Running Over

    One afternoon last week, while we were staying at the Lakeside Lodge in Chelan, I felt myself being loved by God in an almost inexpressible way. I could not have verbally shared my feelings and gratitude if someone had been in the room with me, but the Lord encouraged me to write them down. Though I have no melody in mind, I consider this my first Psalm. A gift from me to the Lord.

                                                                      Running Over 

 

My words are too unskilled to tell

the feeling of contentment here

warm and snug in this hotel, while

outside, cold winds shake the trees

and stir up whitecaps on the lake.

I savor coffee’s scent and taste

and listen to Christmas carols play.

 

I feel known and loved and cared for

by my husband, by my Savior.

How can I not trust a God

who deigns to fill his daughter’s heart

with all the things that she loves best?

I'm peaceful as a child at rest

upon her loving Father’s chest. 

 

Is this what heaven will be like?

All my senses satisfied,

as if I were a child inside her mother,

whose hands embrace my dwelling place

to add a further tender trace

to one, whose every need’s been met,

of love that’s running over.

 

11/13/20

Packing It In

     There are few things which point out the differences between my husband and myself more than the way we pack. Reed travels for work, sometimes a lot, and I tag along, probably too much, but it has given us enough travel opportunities to have packing down to a fine art. Unfortunately, we are not in the same Art class. Right from the outset we have different styles. I pack everything possible the day before and have the outfit I am going to wear for travel assembled down to the earrings. Whereas, unless we have an early morning flight to catch, Reed would rather pack about the time we are supposed to be leaving. In fact, he was doing that the first time I met him. It was annoying but, at the time, I had no idea how many years I would be experiencing it. Through the years we've reached a compromise where we each do our part, he brings up the suitcases, I wash all the clothes, I "remind" him to pack, he packs. Reed also prefers the morning of for checking the vehicle's tire pressure and fluids. The advantage of that method is that it might cause us to visit an auto parts store that we have never been to before. The drawback is that we will leave late and I will remind him why.

     Another difference is in the amount we pack. I pack only what I am sure I will need. Reed packs everything except what he is sure he won't need. This last trip he brought along a speaker we bought years ago to play audiobooks on my laptop before I could download them on my phone, but we discovered then that the tiny speaker was not any louder than the one in my laptop. This trip, the audiobook was on my phone, I could play it through Reed's truck stereo and, even if I couldn't, we would not have been able to hear on the tiny speaker, but he still brought it because "you never know". I pack like a minimalist. Reed is a maximalist.

    As to suitcases, I am all about compartments. Undies in one, socks and belts in another. Meds and toothbrush in the small outside pocket. Toiletries and hair brush in the big outside pocket. Clothes in the big empty space. Reed puts everything in the big empty space--clothes, books, shoes etc. The most recent suitcase I bought for him even has a waterproof compartment that would be ideal for wet swimsuits, shoes or liquid toiletries. Reed usually leaves it empty. I like everything in its place and a place for everything. Reed packs a suitcase like it's a cardboard box. 

    And his portable cardboard box is his car. I had three children just so the back seat would be full and he would stop flinging things into it. He drives a compact car--a trash compact--but my car is clean so I can live with that. On work trips Reed takes a lot of heavy tools. I have about convinced him how ironically sad it would be to survive the car accident only to be clubbed to death by the cargo, so there are not as many unguided missiles riding loose in the back of the car as in years past.

    But if my husband and I differ on when and how we pack suitcases and cars, we work in harmony unpacking at home and hotels. However, there is this little awkward gap in between about the size of the hotel luggage cart. Reed would rather make three trips up and down stairs carrying as many heavy, awkward items as possible than make one trip pushing the cart. He wants me to join him in this group activity/exercise. Reed is convinced that by the time I go get the cart and bring it back to the room, we could have carried the two suitcases, three briefcases, various bags of laundry, shoes, food, etc. ourselves. I use the luggage cart for the same reason I use a grocery cart--I never learned to juggle. But it is a good thing I got the cart the morning we left our last hotel--Reed was still packing.

     

Hearing Loss

     For weeks there has been poem inside me trying to get out. I have resisted exploring it because I had a feeling it was a sad poem. Even now I hesitate to post it because what I value most from my poetry is accuracy and I have not experienced a loss such as this. I have not lost a child or a spouse. I can only draw on what I have learned, my limited experience and my ability to empathize.

 

                     Hearing Loss

In the beginning, grief is a daily dirge.

You hear it echo in the empty rooms

in the unheard conversations you long to share

in the absent voice your heart still listens for.

It whispers from the vacant sleeping place beside you,

a sound as steady as the ticking of a clock.

 

Later, there comes a quietness,

a stillness that does not seem so empty.

Your voice no longer echoes in the room,

good memories have begun to fill it.

And you realize that you are still one flesh

in all the ways that matter. 

 

At last, you hear the hymns again

and praise with joy no longer feigned.

You realize your life is more full than empty.

And you long for heaven for its own sake,

not simply as an end to your sorrow,

because part of your heart already lives there.

 

Masking the Problem

    I don't want to get into a mask debate on Facebook because, for the sake of the nonbelievers who see my posts, it is more important to be light than be right. So I will post this here where there are only about three readers to be offended. Covid numbers are spiking in many places around the globe and laying all the blame on non-maskers is masking the real problem. Many people who have not worn masks from the beginning of Covid are only now becoming infected, as are many people who have worn masks from the beginning. Cases are spiking even in countries where wearing masks, staying home and quarantines have been enforced by martial law for months. I believe most of us are masking when and where required, yet the spike continues.

     I know health officials do not want to do anything to discourage mask wearing, but I wish some would have the courage to admit there is more to the spread than mass mask defection. Something about the virus has changed. There are no experts on Covid 19, not even epidemiologists, it is a new disease. But there is a lot of data being compiled and research going on, and those findings should not be suppressed if they do not fit the mainstream narrative. Even if the spikes are due to factors we cannot control, it is better to expose the problem than to mask it.

Why I Kinda Wanted Biden to Get Elected

    I would never vote for Joe Biden. I do not share his values, if he even remembers what they are. But I still kind of hoped he would win the election because I knew if Trump was reelected, the Democrats would continue the tantrums, demonstrations, and civil disobedience that happened in 2016. As if we don't have enough of that going on already. Conversely, I knew that if Biden got elected, as long as there was no verifiable election fraud, Trump supporters would quickly return to their normal lives and get back to work. Like grownups. I am thankful to President Trump for giving us back our America, if only for a time. But I also value a peaceful lifestyle, and the Never Trumpers would have spent the next four years making sure that did not happen. As if their hatred is superior to the hatred they ascribe to Trump.

     A lot is revealed by our expectations. For instance, the nations of the world expect Israel to behave in a civilized manner and their enemies to behave like savages. Likewise, many of us expect mature behavior from Republicans and childish behavior from Democrats. Even their own supporters are not really surprised or disappointed when the representatives they elected to office play hooky or walk off the job or tear up speeches. 

   I would have liked to see the good things President Trump started continue--defunding Planned Parenthood and nations who hate us, defending the rights of the unborn and of Christians to worship, freeing believers and servicemen falsely imprisoned overseas, supporting our ally Israel, standing up to our enemies--but I know God has a reason for the change of leadership. Maybe Trump's ego would have led him and us to disastrous mistakes in his second term. And if the Lord is sovereign over strong willed Donald Trump, He is certainly sovereign over swamp creature Joe Biden. I vote to trust God's purposes and timing.

    But trusting God's eternal purpose is less difficult than dealing with daily disturbing news. So even though it makes me feel like a wimpy parent who buys their child a toy at the grocery check stand just to make them stop screaming, I kinda wanted Biden to get elected. I am tired of the tantrums, that is why.

My Man in Chelan

     My impressions of Chelan, Washington would have been vastly different if I was still in the first motel reserved for us. My husband is here for six days of contract work on an airplane restoration project. The project manager booked us a room at the Riverwalk Inn. It was built in 1918 and what they described as a major remodel on the website mostly meant it has indoor plumbing and electricity. We were greeted by a musty smell and a front desk gal who gave us a key to our designated dingy room. Among the many amenities it did not have--space, view, first-hand furniture--was a microwave. So she sent us to a second floor room where there was a microwave--in the hallway. Early in our marriage, I might have been so desperate to travel that I would be willing to stay in a tiny, dumpy cell/room for a week. But the years and the Lord have been good to us and my standards for hotel stays have risen beyond the Riverwalk Inn. I was willing to walk out, into the river, if necessary.

    Chelan seems to think they are too classy for plebeian chain restaurants and hotels, but I had spotted a nice looking place on our way to the Frump Dump so we left to look for it. Fortunately, this is the off season in Chelan--way off, 5000 residents becomes 25000 in summer--so the room rate was not much more than at the RunAway Inn. I was willing to sell my fillings to pay the difference. Even the regular rooms at the Lakeside Lodge were triple the size of our suite at the Sleep Slum and had my favorite feature--a balcony. Reed, who has taken a shine to me over 43 years, even upgraded to a suite overlooking Lake Chelan. 

     And that's why, even though I have not seen much of the town, it snowed yesterday, and I have only eaten at one unremarkable cafe, I still have a good impression of Chelan--not to mention my man.

Trust the Timing

     We are studying Genesis again this year in BSF. It no longer surprises me that I find new gems every time through this very familiar book, and recent lesson on Noah's ark. This time I was struck by God's precise timing of the events of the flood. For instance, on the 17th day of the second month of Noah's 600th year, the floodgates of heaven opened and the 40 days and nights of rain began. (Gen. 7:11) On that very day . . (Gen 7:13) The waters flooded the earth for 150 days. (Gen.7:24) On the 17th day of the seventh month, the ark came to rest on Ararat. On the first day of the 10th month, the tops of the mountains became visible. (Gen 8:5) By the first day of the first month of Noah's 601st year, the waters were drying up. (Gen 8:13) By the 22nd day of the second month, the earth was completely dry. (Gen 8:14) God planned precisely when the flood would begin, when it would end, and when Noah could come out. If I had been on the ark, by the time the dove came back with the olive branch, I would have been crawling out the window.

     Far from being a fable, the flood account sounds like it was written by an accountant or a statistician. My take away from all this detail--trust God's timing. After many months of involuntary quarantine with all those animals and, even more challenging, his family, Noah waited on the ark until God called him to come out. He trusted God's timing. I shared this with our women's prayer group. Some of us have had outstanding answers to prayer--a daughter in her 40's finally sober, my own son's sobriety. Meanwhile the woman who started our prayer group for prodigals is still waiting for her daughter to spit out the kool-aid of our current culture. What's the holdup? God's timing. I think of the seeds of God Word that we plant in the hearts of our children as little time bombs. It is wiser to wait for God to set them off than to keep whacking them with a hammer to speed up the process. And wind up destroying the relationship instead of the sin. Our sober successes did not get that way overnight. God has appointed the time and the means, so we pray as her young daughter travels, mostly alone, to foreign countries that God will mine her path with believers she might listen to.

    I had an opportunity to share this with my son recently. After asking my advice about how to approach his manager about a raise, he was disappointed that the man left before he could talk to him. I told him, "Trust the timing". I did not say trust God's timing because he already knows that's what I meant (he's known me all his life), no need to use a hammer. The next day, when he did talk to the manager, he not only gave him a raise, but said he had already been thinking about it. Timing. It has been encouraging to see my son recognize for himself how God is working in his life. The spark is there. I can throw a log on it trying to speed things up (not recommended for starting a campfire), but only the Holy Spirit can fan that spiritual spark into flame. After decades of looking for ladders to climb out the window of the ark, I at last realize I should pursue the plan of the One who provided it. And trust the timing.

Where Have All the Brain Cells Gone?

    There was a folk song popular in the 60's called "Where Have All the Flowers Gone?" It makes for a great lullaby, even though it is about the sadness and futility of war. At least it is not as scary as the classic about a helpless baby plummeting to the ground from the treetop some irresponsible adult placed them in to go night, night--possibly forever. I like this song because it is easy to sing and because it has enough verses to lull a hyperactive squirrel to sleep. I will give the condensed version here:

     Where have all the flowers gone? Long time passing.

     Where have all the flowers gone? Long time ago.

     Where have all the flowers gone?

     Young girls picked them, every one.

     When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?

     Where have all the young girls gone . . .gone to their young men . . When .

        "          "     "   "       young men   "           gone to be soldiers             "       

        "          "     "   "       soldiers      "              gone to the graveyards      "       

        "          "     "   "       graveyards   "           gone to the flowers            "       

 

 At which point, if the baby is not yet comatose, you can start all over again.

     In honor of Montana legalizing recreational marijuana in yesterday's election, I propose this new version of the song:

 

     Where have all the brain cells gone? Long time passing.

     Where have all the brain cells gone? Long time ago.

     Where have all the brain cells gone? Cannabis took them, every one.

     When will they ever learn?  When will they ever learn?

     I figure the answer to that is about 20 years. When Montana eventually realizes that the problems other states with legalized marijuana are already experiencing--impaired driving, children's accidental overdose, unmotivated, depressed teens, illegal (aka tax free) marijuana sales, and other connected crimes--is costing our state more green than it is taking in, they will know recreational marijuana advocates were just blowing smoke.

     I have seen PET scans of the brains of long term marijuana users and the inactive areas are similar to those of Alzheimer's patients. Using cannabis for recreation is like taking up dementia as a hobby. Eventually states will not be able to afford the social and legal cost of all that great tax revenue, and make marijuana illegal again. But, sadly, 20 to 40 years later no one, especially the "recreators", will remember what the problem was and they will legalize it again. 

 

When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?

What They Are Not Saying

After being exposed to a Covid positive woman at Bible study, a county health representative told a class member if she was less than 6 feet away, regardless of mask wearing, to consider herself exposed. What they are not saying is--a mask is not enough protection.

When we are told wearing masks protects others from our germs, but not us from theirs, what they are not saying is--masks work when you exhale, but not when you inhale--because that doesn't make sense.

When we are told putting masks on healthy people will stop asymptomatic spread, what they are not saying is--there has never been a practical way of stopping asymptomatic spread or we would have used it for influenza, norovirus, and the common cold.

When we are told to stop the spread because Covid is far more serious than a cold, and then told to stay home if we have a cold because it might actually be Covid, what they are not saying is--for many people, Covid is no worse than a cold. 

When they blame Covid flare ups in the U.S. on social gatherings and not wearing masks, what they are not saying is--Covid is flaring around the world, even in countries that have been on strict lock down since the virus began, so there must be another explanation.

And frankly, if people are defying the protocols worldwide despite civil and military enforcement, when local authorities threaten, or attempt, to return to stricter measures, what they are not saying is--we have the power to leap tall buildings in a single bound, or better yet, to filter out tiny virus particles with a breathable chunk of paper/cloth. 

Although, it is sinful on my part, when I pray for these appointed authorities, what I am not saying is--I am praying they get Covid. (Not a bad case, just a little wake up call from reality.)