Is it either/or or both/and?

Buster’s barking wakes me and compels me to rise.  It is his “I’m going to bark until you come check this out” bark–a bark with a distinct seriousness to it that cannot, in good conscience, be ignored.  Basset hounds are vocal–howling and senseless barking are integral to their make-up, yet this particular bark is “other”, it demands action from the hearer.  It is an alarm that persists til one addresses the issue.

Shaking off sleep, I hear him but it doesn’t compute.  You see, Buster has been dead for six months.  It cannot be him.  With eyes open and wits about me, I realize I heard him in that in-between sleep and awake place.  Somehow I know it is a spiritual summons, a divine door-knock to get up and take a walk.

Before heading out the door, I go downstairs to peek in on my sleeping daughter.  Soon to be 18, she rustles when I enter and mutters something about getting up–she needs to be somewhere soon.  About to ascend the steps I hear a strange mewing from our cat.  Crouched before the sliding glass patio door he is intent on something outside.  Joining him, I see it.  A huge snapping turtle is ten feet from the door in our patio’s concrete sunken fire pit.  It looks like he tried to burrow in the pit, for he has fire pit muck on his back.  There isn’t nearly enough muck present, though, for a respectable burial.   He resembles a kid who splashes in a puddle, but only accumulates a few splatters.    He is a good fit for the pit, just about the right size for comfort, a proper bed for a snapping turtle, I’d say.  He sees us, extends limbs and begins to ponder lumbering up and out.  I call to Emily and we gingerly exit the patio door for closer viewing.  The turtle barely moves–he stays outside his shell, head raised looking us keenly in the eye.  Silently, in that vacant stare, I hear God’s message.  It is “wisdom”. The walk will yield wisdom…

The turtle waits us out and wins–after a few minutes we are sufficiently bored.  Emily scurries to shower, I to my walk.

I tread a beautiful three-mile stretch of tree-lined, winding road flanked by well-manicured lake homes.  The day, Memorial Day, is perfect.  The sun shines, the breeze is mild, the neighborhood sounds are still asleep.  I take in the beauty and fresh air and reflect: these days are mixed with joy, celebration, grief and pain.  Emily’s birthday and graduation quickly approach; Charlie–our son–soon visits for a week; sorrow, anger and loss surface in the face of trials I cannot name here.  It is a mixed bag replete with mixed feelings–I vacillate with them, feeling torn apart, yet trying to stay in one piece for the sake of others.

About half way through, railroad lights flash, bells sound, arms descend.  Unable to pass, I stop and watch the train slowly saunter by–whiz by it wouldn’t.  Looking down the track, there is no caboose in sight–it will be awhile…I look around.  I see it.  Just on the other side of the tracks looms a huge dead tree (pictured above).  It bursts into the sky with barren, gnarled fingers.  Contrasting sharply with its lush and leafy neighbors, I sorrow at its plight: surrounded by spring’s life-burst, it sprouts only death.

With train passed and arms up, I cross over and take a closer look.  Surprised, I see the tree isn’t dead.  Much of the surrounding green is its own–strong leafy limbs loop its unsightly center.  It has life, it gives life–only the most visible part of it is lifeless.

I hear Buster’s bark, see the turtle’s gaze and then He whispers it: the big, death-dealing deeds we perpetrate aren’t all that is.   The gnarled, lifeless places in our life may be all others choose to see, especially when our dead places cause considerable pain.  But it isn’t so.  The kindnesses, the joys, the places where Life gets to bud are not nullified by wrongdoing.  We choose either/or thinking…either they’re good or they’re not and make our judgments based on what is most apparent–the best or worst we can see.  Like an inmate surrounded by saints, I thought the tree was dead and those surrounding it were alive. But, like this tree, it is both/and.  We all do good and evil–all saints sin, all sinners sacrifice.  Evil comes in many forms and some carries more pain than others, yet God’s good done through us cannot be canceled by our sin.  Only in our hearts, where we harbor unforgiveness and judgment, do we try to make it true…a lifeless dark effort, sure to sprout its own dead limbs.

As I peck at the keyboard, I recall souls found in the Bible who exhibit this truth: David, who not only committed adultery and murder and looked the other way when his son raped his daughter, but who also slew Goliath and saved his nation from defeat–same person; the apostle Paul, not only died a martyr but martyred Saint Stephen–same person; Judas who not only evangelized, exorcised demons and healed people (Luke 9) but also betrayed Jesus and committed suicide–same person.  Do the terrible sins committed by these souls nullify the good they did?  Can we see them as life-givers and life-takers all in the same breath?  Can we do as much with those who hurt us?  Can we do as much with ourselves?

I hope the next time I see a Jeffrey Dahmer, a Hitler or even look in the mirror, I’ll remember Buster, the turtle, the tree and God’s whispered wisdom.

Screaming Bloody Murder

(Emily, with her brother, Charlie, a few months after the surgery.  Think she has chicken pox in this picture :)

A friend’s circumstance triggered a memory today, a truly gut-wrenching memory.

When our daughter, Emily, was 2 1/2 years old she had to have surgery on her bladder and kidney.  Surprisingly she was compliant and accepting of the whole process.  Before surgery the hospital staff introduced her to a sample oxygen mask, which she played with and accepted happily when it was put on for real.  Her new “nightie” with the ties in the back wasn’t so much as blinked at.  Without struggle she let me hold her and sing a lullaby as that oxygen mask with the anesthesia in it put her to sleep (I may never forget that moment in time…so precious, so hard). 

The surgery was a success, doctors were confident she’d be home in no time.  A bit cranky after surgery, she started exhibiting the spunk we thought she’d forgotten about.  Overall though, she was an angel.  It was as if she knew this was big stuff and that going with the flow would only help her feel better. 

There was one exception to this rule.  Every four hours the medical team came in and catheterized her.  She wasn’t allowed to go home until her bladder was working, so we’d pump her full of fluids and wait…and wait.  For days nothing happened, her bladder didn’t recover from the trauma of  the surgery as soon as they’d hoped.  So  six times a day, in came the team…a visit we soon began to dread.  Emily, our spunky toddler, absolutely hated their visits.  She kicked and screamed bloody murder whenever they came.  She didn’t scream like a little kid not wanting to do something, she screamed as if someone were violating her.  It was the most horrible thing imaginable…I hurt for mothers around the world who hear their child’s scream when true violation is occurring.  Few things can be more horrible…

After the first few catheter team visits (they always came with a big strong male nurse to hold her down) Emily’s roommate disappeared and no roommate moved in.  The team always closed the door after them (during her final catheterizations they wheeled her to a sound proof room).  What did I do?  I helped hold her down and hovered over that sweet face.  I looked deep into those beautiful blazing eyes with all the love I had in me and tried to soothe her, tried to console her.  Even though we explained things to her she couldn’t understand, she was too young.  She didn’t realize that they were trying to help her, she only knew the pain and the humiliation.  She was angry and wasn’t going to give in.  No matter the time of day a full kicking and screaming fight she delivered til they exited with a full urine bag.  Every four hours….I about died in that children’s hospital…it was so incredibly hard.

As I reflect, I wonder if God doesn’t have moments like mine.  I wonder if, like Emily in the hospital, we find ourselves in so much pain and humiliation, so much anger and fear that we spiritually scream bloody murder.  Betrayal, violation or assault visit us and we kick and scream unable to see what God sees.  Yes, I think God may be very close in those times when we hurt the most, when we cannot understand why.  Maybe He is so close that He is right over us trying to console us, trying to placate our fears, trying to let us know we’re safe anyway, that we’ll be ok. 

After many incredibly long days we took Emily home with a catheter in.  Insurance dictated that time was up so the doctors sent us home assuring us her bladder would start working with more time.  A couple of weeks later we took out the catheter.  I’ve never been so excited to see a wet diaper in my life.  The ordeal was over, she was healed.  I’ve never heard her scream like that since and forever I am grateful…forever I am grateful…

Glass Guy

 

I’ve retreated to the basement as the glass repair guys are coming to replace a broken pane of glass upstairs. It broke in December (as I was blogging about baking bread…I remember it well), but only the outside pane broke (it is a double paned window–we have those in MN where the weather goes from one extreme to the next), so it hasn’t been a huge ‘must fix’ as we’re still protected from the winter air by the one, unbroken pane. Today is the day, though…after a month of rescheduling due to varying reasons, they are on their way with a new pane.

There is an old saying that our eyes are the windows to our souls…that when people look in, our eyes reveal what is really at the depth of our being. People’s eyes do reveal a lot, don’t they? Some are friendly, some are clouded with worry, some are stricken with fear, some emit smiling compassion, some sag with sorrow. All have panes, all carry a barrier between what is inside and what is outside. Safe and sound inside, we look out and see the world, see each other.

They’re here now, removing and replacing. Soon we’ll have a new window. Oh, I must say I’ve encountered one exception to the rule of paned eyes. I met her once, or better yet I shared a meeting with her (I don’t think I actually met her). She has no barrier between her and others. It looks like her windows are open, that one could literally enter her through her eyes. It was kinda freakish and caught me off guard….I’ve never seen it in anyone else before. I don’t know what to say other than I think she may be void of fear, she must feel safe enough to have her windows open, that she must feel safe in her vulnerability. Or maybe she realizes on a deep level the truth that we can’t secure our own safety, that our safety is in God alone. Hence her windows are open, she is vulnerable and completely at the mercy of God and His protection, willing to forgo the energy it takes to protect herself and use that energy to help others (for she is heavy into helping others).

How many of us can say that? Like I said, I think it is ultra rare. We can act fearless, face fear and ask God to free us from fear, but to actually be without it, or at least be willing to live openly anyway trusting His protection alone requires quite a profound level of wisdom, if you ask me.

Ladder on the outside, ladder on the inside, the two workers are carefully removing the broken pane. Broken panes happen a lot, don’t they? You can see as much in the eyes of someone who has been recently violated. Eyes shift, they are broken and in pieces…their eyes tell the tale and sometimes they say as much for years and years. Brokenness doesn’t heal unless someone (Someone) is invited to come and remove the shards and restore the view. Often enough Someone isn’t invited and the broken pane gets a shade or curtain, is covered over by unawareness or denial…a dim, cozy place is created inside that feels safe enough to move around in without so much pain/so much splintered glass. Sight is restricted but we’re willing to forgo sight for comfort. Many live like this til they die.

And then there are those rare occasions where we encounter someone and we enter each other through our eyes. Eyes lock and we enter the other…nothing is seen, just known. I don’t know how else to explain this, but I’ve had it happen a few times and it is bloody well unnerving. I couldn’t make it happen if I wanted to and it is surely not something I’ve ever sought…it just happens unexpectedly and then I have to choose how to respond. I have to discern why. I pray for wisdom and ask for guidance. My track record is mixed, for these relationships have been some of the most challenging relationships of my life, but also some of the most growth-filled. (i.e. my husband….If I shirk from looking you in the eye, know you know why). Ideally, I invite God smack dab into the center of this kind of ‘new’ relationship and somehow trust that He can be trusted to lead. Unlike the lady mentioned above, fear is usually fully present (I’m double paned, at the very least :-) for I figure God has a reason for this encounter that is in keeping with His will, and I trust God about as far as I can throw Him…(I wish I were kidding here…)

Installation of the new pane is ahappenin’. Gentle hammering and sealant being applied. Soon our brokenness will be taken care of, soon we’ll see without shards distorting our view. Kinda like Jesus, our workmen are. Removing the brokenness, restoring the view, replacing what has been shattered with what is whole.

I’ll be paying them soon, a portion of what my husband earns. Conversely, though, Jesus gave His life to heal our brokenness, to restore our view, replace our shattered panes. The One who restores sight also gave His life to be able to bring us that healing. All we need to do is say ‘yes’, all we need to do is invite Him in and ask Him to make us whole. Then, get out of the way (I’m in the basement), and let Him work…no micromanagement allowed…just slows things down. I hear He knows what He is doing…I guess He’s quite the glass guy.

(Contemplation update: am doing 4-5 times a week. Time in prayer is lovely and often I have sensation at the top of my head–sometimes more generalized sensation, sometimes more focused. I surrender and lift my soul, spirit/not sure which. In life I’m finding myself moving more in the Spirit like today I turned into the magazine aisle at the grocery store without knowing why or realizing I was even doing it until I was there, and there it was, a magazine with an article which is heavily related to my husband’s work. I know he’ll be fascinated and I have a strong hunch God wants him to see it…)