I have plans for when I reach heaven--seeing Jesus, reuniting with loved ones, exploring the splendors of heaven, apologizing to Ezekiel. . . Although I can't claim to have mastered any book of the Bible, I have an embarrassingly loose grasp on the book of Ezekiel. I am not good with symbolism and Ezekiel uses symbols like Paris Hilton uses a credit card. So my plan for when I met Ezekiel was to apologize, knowing that we will all be exceptionally good sports about such things in heaven. But I may revise that plan. I have spent my summer doing homiletics on Ezekiel, one chapter a day. Homiletics is a wonderful way to study and apply scripture, but it really only analyzes what is there, it does not interpret symbols. However, I found two tools that have helped me immensely: 1) a free online commentary by Ian McEvoy--in simple English (I happen to be fluent in Simple) 2) realizing that most of the book is poetry.
I am a budding, blooming, fading poet myself and, even though Hebrew poetry is different, especially when translated to English, I have begun to recognize poetic patterns. In poems even I use symbols and, if I really don't get it, good old Ian straightens me out. Ezekiel is not a feel good book, most of the symbols are to explain to clueless exiles still hoping to return someday to Jerusalem, just how badly Israel has sinned and that Jerusalem won't be there to go back to. There is no way to make that message "seeker friendly". In Hollywood, Ezekiel would be a disaster movie. Yet the recurring theme of the book is, "Then they will know that I am the Lord". God is revealed just as much in judgment as he is in love. Try putting that on a bumper sticker.
Studying a book of inevitable judgment is kind of a downer but the good news is now, when I bump into Ezekiel in the afterlife, I won't have to just shrug in embarrassment. And he can do his own commentary.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Sunday, July 29, 2012
Smart Phones, People--not so much
At the meeting I mentioned in my previous blog, I was sorely tempted to whack an ill mannered attendee with a(n Emily) post, or at least whack her phone. That wouldn't be fair, of course, her phone wasn't the problem, all of us had phones. What this careless caregiver failed to notice was that she was the only one answering her phone. She must have assumed the rest of us were unpopular because she obviously didn't assume she should silence her phone. "Clueless Clara" got up three times during a two hour meeting to rush past the speaker and answer her phone in the hallway. Since she works in home care, I know she was not being called to perform emergency surgery and I am pretty sure she was not waiting for an organ transplant, since those facilities do not usually call their clients "Grandma".
At least she had the courtesy to leave the meeting to converse. I was in a multi-agency meeting where the director of the local hospice program was asking us to visualize the final peaceful moments of a loved one, dying at home, surrounded by family. Not only did an attendee answer his phone, he continued his conversation in what he presumed was a quiet voice. I know it was not work related because those conversations seldom involve grocery lists and end with "I love you."
Whenever we are asked to give input about staff meetings, I request beginning with a reminder of phone etiquette. A crash course in considerate communication could be summed up simply as knowing when to be silent. Perhaps in the future they will invent apps that link the phone's ability to pick up signals to the owner's. Now that would be a smart phone.
At least she had the courtesy to leave the meeting to converse. I was in a multi-agency meeting where the director of the local hospice program was asking us to visualize the final peaceful moments of a loved one, dying at home, surrounded by family. Not only did an attendee answer his phone, he continued his conversation in what he presumed was a quiet voice. I know it was not work related because those conversations seldom involve grocery lists and end with "I love you."
Whenever we are asked to give input about staff meetings, I request beginning with a reminder of phone etiquette. A crash course in considerate communication could be summed up simply as knowing when to be silent. Perhaps in the future they will invent apps that link the phone's ability to pick up signals to the owner's. Now that would be a smart phone.
Two Weeks Notice
Last week I attended a meeting at the home care agency where I work. There is a new service available for seniors in our area with mental health problems. The most common issues for the aging are depression and anxiety, but it is not unheard of for people 60 and over to be diagnosed for the first time with ADHD or bipolar disorders. Suicide is also fairly common among the elderly. As home health care providers, we are in a unique position to observe behaviors that even family might miss on a short visit. I am glad to know there is help available because I have already been involved with seniors in mental health crises.
At the blood pressure clinic I have conducted at Sykes pharmacy for many years, many of the clients I see are "regulars", either because they come to Sykes everyday anyway or because having their blood pressure read is part of their Wednesday routine. One of these sweet seniors was "Dee". At 90 years old, having outlived so many of her friends, she sometimes questioned if she had outlived her purpose. But when her statements became increasingly and consistently hopeless, I knew I needed to do more than pray for her. Since she was not a client, I didn't have the option of reporting her to my supervisor, so I told the pharmacist who had cared for her for many years. Her doctor was informed and her family moved her closer to them. Since I have not yet seen her obituary, I assume she is okay.
Another such encounter was with a man who had been moved to the mental hospital from a nursing home, where he had stopped eating and refused to let his wife leave their shared room. The nurses had to practically force feed him, and some of the other patients thought he should have been left alone to starve with his dignity intact. Two weeks later his antidepressants started working and his appetite for both food and life was restored. After his return to the nursing home, he came back with his little band and played music for the mental health patients. I should know, I was one of them.
There is no dignity in letting someone die under the distortion of depression, a disease where nothing is as it seems. Such misplaced respect for his dignity would have let him die needlessly days short of a recovery. Many of the seniors who commit suicide have visited their doctor a few weeks before, and many only 24 hours before their suicide. Whether we are caregivers or just people who care, it is our responsibility--to notice.
At the blood pressure clinic I have conducted at Sykes pharmacy for many years, many of the clients I see are "regulars", either because they come to Sykes everyday anyway or because having their blood pressure read is part of their Wednesday routine. One of these sweet seniors was "Dee". At 90 years old, having outlived so many of her friends, she sometimes questioned if she had outlived her purpose. But when her statements became increasingly and consistently hopeless, I knew I needed to do more than pray for her. Since she was not a client, I didn't have the option of reporting her to my supervisor, so I told the pharmacist who had cared for her for many years. Her doctor was informed and her family moved her closer to them. Since I have not yet seen her obituary, I assume she is okay.
Another such encounter was with a man who had been moved to the mental hospital from a nursing home, where he had stopped eating and refused to let his wife leave their shared room. The nurses had to practically force feed him, and some of the other patients thought he should have been left alone to starve with his dignity intact. Two weeks later his antidepressants started working and his appetite for both food and life was restored. After his return to the nursing home, he came back with his little band and played music for the mental health patients. I should know, I was one of them.
There is no dignity in letting someone die under the distortion of depression, a disease where nothing is as it seems. Such misplaced respect for his dignity would have let him die needlessly days short of a recovery. Many of the seniors who commit suicide have visited their doctor a few weeks before, and many only 24 hours before their suicide. Whether we are caregivers or just people who care, it is our responsibility--to notice.
Friday, July 13, 2012
Bermuda
I have been too busy seeing Bermuda to have time to write about Bermuda, but I need to take the time before the impressions fade. I guess a good place to begin would be from the top, flying over Bermuda. After 6 1/2 hours of layover in Denver and Newark in the wee morning hours, I have to admit I was not very alert on that leg of the flight and it was mostly cloudy until just before we landed, but that just-before glimpse was of the blue water of the deep sea and the turquoise of the shallows sparkling like facets of a jewel. Next I saw palm trees, which I consider exotic even though they probably grow in places like Oxnard. And the large trees whose brilliant red blossoms caught my eye from the air, turned out to be the national tree, the poinciana. Reed met me at the airport and we took a taxi to the apartment where we are staying.
There are lots of taxis in Bermuda because there are not lots of cars, the most common non-feet mode of land transportation is the scooter. Drivers of all forms of vehicles beep the horn a lot. This is not a criticism of other drivers' skills, it is a greeting to friends as they pass by. Bermudans are friendly people, most exchange some sort of greetings as you pass on the pavement. However, in Bermuda pedestrians watch out for cars, not the other way around. There are crosswalk signals, but they take a long time to turn on and most of us just cross when it looks clear. The trick is remembering that Bermudans, like Brits, drive on the wrong side of the road. People from Washington and other states where the pedestrian is king would probably get mowed down in Bermuda. However, with the small cars and scooters they would probably be able to get up again.
Reed has been getting to and from the airport for work in a taxi, I have done my sightseeing by using feet, ferries and buses. Using public transportation is quite a stretch for this Montana girl, but if the school children can figure it out (there are no school buses), I should be able to.
Houses in Bermuda all have white painted roofs. That is because the roof is a rain catch for the house. There are no rivers or lakes in Bermuda, but there is plenty of rain, and each home has a huge tank to hold rainwater for household use. I have become somewhat of a water snob, having had well water for so many years, and I can verify that the water here is good. The houses themselves are painted in pastel colors which I will list in order of frequency: pink, yellow, green, blue and the odd purple. But then purple is always an odd color for a house. Most buildings smell musty to my dry climate sensibilities, but are clean and well kept. I have seen a couple staggering drunks downtown, but no beggars. There are "No loitering" signs everywhere.
Recycling is done the old fashioned way--with an incinerator. American greenies wouldn't be caught dead burning garbage but have no trouble cremating Uncle Joe. Bermudans burn garbage but recycle graves. The white vaults look like the above ground graves of New Orleans, but are actually eight feet deep and may contain three generations worth of bodies. That grave is sealed until decomposition is complete, then reopened for later use. When a 400 year old nation with a population of 69,000 is living within 27 square miles, recycling graves makes sense, shipping garbage 500 miles to the nearest recycling center doesn't .
Another difference from the American mindset is their approach to business. Shops and cafes are open until about 5:30 and then close no matter how many hungry, souvenir starved tourists are around. Unlike some island nations, business is taken seriously--but only until 5:30. One of my assignments while out "touristing" is to find restaurants that are open for dinner. We usually eat out a lot when we travel, but prices are high and this apartment is equipped, albeit minimally, for cooking, so we eat some meals here. We did try the national dish though, a red, spicy fish chowder. And last night, at an Irish pub, I enjoyed breaded fish on raisin toast with sweet potato fries. I didn't like my sample of another Bermudan specialty, rum cake, but was pleasantly surprised to like rum raisin ice cream. I can't say the same for the favored soft drink--ginger beer.
As I mentioned in Facebook, Bermuda is bursting with sunburned cruise ship passengers from New York/New Jersey. I have not sunburned thanks to sweat-proof sunscreen, but I walk around most days with a sheen of sweat on my face and neck. The temperature has been mild, 84 degrees during the day dropping to a frigid 77 at night. Thanks to hormones, I have been spared from hot flashes and night sweats, but my face and neck sweat with exertion and, here, humidity. However tacky I look sweating my way though Bermuda, it is nothing compared to the businessmen in shorts, knee socks and dress shoes. Some of them even wear a coat and tie. It's the kind of outfit that would get you beat up in Butte. Unless, perhaps, you bribed them with a "swizzle" or "dark and stormy night", but I bet no Butte bartender would no how to make those. And that is okay, the last thing we need to do is introduce more alcohol into Montana.
Tomorrow I will take off again, poorer in wallet, but richer in wisdom for having been here. Wisdom tells me this blog is too long. So long.
There are lots of taxis in Bermuda because there are not lots of cars, the most common non-feet mode of land transportation is the scooter. Drivers of all forms of vehicles beep the horn a lot. This is not a criticism of other drivers' skills, it is a greeting to friends as they pass by. Bermudans are friendly people, most exchange some sort of greetings as you pass on the pavement. However, in Bermuda pedestrians watch out for cars, not the other way around. There are crosswalk signals, but they take a long time to turn on and most of us just cross when it looks clear. The trick is remembering that Bermudans, like Brits, drive on the wrong side of the road. People from Washington and other states where the pedestrian is king would probably get mowed down in Bermuda. However, with the small cars and scooters they would probably be able to get up again.
Reed has been getting to and from the airport for work in a taxi, I have done my sightseeing by using feet, ferries and buses. Using public transportation is quite a stretch for this Montana girl, but if the school children can figure it out (there are no school buses), I should be able to.
Houses in Bermuda all have white painted roofs. That is because the roof is a rain catch for the house. There are no rivers or lakes in Bermuda, but there is plenty of rain, and each home has a huge tank to hold rainwater for household use. I have become somewhat of a water snob, having had well water for so many years, and I can verify that the water here is good. The houses themselves are painted in pastel colors which I will list in order of frequency: pink, yellow, green, blue and the odd purple. But then purple is always an odd color for a house. Most buildings smell musty to my dry climate sensibilities, but are clean and well kept. I have seen a couple staggering drunks downtown, but no beggars. There are "No loitering" signs everywhere.
Recycling is done the old fashioned way--with an incinerator. American greenies wouldn't be caught dead burning garbage but have no trouble cremating Uncle Joe. Bermudans burn garbage but recycle graves. The white vaults look like the above ground graves of New Orleans, but are actually eight feet deep and may contain three generations worth of bodies. That grave is sealed until decomposition is complete, then reopened for later use. When a 400 year old nation with a population of 69,000 is living within 27 square miles, recycling graves makes sense, shipping garbage 500 miles to the nearest recycling center doesn't .
Another difference from the American mindset is their approach to business. Shops and cafes are open until about 5:30 and then close no matter how many hungry, souvenir starved tourists are around. Unlike some island nations, business is taken seriously--but only until 5:30. One of my assignments while out "touristing" is to find restaurants that are open for dinner. We usually eat out a lot when we travel, but prices are high and this apartment is equipped, albeit minimally, for cooking, so we eat some meals here. We did try the national dish though, a red, spicy fish chowder. And last night, at an Irish pub, I enjoyed breaded fish on raisin toast with sweet potato fries. I didn't like my sample of another Bermudan specialty, rum cake, but was pleasantly surprised to like rum raisin ice cream. I can't say the same for the favored soft drink--ginger beer.
As I mentioned in Facebook, Bermuda is bursting with sunburned cruise ship passengers from New York/New Jersey. I have not sunburned thanks to sweat-proof sunscreen, but I walk around most days with a sheen of sweat on my face and neck. The temperature has been mild, 84 degrees during the day dropping to a frigid 77 at night. Thanks to hormones, I have been spared from hot flashes and night sweats, but my face and neck sweat with exertion and, here, humidity. However tacky I look sweating my way though Bermuda, it is nothing compared to the businessmen in shorts, knee socks and dress shoes. Some of them even wear a coat and tie. It's the kind of outfit that would get you beat up in Butte. Unless, perhaps, you bribed them with a "swizzle" or "dark and stormy night", but I bet no Butte bartender would no how to make those. And that is okay, the last thing we need to do is introduce more alcohol into Montana.
Tomorrow I will take off again, poorer in wallet, but richer in wisdom for having been here. Wisdom tells me this blog is too long. So long.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Free Willing
While I am killing time waiting for my flight to Bermuda, I might as well finish this post which for so long has consisted of only the title "Free Willing". I tell people I do not believe in free will, but I probably should explain what I mean by that. I do not believe human will is coerced by outside forces, but I believe it is so influenced by the kingdom in which we reside that they are not equal choices. The Bible makes it clear that mankind resides in one of two kingdoms, the kingdom of Satan or the kingdom of God. Entering the domain of the "prince of the power of the air" is so easy a newborn baby can do it--we are born subject to sin. Entry into God's kingdom comes through the easy/hard choice of faith in Christ. It is really an out of this world choice because the moment we believe, we become citizens of a heavenly kingdom.
The best explanation I have read about free will is that we make choices based on what seems good to us. When we are subjects of Satan's kingdom, sinful choices seem good. Unbelievers can choose good instead of evil, but to do so they must swim upstream against their natural inclination. Without the Holy Spirit, there is no lasting power over sin. Even our most altruistic choices usually have some inner, selfish motivation, even if it is only that we feel better about ourselves. I was brought up Mormon and taught to live to a high moral standard. I did fine with the external requirements regarding attendance, tithing, dietary restrictions etc., but I was continually frustrated with my inability to change my selfish insides for more than a few hours.
Believers are free from the power of sin, the problem is that we have residual contamination from time spent in Satan's domain. To change our decision making we must decontaminate our mind by soaking it in God's word. The degree of contamination is why I feel our will is not really free. For instance, an alcoholic can choose not to drink, but that choice is 95% inclined toward drinking. I am not an alcoholic and was raised in an alcohol free home, my decision regarding drinking is 95% inclined toward abstinence. I have, however, spent years of my life as an anorexic. When I am caught up in that sin, decisions about eating that would take only moments in normal life can take hours and often end with the default choice of eating nothing. I am still free to choose whatever I want to eat, but my inclination is 95% toward fasting. For me there was literally no such thing as a free lunch.
Understanding the power of those sinful inclinations is what enables Christians to be merciful and gracious to those making bad choices in either kingdom. We are free to choose, but unless one suffers from total amnesia, our options are not equal. Choosing to take up our cross is costly, dying to our selfish will can hardly be called--free.
The best explanation I have read about free will is that we make choices based on what seems good to us. When we are subjects of Satan's kingdom, sinful choices seem good. Unbelievers can choose good instead of evil, but to do so they must swim upstream against their natural inclination. Without the Holy Spirit, there is no lasting power over sin. Even our most altruistic choices usually have some inner, selfish motivation, even if it is only that we feel better about ourselves. I was brought up Mormon and taught to live to a high moral standard. I did fine with the external requirements regarding attendance, tithing, dietary restrictions etc., but I was continually frustrated with my inability to change my selfish insides for more than a few hours.
Believers are free from the power of sin, the problem is that we have residual contamination from time spent in Satan's domain. To change our decision making we must decontaminate our mind by soaking it in God's word. The degree of contamination is why I feel our will is not really free. For instance, an alcoholic can choose not to drink, but that choice is 95% inclined toward drinking. I am not an alcoholic and was raised in an alcohol free home, my decision regarding drinking is 95% inclined toward abstinence. I have, however, spent years of my life as an anorexic. When I am caught up in that sin, decisions about eating that would take only moments in normal life can take hours and often end with the default choice of eating nothing. I am still free to choose whatever I want to eat, but my inclination is 95% toward fasting. For me there was literally no such thing as a free lunch.
Understanding the power of those sinful inclinations is what enables Christians to be merciful and gracious to those making bad choices in either kingdom. We are free to choose, but unless one suffers from total amnesia, our options are not equal. Choosing to take up our cross is costly, dying to our selfish will can hardly be called--free.
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