Neat Photos of CAC and JT

Someone who'd spoken with my Grandfather, Stanley McCallum, in the late '70's noticed his picture in my blog. Mr. Van Costen has written a couple of lovely notes to me and with the most recent letter, he sent these two photos. I think this one is lovely because it shows how tender Mr. Coates was; just looking at his eyes shows his love for the Lord and His people. This photo made me want to read more of his ministry, possibly because it's made him more of a real person to me.


I thought this was also a cool picture. It is of Mr. James Taylor when he was sixteen years old. Ironically, my Mother has a copy of this same photo, only she didn't know who it was; she thought it was one of her brothers dressed up in old-time clothes! Thank you for sending these, Mr. Costen, & I will write to you soon!

Phillipians 4:8-Tribute to Mother

"Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." Php 4:8

I have been thinking about this scripture most of the night. In the last couple of days, I’ve had some of the worst pain I’ve experienced in months over my right kidney. For some reason, even tho’ I live with severe pain on a daily basis, when the pain escalates past a certain point, it’s hard not to think of anything else. Of course, this is the worst thing that can happen because, in my experience, if I can distract myself in some way, the pain becomes at least a little more bearable. So, I began thinking again of this scripture and was reminded of many things in my past which, tho’ hard at the time, were a blessing to me. I also remembered the one person who’s been with me throughout each of my hospitalizations and has tried her best to ease my pain, if only being present for these terribly painful times; this person is my Mother.

Despite her own severe health issues, my mom has gone out of her way on a continuing basis to be available for me when I’ve had to undergo surgery. At times she’s argued with the doctors when they wouldn’t believe my complaints of severe pain. Other times, she’s just been there to hold my hand when no-one else could be. She’s fought to have the doctors/surgeons do what was best for me. Mommy’s even sat with me during long hours & days of doctors appointments at Mayo Clinic.

One of the best stories I remember about Mother’s quiet ferocity in attempting to make sure I received the care I needed was after my last major surgery on my right kidney, in 1997. I was at a strange hospital (Froedtert Memorial), in a strange town (Milwaukee, WI) having moved there to begin a contract at the Milwaukee Children’s Hospital as a traveling nurse. When I’d been there only four days and was scheduled to start my first day of work in the morning, I realized that my right kidney/ureter was obstructed because I had this horrendous pain; pain which had occurred on my left side six months before, when my left kidney/ureter was obstructed from recurring post-hysterectomy endometriosis.

I tried to drive myself to the hospital but found I could hardly breath from the pain. There was an accident on the road leading to the hospital and I came close to stopping the police and asking them to call an ambulance to take me the rest of the way. I managed to make it to the hospital and was seen immediately because it was obvious the pain was worse than anything I can describe. After they diagnosed the obstruction, I was told I’d need to have surgery to bypass it; the endometriosis had returned and grown around the ureter, closing it off. I’d had so many surgeries, the last one only six months previous, and I decided to try to fight having this one. So a a nephrostomy tube was placed in my right kidney and I started my job at the Children’s Hospital, with a bag hanging from my right flank which drained my kidney, temporarily bypassing the obstruction.

About a week later, I was still in tremendous pain, tho’ it had been relieved to some degree by the nephrostomy tube. Endometriosis is a horror in that, tho’ one aspect of it may improve via intervention, the underlying pain of the disease is still there. I couldn’t take the pain any longer, so surgery was scheduled. Thankfully, my Mother was sitting by the bedside when I was brought back from surgery. The surgeons had placed a central line in my right internal jugular (the major vein in my neck) because I’d had so many surgeries I no longer had very good venous access in my hands/arms. When the surgeons came by after the surgery, they brought good news; they said they’d not had to do the extensive revisions of the kidney and ureters they thought they’d have to do prior to surgery. This was good because it meant, hopefully, I’d need less healing time and there wouldn’t be as much scar tissue to worry about.

When I could get a word in edgewise, over their excitement, I told them that I was having terrible pain. They immediately said, “Well, you just had major surgery so it’s normal to have pain.” I said, “You don’t understand! I’ve had nine major surgeries in the past ten years, so I know what it feels like to have pain after surgery! This pain is above and beyond anything I’ve felt before, post-surgery!” The doctors tried to explain that my expectations regarding pain-relief were too great; that I was getting large doses of morphine thru my central line. At this point, my Mother quietly spoke up and said, “Excuse me, but is it normal for blood to be pouring out of that IV line in her neck?” The doctors became quite agitated at this point, discovering that the line had not been connected properly, so not only was I losing blood through a major neck vein, all of the “large doses of morphine” were pouring out onto the bed! No wonder I was in such pain!! I shudder to think about how long I would have lain suffering if she hadn’t been there and spoken up in my defense.

This is only one of several times my Mother has intervened on my behalf. I will always be thankful she was there looking out for me. I love my Mom very much and am thankful for all she does for me on a continuing basis, day to day. I love her tender heart and her desire to do God’s will. I love the way she prays for those she loves, especially the children. It’s not uncommon for me to find her on her knees beside her bed in the middle of the day after receiving a phone call or other message regarding friends, grand-kids and other family members whom she loves who are in trouble or pain.

I once told her, when I was a child, that I wanted to grow up to be like her some day. I’ll always remember how she cried, saying, “You don’t want to be like me, sweetheart.” It was a day when she was overwhelmed by her kids, trying to run a household pretty much on her own since my dad was gone much of the time, and full-time work. Well, I am here to say, “Mother, I still want to grow up to be like you!”

Macro shots of Orchids

Also wanted to share some experimental shots I got while using my macro lens. This is my niece's orchid; Josie was given it by Joe, her heart's desire (Joe, not the orchid).

Josie & Zippy

Josie & Zippy
Originally uploaded by ragamuffin.

Josie holding Ben's cat, Zippy. Aren't her dimples amazing? (Josie's dimples, NOT the cat's!)

Being Subpoenaed

I had the frightening experience, day before yesterday, of getting a phone call from the State's Attorney's Office, wanting me to return their call (I was at work). Even though I've never done anything illegal and should have felt at peace, I began suddenly to worry about unpaid hospital bills at Carle Hospital in Urbana, IL; wondering whether they'd gotten sick of waiting for me to pay them and now they were suing! This was especially worrisome because Carle is notoriously nasty about bills (despite what they get written up about them in the News-Gazette, our local paper!)

Turns out, however, that I'd been a witness to some boys who'd robbed a girl and attempted to use one of her checks to pay for some CDs, when I worked at Borders. I was being contacted so I could come in and help them in their case against the kids. What a RELIEF! It's funny how you can be innocent yet feel SO guilty when your phoned by someone like them. I couldn't help laughing, but also said a big, "THANK YOU, Dearest Lord", when I got off the phone. :-)

A REALLY Bad Day

My sister-in-law, Linda, who is the toughest, most courageous person I've ever known, had a terrible day today. Just before I left for work this morning, I received a phone call from a friend, Emily, who was at Lin's house. She said Lin had fallen from a step ladder and that her arm "hurt really bad". Could I come & check it out?

Of course, I went over immediately and found Linda sweating, pale, and in terrible pain, but her usual laughing self, otherwise. When I tried to gently straighten her arm out to test it's range of motion, I could feel that she'd broken it by the grating under my fingers (called crepitus in medical terminology). Also, she couldn't extend more than a few inches. I told LIn what I'd found and she needed to go to the hospital immediately. Of course, she pooh-poohed this a little at first, but she admitted she was on the point of fainting from the whole incident (i.e., pain).

She had been in the goat shed when she'd fallen (trying to get something for Emily stored in the rafters), so had goat feces all over her. Between this and her arm and miscellaneous scrapes and bruises, she was a mess and refused to go up to the hospital without changing her clothes first. We were able to get her changed with all of us helping (and sometimes hurting), finally, but it was clearly a rough time for her. Mother also convinced her to call Tim (my brother) and let him know what was going on. At first she "didn't want to bother him unless it turned out to be serious".

The x-ray showed she had a fracture but because she'd broken the same elbow years ago, they had her seen by an orthopod to figure out which fractures were old and which were new. They told her she'd have to have surgery, but needed a CT scan to clearly show what was going on. From what we know at this time, she broke off the radial head (the bottom bone of the forearm where it attaches at the elbow joint to the humerus, or upper arm bone). It sounds as though she'll need to have it pinned, etc., but we won't know for sure until we get the official results of the CT on Monday.

Poor kid, she's in so much pain. It's times like this that I feel SO helpless and wish I could do more than recommend ice, elevation and pain meds every four hours around the clock for twenty four hours. Please pray for her. She has a 4yo daughter, as well as a 19yo and 15yo. Josie, the 19yo is able to help out extensively, thankfully, but poor Ben, the 15yo is up in Canada staying with cousins. Anyway we're thankful it wasn't much worse (like her back, which would have been devastating since she's also injured it extensively when she was a child) and feel the need to thank the Lord Jesus for this mercy.

The joy of a Vocation

I recently started a job at the University of Illinois, in which I am taking the place of an Academic Professional who is having surgery and will be out several weeks. I work for Dr. Benita Katzenellenbogen who is one of the premiere researchers in the effects of estrogen on Breast Cancer. It is a joy to work for someone who is making such a difference in so many thousands of peoples' lives. I mainly do clerical work, but it is interesting and requires me to use my brain, not just do mindless grunt-work.

Dr. K., as her staff and students call her, is a perfectionist to the nth degree. I've found that the person whose place I'm taking has found it difficult to work for her and that others also have had this problem, but I like the work! Perhaps it's because I'm a perfectionist as well, and that I've worked with many physicians who were also perfectionists. I just enjoy trying to do my best and finding that it is appreciated by Dr. K. I'm glad to be where I am and can't help praying that I'll be able to keep the job (that her AP will decide to retire, etc., not that I'll make her lose her job!). I would still like to do nursing part-time, but really long for this job to become permanent.

Brennan Hawkins recovery

"People say that the heavens are closed and God no longer answers prayers. We are here to unequivocally tell you that the heavens are not closed, prayers are answered and children come home," said Brennan's mother, Jody Hawkins. (Mother of 11yo boy recovered in Utah wilderness.)

Just was really touched by this quote. What an example of God's love and grace. He doesn't always answer prayers in the way we want, but He ALWAYS gives us the strength and grace to get through even the worst pain, suffering and loss.

A Setback

Please pray for my sister-at-heart, Michele, who has struggled with a neurological disorder which has been extremely difficult to diagnose. She'd been doing much better in recent weeks, but in the past day or so has started having the symptoms again. I think it must be pretty devastating to believe your healed of an illness (or it least close to it) than have it recur.

Pray that she might have a sense of the Lord's nearness and His deep and intense, personal love for her. Pray, too, for the family, since it will be difficult for them, as well. They've been discouraged with this illness for a few months now and I know they must feel so lost and alone right now. May they have a deeper, fuller sense of their Heavenly Father's love and know He desires to bless them despite this hardship. Pray they have the strength to continue in their walk, and that God grant's them the grace they need to overcome. I love you guys very much, Steve & Michele!

(Click on this entry's title to see more on Steve's website)

God's timing vs. Coincidence

I've been impressed today by the Spirit's work in bringing a passage of scripture to my mind today. This morning I received a lovely note from a virtual stranger who had commented on photos that were posted on another URL-->http://www.flickr.com/photos/48889100198@N01/). This person, by way of encouraging me, made a reference to Elijah and his battle with fear in the wilderness, when he felt completely alone.

I was touched by his words, but was even more impressed when I began reading a word by a brother in the Lord, the late Norman Meek, who gave an address while at a Bible Conference in my hometown in 1981. I picked up the book which contained the address out of idle curiosity but felt a real sense of the Spirit working when I began reading and found it was about Elijah and his struggle with fear in the wilderness. Mr. Meek points out this fear occurs almost immediately after Elijah had seen, in faith, a manifestation of God coming in, in the way of blessings raining down from heaven. He says, “Elijah’s had been a remarkable stand, a fearless stand. God had blessed it. And now, Elijah detects a sound of an abundance of rain, that is, a ministry of blessing. We always need, dear brethren, to look for that.” “Raising the Level and Other Ministry-N.T.M” Pg. 313 Published by G. J. Richards.

He also speaks, in the same address, of how Elijah passed his mantle to Elisha, than continues his walk without turning back, still feeling alone and despondent. Mr. Meek wonders whether Elijah would have heard the sound of running feet as Elisha came to him and what his feelings would have been; the joy in his heart as he wonders whether Elisha will take up the mantle given to him, through Elijah, by God. He ends the address with the following, in reference to the older generation of believers, “Have they cause for any comfort? Is there cause for any joy? Well, dear brethren, I think there may be the sound of the abundance of rain, the latter rain that will fill up the crop, so that when the Lord comes there will be something that will just answer to His heart. And then may there also be in our localities, perhaps not running too fast yet, the sound of these running feet in young brothers and sisters, for the Lord’s names’ sake.” Pg. 319 December 25, 1981

Finally, when I was looking for another passage tonight, while writing another entry, I opened my Bible to the following verses in James 5:end of v. 16-18, “The prayer of a righteous person has great power as it is working. Elijah was a man with a nature like ours, and he prayed fervently that it might not rain, and for three years and six months it did not rain on the earth. Then he prayed again, and heaven gave rain, and the earth bore fruit.”

Some might call these three incidences coincidence, but all I can say is, "Wow!" How can I not be impressed with this evidence of God’s love as He trys to bring me into deeper relationship with Himself? I feel humbled and a little shaky, with an intense longing to know exactly what it is He would have me learn from these words. Pray for me in this, please. May you, too, have a sense of the Lord’s blessing in them!

Oswald Chambers quote

I was really moved when reading the monthly "Voice of the Martyrs" magazine (http://www.persecution.com/) this past week. There was a quote from Oswald Chambers in it which made me really think. It was, "God does not give us an overcoming life--He gives us life as we overcome."

I've never been a big fan of Mr. Chambers writing (to my shame, as I can see now). I felt, in the past when attempting to read his work, he was too rigid, legal and somewhat cold in his perceptions of Christ (speaking more about righteousness than of His love and grace). Clearly I've done him a disservice and will pursue reading his work.

I was touched by this quote because it spoke to my heart in my current situation in life. I'm so apt to pray for guidance, wisdom and 'a spirit of overcoming' without wanting to do the work needed to "keep on, keepin' on" as a friend of mine says. The part I tend to overlook is my need to keep my eyes Christ-ward and do the best I can to walk "worthily of the calling by which I've been called", as it says in scripture. When I focus only on my life and the worries that are so apt to surround it, than I become overwhelmed and cannot overcome. Yet, if by His grace, I am able to keep walking "in the light, as He is in the light", no matter what darkness may surround me, when I look up, my sight is filled with the beauty of His holiness and I no longer see darkness, just light. There is a clarity about this; lovely in it’s simplicity.

One might argue, "But if you're looking upward and into the Light all of the time, you must stumble because you cannot see your feet!" Yet there is a scripture from Jude's letter that is an excellent reply and has been a comfort to me for many years. The verse is a loving benediction which says, "Now to him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you blameless before the presence of his glory with great joy, to the only God, our Saviour, through Jesus Christ, our Lord, be glory, majesty, dominion, and authority, before all time and now and forever. Amen" Jude 1:24,25

This passage has given me hope and encouragement during the darkest times of my life. Only by walking in His light and knowing the peace of His infinite love and mercy towards us, can we walk in the Way that leads to life, through overcoming. So we all can be overcomers. What joy!

Eragon

My nephew, Keegan, recommended a really excellent book which has been out for a while but I'd not yet read. I read it yesterday and found it to be one of the best books I've read in its genre. It's comparable to JRR Tolkein's and CS Lewis' books (Lord of the Rings and The Narnia Chronicles), but I find it especially interesting because it was written by a fifteen year old home-schooler. It's one of those books one reads which makes one feel as though one could never write anything like it; it's somewhat discouraging, but also awe-inspiring.

The book is much better, in my opinion, then the Potter series. It has magic in it, but not so strong a focus on "dark magic". The only part which bothered me a bit, initially, was a witch he incorporated into the story. I felt better, tho', when I found out "Angela", the witch, was meant to be a satire of his older sister, Angela. Anyway, it's a sweet story, vibrantly told with incredible detail and wonderful vocabulary. I highly recommend it, especially for readers who enjoy the Tolkein trilogy. I was really blown away at the thought of a person so young writing so beautifully. The book's web-site is: http://www.randomhouse.com/teens/eragon/

New blog in the Oberg menagerie

Check out the latest blogger in the Oberg family! It's really cool. It's at ozwick.blogspot.com

Had to share this, 'coz it cracked me up so!

I came across the following quote on my brother Steve's blog (http://www.familymanlibrarian.com/); to say the least it gave me the giggles! I can picture my nephew, Keegan, saying this very soberly, then breaking out into his quirky grin for the last part.

"A donkey doesn't even know it has a tail until it's bit!" Wise words from Keegan, followed by: "Man, I should be a fortune cooker writer!"

Of course, you need to know Keegan and what a great kid he is, with what a silly sense of humor he has, to really enjoy it.

Ray's Story

I’ve been thinking lately about a child I took care of when I was working as a Pediatric ICU nurse in the Chicago-area a few years ago. “Ray” (a made up name to protect his confidentiality) was 22 months old and had suffered severe abuse.

“Ray” was being baby-sat by an aunt/cousin who decided he was old enough to be potty-trained. After “Ray” had had two accidents (after all it WAS his first day in training), the baby-sitter became so enraged, she ran a bath with scalding hot water and placed him in it. He suffered severe second-degree burns (the most painful kind of burns because they burn through to the nerve layer) of his lower legs and privates. When his dad (who was working two jobs despite being only 19yo) came to pick him up after work, the aunt blamed the child, saying he’d run the water and then climbed into the tub. This is, of course, ridiculous but it’s a frequent tactic by the abuser to blame the victim. Even though a child might run hot water in a tub, they would not deliberately sit down in it. It was obvious, from the burn pattern, “Ray” had been placed into the water; all of the burns were below the waist.

“Ray’s” dad brought him immediately to the nearest ER where he was admitted to the PICU for evaluation and treatment. Initially, sad to say just because “Ray’s” dad was sole-caregiver, he was suspected of the abuse, especially when the aunt stated the child had arrived at her home that morning with the burns! Fortunately, it was obvious the burns had occurred more recently than that and the only person who could have done it was the aunt. Despite days of accusations and being suspected of such a heinous crime, “Ray’s” dad just quietly and patiently stayed by his bedside, day and night, caring for him.

The incident I want to write of occurred one night when I was caring for “Ray”. By this time, he was in what’s called the Step-Down Unit (an area of the hospital where the child is too sick for the regular unit but not sick enough to be in ICU). When I went in on my nightly rounds, I found “Ray” had a dirty diaper. His dad who was deeply asleep in a chair by the bedside, had had to quit his job by then because he couldn’t stand for any other family members to care for “Ray” (who can blame him). As I reached for a clean diaper, “Ray’s” dad awoke and stood by the bedside watching me. When I went to clean “Ray” with a baby wipe, his dad stopped me and said, “Let me do it, please.” He took the wipe in his hand and held it until it was completely warmed through before using it to clean “Ray’s” terribly burned bottom. It was one of the sweetest and most loving gestures I’ve ever seen.

It probably seems silly in some ways for me to be so touched by this small gesture of love on the part of a teen-age dad, yet it was profoundly moving. All this dad cared about was that his son not experience any more suffering, even the touch of a cold wipe on his skin.

I think the reason I've had this memory on my mind is it reminds me of the love of our Heavenly Father Who is concerned His children not have to go through suffering and loss resulting from sin (whether our own sin or the sin’s of others upon us), and has provided the way of escape through His Son, Jesus Christ. This escape comes about only because His precious Son was willing to sacrifice His life so that we might have eternal life and to know His nearness in His Kingdom today. Because this world is such a broken, sin-filled place we can never completely escape suffering while living in it (much as our Abba wants us to be free of distress), but when we know Jesus as Lord, we always have the Comforter, the blessed Holy Spirit, on which to call.

It’s hard to sit by and watch family members experiencing suffering, especially when they are so undeserving of it, and have already suffered through extensive illness through this past year. It’s my prayer that they may know the nearness of our Father’s love and the Comfort of the Holy Spirit as they pass through this period of affliction. May it be your prayer, too.

Michele & Steve

Michele & Steve are really poorly. I know they'd appreciate your prayers (whoever out there is reading this(?)). Steven called tonight to say they are both suffering from what the doctors think is food poisoning, on top of Michele's worsening neurological problems. Michele may be able to get into see a Neurosurgeon (or Neurologist-->I'm not sure which) in Indianapolis tomorrow because she is getting so much worse; she has almost constant tremoring now, as well as slurred and shaking speech. Obviously it is terribly frightening for them both, and to be sick with this severe stomach ailment on top of things is overwhelming!

I don't know when I've been more frustrated; to have to sit here, a three and a half hour drive from them and not be able to help is really difficult. Am trying hard to leave matters in my Heavenly Father's hands, but am not as restful as I should be. I just want to help them so much. It broke my heart when Steve called tonight to ask if I (or Mother, or anyone else) could come over tonight, and I had to tell him that though I am working only part-time, I'm scheduled to work tomorrow, Wednesday and Friday. The desperation in his voice made me want to cry. Thankfully, Michele's Mom & Dad are going to drive over first thing in the AM to be with them. This will be good because they've only just spent a week with Michele's parents, so the kids are comfortable being with them, etc. It's been confusing and difficult for the children to see both parents so unwell, so please pray for them, as well (Keegan 13yo, Tristan 4yo, Brinley 2yo, and Cohen 1yo).

Pray especially that Michele (& Steve because he finds it so hard to watch her suffer) have a sense of the Father's arms of love enveloping them, and with that enveloping love, peace.

"To a Lady with Whom I've Been Intimate, Whose Name I Do Not Know" by Walter Wangerin, Jr.

Here’s the other story; it’s not well known (like “Ragman” is) but is as beautiful. Pastor Wangerin writes with such love and a perspective I'd like to one day know with my whole-heart. It's a state of being which can only be termed Christ-like. The story is especially precious because I can see myself in it…

"To a Lady with Whom I've Been Intimate,
Whose Name I Do Not Know"

You. I saw you in the Great Scot Supermarket tonight, and now I can't sleep on account of you--thinking that, perhaps, you're not sleeping either.

Ah, you! You count your coins with bitten nails, not once but again and again. This is the way you avoid the checker’s eyes, as though ashamed of the goods you buy, as though they declare your loneliness at midnight:

Two six-packs of Tab, because your buttocks, sheathed in shorts, are enormous and hump up your back as you shift your weight from foot to foot. You sigh. I think that you do not know how deeply you sigh, nor yet that I am behind you in the line.

Four frozen dinners whose cartons assure you that there is an apple dessert inside. Swiss steak, roast beef in gravy, chicken drumsticks, shrimp. Which one will you save for Sunday dinner? Do you dress up for Sunday dinner? Do you set the table neatly when the dinner thaws? Or do you eat alone, frowning?

Liquid breakfasts, a carton of Marlboros, five Hershey bars, Tampax, vitamins with iron, a People magazine, Ayds to fight an appetite, two large bags of potato chips. At the very last minute you toss a Harlequin paperback on the counter. Is this what you read at Sunday dinner? Is this your company?

What private wars are waged between your kitchen and your bathroom? Here I see an arsenal for both sides: the She who would lose weight against the She who asks, “Why?” and “So what?”—the She whose desires are fed too much, even while they are hardly fed at all. “It’s your own fault,” the first accuses; “two tons were never tons of love.” But the other cries, “If I were loved I would not need to eat.”

Ah, you.

Rubber thongs on your feet. The polish on your toenails has grown a quarter inch above the cuticle. I notice this because when the checker rings your bill, you drop a quarter which rolls behind me in the line. I stoop to pick it up. When I rise, your hand is already out and you are saying, “Thanks,” even before I returned it to you.

But I do a foolish thing, suddenly, for which I now ask your forgiveness. I didn’t know how dreadfully it would complicate your night.

I hold the quarter an instant in my hand; I look you in the eyes—grey eyes of an honest, charcoal emotion—and I say, “Hello.” And then I say, “How are you?” I truly meant that question. I’m sorry.

Shock hits your face. For one second you search my eyes; your cheeks slacken, then, as though they lost their restraint and might cry. That frightens me: what will I do if you cry? But then your lips curl inward; your nostrils flare; the grey eyes flash; and all at once you are very, very angry.

Like a snake your left hand strikes my wrist and holds it, while the right scrapes the quarter from my hand. I am astonished, both by your strength and by your passion.

You hissed when you hurt me. I heard it and remember it still. Then you paid, crunched the sacks against your breast, and walked out into the night, the thongs sadly slapping at your heels.

Ah, you. You.

How much I must have hurt you by my question. Was that mild commonplace too much a probe, too lethal, too threatening for the delicate balance your life has created for itself? Does kindness terrify you because then, perhaps, you would have to do more than imagine the Harlequin, but then would have to be?

I think so.

To cross the gulf from Life Alone to Life Beloved—truly to be real, truly to be worthy in the eyes of another—means that you are no more your own possession. You give yourself away, and then games all come to an end. No longer can you pretend excuses or accusations against the world; nor can you imagine lies concerning your beauty, your gifts and possibilities. Everything becomes what it really is, for you are seen and you know it. “How are you” triggers “Who are you.” And it wasn’t so much that I said it, but rather that I meant it and that I awaited an answer, too—this caused the lonely She to know her loneliness, even in the moment when I offered you the other thing: friendship.

It’s frightening, isn’t it?

To be loved, dear lady, you must let all illusions die. And since, between the bathroom and the kitchen, between People magazine and the Harlequin, your Self was mostly illusion—at least the acceptable self—then to be loved meant that your very Self had to die—at least the acceptable self.

Instead, you attacked, and my wrist is still bruised tonight. Ah, you.

A rich young ruler came to Jesus, desiring eternal life. He announced that he had kept all the commandments and wondered whether that weren’t enough. But Jesus told him he lacked one thing. He ought, said Jesus, to sell all that he had and give the money to the poor. Upon these words, two were made sorrowful: the rich, because he could not lose his riches, which were his identity and his elf; he turned away. And Jesus, because he loved and would not love this man; but the man turned away.

Riches. O my dear and lonely lady, how rich are you in your illusions. Ironically, you cling to the very loneliness which you despise. It feels safe. But love—God’s love—always comes in light. That’s what scares you. Light illumines truth; obesity, the foolish game between Ayds and potato chips, between cigarettes and vitamins. These things are the truth. These you hide. Yet it is only truth that Jesus can love. He cannot love your imaginings, your riches. Sell all that you have. Undress—

Not me, after all. It is Jesus who asks, “How are you?” And if you would then sell the false self by which you sustain the contemptible Self and die; if you would answer truly, “I’m fat, helpless and alone, unlovely,” then he would love you. No: then you would know that he has loved you all along. To see one truth is to discover the other—which is that he loves you not because you are loveable, but because he is love. And here is the power of his love, that it makes ugliness beautiful! To be loved of God is to be lovely indeed.

All night long I keep a quarter back and ask, “How are you?” I can’t sleep, waiting for the truth: “I’m just terrible.” For then I would cry, “Good! Now there’s a confession I can love!”


And the mighty God, the trumpet-voiced, cries, “I love a child. But she is afraid of me. Then how can I come to her, to feed and to heal her by my love?—“
(Both “Ragman” and this story are taken from the book, “Ragman and Other Cries of Faith” by Walter Wangerin, Jr.)

"Ragman" by Walter Wangerin

Just wanted to share two of my all time favorite Walt Wangerin stories. I know I've been in a rut with his works but the Lord really has used them to help me to grow spiritually, especially into a deeper understanding of the love of God.

RAGMAN
(by Walt Wangerin)

I saw a strange sight, I stumbled upon a story most strange, like nothing my life, my street sense, my sly tongue had ever prepared me for.

Hush, child. Hush, now, and I will tell it to you.


Even before the dawn one Friday morning I noticed a young man, handsome and strong, walking the alleys of our City. He was pulling an old cart filled with clothes both bright and new, and he was calling in a clear, tenor voice: “Rags!” Ah, the air was foul and the first light filthy to be crossed by such sweet music.

“Rags! New rags or old! I take your tired rags! Rags!”

“Now, this is a wonder,” I thought to myself, for the man stood six-feet-four, and his arms were like tree limbs, hard and muscular, and his eyes flashed intelligence. Could he find no better job than this, to be a ragman in the inner city?

I followed him. My curiosity drove me. And I wasn’t disappointed.

Soon the Ragman saw a woman sitting on her back porch. She was sobbing into a handkerchief, sighing, and shedding a thousand tears. Her knees and elbows made a sad X. Her shoulders shook. Her heart was breaking.

The Ragman stopped his cart. Quietly, he walked to the woman, stepping round tin cans, dead toys, and Pampers.

“Give me your rag,” he said so gently, “and I’ll give you another.”

He slipped the handkerchief from her eyes. She looked up, and he laid across her palm a linen cloth so clean and new that it shined. She blinked from the gift to the giver.

Then, as he began to pull his cart again, the Ragman did a strange thing: he put her stained handkerchief to his own face; and then he began to weep, to sob as grievously as she had done, his shoulders shaking. Yet she was left without a tear.

“This is a wonder,” I breathed to myself, and I followed the sobbing Ragman like a child who cannot turn away from mystery.

“Rags! Rags! New rags for old!”

In a little while, when the sky showed grey behind the rooftops and I could see the shredded curtains hanging out black windows, the Ragman came upon a girl whose head was wrapped in a bandage, whose eyes were empty. Blood soaked her bandage. A single line of blood ran down her cheek.

Now the tall Ragman looked upon this child with pity, and he drew a lovely yellow bonnet from his cart.

“Give me your rag,” he said, tracing his own line on her cheek, “and I’ll give you mine.”

The child could only gaze at him while he loosened the bandage, removed it, and tied it to his own head. The bonnet he set on hers. And I gasped at what I saw: for with the bandage went the wound! Against his brow it ran a darker, more substantial blood—his own!

“Rags! Rags! I take old rags!” cried the sobbing, bleeding, strong, intelligent Ragman.

The sun hurt both the sky, now, and my eyes; the Ragman seemed more and more to hurry.

“Are you going to work?” he asked a man who leaned against a telephone pole. The man shook his head.

The Ragman pressed him: “Do you have a job?”

“Are you crazy?” sneered the other. He pulled away from the pole, revealing the right sleeve of his jacket—flat, the cuff stuffed into the pocket. He had no arm.

“So,” said the Ragman. “Give me your jacket, and I’ll give you mine.”

Such quiet authority in his voice!

The one-armed man took off his jacket. So did the Ragman—and I trembled at what I saw: for the Ragman’s arm stayed in its sleeve, and when the other put it on he had two good arms, thick as tree limbs; but the Ragman had only one.

“Go to work,” he said.

After that he found a drunk, lying unconscious beneath an army blanket, an old man, hunched, wizened, and sick. He took that blanket and wrapped it round himself, but for the drunk he left new clothes.

And now I had to run to keep up with the Ragman. Though he was weeping uncontrollably, and bleeding freely at the forehead, pulling his cart with one arm, stumbling for drunkenness, falling again and again, exhausted, old, old and sick, yet he went with terrible speed. On spider’s legs he skittered through the alleys of the City, this mile and the next, until he came to its limits, and then he rushed beyond.

I wept to see the change in this man. I hurt to see his sorrow. And yet I needed to see where he was going in such haste, perhaps to know what drove him so.

The little old Ragman—he came to a landfill. He came to the garbage pits. And then I wanted to help him in what he did, but I hung back, hiding. He climbed a hill. With tormented labor he cleared a little space on that hill. The he sighted. He lay down. He pillowed his head on a handkerchief and a jacket. He covered his bones with an army blanket. And he died.
Oh, how I cried to witness that death! I slumped in a junked car and wailed and mourned as one who has no hope—because I had come to love the Ragman. Every other face had faded in the wonder of this man, and I cherished him; but he died. I sobbed myself to sleep.

I did not know—how could I know?-that I slept through Friday night and Saturday and its night, too.

But then, on Sunday morning, I was wakened by a violence.

Light—pure, hard, demanding light—slammed against my sour face, and I blinked, and I looked, and I saw the last and the first wonder of all. There was the Ragman, folding the blanket most carefully, a scar on his forehead, but alive! And, besides that, healthy! There was no sign of sorrow nor of age, and all the rags that he had gathered shined for cleanliness.

Well, then I lowered my head and, trembling for all that I had seen, I myself walked up to the Ragman. I told him my name with shame, for I was a sorry figure next to him. Then I took off all my clothes in that place, and I said to him with dear yearning in my voice, “Dress me.”

He dressed me. My Lord, he put new rags on me, and I am a wonder beside him.

The Ragman, the Ragman, the Christ!

Prayer

Please pray for my sister-at-heart, Michele. She and my brother Steve are the parents of four very active children and Michele has been going through a rough time. The hardest part is the doctors aren't sure what's wrong, except that a CT scan of her brain showed "shadows" that were worrisome, so she is to have an MRI on Friday.

Michele is one of the strongest persons I know, in every way. I think she'd laugh at me for saying that, but given all she's gone through in her life, she's stronger than she knows. In a way, this is what makes it so hard to hear of her suffering. I wish I could help in some way, but feel utterly helpless, living so far away.

Anyway, when I mentioned this morning that we had lots to worry about, my Mum said, "No, we have lots to PRAY about!" I think that says it all!!!

The Gospel

Really enjoyed the Gospel today which was preached by my dear, childhood friend Gary C. He spoke simply about the Lord on the cross between the two malefactors, in Luke 23, v. 39-43. A few things Gary said really affected me. One was how, in the Darby translation, verse 42, the thief says, "And he said to Jesus, Remember me, [Lord,] when thou comest in thy kingdom." Gary pointed out that tho' the thief had never known the Lord Jesus before then, in the short time he DID know Him, he acknowledged Jesus as his Lord. Then Gary went on to say how Jesus' reply was, "Verily I say to thee, To-day shalt thou be with me in paradise." v. 43 and pointed out how the scripture says, not tomorrow, but "TODAY shalt thou be with me in paradise". He said our hope in Christ Jesus begins today, not in a future time. We don't have to wait to know our Lord Jesus in a living and intimate way. This relationship is meant for the present time. He also pointed out the malefactor didn't have to wait to be baptized or to do any thing else to make himself ready (or worthy) of redemption; he would be in the Lord's presence that DAY.

Some other thing's Gary spoke of were, first, Jesus, while hanging on the cross, was horribly brutalized; He would have hardly looked human. Scripture speaks of His face being "marred more than any man". Yet there was something in HIm which drew the good thief to HIm. It was just a really moving word picture for me to think about; the love of God shining out so brightly in a broken Man, others were forced to acknowledge Him as Lord. Gary also pointed out that Jesus, crucified, was reaching out the same distance to each thief (one on either side of Him), yet, again, only one turned to Him and knew Him as Lord; He's reaching out in the same way today.

Finally, Gary also spoke of the scripture where the Lord Jesus says, "My sheep know my voice." (I wasn't the only visitor at the Gospel, we also had a Mexican immigrant by the name of Jesus who was visiting for the first time, apparently.) Gary mentioned how God is not limited and our Lord Jesus didn't speak English (G. mentioned, as an aside, what a shock this was to him when he first found out about it), yet His people of all languages recognize His voice and, by the Holy Spirit, they understand His will/instruction. He compared this to knowing a friend's voice on the phone, how through relationship and nearness came sensitivity to the Other's voice, in all it's nuances. Even tho' this is a scripture passage I've always known I was touched again by it, today.

Anyway, it was a joy to hear the Gospel preached; to hear the true Hope of our salvation. I've missed hearing this because, sorrowfully, most churches avoid it, preferring a "Friendship Gospel" approach. I felt as tho' I'd come home.