I'm Not Finished Yet

     Despite my desire to praise God for miraculously sparing my son's life, I am still unable to say much about his accident, both for his sake, and for legal reasons because his case is pending. What I can say is that the accident was not the wake up call I had hoped it would be in his life and I was desperately disappointed. That is what I would have used if I were God. So I asked for wisdom, for some hint of what God was doing and the only thought I heard in my mind was, "I'm not finished yet." I wasn't sure the message was from the Holy Spirit because, frankly, it didn't sound very spiritual. No thees and thous or quotes from scripture. Just ordinary words. But I have double checked with the Lord and the message has not changed. He has a plan. He is working in my son's life, but He is not finished yet.
     That is the main thing I have been getting from the study of Revelation in BSF this year. God has a plan and what God has planned always happens. In spite of a world that seems out of control and Satanic opposition that we cannot see or imagine, history has been written. Gods knows exactly how many Gentiles will be saved, how many believers will be martyred, the redemption of the Jews is right on schedule. But it is not my schedule. God is not on my schedule and ultimately, I don't want him to be, because everything God has given me is greater that what I wanted for myself. I want good things for my son. God wants better things, and only He knows how to make that happen.
     The Bible is full of examples of God working out his plan in spite of our misunderstanding it  (Abraham & Hagar), refusing to cooperate with it (Jonah), and flat out opposing it (Pharaoh), but in the midst of those situations, they looked absolutely hopeless. If I don't close a book halfway through, or leave a movie before the end, I should trust the Author and Director of the reality show "Life" to come up with the perfect ending. I just need to remember--He's not finished yet.
    

A Word of Encouragement

    When life is flowing smoothly, it is enough for me to have the Holy Spirit as a quiet presence in the background, somewhere between a default setting and a screen saver, but when trouble comes, I need more. I need God to be as solid as the things I can see and touch. So in the rapids we have gone through recently, I asked God for encouragement and He sent me a letter. It was actually written by a young man we considered one of our "spare sons", though he never lived in our home. Jason was in jail when he called us looking for another "spare" and we wound up talking and then writing one another. The only time we met in person was when he was in pre-release in Great Falls. We bought him a bike so he could get to work. I knew from the newspaper that Jason re-offended after getting back to Kalispell and went back to jail. I had not heard from him for years before his letter came from the state prison in Deer Lodge. Jason apologized for not getting in touch and assured me that what we had done for him made a difference in his life.
    His letter came at a time of discouragement, when I wondered if all the years of love and instruction we had poured into our son made any difference. We had barely brushed up against Jason's life and yet, years later, he still felt the impact of our love. He encouraged me not to stop trying to help others, regardless of the outcome. Sooner or later, good would come of it. I knew when the spares left me that I might not hear from any of them, even Lance, whom I lived like a son. When he left, God asked me if I could love them like He did, for years at a time, without getting anything in return. I told Him I could. I planted God's truth in each of them like a time bomb and trusted that God would explode it when it was needed. I had no regrets about helping my spares, but I feared for my son.
     I needed real words of encouragement from God and he sent them through Jason. And this time, when I needed encouragement, He restored my ability to write, my way to cope and be comforted. And I hope this post can be God's word of encouragement to someone else.

When We Had Wings

     I lost my words for a time, and most of the humor that has sustained me through life. I nearly lost my son in September and, somehow, my ability to write also. My feelings were bigger than my words. But I had one more farewell left in me for McKenzie, the granddaughter I lost when my son and her mother broke up. I wrote it in October and finally I am ready to post it. Perhaps this is the last.

   When We Had Wings

When the spring was raw and new

and, like today, the cool winds blew,

my granddaughter and I

watched birds that wheeled across the sky,

wondering what makes them flee

capriciously from tree to tree.

We had wings and time did not,

or so I thought.

Now fall has come and turning leaves

ride like birds upon the breeze.

From the comfort of my home

I view the circling birds alone.

The trees we watched across the road

     still gladly bear their lively load,

as I would, could she come to me—

my MacKenzie.

Unstoppable as wind, thief-time

eventually takes all that’s mine.

But it cannot steal from me

the comfort of your memory.

When your mother went away

I had no power to let you stay.

I watch the birds and think of springs

when we had wings.

For All the Good It'll Do

    On September 10th as my husband and I were returning from a trip to Oregon, our son's boss called to tell us he had just received a 3 a.m. text from our son saying he had rolled his pickup and was bleeding. After several phone calls we discovered he had been to the hospital and was now at the jail. It was not a coincidence that the accident happened after I had days of extra prayer time for him. It was not a coincidence that the Lord had provided 10 days of rest and relaxation before beginning this ordeal. Nor was it coincidence that we didn't find out until 7 a.m., after having a good night of sleep.
    While we were driving home from Coeur d'Alene, Will sent pictures of the wrecked pickup that he got from the neighbor who investigated the accident and we realized that the problem was not the DUI or the truck, but that our son was nearly killed. It was no coincidence that he survived, even walked away from, the accident. It was a miracle. The other problems would need to be dealt with, but he was alive to do so. That was all that mattered.
   While we were waiting for his 7 p.m. release time, I decided to do my daily Bible study which, at that point was a chapter a day of Psalms. I couldn't see how Psalms could possibly speak to the situation our family was going through, but decided to read it anyway, for all the good it'll do. It was no coincidence that the passage for that day was Psalm 38, written by David, who was suffering justly for his sin, but still calling for God's help and mercy. It was exactly what I needed to hear. The next day's psalm was similar, David trying to suffer in silence for his sin but ending with a plea for mercy. The next two day's psalms also fit my needs perfectly.
   I turned in my time of need to a book written thousands of years ago, to read a chapter out of habit, not desire, for all the good it would do and I found God's word, speaking to my desperate heart, for a situation I had no idea I would be facing. That, also, was no coincidence.

Anybody Got a Match?

     I took up smoking again this summer. I didn't want to, it's just that smoke is all there was to breathe for a while and I am powerfully addicted to breathing. The Northwest had a rather dry winter, very dry spring and hot, early summer, so it is no surprise that there were lots of forest fires also. That is a natural consequence of dry weather in forested areas. The part I am angry about is the natural consequence that can be helped. For decades now our national forests have been managed, not by the people who live among them, nor even by the government agencies paid to do so, but by environmentalist litigation. Their perpetual protests of virtually every timber sale are the reason our forests are piled high with combustible deadfall. Those who claim to love trees have protected our forests into fuel filled infernos waiting for a match. Talk about tough love.
     Since many environmentalists live in big cities far removed from the property they are trying to protect, I would like to pass along my observations:

• It is hard to hug a tree when it is on fire. 
• On TV "Orange is the New Black"; after forest fires, black is the new green. You might need to change the name of your movement.
• Forest fires have done more damage to both animal and human habitat than logging, even clearcutting, ever did.
• Protesting salvaging of burned, but usable, timber impedes those rejuvenating benefits of fire you talk about.
• Didn't you people used to stand for clean air?
• It is easy to have convictions when it is not your skin in the game. Learn how to fight fires, come breathe our smoke, post a bond if you want to protest.
• Saving the planet is God's job, not yours. Try not be one of the things he has to save it from.

       We recently had a big fire in Evergreen that started on the property of apparent hoarders. They lost everything. Sounds like they should have. One of the things they hoarded, besides appliances, is wood. A homeless guy living on the property was careless with a cigarette on an unwatered lot full of old wood. He is charged with the legal version of criminal stupidity. That situation made me contemplate the crime of arson. Is it considered arson to cover an area with accelerant and wait for someone else to ignite it? I live most summers with the results of environmental arson, although I'm sure they will blame it on their beloved scapegoat--global warming. Humans may distinguish whether the fire is lightning or man caused, but I don't think the forest much cares who provides the match.

10 Signs You Are About to Say Something Stupid

1.  It is the first thing that pops into your head.  Before you brain is engaged.
2. You begin with the words, "I just have to get this out."  Meaning I will feel better afterward, too bad about you.
3. Any words following "I know I shouldn't say this, but. . ."  Not only are you about to say something stupid, but you are admitting it is deliberate.
4. You begin by saying,  "So that you may pray more fully. . ."  This is about GOSSIP, not prayer.
5. Ditto for "I'm just the kind of person who speaks their mind", admitting stupidity is your preferred lifestyle.
6. Anything following the words, "This is probably none of my business".  You are right, stop there.
7. "If you want my opinion/advice. . ."  Wait til they ask, they probably won't.
8. You are a lawyer/addict/politician and your lips are moving. Admittedly, there are exceptions.
9. What follows the phrase, "I don't consider myself a racist" usually removes any doubt.
10. Rambling more than two sentences past "I don't know what to say" will prove your were right.

Strange Choice

    In our much loved Patrick McManus books, his family names their dog Stranger in hope that it was only passing through. Alas, that was not the case so they shortened his name to Strange, which was a more apt description anyway. According to McManus, Strange was a canine collection of bad habits wrapped in fur.
    Which brings us to our dog, Keely. After our long-term Lab, Garth, died we wanted to get another dog. Keely, who was being "rehomed" by my son's girlfriend, met our two criteria of not shedding and being free. Keely does not have a lot of bad habits, but makes the most of the ones he has, the worst of which is passive-aggressive pooping. Despite numerous potty breaks, we could not leave Keely alone in the house without worrying that he would leave a little surprise for us. Since we kenneled him when we went out, he began to save those surprises for when we were sleeping. Eventually Reed decided not to prolong the anticipation and began a morning poop patrol. If my morning wake up call was the sound of a dog in distress, I knew what had happened.
     The week I began praying about taking Keely to the pound, he pooped in the house three times. I thought we had our answer. Unfortunately, there have been no answered prayer incidents for weeks now and we are feeling more and more guilty about the impending "pounding". Keely seems to sense this and is being even more needy and pathetic than usual.  To be fair I should balance Keely's faults with some of his good traits. His poop is hard. That makes it much easier to clean up but no less unwelcome. What else? Oh yeah, he doesn't shed and he was free. He is also quiet. He is so quiet, he has more in common with a couch pillow than a canine. He does not play. He goes out in the yard as infrequently, and briefly, as possible. His only physical activity is the happy dance he does before his twice daily feeding. We were hoping these months of having Tracy's exuberant Odin around would help Keely become more dog like, but it has not worked. And now that Odin has a new companion to play with, we no longer need Keely around to keep Odin company.
      Reed and I are leaving for a short vacation and one way or another need to make arrangements for Keely. So now we have to make the "strange choice", deciding once and for all if this dog is only passing through or make a long term commitment to our canine curmudgeon. Though he acts like a stodgy old man, Keely is only three, and at 20 pounds, should have a lot of dog years left to go. Go being the key word.