It's the middle of the night. You're tucked under your blankets blissfully unaware of the surrounding world, when you're suddenly woken by the shrill shriek of the fire alarm and the smell of smoke. With your eyes still blurry and your heart pounding, what do you do?
Do you crawl out the window? Call the fire department? Run for the kids? Or do you lie paralyzed as the haze grows thicker?
When I was younger, my parents used to have fire drills. They were awesome. Mostly because it involved crawling out of a second floor window on a special rope ladder. My parents had a plan. They knew who was responsible for grabbing which kids, and when we were older, we knew where we were supposed to meet outside the house. Fortunately, we never had to use that knowledge, and the only time the fire alarm went off was when the chimney fell over onto it, or someone burnt something on the stove. The point is, however, that we were ready.
The same principle underlies the training I've had to complete as a nurse. I train repeatedly for emergency situations, and when they happen, after the initial moment of brain-stopping panic, I know what to do.
If we can apply these principles to physical emergencies, I wonder why we so often overlook such planning for other aspects of our lives. Tragedies occur everyday. We can't, anyone of us, think that we will escape them. And yet, how often do we sit down and think of what we will do when the worst happens? I'm not talking about preparing for a zombie apocalypse and hoarding canned food. Honestly, I'm not even talking about preparing for a true apocalypse. I'm talking about those normal, yet life-changing tragedies: a death or hurt or loss that changes the structure of your life. What do you do when you can't see to take the next step because your eyes are stinging with tears? What is your emergency strategy?
The thing about the rope ladder from the second floor is that the first time down, you're terrified. By the second time, you know it will hold. And on the third, you're seeing how much you can make it swing...well, maybe not. Still, it's an exercise in building faith. The middle of the night with a house on fire is not the best time to discover whether or not the ladder will hold. It's best to make the decision to act before the problem ever arises.
So run your fire drills. Practice your faith. Make sure you know where your ladder lies, so when you need it the most, you won't be paralyzed in a smoke-filled room.
DANIEL 3
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Thinking Like Origami
I've taken up a new hobby. As you can probably guess from the title of this post, I'm attempting origami. I say attempting because there is, apparently, a lot more to origami than I had originally guessed. I just wanted to fold paper into awesome flowers and turtles. Then I learned, you have to have the right paper, along with--and who would've guessed it--the ability to understand what the arrows and lines on the instructions mean. So I asked a friend who recommended a book that explains the arrows and lines and has pictures for every bit of folding. Exactly what I needed.
Here's the thing about origami. You spend a lot of time folding paper only to then unfold it again, because you want the creases there so the paper will bend at the correct place later. And I had an aha! moment. How many times in life do we go through situations where we are forced to "fold" and we can't for the life of us say afterward why it was so necessary that we had to do that. Perhaps, if you're like me, you even spend some time asking God that same question...but then maybe, say, ten years later, you suddenly discover that being able to fold in that way is very important to your new situation. I can't tell you exactly what it will be. Maybe you had to leave something behind, or take something along that you didn't want. Maybe you had to say goodbye to someone. Whatever the case may be, I can't help but think that we are a lot like origami.
We have to, first of all, be the right kind of paper. A paper that can be folded without tearing, that can hold a crease without forgetting...and, of course, it helps to be colorful, too. And we have to be paying attention to the right kind of instructions. If you don't understand the basics, you can't jump into complicated designs. It just doesn't work that way. Trust me. I've tried this and several mutilated pieces of paper will attest to the fact. Last of all, we have to practice. Nobody gets anything right the first time. Unless they're one of those absolutely perfect people who can play fifteen instruments and speak twenty languages...definitely not me.
The wonderful thing about God is that when we fail to fold correctly the first time, he just smooths it over and gives it another go. Sometimes, I think I've been stuck on the same fold for months before I finally understand which way I'm supposed to be going. But God is patient, and he has the right instructions. He wrote the right instructions in a way that me and you and everyone on the planet can understand them. So this week, I'm going to practice folding.
Here's the thing about origami. You spend a lot of time folding paper only to then unfold it again, because you want the creases there so the paper will bend at the correct place later. And I had an aha! moment. How many times in life do we go through situations where we are forced to "fold" and we can't for the life of us say afterward why it was so necessary that we had to do that. Perhaps, if you're like me, you even spend some time asking God that same question...but then maybe, say, ten years later, you suddenly discover that being able to fold in that way is very important to your new situation. I can't tell you exactly what it will be. Maybe you had to leave something behind, or take something along that you didn't want. Maybe you had to say goodbye to someone. Whatever the case may be, I can't help but think that we are a lot like origami.
We have to, first of all, be the right kind of paper. A paper that can be folded without tearing, that can hold a crease without forgetting...and, of course, it helps to be colorful, too. And we have to be paying attention to the right kind of instructions. If you don't understand the basics, you can't jump into complicated designs. It just doesn't work that way. Trust me. I've tried this and several mutilated pieces of paper will attest to the fact. Last of all, we have to practice. Nobody gets anything right the first time. Unless they're one of those absolutely perfect people who can play fifteen instruments and speak twenty languages...definitely not me.
The wonderful thing about God is that when we fail to fold correctly the first time, he just smooths it over and gives it another go. Sometimes, I think I've been stuck on the same fold for months before I finally understand which way I'm supposed to be going. But God is patient, and he has the right instructions. He wrote the right instructions in a way that me and you and everyone on the planet can understand them. So this week, I'm going to practice folding.
Monday, January 6, 2014
Enough
What is enough? Coming directly after the holiday season this may be a little difficult to answer. Well, who am I kidding? It's always difficult to answer, isn't it? It's always hard to decide how much is just enough and not too much, trying to balance a life of comfort with moderation, if you even want to bother with that sort of thing.
Enough means different things for different people. Enough for people in America is undoubtedly different than the enough of people in, say, Africa. We buy filters for tap water because it's not pure enough. A majority of people in the world don't have water that's actually safe to drink. So enough differs based on what you're used to, where you grew up, how much you're used to having. Or does it?
I recently came across a Hebrew word that I've absolutely fallen in love with. It's dayenu (דַּיֵּנוּ ), which means, roughly but beautifully translated "it would have been enough for us".
So, as the new year begins, I ask myself what would have been enough? Ransom from darkness and death? Eternal, faithful love? Certainly those seem to fit the bill. On top of these, I also find myself enjoying clean drinking water, a job where I get paid for the work I do, life in a country where women are allowed to vote and drive, clean clothes, hot water, good food. Sometimes it's hard to see that none of those things even register on the scale of "enough" because it's already been topped out. I have so much more than enough. Why do I ever think I need more? I'm not saying it's bad to have things, or even to like purified water. But those should not be the things we are relying on to be enough for us, to make us happy or safe or content. Even if I lose everything that I can lose, including hot water (which would probably be the worst struggle to be honest), I would still have more than enough. More than I would ever have thought to ask for on my own. And realizing that, I can be content...at least, until my brain distracts me again with trivial nonsense.
And my God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:19
Enough means different things for different people. Enough for people in America is undoubtedly different than the enough of people in, say, Africa. We buy filters for tap water because it's not pure enough. A majority of people in the world don't have water that's actually safe to drink. So enough differs based on what you're used to, where you grew up, how much you're used to having. Or does it?
I recently came across a Hebrew word that I've absolutely fallen in love with. It's dayenu (דַּיֵּנוּ ), which means, roughly but beautifully translated "it would have been enough for us".
So, as the new year begins, I ask myself what would have been enough? Ransom from darkness and death? Eternal, faithful love? Certainly those seem to fit the bill. On top of these, I also find myself enjoying clean drinking water, a job where I get paid for the work I do, life in a country where women are allowed to vote and drive, clean clothes, hot water, good food. Sometimes it's hard to see that none of those things even register on the scale of "enough" because it's already been topped out. I have so much more than enough. Why do I ever think I need more? I'm not saying it's bad to have things, or even to like purified water. But those should not be the things we are relying on to be enough for us, to make us happy or safe or content. Even if I lose everything that I can lose, including hot water (which would probably be the worst struggle to be honest), I would still have more than enough. More than I would ever have thought to ask for on my own. And realizing that, I can be content...at least, until my brain distracts me again with trivial nonsense.
And my God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:19
Monday, December 30, 2013
I Tremble
"I tremble lest I should in any way offend my Eternal Lover."
- Jim Elliot -
From a letter to Elisabeth in Passion and Purity
I have recently, though not very stringently, been making my way through the book Passion and Purity by Elisabeth Elliot. I highly recommend this book, especially for any single young women out there, though I think she has a lot of good to say to women in any situation. This quote above snagged my attention so I can't quite get past it. I don't know why it came as such a shock. I've certainly heard God described as a lover before. Perhaps, it's because this quote came from a man writing to the woman he loved while in the course of deciding whether or not marriage might be in God's will for them.
As a single woman, I admit that I often think of love as something to be sought after. This is due to far too many factors to go into in the short time I have here. Suffice it to say that I certainly never considered that if I found love in the form of some delightful young man that I might make the conscious choice to put it (and him) aside to more fully follow my Lord. Perhaps, it is better then that I have never been given that choice, because I fear I would fail such a test. Though I desperately long to have a heart like Jim Elliot's, I often forget that God is, in fact, a being capable of greater depths of emotion than I am myself. And that he has chosen to love me. I should tremble at the thought of offending him. Not out of fear of punishment or separation, but because to offend someone who has done so much for me is wrong, and I should fear the kind of person that would make me.
Psalm 51
Friday, November 22, 2013
Self-destruct
You know those movies, the old sci-fi flicks with more cheese than lasagna where the courageous Captain decides to self-destruct rather than let his ship be dragged into a planet's gravity by some arch-enemy thereby destroying life on the planet. You know the one. It's an old plot, so I wonder if anyone thinks about how hard that would actually be. I mean, to put it in real-life perspective it would be something like diving in front of a bus to push someone else out of the way, or intentionally veering into a side rail to keep from hitting a kid on the road. To bring it down to an even smaller level, it would be like keeping your mouth closed when your pride is stinging rather than striking out in retaliation, or working quietly without worrying about whether or not you'll get the credit.
Sometimes, the grander gestures, the more visible sacrifices are so much easier to think about, because the answer is so obvious. The small things though, tend to trip me up like invisible snares. But small by no means equals unimportant.
Self-destruct. Tearing down the self. Stripping it away. Undoing it.
I could use a self-destruct button in my own life. If I had my way, it would be big and red and blinking. Because there are a lot of times I should use it and I don't. There are a lot of times that I self-construct instead. Culture tells us that this is a good thing. Be proud of who you are. Don't let anyone tell you who to be. You are good. You are beautiful. You deserve great things. And on and on. None of those statements are bad in their own self-contained, encouraging way. I certainly don't think people should go around thinking they're scum or ugly, or that they should be treated that way. Self-esteem and arrogant pride are different things. But being too self-effacing is also, definitely, not where my own flaws lie.
I don't know about you, but I don't need to be told to be proud of who I am. Sometimes, I need someone to remind me that it doesn't matter. None of it matters. Anything I do outside of Christ means absolutely nothing, zero-Kelvin-middle-of-space nothing, and anything I do in him, means life. Those are the only two options.
Notice, he doesn't say, do good works so people will see you as a hero, send you candy and flowers and discuss you on talk shows. Do good so people see God, not you, and praise him, not you.
So, yes. I need a self-destruct button. I need to use it every day. Because self-construction builds up fast, like hard water residue. It grows uglier and thicker and the longer you wait to scrub at it, the harder it is to get rid of it--the harder it is to notice that blinking, red button.
Sometimes, the grander gestures, the more visible sacrifices are so much easier to think about, because the answer is so obvious. The small things though, tend to trip me up like invisible snares. But small by no means equals unimportant.
Self-destruct. Tearing down the self. Stripping it away. Undoing it.
I could use a self-destruct button in my own life. If I had my way, it would be big and red and blinking. Because there are a lot of times I should use it and I don't. There are a lot of times that I self-construct instead. Culture tells us that this is a good thing. Be proud of who you are. Don't let anyone tell you who to be. You are good. You are beautiful. You deserve great things. And on and on. None of those statements are bad in their own self-contained, encouraging way. I certainly don't think people should go around thinking they're scum or ugly, or that they should be treated that way. Self-esteem and arrogant pride are different things. But being too self-effacing is also, definitely, not where my own flaws lie.
I don't know about you, but I don't need to be told to be proud of who I am. Sometimes, I need someone to remind me that it doesn't matter. None of it matters. Anything I do outside of Christ means absolutely nothing, zero-Kelvin-middle-of-space nothing, and anything I do in him, means life. Those are the only two options.
In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may
see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven. - Matthew 5:16
Notice, he doesn't say, do good works so people will see you as a hero, send you candy and flowers and discuss you on talk shows. Do good so people see God, not you, and praise him, not you.
So, yes. I need a self-destruct button. I need to use it every day. Because self-construction builds up fast, like hard water residue. It grows uglier and thicker and the longer you wait to scrub at it, the harder it is to get rid of it--the harder it is to notice that blinking, red button.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Being in the Elevator
This morning, as on many others, I stepped into the elevator and pressed a button for the floor I wanted. The elevator moved, which is nothing unusual--in fact, I prefer it that way. I was rather surprised when it went down instead of up, and I looked a little foolish to the man who got in on the subbasement level while I was trying to figure out where I was. In the end, however, I figured it out and started up again.
It occurred to me while I was hanging in a metal box suspended by, I assume, cables and tracks, how much faith I have in ordinary things. Faith is, by definition, being certain of what we don't see. When I'm inside the elevator, I can't see the cables that are holding it up. I can't even see the floors passing. If it weren't for the delightful red display of numbers ticking steadily up (or down) I would have no idea where I was at any given point. And yet, I never doubt that I'm going to get where I need to be...in an elevator.
An elevator, I feel the need to point out, is a machine. It doesn't think. It doesn't feel, and it certainly isn't infallible. The elevator doesn't care if I get out on the right floor, and if a cable were to snap, the elevator would not save me from a fall. So why then do I continue to take my life in my hands and climb into an elevator rather than taking the stairs. Faith. Well, that and the fact that eight flights of stairs are rather too daunting a task for me. But the elevator, despite all that could go wrong, has never let me down. I've never been in an elevator that fell. I've never been stuck, although I think I remember one opening a little off between floors. Obviously, it wasn't enough to make a truly lasting impression.
So it comes to this. If I have that sort of faith in a machine without even thinking simply because I've never had one break on me, then why, oh, why is so difficult for me to trust God so completely? Why do I hem and haw and hesitate as if he's leading me somewhere I don't want to go? Why do I struggle and fight when I could be relaxing and being glad that I don't have to go through all those steps myself?
Rather than just stepping in each morning and letting him take me were I need to go, I try to be helpful. I try to press buttons and flip switches, and I panic at every creak and jolt because I can't see what's happening and I'm in no way in control.
This week, I'm going to remind myself every time I step into an elevator that God knows where I'm going, he knows how he's going to get me there, and he isn't going to let me fall.
It occurred to me while I was hanging in a metal box suspended by, I assume, cables and tracks, how much faith I have in ordinary things. Faith is, by definition, being certain of what we don't see. When I'm inside the elevator, I can't see the cables that are holding it up. I can't even see the floors passing. If it weren't for the delightful red display of numbers ticking steadily up (or down) I would have no idea where I was at any given point. And yet, I never doubt that I'm going to get where I need to be...in an elevator.
An elevator, I feel the need to point out, is a machine. It doesn't think. It doesn't feel, and it certainly isn't infallible. The elevator doesn't care if I get out on the right floor, and if a cable were to snap, the elevator would not save me from a fall. So why then do I continue to take my life in my hands and climb into an elevator rather than taking the stairs. Faith. Well, that and the fact that eight flights of stairs are rather too daunting a task for me. But the elevator, despite all that could go wrong, has never let me down. I've never been in an elevator that fell. I've never been stuck, although I think I remember one opening a little off between floors. Obviously, it wasn't enough to make a truly lasting impression.
So it comes to this. If I have that sort of faith in a machine without even thinking simply because I've never had one break on me, then why, oh, why is so difficult for me to trust God so completely? Why do I hem and haw and hesitate as if he's leading me somewhere I don't want to go? Why do I struggle and fight when I could be relaxing and being glad that I don't have to go through all those steps myself?
Rather than just stepping in each morning and letting him take me were I need to go, I try to be helpful. I try to press buttons and flip switches, and I panic at every creak and jolt because I can't see what's happening and I'm in no way in control.
This week, I'm going to remind myself every time I step into an elevator that God knows where I'm going, he knows how he's going to get me there, and he isn't going to let me fall.
Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Medicinal Herbs for Fictional Use, Part 2
1. Urine, that wonderful liquid gold.
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| Splash, photo by Pro2 |
Urine has had many uses in history and in historical medicine, everything from being used as a face wash to tanning hides to a detergent for tough stains. Urea, a main component of urine, is used in many beauty products today that are used to treat dermatological conditions like psoriasis and eczema. Urea can also dissolve the nail plate of an infected or overgrown nail without damaging the healthy tissue.
Now, depending on your fiction world, urine might very well be the most aseptic liquid available. Urea, a component of urine, can debride wounds by breaking down the dead tissue. If it came right down to it in a survival situation, I would probably go with urine over alcohol for a large wound since alcohol kills all tissue, both healthy and non, and the urine of a healthy person probably contains less sugars and odd yeasts than your fermented beverage of choice.
On a side note, urine is supposed to be a wonderful fertilizer so if you have a compost pile of your own...
2. Mullen (Mullein Root, Wild Ice Leaf, Hag's Taper, Candelaria) is still proclaimed today to be a wonderful cure for things like ear infection and respiratory disorders. Historically, the leaves steeped in vinegar were used to treat lameness and internal bruises as well as respiratory congestion. Do note that the hairs on the leaves can cause contact dermatitis, so people shouldn't be picking them without gloves. The flowers are used to create a wash for minor wounds and abrasions.
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| Mullein, photo by Schnobby |
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| Lobelia inflata, photo by H. Zell |
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| Common Knotgrass, photo by Aiwok |
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| Digitalis Purpurea, photo by Kurt Stüber |
Well, that's it for this section. This is, of course, in no way comprehensive, but I hope it has helped to imbue a modicum of historical accuracy to your literary endeavors. Happy writings, everyone!
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