What do you have, that you did not receive?
And if you did receive it, why do you boast
as though you did not?
1st Corinthians 4:7
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
the light shines in the darkness...
Saturday night came in clear and bright, a good moon casting shadows off the trees.
"We want to sleep outside tonight, Dad." Anna announced with Soren nodding enthusiastically.
"But, my cold's so bad I don't think I can do that, sweetie." I said apologetically.
"Yep. I know. We want to do this alone."
Considering the size of our mountain area, I asked where they thought they'd like to go.
"Up on the very top of that hill." Anna said, pointing out south to a wind-swept knob over-looking Lake Chelan.
I thought about winter-hungry coyotes that would be sure to be out on a moony night such as this one. I considered how this was still January. I rubbed my jaw over their insisting to not use a tent.
"Sure. I think it is a great idea!" I said, hiding the hesitancy in my gut.
I helped them pack up sleeping bags and ground pads. I gave them each their choice of flashlights, told Anna to call me on the cell phone once they got settled down, and gave the dog strict instructions to stay with them through the night.
On impulse, I reached into the camping box and pulled out the hunting knife my dad gave me, and presented it to Soren. His eyes widened as he slid it out of the leather sheath.
"Poppie gave this to you?" The blade shown in the porch light.
"Yes. And someday I'll give it to you, but, for now, I just want you to keep it safe--in case you need it."
He nodded his head and caught my gaze sheepishly.
They--my two little kids--shouldered their light packs and left. I stood in the upstairs window watching the pair of lights from their headlamps flickering, sometimes bright as they looked back my way and then dimmer as they looked ahead, until there was no light at all.
"In case you need it..." I had told Soren. How would a seven-year-old boy know anything at all about how to fight a cougar or, worse, a pack of hungry coyotes. Could he hold the blade tip up and wait until the coyote jumped up, and let steel find soft belly? Could he show resolve enough to unnerve a pack of hungry varmints?
No. Of course not.
I can teach him things. I do; I will. Flu shots will happen. Stranger danger talks have been had. But there are so, so very many coyotes out there. And so much darkness. And I am so powerless. But the light shines in the darkness, though it, and the darkness does not overcome it.
My phone rang. Two excited little voices told me about how snug and warm they were.
"See you in the morning, Dad."
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Helping without thinking
Little kids do it naturally. Automatically. Some adults I know are great at it. I have better days than others and work at it.
What I am referring to is the giving of oneself. The un-calculated, un-conditioned, un-manipulated act of helping others.
When someone you love pleads...sure, we respond. When a casual friend looks you in the eye and asks...yep, most often we'll honor that one, too.
But what about a stranger? Or what about when we're inconvenienced? Or when there's nothing in it for us? Or when there's difficulty or even danger associated with the helping?
I'm often humbled by chance encounters I have with strangers who go out of their way to help. Sometimes I'm the recipient; sometimes I'm just an observer.
There's a guy I know--well, not really since I've never met him--who will always take the time to email me long answers to my stupid questions about metal fabrication. He's owned a welding shop for many years yet still has no problem, in his off ours after a long day in the shop, sitting down in the evening and patiently explaining to me how to solve whatever problem it is that is stumping me.
My friend, Terry, will come up pretty much any time I ask, and lend a hand, a back and an afternoon heaving on a block and tackle line or driving the road grader to tow my tired old crane.
And then there's yesterday: I was searching for the music score to Psalm 27. I had dug up a recording of a cantor singing what is thought to be the oldest, and perhaps original, Hebrew chant melody to this Psalm. I'd like to sing this in church Sunday as the Psalm is 27, but it's too tough for me to memorize, and too arduous a task to write out and score.
I traced the source of this particular transcription back to a website (very interesting stuff, by the way and here's the address)
http://www.rakkav.com/biblemusic/
Seeing an email address to contact, I thought I'd give it a try and see if there was something he could do to assist me. Within the hour he not only had written back, but had pulled a copy for this Psalm out of his personal collection and attached it to the email.
I'm sure he receives lots of emails and, amongst the email calls to increase our bank account, various parts of our bodies, and proposals to send us money from someone in Nigeria, he spots my email and responds.
Like those great souls who pull over on a busy highway to help someone on the roadside, the great engine of our humanity is these myriad little acts of love.
What I am referring to is the giving of oneself. The un-calculated, un-conditioned, un-manipulated act of helping others.
When someone you love pleads...sure, we respond. When a casual friend looks you in the eye and asks...yep, most often we'll honor that one, too.
But what about a stranger? Or what about when we're inconvenienced? Or when there's nothing in it for us? Or when there's difficulty or even danger associated with the helping?
I'm often humbled by chance encounters I have with strangers who go out of their way to help. Sometimes I'm the recipient; sometimes I'm just an observer.
There's a guy I know--well, not really since I've never met him--who will always take the time to email me long answers to my stupid questions about metal fabrication. He's owned a welding shop for many years yet still has no problem, in his off ours after a long day in the shop, sitting down in the evening and patiently explaining to me how to solve whatever problem it is that is stumping me.
My friend, Terry, will come up pretty much any time I ask, and lend a hand, a back and an afternoon heaving on a block and tackle line or driving the road grader to tow my tired old crane.
And then there's yesterday: I was searching for the music score to Psalm 27. I had dug up a recording of a cantor singing what is thought to be the oldest, and perhaps original, Hebrew chant melody to this Psalm. I'd like to sing this in church Sunday as the Psalm is 27, but it's too tough for me to memorize, and too arduous a task to write out and score.
I traced the source of this particular transcription back to a website (very interesting stuff, by the way and here's the address)
http://www.rakkav.com/biblemusic/
Seeing an email address to contact, I thought I'd give it a try and see if there was something he could do to assist me. Within the hour he not only had written back, but had pulled a copy for this Psalm out of his personal collection and attached it to the email.
I'm sure he receives lots of emails and, amongst the email calls to increase our bank account, various parts of our bodies, and proposals to send us money from someone in Nigeria, he spots my email and responds.
Like those great souls who pull over on a busy highway to help someone on the roadside, the great engine of our humanity is these myriad little acts of love.
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