Death’s Sting

So, my wife created a wonderful picture of an old, dead tree, with a cool quote from John Muir. It hangs now in the place where she works and several people have told her it is cool. And it is very cool. The quote says something along this.

Let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity, as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life.

We went to see the picture today and on the way back for some reason I got to thinking about my Mother. She died of complications from Alzheimer’s Disease, a truly terrible disease. My brother and I were there when she passed. I haven’t been able to think of that moment or recall my memory of the image of her laying there without avoiding it quickly and moving on to something else. This is the deal, the disease took her mind and left her body to continue on in a state of health until the toll of normal old age took it. We went through years of watching her decline and slowly lose her mind. There is whole lot of hurt and pain wrapped up in my memory of my Mom’s last years. Just so you know, I do have good memories of her in earlier years and these of her last years do not dominant my memories.

At any rate, I thought about the last four words of the quote and remembered my Mom. My brother had called me and said her body was finally giving out and that she didn’t have long—I should come. My wife and I travelled from Meeker to Denver and went with him to the hospital. She did not open her eyes or seem to hear me in any way. We stayed with her for several hours. Her breathing got shallower and shallower, starting and stopping in fits and starts. I don’t remember if she was hooked up to any machines or monitors. I don’t think so.

I sat next to her, holding her unresponsive hand, and remember her breathing slowing. Her skin was stretched, hair very thin (she was always proud of her hair and kept it very stylish), her head tilted back, mouth open. Her breathing stopped. Skin like taut clean sheet. Still now. No more baffled disorientation. No more non-recognition of her sons. Still. Quiet. Peace at last. I don’t know if I would say she was as beautiful in death as she was in life. I do now have a memory of my Mother with a wreath of quiet around her. Her torment gone.

I always felt honored to be there when she passed. When a soul leaves a body for the last time, it is a special moment and one not to be diminished by a sense of creepiness or other commonly thought reactions. Just honor. And now as beautiful as life.

Not a formula God

Max and I have been asked so many times where we go to church. Now, we have come to accept that as the typical response when we say we are Christians. When we say “here and now” as an answer people are dumbfounded. Then the next inevitable question comes, “Why don’t you go to church?” So, here is the answer to that question.

First let me say that when we are asked that question we realize people are referring to buildings where people gather every Sunday for worship music and teaching on scriptures from someone’s point of view. That, in our understanding, is not church. It is organized religion. Unfortunately, in our American culture it has become synonymous with being a Christian and even being saved. I think we have done a huge disservice to Jesus ministry and to God in labeling it church!

So, why we don’t attend one of these organizations regularly? Quite simply we no longer wanted a formula God. It seemed no matter where we went they had long teachings on how to have health, prosperity and a ministry. There were revelations on the teachings of Paul and how to be holy. A lot of talk on the “move of the spirit” at this meeting or in this church and which ministry had it. It was teachings on how we are all to be wealthy because Jesus was, in perfect health because that is God’s way, and standing firm in faith if we were not experiencing one or the other. In the words of Mr. Larson writer of The Far Side, “Blah, blah, blah, Rusty!”

When we look at the life of Jesus we don’t see a man who was concerned with all these formulas for prosperity or health. In fact one could almost infer from his teachings that the healing stuff was superfluous as well as the wealth stuff. His teachings, his life was all about relationship with God and man. Where is that teaching in today’s “church”?

I have found that when your ass hits the bed and you’re unsure if there is a next breathe the only thing in your heart is “did I know God and did I let Him know me.” Not what scriptures do I claim or stand on and is my faith strong enough etc… At that point whether or not I’m prosperous financially (as the teaching of the religious culture implies) does not matter in the least. What I really want to know is did I have a good relationship with my children, my spouse, and my fellow man? Will I be remembered for the love I shared and the joy I brought into peoples life?

I think, somehow, in the end when we stand before God he will not be very concerned about what scriptures we claimed and whether or not we stood on faith believing for stuff nearly as much as he will be with did I seek to know him. Did I commit my whole heart to a relationship with Him. Whether or not I spoke in tongues, or prayed to saints, or healed the sick, or walked on water won’t be the thing he is looking at. He’ll be looking, I believe, to see if I loved my neighbor and put others before myself. Did I walk in the steps of Jesus, listening for his voice and having church wherever I went with whoever I was with? As it says in Isaiah, “Speak a word in season to those who are weary.” That to me is church. That is what matters. That is the true church and the life we wish to pursue.

the cat

I used to live with a good friend. The two-story house we occupied was a beautiful wood-floored domicile with a seriously open-air feeling. Plenty of light came from large windows and open stairs between the stories, all with wood floors that made it fun in stocking feet.

One day I come home to find this cute little kitten sitting at the top of the stairs. Pretty little yellow tabby. I casually say, “Hey kitty” and it meows off-handedly and runs away. I wonder where it went so I go up the stairs and follow its last path, finding it crouched behind a door in the laundry room. I bend down to see if I could pet it and ZOOM! it rockets between my feet, slides to the stair railing, and flies downstairs.

Well, it seems my little friend doesn’t want to be pet. I trot down the stairs quick-step and WHAM! it hits the back of my foot from the backside of the stairs as I reach the last step. YIKKES! I leap like I’ve been struck by lightening to the main floor and whirl around. It just laconically sits down, lifts the guilty paw to lick it, and looks at me like “so, now what’re you going to do?”

I’ve got in mind what I’m going to do. I reach through the steps and it bats my hand and backs away. I reach as far as I can and it plays with my fingers as I twiddle them at him. It takes a boxer’s quick-punch stance and deftly parries my twiddling.

Okay, little feller, it’s time to get serious. I swoop around the casing, holding onto the railing post so I don’t send my feet out from under me and go for the cat. Sliding across the wood, I have him in my sights. It mad-scrambles in one place trying to get away, AH HA! to no avail. I grab him.

He play-bites my hand and then does the boxer quick punch again. I set him down and he takes off for the living room, after finding a bit of traction on the floor of course. We play hide and seek for a while, jousting back and forth, then he takes off upstairs again, sliding around the corners better than any Indy racer.

I run up the stairs and just at I can see the second floor level, he comes zooming at me, all big cat puffed out, sliding right to the lip of the stairs. Sufficiently scaring me, he turns and does the running-like-mad-in-one-place thing and then zooms off again to the laundry room.

I search him out to find him hacking and coughing in a corner, like animals do when they have eaten grass. Poor little critter. He upchucks a bit and I go to find a paper towel to clean up.

On my way back, my friend walks around the corner and I look at him and say, “You don’t look too good. You okay?”

He says “Yeah, just got too wound up, I guess.”

I say, “You missed some on your chin” and hand him the paper towel.

Pathways to God

Recently we were with friends and I called a “topic of conversation.” I saw a commercial on USA where their series actors tell us something about themselves. One of them made the statement that she believes “all pathways lead to God”….
Now, as you can see from my earlier posts, I have been coming to a clearer understanding and deeper relationship with God. At first I was like “cool”, and then as I began to mull this over I realized that I don’t agree.
I believe in a heaven and hell, paradise and sheol, good and evil. So the more I thought about this the more it didn’t sit right with me. While I no longer believe in the traditional Judeo Christian idea of “salvation” I do believe in spiritual birth as Jesus taught. Mulling this over and discussing it with Max and others I began to look at the story of Nicodemous, which I believe is true, and ask, “okay what does spiritual birth mean and how does it happen?”
I know I don’t believe any longer that it is a “sinner’s prayer,” but I was not sure what it did mean. I think I am beginning to understand that now.
A man must be born of flesh and the spirit, that is what Jesus told Nicodemous, but what does that mean. To be born of the spirit… How we define spiritual birth, or spiritual awakening as some call it, can be very different. For myself I believe it comes when a person realizes there is something greater than themselves and seeks to find and learn about that greatness i.e. God. That is the moment a man is “born of the spirit,” for some this can be a painful experience and for some a joyful one. For some it comes as casually as getting dressed in the morning, others have a true “aha” moment. The moment of spiritual birth is as unique to each person as each person is unique.
I think that on some level all human beings have a spiritual awakening. Perhaps not children who go before their time, but, I believe, maturity brings awareness. It brings the awareness of us and others, and the awareness of God. That is not to say, however, that everyone chooses a path to God.
There are some people who choose to commit such evil that they choose a path that is contrary and away from God. Then there are some who become aware of God but choose to do nothing with that awareness, feeling they can do better on their own. Some truly understand and become aware of God only at the moment of Death when their clarity is the sharpest. For most, I believe, the spiritual journey is a long one of seeking God where ever he may be found.
I do not believe there is only one path to God. I believe there are many pathways to God. Some I know believe the only path to God is through the Christian church, or even a specific sect or denomination in the Christian church. Others believe that he can only be found through following the tenants of their faith, whether it be Judaism, Islam, Buddhism or so on. I disagree. I believe you will find God wherever you are and whatever faith you are if you are seeking with an open heart and mind. I also believe that finding God does not require you to change the faith you practice, but rather let God guide you to what is true and what is not. (Making your faith truly “your faith” rather than standing on the faith of your leader or teacher.)

Quick on Their Feet

Pictur this:
Max, Mim and our adult daughter Fae were shopping in a nearby city and went into a new Chick-fil-A for lunch. After placing our order Fae and Mim went into the bathroom. As Fae came out of the stall, the door was difficult to open and creaked loudly, badly. It was disconcerting and Mim frowned and, looking at the door, exclaimed, “Man that was loud!”

Fae mumbled something about “it shouldn’t do that, the place is new.” As she turned around, she was met by a wee little mite of a girl—tiny, small, young—who had come into the bathroom and heard Mim saying something about the door. The quaint little, innocent child looks at Fae right in the eye and, in a voice that could be heard above a hurricane, bellowed, “WHAT’S WRONG?”

Fae was soooooooo shocked and frightened that after stumbling momentarily for a reply she simple says—with a bit of panic in her voice – “I don’t know—starving children in China?!!?!!!” At which point Mim and Fae exited the bathroom quickly. As we got into the restaurant Mim commented that that little girl has a great future as an interrogator at Guantanamo.

the other foot:
Straydog was about 13 or 14 at the time. He and Max had gone to one of their favorite fast food Mexican restaurants. The place was long and narrow with two long aisles leading down to the order counter and a wall between the aisles so that if you were sitting on one side you could not see people on the other.

When Max and Straydog walked in, there were only a few other customers and so they advanced pretty quickly down the main aisle to the order counter. Straydog told Max what food he wanted and then sat down at the first table up the other aisle. Now, the end tables on either side of the wall also had kind of a large partition between the tables and the order counter and Straydog sat with his back to the partition and, hence, to the order counter. The whole arrangement meant that Straydog could not see people walking into the restaurant nor, with his back to the order counter and behind a partition, who was at the counter.

Well, Max was placing the orders and three rather attractive, young girls came in and were next in line. Max had not gotten what kind of drink Straydog wanted and knowing he was right around the partition, he called out and asked him. Being ever the active young man, Straydog whipped his head around the partition, surely intending to answer Max, but stopped briefly—something scrambling in his brain. His eyes quickly darted back and forth between Max and the young girls. He managed only a single word, “Four!” and quickly turned back around. Max chuckled and thought, “Okay, I wonder what kind of drink that would be?”

In the works

sorry we haven’t posted in a while. We are going to try to post at least once a month. We have been chastised by our kids for not keeping this up and inspired by them as well. We have 3 picture this in the works and 2 topics of conversation. We’ll get them polished up and post soon. thank you all.

The Sweater and the Pillager

Picture this…
After graduating from Navy boot camp around Thanksgiving our son was sent to Connecticut for his “A” school. He would be there for a year. Being a Colorado boy he was not prepared for the effects of humidity and cold combined, so when he called home and asked Mim to knit him a sweater, well she wasted no time.

She went that weekend and picked out a beautiful dark green to go with his big brown eyes and a simple V neck pattern. In short order, she whipped out the front and most of the back. It was fully her intention that he would get this for Christmas and, it being Thanksgiving, there was lots of work to do, especially since it was only the second sweater she’d done.

Max got home from work one evening and made a request for dinner and Mim said she would need some things from the store. Max suggested they go to the store together, so she wrapped up her yarn, poked the needles through the yarn ball, and set it on the coffee table. No problem with that, huh? We merrily headed the two blocks to the grocery store.

We were gone approximately 15 minutes. No kidding 15 minutes! We opened the door and ….

First let me describe the layout of our house. When you came in the side door off of the driveway, you entered on a landing to stairs that led up or down. The main level of the house was three steps up and the basement was seven steps down, all plainly visible from the landing. From the top of the stairs, there was the kitchen, then dining room and living room in front, with the bedrooms in the back separated by a hallway and center dividing wall that had two entrances—one from the kitchen and one from the living room. The seven steps down led to the basement which was our family room and hobby rooms. Incidentally, there were three stout poles (supports) in the family room.

Okay, now…we opened the door and stepped on the landing and notice yarn running from the kitchen down the stairs around two of the poles and back up. Hmm. At first Mim was a little amused and said, “Max it looks like Ping (our little chihuahua/terrier who is the her-can-do-no-wrong princess of the house) found my yarn!” Heh heh, how cute.

Then, “hey Mim, that looks like the yarn you just bought.”

Mim is becoming less amused. Muttering, Mim picks up a strand of yarn, follows it downstairs around the poles, follows it back up to the kitchen, (muttering louder) into the dining room, around several table legs, (muttering is becoming understandable—“what the hell”) back to the kitchen, around the center dividing wall, into the living room, and right up to what used to be the back of our sons sweater. The muttering explodes into a disbelieving “Oh my God!!” Mim is definitely not amused at all any more! (And Ping is skulking around and looking for a small, tiny place to hide).

Yes, that little princess managed to pull the knitting needles out of the ball of yarn, get the sweater off the needles, and undo 4 days worth of knitting in 15 minutes! The yarn was wrapped around furniture upstairs and down, interweaved between the basement poles, and around the center dividing wall. All that was left of Mim’s work was 1.5 inches of ribbing that was the bottom of the sweater. After comparing the princess’s work to marauding Vikings, all we think was say was, “We’ve been pillaged.” And that is where the little dog got one of her nicknames.

To date (3 years later), the sweater remains unfinished. Mim still gets too mad when she starts re-knitting and has to put it down. Good thing the son is now stationed in Hawaii.
Ping the Pillager still occasionally pillages.

Ps. For Christmas that year, Ping got a t-shirt that said “Ping the Pillager.”

Marquee Quotes

I drive past a church with a big marquee when I go to work. It always has some little quip written on it and mostly I give it little heed. But during most of November and December there were these two consecutive quips that rankled me. Well the first one rankled and the second one kind of amused. They were contradictory at least, offensive at most. I gnawed on the first one for a while trying to reason out why it seemed to bother me and well, honestly I’ve never quite answered that question.
Marquee 1 read: “People do not fail, they simply stop trying.”
That really sits wrong with me, but why….
First, I work in the medical field and I see people all the time who are fighting their own battles against disease and illness. Many find their “success” over disease in death. That is not “failing” nor is it “stop trying”. I think such statements as this are insensitive to those people and their loved ones. In the Christian community I grew up in, many were made to feel that choosing death or succumbing to death was failure. That if they truly believed in God and had faith they would be healed. I’m not saying that we don’t pray and we don’t encourage but let’s be open to hearing God. Not so mired in our “tenants of faith” that we think everyone is weak or wrong if they don’t believe what we do.
How horrible for those Christians who missed the opportunity to see God by “weeping with those who weep and mourning with those who mourn.” They were given a gift and turned it into a curse for themselves and the one who needed them. Since when is choosing to go home a failure?!
Second, failure is subjective. While one denomination or sect believes dying from illness is failure another believes it to be the most joyous outcome to “graduate” to heaven. While some see being poor as failure others see it as a goal to achieve. Ridding oneself of all earthly possessions and seeking God. Who are we to judge what is failure, or if someone has stopped trying. I can think of many times when “stop trying” would be a good thing. In fact, I just read a short auto biography on http://www.gothiquefae.wordpress.com where that was to her benefit. By no longer trying to meet “their” ideas of right she found who God really is.
So after several weeks of going by that marquee and gnawing on this quote they finally change it. When I read the new quote I couldn’t believe my eyes. In fact, and I do not exaggerate, I turned around so I could be sure I read it correctly.
The new marquee quote read: “let go and let God do as he will.”
Okay you just said people should not stop trying and now you say they should not try but just let “God do as he will” It had me chuckling all the way to work. No wonder religious people are so confused!

We’re back

no we didn’t fall of the planet. We moved, started new jobs, then Christmas!! whew it’s been a marathon 6 months. We are currently working on a couple picture this and a topic of conversation. We hope to post soon…
We hope you all had a marvelous holiday season and we are loving being back home in the snow!!!
Blessings and peace to all!!

Shoe in hay

Okay, I’m at work in Nebraska, away from home for an assignment and I get a call from Mim. I’m busy and can’t take the call so it goes to voice mail. Later I access the message and this is what I get from Mim with my editorials comments in parens:

Okay, pictur this: I’m dressed nice in a blue frilly top, skirt, and high heels. I have finals today and need to go right from work to change clothes and then go to school. Well, my boss has other plans. He calls me into his office about ten minutes before I am scheduled to leave and keeps me there for more than thirty minutes. Well damn! Now I don’t have time to change clothes. So, I hurry out to feed the horses before I head to school because you know class will go late into the night.

(This is in mid-May and we’ve had a considerable amount of snow and rain. If fact, Mim got stuck on a snow drift earlier and had to have a neighbor pull her out. So, it’s a bit muddy in spots for this adventure).

I get out of the Jeep and start feeding the horses. Since I’m in a hurry, I don’t use the gate and simply throw the hay over the fence. I’m all busy doing this when I go to throw a pitchfork full of hay over the fence and my high heeled shoe gets stuck in the mud. I kind of pull on it and, no, it’s stuck. A little peeved, I yank my foot up and my shoe goes flying up in the air, flip, flip, flip over the fence and onto the hay.

Hmmm. Now I’m one-footed. It’s muddy. I hold myself up with the top of the corral pane and consider what to do. I figure I’ll use the pitchfork and pull the shoe to me when, my horse, Sanchez, decides to check out my shoe. She thinks it’s a treat and goes over to it, nuzzles it a bit, and picks it up! Then, if you can believe it, she walks off with it!

Here I am calling to her, “Here Sanchez, here Sani, come here girl…….come over here you bitch and bring me my shoe!” (Your can kind of tell her voice raises a bit at the end of that little speech). Well, she looks at me (gives her the old dead-eye look, I’m sure) and drops my shoe in the middle of the corral and promptly goes back to eating hay. Unbelievable.

I hop back to the car and take off my other shoe and both stockings and tromp through the mud and muck to retrieve my shoe. And, of course, I’m late for class. Nice shoes and haying the horse don’t really go together do they? So, there you go. Talk to you later.

Note from Mim: I can’t tell you how many times we have thrown things in the corral while she’s eating and gotten no response from her. The bitch!