Death, I will personify you.
As my actor, you would have some coy name,
Foreign but with a strange sense of familiarity.
Stuck between prime and retirement,
You’ve red hair which oft looks gray.
What is your favorite social sphere?
Were you here, I would ask you the same,
Seeking to sense the depth of your vanity.

What kind of purgatory you must be in!
Is there any hope of your release
Or are you doomed to deal eternally
In that most precious currency
Which we call life?
Perhaps you get on smashingly,
Longing not for the restfulness of peace,
While reveling in the stolen goods of sin.

Perchance it’s not from middle earth you come,
But from the skies above or earth beneath.
The former would render you a herald of God
And the latter an envoy of the Devil –
Or is it possible you are employed by both?
Do you have the brazen to negotiate when
Unfair seems the victim of your career,
Whether by too young an age or in golden year?

So much I wonder, so little understand of you.
Is your head held high or does it jilt as awkward
As these words here writ? Do you ever smile
Upon an old man’s weathered face
Or weep when bidden to a child’s abode?

Methinks you are not my actor, but I yours
In a play to which I have no script.
When or where or how I will walk upon
Your stage of doom or delight I do not know.

So conquer on, friend and foe,
Neither with comfort nor fear
I will watch for you, learn you,
And without regret, greet you
When you deign to be my guest.

I ran my first 10K last weekend.

Five of us ran on a team called “OTC”

meaning, “Off The Couch”.

And it meant just what you think.

We dressed in 80’s style clothing.

I was Jane Fonda.

I ran 6.2 miles for the first time in years

And loved it.

As some of you know, the owl season has ended. Strangely, I very much miss the night. I miss its sky and stars. I miss always knowing what the moon was up to. I miss calling wild birds and having them fly to me. I miss having my sense of control constantly challenged by the darkness. I miss the animals (yes, even the big teethy ones). I miss being alone in the forest.

Now I work in the day. It is hot. It is bright. The forest is rarely mysterious now that I can see it. The fear factor is no longer there to deaden the pain of white thornbrush ripping your leg open or manzaneda whipping your face. Which hurt. This week I traded mountain lions for bees – and I can tell you the bees did much more damage than the cats ever did (well….at least physically, perhaps not emotionally!). I also received a minor head wound while working with a hemophobe (the real problem here was that I didn’t realize it was going to bleed so much until we got into the truck and HE was driving, trying to avert his eyes from any sight of the dark red life-liquid coloring my hair and face. Thank goodness it’s the end of the week. A headache, a big itchy sting in the place of my back where it’s hard to reach, allergies, two pairs of ripped pants, and a sunglass tan bring me to the end of a week of work in the daylight.

Did I mention how hot the sun is?

I just sent in my last assignment of my 22-credits-in-courses Summer!

What was I thinking in the first place??…..Oh wait, I wasn’t!

I’m ready for brain space. I’m going to re-learn guitar. I’m going to camp as much as possible. I’m going to watch a chick-flick that will make me both laugh and cry. I’m going to rock climb whenever I get the hankering. I’m going to read a book because I want to not because I have to.

Does that sound like space any longer? Isn’t that what we do, make space just to fill it up with something else. Or is it just me.

So, scrap all that. I’m going to take a nap and then think for about half a day on what I want to do next.

Being a Christian means participating in the life of the eternal Godhead. But this participation is in the midst of a world that is constantly changing; people change, families change, cultures change. As Christians, then, we must learn how to see the eternal and changeless faith that Jesus Christ bestows in the context of a shifting world its fluxuating philosophies.
Today we definitely see a recycling of the 60’s, but there are some differences. I work with the research branch of the Forest Service right now, with environmentalists, biologist, ecologists, etc… And probably 1/3 of the people I work with are practicing Buddhists. Young, caucasian, American adults in their 20’s and 30’s embracing the Buddhist religion. Just seems a little odd. [Of course, after saying this, every culturally-adapted bit in me wants to say, “I’m not judging it, just noting it”]

They also embrace the “next adventure” philosophy, which is always looking for the next thing they can do. Rock climbing, dirt biking, fishing, extreme sports, this is all part of the purpose of life for my generation. Why settle, get married, and have a family when there is an adventure to be had? And really, why get married at all? Let’s be new and different, live together and maybe/maybe not have kids at some point when it is convenient for us (i.e. doesn’t compromise our adventures) – that sounds like the life! I confess that I’m very definitely part of this mentality, and just now standing back to look and squint at it, wondering how the Gospel and Christianity is being compromised by this mode of thought.

Jump around with me for a moment. Tolerance is the answer to everything today. And there is definitely the sens in which Christians are not to condemn non-Christians by our own standards. We should not expect pagans to act like anything other than pagans. Of course my co-workers live with their girlfriends, of course they’re homosexual, of course they swear like sailors. Their sin nature has not been redeemed in the blood of Jesus Christ, and is therefore given free reign. They have not the strength of Christ to resist temptation, nor the reason to do so.

At the same time, perhaps more shocking than the expected paganism of our non-Christian acquaintances, is the unexpected moralism that many non-Christians embrace. I know I was shocked in college and again this year that many of my non-Christian friends seemed to be gentler, kinder, more generous, and generally more enjoyable to be around than my Christian friends. Or even myself. What do we do with these non-Christian friends that seemingly have everything put together? And it is a dilemma! I have not come to many conclusions, but just some thoughts on the topic (as per usual these days…). First, be convicted! I have found myself most convicted this summer by a homosexual friend that is kind, gentle, courteous, caring, and loving – all those things I should be and more. Secondly, give thanks to God that He has been gracious enough to bestow the imago Dei so undeniably in mankind, that moralism is possible. And thirdly, realize that Christianity is not about moralism; it is about a just God who seeks the souls, not just morals, of mankind.

Right? Talk to me friends (my randomness has given full excuse for any random thoughts you may have as well!)

I challenge you to sit outside in the mountain air, or a forested area, or an exotic city park (for those of you in Dallas, you may have to get creative…).
Sit there from sunset to sunrise.
Observe the emotions that will course through your veins.
Observe how tense you may get at times.
Observe your reaction when something crashes ten feet from you and you have no idea what monster may be lurking there.

Now stop and think. What has changed? Has anything in the basic reality of creation changed in those hours? No. The thing that has changed is your own sense of control. If the woods were lighted, then no fear would dwell in me. But without light, that simple pinecone falling through the branches could be saskwatch. Don’t laugh – it could be.

I wanted to let my sense of terror proceed as naturally as possible, without squashing and squandering it in my mind. I tried not to be invincible and strong. If something fell, I jumped. If two evenly-spaced lights appeared through the brush, I did not restrain my pulse from getting louder and stronger. If those lights were big and round and green, I screamed (c.f. earlier mountain lion experience). All new experiences for me.

But I am here to report that as of July 7th, nearly all the fear has gone. It all changed that night when I was too tired to care about much, and went crashing through the woods on my own because my partner wasn’t feeling up to it that night. I was a little ticked off (partner probably wasn’t up to it because he was hungover, and I was the one who had just flown in from Texas and had a right to be tired…), so I just marched up that mountain by myself. It never occurred to me that I should be scared or nervous, or something. Little 5’3″ me, a forrest, a mountain, and who knows what hiding creatures in the miles around me. The nerves seemed all but asleep. After that, the fear seemed to be gone. That means that for a person of my learning curve, it takes approximately 12 days to overcome the terror of the night.

A more philosophical view of all this later. For now, I am shocked that it took only 12 days for me to overcome being stripped of my sense of control over life and surroundings. And I am also sure it will take more than 50 more years to overcome that in the rest of my life…

So, I called my little brother Timmy to ask him if I should tell mom about the mountain lion incident. After much thought, he said I should. On his authority, I did.
My mom’s first response:
“That is SO neat!”

I think I worry more than she does.

Mom’s second response:

“Oh, I’m a horrible mother!”

No your not, mom. Your all that I could ask for [except when in life-threatening circumstances….].

Technical title: “Biological Science Technician”
Respectable title: “Owl Researcher”
Common title: “Hooter”
Location: Quincy USFS

Proper Job description: Work four 12-hour shifts per week. The work day begins at 17h00 and ends around 05h00, allowing the technician to see both sunset and sunrise in a single work day. A huge benefit to this kind of work. Technician must be capable of driving on mountainous roads in the area, using a compass, GPS, and topographical maps.

Improper Job description: you must be absolutely batty to do this work.

First week checklist:
– Observe spotted owl family of four from close proximity. Check
– Drink lots of coffee. Check.
– Observe family of 4 mountain lions from the safety and comfort of my truck. Check.
– Hike over mountains, cliffs, rocks and trees. NOT singing sound of music. Check.
– Take a 2 mile hike-out, call for owls, start packing up and notice the lovely eye shine and outline of a cat. Check.
– Proceed to drop anything unnecessary to the panic run. Check.
– Point radio at lurking eyes and turn squelch on high while making as much noise as possible from a 5’3″ woman. Check.
– Creep slowly away, overcoming every natural instinct to run. No time for checking anything.
– Arrive at truck.
– Pray (maybe should have done this earlier) thanks to the Maker of me and mountain trylions.

It’s true folks. There have been a number of scary moments in my life, but this definitely ranked pretty high up there. And so I end the first week of my new profession. My, oh my, what will the next 15 weeks bring….

ANGLICAN WAY INSTITUTE
Forming our faith, life, and view of the world according to the Anglican Way of following Christ

I would like to extend an invitation to all visitors and friends of this blog to attend the annual “Anglican Way” Conference. It is held in Dallas, TX, July 2nd-6th and is a wonderful time of fellowship amongst people of our generation who are eagerly seeking after the truth, and willing to think and pray through the theological and practical issues which assail serious Christians in our culture today.

This year’s topic is “Finding Grace Through the Sacraments”. If you or anyone you know might be interested, please pass on the invite and direct them to this link for more information: http://anglicanwayinstitute.org

Once upon a time there was a woman who was a real mountain-woman. She took her six children camping every summer, thinkin’ the fresh air would do their over-taxed craniums some good. Wellll, these weren’t quite normal children. A few too many brain cells and shotguns amongst them to mean any good for anyone. Now, this woman had a whole swathe of boys out campin’ with her the summer long, and ONE lil’ girl.

If you’ve ever known a girl who grew up with a lot of boys, you might know that she often ends up a little more heartless and tough than the boys (a mix of necessity and overcompensation). This particular girl was of such a stripe.

The tent was pitched, and mom was a’cookin’ that day when the little girl wandered off with a gun tucked comfortably in her armpit (you know, that way you always see in the old westerns when the bad guy struts with gun crooked through his arm in that particular way).

Now, I’m absolutely sure this lil’ girl had nuthin’ in her head but good intentions. It was that damned squirrel that had the nerve to look so perrty and tasty, jumpin’ from branch to branch like IT owned the forest (which was certainly NOT true, cause these woods was that little girl’s). Driven by a twinge of tree-jumpin’-envy, she took that gun and butted it, aimed, and fired. VICTORY!!! Such a gleam ran through those eyes, a smile on those lips……

But in the cloud of smoke and flame of conquest, a placid mother’s face appeared right ’bout where that squirrel had dropped to the ground. If only it’d been a ghost, or a vision, or somesuch – but no. That was the real mother alright. She looked down, then up without a single hint of what was goin’ through her mind. Was she mad? Was she glad? Was she proud of her lil’ half pint’s shot?

Two words and a pointed finger at the carcass of that poor animal was all it took. “Yo’ supper”, she said, turned, and walked away.

That little girl had to defur, skin, slice, and fry that squirrel (can’t e’en mention what she was saying while doin’ that!!). She ate every bit, pretendin’ it was as lovely as mama’s steak pie. The boys laughed, but she never cried. She also never shot another squirrel…….well, that might be a fib, she just made sure here mama wasn’t nowhere near.

[Stories from my childhood…]