Life Lines: May 2015

It is with regret I must say it has been discovered that I have an unfortunate malady affecting my physical, mental, emotional and spiritual well-being. It pains me to admit that I suffer from the “Shakes”, a condition very often invisible to those around me, nonetheless escalating internally.

Sometimes while driving, I suddenly without warning, am overcome with the urge to shake my finger at other drivers or even pedestrians who lack, in my critical opinion, the necessary skills for road usage. Absent it seems is even the sense once nostalgically referred to as common.

Not limited to shaking fingers, I find that my fists are also prone to shaking, even if only in thought. This occurs when I believe that my fair pay, reward, recognition, or status has been overlooked or disregarded, intentionally or otherwise. I am not given the respect or credit due me for how great I am, and how invaluable my contribution has been to mankind. And do not dare take what is rightfully mine, or detract from my people the good things they deserve. No, in such a case my fist shakes anger, defiance, and even violence.

Impatience and frustration will set my leg or foot to shaking as I mull over in my mind the responsible infractions, be they long lines, slow service, inattentiveness or rambling conversation. Over and over I replay them, as the shaking persistently worsens.

Perhaps the most menacing symptom of the Shakes and possibly the most debilitating for me, would be the shaking of my head. I need look no further than anything besides what I see in the mirror, before I am aware of the incessant side to side motion. When appalled, disgusted, shocked or aghast at the differing ideologies of others, their, style, manners, speech, taste, or lack of these, I sense my head shaking. More grievous issues and character flaws like pride, indifference, non-sensibilities, neglect, deceit, and ingratitude, are dangerous triggers to my head Shakes, threatening to overpower me and render me useless to correctly process information. When subjected to these I become vulnerable to serious prolonged side effects and complications. The Shakes is a pitiful diagnosis.

Fortunately there is a remedy that promises a 100% cure rate, including a satisfaction guarantee. It is effective when extending forgiveness. It is useful when taken with humility. It is fail-proof when combined with gratitude. For maximum unconditional effectiveness, take on a full heart of selflessness until symptoms subside. This is a powerful, highly addictive treatment, not to be abused, but can be safely taken continuously as needed, with no adverse side effects.

If you too suffer from the Shakes, whether occasionally or more often, and however severe your symptoms may be, ask The Great Physician for your own risk-free sample today. I did, and I can tell you it works! Ask for it by name, L-O-V-E, and accept no substitutes. You’ll be glad you did.

P.J.

Most of all, love each other as if your life depended on it. Love makes up for practically anything.

1Peter 4:8b (MSG)

It just seemed the right thing to do on a hot sunny Sunday afternoon, knowing a new week would begin in a few short hours. So I tacked my hair up in a knot and clips, a new up-do that my daughter showed me and thankfully works very well, put on a loose sleeveless dress, grabbed my draw-string bag for collecting, and headed off to the beach.

It was a beach I had not visited in a while so I was surprised to see it under construction, not realizing that of course until after I was parked. As far as could be seen in either direction was a large pipe and heavy equipment operating even on this Sunday afternoon. Well, I thought, I have a good parking spot right across from a beach entrance and I am not going to be run off easily. Some doubts nagged as to how great an experience this particular beach outing could be, what with this unsightly monstrosity of a pipe running its length.

To create in me even more doubt for the beach outing’s success, a stiff sea-wind threatened my up-do as soon as I stepped out of the car. I hope my dress doesn’t fly up I thought, followed by, well if it does I will still be clothed more than the majority of others here.

I persisted, knowing full well that it is an almost unheard of occurrence that a day at the beach might be anything but enjoyable.

The sand was dotted with shells, and people. The ocean rushed, white tipped waves each hastily chased the one before. The wind was noisy and blew stinging sand against my legs. Not to be defeated, I just accepted it as a natural exfoliant.

The shoreline was completely void of shells and sea glass, what I most like to search as I beach, but further back from the edge previous waves had left some chunks and broken bits that I couldn’t help but wish were whole. Considering the size of the unusually large fragments I was finding, they must have once been some very impressive shells. I quickly decided they would be my collection for the day since they seemed to be plentiful, and would most likely be passed over by typical collectors preferring the unbroken, unblemished specimens.

These were the beach underdogs and I made it my mission to credit them for the beauty they possessed, just as they were. Sure, they were not as they started out, and no longer as they were intended to be. Somehow they had been tossed, tumbled, crashed and broken in the surf-life of the sea, yet they possessed a beauty all their own. I decided they were the broken beautiful.

Breaking bared their inner construction, perfectly formed secret spirals revealed through jagged windows of bits missing from their sides. Some appeared as though they had been sliced in half, and some were only the innermost spirals having every bit of their outer shell beaten away.

Perfectly flawless shells not battered by tides, retain their secrets. We can only imagine what they are like inside. These broken ones however, are tattle tales spilling out all the secrets of shell life. See, come see, there is so much more to us. They silently beckon, come look. I do.

True, the battering breaks, but without the breaking inner beauty remains concealed, even wasted. It does seem a shame, because the broken cannot be unbroken. Ah, but even though noticeably broken, and only by it, does the shell’s inner beauty get to be appreciated and valued.

Without the tumbling turbulence there would be only those that look good on the outside, never letting on to the secrets of the equally lovely inside.The outside is good, but why settle for only what is on the surface? There is more, much more, dig a little deeper. Some beauty must be excavated and mined. That it is not at first visible, does not mean it is not there, and because what is first visible is beautiful, does not mean that is all there is to it. The best may yet need to be found. If you stop there, on the surface, you cannot know what you are missing. And missing it, well that is just not a good option.

Never believe that breaking strips away all of the beauty, and never quit searching for surprises that can only be found in the broken beautiful.