Just a Little Nudge

It’s quite late on evening of our Presidential Election and the polls in Michigan closed more than seven hours ago, and yet I find myself still seated, staring at a computer monitor and enjoying an unexpected conversation with a friend on Facebook.  This night has brought several events I wasn’t expecting.

Michigan had a state constitutional amendment proposal on the ballot concerning loosening state control over embryonic stem cell research. We spent some time discussing just what this amendment would actually mean– for science and for the sought-after-embryos. I’ll save my opinion on that issue for a later date, and I do have a strong opinion on it, by the way.

Our talk drifted into other things as well.  Artistic endeavors, Spiritual gifts, a little of this, a little of that.  It’s been delightful, and stimulating.  My friend has encouraged me to continue writing– he thinks I have a little talent for it! At least that’s the impression I got.  I don’t know how one gauges such things, but I’m a little biased about my own writings.

So I’ve gotten  a little nudge with some wonderful encouragement and an invitation to join  Creative Community, though no formal invitation was ever required.  With that little bit of sweet contentment I’ll be on my way to curl up under my covers, which we both said we needed to do about two hours ago– and save my commentary on politics, ballot proposals or any other potential hot button issue for another day.

At the Foot of the Cross

Verse 1:
At the foot of the cross
Where grace and suffering meet
You have shown me Your love
Through the judgment You received
And You’ve won my heart
And You’ve won my heart
Now I can

Chorus:
Trade these ashes in for beauty
And wear forgiveness like a crown
Coming to kiss the feet of mercy
I lay every burden down
At the foot of the cross

Verse 2:
At the foot of the cross
Where I am made complete
You have given me life
Through the death you bore for me
And You’ve won my heart
And You’ve won my heart
Now I can

Artist – Don Moen

Album – Thank You Lord

Those are lyrics to a song we’ve been singing in church over the last few weeks as we’ve been taking a closer look at the Twenty-third Psalm.  I have to confess that until we started this sermon series I hadn’t really been moved by the worship time in our church– as a congregation, a member, a believer, a sinner in need of redemption; sad to say, especially as a “church”– in a long time.  How long? close to two years, I think.

I never fully left this home, though for a time I could barely walk through the front doors, and rarely did actually.   I think for me, the feeling of “family” had gone away, and now the Spirit has brought it back and is ready to raise the roof again.

Actually, I think He’s brought me back.

Feeling Lost

Darling Husband and Sonny Boy are gone this week. They are off to Pittsburgh to work with a neighborhood restoration project and won’t be home til the weekend.  The girls and I were planning a little “stay-cation”, but it’s turning into more “stay” than “-cation”.  I had little ambition to do anything– especially the extra’s on my to-do list that need to get done. Jobs that would have gotten noticed had they been done.  I’ve had an alarm set each morning, but had no energy to get moving.  We three ladies have been quite lazy in fact.  I’m not proud, not bragging, and also not feeling any grand scale remorse.

I, just now, pinpointed the cause.  My heart misses him.  I miss him, and the smell of work he has on him when he gets home after a long day, the touch of his hand on the back of my neck, the searching look in his eyes that goes away after our first hug and kiss.

We weren’t always like this.  There was a time when we neither of us cared much if we ever saw the other again.  Our selfishness and unwillingness to contribute 100% to marriage set us on a course hell-bent for destruction.  We climbed the mountain called Rocky Marriage, and just about threw ourselves over the edge. We were on that precipace for a long time, too long. It’s a mental home video that’s still very painful, but the pictures are fading; some of the sound track lingers on.   Unlike childbirth, the pain hasn’t been erased from my memory completely.

I don’t know if I want it too, either.  Not so I can rehash the memory, but so I never forget where our marriage came from, what we went through.  What I put him through.  It needs to stay so we–no, I–  always remember to work at keeping our marriage alive.

God was good, and He rescued us from ourselves, in spite of ourselves.  He taught us how to forgive, and changed hearts to receive forgiveness.

So this week I’ve been feeling lost without him.  I love that man in ways only the heart knows, in which words can not describe.  Saturday can not come soon enough.

Knees

I woke up this morning thinking I’d had a bad allergy attack overnight, but it turns out to be the start of a summer cold. I’ve been keeping a steady stream of decongestant and allergy pills going through me all day, and still I can’t breathe. I think it’s been working its way here for a couple of days. I’ve been dragging my feet, so to speak, and now I know why.

I’ve had random stressors bombarding me lately. Sonny Boy had the rear-ending episode, the car’s been in the shop for other reasons, we got a kitten and Lady Bear has been eating his poo—covered in cat litter (gross!). The kitten, who’s name is Satchel, has to go to the vet in the morning. I have to see an orthopaedist about my knees, one makes a popping/crunching sound when it bends, which you can feel if you put a hand on the kneecap. I’ve been mentoring a group of people for this season’s Team in Training events, and have been trying to train and fund raise for my own. Sonny Boy got a job, and I’m not sure exactly where he’s working. He got it through Girlfriend’s “Parental (something, something)”. I just prefer to call him her “other” step-dad—her dad is gay. Sugar Bug is going to a camp next week, and I’m chaperoning the trip. We have to make sure all of her diabetes Rx information is all with us. Money is tight; gas costs a fortune and I quit my job in March. Sonny Boy and Girlfriend have an escalating situation with a Young Lady who used to be his “special interest”. (Her parents wouldn’t allow her to “date”, and so they just made moon eyes at each other, and talked on the phone, sent e-mails. He chose to end things—a year ago— because it couldn’t go anywhere anyway. Well, now Girlfriend is in the picture and Young Lady thinks Girlfriend stole her boyfriend. Apparently that is just the tip of the iceberg.) And, did I mention I’m getting a cold? Yeah, I think I did.

It sounds like I’m complaining. Does it sound like I’m complaining? I’m not trying to, just stating facts of my life right now. What I should be doing is getting on my knees in prayer, searching God’s timeless and ageless wisdom to get me through. Except if I lay in bed, I’ll fall asleep, and I can’t literally sit on my knees, because they’ll go numb.

I don’t want sympathy. I’ll take donations for my fundraising efforts, and I’ll take your prayers.

On the Street #3

A bumper sticker which read:

Ignore the Conventions

Obey the Commandments

And another:

The Ten Commandments are not multiple choice

Who was it that said the Commandments weren’t “suggestions”? I mean, besides God..I think it was a recently retired TV journalist-turned writer Tom Brokaw.  (Correct me if I’m wrong, please)

With the recent wranglings over having the name “God” written anywhere, and the placement of the Ten Commandments in courtrooms and courthouses across the country, it would seem opinion of said documents is not all negative.  There are some who still believe they have a place in our country.  Personally, I’m glad they aren’t just going to roll over and go away.  If people with faith stop living what they believe, we soon won’t believe in much of anything.

Using the US $1.00 Presidential coins with the motto ‘In God we Trust’ moved to the coins edge rather than its obverse or reverse side as my example, in some arena’s it was presumed to have been done so the words would eventually wear off and not be seen at all; in effect wiping out God completely. I don’t know if that is entirely true, but they have definitely done away with convention on that one.

COMMANDMENT: a divine command, an authoritative direction or instruction to do something

CONVENTION: General agreement on or acceptance of certain practices or attitudes

One Loaded Little Word

(Original draft 09 April, 2007)

Yesterday was Easter Sunday, and millions of Christians, quasi-believers and the guilt ridden filed into churches world-wide to celebrate a Risen Savior, or to at least purge themselves of another years’ worth of sin.

Sin is a funny word: three letters, not phonetically challenging in the least and filled with so much. In our age of relativity, and accepted lack of absolutes, sin is a dirty word, and I don’t mean what it does to ones soul. It’s dirty like swearing used to be. I can say almost any word/phrase I choose (in public or private) and it won’t get the same reaction as saying “That’s a sin”. I can condemn anyone by stating: go to hell. Depending on the volume I use few would give me a second look if I said that anywhere. But, why is it I am condemned by stating the obvious: you sinned? I know it’s a rhetorical question. But for the sake of people who believe relativity is a valid way of spiritual living and that there are no absolutes, I’ll argue their case.

When I condemn, by saying ‘go to hell’, I’m telling them “You are wrong; I am right. You are weak; I am strong.” But because I am here, next to you, on this corporal plain called life on earth, it doesn’t matter to you, because you can easily return the *favor* later, and condemn me to hell, and we are still equal; well all things being relative that is. You and I aren’t mass murders, after all, just maybe recovering shoplifters, or at worst fudge a little on our tax returns. We aren’t Hitler, Idi Amin, Saddam Hussein or Genghis Khan. We’re both pretty good, most of the time, right?

So I say to you later: you sinned. I am, in effect, saying “You are wrong; you are weak; you are worthy to be condemned.” But now, I am not the Judge, just the messenger, stating a flaw — your flaw. Nowhere in that do I say I am stronger or right, but that’s what gets read into my message because we hate to be wrong and weak. Now I have brought into the mix a notion that life is not *relative* and that there are absolutes, and of course that is a very disagreeable notion because now there is no *favor* to return (but you will try, by pointing out all of my flaws, in such a delicate and gracious way, won’t you? hhmm) You must answer to a Judge, who is also Jury. Saying SIN means that God is involved, and it’s easier to just not think about Him, as He is old, ancient, out-dated and irrelevant.

Is there really much difference between the two? The end result of both phrases will get you to the same place, won’t it? I can tell someone to go to hell, or tell them they are going to go to hell. The wages of sin is death, you are going to go to hell. What if I had the power in my words to actually send you to this place that is name-dropped so flippantly? Suppose I said, “Go – to – Hell” and in the next instant you were actually there?

“Wait!,” you object loudly, “Hell isn’t even real, is it? I mean, it’s just a phrase, right? There can’t really be lakes filled with burning sulfur fires, and Satan and demons, and stuff, right? ‘Cuz that would, be like, so… unfair.”

Yup, unfair, indeed, because I am the one sending you there- because we are both nearly equally good people. But God never said He was FAIR, only JUST. Justice isn’t about fairness, it is this: “merited reward or punishment; that which is due to one’s conduct or motives”. (Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary, 1913**) Justice is doing what is right, even if the the end result is unpopular, or makes you unpopular. God’s justice has made Him very unpopular, throughout all of history.

The wages of sin is death. That’s not my law, I didn’t write it. I’m just the messenger, remember?

~~~ ~~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~

**Why so old a definition? the same reason if you looked up gay, it’s doesn’t mean just happy, delightful anymore. Contemporary dictionaries have equated fairness to justice today, but they are not the same thing. Definitions are swayed by popular culture, and a word becomes redefined to suit popular demands, which can be a disservice to it’s true intent.

When Hope Gives Way to Reality, part 2 — The Lesson

When I left you, we were wrapping up the tragic end to my sweet friend, Duchess.

The next day—Tuesday— I cried on and off, but mostly on, for most of the day. My girls had play rehearsal at 9:00 AM and I spent those two hours reclining in the front of the car drifting in and out wakefulness and crying; I really can’t call it “sleep”, but it was more a semi-conscious state. I didn’t want anyone to see me, and truthfully, I didn’t want to see anyone else. My perceived lack of pet-parental responsibility had me tightly by the collar, and wasn’t about to let go. By day’s end Wednesday, I was able to discern and define the difference between guilt and feeling responsible for her death. Tuesday? Every emotion was just raw.

As with a lot of tragedy, we question God’s justice in taking away something we held so close and begin to ask “Why?”

“Why her and not LadyBear? Why did that kid leave the gate open if he was afraid of dogs? Why did he even cut through if he was afraid of dogs?” I don’t think I ever asked, “why me?” but the temptation was there. But a young man, wise beyond his years, fighting terminal cancer said he could never ask God ‘Why me?’ because to do so would be the same as asking ‘Why not someone else?’ Since he would never have wished his situation on anyone else, he reasoned God had indeed given it to the right person. Now, I am fully aware that ‘Losing a Mixed Breed Mutt’ is not even close to ‘Young Man Dying of Pancreatic/Liver Cancer’ on the Grand Scale of Tragic Things, but I think you get my point. I couldn’t ask, wouldn’t dare ask: ‘Why not someone else?’

After I got through the anger stage of my grief and realized that God did indeed take the right dog away, as hard and painful as that was to understand, I knew there was a lesson in this, waiting to be revealed. I was just hoping He wouldn’t hit me with a spiritual 2×4 in order to get me to understand what the lesson was.

The lesson was: favoritism. There were no drum rolls, no grand Tah-dah! just a lonely LadyBear standing, staring out the window waiting for her friend to come home. She knew Duchess had gotten out that night, and she would always cry, whine and whimper until Duchess was safe at home again. She stood looking out the kitchen window for days—hours on end— and my heart broke for her loss. I rattled Duchess’ collar by mistake and LadyBear’s head jerked to attention and she darted over to the window, with such an expectant, hopeful look in her eyes. ‘My friend has come back to me!’ they seemed to say, but soon changed to the look we had seen so often since Duchess died. It was a day or two after this when I realized how much favoritism I had for Duchess over LadyBear and it reminded me of a story of a father who played favorites too.

There was a father, Isaac, who had a son, Jacob, who needed a wife. Rather than choosing a bride from the un-Godly and unfaithful who lived nearby, Isaac sent his son on a trip, some 500+ miles away to choose a bride from his own family. Jacob is smitten with Rachel at first site, and worked a long, hard seven years to earn the privilege of calling her his wife. Turns out his uncle tricked him and sent her older, doomed-to-be-single-forever-unless-some-sap-comes-along sister, Leah, down the aisle instead. He wakes up the next morning, realizes he’s been duped and demands to have the bride he worked for. Uncle says sure, you can have her, but here’s the deal, you have to stay another seven years for Rachel. But the good news is, you can be married next month, after a proper “honeymoon” time with Leah. Jacob agrees.

In time, the family started to grow. Leah (and her servant girl who acted as a sort of ancient days ‘surrogate’) started popping out babies—boys in fact, heirs—in a pretty regular stream. Rachel could not produce even one. She sends one of her servant girls in, as her ‘surrogate’ and she produced a couple of boys as well. Rachel, though, was still barren, until one day God shows some mercy and she has one child, Joseph.

Joseph was his Daddy’s favorite and all of his eleven brothers knew it. Jacob wasn’t too shy about letting people know, either, I’m sure. The brothers hated Joseph because his presence alone was enough to remove their father’s favor from them, not to mention the fact he has dreams that imply he would one day rule over his older brothers. Joseph was never sent to work the fields, the flocks or do most hard labor. He was kept home and sat at his father’s side studying, learning, reading, being favored.

The older eleven conspire to kill the “little brat”, but one of them has pity and says, don’t kill him, just sell him to slave traders instead. That way if he dies, it’s not really our fault, and his blood won’t be on our heads. So Joseph is sold and carted off to Egypt, he was about 15. He never returned to the land of his fathers.

The boys take Joseph’s coat, drag it through the mud, tear it up and pour the blood of some un-expecting little critter all over it and bring it back to Dad. They make up a story about Joseph being attacked and killed by wolves, and this is all that’s left of him: his tattered coat.

Jacob’s heart explodes, or rather implodes – or both if it’s possible— with grief. His only child from the one wife he really wanted, was now gone. His FAVORITE was nothing more than memories and a pile of bloody rags.

This was the part of the story that revealed to me my own favoritism. The correlation is a bit loose, but the point was incredibly clear. I hope Jacob learned to appreciate the eleven boys he still had, the love they had for their father and their need to be loved by their father. They had been trying to earn it for years, and all they got for their trouble and devotion was to be pushed away. I would like to think he found comfort in the arms of Leah as well as Rachel. But I don’t think so.

I think LadyBear knew I loved Duchess more than her, but she loved me and kept trying to get me to love her back, but the level of reciprocation was never equal. She could never understand why she wasn’t my favorite, and I could try to find excuses to justify it, but truth be told, I had no reason to favor one over the other, other than to say that I did. Duchess was a spoiled brat of a dog, and that’s our fault. I knew that, and I still didn’t care. We didn’t discipline her and then retrain her properly.

Was Joseph a spoiled brat, or was it all in the brothers’ jealous imagination? We may never know. Did Jacob learn to love his other boys? Did the boys ever get past their own guilt over the pain they brought to their father? I’d say with some certainty a loud NO to both of those, based on how the story ends some 15-20 years later.

Joseph endures a lot, but eventually is given rank of something like Prime Minister in Egypt. He is Pharaoh’s right-hand man. His homeland is suffering severe drought, and eleven of his brothers come to buy food from Egypt; there is a younger brother, a 12^th, whom Joseph doesn’t know of until their second trip to back to buy food. Joseph then sets-up the youngest, Benjamin, to make it look like he was a thief, and demands he be thrown in prison. At this point the other eleven begin to plead to trade places with their youngest brother. Joseph asks why they are so passionate to take their younger brother’s place, since he was their father’s favorite, after all. They tell the Prime Minister (who is really their long ago sold-into-slavery brother, remember) that their father once had another favorite son, whom they sold into slavery, but lied about being killed by wolves. They continue explaining that they would rather serve life in prison in their brother’s place than return home without him and cause so much heartache to their father again.

They had witnessed the pain in their father’s eyes every day, and known that they were the cause of it. I don’t think one could ever get over the guilt in that. The fact that Rachel died giving birth to Benjamin cemented him in the Most Favored Son position, and the other eleven accepted that, and rather than despise him, they chose to help protect him, if only for their father’s sake.

LadyBear is our “used box of crayons” dog—she’s pretty colorful, but not too sharp. I’ve seen my pet-parenting flaws, but I’m not eager to find another pup to fix my errant ways or fill the Most Favored Dog seat. I think I’d like to see LadyBear move into it instead. Not because she’s earned it by loving me, but because deserves it…because I love her, and it took losing Duchess to learn it.

When hope gives way to reality, part 1

We all have days that we’d rather forget. I had one a couple of weeks ago, and I can write about it now and not worry about my eyes leaking all over the keyboard; but my mind still wanders in mild denial.Monday, 17 September is normally an ordinary day, and to most people casually observing life, one would never notice anything unusual. It’s funny– funny weird, not funny ha-ha– how events can happen and the rest of the world carries on about its business without so much as a second thought to individuals. Compassion and empathy are what we get when we get off the ride of the *world* and start paying attention to individuals.

Now, the events of that Monday may not seem like such a huge deal to most of you, but it changed me profoundly. It all starts with something seemingly innocent and innocuous: an open gate. This gate was left open by a young person who chose to use our front yard as a short cut instead of walking around the block. (Kids do it frequently, and it bugs me, but that’s for another day.) That evening, that young man and that open gate brought profound grief into my home and into my heart.

We had two dogs–”had” being the key here– Duchess and LadyBear, and they have free reign of the front yard. Duchess was a Beagle/Cocker Spaniel mix who loved to chase after smells, and an open gate was just the invitation she needed to go explore the neighborhood that fateful night. I hadn’t noticed the open gate after I saw someone go through it, but I wanted to yell “Make sure the gate is closed!” because Duchess was already out and LadyBear was jumping to go see what was going on. Maybe letting LadyBear out scared the kid, and he just forgot.

Shortly after 9 a friend stopped by with something she needed to return, and that’s when I saw the gate. My youngest wanted to dash off to go looking for Duchess, but I told her not to because Duchess always came home. She never came home under her own power that night. My husband found her up the street and around the corner; she was lying on the sidewalk. He said she lifted her head and started wagging her tail when she saw him, as if to say “Yea, my people have found me!”. He carried her home and set her down in the grass then came to tell me she’d been found. When I saw her, I already knew she’d been hit.

It wasn’t long before we were off to the emergency animal hospital. I told our son he may want to say good-bye, in case if she was paralyzed, she wouldn’t be coming home. The look on his face was a mixture of disbelief, shock and horror at the idea she may not be coming back. I was already in tears, and his face didn’t help much. I dreaded the next morning and the thought of having to tell our two girls that Duchess was gone and they didn’t have a chance to say good-bye; ‘I’ll deal with tomorrow when it’s tomorrow’, I reasoned.

The drive was too long, but Duchess gave my heart a jolt of hope: she lifted her head and stretched her legs. She wasn’t paralyzed! She would come home with us after all!!

Let me tell you a bit about Duchess. She wasn’t just any dog, she was MY dog. She jumped into bed with me and dove under the covers as soon as my husband would open the gate, and if he didn’t do it as fast as she liked, she’d sit next to it and cry with annoying anticipation. She would sit on me as soon as I sat down, and sometimes was jumping before I was halfway down. She was a bit naughty, and very stubborn and loved to eat butter, and sometimes must have thought she was part cat the way she would climb up behind people in chairs. She was also spoiled rotten– I think she knew it, too, and so did LadyBear. But that little puppy mutt came into our house five years ago and ran away with my heart. She was my favorite and everyone here knew it, and I think LadyBear knew that too.

The vet told us they would get her stabilized with oxygen, painkillers and fluids and would take x-rays later. They let us see her briefly before we went home. She looked at me with her eyes filled with love and gave one little thump of her tail to say she wasn’t going to give up. I was so filled with hope at this point, and some pet-parental fear. I didn’t want to leave my baby behind. The clock on a marquee next door to the animal hospital said 11:22 PM. I don’t remember if I said anything on the way home. We got home and our son was still up, waiting to hear what was going to happen. We said basically no news is good news and told him to head to bed, and we’d know more later, closer to morning what the prognosis would be. He looked relieved.

We didn’t have to wait until morning to hear the news; it was barely an hour actually. “We had a chance to give her a better exam”, they said, “and there are a few things going on. First, and the least of her problems, is that she has a dislocated hip” (me, in a flash-thought: that’s not so bad, just pop it into place! yea!) “All the ribs on one side are broken and pressing on her lungs and heart, that’s why she’s having difficulty breathing” (me: broken ribs, not good and how do you fix that on a dog anyhow?) “She also has a herniated abdomen” (me: what on earth does that mean?) “and her abdominal muscle has been ruptured “(me: that doesn’t explain much still) “and the only thing holding her insides in is her skin” (me: O God, NO! NO-NO-NO NOOOO!)’ [me: I want to faint because that's what a good drama has: a fainting heroine.]

I don’t faint, but really, really wanted to be anywhere else but where I was at that moment. “We could do surgery for her abdomen, and she may need surgery again later for her hip, but that’s to worry about later. Her ribs, now that’s a different story, and it’s hard to know… “(me: surgery! yes, operate! fix her so she can come home tomorrow! wait… ribs… hard to know… focus).

Me, to them: “How much would surgery be?” (I’m writing down what they say on the white board in the kitchen so my husband and son, who’s still up, can see.)

Them: “Surgery for the abdomen would be $3,000… “(I write this down, and my husband gasps and hangs his head as he leaves the room. I know all hope is dashed to bits now.)

Me: “Oh, ummm, okaaayyy” (me: NO! that’s not the answer I want to hear!) My knees feel a little weak.

Them: “We don’t normally recommend euthanasia, but it seems to be in Duchess’ best interest…”

Me: “Can you keep her stable until morning, so we can bring our kids in to say good-bye, they’re sleeping right now?”

Them: “She’s in a lot of pain, and her injuries are severe… (me: NO! NO! NO!) Again, we prefer to use euthanasia as a last resort but… ” I can hear in her voice she’s telling me to wake up my girls, but, still, I don’t want to face that truth, and she doesn’t want to come out and say it directly that time is of the essence and if we don’t come now, she won’t be alive in the morning.

My husband volunteers to wake the girls, and I go into the bathroom and sob. I really just want to scream and wail and grieve loudly, but I don’t so I won’t scare my kids. Adults have to keep it all together, all the time. When I come out our youngest is already in tears, as I knew she would be. Our middle one was trying to put on a brave face, and not doing very well, and tears came soon for her too. Our son had a look a disbelief on his face, mixed with shock. I think he wanted to cry, but wasn’t about to do that in front of his sisters or mother, or father.

We take LadyBear with us and pile into the van to go say a good-bye none of us was prepared to do. It was a very, very quiet ride, except for LadyBear, who just loves to go for car rides.

Our last hour with our best friend and family member was too short. Her ears and paws were already starting to feel cold from her internal bleeding. Her belly was more distended than before, and I knew she wouldn’t survive surgery if they tried. She was fighting to stay with us with every breath she had, she was trying to keep her eyes open to look at us, at me. I was praying that she would just stop breathing on her own so I could hold her in her last moments, but she didn’t, and I wasn’t.

They let us take her home and I held her the whole way. What I wanted to do was cradle her close to my heart and cry till I had no tears left, but I couldn’t. I just put my hand on her head and scratched by her ears where she always loved it and she was so soft, and I tried to burn that memory into my brain, so I’d never forget, all the while knowing full well it was futile and I would eventually forget.

The marquee said it was 2:21 AM.