Left Alone On the Tarmac

We flew into Dallas-Fort Worth today on our way home from visiting family on Maui. I like the window seat for the plain fact that on a clear day you can see forever. Wait! Isn't that a song? Today wasn't clear, but I still enjoyed watching out the window as we came in for our landing, enjoying the overhead view of miniature buildings, trees, highways, cars as the plane eased lower and lower until touchdown.

We had to wait for the previous flight to exit the gate. That took maybe ten minutes. Then it was our turn. Our plane taxied up to the gate and as we moved into our spot, I looked out the window and saw this lone suitcase sitting out on the tarmac. (I don't suppose they still call it that but I like that word. Tarmac. Good word.)

See that luggage truck? He cruised up to the suitcase, stopped for a moment, then decided this was not his concern...or something to that effect. He left without even getting out of his truck. Two or three other luggage carriers cruised right on by without stopping.

We were in row 21. That means twenty rows (approx 120 passengers) had to rescue their bags from the overhead bins and stumble their way out of the plane before it was our turn to exit. As we left our seats to exit the plane I looked out the window one last time. The bag was still there...looking mighty lonesome...out there on the runway.

I wondered where that bag was headed? London? Chicago? New York?

I wonder what it contained? Business suit? Fancy dress? Necessary Shoes? Or perhaps, less interestingly, simply dirty laundry waiting to get home to be washed.

If you know someone who lost their suitcase today flying American Airlines, tell them to check the tarmac at Dallas-Fort Worth.

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Getting the ZZZs in Less Time Than Usual

I'm wondering...does chemo cause a permanent change in sleep patterns?

Certainly sleep can be a problem during the series of treatments but I finished my last chemo seven months ago. I'm finding I need less sleep than I used to need.

I consistently go to bed around midnight or later and awaken at 5:30, ready to get up and about. That's difficult because Hubby is still asleep and I do not want to disturb his sleep by banging around in the kitchen. (You have no idea how how much noise you make at 5:30 am by setting a coffee cup down on the counter.)

Lately, I've been doing that...getting up the moment my eyes fly open. And I feel fresh for the day, even at 5:30 in the morning.

That's not even six hours of sleep. Some days I'll take a short nap. But still, the daily hours of sleep are less than 7 hours.

It's weird. I'm blaming my short sleep hours either on cancer or age. Take your choice. Either way I kinda like it.

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The Word for Today - VOG

Vog. Maui has Vog. It can be described by Maui residents as "thick as a brick".

Still no clue? How about "I was standing in Kihei, and I could not see the West Maui Mountains." That was a comment in today's The Maui News in reference to the thick layer of vog over Central Maui valley this past weekend.

We're from Iowa. And sometime past, from California. And we were thinking "fog". But, no, vog is not fog. "Vog" is a term used to describe the hazy conditions caused by volcanic emissions. Vog is the result of volcanic gasses being emitted into the air, mixing with water vapor and very small particles, primarily sulphur compounds and sulphur dioxide. That's all according to a pamphlet "Emissions from Kilauea Volcano" put out by the County of Hawaii, State of Hawaii.

Even though there are no active volcanoes on Maui the winds can carry the vog from island to island.

What's a little fog? Well, this isn't fog. It's vog. And it's not very nice to your lungs. The same pamphlet gives suggestions for protecting your lungs with the sulpher dioxide levels are high. It even mentions five levels of "alert", ranging from green (trace) to purple (extreme).

Recommendations during layers of vog include avoiding outdoor exertion, remaining indoors, using air conditioning, etc.

Currently Maui is experiencing some vog. But, no, we are not remaining indoors. For the most part we are in areas where the breezes keep the air clean. I think.

That smoke you see flaring from our nostrils is just the dragon fire of the wasabi from last night's meal.

I need a cuppa coffee.


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Freckles That Glow in the Dark

Freckles that glow in the dark. That's what my daughter wished for after she first viewed the movie Avatar. That was the week of my PET scan.

Just prior to the scan the technician injected a dose of radioactive substance into my arm. Interestingly, the substance came in what appeared to be a lead cartridge. Lead shields from radiation!

According to the literature given me at the time, the radioactivity would dissipate in 6 hours or so. But I figure during that time I had freckles that glowed. I am my own avatar.

Last night Hubby and I went to see the movie. And as is everyone else who views the movie, we were fascinated by the special effects. We were flying along with the Na'vi, swooping through the air on our trusty steeds, loving the people, viewing the 3-D effects with fascination.

But you know! I found 2 or 3 parts of the movie really, really irritating.

Numero Uno! Why was Sigourney Weaver's character so caught up with ciggiebutts! I mean...what part does tobacco play in a futuristic science fiction movie? Couldn't the character emit an aura of female toughness without grabbing for a stupid ciggiebutt? Couldn't she "act" the part without a nicotine prop? What's with all that, anyway? My own private opinion is that some tobacco company contributed $$$ to the movie...but perhaps that's my cynical attitude working overtime.

Dos! The character played by Stephen Lang was just a little too pat. Too unidealistically harsh. It was as if the writer was making much of an "anti-military statement". Too predictable. Too robotic.

Tres! As seems usual lately, it seems Hollywood is making a "statement" rather than a movie. That's not all bad...but from the first moments of the film the statement was terribly predictable. There remained no suspense except that of anticipation of seeing more of the Na'vi and their world.

The "world" of Pandora is portrayed as a fascinating place...wouldn't it have been a much more interesting movie if we had seen a little more indepth into the life of the people with the glow-in-the-dark freckles?

It seemed to me that the makers of this movie would advocate the destruction of humankind itself for it seemed to me they insinuate that humanity is the "source of all evil".

Wait! Maybe that is true! Evil IS in our hearts. Romans 3:23 says it clearly. We are all sinners...all of us are broken and intent upon doing our own thing, sinners who choose self over "the other". But there is a solution...and it is not something we can attain to in and of ourselves. We need the work of God in our hearts.

My recommend on the movie? See it for its technical beauty. Take in that part of the story about man's destruction of man as being true. But do remember to factor in the promise that is not shown in the movie...that for each one of us there is the promise that we need not remain in sin. That through faith God works in us, both to will and to do His good work. That this is His will for our lives... that we love Him and we love one another. And that someday there will be no more sin. No more crying, no more pain, no more death. That's a promise. And God keeps His promises. Revelation 21:4.

I'm betting the new heaven and the new earth of Revelation 21:1 will be far more beautiful than can ever be portrayed in any movie. Even a movie in 3-Dimension.

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Simple Enough for a Child

Sometimes they make it so complex. But it's not, you know. It's simple enough for a child to understand.

I'm talking about what happens in the heart when God first engages us...when He first causes us to believe.

Today my heart was blessed by a post over at While We Sojourn. Writer John Bird quoted Robert Murray M’Cheyne, minister of St Peter's Church Dundee in Scotland from 1836-1843.

I'm going to copy and paste the quote here (and thank you to John Bird for bringing it to my attention) and then I will explain why this strikes home to me. So here's the quote...

“I do not feel that there is anything more in coming to Jesus, than just believing what God says about his Son to be true. I believe that many people keep themselves in darkness by expecting something more than this. Some of you will ask, ‘Is there no appropriating of Christ? no putting out the hand of faith? no touching the hem of his garment?’ I quite grant, beloved, there is such a thing, but I do think it is inseparable from believing the record. If the Lord persuades you of the glory and power of Immanuel, I feel persuaded that you cannot but choose him. It is like opening the shutters of a dark room; the sun that moment shines in. So, the eye that is opened to the testimony of God, receives Christ that moment.” ...Robert Murray M’Cheyne

Several years ago I looked back on my own faith in God. I looked back to when I first believed.

It was 1949 and Dad had moved our family to a small hilly farm in western Iowa. We had no running water and no electricity. We lived a considerable distance from town on a gravel road that turned to mud every time it rained. I don't know how my mother managed with four kids and one more on the way.

That summer two neighbor women drove down our long driveway every day for a week (maybe two) and took my two older brothers to town for Vacation Bible School. I don't remember going myself...perhaps they didn't have class for four-year-olds.

Some days later, early in the morning, one of my brothers and I were out playing underneath the clothesline. It was one of those hazy summer mornings. In my mind's eye I can still see the mist rising from the grass. My brother was dancing, barefoot in the grass, and singing this song, "Jesus Loves Me."

That seems like a simple, quaint song today and you might not be impressed much with that little song. But you see, this was the late 1940s. We had no television. Our radio operated with a large battery. Batteries were expensive when you have little cash. So we turned the radio on only for the farm report and weather. You may think I was quite deprived when I tell you that I knew only one song at that time.

But I did. I knew but one song. And when I watched my brother dancing on the grass, singing "Jesus Loves Me", I was quite impressed that he knew a song. Any song! You might be amused that it took so little to impress me. But there I was. Not yet five years old. I was hearing this little song, hearing that Jesus loved me.

I figured if this Jesus loved me, then I wanted to know who this Jesus was. And I believed. And I've never stopped believing.

That's the Gospel simplified. God loves us. That's how God works. He reaches out and touches us, placing light and life into our hearts and making us alive. And when He does that, we believe. And it is our belief that is proof already that we belong to Him.

Jesus said in John 5:24 "He who hears my word and believes Him who sent me, has eternal life." Our eternal life begins the moment we believe. And we believe because God has initiated the process by causing us to hear and to see. He is the causal agent. We are the recipients of His work. It is not something we do that gives us salvation. It is something God does. It is His work in us.

God works in us to give us "life". And we believe. It's as simple as that.

(This post in no way negates important Christian doctrine. That is another and more indepth topic. Nor does it negate God's call for us to be obedient in our daily lives as Christians. This post pertains only to that moment that God makes us spiritually alive...that moment when we become born anew."

Someone Help Me Find My Brains!

Brains! You Don't Want to Lose Them!. Read on, Dear Reader, for more about Brains!

We're spending time with two Maui-born granddaughters whom we have not seen for three years. The younger is seven so she barely remembers our last visit. The girls twitter around us like two little shore birds, little bits of laughter escaping their lips, making quick jumps to new things, asking funny little questions.

Yesterday we wandered down to the small beach in front of Mama's Fish House where they had a good swim in the little cove. While in the water and later on the sandy beach they picked up little "treasures", broken bits of shells and funny looking rocks and broken coral tossed up by the ocean, and placed them carefully into plastic ziplock bags.

The Little One found two round pieces of coral that had been shaped and sanded by countless tossings of the waves. Little One called them "brains" and it was obvious she had found similar ones before. She placed these in her baggie, too.

It startled me several times when I heard her exclaim something akin to "Where are my brains?" after she had mislaid her bag of "treasures".

Again later, "Who took my brains?"

It seemed a dangerous situation that Little One could not find her brains!

Then we took a little walk up a small set of stone stairs and wandered through a small residential area behind Mama's. We were surprised to find this cemetery and surprised that some of the graves were enclosed by fence and seemed to be tended while others outside the fenced area were right adjacent to the path. Apart from some faded silk Christmas flowers, these seemed totally neglected. We saw an upright stone cross surrounded by waist high grass several feet away from the other "outside" grave sites. I didn't know if the cross were a gravestone or perhaps placed there to mark this as a Christian burial ground. Little One found a single silk flower on the ground and we encouraged her to lay it on one of the stones...that it had been brought to the cemetery as a remembrance by some family member and we should leave it there out of respect.

Later we washed the sand from our feet at the outdoor shower and then came up to our room where we made a smoothie of fresh orange juice combined with fresh frozen papaya and banana. It was quite tasty, tart and sweet.

The girls stayed overnight and this morning, after another trip to the beach (a 30-second walk from our door) they left with their father to go to a little friend's birthday party.

Funny thing. Little One left her brains on the balcony table. They're still there...in the plastic baggie...in plain sight! She forgot them!

I wonder if she or her friends will notice.

(small giggle here)

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Curly Hope...Lots of Curly Hope!

I noticed her right away. Her head scarf. It was tied close at the nape of the neck and I could see no hint of wisps of hair. I knew she was bald. As in "chemo bald".

I'm not one to casually walk up to strangers but I did that today. I touched her lightly on the shoulder and said, "You know, six months ago I had a hairdo like that."

Her eyes went instantly to my curly mop of a hairdo and I knew she was looking for reassurance that she, too, would return to the land of hair.

She wasn't quite certain I wasn't wearing a wig so she asked if it were real.

"Oh, yes, it's real. And, no, my hair is not naturally curly."

Then she reached up to touch my fluffy curls and told her sis, who was with her, to do the same. My hair is really soft and bouncy and I laughed as they touched and patted. I knew she was wondering how long before she had hair again. Her chemo concludes in July.

"Two months," I said. "Two months after your last chemo, you'll begin to grow 'puppy fur'."

"Eyelashes, too?" she asked.

"Yes, eyelashes and brows."

I know she was excited to "see" where she will be in a few months time. Right now, in the midst of her treatments, in the midst of her baldness, it is difficult for her to see the end of the chemo and its effects and the beginning of the time "after". Seeing my head of bouncy curls gave her hope.

We hugged as I uttered into her ear, "God bless you. God bless you."

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