April is Sarcoidosis Awareness Month. (My Story -- Part I)

 On Saturday morning, 6 April 1996, I awoke with a “hitch” in my right hip. I thought to myself that I must have bursitis, another malady of my mother, as I tend to have the same issues that she had, except they occur in my life about 15 to 20 years earlier than when they occurred in her life. It was a short time before my 42^nd birthday.

 

By the end of the next week, the right side of my body was totally useless, and I lugged it around with the rest of me like a sack of potatoes. My right arm and hand and foot did not work properly.  My doctor sent me home on that Friday and told me not to go back to work for at least a week. Despite my condition, I did go to worship. I was the only musician for small congregation just off Fondren, north of West Bellfort. To play piano was to subject myself to excruciating pain in my back and arms; I played anyway. 

 

One Sunday afternoon, I watched my feet swell, to the point that I felt they just might pop open. I was taken to a Bellaire hospital’s emergency room near my doctor’s office. The next day, I was transferred to Memorial Southwest.  Lying in the bed, I explored my body, wondering what the heck was going on. I felt a lump on my left knee. That had not been there before. There was nothing on my right knee.  This was troubling.  After some tests, I was sent home but still had no answers.

 

It was clear that I could not return to work. That was a huge disappointment, as I had been preparing for big trial, the only case I worked on for Williams - Bailey, back then a midsize law firm that specialized in mass tort litigation, mostly along the lines of work-related mesothelioma and other issues. My case, the only one to which I was assigned, was the wrongful death of a man who was working on a maintenance crew at a chemical plant and was exposed to anhydrous ammonia. He lingered – suffered -- for three weeks, and died.  My “file” was an eight-foot wall of my office, shelves floor to ceiling, catalogued and cross-referenced.  I did not have the luxury of a relational database, but I knew where to find anything on that wall.  But . . . I digress.  

 

One day, the defiant Andrea reared her head and declared she was going for a walk.  There was a park at the end of the block.  I lugged myself there, but could not make it all the way.  Sitting down on a curb my prayer was “Lord, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.  I can do without my left foot and perhaps an eye, but I need my hands to play.  If you just let me play, I think I can make it through just about anything.”  

 

Over the next few weeks, I had a full body scan, MRI, CT scan, more blood tests, x-rays and whatever else I’m not sure.  There was poking and prodding.   The full body scan produced an image of my skeleton, including two black splotches in the area of my lungs.  Following that, I went back to the hospital for a biopsy. I had thought that there was something about my office building that made me ill. It had been under renovation long before I arrive there in December 1995. I am told the renovation was it into its second year. Floating in the atrium of the building were whisps of white matter all the time.  Upon entering the building, I would hold my breath, race to the elevator and try to get on it before taking another breath. I was not always successful, probably 50-50. I would get terrible headaches at work and jokingly say that I was allergic to the building. That was probably true.

 

Anyway, before I went for the lung biopsy, I requested a sample for myself. I figured if they’re plucking things out of my body, I wanted to have some. Upon completion of the biopsy, I asked for my sample, and in return received a look that screamed “what the heck are you talking about?!”  I was disappointed, as I wanted to send the sample off to a lab and get results independent of any doctor.

 

On May 10, 1996, I was diagnosed with Sarcoidosis.  Not having a clue what that was, it became my job to learn about it.  That was a dismal experience.   The information was scarce.  It was deemed to be an “orphan” disease, more prevalent among Blacks than Whites in North America, more prevalent among Whites in Northern Europe.  It is multi-systemic and multi-symptomatic, can look like other conditions.   Among other things, I was tested for lupus, lyme disease and HIV.  The most commonly affected organs are the lungs, but it can show up in any organ.  Any.  Organ.   My eyes and lungs are affected, but the worst of my symptoms are manifested in my bones, joints and muscles.  And I don’t fare well in extreme temperatures (anything below 65 or above 75 degreesS).  

 

Even through the worst of my illness, I only missed one Sunday of worship, and that was a planned weekend away.  I’ve always been grateful for that, as the one thing I’ve always wanted to do is play piano.  And while I still have Sarcoid-related episodes, I am blessed to have found a way to have a reasonably normal lifestyle.  

 

There is so much more to say, and with there being 24 more days of Sarcoidosis Awareness Month, I’ll continue this later.

 

  

 

 

 

 

72 days out, because I, Andrea Hoxie, a life-long Independent, am compelled to respond to this kind of nonsensical attack on Democrats

    1.     It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that a pre-born human baby is not a human being deserving of protection from killing, and neither is a baby that was born 10 minutes ago if the mother decides she doesn’t want to keep it.

Hoxie says that Democrats don't want to kill babies.  They value life and understand that birth is just the beginning, that children need adequate food and shelter, that children should be nurtured and loved, not warehoused, caged or sold for the pleasure of deviant, pedophiliac micreants or slave labor.

    2. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that  capitalism, which has lifted hundreds of millions of people out of poverty and despair worldwide, is evil; but socialism, which has caused the oppression, impoverishment, starvation, and death of hundreds of millions of people over the past century, is the only hope of the future.

Hoxie says that the last three Democratic presidents had to clean up the messes of their Republican predecessors.  Capitalism has not  lifted hundreds of millions of people out of poverty and despair; in recent years it has created more wealth for people who are in need of no more.  It is not evil, but the people who abuse it are.  Capitalism has exported American jobs to foreign countries, putting more people out of work, with the domino effect of foreclosures, evictions, homelessness, and declining health.  

   3.     It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that  the best solution for rioting, looting, arson, and violence in the streets is to defund the police.

Hoxie says that a worthwhile solution for rioting, looting, arson, and violence in the streets is 1) for police to cease their abuses of authority and stop killing people in the streets; 2) keep your white skinfolk from contributing to chaos by deliberately destroying property and starting fires; 3)  divert some funds from police (who should not be outfitted, equipped and armed as soldiers in combat in the first place) and use those funds to deal with issues police should not have to deal with, like social services and mental health.

    4. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that all the gains in the economy under Trump were really caused by Obama, but the worldwide economic crash following China’s unleashing of a pandemic was caused by Trump.

Hoxie says that all the gains in the economy under the Obama administration have been lost under the current administration, not because China unleashed a pandemic, but because the current administration failed to do what could be done to contain it. 

    5.     It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that  Trump has a plan to rig the next election that involves making the Obama Administration remove thousands of mailboxes several years ago. Also, that the Post Office is removing little-used mailboxes in Oregon because the key to Trump’s reelection is for him to win Oregon.

Hoxie says that *45 has a plan(s) to rig the next election just as he did his first.

    6. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that on that [previous] subject, that nobody ever complained about the US Post Office being slow, inefficient, and unreliable until Trump was elected.

Hoxie says that the US Post Office has become even more slow, inefficient, and unreliable because of the removal of sorting equipment, among other measures, that further slow down delivery of mail.

    7. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that  America is an oppressive, racist, white supremacist nation that’s the root of all evil in the world and its culture is inferior to that of other nations, including the many nations where people are willing to risk their lives just for the chance to come to America.

Hoxie says that America has become more of what it used to be:  an oppressive, racist, white supremacist nation, not the root of all evil in the world, but a contributing factor to the birth of terrorist organizations whose initial leaders were used, abused, misused and cast aside by American agencies.  We can be better than that.

    8.     It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that Trump built “cages for children” on the border during the Obama Administration.

Hoxie says that while the fence enclosures were built during the Obama administration, they were for temporary use, not to warehouse children for months, and not to deny parents the right to reclaim their children as has been done in the current administration.  Records will show that the current administration made little attempt to even track children so that they could be reunited with their parents.

    9. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that viruses spread like wildfire at church services, but not at crowded protest rallies for leftwing causes. Also, viruses spread at bars that serve chips, but not at bars that serve sandwiches. Because “science!”

 Hoxie says that the threat of Covid-19 does not discriminate between bars and sacred spaces, and that “opening up the economy” has been detrimental to many.  (The threat of ebola was contained under the Obama administration but allowing our medical and scientific experts to do what they are equpped to do.  Three people died of ebola in the United States.  Compare that to 170,000+ who succumbed to Covid-19.) And because God gave us not only the desire to gather for worship, but a brain that we should not have to check at the door.  So, for many, worship in the “church of the livingroom” is safer and healthier than elbow-to-elbow in a sanctuary.

    10. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that  people with male genitals are women just because they say they are, but people who say that actually having female genitals makes them women are intolerant, transphobic bigots.

Hoxie says that until some people have a family member who is predisposed to deviate from their physiological gender, they treat all such people as “other.”  Those so predisposed are also Americans too.  

    11. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that hospitals must be forced to give gynecological exams to “women” with male genitals, and taxpayers forced to pay for abortions for them.

Hoxie says that from her perspective, abortions are not acceptable measures of birth control, but if an unborn life is not viable and would suffer endlessly, or a mother’s life is in danger, or, God forbid, conception is the result of rape, the decision to abort is between a mother and God.  Hoxie cannot see how taxpayers are okay with paying millions for *45's golf outings but would deny a woman relief under some circumstances.  

    12. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that, again on that subject, that someone born male who developed a muscular masculine physique before deciding he was a girl has no unfair physical advantage in sports over the much smaller teenage girl whose face (s)he is crushing into the wrestling mat.

Hoxie says that the one point on which I agree:  “that someone born male who developed a muscular masculine physique before deciding he was a girl has no unfair physical advantage in sports over the much smaller teenage girl whose face (s)he is crushing into the wrestling mat.” Problem is, I do not believe Democrats believe this.

    13. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that Trump botched the response to COVID-19 by xenophobically shutting down travel from China and crashing the economy with a shutdown, but Democrats would have prevented both the pandemic and the crash by not stopping travel from China and shutting down the economy sooner, harder and longer. Also, it’s absolutely impossible for Trump to keep people from crossing our border, but he could have kept a virus from crossing our border.

Hoxie says that *45 indeed botched the response to COVID-19, not by shutting down travel from China, but by throwing out the pandemic play book left to him by the previous administration (you know, the one that cleaned up the mess of ITS previous administration), by stifling our medical and scientific experts, by pirating medical supplies purchased by organizations and institutions for their own use, by not maintaining our stockpile of supplies and equipment.  Some stuff should be rotated out periodically because over time it looses its efficacy.  It’s called rotating the stock.

    14. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that t an acceptable way to express how much you care about black lives is to burn black neighborhoods, loot black-owned businesses, and tear down statues of abolitionist leaders. Also, that all black lives matter except those of black cops, black Republicans, and black pre-born babies.

Hoxie says that all lives will not matter until Black lives matter, and all looting and burning and destruction are not effectuated by Black people.  As to Black cops, Black Republics, and Black pre-born babies:   Black cops have been beaten by their white co-workers.  Black Republicans who pledge allegiance to *45 are no longer Republicans; they are Trumplicans.  Black pre-born babies, when born, deserve the care as white babies, an idea that is lost on those who care only for their “pre-born” status.

    15. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that t free healthcare is a right, free college is a right, free food is a right, a guaranteed paycheck is a right, and citizenship for illegal immigrants is a right, but free speech and freedom of religion are not rights.

Hoxie says that no human being is illegal, even though said human being may be undocumented.   Nothing is free – not healthcare, college or food.  How they are acquired, however, should not be oppressive.  Other countries have found a way to balance basic needs like healthcare, education and food.  Many of our institutions, especially those Ivy League monstrosities built on the backs of Hoxie's fore parents, are more financial sound than many countries.  There is no such thing is a guaranteed paycheck.  The guarantee should be that people have access to education and training so that they can be responsible citizens and provide for themselves and their families through work for which they are fairly compensated.  Citizenship for undocumented workers who were brought here as children, and who know only this country as home, should not be obstructed by onerous regulations and should not be used as bargaining chips.  Free speech and freedom of religion are rights, AND the rights of each stop where the rights of another start.   Say what you want, and if you incite hate, riotous behavior that puts another in jeopardy, you have gone too far.  Worship whomever and however you want, and don’t try to dictate to others whom and how they should worship.  

    16. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that  the people who presided over the rise of ISIS, the Iraq and Afghan wars, a nuclear Iran and North Korea, and even Iran falling to the Mullahs in the first place, are trusted diplomatic professionals, while the man who crushed ISIS, dealt with Iran and North Korea, and crafted a historic Middle East peace agreement is a dangerous amateur who’s destroying our foreign policy.

Hoxie says that to this day, thee is no such thing as peace in the middle East.  That is as it has been for decades.  And yes, *45 is a dangerous amateur who has all but destroyed our foreign policy. 

    17. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that  disproven rumors are evidence that Trump colluded with Russia to undermine a presidential election, but Democrats paying Russians for disproven rumors and using them as “evidence” to launch a Deep State coup is NOT collusion with Russia to undermine a presidential election.

Hoxie says that now, even some critically thinking Republicans have accepted evidence that *45 colluded with Russia to undermine a presidential election,  There is no Deep State coup being planned.  There is only a deeply deluded, demented  occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, whose swift disposition I pray for daily.

    18. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that  2 + 2 only equals 4 because of white supremacy.

Hoxie says that 2 + 2  equals 4 AND white supremacy is a reality.  One has nothing to do with the other.  Hoxie also says that many white people, bless their little souls, think they’re superior just because they lack melanin.

    19. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that  there are 57 genders but only one acceptable political viewpoint.

Hoxie says that regardless of the number of genders and their variations due to chromosomal differences, hormonal imbalances or whatever, there are lots of political viewpoints.  And then, there is what is the sound, reasonable viewpoint that without a change, the country will get to a point of no return and there will be no redemption.  Politics be damned!  This is NOT the time for us vs. them, red vs. blue, black vs. white, gay vs. straight.  In Hoxie's lifetime, this is the most critical time for people to unite and hold this country before a few misplaced folks at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington DC, destroy it.

    20. It is said that to be a Democrat today, you have to believe that  burning a flag is protected free speech, but objecting to someone burning a flag is not.

Hoxie says that courts have ruled that burning a flag is protected free speech.  It is objectionable to her, only because of what is supposed  to symbolize, and to many.   It is far more objectionable that men and women who have dedicated their lives, and many who have given their lives, in defense of what the flag is supposed to symbolize, to be treated like they are less than and other, by those who have hidden behind their parents' wealth and dishonest doctors, to escape their duty to serve.

Thank you Mike, whoever the heck you are, for your list that was so offensive and reprehensible that it inspired me to create my own.  

Pro Life? No! But Pro What?

The anti-abortion people who don't give a whit about a child after birth are getting on my last nerve.  

I am not so keen on abortion, but, dang people:  a rape victim?  a child?  a risk of death?   I've not had to make those kinds of decisions, and I hurt for those who have, but hurt even more for those who have no option.  

Meanwhile, for those who would force women to have babies, are you prepared to feed, clothe, educate, and nurture them?  Pay their medical expenses?  Or do you want to snatch them up to enslave them?   Sell them?  Pimp them?  

In this country’s current socio-political climate, it is commonplace to kill people, to kill children at school, to push older people off buses – to their deaths.  Will it now become commonplace to rape women to conceive babies, knowing they cannot legally abort?

Just gotta ask, especially those who are praising god (no capital g here, intentionally): What are the limits on your “pro life” stance?  Is it enough for you that a child is born?   That is only the beginning of life outside the womb.  How far are you willing to go to support “life?”   Will you be there with a year’s supply of diapers?  Formula?  Will you pay for day care?   What about medical checkups?  Vaccinations?  Oh, are you against vaccinations as well as abortions?  

No, you’ll not be “there” for any child, not until the child is in trouble.  Then you’ll have a “quick” way for the child to make a few dollars — on the street, maybe selling his/her body, selling drugs.  And when the child is arrested you will have a private prison in which you own an interest, to warehouse the offender.  And upon release, the cycle will repeat.

No, you are not pro life.  You are pro profit. 

Relentless Care -- Remembering a Giant

My pastor of oftentimes responds to a query of what we’re doing at South Main Baptist Church by saying “We bury giants.”  Today was such a day, one on which we bid farewell to a giant.  In the opening remarks of his memorial service, the phrase “relentless care” (thank you for that, Rev. Kev.) pricked my heart and remained with me throughout the service.

Physically, he was a man of robust stature, tall, always impeccably and appropriately attired and well groomed, with a measured, rhythmic way of speaking that surely he could never have been misunderstood.   As a member and servant of our Family of God, he was a giant of a go-to guy.  He was the man who could get things done, the man who could make things happen, and when he could not, he knew someone who could . . . or knew someone who knew someone.   However necessary, when there was a job to be done, it was done — thanks to the giant we know as Thomas J.  Williams.

When it came to taking care of our House of God, Tom was always on task, ever watchful, every vigilant to the point that not even a picture was misaligned by as much as a millimeter.   When it came to taking care of the Family, he took great care, and not just the Family of God who calls themselves “South Main Baptist Church.”   His compassion and caring were immense, spreading like water that creeps out of its banks over long, long stretches of time, until the stuff – the people – that it nourishes along the way are caught up in the web of his relentless care until firmly tucked into the folds of  Christian love.  And their lives are changed for the better.

Earlier today, following a memorial service for Tom, we gathered in the Fellowship Hall.  The crowd was thick, and the fare fitting for our dear giant.   Passing through clusters of folks as they nibbled, one could catch snatches of “Tom” stories.  And making several stops to converse with folks, some of us exchanged Tom stories and others who were relatively new to the South Main family, wanted to hear even more Tom stories.

It was difficult to leave that gathering.  That is how it is when dealing with the loss of one who was much loved and respected.  There is a tendency to cling to each other and share joy for having crossed his path, grief for having to say farewell, and joy that he no longer suffers, having breathed his last here, and his first There.  Tears and laughter can make a great combination – when mixed with relentless care.

Can You Hear the Hammer Ringing?

In a 24-hour time span, I was fully engaged in worship at three different services.   Starting at 7:00 p.m. on Maundy Thursday, there began the first Service of Shadows at South Main Baptist Church (you can view the service at www.smbc.org).  On duty as an alto in the Sanctuary Choir, we stood in the outside aisles around the chapel and sang Who is This? and Psalm 130.   At noon on Good Friday, I went with my daughter and granddaughter to the Texas Southern University athletic building, set up for worship, and for the noon service with Wheeler Avenue and Lily Grove Baptist churches.  Even as a congregant, I am an active worshiper, never a spectator.   And then, Good Friday evening, there was the second Service of Shadows at South Main Baptist during which I read passages of scripture.  

Each service in its own way, was substantively overwhelming.  There is something about commemorating the passionem.  It matters not how often the story is heard/read/told; the impact of the Christ's betrayal, trial, denial, suffering, sacrifice and death strike the core of my being.   

Do you remember the days preceding His betrayal?  He made his way down the path on a donkey.   Can you see the crowd laying down their cloaks and palm branches?   Can you hear their exclamation?  Hosanna!   They thought "their" time had come to prevail over a mortal enemy.  Indeed, their time had come for something more important.  And they missed it.   So caught up in their earthly oppression, they missed their eternal blessing.

Do you see Judas in the garden as he greets his Lord with a kiss?   How many Judases have you encountered in your life?  What does your Judas look like?   A best friend?  Your boss?   Neighbor?  Spouse?   Parent?   Child?  How did your Judas's betrayal affect you?   Demotion?  No bonus?   Job loss?   Divorce?  Relocation?   Loss of home?   Bankruptcy?  

The crowd gathered to rally for the release of a criminal.   What undeserving person has been given preference over you?   Who was given a free pass while you suffered, especially when you had done no wrong?   Who kept his/her job while you were laid off -- if though you were more competent, experienced, and diligent about your work?

Have you ever been beaten?  I have.  Beaten and thrown against a car so hard that the impact made a dent.  I still remember the owner of the car knocking on my door and demanding I pay for the damage.  Beaten physically.  Beaten financially.   Beaten professionally.   Beaten academically.  Beaten by people who claim to share my faith.   Raped by one who claimed to have been called to spread The Gospel of Christ.  Beaten in ministry by one who claimed he would never do exactly what he did.  

See?  There is indeed, nothing new under the sun.   The same kinds of things that have happened to you, that have happened to me, happened thousands of years ago.

As bad as those occurrences were, nothing I have experienced (I'll let you decide for yourself) compares to the suffering of my Savior.  And as a I sat in that little recessed area last night, having listened to the final passage by my reading partner, Brandon, the three percussive sounds representing the hammer, rang out.  And the third strike sent a wave through me, as tangible as if a seven-inch nail was being driven -- into me, through me.

On that path to Calvary, as one preacher put it, He defeated shame at its own game.   Even today, those who have fought to defeat or bring shame on ____ (you fill in the blank), are in a quandary about their own situations.  So, as I await the rising of the sun - the Son -  on tomorrow - Resurrection Day, these thoughts are swirling around in my head -- 

• There is none other who can die for sin.   He did it once, and once is enough.
• We can all die in sin if we choose to stay on the wrong path (any path other than His) 
• We can all die to sin when we choose Him -- the Way, the Truth and the Life (John 14:6)

There is spiritual death and physical death, and for both we can die in sin.  Before that however, decide whether you want to die to sin. Fact is, we all have to go the way of physical death -- whether we live in a big house, a little house, no house, the Palace on the Idokopas Cape, or the White House.  I pray before that happens, you hear the hammer ringing.

Remembering a Good Man

A good man out of the good treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is good . . .  for out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaketh. Luke 6:45 KJV

Out of the sham of a marriage the one thing that was real was the man who was supposed to be my husband introduced me to my best friend ("Harm").  Harm is married to Kurt.   But for him, I would not have met her, for he moved her here from another state and married her.   But for that scoundrel- masquerading-as-a-man visiting the church where Kurt served as pastor for a quarter century, I would not have Harm and Kurt in my life.  So, the scoundrel had some utility, some redeeming value after all.  He was a conduit for a relationship that transcended its origins.

By now, of the two men of whom I have written, one should have guessed the man who is the subject here is is Kurt -- not the other.   We lost him recently, and for the past several days I have eulogized him in my head.  The thing about some people is that you can speak of them all day and not run out of good things to say.  People like Kurt.  And so here is my eulogy.

Over the last 12 years I have had many conversations with Kurt, and from those, and his actions, I learned who and what were important to him, the stuff of which his heart was full.  And I concluded that Kurt was a real man -- intentional, upright, solid, and so much a Psalm 37:23 kind of man.   He was a professor, a protector, a peacemaker, and a provider.

A telephone call could take on Biblical proportions -- literally and figuratively.   I have one more thing I want to say and I'll let you go.   Thirty minutes later, and several one more things later, perhaps our conversation would end!  The length of our talks mattered not, as many times they were instructional, encouraging, and always substantive.  But for my anal way of logging time, I would have no idea.  I learned more about navigating the treacherous path of being an ordained minister who happens to be a Black woman, from Kurt more than from anyone else.  (Yes, there are places where people like me are unwelcome.)  He gave me wise counsel.

He was a protector of his family.   His devotion to Harm was a natural way of life -- just something that flowed -- never a show -- it just was.   There was no single thing to which one can point -- it was just his way when he spoke of her, spoke up for her, supported her activities and planned for her.  I learned recently that he also protected me, declining invitations and foregoing events that he believed would make it appear that he devalued our relationship had they attended.  I was overwhelmed by his sense of what is right and humbled by his consideration for me.

The one time there was a rift in our relationship, it was Kurt who helped Harm and me get back on track.  He reminded us both of what we meant to each other.  He bridged that gap, and we made peace.  That was in 2009, so I guess in did a pretty good job!   

And he was a provider.   Many of our talks were about what he wanted to accomplish before he left this earth, to make sure his family was taken care of.  In the next to his last day he worked out the final details.

For these 12 years, I tended to refer to Kurt as my best friend's husband.   And when I replayed the scenes of my time with Harm and Kurt, especially those middle-of-the-night phone calls (literally), I realized that he was my friend, too.  And now my saying we lost him recently hopefully makes a little more sense.  

From the abundance of Kurt's heart, this is what I learned:  He was a good man whose steps were ordered by the Lord.  He was my professor.  He was a protector and provider to his family.  The world could use some of his ilk. 

Why Every Day Must Count

18 June 2015

For an early riser, it is late in the day, what I normally call "mid-morning."  It is 11:22 CDST.   It was only about 2.5 hours ago when I left my bed, which normally happens around 6:00.   As difficult as it was to get up, it was even more difficult to fall asleep last night.

Yesterday was a normal Wednesday -- activity off and on until going to the campus of South Main Baptist Church for food, fellowship, prayer, Bible study and choir rehearsal.   I had the pleasure of sharing my table with four of our youths, and a youth imposter, a middle-school-looking young lady who turned out to be "Mary" -- one of our ministry interns who is on a college summer break.   They enjoyed a fantastic "taco" meal from our kitchen --- flour and corn tortillas, chicken, beef, sauteed onions, bell peppers & other stuff, guacamole, pico de gallo, sour cream, refried beans (like I've never had before!) and all the other "fixings" that make a fantastic DIY TexMex plate.  And, of course, way-too-decadent desserts.   It was great to converse with folks young enough to be my "grands" and watch them eat with gusto the stuff that I've had to give up.   (I settled for a meatless, tortilla-less, cheeseless, dessert-less meal.  It was good, but there was no chocolate in that mix.)   I noticed when they left, the table was a clean as before they sat to feast.  [Our kids rock.  :)]

Bible study was a look at two obscure characters who were raised from the dead by Peter and Paul, Tabitha (Dorcas) and Eutychus, respectively.  Though the end result was the same for both -- they came to life -- there were different perspectives for the two situations.   (And I am reminded how no matter how often the Bible is read, there is always something new to find.)

Toward the end of choir rehearsal, one of our members read to us her sentiments following the loss of her brother.  We were reminded of how, whether we are aware are not, we leave our prints on the lives of others.

Then, on the way home, I had a nagging compulsion to cancel this morning's 8:30 a.m. meeting.  There was no clear explanation, but I sat in my car and composed a text setting out my reasons (which in hindsight, make absolute sense), and sending it.   When I came inside I sat at my desk, and copied and pasted the text of the message in an email and sent that as well.  (I am, after all, a belt-and-suspenders kind of woman.)  I was overwhelmed, and had no explanation until I turned on the news, and there IT was -- the story of a shooting inside a church not long ago.

I poured myself into bed, could not sleep, watched episode after episode of Stargate 1, Season 3, eventually just passing out.   When I "came to" this morning I had no inclination to move.  Like many others, my mind was a whirling mess of who/what/why/how, and there were no answers.  Then the why bother "ism" set in, followed by paralysis.  I simply did not move.

Today is your birthday?   How can you celebrate?

How can I NOT?   I am still here!

But what about those people?

I grieve for those people, and their families, and for people of whom I know nothing --- the ones who did not awake this morning, the ones who breathed their last before midnight, the ones who . . . who . . . heck, everyone.  

So, just skip the day.   Stay in bed.  Wait until tomorrow.   You need a break.

Then, the light came on.

No!   I don't get to skip a day.   I don't get to wait until tomorrow.  Even if I need a break, I have to make this day count for something, and that means I must move!  I've got to get moving.  There is something for me to do TODAY.   Something productive.  Something meaningful.  Something beneficial for someone.  I've got to print myself on this day, some how, some way.   

It would be different if I could not get out of bed.  There have been lots and lots of days like that.  This is not one of them.  And I am thankful.  So, while, I can do something with this day, I must make this day count.

How this day will count I have yet to know; I may never know.  But this day is gift to be cherished by living it, not by hiding in bed with videos streamed form Amazon Prime.   I suppose it is fitting that on this day, marking another year of life, when as I told my Brer that there have been several times when I thought I was being fitted for my wings (or horns, depending on whether my soul will soar or plummet), it should be shared with joy and thanksgiving.

This is why every day must count for something.  My prayer is that the something will be positive --- opportunities to share, care, show love/grace/mercy, encourage, be gracious and kind, spread joy, be salt and light to the world, making a print, even on just one.

If I can help somebody, as I pass along,

If I can cheer somebody, with a word or song,

If I can show somebody, that he's travelling wrong,

Then my living shall not be in vain.

If I can do my duty, as a good Christian ought,

If I can bring back beauty, to a world filled with wrought,

If I can spread love's message, as the Master taught,

Then my living shall not be in vain.

Day 13 of Sarcoidosis Awareness Month: An Invitation to Spend a Day in My Shoes

NOTE:  this post was started on the morning of 13 September, however because of the events of the day it was not completed until 14 April. 



She awoke at 4:30; feeling it was early, she refused to look at her phone (the ‘clock’), opting to keep her eyes closed and lie still.   It was clear she was in trouble.  This is a classic Sarcoid day, she thought.  She could feel the dead weight of her body, especially her legs.  It was as if a herd of imps had ascended from hell, each poking a straw in her to suck out her life.   When the 0545 alarm came on, she ‘set’ herself to arise at 0630.  Surely I can get up by then.

The morning news/gossip/opinion/slander program came on, allowing her to relive the horror stories of the day before:

• A 73-year-old reserve cop shoots and kills an unarmed man.  At some point she opened her eyes in time to see a knee pressing on the man’s head as he lay on the ground.  Then there was a voice:  f—k your breath.
• A young woman is raped by several men on a beach while people are all around her, and rather than render aide, they record the incident.  A Panama City police official calls the perpetrators animals.  Her immediate thought was why insult the animals?
• Hillary Clinton announced she is running for POTUS.  While this may not be a horror story, she thought of the already egregiously nasty political climate and uncivilized behavior that has reached epidemic proportions.  Add to that being inundated by the idiots who would compel me to vote for Hillary because she’s a woman is just too much, she thought to herself.  Rationalizing that thought, she said aloud, pointing her right index finger (a habit when she’s making a point):  It’s not that voting for Hillary is in itself idiocy, it is voting for her because she’s a woman.

Time zipped by.  It was 0730 before she arose, plodding along at a snail’s pace, trying to remember her last productive day.  It is Monday, and she had to think back to the Wednesday prior for a day during which she did some solid, productive, billable work.   Breakfast was a simple smoothie – a concoction of strawberries, an orange, flax seeds and a scoop of Perfect Food (that’s the nastiest stuff she’s ever had, but it’s supposed to be nutritional).  Sitting at her desk, she tried to get a handle on her day, remembering a 10:00 doctor’s appointment.  Suddenly, she felt the rumbling of a volcano, inside her, and rushed to the contain the eruption.  She wasn’t quite fast enough . . . almost, but not quite.  After cleaning up the mess, and herself, she left for her appointment.

She stumbled into the office of XYZ Nephrology.  An older woman was at the receptionist’s desk.  The woman looked at her, and told the receptionist You should take her first.  Thank you, she said, but I’m okay.  And I’m new, so I probably have to complete lots of forms.   The two women sat back-to-back; they engaged in conversation while the younger completed her forms.  At some point, the older woman, reached behind and laid her hand on the shoulder of the other.   The comforting touch communicated to the other you are not alone.  

After spending about five minutes with the specialist (and wondering what he would bill for that precious time), she left the office.  Walking down the busiest corridor of this building, the one that accesses the crosswalk to the parking garage, she was near collapse when a man and two women just grabbed her, easing her down tot he floor.  Someone called paramedics.  Security personnel came.  Upon arrival, the lead paramedic determined they could not examine her in the hall, so he walked through the nearest door, the reception area for a cosmetic surgeon.  Skipping over the gory details, about an hour and a half later she was allowed to leave if she called a taxi to take her home.   Her day was over and it was only 1:00 p.m.

This occurrence is not new, nor is it uncommon.

There is an old saying, that you cannot judge a book by its cover. This is so true when people look at anyone and decide their intellect, character, education, credentials, or value. This is also true when people look at a Sarcoid patient and say well you look alright.  She I looked alright this morning. And despite that she felt the life draining out of her body.

She still remembers vividly, at a hearing years ago in an administrative court about the appeal of her application for Social Security disability, which had been denied. The representatives for the Social Security Administration and the administrative judge both thought she presented myself too well to be sick.  She was asked how did she get dressed, to which she replied my daughter helped me.  She was then asked who combed her hair, again to which she answered my daughter helped me.   She had been warned that she should not present herself at a hearing looking "normal.” It was suggested to her that she dress like someone who was so poor and/or homeless that she did not have proper clothing or access to grooming and toileting facilities.  To this day that is one of the most offensive conversations she has ever had. And also to this day she has never collected a dime of the Social Security disability for which she qualified, having been certified by three physicians, independent of each other, benefits for which she worked.

Every time she received a payroll check, there was indicated  gross income and net income, and the difference between those two numbers comprised various taxes and deductions for medical insurance and Social Security.  For 19 years, she has managed to more or less sustain myself. It has not been easy. In fact there have been many times when her body was pushed well beyond it's limits, just to finish a project. There have also been times when she needed medical care but did not have insurance and could not afford to see a doctor.  Had I been granted the Social Security disability she would have had a Medicare card 17 years ago.  As flawed as Medicare is, she would have been better able to access the healthcare she needed when she needed it, rather than having to wait and save and miss appointments and sometimes tests and procedures.  With the Affordable Care Act, she has been able to get insurance that she can afford and have access to health care when she needs it.  And the idea that there are people in this country who would rather her not have that kind of access is galling.

She has seen people come to the United States from other countries and get benefits that were not available to her.  She has seen companies and individuals get tax breaks and pay little to no taxes.  She has seen bloodsuckers (also known as politicians) line their pockets with ill-gotten gains from selling themselves and the welfare of their constituents and prostituting their own morals for their own benefit.

By the way, the Houston Chronicle, years later, published a story about that administrative judge, who had a history of rendering biased rulings against certain groups of people, of which she is one.   She filed a complaint and nothing ever came of it.  She has been scoffed at an ridiculed for using accessible parking places because people look at her and determine her need for the space.  The only thing she has to say to them is spend a day in my shoes and then let's talk.

DAY 5 OF SARCOIDOSIS AWARENESS MONTH

And it’s Resurrection Day!  Alright, many refer to it as Easter.  I’m a Resurrection Day kind of woman.  And what a glorious day it has been, spending the morning on the campus of my church for worship, Sunday School and fellowship. It is a day on which I was reminded in song, scripture, sermon and quiet, that my faith is what keeps me going.

Life is not what I thought it would be as a tread closer to 61.  After all, 35 years ago I projected 2015 would be my retirement year.  When you lose almost two decades of productivity that's more than a stretch.  Ha!   Still, life is good, because God is good.  And even in my infirmities He sustains me and gives me peace.

The Glenn Edward Burleigh adapted a hymn of which I am reminded.   This is what he added:

He gently speaks to me; in my quiet time alone with Him I find the love I need.  
He gently speaks to me; in my quiet time alone with Him I find the joy I need.  
He gently speaks to me; in my quiet time alone with Him I find the peace I need.  

The refrain of that hymn says:

Blessed quietness holy quietness
What assurance in my soul
On the stormy sea He speaks peace to me
And the billows cease to roll

Glenn then continued:

When he speaks to me, I get peace that passeth understanding
When he speaks peace to me, the power of God takes control 
When he speaks peace to me, I get joy, unspeakable joy in my soul
And the billows cease to roll.

Yep, there are storms.  Some of us call them by the names of unloving spouses, unruly children, insufferable supervisors, or bills that sit at table every meal and refuse to ever leave.  And some call them tumor, lymphoma, cancer, MS, ALS or Sarcoidosis.  Whatever the storm, He is the shelter.  Whatever the problem, He is the solution.  Whatever the question, He is in the answer.  That is not to say the storm will disappear; it is to say that He will see you through it.  After all, life here, no matter how meaningful, or successful, or how much we enjoy it, is only a way station until we go home.  And as long as we're here, if we are Resurrection Day kind of folks, we aren't home . . . yet.

DAY 2 OF SARCOIDOSIS AWARENESS MONTH:

It is also Maunday Thursday, and when I looked outside and saw it is overcast and the sun is up there, but hidden, I thought it about par for what folks who share my faith will commemorate today. It is a day of shadows and darkness.

For many Sarcoid sufferers, most days are filled with shadows and darkness. Because the disease is so misunderstood and in most cases unknown, it is not uncommon for Sarcoid patients to feel isolated and suffer tremendous bouts of depression. Because the disease often goes misdiagnosed, people are often told things like "You're just lazy. You'd feel better if you got up and exercised." A woman's doctor said that to her. She went improperly diagnosed for more than ten years. The problem is, most have difficult just getting up!

In my "pre-Sarcoid" years I weighed about 140 pounds and walked several times a week, generally about 15 miles. There was a weight bench in my bedroom, and I could bench press 175 pounds. Indeed, that's all history. I have learned not to dwell on what "I used to do" and be grateful for what I can do. Sometimes, however, those pesky imps rear their ugly heads and try to plant all kinds of ugly stuff in my mind. Get thee behind me!!!!!

As you can see from the picture, I am wearing all black, the uniform of the day for our sanctuary choir members serving in this evening's "Service of Shadows." [I confess the last time I wore this suit it was not so snugfrown emoticon I really have to toe the line because I don't get much exercise, and I have all but left the line.] I'm not much on smiling, but considering the overcast sky and the Christian theme of the day, I tried to do a little contrast. And there are lots of things for which to smile and be thankful, including that I got up this morning.

Grieving for the Lost

As a young girl in Houston in the 60s, my exposure to racial unrest was minimal, as the kinds of events that occurred in other southern cities were not as widespread in Houston, Texas. I recall just a couple of years ago, Rev. William Lawson, Pastor Emeritus of Wheeler Avenue Baptist Church, explaining in a sermon that paralleled the civil rights struggle with the Old Testament struggle of the children of Israel, that there was some kind of negotiated agreement between local Black leaders and others of the paler national about desegregation. I do not recall demonstrations in Houston where people were assaulted with fire hoses or beaten or spat on or killed.

That is not to say there were no racial injustices; there were plenty, but not on the scale of Selma, Birmingham, Little Rock or other places. I can cite instance after instance of my own personal experiences, but this writing is about something so much larger than I; it is about all of us. Still, I have to get personal. Because observations, experiences, feelings and impressions are first personal. What one sees, takes into the mind, and filters through knowledge and past experiences, and, hopefully, objectivity, still has a tinge of "it’s personal." So the accumulation of stuff that one sees, hears and experiences day after day – the good, bad, positive, negative, indifferent, ugly, outlandish, vile, unspeakable, disrespectful, encouraging, savage and uncivilized – can be overwhelmingly depressing. And that is personal. Did you notice that the bad outweighed the good? It was so easy to think of the negative stuff. And that is depressing.

So, what does all of that have to do with weeping for the lost? I’m glad you asked. Fast-forward to the present, remembering a bit of what has happened in the past.

I do not believe in coincidence. While leaving Birmingham I took the wrong exit and found myself on the wrong freeway. Getting off at the next exit, I happened to look at my gas gauge which showed I had about a quarter of a tank of gas. Even a Prius can’t get very far on that, so I pulled into the first gas station I saw and filled up. Getting back on the street I began to make my way to the right entrance, and observed a sign – "16^th Street Baptist Church." Not yet realizing the significance of that sign, I headed toward 16th St. I cannot describe how strange this was. It was one of those funny feelings I get when something is about to happen and I have no explanation but just know the funny feeling means something. I turned right onto 16^th street, drove a couple of blocks, and there it was – the 16^th Street Baptist Church. I took advantage of parking on the street in front of the church and I got out of my car and looked at the building, taking note of this post

with painted messages that was just to the left. Then it hit me: this is the church that was bombed in the 60s, the church where the four girls were killed one Sunday.

As I walked up the steps that funny feeling was overwhelming. As I stood at the door of the church I knew I was looking at different doors and windows but it really hit me that this is where something painfully significant happened. This is where a house of God was attacked by people who claimed to believe in Him. This is where four young lives were destroyed and the lives of their families were changed forever.

My imagination ran wild, and in my mind’s eye I could see horror and violence — vicious dogs, men on horseback wielding clubs, others with fire hoses, people posing around bodies burned beyond recognition, hanging from trees, men behind bars whose only crime was an aspiration to be treated with basic human dignity and have the same rights as others. Tears streamed down my face, streamed freely as I stood there struggling to compose myself. Why is this happening to me? Why can’t I stop crying? Part of it was deep sorrow, part was gratitude and part of it was prayer.

I grieved for the loss of life. Only the Giver of life should take it.

I grieved for those girls who would never grow up and experience the joys and sorrows of having done so.

I grieved for the families who lost their precious, priceless treasures.

I grieved for the unjustifiable hatred.

I grieved for the senseless destruction and damage to God's house

I grieved that such evil existed in the first place.

I grieved that it still does.

Even while I grieved for the past, I grieved for the present –

That decades later racism still abounds.

I grieved for the hatred that still exists and for people who want to conserve a way of life that would stifle opportunities and rights of some so they can perpetuate their false sense of superiority.

I grieved for their ignorance.

And even harder, I wept for the lost, those who now take for granted what decades ago others fought so bravely and endured so much, even death, to obtain for themselves and their progeny. Those who do not vote. Those who refuse to go to school and get an education. Those who waste opportunities to improve their quality of life. Those who refuse to take responsibility for themselves.

And being keenly aware that the sacrifices made there and in other places by people I will never know, have impacted the quality of my life. I am grateful beyond words.

And I prayed. I prayed for the peace that we still don't have.
I prayed to see that peace before I breathe my last. 

This is My Prayer

Today I met a 33-year-old woman who has two children by a married man. I am told that it was while she was pregnant with the second child that she learned the man was already married, and so she left him. I had to tell her that she did not qualify for help with paying for health insurance because her income was too low, and that she did not qualify for Medicaid because she was too young. She told me about her income, and I asked if she planned on going to work, to which she replied she could not work, that she has never worked. She appeared to be in good health, but remembering how ticked I get when people tell me I look "alright" I asked if she had a condition that kept her from working and she told me that she was "slow." 

 

Me:  But you can do something, can't you? Surely there is something you can do to earn an income. 

 

Her:  No, I’m just slow.

 

Me:  Well, maybe it takes you longer to learn something, but does that mean you cannot?

 

Her:  Well they said I was slow and I can’t do anything. Any way if I work I’ll lose my benefits?

 

Me:  What benefits?

 

Her:  SSI

 

Me:  And how much is that?

 

Her:  $648 a month.

 

Me:  What else do you get?

 

Her:  That’s it. And child support.

 

Me:  And how much is that?

 

Her:  $294 a month.

 

Me:  Don’t you think you’re worth more than $648 a month? What if you could make $1296 a month? Wouldn’t you be better off?

 

Her:  And they already took some of my money.

 

Me:  What money of yours did ‘they’ take. You haven’t earned any money! Don’t you want to be free to earn your own money?

 

No response.

 

When I took a really good like at her, I saw a hollow, depressed, broken, hopeless soul. I had no idea how she came to be so, but it hurt me to my core. Part of me wanted to scream, and the other part wanted to cry. I cannot help but speculate that from an early age she was indoctrinated to believe she had nothing of value and could do nothing of value. I would like to meet the people who gave her the foundation to imprison herself for life.

 

God did not create you to have nothing to do or nothing to offer. If you ever decide you want to do something with your life, I will do whatever I can to help you find a way.

 

In my work I meet people of all socio-economic ilks.  On the one hand, I have visited well-cared for homes, modest and absolutely opulent, and on the other hand, one so infested that it caused me to stand.  (I explained that my knees were bothering me and the seat was kind of low, so it wasn't blatant lie.)  I have met young adults whose sour attitudes and "I-want-isms" made me envision slapping them, while that voice in my right ear (yep, I hear voices) chided me about passing judgment. And I have met folks whose lives, after decades of work and responsible living, have been challenged and stifled by lost retirement funds and chronic illnesses, and whose level-headed and gracious manner made my work easy, even when bearing not-so-good news.

 

Until I met that 33-year-old, I thought I had seen it all. I am haunted by her visage. And I pray she will find the will to leave her prison and embrace the good, bad and ugly of life – its joys, sorrows, failures and successes. I have no idea how I can help someone so enslaved. And I pray that she will call, and when she does, He will show me a way.

 

This is my prayer.

Checked Your Kidneys Lately? -- "Medical" Thoughts of a Lay Person

Dialysis clinics are popping up all of the Greater Houston Metropolitan Area like banks. Have you ever wondered about End State Renal Disease? I am told that uncontrolled diabetes or high blood pressure can cause kidney failure (will have to research in my "spare" time).

Recently I met a 29-year-old and his 57-year-old father, both on dialysis. On the same day, about a mile away I visited with a woman who became my client, who has ESRD. None of these people are of Medicare age. All of them have well-worn Medicare Cards. Over the last ten years or so, dialysis providers have consolidated, resulting in two large organizations treating approximately 72% of all U.S. dialysis patients. What does this do to costs? A diagnosis of ESRD entitles one of any age for Medicare. ESRD costs are generally over $600,000 a year. 

While I cannot spout a lot of medical mumbo jumbo about ESRD, I do believe that stuff we drink -- and stuff we should drink but don't -- can have a deleterious effect on kidney function. Various studies show that the consumption of soda in the United States is about 50 gallons per person per year. Realistically, many consume much more (someone has to be drinking my share because the occasional Diet Mountain Dew, about one a month, is only 1.5 gallons a year).

In 2011 there were about 507,326 in the Medicare ESRD population and 108,573 in the non-Medicare population. Medicare spending on its ESRD population in 2011 was $34.4 billion. (usrd.org) Many ESRD patients qualify for Medicaid, hence an additional drain on states’ funds. 

This is not a "don’t treat ‘em" speech. Rather, it is a suggestion that "we" take better care of our bodies. There are things we can do, and things we can refrain from doing, to help ourselves. Get regular checkups for early detection of dieseases. If diabetes is an issue, avoid stress, eat a healthy diet, exercise, take medications as directed, reduce/eliminate alcoholic beverages, and monitor blood glucose. If high blood pressure is an issue, avoid stress, eat a healthy diet, exercise, take medications as directed, reduce/eliminate alcoholic beverages, monitor blood pressure.  And drink water. 

 

Sounds kind of redundant? Yep. 

　

 

It Didn't Have to Go That Far, However . . .

This is not an easy subject. A young man, already wounded, is shot multiple times by a police officer. People all over the country are inflamed. They assemble to protest. Police overreact. Pictures of the 60s – police with dogs – are compared with those of today.

It is difficult to remain objective when things like this happen, especially if one has experienced first-hand unjust treatment merely because of the color of one's skin. When skin tone matters, all of the intelligence, education, credentials, licenses, skills and abilities matter little, if at all. I am a witness. And if one is to look beyond skin tone, there are other ugly truths one must face, even in the escalated altercation that ended in the slaughter of a young black man. Objectivity, however, is necessary so as not to get caught up in the ugly emotions that drive these horrific incidents.

Ugly truth: The police officer told Mr. Brown and his friend to get out of the street and take the sidewalk. Rather than follow this simple, yet, as it has been reported, nastily spewed instruction, the young men told the officer they were almost at their destination.

 

Unanswered question: Why couldn't they just get out of the street?

 

Ugly question: Did this provoke the policy offer? Most likely, it did.

THE question: Is the police officer justified in shooting Mr. Brown multiple times after he had surrendered himself, already shot twice? Absolutely not!

Mr. Brown was murdered. Unjustifiably murdered. I cannot help but think, however, that Mr. Brown would be alive had he withheld an explanation as to why he would not follow the officer's instruction, taken the sidewalk (a pedestrian path), rather stayed in the street (a vehicular thoroughfare).

As Kelli Kox has instructed her sons: "When the police come, this is what you do. This is how you speak to them. Do not get into a power struggle. Listen to them. If they are trying to give you a ticket, get the ticket. Because it's not worth it. It's just not worth it."

Something must be done to stop these murders committed behind shields of authority. The responsibility is everyone’s, not just one side or the other. I always maintained that if George Zimmerman had stayed in his vehicle, Trayvon Martin would not have been killed that night. Mr. Zimmerman’s disobedience was the link to Mr. Martin’s murder. In this instance, Mr. Brown’s disobedience was the link to his own demise. If Michael Brown and his companion had taken the sidewalk, chances are Mr. Brown would still be alive.

Keeping The Strings Straight

Weighing in once again on a recent video snippet, taken out of context, to cast a negative light on the current POTUS:

1.   This country has been being ripped to pieces for decades. One can go back as far as one dares and what will be found over the last few decades are special interest groups out for their own narrow, self-centered purposes, basically getting more of whatever at the expense of others. And, no, I am not a communist. I have a healthy respect for capitalism but not the way a few people have lied, cheated and stolen their way into a financial gain at the expense of others, including the very lives of others. 

2.   Because of The Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act, derogatorily known as Obamacare, I was able to purchase health insurance after being denied four years ago. For the record, I had COBRA coverage which I used for quarterly checkups (a necessity when one takes measured doses of poison --- a/k/a prescription drugs --- to control high blood pressure). Still, as the COBRA was about to expire, the same company that insured me before refused my application. The plans available under the PPACA are –

a.   like other health insurance plans. They either have networks or preferred provider directories, and their networks can be regional or multi-state. Generally, HMOs are network driven, are less expensive, and tend to disallow non-emergency charges outside the network. I have an HMO and have had no trouble seeing my PCP or getting referrals for specialists and even chiropractic care. My health care providers are part of a large health care system that is among the top ranked in the country. 

b.   affordable for those who need help paying the premiums. If this country can subsidize corporations who supposedly cannot afford to fail, pay inflated charges for faulty defense equipment that cause our soldiers to come home maimed, crippled or in a sealed box, finance choice dictators in other countries for the gain of their natural resources, or whatever, what’s a few dollars to get and keep American’s healthy?

c.  optional. For those who i) can afford to pay a full premium; or ii) remain vehemently opposed to the audacious idea of most, if not all Americans having access to health care, or just think affordable health care is beneath them, they can pay the full rate, off-market plans that, by the way, include in their offerings PPOs and the dreaded HMOs. As a matter of full disclosure, they also include open access plans.  (Anyone living in Texas can contact me for those rates as well, and good for you if you can afford them.)

Bottom line:  people will see the glass half empty if they don’t like the person holding the pitcher. They will see through a glass darkly, to steal a Biblical phrase, if their eyes are clouded by negativity. Mr. Obama’s tenure reminds me of a temporary assignment I once had in another lifetime. I was looked over at the outset and the assignment was given to someone else. After the pitifully inept woman made a mess, I was called in to clean it up. When after three days I was still trying to undo the woman’s damage, which she was given four weeks to create, people started grumbling and questioning my competence. Unlike Mr. Obama, I exercised the option of telling them what they could do with their assignment.  Of course, I was younger and had only a small modicum of diplomacy.  I would like to think that 30 years later I would have been more eloquent (though I was not fowl) and poetic when telling them what to do with that assignment.

A suggestion to all:  regardless of the camp in which you dwell --- Democrat, Republican, Tea Party, Libertarian -- or even if your standing on the outside of them all like me, wondering what the heck is wrong with these people -- consider cleaning the filters of your mind's eyes.  When you buy into the most absurd representation, just because it casts the object of your disfavor in a negative light, you are allowing yourself to be used, misused and manipulated by others who are merely taking advantage of your negativity.  In short, you have become one of their puppets. 

Now, don't get your strings entangled -- you may fall and sustain injuries.  Then you'll have to seek medical care.  :)
  

The Greatest Shall Be . . .

This afternoon I attended the memorial service of a church member I barely knew.  A couple of months ago our pastor, Steve Wells, suggested to our "younger" members that they may want to attend some memorial services, not only as a show of support to the bereaved family, but also to learn more about the heritage of South Main through our members.  While I am not chronologically so young, I am, comparatively, a young member, just a few months into my 12th year as a South Mainer.

As I mentioned, I only knew the member in passing.  We always spoke, sometimes stopping for a brief conversation, when we met in hallways, and her sweet spirit was evidenced by her sweet smile.  Today I learned more of this woman and was reminded of a conversation I had with a young pastor over lunch just a couple of days ago.  We bantered about our concerns of how the concept of greatness has become distorted and barely recognizable as . . . greatness.  It seems that secularist 21st century “greats” are those who have achieved some modicum of fame and fortune.  Generally the fame stems from some single dimensional achievement.  It matters not that the lives of the so-called great ones are besmirched by willful, trashy living -- not saying that is true of all who have achieved a measure of fame and fortune, whether such fortune was parlayed into projects of redeeming value, or lost to prodical-type riotous living.

By today's standards, there are lots of great folks around (many times referred to as heroes).  And some of them do great things, using their fame to promote great causes.  Whether entertainers, athletes, or something else, for some inexplicable reason, people will flock to them as if they can be the source of their salvation.  Even worse, many live their lives vicariously through these folks, emulating their appearance, mode of dress (this is often not a good idea), and their behavior (even more often a terrible idea).  Then there are the great ones whose callings prescribe them to a life of service.   For some odd reason, rather than tending to their calling of service, many take on servants for themselves, screeners (so as to give attention to only ‘select’ sheep of their flock), bodyguards, armor bearers, and other absurdities.  Those so-called men and women of God are lost in their own worlds of self promotion or worse, allow their flocks to elevate them to some demi-god-like status.  This writer does not consider these people as great, perhaps just special as CNN’s Stephen A. Smith refers to them.

Unlike special people, greatness is not exclusive.  I have learned through the many South Main memorial services I have attended that there are lots of great people around.  Their greatness is evidenced by their service to others, whether singularly or collectively.  They give of themselves, their time, their skills and talents.  They are at work behind the scenes in so many ways, making provisions for others to be comforted in their illnesses and their grief, to receive hospitality in strange places they will call home while they access medical care, to be fed and housed and clothed, to be given another chance – a new beginning, to be given hope in the depths of poverty that are unknown in this country.

Yes, there are lots of greats around.  Their names are not Carmello or Dwayne or Tiger or Oprah or Phil or Peyton or Beyonce or JayZ or Will or Jada.  Their names are Virginia . . . H. H. . . . Roberta . . . Errol . . . Charles . . . Alberta . . .Julia . . . Mary Joe . . . Lyle . . . Carolyn . . . Ward . . . John.  I know, I know – you’re asking “Who are these people?”  That’s okay.  I ask the same thing when some contemporary celebrity’s name is called in conversation as if we just had tea.   I can only say I wish you had known them, my greats.  Some of them I knew well, some just a little.  And each has pricked me in a way that wants me to be more like the One Whose love was reflected in their lives.  No, they were not perfect, but His power was made perfect in their weakness.  It is comforting to know that the One Who called them home knows them even when we do not.

I submit to you that there are far more great people in the world than famous ones, and the two words are not properly used when used interchangeably.

But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant. And whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased; and he that shall humble himself shall be exalted.

Matthew 23:11-12

He's Still Daddy

Even now, 46 years after his physical death in 1969, he is very much alive in me today.  I only knew him for 14 years, yet Lewis Hoxie is still Daddy, one who occupies my thoughts, shapes my opinions and attitudes, and whose examples of tenacity and faith fortify me with resolve in times of struggle. 

Daddy was born on Detering Street in the "West End."  That's what we called that area of Houston between Memorial Drive and Washington Avenue, just west of Downtown Houston.  His grandfather owned much of the land in that area in the late 1890s and early 1900s.  It is said that as they matured, Great Grandfather gave his children a little plot of land to call their own.  It was in the little house on my grandmothers lot that Daddy was born. 

I remember Daddy telling me that he worked for a chemical company, driving a truck until he was "let go."  Back then, one was only allowed to do that kind of work for a while because of the potential for exposure to dangerous chemicals; then one was simply "let go."  That was before my time.  For the time I had Daddy he rented a lot on Telephone Road, just inside I45 South, where he sold soils, sand and fertilizer.  I've told that story before and won't repeat it here. 

This being Fathers' Day, however, all of the posts and news snippets I've observed have caused me to express my appreciation for Daddy in this public forum.  I've not seen a picture of him in decades, and other than his last driver's license, a full image of Daddy in a suit and a really fine hat, and a snapshot of him sitting in his dump truck with the door open and my brother standing on the ground in front of him, I've never seen any other pictures of him.  Yet, he is as vivid in my mind's eye as I write this, as if he is sitting . . . right there . . . on the edge of my desk. 

Sometimes I cannot help but wonder at how powerful a father he was to have made an impression on me that has lasted more that four times the years I actually knew him in the flesh.  I guess that's what daddies are supposed to do with whatever time they have:  teach lessons that stand the test of time and make impressions that last far beyond their earthly years.   That's what my Daddy did. 

It would really be nice to have had Daddy longer, but it is better to have had him for a little while than someone else for decades, who would not have been Daddy to me the way Lewis Hoxie was, and still is.