The Destructiveness of Gossip

Today’s morning Spurgeon devotional discusses Leviticus 19:16-17:

Leviticus 19:16-17 NIV

(16)  "'Do not go about spreading slander among your people. "'Do not do anything that endangers your neighbor's life. I am the LORD.

(17)  "'Do not hate your brother in your heart. Rebuke your neighbor frankly so you will not share in his guilt.

Spurgeon correctly notes that three are affected by gossip: the speaker, the listener, and the person being spoken about. I was reminded this past weekend that three is a sacred number in Christianity so his listed three persons had additional meaning for me.

It’s human to err and human to gossip but we don’t have to give into our baser nature. In my middle years I am more aware of my faults and put more effort into combatting them. As far as gossiping, yes, I made some big blunders in my youth. The one that changed my ways was when I was working in Chicago and a co-worker told me something crazy her husband said that she just couldn’t understand why he said that. She specifically asked me NOT to tell my husband.

I could not offer her an immediate explanation for her husband’s behavior so told her I’d think about it and get back to her. After a couple days, I still couldn’t figure out what his deal was and wondered if it was simply a “guy” thing. I then made a choice to break my promise and ask my husband what he thought foolishly assuming he would never meet either of them.

Well, as luck would have it, my boss threw a party at her home and guess what happened? Yep. Ron made a crack about the topic (to this day, I don’t remember exactly what the “it” was) and he gave his wife a look, she gave me a look, I gave Ron a look. She never spoke to me again. And, I deserved it.

So, I word of advice from someone who suffered from her own folly: keep promises and divulge nothing until death parts you from this earth.

Amen.

Passport anyone?

There is a rite of passage when you are old enough to have your own checking account. Because I grew up poor, it had extra meaning for me. Add to that the reason I needed one is because I was the first in my branch of the family tree to go to college and you have real cause for a celebration.

At the time I got accepted to graduate school in Chicago, bank regulations were tightening and stores were requiring at least one, if not two, major forms of ID to cash checks. I quickly realized that my Massachusetts license might not qualify to cash out-of-state checks in Illinois. I mentioned this concern to my college pals, many of whom had real worldly experience. Beth Ann (of the New Hampshire Steinberg’s) said “why don’t you get a passport? That’s a major form of ID.” Not to be one-down, I went to find out - from someone else - what I needed to get one.

It was no big deal to get the two passport photos. I simply went to one of the arcade photo booths at Revere Beach. It was more involved, however, to get a notarized birth certificate. After more research, I needed to go to the McCormick building Records Office in downtown Boston.  I remembered I saw a building with that name on one of my shopping trips so merrily caught the train – which in Massachusetts is the same as Metro in DC – toting my precious photos.

I easily found the McCormick building and went directly to the tenant directory. Two security guards ambled over to “help” me. I told them I needed a notarized birth certificate and they said I was at the wrong McCormick building. Go figure.

They gave me directions and as I was leaving, one guard asked me why I needed one. I smugly informed him that I needed it to get a passport. Naturally, he asked me where I was going. Without thinking, I said “Chicago.” They both gawked at me in disbelief. One stuttered “B, b, b, b, but, lady. You don’t need a passport to go to Chicago!”

Of course, I knew I didn’t need a passport to go to Chicago. After all, Illinois is still part of the US. I tried to correct my shortcut answer to no avail. They looked at me like I needed to go into THE home for SPECIAL people. I let it go, hopped back on the train and hurried to the correct McCormick building.

Showing evidence of learningÔ, when the Records clerk asked me why I needed it and where I was going, instead of saying “Chicago” or “I need it for ID,” I angrily said “nowhere. I am not going anywhere!” He looked at me like I needed to take a pill but didn’t press further.

Many years later, at one of my husband’s work-related social gatherings, Ron insisted I tell my “best” story. So, I did and everybody laughed. Then Ron added “I bet those guards are still talking about the lady who thought she needed a passport to get to Chicago.” Okay, it’s one thing for them to think I’m crazy. It’s another if the guards have their get togethers and I am one of the showpieces!

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.

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.

Doreen vs the Squirrel

I was born and raised in the city. To me, a pigeon is a WILD animal. I never liked squirrels so kept my distance - in city parks, in forest preserves and in the mountains of New Hampshire where, as teens, we spent summer weekends swimming at Angle Pond.

Amid the bustling of a Chicago spring, my first direct battle with a squirrel occurred in the small park across from our apartment. I tossed my lunch bag into a trash can only to be set upon by a territorial squirrel waving its arms and flicking its tail. I jumped back scared out of my wits and the squirrel chirped in victory.

The Squirrel one. Doreen zero.

Twenty years later, I was, little by little, getting the hang of being a first-time homeowner in the suburbs of DC. The master bath has a window overlooking the roof and this particular fall day, I was busily brushing my teeth with the window open. The squirrels love the cedar shake, high-pitched, roof surrounded by lush, tall pine trees. I usually hear them scurrying across the roof as I got ready for work and that day was no different - except I decided to retaliate!

With my spit cup in hand, I flung the contents through the screen only hitting the squirrel’s left, hind paw. He snorted at me and ran away. I thought I had my long-sought victory in my grasp.

A few minutes later, I heard chattering and ran to the window. Not only had the squirrel returned, but it brought backup! I now had two tormentors! They kept looking at each other, then me, then chattered incessantly to each other.  I quickly realized they were making fun of me!

How could I fight back? The same screen that kept them out also kept me in. The human was the one caged. All I could do was yell back in frustration.

After several minutes, wondering if the neighbors thought the new owner was nuts, I admitted defeat and slinked back to the sink.

The Squirrel two. Doreen zero.