Parting a Sea of Gnats

Before the information age began, it was entirely possible to shut the gnats out for a day.  Lock the doors, close the windows, turn the phone off... and Voila... a day without these pesky little bugs could begin.  Mosquitoes they are not, but gnats are nevertheless an annoying part of our lives.


But now, in the advanced and ever more superior Information Age, the gnats travel in not only by open doors, windows, and via telephone... but also through the ever-expanding Cloud.  They travel from far away places like China and Australia. They come in from the Employer Hatchery and other nearby and similarly sinister places. They penetrate every nook and cranny of our daily lives.  They come with bells, whistles, ringtones and the like... they swarm, they perch, they annoy, and they mock.

At the end of the day (if I am lucky enough to have such an end to any day), they take shelter on their little To-Do perches, make nests, and multiply in the night... as methodically and as rapidly as a herd of rabbits in a lush warren.



If I even so much as dare to indulge in the rare and rapidly declining act of concentrating, the gnats will quickly take offense, gather their numbers, and swoop down in an organized swarm to thwart any attempt at meaningful focus designed to produce something more than a three line e-mail, a one line-text, a two-minute phone call.  If I dare to dream bigger, to endeavor to write anything of many pages with some loftier purpose in mind than Task Mastering 101, the gnats will know.  And they will come.

I have heard that solutions to the problem of gnats are held in a body of knowledge known as Time Management.  I have heard that people whose expertise is Time Management will spout wisdom regarding the management of gnats.   I have heard that these peoples will tell eager listening ears to cast many of the gnats away. Strike them from their To-Do perches.   Blast them out the door in an explosion of well-constructed Priorities.  Take control of the Gnats!


But, alas, I have some bad news for these well meaning teachers and coaches -- about the evolution of modern gnats.   Yes, it's true... the proliferating To-Do gnat has continued to evolve over time.   In response to the many efforts to destroy the gnats, gnats have evolved to become time-management resistant.   They have learned their tricks from their friends, the bacterial infectors who no longer respond to something as mundane as the antibiotic police.

This is the way it goes.  A gnat shunned has learned to evolve into a mosquito.   Rather than simply buzzing around my head, the shunned gnat becomes a proboscis perpetrator, designed to abruptly and rudely sting its way onto my radar screen.  If that doesn't work, the resulting sting will stimulate the itch-and-scratch segment of my brain to the exclusion of all else.


Like many others, however, I have discovered both mosquito repellent and cortisone.  If I have both of these modern marvels on hand, I can manage both the gnat and the mosquito problem simultaneously, thereby finding some peaceful time to focus and sometimes, ever so rarely, producing something of quality and creativity.

However, and this is a true story.  Some gnats, obnoxious creatures that they are, do not give up, even at the evolution-into-mosquito stage.  As demands for my time and attention may occasionally fail, one or more particularly insistent gnats will up the ante on intellectual pestering, transforming into:


All joking aside, it's a wee bit difficult to ignore a dragon breathing fire down your neck. There is no OTC solution to that problem... so whatever is a person to do to combat this ever increasing and ever evolving swarm of tasks that takes away from doing anything prolonged and meaningful in life?

In the absence of a grand electromagnetic storm that wipes out our telecommunications and internet, it appears that the most we can hope for in our illustrious time management schemes is to Part the Sea of Gnats, ever so briefly.  At these exquisite times, when the Sea of Gnats parts, we must run through the gap... quickly and immediately... to whatever meaningful goal we may find truly important in our lives.

Be forewarned.  We must not be naive about the Sea of Gnats.  It will not remain parted.  Rather, when the time is right (for the Gnats, not for us), the Sea will close quickly and unexpectedly, thus leaving us bogged down once again with the swarm of things to do buzzing around our heads, drowning out the the call of any more purposeful things that may be accomplished in life.

And, then we must wait for the next time, when our clever efforts and diligence may once again Part the Sea... and the Gnats shut their mouths and demands for another momentary bout of calm, peace, and focus.

The many colors of Joy

I was sitting in Bible Study more than a week ago, guilty of letting my mind wander in and out of our discussion, as the little bird on my left shoulder who has memorized my to-do list squawked and screeched into my ear.   When the discussion wandered into the realm of Glory, and how we have been called to live so as to give an estimate of what God truly is through who we are and what we do, the little bird really started to make a ruckus.  But I perked up, took out my mental baseball bat, and whacked the bird over the head so I could focus and listen more closely to this interesting conversational thread.

And my first response:  How was I, who couldn't even manage to be on time to Bible study, going to give an estimate of who God is through my daily life?  The whole idea of doing so seemed not only beyond my understanding but well outside my reach.  

Fortunately, before I could ponder this impossibility even further, the discussion turned in another direction... toward how we express the joy inside of our own hearts to others. Joy was one form of "the estimate of God" that I could relate to, because undeserved as I am, I definitely have moments and sometimes even days, where joy takes root inside of me, and bursts forth in a myriad of ways.

Yet, as one of the women in my group soon pointed out and correctly so, we put a set of rather narrow expectations on ourselves of how joy should be expressed.  Surely, if we are joyful, we will be bouncy and exuberant... singing, dancing, or performing some other very dynamic expression of that inner joy (which simultaneously consumes a great deal of calories and keeps us fit and trim).

If that were true, though, the Biblical call to express our joy in our relationship with God would be confined to those who possess the uncommon talent of singing at a level that does not dismay or alienate others (as my own singing most certainly does) or who are extraverted enough to dance in front of others without turning multiple bright shades of red and tripping over their own feet (again, as my own dancing would do).

Thank goodness that God has a much broader vision for the many ways that joy can be expressed by the many unique children He has put on this earth.   As I look around me in my daily life, both within my church community and outside of it, I see such a range of expressions of Joy that I can leave any expectations that I must sing and dance my joy into the world well behind me.  Whew, what a relief!

To some of those who have shown me the many colors of joy in our world --

My husband Barry -- for a laugh so filled with warmth and joy that it stays in the room long after you have left it for another room or another place.

My friend Dawn -- for having such a joyful way of saying "Hi" when you pick up the phone that I feel like I am the most interesting and appealing person on planet Earth.

My friend Marilyn -- for tirelessly pouring joyful words of encouragement and affirmation in my direction even when I am doing my very best and prolonged imitation of Eeyore and 'woe is me.'

My friend Ken -- for giving me an endlessly patient and listening ear which offers its own unique and colorful joy.

My friend Kelley -- for suddenly sending forth humor at some of the most unexpected of times, releasing joy from laughter as if it were a jack in the box.

My friend Thad -- for repeatedly reminding me that joy can and will break through the walls of academia and university life.

And the list goes on... from those who laugh, dance, and sing to those who are quieter and more serious.   No matter what you think about your joy, please believe me when I say it escapes from you, unbidden.

I see it. I enjoy it. I thank you for it.

Statistically Speaking, I've done nothing.

I've often shared with friends that I don't mind working hard.  I mind working stressed.   Well, I also mind working hard for little or no impact on the people (or planet) that I've signed up to serve.   When it comes to work that involves statistics, therein lies a problem.

Here is the way the story goes.   In the beginning, there is excitement and enthusiasm. A grant has been funded, the required approvals to study people have been obtained, the starting gate opens, and data collection begins.   In the background, I may even hear pieces of 'My old Kentucky Home' playing.   If I am truly lucky, I may even be wearing a stylish hat.

But, I digress.

Once out of the starting gate, things may go as planned or they may get a little strange. But, it’s not my job to push for one horse to win over the other.  Instead, it’s my job to watch, unemotionally, as the results unfold, and to keep bias and cheating out of the race and whatever equations may enter the race.   I have the assigned role of data warden, driving hard for more (data) to be collected, spending many careful hours evaluating the results, often falling deeply asleep on my keyboard in the wee hours of the morning.   

At the end though, it’s no bother and no hard feelings as long as what comes of the race is knowing something that we didn’t know before.   Whether positive or negative, if we’ve identified something, whether what we expected and liked or what we didn’t expect and may not like, at least we’ve done the thing we were supposed to do in academic research:  advance the state of knowledge; provide a nugget that in the long run, can benefit people and society.   

But, over the years, this seemingly simple race to advance knowledge for the benefit of someone, somewhere.... has become increasingly muddy.  The track is a mess.   The rules of the game have gone awry.  

In the present day, we can now spend hundreds and hundreds of hours collecting data, analyzing that data, trying to create something meaningful from the effort, and in the end, run into the statistics police who are blocking the home stretch to the finish line, and ultimately, I accomplish absolutely nothing.

In their most common form, the statistics police are those who review manuscripts submitted for publication in this or that academic journal.   Over the years, they have become increasingly fearful that we might possibly make a conclusion based on the data that is not a 100% certainty.   They seem to have forgotten that statistics are inherently, by their very definition, uncertain and there is always a possibility of misinterpreting the data.  Instead of allowing such uncertainty into the hallowed pages of the academic journal with appropriate statements to that effect, the statistics police will often push our conclusions back into one of two corners.  Corner 1 allows us to say that we have proven the obvious.  Corner 2 allows us to say that we have proven nothing at all.   

Either corner defeats the entire purpose of the whole process of research.   

When did it become worse to suggest what could be true and provide food for thought rather than restrict ourselves to what is true and obvious and therefore not worth reading in the first place?   

Is it not better to say what we can with the sample sizes we have rather than wait to fund a sample size we will never have?

In reviewing my publications over the years, I can safely say that Statistically Speaking, I’ve done almost nothing… which is a mockery of the hundreds of hours spent on research not just by me but by the many all over the country who take on academic research to expand horizons, to serve society, to advance knowledge… and all that corny rhetoric that used to make academic research noble and worth doing.     

I would rather run a race and lose than run a race and be stopped short of the finish line… in spite of the fact that I am not a horse, nor do I own a Derby hat.   

Statistically or otherwise, that sounds like good sense.   

driving along a dark road

he put the car keys in my hand.
i snatched them.
threw them back
with all of my body,
all of my anger,
rolled into one.

i aimed at his face.
i didn't care about hurting him.
in fact, i wanted it.
to hurt him.
badly.

by the supernatural,
he caught the keys in mid-air,
smirked,
and
brutally forced them back into my hand,
where we had started.

"NO... I don't want your car.
 NO... I am not driving.
 Go AWAY."


my anger boiled.
i threw the keys on the ground
turned to walk
then to run,
the other way.

but halfway round,
in the corner of my eye,
i saw her.
my best friend
huddled in the passenger seat
woeful eyes
looking my way,
willing me to stay

my heart sank,
my will broke,
my shoulders collapsed.
i stopped, turned,
stepped into the car
started the engine
put the car in gear
and drove away.

in the rearview, i saw him
smiling, smirking,
delighting in our despair
i slammed the accelerator to the floor
until i could see him in the rearview
no more

now, safe for a time
we drove
the light faded into dark
we drove
the night stretched on
we drove

hours turned into days
days into months
months into seasons
we drove

my dear passenger
spoke less
we drove
grew weaker
we drove
finally
no longer wished to greet me

and one day,
along the dark road
we drove
a brief flash of light
a sign
a call
a beckoning

then her weakness
turned to despair,
and failure
into an ending

my heart broke,
my hands shook,
i wrenched open the handle
kicked her out the passenger door
and heard her bounce onto death's floor

for a moment
darkness
was complete,
all consuming.

then
a flash of bright eternal light
in the rearview mirror
as her body
came to rest
along the side of a very dark road
that lay right next to
Home

i turned the car round
began the long drive back home
into the many months of emptiness
that lay before me
driving back along the dark road
toward the lesser light of home
without her

Belle (July 4, 2000 - June 2, 2015)

I miss you.

murder is ok

murder is ok
with elderly
already on their way

murder is ok
when alzheimers
steals the day

murder is ok
when morphine
paves the way

murder is ok
once hospice
has its say

murder is ok
when healthcare
goes astray

murder is ok
but there remains
hell to pay

written in memory of Grandma Charlotte, who passed away at 102 years old, 11 months, when her healthcare providers, rather than her God, decided that she was done with this world.   

no doubt, Charlotte was ready to move on from this world and head toward Home, but do any of us, including our increasingly dysfunctional healthcare system, have the right to determine precisely when?

or should we instead leave it to natural timing and natural rhythms that are designed to bring about death when the dying are precisely ready?

should we wait patiently or act palliatively?

why not both?

Love is..

What is love?

If you "cheat" and look up the answer in 1 Corinthians, you'll find this answer:

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  Love never fails."

Paul set the standard for love with these words, one that I may strive for, but almost always,  fall short, day in and day out. While love never fails, I do... and quite frequently. But, I am digressing (again).  

If I were to put my Bible away and close my eyes, the first words that would come to mind with regard to love would simply be:

"Love is complicated"

Even in the simplest of situations... Should I be "kind" by letting the driver turn into traffic in front of me or by proceeding without such a delay to be "kind" to the driver behind me?

Should I be "patient" with the student in my office at the expense of not having additional time (or patience) to offer to the four waiting outside the door?

And in the more difficult of situations:   

When is the right time to take a beloved pet's life?  At what point does she have too much pain to bear?  When is the pacing, back and forth on the floors at night too frequent?   When does the pendulum swing on quality of life?

If I am to keep no record of wrongs, how am I to judge when someone has crossed the line from simply having one too many bad days to being abusive?  How can I make the right decision about when to stay and when to walk away?

Where is the line where seeking balance and rest for self is necessary to offering meaningful love to others?  Where does too much service offered in too many different directions dilute the impact of the loving heart so much that it becomes almost meaningless?

What is the point of keeping house?  Of tending gardens?  Of planting trees?  Many of these tasks, things to do, keep the rhythm of the heart in the right balance, so love given is more readily received, but when is there too much, too little... or just right?

Is a bubble bath self-seeking?  A strong resume boastful?  Walking out on a meeting run late dishonorable?

Has love failed in an abusive marriage?  Is standing by one while leaving another vulnerable failing to be protective?  Is skepticism with all range of business transactions and interactions a withholding of trust?  Or is it wise?

Finding the point of balance in a culture enamored with being busy, with having more, with rationalizing all manner of "white" lies, and with doing ever more additional.... turns a desire to love and act on love into a complicated mess.  Waking up every day determined to love one another takes ongoing reflection and dozens of daily decisions, big and small.   It takes trying to understand where to be patient, how to be kind, when to openly rejoice in the truth and with what words.... and the list goes on. And on.

I think Paul may need to write an entire book to explain the logistics of his beautiful verses about love.

I'll be one of the first to read a copy.

  

Sleeping with Fifty Shades of Green

There is something about living rural that changes a person.  It goes well beyond the uptick in manual labor that is required of living on a rural property, including but not limited to the thrills of hauling your own trash, disposing of all kinds of animal feces (domestic and wild), mowing ad nauseam, and developing expertise in the use of a wide array of power tools.   

I have lived in a rural area now for over five years, in a house and home that sit on top of a hill, surrounded by trees that seem to irritate the satellite TV companies, but thrill me to no end.  

The change that the land, woods, and water surrounding our home on Frogwater road started creating in me over five years ago extends in many directions, ranging from the practical to the spiritual. This morning, what rests most noticeably on my grateful heart is the impact of the silence.  A silence that emanates from the land with grace and beauty  

In the silence, I sleep more deeply, have more transforming dreams, draw more readily to God, and find more joy in the night than any other place on earth.    I awaken more often with a profound sense of peace than any other resting place in my life history, most of which invariably involve the sounds of people being people, dominating their environment with technology, infrastructure, and their many urban habits.   

The interesting part of the silence in the Frogwater night is that the decibel level often keeps pace with that found in urban settings.  Yet, the sounds of the night march on in such harmony that silence of the mind and heart are easily found, held close, and woven into a deep, peaceful sleep that we were all designed to have, but so few of us achieve in our "advanced", fast-paced modern society.   

As I turn off the lights and rest my head on the pillow, I will first hear the harmony cast by thousands of frogs singing their chorus in the wetland below, crafting a symphony that will last well into the wee hours.  Their symphony celebrates what they do in the night, most of which can be distilled very simply into.... a lot of sex.   In their many shades of green, they will indulge in as many mating, courtship, and procreative rituals as it takes to perpetuate the species in their still healthy and thriving habitat:

Occasionally, the chorus will be interrupted by a predator, detected by one of the many frog Scouts surveying the land, on guard for the others.   When the Scouts sound the siren, all will fall momentarily silent... allowing the other sounds of the night to emerge.   Sometimes, a predator may make its question clear:  "Who?  Who, will be my dinner tonight?". Other predators may be more cryptic, howling deep into the night for an often unapparent reason that invariably stimulates the dogs in the area to do the same.   Still other predators will strive to remain silent, their stealth interrupted only by the invariable snapping of twigs and the brushing past the many shades of green that grow in the forest:

Though often silent outside of the forests, the wind will also find its voice here. Sometimes, it will simple whisper:   "Sweet dreams to you."  Other times, it will howl, stirring turbulence and trouble among the tallest of the trees and rushing through the underbrush as if late to a very important date.  

No matter.  The frogs will return, the sounds will continue.   In each unique combination, they will generate a never-ending series of lovely symphonies that pacify the heart and bring rest to the mind.  

Erotic, amusing, and deeply moving, Fifty Shades of Green can possess you and stay with you forever, just as the other Fifty Shades advertises, but without the R rating.    

  

Personally, I prefer Green to Gray... any day, any way.