Words of Wax

My ten-year-old son grew a beard today.  Well, actually, I drew the facial hair for him so as to authenticate his likeness to John G. Parke for his school war museum.  

Adding to my introduction to Parke, at his school today, I met Andrew Jackson, Harriet Tubman, John Wilkes Booth, and others whose names I do not recall - such as the woman the Union Army turned down to serve as a nurse because she was "too beautiful" and the Confederate Captain who shot himself in the knee, intentionally.  

From a room full of fourth and fifth graders, I learned much today about men and women over one century after they lived.

Fast forward into the future.  A fourth grader in 2116 applies a beard, wig, cottonball mustache, or hat in order to present a wax image of you.  Parents, teachers, and fellow students tap your wax lookalike on the shoulder, step back, and listen for the presentation. 
 
What does the child say? 

For what will the next century remember you?

Heroic action?
Heart of service?
Reckless behavior?
Shooting yourself in the knee?

 What if they remember you as one who lived every day to the fullest?

What if they, acknowledging your less-than-outstanding traits, told of your kindness, honesty, and care for others?

The words of wisdom in the God-inspired text tell us . . .

Do not boast about tomorrow,
    for you do not know what a day may bring.
Let someone else praise you, and not your own mouth;
    an outsider, and not your own lips.
Proverbs 27:1-2 (NIV)

We do well not to boast.  We can, however, strive to put words into the mouths of the future's fourth graders by living as we want them to remember us.  

What will the wax say of you?

Midnight's Game

This week I invited a guest blogger to write for livetheordinarylife. She is a gifted writer; and I say that because she writes well, not because she is my daughter. Enjoy her post!

Midnight’s Game

by Kate Goodman

Silvery flakes drifted down, glittering in the bright light of the harvest moon.

The grey horned owl beat his wings majestically as he swooped down through the leftover, crumbling wheat-grass.  His eyes: piercing, dull, and blank as if searching for someone to lead him through midnight’s game.

The owl's silhouette danced along the horizon's fiery collage of colors.  The urge inside of him to hoot with the prowling wolves was tempting;, but if he wanted to catch a good supper, concentration was key.

The haunted night let loose its midnight fun as wolves declared their presence and a few timid grasshoppers hummed their symphony.  Before long, the whole night was alive, from the rushing chills of the river to the wind asking the leaves to dance.  With one giant leap, the leaves swirled and pirouetted across the night sky with the strong grasp of the wind to steady them.

Oh how the owl wanted to join the fun!  But as free-spirited as he might be, he was waiting for a sound.

One rustle in the grass.

One little helpless squeak.

One hopeful mouse searching for adventure.

* * * * * *

The owl's wings beat at the wind, upsetting the night’s dance.  The leaves fell from their partners and fluttered helplessly to the ground.  The song of the symphony was sung, sadly in the distance.

Owl was not wanted.

But mouse was.

A soft, wet nose peeped out from under a mossy log.  His ears were constantly twitching, trying to find a break in the dance … searching for danger.  With one timid paw, he stepped out into the night’s game and hurried out into the whistling grass.

Was he looking for something in particular?  Something to complete his day?

No.

There is always one drive that sends little mouse to his doom.

Curiosity.

He wanted the feeling of dancing in the night.

The owl chuckled from above.  “Don’t you know, little mouse, what happens to those who dare to be curious?”  He began as he dived in for a smooth landing.

The mouse’s oblivious eyes lit up with excitement as the leaves were escorted by their partners again, and swung into the next twirl.  All was alive again, nothing seemed adrift.  

* * * * * *

The leaves knew.  They called desperately to the mouse, “Hide!  Run!”

The wind howled in the distance, pulling apart the symphony.  Grasshoppers chirped their warnings until all they could do was watch.

* * * * * *

All was silent.  But at night, silence is the greatest warning.

“Stop, turn back!” Silence screamed.

But it was too late.

Curiosity killed the mouse.

Eyes

Three days ago after applying the paste to my brush I looked in the bathroom mirror to (for whatever reason we do) watch myself brush my teeth.  Then I saw it.  Three, rather than two, small circles reflecting back at me, two black and one red, two pupils and one  . . .
Subconjunctival Hemorrhage.  Web MD, an actual MD, and an ophthalmic assistant assure me that that is the name of the blood spot in my eye.

They all assure me that it will disappear.  In the meantime, I avoid looking myself in the eye.  I’m one for whom watching anyone, including my wife, put drops in their eyes or remove a rogue lash proves traumatic.  Given the choice between watching a doctor examine an eye and a surgeon repair a heart, I would choose the latter. 

Tonight, as I brush my teeth, I will find something rather than my reflection to observe for those two minutes (plus flossing, if I do as I should).  I will avoid eye contact.

Avoiding eye contact.  We do that for reasons beyond subconjunctival hemorrhages.  

Shame.

Fear of self-betrayal.

Cognitive dissonance.

Desperate attempts at self-deception.

A traditional proverb assures us that “the eyes are the window to the soul.”  Therefore, fans of taking their “everyday, ordinary” lives and placing “them before God as an offering” (see Romans 12, The Message) need to look themselves in the eye.  As we look into our own eyes, we will observe our souls and discover answers to questions.   

Have I really forgiven him?

Do I really believe that God created me for a purpose?

Do I know that God loves me?

As we look into our own eyes, we also discover our spots.  Yes - subconjunctival hemorrhages; but more importantly, blind spots. 

What have I been ignoring?

What sin continues to entangle me?

Do I still have that plank in my eye?  Speck?

Tonight as you prepare for bedtime, remember to brush your teeth, floss, and . . . Look Yourself in the Eye.