Snow Way

Our driveway at 2:30 am the morning of the big storm

Our Driveway as it looks today

Last year, all the ski resorts to the West of the Continental Divide had record snowfalls - up to 500 inches in some cases.  On our side of the divide (Denver and the Front Range) we had a record low snowfall.  This year the whole scenario flip-flopped and we've received probably 70-80 inches so far, while the resorts are barely hitting 50 inches at best.  What this means is a lower fire risk this coming summer and more income for those who plow commercially.  I'm just scratching the surface of plowing as sidebar way of earning a little extra cash, but I've already realized that the cost of maintaining and repairing my truck could easily outstretch what little income I may earn.  Now I understand why most guys who do this on a serious level use an old, beat up pickup instead of driving their primary vehicle.  Hmmm.  I'll have to see about that for next season.  The last big storm we had a little over a week ago dumped somewhere around 30 inches on Conifer, but Bailey (just 15 miles to the West) only got 5.  One of my friends from church works as a fireman down the hill, and since the storm coincided with his 48 hour shift he asked me if I would plow for his 12-15 clients.  I hate plowing blind, which means plowing someone's property that I'm not familiar with.  The reason being that it is too easy to break something on their property that I just can't see under all the snow, or break my truck in the process.  I tried to drive to as many of his properties as I could before the storm hit, but I was only able to see about half of them.  The snow started falling around midnight, and by the time I drove out of my driveway at 2:30 a.m. we already had 10 inches on the ground.  One of the addresses he gave me was on Broken Arrow Dr, and I only realized once I'd driven all the way over to Evergreen (15 miles out of my way) that there are actually THREE broken arrow roads between Evergreen and Conifer.  That wasted an hour of precious time, as the snow was getting deeper by the minute.  The first homes I got to had about a foot of snow, and since these were new properties to me I had to get out of the truck and trudge through the thigh-deep snow with a big spotlight and a ski pole, poking around as I tried to figure out where the driveways actually were.  I saw one of the homeowners peeking out of his window, probably wondering what in the world I was doing out there.  And with the number of guns per capita in Conifer, I was probably taking my life in my own hands!   Amazingly I got through 12 driveways without an incident, and without getting seriously stuck either.  As you can see in the picture above, sometimes the snow was actually coming over the top of the plow blade as I "swam" through 3-4 foot drifts.  It was a crazy couple of days.

The big snowfall provided a good excuse to pull a practical joke - as my friend Phil did when he filled the bed of my truck up with snow with his front-end loader.  Took me and two other guys 20 minutes to shovel it all out.  I'm still plotting my revenge.  I sent him a text message to make sure he knew that I was on to him, and in typical Phil Phashion he replied: "Let me start my three part apology by reassuring you on your smashing good looks... moving on to how merciful we should be to one another... and finally... Josh did it!" 

 

Middle East Politics

I took four guys out to the "Man Cave" cabin last Sunday afternoon, since Monday was a public holiday and we could take our time leaving after breakfast.  Of course, we took our arsenal with us and stayed out almost till dark shooting at bad guy targets and clay pigeons stuck in the snow.  On the way back to the cabin from our designated firing range I was talking with one of the men about why we enjoy shooting guns so much, and we both decided that it's the feeling of Freedom (advertisement paid for by the NRA).

After eating way too many tacos, we went out to the bonfire and talked for a couple of hours - then retired to a night of jungle noises.  After breakfast the next morning we somehow got into a conversation about Middle East politics - which in my experience almost never ends well.  I talked about having spent a great deal of time in the West Bank and Gaza Strip, and how my perspective on the whole Israeli-Palestinian conflict changed as I got to know many Palestinian Christians and heard their side of the story.  They would ask me why the church in America only cares about Israel, and why we turn out back on the thousands of born-again believers in the West Bank and Gaza strip who suffer so greatly under the sanctions imposed by Israel and the West?  My feeble attempts to explain why American churches support Israel as God's "chosen people" somehow came across sounding hollow even to me, knowing first-hand how both sides in the Israeli-Palestinian struggle are guilty of committing atrocities against one another.  There is truly no "good guy" in this never-ending conflict of religion, land and power.  "Don't they care that we're their brothers and sisters in Christ?" was the question I was most often asked, and for which I truly had no answer. 

     At this point one of the guys spoke up, and with great emotion explained to me in no uncertain terms how we are commanded by God to support Israel, how they are the innocent victims in this war against terror, and how the Arabs are under God's curse - which explains why they stay poor, uneducated and ignorant.  Wow, did we get into it then!   I won't bore you with the sordid details of our heated discussion, but what was very clear to everyone in the room was that neither of us was going to budge from our position.  What I find so ironic (not necessarily for my friend) is that often our "position" is based on whatever our favorite televangelist teaches, irregardless of the fact that we have never actually visited the Middle East, that we do not personally know any Arabs (Muslim or Christian), and that we don't even study the Scriptures for ourselves to determine what God's heart is in all of this. 

We kissed and made up by the end of the conversation, but there was one point from our debate that summed it all up for me.  As believers in Jesus Christ, we don't have the luxury of being pro-Isreali or anti-Arab.  We all have our own political bents, but I don't see Jesus rejecting any people group for any reason.  He loved the Jews, the Romans, the Samaritans, the poor, the blind and the wretched.  Yes,  He often unashamedly chastised the religious "elect" for their arrogance and their partiality - all the while ready to respond to any of them who demonstrated an open heart (Zaccheus and Nicodemus being two great examples).  What I was reacting to in the conversation at the cabin is our propensity as comfortable, wealthy, sometimes myopic, American Christians to cast our lot with Israel because of our particular view of end-times prophecy... all the while ignoring the context of thousands of Palestinians who daily suffer incredible hardships from Israeli sanctions.  Don't get me wrong:  I am adamantly against the use of terrorism as a tool for any people group to gain a voice.  But I've sat in the homes of dear brothers and sisters in Christ in Bethlehem as they explained to me how they are forced to live separately from their wife and children because one happened to be born in Israel (and thus is privileged to have Israeli citizenship) and the other in the West Bank.  Life for them is a constant gamble as the husband drives through Israeli checkpoints each day - knowing that the discovery of his "illicit" marriage could mean him being banned from ever seeing his wife and family again except when they can meet outside the country.  I could not remain emotionally unmoved  in the face of real-life stories that could be reproduced a thousand times over by other Christian Palestinians.

During the years I spent in North Africa and the Middle East I was fortunate enough to get to know Joel Rosenberg - best selling author of many books including "The Last Jihad", "The Copper Scroll" and "The Tehran Initiative".  Joel is a born-again Jew who not only believes in all the prophecies related to end times and the nation of Israel, but who also has a deep, genuine love for the Arab people.  As a Jew, Joel has often taken part in evangelistic outreaches to share the Gospel with Muslim North Africans, and he spends a great deal of time visiting and encouraging Arab believers in the Holy Land.  I love Joel because he demonstrates the heart of Christ towards all men -  while holding firmly to his own beliefs about God's plan for the Jewish people and the nation of Israel.  This is a mark of true spiritual maturity. 

Life is interesting, to say the least.

An author is born

My youngest daughter Jacqueline has suddenly discovered that she loves to write, and all it took was one creative writing assignment at school.  And you know what?  She's got a gift!  Here's an excerpt from her latest blog entry (you can see her blog through the link on the left):

"We make our way to the dress store, the most magical place on earth. We step into what seems like another planet, with racks and racks of dresses as far as the eye can see, and we can smell that sweet aroma of perfume and new clothes. But that's not the best part, we melt when we see the shoe rack, just shelves and shelves of glorious high heels, screaming your name. We  dive at them trying on every pair we see. We stride down the aisles in our fabulous shoes, trying not to fall down so we don't make a fool out of ourselves in front of many dignified women with credit cards. We grab a few dresses to go with our astonishing shoes. And running to the changing rooms we trip over some racks, then decide to take off the shoes while we run. We do a little fashion show for each other wearing our glamorous outfits."

This really describes Jacqueline to a T.  She's all girl; life's all about high heels, and dresses, and make-up.  And I love that about her.  I suppose she picked some of it up from her two older sisters, but neither of them are nearly as into the whole glamor girl scene as their little sister.  She's getting taller and more beautiful every day, and I can already tell that the braces on her teeth are correcting the confusing jumble of front teeth that began when she was just a tiny little thing.  We were living in France, and Jacqueline was probably 9 or 10 months old - old enough to crawl around, and just starting to pull herself up by holding onto any stable object.  I was on baby-duty that day (of course), and I got preoccupied with a project and took my eyes off her for a couple of minutes... just long enough for her to try to stand up by holding onto one of the french doors leading into the living room.  She was almost up when the door swung away from her and she fell forward and hit her front tooth on the ledge under the glass pane.  I heard the screams and rushed over to find her mouth covered in blood, and her one tooth sticking straight out at right angles from her mouth.  Ouch!  Man, did I feel like a slug!  We rushed her to the pediatric dentist at the hospital, and he pushed the tooth back up into place - but he didn't think there was much of a chance that it would stay.  Sure enough, within a few days the tooth turned a darker color and we had to pull it out.  Since that time the rest of her front teeth have competed for first place to fill the gap, and they all ended up in a big mess with teeth at every angle and some stacked up behind others.  I had to swallow a big pill the day I agreed to fork out another $4000, but Nicole's teeth turned out so beautiful that I can't wait to see the result for Jacqueline.  I guess I only have myself to blame for not paying more attention that day 12 years ago.

XXX

     Earlier this week, Michael, Sterling and I were checking out some potential locations for the driving school that we want to launch in the next couple of weeks.  After visiting the first rental space Mike explained to Sterling and I that "Triple Net" is a term used in leasing commercial space that refers to the real estate taxes, insurance and building maintenance costs (garbage service etc), which are either included in the lease agreement, or added to it as an additional monthly expense.  We drove to the second commercial property that we wanted to visit, and while we were discussing the monthly rental cost with the leasing agent - and wanting to appear like I knew what I was doing - I confidently asked him whether this amount included the Triple X costs.  There was a long pause as the agent racked his brain to figure out what in the world I was talking about.  After a few seconds Michael came to my rescue and said, "I think he means the triple net cost."  Of course, there was no way that Mike and Sterling were going to let that one go, and the rest of the afternoon we laughed till we cried about what that guy must have thought about this church that wants to open a XXX video store.  Somehow, I'm certain that "Triple X" will find its way into our staff meetings these next couple of weeks.

     Yesterday, Daphne and I drove Karine to the airport for her flight back to Birmingham, and with mixed emotions said goodbye as she joined the line to go through security.  I know every other parent goes through the same thing as their children one-by-one leave the nest; it just feels strange for us that we've reached this place in our parenting.  I feel sorry for the eldest children in the family because they have the dubious honor of bearing the brunt of all our mistakes as they smooth the way for their younger siblings to follow.  And we've made more than our share of mistakes with Karine.
     After dropping her at the airport we went by the hospital to visit Cortland and Tiny and the newest addition to our team - Zeke Michael Coffey.  He's a beautiful little boy - not a shriveled up pink version of Jimmy Durante like some babies I've seen.  You know the awkward moment when you first peer into the crib and think, "wow, that's an ugly baby!  I think he needs to go back into the oven to cook some more"  But you say, "Ohhh, isn't he gorgeous!"   We're all liars at some point.  But, like I said, Zeke is a perfect little Gerber baby.  He was born precisely on his due date, as was Emily's baby. Which proves, once again, that the women on our team like to do things on time.  We bought some pastries for Cort and Tiny at a French bakery run by Americans, and then had lunch at a Lebanese restaurant where the waiter is from El Salvador, and the kitchen staff are all from Mexico.  The food was great, but we missed the opportunity to speak French again and to share stories about Lebanon.

     The last stop we made before heading back up the hill was to the home of an official scorer for Boone and Crockett - the designated keepers of all big-game hunting records - to have my bear skull measured and scored.  And sure enough, it's big enough to get in the record book.  B & C have two categories of records:  Award level, and All-Time records.  When it comes to black bears, anything over 20 inches (length plus width) is big enough to qualify for the award level and possibly as an all-time record.  My bear was 20 9/16 inches, so I will get my picture and score in the next official record book that will come out two years from now.  Pretty cool.  My bear should rank somewhere around the 14th largest black bear ever harvested in Colorado (which isn't known for producing record-sized bears).  I can't wait to see the bearskin rug when it's finished three or four months from now.

    

Ephiphany

e·piph·a·ny [ih-pif-uh-nee] 

noun, plural -nies.

1. A sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience. 

Strange, how a truth that you've known and even taught for years can suddenly, inexplicably, become real.


Restless Leg Syndrome and insomnia have been my (unwelcome) companions for many years now.  According to some of my journals,  as far back as eight or nine years now.  I am grateful for the love and concern expressed by my family members and friends, many of whom have faithfully prayed for years that I would somehow be healed or released from this thorn in my flesh.  And yet if I had to use one word to describe my feelings as I look back over these past years it would be loneliness.  For hundreds, even thousands of nights I have been a walking zombie ("Night Walkers" as we are sometimes described in medical literature), wandering through our home or even around the neighborhood in the vain hope of finding relief from the demons that climb up and down my lower back and legs.  While the world sleeps, I am engaged in a battle that, at times, I feared would end in my own insanity.  

I function on a daily basis at around 50-60% of my mental and physical capacity, and there's no way for me to explain to those who've only known me over the past few years that this is not ME, that I wasn't always this way.  For most of my life I was full of energy and creativity, with a great capacity to handle a multitude of tasks simultaneously.  As the crisis manager for a large Christian organization in one of the most volatile regions of the world, I literally thrived in the intense, high-risk environment of international crisis management.  Today, I'm not sure how well I could manage even a single crisis, knowing the level of mental and physical energy that is required for successful crisis resolution.  Even a task as simple as writing this blog may take me four or five attempts over two days, as I find myself waking up to see ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff on the screen because I've dozed off with my finger pressing on a key.  I have grieved the loss of what once was, and without even realizing it I had started a slow and steady decline into a world of negativity and skepticism.

Several days ago Daphne took the courageous step to confront the problem head-on as she described to me the affect that my negativity and anger were having on her and the girls.  She explained to me how they all feel great sadness for my long-term struggle with RLS & insomnia, and they long for a remedy, healing, or some other miracle to deliver me.  In the present, however, she had noticed my outlook on everything in life becoming increasingly dark.  I couldn't deny it, as I'd felt the darkness closing in on m as well.  I also knew that I was feeling intense anger towards God because I know He COULD heal me if He so chose... and he continues to NOT so choose.  She challenged me to, in the midst of my battle,  try to see the small, positive clues that God IS giving me every day.  Later that day as I was working on a new wooden sign for our church I was listening to a podcast sermon on the topic of how to prepare a sermon.  The pastor gave two key ingredients for a great sermon:  first, to study and prepare well (duh!) and second, to embrace weakness (come again?).  The statement that caused me to stop the podcast and rewind was this:  " The Glory of God rests upon injured and weakened men; men who ask, 'How can I possibly go on?'"  When I hear the same message twice in one day, I've learned to stop and pay attention because God may have entered the room to speak.  The speaker went on to say that he believes that most current translations of the Bible mis-translate 2 Corinthians 12:10 : "Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ's sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong."  The word "Content with" should actually be translated as "delight in".  God doesn't want us to simply survive our trials with a decent attitude; He wants us to actually delight in them.  This concept came like a laser-beam straight into my soul, and I suddenly found myself both repenting and thanking God at the same time.  I sensed God saying to me:  "My son, you have fought me, blamed me and accused me of not loving you for years.  It's time to lay down your anger and bitterness towards me, and learn how I want to use your pain to build myself in you.  You say you want to hear my voice; well, this is the way."

My heart and soul have embraced this concept, and my body and mind are slowly coming along.  Ironically, since I made the decision to thank God and delight in my sleeplessness I have had three of the best nights ever (5-6 hours of sleep).  Last week on Tuesday Mike asked me to preach this last Sunday, to give him time to do some planning for the coming year.  On Thursday night I went the entire night without sleep, and on Friday night only got 2-3 hours.  I stood up there on Sunday and delivered what I thought was perhaps the most disorganized and disjointed sermon ever.  Afterwards, Mike's comment was, "I think that was your best sermon ever!"  Really?  Seriously? 

Well, perhaps there's something to this When I Am Weak, Then I Am Strong idea after all.


New Addition:  Follow me via Email

The Blogging program I use has now added a feature that allows you to receive an email message every time there's a new posting to my blog.  Just look in the column to the left where it says "Follow the Juniper Tree by Email!", enter your Email address, and (hopefully) PRESTO!  No need to look it up on the web anymore.  Try it out and leave a comment after this blog entry to tell me if it worked.

 

Ho, Ho, Huh?

 Our normal Santa backed out of his planned appearance this year (He must be a union man after all), leaving us with a need to find a new Santa Clause in a hurry.  We eventually decided to let the church choose between our two "full-figured" staff - Michael and Sterling.  We put it to a vote and Sterling won hands-down.  I think the novelty of a black Santa was just too good to pass up.  Sterling was a good sport through it all, and I noticed him quietly practicing his "ho, ho ho's" when he thought nobody was looking.  It's really too bad he couldn't wear his red "gangsta" Christmas hat;  somehow, with Sterling that would have been the perfect touch.  After the service the kids started lining up to talk to Santa, and I can't help but wonder if any of them thought it strange to see that black face peeking out between the fake hair and beard.  I think Sterling can relax, as he now has job security as the official character actor for The Journey Church. 

 We were hit with our first humdinger of a winter storm last week - we got somewhere between 18-24 inches in about 18 hours.  I went out around 1a.m. the first night to start plowing, because the deeper the snow gets, the harder it is to push. There was already 14 inches on the ground when I started plowing the driveway at the Journey Ranch, and I narrowly escaped getting seriously stuck when I inadvertently backed into the creek that runs along the front of the ranch property.  I had chains on the rear tires, so I put it into low 4WD and hit the gas . . .  and the truck jumped back up onto the road.  Whew!  I bought a set of chains a couple of weeks ago after I slid into and demolished a friend's front stairs, and the guy at O'Reilly Auto Parts assured me that these were the best chains for the money.  However, after plowing only two properties I heard a thumping noise coming from my rear tires, and upon investigation discovered that some of the chain links had broken and the loose ends of chain were hitting the inside of the wheel well.  Best chains for the money, eh?  I made a stop at the hardware store and bought a handfull of "Quick links" to re-attach the chain lengths.  My ingenius solution worked for maybe 30 minutes, and then the chains broke somewhere else.  By mid-day I gave up and went back to O'Reilly's for a refund, and I  bought the heavy-duty kind that take twice as long to put on, but will hopefully stay in one piece.

Our Driveway after the big snow

With what I'm spending on extra gas, chains and minor repairs on the truck, I may just be breaking even.  The Jury's still out as to whether this is a money-making endeavor, or a money pit.

I heard a great story two weeks ago at church.  My friend Leslie (who's stairs I demolished) told me that one of her neighbors came over to see her because she'd noticed me repairing the stairs, and she needs someone to help her with some projects.  As they talked, Leslie found out that this woman has not found a church up here where she feels comfortable, and she invited her to the Christmas Eve service (and she came).  "Coincidences" like this one bring home the truth from the Bible that says: "All things work together for good, to those who love God and who are called according to His purposes."

Freezer Burn

Journey Church White Militia

Two nights ago I took seven guys from our Saturday morning group to spend the night in a secluded (and very rustic) cabin located in the middle of 4000 acres of land about 30 minutes from Conifer.  One of the drawing cards I used to convince grown men to spend the night in a freezing cold cabin was that we could do some coyote hunting while we were there.  As you can see from the image, they came loaded for bear.  After I took the picture I told them that we looked like a bunch of guys from some white militia outfit in North Dakota.  We didn't kill any coyotes (PETA fans can now relax), so instead we spent two hours shooting every conceivable weapon known to man.  It was loud, it was raucous, it was MANLY!  Add to that the fact that we enjoyed a BIG pot of chili the night before, and I could use the same adjectives to describe the atmosphere in the cabin sometime around 3 a.m.  In the end, the wood stove kept the cabin temperature tolerable and some of us actually got some sleep (present company excluded).  The next morning we made what can only be described as an awesome, artery-clogging breakfast: eggs, sausages by the pound, fried potatoes and grits.  We all stood around the campfire the night before, smoking pipes and cigars and telling stories about the most painful or frightening experiences we'd ever had ("You call THAT a scar?  Take a look at this baby...")  By around 10 pm the conversation moved to a deeper, more personal level as we talked about how we hear from God and shared some of our most significant "God Moments".

This is why I love to get a group of men away on their own where there's no cell phone coverage and no distractions, and we can finally start to be authentic with one another.  It was a truly great outing.

     We're all gearing up for our big Christmas Eve service at the high school, and we're hoping to have up to 1000 in attendance.  I am truly amazed by the growth-rate of this church, and even more so by the fact that most of the newcomers are brand new to church and not transplants from another congregation.  We'll always have a percentage of people who slide horizontally between our church and other local churches, based on theological or personal differences they may have with us or their previous church.  We don't encourage church-hopping, but it's a fact of life.  What seems incredible to all of us on staff here is how many people have started to attend from advertisements they've seen on Facebook, or from a poster, or a personal invitation.  This is what "The Church" is all about: reaching people far from God, and encouraging them to become fully devoted followers of Christ.

Blood Trail

Monday is our day off each week, and Daphne and I will often take advantage of the free time to go on long walks in the open space park below our house.  This is when we do most of our talking and praying together.  Last Monday we loaded Dixie in the blazer and headed down to the park for a hike.  It's always more of a challenge when the trail is covered with snow - kind of like walking on the beach when every step slips just a little bit in the sand.  The accumulation of a little more effort with each step is actually pretty exhausting over the 2-3 miles, and we find the need to stop more often to rest even if the snow is packed down.  At one point we stopped to catch our breath and Daphne noticed spots of blood that crossed the path heading down the hill.  Ever one for an adventure, I returned later in the afternoon to follow the blood trail to see if I might find a deer carcass at the end - and possibly a free set of antlers.  It's redneck, I know - but I can't help myself.


     I couldn't tell exactly what kind of animal had made the tracks as they were a little indistinct, but it was clear that it had lost a lot of blood in the headlong dash down the hill -- most likely fleeing from a predator.  It wasn't as easy as it might sound to follow the trail because the tracks would criss-cross each other at times, and the blood spots would be obvious for a few yards and then suddenly disappear.  I found myself back-tracking numerous times to find the last spot where I was sure I could see the trail, then try to discern which way the tracks went from there.  When I couldn't tell which way to go I would set out in what I thought was the most logical direction in hopes that I would pick up the blood trail again (which usually happened).  Over logs, through deep snow, around trees and bushes,  and back-tracking constantly I finally came to a barbed-wire fence.  Some tracks ran along the fence, others went under and some seemed to go over the top to continue on the other side.  I walked the fence for quite a ways looking for an easy place to climb over or through, and finally managed to squeeze between two wires - catching the back of my coat on the barbs in the process.  Ever notice how hard it is to detach yourself from a barbed-wire fence when you can't see exactly where you're caught?  You reach behind you and get one spot unhooked, only to catch on another barb in the process.  I finally got through and found the trail once again.  I followed it for maybe 20 yards and suddenly came upon a bright patch of blood and fur and the remains of . . . a rabbit.  A rabbit?  That's what I've been struggling through the snow all this way to find?  Bummer.  What a waste of time.


     Later that day I was thinking and praying about a particular counseling situation we're involved in where the husband is struggling to hear God's voice for himself, and it suddenly dawned on me that following God's leading is not unlike my experience following the blood trail.  At times God's voice is unmistakably clear and we know exactly which way to go, like when the bright red blood is impossible to miss in the white snow.  If every trail were this clear hunting would be a cinch, but every hunter knows how easy it is to lose the trail, and you can spend hours wandering in circles trying to figure out which direction the deer or elk went.  So what I do when I can't hear God's voice anymore, or I'm not sure where He's leading? When I'm unsure how God is leading I find myself going back in my mind to the last time I clearly heard His voice.  There, at least, I am certain of what I know to be true.  This is particularly helpful when I run up against obstacles (barbed wire fences), or when the trail is not very clear.  Then I can seek the Lord again and ask Him to show me which way the trail leads. . . and He always shows me the way.


Amazing Statistic


I just heard from Michael this morning that The Journey Community Church is now considered by Lifeway Research Group to be the second fastest-growing church under 1000 in the U.S. !  The most amazing thing about this statistic is that this growth is happening in a little mountain community like Conifer.  How would've thunk it?  To God be all the glory.

One Big-A_ _ Horse Stick

We had more snow last night, and the temperature this morning is only 1º - close to a record low for this date.  With last night's storm we've now had more snow than all of last winter combined, and we're not even to mid-December.

 Yesterday was the annual Conifer Christmas Parade, and once again our church built a float and participated in the event.  You had to be a real mountain person to join in the fun, because it was only 15º and snowing the whole time.  Near the end of the parade one of our brave church members said to me, "I think my hands would be freezing. . . if I could feel them!"  But it was all worthwhile, and we ended up winning first prize for the best float for the second straight year - go Journey Church!  As we passed by the judges table the announcer said, "Wow, looks like the whole Journey Church came out for the parade today!"  Actually, we had about 70-100 brave souls who walked the route with us, but that's out of some 500 who attend every Sunday.  But I get his point.  We handed out hundreds of flyers for our Christmas Eve service, and I could swear that we had 20 or 30 visitors at church yesterday.  The theme for the parade was "Western", so we decided to build a giant stick horse, with the head being the
Denver Broncos logo.  The pole was around 30 feet long and was propped up on two tree trunks.  Someone from church sewed a giant Santa hat for the big horse head that added the final touch.  Then we cut and painted 100 smaller sticks and attached miniature Broncos heads for each church member to carry.  We ended up looking like a herd of Broncos fans - which of course we are .  The sign on the side of the float said, "Journey Church: 101 Horse Power".  Of course, there was nothing even remotely religious about our float, which was intentional.  We weren't out to look religious - we just wanted to have fun and win the prize!  It was kind of like a giant Broncos Trojan Horse: we don't want people to see us coming.  We want to win them over with love and a sense of community before they even realize that they're part of a local church.


Even though it was bitterly cold we all had a great time, made some new friends and showed Conifer that we can still build a Kick-Ass float!

Plowing is hazardous duty

 We had about a foot of snow yesterday, and there's more on the way tomorrow.  This is good news for firemen and for those who make their living plowing the snow.  However, I learned yesterday just how dangerous snow plowing can be.  There's probably a good meteorological reason why most snowstorms begin at night, but what it means for those who plow commercially is getting up long before dawn to stay ahead of the storm - ie, the deeper the snow, the more difficult it is to plow.  Most clients want their driveways/parking lots plowed at a certain minimum depth - say two inches.  If the storm drops a foot, then it would not be unusual to plow each property two or even three times.  If you wait until the storm is over, then plowing becomes almost impossible due to the weight of the snow and the problem of where to put it all.  All this to say that you end up plowing the first time in the dark, which is hazardous duty by itself.  Add to this the problem of ice forming on the ground where you plowed a few hours earlier, and you've got a real circus act.  There are several commercial properties that I plow as a subcontractor for a friend of mine, plus all the properties I plow for free as a service to our church or to personal friends.  One of the latter has a driveway that is at least 200 yards long, and pitched at an angle of at least 10-12 degrees.  Add to this that the driveway is made of concrete, and you've got big problems.  During the last storm I slid into and over his log retaining wall, and spent the next hour and a half trying to dislodge a huge boulder that stuck under my truck.  So this time I was much wiser and more careful (note the sarcasm), but on my last trip down the driveway my truck started a free, uncontrolled slide; the only place I could steer was either over the edge and down a steep incline, or back into his retaining wall. I chose the wall.  With a huge BANG my blade hit the retaining wall, and the impact was enough to stop the truck.  With my heart racing I (very slowly) made my way down to the bottom of the driveway, but then I had to slip and slide my way back up by foot to do a quick repair on the wooden wall. 

Well, I learned my lesson about slippery driveways (NOT).  Later in the day after most of the storm had dissipated I went to plow for some friends who live not far from us.  Their house and garage are at the bottom of an even steeper, short driveway (meaning: no room for error).  You can tell by now where this is going.  Plowing their driveway presents several significant problems - namely where to put all the snow, and how to maneuver a large truck in a small space.  Turning around requires driving up the driveway and on to the road above - but after one pass with the blade the driveway becomes a vertical ice-rink.  On my second trip up I lost traction at the top, and with a sick, helpless feeling started sliding backwards down the hill towards the house.  It's amazing how many thoughts go through your mind in 2 seconds.  No amount of power or four-wheel drive could prevent the inevitable, and with a sickening crash my truck careened into the stairway leading up to the deck - and smashed it to smithereens.  I haven't cried in a long time, but at that moment that's exactly what I felt like doing.  I got out of the truck, and promptly slipped and fell - adding insult to injury.  I made two phone calls: one to Michael to ask for some help to put the stairway back together again, and the second to my friend Steve to give him the bad news ("Hi Steve - ummm, I ran into a little problem while I was plowing your driveway").  The truck sustained significant damage to the rear bumper and tailgate, but that was the least of my problems as I surveyed the destruction I'd just caused.  Two hours and quite a bit of money later, three friends from church and I had rebuilt enough of the stairway to allow access to the house.  I am very grateful for their willingness to brave the 15 degree weather and frozen fingers and toes to come to my rescue.  Had I been on my own I would have worked until late into the night to get it done.Today the weather will improve and I'll have my work cut out for me to finish repairing the damage.  I suppose there are several lessons to be learned from this experience - humility comes to mind pretty quickly, followed by the importance of carefully evaluating the risks before starting a difficult plowing job. I guess I'll be making a call to my insurance agent today.