Do We Need a "Spiritual Covering?"

I am sorry to have been distracted from many things that deeply matter to me--so much so that writing here has slowed to a crawl.  I hope to be back soon.  Ken is going to Mayo at the end of the month, and we continue to seek answers. 

Meanwhile, I know of a ordained women who had expressed interest in being the senior pastor of a church not far from here.  She is qualified and gifted.  Apparently the search committee felt so as well, but expressed sadness that since her husband was not a minister he could not be her covering and thus the senior pastor position was closed to her. 

And just last week I read an article about Rev. Jack Hayford, someone I admire. He is a church leader whom many in the Pentecostal/Charimatic part of the Church could emulate.  It was a great article, except for when the author (who should know better) referred to the man being honored as "our spiritual covering."  He was speaking of how Hayford had long been a trusted mentor and advisor for him and his wife.  That is a good thing.  Thinking we need a "spiritual covering" is not. 

May I recommend this article by Gay Anderson?  It is from "God's Word to Women" and was written 13 years ago.  I would have thought it was no longer an issue.  Apparently it still is for many people.

DO WE NEED A "COVERING?"

 

It all began in the Garden of Eden. As we look upon the two fallen ones, gripped by the guilt of sin, and faced with a broken relationship with the Creator God, we declare: How great was the fall of man! The consequences of disobedience are in full view, for we see Adam and Eve attempting to hide and to cover themselves with fig leaves. They had lost their covering! Created in His image after His likeness, spirit people covered in his glory, filled with His power, shining in the likeness of His person--holy, but now, they stand in a covering produced by their own hands. The candle of man, his spirit, has been snuffed out. The likeness in which they were created is tarnished, no longer holy--Ichabod! The glory of the Lord is departed! What deception to ever imagine they could provide a sufficient covering for their sin!

We see the heart of a loving God reaching down, coming to make provision for the highest of His creation. The Adamic Covenant is the covenant God made with Adam and Eve after the entrance of sin. Here they lost their relationship with God, corrupted their character, lost the dominion they had been given, and caused their children to come under the dominion of sin and death. (I Cor.15:45-49 and Romans 5:12). Their merciful Creator came to reveal His provision and to restore that which was lost. Often called the "book of beginnings," Genesis is the beginning of the covenants of a redeeming God.

What a forgiving God, coming to provide the way back to Himself! He slays the animal and makes coats of skin to cover Adam and Eve's nakedness. No man-made covering could meet the demands of a holy God. Man could never provide an acceptable covering for his sin. The blood of an innocent animal was slain, which introduces a substitutionary death to cover man's sinfulness. This covenant sacrifice was the first of all blood sacrifices for fallen man and pointed to the New Covenant sacrifice at Calvary-- the body and blood of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Within the Body of Christ today a doctrine has crept in, teaching that we all need a "covering" in order to minister in our gifts and callings. The question is continually set before us," Who is your covering, and under whose authority are you?" Again, "To whom are you accountable?" Indeed, we all must be accountable, but that is specifically and initially to the Lord Jesus Christ, who causes us to walk in the light as He is in the light. Shouldn't our response be that the blood of the Lamb covers us? Men without a covering are labeled rebels having "Ahab" spirits. Likewise, women are instantly placed in the "Jezebel Camp" with all the unsubmissive, controlling, manipulative and usurping ones possessed by a Jezebel spirit. What a sad estate.

In Exodus 26:15, 29 and Exodus 36:20, 34, Moses is told to overlay (cover) (1) the boards of shittim wood in the tabernacle with pure gold. Is that not what Jesus did for us when He grafted us into Him and we became living stones in the temple of the living God? Wood is a type of humanity. The gold suggests that God covers (clothes) us with His own nature. Surely we are made partakers of His divine nature and are clothed, covered in His righteousness. When a principle is established in Scripture, why must we succumb to a doctrine of man, which Jesus hated? (Revelation 2:6,15)

When Aaron and his sons were called by God to the Levitical priesthood, they were commanded to wear white linen trunks to cover their nakedness. (Exodus 28). Now, we see the final and last priesthood, which is the Church of Jesus Christ! In Revelation 19:8, His bride is clothed and covered in fine (radiant) linen--dazzling and white, for the fine linen is. . .the righteous deeds of the saints. Ephesians 2:10 tells us these deeds (works) were prepared for us (by God Himself) to walk in before the foundation of the world was laid. Tell me, where did the idea ever come from that we need any covering other than the Lord Jesus Christ Who called, covered, confirmed, ordained, sanctified and commissioned every believer to be His representative king and priest on this earth?

One isolated passage in I Corinthians 11:5-6, which was and is based on Jewish law,

5. But every woman who has her head uncovered while praying or prophesying disgraces her head; for she is one and the same with her whose head is shaved. 6. For id a woman does not cover her head, let her also have her hair cut off; but if it is disgraceful for a woman to have her hair cut off or her head shaved, let her cover her head. 1 Cor. 11:5-6 NAS

will not suffice for those who have become sons and daughters of the free woman.(2) In Galatians 4: 21, Paul asks: "Tell me, you who are bent on being under the Law, will you listen to what the Law (really) says?" Read on and savor what Calvary purchased for every blood-bought child of God! The Apostle Paul wrote the church in Corinth that he did not come to take dominion over anyone's faith (II Corinthians 1:24). Many saints have been hindered by false teachings on covering and have not been permitted to go forth into the work of the ministry. God forgive and set us on a new path of liberty in His Spirit.

God's word to Moses in Exodus 33:22 reads: "And while My glory passes by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and will cover you with My hand until I have passed by." The word cover here signifies: to cover over, to protect, defend, hedge in. God covered the tent or tabernacle (Ex. 40:34) with a cloud, which was His very Presence. In Psalm 91:4, the Lord's care, protection and love flows out as He promises to cover His people with His feathers. Psalm 105:39 tells us He spread a cloud (His presence) for a covering.

Tracing and highlighting the words cover, covered, covereth, covering in the scripture, God, the Almighty, reveals Himself as The One Who covers. Our Lord Jesus Christ is our covering, and His presence in, upon and over all believers is sufficient in every respect. The blood covering provided for every believer, whether Jew, Greek, slave, free, male or female, far surpasses the blood of bulls and goats, which only covered sin in the Old Testament. But now, the blood of Jesus does more than cover. It completely washes all our sin away.

Beloved of the Lord, male or female, we must return to Biblical foundations.

Jesus said, "And when one is fully taught, he will be like his teacher." Who do we want to be like? Do we wish to be like a person or institution that takes the place of Jesus, or to become like Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit resident within us?

Some years ago, I chose to receive the Lord Jesus Christ as my complete COVERING. May I share with you how the Lord brought me under His covering? For many years I taught Bible studies in my home and in the church. I'm sorry to say that I taught a mixture of God's Word and the doctrine of men. A deep desire to please my husband and those who were supposedly my covering brought me to the realization I was walking in a futile attempt to serve two masters.

Once I was invited to teach in a church. When I approached the pastor, who was our covering in a home Bible Study group, he saw no problem in my going provided my husband went along to be my covering. My husband said he felt no responsibility for that church and declined to go. Therefore, I told the church I could not come. Needless to say, the Spirit of God within me was deeply grieved, and I began to seek the Lord for His wisdom and light. This hunger to know truth began to expose the error and bondage in which I walked. How lovingly and gently He showed me Covenant love and that He alone is my covering.

I heard my Lord, my covering, ask clearly and distinctly, "Who called you to teach?" My response was, "Lord, You did." He replied, "Then go teach." That is exactly what I've done ever since in total liberty and joy! My soul escaped out of the snare of the fowler. I had to follow up with those to whom I had taught error through the years and ask their forgiveness. I removed a number of books and articles from my home and never embraced or taught from them again.

Knowing that He has called and overshadowed us with His mighty love, that He alone is our covering, and that He has set us under His holy name to give account to Him, let us walk in the liberty of the wonderful COVERING of His presence devoid of all flesh.
_______________

1. In Hebrew, more than one word is used for "cover." The word used here is defined in Strong's Exhaustive Concordance as: fill up hollows, to cover (for clothing or secrecy), clad self, close, clothe, conceal, cover self, flee to hide, overwhelm.

2. See Galatians 4:21-31.

Ken's Ordeal Part 5: Waiting

If you wan to start at the beginning, click the link labelled "Ken's Ordeal" at the bottom of this post or in the sidebar, and scroll down.

There were many good, and likely life-saving results of the discovery and removal of the pheo and one of Ken's adrenal glands.  His blood sugars have stabilized.  His blood pressure is on the low side.  His heart tests are all normal.  There are no more "episodes."  The surgeon was pleased with Ken's "numbers" when he saw him.  He had no explanation for the pain, continued weakness, and so on.  He said, "I don't think it was due to the pheo.  You not only had fleas, you had fleas and ticks.  They just showed up at the same time.  I hope someone can discover what else is wrong." 

So the attempts to find a diagnosis continued. Some things that have happened are just too personal or painful to share on the Internet.  The last three months have become blurry in my mind.  There have been so many doctors appointments and so many tests that it is all starting to run together.  Some of the things I recall:

The visit to the original orthopedic surgeon, the one who had suggested the "back cement back in early January.  He said, "I'm so sorry, Ken, but in order for it to do any good, that surgery would have had to be done a month ago, and of course, we couldn't do it until the tumor came out.  It is too late now."  He did not recommend a fusion.  He is a remarkable doctor, and has been the most involved and aggressive (in a good way) of all the doctors Ken has seen.  He ran multiple tests looking for anything that seemed remotely possible as a cause for all the pain and hand swelling.  Nothing showed up.  Later bone scans showed osteoporosis.  Ken has gone from 6;4" tall to 6'1". 

The visit to the endocrinologist.  She has been one of Ken's doctors for a long time and was the person who finally connected the dots and ran the test that confirmed that the accidentally-discovered adrenal tumor was indeed a pheochromocytoma.   But during a post-op visit, she seemed unconcerned about Ken's continued weakness and general feeling of illness.  She encouraged him to exercise more.  She did not have any ideas about what might be causing the continued severe pain.  Eventually, some other symptoms occurred which caused Ken to insist that she check his testosterone level.  It was "alarmingly low."  Two weeks later she ran more test to see if the source of the problem was his testes or his pituitary gland.  Turns out that somewhere in the midst of all this, his pituitary gland had stopped functioning.  She ran a scan to check for a pituitary tumor.  None was found.  She started Ken on a testosterone Rx, and told him he would feel better in about a month or two.  He's waiting.  It has been about two weeks so far.

The visit to the Emergency Room during Spring Break. This happened after a weekend of severe hand, shoulder and back pain. Ken said his pain was an 8 or 9. (He has never had pain at a 10 level, because he reserves that for "screaming in pain.") After watching him in agony for two days, we went to the hospital. We were hoping he could be admitted for some pain management. I won't tell you the whole awful story. The short version is that he did not get admitted.  He did get an intravenous line of Delaudid (thought to be about 6 times stronger than morphine.)  That reduced his pain to a tolerable level, but the powerful drug had worn off before we got back home.  Thankfully, in another day or so he had returned to his "new normal."  That is a pain level of about 4 or 5, after using Oxycontin and a Fentynal patch. 
  
The visit to the rheumatologist in Marshfield.  The famous Mayo Clinic in MN is not covered by our insurance, but the Marshfield Clinic is.  It is large and has a good reputation for diagnosing mysterios ailments.  We drove several hours and met with a doctor who came into the room and announced, after a few questions and a few simple maneuvers with Ken's hands, "I know what you have.  You have diabetic cheiroarthropathy.  It is causing the limited motion and contractures in your hands.  There is nothing that can help with this. You also have carpal tunnel syndrome."  He gave us a pamphlet to read, and we left, feeling hopeless and defeated.  Only later, reading the pamphlet, did we learn that cheiroarthropathy does not cause pain.  Nor swelling.  Several weeks later he had tests for the carpal tunnel diagnosis.  They were, Ken said, "Terrible."  And showed nothing.

Our chiropractor does help with the back pain, but the relief is slight and temporary. 

A visit to a respected acupuncturist caused even more pain in Ken's hands, arms and back.  He could feel "every needle" and reported that two weeks later he could still tell exactly where they had been inserted.  They made the pain worse, not better.

Of course, we found another rheumatologist, who agreed that the diagnosis could not be Polymialgia Rheumatica nor a result of the drug Simvistatin (both suggested by the rheumatologist at St. Lukes).  He ran more tests, which were inconclusive. He is assuming, for lack of something more concrete, that Ken has rheumatoid arthritis. He started him on an Rx for that, but says it could be a month to six weeks or more before any results are seen. It has been about three weeks. No improvement so far.

Visits to physical and occupational therapists have been painful and only slightly helpful.  The next visit is with a pain specialist. 

Ken has not been at work since before Christmas.  He is on disability insurance for the moment and we are trying to decide what to do.  We still think it is a bit too coincidental that the pain symptoms and hand swelling occurred in the same week as the extreme adrenaline episodes. Doctors all say the symptoms are not related to the pheo.  We have joked, "Maybe there were fleas and tics and spiders too."  

And somehow they all showed up in the same week back in December.  It doesn't seem possible, does it?   

We are glad the "episodes" are history and that an accidentally high level of blood thinner led to a check for kidney stones--and showed a tumor.  We are grateful that the surgery went well and that those symptoms are all gone.  We are glad that Ken's drug list is a fraction of what it used to be.

But it was difficult to expect a return to life and function and be met with no answers to the debilitating pain.  I wish I had a happy ending to these posts. I wanted to wait to write anything until we had at least some positive news about the mysterious hand swelling and the pain in hands and shoulders. 

Some days are better. Some days are terrible. Today Ken could not lift his arms.  He is very depressed.  We are praying for answers.  We are waiting. 

Ken's Ordeal Part 4: "Out, out, Damned Pheo!"

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Difficult days passed while we waited for the day the surgery could finally take place.  The constant grey skies that were a hallmark of this past winter matched our spirits.  Ken was miserable.  His hands remained swollen and painful, and his shoulder and back pain was incapacitating.  Over the previous six months, Ken had lost over 60 pounds. His clothes hung on his much-thinner frame.  His complexion continued to have a grayish tinge. 

Things we take for granted as part of life, were difficult or impossible--things like eating with a fork, going for even a short walk, making love, rising from a chair, pulling up a blanket, driving a vehicle, shampooing hair...and the list goes on. 

The famous Shakespeare quote, "Out, out damned spot."(spoken by Lady Macbeth as she goes a bit mad and tries to wash the blood of murdered Duncan from her hands) was in my mind often, except I was thinking of the pheochromocytoma and how this unseen, undiagnosed tumor had been lurking in my husband's body for years, wreaking havoc. The urologist who would later perform the delicate surgery, a skilled surgeon with a down-to-earth bedside manner, said to Ken, "These pheos are just little balls of hate." He told us he was going to assemble a hand-picked team to be present for the rare surgery, so he wasn't sure just when surgery day would be. 

Narcotics that blunted the worst of the pain, the beta blockers, and the other life-saving medications that were stopping Ken's body from recognizing adrenaline, also made him light headed, weak, and sleepy.  We rose early so I could help Ken get ready for the day and then I headed off for work. 

It wasn't a time to stay home, however much I might have sometimes wanted to.  In December, I had left my previous employment and, along with a business partner had planned a new business which we would call Insurance Solutions. What a relief, looking back on it all, that I did not know what was coming for Ken on the difficult day in early December that I left my office in a financial services firm for the last time.  During the events of January, I regretted being absent so much and leaving the brunt of things on my partner.  However, having something else to think about, setting up our new office, deciding about marketing, getting our phones and Internet set up and all the myriad of issues (anticipated or not) that go along with a new business venture helped the time pass.

Additionally, there was the fledgling ministry at The OASIS at St. Nazianz to think about--a good thing--but something that deserved more attention. Ken was discouraged that he was unable to be of help.  It was good that Ken's disabled brother, Kevin, lives here because he helped with things like making lunch for the two of them and, in an odd role reversal, kept an eye on his brother.

Many people told us they were keeping Ken in their prayers and thoughts.  Ken said that knowing this helped him get through that long month. 

Surgery day, February 9th, finally arrived.  We drove to Milwaukee's St. Lukes Hospital in a mix of rain, sleet and snow.  Ken was nauseated and feeling really ill on the drive down.  The morning passed with the usual hospital protocols.  The anestheseologist told us that the fact Ken was feeling so dizzy and sick likely meant that it was time for the powerful medications he had been taking for over a month to end.  The timing for the surgery was just right, it seemed. 

Our pastor came and prayed with Ken before they took him to the operating room.  A nurse said it was "kiss and good bye time" so that's what came next, and then Pastor Rich and I had lunch in the hospital cafeteria and talked about things totally unrelated to surgery or tumors or pain. 

After he headed home, I sat in the surgery waiting room and tried not to think too much about what might be happening in the operating room.  I had been told that the surgery could take 4 or 5 hours.  I felt mostly positive about the procedure, even though we had been warned that it was a dangerous thing to remove a pheochromocytoma.  I took a walk to the hospital chapel to pray, but I had already prayed so much that there were just no more words to say. For a while, I sat in the silence of the chapel and simply told God that I knew who was holding Ken.  I knew others were praying, and I pictured some of their faces, taking comfort in the thought that I was not really alone, however lonely I might feel. 

I returned to the waiting room and read a magazine.  I played cards with a group of women who, like me, were waiting for a loved one to come out of surgery.  We shared some relatively intimate details of life, as strangers sometimes do in such situations.  I liked the card game.  It was a simple one, and I decided I would teach it to Ken sometime.  I must have been a little distracted though.  I have no idea how the game was played. 

The surgeon came to the waiting room sooner than I expected.  Looking pleased, and making no effort to hide his relief, he said, "None of the things we anticipated happening did.  It went surprisingly well.  I'm glad you didn't have the surgery a month ago.  Even though it was hard to wait, I think it was the right thing." I thanked him, not sure what I was saying.

Later, I went to the recovery room to check on Ken.  He was not awake, even though he had been there for a rather long time.  The friendly nurse who was monitoring him said with a smile, "With those rosy cheeks, your husband looks like a sleeping Santa Claus."  I looked at Ken.  She was right.  He did have pink cheeks.  I almost laughed out loud as I said, "He does have rosy cheeks, doesn't he?  He has been grey for so long I forgot what his face should look like."

I was so relieved to see that healthy color that I almost didn't notice much else.  I pulled up a chair to the bedside, and I reached out to stroke Ken's hand.  But something was strange.  I looked at the nurse. 

"Have his hands been like this since he came in?"

"Yes.  I noticed his hands.  I have never seen anything quite like it.  Probably it is just one of the effects of what he has been through."

Ken's hands had been swollen for six weeks, but now they were so engorged with fluid that they looked like they might burst.  His knuckles were invisible in a round mound of puffy skin. There were no wrinkles on his fingers. His hands looked like a baseball catcher's mitt.  I was shocked, but tried to be positive. 

After a while, I left a still-groggy Ken.  The pheo, the nasty little tumor that was"a ball of hate," was out, so the worst was over.  Surely now, I thought to myself, things will go back to normal.  Once he recovers from the surgery, he'll be like his old self, only better.    But that was not to be.

Ken's Ordeal Part 3: Finally Someone Listens and the Hospital Stays Begin

If you want to start at the beginning, click the link to "Ken's Ordeal" at the bottom of this post or in the sidebar and scroll down to Part One.

It took about half an hour to get to Sheboygan Memorial from our home.  It was a long half hour, and I kept glancing over at my husband as I drove.   He had an "episode" on the way to the hospital.  I felt chilled to the bone, and it wasn't just due to the wintry mix of snow and wind. 

"Please, please, let us be heard.  Let him be admitted...." I prayed silently, and then out loud.  Ken was, by this time, in terrible pain. His shoulders, back and hands were all hurting badly and both hands were now swelling to a marked degree.  When we arrived, I ran inside and retrieved a wheelchair and returned to the car to help Ken ease into the chair.

Soon I was talking to a triage nurse.  Ken could barely speak.  "He's getting admitted," I said flatly.  The nurse wisely refrained from comment.

We spent all day the Emergency Room.  Eventually, Ken was hooked up to various monitors.  After a while, it happened--he had an episode.  A nurse was in the room to note that his blood pressure spiked alarmingly and then dropped.  His oxygen level plummeted.  His heart pounded at an alarmingly rapid and uneven rate.

And it all showed up on the monitor.  And he was admitted for observation. 

The hospitalist (a doctor who specializes in caring for patients in the hospital) on duty was a motherly-looking middle-aged woman.  I liked her instantly.  She listened carefully.  She asked smart and probing questions.  She looked alarmed at hearing that these episodes had been occurring for years.  She said, "You are clearly very sick, Mr. George.  We need to get to the bottom of this.  We will be having several different specialists talk with you."

Yes. 

At this point, the episodes were happening again and again and it seemed the slightest exertion was setting them off.   Ken said they were an indescribable but very uncomfortable sensation that moved from his feet upward, reaching his chest and causing pressure, the heart symptoms, shortness of breath, sweating, and then an extreme, pounding headache. We now knew that his blood pressure was spiking alarmingly and that, along with the tachycardia, was causing great risk of stroke and heart attack.   Ken's pain increased steadily.  He was admitted to ICU and started on a morphine drip and other drugs. 

Ken's endocrinologist, upon seeing that an adrenal tumor had been discovered a few days prior, finally made the connection.  The tumor, called a Pheochromocytoma,  might be the source of the episodes.  Adrenal tumors are not all that uncommon, but the one Ken had been suffering with for years was a very rare type indeed.  The endocrinologist told Ken, "This is really a one-in-a-million diagnosis."  One of the family practice doctors at the clinic later told me, "There are nine of us with offices in this hallway.  Together we have many decades of experience.  Not one of us has had a patient with a Pheochromocytoma."

The "pheo," as it turned out, had been lurking for years.  (Ken and I both believe it was doing its dirty work long before the day, eight years ago, when he had what seemed like a heart attack and called 911.)  Pheos can cause a variety of symptoms that mimic other problems.  I later discovered, while doing an Internet search, that an episode of "House" had centered on a man with a Pheo. 

The pain in Ken's back turned out to be a dissolved lumbar vertebrae, possibly due to osteoarthritis caused by the tumor.  Doctors disagree about whether adrenaline can cause osteoarthritis.

The pain in his hands and shoulders remained a mystery, but no one was worrying much about those issues.  The endocrinologist said he should not sit, not stand, not move more than absolutely essential.  The only solution to the many symptoms: heart tachycardia, extreme blood sugar swings, high blood pressure, shortness of breath, sweating, dizziness....was surgery.  Hopefully the adrenaline rushes he had experienced were also the cause of the pain he was enduring. 

But, we were told many times, the surgery is very risky.  Any attempt to remove the tumor could result in an "adrenal storm" of hormones that could cause stroke, heart attack, or instant death.  Attention was focused on keeping Ken alive on a cocktail of medications, and he spent a week in the hospital.  Then he was transported by ambulance to St. Luke's Hospital in Milwaukee.  He was informed that he would be having the tumor removed one day, and the next day he would undergo a simple surgery to inject a sort of "cement" around the dissolved vertebrae.  We waited, with some anxiety but mostly with relief that the tumor was going to come out and he would soon be on his way to recovery.

When he arrived at the Milwaukee facility he was told that there was absolutely NO WAY he could have the dangerous surgery until he had been stabilized on the cocktail of beta blockers and other medications for at least a month.   He spent a week in St. Luke's, being seen by several specialists.  An orthopedic surgeon told him he would need a spinal fusion.  A rheumatologist told him his shoulder pain might be due to something called Polymialgia Rheumatica.  Or it was a side effect of the Simvistatin he had taken for some time. A cardiologist ordered two different kinds of chemical stress tests to make sure Ken's heart could stand surgery. Ken said they were excruciating and while he understood the need for them, he returned to his room feeling he had been tortured.

Through all of this, Ken's shoulder, hand and back pain continued to be extreme and he was given Fentynal through a patch at more than four times the usual dosage and also Oxycontin that were as high as could be safely used.  At this point his hands were so swollen that his knuckles weren't visible.  He could not move his fingers more than the slightest bit.    

After a week in the Milwaukee hosptial, Ken came home to wait until the surgery could be performed. 

Ken's Ordeal Part 2: Pain and Dizziness Begin

If you want to start at the beginning, click the "Ken's Ordeal" link at the bottom of this post or in the sidebar.

In early December, Ken was having several "episodes" a week.  Work was becoming impossible.  He didn't tell me just how bad it was.  However, he looked more and more ill.  He also seemed stiff, and one morning he said, "Every joint in my body is hurting."  He was frequently dizzy and had difficulty concentrating.  He told himself, and me, that he needed a break from the stress of his job, and he looked forward to taking time off to spend with the family at Christmas.  We went to the clinic two times, where he reported that the episodes were increasing in number and intensity, but no answers were forthcoming.  

By Christmas it was obvious to everyone that something was very, very wrong.  Ken's face was a yellow-grey.  He almost passed out several times.  He began to have pain in his back and shoulders--pain which increased to an excruciating point between Christmas and New Years.  We went to urgent care one weekend, and the doctor was unbelievably rude.  He did prescribe Vicodan and suggested Ken follow up with his doctor. 

Episodes were happening multiple times a day, and I tried to convince him to go to the Emergency Room.  He refused (I still don't know why) and told me he would go to the clinic the following week.  But then one night he called me into the bathroom and pointed at the toilet bowl.  Weakly, he asked, "Is that blood?"  Yes, it was blood, and lots of it.  The water was not pink.  It was a deep, dark red.  A stab of fear made me breathless for a moment, and then I began, "Ken, you have to do something....this is really serious...."  "Yes," he said, "I'll go to the doctor tomorrow."

The next morning, New Year's Day, his back pain was extreme.  His shoulders hurt too, and he could barely move his arms.  The bloody urine continued.  Another visit to urgent care with a different doctor led to suspicion of kidney stones, and they did a CT scan.  As we waited for the results, Ken sat with his head down, silent and withdrawn.  His face was lined and dark circles rimmed his eyes.  When I asked him if he was okay, he replied softly, "I hurt." I looked at his hands, which were clasped in his lap.  His right hand looked puffy.  "Your hand is a little swollen," I said.  "Is it painfult?"  "A little."  I touched his hand.  It felt warm.  "Yeah," he said listlessly, "that hurts a little."

The doctor returned and gave us the news.  "You do not have kidney stones.  But we did discover a small tumor on one of your adrenal glands."  We looked at him, and then each other, in surprise.  "A tumor?"  "Yes.  But don't worry.  Most of these tumors are asymptomatic.  Lots of people never even know they have one."  He handed Ken a paper for scheduling a follow-up appointment at the clinic.  "And the reason you have blood in your urine may be because you have been taking too much Warfarin.  Your blood is pretty thin.  Don't take Warfarin until you can follow up with your doc."  He patted Ken's shoulder gently.  "I'm sorry you are in such pain.  I don't know the source of that, so make sure you see your primary doctor soon.  Stop at the desk and they'll get your appointment set." 

Ken never did keep that appoiitment.  The next morning he got up, telling me that his vacation was over and he was going back to work.  He stood at the bathroom sick, preparing to brush his teeth.  I started to tell him that there was no way he was going to work, but then I realized something strange was happening.  He was bent over the sink, shaking almost as though he were having a seizure.  It was terrifying.  After a moment the episode passed and he headed towards the bed, looking like a ghost and weaving from side to side.

"Ken, we are going to the hospital.  Right now.  And I'm not taking 'no' for an answer, and I am not bringing you home.  They will admit you or I will sit there till they do."

Ken's Ordeal Part 1: The Episodes Begin

As I said in my March post, my husband, Ken, has been very ill.  Today he asked me to start writing things down.  Not sure why he wants me too...but here goes.  Maybe if I get this out of the way I can write about something else.

The story actually begins about eight years ago.  I arrived home to find Ken on the phone with a 911 operator, and shortly afterwards a police car and an ambulance arrived.  He was having strange symptoms and was afraid it was a heart attack.  He looked terrible, was gasping for breath, had pain in his chest, was a grey color, and was sweating profusely.  His father had died from a massive heart attack (his fifth) at only age 56, so Ken was understandably frightened.

I jumped in the family car and followed the ambulance, praying all the way, as it headed to Sheboygan Memorial Medical Center.  In the Emergency Room, everything seemed normal.  Ken looked and felt like his usual self and actually reported that he had been feeling fine by the time the ambulance was leaving our house.  All tests were normal, as was a follow-up stress test a couple of weeks later.  We were perplexed, as were the doctors, but we breathed a sigh of relief and went back to life as before.

Ken had another of what he later called his "episodes" about five months later.  This time he did not call for help but sat down and waited to see what would happen.  As before, the symptoms subsided not long after they began.  He did not tell me about this, but he did report it to his doctor.  Again, all tests were normal. 

Ken is a diabetic. As time passed, efforts to monitor and deal with blood sugar levels began to be frustratingly difficult if not impossible. He experienced wild swings in sugar levels, from very high to very low in a short time. He tested his blood sugar multiple times a day and attempted to follow the advice of his endocrinologist but nothing seemed to help. We did not connect the erratic blood sugars with the "episodes" --  and neither did any medical people. 

But as the years went on it became evident that something was not right.  The episodes increased to where they were occurring about once a month or so.  They usually passed harmlessly, it seemed, and they never happened when a medical professional was nearby.  All efforts on our part to explore what might precipitate these bizarre episodes led nowhere.  There seemed no common denominator and no warning signs.  Heart tests were normal, as before.  Lab tests showed nothing. 

Eventually, about a year or so ago, the episodes had increased in number and intensity and were becoming alarming.  He went to a cardiologist who ran a series of tests that were all normal. He went to a pulmonologist who suggested the shortness of breath and other symptoms might be asthma and prescribed something for that.

As the years had passed, his number of prescriptions had slowly but steadily grown as he experienced a number of seemingly unrelated symptoms, including the erratic blood sugar levels, shortness of breath, and high blood pressure. By 2012 he was taking more than 20 prescriptions. 

Life becane more difficult.  People began to notice that something was not right with Ken.  He was tired all the time.  His skin color was greyish.  He was always too warm.  He had unexplainable mood swings.  Once or twice he nearly passed out as an episode occurred.  He began to shuffle as he walked.  Inmates at the prison where he served as chaplain began to express concern.  Longtime friends knew something was wrong.   

No answers were forthcoming from his doctors.  I was alarmed, but felt helpless.  All medical tests showed nothing amiss, but Ken was fading away before my eyes.  He sadly talked about retirement, even though retirement age was several years away.   

We tried, unsuccessfully, to get him admitted somewhere so a team of doctors could expore what might be wrong.  His longtime doctor, someone who had seen Ken through some tough times and whom Ken respected, seemed to think it was all just due to being an aging, overweight, diabetic.  I knew better.  Ken, who tends to be somewhat passive about medical things, became more and more frustrated and hopeless.

And then December arrived.  I'll tell you about December in my next post. 

Life Goes On

I had plans for a series of Christmas posts.  And here it is--March!  Life intervened in some major ways.  My husband, Ken, has been very ill.  I want to write some of it down, and so I will be back to do so.  Hopefully before another four months goes by!

Christmas Thoughts III

I have many happy holiday memories.  I will share some here, I expect.  However, this month has been particularly difficult for many reasons and has me remembering other Decembers in my life, and other holiday seasons that were full of change--painful change. 

There was the year the 17-year-old me was sleeping with a stuffed animal and putting a pillow over my head because I felt so alone and so scared.  I was certain that my fragile family was finally going to be ripped apart at the seams.  What was most frightening was not the certainty of that fact.  It was the anticipation, the vagueness of what was to come, and the awareness that I had no control over how or when or in what way my family would change forever. 

I watched as my reclusive mother, who had been disconnected from me and the rest of the family for years, became ever more obsessive and isolated.  She was alarmingly thin, and I couldn't recall the last time I had seen her actually eat.  I watched my father, never a particularly patient man, become increasingly frustrated, angry, and volatile.  I was afraid he would hurt my mother...sometimes afraid he might kill her.  And I was afraid for what would happen to him and to me if he did. 

Christmas Eve arrived.  Ken, my future husband though I did not know it, was at our house.  My mother came out of her room to join my dad and me for our traditional Christmas Eve opening of presents.  I can recall the tension on her face, the agitation, the drawn expression as she tried to smile.  She was passing out presents and rushing us with a frantic strangeness that had become all too familiar.  Every moment of normal interaction was a moment stolen from her life's mission.  She believed, along with others we knew as, "The Prayer Band," that her prayer and intercession were critical and that terrible things could happen if she were not in nearly-constant prayer.  The Prayer Band was led by an all-powerful cult leader.  Her following was small compared that that of a David Koresh or Jim Jones, but the members of the group were no less controlled.

I sent my boyfriend out the door after a bizarre evening. I was embarrassed and deeply sad, and I had a sick knot in my stomach.  In the relative safety of my room, I opened the card Ken had slipped into my hand as he left.  What I remember about it was a handwritten note, "May this be the most Merry Christmas of your life!

I tossed the card aside, thinking bitterly, "If this is the merriest....what comes next year?"  I climbed into bed and wept into my pillow and clutched a stuffed dog as I unwillingly listened to my parents argue for what seemed like hours.

The following Christmas we had no idea where my mother was.  But that is another story.

There was the year Ken, a first-time pastor serving what had turned out to be a very difficult congregation, spent a large part of December in the hospital.  I was afraid he was going to die.  I was far from family or any real friends. And I, the mom of children aged four and ten, was concerned that the month was half over and we still had no tree in our parsonage living room.  One night when I was late at the hospital, my children managed to get the lights on the tree and most of the ornaments hung. I was astonished to arrive home to a decorated tree, and I thanked them and hugged them and tried not to cry.  The next day, a deacon told me that if my husband would repent of the sin in his life, perhaps he would be healed. What sin?  He didn't know.  But there had to be something.  

There was the December, years ago, when I unexpectedly returned to my home state of California.  My dad was an active, healthy, vital man in his early 70s when the news came that he was unconscious, the victim of a brain aneurysm.  Darlaine lived in California, but Paulette, in Indiana, and I, in Wisconsin hurried to find flights and get out the the coast.  The three of us spent anxious days at his bedside, holding his hand, speaking to him, praying for God to heal him.  Then he was transferred to Scripps Memorial Hospital in the beautiful and wealthy town of La Jolla.  I hadn't been in my home state for some time, and I felt guilty to be enjoying the warm sun, the scent of the ocean, and the glorious bougainvillea flowers that covered many roofs in La Jolla.  How strange and unreal it all seemed. It was 70 degrees outside, and back home in Wisconsin it was frigid.

Grief does odd things sometimes. One day Paulette and I, needing a change of scene, wandered the halls of the hospital.  I remember a tall and glorious Christmas tree that reached to the ceiling in the hospital entry.  It didn't seem like Christmas.  We both were grateful for that, even as we listened to Christmas carols and tried not to care that it was December. We walked arm-in-arm, alternately stifling giggles or tears as we looked at a series of paintings of wealthy patrons of the hospital. There were at least 25 paintings. We made rude comments about those wealthy people.  Very rude.  But the laughter did us good.   And later we listened as a kind-eyed neurologist told us that there was no longer any hope for my father's recovery and that we would need to talk together about discontinuing life support. 

The doctor said it was likely he might live for several days afterward, slipping into death slowly.  Paulette and I hugged our sister, Darlaine, and we made the agonizing decision to go home.  We had families.  It was nearly Christmas.

I felt quite ill on the flight back, and I arrived in Wisconsin to sub-zero temperatures and howling blizzard winds and snow. Bits of ice whipped into my face and I tried not to cry as I walked from the terminal to the car. I think I was as miserable as I have ever been in my life.  My heart felt like lead.   I shivered all the way home from the airport, crawled into bed and spent several days with the flu.  My father died on December 20th. 

My mother died a few years ago, just a couple of weeks from her 92nd birthday.  It was only days after Christmas.  A kind staff member from the nursing home called me about 4 AM to let me know that my mother was taking a downward turn and was not expected to live long.  I drove to the nursing home in the dark of early morning.  The usually bustling facility was eerily quiet.  The lights on the tiny Christmas tree I had placed on a shelf in my mother's room were an incongruous spot of cheer above her bed.  The lights were dim and I stood in the darkness and listened to her labored breathing, tears in my eyes.  I had told the nurses to tell the doctor that there would be no extraordinary measures taken.  It was time.  

I spent the long hours of that day singing to my sometimes-awake but mute mother, reading scripture, telling her I loved her.  Others came too.  I told her it was okay to go home to Jesus, that I'd see her soon.  As the words to "How Great Thou Art" played on a little CD player, reaching the phrase, "When Christ shall come...." she opened her still-beautiful blue eyes, looked upward and then breathed a long breath, closed her eyes and was gone.  Later, walking past the large Christmas tree in the nursing home lobby, I wondered, "Why do so many sad things seem to happen at this time of year?" 

It's the most wonderful time of the year. Except for when it isn't. 

I cannot supply much in the way of answers to life's grief, except to note that it comes to all of us.  For those who may read this rather morose post, simply know that I understand.  And I am praying for you now.  Here is just some of what scripture says about grief. 

Psalm 34:18  The LORD is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed.

Psalm 31:9 O’ Lord have mercy on me in my anguish. My eyes are red from weeping; my health is broken from sorrow.

Psalm 147:3 He heals the broken heartened, binding up their wounds.

Matthew 5:4  Blessed are those that mourn, for they shall be comforted.

John 14:27 Iam leaving you with a gift-peace of mind and heart! And the peace I give is not fragile like the peace the world gives. So don’t be troubled or afraid.

John 14:18 No, I will not abandon you or leave you as orphans in the storm-I will come to you.
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Psalm 30:5b  Weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.

And this one may be my favorite.  As noted in an earlier post in this little series, Jesus understood pain and grief.  He did not sugar coat the reality of pain and suffering in this world.

John 16:33 I have told you these things so that you will have peace of heart and mind, Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows, but cheer up, for I have overcome the world.

There is more to come!  How glad I am that this is not the end of all things.

    

Christmas Thoughts II

I love all of Chapter One from The Gospel of John, but particularly these words, "And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth."

One sentence, and yet so rich and full of implications.  Of questions.  Of impossible assertions.  The Eternal Logos of God, existing before time, "emptied himself" as the Apostle Paul said to the Philippians.  Ah, another verse rich and full of implications, questions and assertions.   The one who was God and with God emptied himself in order to become like those he created (John 10:1). 

The wonder of that is more than I can express.  What does it mean that the Son, the Word, the Creator, emptied himself?  I remember a fascinating discussion about that from a Theology class long ago.  How much of God qualities like omnipotence (all power) and omniscience (all knowing) remained?  What was emptied in order for the Eternal Word to become Mary's boy child?

I am feeling lonely this Christmas. It has nothing to do with the part of Christmas that is a holy day, the primary celebration I spoke of in part one.  That celebration, which is mostly internal, does not depend on external things for its significance.  It is all about those implications, questions, and those impossible assertions.  Impossible except this is God we are pondering. 

I will write more about loneliness later, but for now I am thinking that at least part of that emptying--whatever it involved and however it occurred--means that Jesus understood--and understands-- loneliness.  That he understands longing for a home that no longer exists.  That he missed his mother during his days tramping around the countryside and staying in the homes of others.  That he might have grieved at the loss of Joseph, who seems to have died early on. That he occasionally must have wondered what it would be like to have a pretty wife, a snug home, and work that ended when the sun set.  That he was sometimes exasperated with his band of followers.

He "emptied himself" and so was lonely sometimes. Knowing this doesn't make the loneliness go away.   But it is good to think on, nonetheless.  Jesus understands. 

The Word became like us...

Christmas Thoughts I

I love the Christmas season, and almost everything about it.  I celebrate two different, and for the most part, entirely separate occasions.

One is all about Jesus' birth. That celebration has profound significance.  I love Advent, and yesterday we began the season out at The OASIS with lighting the first candle on our beautiful Advent wreath and reading a passage from Isaiah. I love the familiar words of scripture this time of year.  I love to ponder and pray.  The wonder of incarnation, of "the-Word-became-flesh," is always deep, mysterious and moving to me. I love Christmas carols, especially the old ones, especially when they are beautifully played or sung.  I love the preparations and even the sometimes difficult attempt to preach and minister in ways that will be meaningful to those who join me at worship.  I love Christmas Eve services whether I am a pew participant or am presiding.

Then there is the other Christmas.  That celebration is about fun.  About lights.  About the big wreath on our house.  About my late mother's delicious orange nut bread that is a must-have of the season.  About baking Jule Kaga, another must-have bread of Norwegian origin.  About reading Dickens, "A Christmas Carol."  I love the entire, unabridged, wordy but delightful story.  And it is about watching "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" with my grandchild, Trinity (the original cartoon, not that long, horrible, overblown movie).  It's about gifts, about decorating the tree and remembering past years, about looking forward to seeing family members and anticipating the delight we will have watching our newest grandchild, Noah.  He is a toddler now and beginning to play and to notice things in new ways. 

I don't worry about whether people say "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays."  Demanding that people who don't share your faith pretend to honor your faith is a waste of time and energy.  And since I'm often at a store, when someone greets me this time of year, it is usually about that second celebration anyway, not the holy one.  Both have value but are not the same, and sometimes they don't really mix all that well.

I suspect that Jesus, if he were here in the flesh, would have fun too.  There would be plenty to cause him grief, but he would also enjoy the good things.  He might even say, "Happy Holidays" to the store clerk.  Or "Happy Hanukkah" if she were Jewish.  And he would treat her with respect and take time to really "see" her. He would smile at her.  He would let the old man go first at the checkout line. 

And he would enjoy a slice of orange nut bread and remember my mother with me.

And maybe I'd share the cassette tape my father gave me years ago--the homemade one that has banjo versions of Christmas songs and bears my father's destinctive print, in green marker, "Pretty good one!"  I don't love the music, but I love and miss my daddy so I keep the tape.  Jesus would get that.

Would he enjoy our Christmas tree with its garland of tiny Norweigan flags?  Would he smile to think of how we have remembered my husband's mother all these years by doing something she always did, continuing that little gesture in honor of family orgins?

Would Jesus like my chocolate fudge, I wonder? I think he would.
 

Election Fears and the 2012 Vote

I haven't written much about politics on this blog.  There are only 14 posts labeled "politics" since I started blogging in 2005, and several of those are really not all that political.  A couple, I confess, are rants and are labeled as such. 

I have many friends, and family too, from both right and left and political center.  My conservative friends, if I tell them my opinion, think I'm too liberal.  My liberal friends probably think I'm too conservative.  I also know that nothing I say will likely change anyones point of view.  And maybe I'm getting old.  Okay, I am.  There is perspective that comes with that.  I remember how afraid my father was when Kennedy, the first Catholic president, was elected.  I know he envisioned a direct phone line from the Oval Office to the Vatican and a country directed by the pope.  I remember the fear of a couple of my dad's Baptist deacon friends that Secretary of State Kissinger was the Anti-Christ.  I remember how some of my friends thought Clinton was going to usher in a Golden Age in America.  Ah....life goes on!

Facebook has been hijacked for months.  Ditto my email inbox.  Yesterday's mail had ten poliitical ads.  We got about six political phone calls.  As for the political ads on radio and television, I deplore them, and I believe none of them.  I know, from having been a victim of this, that you can use a sound bite taken out of context to make a person say anything, even things the exact opposite of their real position. (I don't believe Tommy Thompson ever said he would abolish Medicare and Medicaid.  I'd like to hear the whole paragraph.  I also don't believe Tammy Baldwin hates the middle-class.  I'd like to hear the whole paragraph.) 

And when it comes to numbers, be suspicious.  Remember Mark Twain's quote?  Figures often beguile me, particularly when I have the arranging of them myself; in which case the remark attributed to Disraeli would often apply with justice and force: "There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies and statistics."  Mark Twain's Own Autobiography: The Chapters from the North American Review

If the only place you get your information is from TV political ads, I almost want to tell you not to bother to vote.  Since when did we Americans get so naive?

I am dismayed by the atmosphere this election.  I've never seen anything like it in my lifetime.  All of that doesn't mean that I don't care about politics.  I care, often passionately.  I love my country, and I try to vote every single time I have that option, even during primaries. Back when I was less cynical I stood on a sidewalk and passed out fliers and wore a button with my guy's name.  I was a member of The Young Republicans back in my college days.  I loved my high school civics class and my freshman political science class in college.  Once, in what seems a lifetime ago, I considered running for a local office. I actually (okay, sometimes) read the party platforms.  I have links on my computer to fact-finding sites, to Snopes, and so on.  I try to be deligient about not passing on things unless I check them out first. 

As anyone who has spent any time here knows, I am a clergywoman.  For that reason, if no other, I don't put up yard signs or write or say much about candidates.  I don't think it is appropriate for pastors to do so, even though I always encouraged people to vote their values.  I know, many of my clergy friends, both Republican and Democrat, would disagree. (Not about the values, about the yard signs.) I also didn't like putting an American flag on the church platform.  Just how I roll, okay? 

So why am I writing this now?  I am in a late-working-life career so that I can, as my husband says, "support your ministry habit."  In addition to being a minister I am an insurance agent who focuses on Medicare-related plans.  It is Medicare's annual open enrollment, so I am busy.  I've been having conversations with senior citizens.  And I am appalled and dismayed and sad that our elders are living in such fear.

The fear in this country, at least where I am, is astonishing.  It probably doesn't help that Wisconsin is a "battleground state," but in the last two weeks I have talked to several senior citizens who are nearly in a panic.  One elderly man needs to make changes to his insurance but refuses to do so until after the election.  I'm not sure if he is a Republican or a Democrat, nor whether he is for or against the Health Care Reform Act (Obmacare) but he really seems to think that things will happen right after the president is sworn in. 

Today a woman told me that Obama is going to "abolish the military completely and invite terrorists right into this country."  Another believes that if Romney is elected Medicare and Medicaid will vanish and  there will be no safety net whatsoever for low-income people---that it will all just POOF--evaporate in 2013! 

I want to remind you of some things.

• We have checks and balances in this country.  There are THREE branches of government. They are called executive, legislative and judicial.  Sometimes this makes things very slow, but all of the power does not lie in one place. 
• No matter who wins, he will NOT accomplish all he says he will. 
• If you think either candidate is going to be a dictator, you need to spend some time in other countries.
• God is not a Republican.  Nor a Democrat.
• Americans are fiesty.  Sadly, we also have short memories. 

I think I'll stop and copy part of a post from Election Day 2008.  I'll delete the stuff that was specific to Biden, McCain, Palin and Obama and put in ellipses instead... 

I'm about to head over to the local police department, which doubles as a place to cast a ballot. I intend to rejoice. We Americans are exercising our right to vote, and we should be smiling about that, shaking hands, laughing. No one is going to intimidate me as I approach the booth. No one will be guarding the door with a gun.

To my conservative friends, on the unlikely possibility that you will read this, don't be afraid... (long paragraph about Obama and Biden deleted)

To my liberal friends, don't despair... (paragraph about McCain and Palin deleted)

God is still on the throne.

It's an election. Rhetoric gets a bit over-the-top.  Lies and distortions are told on both sides. Promises made will be impossible to keep. The advertisements will end....

Smile! WE LIVE IN A WONDERFUL COUNTRY!  We are the envy of many!  And let's go vote. And let's stop the name-calling, and the insane emails, and the fear mongering, and the hand-wringing despair.

God of All, please help us to remember that we are strangers and aliens in a world that is broken. Help us to remember that our true home is with you, and until the day we are in your holy presence there will always be a sense of lack and incompleteness. Grant that the sense of lack will not make us apathetic but instead will encourage us to pray and to work and to seek that Your will shall be done on earth as it is in Heaven. I pray that people of faith will stand together, pray together, worship together and link arms when we can. I pray for the Church of Jesus Christ to shine in these days when many are uncertain and afraid. Bless whoever is elected to be our president with wisdom and courage and insight. Draw him to yourself in whatever way needs to be. Protect him, and strengthen him for the difficult days that will be ahead. May your will be done. Amen

I'm not a happy citizen right now.  I know that America needs to change in some profound ways.  I have plenty of deep concerns about the future.  I am, sometimes, afraid.  And then I remember who I really am. 

Friday Five:What's On Your Shelf?

It has been a very long time since I played the Rev Gal Blog Pals Friday Five.  The reasons are many, but Deb enticed me to play today.  Here's what she said:

Recently I decided to re-organize my study and put books of like topic and purpose together. (Of course, they don't stay that way -- but that's another matter!) I also culled out some books which I hesitated to even donate to the library book sale because they were either extremely outdated or had content that I didn't want the unexamined mind to read. (Not quite as bad as "The Total Woman" but... you get my drift!)

And here are the questions she poses to us today:

1. STUDYING: What is your favorite book or series for sermon prep or study? Or have you moved from books to on-line tools for your personal study?

I have mostly moved from books to online resources for sermon study.  I have an OLD series of commentaries (I'm talking early 1900s) that, oddly enough, serve well when I want a hard copy of something to study.  There are about 12 volumns and they are called "The Preachers Study" and I'd tell you more except I am not able to access them at the moment.  The insights are often basic but  profound.

2. IN THE QUEUE: Do you have a queue of books you are longing to read or do you read in bits and pieces over several books at a time? What's in the queue?

These days I tend to read in bits and peices, though that is not how I prefer it.  Honestly, these days I so seldom get to just be alone and sit and read for pleasure.  I'm longing to do so, but there seems to be no space for it.  I have a shelf of books, none of them new, that I hope to get to.  I haven't bought anything new because I just can't make myself do so when I already have so many unread volumns.

Someone gave me a small paperback by David W. Dyer, someone I never heard of, and it is shaking my world a bit.  The title is "Let My People Go: Freedom from Religious Bondage" and pictures a ball and chain.  I've only read two short chapters, and I am re-reading, very carefully.  Not sure what to think, but it's a bit revolutionary for pastor-types.  Making me think however, and that's a good thing.  I hope...

I'm about to purchase, "Torn: Rescuing the Gospel from the Gays-vs.-Christians Debate" by Justin Lee.

3. FAVORITE OF ALL TIME: What's one book that you have to have in your study? Is it professional, personal, fun or artistic? (For instance, I have a copy of Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. It just helps sometimes.)

I can't pick a favorite book.  I mean, I don't mean to be annoying, but the Bible is where I have to start.  Sometimes in sermon prep I have to make myself NOT look at anything else for a while, so I don't get stuck in pre-conceived notions. 

4. KINDLE OR PRINT? or both? Is there a trend in your recent purchases?

I have a Kindle.  It is handy for some reading. But I much prefer books.  I like the look, the feel and the smell.   Books have good associations from my life.  My Kindle does not.

5. DISCARDS: I regularly cruise the "FREE BOOKS" rack at our local library. (I know, I know. It's a bad habit!) When's the last time you went through your books and gave some away (or threw some away?) Do you remember what made the discard pile?

I have not done this for a looooong time.  I have a large stack of boxes full of books in the basement and a stack in my office and it is on my to-do list for this month.  MUST do it.  It is difficult.  My new ministry venture, "The OASIS" meets above a thrift store, so I do have the perfect drop-off place. 

O Wind of God

Breathe on me,
O Wind of God...
Blow sin's distraction from my mind,

Breathe on me,
O Wind of God,
Whisper wisdom from Your heart.

Blow soft--or strong,
O Breath of Life,
Scatter the debris of selfish pain.

Breath of Heaven,
Dance with me,
Fresh and clean and full of rain.

In Your hands,
Ruach Divine,
May freedom come...
And songs of joy.

Romney and the 47%

The following post is not mine.  It is reprinted from here.  Click to see the original if you would like to view pictures.  Anne Robertson is a blogger and a preacher and a thinker who I have recently discovered. If you click on the link in order to read the original article, I suggest you read the comments as well.

I will post some thoughts of my own at the end of Anne's letter to Mitt Romney. 

It is personal now. You have insulted my family, and your policies embody an actual threat to my mother's life. Mitt Romney, meet my mother.

Dear Mr. Romney,

I watched your comments to those who paid $50,000 to have dinner with you. If you weren't a candidate for President, I would simply be disgusted and keep my peace. But you are trying to take the helm of my country--to shape policies that will affect my life and the lives of those I love. The video, taken when you thought no one was watching, reveals a frightening callousness that I can only pray never darkens the door of the Oval Office.

I'm sure you remember your words, as you have refused to disown or even moderate them, saying only that you somehow didn't say it just right. Au contraire, I find your words crystal clear:

"There are 47 percent of the people who will vote for the president no matter what. All right, there are 47 percent who are with him, who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe the government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you-name-it. That that's an entitlement. And the government should give it to them. And they will vote for this president no matter what…These are people who pay no income tax."

It is personal now. You have insulted my family, and your policies embody an actual threat to my mother's life. Mitt Romney, meet my mother. Yes, that's her in the picture. You'll note that she has such a sense of entitlement that my brother has to feed her. Shame on her. She won't even pick up a fork.

It's true. She pays no taxes. And it's true that she will not vote for you. Actually, she won't vote for anyone. In 2004 she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, and I'm afraid at this stage she would be considered a "low-information voter." She does not speak and often doesn't remember how to swallow. A "good" visit is a day when she opens her eyes. My last meaningful conversation with her was almost a decade ago. She will not be voting.

You see her in this picture in the dining room of the nursing home that gives her excellent care. She is well-beyond the stage where anyone in our family could care for her. In her day, she was a shrewd money-manager, making the best of her pension as a public school teacher and the life insurance money she received when my father dropped dead at age 47. But, alas, it still was not enough.

Every scrap of savings and investment she once had are now gone, as my (Republican) stepfather did everything he could to avoid taking a dime of government money. But she has good genes. She has been in a care facility now for eight years. Her pension was enough to let her live a comfortable life in retirement, but her nursing home care is twice her monthly pension amount. We have just arranged to donate her body to science at her passing, since there will not even be funds to have a funeral.

It is now the Medicaid program that makes up the difference between her pension and the cost of her care. Mr. Romney, you haven't talked much about your running mate's proposal to cut 34% from the Medicaid program. You do realize, don't you, that 2/3 of the people on Medicaid are seniors in nursing homes like my mother? Nobody on Medicaid pays taxes. Do you care? Oh, I forgot, you addressed that with your donors:

"And-- and so my job is not to worry about those people. I'll never convince them that they should take personal responsibility and care for for their lives."

What are we to do when you take away my irresponsible mother's Medicaid? Oh, yeah--you answered that, too. She should go to the Emergency Room. Are they prepared for her to live there?

Just as an aside, Mr. Romney, my parents were Republicans, embodying the best of the "compassionate conservatism" that once characterized the GOP. They were both public school teachers and guidance counselors who never did join the union, but who counted union members as lifelong friends and allies. When the teacher's union went on strike they did not cross the picket line. Instead they went and served coffee, while wincing at the misspelled signs of protesters who came to mock those on strike.

When times were tough in the seventies, my parents struggled. I remember my mother sitting down with me in those hard times and asking me about the silver service she had been given when she and my father were married. Was it something I would want one day? Times were getting tough and she was thinking of selling it, but she would find another way if I wanted it. The silver was sold. The RV that had taken our family on two cross-country camping trips was sold, as was much else. They did not ask for a handout, they made it work, even while maintaining their tithe to the Baptist church where they were officers and Sunday School teachers.

My parents took in students in crisis, fought for civil rights in our town, took out a second mortgage on our home to send me to college. And yes, they paid taxes. They did it the hard way. They gave of themselves to others in need, even when it didn't result in a tax deduction. They were people of faith, and they had no independent sources of income apart from their jobs.

My father served in the army and in the first years of their marriage they rented a small home to live in--but only during the winter. During the summer they lived in campgrounds near the California army base where my father was stationed. My mother was raised by her great-grandmother. My father's family lost their small business in the Depression. When they went to Brown University (Pembroke for my mother) as undergraduates, they could not ask their parents for a loan. They later scraped together more money to go to grad school. Both of them pulled their way up from poverty to the middle class through their own hard work and sacrifice.

Come to think of it, my mother actually might be just the teensiest bit "entitled" to help with a devastating illness in her senior years. She's been a good citizen of these United States. She has fulfilled civic duties, gave her life to public education, and did her best to embody Christ's command to love her neighbor as herself. And now, Mr. Romney, you would have her feel shame that she doesn't have $8,000 a month to pay for her care? Now that she is in need, your administration would view her as a parasite and it won't be your job as President to worry about her and people like her?

Like the Grinch, Mr. Romney, your heart appears to be at least two sizes too small. Since you have refused to articulate the details of your actual policies, I can only assume that they will reflect that too-small heart.

You have said quite plainly that your job is not to worry about people like my mother. In your estimation she sees herself as a "victim," and she feels "entitled to health care, to food, to housing, to you-name-it." Alzheimer's is an awful disease. But, Mr. Romney, I am so glad that my mother is not able to comprehend your words. I would not add your insult to her injury, even for all your millions.

Postscript from me:

I'm relatively conservative.  Not as much as my very conservative spouse, but I lean to the right, most times.  Not always.

This is a presidential election, like others I have known, where I am very unhappy with the choice I have. I don't usually post political stuff. I have very dear friends who are passionate Republicans, and other equally dear friends who are passionate Democrats. But Romney's gaffe struck a very discordant note, brought tears to my eyes, and made me think of my own mother, pictured to the left.  She died a few years ago, but she had many similarities to Anne's mother.  She was very thrifty, absolutely refused government aid for which she would have qualified in her later years, was a lifelong conservative, a giver to church and charity, and a very proud woman. 

She saved and went without so that she could gain a bit of a nest egg.  That nest egg disappeared about one year after she entered a nursing home.  She lived two more years.  She never knew that she was on Medicaid, because she had dementia.  If she had known, she would have been deeply ashamed.

I also live with someone who made some bad life choices which result in him being a recipient of services that come from your tax dollars.  I am sad about that, for many reasons.  But...the fact is that Ken and I could not afford to get him the services he needs in order to live.  Sometimes, even with his medical bills covered, it is a stretch for us to have him in our home.  I wonder, sometimes, if my conservative friends realize that it is often the families of the "47%" who would struggle along with their loved one. 

Just something to ponder...

The OASIS Begins

If you read the fragment posted earlier, my apologies.  I hadn't finished and it was supposed to be saved as a draft.

We have held two gatherings of "The OASIS" at the former Salvatorian Center/JFK Prep School near St. Nazianz, Wisconsin. This is for those who have asked for an update.

We met in a corner of the former gym. Much of the area contains items for the thrift store that is located downstairs.  The space is illuminated by old halogen lights that were probably state-of-the-art 40 years ago.   One corner has a cross, area rugs, chairs, a little sound board, and a podium.  There is an electric piano and a drum kit--and the obligatory silk version of ficus trees.  (Does anyone know why it is always ficus trees?)  Kathy, a new friend, played the electric piano for us.  Thirty -two people attended, and we needed to find a couple of extra chairs.  I wrote a litany for the occasion, we sang (a bit awkwardly) a lovely traditional Catholic hymn and a couple of newer songs.  We shared communion.  I answered some FAQs about this new gathering.

I read Ezekiel 37:1-14.  Here is is:

The hand of the Lord came upon me and brought me out in the Spirit of the Lord, and set me down in the midst of the valley; and it was full of bones. Then He caused me to pass by them all around, and behold, there were very many in the open valley; and indeed they were very dry. And He said to me, “Son of man, can these bones live?”

So I answered, “O Lord God, You know.”

Again He said to me, “Prophesy to these bones, and say to them, ‘O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord! Thus says the Lord God to these bones: “Surely I will cause breath to enter into you, and you shall live. 6 I will put sinews on you and bring flesh upon you, cover you with skin and put breath in you; and you shall live. Then you shall know that I am the Lord.”’”

So I prophesied as I was commanded; and as I prophesied, there was a noise, and suddenly a rattling; and the bones came together, bone to bone. Indeed, as I looked, the sinews and the flesh came upon them, and the skin covered them over; but there was no breath in them.

Also He said to me, “Prophesy to the breath, prophesy, son of man, and say to the breath, ‘Thus says the Lord God: “Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe on these slain, that they may live.”’”  So I prophesied as He commanded me, and breath came into them, and they lived, and stood upon their feet, an exceedingly great army.

Then He said to me, “Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel. They indeed say, ‘Our bones are dry, our hope is lost, and we ourselves are cut off!’ Therefore prophesy and say to them, ‘Thus says the Lord God: “Behold, O My people, I will open your graves and cause you to come up from your graves, and bring you into the land of Israel. Then you shall know that I am the Lord, when I have opened your graves, O My people, and brought you up...you shall live, and I will place you in your own land. Then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken it and performed it,” says the Lord.’

Something amusing and remarkable happened.  I shared that I had no sermon, no "study" but that I  believed the Holy Spirit had led me to share the "dry bones" passage.  "And," I added, "I started singing, 'Dem Bones' and have been singing it for two days now.  Does anyone know the song I mean?"  Kathy, behind me at the piano, started playing it.  I glanced back and she had an odd look on her face. 

Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones
(repeated 3 times)
Now hear the word of the Lord...

I asked, though I knew the answer, "Did I tell you I was going to read this passage?"   Then Kathy shook her head "no" and said something like this: "I had to search for a piano book from my teaching days, because I think I was 'told' I would be playing this...I practiced it last week.  And then getting ready to come tonight, I felt I should bring it with me...that I was going to play it."    She pointed to the book on the piano rack.  She smiled. I stared at her, and then I laughed, as did several of those gathered.

Can you imagine what she was thinking as I began to read that strange passage from Ezekiel?

We shared communion while Kathy softly played "Dem Bones" in the background.  That may be a first in all of Christendom.  We closed with the Lord's Prayer. 

Afterwards, we drank coffee and ate my homemade chocolate chip bars. People stayed and talked for a long time.  Except for the "Dem Bones" incident, the evening was not exciting or remarkable in any particular way.  But it was a beginning.

On our second week, there were 33 of us, including several people who were not present last week.  Chris (a different person from the Kris I've mentioned), one of the staff, rang the bell as we gathered in the candlelit church (there is no electricity)  to share acapella songs of praise.  Kathy, who also plays violin and harp, brought her violin and played "Alleluia" as we shared the bread and the cup. 

We sang several songs together--to me these were moving and holy moments.  As I had assumed after the previous time of singing in the old sanctuary, the sound of our voices filled the space and it would have been impossible to tell if there were 10 or 100 of us.  The sound in that church is just amazing.  Several people told me later that they were in tears.  The time there seemed both holy and peaceful.  Someone said to me this past week, "I could see the devastation of the beautiful old church, of course, but even in sadness I had such a sense of hope."

I briefly read, once again, from Ezekiel.   It was getting dark at that point, so we moved across the drive to the gym.  Jim and Linda and Kris shared a bit of history about Father Oshwald and others who had been part of the site in years past, discussed the current state of the property, and shared some of their hopes.  We finished with a time of extemporaneous prayer for them and others on the staff.

Once again, people stayed and chatted and munched cookies for a long time.  It seems we need to make room for that!  A visiting couple from Michigan played guitar for us and sang as the rest of us talked and drank coffee.  He told me they had spent the day with Jim and Linda Frasch and thought they might be moving nearby, that they wanted to help, and that we would likely see them again.

Next week, unless it is too cold, we will be meeting outside around a fire pit that is located to the side of the gym.  I'm thinking I might make chili.  No pattern to what is happening, as of yet!  I think this is a good thing.