Mid Winter.
The sunshine is deceiving.
It is still under 15 degrees, and may stay that way for at least another month.
As I sit at my computer, enjoying the warmth of the wood stove and the sun shining through my window, I look up and see the "D".
The constant that never changes, and sometimes you can even make it out through the frozen snow. But not today.
Once again we are in the grip of cold winter weather, dreaming about summer.
The days in our little town are filled with busyness. In actuality, everyone looking busy is freezing their rears off and in a hurry to get inside and warm up. But hey, it looks like we are a town full of purposeful busyness.
And, some people actually are.
I should be.
I need to go check the cabin and make sure it is ready for our next group of guests. But I'm not.
I should be re-checking my seed order and getting ready to plan the garden plot. But I'm not.
I should be finishing the laundry. But I'm not.
Instead, I am sitting here with the warmth of a fire and sunshine streaming through my windows staring at "D" mountain.
Briefly, very briefly, I think about making plans to climb it again this coming summer. I remember well the hike up the the hill, constantly looking for rattle snakes, sweating under the hot sun, then finally sitting under the white painted rocks that form the "D" we all love. But, sanity returns, and I ignore the urges to take that hike while it is still cool. I'm not completely crazy! (I do remember watching as my children made the climb, while I watched happily below!)
I think it is a right of passage to climb the mountain for people who live here. New comers to town always do it in their first few weeks, and vow, never again. Many sit at the bottom, and stare, shaking their heads when we they spot someone trying the hike.
As kids, we rode our horses up there. Pretending we were looking over our personal and private kingdom. From there, we were sure we were seeing the whole world. We were able to see all over the valley, which was our whole world. We would pick out landmarks. The screen at the drive-in outside of Monte Vista, the rocks of La Garita, the sand dunes, and even Alamosa.
From there we could see the cars that looked like ants, and the farms that dot the valley floor. We could sing, like we often did, and think everyone below had to be listening to our sweet voices. (okay, maybe not sweet, but we could sing, and we believed everyone in our world loved listening to us.)
Today, I just want to be lazy. I don't want to rush around outside in the cold. I don't want to fold clothes. I don't want to do any summer planning. Today, I just want to sit here in the warmth and enjoy living life under the "D."
My life, family, friends, faith, and how we survive in a small town in one of the most beautiful places in Colorado
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Thursday, December 6, 2012
California
I love California.
No really, I do.
I think of all the places in this world, California is close to my idea of heaven.
I know, there are plenty of things to hate about it. So many people, tall ones, short ones, ones who climb on rocks! Okay, obviously I'm regressing. (Yes, that was the words from an old commercial! If you know where it came from I will send you something special!)
But there are so many wonderful things to love.
I love the ocean!
I love the taste of salt on my lips after walking on the sand. I love the way the water feels, even when it is icy cold. I love the slimy feel of sea weed against my ankles. I love the feel of the wet sand.
Yeah, I love it!
Nathaniel and I took my parents on our vacation last month.
We chose California because:
1. Nathaniel had never been there before.
2. We wanted warmth.
3. We have relatives there we can stay with, thus getting rid of the need for costly hotels.
4. We just wanted to.
Nathaniel liked it. He liked the palm trees, the thought of really big fish in the water, the food.
He did not love the ocean like I do. I do stress like. He didn't love it, not any of it.
It was perfectly warm. Even when it rained, it was perfect.
We stayed with my aunt, who now lives in a small apartment.
My parents slept on the futon. Nathaniel and I had cots. (Nathaniels' was in the kitchen, literally just large enough for a cot, he could wash dishes and cook a meal without ever leaving the cot! Mine was in the hall, I could answer the door and had control of all the lights!) After the 4th night, hotels sounded heavenly, regardless of the cost.
We didn't do all the big touristy things.
No, we did not go to Disney Land. We went to the Disney shopping center instead!
We didn't go to Knots Berry Farms.
We did go to the Port of Los Angeles. In fact, since my Aunt lives a few short blocks away, we saw it daily, out her window.
We went to the Korean Friendship Bell.
We went to the beach! (Minus swim suits, some people have no sense of adventure!)
No really, I do.
I think of all the places in this world, California is close to my idea of heaven.
I know, there are plenty of things to hate about it. So many people, tall ones, short ones, ones who climb on rocks! Okay, obviously I'm regressing. (Yes, that was the words from an old commercial! If you know where it came from I will send you something special!)
But there are so many wonderful things to love.
I love the ocean!
I love the taste of salt on my lips after walking on the sand. I love the way the water feels, even when it is icy cold. I love the slimy feel of sea weed against my ankles. I love the feel of the wet sand.
Yeah, I love it!
Nathaniel and I took my parents on our vacation last month.
We chose California because:
1. Nathaniel had never been there before.
2. We wanted warmth.
3. We have relatives there we can stay with, thus getting rid of the need for costly hotels.
4. We just wanted to.
Nathaniel liked it. He liked the palm trees, the thought of really big fish in the water, the food.
He did not love the ocean like I do. I do stress like. He didn't love it, not any of it.
It was perfectly warm. Even when it rained, it was perfect.
We stayed with my aunt, who now lives in a small apartment.
My parents slept on the futon. Nathaniel and I had cots. (Nathaniels' was in the kitchen, literally just large enough for a cot, he could wash dishes and cook a meal without ever leaving the cot! Mine was in the hall, I could answer the door and had control of all the lights!) After the 4th night, hotels sounded heavenly, regardless of the cost.
We didn't do all the big touristy things.
No, we did not go to Disney Land. We went to the Disney shopping center instead!
We didn't go to Knots Berry Farms.
We did go to the Port of Los Angeles. In fact, since my Aunt lives a few short blocks away, we saw it daily, out her window.
We went to the Korean Friendship Bell.
We did have a really good time.
And, we returned home, in the middle of a snow storm.
At that moment, I wanted to turn around and run to the beach as fast as I could!
I love the beach. As winter days get shorter, and nights colder and longer, I will dream of the beach.
I will lick my lips and pretend to taste salt.
I will close my eyes in the shower and pretend the wash cloth is slimy seaweed wrapping around my ankles.
I will look out my window, but instead of seeing a leafless cottonwood, I will envision palm trees.
Where there are mountains, I will see sand.
I am determined to remember the ocean. I may never see it again in this life...but Heaven,
well that is another story for another time!
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Just another day....September
Have you ever had one of those days where your mind will not slow down...but your body won't move?
I have been having those since the leaves started changing...exactly on the first of Sept.
First, I can't believe summer is over. Seriously, I missed it somewhere between moving into a 5th wheel camper to moving back home. So weird.
I know summer was here, but right now it just seems to have been a huge blur.
I remember snippets of a few days. I know there was an entire movie crew camping at the resort, although, I couldn't tell you about any of them alone from the fact that I thought they had terrible bathroom manners.
I know the 4th of July came and went. I remember a parade, getting tons of beads and a few pieces of candy. No fireworks, it was too dry and risky to set them off.
I know August was hot.
Mostly, I remember all the things I had planned on doing, but have not accomplished one.
At the beginning of summer, I hauled totes full of craft projects up to the resort. In my minds eyes, I saw me happily working on all my craft projects after work. For a few days, I had a little cartoon bubble above my head, full of pictures of the fabulous Christmas presents I would create during the summer nights. I had planned to be so proud of myself when fall arrived and I had all of the gifts finished, with nothing left to do but wrap.
HaHa!!
The cartoon bubble popped after about a week. Instead, in the evenings, I found myself looking at the clock, yearning for bed time to come. I remember asking Nathaniel if it was close enough to dark to go to bed. He always told me no.
Honestly, this summer was about work, work, work, and work.
Yes, I got 2 days off each week, most of the time. The bad thing was that those 2 days were never together. One was spent doing laundry, shopping, and trying to get everything done so that on my next day off I could do it all again. The other day off, was, well, not a day off, I still had to take care of the cabins in South Fork, so those days found me driving to each of them, sometimes cleaning, sometimes yard work, sometimes...well, you get the picture.
I am thankful that being over 50, I still have the ability and health to work 7 days a week. It seems that when I was a child, people who were 50+ were gray haired and walking with canes. And those were the healthy ones!
I am blessed that we had a nice trailer to stay in. I can't tell you the nightmares I had about that one! (For another post)
I am able to say we have paid down a few debts, and plan on a late fall vacation to California.
But mostly, I'm plain old tired.
Fall is here, and I have nothing finished, some I haven't even started, and I can forget about wrapping. I will be doing that the first couple of weeks of December, like I did last year!
My mind is still full of all I want to accomplish, but the body isn't willing.
Someone should have warned me about this stage of old age!!
I have been having those since the leaves started changing...exactly on the first of Sept.
First, I can't believe summer is over. Seriously, I missed it somewhere between moving into a 5th wheel camper to moving back home. So weird.
I know summer was here, but right now it just seems to have been a huge blur.
I remember snippets of a few days. I know there was an entire movie crew camping at the resort, although, I couldn't tell you about any of them alone from the fact that I thought they had terrible bathroom manners.
I know the 4th of July came and went. I remember a parade, getting tons of beads and a few pieces of candy. No fireworks, it was too dry and risky to set them off.
I know August was hot.
Mostly, I remember all the things I had planned on doing, but have not accomplished one.
At the beginning of summer, I hauled totes full of craft projects up to the resort. In my minds eyes, I saw me happily working on all my craft projects after work. For a few days, I had a little cartoon bubble above my head, full of pictures of the fabulous Christmas presents I would create during the summer nights. I had planned to be so proud of myself when fall arrived and I had all of the gifts finished, with nothing left to do but wrap.
HaHa!!
The cartoon bubble popped after about a week. Instead, in the evenings, I found myself looking at the clock, yearning for bed time to come. I remember asking Nathaniel if it was close enough to dark to go to bed. He always told me no.
Honestly, this summer was about work, work, work, and work.
Yes, I got 2 days off each week, most of the time. The bad thing was that those 2 days were never together. One was spent doing laundry, shopping, and trying to get everything done so that on my next day off I could do it all again. The other day off, was, well, not a day off, I still had to take care of the cabins in South Fork, so those days found me driving to each of them, sometimes cleaning, sometimes yard work, sometimes...well, you get the picture.
I am thankful that being over 50, I still have the ability and health to work 7 days a week. It seems that when I was a child, people who were 50+ were gray haired and walking with canes. And those were the healthy ones!
I am blessed that we had a nice trailer to stay in. I can't tell you the nightmares I had about that one! (For another post)
I am able to say we have paid down a few debts, and plan on a late fall vacation to California.
But mostly, I'm plain old tired.
Fall is here, and I have nothing finished, some I haven't even started, and I can forget about wrapping. I will be doing that the first couple of weeks of December, like I did last year!
My mind is still full of all I want to accomplish, but the body isn't willing.
Someone should have warned me about this stage of old age!!
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
My name is Melissa, and I am a VBS addict!
I love VBS!
I really do!
For those of you who don't know what that is:
Vacation-Bible-School
For me, summer isn't complete without VBS.
I enjoy having the church filled with screaming children.
I am pretty sure God enjoys that too.
I also enjoy the decorations, the bible stories,
the missionary stories.
I freely admit it, I love it all.
I have had the opportunity to work on the state VBS team for a number of years. Sounds cool? Well, it is. No, I don't get paid to do it. I do receive a t-shirt with the theme emblazoned on the front or back. I have been able to go to Glorietta for training.
(Glorietta, the western Mecca for Southern Baptists)
I did get to go to a class led by the man who has written the music for VBS for years.
And, I'm sad.
This is the last year Jeff Slaughter will be writing the music for VBS.
He has served the Lord lovingly and written the most beautiful, meaningful, active songs! Songs that set Lifeways VBS apart from all others.
Living in a small town, makes it pretty easy to get star-struck.
The first time I met Jeff, I couldn't speak. I couldn't even move.
I just stood there, (No, thank God I didn't drool) and smiled.
I stood in his class, learning the songs, trying hard to do all the actions,
without looking like a total geek, and had so much fun I came home contagiously happy and excited! It was one of my best days.
You might ask what made me so happy?
Well, it wasn't because Jeff is hot. I mean, he is okay, just not my type.
(I prefer shorter balder type men named Nathaniel :-D)
It wasn't because the music was that great. It was good, but I couldn't tell you the songs now if you asked me.
It wasn't the free t-shirt, although I still have that.
It was because God was going to let me, little dorky, geeky, loud, obnoxious, silly, dumb, me, work with children and leaders around the state in VBS!
He chose me to be His hands, His feet, and His mouth to all kinds of different people.
It is such a humbling and honorable and mind numbing experience!
I will confess, every year I find myself asking God, "are You sure You want me?" I am constantly dumbfounded when He tells me, "Yes, I want you!"
Now, I'm nothing special. I really am a normal looking person. I'm not one of the beautiful people of the world. I have no fashion sense. In fact, I really do believe that t-shirts and clean jeans are pretty dressy for all the places I go. I just love God.
Over the last 30+ years, I have been able to work in VBS. I have taught bible study classes, Missions, Music and crafts. I have made and eaten countless cookies, and drank enough Kool-aide to make a small child have a sugar high for years!
I have been able to go to places like Honduras, the Navajo Reservation, and all over Colorado to teach in VBS, and yes, learn.
Serving God in this way is the ultimate fun for me!
VBS lets me picture God like this: Laying on His tummy in Heaven, Looking down at all the screaming children. Laughing as He watches the wonderful way they move to the music. His tongue sticking out with each child as they work patiently on a craft, or listening closely and sitting on the ground as they hear about missionaries from all over the world. Seeing God put His arms around little shoulders when they see themselves through His eyes, and telling them He loves them more than anyone ever could.
My name is Melissa. I am addicted to VBS. I don't want a 12 step program to help me get through this one. I'm addicted for life!!
I really do!
For those of you who don't know what that is:
Vacation-Bible-School
For me, summer isn't complete without VBS.
I enjoy having the church filled with screaming children.
I am pretty sure God enjoys that too.
I also enjoy the decorations, the bible stories,
the missionary stories.
I freely admit it, I love it all.
I have had the opportunity to work on the state VBS team for a number of years. Sounds cool? Well, it is. No, I don't get paid to do it. I do receive a t-shirt with the theme emblazoned on the front or back. I have been able to go to Glorietta for training.
(Glorietta, the western Mecca for Southern Baptists)
I did get to go to a class led by the man who has written the music for VBS for years.
And, I'm sad.
This is the last year Jeff Slaughter will be writing the music for VBS.
He has served the Lord lovingly and written the most beautiful, meaningful, active songs! Songs that set Lifeways VBS apart from all others.
Living in a small town, makes it pretty easy to get star-struck.
The first time I met Jeff, I couldn't speak. I couldn't even move.
I just stood there, (No, thank God I didn't drool) and smiled.
I stood in his class, learning the songs, trying hard to do all the actions,
without looking like a total geek, and had so much fun I came home contagiously happy and excited! It was one of my best days.
You might ask what made me so happy?
Well, it wasn't because Jeff is hot. I mean, he is okay, just not my type.
(I prefer shorter balder type men named Nathaniel :-D)
It wasn't because the music was that great. It was good, but I couldn't tell you the songs now if you asked me.
It wasn't the free t-shirt, although I still have that.
It was because God was going to let me, little dorky, geeky, loud, obnoxious, silly, dumb, me, work with children and leaders around the state in VBS!
He chose me to be His hands, His feet, and His mouth to all kinds of different people.
It is such a humbling and honorable and mind numbing experience!
I will confess, every year I find myself asking God, "are You sure You want me?" I am constantly dumbfounded when He tells me, "Yes, I want you!"
Now, I'm nothing special. I really am a normal looking person. I'm not one of the beautiful people of the world. I have no fashion sense. In fact, I really do believe that t-shirts and clean jeans are pretty dressy for all the places I go. I just love God.
Over the last 30+ years, I have been able to work in VBS. I have taught bible study classes, Missions, Music and crafts. I have made and eaten countless cookies, and drank enough Kool-aide to make a small child have a sugar high for years!
I have been able to go to places like Honduras, the Navajo Reservation, and all over Colorado to teach in VBS, and yes, learn.
Serving God in this way is the ultimate fun for me!
VBS lets me picture God like this: Laying on His tummy in Heaven, Looking down at all the screaming children. Laughing as He watches the wonderful way they move to the music. His tongue sticking out with each child as they work patiently on a craft, or listening closely and sitting on the ground as they hear about missionaries from all over the world. Seeing God put His arms around little shoulders when they see themselves through His eyes, and telling them He loves them more than anyone ever could.
My name is Melissa. I am addicted to VBS. I don't want a 12 step program to help me get through this one. I'm addicted for life!!
Monday, March 5, 2012
Waiting for spring
Waiting for Spring...
In many places, the snow is gone, and in the next few days people will be planting flowers, getting the ground ready to grow amazing plants...
But here at nearly 8,000 feet elevation in the beautiful San Luis Valley,
we wait. And wait. And wait.
It is now the beginning of mud and wind season.
We don't have spring.
We never have.
We have mud and wind.
The sun is getting a little higher in the sky, and looking out of my
now winter dirty windows, I see the promise of spring.
But it is a false hope. It never happens.
You know this the moment you step outside, into four inches of oozing mud,
feel the 40 - 60 m.p.h. winds, and you know it is still a long time until June.
I am spending my days, staring at wonderful seed catalogs.
I can almost smell the wonderful scent of my lilacs,
feel the cool green grass under my bare feet,
and taste the wonder of freshly made sun tea.
I admit, I have a serious case of cabin fever.
I yearn for a bathing suit and a beach.
I crave lunches of cheese, crackers, and fresh grapes.
I stare for endless amounts of time at my beach screensaver.
I wonder if I will look too orange if I use a fake tan spray.
Alas, I step through the mud, clean my shoes off in the snow,
and wait.
Summer is coming, and we will eventually be able to open a window
without fear of it freezing open.
We will eventually be able to use our four wheeler and venture into
the near by San Juan Mountains.
Yes, dear people of the San Luis Valley,
We will persevere! We will conquer the mud and snow!
We will stand as the strong wind blows!
We are Colorado Weather Warriors!!
But until then, anyone want a cup of hot tea and some pumpkin bread?
I'll put the boards out to cover the mud, and would you mind shoveling
some more snow on your way in?
In many places, the snow is gone, and in the next few days people will be planting flowers, getting the ground ready to grow amazing plants...
But here at nearly 8,000 feet elevation in the beautiful San Luis Valley,
we wait. And wait. And wait.
It is now the beginning of mud and wind season.
We don't have spring.
We never have.
We have mud and wind.
The sun is getting a little higher in the sky, and looking out of my
now winter dirty windows, I see the promise of spring.
But it is a false hope. It never happens.
You know this the moment you step outside, into four inches of oozing mud,
feel the 40 - 60 m.p.h. winds, and you know it is still a long time until June.
I am spending my days, staring at wonderful seed catalogs.
I can almost smell the wonderful scent of my lilacs,
feel the cool green grass under my bare feet,
and taste the wonder of freshly made sun tea.
I admit, I have a serious case of cabin fever.
I yearn for a bathing suit and a beach.
I crave lunches of cheese, crackers, and fresh grapes.
I stare for endless amounts of time at my beach screensaver.
I wonder if I will look too orange if I use a fake tan spray.
Alas, I step through the mud, clean my shoes off in the snow,
and wait.
Summer is coming, and we will eventually be able to open a window
without fear of it freezing open.
We will eventually be able to use our four wheeler and venture into
the near by San Juan Mountains.
Yes, dear people of the San Luis Valley,
We will persevere! We will conquer the mud and snow!
We will stand as the strong wind blows!
We are Colorado Weather Warriors!!
But until then, anyone want a cup of hot tea and some pumpkin bread?
I'll put the boards out to cover the mud, and would you mind shoveling
some more snow on your way in?
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Town Stars
Small towns rarely offer stars, but ours has a big one.
No, I'm not talking about the movie kind, I'm talking about the shape.
Del Norte rests under a small hill known on the map as Mount LookOut.
The people who live here call it "D Mountain."
Which is convenient since there is a huge white "D" painted on the side of it.
The "D" has been there for years prior to my birth and will remain for years after I am gone.
You can see the "D" across the valley floor on clear days.
Two times during the year that little hill turns into something wonderful.
Sitting atop the hill, strung between three poles, is a star.
(On Easter it is a cross.)
The star is normally lit the first weekend of December, and remains lit until a week after New Year.
It shines so beautifully on the hill, and after a fresh snow, it glows even brighter. It can bee seen, lighting up the sky from all around the valley.
A few years back, some people tried to tell the town it was a religious symbol and had to be removed so it wouldn't offend someone. Well, because it has been there for so long, and is a local icon of sorts, it remained.
(Sound of Rasberry being made) Haha to those who deem the world must remain politically correct.
Yes, that is how we here in this small town deal with people who want us to change something that has been around for years and years. We love the star.
It's light leads us home after a night full of shopping in Alamosa.
It welcomes the weary traveler as they journey through on the way to somewhere else.
It is the best part of our towns Christmas decorations, and should never change.
Sometimes, I admit, I am afraid the cost of maintaining it will cause it to be turned off.
We have had our share of vandals who have hiked up the hill and thrown rocks at the wonderful lights.
Yet, it remains lit.
Inspiring to us small town folks who do have legitimate fear of the outside world. It reminds us that no matter what, that star will be there to guide us home, give us light, and for a few minutes every winter, Del Norte has a "Star!"
No, I'm not talking about the movie kind, I'm talking about the shape.
Del Norte rests under a small hill known on the map as Mount LookOut.
The people who live here call it "D Mountain."
Which is convenient since there is a huge white "D" painted on the side of it.
The "D" has been there for years prior to my birth and will remain for years after I am gone.
You can see the "D" across the valley floor on clear days.
Two times during the year that little hill turns into something wonderful.
Sitting atop the hill, strung between three poles, is a star.
(On Easter it is a cross.)
The star is normally lit the first weekend of December, and remains lit until a week after New Year.
It shines so beautifully on the hill, and after a fresh snow, it glows even brighter. It can bee seen, lighting up the sky from all around the valley.
A few years back, some people tried to tell the town it was a religious symbol and had to be removed so it wouldn't offend someone. Well, because it has been there for so long, and is a local icon of sorts, it remained.
(Sound of Rasberry being made) Haha to those who deem the world must remain politically correct.
Yes, that is how we here in this small town deal with people who want us to change something that has been around for years and years. We love the star.
It's light leads us home after a night full of shopping in Alamosa.
It welcomes the weary traveler as they journey through on the way to somewhere else.
It is the best part of our towns Christmas decorations, and should never change.
Sometimes, I admit, I am afraid the cost of maintaining it will cause it to be turned off.
We have had our share of vandals who have hiked up the hill and thrown rocks at the wonderful lights.
Yet, it remains lit.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
What not to do..??!!
What not to do....if you are staying in a motel, lodge, or with friends and family. (And yes, I have personal experience finding all the wonderful things people have left, or changed, or...well, you get the point!)
Unlike Emily Post, I am not a pro in the manners department. In fact, I'm a huge klutz! Just ask anyone that has known me for more than five minutes. Regardless, I do know there are some things you should never do when staying away from your own cozy bed.
Smile, it is pretty good advice.
1. When staying in a motel, remember that someone, at sometime, purchased the ugly carpet and coordinating bedspread to cover the dirt. It is incredibly impolite to remark on the ugliness, after all, someone actually purchased them for your enjoyment!
2. When staying at a lodge, it is never okay to leave leftover food under the bed. Yes, it is convenient for those ever popular midnight snacks, but you will always forget you put the pancakes there, and even though everyone generally likes the smell of maple syrup, it is not a great room deodorizer.
3. When staying at a friends house, tell them if you have sleep walking issues. Your host and hostess may be shocked if you crawl in their bed in the middle of the night without warning.
4. If you find yourself staying in a motel and something doesn't work, you should tell someone right away. The repair guys get paid by the hour and love coming to your room in the middle of the night to fix your running toilet, the heat or a.c., or show you how the coffee maker works. Waiting until the next morning to complain won't get you a discount on the room, that is an old trick and never works. Instead try complimenting them on the matching decor!
5. If you find yourself in a lodge and what you flushed seems like it is coming back to visit you, don't flush again. There is a little rubber bowl with a stick on it nearby. You can use it, and if I have to explain how, you need a book called, "Plunging for Dummies!" Quick, the last copy may now be purchased at Amazon!
6. If your hostess makes something you simply hate, don't put it in your napkin unless it comes on a roll and is disposable. Instead, keep the intolerable mess and toss it outside when no one is looking. If you are lucky, the evidence may not be found for weeks, and by then, you are off the hook!
7. In a motel, remember, the toilet is not a bong. Yes, there is water conveniently placed there, and yes, there are straws near the coffee maker, but there is simply no excuse for leaving your umm... medication, on the toilet bowl.
8. If visiting a lodge, and the television doesn't work, throwing it off the balcony will only make a mess. Instead, unplug it and move it to the dining room table. Someone is more likely to find it there, and who knows when the snow will melt enough for someone to find all the parts!
9. When designated to the couch at your friends, it could be considered rude to remove the cushion and look for spare change. They may be saving it for a rainy day!
Last but not least: Tip your housekeeper, unless you like your alarm clock set for three in the morning!
I hope you enjoyed these basic rules that can be used in a variety of settings.
Unlike Emily Post, I am not a pro in the manners department. In fact, I'm a huge klutz! Just ask anyone that has known me for more than five minutes. Regardless, I do know there are some things you should never do when staying away from your own cozy bed.
Smile, it is pretty good advice.
1. When staying in a motel, remember that someone, at sometime, purchased the ugly carpet and coordinating bedspread to cover the dirt. It is incredibly impolite to remark on the ugliness, after all, someone actually purchased them for your enjoyment!
2. When staying at a lodge, it is never okay to leave leftover food under the bed. Yes, it is convenient for those ever popular midnight snacks, but you will always forget you put the pancakes there, and even though everyone generally likes the smell of maple syrup, it is not a great room deodorizer.
3. When staying at a friends house, tell them if you have sleep walking issues. Your host and hostess may be shocked if you crawl in their bed in the middle of the night without warning.
4. If you find yourself staying in a motel and something doesn't work, you should tell someone right away. The repair guys get paid by the hour and love coming to your room in the middle of the night to fix your running toilet, the heat or a.c., or show you how the coffee maker works. Waiting until the next morning to complain won't get you a discount on the room, that is an old trick and never works. Instead try complimenting them on the matching decor!
5. If you find yourself in a lodge and what you flushed seems like it is coming back to visit you, don't flush again. There is a little rubber bowl with a stick on it nearby. You can use it, and if I have to explain how, you need a book called, "Plunging for Dummies!" Quick, the last copy may now be purchased at Amazon!
6. If your hostess makes something you simply hate, don't put it in your napkin unless it comes on a roll and is disposable. Instead, keep the intolerable mess and toss it outside when no one is looking. If you are lucky, the evidence may not be found for weeks, and by then, you are off the hook!
7. In a motel, remember, the toilet is not a bong. Yes, there is water conveniently placed there, and yes, there are straws near the coffee maker, but there is simply no excuse for leaving your umm... medication, on the toilet bowl.
8. If visiting a lodge, and the television doesn't work, throwing it off the balcony will only make a mess. Instead, unplug it and move it to the dining room table. Someone is more likely to find it there, and who knows when the snow will melt enough for someone to find all the parts!
9. When designated to the couch at your friends, it could be considered rude to remove the cushion and look for spare change. They may be saving it for a rainy day!
Last but not least: Tip your housekeeper, unless you like your alarm clock set for three in the morning!
I hope you enjoyed these basic rules that can be used in a variety of settings.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Spiritual Abuse
Spiritual Abuse. It is real, it happens today, and seems to be growing more and more as I look around.
Some of the first examples we have a spiritual abuse came through Judaic law. They added and added to those first ten commands until no one really knew when you sinned against God, or against the local clergy.
Through history, it has been evident. The early persecution of those who were not of the Roman Catholic faith, for one.
Spiritual abuse can come in all shapes and sizes and look many different ways.
The dictionary says of spiritual abuse: Spiritual abuse occurs when a person in religious authority or a person with a unique spiritual practice misleads and maltreats another...
This doesn't sound like much fun.
But I have seen it occur over and over, and in every church I have ever attended.
I know that statement is powerful, I think I mean it to be.
But before I go further, I want to give an example of the instances I have experienced
My first real experience came when I was a teen. I was "on fire" for God. I was at church every time the doors opened. I could quote my fair share of bible verses, and I knew every single word of the 10 Commandments. (Said with much sarcasm)
Now let me explain that when you live in a small resort town, where the entire population is 400 in the winter, and jumps to 10,000 in the summer, that church can be exciting and fun. Even if the main focus of the church is to cater to those thousands in a short 3 month period of time. But when the air gets cold, everyone leaves, and the real work of a local church begins.
There had been a couple in town, living in a tepee for a number of months. The church had given them money when needed, food, and warm clothes. They promised to come to church. I was excited at the prospect. Then one warm summer day, they did come. I sat proudly in the front pew, my normal spot as they made their way down the aisle. The pastor we had at the time practically ran down to meet them. But instead of a welcome hug, he told them they weren't dressed properly for church, and they couldn't come back until the took a shower.
Needless to say, I was shocked. I couldn't even concentrate on the sermon. I left church that day and rarely went back after that. I didn't want to be a part of a group that expressed acceptance by their own standards.
It was then that I began to notice that church, as I knew, was capable of spiritual abuse.
Since when do we have to dress to a certain standard to be able to attend church?
If you have lived in the south, or even visited, you will see that everyone wears their best. It is like a Sunday School Model show with the little old ladies and men standing at the door, inspecting everyone's attire to make sure it meets their standards.
Church here in this small town is really nothing like that. Most people come in ranch clothes, blue jeans, and some even have manure on their boots. Some times we may dress up a little, but only for Christmas or Easter, and I may still wear jeans on those days, depending on the temperature.
Yes, this is but one example, but it leads to a great many questions, and some of my opinions.
Since when has another believers opinions been greater than that of God?
I have seen preachers point their fingers at the church members, for not giving enough, doing enough, being there enough, and at the same time, ignoring the spiritual growth of the people in the pews.
I have seen musicians make people cry with their beautiful songs, then ten minutes later hear criticism coming from their mouths.
I have seen ministries use the very people they claim to be helping, all in the name of furthering God's Kingdom on earth. Just to throw them aside when the "rules" are broken or when you have an opinion that differs from the church leaders.
This all falls under the guise of spiritual abuse.
I am not pointing fingers here. I have done it myself.
Yes, I fully admit that I have thought to myself many times, even when I didn't speak it out loud, that "I am a better Christian than they are!" Oh how wrong I truly am. If it weren't for grace, I wouldn't be anything at all.
I keep hearing the childrens song, nah nah nah nahhh nahhhhh nah.
What is it that keeps us doing this terrible thing? Instead of loving those around us in our local church, we judge, point fingers and whisper insults.
I believe the problem starts when each of us decide to follow Christ. Suddenly, just as we are on the verge of such an incredible spiritual high, feeling pure and secure, someone starts sending is messages full of rules.
"We don't do things like that in church."
"We don't act like that in church."
"We don't speak like that in church."
People start telling us what a believer should do and not do.
All these things are the beginning of spiritual abuse.
Like we, in our own wisdom, know more, and can teach more than the Holy Spirit.
Where did this spiritual arrogance come from?
In my deep psyche, I feel it is an innate need to form power.
New believers trust older believers, they have wisdom, so, shouldn't we listen to them?
NO!!!
In fact, we should question every single thing they say, using the Holy Spirit and the Word of God to judge the real truth.
God doesn't care what we look like, or for that matter, what we smell like. He really doesn't care if our church pews have cushions or if we sit on the floor. God really doesn't care about the many little things we deem important.
God sees the individual heart, right where it is.
He doesn't ever see our sin after we have asked Jesus into our life. No, not even the sin I commit tomorrow. Why? Because the blood of Christ has covered all my sin, and when God looks at me, He sees me. The child He loves.
More on spiritual abuse in the days to come, this is a humble start.
Just know, God's Grace is enough for me, and for you. He loves you just exactly the way you are, and no one else matters. Rest in His arms and heal, He will never let you go.
Some of the first examples we have a spiritual abuse came through Judaic law. They added and added to those first ten commands until no one really knew when you sinned against God, or against the local clergy.
Through history, it has been evident. The early persecution of those who were not of the Roman Catholic faith, for one.
Spiritual abuse can come in all shapes and sizes and look many different ways.
The dictionary says of spiritual abuse: Spiritual abuse occurs when a person in religious authority or a person with a unique spiritual practice misleads and maltreats another...
This doesn't sound like much fun.
But I have seen it occur over and over, and in every church I have ever attended.
I know that statement is powerful, I think I mean it to be.
But before I go further, I want to give an example of the instances I have experienced
My first real experience came when I was a teen. I was "on fire" for God. I was at church every time the doors opened. I could quote my fair share of bible verses, and I knew every single word of the 10 Commandments. (Said with much sarcasm)
Now let me explain that when you live in a small resort town, where the entire population is 400 in the winter, and jumps to 10,000 in the summer, that church can be exciting and fun. Even if the main focus of the church is to cater to those thousands in a short 3 month period of time. But when the air gets cold, everyone leaves, and the real work of a local church begins.
There had been a couple in town, living in a tepee for a number of months. The church had given them money when needed, food, and warm clothes. They promised to come to church. I was excited at the prospect. Then one warm summer day, they did come. I sat proudly in the front pew, my normal spot as they made their way down the aisle. The pastor we had at the time practically ran down to meet them. But instead of a welcome hug, he told them they weren't dressed properly for church, and they couldn't come back until the took a shower.
Needless to say, I was shocked. I couldn't even concentrate on the sermon. I left church that day and rarely went back after that. I didn't want to be a part of a group that expressed acceptance by their own standards.
It was then that I began to notice that church, as I knew, was capable of spiritual abuse.
Since when do we have to dress to a certain standard to be able to attend church?
If you have lived in the south, or even visited, you will see that everyone wears their best. It is like a Sunday School Model show with the little old ladies and men standing at the door, inspecting everyone's attire to make sure it meets their standards.
Church here in this small town is really nothing like that. Most people come in ranch clothes, blue jeans, and some even have manure on their boots. Some times we may dress up a little, but only for Christmas or Easter, and I may still wear jeans on those days, depending on the temperature.
Yes, this is but one example, but it leads to a great many questions, and some of my opinions.
Since when has another believers opinions been greater than that of God?
I have seen preachers point their fingers at the church members, for not giving enough, doing enough, being there enough, and at the same time, ignoring the spiritual growth of the people in the pews.
I have seen musicians make people cry with their beautiful songs, then ten minutes later hear criticism coming from their mouths.
I have seen ministries use the very people they claim to be helping, all in the name of furthering God's Kingdom on earth. Just to throw them aside when the "rules" are broken or when you have an opinion that differs from the church leaders.
This all falls under the guise of spiritual abuse.
I am not pointing fingers here. I have done it myself.
Yes, I fully admit that I have thought to myself many times, even when I didn't speak it out loud, that "I am a better Christian than they are!" Oh how wrong I truly am. If it weren't for grace, I wouldn't be anything at all.
I keep hearing the childrens song, nah nah nah nahhh nahhhhh nah.
What is it that keeps us doing this terrible thing? Instead of loving those around us in our local church, we judge, point fingers and whisper insults.
I believe the problem starts when each of us decide to follow Christ. Suddenly, just as we are on the verge of such an incredible spiritual high, feeling pure and secure, someone starts sending is messages full of rules.
"We don't do things like that in church."
"We don't act like that in church."
"We don't speak like that in church."
People start telling us what a believer should do and not do.
All these things are the beginning of spiritual abuse.
Like we, in our own wisdom, know more, and can teach more than the Holy Spirit.
Where did this spiritual arrogance come from?
In my deep psyche, I feel it is an innate need to form power.
New believers trust older believers, they have wisdom, so, shouldn't we listen to them?
NO!!!
In fact, we should question every single thing they say, using the Holy Spirit and the Word of God to judge the real truth.
God doesn't care what we look like, or for that matter, what we smell like. He really doesn't care if our church pews have cushions or if we sit on the floor. God really doesn't care about the many little things we deem important.
God sees the individual heart, right where it is.
He doesn't ever see our sin after we have asked Jesus into our life. No, not even the sin I commit tomorrow. Why? Because the blood of Christ has covered all my sin, and when God looks at me, He sees me. The child He loves.
More on spiritual abuse in the days to come, this is a humble start.
Just know, God's Grace is enough for me, and for you. He loves you just exactly the way you are, and no one else matters. Rest in His arms and heal, He will never let you go.
Time goes fast and stands still
Just over a week ago, my mom and I ventured to my sisters house to begin working on a project we had planned a few months ago. Just about six months ago to be exact.
My brother had a plethora of t-shirts. After he died, none of us were sure what to do with them. No one wanted to give them away, or dump them in the trash.
So, after a few discussions with Glenda, my sister-in-law, we decided to make memorial quilts out of them.
Now, some of you may be thinking that because we live in the world of little towns, we would have nothing more to do than make quilts and jelly. Nay, say I. This was something we had to tackle, and soon.
We all picked out the t-shirts we wanted on our quilts, bagged them up, and took them to Penny's to begin the major task.
Now, you have to keep in mind that none of us have ever made quilts. Yes, I have made some small baby quilts, nothing hard, easy one pieces. But we had decided it couldn't be that hard to make a few quilts. Well, 10 didn't seem that hard, we figured, if a person could do one, we three could certainly make 10. No problem. Oh, for famous last words.
First, we had to iron on backing to all the shirts. No easy task. It took my mom and I a day and a half to complete it. Penny supervised. Millie, my dog had come along with us, and was bored after the first few minutes of watching the steaming irons. She had more fun later when the material scraps were all over the floor for her to play with.
After completing this part, we moved on to how to put them together.
First, we had to make squares. Because, quilts have squares.
This would have been much easier if some of the shirts didn't have logos that covered the entire front of the shirt and sleeves.
Not wanting to destroy a single logo, we cut the shirts in half, and decided that we would use the entire shirt, laid out flat, front and back to make the smaller lap robes for the kids. Each one would have a single shirt.
Now to put them on the material we had purchased.
We spent the rest of that day contemplating how this should be done, and eventually decided we would use a simple zig-zag stitch, and piece them together.
It took us one entire day to finish the top of one quilt. There had to be a better way. Simply cutting out material and piecing them together was not going to work.
Light bulbs came on above our heads when we decided to sew the entire shirt onto one piece of material.
We had four days left to complete all the tops so that my sister could take the quilt tops to work and place pictures of John on them.
In all honesty, after we figured out this part, it did fall into place and with sewing machines smoking, (or was that Penny and I?) we were able to get all of them done with a couple hours left over.
I have now decided this was one of the best therapy sessions I have ever had. We all needed that time together. We all shared memories of my brother as we cut and sewed. Some so funny we rolled with laughter, others so sad we had to take a break and cry a while.
Mom shared a story about my brother bringing home a dead cat, and telling everyone his dad would fix it, because dad could fix anything. (I have to admit, he can fix just about everything, and make it better than it was in the first place, but a dead cat full of bugs was not something he could quite do.)
Penny talked about the memorial service and all the people that had come. We had so much love and support that day. God's hand was holding us close that day, and many more since then.
I talked about how John loved his nieces and nephews, and all the things he did for them through the years. They loved him so much, and it had nothing to do with anything he had ever given them. They just loved him because he always loved them unconditionally. They all new John would give good advice, a quick smile, and a pat on the shoulder.
We talked about even more, but those things seem the most important to me right now.
Now that the tops are finished, Penny is putting pictures on them, and then my mom will take them all over to her friends who does quilt and has a huge machine, to have them finished. They may even be done by Christmas!
Now to tackle making jelly...hmm...maybe next year!
My brother had a plethora of t-shirts. After he died, none of us were sure what to do with them. No one wanted to give them away, or dump them in the trash.
So, after a few discussions with Glenda, my sister-in-law, we decided to make memorial quilts out of them.
Now, some of you may be thinking that because we live in the world of little towns, we would have nothing more to do than make quilts and jelly. Nay, say I. This was something we had to tackle, and soon.
We all picked out the t-shirts we wanted on our quilts, bagged them up, and took them to Penny's to begin the major task.
Now, you have to keep in mind that none of us have ever made quilts. Yes, I have made some small baby quilts, nothing hard, easy one pieces. But we had decided it couldn't be that hard to make a few quilts. Well, 10 didn't seem that hard, we figured, if a person could do one, we three could certainly make 10. No problem. Oh, for famous last words.
First, we had to iron on backing to all the shirts. No easy task. It took my mom and I a day and a half to complete it. Penny supervised. Millie, my dog had come along with us, and was bored after the first few minutes of watching the steaming irons. She had more fun later when the material scraps were all over the floor for her to play with.
After completing this part, we moved on to how to put them together.
First, we had to make squares. Because, quilts have squares.
This would have been much easier if some of the shirts didn't have logos that covered the entire front of the shirt and sleeves.
Not wanting to destroy a single logo, we cut the shirts in half, and decided that we would use the entire shirt, laid out flat, front and back to make the smaller lap robes for the kids. Each one would have a single shirt.
Now to put them on the material we had purchased.
We spent the rest of that day contemplating how this should be done, and eventually decided we would use a simple zig-zag stitch, and piece them together.
It took us one entire day to finish the top of one quilt. There had to be a better way. Simply cutting out material and piecing them together was not going to work.
Light bulbs came on above our heads when we decided to sew the entire shirt onto one piece of material.
We had four days left to complete all the tops so that my sister could take the quilt tops to work and place pictures of John on them.
In all honesty, after we figured out this part, it did fall into place and with sewing machines smoking, (or was that Penny and I?) we were able to get all of them done with a couple hours left over.
I have now decided this was one of the best therapy sessions I have ever had. We all needed that time together. We all shared memories of my brother as we cut and sewed. Some so funny we rolled with laughter, others so sad we had to take a break and cry a while.
Mom shared a story about my brother bringing home a dead cat, and telling everyone his dad would fix it, because dad could fix anything. (I have to admit, he can fix just about everything, and make it better than it was in the first place, but a dead cat full of bugs was not something he could quite do.)
Penny talked about the memorial service and all the people that had come. We had so much love and support that day. God's hand was holding us close that day, and many more since then.
I talked about how John loved his nieces and nephews, and all the things he did for them through the years. They loved him so much, and it had nothing to do with anything he had ever given them. They just loved him because he always loved them unconditionally. They all new John would give good advice, a quick smile, and a pat on the shoulder.
We talked about even more, but those things seem the most important to me right now.
Now that the tops are finished, Penny is putting pictures on them, and then my mom will take them all over to her friends who does quilt and has a huge machine, to have them finished. They may even be done by Christmas!
Now to tackle making jelly...hmm...maybe next year!
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
My town, My people!
I love my home town!
No! I really do!
I like being able to walk down the street and know almost everyone.
I like waving to neighbors when I walk to the store,
or drive down the street.
A few years back, there was an accident at our home
It happened the day of our annual Covered Wagon's Day Parade.
A man had a seizure after seeing the blinking lights of the patrol cars.
conveniently parked at each end of main street, detouring traffic.
He was going well over 60 m.p.h. when he hit out neighbors garage, bouncing him over to our fence line, where his truck tore it out.
He then hit our back steps, which forced him back over to out neighbors,
upon which he took out their clothes line, and ended up in their shed.
We had just walked in the door. Nathaniel was sitting near the window closest to the fence. Our youngest son, in the back bedroom, watching t.v. just a few feet from our back door. Our neighbors were gone.
My neighbor just happens to be the chief of police, and my husbands cousin.
We felt terrible for the destruction of their home, while rejoicing that the damage to our property and lives was very low.
Within minutes, our neighbors were there.
After the all clear was given by the gas and electric company, our neighbors pitched in and helped pick up the debris. All of our neighbors things that were stored in the garage, were now all over the yard. It really didn't take long for everyone to clean it up, put their stuff in boxes and bags, and store it next to their home.
Our neighbors brought us something to drink, patted us on the back, and went back to their homes.
That night, a few neighbors and friends still stopping by to see the now non-existent fence, garage, clothes line, and shed just sat and visited.
We caught up with friends we hadn't really talked to in years, met some new friends, and thanked everyone who wanted to pitch in and help.
Now, I know this doesn't happen everywhere. (I did live in L.A. for a time)
But I like knowing that the people who live around us really do care, even when we only share the occasional wave or nod of a head.
No, we don't have all night stores, or hang outs, like people have in large cities. We don't have a mall, or a multitude of convenience stores.
We have something much more important! It is knowing someone will always have your back if you need them, just as we would for them.
It isn't the buildings that make this town great, or even the single stop light. It is the people. The cat lady who we never see come out of her house. The people across the street that came to America for a better life and after years of work, became citizens. The couple with all the kids down the block, who wave and ask if we want to come play. The older couple on the end of our block who are always kind and loving to their pets. The young adults who share a house and have a party every now and then, (and play good music.) Our cousin and chief of police who works hard at keeping us safe. It is all these people and more.
Yes! I really do love this town!
No! I really do!
I like being able to walk down the street and know almost everyone.
I like waving to neighbors when I walk to the store,
or drive down the street.
A few years back, there was an accident at our home
It happened the day of our annual Covered Wagon's Day Parade.
A man had a seizure after seeing the blinking lights of the patrol cars.
conveniently parked at each end of main street, detouring traffic.
He was going well over 60 m.p.h. when he hit out neighbors garage, bouncing him over to our fence line, where his truck tore it out.
He then hit our back steps, which forced him back over to out neighbors,
upon which he took out their clothes line, and ended up in their shed.
We had just walked in the door. Nathaniel was sitting near the window closest to the fence. Our youngest son, in the back bedroom, watching t.v. just a few feet from our back door. Our neighbors were gone.
My neighbor just happens to be the chief of police, and my husbands cousin.
We felt terrible for the destruction of their home, while rejoicing that the damage to our property and lives was very low.
Within minutes, our neighbors were there.
After the all clear was given by the gas and electric company, our neighbors pitched in and helped pick up the debris. All of our neighbors things that were stored in the garage, were now all over the yard. It really didn't take long for everyone to clean it up, put their stuff in boxes and bags, and store it next to their home.
Our neighbors brought us something to drink, patted us on the back, and went back to their homes.
That night, a few neighbors and friends still stopping by to see the now non-existent fence, garage, clothes line, and shed just sat and visited.
We caught up with friends we hadn't really talked to in years, met some new friends, and thanked everyone who wanted to pitch in and help.
Now, I know this doesn't happen everywhere. (I did live in L.A. for a time)
But I like knowing that the people who live around us really do care, even when we only share the occasional wave or nod of a head.
No, we don't have all night stores, or hang outs, like people have in large cities. We don't have a mall, or a multitude of convenience stores.
We have something much more important! It is knowing someone will always have your back if you need them, just as we would for them.
It isn't the buildings that make this town great, or even the single stop light. It is the people. The cat lady who we never see come out of her house. The people across the street that came to America for a better life and after years of work, became citizens. The couple with all the kids down the block, who wave and ask if we want to come play. The older couple on the end of our block who are always kind and loving to their pets. The young adults who share a house and have a party every now and then, (and play good music.) Our cousin and chief of police who works hard at keeping us safe. It is all these people and more.
Yes! I really do love this town!
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Faith
I am a Christian.
It was not an inherited faith.
I did not become a Christian because my parents were Christians.
I did not become a Christian because I am weak, ill, or slow-witted. My faith is not a "crutch."
I certainly make no claims to be intelligent, I feel I am fairly normal in the brain department.
I did accept my God's forgiveness as a child, and at that time asked Him to be the Lord and Master of my life.
I do not claim to be a "Super Christian."
I do not claim that because of my faith, my life is perfect.
Anyone who knows me even slightly, knows my life is far from perfect!
I have not always lived my belief. I am guilty of being a hypocrite from time to time.
Christianity is not an easy form of faith.
My faith in an invisible God Has been trying and question filled.
Yet, despite all of that, my faith is simple.
I believe God created this world in Seven days. I do not know exactly the length of those days, as I, nor anyone else, was present at that time. I do believe God is the creator of time, and thus is not held to it's constraints as humans are.
A creator can create anything to suit himself, and is completely able to change it.
I believe the Bible is the written word of God. I believe a Supreme Creator can use the mind and body of His creation, while still allowing said creation to use his or her own mind for interjection. To me, this does not make the bible invalid. I believe it is simply a fact.
I believe that Jesus Christ is the living Son of God. I believe He is the Word of God, His voice, His hands, and the reason for being able to approach Him without fear, boldly even, because of what He allowed His Son to do.
I believe that the blood of Christ covers all sin. All Sin. even those I have not committed, all past sin, not only mine, but every single person who is willing to accept this gift.
I believe there is nothing I can do in my own power to please my God.
I believe that building faith takes a life time.
I believe that the Holy Spirit is God's breath living, ever present.
I believe that we can only meet God on His terms, which means accepting His gift of Jesus Christ.
I know that no matter what is happening in this world, my God will always be with me, often carrying me.
I still have struggles with my faith. I still question my God.
I believe both are acceptable to Him, because it is honest.
God is truth, there is no other.
In the next few weeks, I will be interjecting posts on a matter of topics concerning faith. I hope to hear from as many people as possible about this mysterious thing called Faith!
Have a question? I will be happy to search for the answer with you, although, I will probably be very likely to give you my opinion!
(Was that a warning??? L.O.L. Probably!)
It was not an inherited faith.
I did not become a Christian because my parents were Christians.
I did not become a Christian because I am weak, ill, or slow-witted. My faith is not a "crutch."
I certainly make no claims to be intelligent, I feel I am fairly normal in the brain department.
I did accept my God's forgiveness as a child, and at that time asked Him to be the Lord and Master of my life.
I do not claim to be a "Super Christian."
I do not claim that because of my faith, my life is perfect.
Anyone who knows me even slightly, knows my life is far from perfect!
I have not always lived my belief. I am guilty of being a hypocrite from time to time.
Christianity is not an easy form of faith.
My faith in an invisible God Has been trying and question filled.
Yet, despite all of that, my faith is simple.
I believe God created this world in Seven days. I do not know exactly the length of those days, as I, nor anyone else, was present at that time. I do believe God is the creator of time, and thus is not held to it's constraints as humans are.
A creator can create anything to suit himself, and is completely able to change it.
I believe the Bible is the written word of God. I believe a Supreme Creator can use the mind and body of His creation, while still allowing said creation to use his or her own mind for interjection. To me, this does not make the bible invalid. I believe it is simply a fact.
I believe that Jesus Christ is the living Son of God. I believe He is the Word of God, His voice, His hands, and the reason for being able to approach Him without fear, boldly even, because of what He allowed His Son to do.
I believe that the blood of Christ covers all sin. All Sin. even those I have not committed, all past sin, not only mine, but every single person who is willing to accept this gift.
I believe there is nothing I can do in my own power to please my God.
I believe that building faith takes a life time.
I believe that the Holy Spirit is God's breath living, ever present.
I believe that we can only meet God on His terms, which means accepting His gift of Jesus Christ.
I know that no matter what is happening in this world, my God will always be with me, often carrying me.
I still have struggles with my faith. I still question my God.
I believe both are acceptable to Him, because it is honest.
God is truth, there is no other.
In the next few weeks, I will be interjecting posts on a matter of topics concerning faith. I hope to hear from as many people as possible about this mysterious thing called Faith!
Have a question? I will be happy to search for the answer with you, although, I will probably be very likely to give you my opinion!
(Was that a warning??? L.O.L. Probably!)
Monday, October 3, 2011
Growing up in the "old" days!
Del Norte is an awesome place to grow up!
As a kid, I lived here from the time I was seven, until I was a teen, when we moved to Creede.
We lived on the north side of town, just off the highway, and near what is now the park. It wasn't built until just before we moved.
My cousin had an old horse, mainly white. His one outstanding feature was the small "o" that his lips made. He could never quite close his mouth. We could always tell which horse Blitz was in a crowd of white horses, just because of this little feature. My sister and I had ponies. Mine was called Babe, and my sisters, was her filly named Flicka.
Our pastures were near our house, so it was always easy access.
It was wonderful to grow up in a time where our parents never knew where we were, although they did know we were always out riding. We didn't have to worry about kidnapping, (Not that anyone would have wanted us, spending that much time with a horse lends a certain odor to your being,) or drugs, or weapons at school.
The three of us girls were always together, always on an adventure!
One of our favorite places to ride was behind the sawmill. We would ride our horses across the lower head gates, or just across the Rio Grande, depending on the depth of the water. As long as the horses could swim, we figured we would make it.
We would spend hours in that little field of cottonwoods, pretending we were cowboys and indians, bank robbers, wealthy ranchers chasing cattle rustlers, or just racing. It was near the pig farm, and the swimming hole in the river, complete with a knotted rope for swinging out over the hole!
Of course, riding horses all day does make one hungry. Because we knew there would mainly be bologna or P.B.&J. at home, we would have to figure out a way to make money to buy the various junk food we craved.
One of our favorite ways to make money was dressing up as cowboys and indians. Because my cousin and I had western saddles, we were always the cowboys. My sister always had a tan, long hair, and looked kind of like a boy, she was the indian, complete with headband and face paint.
We would take our horses up to the Old West Hotel and pose for pictures for the tourists.
This wasn't always an easy feat. One, we didn't have a camera, the tourists would have to use their own. Two, We had to collect a dollar from them after they snapped our photo. Most were simply not willing to do this. Thus, causing us to become miffed and because my pony was well trained, I would make her rear up at them to show my personal disgust.
Most days, we would make a couple of dollars, which at that time, bought a whole bunch of junk food at Jessops store.
We would buy 5 cents worth of penny bubble gum. Some candy bars, and maybe even a soda. We would always make our money back on the bottles by trading them back in.
There was rarely a day we didn't ride.
We considered ourselves expert on everything "horse."
We lived, ate, and breathed horse. Even at home, we would get down on our hands and pretend to be a horse, racing up and down the halls, causing our parents to yell at us to be quiet. My cousin and sister were fluent in "horse." I didn't ever master the talent of a whinny or a snort, but they needed someone to interpret, so that job was mine!
One particular winter, we had become upset with our respective parents, and decided to run away from home. It didn't take us long to figure out where we would go. To us, it was obvious. We would ride to Utah and live happily ever after with the Osmonds and Robert Redford.
We knew a trip of this magnitude would take planning. One just couldn't take off and find horse feed just anywhere.
Grudgingly, we asked for maps and paper, which was given generously to us by our parents.
The entire winter was spent around our kitchen table. Maps opened, and lists made of the items we needed before we could leave.
We tended to feed the horses a little better that winter, so they could fatten up for the trip.
I don't remember all the plans we made, but I do remember they were intricate. We knew how many miles we would ride every day. Yes, we were experts on this matter, because we had ridden to Center and Monte Vista previously, we knew what our horses could take.
We knew we would have to get a couple of mules to haul all of our camping items, which consisted of a couple of pans, a water bucket, oats for the horses, and three blankets.
We would camp the real way, using our saddles as pillows!
It was one of the best winters ever!
Looking back, I can now truly say how thankful I am for that time.
I know we wore those poor horses out, but we loved them more than life itself!
I know we drove our parents crazy, but they let us be kids and didn't mind too much when lived out our imaginations.
I feel sorry for kids who never had this chance. For us, the days were carefree and fun. They taught us how to settle our own fights, make a world of our own, and how to be compassionate and care for animals. We learned that family is always more important, that sometimes, boys are cute, but most of the time they weren't worth the effort, and we could be anything we wanted! We could make a circus and get our friends to join in, ride for hours, and stop and watch the wonders of the world around us.
There are moments when I see something that reminds me of that time. It makes me smile and in moments I'm swept away to that time and place, and I am a cowboy or a princess, riding off into the sunset!
As a kid, I lived here from the time I was seven, until I was a teen, when we moved to Creede.
We lived on the north side of town, just off the highway, and near what is now the park. It wasn't built until just before we moved.
My cousin had an old horse, mainly white. His one outstanding feature was the small "o" that his lips made. He could never quite close his mouth. We could always tell which horse Blitz was in a crowd of white horses, just because of this little feature. My sister and I had ponies. Mine was called Babe, and my sisters, was her filly named Flicka.
Our pastures were near our house, so it was always easy access.
It was wonderful to grow up in a time where our parents never knew where we were, although they did know we were always out riding. We didn't have to worry about kidnapping, (Not that anyone would have wanted us, spending that much time with a horse lends a certain odor to your being,) or drugs, or weapons at school.
The three of us girls were always together, always on an adventure!
One of our favorite places to ride was behind the sawmill. We would ride our horses across the lower head gates, or just across the Rio Grande, depending on the depth of the water. As long as the horses could swim, we figured we would make it.
We would spend hours in that little field of cottonwoods, pretending we were cowboys and indians, bank robbers, wealthy ranchers chasing cattle rustlers, or just racing. It was near the pig farm, and the swimming hole in the river, complete with a knotted rope for swinging out over the hole!
Of course, riding horses all day does make one hungry. Because we knew there would mainly be bologna or P.B.&J. at home, we would have to figure out a way to make money to buy the various junk food we craved.
One of our favorite ways to make money was dressing up as cowboys and indians. Because my cousin and I had western saddles, we were always the cowboys. My sister always had a tan, long hair, and looked kind of like a boy, she was the indian, complete with headband and face paint.
We would take our horses up to the Old West Hotel and pose for pictures for the tourists.
This wasn't always an easy feat. One, we didn't have a camera, the tourists would have to use their own. Two, We had to collect a dollar from them after they snapped our photo. Most were simply not willing to do this. Thus, causing us to become miffed and because my pony was well trained, I would make her rear up at them to show my personal disgust.
Most days, we would make a couple of dollars, which at that time, bought a whole bunch of junk food at Jessops store.
We would buy 5 cents worth of penny bubble gum. Some candy bars, and maybe even a soda. We would always make our money back on the bottles by trading them back in.
There was rarely a day we didn't ride.
We considered ourselves expert on everything "horse."
We lived, ate, and breathed horse. Even at home, we would get down on our hands and pretend to be a horse, racing up and down the halls, causing our parents to yell at us to be quiet. My cousin and sister were fluent in "horse." I didn't ever master the talent of a whinny or a snort, but they needed someone to interpret, so that job was mine!
One particular winter, we had become upset with our respective parents, and decided to run away from home. It didn't take us long to figure out where we would go. To us, it was obvious. We would ride to Utah and live happily ever after with the Osmonds and Robert Redford.
We knew a trip of this magnitude would take planning. One just couldn't take off and find horse feed just anywhere.
Grudgingly, we asked for maps and paper, which was given generously to us by our parents.
The entire winter was spent around our kitchen table. Maps opened, and lists made of the items we needed before we could leave.
We tended to feed the horses a little better that winter, so they could fatten up for the trip.
I don't remember all the plans we made, but I do remember they were intricate. We knew how many miles we would ride every day. Yes, we were experts on this matter, because we had ridden to Center and Monte Vista previously, we knew what our horses could take.
We knew we would have to get a couple of mules to haul all of our camping items, which consisted of a couple of pans, a water bucket, oats for the horses, and three blankets.
We would camp the real way, using our saddles as pillows!
It was one of the best winters ever!
Looking back, I can now truly say how thankful I am for that time.
I know we wore those poor horses out, but we loved them more than life itself!
I know we drove our parents crazy, but they let us be kids and didn't mind too much when lived out our imaginations.
I feel sorry for kids who never had this chance. For us, the days were carefree and fun. They taught us how to settle our own fights, make a world of our own, and how to be compassionate and care for animals. We learned that family is always more important, that sometimes, boys are cute, but most of the time they weren't worth the effort, and we could be anything we wanted! We could make a circus and get our friends to join in, ride for hours, and stop and watch the wonders of the world around us.
There are moments when I see something that reminds me of that time. It makes me smile and in moments I'm swept away to that time and place, and I am a cowboy or a princess, riding off into the sunset!
Friday, September 30, 2011
Bear Story
A number of people have asked me to share my bear story. So, here it is, in all of it's glorious and humorous moments! Enjoy!
A number of years ago, while I was youth minister at the former First Southern Baptist church, myself and my friend took three teens to Discipleship Training at the Baptist Camp of Glorietta, New Mexico. (The Mecca for Baptists in the west!)
We decided to camp, using my brand new two room tent. The cabins and rooms were beyond our budget. We picked a location on the hill near the end of the camp loop. It was a beautiful spot, surrounded by Ponderosa pine.
We registered, ate dinner Saturday evening and returned to our camp and got ready for the night. The two girls were in one air mattress in one room, my son on a cot in the room with me and my friend on the other air mattress.
Now, there were a number of other campers there that night, including a Spanish baptist group that were enjoying a sing-a-long near their campfire. Some of them shouldn't have been singing, I know the bible says to make a joyful noise, but I had to wonder if God could find any joy among this noise!
Needless to say, we got little sleep that night.
Because the camp was so full, we were slated for the early breakfast schedule. Six is a little early for me to get up, and without much sleep the night before, the first day seemed to drag on endlessly.
We literally slid ourselves to bed at 10:30 that evening, thrilled that the campground was empty except for us. Happy the Spanish campers had moved out, and there was a great possibility that we would enjoy a good night sleep.
Everyone was asleep before we hit our sleeping bags.
A noise woke my friend and I around 2:00 in the morning. Whispering, she said, "I think there is a bear out there!"
My eyes snapped open. "What do we do?"
"Be quiet, maybe it will go away."
Our whispers woke the three teens, who promptly asked what was going on.
"Shhh!" My friend whispered, "There is a bear out there, just go back to sleep!" Yeah, I'm sure that inspired them that we had everything under control and they could once again venture into dream land!
It was at this moment, that my brainy son spoke softly, "Mom, I see trees."
Brilliant, I thought, "Of course you see trees, we are in the woods."
"No mom, I mean I see the trees, I think the door is open!"
Suddenly I sat up, thinking we were more tired than I thought. I must immediately get up and zip up the door, closing off access to our humble abode. I crawled over my friend, who was now sitting up looking at the door. It was when I neared the door, sticking my hand out that I noticed the door was completely zipped, and yes my son had seen the trees, because there was a hole sliced near the zipper from the top of the tent, to the bottom.
You must remember, that brains rarely work well when suddenly roused from sleep by bears. After a quick discussion, we decided it would be best for us to leave the tent, get into the vehicle, and leave this place of wild animals.
Quickly gathering our coats, a flashlight, and pillows, I stood to lead the way.
Shaking, I unzipped the zipper. Now, at this point you may be asking yourself why we didn't just go through the convenient hole already there. As previously stated, brains don't work well when awoken by a bear! I stuck the flashlight out, saw no bear, and we all dashed for the vehicle. (We had borrowed a larger vehicle from a church member so we could carry our various camping items.) Now, being older, and ignorant of the lock your door always rule, my friend and I jumped into the front seat. Her in the driver seat, me in the passenger seat. The teens, well aware of the a fore mentioned rule, had dutifully locked their doors the night before. They were standing there, pounding on the glass in unison, "LET US IN! LET US IN!"
After fumbling with the lock, they were finally able to get into the back seat. Both girls next to the doors, my son sitting greatly relieved in between them.
We were ready to go, breathing a sigh of relief, my friend spoke. "okay, give me the keys."
Looking at her, my brain still not functioning well, "I don't have the keys, you have them."
She shook her head, "No, you have them."
"No,", I said matter of fact, "You drove back last night, you have them."
It was at that exact moment our brains came to the same conclusion as we spoke in unison. "The keys are in the tent."
"Well," I said, "Someone has to go get the keys."
All eyes turned to my son, the only he-man-type male among us.
He shook his head, "No, you can call me a wimp, or a wuss, or whatever else you want, but I'm not getting the keys." As he sat boldly between the girls.
We all sat quietly for a moment. Knowing we were the adults and after all, we were responsible for the teens, and we really couldn't just send them out alone into bear infested woods to retrieve keys, we came up with a plan to get the keys.
I, being the lesser of the brave, would remain in the vehicle with the teens. My friend would run to the tent and grab the keys and because she was already in the drivers seat, this was the most logical conclusion. I decided I would keep her safe from the bears by rolling down the window just enough for me to hold the flashlight outside, so she would be able to see, while the other hand was on the horn. I would honk if I saw the bear, after that, she was pretty much on her own!
With trepidation, she ventured out to get the above mentioned keys.
It felt like eternity before she emerged from the tent, still using the door, and promptly zipping it back up again, keys in hand.
Relieved, we drove to the bottom of the hill where the camp host was sleeping soundly in his R.V.. Earlier, we had read a sign on the door that said if you see a bear, please inform the camp host. It didn't say we shouldn't do so in the middle of the night. My friend and I jumped out of the vehicle now feeling safe since the tent was at least 100 yards up the hill. We quickly knocked on the door, looking at each other as we heard a woman's voice coming from inside somewhere. "It must be a bear."
At least we wouldn't have to feel guilty about waking them up! This must have happened before. A man, wearing gray sweat pants and a Glorietta t-shirt opened the door.
"There is a bear at our tent," I spewed excitedly, "and it ripped a hole in our tent from here to here." I used my hands to speak, knowing from experience that brains don't work well, and he may need a visual description to get the point across to his brain.
Without a word, and leaving the door open, he turned and picked up an old rotary dial phone. "Security, this is the camp host, we have a bear in the campground, I think it's the big one."
At those words, eyes popping, my friend and I looked at each other and mouthed, "The Big One!!!" My brain, now starting to function slightly, thought, wow, they know these bears so well, that they could tell it was the big one just from my visual explanation! They are good!
Within moments, a security guard in a golf cart passed us as he drove as quickly as you can in a golf cart up the hill to tent camping.
I looked at the camp host, "We can't stay in our tent now, it has a huge hole, what should we do?"
After another phone call, he turned, "We have a cabin you can use, there isn't a key, but no one bothers anything here."
No problem, but our bedding, minus pillows, was still in the tent with our clothing. Happy now, the teens noticed we had saved the junk food from being demolished by a hungry bear by insisting we leave all food in the truck and quickly dug in to grab a mid-night snack.
After a time, we heard the golf cart returning. The nice security guy told us he would help us get our items out of the tent and move to the cabin. He hadn't seen the bear, and was pretty sure it was gone, but just in case, he would hold the tent open while he stood with a shotgun in his hand, just in case. Being fully awake, his brain functioning perfectly, he told us just to use the convenient hole made by the bear.
It was now 4:30 in the morning. It took another half hour for us to move our clothes and sleeping bags into the nearby cabin. Two sets of bunk beds, and a cot, along with an old gas stove and noisy 1940 refrigerator were the only things in the small 15x15 foot cabin.
Lights out, and at last, sleep. But the teens, tummies full from junk food, and adrenaline rushing through their hormone filled bodies, were unable to sleep. Oh well, it was almost time for us to get up and go to breakfast. We made our way to the shower house, glad we didn't have to wait in line, no one else was up at this hour. It was upon returning to the cabin that we now could see the vehicle. The sun just coming up over the mountains. Paw prints, in the dust on the side of the vehicle. And, what is this? The air vent cover, put there more for decoration than anything else, was missing. We moved en mass to the rear of the vehicle, and it was there we saw the tongue prints on the window. The bear had tried to get our junk food! The teens were angry now and desired revenge from the foe who would dare take their chips and chocolate!
We went to breakfast, glad to be alive, yawning, and trudged to our classes.
Now, for those of you who have never been to this mecca of the baptist west, know the bathrooms can rival those in any major football league stadium in the United States. The stalls seem to be an endless row or relief.
While using these wonderful facilities, my friend and I overheard everyone talking about a bear attack in the camp ground.
"I guess it shredded the tent!"
"Yeah, and I heard that one of them had their leg torn off, we need to pray for those poor people!"
"I have been praying, but can you imagine a bear thrashing through a tent full of teens? It must have been horrific"
"I'm sure it was, bless their little hearts!"
Not aware that it was ourselves who were the topic of this discussion stepped into the main room. A very grandmotherly woman was at the sink. My friend approached her, "When did this happen? We had our tent attacked by a bear last night too!"
The lady flung her arms around my friend and I, nearly smothering us with her um, rather large bosoms. "Bless your little hearts, You must have been terrified!"
Pulling away from her loving grasp, we nodded, smiling. "Yeah," I said, "but it is kind of funny now that we think about it."
"How close to the campers that lost their legs were you?" She asked.
"Well, we thought we were the only ones there and we didn't even know about anyone losing their legs."
It was at this moment, we were graced by a female security person who explained, it was only one tent, and, we were the ones that had been spoken about. We both looked down at our legs, just in case one was missing, and being as tired as we were, we may not have noticed a missing body part.
Nope! All intact, we left the bathroom, amazed and still laughing from our experience.
Just in case you are wondering, I still have the tent, although I don't use it any longer, I keep it just in case someone asks me to return to this place and camp with them. I quietly take it out and show them, using my hands, I explain loudly why I can never again return to this campground.
There is a little more to the story, but I will save that for a time when I must write about sleep deprivation and what it can do to the human brain!
And just a word of warning, whispering does not deter bears from keeping company with you in the middle of the night. It is better to shout and scream. I just thought I would share this bit of information in case you decided to travel to this amazing place! By the way, do you need to borrow a tent?
A number of years ago, while I was youth minister at the former First Southern Baptist church, myself and my friend took three teens to Discipleship Training at the Baptist Camp of Glorietta, New Mexico. (The Mecca for Baptists in the west!)
We decided to camp, using my brand new two room tent. The cabins and rooms were beyond our budget. We picked a location on the hill near the end of the camp loop. It was a beautiful spot, surrounded by Ponderosa pine.
We registered, ate dinner Saturday evening and returned to our camp and got ready for the night. The two girls were in one air mattress in one room, my son on a cot in the room with me and my friend on the other air mattress.
Now, there were a number of other campers there that night, including a Spanish baptist group that were enjoying a sing-a-long near their campfire. Some of them shouldn't have been singing, I know the bible says to make a joyful noise, but I had to wonder if God could find any joy among this noise!
Needless to say, we got little sleep that night.
Because the camp was so full, we were slated for the early breakfast schedule. Six is a little early for me to get up, and without much sleep the night before, the first day seemed to drag on endlessly.
We literally slid ourselves to bed at 10:30 that evening, thrilled that the campground was empty except for us. Happy the Spanish campers had moved out, and there was a great possibility that we would enjoy a good night sleep.
Everyone was asleep before we hit our sleeping bags.
A noise woke my friend and I around 2:00 in the morning. Whispering, she said, "I think there is a bear out there!"
My eyes snapped open. "What do we do?"
"Be quiet, maybe it will go away."
Our whispers woke the three teens, who promptly asked what was going on.
"Shhh!" My friend whispered, "There is a bear out there, just go back to sleep!" Yeah, I'm sure that inspired them that we had everything under control and they could once again venture into dream land!
It was at this moment, that my brainy son spoke softly, "Mom, I see trees."
Brilliant, I thought, "Of course you see trees, we are in the woods."
"No mom, I mean I see the trees, I think the door is open!"
Suddenly I sat up, thinking we were more tired than I thought. I must immediately get up and zip up the door, closing off access to our humble abode. I crawled over my friend, who was now sitting up looking at the door. It was when I neared the door, sticking my hand out that I noticed the door was completely zipped, and yes my son had seen the trees, because there was a hole sliced near the zipper from the top of the tent, to the bottom.
You must remember, that brains rarely work well when suddenly roused from sleep by bears. After a quick discussion, we decided it would be best for us to leave the tent, get into the vehicle, and leave this place of wild animals.
Quickly gathering our coats, a flashlight, and pillows, I stood to lead the way.
Shaking, I unzipped the zipper. Now, at this point you may be asking yourself why we didn't just go through the convenient hole already there. As previously stated, brains don't work well when awoken by a bear! I stuck the flashlight out, saw no bear, and we all dashed for the vehicle. (We had borrowed a larger vehicle from a church member so we could carry our various camping items.) Now, being older, and ignorant of the lock your door always rule, my friend and I jumped into the front seat. Her in the driver seat, me in the passenger seat. The teens, well aware of the a fore mentioned rule, had dutifully locked their doors the night before. They were standing there, pounding on the glass in unison, "LET US IN! LET US IN!"
After fumbling with the lock, they were finally able to get into the back seat. Both girls next to the doors, my son sitting greatly relieved in between them.
We were ready to go, breathing a sigh of relief, my friend spoke. "okay, give me the keys."
Looking at her, my brain still not functioning well, "I don't have the keys, you have them."
She shook her head, "No, you have them."
"No,", I said matter of fact, "You drove back last night, you have them."
It was at that exact moment our brains came to the same conclusion as we spoke in unison. "The keys are in the tent."
"Well," I said, "Someone has to go get the keys."
All eyes turned to my son, the only he-man-type male among us.
He shook his head, "No, you can call me a wimp, or a wuss, or whatever else you want, but I'm not getting the keys." As he sat boldly between the girls.
We all sat quietly for a moment. Knowing we were the adults and after all, we were responsible for the teens, and we really couldn't just send them out alone into bear infested woods to retrieve keys, we came up with a plan to get the keys.
I, being the lesser of the brave, would remain in the vehicle with the teens. My friend would run to the tent and grab the keys and because she was already in the drivers seat, this was the most logical conclusion. I decided I would keep her safe from the bears by rolling down the window just enough for me to hold the flashlight outside, so she would be able to see, while the other hand was on the horn. I would honk if I saw the bear, after that, she was pretty much on her own!
With trepidation, she ventured out to get the above mentioned keys.
It felt like eternity before she emerged from the tent, still using the door, and promptly zipping it back up again, keys in hand.
Relieved, we drove to the bottom of the hill where the camp host was sleeping soundly in his R.V.. Earlier, we had read a sign on the door that said if you see a bear, please inform the camp host. It didn't say we shouldn't do so in the middle of the night. My friend and I jumped out of the vehicle now feeling safe since the tent was at least 100 yards up the hill. We quickly knocked on the door, looking at each other as we heard a woman's voice coming from inside somewhere. "It must be a bear."
At least we wouldn't have to feel guilty about waking them up! This must have happened before. A man, wearing gray sweat pants and a Glorietta t-shirt opened the door.
"There is a bear at our tent," I spewed excitedly, "and it ripped a hole in our tent from here to here." I used my hands to speak, knowing from experience that brains don't work well, and he may need a visual description to get the point across to his brain.
Without a word, and leaving the door open, he turned and picked up an old rotary dial phone. "Security, this is the camp host, we have a bear in the campground, I think it's the big one."
At those words, eyes popping, my friend and I looked at each other and mouthed, "The Big One!!!" My brain, now starting to function slightly, thought, wow, they know these bears so well, that they could tell it was the big one just from my visual explanation! They are good!
Within moments, a security guard in a golf cart passed us as he drove as quickly as you can in a golf cart up the hill to tent camping.
I looked at the camp host, "We can't stay in our tent now, it has a huge hole, what should we do?"
After another phone call, he turned, "We have a cabin you can use, there isn't a key, but no one bothers anything here."
No problem, but our bedding, minus pillows, was still in the tent with our clothing. Happy now, the teens noticed we had saved the junk food from being demolished by a hungry bear by insisting we leave all food in the truck and quickly dug in to grab a mid-night snack.
After a time, we heard the golf cart returning. The nice security guy told us he would help us get our items out of the tent and move to the cabin. He hadn't seen the bear, and was pretty sure it was gone, but just in case, he would hold the tent open while he stood with a shotgun in his hand, just in case. Being fully awake, his brain functioning perfectly, he told us just to use the convenient hole made by the bear.
It was now 4:30 in the morning. It took another half hour for us to move our clothes and sleeping bags into the nearby cabin. Two sets of bunk beds, and a cot, along with an old gas stove and noisy 1940 refrigerator were the only things in the small 15x15 foot cabin.
Lights out, and at last, sleep. But the teens, tummies full from junk food, and adrenaline rushing through their hormone filled bodies, were unable to sleep. Oh well, it was almost time for us to get up and go to breakfast. We made our way to the shower house, glad we didn't have to wait in line, no one else was up at this hour. It was upon returning to the cabin that we now could see the vehicle. The sun just coming up over the mountains. Paw prints, in the dust on the side of the vehicle. And, what is this? The air vent cover, put there more for decoration than anything else, was missing. We moved en mass to the rear of the vehicle, and it was there we saw the tongue prints on the window. The bear had tried to get our junk food! The teens were angry now and desired revenge from the foe who would dare take their chips and chocolate!
We went to breakfast, glad to be alive, yawning, and trudged to our classes.
Now, for those of you who have never been to this mecca of the baptist west, know the bathrooms can rival those in any major football league stadium in the United States. The stalls seem to be an endless row or relief.
While using these wonderful facilities, my friend and I overheard everyone talking about a bear attack in the camp ground.
"I guess it shredded the tent!"
"Yeah, and I heard that one of them had their leg torn off, we need to pray for those poor people!"
"I have been praying, but can you imagine a bear thrashing through a tent full of teens? It must have been horrific"
"I'm sure it was, bless their little hearts!"
Not aware that it was ourselves who were the topic of this discussion stepped into the main room. A very grandmotherly woman was at the sink. My friend approached her, "When did this happen? We had our tent attacked by a bear last night too!"
The lady flung her arms around my friend and I, nearly smothering us with her um, rather large bosoms. "Bless your little hearts, You must have been terrified!"
Pulling away from her loving grasp, we nodded, smiling. "Yeah," I said, "but it is kind of funny now that we think about it."
"How close to the campers that lost their legs were you?" She asked.
"Well, we thought we were the only ones there and we didn't even know about anyone losing their legs."
It was at this moment, we were graced by a female security person who explained, it was only one tent, and, we were the ones that had been spoken about. We both looked down at our legs, just in case one was missing, and being as tired as we were, we may not have noticed a missing body part.
Nope! All intact, we left the bathroom, amazed and still laughing from our experience.
Just in case you are wondering, I still have the tent, although I don't use it any longer, I keep it just in case someone asks me to return to this place and camp with them. I quietly take it out and show them, using my hands, I explain loudly why I can never again return to this campground.
There is a little more to the story, but I will save that for a time when I must write about sleep deprivation and what it can do to the human brain!
And just a word of warning, whispering does not deter bears from keeping company with you in the middle of the night. It is better to shout and scream. I just thought I would share this bit of information in case you decided to travel to this amazing place! By the way, do you need to borrow a tent?
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