The Tablet of My Human Heart

I love it when I read back over scripture and I find something new to me among the familiar passages. Today, I was reading in 2 Corinthians 3 and ran across this:

“You show that you are a letter from Christ…written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.”

Paul was referring to the letters of recommendation that false teacher’s used to give themselves authority, but he felt true disciples did not need letters written in ink to authenticate their connection to the gospel of Jesus.

I read these words today and was struck by the imagery of people writing letters from Christ onto the hearts of others. I have received many such “letters” recently. Through the kind words of encouragement and care from friends near and far, whether through actual letters, emails, phone calls, or one on one meetings I have been blessed by the “Spirit of the living God” writing on the tablet of my heart using these dear people. Whether they knew it or not, they were doing the physical work of writing a letter from Christ to me. It is good to recognize that we are imperfect pens writing the perfect words of Jesus on imperfect hearts. I know I don’t always recognize the forms that God’s grace and mercy to me take on. I was so happy to find this beautiful metaphor of how Christ ministers to our hearts lingering among words I have read often. Maybe Pierce Pettis will write a song about these “letters” that come in Envelopes of Light! In the beautiful and appropriate words of St. Teresa of Avila:

'Christ has no body now but yours,No hands, no feet on earth but yours.Yours are the eyes through which he looks compassion on this world,Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good.Yours are the hands with which he blesses all the world.'

For some inexplicable reason, Christ has put His pen into our sin wrecked hands to bless one another in His name. Thank you to everyone who has written on this feeble, human heart.

From the O.R. to the E.R.

Incident Report: Friday, June 23, 2006 Some of you know that my mom has had surgery recently. On Friday her surgical procedure took a turn for the worse and she ended up needing an emergency operation to correct a problem. She is recovering (again) in the hospital and will hopefully come home this week. For those of you inclined to prayer, please pray for her physical, and emotional, health. On a lighter, and gorier, note (warning: the following may not be suitable for squeamish readers), Friday night was full of surprises. I returned home late Friday night after seeing my mom before she was rushed into surgery. I thought I had made all the necessary phone calls and was going to bed around midnight. Just as I was about to go to sleep, a kind friend called to check on my mom and me (thanks, V!). We talked for a few minutes and I went to bed and fell into a deep sleep. For those who know me pretty well, I don’t need to explain this next part, but for those who are unaware, I do not wake up from a sleeping state easily or well. Even when I was a little kid my family learned to approach me when asleep at their own peril. I have been known to lash out, taking a swing or two at the would-be waker-upper. I sometimes scream incoherently, and when awakened by noises and such I will jolt upright and spring to my feet in one swift move, all the while not being fully conscious. (That last part has been made all the more difficult with the aforementioned mosquito netting!) When woken up in this manner, I am not fully aware of whom I am, where I am, or what I am doing. There are several incidents that have become folklore in the family due to my sleeping stupor antics. My parents took to standing far away in the doorway, choosing to whisper or gently chide me into consciousness. In high school, my dad would turn on the overhead light and sing “Good Morning Merry Sunshine” to get me out of bed, but that is another story. Back to Friday night: I was slumbering solidly when my cell phone rang. I sprang up, fought my way through the mosquito netting and ran to the other side of the bedroom for the phone (the only free outlet to charge the phone is on the opposite side of the bed from where the mosquito netting opens). On my way, I slammed my foot into a milk crate full of books in the middle of the floor. Hobbling and smarting from the intense pain, I answered the phone and gave my typical response to late-night phone calls with “Huh?” “What?” It was my sister. She asked what was wrong and I said something about hurting my foot. I was waiting for what I thought was the pain from a stubbed toe to subside, but it didn’t. When I looked down, there was blood everywhere. I took the phone with my sister still asking questions on the other end and hobbled my way to the bathroom. By this time I am awake and starting to recognize the magnitude of the situation. I set the phone on the counter and sat down with my foot bleeding into the bathtub. I couldn’t find the source of what must have been a sizable wound. I thought for a moment that I had ripped off my toenail or some such thing. Meanwhile, my sister is still peppering me with questions of what is going on, do I need to go the hospital, do I want her to come over, etc. To which I am shouting, “I don’t know”, “There’s a lot of blood”, “I can’t open the door to let you in, because I will bleed all over the carpet”. (It’s funny that in the middle of a crisis I’m still thinking about how much trouble I will be in if my mom sees what I’ve done to the rugs!) I finally figured out that the bleeding was coming from a gash on the bottom of my second to last toe and applied pressure. I tried to get my foot over my heart so I wouldn’t pass out, but that required a level of contortionism I could not achieve. At some point, my sister hangs up and she and her husband, Jim, come over and manage to help me get dressed and take me to the emergency room. On the way out, I look back and imagine that if someone came to the house while we were gone to the hospital they might think they had witnessed the aftermath of a crime scene, as a bloody trail led from the bedroom to the bathroom. We got the emergency room and one tetanus shot, two shots in between my toes, a liter of saline solution, and a few steri-strips later I was released around 4:30am.

Harmless Invaders or the Spawn of Satan...you decide

Some of you may have been wondering when this diatribe was coming. More than any other factor that had kept me from making a permanent move back to the South in the past was - bugs. More than the heat and humidity, more than the passive aggressive culture, and maybe even more than my crazy relations it was bugs that I was truly afraid of. Not just any bugs, mind you, but a very specific kind of bug, the Palmetto bug, or tree roach. As referenced in its name this bug is supposed to live mainly in Palmetto trees or live oaks. We haven't a single Palmetto tree or live oak near our house, yet these critters (that is way too cute a name for them), these things make their way into our house. I can predict now, with almost 100% accuracy when they will invade. They will most likely invade after a horrendous downpour or when the lawn gets cut. Today the yard guys came and did their thing.

Yup, you guessed it... Tonight I was sitting at my computer harmlessly emailing a friend when I heard a very slight noise over my left shoulder where the window is located. I looked, but I saw nothing. Two seconds later I looked again and there it was. (The reason I consider this species the spawn of Satan is that they will crawl or fly AT you when you look at them!) I promptly screamed, which my mom, who is recovering from surgery, did not hear. (So much for the theory of single people not living alone so that someone will know if they've been attacked or died suddenly from some unknown cause.) Then, I ran out of the room, still screaming. I stepped back to the doorway to check where it was, and it had crossed the room to where I was standing and was heading for my feet! I leaped up into the air and ran screaming into the living room. Still no response from mom (the drugs they gave her at the hospital must be good!). I ran to the garage and got my weapon of choice - a broom. I prefer the long handled, far-away-from-it-ness that the broom offers. Part of my neurosis is that in no way can I step on these things. Just thinking about the sound that makes causes my skin to crawl. My plan was to return and beat it to death with the broom then vacuum the remains. Well, my plan was foiled. I stood in the hallway tonight with broom grasped firmly in hand, white-knuckled, and no bug. Worse than the thought of seeing this thing again is NOT seeing it again. I have no idea where it is. When I left it was in the hallway, now, who knows? I am blogging tonight whilst keeping a sharp eye (and ear) out for its return. (Yes, I really can HEAR them! It must be some weird residual effect of having nerve deafness). Every spot on the carpet and every knot in the wood paneling is potentially IT. I know I won't be able to sleep without knowing that IT is dead. Much to the entertainment of friends and acquaintances, I sleep with mosquito netting over my bed; nights like tonight are the reason for that!

My mother has offered treatments for my phobia, like hypnosis or some kind of therapy involving what, I can only imagine, would seem like I was on an episode of Fear Factor. I mean, it's a phobia, right? I will readily admit, I am afraid of them. I don't think "facing my fear" will help in this case. I was just facing my fear, and I ran away screaming! Some people are afraid of heights, some people are afraid of snakes, I'm afraid of bugs. By the way, if any of you had a snake in your house I'm sure you wouldn't go to sleep knowing it was still there somewhere! I realize I'm getting defensive, and I'm just typing! These things make me crazy! While I'm sitting here waiting for IT to show its evil self, I'm slapping away all the imaginary bugs that I now think are crawling on me. At least those of you who fear snakes have Biblical backup. I mean, the serpent in the garden really WAS the spawn of Satan. The only bugs really mentioned in the Bible involve plagues of locusts. It never really says how the Egyptians got rid of those, does it? OK - for those of you still reading - I'm through. I still don't know where this bug is, but I'm hoping the poison barrier it had to walk through to get into the house will bring swift punishment.

Keeping My Cool

"Somehow, it was hotter then. Men's stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed before noon, after their three o'clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frosting from sweating and sweet talcum."

This is a line from one of the greatest American novels - Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird. In a previous post, I bragged about how wonderful the southland could be in the springtime. I still think springtime is wonderful here, but now we have decidedly moved into summer (I know officially it's the 21st of June). Somewhere a few weeks ago our days turned sharply from 70 and 80 degree weather to the mid and upper 90's. Along with escalating temperatures, we also have the added bonus of humidity. I know humidity gets a bad rep, but it really deserves it in my opinion. I can recall days growing up when the humidity was 99%, and it wasn't raining!


Keeping cool is something of an art form here. Guys wear t-shirts under dress shirts to keep from soaking through. Some girls go sleeveless, while others wear skirts to repel the oppressive heat,and everybody seems to keep a spare deodorant close by, just in case. There are other tricks like always having something on hand to fan yourself with is a good idea. I sometimes rinse my feet in cold water before going to bed.

Over the years, I have developed the habit of showering every other day for the most part. I do this for several reasons: to save water (important when I lived in drought stricken Colorado), to save time (I loathe how much longer it takes to get ready to go when a shower is involved), and to keep the natural, essential oils and such in some kind of balance. I do like to be clean; don't get me wrong about that. In spite of my developed habit and my logical (at least to me) reasons for this schedule, the heat and humidity sometime prove to be too much for me. In the summer, most days are, sadly, shower days. So, in my attempt to foil the oppressive heat I have developed a Southland Shower System or (SSS).

Since I don't want to fall into the habit of taking two showers or baths a day (as apparently Harper Lee's genteel southern ladies had done), I now am deliberate about the summer shower process. The trick is to start the shower with warm water (the better to get really clean with) and then gradually turn the knob to cold. As the skin adjusts, the colder it can get. The cold water not only performs the function of cooling the skin, but has the added bonus of closing the pores so that profuse sweating can be avoided. I never thought I was working out very hard when I lived in Colorado because I never sweated, but now I realize that I was working out just fine, it's just that in CO sweat simply evaporates. Here in the south the water has no where to go, as the air is already full up!

Any other suggestions for keeping cool would be welcome. PS -The last several days have been cooler, rainy ones due to the first named tropical storm of the season - Alberto - but never fear we are on our way back to the upper 90's.

Blog Deferred

I would like to defer you to my friend Julie's blog-a-thon this week. http://julieannblogs.blogspot.com/ She is attempting to inform folks about the organization she will be working with to bring wheelchairs to people in Ghana who don't have them. Not only do they not have wheelchairs, but they have been ostracized and neglected due to some perceived sin in their life because of their disability. Julie is raising money to go to Ghana in October to bring wheelchairs and show the recipients how to use them. Julie is an occupational therapist who works with disabled veterans. I thought the blog-a-thon was a brilliant idea. So, if you have a minute, check it out. Also, try not to compare my lack of blogging skills with Julie's clearly superior blog.