Numb From The Brain Down

May: 
Just Help- "If you preach, just preach God's Message, nothing else; if you help, just help, don't take over; if you teach, stick to your teaching; If you give encouraging guidance, be careful that you don't get bossy; if you're put in charge, don't manipulate;" Verse 7


Step 1: Wash Water Tanks 
Step 2: Practice What You Preach 
Step 3: I Am Not The Boss 
Step 4: Feel Their Pain 


I waved his skin dry.  The alcohol evaporated, leaving a sterile section ready.  Holding his finger tight with the lance, I pushed the blue button one time.  Crimson liquid streamed from his finger as he sat still, looking up at me expectantly.  He doesn't cry anymore, and sometimes he will even push the button for you.  God made him sweet like that; temperament made to withstand.  Mason is eighteen months old and has type one diabetes.  I am his Lala-- changer of diapers, bringer of juice, driver of gators.  

Tonight I helped take care of him for a few hours.  We swam, played with trucks, ate dinner, took a bath and rocked to sleep.  If you didn't know any better, you wouldn't know Mason suffers... or feels pain.  

When I was little, I loved the movie Ferngully.  Now, if any of you know my right-winged father, you know he did not approve of such liberal movie viewing.  Therefore, I only got to watch it at friends' houses.  When I was little I didn't understand the nature of the movie, I liked it because of the jokes and fun characters.  

In one scene, the "human", Zac is trying to impress the fairy, Crysta.  He starts to carve the letters of her name into a big tree in the rain forest. Crysta becomes upset, grabs his hand and jams it up against the tree. She says, "No no! You mustn't do that! Can't you feel its pain?" 

Zac replies, dumbfounded with, "Its pain??" 


Batty, the escaped lab bat played by Robin Williams (hilariously), states, "Humans can't feel anything. They're numb from the brain down."  

Zambia Medical Mission 2006

Can't you feel his pain?  


Or are we numb? 


This month isn't just about helping others, it's about realizing that those around you are hurting. It's about throwing off the blinders and seeing what's really happening in this world. 

The baby getting his sugar checked every few hours.  The grandpa who lost a good friend.  The teenager who isn't being understood. The mom taking chemo.  The homeless man on the street. The dad who lost his job.  The child without a home. 


Can't you feel their pain?  


Sometimes, I really do think we are numb from the brain down.  This month has only a few days left, but I'm looking for hurt in others. 

Because when I can see their pain, I can find a way to help, understand, and love.  

Sometimes, all we need to do to help is give someone a giggle or two.

Spring Break Campaign- Chihuahua, Mexico 2005

MUD

May: 
Just Help- "If you preach, just preach God's Message, nothing else; if you help, just help, don't take over; if you teach, stick to your teaching; If you give encouraging guidance, be careful that you don't get bossy; if you're put in charge, don't manipulate;" Verse 7


Step 1: Wash Water Tanks 
Step 2: Practice What You Preach 
Step 3: I Am Not The Boss 


There are many things I love about summer, things that may seem odd to many who read this.  I knew it was almost here when the sweet smell of weeds, grass and wheat danced in the wind.  The big blue sky would fill with white puffy clouds, and the sun would warm everything up.  We stacked hay in pyramids that made for a pretty fun climb, and an even better slide down. 

The farmers turned on the irrigation well that rested on our dirt road, and it would roar at all hours of the day and night.  Crickets, locusts, and baby birds sang me to sleep, along with the purr of that well.   


By late summer, the corn would rise taller than my dad, and sometimes it seemed to have a spirit of it's own.  

I loved to ride my 4-wheeler, as fast as it would go, for as long as I could.  I looked 3 shades darker after all of the dust settled on my skin and hair, but I didn't care.  It didn't seem to matter that dirt etched into my eyes, molding with unauthorized tears, forming Cleopatra style shapes.  


One day, I rode along, enjoying the sun.  It hadn't rained in weeks, as often happens in the panhandle.  For this reason, I was puzzled when the wheels of my 4-wheeler stuttered to a halt and sunk 6 inches deep.  I was quickly reminded that the irrigation well wasn't there for my personal sleep hygiene. (Some people have recordings with waterfalls or rain, but I would love one of a well motor. :) )


I was about a mile from my house, sunk in a gigantic mud patch caused from farmers watering the corn. As I leaped from the 4-wheeler and into the mud, I stood there, panting, wondering how in the world I was going to get out of that mess.  I raised my leg, which felt like 50 pounds, and the suction pulled my shoe back down, tearing away from my foot. 


Standing with one shoe still on, rapidly sinking in the mud, I made a lunge for drier ground.  Eventually I made it, covered in mud, with an increasingly redder sun burn by the minute. I walked the mile back to my house this way, leaving my clodded shoes behind with the sunken 4-wheeler.  


There's something about this memory that brings the words: frustration, hopelessness, and defeat.  But, there's something kind of beautiful in the ending.  After walking a mile to my house, I convinced a brother to drive a 4-wheeler out there, with a chain, to rescue me.  The 4-wheeler, and my shoes, recovered from the mud, and all that was left was a scarred piece of earth.  


Sometimes "just helping" and "not being the boss" can be frustrating, hopeless and defeating.  But, more often than not, it is also beautiful.  


The thing about this month's goal is that someone else needs help. It's not about me, and more importantly, I can help save someone the feeling of frustration and defeat. I can help them feel relief-- even if it's by washing dishes, changing a diaper, opening a door. We can all do little things to pull each other out of the mud,  to wipe away the dirt, and show Jesus.   

Room Service

May: 
Just Help- "If you preach, just preach God's Message, nothing else; if you help, just help, don't take over; if you teach, stick to your teaching; If you give encouraging guidance, be careful that you don't get bossy; if you're put in charge, don't manipulate;" Verse 7


Step 1: Wash Water Tanks 
Step 2: Practice What You Preach 
Step 3: I Am Not The Boss 


Before I was old enough to drive, or work legally in the state of Texas, I had a car payment and a job.  My first car reminded me of a race car; it was a standard, and it went fast.  White, 4 doors-- a 94 Acura Integra.  At the time, 1994 didn't seem that old, and more importantly, it was mine.  


As a result of newly owning a car, I was in need of income.  My dad graciously decided to begin paying me for work. (Yes, begin. Child labor is popular on the farm.) And so, that is how I became the resident water tank washer of 2 feed yards in the Texas panhandle.  


For those of you who are not familiar with the term "feed yard", let me enlighten you.  A feed yard serves much like a hotel for cattle. They arrive in a rather large coach to stay in our luxurious pens, and essentially eat, drink, and be merry.  My presence in this happy little fairy tale resembles that of room service.  

 Exhibit: A. 

The cows I served weren't quite as small, or cute, for that matter.  It took me two and half hours to clean one feed yard's tanks.  I wore ratty old jeans with holes, a t-shirt or sweatshirt depending on the day (west Texas weather is about as predictable as in comes), my hair was folded into a messy knot on top of my head to combat the ever persistent breeze, and I wore rubber boots up to my knees in order to avoid sloshing manure seeping into my socks.  I marched with a large scrubbing brush in my hand, crawling through the fence into the pen. Cows taller than me looked up in curiosity, or maybe they had thoughts like, "Finally. It's been days, and they call themselves a 5-star feed yard?"  Cows are sassy like that. 


When I reached the water tank, positioned in the middle, I reached to the bottom to find the stopper.  It usually took great might to rip it out of the hole, and more often than not, I sprayed myself with its contents: manure, spit, moss, mud, grain, and who knows what else.  As the water drained, I scrubbed the sides of the tank until it was clean and white.  Then, I placed the stopper back in and let the water fill, crystal clear.  Lather, rinse, repeat. For every pen.   


On occasion, the cattle would decide to charge at me for no apparent reason.  This made my job even more fun.  At the end of my duty, I possessed a smell that took days to remove, dried manure grit in my teeth, and a rats' nest on my head.  For one feed yard's cleaning, two and a half hours of work, at minimum wage, I made 12 dollars.  It is not a stretch to say that I was at the bottom of the feed yard totem pole.  You simply could not find a worse job.  Did I mention my dad was the boss? 


When I read May's verse, and when I think about offering my life as a living sacrifice to God, I can't help but think about that feed yard job.  Just help: wash water tanks.  I want to help others in simple, and sometimes unpleasant, ways-- without recognition, power, or complaining.  


Washing water tanks wasn't a difficult job. It wasn't particularly great,  but someone had to do it.