Since the beginning of my marriage, my life has revolved around the spin of propellers, the pumping of pistons and the whoosh of jet engines. I helped put my husband through tech school the first two years of our marriage and have lived off that investment for nearly 33 years as he has made his living as an aircraft mechanic and director of maintenance. However, aircraft have been part of my life since childhood. Our family budget required low cost, better yet, free entertainment and one of those expense neutral activities was driving to the airport to watch airplanes take off and land. In those days no one feared terrorism because we were all going to be annihilated by nuclear bombs anyway. Anyone who wanted to was free to visit the airport. There were no gift shops and bistros, just vending machines with cigarettes, little candy bars and flight insurance.
The next big bang in the flight plan of my life was the arrival of sonic booms, which we accepted as a by-product of progress. One vivid childhood memory is of my little brother standing in the back yard, pointing at a contrail and saying "Airplane! Airplane!" He was young, handicapped and hard of hearing so it came out more like "A-pay!", but was still more understandable than Herve Villechaize on "Fantasy Island". On the day the first jet aircraft came to Missoula, I was there in the crowd, immersed in a sea of adult shoulders, which turned out to be a good thing, since it protected all but my legs from the blast of air and gravel when the engines started.
The airport was the extent of my aircraft aspirations. Flying was a privilege of the rich. Those of us grounded in the solidity of the middle class expected to remain on the ground. Though the aircraft were primitive by today's standards, the service was first class. Back when flight attendants were called stewardesses, stewardesses actually attended upon those on the flight. An airline pilot could reasonably anticipate affluence as a destination.
Today the sky is not the limit. If flying is no longer a privilege of the rich, it is also no longer a privilege. We show up 90 minutes early for the opportunity to be lined up, stripped, scanned, searched and separated from our possessions. Modern flying has all the glamor of incarceration. And yet, even from the steerage section of the sky ship I have a god's eye view of the sky above and the corrugated clouds below as we speed across the vastness of continents and oceans and I feel privileged to live in a such a time, to know that somewhere a child is looking skyward and seeing--me.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Christicism
On a radio preaching program last week, I heard a pastor, with whom I normally agree, talking about knowing the will of God for your life. He called one view the "Dot" theory, which says God's will for you is this one specific point from which you must not stray. His opposing theory was that that God has a general will for your obedience but doesn't particularly care what job you take, where you live or who you marry as long as you are not disobedient to scripture. I think the truth lies in the middle of these two extremes. God's will is neither a hard to find tightrope nor a toll gate past which you can wander as you please.
I did agree, however, with his assertion that many Christians interpret random events as signs of God's direction. I call this Christian mysticism or, since I never use two words when I can get by with one, "Christicism". One common form of this is "Bible roulette", opening the Bible to a random passage and taking that as God's message to you. The "scripture shuffle" works on the same principle but uses cards with verses on them. Some Christians use the "Walkie Talkies" technique. They use the phrase "God told me" as if they were in constant, verbal communication. This is, at best, presumptuous and often used to defend unwise behavior. If God told you to do something, it can't possibly be wrong. Then there is the "Signs, signs, everywhere a sign" method. For example, when I asked my teenage son to pray about whether he should attend youth group, he told me God didn't want him to go because he missed the white goose. He had prayed that if God wanted him to go to youth group, he would hit a white goose when he was hunting. Signs that are dependent on our cooperation make it easy to manipulate God's will without even consciously aiming to. Unfortunately this "God's Will Hunting" method is also used by adult, long term Christians. One of my church friends found a complex, affirming message from God through finding a barrette that matched her outfit. Her life was filled with mystical messages from God. The combination of circumstances + deceitful hearts seldom = Godly wisdom.
Why would God go through all the effort to produce and preserve his word if he planned to reveal himself through subliminal messages? Most of us can barely understand liminal messages. My first 15 years as a Christian I wanted to be in God's will but was never really sure that I was. Then I started BSF and discovered that being in God's will was the intersection of daily study and application of God's word + life circumstances. Those pesky application questions with which BSF mines the daily study changed my life. Knowing God's will for my life has gone from an occasional flash to a steady beacon. I no longer wonder and wander. Frankly, I am a little frightened of, and for, Christians who take their guidance from the schizophrenic spirituality of circumstance. Finding God's will is both simpler and harder than the Magical Mystery Tour of Christicism.
I did agree, however, with his assertion that many Christians interpret random events as signs of God's direction. I call this Christian mysticism or, since I never use two words when I can get by with one, "Christicism". One common form of this is "Bible roulette", opening the Bible to a random passage and taking that as God's message to you. The "scripture shuffle" works on the same principle but uses cards with verses on them. Some Christians use the "Walkie Talkies" technique. They use the phrase "God told me" as if they were in constant, verbal communication. This is, at best, presumptuous and often used to defend unwise behavior. If God told you to do something, it can't possibly be wrong. Then there is the "Signs, signs, everywhere a sign" method. For example, when I asked my teenage son to pray about whether he should attend youth group, he told me God didn't want him to go because he missed the white goose. He had prayed that if God wanted him to go to youth group, he would hit a white goose when he was hunting. Signs that are dependent on our cooperation make it easy to manipulate God's will without even consciously aiming to. Unfortunately this "God's Will Hunting" method is also used by adult, long term Christians. One of my church friends found a complex, affirming message from God through finding a barrette that matched her outfit. Her life was filled with mystical messages from God. The combination of circumstances + deceitful hearts seldom = Godly wisdom.
Why would God go through all the effort to produce and preserve his word if he planned to reveal himself through subliminal messages? Most of us can barely understand liminal messages. My first 15 years as a Christian I wanted to be in God's will but was never really sure that I was. Then I started BSF and discovered that being in God's will was the intersection of daily study and application of God's word + life circumstances. Those pesky application questions with which BSF mines the daily study changed my life. Knowing God's will for my life has gone from an occasional flash to a steady beacon. I no longer wonder and wander. Frankly, I am a little frightened of, and for, Christians who take their guidance from the schizophrenic spirituality of circumstance. Finding God's will is both simpler and harder than the Magical Mystery Tour of Christicism.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
A Wail of Two Cities
Rio de Janeiro has a giant statue of Christ and Carneval, Butte has a giant statue of Mary and St. Patrick's Day. Carneval is one last rowdy blowout before the privations of Lent. St. Patrick's Day celebrates the arrival of Christianity in Ireland with a festival of drinking and fighting. It is to Lent what a Cold Stone, "Gotta Have It" binge is to a diet. Carneval features elaborate costumes and floats. Butte. . .has a parade, and lots of green things. Carneval takes place in the hottest part of South American summer, St. Patrick's Day is during the last vestiges of North American winter.
The ontological argument for the existence of God posits that universal belief in a deity is proof he must exist. The prevalence of similar religious celebrations in such diverse cities posits the universal desire to get drunk and debauched. Also universal is the price that must be paid for revelry, what goes down, must come up. Some of it months later--in court. In Portugese it is called a ressaca, in English, a hangover. That is where the wails come in. Exotic Rio de Janiero, Brazil and Butte, America is about as mixed a drink as you can get, yet once a year they become kindred spirits.
The ontological argument for the existence of God posits that universal belief in a deity is proof he must exist. The prevalence of similar religious celebrations in such diverse cities posits the universal desire to get drunk and debauched. Also universal is the price that must be paid for revelry, what goes down, must come up. Some of it months later--in court. In Portugese it is called a ressaca, in English, a hangover. That is where the wails come in. Exotic Rio de Janiero, Brazil and Butte, America is about as mixed a drink as you can get, yet once a year they become kindred spirits.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Passing Gasp
It is easy to enjoy the beautiful scenery of Montana because there are not a lot of people or buildings around to block the view. There are also not a lot of four lane highways to speed you mindlessly past God's country. You tend to think about God a lot when passing other cars on two lane roads. After all, you might be meeting Him soon. I don't worry about that much anymore because my Impala is actually able to pass other vehicles, but until recent years that was not the case.
When our children were growing up, there was no room in our budget for car payments. The secret to not having to make car payments is to drive marginal/crappy cars. We bought cars that had been previously enjoyed, and enjoyed and enjoyed. . .We could afford to do that because my husband is a mechanic who can fix anything but weather. With junk yards, spare parts and duct tape, if necessary, he could keep our rigs running. But not running particularly fast. On the many drives I made between Kalispell and Missoula to visit family, most of our vehicles couldn't pass an asthmatic tortoise on a downhill. The discovery of passing lanes has not bypassed Montana, but they are usually on an uphill stretch. The reason for that is uphill stretches are where the trucks, motor homes, and old coots out for their Sunday drive tend to slow down even more, making them much easier to pass. Unless you are driving a crappy car.
After being stuck behind a criminally slow vehicle for miles, I would pull out into the passing lane, stomp on the accelerator, my car would shift into passing gear and my mighty engine would roar to life. That's it, just roar. It didn't actually go any faster, it just wanted me to feel good about the effort it was making. We would continue this charade until the end of the passing lane was approaching, then I would drop back behind Farmer Fred on his Sunday drive. Apparently my accelerator was simply a volume control for engine noises.
On my last two cars, however, the accelerator actually made the engine go faster and that removed most of the aerobic aspect of passing on two lane roads. Now I can use the time driving alone on the highway to pray--for something other than survival, or that the slow vehicle ahead of me would pull over. Now I can enjoy the beauty of God's country without expecting to run into Him at any moment. There are easier ways to get an aerobic workout.
When our children were growing up, there was no room in our budget for car payments. The secret to not having to make car payments is to drive marginal/crappy cars. We bought cars that had been previously enjoyed, and enjoyed and enjoyed. . .We could afford to do that because my husband is a mechanic who can fix anything but weather. With junk yards, spare parts and duct tape, if necessary, he could keep our rigs running. But not running particularly fast. On the many drives I made between Kalispell and Missoula to visit family, most of our vehicles couldn't pass an asthmatic tortoise on a downhill. The discovery of passing lanes has not bypassed Montana, but they are usually on an uphill stretch. The reason for that is uphill stretches are where the trucks, motor homes, and old coots out for their Sunday drive tend to slow down even more, making them much easier to pass. Unless you are driving a crappy car.
After being stuck behind a criminally slow vehicle for miles, I would pull out into the passing lane, stomp on the accelerator, my car would shift into passing gear and my mighty engine would roar to life. That's it, just roar. It didn't actually go any faster, it just wanted me to feel good about the effort it was making. We would continue this charade until the end of the passing lane was approaching, then I would drop back behind Farmer Fred on his Sunday drive. Apparently my accelerator was simply a volume control for engine noises.
On my last two cars, however, the accelerator actually made the engine go faster and that removed most of the aerobic aspect of passing on two lane roads. Now I can use the time driving alone on the highway to pray--for something other than survival, or that the slow vehicle ahead of me would pull over. Now I can enjoy the beauty of God's country without expecting to run into Him at any moment. There are easier ways to get an aerobic workout.
Sub(is not my)mission
I am by nature a submissive person, give me a rule and I will follow it. Just don't ask my husband. I find it easier to submit to people who are not actually around to tell me what to do. I pay taxes. I follow the traffic laws even when no one is looking--except when the speed limit is unreasonable. I submit to God's will--as long as He doesn't disrupt my life too much. If I'm not good at submitting to my husband, it is his fault for being so agreeable most of the time. I haven't had enough practice.
In 1 Peter 3, Peter urges women to use Sarah's submission to Abraham as an example. Sure, I thought, Abraham, the friend of God, even I could submit to Abraham. But then I remembered that not once, but twice Abraham's instructions for Sarah to claim to be his sister bought her what could have been a one way ticket to a harem. Good old Abe traded his wife for his own safety and God had to intervene to save her and the messianic line. Sarah submitted as she was being removed from her home and husband. If I were in her place, the look I would have given him after the first incident would have prevented the second one.
In verse 6 Peter nailed the submission problem on its unsubmissive head. The reason women don't submit is not because we are stubborn and willful, although we are, it is because we are afraid. We are afraid that our husbands are not looking out for our best interest. To be honest, sometimes they are are not. Certainly Abraham was not when he told Sarah to lie. Sometimes we need to submit in spite of our husbands. Even when our husbands are not looking out for us, God is. He will take care of us and we want him to take care of our husbands. At least that's what I submit.
In 1 Peter 3, Peter urges women to use Sarah's submission to Abraham as an example. Sure, I thought, Abraham, the friend of God, even I could submit to Abraham. But then I remembered that not once, but twice Abraham's instructions for Sarah to claim to be his sister bought her what could have been a one way ticket to a harem. Good old Abe traded his wife for his own safety and God had to intervene to save her and the messianic line. Sarah submitted as she was being removed from her home and husband. If I were in her place, the look I would have given him after the first incident would have prevented the second one.
In verse 6 Peter nailed the submission problem on its unsubmissive head. The reason women don't submit is not because we are stubborn and willful, although we are, it is because we are afraid. We are afraid that our husbands are not looking out for our best interest. To be honest, sometimes they are are not. Certainly Abraham was not when he told Sarah to lie. Sometimes we need to submit in spite of our husbands. Even when our husbands are not looking out for us, God is. He will take care of us and we want him to take care of our husbands. At least that's what I submit.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Experimenting with Drugs
Here, in the privacy of the world wide web, I confess that I have a problem with drugs. I do not have uncommon reactions to prescription medications, I have the rare to bizarre ones. I have to read clear to the bottom of the two page side effects sheet to see if anyone else on the planet has reacted as I have. For instance, many substances make my ears ring. Green tea extract, Bio-Slim and any other substance that boosts metabolism and helps you lose weight make my ears ring. I realize that most people my age have some degree of tinnitus, but meds can turn that from a minor irritation to a constant, high pitched dog whistle that drowns out the sounds I would much rather hear, like music and conversation. Whereas the problematic health supplements are optional, blood pressure medication is not, and I had to experiment with all the drug families (pills, not people) to find one that evoked more tolerable tinnitus. Naturally, it is not one of the inexpensive drugs.
Most of my experimenting has been trying to find a migraine preventative. The meds I take to relieve migraines work just as they are supposed to, although some work better than others. A rule of thumb (perhaps palm would be more appropriate) is that the more expensive the med, the better it works. In the case of migraine interrupters, this is because drug companies have invested years of painstaking research studying the complexities of the human brain. Migraine prophylactics, however, are usually the result of sheer serendipity. "Doctor since I started taking medication for (insert condition), I'm having fewer migraines." Eureka, the cure! These drugs are expensive because of years of painstaking research into an unrelated condition. The lagniappe of these multipurpose drugs is not passed along to the "See also" sufferer.
After five years of prescribing pain meds which added the novelty of nausea to the pain of migraines, my doctor sent me to a neurologist. He introduced me to my new bffs: Imitrex, then later, Zomig to stop migraines and an anitdepressant to help prevent them. Antidepressants eventually lost their place as neurologist's pet to anti-seizure drugs. This is where the fun began for me.
On Topamax I had no headaches, also no appetite, insomnia, a visual disturbance that was a flash of light by day and a multicolored patchwork quilt at night, and anxiety so bad that I called my doctor at 9:30 p.m. one night and begged him to let me stop taking them. When I tried Seroquel, whose worst side effect for most people is sleepiness, I became manic. I laughed uncontrollably. Also uncontrollable was that every song and odious commercial jingle I had ever heard came into my mind and out my mouth. Fortunately, we were having a party the night I took Seroquel. I didn't take it long enough to find out if it helped with migraines.
I have been blessed with a common blood type, common, middle age health conditions, common looks and common life. My doctor said my uncommon reactions to medication are due to unusual brain chemistry. My goal is that someday, way down at the bottom of drug label, after Common, Uncommon, Unusual and Rare, it will say Bizarre--see Connie Lamb.
Most of my experimenting has been trying to find a migraine preventative. The meds I take to relieve migraines work just as they are supposed to, although some work better than others. A rule of thumb (perhaps palm would be more appropriate) is that the more expensive the med, the better it works. In the case of migraine interrupters, this is because drug companies have invested years of painstaking research studying the complexities of the human brain. Migraine prophylactics, however, are usually the result of sheer serendipity. "Doctor since I started taking medication for (insert condition), I'm having fewer migraines." Eureka, the cure! These drugs are expensive because of years of painstaking research into an unrelated condition. The lagniappe of these multipurpose drugs is not passed along to the "See also" sufferer.
After five years of prescribing pain meds which added the novelty of nausea to the pain of migraines, my doctor sent me to a neurologist. He introduced me to my new bffs: Imitrex, then later, Zomig to stop migraines and an anitdepressant to help prevent them. Antidepressants eventually lost their place as neurologist's pet to anti-seizure drugs. This is where the fun began for me.
On Topamax I had no headaches, also no appetite, insomnia, a visual disturbance that was a flash of light by day and a multicolored patchwork quilt at night, and anxiety so bad that I called my doctor at 9:30 p.m. one night and begged him to let me stop taking them. When I tried Seroquel, whose worst side effect for most people is sleepiness, I became manic. I laughed uncontrollably. Also uncontrollable was that every song and odious commercial jingle I had ever heard came into my mind and out my mouth. Fortunately, we were having a party the night I took Seroquel. I didn't take it long enough to find out if it helped with migraines.
I have been blessed with a common blood type, common, middle age health conditions, common looks and common life. My doctor said my uncommon reactions to medication are due to unusual brain chemistry. My goal is that someday, way down at the bottom of drug label, after Common, Uncommon, Unusual and Rare, it will say Bizarre--see Connie Lamb.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Travel Irony
1. Traveling provides many experiences worth writing about, but no time to write.
2. The amount of time you spend in your hotel room is inversely proportional to how nice the room is. In other words, when you are staying in a really great hotel, you are too busy sightseeing to enjoy it. In our experience this means appreciating the great view/shower/amenities etc. between 9 p.m. and bedtime.
3. Off season here is "on" season elsewhere. We planned our recent Orlando trip at tournament time so my niece and nephew wouldn't miss too much school. It was neither spring break nor a holiday, but apparently school was out in South America because the high school students of the entire continent were at Universal studios at the same time we were. Belatedly I realized it is "Carneval" season in South America and schools probably plan tours at that time to remove students from the temptations of the national orgy.
4. Expensive luggage emits fumes that cause both man and machines to try to destroy it. Cheap luggage falls apart when you apply the luggage tag. Aim for sturdy, unmatched suitcases from stores like Ross.
5. On any given carousel, 95 % of the luggage is black. To save both the effort and embarrassment of grabbing other people's bags, buy an unusual, preferably unattractive, color. The color makes it be easy to spot and ugliness is a natural theft deterrent.
6. The TSA random search will select the person least likely to be a terrorist. On our Orlando trip the lucky random searchee was my mild mannered 13 year old nephew on his first ever airline flight. Most passengers don't want to blow up the plane until they have flown at least twice.
7. It is easier to blow up the plane than use the restroom on a small regional jet.
8. Why is it called a terminal if you are only passing through?
There are probably more ironies I should add to this list, but it's been a long time since I had time to post and I've still got miles to go.
2. The amount of time you spend in your hotel room is inversely proportional to how nice the room is. In other words, when you are staying in a really great hotel, you are too busy sightseeing to enjoy it. In our experience this means appreciating the great view/shower/amenities etc. between 9 p.m. and bedtime.
3. Off season here is "on" season elsewhere. We planned our recent Orlando trip at tournament time so my niece and nephew wouldn't miss too much school. It was neither spring break nor a holiday, but apparently school was out in South America because the high school students of the entire continent were at Universal studios at the same time we were. Belatedly I realized it is "Carneval" season in South America and schools probably plan tours at that time to remove students from the temptations of the national orgy.
4. Expensive luggage emits fumes that cause both man and machines to try to destroy it. Cheap luggage falls apart when you apply the luggage tag. Aim for sturdy, unmatched suitcases from stores like Ross.
5. On any given carousel, 95 % of the luggage is black. To save both the effort and embarrassment of grabbing other people's bags, buy an unusual, preferably unattractive, color. The color makes it be easy to spot and ugliness is a natural theft deterrent.
6. The TSA random search will select the person least likely to be a terrorist. On our Orlando trip the lucky random searchee was my mild mannered 13 year old nephew on his first ever airline flight. Most passengers don't want to blow up the plane until they have flown at least twice.
7. It is easier to blow up the plane than use the restroom on a small regional jet.
8. Why is it called a terminal if you are only passing through?
There are probably more ironies I should add to this list, but it's been a long time since I had time to post and I've still got miles to go.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Our Hearts Will Know
We were on vacation when I found out Landon had died. My e-mail does more than attract spam, it also transmits our church prayer requests. Though he was only five years old, the cause of his death wasn't given because he had multiple health problems since his traumatic, premature birth. I didn't know the family particularly well, but there I was in Florida looking at my own handicapped brother, who was also not expected to survive. Roddy will be 52 in March.
Tuesday was Landon's funeral. There were lots of pictures and videos, most of him laughing or smiling. Of all the forms of communication available to a child who had no words, Landon chose laughter. Though it seemed a presumptuous thought from a virtual stranger, I pondered how hard Landon must have laughed when he saw heaven. I also thought how thankful his family members are now that they didn't allow vanity to keep them from being in the pictures which are now their most tangible connection with their memories of him. At the end of the service, the pastor came down from the platform to talk directly to Landon's 4 and 2 year old siblings, to further explain the separation of body and soul that most adults don't fully comprehend. As we mourners were dismissed, the coffin was opened. It had been handmade by a close friend of the family, beautifully shaped and bare of the lining by which many promote the illusion of sleep. His body lay crooked as it always did, his closed eyes no more unseeing than the ones he opened in life.
Roddy once asked me how we will know one another in heaven. How did the disciples recognize Moses and Elijah at the transfiguration? Were there some sort of spiritual name tags? In this life my brother is short, twisted with scoliosis, spastic, hard of hearing and mildly retarded. That won't be the case in the heavenly body he wears after death or in the resurrection body he receives at the second coming. How will I recognize my little brother? I have spent years of my life studying the Bible, but my answer came from the instinctive wisdom God gives mothers, "Our hearts will know each other."
Tuesday was Landon's funeral. There were lots of pictures and videos, most of him laughing or smiling. Of all the forms of communication available to a child who had no words, Landon chose laughter. Though it seemed a presumptuous thought from a virtual stranger, I pondered how hard Landon must have laughed when he saw heaven. I also thought how thankful his family members are now that they didn't allow vanity to keep them from being in the pictures which are now their most tangible connection with their memories of him. At the end of the service, the pastor came down from the platform to talk directly to Landon's 4 and 2 year old siblings, to further explain the separation of body and soul that most adults don't fully comprehend. As we mourners were dismissed, the coffin was opened. It had been handmade by a close friend of the family, beautifully shaped and bare of the lining by which many promote the illusion of sleep. His body lay crooked as it always did, his closed eyes no more unseeing than the ones he opened in life.
Roddy once asked me how we will know one another in heaven. How did the disciples recognize Moses and Elijah at the transfiguration? Were there some sort of spiritual name tags? In this life my brother is short, twisted with scoliosis, spastic, hard of hearing and mildly retarded. That won't be the case in the heavenly body he wears after death or in the resurrection body he receives at the second coming. How will I recognize my little brother? I have spent years of my life studying the Bible, but my answer came from the instinctive wisdom God gives mothers, "Our hearts will know each other."
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