The Big Hairy

“Do I not destroy my enemies when I make them my friends?” Abraham Lincoln

One morning I was in the church yard glancing up at Fan Mountain. She was certainly out in all her glory. The peak was capped in fresh snow, glistening in the sunlight. The sky behind her was so clear and blue you could almost see the stars beyond.

I stood staring, but the reverie of the moment was broken when a big hairy scary dude wandered across the lawn toward me. He was gargantuan, and was covered in long, ginger hair (not unlike that of those Highland cows you see periodically). He looked like Cousin It – only from the uglier, seamier side of the It clan.

I was fairly alarmed, and must have said so as the stranger replied, “You’re skeered, eh?” (“Skeered” – that’s how he pronounced it). “You have reason to be skeered,” he continued. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

He appeared to be sneering at me from behind the hairy haystack that hung where his head should be. My knees were shaking, but I knew I dared to show no fear to this hombre, so I gritted my teeth with grim determination and stood tall and brave like Marshall Dillon on the outside, while feeling more like Barney Fife on the inside.

“I suggest you build yourself a fortification,” said the stranger, most reasonably.

I looked around, but I had nothing I could use to build a fort or shelter, or even that I could use as a weapon against this fearsome Hairy Scary Dude.

He perceived my consternation, disappeared for a few moments, and then returned with some lumber and tools. Before I could say, “One, two, buckle my shoe,” the two of us began to build a beautiful fence of immense proportions. His carpentry skills were marvelous (against which mine paled in comparison).

“Nothing will get over or around that,” I said with some pride when we had finished.

Big Hairy Scary Dude simply nodded in agreement, adding, “It appears you now have a Wall sufficient to keep out what skeers you.”

But then I stepped back and looked at the great fence and noticed how it now blocked my view of both the mountains and valley. It was gorgeous and effective as a barrier, but it fenced me in every bit as much as it fenced out the world!

I didn’t know what to do, but unbeknownst to me, the Big Hairy Scary Dude had a plan. “Give me a hand,” he said, and we picked up the fence and set it down face-up on a series of sawhorses.

As soon as we had done that, people began to gather from every direction. Each brought a dish to share and began setting the table, which soon groaned under the weight of the bounty that was brought. The fence-cum-table was covered with a beautiful linen cloth and adorned with yellow bees-wax candles (which flickered under the evening stars), and bouquets of the most fragrant lilacs, blue-bells, and baby’s breath flowers.

People sat down and as I looked around, I saw the Big Hairy Scary Dude sitting with folks from every community of faith and civic organization; and he was sitting with the morally upright and the ethically suspect; and he was sitting with both family and friends on the one side, and with strangers and n’er-do-wells on the other. He was sitting with children and elders, and with newborns and the dying – and he was seated with everyone simultaneously!

I wondered aloud how he could do that, and asked him his name.

He smiled, and as he did, his hairy coat began to fall away, and he began to shine more brightly than the noon day sun and with the effervescent smile of the Wonderland’s Cheshire cat he said, “I AM Yeshua ben Nazareth.”

With that, he disappeared and I awakened.

I came to believe in my heart what I had long suspected: this world doesn’t need bigger and better fences or walls, but a people willing to extend their tables to make room for all who hunger and thirst; for when all is said and done, the ultimate reality is that a Big Hairy Scary Dude called God has made and set a splendid table for ALL in this, our valley (and beyond).

Horse Sense

"If we’re growing, we’re always going to be out of our comfort zone." John Maxwell

Computers are a wonderful thing. 

I have always enjoyed them, and especially I have appreciated their odd little quirks and issues that arise from time to time.

I enjoy the thrill of the hunt – having a problem crop up that requires a solution if one is going to continue using the digital beast.  It’s nice knowing that when all else fails, we’ve always got Ctrl+Alt+Del!

A while back I found myself losing the internet fairly regularly so that it became apparent that our DSL modem was on its last legs.  I went out and bought a new combination modem-router and, with fear and trembling, removed the old units and installed the new one and – lo, it worked.  Not only that, it seems to be much fast than what we had before.  Better yet, I didn’t have to resort to Ctrl+Alt+Del.

For that I am thankful.

One of the problems I’ve found with new computers and new operating systems is that they are much more stable.  Having fewer problems may seem like a good thing, and yet I find that my ability to locate the source of a problem – when one finally rears its ugly little noggin – is that I have a hard time remembering how to find the solution.

I remember there’s a way – but I can’t find the path without doing a lot more digging and hacking.

Most of us, I think, would like to go through life with few (if any) trials and tribulations, and yet it seems that the struggles we endure on a daily basis, whether those problems are large or small, help keep us fresh and loose and more functionally fit.

Robert Louis Stevenson once said that we need to “sit loosely in the saddle of life.”

I think it is pretty good advice.  I’ve not ridden horses much in my life.  In fact, I’ve only tried it once, and I was definitely loose in the saddle.  We were quite a syncopated mess out there on the trail.  Since I had the rein and was on top, I think I was supposed to be in charge, but the horse sure didn’t seem to recognize my authority.

Staying loose is important, though.  It helps to maintain balance by staying flexible, and being able to maneuver come what may.

Jesus once asked the question: Why do you fret over so many things?  Can worry add an inch to your height or extend your time on earth?  Each day has enough worries of its own.  Trust God to know what you need, and relax (very loosely paraphrased).

When we worry about things over which we have no control – like the economy, the weather, or the people who surround us on every side – we can’t help but get uptight.  We can’t help but bounce up in the saddle when the horse is dropping down, and bouncing down hard in the saddle as the horse is coming up.  The ride becomes most unpleasant because a horse and rider out of sync is just a horse with a problem.

It is important to be able to ride out life’s little storms and recognize that most of them are just that – little.  There’s not a whole lot to get upset about or fret over.  The economy will do whatever it is going to do regardless of what I put into it or try to take out of it.  The sun will shine, or the clouds will gather no matter how hot or cold my attitude may be on any given day.  People will do whatever it is they do, and think whatever they think, and feel whatever they feel pretty much regardless of my own input.

So, why not just sit loose in the saddle and enjoy the ride?  Be prudent regarding finances and weather, but don’t be alarmed; be alert to the needs of those around you, but not consumed by them. 

If we can bring our own lives under control, wouldn’t that be a move in the right direction?  Wouldn’t that make life better for everyone?

Until then, we can just horse around until we’ve figured it out in this, our valley.

A PARABLE

I don't normally talk politics, but am increasingly peeved at GOP obstructionism. Eight years of Bologna Stuffing, if you ask me.

A Parable: There was a man whose car died unexpectedly. He needed it for work, so his boss, a car dealer, told him to select a vehicle on the lot that would meet his needs. The man spoke to a sales associate who refused to let him look at any vehicles, let alone select one. “Wait until the new models come out this fall,” said the salesman. “But our boss wants me to select one now,” replied the man. “I don’t care,” answered the salesman. “Forget the boss. You can wait until fall, and that’s all I have to say on that.”

How would you respond?

A justice has died. The Constitution calls for the President to nominate a replacement. The Constitution calls for the Senate to consider that nomination. The Senate Majority leader has said no. Senator Daines has said no. The average Supreme Court vacancy lasts 102 days (just over 3 months), no matter who controls the Senate, no matter who is in the White House, but America will be denied a new justice for at least a year because the Senate GOP has told the boss (the Constitution) to take a hike. I don’t know about you, but I’m seeing red.

Moose at the Door

I looked out my window,

And what did I see?

I saw a young moose

Walking out past a tree.

Majestic he looked,

As he stood there to pose

Before heading out back

As he followed his nose.

Just where is he going?

I wondered out loud,

As he gave me a look that said,

“I don’t like a crowd.”

I moved through the house

From the front to the back

And caught sight of the moose,

I would cut him no slack.

I took hold of my camera

And held it steady in hand

I captured the image

Of the moose on my land.

But how is it mine,

This land as I think?

Oh sure I’ve made payments

But is that ownership’s link?

The moose has as much claim

To the land that he treads

As I with my mortgage

And my bare flower beds.

The land is the Lord’s

Who made earth, wind, and sky

And fishies and moosies

And all poor mortals who die.

So I was delighted

When this moose came to the door

To visit our hovel

On his wilderness tour.

Sloth in the Valley

Sloth (is) the sin by which we ignore our obligations. Tony Campolo

A reader asks, “How can people claim to have faith in God and lack a desire to read the Bible or go to church?”

I will admit I am not an advice columnist cut from the cloth of either Ann or Dear Prudence.

However, I know my immediate (and quite judgmental) response to the question is to chalk it up to sloth. That’s an old fashioned word for what we call “laziness” today. In fact, Sloth heads the list of the seven deadly sins we sometimes hear about in church – especially during the season of Lent.

I should note here that the word “sin” has fallen out of fashion. I, myself, prefer other ways to describe or talk about sin. Such euphemisms include character defects, faults, shortcomings, and the like. One reason I suspect, is we live in a culture that doesn’t like others to feel too badly about themselves.

Some words also lack meaning in this digital age. We hear the word “sin” and probably conjure up images of people going into those tiny booths in church where they tell the priest what bad things they’ve done, and where the man behind the curtain grants pardon (absolution, in church-speak) and suggests a few spiritual exercises to the penitential party.

The fact is that sin is a technical term used by ancient archers, and simply means to “miss the mark.”

Imagine you’re out hunting. You spot a beautiful bull-elk, take careful aim, hold your breath, and just as you prepare to squeeze off a round, your nose itches and you twitch just enough your bullet misses the elk’s heart (the “mark”). Instead, you get a lung shot and have to trail the animal for a couple miles before it succumbs to the wound.

Now you have to haul it further, and it’s suffered longer, so the quality of meat has been degraded. Those are consequences of your “sin.”

You would not be a bad person. No one would accuse you of being evil or cruel. You would simply admit you missed the mark (sinned). It could have been the twitch of the nose; it could have been a twig the bullet grazed while en route to the beast. Having missed the mark, you will make a mental note to ignore nose twitches and watch for things that might deflect bullets in the future. In other words, if you’re wise, you’ll learn from what happened and apply changes in the future.

If, on the other hand, you ignore what happened, you will continue to make the same mistakes, and continue to “sin” – to fall short and miss the mark. The point we need to realize is we’re better than that. We don’t want to be too lazy to learn, too lazy to change, or too lazy to do what we ought to do.

It is quite possible, though, that the spiritual problem we are facing in our culture isn’t sloth as much as the reverse – we’re so busy. We’re too worn out to learn; too worn out to change; too worn out to do what we ought to do. We’ve lost our appetite for Sabbath – the gift of rest.

In other words, we’re not too lazy to go to church; we’re too busy. We’re not too lazy to read our bibles; we’re too busy. When we’re not at school or work, we’re out fishing, hunting, hiking, shopping, taking in ball games, or running to town for dinner and a movie.

We live in a world that craves action and which not only devalues leisure, but considers all those activities the very definition of leisure! I know people who develop a case of hives if they’re immersed in more than thirty seconds of silence; going to church could quite possibly do them in altogether, and yet …

I find church as essential for my spirit as air is for my body. It isn’t the “going” I find essential, but the “being” there that makes the difference. It is a road not taken by everyone, to be sure, but for me, “(it) has made all the difference.” (Frost)

Church is where sinners gather. Ironically, there’s no sin in that. I’m just glad we have many places to renew our spirits when needed here in this, our valley.

Beelzebub

We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity – The Big Book

I was walking up a set of stairs the other day. I wasn’t alone; I had a companion who was also upwardly mobile. Simultaneously, we noticed a common house-fly creeping around on one of the treads. It was still winter, and so it seemed somewhat out of the ordinary to find the critter lurching about on the step like a drunken sailor.

My companion remarked quite matter-of-factly, “Oh look, there’s a fly crawling about.”

I stepped on it and said in reply, “Not now.”

It is always my intention to be kind to all of God’s creatures, but must confess I find flies both disgusting and disturbing. I know the sorts of things they like to play around with and eat, and I want no part of it, so I am quite fly-i-cidal when I see them out and about. They make me crazy.

I can stand in a room full of flies, swatting them left and right all day long, and be insanely happy as the dickens. You could call me a flyromaniac.

One day I was out shopping and found what I thought was a good deal on a set of fly swatters. It was a three-pack, so I bought two (to match my six-pack abs, of course). That way I could have a fly-smoosher handy in every room, for little annoys me more than when I have to waste time seeking something to obliterate the uninvited wing-nuts. By the time I’ve located the whacky-doo, the pesty-poo has moved along, so now I have something for every room – and they were cheap, to boot.

Unfortunately, you get what you pay for. These swatters are so flimsy they do no harm; they are anything but lethal. In fact, I do believe the flies have put out fliers inviting swarms to come get massages for free. It got so bad a deputy sheriff threatened to throw me in jail for operating a massage parlor without a license! I let fly with my tale of woe, so he let me go, as long as I promised not to flea the county.

So I gave up the fly swatters for Lent and decided to take another tack. I went to the local hardware store and purchased packs of tacky fly-snatching strips. I stretched them out and hung them up by the windows, and they did an OK job of catching the little black buggers. On the other hand, they looked pretty unsightly hanging there, and that bugged me. What would our guests think?

I didn’t mind the strips, so much, but I don’t like seeing creatures – even nasty flies – struggling in despair. I could almost hear them crying in their little fly-voices: Help me! Save me! Woe is me!

It makes me feel a bit like a Padre de Sade. Even if flies are carriers of disease and pestilence, they undoubtedly have their place in the circle of life (just not around me).

Consequently, I decided to try a different approach. I went to another local establishment and found cans of pesticide for sale. They were reasonably priced, and I thought the skull and cross-bones were tastefully and artfully displayed. I carefully read the instructions and discerned I was qualified to follow them, so I bought a can and, with more than a bit of maniacal cackling, took it out for a spin.

I soon discovered a flock of flies congregating on a window, presumably discussing where to go for dinner. I stood back a few paces, gently shook the can in my hand, aimed, and pfeut – let fly with a cloud of aerial ack-ack.

At first, the mist appeared to have had no effect, and I was quite disappointed, but then … then they began to quiver and shake and soon, they began to drop like … yes … they began to drop like flies.

Take that, Beelzebub! V-F day was at hand; I’d found my solution. Those falling aviators looked at me with their googly eyes and the last thing they heard from me was this: “You’ve been canned.”

With that, what passes for sanity (at least in my mind) returned, and that’s the buzz for this week here in this, our valley. 

LENT

Haiku de Jour

Sins in Life abound
Quite pleasant do I find them;
Fasting, not so much.