Amy Gustafson Oden’s Neighborhood

LEGACY

He was a real charmer. Sandy colored hair, sparkling hazel eyes, slightly muscular – a little unusual for that time. And could he dance. The jitterbug was his favorite. He and his girl were really something on the dance floor.

It was a favorite past-time on Friday nights. The rest of the days and nights were spent preparing. He was ready. He knew it was only a matter of time. They were all awaiting their orders.

Pretty young girls, became young wives. Kisses and tears were exchanged as they parted ways at the train station. They all said with great conviction, "don’t worry, I’ll be home before you know it." "It won’t be long." I love you."

But it was a long time – not a matter of months, but sometimes years.

They stood and watched until the train was completely out of sight. The long walk or ride home was quiet. No words were spoken.

The contrast when the guys came home was amazing. Flags, confetti, tears, kisses – land many times new additions to the family met their fathers for the first time.

Some arrived with splints, crutches. Some came back missing an arm, or leg, or both.

They did their job – and they did it well. America was still free.

Today, he’s still a charmer. The pretty girl is still by his side. Her hair is gray, and his is gone. The slightly muscular body has become round and soft. The jitterbug has been replaced with the fox-trot – but when the livlier tunes are playing, he just fox-trots a bit faster.

They are passed over now. You may not even know that the guy next to you at the Denny’s counter is a genuine hero. The old man with the ball cap that says USS Nathan Hale, or Flying Tigers, or some other military emblem has paid a price for your freedom.

Those wrinkled, gray-haired, wheel chair bound, and cane-walking men that saluted yesterday at Fort Hood, identify with the famlies and the victims. The country and the flag are more precious to them than anything monetary could possibly offer. If they could - if it were at all possible – they’d gladly go again. Like the 53-year old army vet at Fort Hood. It took him 3 years to convince the Army to let him back in active duty. He finally was accepted. He told them his combat experience could be of value to them. He was getting ready to deploy again – happily. Ready to serve. Ready to lay down his life if necessary.

The dedication of the men and women who have served and are serving, and will serve, is priceless. That doesn’t just mean it’s precious. It means you can’t put a price on it. You’ve heard it before: "If you can read this – thank a vet." America is still free.

Like most people these days, I take the freeway to work. The ramp signals are usually on & there's a line up of cars waiting to infuse themselves into the flow of traffic. As we slowly crept up to the line yesterday, I noticed a panhandler standing on the small strip of earth that separated the ramp from the freeway. This is a common sight anymore, so his presence didn't really phase me. There was an old Ford 350 in front of me who's driver looked to be a burly, bald headed guy. He inched up to the line, rolled down his window & stuck his hand out to entice the panhandler. I could see he had something in his hand, but as soon as the panhandler hobbled up to the window, the driver snatched his hand back & sped off. He was laughing, thinking himself pretty swift. I wanted to speed up behind him & somehow exact revenge, but I had my job to go to, so... anyway.

In case you're wondering, I didn't offer the panhandler my spare change when my turn came. I don't give handouts as a general rule. I don't know his situation- whether he was faking it or whether he was truly homeless or just down on his luck... but the way the man in the truck treated him really bothered me. It was completely uncalled for & undignified, for both parties involved.

Its hard to believe we still measure the worth of a person by what they're wearing or how they smell or what they do. It seems like grade school stuff. Isn't a person worth something just because they're made in God's Image? This world still doesn't think so... and that's just sad.

Freeway ramps & busy corners are never a good place to stand & advertise your trouble. But people do it every day... some are genuine, some aren't. Some drivers care, some don't. If you choose to care, you'll hold up the traffic behind you. And other times, there's no traffic... no panhandler... & its just you & the Light.

If you've ever read the first few chapters of Genesis, you know about the story of creation. But look closely & you'll find that the account in chapter 1 doesn't match up chronologically with the account in chapter 2.

Chapter 1
Day one- light & darkness
Day two- sky
Day three- land, sea, sprouting vegetation
Day four- sun, moon & stars
Day five- fish & birds
Day six- animals & man (Adam)
Day seven- God rests

In chapter 2, man appears before vegetation sprouts up. So I got to thinking- maybe God just planted seeds on the third day & they had to grow into trees & plants & shrubbery- food for the animals & Adam & Eve.
Chapter 2 also tells us God planted a garden in Eden... but only after He had created Adam. And in the garden, Adam is presented with all sorts of living creatures, which remember, according to chapter 1, were created on the 6th day, preceding him. But Chapter 2 implies God formed them from the ground there in that moment and paraded them past Adam so he could name them & maybe find a friend (And you thought E-Harmony was a new idea.) But no suitable match could be found, so God put Adam to sleep, took a rib, and made Eve. Yet according to chapter 1, Eve had been made with Adam at the same time... "Male & female He created them." Ge. 1:27.

There's a basic argument that you can't take the Bible literally. And for stories such as this which seem a little far fetched, I'm inclined to agree. But that doesn't mean the story isn't valid.

I got to thinking about that scripture in 2 Timothy 3:16 that starts out by saying "All Scripture is God-breathed"... Some versions say "All Scripture is inspired or given by inspiration". Taken literally in its entirety, you create a petri dish for all kinds of fanaticism. Because God spoke it, it's Holy & by golly, it must be taken literally, to the hilt. I believe the bible is a mixture of literal & figurative, surely inspired by God, but not necessarily spoken or translated word for word.

The idea of being "God breathed" takes me back to the garden. Regardless what day man was created, he was nothing without the breath of God. Ge 2:7- God formed the man from the dust of the ground. He breathed the breath of Life into the man's nostrils & he became a living person.
I'm reminded of another example in Ezekiel 37 where God took the prophet Ezekiel out to a field of bones & told him to speak them. Ezekiel did as he was told & the bones came together. Muscles & flesh formed over them, "but they still had no breath in them". Then the Lord told Ezekiel to "speak to the Breath", to breathe into the bodies so they would live. Breath entered them & they stood up as a mighty army. This of course was a vision, but the gist is, no breath, no life. For a more modern day application, what about CPR? You have a body that's essentially dead, so you pump the heart & put your breath into their lungs... If the Word of God is "breathed" into a dead body, it comes to life.

But (and here's a shocker) the words of the bible are just ink on a page. The gold edged paper, red letters or genuine calfskin leather doesn't make it holy... doesn't make it life giving... It doesn't matter what translation you have, there isn't one that's any more "holy" than another. Studying it, praying it, speaking it & practicing it are helpful, yes. The last part of 2 Timothy 3:16 says scripture "... is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness..." Yet Jesus said Himself "You diligently study the Scriptures because you think that by them you possess eternal life. These are the Scriptures that testify about Me, yet you refuse to come to Me to have life". John 5:39-40

The bible testifies about Jesus, points to Him, bears witness of Him, but it's not the bible that gives us life. "In the beginning was the Word, & the Word was with God & the Word was God (John 1:1)". We call the bible the "Word of God", but its Jesus Who is the Word... He is the inspiration of & fulfillment of Scripture. His is the spiritual breath that gives life to the corporeal body we call bible...

Remember our petri dish, brimming with fanaticism? We can cultivate a form of life by diligently searching our scriptures for literal application or we can step out of the lab & have life- literally.

SIZE MATTERS…

Just 1/16^th inch shorter, and a life would have been changed. A child would have been happier. Parents would have been smiling. Why just 1/16^th of an inch? Because that would have been less than three inches.

And Zachary Christie could have enjoyed his lunch. He wouldn’t have been sentenced to 45 days in reform school. How do you explain that to a six year old? Forty-five days in reform school.

Oh, yeah. The details: L’il Zachary is six. He recently joined the Cub Scouts. He was excited with all his new gear. In that gear was one of those fantabulous fork-spoon-knife combo doo-dahs that fold into a "pocket-knife" configuration. The new scout took it to school in October, to use when he ate his lunch. He was happy and excited. He loved everything about the Scouts.

His teacher saw him eating his lunch – not threatening the other students. But knives are banned. So the teacher reported him. He attended a mandatory disciplinary hearing – and the rest is history. The Christina School district in Newark has a policy. The school district spokesperson said, "We have to follow the policy as it is written consistently because this is the code of conduct that is applied to all of our students in our district."

They are consistent. This is the same district that in April tried to expel Kasia, a sixth-grader. Grandma made a cake for Kasia to share with her classmates. Grandma wanted everyone to enjoy, so she carefully wrapped a cake knife and included it with the cake.

The class was excited. The teacher placed the cake on her desk, carefully unwrapped the knife, sliced the cake, and passed it around. And then reported Kasia for bringing a deadly weapon to school. It was used by the teacher. Kasia never touched it. By the way, did I mention it was a kitchen knife – you know, a kitchen utensil?

Ah, yes, but the knife was over three inches long – and you know what that means. It’s classified as a deadly weapon. No exceptions. The cake was enjoyed by all. Don’t know how they would have sliced it without Grandma’s knife. But that’s not important. What is important is that Kasia be made an example. That she be punished. The school district people I guess are forbidden to use logic and reason, if it seemed reasonable that a person with a cake and a knife was planning on sharing said cake with classmates by use of the slicing instrument. Go figure.

New scenario. If you’re a Sikh , you can carry your knife – they are up to eight inches long. Yes, they are permitted to carry them to school. Because multiculturalism wins over reason or safety. The cake knife is a deadly weapon; the eight-inch blade of the Sikh is a symbol for "the power of truth to cut through untruth."

So if you’re going to take a cake to school, find a Sikh classmate to slice it for you. Or, maybe, just maybe

You can find a knife that is two and 7/16 inches long. Size matters. And two children- innocents, are being punished because of it.

A one year old boy, who could have a tracheotomy, be taken home from the hospital and live his life, may have his ventilator removed at the wishes of his mother and the HOSPITAL TRUST PAYING FOR HIS CARE, because his severe physical disability has been deemed 'intolerable suffering'. His father disagrees and is fighting for his son's life.

I was recently called to jury duty. It was my first time. I had visions of the moment Mr. Von Trapp received his letter to report to Berlin (Sound of Music)... I thought of the Jews in concentration camps being herded to their deaths... Of course, a day of jury duty probably wasn't going to end so tragically. Still, I'd heard about the boredom of waiting, the potential for multiple days of trial if I was actually seated... I hopped the train & we ambled downtown.

Coffee in hand & a half hour to go, I wandered aimlessly for a bit & then made my way to the courthouse. Security checkpoint. Marble hallway & stairs. People everywhere. Signs everywhere. "Jurors to the Left". I entered another hallway lined with chairs & people & waited. Within minutes, the jury coordinators opened the doors & let us in. We exchanged our summons for juror badges & took our respective seats. It was a huge room... I imagine by a rough count, they could have packed 300 of us in there. There was a podium front & center & a judge came to talk to us for a bit, commending us for answering our call to duty, for playing an important role in the justice system. We watched a short introductory film & then we waited. 2 hours in, the first group was called. My heart beat each time, wondering if I would hear my name uttered.... 4 hours later, indeed, I was shuffled out of the room & commissioned to traverse 4 flights of stairs with 17 other potential jurors.

A couple Sheriff's deputies were on hand in full regalia as they opened the doors to the courtroom. The court assistant seated us & then came the judge. "All rise"! He wasn't an imposing man, just your average looking joe. But his black robe, his position required special honor. So we stood. And we sat when he told us to sit. So what? Well, if you've never been in this kind of environment, it can be surreal. Most of us didn't know what was going to happen next (despite the fact that we paid such close attention to that introductory video). We were told to raise our right hands & affirm an oath of truth. Done. I felt strangely like I'd just sold my soul. We listened as the judge read the charges & then we were told to answer a series of 9 questions. All of us had to answer- name, occupation, hobbies, etc. Since it was a case involving minors, the lawyers honed in on people who were parents or worked with kids or had friends in law enforcement...

The questions were monotonous, even ridiculous & self-explanatory at times. I felt like getting up & saying "It's obvious you're leaning a certain way here, so if you don't need me, I'm gonna step out..." But I didn't. I couldn't. I stayed in my seat not out of reverence necessarily, but out of fear. Getting up & walking out wasn't acceptable. I was there till the judge said I was free to go. If I was picked for the jury, I would be in it till the trial was over. Otherwise, I could be held in contempt, fined or even jailed... Thoughts flew through my mind of revolt, of making a scene, of testing the system to see what would happen. What if I showed utter disregard for my time there? I'd be taken into custody in short order. At least at this point, though I was technically in a form of custody, I was still free. So I sat quietly, watching the minutes tick by ever so slowly... Finally, after 2 & a half hours, they picked their jury & let the rest of us go.

My point is, I realized I don't have much contact with tangible authority- especially authority with black robes & guns. My present authority is usually my boss at work or the cop I pass on the other side of the street. The rules of the road, the walk sign, the unseen, common sense morality are my authorities in day to day life. But there's another Authority over them all, & those authorities only exist because He has established them. He, of course, being God. And I wonder, if earthly authority causes me to consider my actions & obey without question, what of God's authority? Do I respond to Him in like manor? Or do I think I'm free to disregard protocol b/c Jesus is the Mediator between us? I believe we ought to know God as our Father. I believe we ought to consider ourselves His adopted children. But I also believe perhaps we've forgotten about His authority over us, & the reverence & holiness we ought to show Him in light of that...

I took my lunch break an hour late. The previous 6 hours had been nothing but trouble & I anticipated nothing but chaos upon my return. As I shut the door to my truck, I let out a big sigh & apologized profusely to God for my attitude & colourful language... No one knew I was angry- little things had been building all day & I chose to put my head down & barrel through, muttering piss & gall in private intervals. I was feeling a little crazy inside. I knew I couldn't go back in & finish the night unless I had a change of heart. So I asked God what to do.

I pulled out my Bible & decided to play a game of Roulette. I opened randomly to Zephaniah 3. Oh! Zephaniah 3! Everyone knows the famous verse from Zephaniah 3! Verse 17 says "The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save..." But thats not the verse I read. My eyes fell instead on 3:2. "She obeys no one, she accepts no correction. She does not trust in the Lord, she does not draw near to her God..." This verse is talking about Jerusalem. And for that moment, it spoke about me as well. I could identify with being disobedient to God, refusing His correction... All through the night, I "heard" His still, small voice reminding me to guard my heart. I knew there were trials in store for this week. I made a meager effort toward patient prayer, but in the end, piss & gall. I wanted to be justified in my frustration. I failed to put my trust in Him, to draw near, & thats when the trouble began. I recognized myself in Zephaniah 3:2 immediately...

I continued reading & came to vs 5. "The Lord within her is righteous; He does no wrong. Morning by morning He dispenses His justice, & every new day He does not fail, yet the unrighteous know no shame." I felt ashamed about my crappy attitude... & this scripture brought me hope. I realized again (for the umpteenth time) that hard as I may try, I can't do anything apart from Christ... It's Christ in me who is righteous- He is my Vine, my Bread, my Blood. He is my conduit of Life & all things good & right & true. In Him I live & move & have my being (Acts 17:28). Without Him, I'm powerless.

I neglected the warning not to be anxious about anything. I didn't prayerfully "petition God with thanksgiving" (Phil. 4:6-7)... If I had, surely the peace of God would have guarded my heart & mind! I should have remembered to be "self controlled & alert" because my "enemy, the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour" (1 Pe. 5:8). I could hear him padding through the warehouse... I felt his hungry breath on my neck. I thought if I ignored him, he would become disinterested & go away... but he took an arm, a foot... and left me limping back to God.

Hebrews 12:7, 11 says "Endure hardship as discipline... God is treating you as sons. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it". 1 Pe. 5:10 says "...the God of all grace, Who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will Himself restore you & make you strong, firm & steadfast." Indeed.

I went back to finish my work day. The frustration seemed to melt off & I found myself whiling away the next 2 hours in relative peace... The Lord within me was back in His rightful place on the throne of my heart. Granted, this was a small lesson learned in comparison to most... but even the mustard seed grows up to be a tree with branches for the birds to perch in.

When I pretend to close my eyes
& deny the way I feel about it
I offer up a smile just to keep the peace;
but all the while inside,
the smoke & ashes, they keep falling
closing in on me,
threatening to bury me alive...

I can’t change the situation-
what am I supposed to do about it?
How can I rise above
& “be the better man”?
Emotions are precarious-
How is it I’m so invested-
saving up my discontent
for a rainy day?

Because the anger within me
won’t yield the righteous life that God desires...
Putting patience before pride
can quench the burning embers,
but that's so much easier said
than done...

Every day I see injustice,
every day I see the arrogant thriving.
I can’t help but wonder
why I have to bear the burden of their selfishness?
Why must I be the one
to keep the standard?

But I am not the only one-
all have fallen short
& that means me!
I can’t escape the blame-
I am just as guilty
of trampling on the justice
I am seeking....

_________________________________________________

"This righteousness from God comes through faith in Jesus Christ to all who believe. There is no difference, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus." Romans 3:22-24

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." Romans 12:21

"Make every effort to live in peace with all men & to be holy; without holiness, no one will see the Lord. See to it that no one misses the grace of God & that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble & defile many." Hebrews 12:14-15

"... Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak & slow to become angry, for man's anger does not bring about the righteous life God desires." James 1:19-20

a lot of people fear dying. i admittedly fear living. the thought occurred to me the other day that i just might have to live out all my days & grow old on this earth... that's one of the most frightening things i've come to realize about life...
but i have too much courage to give up. i sort of envy people who can give in to their sadness & surrender their lives to it- not that i think its the right thing to do, but in the temporal, they've gained their relief. they no longer have to wake to struggle, wake to their loneliness, wake to their innumerable thoughts, wake to their inane yet seemingly insurmountable obligations. in the long term, on the eternal side of things (& this is sorely disputed) they've committed an act of murder- "self murder" & have doomed themselves to damnation. but what if the person is a christian? what if they're so broken & worn down that they just give up? will God receive that one into heaven with the others who had just an iota of courage to live?
i have too much courage to find out for myself... something drives me to keep pressing on- even if i have to shove my dark bits aside to function day to day. part of me hates it, wonders why i can't just deal... wonders why i can't just give up like some. another part of me knows elusion is necessary for sanity, survival, for keeping the peace between me & the outside world. this too, is temporal & a relief not easily gained or experienced in full.
courage has become my enemy, lifting its sword & jabbing me at every turn... when i go to find refuge in the darkness, there is courage. when i go to find refuge in despair, there it is again. always courage. always with the sword... it seems i've gained more wounds from courage than cowardice. i admittedly fear living. yet i have too much courage not to live... i am a contradiction living in skin... bound to this earth, bound to sin. i am bound to darkness, yet bound to recover. i am bound to hope in Him...
 

blindness. stumbling. sadness. fear. crisis. these are words easily equated with darkness, physical or otherwise. but what of renewal? birth? creativity? when i think of these things, i think perhaps of a sunrise or the beginning of something joyfully anticipated, new & inspiring... these words aren't often spoken in the same sentence as darkness. darkness implies despair or danger... its a time of interminable waiting. yet the sun seems to emerge miraculously from the dark horizon of earth each morning. a baby is conceived & forms in the darkness of it's mother's belly... its alive within & comes forth as such into a world of opportunity.

why should darkness always be negative? darkness, like a metal detector, seems to know where the hidden things are... they can be harmful things or maybe, they just might have the potential to be valuable. darkness has it's many secrets indeed.

i find my greatest times of creativity have come during or just after a period of darkness. it assists me in feeling my humanity- those bits of me that are so easy to shelve... eventually they bend under the weight & crash... i can sit there for hours or days, sometimes weeks or months, attempting to piece things together. some things can't be salvaged & are inevitably cast off. some things must wait for a better day, better resources. perhaps this is a project not tackled in the solitude of my 'closed-loop' thoughts. maybe this is something better talked out with a friend or worked out with a life change of some sort. crisis breeds some measure of darkness, despair, waiting. and then- just when i feel there isn't a solid piece left in me- eureka! there is the renewal, the birth, the creativity. light follows not suddenly, but as a gradual thing. it rises up from that dark horizon within & eventually floods me with sanity & hope.

no matter how many times i experience it, i still fear the darkness. i sometimes think i won't make it up off my knees this time... but i do. its a matter of holding on, having hope that it will reveal something worth keeping, something worth using. its not an easy thing, darkness as a muse, a catalyst... but its been invaluable to me regarding creativity.

darkness renders monotony powerless for me, anesthetizes it so i can move past... monotony is a sentry of sorts, guarding me, keeping me "safe" from the unknown... its a harsh taskmaster, forcing me to labor for the ordinary, to "make a living" while slowly squeezing the very "life" out of me. but darkness i've learned (while not a friend), is a sure necessity if i am to live out my days with any sort of purpose. it reminds me i'm alive, reminds me i can feel. i can "do" differently, "be" different because of the darkness that sets my senses ablaze, always making way for something new.