Tawdry

     I have always been interested in etymology--no, not entomology, that's the study of bugs.  Etymology is the study of word origins.  I haven't exactly made a study of it, I have been out of school a long time and learning no longer counts even for extra credit, but I am interested in word origins when I happen to come across them.  I learned the origin of the word tawdry when touring the cathedral at Ely in England.  St. Audrey, born princess Etheldreda, (good reason to change your name)  founded the abbey at Ely after being widowed from one marriage and escaping from the other.  Having taken a vow of perpetual virginity early in life, even marriages for reasons of state didn't work out too well.  Her husband from her first, unconsummated marriage died. (My husband would probably insert an erroneous conclusion here.)  Her second husband was young and unwilling to leave his perpetually platonic princess unconsumed.  He chased her through the fens (British word for swamps), but high waters prevented him from catching her and he eventually went off to marry someone less perpetual.
     Audrey established an abbey at Ely.  Swamps, eels, you can figure out that word origin.  Despite its princess patronage, perpetual virginity is not a big money maker, so the abbey sponsored an annual fair to raise money.  Catholics are big into relics like a shard from a shrine, sliver of the cross or finger bone of some departed saint.  The relics for sale at St. Audrey's fair were famously cheap versions of the above.  It was like the Dollar Store of the religious relic world.  No one wants a second hand finger bone, so these cheap relics sold by St. Audrey came to be called t'Audrey.  In the course of time Etheldreda's legacy was neither her piety nor her purity, it was a new word for cheap--tawdry.

Among Friends

     In one of my favorite movies, "The Princess Bride", Westley is asked why he is wearing a mask.  He replies, "They're terribly comfortable.  I think all people will be wearing them in the future."  Westley was right.  They are terribly comfortable and most of us are wearing them.  I didn't realize how tight my mask had grown to my face until I went to the "Among Friends" women's conference last weekend.  When I came home from the Friday night session, my husband asked me what it was about.  Being real, was my reply.  "Oh", he said "You don't like being real".
     I call my mask Competent Connie and it is a good one.  I probably started making it when my mother's mental illness caused me to take over some of her roles in our family.  I was the child described as "mature for my age".  By adulthood my mask was so perfected that when I was finally broken enough to be placed in a psychiatric hospital, the staff thought I was there for a job interview.  It has become so much a part of my nature I have almost forgotten it is a mask.  I even wear it when I pray.
     That is why I highly recommend attending the Among Friends conference to those who still have a chance.  Women are encouraged to be honest with themselves and at least one friend, to be willing to ask, and be asked, how we are doing in our spiritual life and our walk with God.  The main reason I have been a BSF junkie for 20 years is that it is structured to provide accountability to study and apply the Bible.  But I spent many years of that study as an anorexic wreck and hardly anybody knew.  I like to be honest, but honestly, I love my mask more.  I like being Competent Connie, but God has never had much use for her.  God has used me the most when I have been the most broken.
     If you've ever seen water skippers, insects who stand above the water by distributing their weight just so, I lived the first 30 years of my life as a water skipper.  Then I lost everything in the Major Depression and was forced to explore below the surface of my life.  As much as I hated being depressed, I was thankful for God allowing it.  I want more from life than to have skimmed its surface.  At the conference I realized I have gone back to being a water skipper and I am taking steps to change that--beginning here. God would rather have a real wreck than a shallow saint.

God vs Satan, the Sequel

     There was more I wanted to add to my last blog about the God vs. Satan battle, but it seems more merciful to keep my blogs fairly short.  What I lack in talent I try to make up for in brevity.  Satan's more obvious attempts to derail God's plan of salvation involved trying to wipe out the Jewish race. No Jews, no Messiah.  That is why antisemitism has been such an enduring international past time.  Though being dispersed among the nations was a punishment for Israel's disobedience, it was also a brilliant strategy for preserving them.  Chances were slim that every nation would decide to wipe out their Jewish population at the same time.
     Being a poor sport about not being able to prevent the Messiah's birth, Satan, through Herod, attempted to have him killed as a child.  During Christ's earthly ministry Satan felt free to go head to head, but his head was the one that got crushed.  Salvation was accomplished.  Satan is still fighting God, but the most important battle has already been won.  He would still like to obliterate the Jews so that prophecy won't be fulfilled, but God had another brilliant strategy.  He combined Jewish and Gentile believers into one body, the church, and it has  spread throughout Satan's domain like an incurable infection.  Christians are seeded like metastasized cancer in the world, except this cancer brings life, not death.  I have a great verse that supports this, but can't find it in my travel Bible.
    Satan is still a roaring lion and mighty dragon, but he is also a lame duck.  He makes a lot of noise, but his time in office is coming to an end.  I often wonder why Satan keeps fighting his losing battle, probably because he is a liar and liars believe everyone else is lying too.  Found the verse:  Eph. 3:9-11
    
   And to make all see what is the fellowship of the mystery, which from the beginning of the ages has been hidden in God who created all things through Jesus Christ, to the intent that the manifold wisdom of God might be made known by the church to the principalities and powers in the heavenly places, according to the eternal purpose which he accomplished in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Thanks for Clearing That Up

     Since the beginning of the world, an unseen battle has been raging between good and evil, between God and Satan.  Despite what our culture or circumstances indicate, God has an intricate master plan for the earth and everything in it.  Satan's plan, however, is simple--do the opposite of what God is doing. God made Adam holy and eternal.  Satan made Adam sinful and dying.  God planned redemption through the perfect God/man.  Satan attempted to muddy the blood of humanity with an interbreeding program.  Although little scripture is devoted to this incident in Gen. 6:3,4, the punishment of the angels indicates the severity of God's displeasure. According to Jude 6, from the time of the flood until the final judgement, the offending angels have been chained in darkness.
   The thing that amazes me is that Jude uses this as an illustration of his warning against apostates.  An illustration is using a simple, well known concept to help explain a complex one.  I would hate to find out what Jude thinks is a hard concept.  If it's "not nice to fool Mother Nature", it is damnable to try to foul up God's plan of salvation. The antediluvian (see, I know big words too) intermarriage of daughters of men with sons of God is a topic I'm glad I was never given as a five page essay assignment.  Whatever its significance, it did not receive much press in the Bible.
   God planned for man to be fruitful and multiply, Gen. 1:28.  Satan's counter to that plan was homosexuality.  Despite the reproductive options available in our time, homosexuality is, by nature, sterile.  I believe that is why it is punished by death in the Old Testament.  It attempts to derail God's plan for the continuation of man.  Adoption, surrogacy and invitro fertilization have made it possible for homosexuals to have children, but those methods rely on old fashioned male/female sexual reproduction.  Gay activists would not need to encourage cultural acceptance of homosexuality for future generations, because if all men were gay and all women were lesbian, there would be no future generations.  At least that is my take from my study of scripture.
   However I would not use either of these example to clarify a teaching such as knowing God's will for your life.  Generally it is not helpful to use examples that are more confusing that the concept you are explaining.  Hey Jude, thanks for clearing that up.

 

Blessed in Boise

     It has not been that long since we traveled, we did Disney World in February, an aviation conference in Bozeman, as well as a week long trip to help on our daughter's house in Butte in March, and a women's mentoring seminar in Bozeman in April.  In other words, we have hardly been home bound.  But apparently it has been a while since we have had the kind of trip where Reed spends his time overseeing maintenance on an airplane and I spend my time living up to my title, "Lady of Leisure".  I can tell it has been a while because of the degree of unwinding I am experiencing today.  It is as if a tense muscle I was totally unaware of, has finally relaxed.  I find myself breathing deeply as if I had been under water too long.  And for a couple hours I was unwilling to disrupt the contentment with even the effort of making a second cup of tea, one of my Lady of Leisure indulgences. 
     There are several reasons I find these trips particularly relaxing.  I tell people I must have been born carrying a little suitcase because I have loved to travel for as long as I can remember. (My dad, who remembers me a little farther back than I do, claims this was not true in my toddler years.) Travel was a secret longing of my heart that was never fully requited until Reed got a job in corporate aviation, through which God fulfilled my desire far beyond my expectations. I've noticed God has a tendency to do that.  Another reason is that when I am home, I see all these tasks that need to be done--I don't do them, but I can see them and that is irritating.  It is the same for Reed who comes home from multiple, unfinished projects at work to multiple, unfinished projects at home.  Having both of us more relaxed yields certain unmentionable benefits.
    I don't have to cook, even though our room has a modest kitchen.  The hotel provides breakfast and a simple dinner four nights a week.  I don't clean.  I have acquaintances who are concerned about the cleaning habits of third world hotel maids, my only concern is that I don't have to do it.  I don't even make the bed, though I never leave the house without making it at home.  When I am a Lady of Leisure, I have servants to do those things.  The hardest task I have during the day is deciding where we should go for dinner.
    When we are in Boise, as we are for this trip, I have friends and relatives to visit, but I also enjoy traveling to places where I don't know a soul.  I have learned to be content sightseeing alone, although I once had a St. Louis bus driver turn to me and say, "Ain'tcha got no fray-ends?"  I clearance shop at stores close enough to walk to which, in this case, includes Boise Townsquare Mall. I am also very content to just sit by the pool and read or write.  A legacy of similar poolside vacations with our children is that the smell of chlorine relaxes me.  The twinges of guilt I feel as a Lady of Leisure are easily exorcised by exercising or even taking a nap.  It's not a good idea to tell God He's wrong, even when He is clearly overblessing us.  It reveals that we are oblivious to the price He paid for us in the first place.

Why I Never. . .

     Psalm 68:6 says "God sets the lonely in families. . ."  This is a natural consequence of participation in a church because the church is a family.  God intended it to be.  Regardless of age, we are brothers and sisters in Christ but, because of age differences, the roles we fill in one another's lives may be that of parent, grandparent, child or friend.  I have know since I trusted Christ at age 16, that there were women in the church who would have filled the role of the mother who was taken from me by schizophrenia, but I have never asked.  Guilt tells me that it would be disloyal to my real mother, who is still alive.  Logic tells me that, having made it to this point in life without a mother, it is too late to matter. The real reason is that I don't want to know what I am missing, what I have been missing for 50 years now. That is the voice of fear. Knowing would make me sad.  And I am not brave enough to face that sorrow.
     But I watch mothers and their grown daughters shopping or going out to lunch or working together in the kitchen and I wonder.  Is that what it's like?  Is that how it is supposed to be?  I love my daughter a lot, but we have very different talents and interests.  She remodels houses, has all her own tools, designs room layouts; I can hardly use a screwdriver. The only tools I am comfortable with are used for cooking and cleaning. When my husband and I go to help them on a project, my role is usually in support services.  It is fine that God made us differently, but we probably wouldn't be going shopping together even if she lived in the same town.
     When my children were growing up, I wanted to do for them all the things I wished my mother had done for me.  Now my children are grown and I am not sure how to be the mother of adults.  My wish list didn't extend that far.  Knowing what they need from me as grown children would inevitably reveal to me what I am still missing in my life, so I maintain a "Don't ask, don't tell" policy. Most of the time that policy includes a "Don't even think about it" clause, but today is Mother's Day, and I can't help myself. God offers the blessing of setting us in families, but He doesn't force us to take it. Fear, that is why I never. . .

Rain of Grace

     Our church recently held its second annual "Day of Grace" tea, in memory of Grace Marvin, who truly lived up to her name.  I was asked to bring a poem to read but was frustrated, being a very literal person, that none of my writings were specifically about grace.  So I decided to write a grace poem, but it has been a slow process, grinding out one line at a time.  Part of the difficulty was that same literal thinking. It is important not to misrepresent a doctrine as important as grace, but I was writing a poem, not a dictionary.  Some subjectivity is permitted.  For next year's Day of Grace I'll not only have a poem ready, but a whole year in which to revise it.

               Rain of Grace

Grace is not theological thunder
booming from the rafters of a lofty cathedral,
but the rain on the roof
that makes the birds sing
and washes clean the common things
making even rocks beautiful.

Some men rejoice and some complain,
but all men feel the rain.

Grace is seen less in the splendor of stained glass panes
than in the translucent wonder of the rainbow
with its promise of mercy,
or the slender woman in the back pew,
from a life of pain and darkness,
who has finally seen the light.

Some men rejoice and some complain
but all men see the rain.

Grace sounds less like somber hymn chords
reverberating from a pipe organ
than a newborn's first, shrill cry,
an old saint's dying sigh,
the crude eloquence of a new saint's first prayer,
or the sound of rain after months of drought.

Some men rejoice and some complain 
but all men hear the rain.

Grace is not something to be touched,
but to be touched by.
It is seen only by those who look for it
and heard only by listening ears.
Only souls awakened by grace
begin to recognize its presence.

Some men respond and some disdain
while grace pours down like rain.   

As Always

     In one of the most well known stories in the Bible, Delilah lulls Samson to sleep on her lap and shaves off his hair, which is the source of his strength.  When the Philistines come to capture him, Samson tries to shake them off as he always had before.  Since he was asleep at the witch, so to speak, at the time his hair was shaved, he didn't know that his strength had left him.  I think about that story as I watch Garth, our 14 year old lab cross, trying to do the things he always did, not knowing his strength has left him. His hind legs quiver as he stands, his gimpy walk makes you think he needs a cane, chewing a bone can make him pant with exertion.  And yet. . .
    He expects to go on our morning walk to the island, as always, run around to sniff and pee in all the usual spots, as always, and walk ahead of me on the way home, as always.  No matter how slowly I walk, the exertion of as always leaves him panting and trembling after we return and, by evening, barely able to get his hips off the floor. In order to preserve both his strength and ego, I have shortened our morning walk to just to the river and back.  When my nephew and I want to take a longer walk, we take Garth on a decoy walk first, so he won't feel left out.
    When I am doing chores at home, Garth follows me from room to room in faithful lab fashion, unless I go to the basement.  He no longer has the strength to go either up or down the stairs.  Yesterday I was downstairs in the family room visiting with my daughter when I saw a shadow hesitating near the top of the stairs.  Since she has two stairs-impaired dogs, I thought one of them was debating whether our company was worth the effort of the climb down.  When I looked up and saw Garth's black legs on the second step, my heart went to my throat.  I ran to the stairs, turned him around, and lifted his hips so he could get back to the main floor.   Willing to use up his limited strength and risk a fall just to be near me.  Devoted, as always. 
     There are many lessons in this, the frailties of old age, the strength of devotion,  the importance of being near the ones we love, and that human males are not the only species to get set in their ways.  If I could love God with the the tenacity of a dog, I would be a better person.

          And when my strength has gone,
          may my heart carry on 
          dogged as the dawn,
                                         as always.