Voting Absurdly

Bill returned from in-person voting today and declared it “absurd.”

Not because he doesn’t value the right and privilege of voting or because he had to stand in a line looping around the block. 

But because he went into a polling place fifty feet from a secure drop-off box, and had to re-complete the ballot which the state of Colorado mailed to us last month.

 

            (The yellow circle is the drop box, the door to vote in-person is in left of the tent)

He’d listened to candidate X carry on once too many times about trashed ballots and voter fraud. He’d started worrying about vote buying, as if that couldn’t happen at the voting machine. So he decided he needed to vote in person. 

He carefully studied and filled out his paper ballot with at least fifteen presidential candidates, justices to be retained or not, eleven local ballot measures, and twelve state initiatives. The ballot is six pages long. He took it to the polling place. There was one other voter there. 

He expected to transfer his decisions to a computer.  Nope. The machines are only to assist people with disabilities. The poll worker handed him a fresh ballot, exactly like the one he held in his hand. He completed the duplicate, they marked the old ballot void, and he was on his way.  

He felt badly about the waste of paper. And he wondered why every state didn’t make it as easy as Colorado did. We have a choice of in-person, mail-in, or one of the plentiful, secure ballot drop off boxes. He decided in the end, voting in-person voting was unnecessary, and under these circumstances, absurd.

 

Jesus asks “What do you want me to do?”   

 

My eight year old students crowded around the low work table loaded with the ingredients to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Their job was to give me instructions.

“Put the peanut butter on the bread” said the first student.

I plonked the unopened jar in the middle of the loaf, denting it considerably.

“No! You have to take the peanut butter out of the jar,” several said the while others giggled.

So (with a gloved hand) I scooped the peanut butter out of the jar and smeared it on the bread bag.

They erupted in laughter. “Mrs. Glover! Not like that.”

“What do you want me to do?” I said. 

“Take the bread out of the bag and spread it on.”

I ripped the bag, took out a piece of bread and smeared it on one side and set it on the plate. 

“Now the jelly” one student said. I reached for the jar. 

“No, use a knife and get the jelly out of the jar” a quick thinker added. 

“We have to tell her exactly what we want her to do” said another.

Now that they understood good directions are not general, but specific, I sent them back to their desks to write out step by step instructions. 

In Matthew 20 a pair of blind beggars heard Jesus approach and loudly, urgently called out to him. The Greek word for “cried out”  is the word for croak, like the cry of a raven.

“Lord, Son of David, have mercy on us!” 

The crowd rebuked the pair and told them to be quiet, but they shouted all the louder.  Their request was general “have mercy.” They may have thought that was enough instruction, it was obvious they were blind.

 But Jesus wanted more. 

“What do you want me to do for you?” he asked. “Lord,” they answered, “we want our sight.” Jesus had compassion on them and touched their eyes. Immediately they received their sight and followed him.”     Matthew 20:30-34 NIV

A careful study of the passage reveals several important elements of prayer.  First, when in need, seize the opportunity to ask Jesus for help. Don’t put it off, don’t assume things will work themselves out.

 Second, don’t be dissuaded by the crush of voices in your own mind — discouraging, dismissive voices that you’ve already asked for your need to be met. Instead, persist. 

Third, be specific. The God who created you is asking “What do you me to do for you?”

Fourth, wait with faith.

What do you want Jesus to do for you today? Croak out your prayer right now. Ignore the naysaying voices, and tell Him what you need. He wants to know, and He will act in the way for your good. 

Pickin' on the Banjo Picker

 Bill and I were a pair of sneak-ers. Not tennis shoes, but people who sneak new treasures home and hide them from each other. For years I stashed fabrics at the back of a deep closet and Bill hid books. 

My buddy can’t sneak in his new banjos, which he buys more often than I buy shoes. He already has five banjo cases leaning against the living room wall like soldiers at ease. His wife is certain to spot an addition. He buys on impulse, and then justifies it, saying he will “probably” sell one. Or he lends one out making a little room for the next instrument.

The other fiddler and I tease him about the lack of self-control. In the south we’d say we're just pickin'. His excessive attraction to banjos rivals that of some men and fishing poles, or guns, or cars. We tell him how patient his wife is, that her tolerance deserves to be rewarded because we’d never put up with it.

 

He says he’s learned to wait for her to be in the right frame of mind before he announces a new arrival. When he told her about the latest purchase he offered her a substantial prize. I would have wanted a new fiddle, but apparently a new vacuum was on her wish list. 

I told him that sucked as a consolation prize. Yes, indeed, he said. It sucks very well. 

She came to rehearsal last week and thanked us for sticking up for her. I told her she deserved something that would give her pleasure, not an appliance. But she was delighted that it vanquished dog hair. A thrifty woman, she recounted that the bags were ridiculously expensive. As compared to a banjo? 

I figure he owes her at least 120 boxes of vacuum cleaner bags.