Glimmers
April 27, 2010
April has turned out to be an interesting month. It has a number of things to commend it this year. It is Holocaust Month, Poetry Month, Jazz Appreciation Month and Be Vigilant Against Child Abuse Month. I vote we add “I’m Sick of Pollen Month” to the list.
As I was mowing the grass in the front yard a couple of weeks ago, along the edge of the driveway where it meets the street, the mower stirred up a suffocating yellow cloud from the oak pollen droppings that had covered the grass like a blanket of yellow-brown snow. My throat tightened, my nose began to run and it felt like I had gravel in the corners of my eyes.
The pollen season in Florida, and in much of the rest of the country, has been an especially tough one this year. Speculation is that it could be related to the much colder than normal winter we experienced. Whatever the reason, it has produced some unusual sights and sensations.
Last week, as it finally appeared to be ending, I shoveled up the oak pollen droppings I had blown into the street from my driveway and filled two 30-gallon garbage cans. You read that correctly. I shoveled POLLEN. And I wasn’t the only one. My neighbors, some clad in breathing masks and goggles, were doing the same thing. Another year like this and the city will need to acquire some Pollen Plows to clear the streets. I’ve never seen anything like it.
I am normally not affected too much by pollen season. I don’t have much of a problem with allergies. But I discovered that such an overwhelming dose of pollen could cause even the non-allergic to suffer.
April, in addition to the designations above, is also National Stress Awareness Month. Stress is a given in life. It always has been. And like pollen season, most of us cope with the normal levels of stress quite well with no ill effects. But sometimes, when the right environmental factors converge, a stress outbreak can overwhelm our coping mechanisms. It seems to me that this is one of those seasons for our community. On top of the normal stressors of life, we have the uncertainty of the Space Center’s future, the health care reform bill that recently passed, and the ongoing recession. How is it affecting you? How are you coping with it? Shovels may be good for an overwhelming outbreak of pollen, but dealing with stress requires other tools.
I think faith is certainly the first and most effective tool for stress. Scripture invites us to cast all our cares, our anxieties and stressors, onto the Lord because God cares for us (I Pet. 5:7). Start there. It may prevent you from doing some less productive things with your shovel.
Blessings to you all,
Jerald
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Friday, April 2, 2010
The Hardest Question
Good Friday, 2010
I have heard “why?” a lot more than usual this week. It seems to be the favorite word of my 4-½ year old grandson, Christian. We spent Tuesday together and the “why” question came up in a multitude of forms. When the fish refused to participate in our fishing expedition and not so much as nibble on the hook, he asked “why?” “Why is the water dirty?” he asked, referring to the green stuff growing at the water’s edge. Later, at MacDonald’s for lunch, he pointed out the dragon toy that he wanted in his Happy Meal. When he got a Gronkle instead of a Night Fury he wanted to know why. I entertained “why” questions about alligators, blue herons and egrets. I offered explanations about manatees, turtles, minnows, shells, rain and sand. Some answers satisfied him. Some were met with yet more “whys.” As a chaplain, I’ve learned some “whys” can be much more complicated than the ones about dragons, real or imagined.
She looked at me as I sat in the chair just off to the side at the end of bed. The tears welled up in her eyes as she formed the question. “Why did this happen?” “What did I do to deserve this?” I listened as she searched in vain for some reason in her life, some behavior or sin that would explain why God had allowed her to suffer so. “I have prayed and prayed and prayed and I can’t understand.” “I just want to know why.” I felt the urge to explain it away or offer some defense for God’s questioned character and pushed it back, fighting to stay with her in the pain. No answer would have been adequate. And she is not alone.
He wondered aloud about unrealized hopes. Would he be there for his son’s graduation? Would he be there at his wedding? Would he ever know the joys of being a grandfather? “Why do the men in my family have such rotten genes?” “My brother, my father, my grandfather, all of them had rotten tickers!” “I thought I had beaten the odds, my heart is fine.” “So why did I get this cancer?”
“He’s just a baby.” “Why did God take my baby?” Her cry was inconsolable. It is the kind of pain every parent imagines and hopes never to experience. Her husband arrived and added “whys” of his own. Family and friends tried to answer them; saying things I learned long ago made no sense and offered no comfort.
Why questions about alligators and manatees are not so tough. “Why did God take my son?” “Why did God let this happen?” kind of questions are much more difficult. The best one can do sometimes, most times, is to be with them in silent brokenness. God knows.
Easter blessings,
Jerald
I have heard “why?” a lot more than usual this week. It seems to be the favorite word of my 4-½ year old grandson, Christian. We spent Tuesday together and the “why” question came up in a multitude of forms. When the fish refused to participate in our fishing expedition and not so much as nibble on the hook, he asked “why?” “Why is the water dirty?” he asked, referring to the green stuff growing at the water’s edge. Later, at MacDonald’s for lunch, he pointed out the dragon toy that he wanted in his Happy Meal. When he got a Gronkle instead of a Night Fury he wanted to know why. I entertained “why” questions about alligators, blue herons and egrets. I offered explanations about manatees, turtles, minnows, shells, rain and sand. Some answers satisfied him. Some were met with yet more “whys.” As a chaplain, I’ve learned some “whys” can be much more complicated than the ones about dragons, real or imagined.
She looked at me as I sat in the chair just off to the side at the end of bed. The tears welled up in her eyes as she formed the question. “Why did this happen?” “What did I do to deserve this?” I listened as she searched in vain for some reason in her life, some behavior or sin that would explain why God had allowed her to suffer so. “I have prayed and prayed and prayed and I can’t understand.” “I just want to know why.” I felt the urge to explain it away or offer some defense for God’s questioned character and pushed it back, fighting to stay with her in the pain. No answer would have been adequate. And she is not alone.
He wondered aloud about unrealized hopes. Would he be there for his son’s graduation? Would he be there at his wedding? Would he ever know the joys of being a grandfather? “Why do the men in my family have such rotten genes?” “My brother, my father, my grandfather, all of them had rotten tickers!” “I thought I had beaten the odds, my heart is fine.” “So why did I get this cancer?”
“He’s just a baby.” “Why did God take my baby?” Her cry was inconsolable. It is the kind of pain every parent imagines and hopes never to experience. Her husband arrived and added “whys” of his own. Family and friends tried to answer them; saying things I learned long ago made no sense and offered no comfort.
Why questions about alligators and manatees are not so tough. “Why did God take my son?” “Why did God let this happen?” kind of questions are much more difficult. The best one can do sometimes, most times, is to be with them in silent brokenness. God knows.
Easter blessings,
Jerald
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