That was the most fascinating thing I’ve ever witnessed. I know people can pull through in a crisis but this wasn’t really a crisis. So some would go to bed hungry tonight, so what? But after the motivational “speaker” was through with his spontaneous presentation one little boy brought up his uneaten lunch to share with this colossal crowd and suddenly everyone was inspired to share theirs with those that had nothing. It was like Woodstock, except everyone was high on love, not dope. (Not that I’m old enough to remember Woodstock, I just heard about it!)
Now with a full stomach I was ready to head home. There were boats pulling out from the dock now, so I took that as my cue to gather my stuff together. As I headed down hill I spied the “speaker” heading up hill, by himself. Pretty brave fellow, there were wild animals in this area. I didn’t see anything on him that resembled a weapon, not that hunting was allowed this time of year. I hope he knows what he’s doing.
I found a craft accepting one more body and climbed aboard. I discovered the “speaker’s” traveling buddies were going across with me. They were staring after “speaker” mumbling to themselves and shaking their heads. Apparently they thought he should be with us. Oh well. He was an adult.
The sky was dark, of course it was well past sunset, but it was dark in that way that indicates heavy clouds were between us and the solar system. I just wanted to get to the other side where my car was parked so I could get home.
Plip, plop. Plip, plop. Here it comes, half way across the body of water; the big body of water. Land on either side of us was invisible. The wind whipped about, the waves sloshed up, the heavens opened, rain descended; and me without a raincoat or umbrella. Those that had umbrellas weren’t fairing to well anyway. What was supposed to be domed protection from the elements had now become cone shaped containers for the rain. The umbrella owner’s were shaking them furiously in disappointment and frustration, coming close to snagging a few eyes from those too close.
I was close to the rail holding on for dear life, but surprisingly exhilarated. People were complaining and whining but I was just going with the flow, no pun intended. What else could I do? “Speaker” had just finished telling us that worrying didn’t change circumstances or make us bigger, I had no trouble believing that, especially as my aging body was actually shrinking from disc degeneration.
The vessel dipped into a large wave and I lost my hold on the slippery rail. That wouldn’t be so bad if I had fallen inward, but no, my traitorous body fell outward, into the raging water. Down, down I went, till I started back up; at least I think it was up, in the dark water up and down looked pretty much the same! My head popped up above the waves so I could witness the craft continue on its journey.
Okay, I think the word panic is underrated. Now I have something to worry about and “Speaker” was right, worrying wasn’t going to get me out of this predicament, er.. . water. My mouth and eyes filled with water from under me and above me. Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink. My shoes were keeping me from treading water easily so I tried to pull them off.
The boat! It was coming back! I saw light scanning the surface, they were looking for me! But at this point I think it was going to be a recovery mission. I wasn’t going to last much longer, fluid was going into my lungs and my strength was waning. They would never see my small brunette head in this massive lake in the dark. Boy, what a pessimist, one little thing goes wrong and I give up.
The light hit something behind me. In front of me? Beside me? Oh heck which direction is which when you’re sinking in water? Like I said, the light hit something and stayed focused on it. What was it? A hallucination! I must be close to death, I hear you see things in the other world when you’re almost ready to give up the spirit. It was a human form approaching, casually as though taking a stroll on a well tread path. I stopped flaying and stared, ready to ascend to heaven (or so I hoped, remembering my not so good life.)
The silhouette stopped in front of me, squatted down and placed his hands on his knee, rain dripping from the brim of his hat, reminding me of an old country western song. It was “Speaker”! He met my eyes and smiled. I’m glad someone could smile, my mouth was wide open, not a good thing when you’re neck deep in water. Water splashed in my mouth, I spit it back out, more water came in, I repeated the cycle.
“Uh, do you mind giving me a hand here?” I queried, sort of offhandedly.
“Does it matter which hand?” Oh, great, a champion with a sense of humor.
“Not really.” I sputtered. A hand came down to me and pulled me up, slowly. Backing away he continued to assist me. My feet rose until I was only up to my ankles. I felt as though I was walking on solid ground, but I pointed my toes and prodded about, nothing but water. Amazing. Speaker didn’t seem perturbed about the lack of substance below us. Presumably, this was no big deal to him.
Without letting go of my hand, (with the death grip I had on his he wouldn’t have been able too), Speaker led me to the boat’s ladder through the torrent with no apparent urgency, conversing nonchalantly about how the area farmers needed this rain. I was unable to contribute to the dialogue, being in some level of shock. Hands reached for me to facilitate my rescue. I could only imagine the looks on their faces as the lights aimed at us were blinding me.
As I ascended the steps Speaker whispered in my ear,”Let’s not tell them where the sand bar is.” Sandbar? There wasn’t one! I know, remember, I had searched with my feet. There was nothing under us. Well, miles of water, but absolutely no sandbar. Was Speaker playing with my mind?
Once I was aboard every one backed away unsure if they were observing a ghost while Speaker scrambled over the side rail. His pals were the only ones plucky enough to approach him and give him unnecessary aid. He walked on water yet needed help over the side rail, give me a break!
The winds continued, slapping water in our ears, so we couldn’t hear anything that was said between Speaker and his cohorts, but we saw a lot of gesticulating towards the sky and cloudburst. It looked as if the twelve men were giving Speaker what for about the weather, as though it was his fault! Give me a break (again), no one can control nature.
As we all scrutinized the encounter, Speaker raised his arm and moved his lips, (I’m sure audibly to his pals, but we cowards stayed too far to perceive his words. The waters stopped churning and the deluge wrapped up, I genuinely mean wrapped up. No tapering off, no slowing down, just stopped. Suddenly. The clouds were gone, moonlight and stars filled the heavens and Speaker laid down on a nearby bench to rest. What could he be exhausted about, I was the one who had treaded water for …..Well I want to say forever but that would be an exaggeration. Speaker laid down to rest and so did I, though not as voluntarily. Those nearby barely kept my head from cracking on the floorboards. That would have been ironic, rescued from the deep only to suffer a concussion aboard ship! When I wake up I’m sure I’ll discover this was one heck of a dream…Or will I?
Math 14:13-33
mark 6:30-51
luke 8:22-25
Friday, July 18, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
The Outing
I couldn't get over it! I was used to my daughter, Cindy, text messaging people when we were alone in the car together, but tonight she had a friend with her and they were both text messaging and conversing with each other at the same time. I hope they didn't get their verbal and electronic conversations mixed up! I was just the taxi driver taking them to the camp grounds in an effort to escape all things Halloween. At least I had Scruffy, my reliable terrier, in the passenger seat to keep me company. I glanced at him only to find he was tex messaging Mr. Sandman. Oh well, at least I had a warm body next to mine. I reached over to scratch his favorite spot...anywhere on his body...to receive a grateful lick on the hand before he readjusted himself.
The back seat conversation stopped. Then griping started. The phones were losing signals. Great, now they'll have to have an old fashion conversation where two people talk to the only two people present, (obviously I know better than to include myself). They were on untested territory now.
It was so dark I couldn't see the street let alone any street signs. We were way past any major housing area or shopping malls. Way past any street lights. Way past the reach of moon light. We should be near the state park with the comfortable cabin I had rented for the night. But no, I suspected we were lost. Again. My GPS was telling me to turn back, go right, go left, back up, go forward and recite the Gettysburg address while patting my tummy and rubbing my head. The useless piece of plastic was malfunctioning. Hmmm, the cell phones, now the GPS.
The wind picked up and Lightening flashed across the sky. One, two, three. Then thunder followed. The storm was three miles away. Great, if I couldn't see on a starless, moonless night, seeing in a deluge will be .....challenging. I loathed challenges.
Cindy screamed. The next lightening/thunder episode sent her into panic. She hates storms. I hate her screaming, but the light streaking across the sky illuminated the ground enough for me to see a break in the horizon were a building stood. A lightless, dark silhouette. I pulled off the road, literally, and aimed my car beams into the field. The car lights went out. Of course, what else. We bumped over rocks and gravel while tall grass brushed against my rear view mirror.
The car stopped (did the battery just die?) in front of an old wooden plank house, two stories tall with broken windows, and open doors swinging in the wind. Cindy and Ginger just stared at me as I stepped out and grabbed my duffle bag.
"What are you doing?" Cindy asked.
"Ever hear of getting out of the rain?" I retorted.
Lightning flashed. One. Thunder. This motivated my usually sublime Scruffy into action as he leapt past me, up the steps and through the doorway. I was close behind. Cindy and Ginger considered staying in an empty car in the dark and rain for about one, two...{lightening, thunder}, seconds. Having left the car after me, they got into the structure before me. Oh, to be young and agile again. And terrified of thunder.
Dust and old furniture was everywhere. None of that covered stuff like you see on TV. Just dusty furniture and cobwebs. Leaves, animal scat, broken planks, pieces of the ceiling and peeling sheet rock were scattered over the floors, I flicked the light switch on. Guess what? They didn't work. Go figure. Old, empty house, no electricity.
I pulled out my flashlight-radio-TV-tool box combo I got for Christmas one year. I remember thinking, I'll never use this, but more than one happenstance has forced me to eat my words. Then I said, "Let there be light!" The flash light worked for nano seconds then went dead. I couldn’t get any action on the TV or radio either, to determine the strength of the impending tempest about to overtake us.
"Lets go back to the car!" Cindy pleaded. Scruffy was sniffing around and whining. His hair was standing on edge. Not an encouraging behavior from a pet with extra sensory perception.
"I don't know about you, but I'd rather be inside on a night like this. I'm going to go get our food and grill. You guys grab the sleeping bags and other gear. This is where the trip ends tonight kids." I announced with determination.
"What!" Cindy wailed.
"Hey, we just wanted to get away from the "trick or treaters" tonight. I doubt any will show up here!" I declared. I hope I can get a refund on the cabin.
Ginger nudged Cindy and whispered in her ear. Cindy didn't look receptive to whatever the secret was but she shrugged in resignation. Might as well, kiddo, I wasn't going to change my mind.
The house was perfect for our campout. My small gas powered grill was well ventilated in this spaciously airy room and gave some light. The rain poured outside...and indoors. It was just like camping out. Really. I could make the best out of this. After a nice meal of hot dogs, chips and Mrs. Bairds pastries Scruffy and I went in search of sleeping quarters using a small flashlight that flickered unpredictably. Cindy and Ginger's whisperings told me they wanted to be alone...together. I don't know what they had up their sleeves but it wasn't going to include me. Hurt feelings? Na. I spent enough nights with girlfriends talking about boys, I just hoped tonight Cindy could get some gospel down Ginger.
I found a sofa in the next room (by jamming my foot into it) where I laid my sleeping bag. Scruffy yawned and crawled up on my lap. Even though he slept through the car ride and most of dinner he was still able to find dream land, and he brought me along this time.
I don't know how long I was out but an odd cold blast woke me. Of course I didn't remember where I was, after all I'm old with short term memory deficits, which comes in handy when you're raising teenagers. Scruffy was sitting by the door, growling. A shadow passed in the hallway, then another, followed by another blast of cold air. I doubt this house had airconditioning, it didn’t even have electricity.
Cindy and Ginger must be exploring. No. That wouldn't make Scruffy growl. I shivered. If I was dead I'd say someone was walking on my grave. I tugged on the zipper to free myself from my sleeping bag and made my way to the door, careful to not jam my still aching foot into any more pieces of furniture. Scruffy kept his eye on me, ready to flee in the opposite direction at any sign of hesitation. Good guard dog.
The girls were huddled over a game board illuminated by our butane lamp. I felt like we weren't alone and Scruffy's uneasiness wasn't helping.
I crept up on the duo and peeked over their shoulders. All I could see was some board with alphabets on it. They were holding on to some triangle thing that was sliding around.
I brushed against Cindy, badly startling her."Don't do that!" she cried.
"What are you guys doing?"
Looking at each other for confirmation that is was okay to divulge their activities they both talked at once,"We're talking to the owner of the house!"
"The phones are working again! Great. I'll call your dad to tell him we're okay." I said, digging my cell phone out of my jeans.
"No. We're talking to them through this board. " Cindy explained as if I was an ignorant child and she was a newly enlightened being.
"Huh."
"Mom, this is cool. Ginger brought this for fun. It's called a Ouija board. You ask it questions and it spells out answers. We're communicating with the other world! It's great. We're learning about what happened to the lady that used to live here." Cindy was really excited. I was really shocked. I had learned in church years ago that Ouija boards were worse than playing with fire. They were tools Satan used to ensnare humans into the occult. ‘This wasn't good’ was my last thought before............the gas powered lamp went out and we were in utter darkness again. (Except for the occasional lightening burst)
A flame sprang up in the ancient fireplace preceding some howling. Lots of howling and scary laughter. Don't let anyone tell you laughter is always good for the soul, because my soul shriveled up at the sound of this particular laugh. Two wispy apparitions stepped out of the roaring blaze an ran through the room; a lady in a cotton dress, house shoes and an apron, with a huge gash in her back dripping blood, being chased by a rough looking man with coveralls, a t-shirt torn in the underarms and an old hat, carrying a butcher knife, dripping blood. Presumably the previous owner and her killer. Scruffy, ears flattened, poked his nose at the throw rug on the floor and glided under. The rug trembled. The air chilled considerably. How can demons from a fiery hell cause such a chill?
As I said before, the two visitors ran through the room, literally. They came out of the south wall and vanished through the north wall. Then back through the south wall to the north wall. A perpetual ritual performed just for us. It only took six performances before we were able to get our feet to cooperate and.....run. We toppled all over each other in our rush to the exit.
Jumping in the car we all slammed the locks down. Okay, we saw the phantoms go through walls but we still locked the doors to keep them out. No logic was involved.
"Yap, yap yap, woof, woof!" Scruffy ordered. (Translation: Hit the gas, lady!") Then he made a heroic dive under the front seat, pulling his tail in after him. My poor brave baby.
"Come on mom, let's get out of here!" Cindy pleaded.
"Can't " I wailed. "My keys are in my purse!"Cindy and Ginger looked recklessly about for my purse, crawling into the trunk and hurling things."It's in there." I sighed, “In the house!”
Cindy and Ginger moaned and we all stared at the house, paralyzed, mentally and physically. What to do? What to do? I sure wasn't going back in there? I could send Cindy, after all, I was still young, I could have more children. No. What was I thinking? I could send Ginger, she wasn't mine.
Scruffy wiggled out from under the seat. He was in control now; I could see assurance in his demeanor. Clamped firmly between his canines was an old New Testament that had found it's way under the car seats. I don't even recall owning that book, but I do recall the words that came immediately to mind upon sight of the little green cover (were the words god-breathed?) "greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world".
"I've had enough!" I stated opening the car door and marching up the steps. Cindy and Ginger had no idea what I was doing, being in the back seat on a dark night in the pouring rain, they didn't see what I retrieved from Scruffy's mouth. They did see and hear me leave the car, much to their terror. They felt compelled to follow me, not wanting to be forsaken in the car. They were such wimps, I reflected.
Marching up the steps I pitched the door open and met the shadow people head on. They were now in their true forms, not victim and criminal but cohorts in evil. They drifted towards me, unsuspecting of their predicament till.....they saw it. The book! But it was the expression on my face that unnerved them. I was angry. I was not scared. I was convinced I had authority over them!
Wispy arms covered their faces as they screeched their protests. They were goners and they knew it.
"Get out of here and leave us alone!" I ordered waving the Word of God about like a sword. Then added, "In Jesus' name!” I foolishly felt as though my shoulders had little cheer leaders dressed in white perched on them, waving feathery pom-poms and cheering me on. I could actually hear their little voices in my head, encouraging me. “Rah, Rah, Rah. Go, girl, go.”
Oh my gosh. The demons squirmed. They squealed. They painfully disappeared. Scruffy, hot on my heels,(I use the word hot carefully) ran over to the abandoned Ouija board and, snatching it in his mouth trotted over to the dying blaze in the fireplace and tossed it in with a flourish, then yapped good riddance to bad trash.
The flashlights and radio I had tried early blared on, and my phone starting ringing. Hubby had been frantically trying to contact me. Sure I was fine, I informed him, why wouldn’t I be? I winked at the girls; it was too long a story to divulge right now.
We actually finished the night off in peace and quiet, teaching Ginger about Jesus and his power over evil, boy was Satan mad we were able to bring good out of his evil intentions. Having seen the worst of the invisible world, Ginger was able to accept the magnificent story of redemption.
The next morning while we repacked the car, a teenage boy on a bicycle rode up. "You guys didn't spend the night in the old Crammer house, did ya'?” he asked incredulously. “It's haunted!"
"Not anymore!" We all said in unison as I started the engine up and we headed home leaving a very stunned and impressed lad staring after us.
Scruffy, standing with his paws on the passenger’s window, watched the porch fade from view. A porch that held two glowing cheerleaders, dressed in white, holding feather pom-poms. The same heavenly cheer leaders who had given him the bible when he was under the car seat to remind me of my connection to the Ruler of the Universe. They looked upward and with a single leap faster than a bullet they went home, mission accomplished.
Lev. 19:26
Duet. 18:14
Micah 5:12
Gal. 5:20
James 4:7
1 John 4:4
The back seat conversation stopped. Then griping started. The phones were losing signals. Great, now they'll have to have an old fashion conversation where two people talk to the only two people present, (obviously I know better than to include myself). They were on untested territory now.
It was so dark I couldn't see the street let alone any street signs. We were way past any major housing area or shopping malls. Way past any street lights. Way past the reach of moon light. We should be near the state park with the comfortable cabin I had rented for the night. But no, I suspected we were lost. Again. My GPS was telling me to turn back, go right, go left, back up, go forward and recite the Gettysburg address while patting my tummy and rubbing my head. The useless piece of plastic was malfunctioning. Hmmm, the cell phones, now the GPS.
The wind picked up and Lightening flashed across the sky. One, two, three. Then thunder followed. The storm was three miles away. Great, if I couldn't see on a starless, moonless night, seeing in a deluge will be .....challenging. I loathed challenges.
Cindy screamed. The next lightening/thunder episode sent her into panic. She hates storms. I hate her screaming, but the light streaking across the sky illuminated the ground enough for me to see a break in the horizon were a building stood. A lightless, dark silhouette. I pulled off the road, literally, and aimed my car beams into the field. The car lights went out. Of course, what else. We bumped over rocks and gravel while tall grass brushed against my rear view mirror.
The car stopped (did the battery just die?) in front of an old wooden plank house, two stories tall with broken windows, and open doors swinging in the wind. Cindy and Ginger just stared at me as I stepped out and grabbed my duffle bag.
"What are you doing?" Cindy asked.
"Ever hear of getting out of the rain?" I retorted.
Lightning flashed. One. Thunder. This motivated my usually sublime Scruffy into action as he leapt past me, up the steps and through the doorway. I was close behind. Cindy and Ginger considered staying in an empty car in the dark and rain for about one, two...{lightening, thunder}, seconds. Having left the car after me, they got into the structure before me. Oh, to be young and agile again. And terrified of thunder.
Dust and old furniture was everywhere. None of that covered stuff like you see on TV. Just dusty furniture and cobwebs. Leaves, animal scat, broken planks, pieces of the ceiling and peeling sheet rock were scattered over the floors, I flicked the light switch on. Guess what? They didn't work. Go figure. Old, empty house, no electricity.
I pulled out my flashlight-radio-TV-tool box combo I got for Christmas one year. I remember thinking, I'll never use this, but more than one happenstance has forced me to eat my words. Then I said, "Let there be light!" The flash light worked for nano seconds then went dead. I couldn’t get any action on the TV or radio either, to determine the strength of the impending tempest about to overtake us.
"Lets go back to the car!" Cindy pleaded. Scruffy was sniffing around and whining. His hair was standing on edge. Not an encouraging behavior from a pet with extra sensory perception.
"I don't know about you, but I'd rather be inside on a night like this. I'm going to go get our food and grill. You guys grab the sleeping bags and other gear. This is where the trip ends tonight kids." I announced with determination.
"What!" Cindy wailed.
"Hey, we just wanted to get away from the "trick or treaters" tonight. I doubt any will show up here!" I declared. I hope I can get a refund on the cabin.
Ginger nudged Cindy and whispered in her ear. Cindy didn't look receptive to whatever the secret was but she shrugged in resignation. Might as well, kiddo, I wasn't going to change my mind.
The house was perfect for our campout. My small gas powered grill was well ventilated in this spaciously airy room and gave some light. The rain poured outside...and indoors. It was just like camping out. Really. I could make the best out of this. After a nice meal of hot dogs, chips and Mrs. Bairds pastries Scruffy and I went in search of sleeping quarters using a small flashlight that flickered unpredictably. Cindy and Ginger's whisperings told me they wanted to be alone...together. I don't know what they had up their sleeves but it wasn't going to include me. Hurt feelings? Na. I spent enough nights with girlfriends talking about boys, I just hoped tonight Cindy could get some gospel down Ginger.
I found a sofa in the next room (by jamming my foot into it) where I laid my sleeping bag. Scruffy yawned and crawled up on my lap. Even though he slept through the car ride and most of dinner he was still able to find dream land, and he brought me along this time.
I don't know how long I was out but an odd cold blast woke me. Of course I didn't remember where I was, after all I'm old with short term memory deficits, which comes in handy when you're raising teenagers. Scruffy was sitting by the door, growling. A shadow passed in the hallway, then another, followed by another blast of cold air. I doubt this house had airconditioning, it didn’t even have electricity.
Cindy and Ginger must be exploring. No. That wouldn't make Scruffy growl. I shivered. If I was dead I'd say someone was walking on my grave. I tugged on the zipper to free myself from my sleeping bag and made my way to the door, careful to not jam my still aching foot into any more pieces of furniture. Scruffy kept his eye on me, ready to flee in the opposite direction at any sign of hesitation. Good guard dog.
The girls were huddled over a game board illuminated by our butane lamp. I felt like we weren't alone and Scruffy's uneasiness wasn't helping.
I crept up on the duo and peeked over their shoulders. All I could see was some board with alphabets on it. They were holding on to some triangle thing that was sliding around.
I brushed against Cindy, badly startling her."Don't do that!" she cried.
"What are you guys doing?"
Looking at each other for confirmation that is was okay to divulge their activities they both talked at once,"We're talking to the owner of the house!"
"The phones are working again! Great. I'll call your dad to tell him we're okay." I said, digging my cell phone out of my jeans.
"No. We're talking to them through this board. " Cindy explained as if I was an ignorant child and she was a newly enlightened being.
"Huh."
"Mom, this is cool. Ginger brought this for fun. It's called a Ouija board. You ask it questions and it spells out answers. We're communicating with the other world! It's great. We're learning about what happened to the lady that used to live here." Cindy was really excited. I was really shocked. I had learned in church years ago that Ouija boards were worse than playing with fire. They were tools Satan used to ensnare humans into the occult. ‘This wasn't good’ was my last thought before............the gas powered lamp went out and we were in utter darkness again. (Except for the occasional lightening burst)
A flame sprang up in the ancient fireplace preceding some howling. Lots of howling and scary laughter. Don't let anyone tell you laughter is always good for the soul, because my soul shriveled up at the sound of this particular laugh. Two wispy apparitions stepped out of the roaring blaze an ran through the room; a lady in a cotton dress, house shoes and an apron, with a huge gash in her back dripping blood, being chased by a rough looking man with coveralls, a t-shirt torn in the underarms and an old hat, carrying a butcher knife, dripping blood. Presumably the previous owner and her killer. Scruffy, ears flattened, poked his nose at the throw rug on the floor and glided under. The rug trembled. The air chilled considerably. How can demons from a fiery hell cause such a chill?
As I said before, the two visitors ran through the room, literally. They came out of the south wall and vanished through the north wall. Then back through the south wall to the north wall. A perpetual ritual performed just for us. It only took six performances before we were able to get our feet to cooperate and.....run. We toppled all over each other in our rush to the exit.
Jumping in the car we all slammed the locks down. Okay, we saw the phantoms go through walls but we still locked the doors to keep them out. No logic was involved.
"Yap, yap yap, woof, woof!" Scruffy ordered. (Translation: Hit the gas, lady!") Then he made a heroic dive under the front seat, pulling his tail in after him. My poor brave baby.
"Come on mom, let's get out of here!" Cindy pleaded.
"Can't " I wailed. "My keys are in my purse!"Cindy and Ginger looked recklessly about for my purse, crawling into the trunk and hurling things."It's in there." I sighed, “In the house!”
Cindy and Ginger moaned and we all stared at the house, paralyzed, mentally and physically. What to do? What to do? I sure wasn't going back in there? I could send Cindy, after all, I was still young, I could have more children. No. What was I thinking? I could send Ginger, she wasn't mine.
Scruffy wiggled out from under the seat. He was in control now; I could see assurance in his demeanor. Clamped firmly between his canines was an old New Testament that had found it's way under the car seats. I don't even recall owning that book, but I do recall the words that came immediately to mind upon sight of the little green cover (were the words god-breathed?) "greater is he that is in you, than he that is in the world".
"I've had enough!" I stated opening the car door and marching up the steps. Cindy and Ginger had no idea what I was doing, being in the back seat on a dark night in the pouring rain, they didn't see what I retrieved from Scruffy's mouth. They did see and hear me leave the car, much to their terror. They felt compelled to follow me, not wanting to be forsaken in the car. They were such wimps, I reflected.
Marching up the steps I pitched the door open and met the shadow people head on. They were now in their true forms, not victim and criminal but cohorts in evil. They drifted towards me, unsuspecting of their predicament till.....they saw it. The book! But it was the expression on my face that unnerved them. I was angry. I was not scared. I was convinced I had authority over them!
Wispy arms covered their faces as they screeched their protests. They were goners and they knew it.
"Get out of here and leave us alone!" I ordered waving the Word of God about like a sword. Then added, "In Jesus' name!” I foolishly felt as though my shoulders had little cheer leaders dressed in white perched on them, waving feathery pom-poms and cheering me on. I could actually hear their little voices in my head, encouraging me. “Rah, Rah, Rah. Go, girl, go.”
Oh my gosh. The demons squirmed. They squealed. They painfully disappeared. Scruffy, hot on my heels,(I use the word hot carefully) ran over to the abandoned Ouija board and, snatching it in his mouth trotted over to the dying blaze in the fireplace and tossed it in with a flourish, then yapped good riddance to bad trash.
The flashlights and radio I had tried early blared on, and my phone starting ringing. Hubby had been frantically trying to contact me. Sure I was fine, I informed him, why wouldn’t I be? I winked at the girls; it was too long a story to divulge right now.
We actually finished the night off in peace and quiet, teaching Ginger about Jesus and his power over evil, boy was Satan mad we were able to bring good out of his evil intentions. Having seen the worst of the invisible world, Ginger was able to accept the magnificent story of redemption.
The next morning while we repacked the car, a teenage boy on a bicycle rode up. "You guys didn't spend the night in the old Crammer house, did ya'?” he asked incredulously. “It's haunted!"
"Not anymore!" We all said in unison as I started the engine up and we headed home leaving a very stunned and impressed lad staring after us.
Scruffy, standing with his paws on the passenger’s window, watched the porch fade from view. A porch that held two glowing cheerleaders, dressed in white, holding feather pom-poms. The same heavenly cheer leaders who had given him the bible when he was under the car seat to remind me of my connection to the Ruler of the Universe. They looked upward and with a single leap faster than a bullet they went home, mission accomplished.
Lev. 19:26
Duet. 18:14
Micah 5:12
Gal. 5:20
James 4:7
1 John 4:4
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Memorial Day weekend
“Thanks, but I already have plans for the day," I informed my friend who just invited me over for a day of barbequing and swimming. That was how most of America was spending the day. It was a three day weekend and most people could do this activity any weekend of the year but they make a big deal of it on this particular day. Eating drinking, swimming. That is all this day meant to most people; a time to get together and be a family and enjoy one extra day off work. At least an extra day off if you weren't in the food or merchandise industry. Or the gas industry. Or entertainment industry. The malls would be packed with bargain hunters, sales would be rampant using the day as a reason for extra profits. Movie goers would be out in droves, getting away from routine. Though nowadays, shopping, eating out and going to movies was routine. And profits would be made, no matter how big the sale percentage. Merchants weren't giving stuff away! Besides, most people don't limit themselves to just what's on sale.
My husband and I went to my dad's house and loaded him up into the car, putting his walker into the trunk with his spare oxygen tank. This was dad’s day. He looked forward to this day every year. As a survivor of WWII, the Korean War, and Viet Nam, this was his holiday. I loaded the car with our projects and we took off. We went to the neighborhood cemetery and hunted down his friends. Strange we always had trouble finding them, it's not like they were very mobile. With a walker and oxygen dad was in better health than they were! This was the only occasion he felt complaining about his health was ungracious, walking down the rows of name plaques!
He stuck little flags by the names of his service friends. Their kids had not done this, and he mumbled some unkind words about their neglecting their obligations. I think mostly he complained just to make sure I was aware that I would be held accountable for decorating his grave when the time comes. (Knock on wood that better be some time from now!)
After we finished our flag placing chore, we headed off to the main part of his celebration. The Dallas National Cemetery.
It was unbelievable. No matter how much time I allow to get there the traffic is so thick inside the grounds we crawl along at a snail’s pace, by hundreds of new graves buried under blankets of fresh flowers watered with tears. Every day sees the addition of new members at a rate of 19,500 a year. Cars were parked along the route and people milled about the grounds. I caught sight of a man and woman on the grass beside a flowery decorated tombstone. The woman was crying, the man was trying to be comforting. This is a customary sight here. Some things shouldn't become customary. Flowers were all over the place. People were pushing baby strollers down rows of graves looking for their daddy or uncle or brother(or female counterparts). Flags were flying everywhere.
Closer to our destination we were directed where to park on the grass. Cars, Trucks. Vans. Motorcycles. Ambulances. TV crews. Care flight personal. Portable potties. Scads of people were heading towards the presentation sight. Dressed in shorts, slacks, uniforms, suits, dresses. Every possible combination of red white and blue was covered. Red, white and blue on ties, t-shirts, scarves, handbags, hats, umbrellas, baby diapers, Flags lined the road every twenty feet. Hundreds of them. I wondered how much time it would take to lower them tonight.
There were several tents up on center stage filled with important looking dignitaries and military personal, from every service, and a school choir dressed in green tops and beige pants or skirts. Red white and blue drapes hung over their heads.
The ceremony started with introductions of generals, the Governor, the funeral director. Then three planes were heard approaching. Approaching. Nearer. Nearer. They were in sight now; three planes in formation flew overhead. They were punctual, precise timing. They had left their stations on the second to make a show at the correct minute, in tribute to the somber observance. I wished I had anticipated that to get a picture, I was awed by the formation and the planning. However I did get pictures. Pictures of the crowd sitting on lawn chairs, blankets on the ground, the brick wall lining the area. People with water jugs, umbrellas to shade them from the stifling heat of the sun, large protective hats. People dressed in uniforms. They must be really hot. I got a picture of my husband walking beside my dad, holding an umbrella over his head.
The presentation lasted longer than I thought it should in the middle of a hot, humid day. I worried about the old timers present. This could throw their systems out of whack. I worried about my dad. He had spent time in the emergency room once for dehydration brought on by a baseball game, but he wouldn't miss this day. We stayed ahead of things, keeping him properly hydrated, yet at the same time on the verge of dehydration to prevent congestive heart failure symptoms. Jugglers had nothing on me! It was comforting to know that ambulances and medical personal were on the grounds.
The presentation lasted longer that I thought yet none of these vets, their families, or relatives of the recent victims of Iraq and Afghanistan complained. They hadn't gone to the movies or the malls today. They came to honor Memorial Day properly. Those not here weren't thinking of the reason they had a three day weekend, they were enjoying a paid day off. Memorial Day meant more to those in attendance here. It meant someone died for the population of the United States of America to spend the day however they wanted. Not under a dictatorship. Not in a civil war. Not scrounging for food. Not part of a genocide committee. Not threatened daily with rape or casual murder.
The ceremony was concluded by a roll call of the recently interred. As the names fell on our hearts a crisply dressed serviceman placed a rose on one of several draped chairs that represented either the Navy, Army, Air force, Marines, or Coast Guards. The families were then invited to collect the rose from the chair representing their sacrifice. A rose. A rose with a thorn. The thorn would draw blood, representing the blood shed for our country.
This is the current Memorial day, but the true Memorial day started years ago. It started on a cross where a savior died for our freedoms. When I mentioned that to my dad he retorted with, "Jesus didn't die on Memorial Day!" No. Dad could only think of his fallen comrades today but maybe latter tonight he'll think of Jesus and thank him for freeing him from slavery to sin and an eternity in hell. In that case, every day should be Memorial Day.
The Soap Opera Connection
I was comfortably ensconced on my throne, with my feet on an earth toned footstool, watching As the World Turns wondering who writes that trash when my phone went off. It was one of my sons, Greg, calling and he sounded anxious, hurt. He had information for me concerning his wife (information I was already privy too) who had left him ( at my advice) because he’d been drinking too heavily and she couldn't take it anymore. Well, I was thankful he gave up the bottle when she walked out and they were trying to make things work. It sometimes takes a separation like this to act as a wakeup call. But now her job planned on moving her further away, miles away. Counties away. Not-available-for -commute away. He swore it meant the end of their marriage; he wouldn’t have a marriage in separate cities. I felt for him , obstinacy is so human! This had not been my plan for their life when they married, so young and full of love, but they had been too Young and Restless at the time and needed some spiritual ripening. I encouraged my son to keep talking to me, to listen to me but he was so down I couldn't hold his attention and the connection went dead. I kept the line open for him to call back as I knew he would, eventually. I hoped this set back didn’t discourage him from our Sunday get together he had just started participating in, with what I could see were sincere intentions.
Immediately after he called I got a call from one of my daughters, Carol. Her husband had just ....oh, how awful...., shot himself. She was hysterical and needed her dad. Thank heavens I was home for this call also. We spent lots of time together, crying and consoling each other. She really needed a shoulder to lean on and mine was strong. I did lots of building when I was younger and could hold up mountains if the situation called for it. I reassured her continuously that she would see her husband again, would have the chance to hold and love him for eternity; that was how things would be I was certain, no doubts raised, as he was at this moment standing contritely in front of me, stripped of all his rewards. Yet I could feel her hurt. Knowing that this life isn't all there is isn't automatically comforting in the darkest hours but as long as she knew I was available twenty four /seven to be her Guiding Light she would survive. I would answer anytime she called, day or night. I reminded her, unnecessarily, that Sunday’s get together was still crucial, she promised to be there. .
Again the phone went off. Another son, Frank, was down in the dumps. He was feeling so low and hopeless about things, rising gas, food and utility bills, and possible layoffs, he confided he felt like dying. Not just dying, he felt like determining his death date, hint, hint. We had a serious talk about suicide and it’s aftermath. I told him he had Only one Life to Live and since I was the one who brought him into the world, only I could take him out. That brought a gentle laugh from him. He knew I was right. I was capable of taking him out and that rattled him more than all his worldly problems. After some time together on the air waves he began to feel optimistic. Expectant. Things would look better in the morning, I promised. This wasn't the first generation to see a recession. I had seen many recessions in my life and lived through them all, and he did after all have my spirit. He also had my experience written in a journal on his bedside table. We left off on a positive note and I reiterated to him how important Sunday would be for us to get together. He needed family for encouragement. He gave his word he’d be there. Good enough for me.
After my hectic week of family turmoil, my favorite day arrived; Sunday. I take one day off a week from running my global enterprise to rest and recuperate. It’s good for the spirit. Plus, as an added feature I encourage All My Children to come over to the house for dinner and family time. I may not get around like my kids think I should, every child thinks they can run things better than their parents, mine are no exception, but I never miss a day of family singing and worship. I don’t coerce my kids to come, I only want the ones over that sincerely want to be with me nor do I pass judgment on the ones that aren’t here,(even though that is truly my prerogative!) if I still hear from them regularly. Having such an influential parent like me isn’t easy on my brood. They feel like they have to put on airs. Wrong. I love them regardless. They are free to be Bold and Beautiful in my presence.
Greg arrived first and sat in the back. Next came Carol and Frank, stopping at the brochure table to browse. There were pamphlets there on topics such as healing from grief and suicide prevention. They both picked up the booklets that interested them, and then looked at each other, guardedly. A conversation then ensued by the two strangers (yet brother and sister in my eyes) sharing their angst’s. They exchanged phone numbers to keep afloat, (under normal circumstances I don’t recommend my daughters just handing out their numbers, this world is less than ideal, but I made an exception this morning). They had devised a spur of the moment plan to start a support group here at the church that unknown to them now, would grow into an enormous success. (They didn’t know it really wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. I had set that plan in motion during the week by planting a little seeds on futile ground).
The morning activities of song and praise got started and Greg bowed his head, whispering to me on our two way radio, a radio so clear I could hear him without distractions, at the same time I could hear All my Children. My technologies exceed any known today by man. I’m the super parent that has eyes and ears behind my head, on top of my head and under my feet, in other words I’m the child’s ultimate nightmare because I see all and hear all! As Greg and I conversed about his determination to stay temperate despite what to him seemed a tremendous set back, another back seat Christian took the space beside him. (Hey, the seats are there for a reason, as long as they are being occupied I have no complaints!) Greg didn’t want to be distracted from our tête-à -tête so the hand that slipped into his totally startled him. Looking up he went eye to eye with Martha, his absent wife (he pinched himself to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating). Unfortunately for me, being who I am, I never get the thrill that comes from being surprised, being a genuine Know It All has major disadvantages.
Martha had decided to stay in town. Working on their marriage at this time was more important than any job opportunities, though they would still have detached living situations for a while they would both find healing here at my General Hospital, insurance paid for by my firstborn, Yeshua. Greg and Martha (even Carol and Frank) had one common ground; they agreed that all the Days of our Lives are best spent in the House Of God, (my house) with the family of God.
Duet 32:39
Psalm 30:5
Psalm 84:10
Psalm 103:3
Ecc. 3:4
Eph 5:18
Heb. 4:16
Heb 10:23-34
Immediately after he called I got a call from one of my daughters, Carol. Her husband had just ....oh, how awful...., shot himself. She was hysterical and needed her dad. Thank heavens I was home for this call also. We spent lots of time together, crying and consoling each other. She really needed a shoulder to lean on and mine was strong. I did lots of building when I was younger and could hold up mountains if the situation called for it. I reassured her continuously that she would see her husband again, would have the chance to hold and love him for eternity; that was how things would be I was certain, no doubts raised, as he was at this moment standing contritely in front of me, stripped of all his rewards. Yet I could feel her hurt. Knowing that this life isn't all there is isn't automatically comforting in the darkest hours but as long as she knew I was available twenty four /seven to be her Guiding Light she would survive. I would answer anytime she called, day or night. I reminded her, unnecessarily, that Sunday’s get together was still crucial, she promised to be there. .
Again the phone went off. Another son, Frank, was down in the dumps. He was feeling so low and hopeless about things, rising gas, food and utility bills, and possible layoffs, he confided he felt like dying. Not just dying, he felt like determining his death date, hint, hint. We had a serious talk about suicide and it’s aftermath. I told him he had Only one Life to Live and since I was the one who brought him into the world, only I could take him out. That brought a gentle laugh from him. He knew I was right. I was capable of taking him out and that rattled him more than all his worldly problems. After some time together on the air waves he began to feel optimistic. Expectant. Things would look better in the morning, I promised. This wasn't the first generation to see a recession. I had seen many recessions in my life and lived through them all, and he did after all have my spirit. He also had my experience written in a journal on his bedside table. We left off on a positive note and I reiterated to him how important Sunday would be for us to get together. He needed family for encouragement. He gave his word he’d be there. Good enough for me.
After my hectic week of family turmoil, my favorite day arrived; Sunday. I take one day off a week from running my global enterprise to rest and recuperate. It’s good for the spirit. Plus, as an added feature I encourage All My Children to come over to the house for dinner and family time. I may not get around like my kids think I should, every child thinks they can run things better than their parents, mine are no exception, but I never miss a day of family singing and worship. I don’t coerce my kids to come, I only want the ones over that sincerely want to be with me nor do I pass judgment on the ones that aren’t here,(even though that is truly my prerogative!) if I still hear from them regularly. Having such an influential parent like me isn’t easy on my brood. They feel like they have to put on airs. Wrong. I love them regardless. They are free to be Bold and Beautiful in my presence.
Greg arrived first and sat in the back. Next came Carol and Frank, stopping at the brochure table to browse. There were pamphlets there on topics such as healing from grief and suicide prevention. They both picked up the booklets that interested them, and then looked at each other, guardedly. A conversation then ensued by the two strangers (yet brother and sister in my eyes) sharing their angst’s. They exchanged phone numbers to keep afloat, (under normal circumstances I don’t recommend my daughters just handing out their numbers, this world is less than ideal, but I made an exception this morning). They had devised a spur of the moment plan to start a support group here at the church that unknown to them now, would grow into an enormous success. (They didn’t know it really wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. I had set that plan in motion during the week by planting a little seeds on futile ground).
The morning activities of song and praise got started and Greg bowed his head, whispering to me on our two way radio, a radio so clear I could hear him without distractions, at the same time I could hear All my Children. My technologies exceed any known today by man. I’m the super parent that has eyes and ears behind my head, on top of my head and under my feet, in other words I’m the child’s ultimate nightmare because I see all and hear all! As Greg and I conversed about his determination to stay temperate despite what to him seemed a tremendous set back, another back seat Christian took the space beside him. (Hey, the seats are there for a reason, as long as they are being occupied I have no complaints!) Greg didn’t want to be distracted from our tête-à -tête so the hand that slipped into his totally startled him. Looking up he went eye to eye with Martha, his absent wife (he pinched himself to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating). Unfortunately for me, being who I am, I never get the thrill that comes from being surprised, being a genuine Know It All has major disadvantages.
Martha had decided to stay in town. Working on their marriage at this time was more important than any job opportunities, though they would still have detached living situations for a while they would both find healing here at my General Hospital, insurance paid for by my firstborn, Yeshua. Greg and Martha (even Carol and Frank) had one common ground; they agreed that all the Days of our Lives are best spent in the House Of God, (my house) with the family of God.
Duet 32:39
Psalm 30:5
Psalm 84:10
Psalm 103:3
Ecc. 3:4
Eph 5:18
Heb. 4:16
Heb 10:23-34
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Food Bank
I hadn't been able to contact my daughter for weeks. She and I had had a small dispute about how she was raising her kids and so instead of admitting I was right and knew what I was talking about, having already done my job raising her, she moved out. She left mumbling something about she had known coming home after her separation and impending divorce was the wrong thing to do. She also left a threat hanging over my head about never being allowed to see my grandbabies again till they graduated from high school. I counted the years off on my fingers, up to about ten (minus the two weeks since she had been gone). I was devastated. Of course I didn’t really believe she would fulfill that threat. She just needed a cooling down period.
Therefore I was depressed and feeling down when someone at work asked me to head the food bank campaign for our surgery department. A crusade that spanned two weeks of gathering food and building a gift basket to auction off, the proceeds going to the local food bank headquarters. They caught me off guard, how totally unfair. Being off guard I had agreed to chair the committee, thinking it would distract me from my own personal problems. And distract me it did. I couldn't believe how difficult it was to get those I worked with to fork over money. (Fork over? Food bank? Cute pun!) I had a hard time convincing those that actually worked for a living that there were people in this country going to bed hungry. Not just one night a week, but weeks in a row between paychecks. People with families, little children, elderly parents.
I put together a scheme to sell tickets for a cake baked by one of our own co workers. A dollar a ticket earned a chance to win a delicious cake and another chance to win a basket filled with goodies on display in the building lobby. Elaborate baskets that were donated by all the hospital departments. We competed with the Emergency Room, Cath. Lab, Pathology department, Labor and Delivery, and Physical Therapy to name few, with basket values upwards of nine hundred dollars. I actually bought tickets for some of the competitor’s baskets. Hey, all the departments were rivals but the food bank would be the biggest winner! Baskets conveying summer, spa, baby, sports, emergency preparedness, fun in the sun and pet themes lined long tables down in the lobby next to a display shelf that filled with donated can goods.
Now I had to get people to dole out money and supplies for the basket. The department with the best basket got a pizza party. Wow, helping the hungry kept us well fed. We (meaning me) decided to use the theme of family entertainment for our basket. That meant good Samaritans had to bring things to work like DVD’s, popcorn, games, movie candy, swimming pool and barbeque paraphernalia, ect. I was getting discouraged with the interest not being demonstrated and feeling like I was in this thing by myself. If I'd just put the money I blew on filling the basket into the food bank they'd have a better chance of enriching their cupboards. (The food bank actually spreads a dollar further than we can imagine when it comes to stocking Mother Hubbard’s pantries.)
My evenings revolved around shopping and planning for the city’s malnourished, instead of staring at the comfy beds my grandkids had been deprived of when their mother carted them off. Where were they? Were they safe? Were they happy? Were they eating right? Were they missing me? I hoped not, I didn’t want them to be as wretched as I was! At least I was a proactive agent trying to end world hunger, that had been my platform when I had won the title of Miss America.(Yea, in my dreams!).
Finally, during the last days before countdown (the drawing for the baskets) my friends rallied. Bringing in fantastic items for a family night at home. Of course this had a dual effect, delighting me and bringing me sadness. It made me miss the nights with the grandkids. We had watched some of these movies, eaten some of this popcorn. I had washed clothes with this chocolate melted all over them after a day at the movies. I tried again and again to contact my Patsy. Her phone always went to the voice mail. I left message after message. No return calls were forthcoming. Darn cell phones. There was no way to locate a address on the internet. My mother's heart was breaking. (Really, My heart, not my mother's) I cried every night and went to God in prayer. It seems that the only time he ever really heard from me was when I was suffering. He seemed to tell me to keep plugging along. That helping those needier than I was right now was medicine. I didn't like his responses; I wanted him to get my daughter to call me. If he wanted to hear from his kids, didn't he realize we wanted to hear from ours! And he had the power to get them to call! Come on use some of that power for me.
One of the days in our food bank drive was dedicated to bringing in back packs. I didn't understand the purpose for that till I did the simple thing of asking questions. Sometimes just asking things really solves problems. Apparently the food bank issues back packs to low income children so they can be crammed for the week end with meals. If kids couldn't afford to buy their own school lunches they also needed nourishment while off for two days. I couldn't get over the need in our community but I spent considerable time selecting back packs, with my grandchildren in mind. Bright colorful back packs with Sponge Bob and Miss Kitty. If I bought something for a stranger I wanted it to be comparable to something I would buy for a close relative. I didn’t want to be stingy. I selected ones I knew would have thrilled my progeny’s progeny, making my offering more personal, making me feel connected with my own. Driving home from the store I always kept my eyes open for my daughter's car, hoping to catch her visiting a friend in the neighborhood, or shopping at her favorite stores. Nothing. No sign of where she had ended up. I hoped she was eating good, sleeping good. Working. Recovering from her divorce. Finding closure. Most of all I hoped she was missing me and my unwanted opinions!
Well, the last day of the food bank drive finally arrived. We all gathered in the lobby to hear who won the baskets as one name after another was drawn. I’ve never won anything, but hope springs eternal: till the last basket was passed out then hope took a nose dive onto the tiled floor. It only took twenty minutes for me to leave a looser. Well not really. I felt pretty darn good about the sum we collected for the local starving population. We had nothing to be embarrassed about according to the numbers raised. God was right. Thinking about others really took my mind off of me. My house may have been empty but my soul had company.
When I got home a few nights later, tried and tested from work, I listened to my answering machine and passed out. Well not literally but close, I dropped into a nearby chair and fanned myself. My daughter had called and invited me over to see her new apartment and have dinner. No apologies. No explanation for the long silence. No need to be tacky. I retuned the call and accepted the invite gratefully before she had time to rethink her invitation and rescind the offer. We both acted as though there had been no rift in our relationship. Grudge carrying wouldn’t get me closer to my daughter or her kids.
Her apartment was actually very close to my house, in a low income neighborhood. I started mentally devising ways to be helpful with the kids before and after work, on weekends….then I stopped, that was what had gotten me into trouble in the first place, would I ever learn anything?! I arrived punctually. Not a minute to soon to be told I was too early, or a minute late to be scolded for the dinner ruining. I arrived right on the dot. I would not be responsible for any arguments this night. Joy filled my core as my grandbabies, age six and eight, fought to be the center of my attention. Greg was full of ecstasy about the new things he got his first day at school. School has already started! Where has the time gone? He and Molly ran off to get their new school books and supplies to place on exhibit for me. Their notebooks, pencils, crayons and folders were all precious possessions. But what brought tears to my eyes were the two new back packs. Bright colored back packs for kids. Bright colored back packs I had purchased a few weeks ago to bequeath to hungry children. Back packs my own grand children brought home from school today filled with staples, (that part they left out with the innocence of youth) While I was working on occupying my mind, attempting to forget my missing family, God had us united by a string. Everything I had done, I had done for my own. For God’s own. And he had guided us through every step. But I sure wasn’t going to mention my new found enlightenment to my proud daughter. Not tonight. May be in ten or twelve years when Greg and Molly had graduated from high school. But no, not tonight. I refused to humiliate her with my knowledge of where tonight’s simple dinner had come from. I’ll let Patsy convince me she’s doing okay, making a living, going to school, and raising her kids. (Hey, she was doing okay, God had looked out for her as he had done with me, and we were never on our own!)
I’ve learned how to offer help and advice now, or rather, how to not offer help and advice till asked. I raised my children, I have to agree to let Patsy raise her’s. Obviously, God has a hand in it. He won’t let the righteous beg for bread. Did I say earlier I had left a looser? And that hope had taken a nose dive? Well, I was wrong.
Exodus 23:10-11
Leviticus 23:22
Psalm 37:25
Math 6:2
Math 25:13-40
Math 26:10-13
Therefore I was depressed and feeling down when someone at work asked me to head the food bank campaign for our surgery department. A crusade that spanned two weeks of gathering food and building a gift basket to auction off, the proceeds going to the local food bank headquarters. They caught me off guard, how totally unfair. Being off guard I had agreed to chair the committee, thinking it would distract me from my own personal problems. And distract me it did. I couldn't believe how difficult it was to get those I worked with to fork over money. (Fork over? Food bank? Cute pun!) I had a hard time convincing those that actually worked for a living that there were people in this country going to bed hungry. Not just one night a week, but weeks in a row between paychecks. People with families, little children, elderly parents.
I put together a scheme to sell tickets for a cake baked by one of our own co workers. A dollar a ticket earned a chance to win a delicious cake and another chance to win a basket filled with goodies on display in the building lobby. Elaborate baskets that were donated by all the hospital departments. We competed with the Emergency Room, Cath. Lab, Pathology department, Labor and Delivery, and Physical Therapy to name few, with basket values upwards of nine hundred dollars. I actually bought tickets for some of the competitor’s baskets. Hey, all the departments were rivals but the food bank would be the biggest winner! Baskets conveying summer, spa, baby, sports, emergency preparedness, fun in the sun and pet themes lined long tables down in the lobby next to a display shelf that filled with donated can goods.
Now I had to get people to dole out money and supplies for the basket. The department with the best basket got a pizza party. Wow, helping the hungry kept us well fed. We (meaning me) decided to use the theme of family entertainment for our basket. That meant good Samaritans had to bring things to work like DVD’s, popcorn, games, movie candy, swimming pool and barbeque paraphernalia, ect. I was getting discouraged with the interest not being demonstrated and feeling like I was in this thing by myself. If I'd just put the money I blew on filling the basket into the food bank they'd have a better chance of enriching their cupboards. (The food bank actually spreads a dollar further than we can imagine when it comes to stocking Mother Hubbard’s pantries.)
My evenings revolved around shopping and planning for the city’s malnourished, instead of staring at the comfy beds my grandkids had been deprived of when their mother carted them off. Where were they? Were they safe? Were they happy? Were they eating right? Were they missing me? I hoped not, I didn’t want them to be as wretched as I was! At least I was a proactive agent trying to end world hunger, that had been my platform when I had won the title of Miss America.(Yea, in my dreams!).
Finally, during the last days before countdown (the drawing for the baskets) my friends rallied. Bringing in fantastic items for a family night at home. Of course this had a dual effect, delighting me and bringing me sadness. It made me miss the nights with the grandkids. We had watched some of these movies, eaten some of this popcorn. I had washed clothes with this chocolate melted all over them after a day at the movies. I tried again and again to contact my Patsy. Her phone always went to the voice mail. I left message after message. No return calls were forthcoming. Darn cell phones. There was no way to locate a address on the internet. My mother's heart was breaking. (Really, My heart, not my mother's) I cried every night and went to God in prayer. It seems that the only time he ever really heard from me was when I was suffering. He seemed to tell me to keep plugging along. That helping those needier than I was right now was medicine. I didn't like his responses; I wanted him to get my daughter to call me. If he wanted to hear from his kids, didn't he realize we wanted to hear from ours! And he had the power to get them to call! Come on use some of that power for me.
One of the days in our food bank drive was dedicated to bringing in back packs. I didn't understand the purpose for that till I did the simple thing of asking questions. Sometimes just asking things really solves problems. Apparently the food bank issues back packs to low income children so they can be crammed for the week end with meals. If kids couldn't afford to buy their own school lunches they also needed nourishment while off for two days. I couldn't get over the need in our community but I spent considerable time selecting back packs, with my grandchildren in mind. Bright colorful back packs with Sponge Bob and Miss Kitty. If I bought something for a stranger I wanted it to be comparable to something I would buy for a close relative. I didn’t want to be stingy. I selected ones I knew would have thrilled my progeny’s progeny, making my offering more personal, making me feel connected with my own. Driving home from the store I always kept my eyes open for my daughter's car, hoping to catch her visiting a friend in the neighborhood, or shopping at her favorite stores. Nothing. No sign of where she had ended up. I hoped she was eating good, sleeping good. Working. Recovering from her divorce. Finding closure. Most of all I hoped she was missing me and my unwanted opinions!
Well, the last day of the food bank drive finally arrived. We all gathered in the lobby to hear who won the baskets as one name after another was drawn. I’ve never won anything, but hope springs eternal: till the last basket was passed out then hope took a nose dive onto the tiled floor. It only took twenty minutes for me to leave a looser. Well not really. I felt pretty darn good about the sum we collected for the local starving population. We had nothing to be embarrassed about according to the numbers raised. God was right. Thinking about others really took my mind off of me. My house may have been empty but my soul had company.
When I got home a few nights later, tried and tested from work, I listened to my answering machine and passed out. Well not literally but close, I dropped into a nearby chair and fanned myself. My daughter had called and invited me over to see her new apartment and have dinner. No apologies. No explanation for the long silence. No need to be tacky. I retuned the call and accepted the invite gratefully before she had time to rethink her invitation and rescind the offer. We both acted as though there had been no rift in our relationship. Grudge carrying wouldn’t get me closer to my daughter or her kids.
Her apartment was actually very close to my house, in a low income neighborhood. I started mentally devising ways to be helpful with the kids before and after work, on weekends….then I stopped, that was what had gotten me into trouble in the first place, would I ever learn anything?! I arrived punctually. Not a minute to soon to be told I was too early, or a minute late to be scolded for the dinner ruining. I arrived right on the dot. I would not be responsible for any arguments this night. Joy filled my core as my grandbabies, age six and eight, fought to be the center of my attention. Greg was full of ecstasy about the new things he got his first day at school. School has already started! Where has the time gone? He and Molly ran off to get their new school books and supplies to place on exhibit for me. Their notebooks, pencils, crayons and folders were all precious possessions. But what brought tears to my eyes were the two new back packs. Bright colored back packs for kids. Bright colored back packs I had purchased a few weeks ago to bequeath to hungry children. Back packs my own grand children brought home from school today filled with staples, (that part they left out with the innocence of youth) While I was working on occupying my mind, attempting to forget my missing family, God had us united by a string. Everything I had done, I had done for my own. For God’s own. And he had guided us through every step. But I sure wasn’t going to mention my new found enlightenment to my proud daughter. Not tonight. May be in ten or twelve years when Greg and Molly had graduated from high school. But no, not tonight. I refused to humiliate her with my knowledge of where tonight’s simple dinner had come from. I’ll let Patsy convince me she’s doing okay, making a living, going to school, and raising her kids. (Hey, she was doing okay, God had looked out for her as he had done with me, and we were never on our own!)
I’ve learned how to offer help and advice now, or rather, how to not offer help and advice till asked. I raised my children, I have to agree to let Patsy raise her’s. Obviously, God has a hand in it. He won’t let the righteous beg for bread. Did I say earlier I had left a looser? And that hope had taken a nose dive? Well, I was wrong.
Exodus 23:10-11
Leviticus 23:22
Psalm 37:25
Math 6:2
Math 25:13-40
Math 26:10-13
Monday, May 12, 2008
house cleaning
I jammed my hand between the layers of outfits in my closet and almost got a crush injury. I know that top is in here somewhere. In here or maybe...I traipsed back upstairs to the guest room for the third time. Looking for clothes in my house was good exercise. Aerobic and isometric. I had three closets to choose from and no matter how organized I had attempted to be things always went against me. Like the fact that I had no idea how to be organized. I abhorred neat people! Some people even had their clothes organized by season and colors. What made them so much better than me! Well I hate to state the obvious, but maybe they found what they were looking for quicker.
An hour latter I was getting ready to explode when Cindy, my lovely daughter, walked past the open door to my room; walked past, stopped in her tracts and backed up to scope things out.
"Did someone break in?" She asked as I sat on a mound of eclectic fabrics scattered over the bed and floor, with sheen of perspiration on my face giving me a soft glow and a unpleasant aroma wafting up from my underarms. “If they did you’d never be able to tell what they took!”
“I’ve been looking for a sweater I wanted to wear. I don’t know what closet I put it in.” I explained, exasperated after hours of relentless rummaging through closets, gym bags, laundry baskets, and under beds.
“Well, yeah, I can see you don’t have anything else to wear.” Cindy exclaimed flippantly.
“I-” I finished my sentence by simply staring at Cindy’s chest that was concealed in my sweater. She looked down with an awkward realization and slowly backed away focusing her eyes on mine trying to discern the depths of my anger, afraid to break contact for fear she’d miss an opportunity to escape.
Just before I lunged at her throat with my shaking hands, Cindy let out a horrified scream, but not out from worthy terror of me. She was focused on something over my shoulder. I spun about, lost my balance and fell into Cindy’s arms. There in the middle of the room some cloth had come to life. One of my jackets was levitating and moving forward. We stepped backwards.( there sure was a lot of back stepping going on today!) The jacket progressed forwards. Then it began a rapid succession of twists and gyrations sending garments everywhere that revealed a furry… slobbering ….growling…Scruffy! How long had he been asleep under all those clothes? I’m amazed he hadn’t been suffocated. Freed, Scruffy leapt across the pile of multipurpose carpeting into my legs begging for some loving while Cindy and I collapsed into gales of laughter.
“Give me my sweater,” I demanded once the humor generated by Scruffy departed and I waited as Cindy slipped it over her head and handed it to me draped over her arm as though I were the queen of England.
As she stood there in the hallway, with just a bra and jeans on, her dad rounded the corner, got an eyeful of embarrassment and retreated. Boy, like I said earlier, there sure was a lot of back stepping going on today! He had informed me months ago he wanted to stay ignorant of Cindy’s entrance into womanhood. She would always be a toddler to him and nothing I could say about her maturation would make him believe differently.
“Man, mom,” Cindy got out her cell phone and punched the calculator option, did some math and proceeded with,” You would have to change clothes four times a day in the summer and 3.75 days in the winter to wear all these clothes in one year!”
“So, maybe that has been my plan, dressing for each meal and snacks, I’m a messy eater.”
“And I just came back from a mission trip where one group of kids had to go home and give their brothers or sisters the clothes off their backs so they could come to the afternoon bible vacation school just to get some cookies and milk, which would be their only meal for the day.” Cindy proclaimed with an air of…self righteousness? Then she resumed her journey to her bedroom.
“Hmmm.” I rubbed my chin and started a chain of thoughts that swept me off my feet; I always lose my equilibrium when I think. That testimony hit a nerve. I had more than I could possible wear, definitely more than I needed. I walked from room to room. There were only three of us in this house. We had lots of space filled with unnecessary clutter. How many towels did we need? I laundered weekly. I remember buying everything in this house at one time or another and the most prevalent reason I bought them was self indulgence, and pride in my home, not to mention being able to show my friends I could afford some of this stuff. Stuff I had to dust, wash, and store. And storage was mostly where everything was, not on display. I really didn’t have that much of a social life, I didn’t cater parties nor have people over for dinner. No one visited from across country in need of a place to drop for the night. So why did I have so many blankets and sheets. We had heat, at least that’s what the electric bill implies. We each had a blanket, pillow and towels. We had enough dishes to feed an army regiment. Two sets of china, not to mention Christmas dishes, and a set of regular dishes. Let’s see, 32 plates for three people. Three people who seldom sat down together for a family meal. Thirty two plates for just three of us. When we did have company, we used china. China paper plates! (That’s a name brand of paper plates, so quit blinking, you read that right!)
I took off in my car and returned with boxes. Lots of boxes. I went diligently through closets. If I hadn’t worn something in a year (or two or three, yea, three was the limit), in to a box it went. I tried to stay firm with my resolve, even though it killed me to part with some exceptionally sentimental outfits. Sentimental because of the designer labels I was so proud of. Labels I made sure those in the pews behind me at church were able to see. Its mind boggling how often I was able to expose those labels! I didn’t have a problem with pride; I was perfectly comfortable being silently boastful. After all, I worked hard to afford good belongings. I convinced myself it would help people to get ambitious enough to get better jobs if they saw the name brand labels. I was helping the lazy and indigent desire to become worthy citizens. After all, wasn’t the size of one’s pocket book the criterion for success? So that’s how Cindy found me the next time she passed my room. Up to my waist in boxes.
“Wow, mom, I’m proud of you. You really listened to me this time!” She exclaimed after I filled her in on my plans.
“Well, you can be proud of yourself too, here are some boxes for your room. Fill them with your old toys and out grown clothes.”
“What! I don’t have anything to give away.” Suddenly her piety went south. Well I was also confident some of her junk was going south also. To Peru.
“You have a good start on a warehouse as big as mine, go pack a few boxes!” I declared. I was confident she’d out grown some toys and clothes that would give some poor kid a spiritual lift.
While Cindy was working I called our minister and got the number for our sister church in Peru where Cindy had just returned from last week. I managed to get a hold of the minister down there who listened to my plan with great awe. He thanked me more than I deserved. I had been selfish and stingy for too long to really appreciate his accolades. I just wanted to purge myself of all my possessions and return to a simple live that would still surpass the life of his parishioners. People with only one set of clothes that they shared with each other to go to church. Well now they would have some more sturdy garments shipped to them. Now that they could go to church as family units, they might have to expand the church building project!
The next morning, I took several boxes to the post office, after searching each of them to ascertain Scruffy hadn’t taken up residence in one while my back was turned, and shipped them to Peru. Man, I should have just sent money and let them buy clothes down there! Oh, right, they didn’t have any stores where these clothes were going. Then I made a trip to the homeless community under a nearby bridge and stacked several blankets on the ground, a good distance from the populace. I didn’t want my generosity to be the cause of my death. They looked like murderers and thieves. Sorry, I still stereo type, just because I’m trying to help doesn’t mean I’m not still skeptical! Hey, I’m only human. That’s more than I feel like some of the souls under the bridge were! Sorry God. Use me, but don’t make me talk to them! Those present stayed put. Don’t tell me I scared them. How dare they not trust me!
Then I took my dishes, towels, and Cindy’s things, which included unused makeup, shoes, books and stuffed animals that she had collected over the years from carnivals and ex-boyfriends, to the women’s shelter and donated them for women and their daughters getting rehabilitated for new lives away from abusive situations. It’s hard to set up house when you run out into the night with just the clothes on your back to avoid being beaten to death by an abusive partner. Partner. Partner means equal, companion, mate. What an inappropriate definition of some one that you can’t trust with your life. Well, maybe these dishes that gave me pleasure once, just buying them, will give some poor woman a sunny view on life. Like dishes can make up for all the suffering? I felt so contemptible. So unworthy to be called a daughter of God. I certainly didn’t feel like the women I spotted at the shelter could call me sister.
My minister was so stirred with my efforts he sent e-mails out to the congregation and my house cleaning experience became infectious as other members sorted out their garages and closets. Closets stuffed with boxes that hadn’t been opened in eons. Word spread further, to local churches and those in other states as members contacted families and shared their experiences. Then the media got involved. People who didn’t have faith in any deity at all got on the band wagon. (Yes, I know there is only one God, but not everyone has caught on to that yet) Not being “religious” didn’t equal being inhumane. Before the month was up women’s shelters, homeless agencies, rehab centers, mission groups and indigent people around the world were receiving blessings.
I was bowled over by the wild fire I had created. No, the credit goes to Cindy. Wrong again, the glory goes to God! Not to mention the blessing I received from a house clutter free. I could find things now. Apparently one person can make a difference if she’s contagious enough. I hope the Center for Disease Control doesn’t get wind of this illness and try to eradicate it! The barrenness of the rooms even produced faint echoes. This actually disturbed me but made my husband euphoric, he now had space to do things in, like spread out his elbows, expand his lungs and breathe. I had to get out of the house and get some air to think.
When Cindy came home from school she asked, ” Why is the car loaded down again? Where did you possibly find more stuff to give away? I thought we had reached rock bottom on ‘disposables’ ”.
“Oh Cindy!” I wailed and hid my face in my hands, alarming her
.
“Mom, what happened?” she cried encircling her arms around me, very concerned.
“It’s Friday.” I offered in the way of an explanation.
“So?” Cindy was completely clueless, and getting more alarmed.
“Cindy. Cindy. You poor innocent child. Friday is the day people with garage sales open for business. I passed by six sales today and found tons of stuff I need…wanted. What am I going to tell your dad?”
Scruffy, his alert ears hearing the front door open, scampered out of the room in search of a bomb shelter.
“Honey, I’m home!”
Proverbs 19:7
Prov. 21:13
1 Cor. 9:1-15
James 2:1-6James 2:15-17
Rev. 3:17
Friday, May 9, 2008
Daddy's Girl
Daddy’s Girl
I know it's around here somewhere. I've seen it before, I know I have it. A picture my mom took of me as a toddler with a black scarf on my head, playing dress up, shrouded in a ray of light that was coming in the window I was guarding. The soft light’s glow made me look so angelic, and from the stories my parents narrated to me frequently this must have been an aberrant day. I was standing there waiting for dad's car to pull into the drive so I could run out to greet him; as I've done so often throughout the years. Whenever I had a problem I'd call dad, cry my heart out and wait for him to rescue me. I was totally dependent on him. He never let me down; though there were times I still had to bear the consequences of my bad choices; in men, in purchases, in friends, in judgments. Waiting for dad. When I broke up with a boyfriend, when one of my children misbehaved, when I got fired. When life got in the way of my having a grand ole time. He was always there to pick up the pieces, and rearrange them into something healthy.
There were also times I hid from dad. When I was skipping out to see a boy after curfew, a big no-no. Or when I was hanging out with the wrong crowd on the school grounds, I would lower my head, letting my hair cover my face so he wouldn't recognize me. (a ploy I discovered latter didn't work!) When I stopped going to church, (for a short time) I wouldn't answer his calls on Sunday, so I wouldn't be found guilty. I was so smothered in self guilt I returned to the regular attendance I was brought up on. Better that than hiding in the dark every Sunday morning afraid of being caught!
When my ex-husband, who dad warned would do me wrong, vanished, (not as a result of alien invasions), dad was there (of course). Abandoned with two small kids way out in the country, dad came and got me, loaded up my things and took me home. Home. I was always welcome at home. Dad stood by me holding a hammer over my head when my errant hubby begged for my forgiveness. If I went back to that loser I'd be knocked unconscious and kept locked up in the basement till the divorce was final, then shipped to another country! This was one time I was given no free choice. I'd asked for his help and darn it all, he would make me take it.
Over time my friends heckled me for being such a daddy's girl. They insisted to mature on my own I needed some slack, some freedom from dad. He didn't need to know all my activities. They didn't have a close relationship with their dads, and I pitied them for that. It was healthier to grow up independently, they insisted. Occasionally I listened to them only to live to regret it, as in the case of the doomed marriage that had come with heavily ignored admonitions.
The reason I even remembered the missing picture I was hunting for was in my hands right now. A similar photographic memory I captured on film of my beloved Tessie, paws on the window sill, eagerly awaiting her “daddy”, my present husband, to come home. She was aware he was outside; her sharp ears having heard the truck pull in and park. She knew the difference between the neighbor’s vehicles and those of her owner's car. Amazing. She eagerly and patiently waited for her human daddy, every evening, and she couldn’t be fooled by an imposter. No way, no how.
I gave up looking for the coveted picture. It was lost somewhere by my magnificent organizational skills. I went to the window to wait expectantly for dad again. Recent problems were getting me down. The world situation; famine, earthquakes, tsunamis, (I didn't know what those were till a few years ago), wars hither and thither, drive bys; the list is an abyss of gloom, sucking me into a bottomless pit of despair. I called dad up earlier and we had a nice long chat ending with a promise that he'd come take me out for a nice dinner as soon as he could.
I didn't see a sign of him anywhere. Cars passed the house, neighbors got their mail, kids got off school buses, couples pushed strollers down the street, but no sign of dad. The radio on the counter announced some marriages taking place in high society, and then covered some deaths of affluent business men. The world was going on as was it’s well established custom. The sun was shining splendidly in the sky, flowers were blooming, bees were buzzing, birds were singing. Business as usual.
I turned my back on the day's routine taking place outside to start dinner. It didn’t look like dad would be coming today. Tessie whimpered, tail wagging, slowly, faster, fastest. Her "daddy" came in the front door and hefted her into his arms. I stopped wasting time waiting for mine, when a loud crack of thunder erupted, vibrating the entire house. Hurrying back to the window I was amazed at the dark clouds that had formed above in the split second I had been gone. This had not been broadcasted on the evening news. Lightening charged the air, rain descended, hail skipped on the ground, thunder bellowed again...Loud music broke forth from somewhere, louder than the din of the rainstorm. Someone was blowing reverie on their trumpet! Then there was dad, just as he promised. He in no way ever broke a promise and here he was to confirm his reliability. He came to make things better for me, just as he'd said he would in our last conversation, moments ago. He came down on a cloud never touching the earth opening his arms up for my husband and me. I just blinked once and my eyes opened to a new reality. I was finally weightless; no scales would call my heavy again! Way, way up yonder we went, along with the rest of my family, brothers and sisters all. Equal in dad’s eyes. No favorites. Some I'd met before, the others I'd have an eternity to get to know.
My days of waiting for dad are finally over. I'm home again, for the last time, for all time. Safe and secure in my father's arms. In my father's home. Sitting at my father’s table eating to my heart’s content. Tessie, who my husband had fiercely clung too when the trumpet sounded, was running around under the table with other pets, (was that a raccoon?), looking for table scraps from their owners, and licking sandaled feet. All dogs do go to heaven.
Math. 24:36
John 10:3-27
1 Thes 4:16
I know it's around here somewhere. I've seen it before, I know I have it. A picture my mom took of me as a toddler with a black scarf on my head, playing dress up, shrouded in a ray of light that was coming in the window I was guarding. The soft light’s glow made me look so angelic, and from the stories my parents narrated to me frequently this must have been an aberrant day. I was standing there waiting for dad's car to pull into the drive so I could run out to greet him; as I've done so often throughout the years. Whenever I had a problem I'd call dad, cry my heart out and wait for him to rescue me. I was totally dependent on him. He never let me down; though there were times I still had to bear the consequences of my bad choices; in men, in purchases, in friends, in judgments. Waiting for dad. When I broke up with a boyfriend, when one of my children misbehaved, when I got fired. When life got in the way of my having a grand ole time. He was always there to pick up the pieces, and rearrange them into something healthy.
There were also times I hid from dad. When I was skipping out to see a boy after curfew, a big no-no. Or when I was hanging out with the wrong crowd on the school grounds, I would lower my head, letting my hair cover my face so he wouldn't recognize me. (a ploy I discovered latter didn't work!) When I stopped going to church, (for a short time) I wouldn't answer his calls on Sunday, so I wouldn't be found guilty. I was so smothered in self guilt I returned to the regular attendance I was brought up on. Better that than hiding in the dark every Sunday morning afraid of being caught!
When my ex-husband, who dad warned would do me wrong, vanished, (not as a result of alien invasions), dad was there (of course). Abandoned with two small kids way out in the country, dad came and got me, loaded up my things and took me home. Home. I was always welcome at home. Dad stood by me holding a hammer over my head when my errant hubby begged for my forgiveness. If I went back to that loser I'd be knocked unconscious and kept locked up in the basement till the divorce was final, then shipped to another country! This was one time I was given no free choice. I'd asked for his help and darn it all, he would make me take it.
Over time my friends heckled me for being such a daddy's girl. They insisted to mature on my own I needed some slack, some freedom from dad. He didn't need to know all my activities. They didn't have a close relationship with their dads, and I pitied them for that. It was healthier to grow up independently, they insisted. Occasionally I listened to them only to live to regret it, as in the case of the doomed marriage that had come with heavily ignored admonitions.
The reason I even remembered the missing picture I was hunting for was in my hands right now. A similar photographic memory I captured on film of my beloved Tessie, paws on the window sill, eagerly awaiting her “daddy”, my present husband, to come home. She was aware he was outside; her sharp ears having heard the truck pull in and park. She knew the difference between the neighbor’s vehicles and those of her owner's car. Amazing. She eagerly and patiently waited for her human daddy, every evening, and she couldn’t be fooled by an imposter. No way, no how.
I gave up looking for the coveted picture. It was lost somewhere by my magnificent organizational skills. I went to the window to wait expectantly for dad again. Recent problems were getting me down. The world situation; famine, earthquakes, tsunamis, (I didn't know what those were till a few years ago), wars hither and thither, drive bys; the list is an abyss of gloom, sucking me into a bottomless pit of despair. I called dad up earlier and we had a nice long chat ending with a promise that he'd come take me out for a nice dinner as soon as he could.
I didn't see a sign of him anywhere. Cars passed the house, neighbors got their mail, kids got off school buses, couples pushed strollers down the street, but no sign of dad. The radio on the counter announced some marriages taking place in high society, and then covered some deaths of affluent business men. The world was going on as was it’s well established custom. The sun was shining splendidly in the sky, flowers were blooming, bees were buzzing, birds were singing. Business as usual.
I turned my back on the day's routine taking place outside to start dinner. It didn’t look like dad would be coming today. Tessie whimpered, tail wagging, slowly, faster, fastest. Her "daddy" came in the front door and hefted her into his arms. I stopped wasting time waiting for mine, when a loud crack of thunder erupted, vibrating the entire house. Hurrying back to the window I was amazed at the dark clouds that had formed above in the split second I had been gone. This had not been broadcasted on the evening news. Lightening charged the air, rain descended, hail skipped on the ground, thunder bellowed again...Loud music broke forth from somewhere, louder than the din of the rainstorm. Someone was blowing reverie on their trumpet! Then there was dad, just as he promised. He in no way ever broke a promise and here he was to confirm his reliability. He came to make things better for me, just as he'd said he would in our last conversation, moments ago. He came down on a cloud never touching the earth opening his arms up for my husband and me. I just blinked once and my eyes opened to a new reality. I was finally weightless; no scales would call my heavy again! Way, way up yonder we went, along with the rest of my family, brothers and sisters all. Equal in dad’s eyes. No favorites. Some I'd met before, the others I'd have an eternity to get to know.
My days of waiting for dad are finally over. I'm home again, for the last time, for all time. Safe and secure in my father's arms. In my father's home. Sitting at my father’s table eating to my heart’s content. Tessie, who my husband had fiercely clung too when the trumpet sounded, was running around under the table with other pets, (was that a raccoon?), looking for table scraps from their owners, and licking sandaled feet. All dogs do go to heaven.
Math. 24:36
John 10:3-27
1 Thes 4:16
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Kicked Out
I was going to be later than usual getting to church tonight. And I had no good reason, I lolly gagged around the house doing nothing but piddling. In the past I've tended to get to evening services too early and got bored waiting to get started. I'm not much of a socializer sometimes and tonight was one of them.
At church I parked in a visitor's slot. I've been told time and again this is for visitor's, to please park in regular parking spaces. My response to the parking lot monitors; "Hey, this makes it look like we really have visitors !" I think the "monitors" turn their backs and pray for my spirit of rebellion to depart. Hey, the parking spaces are closer to the door and I don't care much for exercise.
Tonight was exceptionally windy and as I rushed to the entrance I could have sworn I heard someone say, "Lord, please help me!" It was then I detected the woman crossing the parking lot towards the main doors. I thought she was complaining about the strong "breeze" that was capable of tossing her slight frame to the Land of Oz.
"What did you say?" I asked as she got nearer, expecting some mild complaint about the gusts of wind whipping her hair into her face.
“Oh great you heard me! Let me tell you what just happened. I got kicked out of my house and need thirty three dollars to get a bus to Austin."
"What do you mean you got kicked out of your house?" I asked, aghast that someone would be kicked out on a night like this that promised to be a very wet night.
This question began a story detailing how “Woman” caught her brother in law and his wife stealing from a local business forcing her to turn them in to the police. Of course this angered her mother in law, whose house Woman and her husband lived in with the rest of his family (before they got hauled off to the slammer). Once the mother in law discovered who was responsible for her precious, thieving son being incarcerated Woman was asked to leave the house, with nothing but her purse, which held a cell phone, and the clothes on her back. No support was offered by her whimpy husband so his mother allowed him to stay.
Since I was late to church, the parking lot remained empty throughout Woman’s entire dissertation. I kept praying for witnesses to arrive so I would have someone to collaborate with. Someone who would talk reason to me, preventing me from doing what I was beginning to fear was the inevitable.
Woman kept emphasizing her plan. Get on a bus and head to her daughter’s who she couldn’t contact to wire her money as she didn’t have a phone. This I found hard to believe as I know homeless who have cells, and a post office box to receive their bills!
“How much do you need?” I queried, leery of my reaction. I was known to be impulsive, something I was trying to find a twelve step program for.
“Thirty three dollars, but I already have eleven. It will cost me seventy five cents to catch the local bus to get to the bus station down town.”
I opened my wallet and counted out the difference she was lacking, “Here, let me drive you to the bus station.”
“Oh, no, it’ll be easier to catch the transit. Down town is much to busy.”
“Well, here is a dollar for that. But I insist on driving you to the bus stop."
“But you’ll miss church.” she protested.
“Oh well.”
I led her to my PT Cruiser questioning myself now. What if she had a gun in her purse, what if there was an accomplice nearby? Her story seemed believable. I didn’t smell alcohol on her and she didn’t seem high on drugs.
The transit bus stop was about two miles away with no shelter or bench at the pickup site. I thought this was peculiar. Most of the other bus stops had canopies and seating accommodations. This was a legitimate pick up though. But look, there just happened to be a store handy where Woman informed me she could wait at, since the weather looked nasty. I realized we were now not in a dry area of town, (liquor could be sold and bought here) and I resumed my qualms of Woman possibly purchasing fermented beverages with my donations was I was out of sight.
After I deposited Woman, with the spare Gideon Bible I carry in the glove compartment for reading material as she waited, I drove off I berating myself for my foolishness, yet thankful I hadn't been led blindly to my death by a carefully planned mugging. I imagined her heartily laughing at her profits. It took her 30 minutes to gain twenty three dollars, that's forty six dollars an hour. She gets a better salary than I do. She was probably calling someone now to come pick her up and help her drink her "bus ticket".
I had pretty much missed church so I went on home, telling myself it was in God's hands now. I tried to convince myself I’d only done what God would have expected.
The next morning at the woman's bible study I casually mentioned seeing Woman in the parking lot. Several of the attendees informed me that she was a regular. Woman had a different story every time but it always boiled down to needing some extra cash. She was always offered help by the benevolence committee but refused to fill out the necessary forms. The church wouldn't present her with money, but with coupons for groceries or utilities, that way they controlled fraudulent claims. Pretty sophisticated approach, maybe I should have followed their lead.. Maybe I should have been slower to react even though I felt prompted my God. I I kept my foolishness to myself. I removed a compact from my make up bag to cover the "Sucker" sign tattooed on my forehead. I was amazed it wasn't as bold as I'd imagined. No way was I going to let my friends know how I'd been duped. I'm known for being pretty cheap ( I prefer to call it retirement minded) so I couldn't face the inevitable ribbing I'd get. Why didn't I stay to see what Woman was up to when I left? Because I'm not a private eye, that’s why. I watch enough action/drama TV I should have gotten some spying skills by osmosis. Back to rationalization; I could afford the twenty three dollar lesson I learned. At least it wouldn't send me to the poor house. The only thing that would keep me from feeling like a looser right now was...chocolate, lots and lots of chocolate.
Fast forward a few weeks and some extra pounds (the result of lots and lots of chocolate) and I'm getting on the computer to check my email. Hey, there's a message from a Christian chat room friend I haven't heard from in some time. I scanned the missive and dropped my candy bar. This message required more than a cursory scan; I had to read each word one at a time. Great. My added weight had been unnecessary. It seems my friend had been too busy to correspond with me in a while because her mother had showed up unexpectedly. Her mother's mother in law had evicted her and some wonderful lady (that my friend referred to as better than a good Samaritan), had contributed to the "send mom home" fund. Elaine was ecstatic with gratitude.
She had lost contact with her mother when she had remarried some low life that no one in the family had approve of. Apparently mom didn't make healthy choices and was ashamed to ask for help from her kids. The stranger that had provided the necessary funds for her to make it home, had also provided a bible for reading, something her mom had had plenty of time to accomplish on the bus that made frequent stops, and where she had decided to turn her life over to the only one who truly cared enough to die for her. Her mother was now getting counseling and rehabilitation through an abused women's project in town keeping Elaine on the road a lot between appointments. On the road in ...Austin.
Elaine was so glad she had devoted her spare time to praying for her mother's welfare, especially a few weeks ago when some unknown sensation had caused her to increase her prayerful efforts. I looked at the candy bar at my feet, now being licked by my cat. In a feeding frenzy this wouldn't have deterred me, I'd have picked it up, rinsed it, and resumed where I left off; but now my desire for chocolate induced anesthesia was gone. I dusted off the nearby treadmill and went to work evaporating the results of my favorite comfort food.
Oh, and the next day I met a woman in the parking lot at church begging for money, not the same one that I had aided. I entered the worship auditorium praising God for causing me to be late to church one night making me available to help a woman in need.
At church I parked in a visitor's slot. I've been told time and again this is for visitor's, to please park in regular parking spaces. My response to the parking lot monitors; "Hey, this makes it look like we really have visitors !" I think the "monitors" turn their backs and pray for my spirit of rebellion to depart. Hey, the parking spaces are closer to the door and I don't care much for exercise.
Tonight was exceptionally windy and as I rushed to the entrance I could have sworn I heard someone say, "Lord, please help me!" It was then I detected the woman crossing the parking lot towards the main doors. I thought she was complaining about the strong "breeze" that was capable of tossing her slight frame to the Land of Oz.
"What did you say?" I asked as she got nearer, expecting some mild complaint about the gusts of wind whipping her hair into her face.
“Oh great you heard me! Let me tell you what just happened. I got kicked out of my house and need thirty three dollars to get a bus to Austin."
"What do you mean you got kicked out of your house?" I asked, aghast that someone would be kicked out on a night like this that promised to be a very wet night.
This question began a story detailing how “Woman” caught her brother in law and his wife stealing from a local business forcing her to turn them in to the police. Of course this angered her mother in law, whose house Woman and her husband lived in with the rest of his family (before they got hauled off to the slammer). Once the mother in law discovered who was responsible for her precious, thieving son being incarcerated Woman was asked to leave the house, with nothing but her purse, which held a cell phone, and the clothes on her back. No support was offered by her whimpy husband so his mother allowed him to stay.
Since I was late to church, the parking lot remained empty throughout Woman’s entire dissertation. I kept praying for witnesses to arrive so I would have someone to collaborate with. Someone who would talk reason to me, preventing me from doing what I was beginning to fear was the inevitable.
Woman kept emphasizing her plan. Get on a bus and head to her daughter’s who she couldn’t contact to wire her money as she didn’t have a phone. This I found hard to believe as I know homeless who have cells, and a post office box to receive their bills!
“How much do you need?” I queried, leery of my reaction. I was known to be impulsive, something I was trying to find a twelve step program for.
“Thirty three dollars, but I already have eleven. It will cost me seventy five cents to catch the local bus to get to the bus station down town.”
I opened my wallet and counted out the difference she was lacking, “Here, let me drive you to the bus station.”
“Oh, no, it’ll be easier to catch the transit. Down town is much to busy.”
“Well, here is a dollar for that. But I insist on driving you to the bus stop."
“But you’ll miss church.” she protested.
“Oh well.”
I led her to my PT Cruiser questioning myself now. What if she had a gun in her purse, what if there was an accomplice nearby? Her story seemed believable. I didn’t smell alcohol on her and she didn’t seem high on drugs.
The transit bus stop was about two miles away with no shelter or bench at the pickup site. I thought this was peculiar. Most of the other bus stops had canopies and seating accommodations. This was a legitimate pick up though. But look, there just happened to be a store handy where Woman informed me she could wait at, since the weather looked nasty. I realized we were now not in a dry area of town, (liquor could be sold and bought here) and I resumed my qualms of Woman possibly purchasing fermented beverages with my donations was I was out of sight.
After I deposited Woman, with the spare Gideon Bible I carry in the glove compartment for reading material as she waited, I drove off I berating myself for my foolishness, yet thankful I hadn't been led blindly to my death by a carefully planned mugging. I imagined her heartily laughing at her profits. It took her 30 minutes to gain twenty three dollars, that's forty six dollars an hour. She gets a better salary than I do. She was probably calling someone now to come pick her up and help her drink her "bus ticket".
I had pretty much missed church so I went on home, telling myself it was in God's hands now. I tried to convince myself I’d only done what God would have expected.
The next morning at the woman's bible study I casually mentioned seeing Woman in the parking lot. Several of the attendees informed me that she was a regular. Woman had a different story every time but it always boiled down to needing some extra cash. She was always offered help by the benevolence committee but refused to fill out the necessary forms. The church wouldn't present her with money, but with coupons for groceries or utilities, that way they controlled fraudulent claims. Pretty sophisticated approach, maybe I should have followed their lead.. Maybe I should have been slower to react even though I felt prompted my God. I I kept my foolishness to myself. I removed a compact from my make up bag to cover the "Sucker" sign tattooed on my forehead. I was amazed it wasn't as bold as I'd imagined. No way was I going to let my friends know how I'd been duped. I'm known for being pretty cheap ( I prefer to call it retirement minded) so I couldn't face the inevitable ribbing I'd get. Why didn't I stay to see what Woman was up to when I left? Because I'm not a private eye, that’s why. I watch enough action/drama TV I should have gotten some spying skills by osmosis. Back to rationalization; I could afford the twenty three dollar lesson I learned. At least it wouldn't send me to the poor house. The only thing that would keep me from feeling like a looser right now was...chocolate, lots and lots of chocolate.
Fast forward a few weeks and some extra pounds (the result of lots and lots of chocolate) and I'm getting on the computer to check my email. Hey, there's a message from a Christian chat room friend I haven't heard from in some time. I scanned the missive and dropped my candy bar. This message required more than a cursory scan; I had to read each word one at a time. Great. My added weight had been unnecessary. It seems my friend had been too busy to correspond with me in a while because her mother had showed up unexpectedly. Her mother's mother in law had evicted her and some wonderful lady (that my friend referred to as better than a good Samaritan), had contributed to the "send mom home" fund. Elaine was ecstatic with gratitude.
She had lost contact with her mother when she had remarried some low life that no one in the family had approve of. Apparently mom didn't make healthy choices and was ashamed to ask for help from her kids. The stranger that had provided the necessary funds for her to make it home, had also provided a bible for reading, something her mom had had plenty of time to accomplish on the bus that made frequent stops, and where she had decided to turn her life over to the only one who truly cared enough to die for her. Her mother was now getting counseling and rehabilitation through an abused women's project in town keeping Elaine on the road a lot between appointments. On the road in ...Austin.
Elaine was so glad she had devoted her spare time to praying for her mother's welfare, especially a few weeks ago when some unknown sensation had caused her to increase her prayerful efforts. I looked at the candy bar at my feet, now being licked by my cat. In a feeding frenzy this wouldn't have deterred me, I'd have picked it up, rinsed it, and resumed where I left off; but now my desire for chocolate induced anesthesia was gone. I dusted off the nearby treadmill and went to work evaporating the results of my favorite comfort food.
Oh, and the next day I met a woman in the parking lot at church begging for money, not the same one that I had aided. I entered the worship auditorium praising God for causing me to be late to church one night making me available to help a woman in need.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Playing Hooky
Man, what a good nights sleep, I thought, as I stretched and yawned. Looking around me I realized how early it still was. There was time for a morning flight before I reported to class. Great. Nothing I loved more that soaring through the air watching the stars fade and the sun rise.
The first thing I heard as I was getting ready for take off, was “Whooo, Whooo,”
“Good morning Mr. Owl,” I said as I extended my wings. His enormous eyes looked at me without blinking. I suspected he was waiting for something. Sure enough, done on the ground I saw something hesitate, then whiskers appeared, a little nose twitched, sniffing about, then two long ears popped out of a opening under Mr. Owl’s tree. Mr. Owl had not moved a feather. He was waiting patiently for dinner. I couldn’t stand it, I wouldn’t let Mrs. Rabbit meet her demise today, not while I was watching. “Shoo,” I yelled and two long ears and a nose submerged below the ground once again. I couldn’t help it, I’m pro live. Mr. Owl scowled at me then flailed his wingsHe’d just have to settle for mice tonight, sorry, I agree with humans, mice are creepy. I feared he would target me with his claws and beaks but no, he just flew away with ruffled feathers.
I followed suit, flying into the sunrise. The colors on the horizon were splendid as light crept into the darkness and overcame it. Fingers of orange and red crept into the blackness, melting it as the sun transformed itself from an orange basketball in to a ball of fire. The coolness of night evaporated into the warmness of morning. Flowers started to appear under me, trees started to sing, well actually it’s occupants started to sing. Surely I didn’t have to tell you trees can’t sing. The magical paint brush took over as hill and dale became brighter and brighter spotted with blues, violets, yellows and greens. Rain sprinkled down and nourished plant life before filling rambling rivers that flowed over smooth rocks on their way to bigger bodies of water.
As I headed west I spotted night creatures yawning and creeping into caves, holes and tree trunks while the day animals crept out of caves, holes and tree trunks. A mother deer strolled to a river coaxing Bambi along, who just wanted to play with his bunny friend, Thumper and his skunk friend, Flowers. Foxes came out to hunt for breakfast while their breakfasts came out to invade the area gardens. Eat all the carrots you want, I don’t care for them myself, I encouraged Mr. Cotton tail while I distracted Mr. Farmer.
As I made my way over the ocean, gargantuan Orcas blew salty water up at me splashing the surface with their tails. Two ton infants swam under their moms and were rewarded with squirts of milk. Luckily mom didn’t have to attempt to burp these nursing children. It’s hard to believe those creatures gain 150 pounds a day! No wonder they can’t fly. Dolphins competed playfully against each other with their synchronized swims. They were trying to impress me, and they succeeded. What a magnificent sight. I joined in the fun, diving in and out of the water beside them. Oh, that’s so refreshing. Suddenly I got entangled in a school of fish that were being sucked into the digestive system of a whale. Tumbling around inside a cavernous stomach I struggled to get my bearings, then shot up and out through Mr. Whale’s blow hole. Feathers went everywhere! I hope they grow back!
Sharks, one of the last remnants of my favorite dinosaur containing era, surfaced and sliced the water with their fins, menacingly circling about. They stayed a safe distance from their foes the dolphins. They didn’t scare me….much. Anyway, all I was good for was soul food.
Further and further I flew, higher and higher the sun rose. More color appeared under me exposed by the rays of light. Bears scavenging near camp grounds looking for chocolate or other goodies. The smell of coffee drifted up to me. I never had a taste for the stuff but it sure smelled good.
Trees spread their branches out, teeming with colorful species of operatic parrots and such . Corn fields grew abundant stalks, with scare crows strategically positioned so the crows could make good use of them as perches. Yea, like scare crows are really scary to hungry birds. Hunger trumps fear! Cows grazed in pastures while sheep bleated up in the mountains. Oh, my gosh, that wolf is slinking towards a stray lamb. I know in the near future the lamb and wolf will lie down together, but right now only one would get back up! I swooped down and interfered once again in the cycle of life, returning the little darling back to the flock. The sheep dog fainted when he saw the lucky stray plunge down from the air and back into the fold. Maybe I should have let him see me!
Further and further I flew. The warmth started dissipate the further north I flew. Floating islands of ice appeared below me that held large groups of walruses more at home in the freezing climate than I would be if this was where I hung my clothes. Actually, if I lived here I’d never take my clothes off. Oh, oh. That poor baby. A little walrus was floating out to sea on a small ice floe. He was flopping around trying to decide whether to dive into the water in search of mommy. I whistled shrilly and out popped a head from the icy cold blue water. Mommy pushed the floe in the direction of larger ice shelves that held cliffs and hiding places. The global warming was melting the glaciers and more and more calves are being swept away from their mother‘s, dying alone. Like I said, I’m pro life. I wish the stewards of this planet had had more foresight and less ignorance about their surroundings, they only get one chance….down here.
I was coming up over open spaces now. Oh, look at that, striped horses racing across the savannah, manes airborne. Wait a minute, they’re not running for their health. There it is, a lioness out doing the dirty work for her husband and pride, not her pride, the group she lives with. She’s in crouch position. One. Two. Three. She lunged forward. Oops. What tripped her? Darn I have such big feet. I should be ashamed of myself. Oh, well. Did I mention I was pro-life? Mrs. Lion sulked off, glowering at me. She wasn’t going to take on a fight she’d loose. The zebra halted meters away and tossed their heads at me, gratefully. I’m sure they wished I was around more often. Then they walked at a steady pace to distance themselves from danger.
Oh, my gosh, Look at the time. I’m not only late for class, I think it’s over! I hit the gas, so to speak and jetted upward to the clouds, white, fluffy soft wisps of air filled with water droplets. I received a refreshing sort of shower as I passed through them, fully clothed. I’m not a nudist. I scanned the upper side of the billowy white fluffs looking for my teacher. There he was, loading up his instrument, strapping it to his back. My class mates doing them same.
“Well, where have you been. You’ll never learn to play if you keep missing class.” He lectured.
“I’m sorry, I was just enjoying the ‘day the lord hath made.’ ” I answered, not making excuses, just stating facts. I left out the part where I intervened in the course of nature several times. I was ready for my punishment. Extra practice? Suspension? Expulsion?
Teach rubbed his jaw assimilating this information. “You know, that would be a great field trip, we haven’t done that in some time.” He faced the dissembling group and announced, “Field day tomorrow, no harp lessons.” A cheer went up from all angels present. I was ecstatic, two days circling the globe! Maybe tomorrow I‘ll breeze over the other hemisphere! “But you,” he continued, “will stay here and go over today’s lesson.” He handed me a musical score that would take several days to learn..
My wings sagged. Oh, well, even angels have to follow the rules.
Psalm 50:10
Psalm 65:9-13
Psalm 118:24
Isaiah 65:25
Jonah 2
The first thing I heard as I was getting ready for take off, was “Whooo, Whooo,”
“Good morning Mr. Owl,” I said as I extended my wings. His enormous eyes looked at me without blinking. I suspected he was waiting for something. Sure enough, done on the ground I saw something hesitate, then whiskers appeared, a little nose twitched, sniffing about, then two long ears popped out of a opening under Mr. Owl’s tree. Mr. Owl had not moved a feather. He was waiting patiently for dinner. I couldn’t stand it, I wouldn’t let Mrs. Rabbit meet her demise today, not while I was watching. “Shoo,” I yelled and two long ears and a nose submerged below the ground once again. I couldn’t help it, I’m pro live. Mr. Owl scowled at me then flailed his wingsHe’d just have to settle for mice tonight, sorry, I agree with humans, mice are creepy. I feared he would target me with his claws and beaks but no, he just flew away with ruffled feathers.
I followed suit, flying into the sunrise. The colors on the horizon were splendid as light crept into the darkness and overcame it. Fingers of orange and red crept into the blackness, melting it as the sun transformed itself from an orange basketball in to a ball of fire. The coolness of night evaporated into the warmness of morning. Flowers started to appear under me, trees started to sing, well actually it’s occupants started to sing. Surely I didn’t have to tell you trees can’t sing. The magical paint brush took over as hill and dale became brighter and brighter spotted with blues, violets, yellows and greens. Rain sprinkled down and nourished plant life before filling rambling rivers that flowed over smooth rocks on their way to bigger bodies of water.
As I headed west I spotted night creatures yawning and creeping into caves, holes and tree trunks while the day animals crept out of caves, holes and tree trunks. A mother deer strolled to a river coaxing Bambi along, who just wanted to play with his bunny friend, Thumper and his skunk friend, Flowers. Foxes came out to hunt for breakfast while their breakfasts came out to invade the area gardens. Eat all the carrots you want, I don’t care for them myself, I encouraged Mr. Cotton tail while I distracted Mr. Farmer.
As I made my way over the ocean, gargantuan Orcas blew salty water up at me splashing the surface with their tails. Two ton infants swam under their moms and were rewarded with squirts of milk. Luckily mom didn’t have to attempt to burp these nursing children. It’s hard to believe those creatures gain 150 pounds a day! No wonder they can’t fly. Dolphins competed playfully against each other with their synchronized swims. They were trying to impress me, and they succeeded. What a magnificent sight. I joined in the fun, diving in and out of the water beside them. Oh, that’s so refreshing. Suddenly I got entangled in a school of fish that were being sucked into the digestive system of a whale. Tumbling around inside a cavernous stomach I struggled to get my bearings, then shot up and out through Mr. Whale’s blow hole. Feathers went everywhere! I hope they grow back!
Sharks, one of the last remnants of my favorite dinosaur containing era, surfaced and sliced the water with their fins, menacingly circling about. They stayed a safe distance from their foes the dolphins. They didn’t scare me….much. Anyway, all I was good for was soul food.
Further and further I flew, higher and higher the sun rose. More color appeared under me exposed by the rays of light. Bears scavenging near camp grounds looking for chocolate or other goodies. The smell of coffee drifted up to me. I never had a taste for the stuff but it sure smelled good.
Trees spread their branches out, teeming with colorful species of operatic parrots and such . Corn fields grew abundant stalks, with scare crows strategically positioned so the crows could make good use of them as perches. Yea, like scare crows are really scary to hungry birds. Hunger trumps fear! Cows grazed in pastures while sheep bleated up in the mountains. Oh, my gosh, that wolf is slinking towards a stray lamb. I know in the near future the lamb and wolf will lie down together, but right now only one would get back up! I swooped down and interfered once again in the cycle of life, returning the little darling back to the flock. The sheep dog fainted when he saw the lucky stray plunge down from the air and back into the fold. Maybe I should have let him see me!
Further and further I flew. The warmth started dissipate the further north I flew. Floating islands of ice appeared below me that held large groups of walruses more at home in the freezing climate than I would be if this was where I hung my clothes. Actually, if I lived here I’d never take my clothes off. Oh, oh. That poor baby. A little walrus was floating out to sea on a small ice floe. He was flopping around trying to decide whether to dive into the water in search of mommy. I whistled shrilly and out popped a head from the icy cold blue water. Mommy pushed the floe in the direction of larger ice shelves that held cliffs and hiding places. The global warming was melting the glaciers and more and more calves are being swept away from their mother‘s, dying alone. Like I said, I’m pro life. I wish the stewards of this planet had had more foresight and less ignorance about their surroundings, they only get one chance….down here.
I was coming up over open spaces now. Oh, look at that, striped horses racing across the savannah, manes airborne. Wait a minute, they’re not running for their health. There it is, a lioness out doing the dirty work for her husband and pride, not her pride, the group she lives with. She’s in crouch position. One. Two. Three. She lunged forward. Oops. What tripped her? Darn I have such big feet. I should be ashamed of myself. Oh, well. Did I mention I was pro-life? Mrs. Lion sulked off, glowering at me. She wasn’t going to take on a fight she’d loose. The zebra halted meters away and tossed their heads at me, gratefully. I’m sure they wished I was around more often. Then they walked at a steady pace to distance themselves from danger.
Oh, my gosh, Look at the time. I’m not only late for class, I think it’s over! I hit the gas, so to speak and jetted upward to the clouds, white, fluffy soft wisps of air filled with water droplets. I received a refreshing sort of shower as I passed through them, fully clothed. I’m not a nudist. I scanned the upper side of the billowy white fluffs looking for my teacher. There he was, loading up his instrument, strapping it to his back. My class mates doing them same.
“Well, where have you been. You’ll never learn to play if you keep missing class.” He lectured.
“I’m sorry, I was just enjoying the ‘day the lord hath made.’ ” I answered, not making excuses, just stating facts. I left out the part where I intervened in the course of nature several times. I was ready for my punishment. Extra practice? Suspension? Expulsion?
Teach rubbed his jaw assimilating this information. “You know, that would be a great field trip, we haven’t done that in some time.” He faced the dissembling group and announced, “Field day tomorrow, no harp lessons.” A cheer went up from all angels present. I was ecstatic, two days circling the globe! Maybe tomorrow I‘ll breeze over the other hemisphere! “But you,” he continued, “will stay here and go over today’s lesson.” He handed me a musical score that would take several days to learn..
My wings sagged. Oh, well, even angels have to follow the rules.
Psalm 50:10
Psalm 65:9-13
Psalm 118:24
Isaiah 65:25
Jonah 2
the lunch guest
the Lunch guest
There he sat, in the choir looking so angelic. Little did the congregation know how hateful he could be. As I watched him smiling and singing my heart turned over and over with the hurtful words he’d hurled at me before we left for church, in separate cars. And to top it off, as I watched him, the guy behind him watched me. A triangle of watchers! I avoided His eyes while my husband, Jeff, avoided looking at me. It was so totally uncomfortable that I was overjoyed (a slice of the silver lining in the black cloud that hung over me) to hear the final benediction so I could flee to my car. Jeff stayed with the choir members and would come home in his own car later. Maybe he’d find his stuff thrown out on the front lawn, a constant fantasy of mine!
At home I relived the entire morning over and over allowing tears to drip onto the food I was preparing for my lunch. I prepared a salad for myself, Jeff would be going to his mother’s for lunch. I was invited also, of course, but there was no way I felt like being near his family today. This was my way of cutting off my nose to spite my face, his mother always provided a lavish Sunday meal.
Great, some one was at the front door. Should I answer it or not. It was probably someone from the paper trying to get a subscription, or a religious zealot seeking converts to their church! I scrunched up on the couch so I wouldn’t be seen from the door’s window. Rap. Rap. Rap, rap, rap. Oh, bother. I got up an peeked out the window in time to see Him place his feet on the first step down off the porch. The second foot followed, then the next foot. Darn it all! I opened the door. My visitor turned, smiled, nodded and walked in. Don’t bother to ask or say hi.
He settled Himself on the sofa, looked at my solitary meal sitting on the coffee table, and the litter about me, then He raised a brow and scrutinized me. Tissue was wadded up all over the room and a full, well it was full once, box of Kleenex was sitting on the end table. It was a pathetic sight.
“Wasn’t that an inspirational sermon?” He opened the conversation, a safe topic.
“Yea,” I answered. Should I offer him something to eat? “Would you like some salad and something to drink?” Say no, that’ll mean you don’t plan on staying long!
“Sure.” He responded. Well, there you go, He can’t read minds after all! I divided up my huge salad onto two plates, added some bread and fruit and presto, a meal for two. I won’t tell him how I cleaned the lettuce with my tears, let him think it was just too salty.
“So what was your favorite part of the sermon?” He quizzed.
Oops, now it stopped being a safe topic, I hadn’t really listened, so caught up was I in anger and self flagellation for being a doormat. If He'd asked what my plans for retaliation were, I would have been a verbal fountain.
“Well….I …the part….”
“Hmmm. I see. The sermon was on love and forgiveness.”
“Yeah, I know. I was there.” I retorted, shifting uncomfortably.
“No, you weren’t. You were off in another world, plotting revenge and planning on a pay back.” He proclaimed without reproach, just factually.
I lowered my eyes. I couldn’t face Him right now. How dare he make me feel uncomfortable in my own home. His eyes were bearing down on me, I felt my clothes dissolve. I pictured my heart on a ultra sound machine beating visibly for Him. No, it wasn’t beating in rhythm. It was too cold to beat at a normal rate. It was calcifying, becoming harder, less efficient.
He placed his hand on my knee, not in a inappropriate manner, just gently to get my attention. When He removed his hand a red spot remained on my jeans. Blood?
“Vengeance is God’s. It’s your job to love and forgive.”
“You don’t know what he said to me this morning! You’ve never been hurt like I was!” I exploded. How dare he judge me. How dare He intrude into my brain and heart. What a pervert, what a busy body.
“You’re right. I have never trusted someone and been disappointed.” He stated leaning back on the sofa.
Suddenly light appeared on the wall in front of me. Something took shape like a movie reel. Two men were standing in a garden and I could see a crowd of official looking men in the background wearing military suits. There He was, being approached by one of his friends. The friend laid his hand on His shoulder and leaned in with a kiss, then pandemonium broke loose as men were shoved about and He was handcuffed and escorted out of the scene, tears rolling down His cheeks, tears on a face that looked like mine!
"I just want to hurt him!" I cried, "I want him to cry like he made me cry!"
He reached over to a picture of Jeff on the side table. Removing the picture from the frame he held it up. "Here, beat the heck out of this, if it'll make you feel better." He offered.
I was ready, fist formed anger filling my soul. Vengeance on the rise. I could taste the pain I was going to inflict on Jeff. Right before I sent my fist flying I pulled back. "Wait, if you hold the picture that high and so close to your face I'll hit you! Move the picture over and to the side!"
"That's my point. Whenever you hurt one of the least in my kingdom, you hurt me! I stand behind all my children."
It finally penetrated my understanding. The sermon this morning had been aimed at me. Strategically spoken, personally delivered. I missed the point. The sacrificial lamb had to follow me home. Make sure I understood. The phone rang as I was digesting my revelation.
"Hey, come on over here, Sissy {his sister} made a neat dessert. You need to try it out!" Jeff, casually, informally inviting me over to his mother's. No apology, just picking up at a different spot in our lives.
I looked at Him, He shrugged. "He's a man, that might be the closest you get to an apology. Go for it," He prompted. "Besides, I'm the only man I know that's never had to say he's sorry," he added with a devilish grin.
"I'll be right there." I informed Jeff. Returning the phone to the receiver I reached for my keys. "Do you want a ride home," I offered.
Opening his arms to engulf me in a comforting, and encouraging hug, He stated, "I'm already home." As we embraced he vaporized in my hold. The mist he formed rose and entered my air passages, filled my lungs and disapated into my blood stream. I felt my heart softening, warming, beating regularly. Painlessly. There was a red stain on the sofa where His back had rested. I don't think I'll bother to have it cleaned.
On the way to my car I spotted the bloody foot steps leading to my house. Footsteps He had left when He came to visit me. I'm sure if I traced the steps they'd lead back to the church, into the sanctuary, up to the alter and the cross behind it where two feet had been pierced with a rusty nail two thousand years ago.
Math. 6:14
Math 9:6
Math 18:21
Math 25:40-45
1 john 3:13-15
1 John 4:20
There he sat, in the choir looking so angelic. Little did the congregation know how hateful he could be. As I watched him smiling and singing my heart turned over and over with the hurtful words he’d hurled at me before we left for church, in separate cars. And to top it off, as I watched him, the guy behind him watched me. A triangle of watchers! I avoided His eyes while my husband, Jeff, avoided looking at me. It was so totally uncomfortable that I was overjoyed (a slice of the silver lining in the black cloud that hung over me) to hear the final benediction so I could flee to my car. Jeff stayed with the choir members and would come home in his own car later. Maybe he’d find his stuff thrown out on the front lawn, a constant fantasy of mine!
At home I relived the entire morning over and over allowing tears to drip onto the food I was preparing for my lunch. I prepared a salad for myself, Jeff would be going to his mother’s for lunch. I was invited also, of course, but there was no way I felt like being near his family today. This was my way of cutting off my nose to spite my face, his mother always provided a lavish Sunday meal.
Great, some one was at the front door. Should I answer it or not. It was probably someone from the paper trying to get a subscription, or a religious zealot seeking converts to their church! I scrunched up on the couch so I wouldn’t be seen from the door’s window. Rap. Rap. Rap, rap, rap. Oh, bother. I got up an peeked out the window in time to see Him place his feet on the first step down off the porch. The second foot followed, then the next foot. Darn it all! I opened the door. My visitor turned, smiled, nodded and walked in. Don’t bother to ask or say hi.
He settled Himself on the sofa, looked at my solitary meal sitting on the coffee table, and the litter about me, then He raised a brow and scrutinized me. Tissue was wadded up all over the room and a full, well it was full once, box of Kleenex was sitting on the end table. It was a pathetic sight.
“Wasn’t that an inspirational sermon?” He opened the conversation, a safe topic.
“Yea,” I answered. Should I offer him something to eat? “Would you like some salad and something to drink?” Say no, that’ll mean you don’t plan on staying long!
“Sure.” He responded. Well, there you go, He can’t read minds after all! I divided up my huge salad onto two plates, added some bread and fruit and presto, a meal for two. I won’t tell him how I cleaned the lettuce with my tears, let him think it was just too salty.
“So what was your favorite part of the sermon?” He quizzed.
Oops, now it stopped being a safe topic, I hadn’t really listened, so caught up was I in anger and self flagellation for being a doormat. If He'd asked what my plans for retaliation were, I would have been a verbal fountain.
“Well….I …the part….”
“Hmmm. I see. The sermon was on love and forgiveness.”
“Yeah, I know. I was there.” I retorted, shifting uncomfortably.
“No, you weren’t. You were off in another world, plotting revenge and planning on a pay back.” He proclaimed without reproach, just factually.
I lowered my eyes. I couldn’t face Him right now. How dare he make me feel uncomfortable in my own home. His eyes were bearing down on me, I felt my clothes dissolve. I pictured my heart on a ultra sound machine beating visibly for Him. No, it wasn’t beating in rhythm. It was too cold to beat at a normal rate. It was calcifying, becoming harder, less efficient.
He placed his hand on my knee, not in a inappropriate manner, just gently to get my attention. When He removed his hand a red spot remained on my jeans. Blood?
“Vengeance is God’s. It’s your job to love and forgive.”
“You don’t know what he said to me this morning! You’ve never been hurt like I was!” I exploded. How dare he judge me. How dare He intrude into my brain and heart. What a pervert, what a busy body.
“You’re right. I have never trusted someone and been disappointed.” He stated leaning back on the sofa.
Suddenly light appeared on the wall in front of me. Something took shape like a movie reel. Two men were standing in a garden and I could see a crowd of official looking men in the background wearing military suits. There He was, being approached by one of his friends. The friend laid his hand on His shoulder and leaned in with a kiss, then pandemonium broke loose as men were shoved about and He was handcuffed and escorted out of the scene, tears rolling down His cheeks, tears on a face that looked like mine!
"I just want to hurt him!" I cried, "I want him to cry like he made me cry!"
He reached over to a picture of Jeff on the side table. Removing the picture from the frame he held it up. "Here, beat the heck out of this, if it'll make you feel better." He offered.
I was ready, fist formed anger filling my soul. Vengeance on the rise. I could taste the pain I was going to inflict on Jeff. Right before I sent my fist flying I pulled back. "Wait, if you hold the picture that high and so close to your face I'll hit you! Move the picture over and to the side!"
"That's my point. Whenever you hurt one of the least in my kingdom, you hurt me! I stand behind all my children."
It finally penetrated my understanding. The sermon this morning had been aimed at me. Strategically spoken, personally delivered. I missed the point. The sacrificial lamb had to follow me home. Make sure I understood. The phone rang as I was digesting my revelation.
"Hey, come on over here, Sissy {his sister} made a neat dessert. You need to try it out!" Jeff, casually, informally inviting me over to his mother's. No apology, just picking up at a different spot in our lives.
I looked at Him, He shrugged. "He's a man, that might be the closest you get to an apology. Go for it," He prompted. "Besides, I'm the only man I know that's never had to say he's sorry," he added with a devilish grin.
"I'll be right there." I informed Jeff. Returning the phone to the receiver I reached for my keys. "Do you want a ride home," I offered.
Opening his arms to engulf me in a comforting, and encouraging hug, He stated, "I'm already home." As we embraced he vaporized in my hold. The mist he formed rose and entered my air passages, filled my lungs and disapated into my blood stream. I felt my heart softening, warming, beating regularly. Painlessly. There was a red stain on the sofa where His back had rested. I don't think I'll bother to have it cleaned.
On the way to my car I spotted the bloody foot steps leading to my house. Footsteps He had left when He came to visit me. I'm sure if I traced the steps they'd lead back to the church, into the sanctuary, up to the alter and the cross behind it where two feet had been pierced with a rusty nail two thousand years ago.
Math. 6:14
Math 9:6
Math 18:21
Math 25:40-45
1 john 3:13-15
1 John 4:20
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)