Well, it's about time I posted again. I'm not going with PD today or with anything inspirational. I'm just putting up a couple of videos that I find hysterical. Here are some literal video versions of two songs from when I was growing up.
This one isn't as good as the next, but it's Meatlaof!
The next one is the coup de gras of the literal video versions... Bonnie Tyler's Total Eclipse of the Heart. This will have to be done via link since the embedding option for this video is disabled.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lj-x9ygQEGA Enjoy these and I hope you, dear reader, get a few laughs out of these.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Siloam
Another Tuesday night during the fall program at church. This year is a program that we’re calling Transformational Tuesdays. This is essentially a program where we gather together for a meal and then our rector gives us a talk based on the fruit of the Spirit. Today’s lesson was on peace.
Here’s a lesson I sorely needed given the past week. The funny thing is, I realized, before the end of the week, that God had my back the whole time. He let me go through my worries, the whole time carrying me to that point of realization. And then for that to be the topic of the night just floored me (not literally, dear reader, but you get the point). Now, dear reader, if you are not of the Christian faith, you may take a look at what happened the past couple of days and say, “huh… coincidence.” I have to say count the coincidences. How many does it take before a coincidence stops being coincidence?
The talk she gave was really good, and the reading we did, which I will get into later since I don’t want too much from the talk to seep in to my post. Some is okay, but not as much as will be if I do it in this post. It ended with an exercise in meditation, just sitting in Christ’s presence. That, to me, was the best part of the evening. This meditation thing is something that I need to do more often.
The perfect end to what has been a horrible seven days. When my cold hit my chest, it knocked me down and out. My Parkinson’s symptoms reached levels that I had never before experienced. Naturally, the first thing that crossed my mind was, “will this cause a permanent progression of the symptoms?” The unfortunate answer to that is yes, it did, but not so bad as they were during the height of my illness. I’m stiffer, I’m slower, my hand shakes more, but not so much as it could have been.
Even so, it makes me question how safe it is for me to be transferring people from bed to wheelchair. I’ve described the events of the meeting at work twice now, so I won’t be going into detail of it. But when I called last Friday to request a meeting, it was with a heavy heart that I did so.
I don’t know why I called it. I believe that there was something in the back of my mind that’s tired of fighting this damned thing. How about that, I’ve only been dealing with it for the past year, and I’m already tired of fighting it. Every time I seem to get ahead, I seem to lose something else. I lose a little balance, or a little muscle strength. This beast keeps taking, but only a little.
We talked about peace, and then, even now, I want to cry out from the depths of my soul. My eyes are not dry as I write about it, either. I’m not in full blown water works, praise God. Nevertheless, I want to say screw it. Something deep in me wants to let this bastard do what it’s going to do. That something wants to ask, “Why fight it? It’s going to win anyway.”
Now how did a posting starting with peace turn into a lament? Probably because I need to say it and don’t want to make someone listen to my whining. The blog is safe. If I were to say this out loud to someone, face to face, I can’t be certain that I won’t lose it. I haven’t lost it over this yet, and I definitely don’t want to start now. I can put my heart into the blog and never go past having some wet eyelashes. It’s safe here.
Plus there’s the knowledge that if you’ve gotten this far, dear reader, then I can be sure that you want to hear it. When I’m among people, my instincts are to not show weakness. What people can see—what I want them to see—is someone who accepts what’s happening to him and just plods onward. I don’t want someone to see me frustrated because I’m struggling to open the milk carton, or I knocked over something else because I have no concept of how much space is between my hand and an object. I don’t want someone knowing that I’m ready to scream I HAVE HAD ENOUGH at the top of my lungs.
This is where I need the peace that transcends all understanding that we’re promised in Ephesians 4:7. I long for that peace. I yearn for that peace. I’ll make you a deal, dear reader. Pray for me and I’ll pray for you (I’ll do that anyway). Then maybe we both can experience that kind of peace.
Here’s a lesson I sorely needed given the past week. The funny thing is, I realized, before the end of the week, that God had my back the whole time. He let me go through my worries, the whole time carrying me to that point of realization. And then for that to be the topic of the night just floored me (not literally, dear reader, but you get the point). Now, dear reader, if you are not of the Christian faith, you may take a look at what happened the past couple of days and say, “huh… coincidence.” I have to say count the coincidences. How many does it take before a coincidence stops being coincidence?
The talk she gave was really good, and the reading we did, which I will get into later since I don’t want too much from the talk to seep in to my post. Some is okay, but not as much as will be if I do it in this post. It ended with an exercise in meditation, just sitting in Christ’s presence. That, to me, was the best part of the evening. This meditation thing is something that I need to do more often.
The perfect end to what has been a horrible seven days. When my cold hit my chest, it knocked me down and out. My Parkinson’s symptoms reached levels that I had never before experienced. Naturally, the first thing that crossed my mind was, “will this cause a permanent progression of the symptoms?” The unfortunate answer to that is yes, it did, but not so bad as they were during the height of my illness. I’m stiffer, I’m slower, my hand shakes more, but not so much as it could have been.
Even so, it makes me question how safe it is for me to be transferring people from bed to wheelchair. I’ve described the events of the meeting at work twice now, so I won’t be going into detail of it. But when I called last Friday to request a meeting, it was with a heavy heart that I did so.
I don’t know why I called it. I believe that there was something in the back of my mind that’s tired of fighting this damned thing. How about that, I’ve only been dealing with it for the past year, and I’m already tired of fighting it. Every time I seem to get ahead, I seem to lose something else. I lose a little balance, or a little muscle strength. This beast keeps taking, but only a little.
We talked about peace, and then, even now, I want to cry out from the depths of my soul. My eyes are not dry as I write about it, either. I’m not in full blown water works, praise God. Nevertheless, I want to say screw it. Something deep in me wants to let this bastard do what it’s going to do. That something wants to ask, “Why fight it? It’s going to win anyway.”
Now how did a posting starting with peace turn into a lament? Probably because I need to say it and don’t want to make someone listen to my whining. The blog is safe. If I were to say this out loud to someone, face to face, I can’t be certain that I won’t lose it. I haven’t lost it over this yet, and I definitely don’t want to start now. I can put my heart into the blog and never go past having some wet eyelashes. It’s safe here.
Plus there’s the knowledge that if you’ve gotten this far, dear reader, then I can be sure that you want to hear it. When I’m among people, my instincts are to not show weakness. What people can see—what I want them to see—is someone who accepts what’s happening to him and just plods onward. I don’t want someone to see me frustrated because I’m struggling to open the milk carton, or I knocked over something else because I have no concept of how much space is between my hand and an object. I don’t want someone knowing that I’m ready to scream I HAVE HAD ENOUGH at the top of my lungs.
This is where I need the peace that transcends all understanding that we’re promised in Ephesians 4:7. I long for that peace. I yearn for that peace. I’ll make you a deal, dear reader. Pray for me and I’ll pray for you (I’ll do that anyway). Then maybe we both can experience that kind of peace.
Monday, October 25, 2010
The Lord is My Cane
On a particularly bad day, I find myself having to use a cane to walk. As much as I hate using it—I hate the idea so much that I call it my walking stick, on which my nine-year-old little boy finds it necessary to correct me that it is indeed a cane—as I don’t want to become dependent on it, sometimes I must put my stubborn nature behind and use the damned thing. Usually, when I finally break down and grab my stick ‘o’ the walking, I find that it makes my life ten times easier. I actually have something to hold my weight as I move my bad leg.
The fact of the matter is I’m just too stubborn. I’m only thirty-one years old. I shouldn’t be using a cane. I just need to suck it up and leave it to the old fogeys. A cane is great for them, they need it.
But my body reminds me that not everything that’s considered for old people is. I have what’s considered an old person’s disease. No one in their thirties can have Parkinson’s. I say tell that to Michael J. Fox—not to mention present company, dear reader. My point is that I sometimes need the help of a cane but I’m just too stubborn to depend on it.
So it is with us humans when it comes to depending on God. We want to think we can handle it, because that’s how many of us are raised. We’re taught from a very early age to handle our business on our own. Have a problem, here’s how to fix it. We’re just too stubborn. This is a broken world with broken people and we need a crutch. Some turn to drugs, some to alcohol, some to sexual promiscuity. How often do you hear, “yes, I do this or that, but that’s my only vice.” Coffee, cigarettes (for which I am guilty), the internet, porn websites; these are all vices that people have to get them through a bad day.
The good news is we don’t need those things. (If I repeat that a hundred times a day, maybe I’ll actually succeed in giving up smoking, but that’s for another discussion.) The great news is through faith in Christ Jesus, we don’t need those things to lean on anymore. (A hundred times a day, Jon, a hundred times a day.) By dependence on God through the resurrection, we have all the crutch we need. And what a vice it is.
And yes, I do have a Bible passage in mind as I write this. It is 2 Corinthians 1:8-10. Before I continue, I must make this disclaimer. I am not a theologian by any stretch of the imagination. I have no kind of college degree at all, let alone one in theology. These are just my comments on what I’ve been reading. The topic that I see in this one is dependence on God. I’m just hoping that I’m interpreting it correctly. Feel free to leave a comment if you disagree with anything that I write.For the sake of reference, I’m going to go ahead and type out the passage.
“We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about the hardships we suffered in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life. Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will continue to deliver us.”
Paul and his companions found it not necessary, but crucial to put their entire lives in God’s hands. I can’t speak to the peril in Asia, because I don’t know. I do know that it was peril to the point of death. This isn’t surprising, since during this period in history, Christians faced death every day on the basis of their faith. Despite the threat of death, each and every day, Paul and his companions put their lives in God’s hands to go out and preach Christ crucified.
Don’t I wish I was better at that dependence on God. I’ll refer back to my earlier post and retell my story from there, as it illustrates the point nicely. This marks the second time that not feeling well has caused what appears to be a permanent progression in symptoms. My fear with contacting the front office at work was that there would be nothing they could do, no other position to put me in so I could continue working. This caused a great deal of stress over the weekend. I spent too much time worrying over whether I’d emerge from today’s meeting with a job.
If you look at the Jordan river during flood season, it looks like nothing you want to step into. Overflowed banks, rapid swirling currents, it looks a mess. But God wanted the Levites to step into that while carrying the Ark of the Covenant when God led the Israelites into the promised land. And He stopped the waters. He didn’t do it before they stepped in, but after they did, at the last minute.
Well, that’s how God’s timing generally rolls. He gives us a set of obstacles that we can’t overcome without His help, then tells us that we must first step in. It wasn’t until I had that meeting/conference call that I realized that it was okay. There’s the possibility of a position with equal pay that will hold me for quite a while yet. I look left and see a wall of water. I look right and see the same. I look down and the ground is dry. All I can say is, whew. The LORD will take care of us. We need to be patient, but it will happen. God is my cane, and for that I’m overjoyed.
The fact of the matter is I’m just too stubborn. I’m only thirty-one years old. I shouldn’t be using a cane. I just need to suck it up and leave it to the old fogeys. A cane is great for them, they need it.
But my body reminds me that not everything that’s considered for old people is. I have what’s considered an old person’s disease. No one in their thirties can have Parkinson’s. I say tell that to Michael J. Fox—not to mention present company, dear reader. My point is that I sometimes need the help of a cane but I’m just too stubborn to depend on it.
So it is with us humans when it comes to depending on God. We want to think we can handle it, because that’s how many of us are raised. We’re taught from a very early age to handle our business on our own. Have a problem, here’s how to fix it. We’re just too stubborn. This is a broken world with broken people and we need a crutch. Some turn to drugs, some to alcohol, some to sexual promiscuity. How often do you hear, “yes, I do this or that, but that’s my only vice.” Coffee, cigarettes (for which I am guilty), the internet, porn websites; these are all vices that people have to get them through a bad day.
The good news is we don’t need those things. (If I repeat that a hundred times a day, maybe I’ll actually succeed in giving up smoking, but that’s for another discussion.) The great news is through faith in Christ Jesus, we don’t need those things to lean on anymore. (A hundred times a day, Jon, a hundred times a day.) By dependence on God through the resurrection, we have all the crutch we need. And what a vice it is.
And yes, I do have a Bible passage in mind as I write this. It is 2 Corinthians 1:8-10. Before I continue, I must make this disclaimer. I am not a theologian by any stretch of the imagination. I have no kind of college degree at all, let alone one in theology. These are just my comments on what I’ve been reading. The topic that I see in this one is dependence on God. I’m just hoping that I’m interpreting it correctly. Feel free to leave a comment if you disagree with anything that I write.For the sake of reference, I’m going to go ahead and type out the passage.
“We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about the hardships we suffered in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life. Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we have set our hope that he will continue to deliver us.”
Paul and his companions found it not necessary, but crucial to put their entire lives in God’s hands. I can’t speak to the peril in Asia, because I don’t know. I do know that it was peril to the point of death. This isn’t surprising, since during this period in history, Christians faced death every day on the basis of their faith. Despite the threat of death, each and every day, Paul and his companions put their lives in God’s hands to go out and preach Christ crucified.
Don’t I wish I was better at that dependence on God. I’ll refer back to my earlier post and retell my story from there, as it illustrates the point nicely. This marks the second time that not feeling well has caused what appears to be a permanent progression in symptoms. My fear with contacting the front office at work was that there would be nothing they could do, no other position to put me in so I could continue working. This caused a great deal of stress over the weekend. I spent too much time worrying over whether I’d emerge from today’s meeting with a job.
If you look at the Jordan river during flood season, it looks like nothing you want to step into. Overflowed banks, rapid swirling currents, it looks a mess. But God wanted the Levites to step into that while carrying the Ark of the Covenant when God led the Israelites into the promised land. And He stopped the waters. He didn’t do it before they stepped in, but after they did, at the last minute.
Well, that’s how God’s timing generally rolls. He gives us a set of obstacles that we can’t overcome without His help, then tells us that we must first step in. It wasn’t until I had that meeting/conference call that I realized that it was okay. There’s the possibility of a position with equal pay that will hold me for quite a while yet. I look left and see a wall of water. I look right and see the same. I look down and the ground is dry. All I can say is, whew. The LORD will take care of us. We need to be patient, but it will happen. God is my cane, and for that I’m overjoyed.
Okay, Okay! I Get It!
Well, dear reader, I am taking that new direction after all. If you’ve ever wondered how God speaks to us, I’ll tell you there’s many different ways. One of those ways, often He does this, is to use other people. I put up a post earlier that I may separate my comments on my Bible reading from this blog and make two separate ones. A few hours later, I got a comment from one of those dear readers that I shouldn’t do that, that I should keep the spiritual stuff in it. After making a reply comment to find that a coworker liked my posting, “Bean Soup.” Sometimes, I need hit over the head, but I can take a hint.
Now What Was I Worried About?
Well, I’ve decided that if I want to talk about my faith too, then I need another blog. This one’s supposed to be more of a journal of sorts, so, while my faith is a valid thing in my life, and there is more to life than PD, it’s better, I think, if I create another blog for my… spiritual journal I’ll call it. Either way, I can use this to comment on life in general, and the other for my thoughts as I study my Bible. Yes, dear reader, I think that What’s Shakin will be better if I separate the two.
That being said, onward. I called into work on Friday to ask them if we can go over options that would let me stay at the job, as since that horrific cold I am finally getting over exacerbated my PD symptoms. The good news is that they’re not so bad as they were last Tuesday. The bad news is that my symptoms seem to have still taken a permanent progression. At the height of this, when I went to the ER to be seen for not being able to breathe, my walking was evidently bad enough that the nursing assistant at the front desk put me in a wheelchair. The worst part of it is I was thankful she did that, because my right leg was so stiff that it hurt.
Today, it’s not hurting, but it is definitely weaker. Moving my right leg while walking seems to feel like I’m walking through a river of sludge. It has certainly slowed me down, and it’s not looking to go all the way back to how it was before I got this cold. Damn it anyway.
There I go getting off topic again. Anyway, my symptoms are still worse than they were before I got sick. That being said, I worry about transferring residents from their beds to their wheelchairs. Is it safe for me to do so? I have to admit, I need to put a little more faith in people. I spent the weekend worrying about whether I’d emerge from that meeting still employed. Or maybe I should have a little more faith that God will take care of me. (And yes, dear reader, I’m going back to my journal style in this blog, but that’s still a part of my life, so I won’t shy away from the subject either.)
I was asked to call in today after eleven ‘o’ clock this morning. I assumed it was to set a time for the meeting. The meeting took on the form of a conference call. What I was informed was that a full time restorative position was just posted. This was better than any other options than what was in my mind. I was thinking that there could be a transfer to housekeeping, dietary, or even activities. The pay would have went down some, but I would have been employed. Restorative is perfect, since I’m working with mostly ambulatory residents. There’s help around everywhere, and I know that the therapy staff is willing to help ambulate for any resident that I ask them. The hours are 9-5 instead of 7-3, but that would be worth it. The best part is I would stay at my current pay rate.
That being said, onward. I called into work on Friday to ask them if we can go over options that would let me stay at the job, as since that horrific cold I am finally getting over exacerbated my PD symptoms. The good news is that they’re not so bad as they were last Tuesday. The bad news is that my symptoms seem to have still taken a permanent progression. At the height of this, when I went to the ER to be seen for not being able to breathe, my walking was evidently bad enough that the nursing assistant at the front desk put me in a wheelchair. The worst part of it is I was thankful she did that, because my right leg was so stiff that it hurt.
Today, it’s not hurting, but it is definitely weaker. Moving my right leg while walking seems to feel like I’m walking through a river of sludge. It has certainly slowed me down, and it’s not looking to go all the way back to how it was before I got this cold. Damn it anyway.
There I go getting off topic again. Anyway, my symptoms are still worse than they were before I got sick. That being said, I worry about transferring residents from their beds to their wheelchairs. Is it safe for me to do so? I have to admit, I need to put a little more faith in people. I spent the weekend worrying about whether I’d emerge from that meeting still employed. Or maybe I should have a little more faith that God will take care of me. (And yes, dear reader, I’m going back to my journal style in this blog, but that’s still a part of my life, so I won’t shy away from the subject either.)
I was asked to call in today after eleven ‘o’ clock this morning. I assumed it was to set a time for the meeting. The meeting took on the form of a conference call. What I was informed was that a full time restorative position was just posted. This was better than any other options than what was in my mind. I was thinking that there could be a transfer to housekeeping, dietary, or even activities. The pay would have went down some, but I would have been employed. Restorative is perfect, since I’m working with mostly ambulatory residents. There’s help around everywhere, and I know that the therapy staff is willing to help ambulate for any resident that I ask them. The hours are 9-5 instead of 7-3, but that would be worth it. The best part is I would stay at my current pay rate.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Bean Soup
I love bean soup. I adore everything about it. It’s tasty, inexpensive, and easy to make. Put a ham shank in a pot with a jar of great northern beans, water, onions, potatoes, carrots, and some spices and let it cook for a few hours. Personally, I believe it needs to cook for at least four hours, but some would differ on the time to take. It’s a long process either way, but in the end, it’s worth it.
The key to a good bean soup is to let it cook long enough with the ham shank. This allows the flavors from the bone to seep through the soup giving it a base of smoky ham flavor. It’s the final touch when it’s done that gives the soup a hearty, outstanding flavor and ranks it as one of the greatest cold weather meals of all time. (That, dear reader, is my own personal opinion, of course. The other thing that happens is the beans, as the liquid cooks down, thickens the water some. So it’s more like a stew than a soup, but we’ll still call it soup.
But there’s one problem that I have with bean soup; the process of making it. Once I’ve got everything together and in the pot, I have to let it cook. And, by the end of the first hour, the smell of the soup has wafted through the entire house. What’s the problem with this? Well, dear reader, the problem is that I have to smell it. It’s not that I hate the smell, far from it, in fact. It’s that I love the smell, and I get HUNGRY. I want at this point to just sneak a bowl of it. So I go into the kitchen, grab the spoon, and stir it, the whole time wanting to take some out and eat it.
That’s not what I do. As tempting as it is to just have a bowl, I know that doing so before it’s ready means that I’ll be eating an inferior bowl of soup. But I still have to smell it. And I’m hungry. It hasn’t reached its full maturity yet. It won’t be at it’s best until it cooks enough, so I have to deal with the smell and just let it be. This is difficult, since we live in an instant gratification world, but instant isn’t always better. And yet, it’s almost torturous to do nothing but stir my soup and do nothing else.
What is that, dear reader? You thought I was going to start talking about my faith despite suffering? You want to know what bean soup has to do with it? Don’t you see the analogy in it?
Much like bean soup, we will be changed. The bodies we have here on earth will pass away, but we will be given new ones. Bodies without defect, without disability, without suffering. How can I have faith even as my body rebels against me? Easy… this is only temporary.
In 2 Corinthians, Paul tells us, “we will not all sleep, but we will all be change—in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. The trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will all be changed.” This demonstrates my hope. Do I want to be healed of my Parkinson’s? There should no doubt to you, dear reader. I’m often jealous of those whose bodies work as they should. I can’t dwell there, though, because the promise is that this is only temporary, even though it will last the rest of my life here on earth. In the next verse, Paul continues, “the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, the mortal with the immortal.”
How do I, the mortal, clothe myself with the immortal? The answer is found in Christ’s sacrifice. Through that sacrifice, I can have communion with God. By the redemption brought by Christ crucified, I, the mortal, can clothe myself in the hope offered by God, the immortal. It is through faith, hope, and love that I find my strength. If I can’t have what I want in a body that doesn’t rebel, then I’ll just wait on the bean soup to be done.
The key to a good bean soup is to let it cook long enough with the ham shank. This allows the flavors from the bone to seep through the soup giving it a base of smoky ham flavor. It’s the final touch when it’s done that gives the soup a hearty, outstanding flavor and ranks it as one of the greatest cold weather meals of all time. (That, dear reader, is my own personal opinion, of course. The other thing that happens is the beans, as the liquid cooks down, thickens the water some. So it’s more like a stew than a soup, but we’ll still call it soup.
But there’s one problem that I have with bean soup; the process of making it. Once I’ve got everything together and in the pot, I have to let it cook. And, by the end of the first hour, the smell of the soup has wafted through the entire house. What’s the problem with this? Well, dear reader, the problem is that I have to smell it. It’s not that I hate the smell, far from it, in fact. It’s that I love the smell, and I get HUNGRY. I want at this point to just sneak a bowl of it. So I go into the kitchen, grab the spoon, and stir it, the whole time wanting to take some out and eat it.
That’s not what I do. As tempting as it is to just have a bowl, I know that doing so before it’s ready means that I’ll be eating an inferior bowl of soup. But I still have to smell it. And I’m hungry. It hasn’t reached its full maturity yet. It won’t be at it’s best until it cooks enough, so I have to deal with the smell and just let it be. This is difficult, since we live in an instant gratification world, but instant isn’t always better. And yet, it’s almost torturous to do nothing but stir my soup and do nothing else.
What is that, dear reader? You thought I was going to start talking about my faith despite suffering? You want to know what bean soup has to do with it? Don’t you see the analogy in it?
Much like bean soup, we will be changed. The bodies we have here on earth will pass away, but we will be given new ones. Bodies without defect, without disability, without suffering. How can I have faith even as my body rebels against me? Easy… this is only temporary.
In 2 Corinthians, Paul tells us, “we will not all sleep, but we will all be change—in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. The trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will all be changed.” This demonstrates my hope. Do I want to be healed of my Parkinson’s? There should no doubt to you, dear reader. I’m often jealous of those whose bodies work as they should. I can’t dwell there, though, because the promise is that this is only temporary, even though it will last the rest of my life here on earth. In the next verse, Paul continues, “the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, the mortal with the immortal.”
How do I, the mortal, clothe myself with the immortal? The answer is found in Christ’s sacrifice. Through that sacrifice, I can have communion with God. By the redemption brought by Christ crucified, I, the mortal, can clothe myself in the hope offered by God, the immortal. It is through faith, hope, and love that I find my strength. If I can’t have what I want in a body that doesn’t rebel, then I’ll just wait on the bean soup to be done.
Friday, October 22, 2010
A New Direction? We'll See
So the question is, how do I keep my faith with everything that’s going on? How do I keep joy when everything goes to hell? When I’m excellently stiff; when my hand is shaking like a leaf in a tornado; when I pull out my walking stick because I can’t stop leaning to the right and my knee wants to say “no” to walking every fifteen steps or so; how do I cry out to God instead of cursing his name?
As simple as the answer to these questions should be, the more I think about it, the more I realize that these are deep and rather difficult questions that actually bring to mind other questions that I first need to answer. Am I using this blog properly? God gave me a love of writing. Should I be using this blog as an inspiration to people? Better yet, should I be using this blog like one of those yellow flashing arrows you see in construction areas pointing to faith in Christ? Or should that arrow be neon, like the ones you see (forgive this analogy, dear reader) at strip clubs. Although, you’ve got to admit, that could be great fun. Just imagine it for a second. An arrow alternating between neon pink and neon green around the outside edges. This arrow is pointing straight toward the sky. On this arrow are words, also in neon, alternating between neon blue and neon purple. Instead of reading LIVE GIRLS XXX, it reads LIVING GOD +++.
What do you think, dear reader? Is that too offensive, or is it pretty much the sign (I love wordplay) that we humans need?
I considered another problem with taking this blog in that direction. I had to contemplate whether going there cramp my writing style on which some of you whom I have addressed as “dear reader” have given me some of the most wonderful compliments. I had to think whether my dry, sarcastic sense of humor would fit in with the subject of faith vs. trial. I just need to look to the sermons my wonderful rector gives. I love her dearly. This is a woman whom, if there is going to be grapes put down the back of someone’s shirt, she’s the most likely to be the instigator. Really, given my church in general, who says you can’t talk about faith and have fun with it at the same time?
Now that my rant is over, it’s back to the task at hand. Answering the question how can I call out to God when I’m suffering the most? PD is no joke. It sucks more than a Tim Taylor modified vacuum cleaner. If you don’t know what I’m talking about there, dear reader, refer to a nineties sitcom called “Home Improvement.” That’ll probably give you the best idea there. What I find rather amusing is that when my PD is at its worst, that’s when my faith is at its best. Crazy idea, isn’t it? Makes no sense. Common wisdom says that’s when I should be alienated from God. Common wisdom says I should be cursing God for causing this pain.
Or should I? Maybe, just maybe, there’s another angle to consider. Maybe God didn’t cause this suffering that I have. Maybe God didn’t cause any of the suffering in this world. What a thought, isn’t it?
Let’s take a look at the state of the world for a second. I’m going to use the NFL as an analogy. It is a culture not of what have you done for me lately, but what have you done for me in the past five minutes. It gets rather comical. Jon Gruden used to be the coach of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. He even coached them to a Super Bowl title. Five years later, he was fired. As I see it, any coach who coaches a Super Bowl winning team is a good one. Maybe it was the players and not the coach that made them into a losing team. The Raiders are worse. They’ve hired and fired more coaches in the past five years than anyone else.
That’s the state of the world, though. We’re taught, from a very early age, to look out for ourselves first, then everyone else after. Look at the divorce rate. What causes divorce? Most often it’s “he didn’t do this for me,” or “she didn’t do that for me.” Interesting, isn’t it? The focus of the people getting divorced was on themselves, not on the other person. Or how about the workplace? I can’t tell you how often I hear about how “this one doesn’t help me,” from one coworker, and then I have the other come up and say the same thing about the first one. My favorite is the coworker who runs around screaming how hard her assignment is and how she never has help, yet gets insulted when someone tries to help her. Did I miss something here? Holy crap! It really makes a person want to look at her and say, “get over yourself.”
To get back to my point, this is what we do with God. We say, “why should I follow God?” We say, “what has God done for me? Look, just look at my life.” We say, “God abandoned me, he doesn’t care.” Consider for a second, that it’s not about what God has done for you. Consider that maybe he isn’t the cause of all the suffering in the world. Consider that maybe God hasn’t abandoned us. Consider that, in reality, it is we who have abandoned God, and it was Christ Jesus who paid the price for our redemption. “The wages of sin is death,” Paul said. It was Christ, through suffering, who paid that price and won victory over the grave.
It’s not a promise of an easy life that Christ put out to us. The blessings we’re given cannot be measured in material objects. Some theology would have us believe that if we prayed for that huge house, or that fancy car, and sincerely believed we would get it, then we would. Some theology has reduced God to a vending machine. No wonder we ask what God has done for us.
The promise Christ gave us was a share in suffering. We live in a broken world. The apostle Paul spoke of a “thorn in his flesh” in second Corinthians. He said that he prayed for healing three times, and did not receive said healing. Some scholars believe that the thorn in the flesh was a lasting, lifelong, physical impairment like epilepsy. Yet, Paul did not curse, God. He preached all the more. He used his suffering as an inspiration to other believers in staying strong in their faith. He also said in that same book, “when I am weak, that’s when he is strong.”
I look at this post, and realize I have not even begun to answer the questions set forth at the beginning of it. So I’ll continue on. Maybe I’ll even find room for some sarcastic wit a good bit of the time. I like humor. It makes me laugh.
As simple as the answer to these questions should be, the more I think about it, the more I realize that these are deep and rather difficult questions that actually bring to mind other questions that I first need to answer. Am I using this blog properly? God gave me a love of writing. Should I be using this blog as an inspiration to people? Better yet, should I be using this blog like one of those yellow flashing arrows you see in construction areas pointing to faith in Christ? Or should that arrow be neon, like the ones you see (forgive this analogy, dear reader) at strip clubs. Although, you’ve got to admit, that could be great fun. Just imagine it for a second. An arrow alternating between neon pink and neon green around the outside edges. This arrow is pointing straight toward the sky. On this arrow are words, also in neon, alternating between neon blue and neon purple. Instead of reading LIVE GIRLS XXX, it reads LIVING GOD +++.
What do you think, dear reader? Is that too offensive, or is it pretty much the sign (I love wordplay) that we humans need?
I considered another problem with taking this blog in that direction. I had to contemplate whether going there cramp my writing style on which some of you whom I have addressed as “dear reader” have given me some of the most wonderful compliments. I had to think whether my dry, sarcastic sense of humor would fit in with the subject of faith vs. trial. I just need to look to the sermons my wonderful rector gives. I love her dearly. This is a woman whom, if there is going to be grapes put down the back of someone’s shirt, she’s the most likely to be the instigator. Really, given my church in general, who says you can’t talk about faith and have fun with it at the same time?
Now that my rant is over, it’s back to the task at hand. Answering the question how can I call out to God when I’m suffering the most? PD is no joke. It sucks more than a Tim Taylor modified vacuum cleaner. If you don’t know what I’m talking about there, dear reader, refer to a nineties sitcom called “Home Improvement.” That’ll probably give you the best idea there. What I find rather amusing is that when my PD is at its worst, that’s when my faith is at its best. Crazy idea, isn’t it? Makes no sense. Common wisdom says that’s when I should be alienated from God. Common wisdom says I should be cursing God for causing this pain.
Or should I? Maybe, just maybe, there’s another angle to consider. Maybe God didn’t cause this suffering that I have. Maybe God didn’t cause any of the suffering in this world. What a thought, isn’t it?
Let’s take a look at the state of the world for a second. I’m going to use the NFL as an analogy. It is a culture not of what have you done for me lately, but what have you done for me in the past five minutes. It gets rather comical. Jon Gruden used to be the coach of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. He even coached them to a Super Bowl title. Five years later, he was fired. As I see it, any coach who coaches a Super Bowl winning team is a good one. Maybe it was the players and not the coach that made them into a losing team. The Raiders are worse. They’ve hired and fired more coaches in the past five years than anyone else.
That’s the state of the world, though. We’re taught, from a very early age, to look out for ourselves first, then everyone else after. Look at the divorce rate. What causes divorce? Most often it’s “he didn’t do this for me,” or “she didn’t do that for me.” Interesting, isn’t it? The focus of the people getting divorced was on themselves, not on the other person. Or how about the workplace? I can’t tell you how often I hear about how “this one doesn’t help me,” from one coworker, and then I have the other come up and say the same thing about the first one. My favorite is the coworker who runs around screaming how hard her assignment is and how she never has help, yet gets insulted when someone tries to help her. Did I miss something here? Holy crap! It really makes a person want to look at her and say, “get over yourself.”
To get back to my point, this is what we do with God. We say, “why should I follow God?” We say, “what has God done for me? Look, just look at my life.” We say, “God abandoned me, he doesn’t care.” Consider for a second, that it’s not about what God has done for you. Consider that maybe he isn’t the cause of all the suffering in the world. Consider that maybe God hasn’t abandoned us. Consider that, in reality, it is we who have abandoned God, and it was Christ Jesus who paid the price for our redemption. “The wages of sin is death,” Paul said. It was Christ, through suffering, who paid that price and won victory over the grave.
It’s not a promise of an easy life that Christ put out to us. The blessings we’re given cannot be measured in material objects. Some theology would have us believe that if we prayed for that huge house, or that fancy car, and sincerely believed we would get it, then we would. Some theology has reduced God to a vending machine. No wonder we ask what God has done for us.
The promise Christ gave us was a share in suffering. We live in a broken world. The apostle Paul spoke of a “thorn in his flesh” in second Corinthians. He said that he prayed for healing three times, and did not receive said healing. Some scholars believe that the thorn in the flesh was a lasting, lifelong, physical impairment like epilepsy. Yet, Paul did not curse, God. He preached all the more. He used his suffering as an inspiration to other believers in staying strong in their faith. He also said in that same book, “when I am weak, that’s when he is strong.”
I look at this post, and realize I have not even begun to answer the questions set forth at the beginning of it. So I’ll continue on. Maybe I’ll even find room for some sarcastic wit a good bit of the time. I like humor. It makes me laugh.
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