Bird-brains

I love birds.  Well, sometimes it's actually a love-hate kind of thing.



I love their singing and their bright colors, like the Goldfinches we saw all summer bathing shamelessly in the open in our birdbath, or the Bluebirds that were eating berries off our pear tree a couple autumns ago.  I love sitting in a group of trees, listening to their varied songs, a cacophony of different choruses, yet all blending together in that beautiful chime of a new spring.  And doesn't everyone look for those first Robins of spring, with their fat red breasts puffed out with pride at being one of the first harbingers of the season?  They just crack me up when they're on the hunt, hopping around the yard, then they stop short and turn their heads to the side, looking (listening?) for that elusive worm.  How do they do it?  Then the peck and some sort of squirming thing is usually in the grasp of their beak.......or not.  Sometimes it's a miss.  

I love how, on a winter's day, they skip and cheep and chirp through the snow around the bird feeder, those in the feeder scattering the seed all around and OUT of the feeder.  Then the ground feeders, the smaller birds, the Sparrows, the Juncos (Snowbirds), Mourning Doves and the rest gobble them up.  I enjoyed how they all scattered, but not too far away, when I would go to fill the feeder, then swoop in almost as soon as I turned away to see what offerings I had left them.  Those Chickadees in their happy black caps, the Nuthatches daringly walking upside down on branches, obviously the acrobats of bird-dom, the Titmice with their feathers standing up on their heads, scandalized at the strangeness of their names.  Not mice or mouses, after all!

Sometimes birds are quite quarrelsome.  Oh, I expect it when a nest of young-in's is involved.  A nest is a bird's castle, after all.  And what mother or father would not protect its child, be it an egg or a ball of fuzz with a gaping beak?  I remember when I was a pre-teen (this is when my nephews would bring up covered wagons, but it was really late 60's), a pair of Barn Swallows took residence in our detached garage.  By the time the nestlings left home, the Swallows were wrecks from our constant invasions and we were in no better condition from being dived at regularly by the frantic parents who would miss our heads by, it seemed, centimeters.

But Sparrows at a feeder seem to waste so much time flying at one another, trying to keep territory, or take over territory, when every bird has pretty much the same seed everywhere in endless supply.  They'll fight over a twig on a bush, the branch of a tree, a spot on a wire --  they bear witness to the adage that the grass is always greener on the other side.  Even Robins, who seem to be above such things, will squabble a bit. The other day I saw three of them searching a bit of grass, hunting for prey, in a large clipped yard near my office.  Plenty for all, really, vast in bird terms.  Then one dived at another's feet, chasing him about two feet away.  The put-upon bird looked around and vented its frustration on the third, diving at THAT one's feet, sending it flying off a bit.  Then the first one was at it again, all thought of the hunt gone as all three began chasing each other around over a four foot square bit of ground in a 50 foot square field.  Surely there is a spiritual lesson there somewhere!

Mourning Doves strike me as kind of odd.  Their cry is mournful enough to deserve their name, to be sure, and my friend, Christine, has gotten down the skill of imitating them very well.  She will stand in our driveway and look at a lone dove on a wire and coo to it. It tilts its head and looks at her quizzically.  Christine coos a few more times and soon the dove answers and they have a little conversation going.  Soon, however, Christine must coo something offensive because the dove abruptly flies off with a final whir of wings and that whistling coo they make, in apparent indignation.  But I really find them odd -- the doves, not Christine -- because of their strange reluctance to fly.

I sometimes wonder if they're a little neurotic, which might be another reason why they are mournful Mourning Doves.  Nearly every day I will encounter one or two at least once while I'm driving to work, and where are they?  In the road.  Not NEXT to the road, not in a field kind of NEAR to the road, but IN the road.  Moreover, I know these birds are capable of flight, and I am bearing down on them at about 45 or 50 MPH but they start WALKING away.  I hit the brakes, of course, and hope they will fly.  No, their only acknowledgement of their danger is that they will begin to WALK FASTER, their heads jerking frantically in time......yet walking.  I'm nearly on top of them now, "STUPID BIRDS" I gasp, and finally they take wing, a slow and low flight, 6 inches from my bumper, and flit to the side of the road.  Sometimes I'm not sure if a tire has clipped a few feathers on the way past, but usually I look back and there are no little carcasses, so I know they get away.

Robins seem to have this same distaste for flying.  They walk an awful lot for a species that were given by God the wonderful gift of flight.  Maybe it's because God also gave them such teeny weeny little brains.  Their eensy weensy little brain pans must be about the size of a pencil eraser, after all.  I understand the walking when they're hunting worms.  But they walk entirely too much, in my opinion.  I've seen them walk right across a road, a two lane road, instead of flying.  Isn't that just a little daring for something that could be squished under one tire of a vehicle?  And, like the Mourning Dove, instead of flying when my car is coming, I get this fast walk, then a REALLY fast walk, with the head bob bob bobbin' along, along, but if I do hit it, there will be no more throbbin' that old sweet song in the Robin household tonight, let me tell you.  But no flying, sometimes not at all, and I've actually, I'm ashamed to stay, come to a NEAR STOP when there is no traffic.  I'm a sucker for wildlife and hate roadkill, though I've never cried over a possum or skunk.  I have been upset by cats, rabbits, squirrels, chippies (Chipmunks, to you), deer, etc. It just seems I shouldn't be so upset over animals when children lose their lives daily due to abuse or want of good food or health care.
                       But to continue =>

One day I came home from work and Christine looked at the front of my car and -- uh oh.  Sticking out of the front of the grill of my car were, I tell you no lie, two stiff bird feet.  MURDERESS.  At least I felt that way until we took the bird out and saw what kind it was.  It was a Robin.  Then I knew the truth.  Not murder, but SUICIDE.  I know this not because of the Robin's penchant for walking, but because of their other equally insane habit of swooping across the road at about a FOOT off the ground RIGHT IN FRONT of my car.  Are Robins, as walkers and low-flying swoopers, afraid of heights or something?

All of this makes one thing Jesus said in Scripture very clear to me.  Of COURSE he watches over Sparrows, even though they are small, a dime a dozen, and argumentative.  To watch over Mourning Doves and suicidal Robins would be MUCH too tiresome, even for Him.

Right, I'm no Bluebird, but Bluebirds don't mind sharing!

Rejoicing Over Us With Singing

The LORD your God is with you,
   he is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
   he will quiet you with his love,
   he will rejoice over you with singing.

Zephaniah 3:17

 I don't actually remember the first time I heard this verse quoted to me, but I remember that I caught my breath at the very thought of it.  It seems so pat to say "the Lord God is with you', but it is staggering in its implications.  Think of the people, just a few of them, who the Lord God claimed to 'be with'.

The bush was burning but not consumed...

There was Moses.  Moses who, in hindsight, seemed so silly at times, shoeless before a burning bush in the desert, arguing with God because he didn't speak well, trying to wriggle out of being God's spokesman before Pharaoh (Exodus 3). Then, when he finally comes to realize what it means when God said 'I will be with you' (Ex. 3:12),  went on to be a great leader of Israel and close confidant of God, the Creator of the Universe. Remember the days he spent with God, how he and God spoke back and forth with each other in such frankness?  How his face was so radiant after spending days with the Creator that he covered it because it was scaring the people? (Ex. 34) That's a BIT of the joy to have the Lord God with you.

And David had the Lord God with him when, even as a youth, he came out with a sling and five smooth stones before a giant that had seasoned soldiers quaking in their boots.  He was buoyed up by the courage that comes from true faith in his God.  “You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the LORD Almighty, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied.  This day the LORD will hand you over to me, and I’ll strike you down and cut off your head. Today I will give the carcasses of the Philistine army to the birds of the air and the beasts of the earth, and the whole world will know that there is a God in Israel.  All those gathered here will know that it is not by sword or spear that the LORD saves; for the battle is the LORD’s, and he will give all of you into our hands.”   (1 Samuel 17:45-47)  This is what happens when the Lord your God is with you.  You can speak with that sort of confidence and KNOW it is Truth.

"I am with you always, even to the end

..."

I could fill pages, of course, with all of those recorded in Scripture who have known the presence of God within.  People like Gideon, Esther, Joshua, Abraham, Ruth, Peter, Paul, Stephen, John, Mary, the mother of Jesus -- and so the list goes on.  And we, if we know Him with a personal faith, may add our names as well!  He has promised to be with us, every moment, every day, in good times and through adversity, he has promised to be with us ..... and so He is.  This means He is with us, even if He FEELS far away, or if it seems our prayers bounce back to us off the ceiling.  If God has said He will be faithful, then He will be.  Have no doubts, no fears!

Zephaniah also points out that God will take great delight in me. In you. He is enchanted with you. With each of us.  I need Him to do that, you know, taking delight, I mean.  Because not enough people in this life treat us as well as God does, and it's not exactly their fault. So many of us are too busy licking our own wounds from the beating the world gives us to really care for each other as we should.  Though, perhaps if we did look up, we'd feel a good bit better about our lives.  "Keep your eyes fixed on Jesus", the Bible says, "the Author and finisher of our faith!" (Hebrews 12:2)

When I read this verse I get a beautiful picture in my mind of being cradled in God's arms, just like a weeping, hurting, or confused child.  The arms of a God who loves and accepts and cherishes me, even if I'm at times rather very unlovable.  He takes joy in me, and quiets my tears, and even my fussing about the way life is so unjust.  And He rejoices over me, over His creation, with singing.  He takes pleasure in me, His child! 

Now, as a child of God, put yourself there, mentally, in His arms.  He rejoices and sings over you, as well!

One more verse, and I'll let this go.  "For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do."   (Ephesians 2:10)

I am told that to properly translate this verse, we mustn't think of "workmanship" as a rough chair or table a primitive carpenter may have made, or even a vintage cabinet that would make it onto Antiques Roadshow.  No, it is more in the spirit of a MASTERPIECE -- a Monet painting, a Van Gogh, a Michelangelo's top of the Sistine Chapel, something from a master craftsman.  Something that would awe you with its beauty, that would move you to praise for its Maker.  That's the kind of WORKMANSHIP and MASTERPIECE God is forming us to be.  Something that even makes the angels wonder.

And He laughs and delights and sings over us at each stage of his work, from our beginning rough edges right through to the day of our perfection. 

Delightful!

Oh, Deer, to be in Heaven

I live a bit of a distance from my job, so in the beginning I bought some maps and began to trace ways that might be quicker or shorter. As it joyfully turns out, the shorter and quicker way includes a daily drive through a portion of Trexler Game Preserve (now Trexler Nature Preserve).  This has added a lovely dose of peace and beauty to my schlep to work and a calming effect after a stressful day, especially the part that goes through Geiger covered bridge.  There are streams, trees, apple orchards, and it's close enough to work that I've driven there over my lunch hour, pulled a chair out of my trunk and sat in the sun next to a creek and just let the peace of God's creation wash over me.  I am blessed!

I wish I had the ability of a true photographer to somehow convey the peace of sitting in the sun -- or if its too hot, the shade -- and just spend a few moments away from the demands of people, to replace the ringing phone with the sound of birds and running water.  Some of you may know.  Those of you who do not, I'm sorry.  Try to find it, even if it's a recording and a darkened room for 10 minutes and pretend.  For me, it's a taste of heaven!


Growing up in my home town, it was very rare to see any deer, or any wild animals except squirrels or rabbits, which were very common and dull.  Or perhaps I was too clumsy or noisy in my treks through the woods to see anything more interesting!  My mother said I never, but NEVER, stopped talking as a child. She would eventually just say "yes...yes...uh huh..." until she heard me say excitedly "Really??!! I CAN??!!" and then she'd have to back things up and find out what she'd just agreed to.  I find that to be 
very maligning to my character, who knows what important things I may have said that we may never benefit from today, what genius may have escaped unnoticed.  :-)

OK, so anyway, a bonus for me is what I might see along the way.  Wild turkeys, and the day before yesterday I saw a beautiful male ring-necked pheasant, his plumage just radiant in the morning sun.  (Actually, I almost pegged the silly thing with my car as he ran across two parallel roads, but he made it across safely.)  [I found out later there is a farm not far away that raises them, then lets them go and you can go with your dog and gun and hunt them.  Is this really sporting???  I mean, they've grown up in the cage, someone opens the door and shoves them out, and they mill around until someone chases them a distance, sics dogs on them  and shoots them.  After all, how big is a pheasant brain to figure this strategy out?  It's just kind of hanging around, trying to figure out why it's OUTSIDE the cage now, and what's going on, and BLAM!  BLAM!  BLAM!  Just doesn't seem right, somehow.  And I'm not anti-hunting.]

Anyway, back to the nice things ... once I and a friend were driving up a hill in the preserve and I stopped the car suddenly because trotting next to the road was a young red fox.  It stopped, and I stopped, fearing it would cross the road in front of me.  We both regarded each other, motionless.  Then it began to trot again, and I slowly followed in the car.  We went parallel for awhile, then with barely a glance, the fox turned off and trotted away.  What a beautiful animal, and seeming without any fear at all.  A few weeks later, about a quarter mile away, I saw an even younger fox trotting down the CENTER of the road ahead of me, glancing back every so often as if I were the intruder, until it finally veered off into some high grass.  Saw him a few days in a row, always within 10 feet of the same place, but I never managed to catch a photo, which is amazing considering some of the contortions I sometimes will go through to GET a photo.  And, of course, though common, I smile to see squirrels and chipmunks scamper around.  I'll frequently see hawks perched, or circling, and once I saw one make a kill.


My favorite, though, must be deer, with their beauty and grace.  Their legs are so long and fragile, their eyes so calm, yet they bound away with such grace at the slightest provocation.  Just these few pictures I've taken are three out of dozens and dozens of attempts.  As much as I love their quiet peace and beauty, they have no trust at all of me.  Some of my best shots -- and my only three sightings of bucks with racks in my life, I was just not quick enough with the camera.  They exist only in my mind, as my slightest movement or approach of my car, sends the dear deer running off in deer fear.

 I suppose I have a view in my mind that in heaven I will be able to be friends with deer and fox, squirrels and the like.  Do you think I'm odd and foolish?  Perhaps it's because I grew up in the 70's, when concern for the environment really took off, and the very first Earth Day came to be.  I know that's why I'd rather cut off my hand than throw even a molecule of trash out of the car window.

But, no, I really don't think it's that.  And it's not because I think animals have souls in the same way that humans do.  You see, when God created the heavens and the earth, he created animals and man in the garden of Eden "And it was good."  Adam named the animals, and it was his job to care for them -- look it up if you don't believe me.  To care for them as God cares for us, not to abuse or to use.  It may not be very theologically sound, but when I want to envision heaven I tend to fall back on Eden, before sin entered the world, as I find heaven difficult to grasp sometimes.  Is this misleading?  To me, it sounds a lot like heaven.  No sin.  Adam walked and talked with God in the cool of the evening, having face to face fellowship with God.  Adam and Eve did some sort of work, gathering food, caring for animals, but I think they walked right among them, and the animals had no fear of them at all, since no one was eating one another.  No animal was eating another animal, no man was eating animals.  Everyone was just eating fruits and vegetables, as it says in Genesis 1:30, 'And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds of the air and all the creatures that move on the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give every green plant for food.” And it was so.'  Sounds pretty peaceful, doesn't it?

So, as I drive to work, I dream a bit.  It's a little harrowing as I try to snap my pictures while driving, so many scenes are contained only in my mind's eye.  (I don't want to get to heaven before I've done all God has for me to do, or, worse, take someone with me, just to get a photo!!)  I dream of the day when God's  "Children-By-Faith", will walk with Him in the cool of the evening again, will enjoy His presence, His perfection, and the joy of sharing His creation without the blight of sin and fear, shame, terror, betrayal, and the rest.  I won't have to snatch a picture catch as, catch can then, because I'll be walking among my animal friends.  What a glory.  "Even so, come, Lord Jesus!"

Does this make me weird? 

                                                                                          

Oristiel and the Night of the Pig

As I said previously, when I lived in Haiti, Oristiel was my night watchman, and my protector from the nasty creeping things of the night.  My hero.  There was one night, though, that he rather failed me, and I'm sure he was not all that happy with me by the end of the night either.

I hadn't been in Haiti terribly long, and my language training had been interrupted by President Clinton's embargo on Haiti, the poorest country in the western hemisphere. This embargo was his solution to the military coup that had ousted their first democratically elected president, Jean Bertrand Aristide.  One of my missionary friends said that the embargo, where prices soared and the poor got poorer, the hungry, hungrier,  was like trying to fix a man's broken leg with a bulldozer.  I was in the capital, Port-Au-Prince for language school, at the time, and anti-American feeling was so high that it just wasn't safe for me to be there any more, so out to La Gonave I went and learned the language more by immersion.  All of this to say, my immersion took place at the hospital, so after a few weeks I could have long discussions with you about whatever ailed your little self, but if I had to sit in your living room and make polite conversation, I could only do so if you wanted to talk about your gallbladder.  I was very one-sided in my command over the language, and this became clear to both me and to Oristiel one night about 2 AM.

My bedroom was solid windows on two sides, and the head of my bed right under the windows, so I got the full effect, I'm sure, of the first blast of scent from outside.  I sat up in bed, gagging.  Good heavens!  What EVER in the world could produce a smell like THAT!!  Had one of the dogs...well, communed with nature... under my window?  After it had eaten Limburger cheese?  I'm a deep sleeper and for a mere ODOR to wake me up was a phenomenon I had never encountered in my life before.  This smell was like a living organism.  I turned on my flash, just to make sure stinky aliens hadn't landed, or Haitian Bigfoot or something like that.  Even the cockroaches were overcome and hiding.

I was coughing "Oristiel.  Oristiel.  ORISTIEL!!  What is that smell???"  "What did you say?  The what??""  I was gagging.  "The SMELL, the SMELL, what is it?"  "It's the dogs."  "Did they roll in...in...in...[there's no word for this in my vocabulary strong enough]...the latrine?"  "Nooooooo."  He seemed to be amused, now.  "Oristiel, please look at what they have."

A long pause.  Soon he gets back.  "Yo gin tet cochon an."  I thought about it.  Tet cochon an...the head of...a pig?  I must have puzzled awhile over this, and the stink wasn't fading.  Maybe I was losing consciousness.  Oristiel went on, "The dogs must have gotten it from the garbage."

Not my garbage!  "Oristiel, you are just going to have to move it.  Do you have a... "  I pantomimed a shovel.  "Do you understand?"  He didn't.  I pantomimed a shovel a few times, tried to describe it a few times, asked him if he knew where Cedieu, my day watchman lived, who had a key to the shed.  No, no, and no.  We would not make a good charades team.  Also, to this day, I can never remember the word for shovel.

I finally got a cardboard box and told him to pick it up with that and take the head to the garbage again.  He reluctantly got the box.  "But, you know, they'll just get it from the garbage again."  "Well, Oristiel, then you must burn it.  Do you have matches?"  Naturally not. He's not a smoker, after all.  I got him a book of paper matches, and instructed him with my less than brilliant pantomime how to scoop up a disgusting, rotting pig head, take it out to the dump in the farthest corner of the yard, and set the box on fire.  He turned away without enthusiasm, and I hardly blamed him.  The smell now permeated the entire house, thanks to the superb ventilation, and the fact the ceiling fan in the living room hadn't been turned off in years.  The theory was, you see, that it had run so long that if we turned it off it might never turn back on again.  It might just realize how good relaxation felt.  (We also did our work in the hospital and mission on that same principle, rarely taking an actual "day off".)

I felt a little bad for Oristiel as I envisioned him picking up the "tet", fighting off 3 dogs all the way to the dump, and then setting it on fire.  But time went on and on and the smell diminished very little.  No fire.  Soon I heard a small voice in the darkness.  "Mis?  Mis?  It won't burn!"  

Heaven, give me strength.  I went to the closet and got a plastic half gallon bottle of "gaz blanc".  Gaz blanc is white gas, or kerosene.  I said, "Here, pour this on it, then believe me, it will burn!"  It was coming onto 3:30 AM now, I was sick of the smell that somehow seemed less potent as I became accustomed to it, and obviously wasn't thinking too clearly.  When he came back 10 minutes later because he realized he had no more paper matches, I don't think I blinked an eye.  I just handed him a box of wooden matches and flopped into bed, and even slipped into a light doze.

WWWWWHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!   I was wide awake in an instant as I heard the sound of, I was sure, a jet engine lighting up, or possibly The Second Coming.  Indeed, the room had a very faint glow, though usually it was dark enough to literally not see my hand in front of my face if it was cloudy.  I looked out the window in horror.

There in the back of the yard, behind the shed, was a huge fire, and I saw Oristiel silhouetted against it.  The dogs, showing more intelligence than we, had headed for the citron grove on the other side of the yard.  I was frozen in body, but my mind was at full speed.  'Let's see, the shed will be next to burn, made of old dry wood, and full of wood and junk.  Yes, and I believe there are a couple almost empty propane tanks in there, too, that should ...... O Lord, help us all!  And next to go will be this house......oh no, just over the hedge on the other side of the dump is the Wesleyan school.....  The grass is so dry, maybe the church will go up, too.....O Lord, please help, I am so stupid, stupid......  Of course there's no fire department.... isn't there a fire department? Surely there's -- oh get a grip, of COURSE there's no fire department, do you think they have nothing to eat, but they have a few shiny LADDER TRUCKS stored away in the town square?  The whole village will probably go up.  And WHY?  Because the new, rookie missionary of just a few months came to minister to the people and managed in one night, in one fell swoop, to burn the whole village down......O God, help us all.......because of a stinky pigs head --  I'll have to go to headquarters and explain how I gave my watchman a half gallon of kerosene and matches and handily burned down the WHOLE VILLAGE......O Father, hear my prayer......'

I was sweating mightily, murmuring prayers and recriminations, until the flames died down.  I sat shakily on my bed in relief.  Eventually, just before 5, I laid down again.  I didn't think I'd sleep, but I must have, because Oristiel's voice woke me up one last time:

"Mis, here is your box of matches."

Good Lord, Deliver Us

This is probably not about what you think it's going to be about.  It's not about politics, or sin (at least I don't think it will be).  It's not about the 'heartbreak of psoriasis' or the horror of getting old, though I love what Bette Davis said about getting old.  "Getting old," she is reported to have said, " ain't for sissies!"  And the older I get, the more I see the wisdom in that statement!

No, ever since I wrote about my "dislikes" in this blog's profile, that old quote has been going around and around in my mind: "From ghosties and ghoulies, and long-leggity beasties, and things that go bump in the night, Good Lord, deliver us!"  I always thought it was a quote from Robert Burns, even though I first read it in James Thurber, but I looked it up today, and it was attributed to "Traditional Scottish Prayer" and the like.  Whoever thought it up, it is as charming as it is true.  If in the garden of Eden God put an enmity between woman and the serpent, He also put one between "long-leggity beasties" and woman as well, I feel.  Well, probably not just woman, either.  I doubt many men are charmed by them, but their dislike is overcome by their desire to rescue us, I suspect, or to look brave in front of us, perhaps.

I am afraid of snakes, but I can run from them, lickety split, and have done so many times.  But a large spider or centipede or millipede, and I'm just as likely to freeze in terror, unable to move, breaking out in a sweat, and may even get light headed.  Just don't like 'em, no, no way, no siree.

I find it interesting that God put in me such a strong desire to not only be in full-time Christian Service, but to be in foreign missionary service, and then to call me to a nice warm tropical place where bugs thrive.  Nice big ones, and yet I have this passionate fear of bugs, most all bugs.

When, after nurses training, I entered Bible College, the women's dormitory was quite an old, old building.  A tad decrepit, even, in places.  All the buildings bordered on pretty old and in need of some sprucing up, but it was a small school with excellent professors, and that seemed more important than some other things in the final analysis.  I still think so.  It's good toughening up for foreign missions! :)  Another good preparation was that they were infested with these disgusting light colored millipedes or silverfish, whatever they were, WAAAAAY larger than any of that breed should ever be.  My memory may be mistaken, but I feel certain some were at least 2 inches long.  And fast.  And UGLY.  I get a bit weak thinking about them to this day, and surely nothing prepared me for the day I woke to find one of the monsters on my wall next to my head  on my pillow. I've always been very slow to wake up and get moving in the morning, but I was out of that bed like a shot, had the Raid in my hands, and sprayed the horrible squirming, running thing in seconds.  It was so big I heard it hit a piece of paper on my floor when it fell off the wall.  I never found it...but I never looked too hard, either.

I do wonder a bit, truly, that God called me to be a missionary on an off shore island of Haiti called La Gonave.  You know, I found the insects there truly amazing.  I suppose many of the same are found in any warm place.  Florida and the southern US has what they call "Palmetto Bugs", but don't con me.  This is a rather quaint misnomer for the American Cockroach, as big as your thumb, not afraid of the light, and it flies.  It is not easily intimidated, is nearly impossible to kill, runs TOWARD you instead of away, and may not bite, but will nip lovingly on you.  It scorns your flyswatter, drinks insecticide for afternoon tea, and laughs at your fear. They thrived where I lived in Haiti, and it mattered not how clean you were.  In addition there were dreadful giant centipedes, biting ants, huge spiders...everything, you can imagine, that I detested with a passion.  We only had electricity, supplied by our generator, until 10 PM, so after that, to me, were the devil's hours.  Lighting a kerosene lamp, our source of light, or flashlight, only made a target for moths and other larger flying horrors.  I was ecstatic when an occasional gecko got in the house, knowing it would eat insects.  Also, I thought they were cute, a bonus.

When I was in Haiti a few months, I sent my mother pictures of my home.  It was a modest little cinder block house, and the interior walls as well as the exterior walls had large windows to ensure good ventilation. To discourage thieves, there were iron bars on all the outside windows, and screens that were holey, but not in the sacred sense. Most of the holes I covered with duct tape.  My mother wrote back that she got the pics, but only had one question: "WHY is there a can of Raid in EVERY ROOM?"  She was so naive. 

I never got over my phobia very well in my years living on La Gonave.  There were times I had periods of courage.  I woke one night to feel something scurrying quickly up my left leg.  Now, this could only be a monster cockroach   Palmetto Bug.  I grabbed it with my hand and threw it to the floor with all my might, hoping this would kill it, and forced myself to forget how huge it felt in my hand, forcing myself to sleep.

A few hours later I woke to use the bathroom, and with the flashlight, took a cautious look at the floor next to my bed.  Yes, there it was, a Palmetto bug, motionless on its back. I was certain it wasn't dead, but on its back it couldn't chase me.  I went to do my duty, and when I returned, I shined my flash carefully to make sure the devil hadn't flipped on me.  There, next to it, was something long and thin, about 8 or 10 inches long.  With a shudder, I realized it was a giant centipede, and it had the cockroa...uh, Palmetto Bug in its mouth!  These centipedes sting, it hurts, and they are fast and ugly as death.  I shuddered, sweat, prayed, grabbed my trusty Raid, and SPRAYED!!!  I'll spare you the writhing, the scurrying, the convulsions, the trembling -- and you should have seen what the CENTIPEDE was doing!  It finally died about 3 feet from the bed under a chair.  I prayed, thanking God, and laid down. Then turned on my flash -- yes, it was still dead under the chair.  I settled in the bed again...up again with the flash.  Yep, still dead.  A few more repetitions, and I knew I would get no sleep with that particular "beastie" in the corner.

"Oristiel!  ORISTIEL!"  Sometimes it was hard to wake my night watchman who swore he never slept a wink at night.  "Oui, Mis?"  I explained my battle with the beastie, and Oristiel came in with his machete to dispose of yet another "bet", as they were called.  It was a common nighttime chore for him, to dispose of my bug bodies, or dispatch scorpions for me, etc.  He removed it, and I told him NO WAY would I be able to sleep anymore tonight, now that there had been a centipede in my bedroom."Oh, Mis," he said tolerantly, "God will show you if there are any more in here!"   "Oristiel, I don't WISH God to show any more to me.  I wish for God to make sure there are none here!"

Yet, for all my Raid and bug phobias, and Oristiel's attempts at comfort ("Mis, don't worry about this little scorpion here in your shower!  You should have seen the one I killed on your front porch last week!"), I think he had and has a much healthier view of things.  Bugs are a natural part of life on La Gonave, and it was perfectly reasonable for him to suggest that it was enough to God to show them to me rather than keep them from me completely.  We don't become strong in life by avoiding all kinds of troubles, we become strong by dealing with our troubles and, with God's help, overcoming them.  Oristiel understood that so much better than I did.

I'm going to love telling you stories about my friendship with Oristiel.