Job, My Brother

•August 13, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Job 6:11 – “What is my strength, that I should wait? And what is my end, that I should be patient?”

This past week…just pretty much lousy. And, God forgive me, sometimes it seems no one sees me out here. In the middle of the Atlantic. Okay, maybe just Lake Superior, treading water. Will anyone even notice if I just slip under? How long before I sink to the bottom?
I’ve had important things to do, also. Responsibilities, also. Questions, also. Circumstances, also. Hopes and goals, also. How many back seats are on this bus, cuz it seems like a loonngg black hole?

When I welcomed you to church, today…I hope you felt it. My smile, handshake and hug were genuine. I’m not at all a good faker. But it felt like I was a shadow. In a world of vibrant colors, I was a faded…gray. Because black was too strong a color to try to own.

Pls do not comment. I don’t want to feel worse because you now feel bad for me. I’m not so much seeking sympathy, as I am just trying to prove to MYSELF that I still exist. If I can only see what I’ve written. Words used to be my soul. To keep from slipping under just a few minutes more.


Buster: An Unforgettable Dog

•March 2, 2016 • Leave a Comment

I’ve been thinking of this guy a lot, lately. Maybe because I know I will be moving very soon. Then again, maybe because the love of a dog is something that remains long after they are absent?

Buster died on August 5. I cried until my chest ached from sobbing, but held it together until my son and I walked out of the Humane Society. I did not want that good boy to remember me crying and upset.

He was roughly 14-15 years old. Buster had been with us for nine years. He came schlepping over to our yard one cold, Michigan February morning. We called the neighborhood vets, the pet stores, the animal hospital, and the shelter. No one had reported a lost, homely Rottweiler mix.

He very quickly became accustomed to us and our female dog, Rosie. When he was outside, chasing Rosie (whom he never could catch – he being longer of legs but lacking her speed), he would kick up his rear legs and bark with joyful abandon. It never failed to make me laugh.

Buster was a true lover. Of sticks, squeaky balls, attention, and pizza crust. And me.

Never was there a time I was ill, be it sinus headache, influenza, or vertebral disc displacement, that he didn’t plop his large, heavy head with those soulful eyes, right onto my lap. If there was room on the sofa, he’d climb up next to me. Even if I were seated in the recliner, it did not deter him from his self-appointed cure-all of 70 lbs. worth of cuddling. I believe that’s what I miss the most – his honest, loyal, doggy love. That heart! The only part larger than that ponderous head.

My heart started cracking about four years before his passing. He could no longer climb up on the bed without help. His heel-kicking-up was neither as high, nor as exuberant. What his vet termed his “premature gray” muzzle was now white. Oh, but he still held dear those things he loved. I was so fortunate to be one of them.

The ugly and uninvited shadow of death was patiently waiting… yet becoming more difficult to totally dismiss from my mind.

There were many good days, still. He yet enjoyed playing catch, though he often missed. He seemed to have a central blind spot. This was confirmed when the vet said he had cataracts.

One day, while stroking the fur on his neck and chest, there was found to be a firm lump. Back to the vet. Buster had no problem with the vet, herself, but he never did like going into the clinic. Maybe he smelled the anxiety of the animals that had come before him? Or perhaps the smell of antiseptic and medication was unpleasantly overpowering? Whatever the cause of his distress, he refused to take even one of the variety of delicious treats offered to him while there. This was the guy who would normally cause one to fear that, while offering a doggy cookie, one may pull away only a bloody stump of the hand that offered. After the exam and aspiration, it was declared a cyst and was duly drained.

The lump increased in size, slowly. Touching it seemed to cause no discomfort. There was no oozing – not for a long time. I had been trained as a medical assistant; I had seen the vet draw off the fluid, and thought I could accomplish the same end results. It worked quite well for a couple weeks. Then, I could not seem to stay ahead of the swelling. Also, less fluid was being extracted. Soon, the crisis came. One afternoon, I was petting an insistent Buster, when I felt a sticky wetness. He was bleeding. Not heavily, but constantly. I retrieved a clean, large rag and tried compression, to no avail.

Another appointment-urgently-was made at the veterinary clinic. Poor Buster! He just did not become any fonder of the place. Another examination alerted the vet to a different diagnosis: probable tumor. She happened to have the time to excise it, with the assistance of her intern. The attending vet brought the mass to me. It was softball sized and was convoluted-appearing. She gently told me that, “It doesn’t look good, at all.”

Buster had a determined and fighting spirit, however. He would survive well over three more years.

Those final years were progressively sad. Now, he no longer chased a stick, the ball, or Rosie. He would, instead, sit on his hind end and loudly bark! Loud barking always was one of Buster’s trademarks (when playing, alerting, or ‘asking’ for something).

On his last morning, Buster ate his breakfast with the usual exuberance, after his early morning bathroom break. He had been needing assistance with the one step down from the patio door for quite some while. It was very warm, already this early, and he retreated to the room in the middle of the house. I heard him plop down onto the floor, heavily, due to his arthritic, stiff back legs. After several minutes, I needed to go into that room. Buster looked up at me with more than his usual sad-eyed look. He had vomited his breakfast. Buster rarely vomited. I spoke kindly to him, reassuring him that he was a good boy and it was just an accident. It was quickly cleaned up. I petted him some more, then turned the fan toward him. He relaxed and lay down his head. I left the room.

Only a short while afterward, I hear the sound of urinating. Coming quickly into the room, I see Buster standing. I gently start pushing him toward the patio door, thinking that it was quite soon for him to have to go outside again. I tell him he has to go outside. He takes the couple of steps to the screen door. I open it and prepare to do the usual assist, supporting his rear legs, while the front legs take that step down.

He succeeded in getting the front legs down, collapsing immediately after. I tried lifting him, but was unable. I allowed him to rest a minute. With significant help from me, he was able to hobble a few steps, again collapsing, this time in front of the garage.

I ran into the house, down the basement stairs, and woke up my son, who worked third shift. I explained that Buster had twice collapsed and I thought he was dying. I then ran back upstairs, grabbed Buster’s favorite blanket, and headed back outside. Buster lay quietly. I could hear him breathing, but his tongue didn’t look right. He seemed unable to pant. I spread the blanket in the shade of the garage overhang, then gently rolled him onto it. Normally, my maneuvering him in such a manner would induce a growling complaint or soft bark. There was no vocalization, at all.

I tried to further assess his state. I moved my hands quickly toward his eyes. He blinked. I repeated the motion and he again blinked. I knew he could see. I sat in front of him. He tried to pick up his head, but could not. I then lay down beside him, gently petting him and telling him what a good boy he was. He appeared to go to sleep, closing his eyes.

My son came outside and looked at Buster, while I explained his symptoms. After several minutes, my son went back inside. I could see a mixture of denial and grief in his eyes. Buster was his special buddy.

I was with Buster, moving the blanket to follow the shade. I lay next to him for well over two hours. He continued sleeping, but I could hear his breathing. Still, no panting. I slowly stood, being careful not to disturb him.

I returned to the house and filled Buster’s water bowl. Sitting down, I began my first cry. I thought about how to deal with this situation. My son returned upstairs and sat next to me. We discussed our options. We talked about the possibility that Buster could pull through this, after a day or two of rest. We also spoke of taking him to the local Humane Society for euthanasia. That word. It always seemed so ugly. I made the phone call and found out the times they handled that situation. I told them I had to think about it, but would call before coming in.

We went back to Buster. He now was awake and tried, again, to lift his head. This time, he managed to plop it onto my lap. I stroked his big, old head. I cupped my hands and got some water. Buster could not lap it up, so I slowly let it trickle into his mouth. If nothing else, it would wet his mouth.

My son was able to pick him up and carry him into the house. I brought the blanket and we gently laid Buster down on it, again with the fan. We both agreed that it appeared to be time to take our old, lovable lug, to the Humane Society. I called them and told them we were coming, as there had been no improvement.

My son scooped up Buster and I grabbed his blanket. We situated him on the back seat of the car. He still made no sound.

It was about a 15-minute ride to Buster’s final destination. I went in ahead while my son, again, lifted Buster, bringing him inside. He was laid next to me. I was completing the request for euthanasia. Suddenly, that same word seemed kind and merciful. Buster was awake and made very small, almost inaudible noises. I could tell that he didn’t like being there. His legs were trembling; the only movement I had seen in his legs since his collapse. I was praying the staff would hurry.

An assistant came to check over the paperwork. She explained that we could take a little time to say goodbye. She shared what would happen with the euthanasia. She told us to let her know when we were ready, before returning to the front desk. We petted and hugged Buster, telling him we loved him and what a good boy he was. We tried as hard as possible not to cry in front of him. After a couple minutes, I told the assistant we were ready.

An employee emerged from the back area. She introduced herself and gave a brief explanation of the process. She brought out a large, wheeled cart with a fleece blanket spread over it. She helped my son lift Buster onto it. We both gave him one last hug. That assistant told us that it would be very quick, once she took him back beyond the door. He would be gone within a couple minutes. We watched her disappear behind the door with our goofy, precious buddy.

I began to cry, just outside the door to the clinic. Other people were coming in, so I stifled myself. We were just miserable.

Once inside the car, I no longer held back. I had left a very special chunk of my heart in that clinic. I was temporarily shattered; broken hearted. I could not help thinking that I would no longer feel that large head in my lap. I was acutely aware of how it felt to pet that head; the way his fur felt under my hand. The sound of his very loud sniffing. Those sad-looking eyes.

Buster, however, was finally at peace. We had to give him that gift, after all that he had given to us.11059627_10207259995395825_5617952933910779921_n

WordPress and Me: just a friendly little conversation

•March 2, 2016 • Leave a Comment

I swear, it really happened like this!

Me: Can’t remember password.
WP: Can’t grant access.
Me: Let’s take the long way home.
WP: You’re hilarious! But, no.
Me: Change password?
WP: Say please.
Me: To a computer program?
WP: Don’t know ’bout you, but I have all day…
Me: Fine, please.
WP: Try again, minus sarcasm.
Me: Please? (Making frustrated hand gestures)
WP: Do you call yourself a writer? Please use a complete sentence.
Me: Please, may I change my password? (Throttling gesture)
WP: Perhaps you may. Do you feel lucky?
Me: Not at all.
WP: I thought not.
Me: Did I just detect sarcasm?
WP: Session timed out.
Me: I don’t believe this!

Take II

Me: I’m back. Still have no access.
WP: What’s the problem?
Me: (Slapping forehead) I forgot my password.
WP: Why would you do that?
Me: Good question!
WP: Of course!
Me: May I change the password, pretty please?
WP: Sure. Open your account and choose the Change Password link.
Me: Since I cannot ACCESS my account, how will I choose the link?
WP: Please follow our directions, specifically.
Me: Okay. I will need to rephrase. I am locked out of my account because I cannot recall the password; therefore, I cannot use any links within the account, as I am unable to enter said account.
WP: That sounds unfortunate.
Me: Indeed, it is quite so.
WP: How may we help you?
Me: (Face turning red) I should like to very humbly request another chance to restore access to my account, please? And thank you, in advance.
WP: Your session has timed out.

Take III

Me: Hello! It’s Rob – again!
WP: How may we help you?
Me: Are you able to guess?
WP: No. Computer programs rely solely on proven, infallible data.
Me: (Thinking: Give me a break!) Why do I fail to achieve access to my account, being unable to recall my password?
WP: We do not respond to questions of ‘why’.
Me: Why not?
WP: We do not respond…
Me: (Quickly interrupting) I voluntarily rephrase: For what reason do you not reply to ‘why’ questions?
WP: Why is not logical. There are too many variables contained within ‘why’.
Me: May I simply start over?
WP: If necessary. Computer-generated sigh.
Me: What is the step-by-step process to recover a locked account due to forgotten password – keeping in mind that I cannot follow the link on the left side of the page, as I do not recall the password, resulting in not being able to use the aforementioned link?
WP: Could you be more specific?
Me: Impossible! By the way, aren’t you late in timing out my session?
WP: In three…two…one…

Take IV

Me: Look, it’s nearly bedtime. Could we move it along?
WP: We are stationary programs, incapable of moving ‘it’. Whatever ‘it’ actually is.
Me: Please, Mr. Unlocking Access WP Computer Program, would you mind, terribly, instructing this mentally challenged password forgetter regarding regaining access to my account?
WP: No problem! There is a secondary path to access.
Me: Wonderful! Please continue in this secondary instruction.
WP: Open WordPress home page.
Me: Done.
WP: Type user name and password.
Me: I remember my user name…
WP: Fantastic! Now, type your password.
Me: Therein lies the problem…
WP: Problem?
Me: My last password somehow escapes me.
WP: Is this Rob?
Me: Affirmative. Have you missed me?
WP: Negative on the emotion.
Me: Since we now have moved far beyond the mere acquaintance relationship – oops! I’ll wager you are incapable of a relationship. Too disgustingly human.
WP: You just may be catching on. Oops, your session, once again you silly goose, has timed out.

Take V

Me: Pretty please with a cherry on top, instruct me regarding regaining access to my account of four years plus. While I remain young enough to recall my name, user name, date of birth…
WP: Stop. Enough detail. There are fifteen people holding in the queue.
Me: What advice can you dispense?
WP: I assume you tried the link?
Me: You assume correctly. Please restore my WP Kingdom of Unimportant Ramblings.
WP: For our memory-challenged, elderly folk, we have a…
Me: Secondary path! That’s exactly what I want!
WP: We are able to send a code to the email of record.
Me: I earnestly request same. With extra awe and humility.
WP: It has been sent. It may take several minutes to reach your inbox.
Me: That will be no trouble, at all. Oh, I just received the notification. I’m double checking the numbers…entering the code…it’s telling me that’s an invalid code!
WP: You entered an error.
Me: Begging your pardon, but no. I double checked the numbers before typing.
WP: We will resend a new code. Have you taken your blood pressure medication yet today?
Me: Heretofore, I have not required any.
WP: Just checking. Your second code should be waiting.
Me: Yes, I have it. I’m double checking. Now I’m triple checking. Here goes…message says invalid code! HOW (Notice I’m NOT asking why!) is that even possible?!! It’s YOUR infallible, computer-generated code!
WP: Your other option is to use the link on the left hand side of home page.
Me: I refuse!!
WP: For what possible reason would you refuse?
Me: Because your session has timed out! At my election! (Closes website with entirely too much glee)

When Someone Says It So Much Better

•June 29, 2015 • Leave a Comment



The Supreme Court Just Gave American Evangelicals a Gift


Evangelicals are tenacious, persistent, and driven when they want to fight for a cause. The problem is that American evangelicals have been swept up in fighting for the wrong cause for a long time.

When the Supreme Court ruled to make same sex marriage the law of the land, American evangelicals received a gift that many don’t want: official permission to fight for people in need instead of fighting against same sex marriage.

Whatever you believe about same sex marriage, the role of government, and the future of the church in America, disagreeing with same sex marriage on moral grounds does not demand a public campaign to prevent it from becoming legally sanctioned. While I remain committed to creating room for affirming and non-affirming evangelicals who unite under the common banner of saving faith in Christ, evangelicals in America should have never made legalized same sex marriage a central moral issue to fight in the courts.

While I don’t believe Matthew 25 is exhaustive in its presentation of what matters to God, we do get a glimpse of the kinds of people who have internalized and lived out the message of Jesus. They work to alleviate the most pressing needs of others in our world.

That isn’t a call to relativize our sexual standards. Rather, I see Jesus pointing us toward the issues that pertain to the most basic aspects of human dignity: food, shelter, clothing, justice, and sickness:

“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat,

I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink,

I was a stranger and you invited me in, 

I needed clothes and you clothed me, 

I was sick and you looked after me,

I was in prison and you came to visit me.”

We can disagree all day about same sex marriage. Heck, the majority of evangelicals will most likely continue to disagree about this issue for another 20 years until the millennials take their place in church leadership.

However, there’s no denying that millions of people around the world are suffering significantly, and Jesus wants us to focus our energies on serving them. If there was ever a group of people who should give a damn about children dying of hunger, deeply wounded people suffering in prison, and thousands upon thousands of refugees fleeing unprecedented violence in the Middle East, it should be American evangelicals.

It’s not like these massive global needs are a secret:

Over 49 million Americans and 870 million people overall in the world are going hungry (source).

750 million people worldwide lack access to clean water, leading to diseases that disproportionately kill children under age 5 who are unable to fight bacteria (source 1source 2)

The U.S. prison system incarcerates over 2.3 million people, including a disproportionate number of African Americans (source).

Over 100 million Christians around the world face severe persecution, including the believers living in refugee camps after fleeing Syria and Iraq (source).

Over 500,000 Americans are homeless (source), but worldwide an estimated 1 billion people are living in housing that is inadequate (source).

If you care about preventing terrible things like human trafficking, rape, forced prostitution, and child soldiers, partnering with groups that empower communities to meet these basic needs will go a long way in keeping potential victims safe, healthy, and in control of their own lives.

Declarations about the collapse of civilization because of same sex marriage ring hollow when we consider that Americans toss 31.1% of our foodwhile allowing millions to go hungry, fail to ask whether our ridiculously high incarceration rates ruin thousands of lives that could have been set right through treatment programs, and Christians in the Middle East have to flee their villages after ISIS invades, steals their women and children, and threatens to kill anyone who refuses to convert.

If God is going to condemn us over anything in America, it’s going to be our indifference and inaction when it comes to feeding people, giving out clean water, offering shelter, visiting the sick, and helping the prisoners, not a Supreme Court ruling.

It boggles the mind that evangelicals in America have long seen this ruling coming, but we have fought tooth and nail in what many suspected to be a losing cause. So many millions of dollars and hours were tossed into legal battles that were a long shot at best.

And yet, we have always had financial resources, competent charities, and passionate workers who are more than willing to travel to the ends of the earth to fulfill the very words of Jesus. If we collectively gave these most basic causes just a fraction of the time and energy that we had devoted to fighting same sex marriage, who knows how many thousands or millions of lives could have been saved.

We have been given a gift: The Supreme Court ruling means we can stop throwing our time and money into fighting same sex marriage and fulfill the words of Matthew 25.

We need not lament, lick our wounds, or bemoan the “terrible” world that our grandchildren will inherit. For millions of people around the world and even in our own neighborhoods, the worst has already happened and will continue to happen.

We need not wave the white flag of surrender on same sex marriage and pray for God’s mercy. If we’re going to take the words of Jesus seriously, know this:

God’s judgment has been upon us long before a single state allowed same sex marriage.

God’s judgment came upon us when we left people hungry, thirsty, sick, unclothed, and alone.

It’s time to stop blaming the court system. If we disagree on same sex marriage, that is our right. That doesn’t change the call of Jesus for his followers, especially American evangelicals at this time. We have our marching orders. We shouldn’t act surprised at who we’re called to serve.

We aren’t called to fight against someone. We aren’t called to litigation.

We are called to fight for everyone—especially those suffering in the most basic ways.

The longer we engage in legal fights against same sex marriage, the more apparent it becomes that we’d rather throw ourselves into any losing cause than obey the most basic commands of Jesus.

Let’s take our tenacity, energy, and resources and throw them into serving the people who are suffering the most in this world.

We may even hear the words: “Well done, good and faithful servant,” one day.

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151 thoughts on “The Supreme Court Just Gave American Evangelicals a Gift

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  1. Ugh. Are there any real Christians out there? So many are blindly strolling hand-in-hand down the broad road, the easy road…where love and tolerance and social justice are the pillars of the gospel.

    Does no one read their Bible anymore? Or believe it? Jesus said that most who think they are Christians are not. And thanks to those who preach a false gospel, this massive, jovial parade will discover too late that the bridge to their heaven is out and will stand rejected and condemned by Jesus, the very one they thought would save them. Read Matthew 7:13-29

    As important as it is to care for the sick and help all those in need, these righteous deeds are simply the evidence of those who truly love and serve the Lord Jesus.

    And neglecting these acts of service is NOT—I repeat—NOT the reason for God’s condemnation or coming judgement as this author falsely claims:

    “If God is going to condemn us over anything in America, it’s going to be our indifference and inaction when it comes to feeding people, giving out clean water, offering shelter, visiting the sick, and helping the prisoners, not a Supreme Court ruling.” -ED CYZEWSKI

    “God’s judgment came upon us when we left people hungry, thirsty, sick, unclothed, and alone.” -ED CYZEWSKI

    God’s judgment and righteous condemnation will rightly fall on all who reject Jesus the ONLY means of being right (justified) before God. “For there is only one God and one Mediator who can reconcile God and humanity–the man Christ Jesus.” 1 Tim 2:5

    Jesus calls us to be his hands and feet and care for and truly love others, but let’s not forget the real reason Jesus came…to call sinners to repentance and holiness. To be reconciled to God the Father. He came to prepare for himself a pure and holy people who are called out of sin and darkness and into His kingdom…to reign with him forever.

    No matter what the Supreme Court does or how many rainbows we post on Facebook, let’s not forget that when Jesus returns, he will not be wearing a rainbow-colored robe. He will be coming in a blood-soaked robe of judgement to destroy all who rejected HIS GIFT of salvation. Rev 19.

    In the end, #LoveWins ONLY for those who belong to the Great God and Savior Jesus Christ, who came to save them. Titus 2:13

    For the rest, it matters not whether they are draped in rainbows, a judge’s robe, a nurse’s scrubs or a papal hat, if they haven’t repented and been stripped of their pride and clothed in the righteousness of Christ Jesus, then they stand condemned.

    Let’s get God’s story straight.

    Liked by 3 people

    • Ed, do you believe Paul’s writings are inspired and canonical? Read 1 Corinthians 5. Paul says Christians should not concern themselves with the world – God will judge. For a Christian to hold a loud vocal opinion on the marriage question is contradictory to Paul’s message. (Many fundamentalists also choose to ignore Paul’s writings about women’s ability to speak in church, and his orders on the wearing of jewelry.)


    • Loving your neighbor does not mean you agree with their lifestyle. Not one of you liberals really understand the Bible. You’ve taken it and made it into a fairy tale to suit what YOU BELIEVE IT SHOULD SAY. Yes we are all sinners, saved by God’s grace, BUT WE WHO ARE REALLY SAVED TRY EVERYDAY TO LIVE A PURER LIFE AND YES SOMETIMES WE FAIL, BUT WE DO NOT IGNORE WHAT GOD HAS SAID IS SIN. AND MAYBE YOUR BIBLE AND ALL THE RAINBOW FOLLOWERS BIBLE HAS ALL THE PARTS YOU WANT OUT OF IT BUT MINE TELLS ME THAT HOMOSEXUALITY IS A


      • Not sure which Bible you are reading, but the Bibles I have seen are full or terrible stories of killing innocent children, rape and the proper way to treat slaves, as well as some good stories too. If the parts you like literally then you have to take all of it literally, and that means you will spend lots of time in jail or worse.

        This I do take literally:
        Luke 6:37 “Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.


      • “We are all sinners saved by grace, but…” There’s no but to that statement. We are all sinners saved by grace. Full stop. Followers of Jesus are not authorized to condemn others for their sins, but we are authorized to forgive sins. So if you’re sure that homosexual acts are always sinful, the best thing to do is make good friends with as many homosexuals as you can and diligently forgive them.


    • The reason why Christian leadership doesn’t emphasize these issues is because they don’t bring in the revenue streams the way that condemning gay marriage does. Organized religion is a business, and in order to stay in business, leadership selects the issues to rile people up about that induce the greatest contributions to the Church. Once churchgoers, never really ones for critical thinking in the first place, decide they care more about social justice and the like, leadership will have no choice but to emphasize those issues instead – some churches are already doing this. It has to be a bottom up process – with a credible threat of people actually leaving the congregation to facilitate change.


  2. Ed, if in fact you have spent much time feeding the hungry and clothing the stranger in our cities and around the world, surely you know how deeply intertwined poverty and brokenness are with sex. If you care about poverty, you have to care about sex. My parents have worked for decades in the inner city and in Kwazulu-Natal, the area with the highest infection rate of HIV in the world. They have seen first hand how inter-generational poverty is a corollary of unchastened sexual practice. And here in the US, out of wedlock birth is one of the single greatest predictors of poverty. It would be foolishness if the Christians who for so many generations have been on the front lines of serving the poor never paused to consider: What are the causes of this perpetual poverty? Perhaps we should also address that too. Regarding same-sex marriage, it is less obvious what the consequences will be of more and more children lacking either a father or mother, but one can be sure it will not be an isolated thing, an island unto itself. There will be social consequences. Christians must carry on the unenviable task of being sexually counter-cultural, because we have every evidence that the biblical sexual ethic is good for personal and societal well-being. And, as we go, we must remember the poor, who are in so many cases the victims of cultures that haven’t provided the tools to choose wisely.

    Liked by 3 people

    • I think you have your cause and effect backwards… Perhaps poverty is the single greatest indicator of out of wedlock pregnancy.
      If you are poor, you can’t afford contraceptives… Or marriage.
      Maybe conservative Christians should stop fighting against people’s needs for contraception as a basic part of healthcare coverage.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Jesus said He was worth the cost of expensive oil poured on Him before His crucifixion, part of our act of belief and worship. Christians get criticized any way possible. Christians do obey by feeding, clothing and comforting the poor. We must stand up for God given standards, no matter the cost.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. You almost got it right Ed, Jesus does want us to meet the needs of the poor and hungry. By the way, the evangelicals you choose to judge and mock are the biggest contributors of those needs on the planet. But Jesus asked us to make disciples of the nations, priority one for a dying world. Your lengthy rant left that out.

    Liked by 3 people

    • Do you have any proof they are the biggest contributors to the planet? Because I’d like to argue Bill Gates.


      • I recommend that you read the book “Who Really Cares: The Surprising Truth About Compassionate Conservatism” by Arthur C. Brooks. You will find ample proof there. Also, as I pointed out in my own comment on this thread, evangelicals give far more to humanitarian relief organizations than to social advocacy charities. I looked up the IRS Form 990 information for World Vision, Samaritan’s Purse, Compassion International, and Prison Fellowship. Last year, just those four humanitarian relief groups received $2.5 billion in donations. By contrast, the four social advocacy groups of Alliance Defending Freedom, American Center for Law and Justice, Family Research Council, and National Right to Life only received $75 million in donations. I think each of these two sets of four organizations is representative of their categories, so you can see for yourself where evangelicals are donating the bulk of their resources.

        Liked by 3 people

        • That’s not a fair comparison at all. A lot of non-evangelicals and non-Christians donate to World Vision, Samaritan’s Purse and Compassion International. For obvious reasons, they would not donate to the social advocacy causes you listed. Unless you have specifically limited your research to a fixed quantity of Evangelical donors and tracked their donations to both types of organizations, this is a comparison that is useless at best and deliberately misleading at worst.


        • Jenna, please read the book, especially the chapter on Faith and Charity. The author has done meticulous research to show that it is in fact primarily churchgoers who give to charity, and not just to their local churches, but to the very types of humanitarian relief agencies I’ve listed. Therefore, I stand by my statement. It is an entirely fair comparison and an accurate one. It is not in the least bit useless or misleading.

          Liked by 1 person

  5. Yes. Yes. YES! This is exactly what we need to hear. I’ve made this point to many in my congregation. Somehow, we skim over God’s great concern for the weakest in society. Just a few passages: God called Israel a sinful nation for abandoning concern for the poor, fatherless & widows. (Isaiah 1)
    James tells us that pure religion isn’t taking control of the world, but to look after widows & orphans & to refrain from being polluted by the world. (James 1:27) The implication there is that showing no concern for the weakest in society IS being polluted by the world.
    Jesus said people would know we are his followers, not if we stop gays from marrying but if we show love. (John 13:35)

    Furthermore, I believe it is wrong for us Christians to attempt to use the law to stop gays from marrying. Read Jesus’ parable of the wheat & the weeds in Matthew 13. It is NOT our jobs to stamp out “evil.” Attempting to eliminate evil can cause harm to the world. If you disagree with me, go on and read the text for yourself. It IS our job to nurture goodness in this world.
    So let’s turn this “loss” in the world into a win. By using this & every opportunity to do good for those in need.


  6. This is not a very well thought out piece. It’s maddening really. It’s completely ridiculous to say that the Supreme Court gave American evangelicals a gift, the gift of being able to focus on the poor because the issue of same-sex marriage has already been decided so evangelicals don’t have to focus on that anymore. As if one cannot focus on both. At any rate— Here’s something I would like to know—if the Supreme Court prohibited SSM instead, would the author still say that the Court gave Evangelicals the gift of now being able to focus on helping the poor? Something tells me that he would not.

    Interestingly, it was Judas who said that the money bag was wasted on anointing Jesus when it could have been given to the poor. It seems to me the author’s doing something similar. Who said that those who will suffer as a consequence of the legalization of SSM, suffer because what they thought would make them happy ultimately didn’t, are not poor? Who said that the children who will lack a mother or father because of SSM are not poor? Poverty can be spiritual, psychological, mental, emotional, and moral, in addition to material. The author of this blog post seems oblivious to this, and to the existence of the spiritual works of mercy.

    Another thing… this ruling will lead to individuals attempting to file lawsuits against conscientious Christians and Christian churches. The ruling could also get in the way of some Christian groups and organizations of helping the poor. Gift? Hardly.

    Liked by 4 people

  7. “When the Supreme Court ruled to make same sex marriage the law of the land, American evangelicals received a gift that many don’t want: official permission to fight for people in need instead of fighting against same sex marriage.” American Evangelicals will have to spend time and money defending their right not to be forced to perform same sex weddings or provide services for them. They will have to fight for their right to hot have to be forced to hire homosexuals in their churches, Christian schools, non-profits because those institutions believe marriage is defined as one man, one woman. These are the types of things they will be spending time and money on. They will continue to do their best for the poor and disenfranchised. There are many of us who are on the front lines caring for the poor. Evangelicals “ignoring the poor” is far from the only reason the poor or not being served well. Corruption, greed, selfishness, etc. I agree with Nate Jacobson’s post above: “surely you know how deeply intertwined poverty and brokenness are with sex. If you care about poverty, you have to care about sex.” Exactly!

    Liked by 2 people

    • Sweetie, gays don’t want hate and fear mongering clergy / churches performing their weddings, anymore than you would demand an imam or a rabbi or Buddhist monk, or a Shinto priest or a Satanist perform yours.

      Your comment/fear is so ludicrous, it should be named Chris Bridges.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Please do not disrespectfully call me “sweetie.” And, yes, people have been forced to perform ceremonies, provide services to same-sex couples for their weddings (or be sued), and hire gay people or be accused of being discriminatory or bigots. Please do not respond because I am not longer receiving e-mails per this article. It is unfortunately not worth my time.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Then why do they sue Christian bakers and photographers who refer them to someone else because they can’t be a part of a religious ceremony that contradicts their beliefs? If they will sue these Christians, why wouldn’t they sue the pastors? What if they are dead set on marrying in a specific church , but the church will not perform SSMs because of their religious convictions? You think they honestly wouldn’t sue, having a pretty good idea that they will win now? I don’t think you really believe that.

        Liked by 1 person

        • There is a big difference between a church and a florist. The church has a right to practice it’s religion as guaranteed under the first amendment. The florist or other business sells a product or provides a service not covered by the first amendment. Any attempt to force a church to host a wedding it does not want to will fail.
          But, for the business owner who says, I don’t want to “participate” in a same sex wedding by selling them a cake, I say nonsense. Is the gun shop owner “participating” in a murder when the weapon is subsequently used? Then why do you think you are “participating” in the wedding?

          Liked by 1 person

        • Because these are businesses, not churches. Businesses do not have the right to discriminate against anyone. This violates public accommodation laws. Churches, on the other hand are private institutions protected by the first amendment.


  8. Pingback: Toward an Explanation of Fundamentalism and Freaking Out over Equality « Andrew Joseph Pegoda, A.B.D.

  9. I’m deeply saddened to see so many negative replies. We just continue to miss the point and this piece just proves that! Just act out of love and let God do the judging!


  10. Pingback: Rainbows and Happiness…and Broken Friendships | a small person

  11. Excellent blog. Excellent post. It very similar (although toned down a bit) to a blog I wrote yesterday titles “Take Me To Church – Same Sex Marriage And The Supreme Court” and linked in perfectly with yours of Evangelicals needing to “refocus”. Sadly, it won’t happen. I believe at times they thrive on drama and yelling and telling certain groups they are the ones damned to hell. Must be an Evangelical hobby. Maybe they should take up Yo-Yoing, Fishing, or Mountain Climbing.


  12. Pingback: The Supreme Court just gave American evangelicals a gift | Baptist News Global Perspectives – Conversations that matter

  13. We can yell all we want about “God establishing marriage between one man and one woman”, but the Christian church seems to get really quiet when the issue of divorce comes up. Most Christians choose to ignore what the scripture says about divorce – it is “hated by God” and it is clear throughout the Bible that, except for a few rare cases, divorce and remarriage leads to continued sin – adultery…

    Luke 16:18 “Anyone who divorces his wife and marries another woman commits adultery, and the man who marries a divorced woman commits adultery.

    The Old Testament, Jesus, and the other writers of the New Testament were all clear on the sin of divorce, yet my church and every church I have been associated with is full of divorced / remarried people, many who probably sit in judgement of same-sex marriage. Why doesn’t the church condemn them for openly living in sin?

    Our call is to Love God and Love others – leave the judging to Him…


  14. This post and the following comments are the perfect example of the root problem in and outside of the Church (pride). We choose one scripture passages “that we believe in as the whole truth” and condemn anyone who does not champion it the way we do. The Bible has a lot more to say about caring for the poor, sex, money, life, etc. than just a handful of verses. There is a thread that runs through the whole book on all of these topics and more with examples of what happens when people live by faith or not. The New Testiment doesn’t make sense unless you understand the covenant requirements of the Old Testiment. And none of it can be understood or applied correctly without the help of the Holy Spirit, but few people will take the time to humbly ask for His help.


  15. Thank you, Ed, for bravely writing this post, full well knowing the rain of hate and garbage that would follow. Social justice is not hippy dippy bullshit. It’s the heart of Christ. If I risk being condemned for my love and acceptance of homosexuals when I am standing before god and the throne, I’m certain I don’t want any part of that “kingdom” anyhow.


  16. Ed,
    Empowered by grace, I have fed Him when He was hungry, sheltered Him when He was homeless, given Him something to drink when He was thirsty, clothed Him when He was naked, cared for Him when He was sick, visited Him in prison. In doing so I have learned that so few of the homeless have parents who honored their marriage vows, nor honored their marriage vows and love their children in practical ways. Asserting Divine plans for marriage across the board is a fundamental way to ease suffering that can be done while doing the rest of the remedial work needing to be done in our sin sick world..


  17. Happy Monday, folks. I took most of the weekend away from this here blog, and apparently things kind of exploded while I was gone. I’ve never had a comment moderation policy because it’s never been necessary. From what I hear, I’m going to need one. So I’ll be going through the comments later today, and I wanted to give everyone a heads up on what’s going to happen:

    1. I welcome dissenting opinions. I have many close friend who disagree with me on this topic, and we can get on with our lives just fine. So I’m not worried about disagreements here. I am, however, concerned with civility so that all views feel welcome.

    2. I see this blog as a kind of front porch conversation that I’m hosting. So if anyone starts attacking anyone else verbally, makes unfair accusations, insults anyone by calling them a fool, idiot, etc., or does anything else that may make other commenters from voicing their opinions, those comments will be deleted. If you have written a particularly long comment that you feel perfectly captures your views like nothing else in all of the internets but you also resorted to insulting people or created a particularly hostile commenting environment, please copy and paste it somewhere else because I will most certainly delete it later today when I stop by to moderate things.

    3. Comment moderation is not a science. It’s far more important to me that I create a space where civil discourse can happen rather than giving room for people to bully, accuse, judge, etc. The Internet is a big, wild place with lots of diversity. It may be that this particular blog just isn’t your cup of tea.

    4. It’s been my ongoing policy to close comments after a post has been live for two weeks in order to minimize spam. That policy will remain for this post as well.


  18. The link between ingrained poverty and the culture of sexual anarchy is undeniable. The”freedom” our elite class celebrates is devastating to the poor as it absolutely guts the social resources they used to rely on. Want to help children? Feed them, yes, but help to restore the place of the traditional family if you want to have the greatest impact.


  19. “Without a voice, you and I will be known ONLY by the labels that the militants give us.”

    Oh, I don’t know. I think with the voice we have used we’ve done a fine enough job giving ourselves those labels.



  20. I agree-WAY too many evangelifish have wrapped the Bible in the flag, and have used it to bash the world. Bad move, and I am not going to defend that mindset.

    What we have NOT done is bring logic and reason along with our faith..


  21. “What we have NOT done is bring logic and reason along with our faith.”

    Yes. Dualism is a tragedy and travesty with which the church has played along for many centuries.



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What’s in a Password? Everything…or Nothing!

•September 17, 2014 • 2 Comments

Let me state, clearly and unequivocally:  “I HATE passwords!” If only that would clear it out of my system!

What has my life become with all these ‘secret’ codes/words/messages/answers to  archaic questions that my ever-approaching dementia won’t allow me to remember, anyway?

A typical day in the life of an old gal – traveling where she feels safe in the far right-hand information lane, trying to survive with the fast, speed-limit-be-darned, far left lane people:

Wake up at possibly two hours premature to sunrise. Cat is jumping between me and Himself. When jumping becomes boring, then tries balancing on our lateral ribs. This cat should join Cirque du Soleil. If I can ever get their password-protected permission to comment on their website, I might just make the referral! Since I am in the established pre-sunrise fog, I cannot quickly recall the cat-stopping, shutdown password. Not to worry! The feline song-alarm goes off and I suddenly recall that it’s,


I tried a simpler cat password. All 10,000 were already taken.

Supposing that I should feed the breadwinner, Himself, next, I determine if the preference today will be cold cereal (Mr. Kellogg should be sainted, I don’t care if I am Protestant!) or (would you believe the NERVE) hot eggs. While eggs are cooking, time to make coffee. Does anyone else out there realize that it is possible to lock oneself out of the coffeemaker?! After weeks of consternation and droopy eyelids, I discovered that a covertly whispered, threatening word at the tiny clock (as if I haven’t figured out that’s a cloaking display) tends to brreak the impasse. Well, along with a large and powerful jerking of the pot out of the base.

Now to try to catch up on what happened in the whole, wide world while I was asleep. OMG! Who actually touched the remote(s) last?? If it was moi, then I know I need only touch one small green button, right at the very top of the light silver, older – not the light silver, newer – controller. If it was (insert very s-l-o-w, heavy-handed, lower register piano notes here) Himself…then it’s a virtual hodgepodge of punching not only the correct buttons, but in the correct sequence (kills me every time) and while my left retina (non-dominant, BTW. Gosh, I hope that’s not one of my secret questions!!) is correctly positioned in front of the laser. As you can imagine, this is in the top 2 reasons for marital discord. Oh, and then Himself wonders why I need new glasses each year!

By the time I get all this controller rigmarole straightened out, the REAL news is over and they’re broadcasting the ‘pop’ news. I thought all that stuff was corralled into one silly channel that only 12-year-olds watched at 1:00 a.m. because they could not sleep? Okay, maybe an occasional insomniac adult visitor! Murrow, Huntley, Brinkley, Reasoner! They’re all spinning in their graves!

The housework comes next. I have a Maytag dishwasher that’s about circa 1985. It’s used rarely, though, for the occasional day after a big day of errands or visiting someone in the hospital that keeps me from having enough energy reserve to wash that mountain of dishes at 9:00 p.m. (We both enjoy cooking from scratch – it’s a hippie-like protest.) Usually, it’s the dishtub and whichever bottle of liquid dish detergent that doesn’t have a digital, child proof lock top.  My mop looks like Whoopi’s hairstyle. And I use the kind of broom that witches use for transportation. I don’t care! None of them require a password! I hope I expire before them.

Never being satisfied with ‘well enough’, I  am drawn to the computer. It’s a love-hate, hate-some-more relationship:

1.  Sign on screen greets me with a cheerful, mint green color. I’m onto it, though. I know it’s a ruse. The heart of my computer, actually, is the color of mud. And it beats about as fast as mud dries on a rainy day. This is the only password I easily remember, as it has never prompted me to change because of some foreign hacker-spy.

2.  Today, I want to keep it simple. Just mail server and Facebook. Oh, dear! Did I not just catch on the first 5 minutes of real news that somebody hacked into an internet mail server? Was it mine? I need to look this up! Wait! Not without the password, I don’t! I type in my current password and immediately change it, regardless. It feels a little like shooting myself in the foot. The dominant one!

After deleting 9/10 of my so-called mail messages, I decide to look in on the family on FB. (Really, socially-conscious conservation group? You know of at least 3 global crises 24/7/365-1/4? And I highly suspect you SOLD my address to the political hacks!),  Uh-oh. Was there a REAL FB warning about changing the password – or was that a trick to get me to click on a subversive link that will shut down my computer and infect my dogs with diarrhea? Or was that infect my computer with spamarrhea and shut down my dogs? Might I substitute my cat? Change another password! Wait! Did I use this (not really new, rather, recycled) ‘new’ password before the allotted timeframe has passed? If so, those irritating secret questions will come up!

According to the first 5 minutes of real news last night: All we slow laners should take heart! We just need to write all of our  passwords down! On that ancient Papyrus 1.0 with our ancient, lead, ciphering instrument! Those smarty-pants Egyptians! No wonder they ruled the world!

Pray with me that those most ancient of dishonest professionals – thieves – do not hack into my home alarm system and make off with the most valuable item in my home:  That ancient papyrus! (And if they do, could they please leave detailed instructions on how they did it so that I can get into my home the first try and stop irritating the very busy local police with false alarms?)

In proofreading this article, I’m laughing to myself. I often crack myself up! If I can remember my WP password, and whether or not there’s been a red alert to change it, I hope you might allow a slight smile to be noticed on your features. Just enough so someone wonders what you’re up to.

That Last and Precious Day

•April 29, 2014 • 2 Comments

I’ve just been thinking. I write a lot about the past…because, for me, it is rich with lessons for the present and maybe future, too! Someday, I hope someone, somewhere, who knows me, will decide I’m worth writing about – although, some of us tend to be examples of what not, rather than what to do. Many times, unless we are a highly trained direct caregiver, we won’t have the ability to discern that crucial, blessed last day-

My heart feels like proverbial stone. I’ve gone from being depressed and anxious, which causes me to snack more than I should, to being enveloped in grief. To my physical constitution, grieving means wanting to eat those beloved chocolate snacks, but simply being unable. No matter how I try to induce myself. Such is this time.

He lies, virtually swallowed or swaddled (?), in the hospital bed. In my then 40 years, he has been a larger-than-life figure.  My grandfather has been all-too-short-tempered, blaming it on his Sicilian ethnicity; competitive in the sports of bowling and golf, or even table games (beating me about 1000 times at checkers, without worrying if all those losses would have any lasting effect on my childhood psyche) or crossword puzzles, where he is apt to create a word or two, shall we say?, wanting to be viewed as THE authority on important stuff, such as unions, religion, and politics.  Contrast the above description with his love of funny jokes or stories of his growing up in Saginaw’s Little Italy on Eddy Street, and patiently (really – I would not have believed it, either, had I not seen it) practicing walking with the latest grandchild or great-grandchild. Later on, he would find grandchildren overly useful when he hit the golf ball into the high weeds behind his home, or accidentally broke the neighbor’s window and thought they wouldn’t be as upset if they thought his grandson did it.  These various memories are running through my head – good and bad, funny and sad – as I study my sleeping Grandpa.

Here, in front of me, is the man whose formerly tough, no-nonsense, authoritative voice broke when he asked me if I had ever wished I had different grandparents. He had the power to touch my heart with his love, but also the power to break it with his walking out on Grandma. I suppose the question that day sprang from his pushed-back spiritual conscience, which he then faced as he stood in front of me, a couple short years before this last crisis. 

At the hospital over the previous several weeks, I had the privilege of serving him. Not in any beatific, glamorous way, by any means. I helped him to sit on the edge of the bed. To slowly, ever so slowly, shuffle to the bathroom and sit properly on the commode, without falling off. We discussed his hallucination of being handcuffed, with my explaining that very sick people sometimes needed the soft restraints so they wouldn’t try to crawl out of bed and fall and hurt themselves. One alarming day, I walked into his room just after they had served lunch. Grandpa was looking at his tray. For a long time. Saying not a word, but sighing. He looked at me and he had, for the first time that I ever saw, this look of helplessness on his face. My mind was racing as to figuring out the problem. He didn’t appear to be in any greater pain. He was able to slowly move his arms and hands. He wasn’t a picky eater. Saying one of those lightning-quick prayers for help, it dawned on me that he didn’t know what to do next. I asked, “Grandpa, do you want to eat your lunch?” He turned his eyes back to me and nodded his head. I picked up the fork and placed a small bite on the end of it and carefully, slowly put it to his lips. Thank goodness he ate, but I noted a tear in the corner of his eye. I tried to reassure him, “It’s okay, Grandpa. I don’t mind helping you at all. How many times did you have to help me to eat when I was so little, Grandpa? I’ll bet a lot more times than this, right?” He smiled.

As his leukemia and kidney failure progressed, I struggled to adjust him in his bed. He had the habit of slipping down to the end of the bed, as he was characteristically on the short side, being that Sicilian American. After asking the nurse if they had some type of sponge pillow or something to place between him and the footboard of the bed, and she replying they did not, I asked for a spare blanket. I folded it over a few times and – voila – a shortened length of bed. The head of the bed came next. When it was lower, such as after a linens change, his breathing gradually became gasping-like and quite labored sounding, and I would raise the head of the bed. Other times, he would be slumped to one side and I would gently hitch up one side of his body and frantically half-run to the other side to level things out, before the initial side could slope back downward. I never felt so awful at having bulging lumbar discs that prevented me from just reaching, grabbing him under both arms at once, and hauling him up a couple of feet. Was it shortsightedness, or plain stubbornness, that prevented me from calling the nurse? I just remember thinking that those poor nurses had enough to do – and he was my Grandpa, not theirs. Our hearts were connected because we were family.

After I felt he was situated as comfortably as possible, I would sit in the chair with silent tears pouring down my face; finding it so difficult to see this formerly never-sit-still-for-long, energetic Grandpa, who had become as a stranger to me, physically. 

More progression toward that last visit continued. I began holding the phone to his one good ear (which wasn’t terrific, with the years of working in an auto steering gear manufacturing shop, the diabetes, and his age of 85), while someone in the family spoke words of love and caring to him. One weekend, I was there bright and early, as the attending physician conducted rounds with the medical youngsters. I stepped out of the room, but I could hear their discussion of his symptoms, diagnoses, course of treatment, and quite poor prognosis. At this point, none of this was unexpected. Still, in my little-girl heart, something leapt up.

As they trooped out of the room, I didn’t impress even one of them but simply said, “That’s my Grandpa, in there.” One of the ladies asked, “Oh, you’re his granddaughter?” I smiled at her, “For all 40 years of my life.” I believe this was a statement of desperation that is understood by each and every person who stands between the well-meaning caregivers and the terminal patient. What we mean to say, but are too emotionally exhausted to utter, is, “That is NOT just a sad, hopeless case in there. To me, he is more than a set of symptoms for you to objectively try to control so you can prove to your superiors that you have been paying attention; more than someone who is delaying your answering that page or going home to well-deserved sleep after being up all night; more than a puzzle for you to figure out, or someone who is taking up your valuable time when you are absolutely certain that nothing more is going to help him. You see, dear doctors, that sickly, weak, and yes, dying, old man, is so much more to this person who is standing here in front of you, today. And to many others who would love to be here but can’t be.” I still wonder if they realized at that moment in time that, someday, that old person will be them, be me, be us. Will someone love us enough to visit us when we no longer are able to walk, talk, care for ourselves in any minutely helpful way? Will their love be able to forgive the many hurts we’ve caused? Will they remember that we hate to be helpless to this degree? That to us, it is mortifying to be so useless?  That, in our wildest imaginings, we never planned our lives to end like this? As in the movies, who doesn’t romanticize about a death that happens in our sleep, or with a peaceful, slow closing of the eyes with a heavenly smile on our enraptured faces?  

I was going home more and more emotionally drained and intellectually numb. God must have commissioned a few extra angels to watch over me while I drove the 110 miles home after each visit. My eldest aunt would keep watch all week long. On Friday evenings, I would drive to the hospital and visit for a couple of hours, relieving my aunt, and then stay with another aunt and Grandma on Friday and Saturday nights. After visiting on Sunday mornings and afternoons, I would leave for home and the work week ahead.

So, on that last day with my grandfather? It was a Sunday. Grandpa could no longer speak for a few weeks. He would not, or could not, open his eyes. He was receiving comfort measures, only, and he had signed a do-not-resuscitate order a few years earlier. I still talked to him – loudly, but I continued, having been advised that the sense of hearing is the last to shut down. I listened to his breathing, which was noisier. I saw him twisting his legs and sometimes moaning softly. I would talk about the kids, work, the weather, the coming trick-or-treaters, good memories of Christmas, whatever was happening in the televised golf program…He would turn his head toward my voice, that being the only communication still open to him. I delayed going home. What if he slipped down too far after the linens change and they didn’t notice? What if he uncovered himself with his occasional thrashings and he felt cold? What if he would miraculously have another good day left? 

Driving toward home, I noticed how sunny it was with blue sky.  The remaining fall leaves on the trees seemed to have enhanced color. It struck me as odd. Amidst all this coming death, at the hospital and in nature’s season, I saw the colors with more appreciation than when there still were thousands of colorful leaves holding onto the branches. The younger Grandpa in my memory was so different than the then present- day Grandpa. Of course, I always thought of him as an ‘old person’ but the stark contrast in my grandfather’s “Grandpa” lifetime was significant. The beautiful leaves had mostly fallen off, but the stragglers inspired so much more appreciation for the beauty that was left in them.  

I worked Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. I promised my aunt I would return on Thursday night, rather than Friday, just so she could pack to go to her cabin for a nice, long weekend. That Wednesday, I was thinking about having to pack my things right away after work. I was weary. The assistant manager came to my desk and told me I had a phone call and that it was my aunt. She said I could take the call in the conference room, which was empty at that time.  It was the call that I knew was a definite possibility but was hoping not to receive, as I would be there – with him – when he left this Earth:  “Rob, it’s Aunt Geri. I’m calling to tell you that you don’t have to come up tomorrow night.” There was  a part of my mind that knew…just knew, logically. Then, there was the part that wanted to believe differently that had no part in logic, it was just pure emotion. “Why not? Did he take a turn for the worse and you’re not going up north now?”  There was the sound of a sigh, and then a strained, warbled voice said, “No, Rob. He’s gone. Grandpa died a few minutes ago…”  I cried tears of a few different types: sadness, loss, and even relief in his end of suffering. I asked myself why I hadn’t just stayed with him until the end; why I hadn’t figured out that his gesturing with his hand to his forehead meant that he had a horrible headache, which I was clueless about while I was there; why I had failed to be with him on his very last day? I said as much to my aunt. Through her own grief and tears, she answered, “Grandpa knew how many times you were here. He knew how much he meant to you and how much you meant to him. Maybe he didn’t want you to see him in these last few hours. Maybe he didn’t want you to have that burden. Maybe it was his gift to you.” 

Perhaps she was right. Those last moments definitely were not romantic. Being there would have made absolutely no difference in terms of his length of life. It would not have made the sweet, fun times any better; the heartbreakingly difficult times any easier. Maybe his life, his love, all the good and even the horrible, was HIS (God’s) gift to me. To prove that there, sometimes, is hope for broken hearts, or strained relationships to move forward. It doesn’t have to be too late…until beyond that last day.  And that the most peaceful, beautiful, and meaningful words in any language are along the lines of, “I forgive you because my heart is compelled to love you, still.”  And always. Until I see you again, Grandpa.

Such are the Dreams of the Everyday (Cold-Weather-Sports-Hating) Housewife

•February 12, 2014 • 2 Comments

I’ve been trying to catch the Winter Olympics results on the newscasts. Always curious to see just what kind of nuts want to doom themselves to perpetual, year-round winter so they can practice for three years and 50 weeks for international contests with other nutty cold weather athletes. 

My What to Do In Cold Weather When You’re No Athlete and Not Ashamed List:

1a  Clean refrigerator; results in

1b  cleaning out extra dishes that had spoiled food removed from them; results in

1c  reorganizing of food storage (aka forgotten food spoilage) containers. 

2a  Notice cupboard shelf holding food spoilage containers is dusty and sticky; results in

2b  removing containers; results in

2c  washing shelf with soap and water; results in

2d  once again stacking and reorganizing; results in

2e  saying out loud, to no one in particular, “Why do I now have one that won’t fit in?”; results in

2f  scratching head, throwing container in willy nilly and slamming cupboard shut. 

3a  While sitting down to recover from container adventure, see the grime-covered window blinds; results in

3b  filling pail with warm, soapy water and retrieving sponge; results in

3c  counting number of slats in world’s longest living room windows – #46; results in

3d  calculation of time needed to wash both sides of each slat – approximately 4 mins per slat x 46 = 3 hours, 4 mins, plus time to change soapy water in pail; results in

3e  notice of dirty longest living room windows in the world…add 15 more minutes to allow for window washing. 

4a  Clean window blind slats highlight dirty coffee and end tables; results in

4b  sorting assorted reading material into ‘keep’ and ‘throw out’ piles, after much internal debate over which is which. 

5a  Two dogs have to go outside; results in coaxing old guy to actually get off sofa; results in

5b  handing out good-dog (and kitten, though she does not go outdoors) cookies.

6a  While feeding kitten her cookie, remember litter box; results in

6b  cleaning litter box in next room. 

7a  While in next room, observe nearly opaque layer of dust on that furniture; results in

7b  polishing of hutch, buffet, and top of fish-less fish tank; results in

8a  Collapse on sofa, after chasing old guy off.

9a  While innocently watching nightly news/Olympics update, suddenly realize how late its getting; resulting in

9b  jumping up to begin cooking dinner for the two humans who feed, attend to bathroom habits, and clean up all the dust that those animals spread around; resulting in

9c  rinsing and stacking human’s dishes for washing and putting away tomorrow; resulting in

9d  noticing eyes are causing double vision due to exhaustion of a cold, boring, winter’s day with ‘nothing to do’; resulting in

9e  collapsing in bed being the last known activity until the alarm sounds; resulting in

10a  New day; start over!