Post Easter Musings

I’ve been thinking about this whole legalistic point of view the right has been taking on immigration. And the thing that keeps getting stuck is how they (the hate radio guys) keep saying repeatedly that they want to get the guys that “cut in line” that “jumped in front of everyone else who is going through the process”. Now, believe me, I hate cutters. I have always hated cutters. There’s an entitlement issue there that really leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I have no problem, none whatsoever, in letting people who cut know that it is not acceptable.

But let’s switch tracks here. Cody fell down the stairs at school. He was in a lot of pain and after calling his pediatrician, I was instructed to go to the emergency room. We went in. I spoke to reception. I filled out paperwork. I elevated his foot. Got him something to drink. Went into the triage nurse, got vitals, went back into the waiting room. Filled out more paper work. And sat. And sat. X came with loud new wife and stepdaughter. And we sat. New wife left.
Man comes in, with wife and two kids. He is crouched over. He is moaning in a way that you know if he weren’t exercising as much control as he could he would be screaming. He was holding his abdomen and his back. I knew right away – kidney stones. My husband had them. Horrid little monsters. Anyway, the wife goes to reception. She fills out paperwork. They go into triage, leaving the kids in the waiting room. A couple of minutes later, the wife comes and gets the kids. They are admitted.

CUTTERS!!

CUTTERS!!

We were here first! We were waiting in line! We filled out all the paperwork! We did everything we were supposed to do and we did it first! Why did he get to go ahead of us?!!!!

Triage.

Triage evaluates and determines the level of need.
But unfortunately, we don’t have triage at the border. We don’t have someone taking applications and then saying – what are you symptoms – i.e. how do you live? Are you in abject poverty and starving to death? Is your family?

Triage.

These guys who came over the border and bypassed the admission process are ambulatory cases. Patients in ambulances don’t have to sit in the waiting room. They go straight in. And that’s how it should be. I don’t want some guy to die in the waiting room because my son’s toes are broken but we were here first and we go in order. We cannot allow schoolyard platitudes to infiltrate a very serious issue like immigration. Yes, able-bodied people with jobs and homes and security are waiting for years to get citizenship and entry into our country. Is it fair that people who live on our physical borders are doing whatever it takes get in? Maybe not. But “fair” isn’t what we are talking about. Issues have been blurred to obstruct the true motives behind all this anti-immigrant rhetoric, and I think that everyone knows it. Xenophobia. Initially, I thought this was fear of female warriors, but now I know what it really means, I see that it is applicable. We have mixed in “national security” and “terrorism” and added a pinch of “fear” and “hysteria” and made a stew of good ole boy racism.

Enough.

Enough!

Focus on the real issues. Focus on what’s really happening. Don’t let the media determine what you see.

For instance, is it just crazy to refuse to remove the “nuclear” option in response to Iran….developing nuclear power? I mean, talk about stupid.

You can’t have this bomb!
Why?
Because you might be able to do this with it! KABOOOOOM! Or threaten, like we do, to do something with it. Don’t say that you are going to exercise the very weak, gasping-and-shivering-in-the corner-from-a-lack-of-any-life-giving-forces – “diplomacy” all the while playing war games with your little buddy, England.

We heard crickets from the right wing pundits when it came to the revelation that our leader is actually our leaker in regards to the leaking of information surrounding a CIA agent. I suppose all of this will come to fruition when Fitzgerald reveals his hand.

And finally.

Last night while driving home with my boys from Easter celebrations with my family at my brother’s house, I popped in a tape that my sister in law had given me. It was my brother giving a sermon at his church, I believe in 1999. Seven years ago. I haven’t heard his voice in five years.

Five years.

I see him.

I talk to him.

I can kiss him and hug him.

I can see his eyes dance when something funny is said.

I can see the brother that I love so dearly – even if he is encapsulated within a body that has betrayed him with ALS.

But for the first time in 5 years, I heard his voice. Both of my boys asked who it was.

God! How incredibly sad. Of course, they wouldn’t know! They were so young when Paul was diagnosed, and the cruelty of this disease was evident by its attack of his speech before almost anything else.

But I got to hear him.

There were endearing moments – like the way he tried to “American-ize” his British accent (just like my dad did) and how he peppered everything with jokes and personal anecdotes. Initially, I was lost in his voice. Mixed with a supreme sorrow for what I longed to hear and joy at finally hearing it, even if it was on an audiotape. I understand why some people never erase their answering machines when a loved one has left a message and then died suddenly. The human voice is such a unique and amazing thing. The warmth and memories it can pull from the deepest recesses is really uncanny.

He spoke about a parable in Luke. Of course, the most difficult one. And made it easy to understand. All that we have is not ours – money, children, property, animals, even ourselves – they are all God’s, on loan, if you will. Using what you are borrowing, the resources you have been given with your eyes permanently fixed on the kingdom of heaven and God, even in ways that might seem to the casual observer as erroneous, using those gifts to bring people to the light and joy of The Way is what we are here for. Being outwardly focused, not sitting in your church with your people saying “God things”. He told of this one guy who was very pious, on Sunday with bible in hand, he would go to his car and go to church. His neighbor would be loading his golf clubs into his own car. The neighbor asked him if he would like to come with him to play a round of golf. Indignant, the pious guy huffed out a “NO!”, got into his car and drove to church. The next two weekends this happened, in the same way. Finally on the third weekend, the golf guy asks the pious guy again if he wants to go play golf. The pious guys says no. The neighbor says you know. I don’t get it. Three times I’ve asked you to come play golf with me and three times you’ve said no, but you’ve never asked me to come to your church.

Bam.

Missed opportunity from being too caught up with the mechanics, all the distractions that come from being a person of faith. My mom has it right. It’s in the way you live every day. Every single day.

Hearing his voice. I can’t say what it meant to me. I could close my eyes and see him up there exuding humble confidence, but knowing that he had the inherent fear of public speaking or public anything where all the attention IS ON YOU! that my whole family has. I can see him pinch his nose between his thumb and his bent forefinger just after saying something funny. I can see his eyebrows raise and a smile cross his face. I can see his whole face soften when speaking of using kindness and generosity to get to non-believers. I can see this man who has the most brilliantly intelligent yet imaginative mind draw in a packed to capacity audience silenced in his presence and knowledge. There is nothing better in this world than a smart person who can convey information in a way that the rest of us can understand. Nothing. Seriously. There were professors at school that left me thinking I had just entered a time warp. No idea. I remember walking into A&M Chemistry 101 and being absolutely staggered that this was the first class in chemistry and not one aimed at graduating chemical engineers. It’s all in the delivery. Jokes. Information. Directions. It’s all in the delivery. And what do you know?! Paul had that too! Being firstborn is so golden – you get to pick from the buffet of personal attributes first and boy did he clean up.

He stood there before all these people from his church community, people who admire him, people who took their pets to his veterinary practice, people who sat in on his very popular bible studies, and you could have heard a pin drop. Except when, with his impeccable timing, he dropped a punch line and the ripple of laughter spread throughout the congregation.

What a man.

What a brother.

It was bittersweet hearing his voice again. I have so much I want to talk to him about. There are times that I so desperately need his counsel, I can hardly find the words to pray. I look into his eyes and I know that he is as desperate to say to me what I need to hear. This tape was huge for me. On Easter of all days. When I needed a little true Christianity the most. There it was.

From someone who can’t move or speak.

He did it again.

Rock star.