Brutal

    I realize our weather reporters need to shake things up a bit by using different terms for weather, but snow banding, monsoonal, and atmospheric river sound like names in a pot dispensary or a Hollywood day care. Lately our weatherman is using the term "brutal", as if the weather really wants to hurt us. I think we have carried anthropomorphizing a little too far. What he actually means is temperatures near or sub zero. Those terms would do nicely, or even old fashioned "frigid" would work. It is bad enough that college educated meteorologists ascribe weather to Mother Nature, without implying criminal intent on her part.   

    Another term for brutal is inhuman, but weather is more un-human in that we do not control it. They can hold COP climate conferences to infinity and beyond, but these are more like field trips for the Doomsday Club. Government representatives get paid to travel internationally, meet in conference facilities, stay in hotels, and eat meals, all while using massive amounts of fossil fuel energy, so that they can decide no one else should. Unless they can stop volcanoes from spouting off, wildfires from burning and all the other ways Mother Nature produces CO2, there is little point in holding a COP.

    The ones I feel sorry for are the sportscasters. There are only so many synonyms for the word won. Sports reporting must be brutal.

I Have Lots of Questions

   This Christmas, having stretched out my BSF lesson as far as it could go, I decided to study Luke's account of Jesus' birth and childhood. I have lots of questions, and a few ideas about what I would have done. When Luke mentions Mary pondering or treasuring things in her heart, I believe it is because she herself told him these events. Luke 1:3 states he "carefully investigated everything from the beginning." I could almost hear him asking Mary, "What stands out to you from Jesus' birth and childhood?" We sometimes view Mary and Joseph as if they were streaming God's will in a daily podcast, but the angelic visits and dream guidance to Joseph about going to Egypt were very rare events. Most of their daily lives were lived just like ours. 

    So when Simeon and Anna prophesy about Jesus' future, Mary and Joseph marveled because they did not really know what lay ahead for God's Son. God had promised Simeon that he would see the Messiah before he died and, having seen and held Jesus, he was content now to do so. However, if I had been Simeon (unless I was especially old and achy) I would have said, "Wait, Lord, I meant the grown up version!" Now for the questions:

If he was officially named Jesus at his circumcision (Lk. 2:21), what did they call him the first 7 days? What name did the shepherds use? I assume giving the name at the temple was for purposes of the geneology records, but still I wonder if he was just "baby" before that.

 

If Mary and Joseph went back to Nazareth after Mary's purification (Lk. 2:39), why were they back in Bethlehem when the Magi came (Mt. 2:6-11)? 

 

How did Jesus learn scripture growing up in Nazareth? Nazareth was a podunk town with a small synagogue and limited resources for buying scripture scrolls. If I was Mary or Joseph, I would have wanted to move the Son of God to a larger town with a bigger synagogue and access to more scripture. If I were Joseph, I would have felt the need to get out of carpentry and into a profession that paid enough to send Jesus to school and was more fitting to train God's Son.

 

    If Luke did ask Mary what stood out from Jesus' childhood, I can see why Jesus being left at the temple is recorded only here. That would be pretty memorable. Three days of searching through Jerusalem at Passover knowing you had LOST GOD'S SON would stick in your mind. More questions:

Where did Jesus sleep and eat those 4 days? Were there guest quarters?

How big a group were Joseph and Mary traveling in that it took a whole day to notice Jesus was gone? Did they not count kids back then?

Why didn't Jesus know his parents would worry? I know he was 12, but he was also Jesus. 

Were his siblings glad Jesus finally did something to trouble his parents? Was he punished when he got home? Did he get extra chores? If I had been Mary, my first words would have been harsher and include the phrase "worried sick".

 

     I did some research. Although Jesus was about the age for it, Bar Mitzvah was not really a thing until the middle ages and does not mean a ceremony, but a recognition of reaching the age of personal accountability before God in relation to the covenant. What Joseph and Mary understood way better than I, is that God had called a carpenter and his wife in small town Nazareth to raise His Son. If He had wanted Jesus to grow up in a wealthier family with more access to scripture, He would have chosen other people. His parents did not need to pave Jesus' path to success because His Father would take care of that. As parents, wanting the best education and opportunities for our children, we sometimes forget that all God wants is our faithfulness. Then and now, He will take care of the rest.

Gateway

    We normally think of gateway in terms of drugs, as in using drugs like marijuana opens the way to using hard drugs like heroin. Legalized marijuana advocates deny this, of course, and most of us know of stoned who remain unturned, content to shrivel their brains and body one puff at a time. Most hard drugs users, however, say they started with marijuana, so the gate can swing both ways. But I am not talking about drugs. I am talking about cheese. I used to dislike blue cheese, then I started eating feta cheese and developed a tolerance to, and eventually love for, blue cheese. Feta was my gateway cheese.

     I experienced the same thing with coffee. I discovered frozen coffee drinks made me feel better when I had a migraine. Ice chips are commonly given for nausea, and most migraines are nauseating. But it was when I read about brain freeze that I understood how it helps the headache itself. Brain freeze happens when something cold is held against the roof of the mouth, the blood vessels open to warm it, and that sudden dilation can cause a headache. But if you already have a headache, a migraine, the blood vessels are constricted and opening them is a good thing. That is how many prescription migraine medications work. By trial and error I discovered ice cubes did not work, only blended ice. And blended ice, like a smoothie, did not work because there was no caffeine, which is also helpful for headaches and is a common ingredient in over the counter migraine medications.

    In time, I went from tolerating frozen coffee drinks because they helped my migraines to enjoying the taste of coffee. Now I crave coffee because what my aging body lacks in energy, I must make up for in caffeine. Frappes were my gateway to coffee, although it is not "hard" coffee because I still require lots of creamer. The good news is that coffee is no longer on the food naughty list. In my 30's, coffee was the designated scapegoat. If I went to the doctor for anything from hangnails to hemorrhoids, they asked me if I drank coffee. When I said no I felt like I was letting them down. Now, in my 60's, three cups a day is considered minimum for optimal health.

    The feta and frappe gateways have led to delicious results, but I will not enter the marijuana gateway, even if it is declared an essential nutrient for human life. I can do forgetful, unfocused and lazy drug free.

Does That Sound Like . . .?

   There is a persistent belief among some Christians that the Covid vaccine is the mark of the Beast. There are a number of logic and, more importantly, Biblical problems with that viewpoint. For example:

The Beast has not been revealed yet, much less his mark. 

That does not mean he is not around yet, but it is hard to take someone's mark when no one knows who they are. If the Beast is a national leader insisting everyone get vaccinated, there are many of those. Ours is Biden, but it would take imagination bordering on madness to believe our forgetful, powerless president will become in his dotage a charismatic leader who will unite the planet by promising world peace. Does that sound like Biden to you?

The Beast offers peace, not healing. On a recent radio program where the speaker explained that we should take the Bible literally--America is not mentioned in prophecy, and Babylon means Babylon not New York City, the host broke in to say Covid has prepared the world for the Beast. Really? If  by preparation, she means mindless compliance to the government, that has not happened. Even in typically "sheepish" nations, there are pockets of resistance willing to butt heads with their government. America, which began by butting heads with their government, has pockets of resistance larger than the sheepish nations. If the vaccine offered escape from certain death, the Beast could certainly exploit that for his purposes but, in most cases Covid is not fatal and, despite the hypo hype, the vaccine doesn't prevent infection, much less cure it. It only lessens the symptoms.

 

The vaccine is not a mark. There is a big difference between The Mark and a needle stick that disappears in two days. Unless the Bible is lying, the mark of the Beast will be visible on the right hand or forehead (Rev. 13:16) Does that sound like a shot in the arm or card in a wallet? It will identify who can buy and sell because it is visible. Something has always been required to buy and sell and currency has had images of rulers on it since the beginning of history. The Mark will be different. Now if the Covid injection was given in the right hand or forehead, that would be cause for worry. But the only injection I know of that goes in your forehead is Botox, in which case, I guess merchants could identify the "marked" by their lack of frown lines.

Taking the mark is an act of worship (Rev. 13:8) or a pledge of loyalty. Only those who are not written in the Lamb's book of Life will take it. But would God let even unbelievers take a mark that damns them for all eternity believing it was something innocuous?  Would God condemn vaccinated believers despite the many Bible passages that teach "no backsies" on salvation? Does that sound like God to you?

 

    It is good to study prophecy, but it is our nature to warp it to fit our preconceptions. Do we have the right not to have something placed in our bodies against our will? Absolutely. In America women are allowed to have a human being who resides in their body for a few months of a potential 90 year lifespan (usually with their cooperation, if not intention) killed and forcibly removed. Does that sound like a right to you? There are legitimate medical concerns about the vaccine, although surgical skills are required to separate truth from the pro and anti propaganda involved. Even more complicated is discerning if the motives behind our vaccine decisions are medical, political or carnal. Because telling health officials, the government, and even God, "You're not the boss a me!" sounds just like us.

How Could God Do That?

    It has been so long since I had an idea for my blog, I wondered whether this year's Christmas letter had used up my few remaining brain cells, although that might have been an unnoticed, preexisting condition. For me, the last few days before Christmas are like finals week when I was in college. I am a never put off until tomorrow . . . type person, so, while my classmates were writing papers, finishing projects and cramming for tests, I was bored. Now we are in the finals week of Christmas preparation, my cards were written and mailed weeks ago, the decorations are up, the gifts are wrapped, and the cookies are baked--which may explain why my thoughts were too scattered to wrap in words. So once again, while others are busy shopping, wrapping, mailing and finishing projects for the holidays, I am bored. But the aftermath of recent tornadoes and the impending celebration of Christ's birth have scraped together enough brain residue for me to blog.

    This December, off-season tornadoes brought death and destruction to Kentucky and neighboring states, obliterating homes, and killing people from infants to elderly. Tragedies like that can cause even believers to question God. And our secular society, which usually ascribes control of the weather to Mother Nature, declares a disaster such as this tornado an act of God. Ma Nature makes a nature call, God is suddenly the one in charge, but He is a sadistic Sovereign. Natural disaster, how could God do that?

    And then there are the personal tragedies. We have had seven funerals at our church in the past year, four more than the year before, and only two related to Covid. Sympathy cards arriving with Christmas cards, how could God do that?

    But then I think of Christmas, the most unlikely scenario imaginable. A King was born in a stable, his royal birth attested by lowly shepherds. A Mighty God became a helpless infant, grew up a child of the poor, lived as other men, loved as no man can, worked miracles, died for our sins, rose to conquer death, and will someday be acknowledged as the culmination of all things. What Christmas commemorates is that Christ loved us enough to become one with us. Immanuel, how could God do that?

    

   

Lessons Learned at Lowes

     Our previously enjoyed Bosch dishwasher broke this week. I had been having trouble with buttons sticking, but it was still a surprise when I reached for the door handle and the plastic control surround popped off. The sticking buttons were no longer a problem, they were on the floor. The control panel now looked like Schwarzenegger's Terminator after his face melted off. Each time my handy hubby gorilla taped it back together, the diswasher would send a strange code and refuse to work. C6 must be the code for "I'm a millennial". I resigned myself to living with the Terminator until the upcoming Black Friday sales, but my daughter found the Maytag dishwasher I wanted was in stock and already on pre-Black Friday sale at Lowes. Learning takes time, but we had plenty of that hanging around Lowes. The following are the lessons we learned:

1. Although there were many associates passing by, the one we needed, Bob, was harder to find than Sasquatch.
   
2. It would have been easier to build a dishwasher from a kit than find Bob.
3. It may have been faster to get a job there, train for the appliance department, then find it myself.
   
4. If I ever become homeless and need a place to get out of the weather where no one will notice me hanging around, I will go to Lowes appliance department.
   
5. It would be possible to shoplift major appliances there, provided you stole a hand truck first.
6. Although we had all staked out different appliances, there is a camaraderie that forms between fellow "wait-ers" after spending so much time together. I call it Lowes Syndrome.
   
7. After abandoning the Sasquatch search, my husband took a picture of the Maytag tag to customer service and paid for it, just as if the dishwasher existed in real life and not just the computer. I call that a trust exercise.
8. We went home knowing we may have paid $650 for a phone picture of an appliance tag.
9. In which case, we way overpaid for the 3 year service plan.
   

   Years ago there were television ads about the lonely life of a Maytag repairman, the point being, they don't break. But they did not show how lonely it can be waiting to buy a Maytag. Customers have their breaking points too.

When Your Back's Against the Lava

    This post is not nearly as exciting as the title, like the headlines on cable news. What I am actually referring to is baklava, a Greek pastry with flaky layers of phyllo dough, nuts and honey. I discovered baklava when I was a freshman at U of M. There was a food truck that sold those dainty delicacies for $.65 apiece, which seemed like an extravagance for my budget at that time. I have made baklava twice now, but the first time was by accident. I had meant to buy puff pastry. Since I was stuck with phyllo, but not necessarily the other ingredients, I cheated and sprayed on butter flavor Pam instead of brushing with melted butter. Since those cookies were one kind among the many I made for a family celebration, I don't really remember how they turned out. 

     But this week's baklava debacle was intentional, I deliberately bought phyllo dough, mistakenly thinking that making the pastry was the hard part of crafting baklava. I found a recipe online that looked fairly simple. Unfortunately, the woman who submitted it must have been fairly simple too, or math dyslexic, because the proportions she listed would never produce the desired results. Baklava is simply a matter of layering phyllo dough, butter and chopped nuts. But phyllo dough, even the ready-made kind is thin and hard to work with, far beyond the skill level of someone like me who can't laminate a name tag or put tape on a package without wrinkling it. And, instead of selling the dough in 9 x 13 sheets which would fit the most commonly used size pan, it is slightly bigger so requires trimming. Which requires a sharp knife. Which I seldom have in my kitchen. Which is the safest course for someone who can't handle tape.

    One of the reasons I chose this recipe was because it uses three phyllo sheets per layer instead of one, giving me fewer opportunities to mess up. However, the recipe also called for two cups chopped nuts using two tablespoons for each layer. Since two cups of chopped nuts equals 32 tablespoons and a roll of phyllo has 18 sheets, at 3 sheets per layer using 2 tablespoons nuts per layer only uses 3/4 cup. Since I had foolishly followed the recipe, I tried to catch up by using single layers of dough and piling on the pecans. In spite of numerous nuts, the amount of dough she said to use would never make the pan 3/4 full like her recipe specified. Fortunately, phyllo dough comes in two rolls so I broke into the other pack for more layers. The next step is scoring the layers into diamonds, which requires the same sharp knife I did not have for trimming. At each end of the diamonds, you insert a whole clove--at last a use for the cloves I bought to stud a ham decades ago. I did not care if they had lost flavor through the years because I don't like cloves anyway.

     While the pastry is baking, you simmer water, sugar and a cinnamon stick. I hope there is no expiration date on those either (how can tree bark expire?) but, just in case, I used the brown one and threw the white one away. I was so eager to use some of the honey that was turning to sugar in my cupboard that I failed to notice you were supposed to add it after the sugar mixture had simmered 10 minutes. Since I added the honey before cooking, all I could do was look for information on whether boiling honey would ruin the flavor. Naturally, I turned to the source of infinite wisdom--Google. Immediately up popped warnings that HEATED HONEY IS TOXIC AND HALLUCINOGENIC! Since I have microwaved honey many times to soften it for serving and none of the consumers, including me, were dead or delusional, I was somewhat skeptical. With good reason, as it turned out. The idea that heated honey is dangerous is promoted by Ayurveda folk medicine practitioners of the Asian subcontinent. Medical people in India consider them quacks. Google apparently considers them top of the list. Fortunately, websites below the quacks, were abuzz with information from actual beekeepers. Since few bees can afford air conditioning, the temperature in the hive itself can be 95 degrees, so obviously that temperature is not harmful. Honey is heated both to pasteurize and to get it into the cute little bears we buy at the store. Ayurveda aside, heating may destroy some of honey's nutritional value and enzymes but it is not harmful.  Which is good because, when you pour hot syrup over pastry just baked in a 350 degree oven, it bubbles up like lava. Baklava, baked lava, coincidence? I think not.

    Did it taste good? Yes. Was it worth the effort? No. Did I discard the recipe? Definitely. Its writer either does not understand math or has overindulged in heated honey. And yet, I hate to see anything go to waste, and I need to find some way of using up the rest of the phyllo, so I may be back--with a sequel.

   

Two Boats and a Helicopter

     As my sister and I were serving in the kitchen for a funeral luncheon Saturday, she said, "I wonder if any Christians who die of Covid get to heaven and God says, "I told you to get the vaccine!" Interesting thought, especially since my sister is not vaccinated. Our church has had two funerals in just a few weeks. The first man was unvaccinated but, at 68, in really good shape. He had recently out-hiked twenty somethings as he prepared for an upcoming elk hunt. He had, however, some scarring in his lungs from GERD/reflux and that, plus Covid, caused blood clots, one of which led to a heart attack. He was in the hospital at the time and on blood thinners, but there is no way to prevent that particular complication. God is sovereign, so I assume this was his appointed time, but wouldn't it be sad if he found out in heaven that he could have had his elk hunt, not to mention more time with his family, if he had taken the vaccine.

   The funeral Saturday was for a 76 year old man who had been vaccinated, but had so many preexisting conditions that, though he survived Covid, his already weak heart could not recover from the strain. Ted's family gathered around his bed to say goodbye. When his son suggested family prayer, Ted was the first to pray. His physical heart was failing, but his heart for the Lord was strong as ever.

    There is an old joke about the Christian caught in a flood who turned down two rescue boats and a helicopter because God was going to save him. After he drowned, he asked the Lord why he didn't rescue him and the Lord said, "I sent two boats and a helicopter!" What if the vaccine is like that? Why do Christians who believe God can save them from Covid believe He can't protect them from potential side effects of the vaccine? 

    After my husband's description of a friend's experience with Covid--lost 22 lbs. because he couldn't keep anything down, potassium so low it could have caused a heart attack, body aches so bad it hurt to text, fingertips blue from lack of oxygen--I felt better about being vaccinated. As a Christian, I have no great fear of death, but I can't say the same about suffering. No one wants to die of diarrhea. Since the people I know who are getting infected now have not changed their lifestyles or places they go, I am resigned to eventually developing Covid, but I am hoping my experience will be more like that of my vaccinated Dad, brother and older friends at church--minor cold symptoms. I can handle that. Nausea, diarrhea, aching, blue body parts--not so much. 

   There are things I hope to hear from the Lord after I die. If not ,"Well done my good and faithful servant", at least, "Welcome home." But there are also things I don't want to hear, such as, "I sent you two boats and a helicopter!" And especially not, "What are you doing here?" 

    

 

The Blind Men and the Elephant

     Since Reed's heart episode, he has been getting lots of dietary recommendations. This is good because he is finally willing to follow them, but it is also bad because the diet data is contradictory. For example, his heart information says the pizza he loves is unhealthy because of the nitrates in processed meat. Meanwhile our family doctor said the meat is fine, but the crust is unhealthy. It reminds me of a poem I heard in school called:  The Blind Men and the Elephant. Through the wondrous wisdom of Wikipedia, I can share it here.

.

THE BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT.

A HINDOO FABLE.

I.

IT was six men of Indostan 

To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant
(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.

II.

The First approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
"God bless me!—but the Elephant
Is very like a wall!"

III.

The Second, feeling of the tusk,
Cried: "Ho!—what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp?
To me 't is mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a spear!"

IV.

The Third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Thus boldly up and spake:

"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant
Is very like a snake!"

V.

The Fourth reached out his eager hand,
And felt about the knee.
"What most this wondrous beast is like
Is mighty plain," quoth he;
"'T is clear enough the Elephant
Is very like a tree!"

VI.

The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,
Said: "E'en the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most;
Deny the fact who can,
This marvel of an Elephant
Is very like a fan!"

VII.

The Sixth no sooner had begun
About the beast to grope,
Than, seizing on the swinging tail
That fell within his scope,
"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant
Is very like a rope!"

VIII.

And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right,
And all were in the wrong! 

 

       The moral of this Hindu fable is about theological disputes. I am going to apply it to the topic I started with, but mine is in the form of a joke:

   Four dieticians are eating in the cafeteria, when a man sits down at the next table to eat his cheeseburger combo meal.

 The first dietician says, "That man is going to have a stroke from the fat and sodium in his french fries.""No," says the second, "he is going to get diabetes from the sugar in his soda." 

"Not likely," says the third, "he'll have a heart attack from the fat in the meat and cheese before that happens."

"You're wrong," says the fourth, "there's nothing wrong with the meat and fat, it's the carbs and gluten in the bun that's the problem."

 

     Nutrition science is as problematic as Covid science, facts are filtered by the focus, and sometimes the personal food preferences of the "expert". The basic recommended diet for both the healthy and the unhealthy is lots of veggies, lean meat and whole grains/little saturated fats and sugars. Diet and exercise play a role in the health problems listed above, but so do age and genetics. My diet inspiration is Dr. Atkins who, after a lifetime of depriving himself of potatoes, pasta, pastry and bread, fell, hit his head on a New York sidewalk, and died at 72. I think if he had known that all his sacrifices for the sake of health would be undone by a slab of cement, he would have eaten whatever he wanted. 

      And that is my recommendation for Reed. Eat what you want, but not so much, and not too often. Sip the sugary drinks. Eat snacks by the each, not the handful. Deprivation diets lead to frustration and failure. Moderation makes eating manageable.

And now for the punchline:

  

     The man finishes his combo meal, gets up, turns to the dieticians and says, "I should probably get more exercise, too." So he picks up their table and their tofu, carrot sticks, cottage cheese and quinoa clatter to the floor. The dieticians decide to leave quickly. . . for the sake of their health.

 

 

   

 

 

 

Then What Do We Do About . . ?

     I did not realize my brother had a severe case of Trump dysphoria until he called to see how Reed was after his recent hospitalization. He complained that the hospitals in Anchorage were overcrowded with Covid patients who had refused to be vaccinated. From Covid he launched into his familiar complaints about Trump, even though he has been out of office for nine months. You would think, as a veteran who works on an army base, if we were analyzing presidents, Biden's recent, disastrous withdrawal from Afghanistan might have come up. My brother's solution to hospital crowding was that they should ration care to the unvaccinated.

    If they did that, then what do we do about those who health problems were caused by their abuse of drugs and alcohol? My son's alcoholic former roommate practically had a punch card at the hospital because detoxing made him feel like he was having a heart attack. Besides depriving others of a hospital bed, he also wasted the services of cop and an ambulance. Often unemployed by his own drinking, his use of these services was paid for by our taxpayer money. And what should we do about those hospitalized for the many health problems caused by smoking? One of the reasons my brother is so terrified of Covid is that he is at higher risk of dying because of COPD caused by his decades long decision to smoke. And what do we do about patients hospitalized because they refuse to take care of themselves, most of whom are on Medicaid? When I worked at the hospital I had patients who returned repeatedly because they refused to monitor their diabetes. As with alcoholism, the fact that it is a real disease does not remove the responsibility to manage it. My nurse son, before he moved to pediatrics, said many of his patients were only in the hospital because they did not make the lifestyle changes their condition required and/or they enjoyed the attention and room service. One patient delayed his discharge by not arranging for a ride home just because the hospital had a better cable selection.

    And what do we do about people who get injured committing a crime? fighting? in jail? reckless or impaired driving? irresponsible sex? It is a slippery slope to decide some are less worthy of hospital care than others because they made a decision not to get vaccinated. My decision was to steer him back to what he said he called for in the first place, how my husband was doing. Not an easy task. For a counselor, he is not a very good listener. As for what to do about the Trump dysphoria, I think should see a counselor.

A Little Closer to Home

     Covid did not touch our lives much beyond the protocols in the beginning. For a long time it was friends and acquaintances who got it. Then family members, my brother-in-law, Dale, and his son who lived in another state. Neither of them had serious symptoms. The only way they knew it was not just a cold was that they lost their sense of taste and smell. But now that the Delta variant is going around, it is starting to hit a little closer to home. Three weeks ago Debbie Wolfshorndl died of Covid at 68. We did not know her personally, but her husband taught each of my kids at the Christian school. Our hearts go out to Roger and family. Then, while Reed was in the hospital, we found out Paul, who worked under Reed as a mechanic years ago, had just died of Covid in Lincoln, NB. He was younger than us.

     Closer to home, there is a friend from church in the ICU with Covid. He and his wife, on the advice of their naturopath, did not get the vaccine. They both got very ill and Jeff, around age 70, was hospitalized. When his condition improved he was sent home. More than a week later, while Reed was in the hospital, Jeff was readmitted with blood clots in his lungs. The clots caused a heart attack, his family said their goodbyes, he was not expected to survive the night. The church has prayed for a miracle, but Jeff passed away September 15, 2021.

    I talked to his wife when I brought a meal to their house between hospitalizations. She said they had prayed about taking the vaccine and felt they should not do it. I do not know how she feels about it now and would never ask her. I just hope people are not compounding this difficult time by vaccine shaming them. But I am not writing about the vaccine, I am writing about people. And all I know is that Covid deaths are starting to happen to people we know. God is sovereign, I refuse to live in fear, but I must live in reality. This variant or another will inevitably strike closer to home.

 

The Bridge

      Ever since our friend Dave died in an avalanche in February, I have been praying for an opportunity to speak to his widow, also our friend, about Christ. I have shared spiritual things with her before and once wrote her a letter sharing how I came to faith in Christ, but those were the condensed versions. I had never had one-on-one time with her to share the unabridged version. I have been trying to support her in her grief journey, but I also wanted to do something tangibly helpful. Since neither she nor her daughter, who moved back in with her, enjoy cooking (Dave was the main cook) and food is my love language, I have been bringing them food. But with or without food she seems to welcome the visits.  She gave me a standing invitation to come over on Fridays, which is her Grandma Day with her youngest granddaughter, and mine with my oldest.

     I recently made a large pot of chili (I toyed with the idea of making a small batch, but that seemed inconceivable), so I brought that and some cookies out to Janelle. I thought the Lord had again answered no to my prayer when I saw another woman and her toddler already there. But they left early, her granddaughter went down for a nap, and mine wanted to play outside in the playhouse. God gave me 30 to 40 minutes to share privately with her. Conversationally, no "you should" or preaching that pushes people away, just sharing my heart, my struggles and what Christ has done, and is still doing, for me. Her heart is hungry and I finally had a chance to share spiritual food with her. She asked what to read in the Bible and I suggested John, the book the brought me out of Mormonism and into the light. I was even able to share my bridge illustration, that trying to get to heaven by being good is like trying to jump the Grand Canyon. Some may make it further than others, but no one can jump the distance. That is why He sent Jesus to die for our sins, to become the bridge, for all who believe. Christ provided the way for us to be with God.

     I do not know how God will use what I said, only that part of it came from Him and all of it can be used by Him. And, God willing, there will be more opportunities. There is a bonding that comes from being honest and vulnerable with someone you trust, and I think we both felt that. But having God answer my prayer so unexpectedly, sharing spiritual food, brings a satisfaction that Jesus described in John 4 as "meat to eat that you know not of".  For hours I enjoyed the fullness of feasting on that meat. More importantly, if God answered my prayer for a chance to share with her, surely He will answer the most important one, that God will guide her across the bridge.

I Guess It All Makes Sense

     We have a had a couple letters to the editor in our local newspaper blaming the recent, disastrous withdrawal from Afghanistan on George Bush, the president who initiated military action twenty years earlier in response to Bin Ladin's terrorist attacks. Even many Democrats recognize the illogic of that argument. Regardless of who authorized entering Afghanistan two decades ago, the only one to blame for the botched, bloody exit strategy is our current Commander-in-Chief and his military advisers.

     I would like to think if I sold a car that was resold again three times over twenty years, and the last owner caused a fatal accident, that I would not be blamed for it. I would like to think that, but in our over-lawyered, litigation loving nation I would be wrong. Gun manufacturers are sued for the sins of criminals who stole the weapons. Aircraft manufacturers get sued for accidents caused by pilot error. Aircraft mechanics with liability insurance get sued for accidents involving planes that crash many years after they last maintained them--which is why Reed does not have that coverage. Lawyers regularly sue people they know are not responsible because they also know most insurance companies would rather write a check than right a wrong. 

     But I guess it all makes sense in a society that wants people who have never owned slaves to pay reparations to people who have never been slaves. Although our welfare system and victim mentality mantra are the next best thing. In a cupcake culture that is offended that people of 200 years ago were not as woke as we are, we might expect Bush to be blamed for Biden's bungle. Such an idea requires giant leaps over logic and possibly time travel but, to the letter writers and their kind, it all makes sense. But if time travel works both ways, it could also be argued that Biden is responsible for Ford's failure in the fall of Saigon, after all, the images of desperate nationals clinging to departing aircraft defy coincidence. So, Uncle Joe, here's what I want to know--The U.S. got out of Afghanistan, but how do we get out of Fantasyland?      

 

What Went Right

     My husband felt a little "off" Monday night, but not enough to actually go to the emergency room because--he's a guy. Like most men, he is a little "off" in health smarts. I should have insisted, but if I had that much influence with him, he would not have got in such bad shape in the first place. Not only did he not go to the emergency room that night, he did not even go to urgent care until after he readied the aircraft for the next day's flight. Urgent care, after taking his vitals and finding an extremely elevated heart rate, sent him to the emergency room. They wanted to send him in an ambulance, but it was only a few blocks away, he had driven himself all the way in from the airport, and--he's a guy. His EKG and enzymes were also a little off, and they gave him a shot to "reboot" his heart. When his heart beat slowed, he felt much better and wanted to go home for the night, launch the plane the next morning, and come back for tests. Strangely, the medical staff did not accept his "guy" guidance, so he spent the night in the e.r. to await his echo-cardiogram and cardiac catheter the next day. 

     Fifteen other patients also spent the night on gurneys in the e.r. because no beds were available. Covid is an easy scapegoat, and is indirectly responsible, but our son who works there, said that just like Covid has made housing inaccessible and crowded the schools, the hospitals are filled to capacity simply because there are more people living here. 

    They did the cardiac-echo shortly after 7 a.m. and everything was functioning well except for some thickening in the muscle wall. But he had to go from midnight to 3 p.m. without eating or drinking while waiting his turn for the heart catheter. The doctor found a 70% blockage in the major artery to the heart and that may have caused the rapid heartbeat, but they said it also sometimes happens, like so many delightful surprises, simply from growing old. They placed a stent and kept him one more night to make sure the artery where they inserted the catheter did not bleed. 

    After spending Tuesday afternoon in noisy, next-to-nurses' station, e.r. 1, he spent Tuesday night on his 3 inch gurney mattress in quiet, corner room 16. The next day they moved him to a shared room so they could get some of the patients out of the e.r. waiting area and into an actual room. His roomies in #18 were quiet but, because we had no TV remote, we were stuck with back to back episodes of "Mom" and "Two 1/2 Men", which made me feel like I needed to rinse out my brain with Holy water, even though I was deliberately not watching them. The staff hoped to have a regular room for Reed after his procedure, but we wound up back in e.r. 18. Finally, at 6 p.m. a room on the IMC (intermediate care) unit, where they normally put cardiac patients, became available. After the e.r., a regular room with a door and a real bed felt like the Hilton. The next afternoon we left that comfortable room for our much more comfortable home.

 

What went right:

• Although he experienced a cardiac event, it revealed a problem that, left undiscovered, might have led to the more serious conditions below.
• No cardiac arrest. His heart only stopped for a second, from the medication that reset heart rhythm. 
• No heart attack. No blockage to cause death of heart muscle.
• Partial blockage was easily fixed. (When I worked at the hospital decades ago, all heart cath was through groin. Much higher bleeding risk and recovery time.)
• Neither Reed nor I were anxious because he felt well and was reassuringly normal throughout. People having a heart attack don't typically focus on/talk about the Harrier aircraft used in the Falklands' war.
• Good doctors, good nurses.
• Good meds for a good price, on our prescription plan.
  
• Because Reed waited until Tuesday afternoon, I was not needed at the hospital until after my commitment to watch Britten's girls. Thus she could keep her commitment to work at my brother-in-law's largest business event of the year.
• My migraines, which had become regular, stopped. Sitting at the hospital can be restful, especially when not the patient.
• Reed's diet changes are now medical restrictions, not my recommendations.
• We have a Silver Sneakers benefit with our Medicare supplement (although I'm not holding my breath that he will go to a fitness center).
• His only outpatient limitation was 3 days of not lifting more than 5 lbs. with arm where catheter was inserted, otherwise, normal activity.
  

What went wrong:

• A 65 year old still eating like a 25 year old.
• A 65 year old still working long hours like a hungry 25 year old.
• Exercise cannot consist entirely of work, house/yard/vehicle maintenance, and sex.
• Although I stayed awake until 2 a.m. to monitor his breathing and trusted the Lord to wake me up, if needed, after that, it would have been safer to hurry up and wait in the emergency room Monday night.
• Some side effects from medication, but that is to be expected.

What the Lord did:

• Lots of people prayed for us.
• We both had peace through the whole experience.
• My message from the Lord was--If Reed had made regular doctor appointments where his increasing blood pressure, blood sugar and cholesterol had been noticed, he would have taken the meds but would not have been willing to make lifestyle changes. I'm hoping now that his heart is involved, he will. Because my heart is involved with his.
  

 

 

Auto-Correct

     One of the many things that have changed BoC (Because of Covid) is that our ladies prayer time meets in person one week and by text the next. We decided this based on accelerating infection rates in our community and the advanced age of most of our group. I was skeptical of texting our prayers at first, but discovered God is more adaptable than I give Him credit for. Not only is the fellowship still sweet but, because we don't spend half of the prayer time updating our requests, I have more time to actually pray. However, there are always a few texting errors that come through and make some of the prayers more confusing than others. 1 Cor. 14:33 says, "God is not the author of confusion", but auto-correct is! Monday, auto-correct or a "textical difficulty" turned a prayer to give a couple who just moved, friends who love the Lord into friends who live the Lord. 

    I have been pondering that ever since. Every genuine Christian loves the Lord, but not all Christians live the Lord. Not that any of us do that very well. Our recent family camp teaching on the Beatitudes made that abundantly clear. But I was reminded of a question in a study a few years ago that asked--How has your spiritual life changed in the past 10 years? Mine has changed profoundly, mostly because of the trial of our son's alcoholism. I needed specific guidance and encouragement from Christ and He provided it. Not verbal, of course, (I would have a heart attack and die if God spoke to me out loud) but words impressed in my mind that I know did not come from me. To unbelievers, and even some Christians, this would sound crazy. Fortunately, there is an objective means to verify if these messages are from the Spirit--does it agree with the Bible? Unfortunately, the person I was sharing the study with said their spiritual life had not really changed in 10 years and, from what I could observe externally (no one can know anothers' heart), I was inclined to agree. 

    I guess that is what I was thinking of as the difference between loving the Lord and living the Lord. Am I growing more like Christ through the years? Do I love Him out of habit, like an old married couple, or out of desire, like a newlywed? Does my faith in Christ increasingly change the way I view life? behave? and especially, speak? I wish the Christian life came with an easy auto-correct function, that would be way faster than the one-sin-at-a-time method the Holy Spirit uses. But this is my official acceptance of the Auto-correct App. for Connie's spiritual I Phone. Not that He needs it, but God has my permission to auto-correct me any time He ought to.

The Words of the Rabbi

    The speaker at our church camp out this weekend is preaching about the Beatitudes. Although we did not camp out, (my idea of camping out is a budget hotel) we had good intentions of going to most of the sessions. My migraines, however, had other plans and I have learned there is no use arguing with my body. It always wins. Such a shame because he had a vivid way of speaking and I could picture in my mind the children on that crowded hillside, doing what children always do. Oblivious. Innocent. The poem might have been way better if I made it to more of the sessions, but I will just have to work with the two I heard.

                     The Words of the Rabbi

The children played in the hillside grass, as children always do.

For them, it was just one more day to play in the sun.

They would not remember the words of the Rabbi,

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. . . .”

 

But the older kids and parents would remember

the extraordinary words of this ordinary looking man, Jesus.

He did not recite what others taught about God’s word,

he explained God’s truth as one who knew both well—

like the children recognized their own father’s voice

from all the others in the crowd.

 

They did not know that day and those words

would be recorded forever in scripture,

that when the grass on the hillside withered

and the flowers they picked for their mothers

had long ago faded away, the words of the Rabbi

would live on forever.

 

The pure in heart at their hillside play

did not know the Rabbi would die someday

on another hill, for the sins of men,

that by faith, our hearts may be pure again.

                          9/4/21

All the Eggs in One Basket

     The CDC's handling of Covid 19 has leapt over logic so many times, they should compete in the next Olympics. First, there were as many gaps in the mask justifications as in the masks themselves. Then the vaccine they promised would turn the tide of virus turned out to only be able to water down the variant. Now the two wrongs make a right recommendation is that if more people get the ineffective vaccine, less people will get the virus. In other words, the vaccine only works if you don't get exposed to Covid. This hail Mary play became necessary because the theories that a) the vaccine will protect you from the variant b) okay, you'll still get it, but you won't spread it c) okay, so you're a germ factory, but the infection will be milder d) okay, you may still wind up in the hospital, but you won't die e) okay, you may die but only 1%, or 15%, or 35% . . . 

     But the overriding error is that the CDC has put all their eggs in the prevention basket. Where is the--okay, since you're getting it anyway, here are some recommendations on medications shown to decrease the symptoms, shorten the course, or prevent long term effects of the disease? I can think of three reasons for withholding this information: 1) The public might ignore their prevention measures if they knew there were effective means of treatment 2) They don't want to endorse anything Trump said, even if it kills US 3) They haven't bothered to find out. Fortunately, some doctors have and some of their research has not yet been removed from the internet. 

    If the CDC is really concerned about deaths and overcrowded hospitals, they would tell us all the treatments available to prevent Covid from getting to that stage. A friend told me that she was very sick until her doctor prescribed hydroxychloroquine which helped immediately and immensely. But when her daughter got Covid and asked for the same medication, her daughter's doctor refused. Fortunately, she found a provider that does not base medical practice on party politics, and she wrote her a prescription. 

   Prevention is the key--but it is the key to a closet. We cannot live there. Let's move the eggs to the reality basket. Better to break a few than leave them with the chickens at the CDC. None of the ones they counted on have hatched.

When God Moves the Chess Pieces

     It is a wonderful thing to be moved by the hand of God. Most of the time when He puts us in the right place at the right time, we are doing something quite ordinary and are often unaware of his divine intervention. Aware or not, God sometimes moves us like chess pieces in the long, complex strategy in which he works his will. Like chess pieces, some people play roles of more power and influence than others but, also like chess pieces, we have no power at all unless He moves us.

    Today was our turn to be moved. My husband decided we should invite a couple from our church that we barely knew to go out for lunch with us. We wanted to get to know them better, but what we did not know is that 13 years ago today, their son committed suicide. Although they seemed to be coping well, especially considering it happened in their home and his mother was the one who found him, God must have known they needed some extra encouragement and someone to share with.

    Last weekend it was my turn to be encouraged, when God led my new BSF leader to call unusually early, weeks before class starts. Just minutes before I had been praying--if a loud, demanding tirade can be considered prayer--practically daring God to DO something for my son and for me. My new leader called when I was beyond "fine". Didn't feel it. Couldn't fake it. Told her so. By coincidence of Big Bang proportions, she also has an alcoholic son, five years sober, who happens to live in Helena. She prayed with me on the phone. God nailed me in my mind, "I AM doing something." I apologized for my ugly prayer and realized that, if God sent help for me, when my life and future were not in peril, He was certainly doing something for my son. Sometimes encouragement stings a bit.

   Our most powerful divine intervention was when God moved Ryan (our human angel) to turn his car around and go talk to us, parked by the side of the highway as we were taking our son to Rimrock for rehab. He had just said, "I will never believe in God because I can't see Him and He can't see me." I silently prayed, "Lord, show him that you are real and that you are good". At that very moment, Ryan pulled up behind us. Since Ryan (the reluctant chess piece) had spent several miles arguing with God about the importance of his meeting in Helena, God was answering my son's doubt and my prayer before either of us spoke them.

    My first experience with being in God's right place at the right time was over 30 years ago when I dropped in on a new widow in our church just when despair hit her hard. At that moment, she needed someone to hold her while she cried. I had not felt led to go to her, I (clueless Connie chess piece) just decided to stop there on my way home. That was my first realization that God uses us even when we have no idea He is doing it. But today, we knew. At last week's phone call, I knew. On the road to Rimrock, all of us knew. God is the one who moves us.

The Stars Are There

     I am studying Psalms this summer and many of them contain a "but". I love the buts because they  represent a turning point, usually from bad to good. I am going to share just the what, not the why of this poem, however, you would not have to be psychic to tell that last week was hard for reasons besides the news. But yesterday God gifted me with a perfect combination of sunny skies and cool weather, accomplishment and rest--a spa day for my soul.

   The Stars Are There

 The stars are there, even when you don’t see them, 

God told me in the stillness of the night

when I looked to the heavens for comfort

in the vast and powerful works of God,

but wildfire smoke obscured the sky

and I could not find their light.

 

 I thought the words He gave me then

concerned sad world events

in Haiti and Afghanistan, 

shaken by storms and the Taliban.

But those words were also intended for

our impending private storm.

 

 After years of shining steadily, then brightly

came days of darkness, silence, desperation.

I called for reinforcements, prayer warriors.

We linked faith shields around the fallen

while we waited for the battle to end,

the smoke to clear, and any sign of light. 

 

 Chaos turned to calm, mayhem to mercy.

The forgiven scoured the battlefield

for shields and weapons to begin again.

Flickering faith rekindled, remembered-- 

The stars are there, and just as bright 

when they are hidden from my sight.

  8/24/21