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It is eight thirty in the evening. This morning I started work early so that I could leave early. With my bag packed and arrangements made, I climbed into a friend’s SUV for a three hour ride to the shores of Lake Michigan. Six of us are going salmon fishing early in the morning.
This trip has been on the calendar for over two years. Last year I had this date set aside for salmon fishing. But, you guessed it, work got in the way. It was painful to cancel my spot on the boat. Of course my buddies went without me and limited out in my absence.
I was careful to plan, protect and insist on making the trip this year. A few episodes almost scuttled the trip again. But, God must want me to go!
It is a charter. We go out with the pros and pay them for their expertise. There’s never any guarantee when fishin but we can surely stack the deck in our favor. The deck of the boat that is!
These skippers make their living on the water. They study the patterns of the fish, consult with other captains, watch weather, note water conditions and of course log the successes of all their journeys into the deep waters.
The Chinook is our objective. These are the King Salmon of the Lake. Back in my beloved Oregon we called them Black Mouth. Big and powerful and running deep, these magnificent fish swim with great strength and test both the endurance and strength of the fishermen.
Once the rod tip bends, one of us will leap up and grab the pole. With hundreds of feet of fishing line piercing the depths of the cold waters down to several hundred feet below the surface, it is now a game of tug-o-war. The Salmon is fighting for its life. I will be fighting for dinner.
Yes, I have been skunked (unsuccessful) fishing for salmon many times. But, I have always been successful when out on a charter for Salmon. That kind of track record is worth taking to the bank. I have only optimistic hopes for tomorrow’s fishing.
The weather is perfect. The company is fabulous. The time of year is ideal. Now, God can bless with great abudance. Hope burns eternal in the heart of every fisher person looking forward to the next day of fishing!
My buddies and I ride many miles on our motorcycles. Countless hours are spent on two lane highways. We inevitably catch up with slow moving vehicles. Those moments force us to make a very important decision.
It is possible for all nine of us motorcyclists to be patient. We could travel at speeds that are 20 mph below posted limits. Sure, that slow, tedious, boring option is our preferred way to ride . . . NOT!
Most of us riders are extremely patient. We are men who are fast movers in the worlds where we practice our professions. Each one of us likes to let others dictate the pace of our day. We willingly relinquish the prerogative of initiative to other people who will then govern our schedule . . . NOT!
So if you believed this last description of the personalities of my fellow riders, then I have some swamp land that I would like to sell you. The men and their machines with whom I share the road are like thoroughbred quarter horses chomping at the bit to run a race.
Our powerful engines are just itching to have the throttle twisted, gears shifted and body lean into a quick change lane. Each one of us wants to feel the jump of acceleration for a quick pass. The challenge is to do it safely for the entire group.
The other day we followed day-dreaming drivers who didn’t seem to realize that they had rearview mirrors. Nor did they seem to have the sense that they were being mind-melded by strong personality types to move aside. There were several occasions when a turn-out was available. They could have moved over and let us pass. They did not. Our patience was thin and wearing thinner.
Then, the solid yellow dividing line turned into a broken line. The road straightened out and on-coming traffic disappeared. With the multiple twist of the throttles nine powerful motorcyles roared to life and passed one very slow moving vehicle with expeditious efficency.
Once in the lane of opposite moving traffic, my heart rate quickens, pupils dialate and my senses are on full alert. Around the upcoming bend, headlights appear. I know I can make. There’s enough juice in my ride to kick it forward and slip safely back into my lane as three tons of metal roars past me going in the other direction. Passing is such a rush!
Once Abraham Lincoln was walking from one meeting to the next. He was accosted by people from every walk of life with an endless list of problems. In a quiet moment one of his young aids asked him how he was able to discern so well and address people’s requests with such effectiveness.
Lincoln responded with a story. He told this young aid, “If a man comes to you with a lamb in his arms and says to you that the tail is a leg, how many legs does it have?”
The young aid thought for a moment. He shrugged his shoulders and offered, “Five.”
“No,” Lincoln smiled, “the answer is four. Just because he called the tail a leg doesn’t make it one.”
The Chicago Tribune reported that Spain’s Men’s Olympic Basketball team explained that their team picture, where they slanted their eyes with their fingers, was a harmless act. Their national team stalwart Jose Calderon defended his team saying that they had ”great respect for the East and its people.” Calderon further explained, “One of our sponsors asked us to make, as a ‘wink’ to our participation in Beijing, an expression of Eastern eyes,” he wrote. “We felt it was something appropriate and that it would always be interpreted as an affectionate gesture. …”
I decided not to use that picture with this blog. It is too offensive. The explanation to dismiss the gesture not only as not offensive but affectionate is unbelievably naive. It smacks of a desperate attempt to cover up a stupid act that did express prejudice, very much like calling a tail a leg.
It is stunning that the offenders would have the gaul to interpret how an inflamatory act should be interpreted and received by the people who were mocked. Certainly the deluge of world criticism ought to give these offenders a clue that defensive words can’t change the meaning of their act.
Redefining a hate-act with a fabricated explanation doesn’t pass any smell test. Most educated and civilized people in any culture recognize excuses for hurting people under the guise of doing good as arrogance.
My inscrutible ethnic cousins will not likely speak much of this. I understand that cultural tendency. It is worthy of great regard. However, I did find it satisfying when the USA men’s basketball team beat Spain’s men’s basketball team and won the gold medal. I’m sure Lincoln would have smiled.
My morning hike couldn’t wait for more daylight. I had appointments coming up and I didn’t want to be late. Besides, it doesn’t take much faith to anticipate the dawn. It is a sure thing.
Even though the sun was not up, the temperatures were warm. Add to that the humidity that was rising and I was already beginning to sweat buckets. When perspiration dribbles into my eyes, it stings. I know that it is going to be a little uncomfortable.
But, the splash of the sun made any regrets disappear.
The night was already giving way to the dawn. The night sky was melting away. A faint glimmer promised that a new day was coming. God is always on time. He is faithful and never fails.
The garage door closed behind me. I could not see my feet in the darkness. Each step was as much by faith as it was familiar. Yet, I knew that I was confident that the light was on its way.
A car was racing off to work. I stepped aside off of the street to give her plenty of room for error. She was putting on her make-up or at least touching it up. Her cell phone was opening up. I could see her glancing down to dial. She roared by startled to see me there.
A mile into my hike the sun started to crest the horizon. The colors by the creator are amazing. Yellow is preceded by bright orange and red. Not only is there a blazing firery ball lifting up into the sky, the surrounding sky and clouds get painted with brilliance too.
Not only does the light wake up the day, the animals come out to join in the welcome to life. A flock of geese waddled out of my way. They easily slip into a local neighborhood pond. While comical on webbed feet, they are graceful and move with ease once in the water.
A flock of ducks stroke their way away from my steady strides. Little ducklings have lost their down covering and now look much more like momma and pappa. Their chorus of quacking makes me smile.
Now, it’s a snake that slithers across the walkway. It is the only critter that makes me stop to look. He coils and menacingly looks in my direction. But, it’s a harmless variety. I just leap over him and head toward home, a shower and invigorated for new day.
Ever since I was a kid I remember visits to the State Fair. I lived in Sacramento, California and looked forward to the family adventure every year. Living in the state capital made going to the fair convenient, easy to make it an annual event. I loved it all.
The animals always amaze me. I chuckle all through the poultry barn. Whether it is a chicken, turkey, duck or geese I am fascinated by what I see, read and hear. God’s variety in creation is remarkable.
The weather was hot at the fair. We found refuge in the horse arena where event after event matched competitors with judges. My knowledge of horses is non-existent. But, during the Tennessee Walk and the two-draft-horse wagon competition I picked the blue ribbon winner and the red ribbon runner-up as well.
Now it was time to tour some more. I saw bats, fish and paid a visit to the Michigan Maple Syrup farm, Michigan Sports Hall of Fame. Then I slipped behind the wheel of three very cool convertible cars.
For a break I sat in the bleachers with a sawdust covered floor. The announcer described the scene. A second year vetinerary student was donning a shoulder length plastic glove. She coated it with antibiotics as her team locked a very preganant cow in the birthing cage.
It was the first time that I saw a cow go bug-eyed while that young vet explored how much she had dialated. Birth was just around the corner. She would not be alone. A whole team of vets cared for her and hundreds of us spectators gawked at her natural experiences. Once the vet’s entire arm disappeared into the cow, I figured that it was time to leave.
The pigs made me laugh. Alpacas sported hysterical haircuts. Auodad sheep kept me marvelling. Highland cattle brought great memories of Scotland.
Fair food is fabulous. I loved eating the Polish sausage, grilled onions, nachos, itty bitty ice cream balls, chicken wings and a huge smoked turkey drum stick. With plenty of water to wash it all down, nothing could wash off my smile. I sported that the entire fair time.
On the way out we took a chance. In the Midway we bought a bucket of ping pong balls and tried to toss them into floating dishes. We won two toys. What great fun. Have done anything really fun lately?
When I preach I have a routine that I follow. The details of that routine are a secret. But, I repeat that routine almost every time I preach God’s Word. It doesn’t matter what size the audience is or where the venue might be. However, Gary and Jay gave me a memory better than that pattern.
Don’t worry. There is no salt scattering involved. I don’t sprinkle any blood either. Nothing is rubbed, twisted, broken or cut. Nor are there any enchantments, foreign languages or spitting involved. They are just habits over the years of preaching that help me get the butterflies to fly in formation.
I was in Oregon and getting ready to preach at Clear Creek Community Church. My expectation was set once I arrived. I always ask about the order of service, time frame, introduction and what precedes it. When I am confident about the procedure then I can focus on the message in my heart.
The moment came and I was ready. But, then there was a surprise. Gary and Jay both got up on the platform and invited me to join them. The three of us stood together as Gary rehearsed the history of how God brought the church into being by drawing from three streams. One church, one school and a gathering of others formed this new church.
The three of us were identified as its first elders. That moment of nostalgia was very moving. Both Gary and Jay are married to a Linda. All of them have given their lives, love and effort to the Lord in leading this church.
These amazing four have lived through great blessings and painful trials. All of us in ministry ache through people issues. Every time someone leaves it leaves scars on the soul of all of us who serve as shepherds.
Unhappy members put the blame on the shoulders of those who lead. I have never met anyone who left a church and owned the responsibility for their own departure. The stinging statements are all different yet all the same.
Departure-criticism always points out the real or imagined inadequacy of those in charge. Ouch. But, we keep faithful and do the best that we can. That’s what God wants us to do. Gary, Jay and the two Linda’s do that well. I am so proud to have served with them and love them to pieces.
It was early and my obligation to preach was hours away. To make good use of my time I went to breakfast at a local McDonald’s. With my tray of food in hand I was looking for a quiet place to read my Bible, contemplate my message and reflect on deeper thoughts. A quiet time wasn’t even close to what happened.
I wandering over to a section of the restaurant that only had two patrons. It seemed like a good place to enjoy a moment of peace. Just after I sat down and laid out my meal, the quietness ended and raucous conversation began.
Two senior men were on the other side of the divider from my booth. I could only see the tops of their head. Across the aisle another senior man had just sat down. The exchange of their insults suggested that they knew each other well.
Their booming voices overshadowed the soft music that was being played over the intercom. At first I thought that they were angry at each other. But, after they each repeated themselves several times, it was clear to me that the batteries in their hearing aids were all going low at the same time.
Before they got settled into their conversation one of the men pointed outside and laughed at a woman that they all seemed to know. She was having a hard time parking her car. Several attempts to straighten out her vehicle was very entertaining to these men.
Of course they had an endless commentary on the woman’s new boyfriend who was outside of the car trying to give directions and straighten out the parking efforts. This fine couple was in the same season of life as this trio of news commentators.
They launched into repeating the news headlines. They went from the Olympics to the Russian-Georgia conflict to the Presidential campaign to hunting laws to Social Security. Their opinions were deeply rooted albeit with more bravado than substance.
Each time someone walked by on their way to the restroom, it seemed to quiet their conversation. Once that person was out of sight they gave their exaggerated commentary on the person that just had passed by. I finished my breakfast and decided to give them some more material for their morning diatribes. So, I purposefully walked by, smiled and nodded at the most dominant of the bunch. I hope that I added some lively discussion to their morning.
After months of anticipation, it seemed strange to say “Good-bye” to the Canadian Rockies after a mere three days. Part of the problem was my memory of my trip to this area years ago. I had expectations that were not completely met this time around.
When travelling with others, I quench personal desires when taking in experiences. Responding to the group is far more important than pursuing individual preferences. Moving with the group delivers great memories unique to our collective experience.
The vistas were without a doubt greater than I had remembered. Those expectations were wonderful. I will never forget the grandeur of the scenery that surrounded us for days of riding.
In this destination the mountains leave a permanent impression of everyone who sees their massive presence. Every moment that the sun shift its light the picture changes. With the variations of the sky the backdrop only enhances the view.
Forests of evergreens are so different from the deciduous tress back home. They are so similar to one another yet, every tree is different. Collectively they drape the mountains and valleys with the rich picture of life.
Lakes here are the jewels of the wilderness. Deep tourquoise colors from the glacier run off is stunning. Water has a way of attracting human attention.
But for me wildlife is my favorite highlight. We gazed at Big Horn Sheep, Mountain Goat, Blacktail Deer, Mule Deer, and Black Bear. As we travelled out of the Canadian Rockies I was personally disappointed that we never saw any Elk. They are God’s most majestic of the North American animals.
My disappointment prepared me to take in an amazing sight. Perhaps rounding the corner of the highway careening past a steep rocky embankment and spotting a strolling Big Horn ram should have been a signal. I smiled at the ram.
Soon after that the road skirted a narrow lake on the right. The sunrise put a glare into my face shield and sparkled across the lake waters.
Then, a movement caught my eye. It wasn’t fast just unique. Against the sparse lakeside trees and crystal clear water, it was a shift that stood out.
Swiftly approaching I throttled off and slowed my speed as the gigantic antlers of a massive elk swayed in the air. This king of the woods was gently grazing on the tender grass shoots. He was my final farewell to the breath-taking Canadian Rockies.
Sunday was a special day. I preached at the church that I helped plant many years ago. Three of us were appointed as elders to that fledgling church and became fast friends.
Of all of the areas of Christian service that I have done I have never been so challenged as in planting a church. There is an enormous expenditure of energy, time tied up in meetings, prayer, discussions, planning and fellowship. The demands for problem-solving, evaluation and dreaming seem to be endless.
The advancement issues of starting a church are seemingly endless. But, those features are minimal compared the ever present threat of complaining. Yes, I know that it is hard to believe, but Christians have been known to complain.
I have devoted myself to NOT complain against the Lord’s work. Of course good leaders don’t complain much because it is unproductive. What good has complaining ever accomplished?
Admittedly, there may be some immediate accomplishment when a chronic complainer unleashes their self-centered childish rantings. But, those who end up acquiescing to their whiny demands usually do it with measured reluctance. It is like shoving a pacifier in the mouth of crying baby. It solves an immediate problem so that more important matters can be attended.
It has always seemed theologically odd to me for a Christian to have a reputation of complaining. After all a Christian has been the recipient of God’s amazing grace, given permanent relief from the oppression of their sin, given an inheritance that will never spoil of fade, indwellt with the Holy Spirit for power, implanted into the church for fellowship, encouragement and blessing. Why would someone with all of that ever have a reason to complain and cause hurt in the life of another Christian, especially against God’s chosen leaders?
I have noticed a number of common denominators among the worst whiners that I have met. First, they are never at fault themselves. Fault always falls at the door step of someone else. The complainers in fact feel very righteous according to their self-evaluative standards.
Second, when complainers leave a church they must think that they have been given a special dispensation that allows them to gossip, slander and have a sour attitude. Still some how in their minds they convince themselves that they are right…again.
Rats, now I’m complaining! Those rascals sure are infectious. But, they can’t be right about this can they?
My photographic hobby was in full swing. Duties took me to the Pacific Ocean but I hoping that I could squeeze in some shutter time. It all began with an early morning hike along the beach and capturing an amazing sunrise.
Before most of the conferees awoke I was back in my room and downloaded my morning photographs on to my lap top computer. It was so gratifying to see and enjoy what my dawn investment had produced.
I sent pictures of that treasured collection to my family. Then, I posted some on my Facebook page. Once all of that cyberspace activity was done I reflected over the coming day.
That afternoon I went for another walk in the opposite direction. On that little foray I was able to capture a handful of fun shots as well. But, in the back of my mind I set my sights on the end of the day.
The weather looked like it was going to cooperate. A beautiful sunset is always enhanced by just the right amount of layered clouds hovering on the horizon. This combination promised to be a winner.
But, the evening program and my duties were about stretch the possibility of the right moment. Events completed just in the nick of time. I walked quickly back to my room to grab my camera. The sun had turned from its daylight providing bright white light to a stunning red hue.
This blazing ball of fire was dancing on the edge of the Pacific horizon. Then, it slipped below the line of sight and emblazened the clouds with a portait of colors that lit up the early evening sky. Pelicans and gulls floated through the crimson display. It was glorious.
The day was busy and full of people, activities, thoughts, reflections and new ideas. Now it was time to rest, relax, consider and deepen. Sunsets have a way of forcing busy lives to slow down. These end-of-the-day moments are never hurried but always deliberate. It happens but will not be rushed nor ignored.
A wonderful sunset is a major reminder of how small our life is yet also how special it can be. The daily repetition of this display is never lost. Someone is being bathed in the powerful statement that God brings all of our troubles to an end and a new day will come with joys and troubles of its own.
