Thief in the Night; and Churchill

True Story.

Years ago late one night, Harold  – – –  my upstairs neighbor – – – was getting robbed.  Before I knew what was happening,  I drove into the driveway, seeing a Ford pickup backed up to the front door.

Something is wrong here.

https://i0.wp.com/fc06.deviantart.net/fs28/i/2008/170/5/1/Cat_Burglar_by_flea_sha.jpg
Cat Burglar

As I got out of my Subaru, like nothing was wrong,  a white guy with a ball-cap and wild-looking eyes walked out the front door carrying a TV, “Hey, dude!  What’s happening?”  My response: “Not much.  Just getting home from work.”  Two women stood to the side, staring at me.

Inside my apartment, I locked the door, walked to the inside door  to the laundry room, opened the door a crack, listened, and heard the two women at the top of the stairs, whispering.  My imagination went south: Harold was hurt (?), unconscious (?), or dead, (?).  I was going to call the police; but my phone was gone.

I then stepped out to get to my car and go for help.  But at the top of the hill, those same two women were standing at the driveway staring at me.   I returned to my apartment, locked the door, and prayed like a wild man.

Ten minutes later, the truck started, left the property.  Five minutes after that, Harold came down the stairs, through the laundry room, knocked on my door.

I opened the door, Harold's face as white as a sheet.  
He asked ... "You okay?"
"Yeah, I guess." I was calm.  Then I snapped: Harold! I thought 
you were either dead,! Or knocked out! What was that all about?"
"He's crazy, hopped up on drugs, waving a pistol. And he started 
hauling stuff out."

I will never forget the imagery of Harold’s home being robbed.   “A thief in the night.”  ‘So sudden, so  unexpected.  Life is like that, at times.   Thieves come, and do not always look the same.  They steal our sleep; our time; our valuables.  Thieves temporarily steal our sanity, our safety.  Thieves attempt to steal our courage, our hope, our vision, our dreams … our hearts.  Thieves sometimes come with fear.

Bad things happen.  Yeah, they do.

Good things happen.  Yes.  They do. 

Good news is that we have FREEDOM, and fortitude, and the  RIGHT  to  CHOOSE  to transcend injustice.  Andy, from Shawshank Redemption, said ” … time to get busy living, or get busy dying …”  We are resilient. We are brave hearts. We can do as Churchill did:

“Never, never, never, give up.”  

Bulldog goes here.
Sir Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill (1874-1965)

Nothing New … But That’s Not Bad

Solomon?

score.rims.k12.ca.us
score.rims.k12.ca.us

Solomon, maybe.  The word on the street is that no one knows if Solomon wrote Ecclesiastes or not.  I was not there at the time.  Confession: I do not lay awake at night wondering if Solomon wrote Ecclesiastes or not.  BUT … I do appreciate the content, such as the idea that there is nothing new under the sun.  So, no … Nothing new, but that’s not bad.  One of the problems, in my weathered thinking, is if there is no redemptive change happening.

Boredeom is not synonymous with “Nothing new … but that’s not bad.”  Though emphatically non- scientific, it is significant to me, from my years of working in the field of substance abuse, and addictions, and dual-diagnosis, and mood disorders, adjustment disorders …. that “boredom” is acknowledged by countless clients as a powerful-trigger.  A recovering heroin addict starts feeling bored, and … guess what?  He / she wants to go get some heroin.  An individual who has an addiction to shopping may be more vulnerable to his / her addiction if he / she starts feeling bored.  Here is one of my wild, out-of-the-box, thoughts.

Boredom may be an indication of something God wants one to see, or pay attention to.  And IF the individual does not acknowledge … “that” … which God is inviting one to embrace, or tune in to, then boredom is the result.

Boredom feature

Photograph: Paul Popper/Popperfoto/Getty Images
(guardian.co.uk)

A Good River is Good

The peace flows like a good river.  A good river is good . . . ‘reminds me of peace that flows like a good river, blows like a good wind, and goes on, with us.  Peace pervades, prevails, persists, and insists on being received.  But I can resist and have resisted, even though peace insists and peace has insisted … All too often I resist.

Tinicum Creek; Photo by: Martie Kyde / delrivgreenway.org

Tinicum Creek
Photo by: Martie Kyde / delrivgreenway.org

Peace, released.  Peace, redemptive and restful in the storms.  Sometimes I don’t recognize peace when it comes, and I did not recognize the peace when it came, because it came earlier in the night … earlier in the day … earlier in the morning.  Sometimes I don’t recognize the peace because it isn’t the same package … isn’t the same substance as that which flows from the world and through the world, flowing like an angry river.  It’s a different peace, and I just don’t always recognize it.

Peace, from the Other Side of the Trees.

 

 

Grace? Thank you Anne Lamott

From Anne Lamott’s book Traveling Mercies, some words on grace:

“… the force that infuses our lives and keeps letting us off the hook.  It is unearned love —- the love that goes before, that greets us on the way.  It’s the help you receive when you have no bright ideas left, when you are empty and desperate and have discovered that your best thinking and your most charming charm have failed you.  Grace is the light or electricity or juice or breeze that takes you from that isolated place and puts you with others who are as started and embarrassed and eventually grateful as you are to be there.” 

 

Rattledness of Rest

The rattledness of rest, a paradox-like practice, is well-known by the Father; but not well-known by me.  Though I have experienced this rest countless times, I am not always comfortable with the sacred stillness.  In this rest I have seen, and received, something medicinal.  It’s not my imagination; in fact, it is unmistakeable, and intangible.