Laugh 'Till I'd Cry

http://www.kingsfeatures.com/features/comics/fwinker

http://www.fbofw.com/timetravel

"A good cartoonist is one who can make people laugh. A great cartoonist is one who can make people laugh in the midst of fear, sadness, and uncertainty."

— Regina Brett, breast cancer survivor
and president of the National Society of Newspaper Columnists

Without apologies, I will confess my daily scan of the paper always includes a quick skim of the front page for headlines, a little check to the obits, a look inside the sports section for box scores of my favorite teams (Go Red Sox – great game! Go Indians-annihilate the Yankees!) It takes all of 4 minutes, to see what is there, what will require my attention later, and then what I love – the comics. I love reading the comics, and like anyone have my favs. I usually use the Sunday funnies, since they are in color, as birthday giftwrap. So many different ones have come and gone, yet I am still a devoted Prince Valient reader every Sunday. I miss my Far Side fix - it isn’t printed anymore. I used to decorate my covered textbooks in high school with different Far Side scenes – there was always so much in them. And Calvin and Hobbes, they could make me bah-hah outloud, hilarious in the investigation of a sarcastic little boy handling subjetcs like atheism, creation, life as we know it and the depth of friendship as life's deepest treasure. The Wizard of Id and Family Circus, Blondie’s curvy girl figures and Beetle Bailey’s antagonistic Sarge, Cathy’s power struggles with her mother, Ziggy and Charlie Brown – they are all small windows of wisdom, silliness, poignant frames of philosophy and thought-filled introspection.

Some have had a different importance at different times in my life than others, like identifying with a sleep-deprived again-pregnant mother in Baby Blues who is desparately seeking a bathroom with her baby and toddler in tow, and a sales clerk generously offers the staff bathroom “because its important to help a little one get to a potty”…but it the Mommy who’s bladder was ready to explode! How true, how true – I knew every bathroom in town when pregnant with K, and the other three helped me get extra understanding for the “little ones” as trying so hard to change that diaper as fast as I could so I could use the potty myself. Crankshaft shows a cantankerous side of aging, with humor, understanding and defense for some of the details that younger people often don’t see. Garfield and Jon never seem to ever get past the same power struggles, but they are always cute.

Do you have any favorite comics, the ones you are always looking for first?

In the 1970s there were two strips that started out new, and as a very young reader they caught me in their stories right away with the fact that they passed in what you were able to gauge as “real time”. Unlike the perpetually young Charles Schultz characters or Family Circle toddler family, Funky Winkerbean (1972) and For Better or For Worse (1978), these characters went to the next grade in school, celebrated a next birthday. The kids grew up, got jobs, got married; people took promotions, moved away, came back. I really liked how life marched on in the comic strips, young girls became young women, boys developed into men, moms and dads struggled with holding on and letting go. They became a set of 2 dimensional friends who sometimes expressed exactly how I felt about war or children or balancing justice with mercy, the impact of forgiveness and the complete need for love. For Better or For Worse has addressed within the multi-generational Patterson family the necessity for courage – for the things you want (a true love) and for the things you fear (retirement) all the while mixing in the beauty of watching mom brush her hair in the wind or the perils of living with a large dog. But those subjects were not the only ones – Funky Winderbean may have brought us all Harry L. Dinkle, The World’s Greatest Band Leader of Westview High, but he also brought out the subjects of teen pregnancy, gang peer pressure, dyslexia, teen dating abuse, and breast cancer.

This morning, both strips are facing new ground. For Better or For Worse has included the additional stroke of Elly’s elderly father. Simultaneously the characters find themselves hoping for returned health and facing the reality of impending death. Lisa Moore, in Funky Winkerbean, died within her many-years struggle with cancer. Lisa as a cartoon character was diagnosed with cancer the first time at the same time my best friend was diagnosed with lung cancer – and Tom Batiuk’s insight was profound during that very angst-filled time. His poignancy brought profound understanding within a subject that frequently wasn’t discussed. I miss my friend who lost her battle with cancer in mid 2005. My tears have been present every morning for months as Tom Batiuk, cartoonist and cancer survivor, has shown within the framework of "Lisa's story".

The return of Lisa's aggressive breast cancer after a long remission. Chemotherapy. Surgery. The dark thoughts a person has when facing the death of someone they love. Not a depressing story, but one which includes depression of the caregiver. The cartoonist does not abrasively gloss over important issues, but carefully shines a light on important concepts: although Lisa was the one who was dying, it was her husband who was sick. He was in need of help, attention, someone to remove the alcohol from his hands, to talk straight to his heart in his hurt.

Though painful in their subject content, their stories are hopeful, showing how loving couples treat each other under all circumstances. So this morning with my coffee, my tears are there, recognizing the hurt that envelopes a family in the face of cancer, and knowing the future posssibilities these hand drawn friends may face within their next storyboards in the future.

Goodbye Lisa and thank you. You've made me laugh until I'd cry.

Small Surprises, Giant Blessings

These past three weeks have included so much, packed in tight and full, like fragrant sausages ready to burst out of their skin. It hasn't been a schedule that is out of hand or excessive mileage or meetings. Time management, communication, understanding and flexibility have attended to everything that has come along. Some days got a little hairy, and I love being able to rely upon my terrific husband when it all needed tamed. Whether it was a doctor's visit 4 counties away or a forgotten library book, a missing trumpet mouthpiece or "the exactly right sweater I wanted to wear with this outfit", an important Advisory Board meeting or community event, there was place and time for everything and things are running smoothly.

In reflection, this fullness comes from the small surprises, giant blessings and the gentle communion with the Spirit that has been present:

: a birthday party for my youngest son, N. - he's 9, my little man, and this was the year for his friend party. We alternate years - family party, friend party, sleep over, movie party - to rotate celebration styles and enjoy each other as best we can. (And face it, to equalize and regulate the amount of money that goes into it! Birthdays can get so expensive so quick! And in our household we have 2 birthdays in 8 days time. That is usually only one pay check, so there are no gala blow-outs, skating rink renting, catering-out-the-wazoo celebrations. Hey, time stands still for your birthday, you get to eat breakfast from the birthday bowl, have your favorite dinner with soda to drink, your choice of cake and fun and games at home - where birthdays are the most creative and involved, and affordable.) I do love celebrating birthdays, and enjoy making a cake (N. wanted racecars, and if I have to say so, mine turned out tasty, delicious and looked lightning fast!) Last September, when we lived in a different appointment (which we had been in for 2 years - plenty of friend making possibilities) N.'s party was family - and we didn't dream there would be any moving on the horizon. Yet as the horizon got closer, the moving reality was present and affected many things. N.s friend party now brought a level of mommy horror - do I warp our family celebration expectations and traditions and underline and accentuate a feeling that has been floating under the surface for all of my children? Do we not have a friend party because we just don't have many friends in this area? Do we travel 2 1/2 hours north to a city we don't live in anymore to host a party with his old friends, his best lifetime friends? So...the answer is...no...we invite the entire class at school! (Let me say, the feeling of "What have I done" was coming in waves after he left on the bus for school...what have I done?!. Is there a way I can take it back - univite 28 kids...oh good grief.) Neighborhood, corps and classroom added up to over 40 invitations...what if they all came? I wasn't breaking a sweat, I won't brag or gloat : I feel confident about engaging with and entertaining large groups of kids, so we were set for every single one to come. Birthday arrives with balloons and preparations, and there were 18 kids who came. I admit it willingly...it was on my prayer list for more than 10 days...and I don't feel shallow or trivial..."Lord, please let there be more that 10 kids who can come to N. party. PPLLEEAASSEE!" After the whole day was over and we were cleaning up from limbo, musical chairs, pinata, etc. the tears of relief were so close to the surface, I couldn't ignore the feeling of the heartfelt burden lifted, "Thank you Lord, for new friends for N....thank you...thank you...thank you!"

: I play orchestral french horn and try to play in as many orchestras as I can. I do not have the availability or opportunity to keep a full time gig and play the 75 concerts and rehearsals which an orchestra can prepare, I cannot be a fulltime musician. But I have found a very fulfilling playing opportunity subbing for different orchestras. You know, filling in for someone who is unable to be at that rehearsal or performance. Yet to do that, to get on that list of callers, you must audition, give a hearing, and have the appointed orchestral excerpts prepared and ready to display to perfection. September brought one of these auditions and I practiced for it for 6 weeks. So in the midst of different meetings, responsibilities, dinner and programs, a prevalent ribbon of horn 2 and horn 3 parts of Mozart, Mahler, Dvorak and Shoshtakovich was winding through my days. My office manager learned many of the excerpts and could tell the difference between Beethoven and Strauss...so I consider a huge accomplishment has happened - the music teacher in me is satisfied!. So audition day comes, and I play with about 40 other horns for horn 2 and horn 3, and I played well. I was stinking nervous!!!! I didn't get horn 2 or horn 3 - and I didn't want them. The rigorous preparation process helped underscore for me that I am not made of the cut-throat essence that an orchestral musician requires. I am so opposite on the spectrum - I want everyone to feel as encouraged and confident as possible. Some of that is the mommy in me, but most of it is just the rose-colored glasses wearing, spunky, cheerleader that sees the best in everything and everyone. I invited three other horn players to the audition, for their chance to win the position. I spent the afternoon talking with other horn players, not avoiding all contact with whoever might be positioned as "my competition". I played well, they listened to all my excerpts without calling out for the next horn player to come in (truly my deepest fear). Yet in the middle of the morning - horn 2 auditions- my oldest son T. had an insulin emergency at grandma's. Needing to slip out and rush back, I know that God is using me, exactly where I am with every talent and capability He has entrusted me.

: every single book for each of my M.Div classes this semester were available from the library and I can check them out for 25 weeks. I don't have to buy a single text! I am over 1/2 done with this degree, and having a textbook free September really made back to school, outgrowing hockey skates, 2 birthdays not such a dramatic hit to the wallet.

: Since I work with my husband, I can shut the door and get a kiss anytime I want.

: being a witness to a transformation of heart, body, soul and mind. Few things are as inspiring to me as the transformational process in a person.

:reaching a real person on the other end of the phone, not needing to leave a message.

: my mother's surgery has relieved the pain she has had for months, and her recuperation time is showing healing and strength. What did I make for her - soup and tea. Doctor's should prescribe it!

: sharing coffee with another officer, in the middle of a challenging day for the both of you. (Thanks for lunch Sue, I'll bring you coffee - cream and sugar- anytime!

: there were 25 people in church for worship in Holiness meeting, and 17 in Sunday School. Please don't read those numbers as being tiny, there were 3 people in church in July. Having 25 in church for you may seem like everyone is on vacation, sick or causing a riot, but 25 for us brings an extra wind of spiritual encouragement and validity within God's work. God's touch has brought out a caring spirit to this congregation, responding positively to encouragement and fellowship. I don't typically talk about corps details, the rebuilding process of a congregation following scandal can be painful, lonely and not terribly encouraging for the pastor and leadership involved. Two appointments in a row facing the repercussions of scandal is enough to drain the spirit. As I stepped into the pulpit this morning, there was someone sitting in every pew, children through seniors through elders, spread out but 25 hearts joining us in worshipping the amazing God who created us and keeps us.

"Little is much when God is in it,

labor not for wealth or fame,

there's a crown and you shall win it

when you go in Jesus's name."

My heart is full from little surprises and giant blessings. God is tremendously good.

Impossible to forget

Our brains are designed in such an incredible way, the deep grooves throughout our grey matter are filled with memory receptors infiltrated within each crevice. Capturing memories and holding them – making it physically impossible to forget some things. Some brain experts consider that it is possible for a healthy brain to hold onto the earliest memories, from toddler hood, and retain them for a lifetime.

Impossible to forget.

Sometimes I feel like a few of my memory crevices are having a construction traffic jam, selectively remembering important things while not even trying to retain others. Numbers are losing out right now. I find that the busier I am, the more I rely upon the written reminders – the written memory- to stay on top of things, because frequently they are tied to numbers. My mind feels crammed with numbers, and keeping them straight is an organizational task which can be daunting if not attended to daily. This is why my Palm Pilot has been indispensable to me – my external brain!

Impossible to forget.

Everyone forgets things – the music stand that wasn’t easily seen so it was left behind, the meeting that was scheduled via cell phone while driving in congested traffic, the library book that fell behind a table and remained for three months collecting fines daily but “outta sight, outta mind”. A prescription pick up, a doctor’s appointment, a colleague’s name – forgetting has happened to us all. And for most things, it’s been easily attended with apology or compensation or accepting the consequences and provide the assurance that it won’t happen again.

Impossible to forget.

And yet, some circumstances are so charged with emotion and importance that they will never leave our minds, never be forgotten or eliminated in the daily routine of grocery lists and informal meetings and birthday parties and phone numbers. Branded upon our minds, with its grey matter memory receptors, they are always there. It’s a blessing (a special friendship and shared interest, a covenant relationship, a first kiss, an inspiration, a fantastic poem, a special lesson of life, the birth of a child) and it can be a curse (words that can never be taken back, the loss of a child, mistakes that are unalterable, the suicide of a loved one, a raised hand in anger, a traffic accident with a tragic ending, gunfire).

The life of Joseph recorded in Genesis exposes a man who encountered love and jealousy, success and tragedy, acceptance and rejection, integrity and deception throughout his lifetime. Abandoned by his brothers. Thought to be dead by his parents. Abused as a slave. Imprisoned unjustly. Forgotten within the halls of justice. Threatened with death threats. As a man of faith he found himself alone, relying upon himself and God to make it through one demanding obstacle after another.

It could seem understandable to get embittered with life, to learn the lessons that were thrown at him and decide to never trust again, never love again, to never forget, never reach out again – a natural reaction of protection, self-preservation. But within the Scriptures we see this incredible window exposing Joseph’s relationship with God and how he recognized God’s activity and presence.

Genesis 41:50-52, “Before the years of famine came, two sons were born to Joseph by Asenath daughter of Potiphera, priest of On. Joseph named his first born Manasseh (forget) and said, ‘It is because God has made me forget all my trouble and my father’s household.’ The second son was name Ephraim (double prosperity) and said, ‘It is because God has made me fruitful in the land of my suffering.”

The root of the verb translated here, to forget, is not based on elimination as wiping the memory from the mind as a teacher wipes the chalk from a chalkboard. This verb is not about removing the memory. It is not like brain washing or hypnotism. No, it is more aligned with a different aspect of memory. “To remove the pain, the sting, the injury, the hurt” – this is more in line with the verb, this Manasseh. Joseph uses this verb in naming his child…”God has removed the pain of my memory, God has removed the sting from my memories. I still remember but the pain is not oppressive.”

When reflecting on his life, Joseph praises God for removing the injury, pain and sting from the memories he may never be able to forget. Joseph transmits his pain and injury and gives them to God to handle and manage. He recognizes that he would be bitter and unable to forgive without the anointed embalming of God’s touch upon those memories.

Its an important lesson, a crucial lesson for me, that God promises to walk down the corridors of my mind and examine the still life portraits hanging on the wall, examine the details with me and help me give birth to a Manasseh, a living example of His divine ability to remove the injury and sting of the memories which can never be forgotten. We are built to remember, but God remains with us with the deep promise that His divine love can help remove the oppressive impact these memories can carry, these memories that we cannot seem to erase.

You do not need to be imprisoned by your tragic memories, unable to move ahead or reach out because of what you cannot remove from your mind. God is right there with you, holding you close, taking every breath with you. He is there providing you with the strength of heart to know He can help you give birth to a Manasseh, a chance to let His divine love remove the sting of the memories which seem like a prison. Reach out to Him, He’s reaching out to you full of understanding, compassion and strength.

Stepping Into Traffic

When I was in 6th grade we were given the opportunity to have "real jobs" because of our age and maturity. We were given the chance to be crossing guards at the 8 intersections around the school! Coolness! Arriving at school 30 minutes early, out of class 15 minutes early, we felt like big stuff with our orange belts slashed across the left shoulder and a proud long broomstick handle flag to stop all threatening traffic. We will make sure all traffic stops for us!

So we would all walk to our assigned corner and stand there, waiting for walkers to come and "need our help" to get across the street. We weren't allowed to leave the corner, just wave our long-handled flag out to catch drivers attention so they would stop appropriately. It didn't take long for the coolness factor to wear off - we really weren't doing anything in the matter of safety - we weren't the reason why people would stop. No one would stop for our tiny flag fluttering from the distance of the corner.

No the real power was held by the crossing guards who were adults, at the extra busy corners, who would with all the boldness and strength and confidence in the world would step out into traffic, bringing all moving vehicles to a halt until all the lengthy parade of skipping, bookbag wearing learners would march past them.

Stepping into traffic.

With my morning commute being so brief, a slight 1.5 miles from home to corps, the drive is rarely eventful. I never hear a song all the way through so I don't listen to the radio - I simply observe as much as I can. I rarely even need the gas pedal, letting the engine idle coast me to work. Swerve left, then quickly right, successfully accomplishing the pot-hole slalom which is directly before the only light on the trip. Things are going well - it's going to be a pretty day, a busy day, a blessed day..

But I am abruptly startled into action, needing the brakes when directly before the corps, there is a 14 month old baby in the devil strip, dangling his toes over the curb, sucking his thumb in a "boy am I sleepy" position. He's only wearing a diaper, no socks or shoes and it is only 57 degrees - he's got to be freezing! I am not the only vehicle on the road - this is going to be dangerous in a heartbeat. I coast into my driveway and jump out as smoothly as I can. As I am walking near him, I am searching for his mother - in my lobby (no), in my parking lot (no) in the Rite Aid parking lot (no) in the front, side or back yard (no) on the porch (no). As I step slowly closer, he begins to move sideways and closer to traffic. This is getting bad fast, as drivers are simply shaking their heads as they speed past and neighbors are observing the "a.m. entertainment" not wanting to get involved. There is only one thing to do.

Step into traffic.

Cars stop and wait, as I am able to step close enough to reach him, pick him up and step to the pedestrian safety of the sidewalk. Inside I am furiously seething, "I could be a stranger with the worst of intentions and NO ONE is here to stop me from leaving, never seeing this little one ever again." But I am not a stranger to him, and I know which apartment he lives in. As I walk up to his home, his large espresso colored eyes let me know he's barely awake. I don't know how long he's been outside, but he is so cold it takes my breath away.

Stepping into traffic.

This is not a "dump and dash" excursion to this house, I have to be very serious about everything that has happened. And under control. I have to communicate and listen. I may have a professional obligation, I also must have a courageous obligation. I need to be willing to step into the traffic of this situation with boldness and confidence, willing to take the risk.

Risking her fury or criticism, I must wake his mother up. Risking her startled list of excuses, I have to recap the Jim Beam and put it above the refrigerator, box up the cigarettes and put them in the cleaning closet "These are deadly to your 3 babies. Careless sips because they are thirsty or eating just one cigarette - it can kill them!" Risking her anger bounced to her other children, I have to explain where her son was instead of being "watched" by his 3yr old brother. Risking her never accepting our corps invitation to join us for worship or children's programs, I need to express to her that two other agency directors in our town who drove by this circumstance, one of them being connected to Children's Services.

Step into the dangerous traffic that surrounds you, willing to risk your time, your schedule, your plans, your leisure activity. Don't sweep someone's careless threat of suicide away - step into the traffic and invest yourself in the name of Christ Jesus to express hope, and action and concern. Step into the traffic of grief and offer more than a dry handkerchief - embrace and share compassion. Invest yourself with your teenagers, with the message of purity, modesty and language. With the stop sign in your hand and the confidence of God's righteousness, address the gossip and lies that are attempted to be spread in your presence.

In the name of God, make your presence known.

Step into the traffic with a prayer and boldness. God is right there with you.

Isaiah 41:10 "So do not fear, for I AM with you, says the LORD; do not be dismayed, for I AM your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with My righteous right hand." NIV

A Watchful Watchtower

With my devotions this morning, I find myself with my Bible in the Old Testament laughing out loud at the images in my mind t he Scripture are bringing, as if the Bible is mocking me and who I need to be right now.

Ezekiel and the watchman. A spiritual dedication to sharing and caring the news of God’s love and expectations. As the watchman, I always saw Ezekiel sequestered in a high place, uninterrupted, hearing from God and reading God’s word with relish and time. He had serious alone time with God.

I seriously do not.

I feel as if all parts of life crowd in on my day to take more chunks of my time, my devotional time. I do not have a high and silent place to languish for hours wrapped in the truths and teachings of God. I’ve got young hands cramming notes under my door with scrawled notes and requests, childhood contracts of expectations or expression. It feels like minutes sometimes with God, brief, fleeting. In the same reality, I cannot have a God-honoring day without spending time with Him. Some people you don’t want to meet until they’ve had their coffee…you really don’t want to see me unless I’ve been with Jesus. I am not as loving or understanding of a wife, as flexible and forgiving as a mother, as creative or vision-filled leader without my quiet time. Days that do not start with the careful hemming attention from Jesus always come unraveled in a tirade of frustration, loss of patience or quick discouragement. Sure I can get to end of 24 hours without losing it, but usually it could be a cynical, mouthy, careless conversation girl you meet. Frequently, my time with God has to come in the pre-dawn hours, and even then, it is filled with prayers for these young and growing hearts.

I am seeing myself perched high in this watchtower Like Elijah, yet I am not alone, observing all these loved ones dangling from the lofty support system. I am not in a place in my life that I can abandon them all to care for themselves while I am behind closed doors for the sake of being close to God. Hockey sticks in hand. First aid kit for the most recent boo-boo. Library books to be found. Teenage moodiness. Needing new shoes. Signed permission slips. “Moooooom, he said this…” Questions about God. Golf team matches. Piano lessons. Scholarship paperwork. Homework.

My devotional time can just as easily evolve into sermon preparation, or for research in an exegetical paper. Neither of these are the deep well of connection with God.

My time with God is frequently devotion in action, praying together as a blessing before catching school bus. Asking forgiveness when I am hurtful or wrong. Stopping and watching a rainbow together. Meeting new friends and teachers.

At the beginning of the day I fill a bowl with water and keep it at the sink counter, reminding me of the fullness God has for my day. I don’t empty it until the end of the day, thanking God for his power and presence in everything I needed to do. My daily tasks, home and office, can easily take over and dictate my time. I cannot allow them to. I have to start my day hand in hand with Jesus, living out the hymn, “He walks with me and He talks with me.”

So with this watchtower in mind, I make a quick trip up with a careful eye given all around these dangling loved ones attached to this watchtower with me.

I pray God blesses you today, quietly yet physically answering your prayers, reaffirming your faith, addressing your need and preparing you for the gift He has for you.