Let Me Be Perfectly Clear

     Sometimes in the Bible, God explains things on such a basic level it's almost as if he thinks we are stupid, which would be really insulting if it weren't for the fact that we are stupid. It's not just that we are too dense    to understand what God said, we also have a innate desire to look for loopholes and an Enemy who helps us find them.  But our Enemy's enemy knows about the loophole looking loophole, so He makes some things perfectly clear, as if our objections were going to be heard in court.
     As I previously blogged, one of the reasons I believe the days of creation in Genesis are literal, 24 hour days, is the sixfold repetition of the phrase evening and morning.  It's like He knew we would question what the meaning of day is. Another example is in his promise to Abraham of a son. Just so we don't think an infertile, geriatric couple were spontaneously able to have a child, God waits an additional 10 years to make it happen.  By that time Sarah was well past menopause and, even Abraham, was on the shady side of fertility. It would take a miracle for them to have a son. That is the point.
     God is equally repetitive about the virgin birth of Christ. Some commentators split hairs over the meaning of the word virgin in Isaiah 9:6, but there is no doubt in the gospel accounts that Mary has never been intimate with Joseph or any other man. God did not divinely tweak a natural, biological conception; the Holy Spirit miraculously intervened to create life in a way that, despite science fiction, has never happened before or since.
     The Bible is equally redundant about Jesus' death. The death was witnessed by soldiers who killed for a living. In case they were fooled, the spear thrust in his side proved he was dead. Naturally, none of this evidence sways those who hold to the swoon theory, who feel that a beaten, flogged, crucified, speared man could somehow recover by lying neglected in a cold tomb for three days. I hope none of these adherents are emergency room doctors, because that kind of care would finish off a much less traumatized patient.  
     In the Bible, God often goes to great length to prebunk the arguments of would-be debunkers. Those who refuse to believe will continue to, but they can never say God's word wasn't perfectly clear.

Reputation vs Name

     I have been in Bible Study Fellowship for decades, and in most of those years there has been a recurring theme that the Holy Spirit patiently hammers into my head until I grasp it.  This year's theme has been the difference between reputation and name.  There is nothing wrong with a Christian trying to maintain a good reputation in his church and community. It is one of the benefits of being obedient to the word. It is one of the things that attracts unbelievers to Christ. But often, in the specific will of Christ, believers are called to take a step of faith that totally trashes their reputation, but establishes their name. 
     One of the examples in our study of Genesis is Noah, 120 years of looking like an idiot, building a giant boat in a land that had never known rain. By the time Noah had, in our vernacular, the last laugh, there were few around to tell "I told you so" to, even if he had the heart to do it. His reputation was trashed, but his name is known by almost everyone in western civilization. His story is one of the most recognized stories in the world.
      I spent the summer studying Ezekiel who, in obedience to God's commands to be a living object lesson to the people, spent most of his ministry giving bad news and living in illogical deprivation. He didn't even make a dent in the idolatry of his contemporaries but, millennia later, the book by his name continues to make an impression in the lives of believers.
     Mary, who had the great privilege of miraculously giving birth to the Messiah, also suffered the lifetime stigma of being considered adulterous by those who didn't believe the miracle. Though she is now revered and even worshiped by many, the lie that Jesus is the product of adultery, lives on. She knew what would happen to her reputation, and Joseph's, when she agreed to cooperate with God. She lay down her reputation and gained a name.
     Of course, the epitome of losing a reputation to gain a name is Jesus. His birth was misunderstood, his teachings were misconstrued, his miracles were maligned, his death with, and as, a criminal destroyed the smattering of good reputation he still retained.  But his name lives on with a power far greater than reputation could ever have. In his name mankind is justified or condemned and to his name all will bow.  Jesus is the master of the universe, the focal point of history, the reward of heaven. I hope I have a good reputation, but if I have to choose one or the other, I choose name.

Wobbly Walk of Wellness

     I didn't expect to bounce right back after knee replacement surgery. At my age you don't bounce, you jiggle--and in all the wrong places, too. My daily allotment of energy drains away with a little "pffftt" sound that isn't even long enough to be rude.  While healing from my warm-up, arthroscopic surgery in October, I  experienced first, and second, hand (one handed massage is as satisfying as one hand clapping) the benefits of massaging my wounded leg morning and night with an anti-inflammatory oil concocted by my massage therapist.  It is easy to massage my own leg, the problem is that the fluids need to reach heart level to expel from the body and I can't massage past my own hips. The good news is, self massage makes my knee look and feel better, the bad news is, my hips become uncomfortable. Further good news is that my massage therapist can relax my hips, more bad news is that her office is downstairs. But that's not a problem because she can borrow the acupuncturist's office on the main floor Tuesday evenings, but that doesn't help because this year Christmas and New Year's Day fall on Tuesday. Massage loosens tight muscles and improves circulation, so its post-surgical benefits are intuitive, even to me, with my natural skepticism of "natural" medicine. My sister, who is a dedicated doubter, probably wouldn't even enter the building because the massage office is in the Wellness Center.
     My other concession to my wobbly walk of wellness has been using arnica tablets.  Arnica montana is a plant with benefits both from its natural anti-inflammatory qualities and from having montana as part of its name.  I had used it previously as an ointment and believe that it does speed healing of bruises, but it is also available in sublingual (under the tongue) tablet form, which I have faithfully used three times a day until both my supply and the bruising went away.
     I have also been faithfully taking my prescribed, unnatural meds. I use pain meds mostly at night because my leg gets in uncomfortable positions while I am sleeping and I want to go back to sleep.  Today I took my last dose of blood thinners. Yeah! Tomorrow I should get my stitches out and be able to shower without a Glad Press'n Seal condom on my knee.  Faithful exercise and a fairly flexible frame has enabled my knee to both straighten and acutely bend, but I didn't sweat the physical therapy worksheet once I realized the 14 exercises were really only three steps: quads, straighten, bend. I also added most of the exercises I normally do at home, but  have raised them from the floor to the bed, because the floor is harder and has more gravity than before my surgery.  However, day by day, the floor is getting back to normal.  And if the floor can do it, so can I. If not back to normal, at least back to usual, it would take more than knee surgery to make me normal.
    

Why Not?

     If the Newtown, Connecticut parents are anything like me, there are wrapped gifts under their Christmas trees for children who will not be there to open them. There are dates circled on calendars for recitals and programs, most of which are cancelled, and few would have the heart to attend anyway. In place of those joyfully anticipated events, they will be attending funerals. Instead of Christmas cards, parents are writing eulogies. Along with Advent activities, pastors are arranging funerals. Candles for Christmas and candles for mourning melt together. We want to know why.
     At a time in which mass murder/suicides are becoming uncomfortably common, the Newtown elementary school shootings are even more inexplicable.  No motive. No connection. The shooter left behind no explanation for the slaughter of so many innocent children and teachers.  They conclude the killer had a "personality disorder", a psychological spectrum so broad as to be meaningless.  Basically, the term means a behavior against societal norms, putting a person who wants to marry their toaster and a mass murderer in the same category. Perhaps the question is not why, but why not?
     What is different from when I was in school? Not the guns, rifles were openly displayed in the gun racks of pickups in the parking lot. Not bullying, but it was done in person, instead of texting or computer.  Alcohol, the nectar of popularity, fueled sex and fighting and despair just like the drugs of today. Why didn't we shoot first and commit suicide later?  I think it was because, whether or not we knew God, we had a vague suspicion that we might run into Him after we died and that He might not be happy with us.  In other words, we were afraid of God.
     When my son's roommate said he was an atheist, Will's response was, "Then why shouldn't I kill you?" Good question. If the only restraint on behavior is criminal penalty, and you are planning to kill yourself anyway, if there is no life beyond death and no judgment for what we do here, why not do whatever you want, even if that means killing children? In the Bible, fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. It is also the answer, it is the why not. We should not kill people, including ourselves, because God exists and will hold us accountable for what we do on earth. It is a concept so basic even someone with "personality disorder" can understand.
    Even if we could understand the reason, and all mass murderers had the same motivation, we cannot barricade ourselves and our children from random acts of violence. We cannot remove all weapons nor lock up all potentially dangerous people. Our only protection is to cling to, live out, and share the truth that there is a God and we will all answer to Him. The Newtown murderer will answer for the destruction he caused.  God will make the why not eternally evident.
    

The Late Ghost of Christmas Past

     I could tell the Ghost of Christmas Past was back, the day I came home from work and did 20 pushups in a row.  The good news is that this happened in November, the Ghost used to arrive in September. Maybe someday, it will miss Christmas completely and I will go through the whole season without feeling restless and sad. It didn't occur to me until this year, that the reason mom's schizophrenia gets so bad at Christmas and Easter is probably that she has ghosts of her own, and fewer mental coping skills available to deal with them. Her parents were wonderful grandparents but, from what dad has said, harsh, unfair and immature parents.
    There is another kind of bitter sweetness attached to Christmas now that my children are grown. I find myself following family traditions and baking Christmas goodies with an attitude of "Why bother?"  Christmas is actually about one, specific child, but I miss being around children at Christmas. My niece and nephew are teens now.  Alex is in the unaware, uncommunicative stage that I remember so well with my own boys but, because they were around the house, I managed to overhear things that were happening in their lives. Amanda, though always delightfully enthusiastic, is busy with dance recital practice, piano lessons and school programs. My new granddaughter-to-be, doesn't know us well enough to want to spend time with me. I miss children. The nest is still empty despite the Christmas decorations.
     Britten and Luke are unable to come to Kalispell this Christmas. Will will be here, but working nights or sleeping. I both understand and want Tracy to share the holiday with his fiance's family. But I have come to realize the test of the importance of holiday traditions is not that our grown kids come to our house to share them, but that they establish Christmas traditions in their own homes.
    The inconvenience of restlessness and insomnia is a small price to pay for the extra energy that enables me to do useful things around the house and, as I said above, the Ghost comes later every year. Meanwhile, no matter what tries to pull me down, I can always push up again.

Finals' Week

     I have always been a disgustingly organized person. I probably had some little prenatal check list:  head first, then shoulders, placenta last, cry. I will probably die right on schedule. In college, during finals' week when everyone else was studying and finishing projects that had been assigned at the beginning of the semester, I was bumming around alone having, long since, completed all the assignments. I am the same way with Christmas, no last minute dashing through the snow for me. But this is the first time I have had such a specific deadline, this year I needed to have Christmas wrapped up, so to speak, by December 10th, after which I will be busy recovering from knee surgery.  The presents are bought, wrapped and delivered, the cards mailed, the house decorated and the goodies baked and in the freezer. I have no idea what to do in the post surgery, pre-Christmas interval. I have organized myself out of a job again.
     Recovery will be like finals' week, everyone else frantically running around preparing for the holidays, and me, sitting around, propping my leg up.  Naturally, I have prepared for this time by checking out library books and I will have exercises to do, but I'm not sure what else to put on my recovery list. I like making lists and being on top of things, but it's lonely at the top. I'm never quite prepared for that.