I was comfortably ensconced on my throne, with my feet on an earth toned footstool, watching As the World Turns wondering who writes that trash when my phone went off. It was one of my sons, Greg, calling and he sounded anxious, hurt. He had information for me concerning his wife (information I was already privy too) who had left him ( at my advice) because he’d been drinking too heavily and she couldn't take it anymore. Well, I was thankful he gave up the bottle when she walked out and they were trying to make things work. It sometimes takes a separation like this to act as a wakeup call. But now her job planned on moving her further away, miles away. Counties away. Not-available-for -commute away. He swore it meant the end of their marriage; he wouldn’t have a marriage in separate cities. I felt for him , obstinacy is so human! This had not been my plan for their life when they married, so young and full of love, but they had been too Young and Restless at the time and needed some spiritual ripening. I encouraged my son to keep talking to me, to listen to me but he was so down I couldn't hold his attention and the connection went dead. I kept the line open for him to call back as I knew he would, eventually. I hoped this set back didn’t discourage him from our Sunday get together he had just started participating in, with what I could see were sincere intentions.
Immediately after he called I got a call from one of my daughters, Carol. Her husband had just ....oh, how awful...., shot himself. She was hysterical and needed her dad. Thank heavens I was home for this call also. We spent lots of time together, crying and consoling each other. She really needed a shoulder to lean on and mine was strong. I did lots of building when I was younger and could hold up mountains if the situation called for it. I reassured her continuously that she would see her husband again, would have the chance to hold and love him for eternity; that was how things would be I was certain, no doubts raised, as he was at this moment standing contritely in front of me, stripped of all his rewards. Yet I could feel her hurt. Knowing that this life isn't all there is isn't automatically comforting in the darkest hours but as long as she knew I was available twenty four /seven to be her Guiding Light she would survive. I would answer anytime she called, day or night. I reminded her, unnecessarily, that Sunday’s get together was still crucial, she promised to be there. .
Again the phone went off. Another son, Frank, was down in the dumps. He was feeling so low and hopeless about things, rising gas, food and utility bills, and possible layoffs, he confided he felt like dying. Not just dying, he felt like determining his death date, hint, hint. We had a serious talk about suicide and it’s aftermath. I told him he had Only one Life to Live and since I was the one who brought him into the world, only I could take him out. That brought a gentle laugh from him. He knew I was right. I was capable of taking him out and that rattled him more than all his worldly problems. After some time together on the air waves he began to feel optimistic. Expectant. Things would look better in the morning, I promised. This wasn't the first generation to see a recession. I had seen many recessions in my life and lived through them all, and he did after all have my spirit. He also had my experience written in a journal on his bedside table. We left off on a positive note and I reiterated to him how important Sunday would be for us to get together. He needed family for encouragement. He gave his word he’d be there. Good enough for me.
After my hectic week of family turmoil, my favorite day arrived; Sunday. I take one day off a week from running my global enterprise to rest and recuperate. It’s good for the spirit. Plus, as an added feature I encourage All My Children to come over to the house for dinner and family time. I may not get around like my kids think I should, every child thinks they can run things better than their parents, mine are no exception, but I never miss a day of family singing and worship. I don’t coerce my kids to come, I only want the ones over that sincerely want to be with me nor do I pass judgment on the ones that aren’t here,(even though that is truly my prerogative!) if I still hear from them regularly. Having such an influential parent like me isn’t easy on my brood. They feel like they have to put on airs. Wrong. I love them regardless. They are free to be Bold and Beautiful in my presence.
Greg arrived first and sat in the back. Next came Carol and Frank, stopping at the brochure table to browse. There were pamphlets there on topics such as healing from grief and suicide prevention. They both picked up the booklets that interested them, and then looked at each other, guardedly. A conversation then ensued by the two strangers (yet brother and sister in my eyes) sharing their angst’s. They exchanged phone numbers to keep afloat, (under normal circumstances I don’t recommend my daughters just handing out their numbers, this world is less than ideal, but I made an exception this morning). They had devised a spur of the moment plan to start a support group here at the church that unknown to them now, would grow into an enormous success. (They didn’t know it really wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. I had set that plan in motion during the week by planting a little seeds on futile ground).
The morning activities of song and praise got started and Greg bowed his head, whispering to me on our two way radio, a radio so clear I could hear him without distractions, at the same time I could hear All my Children. My technologies exceed any known today by man. I’m the super parent that has eyes and ears behind my head, on top of my head and under my feet, in other words I’m the child’s ultimate nightmare because I see all and hear all! As Greg and I conversed about his determination to stay temperate despite what to him seemed a tremendous set back, another back seat Christian took the space beside him. (Hey, the seats are there for a reason, as long as they are being occupied I have no complaints!) Greg didn’t want to be distracted from our tête-à-tête so the hand that slipped into his totally startled him. Looking up he went eye to eye with Martha, his absent wife (he pinched himself to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating). Unfortunately for me, being who I am, I never get the thrill that comes from being surprised, being a genuine Know It All has major disadvantages.
Martha had decided to stay in town. Working on their marriage at this time was more important than any job opportunities, though they would still have detached living situations for a while they would both find healing here at my General Hospital, insurance paid for by my firstborn, Yeshua. Greg and Martha (even Carol and Frank) had one common ground; they agreed that all the Days of our Lives are best spent in the House Of God, (my house) with the family of God.
Duet 32:39
Psalm 30:5
Psalm 84:10
Psalm 103:3
Ecc. 3:4
Eph 5:18
Heb. 4:16
Heb 10:23-34
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Food Bank
I hadn't been able to contact my daughter for weeks. She and I had had a small dispute about how she was raising her kids and so instead of admitting I was right and knew what I was talking about, having already done my job raising her, she moved out. She left mumbling something about she had known coming home after her separation and impending divorce was the wrong thing to do. She also left a threat hanging over my head about never being allowed to see my grandbabies again till they graduated from high school. I counted the years off on my fingers, up to about ten (minus the two weeks since she had been gone). I was devastated. Of course I didn’t really believe she would fulfill that threat. She just needed a cooling down period.
Therefore I was depressed and feeling down when someone at work asked me to head the food bank campaign for our surgery department. A crusade that spanned two weeks of gathering food and building a gift basket to auction off, the proceeds going to the local food bank headquarters. They caught me off guard, how totally unfair. Being off guard I had agreed to chair the committee, thinking it would distract me from my own personal problems. And distract me it did. I couldn't believe how difficult it was to get those I worked with to fork over money. (Fork over? Food bank? Cute pun!) I had a hard time convincing those that actually worked for a living that there were people in this country going to bed hungry. Not just one night a week, but weeks in a row between paychecks. People with families, little children, elderly parents.
I put together a scheme to sell tickets for a cake baked by one of our own co workers. A dollar a ticket earned a chance to win a delicious cake and another chance to win a basket filled with goodies on display in the building lobby. Elaborate baskets that were donated by all the hospital departments. We competed with the Emergency Room, Cath. Lab, Pathology department, Labor and Delivery, and Physical Therapy to name few, with basket values upwards of nine hundred dollars. I actually bought tickets for some of the competitor’s baskets. Hey, all the departments were rivals but the food bank would be the biggest winner! Baskets conveying summer, spa, baby, sports, emergency preparedness, fun in the sun and pet themes lined long tables down in the lobby next to a display shelf that filled with donated can goods.
Now I had to get people to dole out money and supplies for the basket. The department with the best basket got a pizza party. Wow, helping the hungry kept us well fed. We (meaning me) decided to use the theme of family entertainment for our basket. That meant good Samaritans had to bring things to work like DVD’s, popcorn, games, movie candy, swimming pool and barbeque paraphernalia, ect. I was getting discouraged with the interest not being demonstrated and feeling like I was in this thing by myself. If I'd just put the money I blew on filling the basket into the food bank they'd have a better chance of enriching their cupboards. (The food bank actually spreads a dollar further than we can imagine when it comes to stocking Mother Hubbard’s pantries.)
My evenings revolved around shopping and planning for the city’s malnourished, instead of staring at the comfy beds my grandkids had been deprived of when their mother carted them off. Where were they? Were they safe? Were they happy? Were they eating right? Were they missing me? I hoped not, I didn’t want them to be as wretched as I was! At least I was a proactive agent trying to end world hunger, that had been my platform when I had won the title of Miss America.(Yea, in my dreams!).
Finally, during the last days before countdown (the drawing for the baskets) my friends rallied. Bringing in fantastic items for a family night at home. Of course this had a dual effect, delighting me and bringing me sadness. It made me miss the nights with the grandkids. We had watched some of these movies, eaten some of this popcorn. I had washed clothes with this chocolate melted all over them after a day at the movies. I tried again and again to contact my Patsy. Her phone always went to the voice mail. I left message after message. No return calls were forthcoming. Darn cell phones. There was no way to locate a address on the internet. My mother's heart was breaking. (Really, My heart, not my mother's) I cried every night and went to God in prayer. It seems that the only time he ever really heard from me was when I was suffering. He seemed to tell me to keep plugging along. That helping those needier than I was right now was medicine. I didn't like his responses; I wanted him to get my daughter to call me. If he wanted to hear from his kids, didn't he realize we wanted to hear from ours! And he had the power to get them to call! Come on use some of that power for me.
One of the days in our food bank drive was dedicated to bringing in back packs. I didn't understand the purpose for that till I did the simple thing of asking questions. Sometimes just asking things really solves problems. Apparently the food bank issues back packs to low income children so they can be crammed for the week end with meals. If kids couldn't afford to buy their own school lunches they also needed nourishment while off for two days. I couldn't get over the need in our community but I spent considerable time selecting back packs, with my grandchildren in mind. Bright colorful back packs with Sponge Bob and Miss Kitty. If I bought something for a stranger I wanted it to be comparable to something I would buy for a close relative. I didn’t want to be stingy. I selected ones I knew would have thrilled my progeny’s progeny, making my offering more personal, making me feel connected with my own. Driving home from the store I always kept my eyes open for my daughter's car, hoping to catch her visiting a friend in the neighborhood, or shopping at her favorite stores. Nothing. No sign of where she had ended up. I hoped she was eating good, sleeping good. Working. Recovering from her divorce. Finding closure. Most of all I hoped she was missing me and my unwanted opinions!
Well, the last day of the food bank drive finally arrived. We all gathered in the lobby to hear who won the baskets as one name after another was drawn. I’ve never won anything, but hope springs eternal: till the last basket was passed out then hope took a nose dive onto the tiled floor. It only took twenty minutes for me to leave a looser. Well not really. I felt pretty darn good about the sum we collected for the local starving population. We had nothing to be embarrassed about according to the numbers raised. God was right. Thinking about others really took my mind off of me. My house may have been empty but my soul had company.
When I got home a few nights later, tried and tested from work, I listened to my answering machine and passed out. Well not literally but close, I dropped into a nearby chair and fanned myself. My daughter had called and invited me over to see her new apartment and have dinner. No apologies. No explanation for the long silence. No need to be tacky. I retuned the call and accepted the invite gratefully before she had time to rethink her invitation and rescind the offer. We both acted as though there had been no rift in our relationship. Grudge carrying wouldn’t get me closer to my daughter or her kids.
Her apartment was actually very close to my house, in a low income neighborhood. I started mentally devising ways to be helpful with the kids before and after work, on weekends….then I stopped, that was what had gotten me into trouble in the first place, would I ever learn anything?! I arrived punctually. Not a minute to soon to be told I was too early, or a minute late to be scolded for the dinner ruining. I arrived right on the dot. I would not be responsible for any arguments this night. Joy filled my core as my grandbabies, age six and eight, fought to be the center of my attention. Greg was full of ecstasy about the new things he got his first day at school. School has already started! Where has the time gone? He and Molly ran off to get their new school books and supplies to place on exhibit for me. Their notebooks, pencils, crayons and folders were all precious possessions. But what brought tears to my eyes were the two new back packs. Bright colored back packs for kids. Bright colored back packs I had purchased a few weeks ago to bequeath to hungry children. Back packs my own grand children brought home from school today filled with staples, (that part they left out with the innocence of youth) While I was working on occupying my mind, attempting to forget my missing family, God had us united by a string. Everything I had done, I had done for my own. For God’s own. And he had guided us through every step. But I sure wasn’t going to mention my new found enlightenment to my proud daughter. Not tonight. May be in ten or twelve years when Greg and Molly had graduated from high school. But no, not tonight. I refused to humiliate her with my knowledge of where tonight’s simple dinner had come from. I’ll let Patsy convince me she’s doing okay, making a living, going to school, and raising her kids. (Hey, she was doing okay, God had looked out for her as he had done with me, and we were never on our own!)
I’ve learned how to offer help and advice now, or rather, how to not offer help and advice till asked. I raised my children, I have to agree to let Patsy raise her’s. Obviously, God has a hand in it. He won’t let the righteous beg for bread. Did I say earlier I had left a looser? And that hope had taken a nose dive? Well, I was wrong.
Exodus 23:10-11
Leviticus 23:22
Psalm 37:25
Math 6:2
Math 25:13-40
Math 26:10-13
Therefore I was depressed and feeling down when someone at work asked me to head the food bank campaign for our surgery department. A crusade that spanned two weeks of gathering food and building a gift basket to auction off, the proceeds going to the local food bank headquarters. They caught me off guard, how totally unfair. Being off guard I had agreed to chair the committee, thinking it would distract me from my own personal problems. And distract me it did. I couldn't believe how difficult it was to get those I worked with to fork over money. (Fork over? Food bank? Cute pun!) I had a hard time convincing those that actually worked for a living that there were people in this country going to bed hungry. Not just one night a week, but weeks in a row between paychecks. People with families, little children, elderly parents.
I put together a scheme to sell tickets for a cake baked by one of our own co workers. A dollar a ticket earned a chance to win a delicious cake and another chance to win a basket filled with goodies on display in the building lobby. Elaborate baskets that were donated by all the hospital departments. We competed with the Emergency Room, Cath. Lab, Pathology department, Labor and Delivery, and Physical Therapy to name few, with basket values upwards of nine hundred dollars. I actually bought tickets for some of the competitor’s baskets. Hey, all the departments were rivals but the food bank would be the biggest winner! Baskets conveying summer, spa, baby, sports, emergency preparedness, fun in the sun and pet themes lined long tables down in the lobby next to a display shelf that filled with donated can goods.
Now I had to get people to dole out money and supplies for the basket. The department with the best basket got a pizza party. Wow, helping the hungry kept us well fed. We (meaning me) decided to use the theme of family entertainment for our basket. That meant good Samaritans had to bring things to work like DVD’s, popcorn, games, movie candy, swimming pool and barbeque paraphernalia, ect. I was getting discouraged with the interest not being demonstrated and feeling like I was in this thing by myself. If I'd just put the money I blew on filling the basket into the food bank they'd have a better chance of enriching their cupboards. (The food bank actually spreads a dollar further than we can imagine when it comes to stocking Mother Hubbard’s pantries.)
My evenings revolved around shopping and planning for the city’s malnourished, instead of staring at the comfy beds my grandkids had been deprived of when their mother carted them off. Where were they? Were they safe? Were they happy? Were they eating right? Were they missing me? I hoped not, I didn’t want them to be as wretched as I was! At least I was a proactive agent trying to end world hunger, that had been my platform when I had won the title of Miss America.(Yea, in my dreams!).
Finally, during the last days before countdown (the drawing for the baskets) my friends rallied. Bringing in fantastic items for a family night at home. Of course this had a dual effect, delighting me and bringing me sadness. It made me miss the nights with the grandkids. We had watched some of these movies, eaten some of this popcorn. I had washed clothes with this chocolate melted all over them after a day at the movies. I tried again and again to contact my Patsy. Her phone always went to the voice mail. I left message after message. No return calls were forthcoming. Darn cell phones. There was no way to locate a address on the internet. My mother's heart was breaking. (Really, My heart, not my mother's) I cried every night and went to God in prayer. It seems that the only time he ever really heard from me was when I was suffering. He seemed to tell me to keep plugging along. That helping those needier than I was right now was medicine. I didn't like his responses; I wanted him to get my daughter to call me. If he wanted to hear from his kids, didn't he realize we wanted to hear from ours! And he had the power to get them to call! Come on use some of that power for me.
One of the days in our food bank drive was dedicated to bringing in back packs. I didn't understand the purpose for that till I did the simple thing of asking questions. Sometimes just asking things really solves problems. Apparently the food bank issues back packs to low income children so they can be crammed for the week end with meals. If kids couldn't afford to buy their own school lunches they also needed nourishment while off for two days. I couldn't get over the need in our community but I spent considerable time selecting back packs, with my grandchildren in mind. Bright colorful back packs with Sponge Bob and Miss Kitty. If I bought something for a stranger I wanted it to be comparable to something I would buy for a close relative. I didn’t want to be stingy. I selected ones I knew would have thrilled my progeny’s progeny, making my offering more personal, making me feel connected with my own. Driving home from the store I always kept my eyes open for my daughter's car, hoping to catch her visiting a friend in the neighborhood, or shopping at her favorite stores. Nothing. No sign of where she had ended up. I hoped she was eating good, sleeping good. Working. Recovering from her divorce. Finding closure. Most of all I hoped she was missing me and my unwanted opinions!
Well, the last day of the food bank drive finally arrived. We all gathered in the lobby to hear who won the baskets as one name after another was drawn. I’ve never won anything, but hope springs eternal: till the last basket was passed out then hope took a nose dive onto the tiled floor. It only took twenty minutes for me to leave a looser. Well not really. I felt pretty darn good about the sum we collected for the local starving population. We had nothing to be embarrassed about according to the numbers raised. God was right. Thinking about others really took my mind off of me. My house may have been empty but my soul had company.
When I got home a few nights later, tried and tested from work, I listened to my answering machine and passed out. Well not literally but close, I dropped into a nearby chair and fanned myself. My daughter had called and invited me over to see her new apartment and have dinner. No apologies. No explanation for the long silence. No need to be tacky. I retuned the call and accepted the invite gratefully before she had time to rethink her invitation and rescind the offer. We both acted as though there had been no rift in our relationship. Grudge carrying wouldn’t get me closer to my daughter or her kids.
Her apartment was actually very close to my house, in a low income neighborhood. I started mentally devising ways to be helpful with the kids before and after work, on weekends….then I stopped, that was what had gotten me into trouble in the first place, would I ever learn anything?! I arrived punctually. Not a minute to soon to be told I was too early, or a minute late to be scolded for the dinner ruining. I arrived right on the dot. I would not be responsible for any arguments this night. Joy filled my core as my grandbabies, age six and eight, fought to be the center of my attention. Greg was full of ecstasy about the new things he got his first day at school. School has already started! Where has the time gone? He and Molly ran off to get their new school books and supplies to place on exhibit for me. Their notebooks, pencils, crayons and folders were all precious possessions. But what brought tears to my eyes were the two new back packs. Bright colored back packs for kids. Bright colored back packs I had purchased a few weeks ago to bequeath to hungry children. Back packs my own grand children brought home from school today filled with staples, (that part they left out with the innocence of youth) While I was working on occupying my mind, attempting to forget my missing family, God had us united by a string. Everything I had done, I had done for my own. For God’s own. And he had guided us through every step. But I sure wasn’t going to mention my new found enlightenment to my proud daughter. Not tonight. May be in ten or twelve years when Greg and Molly had graduated from high school. But no, not tonight. I refused to humiliate her with my knowledge of where tonight’s simple dinner had come from. I’ll let Patsy convince me she’s doing okay, making a living, going to school, and raising her kids. (Hey, she was doing okay, God had looked out for her as he had done with me, and we were never on our own!)
I’ve learned how to offer help and advice now, or rather, how to not offer help and advice till asked. I raised my children, I have to agree to let Patsy raise her’s. Obviously, God has a hand in it. He won’t let the righteous beg for bread. Did I say earlier I had left a looser? And that hope had taken a nose dive? Well, I was wrong.
Exodus 23:10-11
Leviticus 23:22
Psalm 37:25
Math 6:2
Math 25:13-40
Math 26:10-13
Monday, May 12, 2008
house cleaning
I jammed my hand between the layers of outfits in my closet and almost got a crush injury. I know that top is in here somewhere. In here or maybe...I traipsed back upstairs to the guest room for the third time. Looking for clothes in my house was good exercise. Aerobic and isometric. I had three closets to choose from and no matter how organized I had attempted to be things always went against me. Like the fact that I had no idea how to be organized. I abhorred neat people! Some people even had their clothes organized by season and colors. What made them so much better than me! Well I hate to state the obvious, but maybe they found what they were looking for quicker.
An hour latter I was getting ready to explode when Cindy, my lovely daughter, walked past the open door to my room; walked past, stopped in her tracts and backed up to scope things out.
"Did someone break in?" She asked as I sat on a mound of eclectic fabrics scattered over the bed and floor, with sheen of perspiration on my face giving me a soft glow and a unpleasant aroma wafting up from my underarms. “If they did you’d never be able to tell what they took!”
“I’ve been looking for a sweater I wanted to wear. I don’t know what closet I put it in.” I explained, exasperated after hours of relentless rummaging through closets, gym bags, laundry baskets, and under beds.
“Well, yeah, I can see you don’t have anything else to wear.” Cindy exclaimed flippantly.
“I-” I finished my sentence by simply staring at Cindy’s chest that was concealed in my sweater. She looked down with an awkward realization and slowly backed away focusing her eyes on mine trying to discern the depths of my anger, afraid to break contact for fear she’d miss an opportunity to escape.
Just before I lunged at her throat with my shaking hands, Cindy let out a horrified scream, but not out from worthy terror of me. She was focused on something over my shoulder. I spun about, lost my balance and fell into Cindy’s arms. There in the middle of the room some cloth had come to life. One of my jackets was levitating and moving forward. We stepped backwards.( there sure was a lot of back stepping going on today!) The jacket progressed forwards. Then it began a rapid succession of twists and gyrations sending garments everywhere that revealed a furry… slobbering ….growling…Scruffy! How long had he been asleep under all those clothes? I’m amazed he hadn’t been suffocated. Freed, Scruffy leapt across the pile of multipurpose carpeting into my legs begging for some loving while Cindy and I collapsed into gales of laughter.
“Give me my sweater,” I demanded once the humor generated by Scruffy departed and I waited as Cindy slipped it over her head and handed it to me draped over her arm as though I were the queen of England.
As she stood there in the hallway, with just a bra and jeans on, her dad rounded the corner, got an eyeful of embarrassment and retreated. Boy, like I said earlier, there sure was a lot of back stepping going on today! He had informed me months ago he wanted to stay ignorant of Cindy’s entrance into womanhood. She would always be a toddler to him and nothing I could say about her maturation would make him believe differently.
“Man, mom,” Cindy got out her cell phone and punched the calculator option, did some math and proceeded with,” You would have to change clothes four times a day in the summer and 3.75 days in the winter to wear all these clothes in one year!”
“So, maybe that has been my plan, dressing for each meal and snacks, I’m a messy eater.”
“And I just came back from a mission trip where one group of kids had to go home and give their brothers or sisters the clothes off their backs so they could come to the afternoon bible vacation school just to get some cookies and milk, which would be their only meal for the day.” Cindy proclaimed with an air of…self righteousness? Then she resumed her journey to her bedroom.
“Hmmm.” I rubbed my chin and started a chain of thoughts that swept me off my feet; I always lose my equilibrium when I think. That testimony hit a nerve. I had more than I could possible wear, definitely more than I needed. I walked from room to room. There were only three of us in this house. We had lots of space filled with unnecessary clutter. How many towels did we need? I laundered weekly. I remember buying everything in this house at one time or another and the most prevalent reason I bought them was self indulgence, and pride in my home, not to mention being able to show my friends I could afford some of this stuff. Stuff I had to dust, wash, and store. And storage was mostly where everything was, not on display. I really didn’t have that much of a social life, I didn’t cater parties nor have people over for dinner. No one visited from across country in need of a place to drop for the night. So why did I have so many blankets and sheets. We had heat, at least that’s what the electric bill implies. We each had a blanket, pillow and towels. We had enough dishes to feed an army regiment. Two sets of china, not to mention Christmas dishes, and a set of regular dishes. Let’s see, 32 plates for three people. Three people who seldom sat down together for a family meal. Thirty two plates for just three of us. When we did have company, we used china. China paper plates! (That’s a name brand of paper plates, so quit blinking, you read that right!)
I took off in my car and returned with boxes. Lots of boxes. I went diligently through closets. If I hadn’t worn something in a year (or two or three, yea, three was the limit), in to a box it went. I tried to stay firm with my resolve, even though it killed me to part with some exceptionally sentimental outfits. Sentimental because of the designer labels I was so proud of. Labels I made sure those in the pews behind me at church were able to see. Its mind boggling how often I was able to expose those labels! I didn’t have a problem with pride; I was perfectly comfortable being silently boastful. After all, I worked hard to afford good belongings. I convinced myself it would help people to get ambitious enough to get better jobs if they saw the name brand labels. I was helping the lazy and indigent desire to become worthy citizens. After all, wasn’t the size of one’s pocket book the criterion for success? So that’s how Cindy found me the next time she passed my room. Up to my waist in boxes.
“Wow, mom, I’m proud of you. You really listened to me this time!” She exclaimed after I filled her in on my plans.
“Well, you can be proud of yourself too, here are some boxes for your room. Fill them with your old toys and out grown clothes.”
“What! I don’t have anything to give away.” Suddenly her piety went south. Well I was also confident some of her junk was going south also. To Peru.
“You have a good start on a warehouse as big as mine, go pack a few boxes!” I declared. I was confident she’d out grown some toys and clothes that would give some poor kid a spiritual lift.
While Cindy was working I called our minister and got the number for our sister church in Peru where Cindy had just returned from last week. I managed to get a hold of the minister down there who listened to my plan with great awe. He thanked me more than I deserved. I had been selfish and stingy for too long to really appreciate his accolades. I just wanted to purge myself of all my possessions and return to a simple live that would still surpass the life of his parishioners. People with only one set of clothes that they shared with each other to go to church. Well now they would have some more sturdy garments shipped to them. Now that they could go to church as family units, they might have to expand the church building project!
The next morning, I took several boxes to the post office, after searching each of them to ascertain Scruffy hadn’t taken up residence in one while my back was turned, and shipped them to Peru. Man, I should have just sent money and let them buy clothes down there! Oh, right, they didn’t have any stores where these clothes were going. Then I made a trip to the homeless community under a nearby bridge and stacked several blankets on the ground, a good distance from the populace. I didn’t want my generosity to be the cause of my death. They looked like murderers and thieves. Sorry, I still stereo type, just because I’m trying to help doesn’t mean I’m not still skeptical! Hey, I’m only human. That’s more than I feel like some of the souls under the bridge were! Sorry God. Use me, but don’t make me talk to them! Those present stayed put. Don’t tell me I scared them. How dare they not trust me!
Then I took my dishes, towels, and Cindy’s things, which included unused makeup, shoes, books and stuffed animals that she had collected over the years from carnivals and ex-boyfriends, to the women’s shelter and donated them for women and their daughters getting rehabilitated for new lives away from abusive situations. It’s hard to set up house when you run out into the night with just the clothes on your back to avoid being beaten to death by an abusive partner. Partner. Partner means equal, companion, mate. What an inappropriate definition of some one that you can’t trust with your life. Well, maybe these dishes that gave me pleasure once, just buying them, will give some poor woman a sunny view on life. Like dishes can make up for all the suffering? I felt so contemptible. So unworthy to be called a daughter of God. I certainly didn’t feel like the women I spotted at the shelter could call me sister.
My minister was so stirred with my efforts he sent e-mails out to the congregation and my house cleaning experience became infectious as other members sorted out their garages and closets. Closets stuffed with boxes that hadn’t been opened in eons. Word spread further, to local churches and those in other states as members contacted families and shared their experiences. Then the media got involved. People who didn’t have faith in any deity at all got on the band wagon. (Yes, I know there is only one God, but not everyone has caught on to that yet) Not being “religious” didn’t equal being inhumane. Before the month was up women’s shelters, homeless agencies, rehab centers, mission groups and indigent people around the world were receiving blessings.
I was bowled over by the wild fire I had created. No, the credit goes to Cindy. Wrong again, the glory goes to God! Not to mention the blessing I received from a house clutter free. I could find things now. Apparently one person can make a difference if she’s contagious enough. I hope the Center for Disease Control doesn’t get wind of this illness and try to eradicate it! The barrenness of the rooms even produced faint echoes. This actually disturbed me but made my husband euphoric, he now had space to do things in, like spread out his elbows, expand his lungs and breathe. I had to get out of the house and get some air to think.
When Cindy came home from school she asked, ” Why is the car loaded down again? Where did you possibly find more stuff to give away? I thought we had reached rock bottom on ‘disposables’ ”.
“Oh Cindy!” I wailed and hid my face in my hands, alarming her
.
“Mom, what happened?” she cried encircling her arms around me, very concerned.
“It’s Friday.” I offered in the way of an explanation.
“So?” Cindy was completely clueless, and getting more alarmed.
“Cindy. Cindy. You poor innocent child. Friday is the day people with garage sales open for business. I passed by six sales today and found tons of stuff I need…wanted. What am I going to tell your dad?”
Scruffy, his alert ears hearing the front door open, scampered out of the room in search of a bomb shelter.
“Honey, I’m home!”
Proverbs 19:7
Prov. 21:13
1 Cor. 9:1-15
James 2:1-6James 2:15-17
Rev. 3:17
Friday, May 9, 2008
Daddy's Girl
Daddy’s Girl
I know it's around here somewhere. I've seen it before, I know I have it. A picture my mom took of me as a toddler with a black scarf on my head, playing dress up, shrouded in a ray of light that was coming in the window I was guarding. The soft light’s glow made me look so angelic, and from the stories my parents narrated to me frequently this must have been an aberrant day. I was standing there waiting for dad's car to pull into the drive so I could run out to greet him; as I've done so often throughout the years. Whenever I had a problem I'd call dad, cry my heart out and wait for him to rescue me. I was totally dependent on him. He never let me down; though there were times I still had to bear the consequences of my bad choices; in men, in purchases, in friends, in judgments. Waiting for dad. When I broke up with a boyfriend, when one of my children misbehaved, when I got fired. When life got in the way of my having a grand ole time. He was always there to pick up the pieces, and rearrange them into something healthy.
There were also times I hid from dad. When I was skipping out to see a boy after curfew, a big no-no. Or when I was hanging out with the wrong crowd on the school grounds, I would lower my head, letting my hair cover my face so he wouldn't recognize me. (a ploy I discovered latter didn't work!) When I stopped going to church, (for a short time) I wouldn't answer his calls on Sunday, so I wouldn't be found guilty. I was so smothered in self guilt I returned to the regular attendance I was brought up on. Better that than hiding in the dark every Sunday morning afraid of being caught!
When my ex-husband, who dad warned would do me wrong, vanished, (not as a result of alien invasions), dad was there (of course). Abandoned with two small kids way out in the country, dad came and got me, loaded up my things and took me home. Home. I was always welcome at home. Dad stood by me holding a hammer over my head when my errant hubby begged for my forgiveness. If I went back to that loser I'd be knocked unconscious and kept locked up in the basement till the divorce was final, then shipped to another country! This was one time I was given no free choice. I'd asked for his help and darn it all, he would make me take it.
Over time my friends heckled me for being such a daddy's girl. They insisted to mature on my own I needed some slack, some freedom from dad. He didn't need to know all my activities. They didn't have a close relationship with their dads, and I pitied them for that. It was healthier to grow up independently, they insisted. Occasionally I listened to them only to live to regret it, as in the case of the doomed marriage that had come with heavily ignored admonitions.
The reason I even remembered the missing picture I was hunting for was in my hands right now. A similar photographic memory I captured on film of my beloved Tessie, paws on the window sill, eagerly awaiting her “daddy”, my present husband, to come home. She was aware he was outside; her sharp ears having heard the truck pull in and park. She knew the difference between the neighbor’s vehicles and those of her owner's car. Amazing. She eagerly and patiently waited for her human daddy, every evening, and she couldn’t be fooled by an imposter. No way, no how.
I gave up looking for the coveted picture. It was lost somewhere by my magnificent organizational skills. I went to the window to wait expectantly for dad again. Recent problems were getting me down. The world situation; famine, earthquakes, tsunamis, (I didn't know what those were till a few years ago), wars hither and thither, drive bys; the list is an abyss of gloom, sucking me into a bottomless pit of despair. I called dad up earlier and we had a nice long chat ending with a promise that he'd come take me out for a nice dinner as soon as he could.
I didn't see a sign of him anywhere. Cars passed the house, neighbors got their mail, kids got off school buses, couples pushed strollers down the street, but no sign of dad. The radio on the counter announced some marriages taking place in high society, and then covered some deaths of affluent business men. The world was going on as was it’s well established custom. The sun was shining splendidly in the sky, flowers were blooming, bees were buzzing, birds were singing. Business as usual.
I turned my back on the day's routine taking place outside to start dinner. It didn’t look like dad would be coming today. Tessie whimpered, tail wagging, slowly, faster, fastest. Her "daddy" came in the front door and hefted her into his arms. I stopped wasting time waiting for mine, when a loud crack of thunder erupted, vibrating the entire house. Hurrying back to the window I was amazed at the dark clouds that had formed above in the split second I had been gone. This had not been broadcasted on the evening news. Lightening charged the air, rain descended, hail skipped on the ground, thunder bellowed again...Loud music broke forth from somewhere, louder than the din of the rainstorm. Someone was blowing reverie on their trumpet! Then there was dad, just as he promised. He in no way ever broke a promise and here he was to confirm his reliability. He came to make things better for me, just as he'd said he would in our last conversation, moments ago. He came down on a cloud never touching the earth opening his arms up for my husband and me. I just blinked once and my eyes opened to a new reality. I was finally weightless; no scales would call my heavy again! Way, way up yonder we went, along with the rest of my family, brothers and sisters all. Equal in dad’s eyes. No favorites. Some I'd met before, the others I'd have an eternity to get to know.
My days of waiting for dad are finally over. I'm home again, for the last time, for all time. Safe and secure in my father's arms. In my father's home. Sitting at my father’s table eating to my heart’s content. Tessie, who my husband had fiercely clung too when the trumpet sounded, was running around under the table with other pets, (was that a raccoon?), looking for table scraps from their owners, and licking sandaled feet. All dogs do go to heaven.
Math. 24:36
John 10:3-27
1 Thes 4:16
I know it's around here somewhere. I've seen it before, I know I have it. A picture my mom took of me as a toddler with a black scarf on my head, playing dress up, shrouded in a ray of light that was coming in the window I was guarding. The soft light’s glow made me look so angelic, and from the stories my parents narrated to me frequently this must have been an aberrant day. I was standing there waiting for dad's car to pull into the drive so I could run out to greet him; as I've done so often throughout the years. Whenever I had a problem I'd call dad, cry my heart out and wait for him to rescue me. I was totally dependent on him. He never let me down; though there were times I still had to bear the consequences of my bad choices; in men, in purchases, in friends, in judgments. Waiting for dad. When I broke up with a boyfriend, when one of my children misbehaved, when I got fired. When life got in the way of my having a grand ole time. He was always there to pick up the pieces, and rearrange them into something healthy.
There were also times I hid from dad. When I was skipping out to see a boy after curfew, a big no-no. Or when I was hanging out with the wrong crowd on the school grounds, I would lower my head, letting my hair cover my face so he wouldn't recognize me. (a ploy I discovered latter didn't work!) When I stopped going to church, (for a short time) I wouldn't answer his calls on Sunday, so I wouldn't be found guilty. I was so smothered in self guilt I returned to the regular attendance I was brought up on. Better that than hiding in the dark every Sunday morning afraid of being caught!
When my ex-husband, who dad warned would do me wrong, vanished, (not as a result of alien invasions), dad was there (of course). Abandoned with two small kids way out in the country, dad came and got me, loaded up my things and took me home. Home. I was always welcome at home. Dad stood by me holding a hammer over my head when my errant hubby begged for my forgiveness. If I went back to that loser I'd be knocked unconscious and kept locked up in the basement till the divorce was final, then shipped to another country! This was one time I was given no free choice. I'd asked for his help and darn it all, he would make me take it.
Over time my friends heckled me for being such a daddy's girl. They insisted to mature on my own I needed some slack, some freedom from dad. He didn't need to know all my activities. They didn't have a close relationship with their dads, and I pitied them for that. It was healthier to grow up independently, they insisted. Occasionally I listened to them only to live to regret it, as in the case of the doomed marriage that had come with heavily ignored admonitions.
The reason I even remembered the missing picture I was hunting for was in my hands right now. A similar photographic memory I captured on film of my beloved Tessie, paws on the window sill, eagerly awaiting her “daddy”, my present husband, to come home. She was aware he was outside; her sharp ears having heard the truck pull in and park. She knew the difference between the neighbor’s vehicles and those of her owner's car. Amazing. She eagerly and patiently waited for her human daddy, every evening, and she couldn’t be fooled by an imposter. No way, no how.
I gave up looking for the coveted picture. It was lost somewhere by my magnificent organizational skills. I went to the window to wait expectantly for dad again. Recent problems were getting me down. The world situation; famine, earthquakes, tsunamis, (I didn't know what those were till a few years ago), wars hither and thither, drive bys; the list is an abyss of gloom, sucking me into a bottomless pit of despair. I called dad up earlier and we had a nice long chat ending with a promise that he'd come take me out for a nice dinner as soon as he could.
I didn't see a sign of him anywhere. Cars passed the house, neighbors got their mail, kids got off school buses, couples pushed strollers down the street, but no sign of dad. The radio on the counter announced some marriages taking place in high society, and then covered some deaths of affluent business men. The world was going on as was it’s well established custom. The sun was shining splendidly in the sky, flowers were blooming, bees were buzzing, birds were singing. Business as usual.
I turned my back on the day's routine taking place outside to start dinner. It didn’t look like dad would be coming today. Tessie whimpered, tail wagging, slowly, faster, fastest. Her "daddy" came in the front door and hefted her into his arms. I stopped wasting time waiting for mine, when a loud crack of thunder erupted, vibrating the entire house. Hurrying back to the window I was amazed at the dark clouds that had formed above in the split second I had been gone. This had not been broadcasted on the evening news. Lightening charged the air, rain descended, hail skipped on the ground, thunder bellowed again...Loud music broke forth from somewhere, louder than the din of the rainstorm. Someone was blowing reverie on their trumpet! Then there was dad, just as he promised. He in no way ever broke a promise and here he was to confirm his reliability. He came to make things better for me, just as he'd said he would in our last conversation, moments ago. He came down on a cloud never touching the earth opening his arms up for my husband and me. I just blinked once and my eyes opened to a new reality. I was finally weightless; no scales would call my heavy again! Way, way up yonder we went, along with the rest of my family, brothers and sisters all. Equal in dad’s eyes. No favorites. Some I'd met before, the others I'd have an eternity to get to know.
My days of waiting for dad are finally over. I'm home again, for the last time, for all time. Safe and secure in my father's arms. In my father's home. Sitting at my father’s table eating to my heart’s content. Tessie, who my husband had fiercely clung too when the trumpet sounded, was running around under the table with other pets, (was that a raccoon?), looking for table scraps from their owners, and licking sandaled feet. All dogs do go to heaven.
Math. 24:36
John 10:3-27
1 Thes 4:16
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Kicked Out
I was going to be later than usual getting to church tonight. And I had no good reason, I lolly gagged around the house doing nothing but piddling. In the past I've tended to get to evening services too early and got bored waiting to get started. I'm not much of a socializer sometimes and tonight was one of them.
At church I parked in a visitor's slot. I've been told time and again this is for visitor's, to please park in regular parking spaces. My response to the parking lot monitors; "Hey, this makes it look like we really have visitors !" I think the "monitors" turn their backs and pray for my spirit of rebellion to depart. Hey, the parking spaces are closer to the door and I don't care much for exercise.
Tonight was exceptionally windy and as I rushed to the entrance I could have sworn I heard someone say, "Lord, please help me!" It was then I detected the woman crossing the parking lot towards the main doors. I thought she was complaining about the strong "breeze" that was capable of tossing her slight frame to the Land of Oz.
"What did you say?" I asked as she got nearer, expecting some mild complaint about the gusts of wind whipping her hair into her face.
“Oh great you heard me! Let me tell you what just happened. I got kicked out of my house and need thirty three dollars to get a bus to Austin."
"What do you mean you got kicked out of your house?" I asked, aghast that someone would be kicked out on a night like this that promised to be a very wet night.
This question began a story detailing how “Woman” caught her brother in law and his wife stealing from a local business forcing her to turn them in to the police. Of course this angered her mother in law, whose house Woman and her husband lived in with the rest of his family (before they got hauled off to the slammer). Once the mother in law discovered who was responsible for her precious, thieving son being incarcerated Woman was asked to leave the house, with nothing but her purse, which held a cell phone, and the clothes on her back. No support was offered by her whimpy husband so his mother allowed him to stay.
Since I was late to church, the parking lot remained empty throughout Woman’s entire dissertation. I kept praying for witnesses to arrive so I would have someone to collaborate with. Someone who would talk reason to me, preventing me from doing what I was beginning to fear was the inevitable.
Woman kept emphasizing her plan. Get on a bus and head to her daughter’s who she couldn’t contact to wire her money as she didn’t have a phone. This I found hard to believe as I know homeless who have cells, and a post office box to receive their bills!
“How much do you need?” I queried, leery of my reaction. I was known to be impulsive, something I was trying to find a twelve step program for.
“Thirty three dollars, but I already have eleven. It will cost me seventy five cents to catch the local bus to get to the bus station down town.”
I opened my wallet and counted out the difference she was lacking, “Here, let me drive you to the bus station.”
“Oh, no, it’ll be easier to catch the transit. Down town is much to busy.”
“Well, here is a dollar for that. But I insist on driving you to the bus stop."
“But you’ll miss church.” she protested.
“Oh well.”
I led her to my PT Cruiser questioning myself now. What if she had a gun in her purse, what if there was an accomplice nearby? Her story seemed believable. I didn’t smell alcohol on her and she didn’t seem high on drugs.
The transit bus stop was about two miles away with no shelter or bench at the pickup site. I thought this was peculiar. Most of the other bus stops had canopies and seating accommodations. This was a legitimate pick up though. But look, there just happened to be a store handy where Woman informed me she could wait at, since the weather looked nasty. I realized we were now not in a dry area of town, (liquor could be sold and bought here) and I resumed my qualms of Woman possibly purchasing fermented beverages with my donations was I was out of sight.
After I deposited Woman, with the spare Gideon Bible I carry in the glove compartment for reading material as she waited, I drove off I berating myself for my foolishness, yet thankful I hadn't been led blindly to my death by a carefully planned mugging. I imagined her heartily laughing at her profits. It took her 30 minutes to gain twenty three dollars, that's forty six dollars an hour. She gets a better salary than I do. She was probably calling someone now to come pick her up and help her drink her "bus ticket".
I had pretty much missed church so I went on home, telling myself it was in God's hands now. I tried to convince myself I’d only done what God would have expected.
The next morning at the woman's bible study I casually mentioned seeing Woman in the parking lot. Several of the attendees informed me that she was a regular. Woman had a different story every time but it always boiled down to needing some extra cash. She was always offered help by the benevolence committee but refused to fill out the necessary forms. The church wouldn't present her with money, but with coupons for groceries or utilities, that way they controlled fraudulent claims. Pretty sophisticated approach, maybe I should have followed their lead.. Maybe I should have been slower to react even though I felt prompted my God. I I kept my foolishness to myself. I removed a compact from my make up bag to cover the "Sucker" sign tattooed on my forehead. I was amazed it wasn't as bold as I'd imagined. No way was I going to let my friends know how I'd been duped. I'm known for being pretty cheap ( I prefer to call it retirement minded) so I couldn't face the inevitable ribbing I'd get. Why didn't I stay to see what Woman was up to when I left? Because I'm not a private eye, that’s why. I watch enough action/drama TV I should have gotten some spying skills by osmosis. Back to rationalization; I could afford the twenty three dollar lesson I learned. At least it wouldn't send me to the poor house. The only thing that would keep me from feeling like a looser right now was...chocolate, lots and lots of chocolate.
Fast forward a few weeks and some extra pounds (the result of lots and lots of chocolate) and I'm getting on the computer to check my email. Hey, there's a message from a Christian chat room friend I haven't heard from in some time. I scanned the missive and dropped my candy bar. This message required more than a cursory scan; I had to read each word one at a time. Great. My added weight had been unnecessary. It seems my friend had been too busy to correspond with me in a while because her mother had showed up unexpectedly. Her mother's mother in law had evicted her and some wonderful lady (that my friend referred to as better than a good Samaritan), had contributed to the "send mom home" fund. Elaine was ecstatic with gratitude.
She had lost contact with her mother when she had remarried some low life that no one in the family had approve of. Apparently mom didn't make healthy choices and was ashamed to ask for help from her kids. The stranger that had provided the necessary funds for her to make it home, had also provided a bible for reading, something her mom had had plenty of time to accomplish on the bus that made frequent stops, and where she had decided to turn her life over to the only one who truly cared enough to die for her. Her mother was now getting counseling and rehabilitation through an abused women's project in town keeping Elaine on the road a lot between appointments. On the road in ...Austin.
Elaine was so glad she had devoted her spare time to praying for her mother's welfare, especially a few weeks ago when some unknown sensation had caused her to increase her prayerful efforts. I looked at the candy bar at my feet, now being licked by my cat. In a feeding frenzy this wouldn't have deterred me, I'd have picked it up, rinsed it, and resumed where I left off; but now my desire for chocolate induced anesthesia was gone. I dusted off the nearby treadmill and went to work evaporating the results of my favorite comfort food.
Oh, and the next day I met a woman in the parking lot at church begging for money, not the same one that I had aided. I entered the worship auditorium praising God for causing me to be late to church one night making me available to help a woman in need.
At church I parked in a visitor's slot. I've been told time and again this is for visitor's, to please park in regular parking spaces. My response to the parking lot monitors; "Hey, this makes it look like we really have visitors !" I think the "monitors" turn their backs and pray for my spirit of rebellion to depart. Hey, the parking spaces are closer to the door and I don't care much for exercise.
Tonight was exceptionally windy and as I rushed to the entrance I could have sworn I heard someone say, "Lord, please help me!" It was then I detected the woman crossing the parking lot towards the main doors. I thought she was complaining about the strong "breeze" that was capable of tossing her slight frame to the Land of Oz.
"What did you say?" I asked as she got nearer, expecting some mild complaint about the gusts of wind whipping her hair into her face.
“Oh great you heard me! Let me tell you what just happened. I got kicked out of my house and need thirty three dollars to get a bus to Austin."
"What do you mean you got kicked out of your house?" I asked, aghast that someone would be kicked out on a night like this that promised to be a very wet night.
This question began a story detailing how “Woman” caught her brother in law and his wife stealing from a local business forcing her to turn them in to the police. Of course this angered her mother in law, whose house Woman and her husband lived in with the rest of his family (before they got hauled off to the slammer). Once the mother in law discovered who was responsible for her precious, thieving son being incarcerated Woman was asked to leave the house, with nothing but her purse, which held a cell phone, and the clothes on her back. No support was offered by her whimpy husband so his mother allowed him to stay.
Since I was late to church, the parking lot remained empty throughout Woman’s entire dissertation. I kept praying for witnesses to arrive so I would have someone to collaborate with. Someone who would talk reason to me, preventing me from doing what I was beginning to fear was the inevitable.
Woman kept emphasizing her plan. Get on a bus and head to her daughter’s who she couldn’t contact to wire her money as she didn’t have a phone. This I found hard to believe as I know homeless who have cells, and a post office box to receive their bills!
“How much do you need?” I queried, leery of my reaction. I was known to be impulsive, something I was trying to find a twelve step program for.
“Thirty three dollars, but I already have eleven. It will cost me seventy five cents to catch the local bus to get to the bus station down town.”
I opened my wallet and counted out the difference she was lacking, “Here, let me drive you to the bus station.”
“Oh, no, it’ll be easier to catch the transit. Down town is much to busy.”
“Well, here is a dollar for that. But I insist on driving you to the bus stop."
“But you’ll miss church.” she protested.
“Oh well.”
I led her to my PT Cruiser questioning myself now. What if she had a gun in her purse, what if there was an accomplice nearby? Her story seemed believable. I didn’t smell alcohol on her and she didn’t seem high on drugs.
The transit bus stop was about two miles away with no shelter or bench at the pickup site. I thought this was peculiar. Most of the other bus stops had canopies and seating accommodations. This was a legitimate pick up though. But look, there just happened to be a store handy where Woman informed me she could wait at, since the weather looked nasty. I realized we were now not in a dry area of town, (liquor could be sold and bought here) and I resumed my qualms of Woman possibly purchasing fermented beverages with my donations was I was out of sight.
After I deposited Woman, with the spare Gideon Bible I carry in the glove compartment for reading material as she waited, I drove off I berating myself for my foolishness, yet thankful I hadn't been led blindly to my death by a carefully planned mugging. I imagined her heartily laughing at her profits. It took her 30 minutes to gain twenty three dollars, that's forty six dollars an hour. She gets a better salary than I do. She was probably calling someone now to come pick her up and help her drink her "bus ticket".
I had pretty much missed church so I went on home, telling myself it was in God's hands now. I tried to convince myself I’d only done what God would have expected.
The next morning at the woman's bible study I casually mentioned seeing Woman in the parking lot. Several of the attendees informed me that she was a regular. Woman had a different story every time but it always boiled down to needing some extra cash. She was always offered help by the benevolence committee but refused to fill out the necessary forms. The church wouldn't present her with money, but with coupons for groceries or utilities, that way they controlled fraudulent claims. Pretty sophisticated approach, maybe I should have followed their lead.. Maybe I should have been slower to react even though I felt prompted my God. I I kept my foolishness to myself. I removed a compact from my make up bag to cover the "Sucker" sign tattooed on my forehead. I was amazed it wasn't as bold as I'd imagined. No way was I going to let my friends know how I'd been duped. I'm known for being pretty cheap ( I prefer to call it retirement minded) so I couldn't face the inevitable ribbing I'd get. Why didn't I stay to see what Woman was up to when I left? Because I'm not a private eye, that’s why. I watch enough action/drama TV I should have gotten some spying skills by osmosis. Back to rationalization; I could afford the twenty three dollar lesson I learned. At least it wouldn't send me to the poor house. The only thing that would keep me from feeling like a looser right now was...chocolate, lots and lots of chocolate.
Fast forward a few weeks and some extra pounds (the result of lots and lots of chocolate) and I'm getting on the computer to check my email. Hey, there's a message from a Christian chat room friend I haven't heard from in some time. I scanned the missive and dropped my candy bar. This message required more than a cursory scan; I had to read each word one at a time. Great. My added weight had been unnecessary. It seems my friend had been too busy to correspond with me in a while because her mother had showed up unexpectedly. Her mother's mother in law had evicted her and some wonderful lady (that my friend referred to as better than a good Samaritan), had contributed to the "send mom home" fund. Elaine was ecstatic with gratitude.
She had lost contact with her mother when she had remarried some low life that no one in the family had approve of. Apparently mom didn't make healthy choices and was ashamed to ask for help from her kids. The stranger that had provided the necessary funds for her to make it home, had also provided a bible for reading, something her mom had had plenty of time to accomplish on the bus that made frequent stops, and where she had decided to turn her life over to the only one who truly cared enough to die for her. Her mother was now getting counseling and rehabilitation through an abused women's project in town keeping Elaine on the road a lot between appointments. On the road in ...Austin.
Elaine was so glad she had devoted her spare time to praying for her mother's welfare, especially a few weeks ago when some unknown sensation had caused her to increase her prayerful efforts. I looked at the candy bar at my feet, now being licked by my cat. In a feeding frenzy this wouldn't have deterred me, I'd have picked it up, rinsed it, and resumed where I left off; but now my desire for chocolate induced anesthesia was gone. I dusted off the nearby treadmill and went to work evaporating the results of my favorite comfort food.
Oh, and the next day I met a woman in the parking lot at church begging for money, not the same one that I had aided. I entered the worship auditorium praising God for causing me to be late to church one night making me available to help a woman in need.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Playing Hooky
Man, what a good nights sleep, I thought, as I stretched and yawned. Looking around me I realized how early it still was. There was time for a morning flight before I reported to class. Great. Nothing I loved more that soaring through the air watching the stars fade and the sun rise.
The first thing I heard as I was getting ready for take off, was “Whooo, Whooo,”
“Good morning Mr. Owl,” I said as I extended my wings. His enormous eyes looked at me without blinking. I suspected he was waiting for something. Sure enough, done on the ground I saw something hesitate, then whiskers appeared, a little nose twitched, sniffing about, then two long ears popped out of a opening under Mr. Owl’s tree. Mr. Owl had not moved a feather. He was waiting patiently for dinner. I couldn’t stand it, I wouldn’t let Mrs. Rabbit meet her demise today, not while I was watching. “Shoo,” I yelled and two long ears and a nose submerged below the ground once again. I couldn’t help it, I’m pro live. Mr. Owl scowled at me then flailed his wingsHe’d just have to settle for mice tonight, sorry, I agree with humans, mice are creepy. I feared he would target me with his claws and beaks but no, he just flew away with ruffled feathers.
I followed suit, flying into the sunrise. The colors on the horizon were splendid as light crept into the darkness and overcame it. Fingers of orange and red crept into the blackness, melting it as the sun transformed itself from an orange basketball in to a ball of fire. The coolness of night evaporated into the warmness of morning. Flowers started to appear under me, trees started to sing, well actually it’s occupants started to sing. Surely I didn’t have to tell you trees can’t sing. The magical paint brush took over as hill and dale became brighter and brighter spotted with blues, violets, yellows and greens. Rain sprinkled down and nourished plant life before filling rambling rivers that flowed over smooth rocks on their way to bigger bodies of water.
As I headed west I spotted night creatures yawning and creeping into caves, holes and tree trunks while the day animals crept out of caves, holes and tree trunks. A mother deer strolled to a river coaxing Bambi along, who just wanted to play with his bunny friend, Thumper and his skunk friend, Flowers. Foxes came out to hunt for breakfast while their breakfasts came out to invade the area gardens. Eat all the carrots you want, I don’t care for them myself, I encouraged Mr. Cotton tail while I distracted Mr. Farmer.
As I made my way over the ocean, gargantuan Orcas blew salty water up at me splashing the surface with their tails. Two ton infants swam under their moms and were rewarded with squirts of milk. Luckily mom didn’t have to attempt to burp these nursing children. It’s hard to believe those creatures gain 150 pounds a day! No wonder they can’t fly. Dolphins competed playfully against each other with their synchronized swims. They were trying to impress me, and they succeeded. What a magnificent sight. I joined in the fun, diving in and out of the water beside them. Oh, that’s so refreshing. Suddenly I got entangled in a school of fish that were being sucked into the digestive system of a whale. Tumbling around inside a cavernous stomach I struggled to get my bearings, then shot up and out through Mr. Whale’s blow hole. Feathers went everywhere! I hope they grow back!
Sharks, one of the last remnants of my favorite dinosaur containing era, surfaced and sliced the water with their fins, menacingly circling about. They stayed a safe distance from their foes the dolphins. They didn’t scare me….much. Anyway, all I was good for was soul food.
Further and further I flew, higher and higher the sun rose. More color appeared under me exposed by the rays of light. Bears scavenging near camp grounds looking for chocolate or other goodies. The smell of coffee drifted up to me. I never had a taste for the stuff but it sure smelled good.
Trees spread their branches out, teeming with colorful species of operatic parrots and such . Corn fields grew abundant stalks, with scare crows strategically positioned so the crows could make good use of them as perches. Yea, like scare crows are really scary to hungry birds. Hunger trumps fear! Cows grazed in pastures while sheep bleated up in the mountains. Oh, my gosh, that wolf is slinking towards a stray lamb. I know in the near future the lamb and wolf will lie down together, but right now only one would get back up! I swooped down and interfered once again in the cycle of life, returning the little darling back to the flock. The sheep dog fainted when he saw the lucky stray plunge down from the air and back into the fold. Maybe I should have let him see me!
Further and further I flew. The warmth started dissipate the further north I flew. Floating islands of ice appeared below me that held large groups of walruses more at home in the freezing climate than I would be if this was where I hung my clothes. Actually, if I lived here I’d never take my clothes off. Oh, oh. That poor baby. A little walrus was floating out to sea on a small ice floe. He was flopping around trying to decide whether to dive into the water in search of mommy. I whistled shrilly and out popped a head from the icy cold blue water. Mommy pushed the floe in the direction of larger ice shelves that held cliffs and hiding places. The global warming was melting the glaciers and more and more calves are being swept away from their mother‘s, dying alone. Like I said, I’m pro life. I wish the stewards of this planet had had more foresight and less ignorance about their surroundings, they only get one chance….down here.
I was coming up over open spaces now. Oh, look at that, striped horses racing across the savannah, manes airborne. Wait a minute, they’re not running for their health. There it is, a lioness out doing the dirty work for her husband and pride, not her pride, the group she lives with. She’s in crouch position. One. Two. Three. She lunged forward. Oops. What tripped her? Darn I have such big feet. I should be ashamed of myself. Oh, well. Did I mention I was pro-life? Mrs. Lion sulked off, glowering at me. She wasn’t going to take on a fight she’d loose. The zebra halted meters away and tossed their heads at me, gratefully. I’m sure they wished I was around more often. Then they walked at a steady pace to distance themselves from danger.
Oh, my gosh, Look at the time. I’m not only late for class, I think it’s over! I hit the gas, so to speak and jetted upward to the clouds, white, fluffy soft wisps of air filled with water droplets. I received a refreshing sort of shower as I passed through them, fully clothed. I’m not a nudist. I scanned the upper side of the billowy white fluffs looking for my teacher. There he was, loading up his instrument, strapping it to his back. My class mates doing them same.
“Well, where have you been. You’ll never learn to play if you keep missing class.” He lectured.
“I’m sorry, I was just enjoying the ‘day the lord hath made.’ ” I answered, not making excuses, just stating facts. I left out the part where I intervened in the course of nature several times. I was ready for my punishment. Extra practice? Suspension? Expulsion?
Teach rubbed his jaw assimilating this information. “You know, that would be a great field trip, we haven’t done that in some time.” He faced the dissembling group and announced, “Field day tomorrow, no harp lessons.” A cheer went up from all angels present. I was ecstatic, two days circling the globe! Maybe tomorrow I‘ll breeze over the other hemisphere! “But you,” he continued, “will stay here and go over today’s lesson.” He handed me a musical score that would take several days to learn..
My wings sagged. Oh, well, even angels have to follow the rules.
Psalm 50:10
Psalm 65:9-13
Psalm 118:24
Isaiah 65:25
Jonah 2
The first thing I heard as I was getting ready for take off, was “Whooo, Whooo,”
“Good morning Mr. Owl,” I said as I extended my wings. His enormous eyes looked at me without blinking. I suspected he was waiting for something. Sure enough, done on the ground I saw something hesitate, then whiskers appeared, a little nose twitched, sniffing about, then two long ears popped out of a opening under Mr. Owl’s tree. Mr. Owl had not moved a feather. He was waiting patiently for dinner. I couldn’t stand it, I wouldn’t let Mrs. Rabbit meet her demise today, not while I was watching. “Shoo,” I yelled and two long ears and a nose submerged below the ground once again. I couldn’t help it, I’m pro live. Mr. Owl scowled at me then flailed his wingsHe’d just have to settle for mice tonight, sorry, I agree with humans, mice are creepy. I feared he would target me with his claws and beaks but no, he just flew away with ruffled feathers.
I followed suit, flying into the sunrise. The colors on the horizon were splendid as light crept into the darkness and overcame it. Fingers of orange and red crept into the blackness, melting it as the sun transformed itself from an orange basketball in to a ball of fire. The coolness of night evaporated into the warmness of morning. Flowers started to appear under me, trees started to sing, well actually it’s occupants started to sing. Surely I didn’t have to tell you trees can’t sing. The magical paint brush took over as hill and dale became brighter and brighter spotted with blues, violets, yellows and greens. Rain sprinkled down and nourished plant life before filling rambling rivers that flowed over smooth rocks on their way to bigger bodies of water.
As I headed west I spotted night creatures yawning and creeping into caves, holes and tree trunks while the day animals crept out of caves, holes and tree trunks. A mother deer strolled to a river coaxing Bambi along, who just wanted to play with his bunny friend, Thumper and his skunk friend, Flowers. Foxes came out to hunt for breakfast while their breakfasts came out to invade the area gardens. Eat all the carrots you want, I don’t care for them myself, I encouraged Mr. Cotton tail while I distracted Mr. Farmer.
As I made my way over the ocean, gargantuan Orcas blew salty water up at me splashing the surface with their tails. Two ton infants swam under their moms and were rewarded with squirts of milk. Luckily mom didn’t have to attempt to burp these nursing children. It’s hard to believe those creatures gain 150 pounds a day! No wonder they can’t fly. Dolphins competed playfully against each other with their synchronized swims. They were trying to impress me, and they succeeded. What a magnificent sight. I joined in the fun, diving in and out of the water beside them. Oh, that’s so refreshing. Suddenly I got entangled in a school of fish that were being sucked into the digestive system of a whale. Tumbling around inside a cavernous stomach I struggled to get my bearings, then shot up and out through Mr. Whale’s blow hole. Feathers went everywhere! I hope they grow back!
Sharks, one of the last remnants of my favorite dinosaur containing era, surfaced and sliced the water with their fins, menacingly circling about. They stayed a safe distance from their foes the dolphins. They didn’t scare me….much. Anyway, all I was good for was soul food.
Further and further I flew, higher and higher the sun rose. More color appeared under me exposed by the rays of light. Bears scavenging near camp grounds looking for chocolate or other goodies. The smell of coffee drifted up to me. I never had a taste for the stuff but it sure smelled good.
Trees spread their branches out, teeming with colorful species of operatic parrots and such . Corn fields grew abundant stalks, with scare crows strategically positioned so the crows could make good use of them as perches. Yea, like scare crows are really scary to hungry birds. Hunger trumps fear! Cows grazed in pastures while sheep bleated up in the mountains. Oh, my gosh, that wolf is slinking towards a stray lamb. I know in the near future the lamb and wolf will lie down together, but right now only one would get back up! I swooped down and interfered once again in the cycle of life, returning the little darling back to the flock. The sheep dog fainted when he saw the lucky stray plunge down from the air and back into the fold. Maybe I should have let him see me!
Further and further I flew. The warmth started dissipate the further north I flew. Floating islands of ice appeared below me that held large groups of walruses more at home in the freezing climate than I would be if this was where I hung my clothes. Actually, if I lived here I’d never take my clothes off. Oh, oh. That poor baby. A little walrus was floating out to sea on a small ice floe. He was flopping around trying to decide whether to dive into the water in search of mommy. I whistled shrilly and out popped a head from the icy cold blue water. Mommy pushed the floe in the direction of larger ice shelves that held cliffs and hiding places. The global warming was melting the glaciers and more and more calves are being swept away from their mother‘s, dying alone. Like I said, I’m pro life. I wish the stewards of this planet had had more foresight and less ignorance about their surroundings, they only get one chance….down here.
I was coming up over open spaces now. Oh, look at that, striped horses racing across the savannah, manes airborne. Wait a minute, they’re not running for their health. There it is, a lioness out doing the dirty work for her husband and pride, not her pride, the group she lives with. She’s in crouch position. One. Two. Three. She lunged forward. Oops. What tripped her? Darn I have such big feet. I should be ashamed of myself. Oh, well. Did I mention I was pro-life? Mrs. Lion sulked off, glowering at me. She wasn’t going to take on a fight she’d loose. The zebra halted meters away and tossed their heads at me, gratefully. I’m sure they wished I was around more often. Then they walked at a steady pace to distance themselves from danger.
Oh, my gosh, Look at the time. I’m not only late for class, I think it’s over! I hit the gas, so to speak and jetted upward to the clouds, white, fluffy soft wisps of air filled with water droplets. I received a refreshing sort of shower as I passed through them, fully clothed. I’m not a nudist. I scanned the upper side of the billowy white fluffs looking for my teacher. There he was, loading up his instrument, strapping it to his back. My class mates doing them same.
“Well, where have you been. You’ll never learn to play if you keep missing class.” He lectured.
“I’m sorry, I was just enjoying the ‘day the lord hath made.’ ” I answered, not making excuses, just stating facts. I left out the part where I intervened in the course of nature several times. I was ready for my punishment. Extra practice? Suspension? Expulsion?
Teach rubbed his jaw assimilating this information. “You know, that would be a great field trip, we haven’t done that in some time.” He faced the dissembling group and announced, “Field day tomorrow, no harp lessons.” A cheer went up from all angels present. I was ecstatic, two days circling the globe! Maybe tomorrow I‘ll breeze over the other hemisphere! “But you,” he continued, “will stay here and go over today’s lesson.” He handed me a musical score that would take several days to learn..
My wings sagged. Oh, well, even angels have to follow the rules.
Psalm 50:10
Psalm 65:9-13
Psalm 118:24
Isaiah 65:25
Jonah 2
the lunch guest
the Lunch guest
There he sat, in the choir looking so angelic. Little did the congregation know how hateful he could be. As I watched him smiling and singing my heart turned over and over with the hurtful words he’d hurled at me before we left for church, in separate cars. And to top it off, as I watched him, the guy behind him watched me. A triangle of watchers! I avoided His eyes while my husband, Jeff, avoided looking at me. It was so totally uncomfortable that I was overjoyed (a slice of the silver lining in the black cloud that hung over me) to hear the final benediction so I could flee to my car. Jeff stayed with the choir members and would come home in his own car later. Maybe he’d find his stuff thrown out on the front lawn, a constant fantasy of mine!
At home I relived the entire morning over and over allowing tears to drip onto the food I was preparing for my lunch. I prepared a salad for myself, Jeff would be going to his mother’s for lunch. I was invited also, of course, but there was no way I felt like being near his family today. This was my way of cutting off my nose to spite my face, his mother always provided a lavish Sunday meal.
Great, some one was at the front door. Should I answer it or not. It was probably someone from the paper trying to get a subscription, or a religious zealot seeking converts to their church! I scrunched up on the couch so I wouldn’t be seen from the door’s window. Rap. Rap. Rap, rap, rap. Oh, bother. I got up an peeked out the window in time to see Him place his feet on the first step down off the porch. The second foot followed, then the next foot. Darn it all! I opened the door. My visitor turned, smiled, nodded and walked in. Don’t bother to ask or say hi.
He settled Himself on the sofa, looked at my solitary meal sitting on the coffee table, and the litter about me, then He raised a brow and scrutinized me. Tissue was wadded up all over the room and a full, well it was full once, box of Kleenex was sitting on the end table. It was a pathetic sight.
“Wasn’t that an inspirational sermon?” He opened the conversation, a safe topic.
“Yea,” I answered. Should I offer him something to eat? “Would you like some salad and something to drink?” Say no, that’ll mean you don’t plan on staying long!
“Sure.” He responded. Well, there you go, He can’t read minds after all! I divided up my huge salad onto two plates, added some bread and fruit and presto, a meal for two. I won’t tell him how I cleaned the lettuce with my tears, let him think it was just too salty.
“So what was your favorite part of the sermon?” He quizzed.
Oops, now it stopped being a safe topic, I hadn’t really listened, so caught up was I in anger and self flagellation for being a doormat. If He'd asked what my plans for retaliation were, I would have been a verbal fountain.
“Well….I …the part….”
“Hmmm. I see. The sermon was on love and forgiveness.”
“Yeah, I know. I was there.” I retorted, shifting uncomfortably.
“No, you weren’t. You were off in another world, plotting revenge and planning on a pay back.” He proclaimed without reproach, just factually.
I lowered my eyes. I couldn’t face Him right now. How dare he make me feel uncomfortable in my own home. His eyes were bearing down on me, I felt my clothes dissolve. I pictured my heart on a ultra sound machine beating visibly for Him. No, it wasn’t beating in rhythm. It was too cold to beat at a normal rate. It was calcifying, becoming harder, less efficient.
He placed his hand on my knee, not in a inappropriate manner, just gently to get my attention. When He removed his hand a red spot remained on my jeans. Blood?
“Vengeance is God’s. It’s your job to love and forgive.”
“You don’t know what he said to me this morning! You’ve never been hurt like I was!” I exploded. How dare he judge me. How dare He intrude into my brain and heart. What a pervert, what a busy body.
“You’re right. I have never trusted someone and been disappointed.” He stated leaning back on the sofa.
Suddenly light appeared on the wall in front of me. Something took shape like a movie reel. Two men were standing in a garden and I could see a crowd of official looking men in the background wearing military suits. There He was, being approached by one of his friends. The friend laid his hand on His shoulder and leaned in with a kiss, then pandemonium broke loose as men were shoved about and He was handcuffed and escorted out of the scene, tears rolling down His cheeks, tears on a face that looked like mine!
"I just want to hurt him!" I cried, "I want him to cry like he made me cry!"
He reached over to a picture of Jeff on the side table. Removing the picture from the frame he held it up. "Here, beat the heck out of this, if it'll make you feel better." He offered.
I was ready, fist formed anger filling my soul. Vengeance on the rise. I could taste the pain I was going to inflict on Jeff. Right before I sent my fist flying I pulled back. "Wait, if you hold the picture that high and so close to your face I'll hit you! Move the picture over and to the side!"
"That's my point. Whenever you hurt one of the least in my kingdom, you hurt me! I stand behind all my children."
It finally penetrated my understanding. The sermon this morning had been aimed at me. Strategically spoken, personally delivered. I missed the point. The sacrificial lamb had to follow me home. Make sure I understood. The phone rang as I was digesting my revelation.
"Hey, come on over here, Sissy {his sister} made a neat dessert. You need to try it out!" Jeff, casually, informally inviting me over to his mother's. No apology, just picking up at a different spot in our lives.
I looked at Him, He shrugged. "He's a man, that might be the closest you get to an apology. Go for it," He prompted. "Besides, I'm the only man I know that's never had to say he's sorry," he added with a devilish grin.
"I'll be right there." I informed Jeff. Returning the phone to the receiver I reached for my keys. "Do you want a ride home," I offered.
Opening his arms to engulf me in a comforting, and encouraging hug, He stated, "I'm already home." As we embraced he vaporized in my hold. The mist he formed rose and entered my air passages, filled my lungs and disapated into my blood stream. I felt my heart softening, warming, beating regularly. Painlessly. There was a red stain on the sofa where His back had rested. I don't think I'll bother to have it cleaned.
On the way to my car I spotted the bloody foot steps leading to my house. Footsteps He had left when He came to visit me. I'm sure if I traced the steps they'd lead back to the church, into the sanctuary, up to the alter and the cross behind it where two feet had been pierced with a rusty nail two thousand years ago.
Math. 6:14
Math 9:6
Math 18:21
Math 25:40-45
1 john 3:13-15
1 John 4:20
There he sat, in the choir looking so angelic. Little did the congregation know how hateful he could be. As I watched him smiling and singing my heart turned over and over with the hurtful words he’d hurled at me before we left for church, in separate cars. And to top it off, as I watched him, the guy behind him watched me. A triangle of watchers! I avoided His eyes while my husband, Jeff, avoided looking at me. It was so totally uncomfortable that I was overjoyed (a slice of the silver lining in the black cloud that hung over me) to hear the final benediction so I could flee to my car. Jeff stayed with the choir members and would come home in his own car later. Maybe he’d find his stuff thrown out on the front lawn, a constant fantasy of mine!
At home I relived the entire morning over and over allowing tears to drip onto the food I was preparing for my lunch. I prepared a salad for myself, Jeff would be going to his mother’s for lunch. I was invited also, of course, but there was no way I felt like being near his family today. This was my way of cutting off my nose to spite my face, his mother always provided a lavish Sunday meal.
Great, some one was at the front door. Should I answer it or not. It was probably someone from the paper trying to get a subscription, or a religious zealot seeking converts to their church! I scrunched up on the couch so I wouldn’t be seen from the door’s window. Rap. Rap. Rap, rap, rap. Oh, bother. I got up an peeked out the window in time to see Him place his feet on the first step down off the porch. The second foot followed, then the next foot. Darn it all! I opened the door. My visitor turned, smiled, nodded and walked in. Don’t bother to ask or say hi.
He settled Himself on the sofa, looked at my solitary meal sitting on the coffee table, and the litter about me, then He raised a brow and scrutinized me. Tissue was wadded up all over the room and a full, well it was full once, box of Kleenex was sitting on the end table. It was a pathetic sight.
“Wasn’t that an inspirational sermon?” He opened the conversation, a safe topic.
“Yea,” I answered. Should I offer him something to eat? “Would you like some salad and something to drink?” Say no, that’ll mean you don’t plan on staying long!
“Sure.” He responded. Well, there you go, He can’t read minds after all! I divided up my huge salad onto two plates, added some bread and fruit and presto, a meal for two. I won’t tell him how I cleaned the lettuce with my tears, let him think it was just too salty.
“So what was your favorite part of the sermon?” He quizzed.
Oops, now it stopped being a safe topic, I hadn’t really listened, so caught up was I in anger and self flagellation for being a doormat. If He'd asked what my plans for retaliation were, I would have been a verbal fountain.
“Well….I …the part….”
“Hmmm. I see. The sermon was on love and forgiveness.”
“Yeah, I know. I was there.” I retorted, shifting uncomfortably.
“No, you weren’t. You were off in another world, plotting revenge and planning on a pay back.” He proclaimed without reproach, just factually.
I lowered my eyes. I couldn’t face Him right now. How dare he make me feel uncomfortable in my own home. His eyes were bearing down on me, I felt my clothes dissolve. I pictured my heart on a ultra sound machine beating visibly for Him. No, it wasn’t beating in rhythm. It was too cold to beat at a normal rate. It was calcifying, becoming harder, less efficient.
He placed his hand on my knee, not in a inappropriate manner, just gently to get my attention. When He removed his hand a red spot remained on my jeans. Blood?
“Vengeance is God’s. It’s your job to love and forgive.”
“You don’t know what he said to me this morning! You’ve never been hurt like I was!” I exploded. How dare he judge me. How dare He intrude into my brain and heart. What a pervert, what a busy body.
“You’re right. I have never trusted someone and been disappointed.” He stated leaning back on the sofa.
Suddenly light appeared on the wall in front of me. Something took shape like a movie reel. Two men were standing in a garden and I could see a crowd of official looking men in the background wearing military suits. There He was, being approached by one of his friends. The friend laid his hand on His shoulder and leaned in with a kiss, then pandemonium broke loose as men were shoved about and He was handcuffed and escorted out of the scene, tears rolling down His cheeks, tears on a face that looked like mine!
"I just want to hurt him!" I cried, "I want him to cry like he made me cry!"
He reached over to a picture of Jeff on the side table. Removing the picture from the frame he held it up. "Here, beat the heck out of this, if it'll make you feel better." He offered.
I was ready, fist formed anger filling my soul. Vengeance on the rise. I could taste the pain I was going to inflict on Jeff. Right before I sent my fist flying I pulled back. "Wait, if you hold the picture that high and so close to your face I'll hit you! Move the picture over and to the side!"
"That's my point. Whenever you hurt one of the least in my kingdom, you hurt me! I stand behind all my children."
It finally penetrated my understanding. The sermon this morning had been aimed at me. Strategically spoken, personally delivered. I missed the point. The sacrificial lamb had to follow me home. Make sure I understood. The phone rang as I was digesting my revelation.
"Hey, come on over here, Sissy {his sister} made a neat dessert. You need to try it out!" Jeff, casually, informally inviting me over to his mother's. No apology, just picking up at a different spot in our lives.
I looked at Him, He shrugged. "He's a man, that might be the closest you get to an apology. Go for it," He prompted. "Besides, I'm the only man I know that's never had to say he's sorry," he added with a devilish grin.
"I'll be right there." I informed Jeff. Returning the phone to the receiver I reached for my keys. "Do you want a ride home," I offered.
Opening his arms to engulf me in a comforting, and encouraging hug, He stated, "I'm already home." As we embraced he vaporized in my hold. The mist he formed rose and entered my air passages, filled my lungs and disapated into my blood stream. I felt my heart softening, warming, beating regularly. Painlessly. There was a red stain on the sofa where His back had rested. I don't think I'll bother to have it cleaned.
On the way to my car I spotted the bloody foot steps leading to my house. Footsteps He had left when He came to visit me. I'm sure if I traced the steps they'd lead back to the church, into the sanctuary, up to the alter and the cross behind it where two feet had been pierced with a rusty nail two thousand years ago.
Math. 6:14
Math 9:6
Math 18:21
Math 25:40-45
1 john 3:13-15
1 John 4:20
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)