Ancient Fears

He sits alone.

He has for the last 3 days.

He never asks for much but people like him never do.

He has taken care of himself for the last eighty plus years. It isn’t in him to ask for help, which is probably why he sits here now in a wheelchair after his second fall in less than six months that required a surgical repair.

He tries to be strong but you can see it in his eyes.

Fear

Sadness

Loss

He is worried the Mrs. won’t want him back home. She has said as much. Joking, I think. I hope. Yet, he sits alone, again. So, I am not so sure she was laughing.

In him I see what I fear, loneliness and loss in my ancient years. It’s the blight that infertility has left on my spirit.

Don’t get me wrong, I am realistic enough to know that children aren’t a magical guarantee against loneliness. Nevertheless, an empty quiver provides no protection at all.

In this meeting, I am confronted with what I do not want to encounter. Not now. Not here. Not with a stranger. So, I avoid. This moment is not about me. It is about him.

We sit.

He tries to talk. I can tell it isn’t easy. Not for him. Not for me.

His chin quivers as he weakly smiles through jagged teeth. He speaks, hesitantly and softly, “Today ---(sniff) ---is ---- our 59th --- wedding -- anniversary.” Quickly, he looks away. So, must I. Neither one of us can see the others tears.

His for what he is missing now - the fears of an ancient.

Me for what his missing means – my ancient fears.

Call it Christian or Call it Life?

Apparently, it was a rather impassioned discussion, as most are when focused on religion and beliefs. I am glad that I missed it. It would appear, from what I have heard I would have been in the minority – my faith and me. I am not good on the defense. Honestly, I am slow on the offense too. I don’t do well when a quick reply is needed. I am one who needs to ponder my response. Maybe that is why I write, time affords me a better argument. Usually, that is.

From what I have been told, it all began with the statement that a person didn’t want to participate in a medical mission unless it was “Christian”. Red flags started to fly and emotions began to drive the wind.

If this is not a “Christian” mission, does that deem it any less compassionate and worthy? If we call it a “Christian” mission does that mean we will “bible thump” and attempt to convert those we encounter? If that is the case, wouldn’t those we help then feel obligated to participate and isn’t that wrong? With each question, passion rose.

The one who stipulated such nomenclature to this already laudable cause wasn’t there to state his case. So it was easy to attack his proviso. Religion and its expression will always provide a worthy battleground.

I have to admit that on previous medical missions I have hungered for more – more of Christ. At one point, I even considered that I too, would prefer a “Christian” mission over traveling once again with this cause. I have told you I am one to contemplate. Time has given me grace between trips to consider this cause and my desires. My reflection has been a peeling back of thought and heart. I wonder if what I have considered is what our stipulator has thought.

Our world today is one to compartmentalize Christ. Sunday is acceptable. Church is tolerable. Living Christ is questionable. Christians have much to blame for this. We don’t live Christ well. We haven’t been good ambassadors. Nor have we been good warriors for the Cause. We have allowed ourselves to be set apart and not in a holy way. Instead, we isolate ourselves to our own. We stay safe.

Could it be that this one who requires a label to be placed upon the cause is looking for safety? I am not so sure. Rather, might it be permission. An agreement of sorts to live what he believes, freely offer to others what he has been given. That is what I would hope. Yet, therein lies the concern. How freely does he give? How freely would those receive?

I have come to a place where the words of St. Francis resound within my heart, “Preach always. If necessary use words.” As one who loves words, it isn’t an easy lesson to embrace. I, like most others, often speak it better than I live it. Does a label change the grace that happens? I don’t think so. Words are empty vessels unless followed by demonstrable acts. Life is to be lived. Grace is to be given.

If I confess Christ, my life in its totality is a mission, a Christian mission. I am not to be compartmentalized. I am not to be safe but to be Christ to those I come in contact with every moment of every day. Wise are the words of St. Vincent Pallotti, “Remember that the Christian life is one of action; not of speech and daydreams.”

I choose to be the Christian whether the cause is labeled Christian or not.

And the winner is....

I am feeling like I need a drumroll but considering the early hour it is probably a good thing I don't have one (drum, that is). So without further delay....

The winner is:

Laura at the Wellblog

Congratulations Laura!

And a big Thank You to all who visit my humble bloggy home and leave such sweet comments! I am looking forward to the next 100 posts!

Shalom!

Too many words

Some days the writing comes easy and others, not so much. Today, for whatever reason, is a not so much moment.

Believe me, there are words within me hungering for a voice. Instead of being void of words, I have too many. The difficulty lies in choosing those most worthy of utterance. Some days, the decision is too difficult.

Please don’t misunderstand. It has taken me 40+ years to get to the point I realize much of what I have to say doesn’t matter or more importantly, should never pass from thought to expression. Hesitation has been a difficult task to manage when creating thought to words. More often than not, I am wishing for a magic eraser to remove that which was articulated in haste. To avoid that necessity today, I am choosing to stop trying to say something and instead, be something.

Be still and know that He is God.




Don't forget...you still have a chance to win just leave a comment from now until midnight tonight. I will post the winner tomorrow. If you want, you can check out the gifty here....100th Post Giveaway

Lessons from a flower bed

It has been a long time coming, this meeting of toil and soil. I have not yearned for this coming together of things much neglected. Rarely do I pine for such wearisome tasks but my apparent abandonment of this meager plot of earth had not gone unnoticed.

The unwanted and unwelcomed were waiting expectantly. Without hesitation they eagerly wedded their roots to this dirt. Deep and broad they established their claim. Unbridled their sprouting thrived and choked out the beauty that at one point called this place home. Now, however, it can be hidden no longer. The sparse and gray of winter has given way. This springtime sun exposes what woefully has been ignored. It cries out for restoration to its former beauty. It demands to be noticed.

It is a burdensome task to winnow out the undesirable. They are a contrary lot. Stubborn and uncompromising they stake their claim. On my knees, one by one, I attempt to extricate them from this hallowed ground. It is then when root meets air and dirt falls back to the earth, truth is exposed and my heart grows tender.

For in this common task of weeding a flower bed, I come face to face with the necessary chore of sifting my own heart of the unwelcomed and unwanted. In my indifference and pride, roots have been established that must be removed – wholly and completely plucked from their claim. Much like the earth of my flower bed, my heart soil cries for restoration - a cry that cannot nor should not be ignored.



Don't forget...you still have a chance to win just leave a comment between now and Wednesday. You can check out the gifty here....100th Post Giveaway