Out of the Hen House and into the Chicken Coop

   I will finally have my own, private studio to do my painting.  Well, "studio" is a big word:  It's actually an old chicken coop that someone was going to tear down, and I offered to take it off their hands and move it to my property.  Of course, I had no idea what this meant, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.  Ever heard of the Darwin Awards?  They are granted to those individuals who kill themselves through sheer stupidity, and thus ensure the safety of our communal gene pool.  My three friends and I came close to becoming candidates when we nearly rolled the trailer with the shed strapped on as I backed out of the yard;  the wheels on one side of the trailer were actually off the ground due to the angle, but we quickly threw some bricks under the wheels on the downward side to level it out, and it worked.  We got it back to my house, then I hired a crane to come pick it up, lift it over the power lines that come into the house, then set it down on the bricks I'd prepared for that purpose.  The chicken / studio sits with the front windows facing the trees, and because it's a Colorado chicken coop it was already insulated.  Once I get all the chicken poo and feathers cleaned out, it should make a nice (little) studio.  I'm psyched!

Lifting the shed over the wires: this guy knew what he was doing!

I officiated (?) my niece's Rebekah's wedding last Saturday - my first.  Colorado has about the most liberal marriage licensing laws I've ever heard of:  you don't have to be married by a pastor, justice of peace or anyone in an official capacity.  In fact , you can just decide to marry yourself.  All you have to do is sign the papers, and you're hitched.

The wedding was held in Gold Hill, CO, a tiny historic mining town in the mountains above Boulder.  The Bluebird Inn is a historic landmark, and the wedding was held outdoors in the yard next to the inn - in 90 degree heat and under a beautiful hot blue sky and blazing sun.  I don't think I spoke more than 15 minutes, and the whole ceremony lasted less than 30... as I was very conscious of the small crowd sitting there shielding their eyes from the sun.  The rest of the afternoon was given to fine dining and fine dancing, compliments of an outstanding Cajun washboard band - click on the image above for a sample of the music. 

Roping A Deer

Yesterday I came down with the creeping crud - achy, crampy, nauseating misery.  I feel a little better today, but I'm not yet up to my usual manly, hard physical labor.  Two days ago I was cutting down and limbing trees at hole #5 of our disc golf course.  I only worked for 3-4 hours, but I was so wiped by the end that I could barely drive my truck home.  Now I know why; the creeping crud had already taken hold.

My friend Mark sent me the following description of what it's like to rope a deer, and I laughed so hard I had to copy it here.  I don't know if it's true or not, but it sure is funny.

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I had this idea that I was going to rope a deer, put it in a stall, sweet feed it on corn for a few weeks, then butcher it and eat it. Yum! Corn-fed venison. The first step in this adventure was getting a deer.
Since they congregate at my cattle feeder and do not have much fear of me (a bold one will sometimes come right up and sniff at the bags of feed while I am in the back of the truck four feet away) it should not be difficult to rope one, toss a bag over its head to calm it down, then hog-tie it and transport it home.
I filled the cattle feeder and hid behind it with my rope. The cattle, having seen a roping or two before, stayed well back. They were not having any of it.  After 20 minutes, my deer showed up, 3 of them. I picked a likely looking one, stepped out, and threw my rope. The deer just stood there and stared at me. I wrapped the rope around my waist and twisted the end so I would have a good hold. The deer still just stood and stared at me, but you could tell she was mildly concerned about the whole rope situation.  I took a step toward it. It took a step away. I put a little tension on the rope, and received an education. The first thing I learned is that, while a deer may just stand there looking at you funny while you rope it, it is spurred to action when you start pulling on that rope.

That deer EXPLODED.

The second thing I learned is that, pound for pound, a deer is a LOT stronger than a cow or a colt. A cow or a colt in that weight range, I could fight down with some dignity. A deer? No chance.
That thing ran and bucked, it twisted and pulled. There was no controlling that deer, and certainly no getting close to it. As it jerked me off my feet and started dragging me across the ground, it occurred to me that having a deer firmly attached to a rope was not such a good idea. The only upside is that they do not have much stamina.  A brief ten minutes later it was tired, and not as quick to jerk me off my feet and drag me. It took me a few minutes to realize this, since I was mostly blinded by the blood flowing out of the big gash in my head.
At that point, I had lost my appetite for corn-fed venison. I hated the thing, and would hazard a guess that the feeling was mutual. I just wanted to get that devil creature off the end of that rope. But if I let it go with the rope hanging around its neck, it would likely die slow and painful somewhere.  Despite the gash in my head, and several large knots where I had cleverly arrested the deer's pell-mell flight by bracing my head against large rocks as it dragged me across the ground, I could still think clearly enough to recognize that I shared some tiny amount of responsibility for the situation we were in. I didn't want the deer to suffer a slow death.  I managed to get it lined up between my truck and the feeder, a little trap I had set beforehand, like a squeeze chute. I backed it in there, and I started moving forward to get my rope back.
Did you know that deer bite? They do!
I never in a million years would have thought that a deer would bite, so I was very surprised when I reached up there to grab hold of that rope, and the deer grabbed hold of my wrist. Now, when a deer bites you, it is not like a horse, it does not just bite and let go. A deer bites and shakes its head, like a pit bull. They bite HARD and won't let go. It hurts!
The proper reaction when a deer bites you is probably to freeze and draw back slowly. I tried screaming and wrenching away. My method was ineffective. It felt like that deer bit and shook me for several minutes, but it was likely only several seconds.
I, being smarter than a deer (though you may be questioning that claim by now) tricked it. While I kept it busy tearing the bejesus out of my right arm, I reached up with my left hand and pulled that rope loose. That was when I learned my final lesson in deer behavior for the day.  Deer will strike at you with their front feet. They rear right up and strike at head and shoulder level, and their hooves are surprisingly sharp. I learned long ago that when a horse strikes at you with its hooves and you can't get away, the best thing to do is make a loud noise and move aggressively towards the animal. This will cause it to back down a bit, so you can make your escape.  This was not a horse. This was a deer. Obviously, such trickery would not work. In the course of a millisecond, I devised a different strategy. I screamed like a woman and turned to run.
The reason we have been taught NOT to turn and run from a horse that paws at you is that there is a good chance that it will hit you in the back of the head. Deer are not so different from horses after all, other than being twice as strong and three times as evil. The second I turned to run, it hit me right in the back of the head and knocked me down.
When a deer paws at you and knocks you down, it does not immediately depart. I suspect it does not recognize that the danger has passed. What it does instead is paw your back and jump up and down on you, while you are laying there crying like a little girl and covering your head.
I finally managed to crawl under the truck, and the deer went away. Now I know why people go deer hunting with a rifle and a scope. It's so they can be somewhat equal to the prey.

Little Foxes

A fox crossed the road in front of me yesterday on my way home, carrying a hot dog in its mouth.  People up here love to feed the foxes and bears, then they're surprised when their little dogs and cats go missing... doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.  Besides, these are wild animals that carry diseases (rabies, among others) that can easily be passed on to pet dogs.

Thinking of foxes, I read a devotional by Spurgeon yesterday that gave me food for thought:

Song 2:15   “Catch the foxes for us,
    The little foxes that are ruining the vineyards,
    While our vineyards are in blossom.”

"A little thorn can cause much suffering.  A little cloud may hide the sun.  Little foxes spoil the vines; and little sins do mischief to the tender heart.  These little sins burrow in the soul, and make it so full of that which is hateful to Christ, that he will hold no comfortable fellowship and communion with us.  A great sin cannot destroy a Christian, but a little sin can make him miserable.  Jesus will not walk with his people unless they drive out every known sin.  He says, 'If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, even as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love.'  Some Christians very seldom enjoy their Savior's presence. How is this possible? Surely it must be an affliction for a tender child to be separated from his father.  Are you a child of God, and yet satisfied to go on without seeing your Father's face?... Ask, then, the question, what has driven Christ from you?  He hides his face behind the wall of your sins.  That wall may be built up of little pebbles, as easily as of great stones.  The sea is made of drops; the rocks are made of grains; and the sea which divides you from Christ may be filled with the drops of your little sins... take heed of the little foxes that spoil the vines, for our vines have tender grapes."

20 days of silence

I can't believe it's been 20 days since my last blog entry.  Blogging, to me, is similar to painting in that I have to be in the right mood and feel positive about the subject of my painting or else I simply don't paint.  It's not that I can't or won't, but I just don't.  I guess I haven't been in the right mood or frame of mind these past few weeks to blog, which indicates to me that blogging is more emotionally based that I realized.  Anyway, a lot has transpired since my last entry.

I'm in Birmingham, AL as I write this.  I came down for Memorial Day weekend to help out after Mom had partial hip replacement surgery last Wednesday.  Bill spent the weekend down at the lake with Nate and his friends, so I'm glad I could come to be with Mom in the hospital and help when she was discharged yesterday.  She's already walking well with the help of her rolling walker.  Dad and I just watched the video that explains how to give Ouma her daily shot to prevent blood clots, and he agreed to give her the daily injection in .  Sandy declined the opportunity to do the sticking; I think she wants to stay on Ouma's good side! 
Before we knew about the fractured hip we'd heard from the Oncologist here in B'ham that Mom's cancer is back, and the initial prognosis was not very positive.  More tests need to be done, but since she's decided not to go through chemotherapy again it doesn't really matter.  God is in control, whether Ouma has a year to live or many more years.  A prognosis is an educated guess at best, and it doesn't take God's power and sovereignty into account.  She is at peace regardless of the outcome because, as Mom says, "The joy of the Lord is my strength".



On the way back from the hospital we stopped to fill Mom's prescriptions at Walgreens.  While we waited in the car as Dad picked up the drugs, this kid walked by - his pants barely holding on around his thighs.  I don't get it; why not just walk around in your red boxer shorts?  We've gone from cool baggy, to butt cracks, to the ridiculous now.  He ran a few yards right after I took this picture... well, more of a waddle than a run, which is the only way he could keep his pants on.  I'm sure the babes find the boxers SUCH a turn-on!

I came upon an accident a few days ago at the bottom of Warkhawk Dr.  Apparently the driver had a carload of stuff he was moving, and when he came around the last corner (I assume too fast) everything piled in the passenger seat fell over onto him - distracting him enough that he drifted off the left side of the road, over the side and into a large pine tree.  It's a miracle that he didn't roll the car all the way to the bottom. The incline is much steeper than it looks from the pictures, and there's nothing that would have stopped him until he reached the road down below.  The car was being held onto the slope by the tree that stopped his forward momentum, and I don't know why the car didn't roll onto him when he got out of the driver's seat on the down-slope side.  Amazing.  His only injuries were a bloody nose and mouth - the inevitable consequence of having your life saved by a bag of air exploding through the steering wheel and into your face.





I'm working on a new painting, this one from a photograph I took two years ago.  It's larger than I normally paint - I think this one's 24 x 30.  I took several of my pieces to a new gallery in Evergreen a couple of weeks ago, and once more they declined to display my work - something about it not being a good "fit" for their gallery.  I think this is the 4th gallery I've tried unsuccessfully to get into.  Ironically, that same week I sold an original painting to someone in the church who wanted it as a surprise father's day gift for her husband.  I told her afterwards how her purchase had encouraged me after being rejected by the gallery.  I would love to display my work publicly, but either way I need to keep painting because it's therapeutic for me. 

Nyquil Zombie

What a strange night.  I took my RLS medication a little too late in the day yesterday, so I knew I was in for a disturbed night.  Thinking Nyquil might help me sleep, I took a healthy dose and went to bed.  RLS and Nyquil are the perfect recipe to create the "Nyquil Zombie."

I am transformed into Nyquil Zombie whenever I attempt to counteract the insomnia caused by restless legs with a dose of Nyquil (or some other sleep medication).  What happens is that my brain goes into some state of near-sleep, while at the same time the restlessness in my lower back and legs makes sleep impossible.  So I end up stumbling around the house in the dark, literally waking myself up every time I bump into a wall or the dining room table or the couch.  My subconscious is longing for sleep, so it looks for ways to alleviate the RLS symptoms; at one point I vaguely remember rocking in the recliner while kneeling facing the back of the chair.  I remember trying to peel the foil wrapping off of a cookie and then taking a big bite.  After chewing for a second or two I realized that I'd bitten into... a tea candle - and I had another one in my hand, ready to go.  I'm not sure what else I did in the night, which isn't a very comforting thought.  It would be very easy for me to fall down the basement stairs as I stumble around the house, and it's not inconceivable that I might go into the garage and get behind the wheel of my truck.  That would be an interesting traffic stop for one of our local deputies!  "This is unit 51; I need to report a zombie in pajamas driving down hwy 285.  Repeat, this is a zombie alert!"  It's funny now, but I was not particularly amused at 3 a.m.

thoughts on funerals

I conducted one funeral and attended another last week.  The first was a request by a friend from church who's mother passed away up in Casper, Wyoming.  The family no longer has ties with any church up there, so they asked if someone from our church could drive up to Casper (5 hours) to conduct the funeral... so I went.  It was my first funeral as a pastor, which was a surprise for some.  Even though I worked as a missionary for over 20 years, I was never in a situation that required me to marry or bury.  In our 10 years in France our local church never lost a church member, nor did we have anyone get married - otherwise I would have certainly been involved in the ceremonies.  Anyway, I wasn't too nervous about doing this funeral since I knew it would be a small crowd of mostly family members.  Michael gave me some good tips before I left, and I went up the night before so I could spend some time with the family members to find out what their desires were for the service.  Have you ever noticed how weddings and funerals tend to bring out either the best and the worst in people?  Ironically, neither ceremony has anything to do with those in attendance, but family members can get so bent out of shape because they want to push THEIR agenda on everyone else.  In the end, all four siblings shared a favorite memory of their mother, and I spoke for MAYBE 10 minutes.  I decided beforehand that there's nothing worse than long-winded preachers at weddings and funerals, so I kept it short and sweet.

Then two days ago was the memorial service for the Chief of one of our local fire stations who died after battling brain cancer for two years.  I've never attended a firefighter's funeral, and I was deeply moved by the ringing of the bell (to signal a fallen comrade) and the Final Call - the last moment of the memorial service when the county dispatch makes a call (through the church sound system) to the deceased firefighter's number.  There is a moment of silence, then the call is repeated... again followed by silence. Finally the county dispatch says something like, "This is the final call for 501 Chief Jeff Davis - faithful husband, father and friend.  Chief Davis, you will be dearly missed."  I didn't personally know the Chief, but I got tears in my eyes when I heard these words.  Powerful symbolism, and a fitting memorial for a man who served his community well.

Duke

We've adopted a 4 year old yellow lab named Deuce.  I didn't particularly like the name, and since he's my dog I renamed him "Duke".  He was scheduled to go under the knife last weekend to remove his manhood, but he was saved by a bout of nasty diarrhea.  Unfortunately for him, the procedure is rescheduled for next weekend, although when I talk to him about it he doesn't seem too upset.  Actually, now that I think about it, maybe THAT'S why he has diarrhea!  I mean, how would I feel if I was being threatened with joining the Eunuch club?  I'd have the runs too!

  He is possibly the best-natured dog I've ever known (certainly that I've ever owned).  Everyone he meets is a friend, and he's quickly learning that dog biscuits seem to magically appear every time he accompanies me into stores.  For the first two days he rode everywhere with me in my truck, and he would fall asleep almost as soon as we started moving.  The family who gave him up for adoption just moved here from Florida, but he acts like he's been around snow his whole life.  Last time I checked, it doesn't snow too regularly in the sunshine state. 
He needs to put on some weight, but besides that he's an awesome dog for a mountain man :) 

Spirit Speaking

"For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the spirit of the man which is in him?  Even so the thoughts of God no one knows except the Spirit of God.  Now we have received, not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, so that we may know the things freely given us by God, which things we also speak, not in words taught by human wisdom, but in those taught by the Spirit, combining spiritual thoughts with spiritual words.  But a natural man does not accept the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him; and he cannot understand them, because they are spiritually appraised."  1 Corinthians 2:11-14.

Two and a half years ago we made a decision.  It was not a decision that was understood by very many of our friends and colleagues, and even our family members wondered if we'd lost our minds.   In fact, even we did not fully understand the reasons why God would ask us to resign from the organization we had served with for the previous 20 years, or why I should leave a position of influence and respect and responsibilities that spanned 30 different countries, to move to a small town in the mountains of Colorado where the only person we knew was the realtor who eventually sold us our home.  Humanly speaking, it was a foolhardy, impetuous decision. After all, we enjoyed not only influence, but great financial security.  Yet here we were, apparently throwing it all away to follow whispers and internal promptings that we believed were coming from the Spirit of God.  Who would blame anyone for thinking we'd completely lost our minds?  Looking back now, I am amazed that we actually pulled it off.  I know only a handful of people who've made the radical decision to give up an entire career, pull up stakes, and start all over.  It's just too risky.  After all, we have to be reasonable and wise in this life, right?  Surely God would never ask us to do something so illogical - to risk our family's emotional and financial security.  He wouldn't do that, would He?  "But we have the mind of Christ."

Two and a half years later I sit in my living room at 6:30 in the morning, watching the sun rise over the mountains; and I sit in awe and amazement at God's amazing, inconceivable grace.  As I sit here sit here in our beautiful mountain home, I am humbled by the love of God.  Who could have ever imagined how God could pluck us out of a place of comfort and security, fly us half way around the world, and plant us in a this little community - unknown and invisible?  And less than 3 years later we find ourselves surrounded by a loving, caring community of people  - about to take another giant step of faith to start a new church plant in rural Colorado.


How did this all come about?  We followed the promptings of God's Spirit, one step at a time.  We could never see beyond the next, frightening step.  But God gently led us, and all He asked was that we keep in step with His Spirit.

Rebuilding

The families who lost their homes in the Lower North Fork fire last week must feel so lost at this point.  They've no doubt filed all the insurance claims and are probably being housed in temporary housing or a hotel. I'm sure it will take at least 2 years before most of them can move in to their newly rebuilt homes, but the scorched-earth devastation all around them will be a constant reminder of the wildfire that robbed them of all they possessed.  Homes and furniture and appliances can be replaced, which is why it would be foolish to risk our lives to save material possessions.  How different for those who lost their parents or siblings in the fire, as the precious lives of our loved ones are truly irreplaceable.  For those few families life will not return to "normal" for a very long time, if ever.

I was thinking about all that was lost in the devastating fire last week as I read a passage from Ezra chapter 3 this morning (I'm attempting to read through the Bible again this year) where it talks about the exiles returning to Jerusalem from the captivity in Babylon.  King Cyrus of Persia had given them permission to rebuild the temple of the Lord.  They first set about rebuilding the altar so they could offer burnt offerings, and then in the 7th month after their return they began rebuilding the foundation of the temple.  It says that when the builders had completed the foundation, they stopped working and threw a big party to celebrate and "all the people shouted with a great shout...because the foundation of the house of the Lord was laid."  But not everyone was singing and shouting.  Many of the older priests and heads of households who had seen the original temple wept out loud.  I stopped reading at that point and wondered what their tears were all about: maybe they wept over all that had been lost when the first temple was destroyed and they were carried off as captives.  Or perhaps they were just overwhelmed by it all, and by the goodness of the Lord to allow them to see the foundations of the new temple being laid.

 Then I thought of the families who are waking up in a hotel room this morning because they have no home to return to.  I can imagine the tears they have shed over all that's been lost, and how hard it must be to imagine trying to rebuild from scratch.  I pray that God will restore their joy too.

The Fire is Out

The Lord blessed us with several inches of very wet snow yesterday - effectively killing any remaining hot spots from the Lower North Fork fire.  I wish it could have come 10 days ago, but I'm not God and that's out of my control.  All three of those who perished in the fire were found in or near their homes.  It's possible they were attempting to save their homes by activating the sprinkler system on the roof, or maybe just stayed too long trying to gather a few more belongings.  In one case it seems the resident never received a reverse 911 call to evacuate.  I've learned something about wildfires from this experience:  if the fire is being fueled by strong winds, the time delay between when you see or smell smoke and when your home is completely consumed may be only minutes.  One of the families that escaped in the nick of time posted a cell phone video showing huge flames on either side of the road and smoke as black as night.  In the background you can hear the children screaming in terror (I've included the video here).  What a close call.

Here's another catch-22 : Even if the firefighters are able to save your home, you now live in a dead-zone with nothing but burned trees and bare ground as scenery... not exactly a mountain paradise should you ever want to sell your home and move elsewhere.  Even if the house burns and your insurance pays to rebuild - you still have no choice but to rebuild on the same charred piece of land.  Never thought of it until now... which helps me understand why forest fires are such a big deal up here.  I know one more thing: I'll be very busy this summer cutting every remaining tree that's within 100 feet of my house.  If the firemen ever come down my driveway, I want them to see a house that can be saved rather than a lost cause.

Rotary Club

I spoke at our local rotary club yesterday - my first time.  I decided to speak on some of the things I learned growing up as a Third Culture Kid.  My three points were:

1. Every culture tends to be Ethnocentric. By this I mean that we all tend to believe that our own culture is superior to other cultures.  We think we can see all the negatives in another culture, all the while remaining blind to our own cultural eccentricities.

2.  Every culture has both positive and negative characteristics.  A few examples:

     French culture:  I love the fact that the French work to live, not the reverse.  Every French citizen takes every single day of their considerable vacation time (5+ weeks) every year.  They don't spend money on second homes, or boats, or luxury cars; they spend it on lavish vacations in exotic locations around the world. On the other hand the French can be almost painfully reserved when it comes to social relationships - to the extent that someone can live in the same neighborhood for 30 years and never meet their next-door neighbor.

Senegalese culture:  Family and community are everything in Senegal (and everywhere else in Africa); you are known by your community and by the relationships you enjoy.  This is so much the case that the average Senegalese person has a hard time imagining themselves outside of their tight-knit community.  People give time to build and maintain relationships.  I remember walking into a government office in Dakar many years ago, only to find the hallway blocked by two men engaged in a heated conversation.  Thinking I would be polite and not disturb them, I squeezed by and continued to the office I was looking for.  On my way out one of the men stopped me and angrily asked who I thought I was, just marching in without greeting them?  I learned a valuable cultural lesson about the importance of social interactions that day.  At the same time, I always found it puzzling that Senegalese culture did not encourage honesty as a value, living rather by the motto: The End Justifies The Means.

3. Third Culture Kids are like Chameleons: we adapt to almost any situation, language, accent or vocabulary.  Daphne thinks it's amusing how I will change my accent and vocabulary to fit whatever cultural situation I find myself in.  When in South Africa, I automatically change how I pronounce certain words in order to be understood ("chance" becomes "chawnse", "half" becomes "hawfe"... you get the idea).  I'll also change my vocabulary - like saying rubbish bin instead of garbage can, and the bonnet of the car instead of the hood.  It's not so much an issue of wanting to be accepted as wanting to "fit in" to every different context.  Because I've lived among so many different cultures, I find it fairly easy to pick out the cultural cues that I can adopt to make myself more of a cultural insider than just a tourist (God forbid).

This was the first time I've shared in as much detail about my background since we moved back to the States, mostly because I rarely meet people who show enough interest for me to open up; it's just easier to fit into their world than ask to them to understand mine.