 
THOUGHTS ON THE WIND

Copyright 2008 by Steven & Margaret Larson

Smashwords Edition

Published by Margaret Larson at Smashwords

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold. Thank you for respecting the work of the authors.

Other books available by these authors

CHILDREN'S FANTASY BOOKS

Murky Manor

Cave of Discovery

Worlds Within

The World Beyond the Door

Print versions available at: www.lulu.com/larsonworlds

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CONTENTS

Moon Shadows

The Unknown Scribe

The Empty Flagon

A Portrait of the Past

Making Tracks

Mists in Time

Ms. Morgan

Reflection

The Ice Cream Call

Emily's Birdhouse

The Passageway

Miller Week

Star Light, Star Bright

The Baron's Treachery

A-Mazing Story

A Shower of Butterflies

A Ship in the Dark

Out of the Green

Building a Throne

Narrow Bridges

A Canyon Moment

The Scientific Cat

Dog Tags

The Steel Cat

A Trip to Mars Hill

Uncle Joe

A Michigan Memory

A Walk in the Woods

Side Thoughts

The Tree

A Silver Opportunity

The Very Large Array

Whispers

A Leap of Faith

Deep Wonders

Gargoyle Guardians

Rocking in New Mexico

INTRODUCTION

This book is a collection of our writings. It holds childhood memories, work experiences, vacation adventures, and moments from everyday life. Mixed in are a few fanciful short stories. We trust it will be obvious which writings are fiction.

God can be seen and found in the wonders and lives around us. Even our imaginary worlds are made from the gift of creativity that comes from Him.

Scripture speaks to each of us in different ways at different times and at different levels. The verses we chose for these writings spoke to us as we put the book together. Some verses were added to give insight to the inspiration, sometimes subconsciously, that led to the piece's creation. Others were a result of our reflection on finished pieces.

The Word of God stands on its own. You may not see the same connections we did, but we are confident that the scripture will speak to you.

One God and Father of all, who is above all, and through all, and in you all

Ephesians 4:6 NKJV

for in Him we live and move and have our being Acts 17:28a NKJV

MOON SHADOWS

Vacationing in Bryce Canyon National Park, Utah

The full moon hike would start in ten minutes. We were determined to make it. The speedometer needle climbed to 60 miles per hour. The rental car began to tremble as we closed fast on the car in front of us. Out here in the middle of nowhere, we were stuck behind a slow moving vehicle and forced to reduce our speed. The car's trembling ceased, but minutes were slipping by. Finally, we were able to pass.

Our plight was a result of Daylight Savings Time and three time zones in three days. Somewhere along the way we had lost an hour.

The parking lot was full when we arrived, but the meeting place was empty. We grabbed our sweatshirts and dashed up to a couple sitting on the porch of a restaurant.

"Did you see which way the group with the ranger went?" I asked.

They pointed, and we ran. About 100 yards away we caught sight of them standing on the edge of the canyon. In our best casual manner we sauntered up and joined the back of the group. While the ranger concluded his talk about the moon's orbit, I tried to don my sweatshirt discretely and quiet my labored breathing. A cool breeze brushed my skin making me glad for the fleecy warmth.

It wasn't quite dark, but the full moon dominated a cloudless sky. Our tour started down the narrow path into the canyon.

One side was a sheer drop off. On the other side a wall of colorful rock rose up. Occasional openings left the path exposed on both sides. Pebbles rattled behind me when someone's foot slipped in the loose gravel. I pictured him falling and carrying us both over the edge. Now I understood the park rules requiring shoes with lugs.

At points along the way we paused, and our guide shared nocturnal tales of the full moon. Facts about flora and fauna of the region gave way to epic lore and myths. Scattered stars began to appear. His quiet voice led us back to a distant time when Native American accounts of the heavens and rock formations around us came to life.

As night deepened, the moon appeared to get brighter and cast its light earthward. Hoodoos resembling animals or stone figures in the daytime, were now the shadowy sentinels of the night.

Moonlight illuminated the path as if we were walking under a streetlight. We passed in front of a wall of rock, and our moon shadows danced eerily on its surface. It was almost bright enough to read by.

Our last stop was on an exposed outcrop. Before us lay a moonscape right out of a 1950's science fiction show or an H.G. Wells novel. Skinny, twisted trees rose up from ground that was otherwise devoid of vegetation. Their exposed roots were raised in the air as if they were aliens walking on their toes across the barren ground. After a quiet moment of meditation the group began to break up and start the slow ascent back up the steep path.

Early next morning we took the same hike in daylight. This time we followed the trail all the way to the canyon floor. Vivid colors and crisp images replaced the previous evening's mysterious shadows and stark beauty. By day or by night it was a land of fascination, with secrets waiting to be revealed to anyone with a heart for wonder.

The LORD is your keeper; the LORD is your shade at your right hand. The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night. The LORD shall preserve you from all evil; He shall preserve your soul. The LORD shall preserve your going out and your coming in from this time forth, and even forevermore. Psalm 121:5-8 NKJV

THE UNKNOWN SCRIBE

Traveling Exhibit in Washington D.C.

Dust particles floated in a shaft of light. It streamed through a small window into a sparsely furnished room. Hunched over a crude wooden table, a man in drab brown clothing gripped a quill pen. With painstaking care he copied a manuscript, checking and rechecking to make sure every letter was perfect.

A thin piece of gold leaf glinted on the table. The delicate sheet waited to become part of a special page. He had combined arsenic and lead in a clay pot, and would use the deadly mixture to add red and yellow coloring. Gold and silver powder would highlight a heading or decorate a side column.

A piece of copper soaked in his flask of wine, preventing him from slacking his thirst. Later he would scrape off the patina to create a green pigment.

Those weren't the exact words used by the narrator speaking in my headset, but looking at the parchment fragment in front of me I began to envision the scribe who had created it. The exhibit was called "In the Beginning, Bibles Before the Year 1,000."

We had traveled for a couple hours to come to this museum, but these pieces of parchment, vellum, and wood had traveled thousands of miles. We stood in line for almost three hours before being allowed to enter the dimly lit room where the treasures of the past awaited us. But these delicate remnants of scripture had survived hundreds of years before appearing in this exhibition.

Many of these ancient and fragile pieces of antiquity had been hidden away in dark rooms or sealed in clay jars for centuries before they were discovered. Now climate-controlled cases with subdued lighting preserved each treasure.

The dim light carried my thoughts back through time to the places where these artifacts were created. Perhaps the scribe labored by light from an oil lamp, a glowing candle, or just simple daylight coming through an open window. Was his room more illuminated than this one when he mixed his pigments, or was his illumination only a spiritual one?

I paused in front of a picture of an old tome. The colors on the cover were still vivid. To my surprise, I discovered the picture was made of wax that had survived years of heat and cold yet was still intact with brilliant colors. Somehow the fragile surface had not melted into obscurity as generations passed.

When I returned home, I picked up one of the many copies of the Bible that I have in my home. At my fingertips I have the choice of a number of translations, all in English with notes that span the ages. Copies are printed by the millions on modern, high-speed presses at a cost that makes them accessible to anyone.

All this is possible because unnamed scribes labored tirelessly through the ages, never imagining the future they were helping to create when they preserved these words so faithfully.

Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. Psalm 119:105 NKJV

For You are my lamp, O LORD; the LORD shall enlighten my darkness. 2 Samuel 22:29 NKJV

So shall My word be that goes forth from My mouth; it shall not return to Me void, but it shall accomplish what I please, and it shall prosper in the thing for which I send it. Isaiah 55:11 NKJV

THE EMPTY FLAGON

Rynold huddled in his secluded spot. It was not yet daylight, and he was plotting his raid. Muffled footsteps alerted him to someone's approach. He held his breath and peered through the dense foliage down the dark pathway. The footsteps paused, then retreated. Rynold let out his breath in a whisper.

A sudden light appeared at the end of the path. He stifled a cry of pain as it seared his eyes. The moon had set long ago, and it was too early for dawn. This was artificial light. Light from some other nocturnal creature. The guard was on duty.

His bloodshot eyes watered from the glare, forcing him to look away. Through blurred vision he squinted and focused on his empty flagon. He was not surprised to see that his fingers were tightly curled around the handle in a frozen grip. When he tried to free his fingers, his arm began to tremble uncontrollably. Soon it would be too late. He had to act quickly.

The sound of dripping water stabbed his brain, and strong odors assailed him from the path. He had to risk it now before the guard returned or reinforcements arrived. Listening for returning footsteps, he stumbled awkwardly onto the path. His right arm was still shaking, and he tried to steady the flagon with his other hand.

Hanging vines brushed against his neck making him skitter sideways. The guard was nowhere to be seen as Rynold stumbled into the clearing. He filled the flagon with a dark solution from the urn – but only half full.

The hot liquid sloshed as his arm trembled, and little bits of fire spotted his skin. His bloodshot eyes darted back and forth as he bolted back down the path and scurried into his shelter. There he lifted the flagon to his eager lips, burning his tongue as he gulped the hot fluid. As it flowed down his throat, the shaking stopped. His fingers began to release their hold.

The light down the path became steadily stronger. Voices and laughter drifted towards him. He wiped his eyes and sighed. He had made it just in time. Suddenly a woman peeked around the corner of his shelter. She pushed aside the hanging spider plant.

"You're in early Rynold," she said. "I'm just going around now to collect for the coffee fund. Are you in for this month? Only five dollars. The night guard just made a fresh pot."

He joined her in the doorway of his office, and looked down the hallway past the potted plants and hanging flowers to the coffee station.

Holding up his travel mug he said, "No thanks. I get mine on the way in."

Who is like a wise man? And who knows the interpretation of a thing? A man's wisdom makes his face shine, and the sternness of his face is changed. Ecclesiastes 8:1 NKJV

A PORTRAIT OF THE PAST

Even in my imagination I could not pretend she was looking at me, or even thinking of me. She gazed out from a different world and from a time I never knew. The old brown-toned photograph was taken long before I was born.

Her soft hair was pulled back loosely from her face and twisted into a bun. She sat tall and straight with just the hint of a smile. She was my great aunt. Although she never knew me, I felt a connection with her.

My mother had told me about Aunt Jennie and her daughter Borghilde. Who could forget a name like Borghilde? Just saying it out loud created images of exotic lands and courageous people who came here to carve out a life in a new land.

When I was growing up my mother would take out the old family photographs. They were printed on heavy cardboard with worn, frayed edges. She would recite the names of the mysterious strangers. Then she would tell me stories about when she was a little girl, and visited Aunt Jennie and played with Borghilde.

While going through some old papers, I came across a fragile envelope. There was no street address, just my mother's name with the city and state. A three-cent stamp showed an eagle with its wings outspread and a bundle of arrows clutched in its claws. The banner across its chest read "win the war."

I slipped the letter out of the fragile envelope. The paper was soft with age, and the writing had faded. It was from Aunt Jennie.

As I read the letter, her picture began to come alive. Instead of just an image on a page, she became a real person with hopes and dreams. Reading words that were penned over sixty years ago transported me to another place.

The little girl, Borghilde, was grown up and working in a factory while waiting for her husband to come back from WWII. Her brother, Mung was serving in England. As the holidays approached, the burden of the war weighed heavily upon the hearts of the family.

I wish I could have met Aunt Jennie or the little girl with the intriguing name who was a part of my mother's stories. I look at pictures of myself and wonder. Will there be great nieces or nephews who someday see my picture? If they read something I have written, will they wonder about the past and their heritage? I hope that the traces I leave behind are uplifting and inspiring. Perhaps our lives will touch in a way that while not physical, will still leave an impression.

Mancelona - December 21, 1944

Dear June and yours,

Thanks a lot for your Christmas card and the good wishes. I've been thinking of writing to you for a long time but mislaid your address and kept putting it off. We enjoyed the picture you sent of your nice family. Glad to see you are looking so well. Bert and I are keeping house by ourselves now. Borghilde is married but her husband is in the service in Hollandia, near New Guinea. He has been in the Army for over two years and across two years next February. Borghilde works in a factory in Detroit making reamers. She has an apartment close to her work and not far from Borci's (Paul's folks). She likes it there but gets terrible lonesome for Paul. She is coming home over Christmas, and we will be glad to see her again.

Magnus, or Mung as we call him, is in England. He has been in the Air Corps for 28 months now and across two years last September. He was a year in Ireland and now in England. He is pretty fed up on this mess same as all the rest.

Harold and family live close to us and we see them every day. They are well. The girls go to school every day and are getting along fine. We are sending you a snapshot of them, and one of us all that we took at Elk Rapids the day we all were there at Grandpa's funeral. Guess you know us all.

I'll write a longer letter some other time, now that we have your address. Hope you all are well and have a very nice Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Love, Jennie and Bert

Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, Looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Hebrews 12:1-2 NKJV

MAKING TRACKS

Vacationing north of Dinosaur Park, Utah

The paw prints were clearly visible, right next to tracks left by the shoes of other hikers. They were deep as though made by a heavy animal. The pads, toes, and claws were clearly defined. Apprehension set in. It was early morning. The time of day that all the guidebooks said was "best for viewing wildlife."

I shifted my weight, and the movement sent pebbles skittering over the side of the cliff. My breathing blocked out all other noise. I held my breath and discovered the soft sound of my hat brim rubbing against my shirt collar. The weight of silence descended like a physical pressure on my ears. I tried to breathe quietly as I released my breath.

Dark evergreens mingled with aspens and cottonwoods on the distant mountainside. Most of the lower branches were bare, and only the tops of the aspens were adorned with the brilliant yellow autumn leaves. The bright splashes of gold protruded above the dark green Ponderosa Pines like flames on bayberry Christmas candles.

Sudden movement brought my attention back to the path. A tiny gray lizard raced across the rock and stopped to look us over. Its steps were quick and jerky, like a dancer caught in the beam of a strobe light. Then it darted into a crevice.

After some hesitation, we decided to go on. The trail would lead to the dinosaur trackways – fossil footprints made by ancient reptiles that roamed the earth eons ago.

The crunching of our shoes on the sand and gravel filled the air and covered the sound of my breathing. A fine layer of red sand had coated my white shoes making the laces a dusty pink.

Tree limbs extended over the trail. Overhanging rocks on the surrounding cliffs formed natural caves. I'd seen plenty of old western movies. This was the perfect setting for a lurking mountain lion waiting for its prey.

The tracks appeared intermittently. Apparently the path was a good place for animals to walk as well as people. The trail became rockier. The tracks disappeared only to vividly reappear when the path turned to sand again. We joked about the parallel human tracks. As long as the other shoe prints were still there, the lion had someone else to occupy its thoughts.

Then I noticed prints going the other direction. It occurred to me that maybe they were not from a wild beast. Perhaps it was simply a large dog. It looked like the hiker and his four-legged friend had made the trip down and back again.

The top of a steep stone bank led down to a lakeshore. A plaque marked the end of the trail and directed us to the dinosaur tracks. We studied the flat rock surface for some time before spotting one. A three-toed print, resembling that of an enormous bird, came into focus. Once we recognized the first one, we found many more. Like children on a treasure hunt, we excitedly pointed out new discoveries to each other.

Then we found several in a row – a trackway. The fossil record revealed the path taken by a carnivorous dinosaur as it walked, or ran, through a bed of mud. Was it pursued, or pursuing, or just passing through? Whatever its purpose, it had left behind the permanent evidence of its existence.

The prints we left on the trail were not unique or fascinating. They would quickly be erased with the next rain. Seeing the fossilized impressions led us to speculate on what lasting impression our lives would leave.

When we returned to civilization, we compared pictures of mountain lion and coyote tracks. We concluded we were right about the dog. Paleontologists believe the dinosaur tracks were those of a carnivorous predator, but the animal prints on the trail belonged to the faithful companion of a fellow hiker. We were living in the right age.

Direct my steps by Your word, and let no iniquity have dominion over me. Psalm 119:133 NKJV

The steps of a good man are ordered by the LORD, and He delights in his way. Psalm 37:23 NKJV

MISTS IN TIME

Visit to Medieval Times Dinner Theatre Anne Arundel Mills, Maryland

We bought our tickets weeks in advance. Time travel is more popular than you might imagine, and these ventures often sell out. This was our opportunity to take a trip into the past through the enchantment of a time machine.

The portal was nestled inside a castle with a shopping mall built around it. Normally castles and shopping malls don't hang out together, but this shopping center was unconventional in many ways. It contained unique decorative tableaus ranging from ancient Egypt to modern pop culture. Visitors spoke several languages and dressed in a wide variety of styles and cultures. Some could have even have been from other time periods.

Our passage was set for 7:30 p.m., but we arrived at the castle early because "time waits for no man." We brought along a couple of family members. It's always good to have some company when setting out on an adventure into the unknown.

At the castle's entrance we were given a crown for identification, and then hurried off to have our picture taken with a kingly chap. He appeared to be a person of some importance. He may have been from the past, or just a time traveler like us. For a nominal fee we purchased a copy of the portrait to commemorate the trip. The picture could also be a useful tool for the gatekeepers if we became lost in time.

We milled around in a kind of holding area while waiting for conditions to be just right to pass through the gate. The area filled up quickly with other intrepid travelers. Amusements and exhibits were set up to help the crowd acclimate. There were magical flowers that shone with an inner light and wands that glowed. Statues of knights and horses in varying sizes lined the walls. Miniature figures of kings, ladies, horses, and dragons were displayed in cases and could be purchased as tokens of the adventure.

One exhibit was a replica of a dungeon. A sign advised it was not for young children. We took that to include the faint of heart. One young man and his fair companion decided to visit this dreaded place. He quickly guzzled down the beer he was holding, no drinks allowed in the dungeon, and they strode up to the guard at the doorway. When they discovered there was an additional fee to observe the horrors below, they decided to pass.

A few children wore costumes. For most of us, our paper crown was the only outward sign that we were heading into the past. Some wore their crowns on top of cowboy hats or baseball caps. One fellow wore his upside down with his mop of hair poking through the top and falling down over the sides like a grassy plant in a hanging pot. Perhaps he hoped to pass as the court jester.

Finally the signal was given. Trumpets blew, and we were ushered inside according to the color of our crowns. Perhaps this was part of the time travel science. Once through the portal, we found ourselves looking down at an arena.

We were ushered to a table set for a feast. This was an encouraging sign. We were famished. A charming wench came and explained the rules of engagement. A variety of food would be served, we would eat with our fingers, and we would express our support and admiration for the yellow knight (the color of our crowns) with loud, boisterous cheers. Contempt for all challenging knights should be expressed with equally loud disdain. Obviously a drama was about to unfold before us, and we were expected to participate.

The next hour was filled with delectable though messy food, beautiful horses, thrilling daring-do, and awesome battles. We cheered loudly for our knight, "YEL-LOW, YEL-LOW," referring to the color of his garment of course. He was courageous and won many flowers from the princess for his valor and skill. These he gallantly shared with his loyal group of admirers by tossing them into the stands. One noble fellow caught one and presented it graciously it to his lady. Another damsel just barely missed catching a red carnation when it glanced off her fingers and fell at her feet. The wench sitting below her quickly snatched it up and kept it for herself. All is fair in love, war, and catching flowers.

Our brave and heroic knight won the tournament. Alas, he was betrayed. In the end he was defeated by a wicked knight who himself came to a very bad end. Yes! When it was all over, through some marvelous magic, all the knights who had been killed or wounded in the tournament returned. They paraded majestically around the arena to the admiration of the crowd of witnesses who cheered and applauded wildly.

With justice restored, our money bags lighter, and our appetite for food and spectacle sated, we made our way back through the portal to our own time and place. It seemed a bit gray and mundane after the excitement and grandeur of the medieval times.

We are born with a fierce desire to cling to this life. The excitement and treasures of life on earth can absorb us. Someday I will pass from this world to one where the colors are richer, the smells are more fragrant, the sights more beautiful, and the texture of everything more exquisite. I will then see that this world is truly just a shadow of the joys and beauty that have been prepared for us and that await those who choose now to accept those wonders that are offered.

..."Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him." I Corinthians 2:9 NKJV

For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known. I Corinthians 13:12 NKJV

MS. MORGAN

In my hand was an old friend, Ms. Morgan. Affectionately she's known as Old 1900. It's a real silver dollar I picked up in the '60s when I was a kid. Back then it was not uncommon to find coins, and other things, of genuine substance. This dollar was passed around the family a bit before it came back to me and has been in my possession for the last couple decades. It was very worn when we first met.

It started its existence as a shinning, freshly minted coin in the year 1900 at the now closed New Orleans mint. From Louisiana it worked its way north through the Midwest. Who knows the path it took through farmland, mining towns, or railway stations, and the tales it could tell of its journey before landing in my pocket over half a century later.

While it circulated, it surely played a part in many lives. It may have passed through the hands of some rich gentleman as he entertained a lady at the opera before he proposed. Perhaps a businessman bought a hot dog or newspaper from a corner vendor as he hurried between meetings. I suppose it has been to the fish market at least once. As it traveled through the first half of the 20th century it no doubt at times saw the darker side of life, and at other times shared in small joys. For the present, it now resides with me.

The thing I enjoy about it is that it's so worn. This one is not just another pretty face. No, this lady has been out there with the doughboys of WWI, the GIs of WWII, and survived the great depression when she was very sought after and coveted. She's seen the speakeasies of the '20s and the revival meetings that followed in both high and low churches. She's a real trooper.

I thought about taking her back to New Orleans in the year 2000 for her 100 birthday. But that didn't happen, and she never complained. I think she likes retirement and watching the world go by. I haven't joined her in retirement yet, though I am starting to show signs of wear.

For now, I'll put Ms. Morgan gently back in her folder. Another day I will once again visit with her, and she can tell me stories of the past. She has a million of them.

That which is has already been, and what is to be has already been; and God requires an account of what is past. Ecclesiastes 3:15 NKJV

He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also He has put eternity in their hearts, except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end. Ecclesiastes 3:11 NKJV

REFLECTION

Visiting the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone in Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming

We picked our way down the steep switchbacks. It was early morning but already hot. The noise of tourists faded as we descended further into the canyon.

Thick pine trees clustered together, hiding the canyon floor. They towered over our heads blocking the sun. We were isolated, suspended between the worlds above and below. Air cooled by the trees brushed my face, and heat faded to a memory.

The guidebook described the trail as strenuous and difficult. Earlier in the week we watched people jogging up the trail. For me, just walking this path into the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone was enough of a challenge.

It wasn't long before my shins began sending messages to my brain. They started out polite enough, but soon they were shouting. We stopped to rest, and I considered the return trip when each step would have to be retraced.

Trees that provided shade and coolness often stretched their long roots treacherously across the path. Occasionally the trees thinned giving glimpses of the Upper Falls in the distance. The roar of the Lower Falls was getting louder.

We arrived at the bottom and collapsed onto a welcome bench. The majesty of the thundering waterfall silenced the complaints from my muscles. We sat alone in our secluded spot like children who had left the audience and wandered on stage. The curtain rose. The sun peeked over the mountain. Birds called to one another. Fallen leaves rustled as chipmunks played tag in the underbrush. Light shimmered on the tumbling water.

Then I saw it. A double rainbow. They are difficult to see unless the air is especially clear. The second bow's color bands were reversed creating a mirror image.

On those days when my life is clear of the mist and clouds of self-centeredness, I have the opportunity to be a reflection of Christ – a second rainbow.

God spoke: "Let us make human beings in our image, make them reflecting our nature..." Genesis 1:26 The Message

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new. 2 Corinthians 5:17 NKJV

THE ICE CREAM CALL

My thoughts drifted to dark winter nights with softly falling snow, but the only coolness in the room emanated from the whirring fan. As I hovered on the brink of sleep, the clear tones of Silent Night floated through the open window. The tune transitioned into the tinny notes of Deck the Halls. Even my sleepy brain recognized the curiosity of Christmas carols in May. Spring showers bring flowers, but spring also brings ice cream.

In our neighborhood it comes in a truck. Sometimes a swarm of trucks, each with its own identifying jingle. They meander endlessly along the side streets and alleys playing their themes. Like metal Pied Pipers, they call children out of their homes. When the trucks pass each other, the noise clashes in a harsh cacophony as the pipers vie for supremacy and the hearts of children. At intervals they pause to serve ravenous appetites, but the endlessly repetitious music continues. The sound mixes with the roar of the cooling unit and exhaust fumes, and invades nearby homes.

But this truck was different. No noxious fumes. In place of a single theme, it had a repertoire. A series of Christmas carols, nursery rhymes, American ballads, and pop songs blended smoothly from one tune to the next. Nostalgia replaced monotony.

As I lay listening, my mind automatically identified the tunes. I discovered that some of the melodies fit more than one song. Was it Mary Had a Little Lamb or London Bridge? The words to The Toledo Donut Shop ran through my mind as Turkey in the Straw was played. Were the children humming along with Twinkle Twinkle Little Star or reciting their ABCs? And strangely enough, Little Brown Jug was vaguely reminiscent of a hymn, though my groggy mind couldn't quite place which one.

People also have hidden identities. I perceive one message, but they may be singing something different. When I hear a bawdy drinking song, the person could be humming a hymn – or vice versa. People are always more complicated than the lifeless categories where I try to force them. When I take the time to get to know them, they inevitably slip out of those limited boundaries. Sometimes they surprise me with something familiar, but unrelated to the image I created for them. Sometimes the song they sing has words I never imagined.

"...For the LORD does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart." I Samuel 16:7b NKJV

Eat honey, my child, since it is good; honey that drips from the comb is sweet to the taste: and so, for sure, will wisdom be to your soul: find it and you will have a future and your hope will not be cut short. Proverbs 24:13-14 NJB

"...And I will give him a white stone, and on the stone a new name written which no one knows except him who receives it." Revelation 2:17b NKJV

EMILY'S BIRDHOUSE

Emily let the front door slam as she raced up the steps and threw herself on the bed. Her hot tears left a wet smudge on the pillow. She kicked the door shut.

"Emily?" her mother's voice penetrated the closed door.

She squeezed her eyes shut wishing her mother away. Hearing the footsteps on the stairs, she sat up and rubbed her face with the back of her hand. After a soft knock the door opened, and her mother stood in the doorway.

"What's the matter, Emily?"

"I didn't get the part in the musical."

Her mother sat down beside her and put an arm around her. "Who got chosen for the part of Dorothy?"

"Denise," she spat out the word. "She's only been at school for a month and everyone is bowing at her feet. They fall all over themselves like puppies trying to get her attention."

"Never mind dear," her mother said as she squeezed her shoulder. "You have a lovely voice. Besides, you'd have to wear a wig if you got the part. Come on down for some cookies and milk." She kissed the top of her head and headed back to the kitchen.

Emily groaned and went to the bathroom sink. Her world was falling apart and Mother offered cookies and milk. A red blotchy face covered with freckles stared back at her from the mirror. The messy red hair was nothing like Denise's beautiful wavy brown. A wig would be an improvement. With a grimace she turned away and went downstairs.

She grabbed a handful of cookies and headed for the old apple tree at the back of the yard. Sinking into the worn spot on the exposed roots she was hidden from the world by the fat trunk. Low hanging branches hovered over her like protective arms.

Maybe Denise's hair will fall out she thought as she bit viciously into a cookie. Maybe she'll catch a cold and get laryngitis or even pneumonia. She swallowed hard. Better yet, she could get strep throat and be diagnosed as highly contagious. Then the doctor wouldn't let her come to school for a month and someone would have to take her place. She closed her eyes and imagined the drama teacher desperately trying to find a replacement. Then he would ask her to take the lead part and save the school musical. Of course she would meekly accept.

She sighed and looked up. Dangling from the branch in front of her was an old birdhouse. She frowned. Now how did that get here she wondered. Has someone else been in my spot? How dare they. She yanked on the birdhouse. The frayed rope gave way, and she almost fell backward.

The wood on the little house was cracked and weather stained. If it had ever been painted, the colors were now dull and gray. Odd she had never noticed it before. She peered inside. Grimacing she stuck her finger in and dug out old twigs and withered leaves.

She stood up, brushed the dirt off her jeans, and went back to the house. From the basement she heard music filtering up. "I'm going to join the airforce today," the oldies station on the radio wailed out the Beegees tune. Always easy to find Dad. Just follow the ancient music. He was in his workroom painting a model airplane and humming off key.

He looked up. "Hello dear," he said squinting over the top of his glasses. He pushed them up leaving a spot of silver paint on his nose. "What do you have there?" He took the birdhouse.

"It's pretty beat up," Emily said. "I should just throw it away."

"Don't be hasty." He tapped the walls. "Appears to be sound. Just needs a little remodeling," he said, chuckling at his own joke. Emily smiled. He handed it back. "Some paint ought to make a big difference." He pointed with his brush. "There's some on the shelf over there in a fancy box. Just came yesterday."

Emily pulled the small wooden box off the shelf. It had a tree engraved on the lid and a clasp in the shape of a leaf. Inside were four small jars of paint. Mardi Gras Purple, Caribbean Blue, Rainforest Green, and Glittering Gold.

"Are these the ones?" she asked. The paints looked expensive.

"Yep," he said. "They aren't the colors I was expecting. Not good for airplanes. I was going to send them back, but you can have them if you want."

She snatched up the birdhouse and called, "Thanks," over her shoulder. Back at the tree she settled into her spot. Using the corner of her hooded sweatshirt she brushed the dirt off the birdhouse before beginning. When she finished she had used all of the paint except for a tiny bit of Glittering Gold. She tucked her hair behind her ear leaving a smear of green on her cheek. With the tie string from her sweatshirt she hung the house back on the branch.

"Well, it's bright," she said. "Every bird from miles around should be able to see it. Guess I'll need to get some birdseed."

She sat back against the trunk. The afternoon sun was hot and made her sleepy. As she dozed, she began to get cold and shivered. Something tickled her nose and she woke up with a sneeze. She gasped. A living wall of vines now closed in her sheltered spot. They started from the birdhouse and wrapped around the branches before dangling to the ground in a thick mass. The light filtering through them had a green tint. The only thing unchanged was the birdhouse. It was as bright as ever. Its gold trim sparkled and glittered as the house slowly swayed.

Then a leaf fluttered down and landed in her lap. She tried to look down, but was stopped by something pulling her hair. "Ow," she said rubbing her scalp. It seemed to be caught on the tree behind her. "Ow," she said again as she tried to pull free.

It finally came loose, and another leaf fell in her lap. Looking down she saw the leaves moving. She caught her breath and her eyes widened as the leaf rolled over and looked up at her.

Emily rubbed her eyes and squinted. The leaf person gave her a lopsided grin and waved. Then he helped up the other leaf. The two of them stood balancing shakily on her leg.

"We'd be obliged miss, if you'd hold a bit steadier," the leaf said.

"What are you?" she said. Her voice trembled and came out a little hoarse.

"Well, miss," the leaf person said as he brushed himself off. "We're part of the NGS – New Growth Surge." He leaned sideways to look behind her and shouted, "Hey back there!"

Emily shivered as little feet moved across her head and down her shoulder. There was shouting and pulling. Leaf people got tangled in her hair making her wince. Then they got free and launched themselves into the air. Spreading their brown arms wide they floated down to the ground. She reached back and tried to straighten her hair but it was hopeless. The curls had snarled and she couldn't get her fingers through the tangles.

The leaf people swarmed up the vines toward the door of the birdhouse. One by one they disappeared inside, and it got very quiet. She stood up on tiptoe and looked into the house. It was empty.

For the next few weeks, school was a blur for Emily. She forgot all about the Wizard of Oz musical. Each day after doing her homework she hurried out to the tree and pushed her way through the wall of vines. She never knew which evenings the leaf people would come. While she waited she drew pictures of them climbing on the vines with their hair standing up on their heads like tuffs of grass. There were pictures of them peeking out the door or leaning on the porch of the birdhouse. She tried to capture the colors as their leaf bodies shimmered first silver and then green as they slowly somersaulted through the air and floated to the ground.

She was captivated when they visited. They would pour out the front door of the birdhouse and chase each other down the vines. Once Emily held out her hand and a brave leaf stepped onto her palm. His tiny feet tickled as she slowly lowered him to the ground.

They taught her songs and sang with her, weaving harmonies around the tunes. Her hair was tied in knots as they twisted tiny purple flowers and twigs into the strands. When they danced, the dust was stirred up until it made Emily sneeze. Then laughing and calling back and forth to each other they climbed back up the vines and disappeared into the birdhouse.

On those evenings her mother would say, "Take a shower Emily dear before bed. You're a mess. Don't leave those twigs in the tub, and remember to bush your teeth."

A week before the musical, Emily was leaving the lunchroom in a hurry when she crashed into a girl. Her books and drawings spilled onto the floor. She scrambled desperately to pick up the sheets of paper and stuff them into her folder before anyone saw them.

"Did you draw this, Emily?"

She looked up. It was Denise holding one of the papers. Her mouth was agape in wonder. Her eyes glistened as she looked at the paper. Emily's face felt hot. She snatched the paper and stuffed it in her book.

"What are they?" Denise said softly.

"Nothing. Just pictures," Emily said.

Denise cleared her throat. "I've missed you at practice. I thought you were going to be in the musical."

Emily stammered, "I...I had...other things to do."

There was an awkward silence. Then Denise asked again, "Did you draw them?"

Emily nodded reluctantly.

"How did you ever think of them?"

Emily frowned. "Are you making fun of me?"

Denise shook her head. "If I could draw like that," she said wistfully, "I would cover my walls with pictures."

As Emily turned to leave, Denise said quietly, "Will you sit with me at lunch tomorrow?" Emily nodded and hurried to class.

When she got home that afternoon, she headed for the apple tree. The vines were waving gently in the chilly breeze, but they were brown and withered. She reached out a trembling hand. At her touch, they crumbled to dust and blew away in the wind revealing the birdhouse. It was once again faded and weather stained. Tears rolled down her face, and she collapsed at the foot of the tree. After a long time she heard far off singing. She began to hum and heard the soft harmonies of the leaf people. Then the voices faded and all that was left was the breeze whispering through the branches.

In her room that night she took the jar of Glittering Gold paint. Using the last of it, she carefully filled in the outline of the tree on the top of the wooden paint box. Before closing the lid she laid one of her drawings inside. Tomorrow she would sit with Denise at lunch, and the box would be a present for her new friend.

A man who has friends must himself be friendly, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother. Proverbs 18:24 NKJV

Let each of you look out not only for his own interests, but also for the interests of others. Philippians 2:4 NKJV

Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in the power of your hand to do so. Proverbs 3:27 NKJV

THE PASSAGEWAY

I could almost hear faint notes from the piano, as if ghostly fingers of past students floated across the keyboard. The starkly furnished practice room had no windows, but sunlight stole through an open door. It transformed the worn carpet into a golden path to the outside world. The scene beyond beckoned me to step outside into another realm.

A manicured lawn covered the ground in vibrant green. The army of sharp grass blades marched in orderly ranks up to a line of tall pine trees and stopped. The trees held their ground like sentinels. Beneath their heavy branches it was dark. The ground lay in shadow and was layered with years of fallen needles.

Some days my senses are seemingly heightened. Colors are infused with light, and tiny details are sharpened. I experience an awesome awareness of the world around me. It's as if I had stepped into a plasma screen, and become part of the movie.

Much of life is like Plato's cave. We live in a dim world where the outside light casts shadows of unknown mysteries beyond our experience. We see only vague images of who we are and of what lies beyond the cave. But sometimes we can find truth in the shadows that dance upon the walls.

If we believe in things we have not seen or experienced, we are thought strange. But it is a small universe where we are confined by only believing in what we can perceive. If we dare to look beyond ourselves, we can live beyond ourselves in a larger world.

I know your works. See, I have set before you an open door, and no one can shut it; for you have a little strength, have kept My word, and have not denied My name. Revelation 3:8 NKJV

After these things I looked, and behold, a door standing open in heaven. And the first voice which I heard was like a trumpet speaking with me, saying, "Come up here, and I will show you things which must take place after this." Revelation 4:1 NKJV

See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands... Isaiah 49:16a NKJV

MILLER WEEK

They're coming through the air vent!" I shrieked.

Half a dozen were already in the room. My husband grabbed up a travel brochure and slapped it over the vent. I stood on the bed and held the newsprint tight against the wall, ducking as they flew past my head. He methodically chased down and killed each one.

Then he left me guarding the air vent. For the second time he ventured into the dark, infested night to visit the hotel front desk.

Millers. Moths with fat, fuzzy, brown bodies and gray and brown wings. At first I had wanted to go to another hotel. It didn't matter how much it cost. But the sky outside was thick with them, and we were better off inside the room with just a few. After his first trip to the office, my husband returned with a can of bug spay and the one bit of information that we hadn't found in any of the tour books. For about a week each year, the millers proliferate and fill the skies. We just happened to pick "miller week" for our vacation. The owner assured us that although they were everywhere, they were no big deal. He was right about them being everywhere.

Armed with the spray, we approached the vent. I could see two of them behind the metal grate, walking around and looking out with their buggy eyes. With a smooth motion my husband raised the can and fired a shot. It didn't have the desired effect. Not only did it not stop them in their tracks, but they decided the air in the room was much preferred to the fog filled vent. We discovered there were not two, but dozens behind the metal grill – pushing and thrashing against the grate. Then one by one they folded their wings and squeezed through the bars.

That's when I shrieked. Now I stood on the bed with my arms aching, waiting for him to return from his second trip with a new remedy. I tried to shift my position just a bit.

They must have caught a glimmer of light or a whiff of fresh air because I could hear their little feet scrambling around inside as they searched for freedom. My arms might fall off, but nothing would convince me to move that paper from the vent.

Finally he returned with the universal solution for every problem - duct tape. Once the paper was sealed on all sides, I collapsed in a chair. In a few minutes they settled down, and we could no longer hear them fluttering around in their dark prison. After checking the room for stragglers we went to bed, and I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Early the next morning we meticulously packed. I discovered a few of the winged terrors in the room that had spent the night with us. We were careful not to pack any of the little beasties in the trunk. Then I nestled down into the passenger seat and felt the tenseness ease out of my muscles. I was free from the creepy little things.

It was a cool fall morning as we set out. We traveled west, and I caught a glimpse in the mirror of a beautiful sunrise coming up behind us. I turned to enjoy the full view. Instead I spotted three of the monsters flitting around in the rear window. Since we were driving on twisting mountain roads, I thought it best not to be distracted by flying insects. So we pulled over and extracted them. This became an ongoing routine the rest of the day. Sometimes we shooed them out the window, and sometimes we squashed them in the back seat.

For the next three days they continued to emerge in ones and twos. They were hiding in the trunk and finding their way through to the rear window of the car. In desperation we stopped to buy more bug spray, and filled all the holes and crevices in the trunk. As the fumes drove them from their hiding places, we opened all the windows and ushered them out.

At the end of the week we boarded the plane with the hope that none were hiding in our luggage. In spite of the millers we had a wonderful time and saw amazing scenery. The west has many colorful names for the beautiful and exotic landscapes that attract travelers in droves. We hiked through places with names like Devil's Tower, Dead Horse Creek, Devil's Kitchen, Devil's Backbone, and Crazy Woman Canyon. Maybe that last one was named after a woman who visited during miller week. It should be added to the tour book's calendar of events.

Tired from a long day of travel we pulled into the driveway. It was a relief to have left behind our unshakable winged companions. To my amazement, as I wearily trudged up to the door I was greeted by one of their distant cousins. A brown moth clung to the screen and welcomed us home.

Without counsel, plans go awry, but in the multitude of counselors they are established. Proverbs 15:22 NKJV

Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths. Proverbs 3:5-6 NKJV

STAR LIGHT, STAR BRIGHT

Scary tales are abundant of asteroids threatening continents and planet lineups causing tidal waves. They are the fabric of stories that adapt well to the grandeur of the theatre.

Meteor showers, fuzzy comet sightings, and lunar eclipses lack sensationalism. But they are inspiring in a way that cannot be matched by a fictional thriller.

Sometimes we drag ourselves out of bed in the wee cold hours of the morning to view the heavens, only to be disappointed. Light pollution or manmade structures often spoil the view. Those failures fade into vague memory after the success of witnessing an event in the night sky firsthand.

When we heard that the Space Shuttle Discovery and the International Space Station (ISS) were linked together and would be visible in the twilight sky, we began our preparations. Unlike a planet that stays visible for hours, this sighting would have a very short window. Less than four minutes. It would be imperative to look in the right spot at the right time. Our window of opportunity was between 9:10 and 9:14 precisely. For once we would be observing a celestial event at a decent hour!

I printed a map of the sky, set my watch, and headed for the open field at the local high school. Choosing a relatively comfortable seat at the top of the bleachers, we settled in and scanned the sky. It was now 9:00 p.m. Dinnertime for mosquitoes. Fortunately, it was dinnertime for bats also. I cheered them on as they flew back and forth over the field, consuming their weight in insects.

We located Jupiter and the gibbous Moon, our pointers in the heavens. Several false sightings turned out to be airplanes. Had we missed it? My neck was getting tired from craning upward.

Then suddenly, there it was! At 9:12 a spot of light far above the horizon glided across the heavens. It shone as a bright unblinking star gracefully arching across the sky. Then it disappeared behind cloud cover.

It took an amazing amount of planning, money, and dedication to make that brief glimpse a reality. Of course the astronauts' view from the ISS must have been much more impressive, and certainly lasted longer. I wonder what they were thinking as they looked down on our little corner of the world.

The event has been duly noted in our Celestial Events Log (CEL). It is right there next to our first sightings of Jupiter's moons, Saturn's rings, and the Orion Nebula.

Bless the LORD, O my soul! O LORD my God, You are very great: You are clothed with honor and majesty, Who cover Yourself with light as with a garment, Who stretch out the heavens like a curtain. Psalm 104:1-2 NKJV

Of old You laid the foundation of the earth, And the heavens are the work of Your hands. hey will perish, but You will endure; Yes, they will all grow old like a garment; Like a cloak You will change them, And they will be changed. But You are the same, And Your years will have no end. Psalm 102:25-27 NKJV

...until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts; 2 Peter 1:19b NKJV

He counts the number of the stars; He calls them all by name. Great is our LORD, and mighty in power; His understanding is infinite. Psalm 147:4-5 NKJV

THE BARON'S TREACHERY

Sadie crouched behind the old suit of armor in the dim hallway. Her thin shoes sunk into the plush carpet. Behind the closed door, just a few feet away, the Baron was in his den with a shabby visitor. Thirty minutes ago the bearded stranger had pounded on the front door.

She had been coming from the kitchen with her lady's tea when the butler led him up the stairs. The smell of liquor was strong on his breath as he strode past. His clothes were dusty and unkempt.

The baroness was waiting. She hurried down the twisting hallway past guestrooms and the study, and stopped at the lady's rooms.

"Where have you been?" her ladyship demanded peevishly. "I suppose the tea will be cold again."

Sadie curtsied and said, "Sorry ma'am. The cook was busy with a delivery for tomorrow's dinner, but I'm sure the tea is still hot."

"Stop sniveling and set it down," she said with a dismissive wave.

Sadie put the tray on the table, and fled from the room. That was when she heard the angry voices from the den. She crept down the hall and hid in the shadows by the old suit of armor. Unlike his demanding wife, the Baron always had a kind word for her. She trembled to think what would happen if her ladyship found her idling in the hall. Was the master of the house in danger?

The stranger's oily voice filtered through the heavy wooden door. It was low and menacing. The words were muffled and indistinguishable. Then the angry voice of the Baron came through clearly.

"I don't want excuses!" he shouted. "I paid you to have that ship sunk. Why isn't it lying at the bottom of the harbor?"

She cringed. The Baron had never raised his voice before. What could it mean? The stranger murmured a reply. The Baron's voice was calmer now, but it took on a cold and deadly tone.

"I want the Sea Lion sunk tomorrow night and every man on board eliminated," he said. "Is that clear?"

The stranger murmured an asset. Leather creaked as someone got up from a chair. Sadie panicked and turned to run down the hall. A corner of her apron caught in the chinks of armor. In desperation, she yanked on the cloth. It ripped leaving part of the material behind. She was free, but the armor swayed precariously. The door swung open, and the Baron stepped out. Sadie ran in terror. Behind her the chain mail and plate armor crashed with a deafening metallic clatter that left her ears ringing. The hall behind her was blocked. Over the din she heard the Baron bellow.

"Stop that girl - she must be silenced!"

She escaped from their view as she rounded the corner of the twisting hall. The landing at the top of the stairs loomed ahead. Running feet drummed the floor below. Like a trapped animal, her eyes searched for an escape route. The closest door led into the Baron's study. With little hope, her hand trembled on the doorknob. To her surprise it opened. She darted inside, closed the door, and quickly turned the lock. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she leaned against the door. She stifled a cry. She was not alone. Hans, the stable hand, hovered over the Baron's desk with a lit candle. Her stomach tightened. She hadn't seen him since they'd quarreled a few nights ago. Drips from the candle landed on a piece of folded parchment. He pressed the Baron's signet ring into the hot wax and looked up.

"It would have been less trouble if you had stayed in the kitchen. The whole house seems to be in an uproar." He put the ring back in the drawer and tucked the parchment inside his jacket pocket. "We'll just have to make do."

She stared at him speechless. The door handle rattled behind her making her jump away from the door. Even the thick carpet couldn't muffle the heavy footsteps coming down the hall. Hans turned to the bookcase behind the desk and ran his fingers along one of the shelves. There was a soft click, and a panel silently slid open to reveal a dark opening. He motioned impatiently for to her to follow. Metal rasped on metal as a key was forced into the lock behind her. She dashed across the room.

Hans took her hand and led the way down a narrow flight of steps as the panel softly clicked shut behind them. Ghostly shadows from the flickering flame danced along the walls. Dust swirled up from their feet and where her skirts brushed the woodwork. She wiped cobwebs away from her face. The air had a stale taste. Muffled angry voices drifted down to them.

In spite of the danger, Sadie was keenly aware of Hans closeness. Warmth from his hand seeped into her fingers and diminished her fear. When they reached the bottom he let go. He blew out the candle and peered through a crack in the wood.

"The kitchen," he said. The words were a whisper of warm breath on her cheek.

She nodded. If their luck held, the cook would be retired to her room for the night, and the kitchen would be empty.

Slowly Hans opened the door. She followed him across the open room being careful not to touch anything that would rattle. Hans untied a bag from his waist and put in several apples, a chunk of cheese, some salt pork, and two loaves of bread that had been freshly baked for the Baron's breakfast.

"You're stealing," she whispered.

He winked and grinned. "Stealing from the kind, benevolent Baron?" His smile faded. "It's only food. I'm leaving the silver. Let's call it payment for my wages from the last two weeks of work that I'll not see now."

He nodded his head towards the open door and slipped out into the night. She hesitated. The commotion upstairs was getting louder. At any moment they might discover her. Hans had been right about the Baron all along. For five years she had been deceived. She snatched up several biscuits and the small meat pie that had been left out to cool and fled after Hans.

An eerie halo shimmered around a gibbous moon as it tried valiantly to shine through the cloud cover. The humid night breeze made her skin clammy. Wisps of hair clung to her neck. She could just make out the dark figure of Hans flitting through the trees. She stopped to wrap the pie and biscuits in her apron and secured it around her waist. When she looked up, Hans had disappeared.

She fought down rising panic. Probably the stables she guessed. When she entered, her ladyship's riding horse was already saddled. Hans was just tightening the cinch on the Baron's Arabian stallion. Both horses were black as night. He lashed his bag of food to the saddle, and tossed her the mare's reins.

"Just taking them out for a little exercise," he chuckled.

She gasped as she realized the depth of their deeds. "They'll put us in the workhouse for life," she moaned as she climbed into the saddle.

Hans patted his shirt making the parchment rustle softly. "With this little letter of introduction, it'll be clear sailing."

She shifted the pouch of food to her side, and urged the mare forward. Doors slammed in the distance. Dogs began to bark. Running footsteps pounded down the path. She steered the mare around the corner of the stable.

Someone yelled, "Stop thief!"

A rifle shot exploded. She ducked over the neck of the mare. Wood splintered behind her, and the lantern fell on the barn floor. The sound of shattering glass was muffled by the hay, which quickly ignited. She urged the mare to a run. Smoke made the other horses scream with fear.

Her horse bolted heading for the low brick wall surrounding the estate. It gathered itself for the leap. Sadie felt herself losing her grip. Strong muscles tightened beneath her and released like a spring. She was falling...

When she opened her eyes, it was still dark. She sat up in a cold sweat trying to determine where she was. From the corner of her eye she saw the red glow of the stable fire, and her mind cleared. Through the haze she caught glimpses of figures leading horses to safety. Harsh cries drifted on the breeze.

Feeling a tickling sensation on her wrist, she jerked her hand uttering a small cry of alarm. The mare whinnied softly, and the reins hanging from the bridle brushed her arm again. Sighing with relief, Sadie grasped for the reins.

The sound of a galloping horse caused her to once again freeze with fear. The Baron's stallion loomed out of the darkness.

Hans leaned over and said tersely, "There you are. What are you doing just sitting there? Come on. They'll be after us as soon as the fire is under control. Are you hurt? Get up."

Sadie struggled to her feet. Wincing from hot pain in her ankle, she again climbed into the saddle. As they rode under the shelter of the woods, fear ebbed out of her body and was replaced with cold reality. Where were they going? What was going to happen to her now that she had no job, no home, and no future? And what about Hans?

The trees opened up, and they came to a small clearing. Hans reined in the stallion, and Sadie stopped the mare just in time. Three men materialized out of the shadows. One of them stepped forward.

Looking up at Hans he said, "Did you get it?"

Hans patted his shirt and grinned. "The Baron himself has issued us all passage on the Sea Lion."

Sadie gasped and clutched the reins tightly. Hans twisted around in his saddle. "What is it?"

She explained about the Baron, the stranger, and the plans to sink the ship the following night. The men began to murmur.

"Passage ain't gonna do no good if the ship's scuttled."

Hans held up his hand for silence. "You're sure about the time?" he asked her. She nodded.

"Don't matter no how if we ain't got Kate."

Hans turned back to the men. "Where is Lady Christine and Kate?"

Another shadow detached itself from the trees. A lady pulled back the hood of a worn travel cloak revealing part of a richly laced dress. Her raven black hair was braided and wound around her head. Troubled eyes hooded with long lashes looked out from the beautiful face.

Hans nodded respectfully to her and said, "And Kate?" She shook her head sadly.

"Kate ain't commin'," one of the men said.

Hans paused for a moment, then turned to Sadie. "How do you feel about being called Kate?"

"You'll take me with you?" she said haltingly. Hope started to ease the tense muscles across her back.

"I always meant to take you," he said softly. "This will just make it easier."

"Kate is a fine name," she said.

He turned back to the others. "Then we move tonight, and sail with the morning tide."

Hans and Sadie released the Baron's riding horses to find their way home, and mounted the extra horses the small group had waiting for them.

The rest of Hans' plan went smoothly. The soldiers did not question the Baron's letter, and they were all allowed to board the Sea Lion. Once on board, Hans conferred with the Captain.

"Plans on sinkin' the Sea Lion, does he now?" the Captain said. "Seems the cargo and Lady Christine are a mite inconvenient for his plans, eh? Well, I've been hankerin' after a new adventure. The New World jes might fit the bill, eh? We sail with the mornin' tide."

The next morning Sadie stood by the rail and looked back at the dock. The people bustling about the busy port were no bigger than her little finger. She stiffened as a cloud of dust rose on the road. A group of horses were being ridden hard towards the dock. Hans slipped up beside her and leaned on the railing.

"They're too late," he said. "The Sea Lion is the fastest ship in the docks. Even if they find another ship and set sail right away, they'll never catch us. It's the New World and a new life for us."

"Us?" she whispered.

"Us," he said firmly and laid his hand over hers. He hesitated and apprehension crossed his chiseled features. "I can't offer the civilized refinements that you deserve."

She twined her fingers through his as she said, "I could do with a little less civilization."

Treasures of wickedness profit nothing, but righteousness delivers from death. The LORD will not allow the righteous soul to famish, but He casts away the desire of the wicked. Proverbs 10:2-3 NKJV

Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with Thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:6-7 NKJV

A-MAZING STORY or A LABYRINTH OF WORDS

Stories of labyrinths and mazes span the centuries and cover the globe. Although they are similar, their goals are quite different. Mazes are constructed of false paths and dead-end corridors. They seek to confuse and mislead. A labyrinth has only one path. It takes you on a journey or pilgrimage covering all the points until you reach the center.

Other than garden and corn mazes, I never gave much thought to them until I visited Grace Cathedral in San Francisco. While touring this beautiful and impressive structure, I came to an open area. On the floor was a large labyrinth. Its purpose was to provide a path for meditation and reflection. I had come expecting to admire an elaborately constructed edifice, but instead I was impressed by an event I hadn't anticipated.

A number of people were making their way through the labyrinth. One woman had reached the center and was kneeling down with covered face and apparently deep in prayer or meditation. I was a little surprised to find myself watching this event as a tourist. Before me was a woman in the presence of God, and perhaps in the center of His will for her life.

It made me wonder if others see me the way I saw this woman. Do people perceive me as passing through life's labyrinth with purpose and in God's presence? Or do they view me as someone searching for meaning, passing through life's mazes and coming to one dead end after another? Sometimes things, even noble things, can take our eyes off our true paths.

A story is told of a little schoolboy that was asked to walk a straight line through the snow. To the surprise of his teacher, he did just that. By keeping his eyes on a tree in the field across from him, he was able to walk a straight line towards it.

Our life path will be directed by whatever we walk towards. As the proverb says – without a vision the people perish.

Then Peter, turning around, saw the disciple whom Jesus loved following,...Peter, seeing him, said to Jesus,"But Lord, what about this man?" Jesus said to him,"If I will that he remain till I come, what is that to you? You follow Me." John 21: 20-22 NKJV

For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. 2 Timothy 1:7 NKJV

A SHOWER OF BUTTERFLIES

I held my breath and listened to the soft sound of water dripping. Where was it? I scanned the room. Splat. There, from the ceiling.

The shower was running in the room above. I charged up the stairs knowing what awaited me. For months we had talked about replacing the shower tiles. It looked like the moment was here.

The wall was soft and spongy to the touch. I dreaded discovering what lay beneath those mundane, faded blue tiles. What horror lurked in the moist darkness?

We headed to the store to get some advice. They didn't have scheduled classes on tiling, so we settled for a video. How hard could it be?

We marched straight to the tile selection. There were so many choices. Too many. Ceramic, stone, small, large, geometric, floral, animals. While I was gripped with indecision, an army of mildew was settling comfortably onto my shower walls with smug assurance.

I pushed aside the thought. My head swam with elegant possibilities. No ordinary tiles would do. This was a once in a life time adventure. We needed something with personality. The array of patterns in front of me dulled. They were not worthy of our endeavor.

We left the store and headed for cyberspace. Common motifs gave way to eccentricity. There were patterns and pictures that might fit in a mansion, but not in our humble dwelling. Some of my enthusiasm for the extraordinary started to fade. After all, this was a row home and a very small bathroom. We didn't want to tile the whole room, just the shower. Someday we'd have to sell this creation.

Finally I found a small, unassuming mural of butterflies drifting through a window framed with stone. We added some single butterfly tiles – then just a few more. While we waited for our order to arrive, I spent the next week planning and re-planning the arrangement.

Finally the tiles arrived, and we began dismantling the walls. After a dirty morning of wet greenboard, rotted wood, cracked and broken tiles, and plenty of dust, we were exhilarated with our successful demolition. The mildew was defeated for the moment. The project was moving right along.

A trip to the store for supplies revealed that our optimism was premature. The adventure was just beginning. The old greenboard was a nonstandard thickness. This dilemma was not covered in the how-to video. It was time to improvise. We couldn't replace all the wallboard in the house. A thinner board and a lot more paste should make up the difference.

We managed to get the board home in one piece, and installed with only a minimum amount of crumbling on the corners. The blank wall stood before us like a canvas awaiting the artist's touch. Thus began the meticulous process of placing tiles on the wall. The next several weekends were spent measuring, cutting, sanding, pasting, and an occasional do-over. Ever so slowly the blank wall was transforming into a work of art.

In between weekends I made the mistake of searching the net for "how-to tile" sites. To my dismay I discovered that the paste we were using was not recommended for surfaces that would be inundated with water. I was sure we had told the store clerk that this was for a shower. He had seemed so sure of his selection.

So I searched the net further, hoping to find another site that would vindicate our choice. Sure enough. Just like politicians who vehemently defend their position, both products were alternately endorsed and berated.

By the time the next weekend rolled around we had decided to stick with our original plan. It was now or never, and we weren't starting over. Piece by piece the pattern was completed. We placed the last tile and stepped back to admire the result.

With satisfaction similar to what Michael Angelo must have felt, we admired the stunning masterpiece. The mural was centered at one end. Single butterflies fluttered about on the other two walls in a natural and seemingly random display. Magnificent.

Two years later, the tiles are still in place. The walls are firm and solid, and the butterflies radiate their colors. A two-day job for a professional only took us four months. We have the satisfaction of knowing we accomplished what few would care to attempt.

Our methods were not standard, but neither was the wallboard. Grit, grout, and determination mixed together to create something out of the ordinary. I can only hope that when the time comes to sell our house there is a buyer out there that can truly appreciate a bathroom with personality.

And whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him. Colossians 3:17 NKJV

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Philippians 4:13 NKJV

For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, Not of works, lest anyone should boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them. Ephesians 2:8-10 NKJV

A SHIP IN THE DARK

The blackness was tangible. Deep inside a ship is much like deep inside a cave. It's not just dark. There is complete absence of light.

It was about 1970 when I was a watchman for a shipyard. The job was staffed by people at both ends of the work spectrum. Young people still in school and just entering the job market, and retirees supplementing their income. My duty was to patrol the grounds and ships each hour, and check for anything hazardous or unusual.

That day we were informed that the power was going to be turned off on the ship. For a few minutes the interior would be without any light. We were warned so we wouldn't be caught in the dark.

I was young. This was too much of a challenge to pass up. I knew this ship. I passed though its winding tangle of corridors eight times each shift. I could probably walk through it in my sleep. When I worked midnights, I may have come close at times to doing just that.

I was deep inside the body of the ship when the lights went out. Moments later I missed a turn, and in no time at all I was lost. Sunshine surrounded the ship, but I was trapped in the dark until the lights came on.

We laugh at warnings and promptly lose our way. Often we don't even know when we're lost. Without the light we become disoriented and quickly wander into danger. Jesus said that He is the light of the world. Light is not always welcome. Sometimes we prefer the dark, but the blessing is in the light. When we follow Him, He makes us light.

In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. John 1:4 NKJV

Then Jesus spoke to them again, saying, "I am the light of the world. He who follows Me shall not walk in darkness, but have the light of life." John 8:12 NKJV

"While you have the light, believe in the light, that you may become sons of light." John 12:36a NKJV

OUT OF THE GREEN

Perched on a moss-speckled rock, Zerelda sat like a tiny jade figurine. She hugged her knees and shivered slightly. A sunbeam filtered down through the treetops and bathed her in a pool of limelight. Beside her lay a quill pen. Its feather was tinted green by the soft light.

Morning mist was burning off the meadows, but here in the woods a patch of fog clung to the edges of the rock surrounding it like a cloud. Flicking one wing forward, Zerelda brushed the dew off the tip and rubbed it until the light reflected an emerald glow.

The crunch of heavy shoes on tender grass made her stiffen. Mortals are such clumsy, noisy creatures she thought. Disrespectful of the living green, and crushing everything in their path. Then she heard faint singing. Her frustration and temper subsided as the woman's smooth contralto voice soothed her spirit. The simple tune grew stronger. Zerelda closed her eyes. Swaying gently, she began to keen a high descant. There were no words but the two voices blended together weaving a haunting, rich melody.

The singing suddenly stopped. She opened her eyes to see the woman standing at the edge of the clearing staring at her. Zerelda cleared her throat and bent down to tuck her leggings into her boots. Looking up she saw the surprised expression on the woman's face.

"I hope you weren't expecting a gossamer gown," she said. She flicked her wings scattering sparks around the clearing. "Much too cold this morning for that sort of nonsense!"

Carefully keeping her hands by her side, the woman slowly sat down so that she was on eye level with the pixie. Zerelda eyed her suspiciously. The woman smiled and remained still. Keeping an eye on her, Zerelda picked up the quill and ran her finger slowly down the length of the feather.

"Words for your music," Zerelda said softly. "Use it on the pages of your dreams."

She laid it on the rock, then flew up to a pine branch where she blended in perfectly. Behind her a shower of sparkling dust slowly descended in a patina onto the rock and settled over the quill.

The human carefully picked up the quill leaving its impression behind in the dust. She rubbed the iridescent powder between her fingers, and it melted into a green ink. She pulled a small notebook out of her pocket and swirled the tip of the quill in the powder on the rock. Then she began to hum and write.

Smiling, Zerelda gazed down at her from the pine tree. Only her chartreuse eyes betrayed her presence.

Happy is the man who finds wisdom, And the man who gains understanding; For her proceeds are better than the profits of silver, And her gain than fine gold. She is more precious than rubies, And all the things you may desire cannot compare with her. Proverbs 3:13-15 NKJV

If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him. James 1:5 NKJV

BUILDING A THRONE

Before space travel became scientific and unromantic, I was a science fiction fan. That was when science fiction required imagination and not just special effects. If there had been a Blockbuster, the "science fiction" and "horror" sections would not have been synonymous.

In that era, the original Star Trek made its debut. The thrill of the adventure made us willing to overlook the cheap sets and props that filled the show. Several decades later Hollywood was still trying to profit from the space craze. "Enterprise," a Star Trek spin-off, was set in the time period before the original show. The early episodes of this weekly serial captured some of the innocence and simplicity that made old space shows fun.

In one episode the Enterprise enters an area of space that, unbeknown to the crew, is filled with deadly radiation. The deeper they travel into this dangerous radiation, the greater their exposure. The result is a sickness that affects the crew's mental state. They begin to focus on trivial and insignificant things around them while thinking these minor things are vastly important.

The captain is writing an introduction to a book about his father that is about to be published on earth. He can't be deterred from this task even to make crucial decisions necessary to run the ship. The cook is out sick, and the communications officer volunteers to cook for the crew. She becomes totally immersed in getting each dish of the meal to taste "just right" while the crew goes hungry. A crewmember goes to sickbay with a headache, and the doctor becomes obsessed with finding the cause. Overlooking the fact that it would be detrimental to the patient, the doctor decides to dissect the crewmember's brain. Fortunately he is stopped before doing any harm.

My favorite scene is when the captain casually mentions that he would like his chair adjusted. The chief engineer takes this challenge to heart. He not only adjusts the chair but proceeds to add modifications and amenities. Soon he is designing cup holders and picking out fancy upholstery. His enthusiastic comment to the captain is, "I'm going to build you a throne!"

All this time the ship is plunging deeper and deeper into the deadly radiation zone that will soon snuff out the entire crew. Fortunately for our heroes, there is a Vulcan on board. Although she is not immune, her well-disciplined mind is able to overcome the effects of the radiation and she saves the ship.

I wonder sometimes if I have been exposed to some of this same radiation. How do I spend my time and energy? Am I focusing on things that have no eternal value? For who, or what, am I building a throne?

Wherever your treasure is, there your heart and thoughts will also be. Matthew 6:21 NLT

The LORD is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. I will call upon the LORD, who is worthy to be praised; so shall I be saved from my enemies. Psalm 18:2-3 NKJV

NARROW BRIDGES

Two men balanced on the slippery, primitive bridge. It was nothing more than a large tree that spanned the river. In true schoolboy fashion they faced off to determine who would yield.

"Give way to a better man."

"He stands before you."

Those familiar with the legend, or with the Errol Flynn movie, will instantly recognize the scene where Robin Hood and Little John meet for the first time. Robin takes stock of his opponent. Always looking for new recruits who are bold, strong, and brave, he decides to test the metal of this stranger. At the same time he expects to demonstrate his own superiority.

The spectacle that follows is the two men battling it out with their staffs like medieval Jedi warriors. Will Scarlet sits on the bank and strums on a mandolin. He seems to find amusement in watching the battle for supremacy.

The only humility here is that which comes from the humiliation Robin Hood gets when he is bested by Little John and knocked into the river. He comes up laughing. All in good sport, and Little John joins the band of merry men.

The movie is full of the romance of castles and knights with plenty of good old-fashioned swashbuckling. It has the fun, fanciful fighting of the '30s and lacks the harshness of today's film battles.

In another time, on another bridge, there is a different scene. A true story unfolds about John Wesley, an 18th century preacher and the founder of the Methodist movement. Wesley also comes to a brook with a narrow bridge. He begins to cross and encounters a not so pious preacher of his day coming from the other direction.

When the other preacher sees Wesley, he puffs up with pride and declares, "I never give way to a fool."

Wesley looks at him for a moment, smiles, and begins to back off saying, "I always do."

The Robin Hood legend fills us with admiration of the noble and heroic. Wesley's story fills us with quiet wisdom as he demonstrates building a better bridge with humility.

A hot-tempered man stirs up dissension, but a patient man calms a quarrel. Proverbs 15:18 NIV

He has not dealt with us according to our sins, nor punished us according to our iniquities. For as the heavens are high above the earth, so great is His mercy toward those who fear Him; As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us. Psalm 103:10-12 NKJV

A CANYON MOMENT

We descended uneven, primitive steps cut into the stone. Sandstone walls rose majestically above us on either side. Relentless forces of weather and time had eroded them leaving behind thin fins. Sunlight squeezed through cracks, but it was too faint to chase away the shadows. Morning had arrived, but night still lingered on the canyon floor.

Small piles of rocks, called cairns, were placed strategically to mark the path. Most were just small pieces of sandstone piled on top of each other, but some were clever miniatures of the hoodoos and arch formations in the park.

Someone had thought the path resembled a narrow street with skyscrapers, and they named the trail Park Avenue. Perched atop one of the imagined buildings was a formation that others saw as Nefertiti, the Egyptian queen. Desert varnish stained the walls in streaks like smoke stains from some giant's campfire.

The trail led into a dry streambed. Gnarled trees clung precariously to the banks like large pieces of stranded driftwood. The twisted trunks looked dead, but green pine needles covered the branches.

Water had once swirled and scoured its way through the canyon, eating away at the soft stone and undercutting the banks. Ripple marks were etched into the rock and sand. Rocks and holes were exposed that would have created eddies and rapids when the stream was full and flowing. A large boulder dominated the center of the riverbed where the waters would have rushed by on either side.

It made me think of the parting of the Red Sea when ancient Israel fled from the Egyptians. Were there people in that group who were interested in geology? Did any of them pause to exclaim over a rock or indentation that had become visible with the parting of the waters? Did anyone need to be hurried along by a family member as they lagged behind to examine some feature? Or perhaps, as I think I might have been, were they all absorbed in the fear of the moment and simply intent on escaping?

This trail was not a loop. When we reached the end we turned around to retrace our steps. On the way back we began to encounter other hikers. This amazing world was no longer ours alone. The early morning magic faded as twilight lifted and people arrived, but it was replaced by a new world alive with vivid colors.

We climbed the steps and turned for a last glimpse. Fine details that had been hidden in the shadows were now visible. Light rose above the east wall of the canyon and spread its warmth below.

You have seen what I did to the Egyptians, and how I bore you on eagles' wings and brought you to Myself. Exodus 19:4 NKJV

Come and see the works of God; He is awesome in His doing toward the sons of men. He turned the sea into dry land; they went through the river on foot. There we will rejoice in Him. Psalm 66:5-6 NKJV

THE SCIENTIFIC CAT

Cats, like people, have their own personalities and characteristics. There are expert hunters, moochers, aristocrats who have little use for those around them, and celebrities who spend their days lounging on pillows and eating out of china. Our cat, however, is a scientist.

We first discovered this small gray and white cat when some neighborhood children pointed her out. She peeked through the fence with suspicion. We had interrupted her study of bird lore. After that encounter, she took to sleeping in our flowerbed. On some trash days there was evidence the bags had been opened and the contents examined. Part of her research and lab work no doubt.

It wasn't long before she moved in with us, and we discovered her name was Pandora. Once her financial situation was stabilized, she was free to give up bird lore and the analysis of landfills to seek more erudite academic pursuits. Of course there were the usual routine medical checkups before beginning her new residency. Soon she was firmly ensconced in our home, and ready to begin her independent studies.

Her first course of investigation involved plate tectonics, the study of continental plates shifting over the earth's interior. Being a practical cat, she set up her studies using resources at hand. Her simulation used a 5 x 8 rug, a tile floor, and a ten-pound weight propelled across the room at rapid speed. She really put herself into her studies, and used her own body weight.

From geology she moved to the study of sunlight and its effect on the body. Our living room provided the perfect laboratory for solar energy experiments. By following the sunlight as it traveled across the room, Pandora was able to ponder the effects of sunlight on the body during different intensities of the day. In the late afternoon, she could often be found curled up in a pool of sunlight pondering absorbed data.

One of her favorite studies was the intricacy of string theory. Spurning the idea of fancy, expensive equipment, she chose a simple shoelace attached to a dedicated and easily amused attendant. She was content to pursue this line of thinking for long periods of time. Her attendants did not exhibit the same passion for science and became tired or bored long before her theories were completed. She was then forced to wait until the attendant was willing to participate in more string play. During one session she discovered a direct correlation to her plate tectonics experiment, but that is still a controversial theory. Due to the unreliability of her attendants, she was unable to substantiate the proof.

In the winter she became engrossed with the study of thermal heat sources. During the night she took notes on the efficiency of down blankets and their effectiveness at sealing in warmth. This sometimes involved sleeping on a down blanket. On particularly cold nights, she created a "down cave" from the blanket, not unlike an igloo.

In the morning she moved to the study of hot air currents by positioning herself at varying distances from the vent. She was known to complain about budgeting problems when the thermostat was set too low. At times she simply extended her "down" time until the heat was adjusted and the vent was working properly for her experiments to continue.

Pandora is retired now, but still stays active. She monitors and coaches my morning exercise routines, but much of her time is spent as a consultant testing pet beds and their effectiveness. When we inquire about her past discoveries, she is happy to discuss them. However, due to language barriers and technical terminology, we have not been able to fully grasp her explanations. Occasionally, when an attendant is available, she will still dabble in some string theory.

"Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Tell Me, if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements? Surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? To what were its foundations fastened? Or who laid its cornerstone, When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy? Job 38:4-7 NKJV

Have you not known? Have you not heard? The everlasting God, the LORD, the Creator of the ends of the earth, neither faints nor is weary. His understanding is unsearchable. Isaiah 40:28 NKJV

DOG TAGS

Concrete steps led down into the missile silo and back in time. The oppressive Tucson heat faded.

Once again it was the height of the cold war, and the Cuban missile crisis was threatening the world. My father worked at the Cheyenne missile base just outside of town. I was wearing my new lavender and purple cotton dress that my mother had finished making the night before. I dropped my dog tags inside the dress where they lay cold against my skin. All the children in Cheyenne had been issued the metal tags imprinted with our name and address. Grownups said it was so that if we got lost during a missile attack, they would know where we lived. My friends and I didn't talk much about it, but we all knew what "lost" really meant.

When the cold war ended, the missile silo was turned into a museum, a reminder of a dark time and of those who guarded our country. Our tour guide stopped outside a set of massive steel doors and picked up an old telephone receiver.

"This is where the two relief airmen would call inside the launch center and report for duty."

We crowded into the small narrow room with a set of imposing doors at each end.

"Once inside this small chamber, the outside doors would shut."

I could almost hear a low hum as I pictured the doors swinging slowly together and sealing with an ominous, metallic thud. I looked back to reassure myself that they weren't moving.

"The airmen would have three minutes to pick up the next phone and give the correct code. If they failed, the doors stayed locked leaving them trapped in this passageway until they were apprehended."

Our guide led us through the second set of doors and down a hallway. Huge metal coils were built into the walls on both sides. They looked like parts from a mountain troll's innerspring mattress.

"The entire launch site is built on a complex series of shock absorbers," he said. "This building is constructed to remain functional through a nuclear attack or a natural disaster such as an earthquake. They even had their own independent water and food supply."

I could hear Dad talking to Mother.

"We'll stay in the hall away from all the windows. We can pull the mattresses off the beds and put them against the walls in the hallway to protect us. If needed, we can use water from the hot water tank."

Canned food and gallon containers of water were stored in the closet. It was exciting to think about camping in the house. We didn't know that all our plans were totally inadequate. In my mind my dad was invincible, and as long as I was home with my family I wasn't really afraid.

The tour moved into a control room that could have been used in the opening scene of the movie "War Games." For the twelve hours that the two airmen were on duty, they were never allowed to be alone in this room. Their only communication with the outside world would be a launch order.

I felt my stomach tighten as my second grade teacher stood before our class.

"We're dismissing school early today," she said as she passed out papers. "You are to go directly home. Walk quickly, but don't run. When you get home, have your mother write down the time. If there is an attack, we need to know who to send home and who will stay here."

My heart pounded as I took my paper. We lined up at the door, and she gave the signal. I waited until I was out of sight of the building. Then I ran. But I realized that if I got home too soon they would know, so I slowed to a fast walk. Soon my fear got the best of me, and I was running again. When I neared my house I slowed down to get my breathing under control. Mother was waiting at the door for me. She took the paper and carefully wrote down the time.

She smiled at me and said, "Did you run?"

I hesitated. "Not much," I said.

As the tour ended I realized that the missile crisis had left an indelible mark on my life, but it was not one of fear or dread. Cheyenne was never attacked, but the SAC Air Force base had a big impact on our lives.

When I returned home, I searched out my dog tag and once again held it in my hand. A piece of my own history. A touchstone for a memory that ties me to a unique place in time.

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, even though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; Though its waters roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with its swelling. Selah Psalm 46:1-3 NKJV

LORD, You have been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever You had formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, You are God. Psalm 90:1-2 NKJV

THE STEEL CAT

John shifted his tall frame trying to get comfortable in the cramped airplane seat. His diving suit and other small diving apparatus were safely stored in his carry on bag. He wasn't taking any chances on not having them if the airline lost his baggage. If they lost his extra clothes and other items, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that nothing stopped his dive. He would rent the tanks and other large items.

He closed his eyes. His thoughts drifted back to the port town of Bay City, Michigan where a small shipyard had been commissioned by Australia to build several war ships. Although surrounded by the Great Lakes, Michigan was not easily accessible. Once finished the ships would be taken through the Saginaw Bay to Lake Huron, then on to Lake Erie and Lake Ontario before passing through the Locks into the St. Lawrence River, and finally to the Atlantic Ocean.

His father worked at Defoe Shipyard. When he was fifteen his father had taken him on a tour of the newly finished Australian ship, the HMAS Brisbane. John remembered the thrill of walking along the deck and seeing cannons that could fire a five-inch shell several miles. The armament that captured his young imagination was the missile launchers. They toured the living quarters that could house over 300 sailors. He imagined living on the ship for months or years at a time as he traveled the sea on exciting adventures.

That tour of the ship led him to a love of water and of diving. For the next several summers, his father sent him to diving camps where he learned how to dive and earned his accreditation. When the draft for Vietnam came, his love of the water led him to the Navy where he served on a war ship for four years.

John sat up as the stewardess served his row the typical airline version of a meal. She was about forty. Her straight blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail must have been dyed. It showed no signs of gray. She reminded him of Jennifer in tenth grade.

When the Australian government commissioned the building of the Brisbane, they sent an engineer along with his family to oversee the project. Their teenage daughter, Jennifer, was in his class at school. She was stunning with her long, silky blonde hair, blue eyes the color of the sea, and of course her captivating accent. She fascinated John, but he never really had a chance to get to know her. She was an instant hit with everyone and had her pick of friends.

He didn't know what happened to Jennifer when she moved back to Australia, nor did he care. His visit was centered around the very special dive he had planned. He ran through the checklist in his mind one more time to be sure that he had covered every detail. Satisfied, he leaned back and thumbed through the Sydney travel book focusing on the history of the port.

The stewardess was back to pick up headsets. He closed the book and took a familiar picture out of his shirt pocket. During his tour of duty in Vietnam he spent a week of leave time in Sydney. It had been such a relief to be out of the cramped quarters of his ship and free to walk the busy streets of the city. But after a short time he found himself drawn again to the port.

After walking along the wharf, he stopped for dinner at a small homey pub called the Flying Seagull. There he met the proprietor's son Ian and his friend Sam. The three of them spent the evening exchanging stories and sharing their love of diving. They were both Aussie sailors who were shipping out on the Brisbane, now a commissioned war ship known affectionately as the Steel Cat.

They couldn't have been more different. Ian was a tall thin man with sparkling eyes and a crooked smile. Sam was a bull of a man in stature, but soft spoken. On his back was a tattoo of the Biblical Samson pulling down the pillars of the Philistine temple. He looked the part. His forearms bulged with muscles and his chest was massive. His wide back made a perfect canvas for the tattoo. The only thing lacking in the image was that while Samson had long hair, Sam wore a typical close shaved military cut.

"Hey mate, let's take him on a walk about of the ole' Steel Cat" Sam had said. And they did. This tour of the Brisbane was different. Now John understood the reality of the armament in a personal and intimate way. The picture he held was of the three on them on the deck.

John felt a slight difference in cabin pressure. The airline captain announced, "We're beginning our descent into Sydney and will be landing in about forty minutes. Temperature there is 80 degrees with a slight breeze. If you're sitting by the window on the left side of the plane, you'll have a view of the harbor and the clear blue water of the port. We'll be arriving about twenty minutes ahead of schedule, which should give you a slight jump on your plans for the day. Thank you for flying with us."

John peered eagerly out the small window. The water looked the same as it had the day he had gone diving with Ian and Sam. It had been bright and sunny, and the water was refreshingly cool. The coral reef was spectacular with its myriad tropical creatures and vibrant colors that seemed to leap up at him through the clear water. Afterward they stretched out on the sand and talked for hours about shipwrecks and treasure hunting.

Would the Flying Seagull still look the same after thirty-five years? Ian and Sam would be meeting him at the airport. He hoped he would recognize them.

The plane landed. John gathered his bag and strode down the ramp. He spotted Ian immediately. His hair was gray, but he was still tall and thin. His bright eyes sparkled out of a now much wrinkled and weather tanned face. The familiar crooked smile was the same. Sam was not as muscular but was still a formidable figure. On his right arm was a new tattoo. The laughing face of a pretty woman with long curling tresses covered his bicep.

"Her name was Susan when we was together and I had 'er painted on, but I just call her Delilah now." He grinned.

As they walked to the car they talked about the next day's adventure.

"Are ye ready for the Steel Cat, mate? She's 110 below."

John grinned. "You bet! I've been planning this for months."

Their diving reservation was for 9:00 a.m. the next morning. When the HMAS Brisbane was retired, the government had sunk it in the Australian waters to make it a diving museum and a coral reef. They were ready and eager to make the tourist dive and visit their old friend, the Steel Cat.

This great and wide sea, In which are innumerable teeming things, Living things both small and great. There the ships sail about; there is that leviathan which you have made to play there. These all wait for You that You may give them their food in due season. Psalm 104:25-27 NKJV

The sea is His, for He made it; and His hands formed the dry land. Psalm 95:5 NKJV

A TRIP TO MARS HILL

Lowell's Observatory in Flagstaff, Arizona

Faced with an evening of flipping through endless TV channels in our hotel room, we sought the nightlife instead. We went looking for stars and were not disappointed. To my delight, we discovered that the historic Lowell's Observatory would be open to the public for sky viewing. The night's celebrity was Saturn.

This had to be an event with limited appeal, so we stopped first for a leisurely dinner. Then we made our way up Mars hill, the place where Percival Lowell studied the canals of Mars.

We expected only a few other stray tourists. Instead we were startled to find the parking lot filling up, and people rushing to find a place in line. It began at the door and wound down the sidewalk. We parked quickly and got in line just before the bus arrived. The crowd behind us grew. It began to look like opening night of a block buster movie at the local theatre.

The crowd's anticipation was contagious. An employee came out to give us the ground rules. Before being allowed to pay our entrance fee, she had to explain their refund policy. There was a possibility that by the time we got our turn to look through the telescope it might be too cloudy to see anything. There would be no refunds for bad weather, long lines, overcrowding, cold weather, etc. Once they had our money, it was clear they weren't giving it back for any reason.

The announcement did not dim the enthusiasm. No one was daunted by these caveats. Eagerly the crowd pushed forward to lay down money for the chance to see Saturn through the historic telescope. The same telescope that was used by Lowell in his study of Mars.

Then everyone raced up the hill where the line was reforming. This time outside the building that housed the telescope where we would get our ten second peek at Saturn.

It looked like a long wait, but there was no lack of entertainment. Behind us a German teenage exchange student broke into a spontaneous dance, probably to keep warm. A boy from her sponsor family unabashedly accompanied her by performing a musical rendition of bug speech from the movie Men in Black.

Ahead of us in line, a son animatedly explained to his father that he should not push any buttons that would turn on lights and spoil the view. Another man was asking why they had to keep moving the telescope. He seemed surprised as his son patiently explained that the Earth and Saturn were moving. The adjustments were needed to keep Saturn in view.

An employee came out to give us an orientation on what we would be seeing. Using a laser pen, she pointed to Saturn. No actual beam of light stretched towards the planet or bounced off a cloud. We were expected to draw an imaginary line from her hand to the planet, give or take a parsec.

Finally it was my turn. Climb a couple steps. Lean over for a quick peek. The image through the eyepiece came into focus. Centered on the dark backdrop of space, Saturn dominated the stage. The stunning rings crowned the planet like no other object in the sky. Four barely visible moons showed as tiny dots, captured in a snapshot of their dance around the majestic orb.

In spite of the cloudy night, it was a stunning sight. It was the stuff that science fiction tales are made of. I gazed with the same wonder as a shepherd boy named David who looked at the stars three thousand years ago. I shared the same excitement as those early astronomers who turned the first feeble telescopes toward the dark sky. The thrill had not dimmed over the millennia.

On our way back down the hill we stopped to look at the moon through a small telescope. The student volunteer said the telescopes were open for viewing until 10:00 p.m. After that everyone had to leave because no one wanted to be there after midnight.

We asked why? What happens at midnight? In the confusion of the moment we didn't get an answer. We still wonder. What does happen at midnight? I'm pretty sure it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that Lowell's mausoleum is also located on Mars Hill....

After viewing the moon, we headed off with the rest of our fellow planet gazers to the lecture hall. There we were treated to an informative, if somewhat elementary, lecture on the night sky. Most of the information was not new, though some of it was a bit beyond me. All of it was fun and it seemed that everyone in the room felt the same way.

On the way back to our car, I looked up to see the stars. Although it was quite dark and the sky looked clear, I knew it must still be cloudy because it was easy to pick out the constellations. Usually the Arizona sky is so filled with stars that the familiar patterns are hidden in the multitude. Constellations that I can pick out quickly in our hazy skies at home are perfectly camouflaged.

Flagstaff's stellar nightlife was awesome.

When I look at the night sky and see the work of your fingers – the moon and the stars you have set in place – what are mortals that you should think of us, mere humans that you should care for us? Psalm 8:3-4 NLT

UNCLE JOE

Shoes, shoes, shoes. Footgear has been a problem in all ages – finding just the right thing to wear for the right occasion, not to mention the comfort factor.

I remember one occasion from youth when shoes became a focal point of my day. It's really a trivial story, or would have been if my Uncle Joe had stayed out of it. I am really glad he didn't.

It was back in the '60s in a small town in the Midwest where my dad pastored a small church. It was Sunday morning, if I remember the occasion correctly. My Uncle Joe and his family were visiting us. For some reason Dad asked me to polish his shoes before church that morning. He was probably too busy to do it himself. To my recollection, it was something that he hadn't asked me to do before or after that day. This should have been an honor. But being young and not the product of strict discipline or one that delights in new duties, I protested and objected, proving myself unworthy of the task.

Things might have gone poorly but for dear Uncle Joe, a saintly man of great humility. Uncle Joe was our guest and a man I greatly respected. He quietly offered to polish my dad's shoes in my place. I was stunned. It was out of the question. It only took me a moment to recover enough to take the job myself. I couldn't let Uncle Joe do it.

The lesson I learned that morning wasn't in obeying my father or in doing small necessary jobs, as important as those lessons are. I learned humility from Uncle Joe. His humble offer was crushing for me and made a powerful impression. His offer was healing and restoring. It brought peace and love, something the '60s never did. The shoes themselves were incidental.

I never learned to love polishing shoes, not even the ones Dad wore to preach in. I did learn to love Dad's sermons and his teaching, and if I ever get another opportunity I think I'd like another shot at polishing his shoes.

How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news... Isaiah 52:7a NKJV

But those who wait on the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint. Isaiah 40:31 NKJV

A MICHIGAN MEMORY

The cold bit at my toes as I padded down the wooden steps and onto the linoleum kitchen floor. Scurrying up to the wall, I lifted the hem of my flannel nightgown over the air vent. Hot air flowed from the furnace filling my gown and expanding it like a tent. Standing there basking in the warmth, my shivering stopped.

"Morning dear," my mother said over her shoulder. She stood by the small electric grill where she was making breakfast.

"Morning," I answered.

The flannel became too hot to touch, so I turned around and let the air flow up my back as I looked out the window. Snow again. It had been snowing for days, and it would be a long cold walk to school. My brother and I would have to shovel the walk again before we left. Banks of piled snow from previous shoveling were so high now they were almost over my head.

My brother was already eating. Slipping into my chair, I curled my feet underneath me and wrapped them in the bottom of my nightgown. The cloth was still hot, and the cold melted away from my toes.

Batter sizzled on the grill. We had pancakes almost every school morning. On the weekend my brother and I were on our own for breakfast, though even then we often had pancakes. The difference was that I was the one who made them on Saturday.

Bubbles formed and popped on the pancakes as they cooked on the first side. Steam rose in a wispy spiral, and the air above the grill shimmered from the rising heat. Mother knew just when to flip them so they came out light and fluffy.

My brother was eating standard round pancakes. Mine were in the shape of animals, usually rabbits or bears. I was almost a teenager and too old for such nonsense, but it was a carry over from when I was a little girl and a picky eater. Mother had tried everything to get me to eat. The animal shapes became tradition. I wouldn't say so out loud but I still found it fun. I think Mother knew.

She placed the steaming rabbit shapes on my plate. I smothered them in butter. Thick yellow streams flowed over the sides and ran to the edge of the plate as it melted. Syrup came in a glass bottle shaped like a log cabin. It had just the right maple sweetness to compliment those fluffy pancakes.

Out of habit, I ate the head of the rabbit first so it didn't feel any pain. Long draughts of ice cold milk cut through the sticky sweetness with just the right balance.

When breakfast was over, we rushed to our rooms to get dressed. It was still cold upstairs. The snow was still falling outside. But my stomach was stuffed with warm sweet pancakes, and I was fortified to face the day.

She also rises while it is yet night, and provides food for her household Proverbs 31:15a NKJV

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10 NIV

A WALK IN THE WOODS

Vacationing in Chiricahua National Park, Arizona

There were still a few hours left in the day, and we were ready for an adventure. The hiking map consisted of just a few highly interpretive lines. Its cryptic diagram did not daunt us. After all, we were experienced.

Huge rocks surrounded us in a spectacular display of tall spires and weird formations. They had been created when pumice and ash spewed out of a volcano 27 million years ago, or at least some time long before written history. The eruption was 1,000 times greater than the 1980 eruption of Mount St. Helens. We weren't present for either event. We're taking the word of geologists on this.

We like to refer to our walks in the woods as hiking, although real hikers would scoff at our lack of stamina. The selected trail was slightly longer than our three-mile endurance level, but we were confident our enthusiasm would carry us the extra distance.

What we lacked in energy and fortitude, we made up for in imagination. The display of fantastic rocks conjured up images of a violent, ancient world. Fortunately the land had cooled over the millennia. The air was crisp and we reveled in the joy of wearing jackets while hiking in Arizona.

In one of our favorite stories, the wise guide instructs his friends to "stay on the path." The usual presumption of the park service is that hikers will follow this advice. This assumes that you are actually able to distinguish the path. This trail turned out to be more user-friendly than most, and the hike started smoothly. Occasional signs gave directions and distances to different points.

We stopped at all the appropriate spots along the way taking pictures and enjoying the scenery. Occasionally a tall spire briefly hid the sun, creating patches of shade and hinting of the coming cold night.

After a couple hours, I was reaching my fatigued stage. The last twenty minutes had all been up hill. The parking lot had to be close, but we needed a landmark to find our location on the map. We finally came to a sign, and it listed the distance to Inspiration Point as one mile.

An uneasy feeling settled over me. I thought Inspiration Point was at the end of a different trail. To my dismay the map confirmed this suspicion. We were nowhere near the parking lot. Somewhere along the way we had made a wrong turn, and were now heading out into the wilderness.

We studied the map carefully. It gets extremely dark in the woods once the sun goes down. We did not have a flashlight. My stomach told me it was getting close to suppertime. The M&Ms and Doritos were gone, and we were on our last bottle of water.

Cool weather was perfect for hiking, but the thought of a cold night in the woods gave me the shivers. Not just from the cold, but at the possibility of being an unwelcome visitor after dark. That's when the woodland's nightshift inhabitants come out.

The thought of a twilight meeting with a raccoon or bear renewed my energy. We had trudged the last mile uphill, but now started back down the mountain at a brisk pace. It was reckless to go too fast. The trail was covered with loose gravel, and a quick walk could easily turn into a fast slide or a turned ankle.

Shadows deepened making the trail blur and blend with dry washes and deer paths. Finally we stumbled

across the illusive marker and discovered a fork in the trail. We had taken the Scenic Wonders Path, and missed the parking lot pointer.

After a sharp right turn, we toiled back up the mountain. Weariness now set in a second time as the adrenaline rush wore off. Feeling confident we were now heading the right direction, we paused to catch our breath.

Dark rock spires showed against the skyline and blocked the setting sun. The last rays of sunlight framed each one with a thin flame of fire giving it a bright halo.

If we had taken the correct turn at the right time, we would have missed this beautiful sight. Sometimes the exceptional things in life come only after experiencing something unpleasant or unplanned. Sometimes God leads us on paths that we would not choose, so He can show us something we would not ordinarily see.

Although the whole experience was inspiring, we never made it to Inspiration Point. We also discovered (thankfully) that we could walk more than three miles in a pinch. According to our reckoning we had hiked about seven miles. Some at a rather brisk pace!

I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. Isaiah 42:16a NIV

You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You. Isaiah 26:3 NKJV

SIDE THOUGHTS

We live in the last house at the end of a group of row homes. It's also at the end of the street, which is an additional pleasant advantage. This gives us a kind of kinship with Bilbo Baggins of Bag-End. Of course our home is not set in the side of a hill. We're not nearly as well off as Mr. Baggins, but we do have a fire hydrant and a streetlight. At one time we even had a postal pick up box, until e-mail made it obsolete.

When we bought our home, the tiny piece of ground called a yard was a vast empty grassland. We couldn't bear the thought of no trees. So we planted several not knowing how many would actually survive to maturity.

Our skills at cultivation were better than we anticipated. Our tiny saplings grew into a small forest consisting of one red maple, a flowering cherry, three dogwoods, a holly tree, and several lilac bushes that would like to become trees if given the opportunity.

When the weather is just right, we take out our lawn chairs and retreat into the forest. Usually this is at twilight after a full day of activity. In that transitional time between day and night, the yard takes on a magical quality.

There is a scientific explanation to this regarding the way the human eye adapts to longer and shorter light rays, but the powers of scientific explanation diminish as the night approaches. Fading light tints the leaves and grass with an alien hue. Fireflies wink in and out. Details take on an otherworldly depth and sharpness. The earthy aroma of vegetation adds to the mystery and the illusion that the world is young.

This fantasy world would be incomplete without statuary. Several gnomes and a fox reside in our yard. An elderly, melancholy gnome with a bald head sits under the holly tree and thinks concrete thoughts. Beneath one of the dogwood trees another sleeps comfortably with a satisfied but stony countenance. Partly hidden by a group of irises, a jolly gnome lies on his side and watches the world go by with an amused smile.

There used to be a fourth gnome. He sat under the birdbath with an open book and read. Sometime in the spring we discovered our reading gnome had left our world. We're not sure where he went. We don't think it had anything to do with twilight, and suspect it may have been more of a midnight caper.

At one time we heard a story about a family that had flamingos in the yard. They disappeared one day. The family started getting postcards from the flamingos as they passed through different cities in Europe telling what a great time they were having on vacation. Then one day, the flamingos reappeared.

So far we haven't received any postcards from our gnome. Maybe he has moved on to a more literate neighborhood. Maybe he was recruited by the library's "books on wheels" program. Maybe he just wanted to read to a new audience. The other gnomes aren't talking about it. We do hope that he hasn't come to a bad end, and that he has found a new family where he's happy.

During the day our yard is pretty normal. Neighborhood kids drop candy wrappers in the grass. Stray cats pass through on business of their own and occasionally stop to rest in, or under, one of the trees. Birds eat berries from the holly and dogwoods, and the noise from traffic and ice cream trucks fills the air. But at twilight, when the crepuscular creatures appear, bats mostly, our yard has an enchantment all its own.

Many, O LORD my God, are Your wonderful works which You have done; Your thoughts toward us cannot be recounted to You in order; If I would declare and speak of them, they are more than can be numbered. Psalm 40:5 NKJV

Let the field be joyful, and all that is in it. Then all the trees of the woods will rejoice before the LORD. Psalm 96:12 NKJV

You make the outgoings of the morning and evening rejoice. Psalm 65:8b NKJV

THE TREE

Morning sun crept over the horizon and captured the bare white tree. The light seemed to flow from within making the wood glow. Red tips on the ends of the branches created a shimmering halo.

It was just a glimpse of something magical before my car carried me past, and I continued down the road to work.

The rest of the week was overcast. Days passed. Then once again the sunlight landed at just the right angle, and the tree was exposed in its unmistakable beauty. It was a star in the spotlight. The other trees and bushes were just supporting cast in the shadows behind it.

As I drove by this spot in the following months, each season brought a different scene.

In winter the trees were a mass of stark poles and thin sticks with no individual identity. They seemed to want to huddle together for warmth, but the spaces between them were filled with frigid air.

Spring brought rain that drenched the bark leaving all the trees the same black, water-soaked color as the pavement. It woke the buds, and made the leaves sprout.

Hot summer breezes turned the air sticky and humid. At a time when it was too hot to think about heavy clothing, these trees crowded so closely together that they formed one long unbroken wall of overlapping foliage. It was impossible to tell where one tree ended and another began.

Then cooler weather slipped in and created a jumble of color. Russet, scarlet, and vivid gold leaves merged into abstract patterns like a woven tapestry. Some shed their leaves quickly, while others clung to their leaves as if reluctant to let go of a favorite worn garment. They drifted down over the roots creating a carpet that crept out onto the road. The only green remaining was on pine trees that were oblivious to the change of season and oncoming winter.

During those few short weeks of fall, the trees are no longer a faceless mass. They become individuals. Most of the year this tree is unremarkable. It blends with the others and is indistinguishable. But on those fall mornings when the sun touches it, this tree becomes unique in its beauty.

I think it is like that with me. It is only when God's light shines on me that I can be a blessing to those around me. It is the light of God that makes me an individual and gives me a beauty that I can share with others.

He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that brings forth its fruit in its season, whose leaf also shall not wither; and whatever he does shall prosper. Psalm 1:3 NKJV

He will swallow up death forever, and the LORD God will wipe away tears from all faces; Isaiah 25:8a NKJV

A SILVER OPPORTUNITY

What do a comedian, a garbage can, and a museum have in common? Roger was about to find out.

A rapping sound pulled him from the murkiness of sleep. He struggled out of the clinging grasp of the sagging sofa and stumbled to the door. A large cardboard box sat in the apartment hallway with a note taped to the top.

Screen Play Museum. Wizard of Oz exhibit. 2:00 p.m. Barney P.S. This is the Big One!

Roger ran his fingers through his rumpled hair. What crazy idea had his agent come up with this time? Sure he wanted comedian work, but Barney's latest bookings had bordered on the absurd and hinted of desperation. Maybe he needed a new agent.

He tugged at the box. Its light weight surprised him as he dragged it inside. After two paper cuts and a scraped knuckle from a loose staple, he got the box open. Leaning over, he peered inside. A garbage can? Why would Barney send him a garbage can? And was that a funnel?

Two hours later, Roger was clanking across the highly polished museum floor. Underneath the silver garbage can that surrounded his chest, his T-shirt was rumpled and uncomfortable. He wanted to scratch his head, but it was covered in the metal funnel. Some comedy gig, he thought. Playing to a crowd of school children and promoting the new Oz exhibit. This was Barney's idea of the Big One?

He rounded the corner. The floor changed from white marble to yellow brick. With a sigh he took his place beside a cardboard tree and shifted his Styrofoam axe to his shoulder.

He flinched as the door opened and a mass of screaming children rushed into the room. They hung on the railing, pointing and laughing. Their high, piercing voices made his head ache. He wished the funnel covered his ears.

A clink, clink, clink resonated up his back and around his pounding head. Someone was daring to rap on his garbage can! He gripped the axe tighter. Determined to scare the little sneak, he twisted his face into an ugly grimace. Slowly he turned around while raising the axe.

The sneer faded leaving his jaw hanging open. The axe slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor with a soft thump. The mocking voices of the children dulled to an incoherent buzz. He closed his mouth.

Before him stood the most stunning woman he had ever seen. Her blue eyes sparkled, and an amused smile rested on her perfect lips. The blue and white pinafore and wicker basket only enhanced her appeal.

"Hello," she said. "I'm Dorothy."

There is one who makes himself rich, yet has nothing; and one who makes himself poor, yet has great riches. Proverbs 13:7 NKJV

Do not exalt yourself in the presence of the king, and do not stand in the place of the great; For it is better that he say to you, "Come up here," than that you should be put lower in the presence of the prince, whom your eyes have seen. Proverbs 25:6-7 NKJV

THE VERY LARGE ARRAY

Visiting New Mexico

Nothing. This just wouldn't do. It was our last day of vacation, and nothing suggesting a memory maker was jumping off the map. We had done Roswell, Carlsbad, and White Sands. What was left to feed our jaded appetites?

Not that we were looking for a heart-thumping, adrenaline-pumping, screaming, adventure. We were thinking more along the line of some breathtaking scenery, a pleasant hike, or maybe an historical site. We wouldn't have minded all three together. A side trip was the only answer.

Our chosen point of interest was scrawled across the map. A vague mark pinpointed our destination, the National Radio Astronomy Observatory VLA Telescope. Surely something with a name like that would have something of interest. According to the tour book, VLA stands for Very Large Array. It is aptly named because it is made up of 27 antennas that can be placed anywhere from 2,000 feet to 13 miles away from the control center.

It might take an hour or so to walk through the visitor's center, look through the gift shop and check out one of the antennas. There was plenty of time.

After sleeping in and a leisurely breakfast, we headed out. We made several false starts getting out of town due to very large signs directing us to the very large array in what was a very confusing manner. Finally, we just headed in the general direction.

The road stretched out straight and flat for miles. Sunlight reflecting off the pavement at the horizon blended into the sky making one gray shimmering haze. After many miles of nothing, we almost missed the very small sign that pointed south. The road turned, but the view didn't change at all. Finally the road crossed a double set of railroad tracks. It wasn't like we couldn't see everything for miles on this flat empty land, but out of habit we stopped to check for oncoming trains.

What we saw was our first antenna. It looked like a satellite dish that people have outside their homes, but in giant scale. These dishes were so big it would be like having a home outside your dish instead of the other way around. That might make a good title for a book: "Little House by the Big Dish." Actually, each one is big enough that two houses would fit inside. A notice was posted to turn off cell phones. We were getting close.

As we pulled into the tiny parking lot a small sign showed a picture of a Roswellian alien with a line drawn through it. They didn't want any confusion as to the purpose of this facility. This was serious science not to be confused with speculative UFO sightings. We parked next to the only other car in the lot. Apparently serious science wasn't a big draw.

Inside the visitor center we watched the obligatory orientation movie, looked at the displays, and discovered directions for the self-guided tour. The VLA is located on a very high plateau. As we left the visitor center we were assailed by a very strong wind that swept across the flat land. It pushed against us, tugged at our jackets, and threatened to snatch our hats.

For the next hour we scrambled happily over the grounds absorbing the detailed facts on the plaques and being amazed by everything. One of the antennas was right in the backyard of the visitor center, and we were able to examine it up close. A retired cowboy asked us to take his picture in front of it. He in turn took ours, helping us to memorialize our adventure.

While looking up through the maze of aluminum girders supporting the dish of the antenna, we discovered that we were being observed. Way up in the mechanisms was a large owl. He (or she) sat primly watching us as its feathers ruffled in the breeze.

It turned out the railroad tracks were not for trains. They were for moving the antennas. They are positioned in a Y formation but can be moved closer together or farther apart depending on what type of observing is being done. Radio telescopes capture radio waves and "paint" a picture from the wavelengths. By combining signals from all the dishes, it is the equivalent of having one enormous antenna.

We returned to the visitor center to discover that the parking lot was filling up. Maybe serious science people are just late sleepers. Thinking we had seen it all, we made a stop at the gift shop. To our delight, the sales person casually told us there would be a guided tour at noon. We were going to have the opportunity to do the tour all over again! We later found out that guided tours are only given every three months. Our timing, for once, was perfect. So we hung out for another hour waiting for the tour to start.

It was well worth it. Our guide was an undergraduate who was enthusiastic, knowledgeable, and obviously loved what she was doing. For the next hour we were regaled with facts and figures in an entertaining and delightful way.

The owl was still sitting in the same spot when the tour reached the antenna. The dish occasionally moved to follow the earth's rotation. Ravens have figured out what parts of the structure are safe for their nests so that when the dish turns, the eggs are not spilled out or crushed. The owls, being opportunistic, simply utilize the abandoned nests.

As the wind buffeted the tour group, the guide explained that each dish weighs 230 tons. When the wind reaches 40 miles per hour (surely it was at least that) they are programmed to automatically rotate to a straight up position of least wind resistance. As our guide put it – they are basically giant sails.

A special bonus was a visit to the control room where the computers compile the gathered information and turn it into data useful to humans. The technician on duty was asked to describe his work. He stammered and stuttered for awhile before our guide smoothly picked up the conversation and took over again. He was probably glad to get rid of us! He did make one interesting point. Part of his job was to monitor the antennas for any abnormalities. Amazingly, they still used a dot matrix printer to print out one-line status updates. He claimed the technicians could tell just by the sound of the printer what type of information was being printed, and if it was something that needed immediate attention.

After the tour everyone was invited to the cafeteria for coffee and greeted by an animated director. Earrings in the shape of the VLA antennas dangled from her ears as she answered our many questions with enthusiasm.

The VLA is in the process of being upgraded to fiber optics. This enhancement will tremendously increase the amount of information they can gather and process. When the facility was completed in 1981, barracks were included for visiting astronomers. Now scientists from all over the world can use the observatory via Internet access without even leaving their homes, and the barracks are mostly empty.

The VLA does not participate in SETI (the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence), but it does search for the secrets of the universe. Arthur Stanley Eddington, an early 20th century astronomer, once said, "Not only is the universe stranger than we imagine, it is stranger than we can imagine."

If the mysteries of the universe are truly beyond our imagination, how vast, wonderful, and incredible is the God who created it and created us. I can't help but wonder what fantastic and extraordinary marvels He has prepared for us in the world to come.

Can you bind the cluster of the Pleiades, or loose the belt of Orion? Can you bring out Mazzaroth in its season? Or can you guide the Great Bear with its cubs? Do you know the ordinances of the heavens? Can you set their dominion over the earth? Job 38:31-33 NKJV

For Your mercy reaches unto the heavens, and Your truth unto the clouds. Be exalted, O God, above the heavens; let Your glory be above all the earth. Psalm 57:10-11 NKJV

WHISPERS

Manmade achievements fill my world. Intricate highway systems are clogged with vehicles that sometimes cost as much as a small home and have many of the same luxuries. Shopping complexes hold so many choices that our senses are glazed over with the opulence. Tall buildings block the sun and hide the horizon. The voice of God is just a whisper as we focus on the great accomplishments of mankind.

For vacation I seek a change and head west. The vast open spaces and stunning landscapes fill me with a sense of wonder and renewal. Mountains and valleys speak in a loud, almost audible voice about the greatness of God. I wonder if the people who live in these places recognize the splendor around them. Does the scenery that so impresses me go unnoticed by eyes that see it everyday?

Then there are times when I realize that I too am missing out on the daily splendor around me. My route to work on the interstate passes over a short bridge. Off to the side I can catch a quick glimpse of a scene that awakens vacation memories.

A quiet, twisting river flows into the distance. Trees along the banks form a barrier that hides the secret areas within.

Sunlight glints off the water on clear days. The details of the foliage are crisp and distinct. I can easily imagine a canoe drifting silently down the river with the sound of birds the only noise to break the stillness.

On cloudy days when the morning is cool after a hot night, the scene takes on a magical quality. A mist rises from the water and hangs suspended in the trees like giant cobwebs. The light is subdued and the water has a soft, smudged look like a watercolor painting.

I know that the picture is not what it seems. The water is probably not clean. The woods are quite likely full of unpleasant things. In any case the noise and pollution of the traffic would spoil the whole effect. However, that brief glance through my window is like looking through a portal into another world. The thoughts and feelings it evokes are real.

On vacation I am awed when I look over a vast desert or stand at the brink of a canyon. My spirit is renewed by a walk through cool shadowy forest depths and inspired by a geyser that explodes into a tower of strength.

But nestled within the achievements of man is the knowledge that God is behind all goodness and gives man the ability to achieve greatness. In that quick glimpse of a scene in the middle of a busy highway I hear a calm, quiet, but powerful whisper. God reminds me that He is with me even in the bustle and confusion of every day life. and great per: his understanding is infinite. Psalms 147:5 (JV)

Great is our LORD, and of great power: his understanding is infinite. Psalm 147:5 KJV

Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend into heaven, You are there; if I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, Even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me. If I say, "Surely the darkness shall fall on me," even the night shall be light about me; Indeed, the darkness shall not hide from You, but the night shines as the day; the darkness and the light are both alike to You. Psalm 139:7-12 NKJV

Nevertheless I am continually with You; You hold me by my right hand. You will guide me with your counsel, and afterward receive me to glory. Psalm 73:23-24 NKJV

A LEAP OF FAITH or INSIGHT FROM INSIDE A BAG OF M&MS

The rotating coil inched the bag closer and closer. All that separated me from the yellow bag of peanut M&Ms was a glass vending machine window. The bag reached the edge – and stuck. Just one quarter turn short of falling into my grasp.

With effort I resisted gorilla rage. I did nudge the machine, but nothing resembling King Kong. No throwing my body weight against the machine with white knuckles, gritted teeth, and strange noises. That kind of behavior is dangerous. It's also embarrassing if someone else happens to enter the room. Fortunately a rational mind prevailed. I returned to my desk for more money.

Soon I was again standing in front of the deceptive machine. Coins clinked in the slot. The red light counter flashed as it tallied the nickels and dimes. The wire turned ever so slightly, releasing the bag. It dropped to the bottom with a satisfying smack. I reached for my prize – but the coil was still turning. Another bag was pushed to the brink.

Suddenly it looked like I was going to get two bags! It was making a beautiful headfirst dive. Before it could complete the plunge, the bottom edge snagged under the wire. It hung suspended in air like a bungee jumper frozen in time. I jostled the machine. No result. I bumped it harder to jar it free. No good. Held by the tiniest corner it hovered, stretched out parallel to the floor. I picked up the first bag, and went back to work.

Sometimes I'm like that first bag of candy. I get right up to the edge but won't follow through on the step of faith that takes me over the precipice. At other times I'm like the second bag. I run confidently to the brink and jump, but then in panic I grab the edge with my toes at the last minute. There I am, hanging out there in space wondering how to get down or how to get back. The trick to leaping over tall buildings or walking on water is to keep my eyes on Jesus and listen for His voice to tell me when to jump.

Later that afternoon I passed by the vending machine. The second bag had finally released its hold and tumbled to the bottom. So I indulged in two bags of Peanut M&Ms that day.

That brings up another set of applications about overindulgence, delayed gratification, and of course, self-control...

So He said, "Come." And when Peter had come down out of the boat, he walked on the water to go to Jesus. But when he saw that the wind was boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink he cried out, saying, "Lord, save me!" And immediately Jesus stretched out His hand and caught him, and said to him, "O you of little faith, why did you doubt?" And when they got into the boat, the wind ceased. Matt 14:29-32 NKJV

DEEP WONDERS

Vacationing in Carlsbad New Mexico

The cave entrance gaped before us like the open maw of a giant creature waiting for an unwary victim. Cold fingers of air reached out and tugged at us.

Although it was early spring, the walk to the entrance had been sweltering. Even with sunglasses and a hat I still squinted. My jacket acted like a natural heating pad. Warmth poured through the cloth and seeped into my back muscles.

An amphitheater of empty stone benches faced the entrance. Later in the season, people would gather at twilight to watch the masses of bats swarm out of the cave for their nightly feast of mosquitoes and other insects. We wistfully eyed the benches, but the bats were still in hibernation.

As we passed through the opening, tiny swallows flew in circles over our heads. They darted in and out of the crevices and cracks that lined the walls and ceiling. I took off my sunglasses. The cold air was damp. My jacket had not retained any of the oppressive heat and now offered only slight warmth.

The entrance was now just a small, round window looking out on a patch of bright sunlight. I turned my back on the outside world and surveyed the vast expanse of the underground realm.

The path stretched out before me. It twisted deeper into the underground and played hide and seek around boulders and large columns. Flashes of light revealed the presence of other visitors as they captured their experience on film. Lights placed throughout the cave illuminated striking formations and spilled onto the walkway.

We made our way down the steep incline, resting often to gaze at a fascinating formation, silent pool, sheer drop off, or bottomless pit. Water on the path made the walkway slippery and slowed our progress. It was a reminder of the continual erosion that had formed the cave and created the beautiful formations. Drop by drop the stalagmites and stalactites still grow. Sometimes only an inch of space remains to deny them touching and becoming a column. Eventually time will erase this gap. For now, it was an illustration in patience.

We came to the Big Room. Before us sprawled an open area the size of several football fields. A wonderland of stalagmites covered the floor as if a forest had been turned to stone by some magic. We passed by groups of stalagmites each portraying its own imaginary vignette; a Chinese theatre, a miniature forest, a castle fairyland.

Dim lights in distant recesses shone through thin rock and minerals. The reddish glow shimmered like the campfires of elves or the smelting fires of gnomes. Tranquil pools, sometimes only a few inches deep, created mirrors that reflected formations hanging from the ceiling with perfect clarity. It was difficult to tell which were illusions in a shallow pool and which were truly deep pits.

The path passed a gaping cavern where an old wire ladder snaked down into the blackness. It was the remains of the original 1924 ladder from which early explorers dangled precariously as they descended into the chilling darkness of the lower cave. I felt a sense of time and history, and knew that we were the benefactors of those who had braved the depths and made these wonders accessible.

The tour ended in an open area 750 feet below the surface. Civilization had come to the depths and offered tourists a cafeteria and restrooms. A souvenir stand sold film, magnets, and a DVD that showed all the scenic wonders we had seen in the cave. You could even mail a postcard from the cavern bottom.

Unlike the early explorers, our return to the surface was easy. An elevator carried us back to the surface world of blazing sunlight.

We took with us the images of a world bathed in refreshing coolness. A place where rocks grow in the dark and the light we bring reveals shapes that feed our imagination and wonder.

For the LORD is the great God, and the great King above all gods. In His hand are the deep places of the earth; the heights of the hills are His also. Psalm 95:3-4 NKJV

The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever. Isaiah 40:8 NKJV

GARGOYLE GUARDIANS

Gruesome guardians cling to stone and mortar as they keep their silent watch. Passersby see only vague outlines of their surreal forms. Morning fog swirls around them hiding the frightening figures. As the sun climbs higher, they are obscured in its blinding glare. In the evening the haze from the city wraps them in a gray, corrosive blanket. The significance of these denizens from an earlier age has eroded along with the stone from which they were made.

The artist released the images from his dream world and sealed them in stone. His hammer and chisel defined a grotesque creature while masking a functional task. The statues that channeled water away from buildings were also designed to repel the darkness that troubles the human spirit.

On the distant heights where these illusive creatures hid, the camera has now intruded and captured the details of these monsters. Their portraits were gathered into a calendar that now hangs in our home.

One picture is of a lion emerging from a sandstone wall. Its mouth is open in a fierce grimace revealing sharp fangs. Wings sprout from its back and blend into the scrollwork that cascades down both sides of its body. Could it be coming through a window from another world or another time?

The open mouth that was fashioned to spew water is now dry. Maybe it is open in a yawn instead of a snarl. The droopy eyes give the otherwise fearsome countenance a benevolent look. Almost a sleepy look. Sleepy, or bored? Is it weary of the endless days and people that pass beneath its feet?

Other gargoyles reside within our home. They are three dimensional, small, and more dog-like than feline. One sits on our library shelf. It clings to a rock, and its long claws grip the surface for balance. A metal collar hints of a previous captivity, but the chain dangling from its neck is broken. It watches as I type.

Although it tries to look fierce, I think it is content to be surrounded by the shelves of books. We have balanced a Canadian coin on its shoulders at the base of its wings. It is not bothered by the weight and not impressed by the polar bear image on the coin's surface. Sometimes we notice the coin is slightly askew. Perhaps at night after the house settles into its nightly creaks and moans it drops the coin, slips from its perch, and reads by moonlight.

In another room a picture frame creates a portal that is guarded by a gargoyle. Our image has been captured in this window into the past. Miniature replicas of us peer out from the realm of King Henry VIII, frozen in the revelry of a long ago visit to a renaissance festival. If we were small enough to enter the picture, we could step through the portal and once again join the faire. A place where sliced apples dripping with caramel, the food of kings, is served to peasants.

Across the room an invisible force holds two gargoyles to the surface of the refrigerator door. We ignore their snarls as we delve into the depths of the cold storage within. Are they warning us of overindulgence, or merely wanting to hoard the contents for themselves so they can savor the delicacies?

The beasties around the house earn their keep by providing inspiration and reviving memories of the past. Like scarecrows chasing away harmful birds, they push away mundane thoughts and make way for imagination.

The artists of old carved stone into fantastical shapes wrapped in myth and tradition. We strive to weave words into ideas and wrap them with impressions of the heart. Words on the written page, and words spoken to others.

The heart of the wise teaches his mouth, and adds learning to his lips. Pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the bones. Proverbs 16:23-24 NKJV

Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with your might; for there is no work or device or knowledge or wisdom in the grave where you are going. Ecclesiastes 9:10 NKJV

ROCKING IN NEW MEXICO

Vacationing in Rockhound State Park, New Mexico

They started at the gravel parking lot and swept up the mountain in a thick mass. Endless flowers in shades of pale saffron, warm honey and bright tangerine crowded together. An unusually wet spring had turned the desert to gold. I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz as she stood on the brink of the poppy field.

We weren't traveling the yellow brick road in search of the Emerald City. Our path was ordinary reddish brown dirt and gravel, but we were on a quest for gems.

This was Rockhound State Park. Visitors are allowed, and even encouraged, to take samples of rock gems from the park. The limit is fifteen pounds per person. It wasn't clear if that was per visit, per season, or per lifetime. Our one-day visit fell into all three categories, so we didn't pursue the question. Perhaps it was a clever way to inspire tourists to clear the rocks out of the area. If so, we did our part.

There really are gemstones in the park, and if you know what you're looking for you can find them. Of course we didn't have the skills to recognize a gem in the rough, but we did know what appealed to us. We opted for rocks with personality. After careful sorting and examining, we finally had a small pile of treasures to take home.

At the top of a hill the trail led to a bench. We rested and looked out over the landscape. The valley spread out below. For miles there were flowers, cactus in bloom, and an occasional scrub tree.

The wilderness was spoiled, however, by an area of scattered houses. A witness to man's encroachment upon the scene. My initial reaction was annoyance at the intrusion. Then it occurred to me that this was not what it appeared to be at first glance.

Just as I was unable to determine the difference between a rock and a gem, I was also missing the point in the scene below. This wasn't merely a settlement of modern civilization spoiling my view. When I looked at the buildings, all I could see were ugly rocks, but God recognized the gems. I saw buildings that marred the landscape, but God saw past the buildings and clutter and saw people – His gems.

When we returned to the Visitor Center there were rock samples on display to help in identification. We did take home two gems. One was a sample of jasper they gave us at the Visitor Center. The other was new insight on what is really valuable.

But where shall wisdom be found? And where is the place of understanding? It cannot be valued with the gold of Ophir, with the precious onyx, or the sapphire. The gold and the crystal cannot equal it: and the exchange of it shall not be for jewels of fine gold. No mention shall be made of coral, or of pearls: for the price of wisdom is above rubies. Job 28:12 and 16-18 KJV

And now God is building you, as living stones, into his spiritual temple. I Peter 2:5a NLT

This book is dedicated to our mothers. In addition to sharing their faith with us, they also imparted a joy in the written word. Their love of reading, pleasure in poetry, and delight in music live on in us. Without the sense of wonder they gave us, our writings would not be possible.

Now to Him who is able to keep you from stumbling, And to present you faultless Before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy, To God our Savior, Who alone is wise, Be glory and majesty, Dominion and power, Both now and forever. Amen. Jude 24-25 NKJV

Bible Translations used:

KJV: King James Version

NKJV: New King James Version

NIV: New International Version

NLT: New Living Translation

NJB: New Jerusalem Bible

The Message

