The Eagle: our lazy, timid, national bird

When I lived down the hill -- that is, down on the flatlands surrounding Longmont, Colorado, I used to drive to Lagerman Reservoir for a quick couple-times-around brisk walk. The place is beautiful. The reservoir is surrounded by low-lying farm land, and on breathless days the front range is perfectly mirrored in its blue depths.

One winter a family of bald eagles nested nearby. They'd sit out on the ice, looking like a collection of black tombstones. Tall. Surprisingly so in comparison to their smaller hawk cousins.
But timid. I'd try to get close enough for a good camera shot but they always leaped into the air and flapped over to the other end of the frozen water.

One day I ran into a park ranger at Lagerman and asked him about the eagles. He went into a long description of their wintering habits.
"They sure are majestic," I said. "I'll bet they keep the prairie dog population down around here.
"Humpf." The ranger shook his head. "They're real lazy birds. They wait around for the other predators to get some food and then they swoop down and steal it."
Timid and lazy, those eagles.

Funny how appearances can be so deceiving. With their piercing eyes, powerful claws and regal stance, it's no wonder our founding fathers thought the eagle made an appropriate representation of our nation's strength and courage.
Benjamin Franklin wanted the turkey to be our national bird.
Personally, I'd like to see an animal hybrid sitting on the flagpole above our nation's flag.

1. How about a prairie dog, for its dedication to community. . .
2. the wolverine for its tenacity and courage. . .
3. the dove, for our Christian roots. .
4. and, last, the dog, for its intelligence and loyalty.

That kind of animal-blend might not look so good on the wing or sitting on Lagerman reservoir, but it might make us stop and think about who we really are as a nation.

1. Are we still devoted to one another?
2. Are we still characterized by determination and bravery in the face of grave danger?
3. Do we still honor the Lord Jesus Christ as our nation's God?
4. Are we smart enough to see danger up ahead and avoid it, and do we still care about our fellow citizens enough to try to protect them: the elderly, the unborn, the helpless, the widow, the orphan?

Are we a people of quality and nobility?
Or, like the eagle, do we just look noble?

Moms Know: there IS a sock god.

Years ago, when the kids were little I discovered that we had an idol living in the laundry room.
I named him. . .
SOCK GOD.
His big, white body and cavernous mouth hungrily accepted the sacrifices of clothing that I threw his way. He gurgled and swished them about in his mouth, then sucked the nutrients: dirt, lint, formula and mashed food particles down his rubbery esophagus that traveled somewhere into the guts of the house.
But on a weekly basis the little white idol got hungry for more than his soapy pablum and, without telling me, required as proof of my worship one of my children's socks.
It took me a couple of weeks to catch on that the socks weren't simply disappearing under the chilrdren's beds or hiding under piles of leggos.
There are hundreds of reasons why a child is only wearing one sock:
Ian used one as a drawer separater between two categories of transformers,
Garrett turned a sock into a puppet,
Kiri used a sock to wipe the chalk off the sidewalk,
etc.
But those socks were accounted for.
After careful household sleuthing, it came down to the laundry room.
That was the last place we'd seen the white sock with the blue strip at the top of the ankle that came in the package of three pairs from WalMart.
The sock god never swallowed old socks. No, they had to be pristeen, white, unstretched-out, young, perfect, without defect. A little lamb to the slaughter.
I'd say to myself, "those socks are gonna turn up when we move."
But they never did.
And when we moved to another house, the weekly sacrifices continued.
For at least fifteen years I fought the sock god.
Then mysteriously, he either decided to quit cold turkey with his sock-eating habit, or perhaps he decided that we'd sacrificed enough childrens' sock to prove our devotion.
I've shared my hard-luck story with other moms. Some of them told me that their sock god resided in the dryer.
And their socks never turned up either when they moved to another house.

To all you left-brained, super-logical types, don't try to explain away this supernatural occurance.
There IS a sock god.
I know.

.

We lived on Long Island for about five years. That's when the kids were little.
The schools were always on an austerity budget.
We had one lone policeman patrolling mucho square miles.
They used to turn off our street lights to save money.
At the time (and this was 20 years ago) we were paying about six thousand dollars a year for property taxes. I don't know why. We sure weren't seeing the benefit.
But someone was enjoying our six thousand dollars.

I saw a little example of this kind of robbery and waste just last week when I was flying to and from San Diego.
It was bad enough when they started charging fifteen dollars per bag. Now it's twenty-five dollars.
I don't know why.
I gotta print my own ticket. And if I don't do it close to the twenty-four hours prior-to-departure time, they stick me with a number four.
That means I have to wait until all the overhead bins are taken by overstuffed carry-ons 'cause nobody else wanted to pay the twenty-five dollars per bag to check their luggage.
I go up to the do-it-yourself check-in kiosk. (they used to have someone there to answer your questions) and tried to scan my e-ticket.
Didn't work. (No one's there to help, remember?)
So I type in my confirmation number instead.
A guy steps forward behind the kiosk and instructs me to lift my bag onto the scale.
He's about a foot taller and looks like a line-backer, but I've got to do the lifting.
For my twenty-five dollars, the man puts a sticky tag on my bag and checks to make sure I'm who I say I am.
I'm the last person to board 'cause I got stuck with a number four on my boarding pass.
I click my lap belt, take out my four dollar, one ounce bag of airport chocolate covered almonds (remember, they don't even give you free pretzels anymore) and my book.
I plug in my courtesy headset and listen to - no, I can't listen 'cause the headset doesn't work.

I don't mind spending the money to travel, but I'd sure like to get the same amount of service I used to for the same amount of money.
Why is life like that?
Why does everything decompose: society, governments, services, courtesy, price of gas, price of education, price of everything?

God doesn't break down. He never grows grumpier, or greedier, or chincy-er.
He's always the same, you can always count on Him, He never gives you second best, He's the best and He offers the best.
Why can't the world be like God?
"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights who does not change like shifting shadows." (James 1:17)

Plan B

I should have known better.

I ALWAYS have a Plan B.

Go hiking: plan for rain or a sprained ankle.

Have company: plan two entrees and two desserts, just in case they hate lasagna or pie.

Teacher suggests ten books in your bibliography: have fifteen.

Stash a gallon of water and a warm blanket in the trunk of the car, just in case.

I took my big bag. Even paid the twenty-five dollars to check it at DIA. (That 's a whole 'nother blog)

I was thinking San Diego: sunshine, beaches, LaJolla shopping, hot-tub chats with my daughter.

First day was cool, overcast, threatening rain.

Rained almost the whole week.

Had to buy a sweater. Stuck indoors till Saturday when we finally got out to Coronado for a stroll and lunch on the terrace at Terrazzo Italianio.

I was not prepared for the cool, rainy weather.

Does life ever catch you unprepared?

Don't even answer; I know what you'll say.

God's never unprepared.

He even had a plan B for when we sinned.

Actually it was PLAN A. He already knew we'd fall. "He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world." Ephesians 1:4

God sees every day before it arrives because "in Him was life, and the life was the light of men." John 1:4

He even arrived on this earth equipped for everything He needed to do:preach, heal, die, resurrect, send the Holy Spirit. Matt. 4:23, Matt. 26:2, Matt.28:6.

When you come down to it, we're the only ones who need a plan B.

Crafty Writing

Before I knew anything about vocal technique I'd listen to any singer and think, "wow, he's really good." Then I started studying voice, attending concerts, performing in shows and concerts, hanging out with other singers. After a few years I got to be a pretty discerning listener. I could literally feel what a singer was doing with his diction, his breathing or if he was struggling with tension or fatigue, if his Italian or French pronunciation needed work, if he was true to the style of the classical or romantic or contemporary piece.

Then I started writing. I attended my first writer's conference.

Oh, I'd been reading all my life. I read a wide variety of classical novels, contemporary fiction, Christian fiction, non-fiction, etc.

My professors in college all said that I was an excellent writer. Non-fiction, that is.

I wrote my first novel and pitched it to a professional critiquer.

She said it would help if I read a lot of books. I composed my face and thanked her for her helpful comments on my writing.

She meant well, but honestly, did she think I wrote in a vacuum --that I'd never opened a book before I attempted my own?

I know what she meant, however. That it's extremely helpful to read others' writing and see how they handle dialogue, structure a scene, hook you with compelling characterizations, etc.

But before you can read with a discerning eye, you have to know what to look for. I wish my critique lady had said: keep taking on-line writing courses, read and study some good books on the craft of writing, hang out with other writers, get into a good critique group, take a good writing course, talk to professional writers.

Then, start reading books with the eyes of a writer, not a reader.

Armed with some writing tools, and reading a new book just about every three or four days, I'm really starting to get it.

Now, each book that I read teaches me another little aspect of the craft.

So now, the biggest advice I'd give a new fiction writer would be:

1. study a good book on the craft of writing
2. open a novel and start finding all the techniques the writing book touches on
3. write a scene using the new techniques you've just read about, and noticed in the novel.
4. Have it critiqued.

You'll be amazed at how quickly your writing craft will grow. Happy writing!

Loser? Not!

I love this picture of Kiri grappling with the other woman at a jiu jitsu tournament. (Kiri ended up winning the tournament.)
To the untrained eye it appears that Kiri is winning because she's on top.
Actually, I happen to know that in jiu jitsu the winner is frequently on the bottom. With the firm ground behind you, you have lots more control. Kiri usually wins when she's the one with her back to the ground, and her opponent is on top.

To most people, it sure looks like Satan is in control. Crime, political corruption, disease, natural disasters, family and societal destruction. Everywhere we look we see evil seemingly the victor.
Sure looks like Satan's on top, winning the "tournament."
But the wise believer knows that appearances can be disceiving.
When Jesus hung on the cross, His disciples wept.
When His body was laid in the tomb, it sure looked like that was the end of the dream of a messiah.
But hidden from the physical eyes of Jesus' disciples, a whole spirtual war had been waged and won. The proof? Jesus' resurrection.

That's why we can believe Him when He said:
"I have told you these things, so that in Me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." (John 16:33)

"Now may the Lord of peace Himself give you peace at all times and in every way." (2 Thess. 3:16)

"Peace to all who are in Christ." (1 Peter 5:14)

Self-Construction

From my study window I'm watching a garage get constructed right across the street.
It's a fascinating process.
First, the guy digs a big, wide hole.
Then some other guys go inside the hole and nail boards in a nice regular north-south and west-east pattern. This takes a lot of time. If it were me, I'd slap those babies together and be done with it.
But they're really careful. They do lots of measuring.
Next, a cement truck arrives, backs into the driveway and slowly deposits its sludge into the hole. I can't see what the men are doing but I hear much shouting of instructions back and forth.
This also takes a lot of time.
Two days later, another truck arrives with long pieces of lumber. I don't see it happen, but the next time I look, the wood sits neatly stacked on the side of the driveway.
It sits there a full day with no activity.
Building a garage sure makes me impatient. What a lot of time just spent measuring, waiting, delivering, stacking, more waiting.
Can't those builders see I'm anxious to see the building go up? I want to see the actual garage.
Finally, when I come back from my lunch break, I see a couple of boards standing up above the foundation. Couple of hours later: a basic frame.
This morning the walls are completely up. I notice that the builders have made the style of the garage and the roof match the rest of the house.
I hear nailing and pounding, but I can't see too much. They're inside the structure, doing mysterious construction-guy things I can only guess at.

In the two weeks it took to erect the garage, a full two thirds of the time was spent just measuring and laying the foundation. The rest went up quickly.

I thought about it this morning, how long it takes to prepare anything: applying masking tape in preparation for painting,
measuring and cutting out a pattern to sew a dress,
practicing the rudimentary strokes of the drummer,
learning the craft of the writer.
Such discipline, such persistent practice, such careful preparation for the final --and much faster --dash to the end.
But the foundation has to be carefully laid. If it's not, then the rest lies on faulty ground.

My life as a believer, too, is being carefully measured, mapped out, filled in.
Christ is laying a foundation. He takes His time, frustrating me with delayed answers to prayer and augmented time in the stinky trenches.
I am like a two year old filly. He pulls on the bit, reining in my enthusiasm to to cut corners and just "get to the finish line."

Because He wants the job to be perfect.
And He is the expert builder.

1Cor. 3:9 "By the grace God has given me, I laid a foundation as an expert builder, and someone else is building on it. But each one should be careful how he builds. For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ."