Women’s Purses Explained

Like many American women, I have more than one purse. OK. I have several. American men have a long history of purse phobia. Yes, they fear our purses. A few even break out into a sweat after the ever-present eye roll.

Because I take the MARC commuter train into DC, I have my regular purse (wallet, lipstick, cell phone, etc.) and my “train” bag (everything else I need that would normally be in my car if it weren’t parked over 20 miles away).

Having to juggle the two bags through throngs of commuters makes my runway walk less than smooth. It also makes it tricky to gracefully pull out my access badge to get through the security check point at work.

As I wrestled with my bags one morning, I saw “the” look from one of the male security guards. To cover my fumbling, I explained that “women’s purses have their own alternate universes."

He said “What?”

I explained further (pointing to my train bag): “women’s purses have their own separate universes. That’s why things get lost in there. Just like a black hole.”

He gave out a big laugh and as I went up the elevator to my floor, I felt I scored a point for female-to-male communications. Yes!

Child of THE Light

Bill Crowder uses the film Chariots of Fire to introduce the Apostle Paul’s sports analogy that Christians are running a race (Our Daily Bread, June 13, 2010). Olympic sprinter Harold Abrahams only entered races he knew he would win. Second place was not an option. His girlfriend makes the obvious point: he can’t win if he doesn’t enter the race.

People must choose to enter the Christian race but once they do, they must be aware of some gotchas. In the movie, the trainer made another subtle tactical point. He shows Abrahams a replay and pauses where the leader looks back as he neared the finish line to see how close the competition was. The trainer informs Abrahams that those two seconds cost the leader the race.

Like the Corinthians of Paul’s time, I entered the Christian race for the eternal crown. But, how many times have I looked back at all the bad things I did? Too many. Reading Crowder’s devotion made it clear I wasted seconds, hours, days looking back instead of looking forward with my eyes on the prize. Will I come in second in the most important race of my life?

My answer comes from a very old source. The Bible assures me of two things. First, nobody is perfect and second, if I truly repent, God will forgive and forget. This means that to be an effective Christian, I have to stop my instant replays and “ease on down the road.” To shore up my daily resolve to leave the past in the past, I read a lot of devotions and other religious literature.

In particular, 19^th century preacher, C.H. Spurgeon’s January 5^th evening devotion (Morning & Evening) offers me hope that, as a child of the light, God “looks on that light with peculiar (i.e., particular) interest….” Even though I continue to grieve over my “inbred sin,” God does not see “the cloudiness and gloom” in my “soul.” Instead, “the Lord sees ‘light’ in my “heart.” Why? Because He put it there!

The Bible also tells me that I am not the final judge of myself. (Good!) In fact, humans are not even on my heavenly jury. Spurgeon also makes the point that it is “Better for the judge to see my innocence than for me to think I see it.” It is better that God sees my light than I see it. After all it is God’s grace that preserves my light, not anything I can do. Works of my flesh do not free me. Thus, my anxiety is unnecessary. I can rest in God’s grace, not in my instant replays.

Heavenly Father, I want to feel your grace flow through my body. I want to win the race and win your eternal crown. Please forgive me especially in the times when I do know what I do. Amen.

It’s Not Fair!

In the Our Daily Bread devotion for June 9, 2010 entitled “It’s Not Fair”, Joe Stowell writes about the human view of justice versus God’s view of Justice. Most of my life I felt like his example: I wanted people who were bad to me and people who were bad to others to “get it good” from God. I definitely did not want to see the baddies to go happily along enjoying their lives.

As a child, my grandmother’s response to good things happening to bad people was to mutter something in Italian, then make the sign of the cross. As months often turned into years, the “named party” would die and she would shout victoriously “See, my curse hit him!” Like bobble heads, my brother and I nodded in agreement thinking “ma” was all powerful and vowed never (again) to make her angry.

I went off to college where my tightly held beliefs were challenged. One fall day, I told one of ma’s “curse” stories when I realized the obvious – ALL people die so what kind of curse is that? (Thanks to Philosophy 101 class for getting me to ask such questions.) Because it was self-fulfilling, it worked for ma as a woman of her time with no personal power in an unjust world. I discovered from a psychologist that it was part also part of her Italian upbringing because Italy has a revenge-based culture. Most Italians are Catholic but their responses to injustice go beyond the proportional response of “an eye for an eye…” espoused in the New Testament. Commit an offense and Italians want to totally take you out!

Decades later I restarted my spiritual journey in the Presbyterian church taking some formal classes. What I learned here also challenged my tightly held beliefs as well as showed me other flaws in ma’s adjudication process. I now know that even if someone is bad to me I am not supposed to ask God to kill him or her off. I also understand that god doesn’t exist to get even with my personal enemies. I recognize that only God has the authority to punish someone and all fall short of His glory. And, that means me too.

My earthly search for justice started with the question “How far could I really run with the proverbial plank in my eye?” Just as I started to despair over my faults and false thinking, Stowell’s words pulled me back. The joy is that (in Christ) God “extends grace to those who are undeserving and hopelessly lost.”

Clearly I should be glad God has not given it to me as I deserve (Psalm 103:10). if God were truly “fair” to me, He who can abide in no sin, then I’d be in big trouble – just look at the Old Testament. In fact, I have gotten better than I deserve. So the next time I want to cry “foul”, I need to keep in mind that God is merciful to me. Then shut myself up!

Better yet, I can follow Julie Ackerman’s model who replied to an injustice by saying “I understand how that could have happened.  I’ve certainly made my share of mistakes, and then I left it at that.” (Our Daily Bread, 6/7/10, A Steward of Grace)

Heavenly Father, thank you for giving me better than I deserve. May the Holy Spirit well up with words of grace whenever I am in the midst of struggle. Show me how to walk better in your ways that I may bring you the glory that you deserve.

Amen.

What She Said vs What He Heard (volume 1, issue 1)

Several weeks ago the morning train ride into DC had an unexpected “repair” component. I had been sitting in the upper level of the “Chicago” double-deckers reading Our Daily Bread. FYI – MARC has money issues so when other transit systems retire their old trains, they buy them. Since I lived in the Chicago area for almost ten years, I take an extra bit of enjoyment in having Chicago in DC.

This particular ride, one of the regulars was clacking away furiously on his laptop when all in a sudden he jumped up and banged on the loose panel over the luggage rack. I laughed because that was something I would do and was glad I wasn’t the only one. Not thinking twice, I said “You’re a man after my own heart.” Well, my words apparently did NOT go through the “female-to-male”^© translator properly because he looked at me as though I had made an unwanted pass at him!

I know I am not as cute as I was 10 years ago so his unwelcoming facial expression was not a surprise but didn’t make my morning either - in two respects. First, I am not that bad looking that I need to put a bag over my face but second, and the bigger issue, is why did he assume my show of commiseration was a flirt?

Once I got over my mini mid-life trauma, I fished around in my cosmetic bag for my nail clipper and saying a lot more carefully “it’s a good thing I am old enough to have watched the original episodes of MacGuyver. Here try this.” Then, I handed him the nail clipper with an earnest, trouble-shooting look on my face. He looked carefully at me to see if I was giving him that moo face some women do when they are flirting. (BTW – I do not do the moo face.) When he realized I wasn’t, he took the nail clipper, undid the nail file part, and applied himself to the task of tightening up the screws. When he was finished I said “good job” the same way my friend Bobbie says it to her dogs - just in case the female-to-male translator^© was still malfunctioning.

Later in the day, I thought more about the “art” of communication. Even in the 2000’s you will notice no one calls it a science. Anyway, the expression (actually “idiom” if we are being grammatically correct) “after my own heart” is common enough. It’s even used in the Bible. To be sure I didn’t miss something in my education, I googled it and confirmed it is indeed used to express an area of commonality with the other person.

To close my first issue of “She said vs He heard”, I don’t know why he thought what he did. Perhaps he is arrogant or perhaps this is one phrase that needs to be converted to something else before it goes through The translator because I really don’t want other men to think the same thing.

Stopping to Help – Another View of the Good Samaritan

In the June 11, 2010 Our Daily Bread, Marvin Williams tells a story about Dr. Kurtzman who encountered a multi-car car crash on the way to giving a keynote lecture but stopped to help out.

With my many years in pharmaceutical research, I’ve come to know many medical professionals so I know, up close and personal, that not all of them stop to help. Your gut reaction perhaps, like mine was, might be to ask “how could they not stop and help? They are professionals.”

Just like the first two passers by in the Biblical story of the Good Samaritan, they didn’t want to get involved - at that particular moment. One senior nurse told me she was afraid of getting sued if the outcome was not good. She knows someone who got sued and even though she is a practicing Christian, she doesn’t want to take the risk.

For those of us who aren’t professionals, I feel the excessive use of electronic communication makes it easier for us to pass by live events even when we can help in some small way. I spend 90% of my work day on the computer and when I exit Union Station to see many disadvantaged people begging for money, I have one of two reactions. Sometimes I am just so overwhelmed with my own sorrows that I slink past them hoping someone else will step up to the plate that day. Other times, God opens my heart and I pour it over everyone in my path.

These disadvantaged people are mostly men - the women do not survive as long in that circumstance. Many are homeless and some get limited assistance but it’s not enough to live someplace and eat. They are part of the chronically unemployed who never get counted in the national statistics. They have no hope for a better tomorrow. And, it’s all they can do to make it through the day so they can huddle in the shelters at night.

Williams concludes his devotion with a call to action “let’s be those who stop to help.” I can help in some small way so I am taking this to heart.

Duck, (Duck), Goose

Growing up, my brother Frank and I had our share of pets: turtles, dogs, and eventually cats. Then there were the pigeons, the wild animals of the inner city.  One weekend Uncle Johnny and Aunt Ginny took us and our cousin Anthony to the Franklin Park zoo. We piled into the back of the Chevy station wagon excited at the thought of seeing “other” kinds of animals.

As we wondered through the zoo, we took note of the sights, sounds and smells that made up the animal kingdom – at least the one chosen by the zookeepers. We came across a penned in area where parents and children were feeding ducks zoo food pellets. Doreen being Doreen, I zipped ahead of the others because all animals needed to be patted. Well, that’s what we did with the dogs and cats, right?

I reached the pen and stuck my little hand over the one-foot high fence and attempted to “pat” the nearest duck. Of course, the duck thought I had food so bit my plump 8-year old palm! I screamed to high heaven and ran off in the opposite direction as fast as my little legs would carry me leaving the adults fearing for their lives if they returned home to grandma without me.

I don’t remember how I was recaptured but am afraid to ask even now. I can still get yelled at even though I’m a grown up.

Twenty years after the duck attack, my boyfriend and I were strolling through Illinois’ Morton Arboretum. It reminded me of the episode so I told Ron all about it as we approached the edge of a pond (left) where, similar to the zoo incident, parents and children were feeding geese. At the exact moment that I finished telling him about my childhood trauma, the families ran out of bread. The flock of geese saw Ron and me and ran/flew at us for dear life.

I nearly had a heart attack thinking that the Boston duck had passed the word through generations of avian fowl to the Illinois geese and this was the satisfaction of their long-held revenge against me for trying to pat them. It was all I could do to compose myself while Ron, laughing his head off, said “you should see your face!” See my face? I was ready to meet my Maker. Never mind the look on my face.

Duck and goose two. Doreen zero.

           (See also the post about “Doreen vs the Squirrel”)

Niagara Falls - God in Nature?

For thousands of years writers have equated nature with God. My personal experience was a little bit different.

My second major proof that God exists started as a road trip for a getaway weekend to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. To commemorate the trip, I bought a 35 mm camera for $50 from McDade’s. With our income at the time, to me that was the equivalent of a $350 Nikon. Getting there would be half the battle because the intrepid Ron decided he would only use the thumbnail maps from a year-old Best Western brochure.

Six convoluted hours later we arrived at a quaint “honeymoon” hotel - mostly in one piece. The next morning was cold but sunny. I was anxious to improve my photography skills so we swept around the edge of the “horseshoe” to find a good spot to take pictures of the Falls.  We finally settled on an area marked off by a green metal fence. The Falls were beautiful, powerful, and scary all at the same time. The Lord's work in all its majesty.

I was never great at taking pictures so I needed all the help I could get. Since the Falls looked so alluring, I decided to get closer before I clicked away. I put the camera to my right eye - trying to avoid scratching my eyeglasses - and climbed over the fence. As I moved closer to the edge of the Falls, I tripped over the huge sign that said “Danger! Do not go beyond this point.” I lost my balance, camera still in hand, and teetered on the edge. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Suddenly, an arm appeared, grabbed me by the collar, and pulled me back to solid earth.

Yes, Ron used his "golf" arm but I was 140 pounds of flailing arms teetering on the edge of a cliff! Not only did I not fall into the Falls, but defying the laws of physics, Ron didn't fall in with me.

Was that God in nature?

From a practical view, it was Ron who did the deed. But, even he said he didn’t know where he got the strength. I decided that it was God who saved me from the briny deep. I lived to fight another day. Amen.

This was my second MCI Proof Positive that God existed.

How I know God Exists...

Believers will get asked when they were first sure God exists. For myself, it was one sunny mid-west morning in the early 1980s.

I had finished my master’s degree at the University of Chicago and was looking for full-time employment. The only job on the horizon was 50 miles away in North Chicago, IL. This was my second job interview and it was time to meet the contractor’s client, Abbott Labs. To get there, I borrowed my boyfriend’s car, a 1974 Chevy Nova, and literally cleaned out my piggy bank to pay the eight round-trip tolls.

The interview went well from my perspective so I happily started back to my apartment in the western suburbs. Driving is not my thing. Anyone who knows me will tell you that – followed by an eye-roll. For the record, I am a very good driver. I just hate it.

Somewhere on the exits, on-ramps, and by-ways of IL-137, I ended up on a dirt road, surrounded by four foot deep ditches, heading towards someone’s farm. Not a soul in sight. Not even a crow.

I quickly realized my mistake and saw a cross-road where I could turn around. Of course, it rained the night before. A good ‘ol mid-west thunder boomer. And, of course, I misjudged the width so the back wheels of my boyfriend’s car ended up in the ditch. This ditch was so deep that the bottom of the car was lying flat on the road! [Years later it would occur to me that miracle one was that the gas tank didn’t explode.]

Try as I might, I could only spew mud in my efforts to get my boyfriend’s car out of the ditch. I got out of the car and looked at the bright blue sky. Then said with full desperation “God. If you are really up there, NOW would be the time to show me!”

Within three-to-five minutes, an elderly gentleman in a pickup truck tooled along and saw my plight. Miracle two. He also just happened to have a thick chain in the back and was able to pull Ron's car out of the ditch with ease. Miracle three. He took pity on my dire financial straits and said “I won’t charge you either.” Miracle four.

This was my first MCI Proof Positive that God existed.

                                 In His Name.