I met myself on the road this morning

Up and out the door extra early this morning to get my daughter to the field-trip bus.  Five am provides a different group of people: students waiting for the link bus to Wenatchee, migrant workers, some on tractors, some on foot...and a homeless woman.  Driving by fast on the way into town, I recognized her as the woman I had met down in town several weeks prior and as I came back up the road thirty minutes later, there she was still trudging up the road, a blanket roll jammed out the top of her pack, a staff in hand, hood up against the morning chill.

The human being in the ditch and me wondering if I could, should, would live up to the roll of the good Samaritan.

I drove past.

I've been thinking lots about aspen trees.  There's a beaut of a grove when my boy and I hunt for morel mushrooms this time of year.  Biologists say, they are all interconnected down under ground and, as I snooze on my back looking up at the gentle canopy of green, I imagine all those roots intertwined in a crazy pattern of give and take.

It wasn't far up the road before I pulled over and turned around.

Her name is Nina and she's from California.  Thru my rolled-down window I offered her camping anywhere she'd like on my land and she accepted.

Dropping her off in a quiet grove of pine in a turn in my road, I suggested that this would be a good spot to spend some time.  Her eyes didn't look away from my gaze and her hand was small but firm in mine, our clasped fingers briefly feeling like those aspen roots.

Now I get it: it's part of the design

I had been haunted by this short little guitar piece on, of all things, the newish movie Cowboys and Aliens.  Haunted by it, so much so, that I sat down and learned it.  Somethign about it was so beautifully simple and the melody really moving.  It took quite a bit of practice on my part to get the notes to ring clear and the playing of it to be simple and uncomplicated.  Then I decided to play it as an introit at church today.  I second-guessed my decision for a bit--it's not a religious piece, it came from a stupid movie--and then just told myself to shut up and trust my instincts.

Now to the point of why I am writing about it.  I am sitting in the back of the church waiting for things to get real quiet so that everybody will be able to hear this quiet, simple little piece.  It is all of 30 seconds long, mind you, so I need there to be some focus.  I pause..and then start in.  Right after the first couple of notes, I hear this high-pitched whining that's going up and down, over and over.  I keep playing, but I, and most everybody else is distracted.  An elderly woamn gets up and starts walking towards the back, straight towards me and then, as I still try to salvage the piece, I realize that the awful sound is coming from her hearing aid which is over-amping and feedbacking.

Oh, boy.  Such timing.  There went my couple hours of practice to learn and nail down this music.  I hope this doesn't read like I was upset because I didn't sound good to everyone.  It' really isn't about me.  Truly.  But, I did really work hard at creating this piece for everybody to hear, and I really did want them to hear it because it was such a beautiful piece of music.

But, in my frustration, a great thing happened.  I had this sudden ahha.

I believe, no count on, God's grace to make good the on-going damage done by the chuckle head named yours truly.  I believe that I am forgiven for all the crap I have done and will do.  I apologize over and over.  I wish it were not so.  I feel bad about it.  Especially when it comes to my hurting other human beings around me.  But here's the deal: I think that I work way too hard at trying to make everything perfect.  I don't think that I've ever really been okay with the notion that I am a human being.  I feel bad about myself.

One of my Dad's favorite metaphors was describing himself as a cloudy glass lens and that his job was to polish out the scratches in the lens so that God's love can shine thru better and brighter.  True to being a father's son, so have I.  Blisters on those fingers from polishing.

But, maybe, maybe, God's love get's thrown around in lots of crazy directions as it goes thru my lens.  Maybe I should not be so quick to curse and clean out the imperfections.  That this thing is not so linear as I work at being better and God is pleased, but rather that God works thru my imperfections.  Can I dare say publicly...even put them there?  That screwed up events, messed up plans, and people at their not-so-best create even more depth to the Mystery.  Maybe instead of just feeling relieved that grace can exhonerate me and my Lutheran guilt, I should not be so quick to clean it all up.  That our shortcomings, indeed some (all?) of sin itself, IS part of the plan and that I can let it be just what it is.

Cue the Leonard Cohen line: "Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in." 

coming along

The tower is coming right along.  I am busy sheetrocking the interior.  My octogonal room is easy compared to the kids' rooms.  There I need to bend 4 x 8 panels of 1/2" sheetrock to the tank's round walls...not an easy task, but by spraying the backside of the sheets with water, and alot of patience, they bend enough to make the curve.  Here's the look of my room up top.

More importantly, though, I just want to be a proud pappa today.  Check out these two videos.  The first of my seven-year-old son, Soren, who's been playing the violin for two years:

The second one here is of my daughter, Anna, twelve, who's been playing the violin for nine years.  I would say something, but this speaks for itself....

the things we have

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

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."

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.

doing what's right in front of you

I was looking for a picture frame at Goodwill. Gotta be the size 12 by 17. Found one for a couple of bucks. Back at home, I was getting ready to strip the picture out of the frame when I noticed the backing was glued on. Realizing that this had been professionally done, I gave the picture a closer look. It was a child's watercolor of the nativity scene...big smiles on the three wise men's faces.
I inspected the backing closer and saw that there was a bit of faint writing in the corner. "Drawn by Peter Schmeltz, age 5." And the framing shop was in Detroit, Michigan.
Well, given the fact that I had purchased this frame to frame a picture from my childhood that I had just stumbled upon, I paused. What the heck--I'll google this guy's name and see what comes up.
And, I found him: Peter Schmeltz, a music professor at a university in St. Louis. And an email address, too.
Hi Peter,
This probably will rank as one of the more unusual emails you'll probably receive...
I recently purchased a picture at a Good WIll store. Bought it for the frame. The picture is a hand-drawn self=portrait of a young boy and, on the back, it says Peter Scmeltz, age 5, and was framed at a shop in Michigan. I was just going to throw it away, but then got to thinking....so I googled it and found you. Thought I'd mention it in case you are this boy all grown up and in case you're wanting the picture. I'll wait a day or two until I hear back from you.
~martin

And I waited--more than a day or two--and he wrote back. He was surprised, of course, and couldn't imagine how something he drew as a kid could end up out at a Good will in Eastern Washington, but mused that he did grow up in the Detroit area, so he thought that it might be his.

I offered to box it up and send it to him, just in case in might be. And it turns out that it was. He recognized it right away as something he drew in first grade and gave to his teacher....

So, let's connect some of the dots here: I'm searching for a frame to frame a drawing from my childhood when I come across a picture from someone elses childhood. It's of baby Jesus in the manger, and here we are in the middle of Advent.

So what's this mean for Peter? I don't know. Perhaps he's estranged from family and this will bring healing. Maybe he's grown away from the religion of his childhood and this will remind him of the true meaning of Advent. Maybe this won't mean much of anything at all.

Most likely, this won't be revealed to me. That's okay. I am just supposed to do what's right in front of me and trust that there is purpose in the way God has woven the fabric of our lives together.