Batteries Are Included

Ok ok. I just left my blog all lonely and neglected all summer. How awful of me!

Here I am, ready to throw my two cents into the vast waters of blogdom. I've had lots of dreams and visions and insights lately. I've battled a few medical issues. Summer passed by too quickly, but autumn has been warm, inviting and glorious, so who's complaining? (At least, at the moment, I'm not complaining.)

I sat down in my 'God Corner' today. It's a little corner at the end of my sofa where I read scriptures, pray, chat it up with God and worship Him. I love my little spot. Not that I don't talk to Him in other places, but that is kind of... our special place. I will sit down and say, "I'm here." And then, it doesn't take long before I feel Him come to meet with me. I mean, He's here all the time, but there's more. It's a meeting place.

I was sitting there telling God how good He is. I'm bothered right now because there is a real onslaught of voices and writings out there that are attacking the goodness of God. People are saying and writing that He is not good. There are false accusations, slander and libel coming from every direction.

I don't mean the standard, "Why does God let bad things happen?" questions. I mean, out and out accusations from people. I've heard people accuse God of being mean, a bigot (how can God be a bigot... He made everything, so if He says something is a certain way, then it is... I have never had a cake ask me why I made it chocolate instead of lemon and then call me a bigot for that). I've just seen and heard so many derogatory things and I can handle honest questions or someone who's hurt ranting and venting. This is more than that.

It's like... they're slandering my best friend. They have no idea who He is. They don't even talk to Him... except to berate Him, but they presume to know His character. They breathe the air He gave them. Their heart beats because He allows it. They eat food He created. They enjoy nature, music, love, joy, sunsets, chocolate, seasons, family and... then just sneer in God's face and say He isn't good. Well, we don't deserve any of this stuff we enjoy. Does the sun only shine on 'good' Christians? It shines on everybody... even murderers. God is good and His goodness shines on, even when we do reprehensible things and hate Him. He doesn't just turn the sun off... or the air... we still have His goodness all the time every day.

I talked to God about this today. I said, 'Here we are, strutting and boasting about how strong and tough we are and how we have accomplished everything in our lives on our own.' As soon as I said that, a picture instantly popped into my head... one of those 'parable' moments. I saw a child's toy sitting on the floor. It was a battery operated toy zooming all over the place.

God said, "It's like that toy is telling everybody that it is going across the floor by its own power." And I laughed. Uh huh... it's the batteries. It's not going anywhere without power given to it by the batteries.

I hate to break it to this arrogant human race, but... we're the electronic toy. God is the batteries. No batteries. No zoom zoom. That is how good God is. No matter how many times somebody blathers on about how amazing they are, the batteries just keep on pouring the juice into us. We deserve to sit here without the batteries. We don't say thanks. We don't acknowledge He's there. We accuse Him for the rotten stuff that we  humans are doing ourselves. He doesn't just take the batteries away. He still, in His faithfulness and kindness and goodness, keeps us zooming right along.

Thank you, God, for being my batteries. You do realize that after giving me a parable like that, whenever I think of you being my batteries, I won't be able to help myself. I will see you as a fluffy pink bunny...

Light and Darkness

I was going to blog once a week. That didn't work out, did it? That's all right. There is NOT a test at the end of this exercise. Let's set a goal again and see how often I can blog before summer comes.

I was talking to my best friend on the phone on Friday night and I had a vision. It only lasted a few seconds, but when I started praying on Saturday morning, I saw it again. It was vivid and simple and it had such an amazing meaning. It was really encouraging too.

I was talking to my best friend about the dark things in people's lives. You know, the stuff that it can be hard to get rid of, like bad habits, anger, hate, bitterness. These are the shadows that we all struggle with and we want to overcome them. At least, we should. Not just because they're 'sins', but because they hurt others and they hurt us. For example, unforgiveness... that's like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.

Anyway, I was discussing how some religious, well-meaning folks are forever hitting people over the heads with their sins their sins their sins. Sure. We need to get rid of these things. I agree. I don't want to be bitter or angry or spiteful, but I believe we put the cart before the horse.

How can anybody really let go of their pet habits, sins and vices until they no longer need them for security and comfort? Many people are too fragile to just let go of these things. It's all they've got to hold onto, or so they think. They've been taught that God is way up in the sky holding a bolt of lightning and as soon as we screw up, He's just relishing the idea of zapping us with it. What a load of baloney.

I'm not saying He likes what we do. If we don't ask Him to help us, these things can lead us down a really destructive and dangerous path, but God wants to help. He is always wanting to help. He isn't sitting there waiting for us to do it all alone either. You know... He doesn't go, "Pull up your boot straps, Son and then come talk to me."

No. He says, "Are you having trouble pulling up those boot straps, Son? Come and see Me and we'll do it together."

So, that's what I was saying. We can't even get these things out of our own lives until we get a secure foundation under us. We have to be totally secure in knowing how much we are loved and valued before we will let go of our dark stuff.

As I was saying this, suddenly I saw this vision... just for a few seconds. It was clear though. It was like I saw this tunnel and, at the end of it stood Jesus and He was completely bathed in bright, white light. That wasn't surprising. It does say in the Bible that "God is light and in Him there is no darkness at all."

What was remarkable about it was, I could see people being drawn toward Him. These people had darkness in them and on them. Vices. Habits. Sicknesses. Diseases. Addictions. You name it, they were riddled with junk and I thought, "They can't go to that kind of light. How can they?"

As I watched, the light drew them and as the people got closer to the light, I saw that the light had substance. I mean, it was like laser light. You know, laser surgery concentrates a beam of light directly onto an area and it removes cataracts or whatever needs removing.

I saw somebody going closer and closer and as they did, the dark stuff was kind of... zapped off of them by beams of laser liquid light. They didn't even notice. There was no pain. They didn't scream, "Hey! Give me back my vice!" The closer they got to the light, the more of their 'stuff' was removed by the laser.

I was babbling and telling my best friend what I saw. It was too cool. I understood that I was being shown a principle for getting rid of the junk in my life. Stop trying to be the lone ranger trying to deal with it alone and...go and get the emotional laser surgery I need.

It's encouraging to know that I don't have to have it all together before I approach Jesus. If I had to have it all together, I'd be in so much trouble, but I don't. He seemed, in the vision, to be absolutely thrilled to just help people get rid of their hurts and vices. I don't need to be told twice. I want it. The more dark emotions I have, the less room I have for good ones like joy, hope and peace and even medical doctors and science will tell you... too much negative emotions and stress can kill you.

One other thing... this surgery seems to have no waiting list. Everybody can be at the front of the line. Ha! I like it!

I am a terrible blogger

I have great intentions. I want to blog faithfully.

The trouble is, I get distracted so easily by life. I want to work on finally finishing the first draft of the novel I'm working on, finish the creative non-fiction piece I'm working on, write a new song, rehearse the songs I've already written, sing somebody else's songs. I need to sweep, scrub, dust and try to convince myself I'm not really a slovenly schmuck who would rather write a Pulitzer Prize winner than be domestic.

I know I need to give time to family and friends before they think aliens abducted me from the face of the earth. My best friend, Kathy, watches for my tendency to 'hermit' and gently (or not so gently if I need it) tells me, "Get out of the house!"

I need to pray and read God's Word more. Yes. I do have a vital and living faith. It's not an addendum tacked on to my life. It IS my life. I would seriously be lost without God. It's not airy fairy either. It's brass tacks and down to earth faith. I talk to God. I don't talk AT Him. I just picture Him up there going, "Hey! HEY! How about just talking to Me instead of reciting the same prayer over and over and over again?"

I have a friend who does that to me. I mean, he doesn't pray to me, but when he talks to me, all he does is repeat the same old rhetoric every time. I mean, he is angry and bitter at this person and that person and he just goes around and around it, recounting his woes to me in technicolour and the stories never change. The words are exactly the same and it drives me bonkers. That is how I imagine God feels when we talk to Him as if He's a vending machine and prayers are our quarters.

Anyway, that was a rabbit trail and I go down them now and then. It's ok. Sometimes rabbit trails lead to a wonderland.

So, as I was saying, I want to blog and I get sidetracked and then, months go by and my blog sits there like an empty library just waiting to be filled with literary masterpieces... or even the crap I write. ;-) That was my sense of humour kicking in there. Don't comment that I should have more self esteem. If self deprecation is funny, I'll use it. If it's not funny, I won't. I was the class clown. Now I am the clown of blog-dom. I cannot pass up an opportunity to get a laugh.

This time, it will be different. I'm going to blog faithfully once a week for a whole year. This is a goal I am setting. I'm going to do it. Maybe. I hope. The phone is ringing. Hey. Are those cashews? Whoa. A new Facebook application. What are those dogs doing outside my window? Yawn. I could use a nap. January sales! You see? Distractions are me. I'm going to take a stab at writing weekly, but... we'll see. LOL!

One Afternoon In The Cool Club (The Teacher Who Cared)

I was teased mercilessly in elementary school. I was the weird kid. The smelly kid. The kid with the bad haircut; the second hand, ill-fitting clothes. I was picked last on every sports team. I was talked about, pointed at, giggled at and ostracized. I wanted to fit in, but I didn't have the right anything to be in 'The Cool Club'.

That all changed one day in grade 7. For one unforgettable and life-changing afternoon, not only did I get let into 'The Cool Club', I was the queen of it. So what if I had to violate my conscience and sacrifice everything I believed in. I was in!

Here is how it happened.

As I said, I wasn't an athlete, but there was one talent I had in spades. I could write. I wanted to be a writer after graduation. That was my desire for as long as I could remember.

The girls in 'The Cool Club' didn't like one of the other girls in the school. I don't know why (who ever knows with 'cool' girls). I remember that the girl's name was Rhonda and I didn't know her well, but she had never done anything to me, so what I did next can only be described as cruel and heartless. It was out of character for me, but I did it and the ramifications of what I did changed the entire course of my life. Forever. I think Dr. Phil calls it 'a pivotal moment'. Not that I watch him often, but the few times I have caught his show, I've heard him say that.

So, my ticket to 'The Cool Club' came in the form of a song with warped lyrics. I could write stories, poems and songs from a very young age. By age 12, I had written tons and tons of lyrics. I wouldn't say they were all worthy of a prize, but they were preparing me to become a good songwriter/lyricist later on in life. I wrote a ridiculously cruel song about Rhonda. It took all of five minutes to write. Can I remember the lyrics? Not word for word, but it was about 'dog food'. "Puppykins dog food" was the title and it went on and on about how much you would hate to eat this dog food "unless you're like Rhonda... arf arf arf". I insinuated that she was a dog and in 1976, that was one of the worst things you could call a girl. It sure pales by today's comparisons, but back in the day, I was being very insulting. Again, this girl had done nothing to me and I knew... I knew fully well that what I was doing was wrong, but the girls in 'The Cool Club' were so taken with the song that I was basically knighted and inducted into 'The Cool Club' Hall of Fame instantly.

For a whole afternoon, I got to hang out with the cool girls and do their cool things (which in retrospect were utterly boring). They wanted to eat lunch with me and they smiled at me and, for a change, I wasn't the object of their cruelty. It was usually me, but now I was in. The geek was in with the chic! I had sacrificed poor Rhonda to the wolves to preserve my own position in the school hierarchy.

I know I know. You must be so disappointed in me. Does it make you feel better to know that my conscience was pricked to the core later that day when I heard the girls from 'The Cool Club' singing my song to Rhonda, who curled up in the corner and just sobbed and sobbed? It was the most bitter victory of my life. Hurray! I was cool... and a girl was crying her eyes out. I literally felt like I had sold my soul to the devil.

Things got worse for me. Much worse. Be sure your sin will find you out!

I had a teacher named Maureen McEwen. I liked her. She was tall and thin and matronly. If I was born to be a writer, Mrs. McEwen was born to be a teacher. She was strict, but fair and she could even be fun.

Maureen McEwen heard the kids singing my song, taunting poor Rhonda. She saw Rhonda crying. Do you know what? She didn't even have to ask. She knew 'the cool girls' and she knew they couldn't come up with something like that. I mean, for all of its malice, the lines were clever. She had budding scientists and mathematicians and artists in her class, but she only had one that the teachers called 'a gifted writer'. She recognized my work as if I had signed my name to it. I was doomed and my time in 'The Cool Club' was almost up.

I was walking down the hall towards my classroom when Mrs. McEwen stopped me dead in my tracks. She had me in the corner. Her bony finger impaled me as it pointed towards my guilty heart. I was shaking in my shoes before she even spoke.

"Did you write a song about Rhonda?"

I wanted to deny it, but my face was already blushing. "Yes."

It would have been easier if she had said, "Then go to the principal's office" or "Write me some lines" or "You've got detention". NO! Not this teacher. She was going to follow through and teach this lesson in a way that I couldn't forget.

"Sing it for me."

"What?"

"Sing the song for me. Right now. All of it."

I did not want to sing it to her. Not only because it was the teacher I was singing to, but every word of that song stabbed my conscience so hard that it was hard not to cry myself. What had possessed me to do such a thing? To hurt somebody else just because I wanted to be liked?

I sang the song in a pretty shaky voice. It was the longest 30 seconds of my life. It was like I was standing before God singing something dirty.

There were a few seconds of silence before Mrs. McEwen's finger pointed at me again like a rapier. The words she spoke next are etched in my brain like a brand. I have never ever forgotten it and it has been like a rudder for my ship all these years.

"You use that God-given talent for good."

And then, she walked away.

I was booted from 'The Cool Club' that day and good riddance to them. I couldn't tell you most of their names now.

I was 12 years old then. I'm 45 now and, do you know what, I hear Mrs. McEwen's words ringing in my ears every time I write songs, plays, stories... anything! It forever changed my course. It may have saved my life in some ways. That teacher didn't only teach me reading and writing. She mentored me. She steered my life in the right direction.

Every time I write, I think of her. I try to do the best job I can to be a good writer and, even when I'm writing about something difficult, to do it with lots of grace; to never deliberately malign people with it.

A few years ago, Mrs. McEwen passed away and I went to her wake. Two of her sisters were there, who were also teachers by profession. I had the privilege of sharing this story with them. I wanted them to know that I considered that moment with their sister, to be the most important and impacting moment in all of my years of schooling. You should have seen the smiles on their faces. They knew me as well. Could it be that she knew? Did she see my writing? Did she hear my songs? Did it ever occur to her that she was a beacon shining for me and saying, "This is the way. Walk ye in it"?

This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the teacher who cared.

The Enchanted Island

I had a wonderful time with the kids watching the fireworks competition at the park beside the Casino de Lac Leamy on Saturday night. Four countries were showcased in the grand finale, the culmination of three weeks worth of entries from various nations around the world.

We watched breath-taking displays from China, Portugal, The United States and Germany. Germany, set to the tune of Amazing Grace, won the crown this year.

As we walked back from the beach toward the park, extolling the wonder of the pyrotechnics we had just witnessed, a disco band took the stage and the kids ended up dancing and jumping around to tunes that were cheesy when I heard them the first time, in 1978. Still, they were having pure, unabashed fun without the aid of alcohol or narcotics and they seemed to marvel at the fact that this was possible and that they were having more fun than those vices afford without the headache or empty wallet the next morning.

So, it was fun to see them having fun. If “Disco Inferno” taught them that valuable lesson, I will have to concede… finally… begrudgingly… that disco had a purpose.

We ate hot dogs that cost a buck (oh yeah! Thanks for not gouging us!) and helped locate the owner of a set of lost keys that we found under the picnic table where we were eating.

And then, it was time to go to… The Enchanted Island.

We were beside the casino, its superfluous row of fountains spewing out enough water to hydrate The Congo, lights changing the water purple, pink, red and yellow. Limousines pulled in to the grounds. We saw Porsches. We saw Bentleys. We saw any number of cars that cost more than the entire year’s budget for the homeless shelter. Valets waited on these people like they were royalty and that is part of the whole fairy tale, isn’t it?

The kids wanted to experience the casino. I didn’t want to go that badly, but being there would keep them from doing something foolish with their money and would also make sure they could get home as they didn’t seem to think ahead enough to figure out that transit stops at midnight. Like Cinderella’s coachmen, they turn back into mice… or something like that.

So, we went in and they tried slot machines and poker machines and the bells chimed and the buzzers whizzed and the lights blinked and it was all very awesome-looking and mesmerizing at first. Here we were on The Enchanted Island where money floats in the people’s heads like the dance of the sugarplum fairy. And like the sugarplums, the money is a dream too.

We saw reams of money coming out of the wallets of desperate gamblers thinking that maybe if they play one more time, this will be the big one. Another group of singers were murdering ‘The Beatles’, smiling even though people were gambling all around them and paying them absolutely no attention.

Then, after a little time passed by, my daughter, in her wisdom, pipes up. “This is boring, isn’t it? How do people do this every day?”

Well, my Darling, it’s the enchanted island. It seems magical. It seems like another world. It promises big things, but you walk out feeling small and when the spell wears off, and you go back to sweeping the cinders, you just feel like a fool.

I couldn’t have given them a better lesson in life if I tried. They came. They saw. We left a little less rich, but so much wiser.

False hope. You liar. You hold so many people in your clutches and they are so taken with the lights and the bells and the magic that they don’t see the dead men’s bones strewn about the entrance to your lair. Broken families. Weeping souls. You leave nothing but a bitter taste and destruction in your wake.

Turn off the music, Sweetheart, and strip off that gaudy makeup. You’re wasting your efforts on me.