I suppose I should be thankful, although I think someone should paint the word "IDIOT" on my forehead in large red letters.
On Sunday morning I was doing my best to eliminate any possible "ice dam" problems on our roof at home. I leaned an extension ladder from the flat roof of the garage against the edge of the roof on our sunroom--another 9 or 10 feet above the garage roof. I noticed that the garage roof, covered with a rubber membrane, was a little wet and slippery, but that didn't stop THE IDIOT from climbing up the ladder. Near the top--again, 9 or 10 feet up in the air--the extension ladder quickly slid downward from its perch on the edge of the sunroom; the little feet of the ladder simply would not hold on that wet, slippery garage roof. I went down with the ladder and rammed my right side into the metal rungs when it hit bottom.
The wind was knocked out of me, and my right side already hurt. I saw a teeny bit of blood on my clothes. I rolled around in agony for a bit, gasping and groaning, and feeling a little in shock. But I eventually got up, leaned the extension ladder against the gutter of the garage, and climbed down to the ground.
Initially I was just sore and a little panicked. So I took a hot bath. And then, in the next hour or so, my right thigh started to swell up, big time. I applied ice, but it still looked about twice as thick as my left thigh. A blood clot? A broken leg? It was time to head to urgent care.
Thankfully, x-rays revealed that I didn't have a broken femur, or a broken anything. But I have sore ribs and a black and blue area on my right leg that's the size of Cleveland. And I'm hobbling around with continuous doses of ibuprofin.
We only get so many chances. Many years ago, our neighbor Bruce took one dive into a body of water that was too shallow, and he's been in a wheelchair ever since. As sore as I am, I need to count my blessings. But the contententious introvert gave new meaning this past weekend to the term idiot--I'd kick myself even more, but it's too hard to bend my leg!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Sins of commission and omission
Leave it to a heathen like me to think about "sinning."
I certainly don't accept the traditional Christian view that people are by nature wicked and sinful, or that there is such a thing as "original sin." Having said that, I also know that people are certainly capable of doing things which are not nice--that would be my preferred down-to-earth post-modern reading of the gospel.
When it comes to sinning, there are sins of commission--something that you did do--and sins of omission--something that you didn't. Like anyone else, I have my sins of commission--something I overtly did that I look back on with regret. You know, the mean-spirited remark, the ill-chosen word, the hostile action. The best I can say is that I have a limited number of those types of unpleasant memories. In 21st century terms, I could put most of my life on youTube and be OK with it.
That's the good news. The bad news is that I am haunted by all of those times when I had an opportunity to do or say the right thing but did not. I deal with a vast array of sins of omission--moments when I had the chance to do something good but reacted with indifference. In those situations--way too numerous to mention--I have let others down, and let myself down as well. Sometimes it is just too tempting to retreat into one's own reality and ignore everything and everyone else. To some extent, such retreating is a way to preserve one's sanity, but it also reminds you of what could have or should have been done. Yes, my sins have been more sins of omission, but that doesn't really wash away the feeling of regret.
Some people set the bar pretty low--as long as they haven't killed anyone or robbed a liquor store, they regard themselves as virtuous. But once sins of omission are introduced, the bar gets a whole lot higher--and, sadly, virtually impossible to reach.
I certainly don't accept the traditional Christian view that people are by nature wicked and sinful, or that there is such a thing as "original sin." Having said that, I also know that people are certainly capable of doing things which are not nice--that would be my preferred down-to-earth post-modern reading of the gospel.
When it comes to sinning, there are sins of commission--something that you did do--and sins of omission--something that you didn't. Like anyone else, I have my sins of commission--something I overtly did that I look back on with regret. You know, the mean-spirited remark, the ill-chosen word, the hostile action. The best I can say is that I have a limited number of those types of unpleasant memories. In 21st century terms, I could put most of my life on youTube and be OK with it.
That's the good news. The bad news is that I am haunted by all of those times when I had an opportunity to do or say the right thing but did not. I deal with a vast array of sins of omission--moments when I had the chance to do something good but reacted with indifference. In those situations--way too numerous to mention--I have let others down, and let myself down as well. Sometimes it is just too tempting to retreat into one's own reality and ignore everything and everyone else. To some extent, such retreating is a way to preserve one's sanity, but it also reminds you of what could have or should have been done. Yes, my sins have been more sins of omission, but that doesn't really wash away the feeling of regret.
Some people set the bar pretty low--as long as they haven't killed anyone or robbed a liquor store, they regard themselves as virtuous. But once sins of omission are introduced, the bar gets a whole lot higher--and, sadly, virtually impossible to reach.
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