September 8: Pepto Bismol, Billy Collins, "Walking Across the Atlantic"

So many times, I've read that fear is the opposite of faith.

If that is true, I'm pretty much doomed.  For instance, over the last few years, I've convinced myself that I'm dying of several ailments, from heart disease to lung cancer to esophageal cancer.  Working in the health care profession is not a good thing for me.

Right now, I'm suffering from some terrible heartburn.  Blame it on too much Diet Mountain Dew and a plate of lasagna for dinner.  It feels like something's trying to crawl up my throat.  It's a terrifying feeling.  Like an alien is about to burst from my chest.  The first few times I experienced this, I ended up getting stress tests and chest x-rays.

Now, my fears are not unfounded.  My brother suffered a stroke two years before he died.  My sister died of lymphoma of the brain.  But, of course, living in a constant state of I'm-about-to-die is not very fun.

I trust that I'm not dying tonight.  I'll just suck down some Pepto-Bismol and say a prayer that I'll start feeling better.  Sort of like Jesus telling Peter to walk across the Sea of Galilee.  I've got to take that step tonight.

Saint Marty is just taking that leap of faith tonight.  And some more Pepto.

Walking Across the Atlantic

by:  Billy Collins

I wait for the holiday crowd to clear the beach
before stepping onto the first wave.

Soon I am walking across the Atlantic
thinking about Spain,
checking for whales, waterspouts.
I feel the water holding up my shifting weight.
Tonight I will sleep on its rocking surface.

But for now I try to imagine what
this must look like to the fish below,
the bottoms of my feet appearing, disappearing.

September 24: His Work, His Voice, "Carol" Dip Monday

So, I had an interesting conversation in my Sunday School class yesterday morning.  We were discussing the valleys and peaks of our lives.  In particular, we were discussing how to maintain hope when your life is in the toilet, and how to recognize God's voice and blessings.  Most people, when they are in real trouble, will turn to prayer of some sort, whether it's to some kind of "higher power" or Jesus or Jehovah or Muhammad.  As the saying goes, there aren't any atheists in foxholes.  When the chips are down, we turn to God (in whatever form) to pick those chips up for us.

The topic came up about how we sometimes don't recognize God working in our lives or talking to us because we're too wrapped up in ourselves.  When I get up in the morning, I immediately start going through my list of what I have to do.  Work.  Teaching.  Papers and quizzes to correct.  Kids to get to dance and daycare.  My mind doesn't stop.  Then, of course, as the day goes on, all the other noise of the world crowds in, grabs my attention.  Rain and bad tires on my car and doctors appointments for children with ear infections.  Most of life is an unending parade of worries and distractions.

And in the middle of all that is God, talking to us, working for us.  We are just too preoccupied to take notice.  For example, in August one day, I was worried about money (probably the biggest noise in my head all day, every day).  I was looking at bills and paychecks, thinking, "This just isn't going to work."  I could come up with no solution to reconcile the shortage of cash.  I closed my eyes and said a little prayer, something like, "OK, God, I handing this one over to you.  Can't handle it.  I need a break."

Within a couple of minutes, my wife called and told me I'd received a letter in the mail from the city of Marquette, where I spend most of my days working/teaching.  I thought it was another reminder to pay a parking ticket that I've been ignoring for quite some time.  "No, no," my wife said.  "I opened it up, and there was a check inside for $250."

I sat there, stunned.  Finally, I said, "What's it for?  Is there a note or something?"

It turned out I was getting paid for a couple of poetry readings I did this summer as part of the U. P. Book Tour.  I couldn't believe it.  It was out of the blue.  I'd never been told I was going to get compensated.  In fact, the year before, I did quite a few readings for the Book Tour and never saw a dime.  I wasn't looking to be paid.  I wasn't expecting to be paid.

When I spoke with one of the organizers of the events, he said, "Well, when we paid all the bills, we had money left over from the grants we received.  All the authors got money."

The nonbeliever would call it a coincidence, good fortune, whatever.  I call it God's work or God's voice.  God made me stop, take a deep breath, and surrender.  Then God stepped in, rolled up His sleeves, and did a little miracle.

That's what I'm talking about.  Worries never accomplish anything, except maybe disrupting sleep and ruining dinners.  Worries are all about fear, and fear is the exact opposite of faith.  It's the worrying we all do, every day, that interferes with our ability to recognize God's work, to hear God's voice.

Today is Carol Dip Monday.  I'm going to ask a question and then turn to the great Christmas book of Dickens for an answer.  Perhaps, when I do this little exercise every Monday, God is at work, giving me an answer through the characters of Scrooge and Tiny Tim and Fred the nephew.  I like to think that's the case.  So, my question for today is,

Will I ever be hired as a full-time professor at the university?

And the answer from Charles Dickens (and maybe God) is:

Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into his arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper.

Martha doesn't like to disappoint her father, Bob Cratchit, and God will not disappoint me.  No joking about it.

Saint Marty will be a full-time professor at the university, according to the Christmas Carol Magic 8 Ball.  And God.

Time to unplug and listen!