Bailey Launch

 Well, Journey Church isn't exactly moving to Bailey, but we ARE going to launch a new satellite church there.  This expansion has been in the works for years, but we're finally ready to take the plunge.  God has already prompted six couples to be a part of this new church plant, and others are seriously considering it.  Daphne and I are leading the move into Bailey, which is a small mountain town about 30 miles Southwest of the Denver suburbs.  Bailey is often called the poor, redneck cousin of Conifer and Evergreen, the two other towns in our part of the front range.  This is an unfair depiction of the good people of Bailey, but there's no doubt that, economically-speaking, Bailey is sucking wind and has been for years.  Only a few viable businesses remain in "downtown" Bailey, and most  residents drive North to Conifer and Denver for groceries and entertainment.  What Bailey DOES have, however, is a real sense of community - and that's what we want to tap into.  What we need is some kind of community "anchor",  a 7-day-a-week venue that will give us proximity to the people of Bailey - particularly those who would not darken the door of any church. We need a place that will provide a real service to the people of Bailey, and that could potentially help revitalize this small, struggling town.

On that note, there's an historic building in Bailey (that shall for the moment remain secret) that has been vacant for years and that's in desperate need of serious elbow grease and love - kind of like the town of Bailey.  It's the perfect location for us to create a small business that could potentially draw people even from the neighboring towns.  We've entered into negotiations with the owner to lease the property, but this will require a miracle from God as we have almost no money to work with, and we've made him an offer that he can absolutely refuse.  But I see the tracing of God's finger in so many ways already that I believe He will provide us with the place that we need - whether this building or something else. Bailey doesn't need another church building, but maybe we can help this little mountain community, and somewhere along the way spread the love and hope that we've found in Jesus. 

As the Chronicles of Narnia say, "Aslan is on the move".

Stay tuned...

Sas-squash wars

I am a believer in Bigfoot.  Call me crazy or eccentric, but I believe they exist.  There is simply too much physical evidence and eyewitness sightings to conclude otherwise.  My friends and teammates rib me to no end regarding my unorthodox Bigfoot "religion".  We went camping last week, and my stated intention (tongue in cheek) was to bring back "definitive proof" that Bigfoot exists.  Well, due to the torrential downpours every evening, my Sasquatch adventures were dampened.  When I returned I received an email from my friend Phil, and the ensuing email exchange is funny enough to include here in my blog.  The original picture that Phil doctored was of me kneeling next to my bear after I'd shot it.



Hey Papa Jim,

I heard your camping trip was a success!!!  Congratulations on gaining 100% proof that SashSquash exists!  I plan on continuing your field research this weekend out at Taylor Park!



Tractor on,
Phil

Phil, you must have somehow gotten  hold of a fake photo.  What you sent is clearly doctored and photo-shopped.  I am herewith sending the CORRECT, GENUINE photograph for your viewing pleasure.  It was a little hard to shoot the big guy, but you gotta do what you gotta do.

Jim

Papa Jim,

Sorry for the confusion .. I retrieved the actual image from Soviet Satellite Archives ...
I'm headed out to Taylor Park (West of Buena Vista) for some field research myself this weekend .. I'll keep you abreast of any significant findings.

Tractor on,
Milky

Of Moose and Men

I went fishing a couple of days ago with my friends Scott and Dave.  I wanted to try a lake that I'd seen at the base of Mount Bierstadt when our group had climbed the mountain a couple of weeks ago.  We left later in the afternoon, so by the time we arrived it was already around 5 pm.  The setting is totally breathtaking.  The lake - really a large pond - is at 11, 500 ft, so it's above the tree line.  We got our gear together and hiked down to the pond.  When we got there we realized that it is actually a marsh, and there's no solid ground within 10 yards of the edge of the pond.  I had my waders on, so I squooshed my way in to where I could try a few casts while Scott and Dave walked around to the other side to see if there was any firmer footing.  As I trudged through the muck I would occasionally sink up to my thighs, and I was instantly grateful that I was not alone in case I got in deeper than I could get out.  I fished for 15 or 20 minutes, but there was absolutely no sign of any life in the pond.  The two guys had given up by this  time and were sitting on a knoll on the other side of the pond, so I squooshed my way over to them.  I had seen several smaller ponds from up on the mountain, so we decided to take a walk and investigate them for signs of life.  Again, no fish.  When I stepped into one of the smaller ponds I realized that the clear water we could see through was only the top 10 inches, and below that was 3 feet of muck... so it would be impossible for any fish to live there.  Around 7 pm we started our hike back to the car, and along the way we passed the larger pond - and to our amazement there was now an enormous bull moose standing in the water, feeding on the weeds on the bottom of the pond.  I don't know where he came from because we certainly hadn't seen him, and he would have been hard to miss!  I only had my iphone with me, but I took this video anyway.  It's blurry, but you can see the size of his rack pretty clearly.  So, we didn't catch any fish, but we got to see the biggest bull moose any of us had ever seen.  It was all worth it.

The world we live in

Massacre.  Mayhem. Confusing motives. Gun control.  Role-Playing.

Colorado's reputation as being the Mass-Shooting state is now carved in stone with this latest, tragic event in Aurora.  And this one hits closer to home; the son of dear friends in our church lost his best friend in the rampage.  It was his birthday, and he'd been married for only one year.

The mystery behind what might have motivated James Holmes continues to deepen.  A Ph.D student in neuroscience, no prior arrests, described as shy and retiring.  Raised in an upper middle-class home in California (why is it that mass-murderers are always young, white men from privileged backgrounds?).  Quiet.  Unassuming.  And yet his mother's first words when she heard of the massacre and the arrest of a suspect said to ABC news: "You have the right person," she said, apparently speaking on gut instinct. "I need to call the police... I need to fly out to Colorado."  Clad in sophisticated body armor (literally) from head to toe, wearing a gas mask, his hair dyed bright red, and identifying himself to police as the "Joker".   This story is far from over, and the more we learn as investigators search through the evidence, the more bizarre the details are likely to become.  Was he involved in mind-altering research?  Was he put up to this by other, currently unknown, parties? Opponents of current gun laws are already using this incident as one more "proof" of the need for stricter legislation in the purchase and use of firearms, particularly assault weapons such as the rifle that was used in the theater rampage.

I have legal permit to carry a concealed weapon.  I've taken several gun safety and marksmanship courses, but I am far from being an expert.  I am also an avid big-game hunter with a bear-skin rug to prove it, but shooting an animal is a universe away from pointing a weapon at a human being and pulling the trigger.  If I had been in the movie theater last Friday night, would I have had the intestinal fortitude to use my gun to at least attempt to halt the carnage?  I wouldn't be surprised if at least one person in the theater that night was packing, but there have been no reports of anyone returning fire.  None of us really know what we would be capable of until we find ourselves in the same situation.

 I will always remember what the instructor told us in one of the handgun courses I attended: "If you ever pull your weapon, it had better be for something you're willing to go to jail for, or to die for."

Mount Bierstadt

 

The boulder ridge from below

Sawtooth Ridge

Sunrise on the trail

Yesterday Daphne and I, along with six of our teammates, climbed Mount Bierstadt - considered one of the easier summits among Colorado's 53-some Fourteeners.  We left our house around 4:30 and reached the trailhead around 5:45.  There were already a dozen cars in the parking lot, so clearly there are some pretty intense climbers who start long before dawn.  It's possible to climb both Mt Bierstadt and Mt Evans in one day, but that involves a difficult - even treacherous - climb across the sawtooth ridge that joins the two peaks.  Apparently a woman fell to her death from the sawtooth last year, so it's not a climb to be attempted by novices.  Not long after we left the parking lot and starting down through the willows, I just happened to look back to my right and saw a large animal standing in a clearing about 100 yards away.  It was a young bull moose munching on the willow bushes.  As we stood there watching him, I realized upon closer inspection there were two other, larger bulls lying down with just their antlers visible above the bushes.  Pretty cool. Adam, who grew up in Colorado and who's climbed at least 20 Fourteeners, had never actually seen a moose in the wild.  I kick myself now for the decision not to bring my Nikon camera.  Next time.


We hiked down through a maze of willows, across a small creek, and then started the ascent.  I decided about 2/3 of the way to the summit that "easy" in Coloradan mountain-climbing lingo actually means "you probably won't kill yourself".  The trail-head starts at 11,600 ft and you climb to 14,060 - so around 2500 vertical feet.  I decided to take Duke along with us for the day because he loves to go on hikes.  After being pulled up the mountain and then pulled down, I've decided that Duke needs some remedial obedience training.  His energy level is unbelievable, and he could have turned around at the bottom and done the whole mountain again.  Course, he would have done it by himself because I was absolutely hammered by the time we got back.  The Bierstadt trail is only 7 miles round-trip, but the last 1/4 mile and 500 vertical feet is all boulders.  Standing at the bottom of that part and looking up at the summit you say to yourself, "You know,  I could be happy just to enjoy this from afar".  But of course, you drag yourself up that last stretch to the top.  It would be a real shame to get that far and not reach the summit.  The climb down was considerably easier, though I was really feeling it in my 50 year-old knees by the time we reached the bottom.  At one point Daphne and I stopped to wait for some of our teammates to catch up.  Duke and I found some shade under a tree that was partially hidden from the path.  About 5 minutes later a man came walking down the path and Duke, true to form, came up out of the bushes to saw hi.  I thought that guy was going to jump out of his skin!  Duke is the same color as a mountain lion, and for a split second he thought he was being attacked.  I tried not to laugh as I apologized for Duke's over enthusiasm, but it was really funny.

Jim and Duke at the summit

With a good night's rest and only some lingering soreness in my legs, I've caught the bug and I'm already planning my next Fourteener excursion.  I'll take my camera next time!

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.

_______________________________________

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.