Transitory Psychosis

I had an interesting experience at Walmart a couple of weeks ago. My wife and I stopped by there in a hurry on the way to work, a little after 6 a.m. I had something in my right eye that I couldn’t get out. We went there to find some type of eyewash in hopes of getting some relief.

After finding what we needed, we rushed to the checkout line. There was only one woman in front of us, with what appeared to be a week’s worth of groceries. I noted the cashier was obviously Muslim, complete with traditional head covering. Her accent indicated she was not a native English speaker, probably an immigrant. She was also s-l-o-w.

My impatience was growing as I scanned for another open register. The only other one open had a line much longer. So we waited. Finally, the groceries were almost all scanned and bagged. Then the cashier pointed to the remaining items and said, “I can’t touch that.” On the counter were two pounds of bacon, a tube of sausage, and a frozen sausage pizza. It dawned on me what was going on: As a Muslim she could not handle the pork.

Everyone’s frustration level was rising. My wife suggested the cashier let her scan it. She declined and went to ask another employee for help. He was not sympathetic and suggested she let the customer scan the items. Sheepishly, the cashier returned and handed the scanner to the customer. She scanned the pork and my wife helped her bag it before leaving. We paid for our items and left.

Questions filled the air as we left: Why would the manager station a woman who can’t handle pork at the register? How can she work at a place that sells pork and be faithful to her beliefs? Why didn’t she just let the customer scan the items to begin with? Doesn’t she know this is America? Why is she here if she won’t conform to our social norms?

In the midst of our frustration it hit me. While I still can’t understand the manager’s decision to put her at the register, I think I know why she is here. She needs to hear the gospel of Jesus Christ. God brought her here to meet His followers who can introduce her to the Truth.

Sadly, all she saw in me was my frustration at being late for work. I hope her next encounter with a Christ-follower is more redemptive.

In the meantime, I’ve been reminded of a lesson I thought I had already learned: Wherever I am, whatever the circumstance, I am an ambassador of Jesus Christ. That matters far more than getting to work on time.

A newspaper editor told me once, “Words are little bombs.” He’s right. Words have the ability to set off huge explosions, devastating anyone nearby. They also have the ability to frame a discussion to the advantage of one side or the other.

Another term I see a lot these days is progressive. It’s often used in political discussions, almost always in reference to the liberal side. Lately, I’m seeing it in discussions regarding the work of the church. One side, usually the one advocating change, refers to itself as progressive. The other side is usually termed conservative, but I get the idea that some who consider themselves progressive would really like to call the others regressive.

Of course, by definition, progressive refers to that which is relating to or characterized by making progress. Certainly those who adopt that label want to think their agenda is all about moving forward. I’m finding, however, that some who call themselves progressives are not moving forward but away from. For instance, some who advocate the ordination of homosexuals are quick to call themselves progressive. In reality, they are moving away from the truth. Likewise, some American politicians who call themselves progressives are simply moving away from the bedrock values of the United States.

Personally, I’m in favor of true progress–a move forward–toward that which is truly for the betterment (both temporal and eternal) of all people. When I see such moves, I’ll be glad to stand with the progressives. But when the move is away from the truth, I’ll gladly stand with those who seek to preserve it.

In the meantime, let’s be cautious in the way we choose and use our terminologies. Especially in the church, we must be fair in not only what we say about our brethren but what our terms imply about them as well.

What would you do “if . . .”? Lately, I find myself using the “if” word more often than I would like to. Seems as though there is always something I would do if I just had more time, money, energy, strength, talent, education, etc. Can you relate?

I’ve got several writing projects on the back burner. I keep thinking that if I had more time I would . . .

I’ve got several purchases I need to make (and a few I just want). I keep thinking that if I had more money I would . . .

There are a number of things that need to be done around our house (aren’t there always?). If I just had more energy and strength I would . . .

Then there are the dreams I would like to fulfill. But to do them I need more talent and education . . .
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I’ll be glad when school’s out. I suppose the tape started playing in my head somewhere around junior high. I call it my “default thought.” Whenever my brain slipped out of gear (oh, about ten thousand times a day), the default kicked in: I’ll be glad when school’s out.

The thought gave me something to look forward to no matter the circumstance. Did poorly on a test? I’ll be glad when school’s out. Ignored by that girl again? I’ll be glad when school’s out. Tired, frustrated, or just bored? I’ll be glad when school’s out.

The default thought worked well through junior high, high school, and college, providing me with a hopeful distraction from real life. When my schooling ended, though, the default was rewritten. It became, I’ll be glad when I get a day off or get paid or go on vacation. One part never changed, though: I’ll be glad when . . .
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Since I last posted to this blog, life has been a wild ride. On October 31 I was basking in the afterglow of a great birthday celebration. My 50th was welcomed with lots of fun and fanfare. The only negative thing at the time was that my wife, Dianna, was not feeling well. It had begun a few days earlier with a respiratory bug of some kind and then morphed into what appeared to be a stomach virus.

On Friday, October 31, it appeared the worst was over. On Saturday, November 1, things took a major turn for the worst. Dianna’s incessant vomiting and agonizing pain resulted in an afternoon trip to the ER. Over the next few hours, tests revealed something much more serious than a stomach bug–an intestinal blockage, apparently resulting from an adhesion that had formed from a previous surgery.
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The applications and temporary cards started coming in the mail a few months ago. Apparently, turning 50 makes you a target for AARP. When the golden birthday finally rolled around yesterday, I had already shredded several cards and letters from the American Association of Retired Persons. Sorry, I may be 50 now, but I’m not ready for AARP.

I must say, though, my birthday was really fun. Arriving at work, everyone was wearing little stick-on badges that said something like, “Somebody’s Turning 50″ and had my name on them. I received one that said, “I’m 50 and Fabulous!” I was greeted with an office that was totally decked out for the occasion. As you can see in the picture.

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Maybe it’s not much in the way of consolation, but I often find myself saying, “It could be worse.” I don’t mean it in a defeatist way. For me, it’s just a reality I need to be reminded of when things aren’t going so well.

When I’m tempted to feel sorry for myself because I have multiple sclerosis (about every hour or so) I need to be reminded that it’s not cancer or ALS or some other worse disease. When we had a relatively minor auto accident (they call ‘em “car wrecks” in these parts), I needed to be reminded later that day that we were driving home from the hospital not staying for the night…or many nights. When I caught some sort of bug that kept me home for last weekend and one day’s work, I needed to remember that it was not some of the lung diseases I have watched others die with.
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Airline flights aren’t supposed to be fun . . . at least I don’t think they are. Tonight, October 11, I’m on a plane from Chicago back home to Nashville. This time, the plane is full and one of the passengers is ex-Tennessee Titan football player Eddie George. Although he is retired, Eddie is still drawing considerable attention from those who admired and followed his playing career in the NFL. Let me tell you, Eddie looks very muscular, as though he could walk on the football field right now and compete at the same high level.

He’s been gracious to those who’ve asked for autographs and those who want to shake his hand. I find it interesting that he is flying Southwest Airlines, the low-cost airline that has no first class section. It makes me wonder. Is he as broke as the rest of us who are looking for a way to save a buck? Or is he merely being smart with the millions he made in the NFL, not throwing it away needlessly. On the other hand, could he be flying on someome else’s dime and they would only spring for the cheap tix? Of course, none of it matters. Whatever the reason, he’s flying with the rest of us on Cattle Call Air.
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Monday morning. Sort through the weekend’s email. Looking for two particular ones. Instead, I find a few important ones and a bunch of spam. If I needed to make something larger, take something off, inherit a faux fortune, or buy prescription drugs at an amazing discount from someone I don’t know and will never see, this would be my day. If I’m waiting for the two emails I’m really anxious to find, I struck out again.
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I’ve been pretty silent on this blog of late. My silence is partly because of my extremely hectic schedule in recent days. But it has also been due to a nagging thought I wasn’t sure I really wanted to put into words. I’ve decided I need to do it, even though it’s not the usual lighthearted or fun post that is common on many blogs. I apologize in advance for the melancholy mood of this post.
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