Today on the drive home from church I used a GPS device to track my exact bicycle commute. My previous estimate using Google Maps was 7 miles, but thanks to our long driveway, I learned today that it’s actually 7.1 miles.
Of course, this route hasn’t always been my only one, so to be fair when including the driveway in my past several years of commuting, I added only a modest 65 miles to my cumulative total.
Not bad at all, for a lazy Sunday.
These last few weeks of this pregnancy have been rather tiring for us all, of course M in particular with her lingering cough and cold and otherwise generally unfulfilling restless rest. I, on the other hand, most ever an easy sleeper, have even had time to dream.
The other morning I awoke with a stiff neck, quite unrelated to the singing coaching I’d been providing the high-school-aged Alison Krauss. Her voice was great, but the way she was singing–or maybe what she was singing–just wasn’t at all right. Somewhere in the jumble homemade ice cream was being made in a hand-cranked mixer the size of a water heater; a look inside at the metal ice cream container revealed a very, very long container. Fifty gallons, I think.
It is no dreamy joke, though, that during the last couple of weeks our neighbor as well as a colleague of mine as well as another household within the same five mile radius were robbed in the daytime while they were at school by someone seeking designer hand bags, clothing, and jewelry. (Some candy and dog biscuits were taken, too.) N happened to be with me when the neighbor filled me in with the details even as the sound of in-process deadbolt installation floated down from the burgled house; N subsequently worried a fair amount that someone would take her special (plastic) ring. We did our best to assure her that we didn’t have anything those people wanted.
“If anything,” I said, “They’d take my guitars. But those are probably too traceable.”
That evening I was playing my newest song on my still-unstolen electric guitar when the neighbors started shooting their handguns at a target in their front yard, and they left on all their porch lights for the next few nights. We closed and latched our driveway gate, and before bed wondered if our worthless dog’s contribution to our security would be enhanced by her being tied or roaming free at night. Since she was already loose and it was cold outside, we decided that chaining her could be counterproductive.
The feeling that a criminal element was afoot put me in mind of Herman, the old man who rode with us to church most Sundays back when I was in high school. One week when the whole town was on alert after an armed duo killed a convenience store owner during a robbery, Herman said he was sleeping with a loaded gun on his bed stand. Mom somehow mentioned that she didn’t think Jesus would do that, and the next week Herman told us he’d put away the gun, that he’d rather be killed than kill someone else.
At the same time, I’m in the middle of reading Sherlock Holmes stories and feeling rather horrified at criminal evil and grateful for the just Dr. Watson and cocaine-loving Sherlock. I know, however, that a loaded gun by my bed would make me feel much less safe; I would worry about the imminent danger of accidental harm. Even without a loaded gun at my bedside, though, I know our security out here in the country is rather nonexistent. After learning about the robbery, N asked me to pray that we would be safe. I overcame my internal struggle–I’ve written before about the “God lobby” and God not doing that great at protecting the innocent, but shoot, I really hope God does keep us all safe–and said a quick line that seemed to satisfy her.
When it comes to safety, though, I haven’t forgotten about riding my bike for exercise. While starting tomorrow I’ll be sidelining my cycle’s saddle more in order to make possible a speedy homeward commute should labor hail during a school day, I am not losing sight of attempting to lean up (or is it ‘slim down’?).
“You eat not as though you’re hungry, but like you’re afraid you’re going to be hungry,” M told me one time not too long ago.
It wasn’t an unsolicited observation; I’d just asked for her weight-loss strategy recommendations. For part of our eleventh anniversary celebration, we’d watched our wedding video again, and I couldn’t help but admire my much thinner stature of a decade ago, and so in the name of someday having trimmed off some of my more apparent excesses, I decided this year I’ll try to eat from de facto–not de futuro–hunger.
Hopefully that will benefit my family, and in a sense make us all more secure–even if it does mean that those fifty gallons of ice cream will have to remain in my dreams.
It’s been, like, a million years since I did much creative writing. In the meantime I’ve been working on a couple new songs (one of which is good), celebrating an excessive amount of snow days and two-hour delays, and tweaking my amazingly okay electric guitar and even less expensive (and much less okay) amp/digital effects rig.
I remember one time seeing on TV somewhere a band that played only toy instruments. I think we were at a beach house with some friends, which is totally irrelevant to my story, and I thought the band sounded great–and on toy instruments, at that. While I am proud to say my band was on TV just last weekend (a link is on the band website), I am entirely confident that my own skills are not nearly well-enough developed to elevate mediocre or worse instruments to a satisfactorily high auditory playing field; I rely on good stuff to make me sound good.
I think I’ve heard before that if you’re not busy making money, you’re busy spending it. I’d say I’ve made it through my days off without too much of that happening, but I say that only to half-pat myself on the back since my financial advisory committee, of which I am a mere half, had to work ample hours not approving boisterous amounts of stuff-based investment.
Other things are coming together nicely in anticipation of our end-of-February new baby: FMLA is queued, my student teacher has a good head on her shoulders and hopefully still will be around to take care of my first week off, our insurance and tax refund together just might reimburse all of our midwife expenses, and while M is not totally satisfied, I think we have some great names picked out.
And our freezer is still full. We’ve been trying to empty it somewhat to fit in ready made meals for postpartum ease, so we’ve been eating lots of the corn and green beans and fruit that we worked so hard last summer to hoard. I was able to squeak in the six pre-baked pies I assembled last week, two of which we promptly ate in just three days. Then I gave one to the neighbor who pushed snow off our driveway, and for the remaining three (a rhubarb-peach and two apple) I have plans that also don’t involve waiting for the baby.
And now, today, there appears to be a full day of school ahead. I forget what that’s like; I confess a bit of excitement about the novel idea of normalcy.
Exploited from Luke 2:1-20 (The Message)
CHARACTERS
Caesar Augustus
Servant
Joseph
Mary
Angel 1
Angel 2
Angel 3
Angel 4
Angel choir
Shepherd 1
Shepherd 2
Shepherd 3
SCENES
Caesar’s palace
Road to Bethlehem
Sheep field
Stable with manger
SCENE 1: CAESAR’S PALACE
Caesar Augustus: How great is my domain, the domain of Caesar Augustus! How far reaching is my sphere of influence!
Servant: Not little, Caesar’s. Good questions, my lord.
Caesar Augustus (crisply): Those weren’t questions. They were statements.
Servant: Good statements, my lord.
Caesar Augustus: Yes, thank you.
Awkward pause
Caesar Augustus: So… How great is my domain? How far reaching is my sphere of influence? How many people are under my immense jurisdiction?
Servant: It’s not little, Caesar’s. Excellent questions, my lord.
Caesar Augustus: Let’s have a census, shall we? Knowledge is power, after all, and I want more! Send everyone throughout my empire back to their ancestral hometowns to be counted, like sheep.
Servant: Every last person?
Caesar Augustus: Other than royalty, yes.
Servant: Any exceptions? For sickness, or the death of an immediate family member? I know non-essential federal employees can be spared, but how about the essential ones?
Caesar Augustus: Nope. No exceptions, except for my closest friends and family. Not even for pregnant ladies about to give birth.
Servant: It is their fault that they’re pregnant, after all. Excellent judgment, my lord.
Caesar Augustus: Yes! I’m glad we so easily reached consensus on the census.
SCENE 2: ROAD TO BETHLEHEM
Joseph: Come on, you old mule-brained piece of worthless horse wannabe.
Mary: I told you we should have bought that dappled gray instead of this dull gray donkey.
Joseph: Yeah, yeah. But in your state, you’d need a team of Clydesdales.
Mary: Come on now, Joseph, it’s not my fault I’m pregnant.
Joseph: Nor mine.
Mary: But be nice, love. It’s Christmas, after all.
Joseph: It’s what, Mary? “Christmas”? Okay, I’m sorry. I’m just really stressed.
Mary: Me, too–ooomph, I wonder if I’ve been having contractions.
Joseph: Really? What are we going to do?
Mary: Maybe they’re just Braxton Hicks. They sometimes….ooomph, there’s another one. Where’s my diary? I want to record everything that’s happening.
Joseph: There’s an inn. I’ll see if we can sleep here tonight.
SCENE 3: SHEEP FIELD
Shepherd 1: Brrr. It’s cold tonight.
Shepherd 2: But clear. Look at those stars.
Shepherd 3: Lots of meteorites tonight.
Shepherd 2: You mean meteors? They’re only meteorites once they’ve hit the ground.
Shepherd 1: Or you could call them meteoroids, if they’re still in space or if they hit the ground, or if they’re streaking across the sky like meteors.
Shepherd 3: Yup. Lots of ‘em. Look at those big ones!
Angel 1: Don’t be afraid.
Angel 2: I’m here to announce a great and joyful event that is meant for everybody, worldwide!
Angel 3: A Savior has just been born in David’s town, a Savior who is Messiah and Master.
Angel 4: This is what you’re to look for: a baby wrapped in a blanket and lying in a manger.
Angel choir: “Gloria, Gloria, Gloria”
Shepherd 1: Wow. That was so cool. Should we go to Bethlehem?
Shepherd 3: What about the sheep? They need a manager, too.
Shepherd 2: They said manger, not manager. Yes! Right now! Let’s go!
Shepherd 3: But what about the sheep manager?
Shepherd 1: Forget the sheep, wool brain! Let’s go!
SCENE 4: STABLE WITH MANGER
Mary, Joseph and angels sing “Baby Jesus.”
Shepherds arrive at the stable and look in.
Shepherd 1: Look! There’s the baby and his mom Mary, and Joseph!
Shepherd 2: Just like the angel said.
Shepherd 3: But where’s the manager?
Shepherd 1: Let’s tell everyone what we’ve seen! Come on!
Exploited from Luke 1:57-80 (The Message)
CHARACTERS
Elizabeth, aged, largely pregnant and then holding a baby, wearing a covering
Zachariah, aged, with a tablet
Crowd member 1
Crowd member 2
Crowd member 3
SCENE
In and in front of Zachariah’s and Elizabeth’s house
ELIZABETH: You know, Zachariah, you’ve been such a good husband all these years.
ZACHARIAH (writing on tablet): I’ve tried.
ELIZABETH: But I’ve got to say, these months of being pregnant–so many, many months–have been the best ever.
ZACHARIAH (writing on tablet): GR8. Y?
ELIZABETH: It seems that you have been much more attentive to the things I say or need. We haven’t argued at all! You listen so well. You don’t interrupt me when I tell you–
ZACHARIAH (chuckling without sound, writing furiously on tablet): Knock knock.
ELIZABETH (sighing): Who’s there?
ZACHARIAH (writing on tablet): The interrupting cow.
ELIZABETH (sighing): The interrupting co–
ZACHARIAH (writing furiously on tablet): Moo!
ELIZABETH (sighing): It’s been better, anyway. You know you’re not perfect, Zachie. But I love you anyway.
ZACHARIAH (writing on tablet): (sigh)
ELIZABETH: Oh my! Zachie, I think I just felt a contraction.
ZACHARIAH (writing on tablet): Are you sure it wasn’t the extra pepper I put in this morning’s scrambled eggs?
ELIZABETH: I’m sure–those eggs didn’t taste any different than all the others you’ve cooked for me every day for the last month. Oh no–here comes another contraction. Count seconds for me, Zachie, like we learned in the class we took called “Getting Ready for That Baby That Never Seems to Come.”
ZACHARIAH (writing on tablet): One
ZACHARIAH (writing on tablet): Two
ZACHARIAH (writing on tablet): Three
ZACHARIAH (writing on tablet): Four
ZACHARIAH (writing on tablet): My hand’s getting tired.
ELIZABETH (exasperated): You’re hand’s getting tired? Your hand’s getting tired? Oh, here’s another contraction.
ZACHARIAH (writing on tablet to audience): Excuse us, please.
(Crowd members gather outside Zachariah and Elizabeth’s front door.)
CROWD MEMBER 1: Wow! Elizabeth had her baby!
CROWD MEMBER 2: How exciting! Can you believe it’s already been eight days since that little johnny cake popped out?
CROWD MEMBER 3: It was about time! I thought it would never happen!
CROWD MEMBER 1: God finally had mercy on her!
CROWD MEMBER 2 (knocking on Z&E’s closed door and calling out): We’ve come to circumcise your baby.
CROWD MEMBER 1: Let us in! I’ve got champagne and a hankering to have a christening. How about “Zachariah”?
CROWD MEMBER 3: How original. Zachariah?
(Zachariah opens the door and motions them inside.)
ELIZABETH: We want to name him John.
CROWD MEMBER 1: John? But that isn’t the name of his father, and wasn’t the name of his grandfather or great grandfather or great-great….you get the idea.
CROWD MEMBER 2: I have an idea! Let’s ask Zachariah what he wants to name the baby.
CROWD MEMBER 3: Great idea!
CROWD MEMBER 1: But how are we going to ask him that? He’s dumb, remember?
CROWD MEMBER 2: Oh. I’d forgotten. Don’t any of us know sign language?
CROWD MEMBER 3: I only know the words to “The Rose.” (waving hands like a dove) “Some say love….”
CROWD MEMBER 1: Okay. You try signing to him. Ask him what the baby’s name is to be.
CROWD MEMBER 3: (elaborate hand motions)
ZACHARIAH (writing on tablet): You’re signing gibberish. Maybe you should move to South Africa and sign for the president. His name is JOHN.
CROWD MEMBER 1: Wow! He agrees with his wife!
ZACHARIAH: Of course I do! Hey! I can talk! I have a loose tongue! Look! La-ba-la-ba-loo-loo-la-ba-LA!
ELIZABETH (disappointed): You can talk.
CROWD MEMBER 2: I feel a deep, reverential fear settling over our neighborhood.
CROWD MEMBER 3: In all of our Judean hill country, nobody’s going to talk about anything else.
CROWD MEMBER 1: What will become of this child? This is downright a little bit strange.
CROWD MEMBER 2: I think God must have a hand in this.
CROWD MEMBER 3: Clearly he’s going to be healthy and spirited, and he will live out in the desert until the day he makes his prophetic debut in Israel.
CROWD MEMBER 1: How’d you know that?
ZACHARIAH: Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel;
he came and set his people free.
He set the power of salvation in the center of our lives,
and in the very house of David his servant,
Just as he promised long ago
through the preaching of his holy prophets:
Deliverance from our enemies
and every hateful hand;
Mercy to our fathers,
as he remembers to do what he said he’d do,
What he swore to our father Abraham—
a clean rescue from the enemy camp,
So we can worship him without a care in the world,
made holy before him as long as we live.
And you, my child, “Prophet of the Highest,”
will go ahead of the Master to prepare his ways,
Present the offer of salvation to his people,
the forgiveness of their sins.
Through the heartfelt mercies of our God,
God’s Sunrise will break in upon us,
Shining on those in the darkness,
those sitting in the shadow of death,
Then showing us the way, one foot at a time,
down the path of peace.
Exploited from Luke 1:26-56 (The Message)
CHARACTERS
Gabriel
Mary, seven months pregnant, with imaginary donkey
Elizabeth, aged, wearing a covering, and extremely pregnant
SCENES
Mary’s house
Elizabeth’s house
GABRIEL (exasperated): Here I go, and I’ll tell you, I can’t say I’m too happy about it. Humans can be so doggone whiny sometimes, and doubtful. I doubt they know how annoying it is for an ANGEL OF THE LORD to travel all the way to some far-out dung hill of a rustic town where they don’t even have electricity yet–and no smart phones. Imagine: No smart phones! Thank God!–just to tell people that they should stop down at the pharmacy and pick up a pregnancy test, since they’re such doubters and all.
So it’s been six months since old Zechariah and Elizabeth got their so-to-speak “act” together, and now I’ve got to go and tell some other young woman who’s never had sex that she, too, is going to have a baby.
I daresay I didn’t go through holiness training for this.
(With some sarcasm)
Oh look, there she is: Mary. How lovely.
(Declaring)
Good morning! You’re beautiful with God’s beauty, beautiful inside and out! God be with you.
Now don’t get all shaky on me. I didn’t glue these wings on this morning. Nope–they’re gen-u-ine, A-grade alpaca lamb wool lovingly plucked from the heavenly flocks in sheepherders’ paradise.
MARY (accusingly): Do you always go around telling women they’re beautiful? That’s so old-fashioned. My feminine beauty is not some commodity that I am wearing for your personal enjoyment. You like my hair color, and so you say, “God be with you”? What’s up with that?
GABRIEL: I did say the part about “God’s beauty” and “beautiful inside and out,” didn’t I? Drat– Where’d I put my notes?
MARY: You’re still carrying around note paper? Geesh, buster–that’s so yesterday. We’re more into touch screen scrolls around here.
GABRIEL (pulling out his note paper): Mary, you have nothing to fear. God has a surprise for you: You will become pregnant–
MARY: Uh, hello. I already am. Notice? This isn’t seven months of Cheetos, here.
GABRIEL: Oh drat. I’m seven months late? Where’s my Rolex? (Sobbing) Why me, Lord?
MARY: Is this some kind of joke? I’ve been wondering what kind of surprise (pointing at belly) this was ever since I started wanting kosher pickles for breakfast. I mean, Joseph’s a good guy: We didn’t even hold hands until we were engaged, and then we only did that when his dad was there to supervise.
GABRIEL: Well, let me catch you up to speed: You will give birth to a son and call his name Jesus. He will be great, be called ‘Son of the Highest.’ The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David; He will rule Jacob’s house forever—no end, ever, to his kingdom.
MARY: I’m so relieved. Here I’ve been promising Joseph I’ll diet after our wedding so I wouldn’t have to tell him I’m pregnant, which I don’t think he’d have taken kindly.
GABRIEL: I’m not finished. The Holy Spirit will come upon you–errrrr, I think it means, it already has come upon you–and the power of the Highest hover over you. Therefore, the child you bring to birth will be called Holy, Son of God.
MARY: Yeah, Holy sure is the right word, here. Holy cow!
GABRIEL: Would you please let me finish? Did you know that your cousin Elizabeth conceived a son, old as she is? Everyone called her barren, and here she is six months…no, wait…thirteen months pregnant! Nothing, you see, is impossible with God.
MARY: Thanks for the clarity, Angel.
GABRIEL: You need to talk with Elizabeth ASAP. And Joseph, too, but I still need to read the manual on that one, so not quite yet. But Elizabeth has something to say to you that you really need to hear.
MARY: Elizabeth? But she lives out in the hill country! I’m already starting to hate these late-term donkey rides. Okay, okay, I’m going.
(Rides donkey; arrives outside Elizabeth’s house.)
Halloooo, Elizabeth!
ELIZABETH: Holy-Mother-of-God but you scared me, riding up all quiet like that and then letting out a “Hullaballooooo” so loud my little baby–well, he’s not so little now, at thirteen months–kicked my gall bladder again. Why are you here, o blessed woman, who believed what God said, believed every word would come true!
MARY: To sing with you, Elizabeth! Strike up the band!
I’m bursting with God-news;
I’m dancing the song of my Savior God.
God took one good look at me, and look what happened—
I’m the most fortunate woman on earth!
What God has done for me will never be forgotten,
the God whose very name is holy, set apart from all others.
His mercy flows in wave after wave
on those who are in awe before him.
He bared his arm and showed his strength,
scattered the bluffing braggarts.
He knocked tyrants off their high horses,
pulled victims out of the mud.
The starving poor sat down to a banquet;
the callous rich were left out in the cold.
He embraced his chosen child, Israel;
he remembered and piled on the mercies, piled them high.
It’s exactly what he promised,
beginning with Abraham and right up to now.
CHARACTERS:
Zachariah, aged, wearing an everyday shirt
Elizabeth, aged, wearing a covering
Angel Gabriel, carrying rolled up scroll
Crowdmember 1
Crowdmember 2
Crowdmember 3
SCENES:
Home with two seats
Temple inside, with incense
Temple outside
SCENE 1 (Elizabeth and Zechariah sitting at home):
Zachariah: I’m an old man, Lizzie.
Elizabeth: Oh, but you’re a good man.
Zachariah: That’s what God thinks, too. Not to brag or anything.
Elizabeth: And I’m an old woman, Zachy, sagging and bagging all over the place.
Zachariah: Oh, but honey, you’re a good woman, sags and all.
Elizabeth: That’s what God thinks, too. Not to brag or anything.
Zachariah: But God’s always right, you know.
Elizabeth: Yep. As the saying goes, “The Bible says it. I believe it. That does it.”
Zachariah: Except we’ve not been truly tested–err, I mean blessed.
Elizabeth: Right. (Sighing) No kids.
Zachariah: Bummer. It’s all your fault, of course.
Elizabeth: I know. It say so in the Bible.
Zachariah: It does? Oh rats and mouse traps! I’m late for temple duty again. I’d better run. Where are my camel keys?
Elizabeth: Don’t you want to put on a clean shirt?
Zachariah: Nah. I’ll be burning incense. It’ll cover up a multitude of sins.
SCENE 2 (In temple, crowds without):
Zachariah burns incense.
Gabriel appears. Zachariah, startled, slowly kneels onto his aging knees.
Zachariah: Oh, my knees. Why do I have to do this “fear the angel” thing every single December?
Gabriel: Don’t be afraid, dad.
Zachariah: Dad?
Gabriel: Yup. For your prayers have been heard and your wife Ellie–
Zachariah: You mean Elizabeth
Angel: Right. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a daughter–
Zachariah: A daughter?
Gabriel: Drat. Where’s my scroll? Let me just read this: Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John. You will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He must never drink wine or strong drink; even before his birth he will be filled with the Holy Spirit. He will turn many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God. With the spirit and power of Elijah he will go before him, to turn the hearts of parents to their children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous, to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.
Zachariah: Not to be a doubter, Angel, but I’m a bit skeptical. Rather dumbfounded, exactly. You see, I’m, uh, rather old, and my wife makes Methuselah look like a spring chicken. I mean, Lizzie’s so old her dentures have dentures.
Gabriel (angry, pulling self up to full height): I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to bring you this good news. But now, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time, you will become mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur.
SCENE 3 (Outside of the temple):
Crowdmember 1: Where is he? What’s taking him so long?
Crowdmember 2: Does burning incense release carbon monoxide?
Crowdmember 3: Or was he burning the incense that shipped in special from San Francisco?
Zachariah emerges, motioning with hands.
Crowdmember 1: Oh look! Charades!
Crowdmember 2: Chicken!
Crowdmember 1: Turkey!
Crowdmember 3: Some kind of bird…
Zachariah (grabs a tablet and writes): I’m apparently not the only dumb one here.
Crowdmember 1: Angel!
SCENE 4 (Elizabeth at home; Zechariah arrives):
Zachariah (writing excitedly): You’re pregnant. Or going to be.
Elizabeth: What?
Zachariah: (waves arms)
Elizabeth (loudly): WHAT? Have you been burning that California incense?
Zachariah (writing): Baby, Lizzie-baby! Baby!
Elizabeth: I’m almost pregnant? Yippee!
Crowdmember 1: Curtain! Curtain! Somebody quick pull the curtain!
The day after she saw me draw this,
N drew this:
Text in my drawing:
Wise man 1: Hey, look! My way is the highway!
Wise man 2: Yeah, well. Why did the chicken cross the road?
Wise man 3: Smartypants!
Shepherd 1: I’m telling you: I smell a wolf.
Shepherd 2: That’s what you said last night.
I’ve written before about posting want ads to my school system’s county-wide classifieds service. Since then I’ve actually sold and bought a few things. It’s a great work perk even though it is immensely distracting: I check it every time the “new message” indicator flags, because good deals go fast.
Recently I was too slow to grab the “make an offer, make a trade, or free” ceiling fan, but I was totally on the ball for the “free stereo.” I emailed the lady right away, and she responded promptly:
I don’t think my daughter mentioned that this sound system does not play cds – just 78 records, cassettes and has a really good radio. It was a great system when my husband bought it, because he always bought high quality electronics.
It has two free-standing speakers that are several feet tall and can blare through the house. The system, itself is in layers and on a special wooden stand that John has made for it. Due to retirement and dementia, John has not used the sound system for about six years. It is sitting in his office in our downstairs, but is in excellent condition.
Would you like me to send pictures this evening?
Pictures? Not necessary. For free, this sounded way too promising.
A few days later M and I had an evening out, and we stopped by the lady’s house to pick up the stereo. By this time I’d convinced myself that it would be a piece-of-crap electronical setup that I’d test, dislike, and take to the landfill, and the idea of wasting precious date time on someone else’s trash was already annoying me.
But then I saw the system: fancy-looking speakers of a brand I’d never heard of before, huge surround sound digital receiver with more ins-and-outs than you can shake a remoteless finger at, a 3-head cassette player and recorder with every bell and whistle I’ve ever imagined, an “automatic turntable system,” and….
“Oh, it does have a CD player,” I said to the lady, who I’d learned works at the same university from which her husband retired. She’d gotten him to stay in their bedroom upstairs; occasionally I heard him call, “Honey, Is everything okay?”
“Maybe we should hurry,” she said, “before he comes out. I don’t know how he’d take me getting rid of his stereo.”
“I wasn’t expecting the CD player,” I said. “Do you want to keep it?”
“I don’t know if it works,” she said. “If I’d have known that the system had a working CD player, I would have sold it. But you just take it all.”
“Are you sure? This is a really nice system.”
“Yes, it is. John always bought the best. We would blast Christmas music through the whole house from down here in his study.”
I didn’t argue anymore about the CD player, of course–it was a six-disc changer–and we loaded it all up in our van and drove away.
After setting it up the next day, I said to M, “This is the stereo system I’ve dreamed my whole life of having.” We blasted Handel’s Messiah through the house in honor of the lady’s Christmas memories, and I emailed her to thank her again.
But I was in a bit of moral quandary: Did the lady really know what she was getting rid of, for free? Was I taking advantage of a semi-old lady with a dementia-inflicted husband? Should I offer her some money even though I wouldn’t have taken the system except for the fact it was free?
And she really did seem happy that it was going to someone appreciative.
And I may be able to return the favor, as she emailed a couple days later to see if I could help her set up her laptop when she gets one. I said I’d be happy to, of course, but what’s there to do in a laptop setup?
Anyway, I just now got to some price checking on ebay, and it looks like this whole system used is worth about $225 for the components and as much for the speakers.
Do I send her some money?
Several adults with disabilities attend our church along with the rest of us who have our own sorts of disabilities, probably more than we would think about without the more obvious reminders provided by our officially diagnosed fellow bench warmers.
Take, for example, J, who actually isn’t brought along anymore because he was too frightening to some others. J would stand up during sharing time and reach for the roving mic and then preach a fiery sermon, pounding or slamming down his Bible in his drawn-out passion. Occasionally the rest of us could catch a few words (“heaven,” “Mom,” “tree”) but mostly it was entirely nonsensical for us listeners, and our pastor would eventually intervene and move the microphone along to the next person, who as “non-disabled” spoke in clear, complete sentences–perhaps about God’s will and definite-if-undisclosed purposes–that, frankly, made little more sense to me than had J.
My response to so much of sharing-time God talk–and most other God talk–is, “What does that mean?” Or, “What does that mean?”
Now, I recognize that people need some sort of big-picture order to the cosmos, as do I. I just don’t often get theirs.
My preferred suggestion of the order is this: Good/God/Love enriches life, and Bad/Evil/Hate ruins life. In the fog of reality, what is what can be confusing; the devil is in the details, which require a lot of grace, and so we do what we can. I may be as qualified as anyone else to discount buddy-God religion or atheism or anything, but I like to think that my “ordering” is humble, flexible, and nonexclusive yet true to my own feeling that there is, whether I believe it or not, some sort of higher reality.
Sometimes “spirituality” strikes me as a bit, well, mostly about control, getting out the God lobby to pray some sense into the big Dude in the sky who is driving it all but apparently needs steering advice.
It makes sense, of course: since we can’t physically do anything about most everything, we pray to God–humanity’s last hope–for help so things will turn out okay. While I’ve certainly prayed that way before, I see prayer and spirituality more as being quiet meditativeness for calming my mind and sorting through the fog. Think the serenity prayer.
By the way, M has posted that prayer in our kitchen. A friend recently pointed out its entirely unintentional on our part, but completely appropriate placement right next to the little trivet my mom found for my bachelor’s pad before M and I had even started dating:
Another person at our church, A, who is my age and likes bugs and plastic bling, gave her own unwitting commentary on prayer last Sunday, inadvertently exposing the me-centeredness of common prayer.
Our procedure during sharing time was for someone nearby the person who shared a burden to pray for that person. A eagerly offered to pray about another congregant’s rash: “I hope you feel better, R.” Then, without even a split-second pause for breath, she shifted gears and continued praying: “My legs have been hurting me, and I have to go back for more appointments” and so on.
Perfect.
