"On Prayer"

prayer:  a practice of communicating with one's God; petition, request

Mentally, I went through the check list:  rubber boots--check; rain paints--check; pressure washer in place, all fittings tightened; water turned on, gas tank full.  All that was left was to pull the starter, and I could begin my job.

.

The sidewalk entrance to the law offices was covered with moss.  A woman had slipped on the slimy stuff before so my client had asked me to pressure wash the area clean.  I assured him that I would---but that was several months ago.  He very kindly asked it of me again this past week.  My plan was to have it taken care of when he returned to his office Monday.

The label atop my machine states, "Easy Start."  Wrong!!  One cannot believe everything one reads.  After more than a few pulls on the starter, it fired up—for about 10 seconds.  (It had been a while since I used it.)  “Please, God.  Please get this thing started.”  It wasn't happening.  The starter cord had wrapped around itself inside the casing, and it did not want to release.  

      

I worked with the starter cable and attempted repeatedly to start it, but to no avail.  The only option facing me was to load the pressure washer back onto the truck, determine what was wrong with it, and come back another day.  

Just then a man walking down the street asked,. “Do you need some help?”  I immediately accepted his offer.  It wasn’t an easy task for him either. Often a guy is able to start my equipment on the first try when I’ve struggled unsuccessfully for 10 minutes or more but not so this time.   It took quite a bit of effort on his part, but finally the recalcitrant pressure washer decided to cooperate. 

Thrilled, excited, and thankful as the engine roared away, I gave him a "high-five."   As he walked away I said, “Thank you.  You are an answer to prayer.”  Sometimes I have no idea what is going to come out of my mouth. This was one of those times, but yes, he was.

What, exactly, is prayer?  And the age-old question—does “it” work?  And, another question—why bother? 

For me, prayer is an ongoing part of my daily life as my spirit, soul, and being reach out to my Heavenly Father.  For some, it may be like a meal, where one stops and eats, setting aside a specific time to communicate with Him.  For others prayer may be like a visit to the emergency room, a last resort, utilized only in the most dire and crucial times of life.     

As to whether "it" works or not, it is my opinion that "it" comes with several caveats.  It's similar to looking at a house, a car, a boat, anything which has a price tag on it and questioning if I can afford it.  The answer to that always comes down to how much money I have to spend, what my resources are.  Prayer, in and of itself, is just words and has no value. The value of prayer depends upon the One to whom one prays, one's relationship to and with Him, and what His resources are.
     
I am not a pray-er.  I used to be, coming before God with my list of requests, creating an attitude of reverence in myself as I bowed my head and closed my eyes.  That form, that ritual disappeared as I became more acquainted with Him..   

When one has a best friend, a no-holds-barred friend, and that friend knows all of your secrets and every single thing about you, you are free to be--free to be yourself.  "What to do?  Help!!  Thank you SO much!  I don't understand.  What is the point?  I don't 'get it.'  I am scared--really, really scared.  Are you sure you know what you're doing?" This is God I am talking to, and I can be myself and be completely honest with Him.  And yes, this is prayer.  Do I ask specific things of Him as well?  Absolutely!!  

There are many who feel there is power in numbers, that the more people who pray for something or someone the more likely God is to answer.  Support of fellow man is certainly priceless, but I am of the inclination that quality is of greater importance than quantity. Is God more likely to respond to a mass plea than an individual?  I don't think so, but that is just me.    

"The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective."

Recently I attended an event in a public venue.  Before the program began, the one in charge asked those in attendance to bow their heads as prayer was offered, asking God's blessing upon the program and safety for those involved.  As the prayer concluded I found myself thinking, "Those requests should have been made privately not publicly." 

Prayer is a very personal, very private thing, and I am of the conviction that it is only for the ears of God, not man.  Am I against public prayer?  I may be.  It's something I am working through and have not yet come to a conclusion about.

"When you pray, do not be like those who love to pray standing in the synagogue and on the street corner.  But go into your room, shut the door, and pray to your Father in secret."

Prayer is never about the words.  Prayer is always about the heart and its sincerity, reaching out to our Heavenly Father, seeking Him and Him alone.

"When you pray, do not keep talking on and on......like those who think they will be heard because they talk a lot."

And that brings me to the final question--Why bother?  

On my best of days, I am barely able to see the nose on the end of my face.  I live and function at ground level.  Why then, wouldn't I relate to and communicate with the One who created me, Who knows me far better than I know myself, Who loves me and cares about every facet of my life?  Left to myself, I am a floundering idiot on the face of this earth. Prayer is how I am able to express myself to God.  He hears and He does respond. And that is why.

"I will lead you and guide you in the way you should go."




      

"On 'What If?'"

Weedeater in tow, I headed to edge the lawn before mowing.  “Thankfully, I’m not going to be doing this forever,” I thought.  The thought brought me some solace.  I’ve mowed that same lawn scores of times.  The repetitiveness week after week, year after year can be mentally taxing.  And “forever” is a long, long time.

forever:  adv.  for all time, for all eternity, for an infinite amount of time.  Syn.:  always, eternally, evermore, continually 

One of my pregnancies was in the heat of summer.  Plagued with allergies and unable to take any form of medications for the ravaging attacks made it difficult.  In addition, the little one decided to delay entrance into the world 10 days past the due date.

I remember a specific point in time when I determined I was going to be pregnant forever.  It was not a point open for discussion, but even if it was, no one could have persuaded or convinced me otherwise.  Logic would not have prevailed.  The mind is a formidable battleground.  And “forever” is a long, long time.  I knew it to be so.

We live in a society, a culture, where the importance of being prepared is stressed.  In fact, fortunes are made from the promotion of preparedness.  An effort is made to be ready for every kind of potential, hypothetical situation from the beginning of life to the end.

Many parents begin preparing for their child’s college at the time of birth by setting up a college fund.  There are those who start in infancy, making certain their child is placed in the “right”  school from nursery school through high school so he/she will be accepted into the "right" college.  This is preparation at its finest.

The base premise, the sales pitch of insurance salesmen is that of the need to be prepared for the possibility of any variety of scenarios.   We all have insurance policies “in case of” earthquakes, flooding, fire, automobile accidents, and death.  Death is the only assured, inevitable one.

The amount of money spent on the insurance industry promoting protection and preparedness is astronomical.  It is estimated Americans spent near 1 trillion dollars on health insurance alone in 2014, and that does not include private company health plans.  

Many have a stockpile of food and cash out of fear the electrical grid will be disabled.  The possibility of intruders is dealt with by alarm systems in our homes and/or personal firearms.  Stock portfolios are diversified so that the ups and downs of the stock market have the least possible affect.  Families have plans in place if disaster strikes so family members know where to go, what to do, where to meet.  

Flu shots, annual health exams, gym memberships—all in the hope of averting any physical condition or disease.  We prepare for the end of life with wills, funeral plans, and directives when we may not be able to express our will concerning physical care. 

It is my belief that man has been created an eternal being.  While our physical life, the short-term one, may last several decades, perhaps 9 or even 10, the next life, the long-term one, extends into infinity.  We are actually "forever" beings.  Life does not end upon physical death.  Each one of us is one step, one breath, one heartbeat away from the next dimension, and that dimension is more real and has more substance than anything we see or experience with our physical eyes. 

It is not my goal nor my desire to try to convince you of something you simply do not believe.  However, it IS my goal and my desire to challenge you to question the truth and merit of what I say.  

Take a single step back and look, consider, evaluate.  What if?  Given the fact of the brevity of our physical life in comparison to the length of the next one, what if man prepared for long-term with even a small amount of the time, energy, and thought given in preparation for short-term?  Let me see--90 years vs. infinity.  From a place of pure logic and common sense, which warrants the greater attention?  What if?  "Forever" is a long, long time.  

"In my Father's house are many places to live.  I am going there to prepare a place for you. I will take you with me so that you can be where I am."

.

"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."