Wednesday, November 10, 2010

SCRUFFY TO THE RESCUE




SCRUFFY TO THE RESCUE

I watched in horror. I knew what was coming but there was no reasonably human way I could prevent what was certain to be a severe tragedy. Jenny, the little girl who had moved in across the street (with her overly protective and antisocial mother) a few weeks ago, was running towards said street after her errant kitten and it was obvious she wasn't going to stop and look both ways! I was frozen, unable to turn my eyes from the oncoming car whose unsuspecting driver was about to face a lifetime of regrets. The driver couldn't possible see little Jenny through the cars parked on the curb and there was no way I could warn her even though I flailed my arms at her through my second story window! Now if she were a good driver she’d be looking at the street and not at my second story window.

Suddenly I saw a blur of white race from my front yard. The white blur "flew" across the street towards the wayward kitten, grabbed it by its collar then (with deliberate attempt to rescue) collided into Jenny knocking her off her feet onto her... sit down area, just in time for the car to careen past, nearly slamming into the refrigerator on Mr. Lacky's drive way, pull out of a tailspin and brake. Cindy, my daughter, loped across our front lawn as the lady driver jumped out of her car and they both reached the stunned and crying Jenny at the same time as her mother.
Mother, unaware of Jenny's near fatal accident, but completely aware that our dog Scruffy, the white blur, had tackled her darling Jenny, turned on Cindy with vehemence, "Keep that flea motel away from my daughter! Haven’t you and your mother gotten the message yet to just leave us alone!”

Thank heavens I raised my daughter to be polite to her elders; otherwise she would have said something worse than, "My dog doesn't have fleas! My fleas have a dog and don't you dare hurt one of them!"

I arrived breathlessly on the scene (we really need to get a single story house) and scolded Mother for yelling at "my" daughter. "Hey, if Cindy hadn't let Scruffy out in time your daughter would be road kill now. Come on Cindy, let's go home." With that I scooped up my brindle terrier, which had appeared as a white blur due to his angel wings Halloween costume, and paraded my family back home, away from Miss Appreciation (note sarcasm, please.)

"Mom, I didn't let Scruffy out," Cindy corrected me on the short hike back home. I barely heard her because my mind was wondering why Scruffy didn't feel wet from our recently watered lawn that he just traversed on his rescue mission. Really, his undercarriage should have been soaking wet, after all when we let him out to do his business on rainy days he's in need of a serious wipe down, yet he was perfectly dry right now, how odd. I ran my hand under his wings and over the halo to make sure they were really fake, and then shook my head in unbelief of my gullible-ness! In the background I could hear Lady Driver, relieved Scruffy had shot in front of her moving vehicle before she had struck Jenny, giving Jenny's mother the riot act and I experienced a sinful elation that Mother was under attack.

Once back home Cindy and I, no longer in a pleasant frame of mind loaded our car trunk with candy, whistled for Scruffy who was barking at the bushes by our door, (he was always barking at something we couldn’t see!) and headed off to Church. Yes, church. We do go to church, hard to believe since we were so nice to Miss. Appreciation; well, she yelled at us first!

It was trunk or treat night, an event sponsored by churches to provide a safe place for children to collect candy and party on Halloween. The parking lot was filled with cars stuffed with sweets and from past experiences we learned we’d run out of candy before we ran out of treators, so we had jump houses, air filled slides, a hot dog stand and other carnival like attractions. Most of the church family dressed as bible dudes. Just put on a robe, fake beard and carry a staff and you could be anyone of the prophets, judges or apostles, take off the beard and you could be anyone of their wives! For some women, you could probably still keep the beard! {Snicker} We could tell who the visitors were; they dressed any style they wished from the movies Saw, Freddy, Edward Scissor hands and other oddities I couldn’t recognize and hoped I’d never meet in my dreams or on a dark street.

After we found a place to park Cindy jumped out with Scruffy who pranced about proudly displaying his wings. Oh-oh, three Dobermans (fittingly called devil-mans in my family because that’s how then "five year old" Cindy officially named them) appeared in red suits complete with pointed tails and horns to circle around Scruffy. Scruffy, standing his ground, let them circle him like a wagon train, keeping his eyes fixed on each of them as they passed, then suddenly he reared back and out came….yip yip, yap yap, and the Dobermans ran off, tails between  their legs, dived under their owners’ suburban and covered their eyes with their paws. Typical bullies, one sign of resistance and they become shivering putty. “Hey, don’t let your dog hurt ours!” the owners, friends of ours, warned, good naturedly.

Cindy, dressed like Hanna Montana, said, “Gee Mom, it's a shame you didn't wear a costume."

Grabbing my black umbrella, scarf and hat I explained, "What do you mean, I have a costume."

"Huh?" Cindy responded scrutinizing me.

"Look, I'm Mary Poppins!" I explained, opening the umbrella and affecting a severe nanny expression.

"Who's Mary Poppins, is she the Mary that “popped in” on Jesus at the grave?" Great, there goes the generation gap again! I'm off to Blockbusters tomorrow to rent some old Walt Disney movies to give my kid a basic education on the classics of my childhood.

“Never mind. You tend to the car duty while I report to the hot dog station.” I left Cindy sitting by our car’s trunk doling out candy, from a specially marked bag, to a little girl Cindy baby sat occasionally whose little black schnauzer had twelve legs. Yes I can count and no I wasn’t drinking, and yes the prescription on my glasses has been updated! Emilie’s little dog was wearing a spider leg vest Velcro-ed to his torso! I overheard Cindy squeal in simulated fright threatening to stomp on the spider and heard Emilie giggle, “No Cindy, that’s my dog Buster, don’t you recognize him?”

I had just finished serving a gentleman wearing a black skeleton body suit with multiple facial piercings (that I think he was trying to conceal with a skeleton painted face) and two red horns glued to his forehead when I noticed Jenny’s mother, Miss Appreciation, grabbing young trick or treaters, distracting me from judgmentally asking this diner if he was a Satan impersonator or the genuine article, after all, this was Satan’s night to howl. I also wanted to suggest removing some facial jewelry if he expected to ever get a decent job. That’s just my opinion for what it’s worth!

Miss Appreciation was twisting and turning every child she approached crying out Jenny’s name. Now I didn’t know her very well but this was odd behavior even for her seeing she has kept to herself since she blessed our neighborhood with her presence, turning down every block party invitation and closing the door on the welcoming wagon when we brought over a basket with goodies and shopping coupons for local stores. This innovative mingling conduct of hers was just out of the blue, and it was scaring the kids!

Ooops, now she spotted me and was racing over, where can I hide? I thought about crawling under the hot dog stand.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here, have you seen Jenny?” Miss appreciation asked. Was she actually speaking to me? On her own volition? And as if we were BFFs? (that’s text messaging for best friends forever). It went through my mind to specifically name a very deep, dark and murky lake she could jump in but the seriousness of the situation penetrated my filter-less mind. Jenny, sweet little Jenny was missing, not to mention I was on a church parking lot.

“Hold on, calm down and tell me what happened,” I instructed as I firmly placed my hands on Miss Appreciation’s shoulders; oh so close to her neck!


Between gulps of air Miss. Appreciation explained how she had moved here to hide from her abusive ex-husband who despite a restraining order kept showing up somehow, how she had quit her job to work at home so she could take care of five year Jenny, who had just recently been diagnosed with diabetes, and who now, regardless of all her efforts had wandered off into the dark night. All the while Miss. Appreciation talked I was dodging flying moisture.

“Okay, let’s just retrace your steps. We’ll find her,” I said.

We passed my car where Scruffy, and several church members and strangers joined us in our trek back home; we were only a few blocks away. Scruffy, with his ears pointed like antennae’s, trotted ahead of us sniffing every square inch of ground, and looking over his shoulder to ascertain we hadn’t strayed. We on the other hand could only use our senses of sight and sound to hunt Jenny down, peering into the dark shadows of non-participating porches and scanning the faces of passing children.

Suddenly Scruffy halted, and he halted very suddenly! His tail (and wings) started wagging while he circled a spot on Mr. Lackey’s drive way sniffing…sniffing…sniffing. Then he scuttled up Mr. Lackey’s steps and barked at a closed door that Mr. Lackey opened, holding a big plastic pumpkin filled with treats.

“Oh, Scruffy, I have a special bowl for your kind!” Mr. Lackey stepped back to retrieve his pet friendly candy bowl, filled with milk bones and bacon strips. I should have known that food would distract Scruffy from the search!

“Scruffy, we have no time for this!” I called from the drive way just before Scruffy brushed past Mr. Lackey successfully accomplishing a home invasion. Mr. Lackey laughed good naturedly when Scruffy returned to the front door with something in his mouth.

“Scruffy, give that back,” I commanded.

“What a minute, that’s Jenney’s bracelet!” Miss appreciation said, hope and fear rising in her chest simultaneously, “Where’d you get that?” I could hear the concealed accusation in her question, she had concluded that Jenney was on the other side of this door and was prepared to fight like a she bear!

Mr. Lackey reached for the bracelet from Scruffy, "How'd you get that boy? That was on top of a very tall dresser?" Turning it over in his octogenarian hands he explained to us humans," I found this in my driveway. I was going to give it to my grandson for his daughters when he came to pick up my old refrigerator."

Refrigerator. There was a refrigerator in the drive way earlier, a refrigerator the lady driver nearly collided into when she swerved to miss Scruffy crossing the street, in the self-same spot where Scruffy did his little sniffing jig a few seconds ago. "Mr. Lackey, that refrigerator, it wasn't sealed shut!"

"Oh yes it was!"

"Not when I saw it!"

"I put it out then came in to get duct tape to wrap it with. Oh," He paused. "When I got in here Chatty Cathy, my sister called, but I got out there soon enough and....What?" Our eyes were popping out of our heads as though we had a goiter problem. An unsecured refrigerator, a missing child... I prayed two and two didn’t equal four! "Mr. Lackey does your grandson have a cell phone?

"Yes he does, the number is here somewhere...." I put a gentle guiding hand on his shoulders and shoved him towards his phone. "Quick call him and tell him stop wherever he is and open the refrigerator."

Within minutes we discovered that Grandson was just blocks away...he had stopped with his kids at our Church's trunk or treat!

Miss appreciation and I raced back, Scruffy in the lead, wings flapping whimsically to the side, his halo sliding backwards in the wind.

There it was in the parking lot, a pickup with a refrigerator standing up right in the trunk in the process of being unwrapped from layers of duct tape by half a dozen people swearing (yes at church, but not with bad words!) they heard a cat meowing.

Finally the door popped open and out bolted a kitten, and there on the floor was Jenny, unconscious. A heartbeat was detected but no respirations so rescue breathing was initiated by Skeleton man, an off duty paramedic whose facial piercings where glued on! I’m learning a lot about being judgmental tonight!

The little chest started to rise and fall on its own, and eyes fluttered open followed by a collective gasp of praise and thanksgiving. Then Jenny said to her mother, “ Mom, I didn’t talk to any stangers like you said, I hid in here when I saw them coming.”

"Oh Jenny, what have I done!" Mother wailed, holding Jenny’s little living body close to her chest.

“Mommy, where’s Mittens?” The kitten! Oh dear, I’d hate for Jenny to lose her little play pal after all this!

From behind us we heard something that sounded like “womlph; womlph”. Turning we saw Scruffy with a mouth full of fur trying to get our attention. Attached to the fur in his mouth was a little black kitten with four white paws attempting to free itself once again from its angelic captor. And slowly approaching Scruffy once again were the three Dobermans, eyeing the bonus dangling from his mouth. Scruffy looked at me with the expression, “I could use a little help here!”


Several other church members and I accompanied Miss Appreciation (a name now minus the negative connotation!) to the hospital. While we waited for Jenny to receive a clean bill of health Mom got an education on our neighborhood and church community. She discovered, to her shame that she didn’t have to go the journey through life alone, that we had a neighborhood watch providing a deterrent to her husband’s unlawful visits, that Cindy was comfortable with diabetic children because Emily, who she gave the candy from the special bag, was diabetic. And that Jenny would have built in grandparents in the Lackey’s, being retired they kept a vigilant eye on the neighborhood kids, tonight not withstanding!

Back home, alone and tired in my kitchen I prepared myself a soothing cup of tea and reached to pull the blinds shut over the kitchen window when…..no, that must have been a shadow. I squenched my eyes shut and reopened them. Yea, it had to have been a shadow; the window was too high up for me to have seen Scruffy pass by…twice. Those wings didn’t come with batteries or a remote control….did they…..nah! I pulled the blinds and headed to bed, leaving the tea on the counter, I really didn’t want to go outside and investigate, that dog could be too spooky sometimes..

In the back yard, Scruffy was indeed dangling feet from the ground, being passed between the two guardian angles that had been assigned to Cindy and her mom at their births. The same two angels that had opened the front door for Scruffy earlier and flew him hastily and dryly across the wet yard, the same angels that had “pushed” the bracelet off Mr. Lackey’s dresser for Scruffy to grab. Suddenly a third angel came to light, Jenny’s, holding a coffee cup and cream cheese slathered bagel, he had apparently taken a little unscheduled coffee break but was now back on the job. The two angels proceeded to give him a scolding for leaving his post!

 “Hey, she was sleeping like a baby when I left and still is!” he protested.

 “Well she woke up in between!” The two exhausted angels cried in unison.

Just goes to show that even angels need someone to cover their back!



*****dog in angel costume from fetchdog.com *********
























Saturday, September 18, 2010

SOME DAY IN THE FUTURE






The country has been uneasy for some time, long before our ruler attended an inspection of the National Cathedral and disappeared from the public’s sight. No, he didn’t disappear magically like in a plume of smoke; but upon exiting the cathedral- pale, lips drawn into a pencil thin line, tightly clutching what appeared to be a very old document- he refused to give any comments to the outstretched microphones, (this in itself was extremely worrisome as he was magnetically drawn to media attention); he just went home to the house we tax payers provided for him and hasn’t been heard from or seen since. No interviews with journalists, reporters or foreign dignitaries, nothing. No explanation, nada, zilch. He even pulled his next in charge and several others into the void with him! Then slowly law enforcement and military officials were invited in on the one way admission ticket. Who is running the land right now! Well, that’s a rhetorical question as we weren’t sure of that status before the mysterious sequestering of public figures. It certainly wasn’t the people since their voices ceased to matter elections ago!

Rumors were flying, some founded on eyewitness accounts, of seeing major religious figures entering the capital gates with armed escorts. They were never seen leaving. Had the devil's triangle migrated from off the coast of Florida? Was there an underground rail road taking passengers to …..Canada….Mars? What was going on in there? The blinds were pulled; the regular public tours were cancelled. We were desperate to know. The rumors of missing religious personages intensified on Sunday simply because pulpits were filled with substitutes; substitutes who gave no inkling of where the official ministers were because even they didn’t know! More speculations surfaced, and boy, can the paranoid come up with some doosies! My personal favorite was the theory of a high stake national chess game. Just shake your head and roll your eyes like I did on that conjecture. Nothing more said on that!

Without fear of retaliation crime increased, subtle crimes, crimes that would only be considered prohibited in a theocracy, not a democracy like we had (I say that with my tongue in my cheek.) Church attendance dropped (if you could tell that was possible), mostly because after nights of sexual carousing blended with alcohol and drug usage society’s party goers had no zest for Sunday mornings. However activities increased in abhorrent organizations, organizations that espoused hatred for non members, non members being anyone who didn’t support their views, people with small brains and smaller hearts that made the Grinch look like the Messiah filled the membership roles. Al Qaeda, the Ku Klux Klan, Neo Nazis’, White Supremacy, Black Panthers to name a few, all these groups enjoyed a free reign of terror. People either joined the groups because they honestly shared the beliefs or because they didn’t but were afraid of reprisals for not joining. This also led to many joining conflicting groups just to be on the "safe" side.

On top of all this the land intensified its personal rebellion. Yes the land. Where once lush green fertile soil lay there was now sand and rocks, irrigation ditches were parched cracked wrinkles on the surface of the ground visible from satellites circling the globe, ponds were sunken holes crawling with scaly reptiles and snakes looking for moisture. Where no water flowed or grass or foliage grew, cattle, hogs and sheep starved, dropping to the ground with desiccated lips, bloating in the sun. Goats and cows fortunate to survive stopped producing milk. A relentless fiery sun that aided the dehydration process emitted ungodly heat causing spontaneous fires that couldn’t be doused; remember water was now a scarce commodity, in fact ocean front properties were now miles from the coast! Farms were boarding up their windows. Ranchers sold out, or were repossessed. Newspapers stopped photographing images of ma and pa kettle being evicted because it was a daily occurrence and no one could muster up any sympathy. Grocery stores were closing for lack of inventory. Food banks closed. It was a dreary awful picture. Bleak. Scary. Apocolyptic. And weirdly, above all other things, bees had gone into hiding. It was a bodiless mass extinction. Bees. Gone. Who’d have thought anyone would care? Some theorized, (again shake your head and roll your eyes) that the rapture had occurred, starting with the smallest species and was working its way up!

Then one day finally word came out of the capital! We all stopped what we were doing (basically learning new survival techniques and preparing funeral plans) to listen to the news broadcast that preempted every channel on network T.V, cable, internet podcasts, Pandora. You name it, it was interrupted! No target audience would be missed. Instructions were given for every citizen in the country to tune in for coverage of the national Leader’s upcoming speech latter in the day at a time when everyone should be home from work and school. Businesses that ran at night were advised to close for the night if they could. Businesses that had to stay open for the public were advised to have their televisions on and time allowed for employees to view the national announcement. Something big was coming. And with such a buildup it didn’t fail to pique the interest of all.

That night I gathered with my friends at church, the same church we had been meeting at for years to pray for our county and its leaders. We had a large screen HDL set up on stage so we could collectively view the telecast and support each other with more prayer in case of emergency. Our membership numbers had taken a beating (literally and metaphorically!) over the years. One of the main reasons for the nose dive were the church burning hate groups that targeted Christians, the other reason for our decline was the contagious communicable apathy that had spread over the “now” generation.

Suddenly,there he was on screen, the most powerful man on earth, the leader of the free country; or so we assumed; he was passably recognizable, but not presentable. He wasn’t wearing a suit, just a crumpled slack and crinkled faded white shirt with his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He must have been going for the gaunt look as his chin and upper lip were unevenly unshaven. And his eyes? They looked….sad…no haunted. Was this the result of a weeklong high stake national chess game? I’m glad I play solitaire. This wasn’t the man the nation had elected; the nation, not us, not us Christians, we didn’t vote for the man and warned those who did there would be consequences. Of course no one listened. The Christian voice stopped meaning things decades ago.

Mr. Leader was accompanied by all the country’s missing: ministers, senators, congressman, lawyers, evangelists, mayors, governors, and military officers appearing just as unkempt. The broadcast started with an explanation of some books and documents that had been discovered in the national archives in the National Cathedral that had been destined for recycling. Mr. Leader then began to read them. We were flabbergasted. We knew what he was reading. We read what he was reading every Sunday. Oh, not the same passage every Sunday, but from the same book. He was reading from the Bible! On public airwaves! On every possible airwave! He was going to piss some people off big time, mostly the majority of his amoral constituents, the ones that voted to remove every cross, Christmas tree, nativity scene and copy of the Ten Commandments from public property. He then read from our earliest beginnings as a nation where the bible had served as text book and counselor for many of our elected officials. He recited how many state constitutions had placed among qualifications for office a belief in Jesus as lord! State constitutions! He then read passages that previous National leaders had placed their hands on when they were sworn into office.

Then Mr. Leader went on to .....we couldn’t believe what we were hearing....explain that according to what he had read, and confirmed by consulting experts, (he nodded towards the evangelists and ministers) the country’s woes had been brought on slowly by ....(some members in the pews sucked in their breaths)...our gradually wandering from ....GOD! There he said it! The breath holders exploded sending a wave of air that almost toppled the big screen TV off the stage! Mr. Leader said “God” out loud with millions of witnesses who would conceivably be voting him out of office next election. I was beginning to see him differently…and warily. This could be a trick; it had to be given his record and that of the country’s. Was this an elaborate smoke screen for some oncoming deception that Leader was capable of?

Mr. Leader went on to outline changes he expected to enforce over time, starting immediately, actually starting days ago when he and those present with him went into a state of fasting and supplications. Amendments were going to be put into effect that restored “public” prayer in schools (even though any Christian student could bow their head and pray at will) and replacement of the Ten Commandments in federal buildings. Those in my group that had sucked their breaths in earlier now simply passed out. The list of changes went on and ended with, “And if anyone doesn’t like these changes they can kiss my….Bible. There are other places they can live, like the Antarctica, plenty of room for expansion there.” There was nothing fuzzy about Mr. Leader’s opinions this time. No need for some narrator to follow the speech with a commentary on what took place; everything that had been said was clear and solid. For once there was no ambiguity.

There now would be zero tolerance for hate groups and their “freedom of speech” rights would be denied because it was usually supplemented with violence and that would be against the law. Imagine that, violence against the law. What about that sounds insane? Mr. Leader explained we were going to follow the golden rule; Do unto others as you would have them do to you. And, he reasoned, if hate groups burn and destroy others property, they must approve that as acceptable behavior when directed towards them so all their facilities were to be razed by the military! Boy, was he doing some tree shaking, now let's see where the nuts fall!

Church attendance increased that Sunday as shell shocked individuals coerced their family and friends to come and seek answers. People who had joined several hate groups to be on the safe side were now sitting in church pews. And no, they didn’t just add church membership to their list of activities to hedge their bets. They were seeing firsthand the result of a praying remnant. The remnant of true solid Christians who had been praying for national recovery the last few years had been blessed with a national revival of epic proportions. Be careful for what you pray for! Church buildings were no longer less than half filled, they were now finding it necessary to erect large screen TV’s in the parking lots to catch the overflow, or offer several sermons daily. Daily, not weekly!

And the land’s rebellion? Rain visited us after that speech. I mean "right" after the speech. The heavens opened and water fell from the skies saturating the parched land, caressing the soil, cooling the air. Uncontrollable forest and prairie fires were doused, rescuing hundreds of homes. Grass and crops sprung up. Flowers and colorful bushes dotted the countryside. Beasts of the field were watered and fed. Cows started producing milk, the bees came back on the scene, and honey flowed from tree stumps and caves, making us once again a land flowing with milk and honey!

Leviticus 20:24
Deut. 28
2 kings 23
Ester 8:11
Ester 9:1-15











Sunday, August 1, 2010

the message; part 2





Jim and Mike were still sitting gracefully in their chairs, although the back of the chairs were resting on the floor with the legs at a right angle to the ground. I had just informed them of an assignment Boss had commissioned them for and their little hearts couldn’t take the excitement; i.e., they passed out from sheer joy. We were in the break room when I passed on Boss’s message so they were laying unconscious in front of all our friends, friends they had just updated on what a charming job I had done on doing my recently concluded assignment.

I put down my coffee cup, reached for the vase on the table, pulled out the Lilies of The Valley, Boss’s favorite flower, leaned towards my two pals and unceremoniously tossed the clear, wet fluid on Mike and Jim’s faces. Oh, that felt so good, being able to help revive my friends! There was some sputtering followed by the typical comments like, “What happened? Where am I? What’s going on?” Then the two fallen angels leaped to their feet in an attempt to regain their dignity. That wasn’t pulled off successfully, by the way. The room started to resonate with some chuckling, snickering, and then full blown laughter. Even Jim and Mike couldn’t help but find the humor in the situation. After all, we weren’t programmed for anger.

“That was a good one,” Mike stated. “You really got even.”

“Yeah,” Jim agreed. “Good one.”

“What a minute, I was serious.” I responded. Blood drained from the two faces again; well that’s how it looked, because technically we don’t have blood. They were hoping I was pulling a trick on them, but the message I delivered to them from Boss had been genuine. They really had been assigned to tell some guy name Joseph that his fiancĂ© was expecting, and not with his child. Of course I had helped Boss chose which lucky souls would be selected for this honor. After all, Mike and Jim had volunteered to assist me in fulfilling my task; I thought it only fair they get to reap some of the extended glory.
“What did you have to do with this?” Jim asked

“Boss asked for my thoughts on who should do this job and I couldn’t help but think of my two best friends,” I answered.

“Next time don’t be so friendly,” Mike advised.

An overhead page summoned my two pals to Boss’s office. It was time for them, according to Boss, to spring into action and carry the message downward.

I cheerfully volunteered to go with them for back up, after all, hadn’t they done the same for me? And at least this time we knew where we were going, (we had gotten slightly off course, hitting the wrong continent when we went down to locate my project, Mary). But hey, at least we’d gotten the right planet, the one in the center of Boss’s universe, or so thought the self centered inhabitants.

We arrived at Joe’s house just in time to see Mary’s parents leaving, looking like they’d been beaten with a shame-stick. They had come to inform Joe’s parents that they were sending Mary away for a while, several months in fact, to see her cousin, Elizabeth. Sending her away, what did that sound like? Well, to Joe’s parents it sounded like the end of an engagement, one that had been pre arranged according to centuries of customs. After all, parents don’t send teenage girls away for a few months unless…..Well that kind of thing just wasn’t discussed in decent families, especially since the penalty was stoning, (that didn’t mean partying with marijuana, it meant death by rocks!)

We hung around waiting for Joe to come home from work impatient to intercept him before his parents hit him with the news. When he eventually showed up he was tired and sweaty after a day of chopping wood, sawing and sanding lumber. Boy did he smell like a hard worker, he’d make a wonderful husband and father, if of course we, I mean Jim and Mike, accomplished their mission, but one whiff of Joe was all it took for Mike and Jim to conclude he needed time to freshen up before he received company! There was time to wait for him to rinse the day’s bouquet of labor down the drain with some Dove soap.

We waited outside Joe’s bathroom window, hiding in the bushes like common…well, angels… enjoying his baritone voice singing “Come oh Emanuel” in the shower; If he only knew how soon that request would be answered! The water stopped when the song ended. Jim levitated up to the second floor window to peek on Joe’s progress. Bad timing, Joe, toweling off his hair, had just glanced up to the window in time to see Jim’s face appear, and then quickly disappear.

Before Joe had time to react his dad knocked on the bedroom door, softly, hesitantly. He after all was not looking forward to the conversation that needed to happen. The conversation that would rip his son’s heart open.

“Joe, we need to talk,” Dad explained. Oh come on, that sounded so harsh, we thought, eavesdropping like good….well angels, but what other opening was there for a topic like this.
“What’s up, I’m off to Mary’s for Shabbat dinner.”

Dad paled, his wife, Mom, was just behind him gripping her crisp apron, using the end of it to wipe her face, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Hey, what happened, you look like someone died,” We heard Joe ask. Not yet, we thought.

The three of us, dressed in trench coats to hide our wings, squatting behind bushes with our ears pressed firmly against the outside wall, nonchalantly listened to Joe get the scoop on Mary's parents visit. Mom let Dad do all the talking, well, all the lucid talking, as she paced back and forth wringing her not-so-crisp-anymore apron and repeating over and over, "Oh, dear, how could this happen?... such a sweet child....who would have guessed....such a respected family...tsk,..tsk...."

Joe was stunned. Stunned? What an understatement. And what’s more, he wouldn't believe a word of it. There was some mistake, his parents were jumping to the wrong conclusions he verbalized adamantly and loudly and insistently. Good boy, stand up for your woman, we encouraged just before we caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure across the street smoking, and without a cigarette! Now I knew why Boss sent two guys for this mission. One would be needed to fend off the opposition. Opposition was wearing a hat to conceal what we knew were two twisted and ugly horns placed above one ugly face! (A face made repulsive by having lost its chance to gaze on Boss’s continence for millennia.) Hey, we all need our camouflage gear. Thank heavens I came along for backup, these two would need help.

We crossed the street to do some friendly intimidation.

“Hey, I’m here for your team this time,” Opposition declared, not that we would ever believe him. “God’s law says that guy has the right to make this woman a public example and I’m just going to be his support system.”

Enough said, we thought, we can’t let this guy near Joe, not tonight, not while his resistance is down.

Jim and I moved in on Opposition while Mike abrupty took off at Olympian speed in the opposite direction. Coward, I thought hardly believing what I was seeing. I had to revise my opinion when I realized that Mike was hurrying after Joe who, against his parent’s guidance, was running to Mary’s house.

Opposition took off after Mike, Jim took off after Opposition and I took off after them all. Joe would have to be deaf, or deeply distracted, to not hear all the footsteps pounding after him. We all rounded a corner and stopped. We had lost Joe. No, there he was, I recognized Mary’s house. Her parents, still in the grip of shame, wouldn’t open the door for Joe, despite his persistence. He finally turned, beaten and forlorn; convinced something was awfully out of kilter, to make his way…where? Anywhere but home, not to face his parents, not to face their pity.

Hands stuffed in his pockets, head hung low, Joe headed down town, probably to dig up some friends, or find solace in a quiet hangout. Opposition was hot on his heels, ready to influence him to follow the law. We chased after Opposition, and Jim got the lead just as Joe disappeared down an alley.

We got to the alley entrance in time to see Joe spring up from behind a trash can and swing a large board into Opposition’s midsection, knocking the hot air out of him; foul, sulfur smelling hot air. Whew. Being so close behind Opposition, Jim was next; Joe gripped him by the coat collar and squashed him to a wall, bunching Jim’s wings up inside the coat making him look hunchbacked, like the magnificent hunch backed whales in the ocean. Oh, wait a minute, that’s hump backed, oh well, same difference.

“What are you guys doing following me?” Joe questioned Jim, recognizing him as the face in his bathroom window.

“We’re here to tell you that Mary is expecting-” Whoosh, a fist landed below Jim’s diaphragm.
“How would you know Mary’s expecting unless you had something to do with it?” No way could poor Jim answer that one, not with his stomach in his mouth. Ouch, that had to have hurt, I thought, from a safe distance mind you, hey, I was just a tag along, I didn’t need to get in the fracas, besides, I had just had my wings groomed and there was no need to ruffle them!

Arriving last Mike assessed the situation and pounced on top of Joe with such force he melded into his frame. Once filled with the spirit, (of Mike) Joe fell to the ground unconscience, like a typical holy roller slain in the spirit, thereby releasing Jim who was now able to nurse his tummy ache.

“I’ll get his attention,” Mike announced getting miffed with his assignment’s attitude. Mike, vaporizing, jumped into Joe’s head and explained the situation with Mary, {that she was with child by the Holy Spirit and Joe shouldn’t be ashamed to take her as wife}, demonstrating something of an attitude himself. He was tired of this human’s present state of mind; after all Joe had the reputation of being faithful, so show some faith, huh. Exiting Joe’s cranium from both ears like a plume of cloud vapor, Mike indicated he was ready to go, but first we carried Joe home and laid him to rest in a swing on his porch. Opposition we left gasping for breath in the alley lying in refuse, a suitable place for his kind.

Back at headquarters Boss requested Jim and Mike’s presence in his office, and then closed the doors, insisting on no interruptions. Oh, Oh. Behind closed doors Boss informed them their mission had been victorious. Joe had chosen the best recourse, chased Mary down, pleaded with her to fulfill their marriage vows and they were at this moment on their way to Joe’s ancestral home for a national census. (Time passes at a different speed up here.) However, Boss proposed some courses for the two of them, as successful as their mission was he had some misgivings over the unorthodox methods they had employed.

When Jim and Mike finally made it to the break room they found half the staff standing and floating around the bulletin board enjoying a good laugh.

“Let us see,” Mike quipped trying to jostle his way to the front while getting pushed back by dozens of wings that were heaving with amusement. Jim managed to hover up over the crowd and moaned when he glimpsed the objects of everyone’s delight. I had done a good job after all; I had thought the alley would be too dark to get just what I wanted but no; the pictures of Jim had come out just right, pressed against the wall with the wind knocked out of his sail by a human. Oh yeah, by the look on his face I still claim that punch had to have hurt! And the piqued expression on Mike’s face just before he nosedived into Joe’s brain to do dream therapy was absolutely side-splitting. Of course everyone really relished the photo of Opposition getting slam banged. Joe would be a good protector.

“Oh, why’d you do that,” Mike and Jim asked in unison, smothering their own giggles, unable to deny the comical element involved in their efforts.

“Hey, someone had to record our trip for the baby album, after all, we were a part of history, or should I say His Story?”

Without warning our choir director broke into the lounge looking so jumpy you’d think he was having a baby, “Hey guys, I need a thousand or more volunteers, we’ve got orders to sing to some shepherds in a field watching sheep!”

Isaiah 7:13-17
math. 1:25
Luke 1:39-56
luke 2: 8-20
john 1:32-34
John 19:34
gal. 4:4-7



Thursday, July 15, 2010

The african mission trip



We were all thunderstruck as we passed the village that was lower than the road. Dark corrugated tin roofs sitting on top of unpainted chipped and cracked walls closely packed together. So close that pigs nosing about between the houses looking for edible garbage didn’t have room to turn around. People in colorful, uncoordinated outfits with baskets on their heads squeezed past the swine on their way to their daily chores. In the center of the village was an indoor mall, ha, got you! The shopping area did however sport plenty of umbrellas for protection from the unsympathetic sun while people sold their wares; bananas, scarves, flowers, whatever; the poor selling to the poorer. The average income was a dollar a day on a good day. On the other side of the road was a field, well most of where we looked was dirt field with scattered trees, where children were playing. They seemed to be having fun but how could that be possible?

A few water puddles were pointed out to us by the guide that had been appointed by our sponsor, Mannaworldwide.com., an organization dedicated to stamping out hunger on planet earth named after the miracle of manna God provided to feed the Israelites as they wandered in the wilderness. Puddles that were enormous problems, breeding sites for mosquitoes, the dreaded carriers of Malaria, that horrific disease we had to be vaccinated against before we could step foot off the plane, well, before we could even get on the plane.

I was not looking forward to seeing the clinic we were here to volunteer at, or the school house either. If the houses looked like this what would everything else look like? OMG, what about our hotel! Cringing, I hoped this week would pass fast. What had I been thinking to use my vacation time to come to this God forsaken land, to help these God forsaken people? Well, next year would be different, Hawaii, here I come.

The clinic didn’t look so bad after all, though it was crowded with people milling about and sitting on the floors in the hallways. They had heard we were coming, what’s more they had heard what we were bringing with us. Hope. We were bringing them gold. Gold in the form of bed nets, nets that cost ten American dollars, ten days wages for them,(remember, that was only if they were having a good day) ten days of wages that went on food for their families. The nets were medicated and effectually killed malaria carrying pests for up to at least five years (the mosquitoes died and stayed dead but the medication lasted five years!) and we were here to distribute them, among other things.

We carried our cargo of nets and medical supplies down the hall behind the guide who greeted all patients cheerfully, touching their foreheads or proffered hands, while some just tugged on the cuff of his pants in the prospect of receiving something.
“Wow, there must be whole families here!” I exclaimed.


“Whole families?” Guide questioned in an unfamiliar accent. “Here in Africa that doesn’t exit. There is no family here that hasn’t lost someone to malaria or hunger. That lady over there, for example, has lost seven children and her husband yet she comes here to volunteer in hopes of sparing others that sorrow.”

I looked at the lady of about eighty and shook my head sadly, commenting on her age and aloneness.

“Dear, she’s only thirty two,” Guide explained.

“You’re kidding!” said I, followed by a silent, YIKES!

“Excuse me,” Guide asked, walking up to a young mother holding her baby, a baby that had just stopped crying.

Guide, setting his cane against the wall, lifted baby to his arms and cradled him lovingly, whispering in his ears softly and tenderly till I saw the frail little chest heave one last time. Eventually, Guide handed Baby back down to Mother, who accepted the still body with resignation. This wasn’t an isolated event, one baby dies every thirty seconds in Africa from malaria, who would she get sympathy from? Guide rested his hand on her shoulder and she in turn placed her’s on top and I could see her yoke of pain lighten slightly as she felt his empathy. The nets and medication came too late for her.


“You’ll see him again.” Guide assured Mom. I admired the sound of conviction I picked up in his word, they reeked with boldness. What else could he say? With no reason to stay at the clinic now, Mom shuffled off to bury her dead.

Okay, let’s deliver the nets and get out of here. I can’t take anymore of this, I was starting to sniffle!

Finally Guide took us to the school, the first of many we would visit on this trip sponsored by Mannaworldwide.com. It was a spick and span building, with tidy rooms, chalkboards and miniature desks and chairs. It almost looked like my first grade classroom, before computers and air conditioning. I’ll not tell you how old I am, so just forget it! Here things lost its comparison to American schools because one wall was decorated in colorful homemade crosses, they would be contraband in the states!


Before we entered the edifice the participants, in pristine uniforms, had swarmed out to welcome us in song with dancing and swaying, hand clapping and arms raised to the heavens. All happy faces and the only way to distinguish the girls from the boys were by the dresses (the dresses were on the girls), because all heads were clean shaven, apparently for easy upkeep and to be cool, no, not the way we in America think of being cool.

I hinted that some of the dresses and pants could be taken in a seam or two, but Guide explained that the parents couldn’t afford clothes every year so they bought clothes that would last a while on purpose. There I went with my American opinions again. This isn’t America, fool!

Guide made his way into the building past children who clamored fruitfully for his attention, it was obvious he was well loved here. One little barefooted girl from the village, a toddler in a cute little pink vest on top of a yellow blouse, adhered to his leg with one arm while she clung to a plastic green cross with her other hand. She had a grip on Guide that was permanent.

The next days were spent making balloon animals and hats, (once the balloons popped the kids still played with the colorful ruptured latex for hours), painting faces with flowers and crosses and doling out toys bequeathed by benefactors back home that couldn’t travel here for one reason or another. I was amazed at how many toys I had to give instructions on, including a jump rope. Here kids used their imagination to occupy them, when they had time for play.

And of course we spent time with our main objective; to share the love of Jesus.
After singing a rousing rendition of “Jesus loves me this I know”, led by Guide, I asked one little girl if she knew Jesus and her wide eyed response was, “Oh yes, my sisters and mom are with him now and some day he’ll come for me!” I had to blink back tears at such a strong faith. And we came here to teach them! They experienced Jesus daily!

The kids looked all the world to me like any of the kids found in American schools; America is not the gold standard for comparison; it’s just my only reference point having been the victim of travel deficiency. They sat at neat little desks with colorful chairs and paid attention or got distracted, fidgeted or sat still, answered questions or tried to blend into the wood work. They hammed it up for the camera, flexing muscles, jostling for prominent positions, laughing, or just blatantly staring at the aperture. Yep they were all American, er, African kids!

I noticed at lunch time some of the kids didn’t eat their whole meal, meals provided by mannaworldwide.com at the feeding centers. I mentioned to Guide that I guess they weren’t starving as bad as the American press made out. Guide looked at me like I was speaking Martian, that’s spoken on the planet Mars, a place far from the realities of this world, “They have brothers and sisters at home that their parents can’t afford the yearly dollar tuition to send to school, so they ration their lunches out to bring home.” Gulp; boy did I feel foolish. I actually had surmised that the heavily curried food was more than they could tolerate along with me. I hate curry! But then again if in America they might not like hot dogs….Nah, everyone loves hot dogs! I’m just glad I brought a generous supply of energy bars for myself; they were the main item on my breakfast, lunch and dinner menu.

Remember when said I couldn’t wait for this week to be over? Well, I’m eating those words now as we all hug goodbye. The faces we painted crosses on this morning smiled at us from under their balloon topped noggins as we all hugged and cried. One little girl whispered in my ear, “We pray for you,” in broken English. Pray for us! They had nothing yet they prayed for us! Sometimes there are just no words that can express human emotions.


Thank heavens we all brought cameras, between the dozen or so of us we had thousands of pictures to share on Face Book to relive this week over and over and use to enlist more volunteers for the next mission trip.

On the ride back to our pick up point Guide filled us in on the various organizations that have been helpful to this part of the globe, Manna worldwide, Imagine no Malaria, Heifer International. He was more than a tour guide he was inspirational speaker. He casually mentioned how only twenty five dollars a month would supply one child with two uniforms, school tuition and supplies, meals, medication, and nets for a year. He wouldn’t know till we got home but our church group picked up the bill for one of the schools we had visited for a year!

At headquarters Guide pulled into the parking lot, turned around in his seat to hand each of us an envelope with our names beautifully embossed on them with instructions to not open till he was gone.

Then he disembarked and headed off down the road. Inside the building the receptionist received us with her mouth wide open. “Where have you guys been, we thought you stole the van!” she exclaimed, explaining that everyone had been looking for us for a week. That was ridiculous we said explaining we had met the guide here as scheduled and he took us on the rounds of schools and clinics we were to visit. The receptionist calmly enlightened us on the fact that our guide had been late that morning and found the van gone! That couldn’t be we argued, he just dropped us off. We all ran to the door to catch him so he could collaborate our story but the long dirt road was empty, there was no way he could have gotten out of sight so soon.

"Look!" I exclaimed,"Here's his cane!" I squealled as if that was all the proof we needed for his existence.

"That is a shepherd's staff," explained the receptionist, coolly.

I pursed my lips together tightly, self control is not my forte, but I actually filtered my thoughts and avoided saying, but not thinking, Hey lady, I'm from Fort Worth,you know, cattle town, give me a cattle prod and I'll show you how that works!

One of the service men who had come out to examine the van to see what we had stolen or hawked approached us. Scratching his head he announced, "The milage hasn't changed and the tank is still full, it doesn't even look like the van left our lot!"

Our leader asked, "Why would we come from America and steal a van to drive around unfamiliar territory delivering malaria nets and medicines, visit school kids for a week and bring said van back unharmed if we were thieves!"

The receptionist couldn't respond, she needed time to come up with a plausable explanation.

We stared at each other in disbelieve. I was still holding my envelope and well, he was gone now so I could open it. Inside was a gift card with gold lettering that read, “Redeemable for one Gold Crown, recipient must be present to collect, pick up at Pearly Gate #2 on Admission to Heaven, signed Jesus”

photos by Kim and David Hayes

www.imaginenomalaria.org
http://mannaworldwide.com
http://www.heifer.org/

Exo 16:15
Psalm23
Math. 9:37
Math 19:14
John 6:31
1 corinthians 9:25
1 corinthians 13:3
James 2:14-26


How MANNA is unique:
1. MANNA was founded and continues to serve children because we have each experienced the love of Jesus Christ and desire to bring that same peace to the entire world.
2. MANNA serves people regardless of their race, gender, religion, or ethnicity!
3. MANNA is committed to always maintain less than a 10% overhead.
4. MANNA partners with veteran Christian workers to provide resources to help them care for the poor.
5. MANNA leads more than 100 trips each year for supporters to see how their generosity has been used.
6. MANNA Directors do not receive salaries and must raise their own funds to cover personal expenses.




.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

the GPS




As I waited for my lethal concoction of milk, sugars, candies and whipped cream a man, (or the missing link), walking by tapped on the passenger window. I looked around to be sure I had witnesses in case I was at the beginning end of a crime spree; I didn’t want to die anonymously. No one was paying attention, occupants of the cars behind me were studying the menu and the employee who took my order was talking on her walkie-talkie to the customer following me in line, so I ignored the intruder for a few minutes but he persistently tapped on the pane of glass. Then the young lady at the drive in window came out of her coma and raised her brows at me, I could read her mind, “Well, lady, are you going to see what he wants or not?”

Faint-heartedly I rolled down the window a scooh-ette, you know that’s just a little less than a scoosh. The repugnant looking stranger squeezed his lips through the miniscule opening so he could be heard and announced, “Hey lady, your front tire here is almost flat.”

“Oh, thanks,” I said, slightly relieved. It could still be a trick, “I’ll get it checked out.” Then I quickly closed the window so I could resume my respirations. Out with the bad air in with the good air. Whew, he needed mints in the worst possible way! Wars could be won if soldiers had rotten teeth and halitosis as bad as this guy’s.

After I was handed my comfort potion I headed to the garage where I get my car worked on most of the time and was informed that the stranger was absolutely correct, my front tire was almost flat. The mechanic, scratching his head, queried if my dashboard panel was working. Apparently this model car should have a little light that warns me of low tire pressure.

“Oh, this thing!” I exclaimed. “It’s been lit up ever since I bought the car, seven months ago now I guess.”

The mechanic gave me a look that insinuated he had no need for job insecurity as long as women had driver’s licenses. I felt a little foolish but once he airs my tires up and I get away that feeling will dissipate rapidly thanks to the short term memory loss I inherited from my ancestors.

“You didn’t notice any difficulty driving? I’ll bet your shoulders hurt from pulling on the steering wheel,” the grease monkey ventured.

“Nope, not a thing,” I lied, thinking of all that money spent on massages to loosen my neck muscles. No way was I going to satisfy his intuition; after all even irresponsible people have pride.

“I’m on my way now,” I notified, via cell phone, the friend whose new house I was on my way to inspect. “I had to stop…{slurp} to fix my…{slurp} …tires..{gulp}.”

“What is that gosh awful sound you’re making?” Jen asked.

“I stopped for a shake.”

“I thought you were on a diet?”

“Did I say it was a reduction diet?” I countered in defense of my guilt.

Turning on the GPS I set forth on my inner city safari to Jen’s new residence happily gulping away on my shake with one hand while the other hand was on the steering wheel enjoying the ease at which the wheels were operating. Wow, what a difference fully loaded tires make! My shoulders were no longer stiff! Whoopee. I didn't have to put my back into driving. Note to self: learn about the little dashboard lights!

"Go point 1 mile and turn left on East I-30". I looked ahead and thought no, I need to go right, and that's what I did.

"Recalculating route. Go 1.2 miles and exit on Star Street and make a U turn."

No. I definitely need to head west on I-30. I know that much about where I'm going, if I just give the GPS time to get its signals right it'll get on the correct page.

"Exit on Star Street and turn left."

This thing is still malfunctioning; it's trying to get me to go east. What a dufus. I tapped the screen hoping to jar some sense into it, and then held it up closer to the satellites in outer space that feed it its information, surely the extra 24 inches would get better reception. Maybe it wasn't picking up a good signal, although all the bars were lit up.

"Please turn left on Star Street." GPS ordered, it was building up to an electronic attitude. I passed Star Street, staying on I-30 west.

"Once again, recalculating route." GPS said. Did I hear it strain to conceal its annoyance with me?

I continued on I-30. I was now running out of city, not a good omen. I decided to veer off the freeway.

"Recalculating route for the TENTH time." GPS declared as if I couldn't count, actually that was only the .....Okay, so it was ten times, so what? I turned down Markus lane, the last obvious street before I left the county!

"Checking for alternate route." Okay, check. This time I might listen.

"Turn right on Drury Ave." Oh forget that, that side of the street is too dark, the light is better going left. I'll go left and let GPS recalculate route, after all that's what I have it for.

"Please pay attention. Turn right on...Recalculating route!" GPS was getting extremely vexed and not suitably concealing her aggravation.

Up ahead the street narrowed and ended. I'm now guessing that sign I recently disregarded said "Dead End". Well, at least I won’t get too lost on a dead end street. If I can just find a way to turn around, I mused. The sun started to set as goosepumps prickled my arms and spine. The trash littered street was lined with abandoned, condemned, boarded up ram shackled houses. Not an area I would expect to find Jen’s house in. I was hopelessly lost, how that could possibly happen when I had a GPS device!!!

"You are off course." GPS stated flatly illuminated the little car on her screen that represented me. Yep, it was off course alright.

I slowed down to back up and do some route altering maneuvers when I noticed shadows circling my vehicle, shadows attached to some questionable looking dudes and dudettes.

"Oh no, now what do I do?" I muttered, not having the nerve to act like a tough guy and run them down.

"You're not asking me are you? After all you haven't listened to me yet!" GPS exclaimed with high octane exasperation. "You're on your own now." With that GPS turned herself off. Wow, imagine such deplorable behavior! A minor difference of opinion and GPS takes her hormonal feelings and ditches me.

A gang of untouchables gathered around my hood, fender and side doors, peering in at me through eyes with sclera that hadn’t been white in years. With zombie like movements they studied me like a specimen in a museum, looking expectant. I was definitely at a critical moment in my life. Looking upward into a darkening sky I prayed that death would be swift (for them preferably but considering I was outnumbered…). I shuddered as though ice was running down my backbone; what happened to the oppressive summer heat and humidity?

“God, what about a little earthquake, tornado, meteorite or hey, this would actually be a good time for the rapture, what do you say?” I suggested just as my cell phone rang. Well, I have nothing better to do, “Hello and help!” I answered.

“Where are you?” Jen asked. It was comforting to hear my friend’s voice one last time before I met Jesus. I explained the situation.

“Hey dope, dial 911!” she said and hung up. Did she really just call me a dope? Can’t say I blame her but we will have a small discussion if I ever see again.

It was great suggestion; in due course I would have thought of it myself. I quickly summoned the 911 dispatcher and as luck would have it, my first encounter with luck tonight, a squad car was nearby and appeared almost instantly to escort me to a more public thorough fare. All I had to do was follow their tail lights. I had apparently found one of the locations the innocuous homeless called home and the police educated me that occasionally good Samaritans bring them meals and they probably were expecting a hand out from me. They pronounced Good Samaritan like it was a bad thing and Hand out is police jargon, those that love God prefer to use the term love offering!

Relieved to still be among the living I decided to head to my own home instead of to Jen’s house, and this time I followed the directions of GPS, who for point of reference is very cordial when she is listened to, thank heavens because I was in no mood for her quirky mind-set on my return trip.

After a nice shower and cup of soothing chamomile tea I slipped between my clean bed sheets, well they were clean three weeks ago when I changed them for summer, and reached for my bible. Then it hit me what I’ve learned tonight. Oh, I hate days where I learn things the hard way: from my own mistakes instead of those of my friends or better yet strangers.

I learned first off that when I’m not fully loaded with God’s word I tend to stray. He has warning signs in place for a purpose, like dashboard lights, to help me steer straight, and steering straight takes the strain off my spiritual muscles. Sometimes it takes some one on the outside to let you know you need more air in your tires or more spirit in your body. I also learned that my most important GPS is God’s word and when I don’t heed its directives I could wind up in horrible dilemmas; on back streets; off the beaten path; off the straight and narrow. Like GPS he advises me where to go, what road to take, what thoughts to have, though it’s still my option to follow him, but unlike GPS he won’t go AWOL on me, he doesn’t get hormonal! And when I fail to listen to him, (not if, but when) if I call out for him he’ll provide lights for me to follow home. (I still think a little earthquake wasn’t asking for too much, come on He’s the King of the universe!)
And another idea came to me from my internal GPS, first thing tomorrow, in broad daylight, and with some friends because I’m still a wuss, I think I’ll run a food delivery, i.e. love offering, and maybe some Visine, to a few disadvantaged people on the city’s outskirts because there but for the grace of God go I.

Oh, about the milk shake, no lessons were learned there. There are some sins I’m not convicted to repent of yet but that might come up some day in another story!
Yawn. Stretch. Snuggle. Good night.

Duet 4:31
Pro. 14:12
Pro. 16:9
Isaiah 30:21
John 14:26
1 john 2:27


Tuesday, April 13, 2010

lost and found



I sat down at my desk with wide eyes. How does the stack of papers representing new cases get so large over night? Is someone playing a trick on me and dumping their work load on top of mine? I glanced around at the other cubicles hoping to catch some snickering jokester. No. everyone’s mound of incoming papers was just as tall as mine. One coworker who caught me comparing workloads raised his eyebrows to his assignments and shrugged. Sad because the papers represented the lost. I looked at the second stack, those that I had resolved, this stack was miserably small. Oh, I should have a better attitude. Every time we found a missing person we all shared in the victory celebration. But finding the lost meant so much to me I was disheartened by the ever growing list. Well, I better get started, I sighed. These cases weren’t going to get solved by themselves.

I read through the cases, pleas from concerned citizens about loved ones, neighbors, foreigners, a cousin of a milkman’s sister’s nieces schoolmate,(boy that was going to be a hard one to trace I thought, slipping that one to the bottom of the stack – hey, I’ll get to it!) Great, Boss just happened to stroll by at the wrong time (for me, not for him as his timing is always meticulously perfect.), I sheepishly replaced the work order in its correct sequence, Boss nodded his approval and continued through the aisles to offer assistance where needed.

Time to do the footwork, I mused, downloading my assignments onto my palm pilot which I slipped into my trench coat pocket, setting my Kojak relica hat atop my noggin, and taking off, but not before fanning my wings for effect, toppling over a filing cabinet or two and scattering paper work off nearby desks raising howls of protests from already overworked friends, tautly stretching the line of friendship. Can I help if it I was blessed with huge wings? Oops, better get out of here before Boss catches me in a moment of self pride.

My first stop? Federal prison. Mike J. (sorry can’t give last names, got to protect the guilty) was about to attend his first Kairos meeting. That’s a trained organization of volunteers that does prison ministries for truly hardened criminals. Incorrigible criminals selected by the cynical warden and politely offered an invitation for a four day bible vacation class. Criminals deemed irredeemable, (irredeemable: not able to be improved, corrected or made good). That word doesn’t exist in Boss’s vocabulary! Mike was a repeat offender, drugs, car theft, assault with a deadly weapon, bank robbery. How did he think he could rob a bank today? This isn’t Bonnie and Clyde’s’ era, what with cameras, lock downs, swat teams and the internet he didn’t stand a chance, but hey, criminals don’t have brains compressed with smarts. (p.s. let’s not forget, Bonnie and Clyde didn’t wind up so well ending up as human sprinklers, watering the road with blood.)

I found Mike J. surrounded by his cronies, invisible forces (invisible to him, not me.) Forces from the dark side, a place in existence way before the legendary Star Wars movies, who had been his mentors for most of his life. I was not permitted to mess with Mike’s free will, however, I could block the attacks…er… guidance of these diabolical influences, armed with the prayer requests of Mike’s unrequested supporters; family, friends. Even victims.


I watched as Mike enjoyed the meals cooked and served by the volunteers. Watched as he read prayer cards set down by his plate from prayer volunteers. I listened as the volunteers preached to, sang to, and loved the prisoners. But mostly I fended off the cronies constant attempts to infiltrate Mike’s mind by flicking them off his shoulders with the tips of my enormous large wings. I didn't even have to leave my position from back of the room! One of me to six of them. The odds weren’t favorably stacked. They really needed back up I thought, not too modestly flexing my wings, my enormous wings. Well, this warfare wasn’t intended to be fair. Cronies were headed for a big time let down (let down to the pits of hell) in the not too far future; this was just one small squirmish.

With unfettered use of his own faculties Mike discovered he actually enjoyed his time in bible studies. He actually enjoyed it. It brought back memories from his preadolescence; happy years before he succumbed to bad influences. And no one was more surprised than him (or the ever skeptical warden who’d seen many jail house conversions) when he accepted the invitation on closing day to accept Jesus as Lord and Savior. Ouch! Boy did the cronies explode into uncontrollable rage, they weren’t skeptical, they knew they genuine article, knew and feared it! Cronies cursed, they spit, they ranted and raved, and they sizzled (but not as much as they will in the not too far future, hee, hee.). I disregarded them and no one else noticed them, being invisible and all! Boy that added petroleum to the fire; no one likes their anger to go unnoticed! They lost a puppet, someone they could manipulate to their evil wishes. But Mike won. Mike was found. My job here was done. On my palm pilot I copied his name, deleted it from the lost list and pasted it to the saved list. Boy I love this gadget.

My next stop? A nursing home. Here was a dying woman recently placed on hospice who’d been praying for forty four years. Forty four years of faithfully praying for her lost children. This prayer request had appeared on my desk repeatedly for just as many years. Now it’s time has come to be answered. Not all prayers get immediate resolution but they all do get resolved. It’s a shame our experience with time varies from realm to realm. These poor creatures of clay, dirt, and mud have no way to conceptualize eternity, timelessness. Not while they are in their bodies of clay, dirt and mud. But talk about tenacity. This lady had bushels of tenacity, she was relentless in her prayers. Now she was going to be so blessed! Thank you Jesus, I muttered to myself, for letting me be a part of this.

Ellen was in her eighties now, her mind was gone, ravaged by Alzheimer’s, all recent events erased from memory, but the long term memories were still there. Illness couldn’t claim her relationship with the God of her youth, the God she’d worshiped for over eight decades, and she still spoke to him, though those around her assumed she was demented when her lips moved in silent prayer.

Ellen called out her children’s names, one by one begging God to let her see them one more time. Her sister, Carol, hardened over the years, sat by Ellen’s bedside shaking her head. “Good grief Ellen, how can you call on God after all these years? He let you down! He let us down! Stop it!”

It was time to bring closure to this ordeal so I texted the office for help. The reply came back swiftly. “Sorry, busy cleaning up mess in office.” Attached to the message was a picture of papers strewn over the floor and file cabinets laying about the office, while co workers tried to sort out which papers belonged on which desk.

Oooh! I pounded my forehead with my palm. I really can’t help it if I was blessed with such big wings. After some more texting I finally got through to someone willing to give a hand then I retreated outside and trained my eyes on the sky from wince would come my reply. I was looking for four puffs of …wisps of …there they were! Four dancing, zig zagging wisps of clouds; one large, three smaller powder puff shaped, dancing, frolicking fluffy white apparitions making their way downward unnoticed by humanity. The three small clouds lighted on their feet in front of me, all glowing with excitement and playfulness. Not a trace of pain or remembrance of their last earthly ordeal was registered on their countenance; they just had plain exhilaration plastered on their childlike faces. Their escort landed next to them a few seconds later, winded from the games of tag and catch me if you can, they played on the trip down. After all she wasn’t a young angel anymore; let’s see the earth was created…when? Oh, no I'm not going to be the one to reveal that secret! Anyway we were even older than the foundations of the earth. I remember having to dodge the flying rocks and debris created from the big bang. It was a blessing to have fantastically large wings then, to shield me from flying projectiles.

And now i was once again grateful for my large wings so that I could embrace the three little wisps that were clawing at me for attention yelling excitedly, "Is it time? Is it really time?" Such exuberance!

I pointed them towards the nursing home window where they caught sight of their mother lying in bed, lips moving in prayer, eyes locked on a picture set on her night stand next to their aunt Carol who was still attempting to orient Ellen to time and place, trying to get Ellen to understand that her children wouldn't be coming to the nursing home, that God had abandoned them all forty years ago. She was such a kill joy, not letting Ellen harbor any hopes of seeing her children again. The picture in question was taken days before the three children were mysteriously abducted and jointly murdered and buried in a yet undiscovered location. I was there that day, to shepherd them home to the great shepherd, but not before I deposited their slayer on the ocean's floor chained with a mill stone attached to his neck where he resides to this day and for all eternity being shown the mercy he exhibited while on earth.

"Oh, look, she still has our pictures!" Janet the oldest at nine announced stepping through the wall into her mother's room, followed by her young brother age seven and sister age five.

Ellen's rheumy eyes abruptly focused on her visitors and clarity returned to her. "Carol, they're here! My babies are here! Praise God!"

Carol, truly exasperated, practically yelled in her frustration, "Ellen, they died years ago when God left us flat and dry with no answers. Don't talk to me about praising God!"

Whoa, that outburst kindled my ire causing me to flap my wings, my big wings, which sent the treasured framed photo crashing to the floor, shattering glass everywhere. Carol jerked in reaction to the destruction of the frame and bent over to retrieve the faded Kodak paper.

Suddenly inspired and not calculating the risks I decided to react on my own, imagine that! As Carol rescued the photo I allowed the images of Janet, Greg and Judy to come to life, but only briefly, leaving room for Carol to doubt her own eyes. Gasping she let the photo flutter back to the floor while she exclaimed," Ellen, you're right, they are here!" I'd never seen anyone so far from dying turn so white. I had to suppress my inner satisfaction.

Ellen however was unable to respond to Carol's affirmation as she had stepped outside of her mortal shell and was embracing her three long lost children (might I add, lost to her, not us here in heaven). These joyful reunions always caused me to weep like a baby. Hey, its ex-mortals that can't cry on this side of life, we angels however come with unlimited supplies of joyful tears.

I couldn't wait to leave gloomy-gus Carol behind and get to the office to put the finishing touches to my reports.

Boss visited me at my new cubicle, the one my fellow laborers set up for me far, far from their desks where my beautiful, large wings could spread out as much as they wanted without causing collateral damage. I accepted this cubicle in lieu of the ghastly aternative that was suggested; getting my wings clipped. They even actually hung a pair of framed shearing scissors here to keep me fore warned. The purpose of Boss's visit was to congratulate me on three jobs well done today.

"I’m sorry, sir, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but there were only two, Mike J. and Ellen."

"I definitely mean three. Look at the next name on your list." Boss encouraged tapping my stack of assignments with the rusty nail he always carried around with him.

I picked up the top sheet, it was the horrible vague prayer request for the cousin of a milkman’s sister’s nieces schoolmate. After reading the submitted supplication, the one that I had earlier slipped to the bottom of my stack, I frowned deeply, still not understanding. Boy am I obtuse.

Boss said one word, “Carol."

Oh my gosh. I hid my face behind my wings. Ellen's sister. After Ellen died, with a smile on her lips, Carol recommitted herself to Jesus on the basis of having seen her nieces and nephew one last time! On the basis of seeing Ellen's answer to forty years of faithful praying. What I had done to be spiteful had yielded positive results. I started to apologize profusely for acting unprofessional but Boss put a halt to that, with him there are no accidents up here in heaven's lost and found department.
math 18:6
mark 9:2
gal. 3:3
titus 2:14
Heb 1:14
Rev. 20:10
Rev 21:8














Thursday, January 14, 2010

thanksgiving day reflections


Thanksgiving reflections


Well, that didn't last long, I thought as the door closed on the last of my Thanksgiving Day guests, if you can call your own kids guests. Obviously this wasn't anything like the original Thanksgiving that lasted for days when the Indians traveled far distances, bringing their portable homes and families to the impromptu gala organized by the pilgrims to thank God for their new friends who had provided gratefully received farming and survival instruction in the new world. It wasn’t even anything like the more current Thanksgivings I’d grown up with in the earlier part of the twentieth century.


After clearing the tragic scene of dining chaos in the kitchen, (a scene from Julia Childs meets King Kong) I sat down on the couch next to my mom, highly disheartened in the outcome of my Thanksgiving experience. Days of cooking and cleaning, pulling out the holiday decorations, family recipes, videos, games and activities, all ended in a ten minute feeding frenzy so my kids could make it to an afternoon movie, a movie they had sprung an invitation to on me when they arrived. Sure I could have gone, but at my age my body needed more time for digestion plus I needed advance warning for acts of spontaneity; weeks of advance warning was recommended for geriatric spontaneity. Who goes to movies on Thanksgiving Day? It’s just not natural. I wouldn't see them again today. After the flick they'd go back to their own homes, minutes away, not over hill and dale. And even though they resided close by it would be some time before they would revisit. Christmas day actually, so they could unwrap presents that I had carefully purchased and return the day after for something they wanted, not something I thought they would enjoy, or something I had enjoyed buying for them.


I was definitely having a moment of self-pity. Loneliness was setting in along with feelings of abandonment. Holiday let down. Let down from loss of company and companionship. I crossed the room to pick up my fifteen year old Shih Tzu, Lefty, squeezed him close to my heart, then set him on the couch next to me and reached over my mom's head for the old fashioned photo album on the end table behind her, you know, the kind that doesn’t automatically change pictures or require batteries and computer proficiency. Mom smiled back at me with the familiar dimples and lipstick stained lips. At least she was still here to stroll down memory lane.


"I wish we were back at your house doing this, mom." I said flipping through the photos of holidays past.


I found the photos where I had spent the night at my parent’s house in my old room with my kids camped out on the floor in their theme sleeping bags of spider man and wonder woman, sleeping bags made for slumber parties but not practical for outdoor camping. The holidays used to be fun back then before life’s realities hit. I had always looked forward to going to mom and dad’s, spending the night, being waited on hand and foot while they complained that I could help out just a little, hey, I did only help out just a little. There was a picture of me as I washed dishes; I was caught off guard by dad who wanted to record that moment to prove to his friends I wasn’t ready for disability yet. I had hoped I was continuing a family tradition, looking ahead to the years when my kids would come here for the night and spend the whole next day, no matter how close they lived. At least the tradition of waiting on them hand and foot had endured.


Then there were the pictures of mom, dad, my brothers, me and my kids playing games and watching football till our stomachs shrunk enough for desserts: pies, cakes, turkey sandwiches (okay that’s not really a dessert.) Pictures of the family laying around the house with bottles of antacid on nearby tables. What memories.


Finally I came to the pictures that always saddened me. “Hey mom, here is the last time we spent Thanksgiving together at your house.” I said tipping the album in her direction for her to view. There Mom was on Kodak paper, looking tired but affecting a smile for the camera. I glanced up at her, the smile she had now was more believable because she was more rested since it had become my turn to do all the drudgery. The torch had been passed down to me twenty some years ago when breast cancer struck. Surgery, chemo and radiation had wiped out Mom’s energy reserves. In this picture she was in a wheel chair next to dad who was holding the cooked turkey up like a hunting trophy (in a roasting pan with bubbling juices, yum, yum, yummy). I wonder where all the Polaroid’s went of the pilgrims standing next to arrow pierced deer skewered over open fires.


I remember that last Thanksgiving at home, all the out of town family had come and stayed for a few days and used my bedroom so I had actually had to come over the day of Thanksgiving instead of having my warm fuzzy sleep over and hot cooked breakfast of pancakes and eggs, well, I still had the pancake and eggs but they weren't served to me in bed and I had to make them myself. How horrible.


"Mom, I'm sure glad they all came that year," I said to the smiling face next to me on my left, while I patted Lefty to the right of me. He was named Lefty because he'd been the puppy left over from his mom’s only litter. I had just put his dad to sleep eight months ago after sixteen years of allegiance, Lefty's mom had died unnaturally- natural at thirteen four years earlier. God, how I missed them.


So here I sat, on Thanksgiving Day, all alone with my mom and dog comparing past experiences, auditing this thanksgiving with my past and stamping a big failure sign on it, while my kids were out having fun without me, (yeah, I know I was invited but that’s beside the point.) Doing all this reminiscing was letting me down big time. Mom just smiled at me while Lefty slept at my side, recently released from the seizures he'd been having of late. There was something in Mom's smile. Something that said, "Go, spend time with your kids while you still have time." Mom wouldn't say that out loud, not when she was so good at conveying messages with her eyes; eyes that could produce more guilt than any vocabulary in Webster’s dictionary.


I snapped the album shut and decided it was time to start a new tradition, either movie going with my kids or aging alone. Heck I couldbe spontaneous if I wanted. I spontaneously jumped up and prepared to go to the movies, glancing at my watch I determined if I drove at my normal speed I'd make it on time. (My normal speed being slightly higher than the limit by about 15 miles per hour). What officer would give me a ticket on Thanksgiving? One that had to work on Thanksgiving. I'd chance it.


Meeting mom's eyes I laid a kiss on her cold cheek leaving another set of lip prints on the glass in the picture frame. Then I picked up the little wooden box Lefty was encased in and laid it on top of the other polished oak boxes that contained his dad and mom, Cuzn Buz and Nikkie. A whole family of love contained in crematory containers; piling up rapidly to remind me that dust we are, to dust we’ll return. And with no certainty of when.


"As much as I miss you guys I think I'd rather spend the rest of the day with the living" I sighed as I switched off the lights and closed the front door behind me.


Mom stared at Lefty. Lefty stared at Mom. Nikki and Cuzn Buz stared at them both. "What does she mean by that?" Mom quizzed as she ruffled Lefty's neck fur then patted her restored chest wall. "Doesn't she know we're more alive and well now than ever?" Lefty, recently freed ten days ago from his tortured body, wagged his whole physique in agreement then butted heads playfully with his parents.


As I drove off to the theater to be with my kids for the rest of Thanksgiving, my mom rounded up my three beloved pets, dogs that had been revamped to perfect health along with her and shooed them on ahead; back to that special place in the sky called Heaven until the next time they were summoned by photographs or memories. Or better yet, till I was joyfully reunited with them.