Revenge on Scammers

 

Perhaps I am "too much" for some people's sensibilities.  But I have this coffee mug, so everyone who sees it is duly warned.  There are things I say that take people by surprise.  Sometimes I even say things that take ME by surprise.  And of those, this particular incident makes me so proud.  

Let me begin by saying I am getting a little testy with all of the opportunities everyone else is taking to scam people.  I detest trolls and those who steal money and personal identities and home titles, the list goes on and on. And, I think there is a particularly HOT eternal future for those who take advantage of the elderly.

I do not consider myself elderly.  Yet.  And, armed with a good cup of coffee, I can think pretty quickly on my feet.  You won't see it coming, and then it happens:  I respond in a way that throws the person off guard.  I dedicate this incident to all the grandparents out there who never want to receive a phone call from the guy who called me.  And to The Guy Who Called Me, ha ha ha ha .... I can't stop laughing.  I ABSOLUTELY PUNKED YOU!

Have you noticed that when spammers call, two things give you a warning.  #1) your caller ID doesn't show the name of someone you actually know.  It may have a personal name on it.  It may look like, given the area code and first three numbers, that it is from someone in the town where you live.  It usually isn't.  If you don't know the name and number, guess what?  You probably aren't being called by the person whose name it is.  I know.  That is abominable for someone to USE a name that is not theirs; but that's okay, I've got a whole other list of names for them, and those won't be found in your local church's congregant directory. 

The warning #2) You say "Hello," once and there is a fairly long pause.  THEN you will hear a garbled sound that seems to be a voice but is just background noise.  You now have a question mark in your voice and ask again, "Hello???" and then someone's voice bursts through the mental haze and declares:  "Hello I'm a paid caller with MDS..." or "My name is Officer Bob and I'm calling on behalf of your local sheriff's department" (no, he's not.).  So at this point most people just hang up on the poor blighter... but my call went this way:

Ring.  Ring.

Me:  Hello (first time).

Long pause, then garbled noise.

Me:  Hello. (second time, kind of snippy) Who is this?

Him:  Mom?

Me:  Son, is that you?  I was hoping you'd call.  How are you?  (I do not have a son.)

Him:  I'm not doing so good...

Me:  (annoyed voice)  Are you in jail AGAIN?

Pause.  No response from him.  I can barely say the next part because I am smiling so hard I have tears in my eyes.

Me:  I  told your father you'd end up just like him!  (I have no husband.)

Silence on the other end of the phone.  I hang the phone up nonchalantly as if I do this every day.  And guess what, I am going to do it AGAIN the very next chance I get because turning the tables on these people makes me feel like I am contributing positively to society.  Feel free to try it yourself.  

Welcome to My Parlor ...

 

It was cool and gruesome at the same time.  The fly that I had smacked with the swatter had fallen onto the bathroom countertop and he wasn't "quite" dead yet.  He fell underneath the edge of this fabric basket thing that holds my blow dryer and brush.  And there, before my wondering eyes, appeared a tiny spider that dropped down and began wrapping the fly in its silky web threads.  The fly moved a little, and the spider came at him from another side.  It was almost like watching a professional boxer take swings at a smaller scarecrow.  Odd.  Fascinating.  Out of proportion.  It was like watching the rawness of films from Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom from back-in-the-day.  My day, that is.

It made me think about what my friend Bob always used to tell me and his wife, "The devil is in the details."  He repeated that phrase, oh, about 40 million times and I was never quite sure what he meant by that...  until watching this tiny spider wrap up his ill-gotten fly.  He had a pre-existing agenda and he just happened to be Right Place - Right Time.  The devil doesn't have to be Bigger than you, he just has to be opportunistic like the spider.  

In life, rare is the person that is destined to be a serial killer or axe murderer... a big evil, like the fly swatter that didn't quite finish the job.  Much larger is the population that whittles away their own integrity bit by bit.  A small lie here or there.  An extra something you take even though you are not entitled to it.  A hurtful comment about someone else.  A motive that looks good on the outside but only because it's covering over self-aggrandizement.

In this season of running around trying to make the holidays "perfect," let's take the time to reflect on the areas where we get pulled off just a little bit.  What are the spiders that are wrapping us up in a moral death-shroud?  Resolutions to improve ourselves don't have to wait for New Year's Eve.  We can do them every single evening all year round before we go to bed.  Or, we can daily try to be more circumspect about the people, places, and things that have potential for us to go off-track.  And, if the lights are on Monday night at a church near you, you could go fix it there.  Don't miss the most important thing because you got lost in the hustle and bustle... and have a truly Merry Christmas.

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"Don't Try this at Home"

 

The young woman on the back of the chestnut thoroughbred was racing full-tilt through the California desert, chased by sheriffs on horseback as well as in four-wheel drive police vehicles.  The eye-in-the-sky sheriff's helicopter hunted her down like a notorious felon.  She rode that horse with passion and purpose - to save his life from the proverbial Glue Factory villains.  The owners of the ranch watched the pursuit on television with bated breath.  That horse dove down a cliff and they both remained in tact and on-the-move.  It was a chase better than I had ever seen on television.  

REAL LIFE is nothing like television, let me be a Witness to this, particularly on horseback.

Thirty years ago (and likely 50 pounds ago) I found myself on horseback in the Berkshires.  Most unfortunately, I was not being pursued by handsome sheriffs in any sort of fashion.  The first twenty minutes of the ride brought me to a very premature conclusion that this horse I was riding on was one step away from being party to Elmer's... I could not get him to move beyond a very reluctant saunter.  No, "saunter" is not a term used for horse activity, like, for instance: "loping," "cantering," or "galloping."  Nope.  This horse was moving so slow it was almost going backwards.  

I kicked my heel softly into his side.  No results.  I made that clicking noise inside my cheek.  Nothing.  I kicked again.  Nope.  "Just can't think of a good reason to be moving much beyond a saunter," he seemed to say.  Finally, I whaled my right heel into him and he took off like a launched missile.  I was shocked, initially, and then scared.  With good reason.

He was hanging to the left side of the trail and zooming along mighty close to the trees.  Some of the branches were low; I had to duck down more than once.  Then, I felt the saddle shift slightly to the left.  I don't know if I had time to say a profanity but I'm sure I thought it pretty loud.  One thing was for sure, he was having his revenge on me quite clearly.  I knew if that saddle was looser than it should be it could shift me enough off the left side of him into one of those trees that kept whizzing by.  So I did the initial pull back on the reins, which amount to ... not surprisingly, NOTHING.  Finally in an act of desperation, I released my left hand that was clutching the saddle horn, took both reins in hand and gave him a choke back that HE WILL REMEMBER for the rest of his born days.  

And that son of lightning stopped on a dime.  For the brief but fearsome time that he took me on the Ride 'o Death, my posterior was not in the saddle, it was about four to six inches in the air above the saddle.  Until the dime dropped.  And so did my seat.  The slam of the point of contact jarred my right hip and I felt instant numbness down my entire right leg.  I did not know if my leg would hold me when I eventually would dismount at the barn twenty minutes later.  

For the last twenty years, I have remembered that ride, most particularly if I am standing for a long time because I get radiating nerve pain down that leg.  I tried physical therapy  years back with some limited relief.  I accepted that this would be my "new normal..."  Until the past few months when my hip itself has started to act cranky.  I think of that horse now, mostly when I lick the glue on the back of an envelope.

So if for some reason you thought episode two of "Wildfire," which I described at the beginning of this article, was something someone should try and might enjoy, I beg to differ... as I limp down the sidewalk.  Just another television moment that is not as great in real life as it was on the screen. 

Just sayin'.

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Grasping at Chips

 

First I saw one, then there were a handful.  I couldn't believe my luck!  I pulled into the parking lot of an elderly living center with my friend and let her out to go fetch a grocery list from one of the seniors.  I had stepped out of the car to stretch my legs, looked down at the pavement wet with rain, and noticed -huh- a small red disc about the size of a quarter with a bronze-colored rim around it.  I shouted out (like anyone cared), "IT'S A BINGO CHIP!"  I couldn't believe my luck!  I swung around and closed the car door and stooped down to pick it up.  Although it was a bit muddy, it seemed no worse for the wear.

My eyes followed to the next bingo chip, and the next, and the next.  It was as if they were flung in an arc.  I stooped down to pick up some more but my gaze followed the arc ... to see ... more chips ... and yucky cigarette butts, and unmistakably, a piece of either cat turd or little-dog  turd.  I felt my stomach roll and my hand purposefully dropped the three or four chips on the ground.  

All of my investigative skills kicked into play in a flash of realization:  Someone's trash bag must have leaked these things out.  Perhaps it had a tear in the bottom.  My mouth felt funny.  The thought of me handling these little discs that had been sitting in the bottom of a trash bag with cigarette butts and kitty poop made me want to hurl.  I couldn't wait to get to the hand sanitizer on the door pocket of my car to purify my hands!

This is a very important lesson I did not miss and I wanted to share it more formally like this:

Sometimes we grab at things, jobs, relationships, whatever that catch our eye.  The glitz, the potentiality, the sparkle makes us lose sight of the bigger picture.  And frankly, I think there ALWAYS is a Bigger Picture.  We get caught in a moment and make a quick decision and find ourselves handling garbage.

So the next time you have to make a decision, don't do the impulse-buy approach.  Think.  Walk out of the store and delay the choice.  Sometimes it only takes five minutes to realize you didn't really need to buy that item that seemed so desirable in the moment.  

Before you commit to a path, take the time and sit with it.  Even if that means the agony of rolling the thing back in forth in your mind a few hundred times.  Or if it means, "Here, Lord, I put this in Your capable hands."  "Wait.  I want to take it back for a minute."  "Oh.  Okay, here it is, for you Lord."  

Be patient with the process.  Good things come to those that wait.  Drop the bingo chips.  You didn't need them anyways.

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My Mission

 

A friend recently commented that I may have "missed my calling in life."  I think I certainly did.

On my refrigerator for 12 years, and tucked into the cover of my Bible for three decades at least before that is this writing from John Henry Cardinal Newman:

I, Why?

God has created me to do Him some definite service:

He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another.

I have my mission - I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next.

I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons.

He has not created me for naught.

I shall do His work.  I shall do good.  I shall be an angel of peace ...

The picture looks nothing like me, except for the birds swirling around.  LOL.  

What is YOUR mission?  Will you be an angel of peace with me?

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Driving Me Batty

I know exactly where my tennis racket is.  It's hanging in it's protective sleeve right outside my kitchen door in the garage.  I have had the same tennis racket since high school.  I consider it more of an omen than a piece of sporting equipment.  It has served its purpose well.

In the last place I rented, a casual comment by a contractor set many things into motion like wildfire.  I had asked  him to come look at one thing; he started snapping that tape measure all crazy-ass in every direction and telling me that "for 2 grand, I can give you a whole new kitchen."  I told  him that the landlord would not be thinking in that direction.  I tried to re-direct him to the task at hand (I now forget what it was).  

He picked up a piece of broken tile from the kitchen floor.  He held it up to the light and showed me how the fibers were sticking out horizontally between the two pieces.  Then he said the A-word.  "Asbestos."  He advised me that I would have to move out of the house, it would have to be torn out and trucked to a special dumping grounds west of us about two hours.  I felt sick to my stomach.  I did not know how I would begin to move out, even temporarily, with a fairly big dog and about ten cockatiels at the time.  So I made the call to the Landlord and broke the news.

Incredulous, he asked, "How do you know it's asbestos?"  I replied:  the contractor said so and showed me the fibers sticking out of the tiles ... the tiles I have been walking on BAREFOOT for a couple of years now.  I think asbestos is mostly airborne when it's broken up and you don't get it through your FEET, but nonetheless I was a bit overwhelmed.  Nothing happened That Day.  But the next day when I came home from work ...

The door to the kitchen was wide open.  My landlord's son and girlfriend were on their hands and knees slapping large adhesive tiles OVER the asbestos flooring smaller tiles.  Apparently, Someone in the Zoning office suggested this as a quick-fix:  just seal-over the smaller tiles and nothing asbestos will float into the air... well, until someone ELSE decides to tear that floor up and make it something else.

That night, with the tiles all in place, and me sleeping on my bed with my dog Timbyr at my feet, I breathed a sigh of relief.  The drama was over.  Or so I thought.  As I drifted off to dreamland, I thought came to me, "why does it seem like a bird just flew from the kitchen through to my bedroom?"  Ahhh, my birds in the other room safely in their cages ... then SNAP my eyes popped wide open:  yes MY birds were in cages.  Then this was a ... BAT!  And it zoomed through my bedroom again.  The dog went berserk.  I picked up the phone and called the Landlord (because that's what they get the big bucks for!).  He sent his teenage son over.  

Let's be honest, the kid was more awake than adults can be at that time of the night, so he was clearly the best guy for the job.  He said, "yeah, no big deal," and went into the kitchen and started waving his arms around which freaked the bat out way more.  Remember, bats are kind of small, but they do carry rabies, so this was not the preferred method of removal.  Somehow in all the who-hah, my trusty tennis racket and some kind of a garage rag were commandeered for the task, but when the Landlord walked in and left the door open, my big dog took advantage of the situation and bolted into the night.  So there I was in my pajamas and bathrobe running down the side street trying to get the dog back.

When I returned, breathless, but with dog in tow, the kid handed me my blood-stained tennis racket and threw the rag with its contents into the trash barrel.  We all said, "Thank God that's over," and they went home and Timbyr and I went back to bed.

The next day, when I told my lunchmates at the hospital about the activities, one of the physicians said pitifully, "Aw, that's too bad.  Bats eat 800 mosquitoes a night.  He wouldn't have hurt you."  I was floored.  Veterinarians everywhere warn of the transmission of rabies via bats, yet somehow this person thought that the bat "wouldn't hurt me."  Then I just shifted my brain from annoyance to wondering what poor slob got the lab task of dissecting a bat to count dead mosquitoes ... 50, 80, 100, or was that 98... 542.  

For now, I keep the deadly tennis racket readily available.  With its history, I think it is better placed in the garage than on the tennis court.

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What's the Big Deal about Forgiveness anyways?

 

It sounded so ugly when it came out.  One of the nicest guys I know said, "I don't get mad; I get even."  His intention was to sound funny or somehow like he was brimming over with machismo.  But, as I said, it just sounded ugly.

It made me wonder how many times I have said something that just came out and made me look like someone I am not.  I think it is important to take stock of what comes out of our mouths ... in moments when we are trying to impress people with who we are, or who we think we are.  I am so busy pulling my size 8.5 foot out of my mouth I barely have time to straighten myself out.

If you are okay with living in that cycle of:  blah, blah, blah + Time = Self-Condemnation for three times as long, then have at it.  Frankly, I'm done.  If I don't stop sooner rather than later, I will have to start sleeping with my shoes on just to protect my mouth.  Yeah, don't picture that, it's just plain silly.

Recently, one of my women friends and I went out to dinner.  She said to me, "We talked about Forgiveness at my Women's Group at church last week.  I wanted to run something by you."  I will admit rather sheepishly, okay, maybe not so sheepishly, that the Type-A in me with two Theology degrees really loves to be consulted on things Theological.  So she and I had an interesting sharing of ideas regarding this topic.  I told her that one thing that really frustrated me was when the secular media starts talking about forgiveness in places where, I feel, it (the Media) does NOT belong.  They cannot be the arbiters of moral decision-making. I will give you two uncomfortable examples of this.

#1)  Chappaquiddick.  You say that word in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts to anyone who is over 40 years old and heads start shaking sideways.  If you don't know the story I will tell you this in a nutshell.  A young woman went to a party that was attended by the then young and handsome Senator Ted Kennedy.  He offered to drive her home but he was, unfortunately, as we say where I come from, "three-sheets-to-the-wind."  That means he had no business behind the wheel of a vehicle.  Long story short, Mary Jo Kopechne did not make it home that night because the vehicle ended up sinking in the water and she was trapped in it.  Senator Kennedy walked home, soaking wet from his escape from the vehicle.  He did not immediately report the accident, nor the young woman whom he left behind drowning in a submerged vehicle.  

The Media had a feeding frenzy.  But the question asked was:  Will the people of Massachusetts forgive Senator Kennedy for this tragic accident (if that is what it was) and let him retain his seat on the Senate?  And to this question I say:  You asked that question to the wrong people.

Why is it, when something happens on a big scale, the responsibility is handed to The People, posing the question if THEY forgive.  I think forgiveness in this situation lies in the hands of: the deceased young woman who was abandoned because her presence in the Kennedy circle was an inconvenient trifle; the family of this woman who was left to grieve and, adding insult to injury, became further victims of the political-media circus; and God Himself.  Oh, um, I almost forgot:  his wife Joan who was pregnant with their third child at the time... whom she subsequently miscarried.

The People re-elected Kennedy.  Mr. Kopechne had the vehicle towed up onto his lawn as a token of The Grave Injustice.  If you want to hear a fascinating interview, get ahold of Representative Bob Dornan  interviewing the grieving father.  So, aside from the power was put in the hands of the wrong people, (not like we've never seen it go bad like that before in history when mobs decide) a career became more important than a life lost.  Now, take the politician you think the least of and put them in that situation.  How would you vote?  See my point.  It becomes a political decision, not a moral one.  A  true gentleman who was party to a tragic accident would have STEPPED DOWN and lived a quiet life behind the scenes, repairing his family and being humble and contrite about the whole thing.

#2) The Blue Dress.  Notice I did not say "the devil in the blue dress."  I have had an epiphany on this story, let me tell you how.  So, never running out of evil in Washington, someone named Bill who was married to a famous Senator named Hillary, got caught in a closet with someone other than Hillary.  And The People were again asked, "will you forgive this man?"  And The People voted yes.  Somehow.  BUT.  Again, I'm saying, that the power to forgive is in the hands SOLELY of the one who was offended.  While The People were about the business of white-washing a very vile episode, a young woman's life was being destroyed for one STUPID - very, very STUPID - and disgusting event.  

Not until you hear the story of the woman caught in adultery who is dragged (by men) before Jesus and asked that He judge her, can you truly appreciate what happened to Monica's life in Washington.  (cf. John 8:1-11)  To be made into a public spectacle for personal indiscretion is not a desirable thing.  But why is it the woman is made out to be the bad guy, so to speak, and whomever the man is - in both the Biblical story as well as the presidential story - get to go on with their powerful, influential lives?  Hmmm.  Riddle me this one, Bat Man.  

Scrolling through You Tube last year, I found a TedTalk presentation by Monica Lewinsky.  Initially I just scrolled by, but then I felt drawn to  hear her speak her peace.  Wow. Never did I surmise that she was yelled at and ridiculed in the streets.  I did not stop to consider that not only did she experience shame, but fear and depression.  She shared that her parents made her shower with the bathroom door left open a crack, because they feared she would take her own life.  So, for anyone to judge her that was not personally involved or impacted by the event, is just plain out of line.  It builds a culture of hate.  

As Jesus said to the woman brought before Him on that day, "Where are your accusers?"  Apparently the guys that dragged her there took off when He asked them which of them had not sinned. They dropped the rocks that they were fixing to throw at her and skulked away.  He finished by saying to her, "Now, neither do I forgive you.  Go and sin no more."  Again, wow.  In order for Monica to "go and sin no more" she had to leave the country and start a new life elsewhere.  Meanwhile back in Washington ... the man got to stay in his job.  What would a real gentleman have done?  I guess we will never know.

Think for a minute if you knew any person who did the same thing in a closet at their job - would that person remained employed?  My point.  When you are handed the highest honor the American People can give you, "Please be our President.  Be the face of America to foreign nations.  Stand for Justice.  Stand for Truth.  Stand for Freedom and all that is Noble."  When this person blunders it to such a degree, how in the heck can they be deemed "fit for Office," in fact I am wondering how that person can go on diplomatic meetings and not feel ashamed to show his face in public.  I am wondering that, not out of judgment, but because there were TWO people in that closet.  And one of them can't live here anymore, and the other one goes on speaking tours.

A couple of weeks ago, the Gospel readings in Mass were all about forgiveness, particularly Matthew 18:21-35 (translation for those who need it:  Gospel of Matthew.  Chapter 18.  Verses 21-35.  That's how we find stuff in The Book.)  The story is fascinating.  In the context of a culture that had slaves and servants and other kinds of domestic help (which I desperately need), a very generous Master writes-off the great debt of one of his servants.  The servant was married with a family, and begged the Master to forgive him.  Without any other reason to do so other than his benevolent nature, the Master wrote off the entire debt.  (I would have put the guy on an installment payment system but that would wreck the whole point of the story.)  

Next scene in the story, another servant approaches the recently forgiven servant and asks for forgiveness for a much, much lesser debt.  The forgiven servant does not forgive him.  In fact, he grabs him and throttles him and demands his money back.  The Great Master heard of this through the grapevine of  his workers.  They were really shook up.  The Master became very angry.  He called that servant back and gave him the what-for.  Rightly so, since he had forgiven such a great debt, could the forgiven one not do the same for a much lesser debt?

It is a great story.  And we all would like to think if we were IN the story we would be either the Benevolent Master, or a very good example of a servant who would forgive.  We like to think that way of ourselves.  But sometimes we are not that great.

I am not, at this point, going to share my recent story of how someone I trusted to do the right thing wronged me and cost me a lot of money.  Because that story is not over yet.  It will finish off beautifully when the Lord is finished doing His work.  And I must wait.  

I do want to say this about Forgiveness:  All of these great examples are daunting.  In our stubbornness, we refuse to let them inspire us to be better, healthier people because we wrongly think forgiveness is a gift we are giving to the person who wronged us.  But the Forgiveness is not really for the other person .... The Jerk, as it were.  Forgiveness is for ME.  It is for YOU. Here's why:  Because when I hold onto that bad mojo of unforgiveness inside my gut, it makes me sick.  I (or you) as a human being run the risk of these illnesses:  elevated blood pressure, nervous symptoms, stomach troubles, heart attacks.  I (or you) as a human being run the risk of these emotional illnesses:  paranoia, obsession, vengefulness, a spirit of unforgiveness, and separation from the peace of God.  So as I wrap this up, so you can digest it all, I ask you to consider this:  Hasn't the person already done enough wrong to you, that you would let them keep on robbing you more and more by the unforgiveness you are holding inside of you?  Isn't it time to do YOURSELF a FAVOR and cut it loose?

Forgiveness does not mean there are not consequences.  Sometimes there has to be consequences - legal, financial, material, whatever.  But other times these forms of Justice cannot be achieved.  Perhaps the right cannot be restored.  Yet we can choose to not harbor the grudge, roll it over in our minds at night, seethe at the mention of the person's name.  We just have to take out our mental scissors and cut that piece of history out of our brains and set it aside, to not keep running back to the picture over and over again.  Better yet we can pray for the person that is our enemy.  Pray that he or she come to know Christ so that they can feel all of the forgiveness the Great Master has to offer and amend his/her life.  In the end, I think we all want to live together in peace.  

"And let the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, guard your heart and mind in Christ Jesus."  (Philippians 4:7)

In the words of my immortal friend, Saint Sabina of Tempe:  "Let go and Let God.  That's what I do."