Knowledge Is Lonely: If It Isn't Shared

By Lonnie Hammons

When Christopher Columbus
returned to Spain after
his discovery of the New
World in 1492 he was welcomed as a
hero. The reception given to him by
Ferdinand and Isabella was everything
that he could have hoped for, and news
of the new lands to the west spread
quickly throughout Europe. In its
essence, Knowledge is Lonely, is like
that discovery so many years ago. It is
an eclectic collage of short stories, and
each one stands on their own. However
like individual instruments in an
orchestra, each story compliments the
others. The end result is a symphony
of melt in your mouth music that when
translated into words peels back the
veil of many mysteries and makes them
plain. To the reader I will not divulge
which story does this. I do not want
to deny the pleasure that can be found
in the pursuit of knowledge, but I will
assure you that it is here.

Lonnie Hammons

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 24, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462872831

Book preview

Copyright © 2011 by Lonnie Hammons.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011907758

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4628-7282-4

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4628-7281-7

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4628-7283-1

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Knowledge is Lonely

If It Isn’t Shared

Lonnie Hammons

1 CORINTHIANS 15:51

Behold I show you a mystery

To my wife Jane

Without her

I would be nothing

Contents

PROLOGUE

The Godly Father

In Training

Tithes and Alms Deeds

Letter to Mathew

Letter to Robert Faircloth

Symmetry, Perfection, and Living Art

Precept upon Precept

Three Mysteries of Christmas

The First Mystery

The Second Mystery

The Third Mystery

Letter to Ashley

Letter to a Friend

Editor: The News Telegram

The Dream

Blessings for a Nurse

Blessings for a Nurse

A Love Story

Addendum to Sec. 12(b)

Healthful Weight Loss

One Day before Recognition

Tempest in a Teapot

An open letter to Congressman Ralph Hall

The Valley of Decision

Better Not

Living

Serendipity

Needful Things

The Lies That Went Before Them

The One Thing

Take Out

The Last Chapter

EPILOGUE

References

Book 2, Chapter 2: Knowledge Is Lonely

PROLOGUE

Day 4, morning

Mr. Hammons, we are going to have to pump out your stomach. Do you know what that entails?

Yes, sir. I sure do. I have performed this procedure myself. Less than ten minutes ago I had thrown up enough blood to fill a gallon milk jug. There had to be more.

Which nostril, Mr. Hammons?

Let’s go with the left. This is not an extremely unpleasant process, for some people. Usually it is performed while the patient is in the unconscious state. Not today.

Two student doctors would be doing the work. They would be supervised by a licensed physician, and since I am a nurse, I fully understood the jitters the two student doctors seemed to be experiencing. They were definitely more nervous than I was, or was it just the fact that if a nasogastric intubation is incorrectly performed, the patient could die? Oh well.

The catheter was inserted in my left nostril. If you’re conscious, which I was then, the best position to be in is the high Fowler’s. In layman’s terms, that means sitting up. Mr. Hammons, open your mouth and look up. He wanted to make sure that the catheter was not going to curl at the back of my throat. By looking in my mouth he could see the tip of the catheter and determine that there was not a curl. Now look down, Mr. Hammons. I knew exactly what to do. This positional head change would hopefully ensure that the catheter went down the back of my throat and into my stomach. If your head remains in a looking-up position, there is a good chance that the catheter will proceed into the trachea and then into the lungs.

If the catheter does go into the trachea and then into the lungs, and should the nurse or physician fail to recognize this error and inspire (inject water) to pump, the patient could die very, very quickly. In this case the patient was me.

Start swallowing, Mr. Hammons. This is one example where it is better to do it to another than to have it done to you. Imagine someone sticking a garden hose up your nose. Anyway, if you can imagine it, that is the sensation. Now imagine that when that hose finally reaches the back of your throat, that same person tells you to swallow it. The student doctor was pushing catheter for all he was worth. I had watched them measure and mark this catheter. It was painfully obvious to me that they should have reached the bottom of the well. If the catheter does enter the trachea, then the patient will be unable to talk because the tube will interfere with vocal cord movement. Speak to us, Mr. Hammons. I opened my mouth. I even moved my lips. Nothing was coming out. It’s in his lungs. Take it out. Are you OK, Mr. Hammons? We are going to have to do it again. They pulled the catheter, and I was able to speak.

Let’s do it.

Catheter insertion and I watch the mark. Start swallowing, Mr. Hammons. Catheter push and the mark finally reached my nose. Speak to us, Mr. Hammons. I opened my mouth. I even moved my lips. Nothing was coming out. It’s in his lungs again. Take it out. Are you OK, Mr. Hammons? We are going to have to do it again. Now again, I was able to speak.

Let’s do it.

Catheter insertion and I watched the mark. Start swallowing, Mr. Hammons. Catheter push and the mark finally reached my nose. Speak to us, Mr. Hammons.

I opened my mouth. I moved my lips. Hello. We were there. One doctor was now holding the catheter while the other was preparing to tape it in place to my nose. The tape strips should have already been cut. I couldn’t help but notice the movement in the doctor’s hand. It was the same hand that was holding this tube that was sticking up my nose. Should his hand slip, the tube would eject and I could enjoy this entertainment for the fourth time. I believe I can hold that, Doctor. I pushed the catheter back up my nose the inch and a half it had slipped and held steady. We were ready for tape, finally.

We have to start an IV in each arm before he goes to ICU. Are you ready for this, Mr. Hammons?

Go with the left arm first.

There is going to be a small stick now. I looked away. I told them left arm first because that arm always goes easy. The needle found a vein. Mr. Hammons, now we have to do the same thing to your right arm.

Do it.

There is going to be a stick now. I looked away. He pushed the needle to the hilt, but no vein, withdraw. Couldn’t find a vein, Mr. Hammons, we have got to do it again.

Do it.

There is going to be a stick now. I looked away. He pushed the needle to the hilt, but no vein, withdraw. Couldn’t find a vein, Mr. Hammons, we have got to do it again.

Do it.

There is going to be a stick now. I looked away. He pushed the needle to the hilt, but no vein, withdraw. I still didn’t find a vein. We have got to do it again.

Do it.

There is going to be a stick now. I looked away. He pushed the needle to the hilt, but no vein, withdraw. We have to do it again, Mr. Hammons.

Do it.

There is going to be a stick now. I looked away. He pushed the needle to the hilt, still, no vein, withdraw.

I’m afraid the patient is going to be traumatized. One of you start the IV in his right arm. Now it’s another doctor’s turn to try.

Mr. Hammons, are you ready for this again?

Do it. My arm was splinted.

Stick now. I watched the needle go in. On the sixth attempt in the right arm, the IV took in the crook of my elbow.

My wife, Jane, and my brother and sister-in-law, Bobby and Vicke Mathews, walked into the hospital room. I believe Bobby turned about the same color I should have been registering with this massive loss of blood. The anemia just wouldn’t show through the jaundice of the hepatitis. I later learned that Bobby had made this statement, Why has so much bad stuff happened to Lonnie? He never hurt anyone.

I know the answer to that question.

CHAPTER 1

Introduction: The Godly Father

It has been my distinct pleasure to speak on the ideas forwarded in this essay at every opportunity that has presented itself. If there is any reward in this, it has been best measured by the love I have seen in the eyes of my own children. I promise the reader this compensation is far greater than any monetary gain. You have probably heard the saying Nothing in life is free. No saying could be more false. This writer has found that humor, wisdom, forgiveness, and love are not only free, but priceless. For the father or mother, they are the buildings blocks of a sure foundation for your children and your home. In The Godly Father, you will find that the very best things in life are truly free.

The Godly Father

Phoenix Arizona 1957

When you are a child, buildings, rooms, and people loom large in your mind. Distances seem vast. If you go back, if you return to these places after you’ve grown up, then everything reverses. Everything seems small, but you must remember this is so because once you were a child. Once you were small.

Out the side door, running, running into the backyard. The yard is thick like carpet. The grass is green from irrigation. Where to hide, got to hide, got to hide: It is almost time, hurry, hurry, think, think. The yard is surrounded by a chain-link fence. There is a storage building in the yard. There, hide here.

The storage building seems large. I enter. Inside, the solitary room is littered with yard items and boxes. On the same wall as the door, there is also the only window. I wedge myself between that wall and some boxes. With just the right position I can see out of one corner of the window. I can see the way I just came. I wait.

Some memories are more real than reality. These are the memories that we savor and never want to forget. Like watching your two-year-old girl: She picks up her floor-length gown and pulls it just to her ankles, now Ashley can run. You know that if she ever lets go of her gown going that speed, she will tumble headfirst into whatever she is facing. She smiles real big, and she’s off full speed ahead. There is the first time your Little Leaguer son hits a high fly ball out to center field. It’s a night game. The ball hangs in the air. The outfielders clump together. You know they will never catch it, and Mathew is rounding the bases.

There are also the memories that you would like to forget. Like the time you lost your temper. Those angry words spoken to quickly that you later had to swallow. There was the predicament you found yourself in. If you could have only found a hole to crawl into and a rock to pull over it.

Then there are the memories that we keep to learn from, memories that are not pretty. Memories like mental history books. We study them so that that history and that legacy will not be repeated in our lifetime.

I hear the side door open and slam shut. I’m so afraid. It’s Donna, my older sister. She is all of nine years old. What, what is she saying? Lonnie, hurry we have to get some clothes. We are going to Oklahoma to live with Dad. I did not know if I would ever see my mother. I didn’t care. I knew I never wanted to see my stepfather. Eighteen years later I did see my mother again.

How time changes things—that reunion was sixteen ago. Today I am older, hopefully wiser, more experienced, and not so easily frightened. One thing time has not changed however—the memories. They no longer hurt, but they still haunt. Every time I hear about a wife being battered or a child being abused, the memories haunt. Though I have recognized the fact that these atrocities against the family do happen, I have also recognized the fact that they are not supposed to. So then, why do they? What has gone so wrong that these stories have become commonplace.

Last year, 1991, there were 12,100 reported cases of child abuse in Dallas County. That was the number of reported cases. Last week a trailer house was raided in Wills Point, Texas. Police found pictures and VHS tapes of hundreds of different children. Children who had been tortured, raped—you name it—whatever the mind can conceive. Officers were so sickened they couldn’t even speak about it. How could hundreds of children be victimized in such a manner and nobody know? These questions don’t defy an answer. They demand one.

Many people say there is a breakdown in society because there is a breakdown in the family. It has been said that if the family becomes broken and fragmented or if it becomes twisted or warped, then civilization and society as we know it will also become broken, fragmented, twisted, and warped. Absentee fathers, unwed mothers, and broken homes have almost become the rule rather than the exception. One in four births is now out of wedlock. One-half million children run away from home each year in America. On top of this there are another 1.6 million abortions.

This last week in Bogota, Texas, at Rivercrest High School it was revealed that in a high school with an enrollment of only 197, six of these kids tested positive for the AIDS virus. Bogota isn’t a metropolis or an inner-city ghetto. It’s a rural community somewhat secluded from the mainstream. This was only discovered through a blood drive and a mandatory blood test. It wasn’t a scientific study to determine the spread of AIDS in rural America. AIDS wasn’t supposed to happen in Bogota Texas, but it did. Why? There is an answer, and that answer does lie in the specific makeup of the family.

We know that a chain is only as strong as the weakest link. Conversely a family which is made up of several members is only as weak as the strongest link, and the strongest link of which I speak is the father. The father in the family is the earthly foundation upon which his family rests. If the father cannot be moved then neither can his family. They, the family, rest on his integrity. They rest on his character. They rest on his force of will. They rest on his strength. The father has the ability to make his family or break his family. The Godly Father has the call, the responsibility, and the authority to do one thing above all else. Commit all the resources his Heavenly Father has given him to help, no, to make his family succeed.

Jesus said in Matthew 7:7: Ask, and it shall be given you; seek and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened.

Some ten years ago when my children were still babies, our little girl was three and our son was four, I did this very thing. In prayer I asked my Heavenly Father this question: I want to be a Godly Father. How do I do it? We live at such a fast pace that even now, I am amazed that this man had the presence of mind to slow down his thought processes and to come to a place of peace for long enough to ask this question. The wear and tear of our lifestyles, the day-to-day grind in which we try to make it to Friday, catch up on the weekend, and hit it again on Monday doesn’t leave us much time to stop and consider what we are doing or what is really important. It’s a little like looking at a family portrait without ever seeing the details. We see the faces without ever picking up on the eyes and the smiles.

No sincere question asked of our Heavenly Father will go unanswered. The answer didn’t come in thunder and lightning. It came as a still-small voice or as an impression in my Spirit. It was this scripture.

James 1:17: Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.

My question had been this: How can I be a Godly Father? Now that I look back at the prayer and the question it posed, the answer seems simple. I was seeking a role model, much the same way my children