Unsinkable

Happy New Year, readers! I started my day with a little prayer meeting with two sisters in the Lord. We read Psalm 20. It’s short, so I’ll just include it here:

May the Lord answer you in the day of trouble!
    May the name of the God of Jacob protect you!
² May he send you help from the sanctuary
    and give you support from Zion!
³ May he remember all your offerings
    and regard with favor your burnt sacrifices! Selah

⁴ May he grant you your heart's desire
    and fulfill all your plans!
⁵ May we shout for joy over your salvation,
    and in the name of our God set up our banners!
May the Lord fulfill all your petitions!

⁶ Now I know that the Lord saves his anointed;
    he will answer him from his holy heaven
    with the saving might of his right hand.
⁷ Some trust in chariots and some in horses,
    but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.
⁸ They collapse and fall,
    but we rise and stand upright.

⁹ O Lord, save the king!
    May he answer us when we call.

When my prayer partner read the verses highlighted in yellow, something in me substituted words for “chariots” and “horses”. All I could think of was all the people who put their faith in the Titanic – that supposedly unsinkable ship. It’s easy for us to scoff at those folks now – hindsight and all that.

But how many of us are trusting in vaccines and boosters to get us out of the mess we’ve been in for nearly two years now? Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not an anti-vaxxer, and please let’s not argue about it. I simply realize that anything human ingenuity comes up with is no substitute for divine intervention.

When I was dealing with addiction in my family, I was cockily confident in the promises of 12 step programs. If I could only convince the alcoholic I loved to buy into the tenets of Alcoholics Anonymous, everything was going to be alright. It took years before I would realize the reason AA has helped so many people is because its principles are Scriptural. Again, it’s the power behind the program which saves lives.

I could go on to mention political institutions and agents, social agendas, forms of government, even superlative preachers. Keep them all, and give me Jesus.

I’ve mentioned before that my late husband, Mike, used to caution me not to “fall in love with the salesman” whenever we were making a major purchase like a car. He knew that sales pitches are just that, but it’s the viability of the product that should drive the sale.

On the eve of 2022, I choose to limit my trust in earthly persons and entities, instead reserving it for the God who has never failed me yet. Unlike the Titanic, He is, quite simply, unsinkable. 

Two Steps Back

Yesterday I posted an article called “One Step Forward,” which related the “adventures” my sister, Jane, and I have been sharing this holiday season. I closed with a reminder that we are called to be content in whatever state in which the Lord places us.

Famous last words.

First, I’d like to correct the record. In rereading yesterday’s piece, it appears I leave the impression I’m actively ill. In truth, this post was started a few weeks ago when that was the case; at present, happily, I am largely asymptomatic. I have also secured an appointment with a specialist in the relatively near future, so hopefully, answers await.

That being the case, yours truly was really pretty upbeat while finalizing said article. The points therein were mainly meant to encourage others to count blessings when things get tough, and to accept bumps in the road as part of the human condition, to which our Savior humbly subjected Himself when He entered this world as an infant.

Again, famous last words.

No sooner did I click “publish” on “One Step Forward” than the proverbial other shoe dropped. Jane and I received word that several of our family members, with whom we shared holiday festivities, have tested positive for COVID. We, of course, are quarantining, popping zinc prophylactically, and generally trying to remain positive. Between praying for our loved ones and offering whatever assistance we can, Jane and I tenaciously cling to hope that next week she will be able to fly home as planned and I can return to work following winter break.

Those are our plans. There is every possibility the God of the universe has something entirely different in mind.

                "'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,' declares the Lord. 'For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.'" ~ Isaiah 55:8-9 

Folks, I really do think our great God has a solid sense of humor. More to the point, as my dear friend and Bible mentor taught me years ago, He operates the way any sound instructor does – after imparting a lesson, He administers some sort of exam to drive the learning home.

Beloved readers, I very much want to learn whatever my Lord wants to teach me, and I aim to learn it the easiest way possible.

Apparently, hanging around the house, catching up on reading and writing, spending phone time with friends, and just generally laying low is what the Lord has planned for me this week.

Who am I to question what He ordains? And why would I even want to? Did I mean any of the things I wrote about yesterday?

If so, the wisest course of action for this writer would be to lean into the quietness and stillness of quarantine, and lean even harder into the One who has orchestrated these circumstances.

“Be still and know that I am God.” ~ Psalm 46:10 

Update 12/30/21: My sister and I caught sight of two cardinals - a male/female pair in all their respective splendor - outside our window the other day. There's every chance we would have missed this glorious sight, had we not been quarantining. Our great God always knows what's best.

One Step Forward...

The Pity of It All

My sister, Jane, and I have been in competition this holiday season to see who is the most pitiful.

Not really, but it kind of feels that way. I’ve been trying to shake off a virus – not COVID, so don’t feel too sorry for me – but it did evolve into a bacterial infection. Jane’s been fighting her own good fight not to catch it from me. We’ve both been wiping down surfaces to an extent that would put the OCD detective Adrian Monk to shame.

Below is a photograph of me (cue the canned laughter) wearing a mashed potato poultice. Note the festive tea towel girding my neck. I know it looks silly, but the internet claims it reverses laryngitis – hey, if it’s on the internet… Listen, you scoffers, it worked for the Brady Bunch mom 50 odd years ago! Remember how Mrs. Brady was able to trill “O Come All Ye Faithful” at church on Christmas morning after being voiceless the week before? If it’s good enough for Carol Brady…

My sister, for her part, has been having adventures of her own. That’s her code word for annoying problems of varying degrees. Jane’s adventures have included issues with a rental car (the management, of course, is nowhere to be found); tearing the house apart to locate misplaced items (a problem solved by divine intervention which I’ll relate below); and most recently, being beset by phone problems. Tell me something. If smart phones are so smart, how come they can’t untangle the messes they seem so bent on falling into?

Here’s a snippet of some of our escapades over the holidays:

Thea: Laryngitis starts to abate; cough picks up where froggy throat left off.

Jane: Missing keys are located; cell phone service goes on vacation.

Hence, the title of this article – one step forward, two steps back.

I think it’s fair to say all this drama has left us both a little depressed. Jane’s idea of a Norman Rockwell Christmas probably didn’t include quarantining while her sister took YET ANOTHER COVID test (I’m about ready to make home test kits a budget item). My holiday wish list didn’t feature YET ANOTHER round of masks, gloves and, oh, of course, tension taming tea.

What’s most difficult for me is being out of step with my normal routine and unable to fulfill responsibilities. I missed work, opportunities to be with friends and family (those who are fortunate enough not to be sharing quarters with me, that is – Jane and I had ample time to bond over my vaporizer), and even holiday preparation. Every Christmas I threaten not to send cards, and every year I send a ton of them. This is the first time it’s ever really not happened. I make it a point not to infect recipients just in time for the new year.

Discouragement, too, has been dogging my heels. Doctor visits, after all, were never meant to be a source of entertainment, any more than antibiotics were intended to be soups du jour. My problem has gotten to be a predictable one, something I can count on at least once a year, and that fact alone is disheartening. Like a gentle breeze that gives way to a hurricane, it starts out tickling my throat and can end up in a hospital visit if I don’t get right on it.

Which reminds me – I wrote about this same subject a few years ago. A work injury necessitated a trip to the ER, causing me to feel vulnerable and uncomfortable. I traced the source of my discomfort to the “P” word – good old pride. I guess some things never change.

And, Yet…

Sitting in my doctor’s office for the second time in one week, I realized it was time to get back to basics. Stationing myself in a remote corner to avoid alarming patients who were only there to get allergy shots, I took out a scrap of paper and began scribbling a gratitude list. Here’s some of the good stuff I came up with:

1)     My doctor and I have a plan to further diagnose and treat the underlying cause of the regular parties the germ brigade seems to be throwing in my respiratory system. I’ll be seeing another specialist and hopefully getting some answers. How many end stage cancer patients would kill for such glimmers of hope!

2)      I have the best family and friends anyone could wish for. My little fairy godmother down the street, about whom I’ve written before, offers me homemade applesauce just when I’ve run out of the one thing my ailing throat doesn’t complain about. Family members do favors, run errands, make meals, and generally pamper me. My best friend and prayer partner steps into the gap, leading our prayer group and teaching Bible study in my stead.

3)      My employer, too, is among my blessings, coming through with paid sick leave and allowing me to leave early to manage my sick, sorry self.

4)      I’ve found ways to be of service even while down and out. A disabled friend of mine taught me that it’s important to serve in whatever ways one can. Everyone has something to offer, and our great God expects His children to make use of whatever He has given them. Let us remember, “For everyone to whom much is given, from him much will be required; and to whom much has been committed, of him they will ask the more” (Luke 12:48). No one is without something to give, even if it is just time or a listening ear. If even those things are impossible, the greatest gift we can give to one another is prayer.

 Not least, these niggling troubles have actually been growth opportunities in disguise. Take, for instance, Jane’s missing key ring, to which I alluded above. Among them was one that powers her rental car. The loss left her housebound and on the hook with the rental company.

Jane and I (mostly Jane) scoured the house, praying as we did so. Not being ones who pray to saints, we skipped over Saint Anthony and took our concerns right to the Lord God Almighty. After going to bed (and between coughing jags), I decided to get up and hunt through our dirty laundry pile. I plunged right into the germy mess and rummaged around. I could have saved myself the trouble, as I later learned Jane had donned gloves (clever girl) and done the same thing.

We both came up empty.

By this time, we had turned over couch cushions (what a crumby mess lay underneath that floral upholstery), rifled through coat pockets, upended trash receptacles – you name it.

I, for one, was out of ideas. Desperate to help the sister who had been tenderly tending me all week, I resumed my conversation with God.

“Lord,” I whined, “neither one of us knows where those keys are. You know they represent mobility and freedom to Jane. She needs them. Could you please show one of us where to look?”

Like a flash, it came to me. The day before, my neighbor had posted on our neighborhood Facebook page a picture of a set of keys she had found. Why hadn’t I thought of that before?

We darted across the street and retrieved the errant keys, giving glory to the One who patiently waits for us to exhaust our own resources and throw the whole matter into His lap. Second Corinthians 12:9 comes to mind:

“And He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore, most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”

Vulnerability and Humility: Archenemies of Pride

I recently took a continuing ed class in which the speaker asserted that courage demands vulnerability. This gave me a lot to ponder, and I decided she was right, as courageous acts leave one vulnerable to defeat and all that goes with it. I would add that vulnerability is also required when one finds oneself dependent on others for that which one is used to doing for oneself. The dependence which arises from being ill or needing help of any kind vastly increases humility on the part of the recipient.

That, my faithful readers, is why I so dislike being sick. I much prefer to do for others and take care of myself. Oh, I don’t mind asking my sons to move a heavy piece of furniture or help me unravel a technology snafu – things like that exceed my capabilities, and I know it. But part of my self-esteem rests on being able to take care of my daily needs and follow through on commitments.

It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to realize God wants me to work on that.

One thing that helps is recalling the vulnerability with which the Son of God came into the world. He put Himself into the most helpless position imaginable, stepping down from deity and into humanity, with all the diaper changing and nose wiping the human condition entails.

I’ve noticed there seems to be a giving and receiving continuum. Some only want to give, refusing help of any kind; others are happy to simply take, without ever giving back. Both states are unbalanced, like a seesaw weighed down on one end. Finding a middle ground seems the most spiritual way. If God incarnate allowed Himself to be needy, even as He came to serve, it seems the height of arrogance for His creatures to err on one side or the other.

Bottom line: we are going to go through periods in which we seem to be stagnating. Illness, tangled business matters, sticky family relationships – all are things which require time and careful attention, and may, in fact, never fully resolve. No amount of whining or petulance will change the fact that some sloughs just have to be slogged through. Shortcuts are lovely when available, but our wise God sometimes allows roadblocks into our lives for a reason.

Sometimes the only way to go is through.

“Not that I speak in regard to need, for I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content: I know how to be abased, and I know how to abound. Everywhere and in all things I have learned both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” – Philippians 4:11-13

Check out part 2 of this piece, "Two Steps Back"!

 

Follow the Science?

There's a lot of talk these days about "following the science." 

This has become a popular mantra, often used to castigate those who don't automatically give credence to the latest advice from experts. The CDC insists that a vaccine developed on an emergent basis is safe, secure and the answer to all our prayers, and will halt a virus which seems to have no intention of staying either predictable or at bay. Many clinicians claim that prepubescent children know best about their gender, and that millennia of past expertise have been wrong about the facts of anatomical and chromosomal reality. Individuals who hold differing opinions are often dismissed, disparaged, and lately even canceled. 

For the record, canceling dissenting voices has historically been known as censorship, a tool which has been used very effectively to springboard totalitarian regimes into power and exterminate individual freedom - not to mention individuals themselves. 

All this insistence upon science being gospel has caused me to flip back through the pages of history and investigate some curious views which authorities have held through the ages. Below are a few noteworthy examples in which science got things categorically wrong, jeopardizing the health and well-being of the very people whose best interests it sought to protect. Quick disclaimer: scientists are not in the business of erring intentionally; however, like all of us, they are limited by lack of evidence to the contrary regarding positions they hold at any given time. Science by its nature is constantly evolving. New discoveries either affirm or refute scientific assumptions. Those that stand the test of time - such as Newton's laws - usually remain unquestioned; however, due to the evolutionary nature of science, it behooves the discipline to continuously investigate, rather than insist upon a gavel-striking approach to principles of the day. 

One instance in which science later reversed itself was regarding tobacco. Before they knew better, physicians used to promote cigarettes in advertising campaigns. Research has now shown smoking to be deadly, and no reputable medical practitioner would recommend it.

Experts once believed it was acceptable for women to drink alcohol during pregnancy. That stance was later reversed when evidence surfaced about the danger alcohol poses to the fetus. Likewise, the anti-nausea drug, thalidomide, resulted in untold numbers of birth defects, simply because medical science was unaware of its adverse consequences at the time. Perhaps as a society we should recall such well-intended but egregious medical mistakes before allowing physicians to prescribe puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones for children and surgically remove healthy body parts in the name of gender affirmation. 

Speaking of hormones, doctors used to routinely prescribe them to mitigate unpleasant symptoms of menopause. Having been proven unsafe, estrogen therapy is no longer the "go to" treatment plan for menopausal women. Why, then, are so many practitioners comfortable prescribing hormones off-label for identity-confused youngsters?

This author realizes that the hormone regimen being used in gender dysphoric children differs in many respects from that which was prescribed for midlife women (not completely, however - gender confused males often receive estrogen in order to align their physical appearance with their perceived identity); nevertheless, studies have revealed serious adverse effects from long-term use of sex reassignment hormones.

 

Medicine is not the only branch of science to have erred in its recommendations; anthropology has taken disastrously wrong turns in several notable instances. Various groups have historically been considered subhuman on the basis of race or ethnicity. Grotesque "scientific" experiments and studies were performed on individuals in these groups, treating human beings as if they were lab animals. Once again, science got it terribly, unutterably wrong. 

The instinct to survive is a strong one. It has caused individuals of conscience to stay silent and inactive in the past. With shame, this author must admit to remaining on the sidelines of the gender debate which is sweeping through our institutions at hurricane speed, leaving too many children as maimed as the mutilated toys belonging to Toy Story's reckless Sid. The difference, of course, between sadistic Sid and well-meaning medical professionals who prescribe and carry out hormonal and surgical interventions on minors is that, in the latter case, the goal is to alleviate dysphoric anguish. The intentions are kind - but what of the outcomes? Tragically, many who undergo sex reassignment surgery seek to "detransition" after realizing an altered body didn't cure their pain, and in some cases, even made it worse, leaving them more prone to "mortality, suicide ideation, and psychiatric issues compared to the rest of the population." I fear for the future of our youth if poorly evidenced gender treatment protocols being administered to minors are not called out and checked. My efforts may be inadequate to stop the troubling trend, but at least I will have done my part to try to stem the tide.

I once participated in a seminar in which the speaker urged her audience to contact lawmakers about an important issue. Her admonition to us was, "If we try and fail, at least we can hold our heads up knowing we tried. If we do nothing, we have only ourselves to blame." 

God forbid that should be said of this author. I prefer to stand in the company of individuals like Martin Luther who, when asked to recant his call for reform of the prevailing church of his day, replied, "My conscience is captive to the word of God. I cannot and will not recant anything, for to go against conscience is neither right nor safe. Here I stand, I can do no other, so help me God." 

"Pray for us; for we are confident that we have a good conscience, 

in all things desiring to live honorably." 

- Hebrews 13:18

Check out Do Something by Matthew West. This article is my way of doing something for the next generation.