"What are the Odds?"

odds: n. The ratio of the probability of an event happening to that of it not happening.

For those who gamble, knowing the odds factors into the decision made as to how much money to bet or whether or not to even make a bet. How much is the gambler willing to lose? Being aware of the odds gives a mathematical assessment as to the possibility of winning. For example, if the odds are 9/1 that means there is a 10% chance of winning; 1/4 means there is an 80% chance of winning. The greater the odds, the slimmer the chance of coming out ahead. If the odds are 100/1 there is less than a 1% hope of being a winner; 1000/1 makes it less than 1/10 of 1%--not very good odds to say the least.

My beloved sewing machine stopped working this morning--right in the middle of a seam. I have had her for over forty years, and it is the first time she has failed me. I have logged an enormous number of hours on my Swiss Bernina, and I do love to sew--and I love my sewing machine--so I found a shop that could check it out for me.

I thought I knew where the store was located but discovered I was mistaken. I was on a time frame--I needed to meet a client at a local nursery at 1, and I wanted to mow a lawn before that. The detour to the correct location had taken 10 minutes or so, but I thought I should have just enough time to make it. After leaving the sewing machine with the repair people, I hurried off.

Arriving at the mowing job, I parked the truck and was checking messages on my phone before unloading the mower. That was when I saw her out of the corner of my eye.  

She was a woman, probably in her eighties, moving very slowly as she walked down the sidewalk. Her left foot was heavy as she pushed her walker, the kind with a seat. In days gone by she would have been called a "bag lady,' one who carries their possessions around with them. It appeared she was not a person of means, but one who struggles to survive.

I recognize that woman, I thought. Am I going to get out and acknowledge her or not? I decided I wasn't going to--as I opened up my truck door and headed across the grass toward her. Deep inside I knew I could not forgive myself if I didn't speak to her. 

By this time she had traversed a ways on down the sidewalk. "Hello," I said, as I placed myself in her line of vision so she could see me. "Do you remember me?" I asked. Her face exploded in a huge, bright smile, exposing the empty spaces where front teeth were missing along with a single snag of a tooth. "Yes. You're the gardener." 

"How are you?" I asked. "I'm OK," she responded in a tone of resignation, one who is hanging on by a thread. We chatted for a while before she lumbered off, ever so slowly.
"Thank you," she said, an acknowledgement of appreciation that I had spoken to her.

The first time I saw her was several years back at a law office where I maintain the landscape. She stopped as I was working, commending the job I was doing and expressing her opinion about the local city council--"Someone good needs to run for that office." She wanted a person who would listen to the people.

The next time was at least three or four years ago at the same location. She approached me, asking if I knew where a specific address was located and directions to get there. It was quite a few blocks away, too far for her to walk, I felt. I offered to put her walker in the back of my truck and take her. "No. You don't have to do that." I assured her it wasn't a big deal, and yes, I did need to drive her there. 

She talked the entire way, speaking of her faith and her belief in God. 

What are the odds that I would see her again today? She is more frail. Life has not become any easier for her. And yet she still has a smile that lights up the world, toothless smile though it is. 

This is my point--What are the odds of seeing this firefly of a lady after the passing of several years?--not only the second time but this third time as well. I could have been mowing the back yard as she walked by. There was a very narrow range of time as she walked down the sidewalk where I could see her as I sat in my truck--just a couple of minutes. My detour to the sewing repair shop altered my arrival by 10 minutes or so. Traffic, the speed of traffic--there are so many variables. And yet there she was, walking right by me as I prepared to go mow a lawn.

What are the odds? Infinitesimal at the very best. 

But odds do not apply. This is the design of God as He coordinates daily life, giving it the same level of importance as He did when He planned creation, making certain planets to not crash into one another and the ocean's tides ebb and flow. Only He can set up and implement sets of circumstances such as these.

My one regret is that I did not ask her name or where she lived. It is my hope and prayer that the odds will once again be defied as God orders things, and our paths will once again cross.

"On Wrestling with the Devil"

doubt: v. To be undecided about; to lack confidence in; to disbelieve, to question.

How long do you think it was after God told Adam and Eve they were not to eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil--because it would mean death--before Satan came to Eve, challenging that instruction? While time as we know it doesn't exist in the Garden of Eden, did he come immediately or did he allow some time for them to experience the epitome' of life with God, free from the curse of death?  

When Satan approached Eve there was no battle, either physical or spiritual. He questioned God's instructions: "Did God say, 'You shall not eat from any tree in the garden?' " She responded that God said they could eat the fruit of any tree in the garden except fruit from the tree that was in the middle of the garden. If they touched it or ate it they would die. Satan countered with a lie: "You will not die; for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil." He placed the seed of doubt, attached a lie, and Eve bought into it. 

The project was a daunting one. I had committed to sewing 150 face masks for the employees in the company where my son-in-law works. In this current COVID-19 pandemic, face masks are recommended as a helpful deterrent.  

I have sewn my whole life. In fact, I still have my first 4-H sewing project, made when I was very young--a small corduroy needle case, one lined with flannel. It was all made by hand as we weren't allowed to use the sewing machines. 

There is, however, a world of difference between sewing and mass production. For me, sewing is precise and detailed; every stitch is important. My standard is perfection, a holdover from those 4-H days when projects were taken to the county fair to be judged. When one produces a large quantity, it is not practical to be so particular. 

Self-doubt immediately flooded in. Had I chosen the right fabric? What about the pattern? Was it going to fit correctly? The design is pretty straight forward, but making 150 is no small thing and was complicated by a shortage of available materials. It was a challenge, one which took a little over a week as I vacillated between complete confidence and total frustration and despair.

As I finished the final one, packaged and delivered them, the doubt did not dissipate but only increased. What if they were unacceptable? What if they were viewed as garbage and needed to be trashed? I carried them all up to God and dumped them at His feet. Then I walked away.

It was then I realized I had been in a wrestling match from the beginning. I would like to say I've been wrestling with the devil, but he didn't even have to get that involved. His modus operandi was to place one single seed of a thought, a doubt, and then he stood back to watch. I would get settled in a rhythm and a flow, then turn around as another doubt appeared--and I was all worked up again. In fact, I could chart the entire project, every step of the way, and it would be a series of ups and downs.

Satan is the enemy of God; he is my enemy as well. He is shrewd and subtle, one of those who tosses out a comment, then steps back and watches as self-destruction takes place..He loves to stir the pot and does it well. It isn't difficult, either, when my focus has shifted from God.

If I have learned anything from this sewing project, I hope that I have learned that doubt is a tool of the enemy, a trap that ensnares, in the same way it was with Eve. 

As long as I have been walking with God, I should know better. 

"Whatever Happened to God?"

My father was a hard working man. After completing his day job at the local plywood mill, he came home to his second job, that of farming several acres and milking a small herd of Jersey cows twice a day.

He loved to travel. Crammed in the back seat of a car without air conditioning during the heat of summer, my two brothers and I weren't so keen. The tendency for all three of us to be car sick didn't help as he drove 500-600 miles a day to his childhood home of Texas, Mom's birthplace in South Dakota, and a variety of places in between. 

Dad was the ultimate sightseer, absorbing the scenery along the way. We visited the Grand Canyon before it became crowded, went to Disneyland when it was newly opened, witnessed Old Faithful at Yellowstone, drove across the desert of Arizona and were tourists in a myriad of other places. When we weren't housed by relatives, we stayed in cottage motels with a kitchenette where my mother could prepare an evening supper and breakfast the next morning before we once again headed out.

My father's dream was to retire, purchase a travel trailer--he had his eye on an Airstream--and go places. Mom and Dad took only one trip after he retired. As my mother shared the driving load, Dad realized something serious was taking place, that her capabilities had become compromised..  

Mom was in her middle 60's when an invisible, insidious monster took over her body and her mind. Its name was Alzheimer's.

The family was all gathered together, probably after a get-together of some kind. Dad was explaining what the doctors had reported. They thought she might have Parkinson's, and she had been given some medications. "Whatever happened to God?" I asked. Mom's head whipped and, with steely, cold eyes she responded, "Yeah. Whatever happened to God?" It was apparent she felt He had failed her.

The world is in the midst of a pandemic, another type of unseen, dangerous predator. This one has taken the form of a lethal virus, named COVID-19. Everything about it is new and unknown. It has rightfully earned the moniker of novel virus. Around the world, this beast has torn through like a tornado, leaving death in its wake. At the same time many are left untouched and unscathed. 

The news and internet post daily counts of those who have contracted it and those who have died from it. With 24 hours a day, 7 days a week media available, it is like the nightly news from the Vietnam era on steroids.

How-tos abound--There is no end of precautionary measures to take in order to avoid exposure and prevent becoming one of those in the daily count. "Wash your hands for at least 20 seconds with hot, soapy water; do not touch your face with your hands; use hand sanitizer after touching anything you do not know is clean. Practice social distancing; stay at least 6' away from people other than your immediate family; wear a mask. Disinfect anything and everything."

The world waits in anticipation of either a cure-all for those already infected or a vaccine, protection against future outbreaks. 

If those of faith and those who are without faith were placed in a line-up you could tell no difference between the two. All are practicing the same methods of prevention with the same measure of behavior---including me with my face mask. 

As a person of faith I am in the world but not of the world, but where is there any evidence of any difference? Whatever happened to God? How does He want me to live with and deal with the threat of COVID-19? It is a question I, as a believer, need to ask myself.

"Whatever happened to God?," He reminded me. 

This much I know: I know that in the same way I cannot save myself spiritually, I cannot save myself physically. I can do all the "right" things, all the things "they" say I should do to avoid contracting this virus and yet, if it is to be part of my walk, there is nothing I can do to change it.

Whatever happened to God? He has gone nowhere. Nothing is separate from Him, and all of creation serves His purpose. Just because He doesn't work in the way we think He should does not mean He has abandoned us. 

And I hear Him saying to His church, "Whatever happened to Me? What have YOU done with me? Seek me, not the world--and stop viewing me as an afterthought."

Now when these things begin to take place, 

stand up and raise your heads, 

because your redemption is drawing near. 

Luke 21:28

"On Calamities and Focus"

focus: n. Concentration of attention.
calamity: n. An event resulting in great loss. 

While Americans were glibly and merrily celebrating Christmas and the incoming New Year, China was dealing with a virus which had never been seen before. This novel virus, first manifest in the Wuhan Province, is said to have originated from live bats sold in the open wet markets where live and dead animals are in constant close contact. The bats were the original hosts which infected other animals, and the disease was then transmitted to humans.    

COVID-19, as it is called, is a highly contagious respiratory disease. In our exceptionally mobile world, where a person can have breakfast on one continent and dinner on another, it was inevitable due to its ease of transmission that it would spread worldwide.The first confirmed case in the United States took place on January 21, 2020.

The earthquake March 31, 2020 was more than just a tremor. It measured 6.5 on the Richter scale, the standard scale used to compare earthquakes where 6 to 6.9 is classed as strong. It was centered about 80 miles northeast of Boise, but it rattled the state capital for a fraction of a minute and was the most powerful earthquake to strike Idaho since 1983.

I had been weeding in a client's garden and wasn't even aware of the incident until I was asked if I had received any information from my daughter. My Idaho family lives in a suburb of Boise; close friends live even closer to the epicenter.  With the ease of electronic communication, I was able to find out that both families had experienced the quake but no damage was done. "It was a good one," my friend said. They live in a log house, and she commented, "The logs on this old house were a-grumbling. We ran outside." 

First the Coronavirus and now an earthquake. Choose your calamities to focus on, was my thought. Or not.

Television, radio, and the Internet are filled with vast quantities of information about COVID-19, much of it packed with a wallop of intensity, bordering on hysteria. The situation is fluid, ever-changing so it suits our current form of communication--cable television and the Internet--to report on the pandemic twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

The head count of those infected all over the world, the number of people who have succumbed to the disease, and the lack of resources for medical personnel is staggering. As mankind tries to bring it under control by limiting human contact, the financial ramifications are devastating. Many businesses, particularly those in the travel and hospitality industry including airlines and cruise lines, hotels, and restaurants are suffering due to the government mandates to stay home. Schools from preschool up through universities have been closed in order to avoid one-on-one contact which might precipitate its spread. Self-quarantining, in an effort to limit exposure and the potential threat, has turned cities all over the world into empty tombs.  

The available data on every facet of this pandemic is prolific. 

I found myself reading article after article, post after post written by those who had experienced the disease or those who are treating its patients as doctors and nurses. Information pours out of official government sites as hot spots in the nation try to bring the invisible monster under control. In addition, there is no shortage of videos available explaining "how to" self-cure, avoid being infected, or what to do if infection does occur.

My mind went into overload from the sheer volume of material I had ingested. My concerns for my family and my nation remained unresolved. What is going to happen? There was only silence.

I am one who believes nothing is separate from God and that there is a point and a purpose to all things. Where is my peace, Father? There were no answers of reassurance.

In the same way one cannot physically look forward and backward at the same time, one cannot look to God while focusing on the problems at hand. It is an impossibility. And so, I am given a choice: I can either focus on God, with the knowledge that He is in charge of His creation--which includes me--or I can focus on the situation around me and all that "they" say is or is not going to happen. 

I have made my choice, and I have chosen to not focus on the calamities, whether it's this insidious virus, an earthquake, or any other set of circumstances that may come along. 

Do I know what the outcome of that choice will be? No. I must live it, and I must walk it all the way through. What I do know is that I have a measure of peace that is free from the cacophony of the endless chatter surrounding this great upheaval. For me, that is priceless.

Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee:

because he trusteth in thee.

Isaiah 26:3 (KJV)

"Live Life Like a Golfer"

golf: n. A ball game played by individuals competing against one another in which the object is to hit a ball into each of a series of (usually eighteen or nine) holes in the minimum number of strokes.

 

"I feel so overwhelmed if I think of the overall picture," she said, "so I'm just going to go with your 'one step at a time.'"

A friend has stepped out from under her nurse's cap to train for another job, a medical coder. At the age of seventy-two--with a bad knee to boot--her body can no longer hold up to the physical rigors and demands of nursing. A desk job, one which relies on brains sans brawn, seemed practical and made sense. She has returned to school at the local community college to gain certification and future employment.

"Why," you may ask, "does she still need to work? Don't nurses make good money?" A bout with cancer several years ago wiped her out financially. Period.

Panic set in as she began her second term. "It's the 2:30 wake-up thoughts...last night it was What AM I doing? What if I fail? stuff. I'm trying to not get that panicky, overwhelming feeling thinking about it."  

"You're trying to take on the whole," I told her. "It will never work. All you can do is go one day at a time, one step at a time," 

Life is like that. The whole of it is overwhelming. It may present itself in the form of family concerns, health issues, financial problems, or--in our present culture--be political in nature. In reality, all any of us has is this current moment in time. Right here. Right now. Being concerned about "someday" is a waste of time and energy, an exercise in futility.

My suggestion is to live life like a golfer. The game of golf consists of either nine or eighteen holes. Using a golf club, a small ball is hit into each of those holes with the least number of swings (called a stroke.) The course is completed by hitting the ball towards each hole one hit, one swing at a time. Sometimes the ball goes in water or high grass and can't even be seen or found. Another one takes its place, and the golfer continues on--one hit, one swing at a time. The final hole isn't visible when the game begins at the first swing, but that doesn't mean it isn't there. When the last swing is made on the last hole, the game is completed.

This is my point: Deal with the task at hand, in the here and now. The process cannot be sped up. Take every step, in order, and you will get to the end.

Regardless of your personal circumstances, the picture is clear. And makes a lot of sense. 

So go forth. Live life like a golfer. Focus on what is right in front of you, but never forget the end goal. For me, that is finishing out this physical life and stepping into eternity. 

"Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own."

Matthew 6:34 

"On Faith"

faith: n. The process of forming or understanding abstractions, ideas, or beliefs, without empirical evidence, experience or observation. A trust or confidence in the intentions or abilities of a person, object, or ideal.

At the age of 74 ("almost 75," I hear myself saying), my gardening business is in its seventeenth season. It is grunt work--weeding, mowing, pruning, maintenance work. I am tired. God and I have had discussions about when it is going to end and how I am going to support myself when it does--well, I have anyway. He sees the work as being about the people I am in contact with, whereas i always end up in a financial place.

I am neither here nor there. My heart isn't in the work these days, but the money makes a difference in how I live my life, and I'm not ready to let go. I have turned a couple of large jobs over to a young man, jobs I no longer enjoy. Weed eating blackberries on a slope with the possibility of encountering bees has lost its appeal. I don't have a clue what I'm doing or what is going to happen. Am I retiring, going part-time? Will I continue working, being more selective in the work I do? I do not know, and my heavenly Father isn't giving any hints.

This meme is an accurate representation of life with God. I can't even find the nose on the end of my face. While weeding this afternoon, He reminded me that without faith it is impossible to please Him. And He whispers, "Do you trust me?" I can honestly say He has never, ever failed me.

"On Transition"

transition: n. The process of change from one form, state, style or place to another.

His name is Nelson. Soft-spoken with a warm, bright smile, he was introduced to me by a client. Not only is he going to fill in for me while I am away for three weeks this summer, he is also going to replace me as resident go-to gardener for at least two of my accounts.

"What are your plans, Ladonna?," Bruce had asked. "How much longer are you going to continue working?" As I approach 75, my resolve for work in my gardening business has been waning the past couple of seasons. It is evident. A regular Friday client for the past eleven and a half years, I had contacted him and his wife when I took off for a trip to visit my Idaho family, telling them of my absence. Work was left undone, and Nelson had been called in to help out. 

As we talked, we mutually agreed it is time for a change, a transfer of responsibility. Nelson will take over my former role; I'll be called in for projects as needed. A transition is taking place. 

Transition happens to us. We are neither pilot nor commandeer; we are simply passengers, observers from this craft called our body as change takes place. It isn't like an elective course we can sign up for. It is on the required list. The sooner we come to that realization, that understanding and reckoning as humans, the better our mental, physical, and spiritual state.

The prefix trans- is borrowed from the Latin trans ("across, on the far side, beyond"). Its meaning carries nothing that identifies with status quo or stationary. It does indicate an alteration, even an upheaval, of life as we know it.

I am no stranger to work. The story was told that I went with my mother into the tomato fields and prune orchards as a toddler while she harvested those fruits. Summers were spent in the fields gleaning berries and beans. One fall I was the sole harvester of walnuts and filberts in a neighbor's orchard. 

I don't consider myself a workaholic, but I was raised by parents with a strong work ethic. For some "Cleanliness is next to Godliness." In my household, work was the virtuous trait and characteristic. After my dad retired I remember his recounting, "I haven't done anything," when told food had been prepared to eat. The unspoken message was that he didn't deserve to eat because he hadn't worked. That work ethic, that philosophy sunk deep within me.

The Traveling Gardener was established seventeen years ago when I found myself a single person with no marketable job experience. Working in the outdoors suits me well, the independence in being self-employed does too. Physical labor has its merits as my body is pushed and stretched as I weed, prune, mow, and operate power equipment. Loading and offloading the mower from the back of my truck uses muscles otherwise left to atrophy. Some of it is hard work, but it is work--and from my childhood, work is a virtuous thing. That point of view isn't an easy thing to walk away from.

However, in this, my seventeenth season, I find myself not wanting to work. I'll have a 75th birthday in six months, and I had begun feeling something needed to change, but I didn't want to let go. And then Nelson was introduced into my life. I find I am ready to bequeath my obligations to him.

It is time. I feel it. I know it. I'm not sure of the outcome--am I going to continue working part-time? I don't want to walk away from the relationships I have with my clients. I am ready to walk away from blackberry briers, hedge pruning, and hauling away loads of debris. The details will continue to unfold.

All of life is transitional. Emanating from the mind of God, each one of us made the transition seamlessly from that creation into this physical realm. Without any effort on our part, we passed through the embryonic stage, infancy, toddler and childhood; adolescence; adulthood, moving from one stage to the next to the next until we find ourselves where I am--an almost-75-year-old senior citizen facing the end of my working life and, eventually, physical life itself. It will be a full circle completed, a transition into the spiritual realm of the next life, the one where my--and your--creation took place. 

The transition from that of a person who works long days and hours to one who has a lighter, more reasonable schedule is taking place quite smoothly. I have no doubt the transition from this physical life into the next life will happen just as smoothly. I hope I'll be able to tell you about it as it is taking place.