What I know about the electoral college would fit in a thimble with room left over. The only time anyone gives it a thought is when we elect a president, and usually not even then unless one candidate gets the popular vote and the other wins the electoral points. As was the case in this year's epic battle between the "bully" and the "bitch". When Hillary's supporters were not busy sobbing or blocking highways, they were calling for the end of the electoral college. I learned enough from Wikipedia to understand the basics about it, but its intent is to make the election process more equitable.
Anything that does that is good news for Montana. Our population is barely over a million. If elections were decided by popular vote alone, no presidential candidate would have any vested interest in supporting policies beneficial to low population states like Montana, Idaho, Wyoming and the Dakotas. American presidents would be chosen by voters in a dozen mega-cities on the east and west coasts. There must be something in sea water that corrodes minds the way it does metal, because coast dwellers are disproportionately liberal. They are also disproportionately living off the government. Their vested interest would be to support the candidate who promised the most wealth redistribution. Specifically, taking tax money from the industrious and giving it to the indolent.
So if the electoral college is a flawed system, it fits right in with the rest of our government. I'm going to hold that thought right here in my thimble . . . along with my tears for Hillary.
Friday, November 25, 2016
Saturday, November 12, 2016
Big Girl Panties
If this year's election was unlike any other I can remember, this year's aftermath is even stranger. Most of us felt there were no good choices for president, so voting for the "lesser of two evils" was even more necessary than usual. So when, despite all predictions and celebrity endorsements, Donald Trump beat Hillary Clinton, there was literal wailing and gnashing of teeth from the left leaning. There were also protests, shouting matches and civil disobedience. But not here, where people are much more civilized than in the cities. Although today I saw a lone protestor standing on Main Street with her "Not My President" sign. I thought that took a lot of courage for a couple reasons. For one thing, Kalispell is mostly conservative, second, carrying that sign is like publicly proclaiming "I don't understand how elections work" or "I'm too immature to accept decisions I don't like". If the election had gone the other way, I really can't picture Trump supporters crying or blocking highways.
When Hillary realized she had lost the election, she put on her big girl panties and accepted defeat. It is time for her supporters to do the same. (Especially since she asked them to.) Their behavior reminds me of my preschoolers at the grocery store check stand throwing a fit if I didn't buy them the toy or candy they wanted. I told them, "If you can't get what you want by being good, you will never get it by being naughty." Or the short version, "You git what you git and you don't throw a fit." The only grounds for protest at this point, would be if someone had been prevented from voting for the candidate of his/her choice. There is a time for supporting your candidate. And there is a time for putting on your big girl panties, accepting what has happened, and getting on with your life. Most of us have had many "Not my president/governor/mayor/etc." experiences in our lifetime. We deal with it. Life goes on.
I did not know which candidate God would use to fulfill his purposes for our nation, and (this time) I did not try to tell Him what to do (although my husband did). But I wonder if, after so many years of playing the race card under Obama, God wanted to spare our country from further polarization of Hillary using the gender card. I have no problems with a woman president, but the presidency is no place for the affirmative action agenda of using under-represented, but under-qualified, minorities. Unfortunately, those were our only choices. Yes, billionaires are a minority too. Election day was our chance to speak up, now it is time to shut up and grow up. And for coping with chaos, nothing trumps humor.
When Hillary realized she had lost the election, she put on her big girl panties and accepted defeat. It is time for her supporters to do the same. (Especially since she asked them to.) Their behavior reminds me of my preschoolers at the grocery store check stand throwing a fit if I didn't buy them the toy or candy they wanted. I told them, "If you can't get what you want by being good, you will never get it by being naughty." Or the short version, "You git what you git and you don't throw a fit." The only grounds for protest at this point, would be if someone had been prevented from voting for the candidate of his/her choice. There is a time for supporting your candidate. And there is a time for putting on your big girl panties, accepting what has happened, and getting on with your life. Most of us have had many "Not my president/governor/mayor/etc." experiences in our lifetime. We deal with it. Life goes on.
I did not know which candidate God would use to fulfill his purposes for our nation, and (this time) I did not try to tell Him what to do (although my husband did). But I wonder if, after so many years of playing the race card under Obama, God wanted to spare our country from further polarization of Hillary using the gender card. I have no problems with a woman president, but the presidency is no place for the affirmative action agenda of using under-represented, but under-qualified, minorities. Unfortunately, those were our only choices. Yes, billionaires are a minority too. Election day was our chance to speak up, now it is time to shut up and grow up. And for coping with chaos, nothing trumps humor.
Wednesday, November 9, 2016
Fruit Inspectors
The Christian Mingle Inspector..
If I have done it correctly, this blog should link to the above video that I enjoyed on Facebook It humorously points out the clipboard criteria by which we judge other Christians (and churches). Believers have been beaten to death with the verse "Judge not lest you be judged", mostly by unbelievers. And they are right, if in judging we look down on others as if we were superior. Us Christians / Them Sinners, when the truth is Us Christian Sinners. But the Bible also says, the spiritual man judges all things and to discern the validity of a teaching by the teacher's fruit. So we are not judges, but we can be fruit inspectors. Genuine faith changes your choices. So let's review what fruit is.
Fruit is: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control.
Fruit is not:
- Appearance: The Biblical principle is not to judge by outward appearance (1 Sam 16:7, Jn 7:24), but that is 180 degrees opposite of how we are wired. We love to judge based on how people are dressed, hair length/style/color. And the current trend of tattoos and piercings make our job of judging that much easier. We are also to be focused on our character more than outward beauty.
- Clothing: This is part of appearance, but it has it's own separate principle, modesty. Unless God is going to appear on a mountain top, even cleanliness is not required. Jesus ministered in the midst of messy people. There is no Biblical dress standard aside from not being overly focused on clothing. If suits and dresses are the standard, Jehovah Witnesses are good Christians.
- Music style: There is no Biblical standard, but from the instruments listed, Jewish music was a lot spunkier than many Christians consider proper. I am a Christian who prefers wooden instruments and music written in 3/4 time, but I don't presume that is God's standard. The principle is whether what you listen to draws you closer to or further from God. That which is not of faith is sin. (Rom. 14:23)
- Books/movies/media: The same principle as above applies. Selecting radio stations, movies, books etc. from a Christian genre may lessen the danger of worldly influence, but we should apply Biblical discernment to both secular and sacred media. For myself, listening to too much news talk programming, even if it's Christian based, makes me doubt God's sovereignty and have difficulty obeying Phil. 4:8. When that starts to happen, I shut it off. Well informed worry is still sin.
- A church like mine: The principle to apply for selecting a home church is that it faithfully teaches, and upholds the standards of, the Bible. Period. The rest is preference. We are blessed to live in a country where there are more varieties of churches than Baskin-Robbins flavors. But we need to remember, once we are safely ensconced in our preferred church home, that worship is not one style fits all.
- Trappings: Bumper stickers/logos/art/etc.can be good reminders to us and testimony to unbelievers. But if we do not display the fruit of the Spirit as listed above, we should probably take down the trappings. No witness at all is better than a poor one. Unbelievers and our children can spot hypocrisy from a quarter mile away.
Sunday, November 6, 2016
Knock Three Times
I have noticed that when God has a message He wants me to get, He usually sends it three times. Instead of voice mail, text, and e-mail, it might be BSF, church and Christian radio. It's as if God thinks I'm slow on the uptake--which would be insulting if it wasn't true. Lately, what He has reinforced is that our prodigals might not walk close to the Lord in our lifetimes. In three very separate incidents, I have heard Christian mothers of grown children express this, along with their willingness to accept that if necessary. Since we saw God intervene so directly with our prodigal son recently, I am hoping the changes will come before he marries and has children, so that he can make wise choices. But right now it is enough that he has given his drinking, which consumed a large part of his life, to God.
For the first time in 15 years, our son feels a flicker of faith. As tempting as it is to throw a truckload of theology and large logs of expectations on that spark, trying to make up for lost time, that would only put the flame out. Spiritual fire, just like real fire, begins with kindling and gentle blowing until is it gradually able to handle more. That is what the Spirit continues to do in my own life, and to try to accelerate my son's growth for my own satisfaction, is to put my schedule before God's. God is sovereign and can grow faith in spite of our interference. He just shouldn't have to. Smothering faith is Satan's job and I don't want to be Satan's little helper.
So while I wait, I cling to three unshakeable truths from John six:
1. No one comes to Christ unless the Father draws him. vs. 44
2. All that the Father gives Jesus will come to Him. vs. 37
3. None of those given will be lost, all will be resurrected. vs. 39
I can rest in this because we are not saved by our own volition, but by the irresistible Holy Spirit. Would we even want a God who could begin to draw someone to Christ but not finish? Like it's too hard? Like He didn't know we would be so difficult? God is drawing our son in His time and His way. It's not about Tracy. It's not about me. It's about God. My job is to pray, obey and get out of God's way. I don't want to find out how hard God can knock.
For the first time in 15 years, our son feels a flicker of faith. As tempting as it is to throw a truckload of theology and large logs of expectations on that spark, trying to make up for lost time, that would only put the flame out. Spiritual fire, just like real fire, begins with kindling and gentle blowing until is it gradually able to handle more. That is what the Spirit continues to do in my own life, and to try to accelerate my son's growth for my own satisfaction, is to put my schedule before God's. God is sovereign and can grow faith in spite of our interference. He just shouldn't have to. Smothering faith is Satan's job and I don't want to be Satan's little helper.
So while I wait, I cling to three unshakeable truths from John six:
1. No one comes to Christ unless the Father draws him. vs. 44
2. All that the Father gives Jesus will come to Him. vs. 37
3. None of those given will be lost, all will be resurrected. vs. 39
I can rest in this because we are not saved by our own volition, but by the irresistible Holy Spirit. Would we even want a God who could begin to draw someone to Christ but not finish? Like it's too hard? Like He didn't know we would be so difficult? God is drawing our son in His time and His way. It's not about Tracy. It's not about me. It's about God. My job is to pray, obey and get out of God's way. I don't want to find out how hard God can knock.
Sunday, October 30, 2016
Boone & Crockett Babies
I made an unpardonable gaffe at the dinner table a few weeks ago when Tracy's roommate asked what our son and his friend got on their hunting trip. I said, "An elk." All the testosterone bearers at the table stared at me as if I'd lost my mind. "Six point", Tracy offered. Of course, now I understood. It would be like asking my husband what the new parents had, and having him say, "A baby." I, however, would not have been surprised. What we need is a comparison chart to translate baby info into something meaningful to men.
What most women want to know is the sex, size and name of the baby, and possibly something about the difficulty of the delivery. Sex is easy. (I'll just leave that statement alone.) Until the gender police terminally complicate the issue, a baby is either a buck or doe. For size, I'm thinking the average six to eight pound baby could be a four point, eight to ten pounds -- a six point, over ten pounds -- a Boone & Crockett baby. Those mothers' deserve some sort of recognition. For the little guys, four to six pounds could be a two point, and tiny preemies -- antlerless.
Unfortunately, there is no hunting metaphor for the baby's name. Men don't come home from hunting trips saying they shot a "Shirley" or a "Kevin". At least, not in the hunting stories I get to hear. So we might have to wait until we can ask a woman that part. And although men can describe many aspects of their search for game (without actually revealing the location of their hunting spot), and every detail of a complicated shot--position of the sun, temperature, wind velocity, etc., women will probably have to be satisfied with his description that the mom and baby are "Okay . . . I guess".
So in the future, I will remember to ask for baby details in testosterone terms. And for hunting questions, I'll just pass the buck.
What most women want to know is the sex, size and name of the baby, and possibly something about the difficulty of the delivery. Sex is easy. (I'll just leave that statement alone.) Until the gender police terminally complicate the issue, a baby is either a buck or doe. For size, I'm thinking the average six to eight pound baby could be a four point, eight to ten pounds -- a six point, over ten pounds -- a Boone & Crockett baby. Those mothers' deserve some sort of recognition. For the little guys, four to six pounds could be a two point, and tiny preemies -- antlerless.
Unfortunately, there is no hunting metaphor for the baby's name. Men don't come home from hunting trips saying they shot a "Shirley" or a "Kevin". At least, not in the hunting stories I get to hear. So we might have to wait until we can ask a woman that part. And although men can describe many aspects of their search for game (without actually revealing the location of their hunting spot), and every detail of a complicated shot--position of the sun, temperature, wind velocity, etc., women will probably have to be satisfied with his description that the mom and baby are "Okay . . . I guess".
So in the future, I will remember to ask for baby details in testosterone terms. And for hunting questions, I'll just pass the buck.
Missing Miracles
We are studying the book of John both in church and at BSF and I am struck once again with how the Jewish leadership, which should have recognized and welcomed their Messiah, completely overlooked his miracles to pick at the minuscule. In today's John five study, Jesus heals a man who was unable to walk for 38 years, 38 years, and all the Jewish leadership can focus on is that the walking miracle was carrying his mat on the Sabbath. What? Were miracles happening every day? There goes another lame man healed. Ho hum.We would like to think we would do better if Jesus was walking around performing miracles today, however the Sanhedrin's underlying sin is common as ever.
I recently heard a radio pastor criticizing a movie where a child sees heaven. Watch out, I thought, dismissing something because it doesn't match our preconceptions was the Pharisee's sin. Admittedly, I do not take my theology from movies or television nor do I recommend it, but denying someone's actual experience based on our preconceptions is either foolish or arrogant. Probably both. The miracle working Messiah was a huge disappointment to the prejudiced Pharisees. They missed both the miracles, the message of the miracles and, saddest of all, the privilege of seeing God in the flesh. They asked questions, but all the wrong questions. They had made up their minds and left no room in them for the truth.
Sadly, Christians seem more likely than unbelievers to judge by appearance. We have made up our minds about how believers and churches should look and worship. And because we have made up our minds, we miss the miracle of seeing the church in all its varied beauty. The miracle of all people and tongues and nations worshiping as one body. I wonder what miracles I am missing because I have already made up my mind?
I recently heard a radio pastor criticizing a movie where a child sees heaven. Watch out, I thought, dismissing something because it doesn't match our preconceptions was the Pharisee's sin. Admittedly, I do not take my theology from movies or television nor do I recommend it, but denying someone's actual experience based on our preconceptions is either foolish or arrogant. Probably both. The miracle working Messiah was a huge disappointment to the prejudiced Pharisees. They missed both the miracles, the message of the miracles and, saddest of all, the privilege of seeing God in the flesh. They asked questions, but all the wrong questions. They had made up their minds and left no room in them for the truth.
Sadly, Christians seem more likely than unbelievers to judge by appearance. We have made up our minds about how believers and churches should look and worship. And because we have made up our minds, we miss the miracle of seeing the church in all its varied beauty. The miracle of all people and tongues and nations worshiping as one body. I wonder what miracles I am missing because I have already made up my mind?
Sunday, October 23, 2016
Facing Reality
When Reed and I thought about having children, there were certain realities we had to face, there was only so much genetic material to work with. It was not out of the realm of possibility that our offspring might be intelligent, but probably not Nobel prize winners. They might be good looking (if they didn't take too much after us), but were unlikely to be on magazine covers. Being tall would require genetic material from a previous generation, ditto for athleticism. If they became rich, it would not be from their inheritance. I was not afraid of having a special needs child because I grew up with one and it is just another thing. You deal with it. I told the Lord I wasn't sure I could handle a chronically ill child and am thankful I did not have to find out.
From Reed's side of the family, at least one of our children was likely to have poor vision. Easy solution for that--glasses. From my side, three of us four siblings had crooked teeth. That problem is also easy, if expensive, to fix--braces. Also from my side, scoliosis. Although none of our children developed a noticeable curvature, our daughter has hip dysplasia. And from both sides of the family, it was likely one of our children would be an alcoholic.
But for addiction we had no plan. Of course, a lot would depend on when and where the addiction happened. Montana has limited resources and adult children have to choose to fight addiction for themselves. We hoped that growing up in an alcohol free home, as we had, would provide some protection. Our children would know how to have fun without alcohol. And of course, we hoped they would take to heart what the Bible says about drunkenness. But, the reality is, we cannot control what our children will face. In this case DNA stands for Do Not Assume. Do not assume our children will respond to parental programming as if they were machines. All of us have genetic predispositions, sin natures and exposure to temptation. So you would think when reality rears its ugly head, we would recognize the face.
From Reed's side of the family, at least one of our children was likely to have poor vision. Easy solution for that--glasses. From my side, three of us four siblings had crooked teeth. That problem is also easy, if expensive, to fix--braces. Also from my side, scoliosis. Although none of our children developed a noticeable curvature, our daughter has hip dysplasia. And from both sides of the family, it was likely one of our children would be an alcoholic.
But for addiction we had no plan. Of course, a lot would depend on when and where the addiction happened. Montana has limited resources and adult children have to choose to fight addiction for themselves. We hoped that growing up in an alcohol free home, as we had, would provide some protection. Our children would know how to have fun without alcohol. And of course, we hoped they would take to heart what the Bible says about drunkenness. But, the reality is, we cannot control what our children will face. In this case DNA stands for Do Not Assume. Do not assume our children will respond to parental programming as if they were machines. All of us have genetic predispositions, sin natures and exposure to temptation. So you would think when reality rears its ugly head, we would recognize the face.
Wednesday, October 19, 2016
The Revealer Revealed
I have studied the story of the Samaritan woman at the well many times. John 4 has been the subject of preschool flannel graphs, "Women of the Bible" studies, and even songs. So when this week's BSF question asked what new or deeper truth I learned about Jesus from that portion of scripture, I didn't think I would come up with much. I was wrong. What I noticed this time, after weeks of focusing on our son's addiction treatment, was that Jesus only named one sin--adultery. Obviously she, like all of us, had committed many more, but Jesus only mentioned one. I think there were several reasons he did this:
1) Jesus is merciful. He knows how much we can handle. I am so grateful that when I open myself to the Spirit to reveal the sins I need to confess, He does not dump a truckload on me. I have a truckload, but He only reveals one or two at a time. Seeing all my sins at the same time would cause me to live in discouragement or give up on sanctification entirely. And I can trust him to do the same for my son, revealing one sin at a time, gradually making him more like Christ.
2) Jesus is merciful. He did not call her an adulteress. He did not even name her sin. He told her to do something that helped her understand it for herself. Which is what Jesus does for us through his word.
3) Jesus is merciful. He revealed her sin so that He could reveal Himself to her. He did not choose a sin common to everyone like lying or hateful thoughts, he chose one unique to her, five times married and currently cohabiting. Her sin specialty so to speak. Not only did Jesus see her sin, He saw her need, He saw her. And as we learned on the road to Rimrock, knowing God sees you changes your life. And not only the Samaritan woman's life, but the lives of the people she told.
Jesus is merciful. He uses even our sin to reveal His glory. In which case, I must be a fireworks display of glory.
1) Jesus is merciful. He knows how much we can handle. I am so grateful that when I open myself to the Spirit to reveal the sins I need to confess, He does not dump a truckload on me. I have a truckload, but He only reveals one or two at a time. Seeing all my sins at the same time would cause me to live in discouragement or give up on sanctification entirely. And I can trust him to do the same for my son, revealing one sin at a time, gradually making him more like Christ.
2) Jesus is merciful. He did not call her an adulteress. He did not even name her sin. He told her to do something that helped her understand it for herself. Which is what Jesus does for us through his word.
3) Jesus is merciful. He revealed her sin so that He could reveal Himself to her. He did not choose a sin common to everyone like lying or hateful thoughts, he chose one unique to her, five times married and currently cohabiting. Her sin specialty so to speak. Not only did Jesus see her sin, He saw her need, He saw her. And as we learned on the road to Rimrock, knowing God sees you changes your life. And not only the Samaritan woman's life, but the lives of the people she told.
Jesus is merciful. He uses even our sin to reveal His glory. In which case, I must be a fireworks display of glory.
Tuesday, October 11, 2016
The God Who Sees Me
Our experience on the road to Rimrock brings to mind one of my favorite Bible passages, the story of Hagar in the wilderness. For one thing I like Bible stories where the main character screws up and God's plan works out anyway. Wait a minute, that's most of the Bible. In this particular story in Genesis 16, Hagar is the one at fault. She slept with her boss's husband, although that was Sarah's idea. Why Abraham blindly followed that accepted cultural practice is what I call one of the "okey, dokeys" of the Bible. There are several places in Genesis where a bad idea is presented and, instead of praying, one of our spiritual forefathers says, "okey, dokey". Hagar's ideas, however, were her own. She mocked her boss, quit her job without notice, and ran away from home. So there she is, in the middle of nowhere, alone except for the baby in her belly, and God shows up. Or, more accurately, an angel shows up. He instructs her to return home and prophesies about her unborn child.
Hagar, however, understood that she was not just touched by an angel. She named the place Beer LaHai Roi, well of the living God who sees me. That encounter must have changed her life. The God who made such great promises to Abraham & Sarah saw her. Made promises to her. I used to envy Hagar, despite her servant status, until our encounter on the highway. Our messenger was quite human, and he made no prophecies about our son, but we clearly understood that God saw us. He answered our prayers as they were still on our lips. God always sees us, but there are times like Hagar's when we see that God sees us. May that well of blessing never run dry.
Hagar, however, understood that she was not just touched by an angel. She named the place Beer LaHai Roi, well of the living God who sees me. That encounter must have changed her life. The God who made such great promises to Abraham & Sarah saw her. Made promises to her. I used to envy Hagar, despite her servant status, until our encounter on the highway. Our messenger was quite human, and he made no prophecies about our son, but we clearly understood that God saw us. He answered our prayers as they were still on our lips. God always sees us, but there are times like Hagar's when we see that God sees us. May that well of blessing never run dry.
Thursday, October 6, 2016
More Than You Can Imagine
The divine intervention we experienced on the drive to Billings happened September 29th, but the prequel occurred August 18th in the unlikely spot of Wichita, KS. I would not have chosen Wichita in August as a vacation destination, but Reed was attending Citation Jet school there, and I love both travel and Reed, so there I was enjoying the heat and humidity of summer in the Midwest. I was walking into the Wichita Mall with nothing in particular on my mind when the Lord sent me a spontaneous message. Not aloud, of course. Just a thought that came into my mind that I know I did not put there. The message was, I am doing more than you can imagine. For Tracy was implied since he was always on my mind. Me, being me, I said, "I don't know Lord, I can imagine pretty big." This is only the second time God has given me information that I did not ask for, so I was mostly thinking, What the heck was that about?
Then we came home from Wichita to find Tracy, who was house sitting, dead drunk on the sofa and the house trashed. He had seen his ex at a restaurant the night before and drank so much we could barely rouse him. So I began doing what I always do in an overwhelming situation, I chose one thing to focus on. First, picking up empty cans, then plastic bottles. One thing at a time. the house became clean enough that we could unpack and go to bed. Except for Reed who, after getting up at 3:30 a.m. Montana time to catch our flight, sat up with his son from 12 - 1 a.m. to make sure he didn't aspirate. The minute we walked in our door I understood why God gave the unsolicited message, it gave us something positive to hang onto when we came home to chaos.
So far, more than you can imagine wasn't looking so good. That began happening later, when Tracy was finally willing to go to inpatient rehab. But the truly unimaginable event was when God showed up on the side of the road September 29th. And that was just the pinnacle of many perfectly timed events that followed, some of which I have already posted. God was right (no surprise), He has been doing more than I can imagine. And I look forward to the unimaginable things to come.
Then we came home from Wichita to find Tracy, who was house sitting, dead drunk on the sofa and the house trashed. He had seen his ex at a restaurant the night before and drank so much we could barely rouse him. So I began doing what I always do in an overwhelming situation, I chose one thing to focus on. First, picking up empty cans, then plastic bottles. One thing at a time. the house became clean enough that we could unpack and go to bed. Except for Reed who, after getting up at 3:30 a.m. Montana time to catch our flight, sat up with his son from 12 - 1 a.m. to make sure he didn't aspirate. The minute we walked in our door I understood why God gave the unsolicited message, it gave us something positive to hang onto when we came home to chaos.
So far, more than you can imagine wasn't looking so good. That began happening later, when Tracy was finally willing to go to inpatient rehab. But the truly unimaginable event was when God showed up on the side of the road September 29th. And that was just the pinnacle of many perfectly timed events that followed, some of which I have already posted. God was right (no surprise), He has been doing more than I can imagine. And I look forward to the unimaginable things to come.
Ryan, the Angel
Ryan,
Reed and I can't thank
you enough for the help you gave us and Tracy yesterday by the side of
the road. Reed has been a Christian over 50 years and I have for 44 and
we have never had an experience where God intervened
so directly in our circumstances. Thank you for listening to the Holy
Spirit. Tracy was raised in a Christian home, church and school, but his
faith has wavered for the past 15 years. Tracy had literally just said,
"I will never believe in God. I can't see
Him, and He can't see me." That's when your car pulled up. Tracy was a
little loopy from the lorazepam he had for withdrawal, but felt as if
God or an angel had showed up to help him. Later he said, "I will never
doubt there is a God because of what He did
for me today."
That doesn't mean the
rest of the trip was easy, especially the last hour, but the last thing
Tracy wanted before we walked with him into Rimrock was for us to pray
for him. I knew he would want to leave and we
got a message from the nurse there saying he wants to just detox and
come home. Please pray that he stays the full 29 days. I hope Tracy will
call you. We were all incredibly moved by this miraculous encounter.
You acted as God's messenger, so I will always
think of you as Ryan, the Angel.
Reed and Connie Lamb
Mr. and Mrs. Lamb,
I
am humbled by the kind words and naturally give credit where it is
due—God.
There are too many times that I cannot even count that I would have
continued on with attempting to make an important meeting, but in this
case my heart overwhelmed my head to turn around and assist as needed. I
am so very grateful that your son was able to
connect his immediate challenges with seeing God from my visit. That is
the beginning of an incredible life change. I will continue to pray
for your family and please feel free to reach out for additional support
or anything else that is warranted. I would
be honored to send him a copy of Purpose Driven Life by Pastor Rick
Warren if you think he would take the time to read it, which is
ultimately what prompted me to turn my life around after my deployment
to Iraq in 2004. Blessings.
Ryan Luchau
Follow UP
As soon as we got home from Billings, Reed received a phone call from Tracy's nurse (detox patients can't make phone calls the first three days) saying he wanted to come home. Of course he did. I knew he would. I did when I was inpatient for depression. So why was I so crushed to hear it? Did I really believe that after all that effort God had somehow dropped the ball? This was voluntary, not court ordered treatment, Tracy could leave any time he wanted. We wouldn't pick him up, of course, but he could still hitchhike. I hadn't warned Tracy he would feel like this because it was hard enough to get him in the door. I knew it was coming, but still I felt the icy grip of worry grab my heart.
I was on the phone telling my sister about the miracle, when I heard Tracy's roommate come in the front door. I heard him talking to Reed, but he was gone before I came out. Good thing. When Reed told me Clint got a DUI and spent the previous night in jail, I couldn't hide my rejoicing. This was perfect! It is exactly what needed to happen. One of my big fears was that Clint was Tracy's best friend, and Clint drank. A lot. He functioned much better than Tracy, but he needed to stop drinking too. A second DUI is a powerful motivator. I had told the Lord when they came to help move furniture a couple weeks earlier, with beer wafting out their pores, that God really had His work cut out for Him. He would have to reach both of them together. The icy hand on my heart was now doing high fives.
If Saturday night's news lifted my spirits, what happened Sunday was like a boulder rolling off my chest. Our pastor was preaching from John chapter six. As he expounded on verse 44, "No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him, and I will raise him up in the last day.", I realized God was drawing my son and that drawing is irresistible. And I no longer had to look to his childhood to see that drawing, I only had to go back to Friday. God does not draw us against our will, but He changes our will. I still worry about the consequences Tracy will suffer for his sin, but I no longer worry that he will not be with the rest of the family in heaven. Tracy will follow where he is drawn and Jesus will raise him up.
I was on the phone telling my sister about the miracle, when I heard Tracy's roommate come in the front door. I heard him talking to Reed, but he was gone before I came out. Good thing. When Reed told me Clint got a DUI and spent the previous night in jail, I couldn't hide my rejoicing. This was perfect! It is exactly what needed to happen. One of my big fears was that Clint was Tracy's best friend, and Clint drank. A lot. He functioned much better than Tracy, but he needed to stop drinking too. A second DUI is a powerful motivator. I had told the Lord when they came to help move furniture a couple weeks earlier, with beer wafting out their pores, that God really had His work cut out for Him. He would have to reach both of them together. The icy hand on my heart was now doing high fives.
If Saturday night's news lifted my spirits, what happened Sunday was like a boulder rolling off my chest. Our pastor was preaching from John chapter six. As he expounded on verse 44, "No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draws him, and I will raise him up in the last day.", I realized God was drawing my son and that drawing is irresistible. And I no longer had to look to his childhood to see that drawing, I only had to go back to Friday. God does not draw us against our will, but He changes our will. I still worry about the consequences Tracy will suffer for his sin, but I no longer worry that he will not be with the rest of the family in heaven. Tracy will follow where he is drawn and Jesus will raise him up.
Not Technically a Miracle
What happened to us on the road to Rimrock was not technically a miracle. God did not override a law of nature. He used what He normally does, the things He already made, to do his work. Like turning water into wine, Jesus uses ordinary objects and people to do extraordinary things. It was the instant answer to prayer and Ryan's message that made the event miraculous. It was followed by the other small confirmations God usually uses to guide Christians. Still, I cannot say that the rest of the trip to Billings was peaceful, even after the divine intervention. Tracy was still fearful, despite the lorazepam he was given for withdrawal until we got to Billings. Already running late, we were afraid to stop for smoke breaks. I had already decided to let him smoke in the car before he asked permission.
Tracy had been playing music from his phone on the car speakers since we left Kalispell for Helena the day before. To his credit, he tried to find genres we liked, like Celtic. It seemed important to him that we appreciated his music and I did like many of the songs but frankly, at that point, I would have liked "death metal" if it kept him calm. But he was not calm. He was holding on to both grab handles above the back doors and I was coaching him through slow, deep breathing like I used when I was in labor. I was out of ideas and praying furiously when Tracy started playing Brian Regan comedies on Spotify. Why didn't I think of that? Comedy is my favorite stress reliever. We laughed our way to Rimrock, 15 minutes late for his intake. It took another ten to get him from the parking lot to the door. The last thing he asked us to do before he entered was pray for him.
Having been on the inside of locked facilities when I was hospitalized for depression in my early 30's, I knew something of what he was feeling, but for Tracy it was also his first time away from his hometown. Since he did not go to college, he hadn't experienced that somber drive to a new place, the fancy dinner none of us had an appetite for, that first night alone with strangers for roommates. If someone had offered me a ride home my first three weeks at Bible college, I would have been gone in an instant--and I came from a dysfunctional home. Reed said he would have driven right through Western's campus without stopping his freshman year, if he hadn't needed to drop off a girl who had ridden with him. Of course, before too long we loved college and eventually each other, but an addiction center, despite all the educating done there, is hardly like college.
The important thing was, Tracy had made it to a place that could help him. For the first time in a long time, we knew he would not be drinking. We felt so blessed. After rain washed off the dead bugs stuck to the windshield on the drive home, I told Reed maybe we didn't need to stop for gas. Maybe God would miraculously fill the gas tank. He had already topped off our spiritual tanks.
Tracy had been playing music from his phone on the car speakers since we left Kalispell for Helena the day before. To his credit, he tried to find genres we liked, like Celtic. It seemed important to him that we appreciated his music and I did like many of the songs but frankly, at that point, I would have liked "death metal" if it kept him calm. But he was not calm. He was holding on to both grab handles above the back doors and I was coaching him through slow, deep breathing like I used when I was in labor. I was out of ideas and praying furiously when Tracy started playing Brian Regan comedies on Spotify. Why didn't I think of that? Comedy is my favorite stress reliever. We laughed our way to Rimrock, 15 minutes late for his intake. It took another ten to get him from the parking lot to the door. The last thing he asked us to do before he entered was pray for him.
Having been on the inside of locked facilities when I was hospitalized for depression in my early 30's, I knew something of what he was feeling, but for Tracy it was also his first time away from his hometown. Since he did not go to college, he hadn't experienced that somber drive to a new place, the fancy dinner none of us had an appetite for, that first night alone with strangers for roommates. If someone had offered me a ride home my first three weeks at Bible college, I would have been gone in an instant--and I came from a dysfunctional home. Reed said he would have driven right through Western's campus without stopping his freshman year, if he hadn't needed to drop off a girl who had ridden with him. Of course, before too long we loved college and eventually each other, but an addiction center, despite all the educating done there, is hardly like college.
The important thing was, Tracy had made it to a place that could help him. For the first time in a long time, we knew he would not be drinking. We felt so blessed. After rain washed off the dead bugs stuck to the windshield on the drive home, I told Reed maybe we didn't need to stop for gas. Maybe God would miraculously fill the gas tank. He had already topped off our spiritual tanks.
Wednesday, October 5, 2016
Stone Pillar
We did not erect a pillar of stone by the side of the road between Townsend and Toston, simply because we did not have time, but what happened to us there was every bit as memorable as was Jacob's vision at Bethel on his stone pillow. Afraid and homesick, Jacob was alone in the wilderness where his own sin had placed him. At that moment, few people could be less deserving than Jacob of his vision of a stairway to heaven, but God met him there, and that vision must have sustained him through long, weary years of waiting to go home. That stretch of I-287 is straight, but for our lives it was a turning point.
A year ago our youngest son's DUI accident exposed years of addiction, and we had been praying since then for him to be willing to go to inpatient rehab. That prayer was answered last Wednesday when he came over drunk and desperate. I immediately called Rimrock in Billings, which has a good reputation and was recommended by Tracy's DUI attorney. They set up an intake appointment for him on Friday afternoon. The closer we got to Billings, the more anxious Tracy became, so we stopped by the side of the road between Townsend and Toston to let him smoke and pace. Tracy sat in the grass smoking, I stood beside him, hand on his shoulder, trying to encourage him. Our children were raised in a Christian home, church and school, but Tracy's faith had wavered since his mid teens. He said, "I will never believe in God because I can't see him, and He can't see me." I prayed again, as I had so often, "Help Tracy to see that you are real, and you are good."
At that very moment a car pulled up behind ours on the side of the road. It had government plates. We were afraid we were in some sort of trouble for parking there. The driver got out and began to talk to Reed. He asked Tracy if he was a veteran because he was a counselor for veterans. Ryan told us he passed us while heading the other way to a meeting in Helena. He said he was a Christian and God told him to turn around and go talk to us. He had an important meeting to attend, but he knew it wasn't as important as doing what God prompted him to. He encouraged Tracy about rehab, gave us his card and prayed with us. We were all crying because we knew God had sent Ryan at just that moment to show Tracy that He was real and that He loved him, loved us. Tracy said, "I will never doubt there is a God again, because of what He did for me today." We left that roadside different people than when we had pulled over. God had met us there, in that place of desperation, between Townsend and Toston.
Reed and I have been Christians nearly 50 years, we knew God was real, but we never had, or ever expected to have, an experience where God so directly intervened in our lives. It is the kind of thing you hear about, but never experience. Angels are Gods' messengers, and since Ryan acted as God's messenger that day, I will always think of him as Ryan, the Angel. I wish we had noted the mile marker before we pulled out, but we were too stunned to do so. Ten days later, on the way to visit Tracy, we pulled over at the most likely spot and set up a pillar of four stones. One each for Reed, Tracy and I, and a small heart-shaped stone for God, because that deserted spot is where God showed Himself to a desperate, fearful young man in the place where sin had brought him. And that glimpse of God will sustain us through the years ahead, as we wait to go home.
A year ago our youngest son's DUI accident exposed years of addiction, and we had been praying since then for him to be willing to go to inpatient rehab. That prayer was answered last Wednesday when he came over drunk and desperate. I immediately called Rimrock in Billings, which has a good reputation and was recommended by Tracy's DUI attorney. They set up an intake appointment for him on Friday afternoon. The closer we got to Billings, the more anxious Tracy became, so we stopped by the side of the road between Townsend and Toston to let him smoke and pace. Tracy sat in the grass smoking, I stood beside him, hand on his shoulder, trying to encourage him. Our children were raised in a Christian home, church and school, but Tracy's faith had wavered since his mid teens. He said, "I will never believe in God because I can't see him, and He can't see me." I prayed again, as I had so often, "Help Tracy to see that you are real, and you are good."
At that very moment a car pulled up behind ours on the side of the road. It had government plates. We were afraid we were in some sort of trouble for parking there. The driver got out and began to talk to Reed. He asked Tracy if he was a veteran because he was a counselor for veterans. Ryan told us he passed us while heading the other way to a meeting in Helena. He said he was a Christian and God told him to turn around and go talk to us. He had an important meeting to attend, but he knew it wasn't as important as doing what God prompted him to. He encouraged Tracy about rehab, gave us his card and prayed with us. We were all crying because we knew God had sent Ryan at just that moment to show Tracy that He was real and that He loved him, loved us. Tracy said, "I will never doubt there is a God again, because of what He did for me today." We left that roadside different people than when we had pulled over. God had met us there, in that place of desperation, between Townsend and Toston.
Reed and I have been Christians nearly 50 years, we knew God was real, but we never had, or ever expected to have, an experience where God so directly intervened in our lives. It is the kind of thing you hear about, but never experience. Angels are Gods' messengers, and since Ryan acted as God's messenger that day, I will always think of him as Ryan, the Angel. I wish we had noted the mile marker before we pulled out, but we were too stunned to do so. Ten days later, on the way to visit Tracy, we pulled over at the most likely spot and set up a pillar of four stones. One each for Reed, Tracy and I, and a small heart-shaped stone for God, because that deserted spot is where God showed Himself to a desperate, fearful young man in the place where sin had brought him. And that glimpse of God will sustain us through the years ahead, as we wait to go home.
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
And Then We Fly
Kalispell is a cloudy place, we only have 2 more days of sunshine here than they have in Seattle. I am solar powered, so our cloudy winters are hard on me. Despite vitamin D and a happy light, the sunless skies sap my energy and cloud my mind. I actually perk up when the invisible sun sets and I can't see the white skies anymore. From my petite perspective, there is no sun.
Segue to a recent trip I made to Missoula. I hitched a ride there with my daughter and son-in-law, and my husband suggested the splurge of having my nephew, Alex, fly me back to Kalispell in his Cessna. I've made well over a hundred trips to Missoula and back in the 32 years we have lived here. That route is as familiar to me as my own face. But it was a whole new adventure from the air. I saw roads I didn't know existed, houses in the middle of nowhere, the fields and forests were beautiful. I have flown many times, but those bigger, faster airplanes fly too high to see the details that I did from that little Cessna. We even had in-flight entertainment, it was called Sunset on the Mountains.
But then, every day is sunny when you are above the clouds. Summer or winter, rain or shine, half the planet is in daylight. From a proper perspective, there is always sun. What is true for the sun in the sky is also true for the Son of God. Whether we can see him or not, He is always there, warming, energizing, giving us life and light. One day He will banish the clouds between us, and then we fly.
Segue to a recent trip I made to Missoula. I hitched a ride there with my daughter and son-in-law, and my husband suggested the splurge of having my nephew, Alex, fly me back to Kalispell in his Cessna. I've made well over a hundred trips to Missoula and back in the 32 years we have lived here. That route is as familiar to me as my own face. But it was a whole new adventure from the air. I saw roads I didn't know existed, houses in the middle of nowhere, the fields and forests were beautiful. I have flown many times, but those bigger, faster airplanes fly too high to see the details that I did from that little Cessna. We even had in-flight entertainment, it was called Sunset on the Mountains.
But then, every day is sunny when you are above the clouds. Summer or winter, rain or shine, half the planet is in daylight. From a proper perspective, there is always sun. What is true for the sun in the sky is also true for the Son of God. Whether we can see him or not, He is always there, warming, energizing, giving us life and light. One day He will banish the clouds between us, and then we fly.
Monday, October 3, 2016
Tragic Joy
Most moments in life are a mingling of good and bad, but some are more poignant than others. I was only four when my brother Roddy was born with cerebral palsy, but that was such a moment, joy--because a child was brought into the world, tragic--because he would face a lifelong struggle. It was similar when my nephew Zane was born with spina bifida. Both of them have exceeded medical expectations, but they will always struggle to do things most of us take for granted.
Last year we experienced tragic joy with our own son, joy--because he had survived rolling his pickup, tragic--because he was driving drunk at the time. The downward spirals of addiction are tragic, but having them exposed before worse tragedies happen is a good thing. Last Wednesday our son came to the door drunk and desperate. A year after his accident, he was finally ready to go to inpatient rehab. Tragic--that his life had come to this, joy--that he came to this understanding. It is our prayer that he, too, will exceed expectations, though addictions are a lifelong struggle.
The ultimate tragic joy will always be the crucifixion--the ugliness of sin that brought it about, the beauty of Christ's redemption. The depth of depravity. The height of humility. The physical pain. The spiritual gain. The cry of despair, "Why have you forsaken me?" The shout of victory, "It is finished!"Our access to heaven is through the broken body of Christ. That is where the tragic joys of this earth give way to the eternal joys of heaven, and the mingling is only of man with God.
Last year we experienced tragic joy with our own son, joy--because he had survived rolling his pickup, tragic--because he was driving drunk at the time. The downward spirals of addiction are tragic, but having them exposed before worse tragedies happen is a good thing. Last Wednesday our son came to the door drunk and desperate. A year after his accident, he was finally ready to go to inpatient rehab. Tragic--that his life had come to this, joy--that he came to this understanding. It is our prayer that he, too, will exceed expectations, though addictions are a lifelong struggle.
The ultimate tragic joy will always be the crucifixion--the ugliness of sin that brought it about, the beauty of Christ's redemption. The depth of depravity. The height of humility. The physical pain. The spiritual gain. The cry of despair, "Why have you forsaken me?" The shout of victory, "It is finished!"Our access to heaven is through the broken body of Christ. That is where the tragic joys of this earth give way to the eternal joys of heaven, and the mingling is only of man with God.
God's Business Cards
As I was praying for my son last week, for God to heal the broken places in his life, to renew his spirit, I realized I was not praying for something unusual. It is actually God's specialty. At the risk of sounding irreverent, it is what He does for a living. If God had a business card, it could read:
God--
Healing hearts and saving souls
since Creation.
Ps. 34:18
God--
Healing hearts and saving souls
since Creation.
Ps. 34:18
Friday, August 19, 2016
Slapping the Gracious Hand
In my ongoing summer quest to make myself feel better by studying books of the Bible where worse things are happening than in my life, I have finished Ezra and am now in Nehemiah. I felt sorry for Ezra. After all his hard work getting to Jerusalem, Ezra's reward was finding his people singing the same sinful song, second verse. Ezra felt the gracious hand of the Lord in the rebuilding of the Jerusalem temple in many ways:
And after all that:
Ezra finds out the exiles have not only returned to Israel, but to the sin that got them exiled in the first place--intermarriage with the surrounding idolaters. The rest of the book tells how the whole mess got straightened out, but not before the offenders names got written down--FOR ALL ETERNITY.
Meanwhile back in Persia, Nehemiah feels God's call to rebuild Jerusalem's walls. God was gracious enough to:
And after all that:
Nehemiah finds out returned exiles are robbing fellow Jews of the inherited lands they just got back to, and making slaves of their children through usurious lending. Like payday loans only with a "surrender your offspring" clause. The rest of the book explains how Nehemiah, with the help of Ezra and the Law, got the returned exiles back on track.
And after all that. . . I do feel better about my puny problems.
- God moved a Gentile king, Cyrus, to decree the rebuilding of the temple.
- For good measure, Cyrus threw in the plunder originally removed from the temple.
- God moved the Jews who remained in exile to donate to the rebuilding.
- God gave priests, Levites and temple servants the desire to return to ruined Israel.
- The altar was rebuilt quickly.
- Which allowed the Jews to finally be able to worship through sacrifices.
- When enemies opposed their efforts, Darius not only confirmed Cyrus's decree, but issued his own and made the opposition fund it. That would be like Planned Parenthood forced to pay support to Focus on the Family.
- Ezra arrives with Artaxerxes letter of authority, making king support 3 out of 3.
- Made the journey in only 4 months. Not great by today's standards, even airline luggage arrives faster than that.
- Made the journey with temple treasure through bandit-filled land without military protection.
And after all that:
Ezra finds out the exiles have not only returned to Israel, but to the sin that got them exiled in the first place--intermarriage with the surrounding idolaters. The rest of the book tells how the whole mess got straightened out, but not before the offenders names got written down--FOR ALL ETERNITY.
Meanwhile back in Persia, Nehemiah feels God's call to rebuild Jerusalem's walls. God was gracious enough to:
- Help the king not to misunderstand why his royal food taster looked unhappy.
- Got king's permission to return to Jerusalem to rebuild walls.
- Found multitaskers skilled in both wall building and swordsmanship,
- willing to work for free,
- remain armed even at the water cooler,
- and pull guard duty after hours.
- Caused opposition to give up when they see the Jews are armed. Probably with assault swords.
And after all that:
Nehemiah finds out returned exiles are robbing fellow Jews of the inherited lands they just got back to, and making slaves of their children through usurious lending. Like payday loans only with a "surrender your offspring" clause. The rest of the book explains how Nehemiah, with the help of Ezra and the Law, got the returned exiles back on track.
And after all that. . . I do feel better about my puny problems.
Monday, August 15, 2016
Remarkable, Ordinary Jean
When you examine them closely, it is the ordinary lives that are most remarkable. I have been thinking, of course, of Jean, who died a few days ago. I was Jean's home health aide for five years and friend for five after that. Jean was a good hearted soul, but her upbeat attitude and childlike enthusiasm did not come from an easy life. Her father died suddenly when she was 11 leaving a mother, who had never worked outside the home, with two daughters to raise alone. Jean married at 18, had her first child at age 20 and another daughter and son after that. As her children grew older, she worked hard at a tire factory to earn enough income to divorce her abusive husband. At the time, divorce carried a stigma, especially since she went to the Catholic church. Jean's second husband was a wonderful man who died suddenly, leaving his estate to the children of his first marriage. So Jean started over, this time working at a nursing home, often double shifts. Her third husband was an alcoholic who took her rambling across the country until they divorced when she came to Montana and he went to prison for check fraud.
By the time I came into Jean's life she had recovered from the worst of the depression and anxiety. She may have been "done with men", but she was not done with life. She loved good food. That was actually the first question she asked when the office suggested me as her caregiver, "Ask her if she can cook." I assured her I was a good cook and I had many chances to prove it over the years. I love to cook and getting paid to do so was like earning double time to me. I cooked the way she used to for her family--fried chicken, pies, cakes and other things not good for her diabetes. Jean also loved shopping, which is why her money was gone the day she cashed the check. It never occurred to her to save her spending money for later in the week or her EBT credit, formerly called food stamps, for later in the month. Jean was the impulse buying queen. If she saw it, she wanted it and, if she could possibly afford it, she bought it. Finding a place to put it in her one bedroom apartment was up to us, her aides. Jean would buy a 20 lb. bag of potatoes at Costco one month, give or throw away half of them, and buy another 20 lb. bag the next month because that was her way of doing things.
Jean also loved going for drives and some of my best memories of our time together are on those drives. Jean does not have as many good memories as I do, because my magical sleeping car caused her to drop off instantly, sometimes before we got out of town. Then she would straighten up and make a comment as if she had never been asleep. I drove her to Bigfork and Whitefish and she drove me crazy, sometimes. . . in the way people who love each other do. Another thing Jean loved was Montana and she got her wish to die, and be buried, here. Her daughter and I were holding her hands as she drew her last breath and her remains will become part of the land she loved.
Our friendship also remains, because believers are never parted for long. Jean's hard life made her better instead of bitter. And in that remarkably ordinary gift that is friendship, she made mine better too.
By the time I came into Jean's life she had recovered from the worst of the depression and anxiety. She may have been "done with men", but she was not done with life. She loved good food. That was actually the first question she asked when the office suggested me as her caregiver, "Ask her if she can cook." I assured her I was a good cook and I had many chances to prove it over the years. I love to cook and getting paid to do so was like earning double time to me. I cooked the way she used to for her family--fried chicken, pies, cakes and other things not good for her diabetes. Jean also loved shopping, which is why her money was gone the day she cashed the check. It never occurred to her to save her spending money for later in the week or her EBT credit, formerly called food stamps, for later in the month. Jean was the impulse buying queen. If she saw it, she wanted it and, if she could possibly afford it, she bought it. Finding a place to put it in her one bedroom apartment was up to us, her aides. Jean would buy a 20 lb. bag of potatoes at Costco one month, give or throw away half of them, and buy another 20 lb. bag the next month because that was her way of doing things.
Jean also loved going for drives and some of my best memories of our time together are on those drives. Jean does not have as many good memories as I do, because my magical sleeping car caused her to drop off instantly, sometimes before we got out of town. Then she would straighten up and make a comment as if she had never been asleep. I drove her to Bigfork and Whitefish and she drove me crazy, sometimes. . . in the way people who love each other do. Another thing Jean loved was Montana and she got her wish to die, and be buried, here. Her daughter and I were holding her hands as she drew her last breath and her remains will become part of the land she loved.
Our friendship also remains, because believers are never parted for long. Jean's hard life made her better instead of bitter. And in that remarkably ordinary gift that is friendship, she made mine better too.
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
. . . But in Real Life
My husband and I recently went to the new Tarzan movie even though I had warned him it was a chick flick. My sister told me that for most of the movie, the star is not wearing a shirt. Apparently Reed did not find that too much of a deterrent and I certainly didn't. In one particularly dramatic scene, the ripped, shirtless hero hears captured Jane calling for help and throws himself blindly off a cliff to rescue her. Tarzan, knowing the jungle and its endless supply of vines to swing on, considers it a mere shortcut. In real life, of course, that would be suicidally stupid. Also in real life, most people seldom need to be rescued--
Except for the Sunday I handed out invitations to our neighborhood ice cream social. I hand deliver the invitations so I can meet new neighbors and visit with old ones. Besides, that personal touch makes people more likely to come. I asked Reed to go with me to deliver one at an old farm house down the street because it sets farther off the road and I no longer knew who lived there. The last occupant I knew of was a man I called "Slow Bob", referring to his driving speed, not his intellect. When he drove, he tried to make up in slow what he lacked in sobriety. This year a woman with two quarreling dogs answered the door. The barking slipper dog was annoying, but the Lab cross was somewhat aggressive and definitely disobedient. I handed the woman an invitation while trying to subtly back away from the Lab, but I couldn't back far because my husband was blocking the doorway. He was afraid the stranger's obnoxious little dog would get out. Even though the Lab had been tormenting its tiny playmate when we arrived, I got the feeling he didn't like anyone else doing that and the mini-mongrel at Reed's feet was squealing like a stuck pig. He managed to hand the dog back to its owner without getting bit, but not for lack of effort on the dog's part.
Tarzan: In a flashback to their first meeting, the hero throws himself between Jane and a rampaging gorilla.
In Real life: My husband, who has known me a long time, traps me between an angry dog and the door.
Now that the little dog was not in danger (of getting out), Reed moved out of the doorway, but the Lab was following us and barking loud enough to drown out his owner's commands to come. At that point my heroic hubby turned around and walked back to the car. I did not. I have made it a practice not to turn my back on an aggressive dog. I've found dogs that are aggressive to your face are even bolder when your back is turned. But then my husband didn't need to worry about that because, once again, I was between him and the angry dog.
Tarzan: Husband of 8 years risks death a dozen times in desperate attempts to rescue Jane,
In Real Life: Husband of 39 years whisks back to the car while I attempt to escape unaided and unbitten.
I slowly made my way to the safety of the car, very unhappy with the pooch and not too thrilled with my protector.
Tarzan: In the final scene, John looks at Jane as if he desires every inch of her skin, every stand of her hair
In Real life: I am thankful Reed doesn't notice how many more inches of skin there are to desire or the gray root at end of those strands of hair.
That is the problem with real life--no scripts, no choreography, no retakes. Here are some real life examples from people I know.
In Real life: Wife is inside thoughtfully making coffee for her husband, blissfully unaware that he had fallen off the roof and broken his hip. After she finally noticed why the dog was barking and called 911, faithful Rusty did his best to protect his master from the emergency responders who came to help. Another woman, whose husband is an emergency responder, yelled for help for 20 minutes before her spouse noticed his wife was taking a long time to get her coat. That was because she fallen five feet onto the cement floor of their crawl space.
Yes I would like my husband to notice when I need help, but the rest of the time I don't want him looking that closely. If he did, he might notice that his favorite femme fatale is just another flabby female. In real life we don't have soft lighting and makeup artists. No vines to grab when you are falling. Six packs are in the refrigerator, not on your abs. But in real life, I know my husband loves me and I am sure he would take a bullet for me. . . unless he was looking at his phone. . .or didn't notice. . .or the shooter had a dog.
Except for the Sunday I handed out invitations to our neighborhood ice cream social. I hand deliver the invitations so I can meet new neighbors and visit with old ones. Besides, that personal touch makes people more likely to come. I asked Reed to go with me to deliver one at an old farm house down the street because it sets farther off the road and I no longer knew who lived there. The last occupant I knew of was a man I called "Slow Bob", referring to his driving speed, not his intellect. When he drove, he tried to make up in slow what he lacked in sobriety. This year a woman with two quarreling dogs answered the door. The barking slipper dog was annoying, but the Lab cross was somewhat aggressive and definitely disobedient. I handed the woman an invitation while trying to subtly back away from the Lab, but I couldn't back far because my husband was blocking the doorway. He was afraid the stranger's obnoxious little dog would get out. Even though the Lab had been tormenting its tiny playmate when we arrived, I got the feeling he didn't like anyone else doing that and the mini-mongrel at Reed's feet was squealing like a stuck pig. He managed to hand the dog back to its owner without getting bit, but not for lack of effort on the dog's part.
Tarzan: In a flashback to their first meeting, the hero throws himself between Jane and a rampaging gorilla.
In Real life: My husband, who has known me a long time, traps me between an angry dog and the door.
Now that the little dog was not in danger (of getting out), Reed moved out of the doorway, but the Lab was following us and barking loud enough to drown out his owner's commands to come. At that point my heroic hubby turned around and walked back to the car. I did not. I have made it a practice not to turn my back on an aggressive dog. I've found dogs that are aggressive to your face are even bolder when your back is turned. But then my husband didn't need to worry about that because, once again, I was between him and the angry dog.
Tarzan: Husband of 8 years risks death a dozen times in desperate attempts to rescue Jane,
In Real Life: Husband of 39 years whisks back to the car while I attempt to escape unaided and unbitten.
I slowly made my way to the safety of the car, very unhappy with the pooch and not too thrilled with my protector.
Tarzan: In the final scene, John looks at Jane as if he desires every inch of her skin, every stand of her hair
In Real life: I am thankful Reed doesn't notice how many more inches of skin there are to desire or the gray root at end of those strands of hair.
That is the problem with real life--no scripts, no choreography, no retakes. Here are some real life examples from people I know.
In Real life: Wife is inside thoughtfully making coffee for her husband, blissfully unaware that he had fallen off the roof and broken his hip. After she finally noticed why the dog was barking and called 911, faithful Rusty did his best to protect his master from the emergency responders who came to help. Another woman, whose husband is an emergency responder, yelled for help for 20 minutes before her spouse noticed his wife was taking a long time to get her coat. That was because she fallen five feet onto the cement floor of their crawl space.
Yes I would like my husband to notice when I need help, but the rest of the time I don't want him looking that closely. If he did, he might notice that his favorite femme fatale is just another flabby female. In real life we don't have soft lighting and makeup artists. No vines to grab when you are falling. Six packs are in the refrigerator, not on your abs. But in real life, I know my husband loves me and I am sure he would take a bullet for me. . . unless he was looking at his phone. . .or didn't notice. . .or the shooter had a dog.
Friday, July 15, 2016
Assassination, Assumption, Assignment, Assessment
After finishing my chapter a day homiletics study of Job, I have moved on to Esther, not just because the book is next to Job (I'm not too lazy to turn pages), but because it is another book where everything seems to be going wrong. Not only wrong, but legislated wrong, fatally wrong. And God is not even mentioned. As in Job, it appears God is taking a long lunch and silenced his phone. Esther is also the most ironic book in the Bible and I love good irony. I am glad God enjoys irony because that gives us something in common. Esther is the perfect mix of just enough said, suspenseful chapter endings, seamless blending of seemingly random events, perfect timing and masterful irony. Today I read chapter 6, my divisions were:
Assassination, Assumption, Assignment, Assessment.
In summary, the king can't sleep and asks for his chronicles to be read, either wanting to review how wonderful he was or figuring something dull would lull him to sleep. The random reading included how Mordecai foiled a previous assassination attempt on the king. Realizing his rescuer had been unrewarded, he looks for someone to help honor Mordecai and, who should appear, but Haman. Haman had been coming to ask permission to hang that very person. But when Xerxes asked for honor ideas, helpful Haman's assumption was that he was the honoree. Haman's idea was an honor parade in the king's robes on the king's horse. The king liked what Haman suggested and gave him the assignment of doing that for Mordecai. I would love to have heard his voice proclaiming Mordecai's honored status. Then humiliated Haman leaves the honor parade for a pity party at home. His wife and friend's assessment was that fighting a Jew has brought him nothing but trouble and continuing may ruin him. I wish Israel's current enemies could figure that out.
But Esther's appeal to my mind would mean nothing if it did not also change my heart. When my son's truck rolled upside down in September, my spiritual life did too. The pickup was totaled and my stability was badly damaged. Since then I have been making a journey. Rolling from: I don't trust God to I can't fight God (Job's perspective) to I trust God and now to I'm on your side. Though I bring nothing to the table, no talent, no power, no control, I give what is mine to offer--my loyalty. However, this plays out, whether or not my hopes for my son or my own life come true, I choose to stand with God. And I know that only God could give me the power to feel this way, so I am doubly blessed--no, honored.
Assassination, Assumption, Assignment, Assessment.
In summary, the king can't sleep and asks for his chronicles to be read, either wanting to review how wonderful he was or figuring something dull would lull him to sleep. The random reading included how Mordecai foiled a previous assassination attempt on the king. Realizing his rescuer had been unrewarded, he looks for someone to help honor Mordecai and, who should appear, but Haman. Haman had been coming to ask permission to hang that very person. But when Xerxes asked for honor ideas, helpful Haman's assumption was that he was the honoree. Haman's idea was an honor parade in the king's robes on the king's horse. The king liked what Haman suggested and gave him the assignment of doing that for Mordecai. I would love to have heard his voice proclaiming Mordecai's honored status. Then humiliated Haman leaves the honor parade for a pity party at home. His wife and friend's assessment was that fighting a Jew has brought him nothing but trouble and continuing may ruin him. I wish Israel's current enemies could figure that out.
But Esther's appeal to my mind would mean nothing if it did not also change my heart. When my son's truck rolled upside down in September, my spiritual life did too. The pickup was totaled and my stability was badly damaged. Since then I have been making a journey. Rolling from: I don't trust God to I can't fight God (Job's perspective) to I trust God and now to I'm on your side. Though I bring nothing to the table, no talent, no power, no control, I give what is mine to offer--my loyalty. However, this plays out, whether or not my hopes for my son or my own life come true, I choose to stand with God. And I know that only God could give me the power to feel this way, so I am doubly blessed--no, honored.
Tuesday, June 21, 2016
Lamb Eats Crow
After a happy, but harried week of herding kindergartners through Vacation Bible School, I needed to stop at the bank and store on my way home. I usually go to a small drive up branch, but I do not actually use the drive through. I park and go to the three window walk in area. The reason--the drive through line was driving me crazy. Drive up transactions should go like this:
1. Greet teller
2. Insert check or deposit in the container, put in tube, push send.
3. Teller verifies what you want to do, completes transaction and sends container back.
4. Remove contents, say thank you, leave.
However, this is seldom the process for the drivers in front of me. By the length of their transactions and the number of times the container goes back and forth, I can only conclude the other drivers are unfamiliar with English, math, or playing some sort of ping pong with the teller using the plastic container. While speculating on possible reasons for the delay is interesting, actual waiting is frustrating, so I skip the drive through and go inside. Since there are only six parking spots, the line cannot be very long and, if some customer has a lengthy transaction, at least I can overhear the reason.
But, as I said, that branch has only six parking spaces and one of those is for handicapped. So when I pulled up Friday there were no empty spots but, almost immediately, a woman came out of the bank and got in her car. I waited for her to back out. Waited. Waited. And waited. Apparently she was using one of those five precious spots to balance her bank statement, check phone messages, or give herself a manicure. But that was no problem because another woman came out of the bank and got in her car. She could not possibly fail to notice my car hovering there waiting for a parking spot, but she also decided to day camp in her car. I couldn't honk. The Lord won't allow me to have a working car horn because He knows my husband would use it to blow his testimony. Frustrated, I decided to buy groceries first and return to the bank afterwards. How could those drivers be so clueless?
I was still mulling over the injustice of it all, and had almost reached the door at Super One, when I realized I didn't have my car keys. I was afraid in my distraction I had locked them inside the car. When I went back to check, my keys were in the ignition, which is where they should be when the car is running. I had forgotten to shut off my car. How could I be so clueless? Call it instant karma or a humility lesson. I call it--Lamb eats crow.
1. Greet teller
2. Insert check or deposit in the container, put in tube, push send.
3. Teller verifies what you want to do, completes transaction and sends container back.
4. Remove contents, say thank you, leave.
However, this is seldom the process for the drivers in front of me. By the length of their transactions and the number of times the container goes back and forth, I can only conclude the other drivers are unfamiliar with English, math, or playing some sort of ping pong with the teller using the plastic container. While speculating on possible reasons for the delay is interesting, actual waiting is frustrating, so I skip the drive through and go inside. Since there are only six parking spots, the line cannot be very long and, if some customer has a lengthy transaction, at least I can overhear the reason.
But, as I said, that branch has only six parking spaces and one of those is for handicapped. So when I pulled up Friday there were no empty spots but, almost immediately, a woman came out of the bank and got in her car. I waited for her to back out. Waited. Waited. And waited. Apparently she was using one of those five precious spots to balance her bank statement, check phone messages, or give herself a manicure. But that was no problem because another woman came out of the bank and got in her car. She could not possibly fail to notice my car hovering there waiting for a parking spot, but she also decided to day camp in her car. I couldn't honk. The Lord won't allow me to have a working car horn because He knows my husband would use it to blow his testimony. Frustrated, I decided to buy groceries first and return to the bank afterwards. How could those drivers be so clueless?
I was still mulling over the injustice of it all, and had almost reached the door at Super One, when I realized I didn't have my car keys. I was afraid in my distraction I had locked them inside the car. When I went back to check, my keys were in the ignition, which is where they should be when the car is running. I had forgotten to shut off my car. How could I be so clueless? Call it instant karma or a humility lesson. I call it--Lamb eats crow.
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Has Bean
I have been trying to build up a tolerance to coffee, as if it was poison because, at my age, what I lack in energy, I need to make up in caffeine, but it was just too bitter. Back when doctors considered coffee drinking a health hazard--bad breath, warts, tumors, etc. were all caused by coffee (unlike pregnancy, which is caused by alcohol)--I felt virtuous about my coffee intolerance. Why should I force myself to drink something that's not good for me anyway? But now the same doctors say all those problems are caused by not drinking enough coffee. Three cups a day is optimal. It is truly a bitter pill to swallow. I like frozen, blended coffee drinks like frappes, but they are more like coffee bisque, like a barista waved a coffee bean over the mixture and then threw it away, or fed it to the real coffee drinkers. Eventually, I drank enough frappes to qualify for "perks" at a nearby City Brew coffee shop. That's when the experimentation began. I moved from frappes to the hard stuff--granitas, a frappe without the milk. I had established a liphold on cold drinks, but I knew true coffee drinkers like it hot.
Then one day I got a text from my City Brew pusher offering a half priced Cafe Bianco and, in a fit of frugality, my cheapness overcame my coffobia and I ordered one. Bianco means white, the white in this case, meaning cream. Lots of cream. I discovered I liked it. Then I discovered that when it is not half price, it costs $4.35. I don't have enough green for that much white. It is like staying at a luxury resort. Nice place to visit, but you can't live there.
Right now I am visiting Portland while my husband is here for work. We are staying at a Hampton Inn that offers 24 hour Royal Cup coffee. On a whim (and because it was free) I tried it, and discovered that with enough half and half and a shot of creamer, it is not bitter. It is also not commercially available, so my non-bitter end will be check out time tomorrow. But I have also heard that real, from Columbia, coffee is not bitter and that they sell it at Trader Joe's. All I know about the store is that when Montana friends see a Trader Joe's bag, they get excited, even envious. I would like to be he object of bag envy, so I bought a bag and even found some coffee to go in it. All their coffee is whole bean, and I obviously do not own a grinder, but they had one at the store. Getting to use their coffee grinder, made the experience even more fun, like a kid playing with a new toy. I'll have to wait till I get back home to taste the coffee because the room coffee maker only uses odd sized packets, but who knows where this may end. I may become a coffee drinker and finally feel like a grown up. My grandparents, who regarded refusing coffee as a breach of manners, would have been so proud. This never was/has been almost has bean.
Then one day I got a text from my City Brew pusher offering a half priced Cafe Bianco and, in a fit of frugality, my cheapness overcame my coffobia and I ordered one. Bianco means white, the white in this case, meaning cream. Lots of cream. I discovered I liked it. Then I discovered that when it is not half price, it costs $4.35. I don't have enough green for that much white. It is like staying at a luxury resort. Nice place to visit, but you can't live there.
Right now I am visiting Portland while my husband is here for work. We are staying at a Hampton Inn that offers 24 hour Royal Cup coffee. On a whim (and because it was free) I tried it, and discovered that with enough half and half and a shot of creamer, it is not bitter. It is also not commercially available, so my non-bitter end will be check out time tomorrow. But I have also heard that real, from Columbia, coffee is not bitter and that they sell it at Trader Joe's. All I know about the store is that when Montana friends see a Trader Joe's bag, they get excited, even envious. I would like to be he object of bag envy, so I bought a bag and even found some coffee to go in it. All their coffee is whole bean, and I obviously do not own a grinder, but they had one at the store. Getting to use their coffee grinder, made the experience even more fun, like a kid playing with a new toy. I'll have to wait till I get back home to taste the coffee because the room coffee maker only uses odd sized packets, but who knows where this may end. I may become a coffee drinker and finally feel like a grown up. My grandparents, who regarded refusing coffee as a breach of manners, would have been so proud. This never was/has been almost has bean.
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Late Check Out
One of the perks we get because Reed travels for business is hotel points. We have silver status at Hilton hotels and gold status with Marriott. And one of the perks of having hotel points is priority for a late check out. Most hotels require you to check out by 11 or 12, but occasionally Reed's schedule doesn't fit that time frame, and I shamelessly flaunt our points status to push our departure out until 1 p.m. That's just the kind of power pointers we are.
Segue to my day's Bible study of Job chapter 14. Verse five says, "Man's days are determined; you have decreed the number of his months and have set limits he cannot exceed." Admittedly, Job's life has been a comfortless catastrophe when he lists our lifespan in months, but the teaching that God determines the length of our lives is Bible wide. Moses called it number our days, Hebrews calls it an appointment, David says all the days ordained for me, but the idea is the same--God decides.
That is hard to accept in a culture that believes we control our lifespan by our lifestyle choices. There is nothing wrong with Christians following food or exercise fads or making a living will, unless we believe that by doing so we are changing the length of our lives. Believing that means you've hopped from the Hubris to the Heresy Hotel. Would we even want the power to alter God's eternal purposes with kale and/or cardio? We depart this life at the precise moment God has appointed. Not one minute before, not ten seconds after. No matter how many points we think we have earned in our long-term stay on Earth, we do not have the option of a late check out.
Segue to my day's Bible study of Job chapter 14. Verse five says, "Man's days are determined; you have decreed the number of his months and have set limits he cannot exceed." Admittedly, Job's life has been a comfortless catastrophe when he lists our lifespan in months, but the teaching that God determines the length of our lives is Bible wide. Moses called it number our days, Hebrews calls it an appointment, David says all the days ordained for me, but the idea is the same--God decides.
That is hard to accept in a culture that believes we control our lifespan by our lifestyle choices. There is nothing wrong with Christians following food or exercise fads or making a living will, unless we believe that by doing so we are changing the length of our lives. Believing that means you've hopped from the Hubris to the Heresy Hotel. Would we even want the power to alter God's eternal purposes with kale and/or cardio? We depart this life at the precise moment God has appointed. Not one minute before, not ten seconds after. No matter how many points we think we have earned in our long-term stay on Earth, we do not have the option of a late check out.
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
Here's Mud in Your Eye
The other day when I was at the grocery store, I was unable to enter a parking row and another driver was unable to exit it because an older woman had parked behind two other parked, but thankfully empty, cars in that row. Since my only other choice was exiting the parking lot and starting over, I waited for her to finish whatever she was doing there and leave. As our cars passed, she turned to me and said, "Don't give ME your dirty looks!" They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, apparently dirty is also. I could not have given her the stink eye, even had I wanted to, because the sun had darkened my transitions lenses. The only portion of my face capable of looking unhappy was my mouth, which was wearing the same half smile I gave any stranger in passing. Since sagging jowls make us menopause mamas look frowny, I have to smile a little just to break even. Unless my earlobes looked angry, the dirty look she saw was coming from inside her eyes, not the outside.
It is true that I was not impressed with her driving ability, but people tend to see what they expect to. Liars think people are lying to them. Dishonest people think others are ripping them off. I assume she was the kind of person who gives dirty looks and makes rude comments. I appreciate her willingness to spare me the effort of coming up with my own dirty look, but it is hard to be a good testimony for Christ when even my rare moments of good behavior are interpreted through dirty lenses.
I had the same problem in high school as a new Christian. Two of the girls I sat with at lunch time not only loved to talk crudely, but were giving a vulgar spin to my most innocent comments. Through them I understood Titus 1:15 which says, "To the pure all things are pure, but to those who are corrupted and do not believe, nothing is pure. Both their minds and consciences are corrupted." Through this experience I also learned about prayer. I couldn't just sit with another group of friends, I didn't have that many, but I wanted to maintain a good testimony, so I prayed about the situation. Shortly thereafter one of the girls moved and the other changed schools. This was my first answered prayer as a new believer.
I try to pray for those who see life through self inflicted dirty looks, but I'm sure they would misinterpret that also. Believers are unbelievable to people with "mud in their eye".
It is true that I was not impressed with her driving ability, but people tend to see what they expect to. Liars think people are lying to them. Dishonest people think others are ripping them off. I assume she was the kind of person who gives dirty looks and makes rude comments. I appreciate her willingness to spare me the effort of coming up with my own dirty look, but it is hard to be a good testimony for Christ when even my rare moments of good behavior are interpreted through dirty lenses.
I had the same problem in high school as a new Christian. Two of the girls I sat with at lunch time not only loved to talk crudely, but were giving a vulgar spin to my most innocent comments. Through them I understood Titus 1:15 which says, "To the pure all things are pure, but to those who are corrupted and do not believe, nothing is pure. Both their minds and consciences are corrupted." Through this experience I also learned about prayer. I couldn't just sit with another group of friends, I didn't have that many, but I wanted to maintain a good testimony, so I prayed about the situation. Shortly thereafter one of the girls moved and the other changed schools. This was my first answered prayer as a new believer.
I try to pray for those who see life through self inflicted dirty looks, but I'm sure they would misinterpret that also. Believers are unbelievable to people with "mud in their eye".
Tuesday, May 10, 2016
Allow Me
In human reasoning, there is a dichotomy between what God allows and what God causes to happen in our lives. God's Sovereignty + Satan's Schemes + human choice is an equation as irreconcilable as my last bank statement. The book of Job gives us a peek behind the curtain at the God vs. Satan part of a very human drama. Some see this as proof that God is in charge of good things that happen and Satan is in charge of bad. Example: good harvest--God, earthquake--Satan. As R. C. Sproul explained, if that were the case, you should probably worship Satan because he is the one who wants to hurt you. Because Satan asked permission to harm Job, I think sometimes we view God as a nagged parent who eventually gives in, against his better judgment, to Satan's requests. We forget that singling out Job was God's idea. (Job 1:8) And that Satan's claim that Job only loved God because of the blessings he had been given, was also Job's fear. "What I have feared has come upon me." (Job 3:25)
Job's comforters erred because they thought what was happening was about sin. Job erred because he thought it was about fairness. We err when we try to reduce God's sovereignty into concepts we can understand--like Good God/ bad god. God had a purpose in those trials for Job, Job's wife, his fickle friends, and all those through the ages who have read the book, as well as giving Satan his comeuppance. In the final chapters God does not explain himself to Job, He merely points out why Job is not qualified to demand or understand an explanation. Neither are we. Whether God causes or allows bad things to happen to good people is splitting hairs--human hairs.
Studying Revelation has shown me that even the terrible, final judgments on the inhabitants of the earth are within strict boundaries. No one is punished accidentally or capriciously. If the price of defending God's character is lessening his sovereignty, allow me to abstain.
Job's comforters erred because they thought what was happening was about sin. Job erred because he thought it was about fairness. We err when we try to reduce God's sovereignty into concepts we can understand--like Good God/ bad god. God had a purpose in those trials for Job, Job's wife, his fickle friends, and all those through the ages who have read the book, as well as giving Satan his comeuppance. In the final chapters God does not explain himself to Job, He merely points out why Job is not qualified to demand or understand an explanation. Neither are we. Whether God causes or allows bad things to happen to good people is splitting hairs--human hairs.
Studying Revelation has shown me that even the terrible, final judgments on the inhabitants of the earth are within strict boundaries. No one is punished accidentally or capriciously. If the price of defending God's character is lessening his sovereignty, allow me to abstain.
Monday, May 9, 2016
Mother Matters
Now that my mother is dead, I no longer have the bittersweet feelings I used to toward Mother's Day. It was hard to celebrate being a mom without feeling the loss of that relationship with my schizophrenic mother. With my youngest child now 29, I guess what I really want to know from my grown children is, did I make a difference?
Did it make a difference in their lives that I was there to take them to school in the morning, pick them up in the afternoon? Or stay at school all day as a volunteer?
Did it matter that I came on their field trips? Brought treats for their birthdays? Planned parties?
Did they care that there were homemade cookies in the cookie jar? Home cooked meals? That I packed their lunches?
Do they remember the funny stories I read them at bedtime? And that sometimes I laughed so hard, Reed had to take over for me? That we prayed together when I tucked them in? That, when they were little, I sang them lullabies? Or sang doing housework? Or in the car?
Do they remember the games we played in the car while traveling? I Spy, or guess the theme song, 20 questions? That we built forts in the living room? Or pretended a blanket on the floor was a magic carpet?
Did the traditions I created matter? The doughnuts on pumpkin carving day? Christmas Eve fondue? Decorating the seasonal sugar cookies? The special plates I used for Sunday morning breakfast?
Did it make a difference that I took them to the library storytime? The free summer concerts in the park? Do they even remember going to the drive-in movies in their pajamas?
Were they glad the house was always clean enough to have guests over, even though I made them pick up their stuff? That there was always enough food for their last minute dinner guests?
Did it make a difference in their lives that when they said, "Watch me." I was there to do it? That I could love them in the ways I longed for growing up?
I hope it mattered to them, because I know it mattered to me. It still matters to me, because motherhood is the highest calling God has ever given me and I wanted, and still want, to do it well. What I want for Mother's Day is not flowers, or cards or gifts, but that the children I'm so proud of remember something I did that made a difference, if only because, it makes them smile.
Did it make a difference in their lives that I was there to take them to school in the morning, pick them up in the afternoon? Or stay at school all day as a volunteer?
Did it matter that I came on their field trips? Brought treats for their birthdays? Planned parties?
Did they care that there were homemade cookies in the cookie jar? Home cooked meals? That I packed their lunches?
Do they remember the funny stories I read them at bedtime? And that sometimes I laughed so hard, Reed had to take over for me? That we prayed together when I tucked them in? That, when they were little, I sang them lullabies? Or sang doing housework? Or in the car?
Do they remember the games we played in the car while traveling? I Spy, or guess the theme song, 20 questions? That we built forts in the living room? Or pretended a blanket on the floor was a magic carpet?
Did the traditions I created matter? The doughnuts on pumpkin carving day? Christmas Eve fondue? Decorating the seasonal sugar cookies? The special plates I used for Sunday morning breakfast?
Did it make a difference that I took them to the library storytime? The free summer concerts in the park? Do they even remember going to the drive-in movies in their pajamas?
Were they glad the house was always clean enough to have guests over, even though I made them pick up their stuff? That there was always enough food for their last minute dinner guests?
Did it make a difference in their lives that when they said, "Watch me." I was there to do it? That I could love them in the ways I longed for growing up?
I hope it mattered to them, because I know it mattered to me. It still matters to me, because motherhood is the highest calling God has ever given me and I wanted, and still want, to do it well. What I want for Mother's Day is not flowers, or cards or gifts, but that the children I'm so proud of remember something I did that made a difference, if only because, it makes them smile.
Monday, May 2, 2016
Dispense With That
In the past, it was widely accepted that the distinction of worst television series ever went to "My Mother the Car", whose name says it all. Of course, that was before reality tv. Such reincarnation is ridiculous, however, I am married to a discouragement dispenser. My husband is by nature and nurture a pessimist. I am an optimist. I took a long, hard look at that incompatibility before we got married. Since we have been married almost 39 years now, I obviously learned to make peace with it. When my husband throws out some pessimistic pronouncement, I usually splash some positivity over it and go my merry way.
However in the dark times, like our family is going through now, I cannot even find my merry way. When I am at the end of my rope, I can count on my husband to be there to try to jerk it out of my hands. He does not mean to be the devil's advocate, he is just saying what he is thinking. But I know it is not all he is thinking because, when I point out the positives, he says he already thought of that. I suggested that, for my sake, instead of saying the bad things and thinking the good, he might try saying the good things and thinking the bad. He has seldom brought up a negative that I failed to consider, I just chose not to dwell on it.
Pessimists usually consider themselves "realists", but they only think that because they are pessimists. They look for the dark cloud instead of the silver lining. Our nature may be wired to either rose-colored or dark glasses, but believers are called to see through Christ clear lenses. To be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. We must see the evil in the world to guard against it, but are to focus on things that are pure, lovely, admirable and praiseworthy. People who display hope and inner peace naturally attract others to Christ. When I worked at the hospital, I could tell which rooms Christians were in before we even spoke by the atmosphere of peace. It is hard to be a peaceful pessimist.
I have accepted that my home won't be one where seldom is heard a discouraging word and God has been faithful to provide me with other sources of encouragement, especially through His Word--the doubt dispeller.
However in the dark times, like our family is going through now, I cannot even find my merry way. When I am at the end of my rope, I can count on my husband to be there to try to jerk it out of my hands. He does not mean to be the devil's advocate, he is just saying what he is thinking. But I know it is not all he is thinking because, when I point out the positives, he says he already thought of that. I suggested that, for my sake, instead of saying the bad things and thinking the good, he might try saying the good things and thinking the bad. He has seldom brought up a negative that I failed to consider, I just chose not to dwell on it.
Pessimists usually consider themselves "realists", but they only think that because they are pessimists. They look for the dark cloud instead of the silver lining. Our nature may be wired to either rose-colored or dark glasses, but believers are called to see through Christ clear lenses. To be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. We must see the evil in the world to guard against it, but are to focus on things that are pure, lovely, admirable and praiseworthy. People who display hope and inner peace naturally attract others to Christ. When I worked at the hospital, I could tell which rooms Christians were in before we even spoke by the atmosphere of peace. It is hard to be a peaceful pessimist.
I have accepted that my home won't be one where seldom is heard a discouraging word and God has been faithful to provide me with other sources of encouragement, especially through His Word--the doubt dispeller.
Saturday, April 30, 2016
You Know You're in Adversity
- You watch a movie about a man marooned on Mars and think--What's HE got to complain about?
- You exercise to slow down your heart rate.
- Your blood pressure registers on a seismograph--in California.
- To cheer up, you watch a horror film.
- A migraine seems like a welcome diversion.
- You go to your happy place and it's a cemetery.
- Having a good day means things went from worse to bad.
- Your brain feels like a balloon that will either pop or come loose and shoot around the room.
- You get your daily affirmation from the obituary page.
- You're rejected as a organ donor because your heart is broken.
But that is also when:
- God is near. Ps. 34:18
- We learn patience. James 1:3
- We long, as we should, for Christ's appearing. 2 Tim. 4:8
- We grow in humility, knowing that we are dust. Ps. 103:14
- We live in godly interdependence. Gal. 6:21
- Faith grows. 1 Jn. 5:4
- Our perseverance builds character and hope. Rom 5:3,4
- We learn how to comfort others. 2 Cor. 1:4
- God encourages us in unexpected ways.
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Our testimony is loudest in adversity. No eloquent four-point presentation of the gospel is as compelling as a Christian’s inarticulate gasp when pain and confusion and trust and hope all mix together. Inexplicable peace amidst adversity, that is the thunder of our faith.
Wednesday, April 13, 2016
Mastering Maynard
There are cats and there is Maynard. Maynard is anatomically a cat, but has the personality of a stoner and the spirituality of a zen master. If Maynard wasn't covered by fur, he would be walking around in his underwear, perfectly content, at one with the world. He is not, however, at one with dogs. Slow, harmless dogs like our old Garth or the annoying, inactive dog we wound up giving away, or even Tracy's mellow Malamute pup are okay, but spunky ones like his Husky mix are not. Odin loves everyone, but is terrifyingly enthusiastic in his pursuit of friends. Odin has chased Maynard who, despite being a stoner, has a good memory. So Maynard won't come around when Odin is visiting and our granddogs visit a lot. Maynard also avoided our son for years based on cat spinning experiments when they were both younger. We tried to convince Maynard our home was now spin-free, but you can't reason with a cat.
This created a serious problem two years ago when we were out of town during a subzero weekend and Tracy was housesitting. Maynard refused to come in the house. This should not have a posed a big problem because Maynard is also a two-timer. He has another "mom" two houses down. We discovered this through travel incidents like the one above. When Maynard sauntered in days after our return, well fed and groomed, we knew he was cheating on us. Since there is no "Cheaters" program for cats, we put a collar and tag on him. Sure enough, two days later a neighbor called to find out why we put a collar on the cat she had for two years. We said, "Because we've had Maynard for five." Since you can't confine a free-spirited feline like Maynard to the house, especially since Margo had been feeding him canned food, shared custody was the only option. Margo couldn't let him in because her house cat violently objected, so Mayn hung out on her deck. However, the deck was not warm enough during the aforementioned blizzard and, with the set-in-his-ways habit of a middle aged man, Maynard refused to enter the new shelter she had made for him. She tried to coax him into the box, but you can't reason with a cat. So we did the only thing we could do from hundreds of miles away, we prayed to his Master and ours to keep him safe. He did.
When we got home, we put a cat door in the garage so the cats could go in and out as they please. Sola, our emergency back-up cat, eventually realized she could use it to get in the house and Maynard learned he could use it to get out, but they were not sharing that knowledge with each other, and both preferred to have their servants/us escort them out in the wee hours. Using the cat door as they pleased meant using our services instead. Tutoring cats by carrying them through the crowded garage and shoving them through the cat door was harder than being their doormen and you can't reason with a cat, so we just had to wait till they learned the door swung both ways.
That fixed the inclement weather problem, but Maynard still wouldn't come in the house, even while Odin was in the backyard. You know you miss your cat when the thought of him leaving mouse livers or bird parts on someone else's doormat bothers you. We missed our Maynard, but you can't reason with a cat, so we told the one who speaks all languages, human and animal. Maynard came home. He still spends lots of time at Margo's but has discovered there are many Odin free zones in our house. That answered prayer encouraged us for the other "unreasonable" situations in our life. Great or small, creation or creature, we all answer to the same Master. And He answers back.
This created a serious problem two years ago when we were out of town during a subzero weekend and Tracy was housesitting. Maynard refused to come in the house. This should not have a posed a big problem because Maynard is also a two-timer. He has another "mom" two houses down. We discovered this through travel incidents like the one above. When Maynard sauntered in days after our return, well fed and groomed, we knew he was cheating on us. Since there is no "Cheaters" program for cats, we put a collar and tag on him. Sure enough, two days later a neighbor called to find out why we put a collar on the cat she had for two years. We said, "Because we've had Maynard for five." Since you can't confine a free-spirited feline like Maynard to the house, especially since Margo had been feeding him canned food, shared custody was the only option. Margo couldn't let him in because her house cat violently objected, so Mayn hung out on her deck. However, the deck was not warm enough during the aforementioned blizzard and, with the set-in-his-ways habit of a middle aged man, Maynard refused to enter the new shelter she had made for him. She tried to coax him into the box, but you can't reason with a cat. So we did the only thing we could do from hundreds of miles away, we prayed to his Master and ours to keep him safe. He did.
When we got home, we put a cat door in the garage so the cats could go in and out as they please. Sola, our emergency back-up cat, eventually realized she could use it to get in the house and Maynard learned he could use it to get out, but they were not sharing that knowledge with each other, and both preferred to have their servants/us escort them out in the wee hours. Using the cat door as they pleased meant using our services instead. Tutoring cats by carrying them through the crowded garage and shoving them through the cat door was harder than being their doormen and you can't reason with a cat, so we just had to wait till they learned the door swung both ways.
That fixed the inclement weather problem, but Maynard still wouldn't come in the house, even while Odin was in the backyard. You know you miss your cat when the thought of him leaving mouse livers or bird parts on someone else's doormat bothers you. We missed our Maynard, but you can't reason with a cat, so we told the one who speaks all languages, human and animal. Maynard came home. He still spends lots of time at Margo's but has discovered there are many Odin free zones in our house. That answered prayer encouraged us for the other "unreasonable" situations in our life. Great or small, creation or creature, we all answer to the same Master. And He answers back.
Sunday, April 3, 2016
Hall Pass
Our current house has a very short hallway, if you could even call it that. Actually, it takes longer to say the word "hallway" than to walk ours. Ours is more like a, "huh" This is no great loss because a hallway is not my favorite part of a house. But there are times I miss having one. Most houses have bathrooms down the hall, whereas ours is across from the stairwell. We placed the back of our piano against the half wall of that same stairwell because of the acoustic benefit. Unfortunately, it has the same effect with the bathroom sounds from across the hall. Reed and I have the option of using our pretentiously named master bath, which is actually smaller than this font, but nonetheless private.
Guests, however, would draw more attention to themselves by requesting our private privy than by using the regular one. Maybe. Most of the time, the only thing of notice is the wide variety of bladder capacities. However, one guest had the misfortune of producing a long, flatulent whistle in our chamber of echoes. The rest of us pretended we could not hear, but it is hard to make small talk against a background of intestinal forte. That memory made me self conscious about what noises I may be making when company and nature call at the same time. That is the problem of needing a hall pass, but having no hall.
Guests, however, would draw more attention to themselves by requesting our private privy than by using the regular one. Maybe. Most of the time, the only thing of notice is the wide variety of bladder capacities. However, one guest had the misfortune of producing a long, flatulent whistle in our chamber of echoes. The rest of us pretended we could not hear, but it is hard to make small talk against a background of intestinal forte. That memory made me self conscious about what noises I may be making when company and nature call at the same time. That is the problem of needing a hall pass, but having no hall.
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Too Big, Too Small
I think the reason we have such a hard time recognizing what God is doing in our world is that it is both too big and too small. On an individual level, He is performing microsurgery, the kind for which doctors wear magnifying loupes. He is transplanting hearts, rewiring brains. On a global level, He is transplanting believers, overthrowing nations, and using myriad situations I can't begin to understand. The barrage of news available today can tell us what man is doing, but men, even the wisest Christians, cannot tell us what God is doing. His plan is too big, our minds are too small, .
So we see God's hand in our circumstances in brief glimpses, blurred by our own preconceptions. We are trying to watch surgery through a telescope, world events through a microscope. No wonder we misunderstand. God always does what is right, but we can only see that when the conditions are just right. God's loving hand versus our Goldilocks vision, nothing too big, nothing too small. He has written history, but it is also a mystery. God interweaves fallen humanity, Satan's profanity and His own sovereignty into one seamless saga, but the end of the story is easy to understand--we live happily ever after.
So we see God's hand in our circumstances in brief glimpses, blurred by our own preconceptions. We are trying to watch surgery through a telescope, world events through a microscope. No wonder we misunderstand. God always does what is right, but we can only see that when the conditions are just right. God's loving hand versus our Goldilocks vision, nothing too big, nothing too small. He has written history, but it is also a mystery. God interweaves fallen humanity, Satan's profanity and His own sovereignty into one seamless saga, but the end of the story is easy to understand--we live happily ever after.
Saturday, March 5, 2016
One Holy Thought
Recently I had a rare experience, an instant answer to prayer. As I contemplated the attributes of God, I became envious. I thought how wonderful it would be to have a mind free from the sinful, selfish thoughts that constantly fill mine. I wanted just a few Connie-free moments, just one holy thought. Then as I was praying, I was filled with a feeling of love for God. I have loved God for decades, but most of that time it has been just knowledge tucked away in the back of my mind. Something I knew but seldom felt. Humans may long for God to exist, but loving the God of the Bible is as foreign to human nature as loving disease.
So I knew the love I felt was the answer to my prayer. There is nothing sinful or selfish in loving God. He had given me what I longed for--one holy thought.
So I knew the love I felt was the answer to my prayer. There is nothing sinful or selfish in loving God. He had given me what I longed for--one holy thought.
Monday, February 29, 2016
One Foe at a Time
I have noticed in the armor of God, we have a shield to block the fiery darts of the enemy, but we do not have bows or arrows. Apparently we are meant for hand to hand combat. That is certainly how it feels when I am fighting temptation. Christ has won the war, and when we are with him we will enjoy the spoils. Meanwhile we battle our Enemy, the sin in the world, and the sin in us. We are not alone, we are part of the army that is the church. We know a battle rages around us--the clash of two great forces, but we cannot concern ourselves with that. We must focus only on the foe in front of us.
One of the problems is that our attackers are like those in video games, the sins we think we have conquered spring back to life. The good news is, so do we. Our defeats are only temporary. And if they leave us exhausted from the effort, we are also better prepared for the next attack. Christian soldiers do not get to fire arrows from safety behind a wall, as if we could eradicate sin all at once. We fight hand to hand, sin by sin, one foe at a time.
One of the problems is that our attackers are like those in video games, the sins we think we have conquered spring back to life. The good news is, so do we. Our defeats are only temporary. And if they leave us exhausted from the effort, we are also better prepared for the next attack. Christian soldiers do not get to fire arrows from safety behind a wall, as if we could eradicate sin all at once. We fight hand to hand, sin by sin, one foe at a time.
Monday, February 22, 2016
New Perspective
On our last trip to Missoula it really bothered me that my car was so dirty. This is winter in Montana--snow melts, slush splashes on your car, if you wash it, it will get splashed again when you leave the car wash--and your doors might freeze shut. However, I was more worried about hitting a deer on our way home, since my husband had hit one the week before. Technically, the deer hit him, but his car couldn't tell the difference. So I insisted on an early departure from Missoula to lessen the likelihood of deer dents, although most of the dead deer I saw on the way there were between Kalispell and Lakeside. So we left Missoula in time to get most of the way home before sunset. We even had time to stop in Polson for dinner. While I was at the salad bar, I heard a woman say "gold Impala". We drive a gold Impala, I knew she did not have good news.
Actually it was mixed news, she had backed into our car--that was bad, but she came to find us instead of driving off--that was good, she offered to pay for the damage--also good, but she didn't want to go through insurance--that was scary. I understand the feeling of being an insurance hostage. We pay for auto insurance for decades, but are afraid to use it lest they make the price to not use it even higher. We were sympathetic, but not stupid. There is a big difference between admitting the damage and writing the check. So my husband took pictures of the damage, had her write a statement admitting responsibility, and had the restaurant manager sign as witness.
It's funny how your perspective changes. Suddenly it no longer mattered that my car was dirty. I told Reed he might as well hit a deer. He did drive over one that had already been hit, but managed to straddle it so there were no deer parts mixed with the dirt on our car. The damage was fixed in a week, her check arrived days before the paint dried. My Impala looked not only undamaged, but shiny and new. Then more snow melted. Now it is dirty. No big deal. New perspective.
Actually it was mixed news, she had backed into our car--that was bad, but she came to find us instead of driving off--that was good, she offered to pay for the damage--also good, but she didn't want to go through insurance--that was scary. I understand the feeling of being an insurance hostage. We pay for auto insurance for decades, but are afraid to use it lest they make the price to not use it even higher. We were sympathetic, but not stupid. There is a big difference between admitting the damage and writing the check. So my husband took pictures of the damage, had her write a statement admitting responsibility, and had the restaurant manager sign as witness.
It's funny how your perspective changes. Suddenly it no longer mattered that my car was dirty. I told Reed he might as well hit a deer. He did drive over one that had already been hit, but managed to straddle it so there were no deer parts mixed with the dirt on our car. The damage was fixed in a week, her check arrived days before the paint dried. My Impala looked not only undamaged, but shiny and new. Then more snow melted. Now it is dirty. No big deal. New perspective.
Holding Hands
Since I posted this on Facebook, I forgot to post it in my blog. It is a Valentine's Day poem I wrote for the husband who has held my hand and heart for nearly forty years.
Holding Hands
We still hold hands,
but they are old hands
with age spots, crepey skin,
yet warm enough.
Those early years
short on money
long on kids, holding jobs,
just holding on.
And later on
our children have grown
our savings too, leisure
time,
enjoying life.
Decades ago
I knew this day would come,
growing old, side by side,
still holding hands.
3 1/2 Years
In the book of Revelation I am studying this year in BSF, there is significance to the time period three and a half years. It occurs five times either as years, 42 months or 1260 days, which is half of the seven year tribulation period. But three and a half years is also the length of Elijah's drought, the approximate length of Jesus' earthly ministry and Paul's training by Christ in the desert. More significant to me personally is the three and a half years I spent in the school of depression, which included times of drought, ministry and training.
And I am not the only one. As I entered those dark times, a friend told me he had previously been depressed for three and a half years. At the time I thought I could not survive if mine lasted that long, but here I am. Another friend I was talking to recently realized that a period of trial that appears to be ending in her life has also lasted three and a half years. It made me wonder how long my current time of tribulation will last. When do I start the timer? Do I count from our son's accident in September, losing our granddaughter when our son and her mother broke up the March before, or when we lost our unborn grandchild that January? I vote for January, not only because it would make the testing over sooner, but because that was a very hard time for us. In our mostly unspoken way, my husband and I have been in mourning since the baby I called Peanut died.
I would like to think this time of testing and training will not last too long, but I do not have unrealistic expectations about the length of our son's rehab. Suffering is a painful part of life, but it is also purposeful. It is an essential element of the all things God works together for good in our lives. (Rom. 8:28) Suffering shows us the sufficiency of God's sovereignty. It is a lesson I intend to learn, even if it takes me three and a half years.
And I am not the only one. As I entered those dark times, a friend told me he had previously been depressed for three and a half years. At the time I thought I could not survive if mine lasted that long, but here I am. Another friend I was talking to recently realized that a period of trial that appears to be ending in her life has also lasted three and a half years. It made me wonder how long my current time of tribulation will last. When do I start the timer? Do I count from our son's accident in September, losing our granddaughter when our son and her mother broke up the March before, or when we lost our unborn grandchild that January? I vote for January, not only because it would make the testing over sooner, but because that was a very hard time for us. In our mostly unspoken way, my husband and I have been in mourning since the baby I called Peanut died.
I would like to think this time of testing and training will not last too long, but I do not have unrealistic expectations about the length of our son's rehab. Suffering is a painful part of life, but it is also purposeful. It is an essential element of the all things God works together for good in our lives. (Rom. 8:28) Suffering shows us the sufficiency of God's sovereignty. It is a lesson I intend to learn, even if it takes me three and a half years.
Thursday, February 4, 2016
How Wisdom Grows
The Bible tells us how to grow patience. James 1:2-3 tells us patience grows in the mixed soil of faith and trials. In other words, patience increases through the times that we desperately need it. So what about wisdom? Both Psalms and Proverbs state that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. If that is the root, then how do we nurture the plant? I am afraid the answer is the same. Wisdom grows in the potting soil of trials, when we have no idea what to do, in the times that we desperately need it.
I am in one of those growing seasons. I have prayed for wisdom because God has promised to give it, but He does not pour it in our ear while we sleep. Wisdom is like a muscle and, like all other aspects of becoming Christlike, we have to work at making it stronger. And it becomes stronger when we stretch and strain to reach the right decision, to say the right thing, to fan a fading flicker of faith until it can dispel the darkness. Wisdom is not a destination, it is a journey. And we do not reach it, we just read the signs along the way that show we are getting closer. When you can be content and faithful on that journey, knowing you will never arrive--that's wisdom.
I am in one of those growing seasons. I have prayed for wisdom because God has promised to give it, but He does not pour it in our ear while we sleep. Wisdom is like a muscle and, like all other aspects of becoming Christlike, we have to work at making it stronger. And it becomes stronger when we stretch and strain to reach the right decision, to say the right thing, to fan a fading flicker of faith until it can dispel the darkness. Wisdom is not a destination, it is a journey. And we do not reach it, we just read the signs along the way that show we are getting closer. When you can be content and faithful on that journey, knowing you will never arrive--that's wisdom.
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Cheap Tickets
Many months ago, my husband and I reserved a mid-March condo week in Hawaii so I have been checking airfares periodically, despite knowing most of the good deals are published 6 to 8 weeks before you fly. As we approached the six week window and the airfares were still in the $800 - $900 range, instead of the $600 - $700 I was hoping for, I was getting desperate. Most of the decent airfares involved leaving from Missoula and spending a night in an airport one or both ways. I was looking for the least inconvenient way to do this when a Cheap Tickets' pop up showed a $700 fare from Kalispell to Lihue. Since four of the five travelers live in Kalispell, not Missoula, this was exciting.
But I became skeptical of good airfares in December when I was trying to book a flight to Oakland through CheapOair and another similar sounding website. After filling out the traveler and payment info, the promised $450 tickets turned out to be twice that much. If they thought I would pay double just because I had spent so much time inputting data, they obviously don't understand cheapskates. So I was zipping through the passenger and payment information on the Cheap Tickets website with little hope of actually booking them. That is why I didn't notice my typo in Reed's last name, which I should know how to spell because it has been the same as mine for 38 1/2 years. I had booked a ticket for Reed Kamb. In the days of customer service by humans, this would have been easy to correct, but on a multi-airline website, not so much.
Like most websites, Cheap Tickets customer service consists of printed answers to FAQs, frequently asked questions. The answer for misspelled names was to send an e-mail attaching Reed's passport. I scanned it into our desktop, but it disappeared from there. I couldn't find a way to attach it to the e-mail. Strike one. Unlike many travel websites, this one allowed free cancellation within 32 hours, however, if I sent them an e-mail about correcting the misspelling, they had 48 hours to respond. Strike two. Also like most websites, the customer service phone number was carefully hidden, but I managed to find it. I set my cell to speakerphone and prepared for a long siege. Eventually my call was answered by "Shasta" who was patient, helpful, and really slow. While she cancelled Mr. Kamb's reservation, I was online booking one for Mr. Lamb. This required some coordination because, in order to have Reed sit with the rest of us, Shasta reassigned the other seats while I selected his. I would gladly have paid extra for her to do this for me, but they were not allowed to book at that location. The website said there were only two cheap tickets left, so I would have preferred Shasta's speed over her patience, but that didn't matter because Visa kept declining my transaction. Apparently Visa flagged my rebooking attempts as fraud. Strike three.
So, in case I hadn't had enough phone time, I got to spend a little more calling the phone numbers on the back of my Visa card. Admittedly, it was my mistake that I called the Marriott Rewards number instead of Chase Bank, so the time I wasted navigating their voice recognition phone tree saying "representative!" was all my fault. At the end of the Chase phone tree, I found one of those nice young men from India, who have American names. "Jeremy" agreed to approve the transaction so I could buy that last cheap ticket. A one letter typo cost me three hours of my life. I managed to accomplish all this without losing my sanity or most of my sanctification, but I did require chocolate to recover. Lots and lots of chocolate.
But I became skeptical of good airfares in December when I was trying to book a flight to Oakland through CheapOair and another similar sounding website. After filling out the traveler and payment info, the promised $450 tickets turned out to be twice that much. If they thought I would pay double just because I had spent so much time inputting data, they obviously don't understand cheapskates. So I was zipping through the passenger and payment information on the Cheap Tickets website with little hope of actually booking them. That is why I didn't notice my typo in Reed's last name, which I should know how to spell because it has been the same as mine for 38 1/2 years. I had booked a ticket for Reed Kamb. In the days of customer service by humans, this would have been easy to correct, but on a multi-airline website, not so much.
Like most websites, Cheap Tickets customer service consists of printed answers to FAQs, frequently asked questions. The answer for misspelled names was to send an e-mail attaching Reed's passport. I scanned it into our desktop, but it disappeared from there. I couldn't find a way to attach it to the e-mail. Strike one. Unlike many travel websites, this one allowed free cancellation within 32 hours, however, if I sent them an e-mail about correcting the misspelling, they had 48 hours to respond. Strike two. Also like most websites, the customer service phone number was carefully hidden, but I managed to find it. I set my cell to speakerphone and prepared for a long siege. Eventually my call was answered by "Shasta" who was patient, helpful, and really slow. While she cancelled Mr. Kamb's reservation, I was online booking one for Mr. Lamb. This required some coordination because, in order to have Reed sit with the rest of us, Shasta reassigned the other seats while I selected his. I would gladly have paid extra for her to do this for me, but they were not allowed to book at that location. The website said there were only two cheap tickets left, so I would have preferred Shasta's speed over her patience, but that didn't matter because Visa kept declining my transaction. Apparently Visa flagged my rebooking attempts as fraud. Strike three.
So, in case I hadn't had enough phone time, I got to spend a little more calling the phone numbers on the back of my Visa card. Admittedly, it was my mistake that I called the Marriott Rewards number instead of Chase Bank, so the time I wasted navigating their voice recognition phone tree saying "representative!" was all my fault. At the end of the Chase phone tree, I found one of those nice young men from India, who have American names. "Jeremy" agreed to approve the transaction so I could buy that last cheap ticket. A one letter typo cost me three hours of my life. I managed to accomplish all this without losing my sanity or most of my sanctification, but I did require chocolate to recover. Lots and lots of chocolate.
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