The Monster in the Room

Gloomy, rainy weekends are good for me. They make me stay inside and catch up on my neglected work from the busy school week....in theory. In reality, I finished a great novel, and took a nap. I never nap unless I am getting sick, so I fear my cough today and background headache may not be just a tickle in my throat. It could just be anxiety creeping in, much as I pray for God's assurance and peace. I think the fun part of unemployment is over for me. I am really hoping my dear hubby gets a job offer soon. But the job loss and all the issues surrounding that are only part of the monster in the room.

School is in full swing for us now, with all the extras added in. This means that our home is now in perpetual controlled chaos. I know that's not the way it is supposed to be, but when you are juggling seven balls, one is bound to drop now and then. The all purpose table in the sunroom is covered with a dismantled trebuchet and tools. The dining room table has the cutting board and vise awaiting the last few pieces that need to be cut for Asherel's homemade agility jumps. The counter has her leaf experiment and tools, and the three huge binders with her checklists and questions for the week. My computer desk has ten sticky notes, each with a reminder of some critical issue that I must deal with. The wall calendar has scribbles over every large space for every single day til May, with additional sheets taped to it with all the extra things we can't forget. The sink is uncharacteristically full of dishes, because I haven't gotten to unloading the dishwasher yet. When I pulled out the Orange Juice this morning, I wrote myself another little note: Clean Refrigerator. Then I glanced at all the little sticky notes about the bookstores and bloggers I need to contact to promote my book. And the one about the chapter I am editing on my new book... and the one about moving our lunch date with our old friend Comer to today. I coughed.

I am under attack. This sort of implosion in our home is not common. I am generally an uber-organizer. I detest clutter, and unfinished projects. But sometimes, it all piles up, and before I know it, I am deluged, and unable to swim to the surface. The start of the school year is often like this but I don't recall it feeling this desperate before.

Then, I glanced at the little note holder on the computer table. It was shoved to a back corner, behind the stack of  sticky note urgent reminders. The little blue note holder has a picture of a favorite symbol- the beloved bald eagle, and a verse:
But they that wait upon the Lord
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings as eagles;
They shall run and not be weary;
And they shall walk and not faint.
Isaiah 40:31

Sunday's sermon was about trusting and living one's faith when life seems impossible. The pastor reminded us that the Lord who could cast thousands of demons from the possessed man called Legion in the book of Mark, is able to deal with impossibilities. No matter how many monsters are attacking, none can ultimately overcome God's purpose for us. He is the alpha and omega- the beginning and the end. He is the beginning of all hope, all purpose, all life; and He is the end toward which all our struggles lead. If we keep that clearly in mind, the monsters have no power, at least not in the Battle that really matters; the battle for my soul.

I shifted the notes on my desk to the far corner, and placed my note holder with the verse from Isaiah in front of them.
"That's better," I thought.


Jeremiah 15:20
...they will fight against you
   but will not overcome you,
for I am with you
   to rescue and save you,”
            declares the LORD.

Trusting

The inevitable first response to a herd of alpacas is laughter. They have such comically sweet expressions with the mop of Beatle-like hair atop their heads, that you just have to chuckle when they all stretch their curious faces atop unending necks towards you.

We had searched for several hours unsuccssfully to locate the farm the day before. Instead of finding alpaca, we had a lovely drive through gorgeous hills and fields in the Endless mountain section of Pennsylvania. But my dad was certain we would go back to Charlotte unfulfilled if we did not find the Alpaca farm, and so we set out again the next day to scour hill and dale for alpaca.

This time, armed with my droid Navigation system, we easily found the farm. It was nestled in the middle of nowhere, and the last thing one would expect to see there were a herd of llama like creatures that normally roam the Andes, Ecuador, and Bolivia. They seemed happy to be in Pennsylvania, however and I suspect, happy to be wherever there was food and shelter. The sweet owner let us in the pen and we were surrounded by alpaca of every shade from white to black. As we were petting the impossibly dense wool, the owner told me that alpaca have no natural defenses. Entire herds have been wiped out by a pack of dogs. They are gentle and peaceful creatures, whose worst offense is they spit at times, when disagreeing over rights to a female alpaca.

"Can't they kick?" I asked, glancing at their cloven hooves.
"Yes, but that isn't much good against predators."
Their only hope, I thought, was that the predator would be overcome by laughter and delight as we were upon seeing them. Sadly, in a fallen world, this is ofen not a satisfactory defense.

It really was a wonderful day, petting the gentle alpaca. I wondered about a creature created with so little ability to protect itself from a vicious world. Yet if I had to use one word to describe the expression on their faces, it would be trust. Those huge dark eyes, in the soft fuzzy face fringed with a mop of bouncy hair between their ears, were filled with trust. They would be cared for and protected, and in return, they would gladly give their luxurious wool.

It is not a bad way to live. I suppose if a pack of coyote came along, they might not be able to muster enough spit to shame the predators into giving up...but in the interim, trusting in the goodness and provision of life must contribute to the gentle, peaceful demeanor they all wore. In this respect, I would not mind being an alpaca.

Psalm 56:3 NIV

When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.

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The Jig is up

The jig is up...or it will be after my parents read this post. First of all, some of you might think I meant to say the gig is up, but you would be illiterate ignoramuses just like I was before my parents pointed out I meant "jig", not "gig". If you have read my book, please cross out the g and insert a J when you find that phrase. Or just buy the paperback out in three weeks. I have done a better job of editing.

Now for the jig itself. My mom always has created lovely gardens and often intersperses zen type rock structures in her little special areas. One of her rock sculptures is of a series of 4 rocks stacked perfectly and harmoniously atop each other. The pinnacle is a small round rock balanced atop a flat cap rock. The middle layer is a 3 hole brick, on its side, so the sculpture looks like a lantern. The problem is the little round rock is forever falling off.

While we were sitting in the living room, Mom pointed out that the round rock had fallen...again.

"I can glue it," I suggested, "We still have some super glue left over from when I made you the reindeer."
"That would be nice," said Mom.

So I rummaged in the basement, found the glue, and hurried outside. It looked like a storm was imminent, but the glue dries quickly.

It was readily apparent where the little round rock was supposed to sit. There was a cleft in the cap flat rock miraculously right in the center. I squeezed a large blog of glue there and placed the little round rock. Then I stepped back and looked at the lovely rock sculpture. It really is an exquisite little creation through such minimal materials.
I knew a little about zen gardens, and later did some internet research to find out about what the use of rocks symbolized. Here is the explanation from wikipedia regarding the care of the rock placement:

"Make sure that all the stones, right down to the front of the arrangement, are placed with their best sides showing. If a stone has an ugly-looking top you should place it so as to give prominence to its side. Even if this means it has to lean at a considerable angle, no one will notice. There should always be more horizontal than vertical stones. If there are "running away" stones there must be "chasing" stones. If there are "leaning" stones, there must be "supporting" stones. "

I loved the description of the mutual roles of the stones. No stone could be placed with an active role like "chasing" unless it was accompanied by a counterpart with an opposite or neutral role, the "running away" in this example. There had to be balance, peace, for every yin; a corresponding yang. Everything was placed such that they balanced and held each other properly in their proper place.

As I feared, a massive storm hit shortly afterwards. We had gone out to lunch and I wondered how the little rock had managed through the storm.

We returned from our car drive and I glanced out at the rocks. The round rock was still atop the cap stone, and the glue must be dry. As Mom and Dad went inside, I went to double check on the firmness of the glue's hold. I paused and blinked... What was that white puddle of stuff that oozed from beneathe the round stone like icing? It was the glue. The glue was solid and secure, and had expanded like rising bread to cup the base of the round stone.

Oh no. So much for harmonious "leaning" and "supporting". The round stone was no longer balancing in exquisite counterpoint to the stability of the base. It was now being shackled in permanent bondage. I don't think this is the message Mom hoped to convey with her zen garden.

I showed Dad.
"The glue will turn black quickly and no one will notice," he said.
But Mom will notice when she reads this post. She will glance out the window as she reaches the critical paragraph, and I suspect for every tear, there will be a harmonious and corresponding chuckle.

So Mom, when you glance at your zen garden, here is the new message. Sometimes we lean on each other, but sometimes we need a firmer hand. Sometimes we need to be in the firm and unyielding grasp of the anchor of our soul. Sometimes balancing hopefully, counting on the gentleness of the wind or the storm, is bound to disappoint. Eventually the wind is harsh, and the storm is violent, and is going to topple us. Sometimes Super Glue is required, and sometimes it is ok if the source of our strength shows.

And I can guarantee that little round rock is not going to fall down any more.

Colossians 1:17 NIV

He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.

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In the River

There was a dead body along the very same section of the very same river we kayaked on the very same day we were there. The body was found, reported the newspaper, by recreational kayakers.

I put the paper down. I had just returned from that part of the Catawba. I had been largely alone for the hour I kayaked upriver. Funny, as I had been paddling, thinking how quiet and peaceful it all was, how wonderfully still and isolated, it had also flashed through my mind that it would be a good place to stash a dead body.

This body appeared to be there because it wanted to be. The corpse had been involved in a hit and run accident earlier in the day, and had been seen leaving the scene of the crime. Of course, at that point it had not yet been a corpse. An autopsy would be performed to determine cause of death,but my guess was the conscience of the man had gotten a hold of him,and he could not live with what he had done. Who knows what other demons were torturing his soul that made him throw himself in the river, the place of refuge where I go not to die, but to live!

I had gone to the river all alone, unable to entice my family to go with me. I am working on getting the e-book ready for publication as a paperback, and also working on my next book. I needed a break. So I blasted songs from my new Rodgers and Hammerstein collection on my portable CD and sang along as I drove to the river.

Once I was out of earshot of the few kayakers I saw on the river (were they the ones that discovered the corpse?), I began to sing. Softly at first, furtively glancing around to make sure that no one but the crows were listening and then began belting out such classics as "Can't help lovin that man of mine," and "We kiss in the shadows". I glided along, feeling my mood rise with each dip of the oar. I could almost see Asherel rolling her eyes and wincing as I screeched to the high notes. I saw a bald eagle fly right over me, and no one told me, "That's not a bald eagle; it's too small."

Once home, refreshed and re-spirited, I thought about the poor corpse. Nothing is ever so bad that it is worth sullying the waters of such a beautiful river with something so tragic as a suicide. There is always the potential for change, the chance for redemption, the promise of tomorrow. It is the message of the Gospel- we are all broken, we are all headed for destruction, but it doesn't have to be the end of the story. Our loving God is waiting at the end of the river, and He is probably even singing along quietly with us.

Isaiah 66:12 NIV

For this is what the Lord says:
"I will extend peace to her like a river,
and the wealth of nations like a flooding stream;

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With you always

I thought the old couple in the back seat were eating their roastbeef and slurping their milkshakes, mindless of the discussion between Asherel and me.
"Where did the music go?" I asked her.
"My battery died. Why don't you have a CD player in this car anyway? And a better radio?"
"I don't know," I sighed, "We are in it all the time. It would be nice to have one. Maybe you should mention this to Dad. After all, Mother's Day is coming up...."

Evelyn burst our laughing in the back seat.
"Oh, you heard me conniving for a Mother's Day gift, did you Evelyn?" I said, glancing in the mirror.
"Yes," she chuckled.
"Did you ever plot ways to get a Mother's Day gift?"
"Oh yes!" she said.
"Hey Comer, did you always get her the gift she hinted after?"
"Hinted or told me, she got everything she wanted. She and my daughter both. Whatever they wanted they got."
"Did they appreciate it?"
"Probably not," he said, squeezing Evelyn's hand.
"You're a good man, Comer," I said.
"He is a good man," agreed Evelyn.
"Well I'm just glad I had the money," continued Comer, "The day I got out of the army, I had a $100 bucks."
"But that was a lot of money back then, right?"
"Yea, but I blew it all before the next morning."
"On what!?"
"Oh you know, wine, women, and song."
"Did you know Evelyn yet?"
"Oh no, I didn't meet her for another 3 years."
"Good thing, Evelyn, you might not have liked him then."
"You're right about that. I think I did about the fastest turn-around of anyone in history. I walked out of there without a penny in my pocket to my brother's house, got a job, and worked my way up."
He started the first office of a small brokerage/insurance firm in the city and after expanding 3 times, he was well on his way to becoming a millionaire.


I had collected my old friends from their new Senior Care facility. The memories of the old place, being apart in separate buildings, poor Evelyn crying every time he sadly walked away to return to his place were already receding. They were sitting together on the lovely lobby couch, holding hands, both dressed elegantly. When Evelyn saw me, I could tell by the bright smile and joyful reaching out to me that she knew me. It almost seemed like in this new place, Alzheimer was retreating.
She stood up quickly, none of the shuffling painfulness of a week ago evident, and walked quickly to the car.
"You're leaving me in the dust, Mother!" called Comer.
We had driven to Lake Wylie, with a stop first at Arbys for the roast beef they'd been longing for.
On the way, Comer told me he had been needing a switch for his lamp, and a small hammer. I stopped at Lowes Building Supplies, leaving Evelyn in the car with Asherel.

"You stay here with Asherel," I urged her, "Will that be ok?"
"Oh yes," she said, smiling at Asherel.

As we drove home after meandering along the lake shore, Evelyn said, "This is such an interesting city, all these parts."
I knew enough about Alzheimers and Evelyn's echo-ing of words to know that word retrieval was sometimes impossible. She may know at times what she wants to say, but often the crumbles in her brain won't let her travel to the place where words come easily. This alert and spontaneous sentence was a little victory.

When I returned our old friends to the home, there were none of those torturous bouts of weeping that broke both my and Comer's heart. Evelyn and Comer went to his room, where they would spend the day together.
"I'm so happy to have this little hammer!" said Comer, holding up the Lowes bag.
"You watch him, Evelyn," I said, ""Don't let him knock the wall over."
"I won't," she said, laughing.

I took her hands and said, "We can go wherever you want next week, do anything you like, see anything you would like to see. What would you like to see?"
Without pause she said, "Asherel!"
"Ok," I said hugging her and Comer, "Then I will bring Asherel."

Later when I told Asherel what Evelyn had said, she mused, "But I didn't do anything. I just sat here."
That sometimes is all it takes. Just being there alongside a fellow traveler. As I left Comer and Evelyn together in his new room, hers just down the hall, I knew that was something this sweet old couple knew deeply in their souls.

Psalm 73:23

 ²³ Yet I am always with you;
   you hold me by my right hand.

Where to find Peace

I looked in all the usual places.....no Lucky. The chronic escapist, trouble making dog was not in any of his beds, couches, or crates early this morning, as I crept out of my room, with darkness still dripping from the night.
Ohoh.  I had taken off his electric collar, thinking at nearly 9 years old, surely surely he no longer wanted to dig tunnels or climb the fence to get out of the large, lush back yard that had everything a dog could want.
I hurried out back, noticing stars still twinkling in the still, cold sky.

Lucky lay in the middle of the yard. Honeybun raced out at my heels, and seeing the golden blob on the grass, she began barking to warn me of this alien intruder.
"That's your brother, dope," I told her.
Lucky looked at us, as though there was nothing at all unusual in him spending the night curled up on the cold, damp ground.
"Lucky, do you want to eat?" I called.
He gazed at us, but remained still in the quiet night. Honeybun began twirling in circles and racing back and forth to her food bowl. I glanced a few times at Lucky as the sun began to lighten the dawn. He didn't move, except to peacefully turn his head and perk his ears at the sounds of the world awakening. Lucky seemed to be quietly greeting the new day.

Matt texted me last night. He thinks he may have broken some fingers, which he will have xrayed today. This is not happy news at any time, but particularly as he heads into his last week of his first year of law school.
Did you break them turning so many thousand of pages of law books? Or perhaps typing so many thousands of words of papers and briefs ? Perhaps you broke them while lugging all your books back and forth from the library where you were busily preparing for your final exams?


No, he broke them playing frisbee. Law school is rough, I guess.


And then he texted me, "and I got attacked by a dog."
What!? Were you attacked by the dog while walking to your professor's home where you would discuss some of the fascinating cases you are studying? Were you attacked in the early morning as you trudged through the mist to a study group of other devoted students? Or in the evening having worked hours on your paid research job in hopes of glowing recommendations to gain you the best internship possible to fund your marriage in two months?

No, he was attacked while on a run. A pleasure run, I might add. Not a run to the library, or professor, or job.

It is not that I want my son miserable, or working every second of every day.... I just find it curious that this first year law student has time to do anything but study. It just seems like misplaced serenity....like Lucky spending the night just watching the bats flit overhead. He did well his first semester, so I will just hope that he is putting in the time and effort he needs to pass.

Then he texted me a new recipe he had made up for making quiche. He had devised a clever way to make a gourmet low fat crust. He typed in all the delicious, healthy ingredients, that even I would have no idea where to go to shop for.

"Well if law school doesn't work out , you could become a chef," I suggested.

I went to check on Lucky. Maybe he was injured? He still lay in the middle of the grass, shivering a little. I walked over to him, and he wagged his tail and stood up. All seemed fine. The noises of the neighborhood were slowly erupting across the stillness as the sun rose. He looked around, sniffing. Sometimes you just have to settle into the silence, and the joy, and the delight of the world. Sometimes you just have to step outside the daily grind and hear the beating of your own heart in the infinite stretch of the sky. Sometimes you have to break fingers playing frisbee instead of laboriously turning countless pages. I tend to be more like Job, who cries out , " I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest but only turmoil." (Job 3:26).  I like that my son and my dog can remove themselves from the ravaging tumult of overwhelming business and noise of life. As long as they know when to come in......

Lucky finally came in and scarfed down his breakfast. The hard work of a dog began. There were countless people walking by the house that he would need to bark at. Servicemen would be traipsing in nearby yards that he would need to terrorize. Squirrels would need to be chased, and holes would need to be dug. But for that brief portion of that cold still night, he had known peace.

It might not come so easily to me, but I do know the source of real peace. It is the only time I have found true quietness for my soul. It is when I have opened the pages of His book and rested in His promises.

We were reading a novel about World War 2 yesterday. It is a true story of a man who went to war, was gravely injured, and crippled for life as a result. He was filled with anger, bitterness, and despair over what he had seen, what he had done, and what he had become. But his mother had given him a book, a very important book, he wrote, which he had stashed at the bottom of his backpack before he had gone off to war.
I paused in my reading to Asherel, "And what book was that?" I asked smiling.
She wrinkled her head in thought. "The phone book?"
I blinked at her.
"The phone book? Her only son is going off to war, she herself is dying and may never see him again, and the important book she slips in his backpack is the phone book?"
Sometimes I wonder if this whole homeschool thing is working.
I think I need to go lie in the cold, damp backyard with Lucky under the stars and regain some peace.

Psalm 4:7-8

⁷ Fill my heart with joy
   when their grain and new wine abound.
 ⁸ In peace I will lie down and sleep,
   for you alone, LORD,
   make me dwell in safety.

Into the Fog

"Mrs. Kaseorg, Can you see the road?"
"No."
"How do you know where to drive?"
"I am making educated guesses."
"When will you know if you guess wrong?"
"When we are hurtling off the edge of the mountain. I suggest you practice 'tuck and roll'."

The fog gave new meaning to "so thick you could cut it with a knife." I would have turned around but I could not see to either side of the steep, winding road climbing to the tallest ski mountain in NC. I was going 5 miles an hour, at times less, and straining to see the center line of the road. If I kept just a few inches to the right of that, I hoped (prayed) that we would make it to the top. I was bringing Asherel and her friends Alex and Ben to snowboard. It was spooky in that ghostly, milky white. How on earth could we ski in this? Had we just driven three hours for nothing? Well, not for nothing. We had driven three hours to endanger life and limb. The adrenalin rush driving in the fog was more than I ever got skiing.

Finally we reached the parking lot. We could not see the mountain, the lodge , or anything  except fog and the few people within inches of us gliding silently by. I had never tried to ski in fog. I don't have much experience with this sport. And I was responsible for 3 young souls.
"Excuse me?" I asked a skier returning to his car, materializing like a specter from the gloom, "Can you ski in this stuff?"
"It's not easy," he said, "You have to go slow."

Surprisingly the parking lot was mobbed. All these people couldn't be wrong, could they? So we got our equipment and lift tickets and hustled Ben off to his lesson for his first snowboard experience. I knew the kids would not leave the bunny slope so they were in little danger. But at this point, the bunny slope was not fun for me so I headed to find a chair lift. The fog was so thick that I couldn't see chairlifts, or any slopes. but eventually I asked enough people to steer me to the right place, and climbed on the chairlift taking me to a slope I was told was for beginners, but was shrouded completely in the cloud dancing on earth.

It was eerily silent on the chair lift, sound muffled by the fog. Skiers right below me would glide into view and then fade away into whiteness. Visible life was only a few hundred feet in any direction. The rest of the world could have been Mars. It was very disconcerting, yet oddly peaceful having that limited vision, all visual choices narrowed to the world immediately around me. It is not often in life that so much of the madness around you is suddenly shut off, obliterated.

I rode the quiet chairlift through the cloud and thought of God. They say when you die, you see a long white tunnel with light at the end. All around you is whiteness. Near-death survivors speak very similarly of this sensation. There is a little too much going on in my life right now. Maybe always....School, science olympiad in 2 weeks, fixing our projects so we won't be humiliated, a painting for Matt's wedding to finish, a painting of a pitbull to start for Hollow Creek Farm, the rehearsal dinner to plan, the travel and tux and dress arrangements to be made for the wedding, the dogs and upcoming agility trial, the elderly grandma that should not be living alone but is still fighting any efforts to convince her otherwise, the constant struggle to be what God wants me to be.....It all clamors and bumps against me.

But here, all alone on a chairlift in the milky fog, quietly going up up up into the whiteness, it was all shrouded, quieted, momentarily gone.  I would not have asked for fog had God been sending out a request form, but I realized that perhaps fog is exactly what I needed that day.

The fog had dissipated on the road up the mountain, and our drive down was easy and uneventful. The glorious vistas that we had not seen on the harrowing drive up were revealed. Mountains and mountains in receding shades of blue filled the horizon. The kids chattered away, bursting with the success of their snowboarding. I said little, wrapped in the memory of the peaceful whiteness.

Isaiah 44:
²² I have swept away your offenses like a cloud,
   your sins like the morning mist.
Return to me,
   for I have redeemed you.”  ²³ Sing for joy, you heavens, for the LORD has done this;
   shout aloud, you earth beneath.
Burst into song, you mountains,
   you forests and all your trees,
for the LORD has redeemed Jacob,
   he displays his glory in Israel.

A Holy Place

I had spent the weekend, as most mothers do, caring for the needs of my family, chauffeuring Asherel to her agility trial and spending the day helping her so all she'd need to do is focus on her agility runs, then coming home to laundry, cleaning, cooking, organizing, complaining....you all know the routine. Our full slot of homeschool activities kick in over the next two weeks, and our days are already long- we rarely finish before dinner time. I needed some recharging to go the distance.

What I really wanted was some peaceful time alone, not caring for anyone's needs but my own. Still, I asked my family if they would like to go kayak. They were busy with their own recuperation from a long week, and Asherel snored, "Nooooo...." and Arvo only grimaced.  I didn't ask twice.  I ignored the explicit warning on my boat tag, "Never paddle alone", and independently hauled the kayak into the back of the van and shot off all alone to the nearby lake, quickly before someone changed their mind.  This lake is small and safe, and always has a few people on it, so I had no concerns for my safety. I would've preferred the Catawba River but decided to settle for this closer and safer adventure.

The van echoed in its emptiness as I drove. I listened happily to silence. I backed up to the lake, hauled the kayak the few feet into the water, and within moments, was gliding along the shore. A butterfly drew a shimmering path across the blue sky. Cicadas hummed, and the leaves rustled with birds.  Turtles splashed to safety as I skimmed near.  A little mantra kept circling in my head, "I am happy, happy, happy. Thank you for this lovely world."

I had no great revelations, and no deep thoughts. I quietly exulted in the glorious beauty of the trees along the shore, the rippling water sparkling in the warm sunshine, the silence of the lake, and the peaceful aloneness in the midst of God's creation. My soul longs for the quiet beauty of nature, but is more often thrust in a world of roads, and cars, and noise.  I would not have thought it possible, but I didn't think of a single thing I had to do or a single responsibility or worry waiting for me when I returned to the onslaught of life.  I just glided along in my kayak with an empty head and a full heart.

Psalm 134:2-3 (NIV)
Lift up your hands in the sanctuary and praise the Lord. [3] May the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth, bless you from Zion.

Exodus 15:13 (NIV)
"In your unfailing love you will lead the people you have redeemed. In your strength you will guide them to your holy dwelling.

Ezra 9:8 (NIV)
"But now, for a brief moment, the Lord our God has been gracious in leaving us a remnant and giving us a firm place in his sanctuary, and so our God gives light to our eyes and a little relief in our bondage.

Survived

As the paddle floated away on the rapids, I was glad I had packed an emergency paddle in our survival kit. Of course, when we were all waiting at the end of a long long riff of rapids, and still no sight of Arvo, carrying all the emergency supplies, I did wonder if I should have parceled out the food and blankets in case we had to wait overnight. And as our "one hour" "float" edged onto three hours, Matt asked, "Does any of this look familiar?"
"It all looks familiar. We have been intimately acquainted for three hours."
Of course what he meant was the take out point- where I had driven to park the getaway car when we finished.
"There is no way we can miss the take out point," I assured him. (Unless of course we have been in sun and heat for three hours past dinner time and our brains have melted and fused onto the back of our skull, which now that you mention it....)

But all those could-be disasters ended well. We caught the escaped paddle, Arvo reappeared having had to walk a good portion of the rapids and riffs as the water was too low there for his heavier weighted kayak, and the take out point burst into view shortly after Matt's question to me.

The terrifying dam where we had been warned kayakers are sucked under whole, only to reemerge, if lucky, on the Yangtze River, turned out to be just another fun rapid. In fact, the trip, while a tad longer than we had hoped for with water that was a tad shallow in spots so we had to scoot the kayaks forward by shimmying our bottoms, was sheer delight for me.

When we launched the kayaks, the first section was very fast with a lot of small rapids. I had never done rapids before, so I was scared, but we all negotiated them and I think only a few blood vessels burst in my brain. The water was not more than 6 inches deep there, so even capsizing would not have caused any injury more severe than leech attack. (Actually, I don't think leeches like rapids and I had salt in the emergency kit to shrivel them in case of attack). The water was calm for a while for us to get our sea legs, and then every few minutes, there were more rapids. By the midpoint of the trip, I was beginning to be able to discern the shape of the water flow that most easily would carry me unscathed and unbottomed-out over the rocks. I enjoyed it so much that I think I would like to try Class 2 rapids now.

We followed a great blue heron for much of the 6 mile trip. Geese were everywhere, and not happy that we were invading their river. We were the only boats on the river that we saw. I think the river is a bit too shallow this late in the summer and everyone else knows that. However, we had it all to ourselves, with the geese. The geese had goslings that bobbed like corks over the rapids trying to outpace us.

Wildlife was everywhere. At one point, my heart stopped when Arvo pointed to the nearby shore and screeched, "Is that a bear!?" Since I know bears swim, I was ready to reach into my emergency survival kit for the air horn and the bear repellent, when Matt said,
"That's a cow, Dad."
It is easy to confuse the two until you go to milk them, of course.

Sheer limestone cliffs (or granite...or maybe gneiss- I just don't know my rocks very well) towered over the right shore, and thick forests were on either side of us.
"I feel like we are the first people ever to be here!" I exclaimed.
Karissa glanced at the steel fancy observation deck with benches on the shore.
"OK, the second people. The ones who built that were probably here first," I conceded.

But most of the trip, it was utterly quiet, save for the sounds of the next set of rapids, and peaceful greens and blues and leaves shimmering in the sun. As we pulled the boats on shore at our take out point, I flipped my inflatable kayak over to wipe it down. Two 6 inch slashes were in the bottom of the boat, cutting the protective outer rubber right to the inflatable air matt on the floor of the kayak. I was a quarter inch from having been deflated at some point on that float. Now I had emergency patches, pumps, and duct tape.... but it would have been MOST inconvenient. I breathed a prayer of thanks to the gracious Lord of the river and my life that had stopped the rock a quarter inch from slicing our adventure apart, not to mention my bottom.

Psalm 116:6,8-9
The Lord protects the simplehearted; when I was in great need, he saved me. [8] For you, O Lord, have delivered my soul from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling, [9] that I may walk before the Lord in the land of the living.

Think blue

I have been told that if youthink about the color blue, your blood pressure goes down and you don't feel like throwing the "completely intuitive" iPod touch off a cliff. So I am experimenting with writing my post using the iPod and thinking of the ocean. Now you know why it is several hours late.

I have been contemplating ratcheting up my art career by printing and selling my ipod art. Afterall, it is a pretty new market. I decided against the ipad for several reasons not the least of which I think it is a stupid name. Many counseled me to wait til
1. it becomes more tested and developed and 2. I develop more talent. The first prerequisite should take about a year; the second a lifetime.

In the meantime I will think blue and see if this posts sucessfully.

Isaiah 48:17-19 (New International Version)

¹⁷ This is what the LORD says—
your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel:
"I am the LORD your God,
who teaches you what is best for you,
who directs you in the way you should go.

¹⁸ If only you had paid attention to my commands,
your peace would have been like a river,
your righteousness like the waves of the sea.

Nothing is impossible with God
Hollowcreekfarm.org

The Path of Peace

We have our State competition for our Destination Imagination team this weekend. The giant puppets have finally been dismantled, moved from my living room, and are now eerily dismembered in my car, awaiting transportation.

While loading the giant snake, there was a rather ominous creak and he fell over, but he was not supposed to come apart. Asherel thinks she put him back together again, but we are not certain, and may be in for a surprise when we reassemble everything in the contest prep area.

Besides the State contest, we have a few surgeries, doc appts., end of year testing, and visits to folks both in the deep north and deep south, Matt's graduation from college and moving to wherever he will attend law school, and a dog agility contest to schedule over the next few weeks. When I go to bed, my head is a cyclone, with thoughts swirling and blocking all the sleep nerves.

I have a horrible memory.... I can't remember if I have told you that before or not... but anyway, there are a few Bible verses I do remember. They fortunately all can be called upon in time of need to remind me of the peace and provision of God. The 23rd psalm, the Lord's prayer, "Be still and know that I am God," and ,"I look unto the hills, where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth." For the past few nights as I awaken in the middle of the dark, endless night, I have been reciting those verses in my head. They drive back the storm of tumultuous thoughts, and I sometimes have not even reached the end of my meager cache of memorized verses before I am snoring.

By the time morning comes, all those worries are still there, but they seem to have less of a stranglehold than they do at night. I even sometimes feel a lightening of spirit. Nothing has really changed. I think there is a good chance the snake puppet won't work, but even that symbol might indeed be a hopeful one, at least to Eve.

Psalm 121

A song of ascents.

¹ I lift up my eyes to the hills—
where does my help come from?

² My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

³ He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber

Surprised by Beauty

The snow took me totally by surprise. I am glad I had finished a little snow picture with my art class last week or I wouldn't have had one for my blog. There are few inspirations to draw snow in the house of the brutal sun.
I guess I didn't know about the snow because I was busy trying to understand the "if A then B except when A is not but B is or B is not when the converse of when A is not...." in Asherel's Geometry lesson. We were so busy tying our brain in knots that I didn't see the first flakes fall and hadn't known they were expected until Asherel called out,"It's snowing." I thought it was just an excuse to lift her finger from our Evelyn Wood Speed Reading session, but I glanced up, totally losing what B does when A has to take a bathroom break. It was true. The first little dusts of snow were drifting quietly by the window. I didn't take them seriously, having not read the weather report. Everyone else had already bought their milk and toilet paper, but I had not because I didn't know the snow was coming.
And while we camped in front of the Winter Olympics opening ceremony on television, the snow kept falling. All through the night, it sparkled in the air against the yellow lamplight, falling, falling.....
I piled my ski clothes neatly for the morning, and put my skis in the corner. I prayed the liquid nails I'd used to repair them would hold. This morning, I awoke to a good 4 or 5 inches of snow. Right after breakfast I will ski, and then right after skiing I will do some snow paintings. With all this global warming going on in Charlotte, I seem to need a backlog of winter snow scenes.

And speaking of painting, today is the official opening of the first annual Hollow Creek Farm Kids Art Contest!!!! Details can be found at Hollowcreekfarm.org . This is a bona fide national art contest which means if you are age 18 and under, you could enter and win not only prizes, but satisfaction too, as you can help Hollow Creek Farm with your entry donation which will be used entirely for the care and help of HCF animals. The world renowned judges are experts in their field. Linda Ostrow owns the wonderful jewel of an art gallery tucked away on The Plaza in Charlotte- Queens Gallery (www.thequeensgallery.com ) . Angela Purcell is a devoted volunteer at HCF so knows the animals you will be drawing well, and has artist parents that instilled a deep love and understanding of art in her. And finally (this is the section where there is a huge drum roll and the fans are holding their breath while the older women pass out in anticipation)- the last judge is me. For all of you budding artists that hope to major in art, or just impress potential colleges with achievements on a national level, this is a very good contest to enter. The contest ends May 1 so you have plenty of time to find an HCF adoptable animal you want to immortalize in art.

But about the snow that snuck in here like a thief returning money..... I had been having a bad day. School was not going well for us. I will spare the gorey details but suffice it to say that I was ready to retire from all the perks of being a highly paid and respected home school teacher and join the Foreign Legion. Just as I was ready to pack my bags, the snow started falling. Who can watch snow fall and not feel the talons of despair melt away? My rising blood pressure with an angry spirit had called out like Gideon, "If the Lord is with us, why then
has all this happened to us?" (Judges 6:13.) But then I saw the snow. Flake by flake it fell, collecting slowly to a blanket of soft white covering all the harsh edges of the world. That is how my emotions had built, anger by anger, frustration by frustration..... and the blanket over our home was not one of gentle peace. Oh Lord, give me a heart that falls gently like the snow on my family!

And don't forget to vote for Honeybun. It seems her vote is being sabotaged as her rating keeps going down though she leads in number of votes. Since I have given clear instructions that when you vote you should only click on the 5th gold star to give her the highest rating, I think some devious souls are going in and clicking on the first star, which lowers her rating. So please vote per the instructions below:
just click on this little link below and skip to step 8.
http://tinyurl.com/voteforhoneybun
1. Click on this link:
http://www.petco.com/content/storiesListheartChampion.aspx?bvcategoryid=1-9
2. In upperish right side, select "sort by OLDEST STORIES FIRST"
3. Scroll down to bottom and select page "5".
4. Scroll down to bottom and select page "6".
5. Honeybun is the second story (picture: doge sleeping on pillow,
covered with a blanket. title: A Last Chance Dog.
6. Click on "Read my story and vote"
7. Click on the 5th (rightmost) gold medal (it will say "5 stars" when
you hover over it.)
8. On the Righthand side of the page enter your/an email address and
click the continue button.
9. You will be returned to Honeybun's story page.
10. Close your BROWSER program (not just the window).
11. Repeat steps 1-10.

All Creation Is Shouting

We have been gone six days. I never saw a newspaper or watched TV, but I think awful things have happened in Haiti, and probably elsewhere, but until I get over living on West coast time, I don't know if I can bear to read about it. Braving mountain lions on deserted wilderness roads is nothing compared to what the world is suffering.

If you have been keeping up with my posts, you know that we attended my lovely neice, Renee's wedding in the gorgeous mountains of Arizona, not far from the Grand Canyon. Asherel, my dear daughter who would rather eat live rattlesnakes than be trussed in pantyhose and silky dresses was lovely in the clothes that I am sure she will never wear again. Despite my week of intensive training under strict instructions meticulously gleaned from the internet and followed precisely.... my feet still hurt in my high heels and I had to ditch them during the dancing. Much that could go wrong, did, but the wedding was still a celebration of sanctification of two lovely people vowing to endure the slings and arrows of life together before God.

We were staying in cabins on the edge of a national forest, high atop a deserted mountain where celestial stars go to vacation too, so there were billions of them. At 7500 feet above sea level, I quickly discovered there is no oxygen. There is enough to walk if you are ambling, but if you want to run
5 miles, you will require an oyxgen tank and some sort of modern motorized running shoes. I struggled up a very steep hill, with even the red whites of my eyes turning blue, and gasped finally upon the level deserted path of the wilderness. The literature in our cabin had promised fox, wild horses, elk, bears, mountain lions, and ATVs. I was out just as the sun rose, so it was utterly deserted. This is not smart, and you youngsters reading this blog remember do as I say, not as I do. You should never run alone on a deserted wilderness trail. However, the rising sun with its pink tendrils stroking the tops of sugar pine beckoned me, and I could not stop myself. I promised I would not run beyond the next hill... and then the next hill, and soon, the civilized world was a distant memory and I was surrounded by silence... and predators. I had grabbed a large stick to run with as everyone knows that 100 pound half century old shriveled ladies can defend themselves against animals twenty times their size with a stick.

You of course know this had to happen, what happened next. I heard a roar. A deafening roar. The kind of roar that makes hamsters spin wildly in their wheels. I screeched to a halt, with stick in "ready position" (tennis players know what I mean- knees bent, stick poised in front for either forehand or backhand, depending on which angle the animal attacks from.) I scanned the treetops all around me as I know mountain lions stalk their prey often from above where you would least expect death to come from. As the roar intensified, I knew I was a goner, but the strange thing was that I thought maybe it was worth it. For the half hour that I had been drawn deeper into the forest, I had gazed upon the warm colors of a rising sun settling over frosty pine branches reaching to a silent sky. Vistas of distant endless mountains opened before me, and the peaceful quiet of nature had been whispering God was near. Would it be worth it to live a life in fearful safety, or would it be better to stretch out where danger may lurk, but God's presence was so powerful?
Maybe not, I thought as I swirled to the crashing underbrush. At that moment it was upon me, and then raced by, the huge ATV with a smiling, waving driver. As he vanished down the mountain trail, I turned back towards home, listening to the echoing shouts of all creation.

Romans 1:20
For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse.

Cockroaches and Contentment

I awoke feeling almost normal for the first time in many moons. Just in time to return to the frenzy of homeschool and a new math book (the last one almost did me in... can't wait to see what is in store for us this semester....). Since I was sick for almost the entire Christmas break, I don't feel very rejuvenated. But, as the great philosopher said, "It is what it is." (This is a variation on "whatever", and "You are God and I am not.")

Stoically determined not to be depressed by the fact that in a blink of a flu-drooping eye, both boys had come and gone and presents had been opened and put away, and ornaments had flashed and vanished, but somehow there are still nasty leftovers lurking in the refrigerator...... I walked out this morning to the quiet sunny great room. Sunshine was gleefully pointing out that my newly cleaned windows were already covered again with dog snot and finger smudges. "Is there no balm in Gilead?" I said to myself, another variation of "It is what it is" with a touch of desperation implied.

And there to greet me wriggling in death throes upside down was a cockroach, frantically waggling its legs. It was a large one. It was clear it had escaped my meticulous housekeeping (lie detection device beeping) and had lived a good long life. Nothing grows that big unless it has been feasting for thousands of years on the debris of shoddy housekeeping. I watched it for a while, and strangely, felt compassion. Here it was, obviously dying and defenseless, utterly unable to flip its disgusting carapace over to scuttle away. I did not have the heart to squash it. I got a cup and scooped it up, then tossed it outside. It landed on its feet, like a large beetle eyed cat and scurried away into the bushes.

Cousin Carol had sent me a verse this morning, saying God had bugged her to send it. It is a favorite verse of mine, and the title of one of my paintings.
"The fruit of righteousness will be peace. The effect of righteousness will be quietness and confidence forever." Isaiah 32:17. This is a little different than "it is what it is." This could be restated as "It doesn't matter what it is. It matters who I am." Isaiah's life, as is true of most of God's prophets, was no picnic. Though educated and privileged, when he accepted the call of God to warn Israel of how they were falling away from God, he lived the typical unhappy and increasingly difficult life of someone who brings news no one wants to hear. It is a strong tradition that he was martyred by being put in a hollow tree which was then sawed in half. Isaiah, whose name means, "The Lord is Salvation", prophesied doom and gloom, but always added his message of ultimate salvation and hope. It is in Isaiah that the clear picture of a suffering Messiah is most clearly portrayed, a Messiah who would be sacrificed for our sins, and "By his wounds we are healed."Isaiah 53:5.
The Israelites have to have been scratching their head over that one.

Oddly, thinking about Isaiah and his life, mingled with the image of the struggling cockroach, I did feel some peace. Life was certainly not as pretty as I had hoped, not the past two weeks anyway, and the freshly cleaned windows needed cleaning again.... but God had urged a sweet soul to send a verse of comfort, and I had rescued a creature that I normally cannot bear to look at, instead of stomping on it til its disgusting green guts came shooting out in all directions. There is balm in Gilead.