The Break Up
Breaking up was hard to do, we had been together for a long time but I decided I wanted my autonomy. I had been young when we met and I felt I deserved to see more of the world. It wasn’t fair to him that he had been my first love without my knowing what else was in reach. Besides, he was so possessive. Always directing my actions, whispering in my ear whenever he sensed I was going to do something that displeased him. Well, I made my decision now and I had to live with it. I wasn’t going to be wishy-washy, my mind was set.
As I walked out of his house he just stood there with a tear rolling down his cheek. I had no empathy for him, he had never rejected or deliberately hurt me as I was doing to him. I was disappointed that he didn’t rush after me, plead with me, beg me to stay. He must have wanted this himself! What a hypocrite, why did he let this relationship go for so long if he was worn out with it himself? If I meant something to him he should have fought for me! What a wuss!
I breathed the air of autonomy as I walked down his driveway to my car. I knew where I wanted to go first. A bar. He never prevented me from going to one but he always went with me, inhibiting my actions. Everyone else always seemed to be having so much fun, switching partners, meeting new people, getting a buzz from alcohol, while we just had a coke and observed fun in action. I only went for going away parties when someone at work left for other pastures. I‘ve never been drunk so that was my first objective. Real mature goals, huh?
The music was loud, the lights were flashing, beverages were a hundred proof, no one seemed unhappy, (and there were tons of “no ones” everyone in the city had to be in this one building). I couldn’t move without brushing against a body from the front, back or side. Fluid spilled on me from several glasses as I made my way back for seconds and thirds, purposely passing by a gentleman who had been observing me from the moment I entered; yes, I noticed. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of me, and I wanted more than his blue orbs embracing me. He was an extremely handsome dude and he was ogling me! Well, stop looking and start touching!
Oops, I tripped as I neared him on my way back to my table and wouldn’t you know it, I practically fell in his lap! Gosh, I’m such a klutz. Hmmm. As it turned out, my little clumsiness was a great ice breaker, we spent the rest of the evening together. He bought all my drinks and things started getting hazy from then on but I had no doubts about where we would end up.
.I woke up the next morning in his room, I left the bar a girl and woke a woman. I just wish I knew whether I had enjoyed it or not. I spent the day with him, then the night, then the morning again. (I’m not going to tell you to get your mind out of the gutter because whatever you’re thinking happened, happened, let your thoughts go feral!) I was smitten. It was hard for me to believe that it had been so easy to find love again, on my first night of liberty. If this was rebound love I don’t know why it got such a bad reputation.
What followed was a whirl wind courtship. Is that still a popular phrase? We spent time together, invented time to be together, cancelled appointments to be together, gave up friends to be together. He taught me how to drink, and explore the world of drugs safely; what an oxymoron! I was getting the life I didn’t have with Mr. Goodie Two Shoes (GTS). I was seeing the world with a personal guide. I had a man that knew how to treat a woman so that she knew she was a woman.
I missed lots of work to be with Tophet. I gave up my friends because they had been part of my life with GTS and kept imploring me to go back. None of my old friends liked Tophet and didn’t mind voicing their unsolicited opinions. I wouldn’t do it. Slowly I became a hermit with just that special some one only in my life, Tophet.
The weeks melted into months. Months with many changes. My employment changed several times do to repeated absenteeism. Where we lived changed several times, due to failure to meet the rent. My bank account changed due to failure to work steadily. My health changed several times due to….never mind. I got a “disease” that Tophet and I argued about. He skillfully convinced me I must have picked it up off a toilet seat at one of the filthy bars we visited recently. It embarrassed me to seek treatment for it since old acquaintances worked at the public health office, the only medical care I could afford now. They were very kind to me but that didn’t hide the “I told you” sign that hung in the air between us in flashing neon lights.
One morning while Tophet went in search of some nourishment, the kind you inhale, pop or shoot up, I drug myself to the medicine cabinet in search of any small pill or grain of cocaine that we might have over looked. I screeched when I found an intruder in the bathroom hiding behind the sink. She stared at me with sunken eyes, (lusterless sunken eyes), bruised cheeks, (sunken bruised cheeks). Eye shadow was smeared to her hair line, lipstick was smeared to her chin, mascara was smeared to her upper lips, however there was no make up whatever on her eyelids, lips or lashes where you would expect to see such things. Her bare shoulders were battered and scratched and her hair looked like it was combed with an egg beater. I reached to toss her out on her ears but she wouldn’t move. She was standing flat against the wall so I tried again, I couldn’t get a good grip. Good grief she was so flat! Following a few efforts to get my hands on her it hit me; this trespasser was my reflection! My heart stopped. My breathing stopped. My brain stopped. A video lit up the mirror and my choreographed life played in slow motion. It had to have been produced by Stephen King.
I was in no condition to walk so grabbing my car keys I stumbled to my car. I didn’t know where I was going. I just had to get away from that person in the mirror but she pursued me to the car, I could see her in the rearview mirror. My car went into auto pilot and took me down old familiar lanes. I passed people who didn’t wave or honk at me. They should know me but no one recognized me.
I found his house. Should I get out? What nerve I had, expecting him to be home waiting for me after months of making fun of his lifestyle? He wouldn’t want to see me now. I had broken my promise to stay pure for him till my wedding night. I had researched drugs, alcohol, theft, sex and things so carnal even I don’t want to list them.I got out of my car and wobbled to the front door. Lights glowed out of the windows. I gently tapped the knocker. Gently because I didn’t want him to hear me. Then I was afraid he wouldn’t answer so I knocked harder. He must have peeked out the window. Of course he wouldn’t let me in. He warranted someone better than me. I wasn’t good enough for myself, why would he want this broken body, filled with broken promises? He was probably calling the police at this very moment.
Tophet pulled up on the curb; literally. The passenger side hit the streetlight making metal to metal racket. He had his special angry face on! The one that preceded teaching me “a lesson I would remember!” I resumed pounding on the door and crumbled to the cement. This would be mortifying. I was going to get a pounding right under GTS’s nose. He would enjoy this, I‘m sure. The girl that jilted him and her “lover” getting carted off to jail for disturbing the peace.
“Oh, God help me!” I moaned, my lips moving with the words sliding silently out onto the air.
Seconds before Tophet reached me the door swung open and GTS stood there, hands at his side slightly angled out, palms up. Blood dripped from old wounds on his wrist onto my head. Tophet braked to a stop inches from me. There was a staring contest between the two men as I wept in a disintegrated heap. Tophet cursed and raged. He spewed all sorts of epithets at me, I covered my ears with shaking hands. GTS crushed Tophet without even raising a arm or uttering a word. Tophet retreated, a hissing looser. I grabbed GTS’s feet to prevent him from leaving me outside. He stooped down and gently hoisting me to my feet steered me into the living area. They were all there. All my friends. My true friends. On their knees. Heads bent. Praying. For me. Behind them stood radiant wispy figures only I could see, applauding. It must have been the residual effect of some drug, at least it was pleasant unlike the nightmarish apparitions I’d caught sight of in the past few weeks.
In nano seconds, I was surrounded. Caressed by loving hands, (in decent places!). Cleaned. Fed. Dressed. My wounds were treated, and covered. I was welcomed back. Similar stories were shared. I wasn’t alone. I never was. To my astonishment they all had comparable tales they were ashamed of. What bombshells they dropped on me! Hard to believe? Believe it. My story isn’t unique. It’s not hopeless. GTS wasn’t ashamed of me. He was willing, ready and able to take me back. He would never mention the past few months to me again. With his wonderfully selective memory he chose to only remember that I called out to him, you see…..GTS, goodie two shoes, is really GTS, the God That Saves. I was back home, in his house.……….Oh, P.S I latter learned that the door had never been locked behind me, all I had had to do was turn the knob, GTS was on the other side just patiently waiting.
Psalm 27:4
Psalm 84:10
Psalm 103:12
Isaiah 1:18
Isaiah 30:33
Luke 15:10
Luke 15:11-32
John 8:
Rom. 6:15-23
Eph 1:7-12
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Sunday, May 20, 2007
THE THEFT
The Theft
There he was, walking down the center aisle of the busy mall pushing his purple walker (hence the nickname Mr. P.W) and inhaling supplemental oxygen. It had taken me some time to relocate him, I had briefly gone into a store and he bypassed me. He gets along pretty good for a man in his shape! He was slightly hunched forward with his face tilted to the ground watching where he stepped, he took short steps but they got him to his destinations. He paid no attention to the throngs that passed him so closely they bumped up against him. Not good judgment. Everyone should be alert when in public these days, especially the frail and young. Any number of opportunities presented themselves to swipe his billfold, which was my goal.
When he got to the children’s area, he sat down on his portable seat. He seemed to enjoy watching the kids amuse themselves. I, myself, was amazed the kids never seemed to be injured with all the rough housing they did. Everything was heavily padded and geared for the communities smallest citizens. Adults were restricted from the play area being allowed spectators rights only. I could still see the prominent bulge in his sweat pants pocket (the back pocket! Keep your mind clean!) .
I stayed at a distance to keep him from spotting me, though there was little danger of that, I doubted he would be able to pick me out in a horde this size. He was paying no consideration to the other shoppers. Dumb. Most of the mall’s customers looked more like prison parolees, wearing spiked dog collars about their necks, pants that looked like double duty duffle bags, big enough to tote all their belongings, (or conceal weapons), and shirts displaying glorified demonic images. Kids playing hooky from school, dropouts, unemployed bums, wolves in lambskin vests. This place was crawling with evil looking for prospects and I hoped to be the first hit on this man. I’d be kind to him, a gentle hit and run.
Mr. Purple Walker was the ideal target, unmindful of danger. In addition, a WW2 vet at that, as advertised by his baseball cap. That placed him in his eighties. As much as he must have seen in his life, you think he would have learned vigilance. Doesn’t he read the papers, the elderly are easy marks, and crime against them is on the rise. I was just waiting for my chance to add him to the statistics, prowling after him like a lion in the African savannah. He was old and feeble, easy prey for a hungry lion. Heck, a lone, malnourished rabbit could topple him over!
At a bookstore’s cash register, I spied several large bills in Mr. P.W’s arthritic hand as he paid for his purchases, which had taken some time for him to select. Wow, he had lots of mullah on his body. He placed his wallet casually into his hip pocket, so casually I could see three inches of his chubby money receptacle just pleading to be heisted and I was willing to accommodate its desires. I looked about to be certain no one else detected my objective; however, good criminal minds know how to wear a poker face. There could have been dozens of other “lions” tailing Mr. P.W but I vowed to strike first. He needed to be taught a lesson about safety and I was volunteering to be his tutor.
My opportunity was fast approaching. I recognized the path he was heading down now, a long hallway leading to the rest rooms behind all the stores, practically deserted. It was the closest thing to a dark alley. I psyched myself up for his exploitation, stealthily following him, flabbergasted he never turned to look back. Not the least bit aware of his circumstances or upcoming ordeal. It was only the two of us now. Witnesses were far away in the main section of the mall. No one would hear him cry out. Closer, closer. The wallet was screaming at me. We were yards into the hallway and several feet from the men’s room when I leaned forward with my thumb and forefinger ready to grab Mr. P.W’s identity; a wallet full of personal information, address, credit cards, identification and of course his cashed retirement check’s residual.
I was so focused I didn’t notice the men’s bathroom door open. I got the wallet! Success! Wrong. I was looking into the face of a security guard who caught everything. Mr. P.W turned around, (not very quickly and not very shocked) to stare me down. He looked confused when he spotted his wallet in my hands.
The guard promptly approached me while beckoning for help on his walkie-talkie. A young punk, not even old enough to shave yet was getting ready to seize me and claim victory over crime! It wasn’t long before the exit was blocked with white shirted high school graduates wearing replicated Canadian Mountie hats and badges, looking very self-important. I was their answer to a slow afternoon.
“What are you doing?” Mr. P.W questioned.
“Teaching you a lesson about being careful with your wallet.” I responded displaying my trophy.
“Well, call me when you need a ride home from jail,” Mr. P.W offered serviceably as he headed into the bathroom snickering, pushing his walker ahead of him and puffing on his oxygen cannula.
“Dad come back here and help me explain this!” I yelled as the guards descended on me.
“What! And ruin this lesson! Not on your life!”
The bathroom door closed leaving me alone in the corridor with five excited mall guards and a fast forming crowd of spectators.
Duet. 5:16
Prov. 1:10-19
1 Tim. 5:1
James 1:27
1 Pet 5:5
1 Pet.5:8-9
There he was, walking down the center aisle of the busy mall pushing his purple walker (hence the nickname Mr. P.W) and inhaling supplemental oxygen. It had taken me some time to relocate him, I had briefly gone into a store and he bypassed me. He gets along pretty good for a man in his shape! He was slightly hunched forward with his face tilted to the ground watching where he stepped, he took short steps but they got him to his destinations. He paid no attention to the throngs that passed him so closely they bumped up against him. Not good judgment. Everyone should be alert when in public these days, especially the frail and young. Any number of opportunities presented themselves to swipe his billfold, which was my goal.
When he got to the children’s area, he sat down on his portable seat. He seemed to enjoy watching the kids amuse themselves. I, myself, was amazed the kids never seemed to be injured with all the rough housing they did. Everything was heavily padded and geared for the communities smallest citizens. Adults were restricted from the play area being allowed spectators rights only. I could still see the prominent bulge in his sweat pants pocket (the back pocket! Keep your mind clean!) .
I stayed at a distance to keep him from spotting me, though there was little danger of that, I doubted he would be able to pick me out in a horde this size. He was paying no consideration to the other shoppers. Dumb. Most of the mall’s customers looked more like prison parolees, wearing spiked dog collars about their necks, pants that looked like double duty duffle bags, big enough to tote all their belongings, (or conceal weapons), and shirts displaying glorified demonic images. Kids playing hooky from school, dropouts, unemployed bums, wolves in lambskin vests. This place was crawling with evil looking for prospects and I hoped to be the first hit on this man. I’d be kind to him, a gentle hit and run.
Mr. Purple Walker was the ideal target, unmindful of danger. In addition, a WW2 vet at that, as advertised by his baseball cap. That placed him in his eighties. As much as he must have seen in his life, you think he would have learned vigilance. Doesn’t he read the papers, the elderly are easy marks, and crime against them is on the rise. I was just waiting for my chance to add him to the statistics, prowling after him like a lion in the African savannah. He was old and feeble, easy prey for a hungry lion. Heck, a lone, malnourished rabbit could topple him over!
At a bookstore’s cash register, I spied several large bills in Mr. P.W’s arthritic hand as he paid for his purchases, which had taken some time for him to select. Wow, he had lots of mullah on his body. He placed his wallet casually into his hip pocket, so casually I could see three inches of his chubby money receptacle just pleading to be heisted and I was willing to accommodate its desires. I looked about to be certain no one else detected my objective; however, good criminal minds know how to wear a poker face. There could have been dozens of other “lions” tailing Mr. P.W but I vowed to strike first. He needed to be taught a lesson about safety and I was volunteering to be his tutor.
My opportunity was fast approaching. I recognized the path he was heading down now, a long hallway leading to the rest rooms behind all the stores, practically deserted. It was the closest thing to a dark alley. I psyched myself up for his exploitation, stealthily following him, flabbergasted he never turned to look back. Not the least bit aware of his circumstances or upcoming ordeal. It was only the two of us now. Witnesses were far away in the main section of the mall. No one would hear him cry out. Closer, closer. The wallet was screaming at me. We were yards into the hallway and several feet from the men’s room when I leaned forward with my thumb and forefinger ready to grab Mr. P.W’s identity; a wallet full of personal information, address, credit cards, identification and of course his cashed retirement check’s residual.
I was so focused I didn’t notice the men’s bathroom door open. I got the wallet! Success! Wrong. I was looking into the face of a security guard who caught everything. Mr. P.W turned around, (not very quickly and not very shocked) to stare me down. He looked confused when he spotted his wallet in my hands.
The guard promptly approached me while beckoning for help on his walkie-talkie. A young punk, not even old enough to shave yet was getting ready to seize me and claim victory over crime! It wasn’t long before the exit was blocked with white shirted high school graduates wearing replicated Canadian Mountie hats and badges, looking very self-important. I was their answer to a slow afternoon.
“What are you doing?” Mr. P.W questioned.
“Teaching you a lesson about being careful with your wallet.” I responded displaying my trophy.
“Well, call me when you need a ride home from jail,” Mr. P.W offered serviceably as he headed into the bathroom snickering, pushing his walker ahead of him and puffing on his oxygen cannula.
“Dad come back here and help me explain this!” I yelled as the guards descended on me.
“What! And ruin this lesson! Not on your life!”
The bathroom door closed leaving me alone in the corridor with five excited mall guards and a fast forming crowd of spectators.
Duet. 5:16
Prov. 1:10-19
1 Tim. 5:1
James 1:27
1 Pet 5:5
1 Pet.5:8-9
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Don’t Eat On The Run!
Swimming and seafood are my two favorite things. If I had to give either one up, I would just die. I loved swimming so much I was a lifetime member of a synchronized swimming class that met in the ocean. The minute class broke up every day I was off fishing for …fish of course. Some of my classmates that have graduated live in the lap of luxury, being catered to daily. They are so full of themselves we never see them again, unless we buy a ticket to see them perform and not one of us was willing to leave the comfort zone of the ocean to go inland. We knew how to handle the danagers of water sharks, wiley land sharks were another matter all together. We, the non-graduate-life-time members became low life and inaccessible to those that sold themselves out. Being “owned” was not the life I would choose for myself. I love doing my own thing, my time is my time not some big corporation’s that tells me who I can see, when to swim, and delivers food to me. Hell, I’m fat enough with out living the soft life! I’m just in swimming school for the socialization and exercise. Don’t fall for the lie that seafood is slimming. Eat enough of anything and you need a good exercise regimen to burn calories. This is a verifiable fact as most of my classmates weigh in at the same unenviable weight as me. We work out to eat out!!
Mom heavily influenced my lifestyle. She delivered me through water birth. She didn’t have to research it as some prospective parents do, she knew instinctively it was the best way to go, easing her newborn from womb to water and then to air. (Actually, she didn’t have time for research; she was swimming herself when I decided to make my entrance, or exit! She barely had time to get me to the surface! ) Studies seem to confirm that a baby born in warm water won’t drown, it’ll get it’s air from the placenta and won’t even take a breath till it reaches the surface: it’s much kinder than dropping a baby into a cold room from a hot uterus which seems “sooooo” cruel. Honestly, people have no idea what they are doing to their young sometimes. Moreover, the whole time she was carrying me, what did she consume? What else, seafood. So my fate was sealed from conception, swimming and seafood like I mentioned at the beginning, are engraved into my constitution. You might say they’re genetically encoded on my DNA!
In my free time as I float on the waves, catching some rays and waiting for something delectable to be trapped in my net I often ponder life’s big question. Why am I here, what is God’s purpose for me? What’s the big deal? ….are questions that preoccupy me constantly. I’m not pretty. People love to stare and gawk at me. They ask themselves, (don’t think I don’t know this), how someone my size can dare to float on the water in open view, in public no less, with friends that have the same body composition! If they had my fat body, they’d keep it submerged! (They don’t realize my body fat keeps me from submerging! Idiots!) Do they think the obesity challenged have atherosclerotic hearing? Do they think ugly and dumb are synonymous? Maybe they assume I have swimmers ear and am completely deaf. Who knows? I just know I really want to understand what God had in mind for me and me only. I know it’s illogical to question the creator of the universe; but really? What was the big idea producing me, was I meant to be a joke? I have comrades in the same situation as me that don‘t seem to be embarrassed by their outer shells, totally content with their inner package. Totally! They don’t envy the pencil thin beauties that gape at us from the many boats that pass our rehearsals on their way to deep-sea fishing and ocean touring. I notice the men that stare at me then pinch the behinds of their feminine companions, making some threatening remarks about not letting themselves go. I’m big, subcutaneously challenged, and most men are afraid of me. I console myself with the fact I’m too much of a woman for them, but this knowledge doesn’t help my self-esteem when I see the women they prefer to me.
School let out early one day due to the forecast. Unexpected heavy weather was on its way and everyone was anxious to go to his or her personal haunts. The sight seeing boats that circled around our free performances were packing up and placing closed signs at the ticket offices. Every one with a brain was heading for safety. The ocean is not weather friendly. The coast was deserted, except for me. I never pass up an opportunity to get out on the deep, deep seas. Call me a fool, call me reckless, just call me! I love the perilous life of floating on the surface of choppy waters, the white waves splashing over me strong enough to capsize larger vessels; it’s the adventurous red neck in me. After long hours of training and public demonstrations to passing vessels I need to let myself go wild and throw caution to the wind, literally.
I did decided it was time to go home when I observed a huge fishing boat ahead of me being cast about like flotsam. I occasionally do give in to reason! Five sailors were peering over the side as though they lost something overboard while dozens were rushing about securing lines and hoisting sails, and whatever else it is sailors do. I wasn’t having any luck with trawling today, anyway. The fish had all descended to calmer waters so I opted to pick up some Asian food that I swallowed whole on the way to shelter as the storm whipped about me.
Suddenly I was racked with discomfort. Discomfort being a mild term for gut wrenching pain! Apparently, I’ve spent so much time limiting myself to seafood, (why is it called seafood when I get it from the ocean?) that the introduction of something foreign caused me great abdominal discomfort. I missed the next couple of days of school. Thank heavens I am not graded for attendance.
I languished about the beach to the calls of my peers encouraging me to join them. Everything below my esophagus was in spasms, for once I didn’t want to dive or snorkel or … (gasp)… eat! I was miserable. If I’d been exposed to the crime I’d swear I was pregnant with all the kicking and pushing that was taking place in my stomach! Talk about getting to know God, being sick has opened up time in my frenzied schedule for more prayer hours. I made every kind of imaginable promise if only I could get well. I’d go on a diet, I’d not bully smaller beings, I’d give the fish I trapped another chance for survival, I’d become a vegetarian. I wouldn’t question my physical configuration again, I‘d learn to be happy in whatever state I discovered myself in! Lastly, I’d stop questioning God’s authority and judgment. I don’t think I ever chatted with God as much as I did in these last few days when I thought death would be a definite health improvement.
Finally, God seemed to take into account my frail frame and the fact that I was completely at his mercy. As I rolled on the beach encircled by some of my closest friends, trying to oust what ever had troubled my tummy, I experienced a great heaving inner explosion and expelled something foul smelling onto the sand. This “something”, encrusted in fish bones, seaweed and other green vegetation, sprang to its feet and put distance between us on two wobbly appendages. Numerous feet away from the shoreline it collapsed after stumbling a few times, kissed the earth and stared at me in horror after removing a stringy veil from it‘s freshly sanded visage. I get that look enough already, friend, cut it out! So this land lover was the reason for my gastric upset. One lesson I just learned was to chew before swallowing so my food wouldn’t have a chance to disagree with me.
Two surfers approached my discarded dinner and I heard my reluctant Asian take-out-meal ask for directions to someplace called Nineveh as my buddies helped push me back out to sea on the tide. Friends are priceless, I thought to myself, I couldn’t wait to tell them how I’d questioned God and learned the meaning of my existence. God can even use an overweight ugly whale to fulfill his purpose for someone’s life. Nineveh, I’ve heard boaters talk about that evil place, making me glad I’m water bound. Jonah and I had been temporary prayer partners, praying for the same thing, though I had no interest in some land locked town I’d never see I certainly was in full approval of his release from my belly.
Gen 1:20-21
Jonah 1:17
Jonah 2:10
Math 18:20
Rom 9:19-21
1 Cor 6:1
Eph 2:10
Mom heavily influenced my lifestyle. She delivered me through water birth. She didn’t have to research it as some prospective parents do, she knew instinctively it was the best way to go, easing her newborn from womb to water and then to air. (Actually, she didn’t have time for research; she was swimming herself when I decided to make my entrance, or exit! She barely had time to get me to the surface! ) Studies seem to confirm that a baby born in warm water won’t drown, it’ll get it’s air from the placenta and won’t even take a breath till it reaches the surface: it’s much kinder than dropping a baby into a cold room from a hot uterus which seems “sooooo” cruel. Honestly, people have no idea what they are doing to their young sometimes. Moreover, the whole time she was carrying me, what did she consume? What else, seafood. So my fate was sealed from conception, swimming and seafood like I mentioned at the beginning, are engraved into my constitution. You might say they’re genetically encoded on my DNA!
In my free time as I float on the waves, catching some rays and waiting for something delectable to be trapped in my net I often ponder life’s big question. Why am I here, what is God’s purpose for me? What’s the big deal? ….are questions that preoccupy me constantly. I’m not pretty. People love to stare and gawk at me. They ask themselves, (don’t think I don’t know this), how someone my size can dare to float on the water in open view, in public no less, with friends that have the same body composition! If they had my fat body, they’d keep it submerged! (They don’t realize my body fat keeps me from submerging! Idiots!) Do they think the obesity challenged have atherosclerotic hearing? Do they think ugly and dumb are synonymous? Maybe they assume I have swimmers ear and am completely deaf. Who knows? I just know I really want to understand what God had in mind for me and me only. I know it’s illogical to question the creator of the universe; but really? What was the big idea producing me, was I meant to be a joke? I have comrades in the same situation as me that don‘t seem to be embarrassed by their outer shells, totally content with their inner package. Totally! They don’t envy the pencil thin beauties that gape at us from the many boats that pass our rehearsals on their way to deep-sea fishing and ocean touring. I notice the men that stare at me then pinch the behinds of their feminine companions, making some threatening remarks about not letting themselves go. I’m big, subcutaneously challenged, and most men are afraid of me. I console myself with the fact I’m too much of a woman for them, but this knowledge doesn’t help my self-esteem when I see the women they prefer to me.
School let out early one day due to the forecast. Unexpected heavy weather was on its way and everyone was anxious to go to his or her personal haunts. The sight seeing boats that circled around our free performances were packing up and placing closed signs at the ticket offices. Every one with a brain was heading for safety. The ocean is not weather friendly. The coast was deserted, except for me. I never pass up an opportunity to get out on the deep, deep seas. Call me a fool, call me reckless, just call me! I love the perilous life of floating on the surface of choppy waters, the white waves splashing over me strong enough to capsize larger vessels; it’s the adventurous red neck in me. After long hours of training and public demonstrations to passing vessels I need to let myself go wild and throw caution to the wind, literally.
I did decided it was time to go home when I observed a huge fishing boat ahead of me being cast about like flotsam. I occasionally do give in to reason! Five sailors were peering over the side as though they lost something overboard while dozens were rushing about securing lines and hoisting sails, and whatever else it is sailors do. I wasn’t having any luck with trawling today, anyway. The fish had all descended to calmer waters so I opted to pick up some Asian food that I swallowed whole on the way to shelter as the storm whipped about me.
Suddenly I was racked with discomfort. Discomfort being a mild term for gut wrenching pain! Apparently, I’ve spent so much time limiting myself to seafood, (why is it called seafood when I get it from the ocean?) that the introduction of something foreign caused me great abdominal discomfort. I missed the next couple of days of school. Thank heavens I am not graded for attendance.
I languished about the beach to the calls of my peers encouraging me to join them. Everything below my esophagus was in spasms, for once I didn’t want to dive or snorkel or … (gasp)… eat! I was miserable. If I’d been exposed to the crime I’d swear I was pregnant with all the kicking and pushing that was taking place in my stomach! Talk about getting to know God, being sick has opened up time in my frenzied schedule for more prayer hours. I made every kind of imaginable promise if only I could get well. I’d go on a diet, I’d not bully smaller beings, I’d give the fish I trapped another chance for survival, I’d become a vegetarian. I wouldn’t question my physical configuration again, I‘d learn to be happy in whatever state I discovered myself in! Lastly, I’d stop questioning God’s authority and judgment. I don’t think I ever chatted with God as much as I did in these last few days when I thought death would be a definite health improvement.
Finally, God seemed to take into account my frail frame and the fact that I was completely at his mercy. As I rolled on the beach encircled by some of my closest friends, trying to oust what ever had troubled my tummy, I experienced a great heaving inner explosion and expelled something foul smelling onto the sand. This “something”, encrusted in fish bones, seaweed and other green vegetation, sprang to its feet and put distance between us on two wobbly appendages. Numerous feet away from the shoreline it collapsed after stumbling a few times, kissed the earth and stared at me in horror after removing a stringy veil from it‘s freshly sanded visage. I get that look enough already, friend, cut it out! So this land lover was the reason for my gastric upset. One lesson I just learned was to chew before swallowing so my food wouldn’t have a chance to disagree with me.
Two surfers approached my discarded dinner and I heard my reluctant Asian take-out-meal ask for directions to someplace called Nineveh as my buddies helped push me back out to sea on the tide. Friends are priceless, I thought to myself, I couldn’t wait to tell them how I’d questioned God and learned the meaning of my existence. God can even use an overweight ugly whale to fulfill his purpose for someone’s life. Nineveh, I’ve heard boaters talk about that evil place, making me glad I’m water bound. Jonah and I had been temporary prayer partners, praying for the same thing, though I had no interest in some land locked town I’d never see I certainly was in full approval of his release from my belly.
Gen 1:20-21
Jonah 1:17
Jonah 2:10
Math 18:20
Rom 9:19-21
1 Cor 6:1
Eph 2:10
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
THE INVASION
It happened so suddenly no one had time to prepare for it. I know that was true for me. I was watching the coverage on T.V. News reports about the weather. Lightening everywhere, it was being built as the worst storm in global history. Then to add insult to injury the earth itself started to rebel; earthquakes, volcanoes, tsunamis and fires sprang up in the most isolated areas. No place was safe; mountains were collapsing, huge ocean waves cascaded down on villages, lava flowed through metropolises with people running vainly ahead of red steaming goo. The cameras caught the expression on a few hapless faces as the hot molten rock reached them, scorched their bodies and finally absorbed them. Then the local coverage’s went dead as the photographers and their equipment fell to the same fate never to realize their Pulitzer Prize for journalism. The reporters showed people running into the hills looking for safety only to be buried alive under heaps of earth that cascaded down on top of them. Limbs protruded from the dirt grasping for a lifeline for seconds before they succumbed to their doom, their lungs crushed. Then the incredible. One news correspondent aimed his camera upward, at the lightening. Something was happening in outer space; it looked like an army was descending on us! No spacecraft, just mounted warriors! The camera fell to the ground and you could see feet retreating into the distance.
My T.V went dead. Like everything around it. The electric lines must have gone down. Or the broadcasting station was now wiped out. I was left with only my inferences to ponder the events as they unfolded. I did not have to imagine for long. I ran out of the house into the electrical storm when I heard all the commotion, armed forces were riding down the streets gathering survivors, (or prisoners?) in colossal nets. They weren’t local military, their uniforms were non-conventional white robes, were they from the middle east? They sat atop elegant white steeds who galloped breathlessly. Horses had not been used in centuries, not since the invention of ozone destroying gas-guzzlers. Horses were definitely practically at this moment however as the streets had become impassable by even army tanks: rubble from buildings, overturned vehicles, and trees of every kind blocked all the thorough fares. Blocked? I’m not sure that is the best word. There was no hint of a civilized route through the wreckage.
Though I had been frantically packing supplies to bring to an emergency shelter I had run from the house with nothing. Nothing except the money I had stuffed into my pockets; money and all my gold jewelry. The warning sirens that had been blaring had gone silent . Evidently the emergency alarm system had been disarmed. I didn’t get far before I was whisked into the net with people I knew, and people I‘d never met before. Then I heard it, the collapse of my home as it sunk into a sinkhole, followed by my neighbors’ houses. Looking over my shoulders, I saw my life’s hard work crumble to the ground. Nothing would be salvageable. Looters would be disappointed.
Soon, I truly realized how out of town this army was. The horses, riders and captives all climbed into the air. No wings, no propellers; just horses galloping upwards. We ascended on an undetectable path straight up. I clung to the netting for dear live. I’ve always been afraid of heights.
This was an invading nation. They must have come for prisoners, slaves. I never believed in extra terrestrial life before, it doesn’t take much to make a believer out of me: just a ride into space. I began to worry about oxygen depletion, boy would that disappoint our captors if we started dropping like flies from anoxia, they probably hadn't counted on our frail lungs not working in the higher atmospheres. How I was able to keep breathing was beyond me.
The aliens brought all their captives to what appeared to be a transportation station, deposited us and went in search of more humans. There was a court up front where men and women were ushered individually, I didn't notice any kids younger than teenagers. All were cast before some authoritative looking men, one at a time. The central man kept pointing to a young fellow on his right then a person on the left would inspect some gigantic tome. Apparently we were being sorted out for labor on this distant planet. They must not be very fussy. I didn't notice any consistency on who went to the left or right. Those however who went to the left seemed less keen than those that went the opposite direction. Those going right seemed grateful. Relieved. Satisfied. Radiant?
Craning my neck to see further to the right I saw a caravan of trains so golden the light flicking off them sparkled like flames. The trains on the left were baked black, rusty and miserable appearing. Rejects from the civil war?
People around me were crying, shivering in fear, and praying. Even the atheists : especially the atheists. Notice how in a real crisis even atheists start to call on God? Some how they were coming to believe in a higher source. The unbelievable has happened. Life from outer space had abducted us. The world as we knew it was finished. The earths military had combined in unison and it had been like throwing water balloons at whales. We had been vulnerable. Defeated. In fact, there were numerous uniformed men and women waiting their turns to be brought to the forefront.
The crowd was thinning remarkable quickly , like weeds being yanked from a garden, as one by one, individually and alone, we were escorted to the tribunal. Thousands of us. An innumerable group. Yet time seemed to stop, or at least my watch had. Time had no meaning as we waited our fates. I watched as men were dragged screaming to the left and some walked proudly to the right. Thin beggarly types, well built macho types, males and females. Teenagers on up to centurions.
It wasn't long before my name was called. How did they know my name? I walked timidly to my captors. The gentleman in the center , most elaborate chair, asked me one question, "What have you done with my son?" and pointed to the youth at his right who was sitting at a desk that identified him as Mr. J. Christ.
He looked familiar from posters and flyers that had been stuffed in my mailbox over the years. "Nothing sir, but I know he was a great man, a wonderful healer and prophet, he has had my highest respect."
"But did you know him personally?"
"No sir, I didn't have the time to meet him, I was busy with charity organizations and raising kids, then my parents."
The man behind the other desk, Mr. H. Ghost, spoke up. "Her name isn't in the book sir."
Mr J. Christ responded, "I never was invited into her home though I knocked frequently."
A hand raised an pointed me to the left. " Go! It would have been better for you if you'd included my son in your plans."
"Wait a minute.Lets talk, I'm more than willing to get to know him better!"
The main figure kept his finger pointing left. Obviously discussion was over, no plea bargaining allowed. Maybe bribery will work.
"Wait, I have money!” I cried, “I can get more!” Please believe my bluff! I pulled green bills and gold rings out of my pockets and tossed them at the feet of those present. Mr. J. Christ looked sadly at me, piercing my soul in two with his wounded eyes, and then turned his back. Wow, he’d received a good whipping from some one! He wasn’t going to accept my money or offer any more help!
I was drug to a prison train with the other cast offs , all trying to reach out through heavy bars. Smudged faces looked out with complete despair. A fatalistic expression was painted on every one present as the trackless train started to roll, taking us to our final home. The engineer was as heinous as his delighted laughter, it was diabolical. We were his prisoners now! Our transportation headed through the stars. Further and further away from any chance of escape. A colossal black hole came into view up ahead at the farthest edge of the galaxies, sucking everything that approached into it’s interior. I could feel our train being pulled in and then start to dissolve under immense heat scattering our bodies about into the darkness. There went our chance to ride out! I heard anguished weeping and screaming but saw nothing despite the unbearable flames surrounding my body. More trains carrying newcomers joined us for hours.
Sweat poured from my every pore and intense light beat against eyelids that I opened cautiously, one at a time. Loud screeching was assaulting my ears and I was inhaling the smell of burning flesh. The hot July sun beat down on me as I slowly woke up in the net hammock I found my hands and feet hopelessly tangled up in (I must have had a very restless nap). I can now personally denounce any rumors about the July sun being hotter 'n hell. The neighbors were fanning the smoke of their burnt burgers and steaks my way as they attempted to extinguish the fire while their teenagers’ obnoxious rap music was blaring music Satan would be proud of from their garage. I shook my head, gratefully. I had been having the worst nightmare of my life!!!
Some annoying buzzing was coming from the front of my home, which I was glad to see wasn't at the bottom of a a sink hole. Running through the house I peeked out the front window in time to see the local religion pushers retreating down the driveway, bibles in hand, they had left their usual bible tract on my door. They wheeled about in absolute surprise when I yanked the door open and invited them in to share their testimonies. This had never happened to them before at this stop, they've only seen me peeking out behind closed curtains! For some reason I felt very receptive to the gospel message today!
Math 7:21-23
Math 24
Mark 8:38
Acts 4:12
Rom. 10:14-21
2 Cor. 5:10
Heb. 9:27-28
2 Pet. 2:9
Rev 20:11-15
My T.V went dead. Like everything around it. The electric lines must have gone down. Or the broadcasting station was now wiped out. I was left with only my inferences to ponder the events as they unfolded. I did not have to imagine for long. I ran out of the house into the electrical storm when I heard all the commotion, armed forces were riding down the streets gathering survivors, (or prisoners?) in colossal nets. They weren’t local military, their uniforms were non-conventional white robes, were they from the middle east? They sat atop elegant white steeds who galloped breathlessly. Horses had not been used in centuries, not since the invention of ozone destroying gas-guzzlers. Horses were definitely practically at this moment however as the streets had become impassable by even army tanks: rubble from buildings, overturned vehicles, and trees of every kind blocked all the thorough fares. Blocked? I’m not sure that is the best word. There was no hint of a civilized route through the wreckage.
Though I had been frantically packing supplies to bring to an emergency shelter I had run from the house with nothing. Nothing except the money I had stuffed into my pockets; money and all my gold jewelry. The warning sirens that had been blaring had gone silent . Evidently the emergency alarm system had been disarmed. I didn’t get far before I was whisked into the net with people I knew, and people I‘d never met before. Then I heard it, the collapse of my home as it sunk into a sinkhole, followed by my neighbors’ houses. Looking over my shoulders, I saw my life’s hard work crumble to the ground. Nothing would be salvageable. Looters would be disappointed.
Soon, I truly realized how out of town this army was. The horses, riders and captives all climbed into the air. No wings, no propellers; just horses galloping upwards. We ascended on an undetectable path straight up. I clung to the netting for dear live. I’ve always been afraid of heights.
This was an invading nation. They must have come for prisoners, slaves. I never believed in extra terrestrial life before, it doesn’t take much to make a believer out of me: just a ride into space. I began to worry about oxygen depletion, boy would that disappoint our captors if we started dropping like flies from anoxia, they probably hadn't counted on our frail lungs not working in the higher atmospheres. How I was able to keep breathing was beyond me.
The aliens brought all their captives to what appeared to be a transportation station, deposited us and went in search of more humans. There was a court up front where men and women were ushered individually, I didn't notice any kids younger than teenagers. All were cast before some authoritative looking men, one at a time. The central man kept pointing to a young fellow on his right then a person on the left would inspect some gigantic tome. Apparently we were being sorted out for labor on this distant planet. They must not be very fussy. I didn't notice any consistency on who went to the left or right. Those however who went to the left seemed less keen than those that went the opposite direction. Those going right seemed grateful. Relieved. Satisfied. Radiant?
Craning my neck to see further to the right I saw a caravan of trains so golden the light flicking off them sparkled like flames. The trains on the left were baked black, rusty and miserable appearing. Rejects from the civil war?
People around me were crying, shivering in fear, and praying. Even the atheists : especially the atheists. Notice how in a real crisis even atheists start to call on God? Some how they were coming to believe in a higher source. The unbelievable has happened. Life from outer space had abducted us. The world as we knew it was finished. The earths military had combined in unison and it had been like throwing water balloons at whales. We had been vulnerable. Defeated. In fact, there were numerous uniformed men and women waiting their turns to be brought to the forefront.
The crowd was thinning remarkable quickly , like weeds being yanked from a garden, as one by one, individually and alone, we were escorted to the tribunal. Thousands of us. An innumerable group. Yet time seemed to stop, or at least my watch had. Time had no meaning as we waited our fates. I watched as men were dragged screaming to the left and some walked proudly to the right. Thin beggarly types, well built macho types, males and females. Teenagers on up to centurions.
It wasn't long before my name was called. How did they know my name? I walked timidly to my captors. The gentleman in the center , most elaborate chair, asked me one question, "What have you done with my son?" and pointed to the youth at his right who was sitting at a desk that identified him as Mr. J. Christ.
He looked familiar from posters and flyers that had been stuffed in my mailbox over the years. "Nothing sir, but I know he was a great man, a wonderful healer and prophet, he has had my highest respect."
"But did you know him personally?"
"No sir, I didn't have the time to meet him, I was busy with charity organizations and raising kids, then my parents."
The man behind the other desk, Mr. H. Ghost, spoke up. "Her name isn't in the book sir."
Mr J. Christ responded, "I never was invited into her home though I knocked frequently."
A hand raised an pointed me to the left. " Go! It would have been better for you if you'd included my son in your plans."
"Wait a minute.Lets talk, I'm more than willing to get to know him better!"
The main figure kept his finger pointing left. Obviously discussion was over, no plea bargaining allowed. Maybe bribery will work.
"Wait, I have money!” I cried, “I can get more!” Please believe my bluff! I pulled green bills and gold rings out of my pockets and tossed them at the feet of those present. Mr. J. Christ looked sadly at me, piercing my soul in two with his wounded eyes, and then turned his back. Wow, he’d received a good whipping from some one! He wasn’t going to accept my money or offer any more help!
I was drug to a prison train with the other cast offs , all trying to reach out through heavy bars. Smudged faces looked out with complete despair. A fatalistic expression was painted on every one present as the trackless train started to roll, taking us to our final home. The engineer was as heinous as his delighted laughter, it was diabolical. We were his prisoners now! Our transportation headed through the stars. Further and further away from any chance of escape. A colossal black hole came into view up ahead at the farthest edge of the galaxies, sucking everything that approached into it’s interior. I could feel our train being pulled in and then start to dissolve under immense heat scattering our bodies about into the darkness. There went our chance to ride out! I heard anguished weeping and screaming but saw nothing despite the unbearable flames surrounding my body. More trains carrying newcomers joined us for hours.
Sweat poured from my every pore and intense light beat against eyelids that I opened cautiously, one at a time. Loud screeching was assaulting my ears and I was inhaling the smell of burning flesh. The hot July sun beat down on me as I slowly woke up in the net hammock I found my hands and feet hopelessly tangled up in (I must have had a very restless nap). I can now personally denounce any rumors about the July sun being hotter 'n hell. The neighbors were fanning the smoke of their burnt burgers and steaks my way as they attempted to extinguish the fire while their teenagers’ obnoxious rap music was blaring music Satan would be proud of from their garage. I shook my head, gratefully. I had been having the worst nightmare of my life!!!
Some annoying buzzing was coming from the front of my home, which I was glad to see wasn't at the bottom of a a sink hole. Running through the house I peeked out the front window in time to see the local religion pushers retreating down the driveway, bibles in hand, they had left their usual bible tract on my door. They wheeled about in absolute surprise when I yanked the door open and invited them in to share their testimonies. This had never happened to them before at this stop, they've only seen me peeking out behind closed curtains! For some reason I felt very receptive to the gospel message today!
Math 7:21-23
Math 24
Mark 8:38
Acts 4:12
Rom. 10:14-21
2 Cor. 5:10
Heb. 9:27-28
2 Pet. 2:9
Rev 20:11-15
Thursday, April 19, 2007
MY ANNUAL EASTER TRIP
I surveyed the work ahead of me. It didn’t seem like I had bought this much over the past year, but here was the evidence. My little sister would be coming into town soon to offer her idea of lending a hand. This was her pet project, yet I always did all the toil: shopping for bargains, storing, packaging and delivering. She would stand by and delegate or criticize. Oh, yeah, did I mention I also had the honor of being the cash donor?
She had me big time! I was sorting items out by the age and sex of the recipients when I heard my sister, Babs, enter. She always lightened a room with her energy and she never suffered jet lag from her flights. I get exhausted crossing county lines! Heck, I get tired crossing the street, yet she has made these twenty annual treks, tirelessly and regularly, from abroad to participate in the gift distribution.
Every Easter, (I prefer to call it Resurrection Day as Easter was actually a pagan holiday honoring the goddess Easter.), Babs and I load up my van and pay a social call to the city’s Children’s Hospital. This was where Babs lived for much of her adolescent and teenage days. She had been diagnosed with leukemia at eleven and made her final departure from the institution at sixteen. A full recovery. Completely healed. That gave Resurrection day special meaning for us as a family, knowing that our savior and redeemer lives, as did Babs!
“Wow, you went wild this year didn’t you?” Babs declared, looking underneath the parcels to see if the whole lot was suspended in mid air or if there actually was a bed supporting every thing.
Last year there were so many good bargains I couldn’t resist.” I answered, picking up some plastic toys and books. Hospitalized kids get bored and need diversions to stimulate their growing minds. Babs had been bored to death during her hospitalizations so we were inspired to make this yearly contribution to the patients at her old alma mater, the hospital, where she spent so much restless time.
Cindy, my daughter, trailed Babs into the room. At least I think it was Cindy, she was hidden behind a tower of shoeboxes and would have bumped into Babs if Babs hadn’t winked at me and stepped to the side lowering herself into my boudoir chair. Cindy and I had spent long evenings together decorating the shoe boxes with “Easter” themes; bible verses, crosses, angels etc. Babs had suggested the boxes instead of baskets because of the Easter bunny connection. The boxes symbolized the old ossuaries Jews placed the skeletons in a year after death. Except of course for Jesus’, they couldn’t quite reach his body, besides it never decayed!
Scruffy, Cindy’s ten pound shadow, hurdled himself into Babs’ lap and attacked her repeatedly with his tongue giving her the beating of her life.
“What a good dog,” Babs pronounced.
“He sure is a good dog!” I seconded.
“Of course he’s a good dog mom,” Cindy affirmed scooping him off the chair and out of Babs lap without so much as an “excuse me” to cuddle him affectionately while he squirmed trying to get back to Babs.
“What’s wrong, old boy?” Cindy asked putting him down and watching him rejoin Babs on the chair. Cindy shrugged. “Odd.”
We spent hours sorting things out and boxing them up. We ooohed and awed over everything. The bibles and novels for teenagers that Cindy helped pick, the bible story books for the youngsters, the Veggie Tale movies and books, the Christian coloring and comic books, Carman CDs. (Carman is a wonderful Christian singing artist with lots of pizzazz, great for teens and adults). We had to be careful in what we gave kids; most of them had lowered resistance to infections due to chemotherapy. No one would find a hint of a bunny or egg in the lot. This holy day was all about Jesus, no time-sharing with a fertility symbol. (Does any one ever wonder where that furry creature gets his eggs from? If I ever see a bunny laying an egg, I'll check myself into rehab! Does he enter hen houses at night with a mask and gun and demand them the poor mother‘s to fill his basket?)
Overall we did pretty good I thought as I scrutinized our endeavor. Thirty boxes filled with homage to Jesus. Mood boosters for those moments that visit the sick after chemotherapy, rehab or treatments, or just when their parents have to go home. Cindy and I loaded the van; did I mention Babs just supervised? I wonder why she ever bothered to make the trip. Being the older sister, I should have been bossier and demanded some assistance, but I was just so glad to be doing this for her. The trunk and back seat were crammed to over flowing.
Before we took off, I went to the ladies room to freshen up. I clipped on some long fun earrings that practically brushed my shoulders, and hid my face under foundation, lipstick and eye shadow, (after all those kids were suffering enough without seeing me “a la natural,”, besides they could get their holidays confused and think it was Halloween instead of Easter!) Then I used the “hairspray“.
Babs looked me over, approvingly, “I see you can still be a rebel.” She stated referring to hair that was tinted with blue hair spray, and flipping my dangly earrings, full of spring colors and themes.
“You like it?” I questioned patting my do and shaking my head causing my ear rings to chime. Cindy giggled, “Mom, you got my spray by accident.”
“Nope, I did it deliberately.”Cindy groaned and slumped in her seat so the neighbors wouldn‘t see her accompanying us. “Great, my mom is revisiting her childhood. My friends already have a hard time seeing you as an authority figure.”
“When did I have any authority?” This bit of news surprised me. I could never get Cindy to follow my agendas. I grinned at Babs. We used to hate our mother acting like a kid, there‘s no generation gap here.
At the hospital, we headed to the cancer unit. This was always a somber moment for me. I remember visiting Babs here regularly. Actually, I came to see mom, she was here more that at home. Babs needed the attention, I could fend for myself. I had no curfews, no rules no one to answer too. For years I sometimes forgot I had a mother. At the time, I resented Babes’ illness. I blamed her of being sick on purpose to get all the attention. When she recovered and went home, I abhorred myself.
We passed her old room, her mailing address off an on for almost six years. There was a girl in there by herself looking very sad and in need of ….something I couldn’t give; assurance that everything would okay.
Cindy paused and looked in feeling awkward. It was more than she could handle. She hated this part of the job. The planning, packaging and delivering were emotionally rewarding. Seeing the recipients of her work was not. The baldheads, the disfigurements, the frail bodies that should be doing gymnastics or sports. The wheel chairs, IV‘s. The tears, the smiles, the hope, the despair, the living, barely living. The kids her age. The kids way younger than her. The kids who wouldn’t get older than she would. She preferred staying behind the scenes. If she could wear blinders coming in here, she would.
Babs stopped and stared sympathetically. “I’m going in to sit with her,” she announced, nodding at the young girl. “I think I can cheer her up.”I nodded.
“Sure, stay and cheer her up, I’ll meet you at the nurses station.”
“Oh, no, I’m coming with you!” Cindy declared and accelerated her pace fixing her eyes only on the destination. Babs went into the room ignoring the hand washing station, the cover gowns and masks. She never felt like these rules applied to her.
We transversed hallways plastered with that infamous furry, long eared egg bandit handing out chocolates (really, does the dental society sponsor him?) No posters of an empty cross or vacant tomb. Religious freedom, bah! More like freedom from religion. Pity, pity, pity.
Cindy and I unloaded our cart of boxes at the nurses station where a group of patients gathered to point and laugh at my hair and earrings while Cindy reddened with embarrassment; I just seemed to be a constant thorn in her flesh with my "immature behaviors".
We were well known here, anticipated figures every twelve months. The staff was as excited as the kids would be with our tokens of love Everything passed inspection; after twenty years we ought to have gotten it right by now! Yet every year something new is added to the list of “don‘t brings.” The parents also had to have time to evaluate the appropriateness of our presents. Parents were asked in advance for permission for us to deliver "religious" items so things wouldn't be snatched from disappointed hands. We had to be politically correct, even on a holy day!
I picked Babs up on the way out.“How will she be?” I asked referring to her old room’s present occupant.
“Fantastic, but not in this world I‘m afraid.” Babs responded. I sighed and prayed for her parents. “Her future is quarantined though; she has the seal on her forehead.” Babs had a good eye for these things.
“Thank God.” Thank God for offering salvation, thank heavens the young girl accepted it.
The night before Easter, Babs and I stayed up all night giggling and talking. We went through the photo albums, sang, prayed and cried. It was an exhausting night, it was an exhilarating night. No time was wasted on sleep. It would be another year before she graced me with her presence so we made the most of our time catching up. Her lifestyle surpassed my imagination and I didn’t want her to leave out a single detail. She was a namedropper. She knew people I only heard about. The life she lived was out of this world and would have made me jealous if I wasn’t so happy for her.
The next morning, Cindy complained about me leaving the television on in my room, keeping her awake with all the noise. Babs and I exchanged glances, what T.V? “Really mom, don’t you know you’re not the only one living here?” Cindy huffed. Why does she always use my arguments against me?
We attended sunrise service at the cemetery. The sun rose over the landscape while we sang, “He has risen!”
At the conclusion of the ceremony, covering the topic of death’s defeat in the person of Jesus, the congregation wondered among the tombstones laying flowers on all the graves. Babs and I dawdled over one resting place in particular. The dates etched on the marble stone spanned sixteen years that ended two decades ago. The day of Babs’ death when all pain and suffering ceased, when she left the hospital to go home. Easter time. Her bodily resurrection will occur at this site when the trumpet sounds on that glorious morn, but till then I get to enjoy her presence in my heart by carrying out our pet project in her name and for Jesus’ glorification.
Cindy came up behind me. “I sure wish I could have met aunt Babs.” “You have your chance every year but you don’t say a word to her,” I admonished.
Cindy gave me “the look” and announced, “That’s it, absolutely no more blue hair spray for you. I’ll bet there’s even a warning on the bottle; toxic to people over thirty.”
Babs looked over Cindy’s, blew me a kiss, and shot into the air to head back home. Cindy gasped, “Look mom. A shooting star!”
Duet 7:3-6
Duet 31:17-18
Isiah 53Luke 24
1 Thes 4:13-18
I Cor 15:50-58
Eph 1:13-14
She had me big time! I was sorting items out by the age and sex of the recipients when I heard my sister, Babs, enter. She always lightened a room with her energy and she never suffered jet lag from her flights. I get exhausted crossing county lines! Heck, I get tired crossing the street, yet she has made these twenty annual treks, tirelessly and regularly, from abroad to participate in the gift distribution.
Every Easter, (I prefer to call it Resurrection Day as Easter was actually a pagan holiday honoring the goddess Easter.), Babs and I load up my van and pay a social call to the city’s Children’s Hospital. This was where Babs lived for much of her adolescent and teenage days. She had been diagnosed with leukemia at eleven and made her final departure from the institution at sixteen. A full recovery. Completely healed. That gave Resurrection day special meaning for us as a family, knowing that our savior and redeemer lives, as did Babs!
“Wow, you went wild this year didn’t you?” Babs declared, looking underneath the parcels to see if the whole lot was suspended in mid air or if there actually was a bed supporting every thing.
Last year there were so many good bargains I couldn’t resist.” I answered, picking up some plastic toys and books. Hospitalized kids get bored and need diversions to stimulate their growing minds. Babs had been bored to death during her hospitalizations so we were inspired to make this yearly contribution to the patients at her old alma mater, the hospital, where she spent so much restless time.
Cindy, my daughter, trailed Babs into the room. At least I think it was Cindy, she was hidden behind a tower of shoeboxes and would have bumped into Babs if Babs hadn’t winked at me and stepped to the side lowering herself into my boudoir chair. Cindy and I had spent long evenings together decorating the shoe boxes with “Easter” themes; bible verses, crosses, angels etc. Babs had suggested the boxes instead of baskets because of the Easter bunny connection. The boxes symbolized the old ossuaries Jews placed the skeletons in a year after death. Except of course for Jesus’, they couldn’t quite reach his body, besides it never decayed!
Scruffy, Cindy’s ten pound shadow, hurdled himself into Babs’ lap and attacked her repeatedly with his tongue giving her the beating of her life.
“What a good dog,” Babs pronounced.
“He sure is a good dog!” I seconded.
“Of course he’s a good dog mom,” Cindy affirmed scooping him off the chair and out of Babs lap without so much as an “excuse me” to cuddle him affectionately while he squirmed trying to get back to Babs.
“What’s wrong, old boy?” Cindy asked putting him down and watching him rejoin Babs on the chair. Cindy shrugged. “Odd.”
We spent hours sorting things out and boxing them up. We ooohed and awed over everything. The bibles and novels for teenagers that Cindy helped pick, the bible story books for the youngsters, the Veggie Tale movies and books, the Christian coloring and comic books, Carman CDs. (Carman is a wonderful Christian singing artist with lots of pizzazz, great for teens and adults). We had to be careful in what we gave kids; most of them had lowered resistance to infections due to chemotherapy. No one would find a hint of a bunny or egg in the lot. This holy day was all about Jesus, no time-sharing with a fertility symbol. (Does any one ever wonder where that furry creature gets his eggs from? If I ever see a bunny laying an egg, I'll check myself into rehab! Does he enter hen houses at night with a mask and gun and demand them the poor mother‘s to fill his basket?)
Overall we did pretty good I thought as I scrutinized our endeavor. Thirty boxes filled with homage to Jesus. Mood boosters for those moments that visit the sick after chemotherapy, rehab or treatments, or just when their parents have to go home. Cindy and I loaded the van; did I mention Babs just supervised? I wonder why she ever bothered to make the trip. Being the older sister, I should have been bossier and demanded some assistance, but I was just so glad to be doing this for her. The trunk and back seat were crammed to over flowing.
Before we took off, I went to the ladies room to freshen up. I clipped on some long fun earrings that practically brushed my shoulders, and hid my face under foundation, lipstick and eye shadow, (after all those kids were suffering enough without seeing me “a la natural,”, besides they could get their holidays confused and think it was Halloween instead of Easter!) Then I used the “hairspray“.
Babs looked me over, approvingly, “I see you can still be a rebel.” She stated referring to hair that was tinted with blue hair spray, and flipping my dangly earrings, full of spring colors and themes.
“You like it?” I questioned patting my do and shaking my head causing my ear rings to chime. Cindy giggled, “Mom, you got my spray by accident.”
“Nope, I did it deliberately.”Cindy groaned and slumped in her seat so the neighbors wouldn‘t see her accompanying us. “Great, my mom is revisiting her childhood. My friends already have a hard time seeing you as an authority figure.”
“When did I have any authority?” This bit of news surprised me. I could never get Cindy to follow my agendas. I grinned at Babs. We used to hate our mother acting like a kid, there‘s no generation gap here.
At the hospital, we headed to the cancer unit. This was always a somber moment for me. I remember visiting Babs here regularly. Actually, I came to see mom, she was here more that at home. Babs needed the attention, I could fend for myself. I had no curfews, no rules no one to answer too. For years I sometimes forgot I had a mother. At the time, I resented Babes’ illness. I blamed her of being sick on purpose to get all the attention. When she recovered and went home, I abhorred myself.
We passed her old room, her mailing address off an on for almost six years. There was a girl in there by herself looking very sad and in need of ….something I couldn’t give; assurance that everything would okay.
Cindy paused and looked in feeling awkward. It was more than she could handle. She hated this part of the job. The planning, packaging and delivering were emotionally rewarding. Seeing the recipients of her work was not. The baldheads, the disfigurements, the frail bodies that should be doing gymnastics or sports. The wheel chairs, IV‘s. The tears, the smiles, the hope, the despair, the living, barely living. The kids her age. The kids way younger than her. The kids who wouldn’t get older than she would. She preferred staying behind the scenes. If she could wear blinders coming in here, she would.
Babs stopped and stared sympathetically. “I’m going in to sit with her,” she announced, nodding at the young girl. “I think I can cheer her up.”I nodded.
“Sure, stay and cheer her up, I’ll meet you at the nurses station.”
“Oh, no, I’m coming with you!” Cindy declared and accelerated her pace fixing her eyes only on the destination. Babs went into the room ignoring the hand washing station, the cover gowns and masks. She never felt like these rules applied to her.
We transversed hallways plastered with that infamous furry, long eared egg bandit handing out chocolates (really, does the dental society sponsor him?) No posters of an empty cross or vacant tomb. Religious freedom, bah! More like freedom from religion. Pity, pity, pity.
Cindy and I unloaded our cart of boxes at the nurses station where a group of patients gathered to point and laugh at my hair and earrings while Cindy reddened with embarrassment; I just seemed to be a constant thorn in her flesh with my "immature behaviors".
We were well known here, anticipated figures every twelve months. The staff was as excited as the kids would be with our tokens of love Everything passed inspection; after twenty years we ought to have gotten it right by now! Yet every year something new is added to the list of “don‘t brings.” The parents also had to have time to evaluate the appropriateness of our presents. Parents were asked in advance for permission for us to deliver "religious" items so things wouldn't be snatched from disappointed hands. We had to be politically correct, even on a holy day!
I picked Babs up on the way out.“How will she be?” I asked referring to her old room’s present occupant.
“Fantastic, but not in this world I‘m afraid.” Babs responded. I sighed and prayed for her parents. “Her future is quarantined though; she has the seal on her forehead.” Babs had a good eye for these things.
“Thank God.” Thank God for offering salvation, thank heavens the young girl accepted it.
The night before Easter, Babs and I stayed up all night giggling and talking. We went through the photo albums, sang, prayed and cried. It was an exhausting night, it was an exhilarating night. No time was wasted on sleep. It would be another year before she graced me with her presence so we made the most of our time catching up. Her lifestyle surpassed my imagination and I didn’t want her to leave out a single detail. She was a namedropper. She knew people I only heard about. The life she lived was out of this world and would have made me jealous if I wasn’t so happy for her.
The next morning, Cindy complained about me leaving the television on in my room, keeping her awake with all the noise. Babs and I exchanged glances, what T.V? “Really mom, don’t you know you’re not the only one living here?” Cindy huffed. Why does she always use my arguments against me?
We attended sunrise service at the cemetery. The sun rose over the landscape while we sang, “He has risen!”
At the conclusion of the ceremony, covering the topic of death’s defeat in the person of Jesus, the congregation wondered among the tombstones laying flowers on all the graves. Babs and I dawdled over one resting place in particular. The dates etched on the marble stone spanned sixteen years that ended two decades ago. The day of Babs’ death when all pain and suffering ceased, when she left the hospital to go home. Easter time. Her bodily resurrection will occur at this site when the trumpet sounds on that glorious morn, but till then I get to enjoy her presence in my heart by carrying out our pet project in her name and for Jesus’ glorification.
Cindy came up behind me. “I sure wish I could have met aunt Babs.” “You have your chance every year but you don’t say a word to her,” I admonished.
Cindy gave me “the look” and announced, “That’s it, absolutely no more blue hair spray for you. I’ll bet there’s even a warning on the bottle; toxic to people over thirty.”
Babs looked over Cindy’s, blew me a kiss, and shot into the air to head back home. Cindy gasped, “Look mom. A shooting star!”
Duet 7:3-6
Duet 31:17-18
Isiah 53Luke 24
1 Thes 4:13-18
I Cor 15:50-58
Eph 1:13-14
Monday, April 9, 2007
DOG GONE
I was tired. I had been driving for several hours and decided it was time to let my daughter, Cindy, take the wheel, against my better judgment, while it was still light. I needed some rest before our up coming adventure and letting her drive seemed counterproductive to that end but I had to give it a shot, I was going to need steady nerves and quick reflexes in a few hours.
After getting a few winks in, I glanced out the window. The scenery was a blur and cars along side us (they were only alongside us for a brief moment in time) were giving us unpleasant looks.
“Why are you passing all these cars?”
“Because they’re going slow?”
“I think it’s because you’re going fast. What’s the speed limit?” I queried, already knowing the answer.
“For me or them?”
“Pull over.” This is why teenagers shouldn’t drive, or parents shouldn’t take cat naps. Thank heaven’s we had not passed any “smokies.”
We spent the duration of the trip making our plans and bickering about the ethics of the hair brained idea that I hatched after the last visit home to my parents. I had to admit inwardly Cindy was right, there were other ways, but something had to be done. I threw in some driving lessons by showing her what not to do ( intentionally, of course). We stopped occasionally to stretch our legs but we had a dead line to meet. We must complete our job while it was dark and everyone was sleeping.
Signs appeared telling us we were close to my hometown. Nearer and nearer with each gallon of precious gas. In the long haul the gas bill would be the cheapest expense, not to mention well worth it. I turned on to my parent’s street, slowed and turned off the headlights. Every house was black, no lights on anywhere, no sign of life. Things were going as planned so far. I parked at the entrance to the alley and turned off the ignition. We still had time to repent.
“Let’s synchronize our watches.” Cindy suggested, getting into her role. Who wears watches anymore? I use my cell phone and that wasn’t coming with me. I didn’t need that blasted thing going off and jingling my slowly unsteadying nerves. I wouldn’t be accepting any calls at work tonight.
Stepping out we closed the car doors very gently. Pulling our ski masks down over our faces we proceeded up the alley, cautiously. My mom and dad were light sleepers and we didn’t want to be caught. Mother and daughter slinking around in the dark, miles from home, two states from home actually. Great quality time.
We stopped at the back yard gate and tried the handle. Pad locked. Sure, why should this be easy. A small town like this, no crime and the gate is locked. Cindy cupped her hands to lift me over and I snagged my t-shirt on a loose wire scratching my abdomen. Great, I’ll need a tetanus shot when I get home! I feared I’d fall and call attention to us. No lights came on in the bedrooms. Cindy vaulted over effortless. Gymnastic classes were paying off, they obviously are a prerequisite for a life of crime.
We had chosen a moonless night for this escapade, not intentionally, mind you. I don‘t have the best night vision. Proving this, I tripped over some object in the yard jamming my toe into my ankle. Cindy clamped her hands over my mouth at the start of some unlady like verbiage (sorry, can’t print the expletives here, use your imagination, but remember, I’m a Christian.)
There he was. Our reason for being here at one in the morning. The poor dog’s chain was tangled up around a tree giving him limited motion, his water dish spilled over making a mud pit for him to sleep in. He lay listlessly, head on paws, warily observing us approach. No barking, no tail wagging. Just big sad eyes. Probably expecting some abuse. Definitely not expecting anything good to happen to him. Why should he? He’d been mistreated ever since he was abducted from home. His mother had no idea what would become of him when he was snatched from her side at the tender age of eight (weeks).
We advanced at a snail’s pace, not wanting to risk his getting jumpy. No threat there, apparently. I untangled the chain and tried to coax him to the gate. Wouldn’t budge. Cindy offered him a beef jerky we brought to entice him to follow us. It got his consideration. His head went up so suddenly Cindy dropped the beef jerky and our victim, ignoring our presence, sniffed around for it showing the first hints of a pulse. Now that we had him on his feet we couldn’t budge him by pulling on the chain until he found his treat.
Whistling came up the alley. I had a strong suspicion a person was attached to the melody. Jumping behind a hedge we ducked, squatting on our heels, ready to bolt. Dog followed us now, having eaten his tid bit he wanted more. The quiet listless dog was transforming into an excited one, right before our horrified eyes. It wasn’t so quiet in the back yard now. The whistling stopped. A flashlight scanned the yard, the beam passed over us, returning to us with a swift movement. We’d been caught. By who? All we could see were light spots on our retinas.
Before we could dash off a voice warned us, “Halt, police.”
My life was over. It exploded before my eyes. My future. Incarcerated. Working in the steamy laundry, making license plates, learning to smoke, building muscles at recreation time. Group showers. Waiting for Sunday afternoon visitation. In five years I’d have a hard, tattoo-ed body. A record. Cindy would hopefully get off lighter, juvenile hall, out at eighteen, rehabilitated. Taught a career. No permanent record.
“Come out here so I can see you, please.” So courteous. So far no signs of impending police brutality. “Remove your masks, please.” We were commanded by a uniform aiming a revolver and light at us.
Our ski masks came off allowing our identification.
“Cindy? Marcy? Is that you? Your parent’s didn’t say you were coming to town.”
“Well, they didn’t exactly know.” I responded.
The officer put two and two together and came up with four. Pretty good for a man. The dark clothes, the night time visit, Dog sniffing Cindy’s body, where more beef jerky was secreted. We were on a heist. He killed his flashlight and holstered his weapon.
“Well its about time someone rescued this unfortunate beast.” He announced. “You’re not taking us to the slammer?” Relief flooded my soul. Paroled earlier than estimated!
“Hell no, but I’m not going to assist you either. I do have to uphold some professionalism.” He retreated and vanished into the night. He was never there. He’d been just a fabrication of our over worked imagination.
Tugging fiercely on Dog’s shackles we got to the fence, boosted him over, (it took the two of us, getting tail, belly, etc. in our faces) and raced back to our get away vehicle. But not before the downpour. I hadn’t planned on that but it explains why we couldn‘t see the moon! . Muddy, smelly, wet, Dog was placed on the covered back seat next to Scruffy, my furry son, who sniffed at the new comer and edged away under the drivers seat, yapping his disapproval. Snob.
No sooner had I turned on to the main thorough fare an alarm went off. Guilty conscience? You bet. It was okay now, it was only my cell phone. Answering it I discovered it was my sister.
“Hey Marcy, as long as you’re in town come by here and get these clothes I’ve saved for Cindy. Help me save the postage, will ya?”
“Ellen, how did you know I was here?” Crooks don’t usually get calls on the job. The cop. Her husband, my brother in law. He squealed after all. Coppers! I was thinking like a criminal now.
Home at last. Fifteen hours from start to finish. I had some explaining to do with my husband. He knew where the dog belonged, but how he got here, he could only guess from the muddy paw marks covering the back car seat and windows. I had a hard time convincing him the dog was just a look a like, no connection to the one from my parent’s native soil. I don’t think he bought it, but didn’t wish to accept involvement by association so he refused to continue his line of questioning.
A few days latter the land phone went off. My mother was calling to inform me someone had stolen her neighbors dog! The one she knew I always worried about when I came for my infrequent visits. (mom’s idea of a guilt trip, I‘m there for every major holiday counting ground hog day!)Just incase I still didn't know which dog she was referring to she reminded me of the time I reported them to the SPCA. I happened right under their noses at night. My brother in law, the police officer, claimed the dog was there when he had done his rounds. Well, the dog was there when he made his rounds. We just happened to be there also. The papers called it grand larceny because the owners claimed it was a two thousand dollar blood hound ( An insurance scam?) but they were more concerned about loosing a member of the family. Yeah, one they kept in bondage in the back yard and visited occasionally I was looking at the gas, vet and groomers bills. Fleas, ticks, bald patches, mal nourishment, heart worms, intestinal worms, vaccinations, rabies shots, dental work not to mention shampooing the car upholstery. No, they were right. In the long haul, two thousand dollars was an underestimate. I wonder if I should file for reimbursement. I better not get over confident. One thing was for sure. If my parent’s ever visited, the dog would be unrecognizable. Manicured, fattening up, and, for the first time, eager for companionship, he was not the same brute that had lived across the alley from my child hood home. Now I had to work on Scruffy. Snobbery was intolerable in my house. He needed to remember how he came to be a family member!
Cindy came bouncing home from school all excited.“Hey, mom, get your car keys, we have another job to do!”
“What are you babbling about?”
“One of my friend’s at school was talking about some horses near here that are being abused. Let‘s see, we need a horse trailer, pick-up to pull it, bolt cutters for the fence…….”
I grabbed the vet bills for the dog, mentally multiplied the cost for a horse, covered my ears and ran from the room with Cindy in hot pursuit, laughing her young head off and waving a ski mask in the air.
Prov. 12:10
isaiah 43:1-4
Hosea 13:14
John 10:10
Eph. 4:28
Col. 1:12-13
After getting a few winks in, I glanced out the window. The scenery was a blur and cars along side us (they were only alongside us for a brief moment in time) were giving us unpleasant looks.
“Why are you passing all these cars?”
“Because they’re going slow?”
“I think it’s because you’re going fast. What’s the speed limit?” I queried, already knowing the answer.
“For me or them?”
“Pull over.” This is why teenagers shouldn’t drive, or parents shouldn’t take cat naps. Thank heaven’s we had not passed any “smokies.”
We spent the duration of the trip making our plans and bickering about the ethics of the hair brained idea that I hatched after the last visit home to my parents. I had to admit inwardly Cindy was right, there were other ways, but something had to be done. I threw in some driving lessons by showing her what not to do ( intentionally, of course). We stopped occasionally to stretch our legs but we had a dead line to meet. We must complete our job while it was dark and everyone was sleeping.
Signs appeared telling us we were close to my hometown. Nearer and nearer with each gallon of precious gas. In the long haul the gas bill would be the cheapest expense, not to mention well worth it. I turned on to my parent’s street, slowed and turned off the headlights. Every house was black, no lights on anywhere, no sign of life. Things were going as planned so far. I parked at the entrance to the alley and turned off the ignition. We still had time to repent.
“Let’s synchronize our watches.” Cindy suggested, getting into her role. Who wears watches anymore? I use my cell phone and that wasn’t coming with me. I didn’t need that blasted thing going off and jingling my slowly unsteadying nerves. I wouldn’t be accepting any calls at work tonight.
Stepping out we closed the car doors very gently. Pulling our ski masks down over our faces we proceeded up the alley, cautiously. My mom and dad were light sleepers and we didn’t want to be caught. Mother and daughter slinking around in the dark, miles from home, two states from home actually. Great quality time.
We stopped at the back yard gate and tried the handle. Pad locked. Sure, why should this be easy. A small town like this, no crime and the gate is locked. Cindy cupped her hands to lift me over and I snagged my t-shirt on a loose wire scratching my abdomen. Great, I’ll need a tetanus shot when I get home! I feared I’d fall and call attention to us. No lights came on in the bedrooms. Cindy vaulted over effortless. Gymnastic classes were paying off, they obviously are a prerequisite for a life of crime.
We had chosen a moonless night for this escapade, not intentionally, mind you. I don‘t have the best night vision. Proving this, I tripped over some object in the yard jamming my toe into my ankle. Cindy clamped her hands over my mouth at the start of some unlady like verbiage (sorry, can’t print the expletives here, use your imagination, but remember, I’m a Christian.)
There he was. Our reason for being here at one in the morning. The poor dog’s chain was tangled up around a tree giving him limited motion, his water dish spilled over making a mud pit for him to sleep in. He lay listlessly, head on paws, warily observing us approach. No barking, no tail wagging. Just big sad eyes. Probably expecting some abuse. Definitely not expecting anything good to happen to him. Why should he? He’d been mistreated ever since he was abducted from home. His mother had no idea what would become of him when he was snatched from her side at the tender age of eight (weeks).
We advanced at a snail’s pace, not wanting to risk his getting jumpy. No threat there, apparently. I untangled the chain and tried to coax him to the gate. Wouldn’t budge. Cindy offered him a beef jerky we brought to entice him to follow us. It got his consideration. His head went up so suddenly Cindy dropped the beef jerky and our victim, ignoring our presence, sniffed around for it showing the first hints of a pulse. Now that we had him on his feet we couldn’t budge him by pulling on the chain until he found his treat.
Whistling came up the alley. I had a strong suspicion a person was attached to the melody. Jumping behind a hedge we ducked, squatting on our heels, ready to bolt. Dog followed us now, having eaten his tid bit he wanted more. The quiet listless dog was transforming into an excited one, right before our horrified eyes. It wasn’t so quiet in the back yard now. The whistling stopped. A flashlight scanned the yard, the beam passed over us, returning to us with a swift movement. We’d been caught. By who? All we could see were light spots on our retinas.
Before we could dash off a voice warned us, “Halt, police.”
My life was over. It exploded before my eyes. My future. Incarcerated. Working in the steamy laundry, making license plates, learning to smoke, building muscles at recreation time. Group showers. Waiting for Sunday afternoon visitation. In five years I’d have a hard, tattoo-ed body. A record. Cindy would hopefully get off lighter, juvenile hall, out at eighteen, rehabilitated. Taught a career. No permanent record.
“Come out here so I can see you, please.” So courteous. So far no signs of impending police brutality. “Remove your masks, please.” We were commanded by a uniform aiming a revolver and light at us.
Our ski masks came off allowing our identification.
“Cindy? Marcy? Is that you? Your parent’s didn’t say you were coming to town.”
“Well, they didn’t exactly know.” I responded.
The officer put two and two together and came up with four. Pretty good for a man. The dark clothes, the night time visit, Dog sniffing Cindy’s body, where more beef jerky was secreted. We were on a heist. He killed his flashlight and holstered his weapon.
“Well its about time someone rescued this unfortunate beast.” He announced. “You’re not taking us to the slammer?” Relief flooded my soul. Paroled earlier than estimated!
“Hell no, but I’m not going to assist you either. I do have to uphold some professionalism.” He retreated and vanished into the night. He was never there. He’d been just a fabrication of our over worked imagination.
Tugging fiercely on Dog’s shackles we got to the fence, boosted him over, (it took the two of us, getting tail, belly, etc. in our faces) and raced back to our get away vehicle. But not before the downpour. I hadn’t planned on that but it explains why we couldn‘t see the moon! . Muddy, smelly, wet, Dog was placed on the covered back seat next to Scruffy, my furry son, who sniffed at the new comer and edged away under the drivers seat, yapping his disapproval. Snob.
No sooner had I turned on to the main thorough fare an alarm went off. Guilty conscience? You bet. It was okay now, it was only my cell phone. Answering it I discovered it was my sister.
“Hey Marcy, as long as you’re in town come by here and get these clothes I’ve saved for Cindy. Help me save the postage, will ya?”
“Ellen, how did you know I was here?” Crooks don’t usually get calls on the job. The cop. Her husband, my brother in law. He squealed after all. Coppers! I was thinking like a criminal now.
Home at last. Fifteen hours from start to finish. I had some explaining to do with my husband. He knew where the dog belonged, but how he got here, he could only guess from the muddy paw marks covering the back car seat and windows. I had a hard time convincing him the dog was just a look a like, no connection to the one from my parent’s native soil. I don’t think he bought it, but didn’t wish to accept involvement by association so he refused to continue his line of questioning.
A few days latter the land phone went off. My mother was calling to inform me someone had stolen her neighbors dog! The one she knew I always worried about when I came for my infrequent visits. (mom’s idea of a guilt trip, I‘m there for every major holiday counting ground hog day!)Just incase I still didn't know which dog she was referring to she reminded me of the time I reported them to the SPCA. I happened right under their noses at night. My brother in law, the police officer, claimed the dog was there when he had done his rounds. Well, the dog was there when he made his rounds. We just happened to be there also. The papers called it grand larceny because the owners claimed it was a two thousand dollar blood hound ( An insurance scam?) but they were more concerned about loosing a member of the family. Yeah, one they kept in bondage in the back yard and visited occasionally I was looking at the gas, vet and groomers bills. Fleas, ticks, bald patches, mal nourishment, heart worms, intestinal worms, vaccinations, rabies shots, dental work not to mention shampooing the car upholstery. No, they were right. In the long haul, two thousand dollars was an underestimate. I wonder if I should file for reimbursement. I better not get over confident. One thing was for sure. If my parent’s ever visited, the dog would be unrecognizable. Manicured, fattening up, and, for the first time, eager for companionship, he was not the same brute that had lived across the alley from my child hood home. Now I had to work on Scruffy. Snobbery was intolerable in my house. He needed to remember how he came to be a family member!
Cindy came bouncing home from school all excited.“Hey, mom, get your car keys, we have another job to do!”
“What are you babbling about?”
“One of my friend’s at school was talking about some horses near here that are being abused. Let‘s see, we need a horse trailer, pick-up to pull it, bolt cutters for the fence…….”
I grabbed the vet bills for the dog, mentally multiplied the cost for a horse, covered my ears and ran from the room with Cindy in hot pursuit, laughing her young head off and waving a ski mask in the air.
Prov. 12:10
isaiah 43:1-4
Hosea 13:14
John 10:10
Eph. 4:28
Col. 1:12-13
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
teenage driver
I was furious with him. I discovered he had been cheating on me so I went to his place to confront him about it. This was foolish. I should have taken my licks and let him go. Was I subconsciously hoping he'd refute the allegations so successfully I'd believe him and end up in his bed. Who knows what goes on in a teenage girls thinking process. I won't understand myself for years, I'm sure. Well the face off went poorly. We yelled and screamed at each other. Name calling was involved. The scene was colored immature ugly. Teenage hormones on both sides aerosoled the atmosphere. Normally immobile objects became flying missiles. I finished my tirade and left not giving him equal time. My version of getting in the last word. I even got to slam the door shut, vibrating the apartment walls and awakening other tenants. We fought like kids. We were kids. This was practice for growing up. When real love came our way we would hopefully learn from our mistakes.
I pulled my car out and burned rubber. Tires screeching, I sped away as swiftly as possible sending the message I would never be back. Tears were spilling everywhere. I was still rewinding the fight over and over in my mind. What else could I have said? The light up ahead was green, yellow and red before I noticed. In fact I never noticed. There was a loud squealing sound and metal upon metal. I was crushed inside a tin can. The passenger and driver's side doors were separated by 24 inches. I had become very compact, then I became unconscious.
Sirens, helicopters, flashing lights. Gawkers. Accident scene imagines. I had become a statistic. A poster child proving teenage drivers and anger shouldn't be put in the same vehicle. It took hours to untangle me from the wreckage. It was a laborious task. Unfortunately the clean underwear my mother always advocated were no longer clean. Wasted effort on my part. The paramedics applied all their expertise on me. They got me stabilized, intubated and resuscitated after some down time without a heart beat. The helicopter from the local trauma center airlifted me out. I was alive! With life there is hope!!
Once in the hospital I was rushed to surgery. My abdomen was opened by and experienced trauma team and internal bleeding staunched. They removed my spleen. Someone sewed lacerations on my face up. They didn't close up my incision, I would swell and ooze so it was best not to. They packed me with absorbent material covered my exposed internal belly with a sterile plastic sheet that adhered to me and sent me to the intensive care unit. I slept well in the unit. Thank heavens for mercy and medicinally strong drugs.
My parents arrived with my brother. The hospital Chaplin came. Then our minister came. They cried and prayed. Cried and prayed. Cried and prayed. I lay there for two days, their tears falling on my face, hands, arms, heart. They assured me everything would be a-okay. They weren't concerned about the automobile. "Wake up and talk to us.... Please, wake up and talk to us", They begged repeatedly.
Doctor's came and spoke with my parent's frequently, keeping them updated, measuring my progress. My parent's had no doubt I would survive. Strangers came and spoke to my parents. They had more forms for them to sign. My "boyfriend" had the gall to visit me. He didn't appear upset about my condition. How does a nineteen year old carry his emotions. Especially since he had someone else in a side pocket. He probably went to see her when he left me. Hell, she could have driven with him to the hospital.
A few days later I was sent back to surgery. My parents stayed with me till I left my room. They had whispered in my ears about how they loved me. I loved them too but I couldn't express that to them with a tube in my throat. We parted ways at the elevators. It will be sometime before they see me again.
In surgery two nurses and two orderlies lifted me over to the operating bed, identified me, covered me with warm blankets, tucked my arms at my side and spoke gently in my ears about what they were doing. They touched me often, brushing my brow and holding my hands, making me feel important. I heard one of the nurses, a cute young thing, inform her partner she had a daughter my age. Damn, she looked my age. I could sense she was worried the same thing could repeat itself in her own family. She cared for me like I was her own.
A team of doctors arrived and the room got busy. Every one was careful to observe sterile tecnique. Anesthesia was monitoring my vital signs and ventilating me. A nurse was prepping my abdomen, washing over the plastic covering. Doctor's were gowning and gloving. Conversation in the room was reverent. I was the center of attention. They layered drapes over me and my face was covered. They removed the packing sponges, accounting for all that had been placed in me previously. They located my liver and kidneys and examined them carefully. They passed inspection.
The operating team finished up and called it a day. They used staples to close my abdomen. I was cleaned up and covered with another warm blanket. The anesthesia team had turned off the inhalation agents they used on me.
As I lay waiting to be transferred to another room I watched them package things up. My liver, and kidneys went into ice chests airborne to three different states. Three people were going to benefit from my reckless driving behavior. My parent's didn't want to remove my heart and lungs, wanting my chest to remain intact for cosmetic reasons. I'm not sure why. Surely they didn't plan on an open casket with me naked, or low cut attire? Sadly, no one would ever see my chest again, but my heart and lungs could have improved the existence of one, two or three more souls. Right now these organs were just dead weight. The Life Gift representatives didn't push the issue however because they feared my parents would rescind their initial offerings. Asking next of kin for donations is a sensitive and respectful task, I admire how they handled mom and dad, they did it with class. I should have had some say. I should have thought of it sooner but it's kind of late now. The joke is on my parents anyway because an autopsy was to be performed on me and there goes my scarless sternum. They were right though, I will survive....in three individuals that I'll meet latter. Right now I'm at the manufacture's office getting brand new replacement parts. See he can make all things new!
I pulled my car out and burned rubber. Tires screeching, I sped away as swiftly as possible sending the message I would never be back. Tears were spilling everywhere. I was still rewinding the fight over and over in my mind. What else could I have said? The light up ahead was green, yellow and red before I noticed. In fact I never noticed. There was a loud squealing sound and metal upon metal. I was crushed inside a tin can. The passenger and driver's side doors were separated by 24 inches. I had become very compact, then I became unconscious.
Sirens, helicopters, flashing lights. Gawkers. Accident scene imagines. I had become a statistic. A poster child proving teenage drivers and anger shouldn't be put in the same vehicle. It took hours to untangle me from the wreckage. It was a laborious task. Unfortunately the clean underwear my mother always advocated were no longer clean. Wasted effort on my part. The paramedics applied all their expertise on me. They got me stabilized, intubated and resuscitated after some down time without a heart beat. The helicopter from the local trauma center airlifted me out. I was alive! With life there is hope!!
Once in the hospital I was rushed to surgery. My abdomen was opened by and experienced trauma team and internal bleeding staunched. They removed my spleen. Someone sewed lacerations on my face up. They didn't close up my incision, I would swell and ooze so it was best not to. They packed me with absorbent material covered my exposed internal belly with a sterile plastic sheet that adhered to me and sent me to the intensive care unit. I slept well in the unit. Thank heavens for mercy and medicinally strong drugs.
My parents arrived with my brother. The hospital Chaplin came. Then our minister came. They cried and prayed. Cried and prayed. Cried and prayed. I lay there for two days, their tears falling on my face, hands, arms, heart. They assured me everything would be a-okay. They weren't concerned about the automobile. "Wake up and talk to us.... Please, wake up and talk to us", They begged repeatedly.
Doctor's came and spoke with my parent's frequently, keeping them updated, measuring my progress. My parent's had no doubt I would survive. Strangers came and spoke to my parents. They had more forms for them to sign. My "boyfriend" had the gall to visit me. He didn't appear upset about my condition. How does a nineteen year old carry his emotions. Especially since he had someone else in a side pocket. He probably went to see her when he left me. Hell, she could have driven with him to the hospital.
A few days later I was sent back to surgery. My parents stayed with me till I left my room. They had whispered in my ears about how they loved me. I loved them too but I couldn't express that to them with a tube in my throat. We parted ways at the elevators. It will be sometime before they see me again.
In surgery two nurses and two orderlies lifted me over to the operating bed, identified me, covered me with warm blankets, tucked my arms at my side and spoke gently in my ears about what they were doing. They touched me often, brushing my brow and holding my hands, making me feel important. I heard one of the nurses, a cute young thing, inform her partner she had a daughter my age. Damn, she looked my age. I could sense she was worried the same thing could repeat itself in her own family. She cared for me like I was her own.
A team of doctors arrived and the room got busy. Every one was careful to observe sterile tecnique. Anesthesia was monitoring my vital signs and ventilating me. A nurse was prepping my abdomen, washing over the plastic covering. Doctor's were gowning and gloving. Conversation in the room was reverent. I was the center of attention. They layered drapes over me and my face was covered. They removed the packing sponges, accounting for all that had been placed in me previously. They located my liver and kidneys and examined them carefully. They passed inspection.
The operating team finished up and called it a day. They used staples to close my abdomen. I was cleaned up and covered with another warm blanket. The anesthesia team had turned off the inhalation agents they used on me.
As I lay waiting to be transferred to another room I watched them package things up. My liver, and kidneys went into ice chests airborne to three different states. Three people were going to benefit from my reckless driving behavior. My parent's didn't want to remove my heart and lungs, wanting my chest to remain intact for cosmetic reasons. I'm not sure why. Surely they didn't plan on an open casket with me naked, or low cut attire? Sadly, no one would ever see my chest again, but my heart and lungs could have improved the existence of one, two or three more souls. Right now these organs were just dead weight. The Life Gift representatives didn't push the issue however because they feared my parents would rescind their initial offerings. Asking next of kin for donations is a sensitive and respectful task, I admire how they handled mom and dad, they did it with class. I should have had some say. I should have thought of it sooner but it's kind of late now. The joke is on my parents anyway because an autopsy was to be performed on me and there goes my scarless sternum. They were right though, I will survive....in three individuals that I'll meet latter. Right now I'm at the manufacture's office getting brand new replacement parts. See he can make all things new!
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Where am I
I’m confused, nothing unusual about that, but I don’t know how I got here, or where here even is. I’m trying my hardest to reconstruct the events that led me to this place but my recall is indisputably foggy. I remember being caught red handed with the goods I had stolen and hauled off to jail and trial with a jury of my peers, though in honesty my peers would have been just as quick fingered as me. How can they say you’re getting a fair shake if they select citizens that are clean cut! Go figure. Now if they had been my peers, they would have given me a lighter sentence, but in my country death is the penalty. We have zero tolerance for my sort, that is why only the best survived, and I managed pretty well for quite a few years if I’m allowed to blow my own horn. Oh, heck, I’ll blow it anyway. I made a splendid living off the wealth of others. Then I hooked up with a partner. Crime is best performed alone, no weak links. He was a tough dude, no heart whatsoever. At least I cared enough to rob from those that could afford it. He would steal a rattler from a baby. It was actually his fault we were snared. The “babe” he stole from last was an undercover cop with a good set of ….handcuffs; and she knew how to use them. She could actually tie me up anytime.
My memory starts to fade from there. I just know with full assurance that I don’t deserve to be where ever it is I am, where ever this is. It seems to be a nice house, eloquently furnished. People have been walking in and out of this room but I’ve been snoring to throw them off. I won’t be able to keep this up forever; eventually they’ll start trying to rouse me from my nap. Nap. Sleep. Oh, wait, I remember now. They were putting me to sleep. Lethal injection. What happened? Did it fail? They can’t try you twice for the same crime, I don’t think. That’s called double jeopardy. (Every criminal knows the law!)
I opened my eyes and examined my arm. No puncture holes. Hmmm. I stood up slowly to check everything out. I didn’t feel light headed, woozy or unsteady. For professional executioners they really messed this one up, but hey, I’m not going to file any complaints. I inspected the room I was in a little more fully. It wasn’t a jail cell or an intensive care unit. So far so good. It was someone’s bedroom. Nice posh stuff here. Pocketing a few small discreet easily pawned items, I peeked out the door and slipped into the hallway. I needed to get out of here before they discovered their mistake.
People were bustling about a large room, carrying trays of food and beverages. I must be in a subdivision of the United Nations. So many different outfits. Suits, saris, togas, kilts, hoop skirts, buckskins, veils, turbans, stove top and cowboy hats. Maybe this is a costume party. Gee, and I did not bring anything to wear!
I made myself inconspicuous and hunted down the exit.
“I see you decided to rejoin the living.” A voice said from behind me, stopping me in my tracts. I braced myself for trouble but got a tray of dining apparatus instead. These look like real good eating utensils. Solid, not gold plated! The tray was heavy enough.
“Bring this to the dining room please; I have other tasks to do.”
“What’s going on here?” I questioned.
“Our owner is due home any minute; we’re getting ready for his return.”
“Your owner?”
“Our owner, he’s yours too, he just purchased you.”
“No one owns me!” I exclaimed and shoved the tray back, not before snatching half dozen forks (without her even noticing!) They‘ll provide adequately for my needs for several decades, providing I get away successfully.
I gave up being discreet and took long determined strides to the door. No one seemed to care, no one body slammed or cuffed me. There must be and elaborate system on the grounds to prevent escape. As I said before, I know how to stay alive. Doesn’t surviving lethal injection prove something?
An explosion of light greeted me at the door. Wow, this is the best weather I’ve ever set eyes on. What happened to the smog and air pollution? Activity surged through the streets. I quickly blended into the mob. This costume party must be a public event. It isn‘t near Halloween is it? I was in jail so long it’s likely I could have lost tract of the time. Everyone was excited about the return of some dude. They were organizing an enormous bash in his honor. Every one was heading towards the main city gate in parade style with welcome home banners, colorful balloons and confetti. They all sported the same happy faces. I wanted to sucker punch someone just to see if his or her smile was painted on. Every one had a seal on their bodies, some sort of brand. I want to get far away before some one hog ties me and gives me a trademark as if I was personal property!
What a wonderful city, no graffiti or dumps in sight. (Hey, even a thief can have standards!) They have a wonderful city manager. There was an obvious absence of motor vehicles, hence the lack of smog. I wonder how they got around here in the Land of Oz!
This place had to be over the rainbow!Well since everyone was heading east, I think I’ll go west. Not a police officer in sight, unless of course he was dressed up like a Roman guard, there were plenty of them. The revelers seemed organized, however; not rowdy like those at my execution. At that awful event there was a lot of stone throwing, cursing and screaming. The pain was excruciating until the lethal injection put me out of my misery. Yet...something was tickling my memory. What? Something I did...something I said. I've heard of amnesia following traumatic events, that's what I must have. (Yeah, thieves know about medicine also! We’re a pretty smart lot!)
Out side the city limits I picked up speed. There were only a few stragglers here; most of the multitude was at the major entrance scanning the horizon for their "owner's" return. People saw me leaving but no one tried to detain me. Breaking out was effortless, no bars or locks, hunting dogs, or radar. Whomever it was they claimed bought me didn’t get much for his money.
This country was heaven on earth. Even the countryside was pristine. No leaves on the ground, perfect blooms on the bushes, tall well watered trees. Abundant wild life chattering away, hidden in the foliage. Where the hell was I? I wish I had my global positioning device. I began jogging down the well-manicured path. My brain was in turmoil. Something was itching my mind. Something I said or did. WHAT!
Up ahead a lone figure came into view walking towards me, or rather the city. He was whistling as though he was returning home after a hard days work. I stopped and waited. He was alone, unarmed. I could take him if I had too. Closer. I could make out his features now. A pleasant looking man. He looked kind; the kind that easy to take down. Closer. Memory flashing, flashing. Words echoed in my head. I was remembering….what?
I hung out with this guy once. I knew him. I met him briefly…where? He was at my execution….a judge? Juror? Cop? No, a criminal. No.
I recalled talking to him, pleading. “Remember me when you come into your….” Into his what? Kingdom! He was an innocent prisoner being put to sleep next to my hapless, unrepentant partner and me!
He was in front of me now, crying and laughing. “I promised you’d be with me in paradise!”
I fell in to his arms and wept like a baby. Me, a thief, saved and redeemed at the last moment. I really didn't deserve to be here. Grace is wonderful!
He heard my pockets jingle and grinned. He explained to me that everything I had swiped in the city belonged to me; I stole from the mansion that had been prepared for me and me alone.
The master had come home, unexpectedly through the back door!
Math 24:42-44
Math 27:44
Luke 23:40-43
John 5:24-29
John 14:1-4
Rom 6:11, 17-23
1 Cor. 6:19-20
1 Pet 1:18-19
Print Date: Mar 22 6:32am
Copyright © 2007 Yahoo! Inc. All Rights Reserved.
My memory starts to fade from there. I just know with full assurance that I don’t deserve to be where ever it is I am, where ever this is. It seems to be a nice house, eloquently furnished. People have been walking in and out of this room but I’ve been snoring to throw them off. I won’t be able to keep this up forever; eventually they’ll start trying to rouse me from my nap. Nap. Sleep. Oh, wait, I remember now. They were putting me to sleep. Lethal injection. What happened? Did it fail? They can’t try you twice for the same crime, I don’t think. That’s called double jeopardy. (Every criminal knows the law!)
I opened my eyes and examined my arm. No puncture holes. Hmmm. I stood up slowly to check everything out. I didn’t feel light headed, woozy or unsteady. For professional executioners they really messed this one up, but hey, I’m not going to file any complaints. I inspected the room I was in a little more fully. It wasn’t a jail cell or an intensive care unit. So far so good. It was someone’s bedroom. Nice posh stuff here. Pocketing a few small discreet easily pawned items, I peeked out the door and slipped into the hallway. I needed to get out of here before they discovered their mistake.
People were bustling about a large room, carrying trays of food and beverages. I must be in a subdivision of the United Nations. So many different outfits. Suits, saris, togas, kilts, hoop skirts, buckskins, veils, turbans, stove top and cowboy hats. Maybe this is a costume party. Gee, and I did not bring anything to wear!
I made myself inconspicuous and hunted down the exit.
“I see you decided to rejoin the living.” A voice said from behind me, stopping me in my tracts. I braced myself for trouble but got a tray of dining apparatus instead. These look like real good eating utensils. Solid, not gold plated! The tray was heavy enough.
“Bring this to the dining room please; I have other tasks to do.”
“What’s going on here?” I questioned.
“Our owner is due home any minute; we’re getting ready for his return.”
“Your owner?”
“Our owner, he’s yours too, he just purchased you.”
“No one owns me!” I exclaimed and shoved the tray back, not before snatching half dozen forks (without her even noticing!) They‘ll provide adequately for my needs for several decades, providing I get away successfully.
I gave up being discreet and took long determined strides to the door. No one seemed to care, no one body slammed or cuffed me. There must be and elaborate system on the grounds to prevent escape. As I said before, I know how to stay alive. Doesn’t surviving lethal injection prove something?
An explosion of light greeted me at the door. Wow, this is the best weather I’ve ever set eyes on. What happened to the smog and air pollution? Activity surged through the streets. I quickly blended into the mob. This costume party must be a public event. It isn‘t near Halloween is it? I was in jail so long it’s likely I could have lost tract of the time. Everyone was excited about the return of some dude. They were organizing an enormous bash in his honor. Every one was heading towards the main city gate in parade style with welcome home banners, colorful balloons and confetti. They all sported the same happy faces. I wanted to sucker punch someone just to see if his or her smile was painted on. Every one had a seal on their bodies, some sort of brand. I want to get far away before some one hog ties me and gives me a trademark as if I was personal property!
What a wonderful city, no graffiti or dumps in sight. (Hey, even a thief can have standards!) They have a wonderful city manager. There was an obvious absence of motor vehicles, hence the lack of smog. I wonder how they got around here in the Land of Oz!
This place had to be over the rainbow!Well since everyone was heading east, I think I’ll go west. Not a police officer in sight, unless of course he was dressed up like a Roman guard, there were plenty of them. The revelers seemed organized, however; not rowdy like those at my execution. At that awful event there was a lot of stone throwing, cursing and screaming. The pain was excruciating until the lethal injection put me out of my misery. Yet...something was tickling my memory. What? Something I did...something I said. I've heard of amnesia following traumatic events, that's what I must have. (Yeah, thieves know about medicine also! We’re a pretty smart lot!)
Out side the city limits I picked up speed. There were only a few stragglers here; most of the multitude was at the major entrance scanning the horizon for their "owner's" return. People saw me leaving but no one tried to detain me. Breaking out was effortless, no bars or locks, hunting dogs, or radar. Whomever it was they claimed bought me didn’t get much for his money.
This country was heaven on earth. Even the countryside was pristine. No leaves on the ground, perfect blooms on the bushes, tall well watered trees. Abundant wild life chattering away, hidden in the foliage. Where the hell was I? I wish I had my global positioning device. I began jogging down the well-manicured path. My brain was in turmoil. Something was itching my mind. Something I said or did. WHAT!
Up ahead a lone figure came into view walking towards me, or rather the city. He was whistling as though he was returning home after a hard days work. I stopped and waited. He was alone, unarmed. I could take him if I had too. Closer. I could make out his features now. A pleasant looking man. He looked kind; the kind that easy to take down. Closer. Memory flashing, flashing. Words echoed in my head. I was remembering….what?
I hung out with this guy once. I knew him. I met him briefly…where? He was at my execution….a judge? Juror? Cop? No, a criminal. No.
I recalled talking to him, pleading. “Remember me when you come into your….” Into his what? Kingdom! He was an innocent prisoner being put to sleep next to my hapless, unrepentant partner and me!
He was in front of me now, crying and laughing. “I promised you’d be with me in paradise!”
I fell in to his arms and wept like a baby. Me, a thief, saved and redeemed at the last moment. I really didn't deserve to be here. Grace is wonderful!
He heard my pockets jingle and grinned. He explained to me that everything I had swiped in the city belonged to me; I stole from the mansion that had been prepared for me and me alone.
The master had come home, unexpectedly through the back door!
Math 24:42-44
Math 27:44
Luke 23:40-43
John 5:24-29
John 14:1-4
Rom 6:11, 17-23
1 Cor. 6:19-20
1 Pet 1:18-19
Print Date: Mar 22 6:32am
Copyright © 2007 Yahoo! Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Friday, March 9, 2007
Tough Love
Tough love
I looked over my
shoulder. My husband's dad was watching us leave, he stood in the middle of the
yard, tears forming in his eyes. My husband was too ashamed to look back. We
had been asked to leave because of a silly misunderstanding. Basically it was a
"you're under my roof so you follow my rules," disagreement. Well, we
slipped up, now we were being shipped out. It was obviously hurting dad more
than he'd admit. This had been my only home since I got married and I would
miss it.
We marched on through
the gate and into the jungle carrying what little luggage we owned, forming a
path as we went, cutting down vines and crawling over logs, or pushing them
aside. It was a path we'd never find again. It would grow wild and overgrown
with more bushes in time. We'd never find our way back, but even if we did dad
was placing sentries around the parameters to keep us out. How cold hearted, how brutal.
We kept on going and
going, looking for the perfect place to restart our lives. I doubt we would
find it. Home had been picture perfect, Husband's dad had spent years
cultivating and landscaping it before Hubby was even born. All we had to do was
the upkeep, which was easy. Sometimes living easy, living off your parents
prevents you from growing up.
Something hit me on
the back. Glancing up into the trees I saw a monkey hanging from a branch with
one hand. The other hand was holding an apple.
"Look, its Mixy". I announced.
Hubby looked to where
I was pointing and tried to coax Mixy down. "She must have followed us all
this way. Come here girl." Another apple came flying down and pummeled off
Hubby's chest, forming a bruise next to a scar he'd had for as long as I could
remember. "Hey, what are you doing." he yelled. Then the strangest
thing happened. Mixy narrowed her eyes, curled the right side of her lip up and
showed us her teeth. She was snarling. I've never seen a snarl before; it was
ugly. She vanished back into the trees. Hubby had named Mixy, how odd she
turned on him like that. What did she have to be angry about?
We trudged on and
stopped midday to rest and eat some berries. There was a river nearby I went to
get a drink from. The liquid in my cupped hands looked horrible filled with dirt
and sediment and little wiggly things. What happened to the clear fresh water
from home? Wasn't this the same river? Upstream we came upon a bear lying
strangely still on its left side. Curious. It didn't seem to be breathing. We nudged
its body hoping it would awaken. Hubby leaned down and breathed into its mouth.
His first memory of his dad was of him breathing air into his lungs so he
thought he’d give it a shot with the breathless mammal. . Nothing. We've never
seen an animal so listless; this must be death, we’ve never seen death before
though we’d been warned of its potential.
"What's wrong
with it?" I asked Hubby, who was older and wiser than me.
"I don't know.
It must be a fake." If he was trying to not alarm me, it didn’t work. He
didn’t tell me until later about the bear’s right side, a side slicked smooth
of fur, an area the size of our two new coats, the coats dad gave us just
before he opened the door for the last time for us.
On we went, stopping
for the night. We picked a cave to shelter in. I felt weird sensations in my
stomach. Hunger. Another new experience for us. The table was always set at
home. We grew our own food and had a ready supply.
"Do you want
this apple?" Hubby queried.
"No, thanks,
I've had enough of apples to last a life time." Apples got us into this
trouble. Don't ask how, it's a long embarrassing story. We dined on what plants
we could find nearby. Everything was wild and hard to pick.
It was cold inside so
we huddled together in our fur coats, placing leaves over us for more
insulation till finally Hubby decided to try to get a fire started. He
scratched some rocks together over dried grass till eventually we had a little
blaze. We heard some growling outside so we went to the entrance and peered out.
There were two lions standing feet away, showing us what huge fangs they
possessed.
"Hey, boys, glad
to see you." Hubby exclaimed, but jumped back quickly when the growling
grew louder and the beasts leaned forward as if to attack. Thankfully the fire
kept them from getting closer. What in the world is going on? We've never been
attacked by animals before. We all respected each other. We never had any
trouble with the wild life around home. Food was, or should I say had been,
plentiful for all, no need to get nasty. The lions stared at our fur coverings,
looked us in the eyes as they backed away putting distance between us before
they turned tail and loped off. They didn’t trust us; after all we’d been to
each other for years, mutual trust had crumbled.
Several days, many
scratches and blisters later we found a location to settle down and maybe call
home. There was a large field and waterfall handy. We explored a gigantic cave
that I added some home touches to, a few ferns, some flowers, and wall art
depicting the wild life nearby. Hubby started the only life he knew. Farming.
Things weren't as easy for him here, thorns and weeds strangled out most of the
vegetables. He came back every night exhausted, scratched and sun burnt.
Discouragement hit us hard. We had difficulty facing each other, I silently
blamed him for us being here and he blamed me.
Then one day I bent
over in severe pain. The pain lasted forever and I believed it was ripping me
in two. Hubby was frantic. We may have had some issues with each other but we
were all we had. I lay on the cave floor writhing and screaming while Hubby
stayed by me holding my hand and crying. Something was awfully wrong. Hours and
hours past with minutes of respite. Sweat was pooling on the floor. I was bleeding.
Suddenly something popped. I screamed as my innards tumbled out of me. Ahhhhh.
Hubby stared and
stared. Then he picked up whatever it was and brought it to my head where I
could get a good view of it. My "innards" made noises, gurgly-cooey
sounds. It appeared to be a miniature duplicate of us. It had arms and legs and
a face similar to us, but it was dwarfish and bloody. I pushed it away in
terror.
Hubby held it close
to him and it reached for his breast with its tiny mouth. Boy, if my painful
condition scared Hubby this thing licking his breast startled the pee out of
him.
Some natural instinct
in me finally rose to the surface and I reached for the creature and held it to
my breast where it started suckling, I could see milk oozing out of the corners
of a little mouth. "I think this is the beginning of our family. Do you
think we should give it a name? I like the sound of 'Cain' "
"A family? We
don't have time for a family. I don't know if we're even "able" to
raise Cain." Was Hubby's response before he passed out cold.
Gen 3:21-24
Romans 8:22
too late
I sat at the back of the chapel because I might get called away any minute.
Not to mention, I was still mad at her. I recalled our last argument too well.
So I stayed at the back watching the mourners enter and walk down the aisle
to view her body. So many exclamations of disbelief, no one had seen this
coming. If only she were here to see the crowd assimilating, maybe she'd have
stayed, maybe not. If only I could summon her back, point my finger at her and
say,” I told you so. See people really did care." Her spirit was willing to
stay but her flesh was weak. Only I had any influence on her and I lost. She
wouldn't listen to me. Her arguments were stronger. She was convinced God
would forgive her even if he didn't approve of her tactics. It wasn't the
absence of God in her life that caused her do to this, it was the failure to
continue with the meds that God had provided. It was user error, not the
manufacturer's.
Her "true" friends held each other for comfort. She should have
spoken to them earlier but people get uncomfortable with those kinds of
conversations, and it would have embarrassed her. There wasn't enough
experience in dealing with these topics despite the literature out there. I
hope now they will seek out that literature, she sure should have.
I was amazed at some of the faces I saw come in. I wanted to yell,” hypocrite",
and "murderer". They hadn't actually manually killed her body but they
massacred her spirit. They laughed at her. They teased her. They belittled her.
They made her feel invisible, unimportant. She had responded with good humor,
her mask a perfect fit to hide the pain and doubts and hurts. She had them
convinced she couldn't be bruised. She was tough, fun, outgoing. She did enjoy
a good laugh and applauded good retorts, but it was the sincere insults hidden
in humor that got to her. She had used humor as a coat of armor. If she had
just taken the mask off occasionally and tried honesty with some of these
people maybe she'd still be here. She had God on her side and followed the
rule of turning the other cheek but being only human this got old. Kids can be
cruel on the playground and it doesn't stop there. Cruel kids grow into cruel
adults. They weren't completely responsible for destroying her, because she had
a big part in it. She had to constantly fight her body's responses to low
hormones. She finally had discovered anti-depressants. As the body ages it
produces less and less of desirable mood chemicals and needs a boost much like a
diabetic needs outside insulin, or someone needs thyroid hormone. It's not
shameful to be on pills. These pills gave her a boost but like anything they
can only do so much. She would feel better and lighten up on her meds, then
swing down to the pit of despair again. Why should one take meds just to feel
good around people? She would get to feeling blue and let the insults injure
her. But her mask did a good job. She would retaliate with a joke, good humor.
She wouldn't let the aggressor know they scored a point, that their blade had
found the target. Boy that was a fantastic mask, it was waterproof and
concealed the tears. It made people think she was invulnerable. "Oh, if we
didn't like you, we wouldn't tease you," or, "It's just her, it's okay." were
regular rejoinders. They took a pebble size hunk out of her soul with every
recital. "That's just her," when she wanted to be taken seriously, "That's just
her," when she blundered, "That's just her," when she tried to correct an
error. She was eaten in small bites. If she had seen this crowd maybe she would
have stayed.
They kept coming, friends (and foes) from church and from work. However, these
misty eyed people have short memories. In time this will be forgotten. Though
there is no one else like her someone else will be teased mercilessly and end
up the same way. Cruel kids, cruel adults. I could hear someone asking
questions, Why? How? What on earth for? The questions were useless because if
they could be answered it wouldn't reverse a thing. She would still be dead.
This was it the grand finale, the results of cruel kids grown up. She hadn't
left a note. It wouldn't have solved anything. Why did they deserve any
answers? It would have been like throwing pearls before swine.
The eulogy was nice, flowery, vaguely generic. It hit the good points. Gave
the family hope of seeing her again. Tried to educate the attendees on the
subject of her method of death. Created sobbing. Said good bye. Left the body
just as dead. The words should have been spoken when she could hear them. She
might not have believed them, though. Actions speak louder than words.
I watched as the figures filed past the coffin. They said good bye. Some
cried. Oh, give me a break, you didn't even like her, I thought. Maybe they had
repented. There is hope for the next victim of depression. Some lingered, and
were genuinely respectful. Some just went to follow the crowd. It really was
her, they all thought." If we didn't like you we wouldn't tease you,"
became, "We liked you, why didn't you let us help you?" It was incredibly
touching.
The family went last. I couldn't bear watching them so I closed my eyes. They
were closest to her and they still had not noticed her broken spirit as they
were caught up in their own problems. I didn't feel real sorrow for them. As
the guests exited I could hear plans being made for lunch, tennis, movies.
Already forgotten. Other plans being made. Life goes on...for some.
I had been able to stay for the whole affair and then some. This surprised
me. I had really expected to get called away. The lights were being turned off
so I eventually got up, walked to the pulpit where ushers were getting ready
to close the lid (they paid no attention to me) and I looked down at the
tranquil face. They had not done her justice. No matter what they say, a
corpse doesn't look good. A dead face just looks like it's caked in make-up.
Her spirit was definitely gone, I was one hundred percent certain. "Good bye
old friend, I can't wait to be reunited with you in heaven." I kissed my
forehead and turned to the last, brightest light and went home.
Not to mention, I was still mad at her. I recalled our last argument too well.
So I stayed at the back watching the mourners enter and walk down the aisle
to view her body. So many exclamations of disbelief, no one had seen this
coming. If only she were here to see the crowd assimilating, maybe she'd have
stayed, maybe not. If only I could summon her back, point my finger at her and
say,” I told you so. See people really did care." Her spirit was willing to
stay but her flesh was weak. Only I had any influence on her and I lost. She
wouldn't listen to me. Her arguments were stronger. She was convinced God
would forgive her even if he didn't approve of her tactics. It wasn't the
absence of God in her life that caused her do to this, it was the failure to
continue with the meds that God had provided. It was user error, not the
manufacturer's.
Her "true" friends held each other for comfort. She should have
spoken to them earlier but people get uncomfortable with those kinds of
conversations, and it would have embarrassed her. There wasn't enough
experience in dealing with these topics despite the literature out there. I
hope now they will seek out that literature, she sure should have.
I was amazed at some of the faces I saw come in. I wanted to yell,” hypocrite",
and "murderer". They hadn't actually manually killed her body but they
massacred her spirit. They laughed at her. They teased her. They belittled her.
They made her feel invisible, unimportant. She had responded with good humor,
her mask a perfect fit to hide the pain and doubts and hurts. She had them
convinced she couldn't be bruised. She was tough, fun, outgoing. She did enjoy
a good laugh and applauded good retorts, but it was the sincere insults hidden
in humor that got to her. She had used humor as a coat of armor. If she had
just taken the mask off occasionally and tried honesty with some of these
people maybe she'd still be here. She had God on her side and followed the
rule of turning the other cheek but being only human this got old. Kids can be
cruel on the playground and it doesn't stop there. Cruel kids grow into cruel
adults. They weren't completely responsible for destroying her, because she had
a big part in it. She had to constantly fight her body's responses to low
hormones. She finally had discovered anti-depressants. As the body ages it
produces less and less of desirable mood chemicals and needs a boost much like a
diabetic needs outside insulin, or someone needs thyroid hormone. It's not
shameful to be on pills. These pills gave her a boost but like anything they
can only do so much. She would feel better and lighten up on her meds, then
swing down to the pit of despair again. Why should one take meds just to feel
good around people? She would get to feeling blue and let the insults injure
her. But her mask did a good job. She would retaliate with a joke, good humor.
She wouldn't let the aggressor know they scored a point, that their blade had
found the target. Boy that was a fantastic mask, it was waterproof and
concealed the tears. It made people think she was invulnerable. "Oh, if we
didn't like you, we wouldn't tease you," or, "It's just her, it's okay." were
regular rejoinders. They took a pebble size hunk out of her soul with every
recital. "That's just her," when she wanted to be taken seriously, "That's just
her," when she blundered, "That's just her," when she tried to correct an
error. She was eaten in small bites. If she had seen this crowd maybe she would
have stayed.
They kept coming, friends (and foes) from church and from work. However, these
misty eyed people have short memories. In time this will be forgotten. Though
there is no one else like her someone else will be teased mercilessly and end
up the same way. Cruel kids, cruel adults. I could hear someone asking
questions, Why? How? What on earth for? The questions were useless because if
they could be answered it wouldn't reverse a thing. She would still be dead.
This was it the grand finale, the results of cruel kids grown up. She hadn't
left a note. It wouldn't have solved anything. Why did they deserve any
answers? It would have been like throwing pearls before swine.
The eulogy was nice, flowery, vaguely generic. It hit the good points. Gave
the family hope of seeing her again. Tried to educate the attendees on the
subject of her method of death. Created sobbing. Said good bye. Left the body
just as dead. The words should have been spoken when she could hear them. She
might not have believed them, though. Actions speak louder than words.
I watched as the figures filed past the coffin. They said good bye. Some
cried. Oh, give me a break, you didn't even like her, I thought. Maybe they had
repented. There is hope for the next victim of depression. Some lingered, and
were genuinely respectful. Some just went to follow the crowd. It really was
her, they all thought." If we didn't like you we wouldn't tease you,"
became, "We liked you, why didn't you let us help you?" It was incredibly
touching.
The family went last. I couldn't bear watching them so I closed my eyes. They
were closest to her and they still had not noticed her broken spirit as they
were caught up in their own problems. I didn't feel real sorrow for them. As
the guests exited I could hear plans being made for lunch, tennis, movies.
Already forgotten. Other plans being made. Life goes on...for some.
I had been able to stay for the whole affair and then some. This surprised
me. I had really expected to get called away. The lights were being turned off
so I eventually got up, walked to the pulpit where ushers were getting ready
to close the lid (they paid no attention to me) and I looked down at the
tranquil face. They had not done her justice. No matter what they say, a
corpse doesn't look good. A dead face just looks like it's caked in make-up.
Her spirit was definitely gone, I was one hundred percent certain. "Good bye
old friend, I can't wait to be reunited with you in heaven." I kissed my
forehead and turned to the last, brightest light and went home.
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