A Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad, No Good Day

A Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad, No Good Day
(2 Kings 5:1-15)

We don’t know a lot about the young girl. Maybe she was out carrying water for her family, maybe she was washing clothes in a stream, maybe she was shepherding, or maybe she was home. In any case, a normal day turned sour when a band of Arameans swooped down on her, snatched her from her family, home and homeland and carried her off to another country. Where were the human rights advocates then?

Perhaps she was fortunate to not be pressed into outright prostitution. Did they do that back then? In any case, this girl was a lady’s attendant to the wife of the army commander. Perhaps she combed her lady’s hair, or washed her clothes or fanned her. In any case, there was probably a lot of bowing and scraping, one step behind her mistress. Was there any time for self pity? Did she have the luxury of grieving her loss? Was she bitter about her circumstances? Not a word on any of those responses. All we know is that “she served.”

She served. The commander of the army was doubtlessly a commanding person. How this young girl could ever hope to have an influence in this household is mind-boggling. How many of us would scarcely have retained hope let alone said something? But when the master came down with an incurable disease, the situation changed. A young girl with an idea became an asset. If there was any self-pity or bitterness, it doesn’t show. She retained her soul, her identity, her dignity. She served and must have served well because she was respected and even listened to -- something a master usually didn’t do. And when the family she served faced a crisis and was open for some input,  she recognized the opportunity and spoke up. And she did it in an intriguing way that piqued the interest of the commander and the king. She was not the deliverer, but she was an arrow, pointing the way to the deliverer.

This young girl speaks volumes to me. A victim of human trafficking, a slave, her identity swallowed up in that of her mistress. She was no more than a piece of property, “stuff”. In such a situation, how could I have retained hope? Personal dignity? Been compassionate? Feared God? Her response is so opposite of my natural tendencies, I’ve got to think about this some more. We are so into comfort, the good life, “my rights”. This girl had none of that. But she had something infinitely better. I want what she had.

Irises, Hydrangeas and Violets

What's in a name? Well, they asked what I wanted to call this thing, so I had to think of something! So, some of my favorite flowers came to mind.

I love flowers. Passionately. Almost all flowers. But especially lavender flowers, like irises, hydrangeas and violets. Most people around here think violets are weeds. But when the violets blanket the ground making a carpet of violets where Janna should have lawn, I love it. And I love that the moles didn't eat my irises. They ate lots of other stuff, but apparently irises are not so tasty. So, I'll grow irises (and now that a few moles have dug new tunnels, they might find a bit of opposition). And hydrangeas, well, they are wonderful. But so far, I haven't had many on my two bushes. Last year I pruned the bushes at the wrong time and innocently cut off the buds. This year I was most careful to leave the buds on the bushes. So instead of two flowers I had eight. Hmmm...maybe next year I'll figure out how to have thirty-two.
Meanwhile, the weeds are thriving...and they don't all have lavender flowers.

I'd like to add a picture to this but I think this is enough of a first attempt at a blog. I'm technologically exhausted!