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.)

Meet Me at Covid Corner

      It is unfortunate pandemic came at a time when everything that happens in our country, including dandruff, is considered a crisis. I posted about this phenomena long before Corona morphed from a beer into a virus. The true crisis is that there is too much media. When I was a child there were three TV channels, the news came on three times a day, and TV programming took the night off. Now we have multiple news channels on 24/7 and frankly, there is only about 20 minutes worth of news to report per day. So to fill the rest of the time they must manufacture news. Big news! Even big weather! Last year's unseasonably early snowstorm was declared HISTORIC! A snow storm in Montana, who knew? A recent storm surge on the east coast hyped by the Weather Channel as UNSURVIVABLE, was disappointingly remiss in killing people.

     So dropping Covid 19 into the crisis cauldron continually cooking in our country, was like wearing a Trump mask to a BLM rally. Actually, you don't have to do anything to ignite a BLM get together, where BYOB means bring your own bricks. Covid 19 is not all bad news though, it gave the media outlets something to talk about besides Russia collusion. And the reporters took seriously their responsibility to calm the public, by talking about Corona virus non-stop round the clock. Even when predictions of infection rate and deaths were off by 90 percent, it did not diminish their enthusiasm for KEEPING US CALM! Instead, they segued to speculation about shortages, unemployment, the future financial fallout and that Trump, even if he was miraculously healing the sick, is handling it wrong.

      The corner of Crisis and Covid is a busy intersection with injuries and fatalities reported daily. Sad, but not surprising. What is surprising is that after months of announcing that the numbers would rise when businesses and schools reopened, these same reporters (not to mention our public health experts) continue to be shocked when it actually happens. And if they don't believe their own news reports, why should I?

 

 

 

 

Old Re-Lie-Ables

      By this point in the election cycle, most of us would rather have dental surgery sans anesthesia than watch another political commercial. I stopped believing campaign ads in my 30's when I realized no one's pants were catching on fire even though they were lying. In our house, the job of muting the political ads is practically a sacred trust, and the remote is the holy grail. It would be one thing if there were any originality in the ads, but only the faces change. Here are a few of the old re-lie-ables.

• Identify the candidate with a state they have been in (if only to use a rest stop) least like the state they are running in. In Montana, that is any state on the east coast.
• Center the opponent's face against the worst representations of their party, preferably looking insane, which is almost any picture of Nancy Pelosi.
• Remove one positive element from a bloated, impractical bill-- this year, the Affordable Care Act, and say the opponent wants to take it away, and possibly steal Grandma's walker.
• Guilt by association. Take the most radical agendas of the opposing party and claim the opponent supports them, regardless of their stand as an individual.
• Use the term millionaire as a slur even when the candidate became that way by building a successful business, assuming only unsuccessful businessmen are fit for politics.
  
• Endorsements from family members. No surprise there.
• Endorsement or un-dorsements from locals. This year, from towns even multi-generational Montana natives have never heard of. Surprise.
• For incumbents, recycle the lies told about them last election, even though they did not keep them from getting elected.
• For the presidential election, slap the same labels--hater, racist--they used last election and spend their campaign arguing against the labels. Since most voters did not fall for the "hate the label" tactic last time, I am fine with the Democrats trying it again. It helped get Trump elected.
  

          Even sadder than having to watch political ads is that, even when they are just photo shopping faces onto campaign ads from the Johnson vs. Goldwater election, someone is getting paid to produce them. They should pay us to watch them--no, not worth it.

No One in Modern America

     Even if I had just emerged from an underground bunker where I lost track of time, I could tell by the candy aisles and yard displays that Halloween is drawing near. It comes in second only to Christmas as the most decorated for American holiday. When my kids were small, we carved jack-o-lanterns (pumpkins are not evil), they dressed in costumes (not scary ones), we took them to church for carnival games and I took them trick-or-treating. Although Halloween has pagan origins, no one in modern America believes the kids wear costumes so the demons abroad in the streets won't recognize them. Nor do they think giving children treats is a bribe to get them to go to church and pray for them. Most of the churches I know hold some sort of carnival as a safe alternative for church kids and a witnessing tool for unchurched/pagan families.

     I think of the pagan origins of Halloween the same way I do cremation. Cremation definitely has pagan roots, but no one in modern America thinks cremation frees the pure spirit from the sinful flesh or that flames are needed to carry the deceased's spirit to heaven. It is simply a less expensive and land consuming (although high emission) way to dispose of a love one's body. The pagan associations with cremation were left behind long ago.

   Also left behind, except by Muslims and a few Christian sects, is the belief that women who wear their hair short or uncovered are, at best, immodest, at worst, prostitutes. Short hair may have been a prostitutes' billboard in Bible times, but it is more a badge of the blue-haired in mine. In America, women tend to wear their hair short late in life, when their prospects as a prostitute would be pretty poor. 

     If we look back far enough, many common traditions and practices have pagan roots. I remember my amazement as a new Christian, to find out in Acts 12 that Easter existed in Herod's time when the church was still in its infancy. I have enough trouble rooting out my obvious, conscious sins without rooting around for pagan roots and subconscious sins. The Christian life is counter cultural in any nation and era without worrying about how we might look to pagans of past centuries. So on Halloween night I will give candy to the (possibly four) trick-or-treaters who come to our end of the cul-de-sac. And the next day I will stock up on discounted candy to snack on as I attempt to hide out in an underground bunker until after the election.