Dr. Linda Karges-Bone

I took the Red Eye from LAX this morning. That is, leaving at 9:30 pm LA time and arriving at 9:30 am SC time, the next day. Today. And my 49 year old face shows it. There is no amount of pricey Airbonne toner that can effectively refresh this tired visage. But, I don’t care. In spite of the fatigue and furor of air travel, I do like to get out and go. I like packing the little black rolling bag. I like picking out my Chico’s indestructible, uncrushable travel wear ( blue or black) with some spiffy bangles. I like packing the enormous airline tote bag with magazines, protein bars, dollar bills for tipping, and about 5 pounds of other stuff. I like seeing my old and new friends when I return to a school district to consult or to a conference to keynote. The energy is good. I don’t know all their secrets and they don’t know mine. We are all friendly and professional and on our best behavior for 48 hours and in a way, it is restful. I even like taking a taxi. Why? Because, as my daughter Carolyn the astute new attorney notes: “You don’t HAVE to talk to anyone…..but no, that probably wouldn’t stop you would it?” Haaaa. Fooled you. I sat in quiet retrospection for 30 minutes on the LA freeway on Sunday……thinking…..just thinking…..and it was good. But, now I’m home. Thanks to Delta and Air Tran and the Good Lord. Three loads of laundry and lunch with my sweetie. Also good. Home again. Home again. Jiggity jog. Did I mention that I made plane reservations for Orlando and DC before I took a nap? Can’t let my “skills” as the great Napoleon Dynamite says…..get rusty.

I come from a big Italian family. My four siblings and I have produced 13 children between us and when all the children were little, it was crazy in a good kind of way. Christmas meant piles of crinkled paper, high chairs lined up in a row,  5 pounds of cooked pasta and meatballs, toddlers pushing baby doll strollers, toddlers in strollers, babies napping in carriers, and little boys crawling around playing with trucks and legos. My nephew Clint is one of “the boys” and probably the toughest one. It is no surprise that he is now a Corporal in the Marine Corps who shipped out to Iraq in January. He’s already been under fire and hurt, but bounced right back, much as he used to when he was little and would fall off his bicycle or skates and stubbornly refuse to come inside and “play nicely” with all those pesky girl cousins. My sister and I created a care package for him a few weeks ago, layering tuna snack packs. wet wipes, batteries, cookies, and magazines in careful rows. Aunt Annie cushioned it all with loose handfuls of his favorite hard candies and gum, saying that he could share it all with his buddies in the tent or the tank or on patrol…..whatever it is that tough Marines do in a war zone. She had tears in her eyes when she said it. My students at the university signed a big poster for him and we folded it on top. “We appreciate your service.” “We love you.” “Thank you for protecting our freedom.” Pretty young co-eds, girls whom he might be dating if he were in college instead of at war penned inspirational messages. They really care. His aunts and I care. His mama and daddy care. His grandma is terrified. It was so much easier to negotiate danger when it meant keeping him out of the street when he would chase balls, or out of the doghouse when he would crawl in after our beagle, or out of the cookie jar when he would sneak Oreos. Oh yes, there were Oreos in the package too. I made sure of that. We care about you “Cutest Boy” and  hope to hear soon that you got the package and that it and you are safe.

March is traditionally associated with windy weather and perhaps it is no surprise that the change in season has stirred up some trouble. The holidays are over and in some families, Spring fever is doing some real damage. I have been moved to pray and intercede for several families in which men ( husbands and fathers) have decided to have a full-blown, rip roarin mid-life crisis. Their childish anger, dangerous actions, and selfish attitudes damage and destroy the trust, self-esteem, and security of women and children in their paths. It is so sad, and so futile. This “happiness” that so many of us, men and women, abandon families and faith for is nothing but emptiness and evil. As the March winds blow, I cannot help but seek the scripture: “He who troubles his own house will inherit the wind.” Proverbs 11:29.  Infidelity? Alcohol? Porn? Spending money that you don’t have? Motorcycle or sports car? Fancy boat? Just the wind….empty, desolate, and ultimately destructive.  But, no use in preaching. No time for it. When an evil wind blows it is time for prayer warriors to stand in the gap. I’m not afraid to put my face right into that bitter wind, because HE has my back.  And the hand that is behind me, beside me, and around me is warm, strong, and much more powerful than any wind.

Over the past few weeks, a team of us at my university have been working through a formal training for “Crisis Response”, learning strategies that would enable us to respond appropriately to a REAL crisis on our campus. Eerily,  crisis, in both natural and man-made forms struck colleges not unlike our own, in the days and weeks surrounding the training. It is too close for comfort and too important to ignore. Crisis on college campuses. Terror and uproar. Fear and frenzy. Anger and anxiety. All of these in abundance.  At Union in Tennessee. At Illinois University. Whether a tornado or a terrorist brings the crisis, the outcomes are similar. Loss, despair, and many questions. Were we prepared? Why didn’t we see it coming? How could we avoid it?
I’m not sure that any kind of Crisis Training has helped me to answer those questions and with two daughters of my own at universities, I really wish I could. One thing I know for sure. I see Christ in the Crisis.

Before you dismiss me as some sort of Christian fatalist or assume that I believe God to be an angry source of punishment glaring down on us, let me explain. What I see, what I believe, what I know is true is that in the midst of damage, despair, and danger, the only source of hope and healing is Christ. When the winds blew across Tennessee at 200 miles per hour, God was there, holding onto those college kids. When that shooter in Illinois made up his mind to put the rifle in the guitar case, it was an expression of his emptiness, his darkness, the absence of Christ in his life. Without Him, evil has a free reign, in our minds and hearts. Without Him, there is no hope for healing for those who do survive, who have lost loved ones, who live in fear on college campuses around our nation.

And for those of us who are faculty and staff on college campuses, it is a call to prayer.  For protection within and without. I look at the sky and I pray. Or in our earthquake-prone region, I consider the ground below. And I look out on my students. Looking into their faces for signs of that indescribable anger and despair. And I pray. Quietly and boldly. Because if the Crisis comes or it does not come, only Christ can sustain us.

So, I’m looking over my training notes, practicing my counseling skills, and committing myself to prayer, for Union, for Illinois, and for all the rest of us, who are working on the new battlegrounds of our culture, college campuses.

Reading  Elizabeth Gilbert’s memoir Eat, Pray, Love about her year long exploration of self, God, and the journeys involved in finding both, I was struck by her struggles with “Il bel far niente”, the Italian phrase for “The Beauty of Doing Nothing”.

I’m not very good at it. Not at all.

I am pressed on all sides to do something every minute of every day. Nobody tells me to. I just must. I think it might be attributed, in part, to my Italian, Catholic, oldest-child upbringing. Instead of “Eat, Pray, Love”…..my mantra is more like “Work, Worry, Worship”….Repeat as needed. And, it is needed a lot.

I wish I could learn to savor a meal, a moment, a mantra. I want to taste things, not gulp them. See things, not blink past them. Experience emotions, not sit on them.

The Beauty of Doing Nothing might be worth everything if it brings one closer to God, or maybe just sanity. I’m thinking about it, between work, worry, and worship.