impressive looking men dressed in Armani suits and sporting turbans were carting things inside. What on earth? I'd never seen anything so impressive off the movie screen.
Neighbors up and down the street gathered on lawns under the illumination of the bright and shining star. Marge from across the lane looked over at me and shrugged. She had no idea what was going on but thought I might. Of course I felt foolish to signal I had no clue. I was suppose to be close to Miriam. I had never had a hint she or Joe had such connections. We all convened together and I was amazed at all the speculations and hypothesis being bandied about. Were they part of some witness protection program or the Mafia? How wealthy were their relatives? How influential? Had they found were they had escaped too? Were they going to be brought back home against their wishes? Should we call the police for….what; taking up too much parking space? Were we in danger by association? Individually the notable guests returned to their chauffer driven vehicles and departed without bringing any captives.
Jack and I lingered to see if Miriam or Joe would come talk to us, to ease our minds and curiosities, but we watched as the lights went out in the living room, and then the bedrooms. No explanations were coming tonight. I don't think I could sleep till morning to go get the scoop but that is exactly what Jack cautioned I do. If they thought it was any of our business they’d tell us. Men! No inquisitiveness what so ever. I tossed and turned the remainder of the night, Jack’s snoring fueling my anger. I should have gone over and grilled Miriam the instant they were alone. When morning finally arrived, so to speak, ( the rooster was still asleep), I jumped into my slippers and raced across the back yard like a teenager sneaking out of the house against her parents’ orders. Miriam should be up fixing breakfast, remember I knew Joe’s schedule, it was the same as my husbands!
I was infuriated to see that all the lights were still off. No wait. Something else had changed. The star or what ever that had been suspended above us for the past two years was gone, along with it‘s radiance! Along with Joe’s pick up truck! Joe couldn’t have already left for work! I tapped on the door and got a jolt when it opened. Everything was gone. Well mostly everything, clothes, dishes, toys. Stuff was strewn about in substantiation of a rapid departure. The bed wasn’t even made. Miriam always made her bed. I felt like a thief casing the joint. I was in reality trespassing. It was definite that no one anticipated coming back. My friends had stolen away into the night. Left without a good bye.
I was home for about an hour listening to the sounds of the neighborhood waking up when the land phone went off. “Becky, you need to take Greg and leave town, now!” Miriam yelled hysterically. “Miriam, what’s wrong? If you’re in trouble tell me, we can work it out!” I begged gripping the phone so tight my knuckles whitened.“We’re not in trouble, but you are! Get Greg and leave! I can’t talk to you any more, bye and I love you!” Click. Chills went up my spine from the urgency Miriam had imposed on me. I hoisted Greg from his high chair and ran to the car like a maniac. I felt like I was being drawn up into Miriam’s hallucinations of danger. But still….It wouldn’t hurt to go visit my parents for the day. I could make my sudden flight, in pajamas, sound sane. Just call Jack and tell him I had gotten homesick. I was dialing Jack up on my cell phone as a convoy of military trucks passed me, heading into town, men hanging off the sides with high power weapons over their shoulders. I wonder what they were up to? A drill?
“Becky, is that you, Thank the Mother of God you’re all right!” Jack screamed at me when he answered.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. Was that gun fire I was hearing?
“Just keep going! Don’t turn back. I’ll catch up with you later!” was his response before the line went dead.
My parents sprang out of their door as I pulled into the driveway and snatched Greg from my arms nearly wrenching my shoulder out of it‘s socket. Mom was crying feverishly, muttering things like she never expected to see him again. Dad had to explain to me the news was caring a live report of a military invasion into my city where they were targeting young infant boys, Greg’s age.
Jere. 31:15
math 2:16-22
The Intruder
Something woke me up, but what I don’t know. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and listened. I didn’t hear anything. I just wasn’t sleeping good lately. It’s been a year since Tyler left and I guess I’m just on edge. This is the first anniversary of that awful day. I picked up his picture from the night stand ,next to the clock that announced it was 12:01 a.m., and held it to my heart hoping it would have curative powers that would keep my internal pump from breaking.
I slipped on my mules, slid into my robe and headed for the kitchen. I needed a midnight snack. I haven’t been eating well since I’ve only been cooking for one. I’ve had no appetite and my clothes have started really hanging poorly on me. I passed Tyler’s room and checked it out. Empty. Of course, it had been empty for twelve months now.
What was that? Fireflies in the dining room? No, someone’s flashlight. I turned to run but thought otherwise. I was furious, how dare someone break in on this of all days. I tripped on the dining room light to the astonishment of a tall body in a black hooded jacket with a ski mask pulled over his face. I think it was a man, burglary uniforms are rather unisexual, hiding the identity as well as the gender of perpetrators, just going by his shoulders though, I had to guess he was a man, or a young boy. He reached for his gun laying on the buffet and aimed it at me, the drawer was open and my good silver was sticking out of his pockets.
“Lady, don’t move!” a voice that came out of the black ski mask ordered, trying to sound older behind trembling hands holding a menacing weapon. I felt this was his first time out of the stalls for robbery.
“Put that thing down before you hurt yourself!” I countered. “And get into the kitchen. we’re going to have a little chat!” I stated crossing to the room where food is prepared.
“Lady, I mean it, stay put!” The gun was shaking so hard if it went off no telling where the bullet would hit.
“Come here and sit down!” I must have really sounded authoritative because my wishes were carried out. I dug around in the refrigerator and freezer till I found something that I could pull off as a meal. Then I clanged pots and pans about. In twenty minutes a midnight meal for two was sitting on the table, just like a year ago. Memories so warm and fresh caused tears to lace my lashes.
I poured coffee into two mugs and seated myself across from my guest, who was still holding his firearm in that awkward manner this new generation considers cool, you know at that funny angle. If it went off I had nothing to loose, not since Tyler….
“Put that thing down and tell me why you’re doing this,” I repeated, sipping my coffee between bites of food.
Hesitantly, slowly the gun went down and a fork came up. The boy was starving. I could tell now he wasn’t much older than Tyler, he might even be younger.
A story of family abuse spewed forth, his poor mother dying at the hands of his drunken father, a year ago to day. He hated his father, he said that continuously and with vehemence, and he hoped he rotted in jail. I didn’t try to talk him out of his rage. He would still have a mother if she’d had enough sence to leave that horrible son of a … I didn’t correct his speech either, it wasn’t my job. God understood where this boy was coming from and sometimes a bad word or two was meaningful. I’ve heard bad words before, they didn’t offend me. Over the year he’d been tossed from foster home to foster home. He claimed those people were suppose to be able to help him, most of them just did it for the money the state paid. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. After his tale he laid his head down on his arms and wept, like a baby. Like Tyler used to do, my Tyler, when he was feeling sorry for us..
Laying my hands on my visitor’s shoulders I explained about Tyler, my son. He didn’t have the same story as this young man did, no drunken father; he had no father at all. My husband abandoned us for another woman, leaving me to eek out a living for the two of us. Tyler was too young to work, not qualified for much till he graduated from school, and I had plans to put him through college, working two jobs. Tyler felt guilty not being able to contribute to the cupboards, so he snuck out one night with some friends to rob a convenience store and bring home some extra cash. If only I‘d known, I‘d have stopped him.(Who was I fooling?)
I paused for several minutes before saying, “He was shot through with six holes by the manager. He died alone and without me, one year ago today.” I buried my face in my hands and sobbed, it was my turn to cry now and I wouldn’t let this man-boy deny me my sorrow.
My intruder lifted his head from his arms, wiped tears from his eyes, blew his nose on his sleeve and stared me down. He was trying to discern if this was a well made up story to get his attention. Smart kid, he realized I was telling the truth. He had Tyler’s eyes, I thought. He reached over and tentatively embraced me. I let his arms lay on my shoulders as my hands had laid on his earlier.
We talked on for hours, eating and crying. I finally proposed something really odd. This was most unusual. He needed a mother and I needed a son. If only we could… he could …I could, try to make sense out of our losses. Try to rebuild broken lives, it was worth a try, we certainly couldn’t come out any worse.
“Listen, we don’t have to make life altering changes right now, let me put you in Tyler’s room for the night and we can see what happens in the morning.” I stated, putting the dishes in the washer and wiping my hands on my apron.
I led Intruder upstairs and showed him where Tyler’s pajamas were. He got a giggle out of this, clothes to sleep in. Well, that was the way it was going to be in here, we were still strangers and I’d have no naked men running about.
After he was settled I crawled back in to my bed. No sooner had I pulled the covers up to my neck I sat up bolt right. Sweat was laying on my pillow. No, it was soaked with my tears, I’d been crying in my sleep. That was one realistic dream, it had seemed so real! I looked at the alarm clock, even though it was only 12:01 I needed something to eat, no way I’d be able to get back to sleep after what I’d just experienced.
Downstairs I tripped on the dining room light to the astonishment of a tall body in a black hooded jacket with a ski mask pulled over his face. I think it was a man, burglary uniforms are rather unisexual, hiding the identity as well as the gender of perpetrators, just going by his shoulders though, I had to guess he was a man, or a young boy. He reached for his gun laying on the buffet and aimed it at me, the drawer was open and my good silver was sticking out of his pockets.
I squared my shoulders and entered the room, pre-armed with a strategically sent heavenly dream I was ready for the future.
Math 24:43
Mark 3:35
John 10:10
Rom 13:9
Eph 4:28
Heb 2:11
I slipped on my mules, slid into my robe and headed for the kitchen. I needed a midnight snack. I haven’t been eating well since I’ve only been cooking for one. I’ve had no appetite and my clothes have started really hanging poorly on me. I passed Tyler’s room and checked it out. Empty. Of course, it had been empty for twelve months now.
What was that? Fireflies in the dining room? No, someone’s flashlight. I turned to run but thought otherwise. I was furious, how dare someone break in on this of all days. I tripped on the dining room light to the astonishment of a tall body in a black hooded jacket with a ski mask pulled over his face. I think it was a man, burglary uniforms are rather unisexual, hiding the identity as well as the gender of perpetrators, just going by his shoulders though, I had to guess he was a man, or a young boy. He reached for his gun laying on the buffet and aimed it at me, the drawer was open and my good silver was sticking out of his pockets.
“Lady, don’t move!” a voice that came out of the black ski mask ordered, trying to sound older behind trembling hands holding a menacing weapon. I felt this was his first time out of the stalls for robbery.
“Put that thing down before you hurt yourself!” I countered. “And get into the kitchen. we’re going to have a little chat!” I stated crossing to the room where food is prepared.
“Lady, I mean it, stay put!” The gun was shaking so hard if it went off no telling where the bullet would hit.
“Come here and sit down!” I must have really sounded authoritative because my wishes were carried out. I dug around in the refrigerator and freezer till I found something that I could pull off as a meal. Then I clanged pots and pans about. In twenty minutes a midnight meal for two was sitting on the table, just like a year ago. Memories so warm and fresh caused tears to lace my lashes.
I poured coffee into two mugs and seated myself across from my guest, who was still holding his firearm in that awkward manner this new generation considers cool, you know at that funny angle. If it went off I had nothing to loose, not since Tyler….
“Put that thing down and tell me why you’re doing this,” I repeated, sipping my coffee between bites of food.
Hesitantly, slowly the gun went down and a fork came up. The boy was starving. I could tell now he wasn’t much older than Tyler, he might even be younger.
A story of family abuse spewed forth, his poor mother dying at the hands of his drunken father, a year ago to day. He hated his father, he said that continuously and with vehemence, and he hoped he rotted in jail. I didn’t try to talk him out of his rage. He would still have a mother if she’d had enough sence to leave that horrible son of a … I didn’t correct his speech either, it wasn’t my job. God understood where this boy was coming from and sometimes a bad word or two was meaningful. I’ve heard bad words before, they didn’t offend me. Over the year he’d been tossed from foster home to foster home. He claimed those people were suppose to be able to help him, most of them just did it for the money the state paid. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. After his tale he laid his head down on his arms and wept, like a baby. Like Tyler used to do, my Tyler, when he was feeling sorry for us..
Laying my hands on my visitor’s shoulders I explained about Tyler, my son. He didn’t have the same story as this young man did, no drunken father; he had no father at all. My husband abandoned us for another woman, leaving me to eek out a living for the two of us. Tyler was too young to work, not qualified for much till he graduated from school, and I had plans to put him through college, working two jobs. Tyler felt guilty not being able to contribute to the cupboards, so he snuck out one night with some friends to rob a convenience store and bring home some extra cash. If only I‘d known, I‘d have stopped him.(Who was I fooling?)
I paused for several minutes before saying, “He was shot through with six holes by the manager. He died alone and without me, one year ago today.” I buried my face in my hands and sobbed, it was my turn to cry now and I wouldn’t let this man-boy deny me my sorrow.
My intruder lifted his head from his arms, wiped tears from his eyes, blew his nose on his sleeve and stared me down. He was trying to discern if this was a well made up story to get his attention. Smart kid, he realized I was telling the truth. He had Tyler’s eyes, I thought. He reached over and tentatively embraced me. I let his arms lay on my shoulders as my hands had laid on his earlier.
We talked on for hours, eating and crying. I finally proposed something really odd. This was most unusual. He needed a mother and I needed a son. If only we could… he could …I could, try to make sense out of our losses. Try to rebuild broken lives, it was worth a try, we certainly couldn’t come out any worse.
“Listen, we don’t have to make life altering changes right now, let me put you in Tyler’s room for the night and we can see what happens in the morning.” I stated, putting the dishes in the washer and wiping my hands on my apron.
I led Intruder upstairs and showed him where Tyler’s pajamas were. He got a giggle out of this, clothes to sleep in. Well, that was the way it was going to be in here, we were still strangers and I’d have no naked men running about.
After he was settled I crawled back in to my bed. No sooner had I pulled the covers up to my neck I sat up bolt right. Sweat was laying on my pillow. No, it was soaked with my tears, I’d been crying in my sleep. That was one realistic dream, it had seemed so real! I looked at the alarm clock, even though it was only 12:01 I needed something to eat, no way I’d be able to get back to sleep after what I’d just experienced.
Downstairs I tripped on the dining room light to the astonishment of a tall body in a black hooded jacket with a ski mask pulled over his face. I think it was a man, burglary uniforms are rather unisexual, hiding the identity as well as the gender of perpetrators, just going by his shoulders though, I had to guess he was a man, or a young boy. He reached for his gun laying on the buffet and aimed it at me, the drawer was open and my good silver was sticking out of his pockets.
I squared my shoulders and entered the room, pre-armed with a strategically sent heavenly dream I was ready for the future.
Math 24:43
Mark 3:35
John 10:10
Rom 13:9
Eph 4:28
Heb 2:11
The ICU Experience
|
The ICU Experience
He saw me come in and tried to smile but couldn’t. He was in too much pain and medicated to the ninth degree allowing him to be intubated without fighting the tube in his throat that helped him to breathe. He had tubes helping him to do everything. And monitors? They were everywhere, there was hardly any room to get near him but I managed. “Hi Honey. I came as soon as I got word.” I told my loving husband of 40 some odd years, laying my cold hands on his. He tried again to smile but a tear crept down his cheek. That was one thing he could do by himself. I looked about the room. My daughter had brought pictures from home to liven the austere environment. Bill and me barbequing in the backyard by our pool. Bill holding Marcy on his shoulders to see over the heads in front of us at some New Year’s parade down town. Pictures of us as family years ago when we were complete. Completely happy. Before I’d come down with cancer and spent years in and out of this same ICU. Pictures of Bill, wearing his infamous Stetson, dancing with Betsy. His bible was there also, opened up to Psalm 91. I didn’t have to read it; it was encrypted in my heart. “You’re going to have surgery again, honey. Don’t worry, everything will turn out okay.” I told him. This wouldn’t be his first surgery since the accident last night. Bill looked to my side and winced as Betsy came up behind me. Betsy was his recent girlfriend. She had been in the car with him when he was t-boned by a drunk driver, and we met for the first time hours ago but it seemed like only a blink of an eye ago. She was the one who came to my home and informed me of Bill’s condition. I was so grateful she did that. My youngest, a daughter came down the hallway with the nurses who would be bringing Bill to surgery. Since Bill was practically unconscious, she had signed all the necessary papers and discussed everything with the surgeon. Poor girl, everything was on her back, since her brother was a missionary in China. She has been through so much, caring for her parents, us, over the years. We raised a good girl. God helped though, so I can’t take all the credit. The room was suddenly a beehive. A nurse anesthetist checked out all his tubes, I.V bags and got a report from the trauma ICU nurse about his recent surgeries for broken bones and exploratory laparoscopy. An operating room nurse checked out the chart for permission to operate. An orderly unlocked the bed. Bill just laid there, the center of attention at the same time he was being ignored. As he was unable to communicate, no one spoke to him, just examined all central, arterial and Pic lines, EKG, urinary bag, and ventilator tubes and settings, (I told you, he was hooked up to technology) Bill, my husband of 65 years, the father of my children, the deacon at our church, Betsy’s boyfriend, was now just an inanimate object lying on white sheets, (slightly blood stained from oozing wounds). His eyes kept meeting mine to soak in consolation and hope. Betsy stood at the end of the bed and rubbed his feet ever so gently . I stood next to Marcy and put my arms around her, “Oh, mom!” she cried, reflexively putting her hand on the same spot on her shoulder that my hand rested. “It’ll be alright honey, I promise!” I guaranteed her though she didn’t listen to me, she wasn‘t the least bit tuned in to me. “Why did you leave us!?” she moaned into her palms. “I didn’t have a choice honey, someday you’ll understand.” It was Betsy‘s turn to put her arms around me. “She will understand someday.” Betsy’s perfume still clung to her skin and clothes. In due course. The operating room nurse noticed the pictures of Bill and examined them carefully. Now she knew he was a real person, not just an accident victim with no past. She could tell he was somebody’s husband, father, and boyfriend. She knew he had a reason to live, that he had had a life. She asked Marcy questions about the people in the photos. She genuinely seemed interested in Bill as a person. Then she noticed the bible lying next to the scenes from Bill’s years. The nurse read the psalm to herself, her lips moving. I could see the glow in her heart, the seal of God. I knew Bill would do fine in surgery, now I knew why. God had prepared Christians to work on him. Our God knows what needs to be done. Betsy, Marcy and I stayed by Bill for days while he recovered. The moment came that the breathing tube and paralytic drugs (used to keep resistance from the tube in his throat) were gradually removed from his regimen, he became more alert, alert enough to realize what had happened to him and Betsy that horrible rainy night two weeks ago, now. He looked at Betsy and me with sad eyes, it calmed him to have us nearby, but I think he felt uncomfortable about Betsy. I took his hand in mine and reassured him I held no grudge, bad will or whatever against him, I swore I was glad he had met Betsy, she gave him what I had been unable to provide for some time; a warm body to spend time with. Betsy held his opposite hand and encouraged him to fight for his life, enlightening him she was very lucky to have known him and that she wished him well, that she had no regrets and was pain free. She insisted that what had happened to her wasn’t Bill’s fault, that he wasn’t God and shouldn’t feel responsible for her life. Really, he was only a man; God was the one with the “not so remote” controls. Bill’s vital signs rallied after this interaction. Marcy however wore a constant frown, worried about his continually murmuring into the space around him. We watched Bill gain strength daily. The stronger he got, the further up from oblivion he rose, the more transparent we got. Then came our last day with him when we became mere wisps of air. He reached out to grab hold of us, to try to keep us with him, but we slipped through his fingers, God had beamed us back up! “Diane! Betsy!” he cried out loud, waking Marcy from the nearby recliner she’d been asleep in. Marcy clutched her dad’s hand and held it to her cheek. “Dad, I have to tell you, Betsy-” “Don’t tell me Betsy’s dead, I know different.” Bill interrupted her. Then, “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not delusional.” Marcy’s eyes brimmed with tears. She had expected her dad to react poorly to the news of Betsy’s death, she had died quickly on impact with the windshield, and had dreaded telling him, but this she hadn’t expected. Then she smelled it. Where was it coming from? His hand! His hand had the scent of Betsy’s perfume. She looked back at the picture collection on the counter, mixed with dressings, antiseptic solutions, hygienic balloons with get well sentiments on them, cards and stuffed animals from church members and friends. Her mom and Betsy’s pictures were aglow but they slowly dimmed as the portrait subjects returned to their real permanent home in the sky. Duet. 5:26 Proverbs 17:6 Math. 15:3-6 Mark 12:24-2 7 2 Cor. 1:3-7 1 Tim 5:3-4 1 Thess. 15-18 |
The call
Once I developed a plan my spirits lightened. Nothing like being in control, having a goal. I meticulously carried out my strategy. With each accomplishment came more resolve. A no turning back agreement with myself. My soul felt like it had been wrapped in a dark blanket and stuffed in a small airless closet. A mood of complete despair and hopelessness permeated my very core…till I cultivated my plan. I watered it daily and bit by bit it grew.
I started with my possessions. I had too many. I wouldn’t be able to use them much longer, or enjoy in them. No sense in letting them go to waste, so….my clothes went first, in jaunts to my daughters. They however considered my wardrobe too dowdy for their tastes so the majority of my garments made it to Goodwill, where people needier than I could take pleasure in them at a price more reasonable than what I paid for them.
Now my jewelry. That was different subject. The quarreling over who deserved what piece the most was pathetic. It would have been nice if they had questioned why I decided I would no longer need diamonds, they were so self absorbed. I had never let them borrow them in the past, now I was putting them up for grabs! After all, diamonds fit into every time period. One can never say, "Oh, that stone has been out of style for centuries now." Is it no wonder with kids like mine that I’m despondent? No, I can’t blame it all on them. Good try through. I drove away from their homes with tears filling the floorboards, making my car a portable bathtub. I would miss them. Unbelievable.
Next I invited my friends over for a get together. One last visit to remember me by. They were all glad to hear I was feeling better. They had stopped including me in things I had enjoyed doing with them months ago, I would either not show up or appear with red swollen eyes, looking pathetic, a real party downer. They hadn’t seen me dressed up in a while. Groomed. Make up on. Laughing. If they only knew. If they could only see inside me. They had no idea, they were absolutely clueless. My smiles really duped them. People only believe what they want to see. They were so glad I’d come out of my armor. They truly supposed I was improving. They skirted the issue of the past few months; oh, hell, they never brought the subject up. They didn’t want to be accountable for spoiling my good mood, for reminding my of my fall from grace. The collapse of my sense of worth. My plummet in to the pit of despair. We were all having a good time, let’s not drudge the bottom of the barrel, where all the slime of human emotions had settled. If they had only thought to interrogate me, to be my counselors. Who was I fooling, that wouldn’t have changed a thing. I needed professional help, clumsy efforts by untrained laymen would have been ineffectual, maybe even more damaging. Is anything more damaging than self destruction? As they left to go their separate ways I presented them with mementos, further reducing the clutter from my domicile. Once again, no questions were asked. Not a hair of suspicion rose. Totally oblivious. What idiots.
Finally I wrote letters, enclosed some checks to evacuate my bank account, and set them in a visible location. I didn't really feel an explanation was necessary, but I suppose it was protocol to leave a final missive for closure. What a word. Closure. My closure would be in a coffin. Buried in the cold earth. Put me out of my misery. I wouldn't get to witness their shock when I laid my feelings bare and accused them for not being there for me. The best part though is I also wouldn't have to put up with their retaliations! I just hope they would grieve for a respectable amount of time. Don’t throw dirt on top of me and go eat. How morbid. Meals planned for the grieving family. So grotesque. Who cares if they eat, while I rot in the grave? They socialize while the skin rots off my body. Beautiful.
My last duty to execute was a fare well call to my mother. I wanted to hear her voice one last time. Of course I wouldn't divulge my intentions. I would talk to her for an hour or so them proceed with the final execution of my objectives. When she found out what had happened to me it would hit her hard, she would try to figure out what she could have done to stop me. She wouldn’t have been able to do anything. Desperation as deep seated as mine couldn’t be easily alleviated. (And I called my daughters self absorbed!) That was sad but unavoidable. It would be explained in the letter with her name on it and the biggest check.
I let the phone ring several times, and several times more. No answer. What luck. The day I decided to die and my mom couldn’t be home to talk to me. That spoiled my frame of mind. How could she be so inconsiderate as to be absent from home when I needed one last conversation.
Well. So much for that. I leaned back in my lazy boy and poured me a good stiff drink then reached for my antidepressants. Alcohol and drugs. A bad combo. I had a couple of months supply on hand. A little booze, a hand full of pills. It would be over shortly. I would be found lying comfortably, stiff as a concrete statue. Dressed up. Make up on. Apartment spotless. Mostly because I’d given so much away. Easy for my survivors to clean up.
"Well, here’s to you God." I lifted my glass in a toast. "If you have a better plan for me, speak up now or forever hold your peace!"
Ring. Ring. Ring. Oh, great. I leaned over to view the caller ID and nearly choked on my drink. I almost swallowed my tongue. I didn’t need the pills now. Just the booze. The caller ID identified the caller as "Jesus Christ the Redeemer!" I felt a massive heart attack coming on. I tentatively picked up the receiver.
"Hello." I answered, shakily, awkwardly. How does one greet Jesus on the phone. I’m sure he’s aware I have caller ID.
"You called?" A deep voice questioned. "This is Jesus Christ the rede-"
"Oh, Jesus!" I exclaimed, talk about getting answers!
"My name is Jessie Chr-"
I cut the lord off as I started spilling my guts. There wasn’t a moment to waste. I did all the talking. Crying. Opening up. Divulging things I’d only thought. Apologizing for being redundant, as I’m sure he’d heard it all before. I mean, really heard it all before, from me, in my prayers. I was totally awestruck. I didn’t know he made personal calls. What provider did he use, AT&T. South western Bell? Verizon? Who set lines up to heaven. Satellites? Who billed the Lord of the universe? What did he use for currency?
Jesus listened without interrupting as I poured out my heart. He was very familiar with a bleeding heart. He could fully identify with me. He let me empty my emotions at his feet….er….ear. It was so cathartic. Just to have someone listen, not hang up, not offer ridiculous clichés.
"Where did you get the pills from?" The lord asked, eventually, as I wound down my narrative with my expectations to see him soon. I was exhausted, spiritually depleted.
Surprised he didn’t already know, I told of my visit to the doctor who diagnosed my depression and provided the prescription. I was too humiliated to use them, how could I be a good Christian and use meds to elevate my mood? He had blabbered some nonsense about neural chemicals, serotonin depletion, that had gone over my head. It filled me with disgrace to rely on medicines while I worshiped God. Praising God should be medicinal enough! It didn’t however shame me to decide my life wasn’t worth living. To take matters in to my own hands. Incongruous thinking. There is no reasoning with mental illness, feelings of absolute failure, lack of control.
"Nonsense," the voice at the other end of the universe stated. "Just as insulin and thyroid hormones decline in later years so can brain chemicals. It is no dishonor to God to replace natural chemicals with appropriate medications. After all, he created you, and the scientists who heal. By your reasoning every diabetic is a worthless sinner and failure." That was a heavy thought. I did know some that statement was true of, however.
After a long conversation with the voice from the third dimension, where I actually granted him time to talk, I finally agreed to try the medicine as it was prescribed. To give it a chance. What could it hurt? I promised to return to church. To renew my relationship with God. To accept his love and forgiveness, To let him decide when to call me home. In my overwhelming misery I had closed myself off from the world and those who could be useful to me; my spiritual brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers.
\
After saying my goodbyes I collapsed back in my chair in absolute shock.
Meanwhile, Jessie Chrysalis, the pastor of Jesus Christ the Redeemer Baptist Church hung up his phone equally bowled over. He had just been about to close his office for the night when the phone had rung, incessantly. He almost didn’t return the call because of the lateness of the hour but something had nudged him on….
And my mother? She’d been home the whole night, I had misdialed her number. But I would never know that. And I would never tell anyone about my conversation with Jesus himself, but you’re invited to have your own. He’s accessible to us all.
Now that my plans had changed drastically from short term to long term I had a few things to deal with. First, I had to tear up the letters and checks, before they fell into the wrong hands.( If I was going to live, I needed money.) Second, looking about my nearly bare apartment I wondered what I'd do with so few possessions. I guess now that I'm so unencumbered I can finally join the mission field!
Proverbs 11:14
Psalm 31:2
Psalm 34:18
Isaiah 61:1
Jonah 2:2
Math 5:4
Rom. 8:38
2 Cor. 1:3-5
Depression:
Signs of clinical depression include:
Feelings of hopelessness, helplessness, and/or worthlessness
Insomnia or excessive sleeping
Significant appetite loss or gain
Decreased interest or pleasure in previously enjoyable activities
Themes of death in artwork, poetry and/or conversation
Previous Attempts:
4 out of 5 who actually commit suicide have tried to do so at least once previously.
Significant Loss:
Any real or perceived loss such as a relationship breakup, loss of status/prestige, death, or physical impairment.
Alcohol or Other Drug Abuse:
If a person cannot say "No" to a drug or control the amount used, there is a substance abuse problem.
Suicide Plan:
The more specific the plan, the more serious the intent.
Giving Possessions Away.
Talking About Suicide: This may be stated directly--"I'm going to kill myself." Or indirectly-- "You would be better off without me," or, "Soon you won't have to worry about me anymore."
I started with my possessions. I had too many. I wouldn’t be able to use them much longer, or enjoy in them. No sense in letting them go to waste, so….my clothes went first, in jaunts to my daughters. They however considered my wardrobe too dowdy for their tastes so the majority of my garments made it to Goodwill, where people needier than I could take pleasure in them at a price more reasonable than what I paid for them.
Now my jewelry. That was different subject. The quarreling over who deserved what piece the most was pathetic. It would have been nice if they had questioned why I decided I would no longer need diamonds, they were so self absorbed. I had never let them borrow them in the past, now I was putting them up for grabs! After all, diamonds fit into every time period. One can never say, "Oh, that stone has been out of style for centuries now." Is it no wonder with kids like mine that I’m despondent? No, I can’t blame it all on them. Good try through. I drove away from their homes with tears filling the floorboards, making my car a portable bathtub. I would miss them. Unbelievable.
Next I invited my friends over for a get together. One last visit to remember me by. They were all glad to hear I was feeling better. They had stopped including me in things I had enjoyed doing with them months ago, I would either not show up or appear with red swollen eyes, looking pathetic, a real party downer. They hadn’t seen me dressed up in a while. Groomed. Make up on. Laughing. If they only knew. If they could only see inside me. They had no idea, they were absolutely clueless. My smiles really duped them. People only believe what they want to see. They were so glad I’d come out of my armor. They truly supposed I was improving. They skirted the issue of the past few months; oh, hell, they never brought the subject up. They didn’t want to be accountable for spoiling my good mood, for reminding my of my fall from grace. The collapse of my sense of worth. My plummet in to the pit of despair. We were all having a good time, let’s not drudge the bottom of the barrel, where all the slime of human emotions had settled. If they had only thought to interrogate me, to be my counselors. Who was I fooling, that wouldn’t have changed a thing. I needed professional help, clumsy efforts by untrained laymen would have been ineffectual, maybe even more damaging. Is anything more damaging than self destruction? As they left to go their separate ways I presented them with mementos, further reducing the clutter from my domicile. Once again, no questions were asked. Not a hair of suspicion rose. Totally oblivious. What idiots.
Finally I wrote letters, enclosed some checks to evacuate my bank account, and set them in a visible location. I didn't really feel an explanation was necessary, but I suppose it was protocol to leave a final missive for closure. What a word. Closure. My closure would be in a coffin. Buried in the cold earth. Put me out of my misery. I wouldn't get to witness their shock when I laid my feelings bare and accused them for not being there for me. The best part though is I also wouldn't have to put up with their retaliations! I just hope they would grieve for a respectable amount of time. Don’t throw dirt on top of me and go eat. How morbid. Meals planned for the grieving family. So grotesque. Who cares if they eat, while I rot in the grave? They socialize while the skin rots off my body. Beautiful.
My last duty to execute was a fare well call to my mother. I wanted to hear her voice one last time. Of course I wouldn't divulge my intentions. I would talk to her for an hour or so them proceed with the final execution of my objectives. When she found out what had happened to me it would hit her hard, she would try to figure out what she could have done to stop me. She wouldn’t have been able to do anything. Desperation as deep seated as mine couldn’t be easily alleviated. (And I called my daughters self absorbed!) That was sad but unavoidable. It would be explained in the letter with her name on it and the biggest check.
I let the phone ring several times, and several times more. No answer. What luck. The day I decided to die and my mom couldn’t be home to talk to me. That spoiled my frame of mind. How could she be so inconsiderate as to be absent from home when I needed one last conversation.
Well. So much for that. I leaned back in my lazy boy and poured me a good stiff drink then reached for my antidepressants. Alcohol and drugs. A bad combo. I had a couple of months supply on hand. A little booze, a hand full of pills. It would be over shortly. I would be found lying comfortably, stiff as a concrete statue. Dressed up. Make up on. Apartment spotless. Mostly because I’d given so much away. Easy for my survivors to clean up.
"Well, here’s to you God." I lifted my glass in a toast. "If you have a better plan for me, speak up now or forever hold your peace!"
Ring. Ring. Ring. Oh, great. I leaned over to view the caller ID and nearly choked on my drink. I almost swallowed my tongue. I didn’t need the pills now. Just the booze. The caller ID identified the caller as "Jesus Christ the Redeemer!" I felt a massive heart attack coming on. I tentatively picked up the receiver.
"Hello." I answered, shakily, awkwardly. How does one greet Jesus on the phone. I’m sure he’s aware I have caller ID.
"You called?" A deep voice questioned. "This is Jesus Christ the rede-"
"Oh, Jesus!" I exclaimed, talk about getting answers!
"My name is Jessie Chr-"
I cut the lord off as I started spilling my guts. There wasn’t a moment to waste. I did all the talking. Crying. Opening up. Divulging things I’d only thought. Apologizing for being redundant, as I’m sure he’d heard it all before. I mean, really heard it all before, from me, in my prayers. I was totally awestruck. I didn’t know he made personal calls. What provider did he use, AT&T. South western Bell? Verizon? Who set lines up to heaven. Satellites? Who billed the Lord of the universe? What did he use for currency?
Jesus listened without interrupting as I poured out my heart. He was very familiar with a bleeding heart. He could fully identify with me. He let me empty my emotions at his feet….er….ear. It was so cathartic. Just to have someone listen, not hang up, not offer ridiculous clichés.
"Where did you get the pills from?" The lord asked, eventually, as I wound down my narrative with my expectations to see him soon. I was exhausted, spiritually depleted.
Surprised he didn’t already know, I told of my visit to the doctor who diagnosed my depression and provided the prescription. I was too humiliated to use them, how could I be a good Christian and use meds to elevate my mood? He had blabbered some nonsense about neural chemicals, serotonin depletion, that had gone over my head. It filled me with disgrace to rely on medicines while I worshiped God. Praising God should be medicinal enough! It didn’t however shame me to decide my life wasn’t worth living. To take matters in to my own hands. Incongruous thinking. There is no reasoning with mental illness, feelings of absolute failure, lack of control.
"Nonsense," the voice at the other end of the universe stated. "Just as insulin and thyroid hormones decline in later years so can brain chemicals. It is no dishonor to God to replace natural chemicals with appropriate medications. After all, he created you, and the scientists who heal. By your reasoning every diabetic is a worthless sinner and failure." That was a heavy thought. I did know some that statement was true of, however.
After a long conversation with the voice from the third dimension, where I actually granted him time to talk, I finally agreed to try the medicine as it was prescribed. To give it a chance. What could it hurt? I promised to return to church. To renew my relationship with God. To accept his love and forgiveness, To let him decide when to call me home. In my overwhelming misery I had closed myself off from the world and those who could be useful to me; my spiritual brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers.
\
After saying my goodbyes I collapsed back in my chair in absolute shock.
Meanwhile, Jessie Chrysalis, the pastor of Jesus Christ the Redeemer Baptist Church hung up his phone equally bowled over. He had just been about to close his office for the night when the phone had rung, incessantly. He almost didn’t return the call because of the lateness of the hour but something had nudged him on….
And my mother? She’d been home the whole night, I had misdialed her number. But I would never know that. And I would never tell anyone about my conversation with Jesus himself, but you’re invited to have your own. He’s accessible to us all.
Now that my plans had changed drastically from short term to long term I had a few things to deal with. First, I had to tear up the letters and checks, before they fell into the wrong hands.( If I was going to live, I needed money.) Second, looking about my nearly bare apartment I wondered what I'd do with so few possessions. I guess now that I'm so unencumbered I can finally join the mission field!
Proverbs 11:14
Psalm 31:2
Psalm 34:18
Isaiah 61:1
Jonah 2:2
Math 5:4
Rom. 8:38
2 Cor. 1:3-5
Depression:
Signs of clinical depression include:
Feelings of hopelessness, helplessness, and/or worthlessness
Insomnia or excessive sleeping
Significant appetite loss or gain
Decreased interest or pleasure in previously enjoyable activities
Themes of death in artwork, poetry and/or conversation
Previous Attempts:
4 out of 5 who actually commit suicide have tried to do so at least once previously.
Significant Loss:
Any real or perceived loss such as a relationship breakup, loss of status/prestige, death, or physical impairment.
Alcohol or Other Drug Abuse:
If a person cannot say "No" to a drug or control the amount used, there is a substance abuse problem.
Suicide Plan:
The more specific the plan, the more serious the intent.
Giving Possessions Away.
Talking About Suicide: This may be stated directly--"I'm going to kill myself." Or indirectly-- "You would be better off without me," or, "Soon you won't have to worry about me anymore."
The anniversary disappointment?
The door closed behind Greg as he departed for his business trip. At least he thought to give me a good bye kiss, though it was none to passionate. He would be gone during our 25th anniversary. I'm not even sure he realized it, he could never keep up with the date over the years. I’m surprised he remembered to show up the day of our wedding,( his mother must have reminded him!). The minute he left I moped around the house like a school girl jilted on her high school prom.
Well, there was always the computer. I had a well established web buddy that I could spill my soul out to. We had been "conversing" on the wide world of the web for sometime now. It added spice to my marriage to bear my soul and talk to my special buddy about all my woes. It was second best to journaling. I wrote things to Loverboy@myheart.love that I never told Greg face to face. I typed from my heart about my sense of abandonment and feelings of being second best to my husband‘s work.
Later I checked my E-mail to find a response.
Since your hubby is out of town, set Tuesday night aside for me. I have a something coming your way. signed Lover boy.
That was my anniversary date. What did my friend have in mind, I wondered.
Soon after, in the early afternoon, the door bell rang. Standing on my steps was a fed ex man with a delivery. Thanking him I closed the door and opened my mail. A hotel key...card... whatever.. fell out and bounced off my feet. Instructions were enclosed in the envelope detailing where and when to meet and what to bring in the way of luggage….nothing! Plane tickets were included. The suggestions contained in the missive brought my blood to a simmer. It is possible to live with your blood at the boiling point. I never dreamed my week would go so well. Greg was out of town and now I would be also.
I contacted my boss first and she graciously let me have Tuesday and Wednesday off on short notice.(weird, she’s pretty rigid usually!) I then called my mother to make arrangements for the kids, they were still young as it had taken Greg and me years to conceive. I was pleased to hear she was available the two days I needed her in the middle of the week. I didn’t give her any salacious details, except she could reach me on my cell phone in an emergency. She tried hard enough to get me to spill the beans about my plans, using all her mother’s ploys. (Didn’t work when I was a teenager, won’t work now, Mom.) She didn’t think I should go out of town with Greg gone. She was going mental telling me things weren’t done this way when she was growing up. I had to inform her what century she was in now. That things change.
“ Not for the better, apparently!” Mom huffed at me as I pulled out of the driveway.
I went straight to the hotel after my plane landed in a limousine that had been sent for me. (No, I don’t mean the plane landed in a limousine!) It was a hotel dreams are made in. I bypassed the registration desk, as I had my key already, to a gorgeous suite, with a very romantic set up. A table for two was set by the balcony with china and crystal, the bed, (what a bed!) was covered with rose petals, the silk sheets were already pulled back and a red lace handkerchief lay on my pillow, no wait, that‘s a nightie! (You can’t see this but I‘m blushing as I hold it up against me). That had to have cost something, the smaller the nightie the bigger the price tag. Champaign was chilling by the bedside table, hourderves tastefully arranged by experienced hotel staff....in the bathroom by an in ground Jacuzzi, (shaped like a heart and built for two), with another chilled bottle of Champaign nearby. Someone planned on getting someone tipsy! Terry cloth robes and towels provided by the hotel were scented and laying nearby on a couch. My blood was once again at boiling point. Candles were glowing on the tub side. Everything was set for a discreet , dreamy rendezvous.
Some one knocked on the door. Loverboy! No, it was a masseuse. She had been reserved for me. I slipped out of my traveling outfit and onto her table for an hour and a half of pure bliss. Soothing oils, scented candles, expert massage. I had died and gone to heaven, (or Texas, since I‘m a cowgirl there‘s still some question whether heaven will let me in!.)
After my rub down I slipped into the bath with luscious scents the massage therapist had prepared for me . I slid down till the bubbling Jacuzzi water reached my neck and I rested my head against the vibrating pillow on the edge. Perfumed steam encircled me. Ahhh. After ten minutes someone came in. I didn’t open my eyes, I didn‘t want to wake up from this luxurious dream. I heard clothes falling to the floor and felt the waves in the water as another body joined me. A hand placed a stemmed glass in mine. Opening my eyes I hooked arms with Loverboy and we sipped our bubbly beverage, eyes focused solely on each other. We sat there for a long time, till the water cooled, then we dried each other off, dressed casually and made it to the table set for two. The balcony doors were open letting a soft night breeze caress us while we gazed at the stars and full moon, thank you God for the beautiful night. Sounds of the night wafted in. Waiters came in on cue from Loverboy with a trio of singers and violinists who serenaded us during our five course meal followed by a desert cart filled with sweets of every variety to choose from. Everything met the expectations of my most clandestine fantasy.
“Happy anniversary, my love” Greg toasted me across from the table.
“Hmmm.” I answered, shading my eyes from the mid afternoon sun.
“Honey, happy anniversary!” Greg repeated, gently shaking my arm.
I stared into the eyes of Loverboy across a dirty table filled with plastic bowls lined with paper and half eaten onion rings and toasted him back with my Styrofoam coke cup. In the background our kids were laughing as they raced around the McDonald’s playground. Their happy meals partially eaten. The reverberation of kids’ squabbling and fighting for first place on the rides.
“Where were you? It looked like you were on another planet.” Greg asked.
“I was reliving the best anniversary of my life! Last night was fantastic. I still don’t know how you counted on me being able to get off work.”
“Oh, I planned this event months ago, I already informed your boss you would need those days off, and told your mother to not make any plans.”“Mom knew! She sure played her part well!” I smiled. After 24 forgotten anniversaries Greg surely pulled off the biggest bombshell ever. There can still be some secrets in our marriage after all. Imagine that, a couple with secrets!
Eccl. 9:9
Rom 7:2
1 Corinthians 7:2
Heb 13:4
Well, there was always the computer. I had a well established web buddy that I could spill my soul out to. We had been "conversing" on the wide world of the web for sometime now. It added spice to my marriage to bear my soul and talk to my special buddy about all my woes. It was second best to journaling. I wrote things to Loverboy@myheart.love that I never told Greg face to face. I typed from my heart about my sense of abandonment and feelings of being second best to my husband‘s work.
Later I checked my E-mail to find a response.
Since your hubby is out of town, set Tuesday night aside for me. I have a something coming your way. signed Lover boy.
That was my anniversary date. What did my friend have in mind, I wondered.
Soon after, in the early afternoon, the door bell rang. Standing on my steps was a fed ex man with a delivery. Thanking him I closed the door and opened my mail. A hotel key...card... whatever.. fell out and bounced off my feet. Instructions were enclosed in the envelope detailing where and when to meet and what to bring in the way of luggage….nothing! Plane tickets were included. The suggestions contained in the missive brought my blood to a simmer. It is possible to live with your blood at the boiling point. I never dreamed my week would go so well. Greg was out of town and now I would be also.
I contacted my boss first and she graciously let me have Tuesday and Wednesday off on short notice.(weird, she’s pretty rigid usually!) I then called my mother to make arrangements for the kids, they were still young as it had taken Greg and me years to conceive. I was pleased to hear she was available the two days I needed her in the middle of the week. I didn’t give her any salacious details, except she could reach me on my cell phone in an emergency. She tried hard enough to get me to spill the beans about my plans, using all her mother’s ploys. (Didn’t work when I was a teenager, won’t work now, Mom.) She didn’t think I should go out of town with Greg gone. She was going mental telling me things weren’t done this way when she was growing up. I had to inform her what century she was in now. That things change.
“ Not for the better, apparently!” Mom huffed at me as I pulled out of the driveway.
I went straight to the hotel after my plane landed in a limousine that had been sent for me. (No, I don’t mean the plane landed in a limousine!) It was a hotel dreams are made in. I bypassed the registration desk, as I had my key already, to a gorgeous suite, with a very romantic set up. A table for two was set by the balcony with china and crystal, the bed, (what a bed!) was covered with rose petals, the silk sheets were already pulled back and a red lace handkerchief lay on my pillow, no wait, that‘s a nightie! (You can’t see this but I‘m blushing as I hold it up against me). That had to have cost something, the smaller the nightie the bigger the price tag. Champaign was chilling by the bedside table, hourderves tastefully arranged by experienced hotel staff....in the bathroom by an in ground Jacuzzi, (shaped like a heart and built for two), with another chilled bottle of Champaign nearby. Someone planned on getting someone tipsy! Terry cloth robes and towels provided by the hotel were scented and laying nearby on a couch. My blood was once again at boiling point. Candles were glowing on the tub side. Everything was set for a discreet , dreamy rendezvous.
Some one knocked on the door. Loverboy! No, it was a masseuse. She had been reserved for me. I slipped out of my traveling outfit and onto her table for an hour and a half of pure bliss. Soothing oils, scented candles, expert massage. I had died and gone to heaven, (or Texas, since I‘m a cowgirl there‘s still some question whether heaven will let me in!.)
After my rub down I slipped into the bath with luscious scents the massage therapist had prepared for me . I slid down till the bubbling Jacuzzi water reached my neck and I rested my head against the vibrating pillow on the edge. Perfumed steam encircled me. Ahhh. After ten minutes someone came in. I didn’t open my eyes, I didn‘t want to wake up from this luxurious dream. I heard clothes falling to the floor and felt the waves in the water as another body joined me. A hand placed a stemmed glass in mine. Opening my eyes I hooked arms with Loverboy and we sipped our bubbly beverage, eyes focused solely on each other. We sat there for a long time, till the water cooled, then we dried each other off, dressed casually and made it to the table set for two. The balcony doors were open letting a soft night breeze caress us while we gazed at the stars and full moon, thank you God for the beautiful night. Sounds of the night wafted in. Waiters came in on cue from Loverboy with a trio of singers and violinists who serenaded us during our five course meal followed by a desert cart filled with sweets of every variety to choose from. Everything met the expectations of my most clandestine fantasy.
“Happy anniversary, my love” Greg toasted me across from the table.
“Hmmm.” I answered, shading my eyes from the mid afternoon sun.
“Honey, happy anniversary!” Greg repeated, gently shaking my arm.
I stared into the eyes of Loverboy across a dirty table filled with plastic bowls lined with paper and half eaten onion rings and toasted him back with my Styrofoam coke cup. In the background our kids were laughing as they raced around the McDonald’s playground. Their happy meals partially eaten. The reverberation of kids’ squabbling and fighting for first place on the rides.
“Where were you? It looked like you were on another planet.” Greg asked.
“I was reliving the best anniversary of my life! Last night was fantastic. I still don’t know how you counted on me being able to get off work.”
“Oh, I planned this event months ago, I already informed your boss you would need those days off, and told your mother to not make any plans.”“Mom knew! She sure played her part well!” I smiled. After 24 forgotten anniversaries Greg surely pulled off the biggest bombshell ever. There can still be some secrets in our marriage after all. Imagine that, a couple with secrets!
Eccl. 9:9
Rom 7:2
1 Corinthians 7:2
Heb 13:4
Registration
I stamped one more admission and looked at the line in front of me. The end was no where in sight. They were still coming through the river in masses. Wet. Broken. Battle scarred. Some with missing body parts. Some were carrying those that couldn’t walk. Some came as families, some as couples. Most came alone. This journey is most often made solitarily. Some were old, some young, some middle aged; well, it’s hard on this side of the river to determine what middle age really is. Despite their apparent hardships they were all smiling. No, some appeared stunned. They didn’t believe that they’d make it. Something must have happened close to the finish line that pushed them over the edge, much to their relieve. No one had luggage. They all came empty handed as there was no way to pack for this trip, but they had sent their valuables ahead of them.
Every once in a while some one would stare at me real intently. I would smile, shake their and say, “Yes, that was me, we’ve met before,” I’ve made many earthly missions in my day. Made announcements, waged battles against old friends turned rebels, entered dreams, whispered in ears, you name it, I‘ve done. Obviously I’ve left impressions.
I looked over my shoulder at the construction going on. This was still going to take some time. All these people needed places to live. I’m sure the boss knows what he’s doing. No one has been turned down yet. I’m sure no one will be. The builders, wearing “Habitat for Humanity” shirts, were swinging hammers and pounding nails at a steady rate, never tiring. Grace-full houses were springing up every day and every day new citizens were presented with their own, complete with free staff. Homes were finished on time, there were no delays getting people settled. There was absolutely no waiting.
As each person presented themselves to me and was admitted I sent them in one direction or the other, depending on their needs. If they were broken and incomplete they went to the restoration building first. Here they were fitted with whatever was missing, arms, legs, ect, by skilled personnel trained by the first physician to ever obtain a license. They exited the building complete, scar less, whole. Some came out walking for the first time in ….forever, into forever. Some had their arms around a spouse, or child for the first time in ages. All were the correct body weight now. All fluff had been trimmed off by the master Weight Watcher. All wrinkles had been erased, without Botox, (Sorry, doctors!) Oh, and sorry Clairol and L’Oreal, hair color was permanent now; you too, are out of business!
Then they were sent to the showers. Here they were …showered, what else are showers for? Employees assisted them, a luxury many of the arrivals didn’t have in the lands they had been visiting. They were pampered and offered clean robes and sandals, their old clothes burned. No one suffered post traumatic stress syndrome here from the sight of community showers and burning clothes. All that was left in the past, forgotten as it should be. No, in a perfect world it would never have happened. I can thank my old friend, Lucifer, for that!
After that they were allotted a piece of land with an impressive structure sitting on it. I would never get used to the look of utter surprise. No one coming here ever expected what they received. There was always a refusal to accept the home, followed by claims of unworthiness. They just needed something simple, please offer this house to some one more deserving, they would beg. Humbleness. They could shed that attitude now, since they were wearing various crowns of victory. Besides, all the houses were created equal. There was nothing less "impressive". Get over it. Get used to it. Say, “Thank you,” like your parents taught you.
The children, located in the nursery under the throne room, were identified immediately and reunited with their parents and siblings, by the boss himself. He made it his mission to greet everyone the minute they arrived since he had no choice anyway, he was the first person everyone wanted to meet, to express their gratitude and devotion to. He never tired and never slept. What an amazing man.
New comers, after all the initial procedures and period of adjustments, went about the city with address books in their hands looking up friends, extended family and people they had only read about. Spontaneous parties sprang up regularly. Woodstock? It was a small affair compared to these parties. The guests here were all high; yea, definitely higher than a kite.
The line in front of me suddenly did something I’ve not seen in….well, I’ve never seen this happen. The current of people was reduced, becoming a trickle. I could see the finish line. The builders were ordered to wrap it up; no more houses were needed! This was not a good sign. No sir-ee! I didn’t like the feel of this one little bit. The ensuing stillness created by the unexpectedly hammerless workforce was eerie. Quietness fell everywhere. People gathered in the central park and looked about, then bowed their heads in prayer. I felt something akin to dread. At least that is the only definition I can use, never having experienced this sensation before. This was too ominous for me, with all my years of experience. We’ve all heard about this day,(we'd hoped it was just a rumor,) we were never informed when it would come. Apparently it’s here now. The last soul has been saved, and I'm the one that signed her in. The world is now ready (or not!) for….Armageddon. The word itself sent shivers up my spine. It was the Grand Finale. We here have a heart, so we’re not looking forward to our last earthy mission, to toss the unbelievers and old friends into the lake of fire!
In the background, at the stables, I could see thousands of regal white stallions being led out, stomping the ground and snorting, tossing their regal manes in the air. The Boss was mounted on the lead steed, wearing a vest that proclaimed him King of King’s. His sword was drawn and ready for action while he waited for the host behind him to get prepared. Well like it or not, it’s time to go put an end to time.
Mat 24:36
John 14:1-4
1 Cor. 3:15
Phil. 3:20-21
2 Thes. 1:8
Heb 12:12-13
Heb. 12:22-24
Heb. 13:1,14
Rev 8:1-5
Rev. 20:15
Every once in a while some one would stare at me real intently. I would smile, shake their and say, “Yes, that was me, we’ve met before,” I’ve made many earthly missions in my day. Made announcements, waged battles against old friends turned rebels, entered dreams, whispered in ears, you name it, I‘ve done. Obviously I’ve left impressions.
I looked over my shoulder at the construction going on. This was still going to take some time. All these people needed places to live. I’m sure the boss knows what he’s doing. No one has been turned down yet. I’m sure no one will be. The builders, wearing “Habitat for Humanity” shirts, were swinging hammers and pounding nails at a steady rate, never tiring. Grace-full houses were springing up every day and every day new citizens were presented with their own, complete with free staff. Homes were finished on time, there were no delays getting people settled. There was absolutely no waiting.
As each person presented themselves to me and was admitted I sent them in one direction or the other, depending on their needs. If they were broken and incomplete they went to the restoration building first. Here they were fitted with whatever was missing, arms, legs, ect, by skilled personnel trained by the first physician to ever obtain a license. They exited the building complete, scar less, whole. Some came out walking for the first time in ….forever, into forever. Some had their arms around a spouse, or child for the first time in ages. All were the correct body weight now. All fluff had been trimmed off by the master Weight Watcher. All wrinkles had been erased, without Botox, (Sorry, doctors!) Oh, and sorry Clairol and L’Oreal, hair color was permanent now; you too, are out of business!
Then they were sent to the showers. Here they were …showered, what else are showers for? Employees assisted them, a luxury many of the arrivals didn’t have in the lands they had been visiting. They were pampered and offered clean robes and sandals, their old clothes burned. No one suffered post traumatic stress syndrome here from the sight of community showers and burning clothes. All that was left in the past, forgotten as it should be. No, in a perfect world it would never have happened. I can thank my old friend, Lucifer, for that!
After that they were allotted a piece of land with an impressive structure sitting on it. I would never get used to the look of utter surprise. No one coming here ever expected what they received. There was always a refusal to accept the home, followed by claims of unworthiness. They just needed something simple, please offer this house to some one more deserving, they would beg. Humbleness. They could shed that attitude now, since they were wearing various crowns of victory. Besides, all the houses were created equal. There was nothing less "impressive". Get over it. Get used to it. Say, “Thank you,” like your parents taught you.
The children, located in the nursery under the throne room, were identified immediately and reunited with their parents and siblings, by the boss himself. He made it his mission to greet everyone the minute they arrived since he had no choice anyway, he was the first person everyone wanted to meet, to express their gratitude and devotion to. He never tired and never slept. What an amazing man.
New comers, after all the initial procedures and period of adjustments, went about the city with address books in their hands looking up friends, extended family and people they had only read about. Spontaneous parties sprang up regularly. Woodstock? It was a small affair compared to these parties. The guests here were all high; yea, definitely higher than a kite.
The line in front of me suddenly did something I’ve not seen in….well, I’ve never seen this happen. The current of people was reduced, becoming a trickle. I could see the finish line. The builders were ordered to wrap it up; no more houses were needed! This was not a good sign. No sir-ee! I didn’t like the feel of this one little bit. The ensuing stillness created by the unexpectedly hammerless workforce was eerie. Quietness fell everywhere. People gathered in the central park and looked about, then bowed their heads in prayer. I felt something akin to dread. At least that is the only definition I can use, never having experienced this sensation before. This was too ominous for me, with all my years of experience. We’ve all heard about this day,(we'd hoped it was just a rumor,) we were never informed when it would come. Apparently it’s here now. The last soul has been saved, and I'm the one that signed her in. The world is now ready (or not!) for….Armageddon. The word itself sent shivers up my spine. It was the Grand Finale. We here have a heart, so we’re not looking forward to our last earthy mission, to toss the unbelievers and old friends into the lake of fire!
In the background, at the stables, I could see thousands of regal white stallions being led out, stomping the ground and snorting, tossing their regal manes in the air. The Boss was mounted on the lead steed, wearing a vest that proclaimed him King of King’s. His sword was drawn and ready for action while he waited for the host behind him to get prepared. Well like it or not, it’s time to go put an end to time.
Mat 24:36
John 14:1-4
1 Cor. 3:15
Phil. 3:20-21
2 Thes. 1:8
Heb 12:12-13
Heb. 12:22-24
Heb. 13:1,14
Rev 8:1-5
Rev. 20:15
Abandoned
I leaned back in the leather seat of my Cessna 182 and watched the earth fly by below me. So this is what God must feel like when he rides the winds. So this is what it’s like to be a God, riding the wings of the winds above the heads of mortal man.
According to the FAA, the flight plan I was following was devoid of traffic so it was just me and God. I wouldn’t be colliding with or intersecting any other aircraft. I was completely alone up here, except for me and HIM. What an awesome feeling. How powerful this made me feel being so close to heaven, so close to God himself, feeling like a God! If only I could stay up here but a have to get to work in the morning.
There was no moon out tonight so I relied on the light from the navigation tower finally coming up ahead to be my guide. I was only miles from landing now. The end of my isolation and communion with God was in sight, darn it. I checked out with the FAA and went into a glide path towards the landing strip. All the control tower staff had gone home six hours ago, so I planned on carefully gliding down and putting my baby in her bunker myself before heading home.
What was that? It was silent up here to begin with but it suddenly got quieter. My engine died! This isn’t good. Something swelled up in my stomach creating a heavy sensation of impending doom: the doom of my plane. I spent too much money and time on this baby I wasn’t about to see her get smashed up. I attempted my best to restart the engine, checking the gas, ignition, throttle, carburetor for ice I couldn’t find a thing wrong or helpful. I didn’t have enough altitude to restart. The present image of the earth rising up to meet me would haunt my dreams for the rest of my life, which I was guessing was only a heartbeat away. And I’d just gotten a new paint job! I scanned the dark region for a soft landing spot. Right. I had to pick an airport out in the boonies, now I know why it was cheap. Nothing but mesquite swampland lie beneath me. All I could do now was control air speed. I didn’t have time to reconnect with the FAA to inform them of my situation, I was off their radar. I expertly nosed the plane up and skidded over the mesquite tree tops to a stop going from70 miles per hour to zilch. Every thing in the cabin rattled and shook, bouncing me around like a rag doll.
Seconds passed that seemed like hours. I took a lung full of air, well I actually filled both lungs. No pain. I raised my legs and arms. They moved appropriately. I rotated my head, nothing snapped, then I moved my arms and legs again. No paralysis. No free pumping blood. Nothing smarted. What a relief! I looked out the window. My wings which were normally out to the side were bent up to the sky allowing the gas tanks to drain explosive fuel onto my hot engine, not a good combination. Time to abandon ship…er…plane! I grabbed my duffle bag on the adjoining seat and jumped out. Nope, the door was jammed against the tree I was dangling from forcing me to crawl across the plane to push open the opposite door. I fell face first into the mesquite swamp a couple of feet below me.
Gathering my balance I ran, if you call dodging small bushes as I tripped over submerged twigs and branches while my feet sank into the muck, running. It wouldn’t qualify me for the Olympics (well maybe the special Olympics) but I did manage to distance myself from any detonations. None came. If there had been a night crew at the airport they’d have called for help. But no, they had to have bankers hours. I think I’ll be looking for another place to park my plane. Oh, wait. I might not have a plane anymore. I saved myself but without my plane life had no meaning!
On through the moonless midnight swamp I went. Things moved in the water around me, I couldn’t tell if they were moving towards or away from me. Thankfully in my hurry to evacuate to safety, I left my flashlight on the plane so I could remain ignorant of the perils lurking about. I did have a plan however, which apparently was to wander about aimlessly in the dark. I heard a coyote howl then yap in exultation, having caught his dinner which whimpered one last time. I just wanted to get to the airport, my car, then home where I could get my wife to feel sorry for me.
I was being shredded by briars and floating debris. I heard a low pitched vibrating sound to my left side right before something landed on my head scaring the …..something wet, out of me, that mixed with the waist high sewage smelling water. Cold scaly flesh covered my eyes and nose, little claws scrambled for a foot hold then with another croak the frog leapt off, but not before I lost my balance and flopped down into more deep mush. A branch floated by while I tried to regain my footing. I reached for it to use as a cane to help me up. The branch had eyes and wiggled; and it wiggled right up my arms! With a hasty swing of my opposite hand I sent the snake hurtling through space and distanced myself some more. Yucky, yuck.
I could see the lighted runway now. I was almost home free, except for a twelve foot high fence lined with barbed wire standing between me and my transportation. This was just great, was God going to give me any breaks tonight? I followed the fence for several feet till I came to a tree growing next to it directly across from my own car, the only car in the lot. Here goes. I used to climb as a young boy, let’s see if I can still do it. I tossed my duffel bag, (that contained my now not so clean emergency underwear) to the other side, pulled myself up the tree and over…..whoosh, I landed on the hood of my Jaguar and rolled to the ground. It adequately broke my fall, I was still unharmed, except for the scratches I‘d acquired maneuvering through the quagmire. Now I had a totaled plane and dented car, not to mention jeans ripped by barbed wire in a most immodest spot. Thanks God! (this was said sarcastically.)
The next morning as I was readying for work, (it’s unbelievable how I crashed a plane without having to call into work dead) I was fuming about my misfortunes to my lovely spouse. I was infuriated with God for ditching me in mid air. We were soul buddies and he let me down… literally and without a working engine! I was not using his name virtuously, my wife informed me, and I had better think twice about my situation lest I was struck by lightening. I scoffed. She stepped away from me, not wanting to be singed by association. I told her to not be foolish, it was obvious I was immortal. It certainly wasn’t my time yet, as last night had certainly demonstrated, It was just my plane‘s time, which was why I was so livid. I grabbed my suit for work and headed to the bathroom. On the way to my morning toiletries as I recalled (once again!) my plane sitting in the marshy waters, I kicked the cedar chest in the hallway in misdirected anger. Oooow! Great, I survived a plane crash, marsh march (where I probably contracted malaria), handled a snake, (probably a poisonous one), was attacked by a rabid frog, forced to hurdle a barb wired fence,( that was probably electrified), then I break my toe in my own hallway! Where the heck is God this week!
Job: 5:17
Job 30:22
Psalm 18:10
Psalm 40:1-3
Psalm 55:6
Psalm 69:2, 14
Pro. 3:12
Isaiah 14:12-15
Math. 28:20
Heb. 12:5
James 3:5-12
According to the FAA, the flight plan I was following was devoid of traffic so it was just me and God. I wouldn’t be colliding with or intersecting any other aircraft. I was completely alone up here, except for me and HIM. What an awesome feeling. How powerful this made me feel being so close to heaven, so close to God himself, feeling like a God! If only I could stay up here but a have to get to work in the morning.
There was no moon out tonight so I relied on the light from the navigation tower finally coming up ahead to be my guide. I was only miles from landing now. The end of my isolation and communion with God was in sight, darn it. I checked out with the FAA and went into a glide path towards the landing strip. All the control tower staff had gone home six hours ago, so I planned on carefully gliding down and putting my baby in her bunker myself before heading home.
What was that? It was silent up here to begin with but it suddenly got quieter. My engine died! This isn’t good. Something swelled up in my stomach creating a heavy sensation of impending doom: the doom of my plane. I spent too much money and time on this baby I wasn’t about to see her get smashed up. I attempted my best to restart the engine, checking the gas, ignition, throttle, carburetor for ice I couldn’t find a thing wrong or helpful. I didn’t have enough altitude to restart. The present image of the earth rising up to meet me would haunt my dreams for the rest of my life, which I was guessing was only a heartbeat away. And I’d just gotten a new paint job! I scanned the dark region for a soft landing spot. Right. I had to pick an airport out in the boonies, now I know why it was cheap. Nothing but mesquite swampland lie beneath me. All I could do now was control air speed. I didn’t have time to reconnect with the FAA to inform them of my situation, I was off their radar. I expertly nosed the plane up and skidded over the mesquite tree tops to a stop going from70 miles per hour to zilch. Every thing in the cabin rattled and shook, bouncing me around like a rag doll.
Seconds passed that seemed like hours. I took a lung full of air, well I actually filled both lungs. No pain. I raised my legs and arms. They moved appropriately. I rotated my head, nothing snapped, then I moved my arms and legs again. No paralysis. No free pumping blood. Nothing smarted. What a relief! I looked out the window. My wings which were normally out to the side were bent up to the sky allowing the gas tanks to drain explosive fuel onto my hot engine, not a good combination. Time to abandon ship…er…plane! I grabbed my duffle bag on the adjoining seat and jumped out. Nope, the door was jammed against the tree I was dangling from forcing me to crawl across the plane to push open the opposite door. I fell face first into the mesquite swamp a couple of feet below me.
Gathering my balance I ran, if you call dodging small bushes as I tripped over submerged twigs and branches while my feet sank into the muck, running. It wouldn’t qualify me for the Olympics (well maybe the special Olympics) but I did manage to distance myself from any detonations. None came. If there had been a night crew at the airport they’d have called for help. But no, they had to have bankers hours. I think I’ll be looking for another place to park my plane. Oh, wait. I might not have a plane anymore. I saved myself but without my plane life had no meaning!
On through the moonless midnight swamp I went. Things moved in the water around me, I couldn’t tell if they were moving towards or away from me. Thankfully in my hurry to evacuate to safety, I left my flashlight on the plane so I could remain ignorant of the perils lurking about. I did have a plan however, which apparently was to wander about aimlessly in the dark. I heard a coyote howl then yap in exultation, having caught his dinner which whimpered one last time. I just wanted to get to the airport, my car, then home where I could get my wife to feel sorry for me.
I was being shredded by briars and floating debris. I heard a low pitched vibrating sound to my left side right before something landed on my head scaring the …..something wet, out of me, that mixed with the waist high sewage smelling water. Cold scaly flesh covered my eyes and nose, little claws scrambled for a foot hold then with another croak the frog leapt off, but not before I lost my balance and flopped down into more deep mush. A branch floated by while I tried to regain my footing. I reached for it to use as a cane to help me up. The branch had eyes and wiggled; and it wiggled right up my arms! With a hasty swing of my opposite hand I sent the snake hurtling through space and distanced myself some more. Yucky, yuck.
I could see the lighted runway now. I was almost home free, except for a twelve foot high fence lined with barbed wire standing between me and my transportation. This was just great, was God going to give me any breaks tonight? I followed the fence for several feet till I came to a tree growing next to it directly across from my own car, the only car in the lot. Here goes. I used to climb as a young boy, let’s see if I can still do it. I tossed my duffel bag, (that contained my now not so clean emergency underwear) to the other side, pulled myself up the tree and over…..whoosh, I landed on the hood of my Jaguar and rolled to the ground. It adequately broke my fall, I was still unharmed, except for the scratches I‘d acquired maneuvering through the quagmire. Now I had a totaled plane and dented car, not to mention jeans ripped by barbed wire in a most immodest spot. Thanks God! (this was said sarcastically.)
The next morning as I was readying for work, (it’s unbelievable how I crashed a plane without having to call into work dead) I was fuming about my misfortunes to my lovely spouse. I was infuriated with God for ditching me in mid air. We were soul buddies and he let me down… literally and without a working engine! I was not using his name virtuously, my wife informed me, and I had better think twice about my situation lest I was struck by lightening. I scoffed. She stepped away from me, not wanting to be singed by association. I told her to not be foolish, it was obvious I was immortal. It certainly wasn’t my time yet, as last night had certainly demonstrated, It was just my plane‘s time, which was why I was so livid. I grabbed my suit for work and headed to the bathroom. On the way to my morning toiletries as I recalled (once again!) my plane sitting in the marshy waters, I kicked the cedar chest in the hallway in misdirected anger. Oooow! Great, I survived a plane crash, marsh march (where I probably contracted malaria), handled a snake, (probably a poisonous one), was attacked by a rabid frog, forced to hurdle a barb wired fence,( that was probably electrified), then I break my toe in my own hallway! Where the heck is God this week!
Job: 5:17
Job 30:22
Psalm 18:10
Psalm 40:1-3
Psalm 55:6
Psalm 69:2, 14
Pro. 3:12
Isaiah 14:12-15
Math. 28:20
Heb. 12:5
James 3:5-12
Night time adventure
I never heard them enter but I found out they were in soon enough. I was pulled from bed and stuffed in a bag, head first, then I was beaten while struggling for clean air. What had been in this bag before me? What ever it was hadn't gotten out alive either from the telltale odors, as I was sure I would not. I was whacked, kicked and clubbed then dragged outside and loaded unceremoniously into the bed of a pickup ( soI assume, since I was bagged).
Where ever they took me wasn't on well traveled roads or the truck’s shock absorbers had been removed. I bounced about slamming my head a dozen times per minute. I struggled with the bonds that had my arms pinned to my sides. I was absolutely defenseless. Cowards. There were enough of them they could have killed me easily, even by giving me a opportunity to fight back. I wouldn't have been the victor in a fight when I was outnumbered six to one.
The truck careened to a stop and the yellow livered...the cowards yanked me up, over and out of the truck bed and let me "gently" down to the rock hard ground, head first. I can't imagine why, but I was relieved to hear them take off, leaving me alone out here...wherever here was. At least I now had a chance. After a moment or two I corrected myself. I didn't have the chance of a snow ball in ....the Sahara . I squirmed and wiggled. I was coughing up blood, plus I had a tremendous nose bleed, I would drown in this bag from my own red fluid.
Somebody untied my bonds. I thought I was alone. After I shed my burlap prison I sat up and looked around, ready for another demonstration of love. Nobody. I was in an open space, on the edge of a forest. There was no way someone could have gotten out of sight so soon. Still I was untied, freed. I stood in stages. Shakily. I’m sure ribs were cracked, maybe even my spleen was ruptured. Here I was, in bed clothes, barefooted in ....only God knows where, but at least I was a life.
I headed to the tree line with the moonlight as my guide to find a hiding place for me to heal. I knew why this happened. I didn't worship the same as my attackers. They had warned me to not use my bible in public. I had come here knowing I'd meet resistance, but this violence! I was a close friend of the commander, Zach, he and I had attended Oxford together, and I foolishly thought I could hide under his cloak of protection as a visitor. Hospitality was suppose to be prized here. Apparently the etiquette hadn't been taught to the lower thinking live forms.
Into the woods I loped. Slowly. Painfully. My feet oozing as small sharp rocks left slices in my soles. I heard some high pitched whining. Up ahead a mountain came into view. I could see a huge, I mean really huge bear, leaning over the ledge pawing desperately at something below. Getting closer, I could see the bear couldn't get down but wanted something real bad. Beneath her, trapped on a ledge on the face of the mountain was a cub, trying to crawl back up, spraying the ground feet below with loose earth and mini boulders. The mother was unable to get down, the baby was unable to get up. It would be a long journey to find the trail that led down. I approached carefully and found foot holes that would accommodate me that led directly to distraught junior. Clinging to the wall I reached the shelf holding the cub and heaved him (as he sat on my face I knew it was definitely a boy) up high enough for it's mother to get a mouth full of the nape of it's neck. With one jerk she yanked her offspring up and over. I heard some “I told you so’s, you were to close to the edge!” then a big black nose followed by big black eyes looked back over the cliff. The mother studied me intensely, inhaling my scent into her lungs before she turned tail, wiggled it at me, and left with her child in tow.
Well, that was my good deed for the day and it took everything out of me, wasting some of my limited reserves. I lurched on through the woods using the trees as props to stay on my feet and found a berry patch. Yummy. I collapsed in front of the feast. Pulling some berries from the bush I jerked back when a snout protruded though and snorted at me. On either side of the snout were two ugly, pointed tusks. A wild boar! I was in trouble now. (Not that being beaten and left for dead wasn’t trouble enough). I was sitting and the boar was standing and getting ready for battle stamping the ground with it‘s hooves. I was a goner. No sense in pretending to fight, I couldn’t even raise myself back to my feet. Whoever claimed to not be afraid in the valley of the shadow of death never faced a wild boar while in their pajamas with only a hand full of berries to defend themselves. Maybe if I tossed the berries in it’s face it might aspirate giving me time to…..die of natural causes. I just closed my eyes and prayed to God that he would make this quick.
Roar. Roar. I turned to see mother bear on her hind legs thrashing her paws twenty feet high in the air. Her roars were gusty enough to create tornadoes. The boar grunted and retreated, gracefully at a full gallop, peeing as it ran. I didn’t bother to run to pee. Mom dropped to all fours and sauntered over to me. It was apparent I was going to die somehow tonight. By beatings, boar or bear. I picked up a nearby stick. I looked at the stick, then the bear, then her claws. The bear looked at the stick, then her claws, then me. I could read her mind. She was laughing at me! This was humiliating. I didn’t have a very big stick. She had very big claws.
Bear nudged me and backed up; nudged me again and backed up. I wish I understood bear-ese. I knew I should have paid more attention to Dr. Doolittle. She was trying to tell me something. She took her nose and poked my belly. Was she trying to see how fat I was to determine what size pan to roast me in! No. She wanted me to get on her back! Unbelievable. Not wanting to refuse her generous offer and madden her, I crawled up and clung to her fur as she padded on through the woods. Phew! For a thank you gift I think I’ll buy her a more fragrant brand of perfume, or deodorizer. I was dumped in a cave with her son then she left to return with some raw fish she flung at me proudly. No way, I wasn‘t eating raw fish, bears get it for free while humans pay big bucks for it, but sushi never appealed to me. I took my dinner to the cave opening and started me a little camp fire, using twigs and stones. In no time I was filled and satisfied. Mom spread out full length while baby curled up by her side, yawned and signed out for the remainder of the night. Heavy breathing resonated through the stone lodgings. The place stunk of bear fur and bear….never mind, at least I was safe for a while. Where was my God, leaving me in the care of wild animals!
As the sun poked it’s fingers into my temporary accommodations around high noon, I awoke to the sound of human voices. Some one was calling my name. I had a tremendous headache so this wasn’t fully appreciated. I was sluggish getting to my feet, the cold air and the beatings had a negative effect on my arthritis. Bear came up alongside of me for support and let me lean on her. Outside I discovered my friend, Zach, driving a jeep searching for me with a convoy behind him. When he saw me and the bear exit the cave he grabbed his rifle and yelled for me to jump clear while drawing a bead on Mrs. Bear’s chest. I threw myself between him and my new love, much to his surprise. The bear yawned and retreated casually back into her den.
United with my rescuer we hugged each other, in a manly fashion, yet softly to prevent further breakage of my body. I was never happier to see anyone in my life. He had come upon his men bragging about their behavior at a beer joint. They were at this very moment tied up in one of the rear trucks and were going to suffer the fate they had designed for me. They would be beaten and left for dead for the wild animals to gorge themselves on. An eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth. That was the uncompromising philosophy of the region. I objected strenuously against this plan.
“But friend, they tried to kill you.” Zach exclaimed.
“But that’s not the way of my God. I would rather they not die because of me.” Some how I felt letting them live would be more of a disgrace for them anyway. Take that you cowards. How’s that for getting even. Ha, ha, I got you, I thought staring them down in their ungrateful eyes! I was inwardly exuberant, I was following my God’s teaching and getting revenge at the same time!!! Yes, a win-win situation.
“My friend, what God would let these men live!”
“My God would, because he died for them,” I explained.
“Let’s get you cared for. Then I want to hear some more about this God of yours.”I looked up at the cave entrance so I could sear it in my memory. A man was standing there scratching Bear’s ears. I blinked and looked again. Nothing. A trick of an injured brain or did I just see…..an angel?
Daniel 6
Where ever they took me wasn't on well traveled roads or the truck’s shock absorbers had been removed. I bounced about slamming my head a dozen times per minute. I struggled with the bonds that had my arms pinned to my sides. I was absolutely defenseless. Cowards. There were enough of them they could have killed me easily, even by giving me a opportunity to fight back. I wouldn't have been the victor in a fight when I was outnumbered six to one.
The truck careened to a stop and the yellow livered...the cowards yanked me up, over and out of the truck bed and let me "gently" down to the rock hard ground, head first. I can't imagine why, but I was relieved to hear them take off, leaving me alone out here...wherever here was. At least I now had a chance. After a moment or two I corrected myself. I didn't have the chance of a snow ball in ....the Sahara . I squirmed and wiggled. I was coughing up blood, plus I had a tremendous nose bleed, I would drown in this bag from my own red fluid.
Somebody untied my bonds. I thought I was alone. After I shed my burlap prison I sat up and looked around, ready for another demonstration of love. Nobody. I was in an open space, on the edge of a forest. There was no way someone could have gotten out of sight so soon. Still I was untied, freed. I stood in stages. Shakily. I’m sure ribs were cracked, maybe even my spleen was ruptured. Here I was, in bed clothes, barefooted in ....only God knows where, but at least I was a life.
I headed to the tree line with the moonlight as my guide to find a hiding place for me to heal. I knew why this happened. I didn't worship the same as my attackers. They had warned me to not use my bible in public. I had come here knowing I'd meet resistance, but this violence! I was a close friend of the commander, Zach, he and I had attended Oxford together, and I foolishly thought I could hide under his cloak of protection as a visitor. Hospitality was suppose to be prized here. Apparently the etiquette hadn't been taught to the lower thinking live forms.
Into the woods I loped. Slowly. Painfully. My feet oozing as small sharp rocks left slices in my soles. I heard some high pitched whining. Up ahead a mountain came into view. I could see a huge, I mean really huge bear, leaning over the ledge pawing desperately at something below. Getting closer, I could see the bear couldn't get down but wanted something real bad. Beneath her, trapped on a ledge on the face of the mountain was a cub, trying to crawl back up, spraying the ground feet below with loose earth and mini boulders. The mother was unable to get down, the baby was unable to get up. It would be a long journey to find the trail that led down. I approached carefully and found foot holes that would accommodate me that led directly to distraught junior. Clinging to the wall I reached the shelf holding the cub and heaved him (as he sat on my face I knew it was definitely a boy) up high enough for it's mother to get a mouth full of the nape of it's neck. With one jerk she yanked her offspring up and over. I heard some “I told you so’s, you were to close to the edge!” then a big black nose followed by big black eyes looked back over the cliff. The mother studied me intensely, inhaling my scent into her lungs before she turned tail, wiggled it at me, and left with her child in tow.
Well, that was my good deed for the day and it took everything out of me, wasting some of my limited reserves. I lurched on through the woods using the trees as props to stay on my feet and found a berry patch. Yummy. I collapsed in front of the feast. Pulling some berries from the bush I jerked back when a snout protruded though and snorted at me. On either side of the snout were two ugly, pointed tusks. A wild boar! I was in trouble now. (Not that being beaten and left for dead wasn’t trouble enough). I was sitting and the boar was standing and getting ready for battle stamping the ground with it‘s hooves. I was a goner. No sense in pretending to fight, I couldn’t even raise myself back to my feet. Whoever claimed to not be afraid in the valley of the shadow of death never faced a wild boar while in their pajamas with only a hand full of berries to defend themselves. Maybe if I tossed the berries in it’s face it might aspirate giving me time to…..die of natural causes. I just closed my eyes and prayed to God that he would make this quick.
Roar. Roar. I turned to see mother bear on her hind legs thrashing her paws twenty feet high in the air. Her roars were gusty enough to create tornadoes. The boar grunted and retreated, gracefully at a full gallop, peeing as it ran. I didn’t bother to run to pee. Mom dropped to all fours and sauntered over to me. It was apparent I was going to die somehow tonight. By beatings, boar or bear. I picked up a nearby stick. I looked at the stick, then the bear, then her claws. The bear looked at the stick, then her claws, then me. I could read her mind. She was laughing at me! This was humiliating. I didn’t have a very big stick. She had very big claws.
Bear nudged me and backed up; nudged me again and backed up. I wish I understood bear-ese. I knew I should have paid more attention to Dr. Doolittle. She was trying to tell me something. She took her nose and poked my belly. Was she trying to see how fat I was to determine what size pan to roast me in! No. She wanted me to get on her back! Unbelievable. Not wanting to refuse her generous offer and madden her, I crawled up and clung to her fur as she padded on through the woods. Phew! For a thank you gift I think I’ll buy her a more fragrant brand of perfume, or deodorizer. I was dumped in a cave with her son then she left to return with some raw fish she flung at me proudly. No way, I wasn‘t eating raw fish, bears get it for free while humans pay big bucks for it, but sushi never appealed to me. I took my dinner to the cave opening and started me a little camp fire, using twigs and stones. In no time I was filled and satisfied. Mom spread out full length while baby curled up by her side, yawned and signed out for the remainder of the night. Heavy breathing resonated through the stone lodgings. The place stunk of bear fur and bear….never mind, at least I was safe for a while. Where was my God, leaving me in the care of wild animals!
As the sun poked it’s fingers into my temporary accommodations around high noon, I awoke to the sound of human voices. Some one was calling my name. I had a tremendous headache so this wasn’t fully appreciated. I was sluggish getting to my feet, the cold air and the beatings had a negative effect on my arthritis. Bear came up alongside of me for support and let me lean on her. Outside I discovered my friend, Zach, driving a jeep searching for me with a convoy behind him. When he saw me and the bear exit the cave he grabbed his rifle and yelled for me to jump clear while drawing a bead on Mrs. Bear’s chest. I threw myself between him and my new love, much to his surprise. The bear yawned and retreated casually back into her den.
United with my rescuer we hugged each other, in a manly fashion, yet softly to prevent further breakage of my body. I was never happier to see anyone in my life. He had come upon his men bragging about their behavior at a beer joint. They were at this very moment tied up in one of the rear trucks and were going to suffer the fate they had designed for me. They would be beaten and left for dead for the wild animals to gorge themselves on. An eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth. That was the uncompromising philosophy of the region. I objected strenuously against this plan.
“But friend, they tried to kill you.” Zach exclaimed.
“But that’s not the way of my God. I would rather they not die because of me.” Some how I felt letting them live would be more of a disgrace for them anyway. Take that you cowards. How’s that for getting even. Ha, ha, I got you, I thought staring them down in their ungrateful eyes! I was inwardly exuberant, I was following my God’s teaching and getting revenge at the same time!!! Yes, a win-win situation.
“My friend, what God would let these men live!”
“My God would, because he died for them,” I explained.
“Let’s get you cared for. Then I want to hear some more about this God of yours.”I looked up at the cave entrance so I could sear it in my memory. A man was standing there scratching Bear’s ears. I blinked and looked again. Nothing. A trick of an injured brain or did I just see…..an angel?
Daniel 6
New Addition
They were scared, they were worried ,they were bewildered. Hadn't they been good
boys? Why had she done this? This was treason. This was utter rejection. They
were no longer secure. First their wife and mother had passed away. The humans
spent weeks crying over that. They were hurt also, they needed the people to be
strong for them. Then one day weeks latter she brought home a new puppy. She
spent lots of time with the new arrival. She had chosen to bring this infant
home. She didn't have too, weren‘t they enough for her?. They must have let her down. They must not be meeting her needs for companionship. What could they do now? They moped around the house, they eyed her with baleful expressions. Things would never be the
same.
But wait. She still leaned forward to touch them. She laid her hands tenderly
on their heads and softly pet them and spoke to them. Her voice hadn't changed.
She still seemed fulfilled with them. Treat time had remained constant. Every one
knows treat time is a sign of love. When she got home from wherever she went
during the day she sought the older dogs out first then released the brat from
her cage.
She picked them up and tickled their bellies the same as usual. At
night she put the little one in a box (crate) and lifted "them" to the bed to snuggle
with. The routine was unchanged at bedtime, surely that was a good omen. Yet
during the day she fondled, fluffed, pampered and played with that confounded
nuisance more than was necessary. At times she squirted it in the face with
water. It must get on her nerves too. The bottle started off full in the morning
and was empty by noon. The puppy was beginning to smell like mildew! She did
this mostly when the little beast chewed on her feet or some electrical thing-a-
ma-gatchet. Especially when it chewed on her shoes. She only had open toed
shoes now thanks to the miniature monster. They wished they had appendages that
could handle the water bottle. That blasted thing got right in their faces
yapping and bouncing around like a rubber ball. Well actually she seemed to know
she bothered the youngest one (son) the most.
She left the oldest one (dad)alone. She traipsed around after the easy
target and had a blast. He would turn on her an growl. The older one sat back
and mused, "If he just ignored her she'd leave him alone! "But she provoked him
till he snapped at her, then she'd back off and return with a vengeance. When
he climbed to higher ground she placed her paws firmly on the edge of the chair
and barked all the more at his show of dangerous teeth. If he had the where
withal, he wouldn't use the water bottle, he would hold her head under water in
the toilet till the air bubbles ceased and then a few minutes longer, just to
be safe.
One day as the human was washing dishes she heard the familiar taunting yaps
of the younsger followed by a giant snarl, snap and petite whimper. Turning she
looked to see Son sitting on his haunches looking up at her bewildered. He
didn't know why the creature had run whining to the back of the room. "Honey,
I'd believe you were innocent if it wasn't for the white fur sticking out of
your mouth." Dad, who had witnessed the whole affair just laid there, he was
beginning to enjoy this and he wasn't going to tell any tales.
They were beginning to understand something. Their owner still loved them. She
was familiar with their ways. She was comfortable with them. You don't give up
comfort readily. When the little rag toy became to bothersome she put it in
it's little room and cuddled with the big boys. They were easy to be with. They
were affectionate, they laid quietly by her side. They hadn't been replaced.
It's just that there was room in the house for one more "lovable?" pet to take
away the ache of loosing an old friend. If the old friend hadn't been so good
there wouldn't have been a hole to fill. In time when the puppy became less of
a menace the older dogs might be able to accept her. But for now, thank
heavens for the little box in the corner of the room where the little creep
could be stored for a few hours a day giving them a reprieve.
boys? Why had she done this? This was treason. This was utter rejection. They
were no longer secure. First their wife and mother had passed away. The humans
spent weeks crying over that. They were hurt also, they needed the people to be
strong for them. Then one day weeks latter she brought home a new puppy. She
spent lots of time with the new arrival. She had chosen to bring this infant
home. She didn't have too, weren‘t they enough for her?. They must have let her down. They must not be meeting her needs for companionship. What could they do now? They moped around the house, they eyed her with baleful expressions. Things would never be the
same.
But wait. She still leaned forward to touch them. She laid her hands tenderly
on their heads and softly pet them and spoke to them. Her voice hadn't changed.
She still seemed fulfilled with them. Treat time had remained constant. Every one
knows treat time is a sign of love. When she got home from wherever she went
during the day she sought the older dogs out first then released the brat from
her cage.
She picked them up and tickled their bellies the same as usual. At
night she put the little one in a box (crate) and lifted "them" to the bed to snuggle
with. The routine was unchanged at bedtime, surely that was a good omen. Yet
during the day she fondled, fluffed, pampered and played with that confounded
nuisance more than was necessary. At times she squirted it in the face with
water. It must get on her nerves too. The bottle started off full in the morning
and was empty by noon. The puppy was beginning to smell like mildew! She did
this mostly when the little beast chewed on her feet or some electrical thing-a-
ma-gatchet. Especially when it chewed on her shoes. She only had open toed
shoes now thanks to the miniature monster. They wished they had appendages that
could handle the water bottle. That blasted thing got right in their faces
yapping and bouncing around like a rubber ball. Well actually she seemed to know
she bothered the youngest one (son) the most.
She left the oldest one (dad)alone. She traipsed around after the easy
target and had a blast. He would turn on her an growl. The older one sat back
and mused, "If he just ignored her she'd leave him alone! "But she provoked him
till he snapped at her, then she'd back off and return with a vengeance. When
he climbed to higher ground she placed her paws firmly on the edge of the chair
and barked all the more at his show of dangerous teeth. If he had the where
withal, he wouldn't use the water bottle, he would hold her head under water in
the toilet till the air bubbles ceased and then a few minutes longer, just to
be safe.
One day as the human was washing dishes she heard the familiar taunting yaps
of the younsger followed by a giant snarl, snap and petite whimper. Turning she
looked to see Son sitting on his haunches looking up at her bewildered. He
didn't know why the creature had run whining to the back of the room. "Honey,
I'd believe you were innocent if it wasn't for the white fur sticking out of
your mouth." Dad, who had witnessed the whole affair just laid there, he was
beginning to enjoy this and he wasn't going to tell any tales.
They were beginning to understand something. Their owner still loved them. She
was familiar with their ways. She was comfortable with them. You don't give up
comfort readily. When the little rag toy became to bothersome she put it in
it's little room and cuddled with the big boys. They were easy to be with. They
were affectionate, they laid quietly by her side. They hadn't been replaced.
It's just that there was room in the house for one more "lovable?" pet to take
away the ache of loosing an old friend. If the old friend hadn't been so good
there wouldn't have been a hole to fill. In time when the puppy became less of
a menace the older dogs might be able to accept her. But for now, thank
heavens for the little box in the corner of the room where the little creep
could be stored for a few hours a day giving them a reprieve.
Invasion of Privacy
Invasion of privacy
My daughter kept nudging me in that “I told you so!” manner that was now becoming irritating. She wasn’t convincing me that she had been right so much than that these people were fools. The line extended well beyond my vision and at fifty dollars a ticket it yielded a small fortune that in my time would have enabled me to live far better than I had as a single mother with two kids. Well, I actually had a husband, or mate, but he spent most of his time on the prowl looking for large game, leaving me at home to keep the home fires burning. Keeping house was hard enough but I had the two most precocious kids ever born. While I was in the main part of the house cleaning, preserving and cooking large hunks of meat they took to their rooms and invented graffiti, scratching and painting on their bedroom walls and low hanging ceilings. Whenever I caught them I made them spend hours scraping off their art work, enduring their bellyaching about my stunting their creative juices and being short sighted. Now I was witnessing a preservation service restoring their art back to walls I had them clean, (not to successfully!), using mostly natural material my kids formulated out of whatever happened to be handy, charcoal from our fireplace, iron oxide, and ochre. I guess we should have written a how to book because they just aren’t getting the same results my babies did. These scribblings of animals and hunts, inspired by their dad’s stories, were drawn by five and six year olds! And people were paying to see them! For crying out loud, they never even had an art course and strangers were making money off of them. I deserved some of the royalties: they deserved some of the royalties, but I knew we’d never see a cent of the profits.
I mingled with the sightseers and listened in disbelief to their appreciation as they gazed at the paintings and so I stood back to reexamine them. Nope, they still looked juvenile to me. Surely these people could do better with crayons! I admit, as my kids aged their work improved but still they were reprimanded for drawing in the house and eventually found other places to be artistic, like under cliff over hangings, how ever, over the years the sun faded and the rains washed most of their illustrations of our lifestyle away, in our own lifetime. The only reason these cave-home pictures survived being rinsed away was we moved to better hunting grounds. We existed by following our food supply, or running from it! Traveling for us was easy since we only possessed the necessities, spears, crude tools, a blanket or two that had multi purposes as rain coats, sleeping mats, stretchers for the sick, make shift tents, a few crude bowls and our most valuable assets; each other. We all pitched in to relocate, no one was pampered and no one did all the work. Everything was done as a team. This era, people take each other so for granted. If only they needed each other for survival what would their perspectives be then?
My son brought my attention back to where a group had gathered to hear about our trash! Trash. I threw it away because that is what it was, trash, and these weirdoes were listening to a discussion about our eating habits, and..…excrements! These dopes definitely had too much time (and money) on their hands. I doubt I’d ever feel a desire to go through their landfills no matter how much time passed. Just how exactly does it benefit them to know this much about us? Are they trying to prepare for some cataclysmic disaster that would propel them back to the basics? We made life easier for this generation by our mistakes and successes, like the invention of the wheel and fire, at least that much was appreciated. Phew. If these people had to work to live maybe the line here wouldn’t be so long. The changes that have taken place over the years, unbelievably unbelievable!
Oh, my gosh. They found Aunt Maudy! They actually uncovered her and have her on display, her clothes have been partially destroyed by the unseen forces of decay and there she lays, for all to see. She was so modest I hope she never hears about this, it would kill her….again. Her skin is all leathery and her shrunken face looks horrific, though at the time it had a peaceful radiance to it. Her hair, mussed up now, has thinned and is in need of a good shampoo and conditioner. She’s curled in the fetal position we laid her to rest in with her hands clasped to her chest to resemble the rebirth from life to life. The transformation back to dust didn’t take place apparently due to the limestone surroundings we laid her remains to sleep in. When these folks are through parading Maudy around like a trophy of some lost time, they better not loose her body, she'll need it again someday. How would these Gawkers feel if we took their grandma and placed her under glass? I’d just like to give it a try, I understand grave robbing is illegal now. I‘d like to establish a grandfather clause on that!
Off to the side was “diorama” depicting someone’s idea of Maudy’s funeral. They had me standing there with a wooly mammoth fur hide* over my shoulders, correction over one shoulder leaving my opposite breast exposed. Was that necessary? Again, if this was one of the production crews mother would there have been more regard for modesty? Wait a minute, as I scrutinize my model I realize they made my human form better than reality…. Still, they should have been more respectful. And my husband! He never had that much hair on his head let alone his chest! And handsome! He wouldn't have had to club me and drag me off by my hair if he really had looked that good!
The intruders into our private, ancient lives are taking pictures and buying post cards of us as if we were somebody. We were just a family trying to get by. They called us something…Paleolithic? We just called ourselves lucky to survive! Wandering about wherever God led us, replenishing the earth and worshipping him the best we could since the “fall” when grandma Eve ruined it for us. Can’t blame her to much though, not having been there I can’t testify to what I would have done, no sense in pointing fingers, I hear that would cause three more digits to aim back at me!!! Yes I had four fingers and a thumb, and no I never swung from a tree, however, my husband’s brother…..oh, never mind, I mustn’t talk bad about the deceased! Thank heavens he was buried where he’d never be found, they'd claim he was the missing link!
*Disclaimer: No real wooly mammoths were harmed in the production of the diorama!
Gen 19:30
Gen 23:19
1 Sam. 22:1
Heb. 11:13-16
Heb. 11:38
Rom 15:4
Rev. 6:16
My daughter kept nudging me in that “I told you so!” manner that was now becoming irritating. She wasn’t convincing me that she had been right so much than that these people were fools. The line extended well beyond my vision and at fifty dollars a ticket it yielded a small fortune that in my time would have enabled me to live far better than I had as a single mother with two kids. Well, I actually had a husband, or mate, but he spent most of his time on the prowl looking for large game, leaving me at home to keep the home fires burning. Keeping house was hard enough but I had the two most precocious kids ever born. While I was in the main part of the house cleaning, preserving and cooking large hunks of meat they took to their rooms and invented graffiti, scratching and painting on their bedroom walls and low hanging ceilings. Whenever I caught them I made them spend hours scraping off their art work, enduring their bellyaching about my stunting their creative juices and being short sighted. Now I was witnessing a preservation service restoring their art back to walls I had them clean, (not to successfully!), using mostly natural material my kids formulated out of whatever happened to be handy, charcoal from our fireplace, iron oxide, and ochre. I guess we should have written a how to book because they just aren’t getting the same results my babies did. These scribblings of animals and hunts, inspired by their dad’s stories, were drawn by five and six year olds! And people were paying to see them! For crying out loud, they never even had an art course and strangers were making money off of them. I deserved some of the royalties: they deserved some of the royalties, but I knew we’d never see a cent of the profits. I mingled with the sightseers and listened in disbelief to their appreciation as they gazed at the paintings and so I stood back to reexamine them. Nope, they still looked juvenile to me. Surely these people could do better with crayons! I admit, as my kids aged their work improved but still they were reprimanded for drawing in the house and eventually found other places to be artistic, like under cliff over hangings, how ever, over the years the sun faded and the rains washed most of their illustrations of our lifestyle away, in our own lifetime. The only reason these cave-home pictures survived being rinsed away was we moved to better hunting grounds. We existed by following our food supply, or running from it! Traveling for us was easy since we only possessed the necessities, spears, crude tools, a blanket or two that had multi purposes as rain coats, sleeping mats, stretchers for the sick, make shift tents, a few crude bowls and our most valuable assets; each other. We all pitched in to relocate, no one was pampered and no one did all the work. Everything was done as a team. This era, people take each other so for granted. If only they needed each other for survival what would their perspectives be then?
My son brought my attention back to where a group had gathered to hear about our trash! Trash. I threw it away because that is what it was, trash, and these weirdoes were listening to a discussion about our eating habits, and..…excrements! These dopes definitely had too much time (and money) on their hands. I doubt I’d ever feel a desire to go through their landfills no matter how much time passed. Just how exactly does it benefit them to know this much about us? Are they trying to prepare for some cataclysmic disaster that would propel them back to the basics? We made life easier for this generation by our mistakes and successes, like the invention of the wheel and fire, at least that much was appreciated. Phew. If these people had to work to live maybe the line here wouldn’t be so long. The changes that have taken place over the years, unbelievably unbelievable!
Oh, my gosh. They found Aunt Maudy! They actually uncovered her and have her on display, her clothes have been partially destroyed by the unseen forces of decay and there she lays, for all to see. She was so modest I hope she never hears about this, it would kill her….again. Her skin is all leathery and her shrunken face looks horrific, though at the time it had a peaceful radiance to it. Her hair, mussed up now, has thinned and is in need of a good shampoo and conditioner. She’s curled in the fetal position we laid her to rest in with her hands clasped to her chest to resemble the rebirth from life to life. The transformation back to dust didn’t take place apparently due to the limestone surroundings we laid her remains to sleep in. When these folks are through parading Maudy around like a trophy of some lost time, they better not loose her body, she'll need it again someday. How would these Gawkers feel if we took their grandma and placed her under glass? I’d just like to give it a try, I understand grave robbing is illegal now. I‘d like to establish a grandfather clause on that!
Off to the side was “diorama” depicting someone’s idea of Maudy’s funeral. They had me standing there with a wooly mammoth fur hide* over my shoulders, correction over one shoulder leaving my opposite breast exposed. Was that necessary? Again, if this was one of the production crews mother would there have been more regard for modesty? Wait a minute, as I scrutinize my model I realize they made my human form better than reality…. Still, they should have been more respectful. And my husband! He never had that much hair on his head let alone his chest! And handsome! He wouldn't have had to club me and drag me off by my hair if he really had looked that good!
The intruders into our private, ancient lives are taking pictures and buying post cards of us as if we were somebody. We were just a family trying to get by. They called us something…Paleolithic? We just called ourselves lucky to survive! Wandering about wherever God led us, replenishing the earth and worshipping him the best we could since the “fall” when grandma Eve ruined it for us. Can’t blame her to much though, not having been there I can’t testify to what I would have done, no sense in pointing fingers, I hear that would cause three more digits to aim back at me!!! Yes I had four fingers and a thumb, and no I never swung from a tree, however, my husband’s brother…..oh, never mind, I mustn’t talk bad about the deceased! Thank heavens he was buried where he’d never be found, they'd claim he was the missing link!
*Disclaimer: No real wooly mammoths were harmed in the production of the diorama!
Gen 23:19
1 Sam. 22:1
Heb. 11:13-16
Heb. 11:38
Rom 15:4
Rev. 6:16
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