Gentle Lent: When Life Interrupts

It was going so well. With only one more day to complete Week One’s Lenten cleaning when…

WHAM. Tuesday took a hard left.

Not simply a fast left where the tires squeal a little. NOPE, a hard left with my two metaphorical tires spinning in the air, the other two leaving a trail of rubber.


It started with a text from Counting Mutant.

I am at the ER. Just to be safe. Testing me now.

He did mention that the area around his appendix hurt last night. But that was in passing.

Scrolling down, phone had four more texts, which finished with:

They are going to give me some pain med… Won’t be able to drive home. Maybe should come on down.

The fact I checked my phone upon waking up was an broke part of my Lent fast. It is on my no cheats list. I loved curling up under covers for a few more minutes of rest while checking what the world was doing, but the habit began to sabotage my morning's routine.

NOW.. Feet launched out of bed. I raced through the morning chores, set GirlyK up with her school for the day and off to the hospital I went.

33 hours later Mutant came home. The short of it was, his diverticulitis spread to the right side of his colon, next to his appendix. 24 hours of IV antibiotics for him while I shuffled GirlyK between her brothers so she could make her commitments and a night of fitful sleep for me. My Fibro so overtaxed that emotions blocked much of my logical thinking.  A few tearful meltdowns and a broken broom cleared the way for logic to function.

The rest of the week spent tending to Mutant’s need for quiet rest, GirlyK’s school and me staring blankly at a wall. I work hard to avoid unnecessary intensity, so I was ill prepared for it.

Monday-my favorite day of the week-meant a fresh start. But, I looked at the devotions I had missed. The moments of meditation I passed by. The list of Lenten cleaning days left unattended.

Overwhelming failure flooded my soul.
Monday’s devotion was on the Rugged Cross. That it is at the foot of this Cross, I can lay all my shortcomings and failures. As I walked the dogs after and pondered Gentle Lent, Holy Spirit whispered,

“The Cross is not a place of  Do-Overs. It is a place of beginning.”

Burdens are not put down only to be rearranged. Burdens are put there to stay. I can pick up where I left off. No catch-up is necessary. In Divine Love’s redemption, I can let go of last week’s To-Dos and start fresh. There is no hurry in my recovery and rest from last week. In peace I can heal. Achieve balance and renewed energy and on Thursday, move on in my Lenten Cleaning list.

Massacre, Disaster and a Fig tree

This was originally posted on March 21, 2011 after the Tsunami in Asia. Having lived through many different types of disasters and listening to diverse reasoning, I stumbled upon this passage in Luke. It is odd and seemingly disjointed when examined closely. As I stepped back and considered the context of the whole, a picture presented himself. Jesus again disarming arrogance and forcing listeners to look at themselves. 

Natural disasters create pause in all of us. The sight of carnage and complete loss causes our souls to ache. All ask why.  While some turn to action, participating in fundraisers and send help to ease the burden. Others sit back and look for blame. Many in Cultural Christianity explain it with a judgmental God.  Their logic is: if we were a better people, bad things would not happen.  

This really pisses me off. Instead of a God of order, he is made into a capricious and mysterious image.  It negates the very curse that began it all: the law we all live under. He doesn't will for tragedies to happen. They happen as a result of what was put into motion in the Garden.

In Genesis 3:17-19, God tells Adam that the very ground would be cursed because of the choice he and Eve made. In Romans 8:18-25 this curse upon our planet is explained further.  "… For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, (Adam) in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God... "

    In Luke 13:1-9, Jesus is told about a massacre in temple at Jerusalem.  Only Jews were allowed into the sacrificial areas.  In spite of this fact, the Roman governor, Pilate, sent soldiers into the Temple. An uprising ensued and many Jews were killed, some while they offered sacrifices. For the Israelites, the horror was immense.  Yet a division existed; upper class and lower class. The Judeans thought of themselves as cultured and cosmopolitan. They viewed Galileans-where Jesus was from- as provincial and simple

. 

Jesus hears a hint of this arrogance from whoever is reporting the event. After listening, he poses a question,

“Do you suppose that these Galileans were worse sinners than all other Galileans, because they suffered such things?"  

I wonder if Jesus paused here and looked around into the faces of his listeners. 

He continues, " I tell you, no; but unless you repent you will all likewise perish.” 

Jesus continues to remind them of another recent tragedy. One that was accidental. A tower in Siloam fell and killed eighteen men in Jerusalem.

He asks them, “...Do you think that they were worse sinners than all other men who dwelt in Jerusalem? I tell you, no; but unless you repent you will all likewise perish.”   ”  

Many stop with this verse and unfortunately they miss out on what Jesus meant. Jesus then does what we love most, he tells a parable: It is about a fig tree.

The tale begins with a land owner talking to his groundskeeper. The land owner asked,

“Look, for three years I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree and find none.  Cut it down; why does it use up the ground?”

The groundskeeper answers, “Sir, let it alone this year also, until I dig around it and fertilize it.  And if it bears fruit, well.  But if not, after that you can cut it down.”

Huh?

How does a fig tree figure into massacre and disaster? This passage of scripture can be ignored because it seems incongruous. Jesus was good at disarming his listeners and then addressing the heart of the matter. Getting the finger pointing to stop and for each one to look in the mirror of self.

Although circumstances vary, disaster and death are certain. Some are lost while others are spared, regardless of class, creed, social standing, criminal or law-abider. The consequences of a disaster are not based on personal worthiness.  It should never have arrogance attached. As Jesus sits, surrounded by listeners, he is challenging the survivors to examine their own existence. If Jesus called people on arrogance then, it surely grieves them now. Blaming disasters upon a group of people is egregious. 

The earth groans as we groan. Our discussions should not be about why the disaster happened or who caused it.  The response ought to be how. Am I living life as I should?  What changes do I need to make? Am I adding to the lives of people around me or am I just taking? 

When the next disaster comes, am I ready?

An Idyllic Day

Originally posted on November 12, 2011.

After living in a ski resort town for a year, I was accused of having an idyllic life. Shortly after the accusation in 2001, this day happened. Grab a cuppa, buckle up and enjoy the ride.   

Sunrise. I raised blinds to reveal Mammoth Mountain, bathed in a rosy violet with a pale gold snowcap. Opening the south blinds, the Minnerets glowed with sapphire and lavender. My favorite time of the day, the house was quiet and all mine. 

Sleepy BoyA, six years old, came dragging out for breakfast.  BoyZ, five, came bouncing after him.  I went to retrieve GirlyK, ten months, from her crib. We were sitting at the breakfast table as we said goodbye to The Counting Mutant.  The morning ran like butter; gardening, Martha Stewart and kids’ imaginary adventures. 

I packed for a picnic lunch with The Counting Mutant; I went into the bathroom to gather the last few things together.  Stepping onto the sandy brown carpet I felt odd pinpoints of wetness.  Bewildered, I stepped carefully as droplets sent odd shivers into the bottoms of my feet.  I surveyed in wonder.   The toilet, shower door, cabinets and wall glistened with shiny yellow dewdrops.  Restrained, I found the boys. 

"What happened in the bathroom?"

BouA gaped, "I don't know."

BoyZ shining with pride, "I put out a fire."

Dumbfounded, I took a deep breath and sternly informed him, he was to clean it up as soon as we got back from lunch.  Dad was expecting us now.  

Three kids channeled and lunch transported into the car, we headed up the Mountain.  Once parked, I kept track of the boys as they raced around the car. Their concentric circles creeping further into the path of traffic; with one eye on their orbit, I seized the stroller, lunch box and GirlyK out of her car seat. The Counting Mutant arrived just as the boys turned into meteors and guided them to Mammoth Mountain’s Adventure Center.

We found our place on emerald grass.  In the winter it is covered in snow and training runs for small children.  In the summer it is a hub of fun. Mountain bike rental booth and a thirty-foot climbing wall fill the space.  The dulcet tone of different languages around us was a delight as the tourists took pleasure in the richness of the outdoors.

GirlyK’s feet were danced to a tune in her own mind as I opened her lunch.  Carrots, rice and a bottle chaser, was her lunch menu for the day. The Counting Mutant and boys started their lunch.  I debriefed The Mutant on the escapades of the morning when, out of the sweet little bow shaped mouth, the scream of a demon. GirlyK’s appendages hit the bowl of carrots in my hand with an explosion.   My shirt, face and hair were the casualties of the anti-carrot warfare. People around us turned away with sheepish grins. I took a deep breath and coaxed her through the rest of lunch. 

After their food was consumed, boys played on the climbing wall.  GirlyK crawled on the grass and visited with tourists.  Lunch completed, The Counting Mutant said goodbye and returned to his office.  For BoyA’s last turn on the climbing wall, he asked in a rush,

"Mom!  I am going to push myself today and be brave.  I am going to climb ALL the way up to the top." 

I rallied a cheerleading spirit and told him to go for it.  He found his favorite instructor, who geared BoyA up and he began his assent.

 Carefully he picked his grips and pushed himself up the 30-foot face.  Once at the top, he turned around and beamed with joy and pride. The instructor and I!  BoyA faced his fear and conquered it.  

The instructor said, "Ok, A, now let go of the wall, hang onto the rope and I will bring you down." BoyA took one glance at him, one stare at the top of the wall and finally frowned at me.  

"No,” was his calm but defiant answer.

 Encouraging began.  It quickly turned from cheerleading to drill sergeant. After twenty minutes, a sizeable audience gathered, a different instructor free climbed up. As he reached the top, all eyes glued to rescuer as he began to coax BoyA from the climbing holds.  All held their breath as the two of them eased their way down the wall.  Once at the bottom I awkwardly helped BoyA out of the harness.  

Quietly, I heard the rescuer say to the instructor, "That was the scariest thing I have done in my life!  No support and the kid pushed against me the whole way down.  I didn't know if I would make it."

Humiliations galore set in as I rushed all to the car.  The whole ride home the car was quiet.  Once home, I put the sweet girl down for a nap, set BoyZ at the table to await bathroom cleaning instructions. BoyA and I discussed in another room about bravery and trust. 

BoyA excused to his quiet corner. I attended to BoyZ and his firefighting in the carpeted bathroom.  

While waiting for me at the table, BoyZ found Bullfrog Sunscreen. After squirting half the bottle on the table, he created beautiful renditions of wax-based lotion art.

I began to feel my sense of sanity melting, a sponge was handed to the boy. 

We cleaned the table and moved onto the bathroom.  “Here is a bucket and sponge.  You need to wipe walls, sink and toilet.  When Dad gets home he will help you clean the carpet with the carpet cleaner.” I instructed.

“COOL!”  BoyZ’s eyes glittered with pride.   

Bathroom cleaned and BoyZ in a neutral corner, I called The Counting Mutant and suggested picnic dinner.  

Horseshoe Lake was known as the “locals’ dog lake”   Some years earlier, the area experienced a volcanic burp.  Gasses escaped through fissures and killed acres of trees around the lake.  We had never been. I thought it would be a way to finish off our day well. An attempt to turn the tide.

The Counting Mutant came home. We all piled into the car, complete with dog.  Pulling up to the lake, giant gray leafless toothpicks filled our visual plane as we walked across the pumiced earth to a picnic table. A breeze chilled our skin and kids shivered a bit.  I realized we had no jackets.  As I opened the basket, I realized to my horror, I had forgotten plates and utensils.  The Mutant laughed and we ate with our fingers. This day was going to end well even if it killed me.

 We started to prepare for a hike when, We noticed BoyZ only picked at his chicken.  He complained about the fat.  I volunteered to stay behind and help him.  The Mutant, BoyA, GirlyK and dog started their hike.  I began to peel off the meat and feed it to him.  He bit my finger.  We struggled through every bite.  The chicken leg finally consumed; I packed up. 

We met at the car. I gave BoyZ his nectarine for dessert.  On the drive home, I vented. “I tried to be flexible all day and I am done!  I need a moment away.”

  The Mutant agreed.  As we unloaded the car, Zachary walked to me with the uneaten nectarine.  He looked up at me with liquid blue eyes and stated, "I wanted the one with the sticker." 

I snached the sticker free nectarine, walked into the house and handed it to The Mutant, “He wanted the one with the sticker!”

The Mutant took the beautiful boy by the hand, “You should stay very far from Mommy right now.”

The two of them retrieved the carpet cleaner for the bathroom.  I tidied the kitchen. BoyA asked if he could help me. I set him to putting away the spilled books on floor in the family room.  He placed them onto the bookshelf in a boyish manner.  I snapped at his messy method of cleaning.

The Mutant came out to defend this gentle son.  "You need a walk or a bath.  Choose one and go now.  I will take care of the kids."  I chose a walk.

The Mineretts were a deep royal purple and stars were just beginning to peak out as the sun set on my day.

With a deep breath, I walked toward the bike path that ran through our neighborhood.  I walked downhill for half a mile and then turned around.  I was just beginning to feel relaxed. The steep uphill climb would be a perfect finish.  I was close to home when I heard a rustling of leaves to my left.  I slowed and looked.  Bambi stood 10 feet in front of me.  Velvety brown eyes looked deep within my soul and I swooned.  I lived in a miraculous place.  A few bad moments couldn't ruin this magic. After living here over a year, I see my first deer. Nothing could be more perfect. 

We gazed at one another for a moment, then  Bambi turned and bound up the embankment.  I watched his glorious dance as he leapt over bushes.

Then… from the corner of my eye I saw a shimmer of headlights.

My breath caught.  I watched Bambi bound onto the road.  The car was in full view. 

Bambi reached midline. The car was ten feet away.  I began to relax, he made it. 

In the last few moments of breath, the passenger's side headlight caught Bambi’s hind quarter.  Back legs flipped over stately antlers and he landed on the opposite embankment.   My soul wailed as I raced through the Manzanita bushes, leaving pieces of my own flesh behind, to check the people in the car.  As I reached the road and they were looking at the deer.  He tried to scramble away from the car and up the embankment.  His delicate front legs feverishly worked to drag the hind quarters.  I destroyed this beautiful animal.  It was my fault.  I apologized and offered my phone to call for help. 

I walked into the house with two strangers; The Mutant’s eyes blew out of their sockets. 

He asked, "What happened?" 

I said, “I killed Bambi." 

The cute couple called 911 and reported the deer.  The operator informed them that a CHP would be there to take care of it.  We sat and marveled at the oddities of mountain living and speculated what the CHP would do with the venison.  I wondered if we could have some too.  All laughed.  

They left to meet the CHP and I looked at The Mutant.  I was completely shattered.  He looked at me softly, “Go take a bath.  You can’t hurt anything in there.” 

After my bath, I asked Scott, “What would you do after a day like mine?”

  He said, "Get drunk. But, you should call your sister." 

I called my sister and in tears, told her about my day. She laughed.  In sage wisdom she observed, "You experienced all of mountain living in one day: firefighting, rock climbing, picnicking, hiking and hunting."