Life is unfair!

I got a tough call late this afternoon. I was informed that a very good friend of mine has stage four lung cancer. It was horrible news to get. She is one of the nicest people I know. She is beautiful both inside and out. She has a great husband and three small children. She doesn’t deserve this.

Life is just unfair. In our busy lives of attempting to get ahead, we have the false belief that we control our lives. When it comes right down to it, we have little control over what happens to us. It is an illusion. A diagnosis, like a slap, wakes us up from our stupor, revealing what we really control: our response to the information. When life is stripped down to the basics that is all it boils down to.

So they choose to fight. Her mom said it best. “When you combine God with medicine, wonderful things can happen.

Fight, my friend! We will be praying for you, sending you our love and best wishes, and anything else we can do to supply the courage to keep fighting.

Penis on the path

Some naughty person with spray paint left their mark. As I gazed down on this modern day hieroglyphic, I pondered what it meant. Did this person try to articulate that he had a penis, or a graffiti Christmas list from someone hoping she would get a penis? Are they part of the PEN-15 club?

Looking at the position of the penis, it appears to be flaccid. What does that say about their belief about potency or power?

This mystery message is cryptic. I understand gang tags, and the “f*** the police” graffiti, but I must admit, this makes no sense. I wonder if it is a sign, for a gang called “the Penises”. My mind went a little off kilter, wondering if there was also a “Vagina gang”, who would fight the “Penis Gang” late into the night, producing young gangs months later? Enough. This is idiotic.

The point here is that I leave signs attempting to define myself. Some of these signs are misunderstood. I believe I am being clear, because it makes sense in my own mind, but other people may be confused. Sometimes I don’t even know why I define myself the way I do. Sometimes past hurts and scars have their way with me, and I send out signals that muddy the waters even more.

I don’t know why the person left the sign on the path. Maybe it was significant. Perhaps that was all that came into a person’s mind when maliciousness was upon them. Maybe it was a cry for help… “help, help, I’m flaccid and I can’t get up!”… Sorry. Maybe it was a child just trying to say something sexual. Whatever the reason, it makes no sense and the symbol remains cryptic.

As you read this, you may be puzzled as to why I even brought this topic up. I guess I thought there was material for a blog, I’m not sure I know why. Maybe I just wanted to use the word “penis” in a blog. Viva the Mystery!

Listen if you dare!

Someone shared her frustration over sending an e-mail at work about the lack of effective communication. What she got back was e-mails about who's job it was to do what, not addressing the concerns that the employee had. When I suggested that she write "I rest my case" she laughed and said she thought that would be fun, but the problem goes pretty far up the chain, and she would not be viewed in a positive light. She vented and then she left, and as far as I know, the communication is still lacking. The e-mails had the desired effect of silencing her.

As I was heading to class, someone in the learning center was talking on and on about nothing of substance. He loves to hear himself talk. I looked in to see who was staffing the lab. The instructor there had her head buried deep in her work and looked oblivious to the steady stream of verbiage going on. No one told him to stop, he was just made irrelevant, by ignoring him

We struggle to listen. Listening may reveal parts that we don’t want to admit about ourselves. As long as we fill the room with our voice, we don’t have to hear the critique of others. Talking silences the critic.

The departure of wonder

On the lawn in front of me was a light sabre, some inattentive child had dropped and lost interest in. I had an impulsive desire to grab the lightsaber and cut the foes of the rebellion to ribbons. Only an impulse. I walked by.

I could have picked up the lightsaber to fight invisible enemies. But I am a middle age adult. We don't do that. Besides I know there is no unseen enemy that would respond to that threat. And it feels just plain silly.

As a child, wonder was a part of my daily life. Now it's getting as stiff as my back when I stand after sitting for a while. It's hard to be inspired by rhetoric anymore, because that is what I feel it is. I listen to politicians attempting to inspire, I listen to music that attempts to move me, I sit in church and see those around me raising their hands in worship. Mine stays stoically by my side. I'm suspicious of wonder these days.

When wonder gets up and leaves the room, it is usually cynicism that hurries to sit in the chair. And once it sits, it is very difficult to get the chair back again.

The blessing of slugs

On my walk today I noticed glittering threads woven on the walking path. As I investigated, I saw that there were slugs at the end of each thread. Small, dark, fleshy. I had inadvertantly stepped on a few in my haste to complete my walk. They looked disqusting. Yet behind them, they left a trail of silver that shone in the sunlight. Some paths were straight, some meandered, and some looped. They didn't look like they are even moving, but the silver threads disputed that.

I have wandered through much of my life, trying to move forward. Along the way I have left a trail of something. I don't always see the good, but happily, when the Son shines on it, even if I am just a slug, He makes it a beautiful path. Joy, and sadness, success, and failure. He has the ability to illuminate the goodness and purpose that have comprised my life.