God's presence and sovereignty in hell

I've just finished reading two books about prisoners' experiences as American POWs in the Hanoi Hilton during the Vietnam war.  The first was entitled Surviving Hell, by Leo Thorsness (who grew up in Walnut Grove, MN, home at one time to Laura Ingalls Wilder) and the second was entitled When Hell Was in Session, by Jeremiah Denton (who went on to become a senator from Alabama).  Both included graphic descriptions of the way they were treated and so were at times difficult to read.  But both were also inspiring.  Faith in God was part of what sustained both these men during their ordeals and God's presence and help were real to these men (and many of their fellow POWs).  One of the incidents described by Jeremiah Denton was especially moving and the following paragraphs are from his book, starting on page 140.  As background, please note that the POWs were for the most part forbidden to communicate with each other and, for the umpteenth time, Jeremiah Denton was suspected of having broken that rule.  The rear cuffs refer to cuffs around his wrists, which are behind his back, and the traveling irons are around his ankles.  Flesher is one of his fellow POWs.

"They wanted me to confess what I had actually talked about, and I was put in rear cuffs and a double set of traveling irons and taken to the latrine-bathhouse, where I was told to kneel in the hot sun.  The bathhouse was concrete and uncovered, and the four walls reflected the rays of the burning sun.  I guessed that the temperature was 120 degrees or more.  As I knelt and sweated under the noonday sun, I could hear Flesher somewhere nearby, screaming and moaning.  I closed my eyes and said the rosary.

My physical condition was poor, and as the hours went on I would fall over.  The guard would come and drag me around the rough concrete by my leg irons until I managed to get on my knees again.  I weakened rapidly, and to make matters worse, I had to move my bowels.  It is peculiar the way the mind works under certain circumstances.  It was not relief from the sun that I wanted most right then.  It was not food, or water, or even removal of the cuffs or traveling irons.  What I wanted was toilet paper.

I was already so filthy and uncomfortable that I didn't feel I could stand one more discomfort, that of defecating without the luxury of toilet paper.  And there was no way the silent, sullen guard outside would provide that amenity.

As the long minutes passed, my need became more pronounced.  So as I kneeled in the sun, my head bowed, fever raging through my body, I once again turned to my source of strength.  I prayed, almost apologetically, for a small favor.

When I had completed my request, I threw my head back and peeped under my blindfold at the sky.  As I looked up, I saw a large leaf, swirling and fluttering in the heavy air and heading my way.

I watched fascinated as it took a sudden dive and landed practically at my feet.  It was large, about 9 inches long and 6 inches wide, and pleasantly furry on one side.  Perfect!

I twisted my body and picked the leaf up with my cuffed hands, tore it into four pieces, and worked my way to the nearby bucket, where I put the pieces to use."

I highly recommend both these books.  I finished Leo Thorsness' book while riding the bus to work one morning and I had to fight back tears as I read about his return to America.

At Bats and Possessions

I can't multitask.  Can anyone?  I think women can.  Not me.  In fact, I'm trying to stop trying.  It turns out that a lot of the time when I'm tempted to multitask, it comes down to trying to carry on some interpersonal communication with a real person vs. carry on some task with a thing (especially the computer).  Usually the person gets the short end of the stick.  So now, if there's some action that needs my attention while I'm interacting with another person, I apologize for interrupting the interaction, admit that I can't multitask, take care of the action, and then direct my attention once again to the person.  I've found that there's a peace that comes with the confession that I can't multitask.  Maybe it's the peace that comes with speaking the truth.  

Earlier this year, I read a book by former UNC basketball coach Dean Smith, and one of things he was always trying to get his players to do was to focus on "this possession."  "Win this possession."  A basketball player trying to win a particular possession can't be multitasking.  Neither can a guy trying to hit a baseball.  I wonder if that's why I was never very good at hitting a baseball.  Some lessons are learned too late.

In God's providence, page after page

I participated in an exercise with a small group several months ago.  Each of us in the group was given a few minutes to come up with a 6-word philosophy of life.  I don't remember the one I came up with, but as I thought about it later, I came up with one that I've hung onto:  In God's providence, page after page.  


One of my daily struggles is worrying how I'm gonna satisfactorily perform all I need to do.  At work, at least, there's almost always more to do than I have time for.  At the beginning of the day, I look at all the tasks ahead of me and I wonder if I'll be able to do them all.  Moreover, it's a certainty that whatever's on my list at the beginning of the day, there'll be more added to it.  How will I manage?  I hate to admit it, but at times I feel something akin to panic.


Two years ago, in 2009, because it was the 500th anniversary of his birth, I heard and read a lot about John Calvin.  He taught a lot about God's providence, and meditating on God's providence has helped me with my struggle with worry.  Nothing happens outside of God's providence and everything that happens is in some sense ordained by God, including everything that's on my list every day.  It's on my list because he put it there.  He put it there in a particular order and I'm to work on each item in that particular order.  Seriatim.  Start with page one, focus on it, and do it.  Then go to page two.  After that, page three, &c.  If there's an interruption or a surprise, it's there in his providence.  It didn't take him by surprise.  This sounds pretty basic, yet thinking about my day in terms of the providence of God has really made a difference in my attitude.  I wish I could say I'm cured of all worry, but that's not true.  Nevertheless, multiple times a day as I think about what I'm doing, I call to mind the sovereignty and the providence of God, and that's a good thing.    

Witness

Witness is the title of a book by Whittaker Chambers. On a superficial level, it's the story of the Alger Hiss spy case. But primarily, it's the story of Whittaker Chambers' journey into and out of Communism.  This is a largely forgotten chapter in American history and that's unfortunate. The book is long and is tedious when dealing with the formal trial of Alger Hiss. But the part about how Whittaker Chambers became and functioned as a communist spy is riveting. However, I believe the best part of the book is the foreword, which Whittaker Chambers crafts in the form of a letter to his children. This brief essay should be required reading for every American high school student.  Whittaker Chambers wrote that "two faiths were on trial:"  "Communism and Freedom."  The differences between the two faiths ultimately came down to one thing:  God.  According to Chambers, "the Communist vision is the vision of Man without God."  
This struggle still goes on today, and the spirit of Communism lives on in a number of related "faiths."  It lives on, for example, in those who maintain that the individual is of lesser value than the group and that it's moral to sacrifice any number of individuals for the sake of a particular group.  It's not enough, though, to oppose such a vision.  Chambers wrote, "a man is not primarily a witness against something.  That is only incidental to the fact that he is a witness for something.  A witness, in the sense that I am using the word, is a man whose life and faith are so completely one that when the challenge comes to step out and testify for his faith, he does so, disregarding all risks, accepting all consequences."
God grant me the courage to be a witness for Jesus Christ and for his gospel and for the worldview that is Christianity.   

My Help

Henry Lee, Juanita, Evalina, & Edner.  I wanted to record for posterity the names of some of the women who "practically raised" me, according to my mother.  I don't know their last names.  I don't even know if their names are correctly spelled (the above names are phonetically spelled, based on my mother's pronunciation).  These were black women who worked for my mother, taking care of me when I was very young.  Sadly, I don't remember them (I have no memory of anything before kindergarten.  I remember getting a whipping for "getting lost" during a kindergarten class trip to the circus.  I also remember that I wasn't lost; I wandered off to look at the chameleons that were for sale.  I was fascinated by them & wanted to watch them more than whatever else was going on under the big top.  No doubt that unjust whipping scarred me for life.  It wiped out my pre-kindergarten memory & to this day I don't like circuses & I break out in a cold sweat in the presence of old maid schoolmarms).  Anyway, it grieves me that I don't remember these women or the things they taught me.  However, given the culture of the day, I have no doubt that they were relatively strict and openly & unashamedly based whatever rules they had on the Bible.  Consequently, I also have no doubt that I'll see 'em again in glory.

I will lift up my eyes to the hills--
From whence comes my help?
My help comes from the LORD,
Who made heaven and earth.

These are the opening two verses of Psalm 121, one of the Songs of Ascents, recited by the Jews as they walked up to Jerusalem for one of the holy days.  As they approached Jerusalem, they looked up at the hills where various "high places" were found.  These were shrines, often to idols, that were unauthorized by God.  The Jews then affirmed that their help comes not from any source other than the Lord, who made heaven and earth.  I also affirm that God alone is my help and that, ultimately, it is he who works through various agents to help me, discipline me, and direct my way.  He worked through Henry Lee, Juanita, Evalina, and Edner.  He will be my help today, and I can trust him to be my help in the future.  He neither slumbers nor sleeps.  Praised be God, and not our strength, for it.    

24thJuly2011 You're the Intervention

I was part of a study that came to an end a few weeks ago.  Some of my colleagues at Mayo are interested in physician burnout and conducted a study that lasted about 8 months.  Physician volunteers were recruited to be part of the study and the volunteers were divided into two groups, the study group and the control group.  I volunteered and was assigned to the study group and so every other week I met over lunch with a group of up to seven other physicians and two facilitators (there were three other such small groups).  For the record, my group included three general internists, a cardiologist, a gastroenterologist, a pulmonologist, a rheumatologist, and a hematologist.  The facilitators were both general internists.  At each session the facilitators introduced a topic by asking a particular question or showing a brief video and then discussion would follow.  The discussions were always about some aspect of what could be considered the art of medicine, such as dealing with medical errors, the death of a patient, prejudice, &c.
Almost every time I was encouraged by the comments of my colleagues.  For one thing, I learned first-hand that I wasn't the only one struggling with certain thoughts or experiences.  In addition, my colleagues often spoke of ways they dealt with certain challenges, ways that I could adapt for my own use.
Almost from the first, the time I spent with my colleagues in these sessions was precious to me.  Because of the location of my office, an extra effort on my part was required in order for me to attend the meetings.  I gladly made the extra effort.  The only two times I missed a session was when I was out of town.  Even my nurses noticed some sort of effect on me.  At one point, one of them asked me, "So, you're going to therapy today?"  
Over the years, I've participated in a number of small groups through my church.  I'm sure they were of value, but I don't recall ever looking forward to the meetings as much as I looked forward to these meetings, nor did I consider them as helpful at the time.  A feature of almost every church small group I've attended is that they've been scheduled in the evening, after a busy day.  By virtue of the fact that none of us had anything scheduled after the group, the meetings tended to go beyond the previously-agreed-upon ending time, sometimes quite a bit beyond.  I'm wired in such a way that I don't tolerate small group sessions that go beyond their scheduled ending time.  One of my many faults.  Content was another problem in some of the church small group meetings I've attended:  there wasn't much.
At the last session of the study group, I learned how the physicians in the control group were treated.  Whereas a certain amount of time was carved out of my schedule so I could attend my group session, physicians in the control group were simply given the same amount of time every other week to spend however they wanted.  Someone in my group asked in effect, "So what was the intervention?"  To this one of the facilitators replied, "You were the intervention."
I was struck by that statement and realized that God in his grace & in his providence did a work in me through some of my colleagues, some of whom were not Christians.  It further dawned on me that that's how he works in the world most of the time:  through sinful, flawed, human agents.  On any given day, at any given moment, God in his providence may use even me to "intervene" with another person, or vice versa, to proclaim the gospel, to encourage, to be an agent of reconciliation, &c.
I'm even looking forward to my next church small group.

30thApril2011 What's yours is mine?

Maybe the greatest blot on the record of our founding fathers is their failure to deal appropriately with the issue of slavery.  It's hard to understand how men so brilliant, who wrote so eloquently about how "all men are created equal," could have have been so blind as to institutionalize slavery in the Constitution.  Arguments must have been advanced that pointed out the inconsistency of their words and their actions.  Yet slavery was allowed to continue, likely because it was politically expedient.  A nation needed creating, and the support of influential, slave-holding men was needed.

I expect that Americans come closer to 100% agreement on the issue of slavery than on any other issue.  It's bad.  It's a moral evil.  We shouldn't have done it.

Yet, I believe the vast majority of Americans still endorse slavery, though of a different type.  Most believe and promulgate the idea that somehow or other they are entitled to the fruit of another person's labor, that they have a right to take someone else's property, even at the point of a gun.  Most believe this because they believe and promulgate the idea that it's alright and a moral good to forcibly redistribute wealth.

Examples of how Americans endorse the forcible redistribution of wealth are legion.  The financing of public education is one.  I expect that Americans also come pretty close to 100% agreement that the education of children is a good thing.  Yet many Americans are not willing to pay the cost of their children's education. They believe this education should be "free."  Of course, they would acknowledge that there is a cost to the education of their children; they just think they shouldn't have to pay it, at least not all of it, and usually not even most of it.  "Society" should pay this cost, for all kinds of good reasons.  And yet, in reality, "society" is a sort of fiction.  If society has any resources, it's only because the individuals within it have their own resources, usually acquired as a result of their labor.  Society pays only because the individuals in it are forced to pay, and those individuals who pay may have little or no say as to the kind of education they're financing.  It's possible in today's America that a person may be paying, whether he agrees or not, to teach children as young as kindergarteners that homosexual sex is on a moral par with heterosexual, married sex.  It's also possible he may be paying, whether he agrees or not, to teach students that there is no God, or if there is, he doesn't really matter or isn't any more worthy of study or worship than Buddha, Allah, Gaia, or the Flying Spaghetti Monster.  If an individual decides he no longer wants to finance a particular educational enterprise because it teaches students ideas that are anathema to him or because it's doing a lousy job educating the students, or for whatever reason, sooner or later, if he persists in the refusal to pay, someone with a gun is gonna visit him.

I believe in the value of education and can provide ample proof of that belief both from my behavior and from my bank statement.  But I don't believe I have the right to go to my neighbor, take some of his property by force, and use it to educate my children.  Being poor doesn't give me that right and neither does being rich.  I don't believe I'd have that right even if everyone else in America agreed with me and voted that it was OK for me to go to my neighbor and take some of his property by force and use it to educate my children and/or anyone else's children.

But that's how wealth redistribution works.  Someone has an idea for a project, a really good, worthwhile project.  It'll only directly benefit a certain group of people, but it's a really worthwhile project.  Unfortunately, he doesn't have the money to pay for it.  Now his neighbor's got money.  In fact, he's got bags full of the stuff just laying around.  But, for whatever reason, his neighbor isn't willing to fork over the cash, and he knows he can't just go take it by force, however much he covets it.  Still, he believes that because his project is so worthwhile, so beneficial, he's somehow more entitled to his neighbor's money than even his neighbor is.  So he goes to St. Paul or Washington and convinces a group of politicians that he's right, so that they'll go to his neighbor and take the money by force.  If it turns out that the neighbor resists, sooner or later someone with a gun will show up.  The neighbor is forced to give up part of the fruit of his labor to pay for someone else's project, whether he agrees with it or not.  It usually turns out that such an action is also politically expedient.  Now the politicians will have some new friends who will vote for them and maybe even donate money to their campaigns.  The neighbor doesn't really matter to the politicians.  After all, he's only one vote.

If someone or some group is entitled to any of the fruit of my labor, to that extent I'm his slave.  I don't care what the motive is.