The Poor, and what to do about them

    We've all seen those people holding signs at the intersection "Need work/ brain surgery/ God bless you/ anything helps" etc.; my preferred method of dealing with them is to decide it's their own fault that they're poor and drive away.  Simple.  Efficient. Unbiblical.  God has given us many commands concerning the poor and that is not one of them.  Naturally, we don't want to donate our money so people can buy drugs and alcohol or gamble and, as Christians, we want to help with their real needs, not the poverty which may just be a symptom, but it is easy to use those pious sounding reasons to be selfish and thoughtless--which also comes naturally.
     Before Israel entered the promised land, God gave commands about caring for the poor AND THERE SHOULD'NT HAVE BEEN ANY.  Every family entering the country was given a house and land.  In the Promised Land Lottery, everybody won.  However then, as now, there were people who were unable or unwilling to work or incapable of managing the resources they have. When the Bible was written there was no government assistance and few charities available to the needy, but that doesn't excuse me from either my responsibility to obey or my right to be blessed.  And although obedience to God usually results in a higher standard of living, there is no commandment not to be poor.  God makes allowance for the poor and so should we.
     I have not yet figured out what to do about the poor, but I know we are commanded to care for those in need, that God blesses generosity, and that I am by nature a selfish cheapskate, although I prefer to call it "good with money".  Perhaps by showing compassion for the poor I will begin to understand God's inexplicable compassion for me.
  

Knock, Knock

      Knock, knock.  Who's there?  Not America's collective sense of humor.  It has been poisoned by political correctness. What in years past would clearly be seen as a joke, might now be interpreted as offensive, even hate speech. It is only a matter of time before those who interpret freedom of religion to mean freedom from religion, to decide that freedom from offensive humor means freedom from all humor. We are taking ourselves way too seriously.  There is a strange dichotomy in American culture today, in one group are people who can't wait to be offended, they are offended when someone prays in public or pledges allegiance to the flag or similar radical behavior.  They feel that these traditional values cast judgment on their own.  Some seek offense so they can someday cash in, a sort of lawsuit lottery.  Some are offended because it is in their nature, and those who expect to be insulted are seldom disappointed.
     The other group also can't wait to be offended; they place calls to shock radio hosts or appear on television programs knowing the guests are habitually ridiculed. To some it is worth the humiliation to have 15 minutes of fame.  The humiliation business has never been more popular, court tv, quasi-talent shows and insulting talk show hosts abound on both radio and television.  Some well paid comedians have made a whole career out of  being flagrantly offensive: old school, Don Rickles, new school, Ricky Gervais.  But regular humor that pokes fun at some foible of human nature is considered dangerous. Part of the problem is that many of these weaknesses are now classified as disorders and singling them out, a form of discrimination.  People are no longer short or bald, they are height impaired and follicly challenged.
     I think it's important that we, as Christians, don't get caught up in the "can't take a joke" mentality. Yes Alzheimer's is a sad disease, but that doesn't mean we can't joke about failing memory. If your loved one is facing Alzheimer's, humor may be your best coping tool. There are some wonderful, Christian attorneys, but lawyer jokes are still funny. Jokes about heaven or hell are jokes, not an assault on our theology.  If we can't conquer our obesity, we can at least lighten up, after all, fat people are supposed to be jolly.
      I didn't get my sense of humor from my happy home.  My mother is a schizophrenic.  It is a mostly no fun disease, but even that has some funny aspects.  For instance-the good thing about schizophrenics is that they always have someone to talk to. God gives people different gifts to help them cope, mine is humor.  And laughing at ourselves promotes humility.  God's people are to be characterized by not being quick tempered or easily offended, no matter what our culture practices.  If the joy of the Lord is our strength, laughter should be our aerobic workout.

Winter of my Discontent

     I don't understand much Shakespeare, but I know that "the winter of my discontent" is a line from one of his plays, that I understand.  I have been privileged to live in Montana nearly all of my life, but I am not a winter person.  This is unfortunate because Montana is into winter in a big way.  Kalispell has made the problem worse; it is cloudy during many seasons, but the white skies are particularly depressing in the winter. There is also a cumulative effect, I don't begin each winter with a clean slate, there is leftover discontent from previous years, like rollover phone minutes but in a negative way. The winter blues have now been upgraded with an official title: Seasonal Affective Disorder.  The title doesn't make it any easier to bear, but it gives you an official sounding reason to complain, "I have S.A.D." sounds less whiny than , "I am sad."
     After decades in Kalispell I have learned ways to help myself: spend some time outside, even if I don't want to, let in as much light as possible during the day, close the shades as soon as it begins to get dark, turn on lots of lights, exercise, occasional visits to a tanning booth.  But my favorite coping technique is the geographical cure--leave.  Frankly, once New Year's Day is over, I am done with winter.  Montana, unfortunately, will not be done for four more months.  This year I began getting restless after New Year's dinner was over, when we officially ended the holiday season by letting my nephew blow up the gingerbread house with firecrackers.  Happily, we were leaving the next day--for Seattle, but at least there were green plants to look at.
     Somewhere in my family tree there must be a real tree because my branch of the blood line seems to be contaminated with chlorophyll.  I get energy from the sun.  This lasting feeling of warm contentment is a sensation I privately call "sungasms".  God understands my frailties.  I am a bundle of frailties wrapped, loosely, in skin.  Shakespeare has a quote about that too, "frailty, thy name is woman", but that is just ridiculous.
     This winter God has arranged Reed's work schedule so that we will be gone most of the dreary months.  I am able to travel with Reed because I work just a few hours a week in home health care and there are 50 employees who can replace me when I'm out of town.  Because I have both a wonderful God and husband, I have had the rare blessing throughout most of my marriage of being able to work outside my home without having to work outside my home.   My goal for retirement is to be a snowbird, but until then I will deal with the restlessness one winter at a time. Spring will come again and the winter of my discontent will end much like all our struggles will--with a glimpse of the Son.

Earth--as is

     God is in the business of beauty.  This planet could have fulfilled all its life sustaining functions just as well in a no frills version, but God made it unnecessarily beautiful.  There is a kind of beauty in big cities, even among so many man made things, but for those privileged to live surrounded by the beauty of nature, it is obvious that God enjoys making things beautiful.  And the beauty we see is that of a sin cursed, flood ravaged world.  The upheaval of the flood gave us majestic mountains, sculpted plains, impossible rock formations and, of course, rainbows.  If the "not to original specifications", "as is" earth is still so magnificent, what must the original have looked like?
     Another example of God's love for beauty is the Tabernacle He had built to his specifications.  Although for many years God demanded worship only on altars of natural stone, since man made efforts always went awry, He eventually allowed Israel to build a tabernacle.  Although plain metals and materials might have sufficed for function, God commanded it to be built with gold, precious stones and elaborate, colorful fabrics.  Not only did He demand beauty and artistry, but He divinely enabled the craftsmen who made it, just as He always empowers those He calls to serve.
     If God can take something as destructive as the flood to make something as ugly as sin into something as beautiful as the earth, He is welcome to use what He chooses to make something beautiful out of me.  I am proud to be Connie--"as is".
      

Say Aah

      There are places I can go and feel my body relax and say "aah", not necessarily places you would expect.  The place this most often happens is in hotels, not the really fancy hotels, those make me nervous, like they're going to find out I don't belong there and throw me out.  But when the hotel is clean and spacious and nicely decorated, I can walk in the door and instantly feel my shoulders relax.  I know I am going to spend several days away from housework, or any other kind of work.  The hardest thing I will have to do while I'm there is pick which restaurant to go to for dinner. 
     The second place this happens is at the hotel pool.  When my children were young and we traveled together, I spent many happy hours sitting by the pool while my children swam.  Now the mere smell of chlorine makes me feel happy and relaxed, though I'm not planning to devise a chlorine scented air freshener, and I still like to sit by the pool and read when I'm at a hotel.
     I have had massages for the sake of my migraines and that feels good, but not in the "aah" way.  I have had food that delighted my palate, seen sights that filled my senses, heard music that lifted my soul and had times of worship that I wished would never end, but they didn't make my body say "aah".  That feeling is more like cuddling up with my husband at the end of the day feeling safe and relaxed and happy. I expect heaven is the place our souls will at last relax and say one final "aah".

Gotta Travel On

      As a girl my experience with travel consisted of visiting grandparents.  Fortunately my maternal grandparents lived in eastern Montana, unfortunately, eastern Montana was 8 hours away.  My paternal grandmother, however, lived in Missouri, 3 days away.  We made annual trips to Wolf Point and triennial visits to Missouri.  Despite these low budget, no frills vacations, I developed a love of travel.  Also, one of the cheap entertainments when I was growing up was going for a drive, mostly on Sunday afternoons.  This was especially enticing because Dad often stopped for a treat like pie or ice cream before we headed back home.  By the time I was in high school I was so infected by the travel bug that I wanted to be a truck driver.  The main difficulty with that plan was that I had never driven a stick shift and few 18 wheelers are automatic. 
     One of the last jobs I had before leaving my home in Missoula was at Brownie's Motel.  Though being a motel maid was not the glamorous part of the travel industry, I felt second hand excitement as our equally nonglamorous customers came and went from our nonglamorous hotel.  My goal for adulthood was to be in a hotel long enough to unpack, not just spend the night and leave the next morning. I had little expectation that my travel dreams would ever come true, so I kept that wish deep inside and almost forgot about it--but God didn't.
     We made a few trips while our children we young, Canada, Mt. Rushmore, Oregon, but the dream trips began after Reed started working for Semitool.  Traveling with the airplanes when they went out of state for maintenance was part of his job as aircraft mechanic; sometimes we were able to accompany him.  Our first experience with corporate travel was going to Tulsa. We flew there in one of the company jets and we stayed at an Embassy Suites.  I walked into the hotel's arboretum with its lush plants, glass elevators and the grand piano that was played during the nightly receptions, trying unsuccessfully not to stare open mouthed.  I was overwhelmed.  I never expected to set foot in such a nice hotel, much less stay there for two weeks.  In fulfillment of my childhood dream, we unpacked our suitcases.  Our kids slept in the bedroom with the two queen beds, we slept on the hide-a-bed in the livingroom.  It was worth it to have the privacy, and Reed's stirrings in the morning getting ready for work wouldn't disturb the children.  After the hot breakfast that came with the room, the kids would swim in the morning.  In the afternoon I would take them to the zoo, museum or some other activity in town.  So much for driving my semi to the Super 8 dreams; God had bigger plans.
     By this point in my life I have made many such trips, most of those without our children.  I like to stay in "lotion" grade hotels.  Any hotel will provide soap and shampoo, a higher class will also provide lotion and breakfast but beware, really high class hotels offer everything but charge you extra for it.  When Reed was on the Falcon jet advisory board, we stayed at resorts so classy I was afraid to sit on the bed or put on the robe for fear of getting charged their "nominal" fee.  Their idea of nominal was $10, mine was ten cents. 
     It took me a while to realize that God had remembered my childhood dream and upgraded it exponentially.  He had looked into the forgotten depths of my heart and brought deep, but unnecessary joy to my life.  One look at creation shows us God is in the business of making things not just functional but beautiful.  Together Reed and I have seen wonderful places, England, Hawaii, Springfield, well maybe Springfield wasn't wonderful, but it is enough for me to get time away from the dreary winter, or away from the routine of work and errands, to have time to read, think and write long blogs like this. But I'd better finish this, I've got places to go.

Well, Shut My Mouth

     I am an admirer of the slogan, "Lord, put your arm around my shoulder and your hand over my mouth."  You would think shutting my mouth would be something I could accomplish without divine intervention, but this has not been the case so far in my life.  There have been several notable instances though, when God has prevented me from saying what was on my mind, for which I am very grateful.  One of these was a driving incident.  I was stopped at an intersection where I had the stop sign, but the car in the cross street stopped also, and refused to move, leaving me in that auto limbo of not knowing whether to stay or go.  I was tempted to yell at the other driver, "YOU DON'T HAVE TO STOP!".  But I'm so glad I didn't because I met that exact same car a few minutes later pulling into the parking lot of our church.  Actually, that couple had attended our church for a long time.  Thank you Lord for shutting my mouth.
     Another miracle occurred when we had our house reappraised for a loan application.  A husband and wife team did the appraisal, he measured outside, she checked the inside of the house.  When the appraisal came back it was for less than we had paid for the house, and we had added an extra bedroom.  I was furious and wanted to tell them so but wanted to have my facts straight beforehand, so called the realtor who had sold us the house.  The appraisers had used comparables on less desirable streets and one that we knew was undergoing major, structural repair.  They hadn't bothered to look inside the houses or check their history for the $400 fee.  But instead of mouthing off, I submitted an appeal and prayed a lot.  There was no reason for them to accept our appeal, they had already been paid and it would only make their first effort look incompetent, but they sent the bank a new appraisal that more than covered what we needed.  Later, that woman and I were coleaders at Bible study. We had lunch together most Mondays.  I am so glad I didn't have eat my words.
     A third miracle happened at the bank drive through.  I was cashing a check and told the teller how many of which specific denominations I needed.  When the cash came back it wasn't as I requested, so I repeated it through the intercom.  She replied irritably, "You should have told me that before!"  I wanted to say, "I DID!", but my children were in the back seat.  Then the most unexpected words came out of my mouth, "We should pray for her, she's having a bad day."  I prayed while waiting for the correct cash.  I'm sure it was a nice change for my children to see mommy doing the right thing.
     I tend to say, and write, a lot of thoughtless things, but it is my goal not to say or do anything that would ruin my testimony if I had an opportunity to talk to that person about Christ.  I still write letters of complaint, but  find it much easier to be careful with my words when I am writing them down.  It is not difficult to communicate what (or who) the problem was without being rude or personal.  The best approach is to let the facts speak for themselves.  With the exception of some cable television watchers, nobody likes to be told what to think.  (See, rude again.)
     In the Bible, an angel shut the lion's mouths to protect Daniel, I'm sure my family would appreciate having this Lamb's mouth shut more often, but that angel would have to be really fast.  Zingers fly into my head at out my mouth in an instant.  My heart's desire though, is to practice a verbal version of the Hippocratic Oath, "First, do no harm."  Though it may seem like I write the first thing that pops into my head and post it instantly, I actually screen this blog for hurtful humor.  If the Lord's hand isn't over my mouth, it can at least be guiding my fingers.