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

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

NEXT!

It’s something we are forced to do repeatedly every day. We get to do it at many 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 school 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 do, 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 mechanism 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

GODIENCE

It was a word I’d never heard before. I was listening to a preacher speaking before 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

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 kids 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 anything 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 snow, 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 time, 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

There It Is Again!

Back when I was a biology professor, the class I enjoyed teaching more than any 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 kind 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

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 half 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 common 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

There Are So Many Sounds ...

The school at which I teach has one self-contained classroom for students with special 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 happened, 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