cogitation_station

A Message for Our Age?

Have you ever seen something, then turned around and read something, then heard something, and CLICK!--epiphany! For some of us cursed with synthesis, this happens a lot. But lately some things have been happening which for us who synthesize make us wonder if all these seemingly disparate parts don't combine to form a message for our global generation.

Not to worry...I'm not a radical nut who's preaching THE END OF THE WORLD. Heck, I'm not even going to advocate selling everything you have, leaving it in my tender care--I'd take care of it; you can trust me--climbing some mountaintop to wait for the Mother Ship or the Messiah (He's not there yet) or even buying out the local stores for food and water to keep you through the DARKNESS AHEAD. (Shouldn't someone have a monster playing a dirge at a huge organ here?)

Saints & Others

I've been trying to be silent, and I've done pretty well, but it's time to lay my cards on the table and discuss "The Saints."

The Old Testament word "saint," "qaddish" in Hebrew, only appears nine times in plural and singular form, but the word translates as: "holy," "holy one," "holy ones," and "saints." The New Testament word "saint" appears in Greek as "hagios" from the root word "hagos," and since my keyboard will not deliver either Hebrew or Greek script, you'll have to look it up.

"Hagios" translates into the following: "holy" (61); "Holy" (92); "Holy of Holies" (1); "Holy One" 5); "holy ones" (1); "holy place" (7); "most holy" (1); "saint" (1); "saints" (59); "saints" (1); "sanctuary" (2), and "who is holy" (1). (Source: New American Standard Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible: Hebrew -- Aramaic and Greek Dictionaries. I have other more exhaustive word study books, but this will suffice for now.)

What do all these languages and definitions have in common? The word or function of being "holy" translates into something or someone being "holy" or used for "holy" purposes, and that it applies both to supernatural beings and men. So we need to understand what being "holy" actually means.

For our purposes (for there are other words in Hebrew which have different meanings), we shall take the Hebrew word "qodesh" (from an unused word which means "apartness," "sacredness):"---"consecrated" (2); "consecrated thing" (1); "consecrated things" (2); "dedicated" ( this applies to dedicated gifts and things); "holies" (6); "holiness" (13); "Holiness" (1); "holy" (286); "Holy" (6); "holy ones" (1)--and this applies to:" portion" (3); "holy thing" or "things:" "most holy place" (6); "most holy things" (6); "sacred" as in "gifts" (2); "things" (3); "sacrifices" and "sacrificial" (both 1); "sanctuary" (65), "set apart," (1); "things that are most holy" (1); and "things dedicated."

So let's see how the Greeks used the word "holy." Strangely enough it is the same word used for "saint" in the New Testament, with the exception of eight other times, all of which use only two other words.

So, what is a "saint" then? A saint is someone, living or spiritually translated or already existing in that form, who is dedicated, consecrated, set apart to a holy purpose. These terms also apply to things as well.

So where have they been canonized? What made them "saints?" You need only to begin reading the introductions to many of Paul's Epistles:

To the Romans: "...among whom you also are the called of Jesus Christ; to all who are beloved of God in Rome, called saints: Grace to you and peace... (1: 6, 7); to the 1 Corinthians: "...to the church of God which is at Corinth, to those who have been sanctified in Christ Jesus, saints by calling, with all who in every place call upon the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, their Lord and ours..." (I Cor. 1:2); to the Ephesians: "Paul, an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, to the saints who are at Ephesus, and who are faithful in Christ Jesus..." (Eph. 1:1); to the Philippians: "Paul and Timothy, bond-servants of Christ Jesus who are in Philippi, including the overseers and deacons"..."in view of your participation in the gospel from the first day until now." (Phil 1: 1 & 5); to the Colossians: "Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ in the will of God, and Timothy our brother, to the saints and faithful brethren in Christ who are at Colossae:..." ( Col. 1: 1, 2); to the Thessalonians: "...when He comes to be glorified in His saints on that day, and to be marveled at among all who have believed--for our testimony to you was believed." (2 Thes: 1: 10).

The Epistles of Peter also echo Paul's teaching: "Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ to those who reside as aliens, scattered ...who are chosen according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, by the sanctifying work of the Spirit, that you may obey Jesus Christ and be sprinkled with His Blood.." (1 Pet. 1, 2); "Simon Peter, a bond-servant of Jesus Christ, to those who have received a father of the same kind as ours, by the righteousness of our God and Savior, Jesus Christ..." (2 Peter 1: 1)

I could continue, but I'm certain you've noticed five things: 1) that the apostles did not think themselves above others who believed in the gospel of Jesus Christ; 2) that they called these people "saints," 3) that belief/faith in Jesus Christ was the determining factor between saints and others; (4) that "sanctification" is through the on-going work of the Holy Spirit in a believer's life...all believers; 5) that Mary was never mentioned. (You can read the whole of the Epistles.)

So what is a "saint?" A saint is any person who has believed in the gospel of Jesus Christ as set forth in the Scriptures (read John 3: 16, if you don't know what this is). That's it. They are considered "holy;" "consecrated" by the blood of Christ; "set apart" to the work of the gospel which God gives to all who believe.

What is that work? It differs for everyone. But the one constant is that in so doing whatever is given you to do that you try, through the help of the Holy Spirit, to do it according to the will of God and looking for your example to Jesus Christ, the Son of God, Who intercedes for you daily and has sat down at the right hand of God the Father. (Good News: you don't have to speak in tongues, perform miracles, or interpret tongues to be a saint!)

Please note: Mary is not a perpetual virgin. Read the gospels: Jesus had other brothers and sisters, one of whom wrote the Epistle of James and became head of the Christian church in Jerusalem. Mary is not mentioned after brief and sporadic mentions in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

A Pope is never mentioned. In fact there is a condemnation of those "who would forbid marriage." And besides our earthly parent, we are to call no man "Father," for God the Father, Who is in Heaven, is our Father.

Intercession for sins is accomplished by Jesus Christ, no other, with the one exception of the Holy Spirit who sometimes intercedes for us in prayer "with groanings too deep for words," when we are at a loss as to what or how to pray.

Men do not make "saints," nor can acts of a "saintly" nature make non-believers saints, nor believers for that matter. Men become saints through belief in the Lord Jesus Christ. They are "set apart" for "holy" purposes.

I've watched the near deification of the deceased John Paul II with a mixture of sadness and incredulity. A worshipper of both Jesus Christ and "the Perpetual Virgin Mary," who made over 400 saints, and who is now looked upon as a "Saint," is the same man who after being shot believed that "Mary of Fatima" saved his life. He may have been a great man; he may have been, at some level, a real follower of Jesus Christ, in which case he was already a saint, but his teachings and beliefs were so full of errors, only God can sort them out. So I do not presume to condemn him; but neither will I call upon him "to intercede" for me in Heaven.

Over a billion people in this world believe in these things. Have you never read the Bible in which you profess? All I can do is plead with you to do so. Martin Luther did and was appalled enough to separate himself from the Roman Catholic Church, even under the threat of excommunication, which in truth cannot affect the salvation of any man, woman, or child who has believed in Jesus Christ as their Savior (c.f., John 10: 27-30.) The errors of the Roman Catholic church teachings are myriad, flying in the face of the teaching of the apostles ("sent ones") and of Peter himself.

I am not asking you to believe my witness, though it is true. I'm asking for you to read the Bible (I recommend the New American Standard Version because it has the most literal translation of the original languages) and forget any additions which the Roman Catholics have included calling it "The Apocrypha," which in Greek means "hidden things." You might be interested in reading up on "Gnosticism" as well.

Then form your own opinions on the things you have been taught or read or heard.

God will bless you for it.

On Death And Dying

I have no idea why I've never had any fear of dying, but I haven't. I'm afraid of other things, but not Death. (And for several years, I should have been.)

Why am I writing about Death now? It's been so much in the news lately, e.g., Schiavo, the Tsunami, earthquakes, deluges, disease, and now the Pope finds himself at the door.

As an inveterate People Watcher, I've been astounded at the reactions, some of which I've explored in depth here.

Last night I watched cable news coverage of the Vatican "Death Watch." People praying for Pope John Paul II's recovery, some referring to a recovery as a "resurrection," some sorrowful, and some, taking their cue from John Paul, resting in their faith in God "serene" and looking ahead "with joy."

Grief at the loss of a loved one, while natural and understood, pertains not to the end of a person's earthly life, per se, but to the loss of being able to hold, touch, talk to that person who has moved on. The grief is not for the end of the loved one's suffering, but for our own loss of communication with that person.

Death seems especially horrible when a young person is involved. When this happens, as it has in my family, I remember Isaiah's words:

The righteous man perishes, and no one takes it to heart; and devout men are taken away, whle no one understands. For the righteous man is taken away from evil. He enters into peace. Each one who walked in his upright way. -- Isaiah 57: 1-2.

Who would not wish for their loved ones to escape from all evil? It is not the manner in which I would like it to occur, but then, I am selfish and would prefer to see the faces and be able to hug those I love.

I shall leave you with one sonnet, "Death Be Not Proud," in John Donne's collection of what are known as the "Holy Sonnets."

Death be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadul, for thou are not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from these much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And death shall be no more: Death thou shalt die.

--Holy Sonnet X

And isn't that what Easter is all about?

Time and Forever

Forever. I've heard that forever is a "long, long time," but that's simply not true. Forever means no Time at all.

I'm beginning with this concept, because you must think about it. It's not a cute quip; it's not just pithy; it's Truth. I believe even Einstein would agree with me....

Time does not exist in space. Don't you love how "space and time" are always linked, yet they have absolutely nothing to do with one another? Two entirely separate realms.

Our lives owe obeisance to "Time" only if we choose. In other words, Time parades in costume of Majesty and Control. But remove the costume, and naught remains but our own subjective view of an artificial reality.

What is time but an artifice based on the movement of sun and moon and stars around which our planet revolves? Remove us from this small sphere, and it ceases to exist.

A long time ago I decided that since time didn't exist except in my head, that it didn't have anything to do with my day. A day could encompass an entire lifetime. A day could be a year or a second.

When I began to think of a day in that manner, I started paying attention to events and moments that wouldn't have caught my notice on other "days."

Have you noticed how some days fly by, while others drag on endlessly...until, they end LOL? Of course you have! But have you ever considered that there might be a reason behind that?

I have tried this experiment several times, and it has never failed me yet. I arrived at this epiphany because "things" piled upon other "things" overloading my life, and several important people, events, opportunities, responsibilities spilled out, sometimes without my notice, until I had driven past, and they were lost to me.

My mind "shotguns." Michele Miller calls it something else, but I call it shotgunning. It's brain, life, overload.

Too many urgent calls for help from equally important sources at the same time...how does one prioritize, much less think?

It was then I thought: If Time is artificial, and God made Time, and He controls it, and He could stop it for Joshua, then why can't He do the same thing for me?"

(OK...you don't believe in Jesus Christ. I do. You don't believe in a literal interpretation of the Bible in context. I do. So sue me. I just know, it works.)

So I asked one morning, when all things were impossible to accomplish within given deadlines, and my family needed me, and there were family emergencies, and I was in grad school, and I had to take a Journalism Law final that day, for extra time.

I got it. I don't know if God sped me up, or slowed Time down, but I do know that some things that were so urgent got cancelled and not by me, and things that should have taken an hour, took 10 minutes.

Near the end of the day, after spending the entire night at the hospital with one of my sons and getting no sleep and no opportunity to study, I walked out of the final, knowing I had failed it. I had no idea of what the questions meant, much less what the answers were. But I didn't care. The day was nearly over.

I had met all the deadlines that existed, my son was fine, and I had taken the test.

It was a good life that day.

Two lifetimes later, I got my final back. Not only had I aced it, but I'd gotten the highest grade in the class. I truly thought my blue book had been mistaken for someone else's. I got up and went to the prof and told him I thought there had been some mistake. He said, "No. Your answers were simply perfect."

Well, I'm here to tell you that I'm not perfect. I don't know how all those answers in my handwriting got into that blue book, but there they were, and they were perfect. I can tell you, I didn't do it.

It was a good life that day.

I'm not the only one to whom this phenomenon happens.

Several days later my neighbor called in panic. Same story: way too much to do in too little time. What she needed was the impossible. So I told her what I had done. She thought I was nuts. I thought so too, but what did she have to lose? The whole situation was impossible, so what was one more impossibility?

She called me three hours later. Everything was done. She was in shock. She had an hour to spare. We had a drink and laughed and watched Callan Pinckney do her bit in "Callanetics." Then my friend left to entertain her housefull of guests who were arriving within 15 mintues.

She enjoyed her day of life; so did I.

When I remember, and that's the trouble--as Peter said, "I know that you know these things, but you have need of reminders..."--I have trouble remembering that each day encompasses an entire life, if I choose to view it that way. But when I do miracles happen. Sometimes the miracles are minute, so tiny that a microscope can't see them; sometimes they are mistaken for "luck;" sometimes the miracles overwhelm me; sometimes my mind can't quite grasp the day's events. But somewhere in my soul, in my mind and spirit, they live on building...life upon life, paths making paths, and leading me into the unknown where Adventure and more miracles await.

Reading, Truth, and the Mind

"Those of us who are blamed when old for reading childish books were blamed when children for reading books too old for us. No reader worth his salt trots along in obedience to a time-table." -- C.S. Lewis in an essay "On Three Ways of Writing for Children."

Before you misunderstand Lewis's use of "childish," it has the same meaning as reading books meant for children--not the pejorative term "childish" as commonly used in American parlance.

I must confess I conform to his statement: I read books much "too old" for me when I was a child, and I love children's books as an adult. Discovery of Truth knows no age limit. And the brain, when exposed to Truth, innately recognizes it.

That is not to say that the adult chooses to admit that Truth or even remember it, but simply that it exists, whether or not the conscious mind chooses to acknowledge it, and it shapes our personality, whether we will or no for good or ill.

"You are what you eat." Well, I don't happen to think so. I had eggplant the other night, and I'm neither purple, nor elongated with a bulbous end. (Although, now that I put my mind to it, I do absorb much more than my apparant capacity would indicate...think litres of olive oil and translate that to information.)

I believe "you are what you read, see and experience in any form." Books, movies, videos, CDs, music in every genre, lyrics, theatre,newpapers, news, ideas from anywhere, and people--all kinds--what they say and the manner in which they behave, end up shaping us. We pick from this, discard that, and mix them all up and make out of these pieces our whole.

You may wonder at the popularity of such books as J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter stories, or J. R. R. Tolkien's resurrected books: "The Hobbit," and The Lord of the Rings Trilogy in both book and motion picture genres. You may smile condescendingly or indulgently at "Lemony Snicket's" series, which translated recently into film. "The Polar Express," "The Wizard of Oz," "The Secret Garden," "Babe," "Babe in the City," "Finding Nemo," "Mary Poppins," "Cinderella," "Sleeping Beauty," "Beauty and the Beast," and the list goes on and on and on, all are supposedly for "children," and most of them are in at least two genres, some in even more. I know adults who look for children to take to the movies so they won't look foolish going to a children's flick alone. Please... Wonder and awe, beauty and fantasy, mythological beings and adventures, ideas so big they boggle the mind...are they the province of children alone?

Face it: Tom Peters believes in fairytales. He believes in giants to conquer, dragons to slay, and mountains so tall he needs climbing gear, but he believes he can scale them and that you can too. I wonder where he got his initial ideas? Humm....

So does Roy H. Williams, who is known as "The Wizard," and his website is www.wizardofads.com. So does everyone in one way or the other. You are either a Grinch or a Hero in your own life story. It all depends on what you've done with the information you've gleaned from what you've read, what you've seen, and what you've heard and experienced.

Donald Trump probably loved "Monopoly," because that's what he's playing now, along with Wal-Mart, and other "giants" I could name.

I know I'm digressing. I do it all the time; in fact, it's probably one of the things I do best. But I know where I'm going; I just like to take odd paths to get there.

I don't believe in coincidences or accidents or mistakes. I believe there's a reason for everything, no matter how good or how evil it is. Where did I get that idea?

My job, as I see it, is to "extract the precious from the worthless," which means that nothing is without purpose. "God never said it would be easy; He just said it would be worth it."--Me a very long time ago. (I am Pamela Kay Hawkins...not the other Pamela Hawkins who lives near me.) What made me believe that? Reading, "rubber-hits-the-road" experiences, and taking John Milton's advice in his "Aeropagitica; A Speech of Mr. John Milton...to the Parlament of England," printed 1644. (Hey, just because they're dead doesn't mean they aren't totally contemporary.)

Milton wrote the "Aeropagitica" to "deliver the press from the restraints with which it was encumbered." In other words, he was writing against censorship. (I do love this man, so indulge me.)

"For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul whose progeny they are; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them...." (Take that Deconstructionists!) "And yet...unless wariness be used, as good almost kill a man as kill a good book: who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye."

More Milton, same source: "If we think to regulate printing, thereby to rectify manners, we must regulate all recreations and pastimes, all that is delightful to man. No music must be heard, no song be set or sung, but what is grave and Doric. There must be licensing dancers, that no gesture, motion, or deportment be taught our youth, but what by their allowance shall be thought honest; for such Plato was provided of....

"Many there be that complain of divine providence for suffering Adam to transgress. Foolish tongues! when God gave him reason, he gave him freedom to choose, for reason is but choosing; he had been else a mere artificial Adam, such an Adam as he is in the motions."..."Where there is much desire to learn, there of necessity, will be much arguing, much writing, many opinions; for opinion in good men is but knowledge in the making."..."Give me liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties....

"And though all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play upon the earth, so Truth be in the field, we do injuriously by licensing and prohibiting to misdoubt her strength. Let her and Falsehood grapple; who ever knew Truth put to the worse, in a free and open encounter. Her confuting is the best and surest suppressing."

As you may have gathered, I agree. I also think strangely, as I "see" conversation on a giant blackboard for which I carry a very large eraser. Arguments go up on the board. When my "adversary," in the best sense of the word, finds a hole in my argument, I take out my eraser and erase what I find to be false. In that way, by opining and controversy, Milton's grappling, what is finally left on my blackboard is the closest thing I can get to Truth.

Some find this method of discourse disconcerting and nothing but argumentation. I tried explaining this methodology of my mind to several people, and I finally came up with this: "How do I know what I think until I see what I say?" That's about as close as it gets, folks.

So what influences formed how you think? They may surprise you.

"The Box Theory"

"The Box Theory" is excerpted from Chapter Four of my book, The Girl In the Back of the Room Copyright 1993 Pamela Kay Hawkins. The conversation takes place between "Laurie," a mixed-up teenager, and her maternal grandmother, "Nana." Laurie has just discovered that she's been adopted by Eric Billings, the man Laurie's mother has always told her was her biological father. She's been snooping in the attic and found her hospital birth certificate saying that her mother was indeed her biological mother, but that her husband was someone she's never heard of.

The conversation begins in medias res with "Nana" talking:

"Are you telling me you don't like the name Billings or that you don't like having Eric as a father?"
"Billings is OK, I guess, and Daddy's fine... . It's just that I feel like the rug's been pulled out from under me: suddenly, Daddy's not Daddy anymore, and someone named Lawrence James Lightman---someone I've never met before---is my real father."
"Laurie, let's get one thing straight right now: there's a lot more to being someone's real father than simply getting their mother pregnant."
"Nana!"
"It's true, and what's more, you know it."
"But my father never had a chance to do those things with me--"
"Believe me, honey, Jim Lightman didn't want the chance."
"How do you know?"
"Because Eric had to have his permission to adopt you after the divorce, and because Jim didn't care enough about his parental rights to show up in court at the adoption hearing. That's how I know---that, and the fact that in all your fifteen years he's never so much as written one word to find out how you were."
It was so quiet in the minutes that followed that Laurie heard each second passing. How could it be that her own father didn't care about her? She was only a baby when he left her; why didn't he want her? Somehow the information didn't make sense. Her stomach ached, and she was suddenly very tired.
Nana put her hand on Laurie's shoulder: "Forgive me, sweetheart. I shouldn't say things like that. Frankly, I'm surprised thinking about that man can still make me this angry. It was all so long ago..." Her voice trailed off and silence flooded the room again. Nana patted Laurie's should quickly and sat back in her chair. "There is something I want you to think about though, Laurie. I don't think it came as a surprise to God that Meg married Jim Lightman, nor was it a shock to Him that the marriage only lasted a year. I think He planned it that way."
Laurie looked up at her grandmother. "I thought you always said God hated divorce..."
"Oh, He does," she said, nodding, "but that doesn't mean He doesn't use it for His purposes on occasion."
"I don't understand; what purpose?"
"Why getting you here, of course." Nana smiled and deftly ran the remaining thread underneath the basket weave on the back. She bent over her sewing basket and pulled out a long piece of sage green yarn and rethreaded her embroidery needle.
"I think I'll work on the tree for awhile," she said, holding up the canvas for Laurie to see. "Pretty, isn't it?"
Laurie nodded.
Nana attached the thread to the back and resumed her work. "Sometimes I embroider and I start thinking how marvelous and strange and wonderfully complicated life is. See this?" Nana turned the canvas so that its back faced Laurie. "It doesn't seem to have anything at all to do with the picture on the front, does it?"
"No," Laurie answered and quietly wondered what it had to do with anything at all. To be polite she added: "I always wondered how you could get the back to look like that though. Mine always looks like a mess with knots and ends of threads everywhere."
"Mine used to look like yours too. I just learned a new technique---I'll show you how to do it sometime, if you'd like--"
"Is it hard?"
Nana smiled: "No, it's not hard at all; you just have to follow a pattern when you stitch, instead of just going any which way you please." She looked at the back of her work again and smiled. "I used to think there wasn't any pattern in my life, or anyone else's for that matter, especially when things weren't going the way I thought they should. Life looked like the back of one of your pieces of needlepoint---no rhyme nor reason to any of it, and ugly. Parts of life are ugly when all you can see are the parts. I felt like that when Meg ran off and married Jim Lightman."
"Mom ran off?"
"Practically. She knew your grandfather and I couldn't stand him, although I'll tell you now that we really had no good reasons for not liking the boy then--"
"Then why didn't you like him?"
Nana frowned and rubbed her forehead as if her head hurt. "There was just something about him I didn't trust, and Alan didn't like him either...said he was a donkey disguised as a thoroughbred"---she laughed as she said it---"He was too--disguised, I mean---and smooth as melted chocolate with your mother. He was good-looking--"
"I saw his picture."
"Did you?" Nana peered over the rim of her glasses and nodded. "Well, then, you know where your looks come from. You've got Meg's eyes and and her nose, but everything else is pure Lightman."
"Do I really look like him?" Laurie wasn't sure she knew how she felt about looking like someone she didn't know.
"Oh, yes." Nana stopped as if she were going to say more, then bent over and rummaged through her sewing basket, finally finding a small magnifying glass. She reached up and adjusted the lampshade of her lamp so that more light shone on the needlepoint. She positioned the magnifying glass over a portion of her work, then stopped, achoring her needle in the canvas. "I think I'll put this up until tomorrow. My eyes aren't what they used to be."
"Nana?"
"Yes?"
"Why didn't they stay together?"
"Because God wanted you to have Eric Billings as a father."
"No, seriously."
"I am serious." Nana placed her needlepoint in the basket and sat forward in her chair. "Remember the back of your needlepoint?" Laurie nodded. "Well, to us then and to you now the whole situation looked like that mess. Your mother found out she was pregnant with you the month after her honeymoon. Having a baby the first year of his marriage was not in Jim Lightman's master plan--"
"You mean he didn't want me?"
"It wasn't that he didn't want you, he just didn't want the responsibility of being anyone's father. He didn't want any baby in his life then, and he made that quite clear to your mother. He made her life miserable after that; finally, she had no choice but to leave him."
"I don't understand--"
"You'll have to find out the details from your mother. It's not my place to tell you. But I will tell you that your father got mumps shortly after the honeymoon--"
"Mumps?"
"Mumps. After that, Jim Lightman couldn't father any more children. You're his only offspring."
"So you're saying that God made my father sterile?" Laurie was incredulous.
"No, I'm saying God made sure you were conceived before your father got mumps. It's a matter of timing---one month later and there would have been no Laurie Lightman to become Laurie Billings. I think God really wanted you here, and, let's face it, without Jim Lightman, you wouldn't be.
"Think about it a moment, Laurie. Think about all the people over all the intervening years who had to come together at just the right time for there to be a Laurie Billings. If I hadn't married your grandfather, for instance, I wouldn't have had your mother and you wouldn't be here---some other little girl perhaps, but not you."
"So you think God cares whether or not I was born instead of that other little girl?" Laurie shook her head. "I can't see that He's so involved." Laurie looked at her grandmother. "If He is...well, what about kids who are born to parents that abuse them, or who starve to death in some foreign country because of a famine or something? Is God responsible for them too? Is that what He had in mind for them?" Laurie folded her hands and stared at her grandmother.
Nana smiled softly: "Laurie, I'm no theologian, but I do know the Bible say that God is involved wtih each child even in the womb and that children are a reward and that the number of days alloted to each person is written down---set---even before they have lived one. So, yes, I believe God is intimately involved in each person's life...." Nana leaned back in her chair. "I have a theory about why some children have such a hard time in life, while others don't. Want to hear it?"
Laurie did want to hear how Nana could explain God's involvement in all the pain and suffering children went through. Secretly, she didn't think Nana could, or anyone else for that matter.
"It's my 'Box Theory.' See, I think God's resons for being born are much different from what people think they should be. If you or I were in charge, we'd think the best possible thing for everyone would be to be born into the best possible circumstances. Right?"
Laurie nodded.
"And we think that means healthy, perfectly formed, with enough food to eat all of the time, and, probably we'd want their parents to be wonderful people who were caring and probably rich, just so that their children could have every advantage money could buy." Nana stopped and smiled.
"Well, of course," Laurie said, a bit defensively. "Who wouldn't want that for their children?"
"Sometimes I think God doesn't want that---not because He doesn't want children to be happy and healthy, but because He knows each one of us so well that He knows what each one of us needs to accomplish His purpose in our lives."
"Which is what? To make us work really hard for what we get, or just to make us miserable?" Laurie was getting tired of this.
"Neither. God puts us here to know Him so that this life isn't all we have of what He wants us to experience. For some people, having it easy all of their lives is just fine and is never a hindrance to their spiritual well-being. But for others, like me for instance"---Nana laughed---"who are too darned stubborn to think they need anyone other than themselves in this life, God knows a few well-chosen obstacles will help them more than any so-called blessings ever will.
"So He puts every single person ever born in a box--the box is what you are given, that you haven't any say in, like what sex you are, what you look like, what your race is, who your parents are, what country you're born in, what your financial situation is growing up, what situations come your way...." Nana's voice trailed off for a moment.
Laurie was grateful for the respite: something about Nana's theory was begining to make sense.
"You can probably come up with a lot more," Nana continued, " like the circumstances surrounding your conception, but the improtant point is that you have no control over any of these things; they're just given to you. What you do have control over is how you respond to those 'gifts.' And how you respond, my dear, will bring you closer to God or drive you farther from Him.
"The important thing to remember is that God has given each person the best 'box' for that particular individual, and that God's purpose is always---always---in the best interest of that person, whatever you and I may think his or her circumstances look like on the surface."
It was obvious to Laurie that the theological lecture was over, and that Nana felt her point had been made. Laurie wasn't at all sure she bought it.
"So you're telling me God engineered my circumstances for my ultimate good, that He wanted me born, but he didn't want Jim Lightman to act as my father? I'm sorry, Nana, but I'm not so sure this 'gift' as you call it is better for me than having my mother and real father stay married. I think you just don't like Jim Lightman because he did something that hurt your daughter."
"Oh, honey, that's true; I don't like Jim Lightman because he hurt my Meg. But don't think I'm basing my 'Box Theory' on this one situation. I may not be right about it, but up till now it's made more sense than anything else I've heard.
"And you don't have to believe me, Laurie. It just something I wanted to share with you, and maybe give you something to think about."
Nana stood up. "I don't know about you, but I'm getting sleepy. I made up the bed for you in your mother's old room. You know where the towels and everything are."
Nana hugged Laurie and kissed her on the cheek. "Good-night, sweetheart. Thank you for listening to my lecture. I don't know, you may be right, but I'm awfully glad you're my granddaughter, and you'll let an old lady think you're here by divine decree and not just an accident, won't you?"
Laurie laughed and hugged Nana back. "Oh, I suppose so, if it's really that important to you."

End of excerpt.

There are sound theological reasons for this theory, some of which I'll get into one of these days. But this is quite enough for now, don't you think?

The Man Behind the Mask

I believe that inside us all, perhaps when we were children, there existed a mental picture of who we were meant to be, of who we thought we were. Sometimes that image gets lost in the myriad experiences and images that others try to impose upon us; sometimes we can't measure up to the image.

When these things happen, we arrive at a crossroads: whether to continue to try to become the person we always wanted to be but couldn't quite manage on our own, or whether to hide behind a mask.

I am an expert at masks. I see them all of the time, now.

That wasn't always the case.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. To tell you my own qualifications, allow me to tell you about an epiphany I had my Freshman year in college. I was drunk, and I had mixed Valium, which was then thought to be a very harmless drug, with my liquor. I had thought nothing of it. I'd been on Valium since I was eleven years old with no ill effects. I didn't get drunk either. So, no one ever told me that the combination could be deadly. I remember looking into the mirror in my dorm room and seeing my face split into pie pieces, each with a name on it. I looked for me in the center, but there was no me...there was no center. The pieces were what every "name" thought I should be; so to that "name" I was this person; to another name, I was a completely different person. But I had no center. No person called "I" without another person to reflect in. I resolved that moment to find who I was...whether or not it killed me. Knowing who I was became the most important thing in my life, as I realized that living or not, "I" was non-existent.

I lived, as you may have gathered, much to the consternation of the doctors who were called in. "One more drink, or one more pill, young lady, and you wouldn't be here today." Little did they know, that until that moment, I hadn't existed in a very long time.

I was saved in more than one sense that day, but it had little to do in my thinking with religion, psychology, or human behavior, or with fear for that matter. It had to do with survival. My survival. Somewhere along the road, I'd misplaced myself, and replaced "Me" with other people's expectations of who they thought I should be. I had become an adept at masking.

Oh, the problems when I tore off the masks and jumped off the pedestals!

"I don't know who you are anymore" was the common response. I was thinking, "Join the club. I have no clue who I am either, but I'm going to find out if it kills me."

Then I remembered when I was a little girl that every time I thought of myself, I saw this sweet, nice, caring child, who couldn't understand why so many people fought, couldn't see what was before their eyes, and why we couldn't just all love one another. (Believe me, I realize this was a bit naive, but I was naive.)

Later, as I examined my "self" closely, I saw remnants of this kid who cared, but only just. I didn't care. About anyone. I only wanted them to care about me, so I became a mask-maker and wearer. (Sorry, Taymor, I came way before you.) But mine didn't look like masks at all. Mine looked like me, or the me the person I talked to thought they knew.

Taking off the masks terrified me. What if I was the "Invisible Girl" when I removed all of the masks? What if there really wasn't any center to me left? (There really wasn't much left, sad to tell.)

Well, then I'd just have to build one. I began slowly, but finally there was a person...a real one, and I cared. Boy, did I care!

Then came the "Masked Men."

Now, you'd think after all I'd gone through, and all my expertise with masks, that I'd have been able to spot a mask at a glance. Nope. Something very odd had happened to my eyes. I never saw masks, even the very heavy, carefully contructed masks that had taken years to perfect. Totally wasted on me.

What I now saw, though I didn't know it at the time, was the REAL PERSON, the person who was supposed to inhabit that masked body, but who was as lost in the masks as I had been.

So, I related to the person, not the mask. Now, as a mask-wearer, people who ignore masks are very scary people. They see the very things masks are supposed to hide.

To tell you the truth, I don't know to this day whether this ability I've acquired is a gift or a curse. It's certainly not always pleasant. Imagine seeing Dr. Jeckyl when Mr. Hyde is standing in front of you. But the real person is Dr. Jeckyl; the horror that is Mr. Hyde is a fictional terror that has taken over the real man. Mr. Hyde is a mask. That does not make Mr. Hyde any less dangerous.

Why do people wear masks? Oh, lots of reasons: to impress, to hide perceived imperfections, to please, to run from ourselves or what we think we are. At bottom: it is the ultimate self-deception, because in time, the mask becomes the person to the point that that person cannot distinguish between the false and the true.

I just wrote a short piece about Ebenezer Scrooge. Why is this Dickens' character so ingrained in our psyches? "A Christmas Carol" is not just a Christmas story for children, is it? No, it's much more. It's the story of a self-deceived man, a martyr to his own generosity to whom life has been cruel. Money became his god without his knowing it...do you really think anyone sets out to be a monster? So "Scrooge" became the mask, and Ebenezer, the man, was lost...almost beyond redemption. Almost.

I shall digress yet again, because that's what I do best, and tell you another story within the novella, The Great Divorce, by C. S. Lewis. It is a story about a busload of spirits on the way to Heaven.
Not all decide to stay there. It is too REAL.

There is one instance in the book which tells the story of a man, whose wife is waiting for him in Heaven, when he gets off the bus. He appears to be a tall, dashing orator or actor, who holds a puppet on a string. The man speaks and the puppet dances. But the wife ignores the tall man, and stoops down to talk to the "puppet." She urges him to let go of the string and get rid of the "actor" who is growing stronger by the second. He will not, and finally the "puppet," who is the real man, vanishes, leaving only a hollow actor puppet to return to the bus on its return trip to Hell.

A fun story? Not to me. Not to Scrooge. Not to several "masked men" I've loved, known, watched die, and disappear.

OK. So why am I writing this semi-autobiographical piece? Because Scrooge lived! He chose to change. He chose to look himself in the mirror and say..."So that's who I really am! Do I want to be that person? NO! And I won't be that person anymore." And he changed, and he lived out his days in joy and bringing joy to others.

Is it easy to strip off the mask/s? No. I'd be the last person to tell you that. It's excruciatingly painful, especially if you've been crafting really good masks.

Is it worth all the pain? You bet!

How do you strip off a mask? You take a long hard look at what's behind the mask. You see yourself as you really are...the bad and the good. (Some people have a hard time seeing anything good, but look harder; it's there.) Then decide what kind of person you want to be.

You're going to fail. I won't kid you. I've failed so often I've lost count. But Christmas is the season for Redemption. There's a reason for that: Nothing you or I have ever done, ever will do, or are in the midst of doing right now is beyond God's forgiveness. Take it from a Prodigal Daughter. Ask for forgiveness in Jesus Christ, and you will get it. Don't wait for the boom to be lowered; it never is. Instead you get the Father running toward you with his gown girded so He can get to you faster. You see, He's been waiting for you to take off that mask. The fatted calf is already on the spit.

Merry Christmas!

Literary Myths and Other Surprises

How many of you remember the children's picture book, The Little Engine that Could? Platt & Munk, Publishers, originally published this bundle of dynamite in 1930, or so my copy states.

I found out recently that it was "retold" by Watty Piper from a book, The Pony Engine, by Mabel C. Bragg, copyrighted by George H. Doran & Co.  How many of you have heard of Mabel C. Bragg or her book?  It seems quite possible that a "book," as such, never existed.

I did a google search and found out that Mabel C. Bragg was Watty Piper's great, great, great aunt.  Imagine.

It seems that this, too, is debatable.  I refer you to Professor Roy E. Plotnick, http://tigger.uic.edu/~plotnick/littleng.htm.

For legal reasons, I cannot quote Professor Plotnick's suppositions as to the actual origins of the book, but suffice it to say, you need to read his article.

I spoke to this remarkable man today for a few minutes, and he promised to write more on the subject.  I cannot wait.

Professor Plotnick is not known for his work in children's literature, but in the fields of paleontology, paleobiology and related subjects at The University of Illinois at Chicago.  He has also written extensively in this area, and I recommend him to you at http://tigger.uic.edu/%7Eplotnick/plotnick.htm.