Words, wounds and crossroads

Six of one, half a dozen of another -- maybe less.

Semantics. In case you were wondering, your choice of words matters.

In the early days of the war in Iraq, news anchors would somberly report that a contractor in Iraq had met a grim end at the hands of the enemy.

I don't know about you, but when I hear the word "contractor" I get a mental image of a blue collar worker, black metal lunch pail in hand with his tool belt cinched around his waist, resting on a hip. No one said anything to disabuse me of this picture.

It has become increasingly clear as the war grinds on that these contractors are in fact a far cry from the blue collar worker I envisioned. They are under contract, to our own government, to carry guns and to provide security to various high level persons in the war zone.

During the years that I have been writing this column, a noted few have elicited both positive and negative responses. Usually, weeks, even months go by without any feedback at all. Such was not the case with last week's column, "How's that again?" In the ensuing days I have received numerous "Amens" to the content. Apparently, the problem I wrote about is even more prevalent than I realized and folks were just waiting for someone to give voice to it. Sadly, not one member of the clergy hazarded a phone call to ask if any one mentioned was a member of their flock.

Earlier in the summer, it was my pleasure to put names to faces when I covered a group of women busily tying quilts for high-risk newborns in urban hospitals. I've been typing some those names for years now, in clubs notes and various announcements. What a pleasure it was to meet some of these women face-to-face, and to see them working so hard to ease someone else's suffering. What a wonderful job I have.

I have become a cat person. It happened quite unexpectedly. After all, we've always been equal opportunity pet lovers. When the kids were home, we always had a dog (or two), as well as a cat (or two).

There is something about kids and dogs. They just go together. They're good for each other. Dogs require a lot of attention. They insist on it -- bouncing and trouncing themselves into your lives -- always happy to see you, always wanting to kiss you, begging to be petted, to be loved. If you have to leave, they are crestfallen and watch until you disappear, wearing a mournful expression, full of reproach. But when you return? Woohoo! It's party time. All is forgiven. They jump and leap and seem to say, "Hi! How are you? Didja' bring me anything? Let me sniff you to see where you've been. Oh, pet me some more. More. More. More."

Cats, not so much. They take little notice when you leave, watching you gather purse, wallet, coats and gloves with a condescending gaze. When you return, whether you've been gone for hours or days, the most you can expect is a casual lifting of the head and an almost contemptuous look.

Boo had to go to the vet. He had, in spite of all of our attempts to forestall this event, gotten into an altercation with another cat. Things did not go well for the Boo Boo. When home remedies, gently administered, failed to eradicate the infection in his wound, we spared no expense to take him to the vet.

Once he recovered from the procedure, even though he obviously felt much better, there was none of the quick canine forgiveness and gratitude in his heart. I threatened to trade him in for a dog. Don't get me wrong, I love my cat. I just hope I bear a stronger resemblance to the dogs we loved while the children were growing up than I do to the Boo kitty.

A crossroad suddenly appeared.

A story was told of a youthful indiscretion. Nothing all that shameful, nothing that couldn't have been or wouldn't have been forgiven. However, pride was at stake and pride is a powerful motivator.

An escape route was provided. It seemed harmless enough and at the time seemed altogether providential. All things considered, had a different path been taken that day, the whole of the years to come could have turned out completely differently. For good or for ill -- only God can say. After all, if the aim of this life is for us to find God and to be found by him, then the whole of years that have followed have passed in vain. The moment of divine encounter came and the path of least resistance, the path that promised that sin could be hidden, was chosen instead of the path that would have reached new heights and proved that every sin can be forgiven.

"Nothing in all creation is hidden from God's sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account." Hebrews 4:13 (NIV)

Things you won't see in heaven: Cat fights