Off on a Tangent & The Pond

The week before last, after writing about rain, I read a news article and took up the charge of writing about its subject. Then I left for a week’s holiday with my wife’s family up North, in Yankee Country. We celebrated Fourth of July together. Returning, I took up the topic at hand. But it wasn’t going anywhere. It seems like I just got off on a tangent, leaving the Spirit of G-d back in the rainy day somewhere.

Earlier this morning the day began with some blue sky and spoke of a sunny day, despite the weather forecast. Now, a couple hours into the day, it is heavily overcast. The NOAA weather forecasts have been close to accurate lately. As foretold yesterday, lightning and thunder closed out the day and lots of rain soaked the garden quite nicely. Even the pond filled to its maximum level.

The pond’s been in about a month now. It isn’t a large pond, really. Oddly shaped with the widest part about ten feet and about twelve feet in the longest. At night a chorus of frogs belts out a tuneless song. Tadpoles swim below the lily pads, some now growing legs. They will soon join the chorus, adding their voices. Eventually we plan to add gold fish to the pond. We’ve added some bog plants, sitting on a shallow ledge that encircles the pond. Bog plants sit in water, with their soil just below the surface. Three lily plants are on another lower ledge toward the middle of the pond. Before the fish, though, we need to drop a large flat rock on a ledge so that it hangs over the deepest part, which is about four feet deep. This will provide a place out of the sun for the fish to stay cool in the summer, and to hide from herons that will feed on them. Also, we are still getting the pond’s natural balance to take hold. At first algae bloomed filled the water with its green haze. I added a bit of natural bacteria to the water, and it is collecting in the filter. A pump forces water through the filter. The algae cleared rapidly as the bacteria decomposed the dying blooms. Algae remains trapped in the filter now, and the bacteria keeps it from getting out of hand. The water is clear, though now we can see the bottom and some leaves and such that have fallen in the pond. We’ll have to clear that stuff too.

Outside the pond, along one side, we planted herbs that will last through the winter, mint and oregano. There are other plants along the other sides. They, too, will last through the winter, to rebloom in the summer. My wife says the garden is done, now, and we can sit on the deck and enjoy. But by this time of year that is nearly impossible; the no-see-ums and the mosquitoes are thick out there. The spring is still the nicest season down here in Georgia. The cool nights prevent the bugs from getting bad, and the warm days carry over to the evening hours making it quite pleasant. Next spring, then, we’ll enjoy the pond as we’ve enjoyed the rest of the garden.

Lord Bless, Keep, Shine. . .

It’s Raining Today

When we were kids, growing up in California, we would sing on the school bus. On rainy days, we’d sing “Rain, Rain, Go Away. Come Again Another Day!” I don’t know why. I’m sure we just didn’t appreciate the rain. Maybe it’s that rain so often has a negative image, like the expression, “Rain on my/your/our/the Parade.” Folks up in Calgary, Alberta, Canada, must be getting pretty sick of rain and its associated flooding. But down here in Georgia, the soft rain this morning is appreciated. Not only does it cool things down somewhat, though making it more humid, it waters the ground that has gone without for a week now.

Sure, a perfect rain would begin in the late evening and continue softly dropping an inch or so until the early morning hours. It wouldn’t interfere with the daily lives of millions of folks all scrambling to make it to work on time. A fresh rain like today will leave the roads slick for a while today. Yet, while I empathize with commuters–been there, done that–I still love to watch the rain gently fall on the garden. I don’t mind walking in the rain, either. Except perhaps those sudden downpours that drench despite rain jacket and hood. No, I do not carry or use an umbrella; that’s just too English. I’m of Good Welsh stock on my Mother’s side, which means I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and don’t have blue blood; I have, indeed, music in my soul and poetry flowing through my veins.

Rain is water. And I love water. While it isn’t the source of life, as many scientist like to say, it is certainly essential. Humans can go many weeks without eating food, and some, like me trying to lose twenty pounds, can go many more weeks. But we need water to exist. Like in three days we’ll perish if we don’t drink of water. We dry up.

We dry up physically without enough water. We dehydrate. If you pinch your flesh between two fingers, softly gathering the skin together, then release, it quickly moves back into shape. When you are dehydrated, your skin just stays puckered for a while. Dehydration dries us up, and makes us weak. There’s a spiritual correlation to dehydration. It’s worst than physically drying up. Like a the skin test, spiritual dehydration makes us pucker up, too. Our demeanor is sour, agitated. We wither, like a plant in the sun, drooping over spiritually. There’s a saying, “One Week without Prayer makes One Weak.” Prayer, the Word of G-d, praise and worship, thanksgiving, it’s all fellowship with G-d. Without that, we dry up.

That’s pretty much what kept happening in Israel, during the Temple Days. The people would forget about G-d and things would begin to go terrible wrong. They’d listen, at last, to a new Judge or a new king, and return to the LORD.

We don’t live in a theocracy, though. Once upon a time in America, we were a Christian nation and while we’ve had many and varied denominations, we worshiped the same G-d, the G-d of Israel. Those days are gone now. Some say that’s a good thing. But even then there was no one leader that we all looked toward that would lead us back to G-d if we strayed too far away. The secular government, while made up of Christians, mostly, had separated the political from the religious. We have a history of this separation of Church and State. And it’s really worked out pretty well. We don’t yet have a political ruler that also tells us how and whom to worship. That’s good thing. But it also leaves us with out a shepherd to call our attention, our focus back upon our Lord.

How do we get back into right communion with G-d after staying away? What will prompt us, remind us? For jsut like dehydration can come upon us easily on a hot day, we can move away from our Lord easily to, without even really noticing it until we’ve drifted a ways.

Water.

great rain skirt — Photo credit: gregglesworth

When we pour a glass of water, crisp, clear water, we should think of G-d. We ought think perhaps of the well outside Shecham where our Lord Y’shuaJesus asked a woman for cup of water to drink. When it’s raining, it can remind us of the Living Water that the Lord said he’d give to all who ask of Him. A pond or pool or lake can remind us of John who baptized in the Jordan River, or of the pool by which a crippled man awaited healing. The sea reminds us that the Earth is covered mostly in water. We must be moved by the ocean’s power, majesty, and vastness. Our minds must turn to our Creator, reminded that He, too, is all powerful, majestic, and everywhere and close at the same time.

Water. Baptized in water. Baptized in Spirit.

Lord Bless, Keep, Shine. . .

Early this morning. . .

. . . I some how found myself in a lumber yard standing with my father. Together we looked at the back end of a lowboy trailer much like the one I once used in the military to haul armored vehicles and howitzers. We discussed how to add a piece of wood to protect the back where the tracks of the vehicles had chewed up the wood. We decided upon a piece of hardwood, attached so that it could protect the other wood, take the abuse, and be easily replaced.

Then a fork driver came over to put a load of lumber on the trailer, which morphed into a flatbed. My mother appeared and told the lift driver to put the load toward the back. He questioned her about this decision, and I supported it, pointing out that the weight center of the trailer was different than the physical center.

I recall having some sort of music player, and telling my mother it could store lots of music, even the Welsh music that was now unplayable, as it was vinyl records and we had no record player.

The trailer was nearly loaded now, and my father asked if the strip of wood was ready yet. I started toward a building and looked back to say that I’d be back, I only needed to get a sweatshirt and use the bathroom. I headed toward a large, steel building, not unlike the one in which I worked for many years at Camp Roberts.

As I approached my own bathroom, in my own bedroom, the steel workshop faded away and I awoke.

That’s the second dream in two days in which Camp Roberts appeared. In the other dream, the night before last, I had returned to Camp Roberts, and was once again wearing olive drab, and heading to an old warehouse where the supply office would issue me steel-toed boots.

If I literally returned to Camp Roberts, to the East Garrison where once I spent ten years, that steel building and the other wooden buildings would be long gone. Even as I was leaving that place, before I entered the Forest Service, a new, large maintenance facility had been christened and moving begun.

I remember my fist day in that steel maintenance building, which was fairly new at the time. I met Sargent First Class Edwin Spickert. People were pretty much on first name basis then, and I was introduced as Terry. Ed said, “I knew a Terry once, and you sure don’t look like her!” I became “Robi,” then and there. I stayed Robi until I hung up, or layed out in the trash dump, my uniform with its bittersweet memories.

Ed worked with the designers and engineers planning the new maintenance building many years later. He made Warrant Officer, too, as did several of the other “old timers” at the shop. When I started there there were a handful of “new guys” like me, and a hand full of these older guys who’d been around what seemed like forever. When I left after ten years, most of the old timers were still there, most of those formerly new guys, too. But there had come a hoard of others, as the shop grew and grew, busting out its seams.

I learned a lot while at Camp Roberts. I worked hard. It wasn’t easy. I made mistakes. When I left, I left. I never went back. At least, not until my dream the other night, and the one early this morning. I made a lot of mistakes while I at Camp Roberts. I’ve made a lot of mistakes everywhere I’ve ever been. Hind sight, it is often pointed out, is 20/20.

Today, opening the online Bible to which I often refer to, I found before me:

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

Romans 8:1

There are a number of people that it would me nice to say something like, “Hey, I really learned a lot from you.” There are a lot of people that I could also say, “Hey, I’m sorry.” I still have nagging regrets of things done and things left undone. I appreciate that regardless of my life, imperfect in my eyes as it is in others’, is seen as perfect in my Savior, Y’shuaJesus. And I am thankful that there is now no condemnation for all of us who are in Messiah Y’shuaJesus. Thank You, Y’shua!

Lord Bless, Keep, Shine. . .

Dollywood and Mountain Peace

The West Fork of the Little Pigeon River in Pi... — The West Fork of the Little Pigeon River in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Last week, all week, we spent in Pigeon Forge and Gaitlinburg, Tennessee. Six of us went there, my wife, our two kids, and two of their friends. We rented a cabin, rather than stay in a hotel. We cooked breakfast, but ate out in the evenings. Lots of choices of places to eat, too. Two days we spent at Dollywood Park, on rides and taking in some shows. While walking around, lots of country and folk bands played. The weather was warm, but not overly humid, and it didn’t rain, like it did the last time we visited. We took time to explore tourist shops in Gaitlinburg.

The thing about the entire area is that people, while mostly tourists coming for the entertainment as well as visits to the Great Smokey Mountain National Park, were a model of behavior. Lots of people. Lots of respect for each other, too. It wasn’t too crowded, in comparison with Memorial Day weekend, but there were still a lot of people. This respect, for lack of a better word, was especially noticeable while driving: people maintained a safe driving distance, didn’t drive too much over the speed limit, and made way for others to enter their lanes of travel when needed.

The experience left me relaxed. And one the way back we stopped at a trail head that crossed a river. We didn’t walk far, but played on large boulders that sat like islands clustered together in the river. We also stopped for some photo opportunities at Newfound Gap, that is a ridge along which the Tennessee and North Carolina boundary runs.

Yes, the time there left us relaxed, feeling good.

That changed as soon as we entered the Atlanta metro area. The rush of traffic pressed against us. The tension stripped the beneficial peace we’d found in the Smokey Mountains. We were home. Which of course makes me thing about why exactly do we remain in such a place such as this, in which we live. We ended up farther from my wife’s office than she’d originally thought possible, when she accepted a transfer to Atlanta. I’d hoped, of course, to live even farther away. But at the time we moved here, we were on the rural edge, just beyond the metro growth ring around Atlanta. That ring expanded over the last few years to encompass our home.

What we’ve done to cope is build a garden between our home and the creek that runs behind us. We’ve mixed hundreds of yards of top soil into the red clay, making it possible to grow a wide variety of edible and medicinal plants and flowers and roses and trees. We’ve expanded and expanded the garden to make a small enclave that promotes some feeling of serenity despite the occasional noise from the office buildings across the creek–office buildings that have morphed into small, light industry with associated noises even at the early hours of the morning.

It’s easier to find peace beside a river, in the mountains. But peace isn’t external. Peace is internal. And, yes, true and lasting peace comes from knowing the Lord Y’shauJesus as Lord and Savior. Yet, in this world, we must find some worldly peace, too. Our bodies need it. And if I can find some measure of peace amid the rancor stressed out people rushing to make a living, then that is a good thing. Shalom!

Lord Bless, Keep, Shine . . .

Spring Fever; Daylight Saving Time

Up in one of the northern states (USA), a fellow lamented to a sail boat forum that winter is going to extend straight into summer. Snow is on the way. Again. He’s itching to get his boat off the hard and into the water.

Here, in Georgia, spring tries to settle in. The first few days were extremely cold, even during the daytime. While nights continue being cold, daytime temperatures rise steadily until around six o’clock, when they gradually begin to drop. The sky is clear and the sun shines brightly. The wind comes up in the afternoon. I, too, want want to get on the water, unfurl the sails, and listen to the quiet gurgle of water as the hull pushes it out of the way.

And here I am inside working on small remodel job I should have already finished. So much for good planning.

One thing that really messed with me this year as spring approached is the change from standard time to daylight saving time. I don’t like the change over, and it is worse with the change being several weeks early now. It’s not like we’re really saving any light. I read up on the whole thing as we were doing the change over. It’s really not clear if there is any benefit in it at all. Yet we have pushed it up.

I remember a year, 1974 I think, daylight saving time didn’t get switched back for the winter. I had a Triumph 650 Trials motorcycle with no lights. I rode it along a river bottom for six or so miles to work. For several of the darkest months, I rode in the dark to get to work by eight am.

I hear some folks like it as they can come home from work and still have several hours of light to be outside, to enjoy sports and such. Well, I suppose that doesn’t really help the people living up north with snow still on the ground. And even here, for another month or so it will still get cold in the evening.

Getting cold in the evening is a good thing, too; it helps keep the bug population from exploding. Mosquitoes are the worst. Especially the big ‘uns. Do you know how big they get here in Georgia? Well, there was a warm spring and a real explosion of nasty big mosquitoes. I was out back, two grabbed hold of me and started lifting me off the ground. I distinctly heard one yell to the other, “Hurry, we gotta go before the big ‘uns see us.”

Okay. I’m done ramblin’

Lord Bless, Keep, Shine. . .