Life in a canoe

I awakened at 4:20 AM this morning, ready for the day and wondering why.  Karen commented the other day that I have really seemed 'busy' lately ... and perhaps should relax a bit (that's the pot calling the kettle black).  But I've noticed in the past few weeks that the world around me seems in a bit more chaos than usual ... or maybe I've just noticed more.  With the deaths of several folks I've known for years, the break up of several families, the simple dysfunction in some people,  and the orphanage of three adolescent girls ... some things come more clearly into perspective.  This morning I prayed this mantra:  "Lord Jesus, I ask your Spirit to enter into my heart." ... emphasizing a different word each time I said the phrase.   I believe that in each of these situations, He has given and will provide discernment, wisdom, and peace ... reminding me that His grace and His presence is sufficient ... for today.  Yesterday gives memory and perspective and tomorrow has enough worries of its own ... but he has given me life ... and that life abundant.

So what's with the canoeing?  Well I've had several opportunities to spend time in a canoe and most recently this summer in the Boundary Waters of northern Minnesota and southern Ontario.  As with my hiking experiences, life in a canoe has many lessons to carry back to life without a canoe.   Simply speaking ... each day begins on a lake that exemplifies the beauty of His creation and much of what is around me is very similar to what surrounded me yesterday.  But what lies ahead is known only to Him.  Yes, I have a map and need to pay careful attention and I do have the choices in which way to go, but I'm met at the end of the most difficult portage by a new beginning and a new adventure.  No matter how difficult or long the path, I know I have to carry the canoe and all of the packs and gear I've decided to carry with me.  I know I can stop and rest - but I'd rather push on until I can set down my load and get back in the canoe.  Because when I start off again, the canoe is carrying my burden.  All I have to do is paddle... and I know that if I stop paddling, I will drift away from my goal.  I'll still get to where I wanted to go, but it will take longer.  So for now, I'll just keep paddling - knowing there will be another portage and another lake.  Oh, if only I could spend life in a canoe.

'no deposit - no return'

I've not posted a comment in quite some time and have recently felt the "need" to return here and make comments from time to time ... but without making a deposit here it has been difficult to make a return.  I've suffered from that thought of "Where do I begin and how do I catch up?"  but I know better than that.  I must be careful though ... I have been working on my third level of my cynicism merit badge and I've not really been putting forth that much effort.

Perhaps I can highlight events and circumstances that have been meaningful to me over the past four months ... and there have been many.  But for now I'll just say "Stay Tuned" for further entries ...

adopt a family

"Sometimes I sits and thinks ... and sometimes I just sits." was one of the many things I've forgotten Mrs. Partin saying. Nina Partin was an aged woman who lived about a block from the church when I was growing up. She was a widow and a retired seamstress, though she often took in some sewing. Her son Wilbur lived in a room behind her house for most of the time I knew her. He was an alcoholic and a really nice guy. Wilbur would mow someone's lawn or fix a broken lamp or do some other domestic chore for someone and he'd buy eggs and chicken necks for his mother (and probably a bottle for himself). She was such a sweet spirit and never had a bad thing to say about Wilbur, though I'm certain he was a millstone about her neck. I wish I could remember all the witty things Mrs. Partin would say, but that has been too many years ago. What I do remember is that our family took care of her ... in lots of little ways. Mom would make extra dinner and walk down the alley to take it to Mrs. Partin. When I got older I would ride my bike down and take her milk or eggs or something... then I'd pull weeds in her flowerbeds and take out the trash and then sit and listen to her quote poems to her parakeet.

When David and I were traveling through Europe during the summer of 1971, we spent almost a week in a small fishing village north of Barcelona called Aryns de Mare. I remember walking about the village early in the morning and watching the lady at the top of the hill sweep her sidewalk into the gutter and then sweep the gutter toward the main part of town. When she was about half finished, her neighbor came out and greeted her. They visited while he swept is sidewalk into his gutter. He picked up her refuse and continued pushing it down the hill towards town. I noticed that this process took place all over town and it dawned on me that this morning ritual allowed the whole town to get out and visit with each other and the entire village got swept in the process.

I think these two memories are related.

"They devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and to the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone was filled with awe, and many wonders and miraculous signs were done by the apostles. All the believers were together and had everything in common. Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to anyone as he had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread together in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising GOD and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved." Acts 2

Reflection

When Christianity says that God loves man, it means that God loves man: not that He has become ‘disinterested,’ because really indifferent, concern for our welfare, but that, in awful and surprising truth, we are the objects of His love. You asked for a loving God: you have one. The great spirit you so lightly invoked, the ‘lord of terrible aspect,’ is present: not a senile benevolence that drowsily wishes you to be happy in your own way, not the cold philanthropy of a conscientious magistrate, nor the care of a host who feels responsible for the comfort of his guests, but the consuming fire Himself, the Love that made the worlds, persistent as the artist’s love for his work...provident and venerable as a father’s love for a child, jealous, inexorable, exacting as love between the sexes. How this should be, I do not know. It surpasses reason to explain why any creatures, not to say creatures such as we, should have a value so prodigious in their Creator’s eyes. It is certainly a burden of glory not only beyond our deserts but also, except in rare moments of grace, beyond our desiring. We are inclined, like the maidens in the old play, to deprecate the love of Zeus.

— C. S.Lewis, The Problem of Pain

May you come to know that love today.

Who Has Seen the Wind?

Who Has Seen the Wind?

BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

Who has seen the wind?

Neither I nor you:

But when the leaves hang trembling,

The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I:

But when the trees bow down their heads,

The wind is passing by.

I remember this poem from my preschool youth. Mom used to read to me from a tattered red book, called "A Child's Garden of Verses". Why do I remember that? I awoke early this morning - at 4:00 AM - I do that more often these days. I felt rested when I awoke, but was probably awakened by the wind. I've been reading Jeremiah and welcomed the opportunity to take time to read this morning. Two things struck me this morning:

Jeremiah 10:12-13

¹² But God made the earth by his power;
he founded the world by his wisdom
and stretched out the heavens by his understanding.
¹³ When he thunders, the waters in the heavens roar;
he makes clouds rise from the ends of the earth.
He sends lightning with the rain
and brings out the wind from his storehouses.

He certainly must have big storehouses, 'cause this morning he's turned it all loose. The other verse of significance was also from chapter 10 - Jeremiah's prayer. I wonder how literally we read scripture and wonder how sometimes we have sort of 'glossed over' difficult passages as we have relegated their meaning to another time and another people. Perhaps we should read the scripture more often ... perhaps it would have more meaning in our life.

forgiveness???

Spring break ... great times visiting with family ... no hiking trip or skiing adventure this year. I've spent most of the last couple of days preparing a garden and prepping the house for painting ... both tasks are progressing at a crawl. But both tasks are therapeutic in some ways, redundant physical tasks that leave the mind open to think ... if allowed ... in productive themes. I've continually had the following lyrics running through my head - from the song Don Henley wrote - and realize that they are not directly applicable, [ intended for his lost love ] - the lyrics still leave a haunting message.

Within the past few days, I've had occasion to visit with a number of people plagued by a battle with forgiveness: a young adolescent who does not seem able to forgive her self for some of the "stuff" that continues to creep into life; a man who - years ago - made derogatory accusations and charges against someone that were unfounded and unjust; a person who wronged an organization for which they worked; a man who blindly lives his life selfishly at the expense of his wife and children; a family who has been torn apart by a father who left the family to fend for themselves; his wife who carries a burden of guilt that is not really hers; a family who grieves for the 'loss' of a daughter who has made choices that affect and will affect her and her family for years to come. I have to wonder what these all have in common and why this song has occupied my mind so much while scraping paint from the house and shoveling earth for raised beds in the garden.

These times are so uncertain,
There's a yearning undefined,
People filled with rage,
We all need a little tenderness,
How can love survive in such a graceless age?
The trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness,
They're the very things we kill, I guess,
Pride and competition cannot fill these empty arms,
And the work I put between us,
You know it doesn't keep me warm,

I'm learning to live without you now,
But I miss you, baby,
The more I know, the less I understand,
All the things I thought I figured out, I have to learn again,

I've been tryin' to get down to the heart of the matter,
But everything changes,
And my friends seem to scatter,
But I think it's about forgiveness,
Forgiveness,

and that is what they all have in common, none of these folks have asked for forgiveness! or they have withheld forgiveness because the person that wronged them has not asked for forgiveness! ... so the burden only gets heavier. Then I'm reminded of the greatest example of forgiveness ... Jesus - as he hung on a Roman cross was forgiving all of mankind for all the future sin of the world - and to start it out, he looked around at the crowd that had gathered to curse him, throw stones, spit on him, and finally humiliate him by his death on the tree ... even while they were in the heat of this crucifixion ... without them even asking!

"Father, forgive them ... for they know not what they do!"

...

It's been a long time ...

When was the last time that you spent a day in absolute hermitage from the human race? I've done that a few times ... intentionally ... hiking the Continental Divide of southern Colorado I went four days without talking to another person one time. There have been days that I walked across the Chihuahuan Desert without seeing another human ... and several occasions where I spent days in the wilderness of southern Ontario - guiding a canoe across placid waters, interrupted only by the lonely call of the Northern Loon. These have been experiences of choice ... times that I have chosen to remove myself from the world and have been blessed by the silence of wilderness and the haunting voice of GOD. I relish those days and have been given some understanding of why the Lord often retreated to wilderness to get away from the crowds that pressed against him in their selfish pursuit of his presence - to experience the touch of the Father and hear his voice among the rocks of the desert mountains.

Over the course of the past few weeks I've become more poignantly aware of a different wilderness - that of my friend Mehmet - an achondroplasia dwarf who has been paralyzed from the waist for the past eight years. His wilderness is his own apartment ... a hermitage that has been forced upon him because of his unwilling retreat from society. He has no one ... no one. I watched him tonight as he prepared a red lentil soup from the memory of a recipe he brought with him from the hills of Turkey. His stories of a life left behind challenge my daily walk. I go to visit and am blessed more than he. How can this little man who has lost so much and suffered at the hands of so many have such love in his heart? I think it has to do with his wilderness ... in the quiet of his apartment ... day in and day out ... he listens to the voice of GOD. It is the only voice he hears most days. I plan to go next week to cook with him and sit at the gnarled feet of this great chef as he transforms a chicken and Turkish spices into a celebration meal. It is there we will share wilderness ... I'd never thought of that!