T’was the day before Christmas, when up to the house…
There walked two young girls, forget the old mouse!
About seven or eight, they clutched in their hands
A sheet with penciled words; there wasn’t a band.
They rang the doorbell, smiling and serene.
My father opened the door; t’was a pair he’d before ne’er seen.
“May we sing a song for you?” they collectively asked. Expecting a carol, my father said “Yes.”
And they proceeded to sing: “We can be anything we want to be, anything. We can be, we can be. We can be anything we want to be.” The refrain continued for about three verses worth of listing of things they could be if they wanted to.
At the end of the song, my father sort of expected a request for a cookie, or a donation, or something. The girls, instead, stated they had written the song themselves, and admitted, “We can’t sing very well. We can’t carry a tune in a bucket. But we’re having fun.” With that, they marched back to the street to head for the neighbor’s house.
What a time of year for such a wondrous thought. I can be anything I want. Brings to mind a passage written by Paul “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” You know, the girls weren’t half wrong. Through Him, we can be anything He wants us to be!
Hope your Christmas brought you some cheer.
Are there any of those fudge Santas left?
Dr. G
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Beware of Unintended Echoes
The grade school I attended from grades four through seven was an L-shaped building, with one wing on a ridge, slightly higher than the other wing. The playground extended outward from between the two wings. If one faced the spot where the two wings came together from a distance of about 100 feet, you were, as we kids soon discovered, in a delightful echo chamber. One could holler at the building, and it would faithfully answer back. It didn’t matter what you said; that is what came back. It didn’t matter how you said it; that is what came back. Echoes.
Almost two years ago, my wife and I were visiting her sister and brother-in-law. Also there that day were our daughter and granddaughter. I was sitting in the living room, reading. Daughter and granddaughter were in the family room, at the other end of the house. My daughter’s voice came through the air, “Grandpa, are you ready to eat?” Immediately following was a much younger voice saying, “Grandpa, are you ready to eat?”
“What are my choices?” I answered back.
My daughter quickly gave a short list of choices, only to be followed by the little voice providing the exact same list.
“I hear an echo!” I said.
“You do?” queried the little voice from afar. Moments later she was in the living room, big eyes looking for the echo. It was amusing the way she had echoed her mother so clearly.
While teaching my kindergarten students, sometimes when one does something very well, or in a surprising manner, I’ll lean back and say, in an astonished voice, “Mercy!” One of the classroom teachers I serve told me yesterday of an experience they'd had the day before. A boy and a girl, neither of which are my students, were sitting at a round table with the parapro (teacher’s aide) working on a project. The boy did something (I wasn’t told what) and the little girl leaned back and exclaimed, “Mercy!”
Many of the words which we hear from our students, especially the younger ones, are actually echoes of things they’ve heard at home, the baby-sitter’s, or at abuelita’s house. We need to be careful not to judge the little ones by the echoes they produce at school. We don’t know under what circumstances they’ve heard the words they repeat, or the attitudes reflected by what is said.
We must work hard to provide positive, re-enforcing “echo” material to these minds that come to us daily. We have to be so careful in what we say, even in a joking manner. Walls that produce echoes, like the walls at the grade school I attended, don’t take into account attitude, situation, or intention. They just bounce back what they’ve heard. The same is true with little children.
Mercy! I forgot my lunch choices. What were they again?
Dr. G
Almost two years ago, my wife and I were visiting her sister and brother-in-law. Also there that day were our daughter and granddaughter. I was sitting in the living room, reading. Daughter and granddaughter were in the family room, at the other end of the house. My daughter’s voice came through the air, “Grandpa, are you ready to eat?” Immediately following was a much younger voice saying, “Grandpa, are you ready to eat?”
“What are my choices?” I answered back.
My daughter quickly gave a short list of choices, only to be followed by the little voice providing the exact same list.
“I hear an echo!” I said.
“You do?” queried the little voice from afar. Moments later she was in the living room, big eyes looking for the echo. It was amusing the way she had echoed her mother so clearly.
While teaching my kindergarten students, sometimes when one does something very well, or in a surprising manner, I’ll lean back and say, in an astonished voice, “Mercy!” One of the classroom teachers I serve told me yesterday of an experience they'd had the day before. A boy and a girl, neither of which are my students, were sitting at a round table with the parapro (teacher’s aide) working on a project. The boy did something (I wasn’t told what) and the little girl leaned back and exclaimed, “Mercy!”
Many of the words which we hear from our students, especially the younger ones, are actually echoes of things they’ve heard at home, the baby-sitter’s, or at abuelita’s house. We need to be careful not to judge the little ones by the echoes they produce at school. We don’t know under what circumstances they’ve heard the words they repeat, or the attitudes reflected by what is said.
We must work hard to provide positive, re-enforcing “echo” material to these minds that come to us daily. We have to be so careful in what we say, even in a joking manner. Walls that produce echoes, like the walls at the grade school I attended, don’t take into account attitude, situation, or intention. They just bounce back what they’ve heard. The same is true with little children.
Mercy! I forgot my lunch choices. What were they again?
Dr. G
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
He's Making a List, Checking it Twice!
Rev 11:27 "But there shall by no means enter in ..., but only those who are written in the Lamb's Book of Life."
This time of year, we hear songs about Santa making a list. He’s not the only one!
A number of years ago, my wife taught Spanish on the college level while I taught Biology. Occasionally she would organize study tours to Spain, sometimes including one or two other European countries along the way. One year we had gone to France for several days before heading down to Madrid for about eight days. One of the students we had along was from Brazil and was in the US on a student visa. His family was originally from Italy, and, prior
to the Second World War, was of minor nobility in Italy. We'll call him Dino.
After our first day in France, Dino asked permission of my wife to travel overnight to Italy to see if he could regain some of his family's earlier rights and holdings. After going over our schedule carefully with him and making sure he understood that he was to be in Madrid to meet us several days before we were to leave for home, she let him go. Once into Europe, it is very easy to move from country to country (the whole of the continent is s
maller than the contiguous US, and the area is, essentially, border-free). The rest of us continued on to study the culture and see the sights.
The day came for Dino to meet us at the hotel in Madrid, and, as my wife had feared, he was nowhere to be found. He’d given her a contact person in Italy. When she checked with them, they’d not seen or heard from him. We had no idea where he might be.
The morning we were preparing to load the bus for our trip to the airport, Dino pulls up in a taxi. I’m not sure we ever got the complete story as to where he’d been for a week, but at least he was back with us. While not able to regain the title of Duke, and unable to regain title to any land, he had at least obtained assurances from the government that he would receive a full scholarship for the rest of his college career. So the trip had not been a complete waste.
After a brief discussion, we headed for the airport for our return flight. With groups like this, my wife always made sure we had plenty of time before boarding, so we were there to check in several hours earlier than required. As she gathered everyone's travel documents and tickets prior to checking the group in, it was discovered that Dino did not have his I-20, which is the written student visa.
Any time a student in the US on a student visa leaves the country but is planning on re-entering, the written I-20 must be with them. And Dino remembered leaving his on his bed back in the dorm in Massachusetts. Without that paper, Dino would not be able to re-enter the US. In fact, without it, he couldn't even get on the plane.
Knowing she had about two hours for the Lord to work miracles, my wife checked the rest of the group in, and then phoned the US Embassy in downtown Madrid. The first hurdle to cross was to deal with the fact that it was a national holiday in Spain, and the Embassy was closed. Fortunately, someone 'happened" to answer the phone, and agreed to let her through the gate to see what could be done. The next question was how to give credence to her claim that she represented a college from the US. She never traveled abroad without letterhead stationery from the school. So she promptly wrote a letter on a sheet of the paper, signed it, and headed downtown in a taxi, Dino in tow.
At the Embassy, step one was convincing the Marines at the gate that someone was expecting her on a holiday. Finally a phone call was made from the guard post, and the door was opened. Inside, after a brief conversation, a temporary travel document was provided for Dino, and it was back to the airport. Our plane was about to start the boarding process when they returned. Dino quickly checked in, and we all made it home safely.
Having claim to an I-20 wasn't sufficient. Dino was supposed to keep it with him. Having my name written some time ago in the Lamb's Book of Life is only the beginning. I've got to keep it there (keep the Lamb with me). There are a number of warnings in the scriptures about "not losing your crown" or “falling away”, or "losing my first love." Retaining our passports into heaven requires constant attention; it is a continual process.
Don’t leave home without it.
Dr. G
This time of year, we hear songs about Santa making a list. He’s not the only one!
A number of years ago, my wife taught Spanish on the college level while I taught Biology. Occasionally she would organize study tours to Spain, sometimes including one or two other European countries along the way. One year we had gone to France for several days before heading down to Madrid for about eight days. One of the students we had along was from Brazil and was in the US on a student visa. His family was originally from Italy, and, prior
to the Second World War, was of minor nobility in Italy. We'll call him Dino.After our first day in France, Dino asked permission of my wife to travel overnight to Italy to see if he could regain some of his family's earlier rights and holdings. After going over our schedule carefully with him and making sure he understood that he was to be in Madrid to meet us several days before we were to leave for home, she let him go. Once into Europe, it is very easy to move from country to country (the whole of the continent is s
maller than the contiguous US, and the area is, essentially, border-free). The rest of us continued on to study the culture and see the sights.The day came for Dino to meet us at the hotel in Madrid, and, as my wife had feared, he was nowhere to be found. He’d given her a contact person in Italy. When she checked with them, they’d not seen or heard from him. We had no idea where he might be.
The morning we were preparing to load the bus for our trip to the airport, Dino pulls up in a taxi. I’m not sure we ever got the complete story as to where he’d been for a week, but at least he was back with us. While not able to regain the title of Duke, and unable to regain title to any land, he had at least obtained assurances from the government that he would receive a full scholarship for the rest of his college career. So the trip had not been a complete waste.
After a brief discussion, we headed for the airport for our return flight. With groups like this, my wife always made sure we had plenty of time before boarding, so we were there to check in several hours earlier than required. As she gathered everyone's travel documents and tickets prior to checking the group in, it was discovered that Dino did not have his I-20, which is the written student visa.
Any time a student in the US on a student visa leaves the country but is planning on re-entering, the written I-20 must be with them. And Dino remembered leaving his on his bed back in the dorm in Massachusetts. Without that paper, Dino would not be able to re-enter the US. In fact, without it, he couldn't even get on the plane.
Knowing she had about two hours for the Lord to work miracles, my wife checked the rest of the group in, and then phoned the US Embassy in downtown Madrid. The first hurdle to cross was to deal with the fact that it was a national holiday in Spain, and the Embassy was closed. Fortunately, someone 'happened" to answer the phone, and agreed to let her through the gate to see what could be done. The next question was how to give credence to her claim that she represented a college from the US. She never traveled abroad without letterhead stationery from the school. So she promptly wrote a letter on a sheet of the paper, signed it, and headed downtown in a taxi, Dino in tow.
At the Embassy, step one was convincing the Marines at the gate that someone was expecting her on a holiday. Finally a phone call was made from the guard post, and the door was opened. Inside, after a brief conversation, a temporary travel document was provided for Dino, and it was back to the airport. Our plane was about to start the boarding process when they returned. Dino quickly checked in, and we all made it home safely.
Having claim to an I-20 wasn't sufficient. Dino was supposed to keep it with him. Having my name written some time ago in the Lamb's Book of Life is only the beginning. I've got to keep it there (keep the Lamb with me). There are a number of warnings in the scriptures about "not losing your crown" or “falling away”, or "losing my first love." Retaining our passports into heaven requires constant attention; it is a continual process.
Don’t leave home without it.
Dr. G
Monday, December 10, 2007
Be Careful What You Grab!
My wife and I have a satellite dish that provides us access to five religious TV channels. We get a lot of enjoyment out of all of them. Several of them, at the hourly breaks, often have short musical interludes with video clips of nature that have Bible texts superimposed on them. 
There is one clip that I see quite frequently that catches my eye. It has a flower with an insect with a yellow and black-striped abdomen. I suspect that many people who see it think, “There is a bee/wasp on that flower.” However, in reality, the insect is a species of hover fly (Family Syrphidae). Most members of the family mimic stinging insects. Not because they are dangerous like the bee or wasp, but because the mimicry causes other creatures to leave the flies alone.
I used to teach an environmental awareness class while I was a biology profess
or. We’d take occasional walks in the spring, learning how to “see” nature, to become more observant, and I used to enjoy catching these “bees” with my bare hands. It helps to know the difference between the real and the mimic.
Another insect I would do this with was somewhat larger, and to the casual observer, appeared to be a bumble bee. This one, however, was a member of the Sphinx moth family. Unlike most moths, this creature had only a few scales on its wings, and they were in a pattern like the veins in the bumble-bee wing.
With the body colored like the bumble-bee, this moth, which could have made a tasty meal for a bird, was able to probe among the petunias with impunity. I still remember hearing students gasping in surprise when I’d reach down and casually cup one in my hand.
Mimicry. In both these cases, the mimic was disguised as a more harmful creature
to gain protection. But mimicry can also go the other direction: the harmful can be disguised as a benign creature to gain surprise over its prey. Some of the praying mantises of the tropics are great examples of this: disguised as leaves so the unsuspecting prey insects wander close and never know what got them. Another example would be the predacious caterpillars that mimic twigs, and snatch passing flies.
In the spiritual realm, Christ warned His followers to be on the watch for mimics. Not the harmless disguised as the dangerous to gain protection; rather, the harmful disguised as the harmless to more readily catch prey for Satan. Of course, we’ve all heard of “wolves in sheep’s clothing.” Some of us have even seen such.
Even though the syrphid flies and sphinx moths resemble bees or wasps in their appearance, they still behave like flies and moths, not bees and wasps. Likewise, wolves in sheep’s clothing may appear like sheep, but their behavior is still that of wolves. “By their fruits ye shall know them.” Nature is full of deceit; so is the human experience. Satan doesn’t always roar; sometimes he buzzes, and sometimes he lies quietly in wait. Tragically, “I don’t see…” might be the last thought the prey has.
Don’t be fooled by leaves with legs, or sheep with pointed ears.
Dr. G
There is one clip that I see quite frequently that catches my eye. It has a flower with an insect with a yellow and black-striped abdomen. I suspect that many people who see it think, “There is a bee/wasp on that flower.” However, in reality, the insect is a species of hover fly (Family Syrphidae). Most members of the family mimic stinging insects. Not because they are dangerous like the bee or wasp, but because the mimicry causes other creatures to leave the flies alone.I used to teach an environmental awareness class while I was a biology profess
or. We’d take occasional walks in the spring, learning how to “see” nature, to become more observant, and I used to enjoy catching these “bees” with my bare hands. It helps to know the difference between the real and the mimic.Another insect I would do this with was somewhat larger, and to the casual observer, appeared to be a bumble bee. This one, however, was a member of the Sphinx moth family. Unlike most moths, this creature had only a few scales on its wings, and they were in a pattern like the veins in the bumble-bee wing.
With the body colored like the bumble-bee, this moth, which could have made a tasty meal for a bird, was able to probe among the petunias with impunity. I still remember hearing students gasping in surprise when I’d reach down and casually cup one in my hand.Mimicry. In both these cases, the mimic was disguised as a more harmful creature
to gain protection. But mimicry can also go the other direction: the harmful can be disguised as a benign creature to gain surprise over its prey. Some of the praying mantises of the tropics are great examples of this: disguised as leaves so the unsuspecting prey insects wander close and never know what got them. Another example would be the predacious caterpillars that mimic twigs, and snatch passing flies.In the spiritual realm, Christ warned His followers to be on the watch for mimics. Not the harmless disguised as the dangerous to gain protection; rather, the harmful disguised as the harmless to more readily catch prey for Satan. Of course, we’ve all heard of “wolves in sheep’s clothing.” Some of us have even seen such.
Even though the syrphid flies and sphinx moths resemble bees or wasps in their appearance, they still behave like flies and moths, not bees and wasps. Likewise, wolves in sheep’s clothing may appear like sheep, but their behavior is still that of wolves. “By their fruits ye shall know them.” Nature is full of deceit; so is the human experience. Satan doesn’t always roar; sometimes he buzzes, and sometimes he lies quietly in wait. Tragically, “I don’t see…” might be the last thought the prey has.
Don’t be fooled by leaves with legs, or sheep with pointed ears.
Dr. G
Monday, November 26, 2007
I Hope I Don't Get Tossed Out Onto The Deck
Momma Kitty has been with us since she was born in our barn in Walla Walla, Washington, about 14 years ago. There, she basically lived outside and in the barn except for the occasional “sneak” into the house to play with the kids in one of their bedrooms (She was our daughter’s cat). You see, my wife is allergic to cats. And she doesn’t care for their hairs on everything. Or scratched furniture. So it was that Momma Kitty didn’t become an inside cat.
When we moved from Washington to the south, the family and belongings preceded me because of my job situation. I followed three weeks later in a pick-up truck filled with bicycles, lawn equipment, one Australian Shepherd dog… and Momma Kitty. MK (as I’ll call her) got out of her traveling cage to be held in Boise, ID, Boulder, CO, and St. Louis, MO. She’s a gentle cat and a great traveler. However, when she reached our new home, she found a change of affection had occurred – our daughter had come across an eight-week old kitten, and Momma Kitty had been replaced.
The new cat, a female dubbed “Louis” (pronounced Louie) was allowed to live in our daughter’s downstairs bedroom for about five years. The two cats never did get along. MK was relegated to the garage and the outside. About five years ago, our daughter (and Louis) moved away, and the cat eventually became our granddaughter’s. We were up in Maryland this past weekend, and, because of some required moving into housing that doesn’t allow cats, a crisis had arisen. What to do with our granddaughter’s cat?
Of course, Louis came home with us yesterday. The rule still stands: no cats in the house. Louis is de-clawed, and there would be a significant price to pay if anything happened to her. We couldn’t just put her on the front porch and expect her to stick around. So MK got moved out of the garage for Louis’ benefit. I’ve made a nice insulated box on the covered deck for Momma Kitty. Her food and water are right there. But last night the wind blew, and the rain poured. And even though her spot on the deck stayed nice and dry, Momma Kitty was one bummed-out cat this morning. You might say she got moved out of her comfort zone, and was none too pleased about it.
I wondered today how I would feel if the Lord moved me out of my comfort zone abruptly. Seems like He’s done that a few times in the past to a few folks, if I recall my Bible stories right. Why has He left me in this comfortable situation? Why haven’t I moved out of it on my own? Does Satan want me to stay in the garage, in my comfort zone, out of sight? Am I any good to the Lord there, I wonder? I guess these are some things for me to think about over the next few days.
By the way, has anyone seen my clothes brush?
Dr. G
When we moved from Washington to the south, the family and belongings preceded me because of my job situation. I followed three weeks later in a pick-up truck filled with bicycles, lawn equipment, one Australian Shepherd dog… and Momma Kitty. MK (as I’ll call her) got out of her traveling cage to be held in Boise, ID, Boulder, CO, and St. Louis, MO. She’s a gentle cat and a great traveler. However, when she reached our new home, she found a change of affection had occurred – our daughter had come across an eight-week old kitten, and Momma Kitty had been replaced.
The new cat, a female dubbed “Louis” (pronounced Louie) was allowed to live in our daughter’s downstairs bedroom for about five years. The two cats never did get along. MK was relegated to the garage and the outside. About five years ago, our daughter (and Louis) moved away, and the cat eventually became our granddaughter’s. We were up in Maryland this past weekend, and, because of some required moving into housing that doesn’t allow cats, a crisis had arisen. What to do with our granddaughter’s cat?
Of course, Louis came home with us yesterday. The rule still stands: no cats in the house. Louis is de-clawed, and there would be a significant price to pay if anything happened to her. We couldn’t just put her on the front porch and expect her to stick around. So MK got moved out of the garage for Louis’ benefit. I’ve made a nice insulated box on the covered deck for Momma Kitty. Her food and water are right there. But last night the wind blew, and the rain poured. And even though her spot on the deck stayed nice and dry, Momma Kitty was one bummed-out cat this morning. You might say she got moved out of her comfort zone, and was none too pleased about it.
I wondered today how I would feel if the Lord moved me out of my comfort zone abruptly. Seems like He’s done that a few times in the past to a few folks, if I recall my Bible stories right. Why has He left me in this comfortable situation? Why haven’t I moved out of it on my own? Does Satan want me to stay in the garage, in my comfort zone, out of sight? Am I any good to the Lord there, I wonder? I guess these are some things for me to think about over the next few days.
By the way, has anyone seen my clothes brush?
Dr. G
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Don't Base Your Faith on Models
I was about 8 years old when I got my first model airplane. I’d been out to a hobby store that had a large model train layout with my father and brother, and discovered that there were models young boys could build. What I got was a balsa-wood model of an F-86 fighter jet, at the time being used in Korea by the US forces.
Of course, a balsa-wood model for young hands wouldn’t have many details, but I didn’t realize this. I was happy, and ran around the house shooting down enemy planes with my jet.
Few years later, I got a newer model; this time it was plastic, and had far more details. And many more pieces. A couple of which I broke. Plus a few I didn’t know where to put. But I was happy, and thought I had the best model there was. So once again, I ran around the house shooting down enemy planes with my jet. Whenever someone noticed or mentioned that one of the pieces was damaged or missing, I got upset. They were criticizing my model, with which I’d shot down many enemies.
One of our neighbors was an Air Force test pilot assigned to the Boeing Airplane Company in Seattle. One day he took his son, my father, brother and me down to Boeing Field to tour several Air Force planes that were on display for a few days. There was a big tanker plane, which was used for mid-air refueling. We enjoyed it.
Next to it was a B-47, the US’s first active jet bomber. Now that was cool. To exit the bomber, we had to climb down out of the bomb bay. When I got down, my father turned me around to see what was sitting next to the bomber.
It was a real F-86. By now I was old enough to recognize that my model could never really show every detail about a real jet airplane.
But I still was amazed at how much more detailed the real thing was than my humble model.
Some time ago this series of events came back into my memory as I tried to grapple with something in the scriptures. I’ve found there are a number of events or concepts in the Bible that the Lord hasn’t fully explained. As a consequence, various individuals besides me have tried to come up with models to try to show how God accomplished what He’d done. And I noticed that sometimes these folks got so attached to their models that if someone else pointed out a problem, the model maker would get upset as if the other person had attacked his reality. Much like I got upset when someone noticed a missing piece on my model.
From this I learned that when God gives only partial information on how He did something, or how He will do something, it’s OK to conjecture up to a point. But I need to keep my model separate from reality. It says in the scriptures that the Lord has a thousand ways of doing things that I can't even imagine. So as a scientist or a Christian, I can make models all I want as to how Creation took place, or how the Flood came about, or how Christ walked on water, or how He changed the water into wine, or…
What is more important than my models is that I have faith in God’s reality, and leave the details to Him. I recognize that any model, any explanation I can come up with will fall far short of His reality. Criticize my model? Go ahead. I have my faith set on the real thing.
Now if I can just get this glue off my fingers…
Dr. G
Of course, a balsa-wood model for young hands wouldn’t have many details, but I didn’t realize this. I was happy, and ran around the house shooting down enemy planes with my jet.
Few years later, I got a newer model; this time it was plastic, and had far more details. And many more pieces. A couple of which I broke. Plus a few I didn’t know where to put. But I was happy, and thought I had the best model there was. So once again, I ran around the house shooting down enemy planes with my jet. Whenever someone noticed or mentioned that one of the pieces was damaged or missing, I got upset. They were criticizing my model, with which I’d shot down many enemies.One of our neighbors was an Air Force test pilot assigned to the Boeing Airplane Company in Seattle. One day he took his son, my father, brother and me down to Boeing Field to tour several Air Force planes that were on display for a few days. There was a big tanker plane, which was used for mid-air refueling. We enjoyed it.
Next to it was a B-47, the US’s first active jet bomber. Now that was cool. To exit the bomber, we had to climb down out of the bomb bay. When I got down, my father turned me around to see what was sitting next to the bomber.It was a real F-86. By now I was old enough to recognize that my model could never really show every detail about a real jet airplane.
But I still was amazed at how much more detailed the real thing was than my humble model.Some time ago this series of events came back into my memory as I tried to grapple with something in the scriptures. I’ve found there are a number of events or concepts in the Bible that the Lord hasn’t fully explained. As a consequence, various individuals besides me have tried to come up with models to try to show how God accomplished what He’d done. And I noticed that sometimes these folks got so attached to their models that if someone else pointed out a problem, the model maker would get upset as if the other person had attacked his reality. Much like I got upset when someone noticed a missing piece on my model.
From this I learned that when God gives only partial information on how He did something, or how He will do something, it’s OK to conjecture up to a point. But I need to keep my model separate from reality. It says in the scriptures that the Lord has a thousand ways of doing things that I can't even imagine. So as a scientist or a Christian, I can make models all I want as to how Creation took place, or how the Flood came about, or how Christ walked on water, or how He changed the water into wine, or…
What is more important than my models is that I have faith in God’s reality, and leave the details to Him. I recognize that any model, any explanation I can come up with will fall far short of His reality. Criticize my model? Go ahead. I have my faith set on the real thing.
Now if I can just get this glue off my fingers…
Dr. G
Saturday, November 17, 2007
NEXT!
It’s something we are forced to do repeatedly every day. We get to do it at ma
ny intersections. We have to do it when we go to the bank. Go to MacDonald’s? Gotta do it there. Get gas in the car? Often have to do it there. I guarantee you’ll do it at an airport. It is something we struggle to teach our children here at school and at home. And yet it is not something we are inclined to do automatically. What is it? Waiting for our turn.
On my way to sc
hool every morning, I have to deal with several intersections where I’ve got to wait my turn. One involves a traffic light where, chances are I’ll have to wait to make a left turn. At the intersection adjoining my school, there is a four way stop where I have to take my turn. And quite frequently I meet those drivers (as you probably d
o, too) who never learned in Kindergarten, “Take your turn!”
When our children are leaving school and heading for the buses in the afternoon, they have trouble staying in line, often because they can’t wait and take their turns. When children approach the teachers to turn in papers or to ask questions, do you think they can quietly line up and take turns? Not on your life!
Have you ever wondered if there are going to be lines in Heaven? Now there’s a frightening thought – an eternity of waiting (I get practice for this one every time I go to the doctor’s office!). Somehow, I think God will have a m
echanism so that waiting won’t occur. I sort of smile when I see the many paintings of children with the lion and lamb sitting at Jesus’ feet in the earth made new. Have you ever noticed there’s never a crowd” Only a handful of children? Where are the multitudes of the redeemed? And yet the concept of only a few with Jesus at any point in time is so appealing.
In our understanding of space and time, and the laws of physics, we can’t conceive of such a thing. Yet those same laws would reject the possibility of Peter, yet alone Christ, ever walking on water. What about floating axe-heads in the Old Testament? It couldn’t have happened under the laws of physics which apply to us. Yet somehow, the Lord made it happen. I am convinced that the Lord must have access to yet another set of laws, and probably another time-space dimension, that science-fiction writers can only dream of.
Fortunately, I don’t have to explain how God will deal with such issues. I only have to have faith that He is able. Which brings up a chorus we used to sing ( you may have, too) many years ago: “He’s Able.” But I won’t sing at you. Instead, I will only encourage you to believe. I don’t know how, but I believe that the Lord will find a way to eliminate the “wait-your-turn” issue in heaven. But if He doesn’t, I guess I’ll just put to practice all the experience I’ve had waiting my turn down here. Sure beats the alternative.
“We are now serving number Forty-seven.” Number Forty-seven? I’m number Eighty-three!
Dr. G
ny intersections. We have to do it when we go to the bank. Go to MacDonald’s? Gotta do it there. Get gas in the car? Often have to do it there. I guarantee you’ll do it at an airport. It is something we struggle to teach our children here at school and at home. And yet it is not something we are inclined to do automatically. What is it? Waiting for our turn.On my way to sc
hool every morning, I have to deal with several intersections where I’ve got to wait my turn. One involves a traffic light where, chances are I’ll have to wait to make a left turn. At the intersection adjoining my school, there is a four way stop where I have to take my turn. And quite frequently I meet those drivers (as you probably d
o, too) who never learned in Kindergarten, “Take your turn!”When our children are leaving school and heading for the buses in the afternoon, they have trouble staying in line, often because they can’t wait and take their turns. When children approach the teachers to turn in papers or to ask questions, do you think they can quietly line up and take turns? Not on your life!
Have you ever wondered if there are going to be lines in Heaven? Now there’s a frightening thought – an eternity of waiting (I get practice for this one every time I go to the doctor’s office!). Somehow, I think God will have a m
echanism so that waiting won’t occur. I sort of smile when I see the many paintings of children with the lion and lamb sitting at Jesus’ feet in the earth made new. Have you ever noticed there’s never a crowd” Only a handful of children? Where are the multitudes of the redeemed? And yet the concept of only a few with Jesus at any point in time is so appealing.In our understanding of space and time, and the laws of physics, we can’t conceive of such a thing. Yet those same laws would reject the possibility of Peter, yet alone Christ, ever walking on water. What about floating axe-heads in the Old Testament? It couldn’t have happened under the laws of physics which apply to us. Yet somehow, the Lord made it happen. I am convinced that the Lord must have access to yet another set of laws, and probably another time-space dimension, that science-fiction writers can only dream of.
Fortunately, I don’t have to explain how God will deal with such issues. I only have to have faith that He is able. Which brings up a chorus we used to sing ( you may have, too) many years ago: “He’s Able.” But I won’t sing at you. Instead, I will only encourage you to believe. I don’t know how, but I believe that the Lord will find a way to eliminate the “wait-your-turn” issue in heaven. But if He doesn’t, I guess I’ll just put to practice all the experience I’ve had waiting my turn down here. Sure beats the alternative.
“We are now serving number Forty-seven.” Number Forty-seven? I’m number Eighty-three!
Dr. G
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
GODIENCE
It was a word I’d never heard before. I was listening to a preacher speaking b
efore a Youth Congress in Baltimore a number of months ago. He had been speaking about the night Herodias’s daughter, Salome, had danced before King Herod and others at a banquet. If one reads the record carefully, it is quite plausible that John the Baptist probably would not have been in prison except for Herod’s fear of Herodias. Herod enjoyed listening to John, and considered him to be a good (even holy) man. Herod protected John, in a sense, and perhaps wanted to release him. But his fear of Herodias was too great.
During the funeral service for President Gerald Ford, about the same time last year, I heard Tom Brokaw, the former NBC news anchor, say of Ford, “He always tried to do the right thing. He didn’t play to the gallery.” Ford wasn’t used to doing what was expedient. The English language has many euphemisms for choosing to do the wrong thing even when we know what is right. “Going
with the flow”, ‘Not sticking one’s neck out”, “Going along with the crowd,” “Giving in to peer pressure.” “Playing to the gallery.” “Afraid to take a stand.”
Thinking to impress his guests, Herod promised the tantalizing dancer that she could have whatever she wished, up to half of his kingdom. He never counted on Herodias, and soon found himself in a very tight spot because of his self-centeredness. We all know what happened. We read in Mark 6:26, “And although the king was very sorry, yet because of his oaths and because of his dinner guests, he was unwilling to refuse her.” NASB
I’ve had to take a closer look at how I choose my actions. When faced with taking a stand for right, am I willing to do what is right, or do I find it easier to play to the gallery? Do I base my actions on how I think others will respond, afraid to lose face to them, or do I choose
to perform for the audience of one, my Heavenly Father? He may be the only one in the audience, but His approval outshines everything else.
GODIENCE.
May your day tomorrow be the first of a long run of solo performances on His stage.
Dr. G
efore a Youth Congress in Baltimore a number of months ago. He had been speaking about the night Herodias’s daughter, Salome, had danced before King Herod and others at a banquet. If one reads the record carefully, it is quite plausible that John the Baptist probably would not have been in prison except for Herod’s fear of Herodias. Herod enjoyed listening to John, and considered him to be a good (even holy) man. Herod protected John, in a sense, and perhaps wanted to release him. But his fear of Herodias was too great. During the funeral service for President Gerald Ford, about the same time last year, I heard Tom Brokaw, the former NBC news anchor, say of Ford, “He always tried to do the right thing. He didn’t play to the gallery.” Ford wasn’t used to doing what was expedient. The English language has many euphemisms for choosing to do the wrong thing even when we know what is right. “Going
with the flow”, ‘Not sticking one’s neck out”, “Going along with the crowd,” “Giving in to peer pressure.” “Playing to the gallery.” “Afraid to take a stand.”Thinking to impress his guests, Herod promised the tantalizing dancer that she could have whatever she wished, up to half of his kingdom. He never counted on Herodias, and soon found himself in a very tight spot because of his self-centeredness. We all know what happened. We read in Mark 6:26, “And although the king was very sorry, yet because of his oaths and because of his dinner guests, he was unwilling to refuse her.” NASB
I’ve had to take a closer look at how I choose my actions. When faced with taking a stand for right, am I willing to do what is right, or do I find it easier to play to the gallery? Do I base my actions on how I think others will respond, afraid to lose face to them, or do I choose
GODIENCE.
May your day tomorrow be the first of a long run of solo performances on His stage.
Dr. G
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Know Your Territory
My father was an explorer. I don’t mean that he would take off on trips to the Antarctic, or jungles of South America. He was the type of person who believed one should follow a road to see where it went. He liked to study maps, and we went on excursions almost weekly on Western Washington’s roads “less traveled”, or at least not previously traveled by our family. Back roads were his specialty.
After all of us kid
s grew up and left home and the folks retired, we’d get frequent reports of overnight trips over back roads (including logging roads) to places we’d never heard of, even though we’d all grown up in Western Washington. Since my father was also a railroad buff, it was not uncommon for us to hear of trips over logging roads to explore for abandoned railroad trestles left by logging companies before the 1950’s. About ten years ago, they moved from Washington State to Arizona where they’ve continued, at a slower pace, their ramblings until recently. They’re both now in their mid-80’s.
Not long ago I went to visit them and Dad and I started talking about some
of the places we’d been years ago. He used to have a road map, the kind you used to be able to get from the precursors of convenience stores, known as service stations. It was obviously an old map. On it, over the years he had marked every road in Washington State he’d ever driven on. He’d even made the attempt to include all the logging roads, none of which had been printed on the map. With the exception of the far northeast corner of the state, there were virtually no printed roads devoid of his pen. Obviously, he knew that state.
Later, I was reading the Bible and read in 1 Corinthians where Paul said he was determined not to know anythin
g but Christ among the church at Corinth. And I thought of the many times where Paul described his knowing the Lord. I thought of John, often referred to as the “beloved” apostle, who in his short epistles emphasized over and over again our need of knowing Christ. And I wondered, if a “map” of Christ, His nature, character, and life was available, would their versions be covered the way my father’s map of Washington had been?
One of my favorite authors once wrote, “We would do well to spend a thoughtful hour each day contemplating the life of Christ, especially the closing scenes.” My father and I were able to reminisce of the many times we’d spent together on the roads of Washington. If I laid the road map of my life out, and spread over it the map of Christ, could I find many places we’d been together? Or would it be like that one corner of my father’s map of Washington, a place we didn’t really spend much time together?
May your day today be a wonderful experience walking with the Lord, and may your map with Him continue to grow daily.
Why can’t they make road maps that re-fold themselves?
Dr. G
After all of us kid
s grew up and left home and the folks retired, we’d get frequent reports of overnight trips over back roads (including logging roads) to places we’d never heard of, even though we’d all grown up in Western Washington. Since my father was also a railroad buff, it was not uncommon for us to hear of trips over logging roads to explore for abandoned railroad trestles left by logging companies before the 1950’s. About ten years ago, they moved from Washington State to Arizona where they’ve continued, at a slower pace, their ramblings until recently. They’re both now in their mid-80’s.Not long ago I went to visit them and Dad and I started talking about some
of the places we’d been years ago. He used to have a road map, the kind you used to be able to get from the precursors of convenience stores, known as service stations. It was obviously an old map. On it, over the years he had marked every road in Washington State he’d ever driven on. He’d even made the attempt to include all the logging roads, none of which had been printed on the map. With the exception of the far northeast corner of the state, there were virtually no printed roads devoid of his pen. Obviously, he knew that state.Later, I was reading the Bible and read in 1 Corinthians where Paul said he was determined not to know anythin
g but Christ among the church at Corinth. And I thought of the many times where Paul described his knowing the Lord. I thought of John, often referred to as the “beloved” apostle, who in his short epistles emphasized over and over again our need of knowing Christ. And I wondered, if a “map” of Christ, His nature, character, and life was available, would their versions be covered the way my father’s map of Washington had been?One of my favorite authors once wrote, “We would do well to spend a thoughtful hour each day contemplating the life of Christ, especially the closing scenes.” My father and I were able to reminisce of the many times we’d spent together on the roads of Washington. If I laid the road map of my life out, and spread over it the map of Christ, could I find many places we’d been together? Or would it be like that one corner of my father’s map of Washington, a place we didn’t really spend much time together?
May your day today be a wonderful experience walking with the Lord, and may your map with Him continue to grow daily.
Why can’t they make road maps that re-fold themselves?
Dr. G
Who Needs Winter?
During our mid-winter break last February, my wife and I drove to Michigan to
see our son. Anyone who drives in that direction from the south at that time of year can expect weather more wintry than what we are used to around here. So, by the time we reached Louisville, there was snow drifted in ditches and areas out of direct sunlight. By the time we reached Indianapolis, the ground in the open fields was mostly covered, and piles and ridges remained where snow plows had been. At South Bend, the ground was completely covered by 3-5 inches of sn
ow, and piles several feet high were common in the parking lots. When we reached the small town where our son is going to school, side roads still had 2-3 inches of frozen slush in the center of each lane, and there was 9-12 inches of crusted snow on the ground
Our son lives about 12 miles inland from Lake Michigan. When the lake is not completely frozen over (typically) and the wind is blowing form the west or northwest (almost always), the moist air condenses to form clouds over the colder ground. Consequently, it is unusual to have sunny days during the winter. If the temperature is below freezing, one can expect frozen stuff to come from the clouds. So we were not surprised when we arrive to find it overcast, temperature at 31 degrees F, and quite windy. The first place we went was the women’s dormitory to pick up the key to our guest room. My wife’s only words as she got back into the car were, “I don’t miss this weather at all.”
Our first four years of teaching were spent near Flint, Michigan. Winters brought frequent snow, and sub-zero temperatures were not uncommon. Our next two years were in Oshawa, Ontario. Same story (we saw -19 F in both places). After that we moved to central Massachusetts for 14 years. Our second winter we had close to four feet of snow fall in one 24-hour period. It was typical not to see the bare ground for months at a time. From there we moved to SE Washington, where again we’d get snow storms for 8-16 inches at a ti
me, and sub-zero temperatures. So we had seen winter before the trip to Michigan last February. Even the 3/8 inches of freezing rain we got while there was nothing new to us. But between the two of us, my wife and I repeated the same refrain (“I don’t miss this weather at all”) at least a couple dozen times during a four-day visit. It is great to have a warmer place to come home to.
During the past few months, if a person turned on a TV news program, they would find themselves bombarded by coverage of Britney Spears, and if not her, O.J. Simpson. And if not him, some other celebrity who had misbehaved. Or the wild-fires in California. Or never-ending news of the carnage in Iraq. Or Darfur. Or some mall or school here in the states, or Finland, or Venezuela had experienced tragedy. Or the collapse of the environment. Or…
Revelation 21 and 22 have several verses which come to mind: “And I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Also there was no more sea…And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying; and there shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” ”Then He who sat on the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new.’ And He said to me, ‘Write, for these words are true and faithful.’…And the city had no need of the sun or of the moon to shine in it, for the glory of God illuminated it, and the Lamb is its light…And there shall be no more curse, but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it, and his servants shall serve Him…And there shall be no night there; They need no lamp nor light of the sun, for the Lord God gives them light. And they shall reign forever and ever.”
Harsh winter weather is only one thing to move away from. I don’t know about you, but I won’t really miss this old earth, either. It’s time to go home.
Now, if I can just keep the slush from freezing on the wipers…
Dr. G
see our son. Anyone who drives in that direction from the south at that time of year can expect weather more wintry than what we are used to around here. So, by the time we reached Louisville, there was snow drifted in ditches and areas out of direct sunlight. By the time we reached Indianapolis, the ground in the open fields was mostly covered, and piles and ridges remained where snow plows had been. At South Bend, the ground was completely covered by 3-5 inches of sn
ow, and piles several feet high were common in the parking lots. When we reached the small town where our son is going to school, side roads still had 2-3 inches of frozen slush in the center of each lane, and there was 9-12 inches of crusted snow on the groundOur son lives about 12 miles inland from Lake Michigan. When the lake is not completely frozen over (typically) and the wind is blowing form the west or northwest (almost always), the moist air condenses to form clouds over the colder ground. Consequently, it is unusual to have sunny days during the winter. If the temperature is below freezing, one can expect frozen stuff to come from the clouds. So we were not surprised when we arrive to find it overcast, temperature at 31 degrees F, and quite windy. The first place we went was the women’s dormitory to pick up the key to our guest room. My wife’s only words as she got back into the car were, “I don’t miss this weather at all.”
Our first four years of teaching were spent near Flint, Michigan. Winters brought frequent snow, and sub-zero temperatures were not uncommon. Our next two years were in Oshawa, Ontario. Same story (we saw -19 F in both places). After that we moved to central Massachusetts for 14 years. Our second winter we had close to four feet of snow fall in one 24-hour period. It was typical not to see the bare ground for months at a time. From there we moved to SE Washington, where again we’d get snow storms for 8-16 inches at a ti
me, and sub-zero temperatures. So we had seen winter before the trip to Michigan last February. Even the 3/8 inches of freezing rain we got while there was nothing new to us. But between the two of us, my wife and I repeated the same refrain (“I don’t miss this weather at all”) at least a couple dozen times during a four-day visit. It is great to have a warmer place to come home to.During the past few months, if a person turned on a TV news program, they would find themselves bombarded by coverage of Britney Spears, and if not her, O.J. Simpson. And if not him, some other celebrity who had misbehaved. Or the wild-fires in California. Or never-ending news of the carnage in Iraq. Or Darfur. Or some mall or school here in the states, or Finland, or Venezuela had experienced tragedy. Or the collapse of the environment. Or…
Revelation 21 and 22 have several verses which come to mind: “And I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Also there was no more sea…And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying; and there shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” ”Then He who sat on the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new.’ And He said to me, ‘Write, for these words are true and faithful.’…And the city had no need of the sun or of the moon to shine in it, for the glory of God illuminated it, and the Lamb is its light…And there shall be no more curse, but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it, and his servants shall serve Him…And there shall be no night there; They need no lamp nor light of the sun, for the Lord God gives them light. And they shall reign forever and ever.”
Harsh winter weather is only one thing to move away from. I don’t know about you, but I won’t really miss this old earth, either. It’s time to go home.
Now, if I can just keep the slush from freezing on the wipers…
Dr. G
Friday, November 9, 2007
There It Is Again!
Back when I was a biology professor, the class I enjoyed teaching more than a
ny other was Ornithology, the study of birds. The school at which I was teaching held graduation on the first weekend in May, and I scheduled my class to begin as soon as spring exams were finished. This allowed us to travel from central Massachusetts to Pt. Pelee National Park in Ontario, Canada. Pt. Pelee is one of the premier birding spots during spring migration, and the first ten to fifteen days of May are the peak of activity. So we were able to be there at the best time to do the field portion of the class.
The first day we’d spend looking at most every bird we saw, helping the students to learn a bird’s body regions, feather arrangement, and basic behavior which might be useful in identifying birds. An attempt was also made to teach students how to use binoculars properly – keeping the eye on the target and lifting the glasses into place. The next three days consisted of intensive birding from about 5:30 in the morning till dark. Not only did we work on learning birds by sight, but the students were also taught to recognize the calls/songs of at least the more common birds.
Days five and six were for the students to practice what they’d learned, since on day seven there was a field exam. While I encouraged them to work with me at least on day five, students could go throughout the park on their own, or stay with me as they wished both days. I gave them a general schedule where I’d be so they could decide how to use their time. Most students came to realize during the first few days that they had a greater chance of confirming their sightings and seeing unusual birds if they stuck with me.
One year it was ki
nd of funny. As soon as a particular student would go into the nature center to use the restroom without me going inside also, something “good” for the list would pass overhead. One day it was a single Sandhill Crane; the next, a Peregrine Falcon. A year later, she was with a small group of former students that joined me on a pelagic (open ocean) trip to see some sea birds. The one time she went inside without me going in, we saw the only Sabine’s Gull recorded on that trip. Some folks never learn.
One year, the class included an engaged couple, neither of which were Biology majors. On day six, they decided they’d rather spend the day studying their field guides than looking at birds. So they stayed in camp, memorizing the details of the birds we’d seen the previous five days. Of course, when the final test was given, they realized that most birds don’t look exactly like the pictures in the book, nor do they always sit in the same position as the models used by the artists. It was not a pleasant experience for them.
And then there were the bird songs included in the test. I would choose only the more common ones the students had heard many times. And every time I heard one during the test, I would give them another chance: “There’s number #52 singing again.” Or, “You can hear #17 singing over in that clump of trees.” In fact, #52 became a rather frequent fixture in the department for several years.
I’ve drawn several spiritual lessons from those experiences. First of all, we’re more successful in our Christian walk if we stay with the Master. In fact, I would suggest that success apart from the Master is impossible. We’ll definitely miss something vital if we leave His side.
Secondly, knowing ABOUT Christ is not the same as KNOWING Christ. In fact, there are several passages in scriptures where some folks who thought they should be accepted by Him were rejected. As He Himself put it, “I do not know you.” We’ve got to have the personal experiential knowledge of Him. I guess I would put it this way: Christianity isn’t something we are to do; it is what we are to be.
And finally, we’ve got to learn to recognize His voice. How else can we be sure it is Him we are following? Parent penguins can pick their offspring out of a humongous flock of chicks by voice alone. Can I pick His voice out of the clamor and din surrounding me each day? I must practice listening until I recognize it every time.
It is my hope that each time you see a bird from now on, it will remind you to stick close to Him. Happy Birding! Dr. G
Good 'ol # 52
ny other was Ornithology, the study of birds. The school at which I was teaching held graduation on the first weekend in May, and I scheduled my class to begin as soon as spring exams were finished. This allowed us to travel from central Massachusetts to Pt. Pelee National Park in Ontario, Canada. Pt. Pelee is one of the premier birding spots during spring migration, and the first ten to fifteen days of May are the peak of activity. So we were able to be there at the best time to do the field portion of the class.The first day we’d spend looking at most every bird we saw, helping the students to learn a bird’s body regions, feather arrangement, and basic behavior which might be useful in identifying birds. An attempt was also made to teach students how to use binoculars properly – keeping the eye on the target and lifting the glasses into place. The next three days consisted of intensive birding from about 5:30 in the morning till dark. Not only did we work on learning birds by sight, but the students were also taught to recognize the calls/songs of at least the more common birds.
Days five and six were for the students to practice what they’d learned, since on day seven there was a field exam. While I encouraged them to work with me at least on day five, students could go throughout the park on their own, or stay with me as they wished both days. I gave them a general schedule where I’d be so they could decide how to use their time. Most students came to realize during the first few days that they had a greater chance of confirming their sightings and seeing unusual birds if they stuck with me.
One year it was ki
nd of funny. As soon as a particular student would go into the nature center to use the restroom without me going inside also, something “good” for the list would pass overhead. One day it was a single Sandhill Crane; the next, a Peregrine Falcon. A year later, she was with a small group of former students that joined me on a pelagic (open ocean) trip to see some sea birds. The one time she went inside without me going in, we saw the only Sabine’s Gull recorded on that trip. Some folks never learn.One year, the class included an engaged couple, neither of which were Biology majors. On day six, they decided they’d rather spend the day studying their field guides than looking at birds. So they stayed in camp, memorizing the details of the birds we’d seen the previous five days. Of course, when the final test was given, they realized that most birds don’t look exactly like the pictures in the book, nor do they always sit in the same position as the models used by the artists. It was not a pleasant experience for them.
And then there were the bird songs included in the test. I would choose only the more common ones the students had heard many times. And every time I heard one during the test, I would give them another chance: “There’s number #52 singing again.” Or, “You can hear #17 singing over in that clump of trees.” In fact, #52 became a rather frequent fixture in the department for several years.
I’ve drawn several spiritual lessons from those experiences. First of all, we’re more successful in our Christian walk if we stay with the Master. In fact, I would suggest that success apart from the Master is impossible. We’ll definitely miss something vital if we leave His side.
Secondly, knowing ABOUT Christ is not the same as KNOWING Christ. In fact, there are several passages in scriptures where some folks who thought they should be accepted by Him were rejected. As He Himself put it, “I do not know you.” We’ve got to have the personal experiential knowledge of Him. I guess I would put it this way: Christianity isn’t something we are to do; it is what we are to be.
And finally, we’ve got to learn to recognize His voice. How else can we be sure it is Him we are following? Parent penguins can pick their offspring out of a humongous flock of chicks by voice alone. Can I pick His voice out of the clamor and din surrounding me each day? I must practice listening until I recognize it every time.
It is my hope that each time you see a bird from now on, it will remind you to stick close to Him. Happy Birding! Dr. G
Good 'ol # 52
Know the Situation
It was early April, and I was headed west on US 83 along the Rio Grande River in Texas. I was scheduled to attend the national Registrar’s convention in Dallas, but had flown down early to spend a few days birding the lower Rio Grande Valley (between Laredo and Brownsville). I was using the town of McAllen as my base, and that is where I had rented the car at the airport the night before. This day I wanted to be just south of Falcon Dam (about halfway to Laredo) by 8:00 a.m.
I had set my alarm for 5:30 a.m. When it went off, I arose, got some breakfast next door to the motel, and was on the road as quickly as I could be. Now I was coming into the small town of Roma, where the speed limit dropped down to 35mph. Driving carefully (you can never tell how closely the police watch speed limits in small southern towns), I followed the highway as it became a twisting, turning main street of the town. I saw the “School Zone – Speed Limit 25 MPH – 7:30-8:30 am” sign, and saw the school on a triangular block to my right. I quickly checked the clock on the dashboard: 7:23. Good. The reduced speed limit didn’t go into effect for seven minutes. I continued on my way sure that all was well.
Moments later, I noticed a car behind me with flashing lights. Puzzled, but noticing there were no other cars headed our direction, I pulled over. A pleasant sergeant came to my window and thanked me for holding my speed so closely to the posted 35 mph. He said he’d clocked me for about three blocks. Next he asked me if I had noticed the School Zone sign. I assured him I had, and mentioned that I was a teacher, and that school zones were important to me. He next asked me why I hadn’t slowed down.
I told him I had checked my clock, and I had plenty of time. He suggested I re-check the clock. That is when I really got concerned. As it turned out, the clock on the dash was about 15 minutes slow. When getting into the car the night before and, again, that morning, I hadn’t compared it to my watch. I had just assumed it was right.
Have you ever been in a situation where you assumed you were doing “the right thing”, only to have it end up not being the right thing? My intentions were good, and, based on my understanding of the situation, my actions were right. The problem was that I simply didn’t fully understand the situation, because I had been deceived about the time.
In John 13:17, Christ is quoted as saying, “If you know these things, happy are you if you do them.” While He was speaking of a different set of “things”, I think the concept applies to what happened to me that day. I knew how fast I was going. I knew what a “School Zone” was; I knew how it was supposed to affect what I was doing. But I didn’t know the time. So there I was, NOT happy at knowing these things.
Of course, in the spiritual world, the concept has multiple applications. It is imperative that we always know what the spiritual time is, and what the situation is. Only then can we truly be happy; only then can we be safe spiritually.
Have you checked your spiritual clock recently?
Dr. G
I had set my alarm for 5:30 a.m. When it went off, I arose, got some breakfast next door to the motel, and was on the road as quickly as I could be. Now I was coming into the small town of Roma, where the speed limit dropped down to 35mph. Driving carefully (you can never tell how closely the police watch speed limits in small southern towns), I followed the highway as it became a twisting, turning main street of the town. I saw the “School Zone – Speed Limit 25 MPH – 7:30-8:30 am” sign, and saw the school on a triangular block to my right. I quickly checked the clock on the dashboard: 7:23. Good. The reduced speed limit didn’t go into effect for seven minutes. I continued on my way sure that all was well.
Moments later, I noticed a car behind me with flashing lights. Puzzled, but noticing there were no other cars headed our direction, I pulled over. A pleasant sergeant came to my window and thanked me for holding my speed so closely to the posted 35 mph. He said he’d clocked me for about three blocks. Next he asked me if I had noticed the School Zone sign. I assured him I had, and mentioned that I was a teacher, and that school zones were important to me. He next asked me why I hadn’t slowed down.
I told him I had checked my clock, and I had plenty of time. He suggested I re-check the clock. That is when I really got concerned. As it turned out, the clock on the dash was about 15 minutes slow. When getting into the car the night before and, again, that morning, I hadn’t compared it to my watch. I had just assumed it was right.
Have you ever been in a situation where you assumed you were doing “the right thing”, only to have it end up not being the right thing? My intentions were good, and, based on my understanding of the situation, my actions were right. The problem was that I simply didn’t fully understand the situation, because I had been deceived about the time.
In John 13:17, Christ is quoted as saying, “If you know these things, happy are you if you do them.” While He was speaking of a different set of “things”, I think the concept applies to what happened to me that day. I knew how fast I was going. I knew what a “School Zone” was; I knew how it was supposed to affect what I was doing. But I didn’t know the time. So there I was, NOT happy at knowing these things.Of course, in the spiritual world, the concept has multiple applications. It is imperative that we always know what the spiritual time is, and what the situation is. Only then can we truly be happy; only then can we be safe spiritually.
Have you checked your spiritual clock recently?
Dr. G
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Twitchers
In the birding world, they’re sometimes referred to as “twitchers.” Now, anyone who is actually into birding will keep lists of birds they’ve seen. Life lists, continent lists, country
lists, state lists, year lists, month lists, trip lists, Big Day lists, yard lists. There was a time when I kept all sorts of these lists. And I still have them, on a couple of the old floppies we used to use with Apple 2e+ computers. The only list I even attempt to bother with these days is my yard list.
Back when I was an active birder, I was on several hot-lines that would provide me with information of unusual or rare sightings, and I’d have my choice of going off to chase a possible new bird for my list(s) or not. Usually I didn’t. Oh, there were times. Like driving three and a h
alf hours from Walla Walla, Washington to north of Spokane, Washington, in the hope of seeing an owl from the north, not commonly seen in the states, sitting in the top of a tree a hundred yards from the road (it was still there when I arrived!). Or driving two and a half hours southward from Central Massachusetts onto Cape Cod, and then taking a one-hour ferry ride out to Nantucket Island and hiring a taxi to take me to the far end of the island in the hope of seeing an accidentally situated African Egret (it was nowhere to be seen when I got there). It is very useful to keep in touch with the hot lines, because they can also inform you if the bird has flown off, been eaten by a cat, or more correctly identified as an abnormal commo
n bird. This can save gas and nerves.
Birding can be quite competitive. There are a number of organizations on the national, state, and local levels that regulate, judge, and accept/deny claims of individual sightings as well as record lists. There are well defined rules as to what can and cannot be included on the lists. And those who really wish to be at the top of the birding world subscribe to many hot-lines, each of which is checked regularly. When a bird not on their current lists shows up on a hot-line, such birders will drop everything to go “collect” the sighting. And if, horror of horrors, they’re not able to go (job is in the way, no transportation, spouse put a foot down, etc.), they begin to twitch. It’s a type of nervous tic. Hence the term, “twitchers”. I’ve known and associated with several such individuals (at least one of whom lost his wife due to his constant running off to see birds).
The other day, while reading my Bible, I came across a passage that made me wonder if there aren’t some twitchers in the Christian world. In Matt 24:23, Christ said, “Then if anyone says to you, ‘Look, here is the Christ!’ or ‘There!’ do not believe it.” And in verse 26, “Therefore if they say to you, ‘Look, He is in the desert!’ do not go out; or ‘Look He is in the inner rooms!’ do not believe it.”
It seems that many of the birding twitchers who miss their targets haven’t really studied up on the characteristics and habits of their “prey”. Sometimes they miss important pieces of information in the directions. Are there individuals in the Christian realm, who’ve likewise failed to study up on the characteristics and habits of Christ, missing a piece of information, and thus are rushing around trying to get a confirmed sighting?
Allow me to provide you with a reliable hot-line tip. There are at least three places where any individual can find Christ at any time:
#1 John 14:2-3 In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also. Christ urged His followers to believe Him when He said H was returning to heaven to prepare a place for them. By faith, we can see Him there. He has promised that He is there.
#2 John 5:39 You search the Scriptures, for in them you think you have eternal life; and these are they which testify of Me. Christ testifies that we can find Him in the Scriptures. We can find Him as often as we wish; we can learn about Him, study Him, and listen to His voice.
#3 Rev 3:20 Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him and he with me. If I have accepted Him as my Savior, He dwells within me. He has promised, and he is faithful.
So, you see, for the Christian there is no need to dash about willy-nilly, not knowing for sure where the treasure is. He isn’t here today, gone tomorrow. There is no reason to be unfamiliar with Him. We don’t have to travel great distances to find Him, nor do we need binoculars. We don’t even have to leave the house!
The only reason for Him to be a rare sighting is if we don’t look for Him.
Dr. G
lists, state lists, year lists, month lists, trip lists, Big Day lists, yard lists. There was a time when I kept all sorts of these lists. And I still have them, on a couple of the old floppies we used to use with Apple 2e+ computers. The only list I even attempt to bother with these days is my yard list.Back when I was an active birder, I was on several hot-lines that would provide me with information of unusual or rare sightings, and I’d have my choice of going off to chase a possible new bird for my list(s) or not. Usually I didn’t. Oh, there were times. Like driving three and a h
alf hours from Walla Walla, Washington to north of Spokane, Washington, in the hope of seeing an owl from the north, not commonly seen in the states, sitting in the top of a tree a hundred yards from the road (it was still there when I arrived!). Or driving two and a half hours southward from Central Massachusetts onto Cape Cod, and then taking a one-hour ferry ride out to Nantucket Island and hiring a taxi to take me to the far end of the island in the hope of seeing an accidentally situated African Egret (it was nowhere to be seen when I got there). It is very useful to keep in touch with the hot lines, because they can also inform you if the bird has flown off, been eaten by a cat, or more correctly identified as an abnormal commo
n bird. This can save gas and nerves.Birding can be quite competitive. There are a number of organizations on the national, state, and local levels that regulate, judge, and accept/deny claims of individual sightings as well as record lists. There are well defined rules as to what can and cannot be included on the lists. And those who really wish to be at the top of the birding world subscribe to many hot-lines, each of which is checked regularly. When a bird not on their current lists shows up on a hot-line, such birders will drop everything to go “collect” the sighting. And if, horror of horrors, they’re not able to go (job is in the way, no transportation, spouse put a foot down, etc.), they begin to twitch. It’s a type of nervous tic. Hence the term, “twitchers”. I’ve known and associated with several such individuals (at least one of whom lost his wife due to his constant running off to see birds).
The other day, while reading my Bible, I came across a passage that made me wonder if there aren’t some twitchers in the Christian world. In Matt 24:23, Christ said, “Then if anyone says to you, ‘Look, here is the Christ!’ or ‘There!’ do not believe it.” And in verse 26, “Therefore if they say to you, ‘Look, He is in the desert!’ do not go out; or ‘Look He is in the inner rooms!’ do not believe it.”
It seems that many of the birding twitchers who miss their targets haven’t really studied up on the characteristics and habits of their “prey”. Sometimes they miss important pieces of information in the directions. Are there individuals in the Christian realm, who’ve likewise failed to study up on the characteristics and habits of Christ, missing a piece of information, and thus are rushing around trying to get a confirmed sighting?
Allow me to provide you with a reliable hot-line tip. There are at least three places where any individual can find Christ at any time:
#1 John 14:2-3 In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also. Christ urged His followers to believe Him when He said H was returning to heaven to prepare a place for them. By faith, we can see Him there. He has promised that He is there.
#2 John 5:39 You search the Scriptures, for in them you think you have eternal life; and these are they which testify of Me. Christ testifies that we can find Him in the Scriptures. We can find Him as often as we wish; we can learn about Him, study Him, and listen to His voice.
#3 Rev 3:20 Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him and he with me. If I have accepted Him as my Savior, He dwells within me. He has promised, and he is faithful.
So, you see, for the Christian there is no need to dash about willy-nilly, not knowing for sure where the treasure is. He isn’t here today, gone tomorrow. There is no reason to be unfamiliar with Him. We don’t have to travel great distances to find Him, nor do we need binoculars. We don’t even have to leave the house!
The only reason for Him to be a rare sighting is if we don’t look for Him.
Dr. G
Thursday, November 1, 2007
There Are So Many Sounds ...
The school at which I teach has one self-contained classroom for students with s
pecial needs. There are about a dozen children in the classroom. One child has been here two years. He is a very pleasant boy, but had a habit last year that, for reasons I did not understand, caused an inner distress to me. He was learning to vocalize, and frequently would sing out on a single pitch. My office is just off the cafeteria and he would do this frequently and for extended times during both breakfast and lunch. If one only heard him, you might think that he was distraught. But the fact was he was happily enjoying the sound of his voice. And in spite of my knowing this, it bothered something deep within my soul. It took me almost the full year to place the origin of my discomfort.
The summer I turned 15, my older brother and I had gone to visit my mother’s parents for two weeks. My grandfather had led a colorful life. In the late 1930’s he was a forest ranger in New Mexico. By 1940 he was ranching outside Dolores, Colorado. Then toward the later 1940’s he’d become a carpenter on large construction projects such as McNary Dam and Chief Joseph Dam on the Columbia River, and other dams on other rivers in the Northest. When we went to see them that summer, he was working on the Oxbow Dam on the Snake River, just upstream from Hell’s Canyon. My grandparents lived in a little town called Halfway, Oregon. In my teenage wisdom I was sure they’d misnamed the town. It wasn’t halfway to anywhere. Anyone could see it was all the way to nowhere!
As it happe
ned, the union laborers at the construction site went on strike while we were visiting, so our grandfather was free to go places with us. He’d heard that the ranches in the region of Burns, Oregon were overrun with jackrabbits, and the ranchers were pleading for people to come shoot as many as they could. Hunting was one of my grandfather’s greatest pleasures, so he gathered us two boys, my grandmother, several changes of clothing and some 22-caliber rifles into the pickup and off we went. He figured we could make our destination in about four hours. Alas, that was not to be.
He’d gotten my brother and me baseball caps to wear, since we’d be riding in the back of the pickup and he wanted to keep the sun off our faces. I’ve never really like baseball caps, so I wasn’t too concerned when the wind blew my cap off several times. The problem was I didn’t tell my grandparents when I lost my hat. By the time one of them noticed it was gone,
we’d be several miles down the road. I remember us back-tracking at least twice, looking for that light-blue head adornment. After the second time, I was strongly encouraged not to let it happen again. So, because of me, we only made it as far as Vale, Oregon. There, while getting gas, my grandfather learned that the sage-brush covered ranches in that area were also plagued by jackrabbits. So we quickly pulled into a motel, and after a brief supper, went out to start shooting.
When teaching my kindergarten ESOL students, I’ve used a song that begins “There are so many sounds that you can hear, down on the farm.” As we work through all the typical farm animals we go through the sounds each makes. When I bring up the rabbit, I ask the kids what kind of sound a rabbit makes. And I get blank expressions, because none of them have ever heard a rabbit make any sound. Nor have any adults I’ve asked.
Between us two boys and my grandfather, we probably killed upwards of
300 rabbits in a little over two days of shooting. I didn’t say hunting, because the rabbits were so thick, you could turn in almost any direction at any time and probably see a rabbit within shooting range. And that is when I made a discovery that was to haunt me for many years. You see, rabbits can make sounds. When they’re badly wounded, that is. It sounds like a mid-range pitched wail, unwavering, unnerving. I never enjoyed shooting animals after that. And that was the sound that our little student was bringing back to my memory. To him, it was a joyful noise; to me it was a sound of inward sorrow.
When Christ approached the Temple mount that week before his crucifixion, the children sang out in joy, welcoming the Son of David. When the religious leaders asked Jesus to make the children stop, His response was that if he did, the very rocks would cry out. Who’s ever heard a rock cry out? Probably as many people who’ve heard a rabbit cry out. But this old earth is waxing old, and nature is beginning to cry out for deliverance. All of creation is looking forward to the end of sin, for relief from the terrible burden. There are so many sounds that we can hear, especially if we listen through spiritual ears. May He come soon.
Have a great day!
Dr. G
pecial needs. There are about a dozen children in the classroom. One child has been here two years. He is a very pleasant boy, but had a habit last year that, for reasons I did not understand, caused an inner distress to me. He was learning to vocalize, and frequently would sing out on a single pitch. My office is just off the cafeteria and he would do this frequently and for extended times during both breakfast and lunch. If one only heard him, you might think that he was distraught. But the fact was he was happily enjoying the sound of his voice. And in spite of my knowing this, it bothered something deep within my soul. It took me almost the full year to place the origin of my discomfort.The summer I turned 15, my older brother and I had gone to visit my mother’s parents for two weeks. My grandfather had led a colorful life. In the late 1930’s he was a forest ranger in New Mexico. By 1940 he was ranching outside Dolores, Colorado. Then toward the later 1940’s he’d become a carpenter on large construction projects such as McNary Dam and Chief Joseph Dam on the Columbia River, and other dams on other rivers in the Northest. When we went to see them that summer, he was working on the Oxbow Dam on the Snake River, just upstream from Hell’s Canyon. My grandparents lived in a little town called Halfway, Oregon. In my teenage wisdom I was sure they’d misnamed the town. It wasn’t halfway to anywhere. Anyone could see it was all the way to nowhere!
As it happe
ned, the union laborers at the construction site went on strike while we were visiting, so our grandfather was free to go places with us. He’d heard that the ranches in the region of Burns, Oregon were overrun with jackrabbits, and the ranchers were pleading for people to come shoot as many as they could. Hunting was one of my grandfather’s greatest pleasures, so he gathered us two boys, my grandmother, several changes of clothing and some 22-caliber rifles into the pickup and off we went. He figured we could make our destination in about four hours. Alas, that was not to be.He’d gotten my brother and me baseball caps to wear, since we’d be riding in the back of the pickup and he wanted to keep the sun off our faces. I’ve never really like baseball caps, so I wasn’t too concerned when the wind blew my cap off several times. The problem was I didn’t tell my grandparents when I lost my hat. By the time one of them noticed it was gone,
we’d be several miles down the road. I remember us back-tracking at least twice, looking for that light-blue head adornment. After the second time, I was strongly encouraged not to let it happen again. So, because of me, we only made it as far as Vale, Oregon. There, while getting gas, my grandfather learned that the sage-brush covered ranches in that area were also plagued by jackrabbits. So we quickly pulled into a motel, and after a brief supper, went out to start shooting.When teaching my kindergarten ESOL students, I’ve used a song that begins “There are so many sounds that you can hear, down on the farm.” As we work through all the typical farm animals we go through the sounds each makes. When I bring up the rabbit, I ask the kids what kind of sound a rabbit makes. And I get blank expressions, because none of them have ever heard a rabbit make any sound. Nor have any adults I’ve asked.
Between us two boys and my grandfather, we probably killed upwards of
300 rabbits in a little over two days of shooting. I didn’t say hunting, because the rabbits were so thick, you could turn in almost any direction at any time and probably see a rabbit within shooting range. And that is when I made a discovery that was to haunt me for many years. You see, rabbits can make sounds. When they’re badly wounded, that is. It sounds like a mid-range pitched wail, unwavering, unnerving. I never enjoyed shooting animals after that. And that was the sound that our little student was bringing back to my memory. To him, it was a joyful noise; to me it was a sound of inward sorrow.When Christ approached the Temple mount that week before his crucifixion, the children sang out in joy, welcoming the Son of David. When the religious leaders asked Jesus to make the children stop, His response was that if he did, the very rocks would cry out. Who’s ever heard a rock cry out? Probably as many people who’ve heard a rabbit cry out. But this old earth is waxing old, and nature is beginning to cry out for deliverance. All of creation is looking forward to the end of sin, for relief from the terrible burden. There are so many sounds that we can hear, especially if we listen through spiritual ears. May He come soon.
Have a great day!
Dr. G
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Touchdown!
I don’t know about you, but I watched a little football this past weekend. I don’
t really have a “favorite” team; I just like to see well-executed games. Besides, I learned long ago that, no matter who wins, the sun will still come up, my dog will still love me, and I’ll still have to pay the electric bill.
One of the things that amuses me as I watch games, be it professional or college, are the fans that are compelled to decorate themselves with ma
sks, wigs, hats, costumes, face paint and/or body paint (don’t these people ever catch pneumonia?). These are the folks that one might call “rabid” fans of their teams. During the game, one tends to see certain ones over and over. I like to notice their composure as the score tends one way and then the other. While they have their heroes, and cheer lustily when things are going well, it is not uncommon to see/hear negative responses if their team/heroes are not doing well.
I’ve tried to find comparisons between sports fans and Christians. The Christian, too, has his/her team and Hero. Like the sports fans, we have our “pep” rallies – but we call it church. There we are clued into the game plan, and hear exhortations to “hold that line”. But it seems we approach ”the game” a little differently.
First of all, any sports fan knows that on any given day, any given team might beat the other. So each game is approached with at least a little bit of fear of defeat. But for the Christian, each game day (that is, every day) can be faced with the knowledge that our Hero has already vanquished the foe, and as long as we stick with the team, there can be no defeat for us.
Again, like the sports fan, we have our “game” face. But instead of painting our faces red and white, or bright orange, and running around “half-nekked” as the more rabid football fans do, our game face comes from the inner-dwelling Spirit. We need only think of our Hero to have our faces covered by smiles of love.
And, finally, during the game, instead of chanting about destroying the other team, or worse yet, booing our team and Hero from time to time if things look like they might be going badly, we need only believe, praise our team, and speak words of encouragement to one another. That doesn’t mean that the game won’t have its rough moments. It doesn’t mean that from time to time it may not seem the other team is about to win. But we have a fast-forward button that has allowed us to see the end of the contest. And our team wins! What a game.
Now, go down and out. I’ll get the ball to you. On four!
Dr. G
t really have a “favorite” team; I just like to see well-executed games. Besides, I learned long ago that, no matter who wins, the sun will still come up, my dog will still love me, and I’ll still have to pay the electric bill.One of the things that amuses me as I watch games, be it professional or college, are the fans that are compelled to decorate themselves with ma
sks, wigs, hats, costumes, face paint and/or body paint (don’t these people ever catch pneumonia?). These are the folks that one might call “rabid” fans of their teams. During the game, one tends to see certain ones over and over. I like to notice their composure as the score tends one way and then the other. While they have their heroes, and cheer lustily when things are going well, it is not uncommon to see/hear negative responses if their team/heroes are not doing well.I’ve tried to find comparisons between sports fans and Christians. The Christian, too, has his/her team and Hero. Like the sports fans, we have our “pep” rallies – but we call it church. There we are clued into the game plan, and hear exhortations to “hold that line”. But it seems we approach ”the game” a little differently.
First of all, any sports fan knows that on any given day, any given team might beat the other. So each game is approached with at least a little bit of fear of defeat. But for the Christian, each game day (that is, every day) can be faced with the knowledge that our Hero has already vanquished the foe, and as long as we stick with the team, there can be no defeat for us.
Again, like the sports fan, we have our “game” face. But instead of painting our faces red and white, or bright orange, and running around “half-nekked” as the more rabid football fans do, our game face comes from the inner-dwelling Spirit. We need only think of our Hero to have our faces covered by smiles of love.
And, finally, during the game, instead of chanting about destroying the other team, or worse yet, booing our team and Hero from time to time if things look like they might be going badly, we need only believe, praise our team, and speak words of encouragement to one another. That doesn’t mean that the game won’t have its rough moments. It doesn’t mean that from time to time it may not seem the other team is about to win. But we have a fast-forward button that has allowed us to see the end of the contest. And our team wins! What a game.
Now, go down and out. I’ll get the ball to you. On four!
Dr. G
Monday, October 22, 2007
No Problem!
I apologize for the length of this posting, but feel it is a story that must be shared.
At the end of the previous posting, I was stranded at the Belize City International Airport with four young Biology majors in my care. We had missed our flight out of the country, and now four sets of eyes looked to me to figure out our next move. My first step was to ask the Lord for guidance. I would like to recount for you the ways the Lord intervened in our behalf.
When we first arrived in Belize, we’d stayed at one of the few hotels in Belize City that was really safe at the time. I’d noted the cost: $47 for a room for two. Now standing in an airport lobby, my calculations quickly told me a hotel was out of the question. Against my recommendations, all four students had spent every cent they had for souvenirs. I had two $20 travelers’ checks. None of us had any credit cards with us.
First, I thought, we needed to get reservations on the next day’s flight. So I approached the ticket counter, which, with the departure of our plane, was now rather unbusy. When I told the ticket agent I needed to get reservations, she smiled and said that she couldn’t do that. Reservations had to be made at the airline's central office in downtown Belize City. So we went outside to get a taxi to take us into the city, knowing that this would take $10 from our scant funds. The first driver we approached looked at us and our gear. “No problem,” he said. We filled the trunk of the taxi, put three guys in the back seat with more luggage in their laps, then one student and I got in the front seat with the driver. Off we went.
We arrived at the airline office about 12:30. I asked the taxi driver if we could leave our gear in his car until we got the reservations. “No problem,” was his reply. He picked up his newspaper, and entered the office with us.
The office was about 35 feet deep and 25 feet wide. At the very front was a waiting area with about six chairs. Just beyond, on either side was about 15 feet of counter, joined together about 10 feet from the back of the room by a railing. Beyond the railing were three or four desks. As we entered, there were two young women behind the counter on our right. Another three were sitting at the desks in the back of the room. I approached the counter where the two were, explaining that we had missed our flight and needed to get reservations for the next day to Miami and then on to Boston. With a smile, one of the young women explained that we were at the freight desk, and they couldn’t help us. Reservations needed to be made at the counter across the room. We looked over there to notice no one was behind the counter. Then she added, “They’re on siesta right now, and will return at 1:30.” Not knowing what else to do, I told my guys to sit down, and went to explain the situation to the cab driver. “No problem,” was his response. So we all sat down.
After a few minutes I thought maybe I could run to a bank and cash one of the traveler’s checks so I could at least pay the cab driver. I returned to the freight counter and asked if there was a bank nearby where I could cash a check. Smiling again, the lady directed me around the corner and down one block. I told the cabbie where I was going. He nodded, and again said, “No problem.” I began to wonder if that was his response to all questions/comments put his direction, or maybe the sum total of his English.
I walked to the bank, only to discover that they, too, were on siesta until 1:30. I returned to the airline office knowing in advance how the cabbie would respond. The counter girl only smiled as I came back in. Maybe she had thought a walk in the hot sun would be good for me. At least it was air conditioned inside, perhaps explaining some of the cabbie’s comfort.
At 1:30 the three girls who’d been sitting at the desks behind the railing walked to the reservation counter, looked in our direction and said, “May we help you?” Somewhat taken aback by their sudden interest in helping us, I again explained our plight. The apparent leader’s response was, “I’ll have to send a Tel-ex to Tegucigalpa (capital of Honduras – we were flying on the national airline of Honduras). I’ll have an answer for you after 4:30. Where are you staying?” I almost blurted, “Here in your office,” but decided against it.
Then the thought hit me, “My denomination probably has a couple of churches here in this city. I’ll try there.” So I asked the kind lady if I could use her phone book. I quickly looked under Seventh-day Adventist Church, and discovered not only several churches, but a mission office. Calling the latter, I was pleasantly surprised to be answered by the mission president himself (he explained his secretary was on siesta). I told him how we’d been stranded and needed a place to stay for the night.
“We have a guest room here that can sleep two. We normally charge $20 for it, but I’ll let you have it for tonight for $10.” I didn’t remind him that there were actually five of us, but jumped at the thought of some kind of shelter at that price. So I got the address, thanked him and hung up. Then I told the lady at the ticket counter that we would just come back at 4:30. Next we had to deal with the cab driver.
I walked over to him, and asked him if he could deliver us to another address (on the other side of town, of course) still for the original price of $10. “No problem.” I was beginning to wonder about this guy. Nothing seemed to faze him. We went back out to the car, got situated, and I named our destination. “It is the Seventh-day Adventist mission office. Do you know where it is?” Now his answer really shocked us, “No problem. My daughter is the secretary there!”
After stopping by the bank, we were taken to the mission. We were met by the president, who looked at us and all our gear. He smiled and shook his head in unbelief. “It is really small, but you’re welcome to it,” he said. It was up an outside flight of stairs above a shop or warehouse. He was right. Two could fit on the bed. Three could sleep on the floor, one at either side and one at the end of the bed. All the gear had to go into the bathroom. We left one small trail to the toilet. Before the cab driver could get away, I asked if he could be there in the morning at 8:30 to take us back to the airport. I wanted to get checked in before I woke up in the middle of a bad dream. Of course, his answer was, “No problem.” And every time with a smile.
We were now down to $20, ten of which had to be saved to get to the airport the next day. I went to the Mission president to see if he knew of a place where we might be able to get at least five bites of food for $10. He mentioned a Chinese restaurant down two blocks and over one. But we had to hurry. Their siesta began at 2:30, and it was now about 2:00. So off we went. The Lord continued to bless us. The five of us were able to eat our fill for $7.50. We felt rich. Of course, that meant no supper or breakfast, but we were feeling pretty good right then.
Since we no longer had fare for a cab, we had to walk back to the airline office, a hike of about 30 minutes. When we arrived we were greeted with good news. We had reservations to Miami. From there to Boston, we’d be on stand-by. But at least New York now had assurances that he’d get out of the country! On the way back to our lodging, I spent our last $2.50 on a large bag of roasted peanuts and ten oranges. So now we had some supper and breakfast.
The next morning at 8:15, “No Problems” was at the bottom of the stairs polishing his car. We loaded up and headed for the airport. Once inside, we organized our gear, separating carry-on stuff from things to be checked. New York looked around and said, “Where are my scuba tanks?”
“Where did you put them?” he was asked. “The last time I saw them they were behind the door of the bathroom,” he said. “Did you put them in the taxi?” “No, I thought someone else did.” He quickly tore out the door. Our cabbie was in line for a fare into the city. Bless his soul, he took New York back to the mission office for the scuba tanks, and again returned to the airport, not wanting to charge New York. With all the gear now accounted for, we checked in and breathed a sigh of relief. It was 9:45. After that, our trip home was uneventful – No Problem!
Again, I apologize for the length of this narrative, but whenever I think back on it, I can see the hand of the Lord reaching out again and again. He is real, He is there, and He really does care. Knowing in retrospect that the cab driver was a true Christian, I can understand his constant response, “No problem.” You see, he began each day by turning everything over to the Lord. And to the Lord, nothing is a problem. Whatever comes, if it has been turned over to Him in advance, we, too, can always say, “No problem!” We may not know when or how He will choose to resolve that which confronts us, but He can really be trusted. What more can we ask for?
May you next day be a “no problem” day.
Dr. G
(By the way, five of the seven students are now full-fledged physicians)
At the end of the previous posting, I was stranded at the Belize City International Airport with four young Biology majors in my care. We had missed our flight out of the country, and now four sets of eyes looked to me to figure out our next move. My first step was to ask the Lord for guidance. I would like to recount for you the ways the Lord intervened in our behalf.
When we first arrived in Belize, we’d stayed at one of the few hotels in Belize City that was really safe at the time. I’d noted the cost: $47 for a room for two. Now standing in an airport lobby, my calculations quickly told me a hotel was out of the question. Against my recommendations, all four students had spent every cent they had for souvenirs. I had two $20 travelers’ checks. None of us had any credit cards with us.
First, I thought, we needed to get reservations on the next day’s flight. So I approached the ticket counter, which, with the departure of our plane, was now rather unbusy. When I told the ticket agent I needed to get reservations, she smiled and said that she couldn’t do that. Reservations had to be made at the airline's central office in downtown Belize City. So we went outside to get a taxi to take us into the city, knowing that this would take $10 from our scant funds. The first driver we approached looked at us and our gear. “No problem,” he said. We filled the trunk of the taxi, put three guys in the back seat with more luggage in their laps, then one student and I got in the front seat with the driver. Off we went.
We arrived at the airline office about 12:30. I asked the taxi driver if we could leave our gear in his car until we got the reservations. “No problem,” was his reply. He picked up his newspaper, and entered the office with us.
The office was about 35 feet deep and 25 feet wide. At the very front was a waiting area with about six chairs. Just beyond, on either side was about 15 feet of counter, joined together about 10 feet from the back of the room by a railing. Beyond the railing were three or four desks. As we entered, there were two young women behind the counter on our right. Another three were sitting at the desks in the back of the room. I approached the counter where the two were, explaining that we had missed our flight and needed to get reservations for the next day to Miami and then on to Boston. With a smile, one of the young women explained that we were at the freight desk, and they couldn’t help us. Reservations needed to be made at the counter across the room. We looked over there to notice no one was behind the counter. Then she added, “They’re on siesta right now, and will return at 1:30.” Not knowing what else to do, I told my guys to sit down, and went to explain the situation to the cab driver. “No problem,” was his response. So we all sat down.
After a few minutes I thought maybe I could run to a bank and cash one of the traveler’s checks so I could at least pay the cab driver. I returned to the freight counter and asked if there was a bank nearby where I could cash a check. Smiling again, the lady directed me around the corner and down one block. I told the cabbie where I was going. He nodded, and again said, “No problem.” I began to wonder if that was his response to all questions/comments put his direction, or maybe the sum total of his English.
I walked to the bank, only to discover that they, too, were on siesta until 1:30. I returned to the airline office knowing in advance how the cabbie would respond. The counter girl only smiled as I came back in. Maybe she had thought a walk in the hot sun would be good for me. At least it was air conditioned inside, perhaps explaining some of the cabbie’s comfort.
At 1:30 the three girls who’d been sitting at the desks behind the railing walked to the reservation counter, looked in our direction and said, “May we help you?” Somewhat taken aback by their sudden interest in helping us, I again explained our plight. The apparent leader’s response was, “I’ll have to send a Tel-ex to Tegucigalpa (capital of Honduras – we were flying on the national airline of Honduras). I’ll have an answer for you after 4:30. Where are you staying?” I almost blurted, “Here in your office,” but decided against it.
Then the thought hit me, “My denomination probably has a couple of churches here in this city. I’ll try there.” So I asked the kind lady if I could use her phone book. I quickly looked under Seventh-day Adventist Church, and discovered not only several churches, but a mission office. Calling the latter, I was pleasantly surprised to be answered by the mission president himself (he explained his secretary was on siesta). I told him how we’d been stranded and needed a place to stay for the night.
“We have a guest room here that can sleep two. We normally charge $20 for it, but I’ll let you have it for tonight for $10.” I didn’t remind him that there were actually five of us, but jumped at the thought of some kind of shelter at that price. So I got the address, thanked him and hung up. Then I told the lady at the ticket counter that we would just come back at 4:30. Next we had to deal with the cab driver.
I walked over to him, and asked him if he could deliver us to another address (on the other side of town, of course) still for the original price of $10. “No problem.” I was beginning to wonder about this guy. Nothing seemed to faze him. We went back out to the car, got situated, and I named our destination. “It is the Seventh-day Adventist mission office. Do you know where it is?” Now his answer really shocked us, “No problem. My daughter is the secretary there!”
After stopping by the bank, we were taken to the mission. We were met by the president, who looked at us and all our gear. He smiled and shook his head in unbelief. “It is really small, but you’re welcome to it,” he said. It was up an outside flight of stairs above a shop or warehouse. He was right. Two could fit on the bed. Three could sleep on the floor, one at either side and one at the end of the bed. All the gear had to go into the bathroom. We left one small trail to the toilet. Before the cab driver could get away, I asked if he could be there in the morning at 8:30 to take us back to the airport. I wanted to get checked in before I woke up in the middle of a bad dream. Of course, his answer was, “No problem.” And every time with a smile.
We were now down to $20, ten of which had to be saved to get to the airport the next day. I went to the Mission president to see if he knew of a place where we might be able to get at least five bites of food for $10. He mentioned a Chinese restaurant down two blocks and over one. But we had to hurry. Their siesta began at 2:30, and it was now about 2:00. So off we went. The Lord continued to bless us. The five of us were able to eat our fill for $7.50. We felt rich. Of course, that meant no supper or breakfast, but we were feeling pretty good right then.
Since we no longer had fare for a cab, we had to walk back to the airline office, a hike of about 30 minutes. When we arrived we were greeted with good news. We had reservations to Miami. From there to Boston, we’d be on stand-by. But at least New York now had assurances that he’d get out of the country! On the way back to our lodging, I spent our last $2.50 on a large bag of roasted peanuts and ten oranges. So now we had some supper and breakfast.
The next morning at 8:15, “No Problems” was at the bottom of the stairs polishing his car. We loaded up and headed for the airport. Once inside, we organized our gear, separating carry-on stuff from things to be checked. New York looked around and said, “Where are my scuba tanks?”
“Where did you put them?” he was asked. “The last time I saw them they were behind the door of the bathroom,” he said. “Did you put them in the taxi?” “No, I thought someone else did.” He quickly tore out the door. Our cabbie was in line for a fare into the city. Bless his soul, he took New York back to the mission office for the scuba tanks, and again returned to the airport, not wanting to charge New York. With all the gear now accounted for, we checked in and breathed a sigh of relief. It was 9:45. After that, our trip home was uneventful – No Problem!
Again, I apologize for the length of this narrative, but whenever I think back on it, I can see the hand of the Lord reaching out again and again. He is real, He is there, and He really does care. Knowing in retrospect that the cab driver was a true Christian, I can understand his constant response, “No problem.” You see, he began each day by turning everything over to the Lord. And to the Lord, nothing is a problem. Whatever comes, if it has been turned over to Him in advance, we, too, can always say, “No problem!” We may not know when or how He will choose to resolve that which confronts us, but He can really be trusted. What more can we ask for?
May you next day be a “no problem” day.
Dr. G
(By the way, five of the seven students are now full-fledged physicians)
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Get Me To The Gate On Time
It was early January, 1983. I had taken a small group of students from the small New England college where I was teaching to Belize for a two week introductory course in tropical biology. There were two girls (a freshman Chemistry major and her sister-in-law, who had come to chaperone) and five guys (all upper-division Biology majors). We were to spend a week in the rain forest, and a week studying th
e coral reef offshore. With the exceptionof Sister-in-law and
one fellow from up-state eastern New York, all had a fair amount of experience traveling. Belize, I should point out, had just recently received independence from Great Britain, and was one of the poorer countries in Central and South America.
one fellow from up-state eastern New York, all had a fair amount of experience traveling. Belize, I should point out, had just recently received independence from Great Britain, and was one of the poorer countries in Central and South America.
The fairly primitive third-world conditions (especially in the rain-forest did not set well with Sister-in-law, and the only thing that really kept her from jumping ship was that if she went, her younger charge would also have to leave. Chemistry was having the time of her life. New York seemed to be doing Ok, although his eyes often looked like those of a deer caught in headlights. Overall, I judged the trip to have been a success and a positive experience for each until the day to leave.
I had organized the trip through an outfitter located just outside Boston. He had taken care of transportation needs, hotels, meals, boats and guides. As it turned out, it was to our good fortune that he happened to be at the same hotel the day we were to leave Belize for home.
It is about a four hour drive from the town we were in (Dangriga) to Belize City, where the international airport is. Our flight was to leave at 11:30 for Miami where we had connections to Boston. We were to be picked up at the hotel by bus at 5:30 am. This would put us into the airport at 9:30, with plenty of time to check in. So at 5:10, I had everyone outside the hotel with the luggage, waiting for the bus to come. When the bus had not come by 6:00, I began to worry.
At 6:30, I went to the hotel room of our outfitter, and knocked. “What are you doing here?” was his sleepy greeting. Of course, in return I replied, “That’s what we’d like to know.” After some words not used in the Musings, and some cogitation on his part, he told me to get my group into the hotel dining room for some breakfast, and he’d look into matters.
As we were eating, he came in and said that a charter airplane would be at the hotel’s landing strip at 9:30. Seems that the hotel owner’s brother owned Maya Air, the “major” airline of Belize, and a plane was being dispatched for us. Considering it only takes 20 minutes from Dangriga to the international airport by plane, we were satisfied, finished our breakfast, and headed for the airstrip.
9:30 came. So did 9:45. Then 10:00. I ran back to the hotel to confirm that a plane was coming. Fully assured, I went back to the airstrip just as a plane came into view. But when it landed, we found it wasn’t our charter. It was nothing but a regularly scheduled flight that had room for only four, not the eight of us with all our gear. One of the guys played trumpet with a touring youth orchestra, and needed to be in Southern California the next day and was an experienced world-traveler. I put him on the plane. I needed to get the two girls out of the country before Sister-in-law came unglued. That left one seat. I took it. I mean, how could I lead if I stayed behind? Thus, I left four of my guys stranded in Dangriga until the next plane, and headed for Belize City.
When we reached the international airport, I checked in the three students I had with me for the flights, and patiently tried to prolong the departure of our plane, wondering where the other four students were. Finally, the airline personnel told me they had to send the flight. They had held it an extra 15 minutes the way it was. I had no idea what had happened to the rest of my group. The plane left the gate and began taxiing down the runway for takeoff. Just then, four huffing and puffing college students with back packs, scuba gear and a strong desire to be on that plane came running in the front door. Too late! Their charter had landed at the city airport, not the international airport, and they had had to take a 20-minute taxi ride from one side of the city to the other. So there we were, four students plus a professor, with $40 in my pocket. Theirs were empty.
Three of the guys took it fairly well. New York, however, had trouble dealing with the idea that he couldn’t leave the country. His face turned red and he began hyperventilating, gasping; tears welled up in his eyes, and he just stood there saying, over and over again, “That’s my plane! That’s my plane!” He had been left behind. He expressed anger, fear, depression, even despair.
The scriptures describe in several places the response of those who’ve not prepared to meet the Lord when He comes. Some can’t believe they’re not to be included, and try to point to their many “good” works. Some cry for the rocks and mountains to fall on them, because they can’t bear to see the face of the Redeemer they’ve rejected. Some turn on those they’d been trusting as their guides who didn’t know how or where to lead. In a small measure, I saw it all in the face of my student that day 20-plus years ago. It wasn’t pleasant. It sure would have been better to be on that plane. Likewise, it will be a whole lot better to be going with our Lord. May you have that necessary relationship daily so your flight is confirmed and you’re all set to go.
Wait a minute. Where did I leave my boarding pass?
Dr. G
I had organized the trip through an outfitter located just outside Boston. He had taken care of transportation needs, hotels, meals, boats and guides. As it turned out, it was to our good fortune that he happened to be at the same hotel the day we were to leave Belize for home.
It is about a four hour drive from the town we were in (Dangriga) to Belize City, where the international airport is. Our flight was to leave at 11:30 for Miami where we had connections to Boston. We were to be picked up at the hotel by bus at 5:30 am. This would put us into the airport at 9:30, with plenty of time to check in. So at 5:10, I had everyone outside the hotel with the luggage, waiting for the bus to come. When the bus had not come by 6:00, I began to worry.
At 6:30, I went to the hotel room of our outfitter, and knocked. “What are you doing here?” was his sleepy greeting. Of course, in return I replied, “That’s what we’d like to know.” After some words not used in the Musings, and some cogitation on his part, he told me to get my group into the hotel dining room for some breakfast, and he’d look into matters.
As we were eating, he came in and said that a charter airplane would be at the hotel’s landing strip at 9:30. Seems that the hotel owner’s brother owned Maya Air, the “major” airline of Belize, and a plane was being dispatched for us. Considering it only takes 20 minutes from Dangriga to the international airport by plane, we were satisfied, finished our breakfast, and headed for the airstrip.
9:30 came. So did 9:45. Then 10:00. I ran back to the hotel to confirm that a plane was coming. Fully assured, I went back to the airstrip just as a plane came into view. But when it landed, we found it wasn’t our charter. It was nothing but a regularly scheduled flight that had room for only four, not the eight of us with all our gear. One of the guys played trumpet with a touring youth orchestra, and needed to be in Southern California the next day and was an experienced world-traveler. I put him on the plane. I needed to get the two girls out of the country before Sister-in-law came unglued. That left one seat. I took it. I mean, how could I lead if I stayed behind? Thus, I left four of my guys stranded in Dangriga until the next plane, and headed for Belize City.When we reached the international airport, I checked in the three students I had with me for the flights, and patiently tried to prolong the departure of our plane, wondering where the other four students were. Finally, the airline personnel told me they had to send the flight. They had held it an extra 15 minutes the way it was. I had no idea what had happened to the rest of my group. The plane left the gate and began taxiing down the runway for takeoff. Just then, four huffing and puffing college students with back packs, scuba gear and a strong desire to be on that plane came running in the front door. Too late! Their charter had landed at the city airport, not the international airport, and they had had to take a 20-minute taxi ride from one side of the city to the other. So there we were, four students plus a professor, with $40 in my pocket. Theirs were empty.
Three of the guys took it fairly well. New York, however, had trouble dealing with the idea that he couldn’t leave the country. His face turned red and he began hyperventilating, gasping; tears welled up in his eyes, and he just stood there saying, over and over again, “That’s my plane! That’s my plane!” He had been left behind. He expressed anger, fear, depression, even despair.
The scriptures describe in several places the response of those who’ve not prepared to meet the Lord when He comes. Some can’t believe they’re not to be included, and try to point to their many “good” works. Some cry for the rocks and mountains to fall on them, because they can’t bear to see the face of the Redeemer they’ve rejected. Some turn on those they’d been trusting as their guides who didn’t know how or where to lead. In a small measure, I saw it all in the face of my student that day 20-plus years ago. It wasn’t pleasant. It sure would have been better to be on that plane. Likewise, it will be a whole lot better to be going with our Lord. May you have that necessary relationship daily so your flight is confirmed and you’re all set to go.
Wait a minute. Where did I leave my boarding pass?
Dr. G
Saturday, October 13, 2007
I Never Did Like Green Beans
I’ve mentioned earlier that my older brother and I made several hiking trips in Mr. Rainier National Park as teenagers (see June 6 2007 posting, The Terror By Night). While our folks did support us some, we were required to come up with some of the financing, especially for the dehydrated foods we were to carry.
Now, my brother had a paper route, but I didn't have any sort of job. We received a modest allowance which met our basic personal needs. We did the lawn and washed the dishes, but that was expected of us, and we weren’t paid for these chores. That was our contribution to the family. So, to get money for our real wants, we had to come up with another plan.
One of our parents suggested that we join the dozens (hundreds?) of other teenagers that worked as day-laborers in the bean and berry fields in the greater Seattle area. I mean, bean picking had a tradition in our family, at least among our cousins who lived down in the Springfield, Oregon, area. They’d been earning spending money and clothes money that way for a number of years. So, with some reluctance, my brother and I agreed to give it a try.
The “hiring” area was down in the warehouse/railroad yard region of south Seattle. I don’t recall exactly where. But it was still dark when two boys with sack lunches were dropped off with t
he admonition to call home for a ride when we got back. We were slated to get on a bus, take the ferry over to Vashon Island, out in Puget Sound, to pick something. I don’t recall what.
I don’t know which of us made the suggestion. I’ll take the credit, since it was probably me. But bean picking didn’t sound like a whole lot of fun. There were lots of things in Seattle that the two of us had always enjoyed seeing and experiencing. Up on the waterfront was Ye Olde Curiosity Shop, near the main ferry terminal. It was filled with all sorts of wonders to gaze at (and buy, if one had a need) – a mummy of an Alaskan gold-rusher, mammoth tusks, real shrunken heads, ---WOW! There was the Pike Place Market. But that was an even greater walk up town. Somewhat closer were several Army Surplus Stores over on Fourth Avenue that we frequented, supplying ourselves with leftovers from both WWII and the Korean conflict. But they wouldn’t open for some time.
More in the direction of home was a large cold-storage company where folks could rent cubicles in which to store frozen items (hunting and major fishing was still quite
big in the Northwest then, and home freezers weren’t really common). But the neat thing was that the facility had a large collection of frozen fish for viewing. We decided we could walk from where we were to where the fish were and be there about the time they would open up. So much for picking beans or berries.
We eventually headed for home, thinking to walk all the way. Of course, we’d misjudged the distance, and our trip to see the fish had removed us from the direct line to home. Thank goodness we’d thoughtfully brought our lunches! Our route toward home took us from the middle of the warehouse zone of south Seattle, westward across the Spokane Street bridge over the Duwamish River, into West Seattle, and then southward to White Center. It was mid-afternoon when we finally called our mother from there, still about six miles from home.
The whole experience reminds me of a story in the scriptures. Seems a father had two sons who he asked to go work in the fields. One said, OK, I’ll go, but didn’t. The other said, No, but went. On that day many years ago, my brother and I were like the one who said he’d go. But other interests got in our way. We were well intentioned when we left home that morning. Our interest waned, however, and we ended up more tired after a day of avoiding the work than we would have been had we gone out and picked beans. It takes a lot of effort to avoid doing work, sometimes.
It also takes effort to avoid doing the Lord's work. It isn’t hard to smile at a fearful or lonely child in the hallway. Nor is it difficult to say an encouraging word to those you meet wherever it is you meet people. If the Lord is in your heart, you’ll find Him popping out in things you say and things you do all the time.
Lord, fill my heart so I can work in your fields all the time, every day. May I avoid the temptation of going into cold storage to avoid your work. Lead my feet so they don’t walk miles out of the way to avoid what you’d have me to do. Help me to like green beans enough to go pick them in Your name.
Have a great day!
Dr. G
Now, my brother had a paper route, but I didn't have any sort of job. We received a modest allowance which met our basic personal needs. We did the lawn and washed the dishes, but that was expected of us, and we weren’t paid for these chores. That was our contribution to the family. So, to get money for our real wants, we had to come up with another plan.
One of our parents suggested that we join the dozens (hundreds?) of other teenagers that worked as day-laborers in the bean and berry fields in the greater Seattle area. I mean, bean picking had a tradition in our family, at least among our cousins who lived down in the Springfield, Oregon, area. They’d been earning spending money and clothes money that way for a number of years. So, with some reluctance, my brother and I agreed to give it a try.
The “hiring” area was down in the warehouse/railroad yard region of south Seattle. I don’t recall exactly where. But it was still dark when two boys with sack lunches were dropped off with t
he admonition to call home for a ride when we got back. We were slated to get on a bus, take the ferry over to Vashon Island, out in Puget Sound, to pick something. I don’t recall what.I don’t know which of us made the suggestion. I’ll take the credit, since it was probably me. But bean picking didn’t sound like a whole lot of fun. There were lots of things in Seattle that the two of us had always enjoyed seeing and experiencing. Up on the waterfront was Ye Olde Curiosity Shop, near the main ferry terminal. It was filled with all sorts of wonders to gaze at (and buy, if one had a need) – a mummy of an Alaskan gold-rusher, mammoth tusks, real shrunken heads, ---WOW! There was the Pike Place Market. But that was an even greater walk up town. Somewhat closer were several Army Surplus Stores over on Fourth Avenue that we frequented, supplying ourselves with leftovers from both WWII and the Korean conflict. But they wouldn’t open for some time.
More in the direction of home was a large cold-storage company where folks could rent cubicles in which to store frozen items (hunting and major fishing was still quite
big in the Northwest then, and home freezers weren’t really common). But the neat thing was that the facility had a large collection of frozen fish for viewing. We decided we could walk from where we were to where the fish were and be there about the time they would open up. So much for picking beans or berries.We eventually headed for home, thinking to walk all the way. Of course, we’d misjudged the distance, and our trip to see the fish had removed us from the direct line to home. Thank goodness we’d thoughtfully brought our lunches! Our route toward home took us from the middle of the warehouse zone of south Seattle, westward across the Spokane Street bridge over the Duwamish River, into West Seattle, and then southward to White Center. It was mid-afternoon when we finally called our mother from there, still about six miles from home.
The whole experience reminds me of a story in the scriptures. Seems a father had two sons who he asked to go work in the fields. One said, OK, I’ll go, but didn’t. The other said, No, but went. On that day many years ago, my brother and I were like the one who said he’d go. But other interests got in our way. We were well intentioned when we left home that morning. Our interest waned, however, and we ended up more tired after a day of avoiding the work than we would have been had we gone out and picked beans. It takes a lot of effort to avoid doing work, sometimes.
It also takes effort to avoid doing the Lord's work. It isn’t hard to smile at a fearful or lonely child in the hallway. Nor is it difficult to say an encouraging word to those you meet wherever it is you meet people. If the Lord is in your heart, you’ll find Him popping out in things you say and things you do all the time.
Lord, fill my heart so I can work in your fields all the time, every day. May I avoid the temptation of going into cold storage to avoid your work. Lead my feet so they don’t walk miles out of the way to avoid what you’d have me to do. Help me to like green beans enough to go pick them in Your name.
Have a great day!
Dr. G
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