The Da Vinci Code Got Me Thinking

Although it's been a couple of years since I read The Da Vinci Code, I remember well the depth of thought I was drawn into about the impact my belief in Jesus Christ has on my everyday life.

If you haven't read the book or seen the movie, the premise is that Jesus Christ was not Divine, but merely a good man who married Mary Magdalene and fathered a child with her. There is much more to the plot, but that's all you need to know to understand the following thoughts.


It occurred to me that if somehow I were to become an unbeliever how completely and utterly my life could change. If I didn't believe that there was life after death, and if I didn't believe that Christ died for my sins and if I didn't try to live my life according to the standards and grace of Jesus, why not strive for all comforts, extravagances and riches this life can provide. Why not spend my entire life looking out for number one with no regard for others.

As a believer, I have often said there are far worse things than death. Would I dare say that as an unbeliever? When my dear father, at the age of 50, suffered a severe brain stem stroke which paralyzed him, he remained bedridden and helpless for four miserable years. In a moment he changed from the strong and capable caretaker of his family to one who couldn't speak a work or lift a finger.

To me, four years of being trapped in your body is much worse than death. For those
four years, my angel of a mother took incredible care of my dad while holding down a full-time job. The extreme physical and emotional stress of those years stripped her of her health, but she was glad to care for the man she loved knowing he'd never be able to take care of her again.

Because I knew he was Heaven bound, I prayed he wouldn't remain "alive" for too long unless there was hope for him to recover.

His death was premature, and broke my mother's heart, and my brother and I miss him terribly, yet I am at peace because I know he is in a wonderful place and we will all see him again.

Once my Grandmother told me she'd just read about a baby girl who'd been raped repeatedly by a grown man, and she asked how God could possibly let that happen.

A few weeks earlier, I'd been in a discussion with my Friday morning friends (the Girls) and wondered how God can stand all the wickedness that exists. My friend said simply, "We'll understand when we see His wrath".

God's wrath is definitely the most frightening thing I can imagine. Eternity competely and utterly shut off from Him...and it's hot, very, very hot. Forever. Scary. I can only handle the insanity of what humans do to each other because I believe in the justice and wrath of God.

Because I believe, I am at peace through tough financial times.

Because I believe, I choose ways to earn a living that I consider to be wholesome and decent. If I didn't believe, why not pursue the most money without regard to honesty, decency or fairness?

Because I believe that Jesus gave His very life for me, I receive great joy and satisfaction in loving others in His name. Most of the time it is in small ways, but my love is sincere and out of gratitude and I don't grow tired.

Because I am a believer, I can talk to God about situations that are out of my control, and I have done a huge thing. It matters. In fact, because I am a believer, I am aware that everything I do and say and think matters. That is actually true about each one of us, but how many of us know it?

Because I am a believer, I strive for and pray for the gift of seeing others through the eyes of Christ. That is pure love.

What I am not because I believe, is perfect. Far, far from it. Nor do I deserve the salvation Christ bought for me. But I accept it with indescribable gratitude, and try to pass it on.

Braces at Fifty-Something

For as long as I can remember, I have wished for straight teeth. Two things I didn't get from my dad were his incredible singing voice and his perfect teeth. My teeth aren't horrible, but in this age of perfectly straight and so-white-you-have-to-cover-your-eyes teeth, mine seemed unbearable.

I almost got braces when I was 24 years old, and worked for Xerox Corporation. I even had dental coverage. The reason I didn't, quite honestly, was that the dentist told me I would look different and my lips would be thinner. By the time I contemplated that sufficiently, I was no longer at Xerox, and I didn't do it. I have regretted that for the last thirty-something years.

So, here I am, two months into a 14 month experience of a lifetime! It is strange that I was always self-conscious about my teeth and hated my smile, yet now that I so obviously have a mouth full of metal, I have no problem smiling large!

My orthodontist, Mr. Lee, is a young asian man who is very personable. When I went for my first tightening and check-up last month, I was sitting in the chair with Mr. Lee's upside down face to my right, and his assistant's face upside down on my left. Just before my hour of non-speak began (the proverbial adjustments), Mr. Lee said, "How are you doing with your braces?" I said, "I am doing fine, but I feel like Mr. Ed the talking horse, you know, the way his lips were so animated when he 'talked'."

Mr. Lee looked puzzled. So did his young assistant. I explained further. "You know they probably put peanut butter inside the horse's mouth to make him move his lips, and that's how I feel when I'm trying to stretch my lips over all this metal to talk. You know? Have you ever seen Mr. Ed the talking horse?" Mr. Lee, still smiling, shook his head no. I turned my eyes to the younger assistant. "You?" I said to her. She, still smiling as well, shook her head no.

Okay, so I dated myself. Odds are no one in that room, which had six full dental chairs, six assistants,two orthodontists, a receiptionist and a partridge in a pear tree in it, had ever seen Mr. Ed the talking horse. Oh well, my friends will appreciate that terrific word picture.

What’s the Deal With Vandalism?

Most crimes I can understand a possible reason for. I know there are crimes of greed, passion, hatred, and so on. But I’ve never understood, nor have I heard any kind of explanation for vandalism. What can possibly be gained by randomly painting a building with some stupid words or signs? What feeling does it give a vandal to take a golf club (probably stolen) and put it through the windshield of someone elses car. A complete stranger. I just don’t get it.

Is it “if I can’t have this you can’t have this”? Of course, they could have it if they would go to work everyday and sleep at night instead of riding around town destroying randomly.

And vandals themselves are impressive people. You have to be courageous to be a vandal. Oh, wait, no you don’t. Only cowards vandalize. You have to be talented to be a vandal. Actually, I’m wrong about that. Any moron can break in a building and smash equipment. You have to be intelligent to be a vandal. Actually, you can be as dumb as dirt and still deflate Christmas decorations in the middle of the night in the front yard of an 80 year old cancer victim. Impressive.

I guess, then, I have figured out what kind of people vandalize: cowardly, bored, untalented, and stupid. Or maybe they are just lost.

Laughing in Church

We attend a church where we take communion every Sunday. This particular Sunday, the preacher was a guest speaker, and his entire message was centered around communion. My husband and I always sit in the same two seats, which are on the third row just to the right of the pulpit.

Normally in our church, we break off a small bit of cracker and sip grape juice as representations of the body and blood of Christ. This day, because of the emphasis on communion, we were breaking pieces from loaves of unleaven bread some ladies from the church had baked. We each get our own bread, and the juice is served in small individual cups. So today, we were to break off a piece of the thick, hard (unleavened) bread instead of the thin cracker we’re accustomed to.
After a congregational prayer of thanksgiving, and as our guest speaker is walking back and forth in front of us, speaking passionately about the meaning of communion, the plate of bread was passed to us. My husband, Austin, was the first to get the plate on our row. As he tried to break off a small piece of bread, he accidently broke a rather large piece off and flipped it into the air. It flew, and as if in slow motion, landed on an Elder of our church who had been sitting reverently behind us (until the bread landed in his lap).

Of course I saw what happened with the flying communion bread, and made the mistake of looking at Austin. His eyes were big, and he sucked in an “Oh”, and it became too much for us to hold in. We bowed our heads, and began to laugh quite uncontrollably. Tears were streaming down my face, and the harder I tried to stop laughing, the more I laughed. My shoulders were shaking, as were Austin’s. There was no way to hide the complete lack of control we experienced.

After a few minutes, I heard Austin begin to join in singing the hymn. I was impressed with his ability to gain control! Then his voice began to quiver, and he began to laugh again. I’m afraid we spent the entire service laughing or trying to contain our laughter.
Personally, I believe the Lord enjoyed that as much as we did.