11/13/2016
#219 BLESSED ARE THE MEEK
GOAFS II: #210
GEEZERS
13 NOVEMBER
2016
Make sure foreigners and orphans get their just rights. Don’t
take the cloak of a widow as security for a loan. Don’t ever forget that you
were once slaves in Egypt and God, your God, got you out of there. I command
you: Do what I’m telling you. Dt. 24.17-18
God has
never lost interest in refugees—the incident below took place in Thailand
during the terrible days (1975-79) of Pol Pot in Cambodia.
XXX
BLESSED ARE THE MEEK
This
morning I have a name. I am “Meak.” It feels very good to be Meak again.
Yesterday I was number 72. Numbers 1 thru 71slept on my left—Numbers 73 thru
100" slept on my right.
They call
this place Sa Kaeo. Before I was a number I was "the adult
pneumonia with malaria near the corner pole." They picked 3,000 of us for
the tents. There are 29,000 others in the camp.
We came
from the jungle, across the line that divides Thailand from Cambodia. We were
all fleeing, most from our homes in Cambodia and most from the murderous wrath
of the Khmer Rouge. Some had traveled very far. I met a woman who had walked
nine months with her child, all the way from Viet Nam.
It is not
good to be a number--even animals have names. Think of the tiger sliding thru
the jungle, his muscles rippling beneath his golden coat, fire in his eyes...
Call him by a number? It would not do. Criminals get numbers. Those who lose
wars get numbers. It is a terrible thing to lose your name.
This
morning I am “Meak” again. When we came, we were too sick to speak, and our
nurses were too busy to ask our names. They spoke English and we spoke many
languages, none of them English.
Yesterday
afternoon a brother came, all the way from Australia, to speak for us. He gave
our names to the nurses. When the nurse called me "Meak" this morning
her eyes glistened. My name was a great gift--it moved her to be giving it.
I have
counted six nurses and one doctor coming to our tent.
Tomorrow, I
will try to learn their names.
They are
here at sunrise and rush through the day, trying to keep us alive. There is no
electricity--it doesn't matter, by the time the sun sets they are exhausted.
There are
always 100 in the tent. Some die, others are "cured," or at least
pushed back far enough from the edge of dying to face life in the camp outside.
New ones
come to fill the empty spaces. Yesterday morning 5 of us were wrapped in their
ground sheets and lined up near the end of the tent. They were picked up and
buried without their names. It is a terrible thing to die among strangers who
don't even know your name.
Last night
there was much excitement-- cries of pain, cries of babies that sounded
different somehow. In the morning Che spoke of the two new babies born in the
night. He says they are strong babies who can carry the future for the ones
who've died.
The tent is
just plastic stretched across some poles to keep the rain off. It rains
everyday here. Those near the edge get wet, but they are closer to the breeze
and can see the sky. It is hot after the rain.
Thai
soldiers flattened a paddy for camp; it is a bog of mud. Today they took away
our plastic ground sheets and gave us wooden pallets to lift us above the mud.
So there
are two good things today; I am "Meak" now to the nurses and I am
above the mud, resting on something that reminds me of Phnom Penh, of
home...No, there are really three good things, and the third is best of all; if
I should die tonight, they will bury "Meak," not just "number 72".
Refugees are much in
the news and much on our minds these days—it is not a new problem—it goes back
at least as far are the five books of Moses.
Jerry Sweers
GROWING OLD
AIN’T FOR SISSIES
Sailing directions for Pilgrims of the Heart.
Remembrances, reflections and rants
of an endangered species;
Curmudgensis Americanus
Bibliophilius
site: crmudgeon.blogspot.com
11/05/2016
#209 ANNIE, A PARABLE OF GRACE
GOAFS II: #209
ANNIE
OCTOBER 6,
2016
ANNIE
A
Parable of Grace
Abused,
Abandoned,
Sick unto death,
Tick ridden,
Coated with burrs,
A stray puppy,
Without a name,
A prospect, or
A hope in the world,
Showed up one day
On the porch
Of the house
On Bethel Road.
Jean knelt down,
Carried her in,
Cleaned her up,
Nursed her back
To life and health,
Gave her a name,
Adopted her
Into the family,
And taught her
To obey.
Once,
When Jean no longer could come to the
table,
We sat eating lunch with our plates on
our knees.
Annie's inquisitive nose got too close
to my plate
And I told her, "Lay down,
Annie!"
She just looked at me.
Jean said, "You have to use correct
grammar with this dog.
Tell her to lie down." I did and
she obeyed at once.
Jean was a godly woman
But she saw nothing sacramental
In her service to Annie.
But to me the whole affair
Was a clear parable of grace.
As it was with Little Orphan Annie,
So it is with all of us
Who believe as Jean believed.
We find ourselves
Outside the house of God,
Sick unto death,
Without hope in the world.
There is nothing in us
To commend us to our Creator,
To earn his favor or his mercy.
Yet, He comes out of His house,
And in loving mercy
"… raises the poor from the dust
And lifts the needy from the ash heap,
To make them sit with princes…"
He heals all our diseases
Gives us a new name
And teaches us to live in obedience
As adopted members of His family.
And it is all of Grace.
As we look back on Jean's dealings with
Annie,
And as we look back on God's dealings
with us,
We can begin to appreciate the truth
Of the old Portuguese Proverb:
Deus
escrive direito por linas tortas
"God writes straight along crooked
lines."
JS 4/2003
Jerry Sweers
GROWING OLD
AIN’T FOR SISSIES
Sailing directions for Pilgrims of the Heart.
Remembrances, reflections and rants
of an endangered species;
Curmudgensis Americanus
Bibliophilius
site: crmudgeon.blogspot.com
