February

February

It’s almost over. Why is it that the shortest month of the year seems to drag on forever? Even though daylight is slowly overtaking the darkness of the winter solstice, the bright sunny days of summer are still far off. February is like living in a cocoon that promises release but slow to produce.

Looking out the window of my study this morning, nothing is moving. The occasional sound of a train grinding down a steel track or the whining of an airplane carrying people to a more gracious climate. The choking of a car engine gasping for life after a frigid night on the tarmac. Not the sounds of vibrant life.

There is no green grass or flowering plant. The bare sticks of tree branches waiting patiently for life giving sap to once again burst into buds. Only the fir trees give a greenish glow against the glaring white of snow. More flakes falling from the sky as another reminder that summer is far away.

On the patio things are not much different. The few remaining boughs of the Christmas tree cling to the bird feeders. Frozen water sits idly in the bird bath. Finches, flickers, magpies, chickadees and an occasional woodpecker make pilgrimage to sunflower seeds and suet; substance for their survival.

From the comfort of an easy chair nestled near the warmth of our wood burning fireplace, I look out another window and see the meandering parade of whitetail does and their yearlings searching for food and shelter. What once was their playground is now a subdivision for people who want a taste of the West.

The Holidays are but a distant memory. Valentine’s Day and Presidents Day over. What lies ahead is March, April and May. In Montana that means the slow awaking of spring as it battles its way through the ravages of winter. By that time, we are shedding our parkas and boots and digging out the shorts and flip flops.

Goodbye to the tranquility of February. I look forward to seeing you again next year!

Teleios

Teleios

This is a Greek word translated into English means perfect. The concept of perfect is not something I really identify with. Growing up in a social and religious culture that considered perfect a virtue, it was something from which I rebelled. When I read the words of Jesus “you are to be perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect” I knew I was in trouble.

Now that I am at the other end of life not having attained perfection, I figured that Jesus must have meant something different from what I was taught. Doing a little research, I found that perfect in the Bible didn’t mean having all my ducks lined up or never making a mistake. It means growing into the person that God created me to be.

I am not the person I was when I first met the Lord. By allowing the Holy Spirit to direct my life through the ordinary circumstances of daily living, slowly but surely, I am becoming the person God created me to be. Most of the time I don’t even realize what is happening. Often, I think I am moving in reverse when in fact the disappointments, hardships and fears are well within parameters of God molding me into his purpose. Not only does this understanding free me from guilt and shame but it gives me a whole new lease on life: a life that is pursuing his purpose and not wallowing in the disappointment of not measuring up to someone else’s standard.

Be encouraged by the words of the apostle Paul: “So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your ordinary life – your sleeping, eating, going to work, and walking around life and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for him. Don’t become so well adjusted to your culture that you fit into it without even thinking. Instead fix your attention on God. You’ll be changed from the inside out. Readily recognize what he wants from you, and quickly respond to it.”

That’s being perfect!

WSI

WSI

I have been a swimmer all my life. It must have been my parents who taught me. We had an outdoor pool at our home and spent summers enjoying it. I remember my dad taking my brother and I to the Minneapolis Athletic Club on Saturday mornings to swim during the winter months.

While at the seminary I took a Senior Life Saving course that qualified me as a lifeguard. I spend my college summers as a counselor at a Boy Scout camp in northern Minnesota so that certification came in handy. Being a lifeguard even if it was in the boonies was a status symbol.

What I really wanted was to be a Water Safety Instructor (WSI). The qualifications were quite stringent. A course was offered at the college close to the seminary, so I signed up. Little did I know what I was getting into. Three afternoons a week I spent doing laps in the college pool. I was an above average swimmer, but this was demanding. I hung in there because I wanted the certification.

In addition to the laps, I had to be proficient in a variety of swimming strokes, take a CPR-First Aid course followed by a written exam, and perform a water rescue. Our instructor was a retired Navy Seal. For the water rescue, I had to retrieve him from the pool as he played the part of a drowning victim.

As I tread water in the deep end, the instructor jumped off the diving board almost landing on top of me. On the way down to the bottom of the pool, he grabbed me in a bear hug. I had to break free of his grip, maneuver him into a rescue hold and bring him safely to the shallow end of the pool.

Trying as hard as I could, I couldn’t break free and I was running out of oxygen and stamina. Looking at him, I knew he wasn’t going to let go. Faced with drowning, I instinctively kneed him in the groin. His face contorted, his grip released and we both rose to the surface. The only words he spoke were “You flunked.”

I didn’t get the WSI certification, but I didn’t drown!

Stethoscope

Stethoscope

Rummaging around in the garage trying to bring order to chaos, I ran across a box hidden on a shelf. It was the size of a fruit box and contained items of my father’s medical practice. I remember bringing it to Montana years ago but forgot about it once I put it in the garage.

Inside I found my dad’s framed Bachelor of Science degree (1942) and his Board of Pediatrics certificate (1950). Among other medical equipment that I know nothing about I found, enclosed in its original box, his stethoscope. Opening the box and holding the stethoscope in my hand, I felt I was touching a part of my dad who died almost two decades ago.

A stethoscope is a medical instrument for detecting sounds produced in the body that are conveyed to the ears of the doctor through rubber tubing connected with a piece placed upon the area to be examined (Webster Dictionary). Stethoscopes are a dime a dozen in the hospital where I volunteer as a chaplain. Doctors and RNs hang them around their necks or stuff them in their starched white medical coats.

My dad had a way of using his stethoscope to deter a child’s fear of being in the sterile medical office.  As a child he would let me grab hold of his stethoscope and let me listen to his heart beat. He must of thought that such interest in his stethoscope was the beginning of my own medical career. That was not to be.

I plan to make a shadow box that would showcase dad’s stethoscope and medical degrees. I don’t want them hidden in a box in the garage any more. My appreciation for who my dad was and all that he did encourages me to keep my nose to the grindstone and not slack off just because I am getting older. That shadow box hanging in my home office will be a reminder of his life well lived. A man who deeply cared for the well-being of his patients.

Now off to Hobby Lobby with Judy. I don’t have a clue on how to make a shadow box.