Knock, knock

I have had a persistent knocking in my heart and in my head lately. That's not right, it has been a knocking, but it has been a feeling that is tough to quantify. It started last Saturday night at work. A regular customer came into the store to pick up some books he had ordered, but they had been reshelved so I asked him to wait while I had co-worker bring them up to the front. While he waited another customer came up and had a pile of books in her hand. One of the books was my favorite book of pretty much all time:
I started talking about it with her, quickly, and Dr. Higgins, the first customer I dealt with, started looking over her shoulder. The more we talked about it the more animated she became, Dr. H started to ask a couple questions. She paid for the books and after I had put them all in a bag for her she turned around to Dr. H, took the COD out of the bag and handed it to him and said "here, you can have it" and then walked out of the store. Dr. Higgins looked at me and I at him and we had the same expression on our faces: "what just happened?"

Last night I had another customer come in to return some books. One of the books she returned was a book about the First Easter. It was published by Concordia Publishing House. She said she was returning it because, get this, she didn't "like the theology" behind it. I looked at her and said "huh?" She said "I like to think Jesus was sent to live. He wasn't sent to die." I was at work, so I felt that I was tied, but I wanted to tell her that if that had been the case there would be no Gospel message at all.

A few weeks ago I was watching the movie Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and I heard this line: "You better take care of me, Lord. If you don't you'll have me on your hands." That struck me. Sometimes I wonder if I don't sound like that when I pray "give us this day our daily bread," does it come out more "you know, God... gimme gimme gimme..." That whole prayer gives me a tough time, sometimes. Jim's last post about "abba.... father" really got me thinking about the whole Lord's Prayer thing. I'm trying to work through it all, but its been a tough, tough thing. Its almost scary.

I'll have more to write about this I'm sure.

many of you proably haven't heard about the little afghan boy named qudrat (pronounced COOD-raht)-- he was born with a very bad heart defect-- basically the arteries going to and from his heart were backwards. the arteries that took the blood from the heart went into the heart and the arteries that took the blood to the heart took it out. basically that means that the little guy wasn't getting oxygen rich blood. his father brought the qudrat to camp phoenix (the main us camp in afghanistan). qudrat was whisked here to indianapolis and had surgery on his heart. it was a success. he was about 14 months old, or so, but was the size of a four month old. after his surger qudrat became very, very healthy. he porked up (in a big way) and he had the most wonderful oldman/baby-toothless-grin. he was the cutest little guy. he looked like a little afgan buddah, truthfully.

qudrat, who was here with his father, was released from the hospital, but had to stay in indianapolis for a few more weeks because he had been exposed to chicken pox (chicken pox is not a common disease in afghanistan). as a result, through the newspaper and television qudrat became our little brother, or grandson, or nephew. in short, he became a happy, chubby, little buddah-like part of the family. its just been kind of a sad day on a certain level.

My father had a close call today, I suppose. He has been complaining about a pain in his leg the last couple days and today it really hurt him quite badly. He decided he needed to go to the doctor, he made an appointment the doctor sent him to the hospital for an ultrasound (I thought they only did those on a pregnant woman's distended belly, alas, I was wrong) on his leg to rule out the presence of a blood clot. I am happy to report there is no blood clot, there will probably be a "follow up" (I think that's medical speak for "another 70 dollar doctor visit tomorrow"). This last year with my father's health has me and my mom on some pins and needles.

On my way home from work yesterday I saw a funny sign. There is a "discount tabacco" store on one of the roads I drive down. Its on a major intersection corner. The sign said this:

ALL
SMOKE
DISC UNTED

It took me a second to realize what it said. Somewhere along the line the "O" had either fallen off or not been put up to begin with. I'm not going to go too far with this, I just thought it was funny.

The Dead Homey Shot

Whenever I get a bottle of Jim Beam (which isn't very often, by the way) I always reserve the first shot as a memorial. I call it the "Dead Homey Shot." Luckily, I don't have many friends that have gone on to the other side.

The DHS started as kind of silly joke between me and a former roommate in college. We would pop open a bottle and take a couple shots. One day, probably after watching a movie like Boyz 'n the 'Hood or Do the Right Thing one of us said "this is for the dead homeys" and took a shot. It became a tradition. It became almost a ritual.

Sadly, though, I do have two homeys that I toast. The first is Adam. He died about five years ago. He and I became very close in the summer of '99. I'll write more about him sometime in the future. I also toast, now, to Amy. She died in a car accident last December. I didn't find out about it until just a few weeks ago. So she is part of the Dead Homey Shot.

Is it morbid? Does it sully the memory? I don't think so. Its my way of remembering them and the good times I shared with them.

So, this one is is for the dead homeys.

Rest in Peace.

Terri Shiavo

Gary Varvel/Indianapolis Star

I had a sudden realization tonight at work. One that might not be all that popular with some of my friends and people who know me. It is simply this: may, just maybe, God's will is being done by letting Terri Shiavo die. Who are we to say what is and what is not God's will? Maybe God is using Terri as a tool, for what, I haven't the foggiest. It seems to me that we humans are good to go with God's Plan when it suits us. When things are going our way, but when something happens that we don't like then it becomes something else, it becomes almost "it can't be God's will that this happened to me." We don't know the Almighty's mind, some of us might like to think we do, but we don't. It is tragic that Terri has been thrown into the spotlight and used as a pawn. Remember that part of the Lord's prayer that goes something to the effect of "Your will be done on Earth as it is Heaven?" We may not understand it, but everything happens for a reason: the good and the bad.

Good Friday

I went to Good Friday Tennebrae service tonight (did I spell that right?) It was moving as usual, this is the first time in a long time that I was startled by the loud bang that symbolizes the closing of the tomb, I actually jumped a little bit-- I knew it was coming and yet I still jumped. Tonight, though I was thinking about something that happened to my first summer at camp. I was a freshly minted camp counselor and Jim, in his infinite wisdom, decided it would be a great to give me an eight year old cabin. I had kid in the cabin that just kind of scared me. He was, how shall I put it... intense. His name, I think, was Chase, I woke up one morning and saw him in the middle of the cabin doing an eight year old version of calastetics (again, I know I spelled that wrong) and he was staring at me as he punched the air. Itwas a bit frightening, but I pretty much cowed later on by throwing him around in the pool for awhile, but I'm not writing about Chase. I'm writing about another kid that was in the cabin with Chase. They cam from the same church. This kid was solid kid, kinda chubby, but for the life of me I can't remember his name. I could I suppose, I just have to back and look at my camp photo album, but I just don't feel like doing that right now. Anyway, I think it must of been the first day-- Monday, we were walking back from morning song time when this kid siddled up to me and in all honesty asked me the following (and he worded it like this): "If Jesus and I were the only two people on Earth who would kill him?" I was taken aback. To this day I don't know if it was a test or a for real question, if you know what I mean. I took it as a real question, though, and thought about it for a second. I had to figure out a way to break it to an eight year old kid that it would be him, that he would be the one to kill Jesus, like if it was me and Jesus as the last two people on earth that I would be the one that would kill Him. So, I believe I just told him outright. And, if I remember right, he just kind of said "Oh, okay" ran off to hang with Chase.

You know what they say about "from the mouths of babes," I think the question and my answer affected me more then it did him and maybe it was supposed to, maybe it was a good old fashioned spirtual honkytonk.

Tonight as I sat in church and listened to the choir sing softly to us I looked at the banner on the wall. It was a black banner with red writing that said "Father forgive them for they know not what they are doing." I just found myself reading it thusly: "Father forgive Karl for he knows not what he is doing." It is always something different that gets me every year. Something I haven't seen or heard before or maybe I just wasn't ready for it until now. I held the hammer, I still hold the hammer, that stapled Jesus to his tree. I'm responsible for the gash in his side and the holes in his hands and feet. I mocked him. I spit at him. I thrashed him with a cat-o-nine tails tipped in bone and glass. Me. I did that. And yet he asked God to forgive me for something I did-- because I didn't know what I was doing.

Wow, that's some heady stuff for me to process.

Thoughts About/As a Result of the Shiavo Case

I have been watching and listening to the coverage (ad nauseum) of the Terry Schiavo case in Florida. I'm sure you know the one: the woman that has been in a vegetative state for ten or 15 years, she is in the middle of a big legal battle. Her husband wants to let her die (by pulling her feeding and water tube), her parents want to keep her alive. I'm of two minds on this one. On one hand I say let her go. Just let her die. On the other hand I'm afraid that if this is done a precedent will be set and I'd rather not think about what might happen after that. Hearing all this racket about Shiavo has shown me the importance of getting Power of Attorney and making sure you have a Living Will that lets doctors and all those around know excatly what you want to have done to you if you become incapacitated. My parents have both of these documents. I know excatly what they want done. My parents each of power of attorney over each other and I have power attorney if something should happen to them. They have written out, signed, documented, lawyer stamped living will. Basically, if they are incapacitated and if keeping them alive with machines is the only way they will live then the machines will be turned off. My parents have their funeral arrangements made, they will be cremated and buried in New York. This might seem ghastly to some and maybe a little morbid, but in fact it makes me feel better about the whole thing. I know what they want and it will be taken care of. I'm an only child, I don't have any brothers or sisters so I will have to take care of all this stuff on my own. I do have other family (aunts and uncles and cousins) but they'll only be able to so much. I don't believe in euthanasia, I don't believe in (and obsolutely can't stomach) suicide. I believe that when the Lord wants me he'll come get me. In His own good time.