Twenty two years. That is how much of my life was wasted. Hurtful years, lonely years. I’d go to work by myself, I’d come home to an empty house. I’d cook and eat and go to bed. In between I’d walk the dogs and clean the kitchen and talk to myself. Oh, occasionally this man would show up. He’d complain about the dogs, the house, the mattress on the bed, the food I cooked (if I bothered to cook, past experiences showed me the futility of fixing a meal for two). If I bought something he’d explain how I wasted my money, the furniture I ordered (and designed, wow, was that was fun!) for the sunroom was tacky, bad workmanship, just thrown together. Everyone else loved it; south western décor is in, at least here in Texas (his native state, by the way). He had been consulted about the furniture but made noncommittal responses so I had to work with my own judgment and likes.
He wore the clothes I washed weekly, ate the groceries I brought home, washed with the water, read by the electricity and enjoyed the health care I paid for, but bike trip vacations he had money for. Vacations that didn’t include me, but that was okay, really, it gave me time alone to relax free from criticism and negativity. I paid for our twentieth anniversary (I was surprised he could fit it into his schedule) weekend in a nice resort motel. I paid for the dining and sightseeing. He just came along for the ride: to complain about the directions getting there and getting home.
Now he was packing up and leaving, at my request. I had prayed about it and decided it was my only remedy. And I was crying, resisting feeling better. Why? Because of twenty two wasted years. I felt God had abandoned me. I felt like I wasn’t saved (after all Alex had pointed out my Christian failings often enough). I felt lonelier than ever. My heart felt like it was being pulled apart by laughing demons with sizzling claws who were straight out of the fire pit I was sure to call home some day. Why? Because I couldn’t shoulder my cross any longer. I couldn’t (or didn’t want to) support Alex for the rest of my life. I couldn’t take anymore censorship and tactless words. I couldn’t accept watching him act sweet and divine at church, in the choir and with the kids from the church bus he drove and then come home and unveil his alternate ego with me.
Oh I cried. I begged God to help me but got no answer. I wanted help now, not later, because this was an emergency call, a 911 call to heaven. This wasn’t the kind of hurt that could wait for an appointment; it needed to be treated immediately. But what did I want?
As Alex loaded up the last of his belongings and drove into the sunset I was gasping for air. Alex had been right about everything he’d said about me. I was useless, unstable, stingy, unlovable. Probably not even Christian! I begged God for help again and again. Tears spilled forming a moat about my feet. I’m sure my carpet was mildewing and rotting the wood underneath.
I got on Guidepost.org to request prayer, and then I read the prayers of others in pain. Children with cancer, parents dying, hurricane victims, joblessness, drug addicts, and people praying for lost (not missing) relatives, alcoholics, pregnant teenagers, miscarriages, AIDS victims, Lou Gerrig’s disease. Wow, there sure was a lot of hurting going on among fellow Christians. My prayer was one of many leafs in a bonfire. It certainly could not get as much consideration as the life and death prayers.
I went to bed in the customary fashion, “Alone, again”, I proclaimed. My dog Scruffy, who has excellent understanding of the human language, shook the dust off of his feet and moved to the other side of the bed to let me realize he wasn’t just chopped liver. This time I knew Alex wouldn’t be traipsing in from doing all his good deeds after I was asleep and he wouldn’t be staying in bed in the morning while I fixed the coffee, breakfast, washed his clothes and cleaned our house. Why did that sound pathetic? As I drifted off to sleep I felt something soft and feathery brush my face. I assumed it was Scruffy snuggling up to forgive me; I was too deep into somnolence to rouse. Not even hours later when the phone rang and rang and rang. Why wasn’t the answering service picking it up after four rings? Keeping my head buried under the pillow I stretched my arms out to the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Is Marcy there?” an accented voice asked.
“You’ve got the wrong number,” I mumbled stretching the phone back to its home.
“Is this not……”The voice read out my unlisted number, (you don’t think I’d write it here for the public to know, do you?)
“Yes, but no Marcy lives here.” My voice croaked, after all my vocal cords were roughened from crying.
“I’m sorry….(pause)..Are you alright?” The voice asked after I sniffled. It seems I was even crying in my sleep.
“What? Oh, yea, fine thanks.” I wanted to go back to sleep to re -anesthetize myself with unconsciousness, the question of the hour was why didn’t I just hang up?
“I don’t believe you.” Who was this voice with no physical substance? Calling the wrong number late at night and not letting me off the phone. What rudeness.
I don’t know how it happened but before long I had revealed my life history. Years of not getting anything right, from how I walked the dogs, did the laundry, cleaned the house, bought pots and pans, warmed up the car. And worse yet, how I thought I had been a Christian till Alex kept calling me a hypocrite. Oh, I fought back. I had a sharp tongue also, when provoked, but his words settled in anyway and grew roots deep into my subconscious sprouting products of doubt and insecurities.
“Your husband seems to suffer from heart failure,” my confessor responded.
“Huh?”
“Failure to have a heart, Alex claims he loves God but doesn’t treat you with love. How can he possibly love someone he hasn’t seen if he can’t love you?” The voice quizzed. “Besides, it’s not his job to judge you; you’re God’s servant, not his.”
“But I can’t say I act any better, I’m pretty sinful, if I make as many mistakes as Alex says I do, how can God love me? If I can’t please humans how can I please someone totally holy and just?”
“You pleased God that day in June as you lay in bed when you accepted Jesus, the day your girlfriend introduced you to the prayer of salvation.” Funny, I must have told him that but I can’t remember doing so. That’s what comes from talking in your sleep.
“Could he love me even if I was only 90 percent good?” I had high standards for myself.
“He’d love you if you were only 80 percent good.”
“What about 70 percent, surely he’d expect more from me.”
“No, you could be only 10 percent good and he’d still love you.”
“What about 9 percent?” Talk about testing the limits.
“Don’t push it. My patience is running out!”Was the answer I got. I detonated into laughter. Oh, how good to know I could still laugh.
Getting serious again I stated, “I’m just sorry I wasted the last twenty two years of my life.”
“You’re a cup is half empty kind of girl, aren’t you? Look at it this way; at least you’re not going to waste the next twenty two years.” Astounding. Brilliant. I hadn’t looked that far yet.
I awoke in the morning feeling rejuvenated. I couldn’t remember why I had been crying…oh, yea, Alex moved out. I didn’t feel like crying anymore. Wow, awesome. I pressed my hand against my chest. No pain. No symptoms of a broken heart. No tenderness, swelling, or aching. Something had happened last night, but what? I tried to get my brain to gear up which is pre-coffee-hard-to-do. Something had…oh the phone…a stranger…..
I grabbed the receiver to inspect the caller I.D. Whoever I spoke to last night deserved a thank you card, maybe with a gift certificate. He had been better than any paid counselor.
The caller I.D. said “Out of Area”.
What did I smell? Coffee? Just what I needed but I hadn’t started any last night. I was too upset. I followed the smell to the kitchen. The table was set with pancakes, eggs, and sausage. The dishes used to prepare the repast were cleaned and on the drain board. There was a new peculiar area rug around the table. Unnerving, to say the least. A card on the table beckoned to me.
Looking around to make sure I was alone I read, “Have a blessed day, love Gabrielle.” I dropped the card and passed out onto a floor layered in glowing feathers. God had answered my 911 call and sent a heavenly paramedic. My problem was just as important to Him as anyone else’s at Guideposts.com!Gen.
Gen. 18:22-33
1 King 19:5-8
psalm 30:1-5
Math 1:20
Math.18:6-9
Rom 14:41
Peter 5:6-11
Forms of mental and emotional abuse:Mental or emotional abuse can take place in varied situations like these:
• Extramarital affairs
• Excessive criticism suffered at the hands of your spouse
• Excessive humiliation
• A provoking tendency of your partner
• Miscommunication or refusing to communicate at all
• Sarcastic and taunting comments
• Unreasonable jealousy
• Reduced affection and intimacy
• Frequent mood swings • Deliberately isolating and ignoring the partner’s presence and needs
• Continuous threats
Cycles of domestic abuse: Mental, Emotional or PhysicalMental or physical abuse gradually tends to acquire a cycle of events and behavioral patterns very distinct to a person inflicting suffering on the other. They include the following:
• A constant effort to show the other that he or she is the boss of the house.
• Resorting to fear and guilt about others coming to know of his or her abnormal behavior.
• The abuser is always aware of what he or she is doing and also recognizes them to be wrong. So he or she is well equipped with justifications and excuses.
• The abuser will always behave in a way that he or she is normal and there is nothing going wrong.
• There is always a tendency to plan and set things up to blame, fight and hurt the partner.
Tips to recover and end mental or emotional abuse:Experts suggest some practical ways to recover from and to put an end to mental and emotional abuse. They include the following: • Recognize the warning signs of domestic abuse and free yourself from them • Try to heal the old bruises
• Respect each other • Try doing things your spouse likes more often • Respond with a relaxed outlook or character
• Realize your own capabilities and wants • Fight to achieve peace and love in your relationship
• Try breaking the cycle of events and behavior
• Bestow the seeds of a doubtless and an unconditional love
• Develop and initiate more intimacy • Cope with the circumstances while your partner grows out of it
If as a partner you can make a positive difference to the relationship then never give up and fight to stay together. But when you cannot handle things then you need to get out of the situation soon. Also reporting domestic abuse can be of much help for the couple, so always intimate concerned people about it.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Friday, October 17, 2008
the walk
I looked at the clock. Time was running out, so were my excuses, I thought. He would be here any minute anticipating I’d keep my word. I was hoping to come down with some serious symptoms before he arrived, but what good what that be? He’d probably do the hands on thing and cure me. I could stay out of his reach, claiming I was too contagious.
There went the door bell. Do you suppose he could see me, maybe I could pretend to not be home? Oh, what’s the use, I had promised. I opened the door to find him on my doorsteps with a stack of brochures in his grip and his chronic smile (I wonder if he had facial nerve damage?)
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“As ready as I ever will be.” I stated coming outside to him. “You know this isn’t my idea of fun.”
“Oh, it won’t kill you; it might even do you some good.” He answered.
“These are my neighbors; I know they won’t be interested. They’re a bunch of dead beats” I explained trying to discourage him with thinly veiled negativity. Heck the veil had so many holes in it, it was apparent it held nothing but negative expectations.
We headed down the street knocking on doors as we traveled. No responses, just as I thought. Well at least no one knew it was me unless they were peeking out of their curtains! Oh, how humiliating, to be seen with Him, in broad daylight, in the middle of a Sunday afternoon; family time, time to relax and unwind from the past hectic week to get ready for the upcoming hectic week.
Around the corner a guy came out of a rent house, dressed, er, so to speak, in baggy shorts that swept the ground, held on with a chain belt that could double as a weapon. His upper body had a muscle shirt on revealing massively massive tattoos that spread up his neck to the back of his bald head to his crown, to his forehead. Man, he couldn’t have been more than twenty, and by the looks of him he spent all those twenty years in tattoo shops!
I suspected he wouldn’t be approached by my friend; he was too far gone to the other side to be presented with an invitation to be around descent people.
Oops, I thought to soon. Friend yelled out a casual greeting.
“Have you lost some weight lately?” Did I say casual?
“What? No, why?” Tattoo man asked spinning around.
Friend replied, “Those pants are a bit supersized.” Oh, my gosh, I thought, Friend is going to get us killed. I grabbed his arm to steer him backwards. But not before he continued with, “Do you dress like that to look tough?” Okay, that’s too much. I released my grip on Friend and took bigger steps backwards. He was in this alone. Yep, I’m a coward, spelled C-O-W-A-R-D.
Tattoo guy gawked at Friend’s audacity, and then broke into a wide grin, (I was actually expecting to see tattoos on his teeth,) ”Yea, do I?” he answered.
“Oh yea,” Friend said, faking a shudder. “I’m real nervous being this close to you. But you know, if we hung out together I could get used to you. Here,” he said proffering a brochure, “Come by my place tonight for a small intimate neighborhood get together, I’d be honored to have you over.” Intimate? If all the regulars showed up plus all the last minute invitations, it would be about as intimate as Time Square on New Year’s Eve!
Tattoo took the brochure and stuck it in his baggy shorts; the pockets were about knee cap level. “Thanks, but I doubt I’ll come.”
Finally when there was considerable distance between us and Tattoo man Friend laughed at my unease. “He’s just a man; what do you think he could possibly do to us?” Thousands of possibilities occurred to me, none of which were pleasant.
We kept on with our mission, (Friend’s mission) Friend was fully focused, I was just along for the walk relieved we were way out of sight of my street now. Brochures were passed out to every person we met or that would come to the door.
One lady answered her door expecting someone else and was extremely disappointed when she saw us standing on her porch. It was unmistakable she’d been crying as she stared over our shoulders hoping for a glimpse of that someone else behind us. No, it was just us. Friend reached out and patted her arm, asking if he could help in anyway. She broke down with a story about her daughter who had run off in a rage to live with her boyfriend. After calling the police she’d learn there was nothing they could do about it because she was considered an adult at seventeen. Seventeen! She firmly believed that was too young to be considered an adult. Laws should be changed to meet her ideals.
Friend was a good listener, and obviously that was apparent to even strangers, I wished the woman would stop babbling and let us get on our way so I could get this over with. Friend seemed genuinely concerned for Hysteria Woman. Let her get over it, I mumbled to myself, so I can get this afternoon over with. Her daughter would probably be back many times, between relationships, with a parcel of kids tagging along. Friend encouraged Hysteria Woman to get out for the evening for some uplifting entertainment and placed a brochure tenderly in her hands. Man, He sure had tunnel vision. Like tonight was the end of all ends.
Up ahead a yard party was in full bloom. Beer cans were littering the yard by plastic lawn chairs as brisket cooked over coals. Across the street was a playground with unsupervised grubby kids running amuck as their parents guzzled Budweiser’s and Miller lights and spewed “good natured” profanities at each other. As we neared I caught the distinct whiff of some botanical tobacco mingled with the Heinz sauce and mesquite.I didn’t know hell gave day passes!. Alcohol, drugs, lechery, debauchery; a nice recipe for disaster if they attended his evening shindig. Not to mention the scandal that would ensue as the good people of the town observed them entering Friend’s house!
Well I was wrong. Friend had no limits to his optimism, to his mission to reform the world. I watched him work the motley crew, no; they weren’the popular singing group, Motley Crue, though they could have doubled for them. They guffawed and snorted as he passed out his invitations. One or two actually stood up on unsteady legs to toss the brochures into the flames under the brisket. Well, I thought, at least now we were out of brochures and I could go home.
Friend saw me off at my house and smiled sanguinely, “See you tonight.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Sure.” I replied, glad to be back home where I could hide and recover from this unsettling afternoon. I wish I’d taken one of the Budweiser’s that had been offered me in jest at the last pit stop! My nerves were shot, I sure hope my neighbors hadn’t seen me with Him.
At six thirty I dressed and headed to Friend’s house, I wasn’t in the mood to go, but I had promised. I found Pastor John sitting on the front steps looking down cast. The parking lot was relatively empty except for the van with the name of the visiting choir and the cars of some of the diehard regulars who never did anything else on Sunday night. The marquee announced the commencement of our church revival promptly at seven.
“What’s wrong?” I queried, pretty sure I knew the answer.
“What’s wrong? Look at the parking lot! We invited a minister and his prestigious choir to come sing for us and most of the members have told me they had other plans and wouldn’t be here. This is totally embarrassing.” Well not everyone was bored enough on Sunday nights to go to church, I thought, especially in the middle of summer.
Pastor John got to his feet with sagging shoulders and we both entered the auditorium where the band was setting up for the enjoyment of approximately twenty congregants scattered about the large room making it look even emptier. He was ashamed at the prospect of a small love offering filling the collection basket at the conclusion of the revival. Small? He knew these members well; they probably didn’t bring their wallets or checkbooks. It was amazing he even made a living preaching here!
I saw Friend up on the stage with his disgustingly perpetual smile. He never knows when to give up!
John and I turned as we heard an unexpected commotion behind us. Several strangers were staggering in carrying beer cans. The group from the front yard barbeque! A vigilante group! They had come to destroy our evening, (maybe that would actually save the night!) No. Wait. They were taking seats in the back of the church. Then more people came in. Hysteria Woman. Tattoo man and a date? Who would have thought he was the type to bring a date to a revival. Hysteria Woman and the couple had a private conversation in the back. I could see more tears flowing down her cheeks as she hugged Tattoo man’s companion. Hit by revelation I realized that we had invited Hysteria Woman and her daughter’s boyfriend resulting in an answered prayer for reconciliation that was taking place right behind me in the church atrium. I looked up at Friend. The smile. What a pompous know it all. He had this planned down to the last detail.
As seven o clock turned into seven ten more stragglers slipped into seats. Before long the choir was provided with a audience of misfits that had received brochures distributed throughout the afternoon. The regular members sat stiffly in their seats, unsure of what to make of the eclectic mixture of society that was invading their personal space, their church. Some even assembled their belongings and exited with expressions of palpable censure thrown in the direction of the new comers, holding their noses high in the air to avoid catching a whiff of anything unpleasant. Oh, they also had their bibles clutched securely in their hands as if they were afraid they might be snatched from them by the visitors. Maybe they ought to open them occasionally, I thought. I also decided I better be careful, after all people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, feeling a little awkward since I had rebelled myself at the prospect of inviting those that were filling the pews about me. Friend met my gaze and smiled deeper, was he reading my mind? Him and His smile.
Then it was show time. The band started up; drums beat, cymbals clashed, trumpets blared, singers sang. The barbeque group hooted and hew hawed through the first song, became quieter for the second song, probably because of the sedative effects of the beer, I thought. Then by the third song they were absolutely silenced. I twisted in my seat to see if they had fallen into alcoholic comas only to witness their complete absorption with the performers. Some even moved to closer pews!
At the hour’s conclusion (had this been just an hour, I could have listened longer!) there was an alter call. Pastor John was overjoyed in the love offering being presented this evening. This love offering had nothing to do with money. Several dozen of the newcomers made an offering of love to Friend, who with extended arms, welcomed all into his presence. The minister and his choir broke into more songs as one by one Pastor John prayed the prayer of salvation with a motley crew of neighbors I would have locked out of the kingdom. I caught Friend’s eye and he saluted me with a scarred hand as a tear (or two or three) slid down my cheeks to meet lips that were turned up into a smile that could never outshine His. Then Friend laid his chin back down on his chest, extended his arms, crossed his feet and blended back into the cross above the baptismal.
On the way to my car several neighbors (former dead beats who had been resuscitated into new life) approached me to thank me for thinking of them this afternoon and leaving brochures in their doors and then complemented me on being a good soldier for Christ. Ooch. That hurt. Should I confess to them how I had been Friend’s hostage, dragged along unwillingly? No, I don’t have to admit a thing; I wasn’t on trial (anymore). Now however I was experiencing conflicting emotions, earlier I had been ashamed to hand out brochures now I was ashamed I’d been ashamed. Nothing a prayer of forgiveness wouldn’t wash away. When Jesus hung on his cross millennia ago, he’d already forgiven me.
There went the door bell. Do you suppose he could see me, maybe I could pretend to not be home? Oh, what’s the use, I had promised. I opened the door to find him on my doorsteps with a stack of brochures in his grip and his chronic smile (I wonder if he had facial nerve damage?)
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“As ready as I ever will be.” I stated coming outside to him. “You know this isn’t my idea of fun.”
“Oh, it won’t kill you; it might even do you some good.” He answered.
“These are my neighbors; I know they won’t be interested. They’re a bunch of dead beats” I explained trying to discourage him with thinly veiled negativity. Heck the veil had so many holes in it, it was apparent it held nothing but negative expectations.
We headed down the street knocking on doors as we traveled. No responses, just as I thought. Well at least no one knew it was me unless they were peeking out of their curtains! Oh, how humiliating, to be seen with Him, in broad daylight, in the middle of a Sunday afternoon; family time, time to relax and unwind from the past hectic week to get ready for the upcoming hectic week.
Around the corner a guy came out of a rent house, dressed, er, so to speak, in baggy shorts that swept the ground, held on with a chain belt that could double as a weapon. His upper body had a muscle shirt on revealing massively massive tattoos that spread up his neck to the back of his bald head to his crown, to his forehead. Man, he couldn’t have been more than twenty, and by the looks of him he spent all those twenty years in tattoo shops!
I suspected he wouldn’t be approached by my friend; he was too far gone to the other side to be presented with an invitation to be around descent people.
Oops, I thought to soon. Friend yelled out a casual greeting.
“Have you lost some weight lately?” Did I say casual?
“What? No, why?” Tattoo man asked spinning around.
Friend replied, “Those pants are a bit supersized.” Oh, my gosh, I thought, Friend is going to get us killed. I grabbed his arm to steer him backwards. But not before he continued with, “Do you dress like that to look tough?” Okay, that’s too much. I released my grip on Friend and took bigger steps backwards. He was in this alone. Yep, I’m a coward, spelled C-O-W-A-R-D.
Tattoo guy gawked at Friend’s audacity, and then broke into a wide grin, (I was actually expecting to see tattoos on his teeth,) ”Yea, do I?” he answered.
“Oh yea,” Friend said, faking a shudder. “I’m real nervous being this close to you. But you know, if we hung out together I could get used to you. Here,” he said proffering a brochure, “Come by my place tonight for a small intimate neighborhood get together, I’d be honored to have you over.” Intimate? If all the regulars showed up plus all the last minute invitations, it would be about as intimate as Time Square on New Year’s Eve!
Tattoo took the brochure and stuck it in his baggy shorts; the pockets were about knee cap level. “Thanks, but I doubt I’ll come.”
Finally when there was considerable distance between us and Tattoo man Friend laughed at my unease. “He’s just a man; what do you think he could possibly do to us?” Thousands of possibilities occurred to me, none of which were pleasant.
We kept on with our mission, (Friend’s mission) Friend was fully focused, I was just along for the walk relieved we were way out of sight of my street now. Brochures were passed out to every person we met or that would come to the door.
One lady answered her door expecting someone else and was extremely disappointed when she saw us standing on her porch. It was unmistakable she’d been crying as she stared over our shoulders hoping for a glimpse of that someone else behind us. No, it was just us. Friend reached out and patted her arm, asking if he could help in anyway. She broke down with a story about her daughter who had run off in a rage to live with her boyfriend. After calling the police she’d learn there was nothing they could do about it because she was considered an adult at seventeen. Seventeen! She firmly believed that was too young to be considered an adult. Laws should be changed to meet her ideals.
Friend was a good listener, and obviously that was apparent to even strangers, I wished the woman would stop babbling and let us get on our way so I could get this over with. Friend seemed genuinely concerned for Hysteria Woman. Let her get over it, I mumbled to myself, so I can get this afternoon over with. Her daughter would probably be back many times, between relationships, with a parcel of kids tagging along. Friend encouraged Hysteria Woman to get out for the evening for some uplifting entertainment and placed a brochure tenderly in her hands. Man, He sure had tunnel vision. Like tonight was the end of all ends.
Up ahead a yard party was in full bloom. Beer cans were littering the yard by plastic lawn chairs as brisket cooked over coals. Across the street was a playground with unsupervised grubby kids running amuck as their parents guzzled Budweiser’s and Miller lights and spewed “good natured” profanities at each other. As we neared I caught the distinct whiff of some botanical tobacco mingled with the Heinz sauce and mesquite.I didn’t know hell gave day passes!. Alcohol, drugs, lechery, debauchery; a nice recipe for disaster if they attended his evening shindig. Not to mention the scandal that would ensue as the good people of the town observed them entering Friend’s house!
Well I was wrong. Friend had no limits to his optimism, to his mission to reform the world. I watched him work the motley crew, no; they weren’the popular singing group, Motley Crue, though they could have doubled for them. They guffawed and snorted as he passed out his invitations. One or two actually stood up on unsteady legs to toss the brochures into the flames under the brisket. Well, I thought, at least now we were out of brochures and I could go home.
Friend saw me off at my house and smiled sanguinely, “See you tonight.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Sure.” I replied, glad to be back home where I could hide and recover from this unsettling afternoon. I wish I’d taken one of the Budweiser’s that had been offered me in jest at the last pit stop! My nerves were shot, I sure hope my neighbors hadn’t seen me with Him.
At six thirty I dressed and headed to Friend’s house, I wasn’t in the mood to go, but I had promised. I found Pastor John sitting on the front steps looking down cast. The parking lot was relatively empty except for the van with the name of the visiting choir and the cars of some of the diehard regulars who never did anything else on Sunday night. The marquee announced the commencement of our church revival promptly at seven.
“What’s wrong?” I queried, pretty sure I knew the answer.
“What’s wrong? Look at the parking lot! We invited a minister and his prestigious choir to come sing for us and most of the members have told me they had other plans and wouldn’t be here. This is totally embarrassing.” Well not everyone was bored enough on Sunday nights to go to church, I thought, especially in the middle of summer.
Pastor John got to his feet with sagging shoulders and we both entered the auditorium where the band was setting up for the enjoyment of approximately twenty congregants scattered about the large room making it look even emptier. He was ashamed at the prospect of a small love offering filling the collection basket at the conclusion of the revival. Small? He knew these members well; they probably didn’t bring their wallets or checkbooks. It was amazing he even made a living preaching here!
I saw Friend up on the stage with his disgustingly perpetual smile. He never knows when to give up!
John and I turned as we heard an unexpected commotion behind us. Several strangers were staggering in carrying beer cans. The group from the front yard barbeque! A vigilante group! They had come to destroy our evening, (maybe that would actually save the night!) No. Wait. They were taking seats in the back of the church. Then more people came in. Hysteria Woman. Tattoo man and a date? Who would have thought he was the type to bring a date to a revival. Hysteria Woman and the couple had a private conversation in the back. I could see more tears flowing down her cheeks as she hugged Tattoo man’s companion. Hit by revelation I realized that we had invited Hysteria Woman and her daughter’s boyfriend resulting in an answered prayer for reconciliation that was taking place right behind me in the church atrium. I looked up at Friend. The smile. What a pompous know it all. He had this planned down to the last detail.
As seven o clock turned into seven ten more stragglers slipped into seats. Before long the choir was provided with a audience of misfits that had received brochures distributed throughout the afternoon. The regular members sat stiffly in their seats, unsure of what to make of the eclectic mixture of society that was invading their personal space, their church. Some even assembled their belongings and exited with expressions of palpable censure thrown in the direction of the new comers, holding their noses high in the air to avoid catching a whiff of anything unpleasant. Oh, they also had their bibles clutched securely in their hands as if they were afraid they might be snatched from them by the visitors. Maybe they ought to open them occasionally, I thought. I also decided I better be careful, after all people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, feeling a little awkward since I had rebelled myself at the prospect of inviting those that were filling the pews about me. Friend met my gaze and smiled deeper, was he reading my mind? Him and His smile.
Then it was show time. The band started up; drums beat, cymbals clashed, trumpets blared, singers sang. The barbeque group hooted and hew hawed through the first song, became quieter for the second song, probably because of the sedative effects of the beer, I thought. Then by the third song they were absolutely silenced. I twisted in my seat to see if they had fallen into alcoholic comas only to witness their complete absorption with the performers. Some even moved to closer pews!
At the hour’s conclusion (had this been just an hour, I could have listened longer!) there was an alter call. Pastor John was overjoyed in the love offering being presented this evening. This love offering had nothing to do with money. Several dozen of the newcomers made an offering of love to Friend, who with extended arms, welcomed all into his presence. The minister and his choir broke into more songs as one by one Pastor John prayed the prayer of salvation with a motley crew of neighbors I would have locked out of the kingdom. I caught Friend’s eye and he saluted me with a scarred hand as a tear (or two or three) slid down my cheeks to meet lips that were turned up into a smile that could never outshine His. Then Friend laid his chin back down on his chest, extended his arms, crossed his feet and blended back into the cross above the baptismal.
On the way to my car several neighbors (former dead beats who had been resuscitated into new life) approached me to thank me for thinking of them this afternoon and leaving brochures in their doors and then complemented me on being a good soldier for Christ. Ooch. That hurt. Should I confess to them how I had been Friend’s hostage, dragged along unwillingly? No, I don’t have to admit a thing; I wasn’t on trial (anymore). Now however I was experiencing conflicting emotions, earlier I had been ashamed to hand out brochures now I was ashamed I’d been ashamed. Nothing a prayer of forgiveness wouldn’t wash away. When Jesus hung on his cross millennia ago, he’d already forgiven me.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
How ready is ready?
Here it goes again, I said to myself. I’m not going to let myself go into a tailspin this time; emotional roller coasters make me feel awful. I looked at the calendar as though I didn’t already know what it said. September 2008. I counted years off on my fingers, again something I do quite regularly. The end of the world has either been eight or two years overdue; I’m not much of a chronologist; is that a word? It seems God was 30 years late rescuing Israel from Egypt but I think he was on time for his birthday since it’s stated he arrived in the fullness of time. But the end of the world. Following the prophesies it seems like he’s way over due for the closing act. All this speculating makes me nervous. He shouldn’t have given us so much information to read in his word!!! If he doesn’t show up soon it looks like he was lying, if he does show up soon my life style will change forever. I hate change. I’m not sure I’m a big fan of surprises either.
In the earlier 1990’s I remember getting hit really hard with this scare. When troops from all over the globe met outside of Iraq to fight over oil or whatever men fight over I just knew it was time to go, and I didn’t feel totally ready. I had to face facts, it was the Middle East and the fight was over land and oil, I think. Politics always confuse me because there is usually some other hidden agenda. All I know is I almost quit work to stay home and get prepared. That was eighteen years ago. The last eighteen years have almost been business as usual. Sunday school classes, prayer meetings, church attendance, volunteer work. Surely I’ve had time to get ready!
Then in 2001 some towers in Manhattan got hit by planes. I was working that morning and I wanted to go home really bad. Things like national calamities send shivers up my spine. Imagine that. I work in surgery so packing up my things and walking out would have been patient abandonment. At the time I thought I would have bigger worries than that. All free personal were in the lounge watching the constant, live televising of thousands of people dying, including hundreds of brave firemen ascending stairwells to rescue trapped victims. Those in the operating room with me had me turn the radio on. We listened as we worked, making speculations as to the causes of three planes crashing on the same day, into major structures. I was sure I knew the answer. One of those in the operating field had me make some phone calls to look for her sister, who was guess where? In Manhattan on vacation. Thank heavens I could tell Glenda her sister was okay. Or was she. Did we have some bigger worries? Again I don’t know why I was worried. I should have been ecstatic, he was coming home! But I didn’t feel ready. I had slipped into complacency, concerned about worldly things. Change isn’t my biggest forte. I like consistency. That’s why I’ve never changed jobs though I’ve seen many employees come and go. Something about the unknown jiggles me up, rotates me around and sets me down upside down. It other words, it disorients me!
Okay we got through the Twin Towers saga with some scars, rising victoriously over our foes. Even though the newscasters thought we wanted every salacious detail of the skirmish poured into our living rooms every minute of the day causing many to suffer post traumatic stress syndrome that weren’t anywhere close to Manhattan or the battle fields of Iran, but were close to mail boxes that could contain envelopes of anthrax! I spent my time trying to psyche myself up, trying to get prepared for what knew was coming, and who I knew was coming, praying that he would let me catch hold of the tail of his mount (that’s a horse!) Of course, I spent a lot of time praying because that was seven years ago and I’m still here trying to get ready. Well, seven years of praying interrupted with tsunamis, earthquakes and contaminated food and toys. Yet life here doesn’t seem bad enough to give up yet. Is there something wrong with my thinking?
Now it’s September 2008 and the market has taken a plunge. I’m actually not scared. I don’t know why? It’s my nature to worry about my retirement. I’m more worried about why the market has dipped, dipped, tumbled, and nosedived. I pulled out my bible and scanned Revelations 18. Wow this sounds familiar. But then so did the crash of 1929, and black Friday of the 1980’s. I went to the window and looked up. I’m safe for now according to the cloudless blue skies. But for how long? God I’m not ready, I’m not good enough, I have too much to do, I thought. But since the day I got saved I knew this was coming. It’s not a bad thing. It’s a good thing. Go on girl, keep telling that to yourself! I recounted my life. I have wasted so much time. It’s not fair. I need more time. I want to die old, or suddenly. I don’t want to know when I get hit by a bus and dragged under. I feel like someone who knows the exact minute she will die (or change from terrestrial to celestial) and doesn’t embrace that knowledge with joy.
I made up my mind to stay ready. This resolution has been made several times. Once in the 80’s, 90’s, and several times in this century. That is how good resolutions are. I’ve made several New Year’s resolutions, one for everyday of the year. I wish knew where that list was.
I sat down with my bible, hoping to draw some comfort from it when…………………
Man I feel great! What is this feeling? Why is my back not hurting? Or my knees? Where is my bible? I had it just a minute ago. Where is my chair? Wait a minute! Where are the walls to my room? Where is the….ground! I looked down at my feet, the chipped nail polish was gone, and so was the earth! I was spinning, spiraling upward in a giant mist. No. This isn’t a mist. This is a cloud of people…bodies…souls! All wore surprised expressions. All were young, even those I recognized as old timers. All were wearing white robes. Some were holding hands. Some were scanning the area for others. I looked about for my father, please! Oh, wonderful, I see him up ahead, all crippling disfigurements and oxygen supplementation gone; I almost didn’t make him out. There were my kids I’d spent years praying for also. We’re all ascending upwards faster than the speed of light, ascending faster than the speed of light to a light, an enormous ball of light. No. A ball of white. An army of white horses. At the head of the army was the Commander on a perfect white steed. He passed within inches of me and I grabbed for the horse’s tail hoping to catch a secure ride, (fleetingly forgetting it was in the opposite direction!) briefly remembering my unworthiness. As I clung to the tail with all my soul, whizzing past the souls going upward, the commander who wore the title King of Kings and Lord of Lords on a very expensive breast plate,(he certainly wasn’t affected by the recent fall of the stock market) twisted in his saddle to confront me.
His eyes pierced my soul,(that was all that was left of the former me, my old carnal body was..where?). His lips curved up in a smile. He wasn’t angry with me for hitching a ride! Thank heavens! Then he spoke, his words were soft and sincere.
“You can let go now, you have been assured a place in my kingdom since they day you believed. Your service has been well appreciated over the years but your moment of trust in me was your pivotal point.” I gasped. All those years of worry, of feeling unworthy wiped away. My hands released their tight grasp of the poor horse’s tail who snorted with relief, and I automatically zoomed back upward while the army, the host of heaven, passed me on their way to complete written history, (written in the chapters of the book of Revelations!)
At the entrance of some enormous unidentified expensively ornamented flying object (Star Trek beware!) I zoomed up to one of twelve of the largest pearls I’d ever seen. The oysters that laid these needed gastric bypasses! As the crowd I was with entered into the pearl shaped openings we were escorted to various mansions. Yes mansions and we all had our own. Wow. Even I did. Me, who thought herself unworthy of such a prize! And here I was dreading change all those years! Change can be good I told myself. Better than good, it can be blessed. Settling in was going to take some time I discovered as my door bell started to ring with visitors welcoming me home.
Gen 15:13
Exo 12:40
Math 24:36-44
Eph 1:13-14
Eph 2:8-9
Gal 4:4
Revelations 18
Revelations 19
Revelation 21:9-23
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Never Say Never
NEVER SAY NEVER
I looked into his big brown eyes. They looked back at me. He cocked his eyebrow as if to say, “Go ahead, and get it over with.” I put my arms around his neck, pressed our cheeks together, buried my face into his shoulder and whispered my undying love into his nearest ear. Then it was over. Shep drifted off into oblivion. It was so quick it shook me up. Tears streamed down my face, my nose ran, gurgling sounds escaped from my lips and I crossed my arms over my chest to keep my heart from breaking through. Shep’s pain was over but mine just intensified. I wanted the vet to give me what he’d just given Shep, he looked so peaceful. I’d pay double for the same medicine, sign waivers, do anything, legal or otherwise, just to experience the pain free moment Shep was exposed to right now.
The Vet discreetly left the room to give me time to say my final goodbyes. Final nothing. I would never say good bye to my lifelong walking companion, devoted friend and body guard (not that I had much of a body to guard, one look at mine and attackers fled from me.) And I would never replace him. Never. The pain of loss was too intense.
After I pulled myself together, so to speak, I headed to the receptionist. Questions were hurled at me. Will this be check or credit? Do you want to take Shep home with you or do you want us to bury him? Or do you want to have him cremated? How terribly inappropriate. Decisions had to be made fast, decisions I wasn’t prepared to deal with. I had expected to bring Shep in, get some magic pills or shots, advice on treating lethargy, anemia, and old age, anything that would cure him. I hadn’t expected to hear there was no help, he was too far gone, he was old, there were too many risks in the remedies to cure what was ailing him. He had been prancing around last week, chasing squirrels and errant cats, munching on his treats, walking to the park with me. Now..My shoulders sagged so they were brushing my knees.
I couldn’t carry Shep home, I couldn’t dig a grave his size. Well I could but it would be hard, mentally and physically. Let alone the fact that it was illegal. Illegal if you got caught digging holes at midnight and disposing of bodies. I could see my nosy neighbor peeking out of his curtains now, with the phone in his hand and 911 on auto dial. I opted for cremation; I could dig a hole that small without being noticed. I wanted Shep home with me, in his back yard where he belonged.
I don’t know how I got to my residence, all I know is I had the windshield wipers running full strength till I realized it was only raining inside the car. The heavy cloud was in my heart, not the sky. When I opened the door to my house nothing happened. There was no one there jumping up and down, tail wagging, tongue extended with soft whining sounds welcoming me home. Never again would this feel like a home. Now it was just a lonely address on a map.
I couldn’t sleep. I was used to the rhythmic breathing of Shep as he slumbered on the floor at the foot of my bed where he was ready to pounce on me when I hit the snooze button every morning. Shep was very regimental. He wanted out to do his business in a timely manner; the extra five minutes it took for me to snooze was tortuous for him.
Days of sorrow followed. Days I noticed every bodies, dog, puppy and pot bellied pig. I wanted to yell at all the fools. Get rid of those animals now, before they become such a part of you that you can't live when they're gone. I wanted to yell but I couldn't, my throat would constrict making human sounds sound ...non human. The vet's clinic called me to pick Shep up, his ashes were back. A nice wooden box, buffed to a glow with his name on a silver metal name plate (for the price I paid it should have been a gold plate) was handed to me. The box had a dainty little lock and key. I took it home and set it on a cabinet. Staring. Staring. Tempted. Tempted. At last I fingered the little key. I fingered the lock. I connected the key and lock. Inside was a sandwich bag filled with lumpy white sand. This wasn't Shep. He was way too big to be in this small a bag. He had been brown, brown with black highlights. He had been plump. His nose had been wet. He had had four enormous feet. This was not Shep. This was someone's idea of a joke. I picked the bag up gingerly and pressed it to my heart. It was Shep. I could feel his love, his bewilderment at his new formless form. I cried again. Shep was home.
Weeks went by, then months. The ache did lessen, but not much. I surfed animal control shelters on the net, just to window shop, Lansing my soul every single time. I would never get another pet. All the shelters mostly had were black dogs or labs anyway. I didn't like black dogs, or labs. They were so common place. Everyone had a lab. Big gangly awkard labs. Jumping in pools, jumping for Frisbees, jumping for sheer joy of life. Everyone that had a lab had to say good bye to it someday. Never would that happen again to me.
I scolded God. Why did he create animals with such short life lines? They didn't eat the fruit off the tree. They hadn't sinned against him, so why? How could people claim animals were therapeutic when their loss was felt so keenly? If I have to go to a therapist for this broken heart, I swear I’ll send God the bill once I Google his billing address..
Three months passed and I was sitting outside on my porch, in the backyard. Shep”s backyard. Stray cats had taken it over, taunting me. They knew Shep was gone and they were safe. They came down out of the trees, sniffing Shep’s old water dish,( I couldn’t bring myself to move it yet) mocking me. They remembered how I use to laugh as they scampered back up the oak’s trunk when Shep came darting around from some bush. Now they were laughing at me.
Suddenly something shot under my chair toppling me over and kept on going, and then cat fur went flying. A combination of meowing and barking ensued followed by a man, tightly gripping a leash and collar, yelling at something wild and out of control. My peaceful backyard had been transformed into bedlam as I tried to help this strange man gain control of his unruly beast.
At last, after a contest of who could stand on their feet the longest before being knocked over again, we had the little demon in a choke hold. He wasn’t intimidated; at least that’s what I gathered as a long pink tongue, at the other end of a wagging tail, kept scratching my face despite my efforts to hide behind my hands.
“Get this thing off me,” I bellowed, from underneath a pink belly. “Then get out of my yard!”
“Lady, I’m sorry. I told my wife this dog would be trouble.” The man wheezed, attempting to catch his breath while he quickly reapplied the beast’s collar. I hoped I didn’t have to do CPR on this old toot.
“Well take the darn thing home!” I ordered trying to not make eye contact with the ….thing.
“No way, I’m taking him to the pound. I warned my wife to not bring home any more strays!” he announced brushing himself off and firmly gripping the dog’s leash.
The pound. Oh my. My interest had been piqued. No. Shep had been a stray once, destined for the pound until he had been offered to me as a parolee. Thirteen years ago. My heart started throbbing again. I felt an anxiety attack coming on. My skin started perspiring; my breathing started coming in short gasps. I was about to…about to….Oh God, no. I said never again and I meant it.
The man was half way out of my yard when I… I can’t believe I did this, “Wait!”
The man slowly turned while the thing at the end of his leash strained with all it’s might to get back to me, raising its front feet high and pawing the air like a stallion. “Never mind.” I said. My heart couldn’t take another pet. The man shrugged and continued on his way.
“No, wait!” I yelled again.
“Lady, make up your mind. I don’t have many birthdays left and I don’t want to spend them here in your back yard.”
Oh great, I annoyed him after he ruined my quiet afternoon, and possibly the next thirteen years of my life. Not to mention he was the cause of a pulsating ache on my back side where I landed when he lost control of this four footed demolition derby.
“If you’re going to take him to the pound, let me have him.” There, the words were out. I could still recant them. I’m sure this stranger wouldn’t be surprised if I did. I was coming across as a little schizophrenic.
“Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly. “I’m sure he’ll adopt out pretty quick. He’s just a pup, about three months old. They go fast.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” I said with no conviction as I took possession of the leash and the man left.
He’d only been out of sight for a few seconds before it occurred to me… did he say three months?
I rushed to the front yard to catch the stranger before he got away. He was gone. He hadn’t had time to get into a car, to get out of sight. Where did he go? I looked down to see if any craters had opened up in my driveway that could have eaten him alive. Nope. He hadn’t been swallowed up by the earth. I looked up. No helicopter was hovering overhead to whisk someone away.
”Where did that man go?” I hollered to my neighbor, Mr. Busybody, reading the paper next door on his porch so he could keep an eye on the vicinity.
He stared at me. “What man?”
“The guy that chased this dog back here.” I explained. Mr. Busybody never missed anything. He was always on the lookout for gossip or scandal. Our own personal crime watch department and scandalmonger. If he didn’t know the facts, he’d darn sure invent some.
“No one’s been out here but me for the last hour. That dog ran back there by itself.” He stated going back to his morning paper, probably thinking I was just wishing a man had been in my backyard!
Huh! Can people go partially blind, seeing only half of what’s going on? I searched up and down the street. No one. Nothing but…a car rounded the corner. The dog catcher. Animal control, the villains in every movie. They were on the hunt. Driving slowly, looking up and down the same street I had just explored. They were looking for a dog. I was looking for a man, (nothing unusual about that).
They stopped in front of my house and eyed the pup at my side, “Have you seen a stray that looked just like your dog, M’am?” A guy asked from the passenger seat.
“Nope,” I replied truthfully, after all there was no stray here, not anymore!I leaned over to scratch my new walking partner’s ear. My new black lab puppy. The puppy that was born about the same time I lost Shep, three months ago, and evidently delivered by God himself or one of his sales representatives. Looks like I’m going to have to get a pool and some Frisbees. Apparently dogs really are therapeutic because my heart was on the mend and my hand was wet from a slobbery tongue gratefully washing the heck out of it. I never wanted a black dog and I never wanted a Lab, now I seem to have both. Never again will I say never.
I looked into his big brown eyes. They looked back at me. He cocked his eyebrow as if to say, “Go ahead, and get it over with.” I put my arms around his neck, pressed our cheeks together, buried my face into his shoulder and whispered my undying love into his nearest ear. Then it was over. Shep drifted off into oblivion. It was so quick it shook me up. Tears streamed down my face, my nose ran, gurgling sounds escaped from my lips and I crossed my arms over my chest to keep my heart from breaking through. Shep’s pain was over but mine just intensified. I wanted the vet to give me what he’d just given Shep, he looked so peaceful. I’d pay double for the same medicine, sign waivers, do anything, legal or otherwise, just to experience the pain free moment Shep was exposed to right now.
The Vet discreetly left the room to give me time to say my final goodbyes. Final nothing. I would never say good bye to my lifelong walking companion, devoted friend and body guard (not that I had much of a body to guard, one look at mine and attackers fled from me.) And I would never replace him. Never. The pain of loss was too intense.
After I pulled myself together, so to speak, I headed to the receptionist. Questions were hurled at me. Will this be check or credit? Do you want to take Shep home with you or do you want us to bury him? Or do you want to have him cremated? How terribly inappropriate. Decisions had to be made fast, decisions I wasn’t prepared to deal with. I had expected to bring Shep in, get some magic pills or shots, advice on treating lethargy, anemia, and old age, anything that would cure him. I hadn’t expected to hear there was no help, he was too far gone, he was old, there were too many risks in the remedies to cure what was ailing him. He had been prancing around last week, chasing squirrels and errant cats, munching on his treats, walking to the park with me. Now..My shoulders sagged so they were brushing my knees.
I couldn’t carry Shep home, I couldn’t dig a grave his size. Well I could but it would be hard, mentally and physically. Let alone the fact that it was illegal. Illegal if you got caught digging holes at midnight and disposing of bodies. I could see my nosy neighbor peeking out of his curtains now, with the phone in his hand and 911 on auto dial. I opted for cremation; I could dig a hole that small without being noticed. I wanted Shep home with me, in his back yard where he belonged.
I don’t know how I got to my residence, all I know is I had the windshield wipers running full strength till I realized it was only raining inside the car. The heavy cloud was in my heart, not the sky. When I opened the door to my house nothing happened. There was no one there jumping up and down, tail wagging, tongue extended with soft whining sounds welcoming me home. Never again would this feel like a home. Now it was just a lonely address on a map.
I couldn’t sleep. I was used to the rhythmic breathing of Shep as he slumbered on the floor at the foot of my bed where he was ready to pounce on me when I hit the snooze button every morning. Shep was very regimental. He wanted out to do his business in a timely manner; the extra five minutes it took for me to snooze was tortuous for him.
Days of sorrow followed. Days I noticed every bodies, dog, puppy and pot bellied pig. I wanted to yell at all the fools. Get rid of those animals now, before they become such a part of you that you can't live when they're gone. I wanted to yell but I couldn't, my throat would constrict making human sounds sound ...non human. The vet's clinic called me to pick Shep up, his ashes were back. A nice wooden box, buffed to a glow with his name on a silver metal name plate (for the price I paid it should have been a gold plate) was handed to me. The box had a dainty little lock and key. I took it home and set it on a cabinet. Staring. Staring. Tempted. Tempted. At last I fingered the little key. I fingered the lock. I connected the key and lock. Inside was a sandwich bag filled with lumpy white sand. This wasn't Shep. He was way too big to be in this small a bag. He had been brown, brown with black highlights. He had been plump. His nose had been wet. He had had four enormous feet. This was not Shep. This was someone's idea of a joke. I picked the bag up gingerly and pressed it to my heart. It was Shep. I could feel his love, his bewilderment at his new formless form. I cried again. Shep was home.
Weeks went by, then months. The ache did lessen, but not much. I surfed animal control shelters on the net, just to window shop, Lansing my soul every single time. I would never get another pet. All the shelters mostly had were black dogs or labs anyway. I didn't like black dogs, or labs. They were so common place. Everyone had a lab. Big gangly awkard labs. Jumping in pools, jumping for Frisbees, jumping for sheer joy of life. Everyone that had a lab had to say good bye to it someday. Never would that happen again to me.
I scolded God. Why did he create animals with such short life lines? They didn't eat the fruit off the tree. They hadn't sinned against him, so why? How could people claim animals were therapeutic when their loss was felt so keenly? If I have to go to a therapist for this broken heart, I swear I’ll send God the bill once I Google his billing address..
Three months passed and I was sitting outside on my porch, in the backyard. Shep”s backyard. Stray cats had taken it over, taunting me. They knew Shep was gone and they were safe. They came down out of the trees, sniffing Shep’s old water dish,( I couldn’t bring myself to move it yet) mocking me. They remembered how I use to laugh as they scampered back up the oak’s trunk when Shep came darting around from some bush. Now they were laughing at me.
Suddenly something shot under my chair toppling me over and kept on going, and then cat fur went flying. A combination of meowing and barking ensued followed by a man, tightly gripping a leash and collar, yelling at something wild and out of control. My peaceful backyard had been transformed into bedlam as I tried to help this strange man gain control of his unruly beast.
At last, after a contest of who could stand on their feet the longest before being knocked over again, we had the little demon in a choke hold. He wasn’t intimidated; at least that’s what I gathered as a long pink tongue, at the other end of a wagging tail, kept scratching my face despite my efforts to hide behind my hands.
“Get this thing off me,” I bellowed, from underneath a pink belly. “Then get out of my yard!”
“Lady, I’m sorry. I told my wife this dog would be trouble.” The man wheezed, attempting to catch his breath while he quickly reapplied the beast’s collar. I hoped I didn’t have to do CPR on this old toot.
“Well take the darn thing home!” I ordered trying to not make eye contact with the ….thing.
“No way, I’m taking him to the pound. I warned my wife to not bring home any more strays!” he announced brushing himself off and firmly gripping the dog’s leash.
The pound. Oh my. My interest had been piqued. No. Shep had been a stray once, destined for the pound until he had been offered to me as a parolee. Thirteen years ago. My heart started throbbing again. I felt an anxiety attack coming on. My skin started perspiring; my breathing started coming in short gasps. I was about to…about to….Oh God, no. I said never again and I meant it.
The man was half way out of my yard when I… I can’t believe I did this, “Wait!”
The man slowly turned while the thing at the end of his leash strained with all it’s might to get back to me, raising its front feet high and pawing the air like a stallion. “Never mind.” I said. My heart couldn’t take another pet. The man shrugged and continued on his way.
“No, wait!” I yelled again.
“Lady, make up your mind. I don’t have many birthdays left and I don’t want to spend them here in your back yard.”
Oh great, I annoyed him after he ruined my quiet afternoon, and possibly the next thirteen years of my life. Not to mention he was the cause of a pulsating ache on my back side where I landed when he lost control of this four footed demolition derby.
“If you’re going to take him to the pound, let me have him.” There, the words were out. I could still recant them. I’m sure this stranger wouldn’t be surprised if I did. I was coming across as a little schizophrenic.
“Are you sure?” he asked hesitantly. “I’m sure he’ll adopt out pretty quick. He’s just a pup, about three months old. They go fast.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” I said with no conviction as I took possession of the leash and the man left.
He’d only been out of sight for a few seconds before it occurred to me… did he say three months?
I rushed to the front yard to catch the stranger before he got away. He was gone. He hadn’t had time to get into a car, to get out of sight. Where did he go? I looked down to see if any craters had opened up in my driveway that could have eaten him alive. Nope. He hadn’t been swallowed up by the earth. I looked up. No helicopter was hovering overhead to whisk someone away.
”Where did that man go?” I hollered to my neighbor, Mr. Busybody, reading the paper next door on his porch so he could keep an eye on the vicinity.
He stared at me. “What man?”
“The guy that chased this dog back here.” I explained. Mr. Busybody never missed anything. He was always on the lookout for gossip or scandal. Our own personal crime watch department and scandalmonger. If he didn’t know the facts, he’d darn sure invent some.
“No one’s been out here but me for the last hour. That dog ran back there by itself.” He stated going back to his morning paper, probably thinking I was just wishing a man had been in my backyard!
Huh! Can people go partially blind, seeing only half of what’s going on? I searched up and down the street. No one. Nothing but…a car rounded the corner. The dog catcher. Animal control, the villains in every movie. They were on the hunt. Driving slowly, looking up and down the same street I had just explored. They were looking for a dog. I was looking for a man, (nothing unusual about that).
They stopped in front of my house and eyed the pup at my side, “Have you seen a stray that looked just like your dog, M’am?” A guy asked from the passenger seat.
“Nope,” I replied truthfully, after all there was no stray here, not anymore!I leaned over to scratch my new walking partner’s ear. My new black lab puppy. The puppy that was born about the same time I lost Shep, three months ago, and evidently delivered by God himself or one of his sales representatives. Looks like I’m going to have to get a pool and some Frisbees. Apparently dogs really are therapeutic because my heart was on the mend and my hand was wet from a slobbery tongue gratefully washing the heck out of it. I never wanted a black dog and I never wanted a Lab, now I seem to have both. Never again will I say never.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
The vacation
We had almost cancelled this vacation due to recent turmoil, an insurgent had been tried, convicted and executed about two months ago, five months after we had made reservations. Apparently he had accrued quite a following, but they were cowards who had dematerialized the moment he was seized; and now they were on the most wanted list. Their faces were on milk cartons and advertisements. Authorities fear they might attempt an uprising in spite of the absence of their once prominent political leader. Nothing has happened though these past fifty days to indicate the convicted prisoners friends were even still in the country. We, my husband and I, had been willing to sacrifice our plans and non refundable deposits for peace of mind; but we took a family vote and decided to brave the trip. We were relieved that we were nearing the end of our stay without anything ominous occurring. I wouldn’t feel secure until I was back in my own house. (With planes falling out of the sky and anthrax being delivered in the mail, I don’t know why my house should feel so secure?)
We's seen most of the sights and had a fairly good time in spite of the palpable air of uneasiness that hung over the city. Most foreigners, (since this is the nation’s capital and home of the United Nations, there was an abundance of foreigners!) were treated warily, even those that worked and lived here for years. All the main attractions, the Lincoln, Washington, Korean, and Roosevelt’s memorials, The Wall, Capital, Senate, etc. were heavily guarded and parking near anything was out of the question. Barriers were set up to prevent any size vehicle, down to tricycles and skateboards from parking and detonating explosives. So since our vacation required lots of foot work we might as well have gone to a health spa for the week for exercise. No way will any, suicide drivers hurt our national monuments, again. Homeland security was everywhere, a diversion? American patriotism was also flaunted everywhere with the red white and blue displayed on every corner, tote bag, t-shirt, hat and lapel we passed.
As my husband, daughter and I crossed the street in search of a touristy restaurant, (we didn't want the usual McDonalds, we could eat there at home, not that we did), a strong gust of wind descended from above. It started slowly then picked up momentum. Dresses flew up,(reminding me of the popular Marilyn Monroe photograph!) newspapers and travel brochures were ripped from hands, suit jackets blew open, sunglasses, hats and trash bounced about the sidewalks. The sound grew gradually louder and louder until it became deafening. Then fireflies appeared. No not fireflies. Sparks. The terrorists had attacked; they had done something after all, but what? Shot blazing arrows at the city? Maybe my former relief was premature.
My husband, acting heroicly despite his own fears, grabbed me and our daughter and rushed us to safety, only none of us knew where safe was. Foreigners from around the world who had come to see our national Capital were jabbering away with their theories of what was taking place. I wished I could understand them. Ah, American voices came through all the commotion, but no comfort was found there. No one knew what to expect, as we tried to avoid being hit by glowing projectiles. The blazes targeted a nearby deserted building whose lower level windows were boarded up. A sign on the front door proclaimed the edifice as condemned. Flames pelted the roof, but nothing ignited. We could see through the broken or absent upper windows as fiery tongues bounded about the room. People on the inside, (homeless? transients?) were jumping up and down, excited. They didn't appear scared, they seemed jubilant. They must be in on this bizarre attack. I envisioned the recent production of "War of the worlds" where aliens descended from above and took over the world. Could terrorists have made a pact with denizens of another planet?
I thought it really bizarre that the flames didn’t spray anywhere else. They looked like shot gun pellets and shouldn’t have been so precise in their destination. Not a single fiery dart missed the deserted building or hit anything else. Homeland security permeated the street, just as unsure as the rest of us. Firemen, police and ambulances poured in.
When the front door of the deserted building flew open, ragged men and women emerged, outcasts. All talking at once. All shining with….something. They seemed other worldly. Not reassuring. Again the “War of the Worlds” came to mind. Science fiction or prophesy? After all; Christian Scientists place their faith in a science fiction writer. Those of us who hadn’t run to safety on other streets emerged cautiously from our hiding places.
Dispersing themselves among us they proclaimed the sovereignty of some guy…no...Of the guy who had been publically snuffed out two months ago. And praising some deity called Jehovah. I scanned the crowds around me; everyone seemed to be enthralled by the speakers. Everyone was listening intently, but how. The strangers were all speaking in English. No. My daughter, the product of a biracial marriage, heard English in her right ear and Spanish in her left ear. Her brain was about to implode!! It seems everyone in the crowd was hearing their own language as well. How confusing. Someone was on drugs. Maybe everybody…except of course my husband, daughter and myself. The strongest herb we ever touched was parsley. Okay, maybe cilantro!
Homeland security was unsure what to do…the strangers didn‘t seem violent and hadn‘t broken any laws that we could tell. Wait, some of the guys had been with that criminal. Their faces had been plastered all over the papers for weeks. Police officers stepped forward with handcuffs and joy sticks at the ready. Firemen swarmed into the building to extinguish whatever fires had been ignited by the miniature comets. They exited with confused expressions. There were no fires to put out, except the fires burning in our hearts.
A tall, young , well shaved man stepped forward with his hands in the air. The self appointed spokesperson for the pariahs. He had been the last to run months ago when his friend was apprehended and tried. He asked for permission to talk before being handcuffed. The officers, still hesitant, gratefully acquiesced, thankful for the fortuitous opportunity to assess the situation.
Introducing himself as Peter, the man began a protracted dissertation of recent events, (what’s he trying to do, distract us with wordiness?) Some of the crowd disbanded, no longer interested in the happenings, attributing the disturbance to some David Copperfield type illusion. Others stayed and listened with cynicism printed all over their faces, waiting to see the weirdoes taken into custody. Others actually pulled out little pocket bibles and followed this “Peter’s” discourse, testing the waters of truth. My husband was hooked, my daughter was hooked. I was hooked. This Peter seemed to be genuine. The fact that we all heard him speak in our own language convinced me that something spiritual was taking place, and I didn’t want to miss the boat.
By the end of the afternoon, three thousand of us were added to the not-so-dead revolutionary’s group of followers, believers in a coming kingdom, unintentional partakers in the death of a Messiah, The Messiah, a messenger come to proclaim eternal life. The new additions included police, firemen and homeland security employees. Nothing we heard today led us to believe the United States was in jeopardy. But we were led to believe that each individual present was vulnerable to death if we failed to repent and give our lives over to a greater citizenship. A dual citizenship.
Boy, am I glad we didn’t let the recent events prevent us from taking this vacation! Now we discovered we were on permanent vacation. We became extra terrestrials, sojourners here with a home in outer space in some place called heaven. We were real participants in the War of the Worlds, spiritual versus carnal, demonic versus Godly. I guess the war of the worlds wasn’t fiction after all!
John 12:31
Acts 2
Eph. 2:19
Eph 6:12
Phil. 3:20
We's seen most of the sights and had a fairly good time in spite of the palpable air of uneasiness that hung over the city. Most foreigners, (since this is the nation’s capital and home of the United Nations, there was an abundance of foreigners!) were treated warily, even those that worked and lived here for years. All the main attractions, the Lincoln, Washington, Korean, and Roosevelt’s memorials, The Wall, Capital, Senate, etc. were heavily guarded and parking near anything was out of the question. Barriers were set up to prevent any size vehicle, down to tricycles and skateboards from parking and detonating explosives. So since our vacation required lots of foot work we might as well have gone to a health spa for the week for exercise. No way will any, suicide drivers hurt our national monuments, again. Homeland security was everywhere, a diversion? American patriotism was also flaunted everywhere with the red white and blue displayed on every corner, tote bag, t-shirt, hat and lapel we passed.
As my husband, daughter and I crossed the street in search of a touristy restaurant, (we didn't want the usual McDonalds, we could eat there at home, not that we did), a strong gust of wind descended from above. It started slowly then picked up momentum. Dresses flew up,(reminding me of the popular Marilyn Monroe photograph!) newspapers and travel brochures were ripped from hands, suit jackets blew open, sunglasses, hats and trash bounced about the sidewalks. The sound grew gradually louder and louder until it became deafening. Then fireflies appeared. No not fireflies. Sparks. The terrorists had attacked; they had done something after all, but what? Shot blazing arrows at the city? Maybe my former relief was premature.
My husband, acting heroicly despite his own fears, grabbed me and our daughter and rushed us to safety, only none of us knew where safe was. Foreigners from around the world who had come to see our national Capital were jabbering away with their theories of what was taking place. I wished I could understand them. Ah, American voices came through all the commotion, but no comfort was found there. No one knew what to expect, as we tried to avoid being hit by glowing projectiles. The blazes targeted a nearby deserted building whose lower level windows were boarded up. A sign on the front door proclaimed the edifice as condemned. Flames pelted the roof, but nothing ignited. We could see through the broken or absent upper windows as fiery tongues bounded about the room. People on the inside, (homeless? transients?) were jumping up and down, excited. They didn't appear scared, they seemed jubilant. They must be in on this bizarre attack. I envisioned the recent production of "War of the worlds" where aliens descended from above and took over the world. Could terrorists have made a pact with denizens of another planet?
I thought it really bizarre that the flames didn’t spray anywhere else. They looked like shot gun pellets and shouldn’t have been so precise in their destination. Not a single fiery dart missed the deserted building or hit anything else. Homeland security permeated the street, just as unsure as the rest of us. Firemen, police and ambulances poured in.
When the front door of the deserted building flew open, ragged men and women emerged, outcasts. All talking at once. All shining with….something. They seemed other worldly. Not reassuring. Again the “War of the Worlds” came to mind. Science fiction or prophesy? After all; Christian Scientists place their faith in a science fiction writer. Those of us who hadn’t run to safety on other streets emerged cautiously from our hiding places.
Dispersing themselves among us they proclaimed the sovereignty of some guy…no...Of the guy who had been publically snuffed out two months ago. And praising some deity called Jehovah. I scanned the crowds around me; everyone seemed to be enthralled by the speakers. Everyone was listening intently, but how. The strangers were all speaking in English. No. My daughter, the product of a biracial marriage, heard English in her right ear and Spanish in her left ear. Her brain was about to implode!! It seems everyone in the crowd was hearing their own language as well. How confusing. Someone was on drugs. Maybe everybody…except of course my husband, daughter and myself. The strongest herb we ever touched was parsley. Okay, maybe cilantro!
Homeland security was unsure what to do…the strangers didn‘t seem violent and hadn‘t broken any laws that we could tell. Wait, some of the guys had been with that criminal. Their faces had been plastered all over the papers for weeks. Police officers stepped forward with handcuffs and joy sticks at the ready. Firemen swarmed into the building to extinguish whatever fires had been ignited by the miniature comets. They exited with confused expressions. There were no fires to put out, except the fires burning in our hearts.
A tall, young , well shaved man stepped forward with his hands in the air. The self appointed spokesperson for the pariahs. He had been the last to run months ago when his friend was apprehended and tried. He asked for permission to talk before being handcuffed. The officers, still hesitant, gratefully acquiesced, thankful for the fortuitous opportunity to assess the situation.
Introducing himself as Peter, the man began a protracted dissertation of recent events, (what’s he trying to do, distract us with wordiness?) Some of the crowd disbanded, no longer interested in the happenings, attributing the disturbance to some David Copperfield type illusion. Others stayed and listened with cynicism printed all over their faces, waiting to see the weirdoes taken into custody. Others actually pulled out little pocket bibles and followed this “Peter’s” discourse, testing the waters of truth. My husband was hooked, my daughter was hooked. I was hooked. This Peter seemed to be genuine. The fact that we all heard him speak in our own language convinced me that something spiritual was taking place, and I didn’t want to miss the boat.
By the end of the afternoon, three thousand of us were added to the not-so-dead revolutionary’s group of followers, believers in a coming kingdom, unintentional partakers in the death of a Messiah, The Messiah, a messenger come to proclaim eternal life. The new additions included police, firemen and homeland security employees. Nothing we heard today led us to believe the United States was in jeopardy. But we were led to believe that each individual present was vulnerable to death if we failed to repent and give our lives over to a greater citizenship. A dual citizenship.
Boy, am I glad we didn’t let the recent events prevent us from taking this vacation! Now we discovered we were on permanent vacation. We became extra terrestrials, sojourners here with a home in outer space in some place called heaven. We were real participants in the War of the Worlds, spiritual versus carnal, demonic versus Godly. I guess the war of the worlds wasn’t fiction after all!
John 12:31
Acts 2
Eph. 2:19
Eph 6:12
Phil. 3:20
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Support Services Inc.
Support Services Inc.
The boss had warned us we’d be getting busy as the years went by; some of us barely had time to recover from our last mission before we were sent off again. I was manning the phones today, that job isn’t necessarily an easier one. Triaging is not the most relaxing way to while away the shift, not that actually doing the foot work is easier but it is more rewarding.
Word was spreading that areas under our jurisdiction were flooding from a rain engorged river, while other areas were on fire from a careless cigarette smoker. See second hand smoke really is bad for you! Wouldn’t it be nice if we could divert the flood waters to the blazing regions? That would be too easy. Then there were some hurricanes, and earthquakes in the forecast. Thank heavens we were fully staffed with competent reliable help. Work ethic s was at a premium; no one ever called in or shirked their duties. We had no sluggards or control freaks. Those had been disposed of early in the game, choosing to set up a competitive business that would go up in smoke someday.
The phones were buzzing up and down the long tables, and every caller had a real person to speak with, no automated responses here. Controlled chaos ruled around me, everyone swishing this way and that way as they responded to caller’s requests.
My phone rang. The caller ID registered a familiar name. This was a repeat caller, someone who called daily, rain or shine, fire or no, just to keep in touch.
“Hello, my name is Gabby, how may I help you?”
“Flood waters are filling my house and I have no way out! I’m trapped!” was Suzi’s panic-stricken reply.
“Don’t worry. Go to the roof and wait. I have someone on the way,” I assured her. She thanked me profusely with earnest gratitude before hanging up.
I knew full well why she waited till the last minute to escape. In plan A we had been evacuating her region for days before the turbulent river waters rose to this drastic level but her frail grandmother didn't want to be moved, she was born in that house and by God she would die there; and die she did (by God), of natural causes, (well in this day and age natural causes could be gun fire, car accidents, terrorist activity, or drowning in a flood but in this case it was heart failure) the whole while trying to convince her granddaughter to get the heck out. At ninety she was prepared to go, but her granddaughter wouldn't leave. Some one less devoted would have been on the first train out of town!
I sent plan B into action. As Suzi climbed the ladder to the roof I contacted the nearest motor boat. The only motor boat containing another person who had waited until the last minute to evacuate, claiming he would not abandon his house or possessions. Well, he changed his mind as the waters gradually whipped about his feet, then ankles and hips and he forsook greed and gave into surrender and defeat. The man in the boat was unknown to us. He’d never made a call to this number, choosing instead to verbally bash our services whenever possible, but he was going to receive a call today that would possibly change the course of his life.
Suzi heard the drone of an engine and waved frantically catching Drake's attention. Navigating past roof tops, light poles and wires, he managed to haul Suzi and her backpack aboard his little craft as the waters rose above her roof. Never mind all those lectures about accepting rides from strangers. Granny’s house was now history, only a record in a court house and insurance office.
"Thank God you found me!" Suzi forthrightly praised her creator as she lowered her self onto a soaked seat: all four sides of the boat see sawed up and down.
“God? God had nothing to do with this lady." explained her rescuer. "If you don't mind, I get the credit myself! God has left the building." Drake's anger and resentment at some imaginary super deity were just a little more than obvious to Suzi as he handed her his very orange, very large, very cumbersome, life jacket.
A helicopter flew over, dipping and rising, looking for people trapped on shrinking roof tops. The little boat was hard to see among all the flotsam and white capped waves created by the gusty full bodied air. The sun, concealed behind thunderclouds, was slipping into western horizon. The two occupants stood and waved recklessly yelling at the top of their vocal cords.( Like anyone in a helicopter could hear their vocalizations that high up through this squall.)
Clouds dumped buckets full of rain on Suzi and Drake as the helicopter veered off to the right. Suzi and Drake were on their left. Suzi sat down and stared at the helicopter’s rear.
“They’ll be back.”
Drake stared at her as though she was being transformed into something less than human. “You’ve got to be kidding! They’re going home; we’re on our own kid. ” Optimism is a great character trait, it’s a shame Drake didn’t have any!
Suzi didn’t say a word…out loud. Praying in the spirit she just held on to the sides for dear life as thunder cracked and lightening bolted in the hemisphere above her head. She had always connected rainy days with the Jesus’ return. They always made her expectant of the rapture. Now they would remind her of her granny’s death and passing on to be with the lord; that is if she made it through this.
The little motor boat puttered through the expanding river complete with obstacle courses. The floorboard was filling with water that sloshed in from the sides and came down from the skies. Suzi bailed water out as Drake attempted navigation. It was not a night fit for man, beast or fish. Up ahead something loomed out of the water. A cross. An enourmous wooden cross. The rapidly rising water was as tall as the four story Baptist church Suzi’s granny had called home.
"Look good, lady, that will probably be our grave marker." Drake spat out contemptibly as the boat bottom scraped across some submerged tool of destruction. A very unreassuring screech sounded over all the sounds of nature gone wild. Then the little motor breathed its last breath as phone wires strangled the blades. Drake decided now was as good as any time to give up. There was nowhere to go but down into the raging waters. "I've heard drowning is painless. At least I’ve never heard anyone complain before."
Complain. That's all Suzi had heard Drake do, but she wasn't giving up. She had too much confidence in past experiences to give up. She clung to her seat, trying to not be swept into the current, praying. She had no doubt that something wonderful could still happen.
“I have faith in God. He’ll take care of us.”
“Faith! In God! You have faith in some character that could let this happen? ” Drake seethed. “Give me a break. If he was going to save us he’d have done it by now. As it stands, we are in a metal boat, without a working motor, in an electric storm at night fall. We’re a advertisment for what not to do in a electrical shower. Our last chance for rescue flew over those hills. It’s getting chilly; we’re soaked to the bones. We’ll either drown or die of hypothermia. If God is going to save us, he’d better call in some favors. And soon.”
“Excuse me if I back away before lightening hits you.” Suzi said, sarcastically.
And then…Lightening struck. The enormous wood cross of Granny’s Baptist church was now firewood. On the heels of the loud sonic boom, the newly formed ocean became a blaze. The sky lit up like dawn. The pair was close enough to feel the heat that dried their clothes in nano seconds.
The helicopter’s whirly blades reappeared over the hill tops, adding to nature’s wind tunnel. The helicopter had been attracted to the explosion and resulting combustion and come to investigate one last time. The flames acted like spot lights placing Drake and Suzi on center stage. They had been found. Well Suzi had never been lost, but Drake....well, he was slightly speechless. Probably a first for him.
A ladder was tossed out of the helicopter, a man descended, tied Suzi to him, ascended, released Suzi, descended, tied Drake to him, and ascended one last time,(all this took more time and energy than expressed in this simple sentence.) Then a spark made good work of the little tired motor boat (it took no time at all for the boat to disintegrate when the gas tank reacted to the heat!)
All those in the helicopter gawked down at the magnificent burning cross, illuminating the area and dispelling darkness before they flew away to the school auditorium set up by the American Red Cross for first aide and nourishment.
Back in the Support Service’s office I hovered on the precipice of my cloud observing the retrieval of Suzi and Blake from the flooded city below. The woman standing next to me lowered the bow she had aimed downwards.
“That was a pretty good shot,” I praised. “And clever, I never would have thought of using the cross for a rescue beacon!” Lord knows, I thought, the cross has done its share of life saving over the centuries.
“No it wasn’t! I was aiming for that blasphemous jerk with my granddaughter!” Granny explained. “I have a feeling this won’t be the last time they see each other and she is too good for him!”
Great. I gently reached over and extricated the bow and arrows from Granny and returned them to their responsible owner. (The arrows were really lightening sticks, not available at a store near you). “It looks like we need to have a serious discussion about how things work here before you continue on through the pearly gates.”
Psalm 36:6
Math 5:54
Math 24:27
1 Cor. 1:18
2 Peter 2:5
The boss had warned us we’d be getting busy as the years went by; some of us barely had time to recover from our last mission before we were sent off again. I was manning the phones today, that job isn’t necessarily an easier one. Triaging is not the most relaxing way to while away the shift, not that actually doing the foot work is easier but it is more rewarding.
Word was spreading that areas under our jurisdiction were flooding from a rain engorged river, while other areas were on fire from a careless cigarette smoker. See second hand smoke really is bad for you! Wouldn’t it be nice if we could divert the flood waters to the blazing regions? That would be too easy. Then there were some hurricanes, and earthquakes in the forecast. Thank heavens we were fully staffed with competent reliable help. Work ethic s was at a premium; no one ever called in or shirked their duties. We had no sluggards or control freaks. Those had been disposed of early in the game, choosing to set up a competitive business that would go up in smoke someday.
The phones were buzzing up and down the long tables, and every caller had a real person to speak with, no automated responses here. Controlled chaos ruled around me, everyone swishing this way and that way as they responded to caller’s requests.
My phone rang. The caller ID registered a familiar name. This was a repeat caller, someone who called daily, rain or shine, fire or no, just to keep in touch.
“Hello, my name is Gabby, how may I help you?”
“Flood waters are filling my house and I have no way out! I’m trapped!” was Suzi’s panic-stricken reply.
“Don’t worry. Go to the roof and wait. I have someone on the way,” I assured her. She thanked me profusely with earnest gratitude before hanging up.
I knew full well why she waited till the last minute to escape. In plan A we had been evacuating her region for days before the turbulent river waters rose to this drastic level but her frail grandmother didn't want to be moved, she was born in that house and by God she would die there; and die she did (by God), of natural causes, (well in this day and age natural causes could be gun fire, car accidents, terrorist activity, or drowning in a flood but in this case it was heart failure) the whole while trying to convince her granddaughter to get the heck out. At ninety she was prepared to go, but her granddaughter wouldn't leave. Some one less devoted would have been on the first train out of town!
I sent plan B into action. As Suzi climbed the ladder to the roof I contacted the nearest motor boat. The only motor boat containing another person who had waited until the last minute to evacuate, claiming he would not abandon his house or possessions. Well, he changed his mind as the waters gradually whipped about his feet, then ankles and hips and he forsook greed and gave into surrender and defeat. The man in the boat was unknown to us. He’d never made a call to this number, choosing instead to verbally bash our services whenever possible, but he was going to receive a call today that would possibly change the course of his life.
Suzi heard the drone of an engine and waved frantically catching Drake's attention. Navigating past roof tops, light poles and wires, he managed to haul Suzi and her backpack aboard his little craft as the waters rose above her roof. Never mind all those lectures about accepting rides from strangers. Granny’s house was now history, only a record in a court house and insurance office.
"Thank God you found me!" Suzi forthrightly praised her creator as she lowered her self onto a soaked seat: all four sides of the boat see sawed up and down.
“God? God had nothing to do with this lady." explained her rescuer. "If you don't mind, I get the credit myself! God has left the building." Drake's anger and resentment at some imaginary super deity were just a little more than obvious to Suzi as he handed her his very orange, very large, very cumbersome, life jacket.
A helicopter flew over, dipping and rising, looking for people trapped on shrinking roof tops. The little boat was hard to see among all the flotsam and white capped waves created by the gusty full bodied air. The sun, concealed behind thunderclouds, was slipping into western horizon. The two occupants stood and waved recklessly yelling at the top of their vocal cords.( Like anyone in a helicopter could hear their vocalizations that high up through this squall.)
Clouds dumped buckets full of rain on Suzi and Drake as the helicopter veered off to the right. Suzi and Drake were on their left. Suzi sat down and stared at the helicopter’s rear.
“They’ll be back.”
Drake stared at her as though she was being transformed into something less than human. “You’ve got to be kidding! They’re going home; we’re on our own kid. ” Optimism is a great character trait, it’s a shame Drake didn’t have any!
Suzi didn’t say a word…out loud. Praying in the spirit she just held on to the sides for dear life as thunder cracked and lightening bolted in the hemisphere above her head. She had always connected rainy days with the Jesus’ return. They always made her expectant of the rapture. Now they would remind her of her granny’s death and passing on to be with the lord; that is if she made it through this.
The little motor boat puttered through the expanding river complete with obstacle courses. The floorboard was filling with water that sloshed in from the sides and came down from the skies. Suzi bailed water out as Drake attempted navigation. It was not a night fit for man, beast or fish. Up ahead something loomed out of the water. A cross. An enourmous wooden cross. The rapidly rising water was as tall as the four story Baptist church Suzi’s granny had called home.
"Look good, lady, that will probably be our grave marker." Drake spat out contemptibly as the boat bottom scraped across some submerged tool of destruction. A very unreassuring screech sounded over all the sounds of nature gone wild. Then the little motor breathed its last breath as phone wires strangled the blades. Drake decided now was as good as any time to give up. There was nowhere to go but down into the raging waters. "I've heard drowning is painless. At least I’ve never heard anyone complain before."
Complain. That's all Suzi had heard Drake do, but she wasn't giving up. She had too much confidence in past experiences to give up. She clung to her seat, trying to not be swept into the current, praying. She had no doubt that something wonderful could still happen.
“I have faith in God. He’ll take care of us.”
“Faith! In God! You have faith in some character that could let this happen? ” Drake seethed. “Give me a break. If he was going to save us he’d have done it by now. As it stands, we are in a metal boat, without a working motor, in an electric storm at night fall. We’re a advertisment for what not to do in a electrical shower. Our last chance for rescue flew over those hills. It’s getting chilly; we’re soaked to the bones. We’ll either drown or die of hypothermia. If God is going to save us, he’d better call in some favors. And soon.”
“Excuse me if I back away before lightening hits you.” Suzi said, sarcastically.
And then…Lightening struck. The enormous wood cross of Granny’s Baptist church was now firewood. On the heels of the loud sonic boom, the newly formed ocean became a blaze. The sky lit up like dawn. The pair was close enough to feel the heat that dried their clothes in nano seconds.
The helicopter’s whirly blades reappeared over the hill tops, adding to nature’s wind tunnel. The helicopter had been attracted to the explosion and resulting combustion and come to investigate one last time. The flames acted like spot lights placing Drake and Suzi on center stage. They had been found. Well Suzi had never been lost, but Drake....well, he was slightly speechless. Probably a first for him.
A ladder was tossed out of the helicopter, a man descended, tied Suzi to him, ascended, released Suzi, descended, tied Drake to him, and ascended one last time,(all this took more time and energy than expressed in this simple sentence.) Then a spark made good work of the little tired motor boat (it took no time at all for the boat to disintegrate when the gas tank reacted to the heat!)
All those in the helicopter gawked down at the magnificent burning cross, illuminating the area and dispelling darkness before they flew away to the school auditorium set up by the American Red Cross for first aide and nourishment.
Back in the Support Service’s office I hovered on the precipice of my cloud observing the retrieval of Suzi and Blake from the flooded city below. The woman standing next to me lowered the bow she had aimed downwards.
“That was a pretty good shot,” I praised. “And clever, I never would have thought of using the cross for a rescue beacon!” Lord knows, I thought, the cross has done its share of life saving over the centuries.
“No it wasn’t! I was aiming for that blasphemous jerk with my granddaughter!” Granny explained. “I have a feeling this won’t be the last time they see each other and she is too good for him!”
Great. I gently reached over and extricated the bow and arrows from Granny and returned them to their responsible owner. (The arrows were really lightening sticks, not available at a store near you). “It looks like we need to have a serious discussion about how things work here before you continue on through the pearly gates.”
Psalm 36:6
Math 5:54
Math 24:27
1 Cor. 1:18
2 Peter 2:5
Friday, July 18, 2008
overboard!
That was the most fascinating thing I’ve ever witnessed. I know people can pull through in a crisis but this wasn’t really a crisis. So some would go to bed hungry tonight, so what? But after the motivational “speaker” was through with his spontaneous presentation one little boy brought up his uneaten lunch to share with this colossal crowd and suddenly everyone was inspired to share theirs with those that had nothing. It was like Woodstock, except everyone was high on love, not dope. (Not that I’m old enough to remember Woodstock, I just heard about it!)
Now with a full stomach I was ready to head home. There were boats pulling out from the dock now, so I took that as my cue to gather my stuff together. As I headed down hill I spied the “speaker” heading up hill, by himself. Pretty brave fellow, there were wild animals in this area. I didn’t see anything on him that resembled a weapon, not that hunting was allowed this time of year. I hope he knows what he’s doing.
I found a craft accepting one more body and climbed aboard. I discovered the “speaker’s” traveling buddies were going across with me. They were staring after “speaker” mumbling to themselves and shaking their heads. Apparently they thought he should be with us. Oh well. He was an adult.
The sky was dark, of course it was well past sunset, but it was dark in that way that indicates heavy clouds were between us and the solar system. I just wanted to get to the other side where my car was parked so I could get home.
Plip, plop. Plip, plop. Here it comes, half way across the body of water; the big body of water. Land on either side of us was invisible. The wind whipped about, the waves sloshed up, the heavens opened, rain descended; and me without a raincoat or umbrella. Those that had umbrellas weren’t fairing to well anyway. What was supposed to be domed protection from the elements had now become cone shaped containers for the rain. The umbrella owner’s were shaking them furiously in disappointment and frustration, coming close to snagging a few eyes from those too close.
I was close to the rail holding on for dear life, but surprisingly exhilarated. People were complaining and whining but I was just going with the flow, no pun intended. What else could I do? “Speaker” had just finished telling us that worrying didn’t change circumstances or make us bigger, I had no trouble believing that, especially as my aging body was actually shrinking from disc degeneration.
The vessel dipped into a large wave and I lost my hold on the slippery rail. That wouldn’t be so bad if I had fallen inward, but no, my traitorous body fell outward, into the raging water. Down, down I went, till I started back up; at least I think it was up, in the dark water up and down looked pretty much the same! My head popped up above the waves so I could witness the craft continue on its journey.
Okay, I think the word panic is underrated. Now I have something to worry about and “Speaker” was right, worrying wasn’t going to get me out of this predicament, er.. . water. My mouth and eyes filled with water from under me and above me. Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink. My shoes were keeping me from treading water easily so I tried to pull them off.
The boat! It was coming back! I saw light scanning the surface, they were looking for me! But at this point I think it was going to be a recovery mission. I wasn’t going to last much longer, fluid was going into my lungs and my strength was waning. They would never see my small brunette head in this massive lake in the dark. Boy, what a pessimist, one little thing goes wrong and I give up.
The light hit something behind me. In front of me? Beside me? Oh heck which direction is which when you’re sinking in water? Like I said, the light hit something and stayed focused on it. What was it? A hallucination! I must be close to death, I hear you see things in the other world when you’re almost ready to give up the spirit. It was a human form approaching, casually as though taking a stroll on a well tread path. I stopped flaying and stared, ready to ascend to heaven (or so I hoped, remembering my not so good life.)
The silhouette stopped in front of me, squatted down and placed his hands on his knee, rain dripping from the brim of his hat, reminding me of an old country western song. It was “Speaker”! He met my eyes and smiled. I’m glad someone could smile, my mouth was wide open, not a good thing when you’re neck deep in water. Water splashed in my mouth, I spit it back out, more water came in, I repeated the cycle.
“Uh, do you mind giving me a hand here?” I queried, sort of offhandedly.
“Does it matter which hand?” Oh, great, a champion with a sense of humor.
“Not really.” I sputtered. A hand came down to me and pulled me up, slowly. Backing away he continued to assist me. My feet rose until I was only up to my ankles. I felt as though I was walking on solid ground, but I pointed my toes and prodded about, nothing but water. Amazing. Speaker didn’t seem perturbed about the lack of substance below us. Presumably, this was no big deal to him.
Without letting go of my hand, (with the death grip I had on his he wouldn’t have been able too), Speaker led me to the boat’s ladder through the torrent with no apparent urgency, conversing nonchalantly about how the area farmers needed this rain. I was unable to contribute to the dialogue, being in some level of shock. Hands reached for me to facilitate my rescue. I could only imagine the looks on their faces as the lights aimed at us were blinding me.
As I ascended the steps Speaker whispered in my ear,”Let’s not tell them where the sand bar is.” Sandbar? There wasn’t one! I know, remember, I had searched with my feet. There was nothing under us. Well, miles of water, but absolutely no sandbar. Was Speaker playing with my mind?
Once I was aboard every one backed away unsure if they were observing a ghost while Speaker scrambled over the side rail. His pals were the only ones plucky enough to approach him and give him unnecessary aid. He walked on water yet needed help over the side rail, give me a break!
The winds continued, slapping water in our ears, so we couldn’t hear anything that was said between Speaker and his cohorts, but we saw a lot of gesticulating towards the sky and cloudburst. It looked as if the twelve men were giving Speaker what for about the weather, as though it was his fault! Give me a break (again), no one can control nature.
As we all scrutinized the encounter, Speaker raised his arm and moved his lips, (I’m sure audibly to his pals, but we cowards stayed too far to perceive his words. The waters stopped churning and the deluge wrapped up, I genuinely mean wrapped up. No tapering off, no slowing down, just stopped. Suddenly. The clouds were gone, moonlight and stars filled the heavens and Speaker laid down on a nearby bench to rest. What could he be exhausted about, I was the one who had treaded water for …..Well I want to say forever but that would be an exaggeration. Speaker laid down to rest and so did I, though not as voluntarily. Those nearby barely kept my head from cracking on the floorboards. That would have been ironic, rescued from the deep only to suffer a concussion aboard ship! When I wake up I’m sure I’ll discover this was one heck of a dream…Or will I?
Math 14:13-33
mark 6:30-51
luke 8:22-25
Now with a full stomach I was ready to head home. There were boats pulling out from the dock now, so I took that as my cue to gather my stuff together. As I headed down hill I spied the “speaker” heading up hill, by himself. Pretty brave fellow, there were wild animals in this area. I didn’t see anything on him that resembled a weapon, not that hunting was allowed this time of year. I hope he knows what he’s doing.
I found a craft accepting one more body and climbed aboard. I discovered the “speaker’s” traveling buddies were going across with me. They were staring after “speaker” mumbling to themselves and shaking their heads. Apparently they thought he should be with us. Oh well. He was an adult.
The sky was dark, of course it was well past sunset, but it was dark in that way that indicates heavy clouds were between us and the solar system. I just wanted to get to the other side where my car was parked so I could get home.
Plip, plop. Plip, plop. Here it comes, half way across the body of water; the big body of water. Land on either side of us was invisible. The wind whipped about, the waves sloshed up, the heavens opened, rain descended; and me without a raincoat or umbrella. Those that had umbrellas weren’t fairing to well anyway. What was supposed to be domed protection from the elements had now become cone shaped containers for the rain. The umbrella owner’s were shaking them furiously in disappointment and frustration, coming close to snagging a few eyes from those too close.
I was close to the rail holding on for dear life, but surprisingly exhilarated. People were complaining and whining but I was just going with the flow, no pun intended. What else could I do? “Speaker” had just finished telling us that worrying didn’t change circumstances or make us bigger, I had no trouble believing that, especially as my aging body was actually shrinking from disc degeneration.
The vessel dipped into a large wave and I lost my hold on the slippery rail. That wouldn’t be so bad if I had fallen inward, but no, my traitorous body fell outward, into the raging water. Down, down I went, till I started back up; at least I think it was up, in the dark water up and down looked pretty much the same! My head popped up above the waves so I could witness the craft continue on its journey.
Okay, I think the word panic is underrated. Now I have something to worry about and “Speaker” was right, worrying wasn’t going to get me out of this predicament, er.. . water. My mouth and eyes filled with water from under me and above me. Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink. My shoes were keeping me from treading water easily so I tried to pull them off.
The boat! It was coming back! I saw light scanning the surface, they were looking for me! But at this point I think it was going to be a recovery mission. I wasn’t going to last much longer, fluid was going into my lungs and my strength was waning. They would never see my small brunette head in this massive lake in the dark. Boy, what a pessimist, one little thing goes wrong and I give up.
The light hit something behind me. In front of me? Beside me? Oh heck which direction is which when you’re sinking in water? Like I said, the light hit something and stayed focused on it. What was it? A hallucination! I must be close to death, I hear you see things in the other world when you’re almost ready to give up the spirit. It was a human form approaching, casually as though taking a stroll on a well tread path. I stopped flaying and stared, ready to ascend to heaven (or so I hoped, remembering my not so good life.)
The silhouette stopped in front of me, squatted down and placed his hands on his knee, rain dripping from the brim of his hat, reminding me of an old country western song. It was “Speaker”! He met my eyes and smiled. I’m glad someone could smile, my mouth was wide open, not a good thing when you’re neck deep in water. Water splashed in my mouth, I spit it back out, more water came in, I repeated the cycle.
“Uh, do you mind giving me a hand here?” I queried, sort of offhandedly.
“Does it matter which hand?” Oh, great, a champion with a sense of humor.
“Not really.” I sputtered. A hand came down to me and pulled me up, slowly. Backing away he continued to assist me. My feet rose until I was only up to my ankles. I felt as though I was walking on solid ground, but I pointed my toes and prodded about, nothing but water. Amazing. Speaker didn’t seem perturbed about the lack of substance below us. Presumably, this was no big deal to him.
Without letting go of my hand, (with the death grip I had on his he wouldn’t have been able too), Speaker led me to the boat’s ladder through the torrent with no apparent urgency, conversing nonchalantly about how the area farmers needed this rain. I was unable to contribute to the dialogue, being in some level of shock. Hands reached for me to facilitate my rescue. I could only imagine the looks on their faces as the lights aimed at us were blinding me.
As I ascended the steps Speaker whispered in my ear,”Let’s not tell them where the sand bar is.” Sandbar? There wasn’t one! I know, remember, I had searched with my feet. There was nothing under us. Well, miles of water, but absolutely no sandbar. Was Speaker playing with my mind?
Once I was aboard every one backed away unsure if they were observing a ghost while Speaker scrambled over the side rail. His pals were the only ones plucky enough to approach him and give him unnecessary aid. He walked on water yet needed help over the side rail, give me a break!
The winds continued, slapping water in our ears, so we couldn’t hear anything that was said between Speaker and his cohorts, but we saw a lot of gesticulating towards the sky and cloudburst. It looked as if the twelve men were giving Speaker what for about the weather, as though it was his fault! Give me a break (again), no one can control nature.
As we all scrutinized the encounter, Speaker raised his arm and moved his lips, (I’m sure audibly to his pals, but we cowards stayed too far to perceive his words. The waters stopped churning and the deluge wrapped up, I genuinely mean wrapped up. No tapering off, no slowing down, just stopped. Suddenly. The clouds were gone, moonlight and stars filled the heavens and Speaker laid down on a nearby bench to rest. What could he be exhausted about, I was the one who had treaded water for …..Well I want to say forever but that would be an exaggeration. Speaker laid down to rest and so did I, though not as voluntarily. Those nearby barely kept my head from cracking on the floorboards. That would have been ironic, rescued from the deep only to suffer a concussion aboard ship! When I wake up I’m sure I’ll discover this was one heck of a dream…Or will I?
Math 14:13-33
mark 6:30-51
luke 8:22-25
Sunday, July 13, 2008
The Outing
I couldn't get over it! I was used to my daughter, Cindy, text messaging people when we were alone in the car together, but tonight she had a friend with her and they were both text messaging and conversing with each other at the same time. I hope they didn't get their verbal and electronic conversations mixed up! I was just the taxi driver taking them to the camp grounds in an effort to escape all things Halloween. At least I had Scruffy, my reliable terrier, in the passenger seat to keep me company. I glanced at him only to find he was tex messaging Mr. Sandman. Oh well, at least I had a warm body next to mine. I reached over to scratch his favorite spot...anywhere on his body...to receive a grateful lick on the hand before he readjusted himself.
The back seat conversation stopped. Then griping started. The phones were losing signals. Great, now they'll have to have an old fashion conversation where two people talk to the only two people present, (obviously I know better than to include myself). They were on untested territory now.
It was so dark I couldn't see the street let alone any street signs. We were way past any major housing area or shopping malls. Way past any street lights. Way past the reach of moon light. We should be near the state park with the comfortable cabin I had rented for the night. But no, I suspected we were lost. Again. My GPS was telling me to turn back, go right, go left, back up, go forward and recite the Gettysburg address while patting my tummy and rubbing my head. The useless piece of plastic was malfunctioning. Hmmm, the cell phones, now the GPS.
The wind picked up and Lightening flashed across the sky. One, two, three. Then thunder followed. The storm was three miles away. Great, if I couldn't see on a starless, moonless night, seeing in a deluge will be .....challenging. I loathed challenges.
Cindy screamed. The next lightening/thunder episode sent her into panic. She hates storms. I hate her screaming, but the light streaking across the sky illuminated the ground enough for me to see a break in the horizon were a building stood. A lightless, dark silhouette. I pulled off the road, literally, and aimed my car beams into the field. The car lights went out. Of course, what else. We bumped over rocks and gravel while tall grass brushed against my rear view mirror.
The car stopped (did the battery just die?) in front of an old wooden plank house, two stories tall with broken windows, and open doors swinging in the wind. Cindy and Ginger just stared at me as I stepped out and grabbed my duffle bag.
"What are you doing?" Cindy asked.
"Ever hear of getting out of the rain?" I retorted.
Lightning flashed. One. Thunder. This motivated my usually sublime Scruffy into action as he leapt past me, up the steps and through the doorway. I was close behind. Cindy and Ginger considered staying in an empty car in the dark and rain for about one, two...{lightening, thunder}, seconds. Having left the car after me, they got into the structure before me. Oh, to be young and agile again. And terrified of thunder.
Dust and old furniture was everywhere. None of that covered stuff like you see on TV. Just dusty furniture and cobwebs. Leaves, animal scat, broken planks, pieces of the ceiling and peeling sheet rock were scattered over the floors, I flicked the light switch on. Guess what? They didn't work. Go figure. Old, empty house, no electricity.
I pulled out my flashlight-radio-TV-tool box combo I got for Christmas one year. I remember thinking, I'll never use this, but more than one happenstance has forced me to eat my words. Then I said, "Let there be light!" The flash light worked for nano seconds then went dead. I couldn’t get any action on the TV or radio either, to determine the strength of the impending tempest about to overtake us.
"Lets go back to the car!" Cindy pleaded. Scruffy was sniffing around and whining. His hair was standing on edge. Not an encouraging behavior from a pet with extra sensory perception.
"I don't know about you, but I'd rather be inside on a night like this. I'm going to go get our food and grill. You guys grab the sleeping bags and other gear. This is where the trip ends tonight kids." I announced with determination.
"What!" Cindy wailed.
"Hey, we just wanted to get away from the "trick or treaters" tonight. I doubt any will show up here!" I declared. I hope I can get a refund on the cabin.
Ginger nudged Cindy and whispered in her ear. Cindy didn't look receptive to whatever the secret was but she shrugged in resignation. Might as well, kiddo, I wasn't going to change my mind.
The house was perfect for our campout. My small gas powered grill was well ventilated in this spaciously airy room and gave some light. The rain poured outside...and indoors. It was just like camping out. Really. I could make the best out of this. After a nice meal of hot dogs, chips and Mrs. Bairds pastries Scruffy and I went in search of sleeping quarters using a small flashlight that flickered unpredictably. Cindy and Ginger's whisperings told me they wanted to be alone...together. I don't know what they had up their sleeves but it wasn't going to include me. Hurt feelings? Na. I spent enough nights with girlfriends talking about boys, I just hoped tonight Cindy could get some gospel down Ginger.
I found a sofa in the next room (by jamming my foot into it) where I laid my sleeping bag. Scruffy yawned and crawled up on my lap. Even though he slept through the car ride and most of dinner he was still able to find dream land, and he brought me along this time.
I don't know how long I was out but an odd cold blast woke me. Of course I didn't remember where I was, after all I'm old with short term memory deficits, which comes in handy when you're raising teenagers. Scruffy was sitting by the door, growling. A shadow passed in the hallway, then another, followed by another blast of cold air. I doubt this house had airconditioning, it didn’t even have electricity.
Cindy and Ginger must be exploring. No. That wouldn't make Scruffy growl. I shivered. If I was dead I'd say someone was walking on my grave. I tugged on the zipper to free myself from my sleeping bag and made my way to the door, careful to not jam my still aching foot into any more pieces of furniture. Scruffy kept his eye on me, ready to flee in the opposite direction at any sign of hesitation. Good guard dog.
The girls were huddled over a game board illuminated by our butane lamp. I felt like we weren't alone and Scruffy's uneasiness wasn't helping.
I crept up on the duo and peeked over their shoulders. All I could see was some board with alphabets on it. They were holding on to some triangle thing that was sliding around.
I brushed against Cindy, badly startling her."Don't do that!" she cried.
"What are you guys doing?"
Looking at each other for confirmation that is was okay to divulge their activities they both talked at once,"We're talking to the owner of the house!"
"The phones are working again! Great. I'll call your dad to tell him we're okay." I said, digging my cell phone out of my jeans.
"No. We're talking to them through this board. " Cindy explained as if I was an ignorant child and she was a newly enlightened being.
"Huh."
"Mom, this is cool. Ginger brought this for fun. It's called a Ouija board. You ask it questions and it spells out answers. We're communicating with the other world! It's great. We're learning about what happened to the lady that used to live here." Cindy was really excited. I was really shocked. I had learned in church years ago that Ouija boards were worse than playing with fire. They were tools Satan used to ensnare humans into the occult. ‘This wasn't good’ was my last thought before............the gas powered lamp went out and we were in utter darkness again. (Except for the occasional lightening burst)
A flame sprang up in the ancient fireplace preceding some howling. Lots of howling and scary laughter. Don't let anyone tell you laughter is always good for the soul, because my soul shriveled up at the sound of this particular laugh. Two wispy apparitions stepped out of the roaring blaze an ran through the room; a lady in a cotton dress, house shoes and an apron, with a huge gash in her back dripping blood, being chased by a rough looking man with coveralls, a t-shirt torn in the underarms and an old hat, carrying a butcher knife, dripping blood. Presumably the previous owner and her killer. Scruffy, ears flattened, poked his nose at the throw rug on the floor and glided under. The rug trembled. The air chilled considerably. How can demons from a fiery hell cause such a chill?
As I said before, the two visitors ran through the room, literally. They came out of the south wall and vanished through the north wall. Then back through the south wall to the north wall. A perpetual ritual performed just for us. It only took six performances before we were able to get our feet to cooperate and.....run. We toppled all over each other in our rush to the exit.
Jumping in the car we all slammed the locks down. Okay, we saw the phantoms go through walls but we still locked the doors to keep them out. No logic was involved.
"Yap, yap yap, woof, woof!" Scruffy ordered. (Translation: Hit the gas, lady!") Then he made a heroic dive under the front seat, pulling his tail in after him. My poor brave baby.
"Come on mom, let's get out of here!" Cindy pleaded.
"Can't " I wailed. "My keys are in my purse!"Cindy and Ginger looked recklessly about for my purse, crawling into the trunk and hurling things."It's in there." I sighed, “In the house!”
Cindy and Ginger moaned and we all stared at the house, paralyzed, mentally and physically. What to do? What to do? I sure wasn't going back in there? I could send Cindy, after all, I was still young, I could have more children. No. What was I thinking? I could send Ginger, she wasn't mine.
Scruffy wiggled out from under the seat. He was in control now; I could see assurance in his demeanor. Clamped firmly between his canines was an old New Testament that had found it's way under the car seats. I don't even recall owning that book, but I do recall the words that came immediately to mind upon sight of the little green cover (were the words god-breathed?) "greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world".
"I've had enough!" I stated opening the car door and marching up the steps. Cindy and Ginger had no idea what I was doing, being in the back seat on a dark night in the pouring rain, they didn't see what I retrieved from Scruffy's mouth. They did see and hear me leave the car, much to their terror. They felt compelled to follow me, not wanting to be forsaken in the car. They were such wimps, I reflected.
Marching up the steps I pitched the door open and met the shadow people head on. They were now in their true forms, not victim and criminal but cohorts in evil. They drifted towards me, unsuspecting of their predicament till.....they saw it. The book! But it was the expression on my face that unnerved them. I was angry. I was not scared. I was convinced I had authority over them!
Wispy arms covered their faces as they screeched their protests. They were goners and they knew it.
"Get out of here and leave us alone!" I ordered waving the Word of God about like a sword. Then added, "In Jesus' name!” I foolishly felt as though my shoulders had little cheer leaders dressed in white perched on them, waving feathery pom-poms and cheering me on. I could actually hear their little voices in my head, encouraging me. “Rah, Rah, Rah. Go, girl, go.”
Oh my gosh. The demons squirmed. They squealed. They painfully disappeared. Scruffy, hot on my heels,(I use the word hot carefully) ran over to the abandoned Ouija board and, snatching it in his mouth trotted over to the dying blaze in the fireplace and tossed it in with a flourish, then yapped good riddance to bad trash.
The flashlights and radio I had tried early blared on, and my phone starting ringing. Hubby had been frantically trying to contact me. Sure I was fine, I informed him, why wouldn’t I be? I winked at the girls; it was too long a story to divulge right now.
We actually finished the night off in peace and quiet, teaching Ginger about Jesus and his power over evil, boy was Satan mad we were able to bring good out of his evil intentions. Having seen the worst of the invisible world, Ginger was able to accept the magnificent story of redemption.
The next morning while we repacked the car, a teenage boy on a bicycle rode up. "You guys didn't spend the night in the old Crammer house, did ya'?” he asked incredulously. “It's haunted!"
"Not anymore!" We all said in unison as I started the engine up and we headed home leaving a very stunned and impressed lad staring after us.
Scruffy, standing with his paws on the passenger’s window, watched the porch fade from view. A porch that held two glowing cheerleaders, dressed in white, holding feather pom-poms. The same heavenly cheer leaders who had given him the bible when he was under the car seat to remind me of my connection to the Ruler of the Universe. They looked upward and with a single leap faster than a bullet they went home, mission accomplished.
Lev. 19:26
Duet. 18:14
Micah 5:12
Gal. 5:20
James 4:7
1 John 4:4
The back seat conversation stopped. Then griping started. The phones were losing signals. Great, now they'll have to have an old fashion conversation where two people talk to the only two people present, (obviously I know better than to include myself). They were on untested territory now.
It was so dark I couldn't see the street let alone any street signs. We were way past any major housing area or shopping malls. Way past any street lights. Way past the reach of moon light. We should be near the state park with the comfortable cabin I had rented for the night. But no, I suspected we were lost. Again. My GPS was telling me to turn back, go right, go left, back up, go forward and recite the Gettysburg address while patting my tummy and rubbing my head. The useless piece of plastic was malfunctioning. Hmmm, the cell phones, now the GPS.
The wind picked up and Lightening flashed across the sky. One, two, three. Then thunder followed. The storm was three miles away. Great, if I couldn't see on a starless, moonless night, seeing in a deluge will be .....challenging. I loathed challenges.
Cindy screamed. The next lightening/thunder episode sent her into panic. She hates storms. I hate her screaming, but the light streaking across the sky illuminated the ground enough for me to see a break in the horizon were a building stood. A lightless, dark silhouette. I pulled off the road, literally, and aimed my car beams into the field. The car lights went out. Of course, what else. We bumped over rocks and gravel while tall grass brushed against my rear view mirror.
The car stopped (did the battery just die?) in front of an old wooden plank house, two stories tall with broken windows, and open doors swinging in the wind. Cindy and Ginger just stared at me as I stepped out and grabbed my duffle bag.
"What are you doing?" Cindy asked.
"Ever hear of getting out of the rain?" I retorted.
Lightning flashed. One. Thunder. This motivated my usually sublime Scruffy into action as he leapt past me, up the steps and through the doorway. I was close behind. Cindy and Ginger considered staying in an empty car in the dark and rain for about one, two...{lightening, thunder}, seconds. Having left the car after me, they got into the structure before me. Oh, to be young and agile again. And terrified of thunder.
Dust and old furniture was everywhere. None of that covered stuff like you see on TV. Just dusty furniture and cobwebs. Leaves, animal scat, broken planks, pieces of the ceiling and peeling sheet rock were scattered over the floors, I flicked the light switch on. Guess what? They didn't work. Go figure. Old, empty house, no electricity.
I pulled out my flashlight-radio-TV-tool box combo I got for Christmas one year. I remember thinking, I'll never use this, but more than one happenstance has forced me to eat my words. Then I said, "Let there be light!" The flash light worked for nano seconds then went dead. I couldn’t get any action on the TV or radio either, to determine the strength of the impending tempest about to overtake us.
"Lets go back to the car!" Cindy pleaded. Scruffy was sniffing around and whining. His hair was standing on edge. Not an encouraging behavior from a pet with extra sensory perception.
"I don't know about you, but I'd rather be inside on a night like this. I'm going to go get our food and grill. You guys grab the sleeping bags and other gear. This is where the trip ends tonight kids." I announced with determination.
"What!" Cindy wailed.
"Hey, we just wanted to get away from the "trick or treaters" tonight. I doubt any will show up here!" I declared. I hope I can get a refund on the cabin.
Ginger nudged Cindy and whispered in her ear. Cindy didn't look receptive to whatever the secret was but she shrugged in resignation. Might as well, kiddo, I wasn't going to change my mind.
The house was perfect for our campout. My small gas powered grill was well ventilated in this spaciously airy room and gave some light. The rain poured outside...and indoors. It was just like camping out. Really. I could make the best out of this. After a nice meal of hot dogs, chips and Mrs. Bairds pastries Scruffy and I went in search of sleeping quarters using a small flashlight that flickered unpredictably. Cindy and Ginger's whisperings told me they wanted to be alone...together. I don't know what they had up their sleeves but it wasn't going to include me. Hurt feelings? Na. I spent enough nights with girlfriends talking about boys, I just hoped tonight Cindy could get some gospel down Ginger.
I found a sofa in the next room (by jamming my foot into it) where I laid my sleeping bag. Scruffy yawned and crawled up on my lap. Even though he slept through the car ride and most of dinner he was still able to find dream land, and he brought me along this time.
I don't know how long I was out but an odd cold blast woke me. Of course I didn't remember where I was, after all I'm old with short term memory deficits, which comes in handy when you're raising teenagers. Scruffy was sitting by the door, growling. A shadow passed in the hallway, then another, followed by another blast of cold air. I doubt this house had airconditioning, it didn’t even have electricity.
Cindy and Ginger must be exploring. No. That wouldn't make Scruffy growl. I shivered. If I was dead I'd say someone was walking on my grave. I tugged on the zipper to free myself from my sleeping bag and made my way to the door, careful to not jam my still aching foot into any more pieces of furniture. Scruffy kept his eye on me, ready to flee in the opposite direction at any sign of hesitation. Good guard dog.
The girls were huddled over a game board illuminated by our butane lamp. I felt like we weren't alone and Scruffy's uneasiness wasn't helping.
I crept up on the duo and peeked over their shoulders. All I could see was some board with alphabets on it. They were holding on to some triangle thing that was sliding around.
I brushed against Cindy, badly startling her."Don't do that!" she cried.
"What are you guys doing?"
Looking at each other for confirmation that is was okay to divulge their activities they both talked at once,"We're talking to the owner of the house!"
"The phones are working again! Great. I'll call your dad to tell him we're okay." I said, digging my cell phone out of my jeans.
"No. We're talking to them through this board. " Cindy explained as if I was an ignorant child and she was a newly enlightened being.
"Huh."
"Mom, this is cool. Ginger brought this for fun. It's called a Ouija board. You ask it questions and it spells out answers. We're communicating with the other world! It's great. We're learning about what happened to the lady that used to live here." Cindy was really excited. I was really shocked. I had learned in church years ago that Ouija boards were worse than playing with fire. They were tools Satan used to ensnare humans into the occult. ‘This wasn't good’ was my last thought before............the gas powered lamp went out and we were in utter darkness again. (Except for the occasional lightening burst)
A flame sprang up in the ancient fireplace preceding some howling. Lots of howling and scary laughter. Don't let anyone tell you laughter is always good for the soul, because my soul shriveled up at the sound of this particular laugh. Two wispy apparitions stepped out of the roaring blaze an ran through the room; a lady in a cotton dress, house shoes and an apron, with a huge gash in her back dripping blood, being chased by a rough looking man with coveralls, a t-shirt torn in the underarms and an old hat, carrying a butcher knife, dripping blood. Presumably the previous owner and her killer. Scruffy, ears flattened, poked his nose at the throw rug on the floor and glided under. The rug trembled. The air chilled considerably. How can demons from a fiery hell cause such a chill?
As I said before, the two visitors ran through the room, literally. They came out of the south wall and vanished through the north wall. Then back through the south wall to the north wall. A perpetual ritual performed just for us. It only took six performances before we were able to get our feet to cooperate and.....run. We toppled all over each other in our rush to the exit.
Jumping in the car we all slammed the locks down. Okay, we saw the phantoms go through walls but we still locked the doors to keep them out. No logic was involved.
"Yap, yap yap, woof, woof!" Scruffy ordered. (Translation: Hit the gas, lady!") Then he made a heroic dive under the front seat, pulling his tail in after him. My poor brave baby.
"Come on mom, let's get out of here!" Cindy pleaded.
"Can't " I wailed. "My keys are in my purse!"Cindy and Ginger looked recklessly about for my purse, crawling into the trunk and hurling things."It's in there." I sighed, “In the house!”
Cindy and Ginger moaned and we all stared at the house, paralyzed, mentally and physically. What to do? What to do? I sure wasn't going back in there? I could send Cindy, after all, I was still young, I could have more children. No. What was I thinking? I could send Ginger, she wasn't mine.
Scruffy wiggled out from under the seat. He was in control now; I could see assurance in his demeanor. Clamped firmly between his canines was an old New Testament that had found it's way under the car seats. I don't even recall owning that book, but I do recall the words that came immediately to mind upon sight of the little green cover (were the words god-breathed?) "greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world".
"I've had enough!" I stated opening the car door and marching up the steps. Cindy and Ginger had no idea what I was doing, being in the back seat on a dark night in the pouring rain, they didn't see what I retrieved from Scruffy's mouth. They did see and hear me leave the car, much to their terror. They felt compelled to follow me, not wanting to be forsaken in the car. They were such wimps, I reflected.
Marching up the steps I pitched the door open and met the shadow people head on. They were now in their true forms, not victim and criminal but cohorts in evil. They drifted towards me, unsuspecting of their predicament till.....they saw it. The book! But it was the expression on my face that unnerved them. I was angry. I was not scared. I was convinced I had authority over them!
Wispy arms covered their faces as they screeched their protests. They were goners and they knew it.
"Get out of here and leave us alone!" I ordered waving the Word of God about like a sword. Then added, "In Jesus' name!” I foolishly felt as though my shoulders had little cheer leaders dressed in white perched on them, waving feathery pom-poms and cheering me on. I could actually hear their little voices in my head, encouraging me. “Rah, Rah, Rah. Go, girl, go.”
Oh my gosh. The demons squirmed. They squealed. They painfully disappeared. Scruffy, hot on my heels,(I use the word hot carefully) ran over to the abandoned Ouija board and, snatching it in his mouth trotted over to the dying blaze in the fireplace and tossed it in with a flourish, then yapped good riddance to bad trash.
The flashlights and radio I had tried early blared on, and my phone starting ringing. Hubby had been frantically trying to contact me. Sure I was fine, I informed him, why wouldn’t I be? I winked at the girls; it was too long a story to divulge right now.
We actually finished the night off in peace and quiet, teaching Ginger about Jesus and his power over evil, boy was Satan mad we were able to bring good out of his evil intentions. Having seen the worst of the invisible world, Ginger was able to accept the magnificent story of redemption.
The next morning while we repacked the car, a teenage boy on a bicycle rode up. "You guys didn't spend the night in the old Crammer house, did ya'?” he asked incredulously. “It's haunted!"
"Not anymore!" We all said in unison as I started the engine up and we headed home leaving a very stunned and impressed lad staring after us.
Scruffy, standing with his paws on the passenger’s window, watched the porch fade from view. A porch that held two glowing cheerleaders, dressed in white, holding feather pom-poms. The same heavenly cheer leaders who had given him the bible when he was under the car seat to remind me of my connection to the Ruler of the Universe. They looked upward and with a single leap faster than a bullet they went home, mission accomplished.
Lev. 19:26
Duet. 18:14
Micah 5:12
Gal. 5:20
James 4:7
1 John 4:4
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Memorial Day weekend
“Thanks, but I already have plans for the day," I informed my friend who just invited me over for a day of barbequing and swimming. That was how most of America was spending the day. It was a three day weekend and most people could do this activity any weekend of the year but they make a big deal of it on this particular day. Eating drinking, swimming. That is all this day meant to most people; a time to get together and be a family and enjoy one extra day off work. At least an extra day off if you weren't in the food or merchandise industry. Or the gas industry. Or entertainment industry. The malls would be packed with bargain hunters, sales would be rampant using the day as a reason for extra profits. Movie goers would be out in droves, getting away from routine. Though nowadays, shopping, eating out and going to movies was routine. And profits would be made, no matter how big the sale percentage. Merchants weren't giving stuff away! Besides, most people don't limit themselves to just what's on sale.
My husband and I went to my dad's house and loaded him up into the car, putting his walker into the trunk with his spare oxygen tank. This was dad’s day. He looked forward to this day every year. As a survivor of WWII, the Korean War, and Viet Nam, this was his holiday. I loaded the car with our projects and we took off. We went to the neighborhood cemetery and hunted down his friends. Strange we always had trouble finding them, it's not like they were very mobile. With a walker and oxygen dad was in better health than they were! This was the only occasion he felt complaining about his health was ungracious, walking down the rows of name plaques!
He stuck little flags by the names of his service friends. Their kids had not done this, and he mumbled some unkind words about their neglecting their obligations. I think mostly he complained just to make sure I was aware that I would be held accountable for decorating his grave when the time comes. (Knock on wood that better be some time from now!)
After we finished our flag placing chore, we headed off to the main part of his celebration. The Dallas National Cemetery.
It was unbelievable. No matter how much time I allow to get there the traffic is so thick inside the grounds we crawl along at a snail’s pace, by hundreds of new graves buried under blankets of fresh flowers watered with tears. Every day sees the addition of new members at a rate of 19,500 a year. Cars were parked along the route and people milled about the grounds. I caught sight of a man and woman on the grass beside a flowery decorated tombstone. The woman was crying, the man was trying to be comforting. This is a customary sight here. Some things shouldn't become customary. Flowers were all over the place. People were pushing baby strollers down rows of graves looking for their daddy or uncle or brother(or female counterparts). Flags were flying everywhere.
Closer to our destination we were directed where to park on the grass. Cars, Trucks. Vans. Motorcycles. Ambulances. TV crews. Care flight personal. Portable potties. Scads of people were heading towards the presentation sight. Dressed in shorts, slacks, uniforms, suits, dresses. Every possible combination of red white and blue was covered. Red, white and blue on ties, t-shirts, scarves, handbags, hats, umbrellas, baby diapers, Flags lined the road every twenty feet. Hundreds of them. I wondered how much time it would take to lower them tonight.
There were several tents up on center stage filled with important looking dignitaries and military personal, from every service, and a school choir dressed in green tops and beige pants or skirts. Red white and blue drapes hung over their heads.
The ceremony started with introductions of generals, the Governor, the funeral director. Then three planes were heard approaching. Approaching. Nearer. Nearer. They were in sight now; three planes in formation flew overhead. They were punctual, precise timing. They had left their stations on the second to make a show at the correct minute, in tribute to the somber observance. I wished I had anticipated that to get a picture, I was awed by the formation and the planning. However I did get pictures. Pictures of the crowd sitting on lawn chairs, blankets on the ground, the brick wall lining the area. People with water jugs, umbrellas to shade them from the stifling heat of the sun, large protective hats. People dressed in uniforms. They must be really hot. I got a picture of my husband walking beside my dad, holding an umbrella over his head.
The presentation lasted longer than I thought it should in the middle of a hot, humid day. I worried about the old timers present. This could throw their systems out of whack. I worried about my dad. He had spent time in the emergency room once for dehydration brought on by a baseball game, but he wouldn't miss this day. We stayed ahead of things, keeping him properly hydrated, yet at the same time on the verge of dehydration to prevent congestive heart failure symptoms. Jugglers had nothing on me! It was comforting to know that ambulances and medical personal were on the grounds.
The presentation lasted longer that I thought yet none of these vets, their families, or relatives of the recent victims of Iraq and Afghanistan complained. They hadn't gone to the movies or the malls today. They came to honor Memorial Day properly. Those not here weren't thinking of the reason they had a three day weekend, they were enjoying a paid day off. Memorial Day meant more to those in attendance here. It meant someone died for the population of the United States of America to spend the day however they wanted. Not under a dictatorship. Not in a civil war. Not scrounging for food. Not part of a genocide committee. Not threatened daily with rape or casual murder.
The ceremony was concluded by a roll call of the recently interred. As the names fell on our hearts a crisply dressed serviceman placed a rose on one of several draped chairs that represented either the Navy, Army, Air force, Marines, or Coast Guards. The families were then invited to collect the rose from the chair representing their sacrifice. A rose. A rose with a thorn. The thorn would draw blood, representing the blood shed for our country.
This is the current Memorial day, but the true Memorial day started years ago. It started on a cross where a savior died for our freedoms. When I mentioned that to my dad he retorted with, "Jesus didn't die on Memorial Day!" No. Dad could only think of his fallen comrades today but maybe latter tonight he'll think of Jesus and thank him for freeing him from slavery to sin and an eternity in hell. In that case, every day should be Memorial Day.
The Soap Opera Connection
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
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)