The Upshot of Shots

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When newborns come into the world, they arrive with a clean slate which usually includes freedom from disease. We parents immediately jump in to keep it that way by yo-yo-ing back and forth to the pediatrician until our children virtually hate their doctor. That’s because every appointment includes a vaccination.

All 7 of our kids had the same pediatrician, a wise, gentle man we grew to love as a personal friend. When the kids would ask, “Am I having a shot today?”

He’d say, “No. Just a vaccination.”

Splitting medical hairs didn’t do much to cheer them, but by kindergarten, 99% of all needle-visits were over. The upshot of all their shots was freedom from the painful diseases former generations had to experience.

It’s been many decades since I had a vaccination. Well, until last week. Although I’ve never had a flu shot, the upcoming illnesses of old age are just ahead, and new vaccinations can prevent some of them. One virus I’d like to avoid is shingles, a painful skin rash that can hang on for months.

Even though doctors are promoting the vaccine for folks over 60, it’s not 100% effective. But a vaccinated person who does gets shingles won’t suffer the same intensity of pain.

Mom had shingles the year before she died, and nothing could soothe the fiery nerve pain on her neck and scalp. Shingles can even travel into ears and eyes, causing permanent damage. So last week, I decided to roll up my sleeve along with other shingles vaccinationees and get jabbed.

Too bad there’s not an inoculation for sorrow and heartache. We could all bop through life wearing big grins, and worries would be a thing of the past. No more middle-of-the-night anxieties or games of what-if. Happy thoughts would dominate, and contentment would be much easier to find.

The only problem would be our numbness. Being protected from the negatives would mean being deadened to the positives, too. If we couldn’t feel sadness, how could we feel happiness? Each human emotion needs its counterbalance.

On the day Nate died, all of us suffered raw pain. But would we rather not have had him at all? No, because that would have eliminated thousands of joy-filled days.

Thinking of this dilemma in a biblical way, if we were able to opt out of sorrow, we’d miss God’s special promises to the brokenhearted. If we didn’t experience affliction, we’d miss his deliverance. If we didn’t suffer guilt over sin, we’d never know the relief of forgiveness.

Even Jesus wasn’t inoculated against sorrow. If he hadn’t willingly been crushed for us, we wouldn’t now have access to spiritual healing.

So, if a vaccination against heartache did exist, we probably shouldn’t get in line for it. Just think of the counter-balancing blessings we’d have to miss.

Jesus said, “You may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

Liar, Liar (Part 2 of 2)

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My Aunt Agnes, Dad’s sister, never had children but had a slew of nephews and nieces, and I was glad to be one of them. She spent Sundays with our family and came over every Thursday for dinner, bringing candy from Marshall Fields. She didn’t forget our dog Toby, either, arriving with bones or biscuits to make him happy. When she died in 1980, she divided her estate between several charities and her nieces and nephews, generous to the end.

One day when I was 11, Aunt Agnes asked if I’d like a sleepover at her condo on a Saturday night, just me. I jumped at the chance to stay in her immaculate home on the 8th floor of her building, and we had a great time.

She enjoyed beautiful things, and on her glass-topped dresser was a hand mirror and matching hair brush given to her by her husband. Because they were married only five years before he died, these were precious to her. On Sunday morning I asked if I could use the brush, and she said, “Yes, but don’t put water on it.”

Without thinking I went to the bathroom mirror, and before I knew it, I’d swished her brush under the faucet to wet my ponytail. Right away I realized what I’d done but hoped Aunt Agnes wouldn’t notice. As I put the brush back, water was already pooling beneath its gold design.

But I never said a word.

My parents picked us up for church, and in the car Aunt Agnes turned and said, “Did you wet my brush this morning?”

Immediately I lied. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I didn’t do it! Someone else must have.”

She knew the truth, but she didn’t press further. I felt awful but was bonded to my lie. Aunt Agnes never mentioned it again.

For many weeks I suffered, knowing I should confess and fully intending to, but life swept me away with school, college, marriage and children. Time dimmed the weight of my guilt, and eventually I forgot about it.

That is, until the week Aunt Agnes died. We were in her apartment packing her things, and as I stood in front of her guest room dresser, there lay the mirror and brush, the brush still wavy with water damage. It triggered my memory of never having told her the truth. Mom invited us to keep something of hers that day, so I kept the dresser set.

Every time Aunt Agnes saw that brush, she must have thought about my lie. And because she loved me unconditionally, she probably wondered why I couldn’t trust her with the truth.

God probably feels the same way, disappointed when I lean into sin rather than choose honesty. In doing so, I ignore the fact that our relationship is grounded in unconditional love.

Besides, God will never punish truth-telling (even dreadful truth) like he punishes a lie.

“The human heart is the most deceitful of all things, and desperately wicked… But I, the Lord, search all hearts and examine secret motives. I give all people their due rewards, according to what their actions deserve.” (Jeremiah 17:9-10)

When I see Aunt Agnes one day in heaven, I’m going to come clean.

Liar, Liar (Part 1 of 2)

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Most of us have seen Jim Carrey’s 1997 movie “Liar, Liar.” As a successful lawyer famous for twisting the truth to get ahead, his character repeatedly disappoints his little boy, Max, by failing to show up when he says he will. He even misses Max’s birthday, causing Max to realize his daddy has a lying problem. Max blows out his candles with a secret wish that his daddy will have to tell the truth for the next 24 hours.

Max’s birthday wish comes true immediately, and his daddy can’t make himself tell a lie or even withhold part of the truth. He stutters, stumbles over words, tries to hurt himself to avoid telling the truth and eventually makes a hopeless mess of himself.

In the end, he comes to see that Max is more important than business success, and the happy ending shows a truth-telling father and son spending quality time together.

Although the movie is hilarious, the truth of “Liar, Liar” is that the majority of people lie routinely without so much as a twinge of guilt. A new book, Tangled Webs (James Stewart), details the problem. He says lying was originally a crime against God, condemned in the Bible. But with time and a watering down of our spiritual commitment as a nation, guilt is no longer a pressure, and lying is rampant.

Mr. Stewart tells the stories of four famous liars: Bernie Madoff, Barry Bonds, Martha Stewart and Scooter Libby. These and many others have told the ultimate in lies, lying in court while under oath. Perjury is high-risk lying, and all four have paid in spades.

Interestingly, these celebrities didn’t get charged for their criminal behaviors. Instead they went to prison for lying about that (at least three of them, since one has only recently been convicted). Was lying worth their losses?

I can’t wag my finger at a liar, though, having stretched the truth many times. It was fascinating to hear the author of Tangled Webs wonder aloud during a radio interview where this “epidemic of lying” originated.

He assigned blame, at least partially, to parents not teaching the value of truth to children. But his interviewer said, “I think lying is in all of us.” She was right. We all want to make ourselves look good, and Satan, a professional liar, coaches us on how to do that. But God, the ultimate in truth, tells us there are 7 things he hates, and in that short list, 2 of them are lying. (Proverbs 6)

Scripture details the laws of lying: (1) if we tell one lie, we’ll have to tell more; (2) lying always hurts others; and (3) the truth will come out. Thinking of these irrefutable laws motivates me to tell the whole truth.

I want God to be pleased with me, not to hate what I do or say. And telling the truth is a sure way to win his approval.

(Tomorrow: the telling of a whopper.)
”Don’t scheme against each other. Stop your love of telling lies that you swear are the truth. I hate all these things, says the Lord.” (Zechariah 8:17)