I Shouldn't Say This

"It's probably none of my business, but..." This is how I started an email message last week. I went on to a carefully worded message in which I tried to deceive myself that I was doing the right thing. I finished, proof-read it, hesitated. "Well, Barbara, is it your business or not?" I deleted the message. Any comment that starts with "It's none of my business,but..." is probably best left unsaid. How about "I really shouldn't...say this...push the snooze button...buy these shoes...eat this pie...watch this program." If you shouldn't, you shouldn't!

How about this one, "If I tell you something, will you promise not to repeat it?" Don't say it and don't listen to it! And above everything, don't promise because it's a promise you likely can't or won't keep. Imagine that the person is going to tell you about a bomb plot, or an assassination scheme, or that he or she is practicing child abuse. Some secrets should not be kept. And when you are tempted to reveal a secret, forbidding your friend to disclose it, think of it this way: If you don't have the discipline to keep the secret, why should you expect your friend to?

Imagine a conversation like this: Mary Ellen comes to me and says, "Don't ever tell her I told you, but Glenda said your grandchildren are not very well behaved--actually she called them brats. I just thought you should know."

I probably wouldn't have the courage to do this, but what I should do in such a setting is to say, "Really? I'm surprised! After all, no kids are better, sweeter, kinder, not to mention smarter than my grandchildren! You know what? I have Glenda's number right here in my cell phone; I think I'll give her a call right now and ask her about this."

Mary Ellen is going to back peddle for sure. Glenda is going to deny that she ever thought such a thing, let alone said it. She is also going to be not a little miffed with Mary Ellen who will never again come to me with such drivel. Success all around!

But what if Mary Ellen refused to disclose that it was Glenda who made such an absurd (from my point of view) assertion. What if she said, "People are saying..."

Then I must say, "Which people is that?"

"Oh, I really couldn't break that confidence." Mary Ellen responds.

I say, "Well, then I have to assume that you, yourself are the people!"

Case closed.

Proverbs is an endless source of advice when it comes to good common sense, including how to control my tongue. I will pick just one small passage to conclude: He that hideth hatred with lying lips, and he that uttereth a slander, is a fool. In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin: but he that refraineth his lips is wise. Proverbs 10:18-19

Kid Perspective

I recently heard a podcast of the radio program, This American Life, entitled "Kid Logic."  http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/188/kid-logic
I liked the program and the title. This American Life is produced by WBEZ Chicago and distributed by Public Radio International.

Since hearing that title I've been thinking about a kid's perspective on a lot of things. I remember as a child  one of the chores that my two brothers and I had was washing dishes. Since there were three of us, we were on a rotating schedule; each night we would rotate like volleyball. One would wash and rinse; one would dry; one would put away. I can remember how hard we thought this job was and how much we hated it. Slave labor! Haven't you heard of the Emancipation Proclamation? Lincoln freed the slaves.


Another kid perspective that is out of whack is the matter of fear. As a child I was afraid of any number of things that are no real threat at all. For example, after seeing my uncle's comic books, I was afraid of dinosaurs. You know the type that crush cities and carry off pretty girls. Now really. When was a little girl in Iowa threatened by a real dinosaur? No time recently.

Occasionally, we would get reports of panther or mountain lion sightings. As far as I know, these were pretty much unsubstantiated, but they gave my imagination a starting point. I imagined a panther in the oak tree outside my bedroom window. We had a double porch on the front of the big square farm house. The second story of the porch was outside my room, and so it was a very easy leap from the tree to the porch and then the cat could climb right in the window and pounce on me in the bed! I thought of closing the window, but then I was afraid I wouldn't be able to hear him coming. Also, I didn't dare sleep without covers. I mean wouldn't you rather have something, even a sheet, between you and a panther?

And then there's the matter of worry. Kids don't know how to process information, especially overheard information. Dad was a worrier, and he verbalized every worry that flitted through his head. Now that I think of it, most of these worries had something to do with things over which he had no control, and they all had to do with farming. Not enough rain, too much rain, too hot and dry, too cool and rainy, corn prices in the tank, cattle prices plummeting. As a result, I worried too that we were inching toward bankruptcy. I now know the truth was that we were solidly middle class and probably in much better shape than many of our neighbors since my parents were conservative--though not tight--about spending.

Parents can help assuage some of these torturous fears. Reassurance helps, but to be honest, no matter how many times my parents insisted that no dinosaurs roamed the great plains, I was still afraid. I honestly believe these irrational fears are something the child himself must come to terms with. Regarding the work problem; well, maturity teaches us to put that into perspective. Once we have real responsibility, we know how easy we had it as kids. As for the issue of worry, I think parents should be careful not to verbalize their own worries within kids' hearing. And most important, children should be taught the scripture, and they should see their parents sincerely trust God for everyday needs.

...the Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:5-7 (NIV)

The Perfect Father

Several years ago on Father's Day, I was sitting at my usual post at the organ. I took a peek at the congregation, and I noticed a young woman's face--pale and solemn. I happened to know, by her own testimony to the ladies of our church, that she had been the victim of childhood sexual abuse at the hands of her father. I wanted to cry. In fact, I still get that feeling behind my eyes and throat when I think of the incident today.

Not all dads are worthy of praise.

I think of another young woman who was raised an only child by a single mother. As far as I know, her biological father was absent--physically, emotionally, even financially--from her life. Perhaps because of this missing piece in her early years, she has made a series of bad choices regarding men.

For all practical purposes some people didn't have a dad.

And then there is the matter of my two daughters in law. One, Jordan, lost her father to cancer when she was a child of twelve. This was a devastating loss at a time when her whole security depended on her parents. The other one, Kelly, lost her dad to cancer a mere year ago right around Father's Day. Though older than Jordan's dad, he was not an old man.

Some dads are definitely worthy of our honor, and we miss them!

If you have a wonderful father and he is still with you, you should honor him today. If your dad is gone from this life, I think it is good to reflect on the blessings he brought. But today what I really want to emphasize is that if you have been born again, if you are God's child, you have the perfect Father. Actually, He has qualities that your earthly father, no matter how honorable, cannot have. He created you and He knows all about you; He is wise and good;  He hears you at any time of the day or night; He has the resources to supply your every need; He has the power to forgive you, and He never holds your sins against you; in fact, He is all-powerful; and He loves you unconditionally.

Did you know that God has given you the greatest Father's Day gift? In Ephesians 2, Paul reminds us that we were disobedient, obnoxious children,
but God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us,  Even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ, (by grace ye are saved;)  And hath raised us up together, and made us sit together in heavenly places in Christ Jesus:  That in the ages to come he might shew the exceeding riches of his grace in his kindness toward us through Christ Jesus.  For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God:  Not of works, lest any man should boast.  For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.

Happy Father's Day!

No, Never, No Way

We've all known people who are chronically negative--those who hate everything and approve of nothing.

I think of a childhood friend whom I'll call Margaret. Actually, she was not a friend I chose. You might say we were friends by circumstance. I didn't realize at the time that a person can actually choose his friends. You see, Margaret and I were about the same age. Our families attended the same country church, so we were placed together in Sunday school classes and other church activities. Margaret stuck to me as if by static electricity, impossible to shake loose. She wanted to be my only friend; she was offended when I expressed a need for a little space. In fact, she was pretty much offended about a lot of things. She wanted me to spend every Sunday afternoon with her and her family. I really didn't want to do this, but every Sunday she would drag me to my mother, "Please, please, please, p-u-l-e-e-e-z? Can she come?" In my head I was secretly begging my mother to say no. Sometimes she did say no. Somehow it never occurred to me to tell Mom privately that I really did not want to spend my Sundays with Margaret, that I really didn't want to be around her at all. Instead, I just hoped every Sunday that she would not show up.

Though I was a reluctant friend, Margaret filled my mind with news. I learned from her that the Pastor and Sunday school teachers were mostly hypocrites, and furthermore, they were inferior to workers in other churches.  And didn't I know that church camp was a place where all sorts of dangers lurked, from the maggot-infested food to the showers contaminated with athlete's foot? She reported to me that the Baileys stayed home on Sunday nights to play cards instead of coming to church. She revealed that the Pastor's daughter, Annabel Kettell, with her creamy white skin and luxurious red hair, secretly smoked, and worse, she went to the skating rink on Saturday nights and flirted with boys! She made sure I noticed that the Halversons and Lowrys always sat in the same pew, and sometimes Ray Halverson would sit next to Marie Lowry. This wouldn't have been so bad, but listen to this--sometimes they (Mr. Halverson and Mrs. Lowry) would hold hands in the darkened sanctuary during missionary slides!

Now, more than 50 years later, I still remember all this gossip in vivid detail. Since I know you are wondering, I will tell you how it all looks to me now. I don't believe the Pastor and Sunday school teachers were any more hypocritical than anyone else then or now, including myself. I attended church camp for many years and did not once see a maggot in the food nor did I contract athlete's foot. I'm pretty sure the Baileys did indeed stay home on Sunday nights to play cards; I know for certain they were rarely in church. I couldn't say whether or not Annabel Kettell smoked, though I doubt it, but I personally witnessed some shameless flirting. Since I did not have night-vision goggles, I am not able to return a verdict on the alleged Halverson-Lowry tryst.

Now that I reflect on it, we have had several "Margarets" in our church over the years--porcupines who hate everything and are quite willing to use their negative quills. I recognize them from the organ by the wrinkled brow, the stubborn jaw, the disapproving look. Sometimes they grumble under their breath during services and whisper in the hallways or talk in low tones in the parking lot. Nothing is quite right. Their presence even distracts me when I listen to the sermons. "Oh, no. Margaret's not going to like this!" They have their set of unwritten rules, and we are breaking all of them. They make me feel much the way Margaret did so long ago. I just want them to GO AWAY.

Church porcupines don't usually stay forever, but they often stay a long time, wounding others with their needle-like weapons. Did you know that the word "porcupine"  means "one who rises up in anger"? I must say at this point that I'm not sure this analogy is entirely fair to the rodent version of the porcupine. According to a website entitled "7 Prickly Facts About Porcupines," they, unlike their church counterparts, are not aggressive, and they use their quills as a defense against predators. Scientists tell us the only defense against a porcupine is to avoid him.

Is avoidance the scriptural way to deal with negative people? I now believe we should do what I should have done all those years ago. We should tell them that we don't want to hear it, and we should go to our Heavenly Parent and tell Him the truth. As children, we as individuals have very little control over our circumstances. As adults, we have more choices, but sometimes only the Father can solve our problems. What does the Bible say about all this?

Solomon had some sage comments on this and six other things God hates. "Hates" is a strong word when applied to God Himself. Yet Proverbs 6 tells us, These six things doth the Lord hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto him: A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, An heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, A false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren. Wow! Margaret was guilty of nearly all  these, and I was not far behind by listening to it!

Getting back to the scripture, God reminds us of something similar in the New Testament, just in case we missed it in the Old. If any man teach otherwise, and consent not to wholesome words, even the words of our Lord Jesus Christ, and to the doctrine which is according to godliness; He is proud, knowing nothing, but doting about questions and strifes of words, whereof cometh envy, strife, railings, evil surmising, Perverse disputings of men of corrupt minds, and destitute of the truth, supposing that gain is godliness: from such withdraw thyself. 1 Timothy 6:3-5

I can safely conclude that when we encounter those porcupines, as we most surely will, we must realize that this is behavior that God hates, and we must duly withdraw ourselves from them.

The Longest Father's Day

          My brother never calls me, so when my phone rings on Thursday, June 9, 2011, and the caller ID tells me it’s Mark, I know this is not good. “We’ve taken him off all his medicine; he’s not eating or drinking, and he’s getting dehydrated. No urine output to speak of, and they say the increased mottling in his knees and feet looks ominous. They say he can’t last long like this. Maybe you ought to come.” He is talking about my dad, and you should know that I come from a family who is not given to overstatement, so his request could be interpreted, “If you’re comin', you better get here NOW!”

            Knowing this is likely the end, I get on the internet and order a plane ticket for Cedar Rapids, Iowa, for Friday, June 10. I pack a bag, including funeral clothes; Mickey takes me to Reagan, and I’m off. I arrive at O’Hare right on time at 12:39 pm. I look at the itinerary, and whew! I have time to use the bathroom and easily make it to Gate L5 for my 2:53 departure. I settle into place, take a deep breath, and wait. It gets to be about 2:45, and no American Airlines person is in sight, but a sign goes up saying Flight delayed, scheduled departure time 4:10. Oh boy! I take a walk, try to read a little, pray a little, buy a bottle of water, and sit back down. I look around and see a few travelers who look like they could be going to Cedar Rapids. I make eye contact with a kind looking young woman about the age of my daughter, and I ask, “Are you going to Cedar Rapids?” “I hope so” is her response.

            By now it’s 3:45, and still American Airlines personnel are conspicuously absent. Another sign goes up. Flight delayed. New departure time: 5:21. I begin to feel emotional. “What if they cancel this flight? I’ll sit here all night. I am NOT going out into this jungle to find a hotel room! Lord, please don’t let him die while I’m stuck in Chicago.” I call Mark who tells me Sharon is already in Cedar Rapids, but not to worry, she’ll spend some time with Nicole.

            I notice the Cedar Rapids lady watching me, and she finally asks if I’m OK. In my head I shout, “No, I’m not OK. My Dad is probably going to die while I’m stuck in this stupid airport!" I didn’t say that or anything like that, and I most certainly did not shout, but I did tell her my story. A little tearfully, I might add. We talk a little, and she tells me her name is Leah Wilsson and that she is a fund raiser for the National Czech & Slovak Museum & Library in Cedar Rapids.

            Together we notice that at last an official looking person in a blue uniform arrives at the desk. I ask him when I can expect to get home. He, as if talking to a child, carefully explains that the flight may be cancelled due to maintenance issues. “MAINTENANCE ISSUES? Are you crazy? You expect me to believe that? I know how you operate. You’ve sold exactly 6 tickets to Cedar Rapids, and you don’t want to fly this crate for 6 paying customers so you find some mechanic with an oilcan, send him out to squint at the engine and squirt some oil on it. That’s what I know you’re doing!” I think all of this; I say none of it.

            Instead I sit down. Leah has watched this drama unfold. She comes, sits beside me, and explains, “My daughter’s birthday party is tomorrow, and I don’t plan to miss it. If they cancel this flight, I’m going to rent a car and drive to Cedar Rapids, and you are more than welcome to ride with me.” I nod, “Thank you.”

            Before we settle on this plan, we, along with a few other Iowans, are shuttled to another gate with the hope that we can get a flight to Cedar Rapids. That hope dies too, but a lady approaches Leah and says, “I couldn’t help but overhear your plans to rent a car. Is there any chance that my son and I could catch a ride too? We’ll help with the cost? I am a professor at the University of Iowa and this is my son who is a student.” Leah looks uncertainly at me. “Are you OK with that?”

            I glance sidelong at them. “Well, if they’re axe murderers, I guess I’ll arrive in heaven at about the same time as my dad.” And so I say, “If you’re Ok, I’m OK.”

            20 minutes later, the fearless Leah puts her phone, tuned to the GPS, on the dash board of a Buick LaCrosse, and we head west--the professor, the student, Leah Wilsson, and me.  We commiserate on the problem of traveling to small towns; we rehearse the scourge of a company like American Airlines; the professor and I solve the problems of the field of education; the student shows me some cool things on my new I-phone.  I tell Leah that my maiden name is Kouba and that I am a bona-fide Bohemie, and we talk about the museum, kolachies and other ethnic foods. Our conversation drifts to healthy food and organic gardening. I learn that in some small cities, residents can now keep hens. No roosters, of course, and we all agree that city dwellers would never tolerate pre-dawn crowing! The time passes quickly, and just before 11 we pull into a deserted Wal-mart parking lot, where the ever-patient Sharon is waiting for me.

            She deposits me at the door of my childhood home at about midnight. The house is dark, but the door is unlocked, and I slip in. From the hospital bed in the living room, I hear a feeble voice calling my name. Dad is waiting up for me! Just like the old days! I hold his hand and kiss his forehead goodnight. We hold no conversation tonight because, as everyone knows, Dad is stone deaf without his hearing aid! Apparently he had seen the car lights when Sharon brought me home.

            The next day is Saturday and when I get up, I see my brothers, Mark and Alan, Mom, and Dad in his wheel chair all sitting at the kitchen table. We exchange greetings, and then Dad announces, “I think I could eat something.” O-k-a-a-y! Mom fixes oatmeal, and he does indeed eat it. But we know what’s happening. Terminal patients often rally at the very end, act energetic, sit up and talk to loved ones, and all that. This must be what’s happening. But to our surprise, Dad is hungry for dinner too, and then supper, and then every meal for days! His color returns, his skin perks up, his eyes are clear. The hospice people give me credit for Dad’s new lease on life. “He would be gone, if you hadn’t come,” they say. I know this is likely not true, but, just the same, I’m so glad to be here.

            June 19 is Father’s Day, and we plan a party. We ask Dad what he wants to eat, and he says “Hot dogs!” Mom resists, saying he’s not supposed to have hot dogs. We say, “Mom, he’s 95 and terminal. He wants hot dogs, he get hot dogs!” So we have them along with all his favorites:  watermelon, and cantaloupe, and homemade ice cream! It is a lovely Father’s Day! Dad’s Father’s Day gift to me.

            And it was the gift that kept on giving. He was to live six more months, most of that time alert though very weak and failing. I returned twice more to reminisce a little and to say good-by and I love you. When the end finally did come, I wasn’t there, but I’m OK with that. I had the 6-month Father’s Day gift!