Doggie Diabetes, and The Decline of Political Character.

     Not necessarily in that order.
     I found an amazing little nugget in my political science textbook. In 1787 the absence of a Bill of Rights was proving to be quite a hurdle in ratifying our Constitution. So the guys who supported the constitution said (This is Chris's paraphrase):

It's all good, dudes. You can go ahead and ratify this baby.We will put in a Bill of Rights. We promise. It's the first thing we'll do. We give you our word.

     The Second Group of Politicians then withdrew their objections, the Constitution was ratified, and The First Group of Politicians did exactly what they said they were going to do.
 This seemed really strange to me.

105 Years Old, originally uploaded by use2blost.  Shot by MY BABY! Detail     

      Jack has got diabetes, I guess. He's also having a helluva time getting around. Soozers, an exuberant  fifty pound muscle covered with black hair, casually slams him around, making his life a little more difficult. Because of the diabetes, Jack drinks constantly and pees all the time. For 15 years Jack has been an immaculately housebroken dog. He is still excellent in this regard, though he can have an accident if I oversleep. When we were both younger and my irresponsibility left Jack between a rock and a hard place, he would hop into the bathtub, and cut loose. (Whatta Dog!) Now hopping into the bathtub is just too difficult. He can still get in there during a thunderstorm (yeah. He's a wimp about thunder.) but a quick hop is out of the question for Jacks old, arthritic ass. Wednesday morning I overslept until six-thirty or so, and Jack pissed on the rug I keep for him to lay on. (Jack is allowed on the bed, unless he needs a bath and I haven't gotten around to it.) Jack is mortified when something like this happens. 
     Another effect of the diabetes is extreme weight loss. Jack is heartbreakingly scrawny, and because of this he is also almost always cold. I've talked to a vet, and was advised to put him on a high fiber diet to slow glucose uptake, and maybe that would help. Jack and Suzy get about the same level of health care that I do, so treatment for Jack's diabetes is gonna be a home remedy and/or euthanasia when things get a little worse. I had my first serious consideration of euthanizing Jack yesterday, while driving. It was an embarrassingly tearful episode with a little bit of snot, too. This could be kinda bad. We really need a success with the high fiber diet. I'm hoping that a heating pad, and half a children's aspirin daily will allow Jack to have a life worth living, until he hopefully dies in his sleep.
    Jack has been my friend for fifteen years. He is just a Damn Good Dog. He understands when you point, to look at what you point at, not your finger.That's a smart dog.  I haven't really asked God for a big favor in about eighteen months. (Dad died while I was carrying divorce papers to my wife, so she could sign 'em. For hours I was like "Papa, hold off on one of these, for a day or two. I never ask you for shit. C'mon. Please? ") I am quite upset about the dog thing. Irrationally, I hope he will handle the Dog thing a little better than the Father thing, and Marriage thing. For the Record, I want Jesus to make my 15 year-old dog gain some weight or kill him in his sleep. If he doesn't mind. Please.


                   

I'll Have a Double...

I'll Have a Double Originally uploaded by use2blost

I love espresso! A gift from God to illustrate the principle of quality, not quantity. Unlike the Morning Pot of Coffee, espresso does not really lend it self to pre-programming or the the hectic life. The Real Deal is a slow process of preparing your device (old-fashioned, heat driven, baby!) and then waiting.

John Ortberg talks about "ruthlessly eliminating hurry from your life" (The Life You've Always Wanted, I think).

Wait on your espresso.

“Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10)

I emailed the dead yesterday.

Running Out of Daylight., originally uploaded by use2blost.

Is that morbid? If you send an undeliverable message, at least on Yahoo!, you will get a reply from the "Mailer Daemon". I half-expected that to happen, but evidently the account is still taking incoming mail. I missed my Dad so much, and needed so badly to talk to him about the emotional and logistical cataracts and white water that my life has become. It was pretty raw,  I wanted to engage and at some point, in my mind's eye the intended recipient grew blurry, and it was unclear if I was writing an FYI/lamentation to my deceased father, or a prayer of supplication to my Father In Heaven.  it did me a lot of good, get get some things out onto paper, if only the virtual kind. I cannot over-endorse the benefits of writing down thoughts for the severely attention deficit. Hopefully, Dad's widow, Rosemary doesn't check the account, or she may feel the need to send the Men in White Coats, but I figure the probability of that is low. CyberSpace has never had any attraction for her.

Tropical Depression Fay has cramped my style, though I'm not really complaining... much. I need money, and since taking on school full-time (math test tomorrow morning! :D) returning phone calls, giving bids, sleeping, etc. has been hard, and for the last two weeks, the only option I have had work-wise has been an exterior paint job. The class Saturday, from 8:30 to 2:00 leaves me two days a week to work, and they were both rained out. Now, I know I don't live in Florida, like my friend Melissa Drewry, And the bad timing couldn't have come at a better time, I was evidently (considering my E-seance) overdue for a little mental R&R. I even went to church (didja hear that, Chris Taylor?)!

Ol' Joe Has been working through a series on spiritual disciplines, and truly nailed me. This weeks message was on varieties of prayer, and the disciplines of self-denial: fasting, solitude, and such. The "podcast"  is worth checking out. Over the last few years, God has occasionally knocked indiscreetly on my forehead about this very issue. For some time he has patiently and repeatedly brought to my attention that consistent chunks of unstructured time, in silence, solitude and study are the next step for me. I tend to do enough along these lines that I can hold my own in an argument with my conscience but not enough for significantly deeper intimacy with God. Naturally enough, God hasn't been fooled, and I can no longer fool myself.

My! this post has gotten long, and the torrential downpour sounds awfully soothing.

Good night.

Awakening

spontaneously, at a very early hour, makes me wonder if God has something to say to me. I first got this idea at a planning meeting for a men's retreat. This is one of the pitfalls of growing up in a home without any childhood indoctrination. When you speak with a clergyman who seems to break the mold, so to speak. You begin to speculate...(woe is me, lol) Now, in spite of practicing the morning quiet time thing religiously on and off for years (can you do anything religiously on and off?) I have yet to hear: "GO OUT IN THE YARD AND BUILD A BIG BOAT...PUT ANIMALS IN IT." or, "GET YOUR SLINGSHOT AND GO AFTER THE BIG GUY...DON'T WORRY, YOU CAN TAKE HIM" I have never heard, " STRUGGLE WITH THE ISSUE NO LONGER...I REALLY AM HERE, AND DESPITE THE FACT THAT YOU HAVE NO SIGNIFICANT ROLE TO PLAY IN THE REDEMPTION OF HUMANITY, I DO CARE ABOUT YOU A LITTLE BIT. YOU ARE NOT A SUPERSTITIOUS IDIOT, YOUR LIFE MATTERS TO ME, AND I AM PULLING SOME STRINGS FOR YOU. I have never even heard YES. or NO. What's up with that? Once, I thought I heard something. It involved taking an action that was in alignment with the will and character of God as stated in scripture, I sought counsel (from the Body of Christ, not just some yahoo on the street) and the situation exploded in my face. The ripples of this gargantuan (and expensive) stone, which I threw into my water, still spread throughout the pond to this day, some two years later. I still haven't heard "OOPS".  Andy Stanley, makes the point that God is the creator of communication, (Discovering Gods Will) and no where in the bible, does anybody say "what?... could you repeat that?... I'm not sure I heard you correctly." ( I don't know if he forgot about Gideon of if my memory of scripture is inaccurate... regardless, Yahweh, according to the Bible, has an excellent record of making Himself clearly understood). 

Now, here is the rub: Scripture only addresses individuals who play a role of strategic significance in God's redemptive plan, or play a necessary role in illustrating an accurate picture of Divine Character. There is no book of Joe. Or Jane. Scripture does not address the Average Slob. We get no direct description of how such an individual can expect to be treated in a relationship with the Almighty. Everything is inferred and this pop theology is presented to us from the pulpit. As for the Bible thumping "Gawd speaks to us throo his worduh!", Peter Lord reminds us in Hearing God, that a huge number of Christians lived and died before Guttenberg's printing press, and never owned a Bible. 

Small Goup

I go to three bible studies/small groups. I cannot imagine what state I would be in without those connections. While I have not renounced my faith, there is undeniable repproach in my "personal" relationship with God, who seems so silent, when I want most to hear him, and my prayers/private devotions have been practically non-existant. My Thursday night group is listed on the church calendar as the "misfits" possibly because we are mostly new Christians (I don't know about Bonnie...), but for the first week of my Father's death, I needed a babysitter (for myself!) and Bonnie and Janel especially, stepped right up to the plate, though neither has known me long. Andy Stanley states that spiritual maturity is indicated "not by how much you know-but by how well you love", that familiarity with principles and doctrine are a means to an end, good only insamuch as they improve our knowlege of, and resemblance to, the Character of Jesus Christ. I have made poor choices during episodes of devastating pain more than once. Or twice. Or three times. With their support, I seem to have made it through the first week...They gave me food, company, and money ( I am a very small contractor, and an unplanned week without working, during a divorce and move left me unable to buy so much as a can of coffee). The Misfits, have been for me, a classic example of what Jesus meant when he instructed the knowledgable pharisee to "go and do likewise"

compassion

I am so glad this week is over. I felt a constant strain, a pressure to do and speak in a way that would honor my father. In the midst of it, as divorce came over the horizon, the situation with my wife was so confusing, her compassion, and the knowledge that the love one rightfully expects from a spouse was absent, were a source of an explosive cocktail of emotion. I was never comfortable enough to concentrate on my grief. Understanding, rage, disappointment, and bitterness were exhausting me, even now I would do almost anything to be free of them, if only for a little while. Every time she tells me to let her know if I need anything it breaks my heart.

He was so cold

YOU MUST VIEW IT LARGE TO READ IT

 the moisture in an air-conditioned funeral home was condensing on his head. this was because he was not embalmed. My father's wife asked them to hold off on the cremation so that my sister could see him one last time.
A couple of years ago, a man co-ordinating a retreat asked me to teach on the study of scripture. He said the Holy Spirit directed his request. I was sick with anxiety. I had never before felt humbled and greatly honored simultaneously. While researching, I stumbled across another author quoting Philip Yancy's Disappointment With God:

• “Power can do everything but the most important thing: it cannot control love. In a concentration camp, the guards possess almost unlimited power. By applying force, they can make you renounce your God, curse your family, Work without pay, eat human excrement, kill and then bury your closest friend or even your own mother. All this is within their power. Only one thing is not: they cannot force you to love them. This fact may help explain why God sometimes seems shy to use his power. He created us to love him, but his most impressive displays of miracle—the kinds we may secretly long for—do nothing to foster that love.”

When It became clear that I was getting a divorce, I purchased the book and read it in it's entirety. In my emotionally raw state, Phillip's writing struck me powerfully. Possibly a week or ten days after I completed it, I found myself reeling from the death of my father. At this time it feels as though I read it years ago.The divorce papers sit in a kitchen cabinet in my new, beautiful, empty house, unsigned. My to do list has been put on hold, at least until tuesday. Since the tornadoes passed through the Macon state campus, I'm told that this semester will not begin on time. Last month, I could look back on the last six or seven years, and God's hand on my life seemed undeniable. My sight grows dim, My dreams are a joke, and I wonder if I deceived myself. I have journals going back to a time when I wrote prayers to a God whose name I did not know, I know If I could bring myself to read through them, I could trace my path as my Savior drew me to Him, and taught me his name. My faith is in shreds, I am suspicious even when comforted. Seven years Papa. 10 percent of my life. I have followed you, as best I could. My anger grows, I am surprised and fear you. I'm sorry. I have never been more aware of the gulf between souls. I know many suffer greater pain than this. I am so tired in the deepest part of me I yearn for rest. Reassure me of your love. Tell me again that this matters to you.

Denied Prayer

He died. It is likely that after 16 minutes of CPR he would have not been himself if he had recovered. It is hard to sort through my feelings. There is bitter disappointment, lonliness, an inarticulate longing for closeness and love. It is strange. I am loved much, and greatly, by many people, but my inner emptiness resounds within my soul...ebbs and flows, retreating when I feel like another moment would be my undoing. I find another hour has passed. I was a failure as a son and as a man for much of our relationship, but by God's Grace, a bridge had been rebuilt and my father knew many of my regrets, and freely forgave me.
I harbor no resentment at the Ancient Of Days, He administers the universe as he sees fit, and some time ago I surrendered, and said "let Him do to me as seems good to Him". I may complain, question, even wallow in childish petulance, but I know I have no where else to turn. When things were inconvenient, and difficult to understand Peter said "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life"

Lamentation and Petition

Frustration, and futility. The helpless sense that my world is unravelling. I was actually kind of surprised that there was WI-FI at the medical center of central Georgia...it seems strange to me. though Macon is a larger town than Warner Robins, I have always felt that Warner Robins was more up-to-date...go figure. I guess shit began hitting the fan about 10 days ago...My marriage fell apart, and in the whirlwind of drastically changing circumstances-living location, gathering the requisite paperwork to obtain a divorce, and the struggle to hold together a plan to continue my education, my Dad's health took a nosedive. I have much to be grateful for, God's Provision and his impeccable timing...These things are so momentous in this situation that the Lord's intrevention seems clear to me, and I cannot rail against injustice, and I walk through no material hardship that I did not bring upon my self. My Dad's heart cathertization went as wrong as it can go without actual death. as it was it was scheduled for lunchtime today and had to be moved up to this morning because his condition was so bad. He had a heart attack during the procedure, and had to be recescutated. Now he has been moved to a better equipped facility to continue the fight for life. As I blog from the waiting room, I think of prayer, it's paradoxical nature, and the unfathomable criteria by which God chooses to grant or deny petition. Scripture tells us that "the prayer of a righteous man availeth much", and I sit painfully aware that my righteousness, by the standards of the evangelical community, is flimsy and unimpressive. Even my Savior had prayers denied and these in his darkest, lonliest moments. Who Am I? Papa please. Don't take my Dad. I am so sorry, and my heart is already broken. Please. Mercy. Pity. Grace. Your servant requests your favor yet again.