Hope In Cracks and Crevices

 Sitting on our couch in a dim, dingy apartment, surrounded by boxes, my wife cries. We are scared and disappointed. The apartment isn’t the one seen on our video tour. We feel trapped; crushed and defeated.  It looks as though there’s no way out. This is a tale of getting out from a temporary tenement apartment and monetary pressure. This is a personal story not national one. Escape through the cracks and crevices of a man-made system.

Dark wood and bad lighting set the mood as we entered in. Dust and dirt in the pantry, a microwave set in its space at a downward slant. Bathtub knobs black from dirt and rust, bathtub bottom porcelain chipped rendering it unusable. A toilet loosely bolted to the floor so it moves when you sit on it. Dark and dinge creep into hearts. Ceiling ringed with water damage and one or two black spots. Mold? And yes, there were bugs. At night. One is too many; more than one in a new apartment is not acceptable. But backing out of the lease was costly. How much money would we forfeit? The painful but difficult answer is two-and-a-half month’s full rent on top of the initial month and down payment.

From my computer in our delightful, bright new apartment, I type. Finding the management company information online I send them a request to waive all rent based on their bait-and-switch. Upon the third email I found out that the property had been sold to another management company. More research. More emails. No answers. We go back to the previous leasing office.

“Nothing we can do. Talk to the previous management company.” They use completely different systems. We are not in they’re system. While the previous leasing company keeps saying it’s no longer their responsibility! Through this all we have got no bills; no closing statement and the system online shows zero balance. We have fallen through the cracks! What a providence! “We can laugh, and we can cry, and never see the strong hand of love hidden in the shadows.”

Hard Seasons and A Hidden Hand

                                                    Photo by James Wainscoat on Unsplash

“So I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten,
the crawling locust, the consuming locust, and the chewing locust…”

 Driven from my home I drive round it in circles. Threatened with a TRO (temporary restraining order) I am forced to leave. Numb and confused I call a friend for advice. Checking into a cheap hotel that boasts a pool---a plot of dirt, avoiding the hotel boasting rooms by the hour. “How long will you be with us?” Hotel to hotel, one night grows to three weeks. 

Our life calendars are marked by cataclysmic crisis; pre-Covid, after the divorce, before the baby, during the cancer.  Life is lived segment by segment, season into season; childhood, college, that first job, first love, that fast (impractical for a family) car.

Memory is achromatic. Seeing experience as only black. Perceiving periods as pitch-dark. Not seeing ‘the strong hand of love hidden in the shadows.” That period was less a punch to the gut than it was a hollowness of the gut; feeling numb—which is no feeling at all.

 It was the zenith of the locust plague. Devastation cleared the ground for restoration. The locusts destroy what you’ve built with heart and hand. They overwhelm so you see no way out; only dark, only wing and leg. 

From the detritus of crystalline wings springs new life. A new season. Grasshoppers gnawed the first marriage to the root. A season of singleness and necessary soul work. Separation from the daughter burst into rich relationship that continues into her adulthood. New friendships and enriched older ones. Then the greatest surprise; the friend that is my wife ten years into these healing years.

God’s heart for us is that we are not depressed and distressed by the swarm. Life isn’t always driving circles in the dark. The grasshoppers will move on. The air will clear. Soul and seeds survive. In the light we will see what the strong hand of love was working in the shadows.

The Social Implications of Covid 19

Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

You reached out to touch me, You reached out to touch me -

I said it's too true; You and me we know too much!---Mark Heard

Satan spoke to God about Job, “Touch all that he has; he will surely curse you to your face.” Did Satan have a similar conversation with God concerning Corona and the human race? We are faced with the same choice as Job; Curse God and die; or worship and bless Him. Corona is a curse in its social implications as well as its physiological ones.

I’m old school. I shake hands to greet; shake hands as thanks. No more. It’s a world where manners hardly matter and phones destroy interaction. Now we “socially distance.” Isn’t that what we’ve been doing all along? Now it’s sanctioned as safe. Avoidance good, community bad. 

For our "good" we are seeing the government ‘recommend’ business closures and small group assemblies. They even encourage the shutting down of brew-pubs and wineries noting that they are non-essential (at a time when they seem most essential!). The hand of government is strengthened to coerce. What next? What becomes illegal for our own ‘safety?’ Mandatory vaccines? Gun laws? Religious gatherings? How much power is to much power?

And always, the fear. Corona robs us of control. What can we control? We can stockpile stuff! Ahh, now we’re in control. Which brings us back to Job. If your kids die, your riches go and your health perishes; what’s left? God is left. “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away, Blessed be the name of the Lord.” 

Let us not be those who cower at the whisper of Corona. As the world moves toward isolation we will move into community---cautiously optimistic. As we submit to authority let us move forward with consciences wise and wary. Finally give God your fear, “casting all your anxieties on Him because He cares for you.” I was sitting on catastrophe's knee, I was expecting Armageddon to come…You reach out to soothe me, you reach out to soothe me; you and me we know too much.

A Time For Listening

“You reached out to touch me, I said oh no, it's too true,You and me, we know too much…” Mark Heard

A time for silence, a time for listening. A bunch of deciding between. Quiet when we should be loud. Turning up the wrong voices. Turning off the quiet ones. Some sounds are overwhelming. Shattering glass and gunfire throw off two-stepping at the Borderline. Sirens in the Sierra and Santa Monicas. Coming on the heels of mid-term elections and time change. Many voices; devastating.

Mine should be a loud voice; singing a song of thanksgiving. Hugging those close. Serving the ones with devastating stories to tell—we all have a story to tell. Whispering life to those with ears to hear. Turning backs to dark, hurtful (“hurt people hurt people”) voices; like heroes covering others in that country bar. We cover our ears.

We whoosh through life. Flesh says shut self into soundproof shell. Keep it out, keep them out. Humanity says fling open the windows. Swoosh; wind blows in, life in, air in, breathe in. The wind blows too strong some days.

The listening is important. The cross calls me to hear the cries of the world I live in. To help lift burdens; by listening or carrying. The cacophony is likely to burden. High pitched tension the norm. I must listen to my soul. Rest as I must. Too often I want escape and insulation. Jesus’ example fleshes out this tension. Daily serving, teaching, living. To calibrate he climbed mountains---to hear from his Father. May I know when to lean in, when to lean out, and how to listen throughout.