Moral Ambiguity

 Startled awake from a nightmare, I see 2:54 A.M. shine across the bedroom from our digital clock. A phrase forms in my mind as I move my legs to the side of the bed, getting my bearings before standing up. Crossing the cold tile floor to the bathroom, I recall parts of the dream and come to full alertness. Rats! Another middle-of-the-night start to my day. 

After finishing using the bathroom, I force myself to crawl back into bed, determined to stay there until I fall back asleep, but I can’t stop the whirling thoughts over the dream's content. I give up on my restless flopping fish dance. Thinking of strong, hot coffee and the phrase, moral ambiguity, I make my way to the kitchen.  

 With the first sip of coffee, I wrote the scenes in my writer’s notebook and thought about the meaning. The dream morphed rapidly through four settings that contained the same theme. A flood of toxic goo quickly rose in basements, but life was still going on as if it wasn’t a threat.

Moral ambiguity is uncertainty about whether something is right or wrong. The hardest part of the dream was my inability to warn people about their lack of standards, particularly God’s standards. A lack of moral standards means we have no standards but our own. When we don’t live for something and Someone more significant than ourselves, we grow inward, downward to a me-focused life. 

“Moral ambiguity leads to terminal hopelessness,” pinged around my mind like a sonar detecting a Japanese submarine in McHale’s Navy TV sitcom. I read another suicide account of a young, talented, up-and-coming actor every week. Terminal hopelessness is sweeping our nation, robbing our young of a full life.

 In The Magician’s Nephew from the Chronicles of Narnia, C. S. Lewis wrote about a fictional wood between the worlds. His description is a cautionary story of a place I avoid, where nothing happens and I don’t notice. 

“The strangest thing was that, almost before he had looked about him, Digory had half forgotten how he had come there. If anyone had asked him ‘Where did you come from?’ he would probably have said, ‘I’ve always been here.’ As he said long afterward, ‘It’s not the sort of place where things happen. The trees go on growing, that’s all.’”

The children, Digory and Polly, were caught in the wood between the worlds, between adventure and ambiguity. I choose God’s adventurous life and the creative life He gives me. Until my last breath.

My friends, Pat and John, introduced me to lovely Doc. My smile tells the whole story of a beautiful ride and generous friends.

God's Provision

     Our family of five, including three teens, moved to a nearby city, so that John, my husband, could attend engineering college–he was a late bloomer at thirty-five. All aspects of our hectic family life challenged us to stay connected. 

    During the first week of my new job, which would be our meager income for the first semester, I looked up from my bank teller station to see my boss walking toward me with a package in her hands and a smile on her face. 

“This delivery is for you, Nancy. I think it’s flowers”, Mary said.

Puzzled, I unwrapped the flower, a single peach rose, in a clear glass vase, my favorite color. My heart was full of joy over John’s loving gesture upon starting a new job and uncertain chapter.

Fast forward five years, an out-of-state move for John’s new job and a fresh start after three rough years of conflict behind us. Or so I thought.

Sitting in our large church sanctuary with over one hundred women, the excitement in the air created anticipation of what Linda Gregorino, the keynote speaker, would say. I don’t remember what she said. Discouragement blanketed me, and I felt like I had no one in my corner to help me fight a battle to regain closeness with John, lost during his college years. 

After she spoke, Linda picked up her tapestry bag and slowly walked the aisles handing out an item and words of encouragement. I knew she wouldn’t be handing me anything in my unworthy state. 

She headed toward my pew, stopped and looked in my direction. 

Reaching into her bag, she pulled out an imitation peach rose and said, “It’s been a long time since you received a rose.”

Linda heard my gasp of astonishment and saw my tears fall. She had no way of knowing the significance of a single peach rose as she quickly moved to the next recipient of her gifts. 

God spoke to my spirit, “Your husband may have forgotten, but I will never forget you.” I was wrapped up in God’s love, secure in being known and unforgotten.

Many years have passed with many gifts of flowers from my John. We are closer than ever.

Just when we think no one knows our struggles and sadness, God provides His reassurance in unique ways. Thank you, Linda Gregorino, and thank you, Father God. 

“Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think.” (Ephesians 3:20)

                                                            Photo by Jessica Johnston on Unsplash

Tech Envy

 After forty-three years of marital bliss, my dear hubby’s (DH) love affair makes no sense. She gives him accurate information in a silky-voiced response to his questions. I’ve developed an intense dislike of her intrusion into our lives. I know her. Her name is Siri.

He plugs in his phone, and she confirms with a sultry, “Charging.”

He tells her, “Good morning,” and she complies by turning on specific lights. Grudgingly, I find this feature helpful when my hands are full coming into a dark apartment.

I say, “Hey, Siri. Goodnight.” The lights turn off. 

She cleverly sucks me in by conveniently playing my favorite Celtic music. But we’ll never be friends.

DH asks her for the current dew point, and she responds coyly, “I found this information for you on the web.” I feel strangely mollified by Siri’s indirect answer while DH is frustrated with her indirect information.

 I remember the day I confronted him about his blooming dependence on Siri. My tears flowed upon the realization that Siri is in his life, never to vanish. She has the upper hand–uh, wire.

Tech gadgetry increases when DH is bored. It’s not only Siri. DH delights in investing in new tech to scare the peewadden out of me. 

I dropped him off at our home building site yesterday to wait for our front door delivery.  He takes a book because internet connections are limited in the boonies. A couple of hours without his precious Siri is good for him while I drive back into town for groceries. 

Pulling the car into our garage, I unload groceries. Before I open the door to the apartment, someone faintly calls my name. The voice is eerie and soft. I furrow my brow and ignore the voice, thinking it might be my cell phone in the car. But I didn’t hear it ring. 

After I unload groceries and walk back into the garage, again, I hear someone softly call my name. I can not find the source. It sounds like DH, but his voice sounds faint and eerie. Was he communicating from the great beyond? Did he fall at the property and need help?

“Camera. Look at the camera”, he says softly. 

Of course! When we moved in, he mounted a camera in the garage. Later in the day, I discovered he tested the remote ability to talk through the camera. We had a long ‘discussion’ about his glee over scaring me half to death. There is never a dull moment in our lives together. 

But paybacks are sweet when DH hears my Siri's voice, a husky Aussie who I named Wallaby. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.

Writing Prompt

     Sometimes I’m without a clue about what to write. I live an active life that provides many stories, right? This past week, the words stuck inside my head.

I bought an intriguing book titled “300 Writing Prompts” months ago. Answering the first prompt challenges me. 

“Have you ever spoken up when you saw something going on that was wrong? Were you scared? What ended up happening?” 

     

 I intervened in my children’s fights when they grew up at home. No problem. Keeping one kid from killing another is a standard parental expectation. I don’t speak up in public situations with strangers because confrontations are risky in these times of polarized opinions. You never know if someone is gonna pull out a gun. But the conflict at my former workplace that came to mind is different.

Max, a new laborer, shows up at the park most mornings smelling of booze. I was his co-worker, not his boss, and avoided involvement with Max’s drunkenness. I hear a chainsaw start outside our office window and, with horror, watch as my drunk co-worker wields a chainsaw—several large trees near our office building are scheduled for removal. Will he drop a tree on someone, the office building, or injure himself? 

Steve, his crew boss, knows he drinks before work; nevertheless, he stands by Max to assist, as required in park protocol. I see no sign that Steve tries to stop Max’s use of the chainsaw. I can’t turn a blind eye to the potential hazards.

Nervously, I call the park manager. 

“Ben? This is Nancy at the office. I know you are working at the west seventy, but you should know about Max.”

“What about him?” Ben shouts into his radio as the transmission threatens to break up.

“He checked into work this morning smelling like alcohol. Is he scheduled to take down trees by the office?”

“Oh no! Isn’t Steve stopping him?”

“I don’t think so. Steve is standing by as he works the chainsaw.” Ben could hear the chainsaw in the background.

“I’ll be right there.” 

I sigh with relief as the chainsaw stops, then startle when Steve slams open the door to the office, making a beeline to radio Ben. I overheard Steve say to Ben, “I told Max to stop, and he would not listen again.” 

When Ben arrives at the office, they take Max to the maintenance shop for a private conversation. I learn later that Ben fires Max. He received several warnings about drinking on the job. Even though I didn’t have all the facts, I took appropriate action. Thank the Lord that no one was injured.

I confessed to Steve that I thought he allowed Max to do something risky, which is why I panicked and called Ben. 

“You know me better than that, Nancy. Safety first around machinery, right?” he grinned and thanked me for having his back. 

 Even Ben, who rarely gives compliments, thanks me for the radio call. 

And I didn’t assume that my older child instigates arguments with the younger sibling. Sometimes the “baby” provokes their older siblings and gets more than they expect. Having all the facts is necessary before intervening.