There is much debate over which translation or version of Scripture to use.
What I am going to give here is my own experience with a variety of translations.
First of all, few of us reads the actual translation according to Kings James' 1611 English translation. The wording is definitely archaic and hard to understand. The version that we read today is actually the 1769 Baskerville Birmingham version. When the Bibles have been printed, there have been changes made such as spellings of words are updated, some misspelled words in earlier editions have been corrected and so forth.
Up until about 130 years ago, the 14 Apocryphal books were included in every Bible translation. In the 1880's the English Revised Version (ERV) was printed without them. That was when the books of the Bible went from 80 Books to 66. They were not a "Catholic" set of Books, but books that were included in all translations until the ERV.
The segmentation of Scripture into verses is a fairly modern one if we take into account the whole of history since the first written Scripture in 1400BC when Moses was given the Ten Commandments in stone. It was 1560 that the Bible was first printed with numbered verses added to each chapter and was still printed with 80 Books.
One website that gives a lot of historical information regarding Bible translations is GREATSITE.COM. It is the first site that I have found that offers the information in an understandable manner. If you do a search for "Bible History" you will find many others.
As far as which translation is the best and which one contains more truth than the other, you will have to judge for yourself. My first experience was with the King James when going to a Baptist Church in Washington, DC. That was when I knew I was going to Hell for my sin. I was six (1951). About 6 years later when my mother started going back to the Catholic Church, I was exposed to Catholicism and everything was in Latin. My exposure to their Bible was minuscule.
At the ripe old age of 13 I went to a Church of God camp meeting in Manassass, Virginia with my Aunt where I became a "Church of Godder" (my words in a letter written to my mother). They used the KJV exclusively. I still have that Bible my Aunt gave me and I saw where key verses had been marked but I never really grasped the concept of Salvation.
When at the age of 14 went to Catholic School while living with my father, I still remember very little about Bible Study, it was more about learning the Catholic Catechism. While in High School I attended the Catholic Church, mostly to get next to the cadets that attended the local Military Academy. Some really cute ones went to the Catholic Church.
I was never a Catholic. I liked their rituals, their legalism and the mystery. That changed in the mid 1960's when the Church changed and became more modern and started having mass in English and those changes turned me away from the Catholic Church. It changed at a time when I needed sameness.
After graduation from High School, I traveled and bummed around a lot. I looked into a variety of religions. I actually purchased and read the Satanic Bible. I was involved with all kinds of New Age crap. I was involved with witchcraft, seances, Buddhism, Scientology and I even have a book of Mormon. I wound up in Washington, DC where there is a great concentration of ideas.
After I left Washington, DC, I married and had a child. Having a child gives you a desire to make yourself better so you can do better by your child than your parents did by you. Since my mother sent me to church, I figured going to Church with my child would be better. We joined his family's Presbyterian Church.
They asked me all the right questions to which I responded in the affirmative. I knew the right answers but I also knew I was lying. While going to Church, I began a Bible Study with the Jehovah's Witnesses. We actually studied the Bible. It was with a twist. Their belief in Jesus as the Messiah, the Son of God Incarnate is missing. I studied with them for 2 years. I never joined their Church because they could never convince me there was no Hell. Their structure was actually closer to Biblical than any Church that I had gone to.
There were years when I went to no Church at all and after many years of wandering the wilderness in circles, "I" decided it was time to look for THE "Truth." I started reading the only Bible I had available which was "The New World Translation of The Holy Scriptures." This is the Bible that the JW's use. What I found is that there are some striking, might I say, obvious, errors in their translation.
John 1:1 in the KJV states, "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God."
John 1:1 in the NWTHS it states, "In the beginning the Word was, and the Word was with God and the Word was a god."
If you were reading a familiar passage quickly, you would hardly notice the difference. I took note of it and read on anyway. By the time I got partially through the third chapter of John, I came to know Jesus Christ as my Savior. I knew he was the Son of God. I knew He died on the Cross for my sins.
There was nothing that was going to stop me from finding THE TRUTH and reading an erroneous Bible in that search was not to be an impediment.
The fact that there are errors in whatever translation you may be reading is not as dreadful as one may think, as long as the seeker is genuinely searching for THE TRUTH. I was once told that a searching sinner and a seeking Savior will eventually find one another.
Genesis 4:1 in the KJV states, "And Adam knew Eve..."
Genesis 4:1 in the NWTHS states,"Now Adam had intercourse with Eve..."
The difference in the above two translations is purely semantics. There are those who think that the KJV version is the correct one while the other is crass and irreverent. They are both correct. One is aesthetically pleasing while the other is almost salacious in its depiction. Some have described the one as being just "awful".
Acts 12:4 in the KJV states, "And when he had apprehended him, he put [him] in prison, and delivered [him] to four quaternions of soldiers to keep him; intending after Easter to bring him forth to the people."
The mention of Easter is an error in the KJV that I find fascinating. Easter is not a holiday that had its start in Christianity. Easter is a bastardization of a pagan holiday which actually had its beginning as a fertility festival. Then there is the Easter bunny. When did rabbits start laying eggs? Why are we promoting heathen fertility symbols on a day that is supposed to be a celebration of THE LORD rising from the dead? Have Christians totally lost their minds? Easter is a word that originates from the Teutonic dawn goddess of fertility which was known by a variety of names such as Ostare, Ostara, Ostern, Eostra, Eostre, Eostur, Eastra, Eastur, Austron and Ausos. Her name was derived from the ancient word for spring: "eastre." Call it Resurrection Day instead. It has also been associated with Ishtar who was a Sumero-Babylonian goddess of love and fertilty. We take their symbols and twist them to meet our needs so we can keep on having a holiday, another time for parties.
It would be better if we dispensed with the Pagan holidays and only celebrated those Holy Days that coincide with the Jewish Holy Days. Jesus was, after all, Jewish and continued to follow the Jewish traditions throughout His life on earth. The Jews were never told to dispense with the observance of the feasts and other observances. The Gentiles who were converted were told that they did not have to be circumcised in observance of Jewish tradition. The Lord's Day is Sunday instead of observing the Sabbath as the Jews did.
And that is what I think of different translations. If you seek HIM with all your heart, you will find HIM. Even if you do not have the written Word, creation and the Word is in all that is around us. We have only but to look for it. Once we have HIM then we need to prayerfully find in HIS Word what he has for us. While there are obvious human attempts to distort the Word of The Lord, HE will convict us of our sins IF we are indeed a child of GOD. Christianity should never be tolerant of error and sin against GOD but should do as was done for them - forgive and show the right way. Sin is sin. There are only degrees of sin in the eyes of man. God only turns His head away from sin and one sin is as bad as another.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
WOW!
United States of America, South Africa, Singapore, India, Croatia, Bermuda, Russia, Hong Kong, Canada, Pakistan, United Kingdom, Philippines, Denmark, Germany, Netherlands and Slovenia - what do they all have in common?
Well, one thing is that someone in each one of those countries has accessed my blog. To me, a person who grew up with not even a pen pal in another state, writing to people in other countries is amazing. Of course, it may only be read by a "bot" of some sort but I can pretend that a real human being has actually read my ramblings.
One thing that I have tried to do is keep my blog free from things that might offend someone and that is difficult for I know that there are many in the United States alone who are offended by the fact that I put Christian references in my blog. That, however, is non-negotiable. That is who I am.
I try not to offend by excluding foul language but sometimes with stories of my upbringing I include some of the milder forms. Even with the sexual themes that weave through my past, I do try to put it as delicately as possible and with little embellishment.
We are all people and things that offend one will not offend another. My hope and my prayer is that when you read what I have to say that you take something positive away from it.
I have other stories to share of my journey through life and if I can find a way to clean them up I will share them as well.
Have a wonderful day and since I have been collecting unemployment since June of this year, this is one way that I have to earn some extra cash. Please visit the ads on my blog. If you do and you find something offensive to you, please let me know and I will try to discontinue that ad. I cannot visit them so I will not know unless you readers let me know.
Thank you for reading my ramblings. I am humbled by your interest.
Well, one thing is that someone in each one of those countries has accessed my blog. To me, a person who grew up with not even a pen pal in another state, writing to people in other countries is amazing. Of course, it may only be read by a "bot" of some sort but I can pretend that a real human being has actually read my ramblings.
One thing that I have tried to do is keep my blog free from things that might offend someone and that is difficult for I know that there are many in the United States alone who are offended by the fact that I put Christian references in my blog. That, however, is non-negotiable. That is who I am.
I try not to offend by excluding foul language but sometimes with stories of my upbringing I include some of the milder forms. Even with the sexual themes that weave through my past, I do try to put it as delicately as possible and with little embellishment.
We are all people and things that offend one will not offend another. My hope and my prayer is that when you read what I have to say that you take something positive away from it.
I have other stories to share of my journey through life and if I can find a way to clean them up I will share them as well.
Have a wonderful day and since I have been collecting unemployment since June of this year, this is one way that I have to earn some extra cash. Please visit the ads on my blog. If you do and you find something offensive to you, please let me know and I will try to discontinue that ad. I cannot visit them so I will not know unless you readers let me know.
Thank you for reading my ramblings. I am humbled by your interest.
Tiny Houses Revisit a Dream
I recently purchased the plans for one of the Tumbleweed Tiny Houses. It is a fascinating idea and one that will work quite well if only we can learn to downsize.
Over the years, the houses that are being built have become enormous while the number of people occupying the house has dwindled. A large house, at one time, was only for the wealthy. Now it seems everyone MUST have a huge home with ever increasing debt and unhappiness as the result.
Look at the news. The number of foreclosures skyrocketed as the number of people who truly could not afford a huge home bought them and the result was losing not only the huge home but their credit and sometimes their family. Was it worth it? I doubt it. That huge home may have provided one with an acre of space but the time together as a family probably suffered because the adults had to be working to pay the mortgage, the taxes, the insurance and all the upkeep. And my goodness, one can't park a 1977 broke down vehicle out front so here comes even more expense for a new vehicle or at the very least a "pre-owned" one. It really is pathetic. We can't even call anything used anymore. It is pre-owned or gently worn or some such nonsense so we feel good about buying someone else's old stuff.
My mother shopped at the Salvation Army Thrift Store. We had a lot of other people's used stuff. And, yes I was embarrassed walking in there, but if anyone knew where my clothes came from, no one said anything. And not all of my clothing came from there, just the stuff I wore to play in. School clothes were bought on sale or I made my own clothes.
Anyway, back to Tiny Houses. My eighth grade field trip in school we went to New York City. It was my first trip. We went by train from Washington, DC to New York City. We then took tours of the United Nations Building and other sites. There was one time on the bus that stood out in my mind. Our bus driver took us through the Bowery. There really were drunks laying in the streets and spitting on windshields trying to get money for booze by "cleaning" the windshield.
I was stunned by the sheer number of them. They all seemed to be dressed in the same tattered suit. It was like a uniform for drunks. I was appalled and wondered why they were allowed to live on the street like that. I did not realize at the time how deep their problems were.
For several years after that trip I wanted to build something that would house all of these people who lived on the street or at least give them a place to stay in their own room at night. I knew nothing of the logistics connected with doing something like that. I just figured all those big vacant buildings we passed by could be used for that.
I never considered property ownership, the cost of rehabbing the buildings, building permits or politics. I wrongly assumed that everyone would want the same thing - a roof over everyone's head. I was not thinking about the millions of dollars and years it would take to accomplish something of that nature.
Looking at these Tiny Homes, my old dream was revived a bit. Living in a rural area in a state where trailers are not frowned upon, the thought again occurred to me that a person should not have to live or even want to live in a 2500 square foot home. What is wrong with wanting to live less cluttered and in a much smaller house? If someone can live homeless in a cardboard refrigerator box, why not put something on wheels with insulation and their own potty and some dignity with a whopping 77 square feet?
It is still a simplistic view of things. Not everyone is homeless for the same reason and some if told they could give up the cardboard home for a structure would still chose the cardboard one. Some would move in and bring in several friends. That would not bother me but would probably bother some housing authorities.
I can still see the little shanty towns that crop up in larger areas and underpasses replaced with Tiny Homes on wheels and when people get tired of seeing the poor, they can wheel their little homes away to another neighborhood that might be more forgiving. We have campgrounds that go unused throughout much of the year, why not have a tax break for those that allow Tiny Homes to park during the closed or slow seasons?
Jesus said that we will have the poor with us always.
Over the years, the houses that are being built have become enormous while the number of people occupying the house has dwindled. A large house, at one time, was only for the wealthy. Now it seems everyone MUST have a huge home with ever increasing debt and unhappiness as the result.
Look at the news. The number of foreclosures skyrocketed as the number of people who truly could not afford a huge home bought them and the result was losing not only the huge home but their credit and sometimes their family. Was it worth it? I doubt it. That huge home may have provided one with an acre of space but the time together as a family probably suffered because the adults had to be working to pay the mortgage, the taxes, the insurance and all the upkeep. And my goodness, one can't park a 1977 broke down vehicle out front so here comes even more expense for a new vehicle or at the very least a "pre-owned" one. It really is pathetic. We can't even call anything used anymore. It is pre-owned or gently worn or some such nonsense so we feel good about buying someone else's old stuff.
My mother shopped at the Salvation Army Thrift Store. We had a lot of other people's used stuff. And, yes I was embarrassed walking in there, but if anyone knew where my clothes came from, no one said anything. And not all of my clothing came from there, just the stuff I wore to play in. School clothes were bought on sale or I made my own clothes.
Anyway, back to Tiny Houses. My eighth grade field trip in school we went to New York City. It was my first trip. We went by train from Washington, DC to New York City. We then took tours of the United Nations Building and other sites. There was one time on the bus that stood out in my mind. Our bus driver took us through the Bowery. There really were drunks laying in the streets and spitting on windshields trying to get money for booze by "cleaning" the windshield.
I was stunned by the sheer number of them. They all seemed to be dressed in the same tattered suit. It was like a uniform for drunks. I was appalled and wondered why they were allowed to live on the street like that. I did not realize at the time how deep their problems were.
For several years after that trip I wanted to build something that would house all of these people who lived on the street or at least give them a place to stay in their own room at night. I knew nothing of the logistics connected with doing something like that. I just figured all those big vacant buildings we passed by could be used for that.
I never considered property ownership, the cost of rehabbing the buildings, building permits or politics. I wrongly assumed that everyone would want the same thing - a roof over everyone's head. I was not thinking about the millions of dollars and years it would take to accomplish something of that nature.
Looking at these Tiny Homes, my old dream was revived a bit. Living in a rural area in a state where trailers are not frowned upon, the thought again occurred to me that a person should not have to live or even want to live in a 2500 square foot home. What is wrong with wanting to live less cluttered and in a much smaller house? If someone can live homeless in a cardboard refrigerator box, why not put something on wheels with insulation and their own potty and some dignity with a whopping 77 square feet?
It is still a simplistic view of things. Not everyone is homeless for the same reason and some if told they could give up the cardboard home for a structure would still chose the cardboard one. Some would move in and bring in several friends. That would not bother me but would probably bother some housing authorities.
I can still see the little shanty towns that crop up in larger areas and underpasses replaced with Tiny Homes on wheels and when people get tired of seeing the poor, they can wheel their little homes away to another neighborhood that might be more forgiving. We have campgrounds that go unused throughout much of the year, why not have a tax break for those that allow Tiny Homes to park during the closed or slow seasons?
Jesus said that we will have the poor with us always.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Mom - I Remember What you Told Me.
Growing up with my family was an adventure to say the least. While the Saturday night fights were being shown on TV, my own family had their own version of it. It was live and my brother and I had front row seats.
It was many years before I came to understand what made my mother the way she was. It did not make what she did right, but I was able to understand. Understanding why became extremely important when I had my own child.
On July 1, 1930 a female child was born to Nancy and George. She was the youngest of then 6 living children. There was Pershing, James, Nancy, Marjorie, Juanita, Mom and George Jr. was born about a year or so after Mom.
I am not sure of the birth order. I was never paying close enough attention when Mom droned on about her ancestors and her immediate family. It was important to her, but all I wanted to know was how to leave that town I so came to detest. There are some things that I remembered about the life she lead as a child because she repeated them often.
Mom was less than six when she learned to cook. She had a stool she stood on while she fried an egg for herself and her little brother. If she did not cook for them, they got no breakfast.
It was a wood-burning cook stove and it was almost 2 feet from the wall of the kitchen. She got up in the morning and made sure there was a fire in the stove. She got out an iron skillet and some lard. She then cracked an egg into the skillet and fried it. One of them ate the yoke and the other ate the white part. They each got the part they liked.
She wore hand-me-down clothes and shoes so there were seldom times that anything fit properly. She was six years old when she smoked her first cigarette. One of her older sisters told her she would pay her if she would wash out her baby's dirty diapers. She washed them out and when she was paid, it was in a couple of cigarettes. She didn't know what else to do with them so she smoked them. It did not take too long for her to be finding all kinds of nasty jobs to get her pay in cigarettes.
Mom was a sickly child and often had bronchitis and pneumonia even before she started smoking. It was apparent early in her life that her mother, Nancy, had problems. Nancy or Nannie as George called her had what was referred to as "sick headaches" and was often lying on the sofa with a rag tied around her head. It was at those times, Mom knew to stay as far away as she could. Nannie was brutal. When she was in one of her moods she would kick Mom and berate her until Mom found a chance to escape and hide behind the stove in the kitchen.
Mom was beaten often and her frail body was frequently bruised and hurting. After one of Nannie's more boisterous rampages, Mom came down with pneumonia, at least that was what they thought, and did not expect her to survive the night. She survived, but got no better. Nannie did not want to take her to the doctor because of the fresh bruises on her body. George picked up the small body and took her to the hospital.
Mom had rheumatic fever. They called in the Catholic Priest to give her Last Rites. When the Priest knelt by her bedside, she opened her eyes.
The priest asked if there was something he could do for her and she said, "I want a cigarette." She told me that if the Priest was there, that meant she was dying and it would not make any difference if Nannie knew she was smoking.
The frail little girl did not die. She lived to go back home with her mother who now knew she smoked. She still slept in the bed she shared with her little brother. Georgie wet the bed. Mom did not like sleeping in the bed with him so she took a canning jar and caught a black widow spider. She put it on the stand next to the bed and told him that if he didn't stay sleeping at the foot of the bed, she would let it loose on him. He did not know she was not about to let that thing loose on the bed or in the house. She did not like spiders but she liked a pissy bed even less.
Something that even Mom did not know until I was in high school was that she had polio when she was a child. She went to the doctor with me and they still had her old medical records. When she went back to the doctor, he asked her if she had any problems after having polio. She was shocked to learn that she had polio when she was a young girl. After finding out about the polio, she wondered if that was why her one leg was a couple of inches shorter than the other.
When she was in her mid-twenties Mom was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. One of the specialists she saw told her she needed to be in a wheelchair. According to Mom the conversation went something like this.
"You need to be in a wheelchair."
"Why?"
"Because of the pain you are in."
"Will being in the wheelchair make the pain go away?"
"No. You will always have the pain, but..."
"If I'm going to have pain if I'm in a wheelchair or not, why would I want to confine myself to a friggin wheelchair? Have you lost your mind?"
And that was how Mom handled everything. She was in pain, but she was up and going, not letting someone wheel her around simply because she was in pain. She had pain from the MS. She had asthma and allergies to dust, wool, fragrances, grasses and a bunch of other things. She had pain from Rheumatoid Arthritis.
She took up bowling because a doctor said it would be good for her back. She could not bowl with the big balls so she bowled duckpins. She had her own balls and a special skirt made just for bowling. She was good enough to get a trophy.
Ah, the trophy. After several years and married to her third husband, we were living back in the small town where she grew up. My little brother and I were arguing about something and he picked up the trophy and I grabbed it from him and it broke. I knew it was going to cause a scene and I meant to get it repaired before she found out, but she was quicker than I was sneaky. It is only recently that I realize what that trophy meant to her and why she cried when she saw it. It was a symbol of what she had accomplished against all the odds. It was a symbol of her determination and I broke it.
Over the years I have learned that Mom was less brutal than her mother and I was less brutal than she was. I learned that she changed and so could I. Over the years I learned to appreciate her, even admire her.
I miss my mother. I would like to be able to tell her how sorry I am for breaking her only trophy. I would like to thank her for doing the best job she could. There are so many things that I would like to tell her. I would like to tell her once again that I love her.
Mom called me at 6:00 am every morning for the longest time and there were times when I was so aggravated and wished she hadn't called, but I never said anything to deter her. Then one day, I noticed that she had not called for several days, so I called her.
She answered and said something unintelligible and I immediately got concerned. I called several times a day and throughout the evening until I spoke to her husband. He said she was losing her mind and he was going to have to put her in a nursing home.
I told him I would be there in 24 hours. By the time I got there she had been admitted to the hospital. Within 48 hours, they diagnosed her with stage 4 lung cancer. She was losing her mind because the oxygen was being cut off by the tumor.
I brought her home with me after she was discharged so I could care for her. That was October 31, 2000. Mid November she started chemo. By late December she was in her right mind. We had visitors in December and one of them asked her if she knew Jesus Christ as her Saviour. Her answer was simply, "No."
Her answer shocked me just a bit because in the past she always argued with anyone who brought up God, or Scriptures or anything connected to the Bible.
She shocked me again when the following Saturday she asked me if I was going to church on Sunday. I had not attended church since I brought her home, but my answer was, "Yes." She asked me if she could go and what should she wear.
I do not know the time that it happened for her because we never really got a chance to discuss it. She changed. Suddenly she was at peace. Her language was clean. She wanted to go to church every chance. She was a wonderful person to be around.
She told me one day that all those years she had read the Bible, this was the first time that she saw salvation in it. I was stunned. God, The Father, was awesome. He gave her that one more chance, that chance that I had prayed for eight years asking, pleading for Him to give her. She took it.
It was March of 2001 when her husband drove to our home and picked her up and took her back to their home. I visited her several times and I asked The Lord for one more favor and that was to be with her when she went home to be with him. He granted my request. I almost did not go to see her that weekend, but He compelled me to go.
It was June and the cancer had overcome her weakened state. The radiation treatments had not helped. She had been given steroids and her face was swollen. Her hair was gone and she was very weak. Her hospital bed was in the living room and I was sleeping in the recliner which was about a foot from her bed. I was flipping through the channels with the sound muted when I heard it. I heard that final breath, that sigh of relief. I looked at the time. It was 2:00 am. There was really no need to wake anyone. Good-byes should have already been said. So, I woke no one. I turned off the TV and leaned over my mother and whispered to her that I loved her. I had heard that as a person dies, their hearing is the last sense to leave. On that assumption I had to tell her that one last time that I loved her and I did.
I waited until morning when someone else came in and "discovered" her death. After the memorial service, I told her husband when she had actually died and that I had been awake. He said that I had done the right thing in waiting.
The funeral was filled with people who had known her "before" and there were many mentions of what a change had come over her. She was so pleasant to be around. There was no greater compliment that The Lord could have gotten than the acknowledgment that He had changed her life so dramatically.
She and her husband had been married more than 30 years and he said that if she had been that pleasant to be around the whole time they were married, that their marriage would have been so much better. I told him that He had The Lord to thank for that, but I don't know that those words truly registered with him.
I miss Mom, but my hope is that she is with The Lord and I will once again see her and we will praise Him together.
It was many years before I came to understand what made my mother the way she was. It did not make what she did right, but I was able to understand. Understanding why became extremely important when I had my own child.
On July 1, 1930 a female child was born to Nancy and George. She was the youngest of then 6 living children. There was Pershing, James, Nancy, Marjorie, Juanita, Mom and George Jr. was born about a year or so after Mom.
I am not sure of the birth order. I was never paying close enough attention when Mom droned on about her ancestors and her immediate family. It was important to her, but all I wanted to know was how to leave that town I so came to detest. There are some things that I remembered about the life she lead as a child because she repeated them often.
Mom was less than six when she learned to cook. She had a stool she stood on while she fried an egg for herself and her little brother. If she did not cook for them, they got no breakfast.
It was a wood-burning cook stove and it was almost 2 feet from the wall of the kitchen. She got up in the morning and made sure there was a fire in the stove. She got out an iron skillet and some lard. She then cracked an egg into the skillet and fried it. One of them ate the yoke and the other ate the white part. They each got the part they liked.
She wore hand-me-down clothes and shoes so there were seldom times that anything fit properly. She was six years old when she smoked her first cigarette. One of her older sisters told her she would pay her if she would wash out her baby's dirty diapers. She washed them out and when she was paid, it was in a couple of cigarettes. She didn't know what else to do with them so she smoked them. It did not take too long for her to be finding all kinds of nasty jobs to get her pay in cigarettes.
Mom was a sickly child and often had bronchitis and pneumonia even before she started smoking. It was apparent early in her life that her mother, Nancy, had problems. Nancy or Nannie as George called her had what was referred to as "sick headaches" and was often lying on the sofa with a rag tied around her head. It was at those times, Mom knew to stay as far away as she could. Nannie was brutal. When she was in one of her moods she would kick Mom and berate her until Mom found a chance to escape and hide behind the stove in the kitchen.
Mom was beaten often and her frail body was frequently bruised and hurting. After one of Nannie's more boisterous rampages, Mom came down with pneumonia, at least that was what they thought, and did not expect her to survive the night. She survived, but got no better. Nannie did not want to take her to the doctor because of the fresh bruises on her body. George picked up the small body and took her to the hospital.
Mom had rheumatic fever. They called in the Catholic Priest to give her Last Rites. When the Priest knelt by her bedside, she opened her eyes.
The priest asked if there was something he could do for her and she said, "I want a cigarette." She told me that if the Priest was there, that meant she was dying and it would not make any difference if Nannie knew she was smoking.
The frail little girl did not die. She lived to go back home with her mother who now knew she smoked. She still slept in the bed she shared with her little brother. Georgie wet the bed. Mom did not like sleeping in the bed with him so she took a canning jar and caught a black widow spider. She put it on the stand next to the bed and told him that if he didn't stay sleeping at the foot of the bed, she would let it loose on him. He did not know she was not about to let that thing loose on the bed or in the house. She did not like spiders but she liked a pissy bed even less.
Something that even Mom did not know until I was in high school was that she had polio when she was a child. She went to the doctor with me and they still had her old medical records. When she went back to the doctor, he asked her if she had any problems after having polio. She was shocked to learn that she had polio when she was a young girl. After finding out about the polio, she wondered if that was why her one leg was a couple of inches shorter than the other.
When she was in her mid-twenties Mom was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. One of the specialists she saw told her she needed to be in a wheelchair. According to Mom the conversation went something like this.
"You need to be in a wheelchair."
"Why?"
"Because of the pain you are in."
"Will being in the wheelchair make the pain go away?"
"No. You will always have the pain, but..."
"If I'm going to have pain if I'm in a wheelchair or not, why would I want to confine myself to a friggin wheelchair? Have you lost your mind?"
And that was how Mom handled everything. She was in pain, but she was up and going, not letting someone wheel her around simply because she was in pain. She had pain from the MS. She had asthma and allergies to dust, wool, fragrances, grasses and a bunch of other things. She had pain from Rheumatoid Arthritis.
She took up bowling because a doctor said it would be good for her back. She could not bowl with the big balls so she bowled duckpins. She had her own balls and a special skirt made just for bowling. She was good enough to get a trophy.
Ah, the trophy. After several years and married to her third husband, we were living back in the small town where she grew up. My little brother and I were arguing about something and he picked up the trophy and I grabbed it from him and it broke. I knew it was going to cause a scene and I meant to get it repaired before she found out, but she was quicker than I was sneaky. It is only recently that I realize what that trophy meant to her and why she cried when she saw it. It was a symbol of what she had accomplished against all the odds. It was a symbol of her determination and I broke it.
Over the years I have learned that Mom was less brutal than her mother and I was less brutal than she was. I learned that she changed and so could I. Over the years I learned to appreciate her, even admire her.
I miss my mother. I would like to be able to tell her how sorry I am for breaking her only trophy. I would like to thank her for doing the best job she could. There are so many things that I would like to tell her. I would like to tell her once again that I love her.
Mom called me at 6:00 am every morning for the longest time and there were times when I was so aggravated and wished she hadn't called, but I never said anything to deter her. Then one day, I noticed that she had not called for several days, so I called her.
She answered and said something unintelligible and I immediately got concerned. I called several times a day and throughout the evening until I spoke to her husband. He said she was losing her mind and he was going to have to put her in a nursing home.
I told him I would be there in 24 hours. By the time I got there she had been admitted to the hospital. Within 48 hours, they diagnosed her with stage 4 lung cancer. She was losing her mind because the oxygen was being cut off by the tumor.
I brought her home with me after she was discharged so I could care for her. That was October 31, 2000. Mid November she started chemo. By late December she was in her right mind. We had visitors in December and one of them asked her if she knew Jesus Christ as her Saviour. Her answer was simply, "No."
Her answer shocked me just a bit because in the past she always argued with anyone who brought up God, or Scriptures or anything connected to the Bible.
She shocked me again when the following Saturday she asked me if I was going to church on Sunday. I had not attended church since I brought her home, but my answer was, "Yes." She asked me if she could go and what should she wear.
I do not know the time that it happened for her because we never really got a chance to discuss it. She changed. Suddenly she was at peace. Her language was clean. She wanted to go to church every chance. She was a wonderful person to be around.
She told me one day that all those years she had read the Bible, this was the first time that she saw salvation in it. I was stunned. God, The Father, was awesome. He gave her that one more chance, that chance that I had prayed for eight years asking, pleading for Him to give her. She took it.
It was March of 2001 when her husband drove to our home and picked her up and took her back to their home. I visited her several times and I asked The Lord for one more favor and that was to be with her when she went home to be with him. He granted my request. I almost did not go to see her that weekend, but He compelled me to go.
It was June and the cancer had overcome her weakened state. The radiation treatments had not helped. She had been given steroids and her face was swollen. Her hair was gone and she was very weak. Her hospital bed was in the living room and I was sleeping in the recliner which was about a foot from her bed. I was flipping through the channels with the sound muted when I heard it. I heard that final breath, that sigh of relief. I looked at the time. It was 2:00 am. There was really no need to wake anyone. Good-byes should have already been said. So, I woke no one. I turned off the TV and leaned over my mother and whispered to her that I loved her. I had heard that as a person dies, their hearing is the last sense to leave. On that assumption I had to tell her that one last time that I loved her and I did.
I waited until morning when someone else came in and "discovered" her death. After the memorial service, I told her husband when she had actually died and that I had been awake. He said that I had done the right thing in waiting.
The funeral was filled with people who had known her "before" and there were many mentions of what a change had come over her. She was so pleasant to be around. There was no greater compliment that The Lord could have gotten than the acknowledgment that He had changed her life so dramatically.
She and her husband had been married more than 30 years and he said that if she had been that pleasant to be around the whole time they were married, that their marriage would have been so much better. I told him that He had The Lord to thank for that, but I don't know that those words truly registered with him.
I miss Mom, but my hope is that she is with The Lord and I will once again see her and we will praise Him together.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Devoted to Depression
I did not write anything yesterday because I was depressed. I went shopping instead. Probably not the best thing to do, because I get to see all the bright, shiny things I do not have. Mind you, I do not want 99% of them, but still it is a reminder, especially if it tells you, "Your life will be better if you buy this." I did not buy a bunch. I have a limit when I do that.
I guess the main reason I got depressed or regressed is that I still miss my job. They tried to convince me that I did not like my job and the people that I worked with when they fired me, but they were lying. They just wanted me gone because I was old and had principles. They wanted someone who thought like them and would have a disregard for the law and the employees.
I am still angry about what they did to me. I am angry because I had no control over it. I was thrown away like the trash and with less regard than what they do with their trash. I have not been the only one. They have done it to others who are older like me. They did it because they think they will be better off without us old geezers to get in the way of their progress.
They claim to be Christians, yet they work their people on Sunday. They claim to be Christians yet they force their office staff to go to Bible studies during work hours and berate them if they do not make it. They claim to be Christians yet they toss their wives aside for other people and for the job. They claim to be Christians, yet they gossip about their workers violating not only God's law but Federal law as well.
They claim to be Christians yet their actions speak far louder than their claims. They go to Israel with their select group of pastors and say how enlightening it is, but then have indiscretions when they return.
They claim to be Christians, yet they lead a double life and it gets increasingly difficult to know which one is their true self.
I claim to be a Christian as well. Sometimes if you catch me on a bad day or a bad moment, you would hardly believe it. I know what it is like to be misjudged. I think that is probably why I excused a lot of the activities when I worked there.
In spite of it all, I miss working with many of the people. I miss that structure. I do not miss many of the things they wanted me to do. It just was not worth it. I worked more than 60 hours a week most weeks for the 2 years before I was fired. They did not appreciate it when I was doing it and they certainly did not appreciate it when I stopped doing it 2 weeks before they fired me. The last 2 weeks I only worked about 45 - 50 hours a week.
So, I still get depressed when I think about my job. I spent 16 years 5 months and 4 days with people who cared as little for me as they do used toilet paper. Yesterday was the first time that I have been able to drive by their office without getting enraged, so I guess I am making progress.
I had to disrupt my counseling sessions due to some medical insurance problems, but I hope those problems will be straightened out soon because I really need those sessions. She is a good Christian counselor and helps me stay on track.
I would appreciate it if you would pray for me. He is the greatest Counselor. Pray for me to be closer to HIM for that is what is truly important.
I guess the main reason I got depressed or regressed is that I still miss my job. They tried to convince me that I did not like my job and the people that I worked with when they fired me, but they were lying. They just wanted me gone because I was old and had principles. They wanted someone who thought like them and would have a disregard for the law and the employees.
I am still angry about what they did to me. I am angry because I had no control over it. I was thrown away like the trash and with less regard than what they do with their trash. I have not been the only one. They have done it to others who are older like me. They did it because they think they will be better off without us old geezers to get in the way of their progress.
They claim to be Christians, yet they work their people on Sunday. They claim to be Christians yet they force their office staff to go to Bible studies during work hours and berate them if they do not make it. They claim to be Christians yet they toss their wives aside for other people and for the job. They claim to be Christians, yet they gossip about their workers violating not only God's law but Federal law as well.
They claim to be Christians yet their actions speak far louder than their claims. They go to Israel with their select group of pastors and say how enlightening it is, but then have indiscretions when they return.
They claim to be Christians, yet they lead a double life and it gets increasingly difficult to know which one is their true self.
I claim to be a Christian as well. Sometimes if you catch me on a bad day or a bad moment, you would hardly believe it. I know what it is like to be misjudged. I think that is probably why I excused a lot of the activities when I worked there.
In spite of it all, I miss working with many of the people. I miss that structure. I do not miss many of the things they wanted me to do. It just was not worth it. I worked more than 60 hours a week most weeks for the 2 years before I was fired. They did not appreciate it when I was doing it and they certainly did not appreciate it when I stopped doing it 2 weeks before they fired me. The last 2 weeks I only worked about 45 - 50 hours a week.
So, I still get depressed when I think about my job. I spent 16 years 5 months and 4 days with people who cared as little for me as they do used toilet paper. Yesterday was the first time that I have been able to drive by their office without getting enraged, so I guess I am making progress.
I had to disrupt my counseling sessions due to some medical insurance problems, but I hope those problems will be straightened out soon because I really need those sessions. She is a good Christian counselor and helps me stay on track.
I would appreciate it if you would pray for me. He is the greatest Counselor. Pray for me to be closer to HIM for that is what is truly important.
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