Banana Surgery

As I’ve mentioned before, I am employed as a minister.  While I have many duties associated with my employment, my primary function is to lead and teach the youth of our church.   Last night, I divided my wild bunch into surgical teams of 2 or 3, and provided them with an operating table (paper plate), scalpels (plastic knives) and a patient (a banana).  I gave them the instructions to peel the banana and cut the banana any which way they desired.  The only requirement was that they keep all the pieces (i.e. don’t eat the banana).  So, my little group of future M.D.’s went to work.   Some made even, precise cuts.  Some were sliced length wise, other in half.   Some were, well, let’s just say not as precise.

And then I dropped the bomb on them.   When they were finished, and had presented their pieces of bananas, I then instructed them to reconstruct their “patient.”   Of course, I provided a few surgical supplies to assist with the endeavor-tape, paper clips, etc. 

Hilarity ensued.

We ended up naming the “patients” post-op in our laughter, and here I present to you Frankenana, Ninjana, Zombanana, and Body Bag Steve (poor Steve).

The object of the lesson was to point that once we “do harm” to of just outright hurt others that those that we inflict damage upon maybe functional, but are never really the same.  Just like our bananas bared the marks of the scalpels, even after attempts to repair them, so to do the souls and spirits of those who are hurt bear the scars of their sufferings.  

After I got home and began looking closer at bananas as I posted pictures to the youth group’s Facebook page, I began to notice that all four of patients, albeit completely unintentionally, highlighted a different, but important result of what happens when we are harmed.

I first looked at Frankenana.   Now, Frank’s team did a pretty good job in his reconstructive surgery.   He was certainly the most intact afterwards.   He was even wearing a smile-unusual, if not slightly creepy-for banana who has just endured major reconstructive surgery.    Nevertheless, behind that smile, Frankenana was just that-Frankenana-a sort of banana who once was an actual banana, and who really had no hope of becoming a full banana again through the help of even our most skilled surgeons.  People are like that.   Maybe they keep on smiling, and keep on going.   Maybe even on the surface they appear to be pretty much together.   But once someone has cut them to their core, by word or deed, though the damage has been repaired, some scarring remains.

Next there was Ninjana.   As the Ningana’s medical condition was appearing increasingly grave, Ninjana’s team of gifted surgeons improvised an incredible life-saving technique with a roll of black electrical tape that just happened to be in one of the surgeons pockets.   Ninjana was wheeled out of surgery completely reconstructed on the outside with a new and improved façade to boot.   In fact, he’s new facade was so tough that Ninjana was practically impenetrable.   He was not firmly surrounded by a wall of electrical tape which not only allowed our resident Banana Ninja to hold to his original form (not to mention look like the most awesome Banana Ninja we know), but also to conceal in that form on the inside he was completely a mess.  You see, most of the inside of Ninjana was impossible to piece back together, and so Ninjana’s surgeons managed to create an outer appearance  that served to protect Ninjana from ever feeling like less of a banana again and conceal the fact that inside, Ninjana was basically baby food.  Again, we find this in some people too.   Once people are hurt and hurt again, they eventually learn to put up a wall.   The wall has two primary functions.  One, the wall protects that person from getting hurt again by preventing anyone or anything from getting close enough to hurt them like they have been hurt before.   Two, the wall ensures that no one sees how badly they have been hurt, and how they still hurt from past grievances.   It’s a difficult repair that had to be made, to say the least.

And then there was Zombanana.  Now, the question remains as to whether Zombanana survived the surgery or not.   He appeared to be relatively intact, but there were definitely some open areas, particularly relating to the brain area, and as I am not an expert in zombiesque bananas, well, I’ll let you decide whether Zombanana is actually a banana or not.  What I can tell you, he came out a bit warped, and forever changed by his experience.  The wounds he suffered were a bit less reparable, and it as a result he had a bit of form change (we also decided against letting Zom near the other patients for safety reasonsJ).   This too happens with people.   Sometimes the wounds are so great, that short of finding God’s love and grace afterward, people don’t heal in a meaningful way.  Sometimes hurt that is inflicted is so painful that healing never really occurs short of divine intervention, and that person ends up living life with an open wound that effects everything they do in life-every action, reaction, emotion, feeling, etc.-so much in some cases that it could raise questions as to whether they are still, in fact, alive.

And finally, there was Body Bag Steve.  Poor Steve.  We can safely say that Steve didn’t survive.  He gave his life to science…er, theology...ah, forget it.   Steve wound up still in pieces underneath the a mound of scotch tape that secured him to his funeral pyre, I mean, operating table in a manner that he at least somewhat resembled his former self-at least for the purposes of final viewing.  You see, Steve’s initial surgery was just too invasive for him to recover.  He had been cut, and cut, and cut again, and eventually there was no hope for our patient to survive, even with a team of surgeons.   And sadly, there are people like that.   Eventually they just get hurt so much that they are only a shell of their former selves-of what God created them to be-and they cannot heal at all without the help of a God who loves and heals.

 There’s a point to all this.  There are three primary focuses to Get Up and Go 2014:  Love first.  Do good.  Pray for each other.   All three come into play here.

 First-just love.  Don’t worry about anything else.  Just love.  If you go in love for your neighbor as God has loved you, you’ll be okay.   And remember what love is-see 1^st Corinthians 13 if you need a refresher. Don’t go out of your own righteousness, don’t because you’re right.  You’ll do harm.   Christ did not come forcing anyone at the tip of a sword-because that is not love.   Go in love.  God’s love.

And in God’s love, DO GOOD.  You (Yes, YOU!) were created to do good for the kingdom!!!   So do it.  Be a light.  Be the good.   That good will gain more for the kingdom than anything that is forced will!!  And furthermore, that good might be an instrument that God uses to heal the Frankenanas, Ninjanas, Zombananas, and yes, even the Body Bag Steve’s (Poor Steve!) in this world.  

Finally, pray.  Pray that love will prevail.  Pray that it will be your first instinct.  Pray that good will be done in love and that God will shine in that good.  Pray for the healing of those who have been hurt and that the good they experience will help that process.   And pray for each other as we all get up and go so that we might change the world.

(And, if you want to see all the surgery pictures, go to:   https://www.facebook.com/DecaturUnitedMethodistChurchYouth)

Life Lessons from the Family Cat, pt 1

We have a cat.  Or maybe I should say a cat has us.  Yeah, that’s probably more correct.  We are owned by a cat. 

It’s certainly not something we planned on.   I’m not even sure we’re “cat people.”   In fact, until a little over three years ago, we were a cat free family-and my husband was vehemently opposed to even the suggestion that a feline might one day join (own) our family-he simply disliked cats.   Dislike may be too soft a word, actually.

Thus enter the longings of a then 4 year old boy into our family history.  He begged and pleaded, begged and pleaded, and then begged and pleaded a little more—for a cat-preferably one of the “black Halloween” variety.  I guess, to that point, we’d raised him right, because when he realized he was getting nowhere with us, he took his request to a higher power.   Yes, my friends, our little boy was down on his knees before bedtime praying earnestly for a “black Halloween cat.”

Now, my husband and I may not be the brightest crayons in the box, but we do learn-and what we learned about the last time our youngster had a prayed like that (for a new sibling-he also asked Santa Claus for that one) was that God, in fact, hears and answers the prayers of the pure and earnest.   So, we made arrangements to adopt one (and then two….that’s another story entirely!) cats from a nearby animal rescue before the Good Lord had a chance to “bless” us with an entire litter of kittens.   One of those better to jump off the diving board than to be shoved into the water kind of things…

Cat one, Amos, went well from the beginning.   He made himself right at home and quickly became friendly with the household, even the 4 year old and the 11 month old.   Cat two, Rubelle-the bonus kitty, if you will-was another story entirely.   We don’t know what happened to her in her first year of life (she was right at a year old when we brought her home), but whatever it was likely did not involve happy times with humans.   She was absolutely terrified.   We could not get within 5 feet of her.   I’m pretty sure that neither myself, my husband, nor our oldest was able to get so much as a finger on her for the first two weeks.    We were pretty much at a loss-here was this pitiful creature who was either running frantically through our house in an effort to get away from us or shaking from fear in a corner-and there didn’t seem to be much we were going to be able to do about it.

There was one ray of hope, though.  On about day 4, we noticed that when we would put the baby down for a nap, Ruby would slip into the bedroom, curl up beside him, and sleep.  One day, I managed to slip in there and put a hand on her.  She shrank back from me at first, then let me pet her a few times before she took off again.   And so began the journey.  Some days she let us pet her, some days not.  We bribed her with treats, toys, catnip, and even fried catfish-her favorite.    We made an effort to move slowly around her.  Most of all, we just loved her.   And eventually, she started to come around. 

Fast forward three years to the present-she’s an only cat (we lost Amos to an illness), and the queen of the house.  Now the cat who was all but untouchable spends most of her days seeking a lap to sit on and pretty much all of her nights curled up in the bed between me and my husband-preferably with one of us holding her, but at the very least, cuddled up against someone .   Quite a difference, don’t you think?

I tell this story to make this point.   You may go and do good all day, all week, all year even, and feel like you’re not being successful.   But there is always hope.   And that good is never ever wasted.   You see, people and cats aren’t that different.  When people get hurt, they tend to pull back, and worse, they sometimes run away and hide because they are so fearful of being hurt again.  And often times, it’s these very people who need to be loved, who need to experience good, the most.  Just like Ruby, they have to change their way of thinking and learn to be loved, and that takes time.   Three years ago, we couldn’t touch her.   Today, she rolls over for us to scratch her belly.   

Love is an investment.  And all worthwhile investments require some effort and time.   It may take time to see the results, but love.  Just love.  Love first and love last.  The rest will take care of itself.  Maybe you’ll see the results, maybe you won’t-but does it matter?  The point was never for you to see the results in the first place-the point is will you go and do what/where God is calling you.  He’ll handle the rest.

And, if you don’t believe people can change-Rubelle is sleeping on my husband’s back as I finish up this post.  Turns out, he’s a cat person after all.  J  

Just love and do good.  That’s all He asks.  The rest will come, whether we’re around or not.

 Get up and go!

And a little child shall lead them...

A few days ago, my youngest walked into our living room and announced to me and my husband that his New Year’s resolution was love.  Now, I don’t have the faintest idea how he came up that-we’ve never had any conversation with him (or the older one) about what a resolution is, and we’ve certainly never given him the idea to make one-but somehow or another, he knew what it was, and he made one.   And you know what else?   The kid gets it.  Really and truly-that’s what it’s all about.   Love.  Just love.  Love your family, your friends, your neighbor, the struggling, the hurting, the downtrodden.  Everyone.  Just love.  Anything else will take care of itself.

You know, little ones just seem to get it period.  And they do good too, which is, after all, the point of all of this.  I got to be on the receiving end of it just a bit ago.  You see, over the last year or so, due to illness, I have spent time in and out of wheelchair.  It’s been more than a bit of struggle for me-I used to be an athlete, and I have always been active and mobile-so how I self-identify has taken quite a blow.  With the help of some really great friends, though, it’s gotten better, and when I’m in it, I’m learning to just go about my business as usual, making adjustments when necessary.  That being said, in the best of circumstances, I do not enjoy the spotlight, and sometimes that chair seems to add to it-and one place in particular is in my job.   I am a minister by trade, a while I’m not the big dog on the church campus, my ministerial duties often require that I assist at the communion table and that, on occasion, I preach-both of which I have recently done for the first time with wheels. Hello, self-consciousness!!

After my first seated sermon, I was approached by one of two nearly three year old twins.  Now, these precious girls are fairly familiar with me.  Their mother is one of my dearest friends, and they attend daycare with my aforementioned youngest.  But I really just wasn’t sure how they’d react to my being in a wheelchair, especially up close and personal.  The first question was, naturally, “Why are you in that?”.  I explained to my little friend that my legs were a little sick.  And then, the wonderful thing happened:  She just smiled at me, said okay, and crawled right up in my lap like it was the most natural thing ever--so we went for a little ride.  Well, it wasn’t long before her sister had joined the party, and we went for a ride (followed of course, by my youngest, who often goes for a ride with me!). 

Now, I know this seems like a terribly small thing, but for me?  Well, it made me day!  Not only did I get to feel like I did something “cool” (and trust me, kids, cool is something I have NEVER been!), but they weren’t put off by anything at all.  They get it from their mom-and their aunt, and the rest of their family.  And let me tell you, that’s a confidence builder right there, folks!  I’m ready, wheels and all!    

I tell this little story to say this.   Simple, small things still count.  Just bringing a little extra joy to someone-be it a smile, a hug, even a hello-that’s doing good.  We can all do a little good every day.  And if we all make a point to be good in the world, well, it’s going to look like a lot better place to all of us. 

Get up and go, my friends!