A Beginning Verse [100WW]

We do too scarce, or so I'm told.
We should reach up and be more bold.
The soul knows more than it can tell
but laziness is easy sell.

 
And there is more than simple verse
that helps us learn the rhythm serve
But this feels right and so I stay
as if this path's the only way.

One hundred words to say a thing
that helps a soul or could we sing;
the words will rhyme – that's not enough
it needs so much of other stuff.

But if it needs a hundred words
it stops right now enough.

Back to Normal (sort of): [10'TU]

Well, this is the first ten minute Tuesday since my injury and I suppose I will treat it as a bit of reminiscence on the injury and the writing.

I ruptured the distal biceps tendon in my right arm on September 13th while trying to lift a washing machine out of a trailer into a dumpster. It is the kind of chore I have done many times, but this was a little heavier and my arm was slightly twisted as I lifted. I heard 3 pops and it was done. Some others came and helped finish the job. The pain was manageable, and I drove to an MD friend for advice. He said definitely worth an ER visit as it was nearing 7 PM and clinics would be closed.

On the 23rd, thanks to expedited process by local surgeon Mark Wade and one of his colleague helping behind the scenes, Dr. Jim Matai, I underwent surgery. He made a 3 inch incision longwise in the inside of my elbow through which he reached to pull the tendon down from where it attached to the bicep. The other incision, also about 3 inches, is on the right side of the forearm where the tendon, after passing along the elbow bones, attaches to the forearm bone so I have twisting strength in the arm. Here he found about 15% of the tendon still attached so he had to disconnect that, properly re-orient the tendon, and re-attach to the bone. 

I came-to around 4 PM or so and was home by about 5. The pain was manageable, not least because I had a complete block in the arm that didn't subside for 48 hours. After that I took the 800 mg Ibuprofen and the other pain med off and on for a week and then quit. Very grateful.

A thousand lessons in all of this, not least gratitude for the aptitude, skill, training, and love of the doctors, nurses, and various other attendants. They give such a vital service to the world and to each of us. It is no small thing, though we easily take it for granted.

Glad to be back in the loop, able to type almost normally. 

Thoughts on a Sunday Morning

I remember an anecdote from the inimitable Chesterton in which a given thought was compared to a cow suddenly speaking in a drawing room. Thus, I suppose, our best thoughts may only ever be best to us, if that, and one may dare believe they may surpass untranslated Bovine utterances.

Be that as it may, I wondered about this: Ontology and meaning go together so much so they are nearly indistinguishable. This is the relation between created and Creator, yet deeper. It is as if the Creator and created are one.

This being true, whenever our ontology is skewed, we are in trouble. Thus when families divide, thus when God is imagined expunged, thus when we consider ourselves self-caused. To have a false ontology is to implode.

Yet, there is mercy. The pain of false ontologies calls us Home and we begin to believe it is God alone we need. To deny Him is to deny our very being, and meaning in the process. It has been suggested that such a construct is not a life-enhancing strategy. I concur. But then again, if life has no meaning why would it matter?

Ontology and meaning cannot be separated. Pray for the wisdom to know to whom you pray. Dare to believe the infinite, personal God exists, and He may be known by the likes of you and me. That faith -- that reality -- is the only thing that will save us. And it lives within the wedding of ontology and meaning that simply is.

*The way of understanding God in the last paragraph is borrowed from Francis Schaeffer.

To be honest

To be honest when we really don't know, and say so; 

to acknowledge facts that seem to go against our treasured thoughts; 

to listen long and quietly with open heart to learn; 

to love the unknown ones whose thoughts we can't abide.

All too rare is such a thing for we are right, you see. And we may be, or me at least. And yet to stop and hear; to pray and dare believe the One who knows us best holds us to account and says, "The greatest of these is love."

"How do I work that out?" we ask, beloved, errant friends in mind. "Figure it out," comes the reply. "I will help you. But you'll have to listen."