daily java

Daily Java:

The sound of harps, singers, flutes, and trumpets will never be heard in you again.. (Revelation 18:22)

I just read of the death of Whitney Houston. She had, hands down, one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard in my life. She was a beautiful woman herself, loved by millions.

But she had a problem. She had let drugs, alcohol and their attendant problems take over her life. She was married to a man who enabled much of that and surrounded herself with people who not only allowed it, but encouraged it.

I am of the generation that lost several talented musicians and singers. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Mama Cass Elliot, Dennis Jones of the Beach Boys. Then later came people like Curt Cobain and it just seems to keep going.

From what I understand, Whitney Houston was from a church background, singing in the choir. So many young female singers today come from this background. And the maw of Hollywood and the entertainment industry takes them, chews them up and spits them out.

There is something about the call of music in a person’s life. I believe that music is a call from God to his praise and worship. When answered in him, the singer is happy and fulfilled. When answered in the world, the singer soon goes on a path of self-destruction.

It is astonishing to read of the personal lives of singers, the drugs, the sex, the debauchery – all in the name of music. And it doesn’t seem to matter whether it is rock and roll or country/western or rap or what. The end result is the same. The singer becomes a survivor of their own lives.

Not long ago I read of the lead singer for Three Dog Night, Chuck Negron, who was found on a street corner, strung out, painfully thin, just about dead. He was brought in to a Christian rehab center and saved from himself. And he is not alone in his predicament.

Mackenzie Phillips talks of her life in the world of drugs and how she and her father, Papa John Phillips of the Mamas and the Papas, would take drugs together, becoming so strung out that she has little or no memory of that period. And the list goes on.

My generation grew up thinking that was normal, that drugs were normal. I myself fell into the lifestyle as a young man, cramming anything I could get in my hand into my mouth. For so many of my age group, it became an obsession.

And we suffered for it. No, there were no lasting effects of LSD and other drugs like the doomsayers predicted with deformed children and flashbacks thirty years later. But neither was there any glory, neither was there any power or praise in it. It was worthless.

And their deaths were worthless, just as Whitney Houston’s death was worthless. The majestic voice that God bestowed on her is quiet forever.

And for what? Drugs? They are trash. She lost her life for trash. So many lost their lives for trash. And tonight I am weeping.

taking drugs for my mri

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith. Because of the joy awaiting him, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame. Now he is seated in the place of honor beside God’s throne. Think of all the hostility he endured from sinful people; then you won’t become weary and give up. (Hebrews 12:1-3 NLT)

I had an MRI the other day. It isn’t usual for me. In fact, I have only had two in my life.

But I have always been wary of MRI’s. they are enclosed and I do not like enclosed spaces. When they talk about giving me one, I always tell them that if I start feeling claustrophobic, I will break the machine getting out. So they begin to make adjustments.

It also doesn’t help that I am 6’3” tall and 280 pounds. Most MRI machines are pretty small.

The first one I had was no problem. The place had a big and tall MRI so it was fine. It was close to my face, but it was open on the sides so I cold move the arm they weren’t checking. I could scratch my face, etc. that didn’t bother me.

The technician also gave me earphones to listen to. That was good. I just kind of got lost in the music and the time went by faster.

This time, they didn’t have a big and tall MRI. It was just a regular one. I made the usual comment about breaking the machine if I got claustrophobic so the doctor assured me that I would have some pills to help calm me down.

And they did. They gave me Xanax, which I had never had before. I was to take two pills an hour ahead of time and one more right before I went in.

Needles to say, they worked.

I have not been that stoned since the early 70’s. It was amazing.

I began to feel them work on the way over to the VA. When I sat down in the waiting room, I took the other. I could feel them kicking in.

The techs led me into the room and I laid down on the bed, or tray , or whatever.

Then came the moment of truth. I began to slide into the MRI head first. The MRI was looking at my back so all of my upper body had to be inside.

I heard the beeps and boops and noises associated with it and they pulled me out. I found out later that I had been in there for 45 minutes. That is truly hard to believe.

When I stood up, I was stoned to the gills. I looked around and noticed my hand moving – all the stuff a druggie does. The two techs looked at me strangely. They had a wheelchair for me, but I didn’t want one. I wanted to walk. I was cool and about nine feet tall.

And I did. Ella was in her scooter so she held my hand as we went to the car. I put her scooter in the back then got into the passenger seat and we went home.

It took the entire day to go away.

Now here is the bad part. It was great. I loved it.

And that makes me feel guilty.

Just about the time that you think you have things put behind you, they come back and bite you on the rear.

There was a time in the army when I would put almost anything into my mouth. I tried a lot of stuff and spent a lot of time high. I had a lot of problems especially with prescription drugs in Germany. Much of that was due to the extreme availability. There was a dispensary on base that would give you just about whatever you wanted with almost no questions asked. And many was the time that I felt like I did Monday at my MRI session.

Once a couple of years ago, the doctor was talking to Ella about all of her pain medications. She takes a lot of heavy stuff. I asked him about whether or not she would get addicted to them.

He said, no, she would get dependent on them. What’s the difference, I asked? His answer: a person who needs them to function in life like Ella does because of her pain, will get dependent. They need them because of the physical problems.

On the other hand, he said, a person gets addicted when he wants them. He wants the high, he wants the help in his mental attitude he feels they give. He wants to feel high.

I am an addict and I have to be real careful in my life. The VA sends me a bucketful of Hydrocodone each month for arthritis pain. And it would be so easy to disappear into that pill bottle. It sits almost mocking me.

And I keep it near to show myself that I take the pills, the pills do not take me.

I am over forty years removed from that time, yet it still can afflict me.