Kevin's Watch

"Fact is often stranger than fiction."

If I start telling where I've been and what I've seen... and if I keep at it for 20, 30, 100 posts, some of you are going to find it hard to believe that so many wonderful and God-evidencing things can happen to one person.

But if you look at your own life - any of you - I bet you'll be like, "Huh; it is hard to believe that all that stuff happened to one person, too."

Thanks to Cambo for initiating the format of telling what one believes and the events that led there; though he might be alarmed at "what I do with it."


Story #1: Flipping the Bird
I grew up in the south.
My family was "quietly atheist/agnostic."
We didn't attend church.
When I was in First Grade, well... you know how when the teacher walks out of the room, classroom order goes to pot?
Yeah, well the teacher was gone and two girls who were enemies of each other were arguing loudly over - to use their words - "whether you can stick your middle finger up."

Now, I'd heard plenty of swear words by that time, but somehow, somehow... I was not initiated into knowledge of "flipping the bird."
So naturally, I assumed that they were arguing over whether it was physically possible to put up your middle finger without the other fingers. (really, Linna? really? yes, really.)
You see where this is going?

Me: "I can!" *holds up middle finger*
Every eye in the room turned on me, and I heard someone gasp out, "She hates God!"
I think the teacher got back just then, and there was no way for me to explain or defend myself.

Back then, one of my top three most dreaded emotions was embarrassment. (still haven't 'outgrown' that much, ha!)
When I got home, of course, I was still thinking of nothing else.
But it wasn't just between me and them, because - perhaps - there was some possibility that God had "been brought into it."
I recognized that maybe He hadn't, but on the other hand, maybe they knew something I didn't.
I still remember where I was sitting when I prayed that day. (on the can!)
"God, I don't hate You - I just don't believe in You."
Totally suited to my keen logical mind, right?


Laugh, people, laugh.


[Edit: a rather smallish change to 2 sentences in the story.]

How did those kids make the leap of logic from "Linna sticks up her middle finger in all innocence" to "Linna hates God"?

OTOH, I like the way you threw those arguing girls a "screw you!" without even realizing you'd done it. Well done!

aliantha wrote:How did those kids make the leap of logic from "Linna sticks up her middle finger in all innocence" to "Linna hates God"?

Remember, there was only ONE kid who said that.
I've thought about it, of course, and have my "favorite hypothesis."

aliantha wrote:OTOH, I like the way you threw those arguing girls a "screw you!" without even realizing you'd done it. Well done!

Hahah!!

I think I know what story I want to tell next...
...but I'm gonna pace myself.

Story #2: Sing, Little Lark!

Homeschool camp...
We'd been at the campground for an hour or two, but now others had arrived; this was my first foray among my peers.
I stood in line to get on the tire swing under the huge old tree.
The girl in front of me turned around, long braid swishing as she did.
She beamed a smile through a mouthful of braces and held out a slender hand, "Hi, I'm Lark! What's your name?"

Did two or three others follow suit, introducing themselves saying, "And I'm ______"? I don't remember.
But I'm pretty sure that before we exchanged three sentences, a friend or sibling of hers poked fun at her for being short.
And she beamed and dissolved into giggles.
I hadn't realized that almost everyone else there had known each-other for years.
Before I'd even noticed I could be left out, I was welcomed.

It was Lark, too, who invited me to come join a few other girls who were going to be doing "quiet times" (Bible reading, mostly) early in the morning before the bell rang.
She was a little bit older than us, and I don't think I was the only one who wanted to be mature like her.
The early morning was splendid: the dawn shone on the dewy grass.
Was there a stream at the spot those girls chose? I think so.
Was there a fence that someone climbed up and sat on? Feel sure of that.
What was I using for my Bible... did I have one by then?
Were there 2 people, or 3 or 5? No idea.
Did I only go one morning? I barely remember.

And there was the puppet show 2 or 3 years/camps later.
I was thrilled to "step up" and be one of the older teens doing this "for the kids."
I'm pretty sure Lark's was the voice on the tape singing "I shall make thee fishers of men, fishers of men, fishers of men... I shall make thee fishers of men, if you... fol-low Me."

And I remember a conversation... where was it, around the campfire? Probably.
Was this conversation among a group of people that was a mixture of kids and adults? I don't remember.
But I remember that someone had made a reference to the words in Revelation:
"Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!"
"Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen."
The conversation really stuck in my memory, though, not because of the Bible reference I'd never heard before in my life, but because of what came next.
I remember words like these tumbling out of Lark's mouth: "This is the song we'll sing forever? Oh - well, I'd better learn it, then!!"
So, of course, someone laughed at her!
And we all joined in the ringing laughter.



Wow, I barely remembered how wonderful that was... I suspect that meeting "Lark" changed me far more than I realized!
So glad I wrote this out; it helped me to remember.
(At least little, I think!?)


Edits 1 to 3: Bits and pieces, additions, formatting, minutae, consistency.

Story #3: "Above the Sun, Above the Sun"

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer in October of 2014, I remember one of the first things I thought.
It was, "All-right! Pretty sure I'm finally going to listen to those Ecclesiastes sermons!"
(What people usually think when they get a heavy diagnosis like that, right?)

But you know, I'm a bit of an Ecclesiastes nut.
It has all kinds of things I love - pathos, philosophizing, snappy aphorisms, ("Better to be a live dog than a dead lion!") and a certain admission of struggle.
Also, it kind of violates people's expectations about the Bible, which ...I take a little too much glee in some days.

But the reason I wanted to listen to this set of sermons wasn't just because Ecclesiastes confronts death and meaninglessness.
The sermons were called "God's Answer to Atheism," and well... I figured "I still have some vestigal atheism* inside me."

So as I drove to my work, such as I had, I would listen to these sermons in the car.
They were carefully designed to push against the edge of what we are willing to deal with concerning our own mortality.
And they were beautiful.

I think the second or third sermon reached its crescendo in a Bible verse which has always mesmerized me - the 1 Corinthians 15 discussion of life and death and being utterly transformed... like waking up to a living dream.
And on the audio file, the preacher, speaking directly to the congregation... went from a gentle, "I tell you this, brothers..." and led to the resounding conclusion of what death is for Christians: "Death is swallowed up in victory."

But Ecclesiastes isn't all happy heavenly hopes. There's this refrain woven throughout the text: "Vanity of vanities! All is vanity... nothing to be gained under the sun."
Done in vain. Empty. Windy. Hebel.
All of life.

But this pastor teaching his way through Ecclesiastes wove an impossible counterpoint: "Live above the sun. Above the sun. Do all that you do in light of God. Above the sun." Or perhaps it wasn't something he wove: an anti-refrain woven invisibly through the fabric of the text, and gently exposed, like an archaeologist exposes a bone or piece of frieze.

And I listened to all the sermons.
And I went through all my cancer treatments.
And the next autumn, I was really thrilled to be alive.
And I noticed something as I'd drive from place to place, sunlight pouring through the windshield.
It was as if I was driving above the sun.
Above the sun.
Buoyed up by hope.


* Don't you love that phrase - "vestigal atheism"? I just, like... needed words for that concept, and that phrase came when called!

Edit: Updated link on 9/9/2021. Old audio files for sermons are gone, but they're still on YouTube.

Keep going (if there's more?)! This resonates so strongly with me haha.

Story #4: It Doesn't Run on this System.

Fist and Faith wrote:...or to not be able to change your mindset and think it works. For all the similarities people have, not everyone is the same in every way. The person with arachnophobia might gladly not feel that way. ...It's the way someone's mind works.

This is uncannily like a conversation I had a few years ago.
It happened when a gentleman I'd never met before was driving me and my two then-small boys home because I couldn't start my car.

He'd offered me a ride after overhearing my dilemma.
See, I'd just tried to call my husband (publicly, from a phone in the grocery store) but I was unable to wake him up.
Standing there, with at least 3 employees and 2 customers in close earshot, I felt like everyone was listening to me and thinking, "Suuuuuure; her husband is probably hungover!"
(Or that I was faking having a husband to call, or lying about not having a cell phone, or engaging in some other sort of deception to try to get help & sympathy.)

And when I was getting the kids into the fellow's car, I had a more-intense-than-usual awareness that I didn't know this human being who'd offered to help me at all, and was taking a risk.
But I did all my actions with increased vigilance, spatial awareness of not getting impossibly separated from the car with kids, and took that risk...

On the drive to my house, I took a different risk and asked him about spiritual beliefs because here's this stranger who - if things are as they appear - is doing me this kindness and I'll probably never see him again.
Anyway, in answer, he referenced AA*, saying he believed in a higher power.
(And yes, he totally said he'd been clean for such-and-such a number of years, and it was a goodly number, and I congratulated him on that.)

I cheerfully said I was Christian and added something more descriptive.
His response was, "Oh, my daughter's about your age... you'd like her. She loves that stuff... Bible study.. that kind of thing."
The way he spoke gave me an impression of a woman who was zealous, enthusiastic, and whose faith had a newness and freshness.

I asked, "But what about you?"
He authoritatively said, "No; it doesn't run on this system."
Me: "What?" (though I thought I understood what he meant.)
And he gave an explanation of like trying to run something for Windows on Mac or vice-versa: It's not built for that operating system, and so you can't.

I loved his choice of analogy, but I sat there thinking, "I know how people solve this problem for actual computers. They port** a program from one operating system to another."

So I wanted to say, "You make a port!"
But it didn't come from the Bible or anything.
And I wasn't sure it was helpful.

To this day, though, I wonder what would have happened if I had said that out loud: What would he have thought?
What he would have said? (even if just one sentence.)




* Thanks, vraith! Maybe you unconsciously helped me dredge this up from my store of memories. lol.

** I think it's sort of like this:
They take the original code, and alter it in necessary ways... a little for some programs, a lot for other programs that were more customized to use the bells and whistles of the operating system they were first built in... and they re-compile it.
And maybe some parts of the program run slower, because you are taking out things that optimized it.
And maybe there are a few unexpected bugs, because you don't think of everything.