"On Praying"

praying--what people do when life has them in a crunch

There is a world of difference between talking TO and WITH someone and talking AT them.  None of us like to have words thrown at us, especially if something is being asked of us.  Rather, we prefer to be engaged in a conversation.  Why would God be any different? 

If one is going to pray, make it personal, make it matter.  That is what communication is; that is what makes a relationship.

"On Labels"

Glancing at the clock, I noted it was 6:30.  It was dark even though it was still early in the evening. 

Sitting at my computer, I heard a loud voice outside my window.  It’s not uncommon as I live on a busy thoroughfare with quite a bit of pedestrian traffic.  Occasionally, it comes from one who lives on the streets, engaged in either an argument with himself or shouting obscenities, his anger filling the air.  Often I hear a voice in the distance, a crescendo as the walker nears, then fading as he passes on by.

This time the volume didn’t abate; instead it increased and got closer.  Turning all the lights off, so I was able to see but not be seen, I peered through the blinds and discovered the source of it all.  A man was on my front lawn, no more than 25’ from my front door.  His stumbling and his rambling rant indicated he was quite inebriated.   

My heart rate sped up as I checked the locks on my door and found my phone, calling my neighbor across the street.  "There's a strange man in my front yard," I told him.  It was then I realized he had laid a tarp out on the grass, "and he's bedding down for the night."  “I’ll put the dogs on a leash and come over and check,” my knight-in-shining-armor said. 

And so my neighbor/friend and his dogs came, confronting my uninvited guest.  I wasn’t privy to the conversation, but the gentleman packed his things up, including the tarp, and headed down the street. 

“Deplorable.”  That was the comment made recently when a camp of homeless folks was forced to leave an area they were inhabiting with their tents and temporary structures.  And that was the word bouncing around in my mind throughout the evening. I had initiated the very same thing—forcing one with no home to leave and find somewhere else to sleep.  I did not welcome him with open arms.  Did that word describe me as well? 

label:   a word or phrase that describes or identifies something or someone; a name given to someone or something to categorize them 

After taking a long, hard look at myself in the mirror and asking some real questions, this is where I landed—“Homeless” is a label, a description given to a group of people.  That label carries with it the reality of living a difficult life, one filled with hardship and uncertainty.  Those circumstances of life also evoke a great deal of empathy and sympathy from fellow man.

The man in my front yard was, however, first and foremost, a person.  And I owe it to myself and my Heavenly Father to give credence to my gut, inner instincts, to trust my reaction to the restlessness and unpredictability I felt as he ranted outside my window.  The man frightened me.  And that is why he was not welcome in my space. 


The man's homeless state, as difficult as that is, did not trump the state of the man.  All of mankind, homeless or otherwise, is not necessarily filled with kindness and good will toward his fellow man.       

Labels come in a variety of forms.  They can be used to describe a title, a position, an office, a role, a condition, a set of circumstances.  For many, they become one's identity, their persona, a comfortable, safe place in which to hide, a cloak of sorts as the labels take on a life of their own.  Often the label gives justification to a certain type of behavior, a "reason," as it were, to control, to exercise superiority, to gain attention. To give you an idea of what I'm speaking of, consider all the connotations and perceptions attached to "athlete, politician, mother, businessman, minister, teacher, diabetic, elderly, and yes, homeless."  The list is virtually endless, very individual and personal.

When all the labels are stripped from each one of us, the one remaining equalizer is that we are all people first.  I am not a mother, a grandmother, a pianist, a gardener, a friend, a small business owner.  Those labels are not who and what I am.  I am, simply, a person who is engaged in those things.  In that and that alone I must stand and live my life, as must all.

We are people first.  A label is only a description, not a cover and does not change that; we can never hide there.   

Wise is the one who sees this, recognizes it, and lives in it.

   

 

  

"It Takes Two: On Being An Instrument"

instrument:  a device used to produce music; a means or agency for achieving an effect

If you were to ask me to describe the instrument, I would do so in the most elementary of terms. If the same request was applied to the music which comes from it, I would have to search for adequate words. How does one explain the experience of being captivated and enraptured by a musician and his instrument? It transcends all adjectives and vocabulary.

 “You have one more chance,” my client said. I had come to blow debris off his driveway with my blower, and he referred to my refusal several weeks earlier of a ticket to the symphony. Bone-tired, I had begged off then and asked for a rain check. And here it was.  “Would you like a ticket to hear Yo Yo Ma play?,” he asked. My jaw dropped. I was not going to refuse this invitation. I resolved to get a good night’s rest before heading off to the concert.

The cello is a large instrument in the violin family. Made of wood, it has four strings that are played with a bow. The end pin rod holds the cello planted in the floor while it's played.

From my vantage point in the audience, this instrument of the world-renowned virtuoso looked very similar to those of his fellow cellists in the orchestra. It may or may not have been his Venetian cello, made in 1733 by Antoni Stradivari. Known as the Montagnana, that cello is valued at $2.5 million. But, then again, Yo Yo Ma looked as ordinary as his fellow musicians in the orchestra as well.

That changed when he began to play. It wasn’t just the music that flowed from the cello, but also the experience of watching as man and instrument became one. I found myself holding my breath as he pulled his bow back and forth across the strings on the final note of a song, the sound floating off into the air. Those of us in the audience sat completely silent before bursting into thunderous applause.

A child prodigy, Yo Yo Ma had been challenged by one of his teachers in his early years to “pull the soul” of the composition through the strings of the cello. He performed with the desire to “make the music live" and to "hear that special hush.” And he certainly does. 

“The instrument is my voice,” he says.

I found myself considering the instrument and its spiritual application. 

There is a gross misunderstanding and false perception in the world and in the religious realm when it comes to God and the manner in which He works with people, bringing about His will and revealing Himself on earth. Those who speak in spiritual terms often use catch-phrases. They say they are “being used by God" or they are "His tool, His instrument.” This suggests He is a puppet master, and we are the puppets, being controlled. It is a natural response of man to resist such, to turn away from this image of  God.

"Bless the fruits of our labor," was a common prayer heard during my childhood. "Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace." While an honorable idea, prayers such as these may carry the implication that I am able to bring about change through my own efforts. These suggest I am able to "do something" to make the world a better place-- if God would just help me. Many prayers invoke His blessing on those good deeds.

The reality is that living life with God is a collaboration as we work together. Living life with Him isn’t my working for Him, under Him, beneath Him, being used by Him but rather, with Him. Yes, I am His instrument, I am His voice, and it takes the two of us. 

The Montagnana was created for the purpose of producing beautiful music, but that can only happen at the hand of a master.  Yo Yo Ma was given the gift of making music, but that can only happen if he has an instrument.  It takes two. The cello's purpose is fulfilled simply by being, not by doing.  Do you see it? So it is with God and man. Being His instrument is in the being, not the doing. And that is when beautiful "music" is made--from Him and at His hand.

"I am the vine, and you are the branches.  If you abide in me, and I in you, you will bear great fruit.  Without me, you will accomplish nothing."

   

   

   

   

"She Never Stopped Living Life"

The phone call from her son came around 9:30 in the morning.  We chatted about the cold weather and exchanged our Thanksgiving experiences, a holiday which had just taken place several days earlier.  He then said, “Ladonna, I have some news to share with you about my Mom.  She passed away last night.”  Even though she had just recently turned 90, it was not what I was expecting to hear on that Monday morning.

I began working for Marty almost 8 years ago, which meant she was then in her early 80’s.  While not questioning her about her age, I guessed her to be in her mid-70’s.  She was never one I would have described as  "elderly" with her spry steps, sharp mind, and approach towards life.  When she did volunteer that piece of information, she commented that she didn’t like to tell people how old she was, because they treated her differently then.  It was obvious she was not one who was going to be treated as an old person.   

Marty was tiny, but mighty.  A woman who knew what she wanted and what she wanted done, she had been a successful career businesswoman, living abroad for several years in a time when it was not common for women to be in such positions.  The manner in which she carried herself and presented herself attested to her former life.  The woman knew style.  Even her everyday casual wear bore that out, her top tucked into her belted jeans or corduroy pants, always creating an outfit with matching colors.  I could only imagine what her professional wardrobe had looked like.   

She loved her garden and loved to garden and, as time wore on, reluctantly passed on to me the chores she loved doing.  Weeding was her all-time favorite.  I began saving areas of weeds close to her front door so she could conveniently spend time doing what she loved the most. 

Marty's rose garden, which she could see from her kitchen table, brought her the greatest joy.  I would often find pruned branches lying on the ground, as she could not resist the urge to tend and to shape her bushes. Ten days before her death she came down into her backyard where I was working.  “Now, Ladonna,” she said, “what needs to be done with the roses?”  I noted we needed to shorten the long branches, but save the hard pruning for late Winter. That is a task I will now do without her presence.      

Some time ago, she voluntarily gave up driving.  “I realized I needed to do that,” she said, “when I became aware that I really wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing."  


At the request of family members, I began driving her on errands, a version of “Driving Miss Daisy.”   Those were wonderful times, as we trekked to the market, the drug store, Bi-Mart, and even the mall. 


Each shopping excursion was an adventure from the very beginning as we went through the ritual of finding two sets of keys--one for me and one for her, having the shopping list in tow-which often included a search-and-find mission, and locking the doors in the house.  We never rushed out the door.  It was a process and took time. 


Once in the car, she made certain I had completed the necessary steps required to start the car, which included releasing the emergency brake and spritzing the windshield in order to remove any dust.  Backing out of the driveway was always done under supervision as a hedge blocked the view of the street, and she wanted to make certain there was no oncoming traffic. The route to the store was a tried-and-true, comfortable one Marty had used for years.  


I knew relinquishing her vehicle to another to drive was an enormous step for her.  The love of driving and the independence it provides is most difficult for any older person to concede.       


Never a "grab-and-go" shopper, Marty could easily have set the standard for comparison shoppers everywhere, as she checked price and quantity for everything from pain relievers to snack crackers.  She laboriously examined fruits and vegetables, soup choices, and labels. There was always at least one item on the list that was hidden in the store and entailed a treasure hunt approach.  Typically a 2-hour trip, it was a process, and it took time. She had planned going to the library the Saturday before she passed, but changed her mind. She said she was just too tired.  That was the last time I saw her.

When death takes a person, we reflect on the memories of the times and experiences shared.  While I did not know Marty for a large portion of her life, I have many, and that is what I have been doing.  Each one brings a smile.  

Even though her body had become oh, so very frail over the past year as her family celebrated her 90th birthday, she had projects and plans in the works.  This past summer included expanding a deck to give her more room and having her house painted.  Future plans included renovating her walkway, digging up the existing and replacing it with a medium she found more suitable.  When I go back into her garden, I will have a mental list of instructions she last gave me.  "That shrub over there needs to be cut back, doesn't it?" 

Living life, while it seems to be an obvious, is difficult for many.  Some older people, facing the last days of physical life, go dormant, simply waiting for the inevitable to come.  Not so Marty.  I have come up with my own personal epitaph: She Never Stopped Living Life. 

Something for each of us to consider. 

Marty--my friend.






"All I have asked you to do is to live your life."

 

 

"In Absentia"

Man, oh man, am I ever stepping over the line of demarcation I set for myself when I began writing this blog.  Entering into the political realm is the last thing I want to do.  However, in order to make an important point that is exactly the muck and mire I am wading into.

"In absentia."  Those are the words I awakened to this morning. 

Three days ago innocent citizens of our country, the United States of America, were attacked and killed while attending a company Christmas party.  It has been ascertained that those who perpetrated that incident had pledged allegiance to ISIS, a group from hell whose sole intent and purpose is to establish a radical Islam, global caliphate.  And they are beyond willing to sacrifice their own lives in order to make that happen.

The response from our leadership mainly had to do with establishing greater control over guns.  No mention was made as to controlling the production and use of pipe bombs, the same type as those used in the Boston Marathon attack.  And the husband and wife who led the recent California attack had a dozen or so in their home.  I doubt they were using them as decoration.


The FBI has come out with verification that our homeland was, indeed, attacked by those connected to that radical Islam group.  Attacked.  Make no mistake.  We were attacked!

The nation's leader has disappeared, gone behind closed doors.  Reporters were told that the White House has gone dark.  In other words, there will be no statements made.

"In absentia"--missing, absent.  

I can see it, I can feel it.  We, as a nation, as a people, are on our own. 

No man can save us or help us.  God is our only help.  If you are one who has never considered looking that direction, now would be a good time to start. 

He is never "In absentia."




"God is a very present help in our time of need."

"It's Not a Gun Problem"

There have been two horrific mass shootings in our nation within the last 10 days, resulting in deaths of innocents and injury to many others.  Life forever changed for those directly involved.  For the citizens of this country, the resulting ripple effect touches lives as fear of an unknown future sits in the wings, its shadow casting a pall upon a Christmas holiday season.

The immediate response and reaction—and I do mean immediate—was that guns must be kept out of the hands of either the crazed or people who would do harm to others.  As I heard that position expressed, everything within me was shouting, “It’s not a gun problem, people!” 


There is always much commentary surrounding events such as these.  Each one of us has our own opinion and point of view.  Many have placed blame on the current climate in our country, one where there is great division and lack of tolerance for differences. Some cite mental health issues as the cause for such behavior.  Others, a social media where anything and everything can be expressed behind a curtain of anonymity.  I'm here to state “It’s not a social problem, people!”

All that we see with our physical eyes has a root problem, a base and a source from which everything springs.  Even the medical field views disease and sickness from that place, knowing that a symptomatic approach to healing is not the answer.  When the core problem, the cause, is addressed, symptoms naturally go away and healing takes place.

There has been a concerted effort to remove God and any reference to Him from our society, our culture, our lives, our country.  Many want to eliminate words, symbols, and anything that might suggest Him.  The removal of “things” will never remove Him, but it does point to a larger picture—that people do not want God or any reminder of Him in their lives.

And so it is.  If our society does not want Him, we are then left with the alternative.  There are two powers at war in our world, and when man rejects one, he is left with the other, and there are consequences and results based on that choice and that decision.   

Life is an either/or.  There is a line drawn in the sand, and each one of us determines to whom our loyalty is given.  It is not a decision made for us.  We have the right to choose God, life, and light or to reject Him. With that rejection comes life with His enemy, death, and darkness.  Whereas God is love, His enemy is hate. No man should be surprised at what is taking place.  It is the result of living life with the “or," and that always comes with a price, and a hefty one it is, the degeneration of a society only the "tip of the iceberg." 

The chaos, violence, and disorder in the world is the antithesis of God. It is not Him, but know this--He will not go where He is not invited or welcomed.  

We do not have a gun problem; we do not have a social problem.  We DO have a spiritual problem, people. 

"He who is not with me (definitely on my side,) is against me."

   

"On Gifting With 'Rules'"

Rule #1 reads as follows: “This is yours, but it is not yours to keep.”

When the plan, that of gifting money to my five grandgirls with conditions and terms, was initially planted in my mind as a seed, the goal was to encourage them to think beyond themselves, for the Christmas holiday to be more than their personal wish list. The gift, given with the charge of that first rule, provided the opportunity for that to happen.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving Day, and today is called Black Friday, commonly viewed as the official beginning of the Christmas shopping season. No time is wasted as consumers are lured out in the wee hours of the morning for great bargains and amazing deals. Thanksgiving dinner has barely had time to digest before shoppers are beckoned to begin purchasing their Christmas gifts, with some stores opening at five a.m.

Gifts and Christmas go hand in hand. In fact, it’s quite impossible to think of the holiday without compiling a list with ideas of gifts to be purchased and given to family and friends. For those of the Christian faith, the argument is that the birth of Christ was a gift from God to the world. Therefore, we should gift one another as we were gifted.

For others, gift-giving carries with it the notion of generosity and good will toward one’s fellow man. The idea is that, at this time of the year, peace and love will reign if we put forth the effort to be kind to one another, characterized by the giving of gifts, time, and money to others, including charitable enterprises.

The truth of it is that, as a culture, we are locked into a tradition, and part of that tradition includes presents under a tree to be opened either the night before or the morning of December 25. Christmas without gifts is almost beyond comprehension.

Perhaps you have your own harrowing experiences as to how quickly the peace and harmony dissipates once the wrapping paper begins to be ripped off and presents are opened, especially if children are involved. Overstimulation, the hype, and anticipation often result in meltdowns as the holiday season culminates in the great “unveiling of the gifts.” And the same thing can be said for adults as well, as the spirit of Christmas peaks and then enters a crash-and-burn state.

The entire Christmas present/gift exchange scene has been a mental wrestling match for me for many years. I’m never a “Bah! Humbug!” person, but the word “obscene” is my own description upon viewing the sheer quantity of wrapped gifts loaded around my family’s Christmas tree. So much expense, time, and energy—and it so quickly comes to a head. And life goes on.

My grandgirls lack for nothing materially. How could I make Christmas about more than just “me, me, me, and what I want”? The idea had begun forming several years ago, but I felt some were too young at that point in time to comprehend the concept I wished to present through personal experience.

Four years ago, I proceeded with a scheme, one which has played out every year since and was repeated yesterday. That first year each of my five grandgirls received a check in the mail, made out to them, along with a letter. In the letter specific instructions were spelled out, beginning with: “This is yours, but it is not yours to keep.”

I went on to ask them if they could remember the gifts I had given them the previous Christmas or the one before that. Then I told them the gift check was one I hoped they would remember for the rest of their lives.

A list of rules followed. They were instructed that they were to either give the money away or purchase a gift with it and give that away. They, not their parents, were the ones to make the decision as to who would be the recipient. The money had to all be spent by Christmas, and it could be given to one person or to several, but it had to be used on others rather than themselves.

Christmas Day arrived, and, before opening gifts, each grandgirl related what they had done with their money. One had chosen to use it to purchase a sweater for an elderly person. No one in the family knew where the idea of giving to the elderly came from, but it was what she wanted to do, and she did. Another donated to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital, having been made aware that all children do not have the same kind of healthy body she has. Sisters put their money together and, along with the help of their parents, gave a little boy a full-fledged Christmas complete with scooter, new shoes, coat, books, underwear, and socks. Yet another donated hers to a local facility for abused women and their children, a positive life experience for a young teen. How many teens, I thought, are even aware that abuse takes place in many relationships?

Each year since then, my grandgirls continue to think beyond themselves as they’ve given to local needy families by providing gift cards to a toy store and a grocery store; sharing with a church, Wounded Warriors, and, last year, a homeless person. The one stipulation the little one had was it couldn’t be a homeless person standing outside Walmart. We have no idea where that came from either, but those were her terms.

Anonymity is important as they are to give without expectation of recognition or acknowledgement. They are to just give.

Gift-giving should be done without conditions, rules, or stipulations, but I feel this is a valid exception. I have no way of knowing what my grandgirls are learning and experiencing as they think beyond themselves, but I believe it is invaluable. And so yesterday I pulled out my checkbook and handed out checks to them. They now know it is money for them, but not theirs to keep. Before we begin our gift exchange on Christmas Day, I’ll learn how they chose to spend it as they take turns telling what they did with it. It’s a new family tradition.

“Freely ye have received, freely give.” Matthew 10:8 kjv