The house is strangely quiet. No one knocks on my door asking for treats. No pumpkins flicker yellow candlelight outside my house. No bowl of candy sits by the front door. Drew has deserted me. He is off helping the coach take his daughter around their neighborhood for treats (and hoping to snag some for himself). For the first time in decades I am free and clear of Halloween. Sugar and I settle in for an evening of reading.
I think about past years. When I was a kid, I took great delight in Halloween. How exciting to dream up and create a costume and be something you normally aren't! We lived in a small town, and my sisters and I went all over town collecting bags full of big candy bars and home made popcorn balls. We dragged our loot home numerous times so our bags wouldn't look too full. People often tossed 2 or 3 bars in our bags at once. Sometimes they would ask who we were, and if they knew us, we got the special stuff. For kids who seldom had chocolate treats, we were in heaven. Mom made us freeze the majority of our take and doled it out in our lunches over the course of the school year.
Dad sometimes created a haunted house in the church, of all places! That was before celebrating ghosts and witches came into scrutiny by church leaders who rightly called a halt to such stuff. Dad would peel grapes and put them in paper lunch bags, then have people feel them without looking and tell them they were peeled eyeballs. Or put cooked oatmeal in a container and tell us it was someone's brains. I'm amazed he got away with such stuff, being a pastor and all. But it drew big crowds of kids who normally didn't attend church. The haunted house always ended up in the church basement where Dad told scary stories and rattled chains and had displays of beheadings and such stuff.
When my boys were little, there was a huge push against church participation in Halloween. My kids attended church parties where everyone dressed as Bible characters and played games and we knew the candy being handed out was safe and not laced with razor blades or poison like happened in the 1960s. Still, it's a far cry from the old All Saints Eve, the time when people gathered in churches for protection because they mistakenly thought that souls who had died got one last chance to take vengeance on their enemies before going to their eternal reward.
All last week I heard people complaining about how kids from the city are bused to their neighborhoods for the free candy and how rowdy and rude all these strange kids are. Many of the neighborhoods have agreed to turn their lights off at 7 pm and ignore any knocks on the door. That way they give to the kids in their neighborhood who are little enough to be happy about getting a few treats, and don't have to go broke serving the entire city population.
Another friend talked about having bridge duty. On Halloween numerous volunteers work with the police department guarding bridges because pranksters throw big pumpkins over bridges onto the cars driving beneath. Seems they catch a lot. They work in groups of two and have walkie talkies to call the police as soon as they spot someone. Dangerous work as you never know when someone will pull a knife or a gun. Something is wrong with this picture. I've heard of many caveats about Halloween, but this seems over the edge.
This year I got a picture of my grand daughters in costume - big bird and a princess. They didn't go too many places since my son distrusts the loot and doesn't want to risk them getting something they ought not to get. What a confusing holiday! Maybe we should just come up with something safe and fun to do at home for the night.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Gate Woes
Saturday. Closing time. The desk students tell me that the gate doesn't seem to want to go down. I amble toward the locks mounted on the wall and insert my key. Nothing. Not a sound, not a click, not a buzz, not a hum. That's strange. The other gate went down just fine.
I can sense the students' impatience. Of course, they are eager to be on their way. I tell them to leave. I will call security and figure out what to do. Security comes. They can't get it to work either. Strange. There is no help for it. We will have to close the 24 hour area and lock the entire building until Monday when facilities can take a look.
There are students in the 24 hour area trying to work on papers. Most of them are good natured about being booted out. One poor gentleman, not a native speaker of English, was troubled. He really needed to complete his paper. I feel badly. I hate to kick him out, but I can't leave him in there with the whole building undone. We lock up. I go home after sending emails to everyone who will need to know over the next few days.
Fortunately, one of the people I emailed had a solution, called security, it worked, and within 2 hours we were back in business. Hurrah! Would that everything could be fixed as quickly. I just hope that student came back and was able to finish. I hate tripping other people up!
I can sense the students' impatience. Of course, they are eager to be on their way. I tell them to leave. I will call security and figure out what to do. Security comes. They can't get it to work either. Strange. There is no help for it. We will have to close the 24 hour area and lock the entire building until Monday when facilities can take a look.
There are students in the 24 hour area trying to work on papers. Most of them are good natured about being booted out. One poor gentleman, not a native speaker of English, was troubled. He really needed to complete his paper. I feel badly. I hate to kick him out, but I can't leave him in there with the whole building undone. We lock up. I go home after sending emails to everyone who will need to know over the next few days.
Fortunately, one of the people I emailed had a solution, called security, it worked, and within 2 hours we were back in business. Hurrah! Would that everything could be fixed as quickly. I just hope that student came back and was able to finish. I hate tripping other people up!
Saturday, October 29, 2011
MapleWood Park
Where the rose gardens are - that's what my friend said in her email about where we could walk this weekend. Along the river. I have never heard of the place, but the thought of discovering a local park with roses entices me. I miss Yaddo and have not found anything like it in this area. I type MapleWood into my iPhone and head that direction - not too early mind you. After all, its Saturday and there is no driving need to be up and about at the crack of dawn (even though I will be anyway).
I arrive a few minutes before she does and am amazed to find that there are still many roses in bloom. So many colors - orange, red, yellow, pink. So many sizes - delicate little tea roses, mid sized climbing roses, huge show roses. Some of them have ethereal fragrances that transport you to a more elegant time, a more formal occasion. Others have no fragrances at all. How disappointing. A rose with no fragrance. What a terrible thing.
My friend arrives and we chat while deciding which way to go - towards the city or towards the zoo. We head towards the zoo. To our right down a steep embankment lies the river lazily meandering along in the bright sunlight despite the fall chill in the air. To our left, the back yards of large homes, some formal, some casual. Lots of vines run along the ground but the path we walk is well marked, sometimes dirt littered with dusty leaves, sometimes blacktop, sometimes cement sidewalk.
We chatter as we walk along, the path gently rising and falling with the shape of the landscape. People pass - walking dogs, on bikes, alone, with a friend. We can see below by the river's edge groups of people muddling with nature. There is a second trail paralleling ours but much lower. Ahead we can see a bridge enabling the highway to pass over the gorge. Our path takes us beneath the bridge and we marvel at flowers still in bloom along the stone wall where the warm sun has tricked them into thinking it is still summer.
After passing the bridge, we come to a division in the path. If we go forward, it will take us to the zoo. There are steeper hills there. I am already tiring and I know I must have enough energy to get back to the car. I opt for turning around and heading back the way we came. I am sure I could have gone a bit farther, but I don't want to take chances. We decide that next walk we will start here at the path turn.
I hadn't realized that all along we had been gradually descending. Now that I am retracing, it is all uphill! Not steep, but enough to make me huff and puff. I know I am out of shape, but I want to talk while walking and I find I am not able. Twice my friend stops to allow me to catch my breath. We gaze out over the steep cliff to the river below. How beautiful the trees are with their fall colors, even though we both agree that this fall has not been as stellar as previous falls have been. Something about how the temperature keeps fluctuating. One minute winter is immanent, the next summer has powerfully returned.
At last the parking lot weaves into view and my decrepit body will be able to relax. We spend a few minutes smelling the roses. If either of us knew how to make rose hip tea, we could have harvested a bounty. But then, my friend pointed out, its probably not legal. Besides, I add, who know what sort of chemicals they were sprayed with.
We part ways, each heading for household duties and errands. I promise myself to return to this floral mecca next summer when the garden is in full bloom. I am sure it will be a treat. Today was sumptuous, even without the full floral effect. I wonder if I can convince Drew and Sugar to come with me?
I arrive a few minutes before she does and am amazed to find that there are still many roses in bloom. So many colors - orange, red, yellow, pink. So many sizes - delicate little tea roses, mid sized climbing roses, huge show roses. Some of them have ethereal fragrances that transport you to a more elegant time, a more formal occasion. Others have no fragrances at all. How disappointing. A rose with no fragrance. What a terrible thing.
My friend arrives and we chat while deciding which way to go - towards the city or towards the zoo. We head towards the zoo. To our right down a steep embankment lies the river lazily meandering along in the bright sunlight despite the fall chill in the air. To our left, the back yards of large homes, some formal, some casual. Lots of vines run along the ground but the path we walk is well marked, sometimes dirt littered with dusty leaves, sometimes blacktop, sometimes cement sidewalk.
We chatter as we walk along, the path gently rising and falling with the shape of the landscape. People pass - walking dogs, on bikes, alone, with a friend. We can see below by the river's edge groups of people muddling with nature. There is a second trail paralleling ours but much lower. Ahead we can see a bridge enabling the highway to pass over the gorge. Our path takes us beneath the bridge and we marvel at flowers still in bloom along the stone wall where the warm sun has tricked them into thinking it is still summer.
After passing the bridge, we come to a division in the path. If we go forward, it will take us to the zoo. There are steeper hills there. I am already tiring and I know I must have enough energy to get back to the car. I opt for turning around and heading back the way we came. I am sure I could have gone a bit farther, but I don't want to take chances. We decide that next walk we will start here at the path turn.
I hadn't realized that all along we had been gradually descending. Now that I am retracing, it is all uphill! Not steep, but enough to make me huff and puff. I know I am out of shape, but I want to talk while walking and I find I am not able. Twice my friend stops to allow me to catch my breath. We gaze out over the steep cliff to the river below. How beautiful the trees are with their fall colors, even though we both agree that this fall has not been as stellar as previous falls have been. Something about how the temperature keeps fluctuating. One minute winter is immanent, the next summer has powerfully returned.
At last the parking lot weaves into view and my decrepit body will be able to relax. We spend a few minutes smelling the roses. If either of us knew how to make rose hip tea, we could have harvested a bounty. But then, my friend pointed out, its probably not legal. Besides, I add, who know what sort of chemicals they were sprayed with.
We part ways, each heading for household duties and errands. I promise myself to return to this floral mecca next summer when the garden is in full bloom. I am sure it will be a treat. Today was sumptuous, even without the full floral effect. I wonder if I can convince Drew and Sugar to come with me?
Friday, October 28, 2011
Crazy Week
I feel a sympathetic vibration with that 12 Days of Christmas song. This week has been packed with all kinds of events:
6 class instructions
5 reference shifts
4 training newbies
3 circ desk assignments
2 doctor appointments
and a host of vendor demos to boot!
I am not complaining. Just a heads up that sometimes I may not have any idea where I am and what it is that I am supposed to be doing here. I will say, despite my chemo-aged body, I am delighted to find that I can take it all in stride and not be so completely done in by end of day. Yahoo! Progress. Keep on trucking.
6 class instructions
5 reference shifts
4 training newbies
3 circ desk assignments
2 doctor appointments
and a host of vendor demos to boot!
I am not complaining. Just a heads up that sometimes I may not have any idea where I am and what it is that I am supposed to be doing here. I will say, despite my chemo-aged body, I am delighted to find that I can take it all in stride and not be so completely done in by end of day. Yahoo! Progress. Keep on trucking.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Christmas Cantata
In choir practice, we have been working hard on the music for the Cluster Choir event. We have 2 new pieces that we have not yet sung in our own place, much less shared elsewhere, so we have a lot of work to do. And we have indeed been working hard. Not just on these pieces, but music for services, and the three mass choir selections for the year, 2 of which we will sing for services ourselves.
Tonight we spent a considerable amount of time on the harder passages and for a full hour and 15 minutes, have drilled and listened and tried out and spoken in rhythm and clapped rhythms and worked on intervals. We are worn to a frazzle with work. I can't let a rehearsal end this way! I know the perfect antidote to a hard workout. Sing Christmas Music!
I pull out the cantata we will sing this year and we read through the first three pieces. This is a cantata that the choir has not sung in a long time. It harks back to an era of simple melody, telling the story without some slant or twist. It is filled with angels and shepherds and wisemen, just like the Christmas story ought to be. The bass line is straight forward, the harmonies thirds, the melody singable. Yes, they are remembering it. And -- best of all -- they are definitely having fun.
That's better! And on that merry note, we wander out of the sanctuary and chat light heartedly in the hall as we head home, visions of Christmas stars dancing in our heads. I hear familiar carols humming through the air as several people head to their cars. I do want Christmas to come this year. Let's do it up right and just have a lovely time of it.
Tonight we spent a considerable amount of time on the harder passages and for a full hour and 15 minutes, have drilled and listened and tried out and spoken in rhythm and clapped rhythms and worked on intervals. We are worn to a frazzle with work. I can't let a rehearsal end this way! I know the perfect antidote to a hard workout. Sing Christmas Music!
I pull out the cantata we will sing this year and we read through the first three pieces. This is a cantata that the choir has not sung in a long time. It harks back to an era of simple melody, telling the story without some slant or twist. It is filled with angels and shepherds and wisemen, just like the Christmas story ought to be. The bass line is straight forward, the harmonies thirds, the melody singable. Yes, they are remembering it. And -- best of all -- they are definitely having fun.
That's better! And on that merry note, we wander out of the sanctuary and chat light heartedly in the hall as we head home, visions of Christmas stars dancing in our heads. I hear familiar carols humming through the air as several people head to their cars. I do want Christmas to come this year. Let's do it up right and just have a lovely time of it.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Cancer Support Group
This is the second time I am blessed to be able to attend the cancer support group. Tonight, I am moved by my friend who is hurting from her recent treatment, and by the gentleman who is going in for surgery tomorrow. I am sad to hear about a young man who has just been diagnosed with a terminal cancer and who is struggling to hang on. I am distressed to hear that someone I know is near the end. No food or water for the last few days. It is time. She wants to move on.
Make no mistake. This disease is a horrible plague that tortures and tears and torments. Some less, some more, all in more ways than one. It makes me realize how blessed I am right now to be where I am. Out of immediate danger. Out of fear of upcoming unknown procedures. Done with anxiety about the future. I am in a good place.
I can reach out my hand and hold the hand of someone going through places where I have been. I hug my friend who is in pain and whisper that it will pass. I have been there and I know. I can pray for people heading into surgery, for people hanging on to life, and letting go. I understand these places. Not that I have had to let go, but I had to be ready to do that.
I am sobered by the remembering, but not depressed. I dig in but am not overwhelmed. I have been granted that rare gift of eye opening insight that jars you from complacency and malaise back to reality. I am blessed.
Make no mistake. This disease is a horrible plague that tortures and tears and torments. Some less, some more, all in more ways than one. It makes me realize how blessed I am right now to be where I am. Out of immediate danger. Out of fear of upcoming unknown procedures. Done with anxiety about the future. I am in a good place.
I can reach out my hand and hold the hand of someone going through places where I have been. I hug my friend who is in pain and whisper that it will pass. I have been there and I know. I can pray for people heading into surgery, for people hanging on to life, and letting go. I understand these places. Not that I have had to let go, but I had to be ready to do that.
I am sobered by the remembering, but not depressed. I dig in but am not overwhelmed. I have been granted that rare gift of eye opening insight that jars you from complacency and malaise back to reality. I am blessed.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
3 Little Raccoons
Traffic is heavy on Buffalo Road this morning. I am slightly late getting to work. I pass the new ACE hardware store, wishing the car in front of me believed that the speed limit on this stretch of road really is 55 and not 35. A truck stops to make a turn, and I glance out the passenger window impatiently.
There in the shoulder of the road lie 3 little raccoons, each stretched out in some awkward position, their fur still sleek and soft. My heart melts. How cruel that all of them met their fate together. Some poor mama coon is lamenting the loss of her offspring somewhere. Or maybe mamas. Perhaps these chilluns were just friends out for a romp in the moonlight.
At least the bodies are not mangled or bloody. Actually, if they were possums, I would suspect they were just playing dead. But I am relatively sure coons don't know that game. The truck turns and the traffic moves on. I continue my own journey, touched by the sadness at the side of the road.
I wonder how much I am missing in my rush to keep on schedule. Perhaps if I had not rushed through here every morning, I could have seen them playing and chasing each other through the brush. I really must pay more attention to life. It can be so fleeting.
There in the shoulder of the road lie 3 little raccoons, each stretched out in some awkward position, their fur still sleek and soft. My heart melts. How cruel that all of them met their fate together. Some poor mama coon is lamenting the loss of her offspring somewhere. Or maybe mamas. Perhaps these chilluns were just friends out for a romp in the moonlight.
At least the bodies are not mangled or bloody. Actually, if they were possums, I would suspect they were just playing dead. But I am relatively sure coons don't know that game. The truck turns and the traffic moves on. I continue my own journey, touched by the sadness at the side of the road.
I wonder how much I am missing in my rush to keep on schedule. Perhaps if I had not rushed through here every morning, I could have seen them playing and chasing each other through the brush. I really must pay more attention to life. It can be so fleeting.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Naked
Just a week ago, Sugar and I were still admiring the petunias planted by the complex office. Their delicate colors and nodding heads did not seem out of place next to the bale of straw or the scarecrow announcing autumn's arrival. Only a week ago the trees were cavorting in dress of red and yellow and orange. Even green.
Overnight, that has all gone away. I am shocked to find barren dirt where once the flowers clustered; naked branches where once the squirrels hide while scolding Sugar for sniffing them out. How did it all change so suddenly? Especially this week when it has been mild and pleasant on the days it wasn't raining.
I know winter is on its way. Some places have already had their first snowfall (some of them measurable in more than inches!). Someone told me they saw white flakes briefly on a windy afternoon (I am not sure I believe them). Today, the plants trumpet their warning. Pull up your sidewalks. Take down your awnings. Stock your woodpile. Winter is coming and soon. They have done just that, pulling deep within themselves to hibernate through the cold hard days, coddling the next generation, knowing they will outlast the cruel cold and ice.
I do not take it lightly. I tug on Sugar's leash and scurry back indoors where my heat is on. As I hang up my jacket, I catch sight of my amaryllis. A lone green shoot is beginning to push through the soil, product of the fat bulb consuming the pot. Even in winter, there is hope. Even in the most bereft and naked season, life cannot help itself from peeking out.
Overnight, that has all gone away. I am shocked to find barren dirt where once the flowers clustered; naked branches where once the squirrels hide while scolding Sugar for sniffing them out. How did it all change so suddenly? Especially this week when it has been mild and pleasant on the days it wasn't raining.
I know winter is on its way. Some places have already had their first snowfall (some of them measurable in more than inches!). Someone told me they saw white flakes briefly on a windy afternoon (I am not sure I believe them). Today, the plants trumpet their warning. Pull up your sidewalks. Take down your awnings. Stock your woodpile. Winter is coming and soon. They have done just that, pulling deep within themselves to hibernate through the cold hard days, coddling the next generation, knowing they will outlast the cruel cold and ice.
I do not take it lightly. I tug on Sugar's leash and scurry back indoors where my heat is on. As I hang up my jacket, I catch sight of my amaryllis. A lone green shoot is beginning to push through the soil, product of the fat bulb consuming the pot. Even in winter, there is hope. Even in the most bereft and naked season, life cannot help itself from peeking out.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Music Extraordinaire
Roberts Wesleyan College has a new choral director. This weekend was his premier performance with the chorale. I have heard the chorale under other directors, and they are good, no doubt about it. The kind of concerts where you know the music is challenging and you are proud that the singers have risen to the occasion and seem to be enjoying themselves at the same time.
But this concert was different. From the first song I knew I was in for a rare treat. Here is a choir not just singing the right pitches and rhythms, but being EXPRESSIVE. I hear precious few choirs whose performances are riveting, but this concert was pure delight. I basked in the luxuriousness of the nuances in each piece. Never did I feel I was being manipulated or that there was an attempt to impress the audience with precision and effect.
This director is an artist. And not just mono-stylistic. Some directors do renaissance well, or gospel well. This director had a nice mix of various styles and each song was just right for the kind of music. Here and there, he sprinkled a little "stage business" - cute movements or poses that brought out the significance of the text. Nothing showy or overdone. Just nice touches to music that really said something.
Here is a choir I plan to listen to as often as I can. I hope they will consider cutting a CD. So far I collect recordings by the Robert Shaw Singers, Dei Gloriae, St. Olaf Choir and a few other choirs where the music is more than just sound. I would add this choir to my list in a heartbeat. It was definitely a walk on the delightful side.
But this concert was different. From the first song I knew I was in for a rare treat. Here is a choir not just singing the right pitches and rhythms, but being EXPRESSIVE. I hear precious few choirs whose performances are riveting, but this concert was pure delight. I basked in the luxuriousness of the nuances in each piece. Never did I feel I was being manipulated or that there was an attempt to impress the audience with precision and effect.
This director is an artist. And not just mono-stylistic. Some directors do renaissance well, or gospel well. This director had a nice mix of various styles and each song was just right for the kind of music. Here and there, he sprinkled a little "stage business" - cute movements or poses that brought out the significance of the text. Nothing showy or overdone. Just nice touches to music that really said something.
Here is a choir I plan to listen to as often as I can. I hope they will consider cutting a CD. So far I collect recordings by the Robert Shaw Singers, Dei Gloriae, St. Olaf Choir and a few other choirs where the music is more than just sound. I would add this choir to my list in a heartbeat. It was definitely a walk on the delightful side.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
All Day Paper Writing Marathon
Read three thick volumes of systematic theology, then write your core beliefs and how that applies to your ministry in 2,000 words. Right. On it. I try to follow some kind of outline so as to cover all the required bases. I get lost. I try again. I do the math. For each topic, I can only write less than 200 words for the what part and the same or less for the how part. Tight. Words need to be at an economy.
I begin in the morning, hoping to write at least 2/3rds of the paper today and finish up tomorrow. It is like working your way through mud up to your waist. Not impossible, but slow going. Still, a valuable exercise. I find myself reflecting on where my journey has taken me over the years, in and out of solid theological ground, sometimes through swamps, sometimes through deserts, sometimes (but not often enough for my taste) through the verdant pastures of plenty.
By 7 pm, I have had enough. It is not quite done, but well along the path it needs to go down. I am not entirely sure I am satisfying the assignment requirements, but I am within the constraints of space allotted. I will think about this for awhile. It may well be that my subconscious will provide further enlightenment before the turn-it-in date arrives.
It is challenging to consolidate a supermarket full of food into one simple dish.
I begin in the morning, hoping to write at least 2/3rds of the paper today and finish up tomorrow. It is like working your way through mud up to your waist. Not impossible, but slow going. Still, a valuable exercise. I find myself reflecting on where my journey has taken me over the years, in and out of solid theological ground, sometimes through swamps, sometimes through deserts, sometimes (but not often enough for my taste) through the verdant pastures of plenty.
By 7 pm, I have had enough. It is not quite done, but well along the path it needs to go down. I am not entirely sure I am satisfying the assignment requirements, but I am within the constraints of space allotted. I will think about this for awhile. It may well be that my subconscious will provide further enlightenment before the turn-it-in date arrives.
It is challenging to consolidate a supermarket full of food into one simple dish.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Girl Getting Off the Bus dancing
I am sixth in line behind a school bus wending its lugubrious way down Lyell Avenue, stopping to spit mama's kids from its yellow door. I sigh and turn up the radio. This will take awhile. I slouch down behind the steering wheel, car in park, and wait out the little tyke's egress, his legs barely navigating the high steps.
We - the whole lineup - creep forward two feet and stop again. Bus door swings open, lights flash bright red. Little kid with bookbag the size of his torso stumbles down the steps into his mother's arms. He drops his hat. The driver waits until he retrieves it and is safely away from the wheels. Like gumballs in a slot machine, we inch forward another 2 feet, halting once again for the lights and the door and the kid. This could take forever.
Then the sun peeked out. At the next stop, the door opened, and a very tiny girl bounced out of the bus, all wriggling with excitement. She bent over and looked at me from between her legs, her entire face a smile. She was singing away and bouncing and her long brown hair swung about freely. You could practically feel her joy. Happy, happy, happy. Life and laughter and exuberance radiated from her tiny frame.
And then the bus moved on. I carried her joy with me well beyond the road where the bus turned off and the line of traffic melted away. I think I may even have danced a little two step as I got out of the car. How wonderfully infectious.
We - the whole lineup - creep forward two feet and stop again. Bus door swings open, lights flash bright red. Little kid with bookbag the size of his torso stumbles down the steps into his mother's arms. He drops his hat. The driver waits until he retrieves it and is safely away from the wheels. Like gumballs in a slot machine, we inch forward another 2 feet, halting once again for the lights and the door and the kid. This could take forever.
Then the sun peeked out. At the next stop, the door opened, and a very tiny girl bounced out of the bus, all wriggling with excitement. She bent over and looked at me from between her legs, her entire face a smile. She was singing away and bouncing and her long brown hair swung about freely. You could practically feel her joy. Happy, happy, happy. Life and laughter and exuberance radiated from her tiny frame.
And then the bus moved on. I carried her joy with me well beyond the road where the bus turned off and the line of traffic melted away. I think I may even have danced a little two step as I got out of the car. How wonderfully infectious.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Morning Moon
Avast, white slip of moon.
Think you to carry the magic of your realm
into the vibrant day?
See you not the world bathed in light
Cast from the fiery hand of your strong brother,
That same orb of which you are a mere shadow, a vapor?
What good your pale print against bright blue sky?
Can your dreams persuade workers from their destiny?
Blush for shame.
Step aside for magnificence.
Quietly disappear and let reality show the way.
Still,
There is need for dreams to enchant our misery.
Tantalize us from our stupor.
Perhaps in our sleep we build the necessary castles
To sustain our blistered hand and lighten our weary load.
Dream on, little moon.
Bleed into the daylight.
Wrap us in softness.
Still us from our labors
So that we might hear Truth.
Think you to carry the magic of your realm
into the vibrant day?
See you not the world bathed in light
Cast from the fiery hand of your strong brother,
That same orb of which you are a mere shadow, a vapor?
What good your pale print against bright blue sky?
Can your dreams persuade workers from their destiny?
Blush for shame.
Step aside for magnificence.
Quietly disappear and let reality show the way.
Still,
There is need for dreams to enchant our misery.
Tantalize us from our stupor.
Perhaps in our sleep we build the necessary castles
To sustain our blistered hand and lighten our weary load.
Dream on, little moon.
Bleed into the daylight.
Wrap us in softness.
Still us from our labors
So that we might hear Truth.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Daytime Sleep Study
How lucky I am to be given the gift of a day for reading. I know most people would watch TV or play on the internet or talk on the phone. After all, being a prisoner in a closed up room makes you want to escape somehow. Maybe not everyone is a claustrophobic as I am. I've tried to explain to people how I believe I got this way, but mostly no one gets it.
I remember when I was a little girl and our family went to visit the Alcoa Aluminum factory in Quebec, Canada. First of all, stopping at customs was a bit scary for someone under the age of ten. Dad told us in no uncertain terms to be Quiet. Not a peep. His serious tone of voice got our attention. The guards, their uniforms, the heavy accented questions, the flashlights shined in our eyes - it was all intimidated to say the least. After the border incident, we drove on in the gathering darkness of a winter's evening.
We smelled the factory long before we arrived. The sulfur was so thick in the air it turned the streetlight glow a dusky yellow. I put my hand over my nose and mouth and tried to breathe as shallow as I could. My brothers and sisters and I, crammed in the back end of a station wagon (way before seat belts even existed) caught little glimpses of a grid of lights, spires of white smoke, huge squat buildings, gates. All that was missing were barking dogs on leashes sniffing out escapees.
Dad parked and we held hands as we tremblingly entered the windowless building and stood in a tiny vestibule where we were greeted by our tour guide, a fat hairy man with pudgy cheeks and a loud voice. After a l-o-n-g and boring speech about subjects I was not interested in, we moved through a heavy metal door into a huge warehouse filled with noisy machines. The guide yelled over the din while I covered my ears and stared at the filthy concrete floor. The smell was horrible - worse than it had been outside.
Somehow Dad and I got separated from the rest of the family. I was terrified that we were lost and might never make it back to the safety of the car. Perhaps my brothers and sisters had already fallen into one of those noisy whirling smelly vats that seemed to vibrate my entire body. I grabbed my father's hand and began crying. There was no way I wanted to go further. I only wanted to go back the way we had come, through the tiny vestibule and outside to find my siblings, and to climb in our car and go home.
Dad dragged me forward as the tour moved deeper and deeper into the factory. Dad found the whole tour fascinating. He couldn't hear me crying, didn't see my distress. When the guide opened yet another door and all I could see was darkness, all I could hear was more noise than ever, and even the smell got stronger, I sat down and refused to budge. I knew that if I went into that room, I would pass out from all the overwhelming assaults on my senses. I would probably die right there, in the middle of the aluminum factory, and my Dad wouldn't even know until he got outside and counted noses.
Dad leaned down. I tried to tell him how frightened I was. I tried to explain that I would die if I had to go any further into this horrid place. But he saw no harm from continuing, so he dragged me by the hand through the door into that dark room. My heart was pounding. My breath came in short gasps. The room was small and all the adults crowded together. On the far side of the room I could see flames orange and red shooting from the maw of a brink wall. The guide talked on and on. Everyone smiled and nodded. I almost threw up.
Dad just kept pulling me from room to room to room, all of them oppressively sulfur stenched, and packed with huge machinery that knocked, banged and made grinding sounds. Suddenly, without warning, we stepped through another door and found ourselves outdoors. Tour over. No pounding noises. No clanging machines. No shouting. Just clear sky overhead with friendly stars twinkling. Granted, the sulphur smell was still overpowering, but I could breathe! I could let go of my father's hand and wipe the tears from my eyes. My brothers and sisters rushed over to ask where we had been.
For once, I could not say a word. My constant stream of chatter was dried up. I wanted to shout "Don't ever shut me in like that again," but all I could do was wobble over to the car and climb in. I practically kissed the ground.
Once you have been shut in like that and scared good and hard, you don't ever want to be cooped up again. Curtains have to be open. Light must come into every room. Windows need to be large and filled with green trees and grassy areas. No boxed in areas are acceptable. You must be able to escape quickly into the great outdoors.
My daytime sleep aide does not know this about me, of course. He must think me strange. After every nap where he carefully draws the dark curtains, I rise and the first thing I do is open the curtains and stand there for long moments, reassuring myself that I am still connected with the world.
I remember when I was a little girl and our family went to visit the Alcoa Aluminum factory in Quebec, Canada. First of all, stopping at customs was a bit scary for someone under the age of ten. Dad told us in no uncertain terms to be Quiet. Not a peep. His serious tone of voice got our attention. The guards, their uniforms, the heavy accented questions, the flashlights shined in our eyes - it was all intimidated to say the least. After the border incident, we drove on in the gathering darkness of a winter's evening.
We smelled the factory long before we arrived. The sulfur was so thick in the air it turned the streetlight glow a dusky yellow. I put my hand over my nose and mouth and tried to breathe as shallow as I could. My brothers and sisters and I, crammed in the back end of a station wagon (way before seat belts even existed) caught little glimpses of a grid of lights, spires of white smoke, huge squat buildings, gates. All that was missing were barking dogs on leashes sniffing out escapees.
Dad parked and we held hands as we tremblingly entered the windowless building and stood in a tiny vestibule where we were greeted by our tour guide, a fat hairy man with pudgy cheeks and a loud voice. After a l-o-n-g and boring speech about subjects I was not interested in, we moved through a heavy metal door into a huge warehouse filled with noisy machines. The guide yelled over the din while I covered my ears and stared at the filthy concrete floor. The smell was horrible - worse than it had been outside.
Somehow Dad and I got separated from the rest of the family. I was terrified that we were lost and might never make it back to the safety of the car. Perhaps my brothers and sisters had already fallen into one of those noisy whirling smelly vats that seemed to vibrate my entire body. I grabbed my father's hand and began crying. There was no way I wanted to go further. I only wanted to go back the way we had come, through the tiny vestibule and outside to find my siblings, and to climb in our car and go home.
Dad dragged me forward as the tour moved deeper and deeper into the factory. Dad found the whole tour fascinating. He couldn't hear me crying, didn't see my distress. When the guide opened yet another door and all I could see was darkness, all I could hear was more noise than ever, and even the smell got stronger, I sat down and refused to budge. I knew that if I went into that room, I would pass out from all the overwhelming assaults on my senses. I would probably die right there, in the middle of the aluminum factory, and my Dad wouldn't even know until he got outside and counted noses.
Dad leaned down. I tried to tell him how frightened I was. I tried to explain that I would die if I had to go any further into this horrid place. But he saw no harm from continuing, so he dragged me by the hand through the door into that dark room. My heart was pounding. My breath came in short gasps. The room was small and all the adults crowded together. On the far side of the room I could see flames orange and red shooting from the maw of a brink wall. The guide talked on and on. Everyone smiled and nodded. I almost threw up.
Dad just kept pulling me from room to room to room, all of them oppressively sulfur stenched, and packed with huge machinery that knocked, banged and made grinding sounds. Suddenly, without warning, we stepped through another door and found ourselves outdoors. Tour over. No pounding noises. No clanging machines. No shouting. Just clear sky overhead with friendly stars twinkling. Granted, the sulphur smell was still overpowering, but I could breathe! I could let go of my father's hand and wipe the tears from my eyes. My brothers and sisters rushed over to ask where we had been.
For once, I could not say a word. My constant stream of chatter was dried up. I wanted to shout "Don't ever shut me in like that again," but all I could do was wobble over to the car and climb in. I practically kissed the ground.
Once you have been shut in like that and scared good and hard, you don't ever want to be cooped up again. Curtains have to be open. Light must come into every room. Windows need to be large and filled with green trees and grassy areas. No boxed in areas are acceptable. You must be able to escape quickly into the great outdoors.
My daytime sleep aide does not know this about me, of course. He must think me strange. After every nap where he carefully draws the dark curtains, I rise and the first thing I do is open the curtains and stand there for long moments, reassuring myself that I am still connected with the world.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Nighttime Sleep Study
Show up at 7:30 pm with a 2 piece pajama and any medicine you need. Sounds pretty simple. But in reality, sleeping has become quite the ritual of pillow placement and angle elevation for me of late. So I drag along the various pillows that enable me to get comfy enough to sleep, and an entire bookbag of reading that I need to accomplish. At least I can appreciate using the time productively if I have to be here almost 24 hours.
The staff are very welcoming, greet me at the front door and show me to my "suite." I am surprised that the person who will be assisting me is male, but I guess that will work. Its a bit creepy thinking that anyone will watch me snore and drool. He explains the drill and tells me he will be back around 9 pm to wire me up and tuck me in.
I unpack, slip into a tee shirt and pair of shorts (I always sleep in a nightgown - this is weird), and crawl into bed to read. There is no comfortable sitting chair in the room. Too soon, my aide returns and the process begins. He glues wires to my head in various places, alongside my eyes, on my legs with wires that run up over my shoulder, across my chest. I get a nose plug with thermometers to measure the temperature of the air coming from my nose and my mouth. Do they really think anyone can sleep with all this stuff stuck to them?
Here we go. He exits the room, assuring me that if I need anything, I only have to call his name and he will come. He can talk to me if he needs to, and will be watching me via camera with infrared light. Interesting. I go through my normal contortions of trying to get comfortable. One pillow between my knees, one under my arm, the head elevated just so, the foot dangling over the side of the bed. Nothing can touch any other part of my body.
Now I lie still and hope for the hurting to stop. Unfortunately, I have to go to the bathroom, so I call my friend and take care of that. Then the whole process begins again - pillow placement and body alignment and the waiting. It takes much longer tonight - probably the additional stressors. I know I have just about drifted off when I get hit with a coughing spell.
This is my radiation cough thing. There is nothing really there, but my body thinks there is. I sit bolt upright and my aide comes in to see if he can assist. An hour later, after retucking and hurting, I finally fall asleep exhausted, only to wake up because I have to go to the bathroom. Hum. Its going to be a long night. If I get 4 hours of sleep I will be doing well. Good thing they are keeping me all tomorrow and letting me sleep on and off.
It does drive me crazy that they insist on making the room dark. I usually sleep with my curtains open. I prefer the moonlight. Besides, my body is very in tune with the rhythms of the day and night. If I cannot see the sun and moon, my body will get off kilter! At least in the day between forced naps, they let me open the curtain. Still, I spend the day in bed reading because there really isn't any place to sit comfortably.
For the most part, I do not sleep during the enforced nap times. It turns out to be a nice break from the reading, but no real sleep. At last, 5 pm rolls around and I am released to go home. Can you believe it? I am exhausted! Who knew that sleeping all day could make you so tired. At least in my own cozy warm room with the blinds fully raised and the moonlight comfortingly shining, I can get the right pillow placement. I drift off happily, so glad to be in my own bed.
The staff are very welcoming, greet me at the front door and show me to my "suite." I am surprised that the person who will be assisting me is male, but I guess that will work. Its a bit creepy thinking that anyone will watch me snore and drool. He explains the drill and tells me he will be back around 9 pm to wire me up and tuck me in.
I unpack, slip into a tee shirt and pair of shorts (I always sleep in a nightgown - this is weird), and crawl into bed to read. There is no comfortable sitting chair in the room. Too soon, my aide returns and the process begins. He glues wires to my head in various places, alongside my eyes, on my legs with wires that run up over my shoulder, across my chest. I get a nose plug with thermometers to measure the temperature of the air coming from my nose and my mouth. Do they really think anyone can sleep with all this stuff stuck to them?
Here we go. He exits the room, assuring me that if I need anything, I only have to call his name and he will come. He can talk to me if he needs to, and will be watching me via camera with infrared light. Interesting. I go through my normal contortions of trying to get comfortable. One pillow between my knees, one under my arm, the head elevated just so, the foot dangling over the side of the bed. Nothing can touch any other part of my body.
Now I lie still and hope for the hurting to stop. Unfortunately, I have to go to the bathroom, so I call my friend and take care of that. Then the whole process begins again - pillow placement and body alignment and the waiting. It takes much longer tonight - probably the additional stressors. I know I have just about drifted off when I get hit with a coughing spell.
This is my radiation cough thing. There is nothing really there, but my body thinks there is. I sit bolt upright and my aide comes in to see if he can assist. An hour later, after retucking and hurting, I finally fall asleep exhausted, only to wake up because I have to go to the bathroom. Hum. Its going to be a long night. If I get 4 hours of sleep I will be doing well. Good thing they are keeping me all tomorrow and letting me sleep on and off.
It does drive me crazy that they insist on making the room dark. I usually sleep with my curtains open. I prefer the moonlight. Besides, my body is very in tune with the rhythms of the day and night. If I cannot see the sun and moon, my body will get off kilter! At least in the day between forced naps, they let me open the curtain. Still, I spend the day in bed reading because there really isn't any place to sit comfortably.
For the most part, I do not sleep during the enforced nap times. It turns out to be a nice break from the reading, but no real sleep. At last, 5 pm rolls around and I am released to go home. Can you believe it? I am exhausted! Who knew that sleeping all day could make you so tired. At least in my own cozy warm room with the blinds fully raised and the moonlight comfortingly shining, I can get the right pillow placement. I drift off happily, so glad to be in my own bed.
Monday, October 17, 2011
A Good Cup of Hot Tea
Tea is on my no-no list right now. Black, green, white - all off limits. The tanic acid is too drying to my damaged vocal cords. I sometimes drink herbal teas that don't have the drying effect, but I miss my good old Ginger Green, English Breakfast, Earl Grey, Lady Grey, Peach Black teas. For the most part, if I want a hot drink, I have been just heating water and drinking it warm and plain. But it's not the same.
Today I decide to go for a good, robust, flavor-filled hot drink of real tea. Ahhhhh!!! I drool over the choices and finally decide to go for the Peach Black. I start with cold water, heat to just the right hotness, immerse the forbidden teabag and watch the water turn warm brown with just a hint of orange. I inhale the steamy aroma, breathing deeply past my constant cough. Delightful.
I take a test sip, holding the liquid warmth in my mouth, letting the full impact bathe my tongue, cheeks and palate. Ooooooohhh, so good. I swallow, and feel the warmth caress my uvula, then slide down my throat and into my tummy. I practically shiver with delight. What a welcome treat. I enfold the mug in my hands, letting the warmth seep into my bones while the steam fogs my glasses. My whole body relaxes.
I finally tear myself from my libation, set the mug on my cup warmer, and go back to work. Every few minutes, I reward myself with a sip. I know I will pay for this later with a coughing spell, but I deem it worth the trouble every once in awhile.
Today I decide to go for a good, robust, flavor-filled hot drink of real tea. Ahhhhh!!! I drool over the choices and finally decide to go for the Peach Black. I start with cold water, heat to just the right hotness, immerse the forbidden teabag and watch the water turn warm brown with just a hint of orange. I inhale the steamy aroma, breathing deeply past my constant cough. Delightful.
I take a test sip, holding the liquid warmth in my mouth, letting the full impact bathe my tongue, cheeks and palate. Ooooooohhh, so good. I swallow, and feel the warmth caress my uvula, then slide down my throat and into my tummy. I practically shiver with delight. What a welcome treat. I enfold the mug in my hands, letting the warmth seep into my bones while the steam fogs my glasses. My whole body relaxes.
I finally tear myself from my libation, set the mug on my cup warmer, and go back to work. Every few minutes, I reward myself with a sip. I know I will pay for this later with a coughing spell, but I deem it worth the trouble every once in awhile.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Sermonizing
I don't think of myself as a preacher. But this semester I am taking a class on preaching, so I have asked around for opportunities to practice. College Green, a local senior apartment complex, holds a Vespers service on Sunday evenings, and I was fortunate to be included on their schedule.
That was the easy part. Now I have to come up with a sermon! I have been reading about how to preach but have only actually given a sermon a handful of times. Much more of my ministry involves pastoral care kinds of activities. The books say talk about something you are wrestling with. What am I wrestling with? Well, how to help Mom for one thing. How do you minister to someone who doesn't want you to talk to them?
I gave that some thought and prayer. Here is what I ended up saying:
One of God’s Plans for Dealing with Depression
As a cancer survivor, I see my oncologist on a regular basis. One of the questions she asks me from time to time is whether I am depressed. I always say, “I don’t think so.” And she always responds “If you are depressed, you are the happiest, most upbeat depressed person I know.”
According to the American Medical Association, upwards of 15% of the population in the United States feels depressed.
I know someone like that. Her name is Lillian, and tonight I want to share her story with you.
Lillian became a Christian in her teens, attended a Bible College, married a pastor, raised a family, helped build the family house, and faithfully attended church for nearly 60 years of marriage. Every night, she and her husband had devotions together and kept a journal of their prayers. Lillian was a powerful prayer warrior and saw the Lord answer her prayers, often in miraculous ways.
Then one day her husband was diagnosed with cancer and passed away a few weeks later at the age of 86. For awhile, Lillian’s children marveled at how well she was handling her loss.
Then one day, Lillian said “Why am I here? I have served my purpose, raised my family, took care of my husband. There is nothing left for me to do. I’m just marking time. Why can’t I go home and be with the Lord.”
She stopped being interested in bird watching and reading and quilting, things she once enjoyed. She sits in her chair day after day refusing to engage with life, waiting to die.
It’s difficult to watch someone go through such an experience. Lillian’s children tried everything they could to help her. They took her to psychiatrists and psychologists and geriatric specialists who did their best, but could not touch Lillian’s grief.
They tried pastoral counseling and Christian counselors to no avail. Each of her children talked with her, trying to find the words that would help her snap out of her misery and rejoin life.
I couldn’t help but wonder where God was in all of this. Surely the Bible could offer words of wisdom we could say that would help us reach Lillian and return her joy of living. As I prayed about Lillian’s situation, God led me to this story in I Kings 19.
Let me set it up for you. I'm sure you know the story. Elijah had prayed for a severe drought. It lasted 3 years. Finally he confronted the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel. He called down fire from heaven to completely consume a water-drenched sacrifice, wood, bull, stones and all, proving to the people of Israel beyond a shadow of doubt that God is real and powerful and worthy of worship. Because of his boldness, God’s people fell on their face, repented and proclaimed the Lord as their God.
Elijah killed 850 false prophets who had misled the people to serve Baal and Asherah, and then he caused the drought to end through fervent prayer. The power of God came over Elijah and he ran faster than the king’s horse-drawn chariot down the mountain.
In spite of all that amazing victory, when Jezebel, whose prophets had been killed, threatened to kill him, Elijah ran away scared. So in I Kings 19 starting in verse 3 we read:
3“When he came to Beersheba in Judah, he left his servant there,
4 while he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness. He came to a broom bush, sat down under it and prayed that he might die. “I have had enough, LORD,” he said. “Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.”
5 Then he lay down under the bush and fell asleep. All at once an angel touched him and said, “Get up and eat.”
6 He looked around, and there by his head was some bread baked over hot coals, and a jar of water. He ate and drank and then lay down again.
7 The angel of the LORD came back a second time and touched him and said, “Get up and eat, for the journey is too much for you.”
8 So he got up and ate and drank. Strengthened by that food, he traveled forty days and forty nights until he reached Horeb, the mountain of God.
9 There he went into a cave and spent the night. And the word of the LORD came to him.”
Notice how Elijah isolated himself from those who could have encouraged and supported him. First, he was convinced that he was the only person left who served God. He says in verse 10 “The Israelites have rejected your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left.”
Then we hear that he left his faithful servant behind and purposely headed out into the wilderness. It is almost as if Elijah wanted to pout and be miserable.
Lillian has done the same thing. She has cut herself off from everyone. She doesn’t want to get letters or take phone calls or be visited by friends or family. She stopped going to church.
Once Elijah was alone, out where there would be no chance of anyone intervening, out where there were no distractions, no comforts, no provisions, out where he could be as miserable on the outside as he felt on the inside, he spoke the bottom line out loud.
He said what was really bothering him. “God, why don’t you just let me die? I’ve had enough. I’m tired. I’ve done more than my share, and without any help, thank you very much. It hasn’t made any difference anyway. That old Jezebel is still in power. The people are fickle and soon they’ll be right back to worship Baal.
What good is anything I have done, anyways? The world moves on and I am left out, a relic of an era long past. I’m not doing any good. Just taking up space, breathing air someone else could use. Go on. Take me home. Let me be done.”
It must have felt good to get the weight of all that off his chest. It was such a relief to be open and honest about his discouragement, that immediately afterwards he fell asleep. No more worrying or fretting or stewing. He had cast his burden on God, laid all his ugly cards on the table, then, exhausted, he gave in to his depression and slept.
Lillian has not yet reached the place where she can say her honest feelings to God, confident that God will still love and care for her. Hopefully she will be able to come to that place.
God’s reaction to Elijah’s tantrum? Thunderbolts? Condemnation? Reproach? Not at all.
First, he began by addressing the isolation. He sent someone to minister to Elijah. In this case, it was an angel who touched him. There is something about physical contact that is so soothing and comforting. It helps us know we are not alone.
Second, the angel saw to Elijah’s physical needs. He baked Elijah some bread and provided, even in this barren wilderness, refreshing water.
If Elijah had really wanted to die, I suspect he would have refused the sustenance. But he got up, ate and drank, and lay down again.
Sometimes the best antidote for depression is food and rest provided by the hand of someone who job it is just to care for us. One of Lillian’s daughter’s has become the nurturer for Lillian, seeing to her physical needs and giving her permission to rest.
Neither God nor the angel told Elijah that he needed to immerse himself in God’s promises, or that he ought to know better than to behave in such a childish way, or that it is sinful to wish to be dead. Nothing about Elijah’s spiritual state is addressed by God’s actions. No preaching. No condemnation.
God didn’t send him a self help book or tell him to pull himself up by the bootstraps and quit acting like a dope. God didn’t say “You are a King’s Son. Act like one.”
God’s response indicates that a display of loving care is needed for someone so discouraged. It is normal and natural to be in such a state.
Like a loving parent picks up and carries a toddler who has worn himself out at the playground, God nurtures his prophet with kindness, hospitality, and patience.
The angel returns a second time to feed Elijah. It takes time and continual ministration of love to help someone move beyond a state of depression, of thinking that their life is worthless, that all their work for the kingdom has left no mark.
Thank goodness God is in the restoration business. Psalm 23 tells us that our Shepherd restores our soul by providing for our needs, by leading us in green pastures and beside still waters, just as He is doing here with Elijah.
This time, just a hint of solution to the situation is mentioned. The angel tells Elijah that the Journey is too much for him unless he takes the second round of provision. Journey? What journey?
Elijah begins to realize that he is not just running away on his own whim. God is with him, and has a destination in mind. How good it must have felt to realize that God had not abandoned him.
Elijah’s journey took 40 days and 40 nights. Elijah, in a slightly better place but not yet out of the woods, walks on and on and on finding neither resolution nor answers. He knows he is out of the line of fire, safe but far from happy.
Elijah’s destination is Horeb, the Mountain of God. This is the important part of the story, the part where God asks something of Elijah now that he has regained some stamina. God’s request was simple. Come to me. This is the third step in God’s plan. God always wants his children to come to him when things are not right.
After finally arriving, and after a good night’s rest, at long last, Elijah is ready to hear what God will say. And what does God say?
This is the fourth step. He asks Elijah to repeat the question. And then, God listens. This is not just some mean poking at a person when he is down or a psychological ploy. God is interested in what Elijah has to say. This is Jeremiah 33:3 “Call unto me and I will show you great and marvelous things.”
Notice Elijah’s statement of the issue. It has changed. No longer does he say let me die because everything I have ever done for you has been pointless. Rather his question is couched in more hopeful terms.
He says, “I’ve been zealous for you. Israel has rejected you and killed your prophets. I am the only one faithful to you, and they are trying to kill me.”
This implies “So, what are you going to do, God?” This is less focused on Elijah, less about Jezebel’s threat, less about the effectiveness of Elijah’s work and more about God.
Once Elijah hears himself ask the question honestly, God still does not give him a three point outline, or 7 steps to victory, or some lengthy lecture. What does God do? He simply says “Elijah, go stand in my presence. Come out of the cave, stand on the mountain of God, and be where I am.” Period.
One simple thing. But Elijah can’t do it. He still wasn’t ready to hear. He does not go out of the cave.
God sends wind strong enough to shatter rocks. Earthquakes. Fires. Wow. Impressive and maybe a bit scary. But none of that touched Elijah’s heart. He could not be forced to listen and more than Lillian’s children can make her listen.
It wasn’t until things quieted down that Elijah finally went out of the cave into the presence of God. The Bible tells us that he pulled his cloak over his face, perhaps in recognition that he was unworthy to stand in the presence of God. Perhaps because of his overwhelming pain. Perhaps because he can’t bring himself to see anybody else yet.
Now God asks the question again, face to face. How much better it is to talk to someone in person! To be able to see their reactions and read their body language.
What are you doing here, Elijah? Can he see that God cares and is seriously interested in what Elijah is dealing with? Once again, Elijah states his case. “God, I have always loved and served you. But the world has changed. It’s not a friendly place anymore. I feel like my life is over. I feel like it’s all been a waste of time and energy, what I have done with my life.”
Hear what God said to Elijah: “Go back the way you came, and go to the Desert of Damascus. When you get there, anoint Hazael king over Aram. 16 Also, anoint Jehu son of Nimshi king over Israel, and anoint Elisha son of Shaphat from Abel Meholah to succeed you as prophet.
17 Jehu will put to death any who escape the sword of Hazael, and Elisha will put to death any who escape the sword of Jehu.
18 Yet I reserve seven thousand in Israel—all whose knees have not bowed down to Baal and whose mouths have not kissed him.”
God’s Steps to helping Elijah out of his depression?
First, he was with Elijah and sent him someone to minister to him.
Second, he fed Elijah and helped him rest.
Third, he invited Elijah to come into his presence.
Fourth, God listened to him.
Here is the fifth thing God does. He puts things in perspective with eternity, and gives Elijah both encouragement and an assignment.
Turns out his life is not over. There is work to do. Important work. Maybe not mountaintop Baal- worshiper-destruction and massive conversion miracles. But kingdom work all the same.
He shows Elijah the future, that a new king is on the way in. That the opposition will be taken care of. That a new prophet will take up the work Elijah has been doing and provide him with years of close companionship. And most of all, he shows Elijah that he is not alone because there are still 7,000 who love and serve God in the land.
I think of a friend of mine, Kathleen Merry. She and I were both battling cancer in 2005. We both had bouts when we were able to do little more than just lie on the couch and breathe.
Kathleen wrote about how helpless she felt that she could not care for her family or even handle her own basic needs. She thought she was useless and a terrible burden to everyone. But the Lord reminded her that she could pray. She had lots of time to pray. More than others. And pray she did with fervor unmatched.
What about Lillian? I cannot do anything to fix her situation. I cannot give her any magic words that will snap her out of her depression. But God can help her. It will take time and love, both of which God showers on Lillian every day even though she does not yet see it.
Lillian is being fed and cared for, she is resting. She is plodding through the wilderness on her long journey to the mountain of God. I know now that there is nothing I or anyone else can say or do to address her depression. But I see that God deeply cares for Lillian and is working with her, restoring her, loving her.
When she is ready to listen to God, she will hear his love and encouragement, see things from God’s eternal perspective and know that her work is not yet done. God still has important things for her to do. God will help her understand.
I entrust Lillian to God’s care daily in prayer and hope she comes through her wilderness quickly. I know that God cares about Lillian because Lillian is his daughter. I care about Lillian because Lillian is my Mom.
Amen.
That was the easy part. Now I have to come up with a sermon! I have been reading about how to preach but have only actually given a sermon a handful of times. Much more of my ministry involves pastoral care kinds of activities. The books say talk about something you are wrestling with. What am I wrestling with? Well, how to help Mom for one thing. How do you minister to someone who doesn't want you to talk to them?
I gave that some thought and prayer. Here is what I ended up saying:
One of God’s Plans for Dealing with Depression
As a cancer survivor, I see my oncologist on a regular basis. One of the questions she asks me from time to time is whether I am depressed. I always say, “I don’t think so.” And she always responds “If you are depressed, you are the happiest, most upbeat depressed person I know.”
According to the American Medical Association, upwards of 15% of the population in the United States feels depressed.
I know someone like that. Her name is Lillian, and tonight I want to share her story with you.
Lillian became a Christian in her teens, attended a Bible College, married a pastor, raised a family, helped build the family house, and faithfully attended church for nearly 60 years of marriage. Every night, she and her husband had devotions together and kept a journal of their prayers. Lillian was a powerful prayer warrior and saw the Lord answer her prayers, often in miraculous ways.
Then one day her husband was diagnosed with cancer and passed away a few weeks later at the age of 86. For awhile, Lillian’s children marveled at how well she was handling her loss.
Then one day, Lillian said “Why am I here? I have served my purpose, raised my family, took care of my husband. There is nothing left for me to do. I’m just marking time. Why can’t I go home and be with the Lord.”
She stopped being interested in bird watching and reading and quilting, things she once enjoyed. She sits in her chair day after day refusing to engage with life, waiting to die.
It’s difficult to watch someone go through such an experience. Lillian’s children tried everything they could to help her. They took her to psychiatrists and psychologists and geriatric specialists who did their best, but could not touch Lillian’s grief.
They tried pastoral counseling and Christian counselors to no avail. Each of her children talked with her, trying to find the words that would help her snap out of her misery and rejoin life.
I couldn’t help but wonder where God was in all of this. Surely the Bible could offer words of wisdom we could say that would help us reach Lillian and return her joy of living. As I prayed about Lillian’s situation, God led me to this story in I Kings 19.
Let me set it up for you. I'm sure you know the story. Elijah had prayed for a severe drought. It lasted 3 years. Finally he confronted the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel. He called down fire from heaven to completely consume a water-drenched sacrifice, wood, bull, stones and all, proving to the people of Israel beyond a shadow of doubt that God is real and powerful and worthy of worship. Because of his boldness, God’s people fell on their face, repented and proclaimed the Lord as their God.
Elijah killed 850 false prophets who had misled the people to serve Baal and Asherah, and then he caused the drought to end through fervent prayer. The power of God came over Elijah and he ran faster than the king’s horse-drawn chariot down the mountain.
In spite of all that amazing victory, when Jezebel, whose prophets had been killed, threatened to kill him, Elijah ran away scared. So in I Kings 19 starting in verse 3 we read:
3“When he came to Beersheba in Judah, he left his servant there,
4 while he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness. He came to a broom bush, sat down under it and prayed that he might die. “I have had enough, LORD,” he said. “Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.”
5 Then he lay down under the bush and fell asleep. All at once an angel touched him and said, “Get up and eat.”
6 He looked around, and there by his head was some bread baked over hot coals, and a jar of water. He ate and drank and then lay down again.
7 The angel of the LORD came back a second time and touched him and said, “Get up and eat, for the journey is too much for you.”
8 So he got up and ate and drank. Strengthened by that food, he traveled forty days and forty nights until he reached Horeb, the mountain of God.
9 There he went into a cave and spent the night. And the word of the LORD came to him.”
Notice how Elijah isolated himself from those who could have encouraged and supported him. First, he was convinced that he was the only person left who served God. He says in verse 10 “The Israelites have rejected your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left.”
Then we hear that he left his faithful servant behind and purposely headed out into the wilderness. It is almost as if Elijah wanted to pout and be miserable.
Lillian has done the same thing. She has cut herself off from everyone. She doesn’t want to get letters or take phone calls or be visited by friends or family. She stopped going to church.
Once Elijah was alone, out where there would be no chance of anyone intervening, out where there were no distractions, no comforts, no provisions, out where he could be as miserable on the outside as he felt on the inside, he spoke the bottom line out loud.
He said what was really bothering him. “God, why don’t you just let me die? I’ve had enough. I’m tired. I’ve done more than my share, and without any help, thank you very much. It hasn’t made any difference anyway. That old Jezebel is still in power. The people are fickle and soon they’ll be right back to worship Baal.
What good is anything I have done, anyways? The world moves on and I am left out, a relic of an era long past. I’m not doing any good. Just taking up space, breathing air someone else could use. Go on. Take me home. Let me be done.”
It must have felt good to get the weight of all that off his chest. It was such a relief to be open and honest about his discouragement, that immediately afterwards he fell asleep. No more worrying or fretting or stewing. He had cast his burden on God, laid all his ugly cards on the table, then, exhausted, he gave in to his depression and slept.
Lillian has not yet reached the place where she can say her honest feelings to God, confident that God will still love and care for her. Hopefully she will be able to come to that place.
God’s reaction to Elijah’s tantrum? Thunderbolts? Condemnation? Reproach? Not at all.
First, he began by addressing the isolation. He sent someone to minister to Elijah. In this case, it was an angel who touched him. There is something about physical contact that is so soothing and comforting. It helps us know we are not alone.
Second, the angel saw to Elijah’s physical needs. He baked Elijah some bread and provided, even in this barren wilderness, refreshing water.
If Elijah had really wanted to die, I suspect he would have refused the sustenance. But he got up, ate and drank, and lay down again.
Sometimes the best antidote for depression is food and rest provided by the hand of someone who job it is just to care for us. One of Lillian’s daughter’s has become the nurturer for Lillian, seeing to her physical needs and giving her permission to rest.
Neither God nor the angel told Elijah that he needed to immerse himself in God’s promises, or that he ought to know better than to behave in such a childish way, or that it is sinful to wish to be dead. Nothing about Elijah’s spiritual state is addressed by God’s actions. No preaching. No condemnation.
God didn’t send him a self help book or tell him to pull himself up by the bootstraps and quit acting like a dope. God didn’t say “You are a King’s Son. Act like one.”
God’s response indicates that a display of loving care is needed for someone so discouraged. It is normal and natural to be in such a state.
Like a loving parent picks up and carries a toddler who has worn himself out at the playground, God nurtures his prophet with kindness, hospitality, and patience.
The angel returns a second time to feed Elijah. It takes time and continual ministration of love to help someone move beyond a state of depression, of thinking that their life is worthless, that all their work for the kingdom has left no mark.
Thank goodness God is in the restoration business. Psalm 23 tells us that our Shepherd restores our soul by providing for our needs, by leading us in green pastures and beside still waters, just as He is doing here with Elijah.
This time, just a hint of solution to the situation is mentioned. The angel tells Elijah that the Journey is too much for him unless he takes the second round of provision. Journey? What journey?
Elijah begins to realize that he is not just running away on his own whim. God is with him, and has a destination in mind. How good it must have felt to realize that God had not abandoned him.
Elijah’s journey took 40 days and 40 nights. Elijah, in a slightly better place but not yet out of the woods, walks on and on and on finding neither resolution nor answers. He knows he is out of the line of fire, safe but far from happy.
Elijah’s destination is Horeb, the Mountain of God. This is the important part of the story, the part where God asks something of Elijah now that he has regained some stamina. God’s request was simple. Come to me. This is the third step in God’s plan. God always wants his children to come to him when things are not right.
After finally arriving, and after a good night’s rest, at long last, Elijah is ready to hear what God will say. And what does God say?
This is the fourth step. He asks Elijah to repeat the question. And then, God listens. This is not just some mean poking at a person when he is down or a psychological ploy. God is interested in what Elijah has to say. This is Jeremiah 33:3 “Call unto me and I will show you great and marvelous things.”
Notice Elijah’s statement of the issue. It has changed. No longer does he say let me die because everything I have ever done for you has been pointless. Rather his question is couched in more hopeful terms.
He says, “I’ve been zealous for you. Israel has rejected you and killed your prophets. I am the only one faithful to you, and they are trying to kill me.”
This implies “So, what are you going to do, God?” This is less focused on Elijah, less about Jezebel’s threat, less about the effectiveness of Elijah’s work and more about God.
Once Elijah hears himself ask the question honestly, God still does not give him a three point outline, or 7 steps to victory, or some lengthy lecture. What does God do? He simply says “Elijah, go stand in my presence. Come out of the cave, stand on the mountain of God, and be where I am.” Period.
One simple thing. But Elijah can’t do it. He still wasn’t ready to hear. He does not go out of the cave.
God sends wind strong enough to shatter rocks. Earthquakes. Fires. Wow. Impressive and maybe a bit scary. But none of that touched Elijah’s heart. He could not be forced to listen and more than Lillian’s children can make her listen.
It wasn’t until things quieted down that Elijah finally went out of the cave into the presence of God. The Bible tells us that he pulled his cloak over his face, perhaps in recognition that he was unworthy to stand in the presence of God. Perhaps because of his overwhelming pain. Perhaps because he can’t bring himself to see anybody else yet.
Now God asks the question again, face to face. How much better it is to talk to someone in person! To be able to see their reactions and read their body language.
What are you doing here, Elijah? Can he see that God cares and is seriously interested in what Elijah is dealing with? Once again, Elijah states his case. “God, I have always loved and served you. But the world has changed. It’s not a friendly place anymore. I feel like my life is over. I feel like it’s all been a waste of time and energy, what I have done with my life.”
Hear what God said to Elijah: “Go back the way you came, and go to the Desert of Damascus. When you get there, anoint Hazael king over Aram. 16 Also, anoint Jehu son of Nimshi king over Israel, and anoint Elisha son of Shaphat from Abel Meholah to succeed you as prophet.
17 Jehu will put to death any who escape the sword of Hazael, and Elisha will put to death any who escape the sword of Jehu.
18 Yet I reserve seven thousand in Israel—all whose knees have not bowed down to Baal and whose mouths have not kissed him.”
God’s Steps to helping Elijah out of his depression?
First, he was with Elijah and sent him someone to minister to him.
Second, he fed Elijah and helped him rest.
Third, he invited Elijah to come into his presence.
Fourth, God listened to him.
Here is the fifth thing God does. He puts things in perspective with eternity, and gives Elijah both encouragement and an assignment.
Turns out his life is not over. There is work to do. Important work. Maybe not mountaintop Baal- worshiper-destruction and massive conversion miracles. But kingdom work all the same.
He shows Elijah the future, that a new king is on the way in. That the opposition will be taken care of. That a new prophet will take up the work Elijah has been doing and provide him with years of close companionship. And most of all, he shows Elijah that he is not alone because there are still 7,000 who love and serve God in the land.
I think of a friend of mine, Kathleen Merry. She and I were both battling cancer in 2005. We both had bouts when we were able to do little more than just lie on the couch and breathe.
Kathleen wrote about how helpless she felt that she could not care for her family or even handle her own basic needs. She thought she was useless and a terrible burden to everyone. But the Lord reminded her that she could pray. She had lots of time to pray. More than others. And pray she did with fervor unmatched.
What about Lillian? I cannot do anything to fix her situation. I cannot give her any magic words that will snap her out of her depression. But God can help her. It will take time and love, both of which God showers on Lillian every day even though she does not yet see it.
Lillian is being fed and cared for, she is resting. She is plodding through the wilderness on her long journey to the mountain of God. I know now that there is nothing I or anyone else can say or do to address her depression. But I see that God deeply cares for Lillian and is working with her, restoring her, loving her.
When she is ready to listen to God, she will hear his love and encouragement, see things from God’s eternal perspective and know that her work is not yet done. God still has important things for her to do. God will help her understand.
I entrust Lillian to God’s care daily in prayer and hope she comes through her wilderness quickly. I know that God cares about Lillian because Lillian is his daughter. I care about Lillian because Lillian is my Mom.
Amen.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
A Day With a Mind of Its Own
Nothing on my calendar for today - yeah! I need to catch up with reading assignments. I'm not that far behind, but I really need one good day of concentrated reading. But today will not be that day. It is as if people are conspiring to fill my dance card. And I am happy to oblige.
I begin the day cleaning the house, hoping to get everything germ free and in order. I get half done when I find I need to help a friend. I take care of that, and then I remember that I need to send my grand children Halloween cards. I have picked up some beautiful red leaves to tuck in their cards, and I want to send them out before they turn to dust. Trip to the post office.
I discover my iPhone does not track mailing addresses - how strange - so I have to go to the office to get the zip codes, and I decide I might as well stop at my favorite gift shop and select a fall card for Mom. And browse, of course! Then I get sucked into a myriad of emails I need to respond to, planning for Jairus House, ministry to a cancer patient, pay a few bills, sort through my insurance information, take care of my new semester financial aid - the list seems endless, but I make good progress.
Before I realize it, the day is coming to a close (as well as the library) and I need to get going. So far I have read zilch. But now Drew and I must gather supplies and groceries for the week. By the time we get home, dinner must be fixed and eaten and the clock says a depressing 10 pm. Where has this day disappeared to? I am happy to have completed so many little tasks, but really I need to read. Except that I have been looking forward all week to connecting with my best friend in Michigan, and I realize how late the hour, then remember with joy she is an hour earlier.
I pick up the phone and dial. What a wonderful conversation we have - we always do! Really, I need to call her more often. We close our chat and I head to bed, having not cracked one book nor taken the walk I promised to Drew. Tomorrow perhaps I will get to those things. Right now, lights out.
I begin the day cleaning the house, hoping to get everything germ free and in order. I get half done when I find I need to help a friend. I take care of that, and then I remember that I need to send my grand children Halloween cards. I have picked up some beautiful red leaves to tuck in their cards, and I want to send them out before they turn to dust. Trip to the post office.
I discover my iPhone does not track mailing addresses - how strange - so I have to go to the office to get the zip codes, and I decide I might as well stop at my favorite gift shop and select a fall card for Mom. And browse, of course! Then I get sucked into a myriad of emails I need to respond to, planning for Jairus House, ministry to a cancer patient, pay a few bills, sort through my insurance information, take care of my new semester financial aid - the list seems endless, but I make good progress.
Before I realize it, the day is coming to a close (as well as the library) and I need to get going. So far I have read zilch. But now Drew and I must gather supplies and groceries for the week. By the time we get home, dinner must be fixed and eaten and the clock says a depressing 10 pm. Where has this day disappeared to? I am happy to have completed so many little tasks, but really I need to read. Except that I have been looking forward all week to connecting with my best friend in Michigan, and I realize how late the hour, then remember with joy she is an hour earlier.
I pick up the phone and dial. What a wonderful conversation we have - we always do! Really, I need to call her more often. We close our chat and I head to bed, having not cracked one book nor taken the walk I promised to Drew. Tomorrow perhaps I will get to those things. Right now, lights out.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Concrete Fluff
The light turned red and I slowed to a stop, blinker ticking. Cars on Elmgrove whizz by. Nothing unusual about that. Headed for the Ridge I suppose. In between cars, I noticed something rolling down the road. At first I thought I was seeing things because the moving stuff was the exact color of the road pavement. No, something is definitely moving there. Dragged along by the traffic. What is that stuff?
Pollen? I never heard of gray pollen. It looks a bit like wads of dandelion fluff, but there are massive amounts. There aren't enough dandelions here abouts to create that much fluff. It looks more like the stuff that lines padded envelopes. Sometimes we have one blow up in Interlibrary Loan and the fine gray stuffing gets into every nook and cranny. Yes, it looks like that. I wonder if a FedEx truck blew up.
The light changes. Two more cars zoom by before I am able to turn. Ah! Mystery solved. There in the middle of Elmgrove lies a smashed bag of concrete. It must have fallen off a truck. Part of the paper bag that used to enclose the powder waves forlornly over the drifting mass, as if trying to convince the stuff to stay put. Sure enough, as each car passes the mess, little scraps of the fine powder ball up and roll down the road toward the intersection. Too bad. If Dad were here, he would stop and salvage the leftovers. "Perfectly good," I can almost hear him say. "I can use that."
Perhaps that is what the good Lord says when our lives are in a mess and we find ourselves rolling down the street at the whim of every passing vehicle. He is a master at salvaging busted lives.
I smile and suddenly the sun breaks out of the cloud covering.
Pollen? I never heard of gray pollen. It looks a bit like wads of dandelion fluff, but there are massive amounts. There aren't enough dandelions here abouts to create that much fluff. It looks more like the stuff that lines padded envelopes. Sometimes we have one blow up in Interlibrary Loan and the fine gray stuffing gets into every nook and cranny. Yes, it looks like that. I wonder if a FedEx truck blew up.
The light changes. Two more cars zoom by before I am able to turn. Ah! Mystery solved. There in the middle of Elmgrove lies a smashed bag of concrete. It must have fallen off a truck. Part of the paper bag that used to enclose the powder waves forlornly over the drifting mass, as if trying to convince the stuff to stay put. Sure enough, as each car passes the mess, little scraps of the fine powder ball up and roll down the road toward the intersection. Too bad. If Dad were here, he would stop and salvage the leftovers. "Perfectly good," I can almost hear him say. "I can use that."
Perhaps that is what the good Lord says when our lives are in a mess and we find ourselves rolling down the street at the whim of every passing vehicle. He is a master at salvaging busted lives.
I smile and suddenly the sun breaks out of the cloud covering.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Fellow Traveler
I met with the sleep doctor today. Another test to rule out what is NOT making me feel yukky. We chat for some time about my 8 years of cancer treatments and what that might mean from his perspective. He has treated a number of cancer patients, but my symptoms are not what he normally hears.
It is possible that sleep issues are involved, but he doesn't feel that I have "classic" symptoms. Worth running the tests (thank goodness I have met my deductible and will not have to pay anything out of pocket). He ushers me to the front desk where I sit down to wait for the receptionist to assist me.
We chat while we check calendars, and it turns out she had colon cancer and is on my low fiber, low residue diet (she doesn't mention the no acid part). I ask her what she eats in light of all the restrictions. Here is an opportunity for me to check in with someone who totally understands my dilemma.
She smiles, then says, "Crackers." Really? Yes. She can, like me, eat most meats and white processed bread stuffs. She finds Saltines the most soothing, and we both laugh over episodes of eating forbidden foods that we paid dearly for.
She can't do watermelon - if even the tiniest seed gets through she is in misery. I have had good luck with watermelon so far, but I always get the seedless variety and then am merciless about making sure I only eat the heart where there are no seeds. Not too much because the fiber will get you if you overload.
"So, what else do you eat?" I ask. She thinks for a few minutes, thinking about her recent meals. "Not much. Meat and crackers. Horrible diet. People think I am terrible when I am out in public and I turn down a tossed salad for a roll." I know what she means. I always feel guilty because my diet is so unhealthy. It makes me look like I am undisciplined and uneducated.
Do you know other colon cancer survivors? She does. Quite a few since the disease runs in her family. Their diets have been as restricted as our. She shows me her shoulder. There is an angel tattoo surrounded by different colored stars. She tells me each star is for a family member who has died of cancer. Sisters, parents, siblings, aunts, cousins. Wow. I am sad for her. She is the only one left now. They all died young, but she is my age and has somehow managed to survive. I ask her the secret to her long life. She shrugs. "No idea."
"Maybe its the crackers," I grin.
"Maybe it is," she nods. We will see each other again.
It is possible that sleep issues are involved, but he doesn't feel that I have "classic" symptoms. Worth running the tests (thank goodness I have met my deductible and will not have to pay anything out of pocket). He ushers me to the front desk where I sit down to wait for the receptionist to assist me.
We chat while we check calendars, and it turns out she had colon cancer and is on my low fiber, low residue diet (she doesn't mention the no acid part). I ask her what she eats in light of all the restrictions. Here is an opportunity for me to check in with someone who totally understands my dilemma.
She smiles, then says, "Crackers." Really? Yes. She can, like me, eat most meats and white processed bread stuffs. She finds Saltines the most soothing, and we both laugh over episodes of eating forbidden foods that we paid dearly for.
She can't do watermelon - if even the tiniest seed gets through she is in misery. I have had good luck with watermelon so far, but I always get the seedless variety and then am merciless about making sure I only eat the heart where there are no seeds. Not too much because the fiber will get you if you overload.
"So, what else do you eat?" I ask. She thinks for a few minutes, thinking about her recent meals. "Not much. Meat and crackers. Horrible diet. People think I am terrible when I am out in public and I turn down a tossed salad for a roll." I know what she means. I always feel guilty because my diet is so unhealthy. It makes me look like I am undisciplined and uneducated.
Do you know other colon cancer survivors? She does. Quite a few since the disease runs in her family. Their diets have been as restricted as our. She shows me her shoulder. There is an angel tattoo surrounded by different colored stars. She tells me each star is for a family member who has died of cancer. Sisters, parents, siblings, aunts, cousins. Wow. I am sad for her. She is the only one left now. They all died young, but she is my age and has somehow managed to survive. I ask her the secret to her long life. She shrugs. "No idea."
"Maybe its the crackers," I grin.
"Maybe it is," she nods. We will see each other again.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Farewell
I guess there must be such a thing as a fall rose. This morning I was greeted by beautiful blooms from that same rose bush by the corner of my house that has been so prolific in the summer. I had thought that final rose that appeared at the end of summer would be the last flower for the season, but today I discover not only 2 fully open flowers, but a handful of buds waiting their turn. It is a veritable fireworks display of rosery.
These flowers are even more beautiful than the ones I have enjoyed all summer long. They remind me of the bipolar rose I discovered because the colors are intense, then delicate, then rich, then fragile.
Perhaps they are blooming so beautifully so late because the woman who planted them spent the weekend packing up her belongings and moving. She will not be with us next year. Her daughter took a job in California to be near her boyfriend, and she has found a new love of her life and now that her daughter is gone, she is free to move in with him.
I will miss her quiet gentle smile, her precision in laundry details, her tiny purse sized dog, her lazy window cats, her skill with the flowers about our building. We never got close, but had a number of "over the backyard fence" kind of neighbor chats where you cover a multitude of subjects intensely, then part with a smile.
She was recovering from a broken heart the first year I moved in. So much fallout from divorces. She nursed her wound well, regained her composure and confidence, and didn't wait too long to wade back in. Bravo for her. And the roses are a fitting farewell gesture for the brave woman who nurtured them, the bold summer that encouraged their growth and the blue skies that soon will turn gray. Farewell, one and all.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
The Lady in the Red Pajamas
5:30 AM. Sugar stirs, a low growl coming from her throat. Bad dream? No. She jumps up to the window and peers out into the darkness, the growl growing in intensity. "What's wrong, girl?" I whisper. I scootch over and peer into the darkness. I see nothing amiss. "Go back to sleep."
But Sugar keeps staring out the window. In my sleepy fog, I think someone has turned a radio on. I can hear voices. Sugar whimpers. Its not the radio. Someone is talking. Outside. I carefully kneel by the window and pull aside the lacy curtain. I can hear the voices louder now. I strain to see through the murky morning air, rotating my head from left to right.
There. Standing in the middle of the road. A woman smoking a cigarette. Who is she talking to? I don't see anyone else. I stare at the woman, realizing she is wearing bright red pajamas with cows scattered all over them. Her feet sport fuzzy pink slippers. Her mouth is moving but her words make no sense.
"You better come in now." Who is she talking to? A dog perhaps? Did her pet get away from her? I don't see any animals. "Git home before Bob wakes up." I still see no one. She glances in my direction. I drop down out of sight, embarrassed to be caught evesdropping. I can just see over the window ledge. She is looking at the lawn now, flicking the ashes from her cigarette, brushing her tangled hair from her face. The red of her pajamas is startling in the early gray dawn.
"Who told you that? I don't believe it." She starts walking toward Lyell Avenue. I wonder where she lives. I glance behind her to see if someone will appear, but no one does. Maybe she was talking on the phone and I just couldn't see her headset. She is out of sight now. I can faintly hear her inane comments as she waddles down the street.
Sugar settles down and curls up on the end of the bed, the danger past. I lie down, but sleep is far away, waddling down the street after Red Pajamas, trying to unravel a mystery. What a curious beginning for a Tuesday.
But Sugar keeps staring out the window. In my sleepy fog, I think someone has turned a radio on. I can hear voices. Sugar whimpers. Its not the radio. Someone is talking. Outside. I carefully kneel by the window and pull aside the lacy curtain. I can hear the voices louder now. I strain to see through the murky morning air, rotating my head from left to right.
There. Standing in the middle of the road. A woman smoking a cigarette. Who is she talking to? I don't see anyone else. I stare at the woman, realizing she is wearing bright red pajamas with cows scattered all over them. Her feet sport fuzzy pink slippers. Her mouth is moving but her words make no sense.
"You better come in now." Who is she talking to? A dog perhaps? Did her pet get away from her? I don't see any animals. "Git home before Bob wakes up." I still see no one. She glances in my direction. I drop down out of sight, embarrassed to be caught evesdropping. I can just see over the window ledge. She is looking at the lawn now, flicking the ashes from her cigarette, brushing her tangled hair from her face. The red of her pajamas is startling in the early gray dawn.
"Who told you that? I don't believe it." She starts walking toward Lyell Avenue. I wonder where she lives. I glance behind her to see if someone will appear, but no one does. Maybe she was talking on the phone and I just couldn't see her headset. She is out of sight now. I can faintly hear her inane comments as she waddles down the street.
Sugar settles down and curls up on the end of the bed, the danger past. I lie down, but sleep is far away, waddling down the street after Red Pajamas, trying to unravel a mystery. What a curious beginning for a Tuesday.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Leaf Shower
I step outside with Sugar and am immediately inundated with falling leaves. It has been a lopsided autumn. The little trees outside my bedroom window whose leaves usually turn yellow and drop early in August are still green and hanging on to their leaves.
Last week I saw lots of yellow on trees, but no orange or red. Today the leaves falling on my head are all brown and withered. What a strange unveiling. The leaves continue to sift down during my entire outing with Sugar. We stop at the office so Sugar can sniff the new bales of hay and the scarecrow decorations and pumpkins. I am shocked by the flowerbeds. Just yesterday they were filled with red, pink and white petunias. Today there is only dark brown dirt. Where did all the flowers go (to quote a famous song)?
Fall is getting serious about arriving. Next thing you know, we will be staring at bare branches and brown grass. A squirrel dashes past me, walnut in cheek, scurrying to hide food before the snow. My reverie broken, I call Sugar and we too hurry home.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Break Means More Hours
Today is another glorious day. It would have been wonderful if after church I could have taken another walk in a park. Drew had actually suggested a trip to Letchworth State Park. Turns out they are having their annual miles-long craft show. That would have been grand. But unfortunately, I have to work this afternoon. And in fact, I had to work yesterday after my walk.
It's quiet in the library, but for the graduate students who are not on Fall Reading break, its important that the library be open and available. So here I sit with one student, monitoring the dozen or so people who have need of working on such a glorious day. And in fact, I am able to help with several issues that would have required my input anyways.
I have realized that this weekend is, in fact, Indian summer. The last hurrah of warm weather that we are likely to get before the dreary fall gray and the frozen winter white overtakes the out of doors. It has been a glorious Indian summer. It makes you almost think this reprieve might be repeated in November. I suppose we will not be that fortunate.
I am already thinking about winterizing the car and have unpacked some sweaters and warm jackets. But I can't help thinking about the turtles and swans of yesterday (yes, the mate did show up behind a stand of rushes) floating about in sun lit sparkling water. Surely the lazy days of summer are not that far behind us. Hang on to that memory.
It's quiet in the library, but for the graduate students who are not on Fall Reading break, its important that the library be open and available. So here I sit with one student, monitoring the dozen or so people who have need of working on such a glorious day. And in fact, I am able to help with several issues that would have required my input anyways.
I have realized that this weekend is, in fact, Indian summer. The last hurrah of warm weather that we are likely to get before the dreary fall gray and the frozen winter white overtakes the out of doors. It has been a glorious Indian summer. It makes you almost think this reprieve might be repeated in November. I suppose we will not be that fortunate.
I am already thinking about winterizing the car and have unpacked some sweaters and warm jackets. But I can't help thinking about the turtles and swans of yesterday (yes, the mate did show up behind a stand of rushes) floating about in sun lit sparkling water. Surely the lazy days of summer are not that far behind us. Hang on to that memory.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
A Walk in the Park
It promises to be a gorgeous weekend. Warm and sunny, not too much wind. I am determined to try and get some exercise while the weather cooperates. I know I will not walk unless I go with someone else. It is too easy for me to say I am too tired to go or I don't feel up to it. I call my friend and ask.
Yes! She is free and willing. I don't know where to meet, but she suggests walking the canal from Lake Ontario south. We can meet at Charlotte Beach, then drive to Turning Point Park together. She has walked the trail, and is thinking it might be prettiest there. I agree.
Baby decides to pick today to go on Theft System shutdown. I sit in the car waiting for the warning light to clear. A good fifteen minutes wasted. But at last, after calling my friend to tell her I will be delayed, I am on the way. 390 north is not crowded on this beautiful day, but then I understand why. It is closed due to construction a few miles north. I am detoured halfway back home. Phooey. The cards are stacked against me.
If it weren't for my waiting friend, I would have thrown in the towel and gone home. But I persevere. Then my body decides to have a bathroom needy day. Good thing the bathrooms at the beach are still open. Whew! At last I am ready to walk. We follow my iPhone directions to the park entrance and climb out. The view is gorgeous. We walk down shaded paths to a wooden boardwalk stretching out over the shallow canal. We see a single swan dipping into the muddy water. How odd. Swans usually travel in pairs.
Turtles sun themselves, ducks float nonchalantly, and a lanky heron hides itself in the tall bulrushes. Farther down the canal we can see a huge yacht heading toward us. My friend says that where Turning Point Park got its name. Yachts have to turn around at that place because that is as far as the center is dredged deep enough for passage.
I am wearying. We find a log and rest a bit. My friend is worried. Maybe we should go back. But I press on a bit more before turning around. I can feel the sun biting into my face and arms. I am huffing and red faced. But I know its not my heart. That is in perfect shape. So I slow down. My friend says - "I thought we were already going slow!" Ah, this would be why the boys won't walk with me.
I have seen several dogs here, so I am thinking I can bring Sugar (providing she doesn't jump off the board walk after some critter!). My friend has been exceptionally patient. We have caught up on family doings and career moves for her. I am happy to sit when we get back to the car. That was good. I would like to do that more often. At least its a start. Perhaps I can find other walking friends so I don't aggravate too many people too often with my slow pace and physical ineptness!
Friday, October 7, 2011
Internship
Drew has had a difficult time connecting with the person at Post Central about his internship. His teacher is riding him to meet deadlines and get hooked up. He now has an F because business does not run on school deadlines. The mentor at his place of internship has been traveling and unavailable.
Today, finally, they have a meeting. But there is a transportation issue. This is important enough that I quietly slip away in the afternoon in order to drive him to the meeting. I drop him off, then head to a nearby store to use the facilities. I return to the parking lot just after he has finished his meeting.
He climbs in the car practically glowing. He talks fast and furious. "Mom - you should have seen --- they have all this gear --- they were working on shots from an upcoming movie---doing a commercial for a national chain ---"
On and on he went, drooling over the work, the place, the people, the equipment. He had stepped into a dream world and was overcome with anticipation. It took me forever to wedge in a question about schedule. Turns out he will call them the first week in November and be allowed to shadow after school for awhile. If things go well, later on they might allow him to do some hands on stuff.
He is hoping that he can convince them to keep him on in the summer too. I think he was floating all the way to soccer practice. He so has senioritis! I am happy he is finding what he wants. I just hope he doesn't get too deflated if things don't go the way he is hoping.
Today, finally, they have a meeting. But there is a transportation issue. This is important enough that I quietly slip away in the afternoon in order to drive him to the meeting. I drop him off, then head to a nearby store to use the facilities. I return to the parking lot just after he has finished his meeting.
He climbs in the car practically glowing. He talks fast and furious. "Mom - you should have seen --- they have all this gear --- they were working on shots from an upcoming movie---doing a commercial for a national chain ---"
On and on he went, drooling over the work, the place, the people, the equipment. He had stepped into a dream world and was overcome with anticipation. It took me forever to wedge in a question about schedule. Turns out he will call them the first week in November and be allowed to shadow after school for awhile. If things go well, later on they might allow him to do some hands on stuff.
He is hoping that he can convince them to keep him on in the summer too. I think he was floating all the way to soccer practice. He so has senioritis! I am happy he is finding what he wants. I just hope he doesn't get too deflated if things don't go the way he is hoping.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
New Uniforms
Drew got new soccer uniforms. With three games left to play in his senior year, Drew was happy that the coach had done some research and identified decent uniforms for the boys to purchase. Of course, coach is looking to next year. Not this one. I tried to convince Drew to stick with the old ones for the end of the season. Couldn't he just make do for a few more games?
But I see his excitement, his happiness, his pride in having the good stuff. I guess it sort of helps make the disappointments of the season a bit less painful. After all, they have only won 2 games. They will make it to sectionals, but it has been a hard year for them. Not one in which they were badly defeated. Always just by a point or two and often at the last minute. No matter. They have played well.
It has been a good sport for Drew. He has learned patience, commitment, good sportsmanship, and a surprising amount about how to be a leader. He believes that a team is only as good as their weakest link, and that the best way to deal with that is to come around that weak link and find ways to encourage and support that less athletic person, help them stretch for their potential without making them feel like they are impeding the team, though at the same time giving them a sense of the value - when to be included, when to sit out. Calling for commitment on their part to invoke participation rights.
Not bad. I know many adults who could learn that little lesson. So I invest not in new uniforms, but in the man Drew is turning out to be.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Achy Breaky Legs
Oy! Today and for the last few days my legs have hurt and ached and been touchy. It is as if every inch of bone were inflamed, every muscle tight and often in spasm, every joint swollen. I can't think what might have set things off, but it takes the better part of 2 hours to get comfortable enough to sleep at night.
Hot water bottles don't help. Tylenol is pretty useless. I carefully tuck pillows everywhere, making sure no part of either leg is being touched by anything including blankets. I dangle one foot over the side of the mattress, thankful for the memory foam mattress pad. Once I am in the least painful position, I lie still and endure the throbbing aching misery until my hip says time to roll over.
Then I have to go through the whole pillow placement leg dangling routine again. Sometimes there is just no comfortable position. I give up exasperated, get out of bed and climb back in - often more than once - hoping to renew my chance of finding an acceptable position. Sometimes it works. Sometimes I just rock back and forth until I am able to get peace.
Through it all, my head is in constant prayer. I know God is with me here. I can sense his presence. I mutter verses, prayers, psalms, mantras. I am so tired, but my body has not yet surrendered. I hear the kids in the other rooms watching a movie or playing a board game or fixing a snack. It is good to hear normal life events in progress.
I work my way through my list of names, praying for one and then another who comes to mind. And eventually I drift off and manage to sleep well. In the morning, the pain will be gone - as if it never happened. During the day I will be fine for the most part. Once I head for home, I start feeling the aches. By the time I have finished supper, I am in trouble. I have to retire early. If the night would cooperate, that would be grand.
Hot water bottles don't help. Tylenol is pretty useless. I carefully tuck pillows everywhere, making sure no part of either leg is being touched by anything including blankets. I dangle one foot over the side of the mattress, thankful for the memory foam mattress pad. Once I am in the least painful position, I lie still and endure the throbbing aching misery until my hip says time to roll over.
Then I have to go through the whole pillow placement leg dangling routine again. Sometimes there is just no comfortable position. I give up exasperated, get out of bed and climb back in - often more than once - hoping to renew my chance of finding an acceptable position. Sometimes it works. Sometimes I just rock back and forth until I am able to get peace.
Through it all, my head is in constant prayer. I know God is with me here. I can sense his presence. I mutter verses, prayers, psalms, mantras. I am so tired, but my body has not yet surrendered. I hear the kids in the other rooms watching a movie or playing a board game or fixing a snack. It is good to hear normal life events in progress.
I work my way through my list of names, praying for one and then another who comes to mind. And eventually I drift off and manage to sleep well. In the morning, the pain will be gone - as if it never happened. During the day I will be fine for the most part. Once I head for home, I start feeling the aches. By the time I have finished supper, I am in trouble. I have to retire early. If the night would cooperate, that would be grand.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Update on Mom
Got an email from my brother who works with Mom everyday. He has given up his job to make himself available to help. I give him a great deal of credit. Mom is not easy to be with. He simply said Mom is status quo. Nothing new, but nothing bad either. The little spell she had awhile ago has not been repeated, and she is still mostly sitting in a chair and moping. She eats a bit here and there, but her anxiety levels are not so far off the charts as they were.
I ask about the magazine I sent for her birthday. She complained that she wasn't interested, but she did look through it. Will she allow anyone to read to her? Not yet. At least the TV doesn't have to be super loud all day. And she does walk around the downstairs hallway loop a few times a day.
Its good to know she is no worse. I wish there were some improvement, but that may take years if it ever happens. I still pray for her and for my siblings who care for her every day. I still hope that somewhere along the line, she will come to herself and find peace. I will say that I have discovered in the story of Elijah's depression that God never leaves those who are overwhelmed, even if they want to cut themselves off from the world. And He does send sustenance and hope when they are ready to receive them.
May Mom be open to such ministrations.
I ask about the magazine I sent for her birthday. She complained that she wasn't interested, but she did look through it. Will she allow anyone to read to her? Not yet. At least the TV doesn't have to be super loud all day. And she does walk around the downstairs hallway loop a few times a day.
Its good to know she is no worse. I wish there were some improvement, but that may take years if it ever happens. I still pray for her and for my siblings who care for her every day. I still hope that somewhere along the line, she will come to herself and find peace. I will say that I have discovered in the story of Elijah's depression that God never leaves those who are overwhelmed, even if they want to cut themselves off from the world. And He does send sustenance and hope when they are ready to receive them.
May Mom be open to such ministrations.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Flu Shot
Today I see my primary care physician. Last time I met with her, I ended up scheduling a boatload of tests, none of which had any indication of why I feel yukky so much of the time. I am not eager to see her again. I expect a lecture about eating better, exercising more, losing weight - its all my own fault.
I know all that. If I could figure out how to eat better without killing my insides, how to exercise when I am so exhausted that I can barely sit in a chair after work is over, and how to lose weight since I can't eat healthy or exercise faithfully, I would DO it! Maybe she could support me financially so I could focus on these things :)
Well, she surprises me today. We have conversations that run something like "Do you think you are depressed?" "Not really, but I am open to exploring that." "If you are depressed, you are the happiest most upbeat depressed person I have ever met. I don't think that's it." "What do you think it is?" "We'll have a better idea of what its not after the rest of the tests are done." "I see."
In the meantime, my vitals are all good - temp, blood pressure, heart, lungs. We discuss whether I could fit a shingles shot in between chemos, but decide its too risky to have a live virus and compromised immune system in the same body. She asks me to present left arm for the seasonal flu shot. Done.
She will see me again after Christmas. We head to the desk to make the appointment. Suddenly she turns to face me and says "You have every right to feel bad. Your body has been through a war. Its no wonder you don't always feel good. It's not your fault. I think you are doing amazingly well. So don't beat yourself up when you have a bad day or two. Its to be expected. You know? Let yourself be OK with bad days. Over time you will improve."
Then she moved on to the next patient. I stood there surprised. Wow. She gets it. When you have been physically abused, your body is bound to hurt. Right. I realize she has to run the tests to make sure it isn't something else, but she also knows I am the walking wounded some days. And since we both know that, its OK. I will eventually figure out how to eat better and get the right exercise and get that weight down. Good.
I know all that. If I could figure out how to eat better without killing my insides, how to exercise when I am so exhausted that I can barely sit in a chair after work is over, and how to lose weight since I can't eat healthy or exercise faithfully, I would DO it! Maybe she could support me financially so I could focus on these things :)
Well, she surprises me today. We have conversations that run something like "Do you think you are depressed?" "Not really, but I am open to exploring that." "If you are depressed, you are the happiest most upbeat depressed person I have ever met. I don't think that's it." "What do you think it is?" "We'll have a better idea of what its not after the rest of the tests are done." "I see."
In the meantime, my vitals are all good - temp, blood pressure, heart, lungs. We discuss whether I could fit a shingles shot in between chemos, but decide its too risky to have a live virus and compromised immune system in the same body. She asks me to present left arm for the seasonal flu shot. Done.
She will see me again after Christmas. We head to the desk to make the appointment. Suddenly she turns to face me and says "You have every right to feel bad. Your body has been through a war. Its no wonder you don't always feel good. It's not your fault. I think you are doing amazingly well. So don't beat yourself up when you have a bad day or two. Its to be expected. You know? Let yourself be OK with bad days. Over time you will improve."
Then she moved on to the next patient. I stood there surprised. Wow. She gets it. When you have been physically abused, your body is bound to hurt. Right. I realize she has to run the tests to make sure it isn't something else, but she also knows I am the walking wounded some days. And since we both know that, its OK. I will eventually figure out how to eat better and get the right exercise and get that weight down. Good.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Wear Yellow
I get emails from the Lance Armstrong foundation keeping me abreast of cancer research, what's new, how to contribute, how to add my voice to others in asking politicians to fund research, how to help other cancer patients, etc.
They have designated today a cancer awareness day and are asking all cancer patients, survivors, caregivers and supporters to wear something yellow. I don't have their special tee shirt. In fact, I don't normally even own anything yellow in color. But I do support efforts to make people aware of the issues of cancer. So I dug deep in my closet and found something yellow to wear.
No one will see it under my choir robe. That's OK. I know I am wearing it to add my small gesture of support to cancer patients around the world. And I am posting here to let anyone who might be so brave as to read my blog know that I am shocked at how many Americans will have cancer in their lifetime - fully half of our population. That's staggering. And filled with pain and sorrow for both those who survive and are cured, and those who don't make it.
It is a marathon I run alongside many others. So if you have the opportunity to support any initiative that will help stamp out cancer, please step up and help. Let's obliterate this disease from the face of the planet in just the same way we have lessened the impact of diseases such as TB and polio. Thanks.
They have designated today a cancer awareness day and are asking all cancer patients, survivors, caregivers and supporters to wear something yellow. I don't have their special tee shirt. In fact, I don't normally even own anything yellow in color. But I do support efforts to make people aware of the issues of cancer. So I dug deep in my closet and found something yellow to wear.
No one will see it under my choir robe. That's OK. I know I am wearing it to add my small gesture of support to cancer patients around the world. And I am posting here to let anyone who might be so brave as to read my blog know that I am shocked at how many Americans will have cancer in their lifetime - fully half of our population. That's staggering. And filled with pain and sorrow for both those who survive and are cured, and those who don't make it.
It is a marathon I run alongside many others. So if you have the opportunity to support any initiative that will help stamp out cancer, please step up and help. Let's obliterate this disease from the face of the planet in just the same way we have lessened the impact of diseases such as TB and polio. Thanks.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Missed Retreat
Lately there have been many opportunities to spend a day taking a look beyond the daily grind and reflecting about life's direction. I wanted to attend the McGowan Symposium - right on campus - and hear Joel Green. Unfortunately, work is so demanding at the moment because of covering unfilled positions and needing to support new people that I couldn't get away.
Community of the Savior offered a day retreat with special leader. I signed up. It sounded wonderful - a chance to make up for missing the symposium. But at the last moment I was emailed by the student staff assistant who is opening the library today. He has never opened and isn't sure he knows the drill. Since the reference librarian doesn't come in until the afternoon, I cannot leave him to his own devices.
I could just come in, help him open, then head for the retreat. But this staff assistant didn't work over the summer and isn't as comfortable with the various procedures. It would not be right to abandon him with a new student worker. Sigh. Retreating will wait. Right now I need to keep our ship on an even keel as much as possible, and for a time, that means extra hours on my part. I stay.
In the end, he really didn't need me beyond the opening, which he walked through on his own with the instructions in hand. But I know he felt better having me around just in case. And that's a good thing. Besides, I did finish reading assignments for class! All in all, a good day.
Community of the Savior offered a day retreat with special leader. I signed up. It sounded wonderful - a chance to make up for missing the symposium. But at the last moment I was emailed by the student staff assistant who is opening the library today. He has never opened and isn't sure he knows the drill. Since the reference librarian doesn't come in until the afternoon, I cannot leave him to his own devices.
I could just come in, help him open, then head for the retreat. But this staff assistant didn't work over the summer and isn't as comfortable with the various procedures. It would not be right to abandon him with a new student worker. Sigh. Retreating will wait. Right now I need to keep our ship on an even keel as much as possible, and for a time, that means extra hours on my part. I stay.
In the end, he really didn't need me beyond the opening, which he walked through on his own with the instructions in hand. But I know he felt better having me around just in case. And that's a good thing. Besides, I did finish reading assignments for class! All in all, a good day.
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