Nagging into heaven

We looked at the feathers floating in Lucky's water bowl.
"How did those get there?" I asked.
Lucky looked at me, his face a tangle of unreadable wiry hair.

We glanced over at Tallin, Asherel's bird, who still perched happily in his cage. The bird wasn't talking to us either. This would remain one of those mysteries of life.
 It is likely my sensitive heart would be better off not knowing the source of those feathers floating in the water.

The day already was not going to be recorded as one of my top ten. I had to go visit the dermatologist, due to an annoying habit of aging skin. She took one look at my face and decided it was time to start "zapping" off pre-cancerous spots.
"Zapping?" I said, "What is involved in zapping?"
"It's no big deal," she answered.

Now I have found that it is much easier for the one inflicting the pain to say that than the one receiving the pain.
"I will just freeze them off with this."
She held up a metal device that looked like a submachine gun.
"You don't have any special events coming in the next month that you care what you look like?" she asked.
"You mean like walking down the street ?"
"No, I mean like a wedding or any event where photos will be taken."
"Not in the next month...but to tell you the truth, I am not sure I love the vein of this conversation. I can safely conclude I will be in no position to have a photo taken of me after you finish blasting my face with that weapon?"
She ignored me and said, "Here comes the 'ouchy'."
About 20 ouchies later, my forehead, arms and even hand had lovely bubbling, brown eruptions on them. This was the prettiest stage. For the next week they would turn red, inflamed, scab, and then fall off.

I hope you weren't eating breakfast when you read that.

"But then ," she promised me, "Your forehead will look much better and it will be safer. You don't mind needles, do you?"
"Needles?" I said weakly, wondering how long the stinging of the twenty or so new wounds lasted, "Yes I mind needles. Why?"
"We need to take this mole off your back."
Maybe Lucky had the kinder method, just gobble me up whole.

I went to bed at 8:00. I was worn out from all the intrusive procedures that we must endure as we cook here on earth. I thought of Paul telling the Philippians in our morning Bible study that morning, "It is no trouble for me to write the same things to you again." In other words, he was saying, "It won't hurt me to nag you til you listen." It was like the doctor, not zapping just one spot off me, but every spot, every potential cancer forming spot.

This verse confused Asherel. That's because she had never seen nagging elevated to gospel before.
 And I conjectured, given he begins this gentle letter to the Philippians with the assurance that he isn't being hurt by his need to repeat things to them, we can presume they had just asked him, "Doesn't it bother you to have to keep teaching us knuckleheads the same issues over and over again?"

I like the Philippians. I get the sense that they had receptive, humble hearts that longed to learn, despite their failures and need to be constantly reminded by Paul. I am sure that his convicting messages and reminders were at times as painful as the zapper on my sunspots, but they knew that their safety and eternal well being depended on the holy transformative message.

Sometimes healing hurts. But in the end, when the scabs fall off, and we are renewed, transformed, made whole again....the ouchies are just a blip in eternity.


Philippians 3: 1, 12-14, 17-21

 ¹ Further, my brothers and sisters, rejoice in the Lord! It is no trouble for me to write the same things to you again, and it is a safeguard for you.

 ¹² Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. ¹³ Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, ¹⁴ I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.


¹⁷ Join together in following my example, brothers and sisters, and just as you have us as a model, keep your eyes on those who live as we do. ¹⁸ For, as I have often told you before and now tell you again even with tears, many live as enemies of the cross of Christ. ¹⁹ Their destiny is destruction, their god is their stomach, and their glory is in their shame. Their mind is set on earthly things. ²⁰ But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, ²¹ who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body.

The Cure

I think I might be getting better but this is because if I don't, my sweet neighbor Carolyn is going to send over her cure. Here is the list of ingredients:
Kick-A-Bug Juice- water, honey, apple cider vinegar, garlic, fresh ginger and cayenne pepper. After simmering for 20 minutes, you take a Tablespoon of the liquid and one of the garlic cloves every half hour.
She claims that this healed her relatives who were sick at her house over Thanksgiving. I think it is likely that after the 9th half hour of garlic cloves and that concoction, they convinced Carolyn they were better and then snuck out to check into a hospital. Either that, or the microbes infesting their bodies took one whiff of their hosts' breath after swigging this "juice" and decided to go find a sweeter smelling place to set up shop.

Actually, knowing Carolyn, I bet the concoction really works and if I come down with the flu, I am going to brew some and give it a go. It doesn't seem worth it just for a cold, albeit a pretty nasty one.  However, believe it or not, I have actually heard of stranger cures.

Back in Jesus' day, there was a man who was blind from birth. As far as I can tell from the passage in John 9, the man doesn't ask Jesus to heal him. He has known nothing but blindness and I suppose it doesn't occur to him there might be a better state of existing. But the townspeople, as is the way of so many of us, decide that the man is born blind as punishment- either to him or to his parents. Somebody must have sinned for such a horrible thing to have happened to him. Jesus steps in to quickly dispel that notion. It is not due to sin, he proclaims, but that God's work might be displayed. Then comes the quirkiest cure for blindness I have ever heard of. Jesus spits on the dirt, makes a mud pie, and slaps it on the man's eyes. Next, He tells the man to go wash the mud off in the pool of Siloam.  Siloam means "sent", and I don't think this is insignificant. The man washes off the mud and is cured of his blindness.

Personally I think the mud is a red herring. I think the key to the cure is that the man was sent, and he went. In the act of obeying  a God he couldn't see, he received a gift he hadn't asked for, and seems not to have known he wanted or needed, and ultimately looked upon the face of Jesus. What is so striking is the simple cluelessness of this blind man. When the Pharisees ask him how he was cured, he tells them, "I don't know. This guy Jesus came and stuck mud on my eyes, and told me to wash it off. Then voila, I could see, just like that!"
The Pharisees regard this cure with the same skepticism I regard Carolyn's Kick-A-Bug Juice.
"You big fat liar!" they proclaim, "Why should we believe a sinner blind from birth?" (BTW- as in many of my Biblical explanations, I try to keep the gist of the meaning, but paraphrased. I would always encourage you to check the original source to see if I have attempted to mislead you.)
"The proof is in the pudding," says the ex-blind man, "I was blind and now I am not. Don't you think that means Jesus is at the very least a prophet?"
Then he does the unpardonable sin of being sarcastic with the Pharisees, and their faces turn all red, and they toss him out of the temple, furious that he thinks someone who heals the blind might be more than just your average Joe.

Jesus finds the ex-blind man, tells him who it was that healed him, and the blind man does the only thing anyone should do at such a proclamation. Falls down and worships Him. That is the point at which the cure is complete.

I am hopeful I am on an upswing, because if not, I am going to need to buy another box of tissues. And I may have to go swill some of that Kick A Bug Juice.

John 9: 35-41
³⁵ Jesus heard that they had thrown him out, and when he found him, he said, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?”  ³⁶ “Who is he, sir?” the man asked. “Tell me so that I may believe in him.”
 ³⁷ Jesus said, “You have now seen him; in fact, he is the one speaking with you.”
 ³⁸ Then the man said, “Lord, I believe,” and he worshiped him.
 ³⁹ Jesus said, “For judgment I have come into this world, so that the blind will see and those who see will become blind.”
 ⁴⁰ Some Pharisees who were with him heard him say this and asked, “What? Are we blind too?”
 ⁴¹ Jesus said, “If you were blind, you would not be guilty of sin; but now that you claim you can see, your guilt remains.

Ups.... and Downs

Asherel released the newly constucted, fragile helicopter from her hand. It's tissue covered blades twirled smoothly and to our infinite delight, rose slowly from her hand. Like a butterfly it hovered, glorious  against the sun streaming through the skylights.
"Houston, the eagle is flying!"
After hours of work constructing, weeks of research learning the principles of flight and airfoil construction, money spent on varying sizes of "contest rubber" to power the helicopter, it flew. It flew smoothly, with little wobble and it rose to the rafters 30 feet above our head...to the rafters....on the rafters.....NO! NOT THE RAFTERS! TURN EAGLE, TURN!!!!!!!!!!!

Alas it did not turn. It lodged in the rafters.

"Let's shoot it down!" cried Asherel, as though it were a nuclear weapon entering our airspace, and not our precious helicopter.
"With rubber bands!" she commanded Ben.
The two of them, having more fun than they had had all semester, began firing rubber bands at the trapped hero. One of Ben's managed to hit it, and it shuddered to life. It's rotor began spinning again and once more it lifted towards heaven.
"Hooray!!!!" we cheered, amazed as it continued to fly, and fly and....NO! NOT TO THE FAN! FLY AWAY FROM THE FAN!!!!TURN! TURN!TURN!

Alas, it didn't turn. It lodged in the wire grating of the huge fan, 30 feet above our heads. We could not hope to get it down.  The Community Center worker told me we could return tomorrow with a ladder and long stick if we wanted to try to retrieve it, so that is our mission today, but we all had to sadly leave our stricken copter, dangling perilously close to the fan's blades. It may not survive the night.

Asherel and I then drove away from our captive helicopter to visit our very elderly ex-neighbor who had recently moved to a Retirement Home, against his desires. His wife, in the beginning stages of Alzheimers had taken a terrible shift to much worse and now lived across the street from Komer's new apartment, which he would now habitate all alone. She needed skilled around the clock nursing and had blessedly found an opening in the care facility of Komer's new community. We went to visit, bearing Xmas cookies, knowing that the little joy we might bring would be such a feeble light in such monumental gloom.

The room was too warm, but we sat and talked with the lonely, and sad old man for an hour. Several times, his breaking heart could not contain his grief, and he cried silently, without tears. I suppose the tears had long ago run dry.  In case you were hoping that we brought some wonderful magical words of healing and joy, I am sad to say that particular well of words must have run dry in me as well. All I could do was listen, and hug him when his grief made words too burdensome. The lost helicopter seemed of little consequence in the face of this kind of loss.

"For 92 years, I have faced so much. Hard work always got me through," he said, "But nothing prepared me for this."
As we left, I pointed to the forgotten plate of cookies, "Don't forget your dessert after your dinner," I advised.
"I may skip dinner and just eat all of them instead!" he declared with a feeble smile.


I prayed a good bit last night, in my habitual sleepless hours.
"Thank you for waking me up, Lord," I said, "I pray for Komer. Somehow bring him the comfort that only you can bring." And then there was not much to say. I forgot to even mention the helicopter.

 But what goes up, must come down. Lift and drag. Joy and despair. Rejoicing and grieving. Birth and Death.... and my favorite, sin and redemption.  Oh, Lord, may Komer feel the touch of your hand gentle upon him!  And by the way, if your Hand is not too busy, could it then just shove the helicopter our way?

Ecclesiastes 3

A Time for Everything

 ¹ There is a time for everything,
   and a season for every activity under the heavens:  ² a time to be born and a time to die,
   a time to plant and a time to uproot,
 ³ a time to kill and a time to heal,
   a time to tear down and a time to build,
 ⁴ a time to weep and a time to laugh,
   a time to mourn and a time to dance,
 ⁵ a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
   a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
 ⁶ a time to search and a time to give up,
   a time to keep and a time to throw away,
 ⁷ a time to tear and a time to mend,
   a time to be silent and a time to speak,
 ⁸ a time to love and a time to hate,
   a time for war and a time for peace.
 ⁹ What do workers gain from their toil? ¹⁰ I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. ¹¹ He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet^[a] no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end. ¹² I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. ¹³ That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God. ¹⁴ I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that people will fear him.

Broken and Beloved

"You want to save that?" Asherel asked laughing, as I pulled out a little bent paper angel from the ornament box.
"You made it, didn't you? Of course I am saving it," I answered.
"But it is bent," she observed.
So who isn't?, I thought.

We finished decorating the second tree which stands in the dining room. This tree is our colorful, whimsical tree. The elegant crystal and white tree is in the great room, and only carefully selected crystal, clear, or white ornaments (many from my parents' tree which my mom gave to me) are allowed to grace its more expensive pre-lit branches.

The dining room tree is for all the homemade ornaments from my friends, my family, my children and my art students over the years. There is no unifying theme other than bright and colorful..... and often old and slightly damaged . This has always been the tree the kids have decorated and I don't try to manage or direct how the ornaments are placed. In the past, it has often been pretty unusually balanced- most ornaments on the bottom three branches and none on the top.

"Did you make this?" I asked, holding up a wilted looking dragonfly.
"Yes," she laughed, "I think it is a dragonfly."
I am not sure what a dragonfly has to do with Christmas, but I clipped it on the tree.
I pulled out a little crocheted ornament, made by my neighbor with the date when Anders, my first son was born. It was stained around the edges.
"That looks a little old," said Asherel.
Yes, as old as the joy of my children gracing the earth's crust!

"Why are you hanging that one?" she asked, as I nestled a sleigh on an upper branch,"It only has one runner."
"My dad gave it to me, " I said, "When I set up my first Christmas tree."
And so the memories slowly paraded out of the box, a collection of misfits, damaged, and old ornaments of my life.

We stepped back when the last ornament went on the tree. Funny how all those broken, faded, ancient baubles looked so pretty and complete all together against the Christmas lights.

Our next adventure was to head out to the luthier and assess the cost of repairing Asherel's cracked guitar. I know many of you are surprised to see me use such an unusual word and until yesterday, I didn't know what it meant. A luthier is someone who repairs or works on stringed instuments, or luths(lutes). It did not occur to me as we drove to visit the luthier that we had spent a day amidst broken but beloved things.

Asherel lovingly opened her case and the luthier gazed at the Epiphone guitar.
"What do you think?" I asked.
"Honestly, I would get your money back unless you got a stupendous deal on it and buy one new for what it will cost to fix it."
I didn't look at Asherel's face, but I knew that would be the equivalent of throwing away the broken dragonfly ornament to her.
"How much did you pay for it?" he asked.
"I don't know," we answered, "My husband won't tell me."
"Well if you paid more than $200, it is not worth fixing. And even if we do fix it, the line of the crack will be repaired, but it will still show.  It will cost $100.... and that's if the electronics work." He fingered the loose volume knobs. The epiphone can be either acoustic or electric.
"Did anyone check to see if these work?" he asked. We somewhat abashedly shook our heads.
"She is really only using it right now as an acoustic guitar," I explained.

He was a kind man, and he touched the John Lennon signature.
"This is a good guitar," he said, "And the Lennon signature is cool. Why don't you call your husband and find out what he paid?"
So I did, but Arvo wouldn't tell me, so I handed the phone to the Luthier.
"Yes," I heard him say after he explained the situation to Arvo, "I understand. That is my favorite (meal) (Beatle) too."
Now I am not sure which he said but it is critical in guessing the guitar price, my dear Watson. You see, I think he said "meal" which means Arvo had said, "I can't tell them the price or I will have to eat some humble pie", which means he spent way too much for the broken guitar.
On the other hand, Asherel thinks he said, "Beatle" which means Arvo was explaining how much Asherel loves the Beatles, particularly John Lennon, and even though the guitar was broken, it was dirt cheap and he couldn't pass it up.

The luthier handed the phone back to me, and Arvo told me to go ahead and get it repaired.
I hung up and asked the luthier ,"He says fix it..... what did he pay for it?"
"I am sworn to secrecy," said the luthier.
"Well can you tell me this- was it worth it?"
"Depends on your income," he answered cryptically.
"What caused these cracks and damage?" I asked.
"Oh drinks spilling on it and not being wiped up...hard living. This guitar has needed a little TLC for a long time."
I smiled at Asherel, "I think God sent you this guitar just in time."

So none the wiser on the cost, we left the broken guitar with the luthier and headed home to our broken lifetime of ornaments. I reflected on the luthier's parting comment and thought about how all of us are in need of a little TLC. Sometimes it is a long, long time in coming, and we fear the crack will become more than just a surface blemish. Sometimes it threatens to break through into our core, and affect our ability to sing with the voice of wholeness and beauty that we were designed for.

But sometimes, in fact,  I think every time, if we get the whole broken mess of our soul to the Master Luthier in time, the cracks may still show, but they will not affect the ability to join in the Music. I smiled at our bright cheerful Christmas tree before I turned it off for the night.

Isaiah 65: 14, 17-18, 24-25
¹⁴ My servants will sing
   out of the joy of their hearts,
but you will cry out
   from anguish of heart
   and wail in brokenness of spirit.
 ¹⁷ “See, I will create
   new heavens and a new earth.
The former things will not be remembered,
   nor will they come to mind.
¹⁸ But be glad and rejoice forever
   in what I will create,  
²⁴ Before they call I will answer;
   while they are still speaking I will hear.
²⁵ The wolf and the lamb will feed together,
   and the lion will eat straw like the ox,
   and dust will be the serpent’s food.
They will neither harm nor destroy
   on all my holy mountain,”
            says the LORD.

Leaping from the Old to the New

I have never been big on traditional New Year's Eve celebration. First of all, game time is three hours past my bedtime. Secondly, most of the traditions involve doing something to excess which leads to puking.... and we have had enough of that already this Christmas vacation from natural causes like the flu, as well as reading the latest news updates.

Our final hold-out on getting sick finally succumbed and is in bed with the time honored treatment of Vick's vapor rub applied to the soles of her feet and warm socks put over them. Then we stuck a pin in the voodoo doll and shortly thereafter all coughing ceased. Actually, the vick's vaporub treatment really does work. I think it has to do with pressure points, as in the basis for acupuncture's success. The menthol creeps in through the skin of the sole and the germs are laughing so hard that they forget to do their job and attack the immune system.

Matt's girlfriend was supposed to come spend a few days here, but finally realized to enter this home would be suicide until a giant fumigating tent has been placed over it and small healing antibody bombs exploded within. So Matt headed out to her town, where the germs are more dispersed. We were left alone, hacking and shivering with our fever chills and nausea. ..... and ten pounds of marinating chicken for the gala feast we were going to throw. And a case of Dr.Pepper Diet Cherry Soda which none of us drink, but Matt told me his girlfriend likes. Our refrigerator is stocked with food, which has no attraction yet for at least me and Asherel who are still in a delicate balance between feeling lousy or feeling utterly lousy.

So while I never make New Year's Resolutions, I do have one this year. Next year, I intend to get the flu shot.
And since this is the last day of the year, I feel compelled to reach deep for some sort of spiritual message in all this. This is particularly demanding as the word COUGH is not mentioned even once in the Bible. This shows that God did not create the cough, so my guess is that Darwin did. However, the word sickness occurs innumerable times, and sickness is used in many ways. It can be used to bring heightened awareness of sin, it can be used to make us rely more totally on the Healer, or it can even be used to prove that the one who claimed to be the Messiah could do more than make a good glass of wine.

But I think the best message I can take about sickness is "A man's spirit sustains him in sickness, but a crushed spirit who can bear?" Proverbs 18:14. The enemy is really not the illness. It is never really the stinky circumstances of life, though it always feels like it is. The real enemy is the father of discouragement and despair, the one who crushes the spirit and destroys hope. And that is the one part of the New Year's Eve celebration that I like. I do like the sense of hope, of new possibilities, and brighter tomorrows. I just feel like that potential is there every moment of every day and sometimes even waiting til midnight to claim it may be too late.
"I tell you now is the time of God's favor; now is the day of salvation." 2 Corinthians 6:2