I remember the last time I visited my Mamaw and Papaw at their home in Florida. Was I 10 or 11? In a little room just off the garage, I learned about the puckering power of alum, escorted Joe Pierre to the palm tree, ate mangos and Pop tarts, visited, and combed Papaw’s hair. Sometime during that visit, Papaw asked me to read to him from the Bible. I wish I could remember the passage I read. I read a chapter and closed the Bible, confident that I had completed the task. He cajoled me into reading another, and another, and … Was this a way to keep me from talking his ear off? It was then that I learned of Papaw’s love of the Bible.
In my hands I hold a museum. Nestled between the pages of a small, black 1957 King James Version of the Bible are hundreds of artifacts. Several are dated 1977. Could this be the Bible I read from?
There are more than 2 dozen different tracts crammed throughout the pages. Some have catchy titles “Heart Trouble and Its Cure.” Others are thought provoking like the one titled “Praise is Faith at Work.” Still others are dated such as “A Lesson in the 1040 Form” which tells the story of an income tax audit on a return with an income of $5000. Many were printed at The Best Life Publishers of Lake Worth, Florida. Others contain the message “Write for free samples and information” along with the name of the publisher and an address. I imagine that Papaw wrote off for quite a few samples.
I begin to sort through slips of paper containing hand written notes. My grandfather’s penmanship is a rough scrawl that rarely conforms to a uniform orientation. Deciphering is both fascinating and tedious. Words and phrases parade about randomly – some flow left to right, others march in columns, and still more slide slanting and sloping from corner to corner. There are few sentences or paragraphs. An abundance of words and phrases fill the slips of paper, margins, and inside of the covers.
Here and there I encounter entire sentences – tidbits of truth like “A Christian is a man with an invisible support,” “Always count God in,” “Prove God,” and “We are on the winning team.” Every page of the Bible contains underlining. Key words and phrases are emphasized and more words and phrases adorn the margins.
Still more slips of paper say, “This is what I want to lay out before the Lord when I pray” followed by a name or names. So many people were included in his prayers. Most are strangers, yet I find a few names that I recognize. Some scraps of paper seem to have sermon notes – more key words, phrases, and references.
Two carefully folded sheets of notebook paper seem out of place in this ticker tape collection. I unfold them to discover a composition titled “LR Caperton’s Testimony.” I read it slowly, trying to gain the meaning despite several indecipherable scrawls. It is the story of a young man working in the mines in 1920, discovering the Lord’s calling on his life, praying for a Christian wife, and finding what he describes as abundant joy. It ends by noting that he wrote this testimony after 53 years of serving God.
I return to the little museum from time to time always discovering something new. I decode another scribble, read another tract, or ponder the words underlined in a passage. As I reminisce about my grandfather on his cot in the little room where I read to him and combed his hair, I ponder my spiritual heritage. I am so fortunate to be blessed by his heritage and am humbled by the legacy he left.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
The Spirit Bird Hand Release
One of the things that attracted me to beginning a white dove release business was the opportunity it would give me to interact with people during BIG moments of their lives. I hoped to have the opportunity to share the love of Jesus with people when they most recognize their needs and are open to spiritual experiences? That sounded exciting!
Recently, when I read about an almost 4 year old boy who died in a tragic accident outside of his home, I decided to donate to the funeral expenses and offer my services free of charge. I thought a dove release could bring some peace and closure to the family. It would give me some motivation to put together a reading about the significance and symbolism of the release and give me some experience speaking at a graveside service.
I spoke to the family about the release – they seemed touched and I began to prepare a reading. Here’s the passage I decided to use:
I spoke with the funeral director and he gave me an estimated start time of 2:00 p.m. The funeral was at 1:00 p.m. in downtown Marysville. We arrived at the cemetery at 1:30 and at 2:15 we were still waiting and watching for the procession. I had a real sense that participating in this service would give the Holy Spirit an opening into this family’s life. I had a lot of nervous anticipation knowing that I invited myself to participate in a very intimate moment of this family’s life and praying about how God might reveal Himself to this family.
I envisioned a small graveside service with a couple dozen people. Instead, I was surprised to see a HUGE line of cars arrive and at least 100 people make their way to the graveside area. There was quite a bit of variety in the crowd – lots of people in their 20’s, several people in their 40’s and 50’s and at least 20 little kids. Their dress ranged from suits and ties to halter tops and flip flops. I was glad to see all of the children and hoped that the doves would bring some comfort and joy to them.
Things did not go exactly as I thought.
To begin with, the crowd was somewhat restless. The crowd encircled the casket with children running and moving about the edges. The minister picked up with where she
left off at the funeral home. She turned it over to me and I faced the group with a single dove in hand. Sensing some distraction in the audience, I ad-libbed a bit and didn’t stick to my carefully crafted script by ditching the first two paragraphs. As I circulated throughout the group, everyone wanted to interact with the bird. The kids really enjoyed that part. Several stroked it and kissed it.
Then I handed the bird to Otto’s grandfather. He nestled it close to his face and with tears streaming down he kissed it. It was very touching and beautiful. The release was dramatic and #345 burst into the air and began to circle, the girls opened the basket and the entire flock took to the air. There were gasps, oohs, ahhs, and cheers. It was a beautiful moment. Well, it was a beautiful 30 seconds.
Maybe it was a beautiful 10 seconds. This is the part where I lost track of time.
The unexpected occurred.
Grandpa fainted and went down flat on his face. He was out cold. The crowd had a variety of responses from surprised expletives to shouts of “Grandpa’s dead” punctuated by much wailing. Basically, pandemonium broke out. The funeral director leaned over and said, “You didn’t know how powerful that was.” I was really confused.
Gradually, Grandpa came around.
At the center of the group, they began to lower the casket into the ground. It was a very emotional time for the family so I decided that it was time for us to slip away.
I really don’t know what to think of it. I’ve mulled over some different possibilities.
The single dove release was just too much for this situation and too emotionally draining for Grandpa.
Grandpa was overwhelmed by the events of the day. He fainted as a result of the sum total of these events. He would have fainted even if he didn’t participate in the release.
Grandpa fainted in response to a powerful touch of The Holy Spirit that occurred when he released the bird and welcomed the Holy Spirit to work in his life.
The final scenario makes the most sense to me. It fits with the funeral directors immediate assessment and Grandpa looked just like someone laid out at the altar. I didn’t get to interact with Grandpa to find out what he thought, but I believe it was life changing.
I know a couple of things:
I’m sure that there are more surprises in store. Things may not turn out anything like I anticipate, but I’m also sure that obeying God is really all that matters and that I can keep doing that – and trust Him to do the rest, regardless of how it looks.
Recently, when I read about an almost 4 year old boy who died in a tragic accident outside of his home, I decided to donate to the funeral expenses and offer my services free of charge. I thought a dove release could bring some peace and closure to the family. It would give me some motivation to put together a reading about the significance and symbolism of the release and give me some experience speaking at a graveside service.
I spoke to the family about the release – they seemed touched and I began to prepare a reading. Here’s the passage I decided to use:
Otto made his journey to heaven on October 19th, 2008. Though his life was short, it was marked by joy and love. Otto brought a bit of heaven into the lives of those he knew. We only know an imperfect life on earth, but now Otto knows and experiences a perfect, eternal life in heaven.
Otto’s birth brought joy and awakened love in many hearts. Because we were created for eternal life, we grieve death and cannot comprehend it. Though our sadness is overwhelming, we are comforted that it pales in comparison to Otto’s joy at experiencing heaven and meeting his Heavenly Father.
We will conclude Otto’s service by releasing doves. Otto’s Grandpa will hold a single dove representing Otto’s spirit. God chose the dove as a symbol of the Holy Spirit. The Bible teaches that Jesus sent the Holy Spirit to comfort us as He returned to heaven. As we symbolically release Otto’s spirit to enjoy heaven for all eternity, we invite the Holy Spirit into our lives to comfort us and fill us with peace until that day when we can be reunited with Otto in heaven.
I’m going to circulate through those in attendance so that whoever wishes to interact with the dove, may do so. After this, Otto’s Grandpa will release the spirit dove and it will be joined by a flock of doves which in their beauty and majesty represent the angels escorting Otto’s spirit to heaven.
I spoke with the funeral director and he gave me an estimated start time of 2:00 p.m. The funeral was at 1:00 p.m. in downtown Marysville. We arrived at the cemetery at 1:30 and at 2:15 we were still waiting and watching for the procession. I had a real sense that participating in this service would give the Holy Spirit an opening into this family’s life. I had a lot of nervous anticipation knowing that I invited myself to participate in a very intimate moment of this family’s life and praying about how God might reveal Himself to this family.
I envisioned a small graveside service with a couple dozen people. Instead, I was surprised to see a HUGE line of cars arrive and at least 100 people make their way to the graveside area. There was quite a bit of variety in the crowd – lots of people in their 20’s, several people in their 40’s and 50’s and at least 20 little kids. Their dress ranged from suits and ties to halter tops and flip flops. I was glad to see all of the children and hoped that the doves would bring some comfort and joy to them.
Things did not go exactly as I thought.
To begin with, the crowd was somewhat restless. The crowd encircled the casket with children running and moving about the edges. The minister picked up with where she
left off at the funeral home. She turned it over to me and I faced the group with a single dove in hand. Sensing some distraction in the audience, I ad-libbed a bit and didn’t stick to my carefully crafted script by ditching the first two paragraphs. As I circulated throughout the group, everyone wanted to interact with the bird. The kids really enjoyed that part. Several stroked it and kissed it.
Then I handed the bird to Otto’s grandfather. He nestled it close to his face and with tears streaming down he kissed it. It was very touching and beautiful. The release was dramatic and #345 burst into the air and began to circle, the girls opened the basket and the entire flock took to the air. There were gasps, oohs, ahhs, and cheers. It was a beautiful moment. Well, it was a beautiful 30 seconds.
Maybe it was a beautiful 10 seconds. This is the part where I lost track of time.
The unexpected occurred.
Grandpa fainted and went down flat on his face. He was out cold. The crowd had a variety of responses from surprised expletives to shouts of “Grandpa’s dead” punctuated by much wailing. Basically, pandemonium broke out. The funeral director leaned over and said, “You didn’t know how powerful that was.” I was really confused.
Gradually, Grandpa came around.
At the center of the group, they began to lower the casket into the ground. It was a very emotional time for the family so I decided that it was time for us to slip away.
I really don’t know what to think of it. I’ve mulled over some different possibilities.
The final scenario makes the most sense to me. It fits with the funeral directors immediate assessment and Grandpa looked just like someone laid out at the altar. I didn’t get to interact with Grandpa to find out what he thought, but I believe it was life changing.
I know a couple of things:
- I obeyed God’s calling and stretched past my comfort zone listening to what God wanted me to do without knowing how it would turn out.
- The outcome surprised me.
I’m sure that there are more surprises in store. Things may not turn out anything like I anticipate, but I’m also sure that obeying God is really all that matters and that I can keep doing that – and trust Him to do the rest, regardless of how it looks.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
10 Reasons I Hate Halloween
10. My cats have to stay inside.
We have two big black tom cats. They are indoor/outdoor cats, and 11 months out of the year they are free to go in and out as they please. They are living lawn ornaments that lounge on the fence, in windows, on the benches, and on the patio furniture. They hang out in the yard except for the times when my pigeons are out exercising. The exception to this pattern occurs in late October. Knowing that the humane society won’t allow black kittens to be adopted in October and having heard of ritualistic abuse and black cat disappearances, we keep them inside for about two weeks. They yowl, they growl, they fuss, they beg at the door to go outside, and they plot escape constantly. It’s a chore keeping them inside.
9. There are too many goofed up people out there.
I live in one of California’s poorest counties and I’ve had the opportunity to get up close and personal with people whose lives are significantly goofed up. I’ve walked into living rooms that were piled calf-deep with garbage. I’ve fed and befriended the homeless – not at a soup kitchen or organized event, but in my home. (I haven’t fixed anyone’s homelessness, but I’ve developed genuine friendships with a handful of people in that situation.) I’ve prayed for and counseled people struggling against demonic power, and I’ve locked my doors and prayed hard for protection from the dangers that truly disturbed people are capable of inflicting. Around Halloween it is widely acknowledged that there are disturbed people out there. Children are warned to be careful to watch out for them. “Check your candy.” It’s the only acknowledgement that there something about Halloween that is truly dark and disturbing.
8. There is too much blood, gore, and injury.
One time I was watching a “home movie” type show that showcased the dangerous. One particular clip involved a person attempting to drive an ATV up an extremely steep incline. The ATV toppled over and tumbled down the hill with the rider tumbling along limbs flailing about like a rag doll. It was one of those “it hurts to watch this” clips. As the clip was replayed for the third time (in slow motion) my then 3 year old daughter burst into tears and cried out, “Why does he keep doing that? He’s getting hurt.”
In an instant my spirit was checked. I wasn’t feeling the compassion she felt. Instead, I was entertained by it. That episode with my daughter changed something inside me. I don’t want to desensitize myself to human suffering. I want to be moved with compassion for injuries, blood, and gore.
7. It's an excuse for adults to party excessively.
The commercial value of Halloween for kids is costumes and candy. For adults, it is drinking and partying. There’s a whole new emphasis on “sexy” costumes. College towns are now battening down the hatches to try and “educate” the students not to binge drink or party too hard on Halloween.
6. Distasteful store and lawn decorations are everywhere.
I can’t stand the cobwebs, skeletons, blood and gore (see #8), hobgoblins, witches, or spooks. It’s gaudy, dark, excessive and most of it is in poor taste. Yuck!
5. It is deeply embedded in the public schools.
The newspaper this a.m. had an article on the origins of Halloween exploring its Pagan roots, Samhain, the whole nine yards. Instead of rejecting it outright as demonic, pagan, and worthless for Christians, the Catholics thought it could be cleaned up and celebrated in a Christian manner. They inserted it right before “All Saints Day.” I’m not sure how this made sense, but even if it did, it was based on human reasoning, not Biblical principles.
The vast majority of public schools embrace Halloween ignoring its religious overtones and trampling on the rights of the Christian students. (Though a great deal of this is due to weak, limp-wristed Christians who refuse to make a choice against Halloween.) Halloween is so deeply rooted in schools that it cannot be acknowledged as a celebration of evil. Winter break and Spring break have taken the place of Christmas and Easter, but Halloween is in schools to stay.
4. The message of “Scary Fun” is preached.
Jesus doesn’t ask children to grow up so that they might understand Him – He encourages me to become more like a child. When my kids were toddlers, Halloween masks and decorations made them shudder and hide behind my legs. Little ones don’t want anything to do with skeletons or skulls. They have an inherent revulsion to these images. But at school, kids learn about Halloween as being “scary fun.”
This is the line that teachers use to justify celebrating the spooky and supernatural including skeletons, ghosts, monsters, etc… A teacher needs a line to explain the disparity between all the virtues and good character he or she is attempting to instill with this great glaring exception of Halloween. The rest of the year may be spent discouraging violence; the school may even have a “no weapons” policy. But on Halloween, you might see a bloody rubber knife protruding from a skull or a bloody severed limb. Of course everyone’s against violence and trauma. “This is just scary fun,” the teacher explains to his or her impressionable students.
3. Death is glorified.
Why do I struggle so much with death? This is a question that has wracked me for years. I embrace life eternal and know that I have it, but death has separated me from several people I loved and despite being over it (in my mind) my heart still aches. A friend recently gave me this perspective. “We are eternal creations and we were not created for death.” I think she’s right. Even though I knew that someday my Dad would die and I wouldn’t have him around anymore, I wasn’t ready for it and I still cry about it from time to time. I know I’ll see him again someday, yet that isn’t enough to fill the ache that appears from nowhere time and time again.
I am an eternal being. I was created for life, not death. Death is part of the equation and will be until God changes the equation. That date is always getting closer, but until it arrives I have to live with this “mismatch.” I don’t have to celebrate it. Halloween glorifies death. I want eternal life glorified. I don’t enjoy looking at spooky gravestones, I want to see empty tombs and resurrection.
2. Witchcraft is promoted as interesting, fun, and make-believe.
Shakespeare introduced hag-like witch characters dancing about a boiling cauldron in Macbeth. Hollywood embellished it further with and the Wizard of Oz. Since then society’s image of witches has range from the cartoon Hilda to television’s Bewitched to the ever popular Harry Potter. I guess most Americans haven’t met a witch, and it’s rare to find an American who takes witchcraft seriously. But those who experiment or become entrapped in witchcraft experience a dark and miserable life. Several have true supernatural power and along with it have endured ritualistic abuse and live in fear of being killed for their power. Witchcraft is real. It hurts people. God hates it, and so do I.
1. I made a decision
Several years ago I left Halloween in the “judge by intentions” category. I didn’t outright hate it because most people didn’t participate intending to promote evil. Most were just having fun. Several were just into having dress-up fun and didn’t even promote anything scary or evil. What’s so wrong with that?
Then a tiny nugget of truth became embedded in my life and irritated me into changing my view. I began to think about being a Christian or a “little Christ.” I began to ask myself if it was possible to be “like Christ” and differ with Him on any fundamental issue.
I had to take Halloween at its face value and decide how God might see it. My focus was on the “typical” Halloween decorations – witches, skeletons, goblins, etc…
I thought long and hard about how God felt about witchcraft? From scripture it was apparent that mediums had genuine supernatural encounters. God seemed to make a distinction between those who received supernatural guidance that was from Him (prophets) and those who worked miracles and received power from another source (sorcerers, mediums, divination, Pharoah’s magicians). I wondered about Balaam, the prophet for hire as well as other characters like the fortune-teller slave girl, “Simon the Socerer,” and Elymas. If their stories are included in the Bible, it must be for a purpose. I considered the great repentance at Ephesus that included a book burning (made up of volumes that have a great deal in common with a typical Harry Potter read). I pondered the verse that equates rebellion with the sin of witchcraft and decided that if I was against one (rebellion) I ought to also be against the other (witchcraft).
So, I made a decision to hate Halloween. Instead of tolerating it or sifting through it and winnowing the acceptable from the bad stuff, I acknowledged that it was full of all sorts of stuff that made the “bad” list in the Bible. I could either let my case by case interpretation of “intentions” guide my conscience or I could take a different path – one that abandons my rights to make that call. I want to be more like God and agree with God. So, if God hates it (witchcraft, divination, fortunetelling, sorcery, etc…) and Halloween is basically full of it, I decided to hate it also.
We have two big black tom cats. They are indoor/outdoor cats, and 11 months out of the year they are free to go in and out as they please. They are living lawn ornaments that lounge on the fence, in windows, on the benches, and on the patio furniture. They hang out in the yard except for the times when my pigeons are out exercising. The exception to this pattern occurs in late October. Knowing that the humane society won’t allow black kittens to be adopted in October and having heard of ritualistic abuse and black cat disappearances, we keep them inside for about two weeks. They yowl, they growl, they fuss, they beg at the door to go outside, and they plot escape constantly. It’s a chore keeping them inside.
9. There are too many goofed up people out there.
I live in one of California’s poorest counties and I’ve had the opportunity to get up close and personal with people whose lives are significantly goofed up. I’ve walked into living rooms that were piled calf-deep with garbage. I’ve fed and befriended the homeless – not at a soup kitchen or organized event, but in my home. (I haven’t fixed anyone’s homelessness, but I’ve developed genuine friendships with a handful of people in that situation.) I’ve prayed for and counseled people struggling against demonic power, and I’ve locked my doors and prayed hard for protection from the dangers that truly disturbed people are capable of inflicting. Around Halloween it is widely acknowledged that there are disturbed people out there. Children are warned to be careful to watch out for them. “Check your candy.” It’s the only acknowledgement that there something about Halloween that is truly dark and disturbing.
8. There is too much blood, gore, and injury.
One time I was watching a “home movie” type show that showcased the dangerous. One particular clip involved a person attempting to drive an ATV up an extremely steep incline. The ATV toppled over and tumbled down the hill with the rider tumbling along limbs flailing about like a rag doll. It was one of those “it hurts to watch this” clips. As the clip was replayed for the third time (in slow motion) my then 3 year old daughter burst into tears and cried out, “Why does he keep doing that? He’s getting hurt.”
In an instant my spirit was checked. I wasn’t feeling the compassion she felt. Instead, I was entertained by it. That episode with my daughter changed something inside me. I don’t want to desensitize myself to human suffering. I want to be moved with compassion for injuries, blood, and gore.
7. It's an excuse for adults to party excessively.
The commercial value of Halloween for kids is costumes and candy. For adults, it is drinking and partying. There’s a whole new emphasis on “sexy” costumes. College towns are now battening down the hatches to try and “educate” the students not to binge drink or party too hard on Halloween.
6. Distasteful store and lawn decorations are everywhere.
I can’t stand the cobwebs, skeletons, blood and gore (see #8), hobgoblins, witches, or spooks. It’s gaudy, dark, excessive and most of it is in poor taste. Yuck!
5. It is deeply embedded in the public schools.
The newspaper this a.m. had an article on the origins of Halloween exploring its Pagan roots, Samhain, the whole nine yards. Instead of rejecting it outright as demonic, pagan, and worthless for Christians, the Catholics thought it could be cleaned up and celebrated in a Christian manner. They inserted it right before “All Saints Day.” I’m not sure how this made sense, but even if it did, it was based on human reasoning, not Biblical principles.
The vast majority of public schools embrace Halloween ignoring its religious overtones and trampling on the rights of the Christian students. (Though a great deal of this is due to weak, limp-wristed Christians who refuse to make a choice against Halloween.) Halloween is so deeply rooted in schools that it cannot be acknowledged as a celebration of evil. Winter break and Spring break have taken the place of Christmas and Easter, but Halloween is in schools to stay.
4. The message of “Scary Fun” is preached.
Jesus doesn’t ask children to grow up so that they might understand Him – He encourages me to become more like a child. When my kids were toddlers, Halloween masks and decorations made them shudder and hide behind my legs. Little ones don’t want anything to do with skeletons or skulls. They have an inherent revulsion to these images. But at school, kids learn about Halloween as being “scary fun.”
This is the line that teachers use to justify celebrating the spooky and supernatural including skeletons, ghosts, monsters, etc… A teacher needs a line to explain the disparity between all the virtues and good character he or she is attempting to instill with this great glaring exception of Halloween. The rest of the year may be spent discouraging violence; the school may even have a “no weapons” policy. But on Halloween, you might see a bloody rubber knife protruding from a skull or a bloody severed limb. Of course everyone’s against violence and trauma. “This is just scary fun,” the teacher explains to his or her impressionable students.
3. Death is glorified.
Why do I struggle so much with death? This is a question that has wracked me for years. I embrace life eternal and know that I have it, but death has separated me from several people I loved and despite being over it (in my mind) my heart still aches. A friend recently gave me this perspective. “We are eternal creations and we were not created for death.” I think she’s right. Even though I knew that someday my Dad would die and I wouldn’t have him around anymore, I wasn’t ready for it and I still cry about it from time to time. I know I’ll see him again someday, yet that isn’t enough to fill the ache that appears from nowhere time and time again.
I am an eternal being. I was created for life, not death. Death is part of the equation and will be until God changes the equation. That date is always getting closer, but until it arrives I have to live with this “mismatch.” I don’t have to celebrate it. Halloween glorifies death. I want eternal life glorified. I don’t enjoy looking at spooky gravestones, I want to see empty tombs and resurrection.
2. Witchcraft is promoted as interesting, fun, and make-believe.
Shakespeare introduced hag-like witch characters dancing about a boiling cauldron in Macbeth. Hollywood embellished it further with and the Wizard of Oz. Since then society’s image of witches has range from the cartoon Hilda to television’s Bewitched to the ever popular Harry Potter. I guess most Americans haven’t met a witch, and it’s rare to find an American who takes witchcraft seriously. But those who experiment or become entrapped in witchcraft experience a dark and miserable life. Several have true supernatural power and along with it have endured ritualistic abuse and live in fear of being killed for their power. Witchcraft is real. It hurts people. God hates it, and so do I.
1. I made a decision
Several years ago I left Halloween in the “judge by intentions” category. I didn’t outright hate it because most people didn’t participate intending to promote evil. Most were just having fun. Several were just into having dress-up fun and didn’t even promote anything scary or evil. What’s so wrong with that?
Then a tiny nugget of truth became embedded in my life and irritated me into changing my view. I began to think about being a Christian or a “little Christ.” I began to ask myself if it was possible to be “like Christ” and differ with Him on any fundamental issue.
I had to take Halloween at its face value and decide how God might see it. My focus was on the “typical” Halloween decorations – witches, skeletons, goblins, etc…
I thought long and hard about how God felt about witchcraft? From scripture it was apparent that mediums had genuine supernatural encounters. God seemed to make a distinction between those who received supernatural guidance that was from Him (prophets) and those who worked miracles and received power from another source (sorcerers, mediums, divination, Pharoah’s magicians). I wondered about Balaam, the prophet for hire as well as other characters like the fortune-teller slave girl, “Simon the Socerer,” and Elymas. If their stories are included in the Bible, it must be for a purpose. I considered the great repentance at Ephesus that included a book burning (made up of volumes that have a great deal in common with a typical Harry Potter read). I pondered the verse that equates rebellion with the sin of witchcraft and decided that if I was against one (rebellion) I ought to also be against the other (witchcraft).
So, I made a decision to hate Halloween. Instead of tolerating it or sifting through it and winnowing the acceptable from the bad stuff, I acknowledged that it was full of all sorts of stuff that made the “bad” list in the Bible. I could either let my case by case interpretation of “intentions” guide my conscience or I could take a different path – one that abandons my rights to make that call. I want to be more like God and agree with God. So, if God hates it (witchcraft, divination, fortunetelling, sorcery, etc…) and Halloween is basically full of it, I decided to hate it also.
I hate Halloween.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
A Journey of a Thousand Miles Begins...
The birds are flying. They've been released from 1 mile out in all four directions and two mile flights began today. They beat me home every time. I put together a short video of their first one-mile drop. We went over to the Afato's house and the kids (Afatos and Rollins) helped us launch the flock. If you have a slow connection, then let the video load by beginning it and then immediately pausing while it loads.
After working so hard, the birds play in the sprinklers and enjoy a refreshing bath.
After working so hard, the birds play in the sprinklers and enjoy a refreshing bath.
Monday, September 1, 2008
The Backyard Makeover Continues
The weather was beautiful this weekend and we were finally able to entertain in the backyard. I released the birds from a basket in the front yard and they flew for a long time before landing. Having so many people in the backyard may have spooked them a bit and kept them from landing, so they got a lot of exercise.
Here are some pictures of the patio, plants, and pond.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Flying in Formation: or the "Flight or Work" Response
Finally! I'm getting the hang of this. I am releasing both sides of the loft every a.m. Even though I am officially down 5 of my older birds, some of the younger ones have taken up residence in the older bird side and a couple of older ones are in the younger bird side. I spent a lot of time catching them and switching them back, but I couldn’t get through to their tiny little pigeon brains, so I’m giving up and letting them do it their way for the time being.
Every a.m. around 7:15 or 7:30 I let the "older birds" out first (after shutting the cats in). When they are all out walking around on the landing board or the roof of the loft, I wave a broom at them. Waving a broom is one of the universal signals that tells a pigeon to take flight. Another universal signal is to wave a flag, but I selected the broom option. (I wasn't entirely clear on the type of flag and had too many questions such as: Should the flag reflect a specific nationality? Is it a pennant? Would waving Padre’s pennant cause my pigeons to take off faster than if I waved an A’s pennant? Or would the sight of either pennant cause my darlings to enter a dive and plummet to the earth?)
But, I digress (well, technically I digressed). Where was I? Oh yes, I wave a broom at them. It took me a couple of days to get up the courage to wave the broom. I didn’t want to rush them or push them, but the bigger birds were starting to get really comfortable and they were occasionally flying down to the grass and hanging out. This is a no-no. Hanging out on the grass could make a bird a target for a predator. I couldn’t shake the conviction that these birds belonged in the air. They needed to get up there and fly, so I decided to try waving the broom. AND…Imagine my surprise when I found it actually worked!
Apparently, the broom triggers the same “flight or work” response that is present in other species. I have heard of children who exhibit the same response whenever a vacuum comes out (shocking!).
I show them the broom, and they all take to the air. They begin flying in a flock formation and they circle over my house. It’s breathtaking. Gradually they break off, criss-cross each other’s paths and zig-zag about, but they stay in a pretty tight circle with my backyard at its center. It’s hard to describe how rewarding it is to watch them in their morning maneuvers. After a few minutes they all land. I clean out the loft while they’re flying and then they all come into feed. The first morning they were probably up less than 10 minutes. This morning I kept them up for about 15 – 20 minutes. The younger ones tucker out first.
While the first group is flying I open up the other side of the loft. Three of the older birds have decided to move in with the younger set and I can’t convince them otherwise. This group begins hanging out on the roof, taking little flights around the backyard, and flying between the roof of the loft and the roof of the house. Then the other group starts landing. Their landing is beautiful also. They flap quickly, hover, and drop down – usually several birds at a time. Their wings make a gentle squeaking sound as they hover much like a model helicopter. It makes quite a thump when several land at the same time – especially when they land on the loft roof and I’m in the loft scraping or cleaning.
When I get their food out, they begin stamping on the roof in anticipation. I’m sure it’s the pigeon equivalent of rapping silverware on the cafeteria tables and chanting, “We want seed!” When we finally get everything set up for them, we open up the lofts and they come barreling in, tumbling over each other as they enter through the bobs and fly down to the floor where the feeders are set on trays. The feeders must be on trays because the birds will scatter seed on the floor otherwise. Everything that is not eaten is cleaned up right after the meal so they won’t get used to eating off the ground.
Then, the birds just hang out on the roof of the loft and on the landing boards all day. They don’t fly much during the day. They sit, bathe sometimes, walk around, sit some more, and watch daytime television (oops - not really). They’re pretty much homebodies. In the afternoon they get a little restless and start making short flights. When they do, I make them fly again. I was feeding them a light snack before bed, but now they’re eating so much in the a.m. that I’ve eliminated that except for those occasions where they don’t eat enough in the morning.
By 5:30 several of them are perching and shutting their eyes. There’s a couple of the younger ones who fight every night over one perch, but most of them are settled into a particular perch and they stay there every night.
I’m still hoping that my strays return. For two days, one has visited during the day (after flights) with its feral buddy – it’s like my bird is attracted to home, but it keeps getting pulled away by this wild influence. I’m hoping and praying for a return soon – and that God will keep him safe until he decides to come home – a well-worn prayer around these parts.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Business Is Taking Off (Now if it would only land)
I’m not quite getting the hang of this, but I’m pretty sure I’m brave.
Rule #1 – Make sure your birds are hungry.
Oh, my birds were hungry all right. Stamping-their-feet-and-crowding-around-me-in-the-loft-when-I-was-getting-ready-to-feed hungry.
Rule #2 – Release close to dusk.
I may have been a bit too early last time, so this time I wait until about 7:30.
Rule #3 – Try to avoid spooking them.
This might be where it gets tricky. I think my birds might be spooked at the mere sight of me. The cats and dog have spent 3 days inside to avoid spooking them. Who knows?
Rule #4 – Don’t rush them.
Or is it don't push them? It might be both. Is that literal or metaphorical? I can’t tell whether I’m doing this or not. I decided to put them in a basket tonight and release them outside the loft. The plan was, they would go directly inside the loft to eat. They were all really hungry. I went through the birds one by one as I basketed them and culled the ones that came in late last time. I only had 16 birds from the original 18 I released Sunday. I culled 5, so I released 11. Zero have returned. Several fly by and maybe I’m hallucinating, are they dipping their wings? Maybe – Maybe not.
These birds were supposed to be factory equipped with a state of the art GPS. Also, most pigeons travel only 3 blocks away from home, mine have flown clear out of sight.
Maybe God’s working on my prayer life? Maybe they’re too spooked just from handling them and basketing them? Maybe this is normal and they’ll come back? The fancier in Jersey warned me that this is the part where I'll worry and it will drive me a little crazy.
As soon as I know what a pigeon landing looks like, I'll let you know.
The saga continues…
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Why am I Missing 6 Birds? Or Everything I Wanted to Know about Homing Pigeons but Forgot to Ask
The title pretty much sums it up. Today was the first release for “loft flying” and I’m down six birds. I do have a lot to be thankful for. I was originally down 8 birds, but two came home. Also, one of my birds is definitely in the ‘hood. I’ve seen it on several nearby roofs. I think I've seen another also. There’s still hope it will come home tonight. Chances are good that half of the others will come home tonight or tomorrow, so that would leave me down just 3 birds.
Of course, I have no idea where I went wrong. Were they not “hungry” enough? Apparently overfeeding is the leading cause of losing birds. According to my measurements, they aren’t overfed, but my measurements are an average. I suppose the ones that stayed out when I called them in might be the ones who overeat Should I have invested in an official "feeding whistle" instead of trusting my own whistling capabilities? Maybe they got spooked? All of my animals are locked up, but you really never know. It’s such a challenge getting inside the head of these birds.
I recently picked up the rest of my order + some to bring my total this a.m. to 35 birds. (This p.m. 29 birds and hoping) 17 of my birds are about 3 weeks younger than the other 18 (now 12 and hoping).
This is how the initial release went. I opened the landing board for the 18 oldest birds today. 6 of them wouldn’t get off the board. 2 of them wouldn’t even go out on the board, they stayed in the loft instead. 10 of them went for short flights, and 4 of those came in when called. That’s not very encouraging. I guess the ones that didn’t leave are going to stick around better, but I’m really praying that the 6 that are out cavorting will come home also.
I took some video of my birds flying and will post it soon. I’m still learning and all the websites say this is normal and most will come home. I’ll keep you posted. Keep my business in your prayers. So far it's taking off, but I'd like it to land for a while.
Of course, I have no idea where I went wrong. Were they not “hungry” enough? Apparently overfeeding is the leading cause of losing birds. According to my measurements, they aren’t overfed, but my measurements are an average. I suppose the ones that stayed out when I called them in might be the ones who overeat Should I have invested in an official "feeding whistle" instead of trusting my own whistling capabilities? Maybe they got spooked? All of my animals are locked up, but you really never know. It’s such a challenge getting inside the head of these birds.
I recently picked up the rest of my order + some to bring my total this a.m. to 35 birds. (This p.m. 29 birds and hoping) 17 of my birds are about 3 weeks younger than the other 18 (now 12 and hoping).
This is how the initial release went. I opened the landing board for the 18 oldest birds today. 6 of them wouldn’t get off the board. 2 of them wouldn’t even go out on the board, they stayed in the loft instead. 10 of them went for short flights, and 4 of those came in when called. That’s not very encouraging. I guess the ones that didn’t leave are going to stick around better, but I’m really praying that the 6 that are out cavorting will come home also.
I took some video of my birds flying and will post it soon. I’m still learning and all the websites say this is normal and most will come home. I’ll keep you posted. Keep my business in your prayers. So far it's taking off, but I'd like it to land for a while.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
The Backyard Makeover
Just some pics of the patio we installed and the patio furniture we assembled during our Summer of We Love Hardware Stores.
Before the Loft (B.L.) the backyard sported a batting cage.
and a patch of dirt.
We installed the patio out of pavers, assembled the end of the season clearance table & chairs set, and are working on planting both ends.
Before the Loft (B.L.) the backyard sported a batting cage.
and a patch of dirt.
We installed the patio out of pavers, assembled the end of the season clearance table & chairs set, and are working on planting both ends.
My Fine Feathered Friends
One of the birds heading for the aviary while one perches on the top bunk in the background.
Birds in the aviary
I have 18 solid white homing pigeons. They are beauties. Someday they’ll be working birds. For now, they’re settling.
We took a 3+ hour drive to pick up the birds stopping along the way at a wonderful, tourist trap named CASA de FRUTA. Gilroy is just outside of San Jose near Hollister, a site that claims to be the inspiration for Marlon Brando’s “The Wild One.” We were passing through on the first day of the 2008 Hollister Motorcycle Rally. There were several bikers on the road and quite a bit of traffic coming our way.
I arrived and introduced myself to fellow fancier, Ken Heubert. We toured his property and were schooled in all things pigeon. Ken has hundreds of exotic birds including white peacocks, Indian runner ducks, and several tropical birds. Retired from Pacific Bell, he now makes a living breeding birds, selling crates, and finding and restoring treasures. He’s a pretty good salesman. We purchased two release crates, a 50# sack of pigeon pellets, and ordered a new landing board assembly/aviary, all before loading up to go home. It didn’t occur to me until I was on the road that I only had enough perches for 16 birds. I thought I was picking up 12, but it turns out 18 were ready.
I had so much anxiety about losing birds and getting into a routine. Until last week, I had never owned a bird. Pigeon dreams were occurring almost every night and most had unhappy themes. Thankfully, week 1 has passed without any disasters. Here’s what I’ve learned so far:
• Pigeons aren’t as much work as I imagined. I’ve tried and failed at several things, but I’ve learned better methods along the way. Overall, I can see their daily care just requiring minutes at a time for 2-3 occurrences daily depending on the weather.
• Pigeons are messy. They poop a lot, make a mess of their water, molt feathers, and throw their food all over the floor. They can also generate hurricane force winds when they all decide to flap at once. Their cue to engage in this behavior is a human entering their perching area. They also have amazing wing-slapping abilities.
• Pigeons are very, very quiet. The loudest noises are the whooshing of air as they fly and flap about. When they fight, they emit a high pitched whine. They don’t coo very often and won’t until they mature and choose mates. Even then it’s in low tones and seasonal.
• Pigeons get all ruffed up when they’re upset. They sit and mope like a static energy charged ball of feathers. They did that all of the first day and most of day #2. Now they appear much happier. Their active, entering and exiting through the bobs frequently, watching the backyard curiously from the aviary, and engaging in perch wars every night. The first couple of days they would panic if they saw Sugar or the cats. Now they just stare at them. The cats seem to have lost interest also.
• Pigeons are quick learners. I began a routine of shooing them all out into the aviary, shutting the trap, scraping the perches, changing the water, setting out food, and calling them in. By the third day they were in the aviary waiting for me to begin my routine. The first day it took 15 minutes for one of them to get brave enough to go inside and eat. Now, they are all scrambling over top of each other to be the first ones in to eat.
• Every pigeons wants to be top bird and no bird wants a bottom bunk. When I got home with 18 birds it was after 11:00 p.m. I realized that I didn’t have enough perches for all the birds. I had already read that sharing was out, so I decided to build another set of four perches (everyone helped out, in the garage from 11:20 p.m. to midnight – mission accomplished). Because I positioned these perches lower on the wall than the other sets, one pigeon could perch on the very top. That gave me 21 perches. Even though they were miffed at their circumstances, the perch wars began right away. I’m pretty sure that it’s the older cocks fighting over the top perches. It’s kind of a beak to beak pugel stick competition. (Last night I saw some pretty good pigeon wrestling moves with two birds entangled in such a way that I couldn’t quite figure out which set of wings went to which head. These two were locked in a slow motion Greco-Roman contest that was as fascinating as Olympic trials. I went to bed without waiting to see who ended up dominant.)
• Each pigeon is unique. One somehow gets pooped on a lot. (I’m thinking that will be Nellie Furturdo). Another looks like a chicken (thanks Daniel for the name, it has interesting feathers. One is balding. Some are bolder than others and 1 has claimed the best perch and defends it aggressively. Another is small and wiry, but always gets a top bunk. One has gold patches on each wing. Another has gold patches on the wings and tail.
My birds should be flying around the loft for two weeks beginning August 11. Then I can start training them to basket and release. The progression from 1 mile to 25 miles is pretty quick (within a month) so I’m aiming for October or November releases. It seems really fast, but I’m pretty impressed with their intelligence so far, so I’m looking forward to it.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
The Shack
I just finished reading The Shack by William P. Young. The author is going to be in our area next month and I wanted to read it before hearing him speak. I began reading yesterday, and once I started, I couldn't put it down.
I laughed a lot, and shook my head with wonder at some of the glimpses of God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit and eternity that this book brought my way. Sometimes I cried unexpectedly; the tears were quickly followed by God revealing truth and hope that reached deep touching things hidden in my heart.
The Shack touched me on a very deep level. I would encourage everyone to get a copy, read it, and pass it around. It is one of the best modern books I've ever read.
Go to www.theshackbook.com for more details.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Progress on the Lofts
I recently acquired two pigeon lofts from a fellow fancier in Redding, a city that is located approximately 100 miles north of my home in Marysville. I had calculated my minimum costs for constructing a basic starter loft (4’ x 8’) to be at least $600 in materials + time to build it. I found someone willing to part with two lofts on Craigslist that were 4’ x 12’ and 3’ x 8’. I also found a truck and trailer that I could use. Since gas was only $4.04/gal. and the total price on the lofts was $200, I considered the purchase a bargain.
In the short period of one month, I have become – at best – someone who belongs on a new TLC show “Flip this Loft.” At worst, I am trapped in a season of “Survivor –Pigeon Edition.”
June 1st – We were able to maneuver the trailer to a position just 3’ adjacent to the larger loft. Moving this monstrosity a mere 3’ was a task reminiscent of a twelve hour period in July, 1989 when I was faced with the equally daunting task of moving a 10# bouncing baby boy a few inches from my uterus to the wide-wide world. The loft endeavor had the advantage of three adults actually pushing. On the other hand, the Logan endeavor, had the advantage of an epidural.
The Redding fancier from was quite convincing that the larger loft could be moved using 2’ x 4’s as levers. A couple of boards were used to pry the loft from its base of concrete blocks, the blocks were moved over a couple of inches, and the building was repositioned on them. The process was repeated (repeatedly). Gradually we were able to get the loft lined up with the trailer. At that point, we used jacks to raise it to the level of the trailer deck, and then we all pushed it (inch by inch) until it was fully loaded. I was so proud of Paul and the girls as we strained and struggled, knee deep in dust, in a debris-filled livestock pen, prodding the behemoth onto the ark.
After just 4 hours, the loft was loaded up and ready for the drive to its new home. Our bodies were coated with a mixture of sweat, feathers, and other pigeon by-products. We drove down the road and stopped at Applebees where we spent quite a bit of time (and paper towels) freshening up before eating. As we savored our meals and gulped ice-cold beverages, my husband gazed across the table into my eyes and whispered, “Sweetheart, you’re getting overalls for your birthday.”
Later that evening, I made my first trip to Home Depot. I’ve made 5 subsequent trips since. Add to that at least two trips to OSH, 5 to Lowes, and 6 visits to ACE. Basically, I go to the hardware store almost every day.
June 2nd – The larger loft sat in front of our house in the trailer. The smaller loft lay in the bed of the truck. I rose at the crack of dawn and began preparations to remove the loft from the trailer and move it into our backyard. The distance we had to cover was 50’ or more. Paul recruited three friends from church who would be over at 4:00 to help us. That gave us just 10 hours to get the loft off of the trailer, take down the fence, level 6 concrete pilings for the base, move all of the pieces into the backyard out of the way, and shop-vac the loft. There was barely enough time.
Victoria brought a friend home from church to spend the night and the three girls started right away at moving stuff and getting the loft cleaned out. They filled the shop-vac several times over with pigeon by-products, feathers, and debris. I leveled the loft’s base, and then we began the process of removing the loft from the trailer adding an Egyptian twist to the 2’x4’ method. The most effective Egyptian twist would have been the exploitation of Hebrew slaves, but our resources limited us to using rollers instead. More prying ensued, and steel pipes were inserted under the loft. Then we pushed it a few inches until it rolled off of the pipes at which point we re-positioned and repeated the process. After an hour or so, the loft sat in the street in front of the house.
Next, we attempted to attach 2’x4’ carrying bars across the width of the loft and were still engaged in that process when the recruited moving crew arrived. Fortunately for us, they were able to finish installing the carry bars more effectively than we were doing and then they, along with Paul and Logan, carried this small building into our backyard a few feet at a time. At one point it required taking out an additional fence post and tying tree branches out of the way. Within an hour after their arrival the loft sat in the backyard.
June 3rd to present– It has been just over three weeks since acquiring the loft. In that time we’ve completed the following:
• Pressure washed both lofts
• Tore all the breeding boxes out of one side of the loft (one side will be a “fly” loft and the other will be a breeding loft)
• Tore up and replaced 2/3 of the floor and 1/6 of the subfloor.
• Built a new stand for the small loft
• Painted (4.5 gallons so far)
• Installed interior doors in the large loft
• Installed a new roof on the large loft
• Installed front lower ventilation in one side of the small loft.
I still have to install traps, perches, aviaries, and roof trim on the large loft. The small loft needs another coat of exterior paint as well as a full interior painting. The large loft needs paint touch ups. Both lofts need some caulk other minor fixes.
That’s the full update and here are some pics of the lofts as they stand right now.
The front of the small loft.
The large loft from the far right. The section on the left will be the fly section. An outside aviary (2' x 2' x 4') will be placed in front of the open window.
The center section of the loft has shelves for storage. On either side there is a sliding door that leads to the pigeon's home. I can enter the loft, shut the door behind me, then open up the inside slider and reach the birds.
In the short period of one month, I have become – at best – someone who belongs on a new TLC show “Flip this Loft.” At worst, I am trapped in a season of “Survivor –Pigeon Edition.”
June 1st – We were able to maneuver the trailer to a position just 3’ adjacent to the larger loft. Moving this monstrosity a mere 3’ was a task reminiscent of a twelve hour period in July, 1989 when I was faced with the equally daunting task of moving a 10# bouncing baby boy a few inches from my uterus to the wide-wide world. The loft endeavor had the advantage of three adults actually pushing. On the other hand, the Logan endeavor, had the advantage of an epidural.
The Redding fancier from was quite convincing that the larger loft could be moved using 2’ x 4’s as levers. A couple of boards were used to pry the loft from its base of concrete blocks, the blocks were moved over a couple of inches, and the building was repositioned on them. The process was repeated (repeatedly). Gradually we were able to get the loft lined up with the trailer. At that point, we used jacks to raise it to the level of the trailer deck, and then we all pushed it (inch by inch) until it was fully loaded. I was so proud of Paul and the girls as we strained and struggled, knee deep in dust, in a debris-filled livestock pen, prodding the behemoth onto the ark.
After just 4 hours, the loft was loaded up and ready for the drive to its new home. Our bodies were coated with a mixture of sweat, feathers, and other pigeon by-products. We drove down the road and stopped at Applebees where we spent quite a bit of time (and paper towels) freshening up before eating. As we savored our meals and gulped ice-cold beverages, my husband gazed across the table into my eyes and whispered, “Sweetheart, you’re getting overalls for your birthday.”
Later that evening, I made my first trip to Home Depot. I’ve made 5 subsequent trips since. Add to that at least two trips to OSH, 5 to Lowes, and 6 visits to ACE. Basically, I go to the hardware store almost every day.
June 2nd – The larger loft sat in front of our house in the trailer. The smaller loft lay in the bed of the truck. I rose at the crack of dawn and began preparations to remove the loft from the trailer and move it into our backyard. The distance we had to cover was 50’ or more. Paul recruited three friends from church who would be over at 4:00 to help us. That gave us just 10 hours to get the loft off of the trailer, take down the fence, level 6 concrete pilings for the base, move all of the pieces into the backyard out of the way, and shop-vac the loft. There was barely enough time.
Victoria brought a friend home from church to spend the night and the three girls started right away at moving stuff and getting the loft cleaned out. They filled the shop-vac several times over with pigeon by-products, feathers, and debris. I leveled the loft’s base, and then we began the process of removing the loft from the trailer adding an Egyptian twist to the 2’x4’ method. The most effective Egyptian twist would have been the exploitation of Hebrew slaves, but our resources limited us to using rollers instead. More prying ensued, and steel pipes were inserted under the loft. Then we pushed it a few inches until it rolled off of the pipes at which point we re-positioned and repeated the process. After an hour or so, the loft sat in the street in front of the house.
Next, we attempted to attach 2’x4’ carrying bars across the width of the loft and were still engaged in that process when the recruited moving crew arrived. Fortunately for us, they were able to finish installing the carry bars more effectively than we were doing and then they, along with Paul and Logan, carried this small building into our backyard a few feet at a time. At one point it required taking out an additional fence post and tying tree branches out of the way. Within an hour after their arrival the loft sat in the backyard.
June 3rd to present– It has been just over three weeks since acquiring the loft. In that time we’ve completed the following:
• Pressure washed both lofts
• Tore all the breeding boxes out of one side of the loft (one side will be a “fly” loft and the other will be a breeding loft)
• Tore up and replaced 2/3 of the floor and 1/6 of the subfloor.
• Built a new stand for the small loft
• Painted (4.5 gallons so far)
• Installed interior doors in the large loft
• Installed a new roof on the large loft
• Installed front lower ventilation in one side of the small loft.
I still have to install traps, perches, aviaries, and roof trim on the large loft. The small loft needs another coat of exterior paint as well as a full interior painting. The large loft needs paint touch ups. Both lofts need some caulk other minor fixes.
That’s the full update and here are some pics of the lofts as they stand right now.
The front of the small loft.
The large loft from the far right. The section on the left will be the fly section. An outside aviary (2' x 2' x 4') will be placed in front of the open window.
The center section of the loft has shelves for storage. On either side there is a sliding door that leads to the pigeon's home. I can enter the loft, shut the door behind me, then open up the inside slider and reach the birds.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Lofty Ambitions
I am currently investigating the basics of building a pigeon loft in my backyard so that I can acquire racing pigeons and, somewhere down the line (if all goes well), begin a ceremonial dove release company (like this Bay Area company). Both pigeons and doves are of the same species, although some varieties are commonly referred to as “doves” because of their smaller size, color, and incessant cooing. White racing pigeons (homers) don’t coo as much (like the turtle dove) but they fit the stereotypical perception of Dove and should be a big hit when released at weddings, funerals, and special events.
One website suggested I check with local ordinances first. I called the city of Marysville and was informed that the structure needed to be at least 40 ft. from any dwelling. I took to the backyard with a tape measure and found that my maximum distance would be about 32 ft. YIKES! I continued to research and found that the city of Marysville was classifying my pigeons as “livestock fowl” which was addressed recently in California State Legislation. The state legislation exempted homing pigeons from the “livestock fowl” classification in city and county ordinances. I spoke again with the planning department of the city of Marysville and sent them an email of the state legislation. I also noted that guinea pigs and rabbits were included in the same ordinance which makes lots of homes and several classrooms in our neighborhood out of compliance. After discussing the pros and cons of what constituted addressing it through the proper channels (file a $50 fee for an interpretation or petition those who represent me on the city council), the city planner thought it best if we meet together next Wednesday.
Meanwhile, I found a loft. I'm so excited to be able to buy a ready-made loft instead of starting from scratch. I found one in Redding (via craigslist) that looks like a few modifications and a coat of fresh paint will be all it takes to get ready for occupation by my birds.
After remodeling and painting my loft, I will obtain a flock of young birds, and begin the process of training them to enter the loft (officially known as "settling" the birds) and then fly home from greater and greater distances. The next step is to pitch and conduct school assemblies about homing pigeons (incorporated into my current educational services business) and then expanding to wedding, funeral, and special event releases. Pigeons are hardy birds, have a fascinating history, and – as white doves – are beautiful and inspirational. Stay tuned for more pigeon news!
One website suggested I check with local ordinances first. I called the city of Marysville and was informed that the structure needed to be at least 40 ft. from any dwelling. I took to the backyard with a tape measure and found that my maximum distance would be about 32 ft. YIKES! I continued to research and found that the city of Marysville was classifying my pigeons as “livestock fowl” which was addressed recently in California State Legislation. The state legislation exempted homing pigeons from the “livestock fowl” classification in city and county ordinances. I spoke again with the planning department of the city of Marysville and sent them an email of the state legislation. I also noted that guinea pigs and rabbits were included in the same ordinance which makes lots of homes and several classrooms in our neighborhood out of compliance. After discussing the pros and cons of what constituted addressing it through the proper channels (file a $50 fee for an interpretation or petition those who represent me on the city council), the city planner thought it best if we meet together next Wednesday.
Meanwhile, I found a loft. I'm so excited to be able to buy a ready-made loft instead of starting from scratch. I found one in Redding (via craigslist) that looks like a few modifications and a coat of fresh paint will be all it takes to get ready for occupation by my birds.
After remodeling and painting my loft, I will obtain a flock of young birds, and begin the process of training them to enter the loft (officially known as "settling" the birds) and then fly home from greater and greater distances. The next step is to pitch and conduct school assemblies about homing pigeons (incorporated into my current educational services business) and then expanding to wedding, funeral, and special event releases. Pigeons are hardy birds, have a fascinating history, and – as white doves – are beautiful and inspirational. Stay tuned for more pigeon news!
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Izzy Was... Wuzzy Is... Yuba County Pigeon Parents
Izzy didn’t make it. I’m sure it had a lot to do with the 3 separate 16 ft. falls that he suffered after being put back in the nest by a well-meaning idiot. Despite all of the hype on the web about pigeons being hardy, and following instructions to the best of our ability, he never perked up, couldn’t eat or drink on his own, and finally succumbed to his injuries.
However, we took in his nest mate on day two and dubbed him Wuzzy. Wuzzy had more feathers and was friskier. He also had a HUGE gaping head wound. The experts call this “nest abuse.” We actually saw his pigeon parents pecking him while he cowered, cried, and attempted to stay in the nest. Once they succeeded at getting Wuzzy to leave the nest, we scooped him up to protect him from the cats. In two short weeks, he has begun flying the garage for short periods. His head is completely scabbed over and he eats lot of seed, drinks, and bathes.
The Yuba County pigeon parents immediately began to remodel the nest and it looks like they (in typical Yuba County impoverished, welfare mentality, goofed up fashion) have laid another egg or two. They are the worst pigeon parents ever. I’m betting they’re meth or crack pigeons and, if you sat them down and discussed the situation, they would swear they were the greatest parents ever. They’ve made a huge mess of our porch and we aren’t enjoying the up-close look at nature any longer. I was considering leaving a ladder out against the post so that the cats can do my dirty work.
Then, I read further into the pigeon care websites and found that their behavior is normal. If the parents don’t have room for a second nest, they evict the first pair of chicks at about 24 days post-hatch to make room for another set of eggs. It looks like two sets of chicks a year which means we’ll be evicting the entire family in about 2 months.
Paul thinks we should set Wuzzy free today. I’m not sure he’s ready, but I have an idea for an outside dwelling on the side of Sugar’s kennel. I’m going to try that today. It’s too bad the batting cage has some holes in the net. That would be a huge aviary.
However, we took in his nest mate on day two and dubbed him Wuzzy. Wuzzy had more feathers and was friskier. He also had a HUGE gaping head wound. The experts call this “nest abuse.” We actually saw his pigeon parents pecking him while he cowered, cried, and attempted to stay in the nest. Once they succeeded at getting Wuzzy to leave the nest, we scooped him up to protect him from the cats. In two short weeks, he has begun flying the garage for short periods. His head is completely scabbed over and he eats lot of seed, drinks, and bathes.
The Yuba County pigeon parents immediately began to remodel the nest and it looks like they (in typical Yuba County impoverished, welfare mentality, goofed up fashion) have laid another egg or two. They are the worst pigeon parents ever. I’m betting they’re meth or crack pigeons and, if you sat them down and discussed the situation, they would swear they were the greatest parents ever. They’ve made a huge mess of our porch and we aren’t enjoying the up-close look at nature any longer. I was considering leaving a ladder out against the post so that the cats can do my dirty work.
Then, I read further into the pigeon care websites and found that their behavior is normal. If the parents don’t have room for a second nest, they evict the first pair of chicks at about 24 days post-hatch to make room for another set of eggs. It looks like two sets of chicks a year which means we’ll be evicting the entire family in about 2 months.
Paul thinks we should set Wuzzy free today. I’m not sure he’s ready, but I have an idea for an outside dwelling on the side of Sugar’s kennel. I’m going to try that today. It’s too bad the batting cage has some holes in the net. That would be a huge aviary.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Izzy - Host of Animal Planet For Dummies
First of all, let me clarify that the nest is really, really high and we weren’t able to see any birds until just the other day. Also, they didn’t make any noise until today. So, there was no real way to find out how old these birds really were… until today.
Remember, the cats were praying – actually watching and praying – for hours. (Real prayer warriors these cats!) So today, I thought I heard a distress cry from the front porch residents. Sure enough, I went outside to find a young pigeon on the ground with several cats forming a welcoming committee. This was no brand new hatchling. This was a sizeable bird. Apparently, pigeons are fairly quiet the first 20 days or so.
I decided to intervene while Victoria squealed and leapt circles around me. Vicki calmed down enough to fetch me an old towel and I used it to pick up the bird and place it back atop the post. He stepped off the towel and returned to his nest. I couldn’t help but notice that his fledgling companion had a terrible back-of-the-head wound.
Now the cats gathered around the post for intercession. Within a half-hour, I heard a flutter of wings, a cry of distress, and returned outside to find the young bird walking away from a enthralled Tommy Boy who was beholding his prayer answered right before his eyes. “Sorry Tommy,” I sighed and Vicki handed me the towel.
Up the ladder again and the bird is reunited with his home. The cats were escorted indoors.
Maybe 15 minutes later and the baby bird cries like it’s right outside the front door. It is! And now, he had a peck wound on the back of his head. Apparently, these birds are being pushed out of the nest. For a moment, I’m frustrated. Why are these pigeon parents so insistent? It’s obvious there are predators all over the place? Then I think of what it’s like to live with a human who’s almost ready to fly the coop and I understand.
What to do? Option #1) We let nature take its course (that’s what the cats are voting). Option #2) We can put the bird up again (and again) each time hoping for a different result. Option #3) We house the bird for a few days.
We chose option #3. This thrills Animal Planet fan Victoria who is immediately assigned the task of finding out how to care for pigeons. She hits the Internet and soon has background information, a plan, and a list of what we need ASAP. I busy myself fashioning a makeshift cage. Within an hour we’ve been to Wal-Mart, Victoria has notified her BFFs about this exciting new development, and our little tenant has a name – Izzy.
We’re not sure if Izzy is masculine or feminine, but have decided the name works either way. First of all, it’s a family name. – remember Grandma Isadore? …and Grampa Isawindow? Secondly, it sounds like a question, “Izzy eating? Izzy drinking? Izzy or Iznty?” Lastly, I told Victoria that if he doesn’t make it, we can easily modify it to Wuzzy.
Diesel is furious because his vigil has been interrupted by some bird-loving lunatics. Victoria is ecstatic because she’s 12. I’m happy because it’s the end of the school year and I just found a science project and Vicki is on board without any fuss. And as for Izzy – one website gave this promising advice:
Pigeons are tough birds and can survive through some of the worst injuries I have seen. I like to start trainees with them, cause they usually are successful and I like the students to have a positive experience when they begin.
Remember, the cats were praying – actually watching and praying – for hours. (Real prayer warriors these cats!) So today, I thought I heard a distress cry from the front porch residents. Sure enough, I went outside to find a young pigeon on the ground with several cats forming a welcoming committee. This was no brand new hatchling. This was a sizeable bird. Apparently, pigeons are fairly quiet the first 20 days or so.
I decided to intervene while Victoria squealed and leapt circles around me. Vicki calmed down enough to fetch me an old towel and I used it to pick up the bird and place it back atop the post. He stepped off the towel and returned to his nest. I couldn’t help but notice that his fledgling companion had a terrible back-of-the-head wound.
Now the cats gathered around the post for intercession. Within a half-hour, I heard a flutter of wings, a cry of distress, and returned outside to find the young bird walking away from a enthralled Tommy Boy who was beholding his prayer answered right before his eyes. “Sorry Tommy,” I sighed and Vicki handed me the towel.
Up the ladder again and the bird is reunited with his home. The cats were escorted indoors.
Maybe 15 minutes later and the baby bird cries like it’s right outside the front door. It is! And now, he had a peck wound on the back of his head. Apparently, these birds are being pushed out of the nest. For a moment, I’m frustrated. Why are these pigeon parents so insistent? It’s obvious there are predators all over the place? Then I think of what it’s like to live with a human who’s almost ready to fly the coop and I understand.
What to do? Option #1) We let nature take its course (that’s what the cats are voting). Option #2) We can put the bird up again (and again) each time hoping for a different result. Option #3) We house the bird for a few days.
We chose option #3. This thrills Animal Planet fan Victoria who is immediately assigned the task of finding out how to care for pigeons. She hits the Internet and soon has background information, a plan, and a list of what we need ASAP. I busy myself fashioning a makeshift cage. Within an hour we’ve been to Wal-Mart, Victoria has notified her BFFs about this exciting new development, and our little tenant has a name – Izzy.
We’re not sure if Izzy is masculine or feminine, but have decided the name works either way. First of all, it’s a family name. – remember Grandma Isadore? …and Grampa Isawindow? Secondly, it sounds like a question, “Izzy eating? Izzy drinking? Izzy or Iznty?” Lastly, I told Victoria that if he doesn’t make it, we can easily modify it to Wuzzy.
Diesel is furious because his vigil has been interrupted by some bird-loving lunatics. Victoria is ecstatic because she’s 12. I’m happy because it’s the end of the school year and I just found a science project and Vicki is on board without any fuss. And as for Izzy – one website gave this promising advice:
Pigeons are tough birds and can survive through some of the worst injuries I have seen. I like to start trainees with them, cause they usually are successful and I like the students to have a positive experience when they begin.
Spring Days at the Park
William Pond Park and Lower Bidwell Park
The beginning of spring gave us all an outdoor itch. We had been cooped up with chilly weather long enough! We scheduled back to back picnics on Saturday and Sunday. One was a family & friends event, the other was with Liberty Tax Service - Paul’s seasonal employer.
On Saturday, our destination was William Pond Park in Sacramento. This county recreation area is part of the American River Parkway. There was a $5 per car charge for day use. There were tons of picnic spots with choices in the sun or shade. The BBQs were the largest and nicest I had ever seen. The bathrooms were clean and spacious though limited in number to one locking bathroom each (men’s/women’s).
This park has a large man-made fishing pond that’s handicapped accessible, nature trails, and lots of room for Frisbees, volleyball, or other active outdoor games. The Jedediah Smith bicycle trail runs through the park making it an ideal starting/stopping place for a ride. There’s also a bridge over the American River to Goethe Park and its 400+ acres.
While some members of our group set out on a geo-caching adventure, others took a leisurely stroll or bicycled part of the trail. The weather was breezy at times, but a light jacket and a little pedal action took the chill off. It was a beautiful day, and we had a great time.
The next day we headed to Lower Bidwell Park’s One Mile recreation area in Chico. There wasn’t a fee to access this park and it’s absolutely gorgeous. There were spacious group picnic areas as well as individual spots. The park was maintained well and had several playgrounds including a themed “Capers Acres” locale that was the best freebie I’ve ever seen for the pre-school crowd. The bike and pedestrian trails were beautiful and the park was extremely SHADY! There was also Sycamore Pool, a “natural” swimming area built around Big Chico Creek.
Our visit occurred on a very chilly day, but we had a good time playing cards and getting to know other families. I’m looking forward to returning on a warmer day.
The beginning of spring gave us all an outdoor itch. We had been cooped up with chilly weather long enough! We scheduled back to back picnics on Saturday and Sunday. One was a family & friends event, the other was with Liberty Tax Service - Paul’s seasonal employer.
On Saturday, our destination was William Pond Park in Sacramento. This county recreation area is part of the American River Parkway. There was a $5 per car charge for day use. There were tons of picnic spots with choices in the sun or shade. The BBQs were the largest and nicest I had ever seen. The bathrooms were clean and spacious though limited in number to one locking bathroom each (men’s/women’s).
This park has a large man-made fishing pond that’s handicapped accessible, nature trails, and lots of room for Frisbees, volleyball, or other active outdoor games. The Jedediah Smith bicycle trail runs through the park making it an ideal starting/stopping place for a ride. There’s also a bridge over the American River to Goethe Park and its 400+ acres.
While some members of our group set out on a geo-caching adventure, others took a leisurely stroll or bicycled part of the trail. The weather was breezy at times, but a light jacket and a little pedal action took the chill off. It was a beautiful day, and we had a great time.
The next day we headed to Lower Bidwell Park’s One Mile recreation area in Chico. There wasn’t a fee to access this park and it’s absolutely gorgeous. There were spacious group picnic areas as well as individual spots. The park was maintained well and had several playgrounds including a themed “Capers Acres” locale that was the best freebie I’ve ever seen for the pre-school crowd. The bike and pedestrian trails were beautiful and the park was extremely SHADY! There was also Sycamore Pool, a “natural” swimming area built around Big Chico Creek.
Our visit occurred on a very chilly day, but we had a good time playing cards and getting to know other families. I’m looking forward to returning on a warmer day.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Better Than Animal Planet
Several weeks ago a pair of pigeons decided to make a home outside our front door. The location they chose was on top of a decorative post with a flat surface under the roof overhang. It’s way too high for us to get a close look – approximately 16 feet up - and it's sheltered – a nice little piece of real estate for an expectant couple. Apparently our street’s designation as the “most dangerous” in Marysville doesn’t disturb them.
The construction phase was a flurry of activity with the pair making numerous flights to and fro. The cats began to spend more time on the porch. This period was followed by a season where each opening of the door was accompanied by a violent flapping of wings and the heavily emphasized departure of a bird. I considered using the garage for entrances and exits as any use of the front door seemed to pose a monumental disturbance. Thankfully, this phase only lasted a week or so. Upon closer observation, I noticed that the exit was elaborate for a purpose. While one bird beat a hasty retreat, the other stayed vigilant upon the nest.
Not knowing how long it takes to complete one cycle of nest-eggs-chicks, we began a routine of glancing up at their nest every time we went through the door. One bird sat, the other was nearby – usually atop the roof. During this time, our porch became a popular hang-out for cats. Our furry friends mostly sat – glassy eyed, neck craned at an uncomfortable angle, staring up the sheer sides of the post, dreaming of a ladder or engaging in some other form of feline problem-solving.
A bang on the front screen today prompted me to open the door and find my big ol’ tomcat, Diesel. He walked through the door yowling, meowing, and making quite a racket. I wasn’t sure what he was telling me. Later, I thought I heard our yellow lab, Sugar, snoring in a strange high-pitched manner. I woke her up and the sound continued. Could it be the cat? No, it wasn’t that. I even went to Logan’s room to see if it could be him. He was wide awake playing a video game. Another cold trail!
I followed my ears carefully to the entry way. I opened the front door and made a wonderful discovery. The sound I mistook for snoring was the high-pitched cry of baby birds asking for supper. Thankfully, the new parents were on the job and the hubbub died down quickly. Within a couple of hours I had a repeat performance.
Victoria hosed off the porch today and we’ll probably repeat the process several more times. But, it’s okay. We feel privileged to have our own little nature show to watch every day – up close and personal. Now we’re praying that a chick doesn’t get near the edge and fall from the nest. And the cats? Well, I think they’re praying too.
The construction phase was a flurry of activity with the pair making numerous flights to and fro. The cats began to spend more time on the porch. This period was followed by a season where each opening of the door was accompanied by a violent flapping of wings and the heavily emphasized departure of a bird. I considered using the garage for entrances and exits as any use of the front door seemed to pose a monumental disturbance. Thankfully, this phase only lasted a week or so. Upon closer observation, I noticed that the exit was elaborate for a purpose. While one bird beat a hasty retreat, the other stayed vigilant upon the nest.
Not knowing how long it takes to complete one cycle of nest-eggs-chicks, we began a routine of glancing up at their nest every time we went through the door. One bird sat, the other was nearby – usually atop the roof. During this time, our porch became a popular hang-out for cats. Our furry friends mostly sat – glassy eyed, neck craned at an uncomfortable angle, staring up the sheer sides of the post, dreaming of a ladder or engaging in some other form of feline problem-solving.
A bang on the front screen today prompted me to open the door and find my big ol’ tomcat, Diesel. He walked through the door yowling, meowing, and making quite a racket. I wasn’t sure what he was telling me. Later, I thought I heard our yellow lab, Sugar, snoring in a strange high-pitched manner. I woke her up and the sound continued. Could it be the cat? No, it wasn’t that. I even went to Logan’s room to see if it could be him. He was wide awake playing a video game. Another cold trail!
I followed my ears carefully to the entry way. I opened the front door and made a wonderful discovery. The sound I mistook for snoring was the high-pitched cry of baby birds asking for supper. Thankfully, the new parents were on the job and the hubbub died down quickly. Within a couple of hours I had a repeat performance.
Victoria hosed off the porch today and we’ll probably repeat the process several more times. But, it’s okay. We feel privileged to have our own little nature show to watch every day – up close and personal. Now we’re praying that a chick doesn’t get near the edge and fall from the nest. And the cats? Well, I think they’re praying too.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
A Kenmore Moment
What is that smell? An unusual odor roused me from the chair where I sat, laptop-clad, tapping out revisions in a math text. I summoned Victoria and we followed our noses to the kitchen. I determined that the scent was electrical – like wires burning. I sniffed each outlet as well as the telephone, stove, oven, dishwasher, trash compactor (pee-yew!), and refrigerator. I suspected the phone and unplugged it. Hmmm - It did smell like a hot phone. Victoria suspected the refrigerator. Sniff, sniff, sniff. She may be right. I pulled it away from the wall and stared.
My mind wandered to an all too familiar fantasy – wishing Dad were here. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see Dad? I’d call to tell him about a small crisis and he’d drop by with a tool box to fix it or dispense advice. Dad always knew what to do with things like this.
Click. What was that noise? My reverie was broken, and I refocused on the task at hand – identifying the new and mysterious smells and sounds in my kitchen. The odor seemed to be fainter now and I didn’t hear any more clicks. I shrugged my shoulders, said a quick prayer for safety from electrical wiring mishaps, and returned to my project. From time to time I heard a faint click that reminded me of an oven preheating, but the smell had dissipated.
Early the next morning a “plip” caught me by surprise as I headed out the door. Was something leaking? When I returned from an appointment, and reached into the freezer for a package of ground beef to defrost, my senses were overwhelmed as the clues fell into place. I felt like Monk just before he summarizes, “Here’s what happened…” My freezer compartment was transforming itself into a rainforest.
Click. Obviously the smell was connected to this tragedy and the “plink” was the liquidating of the icemaker’s inventory. Click. Now what? How old was this appliance? What is that click? I thought about Dad again. Click. He could remove the grill, discover the culprit, and announce whether it was worth fixing or whether it was time for a new refrigerator. Click. Sometimes Dad could tell you what was wrong just by what he heard. One the time he told me to replace the CV joints on Bobby’s car while along for a quick trip to the grocery store.
I remember holding the flashlight for Dad as he installed a compressor in the patio freezer. I held the flashlight when he diagnosed and repaired some mysterious thing-a-ma-jig on the seaside green Chevy Impala. I held the flashlight as he removed and installed a garbage disposal and hot water heater. And for all the flashlight holding, none of Dad’s fix-it know how was added to my skill set.
If only I could call Dad. I’ll bet that he could even tell me over the phone that it’s probably this or that based on my description of the problem. But now was not the time for phone calls. Now it was time for action. We hauled all of the meat to the garage freezer and assessed the condition of the refrigerator compartment. It seemed to be cold.
Relieved that all was not lost, I decided to give the situation more thought. Click. No sense rushing. Click. I can do a little research on the Internet and decide whether replacing or repairing makes more sense. Click. I’ll check out the price of a new refrigerator. Click. Maybe I could save money by calling a handyman instead of an appliance dealer. Click.
And this morning I discovered the significance of Click. Click is the death rattle of a refrigerator. When it stops, everything begins to warm up. And suddenly, without warning, I was overwhelmed. I went into my bathroom to cry. I really missed Dad. I can get a new refrigerator, but Dad is irreplaceable. “Pops, I could really use your help right now,” I said out loud to no one in particular. Tears flowed and my mind was blank with grief for several minutes.
And then, as suddenly as it began, I regained my composure and stopped crying. I know that the grief of losing Dad will come and go unexpectedly and last longer than all my appliances. But for right then, I decided to go look at new refrigerators. You see, I’m having a party at my house tomorrow night and I could really use one.
My mind wandered to an all too familiar fantasy – wishing Dad were here. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see Dad? I’d call to tell him about a small crisis and he’d drop by with a tool box to fix it or dispense advice. Dad always knew what to do with things like this.
Click. What was that noise? My reverie was broken, and I refocused on the task at hand – identifying the new and mysterious smells and sounds in my kitchen. The odor seemed to be fainter now and I didn’t hear any more clicks. I shrugged my shoulders, said a quick prayer for safety from electrical wiring mishaps, and returned to my project. From time to time I heard a faint click that reminded me of an oven preheating, but the smell had dissipated.
Early the next morning a “plip” caught me by surprise as I headed out the door. Was something leaking? When I returned from an appointment, and reached into the freezer for a package of ground beef to defrost, my senses were overwhelmed as the clues fell into place. I felt like Monk just before he summarizes, “Here’s what happened…” My freezer compartment was transforming itself into a rainforest.
Click. Obviously the smell was connected to this tragedy and the “plink” was the liquidating of the icemaker’s inventory. Click. Now what? How old was this appliance? What is that click? I thought about Dad again. Click. He could remove the grill, discover the culprit, and announce whether it was worth fixing or whether it was time for a new refrigerator. Click. Sometimes Dad could tell you what was wrong just by what he heard. One the time he told me to replace the CV joints on Bobby’s car while along for a quick trip to the grocery store.
I remember holding the flashlight for Dad as he installed a compressor in the patio freezer. I held the flashlight when he diagnosed and repaired some mysterious thing-a-ma-jig on the seaside green Chevy Impala. I held the flashlight as he removed and installed a garbage disposal and hot water heater. And for all the flashlight holding, none of Dad’s fix-it know how was added to my skill set.
If only I could call Dad. I’ll bet that he could even tell me over the phone that it’s probably this or that based on my description of the problem. But now was not the time for phone calls. Now it was time for action. We hauled all of the meat to the garage freezer and assessed the condition of the refrigerator compartment. It seemed to be cold.
Relieved that all was not lost, I decided to give the situation more thought. Click. No sense rushing. Click. I can do a little research on the Internet and decide whether replacing or repairing makes more sense. Click. I’ll check out the price of a new refrigerator. Click. Maybe I could save money by calling a handyman instead of an appliance dealer. Click.
And this morning I discovered the significance of Click. Click is the death rattle of a refrigerator. When it stops, everything begins to warm up. And suddenly, without warning, I was overwhelmed. I went into my bathroom to cry. I really missed Dad. I can get a new refrigerator, but Dad is irreplaceable. “Pops, I could really use your help right now,” I said out loud to no one in particular. Tears flowed and my mind was blank with grief for several minutes.
And then, as suddenly as it began, I regained my composure and stopped crying. I know that the grief of losing Dad will come and go unexpectedly and last longer than all my appliances. But for right then, I decided to go look at new refrigerators. You see, I’m having a party at my house tomorrow night and I could really use one.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
John's Incredible Pizza - WOW!
We had a great time at John’s Incredible Pizza in Roseville celebrating our 15 year old’s birthday with several friends. Here are the highlights…The buffet format allowed us to avoid time spent calculating what flavor pizza, how much pizza, and how much soda to order. The game tokens came preloaded onto cards – no dividing up coins. The variety of the foods made everyone happy with their meal (kids, adults, and those with severe food allergies). It had all the latest video games, amusement style rides, and interactive games (from trivia quizzes to “Deal or No Deal” and carnival style watergun races). We were assigned a hostess who handled all of the tedious details such as refilling pitchers of soda, cutting and serving the cake, organizing the presents and cleanup so that the adults could enjoy the party and take pictures. The facility is HUGE. That’s a good thing since all 10 party rooms were filled (14-18 people each) and the 5 other dining halls had lots of diners as well. It felt crowded, but the only lines were for the fresh donuts and ice cream. The place was crawling with employees. When two of our guests had trouble with a video game, an employee was right there to help. And the (not so) lowlights…The delicious fresh mini donut machine couldn’t keep up with the crowd. These little treats are so tasty that there is always a line for them which kept me from eating my fill. (Oops - that might be a good thing!) The kids had to be pried away when we were ready to leave. Rounding all of them up would have exhausted the most dedicated Border Collie. Honestly, the kids weren’t ready to leave, but we had an hour drive home and stuff to do in the a.m., so we pushed and pulled to get them out the door. The more than 3+ hours we spent there seemed to fly by. The older generation suffered a bit of “overstimulation” and sorely needed a break. We were thankful for the ESPN style room with an adult décor, but it was still loud with several televisions showing sporting events. Although we would have loved an “adults only lounge” I appreciated seeing lots of families together – I didn’t see any disruptive or obnoxious kids.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Further '08 at Wolf Mountain
I learned about Wolf Mountain, a 640 acre youth camp nestled in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, through Darrick, a family friend. Every summer Darrick attended one of the programs held on this beautiful site just outside of Grass Valley. His focus was horsemanship, a Wolf Mountain specialty. Other programs include outdoor education for public and private schools and a comprehensive climbing and ropes program.
Both of our daughters have attended camps at Wolf Mountain as well. We know firsthand that campers have a wonderful time at Wolf Mountain and return home with a new network of friends, several hours of tales to regale any willing (or captive) audience, and pride in the accomplishments they achieved during their week away from the city.
But despite my second-hand familiarity with Wolf Mountain, I had never seen any of it for myself. True, I had listened to hours of camp stories, looked at hundreds of photographs, signed several registration forms, and could practically recite the rules of “Mission Impossible;” yet, I had not set foot on Wolf Mountain property. All of that changed on March 29, 2008 as I experienced Further ‘08.
I was invited to spend a few days in Arizona with my family for Mom’s 75th birthday bash. When I saw that my youngest could attend a history camp during the time that I would be away, I was thrilled. That would free my hubby from duty for one kiddo, leaving him with his hands full juggling work, pets, and two teens. So, I signed the registration forms and sent Vicki packing to Wolf Mountain while I flew south.
When I returned from Arizona, there was a message on my answering machine from Darrick. He’s now a permanent staff member at Wolf Mountain, working in the kitchen. He was able to visit with Vicki at camp and invited our family to experience Further ’08, a community open house celebration. Even though I was tired from my trip, I was curious about the camp and decided to give it some consideration. I picked Victoria up from her week away and she was excited about the possibility of returning the next day, so we went home and tried to get as much rest as possible that evening.
The following afternoon, both of my girls invited friends to tag along and we made our way back to the camp. It was like hitting Sam’s Club when all the sample carts are set up. All of the activities at Wolf Mountain were available at no cost. We signed registration forms and waivers, boarded a Magic Carpet transport, and we were off on an adventure.
We began with a trail ride. We reviewed safety precautions, were issued helmets and assigned a mount. It had been a couple of years since I had been on a horse, and I was pleased to get a refresher course explaining how to start, stop, turn, etc… I don’t think I’ve ever met a nicer corral full of horses and we thoroughly enjoyed our excursion through the woods.
Next, we tackled the rock climbing wall. This definitely looks easier than it is. Only one member of our group made it to the top and rang the bell, but I came really close. It was a challenge that we all enjoyed and we each felt like we had achieved a personal best.
Shrieks of joy from the zip line had beckoned us while we were on our trail ride, so we made our way to the ropes area. We stopped to watch several participants who were trying the “Leap of Faith” and before long, two members of our group were harnessed, helmeted, and waiting to make this spectacular climb. After ascending 65’, they would shuffle off a tiny platform onto two planks. Perched at the end of these planks, they would crouch and spring forth, arms extended, in an attempt to grab a trapeze bar. It made me so proud to see my sometimes timid twelve year old make the climb and jump with all her might. Even though she missed, I’m sure she’ll make the attempt again and succeed eventually.
Our next stop was the zip line. This was a high speed adventure over a creek and through the trees. We all loved it and were a little surprised at its heart-pounding effects. Then we headed to the archery range where we were humbled by another activity that looks effortless – it’s not! We would not have fared as well as some of our Native American ancestors. Our final activity was pedal carts. The girls raced around the basketball court, legs pumping madly. It was tiring, but very enjoyable.
We had a full day and didn’t even do everything. We did get to visit with Darrick, but needed to get back to town by 6:30. We didn’t have time for the other ropes courses, paintball, the guided tour, the free dinner, music, or the evening program. Further ’08 was a real treat and I must commend the Wolf Mountain administration and staff for making it available to the public. It gave me an even greater appreciation of the amazing growth opportunities available to youth right in our backyard.
Another Further ’08 event is scheduled for June 7th. For more information, see the Wolf Mountain website at www.wolfmountain.org.
Both of our daughters have attended camps at Wolf Mountain as well. We know firsthand that campers have a wonderful time at Wolf Mountain and return home with a new network of friends, several hours of tales to regale any willing (or captive) audience, and pride in the accomplishments they achieved during their week away from the city.
But despite my second-hand familiarity with Wolf Mountain, I had never seen any of it for myself. True, I had listened to hours of camp stories, looked at hundreds of photographs, signed several registration forms, and could practically recite the rules of “Mission Impossible;” yet, I had not set foot on Wolf Mountain property. All of that changed on March 29, 2008 as I experienced Further ‘08.
I was invited to spend a few days in Arizona with my family for Mom’s 75th birthday bash. When I saw that my youngest could attend a history camp during the time that I would be away, I was thrilled. That would free my hubby from duty for one kiddo, leaving him with his hands full juggling work, pets, and two teens. So, I signed the registration forms and sent Vicki packing to Wolf Mountain while I flew south.
When I returned from Arizona, there was a message on my answering machine from Darrick. He’s now a permanent staff member at Wolf Mountain, working in the kitchen. He was able to visit with Vicki at camp and invited our family to experience Further ’08, a community open house celebration. Even though I was tired from my trip, I was curious about the camp and decided to give it some consideration. I picked Victoria up from her week away and she was excited about the possibility of returning the next day, so we went home and tried to get as much rest as possible that evening.
The following afternoon, both of my girls invited friends to tag along and we made our way back to the camp. It was like hitting Sam’s Club when all the sample carts are set up. All of the activities at Wolf Mountain were available at no cost. We signed registration forms and waivers, boarded a Magic Carpet transport, and we were off on an adventure.
We began with a trail ride. We reviewed safety precautions, were issued helmets and assigned a mount. It had been a couple of years since I had been on a horse, and I was pleased to get a refresher course explaining how to start, stop, turn, etc… I don’t think I’ve ever met a nicer corral full of horses and we thoroughly enjoyed our excursion through the woods.
Next, we tackled the rock climbing wall. This definitely looks easier than it is. Only one member of our group made it to the top and rang the bell, but I came really close. It was a challenge that we all enjoyed and we each felt like we had achieved a personal best.
Shrieks of joy from the zip line had beckoned us while we were on our trail ride, so we made our way to the ropes area. We stopped to watch several participants who were trying the “Leap of Faith” and before long, two members of our group were harnessed, helmeted, and waiting to make this spectacular climb. After ascending 65’, they would shuffle off a tiny platform onto two planks. Perched at the end of these planks, they would crouch and spring forth, arms extended, in an attempt to grab a trapeze bar. It made me so proud to see my sometimes timid twelve year old make the climb and jump with all her might. Even though she missed, I’m sure she’ll make the attempt again and succeed eventually.
Our next stop was the zip line. This was a high speed adventure over a creek and through the trees. We all loved it and were a little surprised at its heart-pounding effects. Then we headed to the archery range where we were humbled by another activity that looks effortless – it’s not! We would not have fared as well as some of our Native American ancestors. Our final activity was pedal carts. The girls raced around the basketball court, legs pumping madly. It was tiring, but very enjoyable.
We had a full day and didn’t even do everything. We did get to visit with Darrick, but needed to get back to town by 6:30. We didn’t have time for the other ropes courses, paintball, the guided tour, the free dinner, music, or the evening program. Further ’08 was a real treat and I must commend the Wolf Mountain administration and staff for making it available to the public. It gave me an even greater appreciation of the amazing growth opportunities available to youth right in our backyard.
Another Further ’08 event is scheduled for June 7th. For more information, see the Wolf Mountain website at www.wolfmountain.org.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
My Best April 1st Ever
Today is April 1st. It's one of my favorite days! I love a good prank, so is today a favorite because of all of the great jokes that are played today? No, not at all, although it began that way.
Rewind to March, 1995. I had a six year old boy, an almost four year old boy, and was pregnant and due soon. I didn't know whether I was having a boy or a girl, but I was excited to be having the baby on April 1st. I thought having an April Fool's baby would be so much fun that I often told people, "This baby will be born on April 1st."
Our pastor's wife cautioned me, "Don't say that, it might happen."
I would reply, "I hope so, it will be so much fun!" I had plans to call my family and announce "It's a boy" or "It's a girl" followed by "April Fools!"
And, when I went into labor on March 31st, I was so happy. Sure enough on April 1st, early in the a.m., I met Emily Moriah Ward - my first girl. And did I call everyone and do the April Fool's joke?
No.
Emily was born with a significant birth defect and the joy we felt at the moment of delivery was quickly replaced with anxiety and apprehension as our tiny baby was examined and prepped for a colostomy. Instead of delivering punchlines, I was crying, praying, and basically melting down.
Friends and family rallied to our support and we prayed, listened to medical explanations, signed a surgical release (for a colostomy) and waited. We waited while more tests were run; we waited to visit in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit; we waited for out-of-town relatives to arrive; and we waited to figure out "What next?"
Then, after Emily was taken to surgery, the most amazing thing happened. The surgeon returned from the colostomy way too early. Emily didn't need it after all. The surgeon was as perplexed as I was overjoyed. Just before he cut into Emily's abdomen, a nurse found a tiny opening that was somehow overlooked during all of previous extensive examinations. And despite having predicted that Emily was missing "innards" and lacked a fully connected intestinal tract, now it looked as if all her parts were there, in all the right places. Emily needed a quick fix surgery, but did not need the colostomy as originally diagnosed.
I experienced both my lowest low and highest high that day. I was so thankful that Jesus healed Emily even though I was convinced of the worst case scenario. It occurred to me that it was the best April Fool's joke ever. My "faith" didn't have anything to do with her healing - God ordained it and it pleased Him to do it for us.
Every April 1st, I think about that day - the worst day of my life that turned into the best day of my life - and I can't help but feel more thankful than the day it all happened. I have been blessed with a wonderful daughter that has only grown more and more dear as the years fly by.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Seeing the Harvest
I've noticed that as I meditate more and more upon the Lord I sense more opportunities to share Jesus to others. I'm impressed with this conviction that there are pre-Christians everywhere around me and I simply need to stop and tune in when I feel God's Spirit speaking to me. I also want more and more to be used by God. None of this makes any sense in terms of training and disciplining myself to do what is right. It's not that I'm being undisciplined or lazy right now - it's more that these impressions and desires don't stem from my sense of obligation. They are coming from conviction, but without carrying any negative weightiness that the term "conviction" can carry.
Thursday, I was having my dryer repaired and I felt the slightest urge to speak to the repairman about the Lord. And I didn't know what to say, so I didn't. My dryer worked for about 30 minutes and quit again. In my heart, I immediately felt a sense that I would have another opportunity and should seek the Lord about it. And the conviction stays with me all weekend. Then I completely forgot about it on Monday a.m. But, the doorbell rang, I answered the door, and there stood the repairman.
Rats! I didn't prepare. True, I had thought about needing to share with him, even said a little prayer for him, but wasn't ready with any sort of an opening line. Maybe he's already saved! He went into the garage and I began the mental wrestling of how can I obey God in the least painful manner possible. Then I was overcome with an assurance that God only asks me to obey Him and I must trust that it is enough.
He gives me the update on the dryer. A broken belt and another part that should be replaced that he "missed" earlier. Just a coincidence that it needs repair again so soon. And the Holy Spirit is saying, "Coincidence? I don't think so. Tell him!" And I'm thankful when he has to go back to the shop to get a part. It buys me some time.
So, he leaves and I pray. "God, give me an opening line! Help! What do I say? What does he need?"
God gives me this line, "Do you think that you came back here because God is trying to get your attention?"
He comes back with the part. Explains the charges and his diagnoses. I deliver the line. His jaw drops. His answer, "Yes." The door flies open. So, I stumble around a bit telling him that I feel like God sees him and wants a relationship with him and he keeps shaking his head in wonderment. We talk a bit. He fixes the dryer. I pray for him and he thanks me. I totally expect to see him in church soon because I know God was seeing him and just needed an obedient person to say a few words.
Thursday, I was having my dryer repaired and I felt the slightest urge to speak to the repairman about the Lord. And I didn't know what to say, so I didn't. My dryer worked for about 30 minutes and quit again. In my heart, I immediately felt a sense that I would have another opportunity and should seek the Lord about it. And the conviction stays with me all weekend. Then I completely forgot about it on Monday a.m. But, the doorbell rang, I answered the door, and there stood the repairman.
Rats! I didn't prepare. True, I had thought about needing to share with him, even said a little prayer for him, but wasn't ready with any sort of an opening line. Maybe he's already saved! He went into the garage and I began the mental wrestling of how can I obey God in the least painful manner possible. Then I was overcome with an assurance that God only asks me to obey Him and I must trust that it is enough.
He gives me the update on the dryer. A broken belt and another part that should be replaced that he "missed" earlier. Just a coincidence that it needs repair again so soon. And the Holy Spirit is saying, "Coincidence? I don't think so. Tell him!" And I'm thankful when he has to go back to the shop to get a part. It buys me some time.
So, he leaves and I pray. "God, give me an opening line! Help! What do I say? What does he need?"
God gives me this line, "Do you think that you came back here because God is trying to get your attention?"
He comes back with the part. Explains the charges and his diagnoses. I deliver the line. His jaw drops. His answer, "Yes." The door flies open. So, I stumble around a bit telling him that I feel like God sees him and wants a relationship with him and he keeps shaking his head in wonderment. We talk a bit. He fixes the dryer. I pray for him and he thanks me. I totally expect to see him in church soon because I know God was seeing him and just needed an obedient person to say a few words.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Experiencing the Depths of Jesus Christ by Jeanne Guyon
I finally finished the first installment of the book of the month club. It's unusual for me to take this long reading one book. I'm usually a speedy reader, but this book was too meaty to rush.
This book shifted my focus from "serving" God to "experiencing" Christ. I found myself lingering on things that caught my attention in the Bible and in everyday life experiences. Was Jesus talking to me? I would stop and "tune in" spiritually. I wish I would do it more often, because there are times when, at the end of the day, I notice a missed opportunity and wonder what I might have received were I more receptive.
Getting tucked into bed has been an exciting aspect of this process of spiritual awakening and renewal. It seems that as I focus on the Lord and invite Him to talk to me and reveal Himself to me while I sleep, I am refreshed and drift off to sleep in the most amazingly peaceful manner. Most mornings I wake up to a song of worship in my mind. It is so wonderful! One morning I woke up to the Lord singing to me. "Come eat of me. Partake of me" was on a loop and I woke up hungry for the Word and for fellowship with Jesus.
I found that as I read this book, Jesus was becoming more real and popping out all over the place. I'd find myself talking to Him more often in a conversational manner, and I've been opening my eyes and my ears to experience anything He wants to reveal to me.
Colossians has been on my mind also. Especially Colossians 2:2-3. All the treasures of wisdom and knowledge are safely kept in Christ. Christ is in me. Can I have access to all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge? That's crazy! How can I have that kind of access? I can't get it by force. Everything points to it being "hidden," a "mystery," and a "secret." I can become more and more enlightened in my spirit as Christ reveals Himself to me.
Experiencing the Depths of Jesus Christ has encouraged me to alter my lifestyle and include Christ more in each part. I'm into getting my spirit strengthened and then I'll really be able to know what I mean when I say, "I can do ALL things through Christ who strengthens me." I'm so excited to find out what that will mean for me!
This book shifted my focus from "serving" God to "experiencing" Christ. I found myself lingering on things that caught my attention in the Bible and in everyday life experiences. Was Jesus talking to me? I would stop and "tune in" spiritually. I wish I would do it more often, because there are times when, at the end of the day, I notice a missed opportunity and wonder what I might have received were I more receptive.
Getting tucked into bed has been an exciting aspect of this process of spiritual awakening and renewal. It seems that as I focus on the Lord and invite Him to talk to me and reveal Himself to me while I sleep, I am refreshed and drift off to sleep in the most amazingly peaceful manner. Most mornings I wake up to a song of worship in my mind. It is so wonderful! One morning I woke up to the Lord singing to me. "Come eat of me. Partake of me" was on a loop and I woke up hungry for the Word and for fellowship with Jesus.
I found that as I read this book, Jesus was becoming more real and popping out all over the place. I'd find myself talking to Him more often in a conversational manner, and I've been opening my eyes and my ears to experience anything He wants to reveal to me.
Colossians has been on my mind also. Especially Colossians 2:2-3. All the treasures of wisdom and knowledge are safely kept in Christ. Christ is in me. Can I have access to all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge? That's crazy! How can I have that kind of access? I can't get it by force. Everything points to it being "hidden," a "mystery," and a "secret." I can become more and more enlightened in my spirit as Christ reveals Himself to me.
Experiencing the Depths of Jesus Christ has encouraged me to alter my lifestyle and include Christ more in each part. I'm into getting my spirit strengthened and then I'll really be able to know what I mean when I say, "I can do ALL things through Christ who strengthens me." I'm so excited to find out what that will mean for me!
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
My Most Incredible Ski Day Ever
Yesterday was my best day skiing EVER. I began the day as a mediocre skier who has had the worst ski season ever this year. In fact, this season was so stinky, that I was seriously considering giving up skiing altogether. But yesterday, I had an epiphany. It was so incredible that I wanted to share it with everyone!
My day started off really hectic. I began skiing 9 years ago as a direct result of organizing ski trips for charter schools. I get such a good price on my trips that several families tell friends and, if the conditions are good, the event “snowballs.” Yesterday’s trip was one such trip with over 200 participants. So, my day began in the rental shop passing out tickets to what felt like a mob. Finally, things settled down and I got my own equipment. Of course, by then I was mentally exhausted. Because of my dismal outings the previous three trips, I didn’t even look forward to “hitting the slopes” myself.
However, my husband Paul has had a fantastic ski season this year. We would ride the lifts together and “swoosh” he’d be off. Meanwhile, I’d be alternating between terrifyingly “out of control” falling down the incline and painfully “in control” traversing. Paul would either wait for me at the lift or take in another run and catch me at the bottom for another lift ride up. On the lift he’d offer tips about overcoming fear and “letting loose” and try to help me see what I was doing wrong. Every trip it felt like the same thing and every time I showed zero improvement. By lunch I was exhausted and my legs ached terribly.
Then a couple of trips ago, I decided to take another skill improvement lesson. At the beginning of the lesson everyone had to state their goals. I said, “I know I’m doing something wrong, I just don’t know what it is.” My instructor observed me and said he could tell immediately what I was doing wrong. I was probably one of the better skiers in the class, but it had to do with getting into a rhythm. Apparently, this didn’t come naturally. So, he gave me some tips on establishing an artificial ski rhythm. And I worked at it – painfully.
And for the next two trips I practiced the things he told me and still didn’t see any progress in getting to the bottom of the hill faster. I did establish a goal for myself. “Before I die,” I told myself, “I want to make it from the top of the mountain to the bottom without stopping.” I recognized that this involved the intermediate goal of making it from the mid-mountain lift to the bottom without stopping, and I started to work on that. Yet, I didn’t feel success for two trips, but I did notice that the pain in my calves and thighs was replaced by a milder soreness in my knees.
And then, there was yesterday’s trip. My first run I went to the mid-mountain stop with Paul. Something didn’t feel right with one of my boots. Nonetheless, I struggled down the mountain and met up with Paul who was waiting patiently at the lift. Our next run took us to the top. The view is spectacular, the trip down was so painful. There was definitely something wrong with my boot. I picked my way down to the rental shop and got another pair. Then, without Paul, I attempted another run. It was better, but I was still too tentative.
I went in the lodge to find Paul and Victoria. We had lunch together. After lunch, I was going to go out with Paul, but was sidelined helping one of my customers for a few minutes, so Paul and I split up. I rode the lift up again – this time to the very top of the mountain – and had a heart to heart with Jesus about my terrible ski season. “Jesus,” I said, Maybe I’m not meant to ski, and if today isn’t better than the earlier part of my season, I guess I’ll just quit skiing altogether. Maybe I can focus on something that I am good at. But Jesus, I bet You’re an incredible skier. And You’re supposed to live in me. So, something doesn’t feel quite right. I must not be in touch with You as a skier. So, maybe you could ski in me.”
When I reached the top, I started on my “artificial rhythm” exercise which usually involves counting while alternating the pressure on my skis and moving up and down and the same time. Instead of counting though, I made up a little song the included “Jesus in me” “Help me to ski” “You ski in me” and “Now I am free” (Hey, it rhymed). Then, the amazing started happening. As I went down the slope, I started improving exponentially. It was amazing. I added all sorts of verses to my little song until it became an ode to Jesus the best skier in history, a worship epic of Alpine proportions.
And, here’s the best part, I made it all the way down without stopping. I was so excited, shocked, and amazed! I went into the lodge to see if Paul was there. Nope out on the slopes. I found my friend Ruth and told her; then I went out with her. Ruth’s an excellent skier with years of experience and she had already been out a lot that morning. So, we got to the top and planned a course down to the middle lift. I know she wasn’t going as fast as she’s capable, and I didn’t go as fast as Ruth, but she didn’t have to wait forever for me. She remarked that I was skiing much better than usual.
So, we went up to the top again, and I had another “all the way without stopping” run. I couldn’t wait to tell Paul. I looked for him at our meeting spot. Just missed him. I left him a note on a napkin and went out again. Two more runs. Half the mountain non-stop and then down the whole way w/o stopping. I was living a dream. Back to the lodge, and I finally met up with Paul.
We went to the top and did halfway down again (w/o stopping) then went to the top and did another full trip down. I stopped to talk to Paul (who was waiting) part of the way down, but I didn’t have to stop and rest or regroup. I made it in two non-stop legs. I wasn’t as fast as Paul (or Ruth) but I skied so much better than ever before that it was amazing. I kept thanking Jesus for this gift of a great ski day and for helping me achieve a goal that looked so unreachable just that morning. Not just once, but FOUR times!
My day started off really hectic. I began skiing 9 years ago as a direct result of organizing ski trips for charter schools. I get such a good price on my trips that several families tell friends and, if the conditions are good, the event “snowballs.” Yesterday’s trip was one such trip with over 200 participants. So, my day began in the rental shop passing out tickets to what felt like a mob. Finally, things settled down and I got my own equipment. Of course, by then I was mentally exhausted. Because of my dismal outings the previous three trips, I didn’t even look forward to “hitting the slopes” myself.
However, my husband Paul has had a fantastic ski season this year. We would ride the lifts together and “swoosh” he’d be off. Meanwhile, I’d be alternating between terrifyingly “out of control” falling down the incline and painfully “in control” traversing. Paul would either wait for me at the lift or take in another run and catch me at the bottom for another lift ride up. On the lift he’d offer tips about overcoming fear and “letting loose” and try to help me see what I was doing wrong. Every trip it felt like the same thing and every time I showed zero improvement. By lunch I was exhausted and my legs ached terribly.
Then a couple of trips ago, I decided to take another skill improvement lesson. At the beginning of the lesson everyone had to state their goals. I said, “I know I’m doing something wrong, I just don’t know what it is.” My instructor observed me and said he could tell immediately what I was doing wrong. I was probably one of the better skiers in the class, but it had to do with getting into a rhythm. Apparently, this didn’t come naturally. So, he gave me some tips on establishing an artificial ski rhythm. And I worked at it – painfully.
And for the next two trips I practiced the things he told me and still didn’t see any progress in getting to the bottom of the hill faster. I did establish a goal for myself. “Before I die,” I told myself, “I want to make it from the top of the mountain to the bottom without stopping.” I recognized that this involved the intermediate goal of making it from the mid-mountain lift to the bottom without stopping, and I started to work on that. Yet, I didn’t feel success for two trips, but I did notice that the pain in my calves and thighs was replaced by a milder soreness in my knees.
And then, there was yesterday’s trip. My first run I went to the mid-mountain stop with Paul. Something didn’t feel right with one of my boots. Nonetheless, I struggled down the mountain and met up with Paul who was waiting patiently at the lift. Our next run took us to the top. The view is spectacular, the trip down was so painful. There was definitely something wrong with my boot. I picked my way down to the rental shop and got another pair. Then, without Paul, I attempted another run. It was better, but I was still too tentative.
I went in the lodge to find Paul and Victoria. We had lunch together. After lunch, I was going to go out with Paul, but was sidelined helping one of my customers for a few minutes, so Paul and I split up. I rode the lift up again – this time to the very top of the mountain – and had a heart to heart with Jesus about my terrible ski season. “Jesus,” I said, Maybe I’m not meant to ski, and if today isn’t better than the earlier part of my season, I guess I’ll just quit skiing altogether. Maybe I can focus on something that I am good at. But Jesus, I bet You’re an incredible skier. And You’re supposed to live in me. So, something doesn’t feel quite right. I must not be in touch with You as a skier. So, maybe you could ski in me.”
When I reached the top, I started on my “artificial rhythm” exercise which usually involves counting while alternating the pressure on my skis and moving up and down and the same time. Instead of counting though, I made up a little song the included “Jesus in me” “Help me to ski” “You ski in me” and “Now I am free” (Hey, it rhymed). Then, the amazing started happening. As I went down the slope, I started improving exponentially. It was amazing. I added all sorts of verses to my little song until it became an ode to Jesus the best skier in history, a worship epic of Alpine proportions.
And, here’s the best part, I made it all the way down without stopping. I was so excited, shocked, and amazed! I went into the lodge to see if Paul was there. Nope out on the slopes. I found my friend Ruth and told her; then I went out with her. Ruth’s an excellent skier with years of experience and she had already been out a lot that morning. So, we got to the top and planned a course down to the middle lift. I know she wasn’t going as fast as she’s capable, and I didn’t go as fast as Ruth, but she didn’t have to wait forever for me. She remarked that I was skiing much better than usual.
So, we went up to the top again, and I had another “all the way without stopping” run. I couldn’t wait to tell Paul. I looked for him at our meeting spot. Just missed him. I left him a note on a napkin and went out again. Two more runs. Half the mountain non-stop and then down the whole way w/o stopping. I was living a dream. Back to the lodge, and I finally met up with Paul.
We went to the top and did halfway down again (w/o stopping) then went to the top and did another full trip down. I stopped to talk to Paul (who was waiting) part of the way down, but I didn’t have to stop and rest or regroup. I made it in two non-stop legs. I wasn’t as fast as Paul (or Ruth) but I skied so much better than ever before that it was amazing. I kept thanking Jesus for this gift of a great ski day and for helping me achieve a goal that looked so unreachable just that morning. Not just once, but FOUR times!
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