Yearly Archives: 2011

A Picture of Health

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Today I spent a frustrating hour seated on a stool in front of a Walgreen’s photo kiosk trying to order prints. I had two cameras, two different sized “cards” and only minimal understanding of how to work the machine. One of the cards needed an adaptor, plus I had two different coupons.

After interrupting the cashier for help six times, I got to the end of my order and muffed the coupon screen. This time she said, “I think I’ll get the manager, even though he’s on his dinner break.”

I’d probably be the laughable subject in the break room later on, but I didn’t care, as long as I walked out of there with my pictures.

The manager was a tall, 30-something “kid” with a winning way. While working on my “case” he punched enough computer buttons to write a letter, but eventually we got it sorted, and I got my 25 free prints. We were half way through the money transaction for the rest when he noticed my name on the order. “Nyman, eh? We might be related.”

“How so?” I said.

“I’m relatives with lots of Nymans from this area.”

We chatted for a few precious minutes of his dinner break when unexpectedly he said, “My dad died recently.”

I was surprised but put my purse and pictures on the counter and said, “When?”

“Three days before Christmas,” he said, looking down.

“Oh my. That’s really recent.”

“Yeah.”

“What did he die of?”

“Pancreatic cancer.”

Suddenly we were related. I learned his dad had had only eight weeks and that a cherished uncle had also died just a few days before his father. As he talked, his face was pinched with grief, and my heart grew heavy for him.

When the conversation finished, I said, “I’m so sorry about your dad and your uncle.”

He bowed his head and muttered, “Thanks.”

Driving home I felt queasy. While growing up, I hadn’t heard much about disease and dying. Now it’s everywhere, which must be part and parcel of being 60-something. Yet this young man was only in his 30’s. My kids were young, too, three in their 30’s, three in their 20’s, one still a teen. Although friends prayed for their dad to be healed, Nate died.

God has been called the great physician, the miraculous healer. I’ve learned, though, that he usually sidesteps physical ailments to focus on healing hearts. Dr. Luke describes a moment when the Jewish leaders were criticizing Jesus for associating with sinners and eating with “the riff-raff.”

Jesus gave them a sharp response: “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I have not come to call the righteous but sinners to repentance.” (5:31-32) His desire was to heal sin-sickness, because when that gets healed, eternal good health becomes a sure thing.

Today at the Walgreens counter, I wish I’d asked the young manager if I could pray for him then and there. People usually receive that gladly, and maybe it would have led to something significant.

Maybe I’ll take a few more pictures and head back to the kiosk with coupons that I’m not quite sure how to use.
“By his wounds you have been healed.” (1 Peter 2:24)

Butter me up!

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Last night’s walk with Jack was like a worship experience. After an overcast day, the sky had cleared and the stars were brilliant, making me catch my breath and thank God. I was glad I owned a dog, because without him, I wouldn’t have been out strolling at midnight.

I usually enjoy walking Jack, but not on days like today when it was raining, and I’d just finished doing my hair for church. On those days we walk a new way: I drive, he runs alongside. Through the window I encourage him to stay nearby, and off we go on the quiet neighborhood streets.

This morning I drove to the beach and back while Jack loped next to the car. He got his exercise, and I kept my hairdo.

A while ago, however, Jack and I were driving-walking when he saw a group of white-tail deer in the woods and gave chase. I never worry about the deer, because they bound up sand dunes in massive leaps that quickly leave short doggy-steps behind. What concerns me is getting Jack back.

He knows the way home, but what kind of trouble might he find en route? This day when I called him, he emerged from the woods with what resembled a big cigar in his mouth. As he came closer, I saw it was a full stick of butter.

I don’t know where he found it, but I got a quick visual of diarrhea in the basement and knew I needed to take it away from him. I got out of the car, grabbed a plastic bag from under the seat and rattled it like it was lunch meat. “Jack! Mmmm! Yummy! How ‘bout a treat?” He came right to me and dropped the butter (for his treat) just long enough for me to reach around and grab it. Poor Jack. His prize got stolen, and he was duped in the process.

This is a perfect illustration of the way we reject God’s counsel in favor of our own. He says, “You’ll be sorry if you ‘eat that butter’.” But we grab it like a magnet grabs the fridge, thinking we know better. So he takes a step back and says, “Ok. Have it your way.”

As we run off, we barely hear him say, “I’ll be here if you need me.” And of course we always do.

On “Butter Day,” I put a dejected Jack into the car and drove him home. But first thing, I gave him a double treat, the doggie kind, wanting to make good on my word.

God never fails to make good on his word. After we’ve “eaten our butter,” in the midst of a belly ache and a sincere vow to heed his advice next time, he lets us begin anew.

Then after we’ve had enough butter and belly aches, finally we learn.

”The simple are killed by their turning away… but whoever listens to Me will dwell secure and will be at ease, without dread of disaster.” (Proverbs 1:32-33)

In a Spin

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The last long leg of my road trip from Florida to Michigan was spent on route 65, driving through the long state of Indiana. As I passed Indianapolis in the center of the state and then Purdue University north of that, a strange sight appeared out of nowhere: hundreds of massive pinwheels twirling in the breeze.

It was as if I’d happened upon a festive children’s birthday party where the favors were pristine-white whirligigs. Literally as far as the eye could see in any direction these gently spinning fan-like towers were “growing” right out of farm fields.

Since being home I’ve Googled this phenomenon and learned these sleek, three-pronged structures aren’t windmills at all but wind turbines that harness power for energy efficient production of electricity. Crowds of these turbines “growing” in a group are called a wind farm, and they can be found in flat, hilly or mountainous terrain. They’re even erected in water much like offshore oil-drilling stations.

From a bird’s eye view, wind farms must resemble sea anemone or white porcupines. I learned that opposition groups have formed to prevent the establishment of wind farms for esthetic reasons, but in terms of “going green” on energy, they can’t be beat. Other groups say they bring “peace and tranquility” to the landscape.

The many white spinners I saw were plunked down in the middle of already-plowed fields awaiting corn and bean sprouts. It was as if they were a new crop of giant vegetables trying to fit in. Tractor marks encircled each massive base making round patterns in the dirt, and for many miles there was not one farm without them.

As I drove along, I had to struggle to keep my eyes on the road rather than on these graceful wind turbines. Just call me Dawn Quixote. Then suddenly, as abruptly as they began, they ended. Wind currents must have calmed at that point, since farms with steady winds are the only places turbines are built.

As the forest of “windmills” ended and plain farm acreage took over, I saw a small house with an old fashioned wooden windmill next to its barn. The traditional paddle spinner seemed tiny and antique compared to its 21st century counterpart. The word “humble” came to mind. Yet this kind of windmill has served as the power source for grinding, pumping and pressing for hundreds of years.

Mankind has tried to harness wind and its power since the time of Christ, but the ultimate wind-control goes to the Trinity: Jesus, stilling windstorms; the Holy Spirit, coming with the sound of rushing wind; and God, holding wind in his hands. These three can do with wind what no one else can, which is only one of many reasons why we are not like God and should not try to be.

By the way, I learned Canada is experimenting with wind turbines in the Great Lakes. Maybe one of these days we’ll see a line of them marching down the middle of Lake Michigan. Energy production would be wonderful if they got close to Chicago, which is the original “Windy City.”

“Whose hands have gathered up the wind? What is his name, and what is the name of his son? Surely you know!” (Proverbs 30:4)