Not "Tin-Grin", but "Knickle Knees"

    For some obscure reason, when I was young, I wanted braces on my teeth and eyeglasses.  The eyeglasses I got, and as soon as I could, traded them for contact lenses.  The dental braces I never got.  But in later years I got something much more permanent, though concealed:  bilateral total knee replacements.

     For the first surgery I had no idea what to expect, no realization of the amount of pain I would experience and the torture physical therapy would bring about (though I did have the benefit of meeting a life-long friend and dear Christian sister in my physical therapist).  The mere SIZE of the incision was a shock to me, as was one of my nurses' description of the actual surgery.  I don't know WHY I didn't research the whole thing a bit more before I did the first one, the right knee, but it had to be done.  It wouldn't really have mattered what gruesome details I was privy to, I suppose.

     A different surgeon did the second knee, and it was night and day.  They went through every disgusting little detail, even showed me what the prosthetic device looked like that they were putting in.  I knew more than I think I WANTED to know about it all.  There was one last parting pearl of information to impart to me, and the pre-op educator did it with great gravity.

     "Listen," the nurse said seriously, "Dr. __________ has a tremendous record of NO INFECTIONS with his surgeries.  One reason is that if you have so much as ONE TINY SCRATCH on your leg, one cut, he will CANCEL your surgery.  Don't even shave your leg before surgery, we will do that.  GUARD THAT LEG from cuts, scratches, ANYTHING that might cut it, DO YOU UNDERSTAND???"

     I solemnly crossed my heart and hoped to die if I got one little boo boo on my leg before surgery.  Then the weekend before surgery my friend, Christine, and my sister, Kathy, and I packed up and went to the beach, Long Beach Island, NJ, for the weekend!  WHOO HOO.

Barnagat Light, Long Beach Island

     Now, my sister and I have always loved going to the shore together, a kind of "girls only" trip.  I love my sis, we have a great time.  Christine's not much for sitting on the beach, but will tolerate it for our sake.  But we love Long Beach Island because there is no boardwalk, only beach, and the lighthouse, and quaint shops, peace and quiet, and we sit on the beach, play games, read, people-watch, talk, sleep.  Now, ever since the movie "Jaws" and the time one August we were overcome by jellyfish in the surf, we are not much for actual SWIMMING in the ocean, but usually we go in for a bit.  For us, on this particular vacation, this is where the trouble began.

Jetty at the lighthouse, bay side

     You see, in a way it was the surgeon's fault.  I probably NEVER would have even gone IN the water if he hadn't said not to get even a tiny scratch.  But, as fate would have it, I DID go in the water that day.

     My sister, Christine, and I were slowly strolling out into the surf, talking together.  The sea was pretty rough, the breakers hard, high, and frequent, so we had decided not to go too far out.  I was mid-sentence, I think, and a little less than knee-deep in water, when I took a step forward with my stronger right leg -- my left leg, the one to be operated on, fairly useless.

     Suddenly I felt nothing in front of me, under my forward foot!  I began to fall forward as I walked right off the end of a drop off.  "So I said to heeeeeeeeeEEEEEE --  AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"    Christine made a grab for me, but down I went, landing right on my posterior.  I had no glasses on, and was facing the beach, but glanced behind me just in time to see what looked like a tsunami wave ready to break over me.  "NOOOOOOOOOOOO -- glub glub...." and I was turned over and over, butt over head in 3 feet of water, sand and sea creatures in my hair, feet, I am sure, flailing in the air.

     I came up, hair over my eyes and some seaweed draped prettily over one ear, and sputtering.  Christine was still trying to make a grab for my arm, calling for my sister's help.  I glanced at my sister, and she was helpless with laughter, holding her stomach and doubled over.

     Suddenly, without even seeing it coming, I was hit again with another driving wave, and there I was, feet in the air, head in the sand.  Charming, I must look so charming, I thought.  Christine was trying to get a grip on me, clawing ridges in my forearm.  When I caught sight I my sister again I think she was in danger of drowning from laughter, she was very nearly falling into the water herself.  I was thinking I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I'd drowned her as an infant.

     I was so hindered by my bad knee I just COULD NOT regain my footing, and I began to look like the creature from the black lagoon with each successive wave, covered in sand, shells, seaweed, small sea life and who knows what.  Finally, a man waded out from the beach to help, a smoking butt hanging from his mouth.  He was so untroubled by the waves that, I swear, the ash did not fall from his cigarette.  He and Christine each grabbed an arm and helped me up, and I was able to get my bad leg under me.  We thanked him profusely and he waded back to shore.  My sister weakly followed behind, still periodically giggling.

     I probably got another 5 paces before a particularly nasty wave hit me in the back of the knees and -- you guessed it -- down I went yet again.  Words can not describe the humiliation of flopping around in that shallow water, trying to get up, hearing Christine call, "Oh, man?  Oh, ma-an?" she sing-songed sweetly.  "Can you help us one more time?  We promise we're going in to shore now."

     The man waded out yet again, tossing his butt into the water.  Up I got again, with the help of the three of them, my sister having recovered from her seizures and fits of hilarity.  Christine said to the man, as a comfort and a promise, "We really ARE going to spend the rest of the day on shore!"  I tried to thank him myself with as much dignity as I could muster, with my hair plastered to my head so oddly and decorated with the treasures of the deep.

     As we finally accomplished land I hopefully said, "Do you think anyone noticed what was going on?"

     My sister and friend looked at me with pity.   "Oh, I'm sure no one noticed."

     Secretly we all knew we'd be the discussion around many a blanket, towel, and dinner table, and possibly the subject of a home video or two.  Oh well, everybody loves a clown......

     And my surgery?  Well, it was with heavy heart I showed the pre-op nurse the tell-tale scratch on my knee on the morning of surgery.  She looked at me, her lips a tight straight line, looking like an old west hanging judge.  She said she'd check with the doctor and left.  I sighed.

     Soon the doctor appeared and with a serious face examined the 3/4" shallow scratch on my knee.  Probed it, squeezed it, pushed, pulled.

     "No,"  he said with a brilliant smile, "completely superficial.  We'll go ahead with surgery!"  I threw my arms around him with joy.

     Now I have two metal knees, and I can't get through airport security stark naked.  But, by golly, I'll bet I'm a better match for those LBI waves now!!!

Hunger Games

OK, I admit it.  I read the first book, The Hunger Games.  I confess I found it pretty riveting.  I could not put the book down, and when I had to leave it, to cook or help with something around the house, I did those chores with only a very small part of my mind.  Most of my mind was in Panem, in the Arena.

Copyright Lions Gate Films

At first I was amazed as I read the book. No cussing at all, no using the Lord's name in vain.  No sex at all, just some chaste kissing and sharing a cave for warmth.  The main characters seemed to have a moral center -- caring for their family and friends in bleak and terrible circumstances, usually caring for them sacrificially, lovingly.  Though the protagonists, Gale and Katniss, and later Peeta, had a core of anger about their circumstances, they were not cruel to those around them, but directed it toward those responsible, not blindly taking it out on the innocent weaker ones around them, like bullies.  I found myself drawn in to their pain, their pride, their struggles to stay alive.

Of course, there is real violence in Panem.  I know I'm giving nothing away when I tell you that there was a great rebellion many years before, against the Capitol, and when it was finally beat down, District 13 was utterly destroyed and the other 12 districts enslaved and starved by the Capitol.  Each District specialized in something, be it textiles, electronics, fruit orchards, fishing, or coal mining, as was district 12's specialty, but all for the benefit of the Capitol. They live in luxury, while the rest starve.  District 12, the coal mining district, is where Katniss, Gale, the young man who teaches Katniss all she knows of hunting and snares, and Peeta, the baker's son, all live. To remind the Districts of their enslavement to the Capitol, the people are starved and kept captive.  In addition, once a year they  have a lottery, and one girl and one boy between the ages of 12 and 17, called "tributes", have to go into an arena of some large area of a different climate every year, of  unknown hardships and traps. There they must find weapons, somehow survive by overcoming the hardships of the arena's environment, and by killing each other until there is One Survivor.  They called these horrible "games" the Hunger Games -- I forget why.  Maybe because if you win, you and your family get enough food for the rest of your lives, though your family members' names still get put in the pot for future lotteries, as well as any children you might have..  Just not your name.  You are "safe" from the Arena, but not from the heartbreak of seeing your loved ones go through the trauma of waiting to see if their names are picked, or if they must actually go.

I'm taking a long time to explain all this -- sorry! To hurry along,  Katniss' family consists only of her mother and her little sister, an innocent, named Primrose.  Katniss hunts and is as tough as Primrose is gentle, young and protected from the harshness of life by Katniss.  It is Primrose's first year to have a name put in, just one slip of paper, but Katniss has her name in many times, on many slips of paper, having an extra paper in for each time she procured extra food for her family and because of her age.  For each year after the age of 12, they put and extra slip in (one name slip age 12, two name slips age 13, etc), so your chances increase with age, plus the extra slips for extra food.  Prim is nervous, but Katniss tells her how unlikely it is, out of the thousands of names, that Primrose will be chosen, as she only has one paper in those thousands to be picked.

Of course, Primrose's name is picked!  Katniss knows this is a death sentence for Primrose, so she volunteers to take Primrose's place. (I remember Jesus in the Gospel of John:  "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends."  John 15:13)  So Katniss takes her sister's place in the Arena, even though she feels it is her own death sentence.  But she takes comfort in knowing that her family will at least get extra food for a month just because she went, even if she doesn't come back a Victor, and Gale promises to look out for them after her death, even as she would have done for him.


I won't share any more, except to say that Peeta is the boy chosen to go, and THAT has it's own set of difficulties for Katniss. She doesn't know him well, but the one time they had contact as children it was when he saved her and her family from starving by giving her some bread, even though he was beaten for it.  She is sorry that someone she knows, and was kind to her, is now someone she will have to kill to survive.


In the Arena, what fascinated me wasn't the hunt, one for another to the death, though it had some interest in her cleverness, but the things Katniss did to survive in her environment -- the ways she found food, kept warm, found water, etc., and yes, the ways she eluded her predators.  Her love for Rue, a fellow tribute, who reminds her so much of her little sister, and her agonizing over the thought she may have to eventually kill her, as well as Peeta, for whom she begins to have feelings.

But I wondered, as I read the first book, how really far we are from the Hunger Games?  I'm sickened, when I flip to on TV, by what I see, and I've taken to mostly watching old movies or nothing at all.  The author, Suzanne Collins, said she wrote The Hunger Games kind of in reaction to Reality Shows, and  I despise most of them myself.  She fears we are becoming more and more hardened to human suffering and we will end up like The Hunger Games, missing the humanity in those around us, without compassion, without love, without pity.  I've wondered about this myself.  The author is concerned that as we, in these reality shows, continually watch people suffer, it becomes unreal, and we become hardened to it, just as the Roman Empire became hardened to the violence of the Colosseum, which is what The Hunger Games' Arena is, of course, modeled after.

I mean, is there no limit to the humiliation we will watch others go through for entertainment?  I absolutely can not bear to see it.  Intervention shows, shows where you get to watch people argue out infidelities, paternity, same-sex travesties, do interventions for their addicted family members, go on dates with a bunch of people while we watch them choose mates, even swap wives for awhile to see how the new wives handle the family -- and more.  There are some family dynamics that were meant to be PRIVATE, and some not to be explored at all!  We become so HARDENED to these things, we have no feelings anymore for what is evil, what is painful, we lose all compassion for each other, it all becomes ONE BIG SHOW.  


As a culture, we are just a step away from the Arena.

In the old movies I watch, the violence is virtually bloodless.  Maybe not realistic, usually bad guy that is shot has a half dollar spot of blood where the bullet went in and a small trickle of blood from the corner of their mouths.  That was it, but you got the idea.  There used to be a rule in the studios that no bad guy could prosper.  Movies today, the violence is slow, bloody, the camera lovingly scanning over the body as the bullet wrecks destruction, the knife mutilation, or whatever.  Teen horror movies are the worst, I can't watch them at all, the Friday the 13th, Final Destinations, and the rest, with each death more horrible than the last.  No brains to the plots, just more and more gore.

When I was in Creative Writing class in High School I don't think I learned much, but one thing my teacher said really stuck in my mind.  He was talking about sex in novels or movies and what constituted pornography.  He said "A love scene takes you to the bedroom door and stops, the rest is imagination. Pornography takes you beyond the bedroom door."  By that definition we have a lot of porn during Prime Time TV.  VERY LITTLE IS LEFT TO THE IMAGINATION!!

What is my point to all of this??  I have a few.


One:  In every generation we are becoming more and more hardened to the sex and violence in our culture, tolerating more and more.  This is no good for us as a culture.  We are speeding ahead to our death:  a death of morality, of conscience, and of people. 


Two:  Christians want to be able to "engage the culture", but at what point do we harm ourselves and our children by letting too much in?  We don't want our kids to be geeky morons that get picked on, but we don't want to lose them for the infinitely more important eternal, either.  It's a fine line.  I spoke to a dear friend once, who has great kids, but one is straying from the Lord.  I asked her, even before he was straying, if she would have done anything different while raising her boys.  She said, "I would have monitored their TV more, things like that.  Been more strict about what I let in to influence them."  Would things be different for her youngest?  Who knows.  You can do everything right, and a child can go away for awhile.  You can only do your best and pray.  But do we want to make it harder for them?  It's a fine line, and I don't have children, so who am I to say???  But I wonder if we are losing our children in the church because we give them too much.  Too much materially, and too much of our sick culture.


Three:  Am I willing to give up the things I enjoy if I think they are harmful to me in subtle ways, or worse, to those around me?  It really is the heart of 1 Corinthians 10:23,24,31-33, I think.

“Everything is permissible”—but not everything is beneficial. “Everything is permissible”—but not everything is constructive. ²⁴ Nobody should seek his own good, but the good of others...... ³¹ So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God. ³² Do not cause anyone to stumble, whether Jews, Greeks or the church of God— ³³ even as I try to please everybody in every way. For I am not seeking my own good but the good of many, so that they may be saved.

There's the rub!  Sometimes I wonder if I really am loving enough to give up something I enjoy for the good of someone else, or even for my own good!  And that's no good for me!  Or my brother.

Did I say that as a culture we are one step away from the Arena?  Maybe I am on the path as well. 


I still think, for the most part, The Hunger Games is a really good read, but I was surprised to find out it was a Youth Novel.  Maybe I'd have to pre-read it before I'd let my 14 year old read it.  And I don't think I'd let my 12 year old near it!

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?